Part I - Where Noisome Waters Pour

Once, the two cities of Dale and Esgaroth, also known as Lake-town, stood as neighboring cities, the former on the banks of the River Running in the shadow of the mountain Erebor, the latter on the banks of the Long Lake.  But then the dragon Smaug came, destroying Dale, routing the dwarves of Erebor, and eventually making his home in Erebor’s now empty halls. The people of Dale had fled, making their way down to Esgaroth to rebuild their lives.

Now, nearly two centuries have passed. It is early spring in the year 2946 in the rebuilt Lake-town, also known as Esgaroth. Four and a half years ago, a company of dwarves led by Thorin Oakenshield awoke the dragon Smaug who had lain sleeping under Erebor, and once roused, the dragon had set Lake-town ablaze, completely destroying it. Smaug was finally brought down by Bard the bowman, both Lake-town and Dale were rebuilt, and Bard has been crowned king of the reborn kingdom of Dale. With the slaying of the dragon has come a new period of peace and prosperity along the Long Lake, with dwarves once again dwelling under the Lonely Mountain, and boats traveling up and down the River Running from Erebor to Dale and Esgaroth, and up the Forest River to the elven kingdom in Mirkwood Forest. It is a time of renewed prosperity, and gold is there for those brave or wily enough to grasp it, for willing adventurers, both green neophytes and seasoned veterans.

But though Wilderland is safer now than it has been for nearly two hundred years, all is not well in the land. Even now there are whispers of stirrings in the East, from Mordor. Though crushed in the Battle of the Five Armies, orcs, goblins, and worse have once again been spotted in Mirkwood and along the Running River.

However, for most people, these reports do little to unnerve them, removed as these stories are from most people’ everyday lives. Throngs of newcomers have been drawn to Lake-Town, now three times as large as it was before Smaug razed the city. Some new residents are wealthy dwarves, sent to the city to represent the affairs of the new King under the Mountain. A number of elves from Mirkwood have now taken up residence in the city as well, as have a few Hobbits from Bree and the Shire to the west. Searching for gold or fame, for business or leisure, or perhaps merely called by the siren song of adventure, many have arrived here in Esgaroth.

Even now a group stands in the market square of Esgaroth, taking in the sights of this bustling marketplace. Farmers are hawking wares, barges are unloading their cargos, and the sounds of hammers ringing on anvils and livestock bleating and lowing fill the air.

OOC: Welcome to the game! This thread is available for all PCs. You each find yourself in the market square of the rebuilt Lake-town, Esgaroth. Each of you has been drawn to the city for different reasons. In your first post, please describe your character and what has drawn you to Wilderland.

Also, make a Current Affairs (Regional - Wilderlands) (defaults to IQ-4) or Streetwise roll. Dwarven characters roll at +4 to skill.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:13, Tue 12 Nov 2019.

The young man that stood in the marketplace was taller then most, with fair hair and light eyes and a beard that he stubbornly refused to shave despite it being relatively sparse. He was dressed in a tunic of faded dark blue with some yellow trim, some loose brown breeches and knee high boots with narrow toes and a pronounced heel.

He had been staring for some time now at the Lonely Mountain itself, his left hand tucked under his right arm, eating an apple and chewing leisurely as he stood just a few steps out from the throng of market patrons that churned steadily past behind him.

He had a pensive look, but not an especially serious one. "wool gathering" might be an appropriate description, day dreaming, and his eyes roved over the rocky escarpments and majestic features again and again as he took it all in.

Behind him, a fine chestnut stallion with a flaxen mane eyed the apple hungrily, and parted its lips just slightly every time the man took a bite of the succulent fruit. The tack on the horse alone was worth more than everything else the man wore and carried with him. This included the painted shield that hung from the left side of the saddle, the spear in the standard rest, and the smallish axe tucked in his belt.

Despite the armament, the young man did not carry himself like a soldier. His eyes were too bright, his smile too ready and with too much of a spring in his step. No, to any man who had seen real action, this was an untested youth. Eager perhaps, and able bodied, but untried and unblooded.

He broke from his reverie rarely, normally to notice a pretty girl or some shopper that had strayed too close to his horse, but for the most part his attention on the mountain itself, and the horizon beyond.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:46, Thu 19 Sept 2019.

A tall athletic looking man stands on the edge of the market place.  He moves with modest grace.  His physique suggests a man of some strength and his dress and general appearance might further suggest someone at home in the wilderness.  A simple v-neck cut peasant tan shirt, brownish pants and dark brown boots frame the man though he and his belongings are dusty with patches of stains. Some plant stains and some food stains.

He stands quietly on the edge observing the goings-on with a bow over one shoulder and a pack draped carefully over the other.  He might be mistaken for a woodcutter except for two things.  On his hip rests a long blade, but this broadsword is a thing of beauty.  The clean scabbard, one of the only clean things about this man, is jet black and decorated with silver colored markings.  And the hilt is wrapped lovingly with fresh black cloth and its unusual size and shape hint at superior craftsmanship. The other point which prevents this man from fitting into the class of laborer is his overall visage. Along the right side of his face is a scar running from above his eyebrow to half way down the mans cheek.  Too his hands show fresh light cuts and scrapes.  He's seen trouble in his days, there is little doubt.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:44, Wed 11 Sept 2019.

In reply to Navarre Kodran (msg # 3):

A stocky dwarf wandered into the square leading a small mule with a couple of small barrels and full saddlebag. His large shield hung on the side of the mule, but his axe and crossbow vied for space on his back. Most folk did not travel in armour, but dwarves were fond of iron, and wore it like most wear a coat. With a quarrel on each hip, one might think he was as heavily loaded as his pack animal, for he gave that impression. At just 4'6", he looked very solidly built, with pale skin and brown hair showing under his broad rimmed helmet, and a matching beard, he looked about as immovable as anything in the square.

He wandered into the square, enjoying the sound of the hammers as some might enjoy a classical piece of music, and finds a place to water his mount. Noting the others standing and gazing at the mountain, he wanders over.

"It was a brave dwarf that woke the dragon. Tried to kill it too. Probably caused the injury that allowed the bard to kill it I suspect."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:16, Wed 11 Sept 2019.

"T'wasn't an injury." The speaker was seated at a cafe table not far from the dwarf. Middle-aged for a human, he was lanky and lean, with a patch over one eye, dressed like the professional class. He lowered the map he'd been studying and continued to speak, clear and resonant educated voice audible throughout the square. "Dragons, you see, have relatively soft and vulnerable underbellies. To compensate for this the dragon Smaug coated its underbelly in the precious gems and metals of its hoarde, leaving only a single bare spot here." He tapped his chest. "On his left breast."

"A simple thrush, having heard the hobbit Baggins relaying this information to his dwarven companions, relayed the tale to our king Bard, who was then able to slay the beast with his Black Arrow."

He held up a finger. "However! The Black Arrow itself was a gift to the house of Girion from the King Under the Mountain Thror. One can certainly make the argument that the true architect behind Smaug's fall was Thror, though in today's spirit it's perhaps best to acknowledge the deed as an act of cooperation between Dwarves, Men, Thrush, and Hobbits."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:54, Wed 11 Sept 2019.

Gram listened first to the Dwarf, and then to the man with the melodic voice, giving each his attention before he felt comfortable interjecting. "Truly? I had not heard of the Thrush, or the attack by the stout folk. It must have been something to see, terrible of course, but..." he trailed off as if searching for a word. "Memorable."

He shifted slightly and turned the half apple over in his hands. "I've heard so many versions now. The first time I heard the tale, it was said that the lake itself boiled and that the lake men were starving because all the fish had died." he shook his head with a grin. "This was just after it happened of course." he added as he took another bite.

"Your people have a truly handsome mountain Master Dwarf" he gestured to Erebor with his snack, speaking with his mouth still full. "I've never seen its like before" he shook his head in wonder before he looked between them. "Were you both here then? during the attack?"

"Oh aye. Born and raised in Lake. Grew up in the shadow of the mountain, and for us it was a very different symbol indeed. That's changing, slowly, but those of us who lived here then... we will never forget that dragon. What it was. How it died. I don't think the world shall see its like again."

From over at the cafe where Thibault is lounging, a serving maid is following along with the conversation. “Quite right about that,” she says. “The whole world’s a’changin’, that’s for sure. Who‘d’ve ever thought that elves would make their home here in Lake-town?” She scrubs the table a bit absent-mindedly, looking into the distance at the form of Erebor rising above the plain. “Or that dwarves would return here, and some of them making their home here as well? Or those queer small folk, the ones they call hobbits? I was only a girl the night the dragon attacked and burned Lake-town, and I thought it was the end of the world.”

Indeed, there was a time when the dwarf Mock Ironside’s appearance in Lake-town would have been the biggest piece of the news of the month. Now, he is but one of a continual stream of dwarves and other races traveling to Lake-town, some on their way to or from the reclaimed kingdom of Erebor, others here on permanent business for King Dáin Ironfoot, the new King under the Mountain.

From the market square, Bridge Street stretches east and west, more ale houses and inns sprawled along either side. At the quay, a small team of men unload a fishing boat, its decks teeming with gleaming silver fish.

Near the cafe, a young man of sixteen or seventeen sits down, a  small pennywhistle in his hands. He begins to play a tune, first lively and jubilant, then slowing down in almost a reverie.

OOC: Feel free to continue your conversation. There’s work around for those who wish to find it, either as merchant guards (or even as merchants if you have the funds and skills), or working on one of the many boats in Lake-town.

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 8):

"Yes, that may be how it went. Cooperation is what won the battle of five armies and dealt with the orcs too.

So, what brings you folk here? Except ...oh hell, where are my manners? Mock Ironside. I was under the Iron hills at the time. And you are?"

He looks around at those present.

Navarre inches closer to the conversation going on between the two men and the proud looking dwarf.  A  smile breaks across his rugged features and he seems happy for the first time since entering the marketplace. He does not interrupt but merely comments to the group casually and politely, offering words and phrases like, "interesting" and "I had no idea".

The level of detail presented by the patch-man is astounding and clearly Kodran is impressed. With a grin he remarks.  "What a fantastic tale friend and you tell it so well. Wish I had your memory.”

A moment later the dwarf introduces himself and inquires to the purpose for their presence.  Navarre nods respectfully to the group and answers with a hint of swagger.  "Name's Navarre.  Kodran.  Well met Master Ironside.  Me an' a couple 'a fellahs been chasin' a pack 'a orcs up the Running River.  Lost 'em about day an' a half ago. So I came into town to resupply, and I was hopin' I'd hear somethin' 'bout the pack.”
This message was last edited by the player at 21:51, Wed 11 Sept 2019.

“No knowledge of you pack of Orkas, Mhrister Navarre!  But - and yas, easy to tell, easy to tell the great stories and songs of that battle, from the thrush to to lake, and back again, as the saying goes.”

“I would love to hear your story of the Orkas; and yorn and yorn as well, to be sure! But Im off to play a tune or three at the sign of the Silver Flagon - it’s my favorite here - so come with, and your first drink is on Jody!”

“Come along - a friendly audience is a good audience, I say!”

Jody waggles his small, Hobbit sized banjo, and beckons along.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:05, Thu 12 Sept 2019.

In reply to Jody (msg # 11):

"Hehehe. Young hobbit, I might do just that.

Say, Navarre, a pack of orkas is a dangerous quarry for just a couple of fellahs."

He leads his mule in the direction the hobbit indicated.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:55, Thu 12 Sept 2019.

Thibault sips his drink, then introduces himself to Navarre. "Thibault. Sage and teacher. More of a hunter of the past than of orcs, but I wish you luck in your endeavors."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:28, Thu 12 Sept 2019.

Gram stood and listened, earnestly interested it seemed in all the strangers, their business in Lake Town and from whence they had come.

He smiled at the hobbit and nodded his thanks at the offer of a drink. "I'll not turn down such a thing, if you're offering." he said to the stranger, but lingered yet a little nearer to Thibault and Navarre. The mention of Orcs had visibly drawn his ear and his eyes glanced now and then to Navarre's sword, mostly when his attention was on Thibault.

"Orcs? Truly?" he asked in keen interest, then ran one hand through his thin beard in thought. "And you have been hunting them?" he asked again for clarification. "It is a rare sort of man that would seek such a thing sir. I am called Gram, son of Grammund." he bowed slightly at the waist as he introduced himself, and nodded to Thibault as well. After he had done so he continued."Pray tell master Kodran, if you will, how have you come to be a hunter of Orcs? That blade on your hip is of no common make, even I can tell that from a glance. Are you in the service of a Lord?"

Navarre is tickled to have found such friendly people so early into his venture into town.  ”Hmmm...”, he says intrigued at the suggestion that they follow the young man to the Silver Flagon, and the deal is sealed when Jody offers to buy the first round.  Kodran laughs and points at the rascal.  ”Lead on Master Jody.  I could use some drink and relaxation.”

Navarre is pleased to collect names as if he is collecting shiny coins to drop in his purse.  He offers a polite “Well met” to each in turn.  It would seem that Kodran is just as interesting as Jody and his songs for all of Kodrans new acquaintances inquire about his recent business.  The tall athletic man picks up his shield and offers a simple, ”Why don't we walk and talk then.”

As Navarre begins speaking the story turns dark.  One might expect the man's face to twist into rage, over worry or fright.  But his face remains as placid as if he were describing a long days work on a farm.  ”When I started I wasn't huntin' 'em.  I was just spyin' on 'em.  I found 'em southeast 'a the Old Forest Road, headin' west.  There were maybe...'bout thirty.  As orcs do they were up to no good.  Raiding farms, villages and traveling merchants.  I picked up a few watchmen from the smaller villagers who wanted to rid their lands 'a this blight, and by the time they were south 'a Lake Town there were only 'bout a dozen left.  That's more my speed so I aimed to kill 'em if I could, but they gave me the slip.”

Kodran pauses breifly.  He seems to wear an expression that says 'this is where you loose your audience' but he proceeds despite his slight sorrow.  ”Rare man.  Yes.  I am Dúnedain, a Ranger of the North, as my father was.  I serve no proper Lord but I suppose you could say I serve the people who I am sworn to protect.  And you have a keen eye Master Gram.”  Navarre takes a moment to unsheathe his long blade and hand it over for examination.  ”That was my grandfathers weapon.  He earned it in service as a protector and it has been handed down to my father and recently to me.”


OOC:
I hope I didnt take too much liberty.

Anyone who has an eye for such things would recognize the broadsword as Fine quality.

You notice that a teenage boy, or young man, depending on your point of view, is sitting at a nearby table and has slid his chair closer to listen in on the conversation. The table carries the remains of a meal, a few leftover scraps of potato and a tiny fraction of ale resting at the bottom of a glass. The male's eyes are closed, as if he is concentrating, or perhaps resting briefly after having eaten.  He has yet to realize that you noticed his eavesdropping and yet to outwardly acknowledge the several recently gathered together strangers discussing the pursuit of the orcs.

He wears simple gentlemanly clothing, as one might wear when perusing the local market - not the trappings of an adventurer - no armor, pack, or shiny weapons, although given that even a safe city can be dangerous, he may have a knife in his belt or boot. He seems more a threat to snakes and vermin than orcs, but as the grand stories have told, appearances can be deceiving.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:20, Thu 12 Sept 2019.

Gram walked with Navarre at a leisurely pace, his horse seeming to recognize their impending move before they did themselves. He guided the beast gently by a halter rope and it plodded along behind them with only the occasional sniff at the air or a sidestep away from a passer-by.

"That sounds incredible" Gram said with enthusiasm. "I've heard of your people, the Dunedain, but not much aside from it being said that my own people, the Rohirrim, and yours share a common ancestor." he said, then paused half a step. "Do you know if that's true?"

They spoke a little more, and Gram asked a little about how they were rewarded for their services to "the people" before Gram was offered the sword.

He slowed to a stop.

Something seemed to pass over his eyes, some deep felt emotion perhaps. On the surface he resembled any bold youth being offered the chance to handle a valuable weapon. He was interested certainly, honored yet hesitate.

"Are you certain?" He asked somewhat rhetorically before he took the blade hilt first and held it up with both hands to the light, the halter going into his belt.

It was not jealousy, not greed, but there was something in his eyes. A brightness perhaps, that spoke of a yearning and a sadness.

He beheld it there for what was probably too long before he seemed to remember himself. "It is quite beautiful. Does it have a name?" he asked, and handed it back reverently.

In reply to Gram (msg # 17):

At the drawing of weapons, the dwarf's interest is piqued.

"We had to make a weapons as fine as that to prove our ability...is it or Dwarven origin?"

For those who look, his own axe is of similar quality, having a silver coating, and his crossbow is very well constructed, having a winch attached to draw it back.

The serving girl at the street-side cafe looks down at the remains of Gwydian's meal. "Anything else I can get for you?" she offers, half-turned to go back inside, an empty tray in hand.

Meanwhile, at Jody's invitation, some of the newcomers to Lake-town begin following the hobbit along Bridge Street toward the Silver Flagon, their conversation gradually drifting out of the range of the cafe where Thibault sits. The streets are thronged with residents of Lake-town, craftsmen, merchants, guards. Here and there groups of children laugh and chase each other. Music spills out from various cafes, taverns, and alehouses.

Two dwarves pass by, deep in conversation, and both look curiously at Mock Ironside before continuing on. Though dwarves have their own language, Khuzdul, it is kept secret and not spoken where non-dwarves may hear, and these two speak Westron, the common tongue. Both are well-dressed in fine clothes, and neither is visibly armed.

"Still no word, then?" one asks, young for a dwarf, with no beard, golden hair, and clothes of bright blue and deep green.

The other dwarf is older, white-haired, and taller than the first, with a long, well-trimmed beard, a red tunic, and fine leather pants. Shaking his head, the second says, "No, and Glóin worries more than he lets on."

OOC: About the orcs, 30 would be serious business, probably a war-band. I'm assuming Navarre used hit-and-run tactics to thin them out and take them down one or two at a time.

One group (Jody, Mock, Gram, and Navarre) have walked a few yards down the street, out of earshot of the cafe. Thibault and Gwydian remain at the cafe, where they can stay and try to pick up rumors or follow the others.

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 19):

So my group does not hear the Dwarves conversation? Mock is naturally not speaking in any Dwarven language...not with humans!

Gwydian shakes his head negatively while rapidly producing a some coins from the pouch on his belt. As the girl begins to leave, he says, "For you," and drops a few of the coins on the table. He flashes a brief smile then quickly moves towards the exit, at which point he attempts to discretely follow the Hobbit towards the Silver Flagon.

The bearded soldier is full of energy, come alive compared to his rather stoic appearance from some minutes ago when he was alone in the marketplace.  The horseman offers, "I've heard of your people, the Dunedain, but not much aside from it being said that my own people, the Rohirrim, and yours share a common ancestor."

Navarre chuckles and pats the horseman on the shoulder lightly.   "Wish I knew. But I suppose that makes us half-brothers, seein' how we're protectors of the people.”

A moment later Kodran draws his blade to show it off, proud that someone has taken an interest.  He nods to the man certain of his decision to share.  Navarre smiles when the horseman comments on its beauty.  "Thank you.  Yes, it is called Arahaelon.”

Taking the well made sword back now the dwarf shows his interest asking about its origin.  Kodran chuckles which turns into a smile as he hands it over for inspection.  "I'm not sure to be honest.  The stories my father told of its origin changed over time...but its name means roughly Royal Terror in the Sindarin tongue.  Perhaps Master Mock, you could tell me who crafted this jewel?  Truth be told I've been curious for years.”

As the conversation turns to dwarves proving their mettle with their metal his axe catches Kodrans eye.  "That's a fine specimen Master Mock. Did you make it yourself? May I see it?”

Before the pair of men, the hobbit and the dwarf get very far they cross paths with a pair of well-dressed dwarves who mention the name Glóin. Immediately Navarre's neck turns to eye the well-connected dwarves. He feels compelled to ask before they blend into the crowd.   "Beg your pardon sirs.  I 'pologize for eavesdroppin' but I heard you mention Glóin and worry. He's not trackin' a pack of orcs, is he? 'Cuz I lost one I'm lookin' for.”


OOC:
I'm proceeding under the assumption that the pair of Dwarves who mentioned the name Gloin was within earshot of me.

In reply to Navarre Kodran (msg # 22):

Mock is happy to stop, especially seeing the other Dwarves. At Navarres request, he is glad to swap weapons with the man, and after handing him his axe, he inspects the blade closely.

"I did indeed make this beauty myself. It is a mark of becoming a useful member of the Dwarven halls. There is a rumour that silvered weapons can harm more of Mordoors minions that the regular ones. I am gonna have to find that out for meself, but."

He is still looking at it when he overhears the other dwarves talking. He approaches them, but since he and Navarre are still holding each others weapons, and Navarre has just asked them a question, he politely waits for an answer before interjecting.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:50, Sat 14 Sept 2019.

Gram lingered as weapons were exchanged again, and the passing Dwarves were flagged down.

He had been contenting himself with patting his horse on the side of the neck, listening, but looked decidedly uncomfortable as Mock mentioned "Mordor". He glanced about and averted his eyes to the ground for a moment. The very utterance of the name in public seemed to unsettle him.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:18, Sat 14 Sept 2019.

Gwydian follows, watching- wondering how men let their weapons by handled like ladies of the night. Not one to make snap judgements, he pursues the interesting dialogue.

"Why, thank you, young master," the serving girl says, beaming, as she scoops up the coins Gwydian gave her and slips them in her pocket. With this, the young man hurries off to follow the small group of travelers, leaving the scholarly gentleman as the sole patron of the cafe for the moment.

***

When Navarre addresses the two dwarves, the two look at the ranger skeptically. The older dwarf snorts and scowls. The younger crosses his arms, cocks his head, and says disdainfully, "No, you oafish lout. Master Gloin does not track orcs. What do you take him for, a ranger such as yourself?"

The beardless dwarf then turns to Mock and, nodding, says much more cordially, "Well met, cousin. I have not seen you in Lake-town before. I am Hepti, son of Hárr. What business brings you to Lake-town?" Meanwhile, going about their errands, travelers and residents continue to stream past the small group.

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 26):

"Well met. Mock Ironside of the Iron Hills. We have had reports that the five armies work may not be complete. I don't claim to be a warrior, and perhaps that is why I was sent to see the truth of those reports, though from what these humans are saying, it sounds it may be true.

You and your friend seem concerned about something. Perhaps we can help each other."

At this, Gram leaned in some to interject lightly to Navarre, but just loudly enough that all there might overhear. "Master Gloin is serving at the pleasure of his King under the Mountain. He was made an envoy to Dale, or so have been told." he glanced to the Dwarves as if for confirmation. "He supposedly ventures back and forth often on business."

Someone watching the scene might think that the rough looking man who seems to be at home in the wilds would be offended or hurt at the rebuking by the pair of well dressed dwarves.  Not at all.  Kodran faces this kind of disdain daily and is quite used to it.

Not for the first time the Ranger is glad to be part of a team, if it can be called that after just less than an hour, but so far these strangers thrown together randomly are melding nicely.  He leans a bit closer to Gram who explains Glóin's business.  ”Thanks”, Navarre offers in a way that says 'that's more than I knew'.

Now Kodran flicks his chin for Gram and Jody to see while the dwarves are distracted, as if to say, 'Look at the kids playing nice'.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 15:32, Sat 14 Sept 2019.

The older dwarf nods his head to Mock. “And I am Nabbi. My young friend and I are from Erebor, where Dain II Ironfoot of the Iron Hills now reigns. Well met, cousin.”

With a sideways glance at the Men and Hobbit, Nabbi says, “I pray your companion’s news of orcs is unrelated. Hraf son of Hrabin, a Raven of the Mountain, has brought news of sinister tidings: two Dwarven messengers who departed the Lonely Mountain on an errand are nowhere to be found. The kingdom of Erebor is astir.”

Nodding, the younger dwarf says, “Glóin himself has offered a rich reward to anyone who can find the two missing Dwarves. If they have fallen afoul of orcs-“

“I can only hope that they would be held for a ransom and not slaughtered immediately,” Nabbi says with a grimace.

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 30):

Moc hold for a minute before answering.

"Mayhap I can satisfy the humans thirst for orcs and find our messenger at the same time, though I hope too that the two are not related. But hope is not enough, it is important to be sure. The ranger, despite his apparent social graces, might just be the person we need for that. Where were they last seen? And where were they headed?"

Gram's interest in the matter was immediately piqued, that much was obvious. He listened carefully to what Nabbi and his younger friend had to say. The young man was eager, even with the scant details they had learned of the situation, and his horse seemed to sense his mood, the ears of the mount twitching this way and that.

Nabbi says, “Best if you talk to Glóin himself about the two lost messengers. He’ll want to judge for himself whether he can trust you.”

Hepti says, “Finding him’s easy. He has a mansion close to the town-hall.” The younger Dwarf points eastward to the imposing wooden structure not too far away that rises above the smaller buildings, dominating Lake-town’s landscape. “Most dignitaries who come to Lake-town usually reside close by to the town-hall, with the exception of the Elves. Glóin’s manor is across from the stairs that lead up to the town-hall.”

