The flood of goblin folk draws down to a trickle as Thorgrim and Cereidh put a quick bloody end to the creatures still struggling inside Oswald's devastated home. The quicker of the two, Cereidh is the first to hurry through the door to see the orc running along the low eaves of the home touching a torch to the dry thatch and wood every few steps.
Already young flames are busy taking hold between the door and where the orc stands twenty feet away a wicked sword in one hand the torch in another. He turns and gives the elf a broad smile as he pulls back his arm ready to throw the burning brand onto the roof where it will inevitably create an unstoppable blaze.
Cereidh does not smile back, grimace, or yell. She stares. She drops her sword on the ground, draws her bow, and sends two gleaming arrows towards his heart, answering his challenge with her purpose as even a novice servant of the Light.
Having stabilized those fighting the fire, Ingold is as good as his word and scans the surroundings for approaching orcs.
If he sees orcs moving in the night--especially any trying to start fires--he will loose an arrow at them!
Doderic dives through the door, curling the items he grabbed into his chest as he rolls to his feet. With a small sigh, and only a few burns, he makes his way to the man and hands him what he could save.
Its not much, but.. here.
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Thorgrim looks about him. There is much gore. The lifeblood of many goblin foes pours out in copious amount onto the formerly sumptuous apartment of their cunning, but apparently unlucky, host.
Seeing the elf dash out of doors, Thorgrim is quick to concur that seeing to the fire is the most important of their problems, and the big warrior is hot on her heels.
He reels to a halt just in time to see the miracle of elf blood affect a brace of arrows that fly unerringly to the arsonist.
But will it be enough?
Even as the arrows are in flight Thorgrim makes a final commitment to this most dire threat.
Noctacide had been many things. It had been a reason people had survived, as well as a reason they had died. It had been a protector, a reaver, a defender, and a bane to almost every kind of creature that was looked down on by the smiling sun. When it was turned into a speeding arrow, it had to admit this was a first.
Ingold gives the villager something to help clear his lungs and relieve the burns. With no one else visibly injured and Doderic still within the burning house where only the Valar can see him safe, the Dunedain gives the nearby area a solid look.
In the distance he spots Cereidh and Thorgrim charging out of Oswald's house to engage what can only be an orc waving a torch and clearly working to set the hobbit house ablaze. A short scene plays out as Ingold can do little but watch from this distance.
The elf with her mighty bow and silhouetted by the flickering flames now tickling the dry roof of Oswald's house is first to strike. A pair of arrows in quick succession slam into the enemy's servant spinning it around. The torch goes spinning off into the summer dry grass. Clearly staggered and ever brave, the orc turns to run. But then something happens that Ingold has not seen before in all his years. Thorgrim steps forward. Ingold expects the Beorning to simply charge, but instead he adjusts his grip on his great sword. Cocks a thick arm back and forward to send the great blade flying toward the doomed orc as if the weapon were a mere spear or javelin. Shockingly the blade lands true. The heavy steel pierces the orc in the gut dragging it down to the ground. Easy enough for the two to finish it if it isn't dead already. But the damage and the Dark One's plans may already be complete, for the flames continue to grow even as Oswald starts tossing water from his well onto the nearest hot spot.
Meanwhile the sudden squawk of chickens captures Ingold's attention. His gaze is drawn to the next house down the lane. A flicker of wings and more clucking and a goblin snatching another chicken and putting it in a bag. The sneaky creature taking advantage of the chaos to steal a meal for itself as if it hasn't already caused enough harm to the folk of Archet.
It's a distant shot, but still within range of his shortbow. Ingold draws, concentrates for just a moment to aim and then releases. The shaft zips through the night and hits eliciting a distance squeak of surprise and pain.
Moments latter a smoldering Doderic comes charging out of the burning farmhouse just as much of the central section collapses in on itself.
Lungs filled with smoke, hair both on his head and feet mostly burnt away and more than a few burns, Doderic gifts the farmer the box and toy. Standing at his father's side, the young boy's grim face breaks into a happy smile when he sees the knights.
Carefully taking the still hot items, Carter bows his head in thanks and respect to the hobbit. "I've heard a few tales of how your folk are brave and stouthearted in times of trouble. Clearly they are truer than one might ever imagine." Tears of gratitude well in the man's eyes as he gazes upon the box and even the toys. "My father's, father carved those knights. They've survived three sets of boys and now they've survived this thanks to your bravery."
