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Year 2950: Those who Tarry no Longer


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Thammegil's second blow striking home did little to improve their lot.  This time the Troll completely ignored Arton and went directly for what it must have presumed to be the greater threat.  The first blow from its mighty fist came within a whisker of catching him, but Thammegil, once more, manged to dodge the lumbering brute.  However, in so doing, he stumbled directly into the creature's second blow.

Its fingers caught him around his torso and as it lifted him off the ground, began to squeeze.  Struggling for breath, Thammegil could swear that he felt at least a couple of his ribs cracking.  The creature continued to pull the ranger closer to its head, whether to inspect its prey or whether to taste it, it was hard to say.

It was pointless trying to keep a grip on his sword as he would be utterly unable to swing it from his position, so Thammegil let it fall to the ground beneath him.  All he had left were his wits and his fists - although he did consider whether a headbutt to the creature would do any good.


As he drew close enough, he discounted the option of headbutting the foul beast - it's skull just looked far too solid to risk doing himself an even more severe injury, so Thammegil waited until he was close enough to swing a fist.

Unfortunately, in his current state, he completely misjudged the blow, his fists merely glancing off the creature which almost looked amused by the Ranger's tawdry efforts.



Just realised, that I should have rolled an extra d6 on that attack roll (seized status means -1 d6, but forward stance means +1 d6 so they cancel out).  But, wouldn't have made a difference to the result anyway, so I'll let it stand.

Brawling attack
[1] (5,0) (weary) = 6
tor(2,yes) 1,5,2
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Arton of Gram

Arton's vision cleared as the initial shock of pain faded, to his horror he saw Thammegil swept up by a monstrous hand.

Shame washed over him, that his fellow ranger was now in death's grip because his ploy failed and he had contributed nothing significant to the fight. Arton leapt to his feet. He lunged forward, rotating his sword into a two handed downward grip. His eyes fixed on the troll's spine, he thought only of saving his brother. He pushed his rage and pain through his arms and lungs as he made his strike. Such was his fervor he could utter only an inarticulate scream.


Forward Stance going for broke with a point of hope and the invocation of Hounourable. 


Strike the troll from behind
[5] (0,0,0,5,0) (weary) = 10
tor(5,yes) 5,2,3,1,5,3
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The troll's hide was thick; despite Arton's desperate efforts, the blade could not find a place where it could penetrate the dark, greenish scales that functioned as ring-mail. And so the beast hardly seemed to notice the ranger as it focused its wrath on his companion.

Bringing the trapped Thammegil closer and closer to its oversized head, it opened its mouth, letting forth a foul breath as it displayed its fearsome teeth. Thammegil's attempts to free himself availed him not, and the creature quickly set his teeth to the task, seeking to make short work of him.

But, even trapped thusly, Thammegil proved elusive prey, though that seemed to bother the troll little. The troll appeared to savor the resistance. Perhaps it was toying with him, seeking to terrorize him before devouring him. The orcs gave great cries of excitement and encouragement as the struggle continued.



@Suzuki Stumpy I am not sure if "Seized" subtracts 1d6 from your pool but you're right, the previous roll could not be helped by it.


Troll: -28 endurance; -4 hate


Bite vs. Thammegil 1
[7] (2,2,2) = 13
tor(3,no) 7,2,2,2
Bite vs. Thammegil 2
[1] (4,2,5) = 12
tor(3,no) 1,4,2,5
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Struggling now to breathe and beginning to tire, Thammegil tried once again to free himself from the Troll's iron grip.  Swinging his fists wildly, he tried to at least dislodge himself from the beasts fingers, but alas, whilst his blows struck true, the creature's grip remained strong.


Brawling with the Troll
[9] (4,5,0) (weary) = 18
tor(3,yes) 9,4,5,1
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Arton of Gram

Arton was reaching the point of exhaustion. Fear and friendship drove him to raise his arm again. He would strike his foe until his sword broke in two if need be. And he would pick the up the shards to continue the fight if necessary.

"Foul pit spawn!"

Forward Stance. 


[7] (6,0,0) (weary) = 13
tor(3,yes) 7,6,1,3
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Holding Thammegil firmly, the troll squeezed, slowly, relishing the pain of its adversary. It took delight in his agony, and seemed little-bothered with his companion's attempts, that had thus far proven futile.



This is probably going towards defeat, so if you want to just save time and move forward, I'm fine with that. Just let me know in the Discord. The adventure as written has any defeated companions thrown back into the cell, probably wounded or dying.

Troll: -29 endurance; -4 hate

The troll's going to focus on Thammegil, seeking to end the fight.

