Year 2947: Theft of the Moon

[Vladim]

Ancient Stones - Skyrim OST

 

It is in the year 2947, the very next after the Company undertook Baldor's task to guide him from Dale, across the breadth of Mirkwood, a trek which cost nearly cost Arphel the Ranger's life, and sat to seal Ellerina's decision to leave the waning Third Age of Middle-Earth and travel West. The Company were tested, but their bonds saw them through to the end, as they always have. Leaves have fallen, crinkling underfoot, when Fall spread throughout Wilderland - giving room to Winter, whose cold grasp and icy breath left it covered beneath a blanket of snow: but the fires of Mountain Hall burned brightly and hotly, chasing away any and all shadows that crept close. A cozy place by the Common Room's fire was always open to any who wished it, and many stories were told when the blizzards howled outside. Winter turned to Spring, relinquishing its hold, and Wilderland ran with streams as nature awakened once more to a new year. Perhaps dark tidings would come this year, but the buds on the trees would open regardless, and the woods and mountains would be once more filled with the songs of life: Birds, animals, insects, streams, and the sound of leaves in the wind. Many important tasks had to be done at Mountain Hall, as the new season began; for there was much to do if the new Winter was to be defeated like the one before it.


News reach Mountain Hall of the Gathering of the Five Armies, a new celebration to mark the victory over the orcs at the Battle of the Five Armies, which had been held in Dale - King Bard, the people said, was planning on making this a yearly thing. They spoke of a three events: Horsemanship, where a masked man with a horse-tail helm made the crowds roar as he hit every target with his spear, singing a song in a language foreign to Dale; the Wreathe Shot - an archer's proving ground where Galia, an elf bearing a half-moon mask, had bested the Royal Archers of Dale and the archers from the Bowmen’s Guild of Esgaroth, accomplishing feats previously thought impossible. More was told of the Ring of Strength, where a man who was nearly mistaken for a bear, named Gerlod, had beaten the best contestant in a rather humiliating way: he picked up the young dwarf by his beard and tossed him out of the ring. The Grand melee followed these events, with multiple companies taking the field, and where Elstan, the Captain of the Guard, took first prize, defeating the Beorning Gerlod. The travelers spoke almost as if in a daze of the grand feast and the masked ball, filled with songs and tales of adventure - and of the gleaming chest of gold received by the winner of the Melee.

Tales far darker were told by other travelers still: Stories of a bright-eyed, spindly creature, too quick for a spider, too smart for a mere goblin. It preyed on the unwary and the weak, a blood-drinking ghost could not be caught, stealing into many houses. But, regardless of what happened in Wilderland, the seasons moved on: Spring gently moved on to Summer, as even the last memory of Winter was erased, and trees bloomed, the land flowering and filled with greenery; a great time for travelling throughout the land. Summer passed quickly and busily as hunters supplied Mountain Hall with fresh game for immediate consumption and supplies for the Winter. Fall had come once more, and with it, harvest - to Mountain Hall itself, it mattered little, as their fields were few, and most pasture was used to set the goats out to graze. To their neighbors the Beornings, with whom they traded extensively for other foods, it was a different matter altogether. It was then, when Hartfast summoned the Company, standing on the balcony of his home, overlooking the village.

He tells the company that there is something he needs to do, but cannot go himself, as he must stay at Mountain Hall due to a matter requiring his attention - he does not seem to wish to disclose the reason, but his countenance is grim. As it turns out, he'd sent an envoy to Beorn, attempting to make another agreement for the betterment of trade and patrol of the lands. The envoy discovered that Beorn had been absent, but one of his Thanes, a man named Merovech the Mighty, who had been busy organizing some manner of harvest festival along with Marshall Torbald, explained while he could not make such decisions in the absence of the Bear Lord, he graciously invited Hartfast and any who were recommended by him to attend the Festival, which would be held at Stoneyford. Hartfast explains to the Company that he would prefer that they go to the Festival instead of others, as he wishes for Beorn's folk to be exposed to more than simply the Woodmen, whom they are already comfortable with. This is a plan, he says, for the Beornings to expand their dealings to more than just a few cultures, as the North will not hold long if it is divided, no matter the victories earned. Borin's news seemed to have had at least some measure of effect on Hartfast.

