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2950: The Hound


Vladim

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spacer.pngAfter some asking around and some futile searching, Gramtyng found the man he was searching for inside the trading post: Magric, a skill trapper and a hunter.

Gramtyng knew his tale, or at least part of it. He had not always lived here, but many years ago, Hartfast took him in, and had somehow managed to make a Woodman out of him. Some folks whispered that he had elven blood, a rumor that amused him, though most likely no more than that: a tall tale, plain and simple. Others said that his mother was one of the wandering river-folk that lived to the south. When he travelled, which was often, he called himself the Hound, as it was customary amongst the Woodmen to take on a byname when dealing with outsiders.

It was only three years ago when Gram journeyed with him to Stonyford, and Magric indeed looked mostly unchanged: Tall and handsome and seemingly as jovial as always, as he conversed with the Woodman that ran the trading post about some pelts he had acquired. Only a few grey hairs in his beard bore silent testament to the passing of the years, and to unspoken hardships endured in these lands. With the news of orcs attacking, this was perhaps to be expected.

"Oi!" he exclaimed in surprise as he turned to see Gramtyng. After a moment of silence, a smile of sudden recognition shone on his face, and he spoke again in his usual carefree tone: "Heard you were in town. What took you so long? Hartfast keepin' you busy?"

 

OOC

@Diofant Here you go! Feel free to post and do whatever you want to here!

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Gramtyng, son of Fastredspacer.png


Riders of Rohan | Standard of Living: MartialCallingTraits | AP: 1 | XP: 5 | DP: 0


Valour: 4 | Wisdom: 4 | End: 27/27 | Load: 15 | Fatigue: 2 [+1] | Hope: 12/14 | Shadow: 6 [0] | Parry: 6 | Weary: No | Miserable: No |Wound: No


Skills: Body 5 (8) | Heart 5 (7)| Wits 4 (5) | Weapons | War Gear | Equipment | Songs


"Mornin' Magric." The bard clapped the tracker on his shoulder. "It trust you found your mead after we parted at the Festival of the Moon?" Gramtyng grinned - it was what he'd left him to do when they went their separate ways. "Naw. Hartfast aint the reason I've been runnin' around - my own fool curiosity's and pride to blame for that." He sighed, then shook his head. "...And I guess my big mouth. But my tongue's been my foe since I learned to talk, aint nothing new. Long story."


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spacer.pngMagric smiled. "Aye. I remember that. Heard tales too; something 'bout the north. If there's any truth to them, then I reckon not much has changed in these last few years."

His smile grew wider, and he approached the bard, and gave him a friendly pat on the back. He seemed unsure if he should embrace him, and so he kept a bit of distance, unless the gesture were reciprocated by Gram. Regardless, he seemed quite glad to see him.

"Still. Good to see you alive, Gram-big mouth or no."

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Gramtyng, son of Fastredspacer.png


Riders of Rohan | Standard of Living: MartialCallingTraits | AP: 1 | XP: 5 | DP: 0


Valour: 4 | Wisdom: 4 | End: 27/27 | Load: 15 | Fatigue: 2 [+1] | Hope: 12/14 | Shadow: 6 [0] | Parry: 6 | Weary: No | Miserable: No |Wound: No


Skills: Body 5 (8) | Heart 5 (7)| Wits 4 (5) | Weapons | War Gear | Equipment | Songs


Gramtyng followed through with the same gesture, grinning, then stepped back. "Aye." He admitted. "North was... Not the best of times. Quite certain Viglund, cursed be his name, thinks me of as enemy after that 'song' in his hall, but frankly, I dont much care what he thinks." He grew serious: "...Still... Though there was a share of things I'd rather not happen, did get a better understanding of others, myself, purpose... and got a sword from a ghost." He tapped the hilt of Cenegeslit. "Its old owner called it Widow-maker. I thought it was pretentious... Renamed it to Cenegeslit - keen-blade in my birth-tongue. But I'm babbling again - how about you, friend? How've you been?"


