Elendor
Distant flames
The Dale-landers and Dwarf searching for the source of the mysterious glow in the sky find more questions than answers.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Rolling Dales
Game Date: January 3048
IC Time: Evening
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: Wed Sep 23 14:47:41 2009 MST
Dale-Lands Time:
Mersday, nighttime on a clear winter's night, January 5 of 3048
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service =-=-=-=
It is a crisp, clear evening, with the snow-lined ground hard underfoot and every branch frost-rimed. Overhead the stars glitter in a still sky.
Along the trail wends a group of riders, the dozen from Dale and the single Dwarven pony. They travel in silence, some scanning the ground ahead and the distant horizon whilst others watch warily for sign of ambush. The white and black of snow and rocks is broken here and there by a stand of evergreen trees, their leaves rustling in the wind. There is little indication that aught is amiss ... no, wait. White snow is starting to become grey, as though grimed.
[Frarin(#26827)] The single dwarven pony plods along near the head of the silent train of riders, white cold swirls of breath rising from its nose as it navigates the path. Frarin sits still and silent, hunched forward in his usual brooding manner, with a heavy grey cloak and blue scarf about his head to keep him warm. The solitary dwarf does not move with the animated alertness of some of the soldiers he accompanies, but his eyes flick from side to side, and occasionally to the sky, as he rides, and one hand rests easily on the blue war hammer at his side. Grey snow begins to fall and Frarin's eyes narrow, before once more lifting towards the south.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
Among their number rides the youthful Girion lord, his eyes likewise sweeping the landscape, keeping a close watch on the skyline also. Lorthrain guides his mount on, lingering closer to the Dwarf than the others as they fan out, and to the khazad he muses: "Thr snow bears the signs of disturbance, and yet where are the prints to show the march of feet? Indeed, where are the feet themselves? They surely cannot have marched faster than we have ridden..."
One of the younger of the riders turns clear blue eyes toward Lorthrain at the query, brushing straight dark locks from his face. "My Lord," he queries softly, smooth brow creasing slightly, "might it be that Iach Celduin was not their intended target? There are villages, and many farmsteads ..." There is worry writ plain on his visage.
Which is no excuse for idleness. He turns his horse aside to investigate a stand of dark holly-bushes.
[Frarin(#26827)] "Mm," the dwarf muses by way of a drawn out grunt. "Perhaps whatever it is is not upon the road. These dales are not too inhospitable to travellers on foot, I should imagine even in the darkness, if it is indeed the enemy." Frarin looks straight up into the falling snow and holds out a gloved hand, allowing the soft flakes to gather in his palm. "It's almost grey," he says, puzzled. "Smoke, do you think?" He glances over his shoulder at the young rider who addresses Lorthrain. "There is Finney, southeast of here, but we should see the light by now if it was in flames."
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
Lorthrain would seem to agree with Frarin, though his knuckles whiten around the reins of his mount at the prospect. "You say it rightly, Master Frarin, but perhaps we should make a quest to see. Finney, alas, has not been given as much thought as Iach Celduin when considernig defence of the land. It usually is given less thought by the Enemy also.. but if that has changed in any way..."
He shakes his head as though to dispell the notion. "Let us ride on to the town," he affirms to the blue-eyed rider. Of Frarin he asks: "Can your pony manage a brief gallop?"
[Elladan(#27059)] The sun is long gone in the west and what dim lights may be lit in Finney cannot reach the travellers. Instead a light flares up in the north. An orange glow lights the horizon for but a moment - then there is darkness again.
Young Herjolf's cautiously prodding spear dislodges no goblins from the holly bushes - nor, indeed, any small animals or birds. Surely the local wildlife is unwontedly silent? He watches murky snow slide off the leaves and inspects one of them, blinking in puzzled fashion.
At Lorthrain's command his head whips round. "Aye, my Lor-" The words die on his lips as the northern horizon lightens. Wide-eyed and silent he gestures, and the spear-tip trembles.
[Frarin(#26827)] "Myself and several others visited there after the first attack," Frarin says of Finney, "and met a small party of orcs upon the road returning. So they have been this far at least." At Lorthrain's query, the dwarf leans forward and hitches up his reins, giving a sharp, gruff nod. The grey pony tosses his head and snorts. "Aye, he'll manage, and longer if necessity calls," he answers, even as a light flares to the north.
"By Durin!" Frarin mutters breathlessly, following Herjolf's wide-eyed and silent gestures. "Iach Celduin!"
