When at last Arbogast was once more himself, and a week had passed, the company made their plans to commence the trip home. Food stuffs were gathered - dried fruits and meats, nuts, bread, and other items that would travel well - along with meal for the horses. The fields in the valley below would be lush with green grasses, but still Hartfast did not want to send his  visitors away without proper rations.

The Mountain Hall chieftain was visibly bothered with the departure of his new confidantes. He had gained a great respect for each over the weeks that they had spent in his home and he did not want to lose their strength of arm, skills, and sharp wits. Still, summer was passing and he understood that they needed to get home. The contract with Ceawin of the East Bight held them to their timeframe, and though Hartfast did not care much for the man - as he did not believe them to be true Woodmen of the Vale - he would not ask them to break their commitment. Arbogast, too, was needing to go. Long had the man spoken of his home on the Black Tarn, wondering as he did if it was still there. Had they rebuilt? Did they still get threatened by raiders? Arbogast had to know.

While Grimbeorn and Esgalwen readied the horses, Bandy assisted Arbogast in gathering their things and helping the healing man with his bandages. Rorin came at last from the forge with a burnished steel helm that was of fine craftsmanship. The eye guards, which were always the fashion of Dwarves, looked to be made of bright copper and the cheek guards were traced with gold. Etchings covered over all of the steel and told the story of the men of Rhovanion. It was truly a beautiful piece of work.



Rorin displayed the helm to his companions and the Mountain-men and many looked at it with wonder. Hartfast asked if he might hold it and Rorin offered it with a bow. The chieftain looked it over and spoke, "With such fine smiths in our midst, such fine arms and armour would we have to drive back our foes. Their own weapons would splinter upon our aegis! Master Dwarf, promise me that when your time is at last free to you that you will once more grace my hall and forges and bring to my people the knowledge of your kin." He held the treasure aloft, "LO! Let this Helm of Peace be a symbol not only of Ceawin and the Men of Sunstead, but a symbol of the pact between we mountain folk!"

A great cry came from all of those that stood near, "HUZZAH!"

Hartfast handed over the helm and the Dwarf wrapped it up in a cloth that smelled of oil. It was then stowed upon the mule that would bear Rorin back to Rhosgobel. The chieftain then went to each of his guests and made his goodbyes:

To the Beorning, "Master Grimbeorn, let the troubles between our people be set aside and allow us to once more come to the table. Certainly we can make agreements that will benefit both our folk."

To Esgalwen, "Lady of Gondor - your mettle is strong and you are a model for all of the shieldmaidens among my folk. You have my thanks and as emissary to your Steward, know that the folk of Mountain Hall would stand with the folk of Gondor should need ever arise."

To Arbogast, "We are kin and soon to be blood, as your family merges with one of mine. You may call this home whenever you so need."

To Bandy, "Master Bandobras, you too have much to teach us here in the Mountains. Like the hill to the mountain, stature is not the true test of strength, but more so how deeply rooted you are to the ground. Your courage and fine skill made it so that more of my people did not die and to that we are forever indebted. Your family and folk will always be welcome here in my hall as long as me, or my kin rule here. Know this...along your route home you may be interested to find that your kin of long past may have once lived within this vale."

And then to them all, "Make sure you keep to your road. Steer clear of the fens of the Anduin that hide the Dwimmerhorn. Beware the Wolf Wood. Though the Men of the Vale are strong across these lands, the shadows grow wherever they might."

The Company mounted up and began the ride out of the mountain vale. They were followed by an entourage of well-wishers and children, but these slowly began to bleed away as the distance grew. Soon the Company was alone on the trail out of the lower Misty Mountains that they had followed up near a month ago.

I want to point out that the overarching goal of the Darkening of Mirkwood is the uniting of the tribes of Woodmen. The strength of Sauron will grow and eventually make war on Middle-earth, but it is how strong the alliances are between these people that will determine whether they stand and fight, or are destroyed alone in their isolated halls.

You guys have created a good relation with the men of Mountain Hall and have started the slow build up of the alliance of Mirkwood.

I am awarding you all 1 point of Standing. Granted, that mechanic effects how you are received by your own folk, but still, if your own people hold you in high regard, then outsiders will, too.

Esgalwen  


Another post is to follow this, but I am working out time spent on the road and what you guys see for potential future quests.

The trek took the better part of a week, as they rode first east to the river and then south. The fording had taken some effort, but they had crossed with little loss. Their path took them north of the mires of the River Gladden and the Wolf Wood. They skirted around an old, stone fortress called Stonehallow and then cautiously rode over the Field of Heroes, which was held in great reverence by those that lived within its bounds.

