FELLOWSHIP PHASE -

[tomcat]

And just like that the outgoing Loremaster put the jinx on a whole community.

 

[Eclecticon]

I am really glad nothing has happened to Arbogast's family and relationship.

I think about the show Vikings and how long stints away mean new men or women to the primary characters, and though probably sound in the reasoning, it takes from the characters.

Above is very much a positive for the setting. It is more Tolkien.

Love and friendships prevail no matter time and distance.

Thanks.  I figure that Arbogast lives a life characterised by long stretches of extremely tense boredom, hunger and other discomforts, punctuated by intervals of terror and pain.  Giving him an uncomplicated home life seems like the least I can do for him. 

[Telcontar]

Morgan Freeman voice:
He soon realized he was very wrong....for Arbogast's father was on his way to visit.

[Eclecticon]

Warmer days come at last, and with them comes the time for travel and trade.  Arbogast, who has waited out the hungry winter in the bosom of his kinfolk, cannot bring himself to leave his family behind, and so brings them with him as he travels north.  His daughters, now a full year old, are fascinated by the waters of the Tarn, but Lindwine is adamant that they are to go nowhere near it now that the ice is gone.  "Heva lost her son to the treachery of the River-maiden last summer," she says.  "Even grown men now fear to take their boats out to fish."  

Looking at the dark grey muck that now washes up out of the water, and seeing the extent to which it has become choked with weeds, the Fire-watcher is in no mind to argue.  

With his wife and daughters meeting, at long last, their kin in and about Woodmen-town, Arbogast ventures north, meeting his companions along the way, and retrieves the troll hoard hidden the previous year.  Nor does he allow Wyrtácléofa to languish any longer in the earth.  

With his share, he visits the villages and steadings of the Woodmen, promising silver to the surplus sons and daughters of his folk in return for a season's work, and soon the recovery of the road continues, the woods ringing with the singing of woodcutters and axes alike.  

The road-work in hand, he at last makes the journey to Mountain Hall, returning Wyrtácléofa to its rightful owner.  Theodwin is bemused to see the axe once more, but he and Sunne provide a warm welcome, and are as pleased to see Arbogast as the Fire-watcher is to see them.  The sight of his new nephew Theodard digging at the floor with a carved wooden pick brings laughter to all three.  "He'll dig us out a fortune one day," his mother beams.  

Throughout it all, those who know him best observe a change in Arbogast's bearing.  Where once he was reticent, now he meets every man's eyes, be he chieftain or pauper, with a level and confident gaze.  He spends his nights playing game after game of fist-table with any who will sit across from him, pondering why each game was won or lost.  

He does not ever say, even to himself, how closely the flow of move and counter-move, in endless succession, reflect the struggle between his people and the Enemy, but he now understands, deep in his soul, the long war that Radaghast fights.  

In his own heart, the Fire-watcher has gone to war.  



So, for an Undertaking, Arbogast will visit the treasury of his people and return Wyrtácléofa.  This doesn't activate any more qualities of the Warden's Axe, as it's fully awake and swinging already, but it bumps his Standing up to 3.  

His lucky roll on the Weal and Woe table indicates something life-changing.  In this case, it's a bit of character development (in a dramatic sense).  Arbogast now has the 'hardened' distinctive feature.  

[tomcat]

I will have Esgalwen up tomorrow.

[tomcat]

They had rested for a few days to recover strength and spirit.

With the winter solstice nearing, the companions made council with each other, along with the newcomers. The discussion went long into the night and the fire burned down to embers, but it was clear that each person had their own goals.

Morirúsë was to follow the trail north to the realm of Thranduil. He spoke softly of his pleasure in knowing them all, but he was quite certain that this parting would be the last and he would not see them again. He had set out to aid in diminishing the Shadow over Mirkwood and the death of the werewolf sated this need.

Arbogast wanted to be home to his family. Grimbeorn the same.

Esgalwen, though, was far from any home. To her, only duty was manifest. Her lord, the Steward of Gondor, had given her orders to speak for him in this far off land. And so, she would do just that. The Dúnadan woman was far north again and close to both Dale and Esgaroth. She would make for both and try to be received by the lord of that realm.

