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

Eofor keeps Windhild at a slow walk as he follows Hildebrand, the halfling, and the young girl back to the rest of their fellowship. The Rohirrim barely manages to suppress a soft smile as he watches the young girl, Eryndis, as the halfling had called her, rush towards Hildebrand and anxiously check on his well-being.
Though there is no physical resemblance, she somehow awakens memories of his little sister, Wynflaed.
As the halfling introduces him to the fellowship, Eofor dismounts, gently patting Windhild's neck as he does so. He then turns towards the man called Gwinion.
"Greetings to you as well, Gwinion," he replies, studying the man. His bearing and expression remind him of his old friend Thorongil. "I bear no message from Lady Gilraen, but I seek your counsel and aid."
Eofor pauses for a moment. "Years ago, I rode and fought beside a Northman who bore the same symbol as yours," he says, gesturing towards the Star of the Dúnedain. "His name was Thorongil. He spoke of growing shadows in the North, of the ancient ruined kingdoms of Eriador, and of the importance of watchful eyes far beyond the Mark. Shortly after his departure for Gondor, troubling rumours began reaching Edoras: strange disappearances and disquieting stirrings along the old North-South Road. I have been tasked with scouting those northern lands and learning what threats might one day turn towards Rohan. Thorongil told me that if I ever travelled to Eriador, I should seek out Lady Gilraen. And so I did. She suggested that I find you and lend aid to your endeavour, for it may be linked to the same threat that lingers beyond the borders of the Mark."

Orin had remained seated as the party was once again rejoined, if albeit with a newcomer added to the mix. Truthfully, the dwarf scarcely had the strength to spare to stand on ceremony. Yet even so, his gaze carried a strained alertness as he scrutinized the Rohirrim not unlike a determined and shrewd businessman. But even still, there was also an undeniable air of fatigue about him as well clearly born of traveling a long road for far too long. Though, the moment this is noticed, the rather plump dwarf with skin that boarded on sunkissed forced himself to sit up a little straighter, and brush the edges of his voluminous red beard further over a gut that refused to be fully hidden away.

"Mn! Well, it seems fortune has favored you as much as we. Almost at least. As it might've been nice to have that one extra hand to deal with that blasted goblin that slipped away." Orin said. A thought then suddenly hits him, and despite meaning to obscure it, by acting with such haste to try and pull down the pants leg, Eofor can plainly see that prosthetic leg; well-made and well-loved by years of care, but otherwise created more with practicality over aesthetics in mind.

Eryndis leads Aethelbrim to a place to sit and immediately begins fussing over her. The routine is familiar now. Check the wounds. Check for bleeding. Check the eyes. Check the color of the skin. Ask questions. Listen. Think.

Yet something feels wrong. Not with Aethelbrim. With herself. Now that the blood is no longer pounding in her ears, her mind has lost its focus.

Her fingers fumble opening a pouch. A small cork slips from her grasp and tumbles into the grass. She mutters under her breath and scrambles to retrieve it.

Her hands are steady enough, but her thoughts are not. Ever since the standing stones, she cannot shake the feeling of being watched. Not watched by eyes she can find. Watched by eyes she cannot.

Every few moments her attention drifts away from her patient. Her head turns slightly. Her ears strain for sounds that never come. The feeling sits upon her shoulders like damp wool.

She examines Aethelbrim twice before realizing she has forgotten what conclusion she reached the first time. Frustration tightens her jaw.

"You are hurt," she says at last, sounding less certain than usual. "And tired. Very tired."

She reaches for one of her herbs, pauses, then puts it away again. No. That is not right. Or perhaps it is. She cannot decide.

Finally she settles for cleaning and binding what wounds she can, far more conservative in her treatment than she had intended.

When she finishes, she sits back on her heels and studies the captain for a long moment. "I wished to do more," she admits quietly. "My thoughts are ... foggy."

Her hand finds her braid. Her eyes drift briefly toward the distant hill. "I do not like this place."

OOC: Leech-craft skill check attempted and failed. I can try again after a short rest. But don't get too excited. The most I can "heal" with leech-craft is 3 hp. 1-6, nothing. 7-18, 1 hp. 19, 2 hp. 20, 3 hp.

"Thorongil…" Gwinion repeats the name slowly, as though turning it over in his mind. "I know the man." Something flickers briefly in his expression, recognition, perhaps a memory, before it settles back into the quiet resolve that seems to be his natural bearing. He looks to the newcomer and dips his head. "You are most welcome among us, Eofar."

He allows a brief pause, gathering his thoughts, before his tone shifts to something more grave.

