MEE-S5E2: Eriador/Part 2-Shadows over Tyrn Gorthad (On the Downs)

MEE-S5E2: Eriador/Part 2-Shadows over Tyrn Gorthad (On the Downs)

Sept 10^th, TA2975: They’d entered a tunnel at the base of the tower of Nan-Gorthrim: the ‘home’ of the Witch-King built far to the east of Carn Dûm. A right-turn at a ’T’ junction led them up into the tower itself. Its entrance was carved out of rock, designed to look like a leering face, with vast doors set within its jaws. Yet now the doors absent…long since rotted away. Their hinges twisted and broken as if something large burst through them long ago. 

Vogar (Bill) Dwarf Warrior… Shadow Weakness2 (Arrogant) …elven horse

Zim (Tony) Hobbit Treasure Hunter

Ricfried (Brian) Woodsman Warden

Lorig (Matt) Dwarf Scholar, +pony

Mud (Duane) Wood Elf Wanderer, mare Athel

Axel (Geoff) Rohanian Warrior, warhorse Stedrick… Shadow Weakness (Resentful)

Sept 10^th: Lorig and Vogar had to look twice…the tower stonework was Dwarven but not up to standards. Obviously slave labor. The layer of ice that encased the outside of the tower created thick-opaque ‘glass’ for all windows and arrow slits, such that the interior was shrouded in near darkness. The interior was a huge circular hall; its floor cracked and pitted with age. 3 great lanterns hung from the 40ft high ceiling, hung by heavy chains that were adjusted by levers on the far wall.

Despite Vogar’s warning of attracting attention with any light, Lorig worked a lever to lower a lantern…”SQUEAK!” Mug could already hear goblin chatter outside the tower, coming from the other side of the ’T’ junction. “Might as well light it for our humans. We’ve already announced our presence. Besides, goblins abhor light.”

Vogar grumbled how his warning was ignored as he set about pushing a large table to block the doorway. [Per his arrogance, he burned his inspiration for the simple STR check] “I’ll stand watch as you get about your search.” Axel checked out a cupboard beneath the stairs that climbed along the interior wall: cobwebs. Lorig measured the interior diameter to verify no hidden cavity for a secret room. Ricfried and Zim opened an interior door that proved to be a guardroom cluttered with broken and rusted armor. Mud inspected the stairs before climbing, “Orc tracks. Up and down. Busy and recent.”

As the group climbed, Vogar remained on watch at the door. Lorig tried to look out the ice-shielded window but couldn’t even see shadows. Meanwhile, Mud knelt to spy beneath the threshold of an opposite door: furniture legs but nothing else. They entered the room. The smell and clutter were obvious: Orc lair. They tensed for an encounter but nothing appeared. Axel and Lorig searched the makeshift bed (bones, pieces of shattered furniture, furs and skins) but found nothing. “No marching orders written in the Blackspeech.” Ricfried and Zim rifled thru the Orc treasure horde where the Woodsman found an ornate elven clasp. Which he put on. And suddenly blended into his surroundings (almost invisible).

Mud approached an interior door to the side of the bed. [WISsave] His arm-hairs tensed but the Elf shook off the threatening fear as he proceeded to open the door. Inside: bookshelves lined the far wall as a tumbled lectern occupied the center. Nooks in the wall held tubes that proved to be scrolls and rolled-up parchment. “Found some Morgul-runes of Blackspeech. It’s a start to our quest per Gandalf. Let’s see what’s upstairs.”

As they climbed, Vogar moved from his ground-floor watch, partially up the stairs to keep his allies within hearing as he maintained sight of the front-door. Mud cautiously opened a trapdoor that revealed a large, chambered room with a smooth floor and red-marbled walls. Four tall/narrow mullioned glass windows were set at cardinal directions. Unlike the bone-cold floors below, this room radiated heat. Yet the warmth did little to dispel the oppressive aura that permeated the chamber. The heat explained why the windows were free on ice, yet darkness still suffocated the room.

Till Ricfried opened a window. Moonlite flooded the interior, bathing the walls in a growing flame that caused Morgul-runes to glow from the walls. “The Motherlode! Quick, let’s begin to transcribe before the moon light fades.” It was not quick. Hours to record the runes and their peculiar flairs. [Corruption checks] Hours exposed to the evil work of the Witch-King. Zim and Axel easily became distracted and prone to errors while Lorig remained steadfast. Almost 6 hours and down to stubby pencils before the Scholarly dwarf declared, “I think we got it all. Let’s pack up and get out of here.”

Six hours which coincided with Vogar’s announcement, “Visitors! Goblin and one ugly one-eyed Orc.” Vogar threw both his axes at the first goblins climbing the stairs, as Axel and Mud jumped down thru the trapdoor as join the fight. But the goblins moved too quick: Axel’s arrows missed. Mud wisely targeted the larger foe as more goblins entered the tower. Zim, Ricfried, and Lorig finally exited the upper chamber. Just in time to watch the Great Orc grab the lit lantern and fling it at them standing on the upper ledge. [Fumble] Except the Orc failed to account for the chain… the lantern smacked the wall between Ricfried and Mud before returning via chain to its sender. Smacking the Orc in his face.

