oOC: not I.

Okay, having made a big song and dance about this, I really should step up.  I'm rolling 8 Healing tests as Arbogast tends to Rorin during the journey to Amfossa's house.  I'll note for the record that due to his Fragrant Weeds (p 111), he isn't Weary unless his Endurance drops again.  Do I get any bonus for the presence of other healers who know about athelas and (maybe) have seen this before? 

In any case, the rolls:

Day 1


Day 2


Day 3


Day 4


Day 5


Day 6


Day 7


Day 8

Sorry, Steve...

Other than the one    that was pretty good.

....glad I didnt roll.... oh hello Paul!

  Like you've never accidentally killed off a fellow PC with a single bad roll. 

Arbogast had tended to Rorin, along with Angrim, one of the Rangers of the North, for the four days of travel. The Wood-man was becoming knowledgeable in herb lore and leechcraft, and there was a marked improvement in the Dwarf's state.

Rorin did not awake, though.

Each day, the athelas was broken into boiling water and then applied to the Dwarf's brow, all the while the Dúnadan called softly his name, but Rorin did not stir. There was even a terrible moment when Arbogast tended him that the quiet form of Rorin changed, and the blank face went grim with terror. The Fire-watcher was certain that the Shadow had clutched a hold of Rorin's heart even greater and attempted to steal him away for good. But then, the next day the symptoms changed and he was once more more responsive to their administrations.

But now, the companions were come to the house of Amfossa the Trapper.

There were a few hardy trappers that lived along the Greylin River, hunting the beavers and stoats for their fur, which they would trade with the Beornings. Amfossa was the leader and spokeswoman for these trappers. She was a tall, powerfully-built woman with eyes that seemed blue or green or brown depending on the light. To hear talk the wives of the other trappers, the
passing years did not leave their mark on her, suggesting she must have Elvish blood. She was an excellent shot with the hunting bow she always carried.

Amfossa lived alone near the meeting point of the rivers, in a shack built on wooden stilts by the bank. It was from here that she governed her folk and met with traders — as well as other visitors. Grimbeorn was surprised to hear that his father, Beorn, had been known to travel north to consult with her, and that Gandalf and Radagast were not strangers to her house. It was also evident that these Grey Watchers were welcome, for quickly were they given entrance to her home.

The shack, for that is what it seemed, was surprisingly very comfortable, and larger than it seemed from the outside. After one night's rest, the companions woke the next morning as if they had slept on soft pillows rather than cots, and all of the aches of their travels had dissipated. Grimbeorn, in particular, felt as if his pains had been washed away by the running waters of the river, and greater was his endurance. Angrim was please after only two days to see that the reddened, swollen skin around his abdominal wound was subsiding. The corruption was leaving the man.

Though he had no grievous wounds, Bandy was finding peace of mind. The kindness shown by the woman, though she was firm, was refreshing after so many days of trouble. The Hobbit wanted to get back home...an odd thought. Not the Shire, but his home in Rhosgobel. To just be running normal errands for the forge and aiding his Dwarven friend with simple tasks - that is what the young Hobbit wished for.

As he thought of his new home to the south, suddenly Esgalwen returned to his mind. She was very much like these Men around him - the blood of kings of old flowing in their veins. Though Bandy did not know for certain who these Men were, noble was their manner and deed, though grim their facade. It was like they were of legend from a time before the fall of the North Kingdom. The lore and legends rolled through the Hobbit's mind. Many a day he had spent reading information in the library back in the South Farthing, said to be one of the few repositories of scrolls and books from the days of Arthedain and Norbury.

"Where are you now?" he asked no one in particular.

"Eh?" came a response from one of the hooded Men.

Bandy shook his head and excused his outward question, wondering as he did where their dear companion had gotten to, and if she were safe.

Grimbeorn lays in the cot, hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling.  It's been awhile since he's felt this well even though his healing wasn't complete.  But many things continued to run through his mind that had started awhile back - insecurities and doubts of worthiness.  He questioned his fitness in helping his companions which led to inability to lead his people.  These thoughts were more poisonous to his esteem and well-being than the injuries he suffered.

Arbogast keeps a laconic watch over Rorin during the journey to Amfossa's house.  And once arrived, he is content to let the Rangers speak for the company, though he responds in a respectful fashion when directly addressed.  The second day of their stay finds him by an outdoor firepit.  A jug of ale in his hands, he stares unseeing at the flames, thinking of a day years ago when first he made the acquaintance of those now his closest friends.  By and by, he is joined first by Bandy and then by Grimbeorn, come to let the sunlight and fresh air do what they may for his healing.  The three sit in companionable silence, passing the jug as Amfossa and those Rangers that have tarried here go about their business. 

The three know each other now less by sight than by smell and sound, or some other, unnamed sense of the space each one occupies.  The same sense is all too keenly aware of the absence of Esgalwen, her whereabouts and welfare unknown, and Rorin, who slumbers still in the grip of the Shadow.  The future is, as always, murky and filled with unknowable peril, but for now there is light, and warmth, and easy companionship. 

