CHAPTER 15 - Banners Bloody and Torn

[Eclecticon]

Grimbeorn is not at home to greet his friends, and the house that all Men still name as his father's stands strangely empty and silent.  The wondrous hounds and sheep that once waited upon the Old Bear's guests have taken their leave, it seems, returning to packs by other hearths and herds in other fields.  In their stead, a few women tend to the hearth, where the cooking fire burns low in the July heat, and the hives, among which the bees buzz as energetically as ever they did in the days of Beorn. 

Bees and womenfolk alike, it seems, are flustered by the arrival of the Fellowship, arrayed in arms in response to a call for aid from Grimbeorn their fast friend and steadfast ally, and at the head of a motley score of wanderers, warriors and well-meaning Men from the vicinity of the Fox's Tale.  Esgalwen of Gondor and Gwaithlim, ageless Elf from the lordly folk who dwell, it is said, west of the Misty Mountains, stand side by side, sharp and eager their belted swords and strong their bows.  Before them both stands Hathcyn Foresthelm, young and fearsome thegn and banner-bearer to his lord.  Bright shine the rings on the hands of those who have dared the darkest shadows of Wilderland! 

But Grimbeorn is not here to greet them, and the women who abide in his father's house say that he is days gone. 

"Aye, two days ago he left," a matron named Brigid warily explains, "at the head of such warriors as were to hand, making for the Old Ford." 

"His message to us spoke of a host of orcs sweeping down from the mountains," begins Esgalwen, who among them all knows best the women of Beorn's House.  "But scant was its detail.  Do you know more?" 

"Little more than that, Lady," Brigid answers.  "In a great panic, the speaker for the western houses arrived begging the chieftain to come and lead them in their defence.  He sent a runner to your holding the following dawn, and left himself not long thereafter." 

Hathcyn spits in frustration.  "Such a state we are reduced to, that the night-goers cannot scout the land and the beasts speed their messages among the folk!" 

"We should not tarry," Gwaithlim speaks for the first time since entering the hall, his voice somehow echoing among the timbers though none would say that it was raised.  "If such is his urgency, then he will not thank us for lingering here while he gives battle to the foe." 

"One thing more," Esgalwen asks of Brigid.  "Have you heard aught of the Woodman who names himself the Fire-watcher?  He was to meet us at the Fox's Tale but we have seen no sign of him." 

The older woman shakes her head.  "He's not been here, of that I'm sure.  I'll let him know where you are bound, though, should he make himself known." 


And we're off!  I'm starting in media res to make up for lost time.   

I'll throw the scene open for anything anyone wants to ask, or do (and I'm open to things having been done before you arrived here, or even before you left Hathcyn's home).  I'll move the action on to the Old Ford once everyone's ready. 

[tomcat]

Hey Paul, can you give us some specifics as to date and year? It is easier to maintain the Fellowship notes when we know when each adventure phase begins and ends. Thanks!

[Eclecticon]

Sorry, Doug.  It's now early July 2960.

[Eclecticon]

Righto - In the absence of anyone putting their hands up I'll be moving things on shortly. 

[tomcat]

I will get something here tonight. I just added my end of Fellowship stuff which kind of covered her up to this point. It might behoove the story continuity to explain her coming FROM the Old Ford to the House of Beorn, only to be sent back there.

Maybe, too, Esgalwen was the source of the info the Grimbeorn followed on? I will have it up tonight.

[GandalfOfBorg]

"Let us get horse and provision ready for the journey -- we know not what we ride into or how the Firewatcher might be supplied lest we meet upon the road."

While the three prepare to leave, the little bird that had taken to Gwaithlim was buzzing about the yard and stables.  His name was Gwathror and he lived up to the name chittering up a storm.  Most of what he said was of the many goings-on around the House of Beorn.  "The others departed because the rest of two-legs don't understand them like Man-Bear -- he gave respect and honor to them, to all of us.  Man-Cub does his best but he isn't the same, some say more sour."

The chirping was a constant stream until the elf put a hand up to quiet him.  "I appreciate your news, mellon, but we must away to hunt the foes of the mountains.  Do you know anything of those tidings?  Have your heard news on the wind of them?"

[tomcat]

Esgalwen watched bemused as the elf chirped and twittered in bird song, apparently aware of what he said and the replies he received. She turned her attention to Hathcyn who was busy checking the ties and straps of his horse's saddle and bags.

