Session 10: Resting and Hunting Ruffians

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.

Lodin offered a hand to each Ranger saying, "I am Lodin, son of Brodin," as he then turned and faced and bowed to Gandalf. "So these weapons would not be the spoils of robbery? Is there no chance of locating an owner?"

He turned his eyes, but not his head momentarily to Maethordan, torn about what he should do.

"Robbery, perhaps," Gandalf leaned on his staff. "But these four weapons were old. Long gone are their caretakers and owners. I do not know where these Ruffians acquired these, but, for all their ill-will, some good may come of their actions."

"Thank you for your clarity on this matter Gandalf. We will put them to good use, for what they were intended for." He nodded to Lodin and said, "Choose a weapon and wield  it to the purpose for which it was made. I wield the other, unless you feel you need to wield both!" He laughed, then winced, a reminder of his head wound he’d received at the hand of the Ruffian leader.

Lodin looked even more torn than before, with a grim countenance.  "I'll tell you what, if you will spar with me, regardless of the outcome, you can have the sword."  Lodin then handed him the Dwarven Long Sword.

Lodin wrestled with his desire to see the fellowship as capable as possible and the desire to see some sense of contrition from Maethordan for his words. Seeing as it was not forthcoming, he hoped to either instill humility in Maethordan or at the very least demonstrate to him the value of what he rejected the night before.  He felt Maethordan had been too flippant.

Hoping to alleviate the tension she sensed, Fay walked over an poked Londin hard in the ribs. In a stern voice she said, "I told you I would look you over when we arrived at Weathertop." 

She looked at him, and frowned, "Unless you need more holes in you first.  The ranger shouldn't fight for a few days for his wounds to heal."

Lodin looked at Fay with curiosity, still wearing a mail-shirt, why did she poke him? "You're right he should rest, I'll expect that spar later, Maethordan?" 

Fay lifted her eyebrow, "Shirt off!" Then in a huff she sat down on some fallen rubble, "I need to check your wounds." 

Lodin was a bit flabbergasted at this point.  He did not sustain any wounds, but how would she know that?  Does he take his armor and shirt off to prove it to her?  Does he just tell her he's fine and risk coming off as bravado?

He felt a bit bashful and hesitated saying "But I,” he stammered, “See I don't..." 

His voice trailed off, not letting out a full sentence standing there dumbfounded.  Almost subconsciously he started to take off his armor and shirt. But he’d done so slowly, perhaps, deliberately.

Fay looked over and realized in the scuffle with the ruffians he was not injured and found her cheeks burning red. "You can put your shirt on,” she quickly said, looking into her bag as if looking for something, but in truth simply averting her eyes from looking at Lodin. “You seem fine after the..." She trailed off.

Muttering to herself her eyes darted back and forth as though recalling something, "POISON!"... She looked at Londin then Maethordan, "Orcs tip weapons with poison, even a little can prove fatal. I need to look over both of you after battles, in case there is a small cut, it could be infected." 

Not willing to point out that the Orc was dead before he got close to anyone and wanting this awkward situation to be over, Lodin quickly put on his shirt and took the time to put the armor back on as well.  He refused to make eye contact with anyone. He turned to Maethordan, "Tell them what you heard." He looked to Strider, and the other Rangers of the North, “I don’t suppose any of you have a shovel so we might bury these ruffians?”

The tall man who had been speaking to Gandalf, joined the conversation, with a bow of his head, his long hair falling before his eyes, "Pardon, I had some business to attend to. One of my own has not yet returned as expected, so I am trying to see what might have delayed him. My name is Strider. Gandalf has spoken highly of each of you, and your arrival. I am grieved to see that one of my own was wounded in doing so, but Maethordan knows, that's why he was there to guide you. To ensure each of you reach Weathertop safely, so he has done what was expected." 

He turned to Maethordan, "As I said, I knew you would fulfill my wish, even if it should cost your life. I am pleased to see it did not come to that, though it looks as if it might have been close. Unfortunately, we do not have shovels among us. I will send Halldor, with a horse to take the two slain ruffians back to Bree. Gandalf mentioned the young one is from Bree, but the older one he doesn't recognize. Perhaps someone in Bree will recognize the older one, and if not, he will have a grave for him in Bree's own graveyard, unmarked, tragically, as it may be. No man, good or ill, should be buried and unknown, unclaimed by family. Family lines are... sometimes, all we have." 

