Year 2949: The Marsh-Bell

[Vladim]

[OOC: I will be posting introductory text over the next few days, expanding the backstory of at least some of the characters, to explain how we transition from previous events into the start of this adventure. Please refrain from posting here for now!]

The story so far…

Lord Ewald of Dale

You had hoped to convince the folk of Ceawin, son of Ingelram, to see the folly of settling in the East Bight. This land, despite being the place where his ancient ancestors once dwelt, is cut off from the rest of the Free Folk. But not only that. You have heard tales of ghosts in the eaves of the forest that borders this land in all directions but the east.

Still, Ceawin and his folk would not listen, not even after you extended King Bard’s offer to grant them good land near Dale. They would not change their minds even after it was made known publicly, in the folk-moot of the Woodmen, that Radagast the Brown thought the East Bight too dangerous, and had warned Ceawin to stay away. Instead, they raised a great long-house in the East Bight, and around it they built a village they call the Sunstead. The folk of the East Bight now look to their new friendship with the Woodmen, and hope to cut good paths through the Narrows of Mirkwood to link up Rhosgobel and the Sunstead. But the Narrows are dangerous, and the Necromancer’s taint still lingers there.

The failure of your mission has cost you dearly, for many amongst the nobility of Dale now doubt your skills and think that you are a poor ambassador. Yet King Bard is not amongst them, and he still has faith in you, though you have lost much of your old standing. To repair somewhat the friendship between Dale and the Woodmen, you have returned to Dale, accompanied by Asfrid of Lake-Town, Beran and Fareth of Rhosgobel, as well as others. There, you commissioned the casting of a great Dalish bell, to be gifted to the Woodmen of Black Tarn Hall. Moreover, at the urging of King Bard, you have joined the mission of Bofri, son of Bofur, who wishes to see the Old Forest Road restored, and trade across Wilderland flourish. Thus King Bard hopes to see you continue your work with the Woodmen, and hopes that the bonds of friendship will be strengthened.

You have also not forgotten the folk of Ceawin. Perhaps they are foolish to follow him, yet you are unwilling to abandon them to the horrors of Mirkwood. You have spoken to Bofri the dwarf, and he has explained that once, when the Old Forest Road cut through Mirkwood, there was a great fort at the place where it exited into the eastern eaves of the forest. The Eastfort is what the dwarves called it, and near it your Northmen ancestors built a city, many centuries ago. It is there that Bofri wishes to go, to examine the ruins that remain. Though you doubt that the Sunstead can be linked to Rhosgobel easily, given that Mirkwood remains untamed, dark and dangerous, perhaps it would be possible to go around the forest, and build a road connecting the Eastfort to the Sunstead. This could, perhaps, secure some safety for the East Bight and its foolish leader.

 

OOC

A few things:
_I had to, somehow, explain why your PC, despite being a noble lord, has a standing of 0. I decided to use the failure of his most recent diplomatic mission (to convince the people of the East Bight to move to Dale) to explain why he has lost standing. I hope during the game to offer Ewald opportunities to mend and improve his standing.
_For this post, I used the 2nd person. I think it’s better for the opening post, but I tend to prefer 3rd later on in the narrative.
_All this backstory comes from the previous adventure and filling in the gaps. If you don’t like something, please let me know and maybe we can change it.
_Feel free to look at a map (link here, click!) to understand the locations involved (the main ones are Rhosgobel, Black Tarn (the black lake directly to the East of Rhosobel), the East Bight, the east end of the Old Forest Road that joins the Running River and, of course, Dale and the Iron Hills. If something is unclear, let me know!

[Vladim]

Asfrid the sell-sword

Two years have passed since you left Esgaroth, your home, to travel far and wide across Wilderland with Bofri, son of Bofur - *the* Bofur; the very same dwarf that accompanied Biblo in his legendary journey. You were promised good pay as well as a great adventure: to venture deep in the forest of Mirkwood, to see the elves of the Woodland Realm, to drink mead on the hearth of Beorn and to meet the Brown Wizard, Radagast. Bofri has kept this promise, and you have done all those things and more. In him you found a kindred spirit, one happy to wander the winding roads of Middle-Earth.

