FELLOWSHIP PHASE - The Last Good Years

[tomcat]

LATE SUMMER TO FALL YEAR 2947 T.A.

Our first chapter end.

Here I give you open forum to write up your characters' / the party's activities (undertakings) through the long winter of 2947 and through the following year to the spring of 2949. It is not necessary that you are all together, but include the reasons why you come back to Rhosgobel to be part of the company. Enhance the relationships you all share and give us details as to why you are all becoming fast friends. I will include these posts in here in the roleplaying experience rewards of our next Adventure phase end. Be creative and add things to the story, whether about your home, wives, relations, whatever - anything you add I may use as story arcs. If you have a question whether you can add something, don't hesitate to PM me. You do not have to include but one post here each about your PC's, but feel free to work together to formulate the activities and flesh out Mirkwood.

Amaleoda's long house will be built and many of those that have no home of their own are welcomed there to help grow the Black Tarn clan.

Ceawin and his folk are accepted into the ranks of the woodmen and new routes are pressed through the woods to aid in trade.

Mogdred leaves the moot and is not seen again by the clans, though trade along the new routes are harried by raiders and Amaleoda's crops and fishmongers are continuously robbed.

The roads south from the Beorning's lands through the Anduin Vale become less safe as raiding orcs out of the mountains are no longer stopped.

[Eclecticon]

Arbogast is by no means a skilled craftsman, but a young man willing to work long days will always find welcome where a hall is built.  He spends the remainder of the summer assisting in the raising of Black Tarn Hall.  Still, he finds few friends even among Amaleoda's folk, for the Men of Tyrant's Hill have already turned to raiding their nearest neighbours and his vocal support for them is widely remembered.  Arbogast bears this small doom with characteristic stoicism - while the self-fulfilling nature of the doomsayers' predictions at the Folk-moot is not lost on him, he recognises the fear in his neighbours eyes and their need for security.  Providing it becomes his self-appointed task.  In conversations with those who will speak to him, he suggests several ways in which the defences of the Hall can be strengthened.  Though others ultimately take the credit, he takes a private pride in the stout palisade and well-sited gate that rise in early September. 

It is about this time that he receives a quite unexpected visit - his uncle Lafdag having made the uncertain trip down the Dusky River from his small steading near Woodmen-town.  The crippled man bears his shield on his back as he embraces his nephew. 

"Well-met once more, my boy!  It is good to see you hale and strong." 

"Thank you, uncle.  I must say, I had not thought to see any of my kin so soon.  My father and brothers have sent no word since the moot." 

His uncle nods his characteristic slow nod.  "You love your father, as is proper for a son, but the man is blinded by the words of his clan.  Even if he weren't, I suspect he's too much a fool to see just what manner of man he has fathered!  I can see, though, even if he will not.  You (and this hall!) are worth a trip, come raiders, spiders or shadow.  Besides, your mother worries about you."

"How do you k-"

"Because all mothers worry about their sons.  It seems to be a law.  I'm sure your grandmother worried about your father and I.  I don't think they ever consider us really to be men, ready for the world."  He un-straps the shield.  "That's one of the reasons I'm giving you this." 

"Your shield?"

"Your shield, now.  Keep it close - it's a good one, well-wrought in my youth and still strong.  Remember, a sharp axe may bring you all the glory it denied me, but a shield will save your life!  And our people already remember too many glorious, dead men." 

After Lafdag's departure, and with the weather cooling, Arbogast sets to building himself a small house near the palisade gate.  Once complete, he extends a standing invitation to all the members of his summer fellowship to come enjoy what hospitality he can provide, particularly Bandobras, who has no other home east of the Misty Mountains.  For those who are absent, he leaves messages with the people of Rhosgobel, who have become accustomed to their comings and goings. 

This continued association with strange folk does little to improve his popularity, though several trading expeditions to the East Bight in the company of Grimbeorn in 2948 bring a measure of grudging acceptance.  These crossings of the Narrows of the forest (a route from Black Tarn Hall proving elusive, though Arbogast continues to believe one might be found) are dangerous and uncomfortable.  But the Beorning is as indefatigable as his father, and Arbogast is adept at finding hidden ways through the darkest of woods.  They find a people already trading with the Men of the Lake and, through them, the Men of Dorwinion. 

