Year 2947: Theft of the Moon

[Vladim]

The road to Stonyford is without much incident; after all, the first part of the Journey is through lands neighboring Mountain Hall, and the second are within sight of the Beorning holdings. The weather is fairly pleasant for the most part, but towards the 5th day, the clouds which previously prevented the sun from blinding the travelers have grown darker, and soon bore rain, which turned into a downpour. Wishing to stay out of the rain, Bella took it upon herself, as the Fellowship's Scout, to find a decent place of refuge. She found it in a small grove of dead trees; a ruined stone structure with an undetermined shape, tilted sideways and clearly slowly sinking into the bog. The thing had a small piece of roof that was not ruined, an area which was dry thanks to it, with a wall that had been intact; a walkway that lead to a small watchhouse-like area, and stairs headed down; however beyond the first ten feet down the well-preserved stairs, there had been swampwater.

It had been at least better than being soaked, so the Fellowship agreed to break camp and at least wait out the rain, if not spend the night there. Almarion, keen-eyed as she had been, had managed to spot that there had been several runes, nearly faded, carved into the walls which looked nothing like elegant elvish or straightforward human, but was the work of dwarves. Furthermore, there seemed to be more to this ruin than what met the eye: below, in the swampwater, there had been the glint of something metal, and from the charred patches on the ceiling above the stairs, if one descended a bit, it was possible to tell people visited recently with torches - the moss had not yet grown on the walls where the water touched them, which meant the flooding had been recent. Perhaps a camp was caught offguard by the water rising?

Gramtyng, not wishing to leave the ruins, had planned to fish in the area where he saw the water being somewhat clear: much to his agitation, all he'd caught were a few tadpoles and an old shoe encrusted with slime of unknown origin. The irritated bard muttered a few choice lines from a counting song about the fisherman who wasnt looking where he was going and instead of quietly fishing at the banks surprise-visited a bear, whose den was below the hill he'd been on. Calming himself, he'd pulled out a lute and began strumming it, getting an idea for a humorous marching song while humming to himself: Inspiration struck while Hepti ran by, pursued by a rather large boar. The minstrel looked up in concern, but as they rounded the corner, it had been the dwarf who chased the boar, somewhat comically, axe over his head. The chase ended when the boar fell into the flooded area of the ruin, losing its maneuverability, and allowing the ever-cheerful dwarf to strike a mortal blow.

This gave Gramtyng a few other ideas, which he began to furiously scribble in his journal. Idunn had been slightly less lucky than dwarf, but with the absence of fish, and the overabudance of meat now that they had a boar, she found several herbs to bring out the meat's flavor far more than simply roasting it would have done. Borin had come back slightly after; his own attempt to hunt some provisions had not been quite so successful as Hepti's, and the fellowship settled down after Nori had cut down a few of the dry trees and constructed a makeshift barricade to leave only one entrance to the camp, which Almarion would watch, being the Lookout. After he'd been done figuring out the barricade, the dwarf had taken to looking through the maps the Fellowship possessed of the area and thinking if there was any better way to attempt the final leg of the journey. (If anyone gained fatigue on the second Travel Roll, it only grants +1 Fatigue, not +3)

The ruins they'd ended up in were fairly spacious - at least on the surface, so there wasnt any issue in the trapper and the huntress speaking privately - he had readly followed her when asked, but when she'd actually asked him the question... Magric snorted like he heard something hilarious, choking a bit - he'd been smoking a pipe while sitting sideways on a ruined wall, one foot hanging off, the other providing support. His attempt to laugh did not go so well, and he ended up coughing for a bit and nearly falling off. Taking the pipe out of his mouth and turning fully to face Idunn, rubbing "Yer related to Merovech?" He looked her over with an arched eyebrow: "Probably distant relation, far too pretty otherwise. My condolences either way." Magric grinned, pulling out a flint and tinder and attempting to light his pipe again. It took him a few tries before he realized it just wasnt happening and put the pipe away into his belt pouch with a sigh. "Anyway, t'answer yer questions... Yes, yes, yes, yes, no. Though, if that aint clear enough... Lets see if we can get to know each other bit better."