With August 2951 T.A. coming to an end, the companions rode once more into Rhosgobel. Ceawin was there with his entourage and they all were quite pleased when Rorin revealed his work. The Lord of East Bight beamed with pride, "It is exactly what I wished it to be, Master Dwarf! With it, we shall honor the fallen and the restless will rest once more."

They company looked at him inquisitively, but Ceawin merely smiled, "It is a tale for a later time. For now, come... let us break bread!"

Arbogast   I'm assuming that he's fully healed - if not, let me know and I'll fix things. 

yes, you should all be back to normal.

Cool beans.  Full post tomorrow (my time).

Bandy felt odd on his return to Rhosgobel. As they approached the Wood-man town he began to feel almost like it was his home and the Shire was a distant memory. He had hoped to see some of his kin on this last excursion and again contemplated how long it had been since he was home. Instinctevly he felt at the poucch at his side, and lamented the small stock of pipe tobacco that he had remaining.

Though his skin has closed, Arbogast's wound continues to make itself felt in small ways - in the pain as he breathes deeply before fording the mighty Anduin, or the stiffness when he rises from a night spent sleeping on the grass of the vales.  But by and by these things lessen, and the still-young man comes to understand in a new way that the fear and pain of injury are as much the lot of a warrior as the exultation of victory.  

Yet the inward musings that lent strength to his laconic side begin to fall away once he finds himself once more beneath the shade of Mirkwood's great trees.  The sights, sounds and smells made familiar by years of watchful exploration lift a weight from his shoulders that was hitherto unrealised.  By the time he smells the smoke from the fires of Black Tarn Hall, he is singing to himself:

To home, and the halls of my kindred,
To home, and to hearth I draw nigh.  
To home, and the arms of my lover,
In whose warm embrace I would die!

For forty long years may I tarry here,
For forty long years and a day!
No more might I follow the destiny,
That has carried me so far away!

He catches Esgalwen's quizzical look, and with a rueful smile tells her 'Sometimes a song is merely a song.  I shall journey again, and yet farther, before our fellowship's burdens may be laid down.  But I pray you, indulge me in this, you who are each day further from her home than I have ever been from mine.'  

When Rorin brings forth the helm in the hall of Rhosgobel, the Fire-Watcher does not fail to mark the words of the Lord of the Sunstead.  He casts his eyes about, seeking the Brown Wizard, as he ponders what they might mean, and what Caewin the Generous may yet be concealing from them.  


I'm attempting a Riddle roll to figure out what he's on about.  
TN 14(?) Riddle 2

Rolled 1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 2d6 : 5, 2, total 7

Well, that's a decent-ish result!  What does that, plus Shadow-Lore, get me? 

Grimbeorn smiles at the Mountain Men's chief.  "I, too, would like that as well.  Ere I return to my lands and your people have dealings with mine, show them this," and he hands the man a large tooth, a canine from one of its namesake, notably a warg, with a rune inscribed denoting that it is of Grimbeorn.  "There is nothing special about it other it may secure us all better relations." Sniffing the air, "Night comes too soon again and all men must come together to fend it off."

--

Entering Rhosgobel for Grimbeorn is almost like returning home... almost.  Seeing Ceawin reminded the Beorning of sunshine and peace and harsh words and disappointment.  Grimbeorn sat far from the man and kept to himself, the wound to his heart still fresh.

As the helm left his hand for Caewin's, Rorin felt a brief pang of regret. He did not know much of this man and the stink of secrets always seemed to hang about him. Rorin had no reason to distrust him, and yet he did. But the feeling quickly passed, the construction of this helm had already begun to unite the peoples of Mirkwood, and Caewin was an ally.

----

After enough time had passed for everyone to relax and eat their fill, Rorin pounded his tankard on the table and climbed up onto the bench so the room could see him.

"Aye! Listen here! My friends, several moons ago I asked each of you to accompany me on what I deemed a mere errand, and each of ye' humored me and came along. Along the way we faced unexpected dangers, and some of you paid the price in blood. I am grateful to count you as my friends and honored to name you my companions.  So to you, the powerful Grimbeorn, the wise Bandobras, the dauntless Arbogast, and the loyal Esgalwen, I present these as tokens of our fellowship, may it last for years to come!"

