With the coming of morning, the party awoke to find Ceawin and his people once more with a spread of food set for breakfast. They ate quickly and were then shown to where the train was loaded out and ready. The companions were pleased to see that there was a horse prepared for each - ponies for the short-folk. Rorin guffed at the idea of riding an animal, but at last conceded that he would hinder the speed of the company.
It was one hundred miles between Rhosgobel and Woodland Hall and the sooner they were started, the sooner they could end. The Lord of Sunstead would be leading the company along with four of his best swords. It was only proper that any compact between people, bound through marriage, should have each of the leaders present. Ceawin's seneschal would remain in Rhosgobel, so as to keep the camp and await their return.
The path decided on would take them north, along the Dusky River, where they would first come to Woodmen-town and then on to Woodland Hall. Barring ill-weather, or other unseen challenge, it was anticipated that the wedding train would arrive in Woodland Hall on the fifteenth day of May, in ten days.
Journey's parameters:• 100 miles through hard land (x2 modifier), at the pace of walking due to the wagon, so 20 miles a day, or 10 days total
• I will need two Fatigue tests DC 14
• I need you to make your Lore tests for advantages
• Matt, we can port over the details of your last post in the previous thread regarding Grimbeorn's journey
Results of Lore tests for Journey| PC | Advantage | Position |
| Arbogast | 1 die | scout |
| Esgalwen | 0 dice | guide |
| Bandy; Rorin | 2 dice; 0 dice | look-out |
| Grimbeorn | 0 dice | hunter |
Bandy
Fatigue1
Rolled 2d6 : 4, 4, total 8
Rolled 1d12 : 8, total 8
Fatigue2
Rolled 2d6 : 4, 1, total 5
Rolled 1d12 : 2, total 2
Lore
Rolled 2d6 : 6, 2, total 8
Rolled 1d12 : 8, total 8
:ooc: I can only imagine the fun time we're about to have trying to get horses and a wagon through Mirkwood - even the easy part.
For Lore, I'm going to rely on Arbogast's Mirkwood Lore once again.
Fatigue roll 1:
Rolled 1d12 : 5, total 5
Rolled 2d6 : 1, 4, total 5
Fatigue roll 2:
Rolled 1d12 : 1, total 1
Rolled 2d6 : 6, 2, total 8
:ooc: Wow, that was pretty awful even by my standards. I'll add my bonus die on to the first roll:
Rolled 1d6 : 4, total 4
:ooc:
:00:
Fatigue 1 - 1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 3d6 : 5, 6, 4, total 15
:00:
Fatigue 2 - 1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 3d6 : 3, 1, 2, total 6
:00:
Lore (augmented by Spider-lore if applicable)- 1d12 : 6, total 6
:00:
Rolled 1d12 : 9, total 9
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 2, 5, total 11
:00:
Rolled 1d12 : 7, total 7
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 2, 3, total 9
:00:
Rolled 1d12 : 2, total 2
Rolled 1d6 : 6, total 6
The Dusky river flows silently by Arbogast's side. Behind him, the horse picks its arduous way between jutting roots and slippery mud, the effort robbing it of any will to complain. Madness, he thinks. It is madness to try to bring these great animals through the forest. Let alone the cart they are driving! I dread to think of what it must have cost them to get it this far...
Beneath the boughs overhanging the river, the air is still and filled with the soporific sound of insects. Sweating, silently cursing, Arbogast struggles on, the need to find a path suitable for horses and carts adding a never-before-seen challenge to the journey.
:ooc: Esgalwen
DC 14 lore ♦○○○○○:00: 1d12 : 8, total 8
Rolled 1d6 : 2, total 2
DC 14 travel ♦♦♦○○○:00: Fatigue 1 1d12 : 4, total 4
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 3, 3, total 8
DC 14 travel ♦♦♦○○○:00: Fatigue 2 1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 6, 4, total 12
:ooc: Wow! Looks like the Dúnadan underestimated the strain of the woods, as she goes up 4 in Fatigue
AND causes a Hazard.
Only Arbogast suffers fatigue, also, by 2 points.
The HAZARD:
Roll(1d12)+0: 8,+0 Total:8
Look-out man is the role challenged, so Bandy and Rorin must roll an Awareness check TN 14 (which I am rolling below)
Bandy
DC 14 Awareness ♦♦○○○○:00: 1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 2d6 : 6, 6, total 12
Rorin
DC 14 Awareness ♦♦○○○○:00: 1d12 : 10, total 10
Rolled 2d6 : 5, 5, total 10
:ooc: Nice! Blew those tests out of the water.
The team had finally driven the wagon to the water's edge, though it had been arduous to say the least. Many shouts and curses had come from the teamsters as the wheels of the wain would get stuck in ruts of gnarled roots, decaying fallen tree trunks, or large moss-covered stones. The terrain was not conducive for the wagon and the companions wondered at why Ceawin had decided to travel so. Yes, she was a maiden, but she was no princess of great renown - it seemed a bit pretentious. Besides, Verwyne and her handmaids were getting greatly bruised by the bumpy travel. Now they slogged into thick morasses of mud that were pocketed alongside the Dusky River.
Arbogast had conveyed the advice to Ceawin, as to the manner of their travel and that it would not be easy, but the Lord of Sunstead had dismissed his warnings. "Once we are along the river, surely there will be a channel that will allow for easy passage between the trees. I have paid handsomely to employ these wain-men and I do not wish to lose my money."
The Fire-watcher wondered why the wain-men had never warned the Sunsteader that the travel would be near impossible. Usually these men plied the trails and roads of the Anduin Vale and steered clear of actually entering the woods. I guess they felt a fool's gold in their own pocket was worth the struggle.
Now, he watched as one of the teamsters stood in front of the struggling horses, pulling on their bridles, while the other heaved at a large polearm, along with three of Ceawin's men, to wedge one of the wheels up and out of a rut.
