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The companions all started as once more the forest produced a shadow on the edges of the campfire. A tall, slender, robed figure stood observing all as they discussed the quarry that they had just brought down. The figure had made no sound with its approach and all wondered about the dreaded wraiths that were spoken of that haunted areas of Mirkwood. But no, this fear was quickly abated as they saw it was a person underneath that robe.

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:ooc:  Just trying to stimulate some RP'ing here. I know a few of you are busy with family stuff, but trying to keep the game from losing momentum. I don't have an NPC in this game to start conversations.  ;)

"Look," Bandy hisses to the others, half raising his bow. "Stranger, identify yourself!"

:ooc:  Ayrn has been off the site for about 4 days. He just came out of surgery last week, so I am going to respond to get the game moving. If I do or say anything that you do not like, Ayrn, feel free to let me know and we'll change it.

---

Two hands came slowly from out of the shadowed cloak, empty and open - palms outward in a sign of non-aggression. A whispered voice, "Forgive my interruption of your encampment, but I feared for your safety, although my concern was ill-spent. Never have I seen a cleaner shot! May I enter your firelight and introduce myself?" The companions all had a look to one another and Orophin kept an arrow nocked to his bow, but the consensus was a series of nods. The silhouette was graceful and it was immediately apparent that this was a woman, as she stepped into the firelight. Her cloak was a shade of grey, or was it green - either way, it seemed to hide her outline with the wooded darkness behind her. She pulled back her hood to reveal a stunningly, beautiful woman - tall and pale of skin with hair that was dark and hung long, but tightly woven in a braid.

"I am Esgalwen and if it is okay with you, I would like to take refuge within your camp this eve."

"Pretty words will get you far in some places but here your actions will be what is judged," grunted Grimbeorn.  "Your honor and your life hangs on them."

Arbogast makes some room for the new arrival around the fire, propping his axe and shield within easy reach. 

"I am the Fire-Watcher.  The large man is Grimbeorn, son of Beorn the Skinchanger."  He pauses, trying to unobtrusively observe the condition of the young Ranger.  "If you are hungry, I fancy we have more boar near to hand than any five people could manage." 

 :ooc: Sorry, guys, for some reason my work comp doesn't like the new change to the site... and it took me a bit to re-find the site on my home computer. I'm going to post today, after I get the kids some breakfast. Thanks for your patience!

Esgalwen gave the large man a nod, and the Fire-Watcher introduced the pair. "Thank you for the invitation. While I wish I may have opportunity to prove the worth of my sword arm, for tonight I must simply accept your hospitality." She found a place near the fire. "Some food, and drink should you have some, would be most welcome."

"I have had a troubled journey as since leaving my home to the south," the ranger began. "Ten of us left Gondor. The cold, orcs, and worse have humbled us low so that only I stand before you now. My business lies west a little... We were making our way to Rhosgobel."

Gondor!  The name is yet another unexpected thrill for Arbogast, who had accepted the existence of Gondor upon Middle-Earth in the same way he accepted the existence of the sun in the sky - with no expectation that it would ever be a place he might visit, or from which someone might visit him.  Her long journey, though, unquestionably makes Esgalwen a guest in the lands of the Woodmen, and with no other representatives of the folk in attendance, the sacred duty of hospitality falls to him. 

"You are not far from your goal, then.  We are a hunting party out of Rhosgobel, though of unusually mixed peoples, thanks to the folk-moot taking place there." 

He thinks for a second more, then follows his instinctive guess.  "You have come to seek the counsel of the wizard Radaghast, I take it?"  I certainly can't think of another reason anyone would come here across all those empty miles, he thinks. 

Orophin aimed his bow at the ground as the lady moved toward the fire.  His suspicions not completely gone but somewhat relaxed.  He sits on a log on the edge of the campsite away from the fire.

"What darkness befell that 10 rangers would have such difficulty on the road from Gondor? Surely my cousins in Lothlorien would have lent aid."

"I, too, would like to hear your tale dark though it is." Bandy wants to know more before he trusts the stranger who appeared so suddenly in their midst, but his Hobbit courtesy remained strong even in the wilds of Mirkwood. "But excuse me, first you need refreshment, some food and drink to restore you." Bandy produces some venison skewered on a stick. "I also have some good South Farthing pipe weed if the people if Gondor practice the art of smoking."   

:ooc: Going to allow you guys to RP back and forth for a bit longer here so that you guys can get a good feel for the Company, and then I will move us on. I have to introduce disenchant4d's character, too. It will probably be tomorrow, Steve, that I have your intro into the story, just so you know.

 :ooc: Works for me! Just toss me in when the story calls for it. I've been keeping up with the posts.

Esgalwen took the skewered meat from the ... half-man?. The ranger had never laid eyes on a hobbit before. Far too clean and fair for a goblin... a man acursed with dwarfism, perhaps... she wondered.

"Your hospitality gladdens my heart, and more so to hear that we are close to Rhosgobel," she allowed herself a brief moment to noursih her body with the food and drink offered before continuing.

"My tale is dark indeed," she began finally. "Though, perhaps, no more tragic than for all good folk who walk these lands. My company set forth from Gondor in late February, while winter's icy chill still clung to the land. My lord sent us forth to these Wilderlands to find out the truth behind the increased presence of the Shadow that we find haunting our borders as of late."

"Ten there were of us that travelled north. The mighty Anduin swallowed one through the ice soon after we left. Another was lost to a pack of wolves. The third to an orc shaft... though we destroyed the orc pack, the arrow was poisoned by the Shadow's dark arts."

"Yet still, we continued on. Two more were lost as we entered the southern eaves of the Great Woods. Though we saw not the foul creatures, surely they were spawn of Ungol... evil spiderkin, for we found the telltale signs of their webbing."

"With only half our number remaining, we looked to skirt the southern woods and the narrows, coming north along the western eaves. Having met men of the vale along the way, we learned of the folk-moot happening near Rhosgobel and, with renewed hope, decide this would be the best place to gather news from these lands."


"But we were beset by a raid party of orcs during the night. And while we laid waste to many of our foes, yet still they had many more. My leader fell to an orc spear, and two more of my brethen were cut down, before the three of us who remain took refuge in the woods. In the darkness and chaos of the night, we were separated."

"That was nearly four weeks ago, and I fear now that my companions might not have eluded our foes."

"So, here I am now, the last of my company as far as I can tell, alone." the fair maiden looked around the fire, "save for your excellent company."

Putting his arrow back in it's quiver and setting down his bow Orophin relaxes listening to the tale.  The shadow was obviously growing.

"That is a sad tale.  It's fortuitous that our group has come out into the forest for a hunt or you might have passed it completely in the dark wood. We plan to stay the night and walk back to the meeting place at first light if you'd care to join us."

Listening to Esgalwen's account, Bandy wonders if Bloody Snout had been tracking her and happened to arrive by accident into the hunting camp. Why does evil follow her so? It may go ill for the fellowship to take up company with such a person. Yet looking upon care-worn Esgalwen he takes pity on her.

"A dark tale indeed, but let us not abandon all hope. Perhaps the Woodmen or the Brown Wizard will have word of your companions. We'll see tomorrow. But tonight we must be on guard lest we are surprised again by more foul creatures. Let Esgalwen rest and I will take the first watch. My mind is restless and I will not be able to sleep."

"Excellent, I'll keep you company while you watch friend hobbit.  But surely it's not time to sleep yet.  We have a warm fire and good company, is there not one among us that has a happy tale or a song to share?"

Bandy stands and places his hands behinds his back and clears his throat. I know a ditty that is neither great music nor filled with high sentiments but it seems appropriate given our circumstances. I must apologize to my friend elf, as this is a song sung far way in the Shire by ignorant people who know little of the fair folk.


If your skin you'd like to keep
Stay away from Mirkwood deep
Many go in, few return
Except within a funeral urn
Come upon a spider web
It'll become your permanent bed
Elves are fair of voice and face
Men they keep in a dark, dank place
Ask the Dwarves about their stay
They'll say it was drab and gray
Orcs and goblins, ghosts and ghasts
Will be thems who sees you last
Tho' the sorcerer has gone away
He's left his evil spawn to play
If your life you hold dear
Away from Mirkwood you'll stay clear

In the silence that follows, Arbogast clears his throat, nervously.  "A bit unfair to the Elves, perhaps, but otherwise not unlike what we Woodmen tell our young children.  If we are to sing of things mostly unknown to us, perhaps I could follow?  This is a song my father used to sing - our family legend is that it was taught to his grandmother by Radaghast himself, though I have never had an opportunity to ask the wizard about it." 

