"The bridge it is then! I'd rather face orcs than this rotten land."

Arbogast glanced at Bandy, but the hobbit merely shrugged. 

"It would seem I am the odd man out.  Very well, then - the bridge, and let us see what we shall see," the young Woodman said.

The road will be perilous but no more so than the fens. I would rather face orcs than whatever Radagast held off during the fight. If there are orcs at Fenbridge then I shall stand with Esgalwen as she wields Ardil's sword and avenges its fallen owner.

  And the Corruption Rolls with Wsidom of 3

Blech

As the companions marched south the morning was slow in revealing itself. Slight mists had been rising from the forest floor to burn off, but now as they plunged further into the heart of the vileness of Mirkwood the mists did not wholly burn off. The fog of the early morning was thick and it was almost midmorning before any sunlight began to even make an appreciable difference on the haze. Furthermore, it was not a natural fog. The cloud wrapped its way into everything, the very air that the companions breathed, had a foul taint to it. A taste that was both bitter and metallic at the same time that no amount of drinking or spitting could remove from the mouth.

The terrain also seemed to change as well. Those who had spent great times in the wild could tell that the elevation was changing. A small rise of hills were beginning to run through the forest from west to east. Any hope that this would elevate the journeying companions out of the mire was soon dashed. All the hills seemed to do were to create valleys were the muck and the ooze could collect, some places creating actual streams of filth.

Only by the full light of day, when the sun was at its brightest could the companions see to any distance. Whether it was through the patterns of winds, the subtle working of the Brown Wizard, or just plain luck it was during one such period that they were able to see Fenbridge Castle.
The castle was on the downward slope of the rise the companions stood on. An odd place for a fortification, until one realized that the castle stood upon a raised earthwork surrounded as far as they could see by swamps and fens. From these swamps and fens the reek was worse than even in the forest, and in the distance upon a larger hill stood the arching domes and pillared arcades of another structure. This one rose to a greater height and the soft lines and worked stone of the principle structure was made more horrible for its beauty than if it had matched the orcish structures that piled around it and was possessed of a sick green glow.

Radagast stood on the rise and looked at the scene below the companions, "there is our objective friends. There is the Hill of Sorcery, once home to an enemy I will not name so near to the place of his haunting."

A change in the wind or a cloud passing over the sun dimmed the view before the companions. Only the sick green glow marked where their objective stood, and below them the castle of Fenbridge.

In time the group picked their way carefully to the level of the fens from the ridge that they had stood upon. Each one of them wrapped as tightly as they could against the chill and the slimy feel of the fog against bare skin. Each of them haunted in their own way by the place in which they found themselves.

Arbogast kept a keen eye out on the gatehouse as they descended and while he was predatorily alert his mind began to wander. As the muck began to rise higher than the tops of his boots and his feet filled with the ichor of the land he thought of those back in Woodman Town. 'Would any of them come this far south?' He thought. 'Certainly not any of his kin folk, they were happy enough to hide behind a hedge and call their worn timber hall a home. If any there knew what he was undertaking they would call him a fool. However, the Black Tarn was different. There was someplace new, someplace where he could be a leader...'

Bandy's thoughts were turned towards the Shire as he made his way into the fens. As often was the case he occupied his mind with bits of song and thoughts of the Shire to keep his heart uplifted during a long journey. 'What fools they all were at home. Life was easy and boring if all one had to do was plow and plant the same piece of earth that their father had done the same to. How surprised they all would be to see him when he returned home. Bandy the knowledgeable, Bandy the story teller, anyone could sneak into the lair of a dragon. The act took courage yes, but sneaking was easy for Hobbits. Here however was Bandobras Bracegirdle the one who plunged headlong into Fenbridge and snuck past the door of the enemy himself in order to find his secrets.'

Esgalwen's mind was troubled as they made their way deeper into the heart of Southern Mirkwood. 'Her companions took little notice that one of her friends had been trussed up in a tree like a play thing. Someone close to her that she had known far longer than any of these others. In fact, she knew Mogdred perhaps better than she did the people she found herself among now. Right now she was finding Grimbeorn greatly annoying. The man kept stopping and looking at her in an expression that said hurry up. What was the rush? She could take her time, make sure her footing was solid. The straps of her pack needed adjusting, the new blade at her side felt awkward and the position of the carry was not quite right yet...'  
Grimbeorn's axe felt good in his hands. The attack against the orcs was just a taste of the retribution he would inflict upon the enemies of his folk. 'How many of the slime are in this hole' thought the Beorning. 'The others stood back in the fight, or clumsily charged ahead. There was no merit in that way of fighting. Only getting in close, when the axe cut and the blood sprayed would there be the satisfaction of a job well done. These folk were slow, why were they holding him back from the Castle.' Arbogast slipped on a stone and Grimbeorn could have caught him, but instead he let the man's hand stop his fall and sink up to his elbow in muck. 'that's for speaking on behalf of the folk of Tyrant's Hill..."thought Grimbeorn.

Rorin marched down the hill. The others it could be said picked their way, but the dwarf marched. He meticulously kept the grime and the filth from his armor and it gleamed as much as it could in the light and fog of the fens. He saw that Grimbeorn too was determined to get to the castle and he matched his pace if not his stride. 'Who does this late comer think he is? I am a son of Durin and this castle has housed the enemy of my folk since the first age. Perhaps even this castle holds the orc who killed my father, or that orc's close kin. If they even have kin.' The dwarf barked at his companions, "we must hurry."