"As for this..." He holds the box close. "You've saved all I have left of the children's mother and my heart. For that I can never repay you, but once I rebuild, you'll always have a roof and a meal should you ever find yourself in need of such."
Cereidh's face remains in its grim set as she sets upon her new enemy, the miracle of nature that is fire.
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Thorgrim looks up at the slowly burning roof. His elation at having lain low the orc before he could complete the job is held in check as the flames among the low eaves are already gearing up to not need any help.
The big warrior races over and leaps up for the edge of roof...
...and wedges himself up.
Diving at the various spots of thatch that are already small fires, he scoops up great handfuls of the straw and tosses it off the roof onto the ground below. By racing across the rooftop and disposing of any fires started, he hopes to erase the danger to the work he's already fought so hard to defend.
Ingold calls out, "Keep quenching the fires, my friends! Let me know if anyone is hurt and I will help them!"
Meanwhile, Ingold steps forward and fires at the thieving goblin once more.
Doderic gives a soft smile and a nod to the man.
Its often the smallest things, that can mean the most friend. Find a safe spot for them, and then help contain the fire. Perhaps something else may survive it yet as well. Ah!
He brings out a small pouch filled with mint tea leaves.
It isn't much, but once this is all over, brew these for a hot cup of tea. It will, well it will help ease some of the harshness of today.
As the man and child leave, Doderic glances down to his newly waxed feet, wriggling his toes.
Not terrible I suppose... a bit chilly.
To be fair, the cloth was around his head!.
Cereidh starts slapping her cloak at the flames, but is has little effect on putting out the fire. Her actions do help a bit in keeping it from growing too much thus giving Oswald and Thorgrim more time.
Thorgrim's efforts to simply de-thatch the hobbit's house to remove the worst of the burning material proves more effective. The Beorning manages to clear a good section of the house, although there is still more left. Fortunately, a couple of other hobbits have rallied to Oswald's shouts for help and they busy themselves splashing water or stomping out the burning debris as Thorgrim tosses it down.
At the Carter house, the farmer nods solemnly to Doderic and quickly sets the items safely aside before he returns to fighting the flames. Skepticism shrouds his face when the hobbit offers hope of anything else surviving, but nonetheless he throws himself wholly into the work of putting out the fire wherever it crops up in the nearby area.
Ingold takes another shot at the now fleeing goblin. Unfortunately in his rush he did not grip the arrow properly and it tracks a weak, wobbly flight into the night no where near the intended target.
”I would not leave a spare goblin to trouble these good folk, Doderic, though if you wish to track this one I will stay my arrow,” offers Ingold, nocking another arrow and drawing a bead on the departing goblin.
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Running to and 'fro along the roof's edge, Thorgrim finds himself above the struck orc and, more importantly, Noctocide. He leaps down and grabs his sword, then again swings up to the roof, though just barely, and almost losses his balance.
Now armed, he attacks the more entrenched fires, cutting away great swathes of the roof that are on fire, and too hot to approach bare handed.
Cereidh does little more than scorch her cloak and boots as she tries to contain the fire. Fortunately, Thorgrim , Oswald and the handful of other villagers have better luck and before too long the fire is contained and the immediate threat and danger passed.
"Oh bother!" Oswald exclaims and then hurries back inside without further explanation. Following the hobbit, you find him fussing over the pot and rapidly stirring it while adding a bit of water to the thick mixture. He looks up at elf and beorning with a look of concern. "I think I caught it in time, but much longer and the entire batch would have been ruined."
He then goes back to stirring and concentrating on the brewing cure, the task perhaps a welcome distraction from the current condition of his home. A home that is already starting to smell from the numerous goblin corpses littering the hall and main room.
Across the village, Ingold's arrow speed toward the goblin and takes it in the neck. The creature drops to the ground dead while a couple of hapless chickens cluck in fright from inside its sack. That lone goblin seemed to be the last still in the area and no others are spotted.
The Carter house is a total loss, but the villagers with the help of Ingold, Mara, and Doderic do manage to keep things limited to just the one house and barn. As the sun creeps over the horizon, smoke lingers in the air, but the village still stands.
