RPG.avioc.org

Like a serpent of the sea cresting foamy wash, the basilisk quickly turned in the pool of fog and raced from the fray - it's back rolling in and out of the mists.

The companions remained tense in preparation of some new attack, but nothing came. The foggy forest clearing became silent save for the heavy panting of the warriors and the moans of the wounded.

Esgalwen staggered to her right, "My...friends...I know not what is wrong. I cannot stand anym..."

And like that, the woman fell, disappearing into the mists that draped all of their legs.

Grimbeorn gave a cry, "What?!"

The Beorning reached down and hoisted up his friend and saw life in her eyes, staring out in horror, but her body was limp. He saw no wounds to mark a reason as to her condition.

---

:ooc: Esgalwen will be paralyzed for 24 hours, but she did make her Valour test and so will not slowly die.

:ooc: Although paralyzed, her mind is still functioning so I am going to allow Esgalwen to make a roll to know about basilisk poison. She may know why she can't move and that she may die - she can't know that her Valour test was a success and she will survive.

Not sure what would be more horrific - to be trapped in your mind not knowing why you can't move and that it may be killing you, or to know what the poison does and that you may whither into death.

Here is her Lore test
TN 18 lore 1d

The blade of Morirúsë was returned to its sheath and the pale light of the moon and stars were again dimmed.

He looked at the fallen ranger and then at the woodmen,
"Tree Folk, do you know what result the breath of this beast has upon one of your kindred?"

Lafdag's nod is mirrored by that of Arbogast.  "I have heard tell of it, though had thought never to see it." 

The Fire-watcher examines the remains of the skirmish.  One of his kinsmen lies face-down in the moldering leaf-litter, clearly beyond the help of any mortal.  His father and another man not known to him both bear wounds, and are warily keeping themselves from the splashed basilisk blood, lest their venom abide within it.  But they will live, and Esgalwen is limp, her breathing shallow.  Memories surface unbidden of the flight from Dol Guldur and the rescue of the Dunedan woman from the spirit-haunted bog. 

Arbogast looks around desperately.  Much of the herb-lore that he learned as a youth he has forgotten, and he can no longer recall whether anything growing in this part of the forest might remedy the malady that afflicts his friend.  Nor could I trust it perhaps, he thinks, given the shadow that now lies heavily here.  If Radaghast were here... 



:ooc: I'm trying for an Awareness roll to see if I can spot a bird. 

:ooc: Sweet, that's an automatic great success thanks to his Natural Watchfulness.  Now let's see whether I can talk to it.  Doug, I'm guessing I probably should use Song for trying to communicate and Riddle for trying to comprehend.  Let me know if you think otherwise. 

The tawny owl watching impassively in the low branches is well-hidden in the gloom of the deep woods, but Arbogast's eye is practiced.  He approaches it cautiously, making the slow cooing sounds that Iwgar taught him for the soothing of birds.  Finally, as he draws close, he meets its wide-eyed stare levelly.  "Brother of the wing," he says, addressing it as formally as he may, "this boon I ask of you.  Fly south.  Find the Brown Wizard.  Bid him come at once to the Hall of the Lamp." 

The owl regards him quizzically, but after some thought takes to the air with a long screech.  Knowing not whether his words have been heeded, Arbogast turns once more to the survivors. 

"We must make haste back to Woodmen-Town."  Staring his father in the eye, he adds "grave folly was this hunt, and ruinous perhaps for more than you gave thought." 

Despite his harsh words, the habits of years of adventuring have not left him, and he turns his eye to the wounded. 



:ooc: I'll make healing rolls to treat Arbodag and the other guy (who I am arbitrarily naming Eberhard - feel free to overrule me). 

Eberhard:

I think Arbodag's TN should be a bit higher than the standard - he's very much the focus of Arbogast's resentment at the moment.  It's not that he actually cares less whether he lives or dies, but things are very awkward between them at the moment and both are probably tempted to rush things. 

Arbodag:

Despite his efforts, there is little that may be done.  The two Men's wounds are too severe to properly treat in the depths of the wood. 

"Grimbeorn," the Fire-watcher says, "We must make all possible haste.  Let us make a litter for to bear our friend from this place." 

 :ooc: Grest stuff, Paul!

I will get some content up later tonight after GOT, or tomorrow.

Grimbeorn hefts the body of Esgalwen for a better grip on her and moves with earnest and haste silently in the direction of the Wood-men's village.  He barely acknowledges anyone, even their calls to slow down for he is again distraught with the grave injury of one who he cares dearly.

 :ooc: I like this brotherly concern that Grimbeorn is taking on for Esgalwen...or maybe it's something more?

:ooc: Nah, totally platonic between those two.  Grimbeorn's heart still belongs to Verwyne.  :P

Morirúsë Shook his head at the impatience of the Second Born.

"Hold but a moment. It is the dark of night and we have already suffered much hurt and hardship. We are three days gone from the stockade of the Woodmen, and when we came that way we were hale and hardy. Our travel will be much slower with the wounded and carrying a burden. Let us wait and see what the light of day brings before your travois is blindly drug into a spider pit." 

Morirúsë Looked at the starlight as it shown into the dell and though he was loathe to do it, knowing that time moved quickly for him now in the years of his fading, he bent his mind to the lore he had accumulated in his ceaseless war against the enemy. With a torch he examined the dead beast and attempted to recall anything that he could about the wyrm and the nature of the swoon of his comrade.

