Of Wolves and Witchery

[Eclecticon]

A great grief wells in the heart of Hathcyn Foresthelm at the sight of his lord and comrade reduced to such a sorry state, but he pushes it aside.  No good will come of beating my breast and tearing at my hair.  Not when there is evil still abroad in this hall!  Think, man, think!  What is the cause, and what clue will betray it? 

Esgalwen and the two Elves reemerge, brows furrowed and deep in discussion of curses and anchors, and othe rmatters of sorcery of which Hathcyn has but little wit.  "I tell you," the Ranger says, "it cannot be but under our noses!  We who are newly arrived are as yet unaffected, and see!"  She points a finger at the guards who yet stand their watch by the outer wall, "those we brought with us but who have not yet sought the shelter of the hall are yet steadfast to their duties!  Whatever may be causing this, it lies within!" 

"But where?" hisses Gwaithlim, frustration evident even upon his noble and ageless features.  "It will not shine like bright gold for us to see!" 

Gingerly, Luindîs avoids Grimbeorn as they pass the threshold, she outward and he inward.  To slouch once again to his seat, Hathcyn thinks, his thoughts giving voice to his bitterness, or to cast himself down before the fire like..."  And with this half-formed thought, he looks about for the hounds that surely share the hall with the folk of Ferthald.  He finds them in abundance, great, shaggy lope-legged creatures bred for the herd and the hunt and breaks into a broad grin that his companions do not fail to notice. 

"What is it, Northman," Luindîs asks, head tilted in curiosity. 

"Where the hearts of Men may falter," he answers crytpically, "those of hounds will stay true.  Their minds are simple, but their noses are hard to deceive!" 

Esgalwen cannot suppress a feeling of dread as her friend passes through the doorway, but his mien changes not as he approaches a knot of half-sleeping beasts and begins to yap and growl in their own tongue.  Somewhat reassured, she turns her mind back to the question at hand.  "You ask where," she answers Gwaithlim.  "You know as well as I that we have searched everywhere that a keen eye or busy hand might find it by happenstance.  But were I some worker of black magics, surely I would not think to hide it in such a place, where any curious child or brave servant might disturb it before its work is done!" 

With a sweep of her arm, she indicates the wide and open hall.  "And think you, by any chance, that one would not be noticed secreting something away in a place such as this?  No.  I tell you, there are but a few places where we must focus our search, and these are those where a stranger, partaking of the hospitality of the hall, would not be thought on twice were they observed busying themselves there, perhaps alone, perhaps in the dark of night." 

Luindis, eyes wide with excitement, cannot help but ask "What, then, is your answer to this riddle?"

Esgalwen's eyes narrow as she turns the question over and over again in her mind, but she can see no other answer.  "The hearth itself, buried under the ashes.  It is the centre of the hall, where all who dwell here, for a lifetime or a single night, gather.  And who would find quarrel in a lone traveller, unable to sleep, poking at the embers of the evening's fire?" 

As she finishes, Hathcyn returns, his grin faded but his eyes burning with new purpose.  "The hounds have spoken to me," he says.  "They tell me that the hearth-smoke is foul in their noses, and the waters of the well bitter upon their tongues." 

Gwaithlim, scowling, nods his head in understanding.  "There are two tablets, then.  And both shall be broken ere the stars shine once more upon this place." 


Doug, I've counted Esgalwen's last Search roll as a Riddle roll, since she has the same score in each.  Take an AP out of petty cash. 

[Eclecticon]

I know there's been public holidays and such over your way - just checking whether anyone needs anything else to help them decide what to do. 

[Telcontar]

  i'll have a post up.

[tomcat]

Yea, I am good on things, too, Paul. I will have a story post up today.

As of tomorrow, 6/3/2023 - I will be on vacation for the week. I can say that I will have internet, I am just not sure how much I will be able to post. Feel free to add in for Esgalwen at need.

[Telcontar]

  i have a narrative idea for the well. i just need to get it on paper.

[Eclecticon]

I was about to start putting words in characters' mouths, but I'll hold off a bit longer to give you an opportunity to do so.

[Eclecticon]

Do you want me to keep waiting, Tom?

[Telcontar]

Letál Rockfarmer was overlooked when Grimbeorn had come to the Carrock to raise the fyrd. He was small for his age and when he raised his hand to go he was laughed at. They said they hadnt time to make armor to fit him and that which would was the play thing of children. Chastised and embarrassed he faded back into the crowd, his ears burning in shame and humiliation.

When Hathcyn Foresthelm came he was not so picky. The others were all gone and none where there to ridicule and shame him. So he stepped forward once more and joined the party that marched west. The going was rough, he took two steps for everyone of the others and he hurried where others walked but he would not be left behind.