Cereidh stares at Oswald for a moment, shucking her singed cloak and stomping on it to put out a tiny nascent fire. Then she starts to laugh hopelessly, shaking her head and drawing a hand over eyes stinging briefly from the smoke. "Master Hobbit, your dedication to your own task is as great as that of any brave warrior. With the fire and the orcs - frankly - for a moment I forgot what it was that we were even fighting for, beyond our lives. To safeguard our lives, and Thorgrim's health as well - thank you, again, three times over."
She begins to haul the slain goblins out of the house. At least handling them won't burn her, and she's no healer to help Oswald in any other more substantive way.
It may have been a very small thing, given the chaos of the night, but Ingold moves to capture the escaping chickens and return them to their coup, saying to himself, "This may mean the difference between a villager eating or going hungry."
That task done, he drags the corpse of the last goblin over to the pile Cereidh is making. If there is no one else needing his medical skill at the moment, he inspects the bodies for clues as to their identity and mission, saying to her, "You and Thorgrim did well to defend the healer's abode. Did the foes say anything during the fight that might have revealed their purpose or master?"
"I'm afraid not. I believe they just wanted to kill us."
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Thorgrim clambers down from the now-safe rooftop, breathing heavily, allowing himself to take in oxygen he had denied himself during the recent emergency.
Still puffing, he goes to take the feet of the corpse Cereidh is hauling to make its removal easier.
"Aye, not much did they say, Ingold. Although, just before they attacked, we heard one say to another 'You two find what we came for and be quick about it.' And one called another Backnar, though if that is the name of a slain goblin, a lot of good that does us."
"It's possible that what they came to find was our death," Cereidh points out. "... Although it is also possible that it was something else."
The second item is a now blood stained note carried by the orc who Ceriedh and Thorgrim would call their leader. The small scrap of paper, has been rolled up as if it traveled by bird. The message is short and written in the Black Tongue by a steady, authoritarian hand. After a bit of study you decipher the message. "Five hold the Eye and his hatred. Their meddling in plans must end. Find them. Kill them. The first to do so will be rewarded."
Third and last is a small tooth hanging from a thread wrapped around the leader's wrist. At first you think nothing of it. Orcs often carry such grim trophies. However, upon a second glance you realize this is the tooth of an elf and upon its surface several tiny runes have been scribed. When you hold the tooth loose by the thread it does not hang straight, but instead 'pulls' toward Oswald's house. A bit more testing and you discover it leads directly to the ancient gold coin still sitting on the table where you showed it to Oswald last night.
With the sun climbing higher into the sky, Ingold investigates the bodies while his companions and the villagers begin the long slow process of cleaning up after the attack. About an hour after sunrise, Oswald calls to those infected by the parasite. Upon a tray sit three simple soup bowls. Each is half filled with a steaming, thick liquid that smells of lemons, astringent, sulfur, and who knows what else. A heady concoction.
"Drink it all." He says holding forth the tray to Doderic, Thorgim, and Ingold. "There'll be a second dose tonight."
Drinking the first dose of the cure, Ingold bows to Oswald and says, ”Thank you, Master Healer.” After draining every last drop, Ingold begins to share his findings.
”The tattoo on these orcs and goblins is a pick over a split rock, the identifying mark of the Burzath tribe of Mount Gundabad. Their leader carried a message, perhaps delivered by a bird—’ Five hold the Eye and his hatred. Their meddling in plans must end. Find them. Kill them. The first to do so will be rewarded." he relates.
”It would seem they were using this,” continues Ingold, holding up a tooth hanging from a string, the pendulum unnaturally hanging towards the hidden coin, ”to track the shadow coin.”
Doderic goes about checking on villagers, offering some tea or other small comforts before regrouping with the others. Before he leaves, he will hand Carter a pouch of gold with a fair bit of heft. Doderic would have to tighten his budget this month, likely going without his favorite food and drink, or, heavens forbid, only three meals a day. But, to him, it was worth it.
Back at Oswalds, Doderic gives a nod.
Remarkable work Oswald.. and apologies for you abode. I am glad however that most of it could be saved... I offer my assistance in cleaning it as well if you would like. Though I don't want to stay long, for fear of bring more misfortune to you.
Afterwards, with Oswald busy, he listens at Ingolds findings and lets out a small laugh.
Well, it seems at the very least we have proved a thorn in someones side... this does bear the question however, with all of these... items we have acquired. Do we continue on our way, or do we return to find a way for dealing with such things? Surely this coin, this eye, is valued highly, and if they can truly track us from it, perhaps dealing with it, and the other items now would be a wiser course of action.
