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Year 2950: The Crossings of Celduin


Vladim

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Barin Greycloak
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As the others question the wizard, Barin keeps his own council. Muttering "Well, that wraps up the mystery of what became of King Thrain II. We'd heard tale of his capture, but not of what ever became of him. And a sad, and sorry tale it is. But," and at this he lifted his head to look directly at the Wizard, "that doesn't get us any closer to answering any of what is currently occurring and how all this ties together. Who or what is this 'Gibbet King', and what part does he play in the evils that are enveloping the world? And more to the point, what part would you have us play in this Wizard, as I sense there is more yet that you haven't told us?"

 

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spacer.png"I heard something eerily similar to your account, Gramtyng..." said the grey wizard, "...from the bear-lord himself, not many moons ago. He told me about a bandit and raider, one Valter, who even in death would not die. This is far too much alike to be simple coincidence..." he added, and fell into a brief silence, listening to Belgo as the boy spoke, until Barin requested more answers.

"Who is the Gibbet King? A good question. There is one who might know the answer with near certainty, but I fear that he is not in the business of aiding us. Who this spirit once was, I cannot tell. I only know that it was the jailor of Dol Guldur once. It must have escaped the deep dungeons when its master fled... and may be seeking to fill the gap now, uniting orcs under its dreadful power."

He paused again to consider for a brief moment.

"I know this Whitbuck fellow. Good lad. In fact, I may have had a hand in him leaving the Shire in the first place." He sighed. "No matter now. Too late-the damage is done!"

Without further word, he begun again to gather his gear with renewed haste. One question remained unanswered though, and it was not easy to provide it, as became evident by Gandalf's final words, which proved the most ambiguous of all.

"What would I have you do? I do not know, master dwarf-I am not your master, so this you will have to think and figure out for yourself. You're all mixed up in it now, so you have a part to play, small or large, like it or not. You know Radagast best-what would *he* have you do?

I have told you all I know now. I may be able to gather more in time, either from this Cheek fellow or from other sources... but it will take time; time and luck. Whatever I manage to dig up, I will convey to Radagast, and he will in turn to you as soon as he is able. But while the Gibbet King is free, and the orcs have someone to follow, Wilderland will not remain untroubled."

 

OOC

We can end the scene here, if you want; or we can have another (final) round of questions.

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Dahr-Ol of the Beornings

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Dahr-Ol raised an eyebrow at the name of Valter. He had forgotten the man, but not the power he had displayed. Such power he had seen before,

"The tale of Valter is true. I crossed axes with him that day. My blow should have split his skull. Instead green glowing lights rose from his wounds. He started to knit himself together before I could aim my next blow. Indeed it took Beorn himself to strike that man down...

But that's not the only time such a glow has been reported. Viglund's son was taking thralls as payment from a sorceror in the north. One of my own former tribe. The sorceror thought the price too high and balked one day. Witnesses say green lights flew from the sorceror's magic and from a weapon that Viglund's boy carried. I heard the tale from their own skald. Evil and sickly, just like the foul magic practiced by the Hill People sorcerors. And Viglund and his boy now openly take thralls. An ill tiding.

The enemy talk of you and Radagast with hatred. Storm Crow they call you, trying to denigrate the good you do. They hate the truth you tell. If you say you cannot tell us where to go, I believe you. But tell us what you know of the Jailer of Dol Goldur. We intend to blunder forth whether you help us further or not. At least let us blunder usefully.

Thrall taking whether in Viglund's lands or Tyrant's Hill is becoming more common, this feels like the sort of thing a Jailer's spirit would do."

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Elfwynn nodded at Dahr-Ol's tale but seemed disinclined to add any detail.

 

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Posted (edited)

spacer.png"The tidings from the North have reached me." said Gandalf. "I do not know if these evils are connected; one cannot assume one way or the other without evidence. Yet it may be so, as you say."

He spoke nothing on Viglund, but his silence seemed to be in agreement with what Dahr-Ol had said, though there was little else words could do about the troubles in the Vales.

"I've told you all I know. The true nature of the Necromancer's former servant is unknown to me, much like it is to you. I intend to find out-a task that may well take some time. You should, when you can, return to Radagast with what I have told you. Yet journeying in winter is full of perils. Still, you must deliver the message personally by spring. If the information falls into the wrong hands, it could prove dangerous.

