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Laeral awakens to darkness, and the smell of blood.  Her arms ache from her efforts in battle, her body from the blows she received in return and her head from no small amount of time resting on cold stone.  When she makes to raise herself, there is no sound of metal rings, and she swiftly realises that her shirt of mail has been taken from her. 

Her heart racing, she sits up, wincing at the sudden pain in her ribs, and looks about.  In the half-light that makes its way around a heavy door, she sees chains, a table slick with what can only be blood and several blades.  Her first impression of torture chamber is dashed when she sees the barrels of salt near to the table, and replaced by the even more ominous larder. 

Then, beneath the sound of her own beating heart she recognises the tell-tale sounds of Men nearby: the shifting of a leg gone numb on the stone floor, the scratching of a beard, the wheezing semi-snore of uneasy slumber. 

"Is that you, elf-maid?"  The voice is of the middle-sized Man with the red hair.  Hathcyn, she recalls.  "It is well that you awaken." 

"Aye," comes the reply of Grimbeorn.  "They have had their fun, but they haven't dared to slay us.  They seek to take us somewhere." 

"South," says the smallest Man, not apparently asleep after all, else awoken by the sound of Mannish words.  "They will take us south to Dol Guldur, for to be presented to the lord of that fell place." 

:ooc: So, this scenario is going to require a little bit of house-ruling.  You guys have had an opportunity to rest up a little, though it's impossible to tell exactly how long you've been held by the orcs.  You'll all start at half your maximum Endurance (:csu:). 

Your equipment, apart from the warm clothes you were wearing when you arrived, has been taken from you, and is presumably being held somewhere nearby. 

From now until you arrive in a safe location, any time that you lose Endurance you will have the option to lose Hope points instead - up to the number of Endurance lost.  Is it a worthwhile trade?  That's up to you to determine in the moment. 

:ooc: If there is no interjection, I will move the story on tomorrow via some more dialogue from Arbogast. 

Hathcyn murmured with his companions and waited. They had discussed the merits and flaws in attempting a night going for aid or information, but being in the caves meant it was too risky for Hathcyn. Perhaps when they were out in the open and traveling he could go for aid but here in their liar they did bit think he'd survive the trip to the surface. With each day they spent in captivity more compassion and calm died in his heart. The coal ember of wrath simmered and glowed.

"Where do you think we'll get our best chance to break our bonds?  My people do not control lands into Mirkwood and these scum know best to not to venture too close to them.  Lake-town nor Dale will be looking for us until probably too late and too far beyond their comfort and control.  Laeral, is there any hope of Thranduil's folk comes across this band?"

"Esgalwen. If I can get outside I can get to her. She will know the silver tipped fox, she would come."

No reply comes from Laeral, though much passes across her mind in the darkness.  As the silence extends, Hathcyn speaks his own thought of Esgalwen, and a rumble of approval from Grimbeorn soon follows.  "Do it." 

Arbogast concurs.  "She is now well known among the Men of Dale, and well-regarded by their king.  If any can free us, it is her." 

The Longspear's fingers and toes begin to tingle with anticipation as he contemplates leaving his slow flesh behind and hasting from it in spirit form.  "But how will I leave this place?" 

Here, at last, Laeral speaks.  "I know not what plan you speak of, but if it is what I think, then I may be able to assist.  Though Mannish eyes may not see well in such dim light, I can mark the orc-work that set the hinges of this door into the living stone.  Nor well is it done!  Mayhap I am able to loosen it enough for a spirit-fox to slip though." 

"At your work then, fair one, and let us be away from here as soon as may be!" 


:ooc: I'm just going to make a quick Stealth roll for Laeral here:

Despite Laeral's bravado, the work is hard and long, and her slender fingers are bloody and painfully torn by the time the hinge falls loose.  Despite this, not a sound does she make when the heavy footfalls of goblin guards come near.  While she works, Hathcyn settles into the deep, insensible slumber of the night-goer, each breath shallower than the one before and his heartbeat slowing until at last only the most cunning of healers would know him from the dead. 

Then, emerging from behind a barrel as if it had simply awakened from a nap, a fox struts on silent paws toward the door, barely pausing for Laeral to pull the door away from the edge of the rock wall before leaping through the narrow gap and landing, silent as snowfall, on the other side. 

Hathcyn's spirit-nose twitches as he takes in the sharp scent of orc-blood and the underlying fug of furnace-smoke and unwashed goblin bodies.  Beneath the cacophony of smell, he can just make out the clear note of winter air. 


:ooc: Alright Tom, you're up.  Hathcyn is in spirit form at the cost of one point of Hope (:csu:). 

:csu: for Laeral's great success on the stealth roll. 

A hoarse voice whispered out of the darkness, "Do legends and myths spring to life in this horrid cave, or are you more tricks of the Enemy to play upon my weakened mind?"

Unseen in the shadows of the back of the cave where they were imprisoned, was a young man of Esgaroth. His clothes were ragged, hair long, and a scruff of beard covered his face.

"First the orcs bring in the form of an Elf! But then I see creatures spring out of the walls and heed the words of Men? T'is magic for sure!"

Grimbeorn turned to look in the direction from which came the voice, his guard up to fend off any unseen threat. "Reveal yourself, lad, so as to prove that you are no agent of the yyrks!"

"Nay, I am no agent... just someone who is certainly lost to his own, for they could never know to look here. And here it is that I thought I would perish, until your arrival. I am Beal, son of Dolan, of Lake-town and Bowman of the Guild."

The younger man moved himself into the thin light that came from the torches without. He looked thin and hungry. "How did you come here, boy?" asked Grimbeorn.

