Session 18: The Road and Provisions

November 15, 2965…

The following morning, Lodin prepared Dolly, while Maethordan helped Fay and Anna onto a horse, before sliding onto his own horse. It’d been two days of travel, back to Weathertop, and it had all gone without incident. An eerie silence, however, seemed to follow them throughout the night as they pulled the wagon of armor, weapons, and food behind them. Only the clanging metal seemed to be the noise that they heard. All other natural sounds, wolves howling, owls hooting, scattering of rabbits beneath the brush, all seemed muted.

Ascending Weathertop, the three Giant Eagles could be seen perched on one of the ruins. There at the top was Halldor, one of the Rangers of the North, who had gone to Bree, with some of the slain ruffians that they’d fought near the base of Weathertop. Sigurd, who had also gone to Bree, with Hobart, and warned Captain Percy Skyhawk of the recent ruffian activity, was also present. Still missing was Hergrim, who had been sent to Archet, the one Strider personally had gone to investigate.

Welton was here as well, still tied, but being taken care of by Sigurd.

Strider was here as well, his face, white and grim. Upon the arrival of Lodin, Fay, Maethordan, and Anna, his face seemed to feign cheerfulness as he said, “I see you found and rescued Lady Wintermoss as this one proclaimed,” he gestured toward Welton.

Strider paced back and forth. “I had gone to Archet to find what had happened to Hergrim.” He paused, as if thinking how to describe what happened next. “Hergrim had been murdered.”

“Murdered?” Anna was shocked. Rangers of the North were not immortal, but they were so well attuned with nature it seemed almost impossible that one could murder a Ranger of the North.

Strider nodded his head. “And the blade that slit his throat came from the Mayor of Archet, William Stanwick. But William’s hand was forced,” Strider continued. “I dare say it was not even William anymore who struck down Hergrim. From what I learned from Captain Brackenbrook, who was a captain in Archet - that William began to have feverish dreams - voices calling to him in his sleep. These voices led William outside of Archet, where somewhere, it’s unsure where, he found a black blade. Once the blade was in his possession, Captain Brackenbrook said that William became fanatical and paranoid. When he found Hergrim in the woods, he believed Hergrim to be an orc spy and murdered him. When I was taken to Hergrim’s body - there was no body there, only an unholy wraith. It took much from me to destroy it - but what rose was no longer Hergrim. Whatever that black blade did, did that to Hergrim. William fled after Captain Brackenbrook tried to arrest him for the murder of Hergrim.”

Lodin looked around hoping to see Gandalf. After a few moments he asked, "All I have learned so far is that these brigands and orcs alike are under the sway of something called Cargûl. Welton mentioned it and it seems to be some creature of the enemy, but I know little else. Did you learn anything in your search, Maethordan?"

Maethordan handed over the note he’d found and said, "It seems that this 'Cargûl' character has a fearsome reputation amongst his troops and they were willing to kill for him, but our 'prisoner' should be able to advise more on that."

"William Stanwick is afflicted," an all too familiar voice said, stepping out of the shadows. There, staff in hand, slowly ascending Weathertop's ruins was Gandalf. "The gift of the Cargûl was a weapon of great evil. Twisted beyond hope now, William will murder all he sees. In death, he will find no peace. He will rise as a wraith himself, his spirit cursed by the blade that had been gifted to him by the Cargûl." Gandalf sat down next to the dying fire, that this night, seemed to provide no warmth. "The huine-blades were thought to have been destroyed after the Elves and the Dúnedain, formed the Last Alliance and, in S.A. 3441, Elendil and Elven High King Gil-galad died fighting Sauron. And so, one yet exists, a shadow to extinguish the light, and fall to a darker master."

He looked grimly at those gathered around him. "This bodes of ill news indeed. Something, as I suspected, stirs in the shadows. Just beyond where I can yet see it, orchestrating and testing... We have won a victory tonight, with the defeat of the brigands, and the Cargûl's plans foiled to poison the waters of Bree... but the shadow is long, and the light fades... soon we will be plunged into darkness, I fear. A darkness where the light will be weak. We must find William Stanwick, and sadly, extinguish his life... something the shadow will take great pleasure in... he will rise as a wraith, and that too, must be destroyed, before it goes to its master. The huine-blade must be recovered, but without touching it, for it too will corrupt any who take up the blade. We must bring it to the Elves of Rivendell - perhaps they have the knowledge how to destroy the blade."

He looks up at those he'd summoned, his eyes falling from Fay, to Lodin, to Maethordan. "I have asked much of you already. I can not ask more of you."

Fay nodded. "Master Gandalf, I've learned much from Anna, after we rescued her. How the Cargûl has agents that may have been in contact with my grandfather and mother, and were poisoned. I have had to draw my weapon and kill," she shook violently, her arms wrapped around herself, "and even seen people I once knew, slain by my hand or one of my companions," she thought about Gabriel's lifeless body. "This is not for me. My grandfather, he was strong, proud, a warrior - but that is not me. I am my mother's daughter."

