With Jotun's shield and helm now packed, the party continues on into the dry plains east of the Weather Hills. Endless rolling terrain dotted with scrubby bushes and chalky ridges line the road for days.
If the roll fails, everyone in the Company gains 1 Shadow point (Dread). Fatigue Points gained: 2.
As Our Heroes struggled across the sere landscape they strayed close to an ancient barrow, the crumbling remains of a once-revered tomb of some Rhudauran nobleman. But in the Dark Years evil things came and dwelt there and recently, some upheaval of the earth caused the entrance of the tomb to crumble. Horror now besets that place, a nameless terror that chills the marrow of Men and Dwarves who walk nigh. But the bardings are a hardy folk, stout-hearted and true and Jotun led his friends by safer paths around that place, so keeping the dread and despair of that place at bay.
It is now nine days out from Bree and the hills of the Trollshaws march upon your left hand while the land slopes gently down toward the Hoarwell, still unseen many miles ahead. Here and there trees stand twisted in the wind amidst the bushes, which are slightly greener than further west.
If the roll fails, add 1 day to the length of the journey, and the target gains 1 additional Fatigue. Fatigue Points gained: 2.
Waylon fails to spot the loose rubble on the trail and one of the horses throws a shoe. Repairs take an entire day.
[color=red]WEARY[/color]
Tilly now stores her heavy shield and helm aboard the horse so that she can walk somewhat less encumbered, though those things will not be ready in case of battle.
Twelve days east of Bree, the party follows the road as it bends south and heads down the long and gentle slope towards the Hoarwell river and the Last Bridge.
If the roll fails, add 1 day to the length of the journey, and the target gains 1 additional Fatigue. Fatigue Points gained: 2.
Waylon safely guides the team around a den of poisonous lizards.
Thirteen days east of Bree you cross the Last Bridge, filling up your canteens and allowing the horses to drink their fill. Then you proceed into the fabled and dangerous Trollshaws. By Báin's reckoning, you are perhaps two-thirds of the way to your destination.
Tilly spots movement in the hills and alerts the heroes to get off the road just in time to watch two enormous hill-trolls blunder past, oblivious to the small and succulent meals hiding in the underbrush nearby.
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She could, but it won't cure her of Fatigue. So she might as well put down her gear. Also, if she's riding in the cart, no one is acting as Look-Out man.
She could, but it won't cure her of Fatigue. So she might as well put down her gear. Also, if she's riding in the cart, no one is acting as Look-Out man.
As you plod tiredly through the Trollshaws, alert for the presence of trolls or wolves or evil goblins from the mountains, you catch the occasional glimpse of far-off peaks rising rank on rank into the sky - the Misty Mountains. Somewhere between here and there lies the hidden vale of Imladris...Rivendell.
A torrential downpour sends Our Heroes scurrying for shelter in the lee of one of the many long ridges, but in the tremendous crashing rolls of thunder and the driving rain you hear the howls of the Cold Shade, sensing the ring close by. Its long and hideous wails chill your blood as fear and doubt gnaw at your minds.
At long last, seventeen days out from Bree and four from the Last Bridge, you believe you are in the area described by Cenedrillian. Rivendell must lie somewhere close by.
Jotun presses on, and though nearly numb with exhaustion and a shadowy tendril of fear working at his mind since the night they'd all felt the Cold Shade seeking them, still the barding seeks out some kind of sign that would point out the way to Rivendell.
Despite a hard journey, Báin keeps his thoughts on the tales he has heard of the hospitality of the elves.
vs 15
After some hard searching, you are almost certain that you've gone wrong somewhere, when at last Báin discovers a faint trail that leads towards a valley you're sure you've checked before. But with sudden surprise a deep and narrow valley opens up before you, alive with the voice of water.
