When at last Arbogast was once more himself, and a week had passed, the company made their plans to commence the trip home. Food stuffs were gathered - dried fruits and meats, nuts, bread, and other items that would travel well - along with meal for the horses. The fields in the valley below would be lush with green grasses, but still Hartfast did not want to send his visitors away without proper rations.
The Mountain Hall chieftain was visibly bothered with the departure of his new confidantes. He had gained a great respect for each over the weeks that they had spent in his home and he did not want to lose their strength of arm, skills, and sharp wits. Still, summer was passing and he understood that they needed to get home. The contract with Ceawin of the East Bight held them to their timeframe, and though Hartfast did not care much for the man - as he did not believe them to be true Woodmen of the Vale - he would not ask them to break their commitment. Arbogast, too, was needing to go. Long had the man spoken of his home on the Black Tarn, wondering as he did if it was still there. Had they rebuilt? Did they still get threatened by raiders? Arbogast had to know.
While Grimbeorn and Esgalwen readied the horses, Bandy assisted Arbogast in gathering their things and helping the healing man with his bandages. Rorin came at last from the forge with a burnished steel helm that was of fine craftsmanship. The eye guards, which were always the fashion of Dwarves, looked to be made of bright copper and the cheek guards were traced with gold. Etchings covered over all of the steel and told the story of the men of Rhovanion. It was truly a beautiful piece of work.
(https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/52987685/helm%20of%20peace.jpg)
Rorin displayed the helm to his companions and the Mountain-men and many looked at it with wonder. Hartfast asked if he might hold it and Rorin offered it with a bow. The chieftain looked it over and spoke, "With such fine smiths in our midst, such fine arms and armour would we have to drive back our foes. Their own weapons would splinter upon our aegis! Master Dwarf, promise me that when your time is at last free to you that you will once more grace my hall and forges and bring to my people the knowledge of your kin." He held the treasure aloft, "LO! Let this Helm of Peace be a symbol not only of Ceawin and the Men of Sunstead, but a symbol of the pact between we mountain folk!"
A great cry came from all of those that stood near, "HUZZAH!"
Hartfast handed over the helm and the Dwarf wrapped it up in a cloth that smelled of oil. It was then stowed upon the mule that would bear Rorin back to Rhosgobel. The chieftain then went to each of his guests and made his goodbyes:
To the Beorning, "Master Grimbeorn, let the troubles between our people be set aside and allow us to once more come to the table. Certainly we can make agreements that will benefit both our folk."
To Esgalwen, "Lady of Gondor - your mettle is strong and you are a model for all of the shieldmaidens among my folk. You have my thanks and as emissary to your Steward, know that the folk of Mountain Hall would stand with the folk of Gondor should need ever arise."
To Arbogast, "We are kin and soon to be blood, as your family merges with one of mine. You may call this home whenever you so need."
To Bandy, "Master Bandobras, you too have much to teach us here in the Mountains. Like the hill to the mountain, stature is not the true test of strength, but more so how deeply rooted you are to the ground. Your courage and fine skill made it so that more of my people did not die and to that we are forever indebted. Your family and folk will always be welcome here in my hall as long as me, or my kin rule here. Know this...along your route home you may be interested to find that your kin of long past may have once lived within this vale."
And then to them all, "Make sure you keep to your road. Steer clear of the fens of the Anduin that hide the Dwimmerhorn. Beware the Wolf Wood. Though the Men of the Vale are strong across these lands, the shadows grow wherever they might."
The Company mounted up and began the ride out of the mountain vale. They were followed by an entourage of well-wishers and children, but these slowly began to bleed away as the distance grew. Soon the Company was alone on the trail out of the lower Misty Mountains that they had followed up near a month ago.
:ooc: I want to point out that the overarching goal of the Darkening of Mirkwood is the uniting of the tribes of Woodmen. The strength of Sauron will grow and eventually make war on Middle-earth, but it is how strong the alliances are between these people that will determine whether they stand and fight, or are destroyed alone in their isolated halls.
