5e Middle Earth Adventures

Game Master Therenger

Guide – Amalina
Scout – Cereidh
Hunter – Gylwinth
Look-out – Findegil

Eastern Eriador Maps
Loot Tracker

THE HUNT: +11
THE VEIL: -3


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Male of Minas Tirith Warrior (Knight) 7, Arrows 6 -> 0 | HP: 73/73 | Temp HP: 0/8 HD: 2/7| AC 20 (21 with ally) | Spd: 25ft | Init: +2 Perc: +4 PP:14 Ins +1 | Long Sword +8 (1d8+5), Great Bow: +5 (1d8+2) | Shadow: 2+3 Action Surge 1/1 | Second Wind 1/1 | Str +8* Dex +2 Con +6* Int +2 Wis +1 Cha +3 | Inspiration? No | Cond: Exhaustion 1

Findegil turns and powers towards the exit.

Should an obstacle bar the group's way, he will smash it aside!

Should a foe try to intercept his companions, his sword will slash them open!

To glory or ruin!

Athletics: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28

Athletics: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19

Athletics: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20


Female Elf of the Mirkwood Warrior (6) | HP: 10/52 AC: 16 Spd: 30 ft | Init: +4 Perc: +4 PP: 14 | Greatbow: +10 (1d8+4), Broadsword +7 (1d8+4) | Shadow: 2

Cereidh's dark hair streams behind her as she dashes forward, headless of any opportunity to attack or defend, grabbing passingly for Gylwinth's shoulder as her tired compatriot stumbles.

"The last of us out!" she gulps breathlessly. "The last of us - to light a second bonfire?"

Athletics: 1d20 ⇒ 5
Athletics: 1d20 ⇒ 1
Athletics: 1d20 ⇒ 12

She thinks wistfully of the enchanted lights the Greenwood sometimes shows to unwary intruders, and how appropriate it would be to use now - but she is too tired to grasp that delicate magic.


Female Woodwoman of Wilderland Wanderer (7) | HP: 60/60| AC:16 | Init: +2 | Per: +6(16) | PB: +3 |Winter(Hound) AC: 15 ; HP: 28/28 | Inspiration: No

Just as she was starting to feel relief as Wulfgith manages to free and start leading Swiftkiss back to the river, Amalina sees one of the troll's eyes grow wide as it spots the moving horse.

With a quick curse she and Winter turn with the others, the hound easily outpacing them as he dashes ahead, alert for any danger that may be blocking their escape.

She manages to avoid the thin snagging top of a fallen tree sticking out into the pathway, easily leaping over the obstacle. Hearing a surprised shout and thump, she turns back to see Cereidh tangled in the dead branches. With her heart racing the woodswoman races back a few paces and helps pull the elf free and back on her feet again.

As they race for the vast pile of liquor, she looks back to make sure everyone is ahead of her. Wulfgith and Skiftkiss, Gylwinth, Findegil, Cereidh already at her side. She again helps the elf move ahead.

"Don't worry! I've got it." She shouts. "Just stick with the others...and if something goes wrong, make sure Winter gets back to Rivendell." She adds between gulping breathes and reaching for her flint, steel, and oil soaked cloth.

Athletics: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16
Athletics: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13
Athletics: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15

Helping Cereidh twice if possible.

Dex to quickly light the rag and drop it on the ready made fuse.: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 = 21


Female Elf of the Mirkwood Warrior (6) | HP: 10/52 AC: 16 Spd: 30 ft | Init: +4 Perc: +4 PP: 14 | Greatbow: +10 (1d8+4), Broadsword +7 (1d8+4) | Shadow: 2

Cereidh is silent and grim, her discomfort with this command to be selfish likely concealed under the dark and the general panic.

"I don't know how I would convince him," she pants, thinking briefly of what else she would say if she had the time and breath to spare. "But of course."


Cereidh takes a terrible fall. Amalina helps her gather herself, but the Trolls get closer for the delay. When she stumbles again she turns an ankle.

Any one player may attempt to pick up Cereidh and put her onto Swiftkiss. Roll one additional Athletics check.


Female Woodwoman of Wilderland Wanderer (7) | HP: 60/60| AC:16 | Init: +2 | Per: +6(16) | PB: +3 |Winter(Hound) AC: 15 ; HP: 28/28 | Inspiration: No

Findegil is +8 so I nominate him. :)


Warden(Herald) 7| HP: 35/41 AC: 18 Spd: 30ft | Init: +3 Perc: +4 PP:14 | Great Bow: +4 (1d8), Longsword +3 (1d8) | Shadow: 0

I am unsure if I need to roll Athletics as I believed Wulfgith would rider Swiftkiss out, and Swiftkiss should be able to carry more than one passenger. Could Wulfgith aid in getting Cereidh on Swiftkiss?"