Lorig joined Vogar’s side as the dwarves hammered their way thru the goblin horde. Arrows slew a few goblin or decorated the larger Orc. Must have pissed him off: the Orc suddenly sprang upwards, landing between Mud and Ricfried! Its great notched-scimitar sliced Mud and hooked his bow which went flying down to the ground floor. Axel closed on the one-eyed Orc and slashed 3-times with his sickle. And held onto his weapon as the Orc tried to yank it out of his grip.

The dwarves were busy at the front of the stairs dealing with goblins. Mud pulled his broadsword and shield as he fought for his life. Zim was free to continue assaulting the Orc with his well-placed arrows. The Orc swayed and reached for Axel as it fell over, off the stairs. Both Rohirrim and Orc crashed to the floor below. The “THUD” reverberated throughout the tower. Signaling the remaining goblin to flee. Only 2 made it out alive as arrows fell the others.

Lorig rushed to Axel’s side, finding him alive but groggy. Healing minutes gave Vogar time to slice off the Orc’s head and mount it over the tower entrance. The one-eye: he kept as treasure.

Sept 11^th- Oct 10^th: Over 25 days to backtrack to the ranger camp. Slowed by twisted ankles and wrong turns. [Corruption as they passed hags who cast curses] Encountering large spiders didn’t help. Ricfried and Zim immobilized (stuck in webbing) as the others fought off poisonous stings. Vogar alone against his foe…readying for the killing blow, till Mud’s arrow robbed him of his kill. “Damn you Elf!” Boasting when he slayed Axel’s threat with a crushing shield-bash.

Oct 10^th: Cold, wet, and weary when they finally arrived at the camp. Where Gandalf stood well rested and ready before a campfire, “Supper’s ready, horses saddled and packed. Get some grub and we can be on our way.” As much as they were ready to protest (“We need sleep and rest!”), the meal actually was VERY fortifying and restorative. Lorig took the opportunity to show the scrolls, “We were successful.”

Oct 10^th – Oct 25^th: Another 2 weeks to reach Imladris, but these days were on horseback and with sunshine and warmth. Lord Elrond was quite pleased with their success and Lorig’s offer to help Erestor translate the material. The Scholarly dwarf absent for a week as the others rested within Rivendell. And consumed vast quantities of drink and food. Replenished the fat they’d lost along their last trek.

Erestor translated the Morgul-runes as Lorig cross-referenced Elven archives. Where he found, “There’s a 2^nd Age tale of a Númenórean captain who passed through Tyrn Gorthad returning home from the battle fought at Sarn Ford where Sauron himself was routed. Traversing the hills, the captain stumbled upon a recent fierce battle-site. Countless dead Orcs and other fell creatures lay, surrounding the remains of Elven warriors. At the center of the slain elves, lay the remains of a single Elf-lord, clad in a blood-soaked, once-golden cloak and wielding a bright blade.”

He continued reading the tale, “Mighty he must have been, even among the Eldar, though his name absent. I have never seen the like of his blade: silver run through with a black metal we could not identify. It had a curious name, engraved in Eregion script: ‘Dambeth Medui’ – ‘Last Answer’. We buried him with honor in one of the eastern hills, his blade with him. A curious thing: one of my men told me that mallos flowers (‘gold-snow’ in Sindarin) eventually grew on that hill. Those small, lovely wildflowers usually grow far to the south.”

Nov 2^nd: Another summoning and pre-brief by Lord Elrond, who summarized the translations, “Alas, it as is we have long suspected: the fears of the Dúnedain are not unfounded, the Witch-king is responsible for the darkness that plagues Tyrn Gorthad.”

Gandalf practically spit his response, “Centuries of malice! The Witch-king summoned hundreds, perhaps thousands of evil spirits, dark and accursed, to haunt the hollow places beneath the green hills of the Barrow-Downs. But there is hope: apparently the Morgul-lord encountered a power he wasn’t expecting to face. A force whose nature and purpose he didn’t understand, for it is older than he. Something worthy of your insightful talents to find. Near a hill covered in mallos flowers. Perhaps you check it out. As for me, I have things to tend to. I’ll return mid-winter to hear your report.”

Nov 3^rd – 13^th: The fellowship had made so many trips back and forth between Rivendell and Bree, they should have started a caravan service. Once again, they set out upon the all-too-familiar Old East Road. But this time, overcast weather and fall storms offered a gloomy omnipresent. Relentless rain, then mist shrouded the road.  On the last day short of Bree, [Lookout] Vogar spotted the outline of 2 men approaching on foot. Strange how they seemed to glide without the normal head bobbing of a lumbering traveler. Hair on his neck bristled as he warned his allies. Lorig hailed the travelers. They answered in an old Númenórean dialect, “Hello…victims.” Wights!!

