A12 – “They’ve Got a Troll!”

[Darrick/Brackrog was absent]

Rowlie puts on his best scowl face as Rambler splashes water on the unconscious orc prisoner. In orcish he interrogates, “How many scouting parties have already crossed the River Running? Where did you cross? What are your plans?” Overconfident and the least bit intimidated, the orc replies, “We’re here to destroy and burn for the main army but 2 days south. Bow now and I’ll offer kind words in your behalf to our leader, the Gibbet. He may be caged in a rolling wagon but his powers reach beyond his cell. He can animate the dead or possess other bodies. Tremble before him for he is…” The sentence cut short as the Breeman’s blade slices his throat. “Blah, blah, blah. He’s bad, he’s evil. Like we haven’t seen that already.” We search the orc bodies finding poison tipped arrows and blades. Not surprising. We press on south.

Dusk settles on the few standing walls of a long ancient city that makes shelter for the night. A rushed morning breakfast before we settle onto our horses, then hours before we hear the roar of the river ahead still a half-mile away. “Here to cross my bridge?” A near blind old man with his young daughters escorting him introduces himself as Eric, son of Arlon, master of Celduin. “Any with coin can cross my bridge. Yes, even orc if they pay.” Rowlie tries to expression the dire nature of the shadow army that approaches and the threat to the north. Eric will have none of it, “Loyalty to Dale? What has he done for my people? Nay, we tend for ourselves and further our wealth as owners of the only crossing for hundreds of miles. Bard can thank US for allowing trade to flow his way.” Surprise that Rambler or Galanon haven’t slain the pompous old fool.

Eric leads us into his town pointing out the various businesses, “See my grand manor? DrunkenStone Inn over there. Baroth the bartender.” While Barkrog and Rowlie visit the inn, the elf and hobbit continue to the bridge to determine what chances we have of toppling it. Three arches span the fast-flowing river. Two story towers flank this end of the bridge with a lowered portcullis between. Ancient Numanorian construction of the finest stone meant to stand for millennia. It’s not coming down anytime soon. But it hasn’t been cared for either; the massive iron gates stand open and rusted.

As Galanon climbs the towers to inspect the structure, Ladee slips between the portcullis bars and crosses the bridge. He soon steps upon the far hills looking south for the army. Dark clouds hover in the distance, maybe 40 miles away. But even at this distance, with squinted eyes, Ladee realizes it’s not clouds but a massive swarm of bats or crows! The hobbit settles in for watch for signs of advance scouts.

Rowlie now climbs the towers as the elf moves into town to count heads of able-bodied-men. Rowlie inspects the portcullis gear for raising while making other defendable evaluations. Galanon meanwhile is having little luck convincing the mothers to flee with their children, or the local farmers to raise arms against the approaching horde. Till he offers coin, “3 silver each for 3 days work.” Meanwhile Rambler has been collecting gear: stores of arrows, barrels of oil and grease. Thus the setting sun rays show the elf and his workers making oil-soaked wood piles scattered across the bridge. Caltrops sprinkled sparingly between. Rowlie sweats as he lugs the barrels to the upper tower ramparts. Ladee returns, “Torches bob closer maybe hours away.”

Ladee suggests disabling the portcullis gear now but the others say wait. Per Rambler, “It’ll take me mere moments to break it.” And that’s when the though of climbing goblins has Rowlie greasing the tower walls. And as a last resort, Rambler thinks to span a rope from tower height to the steps of the DrunkenStone Inn, “Our escape slide.” No sleep as we prepare.

It is dawn when a lone orc behind a tower shield steps before the far end of the bridge, a white flag raised, “Do not be fools. Open the gates and we’ll spare you. Even pay you. But resist and YOU’LL pay!” No one seems to ask where master Eric is as Rowlie answers for him, “Turn around now and be thankful we spare you.” A smile grows on the orc’s face as wolves and goblins step forward to his side, ‘Then we will oil your pretty stone with your blood.” The orc throws his flag into the river signaling his forces to advance. Galanon shoots a flaming arrow igniting the farthest wood pile, catching two wolves by surprise as flames lick their fur. Forewarned of the fire, the goblins scamper along the edges of the bridge. Our rain of arrows drop a few foe into the river. Galanon aims for the leader, sinking 2 arrows into his chest. Rowlie throws an oil barrel down upon the stone span before the portcullis. Then fire as the wolves arrive.

