The Lowly and the Dead

[Eclecticon]

Though the wind off the Long Lake has risen once again to bluster and chill, a deeper cold still seems to have descended upon the small gaol that stands apart from the rest of the town, as a single tree might stand sentry before a broad forest, connected by a single rope and plank bridge.  The few men standing guard huddle around the warmth of a brazier, having placed the bodies from the morning's fatal brawl in the furthest corner of the otherwise empty building. 

They make a show of stopping the companions and asking their business, but upon being informed that they come on the business of the Council, they are only too happy to let the Fellowship inspect the bodies.  For their part, they return to sit with their backs to the wall, casting occasional glances at the dead men as if in fear that they will rise again to work further evil, the whisperings of the ancient dead at the Tollhouse and the bewitchment of those who assailed the bearers of the wizard's casket having surely reached their ears. 

The dead men have been arranged with some neatness on the floor, and their pallid flesh and blood-drenched clothes make their wounds seem even more ghastly.  A quick search of each turns up more silver coins minted in the mode of Cardolan-that-was, and rings and torcs fashioned in a way foreign to the folk who today inhabit the North. 

Arbogast's eyes widen when he beholds the body of the bowman.  "I knew this man," he says.  "He is... that is, he was Ansovald who was kin to Amaleoda and who loosed his arrows at the Field of Heroes." 

At his companions' questioning looks, he adds "I heard from the workers on the Road that he did not return home after the murders and the bitter parting.  The folk of Sweartmereseld asked after him, but no-one knew of his goings.  It was thought he might have taken up the life of an adventurer, or perhaps gone east, to Dale." 


Matt, I'm just seeing what else Laeral might know about the jewellery:
Craft

1d12 : 2, total 2
Rolled 2d6 : 1, 2, total 3

[Eclecticon]

Okay, the jewellery is not anything the like of which Laeral, in all her long years and wanderings, has seen before. 

[GandalfOfBorg]

"Now these are their things, but we must look over the bodies themselves.  There might be a tell-tale brand or marking that could distinguish how these disparate people are connected," says Laeral.

Awareness -  1d12 : 4, total 4
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 6, 6, total 18

[tomcat]

Summoned the beast on that one!   

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn stood back this his hand on his chin and looked at the bodies. He thought of stories and tales, lore from the past and boogey stories that may contain a grain of truth. Then he thought of the facts and circumstances that brought them all here. He thought of the animal cults of his people. Though little known to non Beornings each tribe had their own rites and representations of their totem animals.

"Is there anything reoccurring on the treasure, a symbol or motif? Or is it the wealth itself that stands as the symbol?"

Hathcyn approached and opened the eye lids of the dead to see if the eyes were still cloudy, or if in death they had cleared of their madness. He next looked at their lips and in their mouths to see if some common drink or food had been shared among them.

[Telcontar]

  Insight and Awareness are the same dice for me.

Rolled 1d12 : 9, total 9

Rolled 3d6 : 5, 1, 5, total 11

[tomcat]

Esgalwen sighed with frustration with Arbogast's news. If they were not locals, then there would be little to lead them to either Solveig or any other person in Lake-town.

Again her mind returned to Ceawin and his unearthing of things long dead along the trek north from Sunstead. Hathcyn began to talk and the Ranger's mind went to the same thought. Were these people possessed and if so, was it with the spirits of these things long dead?

Ceawin was already flirting with the barrows of dead-men surrounding Sunstead. Was there a common thread?

"Yes, Hathcyn, my thoughts, too. What if they possess items of the dead and the spirits of the dead possessed them?" She, too, bent herself on the items that each body wore upon their person.

[Eclecticon]

Hathcyn moves from corpse to corpse, noting carefully the condition of each mouth and eye.  There is naught to be found in the mouths of the dead, though, save what he could readily find in his own, and whatever glint of madness or fell sorcery he spied in their eyes a scant hour ago has faded into dimness with their passing.  Cursing under his breath he stands, only to witness Laeral, one corner of her mouth rising in a sardonic smile, tug the dead Viglunding's shoes from his feet. 

