Like blueberry fritters at a hobbit birthday brunch, Hobwise disappears into the shadowy wilds of the river canyon as the sun drops ever closer to the horizon.
Having found nothing of interest during your excursion you are about to turn your trusty knife on the potential dinner hopping about within easy reach. With dagger poised, your hunt is suddenly interrupted by the briefest of flashes from the top of the valley on the opposite side of the river. It takes a moment for the significance of the light to register in your mind as your breath hisses in sudden realization. Dinner skips away, your surprised intake drawing just enough attention for the rabbit to notice your presence and fly away into the brush.
Yet, there can be no doubt in your mind. That was sunlight glinting upon metal. Someone or something else watches the camp at the western end of the bridge.
Hobwise returns to the waiting group with haste.
"Not all is as it seems!" He pulls an arrow from his quiver and points toward the source of the reflected light along the ridge. "Up there, a reflection of sunlight into the valley. A signal, perhaps, or an errant gleam across a blade. Someone, or something, watches. These merchants may be in danger."
Cereidh rocks slightly forward on her feet. "Perhaps we circle around, see it for ourselves? You and I can be quiet, if it's somehow innocent we can avoid a nasty surprise that turns into a fight. And if not, we can keep the surprise from ourselves."
"Aye I think it is time they join us." Wulfgith said before she put her fingers to her lips and whistled loudly to signal to the others. "There are a fair few of us so I hope you don't mind." Wulfgith said with a small chuckle.
"If I might be so bold, why are you our here?" Wulfgith asked. "My only guess is that you're traveling to make sales but I'm not as familiar with this area so I cannot say if that is normal." Wulfgith commented with a roll of her shoulders.
Hobwise nods to Cereidh, his senses keen as the rush of excitement flows through him.
"Let us approach from two angles. I can summit the ridgeline and circle behind the rear guard, if you hug the route up the hillside from the valley. The sun is already low in the sky, and I think we should try to return here before dusk, if possible."
If Cereidh agrees to this plan, Hobwise begins to skulk toward the ridge.
Ingold murmurs to the others, "I will join the others and tell them of the possible danger," then he moves into the open and waves to Wulfgith. Moving nonchalantly down to the campsite, Ingold casually observes the situation .
As he walks up, Ingold says, "My apologies for not bringing the rest with me. They are off investigating an anomaly the keen-eyed Hobwise noticed on the far side of the bridge. I suggest we subtly gird ourselves for battle, should the need arise."
Cereidh follows Hobwise at some distance.
"I was starting to wonder if no one heard my whistle." Wulfgith said to Ingold as he came up and informed them of Hobwise and the others. Though Thorgrim came walking up as well.
"Well this is Thorgrim and Ingold, it seems our other friends Cereidh and Hobwise might be on the trail of something." Wulfgith told the merchants.
Harold introduces himself to the new arrivals and bends his head with a knowing nod when Ingold mentions the possibility of watchers nearby. He takes another sip of the hot brew before offering a mug to Thorgrim, who discovers the drink to be disappointingly alcohol free. Noticing the big warriors surprise the road wise merchant offers a sideways smile.
"No drinking these days." He says with a sad shake of the head. "Got to keep our wits about us on account of..." He tilts his head to the north, the same direction Hobwise and Cereidh crept off toward. "Not surprised to hear they're still there. They or it...or whatever. Young Tomas has been jumpy as a jack rabbit on a hot plate ever since we passed Weathertop." He pokes at the fire as the others watch up the valley. "A bit of movement here, a glint of light there, snapping twig or odd nightbird call. It's all been happening for the last three days now." Shoulders shrug as he takes another drink from the mug. "Hints and whispers of trouble, yet, we've not seen a bit of actual danger so far. Kept a double watch each night and a bright fire. So far that's been enough to deter them. Probably just a loan thief looking for us to drop our guard, or maybe just being road weary."
He waves a hand toward a nice patch of flat open ground within the confines of the wagons. "Still you folk are welcome to share the fire. You've goodly manners and have the look of knowing how to use those pig stickers you carry. So trouble or not, I won't turn away a few extra sword arms."
