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Though the sun has not yet risen and the mist sits heavy upon the Dusky River, even at an early hour the world is warm with the last days of summer as Hathcyn pushes a borrowed boat away from the old dock at Woodmen-Town.  Esgalwen and Grimbeorn take up the oars and row swiftly and quietly across the sluggish waters.  The scents of domestic life - wood-smoke and swine, thatch and damp hemp - fade as the world of Men vanishes slowly behind them.  For a minute, all is still, and the companions abide in a place of water and mist outside of Middle-Earth, Arbogast sitting mutely in the stern of the boat, Radagast perched in the prow, whistling in the speech of the bats that can still be heard abroad in the pre-dawn twilight. 

Then, from out of the fog loom the thickly-packed, moss-laden trees of the wilder Mirkwood.  Ancient and sullen they stand, heavy with growths of unwholesome fungus, resentful of all who would trespass upon the soil in which their roots are sunk.  Radagast, satisfied perhaps that no messengers of darkness are on the wing to observe their passage, leaps into the water when the river is still knee-high, and helps drag the boat ashore.  "Its owner will find it here when the sun rises," he says, "but we shall be long past, and our passage obscured, if we do not tarry." 

Nodding in satisfaction, the Fire-watcher goes forth, the Woodman's eyes already finding paths suitable for Mannish feet. 


:ooc: Far kinnel this took a long time, but at least it's started now!  I promise, there'll be more story tomorrow.

Hathcyn grumbled, "i've a growing undeserved reputation concerning borrowing boats..."

:ooc: If this is going to be a Journey series, Esgalwen has 3 skill ranks in Travel, Explore and Awareness - so she might be a strong candidate for any of those roles. Place her as you need, Paul.

Though the Brown Wizard's magics bathe the boughs and trunks of deep and ancient Mirkwood in a sourceless light like the light of dawn or sunset, it is clear that the grasp of the darkness about the forest has grown only stronger away from the Road.  Each stone and tree, each long-fallen branch and the mushrooms that grow in great number upon them seems possessed of a resentful watchfulness, as if the whole forest waits for a chance to visit its malice upon the two-legged interlopers.  Not a hundred paces from the Dusky River, the light of the sun vanishes like a childhood memory, and before and beside the companions the trees stretch on as if to the ends of the world. 

Radagast seeming to be content to follow the Fellowship's lead, muttering near-constantly under his breath, Esgalwen sets as steady a pace as can be made through the twisting maze between the trunks and roots.  Though their going is hardly silent, their speech is spare and seldom, as though words must be rationed like water for the long journey.  Into the empty space between their councils seeps the chittering of unidentifiable beasts, the susurrus of far-above leaves in winds unfelt by those that must go upon the ground, and the creaking of ancient wood as if the trees were turning upon their roots to watch them pass.  Invisible and silent though it may be, the dread and despair for which the greatest of all forests is justly feared is all-pervasive, and even the subtle influence of a wizard's presence cannot drive it fully away. 


:ooc: For those who haven't read through the 2nd edition rules, some locations generate a number of automatic journey events that have to be resolved before you start rolling to make progress through them.  The number of these in the regions covered by the 2E core book range from one to three.  I'm going to assume that the depths of Mirkwood qualifies for at least three, and that the first is a Corruption roll against the malign spiritual influence of the forest itself.  This would normally be TN 18, but I'm reducing it to 16 because Radagast is with you, and the Istari are handy like that. 

Arbogast


Esgalwen


Grimbeorn


Hathcyn

:ooc: Looks like everyone picks up a temporary Shadow point except Hathcyn (:csu: pending anyone wanting to spend Hope on this for some reason).  Everyone also gains a point of Fatigue (these accumulate automatically with each event, but you can get rid of at least some of them with a Travel roll at the end). 

:ooc: Tom, I still have Hathcyn down as only having five Hope.  Surely he picked up some replacement points during the Fellowship phase? 

