The Living and the Dead

[Eclecticon]

Wait, wait!  I can use my bonus die on the Explore test, can't I?  (Implied by p 151.)

1d6 : 1, total 1

[Eclecticon]

Aaaaaaaaaaand we're back to apologies again. 

[Telcontar]

I cant afford to.

I should have ditched this armor. It's killing me. Literally.

[tomcat]

Do you want to retro the situation and say the armor was left in either Rhosgobel, or Woodmen-town?

You can also abandon it on the path - a great relic for some future adventurer to wander upon.  .

[tomcat]

Last rolls for the Hazards and then we get back to the narrative:

Rolled 2d12 : 5, 1, total 6

[tomcat]

The rolls were in order, so Arbogast received the 5 which is Fatigue [Add Fatigue again, twice on an ] - so I am increasing his Fatigue by 3.

The 1 was for Morirúsë, which is Weariness - and the Elf is already weary.

[Telcontar]

  there is a story here, he has two relics from the past. Do they have a deeper purpose? Does he need to part from them to be free of the past? Is it a trial? Who knows, because I do not.

I'll hold on to it and see what happens.

[tomcat]

They marched.

There was naught but torment.

Torn flesh, scraped by cruel thistles that reached out from brush and tree. Weariness of bone and muscle. Thirst, for they did not want to squander the rations they had. Hope...they held onto it but each of the companions felt it bleeding away.

Only Grimbeorn seemed to be un-phased. The large man marched in silence, grim in his countenance, but never missing a step. When even Morirúsë faltered, the Beorning stepped up and took the lead.

They slogged through fetid marshes, the ground saturated by the run off from the mountains to the north. Black flies and biting insects tortured them in their incessant quest to find unprotected flesh. Tree roots, brush, and thick weaves of cobwebs hindered their course. But somehow they kept their direction and the occasional landmarks would appear in the form of paver stones laid by Dwarves long ago, along with the ruins of small warden outposts. In these, after careful inspection, they would take rest.

Quiet ruled them, as they did not want to use the energy to make conversation - nor did they want to mark their presence. The looming forest watched them closely and resisted them in every way it could. Instead, they resided in their own thoughts and troubles, which in turn only added to the burden of the journey. Hunger and weariness depleted their positive mindsets and so they dwelt on the ever increasing hopelessness of the task.

Why did I leave my family?! thought Arbogast. So far away and dangers ever increasing! What a fool I am!

For these folk I put my life at risk? They are not of my kindred, and those who were are long dead. This is their world now. What desire do I have to rid it of the Shadow that still plagues them all. Morirúsë's face was a constant frown. The weight of his armor, worn for so long now, hung heavy on him and he longed to leave the burdens of Middle-earth behind.

What have I achieved here? Emissary of Gondor? Really? Esgalwen rebuked herself. I came to aid in unifying these people - to offer them the aid of the Steward of Minas Tirith - but instead they grow steadily apart. They sit within their long houses and care only for their own. Weak and separated, they shall be crushed individually. What allies could they possibly be to my proud country?

"There is a change."

The sound of Grimbeorn's voice was like a bell sounding in the silence, and the other three companions quickly looked up at the man. He stood alone at the head of their company and he leaned on a large, moss-covered tree-trunk.

"Wha..." Esgalwen heard her parched voice croak out and she quickly stopped herself.

"The land...it is changing. It has been rising to the south of us. I think that is what they call the Haunted Hills. But so, too, does it in the north where it is now more rocky. The trees are changing, as well. Did you not notice? Oak and beech have been dominate, but now we see tall pines. The air - what little there is - is cooler, too, and smells heavy of the pine."

"And look," said Morirúsë, "there is a structure on the northern facing of the hill to our south. It is large and somewhat formidable."

"The Beacon Tower," said Arbogast, softly as if to himself. The Woodman had no idea of certainty, only the old tales that he had been told.

"Some one walks before us," replied Esgalwen. Her voice now clearer and more strong. "They march away from us along the road."

The other three companions turned to look where the Ranger now pointed and it was true. Ahead of them, on the Dwarven road, the shapes of men could be seen marching east.

[tomcat]

there is a story here, he has two relics from the past. Do they have a deeper purpose? Does he need to part from them to be free of the past? Is it a trial? Who knows, because I do not.

I'll hold on to it and see what happens.

Very cool! I like this, man.   

[tomcat]

I have to say - it is really hard to give you guys narrative of these long wooded marches. I hope the stuff you are reading is not becoming redundant and boring as I try to explain the hardships your characters face.

[GandalfOfBorg]

  no way, I like it a lot... very in the vein of the professor.

"Shall we then?  The only thing keeping from getting there now are our legs," Grimbeorn urged.  He knew his companions were not getting on well, even the Elf's inscrutable demeanor was cracking. "Let's get this over with."

[Eclecticon]

Arbogast gives the Men on the trail a wary look.  "Be not too hasty, friend.  By moving, we will make ourselves easier to see, if we have not already been marked.  Though the spiders are keeping their distance, I fear that the business of Men so far from the halls of the Free Peoples bodes ill for us."



Not at all, Doug.  Journeys through the wilderness are one of the game's core activities, and that should be reflected in the narration.  If I had to make any criticism, it's that you seem to be doing over the hazards (aka 'the interesting bits') in favour of the drudgery.  Spending more time on the former might make journeys easier to write about.

[tomcat]

Not at all, Doug.  Journeys through the wilderness are one of the game's core activities, and that should be reflected in the narration.  If I had to make any criticism, it's that you seem to be doing over the hazards (aka 'the interesting bits') in favour of the drudgery.  Spending more time on the former might make journeys easier to write about.

Sounds good, Paul. In this instance, the two Hazards were fatigue and weariness - and I don't think I could go into that anymore than I did.

But I will definitely use the more crunchier hazards in our future as my narrative focus.

[tomcat]

"On this, I am with Arbogast. I find it strange to see Men marching along this road so far from either the Vale or the lands east of the wood." Esgalwen was tired, but her guard was now up and her hand gripped the pommel of her sword.

[Telcontar]

Morirúsë was thoughtful and his voice took on the sound of being distant.

"Once the Teleri lived here in greater number. The love of the wood and the hills compelled them to tarry from the journey. Then later the Avari too took the woods of Greenwood as their home. Gone, all gone. Even their memory has passed from the land and the grip of the enemy has made this a place of sorrow. Will the stain of it ever truly come out?"

The elf began to look wane and hollow in the face again as he had after his fight with the werewolf.

"Like my people too. Gone. Gone to the halls of waiting or gone as exiles to an island in the sea."

He continued, but none knew if he spoke to them directly or to someone else who was not present.

"Should I go? Would any of you go if the decision were yours? We who were given this land as a gift to rule and cultivate, and watched it slip from us. Our birthright either lost or poisoned and gained naught but an island in the sea. Where is the song of Maglor to cheer us? Where even is the horn of Fingolfin the valiant, Finrod the wise. All lost."

His eyes cleared and he looked upon his companions. "Are the days so dark that all travelers are to be feared?"