With impatience, Nabbi says, “We’ve stopped here long enough.   We have business of our own in the merchants’ quarters, so we bid you farewell.” With nods for Mock and more considering look s for the Men and Hobbit, the Dwarves continue on their way, winding through the crowd and resuming their conversation.

OOC: The two Dwarves seem to prefer that you discuss this matter further with Glóin. You could go see him right now, or explore the city further, or do anything else you have in mind.

Kodran has seen the kind of reaction he's gained from the pair of well dressed dwarves hundreds of times.  From his arsenal of weapons to his dirt splotched clothing and muddy boots to the over grown facial hair to his near obsession with hunting the agents of darkness everything about Navarre says he is a Ranger.  And so he was not entirely surprised when the dwarves snubbed his request for information.  However, this is one of the many reasons why the man prefers the company of friends.  These businessmen took to their cousin like bees to honey.

Navarre's forced smile during the negotiations turns into an authentic wide happy grin.  As the pair of dwarves walks off he says to his new friends, ”Hear that gents?  Master Glóin lives just over there...”, Navarre points towards the town hall.  ”...and he has a problem and is willing to pay big to have it solved.  I don't know 'bout you but my purse is gettin' far too light for my liking.  I say we go an' see if he'll hire us on...if the price is right 'a course.”


OOC:
Navarre isn't excluding anyone so if Gwydian has shown signs of being interested in our conversations Navarre wouldn't exclude him from this business transaction.

This message was last edited by the player at 16:42, Sun 15 Sept 2019.

ooc: Are you guys still at the cafe near Thibault or did you follow Jody to the tavern when this happened?
This message was last edited by the player at 18:27, Sun 15 Sept 2019.

Gwydian follows, listening when he can here, but it seems rude to intrude on the current dialogue.

In reply to Gwydian (msg # 36):

Mock bids his cousins farewell with the words "We will likely do just that. Travel safe and may your dealing be profitable."

Once they leave, he agrees with the ranger and begins to lead the others in the direction indicated.

"I'm for that" Gram added once Mock had said his piece "I had thought the land this far west would be fairly safe, but between your errand..." he refereed to Navarre's following the Orcs "And this business with the messengers, I'm beginning to wonder if I was mistaken"

He urged his horse along behind him, and moved with the others towards the abode of Master Gloin.

Having heard some of what was said despite the noise of the cafe, Thibault finishes his coffee, puts his map in its case back in his pack, and hastens after the others towards the abode of Gloin.

The group retraces its steps through the bustling Market Square, past stalls with sacks of potatoes or bolts of vibrant silk, luxurious carpets and honey in the comb. Along the quay, a fenced-in area contains a multitude of sheep, cattle, and poultry, animal musk and squawking, lowing, and baaing assailing the senses. A musician strolls by, playing a lute tolerably well, though he seems to be still getting the hang of some of his chords.

Crossing a short bridge, the group walks under an archway and past several warehouses, storage no doubt for merchants in Lake-town. Another archway leads to a residential area of small homes, townhouses and apartments, many brightly painted or decorated with ropes and canvas. Here a group of children are having a foot race, several small and medium sized dogs chasing excitedly alongside.

Now turning to the north, the travelers come to a gate that leads up to the Town-hall looming above them. The gate is staffed by two guards, who look at the group suspiciously, but when Mock says they are there  to visit Glóin, the guards allow them to pass through the gate, though the two guards watch the travelers carefully.

This area of Lake-town is on a higher elevation than the rest of Esgaroth, the stilts here stouter and rising higher out of the water. The Town-hall is on an even higher platform and rises three stories in the air. Following the Dwarves' directions, the group finds a lavish, well-built manor across from the steps leading up to the Town-hall, and knocking on the door, they are shown inside by a young Dwarf who looks curiously at the strangers and their weapons and leaves them in the vestibule.

The young Dwarf disappears within the interior of the mansion, and after a few minutes, an older Dwarf emerges, wiping ink from his fingers with barely contained impatience. He is a middle-aged Dwarf and wears rich white clothes, matching the hue of the two points of his forked beard. He looks expectantly at the group of heroes.

"I am Glóin. What can I do for you?"



OOC: So far, I have Mock, Navarre, Gram, Gwydian, and Thibault heading to see Gloin. Jody, let me know what you are doing, if you're following the others or going off on your own.

Tell me how you're going to approach this meeting, whether you speak individually or designate a spokesperson. Whatever your choice, also give me a Savoir-Faire (High Society), Savoir-Faire (Military), Diplomacy, or Fast-Talk roll.

Mock led the way along the path. The city was vibrant, and yet it soon became clear that the class of buildings, and people, was rising, and he began to feel somewhat out of his league. The clip-clopping of the mule in an area that usually saw well bred warhorses only seemed to underscore the difference, and it looked like the only folk that wore armour here were hired for that reason. Looking around, he noted the sage had followed them.

"Hey, you probably know how to talk to important folks, right? I know I am a Dwarf, but Glóin is kind of higher class than me. Why don't you do the fancy talking and I will be here for morale support?"

"I know how to talk to academics and dwarf society is unknown to me, but I'll give it a try." Thibault whispered back. Realizing that he, as a sage, had little to offer in the search personally, he opted to imply that the gathered strangers were some kind of group.

"Envoy Gloin," He chose a generally neutral honorific and gave a stiff bow. "We encountered two dwarves - Nabbi and Hepti - in the market and they mentioned the messengers gone missing in the mountains. As experts in our various fields we have come seeking employment in your service, at least in terms of helping to find the missing."

Thibault indicated himself. "I am Thibault, a sage whose studies have oft taken him into the mountain. With me petitioning for your grace are Mock Ironside of the Iron Hills, Navarre, hunter of Orks, Gram, strong young Eorling..." he pauses, realizing he has no idea who Gwydian is... "And this fine young man here."

ooc: He also introduces Jody if Jody is present. Diplomacy roll passed, even taking Cultural Familiarity penalties into account..
This message was last edited by the player at 14:03, Mon 16 Sept 2019.

Kodran is nearly in awe as he passes by and through the large and rich buildings.  He's seen them from a distance and heard stories from his father, who sometimes worked for or met with upper class individuals but Navarre has not being so young.

He is thrilled to gain audience with the well connected dwarf and even more thrilled to have a representative speaking for him.


OOC:
Navarre will happily stand there looking like a capable tracker and killer while the more refined do the negotiating.

Gram stood a little straighter at Thibault's generous introduction. He crossed his arms and smiled, much like he would at a pretty farm girl. The effect was undoubtedly lost upon the aged Dwarf, but he still looked in the very blush of good health, as did  the horse next to him, for what it was worth.

Glóin gives the group a critical once-over before finally nodding. “I’d honestly prefer a company of Dwarves,” he says, nodding in Mock’s direction, “but I think you lot may be what I’m looking for.”

Hands behind his back, the Dwarf says, “My cousin Balin son of Fundin left the Lonely Mountain with a companion. He was meant to deliver an invitation from King Dáin Ironfoot to the Lord of the Eagles for the coming Gathering of the Five Armies, an important event to be held at the beginning of Summer. He planned to go south along the Running River to explore conditions along the Old Forest Road and possibly traverse it, now that the threat of Goblins has been greatly reduced.”

The Dwarf shakes his head. “I don’t know what has happened, but I am afraid that the possibilities are many in these days of doubt. If the perils of Wilderland were not enough, there are always the suspicious dwellers of the Woodlands Realm to consider. They are sworn enemies of the Shadow, but unfortunately they don’t love Dwarves, and they watch their realm jealously. I hope my concerns are ill-placed, but I wouldn’t be surprised if my cousin Balin once again found himself the guest of the Elvenking’s vaunted hospitality.”

OOC: Feel free to ask whatever questions you have. You can also make a Perception check or a Body Language (defaults to Detect Lies -4 or Psychology -4) check.

A successful History (Wilderland) roll reveals that Glóin was also held captive by the Elf King along with Balin and 11 other companions.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:56, Tue 24 Sept 2019.

Gram seemed to feel a bit uncomfortable addressing such an important personage, but he cleared his throat in anticipation when he saw the opportunity.

"When was your Cousin and his companion last seen my Lord? We're they to be away long?"

Thibault stepped back to let the others ask what questions they might.

Navarre liked these people but already he was forming a bond with Gram, perhaps because he was a soldier.  A warrior by trade.  So Kodran leans in and whispers something while their host is distracted.

Glóin takes a moment to size up Gram before saying, “The two left nine days ago, traveling south from Erebor. Here, I’ll show you the route they intended to take.”

The dwarf goes to a nearby desk and selects a map, holding it up for a moment, then laying it down and choosing another. Checking this, he brings it over to a large table and spreads it out. The map shows Wilderland from the Iron Hills in the east, to the Long Lake and Mirkwood Forest, to the Grey Hills in the north and the area west of the Misty Mountains.

With a stubby finger, he points out the Lonely Mountain in the North. “My cousin’s plan was to leave Erebor and journey south along the road that trails the Running River. Then, he intended to take the Old Forest Road if possible to the west until he arrived at the Eyrie of the Eagles. Altogether, the journey would take about forty-five days if all went well.” He shakes his head. “I doubt he got very far into Mirkwood.”

OOC: See the map thread for Glóin’s map and to trace Balin’s probable route.

The expression on Grams face when he beheld the map was one of wonder, and it seemed likely that the lad had never seen such a creation before. His eyes roved openly all about it, sparks of recognition upon his face at this or that before he seemed to force himself to attend to the matter at hand.

He listened to Gloin, then looked faintly puzzled. "Pardon my ignorance Master Gloin, but if they were to be away for such a span, what has given you cause to worry so after only nine days? Has  some news come to your ear from the south?"

Thibault unrolls his own regional map and makes light notes indicating the route.

Glóin colors slightly and looks as if he is about to speak. Then he says, “Indeed, young Eorling, word has reached us. We Dwarves have a kinship with the ravens as of old, and our friends have spied no trace of Balin or his companion at any length along their path. Unless they decided to take another road, which I have no reason to believe they have, they could have very well fallen afoul of one of any number of dangers along the way.”

Again, Glóin looks as though he has more to say, but then with a small shake of his head, he says, “If the ravens cannot find them, then I fear trouble has.”

Navarre stands silently by at first, afraid to spoil the deal with his Rangerish reputation.  But by half way through the explanation Kodran has his arms folded over his chest with a smug smirk about his face as if he knows exactly what happened and putting this matter to rest is child's play.  ”Beg yer pardon Master Glóin.  Could we get a list 'a their possessions?  If we spot someone wearin' their boots or belts could speed up findin' 'em.”

Navarre forces a fake smile.  I'm onto you old boy, the rough looking woodsman thinks to himself.

“Wearing their boots or belts-“ Glóin peers suspiciously at the tall Ranger.

“Are you making fun of me, lad?” he growls. “How am I supposed to know what the two had in their pockets? Balin certainly didn’t send a list to me with what he intended to take on his journey.” The middle-aged Dwarf snorts in derision. “They’d have their axes, of course, and bows. Provisions for the journey. But an itemized list of their packs and gear-“

“And as if anyone but a Dwarf would walk around wearing clothes tailored for a Dwarf. Do you take me for a fool, boy? Perhaps I should look elsewhere for those that I seek.” He begins rolling up the map he had laid out earlier. “If you’re going to waste time divagating, you can see yourself right out.”

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 54):

"I think the ranger was actually thinking or orkahs, such as those he was hunting, who may well wear spoils from such an encounter. Or their goblin companions who might actually find such an improvement." He glances at the ranger, as if suggesting he had said enough.

"But I think what he was asking for was something that might identify the killers if we encounter those who killed them. Generic Dwarven clothes and possessions may not necessarily indicate that they have been killed. If we cannot find them alive what might we find as a sign. A scroll or signet ring, perhaps?"

"Gentlemen, please." Thibault turns to Gloin. "We mean no disrespect. You will have to forgive us - as you well know as an Envoy the ways of humans and Dwarves are very different, and the ways of the highborn humans different again from the low. Any offense on the part of my companions is unintentional."

"However, I will concede that it does feel as if there's more to this than you've shared thusfar. Some other danger, perhaps, that you're unwilling to share, or a political angle we're unaware of, or other circumstances.

I can assure you that we are both utterly fearless and just as discrete, so if there's anything else that would help us in our search, you needn't hesitate in sharing it."

ooc: Diplomacy to smooth things over/get more info: Success.

Seeing that the deal is about to fall apart Navarre takes the hints from both dwarves.  He dips his head slightly in a shallow bow.  His tone is humble and apologetic.  ”Aye.  I meant no offense Master Gloin.  Just lookin' for clues that out in the field is gonna help answer this mystery is all.  I wanna see the safe return 'a your people as much as you do.”  And with that Kodran steps back and says no more.

Shaking his head, Glóin says to Mock, "A ring of some kind? None that I know of. Of course, Balin will be carrying the letter from King Dáin to the Lord of the Eagles. I wouldn't be surprised if Dáin sent along a gift for the Eagle lord as well, though I don't know what that might be."

At Thibault's respectful, polite speech, Glóin sighs and takes a seat in a high-backed chair. Where before he looked the very picture of health and industriousness, the Dwarf looks lessened now, his brow furrowed, his beard highlighted with white. "There is one other thing," he says quietly, slumping forward in his chair.

"A dream, a few days after Balin's departure. Balin's companion was my brother, Óin, and I dreamed vividly of Óin, drowning in dark waters. I pray it was not an episode of foresight, but I fear for my brother's life. That's why I had Hraf search far and wide for Balin and Óin, but the raven could not find them anywhere. It's as if they were swallowed up whole by the marshes."

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 58):

"That is very concerning. What details can you tell us about the dream, if I may ask?"

Thibault nodded, thinking back to what he'd read of dreams and prophecy. "It's always wise to consider that dreams may be omens sent by the Valar. We will take your words into account, Envoy."

Gram nodded seriously as the information about Gloins dream was made known, and looked away briefly as if to avoid any rude staring.

"An ill omen to be certain Master Gloin. While I will hope that it was but a nightmare, I can see why you are concerned." he turned a palm up. "Even without the dream it is no short journey. I believe checking upon them both is a worth while cause."

Navarre continues to smile, though none present know him well enough to understand it is as fraudulent as his best friends tramp of a sister wearing white on her wedding day.  The outdoorsman says nothing, happy that Glóin has not turned his back on them.

As Kodran listens and follows along his smile does not change instead transforming from false to genuine.  Oh you're good old boy.  Ingenious.  Play upon people's superstitions.  Before we find their dead bodies make it known 'bout your dream.  So's you can point fingers when the corpses show up.


OOC:
For anyone not familiar with my style italic is used for internal monologue.  When the character is thinking.

Glóin is quiet for a moment, and he leans forward, his left hand at his temple. With a pained look, he says, “Dreams are such shifting things, and it is uncommon for one to stay with me for even hours after waking, but this one is still fresh in my memory. I dreamed Óin was foundering in dark waters, and his face was white with terror. I did not see Balin. We Dwarves dislike water and have little love for boats, as you may know, and I saw no boat in the dream, nor did Óin have his axe. The dream did not awaken me, but in the morning I remembered with crystal clarity that image, and it stays with me still.”

OOC: Feel free to ask any other questions that you have. When you are done, let me know, and I’ll move the scene forward.
This message was last updated by the GM at 23:46, Thu 19 Sept 2019.

The ranger is eager to depart the company of this dwarf who's behavior is suspect but he does his best not to show it. Careful to speak politely he asks, "Pardon me for askin' but how much we gettin'?"


OOC:
I can't think of anything else to ask. I'm ready to move on.

This message was last edited by the player at 01:03, Fri 20 Sept 2019.

Gram seemed to have a question waiting, and asked it when Gloin indicated that he was ready to continue. "If we are able to find this pair, what instructions would you have us relay on your behalf? Would you prefer them return to Erebor at once? or if they are found to be safe would word of their condition prove enough? On that note, how often would you like to receive word of our progress?"

And eventually. "If they are unable to complete their task, would you be alright with us delivering your invitation to the Great Eagles ourselves?"

At the mention of compensation, Glóin stiffens. He looks at Kodran sharply and says, "I am not looking for mercenaries, Hunter, but for those motivated by more than just the lure of gold. But yes, you will be more than compensated for the risk you will be bearing on this rescue mission."

Next, Gram asks about further instructions, and Glóin nods his head. "If you are able to find or rescue them, escort them safely back here to Esgaroth. I'm not sure how you would be able to send word to me, unless-" Glóin turns to Ironside. "Are you able to speak with ravens, Mock of the Iron Hills? If so, you can send me word that way. I know not what other travelers you would encounter along the way."

Turning back to Gram, Glóin says, "I thank you for the offer, but I would prefer for you to return here to Lake-town once you have discovered the fate of my cousin and my brother. I would need to consult with King Dain before sending non-Dwarves as official representatives of Erebor."

Glóin walks back to his writing desk and selects a piece of parchment and a quill. Dipping the quill in an inkstand, he writes a few lines in a practiced, efficient hand. He then hands the paper to Thibualt. "My cousin and brother traveled through the Long Marshes on foot, but you may find it more expedient to travel by boat. If you do, you may present this paper to the men of Lake-town, who will allow you to borrow boats for your purpose, which will carry you as far as the Old Forest Road. After that, you will need to make your way on foot."

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 66):

"Alas, I cannot. They never visited me in the forges and I rarely left the forges. Thank you for the offer of a boat, kind sir but in the light of your dreams, I think I would prefer to walk. Armour and water mix poorly. Besides, if they were on foot, then we have a better chance to retrace their steps on foot as well. Will the same paper allow us to take a mount or beast of burden instead?

Perhaps it is best we are off then?"

"Yes, and despite this being my birthplace I've no hand for boats." Thibault said. "Though your generosity is appreciated."

"I can assure you Master Gloin I'm motivated by much more than coin."  Kodran seems sincere and noble of spirit in the moment.

Fearing again that the seasoned dwarf may be on to him Navarre steps to the back to hide himself from view of their employer.  Alone to his thoughts, If irony were a hot plate 'a stew I'd be bursting at the seams Old Boy.  Isn't the reason that there was a Battle of the Five Armies at all is 'cause you an' your kin were too greedy to share the treasure after the Dragon was killed?


OOC:
I'm ready to move on.

Part 2 - A Long and Weary Way

In response to Mock's question, Glóin shakes his head in the negative. "If you'd rather go on horse, that's up to you, but you'll need to provide your own transportation in that case. The Lake Men have a plethora of boats at their disposal, but horses may prove dear."

With no further questions, Glóin says, "I thank you for undertaking this quest. I hope my worries may prove false and my brother and cousin safe. Aulë speed you on your journey."

Taking their leave of Glóin, the group makes their way back through the city to Bridge Street, and inquiring the way to the tavern The Silver Flagon, find themselves in one of the better drinking establishments in Esgaroth. At mid-day, the tavern is perhaps a quarter full, with various Men seated at tables. Although the majority of the Men here seem to be either natives of Lake-town or nearby Dale, one particularly ugly Woodman is sitting by himself at a table in one corner. A steady hub-bub of conversation bubbles along, punctuated with raucous laughs and calls for more ale.

On a raised platform at one end of the room is Jody, the youthful Hobbit the group had encountered earlier, who seems to be just finishing his performance.



OOC: Every PC may post here, including Gumm, our newest arrival. Welcome, Gumm!

Jody, roll vs. the performance skill(s) of your choice to see how well you performed.

It's time to decide on the route you will take. Two main options are available. One, you can travel by foot or on horse following the river down to the Old Forest Road, a journey of eighty miles. This option will take you through bogs and marshes and will be slow going on foot, taking eight days to reach the Old Forest Road. On horses, the journey will take four days.

If you take a boat, the journey will take four days as the river flows to the south. However, if you choose this approach, it would be good for at least one to have the Boating skill.

Gram, after having bid the venerable Master Gloin a good day and with many reassurances, eventually found himself outside the aforementioned establishment.

He seemed loath to leave his horse, and spoke to it in a soft and reassuring murmur much like one would comfort an infant as he tied it off to the hitching post. The knot was mostly for show, and as such he made a show of it. The horse was not going anywhere unless it found it necessary, and in that occasion it would be able to free itself with little trouble.

The belongings on the horse were another matter. He knotted the strings on the saddle bags, and looped the reigns through one of the two rings attached to the shaft of his spear. This in effect anchored it to the standard rest, so if somebody was intent on stealing it they had best bring a sharp knife or be have some skill in knots. Sadly, the average lake man was likely to possess both.

Gram made a point of hitching him near a window all the same.

Once inside the young Eorling seemed right at home. The raucous air of the tavern seemed to suite him just fine, and he paused just inside the door to watch the last of the hobbits performance with interest.

In reply to Gram (msg # 71):

Mock followed Gram from the rich sector. If they were to travel together, they would be best to start now. Hitching his mule beside the horse, he made sure thing were similarly well secured, before following the human inside. Once there, he immediately regretted his poor state of financial affairs as he looked around at those having fun.

“And THAT was THAT” roars Jody, strumming wildly on his hobbit-sized banjo for emphasis, among the laughs and cheers of the crowd. “Thank you, thank you, Good People! Stay at your rest a while! Clarke has hot pies and Kendra has ale!  Eat your fill, but save poor Jody one!”

Jody waves more thanks to the crowd as he hops down from the stools upon which he was standing, deftly nabs an ale off the tray of the lovely Kendra, and gulps some swiftly before seeing a few folks he knows come in the door. “Oh Hey! Master Dwarf - Kodran - Thibault - Jody's here! Hey!”  Jody hustles over “Glad you’re here! So glad. You missed my story!  Very good it was.  My favorite!  Oh, and the ale here - very good!  My favorite in Laketown.  Come come! Sit with Jody. KENDRA! ALES! Now - - what took you?”
This message was last edited by the player at 14:51, Mon 23 Sept 2019.

Before everyone gets settled, they notice that the handsome young man that was following them in the street enters the establishment, trailing close behind them. As they sit, and Jody is hustling over, he speaks up in a loud and clear voice, uncharacteristic of his age, ”Gentlemen, please forgive my intrusion.  I overhead some of your dialogue in the street, and I believe my services would be of assistance.  The noble dwarves need help, and it behooves us all to work together. As for me, I ask for nothing, and I offer ales for all that will embrace my presence.”

As Gwydian speaks, he looks to each person in turn, meeting their gaze and extending a courteous smile. While he speaks, you have a moment to look him over, but appearances don’t provide much insight as to the nature of the man, other than he seems at home in the city. He is dressed is fine clothing – a white button-up shirt with blue breeches – not regal but more stylish than an ordinary citizen on a stroll through the city. He does not openly bear any armor or weapons and looks more like a merchant than an adventurer.

He pulls a chair up to the table, after being invited to sit. As Jody approaches, ordering ales, Gwydian pulls forth a few silver coins and sets them on the table, ”On me. I insist.  I only caught the end of your performance, but the applause tells us all that it’s worthy.” As the group goes through their introductions again and explains the nature of their mission, Gwydian explains that he is a young nobleman from a nearby area in Laketown in search of something worthy to which to apply his natural talents, which include those of any good gentleman, a basic knowledge of respect, combat, and fitness.  As the group discusses the choices of how to go about finding the Dwarves, Gwydian does not express any major preference. He is somewhat familiar with the local waterways and can handle himself, but he’s no professional boatsman.  ON the other hand, horses are expensive and his funds are limited. He is willing to throw in for group supplies, including a pony, but his funds for such purposes would likely be limited to $500, more or less – not enough unless others can make similar contributions. Taking the boat sounds safer to him, and they could always double-back by land, but then again, barring obvious signs, he’s not sure how to go about tracking or finding two lost Dwarves.

OOC: Just for grins, I did a secret reaction roll, which generally went well, so you can excuse yourself to warmly received a the stranger!

Forgive me taking a few liberties to keep it moving.

Thibault studied the newcomer with his good eye. "You ask for nothing? A fine price, though I'm puzzled as to why you'd seek to involve yourself in such a lengthy expedition for no compensation or share of the reward." He paused. "Call it curiosity rather than suspicion, but if financial gain is off the table, what do you seek? A challenge? Renown? To perform an altruistic deed?"

Navarre strides confidently from the large manor house. He yearns to share his insights with his new found friends but he is also aware that the old dwarf is something of a local hero and carries a lot of weight around town. It wouldn't do if Kodran spoke ill of the dwarf and someone was to carry his message to their benefactor.

During their walk to the Silver Flagon Navarre is mapping out their route in his mind's eye.  Their travels, at least in the near term, will take them over land or over water and as a party they will have to decide the more favorable path.  Outside of the tavern as the Ranger notices the Man and Dwarf each tending so caringly to his own animal Navarre realizes it's unlikely they'll be traveling by boat.