 :ooc: yes, and my undertaking. I believe he is at 12 or 13. I failed to update that and to add the permanent shadow point. 

 :ooc: Well that's the saddest result for Grimbeorn, but no I won't use a Hope for this.

:ooc: Same with Esgalwen - three 1's dropped! The dice tell crazy stories.

No - I am not going to expend a :vv: either.  :csu:

With the loss of the sunlight and the now oppressive gloom, Esgalwen felt her mood begin to sour and patience shorten. The sooner this task was done, the better.

Hathcyn observed the woods, and in the shadows he saw the dark hue of his wife's braided hair. He marched in silence, but in the fortress of his mind he remained as yet unaffected by the wood.

:ooc: I've fixed up Hathcyn's Hope and Shadow scores - the sheet up on Dropbox now reflects him having 12 Hope and 6 Shadow, including a permanent point.

The miles pass slowly beneath the tired feet of the Fellowship, and it seems that the russet light of Radagast grows slowly dimmer, the radius of its glow slighter, as each new day dawns.  Or does the dawn come?  Here, in this place where no light has shone perhaps in centuries, the turning of the lights of Arda comes to seem as a thing fancied in a dream, its memory doomed to fade upon waking.  The companions sleep when weariness demands it of them, and wakes some hours later to a darkness unchanged and unchanging.  To this monotony, no end is apparent.  In their slumber, they dream of marching.  Waking, they march as if in a dream. 

Hathcyn sees the darkness of Aestid's hair in each shadow, and in the half-waking delerium of his passage he fancies that the scratching of shadowed branches against one another is the pull of the shuttle and pick through the warp.  In the slow shifting of Radagast's light, he fancies that he sees her shadow pass behind nearby trunks. 

Then, abruptly, he is shaken from his fancying as he trips over an upraised root.  Landing heavily, he finds himself in a darkness more complete than he has ever known before.  No sound of his companions reaches his ears.  His heart hammering, he rises once more to his feet.  He could call out for his friends, but who knows what else may lurk in the gloom awaiting an opportunity to make its own answer?


:ooc: This is a Hathcyn-specific challenge (though everyone gets to mark off an additional two Fatigue points).  At a minimum, he'll have to make an Awareness check against TN 16 to find the rest of the Fellowship again. 

 :ooc: lol. oh boy.... I see you have the left the roll to me, how kind... (-D

Hathcyn stopped where he was and settled his beating heart. All was darkness about him, a fox had more than eyes to guide him and so Hathcyn stilled his breathing along with his heart and listened.

He listened without listening. Closing off all of his other perceptions and focused only on listening to what was around him. Not in the active pursuit of finding his friends, that would direct his ears to search for certain sounds and miss others. Instead he just listened and let the sounds filter through is thinking.

He heard the sound of the branches and the air currents he had not felt moving higher in the trees. He heard the fall of water as drops of moisture fell from on high to moisten the earth below in the slow but steady way that wasnt rain but maintained the dampness. Seldom did he hear any animals at all, then he heard it. A cured leather boot scrapping across the knurled bark of an upraised root. The trees which sought to betray them all had in fact saved him. He smiled knowing now which way to walk to find his friends and decided his mind needed to be more focused on the tasks at hand. He gripped the silken scarf with the silver embroidered mice and foxes and moved on.

AS he rose and the focus of his hearing had not quite passed he heard something else. Something that he wished he hadn't, murmurs as if the trees themselves were marking the passing of the party. How would their coming evade such ever present sentinels?

:ooc: I keep an Esgalwen sheet resident on my PC - and I have her at 13 fatigue right now. :csu:

I will update the Dropbox sheet as needed.

The miles multiply before and behind the company, and as the malice of the trees presses ever inward the light of the Brown Wizard has grown dimmer, and dimmer again.  Their stores of waybread and smoked meat are just as noticeably lighter, and what is left is tough and hard, with little water remaining to soften it.  Stomachs moan and growl, and each step becomes ever so slightly harder to take than the one before. 

