Middle-Earth Role Playing Campaign

Six hours out of the village they came upon a significant break in the land. The valley, still on their left, joined up with another, through which a river swiftly flowed. The opposite bank was a quarter mile away; the valley floor two hundred feet below.

"This is the Mithithel," said Bauglir as they sat on their horses at the edge of the valley. "Westward it flows from here some distance before turning south again."

"But Imladris is on the other side, so cross it we must," said Araquenval. "The river appears too great to ford. Dennenor, know you of any?"

"Alas, I do not," replied the other Elf. "Although Imladris is my home, I never ventured this far north of it, and so know not the lay of the land, nor the roads that run through it."

"This is not good," said Bauglir. "I have heard of the Mithithel, and I know of only one crossing in this area. But it is in a town that is possibly two or three day's ride from here. That journey takes us west, when we would want to go east."

"We could fly," said Araquenval.

"Fly?" asked Bradlegar. "You've made me fly once before. But how would we get our horses and equipment across?"

Araquenval had clearly anticipated the question. "That would be easy. I would cast the spell on the horses, not upon the riders."

"Would the spell last long enough to get us across?" asked Luinár.

Araquenval and Bauglir surveyed the chasm and performed some quick calculations. "Yes," said Araquenval at length. "It would be sufficient to see us safely to the other side."

"I see another problem with your plan," said Luinár. "We know what flying is all about. But how do we teach the horses?"

"I would call upon the good graces of your sister," Araquenval replied. "She could talk to our horses and let them know what is about to happen."

Mîriel considered this for a moment. "I suppose I could," she said. "You can talk to your horse, too, through the bridle Fael-Linnis gave you. I would tell the others to follow you."

"Then we should do it!" said Araquenval. "But I have an invisibility spell I stored last night, and need do something with it before I cast another. Dennenor, would like to be invisible for the next day?"

"I see no problem with that," came the reply. "It may even be useful if we run into a Troll tonight." And he promptly vanished.

Taking his horse's reigns, Araquenval carried on a brief, low conversation with his horse. Then he asked Bauglir for his assistance with the flying spells. They spent the next five minutes visiting each of their nine horses in turn, casting spells.

Halfway through, Mîriel cast animal tongues. She called for the horses' attention, then addressed them. "In just a very short time from now," she said, "your feet will leave the ground, and you will be able to move forward without your feet touching the ground. Do not be alarmed at this; just watch Araquenval's horse. He will lead the way and all you have to do is follow him."

"Did they understand what you said?" asked Luinár when Mîriel was finished. "What's their reaction?"

"More scepticism than anything else!" laughed her sister. "They understood."

Over by Bradlegar and Sara, Bauglir announced, "Well, that is almost the last of them. Just mine left to do, then we can get going." He mounted up his own horse and cast the spell on it.

With the help of the bridle, Araquenval had very little trouble coaxing his horse into the air. Urged on by Mîriel, as well as Araquenval's horse, one by one the others followed, and in moments the whole strange caravan floated up and away into the sky. Holding on tightly to their mounts, the group watched as the ground slowly retreated beneath them. Off the ground the wind was stronger, and the horses pitched a little to compensate. Some of the smaller ones kicked at the air as if trying to walk on it, but quickly settled down and just flew. Bradlegar hung on tight, concerned Sara might try some mid-air acrobatics.

Soon they were over the gorge itself, watching the deep dark water of the river as it flowed far below. "This would be a grand way to enter a city!" called Araquenval.

"Either that, or be seen as messengers of the Witch-King!" laughed Mîriel.

Luinár heard laughter beside her and turned to look. Bradlegar had overcome his initial fear and flown Sara over to her, coming up a bit in altitude so his head was now level with hers. A great silly grin crossed his face. "Look!" he giggled. "I can actually look you in the eye when you're on your horse!"

Luinár laughed back, and they flew on. The flight was surreal and dreamlike as the other side of the gorge drifted nearer. Araquenval nudged his horse into a gentle descent, and fifty yards beyond the far edge they touched down. The others came in close behind; despite their unfamiliarity with flight, all made remarkably graceful landings. Nearly as excited as their riders were by the incredible passage, the horses pranced about on the grass, tossing their heads and neighing.

They all looked behind them, almost unbelieving at the remarkable flight that had taken them across the chasm. Even Dennenor, normally given to simply accepting whatever came across his path, was awed. "Extraordinary!" he said. "That was a remarkable piece of work. Not only have you shortened our journey by nearly a week, you have probably managed to utterly baffle anyone who may have been trailing us."

"Thank you," said Araquenval. He looked at Mîriel. "Tell the horses, if they feel a tug on both their ears in the future, it means they can fly."

Mîriel paused, considering the idea. "I'm not too sure about that," she replied. "That sort of thing requires training for the horses--once a day for a week, that sort of thing."

"Well, we should tell them anyway. Some of the more intelligent ones may remember."

"If you want me to." And she said to the horses, "From now on, if you feel a tug on both your ears, you will be able to run on air like we just did now. Just remember, though, this was a special thing that happened today, made possible by special means. Please do not try to do this again, unless you feel a tug on your ears."

