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

Gwinion accepts the note from Barnaby with a nod. "Thank you, good sir." A faint smile crosses his face. "Your memory isn't what it once was. I hope your children have inherited better, or trouble will come of it." The jab is warm rather than sharp, the easy familiarity of a man who has passed through this inn many times.

When a break comes in the planning, he unfolds the note, reads it quietly, before tucking it away. "It seems we have another night in Bree while we wait for the pony." He glances around the group. "I had hoped to find a herbalism kit while I was passing through. Now I find I truly need one. Injuries in the wild want careful tending, and the land we are heading into will not be forgiving of carelessness."

He straightens and picks up his cloak. "Use the time well. Gather what you need before we depart. We leave after breaking our fast tomorrow morning." He looks around the table to see if anyone has need of him, and if finding no immediate need, he leaves the Prancing Pony and heads into the streets of Bree to find a herbalism kit.

 

He straightens and picks up his cloak. "Use the time well. Gather what you need before we depart. We leave after breaking our fast tomorrow morning." He looks around the table to see if anyone has need of him, and if finding no immediate need, he leaves the Prancing Pony and heads into the streets of Bree to find a herbalism kit.

Aethelbrim:

”A moment, Gwinion, I asked a question about our travel,” says Aethelbrim, still standing over the table with her map unfurled below her.  Speaking to the departing Ranger, she interjects,  “I understand the need to not get ahead of ourselves, but we should plan for the whole journey, not just the first part.”

Aethelbrim does not seem to be challenging Gwinion’s leadership, especially given their patron and the path into the wilds, but she is standing up for herself and making herself heard.

"My apologies Aethelbrim. I have many things on my mind, I meant no offense.". Gwinion considers for a moment.  "It may be 200 miles across empty lands to reach the Hills of Evendim from the North Downs.  That may be 10 days.  What I could walk alone may not be what we can do as a group leading ponies.  A better estimate than that I cannot give."

Hildebrand lingers a moment longer than the others in Lady Gilraen’s presence. As he takes his leave, he places a hand lightly over his chest and bows once more—measured, unhurried. “My thanks, my lady. Your kindness will not be forgotten.” Nothing more. Then he turns and follows the others out.

Back in the common room, he slips easily into motion again. At Gwinion’s request, he is quick to produce the parchment, unfolding it across the table with a small, satisfied gesture as though the rough map has already proven its worth. As the Ranger speaks, Hildebrand listens closely, though his eyes flick between the map and Gwinion’s finger as it traces their route. Seven days. His expression remains composed… mostly.

When the tasks are assigned, there is the briefest flicker of surprise when his name is paired with Eryndis. It passes quickly—smoothed over by a polite nod. “Of course.” he says. “I shall do my best to assist.” For a moment, it seems he might add something—perhaps a mention of hedgerows, orchards, or long walks in the Shire—but the words never quite arrive. Instead, he simply inclines his head again and lets it rest there.

When Eryndis glances his way, he catches it. Offers a small, reassuring smile—paired with a light, confident nod, as if to say we’ll manage. Whether or not that confidence is entirely warranted… remains to be seen.

As Barnaby enters with arms full of gear, Hildebrand steps aside at once to make room, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of tents, cloaks, and provisions. “Well,” he murmurs, half to himself, “this is all becoming rather official.”

When Orin speaks up about a pipe, Hildebrand perks up a little, turning toward the dwarf with a friendly expression. “Ah—while I’m afraid I’ve no spare pipe to offer.” he says, reaching lightly into his coat, “I do happen to carry some of the Shire’s finer leaf.” A small, knowing smile. “And I should be more than happy to share, Master Orin. It would be a shame to face the North without at least one proper comfort.”

As the others begin discussing watches, routes, and preparations, Hildebrand does what he can to remain useful—adjusting the map when needed, clearing space on the table, and generally keeping himself involved without stepping in the way. Now and then, his gaze drifts over the gathered company—Aethelbrim’s steady focus, Gwinion’s quiet vigilance, Eryndis’ thoughtful watchfulness, Orin’s grounded presence.

That same faint, thoughtful smile returns. Well then, Hill… He straightens slightly, resting a hand near the map. It seems you’ve found your company after all.

Aethelbrim:

Nodding, Aethelbrim accepts Gwinion’s response easily and responds with a smile, “No offense taken, good sir.  I will gather what supplies I may and return upon the evening for dinner.”

