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Departing without ceremony, Saruman disappears into the darkness of the night-time forest, the almost-glow of his white robe and hat vanishing by degrees as bit by bit it is hidden by shadow and bough.  Within the hall of Maracar, all is briefly still, Radaghast gazing out the door as if expecting Saruman's return at any moment, the women and children of the house struck dumb by the events of the past half-hour.  Finally one woman, the youngest to judge by the lines of her face, ventures forth.  "If it please you, sir," she says, her voice hesitant at first but gaining strength from Hathcyn's welcoming words, "our men are gone to Rhosgobel to join the gathering of the fyrd.  We will wait here for their return, but thereafter we shall put your offer before them, for these woods are no longer a fit place to bring up our children!"

Her words break any spell lingering from Saruman's presence, and all at once the business of life and death goes on.  The remains of the goblins' feast are portioned out among the surviving hall-folk and the new arrivals alike, and the following day is spent building a pyre for Maracar, and comforting the children as they grieve for the loss of their grandfather.  Though the labour is wearying, none of the Fellowship can deny that a day without urgent marching is a great relief.

Finally, as the sun begins to set once again, the sound of a horn announces the arrival of the warriors of Rhosgbel.  As a tearful reunion takes place between the sons of Maracar and their wives and children, close to four score men and women, all well-armed with spears, bows and long-hafted axes in the fashion of the Woodmen, enter the small clearing and begin to make themselves comfortable.  Their leader, a long-limbed woman whom Grimbeorn recognises in a vague fashion from previous visits within the brown hedge, approaches the two Beornings.  "Hail to you," she calls out as she comes close, "Men name me for the Stag-horn.  I was told to expect the son of Beorn here.  Tell me, are you he?"

Esgalwen, for her part, finds her brow furrowing in slight puzzlement, for though she has seen armed men at muster from the gates of Minas Tirith to the canals of Dale, and the folk of Rhosgobel are not known to be considerably wealthier than those of the other great houses, this band is the best-victualled fighting force that ever she has seen.  The answer to the riddle comes when out from behind a pair of heavily-laden ponies steps Bandobras Bracegirdle, his bow over his shoulder and already looking with bright eyes around the twilit scene.  "Lady Gwen!" he cries with a jubilant grin as he espies her.  "Why, fancy finding you here!  Hasn't King Bard made you Marshal of Dale yet?"

"Aye, I am who you seek.  Under better circumstances I wish this calling had come, but time is of the essence and I am bolstered by your arrival.  We must ride for the Tarn with all haste.  If we time it right, the daylight may be on our side."  Upon hearing the voice of the rascal Hobbit, Grimbeorn's demeanor softened slightly.  "Well as best haste may be made with the short legs behind you."

Her face lit when she saw the Hobbit and she immediately went to a knee to hug her diminutive friend, "Oh, my dear Bandy! You bring gladness to my heart by just hearing your voice. Never has your spirit seemed dour and so it pervades us all with joy."

She looked at the Hobbit warrior, girded as he was for battle, and at once it filled her with pride. But then, an unseen feeling of sorrow filled her as she realized that this gentle soul must once more immerse himself into the horrors of combat.

It was a dichotomy that still surprised her.

Granted, Bandy was the keenest shot she had seen with bow and arrow, but the idea that he, in his neatly worn breeches and shirt, would have to face against the death and sorrow she was sure they would find filled her with wrath.

She let her thoughts pass, and laughed at his comment, "No Marshal of Dale, but I have been honored by the King to serve in his court, and now royal guard to the Queen herself." She gestured at her badge of station that was pinned just above that of the Company of the Helm - an emblem worn also by the Hobbit. "How fares your Inn? And you? Have you met others of your folk within the Vale?"

Bandobras smiled as the topic turned to his doings, but then the gruff voice of the bear was heard, and he pardoned himself, if but for the moment, from Esgalwen's inquiry.

Their company was whole save one - a man she thought of as a brother. Arbogast was missing from this merry meeting, and it pained the woman to think of him and his family in danger. Esgalwen's hand tightened on Nimronyn and her face furrowed with anger, but she quickly passed it off when Bandy turned back towards her in his gleeful conversation with Grimbeorn.

The Hobbit was no fool and he touched her sword hand, "They will pay for what they have done."

She nodded, "It is good you are here so that we may save him together."

