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

Sunstead.

The companions finally saw the town of Ceawin the Generous. It rose along the foot of a small hill that sat in the midst of the Bight, weaving up its sides as it did to the top where sat the hall of the lord. Like most Wood-men settlements, the defenses were limited to dikes and palisades, and so terrain was turned to for added safety. The setting was peaceful and the companions were pleased at once. Sunstead would make for a good place to rest and heal.

The most striking difference that the Company saw was the vibrant colors. Being on the east side of Mirkwood and having access to the many merchant trains that now ran north to south, from Erebor and Dale to Dowinion and even far off Rhûn, the town saw a great deal of riches from many cultures. Silks of bright colors fluttered in the wind, covering merchantmen as they made trade. Herbs and incenses burned fragrantly along with the smell of spiced meats cooking on spits and sweet desserts baking in ovens. The companions saw the diversity of people, too, far beyond that of the Anduin Vale. Men and women of Dorwinion, wearing the sheer silks and speaking in strange tongues, along with wainsmen known as the Sagath - harsher people with a swarthy appearance.

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

In many ways, the place reminded Esgalwen of Gondor and the small settlements that sat in the protective shadow of Minas Tirith. She smiled to herself as they rode into the town, for this place felt a bit like home. She had been concerned over the last few days about her small companion - Bandy, had spoken little since the battle. Esgalwen was not listed among the wise, but she had a pretty good head for things and knew that it was more than the wound that had the Hobbit in such a state. When they finally were settled, she would buy Bandy a mug of ale and sit and listen, if it was what he needed.

The Dúnadan's attention was drawn back with the raucous sound of folks welcoming the caravan home. People rushed from their daily chores and work and ran to wave and see who was returning after almost a year. Some expectant faces took on concern and even grief when they learned of a loss, while others laughed and smiled at the sight of loved ones. Many marveled at the new companions that rode along with the Lord of Sunstead, all the while chanting him praises. Some called out for news from afar and how fared the Lady Verwyne.

It was a grand event, all told. Musicians came from wherever they might have been to play pleasant songs and people laughed and danced. The scene created an emptiness in most of the companions, who themselves had not had a chance to be back among their own. These feelings were passing, though, as the people of Sunstead drew them all into greetings and new conversations. The reverie lasted until the sun began to set over the forest and then folk went back to their duties and to finish the day.

Days passed for the companions, who did not see Master Ceawin again, after he had left for his hall. Accommodations were made for the company, but the Lord of Sunstead had apparently urgent business with which to attend. And so they were left to explore for themselves, which they all took great advantage. Rorin was pleased to meet others of his kin out of Erebor, who spoke of great happenings to the north. The wealth of the Dwarves was being reflected in Dale and spread out from there. The gold that Smaug had hoarded now seemed to run the length of the River Running.

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

The companions began to forget about the purpose of their travel - the Helm of Peace. Instead they enjoyed quiet times talking amongst themselves, eating new foods, and drinking wonderfully rich wines from the east. It was during this quiet time that Esgalwen approached Bandy, "You have not been yourself for many days, Master Bracegirdle. You dwell on something that haunts you. I hope you do not blame yourself for the ambush? I know you had ridden as scout, alongside the other men, but it was nothing that you could have known would happen. The spiders of the wood are demons!"

As she spoke to Bandy, Idunn and Arbogast sat nearby along with Grimbeorn and Rorin. They listened as Esgalwen spoke, but their attention was drawn away by a newcomer. A woman of odd appearance stood before them all, her hair a strewn mess and unclean, while her body was painted in many odd shapes and pictures. Her eyes seemed wide with a touch of madness. "You're all going to die in there," was all she said before the tavern-keep quickly came to her and grasping her arm pulled her towards the door.

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

"Come now," he said, "I won't have you disturbing my customers with your strange ways."

---

:ooc: I will add more shortly, but I do want to give you guys some time to do the cool stuff you do when you add to the story. Feel free to fill in what has happened over the last four days that you guys are in Sunstead. Add people you might have met, foods, drinks, music, whatever! Middle-earth is ours, sometimes, to develop into what we see.

Bandy can answer Esgalwen and we can RP that conversation, Tom.

No matter what, end your post at the point where the woman is being ushered away and how your PC reacts to her words.

:ooc: just a bump to let you all know I updated the above post.

Arbogast spends the first day of their stay by Bandy's side, making sure that the hard travel since the battle with the spiders has not undone the Hobbit's efforts to heal, and waiting to see whether he will speak of the misery that has him in its grip.  It becomes obvious, however, that his usual approach will avail neither him nor his friend.  And so he makes his leave as politely as he may and goes forth in search of something that may bring cheer to a gloom-filled mind.  For such will he need, I fear, ere our business is done here. 

The years since he was last on this side of the forest have not diminished the grandeur of the Sunstead's market - it remains the largest and most diverse centre of trade that the young Woodman has ever seen, for all that richly-dressed Dwarves, and the Men of Dale, Dorwinion and Esgaroth appear distinctly underwhelmed.  He wishes he had coin to spend, or had thought to carry goods to trade, for the goods on offer would make fine gifts for his friends and kin. 

Though he returns periodically to Bandy and the rest of the Fellowship, he finds himself spending more and more time among the folk of the East Bight, marvelling at the richness of their land and the comparative ease of their lives.  I wonder why Caewin saw fit to seek to be counted among the Woodmen, he wonders, and not the folk of Dale? 

The answer becomes obvious to him, though, over time.  For, though the speech of the Men of the East Bight is somewhat strange to his ears, with different sounds among familiar words and phrases referring more to sun and rivers, and less to trees, still it is recognisable as the tongue of the Vales of Anduin.  The words of the Bardings, when they speak amongst themselves, are foreign to his ear, and he can understand them only when they deign to speak in the Westron tongue.  Though friends, they are a folk apart from his own. 