She looked to the newcomers, but it was evident that anger brewed within one - to the point of hate and distrust. The others, though reasonable, were unknowns to her. Esgalwen would miss the company of her boon companions.

The fire crackled and sparks popped into the darkened cave.

"Each of us must make our own roads now, if but for a while. Arbogast, surely you must find your home and see your family once more. Days pass and so soon do they grow up - you cannot miss anymore. Grimbeorn, I know not your route, but I can only assume you will seek your own land, as it is close." She then looked at the Elf, "Morirúsë, if I might. I would accompany you to the Elven Realm, and from there to Esgaroth. I would seek audience with King Bard and bring to him words of Ecthelion, of unity and alliance. Will you have me for the short length of your road?"

The Elf was of far better spirits now  - no longer grim and dour, but alight and more hopeful. "As I have said, Morirúsë is dead. He died in this cave with the Beast of Mirkwood. Please, call me now by the name given me by my mother and father, so long ago - Arakánion. And yes, we can share our road together for a short while longer."

Esgalwen smiled. "Then it is done. Our company is sundered for the now, but let us not lose one another. If we can, let us gather once more in the summer, or fall, of the new year. Perhaps in Rhosgobel? Or maybe we can meet under the roof of Lindwine and Arbogast, and see the wonder of his family?"

The Dúnadan smiled wearily.

She was a woman. She knew that the advice given to Arbogast went unheeded by herself. The days were passing quickly and she had not taken a husband, nor did she know when she could. Gondor was far and home and family farther still.

"It is done."

The fire crackled again and Esgalwen laid back against her backpack. Her eyes stared at the cave roof for a while, sleep escaping her, though her mind drifted to lands far away. To times that were less hard.

Gwen...you can come home now. Be a lady of Gondor. Be a lady of our House.

The voice of her father continued to speak to her, even as sleep finely came.

[tomcat]

Travelers heading north from the Long Lake along the western bank of the River Running will find their feet upon an old road called the Merchants Way. Before them, grey and jagged, rises a single broad peak, dominating the landscape: the Lonely Mountain. Soon, the boggy ground of the Long Marshes gives way and the road becomes surrounded by fields, lush in the summer and tilled to the horizon, overflowing with grains here, a small orchard over there. To the west, they can see the dark edge of the forest of Mirkwood, but it does not look so foreboding here, for they look upon the easternmost edge of the Elven-king's Woodland Realm.

After a day of the Lonely Mountain looming ever higher, a southern spur of the mountain arises before them, beckoning them forward. Beneath the great watchtower set upon the height known as Ravenhill, the Running River twists and turns away, to run in a wide loop about a valley encircled by two vast arms of the Mountain.

The Merchants Way follows the river up into that valley, where a great city rises: the heart of the swiftest-growing nation in the North, the realm of the Dragon-slayer, a kingdom of Men built before the gates of a kingdom of Dwarves, forged from the broken ruins of the last realm to bear its name...

Dale.

And so, Esgalwen found herself at last looking upon the grandeur of both realms of Men and Dwarves. Her cloak was sodden from the early spring rain and her shoulders ached where the straps of her pack dug deep. Nimronyn hung from her back, and a walking staff was in her hand. She smiled to herself. She had made it at last.

Before all else, entering the town, the ranger sought out an inn. Esgalwen was pleased with the bustling nature of the city, reminding her immediately of Minas Tirith. "Excuse me, good sir," she called to a cooper who dabbed sweat from his brow with a dirty cloth. "Can you direct me to a local inn that I might find room and fare?"

"Eh?" said the man looking up, a slight annoyance on his face. He saw the woman before him, and though travel worn, could see how she was fair of face. The cooper's face broke to a polite smile, "Why yes, mum, you'll find the Scale just on the Square?"

"The Scale? On the Square?"

"Yay, mum, " he pointed. "Just there. If you'll wait, I'll have one of my lads accompany ye."

Esgalwen laughed infectuously, which made the cooper smile even more, "Why, that would be quite nice."

"Arry!" yelled the man, immediately leaving his work to find someone. "Where are you, ya lazy cob!"

