Just as the sight of a warm fire and the scent of cooking supper may bring undone a traveller who has stoically endured many miles of hard journeying, so the mention of a place of shelter, it seems, is enough to break the resolve of many of those who followed the Fellowship of the Helm into battle. The first to flee is the flaxen-haired youth who joined them at the hall of Gelvira, who turns his back on the half-seen foe and sprints for the safety of the nearby steading's wooden walls, his boots sliding and slipping in the muck. More and more follow him, some no doubt with the same thought, others seeking to protect their kinfolk lest their headlong flight provoke a sudden pursuit. Within seconds, the small company is on the verge of a rout.
Then, just above the din of the rain, a young man's voice carries across the field: "The gate is shut! The gate is shut against us!"
"What's this?" said Esgalwen to no one in particular.
She held her sword at her side and turned from the enemy to look back upon the homestead. It was dark in the rain and offered little comfort. In fact, in her heart grew fear that this was all a trap. The wargs and orcs had pursued them, pushing them forward. Did they know that the Company would make for this fastness? Was it their plan to drive them here and have us stumble into their trap?
Esgalwen looked at Hathcyn, "Something is wrong here!"
"Everything is wrong here!" came his reply.
The ranger pointed to distant field where she knew the hounds of Sauron still slinked along with their orc companions, "Keep a watch to the field and I will check this gate."
She then sheathed Nimronyn and brought her bow to hand, nocking an arrow as she did. With that, she ran after the Woodmen that sought refuge.
"Break the gate if you must." Came his cold reply.
Hathcyn watched her go and with the stout men set a rear guard that slowly made their way to the gate while watching the wood and keeping good order.
Esgalwen looked at the gates of the homestead shut tight to any that might approach. The young man at her side - the one who had called out - made to move forward, but the dúnadan laid her hand on his shoulder to cause him to pause.
"What is it?" he asked - his hair matted to his face by the constant rain.
"I don't know yet," answered the ranger.
"They will let us in, surely! These are our people."
"I am not sure," said Esgalwen, shaking her head.
"You think this a trap? Why?"
"It is what I would do."
Her stolid face caused the men to look at her and then to the gates before them. Esgalwen kept her bow armed and ready, as she lent a close eye to the gate and the defenses around the homestead.
:ooc: Awareness roll. Also including a Battle roll for tactics... if not necessary, it can be ignored. I also am going to include my Enemy-lore (orc).
TN ?? awareness 3d:00: 1d12 : 8, total 8
Rolled 3d6 : 3, 5, 1, total 9
TN ?? battle 2d:00: 1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 2d6 : 4, 3, total 7
:ooc: If a 17 is a success, what she is looking for is who might be standing defense here, if anyone. Are the gates in normal fashion, or do they look previously broken and reset? Is there any firelight from within the compound? Do shadows move within or without?
In all his years, Gwaithlim has never felt so dejected, so without warmth within him. This venture has been nothing but folly after folly for him. Trial after trial in the past he'd always seen a way through, a light beyond, but this day there was none for him. He fell in with the rest, just trying to keep them moving to give him the purpose to keep going himself.
:ooc: That many :~~: don't do well for the soul.
:ooc: I shall temp fate.....
The Longspear would not go quietly, nor would he allow this company to be defeated in spirit if not in arms. Once more he raised the ram horn to his lips and let a challenging blast be heard. In his heart he hoped it would be heard somewhere by Grimbeorn, or at the least crack the resolve of those who barred the gates against them. He remembered too the siege of the Tarn and how even the glimmer of hope sometimes sustained men when there was no reason to believe it.
The ram horn sounded clear and bright despite the rain.
Inspire
Rolled 1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 6, 3, total 11
:ooc: If this roll could be of help i'll drop a hope on it, Inspire is favoured for me.