When the wargs came he questioned his decisions. His shield was lower in the wall and those on his right and left considered him a hindrance, a weakness in the line and a threat to their own survival. When the wall broke it was only the rear guard that bought him enough time to hurry with the others to the walled steading.

When guards were called for he volunteered to stand the first watch, and when relief came he waived them off. At least here at the wall he could be of use. Though his helmet was stuffed with rags and fit awkwardly on his head. The rain hid the trail of tears at his thoughts of uselessness.

"You have stood two watches."

The voice of Hathcyn, cut through his thoughts.

"It is no bother Foresthelm."

"Perhaps not, but those were my orders and since you have disobeyed them I have been longer in finding you."

"Find me Lord?"

"You stood bravely in the wall, have you courage left for I have a task that you are best suited for but it requires strength."

Letál felt his shame returning. "I have little strength lord."

"Strength is not only in the arm, but in the heart and you have showed that in greater measure than your peers."

"What do you require lord?"

Hathcyn quickly told him of the cursed stones that were sapping the will of the men and that they sought two of them from which the dark powers sought to bring them low.

"What can I do?"

Moments later Letál found himself bound in cordage. A thong of rope slipped around his arm lashed to a stone. Smaller then the others he found himself lowered into the well. The stone to pull him down to the bottom to fish for the cursed tablet.


Hathcyn worried for the lad, had he drowned him with this plan? He felt that it had been long moments that he had slipped below the surface. Then two rapid tugs on the rope from below. The elf and man watched as others hauled him up sputtering and wet. Red silt clung to the arms and hands of Letál, but he grasped a plate scrawled with foul runes and obscene images. 

The elf knew at once he had been successful.  Letál opened his eyes and shaking cast the plate on the ground happy to cease touching the foul item. The small group of men holding the rope cheered him.

Hathcyn Foresthelm smiled and slapped him on the back.

"Well done Letál Welldipper!" The men raised him up and acclaimed him with his new name. As they held him aloft in the gloomy steading encircled by war he was for the first time the tallest man among his folk.

[Eclecticon]

Darkly the stone glistens in the wan light of a clouded evening, and Letál cannot seem to stop wiping his hands upon his sodden sark, as if he feels the corruption still as a crawling upon his skin.   None move to touch the thing until Luindîs, curiosity seemingly burning within her, approaches, leans forward and flips it over with the toe of her boot.  With a hiss, she straightens, disgusted by the morgul-work she finds. 

"We have found one stone," she says, "but what ought we do with it?  And what of the other?  Fain would I say that the Men of the hall would let us tear the hearth asunder to find it, but scarce can I believe as much!" 

Gwaithlim, a deep frown furrowing his brow, answers her first question.  "The curse-stone has been taken from its place, and so its power is greatly lessened, but its power will persist so long as it is here.  Even now, we are in danger of it." 

As one, the assembled wall-wardens avert their gazes, as if the marks now plain upon the stone's surface, red as rust, black as tar, could crawl inside their very eyes.  Undeterred, the elder Elf continues.  "Breaking the stone would be best, though I doubt it would be easy, but this is not a great and lasting curse such as was laid on heroes in bygone times.  Even casting it without the wall would see this sorcery half-undone." 

[Telcontar]

  paul, what kind of outbuildings are here? In my head I am picturing a hall with a stockade around it, but I'm not sure that's accurate. Is their a furnace or forge? I am trying to think of mechanical and thematic ways of trying to break this tablet.

[Eclecticon]

I posted a picture (from afar, but still) a while back - here it is again.  Anything you can justify fitting into that, feel free to narrate it in.  So far we have at least a stable and a well, so a small forge hardly seems out of the question. 

[Telcontar]

They let the cursed tablet sit open the ground in what passed for sunlight on the rainy day. The Foresthelm then took several man to the small outbuilding of the forge.

"Seek the Ranger Esgalwen and have her rake the coals for the second spell stone." He called out to one of men.

The men in the smith began to coax the embers and work the bellows drawing the full heat from the coke. With tongs the spell stone was fetched and buried in the red hot furnace as the bellows rose and fell bringing the temperature higher and higher.

While the men worked the Foresthelm searched in the tool shed until he found what he sought. A great rod of iron that tappered to a point. The object looked like a giant awl and with it during the winter ice was chipped from ponds or from walkways were the water pooled. Taking this great all he found a plate and heavy hammers.

The iron forge had a notch for a metal bar for the smith to bend and work upon the iron and the Foresthelm intended to use it as a great weapon breaker. Just as the weapons for foes were deadened by bending he hoped to split the tablet like an ill wanted stone.

