I was hoping to finish the write-up for The Watch on the Heath and complete The Tales from Wilderland before the closing of this wonderful forum, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen. A lot happened last adventure. Two Bouts of Madness certainly livened things up!
I've rebuilt this thread over at RPGGeek and I'll post the conclusion there. A link will be forthcoming.
Link: https://rpggeek.com/thread/1996399/hope ... tale-years
Hope Against the Shadow-A Tale of Years
Re: Hope Against the Shadow-A Tale of Years
Hallelujah! Got this one done just before the Nothing swallows up these forums.
This adventure was a great culmination of a year’s worth of play. There were two Bouts of Madness as both Calithilon’s and Hergar’s Shadow scores finally caught up to them. It also provided the end of the Tale of the Old Master that we began back in The Black Arrow. It was nice to see his entire backstory fleshed out and come to its conclusion. Calithilon has plans to turn it into a song using the rules from Rivendell.
In preparation for their encounter with Raenar, I gave the players a homework assignment to create a riddle-style introduction, but I did not tell them who it was for. I stole this idea from a person’s post on the old C7 forums, but sadly I cannot remember whose. It was a great exercise that allowed them to ruminate on their past sessions.
Lastly, this adventure provided plenty of near-death experiences for them. Each Bout of Madness happened at the worst conceivable time. The players had awful luck on Sneak tests, but crushed every Protection test. In the end, it all played out in dramatic fashion and made for a great tale.
The Watch on the Heath (November 2951)
It had been four days since the fellowship returned to Dale after successfully holding the bridge at Celduin. Alaric and Ashryn had quickly gone to work tending to those still suffering from the effects of the poison, as well as, those who were wounded in the battle. A fresh supply of healing remedies sent from Rhosgobel sped their efforts, but working day and night left them exhausted. With winter quickly approaching, Hergar had assisted Rúna in packing up her honey-selling booth in the Market Square and then bid her a safe journey back to his cabin in the Northern Dalelands. Having expected to see the great chain that Hergar witnessed in the Dwimmerhorn last year at the battle at Celduin, Rolf decided to research its origins and dove into what records and libraries he could find in Dale. What he learned there caused him great concern. News came that Sigdan had been discovered cold and lifeless in his cell, an expression of utter terror written across his face. With no one having glimpsed the murderer, Calithilon had spent those four days searching the surrounding lands for any enemies who may have slipped through during the battle. His efforts were rewarded when he came across a series of Orc tracks that led north beyond the Lonely Mountain.
On the fifth day, a knock came at the door of Rolf’s family home in the Ravensgate District. It was a Dwarf, his fine clothes hidden under a well-worn travel cloak. Ori was his name and he was there with a proposal from Erebor. The fellowship bid him to enter and after proper introductions were complete they gathered around the hearth to share in a meal and to hear his request. He explained that he had come at the request of Dáin, King Under the Mountain, and their time was short. His request concerned the machinations of the traitor Sigdan and required immediate action. The discussion was brief since the companions knew that a summons from King Dáin himself should not be easily cast aside. They agreed to meet Ori at the Ravensgate within the hour. With a bow and courteous smile, he thanked them for breakfast and left to prepare for their journey to the mountain.
An hour later, the fellowship met with Ori outside the northern gate and began the trip to the Lonely Mountain. It was a relatively short journey, taking little more than what remained of the day. They passed the time talking to Dwarves who were returning from the Battle of Celduin or marveling at the craftsmanship of the stonemasons who were busy rebuilding the old road that runs between Dale and Erebor. Coming to the waterfall where the River Running gushed from the mountainside, they left their ponies behind to finish the final ascent to the magnificent front gates of the Lonely Mountain. Talking as they walked, Ori led them through a dizzying maze of great halls, corridors, and stairways that steadily descended deeper and deeper. In the roots of the mountain, they finally came to the rune-scored door of the room that was their destination-Erebor’s hall of records, the Chamber of Mazarbul.
Inside was none other than King Dáin himself. He was engaged in grave conversation with another Dwarf whose white beard touched the floor. The Dwarf’s expression showed that he was clearly ashamed as he repeatedly apologized to the King for some unknown offense. They both turned to face the companions as they entered and King Dáin waited in silence for their introductions. After an awkward pause, the fellowship stepped up and introduced themselves, one after the other, to the satisfaction of Dáin. He was particular impressed with the respectful words of Rolf and the litany of bold deeds of Hergar. Once he was satisfied that the fellowship had followed proper etiquette, he set about telling them the reasons for which they were summoned.
Years ago the merchant Sigdan came to them with a proposition. In his travels, he claimed to have come across a relic of the Dwarven people, the shield of Thrór, and wished to sell it back to them. They came to an arrangement, but at the time when the deal was made Sigdan sought to amend their deal and asked for access to the Chamber of Mazarbul. His reasoning was that the knowledge he could find there could be used to find other lost Dwarven artifacts to return to them. After deliberating on it, Dáin refused him entry to the hall of records and considered the matter closed.
At this part in their discussion, the old Dwarf, Munin, stepped forward, nervously wringing his beard as he continued Dáin’s tale. Several days after Sigdan had been denied entry to the library, he had heard a strange noise in the middle of the night coming from inside. Upon investigating, he found no one and thought nothing more about it until the Dwarves learned of Sigdan’s betrayal in Dale. Returning to the library, he found one book out of place. To make matters worse, a page had been torn from it!
At this revelation, he placed a large, iron-bound tome on the table in front of the companions. He carefully leafed through the pages that detailed many of the Dwarven strongholds that had been built in this area in the last century. The page that was missing came from a section describing a tower that had been built on the northern slopes of the Grey Mountains to watch over the Withered Heath. Why Sigdan wanted this information was a mystery, but Dáin was certain that something foul was afoot.
Worrying that there may have been more to Sigdan’s plans than they at first realized, the players were eager to investigate. They discuss with King Dáin all that they knew about the Gibbet King, the Chain of Thangorodrim, and Sigdan’s movements. Calithilon recalled the Orc tracks heading north that he found last week and Hergar remembered seeing lights in those same mountains years ago when they passed through searching for King Bard’s lost arrow. The more they talked of the Withered Heath, the Chain of Thangorodrim and the dragons that lived there, the more concerned everyone grew. The task of investigating the old watchtower took on a sudden urgency and they swore to King Dáin that they would put an end whatever schemes were in motion there.
To that end, Rolf and Calithilon asked for and received permission to pour over the old book to learn all that they could of the old watchtower. Though it took several days and the help of Munin to sort out the details of the old text, they gleaned several important insights. They learned that the watchtower had been built into the peak of Zirakinbar and that a secret entrance lay close to its foundation. A mighty stone block sat above its door to seal out invaders in case the gates were ever breached. Inside, a secret treasure room was hidden away below the floor of one of the bedrooms and atop the tower was the Chamber of Winds, a room whose secrets could bring down the whole tower if managed poorly.