Lodin nodded to Strider in appreciation. "Maethordan mentioned the name Hergrim.  Is he your missing comrade?  Another spoke of him going to Archet, I'm afraid I don't know where that is, I'm not from these parts.  Could it have anything to do with Felyadûr?  These are all strange places and names to me and I don't know how they fit together." He turned to Gandalf and said, "Perhaps we should start with hearing from Gandalf why he has gathered us here."

Gandalf leaned heavily on his wooden staff, as if a large burden had been placed on his shoulder unexpectedly. "Indeed," he whispered to himself. "A great many things have come to my attention of late. Things that concern me greatly. Lodin, son of Brodin, the Dwarves north of your home in Dale, have spoke to me about increased goblins attacks - they're far bolder and more brazen than they have ever been, and dare I say, more organized. I believe you may have seen that as well, on your travels." Gandalf glanced over at Dolly, then back to Lodin, "So, I've heard anyway." Dolly huffed.

"If Hobart were still here, he would probably tell us how the game seems scarcer in the wild, more desperate for food, as if something is depleting the food chain," Gandalf continued, thinking of Hobart and Sigurd, who were now rapidly traveling to Bree.

His eyes settled on Fay, "And you, my poor dear, to lose your mother to the same illness that would also go on to claim your grandfather. I fear the illness is not a natural one, if I am to speak truthfully. I believe it was created."

He looked at Maethordan, "And Strider tells me that you have spotted goblins in the Midgewater Swamps, far closer to Bree than they've ever come before."

"I have heard howls, while traveling the Great Eastern Road, in the South-Downs. Howls that do not belong to wolves, but something far darker. I believe Wargs dwell in the South-Downs - and dwell in great numbers. All around," Gandalf said, "the stench of evil looms about the Free People of Middle-Earth, and like a noose, it is slowly being constricted around us. Tragically, even these ruffians seem to feel empowered by the growing shadow. I've been in talks with Strider, to understand what may be going on - but the shadow hides in the darkness, just out of the reach of the light. I knew I would need someone with a blade, someone whose family is good with herbs, and a guide to keep them safe. I pray that Hobart can return, because he may be needed."

Lodin listened intently. "So then, we are to investigate these occurrences and bring them to light?"

Gandalf nodded in response. "Indeed. But the question is where first? Even I can't seem to see where we should look first? A Ranger gone missing in Archet - a human town not far from here. As a Ranger of the North, there is no way he has become lost. But Strider's men are pulled thin, with Hergrim missing, Sigurd taking Hobart back to Bree, and Halldor to take the slain ruffians back to Bree as well." Gandalf looked to Maethordan, "It would seem that it is going to fall on you, once more to guide the others. Perhaps you could head to Archet as well? Investigate Hergrim's disappearance. Or the goblins in Midgewater Marsh. See why they've come so close to Bree. The South-Downs have the howling that needs to be looked into as well. I would not ask you to separate. It's dangerous enough, what I ask of all of you. I had called you all here so you could see and feel for yourselves what is happening around us. One can speak of darkness and shadow, but when that darkness is far in the horizon and you stand in the sun, it is hard to understand how oppressing it is until you step out of safety and into the shadow to feel it all around you."

He leaned again onto his staff. "You have each now felt that shadow around you. I can not expect you to continue what I have asked of you; and if you feel that this is too much, I would understand your reluctance, and neither myself or the Rangers of the North would hold ill will for your choice."

After giving it some thought for a minute Lodin set his countenance with resolution "We should first prioritize those who are in immediate danger, especially the defenseless.  Miss Wintermoss is in the most immediate need.  Maethordan , is there anything more you gleaned from the Orc's conversation about her location?  Is she with the Orcs or the Ruffians?  After that, we might go investigate the missing Ranger.  If we go with that course, we might need to start by tracking down those 2 ruffians that escaped last night. What say you?"

