A8 - Dreamscape

The eagles fly north to one of their aeries on the eastern slopes of the Misty Mountains, dropping Írimë and the adventures in nests before flying away. Surprised to find another dwarf among the ranks, “I am Dolomite, from Erobor. I was attacking the flanks of an orc army climbing the mountains, when this great bird swooped down and plucked me from the ground. I don’t know whether to be thankful or irked that he interrupted by battle.” A fireless night (fear of burning the nest) has most cold and shivering, exhaustion setting in. Except Írimë who rises to the morning sun with her songful voice carried across the mountains.

Which ushers in Gaeranon, Lord of the eagles sporting a dwarven crafted crown. “My lady is always welcome but who are these strangers that my children risked life; for Gaerthor lies mortally injured from a poisoned orc arrow.” Ladee quickly steps forward offering aid as he realizes it is ‘Chip’ the king mentions. Rowlie and Galanon pass along their kingsfoil salve as the hobbit healer is flown away. Hours pass before the hobbit returns, with a feather in his cap, “Fortune the cold slowed the poison. I was able to pluck the arrow and cleanse the wound (Medicine 27). With rest, he should recover soon.”

Gaeranon offers the nest only for another night, “No offense but your smell disturbs the others. And we have much to patrol. Troubles up north, orcs moving west of the mountains, and a curious fortress south near the river Gladden. What was long abandoned by men now has signs of shadow servants.” With that, the stay among the eagles is done, “We are grateful for your rescue. But we’d best leave now to not impose upon you more. Írimë has an appointment with her cousins. If you could fly us one last time.” And so it is we are once more walking the road only yesterday swarming with orc.

As we travel west we come upon a familiar bridge which has just recently been washed away; a field of wet boulders the only option to cross. As Rambler and others plan a crossing with use of rope, Galanon skips the boring delay, jumping across the boulders at a narrow section, Well, he tried to jump. Now a soaked rat climbing the banks on the other side. Surprise that it is Brackrog the dwarf who skillfully crosses the river to then stand (dry) on the far bank stretching the rope taunt, “Well don’t just stand there. We haven’t all day; right elf?” A wet hobbit climbs out of the waters having fallen off the rope. Rambler crosses but his wolf-dog refuses (Animal Handle-1; Inspiration – 1). Till Dolomite eyes the dog as another meal! Inspiration. But at least all are across the river.

We resume the trek. Írimë reminisces as we come upon familiar ruins, “Haycombe was a thriving merchant village near 5 centuries ago. But alas burned to the ground thru treachery, and its peoples marched off to slavery.” A somber tale that forces silence as we climb higher along the road till Ladee scouts a campsite (Scout roll 5). As we struggle to find comfort among the rocky floor, Írimë retreats to a plateau so she can commune with nature. Rambler joins her as guard while Rowlie strums his lyre in tune with her songs. The watch-order set as we settle in. Hours pass before Rambler takes note of the stars blinking out.

Dark clouds seem to roll in from the southeast despite headwinds. When he points them out to Írimë, grave concern crosses her face. Before alarm can be sounded, darkness envelopes the camp. Silence.

Morning brings visions of snow across a well maintained road. Voices drift along the cold air, coming from a bustling merchant town below. Haycombe is alive with people! Dolomite pinches his arm to check if he is awake, as we all stroll into the town square. Merchants hawk their ware, spices scent the air as cooks offer open-market food, children laughter echoes along the streets. Rowlie mingles with the citizens before coming back with the news, “Have we stepped into Írimë‘s vision of this city? For its 5 centuries earlier as she described yesterday; year 2460. The men gone south lead by their alderman named Heafod. Gone 4 months now.” Brackrog injects, “I think best with ale. Remember the ruins last time we passed here? Let’s go find that pub ‘Falling Goat’.”

Sure enough the pub stands ready for patrons. The proprietor Aldor greets us, “Little early for drinks isn’t it gents? Not that I’m turning away business. Welcome, welcome. Heafod? Our alderman, very brave, wonderful man. Led our soldiers south to besiege a fortress there. So, 5 ales you say. Oh, 5 just for the dwarf, singles for everyone else.” Rowlie slips away to join another minstrel named Geb. In no time he’s in sync with the tune; a song about another great dragon. A young boy approaches Brackrog, “Excuse me sir. May I squire for you? I best learn how to fight like my father who marches with Heafod.” The dwarf attempts to wave the boy away, “Not till you get taller.” The boy Haleth rebukes, “But I’m already taller than you!” Ladee leans in to whisper to Dolomite, “I thought Lady Írimë said these people were enslaved?” No sooner does he speak the words than he’s assaulted by a momentary vision: Írimë stands upon the plateau fighting a shadowy bipedal foe. Ladee relays to all how we are stuck in a dream.

Meanwhile Galanon spies a female elf and strikes up conversation. Rodwen adds more detail, “Heafod took his men to the hill-of-sorcery to spy on. We Mirkwood elves tried to warn him against such actions but humans are foolish.” Meanwhile Aldor approaches the table with an armful of beers, “That’ll be 2 copper.” Rambler pays with a silver. But most surprising to those who notice: the silver is stamped for this year! Not to mention these folk talk an older dialect. Yet not only do we understand their speech, we actually reply in the same dialect!

