A tangled skein - adventures in western Middle-earth using the LOTR5e system

Eryndis watches as Aethelbrim climbs the hill, readying for whatever danger may come.

The young woman gently strokes Saddleback’s neck as she wonders what comes next in their journey. She knows nothing of the Hill Men, but when Gwinion says their tongue may be close to that of the fen, she begins to think she might be of some use in keeping the peace.

When Hildebrand speaks to her, Eryndis turns, a little startled. She steps nearer, feeling she should keep her voice low. “As Gwinion said ... the riddles.”

The pony stamps a hoof and tosses his head. She leans close and murmurs a word of comfort before looking back to the halfling. “Being so far from home ... it unsettles me.”

The party watching Aethelbrim on top of the hill sees her duck out of site behind what might have been an old rampart. She then reappears and yells down to the party "I think you, and Gwinion especially, need to come up here and have a look again this!"

Gwinion immediately climbed the hill to see what Aethelbrim wanted to show him.

Aethelbrim:

As Gwinion reaches the top of the hill, he sees Aethelbrim carefully brushing dirt off a rusted helmet crested by a shiny metal badge of seven stars.  She looks up as he approaches and moves aside to reveal a skull yet inside the helmet, with more of the body likely buried beneath them still.

“Seedeene described to me this badge—it identifies this warrior as a soldier of the Dagrim Aran—the royal army of Arnor,” says Aethelbrim softly, “Though I know not why we found him here.  Perhaps our joint vision of the soldiers is related, but with the body so long-dead we may never know.”

”Do you know the burial customs of these folk?  Left undisturbed where they fell, consigned to the flame, or perhaps laid to rest under a cairn? I do not wish to disturb the dead, but this badge could be important,” she adds. 

As Gwinion approached Aethelbrim she would notice that the badge he wears on his left shoulder matches the one on the helmet.  He kneels beside the helmet without a word, and reaches out to touch the crest with careful fingers. When he speaks, his voice is low and reverent.

"If it is not possible to bury the person in a properly prepared barrow - such as may happen during war - then the fallen would be laid to rest under a stone cairn. They would be laid on their back with the hands clasped on their chest. If they were a warrior then we would place their weapons around them." Surely she would also notice that he says we.

He looked around to see if there were any stones nearby and if there were with grim resolve he would begin to gather them and place them over the remains and build a cairn.

At Aethelbrim’s enthusiastic call, Hildebrand glances up the hill, shading his eyes slightly. For a moment, he looks very much like he intends to decline. “Oh, I’m quite certain it is a fine view—” He pauses, only to hear Orin voice nearly the same sentiment. He settles back near the road, one hand resting lightly on Constance’s reins, content—for the moment—to remain where the ground is level and predictable.

When Eryndis speaks beside him, her unease plain, his expression softens. He does not answer immediately—only meets her gaze with quiet understanding. After a brief pause, he speaks, low and easy. “You know… where I come from, it is considered a rather *remarkable* thing for a Hobbit to leave home at all.” A faint smile. “Adventures are spoken of far more often than they are undertaken.” He glances down the road, then back toward the distant hills. “And even then, most prefer their stories from the comfort of a well-cushioned chair.”

He seems about to continue—perhaps something more personal—but Aethelbrim’s voice cuts across the moment, sharper now. Hildebrand blinks, attention snapping upward. He looks to Eryndis. “I shan’t be long.”

The climb is not his preferred sort of travel, but he manages it with determination if not elegance. By the time he reaches the top, Gwinion is already speaking. Hildebrand slows as he approaches, taking in the sight—the rusted helm, the crest, the stillness of something long past yet not entirely gone. His usual lightness fades. He says nothing. When Gwinion begins to gather stones, Hildebrand steps forward without hesitation.

He picks up a stone, weighing it in his hands before placing it carefully nearby. “Like this?” he asks quietly, glancing to Gwinion—not for permission, but for guidance. He adjusts his choice when needed, selecting pieces that will sit well, that will not shift. As the cairn begins to take shape, Hildebrand’s movements grow more certain. Whatever else he may be uncertain of on this road… this, at least, feels clear. A small act. But the right one.

Eryndis listens to Hildebrand, wondering how alike hobbits and marshfolk are. She knows no reason, save an apprentice leech’s Going Forth, that would draw one of her people from the fen.

Her nimble fingers stroke her braid lightly.

When he hands her Constance’s reins, she takes them without comment and watches him scramble up the hill.

Hill ... and hill.

Looking back to Orin, she speaks a little absently. “If we must take the ponies up, it will be hard.”