As the Men and Dwarf enter the robust and lively drinking hall Kodran is obviously joyed to see the hobbit just finishing his act.  The high plains drifter steers the group to an out of the way table.  While explaining the detour the Ranger also welcomes the newcomer.   "It would seem a certain  pair of dwarves are lost in the wilds and need finding.”  Leaning in and flashing a smile Navarre offers casually,  "I quite agree.   That's mighty big 'a ya.  What's in it for you?”


OOC:
Navarre is reacting similarly to Thibault, not suspicious but Gwydians extremely noble position is curious.

"Well played Master Hobbit, well played." Gram commended Jody, and then raised a frothy glass of beer to his health before sucking the foam off the top with relish.

He settled down with the others, and the other patrons besides, introducing himself, asking questions and generally taking the mood of the establishment. He smiled at Kendra and cracked a few small jokes with the man next to him before they got down to business, at which he leaned over with his half full pint and rubbed at his beard.

"Let it be known, I'm for the road!" he said when the topic of routes came up. "Breambel and I can both swim, but I'd rather not trust him to a strange boatmen or the whims of the currents. I'll take a saddle and firm ground under us any day of the week."

And then later when Gwydian made his interest known. "Another arm, especially one not asking for a share would be most welcome, but I wonder young Master Gwydian at your fortunes that you come to us, and intend to face whatever dangers so readily. Have you no family here that would miss you? No trade to which you are apprenticed?" he asked when the time was right. "Mind I set out on the road myself younger than you I'd wager, and I'll not hold your fortunes against you, but I'll ask all the same if we're to be sharing a camp for the next few weeks. Can you bear arms? Or were you planning on keeping camp and helping in other ways?"

"While I'm no boatman, I'd suggest we take the river up to Mirkwood at least," Thibault said. "You say roads, but these lands are rarely traversed, the trails are barely better than the marshes they travel through. No one keeps them up, and the low traffic leads them to overgrowth. Trust me, Gram, your steed faces far more danger overland than it would from a boatman."

"More importantly, time is of the essence if we are to find Balin and Óin alive. We will need to take more in terms of supplies, meaning that it'll slow us further. Perhaps three to four times as many days of food. It would be cheaper, by far, simply to hire a boatman, and you'll find none more brave and skilled than those of Lake."

In reply to Thibault (msg # 78):

"Most generous of you, my Hobbit. Jody, was it? If you care to join us for a little adventure, we will have plenty of time for that story, and we might even write some more while we are at it!"

As the conversation progresses, he adds

"I can understand the pressures of time, but I have to agree with Gram. At some point, we gotta get off ad walk, and I would much prefer to take our transportation with us. I have my mule, and while it is not a riding animal, it will make progress across land much quicker. If the dream showed a drowning dwarf, I don't want to add another one!"

"Well, yes. We transport the animals as well. Listen, we're not talking about pasture here, there won't be any good grazing along the way, so you'll need to purchase and stow the food for your beasts either way. Days of grain and oat stores better than weeks." He shrugged. "That's my consultation on the matter."

“Ooohh! An Adventure!  My favorite!  It sounds like good, good fun - looking for lost dwarves in the wilds.  I'm rather familiar with the wilds, I am.  And Jody is never lost.”  The hobbit crosses his arms with finality, before untucking them, to tuck into a hotpie slid off Clarke’s tray as he passes by.

On the topic of boats, Jody brightens.  “I do love a boatride!  Mayhaps some fishing, even.  Just as long as we’re not off the trail of the off the trail dwarves.  For we can’t find their trail if we’re not on their trail. So if they took a boat, so should we.  It’s my Gammer used to say: it’s probably where you saw it last.  So since we’ve, most likely, never seen the Dwarves, them we just have to find the last one who did.”  Jody smiles broadly. “Easy!”

"I think our Jody has the right of it" Gram said with a tip of his tankard towards the Hobbit. "For all our preferences, if we are to have any news of them, we must go where they have gone themselves, and that's the road South along the River Winding."

He regarded Thibault next. "It's true, a sack of oats is not so great a burden for a large animal, and even this far West you still see stock often enough upon the road. The towns we will pass through may accommodate them, at least as far as Kirkwood itself. I have only skirted the edge of that great wood, but it's paths are said to be tight and winding for many a mile."

He smirked to Mock "With all respect Master Mock, your people are not known to be swift of foot, and so with luck we may catch word of them sooner than later. Two well appointed Dwarves are not so common a sight."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:11, Tue 24 Sept 2019.

"And the river runs alongside the path all the way to Mirkwood."

When the one eyed man is the first to challenge Gwydian’s motives, the young man seems far less coy.   He smiles broadly, ”An odd question from a sage,” he replies, ”But then again, sages ask as many questions as they answer. No?”  In a pause of dialogue, he takes a drink of ale, and before he can continue, the ranger also inquires as to his motives.  Then, Gram.

”I did not intend to arouse suspicion,” Gwydian says as he sets down his cup and continues. ”True be told, I’ve always had an admiration for the tenacity of our mountain brothers. I think we have much to learn from them.” He nods to Mock. Then responds to Gram, ”But more importantly, as you point out good sir, adventure is a game for the young.  I understand your hesitation. I was not expecting to find such opportunity today and was merely dressed for a morning stroll through the market.  As for a trade,” he continues, reaching up to run his left hand through his straight, loose hair…

In an instant, his right hand moves to his waist then slams on the table.  A shiny large knife pierces half an inch into the wood. After the initial shock of movement, he is completely still so as not to incur any actual melee from any of his new companions who may be as quick as he, ”I have a few talents and surprises that I am sure could be of service.” Leaving the knife in table and grabbing his ale again, he introduces one of his personal companions, ”This is Lune, she guards me always.  Her older sister Estelle is not as suitable for small quarters.”

Realizing, he may have offended the keepers of this adventure, he calls out to Kendra. ”Another round, please.”

”As for my motivations – from the little I know, Dwarves are a loyal race. I am certain such goodwill is payment enough for relieving my boredom of walking the market.

13:48, Today: Gwydian rolled 9 using 3d6.  Stab Table.
13:48, Today: Gwydian rolled 9 using 3d6.  FD Knife.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:04, Tue 24 Sept 2019.

Thibault laughs. "Of course sages ask questions. How else would we learn? But in this you and I are of a unified course... I too seek the goodwill of the envoy, for favors to be asked in the future. You will find that there are few trades more mercenary than academia. And that includes mercenaries." He shook his head. "But you'll find that we, all of us, are as strangers to one another as you, so don't think that showing up five minutes after our meeting with the Envoy puts you at any more or less disadvantage than showing up five minutes before. You'll find yourself on equal footing, at any rate."

"Whoah ho!" Gram leaned back reflexivly as Gwydian slammed his knife into the table and looked at the young man with an amused smile and a hearty laugh.

"That's...a dead table, for certain" he nodded towards the blade. "Although Jody may have to speak with our hosts about the gouge"

He settled forward again, it becoming more apparent that he was not as impressed as he first seemed. "And you've named it...the . Unless they were named already?  In any case you've told use precious little." Still looking bemused as he polished off the beer. "You don't speak like a lad your age, if you're as young as you seem. That, and you seem to be better armed than half the town guard. Keep your secrets if you will young Gwydian, but if you were hoping to impress, a less...ah, pointed introduction would have served you better"

He rode casually and tapped Jody lightly on the shoulder. "I'll buy your next round minstrel, what will you have?"

He then turned back to Gwydian "Still, I'd be happy to have you along, especially so as you seek no reward. You've my vote for what it's worth."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:23, Tue 24 Sept 2019.

In reply to Gram (msg # 86):

Mock listened to the discussions and enjoyed the offered ale.

"I kin understand the whole boat thing is quicker, but I know dwarves do not like boats. Nor do I, to be honest, but that is beside the point. But if we are trying to find dwarves, what do we do with out stuff when we get off? How do we transport them? Getting there quick is all well and good, but we might have a long way to go when we get there. I am sure we will not be the first foot travelers, so there will be places where we can camp with pasture for the mules and horses."

Thibault sighed and unrolled his map. "Alright, look. This here is the river. Running along it is the path. See? It's the same route. You can see the path from the boat, you can see the river from the path. They follow one another."

"Both routes go to Mirkwood, which is where the missing dwarves likely vanished. Now. This is marshland, and this is a path, not a causeway, which basically means that it's just a marked route through the muck. Depending on recent rainfall, portions of the trail may be underwater. Hooves - and boots - will sink in to the knee, going will be slow, and cart travel is impossible. It's not just a matter of taking more time, it turns a journey of days into weeks. More if it rains while we're out."

"Consider the difficulties every extra day adds. More food for us. More food for the mounts - and a large healthy horse will need upwards of eight pounds of grain and hay if it's to have the strength to struggle through the muck for a full day's travel. And eight pounds of feed takes up a lot of space."

"But then each day means a chance to be attacked by creatures of Shadow. Each day spent means another chance to fall ill to the miasma of the swamp. Each day is another twenty-four hours of biting insects and mud in your boots and nothing staying dry no matter how hard you try. You know how armor can chafe the skin, Mock."

"I know boats are unpleasant, but the marsh is far worse. And exposes us all, and the horses, to greater danger."

The rough bearded man leans back as he downs half of his first ale, the one provided by the diminutive performer.  The man pats the Hobbit on the shoulder lightly and thanks him for the drink with a smile and a nod.

Without warning the newcomer pulls a dagger and stabs at the table. Navarre is neither distressed nor impressed by the act but seems to understand the gesture.  He chuckles at the horsemans joke of a pointed introduction and then says in a friendly tone,  "You got my vote kid.  Looks like you can handle yourself out there.  And thanks.” Kodran tips the second mug in thanks.

For several moments Navarre listens to the debate. When it is his turn the tall athletic man leans forward and intertwines his fingers together as his forearms rest on the table.  "I can see reasons for and reasons 'gainst goin' by water. I been all around the Wilderlands.  An' so has my paw.  An' one thing I can say for sure is it's gettin' more dangerous out there. Why on my way here I was trackin' a small pack 'a orcs up the Running River. If Gloins kin ain't been seen I bet my last dog they ran 'cross somethin' nasty. Whether we find 'em alive or dead I don't think they're goin' to be in any shape to walk. Sure would be nice to have an animal or two to put those bodies on. Dwarves are awful heavy. ”

Kodran lets the others continue the debate about traveling by foot or by boat while he drinks liberally the last of his first ale. Meanwhile the man begins to look about the room eyeing the patrons with a calculating gaze. Then he interjects with a rather serious tone.  "No offense to present company but like I said. I think we're dealin' with somethin' sinister.  Feels to me like we're a bit light on muscle. I wouldn't mind pickin' up another pair 'a hands. What do you think 'bout him?”


OOC:
Navarre has accepted Gwydians general answer of seeking favor as a type of reward.

The man Kodran is pointing at is Gumm.

Dog is the slang for copper nickels, or $1.

"We should bring as many guards as we can afford to hire," Thibault agreed. "But we can get a boat that can accommodate what mounts we'd care to ferry. Not that the river is... safe... but it's safer than the bank."

“We can see the path from the boat.  But if they took a boat, wouldn’t the boat-men know? Let’s just ask the boat men, and the mule-wrights.  If one of them knows something, then we’re one step closer to finding the last one who saw them.” Jody finishes his first pint and gleefully accepts another.  “We ask, and then we know.  If they bought the boat, we should find the boat. If they hired a boat, then they hired it from someone. Same with mules. Someone saw.  Someone knows.”  Jody grins. “Easy.”

Thibault drummed his fingers. "Another matter is the fact that the ravens have reported nothing to Gloin. As the bird flies the route is not too long, and everything along the river clearly visible to a flying raven. If they were injured or worse along the way, surely Gloin would know.

"Tis but a guess, but I would surmise that whatever befell them happened after they reached Mirkwood."

"Well that's the trick of it then" Gram interjected to Thibaults comment. The Eorling had a frothing tankard in each hand and was trailing droplets in his wake. He handed one to Jody and then clinked it warmly with him.

"If we are fairly sure they've made it that far, then I'll agree, a boat would be the way...provided they can ferry the animals of course." he sat carefully, trying not to spill.

"But if we've no idea what so ever when or where they might have come into trouble, we would lose any chance of asking fellow travelers on the road who may have seen them. The Ravens are undoubtedly keen eyed, but they are not so numerous as to see all that travels this land." he shook his head slightly and took a sip.

"As it is, it's a four day trip down the river. Eight days by foot. Half that if we're all mounted and the weather remains favorable."

ooc: After actually checking with the GM regarding travel times... but still, fewer encounters likely by water, even if we could afford mounts for the whole group.

In reply to Thibault (msg # 94):

"I doubt we will find mounts for all of us, unfortunately, as that would mae it an obvious choice. But Gram is right and so is Jody. Somebody would have seen something, and if we take a boat, we risk passing them in our rush to get there. Mounts don't travel well by boats. Neither do Dwarves...they have to take their armour off, amoung other dangers."

Gumm looks up as he scratches the arrow wound on his neck (a reminder of the Battle of the Five Armies.  “If it’s extra hands ye need, I’ve got two of ‘em.  Ugly, but strong.  Good with an axe.  An axe-man is a boon companion, if you’re traveling to Mirkwood.  And don’t worry... I’m one of the good guys.”

He winks, and gulps down the contents of his tankard.

"The river runs right alongside the land route, Mock. In the rare chance there's anybody who's been standing in the marsh since the dwarves went missing, we'll see them." He paused. "And trust, wading through knee deep muck for a week is a damn sight worse for the horses than standing in a boat."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:18, Wed 25 Sept 2019.

Jody thumps his tankard like a satisfied man. “Sounds like it’s settled.  Now some more vittles
to fatten-up, then we must find a flat-bottom pole boat to take us down.  Once that’s done, we know if we want a pony - or two -  plus the provisions we need.  With luck, we can leave at first light.”

Navarre listens to more debate of whether it is wiser to travel quickly and less painfully or take the slow path to have the perspective of seeing all the clues.  The Ranger says nothing, seeing both sides have value.

Just then the rough looking ax man approaches and offers his services.  Eager for more swinging swords Kodran pushes out a chair to welcome the strong man who appears to have seen some trouble.  He pushes his second ale, given to him by Gwydian and so far untouched, in front of Gumm.  "Turns out, we can.  Have a seat friend.  Tell us somethin' 'bout yourself and we'll tell ya what we're up to.”


OOC:
This is a formality to make the story seem to have flow.  I'm not really putting Gumm through an audition.

"Please do, pull up a chair" Gram said to Gumm, then turned back to the conversation.

"You're no great lover of horses, we hear that and you've made your case" Gram eventually said to Thibault. "We'll see what sort of boat is available, but know in whatever case, I will not suffer to be apart from my horse for long. Braembel is more than a steed, he is my friend, and we have seen much together these past few years." he sipped at his beer. "Whatever marshlands lay to the south, and however terrible they may be, they have a beginning and an end. If we cannot find a suitable boat, I can meet you down river. It is not so great an inconvenience, and I could ask after our Dwarves as I ride."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:57, Wed 25 Sept 2019.

"No lover of horses?" Thibault sounded offended. "It couldn't be further from the case! Horses are some of my favorite people. That's why I argue so hard to spare your Braembel from the dangers of the swamp. No surer way to break a leg than go bounding through muck of unknown depth with creatures of unknown Shadow lurking about."

"As I have said, this area is my home. I'm not arguing FOR the river, good sir, I'm arguing AGAINST the marsh. But you're in luck, because I know exactly the boat that will take us up to Mirkwood. I won't say it's a safe route, but it is a safer one. Whatever dangers we face are daylight considered to that accursed swamp." He suppressed a shudder.

ooc: Area Knowledge (Wilderlands)-2 roll succeeded by 4.

"Truly?" Grams eyebrows went up in mild surprise. "Well if you've a barge that can carry us all, I'd be inclined to take it. I know no guarantees can be made, but I'd agree, it sounds like the safer of the two choices all things being considered."

He looked about the table. "When shall we depart then? Would the morning be too much of a demand? My feet are eager for the road and as fine a place as Dale is, the sooner we start the better our chances I'd wager."

“Oh, and oh-hoom, Jody would caution some time to pack and provision, or at least provision. No sense in eating what’s in our packs if the river can carry it; same for animals.  We don’t just need food for us, either, but also for two lost dwarves, and enough to get there, and back.”

As the diverse group debates their plans, Kendra brings another round of drinks over. She scowls at the knife thrust into the table and says to Gwydian, “So, you plan on buying that table, sir? Keep your blades sheathed if you want to continue drinking at the Flagon.” Nevertheless, she accepts Gwydian’s coin and after a few minutes brings around another round of drinks.

OOC: Okay, it looks like you’re going by water and you’re planning on leaving at first light. It’s now midday, approximately 1 pm. Decide on how much you want to offer to recruit a boatman. Let me know what else you intend to do today (buy supplies, try to hit up Glóin for an advance, get blinding drunk, etc.)

Gram had a good time as the planning fell more or less into place. Although it was too early in the day for a truly boisterous crowd, he laughed a lot and smiled at this and that. But it became evident in short order that he lacked the coin to indulge further, and so quitting while he was ahead, he bowed out after agreeing to meet at the specified dock at dawn.

From there he unhitched his horse and walked him slowly away, down the crowded streets and away from the Silver Flagon.

Kodran has been around the Wilderlands for easily more than a decade, at first following his father learning the craft of protection handed down for generations.  He's seen so many wondrous things, and a few of the dark corners of the world.  His attitude towards a job such as this is luck favors the prepared and that includes a well rounded group.  Strong arms to swing swords and axes are important but a company comprised only of soldiers is ill suited for the challenges that can come in a rescue mission.  Kodran is pleased with this group, despite coming together as strangers, they have an assortment of talents, experiences and abilities and that will serve them well.

Following the horseman's departure Kodran too feels it is time to wander the town.  He's spent weeks in the wild chasing the denizens of the east and he's eager to shop and play, to mingle with the townsfolk and have conversations that don't involve danger and surviving off the wild.


OOC:
So it looks like we have a boat but not yet a boatman.  We haven't really talked as a group in detail about how much cash is available for more supplies and hiring on a boatman so I think it would make sense to ask Gloin for an advance.  But Navarre is not that person.  Gloin doesn't like Navarre, and Navarre while he hasn't openly said anything doesn't seem to be fond of Gloin.

Navarre will wander the town just soaking in the experience that a town can offer.  The sights, smells, the feeling of community and togetherness.  He will buy 9 more days of Travelers Rations.  If he can afford to sleep in a common room of an inn with his remaining funds, he will, otherwise he'll sleep in an alley.

In reply to Navarre Kodran (msg # 106):

Mock will leave the planning of maritime trips to others: he knows little of such matters and is not looking forward to it, but accepts the wisdom of such none-the-less. He asks around where he might stay the night for a dollar...with his mule.

Satisfied with having been included in the mission, Gwydian grows more relaxed with his newly met companions. After dinner and a few drinks, he's a little tipsy and seems overly friendly in that mildly inebriated sort of way. He approves of the plan, as if his ascent is appreciated.

As everyone begins discussing accommodations, he offers that there is room for one more in his room at the Goat & Boots Inn, just a few blocks away. When Navarre accepts the offer, he suggests they set out. Once back to the room, he makes a list of what supplies seem prudent before turning in early for bed. At first light, he will head to the market before meeting the others at whatever prearrange destination.

"Jody is always ready for the road" is a phrase that comes up while settling business, but truth be told, Jody need a few more things, mostly provisions.  Naturally, Jody being Jody, this also comes up, probably after another pint and another pie.  "Maybe a few more provisions is a smart idea."  But one of the main reasons that Hobbits are homebodies is that carrying the necessary provisions and/or water is too difficult & too heavy! "Good thing we have some animals! I was thinking about an extra mule, or a nice pony, but I think we have all that we need in that regard."

Jody will go make a few more foods purchases & then will likely find a nice quiet hobbit sized room, with a real bed, for probably the last time in a long time.

Gumm also knows little of river travel, although he is a fair swimmer.

He keeps a lower profile around town than the others, but he keeps his eyes and ears open on the off chance he comes across some information that could help them.  When it gets late, he too seeks lodgings.

In reply to Gumm (msg # 110):

Mock has already purchased supplies for the road, and while he can carry food for others in his barrels, he has to rely on others for accommodation, having spent what he had on supplies. He refills his water barrel though.

The next day dawns, a beautiful warm spring day in Esgaroth. The company that has formed to track down the missing dwarf ambassadors meets at the Market Square, where a gangly, long-limbed young man with shoulder-length blond hair waits for them. Yesterday, Thibault had recruited the lad, Wyar, son of Frey, to be their boatman.

Wyar claimed to have been born on the water and to have spent more time in a boat than out of one, but he had balked at the unusual skiff Thibault had also been able to procure from somewhere, swan-crested in the prow like many of the other boats on the lake, but more flat-bottomed than the traditionally round bottom boats that normally work their way across the waters of Long Lake. The skiff was equipped with three open-air stalls for larger animals such as cows and horses, and Gram had spent some time yesterday acclimating his steed to the unusual conveyance. However, once the supplies and animals had been loaded in the boats and each Man, Dwarf, or Hobbit had taken their position at the oars, Wyar proved more than capable of guiding the skiff along the more than 15 miles of open waters from Lake-town to the southern shore of Long Lake.

Now, with the sun sinking lower in the sky, the travelers hear the gradually growing roar of waterfalls where the Long Lake pours into the Running River. Wyar points out several wooden piers on the lake’s edge, and the crew makes for land. Navarre and Thibault have planned the next stage of their journey to utilize the Stair of Girion, a paved portage trackway that will allow them to enter the river just below the waterfalls.

At sunset the skiff lands on the beach. Once Gram’s horse and Mock’s mule are safely led off, the group together carries the skiff toward the track going over the Stair and loads their boat on a wheeled cart in order to traverse the Stair of Girion. Nearby a group of huts huddle close to the lake, and fires twinkle near the water, the outline of shapes of Men around them. Snatches of conversations and songs meander through the air.

“Men of the Lake,” Wyar says by way of explanation. “They act as porters sometimes, though few use the Stair these days.”



OOC: It is dusk. Everyone, make an HT roll. +2 for Fit, +4 for Very Fit. If you fail, you lose FP by your margin of failure.

Unless otherwise stated either IC or OOC, I’ll assume you chose the cheapest lodging and meal befitting your Status -1. For prices, see this thread: link to a message in this game

You can attempt to cross the Stair in the dark, but both Navarre and Thibault would recognize the foolishness of this. You can make camp away from the huts if you wish, join one of the groups around a fire, or do anything else you can think of.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:32, Wed 02 Oct 2019.

Gram seemed to be in high spirits throughout the day.

True to his word, he had entrusted his horse with nearly all his worldly possessions, excepting his axe and spear which he carried with him. It seemed his own fate and the fate of the Chestnut were intertwined, and he trusted the beast to carry itself and his belongings to shore should things go amiss.

He lingered near the swan shaped prow, and held to prod the vessel this way and that off a few stones with the butt. These efforts were largely made superfluous of course by Wyar's skillful handling of the craft.

He did not balk a bit at the labor of the portage, but encouraged the others on as he bent to their task. Young and hale the strain seemed not to wear on him at all, and he faced the end of the day with enough energy to wander the other camps, where he offered to trade song for song with the Lake Men, in an effort to learn one of the more catchy ones for his own collection.

The worry of water travel both for himself and his mule, took it's strain on Mock, who was clearly exhausted by the time they reached the shore, and more than a little glad to get back on dry land. He was ready to camp where ever the rest of the party wished to camp, and as soon as they did so!

Jody was rip roaring and ready to go - laden down, probably overly, from additional drink and foodstuffs, well over his regular load - and moving slow from the weight and a big, big breakfast.

He was very much looking forward to a smoke and a long nap on the boat.

"A great day for a boat ride! I love a day on the water! My favorite!" he'd been heard to exclaim as he was getting himself situated.  Once a ways off, he lights up his fine pipe. "This is the living!" he chatted with those open to an ear, plunked on his banjo, and intermittently napped.

On arrival for their resting place that evening, Jody was game to explore, meet people, learn a song or two, and drink someone elses' ale, and nibble their food - something that Jody (and all bards, really) does quite well.  He asks a lot of questions - where are people going, how often they travel this way, and what interesting things have they seen?

If asked, and he can't dodge the question - then Jody will admit that he's got a special request for the Dwarven Envoys, and he believes that they passed this way...

Navarre arrives on the dock bright eyed and eager for the adventure.  With any luck they'll find the missing dwarves bound up in some trouble, but not too much.  Kodran dreams quietly of the coin that will line his purse from a job well done, and the necks he'll cut of the foul dark invaders which have dared invade his lands.

He enjoys the ride immensely taking particular delight in Jody's upbeat high spirits, pipe smoking and banjo playing.  Kodran pulls out his own pipe and offers to trade samples of weed with the small bard.

The Ranger does what he can to soften the discomforts of water travel for the dwarf, which likely isn't much.  As Navarre makes the rounds as they float rapidly across the lake he silently wonders if he should share his thoughts concerning their employer.  The upper class dwarf and veteran of the battles surroundings Smaug's death gave him reason to question the dwarfs story, but given that no one else is speaking about it Kodran wonders if he is a lone outlier.