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spacer.pngMagric smiled grimly at the mention of the blade, though his eyes soon widened ever so subtly when he better inspected the decorated hilt. "I like Cenegeslit better..." he said at length, but did not comment further on the sword. Instead, he addressed the question.

"Oh, you know... Trappin' and tradin', guidin', scoutin'... Doing the old man's bidding for the most part. Stonyford is doing well enough, or, at least, was... and Woodland Hall the same... And even south sometimes, to see the river-folk, through I shouldn't talk about that here... been busy. Though with the orcs now, and all those mountain-goblins, things are tough. Most folk don't want to venture too far from the village anymore. Me too, though I still venture further than most. You heard about the troubles?"

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Gramtyng, son of Fastredspacer.png


Riders of Rohan | Standard of Living: MartialCallingTraits | AP: 1 | XP: 5 | DP: 0


Valour: 4 | Wisdom: 4 | End: 27/27 | Load: 15 | Fatigue: 2 [+1] | Hope: 12/14 | Shadow: 6 [0] | Parry: 6 | Weary: No | Miserable: No |Wound: No


Skills: Body 5 (8) | Heart 5 (7)| Wits 4 (5) | Weapons | War Gear | Equipment | Songs


"Some." Admitted Gramtyng. "Though I guess there can be others. I'm glad to hear you're doing well. Listen, Magric... Not sure how to bring it up, since you say you try and stay out of trouble - but I - well, we, I guess - need help. Need to get to a place out in middle of Gladden... Somewhere. Now, I aint much good in the swamps, or I'd never bother you with this. Its... risky business. If you dont want to, I aint gonna hold it against you. But I'm goin' anyway." Gramtyng didnt want to say 'Dwimmerhorn' out in the open. He didnt like to think the Shadow could have spies here, but rumors spread quickly. Magric would likely understand the place he meant, anyway. What was with that look when he saw the sword, anyway...?


OOC/Actions/Rolls*

Great Success on Insight, if its a Success

Edited by Diofant (see edit history)
Name
Insight
[9] (5,2,2) = 18
tor(3,no) 9,5,2,2
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spacer.pngAt the mere mention of the Gladden, Magric's demeanor-typically care-free and easy-going-changed. The proposal itself had made him uncomfortable, and he did not try to hide it.

"Hartfast put you up to this? He volunteered me, I reckon?" he said with evident disapproval, emphasizing the word volunteered. He let the question float in the air for a while, but he seemed to not need an actual answer. Within moments, he went on.

"Listen, old friend. Lemme give you a piece of advice: stay away from the Gladden. Not the safest place in the best of times, and these ain't the best of times. Too many orcs of late. No hunter goes there anymore, and even I haven't fished there in months."

Looking around, there were a few other things that seemed unusual: for one, Gramtyng could now see that Magric had his things hastily packed, as if he had been making ready to leave Mountain Hall in a haste when he had been found.

 

OOC

The Insight check is indeed succesful, so feel free to record APs. For the Great Sucess, you get 2 pieces of info:

  1. His reaction indicates that he's genuinely afraid of going to the Gladden.
  2. He had his stuff packed-he was probably planning to leave, and indeed he seemed to want to avoid the encounter, not that Gram thinks of it.
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Gramtyng, son of Fastredspacer.png


Riders of Rohan | Standard of Living: MartialCallingTraits | AP: 1 | XP: 5 | DP: 0


Valour: 4 | Wisdom: 4 | End: 27/27 | Load: 15 | Fatigue: 2 [+1] | Hope: 12/14 | Shadow: 6 [0] | Parry: 6 | Weary: No | Miserable: No |Wound: No


Skills: Body 5 (8) | Heart 5 (7)| Wits 4 (5) | Weapons | War Gear | Equipment | Songs