Gandalf smiled. "Fay Foxglow, both your grandfather and your mother would be proud of you. I am sorry that I have asked things of you that have deeply left you hurting. Such, as you know, was never my intention." He looked to Strider, "She will return to Bree. Send one of the Rangers of the North to escort her. Keep an eye on her and keep her safe."

Strider looked to Halldor, and with a nod, Halldor silently agreed. Halldor extended his hand, "Lady Fay, Lady Anna, I will escort you both back to Bree and remain around the borders of Bree, ever vigilant, ever hoping to keep you both safe. It is now my vow, my honor, and my life."

Maethordan nodded. He knew that Lady Fay and Lady Anna were going to be safe with Halldor.

"There's something I don't quite understand. Surely only the Cargûl himself could handle the blade, so a delivery boy wouldn't suffice. How then is he able to move so freely throughout the Bree lands unhindered and unnoticed?"

Gandalf stared into the flickering flames of the fire, he was clearly nervous. He'd often always had the answers, but here, now, the shadow cloaked things, hid things away from him. After a moment, he looked up from the fire, the flames casting long shadows across his face, like ethereal hands clawing at his face. "I do not know how the Cargûl delivered the blade into the hands of Mayor William Stanwick... it could be the Cargûl used it's spirit form to speak to William, warn him of the enemies that were never there, while he slept... and the blade was left somewhere for him to find it... perhaps even in some cave, hidden away from others, but whispered to William the location of the blade that would help him fight the enemies that were circling like vultures... enemies that truly never existed... but William's mind may have caved beneath the Cargûl's influence in this manner." Gandalf's face was grim, "The Cargûl is... something, I would have thought to never exist... the circumstances to create such a monstrosity are... unheard of..." He stood up. "To create one would require," he stopped. Shook his head. "No, my imagination runs wild with me. The shadows ... the concern, breathing fear into me. Perhaps, this is what William felt?" Gandalf took a deep breath and sat down again. "Great concerns I have, but I stand in the dark, with nowhere to look to see where I might find an answer." 

Maethordan looked at Gandalf, "If my sword can help in this endeavour I will gladly raise it. But if we separate William from the blade will he not eventually return to what he once was, The Cargûl is responsible for this if we were to kill him would that not free William as well?"

"Sadly, there are some magics, so terrible and dark, that once one walks the path, consumed by what it does," Gandalf shook his head. "William is already dead. He is no longer who he was. He is now a puppet running on impulses by the wraith known as the Cargûl. Even if we separate the blade from William, he will strive to return to the blade at any cost and murder any who try to stop him."

Lodin sat and looked at the same, dying campfire that Gandalf seemed lost in, "Well, I don't think the murder was a coincidence. If William is under the control of the Cargûl, Hergrim was targeted for a reason. We need to go to Archet and investigate. Perhaps Hergrim had discovered something." Lodin paused, then added, "But first we're going to need a means of picking up and transporting the blade. What do you recommend Gandalf? Would a simple sheath and gloves suffice, or do we need to use tongs and a special box?"

"Yes," Gandalf's eyes glinted, reflecting the dancing flames of the campfire. "If you are still willing, venture forth to Archet. But be wary, for the Cargûl will soon know its plans have been foiled to poison Bree's waters, and may soon escalate whatever other plans it has. If you see William," Gandalf paused, "a tall man, burly, strong arms, large red beard, a former Captain himself... avoid him. Even if he should beg for help, know that it is the blade that has claimed him that speaks, seeking to sedate its dark thirst." Gandalf stood, and with a thump of his staff on the ground added, "I will need to look more into this Cargûl that has risen... and look to how we might recover and destroy the blade. Do not touch it at any cost. Avoid William in the woods. I will ride to Rivendell and speak with Elrond to see what he might know."

Maethordan leaned against one of the shattered spires of Weathertop and said, "We should travel back to Bree and then north to Archet, that way we can avoid the Marshes and the forest, unless the eagles are willing to take us?"

Gandalf looked at the Great Eagles, who moved back and forth. "Beleram, Baranthor and Armanel are to take to the skies and seek out where the Cargûl might be and keep an eye on his movements, and will be near the Barrow-Downs, where the Cargûl was last known to be seen according to Welton Wayland, here," he gestured to the ruffian, his staff just above the flickering flames of the camp fire.

Strider paced back and forth, his face grim, his heart sore at the news of Hergrim's murder still - and that the blade in which was used by William Stanwick was so pure in its evil - that, in death, it'd turned one of Strider's most trusted Rangers of the North, into a Wraith which he himself had to destroy to free his friend and give his body peace. He wanted to find William and exact justice upon him. His heart seethed with anger.

Gandalf rose and placed his hand on Strider's shoulder. "The Cargûl will win if you follow your heart's desire for revenge," Gandfalf whispered.

Strider clenched his hands open and closed several times before silently nodding.

He looked at Maethordan. "You are right, that by traveling to Bree then north to Archet would be safer. You would avoid the marshes which have become populated by goblins."

