Arbogast swung his axe, striking with the flat staggering the Tyran Hillman. He then smashed him with his shield and the man sprawled to the ground, unmoving. The light was fading quickly away as the leaves crackled and were consumed, leaving only glowing embers of wood. Only one of the Hillman had gotten away, the pack of dogs chasing and howling behind him, leaving three unconscious on the ground with minor cuts and scrapes. Dagmar lay there, too, but her wound was clearly more grievous - her tunic a dark black from blood loss. Rorin gripped the only one that was aware of their situation, and the traitor was begging for his life.
On the litter, the dead body of Beran also lay, his own blood staining the ground. Dagmar had made a cruel stab to his chest, through the ribs, and into the man's heart. There was nothing anyone could have done for Radagast's friend.
The companions felt the adrenaline leaving their limbs, and the shakes were commencing for some. Esgalwen looked around and saw in the faces around her, that only a few of these new friends had ever taken another man's life. Bandy stared at Dagmar, where his arrow protruded just below her right breast. She was a woman...and he might have slain her. The Ranger needed to snap them all back to the moment, "We need to get help. There are too many for us to carry back to Tent-town. One or two of us must go for aid."
Orophin had watched as the last of the hillmen ran off through the woods and heard Arbogast tell Grimbeorn to leave him to his own devices. The Silvan Elf came quickly to a conclusion of his own and to the surprise of his companions, bounded off after the man. If he could get in front of him, cut him off, he could stop any news from returning to wherever it was that they had come. Tyrant's Hill, he remember the woman, Dagmar, saying. Orophin only heard a few of the lady ranger's words before he was deep into the darkness of Mirkwood.
Arbogast nods, distractedly. "I will go," he says, as he kneels by Dagmar's side. "I know these woods better than any of you, but this woman needs help if she is to live, and there has been enough death already this night."
With that, he begins the delicate work of removing the arrow from its lodging-place in her chest.
:ooc:
DC 14 Healing 3:00: 1d12 : 6, total 6
Rolled 3d6 : 3, 1, 6, total 10
:ooc: I'm going to flag Arbogast's patient trait again - he is taking his time and making sure he does the job right.
On an entirely unrelated note, I believe that qualifies him for another improvement point (his last in the Survival track).
:ooc: cool ;D
Grimbeorn sets out after the remaining villain but his friends call him back. He chafes at letting the man go as the portent of their "master" is ominous. "I will go as I will move fastest unhindered and I cannot stand idle now. This one may be able to give more information useful in understanding what has transpired."
:ooc: Any particular skill I should use to get back -- Athletics, Travel, Hunting?
:ooc: No tests needed, Matt. It's going to be narrative for a while now.
Rolled 1d12 : 12, total 12
The dice roll is for Dagmar - she will die if it comes up an :~~: (which is the standard 11, not the inverted numbers when rolling for Allies of the Shadow).
Esgalwen listened to the two woodsmen debate on who should make haste back to Tent-town, and she threw her lot in with Grimbeorn. She spoke her reasoning, "I agree that the Beorning should make this trip. He is larger and sturdier than you, Arbogast. And from my understanding of your cultures, Grimbeorn is a recognized leader among his people and so will have the most credit with your Elders. Besides," she added with a smile to soften the blow, "your skill at healing is needed here." Esgalwen looked at Grimbeorn, "Run, sir! We will need aid as soon as possible if this woman is to survive."
:ooc: WOW! She is lucky!
If any of you have any RP'ing you want to do before my scene change below, feel free to do so. I will hold up the next scene as needed.
Eyes narrowed as the companions walked into Tent-town. It was the gray of morning and their legs and arms screamed of weariness. Their hearts, too, were low for the expedition that had started as a food gathering task had turned into something terrible. They had seen a man slain and near taken the lives of others.