From a pouch on his belt Rorin produced a brooch, it was formed in the likeness of the Helm that he had crafted. It was made of dark polished steel inlaid with bronze decorations in place of the copper on the actual helm. He pinned it onto his own cloak then produced 4 identical pieces and handed them to each of the others before raising his tankard in celebration.

Arbogast raises his drinking horn in automatic response, but his eyes remain fixed on the brooch in his hand.  Though the materials are base metals, the workmanship is beyond the skill of his people's finest metalworkers.  And Rorin is no master of his craft, by the standards of his folk, he thinks. 

Having already doffed his cloak, he pins the brooch to the front of his shirt.  Each of my friends has done me great favours since we met.  It is to their weal that I must now cast my mind.

Rorin's gift brightened the mood of Grimbeorn as he took pride in afixing it to his tunic.  "Thank you.  It shall be worn in remembrance of our bond and friendship between us and hopefully moreso between our peoples.

While the token was a cloak pin to the others in the hands of the Hobbit it rested more like a badge of office. The Hobbit held it aloft and marvled at the miniature detail the dwarf had wrought into the pin. Every detail of the actual helm was there and the fire light danced from it as if it were a living thing.

"Master Rorin, this shall be an emblem of my house. A great mathom that shall represent the deeds we have done together. I shall bear it proudly and treasure it always in a place of honor in my home. When I return I wil have it's likeness carved into the door of my home and any kin of yours who seek shelter shall be welcome in my home as long as my days last and my kin remember."

Ceawin smiled due to the camaraderie, "Strength to stand before all foes comes from the ties that bind us." With the dinner now done and the sun having set over the mountains, the Master of East Bight sat in the light of lanterns that had been strung about the encampment, and he addressed the entourage. "Summer is waning and the treasure that we have sought has been completed. We must away soon, back to Sunstead, before the coming of Winter. The cool winds of Fall will soon scatter the leaves of the forest over the barrows of old that lie within our realm, of ancient men that were the forefathers of the Eorlingas and Rohirrim.

"I wish to present this gift before those old mounds begin once more to stir and call to our folk. It will be a long journey home, but we can get it done if we press our advantage in these final Summer days. The question is, do we go the long way - south around the southern flanks of Mirkwood, or push through its heart? Perhaps to use the Old Dwarf Road again, as we did in our early Spring crossing."

Many of the faces of Ceawin's gathered folk darkened at the thought of that earlier trip. They had made the journey with little harm to their group, but it had not come without terrors. Ceawin looked around the table and narrowed his eyes on the Company, "To you five - the Company of the Helm, I so now name you - would you be willing to aid us in this, one more time? Would you be willing to make the journey back with us to Sunstead, and then help in delivering the Helm of Peace that has been so masterfully crafted by our friend Dwarf?"

The companions were not shocked by the request, but were befuddled as how to answer. To go meant the seasons would change once more well before they could return to their home - their true homes. In fact, a new year would start and wax as they made this journey. Weariness pressed down on all of them having just completed a long journey that had been filled with danger.

For Arbogast, the thought of his new home filled his mind. He had left the Black Tarn and his lady, Lindwine, with the onset of Spring and only after a raid had caused great damage. The conflagration had almost taken the town. Was it still there? Was his home? His business? Was Lindwine still waiting? These questions weighed like lead in his hands as he looked at the smiling Chieftain of Sunstead.

To Esgalwen, the decision was easy. Their return to Rhosgobel did not mean more to her than a place to take rest and heal both mind and body. Her homeland was far away, but she had offered and was accepted to be the voice of the Steward of Gondor in this region - to be his ambassador of sorts. And so, even though her legs were stiff from the time in saddle, she nodded an acceptance to Ceawin's request, for these were new folk she needed to meet. Folk that needed to know that Gondor was their ally against foes great and small, as long as they were willing to offer the same in return.

Rorin, too, saw no major challenge with the request. Granted, his forge was here in Rhosgobel and it would sit idle for many months, if he took up this task. But, he would be closer to home - at least closer to the straight path that could take him to Erebor if he so wished. Also was the chance to see the Old Dwarf Road! If Ceawin and his folk chose that path, Rorin could look upon the works of his kin, stone-craftsman of old who had laid the ancient earth-works. The thought interested the Dwarf greatly.

The remaining two, Grimbeorn and Bandy sat dumbfounded, as well. Both were already far from home, and this would do nothing more than take them farther.

---

You guys know better the way your PC's feel regarding Ceawin's request, but I wanted to bring to light any potential impact that could come from leaving on another journey.