Church bells toll and cheering erupts in the streets, “Our men return!” Rowlie and Ladee head out the door as Rambler and Dolomite climb the stairs for balcony access. Galanon climbs to the roof. Brackrog, slowed by 5 ales, is stuck in the crowd surging outside. Coming up the road, atop a wagon stands the alderman Heafod tossing coin and trinkets into the growing crowd. He’s surrounded by Haycombe's men now guards (that seem to shamble more than walk), while a colorful army of near 100 soldiers in red bring up the rear. Haleth breaks free of the crowd as he rushes toward the guards, "Father, you've returned. What's wrong? You look different. Don't you recognize me? Speak to me father." Silence. The citizens look bewildered when Heafod steps from the wagon and (with arm raised in salute) speaks, “People of Haycombe. I have found our true leader. Come join me as we travel south to his rule.” Wrinkled eyebrows dance through the crowd. Rambler has had enough and takes action: an arrow shot at the alderman! Heafod’s arm drops signaling action: the ‘red’ Easterling soldiers attack the crowd to the rear, as the undead guards attack those nearest Heafod! 

Chaos as the crowd scatters thwarting our attack of Heafod. Brackrog and Ladee get off shots as their allies’ arrows rain down from the balcony and roof. Movement and confusion. Ladee rushes to slip behind Heafod (hoping the undead too slow to react to his rush past them to get at their master). Except Brackrog doesn’t follow! The drawf known for his crushing axe stands with his bow. Rowlie rushes in. Meanwhile Dolomite jumps from the balcony to help his brethren.

Flaming torches ignite the buildings prompting more panic. Mayhem. Rowlie plunges a blade into Heafod who drops. But undead claws rip into Rowlie’s chest; as he falls, for a brief second, he spies Írimë fighting the shadow. Ladee plunges his dagger into Haefod to confirm the kill, except the alderman grasps the hobbit’s arm, draws him close, then slams him with easy.

Haefod standing as he plucks arrows and blade from his chest with ease. The battle rages; soon we all fall. It was inevitable. A story run true. Unalterable.

We awaken in chains being led away by the undead zombies. The villagers in tow. Driven south/southeast to see the master. The children first to drop…whipped till they rise or left dead where they fell. Us unable to act. A flash of scenes played out as we jump ever so closer to Dol Guldur.

Escape impossible. Handed off to orcs when we reach Mirkwood forest. Soon tossed into the fetid dungeon waters of Dol Guldur.

Ladee thinks to call out to Írimë offering words of encouragement in her real battle. Oppression settles in. Despair climbing. By the 3^rd day of coughing and crapping blood, the proprietor Aldor dies. And that’s when a peace offering is made.

Our elf jailer Annatar tries to bribe us with words and trays of food, “Why suffer so? You need not be outcasts. Give in to the master who offers all you dream of pleasures and reward.” Rambler answers by kicking over the trays of food, “You sure sound like a Valter we once knew…and killed!” The elf Rodwen scolds Annatar, “You are no elf. How can you fall to such depravity?!” To which the jailer counters, “Not you elf. You will die. I was outcast by my people. But I found a new home.”

As Annatar leaves the cell, the minstrel Geb starts to eat the floating food as he considers the offer of life. Galanon offers consideration, “All men die. You have a choice how you die and are remembered.” Geb drops the food. Another day passes before a LARGE orc enters the cell calling for entertainment…Brackrog taking up the challenge. He’s led off to a gladiatorial arena where he faces a Cave Troll! Slowed from mounting exhaustion the dwarf is no match as the troll charges and smashes Brackrog who slumps dead. [Unknown to the others, Brackrog awakens (fully armed and dressed) at the mountain camp where Írimë battles the shadow. Arriving in time to address goblins climbing the slopes. Arrows to thin their ranks, then axe as they close into melee. One goblin cleaved as the axe slides into another. One after another till the patrol is vanquished. Fires in the distance foretell the goblin army threat so near.]

“But it’s only a dream. Why hasn’t Brackrog returned?” Another day as the orc points to the boy Haleth, “You’re next. Later.” Ladee consoles the crying boy, “You’ll be OK. Change cloths with me and I’ll take your place.” Except on the appointed hour, the orc sees through the ploy, hauling poor Haleth away.

Misery till all see a flash of Írimë, “I need you now!” But how? How do we escape this dream?

Once again Annatar enters the cell, this time tossing Haleth’s head into the room. “You bastard!” But we are slowed, restrained by some means, as a black mist flows into the cell.

The mist transforms into human shape (with glowing green eyes) that picks up Haleth’s head…the mouth opening to speak (oh so familiar to the severed head Valter carried). Galanon stabs at the head as Rodwen squares up against the mist. As she raises her arm to strike, the image of Írimë materializes behind her. A bolt of white-hot light arcs out striking the shadowy man…

We awake in the present. Írimë lies unconscious. Brackrog rushes forward, “Welcome back.” As we gather round the lady, we soon realize elf warriors approach from the western rise. Ladee recognizes the twins Elladan & Elrohir; the cousins Írimë spoke of. After we explain recent events, Elrohir offers, “We will take her back to our king Elrond. I suggest you contact Radagast in Rosgobel. He will help you.”