Wulfgith, slightly worried when the hulking creature came to attack relaxed a bit when she knocked the weapon away, but she relaxed more when Doderic joined her. She gave him a small smile before she struck at her brute with the aid of Doderic.
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As an orc is taken by a pair of arrows with the precision that only elven archery can bring, Thorgrim grins and turns. He raises one course hand in rough salute, feeling a bit like an impish schoolboy, causing mischief in school, for not having his mind fully on battle.
Turning back to the task at hand, he nods once at the two standing before him and the third still not dead. Ever eager to show off in front of the keen-eyed elf, energy courses through him like a volcano of power and he unleashes the the Berserker Rage. He swings his great blade in massive strokes, creening a song of glory and POWER!
Lungs heaving like a bellows, he pauses a moment to catch breath. All about him is much gore. He breathes, almost to himself, "The rightful are waiting." And then, with a wry smile, he spits at the orcs, "But all are not rightful."
He chuckles grimly.
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A blackbird sings to the morning sun riding a on a heather branch as it waves in the morning breeze. It's head twists toward a nearby ravine, sometimes a good source of water and bugs following the heavy rains of spring. But now sounds not heard since the long ago times echo across hills more populated by mice, foxes, birds, and rabbits than people.
Snap and slap of bowstrings. Steel clashing upon steel. Shouts of the dying and wounded. Equally boisterous shouts of the victorious. All once again echo upon the hills of the downs as they did over a thousand years ago when a king and the gathered youth and strength of a nation fell to the forces of darkness.
The blackbird takes flight, its wings whistling softly as it starts the daily search for sustenance. Below it sees, but doesn't really notice that on this day, it is the forces of darkness that struggle to survive.
Cereidh picks out one of the orcs near Thorgrim. Her keen elven eyes marking the creature's every move within the shaded confines of the overhang. With smooth, quick efficiency she sinks two feathered shafts into the orc. The momentum of mighty Bregghar's arrows spin the hapless orc, giving Thorgrim an opening he cannot pass up. The Beorning lashes out with Noctocide catching the orc in the upper thigh. Blood gushes as Thorgrim rips the blade up cutting through armor, ribs, and eventually heart in a great gory gush of blood. Maintaining his momentum, the bold warrior spins upon his other foe. He catches the creatures blade, blocking a feint. His riposte is quick and effective. Noctocide comes down slicing the orc's ear and into its shoulder. A second strike slams into the orcs side, tearing flesh and spilling more blood upon the sand.
Ingold looks to finish the orc off, but fate strikes with cackling abandon and the scholar's bowstring snaps. With a curse, the Dunedain scrambles for his spare and precious seconds are lost while he deftly restrings his bow.
Under the eaves of the overhang opposite Thorgrim, Doderic recovers his nerve and scurries back into the fight. Seeing Wulfgith engaged with a foe a full head and a half taller than the Rohirrim, the hobbit slips up on the big orc and drives his blade deep into his back. Wulfgith tries to follow up the hobbit's attack, but the dim light and shadows of the cavern conspire against her. Her foot lands oddly on a large, unnoticed stone and twists her ankle as she swings. Her blow flies wide and leaves her scrambling to recover her balance.
Taking on the big orc captain, Hobwise ducks beneath the reach of the long spear and cuts a nasty gash across the orc's upper thigh. Although a bad wound, it misses the artery and the orc is able to recover as he drops the spear and draws a wicked curved long knife with a bone handle.
With a growl, the captain uses the second orc as a distraction against the hobbit. The weaker shadow minion's swings force Hobwise to duck and dodge one too many times and the hobbit is unable to avoid the captain's blow as the bone handled dagger slams into his shoulder. Keeping the hobbit in close, the orc lashes out with a series of quick rabbit punches with its gauntlet wrapped fist that leaves the hobbit's nose bloodied.
Two other big orcs emerge from the shadows drawing their curved scimitars. One approaches Thorgrim, the other joins the battle raging between Wulfgith, Doderic, and the third big orc.
The badly wounded orc stiff standing against Thorgrim sees an opportunity as its better approaches. Quickly uncorking a soft flask, it sprays a stream of foul smelling water into the Beorning's face. The water doesn't cause any harm, but foils Thorgrim's defense well enough that the big brutish orc connects once and then twice with his curved blade.
