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Forsaking anything that could be taken for a path, Beorn leads the Fellowship directly up the steep sides of the peak.  Here, at least, the slope is not as steep as the bluff that they climbed to topple the Shadow stone and enough hardy plants still cling to the stony soil that finding foot- and handholds is easy enough.  Trees are few, however, and far between, and the westerly wind blows unrelentingly, snatching at hair and cloaks, and casting grit into unguarded eyes.  Nowhere does there seem to be shelter, and though the high ridge-line is now shrouded in gold, the shadows are deepening on the eastern side of the mountain.  None need to be told that with nightfall will come terrible cold. 

"I've not been this way before," Beorn growls during one of the all-too-rare rest breaks he calls, "and I don't know where we might stop that we won't find our bones frozen come daybreak.  So we've a choice before us: to find a sheltered rest, or to make one out of a bower we can weave while the light lasts." 


:ooc: This part of the adventure will resolve essentially as a series of journey episodes, though they'll often involve more than one PC.  On this occasion, you can try another cooperative Craft challenge (needing fewer successes than toppling the stone, though the TN will be a little higher than that) or use Explore to try to find a place. 

Esgalwen knew the imminent threat that was before them. She had not spent much time in the heights of the Misty Mountains, but knew the dangers from her experiences in both the White Mountains of her home and the Mountains of Shadow where she toiled with her fellow Rangers.

"I trust not in my ability to weave a defense, though my companions might know better. I say we explore further in hopes of finding a windbreak in the mountain-side, or even a cave.

"But I will follow the company's decision and aid with the best of my talents."

Arbogast regards his hands critically, as if considering a purchase at a market.  "I have always been a far better finder of paths than a craftsman.  I too would look further for a resting place."

"Then let us divide the effort. Seek for us a path and we'll gather what dead fall we may in your absence. Should you find a spot we can hail it along for a fire, if not many hands will make quick the making of a windwall."

Gwaithlim nodded in agreement.  Though the elements themselves are but a trifling of discomfort to elves, protection for his companions is important, if not also as a means to hide their presence.  So that is the focus of his efforts in assisting the construction will be in using the natural environs what's available to help obfuscate the shelter.

 :ooc:
 :00:

Nodding agreement, Arbogast turns to Esgalwen.  "Come," he says.  "let us see what there is to be found." 


:ooc: Let's do some Explore rolls.  A basic success from either character will find somewhere where you won't die.  Each degree of success after that will reduce the Endurance you lose from the conditions. 

Arbogast


Esgalwen

:ooc: Doug, I'll leave it up to you whether you want to spend Hope for a success.  If you do, though, you'll reduce the Endurance loss by two points (from three to one). 

Another opportunity to excel at craft.

:ooc: I am sorry to say that I won't be putting a :vv: towards the roll. I can recover :zz: but not :vv: . Sorry, you guys.

Once again though - we see that her efforts in anything but swinging a sword always leave us wanting. It makes it real damned hard to earn any AP.

 :ooc: im not sure being a generalist works in TOR.

Quote from: Telcontar on Oct 06, 2022, 10:06 AM:ooc: im not sure being a generalist works in TOR.

 :ooc: I would contend most characters are generalists because this is a no-magic system with very limited special abilities, so we pretty much only have skills to work with.  Though when it comes to the stone cracking, we could have used Valour test as this was a special situation combating something of the ancient Shadow.

Going left and right across the mountainside, Esgalwen and Arbogast search for shelter while Hathcyn and Gwaithlim busy themselves trying to gather loose stones and deadfall branches to both hide their resting place and block the incessant wind.  Little can be found here, however, so near to the tree line, and Beorn argues against venturing lower.  "The trolls will already be stirring deep down where the mists are thicker," he counsels "and we are already too few to fight them off if one should stumble upon you while you gather deadfall."  So it is that only a pile of stones awaits the Ranger and the Fire-watcher upon their return, the former empty-handed but the latter with the news that a shallow crevice is to be found not far to the north. 

Slight indeed is the Woodman's proposed refuge!  Barely is it deep enough to hold all five of the Fellowship seated and propped against the stony walls, and narrow enough that Beorn cannot comfortably fit inside but sits crosswise, his broad shoulders and furred cloak almost plugging the opening.  The stones found by Elf and Man create a low and fragile wall to the Old Bear's side, but do little to conceal them, or to hold back the winds that wail and dance beyond the entrance. 

Night falls all too quickly, bringing with it numbing cold, for there is no space to light a fire and the outraged howling of mountain trolls sounds throughout the endless dark hours, and though the companions emerge safely, they do so stiff, sore and in poor humour.  Beorn says nothing, but growls in response to any question, his cracked ribs palpably paining him.  Still, once their fast is broken their way is clear, for a ridge-line winds its way above the mists towards a northward peak and it is plain that Beorn intends to walk it. 

Coaxing aching muscles into lifting packs and drawing summer's cloaks once more about them, they begin to shuffle forth. 


