A1 - Into the Woods They Dared Tred

Town-criers proclaim the coming celebration to recognize the 5 year anniversary of the death of Smaug, which forced the rebuild of Esgaroth on land. King Bard calling for more trade to enrich the land.

Inside a dank tavern in new Esgaroth, the hobbit Gladrin (Ladee) sits alone blowing smoke rings around his empty mug; his cash run low. “What brings your kind out of the Shire and this far east?!” The Breelander Rowlie pulls up a chair and signals the waitress for a round. It isn’t long before the rising smoke catches the eye of the crimson-bearded dwarf named Brackrog , who joins the table pulling out his own pipe. Scowls as the hobbit helps himself to the dwarves’ weed-pouch. Smoke rings dance through the air, smaller ones aimed inside the larger ones, others seeming to chain themselves together. Soon the rings join to form a rounded face with eyes and bulbous nose…scattered when an elf face walks thru the creation. Galanon (umlaut on the ooo) is drawn to the collection of such varied voices; his quizzical glance at the hobbit hints at his true reason for stopping. But most intriguing is the dark human who ambles thru the doors…out of place…city life not his preference. Protests from the proprietor for the large beast that accompanies the stranger. Brackrog breaks the tension, “Come join us and wet your whistle; not that I’m buying.” Rambler strides forward, his wolf at his heels. From the hobbit, “Mighty small horse for such a large man.”

So it is that the 5 stumble out of the bar together, when a cry rings out, “HELP, help! My father…they’re gonna kill him!” Rowlie and Ladee are ready to charge forth; Rambler not so, “Not so fast; who’s to say this isn’t a scam.” Even G-non seems put-off that such event might delay his personal agenda, as if a lowly human child and his feeble father could be that important. But the young boys’ tone prods all into action; albeit a slow sally-forth considering the short legs of the boy leading and the equally short hobbit.

Through the streets, to the edge of town and beyond till they come upon a clearing where they find a man fending off 3 assailants. “Be gone! This isn’t your concern. This merchant tried to swindle us out of promised guard pay.” Ladee recognizes the voice, “That’s the same man who mugged me two days ago.” Enough accusations for G-non to loose an arrow at their feet, “Stand down.” They run, much to the displeasure of Rambler, “Great. Free to rob someone else. Drop them I say and do the town a favor.”

The son Belgo introduces his father Baldor, a Laketown resident, “Might I be asking too much for YOU to escort my merchant cart westward? Since the king seeks trade, I plan to get the jump on establishing trade with the Boerning." Again the elf seems hesitant, “I have urgent business with the king. Besides, you’ve one wagon. Makes more sense to travel with a caravan of trade wagons.” Negotiations. “OK, gather your other wagons as long as they peddle different ware (Baldor specialized in Lone Mountain iron ore and dwarven toys). We’ll depart in 3 days.”

While Brackrog and Rambler shop for weapons, the others seek audience with King Bard. It is the elf’s letter of introduction from Lorien that opens the doors. The hobbit’s emissary medallion provides a small measure of aid (Or maybe it is King Bard’s desire to see another hobbit). For the trio indeed gain audience with the king himself! Salutations and eloquent speech, the king anxious to establish trade, “Even with the Easterlings. Money is a universal language. So yes, I will provide you a letter of introduction granting you authorization to establish trade in my name. But west? Across Mirkwood? I doubt you’ll find many merchants willing to take THAT risk.” In parting, Galanon offers insight from Lorien’s perspective, “We’ve seen and heard rumors of the shadow growing in the East and South.”

 

So it is, two days later, the group escorts the long wagon along the path Baldor plots. To the eastern edge of Mirkwood where they meet a trio of elves. “Climb aboard.” The horses baulk at climbing onto one of 3 river-rafts till the elf Lindor whispers in their ears. Calm as the horses board. Several hours poling along the river till beaching for the evening. As the others guard the camp, Rambler and Ladee search for herbs (finding enough kingsfoil for 5 salves). The next day the rafts enter into an umbrella of dense trees that continue till the next day when a portcullis raises signaling their entry into the Woodland Realm of the elf King Thranduil.