Drear and cold do the timbers of the gate look, their solid weight turning their former promise of shelter and safety into a cruel jest. And yet, closely-set as they are, still there are gaps between them through which Esgalwen can see the movement of one behind them: a gate-keeper at his duty. "Ho there!" she calls to him, hoping to rouse some fellow-feeling for those seeking shelter from shared foes, if not simply from the rain.
No response comes, though, until the blast of Hathcyn's horn. Esgalwen can plainly see the figure behind the gate start, and at last a reply comes through the gate in the Westron tongue. "What's this? Be you Men? Be away! Away with you!"
:ooc: We're now into an Encounter (or Council, as the new edition calls it, and which I rather prefer). I'm going to skip Introduction rolls. Or rather, given how well-known you are in these parts, they're going to count as normal interaction - i.e. 'let me in, you idiot, don't you know I'm...'.
There is, of course, an element of time pressure here.
:ooc: Esgalwen's Insight roll for advantage dice.
TN 14 insight 2d:00: 1d12 : 6, total 6
Rolled 2d6 : 2, 4, total 6
:ooc: Son of a Nutcracker!
Okay... she begins this thing sans any advantage.
Going to start with an Awe roll to convey the urgency and the authority for whom she speaks.
TN 14 awe 3d:00: 1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 5, 4, total 13
:ooc: HAHAHHHAHAHHAHA! Fuck this...
Esgalwen shakes her head, stomps away and moves back to Minas Tirith.
Or she spends a Hope... what to do?
:ooc: Wheaton's Wardens, Fumbler's Fortunes, The Wil of the Dark Lord --- that's who we are today
Astounded Esgalwen cannot find the words to compel obedience, and when she opens her mouth to speak regardless an errant gust fills it with rain, leaving her coughing and spluttering, wet through and wordless. Behind the gate, the gate-keeper shrieks "Away with you! Away! AWAY!".
Though the gatekeeper's world is shrouded in a haze of rain and misery, still the powerful note of Hathcyn's horn breaks through to reach his mind. "But wait," he calls, his voice yet shrill, "what's this? Have you come to our rescue? Who are you? WHO ARE YOU?"
:ooc: That's your first failure, and two successes. I'm not tracking Eye awareness at the moment (it's a little pointless with more than 20 of you running around together) but if I was...
:ooc: i'd get involved here but I am currently the rear guard.
Quote from: Telcontar on Apr 08, 2023, 11:00 PM:ooc: i'd get involved here but I am currently the rear guard.
:ooc: Thus the perils of not being an active GM for a week! I'd forgotten that I intended to have Hathcyn's Awe roll count (as a Great success, no less). I've altered the post above accordingly.
:ooc: ok Doug or Matt, stiffen up the sinews, conjure up the blood, disguise fair nature and get the damn door open!
On, on, you noble adventurers.
Gwaithlim, dogged and weary at the night and circumstances, makes his way to Esgalwen finally. He overhears the what has been said and is aghast at the nonsense. "We come not over leagues to this place as thieves or murderers in the night! Open these doors for the hounds of the Enemy are at our heels and you bar our way to our safety and your protection. If we are to leave then it be your hide too lost," cries the elf.
:ooc:
:00:
Awe - 1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 2d6 : 3, 6, total 9
Esgalwen regained her composure after the Elf's clarion voice rang out in the night. Yes, the gates needed to be opened and there was little time.
"Open the gates and our numbers can join with your own and so stave off this enemy pursuit! Please, they come."
The Dúnadan resorted to persuasion over blatant demand... time was growing short.
TN 14 persuade 3d:00: 1d12 : 9, total 9
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 5, 5, total 12
:ooc: It is not pretty but that is a 21 success.
Mighty indeed are the voices of the Eldar raised in wrath, and the words of Gwaithlim ring like the booming of a bell, sending the very raindrops scattering away. On the very edge of visibility, and with great cries of fear and pain, the wargs and their orcish riders draw away, though how far, and for how long, no Man knows. Esgalwen speaks after a moment of silence, and from the other side of the gate comes the sound of frantic activity as the gate-keeper fumbles with the bar. "Oh of course, my lady! Of course, my lord! Oh, I pray you visit not your ire upon us!"