Though their capacity is limited, they bring back wine, fine cloth and well-wrought rings.  With what little he can afford, he begins courting Lindwine, the Ice-Dancer.  Though she is as cool as her nickname, and her family is less than pleased, she does not refuse him outright.  Arbogast, smiling as he watches his own hearth, is willing to take his time. 

As the snows of winter melt and the year 2949 of the Third Age awakens, he hears the news that the fellowship is beginning to reassemble in Rhosgobel.  Desiring greatly to see his friends once more, Arbogast the Fire-Watcher of Black Tarn Hall sets out to see what tidings they may bring. 

[Telcontar]

  doug, are you moving ahead two years or was that a typo?

[tomcat]

doug, are you moving ahead two years or was that a typo?

  No typo. I am going to have this Fellowship Phase last until Spring 2949. The campaign book had 2947 and 2948 spanning the meeting of Mogdred and his people and the Folk-moot, but our telling had them happen in 2947. So, I am going to let 2948 be the time the clans build off this new coalition and the company members who want/need to return to report can. The Fellowship phase will also allow the players to give reason as to why they rejoin since the Folk-moot is over.

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn bid farewell to his new companions that don't accompany him on journey.  "I go to help these men on my way back to my people.  My father is surely keeping watch for my return as I have been gone far longer than expected.  I will return ere he deems the errand worthy.  Farewell, my friends."

Seeing as he'd be able to help the Woodmen in two ways at once, he set out with the hunters to find the game and protect the lands from the further incursions by orcs out of the mountains, while also surveying the lands to find better routes through which to create new roads to connect the people.  The road was long and hard with many battles fought and losing good men to the rabble created by the Dark Lord of ages past.  Rough maps of the area were made and secured for they both held economic import but strategic information to help defend the people as well.

By the time Grimbeorn and his hunter companions reached the borders of his land, the seasons were changing for the colder.  Snow could be seen upon the peaks for weeks now, but they getting more and more white with each day.  The heir of Beorn offered the men refuge for as long as they needed it before they returned to their own people for the winter but the politely declined, only accepting what provisions they could carry to get them comfortably back on their way.  Bidding them farewell from the borderhouse, Grimbeorn carried on back to his father's home.

"Father, I am home!" Grimbeorn called boisterously, upon entering the House of Beorn.  The room was light with the fire in the center burning brightly, casting fearsome shadows throughout due to the ornate woodcarvings of bears and the like.  A large man with a great black beard peered with the light of the fire in his eyes at the newcomer.  "My boy!  Have those Woodmen forgotten how to count or have you?!  You tarried with the wizard longer than you said you would.  I told you it might be dangerous if you had stayed away from your folk so long -- dangerous for them, that is.  Bah, come sit by me and tell me of your adventures."

The day wore into night and back into day while Grimbeorn told of what happened in the lands of southern Mirkwood -- his companions, the boar, the assassination and traitor, the dark Woodmen of Mogdred, and of his journey back to his homeland.  The animal servants kept food and drink flowing so the lad could tell his tale.  "Another of these Hobbits out of the West, you say?  That is a surprise.  But what isn't are emissaries of the Elf and Dwarf kingdoms.  It is good that they arrived -- those men could certainly use the counsel.  Yet what gets stuck in my craw though are those ingrates complaining about our tolls.  You reminded them of the price we bear for keeping them safe?!  The price I, we, have paid because the fell creatures!  I have a mind not to send you back..." 

But before he could rant any longer, he let out a big yawn, which was shared by his son.  "Off with you now and get some rest.  We'll finish this later."

When he awoke, Grimbeorn found the sun was setting.  He found his father out in the pastures tending his animals.  "My head has cleared, son, and so has the rash thoughts.  I will send you back as the emissary of our people.  Make no mistake, my ire is no less cooled, only tempered.  But before you go, tonight is the equinox and the full moon.  It is a night held deep by our kind and the first of many for you as you begin the journey to come into your birthright as bear and man."

A week later, a more aware, a more proud Grimbeorn set forth from the northern Anduin vales back south towards Rhosgobel to continue what he helped start.