 :ooc: paul, what kinda force are we looking at? Is this the whole assembled Fyrd or just part of it? What are/will the numbers be?

No matter that the arrival of new allies raises the spirits of the Fellowship, as Grimbeorn surveys the host assembling in the clearing it is apparent to him that it is still small, numbering fewer than eighty warriors though he counts himself and his companions in their number.  Still, he counsels himself, the warriors of the halls north of here are surely close on our heels, and they will number a good several hundred. 

The absence of the northern Woodmen drags on through the following day, however, and as the mid-day meals are eaten within the hall and without, though, he can no longer hide his troubled mind.  "We should already be marching to the Tarn, not sitting around here with boots off and bellies full!" 

Hathcyn's reply, if any were coming, is swallowed as a sentry gives a cry of alarm.  "Strangers approach!"  The small army erupts like a kicked anthill as every man and woman scrambles for their arms.  Minutes later, suspicious-faced sentinels escort the Dowel and his band of outlaws, now diminished in number and more filth-covered than before, into the hall to stand before the Stag-horn and the Fellowship.  "Hail, fair one," the Dowel manages to say, addressing Esgalwen between scowling at his half guards, half captors.  "Come, give us something to eat as we tell you what your kind words and coin have bought you." 

At the Stag-horn's questioning look, the Ranger explains "These men are known to us, and" she adds as she locks eyes with the Dowel, "you may trust them as you would my companions and I, for they serve your people as we do."  The Stag-horn gives a brief wave of dismissal to the sentinels, who nod or bow according to their manners and depart for their posts beneath the trees. 

As bread and ale are grudgingly shared with the outlaws, the Dowel makes good on his promise.  "We slipped in a ways past the outlying creatures and took a look around, though little enough could we see through a constant mist.  The goblins have the hall surrounded on all sides save the water, and you have sought yourself a foolish fight, I think, for at least ten of them there are for every warrior here." 

"It appears that all present of the Fellowship of the Helm have achieved high reknown, Gwen the Knight, Grimbeorn the warchief, and I the humble Quartermaster! I've brought food enough for the fyrd, supplies and wagons for the people of the Tarn, and as many folk as could be found to lend an arm or a bushel of wheat have followed with me or added to our goods."

"Halfman!" Came the call from the caravan. A young Beorning that probably was here under questionable permission from his mother approached. "I need more straw for the eggs. The chickens seem to lay as soon as the wagons stop....oh sorry I didnt realize..." The sight of Grimbeorn the Wolfslayer caused him to pause.

Bandy grinned, "and fresh food too I have brought. An army shouldnt fight on salted meat and biscuit so leave it to a Hobbit to know the ins and outs of feeding a multitude better than that!"

Hathcyn scanned the caravan and the warriors to make quick calculations in his head. He hoped the scouts Esgalwen had convinced to join them delivered a report soon. The hard dangerous parts of the excursion were now beginning. He made a note to inquiry of the Brown wizard what info his beasts and friends could gather for them. He well knew the benefit of foot and bird for information.

"Wolfslayer, we must have a council of war and discuss our plan. Also, if we may recruit the Wizard we need information on the Tarn, and to get a message to our friends that we are close."

 :ooc: I typed these on my phone and forgot to post them.

Word of the numbers besetting his far-flung extended family brought Grimbeorn down a bit.  "Then even with those other Woodmen, the numbers are better but nowhere near our favor."  His thoughts turn more now to how to save the people of the village instead of aiding in its defense.

"Aye, you're right Hathcyn.  Gather the captains of the men here, we will meet presently.  Radagast, would you send some of your friends to both keep an eye on the village and report to us its condition. If possible, send a message, do not lose hope -- we are coming."

Quote from: Telcontar on Sep 10, 2021, 01:44 AM:ooc: I typed these on my phone and forgot to post them.

:ooc: It happens to the best of us. 

Quote from: GandalfOfBorg on Sep 10, 2021, 05:24 AMGather the captains of the men here, we will meet presently. 

Bear in mind, there's only one 'captain' here - the rest are late (or lost, or any of the other things that frequently happened to iron age armies). 

Though the Bear-prince may glower and grind his teeth, little more can be done until the following day when, beneath the cover of a gentle rain that falls with a soft and constant hiss upon the leaves of western Mirkwood, the main body of the Woodmen fyrd arrives.  By this time, the warriors of Rhosgobel have built lean-tos to keep off the worst of the rain, and these they share, albeit with some grumbling, with the newcomers.  Soon, however, the flint of shared hardship strikes sparks of affection between those already present and those newly arrived, and calls from one kinsman to another mix with songs sung since the days of Balthi as bonds of kinship are made strong once again, though the miles and years conspire to fray them. 

