A11 – It’s All Fun and Games Till Someone Gets Hurt

After traveling to Lorien to report on Dwimmerhorn and the shadowy figure, some of us parted ways for a long awaited fellowship. Rowlie stayed, enthralled by the sweet elvish music. Galanon stayed for rest to purge his Shadow Points under care of fellow elves. Brackrog traveled to Rosgobel seeking his own means of purging his Shadow: by drowning it away with ale…LOTS OF ALE. Meanwhile Rambler traveled east to the Woodland Hall while Ladee traveled west to his Shire. Thus it was early October when the group rejoined at Galanon’s home in Lorien. The hobbit Ladee reporting first, “The goblins are more active having closed the High Pass; for now the Middle Pass near Mountain Hall is still open. And since it was so close, I stopped in to checkup on the families we’d rescued and escorted there. Except the gate guards turned me away; curiosity to thus sneak in. Where I learned the traitor Magric is now advisor to lord Hartfast and preaching isolationism. The peoples happy because the goblin threat has melted away; and their pockets getting lined by gold as they now mine for treasure and iron-ore they smith into weapons.”

Brackrog’s hand clamped down on Rowlie’s shoulder as the Breeman seethed, wanting to kill Magric. “We have more important business. Radaghast suggests we travel to Dale for the 10^th anniversary of the ‘Battle-of-the-Five-Armies.’ He tasks us as emissaries representing our own races. Rambler scowls, “He wants us to party instead of kill a traitor?!” Disorder and division till the dwarf finds the words to restore focus, “The wizard foretells dire events north. There is reason for us to go as we have seen the most over these last years.”

We depart on horseback stopping to cross the Anduin to gain the east side of the river. Rambler whispering sweet-nothings in the horse-ears to calm them on the rafts as we cross. Days back on familiar grounds as we head north to the Old Ford gate, then on to Boerning pausing at the Easterly Inn. Then on to the Forest Gate as we turn east onto the Elf Pass and its oppressive cloak of despair. Always cautious to stay the path but luck to fell a deer for dinner and find Shadowthorn herb (poison aid).

A day short of the Woodland Realm and Rowlie points out a ‘murder’ of crow circling to the south. “Gore crows by the look of them. Spies for foul beasts.” Arriving at the elven underground hall, we pass the sighting to Thranduil who seems little concerned (arrogant?). Galanon passes news of Galadriel’s withdrawn mood in Lorien while Thranduil updates us on Erime, “She barely hangs on. She now journeys to Grey Haven to sail for Valinor as her time comes to a close.” It’s a night to catchup on recent events.

Leaving our horses with the elves, we board rafts to sail east to Esgaroth then travel north to Dale. Alive with a growing landscape of colorful tents and cacophony of celebration. Jugglers, fire-eaters ,hawkers pushing their ware, toy makers. 

“Ah, master hobbit. I’ve just the treasure you seek. THE black-iron arrow that fell the fire beast Smaug. I’ll let you have it for mere coins to feed my children.” As the salesman holds up the prize, Ladee notes the smug of black paint upon the hawkers’ fingertips. “Don’t listen to him. I’VE the true arrow.” A fight breaks out, but the noise muffled by laughter of the surrounding crowd. But the hobbit IS drawn to another merchant selling masquerade masks, “You’ll need one for tonight’s ball. One of the original 13 will be there.”

Activities to suit everyone’s desires. Archery contests, minstrel challenges, wrestling, arm wrestling, tests of strength. Rowlie practices by singing about our recent heroic deeds; enough coin tossed his way to buy his masquerade mask. It’s near twilight as we pass the new fountain near the center of town: a large dragon spouting water, a black arrow in its side; an obvious reference to Smaug. Cheers rise up as King Bard steps upon a raised dais in the market square gloriously summarizing these last years of prosperity and growth since Smaug’s demise. The flourishing trade even from the far east. Pause as an old man steps up to his side, before casting aside his robe…it is Gandalf-the-Grey! With a mere flourish of fingertips, a grand fireworks display erupts!

