FELLOWSHIP PHASE - Ever-Turning Stars

[GandalfOfBorg]

The journey back to vales was a long, somber one.  The companions were quiet, contemplating this whole journey and all they had seen.  The events that transpired had a profound impact even on the elf, for he had only known the lands of Middle-earth and having not yet seen the Undying Lands himself.  As they traveled, the song of the mountains and sacrifice kept running through his head in a way but in an altered fashion where Beorn and his story now comes into it. This feeling was new to him for he was no minstrel of Elrond's courts yet he had this urge to pen the story of this man and his story.  The narrative ran through his head but committing it to pen and prose proved more challenging than he though.

Upon the return the House of Beorn, as it would thence on be known, the companions took their friend aside and in turn told the story of the events that they experienced.  The story woven spoke of the travails with trolls, the menace of the mountain, and the hallowed encounter of the Huntsman of the Valar.  Grimbeorn remained silent through it all, no questions asked nor comments made.  Once complete, he bowed his head and wept the tears of loneliness and brokenheartedness that only a child can feel at the loss of a parent.  The room was quiet.

Then low it came with a deep bass rhythm, and louder it grew.  A melody and rhyme in an ancient tongue that none recall but only as a song of sung by the old bear at the death of his wife years ago and now his son gives it voice.  Low and dark it rumbled, deep and throaty.  High it ran with power and nobility.  Though none knew the words, it brought visions of life and love, battle and glory, struggle and victory.  When he looked up again, all eyes were on him and the tears had dried and a smile was upon his face.  "I didn't know if I'd remember that song," he said.  "So passes Beorn the Skinchanger, scurge and protector.  You have done me and my house great honor to be with him.  We will forever speak of him with fondness and continue his purpose of seeking peace within these lands, no doubt not without thanks to you and your continued efforts.
 Tonight we will feast to his memory but tomorrow we return to his purpose that is now ours."

Great was the merrymaking and many speeches given in honor and memory of Beorn that night, but even before that word spread like fire at the loss of the great man.  The animals spread the news where the birds chirped and squirrels chittered, where a hawk hunting over the edges of Mirkwood heard and went at speed to the halls of Thranduil with the news and the lamps were lit in memory.  Further on Elf spoke to Man down the River Running and spread from Man to Dwarf upon reaching Dale then Erebor.  All remembered the appearance of the great bear years ago.  Horns blew in the city and dwarven voices were raised in a dirge and mugs raised in toast for their memory is both long for foe and friend alike.

Man told Man, Man told Dwarf. Dwarf told Dwarf and Dwarf told Man and Halfling west of the mountains.  Soon word traveled from Bree to Buckland and Buckland on to Bywater.  Bilbo Baggins happened to be at the Green Dragon for a pint when some dwarves arrived coming from the East towards the Blue Mountains. Curious of course for news, he struck up a conversation with them about their travels -- where they come from, where they were going, how faired the King Under the Mountain and such.  These dwarves impressed at his knowledge of the lands beyond finally realized with whom they were speaking as soon as he gave his name.  As the conversation progressed and a few more ales were tipped back, other news came with the death of Beorn.  The tale told of his passing had long been stretched between there and the White Mountains after so many retellings but the hobbit was shrewd nonetheless seeing through most of the tall bits.  This the dwarves could see though saddened Bilbo.  He finished his draught with as much of his famous courtesy could muster and offered to pay for the drinks where his money was flatly refused.  On his walk home, he pondered his time, brief though it seemed with Beorn.  Memories came back of bees and horses and the great man walking beside them all from Erebor back to his home.  Upon his return to Bagshot Row, he thought he should put on a kettle and a light snack before bed.  Once the pot began to whistle, he poured himself a cup with a generous dollop of honey and nibble a honey-cake before turning in for the night.  No better a tribute he could he think for such a man who made such an impression on this small fellow.