Wulfgith daughter of Wulf wrote:
I am unsure if I need to roll Athletics as I believed Wulfgith would rider Swiftkiss out, and Swiftkiss should be able to carry more than one passenger. Could Wulfgith aid in getting Cereidh on Swiftkiss?"

Yes, if you want to be the one to roll Athletics.


Warden(Herald) 7| HP: 35/41 AC: 18 Spd: 30ft | Init: +3 Perc: +4 PP:14 | Great Bow: +4 (1d8), Longsword +3 (1d8) | Shadow: 0

Nope, I'll leave that to the +8! XD


Male of Minas Tirith Warrior (Knight) 7, Arrows 6 -> 0 | HP: 73/73 | Temp HP: 0/8 HD: 2/7| AC 20 (21 with ally) | Spd: 25ft | Init: +2 Perc: +4 PP:14 Ins +1 | Long Sword +8 (1d8+5), Great Bow: +5 (1d8+2) | Shadow: 2+3 Action Surge 1/1 | Second Wind 1/1 | Str +8* Dex +2 Con +6* Int +2 Wis +1 Cha +3 | Inspiration? No | Cond: Exhaustion 1

Findegil rushes to the prone figure of Cereidh, sheathing his blade as he does so.

He then helps hoist her up...

Athletics: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14


Findegil struggles to help Cereidh onto Swiftkiss. With every precious second lost the trolls are three strides closer to overtaking the company.

A last push and the elf is strung over the horse and the flight is resumed. Amalina and Gylwinth have continued ahead while the others helped Cereidh, and with legs and lungs burning they are nearly to the barrels when Gylwinth goes down. Amalina helps to drag her friend, and then the rest of you catch up. You're nearly out, but the trolls are almost upon you!

I need one more Athletics check from any one player to pull Gylwinth out of the valley...


Female Woodwoman of Wilderland Wanderer (7) | HP: 60/60| AC:16 | Init: +2 | Per: +6(16) | PB: +3 |Winter(Hound) AC: 15 ; HP: 28/28 | Inspiration: No

Fear and the roar of hundreds of bellowing trolls are a powerful motivator. Seeing the barrels and the destructive potential that might hinder their pursuers, Amalina races for the fuse. Only to catch a glimpse of Gylwinth slipping on the snow covered ground.

Hoping there would still be time, she hurries back and with strength powered by the anger roars of the horde, lifts Gylwinth up over her shoulder and runs as fast as the extra weight will allow toward the mouth of the valley.

Athletics: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16


HP 26/53 | AC 13 | Acr +2 AnH +3 His +5 Ins +9 Inv +5 Lor +8 Med +8 Perc +3 Rid +5 ShL +5 Stea +2 Sur +6 Tra +4 | Saves: S +0, D +2, C +2, I* +5, W* +6, Ch +0; Res Corr (Wis) Fear | Init +2 | PPerc 13; PInv 15; PIns 19 | Spd 30' | Insp: Nah | HD 6/6 Shadow 1 | Status: Normal | Arrows 4; Bullets 20 | HoaH 2d8+Wis 4/7 (SR) | SchIns 1d6 (LR)

"I'm sorry... Save yourself, Amalina." says Gylwinth as she struggles with guilt.


Amalina puts a shoulder under Gylwinth and they stagger towards the barrels. The sound of the trolls thunders in your ears and numbs your other senses. Amalina lunges past the barrels and lights the fuse while the others clamor through. She can see the whites of the trolls eyes in the moonlight - they are that close. It is only the narrowness of the valley entrance that slows their relentless advance and permits you the last moment to jump away from the cache of volatile liquid.

Trolls wrestle past each other, clawing between barrels, when the flame descends into the fuel.

The explosion of the first barrel ignites the next and the next and the next, and in a dramatic series of a hundred such blasts which take only a second, the entire corridor into the valley is engulfed in flame. The blast knocks all of you off your feet - even Swiftkiss is rolled over. The intensity of the heat cannot be described, but it washes over you, expending the very air from your lungs. You feel as if you have breathed fire.

Rockets of small containers burst in all directions like a fireworks display gone horribly wrong. No living thing is spared the flames, and each of you is pelted with shrapnel of wood or metal or rock, and as the fuel splashes your armor, you must tumble into the shallow snows to save yourselves from severe burns or worse.