The procession was led by Grimbeorn and Arbogast, followed by four bound strangers and two litter bearers. A body was covered respectfully with a blanket, while Dagmar was plain to see - her wound even more terrible to behold in the morning light. Following all was the remainder of the companions and the Woodmen that had come at Grimbeorn's beckon. Only Orophin had yet to return, after he had given chase to the last of the Hillmen - his companions wondered at his well-being. They had been unable to aid him in his chase, with Grimbeorn leaving for help and leaving them with five captives to monitor. Even when Grimbeorn returned, there was no way to know in the darkness which way Orophin had gone, and so after a short debate, it was decided to return to Tent-town. Orophin knew his way back - he would have to make it on his own.
Ingomer, the de facto leader of the encampment and the Folk-moot, stood watching as the entourage came into the town's center. Freda and Munderic also stood nearby with eyes wide at the night's events. The young women met Arbogast's haunted gaze and gave him a wan smile. The chief wanted the companions before the Elders to speak of what had happened as soon as they were refreshed. "Get drinks. Wash the forest from your face and hands, and then see us," he said in a stern voice.
The prisoners were taken to a tent and corralled there. Tent-town was not built with the intention of prisoners, as that was not the idea of this moot, and so the need for improvisation. Dagmar was taken to the healers and Beran was set down outside the Elder council's tent for Radagast to see - this was his man.
When the companions had refreshed, they made their way to the Council.
Each return back to Tent-town has been cooler than the last since Arbogast began keeping the company of his new fellowship, and this is the coldest yet. His father and family give him cold water to wash in and hard bread to break his fast, and when they accept his wargear for safe-keeping, it is with an un-stated understanding that he will not see it again if he fails to collect it quickly. So it is a bone-weary, demoralised man who appears before the council of elders.
Silently, he waits for the remainder of the fellowship. In the meantime, he watches the fire and lets the events of the previous day resolve themselves in his mind.
As he stared at Dagmar, pale and unconscious, and the now-bandaged wound he had inflicted, Bandy wonders who he is and who he is becoming. He recalled the consuming desire for revenge that overcame him when she had thrust her dagger deep into Beren's chest. These woods cast a shadow on all things, he thought, turning their acts to evil purposes. I have been here but a short while and I am already becoming like them, his eyes fixed on Dagmar. Looking up, his attention was caught by the busy preparations for the council, where men and women will soon decide in free debate how best to defend themselves. No, no he thought, I have it wrong. These people, these Woodmen, are of the forest, and yet they struggle against the creeping malice. Dagmar is weak, not strong. Then he saw his friends in a different light.
Realizing how difficult it must be for young men like Arbogast and Grimbeorn to win acceptance in a society that because it exists constantly with the Shadow demands much of its people. The need to prove oneself, to be both strong and wise, must be great. He approaches the woodman and the beorning, their faces strained and anguished. "You have been called upon to perform deeds that would quail the hearts of great men and have rendered great service to your families and people. You have proven yourselves to be doughty warriors, but not merely warriors. Wisdom guides your hands and mercy your hearts. You should be proud." To Arbogast, he says "My people too are distrustful of outsiders. Keeping company with a Woodman and a Beorning, not to mention an Elf and a Dwarf, would cause a scandal. We are strong together - last night proved that - but the enemy will prey on our differences and try to divide us. Is not that what this council is about, to bring together different people in a common cause? Take heart. You are not alone."
Orophin watches as the last of the hillmen runs off through the woods and quickly gives chase even as the others ask Grimbeorn to stay. He only hears a part of the lady rangers speech before he's out of earshot and running after the fleeing man.
:ooc: I took the narrative that you just wrote, Stefan, tweaked it a bit and dropped it into the initial post of this thread. I also edited the second narrative post that I gave you all.
If anyone needs to, please correct your post to show Orophin's chase after the man.
