Waylon nods and says, "It might be worth looking around the burrow for a bit and see if we can see signs that your uncle escaped." Waylon will head outside to see if there is anything else that he can find.
Waylon searches and finds small tracks out behind the burrow. They lead off into the tall grass of the North Downs, but quickly disappear when crossing some stony ground. Bungo seems to have made it outside the burrow, at least.
Waylon returns to the others and says, "I found fresh tracks that disappeared a short ways away on stony ground. But they seem to be fresh. Perhaps I should not be so pessimistic about the fate of good Bungo."
"Glad tidings indeed! Maybe he's not also prisoner, then, though, if he is hard on the run, finding him will get even harder."
"We should head to these ruins. Perhaps we will find Ardmir's missing wife and some clue as to why they hunt good Bungo so." Waylon gathers his gear and prepares to head out.
The team marches out, following Ardamir for hours towards the northwest where a gloomy smudge on the horizon soon resolves itself into the outline of broken battlements against the iron-gray sky. Few of you ever dreamed of a city so large. Bree wouldn't comprise even a small neighborhood in that vast curtain wall. But all that is visible now are crumbling walls and empty, staring windows. Here and there a mighty tower still stands to give testament to the might and glory of the ancient realms of Arnor and Arthedain, whose capital this once was.
However, in spite of the faded glory of the ancient city, it is now a gloomy ruin where shadows, real and imagined, lie thick upon the sere brown turf. The once-great wall is pierced in many places, including what must have once been the city's main southern gate. Entering this haunted place should be no trouble at all...
Primrose stands in awe at the city. "Will you look at that. That's the biggest place I've ever seen. It makes Bree look like Hobbiton." She moves forward carefully looking for any footprints or well used entrances.
Indeed, Primrose finds many tracks, of boot and cart and horse in the dust before the city's southern gate. She thinks some of them might even be recent, but she loses them on the cobbled streets beyond the gate.
"Seems like a lot of traffic for a haunted ruin."
"Let's see whats past this gate to the south." She moves forward carefully.
You enter the ruined gate across the broken and rutted cobbles. The once-great city is overgrown with weeds and strewn with the debris of a millennium. Stones fallen from the collapse of great buildings turn grand avenues into narrow tracks and many of the plazas have returned to the chalky sod of the North Downs so that green turf is as prevalent as stone.
Still, there is no denying the grandeur of the city's remains, an echo of that greatness where once the wise and blessed Men of Númenor strode in the Noontide of their power.
Over this the lowering sky looms gray and severe, promising rain. There too is a hush as if neither bird or beast nor man makes its home in all that wide tangle of grass and tree and stone. Still, it is possible to make out a few signs of the passage of Man, leading into the heart of the city up the ruins of a once-wide thoroughfare past broken walls and the shattered plinths of ancient statues.
Following these tracks, the team moves into the city.
Waylon keeps an eye out for any who might be on watch duty or lurking to strike at the unaware.
Primrose heads into the once great city. Her head swivels back and forth as she looks at the ruins.
Silently and cautiously, Tilly cast her eyes about the once-great city; gazing upon the ruins, fallen stone, broken walls and statues.
The scholar, besieged by the great ruin, finds himself examining nearly everything, looking for some clue, some indication of the history and life of the ruin.
He finds himself more distracted by the possibilities than informed, however.
The looming walls and broken towers seem to carry a weight of history all their own. Combined with the knowledge that someone has been here recently, this is enough to make everyone nervous. But none see or hear anything amiss.
Treading lightly over the rubble, the team enters a plaza bordered on the right by tall walls of gray stone and on the left by a broken, rubble-strewn ditch - all that remains of a stream that once flowed through the ancient capital.
That is when an arrow strikes the pavement a pace ahead of Waylon's boots and a voice calls out, deep and guttural. "Stay where you are, trespasser! Those that move now, die."
At the far end of the plaza, a small group of armed men and women enter from a side street. They number eight or nine and are dressed in furs. The old man who appears to be their leader has an iron gray beard and a face painted with blue whorls and sigils.
Eep. Who are you? We don't want trouble." Primrose says. It comes out quietly, and the man may not actually hear her.
Waylon stops and watches them carefully and wonders how many more are lurking through out the ruins.
As the group had approached the ruined city, Morwenn grew quiet...well quieter. For the greater danger the area presented, but also for the disquiet the remains of the glory of Arnor stirred within her.
When the arrow sails out of concealment, her own, already knocked comes around, but she does not raise it.
Instead she steps forward, ready to fire, to stand beside Primrose, stopping when the voice commands.
"Trespasser, you say? Who would lay claim to the fallen glory of Arnor?" she asks, regarding the old man levelly, noting the blue face markings, muttering to the others, "Hillmen it would seem...."
"I am Cynbal. These are my kin and my folk. Speak who you are and why you are here."
Tilly looked to her companions and then the old, bearded man with the blue face markings. Quietly, under her breath so as to not be overheard by the man or his people, she relayed to her friends, "Better to be courteous. He is wary and proud."