A wretched creature it is who at last opens the gate, craven and ashen-faced with fear, and as soaked to the skin as those who have given battle to the enemy without. The eyes of none, Man or Elf, does he meet as the Fellowship of the Helm and their surviving followers at last enter Ferthald's steading.
:ooc: An incredible roll from Matt (activating Gwaithlim's Skill of the Eldar for an unnatural Extraordinary success) and a solid follow-up from Doug have put you over the line.
The proud elf curses himself and his heart softens when he sees the one who lets them in. "Indeed I am sorry for the bellow and bluster, sir. You take on peril of your own accord by letting us in, I know." He heaves a great sigh. "We are no doubt in your debt." Gwaithlim returns to the rearward and ensures all make it in and none left out in the cold that can make it.
Once the last of the men were gathered in and all accounted for the Longspear issued orders.
"Folk of the Carrock, I have asked much of you today, but must ask more still. We must keep watch and remain ready to take arms. We are behind a wall, but not free from harm. We shall pair off and take turns watching at points about the wall. The first shall have the hardest watch so theirs shall be the shortest."
He pointed to several points about the stockade to place pairs of warriors and then assigned the first weary watchers.
"The rest of you see to your wounds and your fatigue but stay close to your arms. And see if the two riders we sent foward may be found or accounted for."
He moved then to the gatewarden.
"I am the ForestHelm Thane of the Greenstone. We shall overlook at the tine why you bared the gate against the folk of Grimbeorn in exchange for any news you have to tell."
He removed his helm and the auburn locks drenched with sweat and the rain steamed as the heat of the battle left him and he once again resembled a men of the vale and not akin to some ancient warrior.
His voice low and sullen, the warder of the gate meets not Hathcyn's stern gaze but keeps his eyes downcast, mumbling into his beard. "No news, sir," he says. "The western thegns have brought their warriors, and the Young Bear arrived, and now you are here, but none have left these walls since first they came."
While the two speak, those men chosen by the Longspear go grumbling to their posts behind the wall. Some, heeding his further command, go in search of the two horsemen sent ahead, but no sign of them can be found. The stables shelter one or two fine mounts, by the nearby tack and harness clearly those of proud thegns of the vales, and beyond them merely a few nags fit only for the plough.
Beneath the gables of the hall, Elf and Ranger confer, for once again the door is barred before them. Pounding on it with the butt of her sword, and shouting to make herself heard over the weirdly echoing drumming of rain in the nearby well, Esgalwen calls to those within. "Open! Open, for we come as great friends of the chieftain of Beorn's folk! If you hear me within, open this door to those who bear the same helm-badge as he, for we are chill and soaked! Open!"
Perhaps having already heard the horn-blast and the commanding voice of Gwaithlim, or perhaps reckoning that any announcing themselves in the speech of Men are unlikely to be foes, the door is this time opened without further challenge, the thud of the heavy bar on a floor of stone clearly heard above the downpour.
A smile upon her face, Esgalwen steps within.
:ooc: I'm just setting up some scene-setting music...
At first, she is merely puzzled by what she sees, for within is not the firelight and warmth that she had though to find. Instead, the hall of Ferthald is dark as a winter's night, the only light that of the broad hearth which burns fitfully in the damp air. Here and there, the gleam of metal marks the presence of piles of spears, shields, helms and tools of battle piled up without order. Between these, knots of men huddle as close to the fire as they can press themselves, such that there is barely room to tread between them. Wrapped in cloaks and blankets they sit, each man's gaze turned to the new arrivals but not a word spoken.