You guys have created a good relation with the men of Mountain Hall and have started the slow build up of the alliance of Mirkwood.
I am awarding you all 1 point of Standing. Granted, that mechanic effects how you are received by your own folk, but still, if your own people hold you in high regard, then outsiders will, too.
Esgalwen :csu:
Another post is to follow this, but I am working out time spent on the road and what you guys see for potential future quests.
The trek took the better part of a week, as they rode first east to the river and then south. The fording had taken some effort, but they had crossed with little loss. Their path took them north of the mires of the River Gladden and the Wolf Wood. They skirted around an old, stone fortress called Stonehallow and then cautiously rode over the Field of Heroes, which was held in great reverence by those that lived within its bounds.
With August 2951 T.A. coming to an end, the companions rode once more into Rhosgobel. Ceawin was there with his entourage and they all were quite pleased when Rorin revealed his work. The Lord of East Bight beamed with pride, "It is exactly what I wished it to be, Master Dwarf! With it, we shall honor the fallen and the restless will rest once more."
They company looked at him inquisitively, but Ceawin merely smiled, "It is a tale for a later time. For now, come... let us break bread!"
:ooc: Arbogast :csu: I'm assuming that he's fully healed - if not, let me know and I'll fix things.
:ooc: yes, you should all be back to normal.
:ooc: Cool beans. Full post tomorrow (my time).
Bandy felt odd on his return to Rhosgobel. As they approached the Wood-man town he began to feel almost like it was his home and the Shire was a distant memory. He had hoped to see some of his kin on this last excursion and again contemplated how long it had been since he was home. Instinctevly he felt at the poucch at his side, and lamented the small stock of pipe tobacco that he had remaining.
Though his skin has closed, Arbogast's wound continues to make itself felt in small ways - in the pain as he breathes deeply before fording the mighty Anduin, or the stiffness when he rises from a night spent sleeping on the grass of the vales. But by and by these things lessen, and the still-young man comes to understand in a new way that the fear and pain of injury are as much the lot of a warrior as the exultation of victory.
Yet the inward musings that lent strength to his laconic side begin to fall away once he finds himself once more beneath the shade of Mirkwood's great trees. The sights, sounds and smells made familiar by years of watchful exploration lift a weight from his shoulders that was hitherto unrealised. By the time he smells the smoke from the fires of Black Tarn Hall, he is singing to himself:
To home, and the halls of my kindred,
To home, and to hearth I draw nigh.
To home, and the arms of my lover,
In whose warm embrace I would die!
For forty long years may I tarry here,
For forty long years and a day!
No more might I follow the destiny,
That has carried me so far away!
He catches Esgalwen's quizzical look, and with a rueful smile tells her 'Sometimes a song is merely a song. I shall journey again, and yet farther, before our fellowship's burdens may be laid down. But I pray you, indulge me in this, you who are each day further from her home than I have ever been from mine.'
When Rorin brings forth the helm in the hall of Rhosgobel, the Fire-Watcher does not fail to mark the words of the Lord of the Sunstead. He casts his eyes about, seeking the Brown Wizard, as he ponders what they might mean, and what Caewin the Generous may yet be concealing from them.
:ooc: I'm attempting a Riddle roll to figure out what he's on about.
TN 14(?) Riddle 2
Rolled 1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 2d6 : 5, 2, total 7
:ooc: Well, that's a decent-ish result! What does that, plus Shadow-Lore, get me?
Grimbeorn smiles at the Mountain Men's chief. "I, too, would like that as well. Ere I return to my lands and your people have dealings with mine, show them this," and he hands the man a large tooth, a canine from one of its namesake, notably a warg, with a rune inscribed denoting that it is of Grimbeorn. "There is nothing special about it other it may secure us all better relations." Sniffing the air, "Night comes too soon again and all men must come together to fend it off."
--
Entering Rhosgobel for Grimbeorn is almost like returning home... almost. Seeing Ceawin reminded the Beorning of sunshine and peace and harsh words and disappointment. Grimbeorn sat far from the man and kept to himself, the wound to his heart still fresh.