Beal's mind took on a look of confusion. "What is the date? What is the season?" he asked. "I had come north from the new trade fort at the west end of the Dwarf Road in the beginning of October. I had taken on a commission as outrider for a caravan. Unfortunately for the merchant, a goblin band of raiders hit the caravan as it passed near the woods. I was north of the van, scouting the path." The young man's face became sad, "I must have missed the raiders as they hid, for when I returned to the wains the merchant and his folk had been all but slain and emptied of the wares. I rode to their aid, but was struck by something - a rock or club? I do not know, but I took three of the vermin! Anyway... I woke here and I have been since."

---

:ooc: It is my intention to bring Esgalwen back into the game when Hathcyn's spirit animal finds her, but I figured I would play this new PC until she comes along. If he lives, cool. If he is slain, then I do not have a lot invested in him.

:ooc: To keep things moving, I'll put another post up advancing the narrative sometime this morning.  If you guys want to put some more posts up before then, feel free.

Grimbeorn answers his questions about year and season.  "We are out of Lake-town and the Wood a day or so now, the other men and I from the other side of the forest, nigh the Anduin."

"Then it seems you have come far to die, lest this small fox can open doors and carry us far from here." Beal did not wish to be so fatalistic, but there was little hope that he could see.

Fleet as a flowing stream hastes Hathcyn from that place of darkness, following the scent of clean air until at last he darts past the sluggish feet of goblin sentries and half-climbs, half leaps up the ladder past the still-open trap door and is at last loosed upon the moonlit world.  Not for nothing is he accounted among the swiftest of the Beornings, for he takes quick stock then of his surroundings and races off toward the north and west, the marshy miles of ice-bound mire vanishing beneath his paws. 

Never before has he, banner-bearer of Grimbeorn, son of the Anduin vales, ventured this far east of Mirkwood, and so it is only by keeping the River Running on his right that he knows to find Dale, the great city of Men rising like a new star in the North.  Nor is he fated to see it this night, for after an endless, tireless time of running his nose begins to twitch at the scent of wood smoke.  His first thought is of the banked fires of a far-off town, its inhabitants all aslumber, but a red light soon rises on the horizon that fills him with dread. 

Passing through a copse of trees, he pauses to stare out from beneath an arch of root at a scene horribly familiar.  Before his eyes, a steading burns.  The scent of flame taking hold of wood and thatch is near overwhelming, and the sight of orcs rushing about in the light of the fire puts him so in mind of another despoiled farmstead in days gone by that he nearly shudders himself right back into his own body. 

But here, it seems, the brave warders of Dale have found better fortune, for quickly another familiar scent makes itself known, and the welcome sight of Esgalwen, once Ranger of Ithilien and now sworn sword of the King of Dale, her long blade held two-handed, flashing in firelight to take the life of the orcish foe and see vengeance dealt for the slain and the lost. 


:ooc: More to follow, but I have to get the kids ready for school.

"I was once such you, dire and fey. But as long as a man draws breath, there is always hope.  Fortune brought you here and us to you, I'll though it may seem.  We all have yet a part to play in this lark."

The silver tipped fox new boundless joy when he saw the ranger. Judging by the moon Hathcyn knew though he traveled at great speed the night was wanning and he would needs to return to his physical body.

He watched and waited as the battle unfolded, nit wanting to distract her in the ensuing battle, but once she had slain her foes the fox darted forward. Jumping on the corpse of one of the Orcs to be seen by the ranger.

"Hello there, has the fire stirred you from your hole little fox."

The red furred and silver tail tipped fox did little circles in place and then stood on the body of the Orc staring into the woman's eyes. His tail straight in the air, the silver tip flashed like a spear.

"Ho now, that's something new. What are you about little fox."

He jumped down from the corpse and moved to the feet of the ranger and looked up. She reached down and slowly extended her hand to pet the beast. The fur was soft, though strangely the creature held no body heat to the rangers hand.

"This grows curiouser..."
The small fox then ran circles around her legs and tried to point in a direction.

"Have you come from the Brown Wizard? What need of me does he have?"

The little fox shook his head at her questions. "Well, that's a mystery. You understand the speech of men, but haven't come from the Brown Wizard. The Elves perhaps?"

Again a shake of its small head. The creature circled her feet again and then growled at the corpse of the dead Orc.

"Yes little friend I do not like them either."

She bent down lower to stare at the fox and frowned thinking this new puzzle through. Then with a bound that surprised her the fox jumped and grabbed onto her cloak pin fashioned in the manner of a helm. The little  hands of the creature grabbing the pin and licked the helm, then fell to the ground and ran circles around her feet again.

"The pin? The fellowship of the helm, is that what you mean little friend?"

The fox ran circles around her feet again and pointed in a direction.
"Rorin had a pet bird, did he perhaps send you to me and is need of help?"

The fox stopped placed its head on the ground and then placed its paws over its tiny face.

"A red silver tipped fox...." Esgalwen's eyes opened wide. "Hathcyn of the Fox clan! Hathcyn is that you?"

The small fox ran in circles around her feet again and taking the hem of her cloak in his teeth tugged on her.

"If that is you Hathcyn then Grimbeorn can not be far behind. Or you are a friend to Rorin's raven. Either way I think my friends may be in danger."

The fox laid down then, its feet sticking up in the air.

"Grave danger indeed."

(OOC: sorry guys. I have been out of it lately but wanted to contribute so punched this out my phone. I'll check it for errors later.)

Worry waxing in her belly, Esgalwen seeks out her second-in-command, a grizzled warrior named Euric.  "We are victorious, I think.  What are our losses?" 

"Two.  Fridigar is slain and the boy Sjerk.  But yes, my lady, victory is ours." 

"Then leave Fridigar and Sjerk to the remaining villagers to bury, for we must mount and ride on." 

Euric gives her a quizzical look.  "Are you certain?  Darkness has already fallen and the men are tired from battle." 