In the lands of the Woodmen, you learned many things as Bofri negotiated the scouting and restoration of the Old Forest Road. You hunted with the Woodmen under the trees and you learned how to navigate the labyrinthine paths of the forest. As you made friendships with these folk, so too did your fellowship with Bofri grow. You are no longer a common caravan guard to his expedition, but also a trusted counsellor and a friend.

Presently, you return to Lake-Town with mixed feelings. Your days as a sell-sword and guardswoman are behind you now, though you still recall clearly much time spent accompanying traders up and down the road that leads to Dale and Erebor. These days will not be missed. But Lake-Town is still the home of your folk, and it remains the place where you were born and raised, and two years is a long time to be away.

[OOC: Since Asfrid is still finding herself and her goals and ambitions, things are a little bit more vague, and much is left to your interpretation. There's only a few hooks for me to work off, namely her friendship with Bofri. Still, if there's anything you don't like and would prefer me to change, just say the word and I will.]

[Vladim]

Fareth Swiftfoot

After the folk-moot of the Woodmen in Rhosgobel had concluded, you chose to remain there. You wished to help with the rebuilding of the village of Black Tarn Hall, and you joined others to raise a palisade so that it would be better protected. When that was done, you focused your efforts on helping Ceawin and his folk cut paths through the Narrows of Mirkwood to link his new village in the East Bight with the holdings of the Woodmen. You spoke little of what you thought of Ceawin’s efforts and ambitions. Regardless of what you or Radagast or anyone else thought or said, Ceawin was determined to settle in the East Bight. Thus the best that could be done was to cut those paths, so that neither Woodmen nor Ceawin’s folk would be lost in the depths of Mirkwood when journeying to and fro.

The Men of the Black Tarn and those of the Sunstead were not the only folk to seek the Woodmen’s alliance. You also stayed to keep a watchful eye on the Men of Tyrant’s Hill and their arrogant leader, Mogdred, whom you knew better than most. When you were a spy for Radagast in the Toft, about a decade ago, you saw Mogdred frequently, bringing orcs in chains to sell them to the Toft’s evil chieftain, Vidugalum. Now Mogdred still hunts the orcs of Mirkwood, but he has promised to stop selling them as slaves to evil men, yet you think you know him too well to fully trust him.

Those that follow Mogdred are hard and quarrelsome men, bitter from many years of imprisonment in the pits of Dol Guldur, and from harsh, short lives in Mirkwood. Now they see themselves as kinsmen of the Woodmen, yet many still believe themselves better - stronger and more experienced against the orcs and spiders of Mirkwood. After a particularly nasty argument with one of Mogdred’s lieutenants, a fierce woman called Dagmar, you have decided to follow Radagast’s counsel and journey for a while, joining the dwarf Bofri in his expedition to restore the Old Forest Road. The Brown Wizard has promised to keep a watchful eye on the Men of Tyrant’s Hill, though you fear that they will remain as quarrelsome when you finally return to Rhosgobel.

[Vladim]

Beran the watchful

Under Radagast’s watchful eyes and skilful hands, you made a slow, arduous but remarkable recovery. Your arms have lost some of their old strength, and you have forgotten much that you once knew, but much was also explained to you about what happened to you in the deep, gloomy forest. You are grateful to still draw breath – a remarkable thing considering how unlikely your rescue was – and are grateful for this new opportunity, this second chance at life.

Though you are grateful to the Brown Wizard and eager to serve him again, Radagast himself has been plagued with guilt ever since you returned, and he will not ask anything of you anymore, for he says that he has already taken too much. And though he will not say it, he wishes you to retire and to settle, and to leave behind you the dangers of Mirkwood. But you still feel a sense of duty towards the folk of these lands, and are eager to do what you must to protect them.

Others have told you many tales, and from them you gather that there are many threats lurking in the forest still, despite the fact that the Necromancer has been driven away. Orcs are gathering at Fenbridge castle, the outpost of Dol Guldur. Their numbers are so great that they recently attacked the newly-raised village of Black Tarn Hall, and almost succeeded in destroying it. Spiders are ever-present beyond the Dusky River, and sometimes even dare to cross it. The legendary werewolf of Mirkwood has awakened again, it seems, and has been attacking hunters and travellers in many places – the entire forest seems to be its domain. And finally, cold-hearted Men, the former prisoners of Dol Guldur, have allied themselves with your folk, and though they often aid the Woodmen, they also bring with them lots of trouble, and many distrust them.