He lifts his voice.  It is scratchy from disuse, and his time-keeping leaves much to be desired, but the sense comes through strongly. 

"I saw three ships go sailing by,
Over the sea, the lifting sea.
The wind rose in the morning sky,
And one was rigged for a long journey.

The first ship turned toward the south,
Over the sea, the running sea,
The wind blew from great Manwe's mouth,
And carried it to a rich country. 

The second turned towards the north,
Over the sea, the quaking sea,
By and by a wind came forth,
And the decks shone frostily. 

The third ship drove towards the west,
Over the sea, the darkening sea. 
But by the wind was all possessed,
And wandered wild and drunkenly. 

The western sky rose high and black,
Over the proud, unfruitful sea,
North and south the ships came back,
Happily or unhappily. 

But the third went far and wide,
Into an unforgiving sea. 
Under a fire-spilling star,
And it was rigged for a long journey."

 :ooc: I'm back from HI, all burnt and missing it  :P

Grimbeorn didn't care for people just popping out of the woods, especially after encountering a fight -- too much of a coincidence.  So he just sat silently and watched the newcomer with an almost uncomfortable glare.

The companions sat and more songs were sung and tales told of heroes, lost loves, and shadows that creeped out of the night. Some had them enthralled, as the tales were of different lands and deeds great and small, while others had them laughing and slapping knees. The mayor of Bywater being called The Ol' Root, because he was always prying into everyone's business! But eyes grew heavy and tongues tired and so the night passed quietly, the companions trading off the watch until the dark faded and the forest came alive with a new day.

With the sun above making the canopy a bright green, Grimbeorn and Arbogast lowered the deer and rigged a simple litter from two of their spears to carry the animal back to Tent-town. They had a long stretch to walk and none wanted to wait for the sun to get higher, for the forest would begin to swelter in its heat. The humidity from the prior day's rain was already unbearable. With their new companion beside them, they started their march home. Conversation was hushed as they went, but the travel was uneventful.

By the time the sun had passed its mid-day and afternoon shadows began to stretch, the Company walked back into the village of tents. They could see at once that it had grown larger, as to the south a new, large pavilion of many colors and soft, thin fabrics had been raised. Banners of strange sorts fluttered and bronzed-skinned men with dark hair and long moustaches milled about. They carried spears and wore hats and vests of leather.


Upon seeing the companions, a great cry of pleasure went out due to their success and many of the men of Woodmen-town and Woodland Hall came to help. Bandobras marveled at so many large people and strange men - some wearing skins and with great beards, while others were dressed in breeches and tunics. There were many claps on his shoulder as the account of the boar was told to the passerbys. Questions were asked if it was the Bloody-muzzle and many thanks were given that the beast was now dead.

The deer was moved to the Tent-town center where two thick, y-shaped limbs of wood were staved into the ground. The animal was set down, cut free, and then hoisted on a rope. From there, men that were well-learned in the cleaning of the animal went to work in stripping and dressing the deer. This pleased the companions, as they were tired from carrying their prize - especially Arbogast and Grimbeorn, though the larger man would never admit it. Instead, the small hunting party were all treated to horns of ale with requests for a repeat of their story.

Freda strode into the camp's fire ring and saw the large buck, as the butchers skillfully pulled the skin. She beamed a smile at such a catch and lauded the companions, "What great hunters we have here! Such a fine catch! The camp will eat well for a good week." Around her, a number of HUZZAHS! peeled in the air. "I have told my father of your success, Arbogast, and he is proud of the skills you have shown. It is his wish that you and your friends take on the permanent task by joining the camp hunters and messengers, for surely your feet know well the paths of the wood."

Esgalwen looked from face to face in search of any that might be familiar - a face of a friend that was lost nigh four weeks past. She gave a sigh of concession to the fact that she might be the only survivor of her own company out of Ithilien. Bandy, ever the light-hearted fellow, could see the look on the Gondorian's face and he moved to her side. It was then that the Hobbit noticed a new face of his own - standing on the periphery of the ring of onlookers was a new Dwarf. Bofri, son of Bofur, had come south from Erebor but this new fellow had not been amongst his entourage. The Hobbit's interests were piqued.

Freda continued, "My father Fridwald has announced a feast in all of your honor this night!" She turned to all of those gathered, "THE BLOODY-MUZZLE IS SLAIN!" Again, a chorus of HUZZAHS! Orophin wondered at the comment - was he?

With that, everyone began to break up and separate to their own tasks. Bandobras' shoulder aching once more as those that passed him by clapped him there again.

---

:ooc: Stefan, I had sent you a PM a while back answering one of your questions. Not sure if you got it, but you are welcome to interject anything that I gave you into the story as you please.

Go ahead with a bit more RP'ing. It doesn't have to be between each other - you guys are welcome to go and seek audience with any clan leader, or fellow clansman, or the Brown Wizard, or whatever. I will update after I get an idea of your PCs' interests. If you have no particular thing you want to do now, just post an OOC Ready to go, and I will give you guys some more narrative.

GREAT songs/poems by the way! I love when you guys can create on the fly like that.

And disench4nted, that is Rorin.

News of the Bloody-Muzzle's slaying spreads rapidly through Tent Town, but as ever, the details quickly become confused.  Within the hour, Arbogast finds himself trying to play down the premature lionisation of himself and Grimbeorn as the beast's killers. 

"No!  I tell you in truth, we were both ready to fight the boar - the Beorning perhaps more than I - but had we never deigned to lift our weapons the outcome would have been the same.  The Halfling's hands were steady and his aim was true, and within seconds the beast was dead.  I know well that I am a young man, but I fancy I may live the rest of my days without ever seeing another shot like it!" 

Mildly drunk on ale and adulation, he fails to see the effect his words have on his kinfolk.  He has yet to prove himself in any significant way to the Woodmen, and this sudden closeness with foreigners - with an Elf, no less, and with the strange Hobbit from the west - has begun to draw the ire of the more insular and untrusting of his people.  While he enjoys the praise of Freda and the smiles of the other maidens of Tent Town, Arbogast's reputation is crumbling behind his back. 



 :ooc: And with that, I'm ready to go.  I don't think Arbogast is important enough to have drawn the eye of any of the great and the good of the folk-moot, and this explains why his Standing starts at zero. 

Impressed with the shot made by the Hobbit, Grimbeorn thought it more luck than skill.  The young Beorning sought out the leader of the moot or Radagast or whomever could tell him what they were waiting for to get the moot started.  "My home is my business and I wish to conclude this and return with tidings to my father with due haste.  The shadows at our borders do not rest while I am here."

Overwhelmed and intoxicated by the Woodmen's attention, Bandy indulges the crowd and, if truth be told, his own swelling pride by recounting the hunt and the battle with Bloody Muzzle. Although often interrupted by queries for more detail, Bandy tells the story in full, omitting nothing of importance. Indeed, he extolled his friends' skills in tracking and hunting and made self-deprecating jokes about how when the deer came into sight his own arrows flew wide of the mark. Still the Woodmen only wanted to know about the shot that brought down Bloody Muzzle.  A growing sense of unease began to creep over him. Then, looking up to locate the source of some noise beyond the throng, Bandy saw his friends dispersing through the crowd. Grimbeorn wore a disapproving look and Arbogast appeared downcast. He suddenly felt the urge to disappear and get away from the curious onlookers who called on the Halfling to tell the story again. He now found the attention  disagreeable. "Halfling? Halfling! I am a Hobbit, not simply half a man thank you very much," he grumbled to himself. But to his Woodmen he was more polite. "Thank you, thank you for your attention dear hosts, but it has been a long night and I see someone I must speak with." Bandy then wades into the crowd, which given his size nearly swallows him up, and winds his way toward the strange Dwarf.

Approaching the Dwarf, Bandy composes himself and gives a low bow and is the Dwarves' custom says, "Bandobras Bracegirdle at your service. I could not help notice that you are new to camp and I did not se you arrive with Bofri. I wanted to introduce myself as I know what it is like to be a stranger here."