As the helm left his hand for Caewin's, Rorin felt a brief pang of regret. He did not know much of this man and the stink of secrets always seemed to hang about him. Rorin had no reason to distrust him, and yet he did. But the feeling quickly passed, the construction of this helm had already begun to unite the peoples of Mirkwood, and Caewin was an ally.
----
After enough time had passed for everyone to relax and eat their fill, Rorin pounded his tankard on the table and climbed up onto the bench so the room could see him.
"Aye! Listen here! My friends, several moons ago I asked each of you to accompany me on what I deemed a mere errand, and each of ye' humored me and came along. Along the way we faced unexpected dangers, and some of you paid the price in blood. I am grateful to count you as my friends and honored to name you my companions. So to you, the powerful Grimbeorn, the wise Bandobras, the dauntless Arbogast, and the loyal Esgalwen, I present these as tokens of our fellowship, may it last for years to come!"
From a pouch on his belt Rorin produced a brooch, it was formed in the likeness of the Helm that he had crafted. It was made of dark polished steel inlaid with bronze decorations in place of the copper on the actual helm. He pinned it onto his own cloak then produced 4 identical pieces and handed them to each of the others before raising his tankard in celebration.
Arbogast raises his drinking horn in automatic response, but his eyes remain fixed on the brooch in his hand. Though the materials are base metals, the workmanship is beyond the skill of his people's finest metalworkers. And Rorin is no master of his craft, by the standards of his folk, he thinks.
Having already doffed his cloak, he pins the brooch to the front of his shirt. Each of my friends has done me great favours since we met. It is to their weal that I must now cast my mind.
Rorin's gift brightened the mood of Grimbeorn as he took pride in afixing it to his tunic. "Thank you. It shall be worn in remembrance of our bond and friendship between us and hopefully moreso between our peoples.
While the token was a cloak pin to the others in the hands of the Hobbit it rested more like a badge of office. The Hobbit held it aloft and marvled at the miniature detail the dwarf had wrought into the pin. Every detail of the actual helm was there and the fire light danced from it as if it were a living thing.
"Master Rorin, this shall be an emblem of my house. A great mathom that shall represent the deeds we have done together. I shall bear it proudly and treasure it always in a place of honor in my home. When I return I wil have it's likeness carved into the door of my home and any kin of yours who seek shelter shall be welcome in my home as long as my days last and my kin remember."
Ceawin smiled due to the camaraderie, "Strength to stand before all foes comes from the ties that bind us." With the dinner now done and the sun having set over the mountains, the Master of East Bight sat in the light of lanterns that had been strung about the encampment, and he addressed the entourage. "Summer is waning and the treasure that we have sought has been completed. We must away soon, back to Sunstead, before the coming of Winter. The cool winds of Fall will soon scatter the leaves of the forest over the barrows of old that lie within our realm, of ancient men that were the forefathers of the Eorlingas and Rohirrim.
"I wish to present this gift before those old mounds begin once more to stir and call to our folk. It will be a long journey home, but we can get it done if we press our advantage in these final Summer days. The question is, do we go the long way - south around the southern flanks of Mirkwood, or push through its heart? Perhaps to use the Old Dwarf Road again, as we did in our early Spring crossing."
Many of the faces of Ceawin's gathered folk darkened at the thought of that earlier trip. They had made the journey with little harm to their group, but it had not come without terrors. Ceawin looked around the table and narrowed his eyes on the Company, "To you five - the Company of the Helm, I so now name you - would you be willing to aid us in this, one more time? Would you be willing to make the journey back with us to Sunstead, and then help in delivering the Helm of Peace that has been so masterfully crafted by our friend Dwarf?"
The companions were not shocked by the request, but were befuddled as how to answer. To go meant the seasons would change once more well before they could return to their home - their true homes. In fact, a new year would start and wax as they made this journey. Weariness pressed down on all of them having just completed a long journey that had been filled with danger.
