CHAPTER 7: Paths Lost

[tomcat]

Cruel winter. Cruel winds. Evil portents.

The Woodmen and Beornings ended the year with festivals and glad feelings, as was customary of the Yuletide. The great victory of the Beornings along with the good reaping made everyone glad of heart and each looked forward to a bright Spring and a new prosperous season for the people of the Vale. It seemed that the Shadow, which had sought so desperately to pervade the realms of the Free-folk, had been turned and those with ill-intent were staved away.

Why would it not seem so? The defeat of Vidugalum and his Blood-moon Raiders; the defeat of Viglund and his cruel ways; the success of heroes against the Fell-beast of Mirkwood! The death of Smaug years prior! Surely the Anduin Vale and Mirkwood forest was unshackling itself from the fear and shadow that had ruled for so long. Things were better now, weren't they? The future brighter.

But then the Yule came to an end, the people's of the Vale returned to their lands and homes and hunkered down for the winter cold - and fierce it was. The Shadow that many had thought had been dispelled in the light of Autumn, returned with the frost and snow with a vengeance.

Far away, in the lands of Mordor, Mt. Doom erupted and belched forth poisonous debris and vapors, which the winds from the south picked up and carried north. The dark ash mixed with the clouds and black rain fell across Southern Mirkwood and the Vale. The Woodmen feared some new danger as they felt the earth shake and days later the white snows were made gray with rain that smelled evil.

Whispers among trappers and hunters became prevalent in mead halls, of great hordes of orcs moving south along the Eaves of Mirkwood, to some unknown destination - many believed coming from the Mountains of Mirkwood. Even as the Dwarves and Men cleared the lost road, tales were spoken of spiders massing along the edges of the heart of the forest, and wargs prowling the edges - even up to the gates of Men.

Something was afoot - but though there had been the successes of the previous season, none wished to seek out these new dangers - not while winter still held on so tightly.

When Spring came at last and the ice and snow began to release the forest, still the world seemed hushed. The forest did not bloom as it usually did, the trees and plants seemed sickly and everything was coated with a gray stain. In the House of Amaleoda, Arbogast sat with his back to a beam, as he listened to the sounds of the Black Tarn. The fire-watcher nodded with sleep, due to the lack thereof, as his newest child was teething. The rhythmic sound of a blacksmith's hammer kept a beat, and the wind stirred the new leaves above - all of which lended itself to Arbogast's desire for slumber.

The sound of boots stirred the man and he looked up to see the leader of their clan. She smiled as she came to share Arbogast's bench, "Not sleeping much, huh?"

He smiled wanly and shook his head.

"I can only guess it is worse for Lindwine?"

"Yes," was his tired reply. "She suffers more as I am unable to feed our new engill, and thus my wife sees no relief."

"I feel for her. You will tell her, yes?" asked Amaleoda with a sympathizing smile.

"Aye, I will," said Arbogast, his mind clearing from the tendrils of sleep. He knew that Amaleoda was not here just to bring her maternal concerns - and she did not give him the time to inquire.

"Hunters have just entered the Tarn - men from the north out of Woodmen-town. You might know them. They bring tidings both good and ill...or perhaps strange is the better word."

Arbogast's interest was piqued. He sat up straighter to look around the hall to see the newcomers, which stood near the great fire. They were dressed in thick furs for the Winter chill had not yet given up to the Spring sunshine. Though they looked familiar, Arbogast did not know them. "What is it that brings them? What news?"

Amaleoda, still looking towards where the hunters stood, replied, "They have come seeking a respite from the wilds and asked my hospitality, which I have given. Each carries gold coins and have offered me a sum in payment for supplies. It seems their leader, Hunald has disappeared."

The name made Arbogast turn quickly to his leader - the man was known to him. A hunter of great renown amongst the Woodmen.

"The coins are odd," said Amaleoda, not seeing Arbogast's reaction. She opened her hand to reveal two of the gold coins in her palm, while she idly flipped them with her other fingers. "The markings are old and strange, but the metal is real."

"What else do they say?"

She looked to Arbogast, "They tell of news out of Mountain Hall. A mine-shaft has collapsed and many were killed."

Again Arbogast was struck as if by a hand - his sister and her husband were of Mountain Hall! Were they among those slain? He needed to speak with them, to learn more of what they knew.

It was dark.

Grimbeorn woke to a sound within his house - his instincts immediately putting him on guard. Though his eyes were not yet open, his hand reached to where Bear Claw was always nestled beside him.