Grimbeorn moved through the crowd of woodmen, women, and even the small children that had accompanied the trains to Rhosgobel. He made his way to the large central pavilion and pushed his way inside. He was large, like his father and so stood blocking the daylight that came through the tent opening. He was acknowledged by a man in a hat that looked book learned, an untrustworthy trait to the Beorning, and was shown to the Master of the encampment - Ingomer.

Ingomer, too, was tall and of strength. Older than Grimbeorn, he was not a clan leader, as the woodmen of Woodland Hall did not have rulers - instead their voices were heard in council - but many deferred to the large man. Though he lived a simple life, Ingomer was wise in the world that he lived. His eyes were cobalt and his long hair hung in a braid. A scar was visible on his face and his beard did not grow full due to the ruined tissue.

Grimbeorn presented himself and then in a gruff voice his concerns. Ingomer listened quietly and politely acknowledged the Beorning, "T'is true that we are all needed back at our homes, Grimbeorn, but we cannot yet call the moot. Folks are still arriving - just two days past, strange men of Dorwinion came with their colorful silks and strange banners. We expect that the moot will commence with the summer solstice, and so wait we must, so that all may be represented. Beorn is well-known to us all and surely his counsels are welcome here, but patience must be observed. This is the first moot of the Men of Wilderland since before the dragon came to the mountain in the north, and so it will not be rushed. We all would be gracious for your presence, but the road is free and Grimbeorn of the Beornings must do as he must.

"If you stay, then you will be a part of this council and assist with tasks needed by clan leaders, as I understand Fridwald has already assigned, but if your folk need your return, then best be on your way." Ingomer fell silent and waited for a response. He knew of the temperament of the Beornings and hoped there was no offense, but either way, he would not let any representative of any clan make demands on them all.

Rorin arrived at Tent Town without incident, but still fatigued from his journey. He begrudgingly handed over his hammer at the entrance and began his search for ale. He was amazed the the variety of folk that had gathered in this so-called town, and noted that he had not seen this diverse a gathering since the Battle of the Five Armies. He hoped that the gathering was not a sign of an approaching darkness, but if the rumors were to be believed...then his hopes may be in vain.

Rorin shook such thoughts from his head as he heard the cheering of a crowd in the distance. By the time he made his way to the commotion the smell of venison was thick in the air and his stomach rumbled in eager protest. Just as he was beginning to conjure a plan to get his hands on some of the meat a tiny hobbit appeared out of nowhere and bowed to him. He was momentarily shocked at this unexpected events but recovered and replied in kind.

"Rorin son of Barin at your's. I thank thee master hobbit, I had not thought to meet one o' you're kind here. I have heard rumors that one such as yourself brought down the great pig, is there any truth to such stories? I know full well of the courage of hobbits and the thought of one of you claiming the kill that the elvenkind could not brings be great joy."

The reason spoken by Ingomer was not lost upon Grimbeorn, but didn't lessen his irritation.  He grudgingly acquiesced to the man's request, "Aye, I recall.  My father wishes for me to remain, yet I feel time is wasting while we dawdle in feast and wine.  I will await your call, Ingomer."  Remembering some semblance of manners, he gave his elder a sign of respect, "Thank you for seeing me."  The Beorning youth returned to sounds and smells of song and fire, grabbing some food, and rested once again at the log and fire that had become his temporary home away from home.  A restlessness grew in the lad once he had his fill so he sought out those hunters and messengers he was so cavalierly assigned for a task to do.

"Ah yes, it was me who killed Bloody Muzzle," Bandy admits feeling embarrassed by his earlier bragging. "Although I was motivated more by self-preservation than bravery," he adds quickly. "I crave neither battle nor glory, a good thing given my size," he says laughing."

"I am glad to make your acquaintance and take comfort in your presence here. You see I am a kinsman, a distant relation really, of Mr. Baggins, who speaks often and well of the people under the mountain. So although you are the first Dwarf I have ever met, I feel as though your people are familiar to me. I hope you are not insulted by my saying so. A person in the world alone will seek the familiar where he can. My company includes a Woodman, a Beorning, a mysterious southerner, from Gondor I think, and an elf - a motley band to be sure but good and  doughty people all.

So master Rorin, what brings you so far from your home? If it is a long tale and you have the time, perhaps we can locate some ale and find quiet corner." 

"Aye, tis a long tale indeed Bandobras, but any kin of Mr. Bilbo is a friend of mine! Come, let us drink!"

Rorin lead Bandy back to where he had set up camp on the outskirts of the main Dwarven camp. It lacked the finery of the official pavilion but was comfortable enough to call home for some time.

"Because you asked nicely master hobbit, I will give you my own tale first. But I very much wish to know what business Bandobras of the Shire has with this moot.

My own tale begins in the Iron Hills where I grew up. I was apprentice to my father, Barin the Kiln Master, for as long as I can remember. But one day the thrushes brought news that Thorin Oakenshied and a small company had retaken the Lonely Mountain from the Fire Drake and that Dain II was to muster a force to bolster his claim. My father and I had always spoken of some day travelling to see the remains of Erebor, though we never dreamed of being able to set foot within those halls, so when the chance came for our people to reclaim our home, we decided to ride out with the King.

As I'm sure you know, what occurred that day came to be known as the The Battle of the Five Armies...", Rorin paused and drank deeply of his tankard, "...and it was the bloodiest business I've ever witnessed. My father and I fought alongside our kin until he was felled by an orc blade. He died there on the steps of old Erebor and was never able to see his childhood home reclaimed. I stayed at the Mountain for some time rekindling the forge fires and helping rebuild what was lost, but my father's ghost haunts me in those halls and I could not stay.

Word reached my ears of this great moot and I chose to leave Erebor and see what services I could render in a place such as this. In my experience, there is always use for a large hammer and strong arms to wield it!"

Rorin smiled broadly under his beard and poured Bandy and himself another cup of ale.

"Enough of me, what brings the unlikely Mr. Bandobras to this town? And why does a hobbit who craves no battle nor glory travel this far from his hole to slay dark beasts who bring terror to the forest?"

Orophin made sure that the corpse of the bloody muzzle was put to the torch before he followed the group out of the clearing in which they'd slept.  He watched the fire burn for a short time before leaving it to consume the last of the creature's flesh and bone.  They dampness of the forest would keep the fire from spreading and they beir that they'd built would ensure that the beasts flesh would not be consumed by any wondering scavengers.

It was with a heavy heart, his worst fears confirmed about creatures coming from the southern forest, that he walked back into the camp.  As his companions dispersed throughout the crowd to tell tales of heroism and their great deeds, the elf sought out Radaghast for his council what they'd found.

Orophin recognized readily enough the location of the Brown Wizards home. Within the enclosure near the great hall stood a copse of old growth trees, the trees were old to the elf, they were in fact old even for Greenwood the Great.
Making for the great hall the elf spied the white stones that lead away from the door and into the woods. Taking up the path Orophin took the long light strides of his kin and headed into the wood. Observing the trees grow closer he first noticed the long grass that grew up around the white stones, untended and uneaten by the grazing livestock of the encampment.
When the elf looked up again he noticed that he was back where he started and the woods no closer though he had been moving the whole time.
With a frown he stepped forward again, the mannish food must have been upsetting his stomach. However, again the elf found himself no closer when he looked at the wood though he had thought he was walking the whole time. Frowning deeper the elf picked a specific branch and marched straight for it clearing his mind of all thoughts.
When he found himself back on the path the realization struck him that the magus of the wood was much stronger than the elf had given him credit for. The wood elf never would have thought the wizard capable of confusing one of the Eldar, but he had. Orophin was surprised to see and experience something akin to the Girdle of Melian that had once bound Doriath of old. Looking away from the white rocks the elf saw a small field mouse watching him.
Speaking in the clear and ancient tongue of Sindarin he addressed the mouse, "little master, it appears I have been prideful, would you take me to see the master of the wood? I desire to speak with him."
With a twitch of his nose hairs the mouse nodded and with a leap took off down the white stones for the elf to follow. 

On this attempt the elf passed into the ancient trees and while focusing on where the mouse went he was still capable of seeing how old and entwined the trees really were. In a few short minutes the mouse stopped, turned, and ran up and over a great root. Seeing the creature go the elf was instantly aware of the myriad of creatures that crawled, walked, and flew through the trees towards the house before him. The structure was elvish, mannish, and something else entirely all at the same time. Part trash heap, part shelter, but all together fitting and belonging to the wood in which it rested.