The trapper inhaled the fresh air greedily, seemingly intoxicated by it, and began his story, one arm on the the wrist of the other, rubbing it slightly for a moment in irritation, his eyed darkening. "Magric's m'name. Outside Mountain Hall, usually go by The Hound. I'm originally not from Mountain Hall, but was accepted as one of you. Family's dead. Orc raid. Pretty common. Supposedly I've got some elf blood, where I get my roguish good looks an' all! Spent a lotta time wanderin, huntin, trappin. Got good at it... now I help out Hartfast because I know the area best." He let go of his wrist and scratched his head slightly, face acquiring an uncharacteristically puzzled expression, before looking at Idunn again: "Not sure why yer so agitated, when've you seen Merovech last? E's stubborn as a mule now, becomin' a parent didnt soften 'im any. Tellin' 'im to his face wont do much, innit? Already done that when I tried to get him to ban Viglundings from the Festival." He shook his head and returned his hands in the old position: "Y'know what 'e did when I called him that to his face? Laughed at me, punched me in the shoulder, and walked away. Still got a bruise... Wanna see? Kinda impressive how it changes color, actually..." The stupid grin was back plastered on his face; it had been a very different expression from back when he'd gotten drunk in Mountian Hall - the 'best trapper' looked more like a goofy kid, proud of his latest prank.

[Vladim]

Bella's excitement about travelling, plus the possibility of seeing kinfolk, had made her very bouyant. The long journey had filled her with trepidation. Both of which had made the Took very chatty and animated. Still, it was easy enough to 'gift' the little chatterbox to the other members of the Fellowship with the merest pretense which the guileless hobbit missed entirely.

[Vladim]

Idunn is somewhat taken aback by Magric’s openness. She did not expect the man to be so forthright. After listening to his answers, which seem quite honest to her, she reconsiders her earlier negative impression, if only a little.

’You are right. I have not spoken to my cousin in years. Nor did I know he is a father now. Do you know his family?’ she asks, trying to engage the trapper in casual conversation. After all, Magric seems eager to speak, and Idunn rarely holds back from answering others’ questions honestly, and to the best of her ability.

However, there are things that interest her more, and as the two converse, she tries to steer the conversation back to the festival and the Viglundings.

[Vladim]

Magric's grin waned a bit for some reason, and he pulled out pipe again, eyeing the contents suspiciously before knocking them out onto the ground, and kicking some dirt over them. taking out a small pouch, he began to stuff the pipe anew, perhaps due to the moisure in the tobacco before. As he did so, he continued the conversation with Idunn: "Family huh. Based on what I know of Merovech... he's joined up with Beorn not all that long ago, 'long with his father, Hakon the Wild. Your... Uncle, I guess? Maybe? Anyway, e's about the only tracker you'll ever hear me admitting is better than I am. Shame e's lost 'is arm, really..." Magric finally managed to light his pipe and took a few puffs of it, visibly relaxing.

When he boasted of his abilities as a tracked, his expression did not even shift - he'd been quite secure in the belief of his own superiority. "From how Merovech tells it, he's become Thane relatively quickly. Wouldn't say why, but Beorn trusts him enough to travel his lands and act as his judge. Married a beautiful young woman named Amalina, a healer - and they've a son who is the most infuriatin' little brat I've ever met." The trapper growled, clenching his teeth on the mouthpiece of his pipe. "Well, I say little but e's what? Sixteen winters? E's even more stubborn than 'is pa, and is obsessed with stories. Ragnar's 'is name."

Magric takes the pipe out of his mouth, looking somewhat more contemplative when the next question's been asked, and his grin, as well as his cocky attitude practically evaporated, and a grim look replaced them. There was an unnaturally long pause before the man spoke again, his tone different from before, speaking slowly as if trying to find the right words. "Yer askin' me that... means the old man didnt tell you. Then 'gain... Yer askin' for MY reason. Old man prob'ly wanted you to form your own opinion of Viglundings. No harm tellin' you what I think." He put his pipe back and his mouth and fell silent for a short bit, fold his arms in a strange way, absent-mindedly smoothing the fabric on his wrist as if caressing it. Coming to a decision, he took the pipe out of his mouth again and spoke, pointing at the Huntress.

"How do you feel about slavery, Bride?"