As the meeting ends, Gerold pulls Idunn aside to tell her that he, too, wants to ask her to go to the Festival, as Merovech, her cousin, had asked for her in particular to attend; it seemed besides the festivities, there was something else he wanted to discuss in person. Arphel, whom the beautiful Noldor that visited them diagnosed with being poisoned particularly badly, had to eventually be taken to Rivendell for treatment - her life was not in danger, but the poison seemed to have not been that of goblin-make after all, and was something far darker, but what it was, the Noldor would not say: She only told Ellerina, whose only mentioned very unwillingly, that the poison was, in fact, not a poison, but a venom. Arphel's treatment would require perhaps years, so horrid was the venom. What manner of beast could produce such, neither Elf mentioned. Before she departed, taking her brother's ring, she implored Almarion to take her place in the Company. The proud Ranger took the incident with the orcs as her own fault, no matter how many times she had been told it had been none of hers. She all but begged Almarion to go with them to redeem the honor of the Dunedain - whatever she thought of this were her own thoughts, but it was true that with Arphel now out of commission, this part of Wilderland no longer had a Ranger patrolling it, and the Company's journeys would make the wanderings simpler.

Hartfast, on the other hand, had asked Borin to stay, and asked him to once more, describe Frar and his quest to return the Greydelve to the dwarves. He listened silently, without interrupting, and did not speak for several minutes after the dwarf was finished with his tale. He then spoke once more, putting fourth a proposal: though he'd loved having a whole three dwarves here, he deemed their desire as highly strategic, as it placed another bulwark against Gundabad, and would allow for easier trade. Thus, he advised Borin to speak to the Bear Lord and his Thanes of this, while warning him that usually, Beorn is not too happy with dwarves - but that his is another opinion that needs to be heard, and another hard head that needs convincing. When asked on his own position, Hartfast himself explains that he is getting old, and must ensure that the new generation of Woodmen have a good start and a safe haven; it is why he is hesitant to help. However, should the dwarves recruit others to their help, he will speak to his people and see what he can offer those that would reclaim their old home.

Meanwhile, another messenger arrived for Hartfast, who awaited him to be finished with Borin in the common room - he proved a chatty fellow named Magric, particularly puffed up and proud of himself. The man was the one responsible for running messages between the Beornings and the folk of Mountain Hall - while his manner was unpleasant, his knowledge of tracking and trapping was undeniable, so he was an ideal candidate for many such trips in the area. He made it no secret of the thing he'd learned while at Stoneyford, and some were more interesting than most to some companions: Drinking, he sneered about how Beorn has taken to raising odd children who smoke pipes - only he hadn't had enough patience of them and sent them up north to live with one of his dogs (which, as he was quick to claim, were by far inferior to the Hounds of Mirkwood that the Woodmen trained, of course!) After several cups, he had gotten much less humorous and his voice had a great deal more spite, and he talked about how he lost a good purse of coins betting on the fierce Gerlod in the Horsemanship contest when the Feast up north happened last year, all because of that thrice-damned mop-helm and his songs. Gerlod himself nursed a grudge, and would rant about it to any who would listen, as he had spoken to his horse about the contest and felt he was entitled to the win based on the sheer level of communication he had.

Magric felt the man was clearly drunk, but everyone back in Stoneyford seemed to accept his story and nod with varying degrees of pity or disgust. Sorcery scared the trapper even more, but the thought of the bear-like man being a 'sorceror' made him laugh, sending goat fat spraying from his mouth, as his mood changed to the better. His eyes nearly lit when he lowered his voice and spoke of the final thing he'd uncovered: Apparently, this time, the Festival was to be of Seven Trials, and the winner would win rewards and acclaim among the Beornings - but more than that, was the story of the truest reward: the winner would be allowed, for one year, to keep a precious artifact belonging to Beorn - an ornate sickle, littered with old runes and markings; he'd only caught a glimpse and even then, he could barely believe his luck, as the Beornings were quite secretive with it. He couldn't get any explanation of what was so special about it, but the folk spoke of it in reverent tones, and one lad even said 'power', though he was shushed as soon as he opened his mouth. Whatever the case, the thing was old and quite desired... of course, there was little chance of a non-Beorning to allow to keep it - but apparently, before, a Barding was sponsored by one of the families who let him choose between gold or using the sickle for a smaller part of time. The barding laughed and chose the gold. Magric made it clear what he thought of the man's intelligence. After all, who knew what manner of story something that old carried(or how much it was worth)?