For Arbogast, the thought of his new home filled his mind. He had left the Black Tarn and his lady, Lindwine, with the onset of Spring and only after a raid had caused great damage. The conflagration had almost taken the town. Was it still there? Was his home? His business? Was Lindwine still waiting? These questions weighed like lead in his hands as he looked at the smiling Chieftain of Sunstead.
To Esgalwen, the decision was easy. Their return to Rhosgobel did not mean more to her than a place to take rest and heal both mind and body. Her homeland was far away, but she had offered and was accepted to be the voice of the Steward of Gondor in this region - to be his ambassador of sorts. And so, even though her legs were stiff from the time in saddle, she nodded an acceptance to Ceawin's request, for these were new folk she needed to meet. Folk that needed to know that Gondor was their ally against foes great and small, as long as they were willing to offer the same in return.
Rorin, too, saw no major challenge with the request. Granted, his forge was here in Rhosgobel and it would sit idle for many months, if he took up this task. But, he would be closer to home - at least closer to the straight path that could take him to Erebor if he so wished. Also was the chance to see the Old Dwarf Road! If Ceawin and his folk chose that path, Rorin could look upon the works of his kin, stone-craftsman of old who had laid the ancient earth-works. The thought interested the Dwarf greatly.
The remaining two, Grimbeorn and Bandy sat dumbfounded, as well. Both were already far from home, and this would do nothing more than take them farther.
:ooc: You guys know better the way your PC's feel regarding Ceawin's request, but I wanted to bring to light any potential impact that could come from leaving on another journey.
"As long as he no more daughters to vex me," Grimbeorn thought. He raises his tankard, "Aye, you'll have my axe, Lord Ceawin." Under his breath to rorin, "we may also see what bedevils them. Best ensure any manner of shadow is dealt with."
Bandy was troubled by what Ceawin had just said. There was a part of it that flashed the memory of the swamps of the south the fate of Orophin into his head.
He spoke slowly and asked the question to Ceawin, but as he did so he scanned his companions for their reactions, "what do you mean Lord that the dead call to your people?"
"There is, perhaps, a better option still," says Arbogast, looking Caewin steadily in the eye. "I myself have fared neither way, but I have come to know the woods well, and have harkened to the tales of those who have wandered farther than I. Rorin has told me of the Dwarf Road, running seventy leagues through the heart of the forest. You yourself told me, now months ago, that you and your party spent a month in darkness as you traversed it. When our fellowship went north to the Old Ford, it took us a week to arrive at the road, and I cannot but think that it would take as long again, or more, to reach the Sunstead on the other side. Such a journey is..."
Madness, he thinks. Folly! And his people brought the lady Verwyne past her destination to Rhosgobel, only to turn about and return once they had engaged us. Caewin is a wealthy fool, and his people are fools themselves either to fail to see it, or to follow him regardless.
"...ill-advised, with time of the essence." He takes a sip of his ale, to sooth a throat unaccustomed to such long speeches. "Of the way south, I know naught save that it is long, and must pass close to... the fastness of the Enemy... and that a large party moving openly may be tempting to the fell things that now dwell within."
Checking to see that the gathering's attention is upon him, and finding it so, he continues. "Instead, I would venture the fastest way - through the Narrows. It has been some years now, but Grimbeorn, Bandy and I, among others, have made this very journey, bearing goods to trade, in a mere two weeks, and I believe there is a yet better route to be found."
He keeps his face carefully neutral as he adds: "I shall not dissemble - such a journey would allow me to see once more my home at Black Tarn Hall. But this would allow us to rest and re-provision before entering the deeper woods."
:ooc: I may be able to answer Bandy's question:
Quote from: Eclecticon on May 15, 2016, 07:40 PMWhen Rorin brings forth the helm in the hall of Rhosgobel, the Fire-Watcher does not fail to mark the words of the Lord of the Sunstead. He casts his eyes about, seeking the Brown Wizard, as he ponders what they might mean, and what Caewin the Generous may yet be concealing from them.
