MEE-S4E3: Eriador/What Lies Beneath

 MEE-S4E3: Researching Ancestry uncovers a Black-sheep in the Family

June 6th, 2965: The fellowship returned to Rivendell, armed with their report of Fornost and the ‘Green Company of Archers’ out of the Shire.

·         23 years since Bilbo returned from his quest. Now armed with a Hobbit Marching tune to add to his growing journal.

·         Axel received word that young Théoden of Rohan (now 17) is being groomed for leadership. While his sister, Théodwyn, just turned 2. And that the ranger Thorongil (Aragorn, aka Strider) completed his 8-year service to Lord Thengel of Rohan. The ranger now journeys south for service to Ecthelion II, in his 12^th year as Steward of Gondor.

·         Meanwhile, a raven brought news to Vogar that Bain, son of ‘King Bard the Bowman’ of Dale, has turned 40 and has proven himself of royal lineage. 

Vogar (Bill) Dwarf Warrior… Shadow Weakness (Resentful)

Zim (Tony) Hobbit Treasure Hunter

Ricfried (Brian) Woodsman Warden…absent

Lorig (Matt) Dwarf Scholar, riding his own pony

Mud (Duane) Wood Elf Wanderer, riding his mare Athel

Axel (Geoff) Rohanian Warrior, riding his warhorse Stedrick

Zim knocked on Bilbo’s door, only to find the Hobbit packing, “Leaving so soon? But I’ve drafted another refrain for the ‘Green Company March’ song.” Bilbo continued to munch on an apple as he tied his backpack closed, “Wouldn’t want to spoil an original for our folks back home. Besides, there is concerning news…” He was interrupted by Lindir, “You mean Barrow-Wight sightings within the Shire, near Bywater? Yes, we’d be most interested in your report. As for you young Zim, I’ve been looking for you. I’ve told the others: Lord Elrond requests your presence tomorrow morning. Your own quest.”

June 7^th, morning: The sun was just beginning to peek over the Misty Mountains as the fellowship gathered on the eastern porch overlooking one of many Imladris gardens. Mud gazed upon the white-stone path meandering thru the garden, soaking in its beauty and peacefulness. Almost peaceful: the buzz of bees and the songs of birds drowned by the excess noise of Zim eating his 2^nd breakfast. The most amazing sight was seeing Vogar talking to a raven perched on his forearm, “This is Chip, my messenger.” Elrond was delighted to find them already gathered, “Welcome! I have an important matter to discuss. I’ll let Hiraval explain. For he and his son Edrahil will accompany you.”

The hooded Dúnedain ‘Ranger of the North’ lowered his cowl to reveal a chiseled face and beard just turning grey which spoke of his long years facing danger. [long lived Dúnedain; Hiraval is near 100 years old: in the prime of his life.] “I’ve explained my concerns to Lord Elrond who recommended your skills. My ancestral manor near Weathertop would serve well as a base of operations against the growing threat within Eriador. But of late, brigands have laid claim. They must be rooted out!!”

Vogar hefted his Warhammer, “A horde! Aye, we’re up for the fight. Half dozen? Accompanied by trolls? Just men? And you need our service? Surely…” The dwarf was cut off by Elrond, “Your abilities will serve him well. And serve to improve relations between man and dwarves. Isn’t that what your King Dain II desires?”

Lord Elrond turned to each member, “Mud, what is most important to you? Pride? That you might find with wise counsel. Vogar, what is your greatest achievement? The ‘Battle-of-the-5-Armies’ when you help the dwarves reclaim the Lonely Mountain? So, helping a Dúnedain reclaim his own lands is fitting. Axel, what is one mistake you regret? Not finding your real family? Does not this surrogate family fill those needs? Zim, is it better to be feared or loved?” But the Hobbit was at the table stuffing his face with 3^rd breakfast. With his cheeks bulging, in a garbled voice, “Why be feared by our loved ones? Love conquers all emotions.” Elrond smiled as he compared, “Most Hobbits in the Shire fear rangers. By working with Hiraval, you prove such fears misplaced.”

Vogar still was not convinced, “We brought back news of Mormog’s tunnel plans to which you assigned rangers. What have they accomplished? Can’t they deal with this trivial matter?” Elrond patiently explained, “They’ve collapsed many tunnels, even some within Fornost you last visited. But they cannot be everywhere. And the shadow continues to spread.” Lorig asked Hiraval what he planned to contribute. “Leadership and my sword. And my squire son Edrahil.” The 14-year-old strikingly resembled his father, except in stature and arrogance.

June 8^th, morning: Lorig sat upon his own pony, which drew comment from Mud regarding his own horse, “Athel my girl. Looks like you’ve gotten relief from carrying extra weight.” Ricfried sought relief as he posed, “Vogar, wouldn’t you be more comfortable riding with Lorig. Share dwarven chatter?” Ricfried so wanted to distance himself from his nagging back-seater. But Vogar was content, “Leave you with no-one to protect your back? Besides, the fool hasn’t proved he can control the beast.”

