Words of the Raven - Northward

[Eclecticon]

Woe, Grimbeorn son of the Skinchanger!  Woe, Esgalwen sword of Gondor! 
Woe, silver-voiced Tate!  Woe, steadfast Hathcyn! 
Hear now of the ill tidings brought to the hearth of the folk from north and south:
An army dark and desperate, a cruel king's to command
A friend lost and alone, from fellowship's bond to fettles of the foe fallen! 
Hear now the words of the ancient and wise:
As winter proves the shepherd and the storm proves the sailor,
So does the battle prove the warrior, and the judgement prove the king.

Without ceremony, Grimbeorn and Hathcyn put spurs to horses and ride for the north.  The House of Beorn is left in the care of Ingelram of the Leap, a firm friend of the Master of the Folk since the first days after the Battle of the Five Armies, and a man discreet enough not to inquiry as to the business that the young lord may have with the Dwarves. 

Skies and tracks alike are clear before them, the autumn wind driving the clouds from the Anduin vales and the thousand tasks, great and small, of the harvest calling all hands to the fields.  The cool, air burns in Grimbeorn's lungs, making him feel alive in a way that he has not since the flight from the skirmish.  Hathcyn, likewise feels the joy of being abroad at such a time, but finds that the cuts in his legs and belly still pain him, and that he cannot long abide the motion of a galloping steed. 


Let's do some Travel rolls to see just how badly this wound pains him during the journey:

Grimbeorn

1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 4d6 : 5, 6, 2, 2, total 15

Hathcyn

1d12 : 1, total 1
Rolled 3d6 : 5, 2, 6, total 13

[Eclecticon]

And it looks like the answer is 'yeah, not at all, actually'! 
I'm awarding Grimbeorn an AP for the roll, since it was a great success and he can tag his Hardy attribute.  ()

[Eclecticon]

Nonetheless, Hathcyn is as proud a son of Wilderland as ever lived, and puts aside the cares of a body he knows to be healing to be by the side of his lord. 

Following broad paths, the pair come by late afternoon to a sorry sight.  Where once stood a fine and comely house (though sized, it seems, a little smaller than Men might ordinarily build) now stands naught but a ruin, some of its blackened timbers still standing and the stone floor below as yet unreclaimed by sod and weeds.  The Easterly Inn will no longer welcome travellers coming south from the Forest Gate. 

Though the smell of ash and smoke has long since been swept away by wind and rain, it would seem that fresh violence has been added to older sorrows.  The body of Curwen, one of the young followers from the morning when began the pursuit of orcs and outlaws, lies splayed in what may once have been a pantry, his skull brast asunder and his eyes and lips given up to scavenging beasts.  The presence of much old, dried blood tells of a desperate fight in the ruins. 

Though days have passed, the trail of several men can still be made out, following the path to the north. 

If anyone needs a reminder, Curwen was one of the party that Grimbeorn sent north to investigate an attack on the Easterly Inn (and who have not since been heard from). 

I'll allow a little time here for RP (or anything else that you want to do) before moving the journey on.  The trail can be followed with an easy (TN 12) Hunting roll. 

[Eclecticon]

Okay, I'm going to move things on when next I get a chance.  First, though, let's see whether either of you can follow the trail:

Grimbeorn

1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 5, 6, total 17

Hathcyn

1d12 : 10, total 10
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 5, 5, total 14

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn's grief became vocal when he recognized the fallen man.  "What devilry is about that thwarts even our most simple and humane of ventures?!  This shall not stand and our revenge will be had." His hand tighter to the reins in one hand and his ancestral blade in the other.  "Come, let us take these slights and use them as fuel for the trials ahead of us!" At that, the heir of the Bear spurred his steed onward at a greater pace than before.

[Telcontar]

"Most likely the men of the north have done this. Too often have the folk of the north felt their raids and attacks. Other folk in the valley have felt their depredations as well, and more frequently because they have not the name or reputation of your father as lord that gives these folk pause."

Hathcyn looked at Grimbeorn.

"Lord, I must confess, I for a time roamed the wild too with a band of unruly men, before I grew tired of such a life and bent my shoulder to more noble pursuits with the dwarves. While not all my deeds were just I will swear that it was against these northern people we preyed in return. I can not swear that we may not come across others who will know me. This may be to our advantage with our numbers so small, but I ask your forbearance of these deeds at least, if I have not yet earned a pardon for them."

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn thought on this as he rode before responding to Hathcyn.  "I know that no man is a saint and those that come to our lands seek respite for some reason or another.  As long as you show us honor and act with courage, your past trespasses need only remain known to you and only follow you here if you let them.  You relinquish those misdeeds of the past and move on.  We will not enquire to them and will only listen to grievances against our own if they be of a heinous nature."

