Morwenn's sword rings as it clears it's scabbard, reflecting the ruddy glow of the fire. She meets the oncoming brigands cautiously, easily beating back their clumsy attempts on her life.
Pressing her advantage, she lunges at the nearest, her lips compressed in grim concentraction...
Primrose sees her new companions fighting the men. She notices there are more men than there are fighters. Chewing on her lip for a moment in doubt she decides to try to help. She crawls out of her hiding place, and moves carefully down next to Lothac. She takes a defensive stance and swings at one of the swordmen with all her might.
Lothac does not relent as he fights. He gives the wounded man fighting him no time, advancing on him and putting his weight behind his swings. A yell of war rises from his throat.
__________________________________________________________________
It is a week after the nasty slaughter that is coming to be called the Battle of Combe. Confused reports seem to indicate that brigands in great numbers arrived from out of the Chetwood one evening, surrounded the peaceful village of Combe and began to set the village on fire, shooting anyone who emerged from the buildings. More than thirty men, women and children were killed, nearly a quarter of the village's entire population and it would have been far worse if not for the heroic intervention of Primrose, Morwenn, Berethor, Elarinya, Lothac and eventually, more than a score of semi-armed townsfolk and watchmen from Bree.
The small party surprised the bandits and killed several, driving off several others. In the confusion, they managed to ambush and kill most of a second small band of brigands, eventually putting the whole of the attack into flight when the villagers arrived from Bree bearing torches and bows. But during the fight, Primrose and Berethor were each badly wounded and Lothac was killed by an arrow through the eye.
Morwenn managed to question a dying brigand who told her that they had been landless men and women from across Eriador who had been promised gold and silver in exchange for plundering the tiny village. It didn't make any sense, but the silver was real enough and so the brigands did as they were bid. The brigand died before revealing much information about who hired them, but said that "the boss" had been watching the fight. After his death, Morwenn found several old silver coins in his pocket, of a type she had never seen before, with strange beast's head on one side and a crown on the other. She followed the brigand's paths as far as the Chetwood, then returned to see to the safety of her companions.
Although Primrose is recovering from her injuries, Berethor only seemed to be getting worse, getting weaker and more drawn. After helping Morwenn and Primrose bury Lothac on a hillside overlooking the town, the elf left with Berethor, claiming she was going to seek the hidden vale of Imladris to seek some healing there.
Now, a week later, Primrose and Morwenn sit once again in the common room of the Prancing Pony talking to some survivors of the raid. A few strangers sit at table, listening to the talk, savoring soft cheeses and blackberries with hard cider. These include both Waylon and the elf, Caladhrel. An elf in Bree is still fairly newsworthy and many people stare when they think he is not looking.
"I heard as they was looking for someone," says Harry Longloam, a Combe farmer. "Askin' who'd seen 'im and shootin' down them as hadn't."
"Seen who?" asks Tom Yardcloth, another farmer whose cottage was burned to the ground.
"I don't rightly know," replies Harry. "I heard it from Arnold Stoneman, who says he didn't know, neither."
Primrose has her head down eating a dinner of ham, bread and taters with her third cider in front of her. She looks devastated, and her face is ravaged with grief. "I came to find my Uncle. Lothac was goin' to help me do it. He wasn't bad he really wasn't. Now no one will ever know it but me." she sniffs a bit and takes another swig of cider.
She sits drinking and eating when the words of the farmers seem to penetrate her thoughts. She sits up as tall as a hobbit lass can, and looks to her Ranger friend. "Morwenn you know what those farmers are talkin' about? Could they be talkin' about the fellows that killed Lothac and hurt Berethor so bad?"
Caladrehl had missed the battle that had come upon the village not too long ago. In fact, many seemed to still reeling from it. Sometimes the tension was thick, other times there was an aura of negative emotions like despair and grief.
He was used to being stared at and given discreet looks ever since he had stepped outside of his homeland. Elves were not so rare as to be unknown or never seen, but they were rare enough to be an oddity and thing of interest. Honestly, Cal was just vain enough to like the attention most of the time, though not always. He hid the small smile whenever he noticed the looks.
The talk nearby, however, seemed to grab his attention. Talk of a mysterious 'they' who were looking for someone and it seemed like not a good thing to be questioned. And a hobbit looking for her uncle if his pointed ears did not mistake him. One thing at a time, however.
He stood up in a smooth, graceful motion and walked slowly to the table where the farmers were at. "Pardon my intrusion and please forgive my boldness, good men, but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation and it piqued my interest. Might I inquire what you are talking about? If needed, I shall be happy to be you both another round."
The aftermath of the attack on Combe had been hard on Morwenn, so many had died and for what, a few pieces of silver! And on top of losing so many innocents, the loss and injury of the good men and women who'd tried to stop the slaughter, brave Primrose, Berethor....even the Dundlening Lothac, much redeemed in her eyes for his sacrifice.