Cereidh nods in agreement. "Far be it for me to turn down the opportunity to lead the Shadow in circles - but I think that today has amply proven the collateral damage that can result from the Shadow's attempts to kill us, specifically."
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Thorgrim grabs and drains his bowl of tonic like it held rare Tirinthian ale. He takes a moment and smacks his lips. "'Tis has a fair bite, and a good kick, but on the whole not the worst thing I've ever put in my mouth. My compliments to the brewmaster!" He holds out his empty bowl to Oswald as if in toast.
"And another tonight? If it is at least no more the worse then we shall consider ourselves to profit from it."
"And aye, aye, methinks you have the right of it. We have caught a tiger by the tail and no mistaking. If there are learned that would know what to do with such now, we must needs make for them...
...first thing on the morrow."
While resting and letting the curative do its work, Ingold puzzles different ways to hinder or stop the evil infused coin from providing a way to track the owners movements. Although his head aches and his body is wracked by the occasional cramp or case of the sweats and shakes, the scholar does his best to run a few experiments and trials.
His initial efforts range from sticking the thing in wooden or simple iron box to burying the coin in the ground. All end up being quite ineffective. The biggest surprise coming when the cursed thing reappears in Thorgrim's purse even after everyone witnesses Ingold dropping it into the ground and covering it with dirt.
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"Eh?" Thorgrim mumbles as he holds up the accursed thing from his purse.
He pauses in what he had been doing, which had been using either Noctocide, or his strength, or both, to either clear away the remains of the village fire, or hew new lumber to build its replacement.
His greatsword--now of legendary power in its own right--could split trees as easily as a good axe could split small logs, so for him what could've taken days of work by skilled lumberjacks and carpenters, was but an hour's labor.
It was good to be active again, and, aye, he could feel the worse of the affects breaking, though he dared not leave until after the next dosage, for even still he knew he was not at full measure.
The rest of the day is spent cleaning, clearing, resting, and for those suffering from the parasite infection, multiple cramping trips to the out house. But other than the occasional moan and quick stomping of boots heading outdoors, the night passes uneventfully. Whatever evil lurks in wait beyond the boundaries of the village needs more time to muster its strength or chooses to wait until its intended target ventures forth.
Whatever the Shadow plans, as the cock crows the dawning of a new day, Ingold, Thorgrim and Doderic all waken worn and tired, but actually feeling stronger than they have for days. The muscle pains, fatigue, shortened breath, and general malaise that came with the shadow disease is fully purged from their systems.
Ingold seems no closer today to solving the problem of the cursed coin that the previous day, but perhaps now with a clearer head and a new dawn inspiration will strike.
The previous day found Ingold pivoting from his work with the shadow item blocking to preparing some herbs and running some errands. He consults with Oswald and seems satisfied to be learning how best to combat the shadow sickness as well as comparing notes about herb usages.
Not that Ingold is prying, but his private conversation with Thorgrim about rings has given him idea. His errands and work with the herbs are an attempt to find/buy/commission a matched set of small travel pipes illustrating the entwining of elven and human design motifs, if possible one having a “C” engraved and the other having a “T” engraved. The two packets of herbs are mixed tobacco and Hagweed specially treated (remove one shadow point, effective once per year). His plan is to have these items wrapped in a small bundle and give the package discreetly to Thorgrim with a kind smile and few words exchanged.
In the morning, waking up with a clear head for the first time in days, Ingold works on blocking the shadow item detection—this time in consultation with Doderic.
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Whether simply the dawn of a new day or being truly free of the shadow for the first time in many days, Ingold and Doderic have much more success than previously. It is when the hobbit remembered a tale of Old Ulsef Took, a rambler of sorts like so many of Took pedigree. The story goes that on one of his walkabouts outside of the Shire, a much younger Ulsef came across a lamp of odd and unusual make. Some believe it came from the far south, others from east beyond the mountains and Dale. Still others said it was something from the west, washed ashore after the sinking of Numenor.
Being a thing of beauty and seemingly quite valuable, Ulsef brought the lamp home and gaze it a prized spot upon his mantel. A day later, poor Ulsef's home caught fire and burned to the ground. The only items to survive were a few bits and bobs and the golden lamp. Surprised to find the treasure intact, Ulsef saw it as a sign good luck and upon rebuilding, once again gave the lamp a place of prominence with the freshly built home.
