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Though the wind off the Long Lake has risen once again to bluster and chill, a deeper cold still seems to have descended upon the small gaol that stands apart from the rest of the town, as a single tree might stand sentry before a broad forest, connected by a single rope and plank bridge.  The few men standing guard huddle around the warmth of a brazier, having placed the bodies from the morning's fatal brawl in the furthest corner of the otherwise empty building. 

They make a show of stopping the companions and asking their business, but upon being informed that they come on the business of the Council, they are only too happy to let the Fellowship inspect the bodies.  For their part, they return to sit with their backs to the wall, casting occasional glances at the dead men as if in fear that they will rise again to work further evil, the whisperings of the ancient dead at the Tollhouse and the bewitchment of those who assailed the bearers of the wizard's casket having surely reached their ears. 

The dead men have been arranged with some neatness on the floor, and their pallid flesh and blood-drenched clothes make their wounds seem even more ghastly.  A quick search of each turns up more silver coins minted in the mode of Cardolan-that-was, and rings and torcs fashioned in a way foreign to the folk who today inhabit the North. 

Arbogast's eyes widen when he beholds the body of the bowman.  "I knew this man," he says.  "He is... that is, he was Ansovald who was kin to Amaleoda and who loosed his arrows at the Field of Heroes." 

At his companions' questioning looks, he adds "I heard from the workers on the Road that he did not return home after the murders and the bitter parting.  The folk of Sweartmereseld asked after him, but no-one knew of his goings.  It was thought he might have taken up the life of an adventurer, or perhaps gone east, to Dale." 


:ooc: Matt, I'm just seeing what else Laeral might know about the jewellery:
Craft

:ooc: Okay, the jewellery is not anything the like of which Laeral, in all her long years and wanderings, has seen before. 

"Now these are their things, but we must look over the bodies themselves.  There might be a tell-tale brand or marking that could distinguish how these disparate people are connected," says Laeral.

:ooc: Summoned the beast on that one!  (-D  (-D

Hathcyn stood back this his hand on his chin and looked at the bodies. He thought of stories and tales, lore from the past and boogey stories that may contain a grain of truth. Then he thought of the facts and circumstances that brought them all here. He thought of the animal cults of his people. Though little known to non Beornings each tribe had their own rites and representations of their totem animals.

"Is there anything reoccurring on the treasure, a symbol or motif? Or is it the wealth itself that stands as the symbol?"

Hathcyn approached and opened the eye lids of the dead to see if the eyes were still cloudy, or if in death they had cleared of their madness. He next looked at their lips and in their mouths to see if some common drink or food had been shared among them.

 :ooc: Insight and Awareness are the same dice for me.

Esgalwen sighed with frustration with Arbogast's news. If they were not locals, then there would be little to lead them to either Solveig or any other person in Lake-town.

Again her mind returned to Ceawin and his unearthing of things long dead along the trek north from Sunstead. Hathcyn began to talk and the Ranger's mind went to the same thought. Were these people possessed and if so, was it with the spirits of these things long dead?

Ceawin was already flirting with the barrows of dead-men surrounding Sunstead. Was there a common thread?

"Yes, Hathcyn, my thoughts, too. What if they possess items of the dead and the spirits of the dead possessed them?" She, too, bent herself on the items that each body wore upon their person.

Hathcyn moves from corpse to corpse, noting carefully the condition of each mouth and eye.  There is naught to be found in the mouths of the dead, though, save what he could readily find in his own, and whatever glint of madness or fell sorcery he spied in their eyes a scant hour ago has faded into dimness with their passing.  Cursing under his breath he stands, only to witness Laeral, one corner of her mouth rising in a sardonic smile, tug the dead Viglunding's shoes from his feet. 

"Looting such rude things seems beneath you, come as you are of such a lofty lineage," Hathcyn ventures, somewhat confused. 

The Elf-lady's answering laugh is like the sound of ice crystals falling in the first thaw of spring, and draws the attention of all the men in the room.  "Look," she says, pointing to the well-worn sole.  "See this line here?" 

Hathcyn looks, and beneath layers of muck and grime can indeed see a straight, red-orange line across the instep.  "They all have them," Laeral adds, "and I should wager it is rust." 

"And?  Are we to look for a house with a rusty doorstep then?" 

She cocks her head to one side, her eyes mock-serious.  "You could do so, but the days of a Man's life may be few to accomplish such a thing!  The Men of this town, it seems, prefer to build most everything from the flesh of trees."   

"Some merchants," Arbogast ventures, "keep warehouses near the market pool, with iron ladders for their men to raise heavy wares from boats come straight in under the timbers.  I would hazard that our conspirators met beneath such a place.  If we are fortunate, perhaps they still intend to." 