Not until she sees the form of Grimbeorn slumped upon the high seat does her puzzlement turn to a gripping, nameless dread, for here is not the boon companion who alongside her slew the Werewolf of Mirkwood and gave battle to the wraith-lord beneath Lake-Town. Here is not the mighty son of Beorn who breached the wall at Stánford, nor he who tirelessly bore Bandobras in pursuit of the slave-takers of Gundabad. Here is a man in the grips of despair, sunken his eyes with weariness, lank his hair, shaking his hand as he raises it in a gesture of pitiful welcome.
"You!" he says, recognising at least a familiar face. "I don't think you should have come!"
:ooc: This is awesome! I have to spend a bit of time today to think up Esgalwen's reaction.
Hathcyn had not yet entered the hall to see the sorry state of affairs. After speaking with the gate warden he had placed his helm back upon his head and walked the circuit of the wall. He was uncertain how the men within expected the wooden wall to guard them if they did not at least keep a watch. He also knew that it was a hard thing to ask the weary and the defeated to stand watch in the rain. So he made the rounds to see his orders were carried out and to provide example to the men.
Esgalwen is aghast, "WHAT SORCERY IS THIS?"
Her cry is loud in the night, even in the rain, and she turns on the warder of the gate, "What evil has befallen here? Tell me now!"
The Ranger's hand goes once more the hilt of her sword, though she does not yet draw the blade. Her other hand grabs the collar of the warder, roughly, as she commands his answer.
TN -- awe 3d:00: 1d12 : 9, total 9
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 3, 2, total 9
:ooc: Well it looks like a success, but there are no bells or whistles.
I also am assuming the gate ward accompanied us to the main hall. If I am wrong, let me know Paul and I will retcon all of this.
The gate-warden cowers in Esgalwen's grip, his words a babble.
"Let him go," Grimbeorn croaks. "Let him go, and be away yourselves, for I'm not glad to see you here! Some evil doom is laid on this place, and I think any who tarry too long..." But his next words are lost in the great wailing that arises from the huddled mass of Men about the hearth, only some of which resolves into witful words.
"NO!"
"Keep it barred!"
"You must not!"
"Don't open the gate!"
Beyond the hall in the steadily easing rain, Hathcyn hears the great confusion of noise from within. The sound also carries easily to the ears of Gwaithlim, at the door, and it would seem also to Luindîs, who he hears approaching between the still-rippling puddles. "Such a din!" she says to him with a smirk. It this typical when your companions meet each other?"
Hearing the rancor within, Esgalwen returns her gaze to Grimbeorn - friend... brother... and she...
pauses. Looking down at the threshold to the hall, she wonders if passing through will draw all to the same fate. Her eyes look back up and tears now mix with the rain, "How do I undo this, little man? How do I free them from this wicked place? You will tell me or your blood will run with the pouring rain."
Still holding the gatekeep, Esgalwen is not gentle. She jerks at his neck and forces him to look within the room beyond and her sword slides free of its scabbard.
"TELL ME NOW!"
:ooc: I am giving Esgalwen 1 Shadow point for a violent threats Misdeed. If you want me to change that, Paul, whether she gets more or none at all, let me know.
But again her anger is real and I am going to now make another to see if this dude will talk. I don't think it is Persuade - I still think she is trying to Awe (intimidate) the man. I am also going to roll a Lore check (or Riddle - they are both the same skill level) to see if she can understand what is going on here.
TN -- awe 3d:00: 1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 4, 5, total 11
TN -- riddle -or- lore 2d:00: 1d12 : 7, total 7
Rolled 2d6 : 4, 5, total 9
:ooc: Oooo an :~~: on the Awe roll! That seems narratively correct. ;D Still, if it will be worth it to spend a :vv: on that, I will do it as it would be a 17 success.
The Lore/Riddle roll is a 16 success, if there is anything to gain from that one.
My character sheet is updated in Dropbox :csu:
:ooc: since this was a roll invoking a shadow point is it a bout of Madness with the :~~: roll?