To the north of the van, Esgalwen sat atop her own horse just near the water's edge. The trickling of the water, croaking and buzzing of the wildlife, lolled at her and the fatigue of travel made her eyes close. The Dúnadan woman was the company's guide, and though she was good at reading terrain in most situations, she had led them here. Esgalwen felt ashamed at her decisions and had decided to turn the duty over to Arbogast - these were his lands. Her thoughts faded into sleep, but then were brought back in a rush as two shouts rang across the width of the river.
Bandy and Rorin had the duty of look-outs and positioned themselves at opposite ends of the wagon train. They watched the woods to their left, the trail behind and the trail to come, along with the eastern bank of the Dusky. Almost in tandem, the two let out a cry when shadows moved among the eaves on the far side of the river. Neither could tell what it was they saw moving, but it was large and there were many shapes. Was it a party of raiders, or orcs? Or something worse?
Bandy was reluctant to tamp out his pipe when he saw the shadows. Pipe weed would become scarce and he didnt want to waste even a pinch. Taking the bowl in his hand he hulloed to the group in warning. Placing the stem back between his teeth to free up his hands he bent the stave of his bow and strung the weapon, hand quickly falling to his side and cming up with an arrow. The hobbit marveled at howquickly he had become used to a life on the road and surrounded by danger, then in another thought realized how long he had trully been away from home and how long ago even the arrow to Bloody Muzzle was. All of this passed before the Hobbit quickly, and in a flash he was back in the moment scanning the riverline.
Grimbeorn had been a trifle irritable during this trip as the going was slow, most notably due to the wagons and the intractability of their h ost. So he kept his distance for the good of himself and his companions as they couldn't well afford some ignoble and counterproductive display. Yet when he heard the call come up, he was ever-ready and senses tingling.
Arbogast motions the wain to halt. With his eyes fixed steadily on the opposite bank, he readies his axe and shield. He has seen signs of spiders close to the river recently and is wary of the same threat now.
Rorin thought he saw a shadow of movement out of the corner of his eye, very similar to the glimpses he had been catching for the last 2 days...but this time when he turned his head the specter was still there though he could not identify them. He raised his voice in warning simultaneously with Bandy and turned to face this threat.
As Bandy's bow began to sing, Rorin turned his pony around and urged it to close the distance towards the cart. He pulled the pony to a stop behind the cart and unceremoniously deposited himself on the ground next to it, he handed the reigns to one of the wain-men, hefted his hammer and stepped towards these shadows with a smile on his face.
Ceawin and his men-at-arms joined the companions in their readiness, the jammed wagon wheel left unattended. With weapons poised, they all watched the eastern riverbank to see if any threat would reveal itself, but only the movement of foliage and occasional shadows could be seen.
A few voices rose as to whether they should cross the Dusky River to see who, or what was there, but Ceawin declined these actions. "T'would be unwise to have us fording the river, only to come under attack. Besides, we are not sure the depth or how strong the river flows here...I will not have anyone swept away."
The shrubs jostled and branches swished, but no arrow came. No spear. Nor any challenge.
The companions bent their ear when a something was heard...a cry? Did someone just call for help?
And then the disturbance was gone.
The trees and brush returned to its normal stillness and only the rippling of the river could be heard. The party was now antsy. Some asked again if they might cross to see if anyone was in need of aid.
"No!" answered Ceawin, now agitated himself. "We shall continue on. We must! Unhitch the horses from the wagon and the ladies can mount, those that cannot be doubled up on horses may walk. We need to make haste. I do not like this wood and I would have us to Woodmen Town by nightfall. That will leave but four more days of travel to Woodland Hall."
The Lord of Sunstead then took from his purse two coins of gold and placed them in one of the Wain-men's hand, "For your troubles, good sirs. I have paid for the horses and they shall be returned to you after we reach our goal, but I leave you and this accursed wagon. I am certain that you can return to your people and get a few horses to come retrieve the thing, but we must move on."
Arbogast was not sure if he saw pleasure in the two teamsters' faces, or not, but they did not question the Lord of the East Bight.
The companions resumed their places in the marching order after the ladies and all the company's gear was moved to the horses. The sun was now far into the afternoon sky when they started to move once more. Grimbeorn sat atop his mount with the arms of the Lady Verwyne about his waist. He had not asked her to ride with him, rather she had made the choice, but the Beorning was not displeased. He wrestled with the feelings that stirred, as he heard her lilting voice speak to him in soft whispers, while they rode along the river.
Arbogast kept his eyes on the eastern bank. The Fire-watcher was not surprised, a league further along their route, when he saw a wisp of silk fluttering from a high branch on a tree that sat across the river. The sun had set when at last they road through the gates of Woodmen Town.
Though he remains outwardly composed, Arbogast's relief when the company reaches the gates of Woodmen-Town is tremendous. It is like when I was a boy, he thinks, and the woods were not safe more than a dozen paces from the door. Times are darkening once more.
To the watchmen at the gate, he says "we left wain men struggling with a stuck wheel some hours downriver. I know them not, so they are neither of Rhosgobel nor Woodmen-Town, and they do not know the paths here. If some hunters could be spared, they will no doubt be glad of the assistance."
Grimbeorn's journey was infinitely more enjoyable now that the group had taken to the road on horseback. Though able to ride, he was better trained in his steed's care, which led to a more than a few apologies both to the horse and his companion. She laughed each time it happened but not at him. Aside from the usual chit-chat about the weather and their travel, Grimbeorn told her of the horses and other animals his father kept and of his travels, stepping past anything unseemly like his battles with the denizens of Mirkwood and the encounters he had with his friends. If not for the arrival to the village, Grimbeorn would say he had a pleasant day.