:ooc: I'm attempting a Riddle roll to figure out what he's on about.
TN 14(?) Riddle 2
Rolled 1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 2d6 : 5, 2, total 7
Quote from: Eclecticon on May 15, 2016, 07:45 PM:ooc: Well, that's a decent-ish result! What does that, plus Shadow-Lore, get me?
If so, I'm going to wave him to silence once I figure out what he's about to ask and whisper what I know to him as an aside, under the rest of the conversation.
:ooc: Oh yea! I am sorry, Paul. I forgot about your roll and it was good one, too. Arbogast has a good assumption of what Ceawin is talking about for he has also heard of the barrows of men becoming haunted and travelers being waylaid if they got too close.
I hope you marked your character sheet for that success.
I will do a follow-up post tomorrow.
Arbogast leans over towards his diminutive friend. Quietly, he says "dreadful things have seeped from the deep earth to haunt the barrows of long-dead Men, Bandy. Whatever they may be - the spirits of the dead, or something yet more sinister - they mean harm to the quick and warm-blooded who stray too close. Perhaps it is no wonder that the Lord of the Sunstead tarries so long away from his land, if it be thus plagued."
:ooc: Thanks. Just wondered if there was anything else I should know. IIRC, the route I've proposed will take us right past some barrows, won't it?
Also, :csu:.
Bandy placed his horn mug on the table and reached for his pipe, then his tobacco. With a deepening frown he took his hand away when the realization that his tobacco was now gone dawned on him. He had stretched his supply out far longer than he thought possible, but now it was utterly gone. The vacant pit in his stomach wouldnt go away and he was hardly reassured by Arbogasts words. The words of the Brown wizard that called Ceawin's helm plan foolish and his occupaation of Sunstead reckless began to echo again in the Hobbits head.
"Where was the Brown Wizard..," thought the Hobbit. He was not present at this feast and the little that the Hobbit had heard since their return was that he was only seen a couple of times since their departure. The wizard while never forthcoming had been even less open or active since their trip to the old hold of the enemey.
The halfling also expected that by this time some of the promised aid from the Woodmen to the north would have arrived at the Black Tarn by now and that the folk there would be better off than when the companions had left in the spring.
"Another road and another journey so soon?" Asked the Hobbit. "We are hardly rested and my cloak not yet even washed. There were trolls and goblins on a trading mission, what will we find in the tombs of long dead men?? Nothing good i should think."
Bandy looked at Rorin, hoping that he had more sense than the Big Folk did. "We have heard stories of such things to the east of where I live. We have no tales of Hobbits haunitng such places, because though we live in holes ourselves we mind our own bussiness and stay away from unnatural callings and places of foulness."
The Halfling rubbed his helm token and mumbled a moment and then spoke up, "I'll not leave my friends, if they go I shall follow."
Rorin traded glances with each of the companions and sat back in his chair, nervously stroking his beard. Though the wounds on his heart had healed, he remembered well the road to Dol Guldur and how he had lost control of his mind to the Shadow. The thought of going to such a dark place did not sit well with him...though, Grimbeorn was right, the Shadow MUST be dealt with, and who better to do it then the occupants of this room?
To the hobbit he said, "Alas Bandy, this IS our business. Our peoples possess not the wisdom and kindness of the halflings and the mistakes of our past haunt us. We are all people of Mirkwood and we must set our house in order."
Then he spoke out loud to the rest of the room, "I know Arbogast wishes to return to his home, and I also believe the Narrows to be the best path...though my heart much desires to look upon the Old Dwarf Road. I will accompany him at least as far as the Black Tarn, and further if my friends so decide."
Eyebrows raised in unspoken question, Arbogast glanced at Grimbeorn and Esgalwen. Their reactions would determine the Fellowship's course.
"I hardly know which road be the course to take as my knowledge doesn't extend beyond my people's lands and those we've traveled together. Yet I do agree that we must take up this cause. We might not be the wisest in lore or the mightiest of warriors, but we are keen and we are able. For if we do not stand, who will? How could we ask others to do so if we are not willing to do the same? As for our homes and loved ones, the least that I'm sure we could impose upon the patron of Rhosgobel would be to send word of our deeds and status."
