The Ruffian Leader, though bleeding profusely, lunged forward seeing Maethordan and brought his club down, striking the Ranger of the North directly in the side of his head, causing the Ranger’s vision to blur and blood poured down the new wound.

Maethordan stumbled backwards, momentarily dazed by the powerful strike, his ears rang wildly, his heartbeat echoing in his mind. Without saying a word, Maethordan brought his longsword down and cleaved the enraged Ruffian Leader across the chest, who then crumbled to the ground, the Ruffian Leader’s grievous wounds proving to be too much, as his gurgled for a moment, before life ebbed from his body.

Not far, one of the ruffians, who had charged towards Hobart and Lodi, unleashed his anger for having been struck, and blindly missed, so desperate to take down the one who had wounded him. Lodin, seeing the enraged ruffian as Hobart struggled to knock another arrow, quickly dropped his bow and struck the ruffian down before he could do any damage to Hobart.

“You have my thanks,” Hobart whispered. “I am going to go see how Fay is doing.”

As Hobart neared Fay she turned to face her companion and whispered, “The Ruffian leader! He hit Maethordan as he was drawing his sword! I saw the Ranger - I fear he’s very wounded. I need to be able to get to him!”

There was still the matter of the two remaining ruffians near the campfire. Hobart fired an arrow, striking one of the ruffians.

"That's three down,” Lodin shouted, “If you want to live, surrender now!"

The two ruffians near the campfire, seeing their leader fall to the Ranger of the North, quickly decided that to flee and fight another day would be the better route and immediately dash into the darkness, using the dense forest to ensure they would not be struck by arrows as the disappeared into the shadows of the moonless, starless night.

Seeing the other two ruffians flee, Lodin kept his blade drawn as he quickly sprinted to where he’d last seen Maethordan go – the same area the Ruffian Leader had jumped into. Lodin heard a sound – someone dying, and his heart raced. He was relieved, as he climbed through the thicket and saw the ruffian leader lying on the forest floor, in a pool of his own blood. Slumped against the tree next to him was Maethordan, who had been bleeding profusely from a head wound.

Lodin extended his hand, which Maethordan clasped. Maethordan may have taken a powerful hit to the head, but he was not dying so he politely acknowledged Lodin, son of Brodin’s, assistance and took his hand and was pulled to his feet.

Maethordan sheathed his weapon and with Lodin's help he dragged the leader's body to the campfire. His ears were still ringing, and he could feel the warmth of his own blood still trickling down his neck. Resting, he pulled his hood back revealing a young but handsome face and pulled his hair back to reveal the sizeable injury. It was bleeding but scalp wounds always did. He pulled out his salve and decided to wait for Fay, who seemed to possibly have more experience with addressing wounds, before applying it.

Lodin called for Fay, “Maethordan is injured,” he called out as he moved back to where he’d dropped his bow and retrieved it, seeing Fay now moving towards the campfire as well.

Lodin dragged the other body that had been near him and Hobart, that he had killed, and pulled it near the campfire. He looked around, he had no shovel, and there was no indication among the many collected things in this brigand camp, there was no shovel, so there was no easy way to bury them. Lodin’s eyes settled on the slain orc – except the orc, he was all too happy to leave the orc’s corpse to rot and be food to the other jackals in these woods. His eyes drifted to the slain jackal that had attacked the ruffian leader.

He looked at Maethordan as Fay and Hobart approached. “We can’t stay here long. Maethordan, how far are we from Weathertop? Is it a safe place?”

Fay paused at the slain jackal feeling a sense of deep remorse. The jackal lay there dead, Fay realized her promise for it to have a hobbit feast would never come true. She kneeled and touched the jackal’s forehead, “I am sorry, my friend.”

She looked up at her companions, Lodin looking at her expectantly and realized, though she could not keep her promise to the jackal – the promise to keep her companions alive was one she could still keep.

Fay went to kneel next to Maethordan to look at his wounds, as Hobart looked around. Fay looked at the wound and winced. "I can check him. Though it would be better if we were somewhere safe where I can look over all his wounds."

“This will have to do while we figure out what to do with the bodies,” Lodin shrugged. Lodin gestured to some crates just north of them, “Hobart, can you check those supplies for anything useful? Maybe a shovel, bandages or some herbs?”

Maethordan nodded to Lodin, “It’s not far, but we can not leave the cart or the bodies. Let’s load the bodies on the cart and attach the horse to the cart and drive it away.”

