A19: Magical Lock

[Carl/Rambler and Darrick/Brackrog were absent. And we rolled so bad, you’d of thought we were writing binary code!]

Tarrin and the other rangers (Beleg, and the female Morwin) escort our group out of Rivendell on our journey west toward Weathertop. Dolomite in high spirits as he watches his Raven companion soar overhead. Before exiting the mountains, Ladee is able to find patches of Athelas to brew healing potions for all. When asked, the rangers tell of their foray into the Trollshaw forests south of Ettenmoors. “Orc and cave-trolls. And even a flying fellbeast.” Which launches Rowlie into storytelling of the fellbeast we spotted days ago flying north along the Anduin river east of the Misty Mountains, “One and the same?” We soon camp within a glade split by a fresh stream. Dinner of rations since the [hunter] hobbit’s arrow missed the grazing goats. More relaxed conversations as if the Shadow is but a dream.

It’s easy to tell the elven borders after crossing the last bridge, as the road soon turns into dis-repair. So bad, Ladee pauses to search for orcish pitfalls and traps. We are on edge when Galanon spots a lone traveler approaching from a distance. “Where? I can’t see him.” Ladee’s sight confirming the short nature of the traveler. His singing soon upon the winds, “The road goes ever on…”, “Bilbo?! Mr. Baggins!” An early camp for stories as Rowlie is eager to learn new tunes and tales. Surprise by most as morning rays reveal the hobbit’s departure. At least Ladee had time to give a parting gift; a potion of healing, “There’s orcs and foul beasts ahead.”

Then suddenly the rangers depart the road, “One of our patrol areas and a shortcut.” Into rolling hills before Tarrin reveals, “Behold a wonder of the old realm.” Raised aqueducts that still carry fresh water. Within a half hour the road is back in sight; so, Ladee pauses atop a hill to scan for smoke or glint of metal that might betray orc camps. But the small puffs of smoke only suggest isolated farms. No threats here. Yet suspiciously there are no such small puffs north of the hill. “Where are the northern farmers?” But the hobbit’s musing goes unanswered. We set camp short of the road; Ladee spotting a deer and leaving the elf to bring it down.

Morning comes early as the rangers break camp. We are soon near the foot of Weathertop when Tarrin offers, “An ancient history of the Numenorians’ fight against the Witchking. It’s rumored the men dug into the hill carving rooms full of heirlooms. Stored to fight against the evil another day.” As we move closer to the hill, Ladee suggests Dolomite use his dwarven skills to scout for entrances to the rumored rooms. No entrance, but a crumbling path offers climb to the top. The more skillful climb first, setting a rope anchor to aid the heavy-armored dwarf in his climb.

We stand atop the hill, short of the crumbling walls of the ancient watchtower. “Come, let’s look for hidden trapdoors that may offer passage to the rooms below.” We span out. Rowlie soon announces his discovery of chiseled glyphs, “Written in goblinese, but a better handwriting. Reads, ‘I sealed this because orc have been infesting the archives below. Only I know the key to open this vault’.” Dolomite peruses the glyphs, “I’d say these are recent cuts. Within the year.” All take note of the carvings of a raised hand…a ward set to discourage evil? But most disturbing is the carving itself: more childish in image. Crazed? Ladee fails to find any signs of a mechanical trap, “Must be magical.”

As the sun nears the horizon, some suggest descent to make camp…jitters preying on their nerves. But the majority settles on camping within the stone circle. Around the campfire, the rangers offer, “There are scholars to the north at Trussle Bridge who might unravel this mystery.” Dolomite begins watch sending his raven on wind for better view. But the bird returns quickly cawing …a report? Or frightened by larger prey? The dwarf scans the sky spying a dark cloud…birds! But they turn short and angle north. During Galanon’s watch, the elf leans down to converse with the stone door. “Scar. Scars.” The elf reasons something is on the other side of the door; trapped and clawing to get out?