Edit: That's a Heavy Blow for 16 damage; I am not sure if you can choose the Knock Back option to reduce the damage. It's also another potential wound; make a Protection test (TN 12). I'm not sure how character death works in TOR 2, but I'll look into the rules as in 1st edition being reduced to 0 endurance and taking 2 wounds triggered it (I think). Luckily, this is still in the dream, so death doesn't really kill you.

Crush 1 vs. Thammegil
[2] (4,3,3,1) = 13
tor(4,no) 2,4,3,3,1
Crush 2 vs. Thammegil
[10] (4,6,5,1) = 26
tor(4,no) 10,4,6,5,1
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It was not long before the struggle ceased. The rangers had put up a good fight, and-more importantly for the orcs that formed the audience-a good show. When the dust had settled, their broken and exhausted bodies were dragged back towards the prisons, to the frenzied cheers of the foul creatures. Their guards seemed to care little about whether they had been wounded or killed; either way, they threw them unceremoniously back into their dirty cell.

Before they shut the door behind them, one of the orcs announced to those that lived yet that the spectacle had been such fun, that they intended to do it all again tomorrow. He jabbed a finger at the young boy, Haleth, who looked in abject terror after witnessing the dire condition of the rangers.

"You're next, boy! Tomorrow night!"



You can assume that you're back in the cells, but in a bad way-wounded or perhaps even dying (up to you). However, stats don't matter too much at this point (except for weary).

And this is the last challenge of this scene, before the big finish: to give the boy some fighting advice to prepare him and to keep him from despair and terror. Pick an appropriate skill and roll it (e.g. Battle to show him how to fight, Inspire to give him courage etc). Just one roll per PC; but add an extra d6 to it.

Let's keep it to 1 post; we don't need to prolong this much. I'll describe the outcome and we can move towards resolving the dream afterwards. Good luck!


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It was inevitable, sadly, but the Troll's strength could not be overcome by Thammegil, trapped as he was in the creature's vice-like grip.  One final blow left the ranger reeling.  The crunch of his skull audible to him in the final moments before everything went black.  He knew that this was likely the end, but more than anything he felt bereft for those who were left back in the cell now with no-one to watch for them.


When he awoke, he was back in the cell with the others.  Lying, propped against the wall, unable to feel his arms or legs.  He could feel the blood still running down his neck and chest from the wound to his head.  His vision kept fading in and out.  Breathing was shallow and painful.  He knew that he did not have much time left, little chance of any healing here in the depths of this pit.

From the talk amongst the others in the cell, he learned that young Haleth was next due to entertain the Orcs.  He called him close, voice barely a whisper between ragged breaths, "Don't lose heart boy.  When you get in that arena, keep mobile.  Watch your footing.  If they put you to the test with that Troll, know that he's weakened.  Don't underestimate it's speed and keep an eye on both of its fists.  If you can, go for the legs.  Fight bravely, fight hard.  And don't give in to despair."  His head lolled.  He fought to remain conscious.  "Yes, don't give in.  Fight them with all you can muster, and in this world or the next, the shadow will not prevail."

He seemed to grow weary once more for a time, breathing becoming progressively shallower.  He did not know if he passed out again, or whether he was losing his sense of time and of self, but finally whispered Arton to his side.  "Brother.  Take my hand and know this - I am honoured to count you as my sword-brother.  You are more family to me than mine own ever were.  I only wish that I could be with you when you eventually can leave the North and venture back to Gondor, but alas, I think my time here is at an end.  Look out for these people as long as you are able, keep the faith."

His vision began to fade once more, and a smile crept across his lips as Thammegil took one final, shuddering breath and the light left his eyes...



Well, at least it seems that Haleth should be suitably inspired and prepared by Thammegil's final speech.

Battle roll to see if he inspires Haleth (+1d6)
[9] (4,6,0) (weary) = 19
tor(3,yes) 9,4,6,1
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Arton of Gram

Arton dimly remembered rough hands tossing him into his cell. He saw Thammegil land heavily and his heart sank. His brother Ranger had borne the brunt of the troll's assault. When Thammegil offered words of encouragement to young Haleth Arton sat up. He and Thammegil would not likely see the next meal, but they could help Haleth. He squeezed Thammegil's proffered hand.

"It was my honor to fight beside you these years, Thammegil. Though I fear the White City shall not grace my vision ere I pass the veil, I have seen nobility, bravery, and honor with you. That is enough for me.

