Another week of riding passed and the companions rode the way in silence or quiet conversation. The fear that lay over the land had abated but the subdued quiet was still there. Animal life could be seen, both wild and domesticated, but the presence of people was light. On occasion, Edrahil would tell of people watching them pass down the road and there were times when even the Men and Dwarf could see silhouettes standing in front of homesteads wondering at their passing.
Only once did they speak with one of the Eriadorans who still farmed his Cardolan fields. News from the man was as sparse as everything else, though what he did say was grim. The sickness still plagued the country and people had isolated themselves from one another. Brigands roamed the realm and there was word that the Orcs of the north had even crossed the river Hoarwell, out of Rhudaur. What was worse was news of a kinstrife in Tharbad and the threat of the Gibbet King. When Fengel inquired more of the Gibbet King, the farmer waved his hands and said he'd speak no more. In the house, his wife cried out talismans to stave off sickness, death, and worse, the walking spirits!
After that, the companions were asked to move on. The farmer and his wife had been kind enough to share food from their fields and even salted pork and sausages. It was not certain, but the two Eriadorans were entranced by the appearance of such noble-looking men and an Elf out of legend. Even to the Dwarf they deferred, for the memories of Durin's folk coming from the mountains to trade with Tharbad and the rest of Cardolan was bright in their minds.
The companions were pleased that they had found kindness still and left with their new fare, but soon the disquiet of the road fell on them again. It was two days later when the Company rode into a small hamlet of no more than ten homes - three of which were nothing but burned out ruins - that the memory of leaving this place hit the hardest. Dirnhael knew that the home of Celephain was but a day further south. He remembered the kind old Dúnadan Lord and his Lady - a beautiful woman who had taken ill with the plague. Dirnhael thought of their son who had ridden into this hamlet, along with Lûnduf, and his Sindarin friend who sat nearby. Looking at the burnt house, Dirnhael remembered how they had put the torch to the place so as to consume the bodies that lay dead within, all putrefied and all carriers of the sickness. The warrior remembered seeing the bodies of women, children, and men... all were stacked upon the other or laying side by side. Their dignity removed by a vile death.
"Dirnhael," called Fengel. "Someone approaches from the north."
Quote from: tomcat on Mar 10, 2014, 03:52 PM
"Dirnhael," called Fengel. "Someone approaches from the north."
"We know not what we face in these once-unspoiled lands," Dirnhael said, the painful memories flooding him from his now-ruined homeland almost palpable.
"Let us conceal ourselves until we know more of our fellow traveler... and be ready for anything."
Nain quietly urged his pony to walk around behind one of the houses where he could see the road but would be unobserved at least till the person was well into the hamlet. He then loosed his axe so that it would be ready to draw if there was trouble.
"One of us should greet the Traveler, unless ye want 'im thinkin we're some o' those bandits we 'eard tell of earlier."
Celdrahil spured his mount forward, his spear upright in his hand and his shield of green hung by his side from the saddle. "I am a servant to both the king in the south and that of the north. Furthermore I am one of the Elendili and our suzerainty over this lands is still remembered even among the lesser lived farmers and sheep herders. I will not hide along the Kings road."
Celdrahil sat tall in his saddle and awaited the comer from the north.
"I will stand to greet him. Stay if you like but honey wins more allies than stingers," says Durgil, eyeing the readied weapons.
:ooc: Hey, dude, what does seizurenty mean? I like to know that I know what I know, but I don't know this one. ;) Google didn't know it either, and so I thought I'd inquire.
Celdrahil took position in the center of the road, the standard of his house in Minas Ithil emblazoned on his shield. To his right, Durgil's palfrey began to stamp at the ground, smelling the oncoming scent of the new horse. The remaining companions, though not hidden, stood within the confines of the burnt hamlet watching the road to the north. Fengel drew his bow from his back and nocked an arrow - he was not directly visible to the approaching rider and decided there would be little fear in preparing.
To the north, the rider came. His path had not been directly down the road - in fact, he crossed over it and was now galloping across the fields to their south. Save for Edrahil, they could all see the man's form but the details of his bearing were hidden. The only thing that was easy to tell was the fact that he was riding one of the shaggy ponies that were primarily used by the mountain and hill-folk of the East, in Dunland and Rhudaur.