His hall was dark - only the embers of the previous night's fire gave any light. Across the room, a large shape stood tall and moved to where the embers glowed. The shadow squatted down to the logs that lay jumbled.

His voice gruff, Grimbeorn spoke, "I do not know who you are stranger, but be warned that I show little quarter to thieves in my hall."

Flames flickered to life as the wood was moved over the hot coals which were stirred, bringing light into the chamber that cast upon the figure. He looked to where Grimbeorn now sat at the ready and he smiled. It had been long since father had seen son.

"Father!" exclaimed the younger Beorning.
To our other players - fear not. Your PC's entry into this new chapter is not forgotten, just will be a bit.

[Eclecticon]

Rising groggily to his feet, Arbogast makes his way to where the followers of Hunald warm themselves.  "I greet you, weary travellers.  I am Arbogast, son of Arbodag.  It is well that you are come here, for Amaleoda is a fair hostess indeed.  But what I have heard of your tidings grieves me, for close and beloved kin have I in Mountain Hall.  I pray you tell me, was Theodwin, or his wife Sunne, among those lost in the mine collapse?"

[tomcat]

The two hunters were tall and haggard of face, having been long exposed to the winter cold. One had a long shock of red hair and the other brown, and Arbogast was not completely sure but he thought he knew the former - Odil, Kaynin's son - but surely that was not the young man behind this aged face.

His curiosity was quickly cleared as the man answered, "Arbogast, son of Arbodag...I know your family. I am Odil, son of Kaynin. Your brother, Oeric, and I grew up together."

Arbogast nodded at the last, as he remembered his younger brother evading chores to go down to the river with a younger-faced version of the man before him.

"As to your concerns...we cannot say," Odil's answer was confirmed by the other who took up the conversation. "Aye, we only know rumors as to what occurred in Mountain Hall from traders coming across the Vale, as the weather broke."

Odil pointed to the other, "Arbogast, this is Durwyn. He is great hunter of our hall, next to Hunald."

The Fire-watcher shook the man's extended hand. The trio was joined by Amaleoda. The woman spoke, "What of Hunald? You say he is lost?"

"Aye, Lady. It was ten nights past that we got separated in the woods. A winter haze came upon us under the eaves. We were east of the river and though we could hear him call, his cries were always distant."

"Yes, and always did they lead us further into the woods," said Odil.

Durwyn nodded, "We went as far as we dared, but I told Odil we had best return to the river. If Hunald was okay, he would do that, too."

"We never saw, or heard him, again."

Amaleoda drew a deep breath of concern and then directed the two men to her table, "Come...get you some warm food and drink. You're chilled to the core."

Arbogast grabbed a bench and sat with the visitors, though he was unhappy with how little information there was about his sister. Still, he listened intently as the two men revealed other news of the North and the winter months now past.

As they munched on hard bread and warmed themselves with stew, the hunters told of newcomers coming into Woodmen-town and Woodland Hall. "Travelers from the east that say they are from Sunstead have arrived. A good number of them. They say that they served Ceawin, but he had them exiled as traitors."

"Strong men they are, too," said Odil. "Skilled in weapons and riding. They came across the Dwarf-road, daring the dangers of Mirkwood in the Winter."

Arbogast and Amaleoda gave each other a questioning look. If they were Sunstead men, why would they go so far north to cross the forest? Why not just cross at the Narrows and come to the Tarn?

"A good number of them have taken up with Geirbald Kinslayer and his bandits."

The Fire-watcher knew that name, too. The Woodman, though he be a bandit, had aided the Fellowship a few years back when they sought the Millfort.

The two hunters consumed two full bowls of the rich stew and a loaf of bread, as the conversation continued. Arbogast noted that they did not speak of the coins with which they paid for Amaleoda's hospitality.

[tomcat]

Hathcyn scratched at his beard.

The lice were a terrible consequence of working under the boughs of Mirkwood in the winter. Still, to shave off his beard was out of the question.

The Beorning rose from his cot and slid his feet into his boots, then donned a heavy fur. He stepped out of his tent and looked around - the camp was quiet. Many of the workers had either been dismissed with the winter season, or made their own decisions to return to wherever they called home. Hathcyn and a few had stayed, though, and worked through the months to help restore the wayforts that were along the road.

