Elendor
Is it a bird? Is it an orc?
Dorn and Bardur stumble across traces of an orcish presence.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Rolling Dales
Game Date: April 3058
IC Time: Twilight
Description: Rolling Dales
Vegetation grows lush and wild, fed by the River Celduin which flows through the valley. Here, the river flows from northwest to southeast. A small but still well-defined road appears to follow its entire course while a larger, more heavily traveled road heads north, cutting past the great curve of the river. Many tracks, made by wagons, horses, and humans, suggest that this road probably serves as a major trading route through Rhovanion. Though sparsely populated, this valley is punctuated here and there by the odd farm or homestead, and in the distance can be seen the dark eaves of Mirkwood to the northwest, and the tiny town of Finney which stands to the southeast.
Obvious exits:
North leads to Rolling Dales.
SouthEast leads to In the Dale-lands, passing by Finney.
NorthWest leads to Iach Celduin.
----
Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service
Real Time: Mon Feb 25 04:41:08 2013 MST
Dale-Lands Time:
Hevensday, dusk on a clear spring's day, April 12 of 3058
----
[Sahgigoth(#27594)] Huff. Pant. Curse. Huff. Pant. Curse.
Refreshing the Celduin's waters may be, but at twilight and the rapidly approaching night, they seem more of an obstacle than anything. The river's shore is long and muddy, and the stunted, dark-clad figure trying to cross it hisses in dismay at the vigorously flowing waters. Holding up for a single moment, long enough to part its robes and soak its wounds, the wounded Uruk sets again towards the North, its weary form dragging one worn step after another, battle-axe and shield strapped on its back. As soon as the trail is rejoined, the regular litany is repeated anew.
Huff. Pant. Curse. Huff. Pant. Curse.
[Dorn(#13467)]
The might may be fast approaching but there are some whose spirit would not be dampened by the dark, the tragedy or pain! Sure enough Dorn has yet to suffer a wound in this strange adventure the dwarves of Erebor along with their Ered Luin brothers have found themselves in the middle of but surely that is but a matter of time! Wandering along the river-bank, quietly for a dwarf, Dorn son of Lufur is holding his bow in one hand and keeping an eye on the landscape in front - just in case he runs into ANOTHER orc when racing out or into the bushes. Although some strange sounds do reach his unusually keen ears, he can't make out what or who it might be. But best be careful, eh? So he also picks an arrow from the quiver. Nothing like being ready for anything!
Following behind Dorn is another, whose eyes may be equally keen but whose efforts at stealth are perhaps less informed. Bardur son of Mardur, plodding along behind, is breathing heavily and he twists this way and that to see better, so that every now and then he brushes against a bush. Unlike his companion he already bears the scars of previous encounters, but his shoulder wound must be at least part-healed for he too has bow in hand. His blue eyes are bright and eager in the gathering gloom.
When Dorn sets arrow to string an excited Bardur does likewise. "What is it?" he breathes in a hoarse, ragged whisper, squinting along the river that is a paler line in the dimness.
[Sahgigoth(#27594)] A huge, dark form rises in front of the fleeing Uruk, thick darkness encompassing it as its bloated form momentarily hides all starlight, cloaking Sahgigoth in shadow. Tensing, the shaman grits its teeth in anticipation of further trouble for a moment, only to discover that the darkness was cast by a towering boulder planted at the edge of a nearby hill and reaching its base. Its stitched ears flick as the sounds made by the Khazad reach its ears. Without a moment's hesitation, the goblin sets its trail towards the odd hill and its stone counterpart, leaving behind it a muddy trail bearing occasionally stench-ridden blotches of its own black, putrid blood.
[Dorn(#13467)]
Squinting into the darkening landscape in front of them, Dorn stops, tilting his head in an attempt of hearing the strange noises - grunting, words in a language he could not understand, huffing - but with his own readiness, Bardur seems to get all excited as well, hassling with his own bow and then settling in trying to find the culprit. All the while being very noisy. Dorn couldn't blame the fellow, he was a dwarf and not every... most dwarves were loud.
So the trail of noise was lost but as they took a few more steps, he stopped, squatting down and studying some tracks in the mud. And orc blood. "It's an injured dwarf or someone carrying a barrel of tar," he finally deducted most importantly. "And since we're in the middle of nowhere I'm going to assume it's an orc." Clever dwarf, wonder what he ate to become to smart!