Haleth, Thammegil speaks truly. Ignore the howling orc mob. They did not enter the combat. Avoid its fists. You are faster and more agile than it. Focus on that. We split up when it charged, and it showed me its back. Alas, my blows were too weak to penetrate its hide at the neck and back.

It will charge you. Let it take two steps. Then dodge to the side. Come in behind it. And strike here. At the back of the knee. Cut these tendons and it will fall. Make it crawl before you. Teach the orcs that our young are to be feared more than their trolls, and we might yet delay their attack."

Arton grasped Haleth's sword hand as he talked and held it across the back of his knee, showing the lad exactly what needed to be cut.



Battle roll to devise a strategy for Haleth
[6] (6,4,0,0) (weary) = 16
tor(4,yes) 6,6,4,1,3
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When Thammegil breathed his last, and life left his body, he did not immediately awaken: for a while, he found his consciousness cast into a thick and all-enveloping darkness from which no light or sound could escape. In it he existed out of time, trapped, powerless, paralyzed, alive and yet not, lacking strength and purpose.

But at last light seeped in slowly, and his sight begun to clear, and at length he could recognize the familiar sight of the mountain-pass as he had left it: without the great town of Haycombe that had been sacked, but only with its ruins remaining. To the east, the first rosy fingers of dawn were rising, and Irimë stood above him, locked into an invisible conflict. But the frozen features of her face were no longer pale, but flushed pink by the first light of the rising sun.

A strange sense of dread filled the ranger: it grew from a feeling of certainty that all that he had experienced in his nightmare was real.

spacer.pngInside the dungeons of the Necromancer, Arton was left alone with his companions to face what terrors were in store for them yet. But the boy took the rangers' counsel and seemed to accept his fate with morbid passivity; for Thammegil's passing had shown him the only way possible to escape this terrible place. But he was not to go quietly into the darkness: equally determined he was to fight bravely, and to make his enemies pay in blood for what they had done to him and his friends.

He soon got his chance. And when at last he was returned broken to the cell, his eyes were bright, and there was a smile on his lips. "I wounded the beast..." he said to Arton proudly. "...it was as you said. There will be no more fights in the arena."

And then he passed into the lands to which Thammegil had already journeyed, and he was no more...

...but the evil of this cursed place was not done yet with the living. Arton at once felt the cell filled with an eerie presence, and an unearthly, greenish light shone through the door. He saw a thing of black shadow looming over him: a vaguely man-shaped spirit, like something cast against the wall, its outline shifting and warping as it moved. It lashed out with fingers of darkness, seizing the elf Rodwen, holding her up by the throat and shaking her violently. Her features changed: one moment, she was Rodwen; the other, Irimë.

Then that green light filled Haleth's body, which Arton still held, and emanated from its eyes and mouth. The boy's broken, bloodied lips and smashed jaw moved, and a sepulchral voice echoed from his dead mouth, addressing the only ranger left alive.

"Do you know what the Noldor-witch has done? She dared not face me alone, so she dragged you into the dream to defend her. This has ever been the way of the High Elves-to use others as their pawns! They despise the race of Men, fearing your growing strength. They hate the Dwarves, jealous as they are of their craft. Even their own kin they cannot trust. I am more merciful than she. Leave her to her fate. Deny her, here and now, and you may awaken."



Unless Arton denies Irimë (which is an option if you want), the following roll will be used to determine Irimë's fate:

  • As many d6s as there are non-Miserable companions in the party (so, 4).
  • The starting TN is the corruption TN if we were playing this in first edition, so 12.
  • -2 for fighting bravely during the sacking.
  • +2 if old Aldor died (No).
  • +2 if Geb betrayed the company (Yes).
  • +2 if Haleth did not die bravely (No).

So the total is a TN of 12 with a dice pool of 1d12+4d6. You may also spend a point of Fellowship to add Arton's Heart score to the result. 

Weary does not affect this roll.

Good luck!


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Arton of Gram

Always it was with the enemy, or at least so the old tales warned. The shadow crept in when weakness and doubt assailed you. Dissension and hatred it always sowed, for such was how it broke the old alliances. But to see Rodwen become Irime and then back again was something new which confirmed a suspicion he had harbored since Haycombe... a mistake perhaps in its deception. Or a limit to its powers....

"Thrice have I faced death since since we agreed to help our allies. Thrice have we refused to surrender. Thrice have you failed to break us. And now your weakness is revealed. You no more hold Irime than I hold poor Haleth. You are but a flickering shadow in the firelight, a thing that can only exist for a short time before the dawn banishes it. I will not yield. The House of Gram will not yield. The alliance of Men and Elves and Dwarves will not yield. 