He's worried about something. Going out for a hunt maybe? The rohirrim sighed, scratching the back of his head. Magric refusing to be a guide was a great loss, and he'd ideally not wanted to try and convince him, and respect his decision. He made an uncertain gesture. "Hartfast always said you were the best tracker he had, whenever it came up. I dunno what's between you... But he always seemed to hold you in high esteem." The bard put his hand down and rested it on his belt. "Nah, the one who said to ask you was Gerold; said you mentioned the specific spot in the marshes two years ago, that it seemed like it was watched, and only one way up. I'm deliberately avoiding calling its name, here, but you know the one I mean. I need to get into it." Gramtyng shook his head. "I cant not go. I know your advice is sincere and honest. I think we've drank enough grief on the few trips to know that. But... There's no choice. If it wont be me, some other poor sod'll have to do it, an' I said I would. Then there's the oath I gave, on this blade, to an old spirit; to seek to better these lands that sheltered me when I was sick, dying, and thrown out of birthplace... 'with sword in hand, in halls of others, wielding sword or song, to rally them to the same cause'."

Gramtyng paused, shifting his gaze to look at the Misty Mountains, and towards the Red Pass which was almost his grave. "...If Idunn didnt find me, and Hartfast didnt shelter me... I'd not even see this day. Regardless whats happened, how can I choose my safety over theirs when I have a chance to repay even a fraction of the debt? And even if the debt was not there... The oath remains. To my blood, and the blood of mine descendants. Even if the oath did not exist, how can I turn away when I have a chance to do something to maybe make someone else's life better?" He placed his hand on Magric's shoulder and smiled. "Your advice is wise, old friend. If you say its dangerous, it must be. I wish I could follow it... But I cant. What you do is your choice - I wont dare ask. Here's hoping we meet again and drink some Stoneyford mead again - I heard there's a new batch brewing from Dahr-Ol." He paused, for a moment back before the grudge he bore the Beorning, and bit his lip, shaking his head and smiling, before taking his hand off the tracker's shoulder: "...And if not, when you raise a cup, spill a bit on the ground. I wont be taking Leasere with me, he's back at Rhosgobel - he's yours if I dont get back."

His words, spoken to the elf-spirit, echoed in his head even as he spoke: "I, Gramtyng, son of Fastred of the Rohirrim, minstrel of the Golden Hall in exile, will seek to better these lands that have become my home always - be it with sword in hand, or in the halls of others, wielding word and song, to rally them to the same cause. To always, until death takes me, ride out against the Shadow, and to bind mine own descendants to follow this oath, by Eru's own wisdom." Everyone had their own Doom. Every one of them was driven to it. But though sometimes the shadows on the path were dark... The bard didnt believe his own path would end here, despite what his friend said. After all... He'd already seen his end, and it brought him no fear nor grief.


OOC/Actions/Rolls

 

Edited by Diofant (see edit history)
Name
Inspire
[8] (1,2,4) = 15
tor(3,no) 8,1,2,4
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spacer.pngMagric let Gram speak. At times, he looked at him in the eyes; at others, he looked down, as if he needed to contemplate the words carefully. There were few things that could change the trapper's opinion when he had set his mind on something, but in this case, it was not what had been said, but rather what the bard was proposing to do, that gave him pause and forced him to think.

"Listen." he said at length, long after Gram has finished. "I don't know nothin' 'bout oaths or spirits. But if you want to "better the lands"... why go searchin' elsewhere? There's more than enough need here: in the mines, against the mountain-goblins, or to simply lift folks' spirits with that lute of yours... You don't need to go heedless into the Gladden to die. How does that help anyone?

You feel bad about the old man, right? Hartfast took you in. He took me in, too. I get it. Help him here then; maybe you can still keep your oath and repay your debts to the chief, if either of you's still counting."

He let the words sink in. He watched Gram closely, seeking a reaction.