After checking on her pony, Aethelbrim moves around town, looking for spices and other accoutrements for sometimes bland rations.  If she hears of herbalism kits in her search, she seeks out Gwinion to inform him of such.

Orin & Hildebrand

In response to Orin's suggestion of a pipe, Barbaby responds "let me make sure that lunch and dinner are well in train and then we can sit down and have a natter over a pipe. If young  Hildebrand here has some Old Toby, or Longbottom or Southern Star that he wishes to share all the better!" About 30 minutes later he comes back into the common room and says "well gentlemen shall we go outside?" He leads Orin and Hildebrand into a protective courtyard where benches sit against a southern wall and packs a pipe. Once it is drawing properly he says "so what news from the other side of the mountains?"

Gwinion and Aethelbrim

Both Gwinion and Aethelbrim end up separately outside a small shop tucked away in a narrow alley just off the Market Square with a heavy oak door. Above the door a weathered wooden sign, depicting a bunch of dried herbs tied with twine, hangs. As they open the door a small iron bell jingles. Inside the shop they can see floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with small ceramic pots and glass jars containing various powders, tinctures, and salves. Standing behind a scarred wooden bench on which among other things a set of brass scales and a heavy stone mortar and pestle rest is a stout man of less than average height with a florid face and a happy smile. “I be Rowan Mugwort. What can I do for you fine people?” 

Aethelbrim:

Nodding and gesturing to Gwinion, Aethelbrim says, “My companion has the more critical need—herbs of healing.  I seek herbs of flavoring, to make the repetitive rations along the road more varied and sumptuous.”

She steps aside, allowing Gwinion to be served first after her (hopefully) glib introduction.

Persuasion:  22

Gwinion and Aethelbrim

“Ah I see” says Rowan “well in that case I have goldenmint which can be used to brew a potent tea that relieves pain. I’ve also got mint, dill, and garlic for general health, mallow (for soothing coughs and burns), and my own "Greenway balm," a thick ointment I make from from birch bark and oak-moss which if I may say so is particularly good for treating trail-worn feet and legs. Oh yes and I also got athelas (Kingsfoil)which has both a refreshing scent and is known to calm the mind!”

He pauses and then addresses Aethelbrim, “trail rations can I admit after the second day be a bit tedious. In addition to mint, Dill and garlic, I also have coriander, dried mushrooms and some hot peppers.” He finishes up by saying in a quiet voice, almost a whisper “word has got around that you’re about to embark on a journey of benefit to Bree. I will therefore only charge you half-price for any of the supplies you need!”

Gwinion listens to what the man offers, glancing along the shelves, taking stock. "Athelas, as much as you can spare. Goldenmint, mallow, the Greenway balm, two pots. Mint and garlic. Whatever else you would add for a man heading into wild country for some weeks." When Rowan mentions the half price, Gwinion looks at him for a moment, then sets the coin on the bench. "Word travels faster than I do. You have my thanks, Master Mugwort." He wraps his purchases carefully and stows them in his pack, each jar placed with the quiet habit of a man who has learned the cost of carelessness far from help.

Aethelbrim:

”Blessings on you, good merchant,” says Aethelbrim, wrapping up her own purchases.  She buys enough spices to aid her cooking for a month or so, hoping it will last longer than she needs.

She then heads back to the stable to make sure her purchases are properly stored.  Aethelbrim also repacks her own backpack, making sure costly and important wilderness survival tools are at her fingertips and only the heavier items that would overburden her are on the pony.  She also purchase extra feed, just in case forage is scarce where they are headed.

Hildebrand follows Barnaby and Orin out into the courtyard with an easy step, clearly not one to refuse a moment of comfort before the road. The southern wall catches the warmth of the day, and he settles onto the bench with a quiet sigh of appreciation. “Now this,” he says lightly, “is a tradition I fully intend to uphold, no matter how far north we wander.” When the pipe is lit and passed, he produces a small pouch from his coat with a hint of pride. “A bit of the Shire’s best.” he adds, offering it over. “I should hate to think we set out under-provisioned in matters of importance.”

(If Eryndis accompanies Orin and Hildebrand outside. Otherwise, ignore the below post.)

As Barnaby and Orin fall into conversation, Hildebrand takes a measured draw, then—almost immediately—turns slightly aside. His eyes flick to Eryndis. He notices. Without making a show of it, he angles himself so the breeze carries the smoke away from her. When he exhales, it’s deliberately gentle, directed off to the side. After a moment, he lowers the pipe and offers her a small, apologetic smile. “I hope this isn’t too disagreeable.” he says. “It’s something of a habit where I come from… though I suspect not a universal one.” He studies her expression, curious but careful.