While the company writhes and crawls toward the tree line, the shrieks from dozens of trolls scathes your fragile nerves. You cannot help but look back. A fireball devours itself as it climbs the chasm walls, and below, countless trolls flee blindly as the fire consumes them. It is as terrifying a sight as you will ever see. You scramble clear, but you are not safe.

The company staggers south, retracing the path along which they had arrived hours earlier. Exhausted and freezing as the cold turns your sweat against you, there is no recourse but to march into the black, barren landscape. You reach the South branch of the Hoarwell headwaters shortly before dawn, and with first light you collapse together in a shivering heap, desperate for the nourishing rays of sun.

Everyone takes 1 Shadow Point and 1 level of Exhaustion. Amalina may have Inspiration for the barrel bomb.


Male of Minas Tirith Warrior (Knight) 7, Arrows 6 -> 0 | HP: 73/73 | Temp HP: 0/8 HD: 2/7| AC 20 (21 with ally) | Spd: 25ft | Init: +2 Perc: +4 PP:14 Ins +1 | Long Sword +8 (1d8+5), Great Bow: +5 (1d8+2) | Shadow: 2+3 Action Surge 1/1 | Second Wind 1/1 | Str +8* Dex +2 Con +6* Int +2 Wis +1 Cha +3 | Inspiration? No | Cond: Exhaustion 1

Findegil does not speak. He has been rattled to his core and wishes only to warm himself by dawn's light.


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Female Elf of the Mirkwood Warrior (6) | HP: 10/52 AC: 16 Spd: 30 ft | Init: +4 Perc: +4 PP: 14 | Greatbow: +10 (1d8+4), Broadsword +7 (1d8+4) | Shadow: 2

Cereidh sits and shivers, before pitching forward onto her knees, pressing her hands to her temples. She then reaches for Winter, not to gather the hound who is Amalina's companion to her, but just to touch another living thing for a moment.

She sets her heel into the sandy gravel by the riverbank, but cannot quite bring herself to lever herself up and go about clearing out the bastard step-sibling of a proper campsite.

Hoo boy! Now that was an encounter. Good job everybody, I'm just surprised that we survived.


Warden(Herald) 7| HP: 35/41 AC: 18 Spd: 30ft | Init: +3 Perc: +4 PP:14 | Great Bow: +4 (1d8), Longsword +3 (1d8) | Shadow: 0

Damn! That was waaay too close to comfort!

Wulfgith walked silently next to Swiftkiss. She was limping slightly, possibly from the roll that she took while on Swiftkiss. She had thrown Cereidh from her steed the moment she felt Swiftkiss turning, but that time has meant she went down with Swiftkiss, though it hadn't been the first time she'd taken a fall on a horse.

Finally she broke the silence. "I hope Estel got out of there... I didn't see him as we ran but to be honest, I was more worried about you all. I also owe you all a thank you. You helped me find Swiftkiss, and have treated me well. I am honored to have met each of you." She smiled weakly.


Estel followed the ettin out of the valley. What became of them you have no idea. (But as players you know he kicked that thing's ass.)


HP 26/53 | AC 13 | Acr +2 AnH +3 His +5 Ins +9 Inv +5 Lor +8 Med +8 Perc +3 Rid +5 ShL +5 Stea +2 Sur +6 Tra +4 | Saves: S +0, D +2, C +2, I* +5, W* +6, Ch +0; Res Corr (Wis) Fear | Init +2 | PPerc 13; PInv 15; PIns 19 | Spd 30' | Insp: Nah | HD 6/6 Shadow 1 | Status: Normal | Arrows 4; Bullets 20 | HoaH 2d8+Wis 4/7 (SR) | SchIns 1d6 (LR)

Gylwinth pushes her tears and fears away and stands up after Amalina left her on the ground. Limping, she examines carefully her comrades to figure out who she should focus her gifts on.

Medicine: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21


Alright everyone, it's a three-week journey back to Rivendell. I'd like each of you to post how you'll be helping the company survive that trip - whatever rations you had are surely exhausted. This is a great opportunity for player to player dialog and good roleplaying, which will be rewarded. This can continue for as long as it seems like you're engaged and having fun.

Bonus points if you collaborate on some way to observe the Winter Solstice, as is appropriate for your background. You'll be in the Trollshaws when that happens.

I will not have any more encounters for this module.