"Looting such rude things seems beneath you, come as you are of such a lofty lineage," Hathcyn ventures, somewhat confused. 

The Elf-lady's answering laugh is like the sound of ice crystals falling in the first thaw of spring, and draws the attention of all the men in the room.  "Look," she says, pointing to the well-worn sole.  "See this line here?" 

Hathcyn looks, and beneath layers of muck and grime can indeed see a straight, red-orange line across the instep.  "They all have them," Laeral adds, "and I should wager it is rust." 

"And?  Are we to look for a house with a rusty doorstep then?" 

She cocks her head to one side, her eyes mock-serious.  "You could do so, but the days of a Man's life may be few to accomplish such a thing!  The Men of this town, it seems, prefer to build most everything from the flesh of trees."   

"Some merchants," Arbogast ventures, "keep warehouses near the market pool, with iron ladders for their men to raise heavy wares from boats come straight in under the timbers.  I would hazard that our conspirators met beneath such a place.  If we are fortunate, perhaps they still intend to." 


It's taken a while, but you're starting to close in on them.  Don't give up now...

Doug, I'll do an Awareness roll to see what Esgalwen sees:
This dice roll has been tampered with!
1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 2d6 : 6, 2, total 8

[Eclecticon]

Esgalwen, meanwhile, iss lost in thought, her fingers wandering over torcs and collars of beaten copper, stamped in subtle ways with devices of suns and serpents, symbols of Harad in the south.  What can this mean, she asks herself, and what connection does it have with Tafan the Haradrim?

[Eclecticon]

Doug, there's scope for more information here if Esgalwen wants to spend a Hope point...

[tomcat]

Hey Paul, just as an FYI - I think Matt is temporarily playing Laurel at the moment, as Grimbeorn is stuck with duties of court.

And yes - Esgalwen will definitely use the point to see this matter clearly.

[Eclecticon]

MOFO!  You're absolutely right, and he was doing it at my suggestion too.  Sorry, Matt!

EDIT:  Fixed. 

[Eclecticon]

There must be more... something I am not seeing, the Ranger thinks to herself, for Tafan was an honourable man who may yet pay a terrible price for his service to the White Wizard.  She bends again to her task as she hears Laeral laugh with a sound like a ray of sun through thick cloud, scowling with momentary envy despite her best intentions. 

All thoughts of her elven companion are pushed aside, however, as she sees in the light spilling from the thin, tall windows something that she took to be part of the craftsmanship of the southern jewellery.  Here and there, in ways that, once noticed, clearly do not fit any pattern, there are sharp edges where it seems like pieces of the precious metals have been clipped away.  Carefully loosening the torc round the neck of the Osgar, who was Mogdred's man, she raises it up to show the others.  "What do you make of this, my friends?" 

For a while, furrowed brows are her only answer as the other three look over the clipped portions carefully.  It is Hathcyn who breaks the silence.  "This has passed through the hands of goblins, methinks.  I have heard tell that the smaller orcs may be forbidden by their masters from having their way with precious things, if they are intended as gifts for weak-minded Men.  But it is ever in their nature to covet, and to do harm to things of beauty, so they steal and cut away small portions of the material to temper their lust for destruction." 

Esgalwen's heart beat slightly faster at the obvious conclusion.  No matter what dreadful spell may have lain upon them afterwards, the loyalty of these men was first bought and paid for with silver from ancient barrows, and gold from Mordor. 

[Eclecticon]

for all recent AP and Hope points. 

[Eclecticon]

Esgalwen is quiet as she ponders the jewelry - which was given by someone after goblins' had possessed it and clipped at the gold/silver. It either came from a dark master, or was taken from the barrows of men by some Sunstead thegn we know, after the goblins had robbed the tombs prior?

Either way, it does not reveal a path for her - except to add to her feeling that Ceawin needs to be spoken to. Otherwise, the rust should be pursued, but that was not being discussed with her, so I was waiting on Tom of Matt to chime in.