Edrahil spoke of this, "It appears our new guest is crude in his manner and dress. I believe he is of the mountain people."
At the same moment, coming over the horizon were ten more riders - all atop shaggy ponies.
:ooc: damn it! I meant to type suzerainty. My fingers were not keeping up with my brain.
:ooc: so they are or are not heading in our direction?
:ooc: It is more like the forward rider is circling your position with the others following on. You could perceive that they are sizing you up.
"It has been awhile since we dealt with these folk but we parted on at least even terms," commented Durgil.
:ooc: I hope I am remembering correctly that Durgil was with the group when we encountered the Dunlendings.
:ooc: You are close, Matt. The Dunlendings that you guys dealt with were in the southern Misty Mountain highlands, just north of Khazad-dum. These particular pony riders are also of the same kin, but from the north out of Rhudaur - they would be called Hill-men.
With the new group of riders now chasing to catch up with the solo outrider, the Companions watch as they continue their wide arc around the small ruined village. All the while, Edrahil could see that they stared in their direction.
"It would seem they are here to observe us, but not close on her position. For whom do they scout, I wonder?"
Nain, with his typical lack of patience, snorted at the thought of waiting for them to come and attack. He pulled his axe free and held it in front of himself.
"Should we go out and say hello?"
Quote from: Stefan on Mar 20, 2014, 11:12 AM
Nain, with his typical lack of patience, snorted at the thought of waiting for them to come and attack. He pulled his axe free and held it in front of himself.
"Should we go out and say hello?"
"Indeed," Dirnhael said. He nodded to Durgil and Celdrahil; both of them less brusque than he tended to be in conversation.
The companions spurred their horses and the six riders moved out of the small village to meet the eleven riders that now circled them at a distance. Celdrahil's spear was couched in his stirrup, but its bright tip flashed with the midday sun. Fengel's bow was in hand and Nain's axe - save for these, no other weapons were at the ready, though the Men and Elf were as taut as Fengel's bowstring. They had been travelling for days, but their burnished mail still adorned their persons.
Although their group was smaller, the bearing within the Company was evident. Whether it be the Sindar's ancient power, the Dúnedain noble blood, the stoutness of Dwarves, or the cocksure manner of the Éothraim, the hillmen did not turn to meet the companions. One amongst them moved to a position between the Company and the rest of the pony riders, but he did not turn either. His eyes beheld them all and it was very apparent that he was sizing Dirnhael and his friends. The hillman wore a rough spun kilt that was patterned but his upper torso was bare save for the skin of a wolf. There was war paint, or tattoos, adorning his chest and face and to lesser men he would have been fearsome. To the Company he was a stranger and had nothing to fear from them lest they brought trouble, and Dirnhael had no doubt that these riders were a sign of trouble.
The Company increased the speed of their horses only to have the pony riders react and turn away so as to keep the same distance between the two groups. The companions' horses could easily outrun the ponies and so they all looked to one another so as to see if anyone wished to press on these Hillmen.
"Tonight they will try and steal our horses now that theyk ow the sizeof our party"
Celdrahil paused and drew forth his silvered horn and pressed it to his lips. The great sound that eminated from the horn was not proptional to its size and the blast echoed and rolled.
As the nore cleared he pulled the reigns of his horse and turned the beast about.
"Let us find a camp where there numbers will be of no advantage to them and ride on. We have warned them."
"So much for diplomacy and a decent night's sleep," jested Durgil. "I'd rather my blade tasted the minions of darkness instead of Men. Let us go."
Celdrahil nodded. "Yes, we have been haunted by spirits and darkmen and are still not any closer to understanding the message of Mithrandir. These are empty and vacant lands, this war party is no concern of ours unless they make an issue of it. We will soon be outside of the their marauding in the next two days or so. Until then we must be wary of ambush or raid."
Following Celdrahil's lead, the Company turned away from the pony riders and back towards the Iaur Men Formen. Once on the road they spurred their mounts to a quick pace, passing the small ruined hamlet as they did - after all, there was nothing more to be done there than to mourn the dead. They kept an eye over their shoulders but found the Hillmen to be continuing south and away from their easterly course. They did not see them again.
