MEE-S1E3: Breeland/Strange Men, Strange Roads (part 1)

MEE-S1E3: Spice Caravan Guards

Otbert (Bill) Beorning Wanderer

Zim (Tony) Hobbit Treasure Hunter

Ricfried (Brian) Woodsman Warden

Lorig (Matt) Dwarven Scholar

Mud (Duane) Wood Elf Wanderer

Axel (Geoff) Rohanian Warrior

April 26, 2952: The group had a few days in Bree at the Prancing Pony Inn to shake off the road dust and wet their beards with a fine ale as they traded stories of their winter months. A few even found the coins to enjoy a nice warm tub bath. Although Zim might object to that description, “Bath? I’m just practicing my shallow swimming. Now did anyone see where I left my wooden duckie?”

April 27 evening: Once more, although a year later, they approached the Forsaken Inn making note of the carts and horses outside. Upon entering, they counted maybe 9 folks: 4 dwarves and 4 humans and one older ugly man finely dressed sitting all alone. No sign of the troll-hunter ranger. But at least the same gruff greeting from Jack the proprietor, “Shut the damn door. You’re letting the bugs in. Or are they more of your allies?” Yep, the same bland ale. “Take it or leave it.” Jack at his finest. “Ranger? Those thieving low-lives? Yeah, there was one. Terry Mac but his true name Mallor. Like I said secretive and thus thieves. Damn regular…Pha, lucky me to be on his route. That’s his bag over there. Left around noon and haven’t seen him since. What business have ya with him?” Ricfried told all, “Trolls and treasure.”

As Mud approached the elder man with 2 ales, Zim climbed a chair to then stand on the bar to begin telling riddles and stories to the crowd. Jack yelled, “Get off my bar you filthy-footed Hobbit.” Which only prompted Zim to bounce over to a table to continue his entertainment. Axel drug his shirtsleeve across the bar then threw a few coins on the bar, “As good as new.” Meanwhile, exchanging traditions, Mud learned the elder was the merchant of the caravan parked outside. But otherwise, the man tight-lipped as if his next breath would be his last as if on deaths-door.

Meanwhile, Ricfried couldn’t help but stare at the woman with the humans. She dressed and had mannerisms of the Woodland culture. But before he could approach to try his wily-ways, one of the humans, 40ish, stood, “We march before the break of dawn for Bree, so I suggest all turn in.” The humans (a young boy 15ish, man and the woman, and the leader) climbed the stairs. Even the elder man stood, paid the tab, and left Mud sitting alone. 

Leaving the dwarves still drinking. And thus, available to share more ale. Lorig stepped forward as he called over his shoulder, “Another round for my brothers. Well met long beards. Lorig from the Lonely Mts, and where might you hail from?”

Lorig did not flinch at the sight of one dwarf with a long scar (from skull to mouth) as he listened to their story. “Names Vig. That’s me brother Vogar, and the youngsters my sons Navig and Narvi. On our way home to the Blue Mts, after we deliver the merchant’s goods. Mirabar he is, a spice merchant from the east. We and the humans his caravan guards.” And that’s when scar-face spoke up, “Going with Thorin we are, leaving anytime.” Vig explained, “Vogar fought beside Thorin long ago. Took an Orc-axe to his head. Ain’t had a decent conversation or memory since.” The only conversation in the bar drew the others forward with introductions. Vogar stared at Zim, “And what are you supposed to be?” Again Vig interceded, “Vogar was injured long before he learned about Hobbits. He may not be quick-witted, but he hasn’t forgotten how to fight. Now what’s this about treasure I heard mentioned?”

Lorig and Ricfried tried to talk the dwarves into joining the troll hunt, “More coin reward than what Mirabar is paying.” But Vig declined, “I’m am indebted to the man. WE are indebted. I gave my word. Maybe in a few months, once we’ve delivered his trade, we could return to join your hunt. From your description of others hunting him for decades, I think he’ll still be around.” Speaking of hunts, Axel was outside hunting for signs of the ranger. Unfortunately, the sun had already set. And as the night grew long, Jack closed the bar and retired to a chair propping his feet up while laying his longsword across his lap. Lorig and Axel also slept in chairs while Mud and Ricfried rushed upstairs to claim a bed. Zim stayed up unable to sleep and his chattering kept others from a sound sleep. Meanwhile, Otbert retired to the stable to find comfort around the horses.

April 28, 5am: All were wakened by the noise of the caravan guards up and reloading the carts. Ricfried quickly dressed so he could speak with the merchant about releasing the dwarves from their contract. “Not till Bree. If I can find replacements, then I’ll consider.” The others tried to sway the merchant to no avail, “While you trade in Bree, the dwarves could aid us. Only a few days.” But Mirabar firmly declined, “Join me as guards if Ederic allows but they stay till at least Bree.” Yet Ederic was suspicious, “How do I know you are not thieves?!” Mud growled, “You filthy humans always thinking the worst of everyone.” Ricfried tried to intercede, “That’s not the way to win him over.” But actually it worked. Ederic welcomed the elf, “I like a man who stands up for himself.”