[WISsave] Vogar/Mud/Axel were stunned by the presence of Wights in daylight. As Ricfried and Zim fired arrows at the advancing evil, Lorig lay hands (healed) upon Mud to remove his stunned condition. The elf wasted little time notching arrows to fell one Wight. The other Wight attacked the defenseless Vogar as Lorig lay hands upon Axel. Soon, enough attacks fell the last Wight. Allowing the fellowship to gather their wits. “VERY unusual in broad daylight!”

Nov 13^th: Once again, they found the gates of Bree closed. Coins to gain entry. They rode straight to the Prancing Pony to confirm rumors they’d heard at the Forsaken Inn along the way. It had been over 10 years since they’d laid eyes on the young Barliman Butterbur, now in his mid-20s. A strapping young lad. Hilda too was there, carrying a tray of mugs to their table. A ring upon her finger, “I’ve 3 kids to feed.”

Ricfried reported the Wights they’d encountered. “That’s why we close the gate. So far, they’ve avoided the town.” Axel found patrons dressed in familiar ranger garb who relayed their concerns, “Sightings and encounters have increased. But our forces are thin as Gandalf has instructed us to guard the Shire.” Zim searched the tables looking for other Hobbits, “What can you tell me of the tale of a young Hobbit lass who survived an encounter with a Wight? Story goes, she fled upon a hill that the Wights wouldn’t approach. Mirabella Thorndike? She lives with her uncle Moro? Where exactly do they live that I might question them to compose a song in her honor?”

Vogar had to be pried from the table with 7 empty mugs before him, “But I’m just getting started quenching my thirst!” They tossed coins to Barliman to groom their horses as they walked toward the described house on the eastern edge of Bree. Pipe smoke rose from an old Hobbit rocking on his porch chair. His eyes narrowed at their approach, “What cha be needing?” The Hobbit looked down his nose as the Elf floundered in his effort to start a conversation. Ricfried spoke up, “I understand you sell quality Shire goods. I’m hoping you might have some Longbottom weed as my pipe has grown tasteless with the inferior tobacco I’ve had to settle for.”

Moro was out of his chair and open for business. Especially when Zim tripled the Longbottom order. Moro shrewdly offered a business deal, “We’ll set the price based on a smoke-ring competition.” When you sit on a porch all day, puffing, you tend to get cocky. Soon smoke wafted upwards from the competing pipes. Zim was cocky too, “I must warn you: this pipe was a gift from Bilbo Baggins himself.” Except his smoke-rings suggested that doubtful. Lucky for him, Moro’s rings weren’t that impressive either. Zim made excuses, “I’ve been on the road all day. My throat is parched. Drinks to warm up?”

But Moro began to have his own doubts and changed up the challenge, “Riddles.” Being well traveled, Zim had the upper hand with riddles gathered far and wide. But Moro took the loss in stride, “Besides tobacco, what brings you to these parts?” The conversation easily changed to the tale of Mirabella’s escape from Wights. “Just a minute. I’ll call her to tell it herself.”

Soon, a freckled 10-year-old, with hazel eyes, sauntered onto the porch. “We were coming back from getting supplies in Buckland. A wagon-wheel broke as we were still within the Downs. As uncle Moro tried fixing it, fog began to roll over the tall wall to the south. Our pony Thistle began to get jittery at the strange sounds around us. Someone crying, metal clanging.” 

Moro interrupted, “That’s when we saw those cold, burning eyes that formed within the fog. When I saw it raise that pale blade, I yelled for her to run.”

Mirabella continued, “I ran as fast as I could. Frightened and soon lost in a heavy fog. I ended up deep in the Barrow-Downs where I eventually took refuge on a hillock. So peaceful with all those pretty sweet-smelling flowers. It wasn’t long till I heard a voice and saw a big folk at the base of the hill. He called for me to come down so he could take me to safety. When I suggested he come to me, he snarled then his eyes burned bright red. I knew then it a Barrow-wight. Frightened of the hill. I just focused on the bright stars overhead and began to sing songs to tune out that evil wailing.”

She concluded, “I soon tied and fell asleep to rise at morning light, alone. I was leery of the man with white, wild hair who found me. But he was no Wight; so, I let him take me home. Uncle says he was a ranger.” Moro nodded in agreement. Lorig pulled out his map of the Barrow-Downs, “Can you point out where you were?” Mirabella wrinkled her nose as she studied the map, “I think it’s right here.”

Nov 14^th: After morning breakfast (to appease Zim’s growling stomach), they set off on the half-day journey west along the Old East Road to the western side of the Downs. The entire way was in a thick fog that felt constantly damp. Following their map, they soon came upon a hill covered in yellow flowers. More satisfying: the fog stopped a third-of-the-way up the hill. Zim built a fire as the others began to dig. Within the first hour, Ricfried and Lorig unearthed elvish armor, “I think we’re getting close.”

And that’s when Mud, on watch, saw a figure approach from the west. He stuck out like a sore thumb as he seemed to part the surrounding fog. His song clearly announced who he was, “Ho Tom! Swift Tom! Tom Bombadilo! Dances over glen, singing to the hills. O! Bright-blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow. Tom saw you coming from afar, no need to bellow!”