But there is hope yet: many of the Free Folk are coming together, and now the dwarves of Erebor are showing an interest in Mirkwood, for they seek to restore the Old Forest Road. With their great resources and skill, perhaps the orcs and spiders and wolves of Mirkwood can be driven back, or even defeated permanently. You have thus decided to join their expedition, hoping to not only teach them all that you know about the forest, but also to learn from them all that you can.

[Vladim]

 

Prologue: At the Sight of the Pike and Eel

After leaving Rhosgobel, the company journeyed through the lands of the Woodmen first; then those of the Beornings, and finally through Mirkwood along the elf-path. They arrived in the lands about Dale by the end of autumn, just in time for the celebrations of Dragontide in Lake-Town. Soon after, the seventh anniversary of the Battle of the Five Armies was held in the restored city of Dale, and there was much feasting and festivities for all folk who joined: Men, Elves, Dwarves, and even a handful of Hobbits.

Following these commemorations, the company wintered in Esgaroth and in Dale, some electing to stay with Lord Ewald, while others remained with Asfrid. Thus they spent the Yule-tide in the company of friends and family. But they had not forgotten the bonds of their fellowship, nor their pledge to master Bofri, to whom they had promised to lend their aid.

As for the dwarf, though he joined the companions in the celebrations, in winter he retired to Erebor, where he had much to do in preparation of what had to be done next. King Dain the second was pleased with their progress, he said, and he was eager to speak to him and to plan the next stage of this venture. Bofri looked to his support, for the next stage of their mission would be perilous: to travel down the Long Marshes and see for themselves the state of the road’s ruins where it exited Mirkwood to the East.

It is a grey evening when the company gathers at the Pike and Eel, a small inn popular with the fishermen of Lake-Town. The interior is plain and unadorned, but Master Bofri has promised that the inn’s cook prepares the finest fish-soup in all of Esgaroth, a dish he particularly likes. As the companions approach, they quickly locate Bofri sitting by a large table in the common room; there are few others about. He is in the company of dwarves and Men but by his right sits the most unlikely of companions: a fair elven maiden from the Woodland Realm.

[OOC: Let the posting begin. I know I am not giving you any immediate task for now, but this will come next. For now, I would not mind an opening post describing your character. I will reward anyone who does this with one Advancement point. If you want to role-play amongst yourselves, that’s also very much encouraged.]

 

Expectations

1. Posting rate. I’ll assume a minimal posting rate of once a week per participant. I will also strive for at least one post that pushes the narrative forwards a week. More are welcome, of course. If someone cannot meet this requirement, then I will move on without them until they are able to return to the narrative. I reserve the right to boot you if you disappear without a word for a long (2 weeks or more) period of time!
2. Communication. Please communicate absences if possible. I will also let you know if I am unavailable. If you are bored, it’s always better to post something, rather than nothing (even if it is a simple out-of-character statement that you feel you have nothing to add to a scene).
3. Tracking your stats. Please keep track of your character’s statistics (Endurance, Fatigue, Hope, Shadow points, Advancement points, Experience points etc). I will keep track of group statistics (Eye Threshold, Fellowship pool etc).
4. Contents of posts. I will not place any limitations, but I encourage you to be creative and proactive with your characters. I also encourage you to take control of the narrative to set the mood, embellish a description or develop a minor character. This is in general allowed if it does not ‘break’ the game or make your character unreasonably powerful. It is also up to you to pursue interesting subplots for your characters, or suggest some to me. The only limitation is to please try and stay true to the setting.

[Vladim]

Lára, Elf of Mirkwood

Lára looks up and smiles brightly as the company enters the common room. She has been expecting them, it seems, by Bofri's word, and rises politely to bow as they approach. She is clearly of Elven kind: tall, slender but shapely, her skin fair as milk and softer still. Her tresses, deep red like the sky at dawn just before the sun rises over the horizon, fall in long waves about her neck and shoulders. A silver circlet fashioned in a wing motif sits upon her brow. About her shoulders lies a cloak of dark blue, embroidered in white lace, clasped by a brooch like a blue star. While often clad in tunics for traveling, tonight Lára wears beneath the cloak a form-fitting gown of pale blue, offset by belt of white lace. The blue and white contrast well with the shimmering red of her hair, and serve to highlight the deep blue wells of her eyes, as bright and warm as a summer morning.