"I could say it is duty that would move me to do this journey that has been requested, but too it is friendship. I will not let you all down. I will follow you to the heart of spider's nest should that be our way, and so I will take up this task to safely see us all across the great forest. I guess than it is duty to which I am beholden - not just duty to the Steward of Gondor far away, but duty to my friendships that I have gained in this land." Esgalwen looked to her companions and then to the chieftain, "Master Ceawin, I can say that I do not yet know the hope you wish to gain from your errand, but I can say that I will stand with my friends and see it done. I would only ask that you take counsel with Arbogast and the course that should be taken. He knows these woods and it would give him opportunity to see his home once more, before year end."
Ceawin stroked the short hair that adorned his chin, looking to ponder her words as he did. A smile bloomed on his face and he laughed, "Lady Esgalwen, I would sooner allow a Woods-man guide me through that tangle of forest than to try to find our way across once more. We call ourselves Woods-men, too, but in truth my people range the great plains of Rhovanion all the way to Dale and Dorwinion. So yes, yes! I humbly turn over the task of guide to our friend, Arbogast!"
The Wood-man heard Ceawin call him friend and he wondered at that. The Master of Sunstead had seemed to date to be a very self-serving man. Yes, it was for his people's interest, but it was his primary concern - even back to the Folk-moot those few year back.
:ooc: Hey all!
First, let me say that you guys truly rock! I love reading our story as much as I do contributing to it!
Second, Ayrn is back and he is going to be entering the game with a new PC. Esgalwen will remain my GM character, which is actually good because it gives me an avenue to feed the party ideas if we ever get stuck. Besides, I really like the Dúnadan Ranger! :)
"I thank you, Lord of the Sunstead. So too do I thank all of you, who already have trod long and weary ways for a folk who are no kin of yours. I hope that, in the days to come, I may be of such service to your homes as you have been to mine."
"Master Ceawin?" Esgalwen spoke to draw his attention.
"Yes?"
"We have sat at your table now and enjoyed your fare and been a while in our cups - before it is too long into the night, perhaps you could tell us the story you promised?"
"Story?" inquired the Lord of Sunstead.
"Yes. Upon our return and receipt of your helm, you said it would honor the fallen and the restless will rest once more. A tale, you said, that was best saved for a later time. What purpose will the helm serve, this Helm of Peace?"
Ceawin smiled. He then drew a draught from his mug and began to tell a tale. "Long ago, the Northmen who cut the East Bight buried their ancestors in barrows on the edge of the wood, and planted a yew tree above each barrow. Today, the barrows are hollows amid the roots of towering trees, hidden unless you know which hollow goes deeper than the rest, leading down into the earth.
"Things are stirring in the dark places of the woods. The Shadow that once haunted this region is only a memory to the granthers that still live, but still, the Enemy's servants linger and old horrors awaken. It was in the winter of 2949 that my folk started to whisper of glowing lights that danced amid the long barrows where our ancestors lie, and of groaning voices that echo from the deepest tombs."
The companions looked at one another. To each, the memory of the year-end of 2949 and their journey to Dol Guldur brought goose-flesh to their skin. Did their dabbling in that foul place stir up shadows? Esgalwen saw once more the haunted form of Orophin, as he stood on the bridge beckoning for her to come back to him. She cleared her throat which had become tight with fear.
Ceawin continued, "The Hall of Ghosts has been seen twice by hunters, and the discovery of four dead men – killed, seemingly, by fright – convinced me that something must be done. Thus, following the advice of seers, I decided that the dead must be honoured with a gift, and so hired our Dwarf-smith friend here to forge a helm that commemorates the deeds of these Northmen of old. I will present it to them personally by going into one of these barrows and laying it upon the bier within and offer it in exchange for leaving our living folk in peace. My seers have seen the results of such offering and I have been told the words with which to honour the dead."