LORE test

Under the shadow of the forest, little was going right for the companions.

The Woodmen found no comfort from Arbogast's aid; Morirúsë could find no memory of these beasts, or at least the malady they had set upon Esgalwen; and Grimbeorn, distraught as he was, ran into the darkness until he heard the Elf's words of caution. The Beorning stopped, and turned to listen.

It was Lafdag who spoke next. "The basilisk breath, sometimes its bite, is very deadly to all folk, it is said in the old songs." With that the man began to chant a cadence of old.

Beneath the bough,
where winds don't blow,

The rocks lay cold,
and the roots do grow,

Breath the foulness,
the Fágwyrms sow,

Thy wasting body,
shall move no more.

No more, no more...
thy wasting body moves no more

His voice faded into the mist and then the Woodman spoke anew, "None know a cure, save maybe the Elves or wizards. A person lives or dies based on the strength of heart. Hopefully, your young friend will persevere."

Unbeknownst to them all, the large owl had taken determined flight after heeding Arbogast's words. It quickly flew north to where a murder of crows rested within a large tree's upper branches. The bird landed and quickly the tree filled with a cacophony of chatter - the hooting of the owl, and the gravely croaking of the crows. If a message passed between the birds, it was unknown to any that may have heard.

There was a flutter of wings and the owl was aloft. Quickly following, a crow named Craokaw took to flight as well, but the birds flew in opposite directions.

As the night continued to pass, the raven came at last to an area where the forest was aglow with soft light - lanterns hanging within the trees. It flapped to a rest upon a makeshift table and eyes turned to look upon it as it spoke its words.

"Perhaps the Elves of these woods would know more, but I have not dwelt here and have no knowledge of the beasts. My memory, long as it is, does not bring their likeness or danger to mind. From what I know of her she is strong willed and doughty. Let us build a fire to warm her and cover her in such blankets and a bed of leaves to give what comfort we can. In the morning we can move her in the light of day, strength to us and bane to our enemies."

The elf took off and rolled his great cloak and began to gather branches for a bower and a fire while the night lasted.

"Sitting around contemplating our birthscars helps none," growled Grimbeorn.  "Leaving this place, a known haunt of these creatures, a prudent thing.  Moving towards safety is best for all concerned.". Clearly the Beorning was anxious to do more than nothing.

"Then you have left the path of wisdom if you think fire and warmth for the injured are doing nothing. Or stading watch while they sleep.

While sweat and exertion to you may amount to progress, dragging a comrade over every root and spider trap with your mannish night eyes may make you weary and feel accomplished, but it will little to aid your friend and doing so through the night without rest will mean you will cover less ground in the light of day when you could have accomplished more."

The elf bent and drapped his cloak about him, "but lead on moose of the forest. These are your lands and the errantries of your coming of age Grimbeorn Madiglihe son of Beorn. Those who will not listen to wisdom  must experience it if they are to learn, though a harsher teacher they will have."

Morirúsë tossed the torch at one of the woodmen and picked another from the ground. "The lame one should start now, or be left behind for doing nothing."

Arbogast heaves an irritated sigh.  "Perhaps you recall this wood as it was in elder days, before the coming of the Shadow.  But understand that now, deepest night or brightest day, it makes little difference to those who see with the eyes of Men.  I am with my friend - we must fly this place, for the noise of battle has been marked by darker things than we, and soon will they come to see what spoils the axe-work has left."  He glances at the body of the slain Woodman.  "My kinsman too I would bear from here, but we have only so many strong arms and the dead must give way for those still drawing breath, be it ever so shallow." 

"Not far need we go for our trail to be all but lost to those things which hasten here.  Then there may be warmth and rest." 



:ooc: Doug, I sort of assumed that the Woodmen were making a loop around and back towards the Dusky River, so we may not be that far from Woodmen-Town.  Correct me if I'm wrong. 

Also, I assume that at some point Arbogast is going to need to scout out a place where we can hole up in relative safety.  I'll roll for it now to save a bit of time. 

:ooc: It sounds like we're done arguing about this.  In the absence of any dissent, I think we're moving on a short distance, but not trying to make a forced march back to the river. 

:ooc: Yea, I am ready to move the scene forward based on what you guys have given me - just been pretty busy these last two days. I haven't had a chance to sit and put my thoughts together.

I will post tonight or tomorrow.

:ooc: No worries, mate.  Just wanted to make sure you weren't waiting for us to reach a consensus.

 :ooc: point of order it wasnt unanimous.  >:D

:ooc: Quiet, you.

 :ooc: Sorry guys, came home from office sick today. I should have that post up tomorrow.

"When will you start listening to reason," came an exasperated voice, wheezing from the pain of his wound. Arbogast looked to see his father staring back at him and the older man continued, "You race to and fro, hither and yon, boy! You have never stopped long enough to learn. And it seems that Beorn's son is learning your ways! The Elf is right. We are at least two days back to town and there is naught can be done for the lass. There is naught to be done for the dead..." Arbodag looked at the seeping bite wound where the basilisk had gored him. "Perhaps there is naught to be done with me," he said with a tired sigh.