Lodin nodded, “I’m in agreement about the cart. Should we not bury the bodies instead? Or perhaps Gandalf has a way of interrogating the dead? I suppose it’s moot if there is no shovel here.”

As Fay looked over Maethordan, she turned to Lodin, “I will need to look over you as well Londin, that Ruffin got close to you." Her voice returned to its soft spoken nature.

As she examined Maethordan further, she shook her head. “That’s a very deep cut. I can help bandage it, but I don’t have what it would take to stop the bleeding completely. You said we’re close to Weathertop? Perhaps there, they will have some supplies I can use to help remedy the wound.”

She smiled at Maethordan as she applied the salve he had given her. As Fay looked over the Ranger she asked, "Is it always like this put in the wild? When Gandalf asked for help, I wasn't expecting Orcs in the middle of the night."

Fay carefully looked at the wound. "I don’t know why he thought I should come. For this wound what did you learn? What did they say?" She asks shyly.

"A lot," answered the young Ranger, wincing as Fay applied the salve. "It seems they tried to follow us, but when the hard rain came, they lost any sight of us. They thought that you had hired us to find the woman they had - could that be the missing teacher? They confirmed Harry was saying that Lenny knew you. They also confirmed the cart was too full which is why they tried to take the horse and that it was due to the Orcs in Felyadûr, in the South Downs. Things must be grim indeed if locals are willing to sell their own people to the Orcs."

Fay reeled back, as if glancing at some unseen horror. Her body froze, as if buried alive in snow, her hands trembled uncontrollably. She tried to speak clearly, but the words stammered out of her mouth, as if clattering from the freezing cold she felt running through her body. “So, we’re going to Felyadûr?" The horror even speaking the name of the cavern she was all too well aware of from the many stories she’d heard. "Is there a chance someone else could go?"

Lodin turned his head and spoke up, as he inspected the corpses of the ruffians. "We'll have to see what Gandalf says first. Our only obligation at the moment concerning the caves is to inform the Captain of what we've learned." He then looked up and gave Fay a reassuring smile.

As Lodin searched the slain ruffians for any evidence of what might have been happening here, Fay looked at Lodin, then the slain ruffians. She’d not gotten a good look at them. As she stood, her eyes falling on their silent features, dimly lit by the campfire, she gasped as she suddenly realized, she recognized one of the slain ruffians – not the leader, but the other. With a trembling hand she pointed, "I knew this one.”

She jestered to corpse of the young ruffian named Gabriel Greyfield. " He went to the same school as I. With the missing teacher, Miss Wintermoss. He was... He was studying Herb lore as well."

Seeing the young man – someone she knew, though not well, lying dead next to her made Fay reel back again. She looked at Londin then Maethordan, "What is going on here?" 

She then turned to Hobart and asked, "Did you know Gabriel was involved in something like this?" Uncharacteristically anger grew and her voice hardened, "What is happening here?" The edge of her eyes tearing slightly, whether from frustration or sadness, it was hard to tell.

Hobart, an outdoorsman himself, shook his head. He seemed distracted, perhaps the idea that they were forced to slay two of the ruffians – or perhaps that they were willingly working with an orc – seemed to shake Hobart to his foundation. He was uncharacteristically quiet, his cheerful disposition erased from his face.

Lodin turned and faced the wagon and began to sift through it – it was mostly weapons of various types and even caliber. These brigands had robbed Dwarven Merchants as well as human and Elven merchants.

Glancing through the equipment - most of it weapons, with smatterings of armor here and there - Lodin's eyes see the ruffians had clearly been sifting through them as well. Among them, four weapons of superior quality stood out. A (battle) axe with dwarven runes inscribed on the blade, a bow rested against the wagon; Elven runes were written along the bow's handle, a (long) sword, with dwarven runes on the blade, and a dagger, with Elven runes on the blade.

The rest seemed to be standard weapons. But these four... these four, Lodin knew were not like the others.

Inside the wagon, among the weapons, there were also other items; a bucket, a candle (set of 10) x10, a chain (10 feet) x3, a ladder (10 feet) x2 (one strapped to each side of the wagon), a lantern, hooded x3 (dangling off the wagon on hooks), a pot iron x2 (dangling off the wagon on hooks), three Saddlebags, and torches (bundle of 10) x3. Hanging on the side was also some armor, Leather shirt x2, Hide x2, and a Mail-shirt x1.

Lodin turned Maethordan and gestured towards the mail-shirt. “Could this be of use to you?”