For all of this, he continues his hunt.  If he can afford nothing physical, then at least he may be able to bring news of the one thing he knows that his friend desires above all else - news of his own kinfolk.  He raises the matter with many traders.  Most know nothing of Hobbits, and those that do have merely heard of the coming of one to Wilderland about the time of the slaying of the Dragon and the Battle of the Five Armies, but can tell him nothing more. 

It is while considering his options on the fourth day of their stay that he first sees the boards spread out on a travel-stained blanket.  Mostly carved of well-stained wood, though some are cunningly-wrought stone, they bear pieces carved of bone and dark wood.  Behind them, ignored for the most part by the bustling crowd, sits a Dwarf, methodically cleaning a long clay pipe. 

"I beg your pardon, master Dwarf," Arbogast says. 

"There's no pardon needed," comes the reply. 

"I am the Fire-watcher, of Black Tarn Hall."

"And I am Yngli, son of Vidi." 

As the merchant at last finishes his cleaning and looks up, he sees Arbogast lost in contemplation of a dark piece, carved into the all-too-realistic likeness of a goblin. 

"My brother's work." 

"And fine work it is, too.  Pray, what are they?"

"Ah!  You don't know of fist-table (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tafl_games)?  Take a seat.  Let me show you the game."

Arbogast joins Yngli at a board, and soon forgets all other thoughts as he becomes lost in the flow of move and counter-move.  The game is clearly an old stratagem of Yngli's, for he sells two boards in the time it takes to complete it. 

"You play well, for a beginner!" he offers after the game is complete. 

"Why, thank you.  It is not so different from how a warrior must think in battle."

"Such is the point.  It is very popular among the warriors of Dale, and among my kin under the Mountain." 

The mention of kin brings thoughts of Bandobras back to Arbogast's mind. "Perhaps I might beg a favour of you?  Your pipe reminds me much of one carried by a friend of mine - a Hobbit from far to the west.  Have you perhaps had dealings with his folk?  Do you know whether any might be found about these lands?" 

Yngli raises his bushy eyebrows.  His hand reaches, almost automatically, to cradle the bowl of his pipe.  "Ah, you mean the halfling's inn?  For that is where I came by this, and the weed to fill it.  I stayed there for a time, now some seasons ago, in the company of that mad 'un, Bofri." 

"Can you tell me where I might find it?" 

"Well, it's beyond the great forest, if you must know.  On the edge of the Beorning's lands."  He gives directions from certain landmarks unknown to the Fire-watcher, who is nonetheless grateful for any information, no matter how obscure. 

"I should hurry to find it, were I in your shoes.  The place was poorly guarded from the dangers of the wood, and in recent days I've heard rumours of strife brewing between Beorn's folk and their neighbours to the north.  It may be that one threat or another has already claimed it, and those who called it home." 

Thanking Yngli, Arbogast stands and goes in search of the Fellowship.  Though he knows the Beornings' lands but little, he has a friend who calls them home. 

He finds them in the well-timbered house of a local alewife.  Esgalwen is already in conversation with Bandy, and Arbogast does not seek to interrupt them.  Instead, he sits with Idunn, Grimbeorn and Rorin.  "Do you recall..." he begins, but is cut off by the painted woman.  Startled, he regards her keenly. 



:ooc: I'm going to use Insight to try to get a read of her - is she as mad as she sounds, or is it a ruse?  That sort of thing. 

 :ooc: Awesome roll! Mark your AP.

Arbogast sees a touch of madness in her eyes, but also an old knowledge and wisdom.

His thoughts once again overtaken by events, Arbogast places a hand on the man's arm and gives a quick shake of his head.  Standing, he offers the painted woman his seat. 


:ooc: I can bust one out sometimes - just not reliably.  :P  :csu:

The innkeep looked at Arbogast, "Well, sir, you know your business better than I, but I wouldn't offer this woman your kindness - she'll take more than you want." The comment brought a snarl to the painted woman's face, "Stop it now!" said the innkeep, "You're lucky I don't toss you out on your ear."

The companions were now drawn in and Arbogast raised a calming hand, "It will be fine."

With a shrug, the bartender moved off to other customers and tasks. The old woman looked at Arbogast with a suspicious eye, as he offered her a seat. They all could see her body was tense, like a coiled serpent ready to strike. Her eyes darted to each of them and in that moment she calmed and her stance relaxed. She circled around the chair and took the seat.

The Fire-watcher could not help noticing her smell, as did other patrons around them who picked up their mugs and moved to a place further away. It was acrid and quite evident that she had not bathed in some time. The scent of body and that of smoke made from burning herbs and spices filled the area. The woman's hair was filthy and knotted in many places and the rags she called clothes were revealing if only due to their threadbare state. Grimbeorn looked at the ink that covered her arms and legs, chest and face, and some were familiar to the Beorning. She was a shaman, or some other sort of witch.

"What is your name?" asked Esgalwen.

The painted woman cleared her throat and spoke, "Some call me Mother Leyna...those that wish to speak to me at all, that is, and concern themselves with such things."

The teeth she had were stained brownish-red, which some knew to be caused by blackroot - a bitter root that could be chewed. With no offer, the woman took up Arbogast's mug and drew a long pull. Once done, she panted heavily and wiped the foam from her mouth. She pointed at Grimbeorn, "I see the beast within your eyes."

Grimbeorn was taken in by the town's sites with all the hustle and bustle.  The only place that comes close to it that he's been to is the outpost near the Anduin ford and Radagast's conclave some time ago.  He didn't participate in the goings-on but watched from a distance usually with pint in hand, sharing a table outside the local inn with his companions.  He soon realized that this wasn't a place for him as the itch to return to the road and forests came back upon him.  He missed the simple life he lived in his father's lands.