Nightmares? Something drives the rangers to break camp early without breakfast. We head north along the western side of the Weather Hills. First the sound of songs then the cloud of dust announces a contingent of dwarves. Dolomite steps forward to greet his fellowmen…and hairy, bearded women. “Yes, we travel from the Blue Mountains to claim riches out east. Yes, we DO travel to Erebor. You’ve been there? And have left?! And have taken company with this Breeman? Don’t tell us YOU like their weak beer?! Come, join us. We’ll reacquaint you with REAL beer!” Dolomite takes the ribbing and offers warnings of orc beyond the Misty Mountains, “I’ve left a few for you to crack skulls. But I’d suggest you go around the High Pass as Goblin-town has regrown. Those little bugger goblins are more numerous than ticks in your beard, flowing faster than froth down your chin.”

We trudge on till Galanon signals halt for camp. Adequate. Morning breakfast before we pack along, soon coming to a large chasm when the rangers exclaim, “Welcome to Trussle Bridge.” While a bridge spans the chasm, there is no city in sight. Till you stand upon the bridge and look down. There, along the walls are Dunedain buildings carved into the rock. A wonderous sight indeed [Inspiration and heal 2 Shadow]. Tarrin shows the way as he presents us to the guards. Ladee distracted by the art of these long-lived humans. Rowlie more focused on conversation as he overhears many rumors:

1. “It’s pointless watching the Shire. No one bothers them. Why would they?"
2. “The stirrings in Angmar should be our greatest concern.”
3. "Just as our greatest warrior has left us. Her family annihilated.”

All are shown to an inn with rooms offered. Food laid out; ale flowing. Except Ladee. It’s with surprise when the hobbit enters the room; a good 2 feet taller than normal. Cuffed by his collar. The guard presenting the misfit, “Is this one of yours?!” Laughter and spilled beer. Then an offer by Rowlie to perform his best practiced stories, “The dragon at the watchtower.” More mugs fill the table top.

Morning breakfast is in time to overhear returning patrols report of calm around the area. Nothing near the Shire or Bree; nothing around the Barrow-Downs. 

Like silence within a forest; unnerving. We are led to the library where we seek the reported scholar who might make sense of the glyph. Galanon steps forward with a rubbing of the glyph (raised hand) he’d make, while offering a backhanded compliment, “Your library is quite impressive…for man.” Genealogy books are researched trying to find the recognized family crest of the raised hand. “Ah yes, Druedain. Let’s see…the father and kids are all lined out. Only Morwen remains.” All eyes turn to our ranger escorts. The female blushes then stands with confidence, “Yes, my mother named me after the great Huntress. Hopefully someday I too can earn that title.” The librarian is quick to continue, “SHE’s the greatest warrior of all; gone missing this last year. Said to have gone crazy after her family was brutally slain. It is said she hides out in the Weather Hills hunting orc and evil. Bewitched she is; dug up her family and carted their bodies off. She’s rumored to be in the Valley of Oreum. Seek the keyhole mountain. The rising sun will reveal her front door. But caution; she is clever. Good at making traps.”

Galanon takes the opportunity to search her quarters; Dunedain traditions leave the belongs of the departed untouched for 2 years. So it’s not long before the elf finds her diary tucked under her mattress. “Here’s a passage from last year…sounds dark in tone…speaks of avenging their death…sees something going on at Weathertop…and somehow she’s learned the magical secret of ‘Sealing’.” Despite traditions, Galaonon is allowed to take a family portrait along as our introduction. “Her husband was named Malbeth.”

It’s another night within the chasm before we depart southeast for the Valley of Oreum. Eyes downcast to the bright sun as our pupils have widened for night-vision these last 2 days. It’s a long trek, made worst by the hunter’s foraging only turning up turnips. Our scout no better, having settled on a rocky camp. Morning brings no change in lack as the hunter’s arrow is so far off mark, the goat doesn’t even flinch. We are within the valley yet cannot find “the keyhole.”  Another camp and more goats but even the elf cannot bring one down. At least Rowlie has better aim, “We’ll save this one for the Huntress as an offering.” He guts it packing the meat with salt.

