An Ambush on Bridge Street - The aftermath

[Eclecticon]

Increasingly sure of the tiny holds under her hands and feet, Esgalwen surges over the crest of the rooftop to find the bowman, a narrow-faced, dark-haired man wrapped in a cloak worn too thin for comfort in the lake-shore wind.  His bow has slipped from his grasp and no doubt lies in the street below, but several black-fletched arrows abide still in a quiver trapped beneath his shoulder.  The Ranger's own arrow rises near vertically from his belly, and the blood still welling from the wound is dark and sluggish. 

The bowman turns unfocused eyes on her as she draws near, and speaks in the tongue of the Anduin vales.  Only long familiarity with the speech of the folk of the Anduin allows her to make out his last slurred words.  "Ah, Solveig!  You are here!  Hear me: I do not think that we should follow them into the darkness below, Solveig.  I think it will be the end of us..." 

He lapses into silence, and stillness, as the northern wind blows cold and empty.

On the street below, Balin appears from his hiding place beneath a pile of sail-cloth.  "I had heard of your skill and courage from my friend Rorin," he says, "but I had hoped not to see it demonstrated so closely!" 

His smile quickly slips away as he beholds the wreckage of Men that lies strewn about.  "No," he says, "better it had never come to this." 

The youth, his face still covered with hood and scarf, slips away from Hathcyn as the Longspear makes a grab for his cloak.  Hathcyn goes to follow him, but Grimbeorn halts him with a word.  "No.  He flees in madness, and will do so day and night until he perishes from it." 

Shaking his head in frustration, the Beorning prince emerges from the alley to see watchmen, their swords drawn and brandished, keeping a wary distance from Arbogast as he works an arrow from the chest of Tafan.  Nearby, another rolls over the swordsman who was first to fall at his hand, and Grimbeorn has a sudden shock of recognition, for he has seen the dead man before. 

Unlike the would-be slayers of Legolas the previous eve, this man is well-fed and well-armed, his beard lush beneath the blood and the device of a red circle worked prominently into the buckle of his girdle, for he was one who rode in the escort of Mogdred to accompany him to Lake-Town. 

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn looked at the man and then to Grimbeorn.

"The stew thickens....and there is sorcery at work here too."

[GandalfOfBorg]

"Not just any sorcery that we've encountered in the past.  We need further counsel on this.  Hathcyn, please see to the gathering of the bodies and their belongings.  They should remain under trusted guard.  It appears as though spies unknown have infiltrated or been bewitched in all our delegations."

"Lord Balin, I wholly agree, I care not for the death of other Men, even those that stand in darkness against me.  But what say you to our next step?"

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn was loid so that those near by would hear him.

"The gift shall not be delayed, it shall go to the council hall. Are there any men of the lake who will aid us and see the gift delivered. We are in need of a porter."

Hathcyn was quick to the watch. "These men waylaid us while we were about the business of the Lake. I believe its connected to the attack of last night on the Elves. Who is in charge here? You? See that these bodies are removed intact and unmolested from here so that we may examine them later."

"Come now the fighting is done and there is much to do. Make way there. Lords Balin and Grimbeorn need to pass. YOU, make way."

[tomcat]

I will get a post up tomorrow. Sorry for the delays. It has been a busy week.

[Eclecticon]

"Lord Balin, I wholly agree, I care not for the death of other Men, even those that stand in darkness against me.  But what say you to our next step?"

Balin's eyes clear as his mind lifts from its reverie.  "I believe our theatre this morning has done its work, though I wish more had been gleaned from it!  When you and yours are ready, we should take the casket the rest of the way.  King Thrain deserves the return of his bier."


Great posts, guys.  I'll see where the story goes once Doug has his post up.

[tomcat]

Esgalwen checked the man one more time to ascertain that he was no longer among the living and then made her way carefully from the roof. Onlookers aided her as she hung over the side of a wood awning and then dropped to the ground below. Laketown guards were there and she spoke quietly, "A man lies dead upon the roof. He will need to be brought down before carrion birds can spoil his body further.

She was on the opposite side of the building from where her friends were embattled and Esgalwen quickly ran the path until she returned to where she had started. The fight here was done, too, and Grimbeorn spoke with the Dwarf elder. Arbogast looked to the Ranger and Esgalwen sorrowfully shook her head to let him know that her shot had been fatal and the man would now tell little tales.

The Fire-watcher spoke, "It was a fine shot. It needed done so as to make sure none of us were the recipients of the same fate."

"I know, Arbogast, but it still leaves us with the mystery of who and why. Although I will say that before he died, the man uttered his last confession and it only broadens our plight. Perhaps one among us can make clear his final words, or at least someone within this town."

"What did he say?" inquired her friend.

"I cannot be certain, for he choked it out with his last and he spoke in the tongue of the Men of the Vale, but it seemed he said, 'Ah, Solveig!  You are here!  Hear me: I do not think that we should follow them into the darkness below, Solveig.  I think it will be the end of us...'