Meanwhile, Hergar and Alaric had passed the days making friends in the great halls above, enjoying the famous hospitality and food of the Dwarves. Alaric sought to impress the Dwarves with his tale of their victory at the Crossing of Celduin, but they were credulous that such a young boy could have ever accomplished so mighty a feat. Try as he might, he could never convince the gruff, old Dwarves that he was one of the four mighty warriors who had faced down an Orc army upon the bridge at Celduin.
On the fourth day since their arrival at the Lonely Mountain the companions gathered with Ori at the North Door to begin their journey to find Zirakinbar. Staring out across the blighted landscape of the Waste conjured the terrible memories of their first experience travelling through those desolate lands years ago. They steeled themselves with the knowledge that they were now wiser and stronger than in those days and that such lands do not hold the same terror that they once did.
With a warm smile and a blessing to their journey, Ori waved them goodbye as the fellowship began their descent down into the Waste.
*** *** ***
Their past experience travelling through the Waste served them well, though Rolf struggled more than the others. That is not to say that the going was easy for everyone, it certainly was not. The Waste remained a miserable land with wretched weather and insufferable terrain.
On the fourth day after leaving Erebor, Calithilon’s keen eyes spied a pool of what he hoped was fresh water. He was surprised to find what seemed like an ancient woman, browned by the sun and withered, sitting by the pool, her feet soaking in its stagnant, murky waters. Not knowing what to make of the strange creature, he cautiously approached her in the hopes that she could give them some insight into the goings-on in these lands. Initially, she was alarmed by the fellowship, mistaking them for Orcs and muttering madly about fire and past abuses at their hands. Her fears were finally assuaged when Hergar allowed her to run her gnarled old fingers over his face and through his hair to confirm he was not an Orc in disguise. She introduced herself as Witherfinger. Her true name long since forgotten.
The companions did their best to glean what information that could from the old creature as she swayed gently, fingertips trailing in the water below, and giving the occasional cryptic response. Amidst the insane jabberings she warned them of the lair of the Snow Trolls, a gorge that lay to their north, encouraging them to stay downwind and tread softly lest they awake. She also confirmed their suspicions that Orcs had passed this way in recent days, though to speak of Orcs made her very uncomfortable and she would say little else about them.
Though she bid them to stay with her by the pool and talk awhile longer, the company felt it wise to keep moving since they were still uncertain as to whether she harbored any ill-intent. It was mid-afternoon, they were close to the foothills of the Grey Mountains and could make it there by nightfall if they pushed hard.
*** *** ***
The following morning they began their ascent up into the Grey Mountains towards Zirakinbar and the Withered Heath. In short order they came to the gorge that Witherfinger had spoken of earlier. It was a steep-sided, narrow gorge whose walls were smattered with cave openings, the lairs of the Snow Trolls. Following her advice, they stayed downwind and crept cautiously along the narrow ledges that passed in front of the caves. Despite their best preparations, however, fortune was not with them. Rolf stumbled, his tower shield clanking against the rocks as Hergar inadvertently pushed some stones over the ledge to fall noisily down the cliff face. Everyone held their breath in the hopes the sounds would go unnoticed, but that was not to be the case. With a bone-shaking roar that caused snow to fall all around them, a massive Snow Troll burst forth from his home and charged into the fellowship. Hergar moved to intercept the savage creature as the fellowship prepared for battle along the unsure footing of the narrow ledges. The fight was desperate for the fellowship rightly feared that the noise could surely bring more of the terrifying creatures down upon them. Hergar’s axe bit deeply and seriously wounded the beast, but he received a crushing blow in return that forced him to fall back. Alaric stepped forward to shield Hergar so he could regain his senses only to be sent sprawling as well.
As Hergar moved to reengage the white, shaggy Troll, Calithilon helped Alaric back to his feet, an odd gleam coming into his eye as he did so. A gentle tug on his belt alerted Alaric that something was amiss and he turned to find Calithilon holding the Flask of Mirobel, Alaric’s prized possession. Confused by what was happening, Alaric did not have time react before the Elf darted down the path away from the fellowship, heedless of the noise his flight created.
The sounds from Calithilon’s running echoed throughout the gorge and awakened two more of the slumbering Snow Troll who stormed out of their caves looking for what was causing such a commotion. The first Troll barreled into Calithilon nearly sending him over the ledge to plummet into the chasm below. The second Troll scooped him up and caught him in a punishing grasp that threatened to squeeze the life out of him.
Their worst fears realized, Hergar, Rolf, and Alaric mustered their courage and felled the Troll they were fighting, then raced to the aid of their maddened companion. Though they did their best to get to him in time, they watched in horror as the Troll who held Calithilon in his grasp closed his fanged maw over the Elf’s head sending sprays of blood down his throat and over the white fur of his face. He cast the broken Elf to the ground and charged into the remaining companions along with the other Snow Troll.
The ensuing battle saw the fellowship come perilously close to death as they repeatedly fended off the attacks of the Trolls while slowly wearing them down with precise strikes. More than once, it was Rolf’s inspiring words that kept the companions from succumbing to the ferocity of the Troll’s attacks and allowed Alaric and Hergar to continue hewing at the beasts. Hergar suffered a horrible wound as a Snow Troll’s claws raked across his chest, rending his armor, and sending him flying to the ground. Alaric came close to suffering a grievous injury as well, but was spared when his faithful hound, Odo, who had been harrying their adversaries, intercepted the blow and was severely injured instead.
Rolf encouraged them to fight on, to remember their fallen, and to push back against the darkness. The fellowship rallied and forced the remaining Trolls to flee, though at a great cost. Gathering Calithilon in their arms, they were relieved to find that he was still breathing. Not wanting to risk another encounter with the Snow Trolls, they bundled him up and swiftly moved north to get out of the gorge and into the pass that led to Zirakinbar. There they hoped to find shelter so that they could rest and recover from their wearying ordeal. What they found instead was something altogether unexpected.
*** *** ***
He appeared as a man made new again. The wound in his neck was healed, his clothes no longer rent. The wind that tore at him before was now a gentle breeze and his countenance was that of a man at peace. There the Old Master sat, as if waiting for the fellowship to arrive. He rose at their approach, concern for the injured Elf evident upon his face.
Taking shelter under a small overhang, Alaric did his best to make Calithilon comfortable as he tended to his wounds. His skill in healing had vastly improved over the past several years and it was not long before Calithilon’s injuries were bandaged and he was taking small sips of water to recover his strength. He was in no condition to fight, but his determination to press on despite his weariness was clear. With their friend’s wounds tended, they looked to the Old Master and waited to hear his words.
“I know from whence you came and where you are going”, he began. “And though I would bid you turn back, for your task is foolhardy, I know that you will not. So I instead seek to guide your path in the hopes that you will accept it as some small measure of recompense for the kindness you have shown me.”