Lafdag, standing next to his brother, took up the plea, though his tone was different, "Your father is right, Arbogast. We will not make a night time rush to Woodmen-town...at least not in time to make a difference to any here. We better serve ourselves in this clearing - as your friend did say. Nothing will approach us unseen, and the night stars above will keep us watch. I cannot move with speed and thus would only hinder your progress. It was foolish for me to come...aye, I know, but I would not let your father face this beast alone. Thankfully, we never saw it. The basilisks come on us and we retreated to here, but they whittled our numbers along the path."

"Yes, Arbogast, listen to your uncle if you wont hear me. Your companion is hurt. Eberhard is hurt, as well as me. We need to wait for the morning and then the hale can hurry off for help while we wait. If you're foolish enough to run off in the dark, then all you will do is reduce what protection we have through the night." Arbodag turned his eyes from his son, "So, do as you like...run off into the dark, but your uncle and I, with our two lads, will wait here until the morning shows us our...path."

Arbogast could hear it in his father's voice - their path? The old man was consigning himself to life or death, whichever fate would grant him.

There was quiet in the clearing now.

Morirúsë moved towards the edge of the wood, "I will find wood for a fire. Perhaps the dead beasts can be dragged out of the clearing? If there are any carrion feeders about, it will serve us to have them away from us. Forgive me, but the same goes for your fallen friend."

Arbogast and Grimbeorn stood staring at one another. Esgalwen lay lifeless in the Beorning's arms.

Lafdag spoke somewhat apologetically, "Make up your minds, lads. I can use some help with these beasties. We will lay Kerwin in a bed of leaves for tonight and cover him proper in the morning. We will give him back to the forest."

:ooc: I know this debate has drawn on for too many days, but this was the Woodmen party's argument that I am late on getting into the game.

So, add more if you want - otherwise I will move the story along with our next post

Morirúsë moved to the edge of the dell out of the light and let his companions decide. He had said all that he had desired to and the blows of the wyrm pained him to further aggravation. 

Grimbeorn isn't happy at all with this business, but relents his push to leave.  He gently puts Esgalwen down but does not range too far from her, helping with the site and the group's needs as he's wont.  Otherwise, he will remain nearby her, guarding over her.

Seeing Grimbeorn place the woman down the elf turns and scouts around the area.

With Grimbeorn's relent, Arbogast nodded to no one in particular and accepted the decision that had been made for them all.

Esgalwen was made comfortable and then the two men saw to moving the dead lizards from the dell. Once done, they came for the body of Kerwin. He was a young man, having seen just over twenty summers, and he left a wife and child in Woodmen-town. This fact caused a pang within Arbogast and his desire to see his own children overwhelmed him.

The dead man was lifted as reverently as possible and taken to the outside of the dell where he was laid upon a pile of leaves. Grimbeorn made a promise to protect his body through the night so as to lay him properly in the earth with the coming morning. Arbogast, too, made such words and added a prayer that was customary of his folk.

Once done, the group gathered around the fire. Grimbeorn sat next to Esgalwen and made sure she was covered from the night chill. Her eyes stared unmoving, but the Beorning knew there was consciousness behind them. He whispered to her to rest and laid her head upon his lap, gently stroking her hair. The giant man told her they would find a cure for the poison that laced her blood.

"So," said Arbodag, "You have come far into the woods. What were you seeking? The beast, or us?"

Morirúsë walked around the outside of the dell. Once this was Greenwood the Great, but now among Men and Elves it was called Mirkwood. What it was called among the servants of the shadow Morirúsë did not know, nor did he care to.

His hand lingered upon the trunk of a tree as he passed and he felt with senses beyond touch the cancer of the trees, the dark malice and malignant spirit that grew up from the roots. Then he thought of the lamp, far off in the hall of the Woodmen. He did not believe that the men had deceived him intentionally, though he did not believe the origin story of the lamp for a minute.

He pondered too for a moment what Mithrandir knew or concealed about it and why and he heard again the words of the Brown Wizard about inherited grudges and insults hoarded like treasure. Of this Morirúsë was very familiar, but in the case of the werewolf those thoughts did nothing to temper his cold wrath to slay the beast. The master of such a creature was beyond his diminished present skill to go boldly against, but this creature the Elf thought he still possessed the strength to combat. The axes and swords of his companions were welcome in this task as well.

His thoughts turned again to the lamp. The light of which was like seeing the reflection of the sun off the water after being long in darkness. In these dark days of exile clearly this was a token of the house of Finwë and of his eldest son Fëanor. Had it survived all this time to be here when he came? Or was he merely now an agent in the history of the light? The lamp was not expected and he would have to think about what part it was and would play.

Morirúsë realized he was worn, not just from the battle and the wood, but he could feel the fatigue and weariness deep within. Perhaps the last of a house and folk largely departed or dead. The lamp. The lamp had washed that feeling from him and he recalled those days long ago in Dor Caranthir when they rode down the orcs and delivered the remanent of the Elf friends. Now in the dark of the forest he remembered the treachery of Ulfang, but he passed this quickly from his mind.

Here in the dark woods he saw only the rare light of a star coming through the branches and for the first time in a long time he saw their beauty, and their distance. Then in a soft but clear voice he sang again the song to Varda that they had once sung in Taniquetil, before the troubles came. And though he thought he sung quietly to himself even to the dell his music came and was felt among the Woodmen and stricken Lady of Gondor. Slow and distant it was, like the stars themselves, but contained a spirit and feeling of something unspoiled and constant. Light in the darkness.