:ooc:  Everyone gains two points of Fatigue (I haven't marked off character sheets yet but will at the first opportunity). 

The mood of the group and the situation has brought the mood of all down, including the normally even-keeled elf.  The previous day's adventure has taken its toll and the new day doesn't appear as though it intends to make amends.  He keeps his mouth shut unless absolutely necessary as these Men are quick to ire and spite.

:ooc: Esgalwen fatigue updated to 16 on dropbox :csu:

Hathcyn was not happy about the wind, but at least stretching out and walking relieved the muscles that had tightened from lack of space and proper rest.

"This mountain side inn is not to my liking. I shall be sure to steer the guests of the Fox's Tale away from these parts. The bed was lumpy, the beer more like water, and the fur covered door growled and snapped. I shall press on in the hope of better accommodations and shall not pay the inn keeper when I depart."

Hathcyn hoped for a warmer night at the end of the next days rest and hoped to be better armed for it.

"Wood is scarce here on the scree of the ridge. But I intended to gather what I may see as I we walk should it cross my path. Perhaps together we may gather enough to at least have a warm meal when next we rest."

 :ooc: Gwaithlim keeps a weather eye out for trouble.

 :00:

All throughout the day, the companions are buffeted by the winds that hurtle first this way and now that across the sharp line of the ridge and drive the mists of the lower vales like waves against the shore.  Cold indeed it blows, and tugs like covetous hands at cloaks and clothes, no matter how tightly the five try to hold fast to their meagre shields against the chill air. 

In this clime, each forward step is a challenge for the ground is as broken and uneven as the blade of a saw, and each forward step must be carefully placed lest the ever-changing wind tug an inattentive traveller off-balance and cast them to the scree slopes below.  All tire quickly, not from the effort of walking, but of being ever alert to the danger. 


:ooc: This is going to be a whole-group Travel test vs TN 16:

Arbogast


Esgalwen


Gwaithlim


Hathcyn

:ooc: That's AP for Esgalwen and Gwaithlim, and Hathcyn gets to tag 'Wary' for one as well.  Arbogast, Weary as he is, blows his roll and loses some Endurance:

The shrieking of the wind makes speech difficult, and for the most part the company trudges along the ridge without a word.  Though the sky itself seems determined to shake them from their footing, they are sure in their passage as the sun rises to their right, shines above them and creeps slowly downward to their left.  The eastern slopes are in shadow and the west bathed in shining gold when Arbogast, without warning, topples from the ridge and goes rolling down the scree, the clank of his helmed head meeting a stone resounding even above the wind. 

Gwaithlim, watchful as he is of his companions' footing as much as the surroundings, cries out in alarm but it is Hathcyn, ever swift of foot, who springs to his aid, his feet barely slowing as he bounds from one secure spot to another.  Beneath his iron spectacles, the Fire-watcher's face is bloodied, but his eyes are keen as the Longspear reaches him.  "A Shadow-sent wind I name this!" he coughs as Hathcyn helps him stand.  "And this clear air is treacherous, for I thought the peak so close this morning but find it little closer now!"   

"Come Woodman, this mountain has no love for us, but that is no cause to dance upon its sides."

The two climbed back up the loose rock of the ridge line to join the others.

Long is the march and grim are those upon hill, so Gwaithlim sings a song of a similar yet more deeply dire trek through the mountains -- the flight of the Gondolindrim from the city's sack, the appearance of the demon of smoke and fire, and its fall with Glorfindel.  He couldn't think of anything more fitting (nor anything to lighten the mood).

:ooc: Just for fun, let's do a Song roll:

Though the tongue of the song is strange, still its melody eases their hearts as they struggle onward to where they at last find a resting place at the foot of a slope steep enough almost to be a cliff face.  This, Beorn announces as they prepare their meagre supply of firewood, they will ascend on the morrow.  "I've not come this way before, as I'm sure you can tell, but we can't be far from where we're going." 


:ooc: Matt, as a one-off for Gwaithlim's singing, I'm going to take a leaf out of Rivendell (leaf 24, to be precise) and grant him the Inspiration from the song - two bonus dice, usable on any single roll or, per our new house rule, as one bonus die and to activate a non-combat action, as long as both happen in the same round.  He also gets an AP.  :csu:

:ooc: A most generous and inspired ruling by our Loremaster.

 :ooc: Nice :) Thank you

This statement of Beorn's prompts again the question on the others' minds and which the elf forwardly posits again.  "Lord, might we be privy to this destination if it is indeed as close as you say?" Gwaithlim asks tactfully.

Beorn looks the elf in the eyes, silently holding his gaze for a long while.  At last, heaving a sigh of mighty resignation, he answers.  "Not to the top of the mountain.  At least, not today.  Near there, though, there's a secret place of which I've not told my son, nor his mother while she lived, nor any other." 