He then proceeded to tell them of his conspiracy with the Gibbet King to lure a great dragon to the watchtower using the remains of Lake-town’s stolen gold. There they were to enslave the beast using the Chain of Thangorodrim. He expressed his great shame at having been the one to deliver Lake-town’s gold to the evil spirit, but thanked the fellowship for redeeming his spirit and offering him the opportunity to right his wrong.
When he was done, he looked over his shoulder at the great dust cloud rapidly approaching from the Withered Heath that heralded the imminent arrival of Raenar the Cold-drake and said, “It appears that someone’s doom approaches. But whose? Mind your step, but more importantly, mind your words.” With that, he disappeared into the breeze.
The fellowship looked up to the raging bonfire atop Zirakinbar and back to the approaching dragon. They weighed their odds and decided that their best hope laid in convincing the dragon of his peril at approaching the watchtower at Zirakinbar. It was a long shot to think they could make the dragon their ally, but they could hope at least to make the Gibbet King his enemy. One never knows with dragons.
They waited for him on the northern slopes of the Grey Mountains. Staring out across the blasted, ashen landscape of the Withered Heath to watch the approach of the dragon gave them pause; but, their cause had been made desperate and they saw no other recourse. They waited for him in the open, standing proud, yet apprehensive at the uncertainty of what was about to happen.
The great beast drew up short of them for he too seemed uncertain as to what they represented. The cold-drake was truly a fantastic creature to behold. His scales were silvered-grey like an old sword whose edge just recently saw a whetstone. Stout, powerful legs held his serpentine form just off the ground and his thick neck supported a broad head whose pointed maw came at them like the tip of a spear. Teeth like knives filled that maw and noxious, green vapors bellowed from his nostrils with every breath.
Striding forward, he leveled his head at the companions and declared, “I am Raenar, the greatest of all Cold-drakes, the Dragon-king, the plunderer of a hundred Dwarf-halls, the slayer of Kings, the Great Worm of the Frozen Waste, and Scourge of the North. Who would dare to stand in my way?”
Rolf stepped forward and answered him, “Many say the arms of men should be strengthened, but it is their hearts, say I. I am heir to Strandburg and first among merchants. I am a praise giver and tale teller, yet no sycophant I be. I am a breaker of chains and foe to the dead, I am the holder of the gate and dispeller of nightmares. I am bearer of Bávlos, yet I lay it at the feet of my Family, My King, and my Brothers in Arms. Stand with me and take courage, for neither fear nor weariness shall break us.”
Hergar followed with, “In tears and fire the spirit of the bear was revealed to me. I was forged in rage and quenched in peace. I am the spider slayer, orc carver, and bane of Blackwrists. I am tusk-taker, noon guardian, keg lord, kin-seeker, and bridge defender. I have walked darkened woods, drowned towns, and shadowed towers. My tongue has savored sweet gold. My eyes have endured the glare of pure shadow. My hands have caressed innocent’s scar. I am a blackened heart made evergreen.”
With a wink to Odo, Alaric stepped forward and said,
“Some find my home on a Mirky-eave, I always return,
Odo shows us the way, all for a pat on the head,
A Dwarf king’s respect, two souls returned,
The Dark Missile recovered, Hakon's disgrace revealed,
Wolf-biter, split, presents itself
Contested truth and victory, Welcome, Black Tarn
High Pass to Elven madness, Healer of Eagles,
Sorrowful journey to Bald Hill, A woodsman oath sworn,
The perfect hunt, the perfect Love,
Goblins sour tummy won the day, one ring to bind her love,
Scouted Evil in the field, Odo knows the way,
Beyond the Misty Mountains, A mystery solved,
Three nights of war, an army of four.”
Though the dragon’s presence had sorely tested his courage, the song in Calithilon’s heart came forth and he sang, “I hail from the halls of vigorous spring. I am bearer of the dawn and speaker to the moon. I am raven-speaker, Easterly-dweller, slinger of arrows. I am the keeper of the stars and tamer of horses. I am protector of the daughter to the first born of Noldor. I have slain the white and I have become the white. I am feared by those who would call the dark home.”
Raenar seemed both amused and impressed with their responses and agreed to hear their words. Thinking it best to appeal to the dragon’s pride, Rolf flattered Raenar’s great stature and power while warning him of the dangers posed by the Gibbet King’s plan. Though no one could hope to capture so great a beast, he assured Raenar, they felt it best to warn him. Rolf sought to offer the information in exchange for the dragon’s help destroying the Gibbet King and also hoped to get a pledge from Raenar to not stray south of the Grey Mountains. Raenar would not be told by a simple Man what he would or would not do. He countered Rolf’s offer with his own…and it was not negotiable. They would return to Zirakinbar and engage the forces of the Gibbet King as a distraction. At a time of his choosing, Raenar would surprise the evil spirit and destroy him. However, he made it clear that he offered no assurances that the companions would live and reminded them that he would pursue his own ambitions in his own time.
Knowing they had gotten the best they could hope for from Raenar, they left him on the slopes of the mountain and turned towards finding the secret entrance into the watchtower at Zirakinbar that Rolf had read about in the Chamber of Mazarbul.
*** *** ***
Three taps from Alaric’s axe-head was all it took to open the secret door. It had not been easy to find, but thanks to Rolf’s prior research, getting in had been easy enough. The door opened into a dark narrow passage with fire light flickering in a room beyond. They crept as quietly as they could down the hallway, expecting to come upon Orcs at any moment. But there were none. The room was stifling hot and a quick survey revealed why. Two of the old furnaces that must have been used to heat the upper floors had been rekindled and Lake-town’s stolen gold was melting within. Otherwise, this floor held little but the old cellars and storerooms that had been ransacked decades ago.
Spying a set of stairs leading upwards, Calithilon put a finger to his lips and motioned for the others to follow him upstairs. Readying their weapons, they gathered at the base of the stairs and began to slowly creep upwards to the main floor. Coming to the top of the stairs, Hergar’s carelessness inadvertently knocked over an old tankard that was lying on the floor and the fellowship watch in horror as it clanked and clattered its way down the stairs into the cellar. The clamor of Orcs erupted from a Great Hall across the room from the stairs, but Hergar heard a more sinister, more familiar voice coming from above them. The gravelly, spectral voice of the Gibbet King echoed down the stairs and into Hergar’s heart rekindling old fears of the nightmare he had suffered in the Gibbet King’s shadow realm years ago. That fear turned to rage and, heedless of his companions, he cried out for the death of the Gibbet King and charged up the stairs into the Chamber of Winds.
The noise brought a surge of Orcs from the Great Hall towards the other companions. With little time to act, Calithilon sprinted upstairs to support Hergar while Rolf and Alaric moved to intercept the incoming Orcs. To make matters worse, a brutal Cave Troll burst through the door, making their task of holding the stairs suddenly seem less plausible. However, it occurred to Rolf that the old Dwarves had placed a great stone block over the main entrance to seal the gate should it ever be breached. Together, Alaric and he decided they must maneuver through the Great Hall, find the block and use it to crush the Troll.