:ooc: It's taken a while, but you're starting to close in on them.  Don't give up now...

Doug, I'll do an Awareness roll to see what Esgalwen sees:
(https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/Themes/default/images/dice_warn.gif) This dice roll has been tampered with!
:00: 1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 2d6 : 6, 2, total 8

Esgalwen, meanwhile, iss lost in thought, her fingers wandering over torcs and collars of beaten copper, stamped in subtle ways with devices of suns and serpents, symbols of Harad in the south.  What can this mean, she asks herself, and what connection does it have with Tafan the Haradrim?

:ooc: Doug, there's scope for more information here if Esgalwen wants to spend a Hope point...

:ooc: Hey Paul, just as an FYI - I think Matt is temporarily playing Laurel at the moment, as Grimbeorn is stuck with duties of court.

And yes - Esgalwen will definitely use the :vv: point to see this matter clearly. :csu:

:ooc: MOFO!  You're absolutely right, and he was doing it at my suggestion too.  Sorry, Matt!

EDIT:  Fixed. 

There must be more... something I am not seeing, the Ranger thinks to herself, for Tafan was an honourable man who may yet pay a terrible price for his service to the White Wizard.  She bends again to her task as she hears Laeral laugh with a sound like a ray of sun through thick cloud, scowling with momentary envy despite her best intentions. 

All thoughts of her elven companion are pushed aside, however, as she sees in the light spilling from the thin, tall windows something that she took to be part of the craftsmanship of the southern jewellery.  Here and there, in ways that, once noticed, clearly do not fit any pattern, there are sharp edges where it seems like pieces of the precious metals have been clipped away.  Carefully loosening the torc round the neck of the Osgar, who was Mogdred's man, she raises it up to show the others.  "What do you make of this, my friends?" 

For a while, furrowed brows are her only answer as the other three look over the clipped portions carefully.  It is Hathcyn who breaks the silence.  "This has passed through the hands of goblins, methinks.  I have heard tell that the smaller orcs may be forbidden by their masters from having their way with precious things, if they are intended as gifts for weak-minded Men.  But it is ever in their nature to covet, and to do harm to things of beauty, so they steal and cut away small portions of the material to temper their lust for destruction." 

Esgalwen's heart beat slightly faster at the obvious conclusion.  No matter what dreadful spell may have lain upon them afterwards, the loyalty of these men was first bought and paid for with silver from ancient barrows, and gold from Mordor. 

:ooc: :csu: for all recent AP and Hope points. 

QuoteEsgalwen is quiet as she ponders the jewelry - which was given by someone after goblins' had possessed it and clipped at the gold/silver. It either came from a dark master, or was taken from the barrows of men by some Sunstead thegn we know, after the goblins had robbed the tombs prior?

Either way, it does not reveal a path for her - except to add to her feeling that Ceawin needs to be spoken to. Otherwise, the rust should be pursued, but that was not being discussed with her, so I was waiting on Tom of Matt to chime in.

 :ooc: is it possible any of this treasure is what Hathcyn saw passing hands briefly in the square? Or did he not get enough of a look?

:ooc: That is entirely possible, though there's no way to be sure. 

 :ooc: I think I'm ready to move on to investigate the those buildings mentioned.

 :ooc: yeah sorry. I was going to do sone exposition but havnt had the time.

:ooc: No worries, Tom.  Can I take it from Matt's comment, your comments, and Doug's silence that
a) we're all done here, and
b) you're ready to go looking for a warehouse near the market pool with an iron ladder?

:ooc: I am ready.

Despite the hour nearing noon, the day is dim beneath thick winter clouds that gather from the east, as if to chase away the sun, and the silence of dead men and superstitious guards inside the gaol is matched by the silence of empty streets without.   Though the Men of Lake-Town are inured to the icy winds of the north, the tales of unknown murderers hidden in their midst has driven most all of them to find business by their hearths and kinfolk.  Throughout the merchant's district, shutters and doors alike are shut and barred, and only the occasional cat watches from the rooftops as the company pass by. 

Then, carried on the wind, come raucous voices lifting in song.  The words cannot be made out from so far away, but Hathcyn marks the melody as a working song popular among the northern Beorning clans.  Wulfdan's men, no doubt, he thinks, abroad in quest of the mysterious Solveig. 

"I have had occasion to visit some of the warehouses around the market pool," Arbogast ventures, "and I could perhaps hazard which of them might have the iron ladder we seek." 