At the looks of the companions, closely huddled around the embryonic fire, he spreads his hands.  "I'm bound by a vow I made long ago to speak not of it, nor why I have to go there.  Would that I could tell you everything, for that would be an end to this questioning!" 


:ooc: Beorn's a grumpy bugger, and there are limits to what he can say directly, but he's also not going anywhere.  If you want to dig deeper, tell me how you're going about it and we'll make some rolls. 

If not, I'll move things on as you continue up the mountain.   

Hathcyn watched the flames humming softly and then he began to speak to those trying to squeeze warmth from the small wind swept fire.

"Here we sit, perched upon the side of the mountain. I feel something of the Firewatcher's calling, the need to tell a story. As is the custom that we may pass the time and to remember the days of old."

"As many of you know the settlements of my people are often ringed with white stones some distance from our homes. This is a warning and a sign to all who approach that the hunting of animals is forbidden within the ring, a custom passed down to us from our oldest days when we came to the great river."

"This story begins, as many often do, far in the past and where the stars are different, perhaps away in the east where the place all folk have risen."

"Long we dwelled there and as the ages came and went a shadow would sometimes rise and we would hide and seek safety with our animal friends, the noble guides of our houses.  Deep into the woods and hills we would withdraw. Unwilling to completely quit the land we had always known and unwilling to leave the spirits of our ancestors. In those days we dwelt as one with those who came before us, our fathers from ancient times, and the spirit animals we took as brothers and sisters. In those days the unbroken line of family was not so remote and not so distant. There was a cycle to life then, days and nights, summer and winter, much as there still is today. However, in the in between times, the times of changing the moments between day and night, night and morning, the setting of the sun and rising of the moon, the longest day between summer and the dying of the year. In these times the barrier that separated the living and the dead, the spirit and the beast would become thin and the folk could be whole and all together."

"One day out of the west came two messengers, Morine and Romeso. The two were clad in the blue of deep water they came to the people with great wisdom and a grave warning. They said that a time was coming and not far off when the darkness would come again. Unlike the times of our fathers, we would find no refuge in even the remote corners of our land. The people were troubled, for these men were held in great esteem. Great councils were held among the men, among the beasts that were our guides, and among the voices of the past. And though the two messengers were great hunters and we asked them to help us fight if we could not hide they would not counsel any other course but flight and in time our guides and our most ancient of fathers counseled the same. Many tears were shed at the parting and the leaving of the graves of our fathers and to our greatest pain the circle was broken."

"The loss was greater than expected, the folk lost the voices of their fathers and the help of the guides. Even during the greatest times of changing their voices were sundered from us and bitter was every step that carried us towards the west. We wandered west and in our travels some accepted us and others rebuffed us, but always the sorrow of what we lost was our heaviest burden. We then came into the tales of the people of this land to find that they too were in turmoil. Kingdoms were rising and falling the people suffering their own pains."

"Then in a time that is still dim and only hazily remembered we came to the great river. A great body of water that remains the same yet is always changing, here in a land that is neither wood nor mountain something that we thought forever lost returned. Our animal guides came back to us here. We found the voice needed to speak to them in this new land. At night and in the changing time we may pass our mortal flesh to run and hunt with our ancient friends to sing of the old days when we all were whole and one folk. Though our fathers remained lost to us in this place by the great river our guides returned."

Hathcyn broke a few of the remaining sticks and fed them into the fire.

"And so we return to the white stones. In this land we found we could run again with our guides, but not with our living bodies, and while we wandered we could suffer wounds and our bodies perish. The stones set the boundary where guide and spirit may be free and safe from harm Our greatest law is that none hunt at anytime within the circle, to protect not only ourselves, but to preserve a sanctuary for the flesh and hides of our guides. Even in our greatest of needs we will not hunt within the circles we have set aside. "

Hathcyn looked from the windswept ridge in the direction of the great river.

"We will not leave this land. We have lost the voices of our fathers, but we have found by chance or by design the voices of our guides. We will not risk their loss again and though the Carrock be the last island bastion of our people the river will never grind it down and forever will it mark our finding of each other again and we shall never surrender it."

"I am Hathcyn Foresthelm, brother to the fox, and I speak this tale as I heard it from my father."

The mountain campsite was quiet for a time as Hathcyn's words settled into the night and floated on the fire smoke into the sky. In the telling of the tale Gwaithlim perceived the image of a bear behind the great chief Beorn, and beside Hathcyn a fox with folded paws that listened with upturned ears to the words of the tale.

The elf was the first to speak.

"Hathcyn, while I have not heard this tale before I can tell you that it should have a place in the Hall of Fire in the west if you ever find yourself there. The names you spoke stir a memory, the fragment of a larger story. In friendship I can add to your telling the rightful names of the two messengers you spoke of Morinethar, the Darkness-slayer and Rómestámo, East Helper. Both were servants of Oromë, the husband of Vána, and the greatest hunter of Arda. He long wandered in Middle-earth and fought against the beasts of shadow even in the days before the sun and moon. Those two came at his bidding and long ago they passed into the east. Few are the tales we have of them but in your telling I see they have continued to struggle against the shadow."

