Year 2950: Those who Tarry no Longer

[Vladim]

 

The companions had awakened exactly where they had fallen asleep. As they rose, all their equipment and weapons were at hand, and yet the mountainside had been transformed. Where once there had been only an old and ill-maintained track, there now was a well-travelled road. Where once there were ruined walls and fallen stones, there now stood before them a town called Haycombe. A great settlement by the reckoning of the folk of Wilderland, far larger than any of the villages and towns of the Woodmen and the Beornings. High walls of timber protected it, and in size it was comparable perhaps to the great cities of the North: Dale or Esgaroth.

 

There was the sound of laughter from within, and that of a bustling market, and it was clear that many travelers had gathered here. As they entered, the sentries at the gate briefly greeted them, and once within, they were surrounded by a crowd of tow-headed children, who swirled around them and started pestering them with questions: who were they? Where had they come from?

 

As the companions spoke, they realized something terribly strange: that every sight and sound here felt familiar to them, as though they truly belonged to this place and time, though they were certain that neither was their own. Not only did they perfectly comprehend the strange tongue of these peoples, but they spoke it fluently too.

 

OOC

Take a moment to write about your characters' reactions. Your PCs still remember the real world, but, as stated above, only Elhadron knows the truth of this dream.

[Suzuki Stumpy]

As his eyelids fluttered open, the first thing Thammegil noticed was that his wounds from the Orcs were healed.  How long had he slept?  Surely, it wasn't possible that he could have slept so long that they'd healed - that should have taken days, if not weeks.  The second thing he noticed was the noise.  Gone was the silence of a wind-swept ruin on the mountainside, and in its place was a thriving settlement full of people.  Odd.

 

He stood up tentativley and joined his companions as they all began to walk into the town.  He exchanged a few pleasantries with the gate guards at the entrance to the town as they passed through into the bustling market square and smiled as children came running up to the strangeers to ask a myriad of questions of them.

 

He leant in to his companions, and under his breath muttered "What kind of sorcery is this?  This must be a dream, but it feels so real.  I know this place, yet I have no memory of it.  And my wounds ... are healed.  I feel as though I've just slept in a feather bed rather than propped up against a ruined wall on the side of a mountain."

 

Suddenly he laughed as one of the children interrupted him, and he dropped to one knee, ruffling the urchin's hair and trying to answer the barrage of questions that were fired his way...

 

 

 

[thesloth]

Arton of Gram

Arton stirred. His head felt heavy as he shook off the slumber. He touched the ground, running his hand over a stone. His eyes focused and he saw the village. He should know this place he thought, but he did not. Had it been glimpsed from the air while the Eagles carried them? No that was not the feeling he had. The feeling nagged at him, as Thammegil gave voice to his own fears.

 

"More likely sorcery from Mordor I'd wager. The old tales of the Shadow invading men's minds. Look ahead, Irime is walking. If this place is some trick, we should stick by her." Drawing his sword, Arton moved to catch up to Irime.

 

[Varon777]

Elhadron bowed deeply at the words of the king of the eagles, reciting them three times to ensure the accuracy of the message, although of the warning of the fortress, he could make out little of its meaning. For he had travelled far and wide with the Errant Companies, but never had he passed through those regions, but he vowed to carry that message of warning to the Lord Elrond as well. Perhaps the Wise could make some sense of it. 

 

But soon they travelled once again, to an old town, older even than him, though he knew the references of which Irime spoke. The riding of Eorl and his people had saved the sons of the Numenoreans, waylaid by the servants of the enemy in days long past. He aided his injured companions as best he could, though the wounds were grave and they weary, until at last sleep took him too. 

 

Darkness fell in horror and he woke soon after, gazing around in dismay. "This is the work of some foul sorcery- these words you speak are older than the memories of your people. Some accursed memory is being forced upon us. Indeed, stay near the Lady and ward her." He reached to draw whatever weapons he may have been carrying, staring at them before shaking his head. "Although I know not what good they may do us." 

 

He paused for a few moments, furrowing his brow, before speaking softly at first, then more loudly, "Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima! This is some power beyond my ken." 