Entering in as the animals did the elf saw an old man shrouded apparently by the tree itself, or perhaps his clothing was so soiled and the hat so hid him that he appeared almost as part of the tree. The eyes however were staring straight at him, they appeared shockingly green, or sky blue, perhaps even grey all at the same time. As he concentrated on determining the color the lichen twitched and a mouth moved.
Here was Aiwendil, one of the Ithryn, still at work in the lands of middle-earth, and he was conversing with a salamander. While Orophin was taking the whole sight in the salamander scurried down the wizards hand and up his sleeve. The crystal clear voice was strong and deep, and to the elf sounded like the most ancient Sinadrin, even to one of the Eldar.

"Yes, what is it? I see you there First Born, not all my companions have the allotment of days that you have to stand there without coming to the point and their messages and aid is most pressing to them."

:ooc:  Hey All, just to let you know. Due to Tom's current schedule, he will only be taking over the NPC's in our story - leaving the GM'ing to me. At some point, we will co-GM and see how that stuff works.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that he is the one you guys will ply your wiles against! Have fun!!

Looking around the encampment, the Gondorian woman noted that no flags flew the southern country's colours. Esgalwen tried not to dispair, though she felt nearly certain that, had any of her companions lasted that fateful night four weeks ago, they would have surely arrived before her. She marvelled for a moment on how she still lived, while those with far greater experience and wisdom had perished.

When Freda finished speaking to the camp and Esgalwen realized that it might be days yet before the folk-moot began in earnest, the southern ranger thought perhaps this woodsman's daughter may have heard news of her companions. If not, perhaps Frida might direct her to those she might press for knowledge for her lord.

 :ooc: Esgalwen is looking to asked Frida about her companions and who she might speak to gain news from the north, specifically of the movement of the Shadow.

Frida stopped when she was hailed by the southron woman. She nodded when she approached and listened to the tale of the companions.
" I have heard no news of your folk lady. Though the wood is a strange place and not even the Brown Wizard can guess all its ways. You are free to join theparties that range from the camp in order to find a sign of your companions and I will pass the word to the others who come and go on the camps bussiness. As for your other question, I will not answer that question now, for greater knowledge will be gained from the voices of many and no doubt the council will speak with greater knowledge than I could. Your story and the reason for your coming should be heard at the council as well, all who have come in peace should be heard."

The woman paused to see if the Gondorian had any other questions and then set about other bussiness to keep the growing throng organized and fed until the council time.

:ooc: Awesome! Keep up the character interactions. I am going to give this one more day and then move the story on.

Tom, I sent you a PM.

Rorin, your tale fills me with sorrow. Even so great a deed as the retaking of Erebor cannot compensate you for the loss of your father. Fight we must when called upon, but folly it is to romanticize war and ennoble the warrior. May you find peace wherever this road takes you. I predict that like Bilbo and Thorin we will share that road at least for a while. Bloody Muzzle's attack, Esgalwen's strange appearance and unhappy story and now your own sad tale seem inexplicably connected and that we all have been drawn to this place for some purpose I cannot divine. Such speculation is best left to wizards.

Although my leaving the Shire has doubtless scandalized a number of hobbits, you will find my reasons altogether prosaic. You see I am a historian and I want to learn about hobbits out in the wider world. It is said we have not always inhabited the Shire but arrived there from the east, and I hope to discover some evidence from our wandering years. I am also interested in gathering some eyewitness accounts of Mr. Baggins exploits, you know to expand upon and round his story. A good historian does not rely on only one source. So here I am, but I must confess that so much has happened to me since my arrival I have not thought to ask a single question about hobbits in general or Mr. Baggins in particular. Perhaps I will go with you to Erebor one day to speak with the surviving members of the original company.

Esgalwen gave Frida a courteous nod. "Thank you, m'lady. I shall do as you have suggested and would be most grateful if you would pass word along of my companions. One more question, if I may trouble you a moment longer... How long before the folk-moot begins, may I ask?"

 :ooc: Esgalwen will range out with the parties as Frida has suggested, though her preference will be with the other PCs

Should our roads lie together for some time Mr. Bandobras  I would be pleased to hear the tales of the Shire from one as learned as yourself.

And I am eager to learn more about Erebor and what has happened there since Dain became king under the mountain. I should look for my companions. Do you care to join me?

Aye, it would be my pleasure, especially if we can keep hunting such savory food.

:ooc: I am ready to move us on, but Stefan's PC sought out Radagast - and he is on vacation this week. So, I am going to RP his character based on his last post.

Stefan, when you get back, if you had another intent, feel free to let me know and we can redo this scene.

---

"Your eyes are keen, Master Radagast - as is your mana, for surely it is power indeed to misguide the feet of a Silvan Elf, folk who have walked these woods since the First Age. We knew every trail and stream. But as you say, time is pressing and Men and others do not count the days same as an Elf.

"I come to you regarding our find on the hunting trail. The Woodmen speak of legends and shadows of terror, but we know whence the true Shadow came and its taint on the Greenwood. Yestereve, the Hobbit, Bandobras, was fortunate as his arrow struck the right eye and bore deep into a great wild pig. Had he failed, I am not sure if our young friend would still be among us, for the beast's intent was upon him.

"The animal was of no natural kind. It was large and powerful, and full of a malice that stems from something beyond a need to hunt and eat. This beast was first tracking a new arrival, Esgalwen, a Ranger out of Ithilien. It must have been the scent of our own kill that drew the boar's attention to us, but as I say, it was not the intent of the creature to make off with our deer. It came to kill on its own.

"The Ranger also spoke of orc raiders that slayed her companions. I fear that, though the Necromancer has been driven from the forest, that his will and malice still bear down upon us and his machinations are still in place to forestall, if not destroy, our efforts to form an alliance of the Folk of Mirkwood and its surrounds. Do you feel this within the wood? Should we warn Ingomer and Ceawin of this potential threat? What should happen if all of the great leaders of the clans are gathered here within your realm, and their own homes are attacked? What if we are set upon and leave the Woodmen with no leadership?" Orophin sighed, "I know this is much to assume from naught more than an encounter with a great beast of the wood, but I would be remiss if I did not speak it and seek your council."

The wizard pondered the elf's words and tone and his own demeanor softened.

"Yes, you speak truly the enemy is at work in all things. The great council of the wise has often thought to strike the enemy where he has assembled armies, and where he has worked dark magic. This foe however is but the servant of a greater enemy. I will not name him, but you know of whom I speak. This foe has done much more than unleash his foul war bands upon Elves, Men, and Dwarves. In the very making of the world he sowed discord into the very earth. Even the beasts and the plants have their foes due to his malice and hate. Some work alone, some work at the hand and the bidding of our current enemy, some others do his will but do not know it. I am unable to say for certain into which category we should place the boar. Perhaps, more information on what transpired with the woman from the south would give us greater insight into whether the beast came by chance or by design.

As for the moot, I did not summon it, though I am sure none will give me a moment's peace if I do not appear and look contemplative. The shadow is abroad in Greenwood master elf, we are seeing but the new growing shoots of its malice but the roots are still hidden. The folk of the woods have a chance to work together and grow stronger before the storm comes again. As for attacks, not the snail, the bird, or the tree are immune to predators. Each must look to themselves and to those who are willing to aid them. All who are friends should meet and exchange news and burdens so that common ground can be found, that's as good a reason as any to assemble. I suppose I should tell the Clan heads I am ready for their meeting."

Frida looked at the sky and the tress at the woman's question. "I do not know, but soon I should expect. I shall inquire with the other's as to your companions. Greenwood can be tricky, even those who know its paths may be separated from kith and kin, such things are not certain to end in tragedy for those who keep their wits. Should I have the scouts look for any marking or sign that your company may use? Was their gear and bearing the same as yours?"

Frida was wrong with her statement regarding the companions' deer - it did not feed the camp for the week. It was used up mostly that night due to her father's decree of a feast in the honor of the group that had gone out to hunt. The evening celebration had been blissful, if not a squander of the small, impermanent tent town's supplies, but it brought a feeling of camaraderie to the people and boosted morale. Many songs had been sung, contests of strength and wits, and other festivities.

