The grim-faced, defeated warrior spits out, "Valter gave the Beornling his kit and sword back. The kid's his new favorite."
He guffaws at the last question, "Yeah, he might trade me for the Beornling... if you had an army. Even then, he'd probably hunt you down afterwards. because he's got 50 blades behind him. Who's gonna stop that?"
Findegil is visibly unimpressed by what he sees as bandit bravado.
Standing in his full arms and armour, he asks the man:
"What would you do if we let you go, here and now?"
Stepping back, Amalina simply waits to see how the bandit responds to Findegil's potential offer of amnesty.
"Go back to camp? Where my friends, gear, and supper are?" He asks.
"What do you want to hear?"
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After conferring briefly, Thorgrim nods curtly and returns to the man. "It has been determined that your life is not -completely- worthless after all. However, anything you say is."
Thorgrim winds another scrap of rag about the man's mouth, ensures that the bonds are still taunt, and bothers his head no further.
"Mal? You have done good work. I presume you have something further planned?"
Mal moves to the center of the group and says ”I was telling Cereidh that without the patrol, I can sneak you all close enough to camp to show you where your boy sleeps."
Taking no more heed of the prisoner for now, Findegil replies:
"I say we all venture close. We can support each other as needs be then."
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As the group catches breath and takes some respite, Thorgrim gnaws on a haunch of salted beef and calls upon his internal reserves of strength.
After a few scraps of meat and a few mouthfuls of thin wine from his skin, Thorgrim rises and stretches his muscles, already feeling back to full health and ready to take on the next challenge!
As Findegil makes clear his intention to take their prisoner back, Thorgrim advances on the brigand. "What is your name, dog? So that we my know whom we present before the court of Beorn himself?"
Once the man answers (or refuses to) Thorgrim nods. "That is fair. We go to see your dog-brothers now. And you are going to stay.
Here."
With that Thorgrim rears back and launches a ham-sized fist at that man's jaw, sending him unconscious to the ground.
"He'll be here when we get back," he says, following Mal into the foliage.
Findegil give Thorgrim a cross look at the blow to the prisoner.
"I believe the ropes and gag would have been sufficient. Upon success or failure, we would not be tarrying. In any case, we must press on now."
The knight of Gondor follows the halfling scout.
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"As soon as we were out of sight he would've rubbed his bonds against a tree and within a few minutes be free. That is why rope without a guardian is useless--and dungeons use chains and iron shackles, and even then they are not proof against escape.
Then, as we snuck close to get a good look and make our plans, he would sprint into camp, yelling 'To arms! To arms! Strangers have slain three and seek the new man!'
With thy companions all killed and three spears in thy guts, what would you give to instead have put the brigand in a deep sleep?
But, yes, we should press on."
After your interrogation, rest and hiding bodies, Mal leads toward camp. From a excellent hidden vantage point overlooking the camp among the leafy trees, you spot Oderic. He is being treated as an honored guest by the leader, but the other outlaws watch him suspiciously. He is not a prisoner, but he is under guard. One of the outlaws shadows Oderic wherever he goes.
Oderic starts walking toward you alone in the woods, followed by his outlaw watcher. If you can deal with the watcher, then they could talk to Oderic – or take him prisoner.
At last, an opportunity.
Long had the days grown for the one who gave his name as Jaunter. The road had been bleak and lonely, with few friends or fires to warm Jaunter on the way. The destination had proven no more pleasant than the journey, and the days had stretched as he sat, keeping silent watch on the Outlaws... and waiting.
The arrival of the Beorning had been a new beginning, the glimmerings of an opportunity. Still, though, Jaunter knew that something else needed to happen... there were simply too many men. And the watcher, serpent though he was, was cunning and perceptive. If Jaunter was careless in his approach... no. He had to wait. The time was not yet right to strike.
And now, at last others had arrived. The time to act was drawing near.
Jaunter gathered his cloak, ensuring that he crept towards the boy and the watcher with care. He kept his weapons out of the way but easy to reach, and attempted to move with the utmost silence.
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The last pot cleaned of the evening stew, Hobwise repeated his nightly ritual of carefully stowing his prized cookery in his pack and keeping one sharp knife sheathed aside his breast, lest some drunkard who hadn't enough rabbit in his portion decide to act on his unscrupulous nature.
While a precious few of this vagabond lot of would-be knights to a would-be king came to him to compliment the meal, the praise was scant solace for the misery of having to trudge around this fetid camp with these awful, awful men. Indeed, if he never left the Shire again it would be too soon. If he ever returned to it, of course.