She'd followed the trail up into Chetwood...but pursuing such a force was foolharding alone, even if Primrose was a willing companion. She'd sent word of the attack to her other Rangers, but didn't expect help from that avenue. They were all dealing with the Shadow in their own way.
Her reverie was interrupted by Primrose's question. Morwenn looked up from where she'd been examining the dregs in the bottom of her tankard, looking over to the farmers, nodding, "Mayhaps, Primrose, mayhaps." she says, rising to her feet.
She joins the Elf, Calahdrel, she believed he was called as the farmer's table, "Indeed, Tom, Harry. Who was looking? And where are they?" she asks in a tone that brooks no argument, arms crossed.
The farmers, simple Bree-folk from tiny Combe, regard the elf and the ranger with mixed expressions of awe and suspicion.
Morwenn watches as the usual mask of suspicion begins to close the farmer's faces. With a sigh, she lays a hand on the elf's arm to forestall any of his responses, for the moment.
"My apologies, goodmen, for my brusqueness. It is imperative however, that you tell me...us...where this man is that you speak of." Morwenn says as gently as she can.
Waylon turns to watch the conversation and tells Primrose, "I am sorry to hear about your friend. I wish I could have arrived sooner to help."
Calahdrel turned slightly to look at the women that walked up to 'help' him and practically demand more information from the farmers. Her tone was imperious almost and the farmers did not react well to it. She immediately tried to keep him from talking as she apologized to the farmers. One eyebrow rose up and he did not give her a kind look.
He turned back to the farmers and smiled. "I know that I am only asking after this from a desire to help. It sounds as those this person doing the asking does not do so nicely nor lightly, and I would see any innocent people spared from more hardship after all you and your town have recently suffered."
He couldn't help but keep a bit of the unkindness or perhaps haughtiness out of his voice that was solely directed at Morwenn, however.
Awe:
The farmers seem to like the ranger's courteous tone, and most of them ease their native distrust of outsiders enough to engage in a little conversation.
"He meant them brigands in the battle. They was looking for somebody, but I don't know who. I heard the story from Arnold, but he said he didn't know who they was looking for, either."
"Thank you for your kind words sir." Primrose smiles at him. "Lothac was a good man even if he didn't look it. My name is Primrose Bunch. Pleased to meet you." she holds out her hand in greeting.
She looks over at the two talking to the farmers. "That's
Morwenn. She was at the battle too. I don't know the elf. I wonder if they'll get any information."
Calahdrel nodded to the farmers. "Thank you. Do you know where this...Arnold...could be located? It may be of some use to hear what he knows directly from him. If someone is being sought and threw so many brigands at the issue...I fear it may not be the only problem to arise searching for this person."
Waylon shakes the offered hand and says, "I wonder who could be around to draw such attention. The attack looked pretty fierce if it was really just a cover to finding someone."
The farmers look nonplussed by all the outsiders taking an interest in their little corner of the world.
"Uh, you can find Arnie down the combe. He's got an orchard at the t'other end he has to tend, dead relatives or no. It's just past the split elm on the north side."
"Big folk don't make sense to me sometimes." She waves Morwenn back over to the table. "We should go visit this Arnie. Do you want to go tonight or wait until morning?" she suddenly remembers her manners. Ma would tan my hide for forgettin to introduce people to each other. Morwenn this is. Um I don't believe I caught your name."
Calahdrel gave a small bow of his head to the farmers. "Thank you very much for the information." He bought them another round as promised right afterwards.
Only then did he head towards the table where the woman had been called back to, one with a human and a hobbit talking. "And I am Calahdrel, since we seem to be looking in to the same avenue of information."
Morwenn nods to the farmer, "I know that tree... thank you."
She's thoughtful as she returns to the table, inclining her head to Primroses' companion then to Calahdrel in turn, "Thank you for your help in getting that out of those farmers...they can be an instransigent bunch."
Lister was late getting in. It was much further to that old Barrow mound then he had been led to believe... and it was only an old mound where a couple of cows had been buried when he got there. Still, you never know what the old spade will turn up, so all rumors must be followed.
There seemed to be a bit of extra action around the old Pony tonight. Wonder what's going on.
Lister enters the Pony and sees some familiar faces and some strangers including an Elf. He also saw a familiar little Hobbit still here, and nodded in greeting to her.
He then steps up to order an ale. "Just one before I drag my tired ass home. Any more news on the disaster". He asks the barkeep.
"Ah, where are my manners. Its nice to meet you Morwenn and Primrose, my name is Waylon Stanmore. I would be interested in finding out who could be important enough to draw so much attention if you wouldn't mind having some company when you go to visit Arnie."