The meetings over, Magric had gone over to Hartfast, and the Company was left alone in the quietened Common Hall as everyone returned to their drinks. Each now had something to think about, and the road beckoned once more, as after all, it went ever ever on...

[Vladim]

Merovech the Mighty… even though she had heard this many times by now, she still had trouble believing it. She had known her cousin as a restless young man, perhaps half a score of years her elder, but still none the wiser. He was bull-headed and full of pride. When he decided to leave the Woodmen in favour of Beorn, nobody was surprised, for he had never fitted with the rest of the Mountain-folk. But she had never expected him to rise to the position of Thane, and much less to achieve this so quickly. So much must have changed in both their lives! Her cousin probably did not know about her engagement and the tragedy that followed, nor that she was now a huntress, and a good one, rivalling the best huntsmen of Woodmen-town. Or perhaps her story had spread outside of Mountain-Hall, for the Woodmen, for all their virtues, were not above gossiping and storytelling. But she too did not know what had happened in Merovech’s life, nor why he had summoned her now. She was both curious and eager to know.

She was also eager to leave Mountain-Hall and travel again. She had seen the Beornings a few times, and even talk to some of them, for they shared similar lands along the Great River. Yet she knew little of their ways, other than what she had learnt from stories. Most of all, she remembered what her companion, Gramtyng, had said: that Beorn could not only speak to his animals, but also teach others to do so. Idunn would never believe this had she not known for a fact that Radagast could do the same. The festival, therefore, was also a chance to earn Beorn’s favour. Perhaps then he would teach her how to speak to Uthred, her hound, who must have seen the werewolf’s lair, and could guide Idunn there, so that she could put an end to the beast.

As she sat with her companions around the Great Hall, she couldn’t help but grow frustrated by this Magric. It was not only his demeanour that was infuriating, but also the fact that he gambled-and even openly admitted doing so, without any shame! Her people had taught her not to value gold or silver, but friendship, knowledge and simplicity. Yet she felt that many, like this Magric, had been corrupted by the riches of Dale and Esgaroth. As soon as the man left, she gave her companions a piece of her mind:

’I do not like this Magric. Is he supposed to guide us to Stoneyford? Perhaps he was Hartfast’s idea, but surely we can travel without him.’

She looked to Nori and the other two dwarves, fully trusting their skill as guides, as Nori had proven himself many times when they travelled through Mirkwood, a much harder journey.

’Dwarves make the best guides-Nori has proved it, and I trust him and his folk more than this Magric fellow!’

[Vladim]

Almarion had had a long journey to find Arphel and bring her her brothers ring. It was with sadness that she found her countrywoman ailing with a mysterious poisoning that apparently even athelas could not cure. Dire news indeed, but dire news was the lot of a Dunadan these days, or any day for that matter and Almarion showed little beyond her usual dour expression at her sisters condition, other than to place a hand upon her shoulder and respond.

"My journey has been long and I have no wish to travel north again so soon. I will do as you wish, and stand in your place. We share the same honour, and I do not neglect my duty."

To be truthful, after the horrors and perils of the North, Almarion believed that she was likely to get little more than a rest in these mild southern lands, but as anywhere, the Shadow was deceptive, and she would never let down her guard and besides, a Dunadan was needed here at least until a replacement could be found.

It was time to meet these people her countrywoman had been travelling with.

[Vladim]

Gramtyng slammed down a mug he'd been drinking from back on the table and wiped his mouth, grinning: "Can't say I like 'im either. Man seems to have eyes only for his gold, and nothing beyond it. Still... I suppose he's dependable, if Hartfast uses him - maybe he even is the 'best trapper' like his boasts say - but in the end, if he's no fun to travel with, it's kinda pointless, no?" The Rohirrim stared into his mug, recalling some of the drunken man's words - surely, he was a braggart and he didnt think very highly of him, but the news he brought... They had certainly been interesting. Hartfast's request aside, he knew where he would want to go in the nearby future, if there was so much as a grain of truth to his words.