"Mae l'ovannen. Welcome." She smiles as she speaks, and gestures to the table. "I am Lára. Bofri here has been telling me some tales of your company. It is a pleasure to meet the tales in person."

The Elf-maiden sits back in her seat and gracefully dips a spoon into a bowl of the steaming fish soup she has heard so much about. Her eyes brighten as she tastes the hearty, well-seasoned soup, and then moves to the salad of fresh local greens and vegetables (some of which came down the river from the Woodland Realm). As she eats, Lára eagerly looks to the newcomers as though expecting a tale to unfold perhaps before her very eyes.

[Vladim]

Barin Greycloak

You notice that one of the Dwarves at the table sits slightly aside from his kinsmen, his hooded head bent over a tiny notebook into which he is meticulously scribing something in tiny Khuzdul script, the tip of his tongue wedged in the corner of his mouth in concentration.

As the Elf rises to greet the company he looks up sharply, and seems to notice the rest of the tavern for the first time, and once she has made her greeting, he packs away his writing things into the folds of his cloak, stands and sweeps the hood back from his head. His hair, once a mane of deep brown gives away some signs of his age as it is quite plainly streaked through with grey.

"Shamukh, ra galikh ai-mâ. Hail, and well met." he rumbles in a rich, baritone voice. "I, am Barin Greycloak of the Grey Mountain clans far to the West, humbly at your service.". This last part is accompanied by a slightly lopsided grin and a wry twinkle in his eye before being masked once more by his dour previous expression.

He thumps a fist into his chest and bows genially to the company, sweeping his arm out to indicate the empty stools he continues, "The soup is superb, the ale even more so. Sit, join us. Eat and drink." At this he snatches up a flagon from the table, and takes a long draught (most of which appears to run down his beard rather than his throat) before belching loudly and resuming his place at the table.

[Vladim]

"Bofri! Is good to...," Asfrid began to say upon seeing her old friend when the elf maiden stood and spoke.

Asfrid's mouth snapped shut.

In all the ages of this Middle Earth, the warrior woman is suddenly quite sure that there has never been a creature on it quite as beautiful as Lára of the Mirkwood.

Her voice was like music: the tintinnabulation of it rang through the tavern, making it both seem more drab in comparison and somehow elevating it to a rugged beauty all at once.

"Ahhh...," Asfrid begins, stumbles, swallows, and tries again. "Ahhh...yes. Well, is good. We are, as you say, in person. The tales. Us. Ahem," she says discursively, trying to smile and somehow frowning.

Dammit.

Asfrid, in all her life, hadn't had the effortless grace that that elf displayed in one moment. She'd tried, sure. She'd tried. Her parents had made damned sure of that. She'd tried and she'd failed. They'd always wanted...that...and she'd always been...well, her. Probably half of why she'd abandoned that life and picked up a sword for a living.

The other half, truth be told, was that she had always just liked hitting things.

Did some find it odd to see a tall human woman - nearly six feet if she was an inch - with long blond hair and blue eyes wearing armor and smashing into things, usually shield-first? Sure. But the world was changing, as the Five Armies fight had proven. Old bigotries were beginning to be laid to rest and old taboos were ready to be newly broken. So, the tall blond had done what had come naturally to her when curtsying had not: she hit stuff.

And yes, she'd hit many things in her days with sword and shield in hand. She had fireside tales to tell and stories to share over a mug of mead like any good veteran, even if she was still a young woman. After all, she'd met the Brown Wizard with Bofri at her side! She'd been toasted by dwarves and even hoisted shoulder high by hobbits once, leaving her a full three feet off the ground at best. But somehow, all of those moments, those tales, evaporated into mental mist upon seeing - and hearing! - that beautiful elf.

Dammit, the warrior repeated silently.

Trying again, she turned away from Làra and found it much easier suddenly to speak like a the semi-normal person she always hoped she came off as.

"Is good to meet you, Barin Greycloak," she manages in her normal, somewhat deepish voice. "If you is Bofri's friend, you is mine as well."

Turning to Bofri himself, she adds, "And you, old friend! You is back at last! How is Erebor? What news of King Dain and your kith'n'kin?"