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
Alarm shines in Lorthrain's own eyes at the flare, and he too whirls about in his saddle to watch it's glow, but after a long moment's thought he shakes his head. "Nay," says he, with a breath of relief. "The town is further west, while the sky lights in the north only. Though who can tell where it may wander next. Somehow it has passed us by without so much as a glimpse!"
He looks then to Herjolf. "Perhaps this menace seeks the southern edge of the Long Lake? Boats perhaps, for wha--"
His eyes widen anew, and he exclaims: "Esgaroth!"
[Elladan(#27059)] Again the northern sky is lit by a burst of flames and this time it seems that the fire found a spot to linger. A single point stays flickering at the horizon where only trees and snow-covered hills would be. Whatever causes this disturbance seems to move rather eratically around. And those with a skilled nose might now notice the heavy stench of burning wood on the nightly breeze. A forest fire in winter?
Frarin's words only heighten Herjolf's expression of shock - the pale oval of his face matched by the smaller oval of an open mouth. Already he is tugging the head of his brown mare round, ready to ride to Iach Celduin's aid. It takes Lorthrain's measured speech to calm him. The young man listens in silence, his breath gradually slowing, then murmurs, disbelieving, "But my Lord, many miles lie between Esgaroth and these parts. Neither man nor beast could make the journey in so short a time, nay not even the mightiest troll. It would require wings."
Then the sky lights again and the time for speculation is past. "For Esgaroth!" he cries, expectant of an order to approach the unknown glow.
[Frarin(#26827)] "Esgaroth!" Frarin echoes Lorthrain, in a sharp mutter into his beard, followed by another curse. "No army could skirt Iach Celduin so undetected! There are skirmishers all about the town, and watching the road and the wood alike. Again!" This last is muttered as the sky brightens again, finally catching at one spot and lingering. "Wings indeed," the dwarf half-growls in Herjolf's direction, "whatever it is has slipped beneath our very noses."
Frarin's grey pony is brought around to face the north, though he casts a wary glance back to the south, letting it slip finally to Lorthrain. "Whatever this thing is, it is no longer here, Master Lorthrain. We must make for Esgaroth and send a fast rider before us!"
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
"Aye," agrees the Girion lord, though he holds up a hand for peace. "Though let us be shrewd in our haste. I meant not that Esgaroth is ablaze, but that it may well be the target our unseen enemy seeks. If it has speed upon land, as it would seem, then perhaps also it has speed over water. The Long Lake is open, and who would keep a watch upon the waters for sign of attack? They could catch the Lake-town unprepared for assauls, and grevious would that blasting fire be against the town built upon the water."
Once more his gaze hardens, and he sniffs. "Even now they use it upon the trees in their path. But why? Surely they would need timber for rafts, or boats?"
Herjolf reins his mare Bruna in, clearly impatient. "My Lord," he pleads, "we must know more. Send me north now, that I may see what transpires there." His gaze strains toward the distant hilltop, where the glow has lighted. Surely, surely in this cold the fire will not spread far?
His horse shows no such signs of eagerness - the scent of char in the air has set her snorting and whickering, and she tries to turn her head back southward.
[Frarin(#26827)] "Our enemy is not so unseen, Master Lorthrain," Frarin replies gruffly, pointing roughly towards the north. "A blaze to the north of Iach Celduin preceded by a blaze to the south, at night during a new moon. Our enemy does little to conceal himself if he wishes a surprise assault upon Laketown." The dwarf turns an impatient glance upon Herjolf and snaps, "Calm yourself, lad! Your master keeps for himself a steadier head. And such light as we have seen tonight means either a contraption of the enemy that moves far faster than any horse of Dale or else two separate parties, which might easily snatch up the lone rider who plows into their midst looking for answers."
[Elladan(#27059)] The horse's senses might have registered the lingering danger to the north, for while the trees there still glow on, something unheard of may be seen in that haunted area - a single ray of bright fire erupts from the ground like it was spit into the sky by a giant fire-breather. And as quickly as the sensation appeared, it is gone. Did this occur slightly more to the west of the forest fire?
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
"By the Dragon!" cries out Lorthrain, quiting an oft-used Barding expression but not knowing how close he comes to the mark. "Did you see that?"