And do not blunder! If the jailor is an unhoused spirit, then it may well prove a foe beyond you. Given all that you have said, it must be that it can now roam the length and breadth of Wilderland freely, at speed and with secrecy. Be careful, and keep your wits about you!"

Edited by Vladim (see edit history)
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Scene 3: The opening ceremony

 

Having heard Gandalf's counsel and partaken in his knowledge, the companions left the busy wizard to his own affairs and the new troubles that would no doubt occupy him in the coming days and weeks.

Normally, they would have been asked to leave the palace upon concluding their business, but they had Lord Ewald on their side, and Barin still had other friends in high places, and favors to call. And so, they lingered for a little longer, and Dahr-Ol recalled that his kinswoman, one Avena of the Beornings, currently in Dale for the Gathering, had mentioned to him that she sought king Bard for a missive from Beorn.

Dahr-Ol spoke of this to his companions, and for a long while Barin discussec with Ewald, conveying the information, and inquiring if an audience with Bard would be possible. It turned out that yes-such a thing was indeed possible-but not immediately. The celebrations would keep the king and his queen busy for the next few days, and also his court... Now, if they were willing to put up with a short delay, and wait for three days (give or take), a short audience could be arranged. Otherwise, lord Ewald advised that Avena should hand the missive to him, and he would do his utmost to pass it on to Bard and bring it to his attention as soon as possible.

These negotiations took some time, and by the time they were finally concluded, the morning had passed. Thus, it was decided to remain in Dale and attend to the opening ceremony before considering what to do next... but with winter now closing in, they would have to gather supplies and set out at speed if haste was their top priority.


It was twilight when the crowds that had thus far been enjoying the wonders of Dale's Market-Square converged in front of the Royal Palace. The majestic building, raised by dwarven masons under the direction of their own king, shone in the fading light, its dark, perfectly polished stone catching the last rays of the sun. Under its tall, marble pillars, guardsmen stood in their impeccable uniforms, polished ring-mail, and bright helms. The combined Dalesfolk and visitors pushed and crammed about the tall fountain that commemorated the Fall of Smaug-the most highly contested spot for witnessing the opening ceremony.

spacer.pngspacer.pngA few minutes passed when some within that crowd begun to point, and it was soon made apparent why. A procession of nobles and courtiers had emerged from the great front gate of the Palace and was welcomed by cheers and shouts from all bystanders. The group was led by Dáin, King under the Mountain, and a trio of elven emissaries clad in green and gold; they were followed by the Master of Lake-town. Last, King Bard made his appearance, flanked by his queen, the fair Una of Dorwinion. Queen Una held in her embrace their child, the prince of Dale, wrapped in blankets-hardly a year yet, and yet still in attendance, alongside his mother and father. The pair was followed by their most trusted counsellors and comrades, all archers who had formerly served in Bard's company when he was but a Captain in Esgaroth, all of them now elevated to nobles.

King Bard stepped forward to address the crowd. His dwarf-wrought crown glittered in the light of many lanterns. His frame was as lean and hard as it was when he had brought down the Dragon, but this night his grey eyes were alight with joy.

"People of Wilderland!" he cried. "Years ago, we were strangers to each other, as we hid in shadows. We were afraid of a world where Dragons ruled and Orcs were free to plunder. Then, one day our worst fears came upon us, and threatened to bury us forever, together with our weaknesses and worries."

spacer.pngThe crowd grew silent, as an old man wrapped in cloak and hood emerged from among the king’s counsellors and took his place by Bard’s side.

Bard continued his speech: "But then the clouds that darkened our days were torn by the wind, and a red sunset slashed the West. We fought together at the Battle of Five Armies, and we prevailed together. And today we are here to testify that since that day we stand united!"

As the crowd erupted, the old man cast aside his hood and cloak, raising a tall staff, and confirming that which the companions had already guessed: Gandalf the Grey, convinced after all to remain in Dale for a few more hours, for the opening-a task that no doubt had required the king's personal intervention.

Suddenly, the staff of the Wizard blazed forth with a flash, and behind the Royal Palace, the sky over Dale erupted with the most magical fireworks, bright enough to illuminate the flanks of the Mountain. Flowers and trees and candelabras and shooting stars, and then a flock of great golden eagles that burst like the dawn.

 

OOC

I hope you don't mind my assumptions about your PCs, but I thought this a good opportunity to introduce Avena. Unless there are objections, let's assume that Avena is with the company, informed by Dahr-Ol about the possibility with an audience with king Bard (if the company can wait for a few days) or at least the option that a Barding nobleman like lord Ewald can pass on her message/package to the king. It's up to @Powderhorn to decide which option Avena takes, but it may interact with the company's plans and departure time.