Meanwhile, Hergar had charged straight into the Chamber of Winds looking for the source of his fear and rage. There was the Gibbet King, inhabiting another desiccated corpse, chanting in a dark tongue over the Chain of Thangorodrim that was being held by a group of Black Uruks. The Gibbet King’s eyes fell on Hergar and sought to freeze him in fear, but Hergar’s rage was too great and he threw himself headlong into the eight Black Uruks who were defending their master. Wildly, he swung his axe in wide, sweeping arcs, cleaving the head off of the first Uruk and disemboweling a second on the backswing. The Uruks battered Hergar with their broad-bladed, causing wounds that would fell lesser men. Calithilon came up the stairs just in time to see Hergar retaliate and fell another two Uruks with a mighty swing that cut through them both, leaving him standing in a pile of their ichor. The madness that filled Hergar’s eyes was plain to see and it gave Calithilon enough pause to doubt his own safety around the raging Beorning.
Downstairs, Alaric and Rolf had fought their way into the Great Hall, felling lesser Orcs along the way, and working hard to stay one step ahead of the Troll. Rolf quickly pinpointed the mechanism that would release the block as Alaric continued to bait the Troll and as many Orcs as he could get to follow him into their trap. A group of Orcs broke off from the group and pursued Rolf into the side room where the lever that released the block was located. Using his tower shield to keep the Orcs at bay, he shielded himself from their attacks as he waited to hear the signal from Alaric to release the block. That signal came just a few moments later. He gave the rusted old lever a yank and immediately heard the grinding of metal as the lock on the great chain suspending the block gave way. By the gate, Alaric knew that the trap had been sprung and he threw himself as far forward into the room as he could. Luck was with him and he watch with delight as the block fell onto the Cave Troll and several Orcs, crushing them instantly under its great weight.
In the Chamber of Winds, Hergar continued to swing wildly at the Black Uruks. He was slick with gore and fought recklessly, using no tactics but pure aggression. Calithilon moved to help him, but was very nearly killed himself by one of Hergar’s wild swings. Another Uruk fell, Hergar’s axe having cleaved through its shoulder and into its chest. Calithion was amazed by the Beorning’s ferocity. He fought on heedless of his injuries, seemingly unwearied by the battle. When the two Black Uruks who carried the Chain, dropped it and moved to attack, Hergar’s only response was, “More!”
Knowing that their companions must be sorely pressed also, Rolf and Alaric hurried back through the Great Hall towards the stairs that would take them up to the Chamber of Winds. Unfortunately, too many Orcs remained to make it there quickly. Knowing that his companions needed Rolf’s inspirations more than he, Alaric taunted the Orcs to attack him so that Rolf could run unimpeded upstairs. The gambit paid off, but it left Alaric alone to battle a small host of Orcs. Taking advantage of the opening, Rolf dashed across the room and up the stairs. When he reached the top, he found Hergar and Calithilon standing over several Orc bodies as they continued to do battle with the remaining Black Uruks. The fire in Hergar’s eyes had not diminished as he continued to cleave his way closer and closer towards the Gibbet King.
Just as Rolf was about to charge to the aid of his companions, the room shook. Bits of mortar and stone rained down from the ceiling as a thunderous roar above them announced the coming of Raenar. The great dragon slammed himself into the northern window of the Chamber of Winds and tore at its walls with his great claws. Great stones were ripped away as the mighty beast broke into the room, its long neck protruding down the hallway. The Gibbet King cried for his remaining guards to place the great Chain around the dragon’s neck, but it was too late. Rolf heard the beast’s sharp intake of air and, realizing what was about to happen, screamed for his companions to clear the room. Calithilon scrambled for the stairwell, but Hergar fought on, heedless of his impending doom. The dragon’s poisonous breath exploded into the room, vaporizing the remaining orcs and tearing the Gibbet King’s screaming soul from its host. Hergar was blasted out of the southern window and disappeared as his broken body tumbled down the side of the mountain.
Fearing the dragon’s wrath, the remaining three companions fled down the stairs and out through the secret door at the tower’s foundation. They searched for Hergar along the southern slopes even as the roars of the triumphant Raenar echoed throughout the pass. They found the bloodied and broken body of Hergar high upon a ledge, the only thing that saved him from a worse fate. He was unconscious and barely alive. Carefully moving him down the mountain, Alaric saw to his injuries, and though weary and wounded they chose to take their chances crossing the Waste rather than risk Raenar’s wrath.
*** *** ***
A week later, the battered and wounded fellowship returned to the North Door of the Lonely Mountain where Ori welcomed them back. He did not ask too many questions about their ordeal for the looks on their faces said much. King Dáin was notified of their return and the Dwarves were tasked with seeing to their every need. Alaric saw to Calithilon and Hergar as they recuperated from their injuries. Once everyone was hale, Dáin held a great feast in their honor where he showered them with praise and rewarded them well beyond their expectations. In secret, they had shared the details of their adventure with him. The threat of the Gibbet King was over, but Raenar the Cold-drake now sat precariously close to their doorstep.
A week later, the fellowship returned to Dale where Bard gave them a second hero’s welcome. Feasts were held in their honor and the king named them each ‘Thegn’, as well as, friend of Dale. They enjoyed the hospitality of Bard’s hall for another few days and then each departed for home to spend the winter among loved ones in the hopes they could forget some of the horrors they had encounter on the path to Zirakinbar.
Alaric’s Tale: Received 20 Treasure as a reward from King Dáin. Odo was very nearly killed during their battle with the Snow Trolls. Alaric treated his Wound, but he will need the winter to recover. Bard formally names him as Thegn for his contributions to the security and well-being of Dale and its surrounding lands. Permanent +1 Standing increase when in the Dalelands.
Calithilon’s Tale: Received 20 Treasure as a reward from King Dáin. Suffered his first Bout of Madness while sneaking through the Gorge of the Snow Trolls. Bard formally names him as Thegn for his contributions to the security and well-being of Dale and its surrounding lands. Permanent +1 Standing increase when in the Dalelands.
Hergar’s Tale: Received 20 Treasure as a reward from King Dáin. Suffered his first Bout of Madness while sneaking through the cellars of the watchtower at Zirakinbar. Bard formally names him as Thegn for his contributions to the security and well-being of Dale and its surrounding lands. Permanent +1 Standing increase when in the Dalelands.
Rolf’s Tale: Received 20 Treasure as a reward from King Dáin. Bard formally names him as Thegn for his contributions to the security and well-being of Dale and its surrounding lands. Permanent +1 Standing increase when in the Dalelands.