Esgalwen had enjoyed the simpler pleasures of the woodland-folk - log-splitting and tree climb races - wishing for such a time to return to the city of Minas Tirith. A time when the threat of Minas Morgul, or worse, Mordor was not pressing on its people and their spirits. But wasn't this the purpose of this gathering? Hadn't a great shadow been removed from southern Mirkwood not long ago, and a dragon slain in the north? Surely this gave reason for these people to gather and celebrate, and to see what kind of alliances could now be formed. The Ranger thought of the shadow that was purported to be driven out and now the rumblings of the Great Shadow returning to Mordor - for Mount Doom had erupted - a harbinger of His return. Was this the same shadow, she wondered?

The night of celebration passed and with it came the need for more hunting and gathering. The spring was moving into summer and so the forest was a'bloom with many berries and fruits that the woodland-folk needed. The companions were tasked with these missions, as was mandated with their first success. They would go out with basket and bow - or spear - to garner anything they could find from the forest's bounty. But, as the tent-town grew with more folk, so too did the distance of their ranging.

And so the weeks passed.

The companions were now six in number, for the Dwarf, Rorin, had developed a good relationship with the diminutive Hobbit. It seemed that being far from home was a commonality that they both could cling to and grow a friendship - along with food and spirits. It had been a challenge, though, for the Men and Elf to finally talk the Dwarf into unlimbering his armor when they would go out to hunt, as the clink of his mail was loud along with his heavy booted feet. It was most times that the companions would just ask Rorin to wait at camp, and hold the fort. A task that even the Dwarf found himself better suited.

Today, though, the group were all together as they strode west into the forest deep. Each carried a basket, along with their weapons, for the purpose of gathering anything that could be used. Arbogast had led them further west and south then he had ever done in the past, and the forest weighed heavy on them all. The heat of summer hung thick under the canopy of leaves, where the breeze seldom blew, and bugs buzzed in their faces creating a greater nuisance. They quietly grumbled to themselves about the task, about the forest, and even about each other, when suddenly the trees opened on a gurgling, brown-blue river. They all walked to where the bank was thick with bramble bushes, and other plant-life that clung to its sides. Looking south, the companions saw the river run out into a great expanse of water - the Black Tarn. A lake that was said to be enchanted. Bandy remembered that one of the clans had come from this area lead by Armaleoda, the Shield-maiden.

The group breathed in the fresh air and enjoyed the breeze that now blew across the water. Still, large flies and dragonflies danced about the air. Orophin knelt to put his hand in the water. It was cool and pleasant and the Elf thought of his own northern home, and the river that ran through the King's Hall. The Silvan Elf suddenly jumped with a start, as a man erupted from the foliage. The thorns and prickers dragged at his clothes and had torn at his flesh. He stumbled towards them, his face pale as a ghost and yellow-flecked spit welling up from the corners of his mouth. Orophin barely had the time to balance on his own two feet when the man collapsed into his arms, bearing them both to the ground.

Arbogast immediately recognized the man, even as the Elf rolled him off of himself and tried and make him comfortable. His name was Beran the Watchful; he was a Woodman, and was known as one of Radagast's watchmen. Orophin feels a parchment crumpled into his hand and then Beran fell into unconsciousness. His form limp, the companions could now see where more than four nasty looking wounds were spread about the Woodman's torso and legs. The stabs were grouped closely in two's and were each the size of a small coin - clean and deep. A dreadful smell came from each of the punctures.

(https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/52987685/BerantheWatchful.jpg)

The Elf hands the parchment to Arbogast who saw a scrawl of words upon it. The Woodman read the words allowed...

QuoteThese words of mine, Beran of Rhosgobel, must reach Master Radagast!

Orcs in Fenbridge Castle! One of the outlying fortifications of Dol Guldur that The Enemy abandoned after the White Council drove the Necromancer away, but now the Orcs have returned!

At the bottom of the page was a crudely drawn map that showed the castle's location near the Narrows.

---

:ooc:  Beran didn't draw a distance bar. It is on there for player reference only. ;D

Arbogast glances at the parchment long enough to understand its meaning, then thrusts it quickly back to Orophin.  "Show the others," he says, matter-of-factly. 

His attention is already turning to Beran's wounds.  That they are orc-work is beyond doubt, and the state of them clearly indicates poison, but there may yet be something the younger man can do for the elder.  Without looking up from the man on the ground, he calls out "Esgalwen, bring fresh water, quickly!  Rorin, Grimbeorn, be ready to help me move him.  This man is my kinsman, and I shall do what I can to help him, but I do not doubt that his survival will depend on us returning him to Rhosgobel and to Radaghast!" 

 :ooc: I'd been wondering when the titular poison was going to make itself apparent!  Arbogast will attempt a healing roll.  After all, you never know when first aid will make all the difference! 

DC unknown, probably high Healing 3


If a Hope point will make the difference between success and failure here, consider it spent. 

Grimbeorn was startled to see the man fall out of the woods -- only out of sheer will did he stay his hand at the surprise.  He listened to the words of the note and rage began to well in his chest.  "Orc scum!" he bellowed.  "If we are to move at best speed, I will carry him.  Rorin, we will need your axe at the ready in case further surprises befall us."

Rorin, whose nerves were already worn thin from trekking through the seemingly endless forest, had raised his hammer to attack the instant Beran had fallen out of the brush. But as it became clear that this poor man was no threat he turned his eyes outward and began to look for any more violent surprises.

As he heard Orophin read the note, the forest seemed to close in around the group and shadows of threats could be seen behind every tree and under every bush. Arbogast began barking orders and Rorin exchanged a knowing glance with Grimbeorn. "Aye, we must make haste. Pray that we are not beset upon, but if we are, my hammer is ready."

Rorin noticed Bandy standing completely still and staring at the Woodsman's wounds and put a hand on his shoulder. "Come good Bandy, it is best not to dwell on such things. The elf and the woodsmen will be busy tending to our new friend here, we will need your keen eyes to warn us of any new dangers. Take a moment now to gather your strength, the trek back to the Tent Town will not be easy." He broke a loaf of bread and handed half of it to the hobbit then filled his own canteen and quickly ate.

Uh ... what? Bandy, still dazed by the surprise and sudden horror, could barley take his eyes from the man who lay unconscious before him. The feel of Rorin's hand on his shoulder and the sound of his reassuring voice broke the spell and he turned and took the bread. "Thank you my friend." Then, after a pause, "Rorin, look at those wounds. Whatever made them it was no sword or spear. The punctures are nearly perfect and made in pairs. I do not think orcs are responsible for this, or if they were, they were in league with something darker and more foul. These woods are tainted by shadow. Let us make haste to Rhosgobel.  I will gladly carry the equipment of any who must support Beren.

:ooc: Hey Paul, no need for a Hope Point. Your Healing test was sufficient to allow Beran to mark his wounds as Treated. He will need to recover, of course, but for the moment he is stabilized.

---

Orophin looked to Bandy and then back at the body of Beran, "He's right! These are not punctures from some kind of blade or arrow, but those of a beast. These are some sort of bites." The Elf then grabbed at Beran's tunic only to then look at his own. He pulled at silken fibers that clung to the man's arms and clothes. "Webs?"

The strands were tacky, like that of any spider's weave, but they were thicker and hardier than any Orophin had ever seen before. "Cursed creatures!" he spat. "We have had many troubles with dealing with spiders. It seems that our friend here was unfortunate enough to run into some while'st alone. It is a wonder he survived." The Silvan Elf marveled again at the resilience of Men. Though short of life, they were certainly made of sturdy stuff.

Hearing his companions' thoughts on the type of wounds and smelling the dreadful odor with each, Arbogast knew that if it were poison, it must be leeched from the man's body. He looked about for anything that might aid, and he remembered the old wives around his home telling of poultices and wraps for various wounds from snake bites to axe cuts. Moss, he remembered excitedly. Arbogast pointed to the side of the river where the stuff grew in abundance and his friends quickly gathered what they could. The Woodman was skilled in some healing and even carried his own small pouch of healing agents - alone in the woods, you always needed to be prepared. As he pulled the pouch from his pack, he told Orophin to pack the wounds with the spongy plants. He hoped that they would serve to draw the poison from the wounds.