Then, from the gloom ahead comes the unmistakable sound of battle, though not that of the Free Peoples.  "Goblins," the Longspear hisses, "and spiders besides." 

Arbogast, his eyes heavy beneath his helm, nods slight agreement.  "Each is food for the other, when the opportunity arises." 

Esgalwen, gives a sidelong glance toward Radagast who continues his incessant mumbling, barely acknowledging that the companions have halted.  He looks, if anything, more dishevelled than usual, his robe torn and his long brown beard a mass of twigs and tangles.  "Can we venture around them?" she asks, misliking the thought of battle this deep in the wood. 

"The spiders range far," Grimbeorn answers, shaking his head.  "If we are to avoid them completely, we will need to go miles from our path.  I need not tell you of the days that may add to our journey." 

"Then either we creep unnoticed beneath their very noses..." the Ranger begins. 

"Or we fight our way through," the Son of Beorn finishes for her, his knuckles tightening around the edge of his shield. 


:ooc: I've updated all the online character sheets with the additional Fatigue from the last event (yes, Doug, I've noted your own record-keeping, but as long as I'm doing it for everyone already...).  This one's a little more complicated, though, so I'll save that until after it's resolved. 

A thought grew in the Ranger's mind, "Or perhaps we aid the spiders?"

It came out as a whisper, but still apparent to all based on the looks they gave her. Esgalwen shrugged, "If we go to make an appeal to the parliament of spiders, would it not aid our task by helping them?"

Her face showed a disgust of its own at the thought, but she shrugged again at her own question and wondered at the others' minds.

Hathcyn scowled, but said nothing.

Grimbeorn won't weigh in on this, keeping his dour countenance.  "They are best at killing each other off with no mind to us," he thinks.

Esgalwen heard no response to her inquiry and let the matter be. She drew tighter to the tree behind which she hid, and watched as goblin and spider battled.

She shook her head and whispered once more, "With enemies such as these, our task is made easier by their efforts. Let them destroy each other."

The woman had no idea that she mirrored her Beorning friend's own thoughts.

Hathcyn sat in silence crouched in the mirk. He heard the sound of battle and wondered again at the wisdom of asking the spiders for aid. This was the strangest of tasks they had yet been on.

Arbogast, ever willing to wait   nods approvingly, and thus the matter is decided.  As silently as possible, the companions settle to rest and wait.  It does not seem long thereafter when the clangour of spiders and goblins falls silent, and the only sound is that of many legs busily enfolding what were once creeping, stalking goblins in silken shrouds. 

Without warning, Radagast stands, his radiance shrinking almost to naught as he does so.  He ceases his muttering long enough to say "The line of an elf-built wall of elder days goes not far from here, and though the wall is long fallen, the trees have not grown over it, for there are those among them still that recall the glory of the Firstborn."  The Fire-watcher stands too, ready to be first along the trail.  As the surviving spiders prepare to feast upon their new prey (and perhaps upon their own fallen) the Fellowship begins its passage past them, the need for silence and concealment too obvious to need speaking. 


:ooc: The TN for the Stealth roll is only 14 – the spiders are preoccupied with their meals – but any failure will need some compensatory strategy (and a roll) to reassure them enough that they don't investigate a strange noise...

Arbogast


Esgalwen


Grimbeorn


Hathcyn

:ooc: That's a success for Esgalwen, and Arbogast will drop a Hope point to make his successful as well.  (:csu:)  We have two failed rolls, though, and Hope isn't going to cut it for either of you.  Tom and Matt, you each have an opportunity to make some other sort of roll to encourage the spiders not to investigate.  Otherwise, this will turn nasty. 

The Brown Wizard passes through the depths of the forest like a waft of vapour, even his light seeming to be a natural thing, no more to be commented on than the shifting, dappled illumination in the fairer portions of the wood.  Esgalwen, her habits and reflexes sharpened by years of experience on patrol in Ithilien, follows scarcely more noticeably.  Arbogast, his mouth a rictus of intense fixation, follows in her footsteps. 

