A Measure of Vengeance

[Eclecticon]

As the Viglundings' boats heave their way northward, the Fellowship of the Helm crosses once again to the western bank of the Anduin.  Hearts heavy at the need to submit, to the demands of Viglund the Cruel, there is at least now the hope of reaching the Old Ford and with force of arms undoing some part of the injustice visited upon the folk of Beorn. 

There is still little sign of Mannish life in the country that they pass through, though here and there they spy small knots of cattle, the beasts having found each other and by their own instincts grouping together as if by this alone they could avoid the depredations of wolf and orc.  Birds wheel in the sky, unconcerned with the doings of those who go about below, and the wind in the trees and the water in the streams only underscore the silence and emptiness of the land.  Gwaithlim finds himself recalling the stories of the great westward wandering of the first Elves, and fancies that this is much as they would have found this country east of the Misty Mountains: an uncultivated realm of wild things. 

The illusion is shattered, however, when the companions come upon the remains of a cowherd's rude hut, to judge by the simple stone hearth that is all that remains un-burned.  About it, a half-dozen warriors, attired in the fashion of Northmen, are gathered.  Some are clearly taking their rest and repast while two glower at the ashen earth as if they could make it give up its secrets by disapproval alone. 

"Ho!" one calls as the Fellowship draws closer.  "Who goes there, and of what folk are you?" 

"Fear not!" cries Luindîs before any other can answer, "for here are heroes come to your aid!  Behold Hathcyn Foresthelm and Esgalwen Wind-Wanderer, and Gwaithlim of the great folk west of the mountains." 

The saying of well-known names brings a visible easing among the Men.  "Well are you come at this hour," their speaker answers.  "I am Gerold Hog-teeth.
 Grimbeorn has sent us in pursuit of a band of warg-riders that now struggle back to their holes much burdened with ill-gotten wealth.  He bade me to seek your aid should I run into you on your return, but I'd not thought such a thing likely, wide as the land is." 

He spares a final glance at the much-trodden ground before crossing to an ashen stump and picking up an iron cap.  "North and west I think they are headed from here, and not far ahead of us, but there are more than we can defeat on our own.  With your help, though, I think we can remind them that the folk of the Vales are fierce and not lightly to be roused to wrath!" 

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn grimly remarked, "It seems we are summoned again to the killing fields. Well, we can not allow them to return laden with plunder or more will come next year. Before we go, what news of the south? The Carrock is free and washed of our foes, but we have had no news from any direction."

[Eclecticon]

Gerold spits into the ashes.  "The southern king has seized the Old Ford and his men now hold it against us.  Grimbeorn means to take it back through force of words or arms, but he and the thegns are agreed that the orcs must first be brought to battle and defeated."  He shakes his helmed head as he continues.  "They do not mean to let us and so have scattered and run many ways, but it seems that the wargs grow tired of bearing riders.  We will catch them in their small bands and have our vengeance for the burning of our kinfolk's homes!"

[Eclecticon]

Still high above the western peaks hangs the sun when the pursuers find their prey.  Clearly, the scent of horse-sweat has been harbinger of their coming to the snouts of wargs, for even now the beasts and their orcish allies toil in the sunlight, driving ahead of them a score or more Men bent under heavy loads, seized to be kept as thralls or worse.  Up the slope of a tall hill these unfortunates struggle, the curses of their captors audible even at this remove. 

Though the orcs and wargs each are twice the number of the companions and their Beorning allies, none counsel retreat for the spear-thirst burns within them and the foe is at last run to ground.  Here, at least, is a chance for bravery and to win glory and the freedom of kin! 


I'll roll Battle and get a combat thread ready, but let me know if there's anything specific that you want to do before the stabbing starts. 

Esgalwen

1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 2d6 : 5, 5, total 10

Gwaithlim

1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 2d6 : 2, 3, total 5

Hathcyn

1d12 : 10, total 10
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 4, 2, total 12

Luindîs

1d12 : 6, total 6

[Telcontar]

"Still no nearer to home have I gone. We must move quickly, lest they slay the captives."

[tomcat]

Her sword slid easily from its scabbard and Esgalwen felt the rush of combat swell within her. It was both panic and excitement for the blood-letting to come.

"Only when the lands have been swept of our foes can we think of home, Hathcyn!"