Prologue: The Bloody Coin

[cybersavant]

Grimvarg studies the Rohirrim, and then the Lord. His grim countenance never changes.

[Rhukath]

Cerdic

Cerdic walks over to the items and takes a long look at them, moving around to look at the items from varying angles. Pursing his lips you can see that he's deep in thought regarding them. After several minutes he looks up and says "I don't recall reading anything about these items. I've thought long and hard but nothing comes to mind about them".

As he moves away from the items he catches the eye of the young man, There's something familiar about him, but it's just not enough for him to make anything of it.

"I'm sorry my lord but there's nothing more I can reveal about the items at this time."

[Old Duergar]

Lord Angbor acknowledges Cerdic's words mutely, then rubs his brow, clearly fatigued, as he listens in silence to Othden's conclusions. "Feel free to interrogate him further, good Othden. The keep's dungeons are yours to use as you see fit; though I am afraid nor hardship nor threat of violence will break this ... abomination's will, nor such is our way.".

Taking a long break, Angbor continues, facing Brugha: "You were right to speak of his as an abomination", and nodding knowingly at the strange word the Hillman uttered. "Is it that obvious then, that the Hillmen of Rhudaur may see such plainly? If torture of a captive is not this Lord's way, then so is neither arrogance."

The Lord clears his throat and waves once: "Do with the captive as you must. But know that he is to make it to the Hidden Valley of Rivendell, where Lord Elrond holds seat. The journey ahead of you is long; make sure he shall be able to withstand its rigours... and you his wiles and tricks. And yet time is not on our side.". The Dunedain casts a last look at Grimvarg's direction before instructing his guards to follow the Company's bidding.

And yet under the edibles-ladden table, the small grey mouse remains silent to Madoc's query, eyeing him quietly, its whiskers unmoving. The hobbit measures the stone slab to be equal in length to the hobbit's arm and as wide as two hobbit palms. Yet it is the loop itself that picques Madoc's interest: for it is not connected to the slab itself, but upon closer scrutiny, it is actually stuck between a small fissure on the slab's surface, hidden from all but the most attentive of scrutinies.

And it is no loop either, truth be said. As the hobbit runs the loop's surface with his finger, he feels tiny metal points, sharp and cruel, pricking his palm at several points; they were carefully at the loop's inner surface. It is...

A black steel ring.

[Samwell Turleton]

Madoc Underburrow

”No, I don’t s’pose you would know, being a mouse as you are”, Madoc says cheerily.

Madoc doesn’t much like being pricked by metal loops stuck in stone slabs. In equal and opposite amounts he does like mysteries. Madoc comes up with a plan involving a kerchief, or a napkin, and a utensil to pry the loop from its resting spot without touching it.

If it comes willingly he will slip it into his pocket folded in the cloth.

[cybersavant]

The Lord clears his throat and waves once: "Do with the captive as you must. But know that he is to make it to the Hidden Valley of Rivendell, where Lord Elrond holds seat. The journey ahead of you is long; make sure he shall be able to withstand its rigours... and you his wiles and tricks. And yet time is not on our side.". The Dunedain casts a last look at Grimvarg's direction before instructing his guards to follow the Company's bidding.

Grimvarg looks from the prisoner to the others gathered. "Lord, when do you desire us to set out - in the morn? And do you have stout shackles and chains?"

[tibbius]

Othden sighs. "Lord Angbor, has the prisoner been fully searched? Were any markings found on his person? May we perhaps have him dressed in other garments, less recognizable?"

[Rhukath]

Cerdic

Cerdic looks thoughtfully at Lord Angbor after he has finished his announcement, and looks around the room at the others and speaks up resolutely.

"I owe Lord Angbor for his hospitality. I will offer my services for this quest in payment of this debt. I will attempt to find out more from this wretched thing as we travel. It may be a futile task but using the time while traveling may well prove valuable by the time we do reach Rivendell."