Without similar aide, the second brute attacking Doderic is unable to land a solid blow against Doderic. The nimble hobbit manages to duck and evade several attacks before the orc is forced to back off and regroup.
Wulfgith is not so lucky. Already off balance from her earlier stumble, the Rohirrim is unable to block her foes initial attack. She feels the cold steel cut across her arm. Ignoring the pain, she does manage to get her own blade back into position just in time to parry the brutes follow up attack sending the blow wide with the loud ringing of steel upon steel.
Orc Sentry 1: 0/50 HP
Orc Sentry 2: 0/50 HP
Orc Warrior 1: 0/40 HP
Orc Warrior 2: 0/40 HP
Orc Warrior 3: 40/40 HP
Orc Warrior 4: 3/40 HP
Orc Warrior 5: 0/40 HP
Orc Warrior 6: 3/40 HP
Orc Vicious Warrior 1: 41/60 HP
Orc Vicious Warrior 2: 60/60 HP
Orc Vicious Warrior 3: 60/60 HP
Orc Captain: 61/80 HP
Just a few paces behind Thorgrim, Ingold abandons the bow for now and draws his broadsword with his right hand, pulling some pungent herbs from a pouch with his left. Moving up to the weaponmaster, Ingold slaps the poultice on the most Greyjoy’s wound and calls out to Hobwise, ”You hobbits are made of stern stuff, Master Hobwise. You will persevere!”
hp for Thorgrim
Scholarly Inspiration (1d6) for Hobwise
Cereidh has no real fear for Thorgrim's safety. Still. She feels a vicious hunter's instinct to slay the prey he - and the rest of their companions - have drawn out from the den.
Hobwise nearly falls to a knee as the Captain's counter-attack catches him twice with powerful hits. But from that low vantage, he sees the severity of the wounds he has dealt this vile creature; black blood spills freely from deep gashes. Now is the time to finish him! Launching forward, he stabs his broadsword into the bowels of the cursed orc.
Disengage and move, Small folk to re-enter the space of the Orc Captain.
In tandem with Hobwise, as he stabs at the Orc captians stomach Doderic drops low and slams his sword into the back of his knees attempting to topple him, or at least put him off balance.
keep up the fight! The light will burn away the dark like the morning sun burns away the mist!
Wulfgith slashed at the orc before her, driven on by Doderic's words. "I will not fall yet!" The shield maiden decreed as they fought on.
Thorgrim cuts down the nearest remaining wounded orc and then sends his blade swinging toward the big brute. The Beorning repays his wound taken moments earlier by slamming Noctocide into the orcs thigh. Cereidh's first arrow bounces off the rock of the overhang, her aim just a bit too high. Quickly adjusting, her second feathered shaft hits her target in the shoulder. The elf's keen ears notice something as she fires the second shot. Although the arrow flew true this time, the sound of the string and snap of the Bregghar sounded...off in some way.
Ingold abandons his bow and instead slips under the overhang and into the shadows to provide a bit of healing to Thorgrim. Healing the Beorning can use as the big orc he's fighting decides to go on the offensive. A surprisingly fast flurry of feints and quick stabbing attacks manage to get past Thorgrim's bigger, slower blade leaving the man bleeding in several places.
Meanwhile on the other side of the shallow cave, Wulfgith slips her blade under the defenses of the big orc she is fighting, just as Doderic ducks away to turn his attentions on the captain who continues to engage Hobwise in a close, deadly knife fight. Hobwise lands another blow against the big captain, but the cut isn't as deep or deadly as the hobbit hoped.
The orc captain wields his long knife easily in the close quarters fight with Hobwise. He lashes out once, but the blow is deflected by the hobbit's leathers. The orc growls, squats low and then jams his blade forward. This time the blade finds its mark, cutting Hobwise across the chest. The attack also occupies the hobbit's attention, and allows the other orc to step up and drive it's own simple sword into the hobbit's back.
Wulfgith parries a blow from the brute engaged with her, but the orc continues to press the attack. He zigs left, drops to a knee and swings his curved blade around below the Rohirrim's defense. Orcish steel opens a nasty gash across Wulfgith's leg forcing her to drop back a step.