Arbogast is slow to reply to his father's question.  The shadow that pervades the forest calls to that which lies in his heart, and he has no desire to converse for the first time in many years with the man who, with cold stares and silence, drove him from his home.  But then Morirúsë's song begins to ring like a clear harp through the dell, and, though he speaks not a single word of the ancient Elven tongue, Arbogast understands that it is a song of things lost to ancient passions and grudges nursed long past any value. 

His brow uncreases from a frown he had not previously noticed.  "We came to Woodmen-Town for to seek the Beast.  But when I learned that you and uncle Lafdag were abroad on the same hunt, I could not stand to sit by and wait to see when, or whether, you returned." 

He pauses a moment.  "Evil has this summer been, for it has taken me far from my beloved and my daughters, and my friends have been placed in dark and terrible perils.  Truly, I have no desire to face the Werewolf.  But now that it imperils my kinfolk, it must be done.  I know not whether we are match for it, but I could not bear the shame of living while others perished, knowing that I could have done something but was afeared and chose otherwise." 

:ooc: Sorry for the wait, guys.  Weekends is tricksy. 

Grimbeorn remained silent though his heart was lightened by the elf's song.  To him, it hearkened to memories long past, of his mother and the time of his youth.  They were powerful and happy, so much so that a tear came to his eye and he didn't immediately brush it away.  He then thought of her and what she would think of all this business of elves and wizards and the encroaching darkness.  It wasn't what she wanted and he knew it.  It wasn't what his father wanted, he realized too, but it was the path and destiny for him.  Only through these trials, these journeys, was he to prove his worth and mettle.  Man and elf and dwarf were all in this together, so this strife them all must end.  With a great sigh, Grimbeorn found his center and it was before him in this spot.

 :ooc: back to you Doug

 :ooc: yea, I have been watching.

The weekend has been full with my wife's birthday activities. I will update today.

:ooc: Sure it was.  All I'm hearing is excuses.  "My wife had a birthday."  "There's some weird folk holiday or something."  "I'm in traction with multiple spinal fractures." 

If you can't commit to the game, don't run it.  :P

 (-D

Well, if you're going to make an excuse, might as well make it a big one! Right now I am anesthetized for a frontal lobotomy...I mean, who else is crazy enough to start a game board fourteen years ago so he can be ridden more brutally by my players then I have ever been by my wife.  ;)

Hee hee hee...

I will have that post up tonight.

Arbogast finished his comment regarding his concerns of the werewolf. He waited for his father to add wisdom to the conversation - to express some sort of sage advice as to what Men could do against such a horror. Instead, the ball of ice reformed in his stomach with each word his father spoke.

"So...rumours are true then. You did take a wife and now have children. You think you could at least let your mother know." A silence as deep as a chasm, and then, "The Tarn is far, but it would be nice that your children might know their grandsires? Have you sired a son, or are they daughters?"

Lafdag who sat near, and could see his nephews face, interjected, "Now Arb...you should just be proud that you've grandchildren. There'll be time for meetings and Somerild will hold those kids soon enough."

"Uh huh...well, you've always had a knack for excusing him, Lafdag. Whether its him runnin' off instead of taking up his duties on the farm, or now, taking a wife and not telling his folks." Arbodag stretched his legs out towards the fire and then spoke in dismissal, "We're glad you're here, boy, and chose to help instead of fearin' some other choice."

The moon no longer shone down through the opening in the forest, having moved on through the sky, but still its light made portions of the mists glow. To Arbogast, they now seemed colder than they were before.

 :ooc: Not trying to prolong this scene, but I really want to evolve the backgrounds and relationships with the PC's.

For everyone waiting, the night will end soon enough.  ;)

The night passed with only the woodland noises to bother the companions. Each took the opportunity to keep guard, though Morirúsë remained vigilant throughout.

When the sky began to change and the faint light of early morning changed the forest from black to gray, the Noldor quietly stood and walked out into the forest. He heard something - a familiar sound. Arbogast and Grimbeorn were both asleep, and only Lafdag had been awake with the Elf. He went to stand, but Morirúsë signaled him to remain seated and silent.

Moments later, the Noldo was surrounded by others of his folk, but yet, unlike him. It was the Elves of the Woodland Realm - a company fifteen strong.

"Good morn to our fellow kin, though it puzzles us to see you so far from home. Do you wander far from Lothlórien, or have you crossed the Misty Mountains to see our beautiful realm? Either way, it is strange company you keep!" Laughter filled the area as the Woodland Elves found humor in their words. "Aid was called for and we have come. Was it you that sent the raven, Craokaw, to beseech us?"

Morirúsë spoke quietly in the Sindarin tongue.

"Long it is since I last saw Greenwood the Great, and less welcoming has the wood become. I am in the company of these woodmen, some I came with, others we found. We are a party of hunters seeking the fell spirit of the Werewolf. I had heard rumor of it and
 Aiwendil confirmed for me it was truely here again in the wood.

By their own words and deeds some of my companions may be known to your Lord, they are called Grimbeorn son of Beorn, Arbogast the Firewatcher, and Esgalwen of the Dunédain. The Lady has been put in a swoon by a forest Wyrm, and I have not the knowledge to treat her. In forlorn hope the Firewatcher sent the bird to see if the friends of Aiwendil were near, or could render aid."