Once off the road the going is slow, but steady, as the dense brush thins significantly as you move away from the river. Still the climb out of the valley takes a bit longer than you expected and the much warmer evening temperature away from the cooling river has you breathing heavy by the time you reach the top of the ridge. Having made it to your destination, you hide among a patch of dogwood eyes peeled. Several minutes pass, but your patience is finally rewarded. With the sun below the horizon and the stars starting to glitter in the east, you spot the silhouette emerge from another patch of brush further north by about a hundred feet. The figure moves to where is it clearly out of sight of the camp and then waves a silver and white flag. Clearly signaling someone.
In frustration, Cereidh returns to where she last saw the party - aside from Hobwise.
When he finally spots his quarry it comes as a relief, the heat from exertion in the high summer evening having caused him a great deal of sweat and discomfort. Few hobbits would ever experience such small trials during their adult life, although the toil in the fields came close.
But as soon as he saw the shadowy figure his pulse quickened and his senses heightened. Then the flag. Was he too late? He needed to get closer, and quickly. He readies his bow and darts forward, a leaf amongst the breeze.
Cereidh steps from the shadow filled twilight beyond the wagons and into the circle of fire light. Covered with burrs and thorns, the elf clearly appears to have spent some time moving through the local flora.
Surprised and somewhat taken by the appearance of one of the elder folk, Harold and the others turn to Ingold and Wulfgith for introductions.
Your night acclimated eyes see that he is dressed in simple leathers and buckskins. A simple bow is slung across one shoulder. A spear, the flag still hanging limply near the end of the shaft, is held in one hand as he turns to make his way back to his perch overlooking the camp below.
Cereidh sweeps into a shallow bow, self-consciously disentangling a branch from her hair with one hand. "Hello. These good folk know me - Cereidh, of the Greenwood. I was out with Hobwise investigating a strange glint, but could not find it and resolved not to waste my time further."
Still with no real sense of what to make of this person, Hobwise creeps closer still, his breath and movements quiet as a shadow. Can he get close enough to use his blade, if needed? Hobwise tries to advance to within a dash of melee. Then he waits and watches. And what of the camp? Does it appear to be makeshift for one, and what other supplies has this one brought?
"Ah, we have all but one joined this evening," says Ingvarr, "Welcome, Cereidh."
"Let us be prepared in case the good master Hobwise returns with an enemy at his heels," adds Ingold, drawing his bow and looking in the direction of the bridge, attempting to catch a glimpse of whatever captured the perceptive hobbit's attention.
"Do we expect an enemy at his heels?" Cereidh asks, frowning.
"You're uha, looking a little more one with the wilds than usual my friend." Wulfgith said with a smirk as she pulled a small thorned twig from Cereidh's hair.
She nodded in agreement with Ingold. "My friends are correct." She told Harold as she threw the branch to the fire. "If our friend Hobwise returns with something or someone, we will be ready." Wulfgith smirked as she looked to Thorgrim and said "If it is simply bandits we can just let you at them Throgrim." She teased, though she did think much of the warrior's strength.
He's not set much of a camp, in fact, no camp that you can see at all. Just a bit of cleared ground within easy sight of the bridge and those below on the western end. He slings a small pack over his shoulders after stuffing the brightly colored cloth inside.
Although he seems more alert now, it does not seem that he has noticed your presence at all. He pulls a bit of something from a pouch hanging from his belt. Quickly he bites, tears and slowing begins chewing. Heavily spiced jerky judging from the strong scent you can make out from even this distance.
He squats and slowly chews the jerky, seemingly content to simply watch and wait for the moment.
"Aye, well, we appreciate the kindness. We'll be on our toes as well." He downs another swig of the coffee. "It's probably as your large friend says. Just some bandits who'll certainly think twice about taking on a band as large as we've got here. And once across the river, things are usually pretty quiet cause of the elves keeping an eye on things." He adds with a tip of his hat toward Cereidh.
His stomach rumbles causing him to blush a bit in the light of the fire. "You'll have to pardon my talkative gut. I was just getting around to putting some sausages on the fire and beans from yesterday's batch. Should be enough for all of us." He glances at Thorgrim again and smiles. "Well, barely enough anyway."
Cereidh brightens, and sets to warming her feet at the fire.
The smell of jerky reminds the hobbit of his own empty stomach. He would rather not be on this hill, but it seemed unlikely any of the others could make the approach with the necessary, well, hobbit-craftiness. He made a note to exchange tales with Doderic and get a better understanding of the fellow hobbit's talents.