One of those companions had been the minstrel, Tate. Hathcyn had enjoyed the bard's company and even helped the man pen a number of new Beorning songs and poems. But Tate had decided to return home, too, once they had reached the furthest east wayfort. After that, the time spent working had become less bright and jovial - after all, it was just Dwarves and Woodmen then. When the eastern fort had been completed, the work crews split once more. Many of the Dwarven workers returned north to Erebor until the Spring, and Hathcyn and his kin made their way back west towards home.

The young Beorning was happy to see ringlets of Ubhala's auburn hair and the success she had had at raising the cattle he purchased. The holding had fared well with the winter season and things looked good for a productive summer. He tarried there as long as he could and the woman was grateful for his presence, but an awkwardness had grown that stemmed from Hathcyn and Ubhala's attraction, and the fact that she had been only widowed one season. She felt it improper and so Hathcyn left once more, so as not to give her undue stress. He made his way back to where he knew there was work - the Dwarf Road and the strong Millfort on its western end.

Hathcyn looked about him and saw that only Anar was awake with the new morning. The Dwarf had been fixated the last few weeks on material that he had found within the forest. A large stone that Hathcyn was sure was just that, though the Dwarf said differently, along with hardwood that grew within Mirkwood. Anar inspected each piece as if it told a story that was yet to be revealed.

Cold water dripped from the branches above, chilling the Beorning's neck were they landed. Hathcyn looked up to see the bare trees dark against a cobalt blue sky. The sun was rising and warming the land. Spring would soon be upon them. In the distance, the two could hear the headwaters of the Dusky River - surging as they were with the snow melts. It would not be long before the river would overcome its banks and immerse the lowlands along its path. Then there  would be quagmires and bogs, and insects and danger. It was the normal cycle of things.

The sound of a wagon being drawn came into the camp and both Man and Dwarf looked to see who had arrived. It was a supply wain from Stánford. Its arrival was like a trumpeted call waking all that still slept within the camp. Food was scarce and the hunting had been dismal over the last week - Hathcyn was glad to see the baskets of hard bread loaves, as well as bags of flour to make some fresh. A man could eat only so much venison and mushrooms before he went crazy.

News from afar was spoken by both - and it was nice to hear of things back home. Hathcyn's ear perked up when he heard, "Ya...the Master of the Carrock has returned! Beorn sits upon his chair once more and things are well. Seems he is greatly pleased with how Grimbeorn served in his absence, and his thegns have shown their respect."

Another voice, "I hear they are offering gold?" To which another voice replies, "Gold?"

"Yes...gold for any that can aid in finding new paths across the Narrows."

To this there was a great deal of low curses from the Dwarves that heard.

"The news is that Sunstead wants as many as are brave enough to find good paths. They pay with gold!"

"Have they not seen what we've been doing here?!" came an angry response.

"I am sure they have, but that is what's being said. The news comes from down south, Rhosgobel ways."

Hathcyn was a simple man and left the workings of commerce to those who understood, but even he could understand the impact on the Dwarven endeavour by the opening of a newer route through the forest.

A Dwarf spat, "Nothing will come of it! The lands are dangerous there, the closer you get to Dol Guldur. Besides, where do you think all these orcs be headin', with their wargs alongside? Something stirs again in the south and it is closing off the Narrows. Let them pay their gold! The Woodmen will be paying in blood if they pursue this course."

The rest of the day was spent in moody conversation and pondering.

[Eclecticon]

Arbogast listens as the conversation dances about the fireplace, speaking only when necessary.  He does not voice the thought, for instance, that Ceawin's folly waxes, to send away strong warriors in such times as these.  Instead, he listens as the hunters speak to Amaleoda of kinfolk new and old, of the waxing of herds and the waning of wild game.

Only when the two men have eaten and drunk their fill, and Amaleoda had taken her leave to attend to other business, does he begin to make his own inquiries.  "I share your sorrow at the loss of Hunald, for lost he must be, if he has not since been seen.  But you have come far south of your hunting grounds and not, I think, to beseech aid in the recovery of his mortal remains.  I do not seek to cause offence, but I would gladly know the nature of your business here."

[tomcat]

"Don't want to cause offense, do ya?" said Odil, his ire rising. "So maybe then you want to tell me what you think we are doin' here?"

The other hunter held up his hand to keep the younger from saying too much in anger, but Odil went on, "Your brother was right about you, Arbogast! Never too good with your words and how you handle others. I guess that's why you left and live all the way down here in this mudhole!"