Two more days of riding and at last the outskirts of Tharbad were seen. From the south, grey clouds came and blotted the sun making the last few hours of travel wet and muddy. Dirnhael first led the Company in the direction of his adopted home, the manor of Lord Celephain of Cardolan. It had been meager in the standards of the Dúnedain, but he had been a good man and with his wife and son, had taken Dirnhael in as part of their family after the death of his own father, Ardil.
Upon seeing the outer walls and the fallow fields, Dirnhael felt a terrible pain in his heart. He had not come back. Even when Angbor had been slain, he had not returned to tell the master of this house of what had happened to the quartet of riders that had left one October morning, rainy as it was now, on a quest for Rivendell. Dirnhael had not returned to bury the dead.
The house was dilapidated, it's outer walls also beginning to show signs of deterioration. Whether it had been due to the lack of tending, or if it had been taken by other folk who lived nearby and were in need of materials, Dirnhael did not know - all he could see was that there was no longer life here. There had been seventeen other families that lived under the protection of Celephain. They had farmed the lands and served in many fashions to the Lord and Lady - certainly some of them had survived.
None of the others could tell, due to the rain that fell on their faces, but tears rolled down his cheeks. Dirnhael turned his horse from the ruin and spurred it on down the road in search of another estate that might be occupied. Gandalf had sent them here for a reason. They needed to find what it was. A voice spoke from behind him, "I am sorry for your loss, Dirnhael. It had always been my pleasure to visit the Lord Celephain. His house had always been open to me and my folk." Edrahil was the only one that remained of the original four riders who had left in pursuit of Rivendell.
With all of the companions wondering as to what was next, they followed Dirnhael in silence.
Tharbad sat on the river Gwathló, called Greyflood by Men, and a great bridge spanned across its center. Even after the fall of Cardolan, the plague, and the decline of the Dúnedain, the city was still occupied by those that could make it a home. It had itself become a series of enclaves, or even small fiefdoms within the crumbling walls, ruled over by petty lords of varying lineage of nobility. In truth, it came down to strength of arms as to who controlled what. The only thing that was certain was that the bridge was kept open by decree of all of the lords, and passers were protected, so that commerce could remain between the north and the south and so fill the coffers of the city.
The Company did not make it to Tharbad proper by the time the day was ending. Cold and damp, they found a small inn further south from where Dirnhael had lived and it was here that they stopped for the evening. They needed to dry; they needed food and rest; and most of all they needed information.
The inn's signage said Tinkerman's and warm light glowed through its windows. The setting around the inn was different, but for sure it looked and smelled like the one in Bree. Durgil saw to the groom, a young lad that tended the stables, and then caught up to his companions who had entered inside.
Quote from: tomcat on Mar 24, 2014, 04:23 PM
None of the others could tell, due to the rain that fell on their faces, but tears rolled down his cheeks. Dirnhael turned his horse from the ruin and spurred it on down the road in search of another estate that might be occupied. Gandalf had sent them here for a reason. They needed to find what it was. A voice spoke from behind him, "I am sorry for your loss, Dirnhael. It had always been my pleasure to visit the Lord Celephain. His house had always been open to me and my folk." Edrahil was the only one that remained of the original four riders who had left in pursuit of Rivendell.
Dirnhael nodded as the emotion overwhelmed him.
Faded memories of his birth parents, lost when he was but a child; memories of Celephain and his family, giving him a new home... a new life.
While Dirnhael eventually did ensure that the plague that forced him from Tharbad was ended, the cost was great, including the life of Celephain's son, Angbor.
He had made a life for himself in the many months that followed; one with a home and a bride that Celephain would have been a proud to meet.
"I should have returned," he finally said, in a voice that only Edrahil could here. "They deserved better than...
this. They all did."
He trailed behind the rest of the Company for the day; wanting only to hide his anguish from his companions and ride alone with his thoughts.
"All Good Folk do, brother. Something festering, eating away at the land and people. It certainly can be felt in the North and there are signs of it manifesting, but here it has seeped in and overcome. This evil can't be overcome but we can help stave it off ... that's why we're here. It can only win if good men don't stand to oppose it."
Nain looked on the home with mixed feelings. It was a forlorn sight before him and he could feel the pain it brought his friend as almost a palpable thing, but his thoughts ran to the fact that this wood would soon return to the soil that had spawned it and if it had been built of stone, as a good dwarven structure would be, it would stand as a monument for centuries to come. He thought that perhaps he'd return, once this adventure was over, and build a real monument to the memory of the main and his family. Nain had never known them but they'd raised a great man and they deserved to be remembered for it.