Doderic also feels the bite of orcish steel as the brute that he turned away from to attack the captain, lashes out and lands a hard blow to his off arm. Fortunately to the hobbit, the orc's follow up lunge misses by a fingers width.
Orc Sentry 1: 0/50 HP
Orc Sentry 2: 0/50 HP
Orc Warrior 1: 0/40 HP
Orc Warrior 2: 0/40 HP
Orc Warrior 3: 40/40 HP
Orc Warrior 4: 0/40 HP
Orc Warrior 5: 0/40 HP
Orc Warrior 6: 0/40 HP
Orc Vicious Warrior 1: 34/60 HP
Orc Vicious Warrior 2: 36/60 HP
Orc Vicious Warrior 3: 60/60 HP
Orc Captain: 26/80 HP
Doderic, sensing the incoming blow, twists and goes low to the ground managing to avoid the worst of the blade. Then, grimacing from the blow continues to focus what he sees as the largest threat in the group.
He drives his sword into the orc captain's side through a small gap in his armor. He almost lets go as the black blood runs down the blade and over his hand.
Cereidh falls back behind the nearest bit of cover she can find, long attuned with and familiar with her weapon; she knows when it needs maintenance. The middle of the battlefield isn't the best time for that ... but needs must.
Seeing Thorgrim take more wounds, Ingold manages to slap another poultice on him to temporarily staunch the worst of his wounds, then he engages with the orc by the weaponmaster, his broadsword waving somewhat uncertainly in the foe's general direction.
healing
Wulfgith gave a gunt of pain as the blade bit into her flesh, but she focused on the orc before her and swung her blade.
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Quite unlike most of the battles he's been in (and there have been many) suddenly Thorgrim starts feeling *better*.
He turns to see the Scholar applying some kind of unguent onto the worst of the orcish cuts, and the pain and anger in the wound quickly fade.
"Gratitude," he grunts, in his way of economy with words.
That done, it was time to focus on the lone foeman in front of him and to finish the business quickly.
= 17
= 18
Ingold again provides healing to Thorgrim, allowing the Beorning to fight on and strike down the muscular orc. At the same time Hobwise jams his blade into the leader's gut and the black armored orc collapses to the sand. Doderic and Wulfgith team up to end the life of the brute that had been exchanging blows with the Rohirrim.
Outside the shaded overhand, Cereidh hurries to replace her splitting string in order to bring mighty Bregghar back into the fight.
With their leader and most of their band dead. The two remaining orcs decide that braving the sun offers a better chance at survival than staying in the shadows with the fierce blades of their enemy. The brute grabs and tosses the weaker orc toward Wulfgith, Doderic and Hobwise and then uses the distraction to dash out of the cover of the overhang.
The other orc tries to recover, but is unable to defend against or survive the barrage of blades that carve it up as it attempts to escape from such close confines.
Cereidh considers the fleeing orc. There was no question of letting it leave alive to alert other orcs, of course, but ...
She attempts to shoot the back of the thighs, instead of center of mass. If she's lucky - if she's very lucky - she can drive it down intact enough to get some answers out of it. One arrow for each thick leg.
Noting that nobody else seemed to be in imminent danger of bleeding out, Ingold let the others chase down the runner, instead moving into the orc camp and searching for potential hiding enemies.
Passive Perception 17,
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Thorgrim looks askance at Cereidh as her arrows seem to be possessed by what can only be ghosts.
"Aye, we can not let him get away to tell others," he says, agreeing with the thought, though.
He drops Noctacide (she *hates* that, but there's naught for it now) and draws his own bow. Not nearly so grand a thing as others carry, for he has little joy, or talent, at the thing. But for an occasion such as this its use seems warranted.
He lets loose a brace of shafts.
He blows air out his cheeks as his own archery seems as cursed.
A barrage of arrows surrounds the fleeing orc. Shafts shatters against stone, get caught in thorny shrubs, or plant themselves tip down into the sandy ground, but none strike the mysteriously lucky minion of shadow. However, that luck will not last long as Wulfgith races to where Swiftkiss patiently nibbles on the dry summer grass not far from the ambush site.
The Rohirrim leaps astride her horse and sets off with a whooping holler toward the fleeing creature as her companions let loose another feathered barrage to slow the big brute down.