The Master of Sunstead could see the incredulous looks amongst those at his table, "I know it sounds foolish, but I will do what must be done for the safety of my people and lands."
"You will enter this tomb alone?" asked Esgalwen.
"If needs be," was the reply.
The Dúnadan took on a far off gaze, her mind once more returning to the spirit-haunted quags and moat that surrounded Dol Guldur. The dead within that water did not wish to release her. They wanted her, as they wanted Orophin. The dead do not make such easy compromises.
Bandy looked at Abrogast with only a thin veiled look of shock on his face. The Halfling wondered if this was the reason that the Brown Wizard had been so fearful. Their trip to Dol Guldur may have caused or awoken the fell spirits. He vividly rememberd the Wizard and how he revealed himself upon their escape. More likely still is that the dark creatures were returning before that and they are now making themsleves more known.
"So if we go it will be into the dead pits of long passed kings," said the Hobbit. "I'll not hinder the party or stay behind, but I have no desire to see the likes of the swamp candles again."
"None of us, that is for sure, wish to do this. I will go though regardless of the danger. After our encounter to the south, I say this not out of hubris or pride but of duty. Appeasing these spirits may only be a temporary solution as well and we're the best to deal with it."
Arbogast gives a cautious nod as Grimbeorn and Bandy speak. May we all beware, he thinks. The dead are unlikely to care for the Helm, be it ever so well-fashioned. I fancy they desire more the warmth and life of he who must bear it beneath the earth...
Bandy strode from the smoke filled hall as the big folk demurred about the upcoming journey across the narrows. The Hobbit thought that they were all mad to willingly seek the crypts of the dead who were known to not to be peacefully in their slumber. At first the Hobbit had intended to only get a breath of fresh air outside of the doorway, but soon Bandy was equally tortured by the idleness of standing. He decided then and there if the big folk went blindly into danger he would not and set out to finds Ingomer.
The Halfling soon found the aged man, but in a short conversation soon realized that all of his knowledge, thin though it was, was based more upon legend and story than anything the Hobbit could actually use. In a short time the feet of the Hobbit were turned to the path that led to the Brown Wizards house.
As he approached he saw the tall dense copse of woods that the Brown Wizard had used as his only permanent dwelling. Tugging up his pants the Halfling stepped upon the path that wove its way through the woods intent on reaching the house of the wizard. Bandy was aware that he made no progress, like all of those who wished to seek the Wizard when uninvited or escorted that woods seemed to bend and change so that the traveler always seemed just inside the woods when they turned around, no matter how far they had intended to go. With dogged persistence the hobbit tried it several times, and on the third try heard a voice in the woods, "who?"
Bandy stopped and addressed the darkness, "It is I, Bandy of the Shire. I wish to speak with you Radagast."
"Who."
This time the Hobbit took it for a statement rather than a question and realized that the speaker was not the wizard concealed in the wood, but instead an owl. Knowing that the wizard often used the creatures of the wood the Halfling proceeded with his errand.
"Well good sir, good night to you. If you happen to see our mutual friend would you relay some information to him?"
The owl blinked in the night.
"Tell him that Bandy the Hobbit, in the company of his companions, has headed east through the narrows. The big folk have gotten it into their heads to make offerings to the dead and his help may be required since his advice was not available. If you please."
The owl blinked again at the curious Hobbit.
Feeling as though he had done all that he could the Hobbit turned and left the wood.
"Didn't see the Brown fellow did you," said a gruff accented voice from the dark.
"Who's there?" the hobbit replied.
The Hobbit turned and looked and saw a man lounging on the rocks. He had a large mug of ale at his side and what looked like a skin of wine hanging from his shoulder as well.
"You don't know me Halfling, but I know you. You're one of the company that follows around the ranger girl."
"Yes, what of it?' sad Bandy hesitantly, "and what business is it of yours to spy on me?"
"Your manners and good cheer seem to have left you Master Hobbit when you are not so close to your friends and the fire."