Edrahil entered the small inn and noticed the common room. It was well lit and warm, but it did not have many guests. Suddenly a tall man with a serious face came from out of a small kitchen and looked at his new arrivals. Fengel stood behind the Sindar and was being followed in by the rest of the companions.
"Hello," said Edrahil. "We seek the comforts of your inn."
The innkeep did not smile and his eyes seemed guarded. "Where do you come from? Are there any sick among you?"
The Sindar mage was not offended by the non-hospitable greeting, but he now wondered what had been going on in Cardolan. As an Elf, he had traveled through this land many times and had always had warm receptions from its folk, those such as Celephain. But this greeting was none he had expected.
"No... there are no sick among us," he answered.
Nain moved out from behind the taller Men and found a table that would seat all of them.
"The road from Bree is long and oppressive, If ye'd bring us a round of ales to wet our parched tongues, the story of our travels would flow more readily."
The martial appearances of the company were not easily concealed, even if they had wished too. Celdrahil however was more accustomed to a greeting such as this having lived and traveled were the great plague was far more deadly than it had been this far north.
"I am Celdrahil of Ithilien, we have traveled from the north escaping no sickness and bringing none with us. We desire to break bread in wellness and health and to drink to better days for all."
As Celdrahil spoke the words he extended his arms and showed his neck showing both to be free of boils or any swelling. With a satisfied nod he took a seat near the dwarf.
"The memory of the plague will be slow in fading my friends. Such a question is more common than a greeting in the lands further south."
"Seems that my purse is needed more on this trip than my sword and bow. Rooms for all of us please, sir," called Durgil, "and boarding for our steeds. Information we also seek but that can be tended to when you have the time."
"Our folk are few and scattered Durgil my friend, hospitality will be hard to find. The once proud jewel of Tharbad is returning to the swamp from which it was born and is recalled now in glory only in the cups and stories of the longer lived. Another casualty in our war against time it would seem. "Aure entuluva!", though I doubt I will live to see it."
:ooc: GREAT PC interaction! I will have another post up tonight.
Quote from: GandalfOfBorg on Mar 31, 2014, 09:06 AM
"Seems that my purse is needed more on this trip than my sword and bow. Rooms for all of us please, sir," called Durgil, "and boarding for our steeds. Information we also seek but that can be tended to when you have the time."
Dirnhael chortled quietly at the quip. "If it is only your purse we'll need," he told Durgil, "we'll be far more fortunate than I expect."
He reached into his pocket for coins to pay for the round of drinks Nain ordered and gave them to the barkeep with a smile, chuckling as he did so.
The innkeep listened, gave a single nod and then said, "Find yourselves a seat in the common room - it can get warm from the hearth so feel free to open a window. I will fetch you some mugs."
The mood was now more friendly, but a look still lingered on the man's face regarding his new guests. It wasn't that the inn did not receive customers anymore, but in these times caution was always prudent. That an Elf and Dwarf were amongst the group made it intriguing and the innkeep could not refuse them.
A few moments passed and he returned with a set of six wooden mugs and a wooden board that was laden with a fresh-baked honey bread. A small hole in the board held a crock in which was new butter. The innkeep set it all down and then pointed, "There is a tapped keg yonder that you can fill your cups - it is a homebrew, I think you will like it. It is 10 copper pennies a cup, but I am not going to keep count. I'll leave it to you to be honest men... errr... folk. You can have the four rooms at the top of the stairs and the other two will have to stay on the ground floor - back there." The innkeep pointed down a small hall. "The rooms are 1 silver penny a night. I am sure, too, that you'll be wanting food, right?"
Fengel smiled, "Aye good sir! It's been eleven days on the road from Bree and five days before that, so whatever you might have cooking will be fine."
The man nodded, "Bree, huh? Then you'll be from up north I am s'posing. What's brought you down south into these lands? Not much here anymore...unless you be passing through on the road south to Gondor."
It was Edrahil that answered next, "No, we do not seek further south than Tharbad. My Dwarven companion and these good Knights of Arthedain have come south due to an urgent message. Might you be familiar with an older man named of Gandalf?"
