The Embers Burn Low

[Eclecticon]

Though the way is not far as the gulls of the Long Lake would fly, the tight alleys of the Elven Quarter seem to be so confusing in the night-time that even Laeral is turned about, and by the time she and Hathcyn arrive at the scene of the fight, all is over.  In the street outside a house, looking little different to those on either side, the flickering light of torches lends a twinkling, golden glow to the deep red of blood that has been shed in great quantities.  Fully five Men, and two Elves, lie here, never more to take a breath. 

There is little opportunity to tell more, however, before the way is blocked by stern-faced Elves bearing the arms that mark them as of the Woodland Realm.  Laeral speaks to them briefly, the mellifluous sound of the Sindarin tongue weaving back and forth between them as Esgalwen and Arbogast finally arrive.  Although there is little he can read at this distance, and in the poor light, Hathcyn nonetheless is sure that two of the three slain Men are from west of the Wood.  The folk of Beorn, perhaps, or Woodmen, or perhaps even Viglundings. 

Finally, the she-Elf turns back to her companions.  "We should away from here," she says.  "In yonder house abides Legolas, son of Thranduil, whom these Men sought to slay.  The guards of the Elvenking say that they fought as if in a frenzy, with scant regard for their own survival.  They will abide no more Men in the district until daybreak."

[Telcontar]

"To your folk I assume we all look much the same one to another. But there are differences. Before we go let the eyes if a man view this scene and to see what perhaps keener eyes but ignorant may miss. Who and where they come from will be of great interest. Pray let them give me a moment to see clearly who and what we have fought this night."

[Eclecticon]

Laeral turns back to the guards, and more agitated speech in Sindarin follows.  Finally, she turns back to the Men.  "They will permit it," she says, "but be brief." 

Hathcyn is already stepping past them to examine the lifeless bodies.  Moments later, Esgalwen and Arbogast join him, to see what may be seen. 


I'll use either Awareness or Riddle, whichever is better for each character.  Slightly different information is available for each skill. 

Arbogast (Riddle)

1d12 : 7, total 7
Rolled 3d6 : 5, 6, 4, total 15

Esgalwen (Awareness)

1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 2d6 : 6, 1, total 7

Hathcyn (Awareness)

1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 1, 2, total 9

[Eclecticon]

Well, some of those could have gone better, but either Esgalwen or Laeral could succeed with a Hope spend.  Also, dammit, I forgot to roll for Laeral:

Laeral (Awareness)

1d12 : 9, total 9
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 5, 6, total 15

[Eclecticon]

I'll progress things when I know whether you want to spend Hope.  At this point, it depends on how much you want some AP. 

[tomcat]

Hope is a commodity that she can't spend anymore of - at least until it is a critical situation.

Arbogast's and Laerel's successes should glean something for us to move forward with.

[Eclecticon]

And I can't see that Hathcyn's distinguishing features would let him claim a third AP in any case.  Very well.  Onward! 

[Eclecticon]

Hathcyn steps forward to examine the dead Men, but all he can bring himself to do is stare at the face of the closest.  By turns illuminated and cast into shadow by the torchlight, there is something elusive yet familiar about it, as if he were recalling it from a dream.  Was he another with whom I shared ale and toil on the road, the Longspear wonders.  But no answer is forthcoming. 

Esgalwen, meanwhile, is torn between a desire to comfort her companion and a longing to cast the cares of the night aside.  Enough have I suffered already for this cause, she thinks, her throat still ragged and aching from the grasp of the mud-wight mere minutes ago.  May the great and the wise wake from their stupor and take it up! 

Lost in her reverie, she marks Learal's presence only when the Elf nudges her shoulder.  In her slender fingers, Laeral holds a blood-slick coin.  "The writing on this is Sindarin," she says, "but my people have struck no coins in two ages of the world.  And no likeness of an Elf is this!" 

Indeed, she is correct, for as Esgalwen examines the silver piece, she recognises the name of king Arsindal of Cardolan.  Turning it about in her hand, she sees that its edges have not been clipped, nor its surface tarnished, as is the case with many of the silver coins she has seen in the markets of Esgaroth and Dale, or indeed in Minas Tirith.  Has this lain undisturbed for nigh two thousand years, she wonders, only to surface here and now? 

By the side of the dead Men, Arbogast rises from his crouch.  "Look," he says to Hathcyn.  "See how there is fresh water-muck on their boots and sleeves, yet no water soaked into their garments?  I will hazard they ventured here on ways hidden beneath the platforms of the town, to arrive unheralded."   

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn breaks his gaze from the dead men slowly and turns to the Firewatcher.

"Yes, I see that now too. So they ventured into the town from below. But what were they doing here or in the tollhouse?"

Hathcyn stood. "Our older friends are quick to see us gone from the quarter. Let us take our leave and puzzle out what we have learned."

[tomcat]

I will post today. I just have to run some errands with the wife.

[tomcat]

"No, Laerel, it is a king of old, of Cardolan. I do not know the image but the name is known to all of Gondor... the Kings of the North of the line of Isildur. It is an ancient coin," Esgalwen thought for a moment, "well, at least ancient for Men. I can only assume that this coin is from a tomb of the old king and that robbers have plundered it, and now use the old coins to buy the allegiance of Men of the Vale."

The Ranger wondered if the old barrows of the Kings of the North could so easily be found. Who would dare do such a thing? Orcs? Trolls? No matter what they were, the old silver was being used to buy foul deeds.

[Telcontar]

"The Lord of Sunstead has dared do such things. His throne is built on scavenged gold and his servants brought those gnarled ruins of bone and mud from the grave of once dead warriors too."