The tread of Grimbeorn and his standard-bearer, though, is heavy and the sound of their passing through the thick mulch can scarce be mistaken.  The sounds of activity from the spiders cease, and the dark, silent world beneath the boughs is suddenly suffused with an unbearable tension as all present strain to mark the slightest stirring.   

 :ooc: Looking at my character sheet... is my current fatigue over my weary threshold?

Also looking at skills I can reasonably use here. My stat sucks but riddle seems the best one to conceal intention.

Grimbeorn, knowing his foe well, does what he can to pick his way through the wood in effort to mask his movement or not draw attention to the nearby eight-legged wretches.

 :ooc:
He has Enemy-lore (Spiders) and uses Athletics to finesse his way through the forest to minimize drawing attention via their senses.

Good idea. Can I tap my distinctive feature wary to get through it?

:ooc: I'm fine with that. 

Well-knowing that the attercops' first instinct will be to climb the trees and seek to ambush prey from above, leaps high enough to grasp a branch, deeply gnarled and slick with ancient moss.  Though the bough be heavy, Grimbeorn's size is enough to set it aquiver, and the trees of Mirkwood are so tangled with each other in this place that its stirring sets many others to shaking as well.  As he lands, a hissing comes from the spiders, amidst which the Wolfslayer will later swear was speech like that of Men: "One of the greeeaaat onesssss!  Hide!  Be ssssscarcccce!" 

As the surviving spiders scuttle into hidden holes and crevices, Grimbeorn, fleet of foot, uses their distraction to cover the sound of his running for cover.  Hathcyn follows behind, easily keeping pace while keeping a wary ear out for pursuit. 

If any foe seeks to follow them, though, they are more skillful than he, for no sign nor sound of eight-legged enemies does he mark for the remainder of the day.  So it is that the endless march through the shrouded miles continues. 

:ooc: We're now past the mandatory events, so our guide (Esgalwen, in this case - Grimbeorn has a better Travel skill, but he's serving as the huntsman) makes a Travel roll (TN 16) to see how far you get before there's another one:

:ooc: A neat success, and a perfect opportunity to tag her 'Adventurous' trait for an AP. :csu:

Far above the canopy of Mirkwood, heavy clouds drift overhead unleashing a torrential rainstorm as they pass.  Creeping like voles through the ages-old mulch, all that the companions mark is the slickness of the trunks as the dust and foulness of the upper boughs is washed downwards.  Their waterskins already nearing emptiness, they look to one another in frustration and despair, but Radagast urges them on.  "Near here," he says "is the ruin of a stronghold built by Oropher, who was father of Thranduil in elder times.  There, when Greenwood still was great, they sank a deep well." 

These words are enough to keep them pressing forward until, at last, the trees thin sufficiently that the barest remains of a stone structure may be made out.  Arbogast, his fatigue overcoming his caution, doffs his helm as soon as he is out of the thickest of the surrounding trees and begins frantically scratching at the lice that have come somehow to infest his hair.  The wizard, ceasing whatever magic he has worked to bring the Fellowship of the Helm this far, approaches the remains of an arched doorway.  Scuffing the accumulated filth away with his sleeve, he reads "Here did Rodyn Rosshendu and Malbeth of the Hawk slay each other for the love of the maiden Nimwen.  Thereafter, she departed for the West and we who remain know not of her fate." 

He sighs.  "The grief of this tale suffuses this place, and we should not tarry overlong, but the magic of the elves protects it still and we may rest safely here." 

Grimbeorn, ever pragmatic, has not stopped to listen to the wizard's words, but has followed his nose to the scent of water.  The well he finds is set into the remains of a stone floor, and much muck surrounds it, but it is easy work to tie a thread to the neck of a waterskin and a stone to the other end, and the skin is gratifyingly heavy when he retrieves it.  He raises it to his lips...