---

Grimbeorn wasn't taken aback by the look and manner of the old woman for a few of these type were known to him, counting his late mother.  These women knew of giving birth and healing, of telling the future and the secret thoughts behind stone-cold eyes.  Seeing this woman brought back memories and smells of poultices and bubbling draughts.  Yet the Beorning was startled from his revery by her pointed comment.  His eyes softened somewhat for the woman, but tries to remain circumspect about her keen sight.  "Yes, I have one inside me like all Men do -- it is the animal that helps us to hunt and to survive.  Now what vision brings you to tell us of our doom?"

The Halfling was surprised by what he saw at Sunstead, unlike the other villages west of the wood he could see that here there was a blending of cultures and peoples. The bright colors and the rich market place stirred him, but the thought of their task yet undone again dragged him back into melancholy. Instead of the Halfling kept to the lodgings that were prepared for them and spent his time pouring over his notes looking for insights into the restless spirits that troubled the land.

His physical wound was mostly healed in a short time, but he found that he missed the hills and paths of home and that hurt ran deeper. All of his companions had by now either returned home, or had been able to spend time with their own kin. The Hobbit however, could not say this about himself.

The Gondorian women sat down near him and pulled up a chair. Upon his lap were piled his notes on his knees, and his blade by his side propped up on the chair. Before she even spoke he knew the direction the conversation was going to go and he mentally prepared himself for it.

"Those things happen, in the wild I suppose. None in the company bear the fault of it, except of course maybe the master of this town that brought us here."

"Well, do you wish to remain here while we go on?" Asked the Ranger.

Rorin piped up from the corner, "He's not hurt. He's homesick, been mumbling about the North Farthing for days now."

The Halfling turned an ugly eye on the dwarf. "So what if I am. Grimbeorn and Arbogast are home, Esgalwen too has seen here home since I have been here. Even you Rorin at least have some of your own folk to see and talk to. I have not had such luxuries."

"So, we are to tally up our misfortunes against the chance and fortune of others huh? Soon you'll be more a dwarf than I am Master Bracegirdle"

"Well its not to be helped Bandy by sulking," said the Ranger, "you should see the market here."

The dwarf shook his head and took another sip of beer, "he'll not stay here. The chance for the adventure on the downs will draw him like a moth to the flame. I saw him looking out the window too gazing upon the carts coming and going. He needs a little nudge and to stop feeling sorry for himself. You received your first great hurt in combat, now stop feeling sorry for yerself, get up and get it together. Esgalwen will hold your hand for you and string yer bow if you want."

The Hobbit scowled and almost stamped his foot, it was all the will he possessed for Grimbeorn to stop from laughing out loud at the sight. The Firewatcher couldn't restrain himself and laughed. The Halfling sputtered, and frowned.

"Very well, very well. I'll see what is in the market place. I was somewhat interested in the speech of the folk here and that of some old hobbit words."

 His papers flew everywhere with the sudden opening of the door and he stooped to gather them bumping his head on the chair. Rising, he rubbed his head and looked at the woman who entered.

"All dead, much as I figured." Bandy said nodding, but listened as the woman was invited to sit. Well, a witch has entered the story now too I suppose, thought the Hobbit.

By instinct the Hobbit reached to his waist, removed and packed his pipe, and began to smoke again.

In the corner the dwarf half smiled, there was his little companion back again from his minds wanderings. A little push at the right time with something new to see and hear was all it took for this curious Hobbit of the Shire. 

Quote from: GandalfOfBorg on Jul 29, 2016, 10:49 AM"Now what vision brings you to tell us of our doom?"

Arbogast crouches down to better hear the woman's answer, curious what she sees that the Fellowship do not.

"The beast that will rage in you is no inner spirit of Men...no, you have the blood of the changeling." The woman named Leyna looked around at them all as they  stared intently. "Bah! T'is not the reason that I am here. Neither is it the beer swill that Bregnor serves!" She shouted these last words so the room could hear.

"Again, woman," interrupted Grimbeorn, "what of this doom? And how did you come to know this portent? Some old chicken bones, or perhaps the rough of a crust of bread?"

"You may joke, Beorning, but Mother Leyna sees and many have come to her for their fortune. I know that you have come here with the master of this town, the fool, Ceawin!" There was a sting in her tone as she mentioned his name.

"Yes, Leyna, but that news is spread far across the town," said Esgalwen.

"No fool am I, woman," the old woman snipped back, "but I know what you returned with and what is to be done with it."

"Again, lady, this is not new to anyone in this town. Ceawin went forth to find a smith to make this token," replied Arbogast.

"Yes, but it is a fool's errand and his doom! Doom, too, for any that follow him. Many times have I warned Ceawin that he would be undone if he enters those deathly hollows, but he laughs at me. He thinks me the fool! But the dead kings of old do not care for trinkets of men...or dwarves," she said, looking to Rorin. "All they wish is to prey upon the living. A greater darkness has returned to the wood - three Shades - harbingers of times of darkness yet to come. One now haunts the ruins of Dol Guldur, demanding allegiance of all those who are under the sway of the Dark Lord. The other two have made the heart of the forest their home and call to them all manners of fell-creatures."

To the Company, it seemed that the firelight began to dim and that the room was becoming chill. Mother Leyna continued, "The spirits that dwell within the mounds are nothing more than dark shadows that were summoned by the Necromancer, before he was cast down. They are here to torment the living and to steal the life from any who stray to close. They feast upon the life that is within us all! Ceawin will not sway them to rest in peace with this treasure...if anything, they will use it to subdue him! If you do this thing...if you join him in this foolish pursuit, you will not come back to the light of day again! Forever shall you suffer in the chilled hollows under root, in an undeath, as these shadows slowly consume the living light within you all!"