Aethelbrim:

Thankful she waited for Gwinion’s counsel before blithely snagging the precious metal, Aethelbrim puts her physical training to good use to help provide the proper burial rites.

Calling down once their somber duty is nearly complete, she says, “We are almost done up here,” though she does pause and look for other bodies that might need a similar burial (Perception 16).

"Aye, that it would be." Orin replied to Eryndis before letting out a tired sigh. "But we be not be hearing less than cheek should we not try all the same." He continued more quietly as the words were meant mainly for Ernydis, along with a wink.

With a bit of a huff and a puff and a groan born of both mild discomfort and age, Orin eventually found his footing, before begrudgingly carrying on up the hill following Aethelbrim's request. Her excitement -- though contagious to some degree -- seeming to hardly move the dwarf to make the climb with any real enthusiasm. Just a careful and methodical pace, if but to avoid embarrassing himself by catching the incline wrong and go tumbling back down it.

He'd already experienced such twice in his lifetime since the incident, and he would sooner swim in lava before making it a third! Thankfully, even had the others not waited for his eventually joining at the top, his old ears were yet sharp enough to catch the exchanges, and leave him looking thoughtful even as he reached the top winded by the exertion. Wordlessly though, he eventually joined in the building of the cairn. 

Rest of Day 6 and Days 7, 8 & 9

In accordance with the ancient traditions as explained by Gwinion, the party starts to build a cairn. As they search for suitable rocks, they find a rusty shield boss, and a rusted spear head. They lay these beside the warrior and then cover the remains with a pile of stone. It takes a couple of hours to complete the job properly and by about mid-morning they are ready to continue their journey. They have now left the Greenway well behind and continue their climb into the North Downs. The rest of the day continues uneventfully as does that night.

The next day (Day 7) is a sunny clear day but they can see threatening clouds building. Both the day and night passes peacefully.

The next day (Day 8) as they continue to head northeast away from Bree, the party are noticing they are steadily climbing and that while not cold the air is a bit colder. Late in the afternoon a massive thunderstorm blows in from the north. While they can find some cover they cannot avoid getting very wet, which means that the night is going to be uncomfortable but it too passes peacefully.

The next day (Day 9) the party wakes to a day of steady rain. At some point during the day Gwinion – not overly familiar with the country – makes a wrong turn and leads the party up a blind canyon. This adds a further five miles to the distance the party travels that day. However, as the sun is starting to go down the rain has finally died away and as they emerge from a thick forested patch they can see directly in front of them what can only be the hill that Rupert described. In the light of the setting sun they can just make out the ring of standing stones on its crest.

Roles required:

All players pls make a DC 11 Constitution saving throw – success = 0 exhaustion / failure = 1 x level of exhaustion / failure by -5 = 2 x levels of exhaustion / failure by -10 = 3 x level of exhaustion (nb Exhaustion is as per D&D5e (2024) [pg 366 referrs] – i.e. 1 level = -2 x Exhaustion level on D20 rolls and speed is reduced by 5 x Exhaustion level in feet)

Con Save vs Exhaustion(DC 11): 5. 

Hildebrand Con Save vs Exhaustion (DC 11): 12

Trust did not come easily to Gwinion. The world had seen to that. But as his companions moved without hesitation to help him honor the dead, setting stone upon stone in quiet solidarity, something shifted in him. He met each of their eyes in turn as they worked, and gave a slow nod of thanks.

When it was done, he led them off the Greenway and into the wild lands.

The cold rain wore at him. A wrong turn into a blind canyon left him sullen and silent — he felt the weight of his companions' trust, and he had led them astray.

But with each mile that followed he felt something return. This was his people's land. He moved through it with purpose, and the cairn on the hill was a reminder that he was not merely passing through it — he belonged to it.

When the ring of standing stones finally appeared through the failing light at the end of a long day, he raised his hand and called a halt.

Aethelbrim:

Although holding up well enough herself, Aethelbrim notices with concern Orin’s flagging endurance.  As they approach the dell, Aethelbrim asks Hildebrand, “Is this the place of which Rupert spoke?  Do you feel the unnatural presence here?”

Speaking with Gwinion, she suggests, “You have guided us well, good Ranger.  But we have traveled hard to get here, and some of us are worse for the wear.”  Pointedly not looking Orin’s direction, she continues, “Perhaps we should camp the night, out of range of the dangerous ring of stones, before we venture further.  Perhaps some healing you or Eryndis possesses can help our tired friend.”

Seeing the dwarf begin the climb, Eryndis feels a twist of guilt. Once Orin reaches the midpoint, the marsh woman moves between the two ponies, gripping a pair of reins in each hand. She looks up the hill, takes a steadying breath, and begins the climb.