This adventure was a great culmination of a year’s worth of play. There were two Bouts of Madness as both Calithilon’s and Hergar’s Shadow scores finally caught up to them. It also provided the end of the Tale of the Old Master that we began back in The Black Arrow. It was nice to see his entire backstory fleshed out and come to its conclusion. Calithilon has plans to turn it into a song using the rules from Rivendell.
In preparation for their encounter with Raenar, I gave the players a homework assignment to create a riddle-style introduction, but I did not tell them who it was for. I stole this idea from a person’s post on the old C7 forums, but sadly I cannot remember whose. It was a great exercise that allowed them to ruminate on their past sessions.
Lastly, this adventure provided plenty of near-death experiences for them. Each Bout of Madness happened at the worst conceivable time. The players had awful luck on Sneak tests, but crushed every Protection test. In the end, it all played out in dramatic fashion and made for a great tale.
The Watch on the Heath (November 2951)
It had been four days since the fellowship returned to Dale after successfully holding the bridge at Celduin. Alaric and Ashryn had quickly gone to work tending to those still suffering from the effects of the poison, as well as, those who were wounded in the battle. A fresh supply of healing remedies sent from Rhosgobel sped their efforts, but working day and night left them exhausted. With winter quickly approaching, Hergar had assisted Rúna in packing up her honey-selling booth in the Market Square and then bid her a safe journey back to his cabin in the Northern Dalelands. Having expected to see the great chain that Hergar witnessed in the Dwimmerhorn last year at the battle at Celduin, Rolf decided to research its origins and dove into what records and libraries he could find in Dale. What he learned there caused him great concern. News came that Sigdan had been discovered cold and lifeless in his cell, an expression of utter terror written across his face. With no one having glimpsed the murderer, Calithilon had spent those four days searching the surrounding lands for any enemies who may have slipped through during the battle. His efforts were rewarded when he came across a series of Orc tracks that led north beyond the Lonely Mountain.
On the fifth day, a knock came at the door of Rolf’s family home in the Ravensgate District. It was a Dwarf, his fine clothes hidden under a well-worn travel cloak. Ori was his name and he was there with a proposal from Erebor. The fellowship bid him to enter and after proper introductions were complete they gathered around the hearth to share in a meal and to hear his request. He explained that he had come at the request of Dáin, King Under the Mountain, and their time was short. His request concerned the machinations of the traitor Sigdan and required immediate action. The discussion was brief since the companions knew that a summons from King Dáin himself should not be easily cast aside. They agreed to meet Ori at the Ravensgate within the hour. With a bow and courteous smile, he thanked them for breakfast and left to prepare for their journey to the mountain.
An hour later, the fellowship met with Ori outside the northern gate and began the trip to the Lonely Mountain. It was a relatively short journey, taking little more than what remained of the day. They passed the time talking to Dwarves who were returning from the Battle of Celduin or marveling at the craftsmanship of the stonemasons who were busy rebuilding the old road that runs between Dale and Erebor. Coming to the waterfall where the River Running gushed from the mountainside, they left their ponies behind to finish the final ascent to the magnificent front gates of the Lonely Mountain. Talking as they walked, Ori led them through a dizzying maze of great halls, corridors, and stairways that steadily descended deeper and deeper. In the roots of the mountain, they finally came to the rune-scored door of the room that was their destination-Erebor’s hall of records, the Chamber of Mazarbul.
Inside was none other than King Dáin himself. He was engaged in grave conversation with another Dwarf whose white beard touched the floor. The Dwarf’s expression showed that he was clearly ashamed as he repeatedly apologized to the King for some unknown offense. They both turned to face the companions as they entered and King Dáin waited in silence for their introductions. After an awkward pause, the fellowship stepped up and introduced themselves, one after the other, to the satisfaction of Dáin. He was particular impressed with the respectful words of Rolf and the litany of bold deeds of Hergar. Once he was satisfied that the fellowship had followed proper etiquette, he set about telling them the reasons for which they were summoned.
Years ago the merchant Sigdan came to them with a proposition. In his travels, he claimed to have come across a relic of the Dwarven people, the shield of Thrór, and wished to sell it back to them. They came to an arrangement, but at the time when the deal was made Sigdan sought to amend their deal and asked for access to the Chamber of Mazarbul. His reasoning was that the knowledge he could find there could be used to find other lost Dwarven artifacts to return to them. After deliberating on it, Dáin refused him entry to the hall of records and considered the matter closed.
At this part in their discussion, the old Dwarf, Munin, stepped forward, nervously wringing his beard as he continued Dáin’s tale. Several days after Sigdan had been denied entry to the library, he had heard a strange noise in the middle of the night coming from inside. Upon investigating, he found no one and thought nothing more about it until the Dwarves learned of Sigdan’s betrayal in Dale. Returning to the library, he found one book out of place. To make matters worse, a page had been torn from it!
At this revelation, he placed a large, iron-bound tome on the table in front of the companions. He carefully leafed through the pages that detailed many of the Dwarven strongholds that had been built in this area in the last century. The page that was missing came from a section describing a tower that had been built on the northern slopes of the Grey Mountains to watch over the Withered Heath. Why Sigdan wanted this information was a mystery, but Dáin was certain that something foul was afoot.
Worrying that there may have been more to Sigdan’s plans than they at first realized, the players were eager to investigate. They discuss with King Dáin all that they knew about the Gibbet King, the Chain of Thangorodrim, and Sigdan’s movements. Calithilon recalled the Orc tracks heading north that he found last week and Hergar remembered seeing lights in those same mountains years ago when they passed through searching for King Bard’s lost arrow. The more they talked of the Withered Heath, the Chain of Thangorodrim and the dragons that lived there, the more concerned everyone grew. The task of investigating the old watchtower took on a sudden urgency and they swore to King Dáin that they would put an end whatever schemes were in motion there.
To that end, Rolf and Calithilon asked for and received permission to pour over the old book to learn all that they could of the old watchtower. Though it took several days and the help of Munin to sort out the details of the old text, they gleaned several important insights. They learned that the watchtower had been built into the peak of Zirakinbar and that a secret entrance lay close to its foundation. A mighty stone block sat above its door to seal out invaders in case the gates were ever breached. Inside, a secret treasure room was hidden away below the floor of one of the bedrooms and atop the tower was the Chamber of Winds, a room whose secrets could bring down the whole tower if managed poorly.
Meanwhile, Hergar and Alaric had passed the days making friends in the great halls above, enjoying the famous hospitality and food of the Dwarves. Alaric sought to impress the Dwarves with his tale of their victory at the Crossing of Celduin, but they were credulous that such a young boy could have ever accomplished so mighty a feat. Try as he might, he could never convince the gruff, old Dwarves that he was one of the four mighty warriors who had faced down an Orc army upon the bridge at Celduin.