For a moment, Bardur's dark head dips as he tries to see what has his companion so excited, but then he remembers he's supposed to be keeping an eye out for the enemy. They might be getting away ... there! What is that? "Look!" he exclaims, remembering too late that he's supposed to be keeping the noise down. His nocked arrow (though the bow is not yet drawn back) indicates a quivering bush part-way up a nearby hill. "I think it's in bowshot ... shall I loose, cousin?" Gingerly, with a grunt, he pulls the feathered shaft back almost to cheek-level, the scowl on his stony features suggesting that the motion is not without its own pain.
[Sahgigoth(#27594)] The sounds of the two dwarves approaching his location bring a hideous frown on Sahgigoth's mismatched face. Its single eye flashes angrily towards the sound and the Uruk darts towards the hill's base as quick as it can, its hole-ridden robes flying around it, much like a giant black bird stretching its wings. "Skai! Dark ashes and gritted bones!", Sahgigoth curses, as the trail leading towards the hill is relatively bereft of cover. Lingering for a single moment in appraisal of the trail ahead and darting a quick glance behind its hunched back, the foul creature sprints forth.
[Dorn(#13467)]
Standing and taking a more serious look around, Dorn doesn't even get to the point where he checks whatever Bardur is aiming at - spotting the fleeing figure in black and making the only judgement possible from a younger trigger-happy dwarven scout, his own bow comes up and arrow knocked as he measures the distance. "It's too far," he mutters but in his optimism, who could possibly blame him for at least giving it a decent shot? "Go ahead," he tells Bardur next to him, assuming the other dwarf is indeed aiming at the same thing he is. Then, Dorn's arrow flies up and toward the orc.
*Dorn launches an arrow...*
*Dorn's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.*
A second twang of bowstring follows the first as Bardur, too, looses. However, perhaps Dorn is overoptimistic in assuming the young Skald's target. The grey-fletched shaft arcs not towards the flapping orc but that quivering clump of bushes ...
Brev treks along the road from the large town of Iach Celduin to the northwest, following the River Celduin.
*Random roll: Bardur rolls a 3.*
*Your action FAILS.*
Bardur's arrow lands quivering in the clump of brush from it, entirely unharmed, springs the fleet four-legged form of a roe deer. The animal flees.
[Sahgigoth(#27594)] If the Uruk took note of the first arrow aimed at its direction and ending up in a sole sap's trunk many feet away, it does not show it. Running almost on all fours, its warg-head helmet and skin flap wildly around its expansive form, as the shaman seems to be heading towards the feet of the hill. A small outcropping harbouring a descent deeper into the valley and further North can be gradually seen now, the hill towering above the sloping path providing merciful shadows.
Sahgigoth is not there yet. So, it runs in silence, only momentarily distracted by the roe deer heading away from its field of vision.
[Dorn(#13467)]
"Pffrablemop!"
For anyone not Dorn, this means nothing but his tone suggests it might not mean anything pleasant. The arrow does not hit and before long, the running figure is too far for his shortbow. It was always a long shot anyway. And while his quiet but fierce outburst is hot, the scout remains on target which was to find out where the thing is coming from and where it is going. Perhaps there is an orc camp nearby?
Stopping and looking at Bardur however, Dorn hesitates. The Skald did not lack enthusiasm but sneaking was hardly his strong side. And with darkness falling, he'd be even noisier. Mercifully he says nothing about hunting for trees instead of orcs... "Maybe you should go back and tell the others we met an orc? Warn them and such?" That's an important task, surely. "I want to go and see if they have a camp nearby."
Bardur's craggy features are creased in disappointment as his prey runs free. Orc or no, it would at least have been tasty for the stewpot! "Of cour-" he's beginning, then stops. "What about you? You really shouldn't stay out here on your own after dark, you know." He frowns forbiddingly at his fellow.
On the other hand, Dorn /is/ a Warder and Bardur is .. well, a nuisance wouldn't be very polite. Let us simply say that his skills lie in the area of word rather than deed. "I'll do as you suggest, cousin," he says at last, meekly. Fitting another arrow to the string, just in case (perhaps that deer will reappear!), he begins retracing his way back to the road, his passage marked by a variety of rustles and grunts.