Rorin stood at the ready with his hammer raised for a good minute after Ceawin gave the order to move on. Then he begrudgingly clambered back onto his pony and resumed his position as look out. He sulked for the remainder of the day at the lost chance to put down a small part of the Darkness that was threatening to overcome the forest. It had been over a year since he last put his weapon to good use and he looked forward to using it again.
Bandy stood watch a moment longer and scanned the woodline. When he saw the men unloading the wagon he quickly gave up his pony to the porters to be loaded with supplies. Rubbing his backside, "I have not often been on a pony this long. Load this up with supplies from the wagon and I'll walk. Dont worry about me slowing you down, the pony doesnt move that fast and I am more agile being lower to the ground."
Things looked no different here than they had when Arbogast hitched his pack to his back those many years ago, never to return. They passed the guards at the south gate, who recognized the young man and nodded to his information regarding the wains-men they had left behind. Arbogast was not sure that anything would be done to help, but the forest communities usually made practice of helping any lost folk. Like an ocean, Mirkwood was vast and it was better to have friends and people you could trust for aid in times of need than not, and to deny help could earn disparagement from the other settlements.
(https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/52987685/Woodmen-town02.jpg)
Woodmen-town was the oldest settlement of the Woodmen and was founded by the folk of Balthi long ago. It was he that brought the Lamp out of the darkness, and the light of the Lamp has ever protected the town and its inhabitants. It was nestled on the banks of the Dusky River, which protected the town from attacks from the east, and provided for travel back and forth between Woodmen-town and Woodland Hall.
The Woodmen of Woodmen-town were proud and brave. Theirs was an ancient heritage, stretching back nearly a thousand years. To a civilised traveler from Dale or Gondor, they may look like rough wild Men of the woods, but the folk of Woodmen-town considered their lineage to be the equal of that of any king.
Arbogast could see the familiar houses of his father, Arbodag, and his brothers. He could also see the large house of Fridwald the Runner. The old man was not master of Woodmen-town, as the Free-men took no master, but it was he that the people turned to for guidance. The Fire-watcher wondered whether his daughter, Freda, was still unmarried. She had caught his eye years before, at the Folk-moot, but things had changed since he had met Lindwine of the Black Tarn.
The town's docks and market were busy and its wooden palisades looked strong. The folk of Woodmen-town faced a precarious existence. Spiders and other horrors out of the wood assailed them regularly. Still, they had endured here for nine hundred years, and made this wood their home.
"Arbogast! So you've made your way home?" The Fire-watcher turned at the voice. He recognized it and knew that sarcasm dripped in every word. Rorin could see his friend tense and wondered at the situation. The companions turned to see a fiery-red headed man that had Arbogast's features. His name was Oeric and he was the second son, third child, of Arbodag and Somerild - and he was Arbogast's brother. "You've been gone long with nary a word. Do you come home to see if your birth claim is still yours?"
The company all stayed and listened, but the remaining riders of Ceawin continued on taking no notice that they Lady Verwyne, whom they had brought so far, was still sitting behind Grimbeorn.
:ooc: I miss having Tom as a co-GM on this game - he is great for filling in the town's and locations with people and stuff going on. ;D
Weary as he is, Arbogast meets the gaze of Oeric steadily. "Nay," he replies, "for I have made a life for myself at the hall of Amaleoda, and it is there that I now call home. I desire nothing from this place but the hospitality of my kin for a short while, and to see once again the light of the Lamp."
"Brother, will you tell Father that his son desires his roof and table, and that he brings with him guests who will pay their way in companionship and good cheer?"
Grimbeorn takes on the countenance of his namesake upon hearing the scorn and disrespect in the tone of the newcomer, apparently kin if Arbogast. "I am Grimbeorn." When there is talk of guests and hearth, the Beorning remembers his lovely charge. "Lady, I should return you to your father and his protection. I apologize for the delay. What say you?"
Rorin muttered under his breath to Bandy, "Hmph, nothing quite like brotherly love...", then marched to Arbogasts side and introduced himself. "Rorin, son of Barin, at your service. I've heard tell of the Ale of the Woodmen, but have yet to taste the genuine thing, I would gladly take my first pint at the table of the Fire-Watchers kin."
The Hobbit pretended to ignore the malice and sarcasim. It seemed the Hobbity thing to do in regard to a family squabble among big folk that he knew nothing about. Well, at least pretended to ignore.
"It is indeed a long road, but good cheer, story, and song I am ready and willing to recieve and give. Mr. Bracegirdle at your service and your family"
:ooc: I think I can do some scenery stuff as well as play the Hobbit for you Doug.
The awkward meeting between Arbogast and his brother was not the only thing that the companions observed as they entered into Woodman-town.
As they passed by the palisade they observed that the timbers were not for decoration. They were well maintained and in good repair. Some timbers showed the scares of attack, though none on them recent. Across the tops of the sharpened timbers there was a walkway so that the watchmen of the town could patrol the wall and rain fire and arrows down upon their foes. Also of note was a peculiar vine that grew across the tops of the timbers. The course of which seemed to snake around the entire palisade. The vine gave the appearance of green woven crown across the top, closer inspection revealed that it was in fact part of the defenses. The vine had sharp elongated thorns, presumably to keep the spiders from crawling across the top.
Looking to the east the companions noticed that within the walls grew a great tree, adorned with lamps and streamers, beneath and around which there appeared to be a market place. This was near the docks and presumably was a market and the social center of the town.
Rising gently but prominently the town was centered on a small knoll, which had its own gates and palisade. Here was the heart of Woodman-Town and the great hall, the cultural heart of the woodmen.
The people the companions saw also differed somewhat from those of Rhosgobel. While the other two settlements drew most of their good and adornment from the woods of Mirkwood the people of Woodman-town had a different style. Being directly along the river imparted different style, both from the access of river trade and the river itself providing its own fruits and treasures to the Woodman. Throughout the town signs of a fishing culture could be seen. Whether through the carving of fishing motifs or through the carving and decorations of peculiar birds that hunted and nested along the rivers banks there was a marked style difference.