With the Elven song stirring her heart and creating images within her mind, as if by magic, and Hathcyn's tale of his forebears, Esgalwen looked to the heavens above and saw the Evening Star.

It had many names.

To her and her kindred, it was called Rothinzil and Gil-Estel, or the Star of Eärendil. The elves spoke of it being a ship that was set in the outer heaven by the Powers that ruled the world, and its captain wears upon his brow one of the great Silmarils of legend. Eärendil the Mariner - the forebear of her own people.

She thought about recounting a story that she knew from her youth of Westernesse and the heroes of a greater time, but instead she just looked at the star for a bit and then lowered her eyes. She pulled her cloak tighter about herself, smiling at Hathcyn as she did, and sat quiet.

This was their tale to be told. Gondor was far away and Númenor was gone. Even a story of Ithilien, which was where her heart lay seemed an interruption. Esgalwen had no desire to take away from her friends with old tales of glory to which none could relate.

:ooc: This is awesome stuff, and I stand ashamed at my lack of storytelling ability of late. 

As he listens to Hathcyn's tale, the dark clouds that linger in Beorn's mien clear, to be replaced by a look of deep and abiding weariness.  "It's a fine tale you tell," he sighs, "and well you tell it.  I wasn't here in the bygone days, of course, but the joy I find in the ongoing bond between the folk and our forebears grows greater the older I get.  It's as much a comfort to me, here on this blasted mountain, as my own son, long may he live!  But mark me, Foresthelm, and mark me well, for not all the guides, as you name them, are filled with goodwill." 

Hathcyn's brows rise, and Esgalwen and Gwaithlim's lower, as the younger man asks "I know there are darker and crueller things that go abroad in the dark hours, but surely those that are kin to us can be trusted?" 

"Hah!  Would that it were so!" Beorn responds, looking up from the fire at the faces of Esgalwen and Arbogast.  "But I heard from my own flesh and blood of your battle with the Werewolf.  Do you not think that it may once have been a friend to our folk, just as the fox is?" 

"Do you mean," the Ranger asks carefully, "that the spirit within that beast was turned to the service of the Shadow?" 

Beorn looks away over the darkened expanse of Wilderland, and it is Arbogast who speaks.  "I know not of many things that our guide keeps to himself, I am sure, but I believe I know his mind on this.  The Enemy is patient and subtle, and wages his campaign on many fronts, not all of them visible to the likes of us.  I'll hazard you are right, my friend," he answers Esgalwen.  "And what is more," he adds, looking steadily at Beorn, "I'll hazard that the bear within him is turning toward the darkness, or perhaps has done so already."

"Then we shall call him back if it is in our power to do so!

"I had not considered the great werewolf to be one in the same, but this is troubling news none the less. Much better do I feel now in the toppling of the dark stone."

The Longspear's mind was troubled and he dwelled upon the possibilities he heard by the fire. As his mind turned the idea over in his head he picked up a small bits of wood. The ridge wind had almost petrified the pieces and they were almost as hard as stone, but very dry. His hands set to work upon them with a small knife and he began to work small foxes from the bits of wood and placed them into a pocket. He had taken to the idea of leaving these tokens upon the mountain in their journey, casting down the great menhir and leaving another mark behind.

In the morning before the companions departed a small cairn of piled stones one atop the other was near the remains of the fire and upon it stood the small silent figure of a fox.

The elf keeps to himself, his thoughts on those of his companions and what the implications of this venture might be.  Is it the end of Beorn that we are here to witness?  Mayhaps to end the creature within, which could lead to the same result?  All the more reason it his son had not joined them. "Your words are true, Hathcyn.  Any and all means to reduce or rid Middle-earth of the Darkness is the charge of all Free Peoples.  That act, though small it seemed, is but just another bit of cleansing of the world."

"And small our acts have seemed. Each of us bears the wounds and scars of many battles, and in the light of every victory a shadow is cast from which a new trial is born. I sometimes find it hard to see the small victories tipping the balance in any meaningful way, but that is the mindset of gloom. The Firewatcher's People live in peace, the victory at the San Ford brought a greater peace, the King in Dale sits upon his throne with his wife. These deeds are not so small in the light of day. The hunger and the wounds not so deep when the deeds are taken in the measure."

The man smiled at the elf and a dark hole where a tooth once perched showed the bare flesh of his gums. He raised a finger and pointed to it.

"Though the toll I paid once for a rented boat seems to be the most bothersome it does provide a speedy path for honey wine and beer and the chattering from the cold on the mountain is less."

He laughed into the mountain wind and smiled. "I have walked below the earth and now stride upon the backbone of the world. On, on you noble friends! For what power in the earth ever reckoned on the fate of men, and what stories we shall tell upon our return!"