"Sleep on it a bit. If you're still stubborn about the Gladden by the morning... come find me first. But think about it. Promise?"

 

OOC

That inspire check is a success, so Magric will come with the party if Gram insists, but less because he feels "inspired" and more because he doesn't want him to end up dead. I took a bit of liberty with the interpretation as I think this fits the situation better.

We can close the thread here, or continue the discussion-up to you!

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Gramtyng, son of Fastredspacer.png


Riders of Rohan | Standard of Living: MartialCallingTraits | AP: 1 | XP: 5 | DP: 0


Valour: 4 | Wisdom: 4 | End: 27/27 | Load: 15 | Fatigue: 2 [+1] | Hope: 12/14 | Shadow: 6 [0] | Parry: 6 | Weary: No | Miserable: No |Wound: No


Skills: Body 5 (8) | Heart 5 (7)| Wits 4 (5) | Weapons | War Gear | Equipment | Songs


Gramtyng listened to his friend silently, with no nodding or otherwise, only speaking when he had been finished. Some part of him said what Magric said was reasonable. After all, it seemed stubborn to go after this one thing that his friend warned him against, when his oath didnt directly call him to go there. But... Gramtyng sighed. "What you say makes sense. Mine oath was not to bind myself to any one individual's orders, but to oppose the Shadow's encroachment on these lands - wherever and whenever I may find it. I could stay here, and cheer people up. Maybe I could go looking for a healer for Hartfast's granddaughter. I could also go off to hunt the Werewolf, which is also a quarry I'm sworn to bring down. But Magric... there are others with me who would go regardless." He glanced in the direction of Hartfast's halls. "...True, I've just met some of them. And there is some bad blood between Dahr-Ol and myself... But its not like I would wish the danger on them. Idunn isnt here, off on her own dangerous quest, and I'd stay behind where it was safe...?"

The horselord slowly shook his head. "My people have a belief I've struggled with all my life. They call it the Doom; that each and every one of us born to the earth comes into this world with their destiny predetermined. Set in stone. Others call it folly and openly scorn it, saying only they control their fate. Those that believe the former scorn them in turn, calling it arrogance and vain pride. When I went north... I've seen the Doom break on a man. Everything said that he should end his journey there, in the cold wasteland, choking on his own hunger, his only companions misery and despair. And I've seen that man challenge his Doom and break it, maybe not on his own, by with the supporting hands of his companions, as well. So I think... The Doom exists, but it exists to be mastered. We all go towards it... But we should all struggle against it till our dying breath, and if we've not enough, we take courage from others who walk with us. So, I will follow your advice, and sleep on the decision. But know that if this is my Doom, then I am content, because those I call friends... Are more than enough to shatter it. But nevertheless. You have my word."

Might his belief was wrong - after all, he fully accepted the vision which would come before his death in the future. But in the bard's eyes, a Doom accepted and a Doom challenged were different. The dream was... gentle. Its contents calmed him more than anything he could remember. He still recalled the feeling he's had in the dream. He was content. He knew. And he faced it with a smile.


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Edited by Diofant (see edit history)
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spacer.pngAt first, Magric did not have words to speak. In truth, he did not fully understand what Gramtyng spoke of; perhaps the gist of it, yes, but the southern customs were not well-known to him, and besides: he had not been there, in the North, to see all that had transpired in the winter with his own eyes, and so it was difficult to comprehend what now seemed like a great and sudden change.

"You sure seem like a changed man now, Gramtyng son of Fastred. For good or ill? I don't know. But I miss the old Gramtyng, who had a cheery tune and some strange southerner song instead of words grim and gloomy about some impending Doom."

He smiled bitterly, but the expression seemed genuine.

"Never mind. Weariness and ill tidings threaten to make us all cheerless today. Perhaps food, rest and reminiscence of better times would help us. Till the 'morrow, then; if I can't change your mind."

 

OOC

I'm happy to end this here, unless you want to add more :)

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