"I am familiar with the Gray Wanderer," replied the innkeep. "Haven't seen him pass here in quite a few months... well after the troubles started." He took a pause, "Well, we've had trouble for years with the loss of the crown long ago, now the sickness, but even more since the summer heat began to brew."
Celdrahil cocked an eyebrow at these comments.
"Hmmm, what is the nature of these recent troubles?" He looked at his companions and motioned for the inn keeper to sit if he was so inclined.
The innkeep did not take the offered chair, but he did lift a foot to rest on top of it, then leaned forward his elbow on his knee. In one hand hung the now unattended cup and cloth on which he had been working. In answer to Celdrahil, "Recent troubles? I can't remember a time anymore when there wasn't some troubles. My Pap used to talk of his father telling of days when the North-South road was busy with travel and merchants, when Tharbad was a destination for said mercantile business. Now folks still pass through, but at a hurried pace so as not to lose money whether it be to thieves or by not making to the markets of Arthedain up north. Oh, to live once more under the rule of a king."
Fengel interrupted, "Good sir, we know of the long struggle of the people of Cardolan, since the time when your good King was slain along the Weather Hills when the Tower of Amon Sûl fell." Most Northmen, especially the Dúnedain, knew of how the Witch-king mounted a decisive assault against these defenses, crossing the Mitheithel into northeastern Cardolan. The Tower of Amon Sûl was destroyed, though its palantír was saved. The armies of Angmar and Rhudaur went on to ravage Cardolan's lands, and slew the last prince of its royal line. The surviving Dúnedain retreated into the Barrow-downs and the Old Forest, which lay on their northern borders. It was years after that the survivors once more returned to their lands to try and scrape a new life out of the old only to have nothing but burden fall upon them. The plague that swept from the south had all but destroyed the last of the Men of Westernesse in these lands and those that survived either fled north or south, were corrupted, or were being ground down by the hardship of life. The Éothraim continued, "What are the troubles that have recently started?"
The innkeep's face reddened slightly at having been interrupted, but he came to the point. "Tharbad has become a patchwork of small...fiefs, if you will. The sick lie dying in their homes, in the streets, and those petty lords that still have rule have hedged themselves in along with their people and now defend these new 'territories' as if they are their own sovereign kingdoms within the city. Only along the bridge is there open travel, but now I have heard that this, too, is being hampered. A new ruler has appeared and now resides over the eastern shore of Tharbad - the city lies on both sides of the river. They call him the Gibbet King and it is said that darkness sits at his left hand. So, between the kinstrife of the city folk and the presence of this new... king, travel along the North-South road has begun to dwindle. Pony riders - northmen from the mountains - scout far afield and take wares or make prisoners of those on the road. What is worse, it is said that shadows now walk the lands and freeze the hearts of Men."
"Shadows?" Edrahil's brow perked up, "Madoc spoke of shadows that had chased Gandalf, perhaps these be the same foul spirits. If Tharbad and its bridge were closed, then the roads between Gondor and Arthedain are limited to Mountain passes or rugged paths through old Eregion, or someone is taking a long route by ship."
The innkeep spoke again, "It is said that the Gibbet King does not have a large force. What large forces remain south of Arthedain on either side anyway?" He asked rhetorically, as it was well known that the plague had decimated the population of Cardolan, Rhudaur and even into the north land of Angmar - only in Arthedain had its affects been abated by the healing flower Ephanial. "But still it is enough to hold the east side of the river. The kinstrife makes it so that there is no leader to rally to and so stave off this new King! What is even worse is it is said that Orcs and wargs now walk among the ranks of the ragged and the dead across the Gwathló."
"Wargs and orcs, eh? That's enough cause for us to call upon this "king". Any report of Dunlendings in the area, too, or just those wildmen from the North causing issue?" queried Durgil.
Dirnhael sat quietly, smoldering with anger. This was his home once.
He mulled the notion that perhaps finding any remnants of Celephain's... fiefdom, as the man put it, might be of some value.
He was not royalty -- no noble blood of Celephain's line ran through his veins -- but he was raised as all but Angbor's brother in their home; there may still be some that would see him as a link to the more pleasant, regal past. Perhaps he could provide some inspiration for a rebellion -- because he intended on starting one; by himself, if need be.