Waterfalls plunge from high above down into the deep vale and leap from rock to rock until they join together and flow rushing towards the gorge at the bottom. Above this torrent stands a narrow span of bridge without rail or edge, and beyond it, bathed in sunlight and surrounded by green lawns and stately trees stand elegant spires and beautiful houses. The largest by far of these, elegant and serene, rise above all the rest. This is without a doubt The Last Homely House East of the Sea, the home of Master Elrond. You have reached the valley of Rivendell.
As you turn your weary feet at last towards the steep and narrow path that leads down into that valley you hear singing from far below. It is a clear elvish voice singing in the tongue of the elves which none of you understand. Yet somehow it also speaks directly to your heart, telling of the joys of sunlit summer days and nights dancing under the stars.
You see no person on your long descent into the valley and yet somehow each of you senses that you are being watched by unseen eyes.
At the bridge, you are met by a pair of elves, young and beautiful, who bow to you in greeting. "Mae Govannon," says the dark-haired elf male. "Be welcome to Imladris," says the blonde elf-maid. "Your coming was known to us, and we bid you come and rest, for you must be weary. There is a table prepared for you, and a place for your beasts."
"I am Halor," says the male. "And this is Mithiriel."
"It is a pleasure to be greeted so kindly. I am surprised word of our coming made way before us." Waylon says as he did not think the elves they met had the means to send word back.
Jotun steps forward, not wanting Waylon to give offense to the elves. "Greetings to you, Halor and Mithiriel. Your courtesy in arranging to greet us is well received. I am Jotun, Son of Jungarr of Laketown. Allow me to introduce my companions as well." He does so, and follows the elves to the banquet they have arranged.
Báin gives Waylon a surprised look, "We have probably been spotted and watched for the last five leagues. Isn't it your job to notice things like that?" He turns to the elves and gives a low bow, "Báin, son of Thrombur, at your service. The hospitality of the House of Elrond is well recorded and regarded within my family."
Halor and Mithiriel lead you to a small pavilion made of white birch and carved with birds and flowers. Within is a small table set with an assortment of hearty foods and flagons of wine.
Even as weary as she was, Tilly's heart swelled at the Elven song and she closed her eyes and looked up into the sky, relieved to have reached their destination.
She looked upon the Elves' as they greeted their company. Feeling bedraggled and simple in their presence, Tilly straightened up, and, placing a cordial smile upon her face, the Breelander addressed them with polite manners and warmth, "Greetings, Halor and Mithiriel. I am Tilly of the Appledores of Bree. We're certainly grateful for the kind courtesy you're showing us this day."
She followed the others to the small pavilion and when directed, she sat down on an empty chair and waited until the others had taken some food and drink before following their lead. "Such a fine and welcomed repast. Once again, we thank you," she inclined her head respectfully to the Elves, hoping her words were good enough and glad to be among new friends.
"It is our pleasure," says Mithiriel. "We do not often have visitors to Imladris. We do not meet many of the race of Man, but you are not all of Bree, are you? Of your folk, Mistress Tilly, we know somewhat for our folk pass by Bree on a time, though perhaps you have not seen them. We know of your folk, Ranger, and of their comings and goings we have heard some news. But of of the folk of Laketown we have heard but little, so far to the east is that place, over the mountains and beyond the Greenwood. But we welcome you."
"Of your riddle, Master Báin, I must guess. But I perceive that you are a Longbeard, related to the folk of Erebor. Is that not so? You speak of the welcome given to Thorin Oakenshield and his company some years ago, I think. Not long as we account it, but a lifetime of men it was."
When the pleasantries are done, Halor speaks. "I am commanded to say that you are welcome in Imladris...Rivendell as you would say... and to Master Elrond's house. You have the freedom of the valley save only this: that you hunt no living thing, nor kill any beast save at life's need. This is the word of Master Elrond."
"I doubt not that you have come to seek counsel and I see in your hearts that it is a matter of some weight to you. But let not your hearts be troubled, for here all hurts may be healed and all fears banished like the shadows at the coming of dawn. Drink and rest and dance upon the lawn or listen to the words of the streams tumbling down the rocks. They call to you, though perhaps you do not hear them as we do."
