FELLOWSHIP PHASE - YEAR END 2955

[tomcat]

Fellowship Phase... each PC is awarded:

Each PC will earn the number of AP equal to what is checked off on their sheet plus 4

Each PC will earn 6 XP

Holdings roll may be made by those who have them:

• if the die roll result is equal to or less than the Holding's rating, you earned enough income to keep your PC's current standard of living.

• if the roll is greater than the rating, the PC gains his standard of living and treasure equal to the difference of the die roll and the rating.

• if the roll is , the PC earns his standard of living and the rating of the holding is reduced by 1 due to some good fortune.

• if the roll is , the holding suffers some disaster of misfortune. If the hero does not take action the next Fellowship Phase, the holding may be destroyed, or have its rating increase

Weal and Woe roll may be made by all PCs

• 1-2 A Grim year [see page 135 of the Adventurer's Companion Guide for results]
• 3-5 The Quiet of the World/Burdens [see page 135 of the Adventurer's Companion Guide for results]
• 6-8 Blessings/Well Guided and Well Guarded [see page 136 of the Adventurer's Companion Guide for results] 
• 9-10 A Worthy year [see page 136 of the Adventurer's Companion Guide for results]
• or Life-changing Events [see page 136 of the Adventurer's Companion Guide for results]

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn has the following:
XP: 25
AP: 5

He will acquire:
Valour 5 (16 XP)
Effect - Cunning Armor (-2 enc)

He has left:
XP: 9
AP: 5

Fortune roll 

Rolled 1d12 : 11, total 11

[Eclecticon]

Ho-kay, that leaves Arbogast with 12 AP and 8 XP.  I'll bank the latter and spend the former on bumping his Explore up to 4. 

I'll update his character sheet when I get home.  In the meantime, here is his Holding roll...

1d12 : 3, total 3

and A Fortune roll for general life-ness:

1d12 : 4, total 4

[Telcontar]

Weal and Woe Roll for holding

Rolled 1d12 : 6, total 6

[Telcontar]

This puts Hathcyn at 8xp and 16 AP

[Eclecticon]

Some Hope-focused mechanical bits:
- Grimbeorn loses a Hope point when Arbogast gets wounded (sorry, Matt).
- Everyone except Esgalwen recovers a Hope point from the Fellowship poll. 
- There are two points left over - one is the one she didn't take, and the other from Grimbeorn's Honey Cakes.  Given that Arbogast recovered another point from the fact that Grimbeorn didn't get wounded (thanks, Matt) and is back to full Hope for the first time since the first adventure (), Grimbeorn and Hathcyn should share them.

[Eclecticon]

For Arbogast's Undertaking, he will use the power of ROCK Song to Heal Corruption:

1d12 : 2, total 2
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 1, 6, total 11

[Eclecticon]

Well that's disappointing!  Nevertheless, the dice have a story that they want to tell, and we lie prostrate before their randomising glory.

[Eclecticon]

Road status (as of the end of the last Fellowship Phase):
1. clearing the road
2. restoring the wayforts
3. restoring the road
4. patrolling the nearby woods, and
5. acting as messengers to drum up trade.

Arbogast will put another Undertaking in to completing the restoration of the road.  We're nearly there, guys!

[GandalfOfBorg]

Hope - Sounds fine to me.

Grimbeorn is up for the road undertaking as well.  He's all about keeping an eye on his friend after the harsh beating our group took and he feels responsible.

Only problem is that Grimbeorn's luck roll pooped out on him again -- looks like he's been pinned down for marriage 

[Eclecticon]

BUT TO WHOM??

[tomcat]

As I said in the other thread, I will have more up tomorrow.