Picking at his travel worn clothing he adds to his previous statement.

"Lord Angbor, as you can see I have little possessions. Could you see fit to supply me (and the rest of the group) with clothing and equipment fit for such an arduous journey?"

[Old Duergar]

As Madoc is busy collecting the strange black ring without further ado from beneath the dinner table (which proves to be rather cool to the touch, but not uncomfortably so), Lord Angbor listens to the chorus of queries, requests and suggestions offered by his guests, his eyes half-closed as he suddenly appears to be greatly fatigued, even outright worn.

With a steely voice, the Dúnedain finally speaks, first addressing Grimvarg: "Master Dwarf, the sooner you set out the better it shall be; our metalwork you shall certainly deem it inferior, compared to the high standards set upon by your kin. But should you decide upon restricting our prisoner, those I shall provide."

Turning towards Othden, the grim Lord continues, pointing directly to the now utterly impassive and silent young captive: "On the other hand, should you decide upon ruse and garments less ... evocative than the dire ones he is currently clad with, I may provide a mere servant's attire or a woodsman's plain leathers. To answer your first query, I may say that we did search the wretch: but other than his foul implements, nothing else was found. Of markings on his body, I know naught: for I shall not see myself stoop to stripping him nude, even though he seeks ill of us. The prison holds little in the way of light. If decency may be ensured, then do what you must."

As if the very thought is disconcerting, Angbor winces and finally turns to the standing one of the two hobbits, Cerdic: "Master Cerdic, name what you might need; for whilst I have need of your services, I know little of your needs. I shall strive to entertain them, should I deem them reasonable."

He spares little more in the way of words and takes his seat on a rather large, but equally spartan heavy oaken chair in the chamber's midst, his back resting comfortably on the chair's massive back, seemingly lost in thought.

[tibbius]

"I am a healer of horses and men, Lord," Othden solemnly answers. "Nakedness has no shock for me; too many times have I stripped bare a wounded body in your service. I will bring the prisoner to the gaol and bid him change his garments, and will inspect him for any untoward markings. Only I ask to bring his escort with us. His face is fell and I do not trust him."

So saying, unless delayed, Othden gestures the escort to bring the prisoner with him. Along the way he collects a servant's attire for the prisoner to change.

[Samwell Turleton]

Madoc Underburrow

Returns to the mission of satisfying his hunger with the delectables on the table above.

Well, we had a little of this...we had a little of that. Oh! That looks like it will keep for later, Madoc murmurs as he grabs around the table. Madoc picks another few pieces of cloth from the table to wrap up some treats for later. He adds these cloth wrapped foods to his pockets, burying the cloth wrapped ring deeper into his pocket. Now his shirt pockets bulge like the cheeks of a squirrel storing food for the winter.

[cybersavant]

With a steely voice, the Dúnedain finally speaks, first addressing Grimvarg: "Master Dwarf, the sooner you set out the better it shall be; our metalwork you shall certainly deem it inferior, compared to the high standards set upon by your kin. But should you decide upon restricting our prisoner, those I shall provide."

Grimvarg gives a slight nod to the Lord in thanks. He stands until the others depart with the prisoner, and follows behind, one hand resting on the head of the axe at his side.

[Old Duergar]

With a stiff nod, the guards drag the young captive away from the hall, motioning you to follow after having dutifully taken leave of their lord. The way to the keep's dungeons is not long, but somehow the faint torchlight seems diminished and the path seems fraught with shadow. You all realise that a very strong wind is lashing mercilessly at the ancient stones, the corridors and pathways around you screeching as every nook and cranny of the castle is invaded; the further you descend towards the keep's gaol, the lesser pervasive becomes the cacophony, until you are met with a single long corridor, hidden behind a massive stout oak door.