He then steps up to order an ale. "Just one before I drag my tired ass home. Any more news on the disaster". He asks the barkeep.
Baynard Butterbur nods and pours Lister a fine nut-brown ale. "Evening, Mister Goatleaf. I don't mind telling you that there's queer folk about. But there's also that fine little Miss Primrose and that there ranger, Morwenn. I don't hold with women trampin' the roads as you know, but they say she fought like a hero at Combe, so I shan't inquire no further into what's not my business to begin with, no I shan't!"
"But, since you asked, it seems them brigands what attacked Combe was looking for somebody. That's a mighty queer way to find folks, if you ask me! Killing folks instead of asking them where your man was, if you follow my meaning. We do live in queer times and I don't expect they could get much queerer!"
Calahdrel gave a slight almost-bow of his head to Morween. "I am glad to be of help. I do not like the thought of someone out there willing to go to such brutal lengths to find someone or something."
He looked at Waylon and Primrose. "So long as you do not impede the information gathering, I so no reason not to. What is the human saying - the more the merrier?" His lips pursed slightly. "Such a curious turn of phrase."
After a moment he dismissed the thought. "Shall we be off, or is there that needs to be done here?"
"Ah thanks... put it on my tab".
Lister approaches the talking group, doffs his hat, and gives Primrose an exaggerated bow.
"Greeting to you Primrose. Word is that you're a real hero... and I'm thankful for what you've done to make our Bree safe. From the look of things and your excited tone, it seems that you might have new mischief afoot"?
He then turns to "the Ranger". "Not sure we've ever been properly introduced. Name is Goatleaf... Lister Goatleaf. My family has lived in Bree for generations, and I thank you for your concern for our safety. We were fortunate indeed that you were visiting when the "trouble" happened".
He simply nods, and smiles at the Sindarin that recently approached the two more familiar individuals, not wanting to seem too forward.
"Good evening Mr. Goatleaf. Not too much mischief. We're going to talk to Arnie in Comb about the person who was asking after a person when Combe was attacked. We're trying to decide if it's early enough to visit or if we need to wait until the morning. How has your day been?" she nods politely to the big person. "Thank you for paying for dinner sir."
Morwenn inclines her head at Lister's thank you and purchase of their dinner ( or lunch ? ) , "Indeed, I was glad to have been of assistance. " , she then looks to the others in turn, "I'd rather not let another night pass without talking to Arnie, let you hie over to his farm and enlighten ourselves."
"Alright let us go." she hops down from the bench and makes ready to go.
Lister looks in feigned anguish at his half finished ale, then quaffs it in one gulp, turning away and belching after this feat.
"Well I'm already dirty and sweaty, my bag is already packed for travelling, and I have finished my ale... so if there is no objection, I shall join you on this foray". The man goes to retrieve his bag, and follows them out. [b]"After all this is my town, and it's welfare is utmost importance to me".
Calahdrel was not certain if he was being snubbed or respected when the human asked for the ranger's name and not his. It could be a cultural issue for all he knew. He chose to err on the side of caution and not take offense.
"Good to meet you, Mr. Goatleaf. I am Calahdrel." He inclined his head in response.
Then he moved to follow Morwenn and Primrose out to their destination.
Waylon finishes his drink and also moves to join the others.
"Ah! Yes... umm very pleased to meet you". Lister steps back a bit in surprise.
So, thus introduced, the little group of unlikely fellows made their way out of the Prancing Pony, through Bree's North Gate, where they were remarked with some surprise by the gate warden, one Mister Harfast Longthistle.
Bidding Mister Longthistle a good evening, they made their way up the long slope of Bree Hill, an entirely different prospect in the sunlight than on the misty eve of the battle. Long rows of orchards and small sheep byres dotted the ancient hill, and well trimmed green hedges marked the verge of the little road that leads to the village of Combe, or what was left of it.
Morwenn the ranger strode beside the hobbit Primrose Bunce, slowing her long stride to accommodate the hobbit's shorter legs. Beside them came the local man Lister Goatleaf, the grim woodman Waylon Stanmore and the elf Calahdrel, fair faced and fleet of foot.
Arriving at the narrow cleft valley north of Bree Hill, they surveyed the ruin of Combe, once a prosperous village of handsome stone houses, now reduced to blackened shell of burned timbers and drifting ash. At the east end of town's only street stands the bare mound of earth beneath which were buried more than three dozen victims of the vicious bandit attack. In after years the people of Combe, Bree and Archet would come together to erect a tall stone there in memory of the deaths, but for now it was but an earthen mound bare of tree or any blade of grass.
At the southern end of town, where the street runs up against the bluff side of Bree Hill sat the town's only surviving homes, several small hobbit burrows dug into the hillside. Only their doors and porches were harmed in the attack and several of the hobbit families had taken in their Big Person neighbors, giving them food and slightly cramped shelter.
