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PostPosted: Sun Feb 11, 2018 6:18 pm 
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Prologue:

The days following Smaug's arrival and the utter desolation of both Erebor and Dale have fractured the lives, hopes, and dreams of the dwarves and men now displaced. Dwarves fled with what they could carry, coalescing into dispossessed caravans on the wide plains beyond the River Running, scattering in all directions. Smaug took great joy in harrying the various caravans, choosing a different one each dusk to set aflame, to pluck dwarves from for his dinner, ensuring continued terror and continual dread.

It has been a week since your caravan has seen Smaug. The terror fueling your initial pace has slackened, the mass of ill-prepared dwarves, the slow speed of wagons laden with too many goods, arguments by wagoners now tasked with transporting items of emotional but not practical value. Divisions and posturing re-emerged more swiftly than you'd have thought, those of status struggling in their pride to retain the rights and privileges they grew to expect in Erebor while those they are imposing upon taking affront. Unique in your caravan is the large number of dwarven women, drawn by the forceful personality and leadership if Gorya Goldsteine and dragging along husbands and families with them as they collectively push onward to a new home. Conspicuously absent is any large contingent of the dwarven Host, which mostly went with the King and his princely son, Theoden, on a southerly track, or who headed towards the Iron Hills to the northeast under the leadership of certain Longbeards looking to entreat the prince Dain to aid them in further battle. With a growing core of domineering women and hen-pecked husbands, progress is slowing and arguments ensue over what the best course is for the caravan, what kind of home they should establish, and where they should go seeking to do so. Even so, they are family and they are clan, and the caravan remains tied by bonds deeper than the divisions.

Even as the core begins to coalesce, so too does the fringe. Those who are dispossessed or avoidant of the family and clan squabbles of Goldsteine and the matrons, or those more concerned with threats coming from without the wagon trains than decisions within, begin forming pockets of conversation and community at the periphery.

The campfire of Blundrin the Tinker and Chumlie his cousin form one such group, and the place where you all have found fellowship with each other. Blundrin's fire, the spare supplies his mule, Mug, his willingness to mend and repair your wares, and the easy joviality and tall tales of Chumlie beckoned to each of you and over a week or two you came to know each other quite well. Khûdrarn Grayshield, a graybeard of the Host and (you learn) the beleaguered husband of Gorya Goldsteine, is the first to find solace at the fire, staying as far from the social unrest as possible and watching the horizon with his thousand-yard stare. Durgar and Thrim, soldiers of the Host seeking new purpose and recognition with all they knew in Erebor now fallen, drawn by Khûdrarn's stoic presence. The group helped defend the camp from the occasional threat or predator and has also grown more concerned by the lack of clear direction in the squabbles within.

As they wagon train meandered westward just to escape Smaug, they grew closer to Mirkwood. The Fear of Mirkwood runs like a splash of cold water through the uncertain dwarves of the encampment, some unwilling to proceed closer without hope of a clear and safe forward course, none willing to go back for fear of fiery death which is fresh in their memory. The squabbling is increasing and becoming more deadlocked day by day. At your campfire, there is a growing certainty that the camp won't unstick itself, and nobody is safe where you are. You'll need to chart a forward course and then convince the squabbling nobles that it is safe enough for them to risk or everyone is likely to meet their end here on the Rhoviannon plain.

Blundrin and Chumlie both know communities nearby, having wandered this way in their Tinker journeying. There are human settlements, woodsmen who make their livelihood at the forest's edge, a few days either north or south. Too small to welcome a loud mass of hungry, proud, and demanding dwarves which will surely outstrip their own resources, but perhaps an option to consider. Blundrin then tells them of a solitary dwarf of immense age and wisdom, Dvalen who also lives along their current course. Friendlier to the dwarven plight than the humans, perhaps, and more knowledgeable than any other of what might lie ahead in the ever-looming forest. Your band agrees to travel a day or so ahead of the stalled caravan to seek this Dvalen and what wisdom he might have to offer.

Color Scene Begins:

Blundrin, Chumlie, Durgar, Thrim, and Khûdrarn thus set out, Mug trotting forlornly behind. You arrive just before noon at a rickety wooden shack of unadorned split logs, which may or may not keep off the rain, almost lost in the dark and overgrown vines of the dark forest... unfit for any dwarf, let alone one of which you would seek advice on proper living. "Hello? Dvalen?" calls out Blundrin. As you wait for the aged dwarf to appear, there is a rustling in the bushes. Thrim's axe is in hand immediately, and a young dwarf emerges with his hands up before harm can be done. "Wait! It's okay! It's just me!" the young dwarf pleads hurriedly. Wearing chainmail and carrying an axe but looking a bit pudgy and uncomfortable within them, he puffs out of breath. You quickly recognize that it is Throfroin, Khûdrarn's son. "I am here to help, wherever this task may take us," he says, lifting his chin and speaking proudly before his father.

Dvalen, emerge on the scene as you see fit. Everyone else, describe yourself to your peers and then engage in the scene. You can roleplay through the color of your initial reactions and we'll move to the next scene when a course of action is decided amongst you.


