FELLOWSHIP PHASE - Winter Timber and New Leaves

[GandalfOfBorg]

With naught but a look on his son's face as the Fellowship approached the great home, Beorn felt it in his heart and smelled upon the air.  A new wind blew, clear and crisp out of the West and he heard the far off cry of great birds wheeling about as they lurked upon high following the Fellowship out of the dark wood and on to his home.  He walked silently next to Grimbeorn for he knew all deep within -- the hoisting of burden, the weariness of loss, and the acceptance of what is nigh to come.

A crow cried out of the south and tug at the mind of Grimbeorn drew his head in that direction.  A finger of darkness pointed towards him and memory of a dark place, business unfinished and a fury that still burned.  "That is not the way forward for you, son.  That path leads you to a doom beyond any of our sight.  Look ahead and see that the Stone also calls, seek the ancestors and they will wrestle with you over the deep questions."  When the boy did not respond, the great man grabbed him by the breast with hand over heart, "The Carrock, boy -- go to the Rock!  Leave the shades to their schemes and dark deeds.
 Fear not, your absence will be seen but not felt."

His wits returned enough and he bid his friends an immediate farewell, leaving Hathcyn with his charge.  "I will return when you see me again -- keep a pint at the ready.  I fear the head might be too big for the helm 'fore long," he jests.

Though this whole trial was tragic in the extreme, Grimbeorn bore no ill will towards his friend.  Turning to him, he says, "Arbogast, keep that trinket as a reminder of our trial, our friendship, and most importantly your child.  When you return home, that first look from Lindwine and laugh of your children.  There is healing to be had there."

Finally Esgalwen, he gave into the moment, gifting her with one his great bear hugs.  "Though this path was of nightmares to me, out of it came a measure of peace.  I will forever loathe those putrid creatures and haven't completely squared with helping them with their ignoble work, a bit of the vengeance I harbored has been quenched and I can feel my mother's presence again.  There is a steadiness now that wasn't there before.  That was one of the aspects of our kindred spirit, the uneasiness of where to go and who you are.  The trials we have endured make you are no longer just of the South, but of the North now, too.  I ask that you set aside this indecision and questioning -- I hope you realize that you have found the answers here with us.  The Vales are within your blood, they seep in your skin now, just as you are within us.  Accept it," he said with a rare smile.  Looking over at Hathcyn seeing his friend already telling his tales to new ears, "You won't regret it... too much."

= = = = =

The sun beat down on the hard, flat surfaces of The Carrock heating them well above the air around.  This woke Grimbeorn from yet another fitful night of sleep.  Dreams of great birds tearing at him, bears clashing amongst themselves and with other beasts, dark swarms out of the mountains, hills, and forests surrounding him.  There was also memories or old stories turned memory as well. Visages of elders of his people long past speaking to him and him asking questions.  Many paths he tread about the rock in those days in the form of a bear, not to be confused with his father but near just as powerful.

This time he spent in this place of deep memory and knowledge cleansed his spirit but not fully for some of the Shadow shrouded his heart still.  He knew the time came close for him to return one last time as Grimbeorn, a thane of the Vales and seek his place in the chair of his father. (though this would prove little need as during this time the council of thanes met and voted unanimous for him)  On what would be his last night, the darkness was split by forks of lightning but no rain fell.  Winds blew, whipping up sand and stone that tore at him like claws and driving him to cover.  The clouds broke and the moon shone through.  As it reached its zenith, a final bolt from the heaven streaked down, striking the flat in front of the stone table near where Grimbeorn took shelter.

The power of the strike jolted him into a daze and his sight blurred.  A vision came to him in the form of the fractured pattern upon the stone morphing into a symbol, further transitioning into a standard upon a pole -- a great bear paw held palm out with the creases running like the Anduin and its tributaries, in the middle The Carrock.  A voice across the thunder boomed, "In your father's stead and with the blessing of the line, lead the people."  He woke in the morning to the chill of dew upon his skin and the sun not yet up.  The words "Lead the people" still rung in his ears.

