Empty Hall, Empty Soul

[tomcat]

"What will your reward be," he asked, "when you are forgotten and the Shadow has called you back to its bosom?"  Arbogast shifted, desperately trying to bring his shield to bear.  "I know that those who love me will sing of me, and lament my death, but who shall shed a tear for a dark memory that wears the form of a man it never was?"

The spectral form, its sword held at the ready, paused and then stepped back. The Woodman breathed in surprise as it faded into the darkness of the hall, which now was only lit by the remnants of daylight that cast through door and crack.

Arbogast turned his head as a voice spoke to his left...

"Foul bitch and your whelp, it is only through the sweat of my brow and the work of my back that you have lived this long. You'll get no other kindness from this world and you'll be hungry and tired, and die early cruel deaths. Your husband was the lucky one when he died, and so escaped your vile grasping hands."

It was Hathcyn standing in the dark, his eyes wild with wrath and his body bleeding.

And then towards the center of the hall stood Grimbeorn, he appeared to be puzzled as if he staved off a thing that was no longer there, even as he made challenge.

"You may keep coming until I lay dead on the floor with all of these ghosts, but you will never have me nor my companions! You are a lie! You are false!"

Finally, the Dwarf was heard huffing and puffing, his axe in motion as it swung in a wide arc. He looked about and now saw his companions.

"What is this damnable place!"

The ghosts had faded. The Hall was now naught but an empty sad shell. Each member of the company could feel the pain from the wounds they had suffered - both of mind and body. Only Arbogast felt the cold - the eternal emptiness of the damned spirit that was harbored herein.

A voice spoke in his mind. It was sad and lost.

You are free. Your hearts and wills are made of sterner stuff than is fitting to reside within this sad hall, where we are doomed. I will bother you no more. You may reside here in safety whil'st you rest and heal. I will see you from the wood and I reward you for your courage, if you the will to take such gifts that I bestow.

In Arbogast's mind, an image of a tree was seen on the eaves of the eastern wood - a large tree that had stood long in Mirkwood. At its feet, held in the earth by its roots was a chest of iron and wood. The vision showed a mound of gold and silver, and a round circlet of iron.

The whispering voice lingered, Take the fruits of my reign as your own. Mayhaps they can be used for better things in your life than they were in mine.

The presence faded from Arbogast, even as the rest of his companions were now aware that the threats were gone. Still, the cold remained within him for a time - having been touched by the forsaken soul of Aldor the Cruel.

The Fire-watcher shook his mind clear of the dark thoughts and cold feeling, even as he heard Anar say, "Oh my! The poor lass."

He turned to see Grimbeorn gingerly laying Amaswinta in a peaceful repose - the dagger given her was sunk deeply into her breast.
Paul, your great roll at the end there removed the final two Hate points possessed by the Hall and so the dead spirits released you all.

Still, I am going to say that Arbogast suffers 2 temporary Shadow points for rolling an with his winning effort. Translate it how you will, but I kind of see it as the hall yields but still the sad spirit imbues his evil will. 

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn roared. It was a howl primal and sad, painful and enraged.  "What if we burned this place to the ground?  No one deserves this torment."

[Eclecticon]

With a wordless cry, Arbogast scrambles to Amaswinta's side, but there is nothing to be done.  The life within her is fled.  For a moment it seems as if he might weep for her death, but then the emotion leaves his face like the closing of a door and he turns his attention to his own wounds.

To Grimbeorn's outburst, he replies "Aye.  It may not free those lost to it, but it will make a fitting pyre for my kinswoman."


Healing roll for Arbogast (in case it matters):

1d12 : 7, total 7
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 5, 6, total 13

There's also the fact that the last serious wound he suffered from a sword like that left him deathly ill for a week - this one might spread more of a spiritual corruption, or might give him similar symptoms, if this adventure is just about over. 

Alternatively, if there's more story to go on with, he might be temporarily lamed instead.  I'd have him effectively Weary for the rest of the adventure to reflect the pain and loss of mobility.