[Frarin(#26827)] "Hah!" Frarin exclaims as a burst of fire splits the northern sky straight up from the ground. "No lightning is that! Perhaps Master Broddur was right after all, that the enemy has a contraption to throw fire. Master Lorthrain," says the dwarf, rounding on the Girion Lord, "whether this thing be to the south or to the north, the soldiers at Iach Celduin will have seen it and I shouldn't wonder that your lieutenant will urgently be wishing your return. If he has any sense, scouts will be already making for Long Lake. May we cease gawping and make haste to return to Iach Celduin at least, rather than stand dumbly upon the road if indeed our enemy lingers still to the south?"
Frarin's earlier rebuke set anger flashing in the young Dale-lander's eyes, but the voice of cold reason that follows he dips his head in acknowledgement. "You speak truth," he concedes reluctantly to the Dwarf. "If the enemy has one weapon of blasting fire, it may have many."
And then the sudden flame erupts anew. He is kept from replying to Lorthrain at first by the necessity to calm the frightened Bruna, who is sidestepping back toward the bushes. "My Lord," he manages once voice and knee and bridle have done their work, "what is your command? Shall some of us head north with what stealth we may, that we may know more?"
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
A long moment passes as the youthful Girion weighs the matter against his thought, and at length he shakes his head. "Nay Herjolf," says he. "We shall ride to the town, as Frarin suggests, and from there send word north if none has been sent already. Whatever this contraption might be, I have no wish to send brave young men to their deaths at its hands."
Rising up in his saddle then, Lorthrain nods to the north-west. "To Iach Celduin then, and let us see if a clearer view of the enemy has been had there."
[Frarin(#26827)] Frarin grunts by way of acknowledgement of the Girion Lord's command, a sharp nod his only indication of approval. Without a further word, he gives his pony a swift kick in the side and the little beast, with only one snort of complaint, takes off at a quik trot.
The (even more?) youthful armsman bows his head in assent and murmurs simply, "Aye, my Lord." His mare, clearly unhappy, walks slowly after Frarin's pony. Once it is clear that they are approaching no closer to the unwelcome scent of fire, however, her steps quicken. As they move on, Herjolf turns this way and that in the saddle, scanning the road ahead. It was clear, but when faced with an enemy that travel faster than any steed, one never knows ...
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
And Lorthrain brings up the rear, a furrow in the brow of the unseasoned Captain that is seen more often upon the faces of older men. The small party rides on.
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: Wed Sep 23 14:47:41 2009 MST
Dale-Lands Time:
Mersday, nighttime on a clear winter's night, January 5 of 3048
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service =-=-=-=
It is a crisp, clear evening, with the snow-lined ground hard underfoot and every branch frost-rimed. Overhead the stars glitter in a still sky.
Along the trail wends a group of riders, the dozen from Dale and the single Dwarven pony. They travel in silence, some scanning the ground ahead and the distant horizon whilst others watch warily for sign of ambush. The white and black of snow and rocks is broken here and there by a stand of evergreen trees, their leaves rustling in the wind. There is little indication that aught is amiss ... no, wait. White snow is starting to become grey, as though grimed.
[Frarin(#26827)] The single dwarven pony plods along near the head of the silent train of riders, white cold swirls of breath rising from its nose as it navigates the path. Frarin sits still and silent, hunched forward in his usual brooding manner, with a heavy grey cloak and blue scarf about his head to keep him warm. The solitary dwarf does not move with the animated alertness of some of the soldiers he accompanies, but his eyes flick from side to side, and occasionally to the sky, as he rides, and one hand rests easily on the blue war hammer at his side. Grey snow begins to fall and Frarin's eyes narrow, before once more lifting towards the south.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
Among their number rides the youthful Girion lord, his eyes likewise sweeping the landscape, keeping a close watch on the skyline also. Lorthrain guides his mount on, lingering closer to the Dwarf than the others as they fan out, and to the khazad he muses: "Thr snow bears the signs of disturbance, and yet where are the prints to show the march of feet? Indeed, where are the feet themselves? They surely cannot have marched faster than we have ridden..."
One of the younger of the riders turns clear blue eyes toward Lorthrain at the query, brushing straight dark locks from his face. "My Lord," he queries softly, smooth brow creasing slightly, "might it be that Iach Celduin was not their intended target? There are villages, and many farmsteads ..." There is worry writ plain on his visage.
Which is no excuse for idleness. He turns his horse aside to investigate a stand of dark holly-bushes.