The companions were also drawn to the large presence of dogs here in Woodman-town. While many of the settlements of Woodmen had dogs the companions had not seen such an abundance since they were at Tyrant's Hill. Presumably some of Mogdred's men had come from here, or they relied upon the large fury companions to keep the wolves at bay.
As they drunk in the sites of Woodman-town they became keenly aware that the folk around them were equally measuring them up, and the woman who had arrived from Sunstead.
While Grimbeorn spoke loudly and declaratively the response to his inquiry came softly and not far from his ear. He was keenly aware of the press of her body against his back as she spoke.
"If I am to live among the Woodmen west of the wood I suppose I should see some of it before being tucked away? Newcomers will often see things that the people who are accustomed to a spot no longer notice, for instance the smell of wet dog. Your insight and observations would be as valuable as one who long lived here Grimbeorn son of Beorn."
:ooc: This is just a stopover for the )ady Verwyne, she is betrothed to another man of Woodmen Hall.
I have a post I started two days ago needing to be finished. I am going to post it in its partial state in the morning and finish it at the office.
:ooc: corrected
Grimbeorn mustered as much courtesy as he could offer, trying to remember some of the lessons he learned in his father's house and along the road to this place. "Yes, lady, of course. Let's find the stables for our friend here and take the long route back to your father then."
"At least she has some wit about her to get to know the people she is coming to," thinks Grimbeorn. "Let us hope the lord she is betrothed to has a similar mind."
Bandy was not very keen on boats, but he was intrigued by the market. He was curious to see that Woodman culture was a lot more diverse than he had intially expected and he was sure that he would be able to collect some new and wonderous stories here.
Seeing that Arbogast did not rise to the remarks, Oeric nodded and then smiled, "Very well, good brother, I will ride ahead and tell them you are home."
With his leave, Grimbeorn also departed leading the young Verwyne on a tour of the hamlet. He had been here before and knew the places he thought she might like to see.
"Is trouble brewing there?" asked Esgalwen, when the two had left. Her other companions gave her a look that they, too, had such thoughts. The Dúnadan woman shrugged and looking at Bandy smiled, "Master Brandybuck...I believe you are of river-folk, yes? Come, let us take a walk to the river and market. I see you eyeing it with great interest." She looked to Rorin, "Care to join us Master Dwarf? This will give time for our friend, Arbogast, to see his family and spend the time that is needed." She then looked at the Fire-watcher, "Go and see if you can make peace with those that are your kin. Do not let them leave this world without knowing that you are their son or brother. Too many brothers and sons have fallen in my homeland for counting, and there is no sense in having such a rift. Come, Bandy."
With her words, she turned and began to walk towards the river quarter. She did not turn to see if the other two followed.
Arbogast gives Esgalwen a slight nod. "I shall. Enjoy the market, though I fear it will be poor fare to those from greater lands."
After seeing to his horse, Grimbeorn took Verwyne through the streets and markets of the town. Normally he wouldn't worry so much about his safety more or less anywhere, but the presence of his charge though caused him to be more aware of his surroundings, on watch for the occasional pickpocket or worse. The lady noticed his vigilance when he was describing where some produce came while looking in a direction completely elsewhere to what they were doing. She remarked as such with a slight tease and laughed when his cheeks brightened in embarrassment. He knew that she meant no ill-will, which cause his complexion to deepen. Her laugh delighted him more than he'd care let on.
As time was getting on, Grimbeorn thought it best to return Verwyne to her father. "Certainly no need to cause problems with that man nor her betrothed," he thought.
Rorin saw the wisdom in the Esgalwens words and followed along with his friends. He had no great desire to see the river market, but perhaps he could find some food to whet his appetite before they dined with Arbogast later that eve. As they went he joked and laughed with his companions and was glad that they were travelling together again.
The companions now split into varied groups, the rest of the afternoon passed blissfully. The men of Woodmen-town were quite gracious and welcoming once the companions were introduced as to who they were. Esgalwen walked the maze-like market area between the many sellers, quietly crunching on an apple. She tossed one to Rorin and the Dwarf gladly accepted the gift. Smells of brewing ale, salting fish, and bake goods filled the air and Bandy's stomach growled. Once or twice, the trio caught sight of Grimbeorn leading the young Verwyne throughout the same areas of town.
After an hour had passed, Esgalwen looked to her friends, "I think time enough has passed to allow for Arbogast to hopefully clear the air of his house. Perhaps we should go there now and then find out where Ceawin has made his camp? I am sure the masters of this town will gather in his honor."
Bandy and Rorin nodded and the trio made their slow, winding way back towards the hill and to where Arbogast's family lived.
(https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/52987685/market.jpg)
Grimbeorn listened to the soft, fair voice of Verwyne as she made comparison of the markets of Sunstead to those of the men of the Anduin Vale. She walked in front of him, laughing and joking, and at times she would glance back with a wry grin.
"In Sunstead, the markets fill with merchants and it is a sight to see. Men of the East and North, with skin of alabaster or bronze, and they bring such treasures that you would not believe." A smile, "Wines that are so sweet that they please the taste and then wash warmly deep into your belly. Honey that comes from the hives of bees that dance around the golden flowers of the plains of Rhovanion. Gold jewelry that was crafted by the hands of Dwarves, or white-smiths of Dale! T'is amazing! Surely you will join me one day and see them..." Her voice trailed off as she heard herself.
There was a change in her mood now and she quietly pulled a cooked leg of mutton, paid for it with coins from her purse, and then shared it with the tall Beorning. "I have spoken most the entire way and you only sit quietly, my tall giant. So, tell me, Grimbeorn of the Beornings, what is your lands like? What do you do to fill your days?"