As the noises of Men rise into boisterousness without its walls, Radaghast guides a well-girthed and abundantly-bearded man into the hall of Maracar.  "My friends," he announces, "may I introduce to you Munderic son of Mundbur, in whom Ingomer Axe-breaker has vested command of the host of the folk." 

"Aye," Munderic adds, "good, good.  Let us talk of the business that gathers us.  Shall we sit?  Lilla!  Bring ale!"  He fixes the Stag-horn, Esgalwen and Grimbeorn with an appraising eye.  "At my back I have nigh four hundred warriors, and many hounds besides.  We shall fall upon the goblin foe and drive them back deep into their holes!" 

Hastening inside from where he has been greeting the new arrivals, Hathcyn cannot but overhear the grumbling of men at the end of a march.  "...would've been here yesterday, but he got so drunk on the second night that we couldn't rouse him until midday, and we went barely a half-mile before he called a halt..."


:ooc: Here's your chance to strategise, though depending on what you propose, you'll have to convince Munderic (or potentially someone else) to go along with you.

 :ooc:
 :00:


"Given latest reports of the area, the village is beset on all sides, but one where there is water.  Their numbers are robust and we don't know of their means to reinforce but they have been able to lay siege for a long time, which isn't like them.  I propose we strike as fast we can near dawn, giving the people of the village the time to flee the village by way of the water, defended by a small contingent.  Once the people are away, reinforce our strike and fall back.  From there we will be able to understand more of the enemy's capabilities."

:ooc: I will add a battle roll from Esgalwen, too.

TN -- battle 2d

:ooc: I do not have anything to add there narratively, at the moment. But Esgalwen will listen to Grimbeorn and offer input as needed.

 :ooc: i would like to assess our troops. Skill, number, strengths....

Hathcyn walks among them and helps pitch the camp and moves through tje groups.

As Grimbeorn falls silent, Esgalwen responds.  "The folk of the Black Tarn are no cowards, to flee a fight that could readily be won, but neither are they so rash as to leave the old and the young in harm's way when they might be removed.  Moreover, we have all heard the tales of Arbogast and others.  The River Maidens, and perhaps the waters of the Tarn itself, have turned against the folk who live by the shore.  Were it possible for them to fly to safety by that route, I have no doubt they would have done so by now." 

She turns to Munderic, who accepts an enormous ale-horn from a weary-looking follower, and the Stag-horn.  "Hathcyn, first and most loyal hearth-companion of Grimbeorn, has used magic known to his folk to spy out the ranks of the goblins from afar.  He tells us that they are made of many bands, from many places, and are held together by the will of greater orcs from the south.  I know of old how goblin-kind despoils the country in which it lingers.  By now, surely precious little food must remain in the forests around Black Tarn Hall and the besiegers must be growing as hungry as the besieged.  Should we defeat the black orcs of the south, I think the entire enemy host may break." 

Outside, Hathcyn takes the measure of the Woodmen.  They are, he decides, a poor match each for each against the Beornings, but their axes are sturdy and their bows held with a casual ease that speaks of great familiarity.  They are, moreover, in very good spirits despite the rain.  They are united in purpose and will not lightly set aside their duty to come to the aid of their kinsmen. 

As he goes from one shelter to another, sharing words and drink alike, a voice calls to him.  "You!  Beorn's man!"  Turning, the Longspear sees a Woodman of perhaps fifty years, accompanied by two others, plainly his sons.  "I am Arbodag, son of Scyldag and father of Arbogast.  These are Cendag and Oderic, his brothers.  I have heard tell of you and have witnessed myself the skill at arms of your companions.  When the sword-day comes, We are sworn to fight our way through the goblins' lines to come straight to the rescue of the Fire-watcher.  Tell me, will you aid us?"


:ooc: Sorry to put words in Esgalwen's mouth, Doug, but it was a good opportunity to remind you guys of some matters that may have fallen from your attention. 

Hathcyn raised his horn in salute.