“Do your people ever take to pipes?” he asks. “Or have some other way of passing the quieter hours?” A faint smile tugs at his lips. “In the Shire, we favor good leaf, a comfortable chair, and—if fortune allows—better company still. Though I imagine that may not translate especially well to other parts of the world.” He leans back slightly, still mindful of the smoke, keeping it well clear of her. “What do you do, when the day’s work is done and the sun is kind enough to linger?”

After carefully stowing the herbalism kit Gwinion turns his attention back to Master Mugwort.  "Perchance does your offer extend to a pipe and some Southlinch?" 

When Aethelbrim arrives at the stable, she finds Eryndis lingering just outside, peering into the stall at the pony. Her new cloak is folded over one arm, her other hand resting atop it, idly stroking the unusual cloth.

The young woman turns and offers a small, self-conscious smile at being caught.

“Before my Going Forth, I had never seen a pack animal,” she says in her strange accent, not waiting for comment. “These past few moons, I have seen horses ... and cows ... for my first time.” Her gaze drifts back toward the pony. “And now your ... pony.” She hesitates slightly over the word as if it is new to her tongue.

She looks back to Aethelbrim. “If I am to lead it ... would you show me how?”

Aethelbrim:

"I would be glad to.  First, I must introduce you," responds Aethelbrim, putting her hand affectionately on the pony's neck.  "This is Constance, my faithful companion of these last few weeks of travel from the east."

Reaching out to Eryndis, Aethelbrim gently takes her hand and puts it palm down on the pony's neck as well while looking at Constance and smiling, "This is my friend Eryndis, a trusted companion who is learning to take care of you."

"Now an offering to cement the bond," she adds, pulling a small apple out of her pocket and handing it to Eryndis.  "Go ahead, feed it to her," she encourages.

Once the introduction is done, Aethelbrim shows Eryndis the basics of leading the pony as well as her feeding and care.  She takes care to show Constance that Eryndis is a trusted friend and a person who can be relied on to take care of her.

Outside Rowan's shop 'The Old Root & Leaf'

“Certainly in exchange for a little gossip on comings and goings” Rowan says “come let’s sit outside in the sun and have a pipe and a chinwag!” as he leads Gwinion outside to a bench set against the southern wall of the shop. Both men enjoy their pipe. One of the things that Gwinion shares is that there seems to be an increasing number of people travelling up the Greenway from the south, which may mean they are fleeing from something. He suspects that from everything he has heard the current so called Captain of the Haven, a Master Gurnow, has not made life easy for the refugees. Rowan agrees that he too has noted more people from the south, some of which are staying in the vicinity of Bree while others seem to be continuing on.

Day 3 The Greenway

Knowing that they have a long day tomorrow, the party retires to their room relatively early. The next morning, after an early breakfast organised by Barnaby and his staff, they start their journey north. As the party turns their backs on the flickering hearths of the village, the  Greenway stretches before them—a wide, grassy track once paved with the great stones of the North-Kingdom, now largely reclaimed by turf and weed. To either side, the orderly hedgerows of the Bree-land give way to the Chetwood's  trailing edges, where the trees look heavy and tired in the late-season heat. By about lunchtime they’ve left the cover of the Chetwood and are making their way across a more open landscape. As they walk a ceiling of shifting pearl-grey clouds moves rapidly overhead, occasionally breaking to reveal patches of pale, watery blue. When the sun does peek through, it glints off the puddles in the ruts of the road and illuminates the yellowing stalks of the "cork-grass" that blankets the nearby downs. At other times sudden, soft rain showers sweep across the flats. They aren't the heavy storms of summer, but fine, cold mists that bead on woollen cloaks and make the long grass hiss. These "scuds" pass quickly, leaving the air smelling sharply of wet stone and decaying leaf litter. A Steady breeze pulls from the Northwest, carrying a damp chill that hints at the much colder lands far beyond the horizon. Late in the afternoon, they find a small dell just off the main track where they make camp for the night.

Eryndis heeds Aethelbrim's instructions. She is a good student. The lessons presented are learned and carried out. She enjoys interacting with Constance.

She is still at the stable when the second pony arrives later that afternoon. This one, a gelding, is almost completely black, with a few white markings, including a large, white patch on its back that resembles a saddle.