I'll leave this scene here so that folks can RP and interact, but beyond some scene-painting and introducing Avena, it does not serve a huge role or give many options for PC decisions (it's mainly an RP opportunity and that's all), so we can certainly fast-forward to the next day if folks are so inclined.

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Gramtyng, son of Fastredtoken_1(5).png.ef12265c3f3702a2086fb7dc92be835c.png


Riders of Rohan | Standard of Living: MartialCallingTraits | AP: 3 | XP: 2 | DP: 0


Valour: 5 | Wisdom: 4 | End: 27/27 | Load: 15 | Fatigue: 0 [+1] | Hope: 13/14 | 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


What to do when even a Wizard didnt know their foe...? Well, generally you went looking for someone else who might know... Closer to the source of the problem. It seemed ridiculous to think someone would know more than a well-travelled wizard, but there were many things in the world he understood little of. To that end, the horselord quietly nodded his farewell before they had departed. Most of the time prior to the festval's beginning, Gramtyng spend in deep thought, quietly talking to his charge. Before they had departed for the festival's beginning, he'd finally turned to Barin and Dahr-Ol, an spoke quietly: "I know of no ancient library, and would not risk the Hills for this spirit... but Mab the Spinner is a being that I do not think is easily group with anything in the Rhovanion... She knew many tricks and old knowledge. Maybe it is to her we should go, instead of the elves, to ask about this creature."


As they headed off to the celebration, the horselord made arrangements to pick up provisions discreetly - perhaps a bit meagre given his finances, but it would be best to remain supplied. He wanted to assign the task to Belgo, but relented when the lad had expressed he wanted to see the ceremony. Gramtyng had listened to the king's words in silence, reminiscing about his original reason for being here, and recalling with some bitterness the sheer arrogance of his past self. Still, there were other things to consider - seemed like another would be joining them, a Beorning named Avena. He'd not known her, so would remain on guard for a little bit.


OOC/Actions

BelgosonofBaldor.png.bcfac32e844f00521781284c5eab7188.png

WIP, Belgo speech

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Dahr-Ol of the Beornings

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Dahr-Ol was skittish for a moment or two after Gandalf let loose his fireworks. This must be what the hobbits of the Easterly Inn so often tried to describe. Satisfied after a few seconds that the display was indeed under Gandalf's control Dahr-Ol relaxed.

"Amazing what these magicians can do... Is this Gandalf fellow always so quick to light off such a surprise? I wonder why old Radagast has never done such a thing.

Now old Mab, there's a creature who knows a few tricks of her own... If anyone would know what spirits had been loosed from the tower into the forest she would be top of my list. Peculiar in her own way though. Gramtyng, what did she ask of you last time? I wasn't there, but I thought she charged a price for her help."

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Elfwynn was silent at the display of fireworks, whatever she thought of it, she kept to herself.

Presently, she turned to Avena, "You're skill with an oven is amazing. If you know your herbs half as well as you seem to, there is an opportunity here in town we may avail ourselves of when we next chance through. There is a proprietor of a local inn who prides himself on making drink from rare ingredients. Should we find anything exotic, he might pay in coin or trade goods.

If you choose to cross the forest trail with us, we should stay alert for such opportunities."

 

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Barin Greycloak
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As the group left the company of the wizard, Dahr-Ol mentioned this Avena - kinswoman to he and Elfwynn apparently - and her need to speak with King Bard about a matter from Beorn himself. Barin listened with intent and assured his friends that he would do whatever he could to at least get her message to the King, if not direct access to him. With that, he bade the two to come with him and speak with Eawald once more.

After conversing with Eawald, it transpired that Avena couldn't gain immediate access to the King, what with the festivities placing undue burden on his time, but after the celebrations access could, and likely would, be granted, or Eawald offered to present the missive himself if the company couldn't wait. Still, at least this managed to gain access to the palace for the newcomer, and so off the four of them went to meet her at the entrance and ensure her safe passage through the guardsmen at the gate.

After all the introductions were made, Barin left the others to their own devices as he went off in search of his own King - or at least his emissaries - who would likely be visiting the town this day.