Embark (12+): They’d made many journeys along the ‘Great East Road’; they knew it like the back of their hand. An easy 6-day ride to the area of Weathertop. As they passed the Trollshaws, Hiraval commented on the dangers within, maybe for the benefit of his son. Who turned to the fellowship for their accounts, “I heard you tracked and fought trolls. Bilbo said he turned his trolls into stone; how did you deal with yours?” Zim eagerly spurred Axel’s horse Stedrick forward to join the ranger’s side, “It was a grand adventure, fraught with danger and excitement. Hunger at every turn…” Hiraval spurred his own horse forward to distance them as he scolded his son, “Hobbits are known to embellish. Focus on the truths of my stories for the lessons you’ll need in life.”

Zim took the opportunity to scout their camp just beyond the Last Bridge. “I can show you where they attacked a wagon.” But Vogar already had the boy’s attention, “If you’re to fight with us, show us what you got. Bow or blade?” The dwarf wary of the scrawny boy’s physique; so, he offered his Warhammer versus blade in test. Not so much swinging against him but rather offering his Warhammer as a sounding-board. [Vogar Melee 1] Edrahil put his all into the swing, surprisingly ricocheting the hammer back into the dwarf’s nose. With teary eyes, Vogar tried to act bold, “I think you best stick with your bow. Just don’t pincushion any of us.”

Balin

Gloin

Gimli

Any that’s when a dust cloud approached. Dwarves upon a wagon pulled by a draft-horse. Vogar sniffed (more sniffling blood back into his nose), “Dwarven ale!” Lorig was the first to recognize Balin and Gloin riding with 2 other dwarves. Pleasantries, till Gloin caught sight of the Wood-Elf Mud. He spat upon the ground remembering his Fellowship’s escape from the underground hall of wood-elves in barrels. He chastised Lorig, “You ride with their kind?! Are you THAT desperate?” Even the young dwarf chimed in, “The day dwarf and elf become friends, is the day I die.” Balin took the opportunity for introductions, “Lorig, Vogar. This is Gloin’s son, Gimli.” Mud politely offered, “The bark doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Tense minutes as dwarf and elf measured each other, till the aroma of supper drew sounds of grumbling stomachs. “We will break bread and share ale.” Vogar didn’t have to be told twice, as he offered, “Don’t mind the elf. His kind prefer sweet wine.” Said as fact, not as besmirchment. How it was taken…Hiraval protested, “Ale? I need you at your sober peak as we near the brigand threat.” Nearly a keg was emptied that night as Axel joined the dwarves and Hobbit. Mud contently kept watch.

Belches and laughter resounded from the dwarves, drawing Edrahil near, curious about Zim, “No facial hair; you must be a teen like me.” Vogar laughed, “Look closer boy. Hobbit age is told by the length and color of the hair between their toes. Here, drink up and grow some hair of your own.” Zim offered his pipe. Within minutes, poor Edrahil was green with… ”I think I’m going to be sick.”

Edrahil staggered off to be with the elf. Mud asked, “Why is your father so bitter? Why reclaim your home now?” The boy pondered before offering, “I grew up in the ranger stronghold of Annúminas, near Lake Evendim. Father says ranger life is a sacrifice. He has always patrolled the lands, guarding the simple Hobbits from the Shadow. Just months ago, he visited our family manor. Stayed awhile. Maybe the memories… I think he wants to reconnect. Show me our ancestry. Someday have me sit upon the throne of our own home. Reclaim the honor that was once ours. Is that so wrong?”

June 12^th, morning: Goodbyes as the dwarven wagon continued east, minus one keg. They continued west beyond the River Hoarwell and into the Lone-Lands. And encountered another wagon. This one broken down. Hiraval quite pissed when his troops offered to lend aid, “Peasants and a dead relative they wish to bury. Our mission is more important!” Damn! Can a Dúnedain be more arrogant and cold-hearted?! “What’s wrong with you?! These are the people you once protected and sacrificed for. Whom you intent to protect along the East Road once you re-establish Weathertop.” Whatever lesson the ranger was trying to teach his son, fell on deaf ears. Even Vogar wasn’t THAT spiteful.

June 14^th: They exited the road and entered the low mountains east of Weathertop. Mud signaled halt having spotted movement. Zim jumped off Axel’s horse and snuck forward. Finding 2 rangers camped out, “What is taking Hiraval so long?” Zim just HAD to prove his stealth ability as he snuck closer. Rising just out of melee reach, “Good news! Hiraval is here.” The rangers jumped at the surprise and drew bows till they say Hiraval approach and offered clasp-hands at the wrists. Hiraval displayed his impatience, “These fools slowed me a day, wasting time with a broken wagon. So, have the brigands begun attacking road traffic as we suspected?”