Her last words were a loud crescendo and the company could see around them that the tavern was quiet and all were staring. The innkeep, Bregnor, shuffled close, clearing his throat as he did. Nervously he said, "Alright now, it's best time you leave old woman. Go back to your hovel, with your herbs and poultices. Do that work for Sunstead, instead of these chilling visions. Okay, Leyna?"

Bregnor demeanor had changed from his initial exchange with the old woman. The companions could see he was visibly shaken. She, too, was now less aggressive in her stance - true concern filled her old eyes. "I will leave, Bregnor, and not bother your patrons anymore. But before I go..." she pointed at Idunn, "Medicine woman...you must take this." To the shield-maiden was given a token that hung upon a leather thong. "This is blessed by the Powers! They will show you the light when it is most needed, and strength will be fortified within your heart. And to you all, remember this cant...for it may save your lives..."

And so Mother Leyna began to sing, or chant, words of power:

Cold hand, cold bone,
Spirits darkened under stone;
Ne'er seeing morning light,
Always cleaving passing life;
But Shadows' hold cannot contain,
Powered words that shall refrain;
The strength of Arnú whom ye forsake,
Will'st cause your darkened spell to break

"Forget them not, these words...they may bring you home." With that, Leyna stood and walked from the tavern. Around the company, voices rose in a cacophony and all knew that the tales would be spinning this night.

---

:ooc: Add any RP'ing that you would wish - both narrative and dialogue. I will give it until tomorrow - unless everyone chimes in before then - and then get a new post up.

Memories of the moat of Dol Guldur crept back into Esgalwen's mind like a chilling hand touching her skin. She remembered the eerie green fog that held the faces of the dead. She remembered the haunting figure of Orophin standing on the bridge, beckoning for her to return. Stories of Minas Morgul also came to her mind; tales that had been told by her peers and elders. She was a strong woman and she did not fear death, especially in the fight against the Shadow, but she did fear the unliving.

The ranger took a long pull from her cup, "I am unsettled. I feel I must tell you this, as we are all trusted companions and have come to rely on each other. It is not my way to shirk from any threat, but this woman's words have stirred up dark memories more terrible than even those of giant spiders in the woods. I fear we are no longer part of an emissary to appease the dead, but now protectors to make sure we all return home alive.

"Should we bring this information to Ceawin? Try and convince him that his errand might be futile? Do we keep this contract and follow him down under the earth?"

Grimbeorn shrugged off the old woman's comments about his heritage; he knew who he was but it wasn't for the others with which to bother themselves.

Honestly, the words spoken, chilled though they were, did not come as any surprise to the Beorning.  "This is doomed, that is doomed... you're all doomed!" he said with a chuckle, brushing off any lingering darkness of the words.  Taking a long draw at his tankard, he emptied it and wiped his mouth on his sleeve as was his wont.  "I think we all knew this from the beginning of Ceawin's errand, which is why we came -- not just to protect him, but the others in this area as well.  Radagast had no faith with the lord's resolution to the problem and so here we are.  One thing is for certain, we need to find a way to defeat these shades of the Necromancer or at least drive them from here."

Arbogast smoothly resumes his seat.  "I am with Grimbeorn.  We came here knowing Caewin's plan to be foolish and flawed, but hoping nonetheless to protect him and his people.  What I have not understood until these past days is that neither will stand without the other.  The Lord of the Sunstead is misguided, but he loves his people, and they love him in return.  He has had the wisdom to channel their wealth into the giving of gifts and drawing closer to their kinfolk, though all of Mirkwood may stand between them, rather than turning inward and falling prey to jealousy and suspicion.  His folk have shown that they would do great deeds at his request, and I have seen no other who could command such loyalty of them." 

He picks up the cup that Leyna left behind and finishes what remains in two quick swallows.  "Yet he is a proud man, and they a proud people.  He has asked too much of them to simply abandon his journey now, when its end is in plain view.  We are outsiders - even Idunn and I.  And were we to frustrate his efforts, for which his men have given their lives, their love for him, and his for them, would turn to bitterness at the memory of vain sacrifice and counsel unheeded.  The folk of the Sunstead would turn away from the Woodmen, and by and by become divided amongst themselves.  The Shadow would find its way into this place, as sure as falling night." 

Checking that his companions are still listening, he continues: "This I know: if Caewin is allowed to see his plan to its end, then his honour, and that of his followers, will be satisfied.  If - when - it fails, then it will have done so on its own merits, and should he survive, then he will be more inclined to heed our words in future." 

"What is more," he says, meeting his comrades' eyes one by one, "there are five among us who have faced the Shadow's spectres before and survived, and another who has given me no cause to doubt that she would do so.  Mayhap there are similar Men among the folk of the Sunstead, but my heart will rest uneasy knowing that I have allowed others to face such a threat when I would not." 

The Hobbit would not speak or boast in the common hall of the inn. His companions spoke true words from the heart, but so too did other patrons of the inn to greater and lesser degrees in thier cups.
He motioned his companions to be still and to gather by one table, so their words would not be heard by others.

"Truly that which was in doubt is now assured, this is a fools errand. What if we were to lean into the fate so to speak. Ceawin surely willtake is to the heart of the downs, that is usually where such things are. But what if we were to go ourselves to the outskirts and see something of the danger we will face first hand?"

 :ooc: Doug, lore roll to see who Arnú from the song is.

Great succes? Check on Vocation?

Arbogast nods his agreement.  "Indeed.  If we are perhaps to fight a battle, we would do well to know the land." 

:ooc: Great Success gives you the check on Vocation...very nice roll. Did you mark your sheet?

Bandy has spent the last number of years studying the people of the Anduin Vale with the help of Master Radagast. He does not recognize the name Arnú directly, but he can follow the path of the language, as well as wonder at the faiths of Men (something that Tolkien did not delve into deeply).