"Mushrooms are easier to spot by moonlight," he would frequently tell any of assorted rabble who questioned his nightly excursions from camp. By now though, after wintering in the camp, Hobwise' motivations were no longer a concern. He had proved himself an excellent cook and provider for much of the camp, and had earned some small freedoms. He was under no illusion of escape, however. As easily as they had found him, alone and frightened in the wilderness, they could find him again should he decide to make a run for it. One night's head start would disappear by second breakfast.
Nevertheless, mushroom hunting provided the excuse to familiarize himself with the surrounding countryside, and by now he knew the camp's proximity to any number and variety of local markers, and he could find them in the dark, if need be.
But now, hope.
Hobwise was empathetic to the Oderic's plight and felt some minor kinship. More importantly, should the boy escape, it was possible that he would bring news to his clan and send a great host to desend on the camp, freeing the Hobbit. So went Hobwise' fantasies of rescue.
As he did almost every night, Hobwise gathered his pack and set out from camp, hunting mushrooms and assorted spices and the occasional lazy game animal. But he was also watching Oderic, and when the boy stepped off into the woods on his own, Hobwise followed, moving as quietly as possible to keep himself hidden alongstride.
"Swiftness and silence are our twin allies in this deed.", replies Findegil, "I will seize Oderic."
As he speaks, Findegil stows his sword and shield, to keep his hands free.
Amalina nods approvingly as Thorgrim lays out the bandit. She understood the Beorning's concerns.
A man like that would certainly try to arouse his companions if he managed to escape. She gives the unconscious man a longer look. Wrestling with her own conscious as she considers ending the threat on a more permanent basis, but then shakes her head, not wishing to kill in such a manner...again. The Scar, as Aglamar used to call himself, was an entirely different situation and a true follower of the shadow. A beast that needed to be put down. She says to herself, her knuckles white around the handle of her dagger. This one is just a bandit and probably misguided, desperate, hungry...
Winter comes up and whines softly at her, breaking her inner struggle and she finally turns and follows the other into the woods. Leaving the unconscious prisoner where he landed.
When they come upon Oderic and his guard she halts and checks the woods for any sign of hidden guards while deftly stringing her bow and readying an arrow.
Jaunter continued on his way, the shadows lengthening around him... as it often seemed they did. He focused, not allowing himself to be distracted by maudlin musings; a distracted Ranger was, quite often, a dead Ranger. His father had taught him that. Jaunter continued upon his way, taking care to continue to move silently.
As he moved forward, he saw that his moment was now. The ones that had been stalking the bandits themselves seemed ready to make a move, and Jaunter deemed that he would rather be seen as an ally than a foe. Swift as thought, he unlimbered his bow, pulling an arrow from his quiver, nocking it, drawing it back, and took aim, ready for the beginning of what would likely be a brief battle, all in one smooth, efficient, practiced series of motions.
As soon as he drew near enough, Jaunter loosed his arrow towards his target...
Cereidh strings her bow as Amalina does, on edge and silent.
Too on edge to notice anything before it happens in an arrow-flung rush, apparently.
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The original companions hid behind the FULL COVER of thickets. Only Mal has the stealth to watch the camp and whisper its happenings.
So, when Oderic arrives at the blind, ready to be grabbed by Findegil, here is where everyone is:
- Findegil is ready to grab Oderic
- Mal, Anar, Thorgrim, Cereidh, Amalina & Winter wait behind full cover adjacent to one another.
- Outlaw watcher following Oderic is 30 feet behind Oderic toward the center of the camp
- Jaunter is NOT aware of the original companions nor Hobwise. He is intently watching Faron from a distance of 90 feet (from Faron, so 120 feet from Oderic) toward the center of the camp. He knows Hobwise is the camp cook.
- Hobwise is NOT aware of the original companions nor Jaunter. He is picking mushrooms while keeping an eye on Faron from 75 feet away at the same distance to the center of camp. He thinks Jaunter is a really good man.
All of the original companions go after Findegil tries to grab Oderic.
Hobwise continues to surveil.
Findegil moves as swiftly as he can!
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With a reaction so fast it boarders on precognition, Thorgrim SPRINTS out of hiding in time with the arrow volley. He arrives just as the cloth-yard shafts do. He has the wherewithal to stay silent as he channels the momentum of his charge into Noctiscide's two-handed swing on the doomed guardian!
= 15
Another step, on his path...to the Crown and the Ring.