:ooc: Tom, I forgot to say earlier but I'm going to award Hathcyn an AP for Song, for the story (:csu:).  No dice were rolled, but this is very much behaviour that I wish to encourage. 

As the day begins, the dawn sun bright upon the mist of the lower slopes, the companions are faced with the tall expanse of bare rock looming far above them and barring their way to the heights of the mountain.  Here and there, though, winter ice and summer winds have opened cracks and carved tiny ridges enough that a brave climber might make an ascent.  These are sparely spaced, however, and it is clear that the companions might spend at least as much time searching for a route higher as actually making their climb. 

Arbogast raises his eyes and judges the challenge before them then, humbled, lowers his gaze.  "Though I have found paths across hill and vale, through trackless fens and into the heart of Mirkwood itself, I would not be first to prove myself against this.  No great climber am I even of trees, and my body has already been sore tested." 


:ooc: Okay, so this day of climbing is going to work in three sections, and in each one there'll be a preparatory test.  The catch is that the person making the test has to be the lead climber, as they'll be continually reassessing their route as they go higher and higher.  If the preparatory test gets made, then everyone gets a bonus die on the subsequent Athletics roll.  If not, the TN goes up as suboptimal decisions get made. 

The test for the first section is Explore, at which Arbogast would ordinarly rock out, but he's Weary and only has two dice in Athletics.  If anyone else wants to try their luck first, he's willing to let them.   

Hathcyn looked at the terrain and the  :ooc: rising shelf of hard rock.

"I shall do it."

The Beorning began to play out lengths of rope and check them for fraying or damage and then checked the seems and fittings of his boots.


 :ooc: Paul, wondering if we can get mechanically creative here. Is it possible to spend time to make it take longer and instead of tapping wary for an auto success, which seems hokey, and instead decrease the TN?

Esgalwen stared at the cracks and ridges of the mountain and thought of home. Minas Tirith was built into the side of a mountain and as kids they had played long and hard on the craggy prominence. Even in Ithilien and her service to the Rangers, the mountainous landscape was her home - but idleness clutched at Esgalwen's heart and she hesitated when Arbogast spoke.

Hathcyn's quick decision literally made the Ranger jump, as she stared at the task and dwelled in her memories. She hoped the others did not see, but added, "I am used to such terrain. I think I can lend a hand in making this task easier."

---

:ooc: I have an Explore 3/Athletics 2 combo as well, but she is not weary and her Explore is favoured.

:ooc: I'm going to go with Esgalwen's skills for now, but keep that idea in mind Tom, I've got something coming up for that later.

Esgalwen (Explore TN 14)

:ooc: That's a nice success for Esgalwen (:csu: for the AP) so everyone gets to roll a bonus die on the Athletics test:

Arbogast


Esgalwen


Gwaithlim


Hathcyn

:ooc: Successes for Arbogast and Hathcyn, failures for the other two.  Let me know if you want to spend some Hope, or suffer the (non-fatal) consequences of a fall. 

 :ooc: No I'm good.

:ooc: Esgalwen will suffer the fall, too.

I am thinking Athletics will definitely be her next improvement.

:ooc: Right, let's roll some bones:
Esgalwen


Gwaithlim

Sheer is the rock face against which the company struggles, nor has the wind slackened since the previous day.  Hair, cloaks and unsecured belongings are all dashed about , flying in faces and tangling in the rope that secures the copmanions each to the other.  Esgalwen has a mountaineer's eye and strong hands are equal to the task, and her ascent is steady until a sudden burst of frenetic fluttering erupts from next to her newly-placed handhold as a wallcreeper (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wallcreeper), startled from its resting place, bursts forth and draws a yelp of panic from the Ranger. 

Overbalancing, she topples backwards, and Hathcyn's cry of warning comes not soon enough to save Gwaithlim, who is himself yanked from his precarious perch by the force of the falling woman.  Beorn, however, has found firmer footing, and to him it falls to break their fall, still-thick muscles knotting in his arms but not managing to forestall a howl of pain as the rope reaches its limit and his wounded body protests the sudden shock.  Lengthy and delicate work it is to replace the pair upon the cliff and with trembling limbs resume the climb. 


:ooc: Esgalwen loses three Endurance from her unexpected tumble, and Gwaithlim two.  :csu: 

Reaching at last a place that, if not flat and level or quite broad enough for the whole company to rest in comfort, is at least less demanding of arms and legs burning from hard use.  Worse seems in store, however, for the bare rock before them now looms high and sombre as a fortress wall and overhangs the Fellowship's meagre station.  Hearts sink for a moment as Arbogast, still and steady, shushes the conversation before it can truly begin. 

"There is a whistle," he says, "like a giant's flute.  I have heard the Men of Mountain Hall speak of natural chimneys in the moutains, many climbable by Men inside, and I believe there to be one such here." 