The name is obviously my creation , and I am having its etymology stem from the Elvish word Eru, which means The One. It has been changed by the many dialects of these men over time. Now as to whom she is referring to as The One, is an unknown.

It could be that Leyna is learned of ancient tales of Ilúvatar that have been passed down from the Elves that met the Valar and told their tales and sang their songs. Maybe the knowledge stems from the Númenóreans who would have brought their faith to Middle-earth when they both conquered and/or setteled regions. Maybe it is not Eru, but one of the Valar that she speaks of, which is probably more on target, due to their more direct influence upon the world.

No matter what, Bandy recognizes the words origins and knows it to be one of the Powers, and this woman obviously has faith in said Powers - maybe she draws magic from them?

---

The Company all agreed and as a group, finished their ales, and then made their way out into the late afternoon. They walked the main thoroughfare of Sunstead past small homes, businesses, and the town's main hall. Children played while the men and women prepared to end their day. The companions entered a paddock where the horses hand been stabled and had their mounts prepared. The proprietor had chickens, too, which bobbed their heads and strutted about, entertaining the companions as they waited.

With the shadow of the Mirkwood's eastern eaves stretching across the fields of the East Bight, the companions spurred their horses south towards where ancient kings were laid to rest. It was a relatively short ride. They mounted a small hillock and looked down and there the barrows rose, along the forest's edge, with trees growing behind and on top.

It could have been considered a beautiful sight, if not for the chilling wind that suddenly blew up out of the south.

(https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/52987685/barrows02.jpg)

Arbogast climbs to the top of a nearby barrow, confident that nothing beneath will stir during the sun-lit hours.  There, he settles down to watch, and to listen. 



:ooc: ...using his Natural Watchfulness to get a feel for the terrain, especially under the eaves of the forest. 

[ :ooc: I did not update the sheet. Post from my ipad so it may need correcting later.

Bandy talked as the companions prepared their mounts and headed out to the downs.
"It is also perhaps possible that the woman is more priestess than she is a whitch, but among the big folk they may be one in the same. For instance the decorations of her body could easily have been meant as some kind of ritual expression and her song, or rhyme, an incantation of something, or to somone one. I take her meaning to be that of some kind of higher power, one that we should beseech if we are need of aid. She spoke of Arnu, well in one of the togues of the Dunedain I believe AR means king. Many of the kings of Arnor of old had that prefix, in fact two of the northern kingdoms shared that stem. ARnor and Arthedain. AR meaing King or High. So Arnu could be One King, High King, the High One. Clearly some type of higher power in any case. We have broadly broken the powers up into the light powers and the dark powers, but this is largely a consrtuct of the elves. If the tales are believved they dwelled with the great powers beyond the sea. The result though is that powers unknown to them are considered dark, this may not be the case so cut and dry if powers exist that exist independant from the West. The seven lords and ladies are typically looked at as the source of light and those of the enemy coming from the one. This High One could be him that the elves will not name and the houses of men have placed a black shroud over. Even the dwarves will speak little of the old days other than of great battles and fell deeds. So this prayer could be a call to a dark power, and in it our protection from the creatures out of invoking a higher power to them and not instead a power of light. Interesting academic question no? I mean do we invoke the name of a dark power if it has the unintended ability to actually give us safe passage? "

"Master Bandy," spoke the dwarf.

"I will not ask you to go into the deep lore of the Dwarves concernign the smith.."

""Shut up," said the dwarf, "we are on the hill now."

"Oh, yes i see that. Well lets find an open one and walk in. We wont want to do that when the sun sets I'll bet. Let's see what these barrows look like on the inside."

"See Esgalwen," said the dwarf, "all it took was a nudge"

Rorin smiled broadly under his beard and thought to himself that Bandy must truly be unique among hobbits. The fact that such a small creature could pass through such danger and darkness unchanged but for a brief period of pouting before merrily waltzing directly into a new adventure boggled the mind. Rorin had seen seasoned dwarven warriors cast aside their arms and fall to despair for less than this academic from the Shire had been through.

The company trekked down from the hill they were on and searched the surrounding areas for some entrance below the ground. Along their way, It did not take long until they came across an opening at the foot of one of the barrows. Stones marked with weathered runes surrounded the doorway and Rorin felt an icy chill stab into his heart and his knees buckled momentarily. His mind once again returned to the bridge at Dol Gulder and he heard the words of Mother Leyna echoed in his mind, "Doom! Doom!". But, as was his habit, Rorin quickly adjusted his gear and steeled himself against whatever may come next.

While they had been searching for an entrance, Rorin had been collecting tinder and fuel for a fire and now the dwarf began clearing an area on the ground just outside the entrance and began stacking firewood there. In a few minutes he had constructed a large bonfire that had fuel enough to burn for an hour at least, he laid an unlit torch next to it so that the fire could be lit in haste should the need arise.

"There are six of us about to enter this fell place, and six of us will return." Rorin said more to himself than anyone else, "Fear not, we have faced much together and these wraiths cannot harm us."

:ooc:

Invoking Rorin's Firemaking specialty to built an easily combustible bonfire at the entrance. 

Esgalwen rode alongside the diminutive scholar and listened. She, too, was trained in the old lore of her people and knew well the prefix and suffixes of the old tongues.

"Your homeland, it lies within the bounds of old Arnor, does it not?" she asked. Bandy replied with a nod. "I have never been to the former lands of my northern kin. Tell me, are there ruins there with great bounties of treasure and lore? For certain, your knowledge is keen, Master Bracegirdle. I would only add that I do not believe that this incantation is a call to any dark power, for it speaks of forsaking this Arnú, whoever or whatever it may be. Certainly the fell-spirits of the Dark Lord have forsaken the Light and thus dwell now only under his shadow, and so I interpret it as such. The High One, High King, or One King...is a good translation and I deem it to be one of the Powers of the West."