[Frarin(#26827)] "Mm," the dwarf muses by way of a drawn out grunt. "Perhaps whatever it is is not upon the road. These dales are not too inhospitable to travellers on foot, I should imagine even in the darkness, if it is indeed the enemy." Frarin looks straight up into the falling snow and holds out a gloved hand, allowing the soft flakes to gather in his palm. "It's almost grey," he says, puzzled. "Smoke, do you think?" He glances over his shoulder at the young rider who addresses Lorthrain. "There is Finney, southeast of here, but we should see the light by now if it was in flames."
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
Lorthrain would seem to agree with Frarin, though his knuckles whiten around the reins of his mount at the prospect. "You say it rightly, Master Frarin, but perhaps we should make a quest to see. Finney, alas, has not been given as much thought as Iach Celduin when considernig defence of the land. It usually is given less thought by the Enemy also.. but if that has changed in any way..."
He shakes his head as though to dispell the notion. "Let us ride on to the town," he affirms to the blue-eyed rider. Of Frarin he asks: "Can your pony manage a brief gallop?"
[Elladan(#27059)] The sun is long gone in the west and what dim lights may be lit in Finney cannot reach the travellers. Instead a light flares up in the north. An orange glow lights the horizon for but a moment - then there is darkness again.
Young Herjolf's cautiously prodding spear dislodges no goblins from the holly bushes - nor, indeed, any small animals or birds. Surely the local wildlife is unwontedly silent? He watches murky snow slide off the leaves and inspects one of them, blinking in puzzled fashion.
At Lorthrain's command his head whips round. "Aye, my Lor-" The words die on his lips as the northern horizon lightens. Wide-eyed and silent he gestures, and the spear-tip trembles.
[Frarin(#26827)] "Myself and several others visited there after the first attack," Frarin says of Finney, "and met a small party of orcs upon the road returning. So they have been this far at least." At Lorthrain's query, the dwarf leans forward and hitches up his reins, giving a sharp, gruff nod. The grey pony tosses his head and snorts. "Aye, he'll manage, and longer if necessity calls," he answers, even as a light flares to the north.
"By Durin!" Frarin mutters breathlessly, following Herjolf's wide-eyed and silent gestures. "Iach Celduin!"
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
Alarm shines in Lorthrain's own eyes at the flare, and he too whirls about in his saddle to watch it's glow, but after a long moment's thought he shakes his head. "Nay," says he, with a breath of relief. "The town is further west, while the sky lights in the north only. Though who can tell where it may wander next. Somehow it has passed us by without so much as a glimpse!"
He looks then to Herjolf. "Perhaps this menace seeks the southern edge of the Long Lake? Boats perhaps, for wha--"
His eyes widen anew, and he exclaims: "Esgaroth!"
[Elladan(#27059)] Again the northern sky is lit by a burst of flames and this time it seems that the fire found a spot to linger. A single point stays flickering at the horizon where only trees and snow-covered hills would be. Whatever causes this disturbance seems to move rather eratically around. And those with a skilled nose might now notice the heavy stench of burning wood on the nightly breeze. A forest fire in winter?
Frarin's words only heighten Herjolf's expression of shock - the pale oval of his face matched by the smaller oval of an open mouth. Already he is tugging the head of his brown mare round, ready to ride to Iach Celduin's aid. It takes Lorthrain's measured speech to calm him. The young man listens in silence, his breath gradually slowing, then murmurs, disbelieving, "But my Lord, many miles lie between Esgaroth and these parts. Neither man nor beast could make the journey in so short a time, nay not even the mightiest troll. It would require wings."
Then the sky lights again and the time for speculation is past. "For Esgaroth!" he cries, expectant of an order to approach the unknown glow.
[Frarin(#26827)] "Esgaroth!" Frarin echoes Lorthrain, in a sharp mutter into his beard, followed by another curse. "No army could skirt Iach Celduin so undetected! There are skirmishers all about the town, and watching the road and the wood alike. Again!" This last is muttered as the sky brightens again, finally catching at one spot and lingering. "Wings indeed," the dwarf half-growls in Herjolf's direction, "whatever it is has slipped beneath our very noses."
Frarin's grey pony is brought around to face the north, though he casts a wary glance back to the south, letting it slip finally to Lorthrain. "Whatever this thing is, it is no longer here, Master Lorthrain. We must make for Esgaroth and send a fast rider before us!"
