Prologue: The Bloody Coin

[tibbius]

Othden bides his time silently, ready to intervene in case Grimvarg actually makes a move to chop off toes. Meanwhile he ponders the meaning of the tattoos, especially the one of the front of the prisoner's torso. Does the beast resemble anything familiar to him? Is it like what he saw in his vision involving the tools?

[_3d6] = (4+5+5)=14

[Samwell Turleton]

Madoc Underburrow

Madoc takes another bite of seed cake, "that’s a good rhyme"...mmph...chew..."but I prefer a poem with a cheerier ending."

Madoc pinches his chin while he gazes at the ceiling.

"And when you turn to rest...and when you turn to rest...nope, nope, nothing is coming to me."

Madoc leans in closer to the bars, "tell me...does the cat know any other tricks?"

Goading Chatter [_3d6] = (1+2+4)=7

[Old Duergar]

Caught between the gravity of Grimvarg's threats and Madoc's goading and teasing, the prisoner's smug facade seems finally cracking. Genuine fear seems to grasp him and he trembles visibly, trying to keep as much distance as possible between himself and the axe-brandishing Dwarf. He croaks weakly, his words elaborate, but coming out shakily and reeking of despair: "You are not better from those you profess to be brutes and foul ones, runt! What will it take to satiate your blood lusts, eh? The sacked Dwarfholds of the Misties howl endlessly in remembrance of your defeats, one fortress after another falling before the Dark Lord! Tell me what you want to know, so I may get rid of your wretched presence! Have no doubt, I shall enjoy toying with your likes before your inevitable demise."

The guards in the service of Lord Angbor watch keenly, one of them planting his spear across the doorway leading back to the keep's upper levels and silently denying Cedric further passage; he returns his scrutiny of the Dwarf's forceful interrogation.

Madoc's words are lost upon the prisoner completely; the dangerous gleam of the axe and Grimvarg's eyes having his full attention... for the moment.

Othden's examination causes him to be silent for a good moment. The prisoner being in no visible immediate danger, his thoughts turn to the vision he upheld recently. And indeed, an insight flashes and forms to conscientious knowledge: the dark creature rummaging in the depths of the earth is very similar to the fell rider of the captive's chest tattoo. And the Rider clearly recalls now: his dark counterpart in the cave was not alone. They were accompanied by the shifting, seething darkness made out of nightmares, fang and claw ready to rend and pierce flesh and soul alike.

The Rider of Rohan now knows the Dark Rider himself was present in that cave. Along with their evil Steed.

[Samwell Turleton]

Madoc Underburrow

”It seems the mouse play has come to an end for the moment...the cat is about to be declawed.” Madoc squints into the dark at the retreating captive only now noticing the full chest tattoos. ”hey, anyone else notice those strange markings on his chest?”

Madoc leans against the wall without a further thought about it and then slides into a seated position. He begins one of his favorite activities and thinks about all of the lunches that were his favorites.

[cybersavant]

"You are not better from those you profess to be brutes and foul ones, runt! What will it take to satiate your blood lusts, eh? The sacked Dwarfholds of the Misties howl endlessly in remembrance of your defeats, one fortress after another falling before the Dark Lord! Tell me what you want to know, so I may get rid of your wretched presence! Have no doubt, I shall enjoy toying with your likes before your inevitable demise."

Grimvarg

"Aye, i'm not." Grimvarg swings his axe in a forward circle as he steps closer to the prisoner. "The dark lord attacks those he fears most first. Before they get a chance to amass together. Grimvarg stops when the hobbit speaks. "Eh little one? Do you want a closer look? I can skin it off for you." Grimvarg winks at the hobbit, then curls up a corner of his mouth as he eyes the prisoner's chest, for the best place to start cutting.

[tibbius]

"Enough, master dwarf," says Othden with a twitch of his horseman's mustache. "No matter what you profess for the sake of fright, we will be better than those with whom this foulness has allied. And what truth do you think would come from a mouth wracked by pain and fright? He'd tell us merely whatever he thought swiftest to sate the pain. I already have learned much from what I have seen; I'll share it with you out of his hearing. For now, pose to him your questions. He is willing to vomit his knowledge."

Turning to the trembling prisoner, the rider asks:

"What name has the sculptor who creeps?
Who etched on your chest the image
of that steed the sculptor would ride?
To where will the beast now take flight?
What was its master a-carving?
To where were you going when snared?
What thing does your master most fear?
The rhythm compels you to speak!"
8 lines of eight syllables each. Spending 1 Fate for Magic (2 Fate remaining). enchantment compelling the prisoner to speak [_2d6] = (4+5)=9

[Old Duergar]

The Rider's words stand poised heavily in the small, dank cell, seemingly gaining a weight of their own. For some reason unknown, you all feel your chests lighter, as if the very words uttered were at long last spoken; as if a certain... release was inflicted upon you. The gaol's shadows become less stiffling; and Madoc's mind turns to a certain blueberry pie recipe, straight out of Hobbiton's finest gardens. A steaming, most delicious, mouth-watering pie, served with a pitcher of crystal cold water straight from the nearest stony source in Michel Delving and some fine morning-battered sweet cream from the Greenfields! An impossible combination, but truly a gourmand's most exquisite experience!