[Telcontar]

Anar approached the spear weilding madman. He seemd oblivious of his surroundings and it took the deft dodging of the armoured dwarf to get at him and stop his mad swinging of his spear. He was greatly disturbed and fell to the ground when he came to his senses.

"This wood is a vile place, root and berry it should be consumed in fire. From here to the Grey Mountains. It was a black day that we decided to cone here."

[tomcat]

The companions took time with mending their wounds and then resting for a short time. They used the Hall, as it was the only shelter they had and Arbogast was quite sure that there would be no more danger. He could not explain how he knew, but he made a persuasive argument.

In the center of the chamber, Amaswinta was placed reverently - her body cleaned and the dagger removed. Around her, Hathcyn and Anar placed wood and other kindling that they were able to collect from the surrounding forest. They did not venture far from the Hall, but fallen detritus was close at hand.

When the new morning came, Grimbeorn lit a brand and then shoved it under the pyre upon which the woman lay. Smoke began to bellow forth and then fire crackled into existence. They stood round long enough to offer up any words or prayers to her spirit - that it might find its way to where good folk pass - and then they strode from the Hall of Ghosts.

In the light of day and from their vantage atop the hill, Hathcyn could see a good distance and it was plain to see the forest thinned to the east of the prominence until it at last ended in a large swath of green fields. How had they not seen this before? Were they so road weary that they could not see beyond what was in front of them?

In Arbogast's mind, he heard a voice whisper once more, I will see you from the wood and I reward you for your courage, if you the will to take such gifts that I bestow.

The Woodman knew differently in his heart. The Hall had been atop a hill within the shadows of the Heart of Mirkwood. He was certain that there was nothing around but trees for miles and miles. Could the ghost hall have moved and taken them along? Did the doomed spirit offer its boon in its defeat?

A large crack of wood was heard and then a whoosh!

Fire leapt up through the collapsed roof of the hall and heat began to make the hilltop uncomfortable. The remaining companions marched down the hill towards the forest's edge and the East Bight. There they would find the safety of Sunstead and could at last get good food, good rest, and heal heart and body.

Grimbeorn looked behind him at the burning Hall and fire crowned the hill. Smoke rose in a great plume, but within its shifting grays and whites the Beorning was certain that he saw people gathering around the conflagration. He shook his head and some of the ghostly figures faded, but most remained. The captive spirits of Aldor gathered once more to watch him burn.

[tomcat]

Not far from the hill where the Hall of Ghosts burned, Tyulqin raged at her loss.

She had had them! She had toyed with them for days, weakening their wills and their resolve. Why had she not pounced sooner? They were easy prey. They would have made juicy treats.

But that was it...she was not yet hungry. The other woodmen that she had taken from the river had filled her belly, and instead she took pleasure in the cat and mouse game that she had played. But like so many mice, they sometimes slip away!

Her massive bulk shifted and with one last look at the burning hall and her prey walking down the opposite side of the hill, she moved away into the deeper woods. It did not matter. She had time. They would come through once more and then she would take the slayers of her brood! She would string them up in her web, drain them of life, and leave their husks to rot in the trees. It would be so wicked and so good.

Around her, the small host of spiders that had accompanied her also began to move. They were now free of her immediate needs and so would hunt for themselves. Some of the evil creatures stared with their many eyes at the four individuals that walked away and thought that maybe they would steal this treat from their queen.

After all, how would she know?

Unknown to the Men and Dwarf, messages were sent across the great breadth of the forest's heart. The darkness there quivered as the tiny vibrations passed along each strand of web that interlaced the entire wood. Almost as one mind, the hordes of spiders all cursed and spat at Tyulqin's news.

[Eclecticon]

Arbogast does not turn to watch the flames consume the ghost hall, his attention focused on making his way as safely as possible on his badly injured leg.  As they near the edge of the forest, he breaks the silence.  "My friends, there is something I would show you, an you be willing to take a longer path to the Sunstead.  It may be that we can yet find some gain in this ordeal." 

