Grimbeorn interjects. "Stay thy hand but for the moment," he sighs. "It is one to have stricken an enemy down in battle. It's wholly different to do so whole they are at your mercy. We shall see if this worm knows how to speak without any deception. If it proves false, it won't see it's next breath."
Well for 12/2, that night is up in the air for me... There may be a last minute Scout campout that night.
Last post by tomcat - Today at 03:03 pm
With Nimronyn held before her, Esgalwen nodded at Arbogast's request.
The two walked to where the portal opened into the stone structure. The keystone came to a point like an arrowhead, but was Dwarven in its design. The craftsmen who built the keep built it for strength, but still maintained the aesthetics of their folk. For a brief moment Esgalwen wished that Rorin was with them, for surely the Dwarf would know the nature of this structure.
Light from the torch flared and popped in the settling fog that hung in the courtyard, and it cast into the opening. The two companions felt a chill. It was as if the darkness within did not want to reveal its secrets - instead devouring the light. Arbogast reached his hand in and moved the torch about to see and a stairwell down was revealed.
It was a narrow set of steps that disappeared into the earth. Atop the stairs within the chamber, on either side of the descent, was the rusted remains of barrel rings manufactured by some cooper in a distant past. The wood that might have once been tarred and bound within the iron bands was long gone - eaten by termites, rotted, or used as kindling for fires.
Cobwebs of normal sizes, but dense from many spiders weaving over many seasons, draped the ceiling and walls. The stairs were set with paver stones, but these were cracked and broken, and would make the descent dangerous.
Arbogast briefly favours Morirúsë with a dark look. What is this, then? Are the Elves ever to be the overlords of Men, to grant it to one line to pass judgement and not to the next? This the pride of Men will not gladly suffer, nor long...
A second later, though, his characteristic patience reasserts itself, and the Shadow within him recedes. Be not hasty, he tells himself. Long has our road been, and I am exhausted in body and spirit. I do not rule this fellowship, nor does Morirúsë mean to undermine me. And there is still one important matter left un-settled.
"Wait a while before you make your judgement, friend," he says, a heartbeat later. "For you have not yet all the knowledge on which to base it." He takes up Fyndylsnitch's staff (for the old stories always mention the staves of wizards and sorcerors) and, once his war gear is once more stowed away, a torch from where it lies guttering in the strange green light. Holding the torch aloft, he moves toward the dark entrance to the Cold Wells.
"Esgalwen," he says as he passes the warrior-woman, "will you join me?"
Last post by tomcat - Today at 01:31 pm
I am with Paul, Tom.
I was just thinking it is a simple chat and intro session. If it is something we can conveniently do on a regular basis, then we can discuss what we can do on later gatherings.
I'm hoping for just a catch-up, unless there's anything urgent that we need to sort out, story-wise. It's kind of weird, having gamed with you guys for so long but knowing next to nothing about you as people.
Are we planning on running an encounter, talking about the game, doing shots....?
Morirúsë stood tall and kept the light of the lamp held aloft. The brilliance of it shown in the shadowed courtyard and seemed to rebel against the filthy feeling of the place.
"Grimbeorn. You are destined to lead your people and it is to you that the hard decisions should start to fall. What judgement will you pass against this loathsome creature that lives in the shadow and bends the bodies of the dead to its purpose? Your time and the time of your people will be full of hard decisions, and this one is but a sampling of the weight of lordship. What is your will in this matter? For I will see it done."
The naked blade was still in the hands of the Noldo elf, his face calm and serene. None there held any doubt that the Elf would slay the creature if Grimbeorn willed it and not give it a second thought. Esgalwen thought it cold, but also wondered what the endless war against orcs and the shadow would do to her. Would any of them still possess mercy if they had fought for only a fraction of the time of the elf.
Yeah, it did occur to me to wonder what he was eating all the way out here.
Last post by tomcat - Today at 07:36 am
The old man jumped at Grimbeorn's snarl.
"They come to me in ones and twos. Sometimes lost and hungry. Sometimes on foolish journeys. Who knows what would bring them so deep into the wood, but my friends steer them to the keep." A new, eerie smile crossed the old man's face in the soft light of the lamp. It seemed the thin flesh of his lips might split, as they drew tight across his foul teeth. "Some try to get away, but there is no where to go, really. Just here. With me."
"Who are they?" demanded Esgalwen. "Or what are they? And once more, where are these cold wells?"
Fyndylsnitch's bony hand raised to point in a direction back towards the old ruin. "There...the entrance is there."
The companions looked to where he pointed and saw another arched passage that was part of the castle, but yet separate in a ruined ancillary building. The archway was utter blackness.
"They are travelers, my Sweet One," he hissed at her in a gleeful way. Spittle gopped out of his mouth and onto his chin. "You will understand when you see. I speak to them. I sing with them...they make such beautiful songs! The tones range from high-pitched to low, deep moans. They are my pets and I take care of them!"
The last words were petulant - like a child. The old man looked down into the ferns and again changed his mad manner of speaking - now he whispered. "They are my pets. I take care of them. They please me...and if they don't..."
The companions strained to hear his words, but all could see him end by smacking his lips, as his thin tongue slid across.