Near dusk the boat arrives at the lake's edge.  Navarre happily suggests that the party of mercenaries make friends with the local lake men to see if invitations to sleep at their camp are forthcoming.


OOC:
Navarre will wander the camp of the lake men hoping to just have a good time.  Swap stories for entertainment, stories of the road, etc.  He is hoping that these people will offer the group a place to sleep, if not within their huts then at least within their camp.

Thibault was tired but in good spirits as they arrived, glad to see some vestige of civilization - perhaps the last they'd come across until they returned. He was, in turn, ready for a long rest after the wearisome journey.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, lads!" he cried with a smile, looking at the available options for lodging. "If you'd care to splurge, this is your chance, for tomorrow pine needles our only mattress and the sky our blanket."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:02, Wed 02 Oct 2019.

Gwydian travels along without much dialogue, admiring the beauty of travel by water. Once they stop, he spends the evening with the others, trying to get a good night's rest before what will surely be a long day tomorrow.

Leaving the boat to be hauled over the Stair the next day, the travellers, some weary from their journey, others ebullient, join a group of Lake-men around one of their fires. It is the Eorling, Gram, who makes the first move, and the Lake-men take an instant liking to the young man from Rohan. Soon, the rest of the group has joined, and Gram is laughing and singing songs of heroes of long ago.

"That was a lovely tune, sir, an' no mistake!" says Knut, a young fellow with dark, stringy hair and a lopsided grin. "Say, Nerulf oughta hear yer songs!" The lad jogs over to a nearby hut, and a few minutes later comes out with an ancient-looking person, nearly bald, with a wheeze that sounds like wind whistling through the trees.

Jody explains that the group is going south down the Running River, which the group of Lake-Men find fascinating. "There ain't many who dare go that way these days," Knut says with interest. "Merchants approachin' by water usually unload downstream a far ways off and then skirt Mirkwood. Even the river elves of avoid that bit of the river."

"Going south?" mumbles Nerulf. "South, south..." And then, as if remembering the old words of an ancient nursery rhyme, he mutters, "If you go south in the marshes take heed: tread lightly and fear the gallows-weed..."

The Lake-men are glad to share with the travellers their meal, fresh fish roasted over the coals of their fire. When it comes time to sleep for the night, Kodran asks if the travellers can bivouac by the fire, and the Lake-men readily assent.

In the morning, when dawn breaks, the Lake-town men help the company port their boat across the Stair of Girion with a practiced air. The cart bearing the skiff is pulled along grooves dug into the paved trackway that crosses the Stair. Though travellers rarely come this way, the Lake-men know their business, and soon the boat is safely across and set in the water. Waving friendly goodbyes, the porters of Lake-town set back across the Stair, leaving the company to continue along down the River Running in pursuit of the lost Dwarves.



OOC: Due in large part to some excellent rolls from Gram, the Lake-town men are happy to have you join them. They provide food for the night and the next morning at no cost, and you are welcome to either sleep near the fire or pitch your tents near the shore.

An IC post isn't necessary at this point, but feel free to post if you like. I'll contact each of you for specific rolls related to the next leg of the journey, the travel down the Running River through the Long Marshes.

I also want a watch order for when you stop to camp at night along the river.

As he’s holding up well so far, Gumm offers to take the first watch.  (He keeps a suspicious eye on the Lake-town men.)

In reply to Gumm (msg # 120):

Mock is quiet. He offers to take the second watch.

Gram had a grand time, and shared a few songs of his own, including Twas down by the Glenside, a somewhat sad tune in Westron about a girl having to meet her lover in secret, and Trollabund in his native speech, which he says is about a sorcerer who uses his powers to gain great wealth, but is eventually brought to ruin.

He eats his fish gratefully and chats with the Lake Men easily, laughing and joking and trying to be a good guest in return for their kindness. He stays up fairly late into the night, lounging by the fire and trying to solve all the problems of the world before he eventually crawls into his small tent and sleeps till dawn.

In the morning he is only a little groggy, and brushes out his horse before he prepares himself for the labors of the day.

"Good morning master Ranger" he says when he comes across Navarre. "I know we've known each other for only a days span, but I wondered if you might be willing to teach me something of your swordsmanship?"

Jody makes a point of trying to visit every (or nearly every) camp in his quest to learn more things.  He's just a curithe ous lad.

But eventually, even a hobbit who's napped much of the day gets tired.  So the primitive sleeper he is just kinda rolls himself up with his cloak and hat and pack for a pillow, and snuggles in by some fire somewhere.

"Jody's right tired he is. & a sleep by a fire is my favorite thing. Wake me up before the dawn, though, and I'll have a look about, watchguard if you will."

I'll take the last or next to last watch.  Scout around and if extra lucky, a few nice stones and a staff-sling and a rabbit could be ourn.

"I've got one good eye and the night vision of a sun snake," Thibault said. "Wake me to watch if you think that's useful, though I won't see much more than the fire."

Kodran enjoys himself thoroughly as his new friends share a meal and camp with the men of the lake.   The ranger smiles, laughs and listens deeply as the stories go long into the night.

As the band breaks camp he runs into Gram who inquires about the sharing of knowledge.   Navarre grins joyously.  ”Mornin' Master Gram.  Of course, of course.  I'd only be too happy to.  And perhaps could can show me somethin' 'a your horsemanship?”



OOC:
Navarre has only a blanket and no tent so he'll just crash under his blankey using his pack as a make shift pillow nearby to someone's fire.  Most likely he'll crash with his new comrades in arms.

My rolls sent in PM.

Navarre will volunteer for 3rd watch.

Gwydian doesn’t say much as he prepares for the night.  He seems troubled by something, almost like one would expect a young man in the wild to be. He accepts whatever watch is assigned to him, being willing to help, even if not enthusiastic at the moment.  Other than that, he shows no interest in visiting with the strangers.

Gram smiled and nodded, then offered a hand to shake on it. "Agreed. It'll be an odd sight, teaching blade work to a man without a sword, and teaching horsemanship to a man without a horse. But I'll be glad of it."

Not wanting to slow down the group, he suggested they start that evening after dinner, then set about getting ready for the days portage.

The Stair of Girion traversed, the company now rows their swan-prowed skiff south down the Running River. Though cranes wade in the shallows and swallows wing overhead, the river is absent signs of any Men or other folk. The terrain along the river vale is flat and fenny, and a thick fog lies heavily across the banks during morning hours. Finding a path through this terrain would be nearly impossible, but the young boatman, Wyar, is able to guide the boat down the river, making steady progress with the guidance of sure-eyed Navarre Kodran and young Jody's uncanny sense of being about to orient himself in the river's myriad winding courses. Gwydian is fortunate the first day, catching five fish that serve as supper for the group weary from the day's rowing.

As the company enters the marshes, maneuvering their watercraft becomes more difficult, and Wyar must avoid dangling branches and submerged roots, but the boatman proves his worth, expertly maneuvering past obstacles that would otherwise cause delay.

On the second day of the journey, the river enters the eastern eaves of Mirkwood. The shadowy canopy of the wood seems to silence the sounds of nature, and the previously common bird calls and buzzing of insects vanish. Gram's stallion, Braemble, whickers nervously, and Mock's mule rolls its eyes in apprehension as the boat is swallowed up in the forest. The oppressive darkness of the woods weighs heavily on the companions. Why did they willingly volunteer to find these missing Dwarves? Perhaps the Dwarves are already dead, food for whatever predators lurk in this dark domain. Surely the best course now would be to give up and turn back before the rescuers themselves are lost forever in the morass that is Mirkwood.

After traveling through Mirkwood for hours, in late afternoon Gram spies what looks to be an abandoned camp. The company steers their skiff toward the river bank to disembark and search for signs of Balin and Óin. However, no further signs can be found, and the group makes camp for the night in frustration.

The next morning, Gwydian gets up just after dawn to try his luck again with fishing. On the very first cast, he hooks something enormous, but even as he starts to reel the monster of a fish in, his foot stumbles over a branch, and he loses his line and his fishook to the river's waters.

That afternoon, on the third day after passing the Stair of Girion, as the company oars their boat down the river, Thibault says quietly, "We're being followed."

"Aye," Mock Ironside says, his teeth on edge. "Elves."

OOC: It is the fourth day since leaving Esgaroth. Gwydian was able to catch enough fish for one meal on Day 2 of your journey, replacing one needed meal. Each of you has used 6 more meals of rations. Water is not a concern as river water can be boiled each night or morning for use during the day. The animals can graze at night and morning, so 3 meals of animal feed would have been used for Gram's horse and Mock's mule. I have already deducted these meals from your character sheets unless I've informed you otherwise.

The company has been traveling in Mirkwood for 2 days. As Mirkwood is a Shadow land, your first 2 Will checks were used to resist Shadow corruption. Check your character sheets for any Shadow Points gained (if any). These are temporary Shadow points and can only be healed during the Fellowship phase at the conclusion of the adventure.

Both Thibault and Mock have spotted a group following you. Due to Mock's critical success, he has identified the followers as a group of Wood Elves.

Grams demeanor grew more somber as they drifted steadily into the embrace of the Mirkwood. Likewise his horse, Breambel, seemed wary, his ears twitched this way and that at every slight sound and stood still and wide eyed as the raft navigated the currents.

During the evenings Gram "high lined" the faithful animal with a length of rope between two trees, giving the horse freedom enough to graze locally while refraining from a hobble. Gram himself had a little tent, low and wide which he staked out over a nearby depression when he could find one, where he would sleep with his saddle as a pillow, wrapped in his thick woolen cloak.

While Navarre had ridden before, Gram had him adjust a few things for the duration of their training in the style of the Rohirrim, and had him at first on a lead riding in wide circles. Notably Gram used no spur or crop, and his riding boots were cut in a fairly low fashion, allowing every curve of the calf, the inside of the knee and the span of the thigh to be used with maximum contact. It required a lot of endurance, to maintain the constant tension, but the goal was to grow as near to the horse as could be managed to better give the animal indication of the riders intentions.

On the third day, Gram skipped the customary breakfast, then lunch, then dinner. He looked just a bit peaked during his training, and rose the morning of the fourth day with no sign of breaking his fast. For all that however, he said nothing of it, and his horse continued to eat in his stead.

"Elves?" He repeated in a whisper when their resident Dwarf had made his observations known. "Should we not introduce ourselves? If any have seen our Dwarves, the Elves seem the most likely. What few I have met seemed amiable enough."

“Introduce ourselves?” Gumm snorts.  “If we’re being followed we should try to shake off our pursuers.  All manner of vile creatures inhabit these woods and we’d be fools to trust any of them, even if they take on a fair appearance.”  He caresses the handle of his axe.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:43, Fri 11 Oct 2019.

Kodran certainly made the most of his time in the town.  As a Ranger he spends more time in the wilderness than anywhere else but there is nothing quite like the comforts that civilization can bring, but his favorite are the people.  The crowds offer 'flavors' of people and Navarre enjoys sipping them like ales, stouts and meads.

As the hours pass the guide wonders silently to himself about Gloins odd behavior.  Certainly he was hiding something.  But was it nefarious?  Did he know more about the disappearance than he was letting on?  It certainly seemed so.  But Navarre is loath to discuss the affair in front of Wyar, who may go running straight to Gloin upon his return.  Too, no one else has brought it up which makes Kodran wonder if he was the only one eagle eyed enough to see it.

Too the traveler revels in his time teaching and learning from Gram.  While the Ranger knows something of horses clearly Gram is the expert.  Navarre drinks in the wisdom happily like a sponge.  When it is his turn he begins with the basics, the proper grip, stance and attitude towards the bond between man and weapon.

The group floats into Mirkwood as they knew they would and Navarre has been here before.  Despite many visits through his travels it never ceases to surprise him of the depressing, oppressive feeling.  He can sense his mood change to something darker and he knows it has nothing to do with his comrades.  There is an evil about this place, he thinks to himself.  Sometime later the subject of a tail is brought up and the new friends begin to offer opinion.  Kodran is quick to chime in.  ”We did come inta their home.  I'd be surprised if no body was followin' us.  They're not real keen on dwarves passin' though the wood.  No offense meant Master Ironside.”, he says as he dips his head respectfully.  ”I am a Dúnedain and we are long time friends 'a the elves.  I speak Sindarin well 'nough.  I say I go have a chat with 'em.  Maybe they seen our lost messengers.”

"Fortunate, for I can only read Quenya," Thibault said. "To be honest, though, evading our pursuit relies on great skill and stealth from the clumsiest and slowest of us. And that's not even taking the horses into account. We will encounter them, should they desire it, and there's nothing we can do about that other than make sure the encounter occurs on our own terms at a place of our choosing."

He swatted at a mosquito. "Fortunately they're more likely curious than nefarious. I'd rather not make them enemies unnecessarily. My official advice, is to be cautious but nonaggressive. Respectful and distant. They likely know this land better than we, at any rate."

In reply to Thibault (msg # 132):

"Bah, if I had to speak wit them, they would probably try to SHOW me wha they did with the messengers. More than likely, they not only know, but probably had a hand in it. Whatever you think of elves, and I generally try not to, the ones here are a shade nastier than most."

He kept his mule well fed by allowing it to graze, preferring a long rope to high line. Lacking a tent, he made do, but clearly disliked this region. Noting Gram going hungry, he took out some rations and gave them to him.

"I only got one more, sorry. But when we get to land, ma mule will be able to carry a lot more."

Jody, at turns in the bow seemingly half asleep or peering intensely, nearly claps his hands with talk of elves.  “Oh, how delightful! Absolutely we must speak with them. Quite right, indeed! We are in their home, as pointed out, and we don’t intend them any harm, as noted, and we can’t hope to avoid them, so of course, we must talk. Now, of course, they may not want to talk to us, which would be a sad, OOH A BUTTERFLY; sad as I was saying, turn of events. But Jody’s best guess here - and Im a fair good guesser - is that when they want to talk, they will. In the meantime, we wait and keep on. Ayount, that’s my thinking on this. And that.”
This message was last edited by the player at 15:38, Tue 08 Oct 2019.

"Frankly I don't think we can avoid it."

Navarre brings a hand up to his chin and scratches at his bushy beard thoughtfully.  He considers all the opinions being bandied about and in no time decides upon a course.  He claps his hands together firmly and rubs them together vigorously.  ”Well then.  Its settled.  Me an' Jody'll go have a chat.  Doubt I met these exact elves 'fore but I imagine they'll warm up nonetheless.”

Patting the shorter hobbit on the shoulder Kodran turns off to meet these secretive watchers.  When he approaches the spot he's been told they are hiding the protector raises his hands to show they are empty and speaks in a clear calming tone.  ”Suilad friends. Naun Navarre. Sen is Jody. Men mean ci U harm.  Naun Adew ranger o I Forod. Adew dunedain.”



OOC:
If Jody is agreeable take him to meet the elves and attempt Diplomacy.

Jody eagerly follows, hopping off the boat, and letting his big hobbit feet press into the soft ground.  He smiles openly, and looks hither and yon for signs of the elves!

OCC: just the staff, no pack. He's doing the performance thing where you exude confidence and friendliness.

In reply to Jody (msg # 137):

Mock sighs and hope things turn out better for them than they did for his Dwarven friends. But a hobbit and a human...were not dwarves...

After a brief discussion, the group steers their boat toward the western riverbank, and Navarre Kodran and Jody disembark to approach their Elven shadowers. the trees grow thick here, and Navarre must push back hanging ivy and moss as he picks his way forward. Once close enough, he hails the hidden elves, and four individuals dressed in greens and browns emerge to meet him, all with bows and shortswords. Three of the Elves have arrows nocked on their bowstrings, though pointed toward the ground.

The fourth, an older Wood Elf with long brown hair, steps forward. He is more well-dressed than the others, and his hands are free, though a longbow and a quiver of arrows are slung on his back, and at his side he wears a broadsword.

Nodding his head, the Elf says, "Suilad, dúnadan. Nonol nathlo Si. Naun galion." The Elf then turns and glances at Jody in disapproval. In Westron, the Elf says, "A halfling? You keep strange company, Navarre of the Dúnedain. And worse, a dwarf?" He scowls.

"Tell me, what are you doing in the realm of King Thrandruil?"


Galion

Once it's clear that the group intends to meet the Elves, Gwydian also removes his pack, in case of trouble, and in any case, he probably looks more appealing without lugging it about.

As the ranger and hobbit begin the parlay, Gwydian trails behind. Not knowing Elvish, the young man is mostly curious to see what kind of Elves traverse these woods and get a sense of whether they are in real danger, based on his intuition. He will respond if greeted but makes not effort to join the dialogue.

"Eithel met galion. Sg. a, Pl. ah Le hanna”, Kodran offers through a respectful bow.  For a moment he is tempted to respond to the comments about the company he keeps, but he decides to bite his tongue. Attempting to convince an elf about the virtues of dwarvenkind is a bit like attempting to convince a fork of the virtues of a knife.

"A pair 'a messengers was to come this way but they got lost.  I was hopin' maybe you've seen 'em.”


OOC:
Navarre doesn't want to give away too much.  I the player can't remember how confidential this is supposed to be.  If pressed for info be honest.   Describe the pair the dwarves if asked about them.  Do not let on that they are related to Gloin.

In reply to Navarre Kodran (msg # 141):

Mock will watch on...but not leave the boat.

Jody, for his part, ignored - or didn’t notice - the lead elf's disdain.  He might have been a little spellbound, but Navarre's voice brought him back.

Jody doffed his cap, gave a easy bow, stood as tall as his carriage would allow, squared his shoulders and began...

"Most excellent sirs, and wondrous keepers of the wilds: My companions and I plead your leave for this intrusion into your lands. Myself, Jody of the Shire, my companion here, and the rest, including the boatman-for-hire, have no interest in disturbing you or causing any trouble. In every way, our sole intention is only the opposite.

Please, we are not hostile, nor even with full force of arms could we defeat you; I am scarcely to your own waist, I am."  Jody smiles, as disarmingly as he can.  "So let us truck as friends; if not friends in full, friends against the evils that still live, and could upend the peace we have had since the great battle.

We are seeking two dwarves; Balin, Son of Fundin, and his companion, who left from Erebor, with an invitation, and, I understand, gifts, from King Dáin Ironfoot to the Lord of the Eagles for the coming Gathering of the Five Armies. These dwarves planned to go south along the river to explore conditions along the Old Forest Road and possibly traverse it, now that the threat of goblins has been greatly reduced, mostly due to the efforts of your people. We seek only to re-trace his steps and help put him back on the path to the Lord of the Eagles.

Now, I realize and understand that you may be compelled through duty or honor to hold what you know; but I ask - we ask - only two things; that if you or your people have knowledge of Balin and his companion, that we would learn, and that should we need to leave the river, the boatman whom we hired be given freedom to return home, for he is blameless in this."

Jody bows again, and stands, awaiting their reply.

Gram stood, watching with interest as the two groups met. He was some distance off, leaning upon his spear in a fairly casual way.

He did not seem to think they were in danger, or if he did, he was fairly good at hiding it. If anything he seemed to be trying to appear friendly to their hosts.

As Navarre explains their purpose traveling along the river, Galion nods his head. “Yes, we saw these Dwarves that you speak of.” Then the bright, charming Jody launches into his spiel, and Galion’s face clouds. When he hears that Jody is from the Shire, Galion’s lip curls in disdain, but he allows the Hobbit to continue. At the name of Balin, Galion’s face flashes red with anger.

“Balin? That miscreant? So that was him along the river, then?” He laughs grimly. “If I had known it was he…” He looks back to Navarre.

“Dunedán, I do not care for your friends, but I appreciate the information the halfling brings. I did not know what caused two Dwarves to travel through the marshes, but if they were emissaries sent to the Eagles, that explains their journey. I do not know what happened to Balin, and you can console your pitiful Hobbit that we will not throw another of his race into our cells, as much as it would bring me great joy to do so.” Galion glares at Jody and continues.

“About a week ago we spotted the two Dwarves, and we tracked them for miles through King Thranduil’s realm, but they disappeared from their camp that night. Perhaps they knew we were following them and chose to sneak away quietly like the cowards they are, or perhaps Mirkwood took them.” He flashes a spiteful smile. “Regardless, they are gone, and so should we.”

OOC: As should be obvious by now, Galion has little-veiled contempt for Hobbits and Dwarves. Though Jody rolled well and has natural Charisma, it wasn’t enough to overcome Galion’s intense dislike for Jody. However, Jody and Navarre have also provided a lot of information, some of it not so great (Galion seems to hate Balin), but some of it good (the Dwarves’ purpose for journeying thirty the marshes.)

Any other information from Galion will need another Diplomacy (or other suitable interaction skill) roll.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:02, Wed 09 Oct 2019.

"Afore you leave, again we mean no harm - but we will look.  Can you tell us about how far from here you saw them last?"

Thibault remains back in the boat with Mort, idly watching the river. If they needed his services, they'd ask for them.

Galion looks silently at the Hobbit for a half a moment as if deciding whether or not to answer the question. At length, the Elf raises an arm and points the way south. "I'd say about five miles that way," he says with a sour look on his face. "About three miles north of where the Rotting River meets the River Running. The camp was along the river on the western bank."

“Thank you sirs; We appreciate it, and with luck, every kindness shall be returned to you threefold.”

Either when/if the elves depart, or on the way back to the raft, Jody grinned, pleased with himself, Jody looked to Navarre “Well then.  We know where to head, and likely the last spot anyone saw them.  I have a ah, question, though: sayin’ you finds ‘em, with Jody’s help and all, how do we get back? Swimming seems unlikely. And the boat’s going home, today or tomorrow, eh?”

“Always good to have a thought before talking, and Jody’s a mind to offer the boatman a bit more to stay a night or three afore he go’n.”

“Say, I do wonder what the elf fellow was so sore about, and why he’d like to have a hobbit in the stocks. Mighty peculiar, and notatall what Jody expected, nosiree.”
This message was last edited by the player at 12:40, Thu 10 Oct 2019.

Galion and his Elves watch silently as Jody walks back to the company’s skiff. The Elves as yet have not made any hostile moves, but they stand with an air of wariness, as if to react immediately should the situation change.

Back aboard the ferry, Jody offers his concerns, and Wyar speaks up. “If you’re worried about me leavin’, Master Jody, I’ll set you straight on that account. I’m yer man as long as you’re payin’, and besides, this ain’t my boat anyhow. If I wanted ta go back ta Esgaroth, I’d be swimmin’ myself.”

OOC: If anyone else wants to ask the Elves something, make a Diplomacy or other interaction roll. Navarre has a +1, the other Men a -1, and Jody and Mock a -2 to their rolls.

Remember, you contracted this boat based on your letter from Glóin. Wyar was hired separately. Should you choose to dismiss him, you can, or give him directions to wait for your return should you leave the river.

To answer Jody’s question, feel free to roll vs History (Wilderland) and PM me the result before posting. A success reveals how much you’re familiar with Bilbo’s story.

Gwydian resists the urge to smirk when Galion gets haughty. Clearly, on their home territory these Elves have the upper hand and some right to react as they see fit. Although, he had very little personal interaction with Elves, this met his expectation - that they are petty, arrogant, and rude.

He returns to the boat with the others, making no comments and seeing no reason to rile up the Dwarf who probably has as much love for the Elves as they he. If no one else does, he relays the reported location of the camp to Wyar and asks if he is familiar with the area and how to safely investigate.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:07, Thu 10 Oct 2019.

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 150):

Jody chuckles "Well, all righty then Wyar, let's a keep on keepin on.  Where the Rotting River meets the Running is where our dwarves last were.  Chances are good that the elves will be shadowing us.  Let 'em.  They won't stand for foul creatures, asides us, anyhowways, so it's like havin' an escort."

For a moment due to the disposition of the elves towards his small companion Kodran assumed that the negotiation would not do well with time, a bit like a heavy rock sinking in soft wet mud.  But happily his assumption is in error.  Navarre bows cordially once again, smiles genuinely in parting with the wood elves and thanks them in their native tongue, he always enjoys their company.

Once reunited with the others the ranger is satisfied that everyone is caught up on the new information.  Grinning as this is their first solid lead Navarre says, but it is uncertain if it is a command or a suggestion.  ”So we know where they were last seen, and the elves din't have a hand in takin' 'em.  Let's have a look see at their camp.  Maybe it'll tell us where they went.”


OOC:
Kodran shares Jody's attitude that if the elves continue to trail us that isn't a bad thing.  Even if they don't help us having more numbers is an incentive to wandering packs of orcs and goblins to stay away.

I vote that we head to their camp straight away.

This message was lightly edited by the player at 22:37, Thu 10 Oct 2019.

In reply to Navarre Kodran (msg # 153):

"Nice of you to trust them in their saying they did not have a hand in the dwarves demise but if it were just Jody and me here I doubt I would be so sure. But I agree lets get up there as soon as we can and see what can be found. When they say the woods took them overnight while they was watchin' I can't help think that of what else is here. Elves are sneaky buggers so I am not so sure there is anything so sneaky as to be able to do that.