"Enough!" said Durwyn, which caused the younger man to look away and drink a long pull from his cup. The hunter looked to Arbogast, and though he too showed visual offense, he chose his words calmly. "We aren't looking for Hunald's remains because we don't know where they lie. We are in the Black Tarn, as it was the first recognizable place we've seen since we left Woodmen-town, lo on three weeks past. We found the river and..."

Odil looked at Durwyn with intent in his eyes, and that intent was for his comrade to stop talking. The older hunter raised a reasoning hand, "We have to tell..."

"Why? It won't matter! We're not sure if it even happened, or if we was seein' things in our frozen state."

Durwyn looked at Arbogast, "There was a woman..."

"Dammit, Durwyn! You just can't stop!"

"There was a woman," said the one ignoring the other, "She moved through the trees, as if she were a ghost. She wore a coat of mail that shimmered in the winter light, looking as if it were scales of fish!"

Odil forcefully set his cup on the table and strode off to stand by the fire.

"Forgive him...he doesn't want any to think us forest-mad! It happens to a man. They go into Mirkwood and soon are lost and their mind begins to play tricks and then there are things...and then no one believes them and they lose their place..."

Durwyn's voice trailed into silence.

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn rushed to embrace his father.  It was different this time than in the past for he was different.  As a matter of fact, when he looked, really looked at his father, he was different too.  "Sit, tell me of your travels.  What brings you back? What news have you of the lands you traveled?"

The young man was eager to hear of the news but also share what had transpired in his father's absence.  The questions he voiced were but the tip of the iceberg that were upon his mind.

[tomcat]

Beorn pulled back from his son's embrace and there was a smile on his face, as he eyed the younger man.

"You have changed, boy. I see that wisdom rests easy now on your brow. That is a sign that the boy fades and the man reveals himself. I am proud of you."

There was much to talk about and Grimbeorn's demands of his father's doings could not be evaded. The father sighed and nodded.

"Long have I walked into the mountains and south...and then north, my son. You will understand one day soon, this need. The beast that lies within us, it is dormant for many cycles of the moon and sun, season to season, though we reveal it and become the bear. There are times when the short spans we allow our inner beast to walk are not enough - and then it is that we must leave the man behind."

Grimbeorn nodded in understanding - he, too, was a skinchanger, though he had not made much practice of it thus far.

"I have walked these many months as a bear and left the man behind. I thoughts as a bear. Ate as a bear. It is not by choice that this is done, for the creature inside must be sated and given its time on Middle-earth. Many things did I learn of our world, while I was an animal. The winds out of the south smell different - an evil whisper blows with them. The water out of the north tastes poisoned once more, by the foul yrks that reside at the headwaters of the Anduin...along with the drakes. It is there fetid bodies and poisoned spittle that leech into our waters.

"Again the Shadow rises and paths are lost, my son. With every step we push forward, the onset of evil holds us back."

Beorn moved to sit in his chair, "That is all I can tell you for now, Grimbeorn. Now returned to the man, I must spend time and contemplate these things that bear has shown me. I must try and understand how we can change the course of the world. Do you understand?"

Grimbeorn gave a nod, but it was plain that he could not relate to everything his father spoke, for he had not yet walked as a bear.

"So tell me," smiled Beorn. "Many things have happened, I have heard, and great are the praises of my thegns for the actions of my son!"

The morning stretched into the afternoon, as Grimbeorn told his father of all of his doings as leader of their clan. Quietly Beorn listened, only nodding when the news was agreeable or scowling when it was not, but never did he interrupt. This was his son proclaiming his deeds, and right or wrong, they were his to make and do - the father could only, and would only, offer counsel and advice. Beorn knew that all leaders could only learn by action, and hopefully the wisdom that came from those results would aid his future.

At last, when the sun had passed its zenith and began began its slow decline to evening did the two finally stand from where they had sat and called for food. The fantastic animals that served their Master brought wood plates with fresh honeycomb and bread, dried fruits and vegetables, as well as a cup each with mead.

Beorn looked to Grimbeorn, "I am back now. I relieve you of your need to keep my seat and concern yourself with our lands." The son nodded, but there was a slight bit of disappointment on his brow. "Fear not, Grimbeorn, this seat is promised you. Instead, I charge you with the task of discovering those things outside the bounds of our lands. To go once more to your friends and serve the people of the Vale. The Shadow does not leave Mirkwood - it seems to lie dormant only to rouse and undulate within its cover. Find the evil, my son, and press our advantages whil'st we have them. Learn of the potential threats, defeat the enemy where you can, and help fortify the homesteads of those that would be free of chains. Do this and grow in strength of body and mind - only then can you best serve our clan."