[Bandobras]

With Grimbeorn's return to his people and Arbogast leaving for Black Tarn, Bandy tarries a while at Rhosgobel to rest and to learn from the people whose lives have intersected with his own. The killing of Bloody Muzzle, however, has left the mistaken impression that Bandy is a marksman and is soon pressed into service into one of the many parties that range far into eastern Mirkwood. Together with a band of Woodmen and women, Bandy finds himself enveloped in the forest's gloom and struggling to identify and follow tangled, little-used paths. With axes and long knives, they clear old tracks and cut new ones with the aim to create a corridor between Rhosgobel and Sunstead. Beset by wild and sometimes unnatural, black-pelted animals, they are hunters and hunted as much as trail blazers.  Many close calls leave Bandy shaken, but he gives thanks that they encounter nothing as ferocious as the Boar, or Dagmar. The danger draws the companions closer together. If the days are long and difficult, the nights are rewarding. Camped around a fire, enjoying the rough camaraderie of his new friends, Bandy smokes and tell and stories of the Shire.  Whether out of politeness or real interest he cannot tell, the Woodmen call for more tales from west of the Mountains. In turn, he encourages his companions to tell stories from their own history and folklore. Bandy listens intently to tales of great champions, wise elders, and crafty woodspeople. After many stories have been passed back and forth, the camp grows melancholy as Barald, a quiet, older man with grey-flecked hair and beard, remembers Ingold, Ingomer Axebreaker's eldest son, as a young man. Brave and good-natured, Ingold was a natural leader and beloved by all. Always the first among his kinfolk to venture forth against encroaching orcs, he risked his life often for his people. Then one day Ingold fell in battle. His body was never found, and it was assumed he had been killed. Barald trailed off, not needing to say more for all present had attended the Folk Moot and heard Mogdred's claims.

Knowing that not everyone present approved of the decision to decline Mogdred's proposal, Bandy tries to restore the sense of fellowship. "Hearing your tale of sundered kinship makes me ache to return to my homeland to be with my family and friends. Only the thought that I have embarked on some important task with you my friends holds me to this place. At home I would be comfortable and secure, but here you are driving back the shadow that has for too long hung over this great forest. I would like to be a small part of that." He then passes around the skin of wine he had been saving for the occasion.

With the coming of winter, Bandy takes up Arbogast's invitation and journeys to Black Tarn. There he spends the days working on the Hall and the long nights spinning tales to entertain and lift the spirits of the Woodman youth. One night, during a good dinner, Bandy related Berald's story and confessed his own yearning to return to hi skinfolk. Then, he adds, "Arbogast, you spoke well and wisely for unity and kinship at the Folk Moot. Yet I have heard nothing about your own family. Why you are not with them this winter season?"

  Apologies for not posting before now. Work became unexpectedly busy.

[tomcat]

Apologies for not posting before now. Work became unexpectedly busy.

No worries! You will find that our games here may move at a slow pace at times, but they will always move forward! 

[Bandobras]

Apologies for not posting before now. Work became unexpectedly busy.

No worries! You will find that our games here may move at a slow pace at times, but they will always move forward! 

Thanks Doug. That is fine by me, as my work and family commitments are not always predictable.

[Eclecticon]

With the coming of winter, Bandy takes up Arbogast's invitation and journeys to Black Tarn. There he spends the days working on the Hall and the long nights spinning tales to entertain and lift the spirits of the Woodman youth. One night, during a good dinner, Bandy related Berald's story and confessed his own yearning to return to hi skinfolk. Then, he adds, "Arbogast, you spoke well and wisely for unity and kinship at the Folk Moot. Yet I have heard nothing about your own family. Why you are not with them this winter season?"

Arbogast doesn't answer immediately, though the silence in the house is a friendly one, allowing fuller contemplation of the warmth of the hearth, the dance of the shadows cast on the ceiling and the aroma of forest herbs from the stew-pot.  When he does speak, the young Woodman's voice is controlled - almost empty of emotion. 