= = = = =

It's been days since he left The Carrock, wandering the lands to the south of the stone until he met with the great road that connected the East to the West.  He spent some time near the road, occasionally meeting up with tradesmen and caravans of dwarves heading east towards Erebor or the less common traveler heading to the Misty Mountains.  But fate would have it as he was on the move towards Old Ford, he was beset by a pair of scoundrels, Viglundings by the look and smell of them.  Right away they knew who he was and engaged in all rage.  As you might expect, Grimbeorn soon had two new horses, equipment, and provisions plenty while the earth about drank greedily of the life surrendered by two men. Looking through their things and piecing what he'd heard from others upon the road, it seemed as though the Old Ford was again in the sights of enemies once again.  Galloping with all haste, he set forth unto the east.

Smoke rose from the horizon as he grew closer to the stronghold of the Beornings.  But, lo, the smoke did not rise from the bastion but in the distance at the borders of the fell boughs of Mirkwood.  There wasn't a bustle that he would have expected in the aftermath of an assault but it appeared a usual day of market and ferrying business. The city guard told him where he could find the city leaders and guardians, all on the other side of the river attending to the situation for apparently a few Viglunding spies were sent into the city searching for a means to allow their forces a means to gain entry and cross the river.  "Wouldn't you know it, an elf of the Last Homely House from across the Mountains, discovered their ruse and sent them on a merry goose hunt about the sewers right into our nightguard.  And he claims that he can't tell us apart," they laughed.  "Oh sir, I am without my wits today.  He said for you to 'make haste over cobble and current and rise anew for the stone sleeps ends and wolves howl in the reaches. His words, the master Gwaithlim, he made me memorize them.  How do you reckon he knew you were coming today?"

Leaving the guard and city of the west side, Grimbeorn punted the lowest spot of the Anduin in the Vales.  On the other side, he found the curious visitor and counselor not so long ago waiting for him at the dock. "Hail and well met, son of Beorn.  You received my message I see, the guard earned well his coin."

"Aye he did.  What is this of wolves you speak?" he asks disembarking.  Gwaithlim shows him the way to the captain of the guard and city leaders.  "A force of your kin, I believe you call Viglundings in your tongue, sought to take this place through guile and deceit.  A few spies were sent in to seek a means by which they would enter and no doubt slaughter those within under the cover of night and sleep.  I found them and reversed their fortune.  The city guard snuck out to size up the force and engage it. The smoke in the distance is a last ditch screen to deter pursuit as the enemy, though overwhelming, was outmatched in strength of arms.  It was an act of desperation on their part."

Grimbeorn took in what he was told and pondered a bit.  "I will see what I can find out from the others and consider what is next.  I must get bring this news back to my father and the thanes.  And I would ask that you join me as your counsel no doubt and your skill would prove of great help."

[tomcat]

I am going to write my narrative shortly, but I was wondering if Paul (or Matt or Tom) can answer a couple questions. It is not that I have not paid attention to our game, but it has been going for so long that my player knowledge (and what our characters know) has become kind of gray.

1) Was Viglund killed and his sons now rule his broken lands? Or was the son killed and Viglund rules a disgraced house, while scheming?

2) Mogdred took the Toft as his own now, too, correct? So his folk rule from Amon Bauglir to the town? And was there a gathering there (a moot)?

3) Are the Viglundings conspiring with Mogdred?

I think Esgalwen might be seriously second-guessing her assistance that she gave Mogdred, when Minas Tirith sent her north with a wagon of armor and weapons upon her request. I want to include it in my Fellowship Phase narrative but I want to make sure my brain is correct. Understand that after I ask these questions, I will be perusing the old posts.

[Telcontar]

Viglund and his son are both alive. In my narrative I mentioned that Hathcyn learned the son went south to the calling. What came out of that is unknown.

The people of the Toft joined with Mogdred and took him as their leader. I believe there was a gathering that happened and chose him as the leader of both settlements.

Hathcyn has also charged Athala, if she wants his support in revenge, to determine if they are in league with the Orcs.

We know Viglund is wirking with orcs and possibly other dark men further north in gundabad. 

[Eclecticon]

Thanks, Tom.  I checked up on the details of Grimbeorn's visit but got sucked into reading through the scene again and ran out oftime to post.