"His love of gold aside, the Feast of the Five Armies sounds pretty interesting. I'd like to attend that one day." More to the point was the news of the hide with a horse-tail helm, which was a thing only some of the men of the Mark wore. But what was a commander of an Eored doing here...? Unless it was someone who'd distinguished themselves before the king to the point where they were awarded that. His thoughts turned to Gerold's words about the man named Fulgrim. And then that chainmail he'd found... Was that his as well? It was in a hideous state, he'd never believe a year would do that to it. Perhaps simply a random man who handled horses well and found the horse-tail helm? It was... Doubtful. Too many coincidences. "Anyway, I owe old man Hartfast a great deal, plus hey - the job is to attend a festival, doesnt get much better than that!"

[Vladim]

While Idunn may regard Magric with contempt for his short-comings, it doesn’t seem to bother Nori in the slightest. The dwarf who traces his line back to Erebor seems to be one of the group who keeps the chatty fellow talking, matching him drink for drink as he shares his tales and insight with the those gathered near, whether they have asked for it or not. With the way he and Magric seem to be spitting their food about, their side of the table seems more like a pig pen than any sort of civilized dining. Nori tries to press for more details regarding the artifact that would be awarded to the winner of the Seven Trials, but is left with only the vague, drunken description that Magric can provide.

When the group is left to their own devices, Nori draws himself back into their moderately sized circle, a please look on his face that comes with good food and better drink. His right elbow resting on the table, propping him up somewhat, he gives Idunn a deep, appreciative nod as mentions she trusts him more than Magric, complimenting the dwarves at the same time for what skills they bring. He shifts his eyes to Gramtyng then when the Rohirrim speaks, a small smile just barely visible on his lips when Gramtyng notes his wish to attend the upcoming feast. “Aye,” Nori says, then looking back to Idunn to show his agreement with the excitement. “I have no problem setting the pace for this motley crew,” he then adds, now quite visibly grinning. “Your confidence is much appreciated. Though, it would be good to have someone who is familiar with the land. We won’t follow him in sheer blindness, but he might make all our jobs just a bit more easy along the way, my good Woodlady... yours included.”

[Vladim]

Simply happy to be among civilization and civil conversation again, Bella simply listened to the Fellowship talk among themselves. She had composed some letters and manuscripts to be sent home to the Shire. And they had been conveyed, along with other mail, to a trusted caravan that would pass through her beloved Shire. She busied herself reading what corresponce had made it to her from her faraway homeland...

[Vladim]

’Let us see what Hartfast intends.’, replies Idunn. ’I do not think we need Magric, but if Hartfast insists he comes, then he can help you, master Nori, in guiding us to Stoneyford. But I would prefer you be the guide.’

The Woodswoman lifts herself from the table and prepares to move. ’In fact, I think I will go see Hartfast now. He can explain himself after he is done with Magric.’

And with those words, Idunn leaves the great house of Mountain Hall and starts walking towards Hartfast’s house.

[Vladim]

Idunn

As Idunn walks back to Hartfast's chambers, nearing the door, she is able to hear him conversing with Magric quite clearly, as neither man is taking particular care to be secretive - here, at the heart of Mountain Hall, such suspicions seem groundless.