"Hail kin of the Firewatcher! I am indeed the one you seek. Make no mistake I shall strike hard against the foes of the Tarn and will bend all my might and will to their salvation. However, I am the Longspear Bannerman of the Wolfslayer. Where he goes in battle I must follow. But this I will swear, stroke for stroke and blow by blow the iron and shaft of our war gear will sing for the relief of Arbogast."

He drained his horn and motioned them to join him.

"Force alone will not see this done. This foe is not a tree to be hacked and felled by brute force. This task is more like a field stone. We will need to pry and shift it by force in the right direction or crack it with fire."

The Longspear poured more drinks and pondered his own words.

:ooc: No - thanks for putting words in my mouth, Paul. I had little in the way to offer narratively. I was feeling exhausted and my brain couldn't think, so it is good.

I will say that Esgalwen might lean on her noble mien to get Munderic to settle down a little on his drinks and make sure he understands that victory must be achieved prior to his apparent celebratory imbibing. She would not be mean or forceful, but she would take on an heir of station and make the firm suggestion.

:ooc: Matt, I believe, is Gen Con bound and may not have much time or energy for posting here.  So far, Esgalwen is working on keeping Munderic sober and Hathcyn is pontificating on the nature of warfare with Arbodag and his sons.  Was there anything else that you guys wanted to play out (or discuss among yourselves) before I move the story on - potentially to first contact between the two armies?

 :ooc: yes. I would like to devise a strategy.

Do we have any info from the Brown Wizard?

How far away are we from the Tarn?

Do we have a rough idea about the lay out of the Goblin camp?

 :ooc: I like Tom's questions.

Outside, the rain falls steadily and the Woodmen huddle together under what shelter the trees provide.  Under the roof of the hall, the talk of the evening turns to the threat to the east.  "What of the foe, wizard?" Grimbeorn asks, accepting his own horn of ale from Munderic's follower.  "Do the beasts and birds bring you tidings of their numbers, or where they are to be found?" 

Radaghast's visage, timelessly elderly, clearly displays his concern.  His brows knot together just as he spreads his hands wide.  "Alas," he replies, "the Enemy's servants have driven all wholesome things of loam and branch before them, and such winged scouts as I have sent forth have seen but little.  For the bulk of the foe is of those goblins who have learned to lurk among shadowed branches and in holes under roots.  They will seek to fight, not in serried ranks but from ambush and concealment." 

"Is there nothing you can..." the Son of Beorn begins to ask. 

"I am the Brown Wizard who came to Mirkwood and made it his home!" Radaghast interrupts.  "What is more, I have taken these folk under my protection and would hardly see them harmed if it were in my power to prevent it.  I shall know more when we are closer, for many of the trees of this wood are known to me, and I hazard that they will speak of those that despoil them.  Much else can I do besides!  But not all that can be done is done wisely, and I must ponder what my best course is.  I shall think on this tonight as I listen to the trees drink deep of the bounty of the sky." 


:ooc: As for the rest, you all know from past experience that Black Tarn Hall is an easy two-day walk from here.  If the Woodmen can get moving before dawn breaks on the second day, they will arrive with daylight to spare. 

From Hathcyn's nocturnal reconnaissance and the more conventional scouting by the outlaws, you know that the goblins don't so much have a single camp as a series of warrens where smaller warbands clustered around totems or sub-leaders.  There are trees and undergrowth everywhere except for a relatively narrow cleared area around the palisade, and some nearby fields where the Tarnfolk grow grain and vegetables. 

The impression I'm trying to convey with all this stuff is that you're not heading for a stand-up fight like you had at Stánford.  It's going to be a chaotic mess of small skirmishes unless you can prompt the goblins to bunch up for a decisive battle.

:ooc: was able to locate the camp of the big orcs?

Can Rahdagast give us any info on the River maidens? As players we are pretty certain they have been corrupted but the characters dont know much about that.

My thought is we dont plan a pitched battle. We spend the day cutting stakes and making wicker screens. Then we send out a flying column to attack the biggest badest leader orcs, sew confusion, cut a hole to the town and then fall back to an improved position in case they counterattack.

So more a complex raid to kill the leaders, carry out the wounded and gtfo

:ooc: That is my thoughts, too, Tom. This doesn't really need to be a pitched battle - more a rescue.

We set up in a strong phalanx to press to the hall - spears and shields on the outside, archers in the center. Once we make the hall, we open the doors and bring the survivors into the formation and then march out.