"I think that the Witch-king, or at least one of his many minions has taken root amongst these poor people," said Edrahil. "It would be the final blow to this country, shutting down the bridge. It would isolate Arthedain, Lindon, and all the Free-Folk towns that still hold on to their own. Even Rivendell would be limited to any aid from friends, as they would be hindered by the Misty Mountains."
"Perhaps a ride into the city, or at least the outskirts, in the morning?" suggested Fengel.
Quote from: tomcat on Apr 07, 2014, 04:44 PM
"Perhaps a ride into the city, or at least the outskirts, in the morning?" suggested Fengel.
"The longer our presence here is a secret, the better off we will be," Dirnhael said -- their varied Company drew glances wherever they went, and would soon attract unwanted attention.
"Let us start with the outskirts and learn from its people."
Nain grumbled, no matter the ending he couldn't see this coming out well.
"What are we going to do about the petty tyrant 'sides leave him on his throne or open space for another? We need to deal with this darkness, but if we don't have someone to take the throne what ha'e we done with it?"
"Blood should claim if possible. 'Keep, do you know if any of the highest noble line still dwell here?" queried Durgil.
Celdrahil drummed his fingers on the table as he thought. Though he was very young for one of the Dunédan he had already seen and done much as reckoned in the years of the lesser lived men. His mind was bent towards martial thoughts and concerns.
"If blood alone were the issue then there would be one king, yet we have two. No, blood is not the issue, it will help but not be the deciding factor. Two overarching strategies come to mind. One we ride into town and set up shop, the second we hole up somewhere, and gather information. To what level are we prepared to involve ourselves in the affairs of Tharbad?"
"I say we deal with the problem here. Mithrandir's message wasn't clear about what darkness, but since we're here and we've come to deal with the darkness rising in this land we may as well start with this one. If we can't find another then Dirnhael can rule till we find some'n who can take the crown. He's a noble and he was raised here, we've none better for the task."
Quote from: Stefan on Apr 09, 2014, 05:13 AM
"I say we deal with the problem here. Mithrandir's message wasn't clear about what darkness, but since we're here and we've come to deal with the darkness rising in this land we may as well start with this one. If we can't find another then Dirnhael can rule till we find some'n who can take the crown. He's a noble and he was raised here, we've none better for the task."
"My intent is not to rule," Dirnhael said, shaking his head. "My home is with Ioreth in Fornost now; a life that I've built."
"But these lands belong to their people; good and just folk who deserve to control their own destinies." He looked to Nain with a slight smile. "But you're right; we might as well start here."
Celdrahil listned to the conversations around him and demured. The words and opinion of Dirnhael did not sit well with him, his stance on stewardship was not one he would find in a landed knight.
"The Bridge must be opened, our authority rests on our lineage and our office both."
:ooc: This is not for CHARACTER knowledge, of course, and I only place it here so you guys can get an idea of what is going on per the canon, as written by Tolkien.
Quote from: Encyclopedia of ArdaIn the year III 1409, the Witch-king mounted a decisive assault against these defences, crossing the Mitheithel into northeastern Cardolan. The Tower of Amon Sûl was destroyed, though its palantír was saved. The armies of Angmar and Rhudaur went on to ravage Cardolan's lands, and slew the last prince of its royal line. The surviving Dúnedain retreated into the Barrow-downs and the Old Forest, which lay on their northern borders.
After this time, with the loss of its royal lineage, Cardolan was no longer properly a kingdom. Nonetheless a band of Dúnedain endured in the downs and the forest for more than two centuries, until the coming of the Dark Plague. The last of the Dúnedain, and most of the land's other inhabitants, were lost to the Plague in the year III 1636, and as a final blow the Witch-king sent evil beings to infest the Barrow-downs. After these events, Cardolan was left a desolate and deserted land.
Now per the MERP regional sourcebooks, the lands of Cardolan were re-populated after the III 1409 attack and retreat. The Dúnedain and remaining Eriadorians tried to rebuild what was lost, but it would never happen - their once proud strength would not return. The plague ended their attempt, although it ran its course by the end of III 1637.
The city of Tharbad itself remains active and populated all the way until the year III 2911, when the Fell Winter happened and the floods decimated the city. It is not stated when, but the bridge itself fell at some point after III 2911 and III 3018. Boromir crossed the river at the broken bridge and faced the hazards that the ruins held.