Despite our preparations, 3 goblin manage to reach and climb the tower engaging Rowlie. The lead wolf squeezes thru the portcullis where it faces Rambler’s wolf-dog. Snarls and snapping teeth, and a yelp has Rambler descending the stairs to aid his dog. Mayhem as the battle is taken to us. But Galanon stays focused on the leader along with Ladee’s lone arrow. Another wolf slips thru the portcullis. Then the orc leader falls, allowing the elf to switch targets to the closer wolves. Soon silence as all foe lie dead. Ladee tends the Breeman’s wounds before answering the Woodsman’s call to aid his dog. Then it’s time to reset: Rowlie taking the time to grease the bridge siding, the elf restacking his bridge piles, and Rambler tossing the orc leader’s body into the river, “No need to leave clues the advanced team faced a superior force.”

It’s dusk when the next foe arrive. Goblin archers pulling oil-pot carts. Galanon noting, “They’ve got a troll!” Flaming arrows arc skyward into Celduin setting buildings afire. Our arrows aimed at the lumbering troll crossing the bridge. Another grease barrel thrown before the gate doesn’t slow the brute.

But well aimed arrows sunk into its flab causes it to roar (Galanon and Rambler momentarily frightened). With a huge hammer, the troll nearly collapses the portcullis in one attack. Ladee rushes down the stairs and thru the opening to attack the beast from its underside in hopes of distraction. But the stupid beast is on a mission; one more swing drops the portcullis and another swing bashes the hobbit underneath. But 3 more of our arrows from above sink into the troll’s skull…it teeters then falls into the river; Ladee dodging to avoid being trampled or crushed in its fall.

Despite the city in flames, cheers rise up as the evil is thwarted. If only they knew. But Rowlie takes the opportunity to inspire townfolk to help close the rusted gates. Meanwhile Ladee is called away to tend a gravely injured Beoric, the first farmer to lift a sickle in defense of his home. Gut wound; hit by a flaming arrow. Nothing the healer can do other than say prayers over the dying husband. Sunrise crests the eastern river banks. It’s 10am when Beoric passes on. Yet with his passing, an otherworldly push that finally closes the creaky gates.

“A shadow from the north!” Concern we’re flanked by the earlier advanced orc patrols. But it is only a large raven which draws goblin response…arrows arcing skyward. The bird falls; a messenger as parchment falls from the grasp of its claws as the bird falls to earth. Rowlie scrambling to the bird’s side, “Corin, son of Roac. Fight shadow with water. Fight shadow with fire.” A rush to gather the parchment perched on the cliff edge, “Hail. Dale marches south. Look north at dawn.” Almost a full day away! Can we survive?!

We prop the broken portcullis on the bridge, pointed arrows pointed outward. It’s dusk when the wife Amidies rolls her husband Beorc’s body toward the cemetery. A piercing scream has all turning only to view Beorc rising from the cart, eyes glowing an ethereal green. “Fools. Dale is no help.” Rowlie rushes forward dumping the body into the nearest water trough. The green eyes fade. But drum beats rise in crescendo as the glow of torches crest the hills across the bridge. Galanon prematurely fires arrows starting the two furthest wood piles aflame. A stream of endless goblin pour forth, some shooting arrows, others crossing the bridge along its greased sides. Goblins fall into the river either by arrow or grease but every 5^th seems to make it across. Another troll arrives to storm the bridge, stopping to toss the portcullis aside as if it nothing.

And that’s when the cart is pulled forth, carrying the Gibbet. Evil undead. Who raises an arm casting…Galanon paralyzed with Shadow. The Gibbet then sweeping its arm and in response, all bridge obstacles swept aside; even a few goblin. At first we must defend ourselves against those goblins that have made the wall and Troll pounding the gates. Without the elf’s deadly arrows, the troll soon burst thru and continues into the town as screaming townfolk scatter. But more thrown oil barrels create another fire break slowing the advance of more goblin. And Galanon gains composure to slay the Troll. But the true threat still casts…Galanon weakened again; this time going mad (“Bout of Madness” - new Shadow Weakness). He climbs the tower ramparts…and jumps upon the slide rope to escape!

The rest of us begin to fire at the Gibbet. Rowlie even attempts to launch a grapple hook in hopes of snaring the cage to drag it into the river. Except the grapple falls short. Arrows clank off the iron rungs of the gibbet cage, but others sink into the body. Rambler’s arrows find their mark. The cage implodes as the body turns ethereal and a shadowy miss flies thru the skies north. North?! What pray-tell is the meaning?! As our eyes follow the mist we soon notice an advancing cloud. It is a dwarven army marching into town. And within the cluster of warriors emerges King Bard who showers the 3 remaining heroes with 100 gold apiece!