That is what Esgalwen would offer as input - bringing up some old Gondorian (or Númenórean) combat strategies/tactics that she may have studied in her past - or maybe it is studied Dwarven warfare? Still, as a Ranger, she is not all that familiar with it being more a skirmisher and an ambusher herself.

 :ooc: the rescue alone doesnt break the army and we out numbered. Nothing will stop them then from following us and defeating us as we withdraw. In order to save the town we must do so indirectly by destroying the Army.

Hathcyn spent much of the day with the fyrd, talking, looking, and asking questions. When he came to the hall he was mostly soaked through and the water streamed rivulets from his woolen pants as he entered the hall. He nodded to everyone and took a cup from the table and then stood by the fire where the water began to steam from his clothes.

"They will fight, all of them are united and will go where we ask. However, none know how it will be done or what course is best. They look to the leaders in this hall for that. I dont think brute strength alone will defeat this filth. They out number us and mostly likely would move faster than us, especially if we have the people of the Tarn in tow. The wagons will not lessen the burden by very much even if we carried the wounded and infirm."

Hathcyn rolled the ale around in his mug and stared into the fire a moment.

"In some fights it is the first punch that decides the outcome. In battle as well as on the Field of Heroes. If we swing first and hit hard enough the fight may leave them. We are fighting a host though, not a man. Even so there is a lesson here. Orcs and goblins do not fight as one, if we punch the leasers hard enough and fast enough in sight of the others they may turn and run."

"In this we would need to strike hard and fast at the biggest and largest of the brutes, save the town by not relieving it directly. A heavy column of axe and spear that cuts directly at the head of the beast, and a light flying column to rush to the village when the goblin host begins to fear. Heavy and loud with horns and drums cleaving into its head. This will decide the battle, we can not fight them wall to wall."

There was silence in the room. The plan was simple, but risky. They would get only one chance and if they failed the retreat would mean the loss of the Tarn and also most likely the army.

A small voice, forgotten in the council of war spoke. It came from a bench by the wall. A small bow rested against the wall and several plates lay scattered around the figure who's feet didnt touch the floor.

"Where there is strength of arms and friendship their is hope."

The group saw the Hobbit Bandy come closer to the circle of the group.

"Goblins fear hope, as much as an axe. Even more so when both are together."

He reached into his belt and rummaged around.

"We are not weaponless against hate. We have axe, bows, and the help of the wise....but we also have this."

Bandy drew forth his hand and sparkling light reflected off of the faceted gem he had in his hand. The light of the fire was transformed into the twinkling light of stars.

"Here is the stone of Ardillon, cut and polished anew by Ormal, a Sindar craftsman of the vanished realms living still for a time with Thranduil. I have kept it these many years. My friends here will recall how it made even the great spider of Mirkwood doubt and know again the fear of it's youth. I will bear it again."

"Into the heart of the Army I will take it. With love of friends and the light of Elbereth to shine on our foes their hate will break and the folk of Amaleoda will be free. Friendship and Hope."

:ooc: I was wondering whether you guys would remember that thing. 

 :ooc: oh i was saving it for the big reveal right now. This is the culminating moment were the story called him forth from the past.

Both Munderic and the Stag-horn lean foward, their eyes transfixed by the light of the Stone.  Neither, however, can match the rapture on the face of Radaghast.  "Oh!" he cries.  "Oh, to see the light of Ardillon's stone once again!  My dear small friend, you cannot know the joy this brings me!  I wish only that Saruman had remained to see it, for he learned much of Ormal in the land of Hollin, and taught him much in turn, and such a wonder would have brought delight to his heart just as it does mine." 

His eyes, having grown distant as his mind and mouth wandered the roads of memory, snap back to the here and now.  "If you will bear the Stone, I shall go with the head of Hathcyn's column to direct it to whatever overseers give steel to the goblins' nerves.  If they are in terror of the light of Elbereth, the work of axe and spear will be much the easier." 

Munderic's prodigious eyebrows draw together at the wizard's words.  "I doubt not your cunning, Radaghast, but can this half-man really be expected to go with us into the teeth of the foe?  Why, he..." 

He is cut off by the deep voice of Grimbeorn.  "He can.  He will.  He has already, more times than I have the hours to tell here.  I have seen him face down terrors that would stagger the bravest of Men." 