Jody, there is a reason I stayed in the boat. To look after the animals is just a small part. Elves are arrogant and us short folk don't do well with them."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:08, Thu 10 Oct 2019.

In reply to Mock Ironside (msg # 154):

From his perch in the bow, acting as lookout, Jody looks back. “Goah, they are tall, I hadn’t thought of that.  They dis have rather tough words for Balin, that’s the truth.”

"That...went better than I expected" Gram said as the other returned. "At least it sounds like we have a good place to start now? And we've made our introductions, for what that's worth."

He agreed with Navarre in travelling directly to the site the Elves had mentioned. Overall the meeting seemed to have left him unimpressed. "I thought they would be more...friendly. I suppose" he mentioned as he packed up his things.

In reply to Gram (msg # 156):

"Bah, you tall folk always expect more of the elves than you ought. Things with them NEVER goes easily even if we are planning to work together it is a rare elf that will consider us shot folk as anyone serious. Lets git outta here..."

The company pushes off from the bank and begins rowing downshore again, Wyar at the rudder, Jody serving as lookout for the time being. Without waiting for the party to depart, the Elves fade into the forest and are gone. The boat still makes good time, though the river course twists and turns. Trees hang over the river, their canopy shading the company but also contributing to a heavy, almost oppressive atmosphere.

It is nearly sundown when Jody gives a shout, pointing excitedly to a patch of dry land rising to the west of the river course. Again the crew makes for the bank. Once on shore, Wyar makes the boat secure, tying a dockline to one of the thick trees growing along the riverbank. The group fans out, soon finding traces of the Dwarves' campfire and a small stack of firewood. But the setting sun leaves little time to search for further signs of the missing Dwarves.

OOC: You have about an hour of daylight left. If you would like to search the campsite, roll vs. Search or Perception.

Make another HT roll (+2 for Fit, +4 for Very Fit). On a failure, lose FP equal to your current encumbrance +1 (so No Encumbrance, -1 FP, Light, -2 FP, etc.)

Gumm runs his thumb along the edge of his axe blade, hoping to get a chance to reward the spiteful elves before this journey has ended.  He would love to detach their too-pretty heads from their necks.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:11, Sun 13 Oct 2019.

"And just where they said it was too! More helpful than they would have wanted to be, if they'd have been less helpful than they would have been, eh?  Elves, huh!

Say, I wonder if now that they know it was Balin, they were going to look for him too? They seemed to be displeased with him for some reason.  I hope it had nothing to do with me.  But if they find him, what do you think they'll do? Set him back on the path, right?"

Jody continues to poke about the campsite, but ...

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
he might just be looking for butterflies.

---

As the band of new friends floats and pushes their way down the slow moving river Kodran cannot help ponder their encounter with the elves.  Being a Dúnedain he's encountered the elves in the past, many times in fact.  He likes them, and they him.  The reactions of the elves towards the others and vice versa is no shock to the ranger but he does wonder how things have gotten here.  There is enough discomfort in the world.  Enough conflict with the dark places of the world.  Orcs.  Goblins.  And worse.  Why cant the good peoples of Middle Earth put aside their differences and work together?  It is a philosophical question for which Navarre has no answer.  And he doubts he ever will.

When the boat rolls up to the camp Kodran is one of the first to touch land, eager to investigate the remains.  The man pokes around its center looking in the earth for signs of movement that may tell him anything.  Then he fans out in wider and wider circles looking for clues.


OOC:
My pack and shield are left behind on the boat.  All other gear is on me.

Gram walked Braembel out to graze while they took a look around, and seemed to make an effort to check for sign in the way that a tracker would. He chatted here and there with the others as they searched, mostly about Elves and their ways, before he seemed to give up.

"I'm afraid I don't see anything promising" he shook his head. "One would think that your people especially would leave a promising track or three in their wake Master Ironside" and motioned to the deep tread that the heavily armored Dwarfg was leaving himself on the beach.

In reply to Gram (msg # 162):

Mock has a difficult time on the water, constantly worried about the boats movements and his mule. When they finally reach the campsite, he is one of the first off the boat, leading his mule, which he quickly allows to pasture while he looks around, envigorated by being on dry land but clearly concerned for his breatheren.

The group casts around for any further clew as to what happened here. Together, the Woodman Gumm and Navarre Kodran deduce that although Balin and Óin set up camp here, they did not stay the night. But what had driven them away?

However, Mock Ironside has greater luck. Almost immediately, the Dwarf spies some spells of secrecy cut quickly but efficaciously into the bark of a rotten stump. Whatever is hidden here has been concealed from non-Dwarves, but a Dwarf is easily able to spot the hidden cache. Searching inside the rotten stump, Mock pulls out a small ivory jewel case, with intricately carven images of regal-looking birds: the Great Eagles of the Misty Mountains.

Inside is a written and illuminated parchment, King Dáin's letter to the King of the Eagles. The letter is rolled and wound about by a fine necklace of twisted gold wire, holding a magnificent precious stone of a snowy color the size of a small fist. When Mock opens the box, the dying light of the sun is caught and multiplied by the jewel's countless facets, making the box shine as if it contains an inner light.

OOC: Everyone, roll a Will check for Corruption, -3 if you have Greed. Failure gives another Shadow point as a lust for the Stone is kindled in your heart..
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:34, Sun 13 Oct 2019.

"Ah, so there's the proof in the pudding. Our Dwarves were here, and they saw for to leave the gift they had brought for the great Eagles behind for safe keeping." Gram said when the discovery was shared.

"But what would cause them to leave behind such a fair gift I wonder? Some close danger perhaps?"

Navarre spends a few minutes looking around the camp and is rewarded to note that the dwarves were undoubtedly here and that the camp shows little signs of being slept in.  Just then Mock pulls forth something from a large stump and reveals its true contents.  Kodran inches closer and closer, unaware of his own fascination with the beautifully crafted jewelry.  He is dazed by its regalness, its magnificence and he very nearly takes it from Mock while offering to hold onto the treasure for safe keeping.  But somehow he follows his instinct which is to leave the gift in the hands of a dwarf where it belongs.

After what feels like a long time staring whistfully at the box and gift Navarre says to no one.  ”If they din't sleep here what the devil happ'ned?”  Kodran turns to Mock as a follow up.  ”When dwarves travel do ya hide your loot when there's trouble afoot or do ya just hide it as a matter of course?”


OOC:
Anyone paying attention to Kodran will see he is struggling internally with temptation over the gift.  Part of him wants to hold it.  But he does not make a move in any way.

This message was lightly edited by the GM at 18:09, Sun 13 Oct 2019.

Gwydian assists in examining the camp, not turning up anything more than anyone else and getting a little frustrated by the lack of progress only to be relived by Mock finding the stash. He isn't surprised that the Dwarves have their own way of concealing things, especially when it comes to treasure. Once its out in the open, the young lad leans over Mock's shoulder in an attempt to get a better look at what was left behind.

"What does it say?" he asks. "Perhaps it offers a clue to their path."

Of course, he also wonders what would make the Dwarves leave the diplomatic gift behind. "Something must have spooked then, and they hid the box before going to investigate. If ambushed, they wouldn't have had time to hide it so well," he observes.

Once the excitement over the find subsides, he goes back to examining the campground, hoping to find footprints but again turning up empty. "How could such dense, heavy Dwarves not leave any tracks?" he mumbles to himself.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:16, Mon 14 Oct 2019.

In reply to Gwydian (msg # 167):

Mick quickly puts the jewels on his mule, before reading out the scroll.

"It was meant to be carried by dwarves, and so it shall be. But now to find those that carried it..."

He reads out the scroll.

“No offense intended to the dwarven folk, but this is the most foolish way to hide precious treasure that I’ve ever heard of.  Any forest bogie could have found it just by sitting on it.”


He ogles the PRECIOUS items, wishing it was his birthday...
This message was last edited by the player at 11:21, Tue 15 Oct 2019.

Navarre thinks for a moment on the words of the youth.  ”Right.  Them dwarves wouldn't have time to hide that box if somethin' was fixin' to jump 'em.  But if they was just bein' careful and hid it cause that's what dwarves do when they're on the road...but if that happened, why din't they come back and take it?  I think we're all thinkin' the same.  Somethin' bad happened here.”

As the dwarf makes for his mule and places the gift safely among his other possessions on the pack animal Kodran watches though his apparent passionate intent on the gift has passed.


OOC:
Look around the camp in a widening circle for clues.  Foot prints, items dropped, signs of someone running (broken flora) in a circle of about 25 yards to begin.  If it gets too dark grab my lantern and light it.

"My thoughts as well. There's a story to be told here, if we've the eyes to read it" Gram replied to Navarre, then set to widening the area in which they had searched in hopes of finding some clue as to what had befallen the previous occupants.

Jody regards the jewels for a second or two, but no more.  “Pretty them are, and by a half.  But not like a real live butterfly.  Jewels on a wing, that’s what they are.” Then he thinks for a spell, hearing the others talk. “Maybe the eagles came to get them? Because if they left in a hurry, and there’s no tracks, and the elves don’t know what took them, and they didn’t sprout wings...then something with wings took’em!"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:41, Wed 16 Oct 2019.

In reply to Jody (msg # 172):

"Or carried them off into the water...not all that carries people away flies."

“Oh the Gods” Jody quails “I’d not thought of that, Jody hadn't.  Oh, and for sure that’s a terrible thought.”

The magnificent jewel's beauty proves difficult to entirely resist for some members of the company, even after Mock stows the stone away amongst his mule's saddlebags. Meanwhile, Wyar gets ready for the evening, building a fire and setting up his small tent.

The sun's light fading, Navarre Kodran, Gwydian, and Gram search by the light of the crepuscular for more signs of the missing Dwarves. At length when the dusk fades into night, Kodran retrieves his lantern to continue the search. Surely there must be some sign of Balin and Óin! Perhaps the trail is too cold now. It has been nearly a week since the Dwarves were last seen.

Not far from the campsite, lights, perhaps fireflies or some sort of swamp gas, or possibly torches of some distant swamp denizens, appear in the gloom. The lights dance and flicker almost playfully.



OOC: The lights are visible from the camp site. Characters with Curious need to make a self-control roll if they don't want to investigate the lights.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:21, Fri 18 Oct 2019.

Something wasn't right here.  Even during the day there hung a dark cloud over the Wood.  It was almost tangible.  It was a heavy and depressing thing, as if the woods constantly reminded the ranger of the passing of a friend and their funeral.  It seemed there were certain places in the world where this malaise festered.  But how could that be a reality?  Things like plants and trees dont make people sad and angry?  Kodran has noticed the oddity and thankfully he has the propensity for keeping his mood high as a totem against the sour ill will.

In his travels he's heard many a tale of the wonders of this vast land.  Wizards, dragons, magical artifacts and even unnatural fantastic creatures.  Could the lights be a part of some forest imps?  Or something simpler, such as parchment set alight by brigands?  Whatever it was, if there was a chance of finding the lost messengers Kodran was going to look them over.


OOC:
Navarre will proceed cautiously towards the lights.  Bow is in hand with an arrow knocked.  Shield is on my back.  Pack is on the boat.  Hopefully someone comes along willing to carry a lantern.  Move to the edge of the lights and investigate.  If they seem harmless move into their area.

Jody straightens up a bit around the campsite.  He knows he’s not the best searcher.  But he does take an extra look at the shoreline, in the event that Mock was right, and something had dragged them off into the deeps.

When he’s done with that, and barring any major discovery, he collects some deadwood and then plays some, softly, on the banjo.  As the night draws, he takes his small pipe out and lights it.

“Navarre? Where are you going? Ah, folks? Someone tell Navarre that those lights are faerie lights.”

Gram looked on with concern, and seemed a little confused. "Faerie lights? I've never heard of them. They're... actually sort of pretty. What causes them?" He asked Jody, and looked down to the Hobbit.

The lights flicker like small flames in the gathering darkness, beckoning Navarre on. Could Balin and Óin come this way, similarly investigating these floating lights? The lights seem harmless enough, and Navarre soon finds himself drawn to a stinking pool of stagnant water.

Navarre would do well to heed Jody’s warning, for many years ago, a large Stone-Troll, driven by hunger, wandered down from his lair in the Mountains of Mirkwood to dwell in the Long Marshes. Years of solitude have dulled his wits and robbed him of the ability to speak in any comprehensible fashion, and a lack of ready game has only intensified his hunger. Now, he waits near the pool of water, submerged beneath the weeds, waiting for the unwary to approach, lured by what Jody calls faerie lights, or their more common name, corpse candles.

Slowly, arrow nocked, Navarre Kodran draws closer to the Stone-Troll’s hiding place. With a roar, the Troll emerges from the pool, arms outstretched, lunging for the ranger!



OOC: The Troll is 9’ tall and is unarmed.

Navarre has stated that he has asked someone to carry his lantern. Who has the lantern?

Navarre is roughly 3 yards away from the troll. Gram, Jody, and Wyar are about 30 yards away around the campfire.

In your next post, give me three rounds of combat. Don’t forget to declare defenses (this can be in a private line). State where you are (with Navarre, at the fire, or somewhere else) and what is in your right and left hand.

Put any dice rolls in a private line.

Gumm has the lantern.  As he sees the troll, his instincts take over.

Round #1: he drops the lantern and readies his great axe.


Round #2: “Don’t worry... I’m one of the good ones!” he screams as he swings at the troll.


Round #3: If necessary to remain at range 2, Gumm takes a step.  Then he takes another mighty swing with his great axe.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:24, Sat 19 Oct 2019.

Jody has either his banjo in hand but drops it in alarm!

“HELP HELP” he yells, scrambling for his staff. “TROLLS” he yells, loud enough to hear a pumpkin patch away.

“Navarre!  WATCH OUT!!” He cries needlessly, loading a bullet and starting his spin...

R1 drop banjo ang grab staff

R2 ready ataff

R3 fire if a clear shot exists...close range fading to creature’s left if not

OCC: im on a plane from almost now until tomorrow.  Move me if needed.

Gwydian is busy looking at the lights from afar, thinking that Dwarves would not be so likely to wander off to explore what look like arcane lights to him, but stil... they are beautiful.  Then, the moment is broken by the howl of the troll and Gwydian springs into action.  He sprints towards the beast at full speed, unsheathing Luna into his right hand without missing a step.

OOC: Sprint, Sprint, Sprint and fast-draw knife

Whatever Gram was expecting, it had not been that. The word in Westron was practically the same in Rohirric, and caused the same sort of abject terror that their kind was known for throughout Middle Earth. The very name itself summoned up thoughts of nigh indestructible giants, hungry for the flesh of men.

"Troll!" he called out, joining in with Jody as he snatched up his spear and began running in the direction of Navarre and his nemesis. A boot found a bog hole and splashed loudly, another root seemed to encircle his foot, but he frantically tried to make his way over across the sodden, uneven ground.

Navarre creeps closer and closer towards the glowing, dancing lights.  What could they be he wonders.  Is it the work of a wizard?   Unlikely he reasons as they aren't many.   Kodran has no idea how many sorcerers actually exist in the world but he's never met one nor known anyone who's met one.  And could these lights have anything to do with their missing dwarves?  His mind gets stuck on this notion as if the ranger were walking through a bog and his leg sank in the mushy, wet earth up to and past his knee.  But try as he might he cannot reason a connection.

Nearer and nearer he draws to the lights and then the man can tell he is alone and this does not bother him in the least, he has the utmost confidence in his abilities.  After all he is a Dúnedain!  Just when he is about to turn and call back to Jody the water begins to churn and bubble.  Something emerges from the surface with a broad round head and big bulbous nose.  For the briefest of moments the ranger thinks he has found one of the missing dwarves.  But the thing keeps gaining height, rising and rising still higher and higher until Kodran has to bend his neck backwards almost to a painful level to take in the whole of the creature.  ”A troll!, he hisses as he lets loose his arrow.


OOC:
Round 1:  fire my bow.  Toss it aside as a free action.
Rounds 2 & 3:  draw my sword and attack!

The Stone Troll is slow and stupid, and he blinks his eyes in the lantern light. His stomach growls with hunger, and he salivates from these tasty morsels that have been led to his pool, but the company prove too difficult for him.

Navarre strikes first, launching an arrow at the Troll and then throwing his bow to one side. The arrow flies straight and true, and though it does little more than bounce off the creature's tough hide, it stumbles in the wet fen and crashes backward, its upper torso splashing into the brackish pool.

Gwydian, Gramm, and Mock all race forward to provide succor to their comrades, and little Jody drops his banjo as he fits a bullet to his staff sling, but their concern is unneeded, for first Gumm and then Navarre pounce, swinging first axe and then broadsword at their fallen foe. The supine Troll does his best to roll out of the way, but Gumm's axe bites deep into the creature's skin, followed by Navarre's stroke which slices off the Troll's leg.

The Troll quivers for a moment and then lies still, his body half-submerged in the pool, still lit by the ghostly corpse candles.

OOC: Okay, I wasn't expecting that battle to be over so quickly! I rolled an 18 for the troll's dodge when Navarre shot it, and then it failed its HT roll once Navarre and Gumm took it below 0 HP. Well done, everyone!

Jody slows his spin and stows the bullet; brushes off the banjo and sets it down again more gently and in a place more likely to be dry.  He then walks over to the creature. “Huh.  Mighty troll, eh?  Short work we made-a you, eh!” He prods the troll in jest. Turning towards Gumm and Navarre   “Are your blades enchanted by the elves? All the stories and songs make the trolls to have stoneskin!”

Thanks to his heritage and long time wandering the wilderness Navarre is little spooked by the appearance of a stone troll.  It is huge and a giant compared to Men, Dwarves and Hobbits but as often in life looks can be deceiving.  Too much time in the water has rendered it clumsy and drunk-like.  For all its size and strength it poses just a small danger for those willing to take up arms against the evil in these woods.

When the beast lies dormant and harmless Kodran nods at Gumm appreciatively.  The ranger notes that he isn't even out of breath.  ”Nice work friend.”  In a graceful move the Dúnedain returns Arahaelon to his home on his hip.  For a long moment the ranger stares at the beast while he ponders as the others arrive on the scene.  Kodran pulls a knife from his belt and offers unapologetically, ”If you got a soft stomach I'd turn away.”


OOC:
Cut open the belly of the troll, careful not to destroy the contents of its stomach.  I'm looking for evidence of dwarf bits.

This message was last edited by the player at 18:48, Tue 22 Oct 2019.

As the troll falls silent in the mud, Gwydian does not miss the opportunity. With a lunge, he buries the large knife up to the hilt in the troll's head, hopefully penetrating what small brain it may have. He leaps back and prepare to draw Estelle before it appears to dawn on him that the beast is already more than dead.

Nonetheless, he watches it carefully before relaxing his stance.  "Are we sure that it is dead?"  As he speaks, he puts a boot against its face for leverage, yanks the knife free, and begins to wipe any residual troll off onto the grass and the bottom of one leg of his pants.

When Navarre set to dissect the giant beast, Gwydian decides to keep a look out for the Elves or other forest creatures that may have been attracted to the troll's howl.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:01, Tue 22 Oct 2019.

Knowing that Trolls dine on just about anything they can get their hands on, Navarre sets about the slow work of cutting through the Troll's thick, rock-like skin to check the creature's stomach. The Troll's insides smell foul, and it is all Navarre can do to control a gag reflex when he finally slices open the stomach, which proves to be completely empty. Looking at the Troll again, Navarre can see that the creature is emaciated and likely has not had much luck recently with hunting prey.

While the Ranger checks the Troll's stomach, Gwydian makes sure their adversary truly is dead by jabbing his knife into the creature's skull. The Troll lies still, not responding at all to the strike to his brain. On closer inspection, Gwydian notes two cuts on the leg still attached to the Troll's body, battle wounds that have not yet scarred over.

OOC: The Troll is definitely dead and has no bits in its stomach, Dwarven or otherwise. The two cuts could conceivably have come from axe-wielding Dwarves.

Gumm smiles as Kodran calls him friend.  But instead of celebrating, he immediately begins searching the perimeter in search of other trolls or similar threats, keeping his axe handy.  In his experience, trouble rarely travels alone.

Cutting into the trolls hide is gruesome work.  They aren't called stone trolls by accident, so getting through the tough as nails skin takes some brutal work which puts Kodrans nose exactly where it doesn't want to be.  Front and center next to a smelly, rancid swampy disemboweled beast.  But before long the protector is rewarded and he breathes a visible sigh of relief.  He turns to the others as he staggers back quickly, clearly the awful stench has made him drunk-like for a moment.  ”Well, they ain't been et.  Looks to me like this monster jumped 'em just like it jumped me an' Gumm.  But if they run off why didn't they come back for the gift?”  As he says this the ranger looks to the mule where the treasure has been securely packed away.

The wanderer looks thoughtful for a moment as he ponders the pieces of this puzzle.  He collects himself as he moves to take back his discarded bow.  ”I dunt think my friends would'a lied to me.  If they had our lost dwarves they'd tell me.  Nope, them dwarves got stuck in somethin'.”


OOC:
Navarre is suggesting that the elves did not find the messengers, if they had they would have been honest with me.  Navarre thinks the dwarves ran from the troll and something else has happened to them.  Navarre suggests we make camp and resume looking in the morning.

While admiring Navarre's dedication to the task at hand, Gwydian is not personally enthusiastic about filtering through innerds. With one hand over his nose and mouth, he waves towards the cuts on the troll's leg. "Someone else was here not long ago, from the looks of those wounds," he mumbles.

In the darkness, he can't see far into the woods, and Gwydian is a little apprehensive, now that the adrenaline of the battle has worn off. He agrees that the odds of finding a lead would increase in the morning and offers to take first watch if the group intends to camp for the night.

"Well, I do say, and I'm glad, they've not been eaten.  But what seemed strange is only gotten stranger, that's for sure.  My thought is that anything else near here would have been worried at by the troll, or worried the troll, so it's not for the both of them there's be none.  That means that the dwarves must have got a fair bit away before they were caught up.  Tracks are likely gone here, with the nigh fortnight, so it's other things we've to be looking for, and in this thicket,Jody thinks that's no easy thing.  I'll rest now, but an early watch is the right one for Jody, it is."

In reply to Jody (msg # 193):

Mock was the slowest to respond, but the roar of the troll saw him grab his axe and shield, but the battle was over before he got there. Nervously, he looks around, putting away the axe and shield before getting out his crossbow and loading it.

He thinks somewhat before speaking.

"Corpse lights, you said they were. Now lets see if there might be dwarves corpses there maybe?"

OOC: Still at sea. It looks like I might get access maybe once per week until December. Mock will typically fire an aimed shot at torso with his crossbow, before switching to axe and shield to close.

The night is dark and oppressive. Where the marshes would normally be filled with the calls of owls, the growls of other night hunters, and the chirps of insects of all varieties, the night is instead quiet, as if a blanket lies over the whole forest. By the light of Navarre's lantern, the group looks for signs of more trolls and Dwarven corpses, but their investigations are ultimately fruitless. If the Dwarves were killed by the Stone-Troll, no signs of them remain.

Meanwhile, his tent half-set up, Wyar plants himself as close to the fire as he can without singeing his clothes, a quarterstaff held tightly in the boatman's white knuckles. His eyes are wide as he continually looks around him, perhaps fearful that more Trolls will spring on him from the darkness.

OOC: Let me know if any of you would like to do anything else tonight. Navarre has a lantern. Does anyone else have a light? Wyar is plainly on edge after the business with the Troll.

Jody strums a bit, but it seems too loud.  The light from the fire only seems to make the night darker, and Jody doesn't want to turn around in case glowing eyes are visible.  He smokes a bit...but eventually turns in.  "A early watch for Jody, lads.  Then we'll maybe do circles about the campsite here, and see it there's a few-broken branch, or bit of dwarf hair or somelike?  Otherwise, makes sense to follow their path, eh?  Regardless, it's sleep, best I'm able, for me."

Jody sleeps, back to the fire, hand on his staff...

At first sight of the troll Kodran had feared the worst, that this monster had found and eaten the lost messengers but his fears are quickly abated when he investigates the beast more carefully and sees it is emaciated.  Still, the clues point to that the pair had met with the frightening troll and decided to flee.  Odds are this wouldn't be their only such encounter in these ominous woods.  Capable fighters they may be but how long could just two hold their luck against the ills of this dark forest?


OOC:
This may be overkill on detail but it never hurts to give the GM too much info.  Navarre will sleep in his armor due to the potential dangers.  He doesn't have any metal, its all leathers so hopefully it wont be too uncomfortable.  Sword is sheathed.  Bow is out and within reach.  Pack is near me.  Lantern is near me and not lit, unless the group wants it.  Kodran feels that having a light source all through the night will only increase the odds dramatically of inviting trouble.  To that end if we can find some solid ground we will dig a pit to make a fire in.  Dig about 1-2 feet deep.  This way the fire wont be seen a long distance.  The fire or hot coals can be used to relight lanterns or torches in a hurry.

Navarre doesn't need to do anything else.  He is content to resume the search for clues in the morning when everyone can see well.