"We have found evidence that some dark evil has been summoned here, called up deliberately, by orcs, in this land." He says it plainly, without embellishment, as a man states a fact he wishes were otherwise. "We followed this trail from the site of the sacrifice itself. It was here the ambush found us." His eyes move briefly to his companions before returning to Eofar. "We fought them off, though not without cost, and one orc escaped with its life, which troubles me more than the ones we put down."

He straightens slightly, wincing against the pull of his freshly bound wounds.

"We are hurt, and we know it. But the trail does not wait, and whatever was summoned in that dark ritual is not sitting idle while we rest. We must carry on and see where this leads before the chance to stop it slips beyond our reach."

Aethebrim:

"Thank you, Eryndis, for binding my wounds.  Could you also tend to Constance before we go?  Just getting the arrowheads out and putting a bandage on the wounds would be a great help," she says as her wounds are treated, ready to help keep her pony calm during treatment.

At Gwinion's assessment, she replies, "Well-said.  We must move on from this ambush location," says Aethelbrim, standing to her feet and retrieving her shield and sword.  "Injured as I am, perhaps I should hang back somewhat and concentrate on on ranged combat should a fight break out."  

Glancing at the orc bodies, she says distastefully, "I suppose we should also search the bodies in case there are any clues to their activities here."

Day 10 – Continuing on the path

With a groan the various party members get to their feet. At Aethelbrim's suggestion they quickly search the bodies but find nothing of interest unless somebody wants a chain-mail shirt of Orcish make.

The party then elect to continue down the path.  Gwinion walks beside Eofor at the front, Hildebrand leading Constance and Eryndis leading Saddleback are in the middle and Orin and Aethelbrim bring up the rear. After about a further mile and a half the path enters an open space. In front of them, the party can see a small village surrounded by a wooden palisade made of tightly packed tree trunks, their branches largely, but not completely hacked off. The silence is striking, no narking dogs, no bleating sheep, no smoke rising from inside the palisade. Directly in front of them a once sturdy gate lies shattered on the ground. At the gate, the path that the party have been following joins with another. From a cursory glance, Gwinion can see that sometime in the last few days a large party travelled down the path away from the village.

Eofor keeps Windhild at a slow gait so as not to further strain his weary and battle-scarred companions. The Rohirrim remains alert, his eyes taking in every detail, his ears keen for the slightest sound. His spear is lowered, but ready.

From time to time, Eofor glances towards his companions. He knows that, wounded as they are, another battle may prove the end for some of them. Yet, as the ranger Gwinion had said when they resumed their march, the trail does not wait.

As the group reaches the battered village, Eofor brings his warhorse to a halt. Then, mindful to keep his voice as low as possible, he addresses the ranger and his companions.

"The village is eerily quiet. Judging by the shattered gate and the apparent absence of life, it would seem that the orc band that ambushed you also attacked this settlement. How should we proceed? The orc that escaped could be lurking within one of the buildings."

As the company made its slow way down the path, Hildebrand deliberately kept Constance alongside Eryndis and Saddleback. Every so often he glanced sideways at the marsh-woman. After a while he spoke quietly, careful that only she might hear. "I know precious little about healing, herbs, or any of the clever things you do. But when you were tending to Captain Aethelbrim..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "You seemed a little far away." He quickly raised a hand. "Not that you did anything wrong! Far from it. I only mean that you did not quite seem yourself."

His voice softened further. "I do not know if it is this place, those dreadful stones, or something else entirely. But I wanted you to know that I noticed." He adjusted the reins in his hand. "You have spent much of this journey watching over the rest of us. It is only fair that somebody watches over you now and again." The hobbit's smile widened slightly. "So if your thoughts become foggy again, or if that unpleasant feeling returns, you need only say the word. You are not alone out here, Mistress Eryndis." For a moment he walked in silence beside her. "And besides," he added lightly, "you have a Took nearby. We are very difficult to get rid of."

 ---

When the ruined village finally came into view, Hildebrand's smile faded. The hobbit swallowed. "Well..." He looked from the broken gate to the tracks leading away from the settlement. "That does not look welcoming." After handing Constance's lead back to Aethelbrim, he made his way toward Gwinion and Eofor. "Master Gwinion," he said quietly, "this has all the look of trouble to me." He studied the ruined entrance for a moment. "If it pleases you, the rest of the company could remain here while I creep forward and take a look." Seeing several companions already preparing objections, he hurried on. "Just a looksy. Nothing more." He held his hands apart a few inches. "A peek through the gate. Perhaps a glance at the nearest buildings. I shall not go wandering through the whole village, and I most certainly shall not disappear into any mysterious holes, fogs, ruins, tunnels, cursed wells, ancient barrows, or anything else of that sort." The last part sounded suspiciously specific. "I learned my lesson at the standing stones." He straightened and gave a small bow. "I will be back before anyone has the chance to worry."