On the fourth day since their arrival at the Lonely Mountain the companions gathered with Ori at the North Door to begin their journey to find Zirakinbar. Staring out across the blighted landscape of the Waste conjured the terrible memories of their first experience travelling through those desolate lands years ago. They steeled themselves with the knowledge that they were now wiser and stronger than in those days and that such lands do not hold the same terror that they once did.
With a warm smile and a blessing to their journey, Ori waved them goodbye as the fellowship began their descent down into the Waste.
*** *** ***
Their past experience travelling through the Waste served them well, though Rolf struggled more than the others. That is not to say that the going was easy for everyone, it certainly was not. The Waste remained a miserable land with wretched weather and insufferable terrain.
On the fourth day after leaving Erebor, Calithilon’s keen eyes spied a pool of what he hoped was fresh water. He was surprised to find what seemed like an ancient woman, browned by the sun and withered, sitting by the pool, her feet soaking in its stagnant, murky waters. Not knowing what to make of the strange creature, he cautiously approached her in the hopes that she could give them some insight into the goings-on in these lands. Initially, she was alarmed by the fellowship, mistaking them for Orcs and muttering madly about fire and past abuses at their hands. Her fears were finally assuaged when Hergar allowed her to run her gnarled old fingers over his face and through his hair to confirm he was not an Orc in disguise. She introduced herself as Witherfinger. Her true name long since forgotten.
The companions did their best to glean what information that could from the old creature as she swayed gently, fingertips trailing in the water below, and giving the occasional cryptic response. Amidst the insane jabberings she warned them of the lair of the Snow Trolls, a gorge that lay to their north, encouraging them to stay downwind and tread softly lest they awake. She also confirmed their suspicions that Orcs had passed this way in recent days, though to speak of Orcs made her very uncomfortable and she would say little else about them.
Though she bid them to stay with her by the pool and talk awhile longer, the company felt it wise to keep moving since they were still uncertain as to whether she harbored any ill-intent. It was mid-afternoon, they were close to the foothills of the Grey Mountains and could make it there by nightfall if they pushed hard.
*** *** ***
The following morning they began their ascent up into the Grey Mountains towards Zirakinbar and the Withered Heath. In short order they came to the gorge that Witherfinger had spoken of earlier. It was a steep-sided, narrow gorge whose walls were smattered with cave openings, the lairs of the Snow Trolls. Following her advice, they stayed downwind and crept cautiously along the narrow ledges that passed in front of the caves. Despite their best preparations, however, fortune was not with them. Rolf stumbled, his tower shield clanking against the rocks as Hergar inadvertently pushed some stones over the ledge to fall noisily down the cliff face. Everyone held their breath in the hopes the sounds would go unnoticed, but that was not to be the case. With a bone-shaking roar that caused snow to fall all around them, a massive Snow Troll burst forth from his home and charged into the fellowship. Hergar moved to intercept the savage creature as the fellowship prepared for battle along the unsure footing of the narrow ledges. The fight was desperate for the fellowship rightly feared that the noise could surely bring more of the terrifying creatures down upon them. Hergar’s axe bit deeply and seriously wounded the beast, but he received a crushing blow in return that forced him to fall back. Alaric stepped forward to shield Hergar so he could regain his senses only to be sent sprawling as well.
As Hergar moved to reengage the white, shaggy Troll, Calithilon helped Alaric back to his feet, an odd gleam coming into his eye as he did so. A gentle tug on his belt alerted Alaric that something was amiss and he turned to find Calithilon holding the Flask of Mirobel, Alaric’s prized possession. Confused by what was happening, Alaric did not have time react before the Elf darted down the path away from the fellowship, heedless of the noise his flight created.
The sounds from Calithilon’s running echoed throughout the gorge and awakened two more of the slumbering Snow Troll who stormed out of their caves looking for what was causing such a commotion. The first Troll barreled into Calithilon nearly sending him over the ledge to plummet into the chasm below. The second Troll scooped him up and caught him in a punishing grasp that threatened to squeeze the life out of him.
Their worst fears realized, Hergar, Rolf, and Alaric mustered their courage and felled the Troll they were fighting, then raced to the aid of their maddened companion. Though they did their best to get to him in time, they watched in horror as the Troll who held Calithilon in his grasp closed his fanged maw over the Elf’s head sending sprays of blood down his throat and over the white fur of his face. He cast the broken Elf to the ground and charged into the remaining companions along with the other Snow Troll.
The ensuing battle saw the fellowship come perilously close to death as they repeatedly fended off the attacks of the Trolls while slowly wearing them down with precise strikes. More than once, it was Rolf’s inspiring words that kept the companions from succumbing to the ferocity of the Troll’s attacks and allowed Alaric and Hergar to continue hewing at the beasts. Hergar suffered a horrible wound as a Snow Troll’s claws raked across his chest, rending his armor, and sending him flying to the ground. Alaric came close to suffering a grievous injury as well, but was spared when his faithful hound, Odo, who had been harrying their adversaries, intercepted the blow and was severely injured instead.
Rolf encouraged them to fight on, to remember their fallen, and to push back against the darkness. The fellowship rallied and forced the remaining Trolls to flee, though at a great cost. Gathering Calithilon in their arms, they were relieved to find that he was still breathing. Not wanting to risk another encounter with the Snow Trolls, they bundled him up and swiftly moved north to get out of the gorge and into the pass that led to Zirakinbar. There they hoped to find shelter so that they could rest and recover from their wearying ordeal. What they found instead was something altogether unexpected.
*** *** ***
He appeared as a man made new again. The wound in his neck was healed, his clothes no longer rent. The wind that tore at him before was now a gentle breeze and his countenance was that of a man at peace. There the Old Master sat, as if waiting for the fellowship to arrive. He rose at their approach, concern for the injured Elf evident upon his face.
Taking shelter under a small overhang, Alaric did his best to make Calithilon comfortable as he tended to his wounds. His skill in healing had vastly improved over the past several years and it was not long before Calithilon’s injuries were bandaged and he was taking small sips of water to recover his strength. He was in no condition to fight, but his determination to press on despite his weariness was clear. With their friend’s wounds tended, they looked to the Old Master and waited to hear his words.
“I know from whence you came and where you are going”, he began. “And though I would bid you turn back, for your task is foolhardy, I know that you will not. So I instead seek to guide your path in the hopes that you will accept it as some small measure of recompense for the kindness you have shown me.”
He then proceeded to tell them of his conspiracy with the Gibbet King to lure a great dragon to the watchtower using the remains of Lake-town’s stolen gold. There they were to enslave the beast using the Chain of Thangorodrim. He expressed his great shame at having been the one to deliver Lake-town’s gold to the evil spirit, but thanked the fellowship for redeeming his spirit and offering him the opportunity to right his wrong.
When he was done, he looked over his shoulder at the great dust cloud rapidly approaching from the Withered Heath that heralded the imminent arrival of Raenar the Cold-drake and said, “It appears that someone’s doom approaches. But whose? Mind your step, but more importantly, mind your words.” With that, he disappeared into the breeze.