The heir of Beorn once again found himself staring intently at the fire. Father had warned him of their people's tendencies towards swift retribution where treachery, disloyalty, and unfaithfulness lie. But he didn't have his father's equally easy ability to laugh and find joy in the littlest of things like his animals -- the rage within him burned deep. What Grimbeorn wouldn't acknowledge was that Beorn understood his son better than he and knew it was the fire of youth and inexperience; he had faith that it would turn around and knew that this was a test for both of them. The youth heard the words of the hobbit and sighed. "Killing dark creatures and orcs to protect one's homeland and people is one thing, but to kill a man is still a hard thing. It's the look in their eyes..."
Bandy felt compassion for the inscrutable beorning youth. What turmoil had he locked deep within him? What was it like to be the son of the great Beorn, of whom even hobbits knew something? Difficult no doubt. But he also seemed to think that his experiences and troubles were worse than other people's.
In a soft and friendly voice, Bandy said "I know that all too well. If the Dark Lady of Tyrant's Hill dies it is because I killed her. I have experienced more horrors in the last few weeks than in a lifetime in the Shire, and the worst was when the arrow I released entered her breast. I cannot bear to think of her death and will that Arbogast's remedies worked. But that does not change the fact that there are orcs that are born and there are orcs that are made either by their own choices or by some power beyond our reckoning. Do you catch my meaning? Should Dagmar live, we must try to redeem her.
Bandy, for the first time, began to understand Bilbo a little better. Did he wander so often because his experiences and emotions were so at odds with his bucolic surroundings?
Grimbeorn and Bandy looked up to see a wizened, old man enter the council pavilion - both knew him immediately to be Radagast, though it was the first time both had seen him. The Hobbit had heard tales of Gandalf the Gray and had been in awe from the stories, but was left mouth agape when he saw this new wizard. The Master of Rhosgobel had looked like he was dressed in a cloak of lichen and fur, which was smeared with droppings from the birds that flitted above his hat. The diminutive fellow shook he head as he looked to the Beorning to see his reaction. Esgalwen came next, up to her friends along with Arbogast and Rorin - all three wondered at the dumbfounded looks that were on the others faces. The Ranger wondered about Orophin - he had disappeared the night before in chase after the last hillman and none had yet heard news of him.
A woman came out of the Council Tent and announced, "Ingomer has called the council to order - you are requested within."
Managing to suppress a weary sigh, Arbogast stands. After a day and a night of walking, then a period of immobility, his legs are protesting. He hopes it doesn't show on his face as he extends a hand towards Bandobras. Esgalwen, Grimbeorn and Rorin, he judges, would prefer to stand without accepting his help.
Rorin was glad that their unexpected adventure in the wood was complete, and that they finally had the chance to inform Radagast and the other leaders of the Tent Town about what they had learned. As he looked around at the company preparing to enter the Council Tent Rorin was glad to see no small amount of true friendship being shared between them all, for the first time in years he felt as though he was in the right place.
Grimbeorn grumbled something barely audible about timeliness, lordlings, and wizards.
Gladly accepting his friend's hand, Bandy pulls himself up. The sight of the wizard catches him off guard and he thinks the old man looks like a bird's nest. But then he catches the wizard's eyes and pauses. The eyes are deep and ancient and wise. There is kindness and a terrible power if unleashed. Bandy quickly regrets his first, mocking thought. He glances at his friends and mentally prepares for the council.
The canvas of the tent was heavy, a slight tackiness and oily feeling was left on evey hand that grabbed or touched the flap as they entered. The tent was largish on the inside and braziers were used to expel the dampness and provide light. No open flames burned so as to keep the tent from burning, instead the braziers were filled with charcoal and arranged with polished mirrors to give off a red light. As the companions entered they saw that several of the elders sat in conference, the brown mage sat silently to the side and while no man sat higher or in a finer chair, none had the presence that Ingomer Axebreaker of Woodland Hall had.
"Companions, " the aged man said as he rose in greater. "Welcome, come sit and be heard. We would like to hear the story of how you came to the camp bearing a dead man, many wounded, and a well armed man of the forest?"