Aethelbrim:

”Be careful, Hildebrand,” says Aethelbrim, “Given what I sensed in the stone ring below, there may be more than just an orc or two in the doomed village.”

The young captain leans against her pony as they follow the others.  She keeps up in spite of her wounds, through the strain of such an effort is visible on her face.

Aethelbrim's request that Eryndis tend to Constance brings an immediate look of surprise to the young woman's face. She is not used to such requests. Back in Sûl-gan, a leech tends people. If an animal is hurt, those skilled with beasts see to it. But as soon as she realizes her surprise is showing, Eryndis lowers her eyes and nods. "Of course."

She tends the pony as best she can, speaking softly to Constance throughout. By the time she is finished, she finds herself oddly pleased by the task. On the road, things are different. A leech should learn what she can. Besides, she has already grown fond of Constance and Saddleback. Why should she not help them heal also?

Later, when Hildebrand speaks, Eryndis finds herself surprised again. It is as if the hobbit has read her mind. "The stones, aye," she says quietly. Her hand finds her braid. "They watch me still. Or something does. Someone." She glances toward the road behind them. "Sometimes it is stronger."

Then she looks back at the hobbit and manages a small smile. "Thank you for your words." Her smile widens slightly. "I am glad Tooks are hard to lose."

The comfort lasts only until they reach the settlement. At first Eryndis simply stares at the gate, the walls, the buildings they can see. It is unlike anything she has ever known.

Then she begins listening to the others. The excitement slowly drains from her face. Her joined brow furrows. If the others are concerned, there is reason.

Eryndis looks from one companion to another. "This place is not safe?" Her eyes drift briefly toward Orin, then toward the ponies. "We need good rest tonight."

"Patience, Master Took." Gwinion's hand comes down gently but firmly on the young hobbit's shoulder as he feels him begin to move forward, stopping him without harshness. He keeps his voice low, little more than a breath. "Let us watch for a while first. Still your feet and let your eyes do the work." His gaze remains fixed on the camp ahead, steady and unhurried. "If nothing stirs, then you may go, and I suspect there is no one better suited for the task." A faint acknowledgment of the hobbit's particular gifts, offered quietly, so as not to diminish the caution behind it.

Gwinion eases himself into a position where the camp lies open to view, choosing his spot with care — where shadow falls favorable and the sightlines are clear. He settles the group around him with a look and a gesture, the quiet language of a man who has kept watch before. Then he goes still, the way a hunter goes still, and turns his full attention to the camp below. He watches. And he waits.

He'll settle to watch for about up to an hour and if nothing is seen then he will encourage Hidlebrand to scout the camp.

Hildebrand slips quietly through the shattered gate, taking care to place each footstep well away from the tracks leading into and out of the village. Master Gwinion might wish to study them later, and the hobbit has no desire to spoil any clues. Once inside, he pauses and lets his eyes adjust as he takes in the settlement.

The village is small, no more than seventy-five feet across from palisade wall to palisade wall. A handful of huts stand scattered about, their roofs covered with sod and weathered by wind and rain. Among them are two larger longhouses, both silent and seemingly abandoned. No smoke rises from any hearth. No voices carry on the air. No livestock wander the lanes.

In the center of the village stands a larger structure, perhaps a dozen paces across and considerably taller than the surrounding buildings. Its thatched roof, though scarred by scorch marks, remains largely intact. Great carved wooden posts support the roof, their ancient designs worn by time and difficult to make out from where Hildebrand stands.

Most striking of all is the dark opening where a door once stood. The building seems to watch the village as much as dominate it. Hildebrand narrows his eyes and listens carefully. The Took remains still for a minute or two, watching and listening for any sign of life. Should he hear so much as a voice, a footstep, or see the slightest movement, he intends to withdraw at once and return to the Company with his report.

Perception: Dice rolls not yet available for this section. (For any sign of life)

Stealth: Dice rolls not yet available for this section. (To go back to the company w/out making any noise)

Orin's expression turned grim at the sight of the village. But even as words to a question dancing on the tip of his tongue, he held it believing the answers to be obvious, or practically so by all accounts. Even still, he looked first to Gwinion, and then to Eofor, seeing the pair as the most likely with some experience (at least where recent memory is concerned) with such sights, and the better advice for... handling such situations. But no matter they might say within those initial few minutes of spying the village, Orin held tight to the hilt of his shortsword in anticipation of even worse news soon to befall them.

But out of everyone who spoke up, it is Hildebrand that drew not just his gaze but elicited such surprise in the dwarf that he can scarcely guard against showing it in a wide-eyed look. A moment later, Orin turned away seeming ashamed of something and left bereft of any further desire to speak of anything or to anyone until... until it was time for the group as a whole to make a move, one way or another.