Gwaithlim keeps a weather eye out for trouble.

 

Awareness - 1d12 : 1, total 1
Rolled 2d6 : 6, 6, total 12

All throughout the day, the companions are buffeted by the winds that hurtle first this way and now that across the sharp line of the ridge and drive the mists of the lower vales like waves against the shore.  Cold indeed it blows, and tugs like covetous hands at cloaks and clothes, no matter how tightly the five try to hold fast to their meagre shields against the chill air. 

In this clime, each forward step is a challenge for the ground is as broken and uneven as the blade of a saw, and each forward step must be carefully placed lest the ever-changing wind tug an inattentive traveller off-balance and cast them to the scree slopes below.  All tire quickly, not from the effort of walking, but of being ever alert to the danger. 


This is going to be a whole-group Travel test vs TN 16:

Arbogast


Esgalwen


Gwaithlim


Hathcyn

That's AP for Esgalwen and Gwaithlim, and Hathcyn gets to tag 'Wary' for one as well.  Arbogast, Weary as he is, blows his roll and loses some Endurance:

The shrieking of the wind makes speech difficult, and for the most part the company trudges along the ridge without a word.  Though the sky itself seems determined to shake them from their footing, they are sure in their passage as the sun rises to their right, shines above them and creeps slowly downward to their left.  The eastern slopes are in shadow and the west bathed in shining gold when Arbogast, without warning, topples from the ridge and goes rolling down the scree, the clank of his helmed head meeting a stone resounding even above the wind. 

Gwaithlim, watchful as he is of his companions' footing as much as the surroundings, cries out in alarm but it is Hathcyn, ever swift of foot, who springs to his aid, his feet barely slowing as he bounds from one secure spot to another.  Beneath his iron spectacles, the Fire-watcher's face is bloodied, but his eyes are keen as the Longspear reaches him.  "A Shadow-sent wind I name this!" he coughs as Hathcyn helps him stand.  "And this clear air is treacherous, for I thought the peak so close this morning but find it little closer now!"   

"Come Woodman, this mountain has no love for us, but that is no cause to dance upon its sides."

The two climbed back up the loose rock of the ridge line to join the others.

Long is the march and grim are those upon hill, so Gwaithlim sings a song of a similar yet more deeply dire trek through the mountains -- the flight of the Gondolindrim from the city's sack, the appearance of the demon of smoke and fire, and its fall with Glorfindel.  He couldn't think of anything more fitting (nor anything to lighten the mood).

Just for fun, let's do a Song roll:

Though the tongue of the song is strange, still its melody eases their hearts as they struggle onward to where they at last find a resting place at the foot of a slope steep enough almost to be a cliff face.  This, Beorn announces as they prepare their meagre supply of firewood, they will ascend on the morrow.  "I've not come this way before, as I'm sure you can tell, but we can't be far from where we're going." 


Matt, as a one-off for Gwaithlim's singing, I'm going to take a leaf out of Rivendell (leaf 24, to be precise) and grant him the Inspiration from the song - two bonus dice, usable on any single roll or, per our new house rule, as one bonus die and to activate a non-combat action, as long as both happen in the same round.  He also gets an AP. 

A most generous and inspired ruling by our Loremaster.

  Nice Thank you

This statement of Beorn's prompts again the question on the others' minds and which the elf forwardly posits again.  "Lord, might we be privy to this destination if it is indeed as close as you say?" Gwaithlim asks tactfully.

Beorn looks the elf in the eyes, silently holding his gaze for a long while.  At last, heaving a sigh of mighty resignation, he answers.  "Not to the top of the mountain.  At least, not today.  Near there, though, there's a secret place of which I've not told my son, nor his mother while she lived, nor any other." 

At the looks of the companions, closely huddled around the embryonic fire, he spreads his hands.  "I'm bound by a vow I made long ago to speak not of it, nor why I have to go there.  Would that I could tell you everything, for that would be an end to this questioning!" 


Beorn's a grumpy bugger, and there are limits to what he can say directly, but he's also not going anywhere.  If you want to dig deeper, tell me how you're going about it and we'll make some rolls. 

If not, I'll move things on as you continue up the mountain.   

Hathcyn watched the flames humming softly and then he began to speak to those trying to squeeze warmth from the small wind swept fire.

"Here we sit, perched upon the side of the mountain. I feel something of the Firewatcher's calling, the need to tell a story. As is the custom that we may pass the time and to remember the days of old."

"As many of you know the settlements of my people are often ringed with white stones some distance from our homes. This is a warning and a sign to all who approach that the hunting of animals is forbidden within the ring, a custom passed down to us from our oldest days when we came to the great river."

"This story begins, as many often do, far in the past and where the stars are different, perhaps away in the east where the place all folk have risen."