Esgalwen shrugged her shoulders, "I guess we shall find out soon enough."

Now on the frontier before the Mirkwood Forest, the Ranger watched as Arbogast rode his mount atop one of the small hillocks only to rein it in and sit there, quietly watching. The Fire-watcher listened intently to his surroundings, running his gaze along the length of the southern Bight at the mounds that trailed off out of sight to the east and into the forest. The woods were a splash of color - red, gold, yellow, and green, and the sight was somewhat breathtaking. Arbogast did not remember when the changes occurred. They had been under the wood for the better part of September, but he had not paid attention to the leaves. There weren't that many to be seen within the wood itself anyway, as they all grew from the branches high above.

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

The vibrant colors yearned at creating a peace within the man's heart, but something was not right. Arbogast knew they were being watched. The rustle of the leaves when the wind blew across the forest top, was like a mournful call.

"COME," it said in a slow, eager voice.

The hair on Arbogast's neck stood and the chill that followed ran the length of his spine. They were being watched. Something was aware of their presence and the Fire-watcher felt like whatever it was, it was waiting. Waiting with dreadful patience.

His companions' voices drew his eyes from the forest, and he felt released - as if some force had bent its will upon him, but now let him go. Rorin was talking to himself as he gathered wood and began to build a fire. Arbogast wondered at the task. They had only come out to reconnoiter the hills. He spurred his mount and rode back down off of the mound, all the while wondering when the wind had become so cold.

---

:ooc: Arbogast cleared that test really well, and he is aware that the Company is being watched. Or maybe watched is not the right word - maybe something is aware of their presence. No matter  what, as he stares at the forest's edge, he has a terrible feeling that many eyes are staring back at him. It is not the dreadful feeling like he felt when the spiders attacked - this feeling is of the unnatural.

I also wanted to let everyone know that I am going to start date stamping each thread, so that we can easily put together the tale of years. For now, based on what I can piece together from this particular chapter, the story is currently in the latter half of September, so I am going to go ahead and say it is the 19th.

So to be more specific, it is the early evening of September 19th, 2951 T.A, as the PC's look down upon the barrows of the East Bight.

Bandy bent and looked at the runes and the broken rock that time had cracked to reveal the barrow opening.

"I see runes here. I do not know them, men made them but they seem strange to me. I know little of the histories of men east of the wood."

The blade came into Bandy's hand and he stood ready at the entrance.
"Ceawin might be a fool, but this might be more foolish still. Shall we?"

Arbogast leads his mount down the side of the barrow to where his companions have gathered.  "We ought not tarry here, for our presence has been noticed.  Our actions will be watched and noted." 

As if his words had been heard, the sun dropped under the small hillock and the shadows of the forest crept out to cover them in a dusky gloom. The horses started to stamp at the ground, while a few laid their ears back in consternation. A fog began to rise around them, rising up from the ground and covering all like a blanket of silence. The companions heard their voices, but they were muted in the sudden mist. Only the crackle of Rorin's newly made fire offered comfort.

Bandy was not sure, but he listened with intent - in the fog was a hollow voice chanting. No, not one voice...multiple voices.

---

:ooc: Corruption test TN 16 against Dreadful spells

TN 16 wisdom by PC






*take better of two rolls

:ooc: Arbogast failed, but can pass with a Hope  :csu: (if you don't want to use a Hope, Paul, let me know and I will change the following narrative)
Bandy has a Great success with a :g:
Esgalwen has a Great success with an 18
Grimbeorn has a great success with a 24
Idunn has a success with a :g:
Rorin fails

Steve, I am sending you a PM.

---

The Fire-watcher's palfrey whinnied loudly and reared, casting the man off of its back. The wind was knocked from Arbogast as he struck the ground and a cry of voices were heard.

THE HORSES! were the shouts, GRAB THEM!

Rorin watched as some of his companions were bucked from their mounts, while those that had been staked yanked hard and pulled themselves free. Now riderless and loose, the animals bolted in multiple directions and disappeared into the quickly rising fog. The Dwarf hefted a burning piece of wood and ran out into the mist in pursuit - his companions following similar suit but in other directions, trying to catch the horses.

Arbogast rose to his elbows and began to pull himself up, when he saw atop the barrow that he had just stood upon a great shadowed figure. The shouts of his companions began to fade, sounding as if they were far away, or in some deep hole. And just as it was there, it disappeared over the edge of the mound and into the fog.

Grimbeorn ran with long strides in the direction of his horse. It took him little time but he finally caught up to the animal. He saw that it had run into a thicket of shrubs and its reins had gotten caught. The horse pulled and yanked in terror, breathing hard and foaming at its mouth. The Beorning cautiously approached the animal, speaking with soothing words as he did. It calmed enough for him to grab up its reins and free them. Grimbeorn gave a quick cry and looked down to see his palm now bled - his horse, once free, had pulled savagely away and ripped the reins from the man's hands. It disappeared into the fog once more and Grimbeorn yelled out a curse. He looked back to where the fire burned beside the barrow, and then his eyes followed the path his horse just took. He either needed to get back to his friends or continue the chase of this damnable beast.

Esgalwen also ran out into the fog. It soon became apparent to her that her horse was not going to be retrieved at this time, and she would be walking the long walk back to Sunstead. Perhaps the animal knew its own way home and she would find it there. She turned to the sound of a voice. Two shapes stood some distance off in the creeping mist.

"Come here," came the muted voice, like a whisper. "What? Who is there?" she answered. "Over here," was the reply again. Esgalwen felt a chill fill her heart and her hand went to Nimronyn's pommel. The sword seemed to lend her comfort in the frigid blanket of fog.

