Restless atop the Beacon Hills

[Telcontar]

Morirúsë saw where someone had brought his gear to their makeshift camp. The sword still bloody from its foul work fell upon the ground free of it's scabbard, dropped from his hand with a cold ring. Next he removed the armor, none in the company had seen him do that in the wild before and that too fell to the ground by his gear. In the fire light now he looked thin and frail. The worn image of a stable training dummy, hollow and well battered, possessing the caricature of battle readiness, but well used and worn. He said nothing while he worked and sat as stone when he was finished, staring into the sickly fire of the tower's former furniture.

The silence lingered, each in their own thoughts, but then the elf spoke. His voice was quiet, almost hoarse at first and filled with age and weariness.

"Here is a tale for you Arbogast, fashioned in the form of the folk of Beor long ago. I see the likeness of that dwindled and hunted people in all three of you. Whether it be a foretelling or a summary of today I don't know, but a gift to you Firewatcher it shall be. You, the collector of songs and deeds of your people.

Foes before them,   flames behind them,
ever east and onward   eager rode they,
and folk fled them   as the face of the Vala,
till earth was empty,   and no eyes saw them,
and no ears heard them   in the endless hills,
save bird and beast   baleful hunting
the lonely lands.   Thus at last came they
to Mirkwood's margin   under mountain-shadows:
waste was behind them,   walls before them;
on the houseless hills   ever higher mounting
vast, unvanquished, lay the veiled forest.
Dark and dreary   were the deep valleys,
where limbs gigantic   of lowering trees
in endless aisles   were arched o'er rivers
flowing down afar   from fells of ice.
Among ruinous rocks   ravens croaking
eagles answered   in air wheeling;
wolves were howling   on the wood's border.
cold blew the wind,   keen and wintry,
in rising wrath   from the rolling forest
among roaring leaves.   rain came darkly,
and the sun swallowed   in sudden tempest.

The endless East   in anger woke,
and black thunder   born in dungeons
under mountains of menace   moved above them.
Halting doubtful   there on high saw they
was horseman wild   in windy clouds
grey and monstrous   grimly riding
shadow-helmed to war,   shapes disastrous.
Fierce grew the blast.   Their fair banners
from their staves were stripped.   Steel no longer,
gold nor silver   nor gleaming shield
light reflected   lost in darkness,
while phantom foes   with fell voices
in the gloom gathered.   Grimbeorn loudly
cried as clarion.   Clear went his voice
in the rocks ringing   above roaring wind
and rolling thunder.   'Ride, forth to war,
ye hosts of ruin,   hate proclaiming!
Foes we fear not,   nor fell shadows
of the dark mountains   demon-haunted!
Hear now ye hills   and hoar forest,
ye awful thrones   of olden gods
huge and hopeless, hear and tremble!
From the West comes war   that no wind daunteth,
might and purpose   that no mist stayeth;
lord of legions,   light in darkness,
east rides Arbogast! Echoes were wakened.
The wind was stilled. The walls of rock,
answered.

Morirúsë was still in the after silence, and closed his eyes.

[GandalfOfBorg]

  nice work, but that elf knows how to kill the mood 

Darker and more dreary fell the mood over the camp with words of the elf.  The silencing of tortured souls, though merciful, was no balm their own.  The night wore on with little sound over the crackling of fire or the heavy breathing of those who slept; even the restorative powers of a meal did little to soothe or lighten their burden.

[tomcat]

Cry me a river.  Arbogast picked up a permanent Shadow point when he crit-failed a corruption test in a blighted area.  All Morirúsë has to do is sit around singing elf-songs for a bit and this will just be a bad memory.  Grumble grumble, moan moan. 

That is true, but the reduction in Shadow makes them more prone to Shadow. It is a cool mechanic.

Anyway, I was going to say to Tom - if you want, i will allow you to earn only 1 permanent Shadow point instead of 2 temporary. You are miserable with the 2, where as you might not be miserable from the 1 permanent.

Let me know if that is something you wanna do.

[tomcat]

I am going to give everyone an Explore test to see if they can reduce more Fatigue from this night's rest. Target number would be 18, but Grimbeorn breaks out some twice-baked honey cakes (laced with a special herb) and everyone has an easier time (TN is  18 - Wisdom rating).

• Remove 1 Fatigue on a success

• Remove 2 Fatigue on a Great success

• Remove 3 Fatigue on a Extraordinary success or

• Gain 1 more Fatigue on an

You will get your standard reduction of Fatigue and Endurance return, no matter how this roll results.

[tomcat]

TN 16 Explore by PC

Arbogast 3d 1d12 : 1, total 1
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 4, 3, total 13

Esgalwen 2d 1d12 : 9, total 9
Rolled 2d6 : 5, 3, total 8

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

[tomcat]

• Arbogast had a TN 14 and rolled a great success for 2 Fatigue reduction plus his standard 1 reduction for a good night's rest; he also gains back his standard 2  

• Esgalwen had a TN 14 and rolled a success for 1 Fatigue reduction plus her standard 1 reduction for a good night's rest

• Morirúsë had a TN 16 and rolled a failure but still gets his standard 1 reduction for a good night's rest; no longer Weary

• Grimbeorn gains back his standard 2  

[tomcat]

The companions woke with the new morning. Their rest was uninterrupted and each felt better for it. The old hall seemed to emanate a security that was not present elsewhere. More savory would be the words used to describe it, but it was evident that the Dwarf ruin was still a haven for passersby, if they kept themselves solely to the hall.

They made a quick breakfast of dried meats and fruits, along with Grimbeorn's honey-cakes. Once done, they collected their things and hitched their packs once more upon their backs.

They exited the stonework through the ruined courtyard, where they battled the night before. It seemed more pleasant in the daylight, but eyes were still upon them. Nothing threatened, but the Company could feel the presence of evil watching them leave. A coldness from the earth below put them on edge, and the constant need to look over their shoulders, but they left unmolested.

When they were once more down from the hills on the north-side, where the old road made its way, Morirúsë looked back to the Beacon Tower and saw a dark shape staring down at them. The Noldo knew it was the spirit he challenged the previous night and he could feel its threat.

Do not return here lest ye find the death thou hast sought through these lingering years in Middle-earth... t'is no longer your world.

The Elf said naught of what he saw or felt, as the companions marched over the road heading north, now, towards the Mountains of Mirkwood.
I am opening the final leg thread for your trip to the mountains.