News from the Hunters

[tomcat]

Like a serpent of the sea cresting foamy wash, the basilisk quickly turned in the pool of fog and raced from the fray - it's back rolling in and out of the mists.

The companions remained tense in preparation of some new attack, but nothing came. The foggy forest clearing became silent save for the heavy panting of the warriors and the moans of the wounded.

Esgalwen staggered to her right, "My...friends...I know not what is wrong. I cannot stand anym..."

And like that, the woman fell, disappearing into the mists that draped all of their legs.

Grimbeorn gave a cry, "What?!"

The Beorning reached down and hoisted up his friend and saw life in her eyes, staring out in horror, but her body was limp. He saw no wounds to mark a reason as to her condition.
Esgalwen will be paralyzed for 24 hours, but she did make her Valour test and so will not slowly die.

[tomcat]

Although paralyzed, her mind is still functioning so I am going to allow Esgalwen to make a roll to know about basilisk poison. She may know why she can't move and that she may die - she can't know that her Valour test was a success and she will survive.

Not sure what would be more horrific - to be trapped in your mind not knowing why you can't move and that it may be killing you, or to know what the poison does and that you may whither into death.

Here is her Lore test
TN 18 lore 1d

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

[Telcontar]

The blade of Morirúsë was returned to its sheath and the pale light of the moon and stars were again dimmed.

He looked at the fallen ranger and then at the woodmen,
"Tree Folk, do you know what result the breath of this beast has upon one of your kindred?"

[Eclecticon]

Lafdag's nod is mirrored by that of Arbogast.  "I have heard tell of it, though had thought never to see it." 

The Fire-watcher examines the remains of the skirmish.  One of his kinsmen lies face-down in the moldering leaf-litter, clearly beyond the help of any mortal.  His father and another man not known to him both bear wounds, and are warily keeping themselves from the splashed basilisk blood, lest their venom abide within it.  But they will live, and Esgalwen is limp, her breathing shallow.  Memories surface unbidden of the flight from Dol Guldur and the rescue of the Dunedan woman from the spirit-haunted bog. 

Arbogast looks around desperately.  Much of the herb-lore that he learned as a youth he has forgotten, and he can no longer recall whether anything growing in this part of the forest might remedy the malady that afflicts his friend.  Nor could I trust it perhaps, he thinks, given the shadow that now lies heavily here.  If Radaghast were here... 



I'm trying for an Awareness roll to see if I can spot a bird. 

1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 2d6 : 4, 5, total 9

[Eclecticon]

Sweet, that's an automatic great success thanks to his Natural Watchfulness.  Now let's see whether I can talk to it.  Doug, I'm guessing I probably should use Song for trying to communicate and Riddle for trying to comprehend.  Let me know if you think otherwise. 

1d12 : 8, total 8
Rolled 2d6 : 5, 4, total 9

[Eclecticon]

The tawny owl watching impassively in the low branches is well-hidden in the gloom of the deep woods, but Arbogast's eye is practiced.  He approaches it cautiously, making the slow cooing sounds that Iwgar taught him for the soothing of birds.  Finally, as he draws close, he meets its wide-eyed stare levelly.  "Brother of the wing," he says, addressing it as formally as he may, "this boon I ask of you.  Fly south.  Find the Brown Wizard.  Bid him come at once to the Hall of the Lamp." 

The owl regards him quizzically, but after some thought takes to the air with a long screech.  Knowing not whether his words have been heeded, Arbogast turns once more to the survivors. 

"We must make haste back to Woodmen-Town."  Staring his father in the eye, he adds "grave folly was this hunt, and ruinous perhaps for more than you gave thought." 

Despite his harsh words, the habits of years of adventuring have not left him, and he turns his eye to the wounded. 



I'll make healing rolls to treat Arbodag and the other guy (who I am arbitrarily naming Eberhard - feel free to overrule me). 

Eberhard:

1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 1, 3, total 8

I think Arbodag's TN should be a bit higher than the standard - he's very much the focus of Arbogast's resentment at the moment.  It's not that he actually cares less whether he lives or dies, but things are very awkward between them at the moment and both are probably tempted to rush things. 