In the meantime, Zim sat inside stuffing his face with breakfast. And Otbert used the morning rays to search for the Ranger. A dagger just outside the stable. Otbert reached for it and quickly regretted, “Damn! It’s colder than winter ice.” As he wrapped it in his blanket, he noticed the pommel etched with an ‘M’. “Mallor.” The Beorning searched for signs of a struggle or fight but found none. But as he wandered near the Inn’s well, he found a reddish-brown stain on its rim. He lit a torch to peer inside then called out, “Hey guys, I think I found our ranger.” It took convincing to get Zim to climb down and secure the body with a rope. “Damn, his body is colder-than-a-witch’s tit. Even his fingers frozen.” Soon, they all starred at a familiar face. His throat cut and his face frozen in pure horror.

As Mud immediately tried to track (without success), Lorig remembered his Shadow-Lore, “ice cold…could have been touched by a wraith.” Otbert paused in meditation (Dark Foreboding), “I sense a lingering Shadow aura. Could be a wraith. What did Mallor do to draw the attention of a wraith? Check his pockets and backpack.” As the caravan began to roll out, Ricfried called out, “We’ll catch up with you. We have some unfinished business and a body to bury.” Back inside the Forsaken Inn, Jack was reluctant to part with the backpack, “Abandoned property, finders’ keepers.” Coin and convincing allowed Mud to open the pack far away from Jack. “Travel clothing and gear. Here’s a silver flask with sweat-smelling liquid. Tada. Look at this. A green-glass amulet on gold chain with a strange symbol etched on it.”

Otbert recognized the symbol, “Seal of a bird! Remember last year’s marsh barrow? Gorlanc. During my winter stay with the rangers, they told of an ancient wizard named Gorlanc. That must have been his barrow and HE the wraith who looks for his property. A wraith out in daylight killed Mallor! If I remember correctly, Timeas of Bree returned to town escorted by a ranger and a dwarf. I wonder if Mallor was that ranger and he carried treasure stolen from the barrow. Maybe the barrow resident rose up in protest and finally caught up with Mallor. Maybe the wraith DID actually kill old Timeas in Bree last year instead of our troll Bosbo.”

Zim remembered ranger traditions and thus directed Mallor’s burial out in the woods. Hours later, they began their westerly pursuit of the spice caravan. And when they got in visual, they found the carts angled to block the road with the guards readied to face them. Till Ederic commanded, “Stand down, it is our late-comer relief. We saw dust from your horses and had to assume an attack. As I understand, you’ll help guard without pay. In that case, help get these carts back on the road. It’s already going to take us 3 days to reach Bree.”

Along the way, they found opportunity to talk with the dwarves who explained, “You’ve met our foreman Ederic. The boy Eoin is from Bree. The man and woman are siblings named Hirlinon and Berelas. Hirlinon is a healer. As for Mirabar, the merchant distrusts rangers. That’s why he always hires guards for his annual spice caravans.” Further along, Mud approached Hirlinon, “So, what are your plans with your pay? Open an Inn? Like that rundown The Forsaken Inn or something finer like The Prancing Pony Inn? Where? Osgilithe? Isn’t that way southeast of us in Gondor?” Having heard “healer”, Ricfried stepped forward with the silver flask, “What can you tell us about this fluid? Healing? Great, we can use that. Oh, we found it in our travels.”

All along, Axel studied the boy Eoin. Noticed how he starred at the woman Berelas. Ah, to be a young boy going thru puberty again. Axel walked beside the boy, “Let me give you a few pointers on how to woo a woman. Come now, it’s obvious. You haven’t taken your eyes off her. Talk to her. Take my advice and she’ll melt in your arms.” All those side conversations distracting, which gave Zim opportunity to unconsciously relieve a few of the guards of coin. Not on purpose mind you. Unconsciously. Isn’t that what all thieves say?

By now Ricfried questioned the brother-sister relationship. Berelas looked more woodland in her fluid motions, maybe from Mirkwood, while Hirlinon seemed more military as if Gondorian. He strode next to Berelas, “You seem like an experienced traveler. What would you say was your most interesting journey?” Surprisingly, she hesitated to tell, till she offered, “Most interesting? Well, it WAS my most scary.” Yet she said no more. As if the reminder brought back undesired memories. Thus, Ricfried was left to fill the conversation with his exploits…embellished just a little in his favor.

They set camp around dust with just enough sunlight to gather wood and ready a campfire. As they drew grass-blades to determine watch orders, all was interrupted by the sounds of howling. Growing louder as the beasts closed. First red glows appeared on the edge of the woods. Paired up sets. Then finally, wolves padded forward just on the edge of the campfire light, either side of the camp. Soon the dusk air was filled with the sound of gnashing teeth and snarling threats blended with the twang of arrows and the slash of blades.

Otbert oh so tall and thus perceived as the Alpha of the foe. Surrounded by three and the first to go down. A pitched battle as archers jostled for their shot while trying to avoid friendly fire at their allies in melee. Axel moved to protect his fallen comrade. Everyone suffered bit or claw wounds. Well, except Zim who stayed in the cover of Axel as the Hobbit slowly emptied his quiver. Lorig took a beating and thus had to use the newly identified healing potion, “Can’t heal the others if I too fall like the Beorning.”

Meanwhile, Ricfried identified the Alpha wolf and was doing his best to rid the pack of its leader. But these beasts were fearless. Even when their leader ran, they stayed the attack. Till finally, the wolves were nothing but pelts to be collected. The night provided a welcomed short rest of healing. Zim stood around those being treated, “Otbert, why are you the first to fall? You did the same last year at the barrow. I thought Beornings were supposed to be strong and fearless. Don’t worry, next time I’ll protect you first.”