- - -
Gwaithlim though struggled with the song and rhyme in his head that he ventured into the gardens of Beorn seeking some quiet contemplation.  As dusk came on nightingales brought their sweet music to the fields and trees.  One in particular fluttered down to observe the odd sight of an elf in these lands, no less hiding amongst the gardens.  His curiosity piqued with the song also the elf sang.  Like many things elvish, they leave an imprint on the world around them even from ages past -- in this case, ages upon ages, for nightingales were the inspiration of Luthien and since have sought out the fairest for their kindness and gentleness and love of music.  This elf here intrigued the bird for he struggled with a song and after a moment's listening understood its meaning.  Like all other animals in the area, they had come love Beorn and his family.  This bird though was young and a bit cheeky as he tried to help the elf with his song, butting in with his own suggestions of melody.  The elf cocked an eye to the songbird and smiled.  "You too?  I thought I was enough a critic.  You have given me more than one thing to think about, young one.  Good evening."

Though his kind had affinity for all creatures, not many could speak with them.  This was a lore known to few, mortal or immortal.  So inspired by his encounter the previous night, Gwaithlim sought out Beorn when he wasn't deep in counsel.  "I wish to learn the speech of birds, can you teach me?"
"Which is it that you seek?  Their language is different among each kind that I may not be able to help you."  The elf recounted his evening in the gardens.  "Ah, I cannot help you with that one, my voice is not so fair to them -- they tend to flit off or cover their heads with their wings when I try.  Seek out Halla, she lives nearby.  She is known for her mastery of bird-speech and has many feathered friends."  With a bow of gratitude the elf was off.

The elf's approach was silent and the chattering birds were not, so when he called out to her, Halla was startled nearly out of her wits.  "I apologize but Beorn said you may be able to help me."

"I am confused, sir, but what may I do to help an elf of all people?"

"He said you were well-known in bird lore and speech and I am seeking help and inspiration from the nightingales."

"Oh, are you?" she chuckles. "You know as well as I that they are a flighty bunch.  But I can tell you my secrets for they aren't many.  Prepare yourself now though, once you learn it, you might wish you hadn't.  Not only are they wonderful at song, they are some of the worst gossips."

[tomcat]

Esgalwen's upgrades:

• She spends 21 EP to increase her longsword to 5 and banks the remaining 3
• She spends 9 AP to increase her song skill to 3 and banks the remaining 2

Although she still has a place of honor within Dale, I am not going to make any kind of Holding roll for her.

Her Weal & Woe roll:

Rolled 1d12 : 7, total 7

*Last Fellowship, Esgalwen had a really good Weal and Woe roll that would be tied to her meeting someone from west of the Misty Mountains, per Paul. I am going to see if I can entwine that in this new chapter.

[tomcat]

Her Weal/Woe result is mixed based on whether we consider her "At home", so I am going to interpret this into her Fellowship phase.

Undertakings (I am working on this now).

[Eclecticon]

The way home from the House of Beorn is easy, the Eaves of Mirkwood still holding their summer brightness, and it is in a thoughtful mood that Arbogast arrives home once again.  He accepts the embraces of Lindwine, Lafwyne and Cyffa with a broad grin, and his face does not fall far when he recounts the tale of the passing of Beorn, for it carries with it the message that great and hidden powers besides the Enemy are yet at work in Middle-Earth, and lend their subtle aid to the Free Peoples when they may. 

As the summer passes and the hard work of planting is set aside, the builders and woodwrights of Black Tarn Hall bend their backs raising the tower that will be their people's redoubt.  The Fire-watcher, of little use for such skilled work, sets himself instead to leading small bands of impetuous young warriors on forays and patrols on the outskirts of his people's territory.  More than one band of orcs, ranging no doubt from the black fastness to the south, do they accost and drive away, and Arbogast cannot help but wonder aloud that the shield once provided by the Men of Tyrant's Hill appears to have been shattered.  Or perhaps, he thinks, simply withdrawn from those who have earned its master's ire. 

As the leaves of the forest change from deep green to dazzling red and summer withdraws from the world, so to do the warriors' venturings lessen in number and in depth as the work of the harvest and gleaning, in which any hand that can hold a sickle is needed.  In these days, Arbogast keeps up a correspondence with Radagast as long as there are birds to carry messages between the two, the Wizard's replies to his ill-formed scratchings provoking ever more and deeper musings as he stares at the hearth-fire of Sweartmereseld long into the night. 