"In a little while, you shall be called before the Lord of Rivendell and you shall be full answered. For now, rest or wander as you will."
Báin intends to gorge himself of all sorts of food, and smoke as much tobacco as he has the time to do, pocketing the best leaf he can find for the future travels.
Jotun takes his rest, for he was sorely tried and tested during the long journey. In many ways, he feels he came up short - not doing enough to assist in making the travel easier for all. But part of this is pride as well, for he has always marked himself as a man of great deeds, with much potential for wealth and power to be had if he is strong and clever enough. He would see his family's honor rise to great heights in Laketown, and bask in the adoration of not only his family and friends, but also of those that either never knew him - and especially those that doubted him.
And so Jotun's time in Rivendell is spent in peaceful rest, and dreaming of great achievements...
Tilly merely nodded and smiled, still in awe of the Elves.
As soon as her belly was filled or the tiredness overcame her, Tilly murmured her thanks and then lay back, resting her head on the soft, lush lawn before her eyes closed and she fell into a deep, restful slumber. Her last thought was of being called before the Lord of Rivendell and explaining to him what had befallen them. When she sat up and stretched, the fresh, clean air filled her lungs and she rubbed at her eyes and for a moment forgot where she was. Looking down she noted that her clothes had been washed and mended and then looking about her, she sought the figure of Jotun. Upon seeing him, she asked, "Have we been summoned, yet? Will you speak of our troubles to the Lord of Rivendell?" How long had she been asleep? She couldn't recollect. Least she felt better - the weariness somehow gone in her sleep.
Bàin is not at all in awe of the elves. He has had plenty of time with the elves, even if his people are not super friendly with the elves of Mirkwood.
Jotun smiles at Tilly. "Not yet. At least, not that I've heard. I believe that the Elves would find us to be rather hasty in all of our endeavors - at least compared to their mindset. To be honest, it's difficult for me to keep track of time her myself. It's quite peaceful, isn't it? Especially compared to our journey in getting here."
He takes a deep breath and exhales softly, forcing his mind to focus on their current situation. "Still, we'd best not dally for too long. Gorlanc and his shade must be stopped from whatever ill plans they have conceived. Cenedrilian told us that we would find answers here when we spoke with Elrond, and I am certain he spoke truthfully. Come, perhaps we should seek out Halor and Mithiriel and advise them of our intent. I cannot even be certain either of them know why we are here, for as Waylon pointed out, there could not have been a message that arrived before us. At least, none that I'm aware of. But who knows, perhaps the Elves have their own means of distant communication beyond our ken."
With a shrug, the barding rises to his feet and seeks out their hosts...
Just as Jotun and Tilly form the intent to seek out the elves, they spot Mithiriel striding across the lawn, small bright flowers in her hair.
"Greetings, friends. It is well that you have refreshed yourselves, for I am come to say that you are summoned before Master Elrond. If you are ready, I am to escort you now."
The elf-maid does not lead you towards the Last Homely House, but instead towards a tower standing some way off to the north, rising above one of the many plunging streams that course through the narrow valley. Autumn leaves lay thick about the tower's richly-carved base and dapple the waters before being swiftly carried away. Each breeze that gently shakes the trees causes fresh leaves of gold and red to fall.
Before the slender tower lies a courtyard of stone bordered with plants whose names you do not know. Seated on a marble bench to one side of the courtyard is an elf. He appears as young as all his race, seeming no older than a man of thirty summers, but Mithiriel bows to him with reverence.
The elf rises as you enter the courtyard, bowing first to Mithiriel and then to you. "Welcome to Rivendell," he says, gesturing for you to approach as he sits back down. "I am Elrond, and your names are known to me, and that you desire counsel. Few of the younger kindreds remember that we are here and fewer still seek counsel of us in these latter days, yet I perceive that you would speak on some matter of importance."