---

Gramtyng yawned, closing the journal after making sure the ink had been dry, and hid it in his pack once more. Leaning back against a nearby piece of wall, he began flipping through the things he'd had to take care of during his presence in Wilderland - most importantly, of course, the Lore of his people's ancestors, the Hunt for the werewolf, and the songs he'd been looking to write. He'd done about all he could for today about how his songs could go, and felt he'd satisfied that goal for today at least - which mean he could think about the lore or the hunt, and the lore did not merit much thought; he'd have to actively look for it, and not in a dwarven structure... As for the hunt, that merited some consideration, taking into account the talks he'd had with with Idunn and how (un)comfortable woodmen were with horses.

As he'd thought about it more and came up with several other somewhat outlandish schemes, he noticed that Bella had seemed to be far more restless than before, seemingly excited by something. "Something exciting happen, Bella? You look like its some sort of celebration happening, its a strange contrast to how gloomy this place is, especially when its raining." He took a stick from the side and adjusted the campfire, sending a column of sparks into the air, causing the boar meat to sizzle on the makeshift spit. He'd been hoping someone would take charge of the cooking, as he himself had been known to set fire even to scambled eggs, and took a measure of pride in such a feat. The dwarves, or perhaps Bella herself - though when he'd come here, he had no idea what a hobbit even was - 'holbytlas' was the closest thing he knew, and the description of those was essentially 'they do little, avoid the sight of men, are able to vanish in a moment, and can change their voices to resemble birds.' It took him a bit to get used to Bella, even - but he could, after travelling with her, at least add a little more to that list.

[Vladim]

Idunn listens with interest. Before the conversation, she knew little of her cousin. She is surprised to learn that he is so respected by Beorn, and even more so to hear that Merovech has a son who is about her age. She commits all the names to her memory, but does not question Magric any further on the matter. In one or two days the fellowship would reach Stonyford, and she’d be able to speak with Merovech herself, and confirm all of that for herself.

When the subject shifts to the Viglundings, Idunn crosses her arms over her chest and allows Magric to speak. She interjects only once: ’I can form my own opinions.’ she states plainly. ’I do not know why stubborn old Hartfast does not understand this. And you can call me Idunn-there is no use for bynames here.’

As to Magric’s question, her answer is unambiguous: ’Only orcs and goblins practice slavery in Mirkwood. They tried to enslave Ellerina, when we returned from Lake-town, but we did not let them take her. One of them fell to my axe.’ she concludes coldly and in a matter-of-fact way, her tone betraying no pride in the deed whatsoever.

She ends with an emphatic statement: ’Slavery is no different than orc-work, and any Man who practices it is evil.’

[Vladim]

While the journey's banter was pleasant enough, it was more small talk and idle chatter than soul-baring. Perhaps this was deliberate which would be right over the innocent hobbit's head.

But she was grateful for Gram's earnest question and touched by his concern. It was nice to be noticed by one of the Big Folk, or at least not stepped on. She smiled and shared her information with a twinkle in her eye, like sharing a secret with a tea party. "I believe two of my cousins may be where we are going. It would be good to see them and hear of the Shire again."

"They would truly love your stories." Gram was quite the bard. Bella hoped he wouldn't mind if his stories were spread throughout the Shire. It was one of the highest complements the Shire-folk could give.

[Vladim]

Magric nodded, his expression brightening slightly: "Right? Well, now's the part where I tell you that yer wrong." He chewed on the pipe's mouthpiece, letting out another puff of smoke before looking up at the stone ceiling above them and looking slightly melancholic. "Ain't only orcs and goblins: Viglund and his people do it too. They call it 'thralldom', but chainin folks up and makin em work for you is slavery no matter how ya spin it, no? Justification they use..." He spat at that. "Their land is hard to work cause the Beornings have all the good, fertile land - they, being warriors, have to protect their lands, and have no time to waste farming, so their slaves do it for em." The dark look returned as Magric adjusted his scarf, yanking it up and closing his cloak around himself, as if cold: "Enslavin' an elf... I s'pose even Viglund wouldn't dare try that sorta trick. Humans, orcs and goblins, though? Oh, yes. Good on you for freein' one of them. The things orc would do to an elf..."