Cereidh lets loose her greatbow, Bregghar, at the man Thorgrim is engaging with.
After the opening of the last encounter, Amalina is sure to take a few centering breaths this time around. With a calm, slow inhale she brings her arm back, pulling the bow taught. Then as Findelgil grabs Oderic and Cereidh releases her own arrow, she exhales, releasing her own arrow. Her eyes remain centered on the guard's chest until the arrow lands true with a solid thunk of the iron tip sinking into flesh. Nodding with a satisfied nod as the arrow strikes true, she calmly grabs and readies a second shaft in case it is needed.
Findegil appears out of the bushes and seizes Oderic with a grip like iron!
On Findegil's go, Mal raises up and shoots at the guard.
Findegil grabs Oderic.
The guard sprouts three arrows and gets slashed by Thorgrim. And, the murdering former trapper drops.
Jaunter, you're up. You just saw Faron dropped by three archers and a Beorning sword. Oderic was grabbed by a knight of Gondor.
Jaunter, recognizing the trappings of a man of Gondor, relaxes his draw, then returns the arrow to his quiver. He slings the bow on his back, then readies his shield on his left arm and ensures that his sword is ready to be drawn from his scabbard. After making his way quietly towards the group, he steps from the shadows of the wilderness, hands free of weapons, but not far from them.
"Well," Jaunter began, voice pitched to carry to those nearby but not farther, "That was artfully done! I did not think to encounter so varied and valorous a gathering of folk here at the edges of this camp of bandits... but here we are, I suppose! I'm called Jaunter. I mean you no harm. I had an interest in seeing this lad free of those bandits, and I'd as soon see us not at odds. Assuming you mean him no harm, perhaps we can get a bit free of here and speak of our purposes... perhaps something more than chance has brought us together here tonight, hmm?"
As Jaunter spoke, he pulled down the hood of his cloak, revealing his face. He was a handsome man, though not staggeringly so, and possessed several weeks growth of beard on his face. His dark hair and eyes were not cruel, but they were seldom at rest as he scanned the area for trouble.
"That one got what he deserved," pointed Hobwise, emerging from the trees beside the corpse of Farow. "Oh, hullo Jaunter! Didn't notice you lurking. I knew you were one of the good ones. Hmm, probably the only good one of that lot. You know, I've never seen your face before. You should show it more often!"
The Hobbit pivots toward the group, studiously avoiding bits of blood and gore. He draws to full height, ignorant of the silliness of such posturing, and summons his last reserve of courage.
He bows low. "Hobwise Hornblower of the Shire." Rising, he realizes instantly that the group of skilled warriors around him - a Dwarf(!), an Elf(!!), a Hobbit(!!!), a Woman of the Wood and her very serious-looking hound, and two Men, as different in countenance as two men could be, yet each as skilled a soldier as he would likely ever meet - were not primed for long introductions. Indeed, the way the man in the superlative armor held on to Oderic, it seemed they had claimed their prize and had no patience for trifling Hobbits stumbling about in the underbrush.
Then he saw the look of confusion and fear on Oderic's face. "Oh my dear lad, what has Valter done to you?" Hobwise' gaze rests compassionately on the boy. "He's crafty, their chief. He knows things about people, how to twist them." He blinks and steps back, as if shaking off a spell, sensing he's gone on far too long already.
"Please, take me along. I am a capable cook and finder of things and I know the comings and goings of the camp, but I am not one of them. And you have nothing to fear from me, unless you are allergic to Longbottom leaf." Hobwise affects a half-smile, putting his faith in the other Hobbit to see his circumstances for what they are.
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Three wooden shafts appear as by magic on the guardian's torso and he pauses for a moment, the shock immediate and paralyzing, the vanguard of pain only beginning. Then Thorgrim's two-handed blow swings down upon the unsuspecting man, cleaving his neck, shearing bone, tendons, muscles and flesh, and the evil trapper's head falls to the ground three feet from the body, a look of dismay still upon it.
Throgrim wipes his blade on the dead man's tunic before nodding curtly at the newcomers. "If you would leave the parasitic life of this band, then you are welcome to travel with us--let us hold further talks until we have put a day's march between us and this den of thieves."
He turns quickly to where Findegil struggles with their quarry. "Oderic, you are coming with us to the court of Beorn. You can come quietly, and walk on your own feet, or you can make it hard, and you'll be trussed on my back. I care not which."