I will add to Tom's info above that Mogdred drove out the old King of the Toft, Vidugalum, forcing him to take his followers north and (ultimately) try to seize Stánford.

[tomcat]

The days passed into autumn and Esgalwen did not travel far from Rhosgobel, save to occasionally hunt with the hunters, or fish and trap with the trappers. The rest of her time was spent in craft with the matrons and maidens of the village. It eased her mind to participate in these mundane tasks and it gave her a feeling of accomplishment. After the dark journey into the realm of the spiders and the utter despair of the forest, Gwen needed to ease her mind.

There had been little contact with her companions and even the Brown Wizard was rarely seen. Grimbeorn and Hathcyn had returned north to their perspective homes and lives, and Arbogast had followed the trail back to the Black Tarn. It had been four weeks since the two of them had spent time in talk and seeking out the Kingstone, and Esgalwen still felt the rift that was now between them.

The time she had spent with Arbogast on the hill had been pleasant, but Esgalwen was aware of the change. Things were different ever since the lake and the freeing of Duskwater's spirit. She could never tell Arbogast, of course, as she did not know its cause. They had suffered greatly, each enduring the strains of their journey and the horror of the spiders. They had almost given all for this task and Arbogast turned on them in the end. Was it his plan all along? Did he intend on using them to achieve his goal of vengeance? And then to turn his weapon on them.

Madness had taken him, Esgalwen explained to herself for his actions, but still something was now different in her heart. Even as she had hugged him and said goodbye, she felt a distance for this man that she thought of as a brother.

Time is all we need, she told herself. We all need time from each other.

More to come... still putting this one together in my brain.

[Eclecticon]

Esgalwen still felt the schism between them.

Aaaw.  I felt like they were pretty close at the Kingstone.  Guess I didn't know her like you know her.

[tomcat]

Aaaw.  I felt like they were pretty close at the Kingstone.  Guess I didn't know her like you know her.

No, your post was great, Paul. I am just going with the idea that the strain of this last adventure has caused her to pull back. Maybe she is hurt by his action, even though it was a bout of madness. Maybe she is suffering through her own madness that she suffers.

I don't intend to have anything lasting - just working with some inter-character tensions.

[Telcontar]

Paul, I was thinking...receive title is thematically what happened, but mechanically that only allows Hathcyn to use his standing in a people other than his own.

I think my actual undertaking should have been Raise Standing and thematically receive a title. I think I have the treasure for that so should probably go with that instead. Thoughts?

[Eclecticon]

I was holding off saying the same thing 'cause I didn't want to appear persnickety.  Go right ahead.

[tomcat]

The Fall had colored Rhosgobel in bright oranges, reds, and yellows, as well as brown. The winds blew colder, and leaves rattled and shivered, but it was a happy time for the settlement. The years planting garnered much and Radagast's many beehives were thick with honey. The herds had been fruitful, too, and there were many sheep to shear, and the winter would not be lean of meat.

Rhosgobel celebrated and the men and women of the town gathered in autumnal colors and wore costumes of varied kinds, as the feasts began. The celebration would last for a full week, at the end of Blooting which would lead into the Yulemath, as it was called in the Vale (and as far as Bree in the West) but Gondorians knew it as November.

Esgalwen enjoyed the gathering and the peace that came with folks being happy and celebrating their achievements - though they be simple and fleeting. The Dúnadan woman dressed in a raiment of brown and gold and adorned her hair with Fall flowers and leaves. Always fetching to the eye, Esgalwen garnered many affectionate looks from those men within Rhosgobel that had yet to court or take wives. She allowed herself to dance their jigs and caroles, taking a partner at need, until she was winded, and her laughter rang.

The days of the festival passed.

The women gathered during the day in sewing groups, while wool was carded and combed, then loomed. At the same time, the men gathered in contests of strength and agility, and Esgalwen delighted in both. She sat with the women and shared stories of her mother and grandmother, and the many pieces that they had sewn, along with the more advanced tools available in Minas Tirith for these tasks. The women of Rhosgobel marveled at her words and some shared a look with the other that surely Esgalwen exaggerated.

