Taking the Bait

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn mused..."or they wanted all the rabbits in one trap."

[tomcat]

Esgalwen nodded at Hathcyn's reply, "They had achieved that. For all intents, we were beholden to their trap - some more than others. Foul sorcery had been placed here. Why? To imprison Grimbeorn and his soldiers. They could have come and slain them prior to our arrival, lest the magics had not yet taken affect."

The woman continued to wonder, "We found Grimbeorn at bay and then we, too, became ensnared, wasting our time trying to free them from the sorcerous bonds. It would have been the perfect time to attack us in force and what great names would they have taken, should victory have been theirs! Grimbeorn, scion of Beorn, great-slayer in the Battle of Five Armies; Hathcyn, bannerman of Grimbeorn; Elves of wood and beyond; and in all modesty, Esgalwen, daughter of Gondor.

"It seems to me that it was more important to keep us pinned in one place... aye, a trap, but not one meant to keep us long." Esgalwen shook her head once more, "Still... I cannot see the answer to this riddle."

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn pondered for a moment then spoke.

"The great warg that leapt the gate spoke to me. Or at least I understood it to be speech. The wargs speak like the dogs do, but the dogs having long association with us speaker clearer when you learn to listen to them. This great warg knew me on sight, and he led me to believe that he had some vengeance in store, but they I smelled different, being covered in the smell of horse. I think perhaps the steading was a trap that was not sprung because they were waiting for the nest to fill. I think our coming was expected, but the defeat of the sorcery spurred them to action before the plan was fully ripe. Only the Woodman was absent....is this a hunt against our Fellowship? Was the plan simply to lure us all together, reduce our will, and strike when we were all together? I dont think brute force was their aim. a more malicious and deeper thinking force is at play here."

[GandalfOfBorg]

"You have been a plague against the machinations of The Shadow and its allies for years -- your presence has been noticed and your number, kind, and even names are likely known to all.  Count this as flattery if you will," jests the elf.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn frowned deep in thought. He had never considered that he himself may be a specific target against which the malice and the will of the shadow would take particular notice.

"If this is true then we ourselves are the bait and not this Army. Though I can think of no singular being in which such power and hatred could array against us such a force. Unless it were that of one of the great spiders, but this is not their way. They do not command any but their own kind. What singular enemy have we made that would be capable of such a feat and still be unknown to us? I fear this riddle is the true problem we face and these wargs are but a reflection of its power and malice."

[Eclecticon]

These thoughts sit heavily in the guts of the Fellowship as they follow the trail into the hills.  Ever-fainter it grows  as the ground beneath them turns from the thick loam of the vales to stonier soil and the warg-spoor that they seek is harder to find, but such a number of warg-riders as this cannot but leave a trace for a cunning hunter.  Nor is this the first time that the companions have followed an orc trail, and the wanton destruction left by orcish reavers as they travel is clear as day for those with the eyes to see it. 

As sunset approaches, they find their trail making straight for a dell cloven between two low hills, where a stream clearly flows during the spring thaw and has now left an empty bed.  Above the gap grow trees which, while stunted and twisted things, are nonetheless thick of branch.  In the shadow of the Misty Mountains, it seems that they gather the darkness to them, weaving it into a cloak to shelter the dark things that no doubt hide and slink beneath.  Even to this distance, a charnel scent carries on the evening breeze, unsettling the horses. 

Though it may not yet realise it, the quarry is at bay. 

[Eclecticon]

Luindîs can barely contain her glee as she alights from her mount and strings her bow.  "Surely as night follows day," she says in a giddy whisper, "This is where our foe abides.  But how many are they, and of what kind?  I will go forward and spy them out, for I am a maid of Mirkwood born and none can tread softer, nor see clearer, beneath bough and shadow!" 


Without waiting for a response, she begins to creep forward, her feet soundless on the summer grass. 


I'll give you a chance to interject before I make any rolls, but Luindîs is already moving so it's going to have to be fast!. 

[Telcontar]

"There is something peculiar about this elf."

Hathycn debates stopping her, but pauses. The party is known to one of these warg chieftains but perhaps not the elf. Their job was to scout for the enemy and they have found them, but the risk may bear fruit.

[Eclecticon]

Let's have Luindîs roll for bein' all sneaky-like, then:

1d12 : 8, total 8
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 3, 6, total 13

The TN will be 16, because we're talking about wolves and their notoriously keen sense of smell, but you never know your luck...

[Eclecticon]

The young Elf glides forward.  Soft as prayers, her footfalls barely disturb the grass, and while Esgalwen and Hathcyn watch with some admiration, Gwatithlim finds himself inwardly recoiling, for he sees once more the signs of one of the Firstborn who has renounced the call of the West, and who has thus begun to fade.  Not wholly real is this one, he thinks, and neither wholly a creature of the Powers of the Undying Lands.  Though she is closer kin to me than these Man-children, this I must not forget: she is no kin of mine!

Within moments, Luindîs disappears into the foliage that chokes the entrance to the dell between steep and rocky slopes.  There follows then a tense wait for several minutes before once again, with the barest of rustles, the undergrowth parts and she re-emerges, her rictus grin half of exhilaration, half terror.  Breaking into a run, she hastens toward the relative safety of the Fellowship.  "Some two score wargs I count in there, and half that number of orcs!  I know not whether any company of our small number could defeat such a host," she gasps.  Then, her eyes still wide but her mouth taking on a fey look, she adds "... but that they were the three of you!" 

[tomcat]

Esgalwen is puzzled with Luindis' last words - instead she looks behind their party. "Grimbeorn and his force follow behind, but still at a great distance." The Ranger then looked to the sky to determine how much daylight they had left.
I am not sure if a roll is needed, but here is Battle (?)... or maybe Awareness? I will give both rolls in case:
TN 14 battle 2d - or awareness 3d

Battle 1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 2d6 : 4, 5, total 9

Awareness 1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 3d6 : 3, 1, 4, total 8

[tomcat]

LOL! Such a capable Ranger. 

Well, based on how you wanna interpret that, I will wait on my narrative follow-up.

[GandalfOfBorg]

Gwaithlim also readies himself for the unexpected, keeping his wits and eyes about him.  With Luindis leaving so brashly makes him all the more on edge.

 

Awareness -  1d12 : 9, total 9
Rolled 2d6 : 1, 6, total 7

[Telcontar]

"Indeed. But this battle is not ours alone. Were we here for our glory alone we could test our capabilities against this foe, but even so it seems longer odds than seem profitable that each of us would return. Also, this is a challenge against the folk of Grimbeorn. If we were to solve their problems for them they would draw no closer together as a group. Those who share the burden of this conflict will be melded by it and each come away with tighter bonds to the group. A victory here will do much to aid The Wolfslayer in bringing the people under his banner."

"Our job was to scout and we have done that, now let us bring word to those that follow behind."

[Eclecticon]

Luindîs' face visibly falls.  "But you are the heroes of the Vales who seized the forts on the Dwarf-road and braved the court of the spiders!  With Grimbeorn by your side, you slew the Werewolf that plagued the forest!  You scaled the high peaks yonder and were visited by one of those who dwell beyond the world!  Surely such foes as these are not beyond you?" 

Gwaithlim turns away before the young and wild maid sees him roll his eyes.  What tales has this one heard, he wonders, that she would believe them still having met her heroes in the flesh? 

Gold shines the river in the last of the afternoon sun, bright and clear... but not perfectly so.  Upon its surface, not visible perhaps to the eyes of any but the greatest of the Firstborn, lie the shadows of a score or more sails, and beyond them rises the faintest hint of what may be a column of smoke.