FELLOWSHIP PHASE - Bonds Renewed

[Eclecticon]

Are we waiting on any more narrative stuff?  If not, I can start the next Adventuring phase when we're all ready.

[Telcontar]

Inthink we are good. Anything else I have is flavor

[GandalfOfBorg]

I think I'm good

[tomcat]

  Yea, you can start. All I have left is a flavor post to make.

[Eclecticon]

Cool. Bring the flavour posts in your own time. Don't be shy about it, though - they're the good stuff.

[tomcat]

Okay this is my second Undertaking: Search for Answers. Esgalwen, during her rest in Rhosgobel, sees a young wood-man that comes in with a traveling troupe out of the south near the Toft. The young man is wearing an Ithilien Ranger's leather shirt and well-made backpack.

I will write the narrative below, but first I must roll a Lore test:

TN 14 lore 2d

1d12 : 6, total 6
Rolled 2d6 : 5, 3, total 8

[tomcat]

Now I need to roll on the table on page 33 of DoM. I am going to take a +1 to the roll for my Local-lore trait.

Rolled 1d12+1 : 7 + 1, total 8

[Eclecticon]

Nice!  Let me know what kind of answers she's been searching for (by DM, if you prefer) and I'll see about giving you your two bits of information. 

[tomcat]

The Loremaster must reveal two useful elements of information and I gain 1 XP
The month of May passed into summer and Esgalwen rested her body and mind. Rhosgobel was a simple place, unlike her home of Minas Tirith or even her adopted home of Dale, but it provided a quiet she needed. The druid, Radagast, tended his gardens and his beasts and so the small settlement was alight with bird song and the bright color of flowers.

It was peaceful and healing.

June passed into August and still she had no desire to take up the road. Her bruises were now just ugly, yellow stains but her body was mended - at least as far as she could feel. The damage had been brutal - almost mortal - and the woman that she was wondered at her future. She was a warrior. A Dúnadan. Still she wondered at whether this warrior within her would ever subside and allow the woman she was to come forth. And if so, would her body still be desired? Would she have the capability to offer a future husband children? She was a Dúnadan, a women of Westernesse, and so her life could be counted in years beyond most other mortal women, but how many cuts, stabs, and broken bones could she take and still have that future?

She walked up to a growth of wild roses - the blooms were many and deep red, causing an assortment of honey bees and bumbles to buzz about. Esgalwen thought of Lindwine. She was a warrior, but also a mother. Could Esgalwen have that life, too? And if so, where? Here? In the Vales of Wilderland? How when there was none of her folk nearby, for certain her father would never accept her taking any other's hand in marriage.

"Hello, Lady?" a woman's voice.

Esgalwen turned to see Idunn approaching and she smiled. The healer was also smiling, "It is good to see you up and about. You are feeling well?"

"As well as possible, I suppose."

"It was a cruel blow that took you. You are lucky to be alive."

Esgalwen nodded and gave a smile that did not make it to her eyes, "I am lucky." Idunn could see that there was trouble within the mind of the Gondorian woman, but Esgalwen did not allow her to pursue the matter. "And what of you, my able physician? How do you fare on this fine June day?"

It was Idunn's turn to give a warm smile, "I am well, but I come with news. I depart with the new morning." Esgalwen could not hold back her sadness at the words. This woman had seen her through the worst of her injuries and had never left her side. The lady healer continued, "I must away. The news of the Black Tarn is good. Arbogast and others of Amaleoda's folk are hard at work on the restoration and I must return to help. It is, after all, my home, too. I understand that my services are needed there and I have been gone for too long."

"I fear that because of me, others who might have needed your skills may have perished."

"Lady Esgalwen, do not think such things. I chose to be here with you. I chose to leave the Tarn to bring you here. But do not fret - when the battle was done and your bier had been prepared, I had tended all that I could of my people. Arbogast sent me with you - he would have it no other way. Neither would I. Neither would the Lady Lindwine. You hold a dear place in all of our hearts, Esgalwen, and it was all of our desire to see you healthy once more."

The Ranger could only nod and smile.

"Perhaps when you are ready to take to the road again, you might come see us at the Tarn? I am excited to see what has been accomplished in its repairs."