When the fire was red hot it was placed upon the anvil, the great all placed over it, above it a metal disc. The men with hammers gathered round and with a coordinated blow hoped to shatter or split the spell stone. 

[tomcat]

Esgalwen searched among the houses and outbuildings of the steading, the rain making the task all the more difficult.

It was near the eastern wall where a cistern had been dug for the animals to use that Hathcyn's messenger found her. "My master beckons me tell you - they believe the threat lies within the hearth of the hall. He wants you to rake the coals in search of a stone. One was found within the well and it holds terrible power and vile inscriptions! For certain the other lies within the hall... come!"

Esgalwen followed the young man back to where Grimbeorn languished along with his men, inside the firelit long house. The two entered the shadow-flickered chamber and moved towards the center hearth. Dogs whimpered and growled, and men moaned at their plight.

Esgalwen took up a long haft of wood, hardened and blackened on one end from many uses of stirring the pit. Her companion followed suit with another stave and the two started at opposite ends, moving down the hearth and pushing through the ash and coals. At last, a clunk was heard.

The Ranger turned to where the messenger stood fearful, his rake already withdrawn from the fire. "It is here, I think," he whispered.

"Fear not... you have not touched the foul thing, and so are not soiled. Be strong for your lord and we will see this done." Esgalwen pointed, "Grab yonder bucket and I will push the thing from the fire into it."

"My Lady?..." the young man was afraid. He had seen what had come from the well.

Esgalwen acquiesced, "Very well... have no fear. I will hold the bucket and you will drive it from the fire. Neither of us shall touch it, but you need not hold it once free. Okay?"

The younger man gave an ashamed nod and Esgalwen retrieved the wooden bucket.

"Do you still know where it is?" With his nod, Esgalwen continued, "Then all you need do is push it forward from your side and I will catch it."

The man staved forward and something slid from underneath - or did it slither? Esgalwen was sure there was movement that came not from a simple stone sliding in ash. Her skin crawled at the anticipation and then it was revealed! Blackened by fire and heat, but still the morgul-inscriptions glowed causing the ranger to avert her eyes.

With a sudden thud, it was in the bucket and Esgalwen quickly ran it out of the hall and into the rain. May the cool, cleansing rain crack this foul thing to pieces, she prayed as rainwater hissed on the stone.

[GandalfOfBorg]

"Wait! Wait!  Stay your hand!" cried the elf. "We know not yet what would come, what might be unleashed, of its immediate destruction. Let me a moment with them before you strike," said Gwaithlim, his hands upon the hammers of the Men.  The feeling of power was evident but he wanted to be sure that whatever happened, no further foulness would bedevil them or this place.

 

Craft -  1d12 : 10, total 10
Rolled 2d6 : 5, 3, total 8

Use Hope for success or increase it if needed.

[Eclecticon]

As the Men stand their watch about the anvil, and those few who can see the forge from the hall watch, dull-eyed, through the broad door, Gwaithlim takes a slight step forward, his palms extended toward the stone.  As he nears it, it seems to him that he can almost feel the morgul-work within: a bitter, writhing, gnawing thing.  Beneath the breath of the Men around him, he fancies that he can hear its mutterings into their minds: that crops will wither, that kinfolk will sicken, that hearth-fires will burn out, that the strong timbers of proud halls will rot and collapse, that the Men of the north will come at last beneath the gaze of the Eye, there will be naught more to do but grovel and abase themselves before its power. 

But the Eldar have face graver threats, and deeper darkness, than this mean thing.  It is a fleeting shadow, tethered to the world and given strength only by the solidity of the stone on which its runes are scrawled. 

Stepping back, his mouth set in a line of grim satisfaction, he gives his judgement.  "All is well.  Break the stones, and free your kinsmen from the bondage laid upon their hearts." 

With glad cries, the Fellowship's men bend themselves to their work, their heavy hammers swiftly shattering the stones into jagged rubble, and the rubble into sharp pebbles, and the pebbles into grit and dust.  By the time they finish, the sun has set behind the western mountains, and in the twilight Luindîs arrives with a lantern, and with news.  "All in the hall have collapsed, and now sleep so soundly that I could barely get a grunt from any man or woman, shake them though I might!"  She speaks affectionately, as one might of an exhausted child who has found at last the rest that they badly need. 

The assembled Men exchange rough congratulations, their own weariness not far from their minds.  Yet rest may still keep itself from them, for from without the wall comes once again a keening howl.  The breaking of the spell, it seems, has not gone unnoticed.


Great posts, guys.  Matt, I've given Gwaithlim a second AP, tagging Elven Lore with his successful Craft roll.