Female Woodwoman of Wilderland Wanderer (7) | HP: 60/60| AC:16 | Init: +2 | Per: +6(16) | PB: +3 |Winter(Hound) AC: 15 ; HP: 28/28 | Inspiration: No

Collapsing on the ground in a heap, Amalina simply lays there staring up and the fading stars and dim purple-gray of early morning. For several moments she does nothing but breathe deeply as Winter pants furiously next to her. A small giggle bursts forth from her lips. Quiet, soft at first, but soon enough it becomes a full-throated laugh. The thrill and feeling of simply being alive running through her body like a wild mare on the open plains.

Wiping tears from her eyes, she ruffles Winter and throws her arms around the big dog, who returns the affection by running his tongue across her face and barking several times.

After the release of energy runs its course and she helps the others by finding fuel for a fire and setting up a camp to help everyone recover enough to begin the journey home.

Survival: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (18) + 9 = 27


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HP 26/53 | AC 13 | Acr +2 AnH +3 His +5 Ins +9 Inv +5 Lor +8 Med +8 Perc +3 Rid +5 ShL +5 Stea +2 Sur +6 Tra +4 | Saves: S +0, D +2, C +2, I* +5, W* +6, Ch +0; Res Corr (Wis) Fear | Init +2 | PPerc 13; PInv 15; PIns 19 | Spd 30' | Insp: Nah | HD 6/6 Shadow 1 | Status: Normal | Arrows 4; Bullets 20 | HoaH 2d8+Wis 4/7 (SR) | SchIns 1d6 (LR)

Amalina's laughter cuts through the night Shadow had cast over Gylwinth. She gives the stars above a weak smile, a first sing of recovery.

Over the next weeks, she will tend to the group's spirit, letting the others take care of their material needs. While travelling, she keeps an eye on everyone and gives the ones that need it a smile, a smoke, or a soft compliment to keep them going.

When night comes, she sings of past heroes, of darkness fading, of heart-breaking romance stories, and of simple deeds that make a civilization.


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Female Woodwoman of Wilderland Wanderer (7) | HP: 60/60| AC:16 | Init: +2 | Per: +6(16) | PB: +3 |Winter(Hound) AC: 15 ; HP: 28/28 | Inspiration: No

Despite the bleak country and cold weather, Amalina's spirits seem unexpectedly high. After all they may not have killed Mormog, but they certainly bloodied his armies nose. And once they reached Rivendell, the Council could figure out what to do about the remnants of his attempts to restore the dark land of Angmar.

With many of the trolls gathered under Mormog's banner and not lurking in their usual haunts, game was actually easier to come by. The Losrandir making their winter migrations back into the Trollshaws, provide good hunting and indeed she and Winter are able to bring down two of the creatures while on their journey. The hunt providing not only meat, but excellent hides to be cured, antlers for carving, and marrow for a healthy, warming soup on those cold nights.

Using her knowledge of woodcrafting, she uses one of the antlers to craft a flute and soon enough her melodies accompany some of Gylwinth's tales or just echo out across the highlands during the dark hours of the night. Much to everyone's laughter, Winter often joins in with his own drawn out howls and yips whenever she plays, and most agree, he's often better able to hold a note than Amalina.

On the Hunt - Survival: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (16) + 9 = 25

Performance: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14


Male of Minas Tirith Warrior (Knight) 7, Arrows 6 -> 0 | HP: 73/73 | Temp HP: 0/8 HD: 2/7| AC 20 (21 with ally) | Spd: 25ft | Init: +2 Perc: +4 PP:14 Ins +1 | Long Sword +8 (1d8+5), Great Bow: +5 (1d8+2) | Shadow: 2+3 Action Surge 1/1 | Second Wind 1/1 | Str +8* Dex +2 Con +6* Int +2 Wis +1 Cha +3 | Inspiration? No | Cond: Exhaustion 1

Findegil's spirits rise with the warmth of the sun, the laughter of Amalina, and the ministrations of Gylwinth.

The knight puts his back into work as needed. To gather firewood, or clear obstructions from their path. Uncomplainingly, he offers his considerable strength to any task to which it can be applied.

As the winter solstice draws near, Findegil says:

"Midwinter draws near. From that day, warmth will return to these lands. Lands that we have made safer by our efforts."


Warden(Herald) 7| HP: 35/41 AC: 18 Spd: 30ft | Init: +3 Perc: +4 PP:14 | Great Bow: +4 (1d8), Longsword +3 (1d8) | Shadow: 0

Wulfgith first finds the songs and music from the instruments, uplifting. However after a bit the reminder of home hits, and after everything it hits hard. Tears stream down under the helm of the rider of the Rohirrim... no. Not that any longer. Simply a rider.