 


 

That evening as the sun went down and the celebrations began, Barin gazed in awe along with the others at the display of noise and colour that the Wizard produced in the skies above the Palace. Such sights of wonder were rarely seen - although he could recall tales from those who had been present at the first such Dragontide celebrations after Smaug met his end at the arrow from Bard's bow.

When an opportune moment presented itself, he mentioned to his companions, "I made some provision earlier this afternoon for us to obtain supplies for our journey when we eventually set out. How long they'll last us for I know not, but at least we won't go hungry or without any shelter for the first few days, whichever direction we may be headed in."

Bowing slightly before Avena, he continued, "I hope Eawald managed to get you squared away with your request from your lord. Much as I hate to keep presuming on his goodwill and hospitality, he has yet to let me down. A debt I can likely never hope to repay, but a friend of Dahr-Ol's is a friend of mine, despite any ... minor disagreements we may have on ... philosophical grounds." he shot a wink in Gramtyng's direction at this.

"I wonder if the Elves of the Forest may know more about this ... issue we need to look in on? If we're heading West, then they would likely be on our route. Thranduil may be a prickly sort with outsiders, but even so, the lore his folk keep may well prove useful - I'm fairly certain we Dwarves will have no lore here in Erebor dealing with matters within the forest. But tell us, who is this Mab you speak of? This is someone I have never heard tell of before?"

 

 

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Gramtyng, son of Fastredtoken_1(5).png.ef12265c3f3702a2086fb7dc92be835c.png


Riders of Rohan | Standard of Living: MartialCallingTraits | AP: 3 | XP: 2 | DP: 0


Valour: 5 | Wisdom: 4 | End: 27/27 | Load: 15 | Fatigue: 0 [+1] | Hope: 13/14 | 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


"We were but tasked with simple duties—helping her about her house, splitting wood, and the like," Gramtyng said, turning now to Barin. "The Eafolc know her as Mab the Spinner, though others simply call her Old Mab. She takes in orphaned children as her apprentices, raising them under her roof, and teaching them the ways of herbs and the healing arts. It was on the Island Market that I first learned of her, through a cordial she had crafted—rare as it was, not for sale, only bestowed as a gift. It is that very mixture I gave to Hartfast's grandchild, in hopes it would restore her health. I wonder now if the child recovered…" Gramtyng’s voice faltered as he paused. "Mab appears to be no more than a simple old woman, living in a modest hut deep within the woods, and I’ve yet to see any dark creature draw near her dwelling, though the forest teems with spiders and wolves. Who she truly is, I cannot say—nor can I guess her folk or her age. I know little of the histories of the Elves, but she has hinted at memories from 'before the Elves awoke.' We have visited her twice, and twice she has offered us counsel. When we parted ways last winter, though you were not with us, she aided us then as well." He turned then toward Avena with a nod of greeting. "I am Gramtyng, son of Fastred; of late from Mountain Hall, a bard by trade, and of the people of Rohan."

 

 


OOC/Actions

BelgosonofBaldor.png.bcfac32e844f00521781284c5eab7188.png

WIP, Belgo speech

Edited by Diofant (see edit history)
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Avena

AvenaPortrait.png.00a428b3aee859a24da3473e977d1efc.pngAvena is happy for the compliments to her cooking, and the longer they stay the better she can supply her new company with best cakes.

"Any opportunity for interesting ingredients, either in town or on dark paths, interests me greatly. However, I am apprehensive about turning over a task to another that was given to me by Beorn himself. If we must wait three days, I can make it worth everyone's while to delay with an expanded selection of cakes. Sometimes I add in other ingredients by rolling them in, such as pumpkin or bacon - I find it a rare Beorning that is willing to experiment with the old ways, so it may be novel for you."

 

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Cecil Brandybuck

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Cecil stood spellbound by the blooming fireworks. He forgot where he stood. His toes felt for grass upon the hills and the warmth of the earth. Gandalf! Yes, of course. The old wizard had done the same in the Shire many years ago. He was just a boy then, and Gandalf a bearded blur in his mind. All the seasons of struggle fell away and the cheers of the crowd became familiar - for when staring at the sky, there was little difference between the Shire and any other place. Good spirits made new friends old and old friends new. 

He could hear behind him the conversation of towers and spirits… deep dark forests and an old lady. He knew not of Mab or what she spun, nor did he care. He would sip every drop of splendor from this place and save the bitters for later. His companions seemed utterly incapable of distinguishing business from pleasure!