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Jaunter nodded at the men that spoke, though he noted that neither gave their name. It was, all things considered, a wise practice; were Jaunter not merely a name that Calmacil had conjured, a mask to wear for the folk of Rhovanion, he would never have so freely offered it.
Jaunter couldn't help but turn a smile on the Hobbit that had emerged from the woods. Even as perceptive as a Ranger was, the halfling had been nigh undetectable.
"Why, Master Hobwise! I did not think to meet you here, but happy is that chance, indeed. The only thing I should have been quite sad to leave behind from that place is your fine cooking. I must be grateful that it seems I shan't be parted from it!"
Jaunter's eyes turned towards Thorgrim, and they became slightly harder; Jaunter did not like that he was threatening what was, in his eyes, a defenseless boy. Yet Jaunter was not hasty, and he hearkened well to Thorgrim's words about taking the boy to Beorn's court. That meant that Oderic had done wrong... or, at least, that that was what Beorn or other Beornings thought.
"I assume you are doing your duty to your Lord," Janter began, addressing Thorgrim, voice mild, "But one would assume that in a land so famed for the quality of their bees, that it would be well known that honey is a far more effective lure than vinegar. Nevertheless, you are correct; we must take haste. If you trust me not at this time, I will not take offense... but you will find few better to guide you through Rhovanion. I would be happy to take that role for your company, and consent to whatever strictures you require to feel comfortable until trust is given between us."
Jaunter turned to the boy, face and voice softening.
"Oderic. I know that we are strangers, but I perceive from this man's words, and from your presence among this band of outlaws, that you are... in a bit of a predicament. I can see how taking up with this band must have seemed an attractive alternative, especially if you believed you had no other choice. You may have felt backed into a corner. I don't know the specifics, Oderic... but I know how it feels to want to run from your duty. You see, no matter what happened, you have a responsibility. To your Lord. To your people. It is in these moments that we decide who we are, and who we want to be."
Jaunter gestured to the fallen, arrow-skewered, decapitated form of Faron.
"That man, the one watching you? He was a murderer. A craven. A betrayer. The only time I saw him smile was when he was planning cruelty or violence. You must know that the others in this camp were like unto him, and I do not think that is who you are. You, I think, would not smile when speaking of slashing throats in the night, or burning a home with people trapped inside, as he did. I think you are better than that.
So I ask you this. Come with me, and this group, willingly. Tell me your story. I will listen, without judgment, and should your tale be true and it be just, I will stand for you at whatever trial you face.
Men are not perfect. Our burdens are many, and heavy, and under them, we stumble. Betimes, we fail. But it is only when we run, when we abandon our bonds of fealty and family and community, when we shirk our responsibility to others, but most to ourselves, that we become truly lost.
I do not believe you are lost. Not yet. Not like so many of these men. So please, Oderic... let me help you."
Despite Jaunter's worn garb, despite the rough beard on his face, there is an unmistakable air of authority about him as he attempts to persuade Oderic to come peacefully and give his story.
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Amalina nods with quick satisfaction as their plan seems to come off without a hitch, that is until two other figures suddenly emerge from the woods. Hissing with surprise and frustration she nearly looses a shaft at the first man. But his peaceable stance makes her hesitate just long enough for him to get his first words of friendship and peace voiced and soon enough she lowers her bow.
"Apparently this bandit king's flock is already leaving for better pastures." She says softly to Winter while rubbing the back of his neck to calm both herself and the hound.
"Thorgrim is right." She says to the others while putting a gag around Oderic's mouth before the boy can shout a warning to his newfound companions back at the camp. "We don't know how quickly these two will be missed, so now is the time for walking not talking."
To Oderic, she adds softly while placing the gag. "And you, you foolish boy. We know you were wronged, but your actions since haven't helped you. And so help me, if you try to run or call your bandit friends now, you'll not see another day." She looks him in the eyes. [smaller]"But you come along peaceably and stand with honor and as a man to face the law and there are those of us who will speak on your behalf."
She then turns and sets a quick pace away from the camp and back toward Beorn's.
Jaunter noted the man's name, then gave a nod to the bowwoman.
"Likely not at all, at least as far as I go. I was never truly one of them, of course. I merely infiltrated their group and have been keeping watch, as best I could. I did little, as I've not the stomach for dark deeds against my fellows for my own gain, and am not a trusted member of this band. Now, Master Hobwise, here, has the Halfling gift with salt and spice... come their mealtime they will surely miss his hand at their cookpots! Indeed, a bit of haste at this moment would not go awry."