The captive's eyes, filled with abject fear at the face of the advancing Grimvarg, suddenly glaze over Othden's words. The young man lets out a sudden sigh and suddenly speaks in a controlled, calm voice. As more and more words are uttered in rhyme, the prisoner's eyes are filled with sheer dread and subdued despair, losing much of their cold hatred and evil gleam.

"With Gifts aplenty did They come,
Seeking a Sliver of Greed to fan.

And there again, vile Treachery was lying
for nor Man nor Spirit its Sting was defying.

Pawns of the Dark Lord, our Ruin they sought,
With smiles of the Wolf, as Sheep We were caught.

A World's Wealth to us they waged,
An Idol to Him we were to raise.

And once It was finished and We thought ourselves betters,
Relentless and Grim have been our Fetters.

Black Fetters most Vile, a Chain most Cruel,
For the Truth we could not in honesty duel.

Reminders of the Past in Blood we have quenched,
our Souls now empty, in Fear they were drenched.

Days became Months, and Months fell to a Year,
Yet all our Crimes, were bearing no Tear.

A Passing eternal, the Fate of Man.
Denied to Us, condemned to wan.

A Destiny cruel, but amply deserved,
for each Man and Woman, Accomplice, reserved.

The Price was Steep, to it We agreed,
An Idol erected in the stead of our Deed.

In Torment untold, in Times of the Past.
A burning Question, how long would It last?

Cold Eyes We raised, the Idol we asked,
A Leer most mocking, this Answer It rasped:

“The Price o' Folly, the Cup o' Deceit.
Ye drained, ye gorged. How quaint, yet fit!

Remain thus in Bondage, enslaved to My Whim.
For Treachery 'tis called, thine Prison most Grim!”

Once finished, the man falls utterly silent.

[Rhukath]

Cerdic

Cerdic watches the prisoner speak as if in a trance, and pulls out an old weather beaten pad of paper. Actually it's more like a few sheets of paper held together with a battered piece of string. He grimly notes down the prisoners words to ponder over when he has more time.

turning to the others in the room he states "Given the nature of this beast, I would suggest that once his clothes are stripped they are taken away and burned. We don't want any remains of this thing remaining to taint anybody else."

Once again his thoughts turn to the journey ahead and he starts to mentally note a list of items he will request for the journey to Rivendell whilst the prisoner is continued to be interrogated. A Sturdy backpack, Mess Kit, Rations, Waterskin, a good sturdy Sling and a goodly supply of ammunition (although i'm sure I can find a few good rocks in the wild at a push), Light Leather Armor, A good weatherproof cloak, Torches, a stack of papers and writing implements, a short sword, a short bow, a tent, and a bedroll. Cerdic nods to himself as he reaches the end of his list then returns to his study of the prisoner.

His thoughts turn to the words the prisoner has spoken. Could this wretch be trying to conjure up such a fell beast from the very earth rock itself... If they could raise one, how many more could they raise?

[Samwell Turleton]

Madoc Underburrow

Madoc's mind wanders and he murmurs a little rhyme about pie.

The pie on the mantel,
A most delicate crust,
I hope there is ample,
A juicy filling’s a must.
To fill a lad’s belly,
One slice at first cutting,
Ah, cream and the jelly,
Is followed by pudding!
We down with a glass-full,
Of water from Delving.
Is it too much to hope for
A third course at twelving?
With bellies much rounder
Oh, what sweet encounters!

[tibbius]

Othden falls back from the grate of the cell, warily eyeing the prisoner and gripping his own chin between his fingers as he ponders the riddling response to his own rhyme. He had hoped for all the answers to be simply laid bare, but realizes that such was a fool's expectation; the ways of magic never are simple, after all.

No name ... no destination ... but an idol that is feared ...

He shakes his head. Things are as they are.

"I don't think we'll get much sense from this one," he informs his comrades, "unless one of you can better ken the meaning of his rhyme. I barely recall the words myself. Did anyone think to scratch it down? ... anyway, might be that Elrond of Imladris will have better luck interrogating him. We should provision for our quest."

[cybersavant]

Grimvarg

The Dwarf stops mid-stride once the prisoner finished his reply to the spell. "Tis magic, black and foul, at work here. Guards, bring new attire, and those shackles."