Quote from: Telcontar on Apr 19, 2023, 08:39 AM:ooc: since this was a roll invoking a shadow point is it a bout of Madness with the :~~: roll?
:ooc: No, unless Paul wants to do it as Loremaster. A PC needs to be in a Miserable state to have a Bout of Madness on an :~~: roll. Esgalwen is not close to being Miserable - but she is pissed and willing to force answers if needed.
Also the roll did not invoke the Shadow point - how I am playing her actions did. There is a list of actions that are called Misdeeds on page 224.
Sure looks like madness ;D
I'm letting the scene at the door play out before I wade in.
The men nearest the door, and closest to Esgalwen's harsh cries, slink back from her as much as they are able, further tightening the already dense crush of men about the fire. The gate-warder falls to his knees, eyes tightly shut, nearly limp in her grip as he wordlessly whimpers. Even Grimbeorn's voice barely carries above the moaning of his men as he half-heartedly calls "Leave him... leave him..."
Instead, it is Luindîs who first intervenes, placing a hand lightly on the Ranger's shoulder and saying "My friend, from the tales I heard I did not think this to be your way."
Esgalwen releases the wretched man who crawls across the dimly-lit floor to take up a spot on the edge of the packed mass of men, his place marked only by the continuing chattering of his teeth.
The ranger's shoulders slumped in resignation and Nimronyn slid the short length back into its scabbard. Esgalwen looked at Luindis, "Then what is to be done?" She pointed into the hall, "They are wretched and broken. There is something at work here greater than the spirit of these men. Is it the dim hall and village that is cursed? Is it a dweomer of some unknown foe that has ensnared them? Mayhaps an illusion to beguile us?"
She searched the Elf's face - a folk known to understand such things - to see if there was an answer or understanding in her eyes. No matter, Esgalwen moved into the hall, "I will not leave my friend in this state."
The murmur went through the camp and soon reached the ears of Hathcyn Foresthelm that Grimbeorn was here in the camp, but something was amiss. When the first relief came out he heared the tale of the foulmood in the longhouse and the dreadful state of affairs. Here was a new problem he did not expect to meet.
Marching to the longhouse he stopped at the door and from his baggage, and with the utmost care, retrieved the banner of the bear. Having no other staff at hand he quickly tied its thongs to the staff of his great spear. Then from the outside he thundered upon the door with loud blows and commanded the door to be thrown open. When it slowly and reluctantly began to swing upon the hinge he yanked it open with all his might and strode into the hall holding the banner aloft.
He addressed the hall as he did so.
"Grimbeorn Wolfslayer! I have come though you did not call me. As is my charge I have brung the banner of the Carrock. But what is this huddle before the fire? Niall Chipped-blade I see you there. Nori Dourhand I see you as well. Many of the men whose names I know here, yet I see not the courage you are known for. The banner of the Bear has gone to war with the Wolfslayer. Arise from your troubles, or speak the meaning of this despair!"
Inspire
Rolled 1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 3d6 : 5, 3, 2, total 10
:ooc: take that emo Grimbeorn and friends! :g:
Though the light of the fire was dim and pale, the wife open door cast more light into the room though the rain outside continued to fall. The slender rays enough to frame the banner man in the door and sparkle upon the silver thread of the great banner of the bear.
After awhile the elf comes up with nothing to his mind of what is going on or what to do. This is a strange malady of despair and sloth and reckons not in his deep memory. The only thing that he can think of to do is set throat to song the song he's started. Warming up his voice, there is almost an oppression to this most minor act of merriment and goodness.
A beast so fair
The bruin so strong
Soot and coal the hair,
countenance without compare.
Toil and trudge
Steps be great and long
His will dare not budge
and honor without smudge.
All he doth confound
Warrior, a singer of song
Beorn, great lord the stories abound
within memory's halls shall they resound!
Gwaithlim goes silent. Not his best work as it is still in progress and translating from Sindarin into the Mannish tongue complicates both rhyme and meter. He hopes that there is some power in song and memory to spur these desperate folk.