Finding some courage, she quietly cleared her throat and then as Tilly was about to take a small step forward, she remembered the threat of death upon movement, so she remained where she was; her mouth turning up in an uncertain, yet gentle smile. "Good day. We mean no trespass, Mister Cynbal, so please do not shoot your arrows at us. My name is Matilda Appledore and my companions and I have undertaken a personal mission, if that is what one would call it. We seek no trouble." But we always seem to find it, she mused silently.
She was afraid to say anymore out aloud lest she say too much or not have the right words to quell the man's agitation. Tilly then looked to Morwenn to see what the Ranger would do or say next.
"Please Mr. Cynbal. We're looking for my Uncle. We believe he came this way. We don't mean you harm honest. He's a little taller than me and an old hobbit."
Waylon smiles and avoids making any rash moves, "There is no need for anyone to attack each other today."
As the other speak, Morwenn nods, impressed with her companion's earnest description of their endeavor.
"It is as they say, we seek a hobbit and a woman, both taken from their homes. You seem a forthright and honest man, Cynbal, if your people have laid claim to these ruins, so be it. We want no quarrel with you , only those who have taken our family, who follow the Shadow."
Cynbal listens, seemingly content to speak with you, but not in any hurry.
"What is a hobbit?" asks the old man, curiously.
"Erm well that would be me. It's a small person. Have you seen a small person who isn't a child?" Primrose stands as tall as she can. It isn't very tall.
Cynbal looks curiously at Primrose, seeing her for the first time. "You're not a child!" he says, wonderingly. "A holaelfar out of legend!"
"No, I've never seen a holaelfar before. Now you," he says, making plain that this is an exchange of information. "Who do you seek, and why seek them here?"
"Well my uncle. He's not a child either, and this man's wife may have been brought here by not nice people. We aren't sure what they are. They feel evil and bad." Primrose stumbles with her words looking to the others for help.
Waylon listens in to the conversation but stays quiet as Primrose seems to have struck the right note with the strange man.
The hillmen look at each other nervously.
Cynbal's face hardens. "In these lands, men are judged worthy by their skill with a blade or a spear, or by a display of their strength. Show me!"
Waylon draws his axe and a piece of jerky as he tosses the jerky up into the air he whips around the axe striking it multiple times as it falls to show his skill .
When a player fails at a roll, he may spend 1 point of Hope to receive a bonus equal to the Attribute score that is considered most pertinent for the action. Apply the favoured Attribute rating if the character is making use of a favoured skill, or the basic value otherwise.
Cynbal and his party look impressed. The young woman in their party also regards Waylon with approval.
"Very good," says Cynbal. "You are worthy. Will you now perform the Black Helms with my champion? It is our way, and a contest of strength. The winner gains much. A cow, a fine fur... and the hand of my daughter Essylt."
At this, both Essylt and one of the hillman warriors both look startled.
Primrose looks startled as well. Why is he offering us a cow, furs an his daughter. All we wanted was information, and not to get into a fight.
"I don't think we interested in anyone's hands at the moment. It's an honor I am sure. She looks like a lovely person. We do need information. If you haven't see my Uncle or my friend's wife, we should keep looking for them."
Waylon blinks and looks a bit shocked, "That sounds like a very great honor, but I am afraid that I will not be around for long and I will be going to dark places which would not be good to take your daughter."
"I don't think he wants you to take her anywhere. I think he wants to protect her from him. You're just convenient and expendable, both."
Primrose gives the young woman a look to see what she might be able to sense about her.
Waylon focus more on the leader to see if he is serious and on the hillman warrior that reacted lest he decide to charge.
Primrose can see the young woman is uphappy, but not why. Waylon takes the chief at his word and doesn't suspect the warrior is going to attack.
:-)
"Will you make the Black Helms?"
The situation seemed to be getting out of hand quickly. Tilly cast her gaze toward the chieftain's daughter, hoping to gauge her feelings/emotions/reactions.
"I'm sorry, but we really aren't familiar with your customs. How do you 'make the black helms?' It seems something he ought to know before agreeing, don't you think?"
Cynbal nods, explaining the rules of the contest. "It is a wrestling match. Bedwyr, Fráech, and Taredd and your champion will each enter the ring wearing a helm while onlookers fling mud on them. The last man wearing a helm, wins."
Understanding the daughter's unhappiness, Tilly took a deep breath and spoke steadily, "Excuse me, Chief Cynbal. May I suggest an alternate prize for our champion? If our person wins this contest of strength, can we have your cooperation in gaining information to find our friends? It is very important to us and all we ask of you."
Cynbal considers this, giving Tilly a shrewd look while his chief warrior regards Tilly with a sour expression and Essylt looks relieved and grateful.
"That...is acceptable," says Cynbal. He looks at Waylon, waiting for your "champion's" answer.
Waylon nods and says, "In that case, I will make the Black Helms."