Hiraval introduced Arbarad, the Warden of Amon Sûl, who summarized, “Glad you arrived. We have orders to checkout barrow-wight activity south of Bree. As for your manor intruders: Five of them; one a Hobbit. Two lookouts on the watchtower.” Hiraval became pissed when Mud interrupted, “Have you tried talking to them? Could it be homeless vagrants seeking shelter?” Lorig too implored, “We’ll talk first.” The ranger reluctantly led them forward, as the other rangers departed. As they passed within sight of Amon Sûl outlined against the western horizon, Hiraval’s chest swelled with pride. “We supplied the tower that once stood above Weathertop, built by Elendil, the high king. When Arnor fell, lesser kings fought for control of the tower, until it was captured by Angmar after long and bitter wars.”

It was nearing dusk when they arrived. Having to strain their eyes to see the ruins of the once great 3-story manor nestled within the face of a cliff. Now overgrown and crumbling. Mud and Zim snuck forward leaving the others to wait for a signal. Vogar offered, “My raven Chip will fly cover. Report to us if he sees you encounter trouble.”

The Elf and Hobbit timed their approach to the passing of the brigand watch. They stealthfully entered a stable where they found a single draft-horse that looked to be on its last legs, even though it looked well cared for. Mud became worried the horse might give them away as it looked nervous upon seeing them. Zim took time to feed it an apple and hay, “You sure don’t look to be leading a charge by brigands, do ya boy?”

Outside stairs offered access to the 1^st floor above, but the spies chose to climb a grapple-rope from the backside of the manor to the floor above. Furthest from the tower watch. Two teens sat near a fireplace arguing as a female Hobbit played her lute nearby. “Enough already. Will you two BOYS knock it off. What has gotten into you?! Bickering ever since we settled here. You two used to be friends.”

Mud and Zim had heard enough. With arrows notched, they stepped into view. “Don’t be alarmed.” (“Thud” as an arrow sunk into the dirt floor at the boys’ feet when they thought to reach for their spear and swords.) “The owner of this manor stands outside ready to kill you. I thought we could settle this… squatting… peacefully.” Both lowered their bows and offered peace. The Hobbit lass Fay became their spokesperson, “We didn’t mean to intrude. It looked abandoned. So many stories of adventuring from travelers drinking at the Prancing Pony. We thought we’d do some treasure hunting too. Gotta start somewhere. I’m from Straddle. Elwin and Herbert come from Bree. We talked the woodsmen, Folulf and Arnulf, into joining us. You could join us too. For a 10% cut.” Zim was already liking the lass’ spunk. “Thanks for the offer, we have our own band of misfits. If you’ll call off your watch above, I’ll call the others forward.”

Hiraval did his best to unsettle the peaceful accord, “You don’t fool me. You’re highway men out to rob travelers.” Lorig got in his face, “Temper your resolve. You have your manor. It’s already starting to rain. They can spend the night in shelter and be on their way come morning sunlight.” Poor Edrahil suffered his father’s venom, “Don’t just stand there boy, tend the horses like a squire should.” Hiraval stepped up to the hearth to clear the vine-covered stone above. Revealing his inlaid family crest. “My father’s father’s father’s… those before them. Laid the foundation one stone at a time. Húldrahir ruled the manor at the time of the Witch-king’s attack. All of my ancestors are laid to rest in the crypt below. May I bring honor to the one who now reigns.” Huh?

The ‘brigands’ were silently thankful they had been spared Hiraval’s wrath. Elwin asked what it was like to adventure and to find treasure. Mud embellished the story, earning himself some ‘roadies’ if he wasn’t careful. Axel asked Elwin his story. “I met Fay last year when I caught her hand in my coin-purse.” Axel turned to grin at Zim, “What is it about Hobbits carrying their coin in other people’s pockets?” The woodsman Folulf spoke, “Me brother and I met Elwin and his companions on the East Road. We liked the idea of treasure-hunting but NEVER thought nor desired to rob anyone. Please convince Hiraval he has nothing to worry about from us.”

Through all the exchange, Herbert remained silent. Anyone observing would wonder why he sneered at the others. Especially when Fay laughed at Elwin’s jokes. Jealousy? There was something off about him, but no-one took the time to notice.

And that’s when Edrahil stepped inside, shaking rain off his poncho. “Hasn’t started lightening yet but the horses seem spooked about something. Especially that old draft-horse of theirs. Zim turned to Hiraval, “What’s in the cellar?” The Dúnedain scoffed as he tamped his pipe to empty the spent ashes, “Storage. Probably rats foraging.” Axel suggested, “Maybe we should go look.” Fay joined them, leaving the Breelanders, Woodsmen, and Hiraval and his son behind.