With the men's games, the Ranger mostly watched, though she did take part in contests of archery. But it was evident to her that the contests were for the men and though they enjoyed her presence, her participation was meagerly accepted. And so Esgalwen would sit in the round of watchers and enjoy the wrestling, archery, and axe work. She would study the tactics of these men, to learn new techniques for herself, but to also understand them in combat. Esgalwen did not fear that the folk of Rhosgobel would ever be her enemy, but the commonalities of the tribes of the Vale were clear and combat styles were shared.

The last day of the celebration saw the roasting of a great sow and many plates of food were prepared. Sweets there were, too, as well as hardy cups of honey-mead. It was the perfect ending to the week of activities before the quiet of winter fell over the land. Esgalwen entered the hall. The acrid smell of smoke filled the chamber, as well as the earthy smell of people, for it was filled with many celebrants. She moved to where a large keg was tapped and filled her cup with mead. Once done, she moved to find a place on a bench where she could hear a group of musicians play a bawdy song. The mead had a quick effect and soon Esgalwen was laughing along with others at the two bards' tale.

"Yea, over there," said a voice nearby. "She is sitting in the front."

Esgalwen heard the voice but paid it no mind, for there were several women within the hall and she did not know that she was the subject. Moments later, a tall Elf was before her causing Esgalwen to choke a bit on the mead she swallowed. The Elf was tall and unique of eyes, and she had ornaments of gold that adorned her clothing. There were colors painted on her skin and the Ranger was at a loss for words.

"Hello," came a slur. "You are Esgalwen, of the Company of the Helm?"

"I am," answered the Dúnadan – still wondering how an Elf could be in Rhosgobel and no gossip of it had passed through the people. "Forgive me, but who are you and why do you seek me."

A relaxed and happy smile parted the She-elf's face, and the eyes were a bit dreamy. Esgalwen wondered at the possibility of an Elf being drunk on mead, for rumors spoke that those people seldom were affected by alcohol. She must have enjoyed a good sum, thought the Ranger.

"I am Luindîs and I have come seeking a story... well... your story. The story of Duskwater and her rescue, told by someone that was there... not weaved words in taverns and halls along the road. I want the story of the freeing of Duskwater from one who was there. I want the story from you."

Esgalwen eyed the Elf warily for a moment and said, "You are welcome to my story, though I know not why it is of interest to the Silvan folk, for that is what I presume you are, yes?"

Luindîs did not answer Esgalwen's question but took a seat next to her, "I have traveled far, and I would dearly love for you to recount this tale from beginning to end. Once your tale is told, I will reveal my interest and then you may judge whether your tale has been given its value."

Again, Esgalwen looked at her in wonder, but nodded. "Come, let us find a quieter place here and we can talk. You can know all that I have seen."

The two females moved from the bards' stage and made their way to the far side of the hall where the light of the fire was dim, and the raucous laughter was less heard. Esgalwen lit a small beeswax candle that sat upon the table and stared across at the Elf's strangely colored eyes.

"T'was this Spring past that my friend, Arbogast of the Black Tarn, who some call the Fire-watcher, approached me and my other companions, along with the Brown Wizard. They spoke of a parliament that would soon occur within Mirkwood – a terrible gathering of spiders.

"Arbogast proposed an idea that mayhaps, the soul of Duskwater – one of the River Maidens – might be bargained for if an appropriate offering could be made. Radagast hinted that her soul was trapped... trapped by Tyulqin the Weaver. Together the two made the case that if a fitting treasure could be found – ideally a gem of great worth – the spiders would allow us to speak within their parliament and perhaps we could barter for her release.

"It was a horrific idea, of course, but after long debate, we decided to make this perilous journey. And so, with the warmth of Spring just starting to melt the snows in the northern vale, we started our journey to the old city of the Éothéod..."

Esgalwen told her tale, and it spanned the evening, but Luindîs was ever enthralled. She asked few questions but always urged the Ranger to continue. The hall was quiet, save for the sound of the sleeping, by the time the Dúnadan had finished, and weariness hung on her own brow.

"Now I ask you, Luindîs... why does my tale interest you so?"