Meanwhile, within the overhand, Ingold searches through the dead looking for any sign of why such a band may have been roaming this far south and west of the mountains. Initially the Dunedain finds little of use or interest. Poorly maintained orcish weapons and armor, waterskins with brackish water, and some sort of dried meat that no right thinking person would wish to taste.
On the verge of giving up, Ingold notices a small piece of cloth poking out of the orc captain's belt. Although much of it is soaked in blood, the Dunedain can make out what appears to be a rough map that uses Weathertop, Bree, and the Last Bridge as markers to reach a destination somewhere near the eastern edge of the south downs. A location, remarkably similar to the one described by young Tomas.
There is a rough bit of writing in a harsh angular script written along one edge of the map.
With the cloth map in hand, Ingold walks over to Thorgrim and says, ”These orcs looked to find fine Dwarven armor and weapons for sale at the bandit’s camp. They intended to arrive during the dark of the moon and arm themselves for war...Against whom, though, is not indicated. Indeed, the shadow waxes in this land, enabled by greedy and unscrupulous men.”
”We should make a brief camp nearby and I can tend to our wounds and provide some small comfort before we journey on,” he suggests.
Cereidh simply stands straight and alert, staring after Wulfigth. She leaves the unlucky orc to her.
Ingold moves to a likely temporary camping site and starts a fire, pulling out some herbs and using his kit to start some water boiling. He puts some leaves into the boiling water and a soothing but energizing tea is quickly made.
(Master Healer Herb Use: Athelas -- removes exhaustion from up to 7 characters).
"Let the vapors from the tea help you recover your energy from the night's march," says Ingold as he moves to clean and dress everyone's wounds, finally sitting and taking some time to eat breakfast and drink his own cup of tea.
hit points restored.
hit points restored.
hit points restored.
hit points restored.
Cereidh sits down next to Thorgrim, propping her shoulder against his to stick her face in the fragrant steam coming off of the tea.
After disappearing beyond the bend in the gully, Wulfgith returns after a short while. With a simple nod and a pat on Swiftkiss's neck, she confirms her success in running down and killing the fleeing orc.
The sun still climbs toward midday as Ingold's tea refreshes and eases any wounds taken during the confrontation with the orcs. A lone hawk circles far overhead, its high pitched calls occasionally breaking the stillness of the grasslands.
With the Dunedain's brew doing its work, the Fellowship gathers itself and returns to the trail. Knowing that this mysterious dealer of weapons and goods was also potentially trading with orcs adds an even greater sense urgency.
As they break their temporary camp to continue along the trail, Ingold shows Tomas the map and writing and asks, ”Do you see now what great harm might befall when one deals with unscrupulous men? If we had encountered those orcs wearing fine Dwarven mail and wielding deadly Dwarven weapons, we may lie dead instead of them. Such is the risk of dealing with bandits.”
Doderic stands slouched a bit and breathing a tad hard as he looks over the scene with a downtrodden face.
Well... its certainly not conducive to breakfast...
Doderic takes in the fine tea. Seeming to relax and smile for the first time since morning.
Thank you Ingold. Its always nice to experience another's tea. Tells you a lot about a person, the way they make their tea it does. I can tell you are a kind and caring soul friend. He gives a smile.
But if you are so worried about this upcoming trade... why don't we go ourselves?
"And we found little of value on the orcs themselves, so I wonder if they intended to trade at all, or if they perhaps just meant to slaughter the bandits and take the dwarven crafts," answers Ingold.
Smiling at the compliment to his tea, he adds, "Thank you, Doderic. Yes, we must deal with these bandits, and hopefully we can return the Dwarves' property to them, though I doubt we can afford the time to track down the robbery victims."
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Cereidh sits down next to Thorgrim, propping her shoulder against his to stick her face in the fragrant steam coming off of the tea.
As the elf sits next to Thorgrim, he takes time to pause and close his eyes and just...smell. 'Do all elves smell like this?' She is just come from the road and then done battle with a horde of unclean orcs and yet, yet, yet she smells of...is that lilacs? And cinnamon. And vanilla.
The olfactory sensation then competes with that of the kinetic as his skin feels as if stuck by a shocking eel from the ocean's depths. The touch of this she-warrior, so soft yet so competent, so deadly, sends his mind whirling as no battle-born monstrosity ever could.