Grimbeorn and Rorin took up a stance of defense around their friends.

They administered to Beran for more than an hour of the sun's passing and at last the Woodman smiled for his efforts. Beran's brow broke its sweat and the tremors that shook him ceased. His breathing was still ragged, but the older man opened his eyes. Panic was the first reaction and he flailed and kicked out at those he did not recognize.

The Beorning youth spat and cursed at the mention of spiders.  "I have met and dealt with too many of that kind than I care to count.  Let me know if you need any assistance as I, too, have some expertise in ministering wounds of this nature."

"'Tis indeed a wonder he survived... The creatures play at sport trapping their prey in cunning traps that are nearly impossible to escape.

----

"Calm our new friend lest he bring further ruin our way," grumbled Grimbeorn.

The man was calmed with a simple explanation - where he was, what happened, and who they were.

Once done, a crude litter was constructed and the company got on their way. They needed to get back to Rhosgobel as quickly as they could but there were many miles to cover, and the day was half through. Grimbeorn and Rorin took up the burden first of carrying Beran, while the rest of the companions scouted out the trail home. They were not far from the Black Tarn when a group of six armed warriors emerged from the forest, accompanied by as many huge snarling wolfhounds.

The companions quickly became defensive as the large number of people and hounds appeared. Grimbeorn and Rorin quickly set the limp form of Beran down and hoisted weapons.

The newcomers were clad not unlike the Woodmen of Mirkwood, but did not bear the marks of any known clan. They wore shirts of mail, and carried helms and shields on their back, but it was evident that they were not looking for a fight. The leader of the group stepped forward: she was a lean, broad shouldered, Northman woman, with dark hair streaked with white. She announced herself as Dagmar, servant of the Tyrant's Hill. Pointing at the poisoned man, she spoke, "This man stole something from me." There was an arrogance about her and she demanded that he should be handed over to them.

---

:ooc:  All right, Tom - I leave it to you to have some fun RP'ing with the players. I will update the story once I see a point where you guys have come to some resolve, or battle, or whatever.

I will also chime in with any answers to questions that might need assisted on.

Grimbeorn gripped his axe tightly as he stepped between the injured man and the group.  "This seems a large party to hunt alone man for 'something'.  What would this object be that you so earnestly seek?"

 :ooc:
Grimbeorn seeks to intimidate the newcomers.

 :00:

With bow drawn but pointing downwards, Bandy, grim-faced and determined, steps forward to stand beside Grimbeorn. His eyes flash with indignation. His desire to protect the injured man, Abrogast's kin, from what he takes to be bandits or worse has emboldened the hobbit. "Have you no mercy! Business you may have with this man, but I say to you Dagmar that you shall not have him while he is wounded and ill. I have experienced much that is evil and deceitful since entering these woods, and I fear that no justice can be obtained here."

With his heart hammering in his chest, Arbogast steps back next to Grimbeorn and Bandobras, ready to form a miniature shield wall, should such be required.  He does not yet brandish his axe, though.  Rather, he holds up his empty hand in the 'parley' gesture recognised among all civilised folk. 

"I pray you, take no offence, but we shall not hand over this man to those known but little to us!  I greet you, Dagmar of Tyrant's Hill.  I am the Fire-Watcher of Woodmen-town.  This man is kin to me, as he is to all the Woodmen of Mirkwood.  You can plainly see that he has run afoul of some fell creature of the forest - spiders most likely.  My companions and I are bringing him to Rhosgobel, for to be ministered to by his kin, and by the wizard Radaghast. 

"Perhaps this meeting will prove opportune.  Though we are near neighbours, my folk know little of the Men of Tyrant's Hill - less, certainly, than we ought.  Yet this can be easily rectified.  A folk-moot is gathered - the first since the death of the Dragon - and you would be welcome to join.  Many matters will be discussed at the moot, and your claim that this man has stolen from you could easily be among them.  We are a free folk, and we hold fast to our laws.  If he has truly offended against you, then you shall see that he is appropriately punished. 

"But now is not the time.  Instead of bickering in the wild, come with us.  Help us return this man to safety for today, and let his fate be determined tomorrow." 



:ooc: Interesting development! 

Are we now in an Encounter, for rules purposes?  If so, Arbogast is rolling Riddle to introduce himself, and Persuade to get his point across. 

DC 14 Riddle 1


DC 14(?) Persuade 3


Also, for the record, I'm tagging Arbogast's Herb Lore trait, along with his successful Healing roll, for a second improvement point in the Survival track. 

:ooc: Blast and double-blast.  I'm spending a Hope point to add 9 to the Persuade roll, which should be enough to turn it into a success.  Nothing much I can do about the Riddle - looks like he failed to satisfy Dagmar as to his identity. 

 :ooc: I'll be out of contact until Monday. Rorin has no desire to hand this man over and will help defend him should it come to that.

 :ooc: Well that was a resounding failure.

Dagmar tossed her head back and the pride in her bearing was an almost physical thing.

"I see you Fire Watcher, I will not explain our laws or our ways to a Beorning and a child. This is a private matter and the man you have owes me a debt of service. He could not pay his debt in coin so he will pay it in sweat. Now, he attempts to rob me even of his labor. I would tell your friends to mind their business and their manners. For our ways are not their ways, we do not suffer insult lightly, and we are also mounted and outnumber you. Beran seems capable of movement, I would convey him back to where his debt must be paid."

:ooc:  Great posts, guys! Tom I have to correct one thing - Dagmar's hunting party is not mounted - everyone here is on foot.

Arbogast refuses to be goaded by Dagmar's words.  "It seems that we are at an impasse, then, and one that serves neither of us well.  For while his wounds have been seen to, his condition may yet worsen if they do not receive better attention than is possible here.  Yet we need not resort to steel and bloodshed to resolve this.  Come!  Sit with me by his side, that we may discuss this further.  I suggest also that we post a watch - some of your companions, some of mine - that we might not be taken by surprise by what we all know yet lurks in the deep woods." 

As he speaks, he studies Dagmar and her followers closely, attempting to puzzle out their motives.  Do they truly want to see justice done for some unknown wrong, or are they simply using the wounded Woodman as an excuse for a battle? 


 :ooc: Arbogast is patient.  He'll keep the conversation going as long as he can.  In the meantime, an Insight roll is called for. 

DC 14 Insight 1

:ooc: Well, that wasn't entirely unexpected.  I have Hope to spare, so I'll spend another point to bring the total up to 18. 

Bandy returns his arrow to the quiver and slings his bow across his back. He tries to assume a more relaxed posture and bites his tongue, awaiting Dagmar's response before saying any more.

:ooc: Great roll by Arbogast on the Insight roll, but I am going to make this an opposed test. Dagmar may make a Persuade test to try and hide any intentions that she may have. So, the number to beat Tom, is 18.

I am going to give Dagmar a +2 bonus due to Arbogast's utter failure on his introductory test. It empowers Dagmar's feeling of superiority, and has reduced Arbogast's confidence - as he feels awkward now.

TN 18

Dagmar looks at her companions and then back at Arbogast, " we should not tarry here. Spiders and worse creatures may come upon us. Where are you taking him to?"

"To Rhosgobel, as I said.  Or, if that is unacceptable to you, to the tent-town that has grown up outside the Hedge.  Either way, the sooner he arrives, the better for all of us." 


 :ooc: Does Arbogast get any read on her from his Insight roll? 

 :ooc: i'll let Tomcat answer that one before I go on.

 :ooc: Thanks for running Orophin while I was gone, I couldn't have said it more eloquently myself.

Orophin helped with the healing of the man, although his skills had only been used on elves in the past humans were similar enough and poison was poison.  He wrapped the bandages and watched the man as his health obviously improved.

As the group moved out with the litter he took up rear guard, making sure that there were no more spiders following them through the woods and when they came upon the group of humans from Tyrant's Hill he hung back in the shadows with his bow ready.  He listened while the humans talked and was glad when they seemed to come to an agreement.

 :ooc:  Hey guys, give me another night. I am still wrestling this cold and the medicine makes me kinda sedate. I will say that Dagmar failed at hiding her true self and Arbogast can see she is false. That said, he doesn't know why she wants the wounded man, only that he feels her intentions are ill - towards him and any that might get in her way.

 :ooc: Cheers, and get well soon!