He broke off another morsel of Avena’s confection. “Cakes! An expanded selection, you say?” He turned to Barin, Elfwynn, and Gramtyng. “She’s comin’ with us?” He turned back with a widening grin. “Pleasure to meet you. My name is Cecil Brandybuck, but if you continue to cook like that, you can call me a fat ball of wax.” 

 

Edited by Modest_Proposal (see edit history)
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Dahr-Ol of the Beornings

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"I believe spending a few days provisioning here would be a wise idea.

Barin, if we were able to take some fresh game from the nearby lands would your people or the Dale men readily purchase or trade for it?

Elfwynn and I don’t have much gold, but I suspect for a winter journey we would want dry goods and a beast of burden."

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"Cecil and I are agreed, your cooking is delicious. And were you to accompany us you might have to start calling us both fat balls of wax..." Elfwynn grinned as she took up Cecil's jest and continued with it.

 

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Barin Greycloak
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In answer to the Beorning's question, Barin responded, "Here, the menfolk prefer to trade in silver or gold, but I daresay if you bought enough fresh game their way, some of the butchers and innkeeps would be willing to buy. That then, at least would give us something to purchase what we need. I've also had a quiet word with some of my kinfolk to see if they can't scare up some supplies, or a pack animal or two, so we may benefit from tarrying a few days anyway, although it pains me to say so given the Wizard's note of urgency."

 

 

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Gramtyng, son of Fastredtoken_1(5).png.ef12265c3f3702a2086fb7dc92be835c.png


Riders of Rohan | Standard of Living: MartialCallingTraits | AP: 3 | XP: 2 | DP: 0


Valour: 5 | Wisdom: 4 | End: 27/27 | Load: 15 | Fatigue: 0 [+1] | Hope: 13/14 | 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


"I would wager there be none among this company who would turn their nose at bacon. As for young Belgo," the bard cast a glance towards the esquire, who stood, wide-eyed in awe at the fireworks lighting the sky, "he remains somewhat choosy with his pumpkin..." A smile tugged at the horselord’s lips before he continued, "Mayhap, rather than bartering our hard-earned game for provisions, we could lay aside the meat and salt it for the road ahead. Or better yet, gather a few mushrooms from yonder wood to flavor the stew, come supper-time round the campfire."

 

 


OOC/Actions

BelgosonofBaldor.png.bcfac32e844f00521781284c5eab7188.png

WIP, Belgo speech

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At length Gandalf's fireworks begun to die down, a good quarter of an hour after the first one had been launched and lit Dale's skies, painting them purple. Yet that was hardly the closing of the festival-it only signified the opening! While the king and his emissaries (as well as their dwarven counterparts) remained standing and observing from their places of honor near the palace entrance, everyone else that stood by the great Fountain of the Fall put on their masks and begun to mingle.

Several sets of musicians put hand to harp and mouth to flute, and filled the smoke-laden night-air with beautiful music, and songs in many tongues accompanied it, and the commonfolk danced and celebrated.

Most notably, near a high place by the fountain, where a small stage had been erected hastily, a band of thirteen dwarves and a group of elves played together. Not always harmoniously-there seemed to be rivalry between them, but it seemed to be of a friendly sort. The dwarves were led by the famed Bombur the Fat, who certainly qualified as one of the 'great' (if not for his role in the quest for Erebor then certainly for his girth). He wore a dragon-mask, though no disguise could hide his weight, and he sang in a loud baritone. His dwarven bombast was contrasted with the elvish harmonies, and yet both sides were equally enthusiastic, and in the end joined together to produce some of the strangest music ever heard in the North-but at least one could dance to it!

The hustle and bustle of the morning markets-located not far from the palace-had by now died down significantly... but a few merchants still sold their wares under colorful stalls, including masks for those who, like the companions, had forgotten to buy them. Those investigating were bound to discover that the prices had gone... significantly up... in just a few hours. But still: better have one, perhaps, if one was to experience all of Dale's traditions.

 

OOC

This is the natural progression of the festival. The PCs are not obliged to mingle, and if they prefer, they can retire to their room at The Missing Scale, to begin their preparations for a quick departure.

PCs who wish to mingle can do so-no restrictions apply here, so feel free to describe your PCs' actions, and I may continue with descriptions, if necessary.

Splitting the party is also ok here.

Finally, though the masks are expensive, this is just fluff-your PCs can still buy them, though it may sting at their pockets a bit (but no mechanical penalty). You can also go unmasked-a few do already, though they will tend to stick out like a sore thumb. Your call!

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