It is not as dreadful as she feared.

More than once, one pony or the other balks. A couple of times they nearly plant themselves stubbornly upon the slope altogether. But soothing words, patient grunts, the stubborn endurance bred by a life spent slogging through fen-mud, and the weight of responsibility slowly bring all three to the crest.

Eryndis smiles in relief as the ponies finally step forward of their own accord, immediately lowering their heads in search of something worth nibbling.

Letting herself be led by the reins now, she stares out across the land. Never before has she seen so much of the world at once.

When she left the fen, she marveled at how far she could see when not completely surrounded by trees. Now, upon the plateau ...

The sound of stone settling on stone pulls the young woman back to her traveling companions, and she hurries to help finish building the cairn.

Later, when she finds a moment alone with Gwinion, Eryndis lowers her eyes and grips her braid.

“Thank you for journeying with me,” she says quietly. “You made hard become possible.”

After a pause, she finally adds, “And ... I am sorry I stood witness to the Lady’s words of your grandmother. I did not know.”

Over the next couple of days, she remains as quiet as ever. Now more settled into the rhythm of the company, Eryndis begins watching the land more carefully for things to hunt or gather. She appreciates what Aethelbrim manages with their stores, but dried food alone does not make strong bodies. Gwinion charged she and Hildebrand with hunting and gathering, and she means to do her part.

As they near the ring of stones that evening, Eryndis finds herself watching both Gwinion and Orin with a leech’s eye. The Ranger carries weariness quietly, but the dwarf does not hide it as well. Too much strain makes old hurts angry. Too little rest steals strength from flesh and thought alike.

So when Aethelbrim suggests camping away from the strange place, Eryndis nods at once in agreement. But when the lady speaks of Orin’s fading vigor, the young marsh-woman’s brow furrows. She has already given him a soothing for the angry skin beneath the wooden limb. What more can be done?

Her eyes drift toward the ponies. Perhaps the dwarf should ride.

She decides to hear what Gwinion will say and takes up the task of bedding Saddleback.

During the journey, when Eryndis speaks with him in private, Gwinion is quiet for a time before answering. “You owe me no apology, Eryndis. You have been good company upon the road.” His gaze drifts toward the darkening horizon, thoughtful and distant. “And as for my grandmother… grief is not meant to be borne alone. I am glad you were there, especially if we are to count one another as friends and fellow travelers.” A faint sadness touches his expression, though there is peace within it as well. “She was strong, but her years had grown long as well as sickness. Among my people, there comes a time when some choose to surrender life willingly, before age and weariness diminish what they are. I believe she had reached that hour, and met it without fear.” There is no bitterness in his voice, nor despair, only quiet acceptance. Somehow Gwinion's tone was such that he seemed to imply that his grandmother had chosen to die, yet it did not seem that she had done so in despair of life.  

At the end of the ninth day, Gwinion studies the weary faces of the company and finally gives a slow nod.

“Yes. We rest tonight.” he says in answer to Aethelbrim. “But there is little true comfort to be found in these lands. Rest upon the road restores little with each passing night, and I fear the weariness of this journey will not soon leave us. Still, we must endure and press on.” His tone softens slightly. “But not tonight. Tomorrow will bring enough hardship of its own.”

His eyes move toward the dwarf. “I will speak with Eryndis. Perhaps there is still something that may be done to ease his burden.”

Gwinion will approach Eryndis and see if there is something they can work together to perhaps allow the dwarf to rest easier and perchance feel the weariness of the road less.

For what little it might've been worth, any dismay or disappointment in Gwinion never really held visible sway on Orin's mood during the ongoing journey. Just a huff of mild annoyance that could've just as well been mistaken for the labored breathing that become the new norm for the dwarf at some point earlier during the night day. But, Orin would sooner join the forces of the Enemy before letting a "little" road weariness get the better of him or voice a compliant. His bad leg of course begged to differ. But lacking in a tongue or an audience without pride, it could take but minor solace during what felt like fleeting moments of rest and reapplication of more salve.

By the time they seem to finally reach their destination, or at least a landmark of note again (not that Orin could recall for sure either way), the dwarf was sweating profusely and looked to be struggling to focus on anything except muttered conversation with himself in Dalish. But then, he suddenly snapped to attention at something or other said by Gwinon, as he's quick to add in a bit of a hoarse voice, "Don't give me that look. I... I might be shy of a spring fowl in enthusiasm, but ya lot need not fret so much. This much won't have me keel over any time soon." He pats his chest hard and gave his best, reassuring grin. Having said that, he's all too likely the first to find a rock to rest upon when a campsite is finally decided on and reinforced by any group efforts.