"They will recover, and every hour and mile we can steal this night is one closer to our goal." 

"And what is this goal you suddenly speak of?  Does the marshal now give his orders to you in secret?" 

"Nay," she replies, trying to conceal the excitement that rises within her to eclipse her initial fear.  "But new tidings are come to me.  Nearby, a company of great heroes is beset by dark forces.  It shall be greatly to our honour if we can free them." 

Then the woman, once warrior of Gondor and now of Dale, takes the reins of her mount in hand and swings herself into the saddle.  "To me, servants of Bard!  Onward we ride!" 


:ooc: Boring mechanical stuff to follow.

Away to the south and west, the sounds of raucous feasting reach the ears of the captives as they murmur to each other in the semi-darkness.  It carries on for some time, as the tales of Beal, and of the Fellowship's disastrous raid, are told.  Then all at once there is a great commotion of goblins, and the sounds change to those of rushing feet and the gathering of their noisome treasures.  Faintly, the companions hear the rumbling voice of Kurgak as the great orc bellows "load 'em up, lads!  They can carry the booty 'til we reach the Boss' seige!" 

And so, without standing on ceremony, the companions find the door to their cell flung open and leering goblins yanking them to their feet, for to use them as beasts of burden along the way to Dol Guldur.  Soon each, from dire Grimbeorn to lanky Arbogast, is bent double under a load of ill-gotten goods and stumbling along in the freezing moonlight.  Hemmed in left and right, ahead and behind by goblins, the war party and its captives strives toward the hard ground where the Long Marshes meet the easternmost eaves of Mirkwood. 

"What about the others," one of the large uruks grunts to Kurgak. 

"Never mind 'em," comes the reply.  "If they can't follow our tracks, they'll find their way to the same place in time." 

As the companions shuffle on, marching over mud that crackles and crunches beneath their feet and squelching their way through meres and pools half-frozen, Laeral looks all around.  Somewhere, she thinks, I will see a familar set of silent wings.  Somewhere, there will be water-lilly root close enough to gather an that our captors notice...

Thus does the long chase begin. 


:ooc: This is going to be interesting.  Esgalwen's party is mounted, so they can move far quicker than the orcs, but they're slowed down by the need to follow tracks.  The orcs are moving at night, while the Dale-Men will be pursuing during the day.  I'm going to play it out like this: every day, Esgalwen has to make a Hunting roll to move at full speed in pursuit, otherwise her party will be able to follow (they're pursuing a LOT of goblins, and you can't miss every sign of their passage) but only at the same speed they would be capable of un-mounted. 

Every day that the company is in the Long Marshes, Laeral may make a Search roll to find water-lilly roots nearby.  If she finds some, she can make a Stealth roll to grab them without being noticed.  Success gets her one dose, great success two, extraordinary success three.  She will need at least three lots of roots to have enough to dose all the goblins (plus a plan to get the roots into their food or drink). 

It's late November, and the marshes are hard going, so both parties will need to make a Travel roll every three days (or part thereof) at a TN of 18.  Each failed Travel roll incurs a loss of three Endurance (or Hope).  Note that you're all now carrying goblin loot sufficient to give you 10 fatigue points. 

I'll post the rolls day by day and anyone who wants to add to the story can chime in after each one.  Clear?

Day 1:

Hunting roll for Esgalwen


Search roll for Laeral

:ooc: Doug, unless you want to spend a Hope point, Esgalwen's party will lose some time trying to follow the path of the raiders they defeated back toward their lair, and only proceed a few miles. 

Laeral finds two doses worth of water-lilly root.  Can she gather them surreptitiously enough?

Stealth roll for Laeral

:ooc: Looks like she can!  Aly, I have marked off the Advancement Points that Laeral has earned.  You'll see that she has earned her first one for the Perception track.  She already has two in the Movement track, and she didn't roll any special kind of success, so she doesn't get another one for her successful Stealth roll. 

On the other hand, her owl will have made its way back to her, and will be hanging about.  If you like, you can add some narrative about that, and about how she gathers and hides the lilly root.

I'll put another post up about lunchtime (my time) tomorrow, unless you guys are deep in an RP conversation or something. 

:ooc: I will spend the :vv: for a success.  :csu:

His hands ached from exposure. His toes were numb in his boots, which were sodden from the snow and meres through which they were marched. Ever did the Orcs drive them forward and Beal wondered at what was the end of the journey and would he be alive.

Beside him, the Beornings marched along with their Elven friend. They were strong and showed the defiance he had lost after so many days under the ground, but they gave him hope. He knew not what had been achieved by the strange fox that had fled the tunnels not long ago, but the tall one's grim silence held a knowledge of something to come.

It was all that kept Beal moving.

 :ooc:
During their March, Grimbeorn both looks for any opening to turn the tides and give them the chance to escape but also seeks to slow the pace of the orcs by any means necessary.

What kind of tests do you think are appropriate?

:ooc: Good call, Matt.  For 'openings to turn the tides', I'd say a Battle roll - effectively, you'd be making your pre-battle rolls well in advance, so you'll be able to attempt an escape on a day when you get a good result.  'Slowing the pace ... by any means necessary' will depend a lot on your particular tactics, e.g. Craft to engineer a spill in your load, Song to keep the goblins awake during the day and tire them out, etc.  Riddle might be a good all-purpose fallback. 

Anyone else can attempt these as well!  I'll roll everyone's Battle for day one, and we can see what kind of prospects it brings...

Arbogast


Beal


Grimbeorn


Hathcyn


Laeral

 :ooc:
Given that his imagination isn't as colorful as this others, Grimbeorn will work on engineering a malfunction in the gear.