"It is strange to me, this call to Grimbeorn's house. As you know, I spent the last few months along the shores of the Anduin in service at the Old Ford." Hathcyn listened intently, "When the runner arrived to summon me here, surely he would have known that his lord would be coming to me there and I could have joined with Grimbeorn directly."

"Grimbeorn did not necessarily know you were at the Ford," answered the Foresthelm. "When word came to the Fox Tale, I directed the runner to you... not knowing that the errand was already where you were."

"That makes sense then," nodded the woman. "I fear the days we may have lost... especially if the enemy lays siege to the crossing."

Hathcyn merely nodded in kind, "Then let us tarry no longer! Come bird-talker, we away."

With that the Beorning climbed atop his mount, his spear already raised high in the morning sun. Esgalwen mounted, too, and then Gwaithlim and the trio rode forth from the House of Beorn.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn scratched at his beard. The something about the situation troubled him, bit he was unsure exactly what it was. Grimbeorn had been drawn off, The Firewatcher had not come and the Beorning wondered if some force were pulling them apart from each other.

Hathcyn took a measure of authority unto himself in the absence of Grimbeorn. He directed that horse should be made ready in the event of the arrival of the Woodman or should messengers need to be dispatched quickly. He also set the women to prepare bandages and a store of honeycakes beyond normal consumption. And lastly he dree from the hall the banner if the bear. His right to do so was unquestionable if in the other matters he had presumed some authority he did not have.

So when he rode out rolled and packed with him was the great banner of the bear.

[Eclecticon]

Gwaithlim rides south with the chittered words of Gwathror still echoing in his mind: "Down from the mountains they came in a great host, the tree-choppers from beneath the mountains, yes and yes!  And many of the night-howlers running alongside them!  But the dark-feathered ones, flesh-feasters, follow them not, but have gone north along the mountains.  Indeed!  They answer a summons, but of what they will not say!"

[Eclecticon]

Let's kick off the bit where we move people around.  Gwaithlim is the Fellowship's new Guide, more or less by default as everyone else has settled into their own areas of expertise.  Fortunately, his Travel score (3) is respectable.  Let's see how well he rolls his first marching test (vs TN 14):

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

[Eclecticon]

Close but not quite a success.  Matt, care to drop a Hope point?  It'll mean the difference between having an event on the road to the Old Ford, or something cropping up when you're nearly there. 

[GandalfOfBorg]

      Sure, toss a Hope at that roll.

[Eclecticon]

IT SHALL BE DONE.*




* It shall be done at a time when I'm less overworked and sleep deprived. 

[Eclecticon]

With time of the essence, and in safe and familiar lands, the Fellowship and their accompanying fyrdmen march hard for the Old Ford, calling no halt for the fall of night but pressing on across the wide fields and past the steadings of Grimbeorn's folk toward where the hall of old Gelvira Pot-Stirrer sits by the tumbled stones that mark the ford.  Even now, by the light of stars and torches, they pass through the low-lying land by the riverside, where the water sits close to the surface of the soil and ponds and streams are common. 

Those of their followers who know this path well keep there eyes firmly on their boots as they pass here, for the old tales of the herders and huntsmen tell of waters that on nights when the moonlight is dim may trick the eye of an unwary traveller with a gleam like that of some lost, precious thing.  Should the wanderer look closer, say the old tale-spinners, the curse of the treacherous waters will fall upon them, though few agree on the form which such evil will take. 

These tales has Esgalwen heard many times, and ever before when she has passed this way has she made sure to do as the nearby folk do, if only to show respect for those among whom she sometimes dwells.  Now, though, she has more need of haste than of caution.  High she holds here eyes, and now there gleams something amid one ill-omened stream. 


It's a Lookout test this time (I'm not going to bother with Fatigue because you're just about to reach a safe resting place anyway).  But to stay safe, Esgalwen has to fail an Awareness roll at TN 14.  Let's see how she does:

1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 1, 5, total 12

[Eclecticon]

The glimmer in the corner of her eye is enticing, and she takes a step away from the path before the realisation of what is happening hits her and she halts, heart hammering.  Gwaithlim, not two steps behind her, regards her quizzically.  "Is something amiss, my friend?" he asks. 

"No... nothing.  Merely a passing fancy.  March on!  There cannot be long now to go." 


I'm going to say that, despite the fact that the roll was technically a success, the produces a good result for her.  Coupled with the I'll even toss in an AP ( for this, and for Gwaithlim's roll earlier).  The dice do, after all, look out for the players sometimes.