Yet not every tear is one of hurt, the friends beside her and the return of her faithful steed brought as much joy as the sorrowful reminder of home.

When Findegil speaks of Midwinter drawing closer to them, Wulfgith removes her helm and cleans her eyes upon her sleeve. "We should take that day." She told them. "Time to celebrate the fact we made it through all of this." Taking a moment she looked around. "I do not know these lands as well as the rolling hills of my home, but I can help with the hunt and finding some winter items like roots such as garlic, radishes, and the like. We could make a nice meal out here. After all, Amalina has show her great hunting skills."


Female Elf of the Mirkwood Warrior (6) | HP: 10/52 AC: 16 Spd: 30 ft | Init: +4 Perc: +4 PP: 14 | Greatbow: +10 (1d8+4), Broadsword +7 (1d8+4) | Shadow: 2

As they travel, the party finds Cereidh ranging far afield - never so far as to risk being outside the sight of the others. Still, she prefers the morning watches when the light is weak and clear and honeyed. She doesn't turn from Gylwinth's efforts to reach out to her, and listens to her stories, usually offering some wry genial quip on the actions of the heroes depicted instead of trying to raise her voice in song.

She offers Wulfgith her aid as the Woodswoman goes out on her hunts - less of Cereidh's seeking of solitude, her bringing back sustenance for their small company. She might not have been responsible for filling Thranduil's larders, but she is quiet and her bow and bow-arm strong.

"Far be it for me to turn down someone else's cooking," she says in reply to Wulfgith. "Sadly, I do not think you nor Amalina will be able to find a wine-bottle on your foraging."


Female Woodwoman of Wilderland Wanderer (7) | HP: 60/60| AC:16 | Init: +2 | Per: +6(16) | PB: +3 |Winter(Hound) AC: 15 ; HP: 28/28 | Inspiration: No

With Midwinter fast approaching Amalina is sure to secure the best fat from her most recent hunts. During the evening while on watch she renders down the fat over the low coals of the fire, removing the impurities. As the fat slowly cooks, the woodwoman braids seven long wicks from thread taken from one of her more worn and travel stained tunics. One for each of her companions, herself, Winter and Swiftkiss.

Carefully she ties a small coin to the bottom of each wick giving it weight and then dips them multiple times into the tallow. It takes a bit of time but eventually she creates seven rough looking but functional candles.

"Among the wood folk it is always a part of the celebration of the longest day to light candles to last through the dark of the night. A blessing for friends and family and a reminder that even in the deepest night, the light will soon return." She says to her companions. Noting the puzzled looks at the two extra candles, Amalina simply smiles. "I always light one for Winter and knowing how much the the riders of the south value their horse companions, I thought Wulfgith might wish one for Swiftkiss."

For a few moments, her eyes stare off over the wild dark landscape of these forsaken lands. Finally she breathes deeply and smiles again. "The tradition seemed even more important and worthy, given that I hope it helps symbolize the small bit of light we've brought to this land through our recent efforts."


Female Elf of the Mirkwood Warrior (6) | HP: 10/52 AC: 16 Spd: 30 ft | Init: +4 Perc: +4 PP: 14 | Greatbow: +10 (1d8+4), Broadsword +7 (1d8+4) | Shadow: 2

"A light in the darkness - how could it not be worthy? I'd add my own bit of light, through magical means if need be ... but witch-lights are oft treacherous, and I suppose if you wanted to be abruptly sent to sleep, you would have asked!"


Warden(Herald) 7| HP: 35/41 AC: 18 Spd: 30ft | Init: +3 Perc: +4 PP:14 | Great Bow: +4 (1d8), Longsword +3 (1d8) | Shadow: 0

Wulfgith offered a kind a thankful smile. "That is greatly thoughtful Amalina." She said. "I wish there was something I could do for each of you as such. But in Rohan we celebrate with mead, song, and stories." Wulfgith explained as she fed the fire a but more wood. Then she paused as a thought came to her. "I guess I could tell a story before we all turn in for the evening. I know a few of them. One of the best I know is the story of the great Shadowfax, Lord of all horses and Chief of the Mearas."

Swiftkiss seemed to understand the the words of her rider, as the mare gave a whinny and a toss of her mane.

Wulfgith gave a small chuckle. "Yes I know it is your favorite." She said as she reached up and ran a hand down Swiftkiss's nose. "A great deal of our own horses have Mearas blood, but few can claim to be full Mearas."

"But I know other stories, that is just one of the most loved among my father's people."

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