:ooc: And here he needs a Hunting roll to avoid an as-yet unperceived threat:

:ooc: A Hope spend will just get you over the line here - let me know if you want to make the spend! 

Meanwhile, what are the rest of the group doing?

Hathcyn took interest in the inscription and took a moment to admire the ruin. He has seen little of the stone work of elves so looked at how the remains were cut and dressed. Ever wary he did not stray far from the group.

Esgalwen walked over to the old stone steps that were evident under the Mirkwood flora and sat herself down with a tired sigh. Her legs ached and she slid a boot from her foot to shake out the many bits of detritus that had entered through its wearing sole and seams.

She had guided them as safely as she was able - with the aid of the wizard - and she hoped that she would possess the energy to find their way out of this darkness, when the time came.

Esgalwen heard Grimbeorn give an approving sound at his success of fishing water from the well, and she smiled to herself. It was the little successes that they needed. Her boot, now shaken clear of all the debris, was slid back onto her foot and she stood and turned to see how much water her friend had retrieved.

---

:ooc: Going to make an Awareness roll to see if she is able to see the potential threat. If this is not allowed, ignore it.

TN ?? awareness 3d

:ooc: I like the way you think, Doug, but this is something that needs to be noticed close up.  I tell you what, though, since I'm a merciful god if not a clever one - I'll give it to you on a straight :g: roll:

:ooc: (I'm just going to give Matt a few more hours to answer, then I'll assume on the basis of past experience that he's happy to spend Hope on what sounds like an important roll.)

 :ooc: Use a Hope.

So overwhelmed is Grimbeorn by the possibility of fresh water that the skin is at his lips before the strange scent, and the sound of effervescence, emerging from within the skin give him pause.  A frustrated growl builds in the back of his throat before he barks out "Brown one!  Stop your prattling about things long gone and tell me whether the water of the here and now is safe to drink!" 

Though Radagast is clearly put out by his tone, the Brown Wizard moves spryly over the litter of the forest floor to lend the aid of his wisdom.  Before he has drawn close enough to Grimbeorn to possibly smell the contents of the skin, though, his face has fallen.  "Oh!  Woe unto me and those I have foolishly guided!  My friend, you are right to be suspicious.  Some subtle taint of darkness has seeped into the waters that move beneath these stones, and I fear that what light has lingered in this place shall not endure past the closing of the winter." 

His hand noticeably trembling, he pulls from within his robe a small leather flask and removes the stopper.  "I had hoped to save this for later in our journey, when strength had fled our limbs, but I see that it is needed already."  He pauses, concentrating on pouring a measure of a think and sweet-smelling liquid from the smaller vessel into the larger.  "Draw water and fill your skins.  The Mirkwood cordial will act against any bane or enchantment that might otherwise affect us.  Oh, but we shall have so little left!" 


:ooc: Good call on the Hope spend, Matt.  Grimbeorn has avoided being incapacitated by a day or more, plus gaining some Shadow points.  On the other hand, everyone gains two Fatigue from the long and thirsty march to get here (:csu:).   

:ooc: I've also looked over everyone's sheets and realised that it might be more beneficial to have Grimbeorn (Travel 4) as the Guide, Hathcyn (Hunting 3) as the Huntsman and Esgalwen (Awareness 3) as the Lookout.  Does anyone have an issue with the switching of roles? 

On the assumption that nobody does, here's Grimbeorn's roll to see when the next event occurs:

:ooc: Oooooh, that's a fail without spending more Hope on it...

 :ooc: fine with me.

 :ooc: Does Grimbeorn's Hardy trait help with any of this?

The march continued on from the elven ruin and the companions changed up their order. Esgalwen no longer had the lead as guide, turning those responsibilities over to Grimbeorn. Instead she took up the rear of the group with her bow at the ready and her eyes peeled for any danger.