:ooc:
Let's see if there is some magic to be gained in the light of the dwindling spirit.
:00: (https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/Themes/default/images/dice_warn.gif) This dice roll has been tampered with!
Song - 1d12 : 10, total 10
Rolled 2d6 : 5, 2, total 7
I'll use a Hope if helpful and its favored.
:ooc: LOL posting at the same time
The words of Man and Elf, the presence of proven friends and the sight of the bear banner all combine to stir the mighty heart of Grimbeorn. Shakily at first, like a man made weak by the burden of his years, he rises from his seat and staggers forth. Close-packed as they are, his warriors make what little room they can for his tread as he passes above and between them, and by the time he is past the hearth his stride is once again wide and bold, his eyes gleaming as the banked fire behind them begins once again to pour forth.
He meets Hathcyn with a crushing embrace upon the threshold of the hall. "My loyal kinsman! How could I have thought that you would forsake me, even at my own command! And Esgalwen, turn your wrath upon me, for it's to my shame, not theirs, that we're trapped here like sheep in a fold! Come," he continues, stepping forth into the wan light, "let's speak out here. Winter's too long away for us to squat and stew in the fug of so many men. You're here, and I'm glad of it."
As he passes by them, Luindîs and Gwaithlim meet each others eyes and it is clear to the younger Elf that the elder has realised something...
:ooc: I'm back, I'm back! It's been altogether too long, I know, and I apologise, but I'm here now and hopefully you're all still checking the forum for updates. Now, let's find out just how much Gwaithlim's realised with a Lore role:
:00: 1d12 : 7, total 7
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 6, 3, total 13
Though it was but a passing comment, the Beorning chieftain's words have stirred a realisation in the Elf-lord, for it is not only the eyes of the Eldar that mark the presence of things beyond the senses of Men. Indeed, beyond and beneath the dense fug of sweat and filth that ever accompanies the presence of scores of Men all sharing the same hearth, there is indeed a bitter note of some fell sorcery about the hall that has seized all within and now holds them in its dreadful grasp.
For the blinking of an eye, he is adrift on a river of his memory, casting his thoughts back through the centuries to a time, long before he first sought to cross the Hithaeglir, when he delighted to take his ease in the Hall of Fire and hear Erestor read the histories of deeds long past even as the Elves reckon it. From the depths of his recollection springs a line from the tale of Gil-Galad's deeds in the Second Age: "...for the witches of the Enemy went among them, though they knew it not, and hid within their halls tablets struck with great curses of dread and terror, that their hearts might be bound fast though their arms yet had strength to defy the darkness."
"There is an evil afoot here, Luindîs -- one that hearkens an age past. Some fell Morgul-work is at play. Go among the Men and about the house and seek out anything that might be foul feeling or dark script. Touch them not but find me and we will do what we can to rid this place of the scourge."
Gwaithlim follows his own track, seeking tablets or other objects that may contain cursed scrawl.
:ooc:
:00:
Explore - 1d12 : 7, total 7
Rolled 2d6 : 2, 2, total 4
Use Hope if necessary (Favoured)
:ooc: Matt, this situation calls for a Search roll, not Explore. I'll make a roll that you can use if you want to save time, otherwise feel free to make your own.
:00: 1d12 : 2, total 2
Rolled 1d6 : 1, total 1
:ooc: ehh gad! The LM roller is broken now!
:ooc: Ugh well that all just goes downhill ;)
Hathcyn stood in the yard of the hall. Away from the other thain men he was more personal and gripped Grimbeorn's shoulder.
"We came at your need and the crossing was contested. What has happened that we have found you so? The men are vacant and without fight huddled around a poorly vented fire of wet logs. Surely we can not stay here? If we are to fall then let us ride out and shed our blood upon the crossing of the Carrock and buy perhaps a song of our falling. Besides, if we stay here those at the ford have no shield to guard them. They will be rooted out like hogs in the fall and bled for slaughter. Shall we not act and not wait behind rotting timber and guttering fire?"