 :00:

 :ooc:  :roll:  :'(

:ooc: From my PMs:

Quote from: AlyC on Jul 19, 2020, 05:18 PMI'm going to wait til I have enough of the plant to knock out everyone.

How is their food prepped? do they have a chef?

Answers to follow.  For the record, Aly, it's fine to ask this stuff in the main threads.

The first night of the journey is a merciless slog through mire and fen.  Dark clouds sail across the freezing sky, their shadows adding further peril to an already treacherous ground.  As if the marshes take a sullen delight in shifting solid ground from beneath their feet at the last moment, goblins and Men alike find themselves stumbling into unseen pitfalls and mistaking frozen scum for flat ground.  Grimbeorn, seething at his mistreatment, seeks to sabotage the makeshift pallet in order to spill its precious contents.  Much to his chagrin, it is of sturdier make than he credited the goblins, and his efforts only succeed in dislodging a rattling bag of scrimshawed bones.  His captors delight in his discomfort as they whip him with wet ropes, driving him ever onward as the bag thumps painfully into his side with each step. 

Of all the Fellowship, only Laeral is ever sure-footed.  Although twice she falls, each time she rises clutching the roots of a water-lilly which she hides swiftly among her burden.  For she knows well the lore of things that grow from the muck of the Marshes, and she knows especially that the lillies carry in them a portion of the sleeping enchantment of the stream that crosses the elf-path and flows into the Forest River.  The Men hereabouts gather the flowers to make a sleeping draught, but yet more potency lies within the roots.  Her wonderings about how to bring the roots to the goblins' mouths are answered to a degree when the company arrives at a wooded rise high enough to be dry underfoot and the creatures set down heavy iron kettles.  With a dreadful glee they attack the trees, splitting boughs and throwing them, still green and oozing sap, on cooking fires until the whole rise is enveloped in thick smoke.  They prepare a noxious-smelling soup of swamp water and unnamed, unfortunate animals not fleet or fierce enough to escape goblins' clutching hands. 

"Their watch is poor," Arbogast whispers to his companions, casting a seasoned warrior's eye over their captors.  Nor is his mistaken, for the goblins clearly mislike being so long above ground, and much of the attention they spare from admiring the shine of their treasure is directed outward, and even upward.  For the memory of goblin-kind is not a fleeting thing, and the terror of the great eagles at the Battle of the Five Armies is not a thing swiftly forgotten.  Even Beal finds a bleak form of mirth in the Shadow-creatures' panic when they are surprised by an owl flying low and silent above their heads. 

Miles away, though not so many as these things might be reckoned by hunter and hunted, Esgalwen's party ride in pursuit.  The way is not so terrible for riders by day as for runners by night, though they are slowed by the need to find a ford across the Forest River, which runs wide and sluggish in this low land.  The signs of orc-work are unmistakeable, however, and Esgalwen has tracked their kind across many lands and years.  Euric and the rest of the men speak little, their hearts hardened and their faces grim.  All know that their quarry are not far ahead. 

:ooc: Day 2

Hunting roll for Esgalwen


Search roll for Laeral

:ooc: Right - neither roll was successful on its own, but Hope spends will put you over the top.  Doug, Aly - let me know what you would like to do. 

Tom and Matt, I'm open to any other ideas you might have to make life difficult for your captors. 

Though the way laborious and miserable, the great Beorning still weathers the trek, better than most.  The only thing that Grimbeorn feels he can possibly do is to show dissention among the captors, grumbling that the path they are taking isn't the fastest, easiest route or other things to role the goblins and orcs.

 :00:

Use of Hope to boost any success.

:ooc: Esgalwen will spend the :vv: point to keep on the hunt. :csu:

---

The evening's rest had brought with it a new blanket of snow. Esgalwen woke to see the land now a bright white with little trace of what lay before them. As her riders readied themselves, the Dúnadan searched for the path that they had been following, but freezing water and the new snow had made it all but disappear.

Esgalwen began to despair and once more she questioned herself - the inner idleness that came with such despair and clouded her decision-making was a new trait she did not like in herself, but as of yet had not been able to throw off. She heard Euric calling from the clearing in which they camped, even as she became frantic in her search. The Dale-men were far from home and she was leading them further - and Euric was beginning to question her  decision. After all, they were chasing after a silver fox that had not been seen since!

"Lady, the mounts are ready! Where are you?" The man waited for a reply, but was wanting to give the woman her privacy, as he assumed she was tending to her personal needs.

Esgalwen stood from her crouch, her shoulders hanging. "I am here," she answered.

As she turned to head back to the clearing she saw it - even buried in the new snow - impressions of heavy boots that had passed before. Quickly moving to the clues, she studied the trail and now could see it clearly moving off through the fens.

Her voice more confident, "I am here! Prepare to mount!" No longer worrying her choice, the Ranger strode into the camp and swung herself into her saddle. "The trail continues this way. We ride!"

There was a flurry as horse and men followed behind her.

OOC: Of course all the skills that are useful I have next to no dice in. I'm going to try it anyway. Maybe even if I fail I can succeed in  slowing us down but with a complication....

The goblins had constructed crude but effective three staff packs and then tied and mounted all of the gear on to them. The technique was also known among men and Hathcyn was familiar with it from his time on the forest road.

As he passed by the woodman Arbogast he elbowed him with the frame to unsettle the load.

"Watch where you are going woodman! I would have thought a tree kisser would know his way with sticks and loads."

His friend looked at him oddly.

He trudged on and again hooked him with the lower end of the frame. He spoke louder this time.

"I said mind your step mongrel."

A few of the goblins took notice and pointed at the two. This attracted one of the larger Uruks.

A third time he rocked the harness into the Woodman.

"I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOUR INSOLENCE!"