The Noldo elf led the band into the clearing. This was the most elves Lafdag had seen ever in one place and unnoticed before he could now clearly see and feel there was someing different between these Wood Elves and this stranger who accompanied his kin. There was more silent power or the feeling if light about him.

"Lafdag, we have visitors, wake the others if you will." Then the elf showed the still form of Esgalwen to the Wood Elves, still craddled in the arms of the Beorning.

"Yes, these names are known to us and are held in high regard by our king for their assistance in the finding and freeing of Ruithel!" The Silvan Elf's voice became somewhat gleeful. "I am Orophal and I lead this company of hunters out of the Woodland Realm."

Orophal moved to the wounded as his people spread out around the dell, in a defensive ring with bows nocked. He looked first at Arbodag and his wounded henchman, "These two will need aid soon. Their wounds are deep and could become corrupt within the forest if not cleaned properly. Although I could aid them with the supplies we have brought, I must instead recommend they be returned to their village as quickly as possible. We are far from home and neither have the time to seek the herbs in the forest, or the necessary amounts to tend these Men and have enough remaining for our company."

The Elf then moved to Esgalwen and looked her over, staring deeply into her eyes. "She suffers no wound? Did she breath the poison of the basilisk?" A nod came from Morirúsë, to which Orophal mimed in his assessment, "The basilisk poison can be deadly, but a valorous person can overcome. I can see there is no withering to her flesh. I believe Esgalwen will soon be freed from her plight."

Orophal looked deeply into the eyes of the Dúnadan woman and he comforted her tormented mind, letting her know that she would be okay. Even as he did this, Arbogast and Grimbeorn were awakened and now stood nearby.

The sun was rising and the light above was growing. The fog that had filled the dell was dissipating, revealing a grassy, leaf-covered area that was pleasant in the daylight.

Morirúsë looked at his companions, "they arrived this morning and are a company out of the north. They heard the summons of your feathered friend Firewatcher. Orophal is their captain, he believes Esgalwen needs but rest and will overcome her swoon, the others he recommends make for the homes of the woodmen lest their wounds fester."

Upon waking to find the bower filled with newly-arrived Elves, Arbogast tries to hide his shock.  He looks about, but in the gloom of the forest he does not recognise any of the night-time arrivals from his encounter in the Woodland Realm.  His momentary panic subsiding into wary watchfulness, he is able to appreciate the relief brought by Morirúsë's words.  Though Radaghast be not here, yet Esgalwen will live to bear arms another day.

He nods as the High Elf relays Orophal's recommendation.  "His words are wise," he replies. 

As the Men make preparations for the journey back to Woodmen-Town, the Fire-watcher approaches the Elf whom he guesses to be Orophal.  With a slight bow, such as Bandy might have made, he introduces himself.  "Well and welcome is your arrival here, and I thank you for the troubles you have taken.  I am known to Men as the FIre-watcher."  Then, with an expression he hopes appears appropriately respectful, he adds "tell me, if you will, what business has brought you here, for you have wandered far from the borders of the Woodland Realm, and the protection of the Elvenking." 


:ooc: Doug, I'm not sure whether you want this to go into a full Encounter.  If so, here's my courtesy roll for an introduction:

:ooc: Leeeeet's hope that wasn't necessary. 

Grimbeorn was awoken with a start, finding himself clutching Esgalwen to himself and unfamiliar person, nay Elf, inspecting her.  Ire immediately sprung on him but cleared away with the sleep from his body.  Though he gave her over to the newly come Elf, he didn't leave her side for the night previous clung on him and his heart.  In his own gruff manner, the Beorning queried them in somewhat mocking air.  "What kept the fair ones from coming sooner to this den of creatures of the Shadow?  Surely they seek the destruction of His creatures no less than we of the Second Born as you call us."

Morirúsë, who was not too keen on Wood Elves either, was still not willing to let the Beorning's comments go by unanswered.

"We have other names besides, and lest we use those too you should think before you speak. Your charge of lateness Lafdag, Arbodag, and Eberhard could lay at your feet. Yet here we all are, come as chance has  provided us to be, and in common league against the same foes."

"Orophal, my companion has suffered hurt of body and of heart, but you know him to be brave and true. Take not too keenly his hasty words. We are set out only recently on our hunt for the beast, but this combat and the woods itself have darkened our moods and we have found no trail of the beast we seek."

Then perhaps for Arodag's benfiet more than any other Morirúsë continued.

"Firewatcher, your great deeds, and those of your companions are known among the Wood Elves, and in great praise your names are spoken by the king for your rescuing of one of their folk."

"Well, you need seek it no longer," laughed Orophal. "For it has been slain! I took it down myself."

The Elf motioned, stabbing at the air with a non-present sword.

"Its skin dries even now, stretched as it is, back at our campsite. It is just north of here, should you wish to go see it."

Arbogast opens his mouth to respond, blinks and shuts it again.  He nods blankly at Orophal's offer. 



:ooc: ... though I'll believe it's dead when I see its head on a stake.  Preferably on fire. 

Morirúsë was as surprised as the Woodman at the news of the beasts demise.

"Then our errand is done as well. How far to your encampment? We still have the wounded to care to and we would welcome your company if you would tarry awhile while the swoon lasts or aid us in the bearing of our comrade?"

"It is for certain your task is done," smiled Orophal. "The monster took many of us to bring it down, but down it came. It is a pelt that King Thranduil will hang within his hall. I see no problem with waiting for your lady-friend to be released from the poison. As for the others, a few of my folk can assist them back to the Woodmen-town, whil'st we make our way north and I can show you our prize."