"Are you hurt?" he asks in a hushed whisper. And if speaking softly puts his mouth closer to her ear, is that not for the better?
"You can take my tea, if you are harmed." His own rough chivalry would not let him take comfort if a woman sat bleeding freely. Though logic would tell him that she was never in harm's way, being this close to Cereidh has put his logic in a far place, and it would need a great muster to have its voice heard.
He aches to put his arm around her, to crush her close and kiss her fiercely, but she has been away some time, and woman are ever a mystery to him. And what would the hobbit say! By his sword the half-man would not let him hear the end of it did he let his impulses drive his actions on this moment.
"That is a wise point, Ingold. Aye, the dwarven craft is as costly as it is stout. If they do not carry chests of gold with them, by what means did they seek to take advantage of such a trade? These orcs were strong, aye, but would not every bandit in a crow's flight be upon the merchants if they were not strongly guarded? This tale grows stranger and stranger still.
Let us keep to the trail and have our questions answered."
Cereidh sets her chin on Thorgrim's shoulder, smiling a small, knowing smile at his restraint. "I am not hurt. I can appreciate the fine tea from here. Thank you, Ingold."
She remains where she is, but turns her attention to the rest of the party. "Unfortunately, I cannot say that I have gathered anything useful about the movement of these orcs. All I can say as that I know that the Shadow has been riled of late, and that's no news to us."
Tomas nods quietly at Ingold. The young Breelander ponders the fallen orcs and his potential indirect connection to the creatures. While the rest of the fellowship rests, Tomas quietly sees to the gear and takes a few moments to make sure his bearings are correct when it is time to set out upon the trail once again.
Having rested and recovered and with plenty of daylight still left, it isn't long before the march begins again. Tomas is confident in his directions, recalling both the spire and a pair of old skeletal trees marking a rise just a little further up the path.
A few hours walking past the trees the rough trail turns south again and angles further into the downs. Despite being the height of a hot, dry summer, as you descend further into a narrow valley a fog begins to form even though it is still only late in the afternoon. With the fog also comes a hint of coal smoke. The smell gets stronger the further you go into the valley until finally you can just make out a small sod house built into the side of the valley wall. The structure reminds you somewhat of a hobbit house, but this has neither the cheery looking gardens or inviting warmth so typical of residences in the Shire.
Instead of a garden the house sits as a peninsula surrounded by thistles and thorns on three sides. On the southern side of the house, the plants grow over a massive pile of rock and dirt nearly as high as the building itself. Also unlike a hobbit house, there are no windows. No visible way for natural light to brighten the interior or for someone to sit a enjoy a view into the valley. Instead, there is simply a narrow, mostly overgrown, path leading up to a think wooden door.
Mist and fog soak everything with a dampness that seeps into clothing and leaves everyone chilled as if it were late fall.
"This is the place." Whispers Tomas. "Although when I came, there were men that met me with the goods at the top of the valley. I only saw this from a distance." He shivers at the sight of the sod house. "There's something about this place that gives me the chills."
"Wise ones speak of signs of evil, before one is led astray," Cereidh says dryly. "Here, the Shadow is handily shouting."
Ingold reads the signs and portents of this place, seeing the natural climate suppressed by this unnatural fog. He tries to recall if he has heard anything about such a place as this, or what manner of creature might dwell in it.
, +5 if “News from Afar” applies
Continuing your observations, you begin to notice that the structure itself is not built to the size for most men. Indeed it is much more in line with a dwarf hold, but lacking the usual stonework associated with those free folk. There is also the fact, that no dwarves have ever made their homes in these low rolling hills. Nor would they be likely to survive long given the neighboring hate and shadow driven denizens already mentioned.
You start give up, shaking your head with the others, when something drifts up from the deep depths of your mind. A few odd stories heard here and there. Tales of a mad, misshapen dwarf seen occasionally by the lone traveler or weary shepherd. A mean nasty little creature, if the stories hold any truth. Some tell of the dwarf stealing anything of value, while others speak of sickened animals and tainted wells caused by the laughing, red capped dwarf with bulging eyes and a wart covered nose. Still other tales speak of a whole clan of such mean spirited creatures who once made a home in the barrows under the great tower and rock of Cameth Brin before it was overrun by the hillmen and orcs of Angmar.