The Beorning put his head down and knocked his friend to the ground. Simulating a fight he did all he could to knock the loads of both packs as free as possible. Attempting to spill as much of the contents as possible. While he growled loudly he whispered. "Dump as much of your gear as you can, they'll have to repack it."

Elbows, poles, and baggage began to spill about the two men.

 :ooc:
This may earn Hathcyn a whipping but hopefully it will cause a delay.
Riddle? Or Athletics if your feeling generous.

Riddle Roll:



Or Athletics

:ooc: Hope spends put both Esgalwen and Grimbeorn's rolls over the threshold.  The two successful rolls mean that
a) Esgalwen's party will catch up to the goblins and other PCs sometime late on day 2 of the pursuit, and
b) the goblins' morale will be sapped a bit by the uncertainty Grimbeorn has sowed. 

If Hathcyn and Arbogast can pull off their little stunt (Riddle roll from Arbogast to follow) it will mean that c) the delay will cause the two groups to meet somewhere other than the place that the goblins thought they'd reach at the end of that night's travel. 

I'm thinking that I will reduce the goblins' Hate scores a bit and lower the threshold of Esgalwen's Battle roll for the upcoming skirmish to reflect the fact that the goblins aren't picking the battleground. 

Also, since the journey will end here one way or another, I'll do Travel rolls for everyone:

Travel rolls for everyone (TN 18):
Laeral


Hathcyn


Grimbeorn


Esgalwen


Beal


Arbogast


And finally, a Riddle roll for Arbogast as promised:

:ooc: Grimbeorn succeeds - he's fine with the hard slog, it seems.  Hathcyn, Esgalwen, Beal and Arbogast can all succeed with a Hope spend, otherwise it'll be an additional 3 Fatigue (or a loss of up to 3 Hope, at your discretion...).  I'll make the spend for Arbogast.  :csu:

Laeral, unfortunately, doesn't get that option.  Aly, let me know how many Fatigue levels you'd like her to gain, and how many Hope points you'd prefer to lose (hint: spending Hope will hit you harder in the long term, but may keep you alive better in the short).  Also, let me know if you'd like to spend a Hope point to let Laeral gather another two doses' worth of water-lillies.  If she can get that lot into the goblins' stew-pot, it will mean that d) the lookouts and sentries may well be fast asleep when Esgalwen's people arrive. 

 :ooc: I'll spend the hope point.

 :ooc:
Ah, I'll take it.  Something needs to go our way.

Grimbeorn will stick close to Laeral though and provide her with support seeing as she's had an extra hard time with her wounds, the orcs, and the pace compounding it.

:ooc: As :vv: is a very valuable commodity to a Dúnadan, I think I will have Esgalwen suffer the fatigue. I am not too worried about weariness at the moment - there is a pretty big spread between :<3: and :zz: right now.

She can sleep off the weariness, but she can't restore her hope very easily.  :csu:

:ooc: On the basis of word received informally from Aly, Laeral is spending Hope to succeed in the Search roll.  Now for quick Stealth roll to see how the rest of that goes:


Tom, I have updated Hathcyn's sheet to reflect the Hope spend and fix up his Endurance.  I've noticed that neither you nor Matt had any AP marked on your sheets - have you been keeping track on local copies?  I have been able to go back through the threads and add 5 AP to Grimbeorn's sheet on the basis of successful rolls so far, but I haven't had time to do Hathcyn's yet.  I'll generally add any AP stemming from rolls I made on your behalf, but otherwise I'll rely on you guys to mark them off as they come up. 

:ooc: An easy success for Laeral, who has since become weary.  Aly, in keeping with my policy stated above, I've marked off the final AP in her Movement track. 

Ooc: no I have been terrible at keeping track of APs after the sheets went to dropbox

As the goblins look on, some already beginning to shout encouragement in high, rasping voices, Hathcyn and Arbogast lock together in what appears to all others to be a furious grapple.  The two Men rage and shake each other as bags of spice and bolts of cloth, jugs of wine and silver plate alike topple from their packs to splash into the muck and mire. 

As the uruks step in, wielding whips of coarse leather against exposed arms and legs, Laeral sees a chance that has thus far eluded her, and casts a quick gaze across the nearby pools, though the cloudy sky allows prescious little light to fall on the marshes.  In the darkness, the water could be concealing anything from water lillies to marsh hags to a lost city of an elder age of the world.  Suddenly, though, the clouds part and the last light of Eärendil (https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Star_of_Eärendil), hanging low in the sky above the Mountains of Mirkwood, shines through on a tiny patch of water whose half-frozen surface conceals a broad lilly-leaf. 

Her nearest goblin captor espies her looking out over the empty water.  Poking his crudely-fashioned spear at her, he leers "Go on and try it!  I'll prick you and bleed you and leave your pretty pale body for the water worms!" 

As he tries to menace her, however, great eyes appear in the sky on silent wings as an owl swoops on him.  The goblin instinctively flinches back, stumbling into the back of Grimbeorn, his dire form made the more mountainous by the load piled upon his back.  As the goblin starts and cries out, Laeral moves, swift and sure as a pouncing cat, to snatch the plant from the water and stow the prescious roots about her person. 

A little way away, Hathcyn and Arbogast lead each other in a violent, swaying dance until each loses his balance and both, still clutching at each other and bellowing imprecations, fall into the chill mud, spilling what remains of their loads.  Though the beating that follows stings and bruises, which helps each to hide a grin as the heavy tread of Kurgak approaches from the head of the goblins' pack.  "WHAT IS THIS?" he cries, seeing the shambles of the two Men's baggage.  Then he lays about him with the backs of his thick hands.  "Get 'em on their feet! Load 'em back up!  And the next time this happens, I swear by brimstone and darkness I'll take one of your skins and wear it to keep my neck warm!" 