"I will do that," said the Dúnadan. "And tell Arbogast that I will expect him to have at least a few chores for me to do."

Idunn laughed, "I will do that, Lady!" She moved to turn away saying, "Enjoy the flowers - they are healing in their own way."

"They are that, indeed."

Idunn began to stroll back towards the hamlet's center but stopped momentarily, "Oh, I forgot to tell you - merchants from the south have come into Rhosgobel. They appear to have bolts of cloth upon their wains and other nicely made crafts. I know not from where they hail, but perhaps the wares come from as far south as Gondor! What a thing would that be? To have fine cloth from the great city of Minas Tirith!"

Esgalwen interest was immediately piqued, "Then wait, Idunn! I will accompany you back to said merchants and see if these treasures are truly made by the craftsmen of my home."

The two women walked back to the center of the town and indeed, three wagons stuffed with wares for sale were encircled in the midst of a crowd of folk that also were intrigued. Esgalwen gave Idunn a farewell hug as the healer needed to attend other things, and then she went to the wagons. Two elderly travelers - or merchants - were speaking to the crowd from atop two of the wagons and presenting items and establishing their values. Three other younger men tended to the oxen still harnessed to the yokes, while another, taller man, sat atop his own horse. He was armed with a sword and had the grim look of a man that knew how to use the weapon.

That is when she saw it. The thin, but durable leather shirt that was undeniably crafted by the Rangers of Ithilien. The rugged lands of her home did not allow for heavier armour, nor did it serve the Rangers to not be stealthy. She then saw the backpack that the man wore - one also well-crafted by her kinsmen. But this man was no Gondorian, nor was he Dunédain. He had the look of the men of the Toft - cruel and forsaken.

Without thinking, Esgalwen stormed through the crowd to where the rider sat. Not caring for any courtesies, she spoke in an angry tone, "That armour? From whence did it come? And the pack upon your back, where did you come by these items?"

All that she could think about was her Ranger companions who had come north with her those many years past. Their band had been ambushed by orcs out of the southern wood and they were all separated in the melee. Esgalwen had escaped the fight, but had found her brothers dead under Mirkwood's eaves - at least most of them. Some did not lay among the others and only whispered words of her fellow Rangers being captured was all she had heard since she found Rhosgobel.

The mounted sell-sword sneered down at her, "What business is it of yours, woman? Be off!"

Pulling on his reins, he used the mass of the horse to shove Esgalwen aside, and he trotted the animal away.

"Sir!" said the Gondorian woman, "You will not discount me so and turn deaf and blind to my inquiry! You will answer me." In her anger, the authoritarian voice that came from her years in court was summoned.

[tomcat]

I will also provide an Awe roll...

TN ?? Awe 3d

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

[tomcat]

That is a 17 success. If that cows this man, you can take the narrative from here.

It has been hinted that one of the Rangers survived and is possibly being held in the ruin of the Elftower, but Esgalwen has not had the chance to pursue this course. He might have perished after all these years, or maybe he is a good adventure plot point.

The gear on this guy could be stolen from the dead that were left on the field, but I offer this as a possible side adventure for our group if you want.

As for the answers, she would want to know where he attained the garments and maybe even force him into revealing information about a survivor? I leave that to you, but I did earn an XP so I guess this should also have some tie to our overarching story - otherwise I will give the XP back if this is weak sauce.

[Eclecticon]

The rider flinches visibly as Esgalwen speaks with the voice of the tall Men who came across the sea, and eve his horse backs away a step or two.  "Peace!" he cries.  "These were given to me by Mogdred, King of the Vales, for my service as a messenger and outrider, and thus did I gain them without shame.  As did many others, for all his hearth-companions go forth attired with the same sign of the white tree, and for this Men name them the hwitbeamthréat." 

Esgalwen recalls her long road back to Gondor many years ago, and her longer road in return, bearing mail and swords to arm the strong and noble folk of Tyrants Hill.  Such things would scarce be known among the folk of the Nether Vales, and it seems scarce wonder that they would be set apart and given only to those who prove their worth through loyalty and skill at arms.  She bears the same white tree upon her own breast. 