Magric's face distorts in a grimace that is equal parts hatred and disgust, but it passes momentarily. "Y' understand now why I wanted them banned from the festival? The folk of Wilderland ought not talk to dogs that've gone mad: They put them down. Survival is the' most important law to a human, is how I was taught... Y'do what you gotta to live on. But slavery cant be justified like tha'. Y' live, you take from life all you can!" He spread his arms with a half-smile appearing on his face, but no joy to be found in his expression: "Eat, drink, gamble your fill! Fight! Adventure! Argue, love, hate, regret, for you are free... You have no idea what'll happen tomorrow or where you'll be. Take everything from life... But taking the freedom of others to enjoy their lives, that I'll never accept."

He put down his arms, and knocked the ashes out of his pipe, pointing it at the huntress: "And thats why I wanted them banned from the Festival... Idunn. Viglund's an old fox who's encroaching on the Beorn's lands. Already, there's small skirmishes between wanderers and patrols, but its minor, no deaths yet. S'not gonna last. Far as I see it, he wants that land, and he's willing to conquer it. T' me? He's a future foe, no different than any orc, except for his cunning. The old man...? I think he jus' didnt want you to be biased because of what he could tell ya." He tied up the pipe back around his neck and pulled out his knife and a small whetstone. "Hartfast thinks he'd be mad to try... I think otherwise. Thats why I'm here, as a scout and messenger - the hound of Hartfast. I do what I gotta do for my new home not to end as my old. No matter what folks think." Magric's blade slid across the whetstone, sending sparks into the night. His features tightened, his determination clear on his face.

---

"Oho?" The bard smiled, hiding the quill he used back in his bag after carefully placing it into a wooden case and wrapping it in cloth. "Relatives, huh... Guess the wanderlust runs in the family, eh?" He chuckled a bit, wondering just how Bella's relatives would be, as thus far he'd only had her as a representative of the hobbits, and could hardly establish an understanding - after all, she had been out here with them, journeying through these lands, and not at home, in front of a cozy fireplace, drinking tea with cake for after dinner, which is what he was told was about expected. "I am always delighted when my stories are liked - seeing people take joy in them is the reason I became a bard, after all... Well, among... other reasons." Gramtyng's recalled the kind of attention he used to get in Rohan from some women for some of the songs. "Still! Do you think those hobbits not so prone to adventuring would like the kind of stories I tell? It is good to prepare for the right audience, you know?"

 

Nori

Nori's attempts to understand the runes bears unexpected fruit: after some ten minutes, he is easily able to understand that the runes found in three places in the ruin are not mere Khuzdul carvings, but dwarven magic. One of the runes, which had been covered in a considerable layer of dried mud, had remained functional: it was a rune of Prohibition and Exclusion, utilized to warn the scribe when anything of danger crossed the perimeter the rune protected. The other two had been broken through no small amount of effort: there had cracks in the rock on and near them, as if someone hit them repeatedly with great strength, or at least unyielding effort, knowing they were around that area but uncertain where: both ceased functioning, and were inscribed as Runes of Secrecy, placed over two doorways leading to empty rooms. Runes of Secrecy were meant to hide something, be it an object, hiding place, passageway, or door, and were excruciatingly difficult to find, unless the seeker had been a dwarf.

Feel free to narrate how exactly you understood the runes, since you dont have the Broken Spells, but perhaps you've read of them, or simply translated and deciphered it with some paper and your wits, and so on.

[Vladim]

Almarion sat mostly in silence. She did not smoke and had little love of smalltalk, mostly because she did not really know how to engage in it. She had always been solitary, at least until she met her lover. And that had not worked out so well since she had had to bury him. The people she was with had ties with the land and the people here, and she did not. So she mostly sat or looked around, going for short walks around the place.

When she found the runes, she returned and pointed them out. She was no loremaster but perhaps one amongst these would know more.

"I have found some runes marked upon the wall. They are of dwarven make. Also I have found signs that others have been here recently. I have seen something in the water as well. Metal. Perhaps we should take a look in case whoever was here chooses to return."

In response to Nori, Almarion nodded and managed to slightly relax or what passed for it in her case.

"I am from a place called The Angle. It is an area little known to those not Dunedan or elven. But most of my time has been spent further north where I was assigned to patrol. As to the ring, there is no debt there, it was my duty to bring it. We are not many in number and when one is in need, all are in need."