"Is there anything you wish us to convey to Captain Skyhawk or the Reeve?" Lodin asked.

Strider nodded. “Since you are going by means to Bree - warn Captain Skyhawk to be wary of William Stanwick… ensure that if they encounter him, they are to try and kill him - but under no circumstance, as Gandalf said, are they to touch his weapon, or the curse will be passed on to another.”

Strider turned to Welton Wayland. “When the Great Eagles delivered you to us, ahead of our companion here, you had mentioned Lodin spoke of a deal in which we would arrange you to become a Ranger of the North, and away from the Cargûl. Will you honor your word?”

Welton nodded. “If you can keep me away from the Cargûl, my word, I shall keep. I know as a ruffian, you may find it hard to believe, but when I give my word, it is sacred. Because I led a life of crime, I kept my word to the original leader of the Ruffians. My vow was never to the damned orcs or worse yet, the Cargûl. There is no loyalty to either.”

Strider looked to Lodin and Maethordan. “Welton will travel with you.” It was not a question, it was a command - but in Strider’s eyes spoke a hidden command. Should he stray from his vow and seek to betray, you are free to use any means necessary to stop him.

Together, Maethordan, Lodin, Dolly, Welton, Frerin, Halldor, Lady Fay and Lady Anna rode south from Weathertop. “We can make camp at the brigand camp where we had found them with the wagon,” Maethordan said. “It provided good shelter around some of the ruins and has some supplies.”

However, upon arriving at the campsite, it had been destroyed, turned over, the barrels toppled over, the campfire location shattered, and gashes along the wall that no normal blade could have made. Welton walked along the walls, his hands looking at the gash marks. “This is the mark of the Cargûl,” Welton whispered. “He’s been here. He was probably looking for anyone who might have survived the ruins when you attacked, thinking they might have come here as a backup.”

“Apparently one of them did,” Frerin’s voice called out from behind a tree. There, one of the two brigands who’d fled and run in a different direction, hoping to force the party to split, was now found, his body bound to a tree, his innards cut free of his body, his head decapitated, and lying on a stone, forced to face his desecrated body.

“We should not stay here, darkness lingers here,” Frerin said, the stout dwarf shivering, as Halldor covered Fay and Anna’s eyes from seeing the horror the dwarf had uncovered.

“It’s best not to look,” Halldor warned.

They gathered their supplies and forced themselves to march through the night and well into the night, until nightfall crept upon them once again, before nearly collapsing to rest.

November 16, 2965…

Finding a small alcove just off the Great Eastern Road, they unpacked. As the fire crackled, Welton Wayland looked, “I know that you’re leader up there,” he looked to Halldor and Maethordan, “essentially gave the signal to end me, if I misbehave. But rest assured, the world is not black and white. There is grey... like the fog that lingers... no one likes it... everyone wants it gone because they’re afraid of what they can’t see that lingers there... but every chilled morning... the fog is back... cold and unwanted… that’s what my life was like. My father,” he shook his head, “useless. Beat me. Beat my mother. A hopeless drunk. I ran away young. No prospects. I learned to live on the streets surviving on trash and what I could steal. I was the fog of society. Unwanted. People wanted me to go away. But every morning, I was there, in the trash. That’s all I ever amounted to really, like my father said - trash. I tried a few times to do the right thing, but as soon as my past crept up, like the damn fog, I was exiled all over again, rinse and repeat. So yeah, I wish I had a,” he looked at Dolly, “a nice horse,” he looked at Lodin’s shield, “a nice shield. I wish,” he looked to Frerin, “I grew up as the Captain of some command and was loved and respected, but that’s not what I had. I had none of that. I had myself. Until I found other exiles like me. And like any pack of wolves, survival increases when you hunt in a pack and have others to help watch your back.” Welton poked at the flames, sending smoldering ash into the air. “I am not looking for a handout. I am just letting you know, the world has light, like Gandalf, it has shadow like the Cargûl, and in the fog between are people like me, who want to do better, but have no way to do so.” He set the stick aside, “So if you think I am going to betray you or run, you’re wrong. Like I said, the people I once knew are now dead, and survival depends on hunting in packs.” He smiled as looked at everyone, “This is now my new pack.”

The following morning, thunder rumbled across the sky as grey clouds moved in, and rain began to descend. “This is something I don’t miss,” Frerin growled as he packed his bags. “It never rains down in the Blue Mountains!”

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The party is now Level 3. The party got a Long Rest at Weathertop.

Fellowship Points:

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

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.

Guide by Maethordan was a 10. Rolled a Hunter, then a 13 on the chart for Mishap. Which is the original Brigand camp being defaced by the Cargûl, forcing the party to do an extra day of march - which then explains the 1 Level of Exhaustion from the mishap.

The party is free to RP anything during the travels with Welton, or anyone else currently traveling with you. Halldor, Anna and Fay will depart once reaching Bree.

And then I will need another Guide roll from Maethordan.