[Vladim]

Lord Ewald had spent the winter in his grand house in Dale with his wife, Lady Eilif and their two young children, a boy and a girl. They had invited all their friends and extended family for big festivities at Yule-tide as was their tradition, but was disappointed to see many of their peers among the nobility didn't show up. This was a result of Ewald's recent failings as an ambassador for the people of King Bard, and something that affected the entire family in loss of status. Ewald promised his family that he would do all he could to restore their standing and with the full support of the King they had nothing to fear.

When the darkest and coldest time of the year was coming to an end Ewald travelled to Lake-town to meet with Bofri as was promised. He entered the Pike and Eel wearing his finest travelling cloak and carrying his spear and the great bow that he favoured in battle. He handed his gear to a servant while looking around the room for familiar faces. When he saw Bofri at the table with several of his other companions he broke up in a big smile and walked over to them.

"My friends! I have missed you all winter." He said with a deep, warm voice while giving Asfrid, Bofri and the others he knew from before a big hug. When Barin introduced himself Ewald greeted him in a few dwarven words saying that it would be an honour for him to get to know another member of King Dain's trustworthy and valiant people.

Finally he turned towards Lara as if he had saved the best for last. He knelt beside her and took her hand to kiss it gently. "Mylady Lara, it's an incredible honour to share this table here with you tonight, let alone travel with you if it is true what I hear from our friend Bofri. Your beauty and grace will give our companionship a level of eminence that we could never have dreamed of." He said in broken Elven but the words were carefully chosen to show her the outmost respect.

When introductions were finished he sat down by the table next to Asfrid and Bofri and started eating of the delicous soup. He ate while listening to the other's stories since they last parted ways.

[Vladim]

"Lord Ewald!" Asfrid exclaimed, returning the squeeze. "Good to see you again!"

[Vladim]

Bofri had already finished his first bowl of soup when the companions approached him. Presently, he was deep in conversation with his companions, Regin and Dwalin, as they poured over an old map of the forest of Mirkwood. He only noticed them when Lára greeted them.

Looking up, he saw the four of them and smiled, pleased to see them after his long absence. As the company gathered around him after the long winter, he courteously ordered more food and drink, not just for himself, but for everyone, and indeed a second portion for any who might want it. All the while, he persisted on refusing any coin offered, insisting to pay with the stubbornness characteristic of the folk of Durin.

’King Dain is well – busy as always.’ he said in reply to Asfrid’s question. ’I would have invited you to our kingdom under the mountain, but I feel that Dale and Esgaroth are more to your liking… Besides, securing an audience with the King was no simple matter. It is only because of my father that I could obtain one! Yet the King is pleased with our progress, and wishes to support us in this endeavour. But I am far from the only petitioner in Erebor! Now many press the King for the restoration of our lost realms… Beinharn, the Greydelve, Gundabad… ‘ he said, pausing only briefly to shake his head for that which followed and add in a hushed voice:

’Some even speak of Moria, the Black Pit.’ Then he fell silent, and the silence filled the air for a while, and the air hung heavy.

 

OOC

[OOC: Of the company, Barin knows these names well: Beinharn and the Greydelve were dwarf-holdings in the Grey Mountains, lost centuries ago when the dragons from the Withered Hearth descended upon them and drove the dwarves away, forcing them to settle in the Lonely Mountain. Though none has seen a dragon for centuries (with the exception of the recently slain Smaug), these realms are still dangerous, as the Grey Mountains are still the domain of orcs, though their numbers have been reduced after their defeat in the battle of the five armies.

Mount Gundabad is a place of almost religious significance for dwarves, as it is where Durin is said to have awoken when the world was still young. Long the domain of orcs, it was sacked about a century and a half ago during the war of orcs and dwarves, but quickly abandoned and allowed to become a breeding ground of that foul race.

As for Moria… There are many tales of that place, but few dwarves will speak of them openly.

Other PCs can attempt a Lore check at TN 18 to check if they know one of these pieces of information (about the Greydelve OR Gundabad OR Moria – choose one). For Lára, the TN is 16, to reflect the deep knowledge and long memories of the elves, as well as the proximity of the Woodland Realm to the Grey Mountains. Roll them in the dice thread!

I will post more later, but feel free to continue while the remaining 2 players also post. All who have posted so far write down 1 Advancement point somewhere, e.g. your character sheet or wherever you record your ongoing stats.]