Orophal looked around at the Company, "How does that sound?"

With the nods, he then turned to four of his folk and quickly spoke in the Silvan tongue.

"This is Heledhon," said Orophal, introducing another Elf. "He will escort your wounded back to the Woodmen settlement, along with these four others." The group of Elves separated from the rest. "He speaks the tongues of Men, and thus is a good pick. I advise they soon be on their way. Yes?"

Again the companions nodded.

"Then quickly," Orophal ordered his troupe, "see to the manufacturing of litters and get to the river. Once there, you will need to signal the Woodmen, for we have no time to build crafts to cross the Dusky and Men do not have the Elven sure-footedness to cross the water on rope bridges."

Lafdag looked at Arbogast, "I will make sure your father is returned home safely. It will then be in the healers' hands to see him better."

The two men embraced, younger thanking the older, though he knew his father would criticize the choice.

Orophal went to Esgalwen and looked upon her once more, "Does she need to come?"

The Beorning quickly interjected in the decision, "She will be coming."

The Elf laughed, "Then we will wait. Or we can carry her? It is not far."

A few minutes of discussion and the decision was to wait a bit longer to see if Esgalwen truly did survive the poison. If she showed signs of the paralysis relinquishing, Beorn would carry her for the time it took her to truly regain herself. If she did not...then they would leave the Elves to their trophy and take Esgalwen back to Woodmen-town where her passing could be made as comfortable as possible.

The dell became a flurry of activity as preparations were made for the wounded men, and then Heledhon was ready. Orophal spoke once more in Silvan and the group was off. Now, the remaining time would tell for Esgalwen.

As the sun crossed the dell and slowly began its descent in the west, the Ranger, who lay against a soft grassy embankment suddenly stirred. Grimbeorn sat near her and when she moved, he quickly drew her hand in his and he felt her squeeze. A faint smile appeared on Esgalwen's face and then on that of the Beorning.

A hoarse whisper, "Hello, my friend."

---

:ooc: It's pronounced Helethon.

Paul - about your Encounter :~~:  result...

No, due to the Elves coming to you guys, I am not requiring an encounter. If you all had entered their camp first, then yes, I would have had one. What I will say is from your :~~: result, Arbogast feels uncomfortable about the Elves purpose.

Lastly, I am rolling a TN 18 awareness roll for each PC; if successful, I will PM you.

:ooc: Awareness tests

TN 18 Awareness by PC

:ooc: That third roll is Grimbeorn.

Grimbeorn carried her for a few miles - a testament to the giant, young man's strength. But as the forest darkened with night, Esgalwen began to move in his arms more easily and then she at last demanded that he let her walk.

"You've done enough for me, my friend," she said. "It is time I ease your burden and see to myself."

The man relented and Esgalwen was set down, though she needed his shoulder for a while longer. There seemed little urgency now and so the Company was patient as the Ranger regained her balance and strength.

They marched into the night, but at last came into an area of the wood where the forest seemed less encroaching. Lamps hung about and a large, makeshift table sat in their midst. The cups and plates were still present, though the food had been consumed by the Elves the night prior.

"Welcome to our encampment," said Orophal. "Please give us a few moments and we can see to re-filling cup and plate."

As the Elves hastened themselves in the redressing of their table, for their guests, Arbogast and his companions walked to two trees. Stretched between them was an enormous gray wolf pelt. It was taller than Grimbeorn from nose to flank and would have met his shoulders with its own.

Orophal came first to Morirúsë, handing him a wooden cup filled with a fragrant elixir, and then to each of the others. "Drink. It is wine from Dorwinion. It comes north to us out of Esgaroth."

Esgalwen drank and was warmed immediately. The woman, having not noticed prior, noted that the seasons were at last changing and the cool nights marked the coming Fall. The wine also took her back in her mind to the lights of Thranduil's subterranean realm, a grotto, and the music that she had heard. She sipped again and sighed in contentment.

"It is good thing this monster is dead," she mused.

Grimbeorn was suspicious of the folk that happened to show without warning out of nowhere from the beginning.  Still, even with this token in front of him, he is not swayed in his uneasiness.  "A beast has been felled, but is it truly the one we've sought?" he mutters.

 :ooc: backing up a bit.

Morirúsë excused himself and helped Lafdag to stand. Moving away from the Wood Elves he bent and whispered into the Woodman's ear.

"Be cautious with your guides. They mean you no physical harm, but they are hiding something or wanting something.... Which it is I cannot gather for their intent is hidden from me. They will see you safely to the river, but I would thank them and send them on their way. Also, let your companions know they should speak little and be wary of questions. Who knows to what purpose their innocent questions may truly lead."

He shook hands with the lame Woodman and nodded in encouragement. As the companions packed and the focus was on Esgalwen the Noldo elf made his way to Arbogast. He had no fear of Grimbeorn speaking.

In the same quiet tone he addressed the Woodman.

"They are hiding something or seeking something. We should be wary of what we say to these Wood Elves. Mind what you do, say, or have of their food."

Arbogast nods his thanks to Morirúsë, for he has not forgotten his experience with the wine of the Wood Elves. He bids a fond farewell to his uncle, and a rather more formal one to his father, and busies himself ensuring that the journey of his wounded kinsmen is as comfortable as possible.