As Galanon strides forward to seek audience with the king, the others unload the rafts into the bowls of the cellar. Brackrog protests when Lindor cautions all to remain in the cellar, “For your own protection.” But the hobbit apparently isn’t listening as he follows Lindor’s exit, “And where do you think you are going?” [So much for Stealth 23. At least his Traditions 19 got him a kind ear and return to the cellar.]

Two days later they are lead out of the underground halls and shown the westward path, “Stay ON the path. Stray but a foot…” Rambler is now the Guide on the journey…apparently using a poor map, as he leads them to many dead-ends. Fetid streams and the dark canopy of trees give a feel of foreboding and despair. A worried Belgo constantly rubs a talisman hung around his neck. The days drag on with no large animals sighted for the Hunter Brackrog to fell for meat. Galanon as Scout fairs no better…his campsites crisscrossed with roots and jagged rocks. The Lookouts Rowlie and Ladee constantly report movement high up in the trees. Too much noise, tension, hunger, and despair lead to the early stages of exhaustion.

It is during Rambler’s watch that a fitful Baldor rises from his blanket, “My lips are parched. Keep an eye as I fill my canteen at the stream over there.” The merchant wobbling as he returns. Hallucinating. “Who are you? Don’t rob me!” Panic turns to escape; Rambling tries unsuccessfully to grapple him, so he sends his wolf-dog to follow. Rousing the camp, Galanon sprints after, his eyes accustomed to the dark. But soon the path ends. No footprints. As if he disappeared. Galanon looks up, spying branch movement in the tangle of webbing high overhead. The elf commands the dog to return to its master. Soon Rambler joins the elf in the trees to pursue along a web bridge as the others follow on the ground. Hours pass; Ladee breaking shrub branches to mark the trail.

Ahead in a clearing stands crumbled ruins covered in webbing. Galanon signals stop as he spies a cocoon twitching across the span above a wall. Rambler descends to cover from the ground, as Rowlie and Brackrog advance to the wall; the dwarf climbs to cut down the cocoon expecting Rowlie to catch…”Umph.” Unbeknownst to the group, the loss of tension on the webbing sent ripples along the strings. An Ladee knells to cut open the cocoon freeing Baldor, “I see movement overhead. This is their lair.” The dwarf picks up the unconscious merchant as Rowlie squares off with a spider. “One down but there must be hundreds more. Let’s go…NOW!!!”

 

Ladee leads the way with torch as Rowlie and Brackrog carry Baldor. G-non (in the trees) and Rambler (on the ground) cover with arrows and blade. Till a ball-of-web splats against the elf’s chest knocking him off the branch and now dangling by a thick web-thread. A flash of blade cuts the thread dropping the elf to the ground near the hunter. Two spiders close on the pair. Rambler kills one and cuts the other but in the process is bitten; thus, collapsing from poison. A dwarven war-cry echoes just before the hammer falls smashing the last spider. It is then a mad rush backtracking the path, Brackrog carrying Rambler and Rowlie plus G-non carrying Baldor, till the group emerges from the trees back at the wagon where Belgo sits crying.

A short rest for healing. Ladee’s medical skills to revive Rambler; kingsfoil salve to aid the other wounded. Yet Baldor still babbles nonsense which warrants Rambler tying him to the wagon seat. “You best not run again; I won’t be saving you next time.” [Turns out Baldor has lost about 5 years worth of memory.]

It’s a somber wagon ride as they continue the path. Belgo still sobs and rubs his amulet, “I lost my mother the night Smaug fell on the house. Father tried to pull her free, but….now father…have I lost him too?” Singing drifts from the trees ahead. Rambler and Ladee understand snippets of the elven tune, “Leaving this world for the blessed lands.” Rowlie tries his best to mimic the tune on his stringed instrument.

The clearing ahead is sunny but now empty; the song but a memory. Yet as the horses graze in the meadow, relief seems to ebb through the group. Some have recovered their exhaustion. Except Baldor, Galanon, and Rambler who seem to feel even worse [2^nd point exhaustion and Shadow point.] As the dwarf looks down the road, he worries, “Baldor may have lost his memory but I’ll be certain to keep reminding him of our promised pay!”