Almarion paused for a moment, a touch of sadness touching her face. The Dunadan had been the greatest human civilisation ever to rise on middle earth, and yet it seemed that their days were numbered. Not today nor tomorrow, they were a long lived hardy folk, but sometime, her people would be lost, or so it seemed to her.

She shook her head to get rid of the morose thought and turned once more to the dwarf.

"It is you who need to be thanked. You are helping these folk despite not being one of them. The friendship between dwarves and men is an old one but few enough humans remember it. A curse of the short life most humans lead. Yet you help us nonetheless."

Her people of course did remember, but the curse had always been lighter on the Dunadan than on other humans.

[Vladim]

During the journey...

Nori listens to Almarion's brief tale with interest, his eyes switching between the path ahead and the woman on his right, the dwarf having to crane his head back to even catch a glimpse of the side of her face. He lets her speak without interrupt, but doesn't hesitate to reply when she turns the conversation back to him. "I wouldn't thank us yet," he says, turning his head back to look over his shoulder in the direction of his cousins following along. His attention returning back to the ranger, he continues, "I did'na have the purest intentions when I signed up for this, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let some of the fools go traipsing off again into danger," Nori explains to Almarion, his eyes now casting towards the pair of humans ahead of them and the scouting hobbit. His voice cares a hint of a protective and fond nature when he speaks of Idunn, Gramtyng, and Bella, as if there were younger siblings of his that he was merely watching out for as opposed to annoyance of being tasked with minding them.

At the camp...

Having finished a rudimentary barricade should enemies beset the fellowship, Nori stood back and caught his breath as he admired his handy work. It would not stand up to any significant assault, but it might slow down any unexpected intruders and give the group time to gather themselves.

Hearing Alamrion call about the runes, Nori decides its just the excuse he needs to rest his weary arms. Trudging towards the stone corridor where she stands, the dwarf plants the head of his axe down into the stone floor and rests his forearms by clutching the haft of the axe with his throbbing, chaffed hands. Letting the sweat from his brow rolls down the sides of his face and into his beard, his eyes scan the runes pointed out with weary intrigue. The dwarf says nothing at first. Seconds turn into moments. And moments turn into minutes. He just stands there, turning his head, examining the figures carved into the wall. Occasionally, he reached up as best he can to brush a rune clear of debris or try and feel the carving that's been weather by time and the elements.

Eventually, Nori says to no one in particular, his eyes still focused up at one of the runes, "I... I know I've seen these before. I don... I don'na exactly what they're there for, but these two..." Nori points to two heavily battered runes placed over two separate doorways that are almost illegible. "... those were there to hide something no longer there. But this one..." Nori nods his head up to a unique rune. "This one here is supposed to tell you when something is near... but I couldn't tell you what."

[Vladim]

(With Magric)

Idunn is shocked by what she hears. She half-expected something was wrong when Magric mentioned slavery, but to have her fears confirmed truly disturbs her. Still, there is one good thing to come out of this: she had thought Magric to be foolish and irresponsible, but with her current understanding of the situation and his history comes newfound respect, trust even.

There is still one more thing that she does not understand…

’If what you say is true, then this Viglund is not only vile, but also a fool to encroach on Beorn’s lands.’ Like everyone living in Wilderland, Idunn is deeply aware of the bear lord’s great power and foul temper. ’He will be put down, as you say-if none of Beorn’s thanes do it, then the Bear Lord himself will do it!’

She approaches Magric and puts her hand on his shoulder. ’You are a good man, Magric. I was wrong to ever question your loyalty to Mountain Hall. But if you have your own plans…’ she says, looking at the trapper’s knife, ’…then consider that bringing trouble to the festival will only make things worse for the Woodmen. Beorn and his thanes *will* deal with the Viglundings. If they cannot, then we will help them. But we *cannot* strike the first blow.’