[Eclecticon]

The days after Arbogast returns home, the scar he now bears on his arm still fresh and livid, are strange.  Though his daughters rush to his embrace, and Lindwine's hand is once again warm in his, he can find no reassurance in them.  Not can he take comfort in familiar surroundings: the great hearth of Sweartmereseld, the tiny cabin wherin he and Lindwine dwelled together, his unruly garden and the fallen tree where he would hold conversation with the winged messengers of Radaghast - all of these now seem foreign to him, as if their well known forms now conceal some newly-apprehended menace.  Most especially, he finds that he has grown bitter at the sight of the Black Tarn.

And so it is that, when the time comes once again for the sweat of Men to be exchanged for the silver of Dwarves, he is ready to beg on his knees for his family to accompany him northward.  "This is our home," he says to Lindwine, "and yet it had become hateful to me.  Amaleoda has bid us to leave and not return, and I cannot but feel that there is wisdom in her words."

Hearing this, Lindwine almost flinches, and though she casts her gaze downward to hide her eyes, the tightness of her body is clear. " I cannot claim to share my cousin's view," she answers after some moments.  "You are accustomed to life in the wild, and to the sight of far horizons.  But for the camps at the Forest Road, though, this is the only home I have ever known, and though I feel keenly the threats that assail it, it grieves me to think that the day may come when I shall bid my kinfolk farewell, and look upon its familiar sights nevermore."

The Fire-watcher opens his mouth to respond, but she speaks faster.  "I love you, and I will abide with you, wherever that may be.  But I ask that you turn your heart not against this place that I love with almost equal fervour and force.  May it be that time spent apart from it will heal your heart of its aches and cares."

Taking her hands in his, he echoes her words.  "So may it be."

[Telcontar]

I'll be undertaking the Forest Road as well. Hathcyn has looked at that project as his future. As well as his standing so that he can rise above his base standing and maybe marry Aestid. That might bring the northern Vigs into the fold in a long term game.

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn leaves the field with his folk, a down note for all in how the games ended.  The loss of men to a faceless enemy, the encounter at the river and almost losing his friends, and unanswered questions hung about the Beorning lord like a gloom of storm yet to come.  The return trip home was uneventful and so didn't improve his disposition given there was nothing to distract him from his thoughts.

Yet upon his return he found more "good news".  In the time away, it appears his father had brokered a promising peace throughout the Vale and the return of those who attended the festival came at a time in the midst of the revel to celebrate this auspicious occasion.  On its own, it would have been great news, even but for a time, but in order for the deal to be sealed, a union had to be made.  Beorn offered up his son to wed the daughter, Gemma, of the clan leader from the mountains, while others had similar unions or trading of goods or lands, and oaths were all sworn over the Carrock sealed in blood.  The final great unification of the Vale had come and now it all hinged upon the last promise a father had made in his son's stead.

And you thought you've seen bears clash in the past! Teeth gnashed, claws scraped like steel across stone, the roars were heard from miles around.  But in the end, words were spoken and Grimbeorn knew deep in his heart his father was right.  They may not have been great lords in castles like Dale or Minas Tirith, yet politics and alliances were the same - sacrifices were to be made for the best of the people and to both men the people were everything.

News spread far and wide to the shock and delight of many, the dismay of others, and the intrigue of yet more.  Many would come to see their union sealed, others would come for what this spectacle might bring, and more would be there for other purposes. Preparations were made for the troth to be held after the ancient Beorning fashion on the night of the Cold Moon that began the winter's festival.

Time drug on as the day slowly and yet all too quickly approached.  He itched to get out and move because began to feel confined in his surroundings. He worked the road for a bit but the back of his mind he knew he go in the opposite direction and see his betrothed, if not just to put his mind at ease as to who and what is to come.  Slow started his tread towards the east and north but soon came steady and determined as his resolve firmed and he arrived in the village of the mountain clan's leader.  Grunthar met the man, no longer green in years, but one that has come into his own.

"Grimbeorn! I welcome you as a brother and friend. I know why you have come and begrudge you not.  I, too, would seek to know my fate if it were written for me," he said chuckling. "My daughter will join us at the evening meal, but for now we have much to discuss."