Maethordan nodded and explained, "The Orc that we slew was sent to see why the weapons had not been delivered to them in Felyadûr. The Orc also confirmed that they had a girl and were concerned that Fay had hired us to find her. Possibly the missing teacher?"

"I would like to find Miss Wintermoss first,” Fay stood up, sealing her bag. “Though it is for selfish reasons." Fay bit on her thumbnail as she thought, " I do not wish to go near the Downs or Felyadûr. There is evil there... the dead walk." 

She was eerily silent before she finally shook her head and added, "I would rather we go anywhere else if we could. There is no way the orcs took her there. No one would go there willingly."

Gandalf's expression was grim, the light blue eyes, normally alive with wonder and joy, now darkened. "These ruffians were working with an Orc?" 

Gandalf cast a curious look at the slain ruffians, even as Halldor prepped his horse, laying the bodies in the front and mounting the horse to hold the bodies. It would be a slow ride.  "What would make them work with Orcs? More pressing," he seemed to lean more heavily on his staff as the unseen burden increased, "how long have they been aligned with Orcs?"

He paced back and forth, "If the ruffians believed that Fay had employed you all to save Miss Wintermoss, that is a good sign that she may yet be alive. Though dark shadows loom in seemingly many directions, I would agree - seeking her out and rescuing her should be done first. If she is alive, and there are two ruffians who escaped, and believe Fay employed you - they may be returning to where she is being held to speak of your arrival." 

Gandalf finally moved again, resuming his pace, though not moving quickly, almost as if showed by his age. "However, I do fear that perhaps the Ruffians - or at the very least - the Orcs - may have positioned themselves in Felyadûr. We don't know if the Ruffians are perhaps somewhere else - or if Miss Wintermoss is there in Felyadûr as well? The ill reputation of Felyadûr certainly would keep the Free People of Middle-Earth away from there." He paused, "I must admit, even I do not enjoy the thought of venturing into Felyadûr."

"Perhaps return to the ruffian camp you uncovered, and see if you're able to find any tracks?" Gandalf shrugged.

Exhaustion suddenly overcame Fay, whether it was speaking of Felyadûr which chilled her to the core or finally allowing her adrenaline from the events to calm down, she suddenly slumped against one of the toppled stones, and exhaled, “I feel so tired.” Her voice seemed thin, like fabric stretched too much, as her mother used to say. "I fear to go to Feyadûr – anyone with any sense would. But what Gandalf says makes sense. Our time may be limited before they are waiting to carve the two of you up like pumpkins."

She dreaded the words that were about to come from her lips, even as she spoke them. “If we wait, Miss Wintermoss could be dead. Or moved." 

Fay sighed, "Or they could be waiting to ambush us."

Fay stood up and joined the Lodin, trying some of his stretches. "I will be fine," she tried her best to sound convincing, but it was clear, that she was a mess, just like her messy, blacj hair that dangled from her head. 

"You're right,” Lodin agreed, matter-of-factly, “we have to decide what level of risk we will take. I am ready right now, I don't know whether or not it is wise. I will only speak for myself, otherwise I only advise." 

"I fear that it may be best, as Lodin mentioned, that you rest. Maethordan's wound, even with what myself - or even Strider can do - to tend to such a wound will require him to still rest, and allow his body to accept the healing that is offered," Gandalf's eyes turned their icy, blue welcoming tone as he turns to Fay, "And you look as if you might collapse, which would only slow everyone down further. No, stay here and rest. We can hope that Miss Wintermoss has managed to keep herself alive this long, we can hope she can do so. I would grieve that the three of you met an ill fate because you rushed."

Lodin folded his arms across his chest, "In any case, after we've rested, we need to discuss how we will approach conflict in the future. Our teamwork is currently lacking."

His eyes fell to Fay, recalling how she had disobeyed him. He was not her leader, but he was a seasoned warrior. He had only been looking out for her. His eyes then turned to Maethordan as he was treated by Strider. They all lacked a sense of communication between them. The only one who had listened to him was Hobart and now Gandalf had him sprinting back to Bree to report to the Captain about the weapons and the ruffians.