Gram, who had only managed a few strides towards the tumult before it was over, almost seemed disappointed to have missed it. He mulled about for a bit, swatting at the insects that always seemed to find him, before he took one last look at the fallen troll and returned to camp.

He was more quiet now, and the danger seemed more real as he turned his spear over time and time again in his hands as he stared into the small fire.

Gumm helps with the grunt work and then offers to take the second watch.  He is still on edge after fighting the troll, but also excited.  What other eldritch evils will they encounter in this strange place?  He cleans his axe as he takes the watch, waiting for something to happen.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:17, Sat 26 Oct 2019.

The night passes uneventfully, with no more signs of Stone-Trolls, though throughout the watches, the ghostly lights of the corpse candles still shine. Now that the adventurers know what might wait for them in the light of the ghostly flames, however, they find it much easier to resist the apparitions.

The next day dawns, the shadows of the forest still choking out the sun’s light. Though no one was harmed during the Troll’s attack, Wyar seems shaken by last night’s encounter, and his quarterstaff is never far away.

The group fans out to search for further signs of the missing Dwarves, but although everyone searches carefully, no other spoor can be found to indicate the two Dwarves passed this way. The uneven ground and frequent pools of water in the Long Marshes have all but swallowed up Balin and Óin.

OOC: I rolled for each of you. You get a bonus to your Tracking rolls because you’re following two Dwarves (+5), but you’re tracking over marshland (-4), and they were here nearly a week ago (-7) (I’m adjusting the modifiers slightly). You need to hear your Tracking roll by 6 to pick up their tracks, and you’ll need to continue rolling at a -6 modifier to keep their trail.

You can continue trying to track them by land. If so, let me know how long you want to try to pick up their trail. Going more slowly will give you the normal bonuses, but you’ll need to continue to make rolls as you go.

However, you know they’re following the river, and it would be madness to try to navigate the forest without a road, map, or guide, so you can reasonably assume they will continue to follow the river, so you can choose to keep going and roll vs Tracking, Observation, or Perception to see if you can pick up more signs of where they might be.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:49, Tue 29 Oct 2019.

The ranger by birth and profession rose with the others the next morning as he stretched and wiped the sleep from his eyes.  He was pleased to see two things, that their river guide had not fled and no other lurking monsters had come to disturb their sleep.  Navarre ate his dry road rations with the others.  Some, perhaps Jody for instance might feel foul at such poor food but Kodran is quite used to it being outdoors so often.

At last it is time to continue the search and it is as he had feared.  With such a small party and the time that has transpired since they came this way the wild has swallowed up what small clues had been left behind.


OOC:
So what I understand is that the expected path for the dwarves is to follow the river until they hit the Old Forest Road, right?  I think our best bet is if we follow the path they were supposed to take and we slow down enough to get some bonuses to our rolls.

Gumm thinks it would make more sense to move quickly, but he mostly keeps his opinion to himself.  He knows that he isn’t very good at persuading people, and besides, he prefers to let others lead.  That way when things go tragically wrong, somebody else gets the blame.

Gram, who had not eaten, woke with a gnawing pain in his belly. Like the previous day he seemed determined to grin and bear, and focused on doing what he could for his horse in the mean time.

Weary, he took up his spear and joined Navarre in trying to find any evidence of the passage of the Dwarves, leaning on the weapon as he stared at the stretches of murky land for any depressions or bent blades of sawgrass.

Gwydian does not want to be one to give up on finding information in the area, but admittedly, he's not getting anywhere in that task. Thus, he welcomes moving along the original path, or another than Navarre may recommend.

Jody isn't entirely sure whether it's better to be in the boat..or on the bank.  In general, he's for choosing the boat.  But his curiosity has also to be sated - so sometimes it's the bank, until the going gets too tough, or the brambles too high, or or or.

On the other hand, though, he's closer to dwarf height than most, so maybe that means something.

So along he goes, staff in hand, if for balance and knocking vines out of the way, gauging the depth of murk, and the like, hoping against hope to see or note something, and always ready to speak up if he thinks the group is going the wrong way...

"I'm glad we still have the boat nearby; footing is hard enough by here, not even half as fast as open country, but to have all that pack on too!  Not for me, thanks.  Plus, maybe some could fish while on the boat?  Or keep an eye out for birds, storms or maybe something that looks awry or amiss.  And I don't just mean a strange butterfly, though those are Jody's favorite, but moreso like that scraggly old troll.  Don't want his younger cousin sneakin' up on old Jody, nosiree."

"And well, no sense in all of us knocking heads on the bank.  Howsabout Navarre, Gram and Gwyndian & me doing some walking for now, and lookin, while you lot try some fishing and rest a bit?"

Part III - Beside the Rotting River

From the site of Balin and Óin's camp, the company spreads out to comb the area. Navarre, Gram, Jody, Gumm, and Gwydian travel by foot, going slowly, doing their best to pick up the trail of the missing Dwarves, while Wyar, Thibault, and Mock follow along behind, Thibault and Mock rowing, Wyar steering.

The journey lasts hours without any sign of the Dwarves, and after three miles of this, the company reaches another river that feeds into the Running River. The company stops for lunch, and Thibault takes the opportunity to consult his map. "This will be the Rotting River, I believe," he says. "Just as old Galion said, coming down from the Mountains of Mirkwood. We're very near to the Old Forest Road." The scholar continues to examine his map and jots down some notes in the margins.

After lunch, the group continues along their way, the main body of adventurers searching through the marshes, often now ankle-deep in water (or knee-deep in the case of Jody). South of the Rotting River, the water course breaks against tangles of hoary willow-trees standing close together. Even though the sun should be at its zenith in the sky, the light of day is all but shut out. The trees' drooping branches trail into the water, and their mouldering roots sink deep into the grey slime. The river disappears in a vast fen without wind or tide. Mock and Thibault strain against the oars, but the going is slow now.

In the water, something draws Navarre Kodran's attention. Like stubbed fingers and broken teen, the last vestiges of what looks like an ancient town jut out from the slime and mud. Lonely pillars, small marble arches, and wet walls with grinning gargoyles stare up at the ranger from the water's depths.

OOC: Everyone currently searching for the Dwarves, please give me two rolls. One vs. Observation or Perception, and one vs. Tracking or Perception.

Several of the company did not eat lunch: Gram, Gwydian, and Mock. Remember, for each missed meal, your character loses 1 FP. A full day's rest and three meals will restore FP lost this way, but normal resting will not.

Navarre is loath to slow their pace.  The planned trip by the dwarven messengers was supposed to be forty days or more, how long could this company feed themselves at half pace?  And then to add insult to injury Kodran notices that more than one person isn't taking part in meal time.  He tells himself when they camp for the night he will talk to them discretely.  Skipping a meal in observance of some tightly held belief is one thing but starving me do not swing swords or axes very efficaciously.

Then something draws Navarre in.  An odd sight, a strange monstrous face staring at him.  Cold and immobile.  At first he thinks it to be one of the minions of darkness, but before he fires a shot he realizes it is just a statue.  Upon getting closer is occurs to him this was once the place of a town, now half buried in the swamp.  He calls back to Thibault, their resident know-it-all.  ”What's the name 'a this place?”


OOC: How come people arent eating?

Gwydian is amazed by the sunken city but attempts not to be so taken aback.  He listens carefully, hoping that Thibalt or Mock May have some insight.  Surely, the Dwarves were not headed here.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:01, Sat 02 Nov 2019.

Gumm looked around.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:10, Sun 03 Nov 2019.

The marsh was no place for a man of Rohan, or his steed, but Gram pressed on out of pride as much as perseverance. Gram prodded this way and that with the butt of his spear, trying to best to keep his tall riding boots out of the muck as they continued to press on after the Dwarves, or at least where they believed the Dwarves had gone.

His long hair was lank and bedraggled before long, the hem of his tunic muddied, his expression one of quiet misery. When he saw the remains of what seemed to be dwellings of some sort, he stared along with the rest.

"What man would call this place home? Or was it not always so fetid and damp?" he asked aloud as they went.

“Well, I’ll be” exclaims Jody quietly about the ruins. “I can’t say that old Jody knows anything about thisin, he don’t.  But it occurs to me two things: one is that I’m wetter than I'd like, and if I am, dwarfs are too. And the other is that if dwarfs was here, wouldn’t they have stayed a sec, iffn just to gauge the stonework? Maybe some of the moss or somesuch is cleared away? A sign that they were here?”

“An’ another thing.  I think I might like a snack or an apple.”
This message was last edited by the player at 17:05, Mon 04 Nov 2019.

When Navarre calls Thibault over, the scholar looks curiously into the water. "How extraordinary!" the scholar mutters, taking out his scribal kit. He withdraws a metal pen and some paper and begins making a sketch of what he sees. "Perhaps an abandoned town of Men, but I know of no such place. Historically, Mirkwood has been inhabited by mostly Elves. Perhaps these ruins are from some descendants of the Woodmen who now live to the west of the Anduin. Hm, hm." He continues to jot down notes as Navarre brushes some vines away.

Nearby, Gram looks up into the boughs of a stand of trees. Perhaps a dozen crows sit motionless in the branches, with more of the vines hanging down from the tree. Beside the Eorling, Gumm looks this way and that, and his attention is drawn to a number of bones nearby of various sizes, both animal- and Man-sized.

About a stone's throw away, near a pool of water, Jody spies a pair of backpacks that look out of place in the marshy fen. The packs look as if they were abandoned only days ago and are open as if they have been rifled through.

Once more, Navarre brushes vines away. Curiously, they seem to tickle his face and lazily trail his arms. Then, before the Ranger can cry out, he is swarmed by the vines and yanked into the air! The vines constrict him and wrap around his face, smothering him. Too late, he remembers the old Lake-town man, Nerulf, and his rhyme: "If you go south in the marshes take heed: tread lightly and fear the gallows-weed..."

Not far away, Gram and Gumm are simultaneously hoisted up, also covered from head to toe in vines!

OOC: Navarre, Gram, and Gumm have been seized by hanging vines and are now dangling a foot above the ground. They are currently grappled by the vines, completely covered, and are suffocating.

Seeing the packs, Jody says, first quietly to himself, then as he notices the strangle vines...“Oh, they stayed, allright...ALARUM ALARUM! HHELPP!” Shreiks Jody “Torches! Cutting things! Trees! Alarm!”

Not quite articulating, Jody attempts to raise the alarm, and runs to Navarre -or the closest set of legs- and, throwing his full weight against the weeds, tries to pull down the possessor of said legs.  “Rooope!” He calls desperately...
This message was last edited by the player at 14:44, Tue 05 Nov 2019.

As a natural reaction, Gwydian ducks and rolls across the ground evading any such monstrous vines that may be coming towards him. As soon as he realizes that he is safe and others are not, he runs towards Navarre and withdraws a blade to cut him down, "Hang on!"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:20, Tue 05 Nov 2019.

Gumm draws his large knife and attempts to cut himself free, starting with the vines that are suffocating him.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:48, Wed 06 Nov 2019.

Navarre is surprised by the quickness of the hostile and apparently hungry vines.  Before he knows what is happening he is suspended above the ground and completely bound like a child huddled in a heavy and constricting winter blanket.  Navarre struggles but it is in vain, he simply cannot move.  Thank the heavens he isn't alone.

In reply to Navarre Kodran (msg # 218):

Mock, puzzled by the dwarves abandoning the jewels, is even more surprised when the backpacks are found. The long days of rowing irritated him, but the depth of the water and his metal armour meant that since leaving solid ground, he felt constantly vulnerable, as did his mule.

Whilst the ancient stonework intrigued him, he did not have time to consider this before the plants hauled his friends into the air. Grabbing his axe, but leaving his shield behind, he jumped from the boat and ran to help his friend.

"Even the trees are attacking us in this god forsaken place..."

Realizing his predicament, Gumm strains to free himself, or even reach his knife, but he finds the vines have bound him so tightly that he cannot even move his arms. Slowly they squeeze him, choking the life out of him, and tiny purple splotches appear in his eyes.

Thinking quickly, Gwydian draws his sword and races towards Navarre, cutting the ranger down with one swift stroke. Seeing the predicament, both Thibault and Mock jump out of the skiff and splash through the relatively shallow water, making haste to the others. By the time Gwydian slices the vines binding Gram, Mock has arrived and swings his axe, freeing Gumm. Fortunately, no lasting damage has been done to the three, though both Gram's and Gumm's faces are splotched red from being suffocated by the vines.

"There seem to be more of these vines hanging from the trees here," Thibault says, pointing to clumps of vines clinging to various trees in the wood. In the dark branches above, one or two black crows sway, though the rest remain motionless. Though the sun still has several hours before setting, the air is thick here, the trees shutting out much of the light.

OOC: Check your character sheets to the damage done by the vines' suffocation.

Various bones are scattered on the ground here, along with the two knapsacks, and the landscape is covered with pools of standing water.

“Whew.  Good thing you all were here.  Maybe it’s time for Old Jody to get a blade...”

“Well, let’s have a look at these packs.  And, ah, maybe look see about the bones on the ground - any there the right size for the two we’re looking for?  We might have our answer, just like I suggested - ‘it comes from above’...”

Jody will search the packs, and see if there’s anything eminently dwarf-like strewn on the ground...

In reply to Jody (msg # 221):

Mock is not quickly convinced all the vines are dead, and clears away quite a few more, watching carefully for any that might approach him, or anyone else before looking around.

"If they were here, why the hell would they leave the gift, the reason for their journey, behind, but take their packs? They must have thought they were being followed...or they did not bring them here."

Examining the contents of the packs, Jody finds that whoever or whatever has rifled through them,  not much remains. The packs have a few useful items inside—flint and tinder, a fishhook, a chisel. In the bottom of one pack, Jody finds two loaves of cram, the hard, biscuit-like bread often found in Lake-town, Dale, and the Kingdom under the Mountain.

A number of the bones are clearly too large to be from Dwarves,  but many are smaller and could conceivably be from Balin and Óin. However, the bones have been picked clean, and none look fresh enough to have lain here for less than a week.

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 223):

Mock asks if anyone can teach him how to fish...and eyes off the cram, aware he is not the only hungry one...

Thank goodness the group are close, as it would happen Navarre is cut down and falls with an unceremonious thud in no time after the vines get their deadly grip on him.  As he stands and pulls himself free he smiles at the youth and offers a warm thanks.

Kodran ponders for a moment as to why.  With things in nature there is a means to kill and then a mouth to eat the food.  Where is the mouth?  But his mind does not dwell on this topic long, they have other more important matters.

Now the ranger smiles at Jodys comments and turns his attention to the near empty packs.  He investigates them and thinks for many long moments.   Then he addresses the others with his ideas.  ”Looks to me like our wayward messengers found our troll.  But instead of fight it they ran.  Here.  And ran again when they crossed these chokers.”  Kodran points to the deadly vines.  ”Somethin' has helped themselves to these packs.  I think there's people 'round here.  And I'd wager they aint friendly.  For if they was they'd'a helped our missing friends back to thier packs and on thier way.”


OOC:
My only gear out is my sword which is in my hand.  Swing at any vines that get within 10 feet of me.  Hell, swing at any plants that look to be moving on their own.

Navarre will take the food from the abandoned packs and pass it out.  Everyone who missed a meal should eat.  If everyone is still missing a meal Navarre will hand out meals from his pack.

Its complete guess work but Kodran is guessing that some kind of creature lives in the sunken city and has plundered the packs.  It is possible they have seen our dwarves.  If I am right, and they are friendly perhaps they can help us locate the dwarves.  But I'm not holding my breath that they are friendly.

"That there's a  good point, Navarre.  Still don't quite make sense to me that they'da not gone back for that pretty jewel.  But if there's other folk about, ones that would rifle the packs, but not eat that cram bread, then, Jody's sure you're right - they ain't the friendly sort."

Jody continues to search, somewhat lackadaisically, the bones.  When he notices Navarre passing out food, Jody straightens up, half confused, half alarmed.

"Wait - if we need that for later, why are we eating it now? Does - does that mean that some of us have no food - none?  It's a solid 8 days back up river from here; and we'll have to bring the two lost ones with us...so if folks don't have food enough now, well then, we've got  a bigger problem indeed.  Starvation is a bigger monster for most than some old troll; but it'll kill you just as dead.

We need to take a count of the food, and then make a plan.  Hopefully, we can get a few more days here of searching, but if not, well, we can always return."

After reaching his pack et al on the boat, Jody can say definitively:

"I have 12 days of food."

Let's get a food accounting. The cram should help, but we need to know, because clearly, it's of critical importance.

The cram, though not exactly fresh-baked, is still perfectly edible, and Navarre distributes the biscuits to Gram and Gwydian before fishing out another meal of trail rations and handing it over to Mock.

Rubbing his chin, Thibault says, "I have enough food for myself, of course, but I fear if I must share, I won't have enough for the journey back." The scholar attempts a half-hearted smile. "Still, we're all in this together, I suppose, and I certainly can share in the short-term."

Meanwhile, dockline in hand, Wyar has waded through the shallow water to the shore and tied the rope in his hand to a stout-looking tree. Having seen what had happened to Navarre, Gram, and Gumm, Wyar looks nervously at the low-hanging vines. "This place don't look safe," he says, a bit apprehensively.

Having passed out the food, Navarre Kodran takes another look around the soft mud beside the backpacks and notices the distinct impression of a Dwarven-sized boot. Bending closer to the earth, he sees another set of tracks, also Dwarf-sized, leading away towards another pool.

OOC: It's probably a good idea for those who haven't eaten lunch already (Gram, Gwydian, and Mock) to eat a meal now so they're not down another 1 FP, but I'll leave that decision up to the individual players.

Jody laughs low. “Safe it most certainly is not.  It might be likely that even now, we’re being watched by whomsoever got to these packs.  Be always wary.  I made enough noise back there that if anything is here, then it knows Jody is here.  Yep, not safe.  Watch and be wary.”

Jody snaps his fingers.  “Weapons.  Are there any weapons on the ground? Anyone see one? Or coin, metal?”

Gilmith slows as the screaming voice lapses to a dull and unimportant groan though by now she is close enough to see the group, a few of them in particular slashing the vines that hang from the thick foliage of the watery marsh.

The sight enrages her...  the wanton destruction of her forest for seemingly no reason, the dismemberment of the vines for little more than a frustrating moment...

Perhaps if Gilmith had looked a little closer, had a little more patience, she would have recognized the Gallow's Weed, she would have put together that some of their number had likely been wrapped up and near smothered and would have weighed the fact that the vines would likely suffer nothing by a good pruning.

But she did not have that patience...  She only looked at the ranger and the dwarf hacking away and felt compelled to do something about it.

"Enough!"  Gilmith shouts out, her eyes smoldering embers that stare down the dwarf and his clumsy-bladed tree killer.

She has her bow still grasped in her right hand, though it is lowered and unloaded, her left hand empty, with neither arrow nor weapon to speak of.
This message was last updated by the GM at 21:34, Sat 09 Nov 2019.

“Oh my” says Jody, surprised as surprised can be.

He stands straight from looking on the ground, his staff a walking stick.  “I agree with you, enough indeed! We mean you no harm, right fellows - no harm at all.  And though you’ve a bow, it’s not drawn, so let’s all agree that enough is enough.”

Hopefully, there’s no broad call to battle, and Jody can interject again: “I’m Jody.”

“Aye, let us refrain from shedding blood over the fate of some rude vines.  There are far nastier obstacles ahead, no doubt.”

After saying this, he also finally humbles himself long enough to thank Mock for freeing him, although he would obviously prefer to take an elf’s arrow deep in the belly.

As Navarre hands out food he feels relieved, to be alive and that the missing dwarves have gifted them a few meals.  The ranger is weary to keep one eye on the vines as he goes about his business and only reluctantly stows his weapon for brief moments when he needs both hands.  He jumps in surprise when the voice of a woman breaks the usual noise of their company.  Kodran spins on his heels expecting to see some swamp dweller, a resident of the half sunken city, if there are such a people.  But to his joy and surprise it is an elf!

Navarre speaks in a friendly tone, clear and calm.  He utters a few words of silken smooth beauty then switches to Westron.  ”No need for that.”  He nods to the bow in her hand.  ”It aint going to do any good if the chokers get a'hold 'a ya.”


OOC: No time to find my translator for Elvish, but Navarre first speaks in Sindarin before changing to the common tongue of Men.

As the group settles down after the combat, Gwydian takes one of the pieces of cram and begins chewing. Gwydian is fascinated by the find of the backpacks. "What could possibly have caused our quarry to have abandoned their packs, an essential element to their survival. It is one thing to conceal the gem in anticipation of capture or search, but their packs...?" he ponders aloud as he personally looks through the contents of each.

"I may make some use of this," he adds, taking the fishing hook and carefully looking for any line or materials from which he may be able to fashion something that would help them catch more food. He keeps looking and talking to himself, or whoever is nearby, "Any unintelligent creature would likely have eaten the food. Possibly, only some intelligent one residing nearby would have not, and then it almost implies they were looking for something else - perhaps the gem," he adds, thinking longingly about how glimmering it looked. It would be a proud addition to any family's treasures.

He is still examining the packs when Gilmith announces her presence. Instinctly, he grabs his sword, but he does not unsheath it. Rather, seeing Jody's amiable response and no weapons in hand by the intruder, he quickly stands down.

Gwydian understands virtually nothing of Elven culture, but even he knows they can be rather haughty and overprotective of their forests. As there are more naturally affable people present already in dialogue, he says nothing. Instead, he observes. This Elf is pleasing to his young male eyes, and he makes some effort to keep his glances from becoming a stare.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:55, Mon 11 Nov 2019.

Finally with a complete view of all the group is encountering, the mention of the chokers (and Gilmith recognizing the Gallow's Weed for what it was), and the remarkably calm response to her display of force, Gilmith finds her flash of anger snuffed out like a choked candle.  Still, her elvish pride kept her jaw square and her face set in stern seriousness.

"Gilmith."  She responds to Jody and the group, her eyes swinging between the dwarven packs and each speaker, slowly piecing together the situation.  She had already known they were looking for the two dwarves, that much was evident from their short conversation the previous day - but it seemed they had already made more luck than Galion and their patrol who had lost the dwarves at their campsite nearly a week ago.

One more strike against the drunkard, Gilmith thought to herself.

In any case, based on their immediate feasting on the week-old cram, the group was clearly in need of help.  Add that to the fact that Gilmith was going to have to tail them until they were clear of the Mirkwood anyway and it simply followed that Gilmith may as well lend her aid to the search rather than hang in trail as they fumbled around her forrest.

"Well, it's clear enough they didn't fall prey to the Gallow's Weed..."  Gilmith offers.  "It can't do much after it smothers it's victim, they generally lie and rot, attracting scavengers and fools."  She gestures at the stack of bones under the freshly cut vines.  "If they died here a week ago their bodies would still be mostly in tact...  Odd they left their bags though..."

OOC:  I posted my sharable supplies in the thread for it.  Gilmith is a sharing person by nature, and she would be happy to give away her expendable belongings to make sure everyone else is taken care of.  GM, I rolled vs. Tracking (success by 1) and Area Knowledge (success on the nose) to see if I can see a general track away from the vines or if I know of any communities of intelligent beings near this area.

Gwydian considers what he has and what he needs to construct a fishing line. He has fish hooks, both what is left in his pack and the hook found in one of the Dwarf's packs. But what he needs is a line. Casting about, he eyes the vines from the Gallow's Weed and the bones scattered around, and an idea comes to him. The vines are incredibly strong, powerful enough to lift full-grown Man. Could they not be used for fishing? The vines are too thick to be used with his fishhooks, but if he took one of the small bones and sharpened it, he could possibly have a working line and hook.

The Elf, Gilmith, follows the tracks of the Dwarves toward another deep pool of dark water, where they vanish as if submerged. Here, the ruins are more prominent, as if this was the place where the main buildings of the sunken town once rose. The remains of a great marble arch can be seen on the pool's distant shore, still holding a massive wooden gate, the other walls of the building now crumbled into the mud.

Gilmith wracks her brain for knowledge of what creatures might live her. A name comes to her, what many think to be legend. Mewlips. A fairy tale to frighten children. Perhaps some long-lost tribe of Goblins? Something about this place seems familiar.

Above in the treetops, first one crow, and then another, and then all the crows begin croaking, harsh and raggedly.

From somewhere far off, as if from deep underground, each of the companions begins to hear the slow and soft ringing of a bell, distant and remote.

OOC: Everyone roll vs. Will. If you fail, you gain a Shadow point and begin walking into the pool as if in a daze. On a critical failure, you are completely transfixed and disappear into the dark waters before your companions can stop you.

Being absorbed in his task, Gwydian has missed the tracks entirely, much less the significance of the ruins. Now that it is all brought to his attention, he is amazed by his surroundings. Wanting to learn more of the ancient gateway, he begins walking forward, slowly, soaking in all the wonder of the ancient ruins.