She listened to the wizard's constant mumbling and hoped it would be soon that he revealed their close proximity to the spiders' warren. There were tells revealing that they were getting closer - many of the trees they passed were now draped with fine silk that was filled with the sticks and leaves from the branches above making it look like they wore prickly coats down their trunks. Esgalwen was used to seeing moss and ivy cover a tree's height, but these coverings were eerie. The smell of rot emanated from them, as she was certain that small rodent bodies were also part of the trappings, as well as the decaying foliage. If any of the company touched, backed into, or fell against one of these trees, the coat would press in and fear would rise that something might spring out - but nothing had as of yet.

Suddenly Grimbeorn was confused. There was no path - only moldy, silk covered fauna of the forest floor - and the roots of three large trees cropped out of the ground as if they were barriers. Esgalwen knew his challenge having served as the company's guide the days prior. She spoke to herself, but it still was audible in the pressing forest, "Be wary, my friend. Think it through."

Esgalwen turned in her place to keep a lookout over them all, as Grimbeorn chose their path.

Quote from: GandalfOfBorg on May 05, 2022, 04:20 AM:ooc: Does Grimbeorn's Hardy trait help with any of this?

:ooc: Give me some narration explaining how it does, and it will.  Spider Lore might also be useful, if you want to work that in. 

 :ooc: Hardy -ish, more Enemy Lore (Spiders) I guess...

Grimbeorn took only a moment to catch his breath and wits about him, his hardy nature ignoring what little fatigue befell him in these environs.  A traveller of many roads and paths far and wide in this part of the world, he knew how to pick the quickest, least tiresome trail.  Still this wood offered little in options of both expediency and shortest distance. 

Few times has he dared enter the vast lair of those that took his mother from him all those years ago so he had a to ponder a moment.  Surveying the scene, it struck him that his first thought should be to avoid whichever is the easiest-looking path for the spiders were devious in their snares for a panicked prey would take the path of least resistance, utterly falling into their snare.  But they were seeking this foe out, so he put it to the group.  "It appears that we have come to one of the forced turning points the maze of the spiders.  Do we head down the path of least resistance and purposefully to their trap or take the delicate and more difficult way around it to possibly catch them unawares?"

"Not as foes do we come into the spiders' realm, but as petitioners," muses Arbogast.  "And yet, there exists no peace between their kind and ours, so we must reckon as invaders.  I would not hesitate to take a longer, more difficult road if it will allow us to seek victory via strategem, and not simple force of arms." 

Esgalwen nodded in consent to Arbogast's words.

"I agree with this counsel as well Wolfslayer."

Barring any words of wisdom of the Brown Wizard to the contrary, Grimbeorn picks out the best way to by-pass this fork, avoiding as much as is possible to not disturb the webs.  The forest beyond only appeared to have more webbing and more dangerous but that soon gave way to more and dense forest, more of a reason why the spiders didn't roam here as it was more difficult a passage for their lumbering, languid bodies.  It proved more difficult for the Men, yes, but it kept them more at arm's length from the enemy as well.  They could see at what little distance was visible which way the lost, unwary, and frightened would be funneled to their eventual doom.

"I've seen men with ice cleat like spikes on their boots climb the tall trees along the forest road. I did not think to bring some. Perhaps going higher would have been an advantage, or at least another means to escape these webs."

Taking their cue from Radagast, who now walks slower, placing each tread with increasing care lest any footfall find some hidden snare of web and woe, the company presses ever deeper into the realm of gloom beneath the sea of leaves.  The air now is perpetually still, save on those few occasions when a fire must be lit to cook the food that has been carefully hoarded, or gathered from beneath the roots that knot so tightly together that the ground, it seems, is naught but layer upon layer of woody growth, gnarled as hags' fingers.  Despite the charms of concealment that the Brown Wizard weaves about the company, the forest seems ever watchful, and the presence of unseen eyes has come to be so familiar that recalling a time without it comes to seem as if it happened in a fanciful dream. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, the miles pass behind them until, so abruptly that it draws gasps from throats thick with silent disuse, a light appears ahead.  No shining of sun through a clearing is this, though, but a pale and cold thing, silent as a spirit in the deepness of Mirkwood.  As the companions watch, it moves ever so slightly, bobbing like a torch at the end of an outstretched arm. 