Once he reaches the campsite, he refuses any wine (politely, or so he hopes) and examines the pelt as closely as he may in the light of the elven lamps. 



:ooc:  Would Old or Mirkwood Lore help with a roll to see whether he recognises any distinctive markings or other signs that this is actually a dead Werewolf?

 :ooc: doug, I'll observe the pelt and make a Lore test to see what I can gather from Morirúsë long memory about werewolves and his ancient enemy.

 :ooc: Paul - your traits only familiarize you with the legend of werewolves, and the Beast of Mirkwood in particular. They do not readily identify the monster or not. You know crib tales told you by your parents, and grandparents to warn and teach caution. You know the folk-lore of the werewolf attacking a man and taking his form to live among them and feed and terrorize. You know of tales of the Werewolf of Mirkwood moving through the woods in a man-wolf form, on two legs.

Tom, your Lore roll is a success and you have memories of how the beasts were not of this earth, moreso that they were foul spirits that inhabited the form of a living wolf or warg. In either case, the spirit enhanced the creature in its size, strength, sentience, and malice.

No matter what, there is no identifier that would say THIS is a werewolf pelt.

:ooc: I thought as much. 

The look that Arbogast shares with Morirúsë is pregnant with meaning.  This was a beast of great size, he seems to say, but there is nothing to say for certain that it is the quarry we sought.

His mind turns toward dark suspicions of the Fellowship's hosts.  If the Elves sought to separate us from my kinsmen, and to lead us away from Woodmen-Town, there could be few distractions more effective than such news as Orophal has brought us - especially when coupled with a pelt to allay any suspicions and wine to dull our wits and enleaden already-weary feet...

Morirúsë sipped his wine and marked the look that the Woodman passed to him.

"Orophal, tell us the tale of the hunting and slaying of this beast. I have not for an age or more heard of a living werewolf that roamed the earth. In the Eldar days they were dread beasts possessed of a fell spirit of malice and hate that drove them to great violence and torment of others."

The Noldo elf looked about him at the twisted wood, "they were the creatures of Gorthaur the Cruel, and they were a great terror when the March of Maedhros failed. Now I have heard that their master has returned and taken again the name he possessed of old in Arda. Sauron, by this name even the Second born know this foe."

"Gladly," smiled Orophal as he drank deeply from his cup. The Elf had assumed the speech of Men after the dell, so as to include the other companions of Morirúsë.

"It was nigh one moon ago that the werewolf came into the Bower - a forested region within Thranduil's realm beloved of our folk. Some of my people were slain and the creature came to the very gates themselves, clawing and scratching. Great power was put forth by the werewolf, but it could not overcome the keen make of the doors to our realm - Dwarf-wrought stone wound round with Elven spells!

"The creature soon departed and thus was I summoned before Thranduil. Seek this monster to its lair, if you can, and kill it. Such was the wrath of my king that no other option did he allow us. I organized my hunting party and we pursued the wolf south, into the Mountains of Mirkwood and the Wild Wood where tall pines dominate the upland region.

"Long we searched and many hardships we endured. Wolves and wargs creep about the northern slopes, and bats fill the air at night. Vampires, we fear, fly among these creatures but we were not harried by such a foe. At long last, we came upon a hole...a cave entrance. The smell of death was strong and fear pervaded the place. We knew that we had found its lair.

"Girding ourselves with steel, we entered the cave and found it empty. This greatly disappointed us for we did not want to return to our king empty-handed. We sought out rumours of the werewolf and followed them south, through the dark mountains and to the western eaves. Something seemed to be drawing the werewolf here."

"After establishing a small camp to work from, we continued to follow the traces of the werewolf, looking for any pattern to its hunt.  And we were pleased to soon find one!" Orophal refilled his cup and drank again. "We set an ambush and waited to spring our trap. You see, legends speak that Light causes great harm to the werewolf. And so we hung lamps to draw it and confuse the monster. Even as they were lit, we heard its fast approach. The werewolf, enraged by our lamps, jumped into our trap and my archers winged many arrows. Me and a few others of my entourage raced in with steel and attacked the wolf directly.

"It was a long fight and one which I will always remember, for the werewolf ravaged me, even as my companions stabbed deeply into its body." Orophal lifted his tunic and displayed a wound that had not yet healed. Arbogast was sure if it had been a man, the wound would have killed. "And thus, the hame is now our trophy!"

Arbogast is openly impressed.  "Great must your battle have been!  And a mighty warrior must you be, to be travelling with such a wound, for when I was so wounded not more than a year past, I was bed-ridden for many days afterward." 


:ooc: Like hell this is on the up and up.  I'm going to make a Healing roll to see if Arbogast can notice anything amiss about the wound - whether it looks like something a wolf would inflict (living where he does, I think it's fair to assume he's seen wolf-inflicted injuries before), whether it's healing properly etc.  No idea what the TN for doing this in the dark without a close examination would be, but it's probably fairly high.  Still, let's see what we can see...

:ooc: Looks like the answer is 'nothing much'. 

Morirúsë too was not so sure, but he wished he had more information to go on about the beasts. He was more used to dealing with Orcs and Spiders, and these beasts were to rare to make much study off. He had a growing sense of unease has he heard about the Mountains of Mirkwood. He knew long ago, like Dol Guldur, Elves had lived there. What had remained and what had been twisted to serve the dark enemy was an open mystery. Orophal's talk of vampires was most troubling in this regard, for it meant that the deep recess remained, and things lived there. 