A brief but careful search reveals a marvellous sight: not only a narrow crevice that opens into a tall passage with light shining down from above, but one where some long-ago explorer has driven pitons of strong iron into the rock where, sheltered from ice and wind, they abide still.  But for how long have they done so?  And can their strength still be trusted?


:ooc: It's everyone's favourite skill test again: Craft to judge the extent to which corrosion has rendered the pitons dangerous.  Tom, Hathcyn can be all Wary and drop the TN for this one from 14 to 12. 

"Is this fortune or another new and creative way for the mountain to kill us?" The Beorning examined the placing and quality of the iron rods.

Cratt:

"Well, if we try this way at least at points we may have an anchor point and be less exposed to the wind. Let us rest here a moment sheltered at least from the buffeting wind."

Gwaithlim joins the Man with inspecting the all-too-coincidental appearance of aid in these harsh mountains.  Skeptical to say the least, their way has been marred by too many encounters and failings leaving them all beaten and battered -- a little good news would be warranted.

 :ooc:
Using 1 bonus die gained before from the Song achievement earlier, apropos to the current situation of their travel.

 :00:

In the dim light within the chimney, Gwaithlim examines the pitons and cannot suppress a brief laugh of surprise, for though the metal is old, pitted and stained with rust gathered over years untold, the ones nearby are of a curiously uniform shape, their lines straight and true.  This and other subtle signs only his Elf-eyes can readily make out mark them, in his judgement, as the work of craftsmen of Eregion, and though they are without any imbued magic of their own, they are nonetheless the forgings of cunning iron-wrights who in that vanished realm traded secrets of the forge with the greatest of Dwarf-smiths.  Ancient as they are, he has no doubt that they will serve this day as they served centuries ago. 

But who placed them here, he wonders, and for what purpose did they seek to conquer the mountain?


:ooc: A nice little discovery by Gwaithlim there, netting everyone an additional XP (I haven't updated character sheets but remind me at the end of the adventure, as per the toppling of the stone) and a bonus die for the climb:

Arbogast (Athletics TN 14)


Esgalwen


Gwaithlim


Hathcyn

Swift is their ascent of the chimney, aided by ropes, fast-sited pitons and the narrowness of the walls themselves, all save Arbogast.  The Fire-watcher finds his shield, strapped firmly across his shoulders, abruptly catches in a narrowing of the chimney some two-thirds of the way to the light above.  Unable to climb higher or to descend, he finds himself in a sudden and quite unaccustomed panic, his mind filling with visions of the chimney closing in, constricting and crushing like a strangler's hands. 

Only for a moment does the panic overtake him, but in that moment his surrender to it is total, and he cries out and shakes himself almost to the point of falling before Beorn's gruff voice sounds from above.  "Be still, fool!  You've not come so far to die here!" 

More than the words it is the familiar voice that brings him back to his senses and, after a time to let himself settle, he is able to free himself once again and resume the climb, his shame invisible in the chimney's close confines. 


:ooc: Successes for everyone except Arbogast.  :roll:  He racks up two points of temporary Shadow.  Esgalwen gets an AP for her great success, and while I'm :csu:-ing, I've added the XP on to everyone's sheet. 

The bracing wind on the surface returned and it caused the sweat to dry and cake salt on hus brow.

"I suppose the journey back will be easier. We can always just let go and hasten the descent."

Yet another milestone along their journey passed but the end still seems so far away.  The elf's eyes can tell they are getting closer, but the oppressiveness of the task and the general environment negate any feeling of accomplishment.  He can only shake his head at the Beorning's gallows humor.

At first, Arbogast's reply to Hathcyn is a glower of wounded pride, but his heart quickly warms to the jest.  "Why go down at all?" he rejoinds.  "High as we are, we must be plain to see, and surely if we shout loud enough all the dark things of Middle-Earth can come and find us here." 

Both are quickly shushed by Esgalwen, however, and she raises her finger to the snow that covers the higher slopes even in May.  In a low voice, she chides "In summer, the mountains hold their last snows but loosely.  As a girl, I once saw them set a-slide by the war-calls of an intemperate goblin band, and I'll not soon forget the bodies of the score or more of the creatures that came to rest far below, thrashed and broken.  If we are to go yet higher, we must do so as quietly as we can." 

"Not higher," grimaces Beorn, the exertion of his wounded side once again rendering his face pale beneath his beard.  "Nothing awaits us at the top but snow and empty wind." 

"Then what..." Gwaithlim begins to answer.

"Well," Beorn cuts him off, "I can go no higher, but having climbed this high I'm not minded to go straight back down!  We make our way around to the north-east." 

"I see a way," Arbogast says, shading his eyes against the sun that breaks now and again through the clouds that rush eastward above the peaks like sheep fearful of the sheep-dog's nipping jaws. 

"Good.  I knew there'd be one.  But your friend is right: where we go now, we go softly." 