The hand of the Halfling strayed to the knife at his side. "few in the Wilderland have manners when challenged in the dark."
The man laughed, "true enough, true enough. I am Garrick though more often than not you know whom I serve. Mogdred, the master of the Southern Wood. The doorwardens of Ingomer were not kind and refused to let me enter. Though I have not roof or wall, will you share a drink with me here under the stars?"
The Hobbit was still wary, the name of Mogdred did not engender kindness or sympathy in any of the Woodmen.
"Why were you refused entry to the hall? All are welcome there."
"No, no they are not. Despite how it may appear to you and your friends. I am often left out of doors or denied entry, whether through my looks or the names of may masters I do not know, perhaps both. My boon companions are the stars, my furniture the rocks, and my drink what I can get sold to me through a window or a door as long as I agree to leave."
"Then I see why you question the hospitality of others Master Garrick."
The man laughed at the words. "Oh no small one. I am master of nothing, least of all where I am sent to go. Though in this alone I am lucky for it is to you and your companions I was bid to see."
Bandy was still cautious of the man and didn't trust him, even more so now that it appeared as though he may be spying on the company as well as trying to discern the whereabouts of the Radagast.
The Halfling weighed his options, but decided to sit with the man.
"Well Garrick I will accept your offer of a drink as readily as I accept your rebuke for being discourteous." The Halfling moved to take a seat upon a rock adjacent to the man and took an offered cup. The cup was battered and travel worn, but would hold the wine that the man steadily poured from out of the skin.
"I doubted you would accept my offer, and I thank you. Many here would have dismissed me and sent me away without a thought, but you reconsidered. I'll not inquire as to why, but I thank you none the less."
The two sat for a moment in the silence of the night.
"My lord Mogdred wishes to invite the Lady Esgalwen to come to him in his hall for the winter. He extends the offer to all of her companions if that is the price of her coming and would welcome your swords and axes in his constant fighting in the south. Even now in the winter we are beset and have little respite, and all of our enemies are not the orcs of Fenbridge. We have found little help from the Woodmen of the north and the scattered people of the south from many places are often our enemies as they are likely to be our allies. The weapons and armor that the Lady brought north have been one of our chief strengths in not falling under the sway of others."
The grizzled man barred an inch of steel at his side and the Hobbit knew it to be a fine sword from the south.
"Despite our appearance and our pasts we will not be slaves again and now we have the weapons to insure that our strength matches our will. Forgive me Master Halfling, I have strayed from my purpose and the wine has loosened my tongue overmuch. Will you deliver my message to the lady so that I may return to my own land?"
"I will, and let us each dispense with the masters, I am simply called Bandy."
The man from the unknown south laughed at the Halfling's words and it contained in it a true mirth, regardless of what his real intentions may have been.
"Well Bandy I also have this," and the man rummaged in the gunney sack at his hip quickly pulling out a packet.
"I had intended to keep it after my rebuke at the door, but in truth it came from Aldwyn with the well wishes of two boys, Acca and Kenway. I was bid to give it to you if I found you."
The Halfling had not yet undone the wrapper when he smelled the scent of pipe weed. The smell was not that of Longbottom leaf, but it was pipe weed none the less. Bandy laughed and smiled.
"Well now this is great gift and long it must have traveled to reach here. I thank both the giver and the deliver."
The Halfling was over joyed at the prospect of smoking again and his natural good cheer and generosity came to the fore once again. The Halfling broke off a chunk of the pressed cake and handed it to Garrick. He also took his spare pipe from his belt and handed it to him.
"Take these as a delivery fee and as a gift for the better nature of us all."
The man took the gifts from the Hobbit and said nothing. The two parted then and the Halfling left to relay the message to Esgalwen, only after his pipe was filled and well lit.
Who knew how this act of friendship and kindness between the two would impact events to come.
:ooc: I will have to work this in to our new thread, but excellent post!!
For a minute there, I thought you were introducing a young Aragorn into the story. ;D
:ooc: lol, not all who wander are Aragorn!