"Hurry," pleaded the call.

"I say again! State who you are or I fear I will draw weapon on you," answered Esgalwen - her tension rising with each beat of her panicked heart.

Relief filled her when suddenly the forms of Idunn and Bandy emanated from the fog where the dark shapes had stood moments before. Loosening the grip on her weapon, "It's you, thank the lords! I heard you call." Idunn and Bandy gave each other a look, "We didn't call," was their reply. Esgalwen looked surprised, but then shook her head of the thoughts. "What of your horses? Have you seen the others?" Both of her companions shook their heads and the trio turned their path back towards the flickering of light that had to be Rorin's fire. They walked what seemed the length of three furlongs and came at last to the source of light. A burning brand that their Dwarf friend had pulled from the fire right before he raced off in pursuit of his own pony.

Bandy picked it up and the fog around them glowed like a dome of gold. A booming, but still muted voice, was suddenly heard, "HO! Esgalwen! Idunn! Where are you? Rorin! Bandy!"

"We are here," answered Idunn.

Following each others voices, the companions came together once more. The two women and Hobbit watched as the tall shapes of Arbogast and Grimbeorn appeared. Both were without their horses, but both seemed well - if not a bit tense.

"Where is Rorin?" asked Esgalwen. Bandy could only look at his hand and the burning torch that he held.

Bandy whispered to himself as much as to his companions, "fog on the barrow downs...."

Then louder, "we have made a terrible mistake. We left far too late in the day. The fog. Fogon the barrows! I have traveled so far but the simple knowledge of the Shire should have served me better than the tales and facts of books and wisemen. The barrows on the border of the shire are much like this. In fact maybe the same folk built them though so far removed. Curse my stupidity, and now Rorin is lost to us."

The Hobbit looked about the golden glow of the fire, but all he could see was the golden glow and the shadowed frame of the door. The bearing of the scholar was displaced and the manner of the Hobbit took on his other aspect, that of a fighter.
He drew the old blade given to hom by the doorwarden of Mountain Hall. The fog was chill, but something in the blade warmed his sword arm and his heart. Perhaps there was more to the blade, but for now the Hobbit had other cares.
"We must go in. ARNU! Rorin! I'm coming!"
The Hobbit gave a glance to his companions, "grab a brand, we must to his aid!"
The stout hobbit stepped forward.

For a moment, the Fire-watcher can only stare dumbly at his small friend.  We know not where Rorin is... 

Then the realisation is upon him.  He has heard countless stories of Men drawn from familiar paths in the forest deep into the heart of Mirkwood, called to its dark heart like iron to a lodestone.  So it is with the barrow - they will find the Dwarf within. 

Without a word, he takes another brand forth from the fire.  As he catches up to Bandy, he keeps his eyes and ears open, alert to any sign of ambush within the barrow or without. 



:ooc: Doug, I'm entirely fine with spending Hope to avoid whatever's happened to Rorin! 

I'm making an Alertness roll to see if I pick up on anything. 

:ooc: I think it's safe to assume that I've got the brand in one hand and my axe in the other.  It goes against the grain, but my shield's going to have to stay on my back for the time being. 

Even as Bandy girded his will to move forward into the barrow entrance, there came a hollow thudding sound within the fog. The companions all pulled their weapons and whether by intention, formed a circle with their backs to the fire.

There was a flurry of movement within the fog, great shadows raced upon them and then a voice, "LO THERE!"

There were five riders that appeared out of the mist and into the fire glow. At the front of the rank was Ceawin, Master of Sunstead. He quickly slid from his horse.

"What have you done here?" he cried urgently. "Why have you come to these hills without me? Without my plan? You have stirred the dead!"

"We only came to look," answered Esgalwen. "We only came to see what dangers we might face."

"Dangers you might face? Did you not know? Did we not tell you that the dead rule these hills? They haunt these lands and take the unwary. It is my plan to put them to rest by making an offering of the Helm of Peace. Come, we must go from here. We will come back on another day while the sun still rides high in the sky."

The companions all looked at one another. They could not leave - not with one of their companions missing.

Behind Ceawin, his four guards sat atop their horses looking left and right, panicked by the fog. The mounts they rose, stamped and whinnied. The horses knew better than to be here and pulled at their reins in an attempt to tell their masters this very thing.

---

:ooc: Arbogast has a great success at Awareness and gains a success dice that he can use or give to another on any test that might require speed or initiative, while on the downs. He cannot earn an AP on this roll, as he has the first two boxes filled already.

Arbogast shakes his head.  "You and your men should leave.  But Rorin, son of Barin, whom we have long known and who has shed his blood alongside us, has been ensorcelled by the dark spirits of the barrows.  Your life and honour we would preserve - such was our purpose in coming here ahead of you - but we will not leave one of our own to face a dark fate beneath the cold earth." 


:ooc: Persuade roll, if necessary:
(http://rpg.avioc.org/boards/Themes/default/images/dice_warn.gif) This dice roll has been tampered with!
:00: 1d12 : 1, total 1
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 1, 1, total 8

The Hobbit turned and looked at the riders, his small face looked hard and unbending in the torch light.
"We are not here now to seek peace with the dead. Our errand has gone amiss, but we will not leave without our friend. My heart tells me that he resides within, so within I must go."

The Hobbit turned again to the mawing portal into the earth, and then the words of the witch sprang to his mind,

"Cold Hand, cold bone
spirits darkened under stone
Ne'er seeing morning light
Always cleaving passing life
But shadows hold cannot contain
Powered words that shall refrain
The strength of Arnu whom ye forsake
Willst cause your darkened spell to break!
Song



Forward! Come, forward for Rorin!"