The Noldo elf ignored that pelt and instead bent his attention towards the Wood Elves themselves. Filling his goblet he sat down at the board taking his ease.

"So Orophal, I take it seldom you travel this far from the Woodland Realm. This mission surely was the exception, but I am surprised, though thankful that you came so far south to our aid and were willing to send some of your folk even further afield to the Dusky River."

Sitting at the board the Elf removed a piece of birch bark from among his gear and began to sketch the stretched fell of the beast and the likeness of Orophal beside it. His hand moved quickly and deftly across the bark with charcoal, and the skill of the Elf was self evident.

He sipped again the wine and spoke instead in the Sindarian tongue. "What news from my northern kin and the Halls of Thranduil? Long has it been since any of my folk twice over the mountains have heard of the tidings of the north. We have of course heard of the death of the dragon, and the now the rumor of the return of the Shadow seems to be true as well."

Esgalwen interrupted and her tone was somewhat scornful, as she addressed both the Elves in Sindarin, "We have been invited to this table and we are all at risk, and thus it would seem that both host and guest alike should speak in tongues all can understand." She then continued in the common speech, "We have nothing to keep from one another...not here in the middle of this forest."

Orophal looked to Esgalwen and then to Morirúsë, and gave a laugh in his mirthful, Elven-spirited way. He addressed the Dúnadan in common, "No offense, my Lady. We do not speak in Elvish to hide our..."

"Of course you do not, Master Orophal," interrupted Esgalwen with a smile of her own, "and that is why using a common tongue suits our needs better. Do you agree?"

The Sivan Elf gave a slight bow, "I do, Lady Esgalwen." He looked back to Morirúsë, "Days darken within the forest..."

And Orophal began to make a recounting of the events within the Woodland Realm. Some of the things discussed were known to the companions, as they were a part of them, but other items were news. There were tales of the Wayward Elves and the darkening of Mirkwood, the troubles with the Barding foresters and gossip from Thranduil's court.

A few of the younger Elves at a feast in the Bower decided to punish the Bardings for their trespassing. When a group of foresters next entered the woods, the Elves harassed and ensorcelled them, weaving spells around the mortals. It was said the foresters lost their way and wandered into the depths of the forest. Thranduil was greatly angered by this - the Wayward Elves were becoming harder to keep in control, as they strove to return to the 'old ways'. The king sent out scouts in search of the Men, but only three were found and guided back to the Elf-path. The fourth was said to succumb to madness and died within the wood.

Orophal was visibly shamed by the recounting and he spoke no more of it.

The tales then turns to the orc attacks within the northern reaches of the Realm and the capturing of Ruithel. Never were their numbers great, but the small skirmishes were numerous. The Silvan Elf spoke gleefully of the coming of the Eagles, the presence of Gandalf the Gray and his young ward, along with the Company of the Helm.

"I was not present when the orcs attacked our sacred place at the Roaring Fall, but many of our folk were at a disadvantage thinking themselves safe within our own realm. It frightens me that these incursions by agents of the Shadow are becoming more frequent. With the Lord of Mordor reclaiming his seat of power in the south, his reach seems to have grown. We thought the death of Smaug would ring in many peaceful years, but it is as if it was nothing more than a signal for the world to change...to something dark once more."

"It is more like He probes his enemies' weaknesses.  The Enemy is ancient beyond our reckon and, as I understand it, he plays a longer game than we likely suspect," remarks Grimbeorn.  His cup remains in its place, full.  "Time in hiding has not truly weakened him for I daresay that his dark land has been not been o'erwatched in many years and without the eye of true Men, the wicked will gather and multiply."

"It is true that shadows gather about the Free Peoples.  Hence it it all the more important to stoke the fires in their hearts, that they may shine the brighter.  The news of the Werewolf's passing should be brought to the folk of Woodmen-Town, that their fears may be allayed." 

Even as Arbogast spoke of optimism, a sudden rustling was heard within the trees and scrub from without. Orophal stood and looked into the darkness of the woods and something stared back at him. The Silvan Elf pointed beyond the edge of the clearing in horror.

"Those eyes!" The companions saw a pair of huge glowing-red eyes. Beneath them, the firelight glinted off a row of wickedly sharp teeth. "It cannot be!" cried Orophal. "I killed you already".

He fumbled for his sword, but he was too slow – the huge shape leapt out of the darkness and bounded across the feasting table. The companions were amazed at its size - near that of a horse in height, and a bull in build. It crashed into Orophal, sinking its teeth into his sword-arm, and then flung him far across the clearing to smash into the bole of a beech tree. The Elf did not move again.

The Werewolf had returned!

For an instant, as the beast stood beneath the skin hanging from the tree overhead, the companions clearly saw that both creatures were identical. Orophal did kill the Werewolf, but somehow it didn't stay dead!

The Elves of Orophal's company scattered. The monster had taken them with surprise and weapons were not easily at hand. They moved to obtain anything to defend themselves, but the beast interjected itself before they could be reached. Arbogast watched as an Elf had his grasping hand removed in a terrible snap of the werewolf's jaws. Only the companions were still girded with their weapons to face the beast. They watched in sudden surprise as it furiously turned to smash the lamps hanging from the trees.

Darkness was quickly spreading with each light that went out.