The two men talked, joined by other elders and leaders of the clan, speaking of their trials and triumphs in the hard lands. At first thy were wary of his presence but hearing him speak and those that knew of his exploits, they grew more at ease as time went on.  Goblins were multiplying again, more than ever before.  Whispers of Gundabad and other ominous talk was spreading.  Even the ridge walkers, those that dare climb the highest peaks in the Misty Mountains, saw strange sights away south - a darkness billowing that had only been heard of in stories and ancient legends past.  This talk only reminded Grimbeorn more of his friends and his adventures over the years and he retreated into himself.

It seemed like it wasn't long ere he came back to present yet found himself famished.  Yet before he said anything he and the others were being served by the Grunthar's household, he and Grunthar by a particularly striking young woman, a little more than half Grimbeorn's age.  "Ah, yes. Are your eyes open now, my lord? This is Gemma, your betrothed.  Gemma, this is—"

"Yes, father, I know who he is," she said curtly.

"Impertinent girl, know your place," and her only response was to roll her eyes.  "I apologize, Grimbeorn, but maybe you can teach her some manners."

"Doubtful," he thought and replied with a smile and raised his glass towards the young woman in thanks.  "Grunthar, I have a mind to stay here for a time to see these lands.  Until now, these are the only parts of our people that I haven't experienced.  May I have your leave to do so?"

The old man, who looked like one looked as if he were cut from the rock itself, eyed him a moment and grunted an acceptance.  Downing his drink, Grimbeorn begged his leave of the table and offered his thanks to his host.

Days and nights came and went with Grimbeorn coming to understand these people better and he was grateful for the time.  On and off he saw Gemma, mostly at the meals with the other women.  When he went out at night though he thought he saw her steal away from the village on occasion.  Curiosity got the best of him and he followed.

A distance from the village he lost whomever he followed, searching around a bit and finding nothing, he decided to return.  Before he did though, the hackles on his neck raised and he knew he was being watched.  A low purring came from his right and when he looked, he saw yellow eyes in the deep shadows.  Slowly they stalked forward toward the moonlight glow and the shadow emerged, vaguely transforming from a large cat into a woman. It was Gemma after all.

"You know I could've killed you and you wouldn't even had a chance to cry out?" she asks, matter-of-factly.  "I could have just left you here and none would be the wiser and no one would care.  Yet you came and I didn't.  What does that say to you, bear-prince?"

He barely opened his mouth to reply and she cut him off. "I'll tell you - it means I care more for my people than I do for your life or mine for that matter.  I am no man's chattel or bargaining chip and I won't be treated as such."

"Nor will you.  We are the children of our family and circumstance.  We are the future of our people and sacrifice is needed to prove our worth as that future for our folk.  I did not seek this arrangement myself and haven't sought to entangle myself in such a state but here we are."

He demeanor softened a bit.  As she heard his words, looked into his eyes, and felt his heart, she knew he spoke the truth before he said it and his was a heart like her own.  "I still don't like it," she pouted then laughed.  They both did.

The remaining days that Grimbeorn spent with the mountain folk were productive and he found he enjoyed seeing Gemma when he could, though it was only during the day as she helped the women in the household.  Years later he would say the only thing he recalled of the time he spent there was her laughter - he likened it to that of his mother when he was a young boy.

Time finally came for the nuptials and the preparations were made.  The Beornings came from all about to celebrate the couple and the new year as one people. The man and woman stood before their people making vows to one another that they no longer begrudged and saw a future in themselves as their people did in them.  Returning from atop the Carrock, the most sacred of all their places, a great cheer rang through the dell.

It was at that moment a crooked black arrow flew and a cruel laugh broke the silence after the young woman fell.

Grimbeorn was sweating away the day with Hathcyn in the new spring.  The road improved with each new day and both his friends did as well.  The guilt still remained from their trial at the river and Grimbeorn was overprotective of them.  The work also kept his thoughts at bay of other things - of the night of blood and bone, claw and tooth.  He was the Bear now.