Maethordan shook his head. "I cannot take this armor or the weapons this may belong to someone still living so we should make an effort to return them, otherwise we are no better than the thieves who stole them."

"I agree, but until then,” Lodin nodded, “we should use them. Especially, these weapons need stewardship, or they're just as likely to go missing before we can return them. If you choose not to use what is available to keep you alive, you may think you're being noble, but you're being a fool. The fact of the matter is if those who own these weapons had used them, they were killed, or they wouldn't be here. If they didn't, they made the same mistake you are proposing we make now." Lodin shrugged, “If for conscience’s sake you refuse to carry one, I will carry it for you."

"You are not a fool if you do right thing,” Maethordan countered as he stood up, thankful for what little assistance Fay could provide with the salve he had to tend to his wounds. “We are close to Weathertop – no more than an hour or so away. I doubt we will need the weapons and armor before we get there. When we get there, we can see what we should do, you assume far too much, like the owners being dead."

He shook his head as he climbed on board the cart.

Lodin shrugged, “We see things differently, Ranger of the North. I would say it’s foolish, and lack knowledge in righteousness. Very well, abdicate your role as steward, I will bear it for you. I will find the owner if they live without you. I only pray your folly doesn't get you killed."

Lodin finished removing his leather shirt and removed his own sword and packed them away.  He donned the mail-shirt, strapped on the dwarven blade and hung the battle axe from his belt.  He then made eye contact with Fay Foxglow and Hobart Rushlight and nodded in the direction of the bow and the dagger. "The responsibility of a steward is to hand back to the owner that which is his, and to no other.  This means more than just making sure it is clean.  It is to use what you steward with integrity and honor.  It is to protect it as it protects you.  It is more than just a tool, whether for killing or otherwise.  The craftsmanship of these weapons is beyond mere smithing and bowery. They carry with them the will of their makers as we ourselves do ours.  There are foul beings in this world, and some of them are men.  If you do not wish to be involved in what must be done, then next time I tell you to retreat and take shelter, you should listen.  It is a responsibility, not for the faint of heart, but for those with resolve to see the task complete.  A steward carries their task to its completion regardless of personal cost or opposition,” he glanced over to Maethordan, “or if they are unable to continue the task because of infirmity makes sure to find a suitable person to carry on their mission with the same resolve they themselves had."

Fay walked over and bending down, she reached out and hesitantly traced the elvish on the dagger.  Muttering something inaudible, with a huff she picked it up, and placed it behind her belt. "It’s a stolen blade." Fay spoke in her normal softness. "I... I am just carrying it. It shouldn't be left in the dirt. To me a dagger is good for other thing. Like a bow. It is not just for killing. Even if in defense." She looked over to Gabriel dead body, "If that is what we truly just did."

Stepping closer into the light Fay rummaged through her pouch. Then pulled something out, she glanced down at it, then she walked over and placed something in Hobarts hand, then did the same to Marthordan. When she reaches Londin, she placed the last piece in his hand; a small piece of dried lavender. 

"There,” she said, “Now I have made a commitment to see the three of you safely returned. Regardless, if you protect, kill, or flee. I will see your purpose fulfilled." 

She blushed as she finished speaking. 

Maethordan nodded to Fay, "Thank you for your commitment and I promise I will do all I can  to assist you and keep you safe". 

Maethordan examined the normal weapons for a maker's mark and quickly noted quite a few blades bore the familiar mark of Svior Arcflame; a Dwarven Merchant who often travelled between Blue Mountain and Bree, bringing and trading his wares and often sharing grand tales of his travels and the glory of the Dwarves. Maethordan had met him several times on the road and spent many days traveling with the talkative dwarf.

He held up one of Svior’s axes, and laughed, "I know the maker for at least some of these weapons and he maybe in Bree. Let's get to Weathertop and see what our next steps should be."

Lodin whistled for Dolly, and the all too proud horse trotted into the clearing, her eyes dashing here and there, as if disappointed that she had missed some of the battle. She approached Lodin, who stroked her mane and explained to her, how she had the important job of carrying them and the weapons and pulling the cart. Lodin looked at the two slain ruffians. “No shovel,” he sighed. “Do we leave them or take them?”

“Please,” Fay looked at Gabriel’s body. “I know they intended to murder us, but I can’t leave him out here like that. Can we please take them? The orc,” she turned, “that thing can stay here.”

Lodin and Maethordan looked at one another; though they had disagreed about the weapon, both agreed the bodies should be taken and hoisted them onto the cart.