[Vladim]

Arton rushed ahead, seeking to join Irimë's side, urged on by Elhadron, who feared for their ward. But as he caught up to her, he was met with a friendly, if awkward, smile, and a confused gaze. From behind, her cloak might have looked like Irimë's, or perhaps it was weariness that had made Arton think so, but this was not Irimë at all-only a mortal, a woman that bore no resemblance to either the elf-lady or any elf at all.

 

In fact, Irimë was nowhere to be seen. Only the three of them, standing together. But the marketplace was busy. Perhaps the lady had wandered ahead of them?

 

Meanwhile, Thammegil was practically overrun by the swarm of excited and excitable children. From them, a boy that could not have been more than ten years old emerged, squeezing his way through the others, and spoke boldly to the ranger with a great deal of expectation:

 

“Sir! Sir! Have you a squire? I could be your squire. I’d polish your armour and keep your sword sharp. My father is the captain of the Master’s guards, and he’s gone away South, but when he comes back I’m sure he’ll tell you how brave I am.”

 

 

OOC

Feel free to go looking for Irimë, if you want (no roll required-just state it in your post). This is basically a big RP scene, so you can feel free to split up and engage with different NPCs, if that's what you'd prefer.

 

[thesloth]

Arton of Gram

Arton took a step back startled by what he at first took to be a transformation, before he realized this was some other person. He cursed his tired eyes for leading him astray.

"I do not wish to be rude my lady, but I seek a fellow traveler who passed through this market just now. An elf maiden, fair and tall, wearing a cloak similar to your own. Have you seen her?"

 

[Vladim]

The woman seemed at first confused by Arton's words and his request, as if one would have been to a stranger or an outlander. Yet she remained amiable and smiling, and as the ranger made mention of an elf, she begun to dawn on something, or at least so her demeanor seemed to indicate.

 

"An elf maiden, you say?" she replied in kind, answering his question with one of her own. She seemed to strain her memory for a moment before recalling the information, which she willingly shared as best she could: "Why... yes... Yes! I think I saw one just like the one you describe." she said, now with a small measure of enthusiasm, as she pointed towards the direction of a two-storied alehouse at a short distance.

 

OOC

I'm happy to advance the plot a bit, though ideally it would be great to know what each active PC is doing 🙂

 

[thesloth]

Arton of Gram

Arton frowned, a human ale house seemed out character for an elvish lady. But perhaps she knew the propieter. It made him no less suspicious that the woman seemed hard put to remember a strange elf passing through her village. It was his only option though, thanking the woman Arton made his way to the ale house. 

 

[Suzuki Stumpy]

As Arton stalked off across the marketplace, Thammegil laughed at the young boy's questions.

 

"So, you want to be my squire, eh?  Ah, I'm afraid I'd be a poor mentor for one such as yourself. I'd also not be able to afford your keep." he said, frowning as he looked into his coin purse.  With a great flourish though he fished out a single, shiny coin.  "But, perhaps you could aid me in return for this" he continued, holding the coin up and turning it so that it glinted in the sunlight.  "My companions and I are looking for a friend that perhaps came here before us.  Maybe you've seen her?  An elven lady, fair and slender with long flowing hair and wearing a grey cloak such as mine.  It's very important that we find her else otherwise, she may become lost and come to harm."

 

 

 

[Vladim]

The boy listened to Thammegil's words, almost in awe of his ragged looks and weather-worn clothes, and especially of his long and keen blade, which rested idly in its scabbard. In his answer, he seemed entirely undeterred by what he had just been told, perhaps taking the ranger's claims as a simple sign of humility and good virtue.

 

"I do not need much, kind sir-not by way of coin, for, as I have said, my father is the captain of the Master's guards. I am Haleth, son of Guthbrand, at your service!"

 

He extended his arm for a handshake and then, as if to prove his own point, he shook his head at the offer of coin, denying the payment. "I am certain that I have seen her here. Come!" he said, and at once sped off, running past Arton and towards the alehouse that the latter had already been directed towards.