Grumbling and cursing, the uruks haul the two Men, muddy and cold, upright and the lesser goblins re-pack their baggage.  But the plan has worked, and such moonlight as penetrates the cloud has moved higher in the sky before the goblins are able to move once more.  Kurgak drives them on at a merciless pace until lungs burn and legs ache, and only goblin whips drive the exhausted companions further.  When at last the light of dawn rises in the east, even the towering uruks are spent, and of the companions only Grimbeorn can keep from falling to their knees when their loads are lifted from them. 

Hathcyn, still with strength enough to lift his head, looks about him.  The goblins have not come to a place as suited to their kind as last time.  Rather than a single rise, they have come to a place barely more than a sandbar in the mere, with two small islets separated by a brackish channel perhaps twenty paces wide.  The islets are so small that the goblins are already squabbling over which will sleep on the one, closer to the cooking fire, and which on the lower with the prisoners.  Nor does the fire fare well, the only fuel being damp thornbushes and the fire producing much more smoke than heat or light. 

Laeral, following his gaze, knows that her best chance of seeing her plan through is nearly upon her.  But with barely the strength to stand, she can only think 'how will I ever manage to do this?'

In a hushed voice, "How are you? Do you need anything?" Grimbeorn asks his friends and new elven companion.

Tears wet the dried mud on Beal's face. Never in all his life had he felt such weariness and pain. His shoulders were afire from the heavy load he had been forced to bear. His feet felt like stones, frozen within their boots but fortunately the ache was dulled by the numbness of his legs. He slumped on the ground and prayed that there would be no more lashes and kicks through the day.

"I do not know where you find the strength," he replied to Grimbeorn's question. "Where do you muster the hope?"

Even the light of the new day had little affect in kindling his spirits - so weary was his body and mind.

---

:ooc: Although his :vv: pool is full and he is not mechanically weary, because this is a cruel and driving scene - something Beal has never experienced thus far in his young life, he is having a hard time with it. I am narrating him as hopeless, but when things begin to happen, he will obviously be able to "muster the strength" he did not know he had (as he is not mechanically hindered).

I hope that makes sense.

The eastern sky began to glow with an orange hue, stretching the length of the horizon. Her gaze averted at the sound of a horse nickering to its companion within their makeshift corral. Esgalwen had taken the last watch of the evening alongside another of her company, a man named Dreng. She could see him pacing his long circuit around the encampment as he had been prone to do.

"If I sit I sleep," he had said countless times. She believed his incessant repeat of the words was his another method of keeping himself awake.

It was going to be another clear day. Only thin, feathery clouds crossed the sky over the plains of Rhovanion. Esgalwen unfurled her heavy, wool blanket from around her and stood to stretch. Her sword lay on the ground next to where she had sat, but her bow was still in hand - a loose arrow in the other. Twisting and rubbing out all the kinks in her muscles, she bent and gathered her items - stowing the arrow as she did. Her hands now free, she picked up a handful of the icy snow and bit it, rubbing her fingers over her teeth in an attempt freshen her mouth and clear any remaining weariness from her mind.

"Wake the others, Dreng," she ordered and the man nodded in reply. As the Dale-man woke his companions, Esgalwen moved to where their path had been. No new snow. Still, she drew upon all her skills to mark their path for the day.

---

:ooc: Hunting roll to find the trail once more...

TN ?? hunting 2d

:ooc: Well, the :g: gives her a success, but it is not pretty and doesn't afford her any AP. :roll:

---

The path was there before them and with each day, it seemed more fresh than the previous. Esgalwen knew that they were closing on the Enemy and that they would need to be cautious. She had no desire for the orcs to slay their prisoners in a desperate attempt to escape, or to make any would-be rescuer's efforts in vain. On the other hand, speed was essential to their attack and she did not want to give the enemy a chance to set their own ambush.

With the sun now broaching the eastern horizon, the Company of Dale prodded forward their mounts. "We must take care to be cautious, but swift in our purpose. Should you see any prisoners, we will make it our every effort to secure them and see them freed. If we do nothing more than save any captives and drive our enemy away, I will call that a success.

"If we should do both - save any captives and destroy the host we chase - that will be worthy of a song! Forward Men of Dale!"

Hathcyn's body was sore, but his spirit burned with hatred for his captors.

"Your head can convince your body of anything Beal. You have to just set your mind to it. For me, my hate drives me. For others it is different. We have stalled them and are unlikely to be able to do that again. I must hasten our help, and be sure that it is indeed coming."

Hathcyn looked at Arbogast, "perhaps on the field of heroes one day we will wrestle and see who truly is the better man. Or if I let you win for the sake of your children."

The Longspear smiled and in the grime his teeth shone white and clean.

"Grimbeorn, I have but little time before the night passes completely, but I will try again."

The form of Hathcyn was instantly still and from the hillock the fox again appeared to the wonder of all.

With no time for caution it bolted as fast as it could back along their trail to find their rescuers. The Goblins spotted it but in their fatigue were not quick enough to take aim and fire. Even their desire for sport had waned through the nights march.

The fox watched the light begin to grow in the east and put speed to legs that already seemed to eat the ground in great haste.

And so as the camp was making ready and Esgalwen located the signs of the trail she saw again the fox. One moment the trail was empty and then a silver tipped tail of a red fox was before her just as the sun clipped the sky and was gone.

Hathcyn opened his eyes, now the fatigue of the night and the journey  were present in his face.

"Friends...take heart. Your Lady of Dale has not forsaken you."

The Beorning shivered in the cold and his eyes closed.

Quote from: AlyC on Jul 29, 2020, 03:04 AMokay well they need to eat again

:ooc: They certainly do - you've all seen the uruks starting to look appraisingly at the smaller goblins... 