Come the cold of winter and the freezing of the Black Tarn, Lindwine leads her daughters as they dance, sure-footed and splendid, upon the ice.  Above them, the tower now rises high and strong above a stout pier, though the sound of hammering can still be heard from within as the woodwrights wear out their gloves at their work inside, shielded by walls of thick wood from the eastern wind.  The sight and the sounds ease his heart, for though neither the muster of swine nor the lambing season have been quite as fruitful as was hoped, both are plentiful enough to feed the Woodmen through the winter, and the fishing has been excellent.  Together with the new defences, Black Tarn Hall is at last growing to match the dreams of he, Amaleoda and all the others who laboured a dozen years ago to raise it from its meagre beginnings. 

Spring brings the thaw, and much news of far-away places accompanies the swelling waters of the Dusky River.  From Rhosgobel, going abroad in the guise of a marten to travel swiftly through the trees, comes Radagast.  To the folk of the Tarn he brings the tale of the death of Ingomer Axe-breaker, elder of Woodland Hall and thrice War-leader of the Woodmen.  "No blade of the enemy claimed him, in the end," the Wizard announces, sorrow at the passing of a once-hero plain in his voice, "nor did a beast of the wild strike him down, nor did he waste away by illness.  It was, in fact, a rather sudden collapse at a midwinter feast, felled by a bone caught in his throat." 

Not long upon the heels of Radagast's coming and going comes Rorin Roadmaker, his well-braided beard, ringed fingers and growing paunch telling more than a dozen minstrels of the prosperity brought by the long labours of the Dwarves, and the Fellowship of the Helm, to re-establish the Forest Road.  He has come, he says, not just to see once again his friend of old but with a promise of silver and gold for warriors willing to raise their weapons on behalf of the Roadwarden.  "For something odd is afoot with the Elves of the Woodland Realm," he says.  "More and more children have been lured into Mirkwood, and some have never returned.  The merchants of Dale and Esgaroth, not to mention my own folk, value the presence of hearty Men whose wood-cunning matches those of Thranduil's folk." 

His last news comes from much closer to hand, for one cool night in March Lindwine wakes him from his slumber and takes his hand, placing it upon her belly.  "She is quickening," she says with a smile he can see even in the light of the hearth's last embers.  "Do you feel it?" 

He waits for a short while, and is rewarded by an unmistakable stirring within her.  "He will be strong," he says, "like his sisters." 

"She will be strong." 

"Oh hush." 

[GandalfOfBorg]

  Just want to be sure I have done all my updates leading into the next adventure.

[Telcontar]

Im Slacking

[tomcat]

Take your time, guys.

I am seriously bogged down at my end, so it is going to be a bit. Just an idea of what is going on:

1) my father had hip replacement surgery, so my brothers and sister and I are all bouncing back and forth to help him and my mother, who is suffering from dementia.
2) the Christmas Holiday season is filled with EVERY kind of activity you can imagine this year.
3) no excuse, but I also am running two live games on Roll20
4) I am sure there is more I can blame, but I can't think of it at the moment.

It might be that we have a game hiatus until the beginning of the new year, but I will try to not let that happen.

[GandalfOfBorg]

  No worries, in the same boat which is why i asked to see if I forgot to do any expected character maintenance.

[Eclecticon]

Yep, same here.  I'm two weeks into a new job with family members' mental and physical health to manage and all manner of Christmas shit to get organised.  Take your time, everyone!

[Eclecticon]

Just a quick update to save everyone else the trouble of looking through the thread:
- Gwaithlim and Arbogast are all done and dusted
- Esgalwen needs some Undertakings and end-of-year narrative
- Hathcyn needs the above, and to spend his AP and XP. 

In case I don't get a chance, I hope everyone has a great Christmas, enjoys the company of family and friends, over-indulges in a socially acceptable way and generally feels refreshed by the new year. 

[Telcontar]

Im still alive. I'll get to this eventually.

[tomcat]

I am there with you, Tom!

[Eclecticon]

No rush at all.  Let's all give it until the new year, rather than bust a gut to write something here when we have more pressing priorities. 

[Telcontar]

Spending 6 AP points for stealth 2.
Not spending XP

Undertakings
Guard the Old Ford (Guard the Forest Gate area)

Rolled 1d12 : 4, total 4

Befreind the Beasts. (Hathcyn will learn the speech of dogs as the his hound friend in the house of Beorn comes to live with him after the old bears passing.

[Telcontar]

Busy Days gain 5 treasure