The white knuckled grip upon the sword was firm, and though terrified some deep bell was rung in the Hobbit. He had no desire to see another friend fall lime Orophin had.

"Nay, I will not leave, Arbogast. Not now. Not with a companion's life at stake," answered Ceawin. "We shall search together and I shall make my offering. Perhaps it will aid in the sparing of your friend's life, if he has been taken."

The Master of Sunstead returned to his horse, which was pulling hard at the reins held tight by one of his riders who had wrapped them around the horn of his saddle. Ceawin went to the horse's saddlebag and drew forth the treasure crafted by Rorin. He rubbed his sleeve across it to polish off some fingerprints and then slid it into a bag, which had a cord that could be cinched tight. This he then looped over his arm and loosened his sword. Bandy spoke his words and Ceawin replied, "Yes, let us go." Looking back to his men, "Two of you make haste back to Sunstead and take the horses with you, while the other two come with us."

The four guards looked at each other wondering who would be the first to show courage, but Grimbeorn was sure he saw relief on the faces of the two that were last to start their dismount. The Hobbit began to sing as the companions began to grab burning brands from the fire. It took a strength of will, but each pushed themselves into the hole and down the ancient steps that led underground. The song of power enheartened each member and they grew steady with each step.

The passage led straightway down about fifteen feet and opened up into a small antechamber, roughly 10 feet by 10 feet. The guttering torches revealed a floor that had paver stones laid in mortar and an arched passage just to the south. Two small alcoves were on either side and in each was what looked to be rusted oil pots. The companions also noticed that on either wall, left and right, were openings that had dirt, stone, and mortar scattered on the floor. The two rough-hewn passages had definitely been dug into the walls.

The barrow smelled of mildew and earth, along with a thin scent of death, and it had an absolute corrupting feel. It was unnaturally cold and the only air that moved was that that came down from above. The flickering light of the torches cast shadows about of the companions, but each thought that they moved independently of the caster.

---

:ooc: Paul your persuade was a fail.

Tom, Bandy get's a great success with his song :csu: and each member will gain a success dice to use while in the barrow.

Squinting in the flickering shadows, Arbogast looks to the dust and detritus on the ground.  If Rorin came here, there will be a sign of his passage...


:ooc: Hunting roll:

Quote from: tomcat on Aug 07, 2016, 06:30 PMPaul your persuade was a fail. 

With those numbers, I would think so! 

:ooc: For player consumption only - this is the stuff that I am sending Steve.

---

Rorin ran after the pony that he had staked to the ground not long before starting his fire. He gave a curse under his breath at the animal, as it disappeared into the thickening fog.

Behind him, Rorin could hear his friends running and calling towards their own beasts, going off in different directions. Ignoring their own labors, the Dwarf bent his will to his task and held the torch aloft as he did. The fog around him turned a golden yellow from the flickering fire and things outside the glow, became harder to see. Rorin lowered the flame and squinted into the fog, only to raise it again to see which view was better.

"Neither!" grumbled the Dwarf.

"Hello."

"Eh? Who's there? Bandy? Is that you?"

"Yes, Dwarf...over here."

"Well, be careful. This fog is not natural by any means...I mean, it rose from nowhere and now it blocks my view." Rorin gave a great yawn. It was as if his feet suddenly felt like anchors that held him fast to where he stood. His massive strength left him and his shoulders sagged. He blinked. He blinked again longer. When he opened his eyes after a third, there were three figures standing near him in the fog.

"Eh? Who..."

Sleep... came a long whisper from the three shapes. Sleep.

Rorin's eyes closed again and the torch fell from his hand. He did not feel himself go first to his knees and then slump to the ground. Neither did he feel as his foot was taken in a vice-like claw of terrible cold and then he was dragged away...dragged away into utter darkness.

:ooc:

[EDITED]

successful at investigating the area of the antechamber, Arbogast sees evidence of footprints - see narrative below.

Bandy looked about the chamber and examined the passage openings. He took particular attention to see if something had burrowed in or burrowed out of the mound.

Explore:

Bandy could see that only the southern passage was built by whomever had originally constructed the tomb, the other passages looked as if they had been dug out by hand. Debris and stones littered the passage themselves, as well as the floor of the antechamber, in front of both passages. It was apparent to the Hobbit that whatever had burrowed the holes had busted into the chamber in which he now stood.

Esgalwen went to the right side alcove and opened the small ceramic pot that sat within. She pushed a finger down into the opening and felt a slippery wetness still inside. "This oil pot still holds oil - it has not dehydrated after all of these years." She placed the lid back atop the small urn and pulled then at the hemp wick that stuck through its center. She shook the whole thing and then placed her brand to the wick. A small flame began to burn, giving off oily, black smoke. The polished metal plate that sat behind the oil burner, within the alcove, was rusted and pitted and no longer reflected the light and so it was wan at best. Still, it allowed for the chamber to be lit behind them. Idunn checked the other oil pot in the opposite alcove, but it was cracked and any fluid it might have contained was long gone.

Arbogast looked at the floor to see if there was any sign of Rorin. Had the Dwarf entered this barrow without them? The dust that lay over all was not unmolested - something had been walking about within the barrow. There were also muddy prints of heavy boots near the exits of the burrowed holes, but they all looked old. It was not clear if Rorin was here or not.

Ceawin spoke, "We must stay close, but we must also spread out. If we were to be engaged by something in this room, none of us have room to swing a weapon. My guards and I shall go further in via the center passage."

---

:ooc: Okay - everyone is in this small 10x10 chamber - Arbogast, Esgalwen, Bandy, Grimbeorn, and Idunn - along with Ceawin and his two guards. What do you guys want to do? I have marked each passage on the small attached map as well as show now where there is a light source.

"I will go with you.  We must hasten - whatever is under here with us already knows that we are coming."