With night having fallen and the signal flag deployed, there was no telling what innocent or nefarious communication was exchanged across the ravine. But this was no time for misplaced trust in the motivations of Men who moved in the dark. Nor did he believe he would intimidate the man merely by the force of his personality. Only one course of action remained.
Hobwise springs at his target, quick as a snake, closing instantly until he can hear the compression of the man's chest, the air exploding from his lungs, when the hobbit's sword crashes against him. No, he must not kill this man - such an attack would fill him with the Shadow - that he knew. But he could hit once and challenge the man to surrender. If that failed, he would render him unconscious, if he did not underestimate his foe, tie him up and revive him in short order to demand an explanation.
Move + Small Folk (cunning action)
"Yield or perish! Disarm yourself and kneel!"
Doderic's eyes widen at the invitation.
Oh! I'll get a spot of tea brewing! Perhaps camomile.. no no, something for meat.. white tea may go well, it has a softer taste. A tiny dash of honey to sweeten it.. As he ponders on his tea, he pulls out a kettle and his pipe. Soon, another round of shire leaf is wafting through the air, sending its sweet scent to all nearby.
Oh! I think I've just the bit of herb to give a right spice to the meat. Here, just a pinch on each now, too much and you'll cover the meats flavor! He quickly toss the man a tiny vial of dried sage.
But perhaps more immediately interesting and puzzling is the faint smell of oiled steel tickling you nose. You take a few steps away from the fire and closer to the third wagon where young Tomas sits up front on watch. The smell seems to be coming from under the tarp of the wagon. Unfortunately, it is there for only an instant before the breeze covers it with the smell of Doderic's herbs and shire leaf.
Recovering from his distraction, Ingold responds to Cereidh saying, "Well, you know Master Took better than I, but in my experience when a hobbit sneaks off, he either returns will some ill-gotten produce or an angry pursuit--and sometimes both."
Looking to Harold, Ingold asks, "What are you transporting that would warrant such determined stalking by an unknown entity?" as he casually walks over than leans against the wagon from which the oiled metal smell arose.
That went better than expected.
Hobwise cuts thd man's shirt into straps anx quickly ties his hands and feet. Then he wraps the wound about his head. Satisfied with the makeshift dressing, the hobbit steals a piece of jerky to chew on while he more thoroughly ecamines thd camp, watching for activity on the far side of the valley.
"Well now, that's right kind of you." Harold says to Doderic as the hobbit breaks out his spices. "And I'll not turn down a bit of that honey. Always leave it to a hobbit to have the finest traveling grub." He adds with a a friendly chuckle.
When Ingold asks about the cargo, Harold shrugs casually. "I guess it depends on how desperate our mysterious shadow is. As I told the lady there and the master hobbit, we're mostly carrying foodstuffs. Grains, legumes, ales, some Shire smoke. Some fine Breeland beeswax candles and scented soaps. Some good wool cloth. A few other things if I recall correctly. Nothing too valuable and certainly nothing to attract a lot of attention."
He nods toward the younger man, Tomas, still sitting watch in the wagon. "Tomas there has the full manifest since it's his family who financed and set up this entire endeavor. In all truth, me and the boys are just the hired help. Me because I've made the trip east more than a few times and the others here because I wouldn't agree to come without at least a couple of more good arms and strong backs on the crew."
Harold, on the otherhand, seems to be telling the truth, or perhaps what he believes to be the truth. You can't really sense any falsity in his words beyond the usual minor boasting or exaggeration typical to many travelers sitting around campfires.
"To some food is more valuable than gold." Wulfgith pointed out with a shrug. "However I don't think that would be what we're dealing with... Young Tomas may I please see the manifest if I may be so bold?" She requested.
"Indeed, Wulfgith, a fine idea. It's not like we are here in any official capacity, but the good Harold here deserves to know what he and his men are hauling for the rather nervous Tomas here," Ingold begins casually, leaning up against the wagon.
"It is possible that the implements of war hidden in this wagon here were mistakenly--or purposefully--left off that manifest, leading one to suspect they may be transported for some...nefarious purpose," he finishes, still maintaining a casual posture outwardly, but poised to dodge behind the wagon for cover if Tomas decides to shoot at him.