[Vladim]

Magric's hands stopped as he heard Idunn say the last few parts of her message, and for a moment, the harsh look slowly sliding off his features as he listened, staring somewhere past the huntress, into the darkness. His expression changed to a complicated mix sadness and mirth, tempered with bitterness. He inhaled, as if about to speak; the campfire, a short distance away made a loud 'crack' as some of the firewood broke from the heat. The tracker shuddered, and blinked, looking back down at the knife, before pocketing the whetstone and sliding it back into it's sheathes. Shaking his head, he finally replied, looking back at her with a grin: "I am not a good man, Idunn, not by my or anyone's standard. I just hate slavery. But... I understand what you mean." He got up, evidently tired of sitting down on the cold stone, and brushed his cloak off: "Let me give you a warning. Beorn is powerful, true enough. But he will not retaliate unless he is provoked utterly and finally. Not the kind to start that mess. His thanes..." Magric paused, his grin waning: "...they are fiercely loyal to him, and wouldnt put a toe out of line to deal with the foxes up north. Still... That's their business. As you said, I'd probably make matters worse."

 

Nori

If you would like to uncover the meaning behind the scene that happened here, while others investigate the shine in the water, you could roll Insight to figure out the intent of this... crude handiwork that destroyed the runes, TN 16. If you succeed, you are eligeble to make a Search Check, TN 18. Stone-craft would not grant an autosuccess here, but it can lower the TN of the second roll by 2! It is of course, up to you.

[Vladim]

(With Magric)

Idunn takes a pause to consider Magric’s troubling words. She eventually removes her hand from his shoulder.

’Regardless,’ she concludes with conviction, ’your heart is in the right place. I will speak to Merovech in Stonyford. Perhaps he will be more open to a relative. And once we are there, I will keep my ears open; listen to what the Beornings think of Viglund’s men.

If Merovech does not listen, then I do not know… but if it is necessary to speak to the Bear-Lord himself about this, then I swear I will do it. There is no place for slavery in Wilderland.’

She takes a few steps towards the campfire before addressing the trapper again. ’Come now, let us join our friends. If you are uncertain, I can tell them what you said to me. But I have no doubt that they too will share your opinion.’

-----------------------------------------------------------

(Later, at the camp)

When Idunn returns to her companions, the first thing she does is to share with them everything she has been told about Viglund. ’I will need to talk to Merovech about all this,’ she concludes, ’but this is worrying, to say the least.’

With the matter of the Viglundings settled-at least temporarily-she turns her attention to the ongoing discussion between Almarion and Nori. Although she had not seen any of what the ranger described, she had heard tales of abandoned ruins and buried treasures in Wilderland, and was told in no uncertain terms to keep away from such things. But there were dwarves here, and they would certainly protect them from the wards and traps that their ancestors had placed on this crumbling fortress in ages past.

’I can take a closer look, if you will come.’ she finally says to the duo, volunteering to search the sinking, flooded watch-house. ’Ellerina gifted me with elven rope, and we could use it to reach the glinting metal under the water.’ Turning to Nori, she says: ’There may be a curse upon this place, for it is abandoned so, but there is also a chance to retrieve a dwarven artefact. I think trying is worth the risk.’

[Vladim]

Nori

Private Content for:

Your Insight into the scene before you reveals several things that become apparent as you start inspecting the general area.

1) There are remnants of an old battle; shards of old bones, too broken to be identified, in the area.
2) The cracks in the wall are very deliberate, and not chaotic as they first appear: the intent had been to break the runes
3) Whoever had done this was very obviously not a dwarf, as a dwarf can locate the Runes of Secrecy quite easily; but was aware the runes were here.
4) The attacks that cracked the stone are quite deep, almost like cut marks, and there is a pair of them, and you are freely able to place your palm between them, with some distance remaining. As you look around, there is a third and fourth, but the markings are more shallow and have been obscured by dust.
5) Both runes are the same
6) The area inside the empty rooms is also similarly affected, but only on the floor: the actual rooms are wide enough for two to walk into, and tall enough for most companions to enter without having to duck, but only just. The length of the room is no more than a single greatspear.
7) The walls and ceiling are unmarked.
8) You can safely conclude, based on the height, that a troll would simply be unable to crawl inside: but something like an orc or one of the free peoples would simply not have enough strength to mark the dwarven-wrought stone to such a degree.
9) It seems apparent that whatever it was that made these marks in the stone did not find what it was looking for.
10) The ground in the ruin bears a lot of strange small scratch marks, particularly between the walls.

You can go ahead and roll Search, TN18: If you apply Stone-craft, it is TN16.

[Vladim]

Nori

I'm just going to tell you what you found - I think HOW you found it is better left to you to narrate! Feel free to paste my description or describe it as you go.