Ta-Fa-Nilch or Little People as they were called by the Hillmen. Petty Dwarves is what your ancestors labeled them. No one truly knows how their kind became sundered from other dwarven kin and there is little mention of them in the histories. Known to be gnarled, ugly, twisted creatures, with personalities to match their looks. They have often been persecuted by others. Thus those that do still live upon the land, have learned to stay hidden and work their revenge upon others from a distance or through others.
Could it be that such a creature is the one responsible for Tomas' turning and that of who knows how many others. The one who has seemingly gifted or sold finely crafted weapons to the enemies of the few remaining Free Peoples of Eriador?
Thunderstruck by his sudden revelation, Ingold stops cold and says, "Wait a moment, I think I know what we may be facing. The clues all add together."
Turning to Tomas, Ingold asked, "What kind of creature gave you these Dwarven weapons? Was it a Dwarf, or someone who looked similar to a Dwarf but different somehow?"
To the others, he says, "In my travels and studies, I have heard of no Dwarves in these hills, but the structure before us is of Dwarven size if not craftsmanship. However, some scattered tales of mad, misshapen dwarves have reached my ears--mean, nasty little creatures who steal anything of value, sicken animals and taint wells, and are known by their red caps, bulging eyes, and warty noses."
"These creatures are named Ta-Fa-Nilch, called Little People by the Hillmen and Petty Dwarves by my ancestors. They are an offshoot of the true Dwarven line known to have made barrows under Cameth Brin before it was overrun by men and orcs of shadow. Though their mien is ugly and misshapen, their personalities are even worse--staying hidden and living off the land, they see revenge upon the free people for their plight, from a distance or through intermediaries," adds Ingold.
He further explains, "That is why I was reminded of the Petty Dwarves--the manipulation of the bandits and you personally Tomas, the squat structure, the remoteness of the location--it all points in that direction. We should be very careful, wary of traps and misdirection, and aware of allies this Petty Dwarf could have under its influence."
Cereidh considers this for a moment. "That's new."
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Thorgrim nods as Cereidh voices his own thoughts. "Aye. I had thought there were enough folk about to worry on, but Dwarves that do -not- work mines but instead are like ettercaps or vagabonds? You don't hear of that everyday."
When confronted by something he didn't like, and also didn't understand, his natural instinct was to solve it by punching. "Would...would it do any good to knock this hovel down?" he asked, wanting to do something, but with only the sod house nearby to present a target.
"Uh, quite possibly, though we are more likely to understand what is going on if we investigate first. Just be prepared for trickery and manipulation," suggests Ingold as they continue to approach.
"They might be more likely to underestimate the hobbits," Cereidh suggests. "If we are to pretend to be an easy target to lure them out."
"I know I did." Wulfgith said honestly. "Though to be fair we believe hobbits where just tales. I thought that till I met Doderic for the first time. He got a good laugh from that." She added.
"Come to think of it, I haven't seen hide nor hair of either of our intrepid hobbits in quite some time," Ingold remarked, starting to grow worried and cast about for them.
The fellowship continues to walk toward the house. All is quiet. Eerily so as the fog practically seems to absorb any and all sound. There is little sign of life except for the smell of smoke, and as you get closer, the smell of some kind of refuse heap.
Coming within fifty or so paces, a great cacophony erupts as a half dozen black feathered ravens burst into the air. Their caws echoing wildly into the gray fog filled air.
The scraping of a hard chair sliding across wood can be heard from inside.
As you cast about for signs of the missing hobbits, you also notice several plants growing among the prickly thistles and thorny cacti of the garden surrounding the cabin. Interspersed among the painful looking weeds are bunches of thyme, sage, witch hazel. You also spot several more deadly plants such as Angurth, a nasty plant that's known to induce a severe fever, nausea, and it the worst cases a slow painful death. There's also a patch of Klabas plant with it deceptively pretty bell shaped leaves. The leaves are of little danger, but the buds of new blooms, if ingested can cause a person to loose all sense of reality for days. Some have been known to never fully recover their senses.
Cereidh puts her hand on her belt, near her sword. Doesn't draw it yet.
"Entering such a cramped maze can't play to our strengths," she agrees.