A House Between the Halls

[Eclecticon]

The oak wood stretches before and after the company, unchanging, ever-changing.  Here, miles from either the Dusky River or the edge of the forest, signs of Men are few, and of Elves none, for of all the wild and empty places for which Wilderland is known and named, Mirkwood is the lonest and wildest.  Even here, though, there are outposts of the hardy wood folk, where here and there a small clan has made its home away from the great Houses. 

So it is with the house of Maracar, who was in the days of the Axebreaker's youth a hunter and warrior of no mean renown.  His dotage he now spends settling the disputes of his ever-squabbling sons, but ever has he an open hand and a place by the hearth for travellers betwixt Rhosgobel and Woodmen-Town.  Now, as dusk draw near, it is an ideal place for the company to bed down in safety before pushing on to the home of Radaghast. 

As Esgalwen approaches, she smells the delicious aromas of roasting meat join with the raucous chorus of day-birds finding roosts for the night and night-birds beginning to awaken and call out their defiance of the darkness.  The Ranger's thoughts wander as she reminisces of feasts at Minas Tirith and King Bard's palace, and many places in between.  Her mouth is already watering in anticipation of other fare than dark bread and smoked mutton, and it is not until she has raised her hand to knock upon the door that she realises that the voices from inside are not those of Men.  Placing her ear to the wood, she at last makes out the words:

 Goblins is a courteous folk
  Always polite and real well spoke!
  After a fight when we's the winner
  Bring the foe back home for dinner!

  Dwarves is tough and mostly beard.
  Elves is stringy and tastes weird.
  In better times we eats Man-flesh
  Smoke it, cook it or raw and fresh!

  Put the fallen in the pot!
  Eat 'em up, we'll have the lot!
  Bring 'em to the Goblin feast!
  All of 'em to the Goblin feast!

[Eclecticon]

Following closely, Grimbeorn and Hathcyn watch as Esgalwen pauses and presses her ear to the door.  Even in the fading light, they see her face pale as she motions for silence.  Grimbeorn, his hand already reaching for Bear Claw, raises his bushy eyebrows in question as Hathcyn sweeps his gaze across the clearing behind the companions, wary of an ambush. 

"Goblins are within," the Ranger whispers.  The two Beornings' blood chills as they recall another steading, on another day.


Right, while Doug's indisposed, I'm throwing it open for other folks' reactions.   

[tomcat]

Sorry - just slammed. I have State and Federal continuing education to do, as well as working on our new store.

Really tired... mentally.

I read this a day ago and completely forgot that it set up my PC for an action. I will get a post up tonight.

[Eclecticon]

Hah!  No worries, Doug.  I've just gone through a two-week period during which I didn't get a single decent night's rest, culminating in having to pull myself together to summarise a major stakeholder's submission to a review of our unit's biggest piece of legislation on the basis of maybe two hours' sleep.  I think the result was in complete sentences but I otherwise make no promises as to its quality. 

[GandalfOfBorg]

"We should try to determine if any Men are still inside.  If not, burn it and be done with the place," says Grimbeorn.  He is in no mood for these dalliances.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn pondered a moment.

"I have a track record for burning halls, but in this instance we must be sure."

"Let us Set the wood and tinder and then I'll see what can be seen."


  Is there a smoke hole I can peer into on the roof? Or bette yet carefully work a hole in the thatch?

[Eclecticon]

Part of the beauty of thatch rooves is that they don't need smoke-holes - the smoke works its way into the thatch and actually helps preserve it (by encouraging pests to dwell elsewhere). 

Now that I've nerded out about traditional building methods, getting up on to the roof won't be hard (they're designed to be climbable since the roofs need re-thatching every 8-12 years or so NO MORE THATCH FACTS BAD GM BAD!).  Doing it quietly enough to escape notice - and especially making a peep-hole, will need a Stealth roll. 

[GandalfOfBorg]

Esgalwen and Grimbeorn prep setting the place a blaze while Hathcyn checks out the house.

[Eclecticon]

Tom, are you on board with that plan?

[Telcontar]

  damn, you are on to my ploy of baiting you into rolling for me.