The young woman asks the delivery man the name of the pony, and he tells her it is Saddleback.

Remembering all that she had been taught, Eryndis goes through the careful motions of introducing herself to Saddleback in order to calm him and to earn his trust.

She wishes she had an apple that she might give to Saddleback to bond with him. Reaching into her pouch, she finds the piece of dried meat she did not eat the night before. She looks back and forth between Saddleback and the meat, wondering if ponies eat such things. After ripping a small piece of the meat, she holds it out in front of the animal. He sniffs her hand and then takes the piece of meat into his mouth and chews. Smiling, Eryndis rips another piece of the meat and offers it to Saddleback. After he takes it, she offers one more piece, and then puts the remainder — half of the strip — into her own mouth.

She stays a little while longer, getting to know the gelding, before heading back into The Prancing Pony to sup and to retire for the night.

Before bed, she explains to Hildebrand all she learned concerning ponies. "Aethelbrim's is Constance," she tells the hobbit. "The other is Saddleback. You will lead Constance. You will need an apple," she says bluntly.

The next morning, before breakfast, Eryndis gets an apple from the kitchen and visits the stable. She greets Saddleback and feeds him the fruit while rubbing his neck and speaking softly to him. She also spends a little time saying good morning to Constance before she returns to The Prancing Pony to eat.

After breakfast, the young woman requests a few more apples for the road. She knows they won't last long, but hopes there will be treats along the way she can pick up for her new friend.

Setting out, Eryndis is content to walk along in the middle of the pack beside Hildebrand and Constance. She watches in silence as the countryside passes them by. The weather is not so cold yet that she needs to wear her new cloak, so it is stored in her pack.

While the periodic rain showers dampen the spirits of some of her companions, the marsh woman takes it in stride and even enjoys it.

When it is decided to stop and camp, Eryndis asks for Aethelbrim's guidance on what to do with the ponies. Do they need to be tied down? Will they feed themselves? Do they need shelter?

As she learns, she makes sure Hill is also hearing how to properly care for the ponies.

Before the Journey:

Though a touch surprised at the offering from Hildebrand, scarcely had he begun to formulate a response when Barnaby chimed in, and all but made it a sure thing the trio might enjoy a spot of relaxation and companionship. Orin hadn't complained in the least bit, but might've come off a bit grumpy with a "Aww, fine. Don't keep us waiting too long then" to Barnaby. While by and large content to wait in companionable silence, he wouldn't begrudge Hildebrand from sharing a tale or two had the hobbit been so inclined to do so, if not share in a little idle gossip. But if at this time the subject was every broached about Orin's feelings with regards to the rest of the newfound fellowship, the dwarf would've been fairly blunt but honest, and more like voice the same conclusions that Hildebrand might've had, if albeit coached from a durin's folk perspective.

When at last Barnaby is free to escort the trio outside for a far more fitting venue, Orin let the others to dictate the course of conversations. At least for the most part. While not being overtly cagey, he more often then not redirected the flow of focus during the conversation away from himself where possible, as such as his wont. But otherwise, he'd answer honestly in not having much news, as a fair amount of his time involved his either being stuck somewhere or preparing for his journey with Aethelbrim up to this point. As for his take on dwarven leisurely time, his initial answer is hearty laugh, treating the question as if the hobbit made a jest seeing the answer was obvious enough. Eventually though, he'd go on to say that most are so stubborn, that if it weren't for the idle pleasures of the pipe and gossip for many, there would be far more trinkets and jewelry on the market from a folk's who's hands refused to stay idle for long.

The Next Day....

By the next day, any sense of joviality or ease about Orin has left him, as the enormity of the journey and task before them settled on his shoulders as surely had his supply laden backpack. While he doesn't begrudge anyone for trying to lighten the mood at the start(if any of course felt such need), neither would his demeanor shift much away from serious focus. And soon enough, they are on their way. Orin was no stranger to being on the road. But as the route was one he couldn't claim mastery over, let only the comfortable familiarity of one who's made the same journey over a thousand times, his pacing left much to be desired. Though he'd powered through to keep up with the others, "dreary" weather and terrain be damned, it's clear by the time the party was to rest that the first leg was already fairly exhausting for the dwarf compared to the others. Still, he voiced no compliant, seeming to find some contentment in having kept up and done a fair enough job in playing lookout mostly from the rear.  