Arbogast slipping into the water interupted Bandy's thoughts about stupid, fat Hobbits. Going to help his friend, he hears Rorin issuing orders. Pulling down the muffler he had wrapped around his mouth and nose to keep out the noxious fog, he hisses "quiet Rorin. Don't be in a hurry to die. We shall meet the orcs soon enough. Unlike my friend here, I am small and inobtrusive. What if I go ahead and scout the castle to make sure there are no nasty surprises?"

Rorin was taken aback at the Hobbit's rebuke and began to lash out, "Do you do not underst- !" the dwarf paused and let out a deep breath. He reached down to help Bandy lift Arbogast from the muck, "Forgive me Bandy, you are right of course. Just like a hobbit to keep a cool head in the putrid land. I think it would be unwise for any of us to go off alone this near to the enemy, and I also fear that any delay out here could be the end of us as we are growing weaker every minute...we must press on."

Rorin, my dear friend, forgive my sharp tongue. This sour land is having an ill effect on me. Dark thoughts crowd my mind. How shall it be when we pass the gates of that dread place?

"I do not know what awaits us, but fear not! We have a wizard! What could possibly go wrong?"

Rorin slapped Bandy on the back, perhaps just a bit too hard, hoisted what remained of his pack, and stepped into double time to catch up with Grimbeorn who hadn't stopped walking.

  Wow, I'm a d-bag LOL

The Beorning grumbled at his companions and their inattention.  "Quiet!" he hissed.  "Do you want to bring the hills down upon us?  Moving faster is warranted being that we are now without provisions and still need to accomplish our task at hand."

Yea, Tom - don't forget to bring into account that the Company has been without food for three days. BUT - Matt did make a successful Hunting roll, so they did get some kind of food.

Quote from: GandalfOfBorg on Oct 01, 2015, 05:52 PM Wow, I'm a d-bag LOL

The Beorning grumbled at his companions and their inattention.  "Quiet!" he hissed.  "Do you want to bring the hills down upon us?  Moving faster is warranted being that we are now without provisions and still need to accomplish our task at hand."

OOC: hey yeah...a little X-men Wolverine characterization. I tried to tap into everyone's shadow weakness from their character sheets on that one.

I'll post the next segment tonight.

There was only one clear path to the gatehouse of Fenbridge. The companions had tried to stay to the sides of the road in an attempt to remain out of sight from the battlements. That choice however proved difficult going and their progress was incredibly slow, more from constantly trying o avoid falling in the water than from an attempt at secrecy. When even the clear eyed searching of Orophin detected nothing along the battlements the party without a formal decision one by one decided to walk instead along the road that was once the main thoroughfare for the armies of the Necromancer.

Now that the companions drew closer to the castle they realized that it was not one giant hulking structure set to block the road. There was the gatehouse sure enough but all the other structures seemed to be later additions, none of them done with an eye towards aesthetics. Each one another canker added to the previous one, forming a large mass, but not a singular one. Closer now they also noticed that fires burned somewhere and smoke came from some of the towers and chimneys, howling of unknown origins could be heard. One thing was certain, the castle was not abandoned, but with luck they also would not have to fight a garrison united in a single purpose either.

The anxiety of the companions grew to an almost fevered pitch, the fact that they saw or were challenged by nothing was almost more disconcerting than if a sortie of mounted wraiths had descended upon them while they made their approach. In time before them stood only the gate, and its doors were open.

Even Grimbeorn, the largest among the companions, felt small as he passed through the gates of Fenbridge. Many of the companions, save Esgalwen and Rorin, had never been in a city of any size or seen any great works of architecture. Past the iron bound doors the road passed into a corridor. The way was dark, save for what passed for sunlight on the other side. Several smaller doors and rooms seemed to open onto the corridor, but nothing seemed to stir at their final approach. The great iron wrought portcullis was up and the sharp teeth of its rungs hung over them as they passed quickly underneath. It was then that they heard the voice.

"Menzis, and dwarzis....Welcome." The voice was deep, not loud in its own right, but clearly heard.

"Tolls. Tolls for all who would pass on my road."

From one of the side rooms a shape began to emerge. In the thin light it was difficult for the companions to make out much detail. The large mass looked like a misshapen twisted cast off of clay, but as it shifted it had an almost mannish quality to it. Rorin knew what it was at once, a Stone Troll.

"What wills you give me to pass the gate? Master is gone, yet I remain. So the tolls belong to me and Menzis will pay better than Orcs."

The large corridor of the road was now filled with the creature. A stoneware jug in one hand, a giant club in the other, and a hodgepodge of trinkets clothing and mismatched apparel hung from his person, passing in some obscene way for clothing and decorations.   

"TOLLS to pass, or perhaps the two dwarzis?"

Bandy gulps and reaches for his belt. "Um...this should cover our toll." He holds out a purse of silver coins.

Bandy hopes either that the troll will accept the money and let them pass or that his comrades can use the diversion to prepare their attack.

Bandy is prosperous, so I assume he has a few coins.