[Eclecticon]

Disdaining the ill-favoured ruin, Grimbeorn and Hathcyn ride on a way, making their camp that evening beneath the open sky of the wold.  The trail left by the Men who came to burn and pillage is easily followed, and they are clearly leading Man-sized prisoners to the north. 

The following day brings them, without incident, to the fringe of the Elfwood.  The noon-day sun turns the red and golden leaves of the wood into a display as brilliant as stained glass, for these trees are unlike the tangled and spiteful growth of Mirkwood, and there enough space even for mounted men to move comfortably.  Even this late in the season, the branches are alive with robins, bramblings and chaffinches, their song lending an air of serenity to the journey. 

That serenity is broken when the pair come across the site of Rorin's ambush, plain as day on the main path.  The bodies of two men lie broken, bloodied and despoiled by the now-hidden scavengers of the wood, and splashes of dried blood yet linger on some of the nearby trunks.  Rorin, it seems, did not go quietly with his captors.  Nor has he lost any of his prowess with his maul. 


Some Search rolls, to save time:

Grimbeorn

1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 2d6 : 2, 5, total 7

Hathcyn

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

[Eclecticon]

"Look around," Grimbeorn orders.  "Mayhap there is something here that can tell more of this tale."  Try as he and Hathcyn might, however, there is naught to be found save for a busted wineskin, still redolent with the sharp sent of sour mead.  Grimbeorn, eyes narrowed, wordlessly leaves it where it lies and mounts back up.  "Onward," he grunts.  

The remainder of the day passes without words.  The two Men follow the trail from glade to glen, here and there passing the remains of a small cottage long since put to the flame.  Viglund's appetite for thralls, it would appear, have not abated, and the independent cottars and smallholders between his lands and the Beornings' have borne the brunt of it.  That night they make camp in one such ruin, the tumble-down walls lit by the brilliant flames fed by Elfwood deadfall, which eagerly catches tinder-sparks and burns long and warmly.  

The next day the pair ride into the lands of the Viglundings.  Grim lands they are, though these southern vales are greener, Grimbeorn finds himself noticing, than the scrub trees and stony soil that lay about and beneath the house of Argil's clan.  From here, the trail becomes something that might be called, by the charitable, a road, which winds from hilltop to hilltop.  By the end of the day, it brings into view a low tor, on top of which rests a hall surrounded by an imposing palisade and several watchtowers.  As the pair ride closer, a group of guards herds a collection of thralls, clad in scraps and rags even in the autumn chill, from the surrounding fields toward the gate.  They are watched by a grinning man who cradles a large spiked mace in one arm and a wineskin similar to that which they found in the Elfwood in the other.  

"Ho!" he calls as they ride closer.  "What fine day it is that brings new guests to Fystenheorth!"

[Eclecticon]

Tom, in Matt's absence, do you want to be Grimbeorn as well, for a while?

[Telcontar]

  i am not sure what Matt's plan was, but sure. Quick question, is this a pitstop to where Rorin is or is Rorin here? I'm not a hundred on how we ended up here. 

[tomcat]

From what I read above, you guys followed the trail north to where the Easterly Inn lay in ruin, then to where Rorin and his company had been ambushed. From there, you guys followed the raiders trail to the land of Viglundings and have caught up with the captives.

But that is me - I am sure Paul will clarify better what, where, and how.


BTW - cool music, Paul! I am keeping that track. 

[Eclecticon]

Yes, that's right.  The wretches being hustled back into the fort aren't the specific ones whose trail you've been following, but dollars to donuts your guys are here as well.

[GandalfOfBorg]

  well my plan certainly didn't involve attacking or even seeing the viglunds at a stronghold, but there it is.  Addressing the pillaging and attack on beorning settlements and rorin's expedition are foremost on his mind.  He would attempt to be diplomatic but a duel isn't likely out of the question.

[Eclecticon]

With the best will in the world, they had a day and a half on you guys.  It's not too late to turn around, though: 'Fystenheorth?  Damn, sorry.  We were looking for... uh... a different hall.  Never mind.  Catch ya later!'

Assuming that you don't take that route, though, we'll be in Encounter mode again ('cause God did I build a lot of encounters into this scenario), including introduction rolls.  And Insight rolls to begin with:

Grimbeorn

1d12 : 7, total 7
Rolled 3d6 : 5, 1, 6, total 12

Hathcyn

1d12 : 9, total 9
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 2, 2, total 10