Cheering rises in volume. Till the fire-dragon swoops overhead. Cries from the children and gasps from those of Laketown…the vision still too fresh. The dais wobbles as a large dwarf bellows with laughter…

it is Bombar-the-Large; wine drowning his beard. Another of the original 13! Soon the king and his court depart.

Another human steps forward yelling to the crowd, announcing a new contest. Standing behind a chest of gold he proclaims, “Prove yourself the best warrior in the Grand-Melee and take home a fortune!” The night grows long as ale flows continuous. Brackrog doing his best to keep up with the boerning perched near the keg. Galanon meanwhile is distracted (as always) by a fair elf maiden (Galia) who plans to enter tomorrow’s archery contest.

And that’s when the court jester steps up to Rambler, “So tell me Woodsman, plans to display your horseman ship? Ah, the silent type. Like a horse.” Surprise that Rambler allows the jester to climb upon the woodsman’s back, “May I ride you like one?!” Laughter fills the room. Revelry by all. Phew! I thought the jester a goner for sure!

Morning brings sunshine. “Quiet out there! The dead are still trying to sleep!” And pounding headaches. But this is no time for silence as the “Battle-of-the-Bands” commences. Surprise a group of dwarves gain favor while the elf band seems off key from too much wine. Rowlie finds his timing with a new song commemorating Erime that warms elven hearts but only earns him 2^nd place to the dwarves. Next comes wrestling; easily won by the boerning despite all the ale he has consumed. The crowd next surges toward the horse-riding event where Rambler proves his mark. His toughest opponent is a young elf (Elistan) who scores a bullseye. Riding in tight quarters and turns, Rambler is still able to score a bullseye with his well thrown spear (a natural 20!) that splits the shaft of Elistan’s spear! Next up is most of the group participating in the archery contest. Rowlie out after the 1^st round while Brackrog makes the cut. Come the final round it is Galia scoring near dead center while Brackrog and Rambler barely hit paper. Question which head Galanon uses as he steps forward to shoot; scoring dead center! The winner! Galanon offers a congratulatory nod to Galia.

It’s now time for the main event, “LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLE!” Grand Melee; weapons padded, mosh-pit, groups fighting as teams. Our group survives the 1^st round. But Ladee and Galanon are eliminated in the 2^nd. Not surprising the elf quickly seeks Galia’s side to watch the rest of the contest.

Rambler/Rowlie/Brackrog oppose Elistan and his 2 allies. “Boo, Boo” as Rambler’s team delays. Cheers when Elistan charges forward even though he runs into prepared slashes. Hacks and slashes with blunted weapons till Elistan falls; which means Brackrog is momentarily out of the fight (per the rules) as he has to drag his foe to the sideline medic. Elistan’s allies hold their own…for awhile. At least they take down the dwarf. It’s now Rambler faced off against Rowlie. And the Breeman doesn’t disappoint! With a flourish and flair, Rowlie purposefully makes a 2-handed slash at Rambler, leaving himself open for counterattack. The crowd gasps as Rowlie grabs his chest, wails a dying pain, and collapses. Silence. Fear by the crowd a death has occurred in what was supposed to be a friendly fight. Then roar of cheer when Rowlie’s arm shoots skyward with clenched fist before rising to then take a bow. Rambler may have won the gold but Rowlie won the crowd.

The evening festival is a grand gathering of all the winners and supporters …those who can still stand. The grand prize chest set prominently at the head of the room. More free ale quickly consumed as all await the master-of-ceremonies. It’s near 10pm when a man wearing a masquerade mask steps forward and points to his throat implying hoarse. 100 silver to Galanon the master-archer. 100 silver to the boerning master-wrestler…well, if he’d step forward. Too busy puking from too much ale. 100 silver to the dwarven minstrels. And finally the chest of gold for Rambler. The MC steps forward dipping his arms into the chest to then toss coin into the crowd. Surprise as his mask slips off revealing the court-jester.