Quote from: AlyC on Jul 29, 2020, 03:07 AMalso do i need to do anything to the roots? or just drop them in the pot?

:ooc: Ordinarily, you would want to dry the roots out, grind them up and use the powder to make an infusion - but that's if you want to enjoy the effect mildly and safely.  Given that safety isn't much of a concern, just getting the roots into the pot will have the desired effect. 

Also, I'll give Hathcyn the use of his Night-goer ability as a freebie, given that it was really just a nice piece of narrative without any special benefit. 

:ooc: By the way, if anyone wants to jump in with suggestions for Aly, who is a fairly new player both in this context and to RPGs in general, feel free. 

 :ooc: do the rest of us know what her plan is? I can plant a Mr. Spock suggestion and say within their hearing. "These Uruks are blind as well as dumb. Here's a perfectly good chance to have their food served to them by an elf maid."

:ooc: I don't know that she's had an opportunity to communicate it to you - especially since only Arbogast has enough herb lore to know what she might be pulling up roots for.  But I don't mind OOC chatter.   

-occ- I've communicated the plan to everyone. We've been walking long enough for me to whisper the information to people. And just a note, the elf isn't the best a small talk.

 :ooc: Hathcyn is the only known small talker in the group.

Arbogast gives a mirthless chuckle at Hathcyn's jest.  "Should that day come, I may give you the victory.  I after all, need not put my prowess on display to win a comely maid's hand."

Then, following Laeral's eye, he whispers "the time is come to put your plan to its proof.  Do you need us to provoke a beating to draw their eyes?"

With a smile, the elf-maiden replies - That will not be necessary. Laeral then turns her eyes to the sky. The three men watch with mild fascination as the elf makes a small series of sharp movements with her hands.

And with that Arod, who had been circling the party from a great height since they began their journey, starts to attack several of the larger captors. Swooping at great speed, the menacing bird manages to capture the attention of all but the party of four.   

Arbogast notices that the elf looks almost amused by the havoc her owl is causing as she slips quickly over to the pot in which the food is contained and drops the roots she has collected inside.

-OCC- I probably should have rolled something to see if all that was successful. What do you need?

:ooc: That would be a Stealth roll, which I'll base on Kurgak's attribute level, since he's the most likely to see through her ruse, so the target number is 16.  Laeral is weary, so any roll of 1, 2 or 3 won't count towards her total, but if she falls short she can spend a Hope point to add a whopping 11 points to her roll. 

Let's roll dem bones!

:ooc: Oh, that's not good. 

Laeral's gait is smooth and near soundless as she slips between goblins scrambling for what meagre cover is to be found on the twin islets, up to where the great iron cauldron squats above the smoking, guttering flame.  Her hands shake as she produces the lilly roots from their hiding place inside her shirt, and she realises only after she has slipped them into the tepid goblin-soup that she had been holding her breath. She releases it in a long, slow exhalation and turns from the fire.  But there, blocking her way back to her companions, is the bulk of Kurgak, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"ELF TRICKS!" he bellows as the scarred back of his hand catches Laeral across the face hard enough to knock her to the ground.  Before the three Men can do more than look on in horror, the great orc seizes the edge of the cauldron in his other hand and overturns it, quenching the pitiful fire and sending both the pit and its contents down the slope into the marsh.

"Beat them!" he SNARLS, loudly enough to be heard by all, and his followers, footsore though they are, need no further encouragement.  Screeching and tittering, they leap to torment their captives and rain blows and kicks upon them in such number that there is no hope of escape, or even of defence.

Kurgak, meanwhile, rounds on Laeral, hatred writ clear in his eyes.  "The Boss wants to see you," he growls, "but that don't mean I have to bring you to him with all your limbs attached!"  He lands a kick on the elf maid's arm as she tries to rise, sending her sprawling once again in the muck.  Before he can do more, though, he cries out in sudden pain, and Laeral lifts her head to see dark blood welling a fresh cut on the orc's neck and Arod already wheeling in the sky for another pass.

His attention captured, Kurgak turns from the elf and spreads his arms, ready to snatch the owl from the air.
 

:ooc: Everyone loses three Endurance points for the beating.

Kurgak will make a Brawling attack on Arod at an arbitrary TN of 15.  If he makes it, that owl is in trouble...

:ooc: Doug, I realised after I posted that I've been forgetting the existence of Beal.  Please accept my apologies and consider him to have been beaten too.

-ooc- damn it, Paul!

Wings folded, Arod plunges from the bright sky like a stone dropped from the heavens.  But Kurgak has the cunning of one of the great drakes of old, and the swiftness also.  A slayer of things both great and small, his hands blur the air as Arod spreads his wings and extends his claws, seizing the bird and wrenching his legs with an audible snap.  Beating the air with panicked wings, Arod screeches in pain, to no avail.  Kurgak rips several handfuls of dun feathers from his body and flings them to the ground before biting into the exposed flesh. 

Several dreadful moments later, Arod's screams stop, and the only sound is the grunting of the uruks as they methodically beat the Men across the shallow channel.  The smaller goblins watch in awe as Kurgak, his chin red with owl blood, locks eyes with Laeral's.  "Oh, sorry," he chuckles, "was 'e yours?" 

He maintains his gaze as he drops the still-twitching body on to the muddy ground and stamps it down, once, twice, thrice, the cracking of small bones hidden beneath the thumping of his boot.  Then, his bloodlust sated for the moment, he calls to his followers.  "Don't kill 'em!  You've 'ad your fun.  Go find snakes an' worms, whatever this place 'as to eat.  I've 'ad a fine appetiser, an' I'm ready for a proper meal!" 


:ooc: :csu: for the beating earlier.  Everyone is now weary. 

Quote from: AlyC on Aug 05, 2020, 01:14 AM-ooc- damn it, Paul!