The town was almost empty as the little fellowship passed through, only a stray dog to bark wildly at them and an old hobbit woman sweeping her porch to eye them with no little suspicion. Traveling east out of town and into the apple and walnut orchards, the group finds at last the field they sought, in which worked several ragged and dirty-looking men, picking fruit and moving them into large bushels.
One man, thin and tired-looking spots you first. "Here now! What do you be wanting? This is no place for a carnival!"
Primrose enjoyed the evening walk. She waved in a friendly way at the hobbit grandmother on the way to the orchard. When she arrives at the orchard she answers the man, "Carnival? We aren't a carnival. We're looking for Mr. Arnold. Do you know where we might find him?"
Unconvinced, and apparently not recognizing Primrose, the man scowls. "Never heard of no Arnie. I have work to do. Just you be on your way!"
Waylon smiles and says, "Good sir, certainly you would know of him as you referred to him as Arnie rather then Mr. Arnold. We know that the hour is late and there is still much work to be done. But with a little assistance we will be out of your hair and perhaps help prevent such catastrophe's as that which struck this town from happening again soon."
Calahdrel shook his head as they passed through the burned-out husks that once were he assumed beautiful homes and buildings. The town, once full of life, now stood so empty it almost made him shiver. He hoped that the spirits of the slain would be able to find rest, and not linger among their former residences.
He smiled at the brusque man who claimed not to know the person they were speaking of. "Greetings to you. To be clear, we wish this man no harm nor ill will. We simply wish to ask some questions and then be on our way. That is all, nothing nefarious."
So I would have 2 greater successes with 2 6s on the d6s, but I believe an 11 is Eye of Sauron which means I get a zero? But I'm not sure if that means the feat die counts as zero only or the entire roll?And just the Feat die is a zero I'm not sure a 12 succeeds anyway so. Lol. Man, me and the luck of these dice are not doing well.
The farmer ignores Waylon and stares at Calahdrel with an open mouth. He's clearly never seen anyone so fair of face and voice in his life and is duly impressed to meet a real elf.
"Ah, yes. I mean no. I...I mean... Uh, I'm Arnie, sir," he says, doffing his cap. "Arnold Stoneman, that is. Your honor."
Primrose huffs, and gives the farmer a glare. "Fibbing to people is wrong." she sighs. "but I can understand with what happened to Combe and all." She looks to Calahdrel to ask the questions since Mr. Arnold seems so impressed with the elf.
I'm going to impress the big people one of these days. Just wait and see.
Morwenn watches the poor man's reaction to the full impact of meeting an elf, but feels an unworthy tinge of envy. She knows a number of her High Men brethren in the Rangers that can have the same effect on people , but she lacks such...presense. At least for now.
With a shake of her head , to clear such thought, she looks to Calahdrel and nods to him to continue the questioning.
Calahdrel gave the man a mildly reproving look but only for a moment. Then he favored the man with a small reassuring smile. He would have reached out to give the man's shoulder a reassuring pat, but he feared the awestricken man might faint.
"It is alright. I understand. Fear and suspicion are natural after an attack such as this town has suffered."
He gestured to his companions. "We were told that you might have heard who the attackers were looking for? We are interested in trying to find who or what they were after to prevent further attacks if we can.
Arnold bobs his head. "I heard some of 'em, yes sir. I heard 'em say they was looking for some fella, but they never said his name. I don't understand it. If they was looking for one person, why'd they have to go and do all this? Why? My cousins are dead. My neighbors... dead. They coulda just come into town and asked."
The apple farmer stares into the middle distance and you're all certain he isn't seeing you right now. He's seeing what will haunt his days and nights for a long time to come.
"Anyway, I'm sorry. That's all I heard. If I knew something I'd tell you."
As he turns to go away, he appears to think of something. "I don't know if it means anything, but I heard one of 'em say 'the stones'. Um, he said... he said 'orders from the stones.' Maybe it's important?"
"Orders from the stones?" Primrose looks confused. "Talking stones? That's odd." She pats Mr. Arnold on the knee. "I'm sorry for you loss sir. It was a bad day for all of us. We'll do our best to find out what happened."
"I wonder if looking for tracks heading into Combe would be a good idea. Maybe we can backtrack the men." Primrose murmurs almost to herself. "If we track where they came from we might find these stones."
Waylon looks down at Primrose and comments on her musing, "I know little of the lore of these lands. Maybe someone more knowledgeable will have heard of the Stones. To me it sounds like some mountain fortress instead of talking stones. Perhaps there is a bandit lord who ordered this attack from his stronghold?"
Morwenn frowns when Arnold repeats the strange phrase, thinking back to her own knowledge of these lands...