Softly, his voice at first scratchy from disuse, the Fire-watcher sings. 

Our eyes stare out unseeing and our hands are loosely hanging
Belaboured by the brutal work they bent to over-long
Can it be that it is ended?
Can it be, we are delivered
And the terror to a bygone hour may now at last belong?

Our cries have fallen silent, though their echoes are still ringing
About the field left us by the now-defeated throng
Cometh mercy to the dying
Cometh rest to the surviving
And to memory our battle as it passes into song. 

" I thought I was dead," said the small voice of the Hobbit.

"I don't know what we fought, or to what end, but it was terrible. I have heard many of the songs of the folk of men, elves, and dwarves. In those tales things like that are terrible literary devices that serve a point or explain how heroic the hero was. A bit of truth maybe to be a warning, but that creature was real. I've heard no story proven by fact, partial evidence, or Hobbit history that ever involved something like that  with proof making it real. The Witch King of Angmar is an old name associated with long told tales of horror not really believed in. But that creature was real. No personification of dread accented by time. This was a real horror, that I watched drive my friends to the ground.

I realize now the elves are deeper and more sad than I ever guessed, because greater horrors then even this they faced and I now believe they were real."

Bandy looked at his two remaining friends.
"what hope do we have? I sought hope in the foolish belief of reasoning, i sought hope in our courage, I sought hope in the wisdom of the wise. Failed, all failed. What hope do we have against that mounted horror? I dont believe for an instant we slew the beast. I'll speak of it now, and never willingly again. In the moment it was banished I felt an unhooded lamp cast a dark light upon me. And though it struck me no blow felt a pure hate that paled the strength of the foe we fought. Only the Eldar are safe, they will leave Middle-earth and in the end our strength will not match that of the nameless void and hate I felt in that moment. I was wrong, it wasnt the orc who never should have come here, it was me. I have no strength, no wisdom. I had not even sufficient courage to run."

"I would not so lightly discount you, friend.  Who was it who roused our courage to fight at the Millfort?  Who was it who faced a troll single handed and kept the beast at bay?"  Arbogast meets the Hobbit's eyes.  "Who was it whose simple resolve years ago inspired me to step across the threshold of the Enemy's fastness?"

He accepts the jug from Grimbeorn with a nod.  "When I left that place without Orophin, I felt as if all hope were lost.  Others close to me have likewise found themselves confronted with the blind cruelty of this world.  But the sun rises even after the darkest and coldest of nights, an we endure to bear witness to it.  We are all of us come of lines that have faced the Shadow, and its maledictions great and otherwise, back and back until the day the world was wrought."

The fire pops, and he pauses to shake a cinder from his boot. "There are dark things of which I can only surmise from their absences.  Things of which Radaghast clearly knows, but does not speak.  One such have we faced.  And if we did not truly defeat it, then neither did it vanquish us.  If our ancestors in times no longer recalled even in tale and song faced greater perils, then our presence here, on this day, by this fire, is proof that such things could neither break or forefathers, nor cow them into servitude. So let it be for you and I, and all we hold dear."

"What we encountered is similar to, if not the same thing, that inhabits Dol Guldur, or so I've heard," muttered Grimbeorn.  "They are creatures ancient and dark, and it is said they are servants of the Dark Lord now re-emerged.  That is all that I know from sneaking in to hear the hushed talks of Gandalf and my father.  It appears I need a talk with him more about the dangers lurking at the border to our domain and beyond.  As for the Witch-king, his legacy is all too real in that fallen kingdom as it has been a plague upon our people from their alliance with Gundabad for as long as our memory serves."

"My people endure, like those of Arbogast and many others who live in these lands.  Hope is a luxury and lie at times while faith in others is as fleeting as the generations.  We continue on because we must, for to fall prey to despair is to lose all that you are.  Our companionship has endured beyond reasoning because we made up our minds to put the freedom and safety of others before that of ourselves.  Even still there will come the day that we will part ways from responsibility, age, infirmity, or death take us.  That is the way of things for we are Men and thus mortal."

Days passed in the house of Amfossa, while the companions waited for some sign from their Dwarf friend that he would pass through this shadow.

Their host was accommodating, but kept to herself. At times she would leave in the morning, only to return the next. When she was present, she spoke with the companions at length about the goings on of the eastern and western vales. Viglund and his folk were aggressive and threatened any that did not fall under his rule, or pay tribute. The hunter was aware of his pact with Gundabad, though she and the few folk that she led were too weak to oppose the man's actions.

During these days, too, the Grey watchers came to say goodbye. The Company was already aware that Damrod had sent off most of his folk that had come into the encampment that night that they stood against the Shade, but now he would be off, as well.