The fellowship looked up to the raging bonfire atop Zirakinbar and back to the approaching dragon. They weighed their odds and decided that their best hope laid in convincing the dragon of his peril at approaching the watchtower at Zirakinbar. It was a long shot to think they could make the dragon their ally, but they could hope at least to make the Gibbet King his enemy. One never knows with dragons.
They waited for him on the northern slopes of the Grey Mountains. Staring out across the blasted, ashen landscape of the Withered Heath to watch the approach of the dragon gave them pause; but, their cause had been made desperate and they saw no other recourse. They waited for him in the open, standing proud, yet apprehensive at the uncertainty of what was about to happen.
The great beast drew up short of them for he too seemed uncertain as to what they represented. The cold-drake was truly a fantastic creature to behold. His scales were silvered-grey like an old sword whose edge just recently saw a whetstone. Stout, powerful legs held his serpentine form just off the ground and his thick neck supported a broad head whose pointed maw came at them like the tip of a spear. Teeth like knives filled that maw and noxious, green vapors bellowed from his nostrils with every breath.
Striding forward, he leveled his head at the companions and declared, “I am Raenar, the greatest of all Cold-drakes, the Dragon-king, the plunderer of a hundred Dwarf-halls, the slayer of Kings, the Great Worm of the Frozen Waste, and Scourge of the North. Who would dare to stand in my way?”
Rolf stepped forward and answered him, “Many say the arms of men should be strengthened, but it is their hearts, say I. I am heir to Strandburg and first among merchants. I am a praise giver and tale teller, yet no sycophant I be. I am a breaker of chains and foe to the dead, I am the holder of the gate and dispeller of nightmares. I am bearer of Bávlos, yet I lay it at the feet of my Family, My King, and my Brothers in Arms. Stand with me and take courage, for neither fear nor weariness shall break us.”
Hergar followed with, “In tears and fire the spirit of the bear was revealed to me. I was forged in rage and quenched in peace. I am the spider slayer, orc carver, and bane of Blackwrists. I am tusk-taker, noon guardian, keg lord, kin-seeker, and bridge defender. I have walked darkened woods, drowned towns, and shadowed towers. My tongue has savored sweet gold. My eyes have endured the glare of pure shadow. My hands have caressed innocent’s scar. I am a blackened heart made evergreen.”
With a wink to Odo, Alaric stepped forward and said,
“Some find my home on a Mirky-eave, I always return,
Odo shows us the way, all for a pat on the head,
A Dwarf king’s respect, two souls returned,
The Dark Missile recovered, Hakon's disgrace revealed,
Wolf-biter, split, presents itself
Contested truth and victory, Welcome, Black Tarn
High Pass to Elven madness, Healer of Eagles,
Sorrowful journey to Bald Hill, A woodsman oath sworn,
The perfect hunt, the perfect Love,
Goblins sour tummy won the day, one ring to bind her love,
Scouted Evil in the field, Odo knows the way,
Beyond the Misty Mountains, A mystery solved,
Three nights of war, an army of four.”
Though the dragon’s presence had sorely tested his courage, the song in Calithilon’s heart came forth and he sang, “I hail from the halls of vigorous spring. I am bearer of the dawn and speaker to the moon. I am raven-speaker, Easterly-dweller, slinger of arrows. I am the keeper of the stars and tamer of horses. I am protector of the daughter to the first born of Noldor. I have slain the white and I have become the white. I am feared by those who would call the dark home.”
Raenar seemed both amused and impressed with their responses and agreed to hear their words. Thinking it best to appeal to the dragon’s pride, Rolf flattered Raenar’s great stature and power while warning him of the dangers posed by the Gibbet King’s plan. Though no one could hope to capture so great a beast, he assured Raenar, they felt it best to warn him. Rolf sought to offer the information in exchange for the dragon’s help destroying the Gibbet King and also hoped to get a pledge from Raenar to not stray south of the Grey Mountains. Raenar would not be told by a simple Man what he would or would not do. He countered Rolf’s offer with his own…and it was not negotiable. They would return to Zirakinbar and engage the forces of the Gibbet King as a distraction. At a time of his choosing, Raenar would surprise the evil spirit and destroy him. However, he made it clear that he offered no assurances that the companions would live and reminded them that he would pursue his own ambitions in his own time.
Knowing they had gotten the best they could hope for from Raenar, they left him on the slopes of the mountain and turned towards finding the secret entrance into the watchtower at Zirakinbar that Rolf had read about in the Chamber of Mazarbul.
*** *** ***
Three taps from Alaric’s axe-head was all it took to open the secret door. It had not been easy to find, but thanks to Rolf’s prior research, getting in had been easy enough. The door opened into a dark narrow passage with fire light flickering in a room beyond. They crept as quietly as they could down the hallway, expecting to come upon Orcs at any moment. But there were none. The room was stifling hot and a quick survey revealed why. Two of the old furnaces that must have been used to heat the upper floors had been rekindled and Lake-town’s stolen gold was melting within. Otherwise, this floor held little but the old cellars and storerooms that had been ransacked decades ago.
Spying a set of stairs leading upwards, Calithilon put a finger to his lips and motioned for the others to follow him upstairs. Readying their weapons, they gathered at the base of the stairs and began to slowly creep upwards to the main floor. Coming to the top of the stairs, Hergar’s carelessness inadvertently knocked over an old tankard that was lying on the floor and the fellowship watch in horror as it clanked and clattered its way down the stairs into the cellar. The clamor of Orcs erupted from a Great Hall across the room from the stairs, but Hergar heard a more sinister, more familiar voice coming from above them. The gravelly, spectral voice of the Gibbet King echoed down the stairs and into Hergar’s heart rekindling old fears of the nightmare he had suffered in the Gibbet King’s shadow realm years ago. That fear turned to rage and, heedless of his companions, he cried out for the death of the Gibbet King and charged up the stairs into the Chamber of Winds.
The noise brought a surge of Orcs from the Great Hall towards the other companions. With little time to act, Calithilon sprinted upstairs to support Hergar while Rolf and Alaric moved to intercept the incoming Orcs. To make matters worse, a brutal Cave Troll burst through the door, making their task of holding the stairs suddenly seem less plausible. However, it occurred to Rolf that the old Dwarves had placed a great stone block over the main entrance to seal the gate should it ever be breached. Together, Alaric and he decided they must maneuver through the Great Hall, find the block and use it to crush the Troll.