 :ooc: I got you covered loremaster Buddy!

Abrogast watched the woman as she approached the bier that held the wounded man. Her posture was tense and as her companions fanned out behind her he got the feeling that they were following her lead on how forceful they were going to be.

"Well, the forest is dangerous wherever it is that you would move him. My men and our hounds will help you bear this burden, was anything found with him or did he speak?"

Rorin noticed the change in Arbogast's demeanor and concluded that while these unexpected visitors may not be enemies...they were not yet to be trusted. He re-slung his hammer across his back and with Grimbeorn's help hoisted the litter into the air. "While I thank you for your concern, but this man has been too weak to speak with us. I believe we are able to carry this burden on our own. Though your help ensuring our safe passage would be much appreciated."

 :ooc: Awesome! Thanks, Tom. I will continue to leave the dialogue back and forth to you guys, before I add any new narrative. Save for this...because Posterboy is out for a couple weeks.

---

Esgalwen never took her hand from the hilt of her sword when the strangers had emerged from the woods, but she did not draw the weapon. As a Ranger of Ithilien, strangers along the borders were a regular event in her life and she had learned manners of diplomacy, but this was always tempered by awareness. Like the Dwarf, she could read the demeanor of her woodman companions and used them as a gauge of threat. Her familiarity with Mirkwood was nothing to put faith in, but Esgalwen knew how many leagues they had walked this day in their search. With the day half passed, the Ranger judged that their new burden would not guarantee a return to Tent-town before the sun would set. They would need camp somewhere soon and greater numbers would ascertain a safe night - if these folk were truly trustworthy.

She spoke her thoughts, "Arbogast...Grimbeorn... hardy is the content of our company with Rorin now among us, but the labor you will bear will keep us from reaching Tent-town before nightfall - surely we must camp between here and there. Having Dagmar and her companions with us seems a boon." The look she gave her friends betrayed the graciousness of her words. Esgalwen needed them to understand the threat of a knife in the dark, as they all lay at rest.

"Yes, most fortunate," chimed Bandy, following the ranger's lead. "You must forgive my initial reaction Lady Dagmar. You and your friends startled me and I have learned through experience that these woods are full of bad surprises."

With the strongest members of the company bearing the unconscious woodman, Bandy fears that the truculent strangers might take advantage of the situation. He positions himself at the rear of the party where he can keep an eye on everyone. Should Dagmar object to him bringing up the rear, he will plead that his short legs can't keep up with the big folks. She is condescending enough to believe that.

The companions come to a quiet agreement that the additional strength of their newly found allies would make the trip back to Tent-town easier, but they would remain vigilant. Grimbeorn and Rorin returned to the burden of carrying the litter and they all moved off heading north and west towards Rhosgobel and the western eaves of Mirkwood.

The heat of the day bore down on the forest canopy and made the underlying air thick and heavy with heat. Sweat beaded on the brow of Man and Dwarf alike, and eventually, pride be damned, Grimbeorn relinquished his end of the litter soon to be followed by Rorin. Arbogast walked along one side of Beran, with Orophin on the other. The two healers wanted to watch over their charge, and to also make sure the men of Dagmar did not attempt to run off with the wounded woodman. Three other of Dagmar's folk took up the lead with hounds along with them to scout their path.

But as was predicted by the Ranger, the daylight began to fade before the lengthy trek was completed and the companions needed to decide whether they would push through in the darkness or make camp.

Grimbeorn merely grumbled about having to stop.  "We should press on instead taking our chances with whatever the night may bring us again."

Arbogast, though silent through the grim trek, now spoke in agreement.  "Indeed.  Each hour is precious, and I fear that Beran may not live to see the dawn, were we to stop now." 

He hoped that his companions also understood, as he did, that each step took them nearer to help from the Woodmen of Rhosgobel, should violence break out.  For the hour was fast approaching when Dagmar's hand would be forced, one way or the other.

Bandy adds his voice to those of his companions.  "We must press on. This man's death serves no one. The woodmen will have lost a kinsman and you", he says speaking directly to Dagmar,  "will have been denied the justice you seek and whatever it is he is supposed to have taken from you." Then ,he added after a pause, "with your strength and the knowledge you possess of the area, we may travel in greater safety through these dark woods." The last was an appeal to her ego, which he hopes his companions will not mistake for sincere flattery.

 :ooc: I'll roll for persuade. You can ignore if you don't think it appropriate.

 :ooc: Dang.

"This woods are indeed fell as the beardless dwarf has indicated. They are more so at night, which is why people do not tarry but seek the shelter of their walls and homes. Our chance of meeting these fell creatures increases if we press on. They will be more likely to hear or come across our path. Surely resting now would improve our chances of reaching our destination."

The companions of Dagmar still spoke no words in the company of the strangers.

:ooc: I am calling for a Fatigue test for the Company, including Dagmar's people. I will make the rolls just so we aren't bogged down waiting on players to roll. Take the results of the test for your PC into play for any posts you perform. The affects will last until properly rested per the book's rules.

TN 14 Travel test







Dagmar's people

:ooc:  Arbogast, Esgalwen, Orophin, and TH3 all failed and must add 2 to their Fatigue.

Grimbeorn rolled the :g:

Rorin and TH4 rolled the :~~: and Bandy and TH5 each rolled a :%:

All others succeed normally...now I have to see what the dice mean and what gaining 2 points of Fatigues does to a PC.

I am off to read the rules! (-D

  :ooc: if their endurance reaches their fatigue level they become fatigued. The Eye means that a hazard has occured for Rory. I kinda liked the original rules for hazard because it meant the whole party had a potential problem, but basically something negative happens based on a characters role, which we havent decided on yet.

:ooc: Okay, so: Arbogast, Esgalwen, Orophin, Rorin and TH4 all add 2 to their Fatigue scores (or just use the line that reads Fatigue from Travel on your PC stat blocks).

Now for the specialty dice...

---

The companions made quick debate of the situation and it was decided, although one-sided, to continue. Dagmar tried to coerce them into camping for the night, but the Company would have nothing to do with it. So the southern woman plodded along beside them, her own companions in tow. What was agreed on was the need for light, and brands were sparked and now the forest glowed where they passed and flickered with shadows.

The burden of the wounded man weighed heavy on the shoulders of the two that bore the litter, but even the others felt the day. The heat had drained them and their legs ached. The darkness, even if softly lit by the torches, still hid rocks and roots, and toes and shins were stubbed and cut. Grumbles did not come from just one, as the distance to Rhosgobel diminished ever so slowly. One of Dagmar's henchmen cried out when he walked into a large cobweb that stretched between two low branches. The man's face was draped with the strands which laced into his beard  - his hands came up waving about to brush the unseen cobweb away. The situation actually provided some levity and the companions chuckled at his demeanor.

Rorin had been walking behind him and had heard the man's girlish cry. With a large smile, the Dwarf strode to the Tyrant's Hillsmen to see if he could offer aid - for surely the massive beast of a spider that had spun the web between the branches had to be crawling on him. The hillsman brushed at his face and beard and pushed at the low branches and tree. Suddenly, there was a crack from above and Grimbeorn watched as a tumble of branches fell from above, atop the Dwarf and Hillman - both disappeared under the dried leaves that clung to the branches.

The sound in the quiet forest was thunderous. The cries from Rorin and the Hillman added to the cacophony. The two litter bearers set Beran down and ran to aid the fallen. The others quickly turned from the darkness beyond to look at what had befallen the friends. The two under the dead, old branches were moving and Arbogast could see why they had fallen. The Hillsman had walked through a web, but then his flailing had caused him to disturb the dead tree, whose branches hung loose. The deadfall was inevitable.

Dagmar looked around. The Fates had been kind. All of the others were busy - it would be her moment, if she wanted it.

:ooc:  Just a note - the cobweb above was normal - not generated by a monster spider. It just caught the man off guard in the dark, and he reacted like most people who walk into a cobweb. This incident was caused by Rorin and TH4 both rolling a  :~~:

Dagmar quickly drew a blade at her side and buried it hilt deep into the man upon the litter. She motioned to her comrades who drew their blades as well. Once their comrade had the use of his limbs she gave a shrill whistle, the torches were flung into the dead leaves, the flare illuminating the night for a brief instant as the menof the hill attempted to fade into the night.