Vegetation grows lush and wild, fed by the River Celduin which flows through the valley. Here, the river flows from northwest to southeast. A small but still well-defined road appears to follow its entire course while a larger, more heavily traveled road heads north, cutting past the great curve of the river. Many tracks, made by wagons, horses, and humans, suggest that this road probably serves as a major trading route through Rhovanion. Though sparsely populated, this valley is punctuated here and there by the odd farm or homestead, and in the distance can be seen the dark eaves of Mirkwood to the northwest, and the tiny town of Finney which stands to the southeast.
Obvious exits:
North leads to Rolling Dales.
SouthEast leads to In the Dale-lands, passing by Finney.
NorthWest leads to Iach Celduin.
----
Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service
Real Time: Mon Feb 25 04:41:08 2013 MST
Dale-Lands Time:
Hevensday, dusk on a clear spring's day, April 12 of 3058
----
[Sahgigoth(#27594)] Huff. Pant. Curse. Huff. Pant. Curse.
Refreshing the Celduin's waters may be, but at twilight and the rapidly approaching night, they seem more of an obstacle than anything. The river's shore is long and muddy, and the stunted, dark-clad figure trying to cross it hisses in dismay at the vigorously flowing waters. Holding up for a single moment, long enough to part its robes and soak its wounds, the wounded Uruk sets again towards the North, its weary form dragging one worn step after another, battle-axe and shield strapped on its back. As soon as the trail is rejoined, the regular litany is repeated anew.
Huff. Pant. Curse. Huff. Pant. Curse.
[Dorn(#13467)]
The might may be fast approaching but there are some whose spirit would not be dampened by the dark, the tragedy or pain! Sure enough Dorn has yet to suffer a wound in this strange adventure the dwarves of Erebor along with their Ered Luin brothers have found themselves in the middle of but surely that is but a matter of time! Wandering along the river-bank, quietly for a dwarf, Dorn son of Lufur is holding his bow in one hand and keeping an eye on the landscape in front - just in case he runs into ANOTHER orc when racing out or into the bushes. Although some strange sounds do reach his unusually keen ears, he can't make out what or who it might be. But best be careful, eh? So he also picks an arrow from the quiver. Nothing like being ready for anything!
Following behind Dorn is another, whose eyes may be equally keen but whose efforts at stealth are perhaps less informed. Bardur son of Mardur, plodding along behind, is breathing heavily and he twists this way and that to see better, so that every now and then he brushes against a bush. Unlike his companion he already bears the scars of previous encounters, but his shoulder wound must be at least part-healed for he too has bow in hand. His blue eyes are bright and eager in the gathering gloom.
When Dorn sets arrow to string an excited Bardur does likewise. "What is it?" he breathes in a hoarse, ragged whisper, squinting along the river that is a paler line in the dimness.
[Sahgigoth(#27594)] A huge, dark form rises in front of the fleeing Uruk, thick darkness encompassing it as its bloated form momentarily hides all starlight, cloaking Sahgigoth in shadow. Tensing, the shaman grits its teeth in anticipation of further trouble for a moment, only to discover that the darkness was cast by a towering boulder planted at the edge of a nearby hill and reaching its base. Its stitched ears flick as the sounds made by the Khazad reach its ears. Without a moment's hesitation, the goblin sets its trail towards the odd hill and its stone counterpart, leaving behind it a muddy trail bearing occasionally stench-ridden blotches of its own black, putrid blood.
[Dorn(#13467)]
Squinting into the darkening landscape in front of them, Dorn stops, tilting his head in an attempt of hearing the strange noises - grunting, words in a language he could not understand, huffing - but with his own readiness, Bardur seems to get all excited as well, hassling with his own bow and then settling in trying to find the culprit. All the while being very noisy. Dorn couldn't blame the fellow, he was a dwarf and not every... most dwarves were loud.
So the trail of noise was lost but as they took a few more steps, he stopped, squatting down and studying some tracks in the mud. And orc blood. "It's an injured dwarf or someone carrying a barrel of tar," he finally deducted most importantly. "And since we're in the middle of nowhere I'm going to assume it's an orc." Clever dwarf, wonder what he ate to become to smart!