Though his words are cheerful, his mind churns with a brooding restlessness.  We did not escape, he thinks to himself.  We were toyed with by two dark presences, and overcame one, but it was the merest chance that the Hall of Ghosts took us from the Weaver's clutches, and it shall not occur a second time.  But Tylquin remains, and there will yet be occasion for this fellowship to brave the darkest parts of the wood.  Nor will the Dusky River keep her kind from the lands of my people forever.

As the company walks into the sunlight, his injured leg begins to throb.

[tomcat]

For game time reference, the hunt for the Barge-men and the passage through Mirkwood took the better part of twenty days. It may not have seemed like there were a lot of nights' rest...but I am going to say that the PC's were so weary from constantly having to keep moving that time was numbing and passed without recollection.

Cool?

The Company exits Mirkwood in the first week of June 2954 T.A.

[tomcat]

In my introduction to this chapter, I stated that we would just have a year-end Fellowship Phase for 2954. Looking at the PC's it might be wise to have a mid-year phase for some Undertakings...specifically the need to lower Shadow and spread the Hope pool.

Let me know what you guys think. It would give time, too, for you to heal in Sunstead.

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn is numb, burned out on rage from the experience in the wood.  He barely hears his friend over the fire before and within him.  "What is left to be gained in this venture?" he asks absently.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn was glum. "This was a fruitless effort. Not even the redemption from the spiders of that poor girl mattered in the end. I have never been this tired from work alone as I am now and our skins are dry. If yonder is Sunstead I hold no prospects of finding peace their either. They offered gold and coin for a road and though sore pressed for it I'll not enter that wood again for money alone."

He was silent for a moment, "Arbogast, though I have little to my name what I have I will share with you if you wish to take your family and leave this wood and dwell among our folk."

[Eclecticon]

In my introduction to this chapter, I stated that we would just have a year-end Fellowship Phase for 2954. Looking at the PC's it might be wise to have a mid-year phase for some Undertakings...specifically the need to lower Shadow and spread the Hope pool.

Let me know what you guys think. It would give time, too, for you to heal in Sunstead.

I'm cool with ending the year there, unless there's another story you're busting to tell in 2954.

[tomcat]

Well there is nothing to do for the campaign in the year 2955 either, so I am going outside the written campaign and going to do some story around Sunstead to Laketown.

If you guys don't want these characters to be part of the filler, then we can say they head home and you guys can create new characters (I don't mind if we do a generational shift). The story will surround Sunstead, Laketown and Dorwinion and eventually take us to Dale - so your characters are going to be away from home for a while.

[Eclecticon]

I'm certainly up for some action on the eastern side of Mirkwood - Arbogast hasn't seen much of that part of the world! 

Is there enough time, in theory, for characters to rest up, head home and come back via the (ever more complete) forest road?  Alternatively, could the next story(/ies) happen in 2955?

[tomcat]

I know you have read DOM and so you are probably aware of the weak content of years 2954 and 2955. It was these weak (repetitive) adventure arcs that have little purpose except to try and emphasize the River Maiden's fall and give more spider challenges, along with introduce the Hall of Ghosts, that made me want to drop them out altogether. But, I didn't want two years to pass with no story content...so...I am using them as a stepping stone to the East Bight and there to Dale (for year 2956).

What does all the above mean? I did not plan on you guys returning back west anytime soon. The story will now build on Ceawin and his foolish attempt to appease the shadow, and then finally back to the main theme of DOM in 2956. Could the characters travel back and forth in the time allowed? Yes. Do I want to narrate another couple crossings? No. At least not narratively...mechanically, we could do it, but I need a reason for the PC's to be in the East Bight - and from there, want to go to Dale. To your last question, yes, the new tale will span into 2955.

This is one of the reasons I have a hard time moving Arbogast and Grimbeorn across Wilderland. They both have serious duties at home.

I am not too sure my above paragraphs give any clear, coherent thoughts.