The corridor ends up after a few meters into a small cell. Much like everything else, it sports only a sleeping bench and a small chair, both worn and looking frail. The steady sound of dripping water is amplified in the silence that reigns otherwise supreme here. With a few strong, but measured gests, the guards usher the captive unto the chair and take sentry behind you, ever vigilant, one of them brandishing a torch and a spear nervously, while the other one unsheathing his sword and lighting a few candles in the cell itself. He keeps his sword's tip low.



The captive's impassive mask erupts into a hideous leer, a most scornful and mocking grin. From his mouth come out hissing words: "What do these little birds desire? Do they not see that the sky shall soon turn crimson with their blood and it shall only spell doom for them, eh? Amuse me, little birds, with your chirping and your pathetic fluttering."

Actions? If you wish to interrogate the prisoner, please state IC the direct query/queries and roll a check according to your roleplay and characterisation as you see fit. Attempts that are deemed particularly well done will be granted an extra die, so please roll both _2d6 and _3d6 in case the latter is applicable.

[Rhukath]

Cerdic.

Cerdic looks at the young man and notes the wily look in his eyes, verging on madness and wonders what could drive somebody to work for such evil.

The spittle dripping from the corners of his mouth has a hint of foam like a rabid animal, and the smell from his breath has a distinctive odour that makes one think of rotten corpses. Perhaps that's how this person survived in the wild with so little equipment, by eating the raw corpses of dead animals. Or worse, perhaps the corpses of fellow dead warriors slain and left rotting in the mud after battle.

Cerdic decides to play on the prisoners fantasy and asks "I'm interested in this doom that you mention, perhaps you can enlighten me further about it and how you plan to make it come to pass?"

[_3d6] = (2+3+5)=10
[_2d6] = (1+2)=3

[Samwell Turleton]

Madoc Underburrow

Madoc is shooed from the table before he has had his fill of the trifles and pies. It was very much not to his liking to be denied the comfort of an overly full stomach. Bony fingers push him along into the company of those escorting the prisoner into the stone corridor to a fitting holding cell. He looks for but finds no clear opportunity to return to the table and looks back longingly as the group leaves the room.

As the group walks through the wind swept corridors Madoc notes the chill, ”goodness, I miss the warmth of a cozy burrow.”

As they arrive Madoc finds a place in the glow of a candle’s light to stand. He is outside of the cell and trying to keep to himself. His fingers probe into his pockets and pull out a cloth wrapped seed cake. He unwraps it and takes a healthy bite as he hears the hissing words of the captive, "What do these little birds desire?...Amuse me, little birds, with your chirping and your pathetic fluttering."

Madoc chokes a little on the seed cake and sputters with a little laugh.

Oh, sorry...sorry.

Madoc thinks about the captive as a stalking cat in the grass and thinks of a little poem that he recites near the captive’s ears.

Celebrate, celebrate all birds in the meadow
The cat is in chains
The despicable fellow
How can the claws scratch?
How can the cat bite?
When it’s locked up in chains
And can’t put up a fight!


Goading Rhyme [_2d6] = (5+6)=11, [_3d6] = (2+3+1)=6

[tibbius]

Othden hears his companions' words and smiles - mostly inwardly, but the corners of his mouth twitch. Hobbits are quite clever!

As the Rohirrim waits the prisoner's answer, he realizes that there's no way he'll permit this creature out of shackles. How then to change his garments? "Hold still, we must disrobe you," he interrupts. With a slow step forward he draws out his dagger and seizes the foul robes in one hand, cutting them with the other.

[cybersavant]

Grimvarg steps inside the cell with the prisoner and the others. He looks back to the guards, "Lock this door while we change and question him. Fetch those stout shackles your Lord promised." Once the guards have done so and the others begin, Grimvarg asks to no one in particular. "We have to deliver him alive, but no one said he has to arrive with all his bit and pieces attached, did they?"

[_2d6] = (6+5)=11
[_3d6] = (4+5+1)=10

[tibbius]

Othden grits his teeth and holds his tongue as he cuts off the prisoner's evil robe. He'll wait to see how things play out from the others' ploys. He's mostly curious to see tattoos or scars of enslavement.