So, as always, you guys are up against a hopeless fight with utter ruin coming before the eventual throwing down of the Dark Lord. The goal here is to try and stave off the enemy's efforts for as long as possible even though there is little hope and even less gain. The many workings of Gandalf were to just make sure that when the final conflict came, the enemy had been thwarted in his efforts to overcome the Free Peoples as much as possible, giving Aragorn and Frodo their very slight chance for success. Hence his desire to make sure the Bridge of Tharbad remained open between North and South, and the Witch-king's adverse desire.
Again, not giving you this stuff to use in character, nor am I saying that our game will follow canon explicitly (as we know it already hasn't). But I want to convey the hopelessness that might come from seeing the desolation that is now Cardolan, the sick city of Tharbad, and the evil forces that the Witch-king has arrayed against the survivors. We will endeavor to fill in the holes left by the Professor, and hopefully fill them with some pretty cool stuff! ;D
Edrahil listened to his companions debate, but turned back to the innkeep, "Do you know from whence this Gibbet King came?"
The man shook his head, "He is not Dúnadan; nor is he one of the common folk of Eriador. I have heard that he dresses odd, like those foreigners from across the mountains, but not of Gondor. They say he is cadaverously thin and has an evil gaze. He rules by the hammer... or the gibbet, for the whispers that come from the city say that those that defy him are hung from limb, wall, or gibbet. Their bodies left as carrion and as warning of his rule. Few travelers now cross from east to west, and so I do not know if the mercantile vans still come from the south."
"Is he like these pony riders?" asked Fengel.
Again, the shake of his head. "Nay, he is said to be more educated; eloquent in his viperous tongue; and supposedly alluring to those that wish to do evil. These Hillmen have come south to do his bidding, but he does not count himself amongst them."
:ooc: Doug, all that you said is true. However, I would argue that the manner in which Tharbad survives as a polity until III 2911 and the 1,200 sum odd years between now and then is very much open for definition and possability.
:ooc: Of course it's open for possibility, and that is the goal of this story arc. Without any definitive description, all I can do is go with the idea of it now being an independent city - like Dale or even Laketown. The Dúnedain were bled out by the war and the plague has decimated what's left of them. So, who vies for leadership? Those with a lineage, or minor nobility, and most likely a streak of Dúnedain blood. In 200 years since a king, the rulership has probably changed multiple times due to infighting. Add to this mess, the King of Arthedain making claims of a unification. Lastly, to this we add the sickness that would create factions, or 'safe' areas within the confines of the city and each area creating its own set of rules and rulers.
A couple more decades down the road, after the plague, I could see things calming and becoming more civilized, but right now with Witch-king still making excursions, I see chaos as the rule.
:ooc:A great place for a small group of folks with good hearts to take up the mantle of leadership and guide the city to that place of peace and harmony, and to control all trade between the north and south...
"Power to the people, eh? Well we don't have much to work with but thwarting evil is a good start. So, brother, do you have a plan?"
Quote from: Stefan on Apr 10, 2014, 04:12 AM:ooc:A great place for a small group of folks with good hearts to take up the mantle of leadership and guide the city to that place of peace and harmony, and to control all trade between the north and south...
:ooc: Kind of a neat idea to steer down, and one I never thought of when I put this 'new' version of this chapter together. Nain could bring influence from the Blue Mountains, Edrahil from Lindon, and the Dunedain from up north. It makes for a neat way to assure that the next 1200 years of Tolkien canon is secure. :)
Quote from: GandalfOfBorg on Apr 10, 2014, 04:36 AM
"Power to the people, eh? Well we don't have much to work with but thwarting evil is a good start. So, brother, do you have a plan?"
"For the moment? Learn what we can, starting with those who seem to be suffering the most under this... 'king'." Dirnhael said. "To be forewarned is to be forearmed."
:ooc: Nain maybe able to tap into an even closer spot, Khazadum.
:ooc: Doug, Celdrahil came through here in his long slow trek north from Ithilien. What can you tell me about Tharbad? Is the ICE map of the city accurate? Is it player knowledge? Do I have some info on some of the cities factions? Any Dunedain presence left at all etc?
:ooc: Nain could easily bring help from the blue mountains but that's a very long march. To convince the leaders of Khazadum he's going to need more info than just Human problems...