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
"Aye," agrees the Girion lord, though he holds up a hand for peace. "Though let us be shrewd in our haste. I meant not that Esgaroth is ablaze, but that it may well be the target our unseen enemy seeks. If it has speed upon land, as it would seem, then perhaps also it has speed over water. The Long Lake is open, and who would keep a watch upon the waters for sign of attack? They could catch the Lake-town unprepared for assauls, and grevious would that blasting fire be against the town built upon the water."
Once more his gaze hardens, and he sniffs. "Even now they use it upon the trees in their path. But why? Surely they would need timber for rafts, or boats?"
Herjolf reins his mare Bruna in, clearly impatient. "My Lord," he pleads, "we must know more. Send me north now, that I may see what transpires there." His gaze strains toward the distant hilltop, where the glow has lighted. Surely, surely in this cold the fire will not spread far?
His horse shows no such signs of eagerness - the scent of char in the air has set her snorting and whickering, and she tries to turn her head back southward.
[Frarin(#26827)] "Our enemy is not so unseen, Master Lorthrain," Frarin replies gruffly, pointing roughly towards the north. "A blaze to the north of Iach Celduin preceded by a blaze to the south, at night during a new moon. Our enemy does little to conceal himself if he wishes a surprise assault upon Laketown." The dwarf turns an impatient glance upon Herjolf and snaps, "Calm yourself, lad! Your master keeps for himself a steadier head. And such light as we have seen tonight means either a contraption of the enemy that moves far faster than any horse of Dale or else two separate parties, which might easily snatch up the lone rider who plows into their midst looking for answers."
[Elladan(#27059)] The horse's senses might have registered the lingering danger to the north, for while the trees there still glow on, something unheard of may be seen in that haunted area - a single ray of bright fire erupts from the ground like it was spit into the sky by a giant fire-breather. And as quickly as the sensation appeared, it is gone. Did this occur slightly more to the west of the forest fire?
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
"By the Dragon!" cries out Lorthrain, quiting an oft-used Barding expression but not knowing how close he comes to the mark. "Did you see that?"
[Frarin(#26827)] "Hah!" Frarin exclaims as a burst of fire splits the northern sky straight up from the ground. "No lightning is that! Perhaps Master Broddur was right after all, that the enemy has a contraption to throw fire. Master Lorthrain," says the dwarf, rounding on the Girion Lord, "whether this thing be to the south or to the north, the soldiers at Iach Celduin will have seen it and I shouldn't wonder that your lieutenant will urgently be wishing your return. If he has any sense, scouts will be already making for Long Lake. May we cease gawping and make haste to return to Iach Celduin at least, rather than stand dumbly upon the road if indeed our enemy lingers still to the south?"
Frarin's earlier rebuke set anger flashing in the young Dale-lander's eyes, but the voice of cold reason that follows he dips his head in acknowledgement. "You speak truth," he concedes reluctantly to the Dwarf. "If the enemy has one weapon of blasting fire, it may have many."
And then the sudden flame erupts anew. He is kept from replying to Lorthrain at first by the necessity to calm the frightened Bruna, who is sidestepping back toward the bushes. "My Lord," he manages once voice and knee and bridle have done their work, "what is your command? Shall some of us head north with what stealth we may, that we may know more?"
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
A long moment passes as the youthful Girion weighs the matter against his thought, and at length he shakes his head. "Nay Herjolf," says he. "We shall ride to the town, as Frarin suggests, and from there send word north if none has been sent already. Whatever this contraption might be, I have no wish to send brave young men to their deaths at its hands."
Rising up in his saddle then, Lorthrain nods to the north-west. "To Iach Celduin then, and let us see if a clearer view of the enemy has been had there."
[Frarin(#26827)] Frarin grunts by way of acknowledgement of the Girion Lord's command, a sharp nod his only indication of approval. Without a further word, he gives his pony a swift kick in the side and the little beast, with only one snort of complaint, takes off at a quik trot.
The (even more?) youthful armsman bows his head in assent and murmurs simply, "Aye, my Lord." His mare, clearly unhappy, walks slowly after Frarin's pony. Once it is clear that they are approaching no closer to the unwelcome scent of fire, however, her steps quicken. As they move on, Herjolf turns this way and that in the saddle, scanning the road ahead. It was clear, but when faced with an enemy that travel faster than any steed, one never knows ...
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
And Lorthrain brings up the rear, a furrow in the brow of the unseasoned Captain that is seen more often upon the faces of older men. The small party rides on.
Players: Frarin, Lorthrain, Herjolf, Dragon
Located in: Dale-Lands | Erebor
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