"I shall do as you ask, father, though it may take me far from home and for an unknown number of seasons."

"Much more will you learn abroad then sitting within this hall, my son. Take that time - learn from it and grow. Soon, too, you must release the beast within you. It need only short periods, but through it you will learn, too."

Again Grimbeorn nodded.

Father and son spent the rest of the day talking, visiting their people, and discussing the upcoming summer season. At the end of the day, Grimbeorn lay down in his furs. He was content of mind and heart. He had made his father proud.

In the morning, he would leave. Perhaps Rhosgobel? There was always something happening near that Brown wizard - and that meant he would find his friends.

Yes, Rhosgobel, he thought as his eyes closed. Hathcyn was working the road...Perhaps he will join me. I will have to stop and see, along my path.

[tomcat]

Okay - everyone has some form of working dialogue narrative to start our new chapter, except Jacob. I will be introducing Eomund in my next narrative post.

I need you all to think of what you want to do with the fragments you have:

• Mountain Hall has suffered a calamity
• Sunstead's ruler is acting peculiar, but offering real gold for services
• the enemy has been seen moving south in great bands
• Hunald is missing in the forest

You all can let me know as we come back together as a Fellowship after a long cold winter.

Ayrn, is Tate going to be active in this chapter? Let me know if anything has changed for you.

[tomcat]

To Jacob and Mike - a few other notes on how we use the boards:

For basic, non-player related out of character chat ( ) - I use this color of maroon.

For any information that is directly related to characters and npcs (i.e. hero dice rolls, dice results, etc.), I use the color navy.

For any information that is related to the Enemy, I use red.

I do this so it can quickly be discerned as to what the information is regarding, as you scroll through a thread. It helps when you have to look for things.

You do NOT have to put any In-character dialogue in bold. I know there are a number of PbP sites that the LM wants character chatter bold, but I do not. Thanks on this!

We have been telling our story in the third-person and past-tense, so if you could stay in that theme it would be great.

I ask for this consistency due to me collecting and consolidating all of these posts into a neat and novel-like PDF. The less I have to edit, the easier it is. Thanks on this, too!

Anyway...I look forward to a couple posts from the PC's I have introduced thus far and then I will move things along.

[Eclecticon]

Weary as he is, the Fire-watcher bristles at Odil's insults.  The thought springs unbidden into his mind and trips its spiteful way on to his tongue: what care have I for your woe and your suffering?  If you are fools enough to go blithely into Mirkwood, then may Mirkwood have you!  His patience, however, wins out, and though the resentment is plain on his countenance, it remains unvoiced.  Instead, he turns to the fire to watch the flames flicker and dance, and when he speaks, it is as if he addresses the coals.  

"Forgive my rash words, for I marked not that you were so long lost.  I assumed rather that you had made your way here following your return.  Here," he says, rising to his feet, "let me refill your cups."  

With the bygone winter's ale once more foaming in their hands, the two hunters seem somewhat mollified.  Arbogast settles once more beside them at the fire-pit and says "it may ease your minds to know that the woman you beheld was no vision springing from hunger and fatigue, though I know well how such things may seem real.  She is one of the River-maidens, of whom I am sure you have heard.  Duskwater (for so Men name her) is well-known to the folk of Sweartmereseld and indeed is kin to many, my own wife among them.  Though I find it passing strange that she was seen going forth on dry land."  

Another sudden thought strikes him, and this time he speaks his mind: "did her appearance in some way herald your discovery of the gold that you gave to the Shieldmaiden?  Such wealth is hardly commonly found in this country."  

The three men speak for some time, the two hunters rehearsing the tale of their finding of the treasure and the Fire-watcher sharing tales of the River-maidens' doings of old, their rumoured dalliances with Men of the wood, and the recent enmity that seems to have arisen between Duskwater and the folk of Black Tarn Hall.  

Late that night, as the fire burns low in the pit and Lindwine and his daughters slumber around him, Arbogast lies awake, already picturing the paths that must soon carry him away from their warmth and comfort, and toward the source of these new troubles of his folk. 

...after a long cold winter.

Man, this sounds so good right now.  Just before the start of December we had a heat wave that sent the mercury past 105° (if my conversion is right) at my place.  Bushfires have ripped through an area the size of Belgium in the central coast of the state, and it's only the start of summer...

Also:

We have been telling our story in the third-person and past-tense, so if you could stay in that theme it would be great.