Grimbeorn, for a brief moment again the man Hathcyn knew of old, looks once again crestfallen at his comrade's words. "All that you say is true," he says. "I called upon the clans west of the river to muster here, thinking that we'd then face the foe in the field as you counsel. But the orcs were already abroad, and riding swift wolves as I'm told they haven't done in many a long year! More than a few bold and fierce warriors never made it as far as these walls, and many who did spoke of a great wolf chieftain who led his folk to savage slaughter!"
As the Longspear watches, the light and passion begins to fade once again from his chieftain's eyes. " And now," he croaks,"we are caught up in some black sorcery, and I've not the cunning nor the strength to defeat it. I feel it, Hathcyn," he adds, his face full of despair and his feet already shuffling back toward the door. "I feel it taking hold of me! My friend, swear to me that you won't tarry here!"
Within the hall, Gwaithlim finds his search fruitless, for too many are the hiding places even in such a rude dwelling as this, and too many are the bodies in the way any way that he should turn. But the certainty will not leave him that, somewhere in this place, a token is hid that holds fast the spell upon these poor Men like an anchor holds a ship. Would that he could but find it!
It is the daughter of Númenor who jars him from his frustrated musings, arriving at his side with the she-elf in tow. "Speak to us of what you seek, friend, for it is plain that you know of something we do not."
"I cannot certain what is being sought for I search by the sense of the place. If I were to describe these foul objects, they'd be hidden away and contain a Morgul-script scrawled upon them, weaving dark power within them. Their presence is diffused with the oppression over all."
Hathcyn looks at his chieftain and then looks about the place.
"Then let us leave here and make for the Carrock. We can bring pitch and tar for torches, and sharpened sticks for fences. If we stick together and with a purpose they will find no purchase upon us. And the banner of the bear will keep them together."
The Bear's Son only shakes his head, a look of dread and mourning in his eyes. "Be away from here as fast as you can go! We are lost. We are lost..."
:ooc: Okay, here's how this will work: the inhabitants of the hall are, as you've astutely noticed, under a sorcerous effect. Grimbeorn, ex-adventurer and A-grade hero that he is, is at least aware that something is affecting his mind, but he can't shake it himself. A Song or Inspire roll can snap him (or any of the others) out of it for a short while, but they'll relapse until the anchor for the curse is found and neutralised.
Feel free to propose any actions you deem reasonable and/or feasible in your search. When you've come to an agreement about a plan, we'll do some rolling and I'll narrate events appropriately (probably in a new thread).
:ooc: hathcyn is unaware of any sorcery or talisman.
Quote from: Telcontar on May 17, 2023, 11:37 AMHathcyn looks at his chieftain and then looks about the place.
"Then let us leave here and make for the Carrock. We can bring pitch and tar for torches, and sharpened sticks for fences. If we stick together and with a purpose they will find no purchase upon us. And the banner of the bear will keep them together."
"We cannot leave them here, Hathcyn!" exclaimed Esgalwen. "They are under a dweomer and even now Gwaithlim senses its purpose, but not its location. It must be found!"
With that, Esgalwen walks from them all circling the hall in search of some runic evil that might bespell the place.
TN 14* search 2d:00: 1d12 : 6, total 6
Rolled 2d6 : 2, 6, total 8
*I am not sure if the rain and night create a more challenging test.
:ooc: That is a :%: success unless the TN is greater than 14.
:ooc: Paul, is there a hound here at the steading?
If so I'd like to use my new talent of speak with hounds and see if there is a place the dogs avoid, refuse to sleep, or generally dont like.
Hathcyn pondered this news. "Perhaps were man and elf fail our friends of old have an answer."
:ooc: Good thinking, Tom, and good rolling, Doug! New thread to follow.