:ooc: I'm going to run this next sequence almost as a blend of a standard extended test and an Encounter: every character has to accumulate three successes on a Stealth test (TN 14) before the Tolerance (in this case, of the avalanche-ready snow) is exceeded.  Do you know what the Tolerance is?  No, you do not - but anyone succeeding at a TN 16 Awareness roll can get a rough idea, and greater levels of success will provide greater specificity. 

To save time, I'll assume that everyone wants to try that roll:
Arbogast


Esgalwen


Gwaithlim


Hathcyn

:ooc: With Hathcyn's great success, I'll tell you that it's in the 3-5 range.  AP for Esgalwen and Hathcyn (tagging Wary, which seems very appropriate).  :csu:

Also, another :~~: from Arbogast inches you closer to being revealed to the Eye...

"We are not likely to find very much to burn up here. Though these look to be scrub pine. Let us take a moment to rest and look about ourselves before pressing on."

The Beorning examined the scrub brush and found that the small trees grew juniper berries which he harvested. Also between the gaps there was long dried moss and grass he also collected. He worked quickly and hoped to have enough to make a flavored tea and hopefully enough fuel to heat the water.

Though there is little fuel to be gathered, the fire fed with dry moss and juniper needles is small but merry-seeming, and the warm, berry-seasoned water gives a moment of respite from the cold of wind and bare stone.  Then, cups emptied, the company begins its passage across the craggy and treacherous mountain side, the white snow lingering like a headsman's axe above them. 


:ooc: I'll start the Stealthing off with Arbogast.  He's not the best candidate but someone's going to have to be first. 

The Fire-watcher moves gingerly across the rocks, placing cold-numbed feet with as much care as he can muster and seeking not to see whether the remaining companions follow.  Beorn, grumbling with the effort, lifts himself and follows in the Fire-watcher's footsteps


:ooc: I'll do Stealth rolls for Beorn as well.  He's unlikely to fail, but it's worth rolling for drama.

:ooc: Current success tally:

Arbogast: 1/3
Beorn: 1/3
Esgalwen: 0/3
Gwaithlim: 0/3
Hathcyn: 0/3

No failures so far.  The snow is holding firm. 

Picking juniper berries out of his teeth and enjoying the taste of pine Hathcyn follows.

 :ooc: You know what... this seems important and my dice suck. Lets burn a point of hope. Skill is favoured so thats a pass.

:ooc:
Arbogast: 1/3
Beorn: 1/3
Esgalwen: 0/3
Gwaithlim: 0/3
Hathcyn: 1/3

The cold wind is fierce at this height and Esgalwen moves to the fore of the group. She touches Arbogast on the shoulder, which surprisingly causes the man to jump.

"I am sorry," smiled the woman, "I did not mean to cause you start. You have been leading now for a bit and the weariness is written across your face. Let me take up the lead for a while so that you can get rest for a bit - at least from the stress of this journey."

Arbogast gives a tired nod and moves back to the mid of the company, as Esgalwen begins to plot her path before them. She calls upon her years in the mountains and begins the task.

---

:ooc: I am not sure if I can tap into her Adventurous trait on this one to get an auto-success, but here is a roll.
TN 14 stealth (f) 3d

:ooc:
Arbogast: 1/3
Beorn: 1/3
Esgalwen: 1/3 and :csu: for the Hope spend
Gwaithlim: 0/3
Hathcyn: 1/3

We're just waiting on Matt, then I'll add some narrative and we'll start the next round of rolls.

:ooc: I didn't spend a Hope point or did I miss something? Let me know.

:ooc: Gaaah Tom spent it.  Fixed now.

:ooc: Thanks, Paul. I know you are busy so I wanted to make sure we were on the same page... and that I didn't go senile.  ;)

As with others of his kind, Gwaithlim springs lightly behind the rest making little more than a dent in the snow.

 :ooc:
 :00:

And yet the elf manages to slipping and falling with a crash into the snow, thinking he had purchase on the wet rock but it actually being covered in ice.

At the sharp sound of the Elf's fall, all the remaining companions freeze, not daring to breathe.  Only the wind stirs the snow, however, and by and by their hearts calm their fierce pounding.  As Gwaithlim picks himself gingerly up from the snow they continue on their way, though breaths come shorter and limbs are a-tremble.


:ooc:
Arbogast: 1/3
Beorn: 1/3
Esgalwen: 1/3 and :csu: for the Hope spend
Gwaithlim: 1/3
Hathcyn: 1/3

Failures: 1/[~3-5] including another :~~:

Rolling now for Arbogast and Beorn:
Arbogast


Beorn

Beneath the slumbering snows, the Fire-watcher carries on with a patient, measured tread until he is nearly brought undone by a patch of dark-hued ice, slick with new-melted water.  To his hands and knees he falls, heart hammering, but no cry does he give out and barely a rattle emerges from his pack.  Raising his head, he sees the shelter of an overhang close by and makes for it without bothering to rise fully.  Esgalwen can barely suppress a giggle at the undignified sight as her friend passes her without a backward glance, but she shares the relief plain on his face as he reaches the shelter and, as quietly as he may, collapses. 