[Rhukath]

Cerdic

Listening to the words coming from the prisoners mouth Cerdic grabs a notepad and writing implement (More like a bunch of papers tied together with a piece of string) and begins to scribble down the prisoners words.

Once the prisoner finishes his trance like dialogue Cerdic finds an unoccupied corner, sits down and starts to ponder the words.

Speaking to himself he says "These are evil words, could they be trying to raise some kind of idol. If they can do so, how many could they possibly manage to raise?"

[_2d6] = (5+6)=11 rolled to try and decipher the meaning of the prisoners words.

[Old Duergar]

The heavy silence is broken by Cerdic's mutterings and musings, which are heeded, especially as they are followed by Grimvarg's sharp request. Visibly shaken, muttering to himself while his peer makes crude gestures to avert evil, one of the guards' awkwardly points to the peasant's attire held by Othden. "T-- Those will have t' do for now, master Dwarf.", he mumbles awkwardly.

Cerdic's focus then turns inwards; it is rare for a hobbit to hold such scholarly pursuits in high esteem, for the world and its needs are meant to be simple to his kind ilk and such dire and intricate knowledge is rarely called for. But the hobbit's mind races to the foreboding libraries of Men in Bree, where records of fell deeds long since committed in the past are held and where few desire to linger, for the dark storms of the past hold little sway in the fragile sunshine of the present. And a reference to the dreaded Barrow-Downs springs to his mind: idols to the Dark Lord, crafted in detail and made of clay wrought from the moist ground of graves, were found buried in a few Barrows, stirring the Dead to great unrest and causing the horrid Barrow-Wights to roam around them. A foul defilement, poisoning the very ground around them, as well as the spirits and corpses of those buried.

Othden's words are enthusiastically followed upon by the duo of guards: "Lest ye be done here, sires, there be nothing else to do. We will lock up the wretch. How 'bout ye finish yer report to th' good Lord Angbor, eh?", one of the guards offers.

The captive remains unmoving; seemingly broken or entranced by something. He offers little resistance as he is shackled and locked in his cell. And it is in those dark confines of the Dúnedain Lord's gaol, that Madoc's rhyme offers relief from the Things of Shadow debated mere minutes ago. A light, wholesome rhyme to lift the spirits of those around him and remind all of them of the simple pleasures worth remembering, alas oft forgotten and drowned in the toils and workings of the mighty. And the world seems a bit brighter anew.

Actions? The cell is now closed and locked and the prisoner shackled for now. The guards stand sentry duty right and left to the cell's entrance.

Madoc's rhyme has cheered all of you up. A temporary bonus of +1 Fate on each character for the next 2 days of your journey is applied to all of you. If the next 2 days of your adventure pass (today being Day One, Evening - effect lasts until the end of Day Three) and a character has not used it by then, it will fade away into nothingness as the effect of the rhyme upon you wears away.

PC status

Othden of Rohan: Male north-flung Rider of Rohan. Toughness 6/6, Fate 2/4 (+1 temporary, duration of 2 days), Corruption 0, 1 XP
Cerdic Greenhill: Male Hobbit Rune-Master. Toughness 4/4, Fate 6/6 (+1 temporary, duration of 2 days), Corruption 0, 1 XP
Grimvarg: Male Dwarf Wanderer. Toughness 5/5, Fate 5/5 (+1 temporary, duration of 2 days), Corruption 1, 1 XP
Madoc Underburrow: Male Hobbit Roustabout. Toughness 4/4, Fate 6/6 (+1 temporary, duration of 2 days), Corruption 0, 2 XP

------------------------------------------

Brugha: Male Hillman Scout. Toughness 6/6, Fate 4/4, Corruption 0, 0 XP
Iscind of the Snowbourn: Female Rohirrim. Toughness 6/6, Fate 4/4, Corruption 0, 0 XP

[Rhukath]

Cerdic

As Cerdic's thoughts wander to the Barrow-Wights his skin begins to feel clammy and a chill rises up his spine. Barrow-Wights, most horrid things.

Reluctantly he recalls what he knows of the them and stammers "Barrow-Wights! He's speaking of Barrow-Wights, though I know not what use they could make of such creatures. I beg of you all to be very careful if this is what we may be dealing with!"

An old rhyme he remembers reading comes to mind and he recites it in a low scared tone.

"When the barrow wights call,
all around them will fall,
slow cold death,
from under earth.

Hills of old dead,
where they laid abed,
gold prizes inside,
where they abide.

In darkness they will crawl,
In daylight then will fall,
so remember this rhyme,
to escape them in time."

[tibbius]

"From pies to wights, in a matter of minutes," Othden sighs. "Dark times in truth are these. Let us ready for our journey."

Matching deed to word he proceeds up into the castle and sets about organizing gear - two pack horses, three tents, rations for people and horses on the journey to Imladris, armor for all to wear. "It will be a hard march," he says to Grimvarg, "and likely little forage for us or the beasts. When did you last travel the south road?"