Arbogast begins to tell the tale. He describes the route taken by the companions in some detail, noting landmarks near the point on the banks of the Black Tarn where the Fellowship first encountered the unfortunate Beran. He describes the man's wounds and the tatters of web clinging to him - evidence that the spiders of the deep forest are perhaps encroaching on the Western Eaves. He recounts the words of Beran's parchment, though the document itself is still in the hands of Orophin, who has not been seen since yesternight's skirmish.
He similarly spares no detail in describing the location of their meeting with Dagmar and her followers. If Ingomer or any of the other assembled elders know of Tyrant's Hill, then they may be able to reckon the location of their hall.
When it comes to the fight, though, he says little. The fighting was a desperate and confused scuffle - hardly the stuff of grand tales - and the resulting prisoners testify to their own defeat.
After what seems like an age of talking, he finishes simply. "...then Orophin and I removed the arrow that struck Dagmar, dressed her wound and brought the survivors back here, along with the body of Beran Wizard's-Friend. Her fate we will leave to the folk-moot, should she recover."
Rorin sat silently as Arbogast recounted the story of yesterday's excitement content to let one of the groups more eloquent members take that responsibility. He saw the concern grow deep in the faces of the elders and slowly began to realize that his companions and himself were no longer to be a mere hunting party. The realization did not fill him with apprehension or fear because even in the short time this unlikely group had broken bread together, each of them had proven their worthiness and capability as companions. Rorin knew that they could overcome whatever was in store for them in the coming days.
His tale over, Arbogast casts an appraising eye at the elders, Ingomer especially. He feels the opprobrium of his people like a wound, but it, and the dour faces before him, have kindled a new fire in the young man's heart and he will not hold his tongue simply for fear of further scorn.
"Of Orophin's fate, we know nothing, and so a representative of the Woodland Realm and the Elvenking is absent. Yet the news of the day is grave: orcs on the march and a people unknown to me, a true-born son of Mirkwood, at arms to the south. The folk have waited long enough. What we now know must be told. The moot must begin."
"Aye! Aye! Hear! Hear!" came a chorus of cries from the council, as Arbogast spoke his request for the moot to commence. Ingomer and Radagast had the center seats in the circular council sitting, and they were seats of honor, though neither man considered himself the authority. Around them sat Fridwald and Hartfast, Targus and Cutwine, Amaleoda and Bofri - all clansmen and leaders of their perspective folk and some gave acknowledgement of Arbogast while the others sat silent.
At last, Ingomer sighed and he looked to Ceawin, the golden-haired leader of the folk of the East Bight, "You have heard the words, Ceawin. It was you who had called for this moot and most of the folk of Mirkwood have sent their representatives. Now Arbogast brings us these tidings and advises that action be taken. What say you? Do we start the folk-moot with the threat of orcs and evil men to our south?" He then turned to wizard, "Master Radagast - high is the regard of men for your wisdom- what words do you offer us now?"
:ooc: Going to leave this for Tom to chime in as a few NPC's so that we have a varied conversation, with different ideas and opinions. All players may post, too, to interject into the debate. I don't care if you give stuff like Hear Hear! or Let it begin! Or stuff that might be shouts from your PC in the crowd...know what I mean?
Rorin completely agreed with Arbogast and said, "Aye, we have no sturdy walls here, and our homelands are lacking many of our leaders. If there is indeed a threat from the south, we had best deal with it rather than let it come to us."
Grimbeorn grumbled, "About time!"
The forces of shadow are gatheirng. Let the moot begin without delay, so that we may face the enemy united.
Esgalwen quietly observed the council meeting, not feeling the need to add or correct the Woodman's witness... it was close enough to the truth as her testimony would be. And when Arbogast made his request for the folk-moot to begin, the ranger was content to let others raise their voices while she observed the room... paid attention to the council members.