Morning brings a change in luck as hobbit eyes spot the needle…just in time as sunlight enters the keyhole shining a beam upon the far mountain wall. Dolomite is quick to find the mark and the true keyhole, sliding his knife into the slot. A stone slab slides back and the dwarf is face-2-face with a guard with blade raised high! Rowlie is quick to intercede, “Steady lad, we mean you no harm. We seek parley with the Huntress.” No ground given, his blade still at the ready. The dwarf steps closer, “Come now, we mean no…” Dolomite’s jaw drops at the realization the guard is but a stuffed human. He gags when he notices its resemblance (in the portrait) to Morwen’s husband Malbeth!

Ladee is called into service to scout doors ahead within the carved stone passages. He gives a quizzical look as he passes the stuffed guard, “Is that a Dunedain tradition?” With Rowlie holding his lantern high, the hobbit opens the first door. Galanon barks out, “Careful you fool. Don’t you remember she is skilled at traps!”  He approaches the next room with more caution. This untrapped door opens unto a dining room. 8 stuffed children ring the plate laden table. A gruesome sight! “This woman has surely lost her mind. Can we even hope to reason with her?!”

Another long corridor with Rowlie turning left down a side passage as the elf stays straight ahead. Rowlie’s door opens into a large room filled with brown mold and orcish skeletons. Meanwhile Galanon pauses as he notices the lack of dust ahead. Ladee is called into service to find the floor-drop trap; punji sticks below. Rowlie returns to the group as Galanon skirts the side wall around the trap. Rowlie tries the same but falls into the sticks. Ladee uses the opportunity to walk across the Breeman’s back like a bridge. From the other side the hobbit is able to disarm the trap. Ladee pesters Dolomite, “Come on across. I think it will hold.” Such confidence stirs the dwarf, “I’ll keep watch from here.”

Pause to treat Rowlie’s wounds, then another door ahead that opens unto living quarters! Recently occupied. Weapons at the ready encourages the dwarf to risk crossing the trap, joining his allies. A side door opens into a privy, “Ewe!” The next door opens to the sight of 20 archers upon a high ledge aiming at Rowlie. “Stop!” Rowlie responds to the female voice with offer, “We are allies come to aid your cause. This family portrait is proof we come from your home in Trussle Bridge.  As Morwen leans forward to peer at the portrait from a distance, all notice the other archers move in unison. As she climbs down, the archers disappear. Realization she has cleverly setup mirrors to mimic her every move above!

“What brings you here?!” Dolomite’s answer is to toss the dead goat at her feet. Uncooked, yet that doesn’t stop her. She claws into the warm meat chewing slabs at a time, talking at the same time. We’ll you can’t really call it talking because there is no way to understand her garbled voice. As she feasts, Rowlie tries to explain our discovery of the Weathertop glyph. Potential artifacts within that may aid our cause against the Shadow. Using the back of her hand, Morwen wipes her lips, “Yes, yes. I was quite clever in THAT lock. Seal them in I did. You want the key? Ha. Maybe if you can answer this riddle, ‘What runs but never walks, has a mouth that never eats, has…” Ladee interrupts, “River.” Morwen is pissed at the interruption, “Smart are you. The answer but not the answer. At least not in the correct tongue.” Dolomite ponders before responding, “I believe in dark tongue it is called ‘DUIN’.”

“Yes, yes indeed. You are a clever lot. Smarter than the orc I trapped inside. Them and their experiments. Trying to make beast that can see in both directions. 5 of them I trapped. Now let them feast upon their own kind trying to stay alive. Hhaha. Ha ha ha!” Insane! No reasoning with her. We slowly back out of the room as Galanon bids farewell, “Enjoy the goat…”, then mumbles, “CRAZY BITCH!” Echoes within the passages, “Robin?”