"He obviously saw a ghost to refer to me as someone else, but I do not know this name, do you? And into what darkness did he fear going?"

Esgalwen looked to the Fire-watcher in hopes of some clarity, even as Balin spoke his decree.

[Eclecticon]

Oh-ho - the old 'ask the GMPC to clear the matter up' trick!  Well, let's see what Arbogast has pieced together:

Riddle

1d12 : 5, total 5
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 4, 2, total 12

[Eclecticon]

"There is also this," Arbogast says, holding the bloody head of an arrow, freshly prised from Tafan's flesh.  The Fire-watcher passes the grisly token to Esgalwen, who turns it over in her fingers.  It is fashioned of blackened iron that catches the light with a sickly yellow gleam, and in its shape recalls the many orc-forged arrows that she has both seen and felt.  Its craftsmanship is different, however: its lines neater, its surface smoother. 

I'm just going to see what else she can see...
Craft

1d12 : 6, total 6
Rolled 1d6 : 4, total 4

[Eclecticon]

She is not forge-wise enough to know for certain, but she surmises it to be in the mode of Angmar of old.  Then, with a jolt, she realises that Arbogast is still speaking.  "... know not who he saw when he addressed you as 'Solveig', but I would hazard that she is, or was, his beloved, and that they entered the service of the Shadow together." 

His hands move confidently as he tears strips from the Southron's ruined tabard to make bandages, though troubles continue to crease his brow.  "I would guess that someone has been abroad in Lake-Town, gaining the allegiance of the wretched and downtrodden - recall the half-starved faces of those Men last night! - for some time.  Given the frightfulness of the foes we have faced, I would guess that this man presents a friendly face and an open hand.  Thus, their service is first bought with food and silver, and only then are they ushered into the 'darkness below', to meet that which they follow unwittingly, and which sends them forth, broken and mad, to work its will further." 

Tafan's wound continues to bleed into the linens wrapped about his chest as Arbogast stands and turns to the watchmen.  "Bear him to the Town Hall, as quickly as you may!  I fear yet that some fell work is yet to fall upon him." 

Then his eyes, both tired and alive with energy, fasten upon Esgalwen, and the two Beornings as they and Balin approach.  "As for what the darkness below might be, I would wager much coin that our foe keeps itself between these timbers and the water below, where the sun does not reach night or day.  There are ways down that the fishers and boatmen know.  My guess is that at least one other is kept secret somewhere in town." 

[Telcontar]

Somewhere Hathcyn had procured a grilled fish on a stick and was nibbling on it and flicking the bones onto the planks below.

"Wonderful, looks like we'll be swimming after all. Are they destitute? Or is the hunger and fatigue part of a membership ritual? These folk seemed out of their senses and barely connected between thought and deed. We have again more questions than answers. The origins of this group are mixed so its unlikely they are from a fallen kingdom, but maybe the stores of this place you mention came from an old hoard or stockpile. We are far indeed from the Vales. Perhaps they are pillaged loot after the battle of Five Armies. Much and various gear came with the orcs of Gundabad and few of them returned.

We'll find no answer here. The guard will move the bodies and we must move ourselves. The King's progress must recommence."

[GandalfOfBorg]

"All this just leads to more questions and fewer answers.  Let us continue," says Grimbeorn.  If none have stepped forward to assist, he will sling his shield over his back, hand off his axe to Hathcyn, and carry to bier himself.  This is no time for dallying and quibbling, action is to be taken.

[tomcat]

Esgalwen follows behind the men as they carry the bier to the House of Healing, but all the while her eyes study the cruel barb that she still held.

She marked the craftsmanship - cruel but efficient in its purpose. It was certainly no orc-forged shaft. Though versatile creatures in a pinch, the orcs she had seen and dealt with did not spend their time making things of beauty, even if they be weapons for killing. No, this was made by hands more subtle and skilled, and learned on the ways of old. If it were fashioned like those of the northern wars against Angmar that she had read of in her grandfather's library, then it was a skilled craftsman indeed. Someone with the same knowledge.

And what of this darkness the dead archer spoke of along with Arbogast's interpretation. Was the Enemy moving among them and drawing in the down-trodden? All of this only created more anguish - the whys and the whos were now many within her mind. All the while, Gandalf's words rang out, "Keep your watch, Ranger."

Solveig. A name. A woman. That is where she would start. Somewhere in Laketown there may be this wife? Sister? Or whoever that knows of what darkness the dead man spoke.

Esgalwen looked up to maneuver within the throng of townsfolk that plied their way along the avenues of the small town on the water. Seeing she lagged behind, she quickened her pace to catch up with her friends.

"Arbogast? Hathcyn?" she said, once between them. "Once Tafan is delivered and Grimbeorn is secure once more within the Halls of the Master, I will begin to seek out this Solveig. Join me, if you wish."

[Telcontar]

This time Hathcyn had somehow come by steaming mulled wine.

"Surely, any lead is as good as the next at this point. And if it will stall another day of discovery of the mire and filth below these boards on the water then I am for it."

"Truthfully, that last skirmish tried me sore."