"But why squander our time in guesswork when we could approach from the waters and see what we need at once?" Laeral retorts.  "I am known to a few in the Elven Quarter here, and have precious things enough to induce one of the raft-Elves to part with their conveyance for a while." 

The Fire-watcher shrugs a single shoulder and looks expectantly toward Hathcyn and Esgalwen. 


:ooc: I wondered about just skipping past this, but decided a question with potential tactical import probably should be left to you guys. 

"Is it wise for all four of us to approach upon the raft? We would be easy to ambush and a raft is not the most stable of crafts to engage a foe." Esgalwen thought of her days plying the waterways of Ithilien with her fellow rangers, poling slowly down mist-covered rivers. One staving them along while two others were always vigilant with bow at the ready.

She continued her thought, "This is not a large town and it is easy to see any who transit the waterways under the pilings. Perhaps two should approach upon the raft seeking out these iron rungs, while the other two follow along the avenues above?"

---

:ooc: If we are all in agreement, then Esgalwen will elect to be the archer on the raft. If we all think she is being overly cautious, she will consent to the party's will. We don't need to hold the story up longer for a debate.

Hathcyn pondered the elf's words and that of the ranger.

"If this were the boats of the Lake folk that we took across the river before our captivity I would say no. These elven rafts however carry barrels of wine and are flat and sturdy. This would be a better platform to fight from than hanging from an iron peg over the tomb of Smaug. The raft will allow us to see more and at greater distances. The ladder will need to go somewhere, i doubt that they have their congress in the deeps of the lake. Perhaps there is a landing or a room built below the level we walk on? In any case I think the raft a good idea. Our fair maidens can cover us with their bows while we make with any required knife work. Also we should bring hooded lanterns. In this way we may be able to spy above us and into the dark corners, but not mark our passage with flaming torches."

Esgalwen nodded, "Raft it is, then. Let us be on our way."

"It would be best if someone else asked to borrow the boat. Our record of returning them once borrowed isnt great."

All eyes turned to Laeral.

(-D  (-D  (-D  (-D

Laeral, not catching the jest between the old friends, stared a bit blankly back at the others.  "Oh me, you'd like me to acquire the raft?  Alright, this maiden will be back shortly with one.  But I dare say returning it would be high in its owner's desires," she replied narrowing her eyes slightly at Hathcyn.

The elf departed quickly for the quarter where her kin resided, seeking out a willing bargeman that would consent to loaning the group a raft.  They had the support of the prince, so she sought out one of the king's bargmen first.

He called after her, "We wanted to return the last one too! It got complicated, I lost teeth over it!"

:ooc: Oh god, I shot tea out of my nose when I read that. 

A pair of silver ear rings fashioned by one of the greatest silversmiths of the Third Age clink into the hands of a raft-elf.  Their recipient flashes a lopsided from at Laeral as he performs an elaborate bow and proffers the use of his raft.  Then he fairly dances away into the Elven Quarter, no doubt to trade his new possession for as much wine as he and his friends can drink.

Laeral cannot help but frown at the poor bargain as she and her companions board the raft.  It is, at least, wrought well enough that it does not tip as the Fellowship of the Helm boards.  By unspoken agreement, Hathcyn and Arbogast begin polling while Esgalwen and Laeral nock arrows, and slowly they make their way through the water gate and into the market pool.

Save only for the dead of night, none have ever seen the pool so quiet and still.  All who can, it seems, have left the water and those who have nowhere else to go have retreated to their boats.  Esgalwen catches a glimpse of one boatman huddled in his hull beneath a tarpaulin, a pike-pole clutched tight in his fists.

There are several openings between the town's piles large enough for the raft to fit though, and the companions examine a handful of them, shining their lanterns into the gloom looking for the telltale gleam of metal, before finding what they seek.  Some twelve yards in beneath the timbers of a looming warehouse rises an iron runged ladder, broad and attached to the stout piles, from the surface of the lake.  Above it is a wide trap door, obviously for large cargoes to be loaded into the store above.  Nearby, a series of thick planks, turned grey-green with mud and slime, and bearing clear signs of recent passage by many feet, lead off in a meandering path through the forest of sunken trunks beneath Lake-Town.

:ooc: Some quick Hunting rolls here:

Arbogast


Esgalwen


Hathcyn


Laeral

The trail is clear enough for anyone to follow.  Hathcyn's practiced eyes, however, mark the passage of nigh a score different feet, and recently at that. 

"I am loathe to part the group to follow those tracks and climb up.  The way up is dangerous as the first through would be immediately marked and the position indefensible.  We know not where those print lead to but it is a more pressing issue if they be assailants.  Speak and choose quickly, we time is pressed."

