Chapter One: Seeking a Course
Posted: Mon Feb 12, 2018 12:18 am
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.
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.