"So, I bid you speak as you will. I will listen and help if I may."
Báin speaks before his companions, "Master Elrond, I will let those wiser than me speak to you of our need, but I wanted first to thank you of your hospitality. He takes a few steps forward, "It has been some years, although I am sure but a wink of time to yourself sir. But my grandsire Bombur, came here once, with Tharkûn, and Thorin, and a dozen others, including the hobbit Bilbo. Many times, as a dwarfling, did he tell the wonders of your vale, and the hospitality you provided. I want you to know that however well intentioned his descriptions may have been, our tongue could never capture the beauty of this place, nor the magnitude of your hospitality. He cannot travel far these days, leastwise without his porters, but if he was here, I know he always meant to thank you more than he ever did back in the day." His piece having been said, Báin backs towards his companions and looks to one of them to explain their need.
Waylon will add in as others tell the tale, but allows those more versed in conversing with lords to do the talking.
Jotun bows before Elrond and smiles as he speaks. "Greetings, Master Elrond. Your legendary hospitality has been well appreciated by myself and my companions, for we were sorely tried during our journey. It was Cenedrilian of the Chetwood that set our feet upon the path to seek counsel in your court. In fact, he advised that we say to the master of the Last Homely House that we bring him a riddle from Eregion. And truly, we find ourselves in a puzzle that has proven most dangerous."
The barding speaks of all he knows and everything he has encountered, encouraging the others to take up the tale when he has no first-hand knowledge of events. Of the murder of Deadeye as they sought to learn the whereabouts of the missing hobbit Mr. Bungo. The encounter with the caravan and finding the ring carried by Berelas to which a cold wraith had been bound by the command of the one she called master, the sorcerer named Gorlanc. And finally of their meeting with Cenedrilian, who told them of Elrond's knowledge that might help them to destroy the ring.
Finally, Jotun concludes. "Our other choices seemed easier perhaps, but either unkind or uncertain. Causing the death of Berelas, who seemed remorseful at the way she had been used or simply hiding the ring in the hopes that this Gorlanc would not find it. Neither of these options did we choose, but rather we sought out your counsel - the one who still possesses the lost lore of the smiths of Eregion. Will you aid us?"
Standing before Master Elrond, Tilly found it hard to find her tongue, so she simply listened to her companions, nodding in agreement as Jotun mentioned their purpose in coming to Rivendell.
"Every turn we've taken to find the missing Hobbit, Mister Bungo, we seem to find some darker peril. This hasn't swayed us from our duty. We earnestly seek your guidance in destroying the dark ring, Master Elrond." Tilly's eyes look up at Lord of Rivendell, hoping her earnestness would prevail upon his good will.
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Elrond seems surprised at Jotun's knowledge of history and smiles at Tilly's earnestness, but it is Báin he addresses first. "I remember your illustrious ancestor well, Master Dwarf," he says. "His large size contained a great heart. And though a certain hobbit's tale may have named him last, Bombur was not least in courage among that expedition. He crossed Middle-Earth from west to east and faced many perils for the honor of his house and his love for Thorin. He deserves the honors I understand he has since received. If you should see the old dwarf again, please give him my fond regards."
"And now," he says with a sigh, "To the ring."
"In an age past, the elves of Eregion...Hollin in the Westron tongue... were great smiths. They forged works of beauty and built high towers that were the wonder and splendor of Middle-Earth and stood as a vision far off of Nargothrond and Menegroth and Vinyamar and Gondolin."
"There was Celebrimbor the king, son of Curufin, lord of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain. Long had his people friendly concourse with the powers of the day, including both the men of Númenor and the dwarves of Khazad-dûm. Among the greatest of the achievements of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, the great smiths of Eregion, were the forging of the Rings of Power. Few were the great rings of men and elves and dwarves, but there were many lesser rings also. Though we call them lesser rings, still the power of some was very great. This ring is one of those."