[Vladim]

At the mention of those hallowed realms, now lost to his people, Barin puts down his tankard and an expression akin to prayer, or that of those gifted with the farsight crosses his face.

Turning to Bofri he mutters, "One day my friend. One day we'll drive out the foul spawn that dares to defile the halls of our ancestors. And that day will be a day of much rejoicing amongst all of Durin's folk!" Then, in an attempt to lift the mood he raises his tankard and booms "A toast! To the reclaiming of our ancestral lands, and the slaughtering of every Orc who dares defile them!"

Again, he quaffs his ale, most of it soaking his beard and running down his chin before he resumes his seat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

[Vladim]

Lára smiles and laughs a little as Lord Ewald also greets her with utmost courtesy. For having heard how uncouth the Men and the Dwarves of the region could be, Lára finds that they do not meet such a description. "Well met, Lord Ewald. The honor is mine, to sup with such a fine company in such a courteous hall." She bows as he kisses her hand, and several locks of red hair escape her circlet to hang before her face. Lára with a swift and nimble hand brushes her hair over her slender-pointed ear. The Elf waits to seat herself again until all introductions have been made, and then she sits, a hint of bare white arms flashing as she draws her cloak beneath her. After raising a glass of wine to Barin's toast, she sips at it, lets the sweet wine linger on her soft lips, and stares into the nearby hearthfire. Like many of her people, Lára loves the water, and to have dwellings upon the Lake, where one can listen to the crackle of a warm fire even as she hears the gentle stirring of the waters, is a music few can appreciate until they have experienced it.

With an encouraging smile to Bofri, Lára says, "These places you speak of are known to me, and many in my realm. We, too, have known the loss of what once was, for what many now call 'Mirkwood' I remember as Eryn Galen. In its Spring and in its Summer the fairest wooded realm, akin to that of our brethren in Lothlórien. The Shadow has fallen upon my home, and alas, much is changed. The forest that gives Men and Dwarves fear when they hear its name is but a shade of its glory in my youth."

Lára raises her glass and sorrow joins her smiling lips. "So it is, Barin, that I understand the desire to reclaim one's homeland."

[Vladim]

Alone of the troupe, Beran the woodman stood near the window of the Pike and Eel, stooped as if in a hobbit hole, due to the low soot-stained ceiling and his own prodigious height. Beneath his greying blonde beard the gaunt lines of his face were highlighted in profile against the wan light of the window. He was gaunt in every way, thin flesh stretched raw-boned against his great frame. Cold blue eyes, like chips of ice, watched the quay and canals outside with morose watchfulness. Despite his grim exterior, the voice that came from the ageing woodman's mouth was deep, warm and melodious.

"It is good to see you again, my friends. This Laketown is a wonder and the comings and goings make a simple man feel small, but I am ready to see my home again. The thrushes and whooperwills of spring remind me that in the south the black emperors are swarming and the apple trees of Rhosgobel will be hanging with pink and white flowers."

Turning briefly to the dwarves and their map, he chuckled.

"And I have told you, Bofri - more than once, I may add - that your map is worse than useless. The Greenwood is a living place, with two souls, one green and wild, one dark and tangled: neither one of those hearts feels the least bit inclined to remain the same from year to year, despite what that map says to the contrary. If you want direction, ask the ones who live in it."

Turning back to the window, he coughed wetly into a handkerchief, and tucked the dark spotted rag away quickly. He settled back into a suspicious watchfulness, his drink untouched on the window-ledge at his elbow.

His face averted, he added, "To those who did not make the journey with us last autumn, welcome. I am Beran, called the Watchful by some."

[Vladim]

Beran

Beran may have forgotten some things, but as a warden of Rhosgobel, he knows certain things about the Old Forest Road. His folk, the Woodmen, call it the winter trail, for its route is clearly visible in winter, when the trees are bare, and shun it as a haunted place. Only the bravest and most reckless hunters dare venture there, though tales of old tell of dwarves who sought to journey from the East to their holdings in the West, and often met a cruel end. Orcs crossing Mirkwood usually follow this road where they can, for much of the forest is dangerous to their kind as it is to everyone else.

Bofri's map is old and worn - there are many signs that it depicts Wilderland from long ago, as there are places on it that Beran does not recognize. Yet the Old Forest Road is there where a Woodman would expect it to be. Though Beran cannot read the dwarven script and symbols on the map, he can see several markings along the road.