He turned to Gandalf, brandishing the axe, “What can you tell me about this Rukhsfelak?”

Gandalf approached Lodin and admired the dwarven axe once more. "This battle axe earned the name Rukhsfelak - the Orc Hewer. In 2793, during the War of the Dwarves and Orcs - a young dwarf forged this axe for his father, who was to go to war and stand with Dáin Ironfoot against these orcs. The young dwarf poured his very life into forging the weapon he hoped would keep his father safe in the war just ahead. Little is actually known about the six year-long war; however, it is known that most of it was fought underground, in the great mines and tunnels of the Misty Mountains, where Dwarves excelled in combat. Both sides fought without mercy, and the Dwarves are said to have acted as cruelly as the Orcs they battled. The war was very costly for the Dwarves and Orcs: nearly half of those involved in the final battle were killed. In its aftermath, King Thráin wanted to enter reclaim the city, but the Dwarves not of Durin's folk refused, saying that the city was not their Fathers' House; they had honored Thrór's memory by fighting and that was enough. Dáin Ironfoot also warned the king that Durin's Bane still dwelt within Khazad-dûm."

Lodin looked with great admiration at the weapon, then looked to Gandalf, "Is it known what happened to the father. Did he return alive?"

Gandalf's face was grim. "He did not. He was found, still clutching the axe in his hand, a mound of slain orcs all around him. The battle axe was on its way back to the one who had forged it - when, what's believed to be, orcs who may have fled the battle or were coming to join the battle, ambushed the already wounded dwarves - and the axe was lost. There'd been stories here and there, about the axe having resurfaced, only to be lost again." Gandalf smiled, faintly, "Some say, it leaves the hand of those unworthy of holding it - that's how it keeps losing itself. But," he laughed slightly, "that certainly can't be true. And besides, in your hands, Lodin, son of Brodin, it may not leave, even if that were true."

Lodin pressed on, "What of his line? Are they to be found in the kingdom under the mountain, or the iron hills? Or still somewhere else? Is the maker still alive?"

Gandalf leaned on his staff. "Is Durindem still alive," he seemed to almost be asking himself. "I wish I knew," Gandalf finally said more confidently. "He was the son of Throrroum and earned the title of Trueforge for his skill. After the war, Durindem left his crafting skill behind. Some say he was devasted by the loss of his father. Some say he sought revenge to kill any orc he might find. Whatever the truth may be, Durindem's ultimate fate remains unknown. Perhaps the axe is trying to find its way back to him, its creator." Gandalf smiled at the notion. "Which might mean, if one can believe in such magics, that perhaps Durindem yet lives."

Lodin looked on Rukhsfelak with respect and admiration. "Thank you, Gandalf. I shall see if I can't discover more on my travels." Lodin hesitated for a moment as he considered whether he should ask this question, afraid to even suggest it could be the case, but decided it is better to out with it than leave it unsaid. "Could you check it and see if any taint of shadow remains on it from its captivity among the orcs?"

Gandalf gazed at the battle-axe in Lodin's possession. "I don't believe the blade would find the taint of shadow by the ruffian or orc possession... but truth be told, I know not where it's been before coming to the ruffian's possession. It would take me a great many days - perhaps even weeks - to deeply study the weapon to see if such a taint of shadow exists!" He props himself upon his staff, a cheery demeanor on his face suddenly, "I hardly doubt such fine workmanship would fall so easily to be stained by the Shadow."

“And this,” Maethordan said, “"Azanfelak, why would that be named a hewer of shadows, it seems an odd name for a weapon unless it has some way of casting light?" Maethordan asked Gandalf as Strider continued to treat his wound eventually bandaging it.

Gandalf turned to see Maethordan still being tended to. "It would seem the blow you took to the skull," Gandalf gestured towards Maethordan's head, "didn't knock all of the sense out of you, did it, Ranger of the North?" Gandalf chuckled. 