Since you got a Great Success, the Rune of Secrecy still active becomes very apparent to you: there is one on the ceiling of the first room: the second is only made as a dummy to confuse trespassers. As you are a dwarf, you only require a normal success to find anything hidden by a Rune of Secrecy, so you easily found the secret that the previous seeker was unable to find. There is a rock slightly off-color that is part of the entirely smooth back wall, but this small imperfection was entirely hidden by the rune. Pressing it reveals stairs leading down, which are covered in rubble and dust: if you light the area with a torch, the chamber is relatively small (about a stone's throw across, circular chamber, with a high, curved ceiling. The stone-work, of course, belongs to the dwarves, and judging by the amount of stone bookshelves around and metal rods from scrolls, this must have been a library. There are several statues, many of which have fallen over by now, tables without chairs, which likely rotted to dust by now, and... several dead bodies, only skeletons remaining, covered in tiny spiderwebs.

The bodies are not damaged, and the cloth is mostly gone - no armor is on them, suggesting these are not warriors. Further back, there is a small pile of treasure, glinting in the torchlight. By how it lies, it seems apparent it was once inside a large chest, but the wood had rotted, and it spilled. One body is off to the side, died with his arm outstretched towards the door - the other two were huddled together. The final one had been in the corner, with what remained of an old tome. Reading the tome is extremely difficult owing to it being partially decayed and falling apart in your hands, but you can still catch a glimpse of the last entry: '... since Raenar... King Dáin and Lord Frór... Erebor rose again... News from Erebor of Heir to the Mountain Thráin II's birth...' The writing changes rapidly and seems desperate: 'Kin of Scatha... Sealed archway... Messengers... Hope our .... avoid this fate.'

 

Everyone

Everyone: Roll 1d12. If you do not get a Gandalf or a Sauron on first try, you may roll again. Lee will fill you in on what he found. If you DO get a Gandalf or Sauron on one of these, then you may pay 1 exp per 1d6 you wish to roll. If you get a 6, you find a Precious Object or Gain a Wondrous Artefact. If you get 2 or more 6s, you get a Wondrous Artefact of a more powerful nature, or possibly a Famous Weapon or Armor.

Example: I use 4 Exp to roll 4 dice - I get 2 6s. Now, if you want this Artefact, you are refunded 2 Exp (half of what you spent, rounded up. Because nobody was aware of this rule, I will say you can go into exp debt this time, as you will get more than 6 exp before the end of this adventure anyway. So roll away!)

[Vladim]

Idunn

The Glint of Steel...

As Idunn descends into the strangely clear waters inside the dwarven ruin, elven rope held tightly in hand, she feels that this place has a heavy sort of pressure to it: underwater, it is much more apparent, as the utterly dead silence is filled with a single whisper that sounds as if it is weeping, yet the words are too garbled to understand. The space past the stairs is not as shallow as it seems when you look at it from above, perhaps due to the distortion of the water and how clear it is. The further she descends, the darker it seems to get, unnaturally so: Certainly the depth had not reached such a point where it would darken normally. The huntress keeps the bright shine of steel in her sights as she descends, and quickly ends up on a small platform where the object lies. It is a perfectly preserved, unrusted piece of steel that seems to have been broken off from a greater whole. Though it is obscure, even underwater, Idunn realizes that she has seen something like this before, though it was filthy and covered in grime and muck. The runes carved into the surface mark it, invariably, as a piece of the fabled Wolfbiter.

As she raises the axe head's piece, it is as if a fog falls from her eyes, and she sees the full picture of the place: the axe head's piece was still upon the handle, which looked perfectly preserved but fell to rot as soon as she touched it, the body of the man that clutched it, and a large, dull-green object the size of a helmet, that seemed to practically absorb light: like a fish scale, but enormously larger. The whispers multiply and the entire area darkens suddenly, but cannot seem to condense around the huntress: the elven rope seems to give off a slightly cold light is undiluted by this place. Idunn has enough time to grab the strange item if she likes, but after that, she would feel someone tugging on the rope from above with a great deal of urgency to it. Gazing up is like staring up from the depth of a well into the sky: Gramtyng seemed to be the one pulling at the rope, but his figure seemed tiny from here.

Roll a Corruption Test, TN16.