The Fire-watcher had not been idle.
While his friends had been visiting the market, he rode to his family home where he had grown up and finally left behind. Arbogast sat tall in his saddle and saw the small wood house as he rounded the hill. In the front garden a slender, graceful woman with long, silver hair bent to collect the onions that grew. He could see the dirt on her hands and knees, the calloused feet from her rope sandals, the web of crows-feet that stretched from the corner of her eyes. In his mind, Arbogast saw the vision of his mother as she was when he was a child - tall and straight, with honey-colored hair. She had been beautiful then - still was, but now in a mature way.
Somerild saw the son that had left long ago, riding up the road and she knew him at once. Her hands dropped the wicker basket, spilling the onions, and they went to her mouth in surprise. She lowered her hands and revealed a wonderful smile - tears glittered in her eyes.
"Hello, my son," she said.
A small smile gave way on the lips of the young man called "grim" at the wistful ramblings of the maiden, yet still aware of his surroundings. He heard her words and his heart leaped at the notion of joining her on just a day walking through the market places of her homeland, but it stilled remembering his charge and oath, and then darker thoughts unbidden came reminding him of the perils of this world and those beyond the borders which none of these folk have any inkling... his poor friend lost to the quags of Dol Guldur.
Yet she became silent a moment, offering a bit of her mutton and he accepted with brief smile to her. Then she queried him of his homeland and of himself, two things hardly ever asked of him. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he thought absently for a moment. "The lands of my father and his people are varied. Our western borders are close the Misty Mountains and not far from Gundabad, where we have many dealings with orcs, wargs, and worse. Though, thankfully, the battle at Erebor greatly weakened them. Our eastern border is nigh Mirkwood and the far reaches of the Woodland Realm. We have hills and moors, plains and streams, and the Great River flowing through. My father has vast lands with animals of all sorts and nowhere can you find better honey as none dare go near their hives for the bees are the size of my thumb."
"But my days have been spent of that of warrior and protector of my home. I long lived away from my father near the Dark Wood. My mother was killed during a raid of the forest's spiders and so have roamed far and wide along the wood seeking their destruction. That is until my father gave me charge as speaker of my people to the Wizard's council at Rhosgobel and now hear as your guardian."
Grimbeorn took a moment and noticed he was both out of breath and parched. He never spoke so much nor was so anxious over it.
"The size of your thumb?" she giggled. "Surely you jest?" When Verwyne saw Grimbeorn shake his head, her face took on a look of amazement. "Then I must surely taste this honey and see these hives, for only the black and yellow bumbles of the prairie are so big."
She listened more to his words, "I am sorry for the loss of your mother." Her eyes became sad, "For I, too, lost my parents. As you know, Ceawin is not my father, but acts as surrogate until my marriage age. He took me and my sister into his house when my father and mother - both merchants - were slain by raiders, as they traveled home from Dale. I can still see them as they waved goodbye to me that day, three years past. All of my father's wealth was taken up by Ceawin and now is the dowry for the man I am to marry in Woodland Hall. The Master of Sunstead has treated us well, but he uses me, and so soon my sister, to forge alliances. I will miss my homeland."
Grimbeorn watched her eyes drift away into past memories of a flat, green, prairie land that he had never seen.
Verwyne returned to their place there in the market, "It is too bad that I cannot choose my husband. It is worse that I have never seen this man, named Aodhan. But such are the duties of women...at least that is what I have been told." A conspiratorial look crossed her face, "What if I were to ask you to carry me away, Grimbeorn, to some far off place? I do not wish to dishonor my Lord Ceawin, but I would rather not be placed into this contract of marriage. Would you take me?"
Across the small settlement, Arbogast gathers his mother into his arms, noting as he does how much thinner she seems than when he first left for Rhosgobel. The winter has bitten harder here than at the Black Tarn, he realises.
"Mother," he says, there being no need for anything more.
He then notices be examining the cut, still not quite healed, that he received from a raider's sword. "It is nothing," he says. "Merely a mark of the wood's dangers." Pulling his shirt over the wound, he continues, "tell me, how fares Father? And uncle Lafdag? If you have the time, there is much I would hear."
"I, too, am sorry for your loss. Marrying to establish alliances or to increase one's position is a time-honored tradition, that is true. Marrying by your own for love is another matter entirely and for those in the position of power, I've seen, not so much a luxury. Lady, you are most endearing and the offer is more than a little tempting, but I cannot. We could go far as I know these lands but our honor would be tarnished and that is a stain hard to erase. Besides why me? And, as you said, you haven't met this man you are betrothed to -- he may yet be an honorable and good man, worthy of you." [Unless we know otherwise]
:ooc: This is the first reveal of the name of her spouse-to-be, but it has been stated that it is a relation of Arbogast.
His name is Aodhan, and he is son of Arbogast's mother's brother - so it is Arbogast's first-cousin on his mother's side. You can see the lineage on the Tale of Years page. He lives with his family in Woodland Hall.
What kind of man he is? I think I am going to leave it to Arbogast to give us the first insight as to what Aodhan is like, and I will build off of that. ;) >:D
Verwyne's face fell at Grimbeorn's answer, "Why you? Why not you? You are strong and kind and a handsome man...he is someone I have never met, nor seen, nor know." The Beorning watched as her face turned from sorrow to anger - and maybe shame or embarrassment - but what he was sure he now saw was resentment. "I am ready to go," she said quietly. "Please take me back to the camp."
Somerild only shook her head when she heard her son's reasoning for the scars and wounds - she knew all too well what the forest exacted from those willing to live under its boughs. She replied to Arbogast's inquiry, "They are both well, as are your brothers and sister. Your father and uncle are even now down at the market. I needed them to find me two more lambs...a herd was brought in yesterday from the fields, outside of Mirkwood. We need at least two more, if I am to get enough wool next season for my loom."