"...Refused to forbid entry." The voice is Magric's, relaxed and cheerful, though some of that is probably the alcohol consumed.
"...Ear for advice?" Hartfast's voice is grim, and easily recognizable.
"...Own council. Merovech..." Magric again, sounding slightly irritated.
"...The Cruel?" It is Hartfast who is annoyed now, and there is a clack and a sound of a liquid being poured.
As Idunn gets closer, the conversation becomes easier to hear: "Like I said, Chieftain. Merovech the pighead, responsible for this year's festival, declined your idea." Through the crack in the door, Idunn could see the trapped sitting, leg over leg, in one of the large armchairs by the fire, sipping some sort of brew from his cup - the taste did not seem to suit him, based on his grimace. "I am certain the honorable Thane." Hartfast glared at Magric, who shrunk into the chair. "...Did not make that decision by himself. While the Bearlord may not have wished to grant you audience, it does not mean he was not there. He is the lord of that land, and he knows what happens upon it - and what he says goes. We can only offer advice." Magric seemed unconvinced, shifting uncomfortably and sighing, but drinking more from the cup. "I'm not so foolish as to cross Beorn, Chieftain, but you have to admit that his... style is based on his belief in his own power and the fairness of others. Viglund cares about neither, as long as he gets what he wants." Hartfast ceased his pacing and sunk into the larger armchair, propping his head on his arm. When he spoke next, he sounded exhausted: "You're wrong, Magric. Beorn knows exactly what Viglund is, but it is against his nature to be hostile to anticipate hostility. Perhaps I am getting paranoid in my age..." Magric remained silent, turning the cup over in his hands with a dissatisfied look on his face, and looked like he wanted to say something but did not. Hartfast turned to look at him, and finally spoke again: "Here's what we will do. Beorn's view is his own, but Viglund is dangerous. Still.. he isnt stupid. He wouldnt do anything murderous at the Festival. But if Beorn will not bar the Viglundings from attending, then we're going to set our own trap for that old fox." Magric grinned unpleasantly, putting the cap aside: "So, old man?" He asked eagerly. "What do I need to do?" Harfast scowled at this enthusiasm: "Magric, you need to control your drinking - and your hostility. All you're going to be doing is observing the Viglunding delegation and reporting to me. You are not to act on your own. If it is urgent, speak to The Bride, as she is going to be our representative at the Festival. Viglund is a danger to the North. Regardless what Beorn's decision is, as part of the people who live in the North, we need to be prepared for his treachery. Those that keep slaves cannot be trusted."

[Vladim]

The Bride could only follow parts of the conversation between her chieftain and Magric. It seemed, however, that beyond strengthening bonds between the Stoneyford and Mountain Hall, Hartfast had additional reasons for sending them all to the Beorning festival.

Not wanting to betray her presence, Idunn decided to quietly return to the Great House before either of the two men spotted her.

----------------------------------

Back at the Great House, Idunn rejoins her companions by the table, and returns to her seat. She remains silent for a while, because she is still not sure what everything she overheard means. Eventually, she breaks her silence.

’Hartfast is still busy with Magric. They mentioned a man called Viglund-Hartfast said this man will attend the festival as well. He sounded important, yet I have not heard his name before. I was hoping one of you might know more.’

[Vladim]

OOC

Nah, its all right. Hartfast wasnt even paying attention and Magric rolled awful so he didnt notice. And yup - go ahead and add the two dots!

Please take care to track your earnings of AP as this is the key to your advancement after all! The module isnt meant to have the Fellowship hang out here for long (well, at all), but I think this makes for decent transition instead of me just saying you all accepted. Figuring out who Viglund is is a TN14 Lore check - Anduin Lore is applicable here as well if anyone has that.

[Vladim]

When Idunn retakes her seat at the table, Nori glances over at her – the dwarves in the midst of chatter about their holdings while eating and drinking their way through every plate that’s brought to the table. Hearing her mention the name ‘Viglund’, the dwarf shakes his head: a clear indication it’s lost on him. “Name doesn’t mean a thing to me,” he says rather matter-of-factly before taking a bit of a turkey leg he’s been gnawing on, tearing away meat and brined-skin with his teeth and chewing heartily. With his mouth now slightly full, he’s still able to mumble out to his cousins across from him, “Eiiithrrr ye knwmm hmmm?”

[Vladim]

Idunn sits quietly, looking at her companions, new and old, as Nori asks his question, but the only response is silence. She tries to remain quiet, but can only muster a few moments of patience, before she decides to confront Hartfast and Magric.

She stands up and prepares to make another visit to Hartfast’s house, this time without using any of her earlier ‘discretion’. But before she does, she makes her intentions clear to the entire fellowship:

’I for one will not follow this Magric until he decides to tell us what Hartfast is planning!’ she explains, the frustration clear in her tone.

’By now, Hartfast will have finished talking to Magric. I will go there now, and insist he tell us what he knows. You can join me if you wish.’

[Vladim]

Almarion as a newcomer to the group recognised no names. Usually when a Ranger took over a patch from another the first briefed her on the local situation and the names that mattered, passing along contacts that the newcomer might need. But there simply had not been time and so she found herself in a group of strangers in a strange place with no local knowledge beyond hearsay. This was hardly a desirable situation as a rangers value was usually to be well informed. Something she would need to address.