You tell these lies to mask your weakness, you cannot seize your victory or you would have already. You need us to surrender.

We. Shall. Not."

Arton grasped the only weapon he had at hand, if it even existed. Picking up a gruel bowl he flung it for the shadow's head. He knew it would do no physical harm, but this was not a physical battle he had finally realized.


Burning a point of Fellowship to add the Heart Score



Final Roll
[9] (3,4,5,6) = 27
tor(4,no) 9,3,4,5,6
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The shadow hissed back at Arton with great wrath and malice. "Share her fate then!" it spat through Haleth's corpse, and utter darkness crashed down upon the small cell. "Despair!" It commanded.

But out of the darkness shone a light, and Arton turned to see the elf, both Rodwen and Irimë at the same time, with raised hand, trying to fend odd the spirit. The light grew quickly in brightness and intensity, until there was nothing but its overpowering shining that turned all vision into white blindness.

...and then the companions awakened, and the nightmare was no more. Before them stood the waking world as they had left it, and even Thammegil now rose amongst them, alive, released from the evil spell.

They could see Irimë standing before the rising sun. A shadowy horror hang in the air, lashing against the lady with fingers of darkness, but she was bold, unafraid. She lifted up her hand, slowly, calmly, and it was as though the dawn shone through her fingers.

The spirit wailed and vanished as the morning broke over Wilderland.



And that's basically a wrap! There's now just the epilogue left, which is only RP, so feel free to add whatever you want at your own time (and I will likely do the same). For example, you can talk with Irimë and ask questions freely, and she can explain any parts that your characters may not have fully understood.

Congrats! I'll start setting up things and thinking how to continue in the coming days, and touch base again with Yelik, Varon and Dio, and see if they want to return to the game for whatever is next to come. 

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Epilogue: Dawn in the west


spacer.pngspacer.pngIt was only a few minutes later, with the morning sun still rising up, when a company of travelers approached swiftly from the west, led by two Elf-lords who, like the rest of their companions, were seated on mighty white steeds. Both were alike in appearance and garb: dark-haired, grey-eyed, elven-fair, clad in bright mail beneath cloaks of silver-grey. 

"These are the sons of Lord Elrond," said Elhadron quietly, "...Elladan and Elrohir, who have been sent to meet us." But the rangers knew them already, and so had already recognized them without their elven companion's aid.

They dismounted in haste, and rushed up to Irimë’s side. "We sensed a dark presence," said Elladan to the lady, "...and came as quickly as we could. Are you well?"

spacer.pngIrimë assured them that she was safe.

"A spirit attacked us in the night. Some ghost out of Dol Guldur, perhaps. It tried to destroy us..."

She smiled at the companions for the first time in a while.

"But it seems there is still strength and fire in the hearts of the Free Peoples. These companions aided me in my struggle, preserving hope when all hope seemed lost. I spoke truly when I said our meeting was ordained by the stars."



As I have mentioned before, this is the epilogue-feel free to RP to your hearts' content, or skip it, as per your preference. This can also be the place where you can decide if your PCs remain in Wilderland, or continue escorting the lady towards Rivendell. In the former case, they can be present as minor characters in our next adventure, perhaps conveying what they learned and what happened to the other PCs. In the latter case, we may meet them again in the future, if our path takes us to Rivendell, but it will likely not be for a while. Unless, of course, someone wants to run it or play it (e.g. via Strider Mode or something).


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Arton of Gram

Arton struggled to his feet. He was cold and tired, but not the honest cold of a winter morning. It was somehow more inside him than out. The rising sun helped. He rushed to Thammegil's side, clearly concerned that despite the illusory nature of the attack his friend might still be at risk.

"Thammegil, how are you? I feel as if I have ridden for days and never seen the sun the entire trip. 

Irime was that truly one of the spirits from old Angmar?"




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spacer.pngThe lady waited while the ranger spoke to his brother-in-arms. When at last it had been confirmed that the dream had caused no lasting injury to Thammegil's body, she spoke on.

"I do not know whence that shadow came from, and nor do I know where it has flown too. But these are dire tidings indeed. For I merely managed to drive it off, not destroy it."

She paused for a while and took to her kin, but the sons of Elrond had nothing to say.

"I did not think that such evil things were abroad in this age of the world. Yet I was wrong. Darkness is coming. Perhaps the Necromancer has returned to his fastness in Dol Guldur. You must bring this to the attention of the Wise. Seek Aiwendil, whom the men-folk of the forest call Radagast. He must hear of what has happened here.

But alas, I have not the strength to fight again. I go into the West, but I leave you with my blessing, for what it is worth."

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