Esgalwen looked to where the cooper had pointed and saw on the southern side of the Market Square, an impressively large oak and stone inn. The shingle out front featured a golden-red pattern of Dragon-scales, with one at the centre conspicuously black.

This was the Missing Scale  - one of the busiest inns in the city and while the handbills proclaimed it had "rooms fit for a King" it was the peerless wine (and, perhaps, location) that gave the place its success. The inn's enormous common room could seat almost fifty patrons at its plentiful tables or along the polished bar that ran the length of the west wall, yet it was the baleful image of a Dragon that dominated the space. Crafted from wrought iron and lit from behind with candles, the glowing image ran along the wall opposite the bar. The Innkeeper, Drucbord, was especially proud of its design, made by his brother in Lake-town.

The flickering light of the Missing Scale had lit many a meeting, for it was frequented by all sorts of travellers to Dale, and the latest news from afar is often heard here even sooner than in the Royal Palace.

[tomcat]

Warm food! A bed! And even more, a hot bath!

Esgalwen was beside herself with the normalcy that the city provided. She had long lived in the wilds of Ithilien, but she had been born and raised in Minas Tirith, and Dale extended the same comforts.

She paid for the week in advance, pleased that her companions had found the gold and silver coin along their travel. It was expensive here, but she did not care. It was wonderful to have a comb through her hair, which had been washed and then sweetly scented with rare oils out of Dorwinion. Still, her coin went far and Esgalwen knew that she would be meeting the king. She could not look like a vagabond out of the wild.

She walked the Square and took in the many haberdasheries and craftsmen, finding at last a dressmaker and mender. The woman inside was round and blush of cheek, but she croaked when she saw Esgalwen's attire.

"My dear! You look a mess...and wearing clothes fit for a man!"

Esgalwen smiled, "I am dressed according to my station, madam, but I am far from home and my duty does not permit me to bring along finer things."

The seamstress then noticed the beautifully-crafted sword on Esgalwen's hip. "Y'are not just a lady, mum...but a soldier?"

"In my way," said Esgalwen, not wishing to explain her duty to Steward and country. "But though they are for men, I could use clothing that would fit an audience with the King."

"The King? You are here to see the King?" At that the owner of the small shop smiled inwardly. "Then come...I will at least dress you in clothes that would accommodate such a meeting."

"I thank you," answered the Ranger. "Also, do you know of any pages, or runners? One that might carry a message to the royal hall?"

The woman looked thoughtful for a moment and then replied, "Aye...you can send a message through Pontiir's scribes. They know their letters, too, mum, and can see it written proper."

"I thank you, again," said Esgalwen not caring to inform the lady in front of her that she was learned in both the written word and mathematics.

When the day was finally done, Esgalwen returned to her room to try on her new clothes. Her message had been sent to request audience with King Bard, and now she need only wait. She returned to the main room to take part in the evening's meal and enjoyed the rest of her night.

It did not take long for a response to come.
more to come later.

[Posterboy]

Also... what year is the campaign in during this present Fellowship phase? 2953?

[Eclecticon]

This will cover the winter of 2952-3 and the spring and summer of 2953. 

[GandalfOfBorg]

 
Fellowship Phase

Choose Destination: Carrock
Standing Upkeep: N/A
Spend XP: (20 XP) 16 XP - Axes 5d
Spend AP: (16 AP) 16 AP - Craft 2d, Search 2d
Choose Undertaking: Heal Corruption
 

Craft -  1d12 : 6, total 6
Rolled 2d6 : 1, 1, total 2

Since the Fellowship Phase is so long, can we do 2 Undertakings?  Im unclear what we are doing about that.

[Eclecticon]

We are doing two undertakings, yes.  But one of them is going to be clearing the trees from the Forest Road, which has no mechanical effect (so far), so effectively it's only one. 

EDIT: And don't forget, he can Return to the Carrock to use Travel instead of Craft or Song for removing Shadow points. 

[GandalfOfBorg]

  Ah, yes well I'd certainly do that instead.
 

Travel -  1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 4d6 : 6, 5, 5, 1, total 17

[tomcat]

A page returned at the midweek with word from the King of Dale. She was granted audience. In fact, Bard was changing his travel schedule to see her.  It had been spoken on the streets that the King was making a circuit of his neighbors' realms - first Erebor and then the Elven-realm. But Esgalwen was told by the young lad that Bard would see her, even though the caravan was to leave with the morrow.