"Though the craft of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain was great, still it was not equal to their ambition, and there came among them one with knowledge and subtlety and beauty and guile and they were deceived. He was Annatar, the giver of gifts and he taught the elves of Eregion much that they desired to know. Many lesser rings they made in preparation for making the great rings and many of those were well nigh as powerful, and like the great rings, all were built upon a subtle lie."
"For the smiths knew not that Annatar was in fact Sauron the Deceiver and all that he taught them of ring-lore was tainted with his evil, even this ring you bear. He that bears such a ring is offered great power but all that is built with that power will in the end come to naught, for it is the will of the ring's master that none should rise to challenge him in power or mastery."
"This ring is the Ring of Seven Stones and after the terrible wars that ended in the death of Eregion it fell out of the knowledge of men and elves for many long years. But centuries later it was rumored to be in the hands of a cult of sorcerers worshiping the ancient darkness, though no name or location was ever mentioned in the histories."
"And now, through some strange twist of fate, it has come into your hands. So too has come the duty to destroy it, I think. You fear its mighty guardian, the Cold Shade, but I deem that it has some fell purpose yet unrevealed and my heart counsels that it be destroyed ere that purpose can be made manifest."
Báin smiles, and practically beams as Elrond compliments his grandsire. At the question of "if you should see the old dwarf again," Báin deflates somewhat in confusion, and somewhat for fear. He is unsure if Elrond is portending Bombur's death, or his own. Finally, Báin smiles, more weakly than before, and nods his assent to bring Elrond's regards to his progenitor.
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As Elrond details the history of the rings, Báin, who has a single rank in Lore, knows some of this, but is surprised, and concerned, of it as well.
As Elrond finishes, Báin suggests, "to Erebor then. The forges of Thrór's domain burn hot. Hotter than any the elves could offer." Báin inclines his head towards Elrond, "no offense meant Master Elrond."
Elrond shakes his head. "The legendary forges of Erebor burn with great heat, no doubt. But the ring was born in the Tham-i-Mirdain and only there can it be unmade. Not even dragon fire is hot enough, for heat is not all that is required."
”The where?”
"I do not think I have ever heard of the Tham-i-Mirdain as well. This journey seems to be taking us further and further from finding poor Mister Bungo." Waylon says with a sad look upon his face.
"Tham-i-Mirdain signifies the Ring Forges of Eregion in elvish," says Elrond. "Their ruins lie sixty leagues from here in the wilderness that lies between the Bruinen and the mountains."
He looks at Waylon, a ranger, and says "It lies some fifteen leagues southeast of the Angle and forty southwest of the Redhorn Pass."
"I do not know if this peril is tied with your lost hobbit," he says, "But it may be. It sounds as though this Bungo had become entangled with some cult or other, and the ring is coveted by a cult of sorcerers, it is said. Perhaps they are one and the same."
Jotun nods. "Perhaps the followers of this Gorlanc have taken him, trying to learn where the ring is. In any case, the destruction of this ring must take priority, I believe. Maybe our path to Tham-i-Mirdain will take us to Mr. Bungo as well."
Báin shakes his head. "I am still a bit skeptical that the elves have a forge that can do what ours cannot."
"Do you know if anyone controls this forge or have the ruins lain empty? It seems like dark forces are massing around the fate of this ring." Waylon asks.
Báin shakes his head, "ruins of an elven forge hotter than Erebor? I will believe it when I see it, and I mean to see it. Especially if it is true. I have never been to the areas you describe, but I will undertake to go with my companions, if they will have me."
Jotun grins at Bain. "Always, my friend. It sounds as though we have quite a journey ahead of us, and I am confident you will get us there."
He turns to Elrond once more. "May we impose upon your hospitality once more and provision ourselves for the journey? There and back again, should the gods smile upon our quest. Have you any advice on how to destroy the ring once we reach Tham-i-Mirdain?"
Báin rubs his chin, and speaks to himself, "there and back again he says. Hmmmm."