[Old Duergar]

Suggested music cover: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sp42Lqu0XuQ&t=0s (Keys of Orthanc - Unfinished Conquests)

The captive looks at Cerdic with a vicious sneer, the hobbit's polite words clearly lost upon the young man. He only produces a throaty gob of spit which he sends feebly towards the hobbit, his lungs clearly unable to heave their vile load further than a mere foot away from him.

"Approach, little mouse, and let me turn those decrepit, rotten stones beneath us red with your blood! Others will take care of the red sky itself!", the man screeches at the hobbit and tries to lurch forth, while one of the guards butts his spear's blunt handle on the man's head, causing him to grunt in pain. The screeching is cut short as the prisoner loses his senses and his head slumps on his torso, losing consciousness for several minutes.

Othden's ministrations bring the prisoner back to awareness of his grim surroundings; but not before the Rohirrim is able to cut through the broad swathes of dark cloth vesting the man's body. A chilling sight is revealed: his torso is tattooed with the impossibly intricate image of a dark Rider mounted on a nightmarish, horrible beast.



And on his back a much simpler tattoo, in sharp contrast to the adornment of his torso, is revealed: a crude, almost boorishly tattooed image of a scorpion. Othden recalls seeing such vaguely in the near past: it is an adornment commonly found amidst the Hillmen of Rhudaur, though the Rohirrim knows little of its meaning or purpose.



Bruised and still reeling, the Dwarf's harsh words fall upon him like a hammer: the prisoner seems daunted by Grimvarg's resolute manner and hisses throatily: "Touch me not, shorn brute; for I have means to make you regret it! Your ilk have no place in Rhudaur, except to serve as carrion food or slaves, to toil at our whim and behest!". Despite his fervor, the tall threat sounds empty and hollow, coming out of a shaken mouth. The prisoner actually shrinks away, clearly trying to keep his distance from the Dwarf, as the guards oblige him.

The cell's door is stoutly locked, the Dwarf's words clearly resounding favorably with the guards, who nod eagerly between them and seem to have taken heart at the display of force.

Seeking solace anywhere but at Grimvarg's direction, the captive turns his eyes towards the reciting Madoc and his oh so simple, yet maddeningly annoying rhyme. He sneers at first, but immediately feigns a cool, impassive exterior; but the words of the diminutive creature seem to have stricken a cord with the young man. His aloof facade collapses as the young man's bruised chin trembles with seething wrath and his teeth grit. Venomous words come out of his mouth, tinged thickly with hatred:

You play at wolf, but art a mere mice.
Gloat I shall over thee thrice.
Over land, sky and cave, choose where thy death you shall crave.
You mock and jeer, yet thy end is near.
The sky shall turn red, and thine fate shall be sealed.
By those who take flight, their beady eyes peeled.
On the doings of mice and rat alike, the cat its time shall bide.
And when you turn to rest, your fears rebuked,
'tis then I shall strike and thee shalt be fluked!

Actions? Also, please take note of this important post regarding rolling (viewtopic.php?p=506564#p506564) for the future.

[cybersavant]

Grimvarg draws his axe and steps close. "Toes is it, eh? One from each foot to start? Which one first, the left or the right?" The dwarf runs his ringer along the keen edge of the blade and motions [eeney-meeney-miny-mo]

[_3d6] = (4+5+1)=10

[Rhukath]

Cerdic

Cerdic jumps back as the young man tries to spit at him, bumping into one of the guards by accident and stepping on his foot.

As the prisoner is stripped and his tattoo's are revealed cerdic gasps!

What could bring a person to adorn themselves with such horrendous images.

Cerdic turns to his companions and says "I fear that my presence may not prove to be as helpful here as it would in the Lords library. Now I have something more to reference would anybody mind if I go do some research while you.. Take Care.. of our prisoner?"

[_3d6] = (1+3+2)=6