"Long we dwelled there and as the ages came and went a shadow would sometimes rise and we would hide and seek safety with our animal friends, the noble guides of our houses.  Deep into the woods and hills we would withdraw. Unwilling to completely quit the land we had always known and unwilling to leave the spirits of our ancestors. In those days we dwelt as one with those who came before us, our fathers from ancient times, and the spirit animals we took as brothers and sisters. In those days the unbroken line of family was not so remote and not so distant. There was a cycle to life then, days and nights, summer and winter, much as there still is today. However, in the in between times, the times of changing the moments between day and night, night and morning, the setting of the sun and rising of the moon, the longest day between summer and the dying of the year. In these times the barrier that separated the living and the dead, the spirit and the beast would become thin and the folk could be whole and all together."

"One day out of the west came two messengers, Morine and Romeso. The two were clad in the blue of deep water they came to the people with great wisdom and a grave warning. They said that a time was coming and not far off when the darkness would come again. Unlike the times of our fathers, we would find no refuge in even the remote corners of our land. The people were troubled, for these men were held in great esteem. Great councils were held among the men, among the beasts that were our guides, and among the voices of the past. And though the two messengers were great hunters and we asked them to help us fight if we could not hide they would not counsel any other course but flight and in time our guides and our most ancient of fathers counseled the same. Many tears were shed at the parting and the leaving of the graves of our fathers and to our greatest pain the circle was broken."

"The loss was greater than expected, the folk lost the voices of their fathers and the help of the guides. Even during the greatest times of changing their voices were sundered from us and bitter was every step that carried us towards the west. We wandered west and in our travels some accepted us and others rebuffed us, but always the sorrow of what we lost was our heaviest burden. We then came into the tales of the people of this land to find that they too were in turmoil. Kingdoms were rising and falling the people suffering their own pains."

"Then in a time that is still dim and only hazily remembered we came to the great river. A great body of water that remains the same yet is always changing, here in a land that is neither wood nor mountain something that we thought forever lost returned. Our animal guides came back to us here. We found the voice needed to speak to them in this new land. At night and in the changing time we may pass our mortal flesh to run and hunt with our ancient friends to sing of the old days when we all were whole and one folk. Though our fathers remained lost to us in this place by the great river our guides returned."

Hathcyn broke a few of the remaining sticks and fed them into the fire.

"And so we return to the white stones. In this land we found we could run again with our guides, but not with our living bodies, and while we wandered we could suffer wounds and our bodies perish. The stones set the boundary where guide and spirit may be free and safe from harm Our greatest law is that none hunt at anytime within the circle, to protect not only ourselves, but to preserve a sanctuary for the flesh and hides of our guides. Even in our greatest of needs we will not hunt within the circles we have set aside. "

Hathcyn looked from the windswept ridge in the direction of the great river.

"We will not leave this land. We have lost the voices of our fathers, but we have found by chance or by design the voices of our guides. We will not risk their loss again and though the Carrock be the last island bastion of our people the river will never grind it down and forever will it mark our finding of each other again and we shall never surrender it."

"I am Hathcyn Foresthelm, brother to the fox, and I speak this tale as I heard it from my father."

The mountain campsite was quiet for a time as Hathcyn's words settled into the night and floated on the fire smoke into the sky. In the telling of the tale Gwaithlim perceived the image of a bear behind the great chief Beorn, and beside Hathcyn a fox with folded paws that listened with upturned ears to the words of the tale.

The elf was the first to speak.

"Hathcyn, while I have not heard this tale before I can tell you that it should have a place in the Hall of Fire in the west if you ever find yourself there. The names you spoke stir a memory, the fragment of a larger story. In friendship I can add to your telling the rightful names of the two messengers you spoke of Morinethar, the Darkness-slayer and Rómestámo, East Helper. Both were servants of Oromë, the husband of Vána, and the greatest hunter of Arda. He long wandered in Middle-earth and fought against the beasts of shadow even in the days before the sun and moon. Those two came at his bidding and long ago they passed into the east. Few are the tales we have of them but in your telling I see they have continued to struggle against the shadow."

With the Elven song stirring her heart and creating images within her mind, as if by magic, and Hathcyn's tale of his forebears, Esgalwen looked to the heavens above and saw the Evening Star.

It had many names.

To her and her kindred, it was called Rothinzil and Gil-Estel, or the Star of Eärendil. The elves spoke of it being a ship that was set in the outer heaven by the Powers that ruled the world, and its captain wears upon his brow one of the great Silmarils of legend. Eärendil the Mariner - the forebear of her own people.

She thought about recounting a story that she knew from her youth of Westernesse and the heroes of a greater time, but instead she just looked at the star for a bit and then lowered her eyes. She pulled her cloak tighter about herself, smiling at Hathcyn as she did, and sat quiet.

This was their tale to be told. Gondor was far away and Númenor was gone. Even a story of Ithilien, which was where her heart lay seemed an interruption. Esgalwen had no desire to take away from her friends with old tales of glory to which none could relate.

This is awesome stuff, and I stand ashamed at my lack of storytelling ability of late.