"The hard and simple answer is that they would not have me.  Arbodag, son of Scyldag - my father - takes great pride in his house and his clan.  He is a steadfast warrior, despite his age, and would see his sons become the same.  Lafdag, his brother, is very different.  He crippled his leg when he was but a boy, and has never stood in a shield-wall.  Instead, he watches, he listens and he ponders.  He understands much that my father does not, but has never fully convinced his brother that his understanding is worth the while.  I am not much like my father, but a great deal like my uncle.  I have only recently taken up arms as befits a man of my people, but have spent long nights watching the fire with Lafdag and learning to understand as he does." 

A thoughtful look comes over him.  "Perhaps my father worries that I am Lafdag's son, and not his?  The events of the past year have given me cause to re-examine much that I believed to be the case among my people - and this would explain the harsh looks I have seen passed between them." 

"In any event, my uncle at least bends his understanding to the benefit of his kith and kin!  My friendship with outsiders has exhausted the last of my father's tolerance for me, I suspect.  It was a stroke of great fortune that Amaleoda's proposal came when it did, for as you have seen," he indicates the newly-formed calluses on Bandy's hands with a spoon as he serves supper, "the folk of the Black Tarn welcome anyone who can wield a hatchet, no matter the company he may keep!" 

With this, he sits himself down on a stool and begins to eat.  Around mouthfuls of savoury vegetables, he asks "and what of you, Bandy?  The upheaval that drove you to cross the Misty Mountains and abide with strange Men in Mirkwood must have been great indeed!" 

[tomcat]

Awesome posts, guys! Keep it going. I love character depth to provide for side story arcs.

[Stefan]

The speed at which Men made decisions never ceased to amaze him.  The Moot was over so quickly he'd barely gotten to know the men and the hobbit so he decided to spend a little more time with them hunting and helping them prepare for winter before he returned to the hall of his king.

A couple of moons running the paths of the forest with them and singing songs around the fire, listening to the stories of the woodmen and the hobbit almost made it seem as if the Shadow had truly departed. But still he could feel it, like a thief in the night, just a glimpse at the corner of his eye as the others slept.

It wasn't till the snow began to fall that he made the journey back to the Elven court to report to the King.  He spent the winter there and in the spring he went back to his raft.  Travelling up and down the great river trading with those along the way.  He visited Rosgobel several times throughout the summer of 48 with trade goods for those people now that he had made friends there.

Time passed as it always did for the immortal elf and the spring of '49 was upon him before he knew it.  Once again he was plying the trade routes along the Great River looking forward to spending a few days and nights with his friends in Rosgobel.
 

[Bandobras]

Unprepared for Arbogast's revelations, Bandy felt clumsy of thought and speech. His heart ached for his friend. He wanted to be comforting, but what could he say? He said nothing for a while.

My friend, I have no words to cheer you, although that is my greatest desire. To be separated from your family is a great ill for which I have no remedy.  You can only demonstrate your worth by living according to your conscience. One day, you will be a leader among your people. I can see that.  You may have to join the shield wall on occasion, but your greatness will be in your words and in your council. Your father will have a choice then, to stop his ears or to soften his heart and listen. Until then you may rely on your uncle, on the fellowship of your friends, and on the people of Black Tarn.

Although our stories are not so different, I fear my own troubles fail to measure up against your own and that my reasons for sharing your fire may seem altogether frivolous and selfish. My own family, although successful in their own way and by the standards of my people, are a rather narrow and incurious lot. Most hobbits are I suppose. I am expected to succeed father on the farm but my own predilections are toward scholarship. As you know, I have been collecting stories for a history of hobbits, especially those that go out into the world. That is the reason I gave for leaving home, but if I am truthful with myself, it was to escape the suffocating expectations of my parents. Like your father, they would be scandalized by my friendships with big people, dwarves and elves. Still my experiences here with you and the others have made me see myself and them more clearly, more honestly. Yet, those same experiences prevent me from going home. I now understand better, better than any hobbit except perhaps Mister Baggins, that the world outside the Shire is dangerous. The Shire may enjoy some protection from the Shadow by virtue of its remoteness but it cannot be immune from evil. I must do my part here to ensure my family and friends do not have to face it. Until then, I shall call Black Tarn my home with your permission.