Gilmith follows the prints, her mind wracked as she tries to pull from it some fleeting bit that keeps eluding her.  Mewlips?  She couldn't remember, above her, she can barely recognize the crows cawing and haranguing them above... It was odd, wasn't it just silent of any forest sounds just moments ago?  Transfixed, Gilmith walks into the shallow waters of the pool...

OOC:  Failed Will roll by 3.

Kodran follows the newly arrived elf as she gets a bead on the path the messengers have trodened. As they go the ranger asks simple questions of her purpose here.  Is she sent to watch them, help them, or she is an independent simply curious of their presence in her home.  Before long the group spots the big marble arch and slowly the siren song of the far off bell settles itself in Navarre's consciousness.  It is sweet.  It is all he can think of, all he wants to know about.  He takes a few steps forward unaware that he is blindly following the young man and the elf.

And then something snaps inside him.  As if his ancestors call to him from some invisble heavenly realm, they shout silent warnings and Kodran comes back to the here and now with whiplash like force.  Instantly he sees the danger.  His friends are fallen under some kind of foul spell.  He lunges forward to grab at anything within reach.

He shouts.  ”Mock.  Jody, stop them.  They dont know what they're doin'.”


OOC:
Whomever is closest run and grab hold of them.  If I can pull them to the other one (Gilmith or Gwydian) and grab a second person, do that.  Yell at them.  Shake them.  Slap them (aiming not to do damage).  Try anything non violent to snap them out of it.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:42, Tue 12 Nov 2019.

Oh no!  Good Gracious!  Stop, I say!  Your mother is ugly!  Your brother a cad!"

Jody jumps up and runs to grab on of them, hopefully Gilmith (because she weighs less! Get your mind out of the swamp;), by the leg.  "Come now, be resonable!  Don't go in the water!"

Jody had been just trying to relax; what with choking vines, an angry and mysterious elf-maiden, and not enough food, it was hard enough; but now the swamp was calling to people as the lights did to Navarre just yesterday.  "If those dwarves are alive, it's a miracle." he half-whispers. "Wake up you silly elf!"

Gumm struggles to resist the ringing of the strange bell...
This message was last edited by the player at 17:28, Wed 13 Nov 2019.

Seeing ever more of his comrades called to ruin by the waters, Jody does the unthinkable:

he pinches Gilmith on the butt.

"gods protect me" he whispers.

Although more than half of the company seems to slip into a trance, reaching out and tackling people seems to wake them, as Navarre is able to rouse first Gwydian and then Gilmith. Both Wyar and Gram seem under the spell as well, but Thibault is able to rouse them by vigorously shaking first the young man from Rohan and then the boatman. The crows in the trees above continue to croak as the bell tolls from somewhere far off underground.

However, no one seems to be paying attention to Mock Ironside. As the Dwarf wanders closer to the pool, he suddenly vanishes without warning beneath the cold waters.

OOC: You all saw Mock. He seemed to be perfectly fine right up until he disappeared beneath the water.

Navarre feels a warmth wash over him as he soon realizes that simply shaking and yelling at the entranced has the desired effect to bring them back to their senses.  But just as he is celebrating their good fortune Mock is heading off alone.  He shouts to the dwarf.  ”Mock.  Mock!  MOCK!”  When at last none of the broad shouldered dwarf can be seen he looks around and says to no one.  ”Where in the Hells is he goin'?”


OOC:
Chase after Mock with the same intent, catch him and shake him til he comes out of it. And keep him from drowning.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:34, Sat 16 Nov 2019.

Gram appeared to wake as if from a deep sleep, his eyes unfocused and glazed, a confused pall over his normally warm face. "Thibault? What..." Navarre's shouting seems to sober him more quickly, and he quickly rushed to join Navarre, when he plunged to butt end of his spear after the Dwarf in an attempt to prod him, but like he had been roused in turn.

OOC: Did I make my save?

Her eyes and mind glazed over for a moment, nevertheless, Gilmith is roused from her stupor when she is tackled by the ranger.  Completely surprised as her body and leathers hit the dirt, her arrows sliding and spilling forward in their quiver as she hits the ground, she is nevertheless shocked even further even as she attempts to bring herself together she is pinched on the ass by the halfling!  No wonder Galion didn't trust the filthy thing!

Gilmith rockets up to her feet, her cheeks flaming red as he eyes spit daggers back over her shoulder, though it is plain from the immediate conversation that there is no time for infighting.  The dwarf (of course the dwarf) seems to have been lost entirely, the others tramping out into the water to find him.

Gilmith puts aside her desire to skewer Jody, instead stepping towards the pool edge as well, glancing down into the surface, though she does not wade forward as the others, uncertain after her recent daze.

Having regained his senses, Gwydian glances about quickly, assessing the situation. In a moment, Mock disappears under the water.

Gwydian runs, or more aptly sloshes through the water quickly, towards where Mock vanished to see what happened.

Jody see the eyes shooting daggers, and mutters, sheepishly, "I was just trying to wake you..." but then too heads to the water's edge, to look for their companion, grabbing the coil of rope from the side of his pack as he does so.

Though most had seen Mock vanish beneath the waters with their own eyes, when they gather at the spot of the Dwarf's disappearance, they see no sign of their companion. Here, the pool is quite deep, perhaps nine or ten feet down to the bottom. The group can see down below a sort of grotto or opening on the other side of the pool, near the bottom, perhaps only a few yards away from where the group stands.

Above them the crows continue to croak, louder now. The bell's tolling has ceased.

OOC: https://www.youtube.com/v/0C93...autoplay=1&rel=0

Anger slowly but surely cuts through the haze in his mind.  What has become of their dwarf companion?

“One of us should dive down in search of him, perhaps with a rope tied around the waist.”

Jody looks at the pool, the clear water and the grotto or whatever. “Oh. Oh my.” He whispers.  “Can anyone swim? <gulp> besides me?” He looks around at his companions and breathes out slowly. “Woooooo. Ok, Jody, you wanted an adventure, you’re an adventurer.  That’s right”  he continues talking to himself as he strips of most of his bulky clothes, etc.  “This’ll be fine and be quick about it.” He looks at the others “Right, here’s the rope, hold fast and I’ll just pop down, hmm?”
This message was last edited by the player at 13:35, Wed 20 Nov 2019.

Gwydian slips into the water for a closer look. If their companion is drowning, there is no time to dawdle, and he's wagering there may be air in the grotto-looking feature. In any case, it's only a matter of a few feet, in clear water.

Navarre pauses only for the briefest of moments to stare strangely up at the squawking crows.  What is their problem he wonders.  Are they angry or warning of something dark in their own animal language.  Kodran does not know and has not the time to dwell on this oddity.  His friend is drowning, or worse.  Navarre snatches the end of the rope out of the hand of the small entertainer and replies stoically, ”I can.”  After gulping up as much air as he can Navarre dives head first into the pool.


OOC:
Grab the rope from Jody and dive into the pool.  I'm assuming Mock had to go somewhere, through some kind of hole.  Follow the most obvious lead as fast as I can move.  Pack is left behind but all other gear is on me.

Though Jody strips down to his small clothes, it is first Gwydian and then Navarre who take the plunge into the pool, the latter waiting to divest himself of his pack first and taking the other end of Jody's rope. The others watch as the two swim towards the opening in the far side of the pool and then disappear from view.

"Curious," Thibault says, squinting down into the pool with his one good eye. "I wonder if our missing Dwarves took the same route. For the life of me, I cannot see why anyone would voluntarily choose to submerge themselves and dive down into that opening down there. Perhaps they were hunting for treasure?"

OOC: Gwydian and Navarre have entered the pool and passed from view. Jody, if you'd like to enter as well, you can hand your rope off to Thibault or Wyar.

“Not entirely sure myself.  But big folk are always more likely to do some fool thing.  Rude, just when I was going to do the fool thing.  As if I could haul Navarre up.  Paugh!  Past experience a guide, too, we’re about to be attacked ourselves. Dummies.”

Gilmith stands at the shore of the pond, her expression becoming more and more disconcerted as Navarre dives, then disappears beneath the waters.

OOC:  Sorry for the lag, not really much to add at this point though.  Wait for the others, especially considering Navarre left all his stuff here.  I have a feeling though that all of us are going to eventually take the plunge.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:29, Thu 21 Nov 2019.

After only a few minutes, Navarre emerges from the opening at the bottom of the pool and swims for the surface. The short swim has left him chilly, his wet clothes clinging to his body. He briefly describes a short tunnel, an underground cellar of some kind, and an opening within that stretches off into darkness.

Above in the trees, the crows have ceased their croaking and appear almost asleep.

OOC: Jody holds one end of the rope, and the other end stretches down into the water and through the opening Navarre swam out of.

“Gwydian? Any sign of the Dwarves?” Asks Jody, cautiously...

While still breathing heavily through ragged breaths from his now twice done trip through the submerged grotto Navarre shakes the water from his clothing and armor.  He speaks through chattering teeth from his cold bones.  ”Opens up into a complex down there.  Some water but it aint deep.  Mock thinks his fellahs might 'a come this way when they heard the bell, like some 'a us did.  I think he's right.  Worth takin' a look anyways.  Com'on.  Best lead we had in a'while.”


OOC:
The rope is held fast on the other end to aid people in getting to the airy side underground.  After filling in the group Navarre will look for a suitable hiding place for his pack, assuming one can be found.  He will stuff 6 meals and the first aid kit in his belt pouches and leave the bulky and weighty pack behind.  Head under water to rejoin Mock and Gwydian.

Gilmith looks untrustingly at the taught line, the shallow pool, and the ranger splashing out of the cold water.  Still, regardless of her disgruntlement, it was quite clear that they would all be diving under the surface, at least if they wanted to help find the two missing dwarves.  And by this point it seemed very clear to Gilmith that finding the missing dwarves would be the fastest way to get the menagerie of non-elves out of her forest and herself back onto her normal patrol.

Much like the ranger, Gilmith goes about stowing her own bag, lashing it closed with her rope before she hurls the heavy end of her bag over a high branch and ties it off on a lower one, her backpack now hanging in the high branches and off the forest floor.  It wasn't much of a hiding spot, but at least the high perch should keep her things safe from the larger animals, and the rope and bag strings from the smaller, climbing animals and the crows...

Finally ready, Gilmith puts her bow over her shoulder and grabs her arrows out of her quivers, holding them tight in her right hand and under her arm as she grabs the rope with her left, pulling herself along in the water as she goes towards the underwater tunnel.

OOC:  I seem to think that Lembas won't last very well underwater...  Regardless, try and take her partially eaten loaf and another (five rations) along with her, keeping it as dry as she can with whatever she can find.  Also take her wineskin, her hook and fishing line, sword, knife, bow, quiver and arrows, keeping her arrows in hand so they don't spill out of the quivers as she is swimming.

Both Gilmith and Navarre make preparations to stow some of their possessions, and after Gilmith secures her gear in a tree, Navarre follows suit, finding a tree that is high enough that an animal might not easily get into the ranger's pack.

"I'll, ah, just stay up here," Wyar offers. Along with the boatman are Gram's horse, Braembel, and Mock's mule.

After securing Jody's rope to a tree, each adventurer makes their way down through the pool into an underground chamber, half-filled with water, where Gwydian and Mock wait, Gwydian having tied the other end of the rope to the massive root of a tree. Stone steps rise up to the chamber's floor and a relatively drier area than the pool the others have emerged from, A foul stench fills the air, the smell of dead and dying things. The air here is chilly, stale, and clammy, and the stones that make up the floor and walls are slick with a thin film of water.

Then, Mock leads the way, walking through the passageway to the north. The company find themselves in a vast vaulted chamber. The air is less stale here, but the smell of rotting and decaying things is stronger here. The floor here is slippery. From the light of Mock's lamp and Gwydian's torch, the group can make out six arched openings in this room, three on the right side and three on the left. On the far opposite side of the chamber is what looks like a chimney of some sort.

OOC: I've taken some liberties of having all the PCs swim down to explore the underground area. If you choose to stay above with Wyar, let me know.

Mock has his axe and shield, Navarre his sword and shield, and Gwydian his pack and torch. If you haven't done so already, please indicate what you're holding in each hand.

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 261):

Mock looks around the room slowly prepared for something to jump out at him, which he will meet with his axe, but in the meantime he will investigate the openings and look for signs of someone being here recently.

Navarre's nose wrinkles at the powerful stench and he tries in vain to cover his face, but it is in vain.

For the first time in days Kodran feels as though the companions are closing in on their quarry.  Its not just the clues such as the abandoned camp, the injured stone troll and the ravaged pack.  The bell and this place too.  If the messengers were lured here its as good a place as any to lay low.  Then again it would seem as though something intelligent rifled through that pack and if his hunch is right they most likely live here.

At the same time Navarre thinks back days to his meeting with Gloin.  The dwarf had seemed to be hiding something, and he would profit hugely if his kin 'accidentally disappeared'.  To send just two into the wild, to face the dangers of Mirkwood, and then later hire a company of over half a dozen.  Well, its seems mightily suspicious at best.  But as the days wear on his theory seems less and less to hold water.  The ranger reminds himself that he must keep an open mind if he's to uncover the truth.

Navarre walks into the vaulted chamber spying the six distinct passageways.  He turns round in a circle while tapping the flat edge of his blade against his ankle and shin as he thinks.


OOC:
Navarre will investigate the arched openings.  If you number them 1-6 I'll begin with 1 and work my way to 6.  I was thinking I would poke in just a little.  Do not break the group up.  Someone with a light should come with me.  I just want to see where they go.  A tunnel?  A room?

Gwydian gazes around in awe at the Dwarven architecture. He had seen a few small castles and nearly all of the important buildings of Laketown, but nothing remotely like this. He steps slowly, looking up and down repeatedly.  He knows little of the science of tracking, but he does turn his attention to the floor, wondering if there is any evidence of the Dwarves recently passing this way. Gwydian presumes Mock will be much more familiar with their surroundings, and not be subject to his Human diminished eyesight in the darkened room.

Jody, somewhat slower on the uptake, doesn't get why everything is going in the trees.  He makes sure to leave all his un-wettable gear  with Wyar, Thibault, Gram and Gumm - "Dangerous up here, and if we all go, there may be no way to get back." he muses.  So still in his fancy hknickerbockers, he heads down, then re-gearing up, takes a spot where he can see.  "I'm not so bad at seeing in dim light" he offers, in case others had forgotten.

He has his hands on his staff, could free up a hand just in case, and stays close to Navarre...

Gilmith emerges from the pond, freezing and waterlogged, though she quickly adjusts herself, wringing out her hair and replacing the arrows back in her quivers before following the others down the long tunnel.

Her night-vision, usually so good on even the darkest night seems significantly degraded here and she hangs close to the others as she readies her bow in her right hand, leaving her left empty in case she needs to quickly draw either arrow or sword.

As the group approaches the vaulted chamber, Gilmith keeps her eyes peeled to the ground, looking for tracks or signs of life of the dwarves, or indeed anything else that might be using these passages.  But when the group reaches the chamber itself, Gilmith seems most drawn to the chimney-like thing at the end of the room, making her way slowly with the others, her bow ready, before making a brief search of it.

OOC:  Tracking roll success by 3.  Stay with the others.  I'm assuming my star-sight is useless down here so keep with someone who has a working light source.

Deciding to explore each of the openings in turn, Navarre, Mock, and Jody poke their heads into the first passageway on the right. The archway opens into a long hallway that stretches beyond the range of Mock's lamp light. Small cells open along both sides of this corridor, and Navarre inspects the first cell to his right. By the light of Mock's lamp, Kodran can see what looks like a wet, dirty hole, with small bones and a few pieces of rotten fruit inside. The room seems like a den for some creature.

Checking the opposite cell in the hallway, Jody sees more of the same: a piece of rotten, fetid meat; leaves and straw that make a crude humanoid-sized nest. Cells continue down on either side of the hallway as far as Mock's light reaches.

Meanwhile, Gilmith's attention is drawn to the chimney at the far end of the room. She beckons to Gwydian to bring his torch, and the two approach the vertical chimney. The air is fresher here, and Gilmith can feel a faint breeze blowing as she searches within. Inside the chimney hangs a bell rope, and the floor is littered with crow feathers and bird feces.

Meanwhile, Gumm and Gram stay on guard as Thibault examines the large room with interest. "Curious, very curious," the scholar says, holding his own torch up as he gazes around the underground area. "This was obviously a place of some importance once, given the size of this room and the professional stonework done. Dwarven work, unless I miss my guess, but built for Men, I think. Since this place was underground, this was likely a cellar or castle dungeon of some kind, either used for storing provisions or keeping prisoners. But I know of no ancient settlements in this part of Mirkwood, at least not of Men or Dwarves. Though I suppose it could be some long-forgotten Elven outpost as well."

OOC: Okay, going right to left counter-clockwise, Navarre and Mock looked inside the first archway (1). Navarre stated he didn't want to split up the group. Gumm and Gram are standing in the middle of the room. Gwydian and Gilmith are 10 yards north of them. Jody, Mock, and Navarre are roughly 12 yards to the southeast.

I wanted to pause here to see if anyone wants to search these areas more thoroughly or do anything else. Then, you can keep exploring the room as you see fit.

Kodran peers down the long dark hallway doing his very best to breathe shallowly.  The stench here is almost unbearable but it is a necessary sacrifice if the messengers are in truth here and alive.  He looks to the bedding and food, concrete signs that something sentient dwells here.  The ranger reports his findings then glances down the hall into the darkness.  The powerful protector is tempted to search more cells but he knows that will come in time, when they can all do it as one.  Fracturing a small force into smaller and separate forces within an unknown and potentially hostile area is a good way to get people dead.


OOC:
I would like to investigate more of the cells in this hallway but only as a group.  I don't want us all spread out each with our heads in a different room.  For now I will only peek into whatever alcove I am searching.  Get a feel for what might be there and how deep the rabbit hole goes, then return to the main room to report.

Navarre will state the obvious, that the bell atop the chimney is likely the same one that rang not long ago.  So no one should touch it and preferably it'd be nice to disable it so that whoever rang it cannot do so again while we're inside the ruins.

Move to investigate the next alcove.

Gumm lets others take the lead and stands guard wherever he is needed.  His battleaxe occupies both of his steady hands.

The stench is bad, but he’s trying to ignore it (with mixed results).
This message was last edited by the player at 09:33, Thu 28 Nov 2019.

Jody stays close to Navarre; he uses his staff when he can to tap open doors, poke mysterious piles, and generally investigate, but he’s not above using a hand or foot when appropriate.  When he sees something that he believes that Navarre can’t see, he relays the information.

“This is an odd place and make no mistake, head on a swivel for sure, hoom.” Jody whispers.

Gilmith stares up the length of the bell rope and looks at the various crow’s feathers and feces that decorate the ground around the area, wondering if perhaps the strange bell had a similar affect for the black avians... leading them to gather near the bell above.

After a moment, she walks back towards the others, shaking her head.

”I don’t know, It’s just the bell rope hanging down... we could cut it I suppose but that would mean climbing the walls and I’d be more concerned about ringing it again while someone sawed through the pull.  And of course all someone would need to do to ring it would just be to climb a little higher...”

OOC: Gilmith will head over with Navarre and the others to investigate cells, etc. let’s go ahead and start ruling out places where the dwarves could be.

As for the bell, I think disabling it is going to take a bit of work with some decent risk of setting it off unintentionally.  I’d rather just leave it and not risk announcing our presence.

Navarre and Jody investigate more of the cells in the first hallway, but all they find is rotting food, bones, and makeshift bedding of leaves and vines. After checking ten alcoves in this hallway, they proceed to the next archway, again finding a hallway with cramped rooms that seem to be the sleeping chambers for denizens of this compound.

The third archway, however, is quite different. This is the farthest doorway on the right side, and is larger than the others, its arch decorated with stones of various colors: blues, reds, greens, oranges, purples, faded and covered in a thin layer of slime. As Mock peers inside, his torch illuminates a flight of marble stones that leads off into the darkness.

OOC: So far, you haven't seen anyone or anything else in this place. You've checked out the first two hallways on the right. Three more hallways are on the left side of the room.

Gwydian stands by with Gilmith, near the rope. He also is puzzled by its presence and recent ringing, and like the Elf, he is concerned that any attempt to disable it could have unintended consequences. He looks upward towards the bells and at the ground carefully, wondering how may have pulled it recently or whether it rings periodically.

Although wary of potential enemies, as none are in sight, he lets his weapons remain rested in their sheathes. He holds the torch with his left hand and his pack in his right. When and if asked, he brings the torch over to anyone wanting to inspect anything.

While interested in the doorway and stairs, Gwydian feels it is prudent to examine the room thoroughly before leaving in any particular direction.

In reply to Gwydian (msg # 273):

Mock, for his part, will search out each and every noo, sifting through the rubble with his axe head to make sure there are no dwarven remains, or any other valuable there. Valuables would indicate lack of intelligence on the part of the current resident, and intelligent residents were more dangerous. When it comes to the long passageway, he will inform others, quietly, what he has found, and lead the way, axe and shield ready.

Though Mock searches diligently through twenty different small cells, he uncovers nothing of value within them. The nooks are stinking, filthy dens, damp, with scraps of moldy food and animal remains. Then, the Dwarf turns his attention to the third passageway and its flight of stairs. Leading the way down to the bottom, his headlamp illuminates a sturdy, reinforced door scored by multiple claw marks.

OOC: The door is currently closed fast. Thus far, a search of the main room has uncovered nothing of value.

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 275):

Mock will shift his axe to his shield hand and try the door, to see if it opens.

Gilmith peers from the top of the stairwell down to where Mock the dwarf tries the handle of the sturdy door below.  He seemed adamant to press on his own way, despite the ranger's entreaties that everyone stay together.

Dwarves...  The thought crosses her mind with a touch of contempt, the edges of her lip curled downward as she glances towards the other side of the large room.

"Do you think the bell wasn't for us at all?"  Gilmith pontificates quietly to no one in particular as she walks towards the passages on the left.  "I mean, it doesn't seem that anything seems to know we are here... but all of the things that live here are gone, and all at the same time...  Do you think the bell is controlling them now?"

OOC:  Let's look at the other three passages on the left side of the clock face.  I failed abysmally my roll to try and get some clues or hints out of the scratch marks on the door (rolled a 14 against an unknown skill, though it if was against naturalist, tracking, or even perception it was a failure), but is there anything obvious that stands out about them?  For example are the scratches parallel, like you would expect out of an animal paw and if so how many claws are in each swing?  Or is it seemingly a single slash in each scratch, like you would expect out of a weapon like a knife?  Also are there any obvious locks on the door?

Gwydian shrugs in response to Gilmith. "Given that there are no apparent tracks or markings of anyone sentient being here just moments ago, I surmise that the bell may ring periodically." Again, he peers up towards the bell. "It is a mystery, for certain."

When Mock turns towards the door, Gwydian follows to provide light from his torch - not that the Dwarf seems to need it, but for the others to see, light is most helpful.

Mock tries the door, but though he gives it a good solid push, it holds fast. Gwydian brings up his torch as well for even more illumination. The scratches on the door look to be from some beast’s claws, and the door is scored with them, as though a horde of creatures had attempted to gouge their way through the heavy door.  A keyhole is set in the door as well.

Meanwhile, in the main room, Thibault lifts up his head. ”I hear something…” the scholar says quietly, and points across the room to the furthest hallway on the right.

OOC: The claw marks seem to be from a large group of creatures. There is a keyhole here, but no key.

Kodran stands resolutely at the top of the stone stairwell, staring at the architecture.  He finds it simply fascinating that there stands the remnants of a past civilization here in Mirkwood.  Could this place have been settled by Men at one time?  Had it been built by Dwarves, for Men as Thibault suggested?  Navarre wishes slightly that they were not on a rescue mission and could explore the origins of this place more deeply.  But with a sigh he pushes such ideas away.

Gilmith, their newest addition speaks wisely.  While she speaks the ranger watches Mock at the bottom of the stairwell playing with the newly found door.  Responding to his elf friend he says skeptically, ”Maybe.  But right now all we got is guessin.  My guess is that bell charms people.  Puts 'em in a daze an' brings 'em here.  And something lives here.  I would'a thought they'd come when the bell rings.  My guess is its a dinner bell...an' we're the dinner!”


OOC:
Navarre is at this time stymied as to the nature of the bell.  He believes that something at least semi intelligent lives here.  He believes the bell does not ring itself.  Navarre thinks that its likely the messengers came this way but doesnt want to wildly speculate about their condition.

I will follow Mock into the basement to help investigate the locked door with scratches.  I don't really want to split us up too much but as there is no defined leader all I can do is suggest.  It would seem currently both Mock and Gwydian are in the basement, and they are our only two light sources currently, yes?

Does anyone know how to open locks?  I can try to kick the door in if not but I'd rather not break my dainty ballerina ankles.

In reply to Navarre Kodran (msg # 280):

With the door not opening, Mock checks for a latch or key hole, before returning to the others...

"Well, not here certainly,"  Gilmith responds to Kodran, with a roll of her eyes, gesturing towards the empty room, "Seeing as it looks like everyone just left...  All those cells were lived in, and recently.  You know..."