Rolled 1d12 : 10, total 10

Rolled 2d6 : 2, 1, total 3

[Telcontar]

Im favoured in that so it might need a hope

[tomcat]

Esgalwen goes to the forest edge to find loose kindling and other wood that will make for a quick fire. She pulls free old branches with dried leaves still clinging in their place.

All the while going to and fro, she keeps a steady eye on the ground in hopes to find, in the dwindling light of day, some evidence that maybe Maracar and his people fled. To find them all dead within would be very dispiriting.  The Ranger marked, too, the structure of the hall to see how many doors would allow exit - or entrance.
Can one of us assist in this task and throw him a success dice? I understand that he has to climb the actual thatch roof, but the assist can come from Grimbeorn locking fingers together and hoisting him up.

I am going to make two rolls for Esgalwen to move about quietly and to see what she can see for tracks and doors.

TN -- stealth 3d

1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 2, 2, total 8

TN -- awareness 3d

1d12 : 4, total 4
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 1, 3, total 8

-or maybe you want Search instead for seeing if the people fled?

TN -- search 2d

1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 2d6 : 1, 1, total 2

[tomcat]

Esgalwen moved like a shadow across the grounds of Maracar's home, bringing kindling as needed, all the while searching the pattern of the tracks that were so numerous. Families lived and worked here and had moved about in their constant tasks, which made her efforts difficult to be sure. She tried to puzzle out the tale that they told, even as Grimbeorn prepped the hall for the torch.
I am marking my sheet for Stealth, but let me know if either other test is a success. Granted the implies an auto-success, but that is only if it is a test you would require.

Also, so that you know - I keep a copy of my sheet resident on my PC with intent to update Dropbox sheet when necessary. You always take care of the DB sheet, so instead it turns out to be an audit activity instead. 

[Eclecticon]

Finding and following tracks is more properly Hunting, but I'll go with the roll since the skill levels are exactly the same.  I've marked up successes for Stealth (tagging her Adventurous quality) and Hunting. 

Can one of us assist in this task and throw him a success dice? I understand that he has to climb the actual thatch roof, but the assist can come from Grimbeorn locking fingers together and hoisting him up.

It's kinda late here and I can't quite be arsed looking through the minutiae of the rulebook.  I'm going to say that Hathcyn needs to spend his own Hope, and I've updated his character sheet accordingly.  If someone finds something to contradict me, you have until tomorrow evening-ish (your time) to let me know, that being the time when I'll next have an opportunity to post. 

[Eclecticon]

As Hathcyn works his way steadily up the timbers on to the roof, Esgalwen uses the keen eyes of the Dúnedain and the last light of the day to make out any recent tracks, and her heart leaps when she finds precisely what she seeks.  Four sets of small prints, running abreast, make a straight trail between a back door of the Hall and the edge of the wood.  Children, she decides.  Moving at an easy run, she follows. 

On the roof, Hathcyn's grip slips on an old patch of thatching and for a terrible half-second he slides askew, pulling the stalks from their place.  In spite of his peril, however, he does not cry out, and the occupants of the hall do not seem to hear him.  Inching over to the hole now open in the roof, he peers in, easily spying eight spindly-limbed goblins seated around a rough-hewn table.  As they bellow and bicker, occasionally breaking into more raucous song, three women rush to keep their mead-horns full while, in a cauldron on the hearth, an entire spring worth of vegetables and sausage renders down into a rich-smelling soup.  At the rear end of the hall, hanging from a rafter, he sees the beaten and bloody form of old Maracar dangling from his bound wrists.  From his vantage point, the Longspear cannot tell whether he still draws breath.  No sign does he find of Maracar's three sons. 

Esgalwen, meanwhile, pursues the fugitive children into the wood, he heart full of worry at the dangers even of this more temperate part of Mirkwood.  Rounding the trunk of an ancient tree, though, all her fears are assuaged, for the four, clad in homespun smocks and with dirty, bare feet, cluster about the robes of a man who, while elderly, carries himself with the calm assurance of a great lord.  His hand holds a staff from which shines a clear and somehow calming light, and his robes are as pale and pure as the White Tree itself.  From somewhere nearby, the much more familiar form of Radaghast emerges.  "Ah!" exclaims the Brown Wizard.  "You're here!"