Cereidh watches the goings-on in silence, bland expression fitted, and her legs tense and her hand in her lap isn't far from the hilt of her sword ...
Turning your attention to the man himself. He's young, dressed in simple furs and leathers. Overall fairly warm clothing given the summer's heat. His face is tanned and weathered with a series of tattoos marking his cheeks and around his eyes. You notice more tattoos on his check and arms when you rip strips from his shirt. Markings commonly associated with the northern hill tribes. A soapstone necklace roughly carved into a raven or perhaps an eagle hangs around his neck.
The only other thing of note is a small bit of rolled up sheep skin. Written on the skin is the simple phrase. Last Bridge. First night of the Buck Moon.
You finish examining the note when you hear the distant snap of a twig to the north. Looking up you see illuminated in the moonlight as they move south along the ridge at least a dozen men wearing similar garb to your prisoner.
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"Ales?" Thorgrim blurts out. He'd started to drift off in a light doze, lulled by lack of either drink or steel. "Thomas is the paymaster, eh? Well let us see if we can leaven the mood.
Oy there, young Thomas," Thorgrim says advancing on the lad. "Let us hear of these ales you carry, and for what manner of coin would it take to let some leave thy grasp?"
Working fast, Hobwise gathers a small amount of brush and sticks, then tears the furs from the man and, cutting them into several strips, makes use of the natural oils from the skins to light a quick-burning fire.
Setting that aside momentarily, he takes three arrows from the man's quiver and wraps the arrowheads in the remaining fur strips, stabbing each through the arrow point to prevent them from unraveling in flight.
Then Hobwise sits down next to the small fire, knowing it will only burn a minute more, and lights the heads of all three arrows. With the flames burning wildly, he draws his shortbow, but lays on the ground with his feet anchored against the heartwood. All three arrows are set upon it at once, a finger separating each shaft at the butt. He draws the string back with both hands, pulling it until his muscles ache with strain. Raising his legs halfway toward the top of the sky, he lets go, sending the three flaming arrows high into the night, arcing toward the dozen bandits along the ridge.
As soon as the signal arrows are away he scrambles to his feet and races after them.
Cereidh stands up rapidly, drawing her bow. "Those - ! Too scattered to be anything but warning shots, a signal. Hobwise? Do we go towards him, or towards what he was firing at?"
Tomas' eyes dart back and forth and his throat works with clear nervousness as he is asked for the caravan's paperwork. Still holding the crossbow, now pointed in the general direction of Wulfgith, Harold, and Ingold he shakes his head.
"Hehe...well I don't know why you're worried about are little bit of cargo?" He says in a poor attempt to be causal as he reaches down toward his pack. "I also don't understand what authority you have, but let me get the papers."
He rummages around in the pack for a minute or so and then starts to pull forth a simple wooden scroll case.
"Here it is." He says starting to hand the scroll to Wulfgith only to be interrupted by the sight of three arcing fire arrows shooting forth from the top of the ridge north of the camp. The arrows all take a northern trajectory. They seem to have been shot from a high ledge overlooking the camp about two hundred feet north of the wagon camp. A spot near where Cereidh struggled to climb and see anything earlier, but perhaps Hobwise had more success.
"What's that?!" Toman exclaims pointing at the fiery signal a look of genuine confusion upon his face.
Pulling out his bow, Ingold says to Harold, "I hope for all of our sakes that whomever young Toman made a deal with to smuggle the weapons in that wagon is not descending from the hills above, good man--if so, it would seem they come to pay with blood, not coin."
Turning to Toman while still keeping an eye towards the hills, Ingold says sternly, "Whatever you are hiding, Toman, now is the time to share it with those you hired and those who might be persuaded to help defend you. I make no threat upon you, but those coming howling out of the hills may have a different approach in mind."
Inclined to leave the matter of treachery and just desserts to Ingold, Cereidh turns to Harold. "You've been camped at this spot for longer than we have. Who among your company do you trust?" She shoots Tomas a hard glance. "We will, of course, be appropriating the arms you have with you to arm them. Have you found hunting trails, and did you share them with Tomas? We must embed ourselves and make ourselves defensible, but for myself, I may be most helpful breaking off from the pack as a scout."
Before his immediate departure, the hobbit throws a few more sticks on the fire to keep it burning at least for a few more minutes. Then he obscures his tracks and moves off.