What were we saying about the dice having their own story?

Quote from: Eclecticon on Aug 04, 2020, 11:35 PM:ooc: Doug, I realised after I posted that I've been forgetting the existence of Beal.  Please accept my apologies and consider him to have been beaten too.

Nothing like an apology beating. Lol

:ooc:  #:S

I was starting to feel left out!  ;D

---

His eye was swelling shut, even as he stared with pure hatred at the orc that stood over him. Beal felt terror in his heart, but also the desire to kill the creature that had caused him so much harm.

"I will not die here!" he hissed in a whisper. "I will not die this way!"

The orc heard the words coming through the man's clenched teeth, and it reached down to wrench him up by his long, black hair.

"Naw... ye won't die here, that is certain! Kurgak would never allow us the pleasure. But you'll get your wish when we arrive at the Hill! There you will beg for the mercy of death, even as the Lidless Eye flays your mind."

With a shove, the orc slammed Beal's head to the ground and his world began to dim at the edges of his eyes. The croaking laugh and thump of heavy boots faded, as his aggressor walked away. The Lake-man rubbed the back of his head to see if he bled, and then pushed himself up to lean on an elbow and look around with his one good eye. The Elf-woman sat not far from him, tears streaking down her face creating lines in the grime and blood there. The other men were also now relieved of the orcs who milled about in the quest for food, by order of their chief.

Looking to Hathcyn he said, "We must do something. My arms and legs are like lead, but I cannot end in this manner. What was the manner and point of your trances? The strange fox - is it your pet? Do you have some Elven powers unknown allowing you to communicate with it? What is it that is happening?" He then looked to Laeral and said quietly, "I am sorry for the death of your bird, Fair Lady. If I have any strength left me, I will see that the debt is paid in kind."

Even as he gave such challenging words, Beal felt his head swoon and he fell back on to the ground, lying prone and staring up at the gray sky. Whatever, and whoever, these Men and Elf were planning - he hoped it would happen soon.

Hathcyn whispered to Beal.

"Help comes and swiftly, we must yet delay them some for they ride hard on our heels and grow closer while they rest in the day. The fox is the totem of my family and in great need they will aid us, or allow us to take their shape and fly with great speed across the land while the night endures. And so, I have found friends and called for their aid."

The goblins hearing the whispering approached.
"You want the boots again! Eh? The pack man hasnt had enough."

"Hathcyn cocked a grime encrusted face in their direction and struck up a tune he had heard along the great forest road.

" As I walked forth one summer's day,
To view the meadows green and gay
A pleasant bower I espied
Standing fast by the river side,
And in't a maiden I heard cry:
Alas! alas! there's none e'er loved as I."

The tune seemed out of place and jarring in the present scene of bondage and torture but the words had a power, a spell of calm and escape from toil and trouble.

The goblins began to kick the Beorning again and the second verse died in his throat. His face swollen, his lip split and bleeding and several teeth now lay in the muck.

"We's not aupposed to kill ya, but not much less than that. Mind your mouth now two legged pack mule."

The final boot to his head made his head loll and he fell down into the dirt again breathing ragged.

 :ooc:
Well that escalated quickly. Grimbeorn would've interceded to protect the elf and such but oh well.  Also, would Beornings still be Weary from the fighting/beating?

:ooc: I'm going by your endurance/fatigue totals here.  Everyone started the journey near the threshold.  Recent events have pushed you over it. 

 :ooc: i think what Matt is asking is whether our Great Strength cultural ability works to prevent weariness like it does in combat.

:ooc: I know I have turned the game over to Paul to be Loremaster and thus the arbiter of the rules, but I am going to chime in here and say no.

I am of the mindset that the Beorning Furious ability let's them shake off the immediate effect of combat weariness, but they will get worn down over times of long struggle and travel. Otherwise, why bother with the mechanic for them.

How I played it was, when in battle you guys would not get weary, but if END was equal to or lower than Fatigue - on the next travel check you guys would suffer weariness on any failures.

But it is now Paul's game, so he will let us know.

Beal was helpless to do anything while Hathcyn was set upon once more. He dug his fingers into the icy mud, praying for some solution.

At last it was over and the Beorning lay on his back, seeming to be gratefully unconscious. The Lake-man looked all around him - maybe there was a stick, or a hard root? Something that he could fashion as a weapon and when the orcs came again, it could find the soft-flesh of one of them. It would be his only chance to act, and most likely his last, but he was ready to give it all.

---

:ooc: Awareness and Stealth roll to see if he sees or feels anything in his immediate surrounds that he could pick up and then hide.

TN opposed? Awareness 1d

TN 14? Stealth 1d

Nothing!

There was nothing that he could see or feel that might serve him. Beal lowered his own head into the mud, snow and ice.

Whatever friends you summoned, Beorning, he thought, may they come in haste and sweep these beasts away.

 :ooc:
No problem, just wanted a clarification.


Grimbeorn does what he can to shield the others from the punishment but his spirit sinks lower with the days sun.

:ooc: Damn it, it's been a while since I GMed this, so I keep remembering one thing after another to set up fights.  Last things last - Battle rolls for everyone except Esgalwen (who has already had hers):

Arbogast


Beal


Grimbeorn


Hathcyn


Laeral

:ooc: Unless anyone wants to spend Hope points, that's a great success for Arbogast, a basic success for Grimbeorn and nowt for anyone else. 

Matt, I'm giving Grimbeorn a second AP in his Vocation track thanks to his Hardened trait - he knew this was coming and he's been keeping some wits in reserve for it.  :csu: 

On a similar note, Tom, I've gone through the last chapter and Hathcyn's APs are now up to date.  You weren't doing a lot of rolling, so there aren't that many of them, but it's not nothing.