She was also not very good at small talk. Mostly she exchanged facts and her manner was as direct as they came. Having nothing to contribute she simply listened and made mental notes of anything the group mentioned. The notion of attending a festival hardly inspired her with enthusiasm. She did not enjoy partying with strangers, and her own people were rather low key in their celebrations. They had after all little enough to celebrate. And to make matters worse this sounded like some kind of diplomatic mission. Her own experience of diplomacy was mostly along the lines of approaching a village mayor or chieftain and informing them that they had to prepare their defenses as a group of orcs was on its way towards them and they had to do what she told them or die. Usually they did as they were told. It wasn't exactly blinding eloquence however.

What had she got herself into.

[Vladim]

Letters for Bella

There are numerous letters for Bella - some of them are people she'd written to, though there is no less than seven from busybodies who think she's going way over her head, and should just go home and not be so... adventurous. Nasty business, they wrote. There were a couple that were mostly scribbles and drawings that look like they were doodled afterward - with great difficulty, it becomes apparent that a bunch of hobbit children, mostly cousins many times removed, but some that were not related, had chosen to support Bella's decision to go on adventures - this was perhaps the reason she'd gotten that many letters from disapproving adults. In some of the letters from adults, there'd been mention of 'those reckless Brandybucks' and how she'd clearly been influenced by them. Bella almost certainly would have heard of the twin Brandybucks' disappearance several years back - though the reason why was not declared for a long time as their relatives attempted to silence such talks. Dinodas(Dino) and his brother Dodinas(Dody) had always been adventurous, but many hoped when Dodinas married Agatha Took, he would settle down - he'd went to Bree and back many times, after all, nearly unthinkable for a respectable Hobbit. But Agatha, if anything, encouraged him: she was a Took, after all. Still, it was unclear just what happened to make them get up and go, or where - still... Magric did laugh about Beorn sheltering 'odd children' at one point...

 

Gramtyng looked up from his mug when Idunn spoke again, directing his gaze towards the common room's fire, quietly watching the flames dance about. "Can't say I've heard of him either... But I've not been in this area long. What kinda name is it anyway?" The minstrel recalls his training and furrows his brow, trying to recall the knowledge he'd had shoved down his throat in heraldics and naming structures by father and Aldor. "...Cant seem to even understand what region that'd be from." The bard frowned, a bit disappointed that his prided education had been largely useless here. "Sounds northern, but that isnt saying much around here." He took another drink, before pouring himself a bit more, and half-turning to look at Idunn, who'd prepared to leave: "You know, this Magric isnt really a fellow I'd enjoy drinking with, but its Hartfast sending us along, isnt it? It'll be fine. Though... I've been wrong before, a few times." He raised his mug, looking at the third dwarf they've acquired and the new Ranger: "You've been awful silent, your thoughts on the matter?"

As he spoke, and Idunn got up to go to Hartfast, the doors had opened, and the man in question had visited them himself, taking a seat close to the fire with a grunt, stretching his hands towards it - though it'd been Fall, Mountain Hall had already been slightly chilly, and he was not, after all, getting any younger. He was brought a small bowl of stew, which he studied somewhat sourly, before giving a sad look to the retreating back of his youngest granddaughter, who gave him some manner of medicinal concoction with no meat, but stuck the spoon in his mouth anyway, grimacing at the flavour as a man who'd accepted his fate.

Those wishing to speak with Hartfast (about Magric or other such things), this will be a Social Encounter: Please Roll your Insight to determine Bonus Dice, and choose who will present the case you have (counts as Introduction).

[Vladim]

Seeing that Idunn has reached her limit with speculation regarding Hartfast and Magric, Nori gently drops a portion of thick, hearty bread he was working his way through and then rubs his finders together, clearing them of crumbs. “Well, if that’s your intent, I won’t let you go alone,” Nori murmurs before pushing himself away from the table and hoping down onto the floor, his boots smacking against the ground with a dull thud.

As he passes along the outskirts the table, he casts a glance towards Almarion as Gramtyng puts the question forth to her. He seems curious to hear what the Ranger is going to say regarding all of this, but his attention is certainly split between her words and the potentially fiery discourse to be had between Idunn and Hartfast (should she speak her mind openly before anyone can broach the subject.) His eyes visibly flick between the Ranger and Idunn before finally coming to rest on the Hartfast as he comes through the door. “Well, then…” Nori says in a somewhat disheartened tone, expecting the worst as he newest arrival has horrible timing.