She was favourably disposed towards the folk-moot beginning, though would she help the men of the Wood? She was uncertain at the moment... her mission had only be to gather news and report back, Though, she knew from her journey here that she would require companions to accompany her back home if she hoped to arrive alive.
Shhh... quiet yourself, child, she could her her father's voice. Pay attention... you will find a way.
Esgalwen smiled inwardly at the conforting sound of her father's voice, and settled down to hear what news would be shared around the council.
Radagast scratched at the brown beard that grew tangled upon his chin - Bandy wondered if it were bugs at which he dug. Without noticing the Hobbit, the Brown Wizard spoke, "If it were orcs that had ambushed our fine friends here, then our answer to these questions would be simple. The shadow of the Necromancer, or its agents, still vie for a hold on the southern end of the forest." He pointed to Esgalwen, "Even our Gondorian friend here has spoken of these creatures waylaying her and her companions along their road. Unfortunately, though orcs still haunt Dol Guldur, it was not orcs that ambushed Arbogast and his company. It was woodmen. So, our challenge now is in the strength of heart - who is strong enough to stave off the evil influence of the domineering Necromancer? How many woodmen are beholden to his will, even though he might be cast out? And who can we trust?"
Ceawin began to speak, but Radagast continued his words, "We speak of alliances, unity among the clans, peace within Mirkwood - perhaps to reclaim the name of Greenwood the Great, instead of the more current, ominous moniker. But how can this be if brigands and outlaws hunt our own, or worse, folks we trust have turned their cloaks. Do we commence the moot when we are not sure which party has been corrupted? Beran's note speaks of orcs at Fenbridge Castle, but who is the will behind them? Why would the woman we have captured, Dagmar, who is clearly a woodman, have slain my man? There are many questions that the situation has brought before us.
"Do we investigate the castle? Tyrant's Hill?" Radagast's questions hung in the room for all to ponder.
Ceawin, seeing an opening, broke the new silence, "Master Radagast, your words ring true and we must take care as we move forward - for this is a chance that Mirkwood has not seen since well before the forefathers of my clan first settled the East Bight. Yes, trust in our alliances is paramount, but it is for the people to decide this. We must present the facts to our gathered comrades. The moot must commence!"
:ooc: I was leaving this open for more debate (roleplaying) from your PC's, but I think you guys have given me what your PC's want with the responses above. So, I will move us forward.
Remember though, this is a roleplaying game so you guys can argue and debate, stomp your boots, shake your fists, etc. to make these non-combat interactions entertaining.
Anyway...
The room moved back and forth with the debate, as each party added their own to the conversation. Voices were raised, curses and oaths made, but in the end it came down to the decision of Ingomer and Radagast - both the assumed clan leaders of Tent-town. The two men listened attentively and when all arguments had been made, they had a quiet conference between themselves, at last Ingomer returned to the council pavilion.
He looked at each person in the tent and then spoke, "Great is the purpose for which we have been called. Wise indeed, though his years are still young, was the choice of Ceawin the Generous to call for this gathering - to make new allegiances and join the clans. But the actions of a few over the last few days has had an ill-effect and jeopardizes the moot's commencement. To Radagast and myself, this can only be the Shadow at work, for who else would set evil against us at a time when peace and unity might prevail? So we say nay, to the darkness that would draw us apart, let the folk-moot begin!"
The room erupted in a chorus of cheers along with a few anguished cries, but Radagast held up his hand to restore quiet. He took over from Ingomer, "The folk-moot will commence in a fortnight. This will give time for Orophin to return with any tidings, for the representative of Thranduil must be among us. It will also allow for the people of Tent-town to gather their thoughts and intents for this common cause."
The debate was done and the men of the council, along with the companions of a new fellowship, all exited the tent. It was all about to begin.
:ooc: All right, we will be running through one more thread of debate - the Folk-moot and this will end our first Adventure phase.
I will start the new thread tonight.