"I will leave you in the capable hands of Amfossa. Leave her home as you found it, aid in restocking the supplies you needed, and you will find her doors are always open to you." The Dúnadan could see the concern on Bandy's face, "Fear not for your friend, little one. Dwarves are a tough lot and I believe that he will find his way back to you. Keep calling him as you apply the athelas - he will hear your call home. And do not discount your deeds in all of this - few have stood up to the Spectre of Gundabad, let alone strike out at him. You have done great things here, Bandy. Is there any word, or thing, you would send home? I am leaving the Vale of Gundabad and will return to the lands of Eriador, and the Shire."

The man's words puzzled Bandy, for surely there were no men in the Shire. The closest men he knew of were the Bree-landers, and tales did not speak of them being so doughty. Damrod could see the Hobbit's confusion and smiled, "I leave within the hour...let me know if there is something you would send home."

[This is an opening, Tom, for Bandy to go home 'for a while' if you wanted to try a different character type. If not, the narrative below will be our story. If he does go with Damrod, I will retcon the below story.]

Amfossa's house became quiet.

With the rangers now gone and the huntress always away, the companions sat to themselves - resting, healing, and wondering of tomorrow.

On the seventh day since Rorin fell into his stupor, the Dwarf suddenly broke out into a raging fever. He moaned and uttered strange words in his native tongue. Arbogast boiled water and crushed the dry herb into it, given them by Damrod, as Grimbeorn washed the fragrant water over his brow.

Among the Khuzdul curses, Rorin also cried out in the common speech. "NO!! NEVER!! It is a lie! Deceiver!"

The companions feared through the night, as they worried their friend would be consumed by the fever that raged within him. Wearily, they sat vigil near him as the hours passed until suddenly, in a sweat-matted mess, Rorin sat up and stared wild-eyed at no one.

"THEY LIVE!" He yelled.

And then his eyes seemed to clear, like the sun breaking through a clouded day. He blinked heavily and stared around himself, and at each of his companions.

"Hullo," was the simple word from Bandy, but the smile that broke across Rorin's face seemed as if it would split him from ear to ear.

"YOU ARE ALIVE!" Rorin cried out and scooped the Hobbit into a hug that smothered him. "Bless my beard, you all are alive. I knew the words were lies. The visions...all lies."

I have restored all PC's to max  , removed fatigue, and conditions.

The only thing that will remain persistent is the points you guys accrued.

I have a little more story to tell - and the new character to introduce in this chapter, but then we will take a Fellowship Phase.

Amfossa allowed Rorin a few more days to recover, but it was soon apparent that the huntress would see her guests be on their way. She was not rude about it, but they had consumed much, and even though they aided in restoring her supplies it was time to go.

But where?

The summer was moving on into August and they had been gone from home for many months. Arbogast thought of his wife and daughters far away to the south; Grimbeorn thought of his home; Rorin also thought of home, which was much closer now; and Bandy desired Hobbit company.

The Easterly Inn, it is called, I believe, thought the small scholar. How I could go for a bit of Hobbit brew and some good ole Toby! He was certain that any Hobbit, even this side of the mountains, would bring those few institutions of Hobbit-life with them.

They made counsel. It was their original goal to go to the Carrock, before they had been hoisted all the way to the Elven Realm. Before they had been sent in pursuit of the Elven lady...who apparently had disappeared. [BAD GM! BAD story-telling!]

In all of their concern for Rorin, the companions realized that Ruithel was no longer among them, having made her way with the first of Damrod's entourage.

Each looked to the other - would they make for the Carrock and winter there? Would they push all the way south and return to Rhosgobel?

Rorin yearned to be back at his forge, but deep inside, too, burned a desire to join Bofri in the reparations of the Dwarf Road.

Much had been achieved in their journey - but now they needed to tend their own.

Lastly, they spoke of Esgalwen. Amfossa had heard from a few of her folk that a woman had returned their stolen children, but then she departed. To where, no one knew.

Okay, it is time for some player inter-communication.

Where are you guys heading?

Understand the next three episodes (years) of the Darkening of Mirkwood are relatively repetitive in what we have already played through, except the werewolf and the Lamp of Balthi.

I am going to use just a portion of these three years ideas, but do my own thing (so don't be confused if you read the book and we are not following along). As you guys can probably see, I have also introduced the Ruins of the North campaign with your meeting of Essylt and dealing with the abductions of the north.

I may even extend a Fellowship Phase over a year or two - getting us to Murder in Laketown. It would give the PC's the chance to do their own things - Bandy visits home; Rorin aids Bofri; Arbogast is a father for a while; and Grimbeorn builds his standing among his people.

The story elements of DoM that take place in these skipped chapters will still affect our story, they just are re-hashes of what we have done - an abduction, crossing the narrows to find a new passage, etc.

As always, give me your thoughts on this - but know that we WILL be doing the story elements of the Werewolf of Mirkwood. I am just going to play that out differently due to the misspoken words of Arbogast, while drinking Elven wine under the boughs of the Elven Realm - when he spoke about the lamp. 

I am starting two new threads - one will be a poll for you guys to vote on direction of PC's at the end of this particular chapter. The other is to introduce our new player's PC...you guys can read along with it, but not interject any character actions or thoughts.