But whatever the elf thought the ranger knew would have to wait, for Gilmith silences her speech immediately, her eyes flashing open as he left hand flies towards her quiver.  In a motion, her head swivels towards the far side of the room, the tunnels to the left where they had not yet searched before her eyes stare down the ranger, as if shocked that he had not heard what she had...

"Hide!"  Gilmith whispers in a hoarse voice, her own lithe form stepping back into the small alcove with the bell.

OOC:  I'm not entirely sure where I (or anyone else) am/is at this point, though my last intention was to head towards the other hallways, so I'll assume the closest hiding spot is the bell alcove towards the top/north of the room.   Slowly and silently draw an arrow, knocking and readying it, though not yet drawing it back.

Not having knowledge of whatever others may be sensing, Gwydian looks around quickly. With his torch out, he realizes there's no chance of hiding, and dousing it may leave all the Humans in the dark. Thus, in the moment, he instead decides that he may be the distraction. He sets his pack gently against the wall.

Then, with the torch held firmly in his left hand, he steps towards the main room, just enough to look past and retain any available corner or wall as partial cover.

“I...I know something about locks...they’re kinda like a puzzle, you see?  If you envision their inside, based on the ouside, and whant’s betide, then one can see what’s inside, you see?  Quite funn, eh, quite funn. Now let’s see you...”

Jody presses his face against the lock, touches it with fingers and <gulp> tongue. He smacks his lips together a few times <kmchk, kmchk, kmchk> “Nuthin.  I got nuthin.”

And just as he’s about to pick the lock, Gilmith whispers <Hide> and not needing a second warning in this creepy place, Jody gets behind Navarre.

As Jody examines the door and speaks aloud, pressing up against the lock, he feels the door beginning to swing open away from him. In a moment, Jody finds himself face to face with a very bedraggled Dwarf, with another Dwarf peeking over the first's shoulder! "Who are you, lad?" the first Dwarf says in amazement, his voice weak with effort.

Meanwhile, Gilmith slips inside the bell alcove, nocking an arrow on her bowstring. Gwydian and Navarre stand at the top of the stairs, preparing to meet whatever might be lurking across the way, as Mock stands behind them and Jody stands at the bottom of the stairs. The main room offers precious little in the way of hiding places, so Gumm, Gram, and Thibault slip into the middle hallway on the right, their weapons ready.

Standing in the archway, Gwydian cast light about halfway into the large central chamber. After a few moments, three humanoid creatures shamble into the light, roughly the size of men, though perhaps smaller, with clammy, pale flesh, like that of corpses left to rot in water. They shuffle along, barely making much of a sound save for quiet splotches as their bare feet touch the wet stone. A fell light shines in their small eyes.

Seeing Gwydian's torch shining, the trio lurch forward in the young Daleman's direction!





OOC: A map! It's horribly crude, but it's good enough for our purposes. Please forgive the grid. I'm using Google Sheets, and it's dead easy, but unfortunately it can't manage hexes.

The white area is everywhere Gwydian's torch shines. Each person has a -3 to attack the creatures due to the light before Night Vision bonuses.

“Me?” Squeak-whispers Jody “I’m Jody.  You’re Balín, I presume? It’s dangerous around here.  Whoever’s you are, you shouldn’t be here.  C’mon and get your things and let’s go. I’ll tell Navarre.”

Jody looks up the stairs and takes stock of the stances of his companions, then looks back. “Uh-oh. Looks like trouble.  You’re in no condition to fight; stay safe & I’ll be right back. There’s good pipe tobacco topside, so don’t get kilt.”

Jody heads up the stairs, staff at the ready. “Navarre. Hey Navarre, I found t-” when Jody spies the shambling creatures, this was somehow worse than swift surprise attacks from before. These monsterous creatures seemed so...resolute.”

“What are they?”

OCC: Jody's general plan is to get behind the creatures and either launch sling bullets at them, or if he can't, to use his staff to jab at them from behind.

Gumm enters the room and walks up to the south-most monster, smiling pleasantly and taking a swing with his great axe as soon as he is in range.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:41, Sun 08 Dec 2019.

In reply to Gumm (msg # 287):

Mock is delighted to see the dwarves, not noticing what is going on behind them initially.

"I am Mock. Who might you be?"

Navarre Kodran is a Dúnedain.  In his bloodline, and literally his blood, is the stuff required to meet evil and squash it.  Since he was a boy rapidly approaching young adulthood his father had been preparing him for moments such as this.

Barely behind and beneath him Navarre is aware of a conversation, between voices he recognizes and voices he doesn't.  But his mind is preoccupied by tougher stuff such as the odd watery creatures lumbering straight for him.  In this brief moment as time has a way of slowing the ranger wonders what is on their mind.  Have them come to parlay?  Are they the inhabitants of this sick, festering hole?

Not one to shy away from protecting those under his watch Kodran steps forward to meet these shambling mounds.


OOC:
Each round do a Step & Evaluate for +1 to hit.  If I do this 3 rounds before we meet, then just Wait.

Gilmith pulls her bow taught to her ear, stepping silently out from the little nook as she levels her weapon at the middle one of the monsters, waiting for them to show definitively that they are hostile...

OOC:  Step and aim at the one in the middle - torso declared target, roll vs. Stealth success by 8.

Once the creatures come into view, Gwydian springs into action, hoping to draw their attention while the others close in on the flanks.

With uncommon speed, he reaches across his waist to retrieve Luna, the knife he brandished upon their first meeting. In a single fluid movement, he lunges forward forcefully.  As his right hand moves up and away from his waist, he flings the blade towards the beast on the right, aiming for where its heart would presumably be. Unfortunately, he is not accustomed to fighting in poor light and he misjudges the distance.  The knife sails over the fortunate being's right shoulder.

OOC: Move forward 2 (All-Out Attack), Miss!
This message was last edited by the player at 22:15, Tue 10 Dec 2019.

"No, I'm Óin. Balin's behind me," the first Dwarf says, looking in wonder at the Hobbit. Turning to the other Dwarf, Oin says weakly, "Balin! Rescuers! Someone's come to save us!"

"Bless yeh, lads," the second Dwarf says, pushing forward past his comrade, his voice weak as well. "Did Dain send yeh to find us?" The first Dwarf pulls the door inward all the way, and Mock can see both of them by the light of his miner's cap. Both Dwarves are thin and bedraggled. Axes hang from their belts, and Óin has a water canteen strapped to his belt. Neither has a pack or bag that Mock can see. Behind the Dwarves is what looks like an abandoned wine cellar.

Meanwhile at the top of the stairs, Gwydian attacks first, flinging his knife at one of the creatures, though his throw sails wide to the right. Gumm strides forward and swings a mighty blow at the same creature, but the light is poor, and his swing goes wide. The creature closes with Gumm and swings its sharp claws but fails to connect. Up close, the creature reeks, and Gumm's eyes water from the stench.

Jody races forward up the stairs, his staff sling at the ready. Hugging the wall of the main room and keeping his eye on the creatures, he maneuvers around until he is behind them. From the alcove, Gilmith takes a moment to aim and then looses an arrow at the middle creature. Her arrow pierces the creature in the back, and it yelps in sharp pain.

Navarre steps forward as the first of the creatures moves to meet him and swings wildly at the ranger, but the creature fails to connect. Now the ranger attacks, but his swing goes wide, and as the creature attacks once more, Navarre steps back, giving ground as he dodges the blow.

Gram strides forward into the room to meet one of the creatures, which rushes forward to attack him. The Eorling swings as well, but the creature just manages to avoid the attack.



OOC: For those a yard away or less from the creatures, roll vs. HT+1. On a failure, you are Nauseated (-2 to all attribute and skill rolls, -1 to active defenses) until you move away from the creatures. On a critical failure, you vomit for 15-HT seconds. If you haven't eaten today, you Retch for this time instead.

That was 2 rounds that time. Gilmith wounded the middle creature, and it has an arrow sticking out of its back.

Gwydian's knife missed its target, and the knife is currently on the ground as shown on the map.

Navarre had 1 round of Evaluate when he attacked the first creature.

Let's do 2 more rounds. Don't forget to declare your defenses in PM.

Navarre dances in and out with his adversary.  The exchange is only a few seconds but he fails to connect.  This is the way it goes, there are many misses over the course of a battle.  But for some reason Kodran is less than happy about it.  In fact he is angry.  Perhaps he feels that he has a reputation to uphold after their encounter with the stone troll.  Maybe he is embarrassed about his early poor showing in front of the pretty female, and wants to impress her.  Or it could be that the dire situation of the messengers enrages the ranger.  Perhaps it is all three.  As yet Navarre is only vaguely aware of his feelings but whatever the reason the ranger throws caution to the wind.  He lunges forward and screams violently as his blade slashes and flashes in a whirlwind of shining steel.


OOC:
Step forward and attack multiple times.

This message was last edited by the player at 23:29, Wed 11 Dec 2019.

"Thank the gods you are OK. Glóin sent us to rescue you. Now it seems someone has to show these humanoids how to fight. You look a little weak so stay back until you can get your strength back."

He turns and moves back towards the nearest creature axe and shield ready, before slashing out at the creature.

]
This message was last edited by the player at 08:48, Fri 13 Dec 2019.

For the briefest of moments, Gilmith thinks of drawing another arrow and piercing another of the water hags... though the darkness and the close proximity of the others makes her pause just enough that she reaches for her sword instead, stepping forward before she rushes the two things towards the center of the room...  Knowing that if she could drop one it would turn the fight in just a moment...

OOC:  Round one step (SE) and draw broadsword with left hand, round two run to two hexes away from the southern two hags so I have the ability to step and attack either of them (I should be able to keep moving even if they keep stepping forward to keep the range to 2).  In case I get withing range one, succeeded the HT+1 roll by 3.

Gumm backs away, struggling not to gag from the evil stench, and then keeps his distance, watching for the right split second in which to strike.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:47, Thu 12 Dec 2019.

As the creatures closes in, Gwydian reverses his movement and retreats a step. Cognizant of the ranger on his right, he pulls Estelle from her sheath and swings a light blow towards the creature's left leg. Then again, he steps back and thrusts, hoping to strike a mortal blow and end this particular threat quickly so that he may assist his companions.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:35, Thu 12 Dec 2019.

Afraid to launch a missile and hit a friend, Jody opts instead to dart in and jab away with his staff.  "Uhg!  These are horrid!  It's going to take quite a pipe to clear the air!" Jody jabs away at the watery creature. "These might be Jody's least favorite things ever!  C'mon Comrades! Have at them!" And Jody jabs more, parrying and fending off the damp deniziens of these dark depths.

Gwydian's torch flickers, lighting up the three shambling creatures. The smell is horrible, but each Man, Elf, Dwarf, and Hobbit is able to stomach the stench. Giving ground, Gwydian slides his bastard sword out as Jody jabs forward with his staff. The Hobbit scores a hit on the creature's back, making it grunt. Then Navarre steps forward, his blade flashing with three quick strokes, though only one slices into the creature's torso. Snarling, the beast lunges with its razor-sharp claws at Navarre, but wounded, the creature's attack is clumsy and misses, even though the ranger has left himself wide open for a counterattack.

Eager to join the fight, Mock Ironside rushes forward as Gwydian jabs the creature in the foot. Leaving the protection of the alcove, Gilmith runs forward, and in one lunge, finishes the thing off by running her sword through its back. The creature falls to the floor, dead.

Meanwhile, Gram and Gumm engage the other two creatures. The Rider gives ground and then jabs his spear into the creature, ripping into the creature's abdomen, and the thing is dead before it hits the floor.

The last creature lumbers toward Gumm and attempts to bite the woodman, but it misses, failing to find purchase. With a mighty swing, Gumm swings his axe at his opponent's midsection, ripping a nasty gash through the creature's abdomen and sending it sprawling to the slick floor. Gram steps forward, jabbing the creature with his spear and putting it out of his misery.

OOC: Nice work! The three creatures are dead, and we're out of combat.

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 299):

"Looks like we have found our friends! Guys, come and meet those we are here to rescue..."

He leads them towards where he left the dwarves...

Gumm searches the bodies.

“Well, well, well then.  Nice work, my fellows.  And our quarry to boot!  A good day, says Jody, I do.  Now to get some food and water to these Dwarves.  And then, Jody’s got a curiosity about this place, that’s for sure.  Besides, someone or something pulled that rope, eh? And Im not so sure that it should left to fester.”

Jody busies himself with the lost dwarves and poking into all the corners...

Once satisfied the creatures are dead, Gwydian retrieves his knife, wipes off his sword, and sheathes his blades. As he does, he repeatedly glances at the bodies, ensuring himself that they are indeed dead. He also looks towards the Dwarves, wondering to himself - how could a few easily defeated creatures overcome two experienced Dwarves?

He follows the group, illuminating the nearby area with the torch. He assumes that Mock will engage in some parlay with the rescued.

Kodran is not surprised that the group dispatches these smelly disgusting creatures in no time.  They are talented and out numbered their foes two to one.

As the inhabitants fall Navarre wipes his blade on a corpse and sheathes his sword before following Jody down.  The ranger smiles, giddy to see that their trail of bread crumbs has not led them astray.  Digging into a pouch the ranger pulls a few hard biscuits and pieces of salted beef, he extends both hands out towards the skinny and disheveled dwarves.  ”Here.  You look like you're starvin'.  Take it.”


OOC:
Head down the stairs to meet the dwarves.  Hand over 2 rations per dwarf.

Gilmith pulls her sword free from the sickly thing as is slumps to the ground, the shining steel now covered in the slimy ick of blood and whatever else is covering these filthy beasts.  Wiping her blade clean (or at least mostly so) Gilmith pauses a moment to hover over the nearest of the felled things.

The razor-sharp claws, the horrid stench, the slimy film that seemed to cover the beasts...  Gilmith was sure that somewhere, in the back of her mind, she must know something... anything about these monsters of the fens, though for the life of her she can't place it.

Finally overcome by the stench, Gilmith stands again, sheathing her weapon and walking over towards the stairs where the others seem to be gathering.

OOC:  I thought I posted this last night, but apparently not... :/ Cursory inspection of the felled creature without touching it.  I'm assuming at this point the lost dwarves are going to become apparent to everyone other than just Mock.  Gilmith will hang back a touch, seeing as they most likely won't take kindly to her at first (and the feeling is mutual

Gumm performs a quick search on the creatures' corpses, but other than filthy loincloths, the creatures have nothing on their bodies. They are indeed dead, as Gwydian ascertains. Gilmith examines the bodies closely to determine what more she can of them. The creatures' flesh is gaunt and moist. The smell is almost unbearable. They are clearly not orcs or goblins, though they could be evolutionary cousins. Perhaps they were men once and were twisted in some way, much as elves were corrupted to create orcs?

"This all reminds me of a song I've heard," Thibault says. "I'm no bard, but it seems like it went something like this." Clearing his throat, he begins to chant:

"The Shadows where the Mewlips dwell
Are dark and wet as ink,
And slow and softly rings their bell,
As in the slime you sink.

"You sink into the slime, who dare
To knock upon their door,
While down the grinning gargoyles stare
And noisome waters pour.

"Beside the rotting river-strand
The drooping willows weep,
And gloomily the gorcrows stand
Croaking in their sleep.

"Over the Mirkwood Mountains a long and weary way,
In a mouldy valley where the trees are grey,
By a dark pool's borders without wind or tide,
Moonless and sunless, the Mewlips hide."

"It seems to me these creatures might be what the legend calls Mewlips. These specimens here are probably descendants of orcs or goblins, come down from the mountains to make their home in these halls many hundreds of years ago. Though not a well-known race, the Mewlips are known to some scholars, though they are generally regarded as fairy tales." Thibault continues a long-winded pontification about lesser known tribes of goblinkind that have diverged from their ancestors and have been thought to be myths until some scholar or another discovered them hidden in secret pockets of the world.

Meanwhile, Mock has led the group to the vault where Balin and Óin have taken refuge. The ranger Navarre hands the two dishevelled dwarves food, which they eat a bit at a time, relishing the meat and bread. Jody hands them his waterskin, and the two Dwarves drink slowly from the bag, careful not to spill a drop.

"We thank yeh, kind sirs," Balin says gratefully. "Now, I suggest we get moving. There's a pack of grubby creatures in here, and Óin and I just managed to escape from 'em."

"Must have been at least a dozen of them," Óin confirms. "We woke up down here after hearing some strange kind of bell. We tried to find our way out, but then those creatures started chasing us in the dark."

"With only our axes and Óin's canteen between us," Balin says.

"We managed to bar the door to keep 'em out, but we were trapped down here. That must have been a week ago. At least we hid--" Óin begins before Balin shoots him a look.

OOC: At this point, you can retrace your steps and escort the Dwarves to safety. You can also explore more of this underground complex if you wish.

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 306):

"You hid in this room?" Mock goes in to look around.

"Or were you meaning to say you hid something valuable, something you were entrusted with?"

“OOh” Says Jody, clapping his hands.  “That’s good!  I feel like I’ve heard it before, too.  Hmm.”

“And yes, Mock, tell them about finding the Jewel!”

Gilmith glances over to Thibault, impressed with the historian's song (though perhaps not his singing) and it's accuracy for Mewlips was the name which had tickled her memory as well (for all the good it did her).

Gilmith listens from the top of the stairs, looking back over her shoulder at the mention of a dozen more of the foul things which had been chasing the two dwarves.  Without even thinking, Gilmith pulls another arrow from her quiver and puts it to her bowstring...

OOC:  While I the player am fine with exploring more of the underground lair, I think it makes more sense in character to head back with the starving dwarves to get them to safety...  I'm up for either though.

Navarre listens to the scholar relay the song and it sends a chill up and down his spine.  Its a sad, doleful thing and it reminds him of the state of Mirkwood.   Frozen in this moment Kodran recalls stories told to him by his father, passed down from one Dúnedain to another.  The Elvsih Kingdom was not always such a heavy oppressive place.

Shaking the dark thoughts from his mind the ranger turns his attention to the happy moment of at last finding the errant messengers.  Kodran was about to give up the expedition and turn back for civilization based on the lack of food, but now with the dwarves rescued their predicament seems much less dire.  The ranger leans against a damp dank wall as he listens to the basics of their story.  ”A week down here holed up with naught but an ax an' some water.  You are truly lucky my friends.  But never fear.  'Fore ya know it we'll have ya in a beer hall drinkin' and eatin' to your hearts content.”

As Navarre walks back up the steps to the main room he begins looking around with a concerned visage framing his face.  ”A dozen you say?  I dont like the looks of that bell...”


OOC:  Navarre isn't married to the idea of staying but he hates anything such as orcs and goblins that sow the seeds of darkness.  Navarre suggests that if we leave now we're leaving this place in tact for others to fall victim in the same way Balin and Óin did.  Navarre suggests we spend some time searching the place and squashing this evil.  A few hours at least.  I'd like to render that bell dead if we can, too.

“Hmmm, that bell, that bell.” Jody paces a bit, thinking “Chokeweed...Mewlips...Ah-HA! Jody’s got it!”  He taps the floor with his staff, clears his throat; “there’s more verses, did you know that, T-bone? I have one:”

And Jody sings, not an enthralling performance, but well- sung indeed.

“ The cellars where the Mewlips sit
Are deep and dank and cold
With single sickly candle lit;
And there they count their gold.

Their walls are wet, their ceilings drip;
Their feet upon the floor
Go softly with a squish-flap-flip,
As they sidle to the door.

They peep out slyly; through a crack
Their feeling fingers creep,
And when they've finished, in a sack
Your bones they take to keep.

Beyond the Mirkwood Mountains, a long and lonely road,
Through the spider-shadows and the marsh of Tode,
And through the wood of hanging trees and gallows-weed,
You go to find the Mewlips - and the Mewlips feed.”

“Not Jody’s favorite by far, but a song to sing is better than none, I say.”

“I should very much like to explore more.”
This message was last edited by the player at 10:41, Tue 17 Dec 2019.

"Yes! We were being followed, and--" Óin begins before Balin harrumphs in his throat and gives his fellow Dwarf a meaningful look. Then Jody mentions finding a jewel, and Balin gasps.

"What jewel? You found it, then? Where is it? Is it safe?" Balin looks from Jody to Mock, impatience on his face. "We had a mission--" Balin looks at his comrade and back to the others. "If you have it, please return it to us. We need to complete our journey."

Óin snorts derisively. "How, Balin? You and I can hardly stand, let alone continue!" The other Dwarf shakes his head. "No, we should return to Erebor. Dain can send out other emissaries."

Thibault listens to Jody sing, nodding his head and tapping his feet to the Hobbit's song. The scholar reaches for his notebook and pen before realizing he had left them aboveground. "Master Jody, you'll have to repeat that song for me some time. Very interesting." He takes a moment to look around nervously. "I confess I'm not inclined to wait around until the Mewlips pop my bones in a sack. And if they have gold, we haven't seen a sign of it yet."

OOC: Balin and Óin are in no condition to fight. They're very weak from slowly starving. If you wish to explore more, you can send them to the surface first, but they'll probably need someone to help them get to the top of the pool.

Talking with Balin and Óin will reveal a difference in opinion. Balin wants to continue his journey to the Aerie of the Eagles, and Óin wants to return to the Dwarven Kingdom under the Mountain. Neither looks to be in any shape to travel.

"You know, if we make this place safe, Gilmith, not only might that help with improving the relationship between dwarves and elves, and would make safe another area of the swamps, but would also provide the Elves with a new Base here, to potentially increase trade."

And - oh yes, this was my point in the first place - if we clear this place, then we can rest here, and continue to the Aerie!  Jody would love to see that."

He looks about, beaming in the torchlight. "Let's do that!"

"Oh - by the by - where is that Jewel?"

Gilmith frowns as Jody speaks, mostly at the thought of men, or indeed, hobbits creating a trading post out of these ruins so close to her home.  Though there is also the thought that making this place safe might be a significantly heftier investment in time and blood than the hobbit imagines.

Still, she can’t help but be irked at the presence of the Mewlips here... surely there were many things in the Mirkwood that were out of the elves’ control, but such brutish creatures, practically as bad as orcs living near her own home...

Her desire to be done with her task and that to rid the Mirkwood from as many of these beasts as possible fought in her head.

When finally Gilmith does speak, her words are slow and carefully crafted.

”I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst idea to see if we can’t rid the world of a few more of these things... still, those two aren’t fit to come with us... We’ll need to set them back on the boat.  What is to be done with them and their mission can be agreed upon when we return.”

Gwydian listens to the various conversations quietly. The tales of gold are enticing, but there's no way to know their veracity - at least not for him. He dwells on the matter for several minutes while the Dwarves rest and begin to argue.

Finally, he turns to Navarre and begins discussing his thoughts, "If these creatures have survived out here for many years, or longer, there must be many of them. They must be at least semi-intelligent and organized or else someone would have likely cleared this place long ago." He pauses, to ensure his companion is following, "There may be some heroism and treasure in defeating the tribe, but the Elves, being Elves, would as likely be put off by our efforts as grateful."

He continues while listening to Jodi and the others talk, "More importantly, I dare say that the Dwarven king would not have sent two emissaries with a treasured artifact on a long and dangerous trek unless it was of imminent importance, possible urgent. While their true mission was not revealed to us willingly, now it is at least partially known, and I, for one, do not want to be the one to explain to the king that we delivered his intent in precisely the reverse direction as he intended."

Turning more broadly to Thibault and Gilmith, or others who may know the surrounding geography. "How long do you think it would take us to escape the woods and find shelter?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:56, Wed 18 Dec 2019.

Kodran sheathes his family heirloom and listens to the young man make his argument.  Navarre nods without interruption while showing respect.  The kid had a point.

But it isnt enough to sway the opinion of the ranger.  ”I get it Gwydian.  This is a dangerous place and there don't seem too much to be gained by stayin'  But I am a Dúnedain.  My people are protectors.  Warriors against the forces of darkness going back generations.  I feel an oath, not to a king but to squash darkness where I find it.  This place...”, Navarre spins in a half circle as he waves an arm about to gesture to the structure, ”...with its bell and goblin cousins, its about as evil a place as I've seen in years.  This is a trap for the unsuspecting.  The innocent are lured here to die.  And I cant walk away without at least tryin' to fix it.”


OOC:
Sorry, dont have a lot of time today for a fancy narrative but I wanted to move the story forward.

Navarre is pretty resolute on staying and trying to fight this evil.  If the party splits so be it but he will do all he can to try to convince everyone to stay and help.

Jody counts on his fingers. "Right, so Jody, Navarre and Gilmith want to have a safe haven here, and make sure that others don't want to be ensnared as Oin, Balin, and Mock were, and Gwydian thinks we should skedaddle.  What about you, Mock? Oin and Balin need a bit more rest, before we press on, but there's no safe place to do that...yet."

Jody waggles his eyebrows.  "Thibault - think of the discoveries here! And Navarre & Gilmith - if you think Mewlips are bad, think about what other terrors might come to occupy this spot once we leave; reinforcements!  There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world.  It would be bad to have them on your doorstep, indeed."