Arbogast looked over to the animal pen on the west side of his family's small home. The paddock was filled with chickens, a milk-goat, and four sheep. They were doing well, it seemed, especially if they were able to afford to add two more animals to their stock.
His mother continued, "Sunne is helping me with my loom, now, and she is even beginning to learn how to make the clothes. I sell it then at market, what we don't need, of course. But your father was recently asked for Sunne's hand and we must come up with dowry - and there is only so much we can do." She sighed, "We shall see. So...how are you, otherwise? How fares your new home? Have you found someone at last, now that you have settled?"
The woman looped her arm into that of her sons and led him towards their quaint, forest home.
:ooc: I attached a picture of your mother - at least what she might have looked like in her youth.
The halfling was greatly more encumbered when he left the market than when he arrived. Hanging from his pack was a rope of cured sausage links, from his shoulder a bag of roots and nuts from the forest, and upon his head was a floppish hat that surely was meant as a joke, but the Halfling was convinced it was perfect for 'expeditions'. He was there only a short time, but had already met two wood runners and a river boat captain who traded and plied along the river. His companions shook their heads as he munched on nuts and whistled a new tune he had learned from a river boat pole-man.
"Lady, I'm sorry if I have given any offense, but you have only known me a very short time, too," and he sighed heavily. Grimbeorn was now very downcast at her change in mood. He pitied her for her predicament and was sorrowful because he made her mad. "Verwyne, you call me kind and I thank you for this kindness comes from respect for you and in the word of honor I gave. I cannot deny I see the same things in you that you say you see in me, yet is that enough to live on while on the run? In time, you'll see it my way. Don't think for a moment, though, I wouldn't desire to seek your favor and Ceawin's leave if it came by an honorable means."
"Then Sunne is at last to be wed? This is wonderful news!" Though a dowry will be hard to come by, he thinks, but does not add.
"As for myself... there is one who waits for me, though we are yet to be formally wed. I have a life by the Black Tarn, but it is hardly a rich one, and her kin are as proud as any. My wandering ways have delivered me much strangeness but little fortune. Know, though, that I will share such wealth as I may come in to with those dear to me."
As he and Somerild talk, Arbogast finds himself feeling strangely superfluous, the rhythms of the house having changed in his absence. His mother, and Sunne soon after, are all a-bustle as the evening's meal is prepared, while the Fire-Watcher occupies a lacuna of calm in one corner. As his family gathers, he exchanges tales of small things. None ask him of unknown raiders or a re-occupied Dol Guldur, and he says nothing that is not already common knowledge among the Woodmen.
Such matters, however, clearly include the identity of Verwyne's betrothed. "Aodhan," he remarks. "Then word of his carvings has spread clear across Mirkwood! And a good word indeed it must have been, for the Master of the Sunstead has come himself to give away the bride and is spending freely on his way." Absently, already beginning to lose himself in thought and the flickering hearth-fire, he hands Sunne the stew-ladle. "But will it be a good match, I wonder? For the lady Verwyne strikes me as one who loves song, and not even the magic of Radaghast could give Aodhan his hearing..."
:ooc: I am not sure if we are all here or not, but I'll put this here for now and Doug can let me know if its out of place or needs to be changed. I'll tap my Clever Trait for this or Roll Courtesy if that's required instead.
Bandy was pleased to be part of the family gathering, for many months the dwarf alone had been his dinner companion. His mind wandered and he reflected again on how long it was since he had been at home or in the company of any other Hobbits, but this thought was soon thrust aside by the clatter and commotion of a family at dinner. The Hobbit listened and learned much about the family by what was stated and implied. The hobbit also told many stories of his own, most of which were initiated by a long discourse of the familial relationship of the principle characters, and to provide for a better chortle at the appropriate parts indicated the hobbit. He had reached into his traveling gear to retrieve the tin whistle he had been trying to learn over the winter, but the look on Rory's face dissuaded him from the task and instead he dug out the long stemmed pipe.
Now full, relaxed and apparently with no appropriate story the hobbit puffed on his long stemmed pipe and filled the room with a pleasing aroma.
"Well now, that was a good meal and much enjoyed after many days upon the trail. The company was exquisite and I thank you for welcoming me into your home. My folk are known to be a talkative sort," and with that remark his gazed turned towards his dwarven companion.
"But this comes from having large families of our own that are much in the same company with each other. That is beside the point and another matter comes to my mind now. I was at the market today and saw very many goods and cattle and I have it in my mind of a sudden to buy some lambs. I am not a tender of animals by trade, but I believe some of those folk can be found here. I would propose that I buy four lambs, to be kept here in Woodman-town under your care. For the cost of feeding and caring for the animals I would divide the net wool produced in half. Yours to do with as you wished, and the rest to be sent to me in Rhosgobel. The Black Tarn Hall has had a terrible spring and they will have need of resources. My half of the wool I would forward on to Arbogast, to fetch a fair price where he lives and will be for the enrichment and profit of us all. I think too I shall buy a fifth lamb, as a betrothal gift for Sunne in thanks for all the friendship and countless times brave Arbogast has stood by me in terrible places. I would repay in joy what friendship was forged in the dark places of the wood. Is this agreeable?"
Not for the first time did Rory wonder how much of an impact the hobbit had had on his holdings in the south and what an astute business sense the hobbit had to both help people and profit by it as well.
:ooc: Okay - it is my intention to do one more post regarding this scene and then move our story on.
That said, I open this part of the game to you guys to add any narration that you want to go deeper into your PC's background and relations. What I mean is, Paul - you may write a whole scene about your family getting together and what comes of it. But not just Paul - everyone can write what their character will do for the next few days from Woodmen-town to Woodland Hall. Feel free to add new details, new potential story arcs, etc. Feel free to include all of the PC's in your narration with the understanding that it may need tweaked if two player narrations have any conflict as to where or when.