"The blade of Azanfelak was said to have been forged by Dwarves, as a gift to the Elves.  Though both Dwarves and Elves have memories long beyond that of Men, not all shared the... animosity shared between Elf and Dwarf. One such dwarf by the name of Thuri forged a weapon to bestow the Elves; for they shared a common enemy, the goblins. The blade is said to light in the presence of goblins... but this gift is only in the hands of an elf, of pure goodness. But," Gandalf glanced at the glittering blade that reflected in the approaching sunrise, "the light is not the only gift bestowed upon the blade. I believe even now, ages later, goblins will know that blade in the light, for before it disappeared to the ages of time, the blade hewed many a goblin in the forests of Mirkwood."

As the night wore on, Fay fell asleep first, exhausted. Her dreams were not peaceful, and Gandalf, Strider, Lodin and Maethordan all noticed how she twitched and clutched at something that haunted her dreams.

As she dreamed, her mind slipped back, tumbling, falling... there was shadow all around her, and she embraced it... she feel comfortable. Then, there was a light... Fay could see herself in the mirror…. She was roughly five years old, her grandfather was standing in the living room of her home... there'd a man there, cloaked, his face obscured by shimmering shadows.

"Please," the stranger said, his voice soothing. "I beg you to reconsider. They know how well you handle herbs. They know you can help me. I have no choice to do what they ask of me. They have my daughter. They need me to make more, but I can only do so much. You're the only one who knows as much as I do about herb-lore. You know how to make what they ask of me."

Her grandfather, who sternly looked at the stranger, shook his head. "I can not and will not do what you ask of me. Even if it costs you your daughter." Her grandfather mentioned  the stranger's name, but it is oddly inaudible to Fay, sounding muffled.

Just then, her mother entered through the front door, having gone out and collected herbs. The Stranger looked at her, then looked at her grandfather and simply said, "Please consider what I have asked." 

Then with a bow to her mother, and a pat on her head, he exited the house. She remembered her mother asking her grandfather who that had been - and her grandfather refused to speak of it.

The dream... the memory faded to black...

Fay’s expression finally looked relaxed in her sleep.

Unaware of what Fay might have been dreaming about, Lodin looked to Strider, "Should I take a post or a patrol?"

Strider nodded, “With one of my own missing and the others now running tasks, I could use your eyes to help keep watch here at Weathertop.” He thought a moment, “Post,” Strider finally answered. “I will take a brief patrol. Stay here with the Gandalf.” And with that, Strider vanished into the underbrush as he descended down the path.

Lodin remained alert and standing at the ready, axe not drawn but easily drawn at a moment's notice while he considered his companions. “Get some rest, Maeathordan, let the salve do what it must.”

The rest of the day and into the night of November 11, 2965, nothing but the occasional rabbit drew their attention. Gandalf had excused himself around midnight and left hastily on “urgent business” he was to look into – something a raccoon told him, he had said, though he’d not shared whatever this message was.

Lodin, Maethordan and Fay packed their belongings and began to make their way down Weathertop the following morning on November 12, 2965, made their way down from Weathertop, refreshed returning to the ruffian camp.

As they looked around, they recalled one had run north-east, while the other had run in an easterly direction.

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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.

Didn’t make anyone roll any Guide, Scout, Look-Out, or Hunter checks, because your destination was just a few hours travel (and a known location for sure). However, depending on what you do from this abandoned Ruffian camp – we will need to probably roll those checks. So, with Hobart out (for now?) – we will need someone to fill each of those roles. Before Maethordan was primarily the “Guide” roll because it was his role (roll, see what I did there?) to take the party to Weathertop. However, if someone else wants to take on the Guide role they can. Keep in mind, ALL four roles must be taken which means one person is taking on two roles.

Remember, please do not say what your number is in a skill (for example, do NOT say, “I have 3 in Hunting” – rather say it like your character would, something like, “I am fairly experienced at hunting.”

So if you want to reply who wants to take what:

GUIDE:

SCOUT:

LOOK-OUT:

HUNTER:

Naturally, also explain what you’d like to do (if anything) at the abandoned ruffian camp.

I assume Lodin has brought Dolly along or no? (I didn’t write her in because I didn’t want to assume. She could be left in Strider’s care if Lodin wanted/trusted).