The Dúnadan returned to the Scale and set about preparing herself for the new day. She first made for the common room, as the smells from the kitchen beckoned. The glazed clay bowl was filled with a brown stew that overflowed with carrots, potatoes, onions and beef. The bread was warm and fresh, and the creamy butter melted once spread.

She ate in silence, to herself, but then looked up to see a face looking back. It took Esgalwen a moment, but then the memory of a young, handsome man at the  cave came to her mind. He smiled, as she ate.

"I know you," said Esgalwen. "But forgive me if your name is lost upon me."

The smile remained, "Tate...I am Tate."

The Ranger gave him a bewildered look, though she now smiled, too. "Well, hello, Tate. Do you have food, or were you looking to share mine own?"

"Nay, m'lady! I am here to entertain you!" He gestured to a small stool in the room where a lyre sat waiting. "I just thought I would come to say hello and tell you it is a pleasure to see you here in Dale. I did not know that this would be your destination."

She tore another chunk of bread and sopped at the greasy broth, "And I did not know that you were a troubadour, as you were girded for battle when last we met."

"Man of many talents!" Tate tore his own chunk of bread and slathered it with butter, though he did not ask.

I am sure, thought Esgalwen. She was not bothered by his forwardness, having seen such habits from other young men with the same rakish looks.

"And am I to assume that the proprietor has paid you good coin to sit here and eat my bread?"

"It is his wish that all of his guests are entertained, m'lady...Esgalwen, is it not?"

"It is," she was not sure why, but it pleased her that he remembered. Esgalwen smiled. She poked at his chest, "Then I suggest you go play and sing, or recite your poetry, so as to assure my pleasure and thus keep your master happy!"

"Ha! No master, have I," laughed the young bard. "But if it pleases you that I play, so be it!"

With that, Tate stood and moved to where his instrument awaited. He placed a small wicker basket atop the stool and then like a king in his court, took the attention of the room. Esgalwen marveled at his skill at playing, singing, and keeping all eyes in his direction. The crowd laughed when he sang a bawdy song; it hushed when he recited a poem of fell deeds and great heroics; and there were tears in the eyes of not a few of the women in the room when he sang a ballad of love. The Dúnadan found herself enthralled, as well, and quickly glanced elsewhere whenever Tate looked her way.

She had been on the road for so long - having forgotten what it was to be in a town, or city, with such fares. She had been among the simpler folk of the woods and enjoyed their own songs and stories, but this was different...this was like home. Esgalwen wiped a tear from her own eye and stood to leave the room, unaware that Tate watched her go.

------------

The quiet knock at her door caused her to start. Esgalwen looked to see that Nimronyn was close at hand and then she went to the door.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"Lady Esgalwen, it is me, Tate."

"Yes?" she answered. "T'is not appropriate for you to come to my door at this hour."

"Forgive me, lady, as it is not my intention to bother you. I merely saw you leave and wanted to say good night."

She opened the door to reveal the bard - a different smile now upon his face. Esgalwen returned her own.

"Lady Esgalwen...this is my town. Please, it would be my honor to spend some time with you and show you the sights, during your stay. May I come tomorrow and see you?"

She once more gave him a questioning look. "Tomorrow is not good. I am busy...and why are you not with those bandit friends of yours?"

"Surely my help would be a boon! And they are off tending their own business."

"I go to the Royal Hall..."

"Then let me be your guide! Do you know where it is?"

"I am sure I can find it...after all, I did find my way here."

"Of course!" replied Tate. "I do not mean to detract from your resourcefulness, but you must agree - aid is always worthwhile." Again the smile.

He was handsome. He knew it. He was winning.

"Very well. I need you here sharply at seven bells."

"Seven bells?! Who wakes at such a time?"

"Sharply, sir Bard! And if you're late it will diminish your usefulness. And wear something appropriate!"

The door closed.

[tomcat]

My mechanics rolls for Esgalwen's Bard encounter:

Advantage dice:
TN 14 Insight 1d

1d12 : 10, total 10
Rolled 1d6 : 6, total 6