Foes of the Folk

[GandalfOfBorg]

"Beornings, we go to retrieve our folk who were slain and tend to any who yet survive for they are heroes to be celebrated even as we mourn our loss as well.  If we discover any who fled from the fight will be given over to me for they have much to answer for.  Go with caution for though we killed many orcs, even more yet still ate about and we know not if more swell their ranks."

His words hung in the still and heavy air for a few moments as the people took in his words but gave no response.  With a wordless motion, the signal was given and the caravan moved out with Grimbeorn's in the lead.

  Did we heal any since the previous day?

[Telcontar]

While the folk were being addressed by Grimbeorn the Longspear was not idle. He knew that he had not the standing or breeding to speak before the folk. Instead he bent his mind and his energy to action. Slightly abusing his authority as the companion of Grimbeorn and the fact that it was known he was in his company he ordered a few items assembled that Grimbeorn had not thought of. Assembled also in the wains for the wounded he placed tools for burying and oil for fire. After their days in the open their fallen companions would be buried were they lay or burned and placed in an ossiuary and a cairn raised. To speed their passing the Longspear, along with tools, summoned and had packed soft bread, honey, and both cider and strong drink. The folk that came with them would need it due to the grisly work, but also for the fire and ceremony to speed the passing of the dead to the place men felt they went when they died.

[Eclecticon]

The wains progress in solemn procession from the hall of Beorn to the nearby steading.  It is by no means an easy journey, but the was is, at least, peaceful.  Daylight is already fading by the time the large party arrives, but there is yet enough to see the devastation wrought by the passing orcs.  The longhouse and barn are still-smoldering shells, hastily and imperfectly burned.  Without, pieces of horses and Men alike lie strewn, crudely butchered and only partially consumed.  The body of a larger orc rises above, transfixed on a broken beam, a dark patch of earth beneath attesting to its recent demise.  Despite the chill in the air, flies swarm everywhere, their drones providing a mocking counterpoint to the cries of anguish and grief from the arriving Beornings. 

Then, when the initial shock has passed, the hard and gruesome work of interring the slain begins.  A pyre is built and the dead orcs heaped upon it, and by its light and that of torches the last remains of those who rode boldly forth are reassembled.  Tomorrow, they will be interred beneath earthen mounds and sped towards such fate as awaits the souls of Men. 

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn had seen and lived the battle, he had no desire now to be its grounds keeper as well. Once the work had begun the Longspear drew a wineskin from the wagon and took a pull from it. Just as he had no standing or right to command anyone else, none present but Grimbeorn or his master had any right to pronounce doom or order him about. Drawing his sleeve slowly across his mouth he stared off away from the homestead. His gaze lingered in each direction assessing the merits and advantages of each. Then he closed his eyes and turned slowly in a circle sensing which direction seemed to have the natural rightness to it. The warrior, following his instinct and his curiosity stepped off into the direction that felt right.

"I'll be about," he said to no one in particular.

"Not all who came with us lay here in this field, perhaps there are others round here abouts."

With his longspear held at the point of its natural balance, a spot on the shaft well worn and known to the warrior, he set off to see what his curiosity could discover about the aftermath of the battle.

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn's saw Hathcyn's take off.  "If you're going to look around, do not go alone. Gràald will go with you.  I will stay with the others.  Good luck and may you find no further trouble."

[Telcontar]

The long legged warrior simply nodded and walked on.

[Eclecticon]

HO-kay, time to get this moving again.  Let's have a Hunting roll, with a small bonus for Gràald's assistance:

DC 12 Hunting 3

1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 3d6 : 3, 6, 1, total 10

[Eclecticon]

It takes the two Beornings mere moments to find the tracks of the orcs who left the steading aflame.  As on the previous night, they headed east toward the forest.  But where before they moved at the long, loping run characteristic of their kind, here their passage was slower and less steady.  Shortly after they leave, a further quantity of orcish blood marks the ground and the survivors of the skirmish split into two groups, one heading directly east, the other veering southward. 

But Hathcyn did not leave the steading to track orcs.  Instead, working with Gràald, he finds the spoor of Men fleeing for their lives: footprints, threads from torn clothing and flecks of blood from untended wounds, all left in hurried disregard for eventual pursuit.  Two trails head north-east, toward the Old Ford.  A third goes west, straight as an arrow shot at the broad Anduin. 


A great success gets plenty of information!  Let's see what you do with it. 

Also, for an AP, since the roll was a great success and you specifically mentioned a Trait. 

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn stopped and looked at the divergent trails. The fear was on these men when they fled the battle, and it was night fall. The wise would have headed for the ford. Running there would allow them to pass over the river in a safer place. Perhaps they split up so as to divide any who might pursue them. These sounded like men who had and used their wits.

Then there was the river trail. The folk of Beorn knew the river well. It was a constant presence in their lives whether they lived east or west of it. The great river was the dominant feature of the vales and couldnt be missed. The river was a known thing, so it was a safe thing. In flight it would be a barrier, but only a thinking man would realize it. A terrified man would seek that which was known to him for the safety of its familiarity. Then only later realize they had ran towards a wall and not an escape.

If there were survivors that still could be found in the area, or wounded to weak to make a complete escape they would find them by the banks of the river.

Hathcyn said nothing, but pointed his spear towards the river and stepped off in a quick gait towards the river.

[Eclecticon]

This has been an update too long coming.  Apologies, guys. 

Hunting roll for Hathcyn:

Rolled 1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 5, 1, total 8

[Eclecticon]

Hmmm.  A Hope spend will make that a success.  How badly does Hathcyn want to find this guy?

[Telcontar]

  As I learned with the werewolf, hope is too precious a think to squander. I dont want to find a guy that bad.

[Telcontar]

  what do we need to track if the path went straight towarss the river?

[Eclecticon]

In brief, the trail leads towards the river for a while, then starts following it south.  The Hunting roll was to follow it long enough to get an idea of where the guy was headed. 

[Telcontar]

  hmmm my guess would have been south....
Ok, I guess we'll head back to the others. Hathcyn really doesnt want to wander too far being wounded and all.