Quote from: Telcontar on Apr 10, 2014, 01:31 PM:ooc: Doug, Celdrahil came through here in his long slow trek north from Ithilien. What can you tell me about Tharbad? Is the ICE map of the city accurate? Is it player knowledge? Do I have some info on some of the cities factions? Any Dunedain presence left at all etc?
:ooc: Sorry for the delay to your question, Tom...
Celdrahil left Minas Ithil in the late Winter, or early Spring of III 1637 - so somewhere between February and March. That would provide him with the needed travel time to get to Arthedain and become part of our story by November/December of that same year.
So, it's been roughly two years since you passed through Tharbad. The map I have attached shows what things are, or used to be. I will verify things if you decide to explore the confines of the city.
When you came through, the sickness was just setting in on these people and so there weren't the cantonments that you will find now. Yes, people were sick and some (healers) began to cry warning of the spread of the disease. The town had a Reeve (Margrave) at the time, named Hamad, who stood in rule for the minor noble of Dúnedain descent, who was wasting away with the sickness. Hamad, too, was of Dúnedain blood, and he ruled the city cautiously, firmly, but fairly.
In III 1409, after the fall of Cardolan - it is stated that the count of true-born Dúnedain numbered approximately 1,000. These people re-emerged from the Old Forest and the Tyrn Gorthad and tried to put their country back together. Two hundred years later, I would say that 20% of those Dúnedain are left within the city and surrounding country. Some of these Dúnedain have fallen to ill-ways, the rest are eradicated by the plague in III 1636- so, you can take my 200 (20%) and reduce it again by a factor of 10 and assume about 20 full-blooded Dúnedain remain. There are plenty of people with a strain of Dúnedain blood, but the men that came from Westernesse are a rarity.
"I passed through Tharbad on my way north. At that time the mayor of the city was Hamad. Perhaps weshould call upon the cityand call upon him? Failing that Perhaps some of our folk remain within the city seeking only encouragment. Either way, three knights and their companions is a sizable force to be used to shape events."
"Agreed"
Dirnhael nodded in agreement.
"Soon enough," he said. "First, let us determine what -- and who -- we oppose, and ascertain their strength."
"This may become a battle for hearts and minds as much as it will be one of steel."
:ooc: Okay - it is sundown. Are you guys resting for the night or are you scouting the city limits? The rain has slowed to a drippy chill, but it is certainly passable.
"Our foe? Our foe remains unchanged as it has from the begining. The marring of the world and discord sown by the Nameless Enemy will forever plague the lives of men and folk of Arda. This foe like all others will out its source to the begining and be some servant of the evil we can never truly destroy."
Celdrahil looked out the window to gauge the rain, "the light of day will always be our ally. It will reveal our presence to be sure, but from the words of Mithrandir and what he have seen so far I'd rather do my exploring in the light of day, in order to better prepapre for the night."
"I, for one, could use a stroll to stretch my legs. We've ridden long and hard, it would be a treat to do this. Anyone care to join me in the fading light?" asks Durgil.
"I will walk with you, brother," Dirnhael replied; the very mention of their relation made him miss his wife, Ioreth, all the more.
"Perhaps the fresh air will lift my spirits."
Durgil grabs his old weather-worn cloak and covers himself once again as a man in the wild, concealing the weapon by his side and leaving the rest of his belongings in his room.
:ooc:Temporarily reduce his Bearing by 5 to conceal his true nature.
Nain pulled his cloak on as well.
"At least the rain's stopped."
The Innkeep saw the trio grab their things and prepare to take a walk into the gray sky of dusk, "I will keep your cups here and there will be warm stew on your return."
Fengel looked to the weather outside the window and then his sodden boots, "If it pleases, I will keep myself right here in front of the hearth. You all can do as you wish traipsing off into the rain." The elf mage agreed with his companion, "I will keep Fengel company along with this honey-mead of which the Innkeep spoke."
:ooc: Let me know if Celdrahil is going or staying and I will get some new stuff up.
Durgil flips a silver to the man. "That is much appreciated." Durgil steps outside, sniffs the air, and pulls his cloak closer about him. "I'm going to see about the horses and then we can be off."
:ooc: Celdrahil will hang at the tavern and try and get more info out of the inn keep.