After several hours travel, in the far western distance, the orange rays of the sun began to pierce the veil of darkness and the towering shadow of Weathertop spread across the land before them. The trek up, the spiraling way of Weathertop was precarious with trees and stones, almost strategically placed to both hide the path, and drastically slow down any who happened upon it. Lodin, in the driver’s seat of the wagon, followed Maethordan’s lead, who was on foot once they reached Weathertop, to help safely guide the wagon of merchandise to the top. The trek upward, through the spiraling maze of debris and trees, had taken almost an hour pulling such a massively burdened wagon, though Dolly showed no signs of struggling herself; it had more to do with the narrow passage between stones and trees.

Positioned at the top of Weathertop, Maethordan was greeted by his fellow Rangers of the North, who had been closely watching since they first appeared at the base of the hill of Weathertop. Positioned in the ruins of once glorified fortress, Lodin looked and saw several Rangers of the North patrolling the tops. His eyes scanned, and there, in the center, near a small campfire was the grey figure he had expected to see, Gandalf. He seemed to be speaking with another Ranger of the North.

Maethordan was greeted by Halldor and Sigurd. He looked around, “Where is Hergrim? Is he not here?”

Halldor shook his head. “He’s not reported back from Archet.”

“But he was to be back, two nights ago,” Sigurd said, his voice low and grim sounding.

“What news do you bring of Bree?” Halldor asked, however, before Maethordan could answer, Gandalf’s voice rang out.

“Dolly!” the old wizard’s cheerful voice rang out, “It’s good to see you! I see you have kept Lodin, son of Brodin, safe as I asked of you.”

The horse flipped her majestic mane and stomped her hoof to the ground, as if saying, “Was there any doubt?”

Gandalf laughed and looked at the cart. “What this? You didn’t have a cart before!” Gandalf moved to the cart and examined the items. “Why, some of these looks like Arcflame’s work. I saw him in Bree just yesterday. A little beat up and worse for the wear, but he was being tended to… mostly in the Prancing Pony, drinking the cuts and bruises away.”

Maethordan nodded in agreement.

Gandalf’s eyes went to Lodin, and he raised an eyebrow. “I see you have something on you as well, Lodin, that I don’t remember seeing on you.”

Gandalf tapped the battle axe, “That looks like Rukhsfelak, the Orc Hewer.” He smiled and looked at the longsword, “And the runes on that mark that as Azanfelak, shadow hewer, or goblin hewer.” Gandalf looked to the bow, “Liantefaikar, the Spider-Bane.” And finally coming around to help Fay from the wagon, “And what’s this? Young Fay herself is with a weapon, Draugfaikar, the Warg-Bane.” Gandalf awed at the weapons, “These weapons are old. Long though to have been lost and buried. Where would ruffians have found such weapons?” He looked, his eyes sad for a brief moment, then gleaming with an ice blue joy, “Well, they have found new masters, it would seem! And do you good, it might!”

Gandalf looked at the back of the wagon, “I see you bring two who are no longer with us. This one I don’t know,” he looked at the slain ruffian leader. “But this one. Poor Gabriel.” He shook his head. “I had hoped more for the boy, but terrible shadows did I see in his eyes. I am sorry it came to this,” Gandalf slide his hands across the boy’s eyes and closed his lifeless stare. “I assume ruffians found you along the way? Unfortunate.”

Gandalf turned to Hobart. “You are the quickest and a messenger. You must return to Bree and inform Captain Percy Skyhawk of the ruffians near Weathertop. And do tell Arcflame that we have recovered some of his wares. We can get that which belongs to him returned to him in Bree.”

Hobart nodded. 

“Sigurd, take your horse and take the Messenger,” Strider said. 

Sigurd seemed as though he was going to say something, but bowed his head, “Yes, my Captain.” He whistled for his horse, and extended his hand, and moving far quicker down the mountain side, Hobart and Sigurd soon vanished from view.

===========================

Fellowship Points:

4 (1 per player) + 2 (Gandalf) = 5

Fellowship Bonus: Gandalf

You can spend a Fellowship point to roll an additional d20 after a saving throw (but before the outcome is determined), and choose which of the d20s is used.

Eye Awareness: 2 

Everyone reached the first Milestone of reaching Weathertop! Everyone Level up to level 2. I wrote Hobart out since he's been unresponsive - but had a Ranger of the North go with him, so if he does pop back in here, he will be easy enough to bring back in.