Hathcyn instinctively casts his gaze about, seeking some hidden foe that might take advantage of this distraction, but the darkness around them is all-concealing.  "Beware," he hisses.  "We cannot expect friends here, and not all lights are to be trusted." 

And yet, and yet, and yet...  The promise of light after so long in the gloom is so appealing that it is as if the light calls the companions forth from where they huddle, in filth and fear.  Ease, it seems to promise, and safety, if only they will come to it...


:ooc: Everyone needs to make an Insight roll (TN 16) here:
Arbogast


Esgalwen


Grimbeorn


Hathcyn

:ooc: That's a straight-up success for Hathcyn, and Arbogast will spend a Hope to succeed. (:csu:)  Esgalwen and Grimbeorn can do the same, if you want. 

Hathcyn remembered with a shutter the hall of the wight when last they went deep into the wood. The fact that the light seemed so welcoming caused him to doubt it all the more. "Who would come here with such a light? One of the elves? Unlkiley, we have seen the ruin of their old homes. A warrior with a gem like the Halfling's? Also a slim chance." Hathcyn thought to himself the possible reasons to trust the light and discarded them one by one.

He whispered ever so slightly, "unless this is the light of another unknown wizard we dont know I dont trust it here."

His spear was long and cumbersome in the dense growth and extra care had been taken not to disturb gossamer spider threads with it, but the warrior scanned his immediate area for room should he need to swing the leaf shaped blade. He knew it would serve him well in the tight spaces to stab if the need arrises. 

Esgalwen felt her will tested and she wanted to move towards the comfort of the light, but then Hathcyn whispered. His words were more like a hiss in the darkness, but it was enough for the Ranger to shake her head and clear the spell.

Whatever the light may be, she would not willingly let it take her.

---

:ooc: I will spend the :vv:

 :ooc: Use  :vv: 

Again this errand saps at the will and resolve of Grimbeorn.  Only by the touch of Esgalwen at his shoulder and word of warning kept him from disregarding the snare.

The Fire-watcher's heart sinks further and further as he sees the light shining between the trunks and hears at the same time Hathcyn's warning.  Woe unto all Men, he thinks if light itself may no longer be trusted.  What then will keep the Shadow at bay?  Aware that, in this place of oppressive gloom and constant danger for those that go abroad on two legs, his thoughts may not be entirely his own, he screws his eyes tightly shut and grips tightly the root before him, for he wishes more than anything else in the wide world to go to the light, be it ever so cold and untrustworthy.  Salt water seeps beneath his eyelids, and he does not know if it is sweat from beneath his helm or tears of exhausted frustration. 

But the breath stays steady in his chest, and the moment passes as all moments must.  When he opens his eyes again, the wyrdlight has vanished as if it never was, and the weary tread forward begins again. 


:ooc: That's a nice little hazard avoided, gentlemen.  Let's have another Travel roll to see when the next one crops up:

:ooc: And it turns out, there won't be one!  Grimbeorn's solid guiding skills get you the rest of the way there without further incident.  Now, those of you who've been paying attention to their character sheets will note that you've each accumulated six points of Fatigue on the journey.  Everyone now gets a Travel roll, and sheds one of those points on a success, plus an additional one for every :%:.

Arbogast


Esgalwen


Grimbeorn


Hathcyn

:ooc: Successes all 'round, with extra sweeteners for Esgalwen and Grimbeorn.  Arbogast will tag his Mirkwood Lore for a second AP, and I'm happy to go with the assumption that Esgalwen ('Adventurous') and Grimbeorn ('Hardy') do the same. 

:csu: for everything.  Stand by for more tomorrow. 

EDIT: Dropbox isn't letting me upload the updated sheets.  I'll get them up when I can.

:ooc: Excellent!