Recoiling at the murder of Beren, Bandy draws an arrow and releases it at Dagmar now hideously illuminated in the firelight.

 :ooc: Bandy is in rearward stance and has fair shot allowing him to roll the feat dice twice and keep the higher roll.

 :ooc: If that is hit, the arrow may cause a wound. If it is not a hit, I will spend a point of hope.

Arbogast's shock and horror at Dagmar's sudden attack is quickly blunted.  With her hostile demeanour, tense bearing and sidelong glances at her men, she as much as told him her plans, and the death of Beran is as much his responsibility as it is hers.  So it is with a cold fury born of shame that he rounds on her, his shield quickly slung and his axe brandished in the firelight. 

"Woe to you, Dagmar of Tyrant's Hill, for by this act you have proven yourself to be the enemy of all who cherish justice!  Your head I now claim as weregild for my kinsman!" 



 :ooc: I submit that, despite the fact Arbogast wasn't expecting an attack right now, he was expecting one, and should be allowed a Battle roll to represent keeping an eye on the terrain and the placement of the Fellowship and the Men of Tyrant's Hill.  If you disagree, obviously feel free to disregard it. 

DC 14 Battle 2


He'll also attack Dagmar (in Open stance) before she has a chance to get away. 

DC 9+Dagmar's Parry score Long-hafted Axe 2

:ooc: I'll also spend Hope as necessary to ensure a hit. 

"Treachery!" roared Grimbeorn. "Your family be cursed by it!"  The young man charged after the scoundrels, arming himself as he moved.  Fueled by rage, all weariness fell from his limbs as he chased them down.

 :ooc: What should I do to catch up to them -- Athletics to catch up to them? Awareness or Search to perceive them in the shadows? Hunting to track them?

Orophin stands back from the group, out of the torch light so that his eyes adjust to the darkness.  He chuckles quietly as the two fumble with the webbing and the deadfall but even his mirth doesn't completely eliminate the feeling that the shadow was creeping after them through the darkness.  

As he watched the frivolity he saw the human woman stab the wounded man.  Before she could withdraw her blade from the dead man's corpse, he'd pulled back the arrow already knocked to his bow and released it at her.






 DMG 5; Edge  :g: ; Injury 14

Just as Rorin stepped up to help the entangled man, he heard the sound of branches and the tree falling. He managed to get his arms up just in time to keep a large branch from striking his head. He cried out in his surprise and cursed the clumsiness of this supposed woodsman. He cried out,  "You fool! Curse you and your clumsiness!" And grumbled a string of choice insults under his breath.

While he was trying to get out from under the fallen tree he heard the sounds of a skirmish along with the bellowing roar that Grimbeorn had let out. Rorin immediately realized what was happening and realized that he was in no position to reach his hammer and help his friends. So Rorin decided to reach for the dagger on his belt and restrain the man who had gotten caught in the cobweb.

:ooc: Awesome posts, guys! I like having the NPC's run by Tom - it leaves an element of surprise for me, the storyteller.  ;D

Granted, I know the basic gist of the story from the campaign book, but it is fun to see how he interprets the NPC's parts and what they will do to achieve their goals. It allows for a player to play against the PC's that is not the storyteller.

Fun!

Okay, back to the action and to answer a few questions:

Bandy - based on the situation, I am going to go with Defensive for Dagmar and her people's stance. She had done what she came to do, now she wants to get out of Dodge. Tom, may change their stance if combat starts in earnest, but he can let me know that before we go into the first official Round thread that I will post once all of your reactions are in (I am waiting on Rorin and I will post for Esgalwen, since Ayrn is still on vacation).

So that said, you need a TN 18 (TN 12 Defensive +4 Parry +2 Shield) to hit. You rolled a 16, so with a Hope Point, it goes to 19 and is a success.

You do 5 Endurance damage -and- it is a Piercing Blow; Dagmar must roll a Protection Roll:
TN 14 Protection 2d+2




Arbogast - I am fine with your Battle roll to determine any advantages, but since Dagmar and Co. are in Defensive stance, they have initiative and so you need a TN 18 for advantages. Your 9 roll is not a success. You may spend the Hope point if you wish, but even with your Favoured Attribute score, your dice roll comes to 17 which is not the TN 18 necessary. So, I suggest saving the point on this opening round.

Matt - right now, they are withdrawing into the night, so it is not yet a race. If you attack, you will at least hold one of them here to defend him/herself. So, give me an attack roll against TN 18.

Stefan - sorry, but your attack misses.

Rorin - give me your actions for this onset of combat when you can.

Esgalwen - I will post for now.

I will also be starting a new thread for Round 1 combat. Dagmar and her companions may turn to fight, or try to run...we'll see what Tom does.  ;D  >:D

:ooc:  Just got Rorin's post. Let me do Esgalwen first and give some narrative, and then I will see what the rules say to restrain a person.

Dagmar is Wounded

Dagmar raised her shield and deflected Arbogast's hasty attack. She heard the hiss of an arrow pass her head, but then felt the sting as Bandy's entered her leg. The Tyrant Hillwoman gave a terrible curse, as she called to her companions to move, "Get ye moving now! Or the Master's lash will be on your backs!"

The companions pressed their attack as the traitors faded into the shadows - their dogs now between each group. Esgalwen had also witnessed the treacherous killing stab and could not believe a man, or woman, could do that to her fellow - especially one who was incapacitated. An Orc, for sure, was notorious for such a cowardly act, but not a woman!

Defying the dogs before her, the Ranger drew her long sword from its scabbard and swung it at Dagmar's flank.

---

:ooc: In an Open stance, Esgalwen attacks
TN 18 Long sword (Swords)   ♦♦♦○○○

:dmg: damage   5 (1h) / 7 (2h)   edge   10   injury   16 (1h) / 18 (2h

:ooc: Wow! Pretty lame roll.

Ok, I am opening a new thread for Round 1. Grimbeorn may still act here and I will go ahead and rule that Rorin holds one of the Tyrant Hillman at knife point.

 :ooc: 0 for 2 so far.  Legolas he ain't.

Grimbeorn rages furiously as he brings his ancestral weapon down with both hands upon the woman.

 :ooc: Grimbeorn is in an Open stance.
TN 18 (Axes)   ♦♦♦○○○
 :00:


 :dmg: 7/9, edge :g:, injury 18/20

 :ooc: I'll use a HP if it will get me a hit.

:ooc: UPDATED Re-hash of my rulings, thanks to Paul pointing out my error...

Okay, back to the action and to answer a few questions:

Bandy - based on the situation, I am going to say that Dagmar and her people are defensive and so will have the initiative next round. She had done what she came to do, now she wants to get out of Dodge. Tom, may change this if combat starts in earnest, but he can let me know that before we go into the first official Round thread that I will post once all of your reactions are in (I am waiting on Rorin and I will post for Esgalwen, since Ayrn is still on vacation).

So that said, you need a TN 18 (TN 12 Rearward +4 Parry +2 Shield) to hit. You rolled a 16, so with a Hope Point, it goes to 19 and is a success.  :csu:

You do 5 Endurance damage -and- it is a Piercing Blow; Dagmar must roll a Protection Roll:
TN 14 Protection 2d+2
(http://rpg.avioc.org/boards/Themes/default/images/dice_warn.gif) This dice roll has been tampered with!
:00: 1d12 : 1, total 1
Rolled 2d6+2 : 5, 3 + 2, total 10


Arbogast - I am fine with your Battle roll to determine any advantages, but since Dagmar and Co. are defending, they have initiative and so you need a TN 18 for advantages, but that roll fails. Your 9 attack roll goes against a TN 15 (Open 9+ Parry +4 shield +2). With a Hope point spent, your roll goes to 17, which is a success!  :csu:

You do 5 Endurance damage plus 2 for your great success, but it is not a piercing blow

Matt - right now, they are withdrawing into the night, so it is not yet a race. If you attack, you will at least hold one of them here to defend him/herself. So, give me an attack roll against TN 15.

Stefan - sorry, but your attack misses.

Rorin - give me your actions for this onset of combat when you can.

Esgalwen - I will post for now.

I will also be starting a new thread for Round 1 combat. Dagmar and her companions may turn to fight, or try to run...we'll see what Tom does.  ;D  >:D

 :ooc: i believe using a hope point will get me to 15.