As Munderic, chastened, mumbles an apology into his ale-horn, the Stag-horn takes up the conversation.  "It is a plan not without its risks, but I see none better that we might arrive at.  If we are to divide our strength then I, who am fleet of foot, shall head the swift men who go to the aid of the village."  She looks at those seated around the hearth-fire.  "Will any of you accompany me?"


:ooc: We have, unless anyone strongly objects, a plan.  Now we're just working out who does what.  I feel that I should mention at this juncture that you don't have to split the party, but it is an option. 

"I will be at the gates of the village before any and I will be the one to follow the last survivor.  I have no doubt the rest of our company feels the same."

Thus is the battle plan decided, and the remainder of the evening passes in discussion of how the warriors are to be divided.  Munderic, to Egalwen's satisfaction, moderates his drinking as the night deepens, though his contributions grow fewer and fewer the longer the council goes on. 

By the time the rain passes and the night lapses into sodden silence, all that might usefully be decided has been so and the leaders of the Woodmen host join their followers in slumber.  Overhead, lost beyond the blanket of cloud, the stars wheel in their eternal circles, their foretelling of which man shall return to hearth and home, and which shall fall on the field, shrouded from the mortals below. 

Rising well before the dawn, Radaghast, Munderic and Bandobras find their small army already beginning to stir, word having passed in the night through warriors' informal means that they are to depart early and march hard.  And though he decries the breakfast as appallingly perfunctory, the Hobbit of the Vales is nonetheless pleased to see that Woodmen go about their business with all due speed and seriousness.  The sun is not yet above the treeline when they wave a final goodbye to their kinfolk and depart along the long and narrow paths through the woods toward the Black Tarn. 

By the agreement of the previous night, the Companions and the Stag-horn wait until the sun is nigh overhead before they leave the Hall of Maracar.  Once again, the deep green and dappled light of the wood enfolds them as they venture onward toward what was ever their final destination.  The warriors chosen by the Stag-horn do not disappoint, for they run for the best part of the day along game trails and down shallow streams, vaulting over great roots of trees with a sure nimbleness born of long familiarity.  For this is the home and shelter of their people, and its ways have been their ways since a time now known only from the carvings of Wuduseld.  By the time of the setting of the sun, they are closer to the battlefield by some twelve miles. 


:ooc: I'm going to do some Travel rolls purely to represent the difficulty of moving at this kind of pace (TN 16).  I'm ignoring :~~: results, though - there's enough people around you that most of that stuff will be taken care of well before anyone needs to bother you about it. 

Esgalwen


Grimbeorn


Hathcyn

:ooc: That's an AP for Hathcyn, and one for Esgalwen if there's an appropriate Trait you can find to tag in. 

Not until the last moments before nightfall does the Stag-horn call a halt to the march.  "Keep close together," she commands the small host, "and light no fires, for I fear unfriendly eyes are already close at hand." 

Nor is her warning without warrant.  Late in the night, as Esgalwen stands sentinel, a gurgling shriek carries to her ears from nearby, stirring many from their slumber.  Nimronyn's hilt is in her hand immediately as she looks about her, searching for some hidden foe.  There!  She catches plainly the tread of stealthy feet nearby, and the dull gleam of moonlight on iron as the branches above part momentarily in a night-time breeze. 

She cries the alarm, but before she can put her sword to work, the creature turns and flees, and the sound of many others nearby accompanies it into the darkness of the wood.  All about her, Men stir and reach for arms, still confused and struggling to wake fully. 


:ooc:  Decision time – do you pursue the goblins into the forest or let them go and maybe try to reassure the Woodmen?  The former will require a Hunting roll (TN 16 – it's dark!) and then an Athletics roll (also TN 16 – they're quick!) to catch up to them.  The latter will require a Persuade roll to convince the Stag-horn not to send her warriors off in pursuit, then an Inspire roll to keep morale up. 

EDIT: And of course, other options may occur to you - I'm open to whatever you come up with.

 :ooc: oh we have to stop? I thought we were going straight into battle.

:ooc: Well, it's more a day from  hall to hall.  Play your cards right, though, and this will be the only time you need to stop.

I doubt we will be able to catch them all and I'm not sure it changes our plan much. If they know we are coming maybe the big bads will reveal themselves. They also will assume we are headed directly to the town not the HQ. 

My vote is restrain the woodmen.

Quote from: Eclecticon on Sep 22, 2021, 09:19 PM:ooc: That's an AP for Hathcyn, and one for Esgalwen if there's an appropriate Trait you can find to tag in.