[cybersavant]

Grimvarg follows along with Othden.

"The south road? I have travelled here and there, though i have been on few roads. Not that i know what names you call them. Perhaps i have been on this road, perhaps not. I will know once we are upon it. What are we to expect?"

[tibbius]

"It has been long years since I traveled here from Rohan. Along the road when I came north through Enedwaith were many sparse stands of trees; one could see that a great forest once was there, but time and labor razed it to make poor fields and scrubby pasture. The folk of Enedwaith were poor of stature and nutrition, they suffered from the lack of game to hunt. I do not know why they chose to make fields of the forest where the songs say they once roamed. I don't think it has worked well for them."

[Samwell Turleton]

Madoc Underburrow

"Now that it seems that we are done here, can we return to the table and have ourselves a luncheon?"

Madoc ponders on the talk of the great road and recalls his time in Bree. It was a nice time to be sure. The trees leafing out through Spring and the smell of the flowers blowing in off the Brandywine. Even the little pests, the biting gnats, down by the riverbank have a place in Madoc's memory. A bite from a gnat sure beats standing down here in this *damp and cold. Madoc shivers and clutches his arms to his shoulders.

*Oh certainly, Madoc likes being underground, but he prefers the balance of natural light, a cozy fire, and sconces providing a comforting glow...nothing at all like this harsh stone licked by the firelight of torches.

[Old Duergar]

As Dwarf, Man and Hobbits alike return to the audience hall of Lord Angbor's keep, they find themselves in the presence of four leather backpacks, filled to the brim with supplies. Dry rations, rope, tinderboxes, waterskins; all the traditional accoutrements of an adventuring fellow can be found in them. The Lord's followers seem to have disappeared as evening has already turned into night; what little torchlight is shed in the empty hall seems to make the Dúnedain's shadow cast on the cold stone floor behind him even darker and bigger.

"It is time, then.", a stoic Angbor speaks when everyone is gathered before him and the guards of the gaol return to the hall, a couple minutes after you do. "Feel free to take these supplies gathered; a petty parting gift for a daunting task. But more cannot be spared. Depart now or at dawn, it is your choice. But time matters and I am sure whatever foul lies behind Agathôr's intrusion does not bode well."

Angbor sighs deeply and offers after a moment of recollection in his grim, impassive voice: "A name defines much, good masters. It is a banner to rally to when things go awry and a glimmer of hope when the shadows seek to darken spirit and body. I would not send you on your task without a proper name to accompany your deeds to come."

"By what name shall your Company be known?"

Feel free to choose a name for your Company/Fellowship or whatever else you wish to call yourselves (if you must debate, the OOC thread will do fine). It is by no means mandatory but I feel it will add to the storytelling. The supplies are left vague on purpose. You can pick adventuring mundane gear to add to your character sheets within the boundaries of reason. You don't have to pay anything for them, for they are a gift and no party resources are being depleted. Once you are ready, I will post immediately afterwards and change the scenery to taking the road to Rivendell.

PC status

Party resources: 2

Othden of Rohan: Male north-flung Rider of Rohan. Toughness 6/6, Fate 2/4 (+1 temporary, duration of 2 days), Corruption 0, 1 XP
Cerdic Greenhill: Male Hobbit Rune-Master. Toughness 4/4, Fate 6/6 (+1 temporary, duration of 2 days), Corruption 0, 1 XP
Grimvarg: Male Dwarf Wanderer. Toughness 5/5, Fate 5/5 (+1 temporary, duration of 2 days), Corruption 1, 1 XP
Madoc Underburrow: Male Hobbit Roustabout. Toughness 4/4, Fate 6/6 (+1 temporary, duration of 2 days), Corruption 0, 2 XP

------------------------------------------

Brugha: Male Hillman Scout. Toughness 6/6, Fate 4/4, Corruption 0, 0 XP
Iscind of the Snowbourn: Female Rohirrim. Toughness 6/6, Fate 4/4, Corruption 0, 0 XP

[tibbius]

Turning to King Angbor and his companions, Othden says swiftly:

"Here is what I can make of the tools the prisoner held and the words he spoke.

Somewhere in the north is a grim wraith, a creature of the Darkness. In the bowels of the earth, in a deep tomb, it carved with those grim tools a winged idol that the prisoner's people ... worship. The idol is not merely a statue, though. It can take flight, or it is an image of a thing that flies. The sculptor of the idol rides that flying foulness, a fell threat to the prisoner's people and to ours.

The prisoner and his people are condemned by their idol to wither like wraiths, never to die natural deaths. This may be why they so ardently seek destruction.

That is all that I understand from our work tonight.

Does anyone else ken more?"