For a moment, Bardur's dark head dips as he tries to see what has his companion so excited, but then he remembers he's supposed to be keeping an eye out for the enemy. They might be getting away ... there! What is that? "Look!" he exclaims, remembering too late that he's supposed to be keeping the noise down. His nocked arrow (though the bow is not yet drawn back) indicates a quivering bush part-way up a nearby hill. "I think it's in bowshot ... shall I loose, cousin?" Gingerly, with a grunt, he pulls the feathered shaft back almost to cheek-level, the scowl on his stony features suggesting that the motion is not without its own pain.
[Sahgigoth(#27594)] The sounds of the two dwarves approaching his location bring a hideous frown on Sahgigoth's mismatched face. Its single eye flashes angrily towards the sound and the Uruk darts towards the hill's base as quick as it can, its hole-ridden robes flying around it, much like a giant black bird stretching its wings. "Skai! Dark ashes and gritted bones!", Sahgigoth curses, as the trail leading towards the hill is relatively bereft of cover. Lingering for a single moment in appraisal of the trail ahead and darting a quick glance behind its hunched back, the foul creature sprints forth.
[Dorn(#13467)]
Standing and taking a more serious look around, Dorn doesn't even get to the point where he checks whatever Bardur is aiming at - spotting the fleeing figure in black and making the only judgement possible from a younger trigger-happy dwarven scout, his own bow comes up and arrow knocked as he measures the distance. "It's too far," he mutters but in his optimism, who could possibly blame him for at least giving it a decent shot? "Go ahead," he tells Bardur next to him, assuming the other dwarf is indeed aiming at the same thing he is. Then, Dorn's arrow flies up and toward the orc.
*Dorn launches an arrow...*
*Dorn's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.*
A second twang of bowstring follows the first as Bardur, too, looses. However, perhaps Dorn is overoptimistic in assuming the young Skald's target. The grey-fletched shaft arcs not towards the flapping orc but that quivering clump of bushes ...
Brev treks along the road from the large town of Iach Celduin to the northwest, following the River Celduin.
*Random roll: Bardur rolls a 3.*
*Your action FAILS.*
Bardur's arrow lands quivering in the clump of brush from it, entirely unharmed, springs the fleet four-legged form of a roe deer. The animal flees.
[Sahgigoth(#27594)] If the Uruk took note of the first arrow aimed at its direction and ending up in a sole sap's trunk many feet away, it does not show it. Running almost on all fours, its warg-head helmet and skin flap wildly around its expansive form, as the shaman seems to be heading towards the feet of the hill. A small outcropping harbouring a descent deeper into the valley and further North can be gradually seen now, the hill towering above the sloping path providing merciful shadows.
Sahgigoth is not there yet. So, it runs in silence, only momentarily distracted by the roe deer heading away from its field of vision.
[Dorn(#13467)]
"Pffrablemop!"
For anyone not Dorn, this means nothing but his tone suggests it might not mean anything pleasant. The arrow does not hit and before long, the running figure is too far for his shortbow. It was always a long shot anyway. And while his quiet but fierce outburst is hot, the scout remains on target which was to find out where the thing is coming from and where it is going. Perhaps there is an orc camp nearby?
Stopping and looking at Bardur however, Dorn hesitates. The Skald did not lack enthusiasm but sneaking was hardly his strong side. And with darkness falling, he'd be even noisier. Mercifully he says nothing about hunting for trees instead of orcs... "Maybe you should go back and tell the others we met an orc? Warn them and such?" That's an important task, surely. "I want to go and see if they have a camp nearby."
Bardur's craggy features are creased in disappointment as his prey runs free. Orc or no, it would at least have been tasty for the stewpot! "Of cour-" he's beginning, then stops. "What about you? You really shouldn't stay out here on your own after dark, you know." He frowns forbiddingly at his fellow.
On the other hand, Dorn /is/ a Warder and Bardur is .. well, a nuisance wouldn't be very polite. Let us simply say that his skills lie in the area of word rather than deed. "I'll do as you suggest, cousin," he says at last, meekly. Fitting another arrow to the string, just in case (perhaps that deer will reappear!), he begins retracing his way back to the road, his passage marked by a variety of rustles and grunts.
Players: Sahgigoth, Dorn, Bardur