Once again, not a day later, the house burned to the ground. This time Ulsef, barely escaped with his life. All was lost. Except the untouched golden lamp. Now being a well traveled Took, Ulsef considered the possibility that the lamp was more curse than blessing. He tried selling it, but anytime he presented it to a potential buyer the lamp would suddenly appear to be dented, tarnished, practically falling apart at the seems and no one would offer him a tin penny for the thing.
So he tried simply tossing the thing away. Tossing it into the midden, he considered the matter closed until waking the next morning to find the lamp sitting atop his partially rebuilt mantle. Shiny and as new looking as the day it must have rolled off the Dark One's forge.
Not one to be outdone by a simple lamp, Ulsef Took tried putting the lamp into a sack of heavy stone and tossing it into the deep part of Clarity Lake. Again the thing was sitting on his mantel the next day. So he consulted books, soothsayers, old wives, anyone who might offer a bit of advice on ridding himself of such a curse. None seemed to do the trick, and his new house was nearly complete.
It was old Vera Took who told him that some spirits didn't like salt mixed with iron filings. Best way to keep spooks from haunting your place was to add a blend of salt and iron to the mortar of the first row of bricks on your house. She'd said. So Ulsef bought himself a full ten pounds of salt and filed down an old broken hoe. He mixed salt and iron and poured it all into an iron box. The way Ulsef told the tale, that old lamp fought him like a wild cat when he tried to put it in the box. Burned his hair, cut his hand with suddenly sharp edges, broke a toe as it leaped out of his hand. But the stubborn Took didn't give up and eventually he got it locked the box. And there is stayed for three solid nights. With a bit of relief, Ulsef finally took the box and buried it somewhere deep in the Old Forest. No one knows where since Ulsef didn't want some practical joker digging it up and letting it loose again. But that lamp never did show up again and Ulsef never had another house burn down.
With that story, Ingold and Doderic mix a blend of salt and iron filings into an old clay jug. Just like that old lamp, the coin does its best to slip and slide away, but eventually Doderic is able to drop it into the jug and slam the cork in place. Time passes and the coin doesn't reappear anywhere in the house or on anyone's person or in their possessions. Even better, the charms linked to the coin no longer work. They no longer point in any direction other than down to the ground as they should.
Both Doderic and Ingold find themselves comfortable saying the cursed coin is dealt with and the Shadow should no longer have an easy time tracking them down.
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As Thorgrim wakes and sees Ingold already hard at work pouring over the problem of the cursed coin, the Beorning takes stock of his internal situation. Bending and stretching and going over some basic swordforms, he finds that, yes, at last he is at full power.
And is famished.
No no, no no no. No normal hunger this. Beseemed that his lowered strength had also reduced his appetite, and now that he is restored, his body SCREAMS to replenish that which was lost, and a bit more besides.
For all the labor he had performed the previous day, for every log hewn and board mended, he now visits these people and, after observing his work to still be hale, he proffers coins in exchange for foodstuffs.
A great orgy of spending and stuffing then follow. The monies, long laid fallow in darkened sepulchers, and then lain just as still in his coinpurse, are at last exchanged for goods and services, so long as they can be ate.
Every farmer, shopkeeper, cook and baker in the town he tries to visit, foisting on them dirty, worthless cash and consuming all that is seen and all that can be made, and calling for more still. Meats and potatoes and cakes and pies are washed down with an endless tide of locally brewed ales and he sets to all of it.
Only late, as the sun retreats as though even it can no longer stand the sight of such an epic repast, does he at last stumble back to receive the good news that some remedy is come onto the shadowed coin.
"Does that make us for Fornost?" he asks in his efficient manner.
AS the fires burn low and most folk called reasonable have made for their beds, Thorgrim sidles up close, like a beastly predator stalking in the night.
"There is a farmer near here," he whispers, softly, "who has a barn untouched by fire. But he has begged me to go and check his straw to see if it hides a nightmarish beast. I would not warn the others for they might feint, being so close to such a threat. Wilt thou not come with me, mighty Elven warrior?"
The look in his eye is plain, and the ruse is unmistakable. No sweet-scented bath lays at the end of this path. No candle-strewn bed festooned with feather pillows. 'Tis simply that he is just now climbing out of a deep, dark chasm, and he is wanting to be certain that...all is now, as it has been.