Or bore, she thinks, for long miles and many a hard-won fight have stripped away the white pigment and necessary repairs have distorted the shape of the blazon.  Yet this man's shirt bears a tree still white against brown leather, its boughs straight and clear.  It seems to her mind, already alive with suspicion, that it could hardly have survived in such condition had it seen use by the followers of Mogdred. 

"Can you say," she asks, "how it came into his hand?" 

"Hah!  I was told that the folk to the north would regard us as little more than lowly robbers, and I see that I was told truly!"  He leans toward her slightly, his next words clearly intended for her alone.  "But the tale is a good one, and no tale is good when left untold.  Last spring, the King's tower was host to a visitor.  A seeress and a witch, by all accounts, who brought these things, and well-wrought arms besides, as gifts.  It is said that Mogdred sought to woo her, but that she rebuffed him coldly, saying that another had long ago won her heart." 


No extra mechanical result for your Awe roll, Doug, but I've flavoured the narrative appropriately.   

[tomcat]

No extra mechanical result for your Awe roll, Doug, but I've flavoured the narrative appropriately.   

  Yea, that was expected. I just wanted to support the narrative with a roll.

Cool! I will continue in the new chapter and leave this for you to use if you want to give her a future side quest.

[tomcat]

With the summer waning and Esgalwen's wounds properly healed, she decided it was time to pack her things and begin the long road back north. She had not forsaken her duties to the queen in Dale, but she was long overdue after her southern journey to aid Arbogast and the Black Tarn. King Bard was a kind man, but she was certain his tolerance for her absence was worn thin.

The weather would only get worse the longer she waited and so she searched the small town for its master, Radagast, but found his home empty - the wizard off on another errand. Idunn had left months prior, and so Esgalwen had no one to say goodbye to save the few residence with whom she had spent her time. From her purse, she left a series of coins for those that had housed and fed her, as well as aided in her healing. It was not expected, but the Dúnadan could not not make recompense.

The Ranger found her tawny mare in the stables and the horse whickered at her approach. "It seems I have one friend still here," she smiled as she let the horse nose her open palm. Esgalwen stooped to the floor and grabbed up a handful of hay and was pleased the horse took the food. "We head home and it will be a long journey, so we ready ourselves."

Esgalwen spent the next hour brushing our her horse and then pulled the saddle over its back. Soon after, the metal of the bit clattered on its teeth until it was seated correctly in its mouth. She once more handed a coin to the stablemaster who had tended her mare these many months, and then Esgalwen led her out of the small building.

A pair of young boys had brought her personal gear to the marshaling yard and had laid it in a stack. The ranger gave them each three bright pennies and thanked them for their work. The boys blushed and laughed at the fair maiden's smile, and ran off to find some fun new activity.

She reached down and grabbed up her saddlebags and lay them over her horse's flank. She tied them down, along with her bedroll and other traveling gear that would be needed, while her horse cropped at the grass. Next, Esgalwen donned her leather shirt and strapped Nimronyn to the saddlehorn. Her bow and quiver she prepared, too, and had at the ready.

With her gear and horse prepared, she returned to the stablemaster and queried once more, "The merchant van moved out this morning, yes?" The question was regarding a small group of wains that were bringing wares and procuring the same from the northern villages along the Mirkwood eaves. It was always safer to travel in groups and Esgalwen planned to follow any groups along the road until she made it to the Dwarf Road, and its crossing, and then onto Dale. It was the time of year that many of the traveling merchants were making their way home, and many of those were returning north.

The stablemaster nodded, "Aye, there were seven of them. I hear they make for Woodland Hall. I am sure they will appreciate your sword and bow to help them on." He gave her a smile that revealed missing teeth.

She smiled back and thanked him for the information, and then went to mount her horse. Esgalwen led her horse out of the gates of Rhosgobel and onto the wold that stretched off towards the Anduin River. Somewhere out there was the ruined tower that folk called the Elftower and she wondered at the information she had learned. Was there any of her companions still alive? Were they being held captive there, or worse, in the pits of Dol Guldur? Would they survive? Could they survive?

She sighed. Always, anymore, there was some errand that needed to be tended to that was more urgent.

With a click of her tongue, Esgalwen started her journey home.