Last edited by Marullus on Wed Feb 14, 2018 1:20 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Tue Feb 13, 2018 4:37 pm 
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Khûdrarn is wearing a full suit of dwarven heavy mail, wielding an dwarven axe, with a pair of throwing axes on his belt and a knife for close in work. He is outfitted for travel with sturdy shoes and a pack. He has been staring off into the woods but perks up when Throfroin emerges from the brush.

Son, you need to be careful in these woods. This is not our home and some of us may be a bit jumpy. Myself, I am reminded of the dragon wars. We must be ever vigilant but also not jump to conclusions about what our senses tell us.

Hmm, just realized I didn't purchase khiurgery tools... I might add an immediate goal to one of my beliefs to acquire such...

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PostPosted: Wed Feb 14, 2018 1:38 pm 
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The pudgy young dwarf puffs up, sticking his armored chest out proudly. "Yes, father. Most careful." he pauses as Khûdrarn mentions the dragon wars, his eyes widening. "Don't worry father, I'm prepared. Dragons or no." He confidently pats his axe, which is hung awkwardly by its haft rather than by the head. He steps forward to be amongst the other soldiers.

Chumlie grins broadly, stepping forward to slap the lad on the back. "Fancy, indeed! Those are nice dugs you got there. My! You ARE a proper soldier. I'll make sure I look for you when the fighting starts."

OOC:
Oooop, looks like you modified that belief. Your belief was previously to "ensure no harm comes to your son" or something similar... continuing your line through him as your male heir. So, I inserted him as the most trouble-prone way possible. As we see how play goes, you might want to consider taking advantage of him being here, or fighting to keep him back with your wife. :) Or, it could evolve into you trying to teach him properly as a father. Either way. Just wanted to highlight why he ended up here.


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PostPosted: Thu Feb 15, 2018 7:02 am 
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Blundrin, having been frowned upon or disregarded by so many of his kin for so long, is pleased to play host with his cousin - even if it is on the fringes of the Host. Though he feels immense sadness over the loss of Erebor and the many deaths caused by Smaug, he realizes the situation may provide him a way to impress Gigriel's family. Knowing they have skills and contacts few other dwarfs have, he and Chumley find themselves whispering about the possibility of becoming heroes.

The day of departure, Blundrin is dressed in his normal travel clothes, but seeing the former soldiers, wearing full armor, with him, he slides on his chainmail shirt with a smile. With a hand on Mug's reins, he leads the way to Dvalen's, following a familiar forest track, knowing he is doing a Good Thing. Well. Here it is. Ain't much of a dwarf hold, being above ground and all, but you might keep those thoughts to yourselves, I'd guess. Never brought it up, myself. When Throfroin emerges from the brush, Blundrin finds his knife in his hand. He joins Chumley in welcoming him. He finds it nice to have another young dwarf in the group. If things get rough, I'm sure we'll have plenty of use for your axe. And we can make our kin proud!


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PostPosted: Thu Feb 15, 2018 7:34 pm 
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Durgar is currently wearing his uniform armor bearing the emblem of the Gate Watch and carrying his hammer on my belt.

Durgar seems content to follow orders and is therefore frustrated by the larger groups indecisiveness. He remains quiet through the arrival of the newcomer, pleased to have another set of hands in case this visit turns into more than a chat with an old surface dweller.

Durgar remains attentive to their surroundings, still paranoid that Smaug could be lurking behind any tree.


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PostPosted: Thu Feb 15, 2018 9:54 pm 
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Thrim is wearing his dwarven mail armor with an axe attached to his belt.

Thrim lowers his axe after hearing the child's voice. He takes a deep breath and sighs.

"This is not a good time for surprises lad."

He looks at the ground and shakes his head.

"Well, it's good to see another face here. You just surprised us."

"So, does Dvalen just wander around or does anyone know where he resides? Let's hope he has a nicer place than this."


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PostPosted: Fri Feb 16, 2018 3:51 pm 
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Verrain? Ready to introduce Dvalen?


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PostPosted: Wed Feb 21, 2018 1:03 pm 
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Khûdrarn: Where is this Dvalen fellow? What kind of dwarf could live in such a dwelling, why it doesn't even have a proper roof, and if Smaug comes hunting, well this pile of sticks will light up light my wife's cook fire.

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PostPosted: Wed Feb 21, 2018 8:48 pm 
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Thrim looks around the dwelling.

"Maybe that's why he's not here right now."

"We can't go back and we can't stay here too much longer. Does anyone have knowledge of the immediate area in case we can't find this old fool Dvalen?"


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PostPosted: Wed Feb 21, 2018 9:57 pm 
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Blundrin takes umbrage at Thrim's words but responds with a jovial smile and a pat on the back. Come now, Thrim. Dvalen might not live in any place you'd find homey, but he's no fool. I've gotten good advice from him in the past, and they say he casts the rune stones of our ancestors. He's a dwarf, and he'll steer us right. Mark my words. All the wandering dwarfs know it and come hear what he has to say on important matters to them. With that, he knocks loudly on Dvalen's door and calls again. Hope he's alright, he says to Chumley.


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