I will pick the primary story arc up again with you guys leaving Woodland Hall and heading west towards the mountains.
Now if you say, no, let's keep going with the real-time RP'ing of the Woodmen-town gathering, I will, but I didn't want to overdo the amount of time spent on non-adventure RP'ing.
Anyway, I will give you guys a day - or two - to add to the story as you please in regards to the gathering at Arbogast's family home, and then the two days travel to Woodland Hall - Verwyne's drop off and then you all moving west.
I will wait for your responses and then give the game a day before I close up the north travel to drop off the girl.
:ooc: Awesome! I clicked post on my post above and found that Tom had done just what I offered.
Quiet and sullen, Grimbeorn does as he is bid and returns Verwyne to Ceawin's tent. Bidding the lady a good day, he ignores any questions or comments from everyone at the tent and goes off to find his dwarf friend and a deep mug of ale. The time they remain in the village, Grimbeorn is gruff and surly, not answering questions of his friends about what happened.
Whether it was the nature of hobbits, their rarity in these parts, the personality of Bandobras Bracegirdle, or a combination of all, the hobbit was soon known throughout Woodman-town. He spent his days talking with the people of the market, sharing stories and bits of knowledge over an ale, and being invited to dinners and luncheons around the town. One of the tall folk would of hade to refuse the many offers of food out of sheer quantity, but a Hobbit was not one of the Big Folk and despite his height readily agreed to all offers of a meal. He was an avid listener and with a quick wit and eye for detail. The folk soon learned that the Hobbit, while interested in stories, was also keen to understand the small parts of the story that allowed him to place the tale to a time or place. In fact had they remained in Woodman-town any longer the elders would have consulted him on some of the finer points and order in which some of the families had wed, or when such and such an event had occurred. As if his height and humor were not enough he was also known throughout the town for the hat he had acquired at the market. The article had not yet been repeatedly drenched by the rains and travel stained so the peak still stood tall and the brim sharp. The felt of the hat was not yet shaped by the head that wore it so it stood stiffly on the Hobbit's brow. When asked about it the Hobbit simply said, "wizards wear them when about and I'm about myself, must be a good reason for it."
Through it all the Hobbit was jovial and full of good cheer and the journey had been very helpful for his scholarly pursuits. The lone solitary hobbit east of the Great River was now certain that some of his folk had established an inn, additionally the scholar no longer thought that the stories of the river folk were complete myth. Perhaps there were some of his distant folk that had remained here an age ago and not passed to the west over the mountains to Eriador.
They were there only a few days, but his parting from Woodman-town was bittersweet. Many new friends were sad to the see the hobbit leave, but had there been a better ambassador for Rhosgobel or the Black Tarn none could have named him. Strangely enough the distant ties of kinship between the woodmen were reinvigorated by the Hobbit. Many with whom the Hobbit spoke said that they would send aid to the people of the Tarn. For some it was blankets, from others the promise of free space on a boat heading south, still others roots or food that could be stored for great lengths. Arbogast was amazed at the accidental relief effort that the Hobbit had organized seemingly by accident and always with a smile and story. The folk of the Black Tarn would have a long way to go in recovering from the damage of the raid, but perhaps through the efforts of the small hobbit the winter would not be so deadly in coming.
Try as he might the mirth of the Hobbit would not rub off on Grimbeorn. The stoic Beorning had grown more reclusive as the days passed in Woodman-town. At first the hobbit thought that it might be so many people pressed so closely together that gave the man a sour attitude, but soon that was dissuaded by his reluctance to see or discuss Verwyne in any way. Bandy was aware that there were differences between Hobbits and the Big folk, he knew he could guess at but never fully understand their ways. So as a companion the Hobbit tried to occupy the mind of his friend with other matters. He asked his advice on local honey, spoke to him at great length to compare the notes and stories he heard with the woodmen against those of the Beornings. The hobbit even went so far as to ask him for instruction with the basics of sharpening axes and their use in battles. In each subject there was a reluctance to participate, but Bandy hoped that instead of being annoying he was at least preventing his friend from slipping further into melancholy.
:ooc:
Rorin doesn't have much to add right now, he's along for the ride but a little bit anxious to begin the journey west so he can get the materials to craft the helm.
That being said, I'll try to get a RP post up sometime tomorrow.
:ooc: I have some more RP stuff but I would like to make a couple of rolls so that Bandy can gather some more knowledge about the area.
Travel Roll:
Rolled 2d6 : 6, 1, total 7
Rolled 1d12 : 12, total 12
Courtesy Roll for lasting impression on Woodmen-Town among the Council
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 2, 5, total 11
Rolled 1d12 : 2, total 2
Arbogast passes his time quietly, reaffirming in a thousand small ways that, while Arbodag his father may be bitter, Oeric oafish and Cendag sullen, he is of their blood and they his. Only Lafdag's company does he truly miss, for travel is passing hard for his uncle at the best of times and much must be attended to at his small steading.
The fellowship's final evening in Woodmen-Town finds him in the company of Sunne, beneath the Lamp of Balthi in the great hall. "It is just as beautiful as I remember," he says.
"You will probably not recall, but when you were small, and plagued by the night-terrors, Mother and I used to bring you here. The light would calm you back into slumber."
"I remember small pieces. You would sing to me.
Hush a bye lu, my tiny brother,
Hush child, sleep while the moon rules the sky.
Our father's the finest, a hunter of Mirkwood,
He will return to us by and by."
Her voice joins his, entwining high notes with his baritone.
"Hush for your sister, so far from her bed,
Soft the trees sway to the north wind's sad song.
Safe in this hall, 'neath the greatest of lanterns,
Close your eyes quiet, and sleep the night long.
Silently sleep, let no noise rouse the darkness,
Hush now my dear one, the wolves prowl so near.