Arbodag:

1d12 : 2, total 2
Rolled 3d6 : 3, 5, 2, total 10

[Eclecticon]

Despite his efforts, there is little that may be done.  The two Men's wounds are too severe to properly treat in the depths of the wood. 

"Grimbeorn," the Fire-watcher says, "We must make all possible haste.  Let us make a litter for to bear our friend from this place." 

[tomcat]

Grest stuff, Paul!

I will get some content up later tonight after GOT, or tomorrow.

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn hefts the body of Esgalwen for a better grip on her and moves with earnest and haste silently in the direction of the Wood-men's village.  He barely acknowledges anyone, even their calls to slow down for he is again distraught with the grave injury of one who he cares dearly.

[tomcat]

I like this brotherly concern that Grimbeorn is taking on for Esgalwen...or maybe it's something more?

[Eclecticon]

Nah, totally platonic between those two.  Grimbeorn's heart still belongs to Verwyne. 

[Telcontar]

Morirúsë Shook his head at the impatience of the Second Born.

"Hold but a moment. It is the dark of night and we have already suffered much hurt and hardship. We are three days gone from the stockade of the Woodmen, and when we came that way we were hale and hardy. Our travel will be much slower with the wounded and carrying a burden. Let us wait and see what the light of day brings before your travois is blindly drug into a spider pit." 

Morirúsë Looked at the starlight as it shown into the dell and though he was loathe to do it, knowing that time moved quickly for him now in the years of his fading, he bent his mind to the lore he had accumulated in his ceaseless war against the enemy. With a torch he examined the dead beast and attempted to recall anything that he could about the wyrm and the nature of the swoon of his comrade.

LORE test

Rolled 1d12 : 2, total 2

Rolled 3d6 : 4, 5, 1, total 10

[tomcat]

Under the shadow of the forest, little was going right for the companions.

The Woodmen found no comfort from Arbogast's aid; Morirúsë could find no memory of these beasts, or at least the malady they had set upon Esgalwen; and Grimbeorn, distraught as he was, ran into the darkness until he heard the Elf's words of caution. The Beorning stopped, and turned to listen.

It was Lafdag who spoke next. "The basilisk breath, sometimes its bite, is very deadly to all folk, it is said in the old songs." With that the man began to chant a cadence of old.

Beneath the bough,
where winds don't blow,

The rocks lay cold,
and the roots do grow,

Breath the foulness,
the Fágwyrms sow,

Thy wasting body,
shall move no more.

No more, no more...
thy wasting body moves no more

His voice faded into the mist and then the Woodman spoke anew, "None know a cure, save maybe the Elves or wizards. A person lives or dies based on the strength of heart. Hopefully, your young friend will persevere."

Unbeknownst to them all, the large owl had taken determined flight after heeding Arbogast's words. It quickly flew north to where a murder of crows rested within a large tree's upper branches. The bird landed and quickly the tree filled with a cacophony of chatter - the hooting of the owl, and the gravely croaking of the crows. If a message passed between the birds, it was unknown to any that may have heard.

There was a flutter of wings and the owl was aloft. Quickly following, a crow named Craokaw took to flight as well, but the birds flew in opposite directions.

As the night continued to pass, the raven came at last to an area where the forest was aglow with soft light - lanterns hanging within the trees. It flapped to a rest upon a makeshift table and eyes turned to look upon it as it spoke its words.

[Telcontar]

"Perhaps the Elves of these woods would know more, but I have not dwelt here and have no knowledge of the beasts. My memory, long as it is, does not bring their likeness or danger to mind. From what I know of her she is strong willed and doughty. Let us build a fire to warm her and cover her in such blankets and a bed of leaves to give what comfort we can. In the morning we can move her in the light of day, strength to us and bane to our enemies."

The elf took off and rolled his great cloak and began to gather branches for a bower and a fire while the night lasted.

[GandalfOfBorg]

"Sitting around contemplating our birthscars helps none," growled Grimbeorn.  "Leaving this place, a known haunt of these creatures, a prudent thing.  Moving towards safety is best for all concerned.". Clearly the Beorning was anxious to do more than nothing.