Aethelbrim:

Happy to be on the road again, Aethelbrim seems strangely lighter without having to direct her pony.  It does, however, free her up to focus on keeping a lookout while Gwinion sets the trail.  She keeps her bow held easily in her left hand with her quiver full and ready should some threat show itself.

At camp, she helps Eryndis get in the rhythm of taking care of the ponies, then focuses on making a simple but nutritious meal.  She listens carefully for tales around the campfire of the more experienced members of the crew, then goes to bed early so she can wake up and do her beverage, breakfast, and lunch packing duties in conjunction with taking the last watch.

Come morning, she continues her encouraging words, granting four members of the company temporary hit points for the day (6 temporary hp for she and Gwinion, plus to others who are most likely to see fighting up close—probably Orin and one other…call it off you want it)

Gwinion lingers a moment outside the Old Root & Leaf, pipe in hand, letting the last of the smoke curl away into the afternoon air. "You have my thanks, Master Mugwort. For the pipe, the leaf, and the talk." He taps the bowl clean against his boot heel. "All three were worth the price."

The next morning the party sets out early, the Village of Bree falling behind them as the Greenway opens ahead. Gwinion stands tall at 6'4", with the lean, wiry build typical of the Dúnedain; broad-shouldered yet spare, honed by endless marches and sparse rations rather than bulked by feasting. His shoulder-length dark hair falls unadorned, his hood lay back. His dark eyes are keen and piercing, carrying the weight of long watches and ancient sorrow, yet sharp with the wisdom of his lineage. His skin is weathered by sun, wind, and frost, tanned to a deep olive hue, and marked by faint scars.

He dresses in practical, muted garb suited to concealment in the wild: weathered grey and green, soft leather boots that leave little trace, and layered wool and leather beneath for warmth in Eriador's chill. A long sword of fine steel hangs at his side, its hilt worn, well-kept but unadorned along with a sturdy knife, a bow of yew, and a quiver of arrows fletched with grey goose feathers. A simple shield is on his back. Around his neck, he wears a silver pendant bearing the seven stars. On his left shoulder is a silver brooch shaped like a many-rayed star.

Gwinion walks at the front, settling into the long unhurried stride of a man who has spent more of his life moving than standing still. The old road is easy enough to read, its course laid out in a pale ribbon of grass with ancient stone barely visible beneath the turf. There is no great need to range ahead at this time. The land here is open, the sight lines long. He watches the middle distance out of habit rather than necessity. The others may notice that he has not elevated his watchfulness, his wariness.  They could quickly conclude that he is as watchful and wary travelling into the wild as he was sitting in the common room of the Prancing Pony.  

His thoughts run ahead of his feet, as they often did on the first day of a march. The refugees Rowan had spoken of. The name Gurnow. The destination still half-obscure on Aethelbrim's map. The Lady who needed to be put to rest, and what that phrase might truly mean when they arrived to face it. He does not have answers. He turns the questions over instead, as a man might turn river stones, looking at each one and setting it aside.

By noon he has quietly adjusted his pace without remarking on it. He had noticed Orin's gait the evening before, nothing wrong with it, simply the stride of one built for different ground. Gwinion was used to travelling with men and women who could move quickly, and did not need to be watched or concerned of. Each would be as capable as he.  But these were new companions and unknown to him.  The Greenway was long and the dwarf was carrying his share. Gwinion let the pace settle to something that suited the whole company. No comment. No glance back. Simply a slightly shorter step, held steady. Time would tell what his new companions were capable of.  He judged the dwarf to be tougher that he looked.  He made no complaint of the pace. The woman Aethelbrim seemed confident and sure of herself. In a fight he believed he could rely on her sword and bow.  Eryndis was a sponge, she soaked up all that she saw.  This part of the world was new to her but he already felt he could trust her.  She was more than enough to handle the wilds.  The hobbit Hildebrand was of interest to him.  Hobbits were a soft people content with the pleasures of hearth and home.  Rare were those that ranged beyond the borders of the Shire. 

That night, with the fire banked low and the dell quiet around them, he speaks briefly before the first watch is set. "We are still close enough to Bree that the road has its own dangers. Bandits, most likely, men who prey on travelers moving between settlements. Keep your gear close and your eyes open. It is unlikely but not impossible."

He looks at the fire rather than any one of them. "Further north it will be different. Once we leave the Greenway the land changes." A pause. "There are worse things than bandits in the empty country."

He says nothing more, and the subject closes like a door.