:ooc: Maybe Adventurous? That would be the only trait that would make sense, as the group's mettle is being tested to move an army and save some companions. Let me know if that will fit the bill.

As for whether to pursue the orcs or to restrain the woodmen, Esgalwen is pretty weak in each skill necessary and so I will go with Tom's idea of restraint. Still, Esgalwen would be torn at this thought, as she does not want the orcs/goblins to be forewarned.

Here is my Persuade and Inspire rolls (the latter I will draw upon my Noble Lineage trait]:
TN 14 Persuade 3d


TN 14 Inspire 2d

The goblins squawked off into the darkness as woodmen raced from their tents, weapons in hand.

Nimronyn glowed faint blue in the shadows and Esgalwen struggled with her decision.

Damn them! she thought. And damn me in this continuous second guessing!

"What was it? What did you see?" It was Cleof, a Wood-man of Woodland Hall. Other men and women were gathering around them, their own weapons in hand. All could see the bane-blade in Esgalwen's hand as it gave off its faint light.

"Goblins," answered the Ranger.

"Then we should pursue them!"

"Aye!"

"Which way? The trail is dark."

The voices spoke out around them all.

Esgalwen shook her head, "No... we let them go."

"What?"

"What is this wisdom?"

"They go to warn their horde of our presence. They will be ready for us."

The Dúnadan squeezed tightly the hilt of Nimronyn and replied in a calm, but commanding voice - one learned from her many days within the courts of Minas Tirith. "Their number was small and though assuredly we could defeat them if found, that will be the challenge. The darkness is their realm to have advantage - the daylight is ours. We will not divide our forces in any way, nor will we lose one warrior to a stray arrow in the night. No, let them run like the cowardly curs they are so that they might gather with their own. There we will slay as many as reveal themselves in the light of day, even with the shadow of Mirkwood around us, the light of the sun will be our shield."

Around her, she could hear the warriors murmuring. Her logic was sound and they knew it. Esgalwen continued, "So return to your beds and blankets. Be rested and ready, for tomorrow will be our day to cleave through these yyrks like a scythe through the summer wheat."

She knew that many of these men and women would not find sleep again tonight. The fiery spirit was now lit as well as the fear, for no man went into battle without some trepidation. It would be their nighttime talks and songs, and the sharpening of their weapons that would steel them in the battle to come.

As they begin to disburse, Esgalwen slid her sword back into its scabbard. Her mind drifted back to the town of Stánford and the despair that took and nearly killed her. In the darkness, she hoped that none of these other brave warriors could see her tremble.

---

:ooc: trying to keep Esgalwen's Idle flaw as prominent in her narratives as possible.

Grimbeorn stood silent at the edge of the gathering, axe in hand.  He was more than prepared to meet those scouts in battle, but knew restraint was warranted.  He comes up behind her and puts a hand to Esgalwen's shoulder as the group disperses.  "Sore to say, you are right.  Now is not the time to follow.  Not only is the darkness on their side, we may have also been led into a trap or a series of them, and we could have been sorely  delayed in that case.  Heavy is the head and heart that wears the mantle of leadership.  Get some sleep, I know I cannot anymore this night for my dreams are filled with dread for our friends, and I know we will need your cool head."

Esgalwen felt the reassuring grip of her friend's hand on her shoulder. She turned to smile at the large shadow of  man, "I will be with you Grimbeorn... at the gates. I will be there to either help free our friend, or to bring his body home so that it cannot be marred by those filthy orcs. I will make sure that Lindwine is with him, too, as well as their children, for I cannot bear to let him lay at rest without them."

The quiet nod from him was all she needed to know that they would win through to the doors of Black Tarn Hall, no matter whether all of Dol Guldur's host lay between.

With that she hugged him. It caught the Beorning a bit off guard, but his arms fell around her. He felt Esgalwen weeping - something he had never seen with this woman. Always did she put on a mantle like she was one of the men-folk, the warrior, the ranger. Never what she was - a woman with the heart and emotions like that of every woman - and he felt awkward as to how to deal with this new display.

She let him go and wiped at her eyes, "I will see you in the morning, my friend."

:ooc: It's exchanges like this that have absolutely been the making of this game.  Really nicely done, guys.

My apologies for going a bit quiet - I'm on leave with my family at the moment and the kids are keeping me busy.  I'll try to get a post up tonight, otherwise it'll be Wednesday sometime.