Snug in night's blanket we'll join in our slumber,
Hush so the shadows of darkness won't hear.
Hush a bye lu, my tiny brother,
Hush child, sleep while the moon rules the sky.
Our father's the finest, a hunter of Mirkwood,
He will return to us by and by."
It is Arbogast's voice that breaks the companionable silence after the song. "You are to be wed, then?"
"Yes, to Theodwin of Mountain Hall."
"So far away! I can barely imagine life outside the forest."
"Nor can I, if truth be told. Still, I shall bear myself bravely, and restrict my pining for my homeland to times when it shall bother none."
"I hope so. I fear we are like the trees, you and I. Our hearts are in our roots."
Another silence descends for a time. Long or short, tonight it does not seem to matter.
"Father is still waiting, you know." Sunne says.
"For what?"
"For you to prove yourself to him."
"I have no need to prove myself to him, nor to anyone."
"Such quick words! And yet I have it from Mother that you wait for the approving nod of the Ice-Dancer's father..."
"Very well, so there are some whose good opinion I would have. Why should Father be among them?"
"Because he waits to know that the son he fathered will stand by his kin in the dark times to come, as he has done in his time. Do not think that it is only labour and ale that make him bitter and disapproving. I know well what you think of him, but he has kept us all safe for so many years. But now he is like an elderly hound who can fight for his meat only with great effort. You are his first-born. He must have faith in you."
"Very well... what would you, or he, have me do?"
"For such a deep thinker, Arbogast, you are a fool! Take the Field of Heroes! If your small friend is to be believed, you have already fought off a thousand orcs while reciting the great tales of our folk." She pokes him in the ribs. "Just do that again. He did not make it sound hard."
She rises to leave, and plants a kiss on his forehead. "Be safe, little brother. Return to your family from time to time. And come visit me in the mountains. Perhaps they have beauty enough to satisfy both of us."
:ooc: Hey Tom, that 13 is close enough for government work.
Go ahead and glean what you wanted, unless it is info you need from me, so then let me know.
Doug,
the travel roll is for knowledge about the area, perhaps the woodland road. And the Courtesy was for the Tarn relief effort to jive with a possible standing increase or courtesy influence roll later at Woodman-town.
The journey to Woodland-hall was a lot smoother than the road from where they started. There was such an abundance of information and bits of story that Bandy had acquired on their last stop that he spent many hours cataloguing and ordering his notes by the light of the fire. The attitude of his companions had changed since the first leg of their journey, well the men-folk had anyway. Esgalwen still pressed on with an iron like determination and a martial eye towards the defenses and military value of each settlement or freehold that they encountered. Rorin too began to think about the helm he was to make. The dwarf often pondered both the style and technique he would use in its crafting. This was the one topic of conversation that the dwarf would readily engage in, and since there were no others of his kin he found that the Hobbit, and the time he had spent in the forge, was the closest thing to a smith companion he had. At least the Hobbit had enough sense to understand the concepts so the dwarf didn't have to explain the basics before launching into his ideas. The two men folk however had withdrawn. Abrogast considered and dwelling on thoughts of his family, emotions that he found he had buried sprung again to the fore. Grimbeorn performed every task assigned to him without complaint or comment however, the man who in the first leg of the journey seemed to be coming out of his shell was locked up tighter than a fresh water muscle when the river goes down.
Woodland-hall was the youngest of the three settlements, but in the lives of men this meant little for it was old and firmly established. If Rhosgobel was the center of wisdom, and Woodman-Town the center of trade, then Woodland-Hall was the center of culture. The great carvings in the hall told the great history and of the people. The small hobbit realized that many days would not be sufficient to understand all the details and stories that this hall contained. The historian made no attempt to even catalogue the stories and events of the hall. Instead, with the time he had available, he only sat in the hall and attempted to understand and embrace the whole of it.
Here too the party said goodbye to their beautiful companion from Sunstead. The hobbit liked her greatly, but he also found that the bright spot of her presence had soured the party somehow. The hobbit reflected on this and it was worrisome. How had Mirkwood taken this thing of beauty and with it sowed such seeds of discord among the party? This fact tempered the spirit of the hobbit, and he hoped that it was simply experience revealing itself to him, and not some callous dark stain of Dol Guldur.
:ooc: Awesome posts, guys. New story thread tomorrow...maybe tonight.
Through the next leg of the trip, Grimbeorn was uncomfortable in his saddle, restless even. What caused it though rode once again with her patron. He spied her ever so often, a glance here or there though she wouldn't return his gaze. Yet on occasion he would feel as though he was being watched by her as well. It wasn't until the party reached the place where they would leave Verwyne that Grimbeorn said anything and it was to Arbogast. "Who is Lady Verwyne is to marry? I have heard scarce little of the man."
"Aye, he is not often talked about outside of his kin. Or so thought I, until recently! His name is Aodhan, as you may have heard - a cousin to me on my mother's side. He is one of the greatest craftsmen of our people. Some of the carvings you shall see at Wuduseld are his work. It seems that Caewin desires to have his skill, or perhaps just his prestige, for his clan at the Sunstead."
He pauses for a minute to guide his horse over a particularly troublesome root. "Though it may be unbecoming to speak so of my kin, I am concerned for their marriage. Aodhan is honourable, but he is... deliberate and does nothing without long and careful consideration. Our charge strikes me as more of a creature of sun and wind, and she will chafe at the ties that bind her to one so unlike her."
"Plus, he is as deaf as a gatepost. I do not know how he and she may come to know each other. Perhaps they will not, and will live out their lives as the closest of strangers."
:ooc: Awesome! Great stuff for me to build on - or for Matt to build on. ;D
Grimbeorn nodded, considering his companion's words. "I wish them well but this may not be the last we hear of them. Fate is rarely so kind."