Pained surprise for the jester and crowd as it’s not coin his tosses, but rather snakes! Some having bitten his hands. “POISON!” A madhouse of scrambling bodies trying to evade the snakes. Too many bodies lie upon the floor. Soon discovery the ale was also poisoned.

Rowlie was the first bitten and poisoned. Brackrog collapsed from too much poisoned ale. Fortune Ladee found Shadowthorn earlier in their trek that aids poison recovery. But not enough for ALL the fallen warriors. Rambler? “I’ve been robbed! Where’s my damn gold?!” As Galanon and Ladee rush to inform the king, Rambler is off tracking the man who organized the events. “You mean Lockmand? Always knew him a shyster, even before he left Longlake all those years ago then returned wealthy. He brought the ale up the River Running on barges.”

But King Bard is already aware. The city guards doubled. Marshall law. Come morning, a thrush flies into town landing in the bell tower. Soon the call goes out, “Harken. Orc, goblin, wargs march forth! All able-bodied warriors man the walls.” Within the hour, the adventurers are called to council before the king. A momentary glimpse of Bard-the-Bowman betrays a hint of dejection at how he’d been duped. Years thinking he’d grown alliances to only now realize he’d been blind to harrowing events.

But he quickly puts on a face of leadership that seeks answers and actions rather than guilt or forlorn. “Lockmand’s treachery has crippled us. Warriors weakened in the bouts of contest and/or poisoned. The thrush reports our enemy march from the south out of the East-Bight of southern Mirkwood. Outriders will be here soon. We have at best 11 days to prepare.”

Brackrog ensures the king the dwarves of Erober and the Iron Hills will come to join the fight. Galanon offers to seek the help of King Thranduil. Ladee suggests healers gather Shadowthorn. Maybe the master-healers can concoct a fast-acting remedy for the poison. Rambler suggests delaying actions against the marching army, “Deny their crossing the River Running.” Bard smiles pleased at the ideas, “I can send other emissaries to gather our dwarven and elf allies. I need you to slow our foe.” Studying the maps, Rowlie points to a small dash, “Here. The Bridge of Celduin. The only other safe crossing is further east where River Running joins the Redwater River out of the Iron Hills.”

And so with fast horses the adventurers ride out of Dale. Most city folk too preoccupied barricading their homes to realize the significance. It’s a half-day ride to Esgaroth where the citizens are more exposed without walls to protect them. A commotion at the docks. Town guards drag a body out of the reeds. “That’s one of the men who accompanied Lockmand who just sailed back east.” His throat cut. Lockmand covering his trail. The rest of the day learning all we can about this treacherous man. Then back on the path south come morning. Farmers in their fields oblivious to the approaching threat. No time to argue with them. On the 3^rd day we are spotted by Gore-crows who peel southwest. Rowlie’s keen eyes spy other flock further south. We continue on our task.

On the 7^th day Rowlie signals halt as he spies a small advanced party of orc and warg heading our way. Ladee councils to let them pass so we aren’t delayed wrecking the bridge. Brackrog and the others say ambush, “For a prisoner and information. Rowlie can speak their tongue.” And so it is: ambush from 3 copse of trees.

 Galanon the first to fire his aimed arrow dropping the lead warg. Ladee shots but misses the orc leader, but then surprises all as he moves into the space of the closest orc. The foe unable to hit the crafty urchin who provides flanking for Rowlie who rushes forward for the kill. And then the hobbit off to share the leaders’ space. Meanwhile Rambler looses arrows before closing into melee joining Brackrog battling other orc. Within minutes Brackrog has broken-the-back of the last warg, the orc leader dismissed, and Rambler’s dog clamped onto the last orc. “OK, we have our prisoner. Rowlie tell him a story that will convince him to clue us into the army’s whereabouts and plans.”