 

---

 

(A few minutes later)

 

The building stood out from the others for the signboard swinging over its door. It depicted a scrawny goat falling down a hill. The Falling Goat was its name: an alehouse and inn. Despite all the ruckus outside, or perhaps because of it, its interior was not crowded, with only two patrons sitting by a cozy-looking table placed against the rustically decorated walls, drinking. Behind the counter stood a greybeard, an old man who must have seen many winters, roasting a few potatoes over a pile of hot coals. He addressed them as they entered:

 

"Welcome, welcome good sirs. Here for the market, no doubt. Sit, have a drink, and rest here a while. Have you come from the south? Any word of the Master’s return? I’ve heard tell he’s on the road, but news is hard to come by of late."

[thesloth]

Arton of Gram

Arton stopped short as he entered the dim light. There was no elvish lady. He let his eyes adjust to the dim light, to better peer into the corners. Nothing. This too familiar town filled with no one he knew was growing irksome. He wished for answers. Concrete answers.

 

"Tell me sir, for we are travellers from across the hills, who is the master of this town? What country lies south of here?"

 

[Vladim]

The old innkeeper gave Arton a queer look. "You truly are not from around these parts." he remarked, but proceeded to answer his first question nonetheless. "The master is Alderman Holdred, who rules here by authority of king Heáfod, who dwells in Framsburg, our great capital to the North. Surely you know this?"

 

He gave some thought as Arton contemplated the question, but he seemed to be growing skeptical, and perhaps even suspicious. And so, he left the ranger's second question unanswered, and instead asked another of his own: "And who are you and yours, and which lands do you hail from, if I may ask?"

 

Sensing the innkeeper's suspicion, Haleth interjected: "They are only looking for your elven guest," the boy explained, "can you say to us where she is?" He looked up at Thammegil, hoping that he was slowly beginning to prove himself worth of his consideration.

 

"Rodwen?" said the innkeeper, now turning towards the boy. "She is upstairs, in her room."

 

OOC

Feel free to make Lore and Riddle checks, if you want, to try and gain clues and insight to the puzzle. There's no downside to failing (other than no info), so it can't hurt.

[Varon777]

Elhadron pulled his cloak tighter around his body and raised his hood above his face. There were many humans, all of them bold and curious, and inquisitive, but Elhadron did his best to be less noticed by them, trailing softly at the heels of his companions. In the ale house, he stood by the door, head tilted slightly, listening. Framsburg. So that was where they were. Where had the Lady gone and why was she now in the room and not before them? 

 

It was uncanny. Evil, even, and he wished to be free as quickly as possible, but how, he could not guess. 

[Vladim]

As they conversed with the innkeeper and observed their surroundings, a group of three men entered the common room. They were led by a young and good-looking man, clad in a blue cloak, with an intricate golden clasp that held it around his shoulders. In his right hand was a small harp, and he and his companions seemed in good spirits, exchanging jests and boasts as they made their entrance. They seemed a little drunk, which was nothing extraordinary even at this time of day, given the festivities.

They had no sooner entered when they noticed the company, and the young bard made his way towards them, and as soon as he was near them he addressed Elhadron, who had somehow caught his eye. Perhaps elves here were not an uncommon sight here, but they were still unusual, or perhaps there was another reason.

"Noble travellers, you look like the sort who’d have a coin or two to spare. It’s good luck to pay a minstrel, you know. Give me a coin and I’ll sing you a song of Scatha the Worm, and brave Fram the Dragonslayer!"

 

OOC

Just to avoid any misunderstandings, your characters should have figured out that they are still in Haycombe, the ruined settlement that you reached in the real world. In this dream-world/wraith-world version, it still stands and is a large, prosperous settlement.

Framsburg (of which Elhadron likely knows) is further to the North, but is the capital of this realm (that Haycombe is part of). Basically, you are not in Framsburg.

Feel free to roll stuff for more hints!

[thesloth]

Arton of Gram

Arton scratched his chin, Scatha long dead, Framsburg a capital, Haycombe still standing. He tried hard to place time in history when these things would have been true. Taking out a coin he decided to make good use of the bard to aid him in understanding where he was. 

 

"Of the death of Scatha I am versed well enough. Regale us with a tale of the king. It is fitting that travelers should know whose lands they travel upon."