Stairs inside the stable led down where 3 inches of dark-stained water offered a musky smell. Flotsam proved to be the ‘sailing ships’ of a few ‘rat pirates sailing the seas.’ Torches held high lit their way as they waded thru the muck toward 2 rooms and side pantries. Lorig found a rusted iron gate at the rear of one pantry. As Zim tinkered with the lock, Lorig noticed an old-common inscription overhead, “To my house of old… your blood and sinew mine to keep.” Axel puzzled, “What a queer thing to write to reference your ancestors.” “CLICK… creeeakk.” Zim offered entrance, “Long tunnel to search.”

Their torches struggled to penetrate the darkness as they waded forward. Coming to a large chamber. 50 coffins set in wall slots. Labels etched in stone beneath each. One coffin stood out as its etched label was written in different script and style. “Húldrahir. Was he the black-sheep of the family? I think Hiraval owes an explanation.”

They ascended and returned to the hearth fireplace in time to find Hiraval and the others screaming at each other and edging towards their weapons. “ENOUGH!” Hiraval went silent and sulked in a corner. Mud approached Edrahil who sat by the hearth, embarrassed. “Please forgive father. He hasn’t said much other than his desire to introduce me to my ancestors. Húldrahir? Father doesn’t say much of the family past.”

Everyone seemed to ignore Vogar as he stormed out, “There’s something cursed about this place. I intend to find out.” While the others remained in the room to keep the peace, only Axel soon realized Vogar’s absence, “Where has that fool wandered off to now?” No tracks to follow in the rain but the Rohirrim knew his friend well and entered the stable to then descend to the crypt below. Where he found the dwarf paused at the gated entrance. More importantly, he saw the spectre within the tomb before them!

Above, warming by the hearth fire, Zim tried to teach the ‘Green Company March’ to his fellow Hobbit. Lightening and thunder began in earnest, almost synced to the rhythm of Zim’s cadence. Even without the thunder, no-one could have heard the death-struggle below. Axel and Vogar were fighting a losing battle. The spectre used their Shadow exposure [damage equal to 1d4+current accumulated Shadow points] against them. “The Lord of the Nazgûl cursed my mortal remains, leaving me to rule this manor. My offspring Hiraval has heard my call and is slowly turning to my will. The fool. Believed me that the curse can be lifted if he only sacrifices his son. You too can become another warrior for the darkside.”

Both Axel and Vogar quickly became ‘miserable’ [disadvantage on all attacks] as the Shadow seemed to creep into their very souls. Vogar’s saving grace was his already high Shadow exposure. He suffered a ‘Bout-of-Madness’ that caused him to flee in fear. Leaving Axel alone to face the threat. But that is when the curse of Húldrahir stretched even further. Above in the hearth-room, Edrahil slumped unconscious. Hiraval went silent as he zombie-like strode toward his son, lifted him over his shoulder, and stepped into the rain. “What the Fuc…” Zim jumped into action trying to tackle the Dúnedain. He slipped in the rain instead.

Mud rose from the fireplace to lend aid when a gurgling sound behind him preceded Fay’s frightful scream. Mud turned to see Elwin clutching his throat with bloody fingers, as Herbert stood near wielding a bloody knife. A dazed look upon his face. Lorig jumped to lend healing aid as he could only ask, “Why? What curse falls upon you?” And that’s when it dawned on everyone. “Curse! This manor is cursed. Vogar was right.” Elwin was already dead; so, Lorig was left to ‘punch Herbert’s lights out.’ “Watch over him as we deal with whatever lurks below.”

But first they had to deal with Hiraval who drew his blade against Zim and the others who surrounded him. Zim didn’t want to hurt the boy, so he swung with a makeshift sap (a sock full of coins) trying to knock the man unconscious. Hiraval dropped the boy but fought on, just swinging over the ducking Hobbit. Mud and Lorig used the flat-of-their-weapons trying to subdue their foe.

Meanwhile, below, Axel stood alone against the spectre Húldrahir who sneered, “Yes, stay and face madness. Just like that which I have unleashed on those fool teens above. I’ve already driven Hiraval to madness. He brings his son now as a sacrifice for the Witch-king whom I now serve.” The words gave the Rhirrim focus as he fought on. His magical scythe carving darkness from the spectre. Till at last, even Axel broke to run in fear.

Hiraval collapsed in the rain from one too many smacks to the head. Lorig rushed toward the stable, arriving just as Vogar was exiting, “Found it! It’s all yours!” But the lay of the healer’s hand broke Vogar’s fear. “Let us bring the might of the dwarves to rid this place of evil.” Lorig found Axel just outside the crypt, having shaken his fear. Lorig entered to face the spectre. One swing and the ghostly apparition vanished. “Now let us go check upon Hiraval and the others to see if the curse HAS been lifted.”