”Yes, I expect we should resume our original course now that we are healed,” responds Ingold. Turning to Oswald, he says, ”Thank you, Master Healer. We should be on our way in the morning.”
Assuming his other errands have borne fruit, Ingold finds a quiet moment and hands a small packet to Thorgrim. With a smile and a nod, he takes his leave and prepares for bed.
Cereidh herself spent much of her recovery in the fields, the trees, the gardens - a hunter and the daughter of nobles, she has little interest or skill in carpentry. She provides aid, though, finding and fetching lost animals, and lending her strong arms to clearing orchards.
”How could I do else? I would not venture anyone else goes near so fearsome and toothy a beast. Let us ensure it is in fine fettle, and hope that it puts up a fight.”
Doderic voices his concern about Mara venturing forth across the wilds of Eriador on her own once again. And while the dwarf has traveled to and fro many a time without company of nary man or beast, she sees the genuine wish for her safety in the hobbit's eyes.
"Aye, well then, the land does seem to be getting a bit more dangerous." She says. Pondering the smoldering ruins of the farmhouse and the damage to Oswald's, she finally slaps her hands together and smiles. "I'll stay and help these good folk rebuild and guard these items while you lot finish your business in the north. With the dark one's magic bewildered they won't be drawing the enemy here like flies to dung. But in case others should come snooping, I'll put an end to them. It's the least that can be done to repay Archet for the darkness brought here by our own handiwork. When you pass back through on your way home, I'll rejoin you for the eastward hike."
What is left unsaid is if none of you should return, she'll at least be able to bring the items and word back to the council in Rivendell to offer warning and rally a larger expedition.
And so it is that one of the fellowship is left behind while Doderic, Ingold, Thorgrim and Cereidh set out the next morning with the rising sun toward the ruins of that ancient once-capital of all the north.
The initial days of the journey are pleasant and uneventful. The ancient Greenway skirts the edge of the Chetwood before leaving the forest behind for the rolling grass covered hills of the North Downs. The tall grasses covering the hills for leagues are more gold than green in the dry summer heat. The exception being in the low valleys where small ponds fed by springs or long melted winter snows persist. These are marked by stands of willow, cottonwood, birch or alder and often filled with the sounds of birds and other wildlife that now rule the land that once fed a kingdom.
Signs of that once thriving land appear once in a great while with the discovery of a moss coated stone square almost completely buried in the dense soil. Some lost farmstead long returned to the elements and nature.
By the end of the third day, the feeling begins to shift. Bird calls become fewer and fewer until all that is heard is the rustle of the dry grasses in the drying summer wind. Weather worn stones and low mounds speak of more ruins, more lost lives and lost dreams. The weight of the ancient destruction wrought upon these lands becomes unmistakable. By the arrival of the fifth day, the blight is almost palpable and a burden that weighs upon the minds and hearts of the entire fellowship.
Ingold keeps an eye out for useful herbs as they travel.
Casually picking some herbs and moving back to the group, Ingold says to Doderic quietly, ”Someone watches us from the shadows by the road to the west…perhaps worth a look.”
Cereidh locks gazes with Ingold, her lips thinned and shoulders tensed. Perhaps her fey ancestry has given her an extra and unwelcome insight into the mood of the land ... But she nods slightly, to indicate that she has also observed their observer.
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"Are you certain, Ingold? I see nothing?" Thorgrim felt a momentary weight upon him, but having survived so much hardship, having just been in the depths of the pit, he no longer was vulnerable to a tangential attack.
Thorgrim leads the short distance to the barn through darkened streets and little-trod path lined with wheat-grass.
The barn is as all barn should be, sound of construction and good for keeping grain-eaters out of stored hay and grains. As proof of its success as a sentinel, the cavernous rear half is covered with a falling mountain of fresh-cut drying grasses.
After the elf enters, Thorgrim closes the door silently.
"We must be cautions," Thorgrim whispers, dropping his sword to the ground. "The beast is hungry, for he has not eaten in some time.
The coming battle will be active and vigorous. Prepare thy mettle," he says, coming close.
"You may be right, Thorgrim, but perhaps Doderic should check it out just in case as we continue to move on as if nothing is amiss. If it is merely a stray animal or some such, no harm done," he responds, not breaking his stride as they move forward.