:ooc: A Hope spend turns a failure into the final two successes Arbogast needs, so I'm going to do that.  Beorn gets his second success. 

Esgalwen pushes forward in pursuit of Arbogast and the safety which the man has attained, though she maintains her caution along the way. The dangers are all to real to allow eagerness to cause errors.

---

TN 14 stealth (f) 3d

:ooc: Awesome! It is not pretty on the Feat die, but my skill dice come shining through. ;D I believe that sees her through.

---

Coming up to Arbogast, Esgalwen smiled and went to a knee. She reached to her side where her waterskin hung and took a long drink as she looked about their position.

"Always so beautiful to look upon, the white of the mountains. In my homeland they rise tall, but not near as high as these. Still, the beauty can diminish when you are confronting the dangers inherent here." The panoramic view that they were witness to was humbling, as they looked out across the breadth of the Anduin Vale and the deep darkness of Mirkwood below. "Yes, so beautiful..."

Esgalwen's thoughts and words faded off as she took another drink of water. Her body ached and the cold was penetrating through the furs cinched to her person - from feet to head - but still she was happy to be here; to see the view before them.

The Beorning powered through more through determination and natural weariness than skill as a mountaineer.





And makes for the overhang

:ooc: I'll give Tom a couple more hours to say whether Hathcyn's going to spend some Hope.  Without it, that's two more failures.

Continuing on, the elf is effortless in movement, ever consciously seeking to not repeat the mistake of earlier.

 :ooc:
 :00:

 :ooc: I'll burn a hope.

Yeah hope for me too

:ooc:
Arbogast: 3/3
Beorn: 2/3
Esgalwen: 3/3
Gwaithlim: 2/3
Hathcyn: 3/3 and :csu: for another AP in Movement - I'm thinking he'll tag Swift this time, though Wary works equally well. 

Failures: 2/[~3-5]

:ooc: I'm going to roll for Beorn before I add in any more narrative - let's see how the tail end of the scene is going to play out:

 :ooc: poo doo!  :##:  <-{  :x:

:ooc: Well - if he came here to die, he might have just met his goal. Unfortunately, he is going to take us with him.  ;)

Beorn and Gwaithlim pick their way across the slope.  Gently they go, each trying not to lose his nerve and break toward the safety offered by the overhang.  All of a sudden, Beorn's great foot finds a loose stone and he topples to the ground, his fall dislodging more scree.  Once again, all movement ceases save for the rattling of the stones as they careen down the mountainside. 

Then they hear what all have been dreading: a soft hissing of shifting snow, swiftly rising in volume as the malice of the Misty Mountains, hoarded these many centuries, is unleashed upon those foolish enough to tread their high reaches. 

"RUN!" Beorn calls, raising himself once again to his feet and throwing all caution to the wind. 


:ooc: SO!  It turns out I miscounted the failures and you're now only up to two, but that doesn't matter because Beorn's :~~: triggered a revelation episode, and I think there's only one way this can go now.  Everyone who's made it to the overhang is safe, but both Beorn and Gwaithlim have to make a TN 18 Athletics roll to outrun the oncoming avalanche. 

Beorn


Gwaithlim

:ooc: The scene is about to end, but before it does, Gwaithlim has just pulled of a success that the rest of the company can only attribute to 'Elf-magic'.  This raises the Eye awareness by a point (be wary of showing your power, first among the Firstborn!) but probably looks pretty cool. 

Matt, care to tell us what Gwaithlim does?

:ooc: Nice!

Gwaithlim runs doggedly with the great bear over the shifting snow, ice, and rock in effort to get to safety.  The Beorning has a headstart and lumbers through the flotsam until he stumbles again losing his footing just shy of their goal.  Putting all his might into the effort and finding a firm purchase, Gwaithlim puts his shoulder into back of the great man, thrusting him into the sheltered area with the others, only to give up what time he had left as a last shelf of ice and snow gives way uphill of them and sweeps the elf down the hill without a cry.

As the others look on, Gwaithlim uses the nature of the flow and his natural grace to stay on top of the river of snow and rock down the hill out of sight.

 :ooc:
Gwaithlim uses Athletics and Fierce to manage his extraordinary effort.

 :00:
Hope if necessary.

:ooc: Okay, wait up a sec.  Gwaithlim can use his Skill of the Eldar to rescue Beorn - I don't have issue with that, but it'll leave him in the path of the avalanche and it'll take more than an Athletics roll to get away from that.  If you'd rolled another :G: I would've shaken my head and let him Legolas out of there, but that's not how it went.  Spending a Hope point for a basic success just reduces the damage he'll take by a bit.  He's in for 4d6 Endurance loss, and will automatically be Wounded. 

 :ooc: Alright, that's fine.