 :ooc: can the raft follow along or are the pillings too close together in some areas?

:ooc: The pilings are definitely too thick to follow the plank path directly.  They're placed a little haphazardly - thicker in some places where there's more weight to support, thinner in others.  You might be able to keep the path at least in view with an Explore test against TN 16. 

EDIT: I have added a picture to the earlier post (https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/index.php?msg=32415) for some handy-dandy visual reference.  It's also dark - not depths-of-Mirkwood dark, but under broad and uninterrupted cover on a cloudy day.  The lanterns definitely make it easier to see, but they also point you out to anyone watching from deeper under the timbers. 

 :ooc: yeah the hooded lantern was so we could shine it in the dark spots and cover them while we moved about.

:ooc: Oh, it was definitely a good idea - I would've whacked penalties on your hunting role if you hadn't done that. 

"Should we take to the fish walk and have the archers cover us as they may from below? Perhaps we can set the lantern to a sliver of light so they mark our progress and attempt navigate the pillings?"

Arbogast nods as Esgalwen and Laeral both ready their bows and quivers.  Then he climbs awkwardly on to the plank, taking a few short steps to test it before helping Hathcyn up after him.  The wood bows ever so slightly beneath the weight of the two Men, but seems sound enough.  The muck is slick underfoot, and their going is slow enough that Esgalwen, taking up the pole, can easily catch up. 

Then the plank-path turns rightwards, past a dense stand of pilings, and the paths of the two parties are forced to diverge.  Between the water and the wooden ceiling, all is silent as the Fire-watcher inches forward, shield raised, eyes searching the darkness for any sign of foes, and Hathcyn advances behind him, ready to use the reach of his spear to good effect.  Esgalwen poles the raft in a wide loop around the pilings as Laeral, arrow nocked, keeps the other two companions in sight as the light fades around them. 

Then, from deep beneath the shadow of Lake-Town comes an inhuman wail that rises far too slowly to a piercing shriek, and seems to seize the hearts of the companions and still the blood in their veins.  As his ears ring in the aftermath, Hathcyn hears Arbogast's plaintive whisper: "No... not again!" 


:ooc: Fear tests:

Arbogast


Esgalwen


Hathcyn


Laeral

:ooc: That's good rolling for everyone except Laeral,who can either spend a point of Hope (and wouldn't even be able to do that were it not for her magic ring) or be unable to spend Hope for the duration of the coming encounter. 

 :ooc: firewatcher! Damn that's a Faramir like roll!

Hathcyns mind flashed to the Longhall in the woods. The twisted dead corpse of Uppalla beckoning him to be her husband in death came to his mind instantly. The terror fresh upon him once again as it had been that day in the wood. Even after all this time he felt the panic rise in him again. He shivered and he sweat at the same time after just hearing this noise.

Then his skin burned. He felt acutely all the wounds and scars he received from the hands if the Orcs. The healed wounds were like fire on his skin, the image of the Orcs hacking again on his fallen friend as he fought to save him. These would be additional horrors to anyone else but for Hathcyn they were courage. His hatred of the brutes, the animal nature of protecting the pack, and the deep call to war buried in his heart set him to grip his spear tight and summon fortitude.

His voice had growing strength in it as his old wounds burned and a desire to face and defeat this foe.

"I am with you Firewatcher, you do not stand alone. This time you and I shall have a tale to match that of the Wolfslayer's and take our own places among our people. And if it be an elf that tells the tale of our fall then lucky indeed we will be for its memory shall endure long."

:ooc: Matt, I just need a response about the Hope spend before I move the story on.

:ooc: Okay, based on observable past behaviour, I'm going to say that Laeral spends her Hope point.  New thread to follow, probably very early tomorrow morning (your time) because I have to be in court this morning (for work, just as an observer). 

 :ooc: Yes spend it.  Sorry been distracted with son's high school graduation.

:ooc: Congratulations to both of you!  My eldest just started high school this year and that's been hard enough to deal with.

Hathcyn's words rise in volume as his heart begins to pound, and before he is finished Arbogast is already moving forward once more and Esgalwen is poling the barge forward.  Then, from out of the gloom come hoarse whoops and shouts, and an arrow whistles past Laeral's shoulder as the dupes and slaves of the Shadow prepare to make their stand.   

:ooc: Battle rolls for the upcoming fight:

Arbogast


Esgalwen


Hathcyn


Laeral

:ooc: Nice work!  Tom, if you want Hathcyn to spend Hope on the roll let me know - I'll retcon the bonus dice in the upcoming thread. 

 :ooc: no its ok. I only roll well when Doug does it.