Meanwhile, Hergar had charged straight into the Chamber of Winds looking for the source of his fear and rage. There was the Gibbet King, inhabiting another desiccated corpse, chanting in a dark tongue over the Chain of Thangorodrim that was being held by a group of Black Uruks. The Gibbet King’s eyes fell on Hergar and sought to freeze him in fear, but Hergar’s rage was too great and he threw himself headlong into the eight Black Uruks who were defending their master. Wildly, he swung his axe in wide, sweeping arcs, cleaving the head off of the first Uruk and disemboweling a second on the backswing. The Uruks battered Hergar with their broad-bladed, causing wounds that would fell lesser men. Calithilon came up the stairs just in time to see Hergar retaliate and fell another two Uruks with a mighty swing that cut through them both, leaving him standing in a pile of their ichor. The madness that filled Hergar’s eyes was plain to see and it gave Calithilon enough pause to doubt his own safety around the raging Beorning.
Downstairs, Alaric and Rolf had fought their way into the Great Hall, felling lesser Orcs along the way, and working hard to stay one step ahead of the Troll. Rolf quickly pinpointed the mechanism that would release the block as Alaric continued to bait the Troll and as many Orcs as he could get to follow him into their trap. A group of Orcs broke off from the group and pursued Rolf into the side room where the lever that released the block was located. Using his tower shield to keep the Orcs at bay, he shielded himself from their attacks as he waited to hear the signal from Alaric to release the block. That signal came just a few moments later. He gave the rusted old lever a yank and immediately heard the grinding of metal as the lock on the great chain suspending the block gave way. By the gate, Alaric knew that the trap had been sprung and he threw himself as far forward into the room as he could. Luck was with him and he watch with delight as the block fell onto the Cave Troll and several Orcs, crushing them instantly under its great weight.
In the Chamber of Winds, Hergar continued to swing wildly at the Black Uruks. He was slick with gore and fought recklessly, using no tactics but pure aggression. Calithilon moved to help him, but was very nearly killed himself by one of Hergar’s wild swings. Another Uruk fell, Hergar’s axe having cleaved through its shoulder and into its chest. Calithion was amazed by the Beorning’s ferocity. He fought on heedless of his injuries, seemingly unwearied by the battle. When the two Black Uruks who carried the Chain, dropped it and moved to attack, Hergar’s only response was, “More!”
Knowing that their companions must be sorely pressed also, Rolf and Alaric hurried back through the Great Hall towards the stairs that would take them up to the Chamber of Winds. Unfortunately, too many Orcs remained to make it there quickly. Knowing that his companions needed Rolf’s inspirations more than he, Alaric taunted the Orcs to attack him so that Rolf could run unimpeded upstairs. The gambit paid off, but it left Alaric alone to battle a small host of Orcs. Taking advantage of the opening, Rolf dashed across the room and up the stairs. When he reached the top, he found Hergar and Calithilon standing over several Orc bodies as they continued to do battle with the remaining Black Uruks. The fire in Hergar’s eyes had not diminished as he continued to cleave his way closer and closer towards the Gibbet King.
Just as Rolf was about to charge to the aid of his companions, the room shook. Bits of mortar and stone rained down from the ceiling as a thunderous roar above them announced the coming of Raenar. The great dragon slammed himself into the northern window of the Chamber of Winds and tore at its walls with his great claws. Great stones were ripped away as the mighty beast broke into the room, its long neck protruding down the hallway. The Gibbet King cried for his remaining guards to place the great Chain around the dragon’s neck, but it was too late. Rolf heard the beast’s sharp intake of air and, realizing what was about to happen, screamed for his companions to clear the room. Calithilon scrambled for the stairwell, but Hergar fought on, heedless of his impending doom. The dragon’s poisonous breath exploded into the room, vaporizing the remaining orcs and tearing the Gibbet King’s screaming soul from its host. Hergar was blasted out of the southern window and disappeared as his broken body tumbled down the side of the mountain.
Fearing the dragon’s wrath, the remaining three companions fled down the stairs and out through the secret door at the tower’s foundation. They searched for Hergar along the southern slopes even as the roars of the triumphant Raenar echoed throughout the pass. They found the bloodied and broken body of Hergar high upon a ledge, the only thing that saved him from a worse fate. He was unconscious and barely alive. Carefully moving him down the mountain, Alaric saw to his injuries, and though weary and wounded they chose to take their chances crossing the Waste rather than risk Raenar’s wrath.
*** *** ***
A week later, the battered and wounded fellowship returned to the North Door of the Lonely Mountain where Ori welcomed them back. He did not ask too many questions about their ordeal for the looks on their faces said much. King Dáin was notified of their return and the Dwarves were tasked with seeing to their every need. Alaric saw to Calithilon and Hergar as they recuperated from their injuries. Once everyone was hale, Dáin held a great feast in their honor where he showered them with praise and rewarded them well beyond their expectations. In secret, they had shared the details of their adventure with him. The threat of the Gibbet King was over, but Raenar the Cold-drake now sat precariously close to their doorstep.
A week later, the fellowship returned to Dale where Bard gave them a second hero’s welcome. Feasts were held in their honor and the king named them each ‘Thegn’, as well as, friend of Dale. They enjoyed the hospitality of Bard’s hall for another few days and then each departed for home to spend the winter among loved ones in the hopes they could forget some of the horrors they had encounter on the path to Zirakinbar.
Alaric’s Tale: Received 20 Treasure as a reward from King Dáin. Odo was very nearly killed during their battle with the Snow Trolls. Alaric treated his Wound, but he will need the winter to recover. Bard formally names him as Thegn for his contributions to the security and well-being of Dale and its surrounding lands. Permanent +1 Standing increase when in the Dalelands.
Calithilon’s Tale: Received 20 Treasure as a reward from King Dáin. Suffered his first Bout of Madness while sneaking through the Gorge of the Snow Trolls. Bard formally names him as Thegn for his contributions to the security and well-being of Dale and its surrounding lands. Permanent +1 Standing increase when in the Dalelands.
Hergar’s Tale: Received 20 Treasure as a reward from King Dáin. Suffered his first Bout of Madness while sneaking through the cellars of the watchtower at Zirakinbar. Bard formally names him as Thegn for his contributions to the security and well-being of Dale and its surrounding lands. Permanent +1 Standing increase when in the Dalelands.
Rolf’s Tale: Received 20 Treasure as a reward from King Dáin. Bard formally names him as Thegn for his contributions to the security and well-being of Dale and its surrounding lands. Permanent +1 Standing increase when in the Dalelands.
Re: Hope Against the Shadow-A Tale of Years
Great! I love your descriptions. I hope you will also post this on RPGgeek, so we can get back to it!
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Otaku-sempai
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Re: Hope Against the Shadow-A Tale of Years
No company playing through "The Watch on the Heath" ever seems to realize that they can avoid being railroaded through the Waste by traveling most of the way through the Northern Dalelands, also making the journey much quicker. The encounter with Witherfinger can still take place as the company travels the last 20 miles (give or take) through the Waste.
In any case, well done!
In any case, well done!
"Far, far below the deepest delvings of the Dwarves, the world is gnawed by nameless things. Even Sauron knows them not. They are older than he."
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