Doderic slips away into the tall grass while Ingold, Thorgrim, and Cereidh carry on up the road.
You smell the watcher before you actually see him. The strong acidic tang of pipe tobacco drifts in the air and tickles your nose. A few soft steps later and you spot an old man wearing a dark green cloak, soft boots and leathers. He is armed, but makes no move to draw either blade or the bow slung over one shoulder as he sits beneath a gnarled oak seemingly only slightly older than the man.
You slink forward a bit further trying to get a better look when your quarry turns in your direction and throws back the hood covering his elderly features. A pair of icy blue eyes surrounded by tanned, weathered, wrinkles peer out from a face that looks like it's been squashed by a giant's hand. A few wisps of white hair blow in the summer breeze as he releases a burst of smoke through his drooping nose. A similarly weather worn hand takes the pipe from between chapped lips.
"Hmph...I must be getting sloppy or one of your lot has keen eyes." He says, his aged voice rough and dry from lack of use. "Well, are you going to sneak around in there all day or come out and introduce yourself?"
Doderic does not openly reveal himself in the small opening under the oak, but does respond.
Well, not many can notice my steps either. Its, well its one of the few things I like to pride myself in. Being able to stay out of trouble is its own reward.
He pauses a bit before continuing.
May I ask why you are spying on us?
He decides to end with a simple and straightforward question.
"Spying you call it. Watching those who travel where they should not, is what I'd say." He tilts his head north toward the ancient ruins. He sits back against the trunk of the tree. "Once this land was the glory of the north. Ah, but now it is cursed to be full of ghosts and sorrows and little but broken dreams and hopes." He sighs heavily, his eyes imagining a world long past. "It must have been a glorious sight to a weary traveler. A jewel atop the downs where the Greenway ends. Elbarad Ohtarion and Mard Tirelenion peering down upon the rolling plains. The sturdy walls offering protection and security while all around were rich fields and grazing lands."
A pause. A small puff of the pipe. Finally his gaze returns to the present. "But all of that was lost long, long ago. There is nothing here now but shadows and fell things. Which is why I keep vigil. To see that none escape south to menace those few folk who still call these northern lands home. Or to keep those from entering and disturbing old evils best left undisturbed."
"I am Talandil, Ranger of the North Downs. It is my duty to spy on folk coming up the ancient road to insure they are not agents of darkness."
Doderic visibly relaxes as he recognizes the same features in the man as in Ingold. He will cautiously step out into the opening.
Forgive my forwardness, we have dealt with many.. hardships, in the past few days. He gives a weary, but friendly smile.
You may call me Doderic, Doderic Took... Perhaps you've heard of me, a traveling magician of sorts... He gives a small chuckle, before turning a mite more serious. Though I do wonder, how one decides which evils should be left undisturbed, and by whom they might do well to be disturbed. For not all who wander are lost, friend.
He pauses, before looking out over the land from their vantage point.
There still is a beauty to it, glorious still, if you know where to look. Either way, you've naught to fear from us, please, come and keep company on the road. Perhaps more than one fear may be put to an end then. As my companions are uneasy with hidden eyes upon them.
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”Yes, I expect we should resume our original course now that we are healed,” responds Ingold. Turning to Oswald, he says, ”Thank you, Master Healer. We should be on our way in the morning.”
Assuming his other errands have borne fruit, Ingold finds a quiet moment and hands a small packet to Thorgrim. With a smile and a nod, he takes his leave and prepares for bed.
Thorgrim was not intimately introduced to subtlety, and at the time he simply accepted the packet absentmindedly, as though he had other things on his mind.
As the journey unfolded before them, Thorgrim was able to take out the packet (which he had fully forgotten about for a day) and examine the contents. His stony face creaks into a sly grin, accepting the implications such a packet meant. It meant not only did he know, but know he knew that he knew.
"Gratitude," Thorgrim rumbled at the scholar when the two could be as alone as such a sojourn could provide. "This is creative and thoughtful. I'm certain they will be well-used.
Still, in sooth, I find I am like an archer with a fine deer in his sights. The arrow, held taunt, does not yet lend itself to flight, for sooth, to miss would mean...quite simply I do not know. Methinks I would seek my own lands were that to pass.
So too, to hit? That too is a night-strewn path without known roads."
His hand drifts down to the beltpouch in which the twin shadow-touched treasures lay dreaming.