I ask for this consistency due to me collecting and consolidating all of these posts into a neat and novel-like PDF. The less I have to edit, the easier it is.

For our new players – I have never, ever done this and Doug still hasn't kicked me off the board, so obviously there's some flexibility there.  

[Eclecticon]

Beorn pulled back from his son's embrace and there was a smile on his face, as he eyed the younger man.

One last thing - Beorn is pretty laconic in The Hobbit, and in our game, most of the time.  But I'm loving the way he opens up when it's just him and Grimbeorn.  Turns out the Old Bear actually has plenty to say, it's just that nobody except his own blood relatives would understand most of it.

[Telcontar]

"Gold is gold, you may call it the feet of the war bird, or any other fancy skald word you wish. Doesnt change that it is what it is. The narrows are shorter too, less toil."

"Let the woodmen build there, a road there will do nothing for us."

"Did you hear what I said, they are paying in gold for the work. One year there would pay three or more up here."

"The dwarves could pay in gold, they'll make plenty off of our backs while sharing very little with us."

"Bold words, especially since you're eating the bread they provided."

So the conversations in barracks went sparked by the talk of gold in the south.

Hathcyn spoke sparingly on the topic, but pondered the implications of a woodman road. The issues touched upon his personal interests, but after all his time with Grimbeorn he also began to ponder the impact to the region.

"Longspear," spoke Harhold. "What do you think about this opportunity for richer coin."

"I have none."

"That does not sound like you."

"The Wolfslayer has been down that way and met the lord of Sunstead. I'd hear his opinion on the matter before I wore my shoes down to nothing and found myself hungry far to the south."

"I think our time here on the road is finished for the moment. The season changes again and I would find Grimbeorn."

[tomcat]

Another sudden thought strikes him, and this time he speaks his mind: "did her appearance in some way herald your discovery of the gold that you gave to the Shieldmaiden?  Such wealth is hardly commonly found in this country."

Durwyn the Hunter nods at Arbogast's mention of Duskwater and the River-maidens, "Aye, we are aware of them but never have I seen, in any of my years, their presence! Yet there she was! Beckoning as if to show us the way. Her silver armor thin and yet nothing else did she wear, in this winter cold. It seemed her scales would shift from brilliant silver to black of night, depending on how she moved."

"She said no word to us, only beckoned with her hands, as she flitted from tree to tree." It was Odil that spoke. He had returned with a calmer mood.

"Yes, she moved as if from one to the other, though we did not see her pass between!" Durwyn's eyes began to widen with wonder. "The one thing though is she did not stray far from the river's edge, as we moved south. The Dusky was covered in ice, but it was always close. Then she was gone and we continued south. The Black Tarn, I says to Odil, we should reach it if we keep the river on our right. And so we marched hard with few stops and left Hunald behind..."

The older man looked down at his cup. There was a terror in his eyes. One that came with the knowledge of being alone and stranded within the sea of trees.

Odil picked up the story, "And there she was again! A large hole in the ice and there she stood! Her bare torso above the freezing river water, only her long hair to keep her modesty. She was pointing to the east and Durwyn and I looked to where she gestured. It was a cairn. Old and ancient - nothing built by the clans, I'd say."

"Yeah, Arbogast. It was there - stone and earth and an open crevice to what lie within. Our madness got the better of us and we entered."

"That's enough, Durwyn!"

The older hunter snarled, "They must know, for maybe it could be their own!" The younger relented once more. "Arbogast...we entered the cairn and...yes, we found gold coins, old and pressed with symbols unknown. I bent down to scoop them up for there was plenty and...well, it would make a man rich with such gold coins. That is when I saw them in the torchlight. Bodies lying in repose. Young, old, man, woman and child...dead."

Durwyn looked afraid. Odil stared away as if in shame.

"We ran...south. We are here now."

[tomcat]

Tom and Matt - I want to see if Paul has anymore to say with Arbogast, based on my current post, but otherwise we should be good as to reasons for you to come together.

I would like some story input from Mike for Anar, as to what he thinks of the news and if he would stay with his Dwarven brothers, or go south with Hathcyn. If the former, well, I need a new character idea, Mike. If the latter, that is cool, just need the narrative/dialogue from your PC.

If you need suggestions why he would go with the two men, maybe he is wants to see if the words are true and that Sunstead is paying gold and subverting the Dwarven labors. Maybe he has a bond due to the battle, or maybe you have your own ideas - so give me a post when you can.