They rested awhile by the gorge, waiting for the horses to calm. "While you talk with animals," said Rhôn, "can you tell moth to leave Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn alone?"

"Sorry," replied Mîriel. "I'm afraid I don't know moth about talking to insects."

Dennenor was examining the hills that lay before them. "A bit south, a bit east, and we should be at Imladris," he said. "Just how far, I am not certain."

"If we go south," said Araquenval, "we should meet a road. We then follow it east until we find a trail heading south."

Dennenor agreed. "If we do meet a road, I may know it. Once we get within a week's ride of Imladris I should be able to recognize the territory."

"Whichever route we take," added Bauglir, "we would do well to remember this area is still within the reach of Angmar. We should proceed with caution."

"Caution, yes," said Luinár, "but I am tired of the 'Angmarim party' charade. From now on I shall be riding as a warrior maid of Arthedain!"

Although it was but late afternoon, Araquenval and Bauglir were tired from the intense effort made to get the horses flying, and said they wanted to rest. The others wanted to press on, to maximize the advantage they had gained. But Dennenor, still impressed by the whole affair, was willing at least entertain the idea of staying the night by the gorge or a short distance away. And the more they looked at the forbidding stony hills ahead, the more they realized they would make perfect homes for Trolls. So after half an hour's rest by the gorge, they mounted up and rode for only an hour. There they stopped and set up camp close by the ominous hills.

Rhôn was not feeling well: he had been fighting a headache all afternoon. Ever since his encounter with the Olog's hammer he had been feeling confused, made all the worse by the problems he had focusing his eyes, and the persistent but phantom moth that always seemed to fly just outside of his field of vision. Because of the reconstruction she had done on his face, Mîriel knew full well the extent of the blow he had taken. She had been keeping watch on him, monitoring his progress, but aware that not even her healing powers were up to restoring his mind. Concerned as she was for his physical and mental health, she sat down with him that that evening to make a more direct assessment.

"I am going to ask you a series of questions," she began. "Please answer them, even if you think the answer is obvious."

Rhôn nodded his understanding. Mîriel began with, "What is your name?"

"Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn," came the reply.

"Where were you born?" In reply Rhôn waved to the south, indicating he was aware of where he was in Middle-Earth.

"Do you know your age?" asked Mîriel. Rhôn seemed to know generally, but could not give an exact number; perhaps he simply was not used to dealing with numbers.

"Look around you," she said. "Can you tell me who everyone is?"

Rhôn looked about, but seemed to be having trouble focussing again. "Strong Elf, spell casting Elf ... your sister, and little man who likes her ... and nasty one who cast spells."

"Do you remember the battle we had with the Olog?"

Rhôn concentrated. "Orc army coming down valley. Going to be big battle. Fought big battle ... perhaps. Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn may have been hurt."

"Do you remember a dragon?"

"Dragon in battle with Olog?"

"No, earlier."

"Yes ... Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn look dragon in eye. Wild man very scared."

"And do you remember Fael-Linnis?"

He smiled at the memory. "Dragon-fly man. Servant of Mam-ugu-mam. Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn also servant of Mam-Ugu-Mam."

Holding up a hand, Mîriel put the other over Rhôn's good eye. "Do you see me holding up my hand?" she asked.

"No, see magic-casting Elf." He turned his head slightly toward Mîriel, then said, "Can see hand now."

Mîriel removed her hand, and said, "That is all. Thank you." Rhôn nodded again, then sat motionless for a while on the sparse grass. For her part, Mîriel was relieved to see his mind was apparently unaffected by the injuries. But she was still concerned for his eye; if both were not working together, Rhôn could have problems in battle.

They set the overnight watches in their accustomed pattern, and for Mîriel and Dennenor the first watch uneventful. Mîriel retired and Araquenval joined Dennenor for what they now were calling the Elves' Watch. In the deep of night, late into the watch, Araquenval glimpsed what appeared to a light moving along the line of hills. Intrigued, he sent out Burzot, asking the little bat to find out what it was that was moving out there. It returned a minute later somewhat perplexed: it had found nothing. But Araquenval could still see the light, so he called Dennenor over.

"Do you see a light moving over there?" he asked.

"I do. What is it?"

"I do not know. Burzot could not find anything. Wake the Dúnedain Ranger, and we will check it out."

Dennenor entered the tent where Luinár was sleeping and gently shook her awake. "What's happening?" she murmured. "Mîriel, did you wake me up?"

Dennenor remembered he was still invisible from the spell Araquenval had earlier cast. "It is I, Dennenor," he said. "Forgive the intrusion, but there is something mysterious out there."

"Wait outside," she replied. "I will be out in a few minutes."

The Elf left the tent and waited for Luinár to come out. He caught some whispered conversation between her and her sister, then the sounds of Luinár putting on her armour. At length the tent flap opened and Luinár emerged. To Dennenor it appeared as though she was somehow darkened, making it more difficult for him to see her. She looked about with considerable surprise on her face.

"This is amazing!" she exclaimed. "It is the middle of the night, and I can see as if it were mid-day!"

"But it is still night," said Dennenor. "How is it you see like an Elf?"

"Klagul. It is a plant of some sort that Mîriel found back at the village. She mentioned it to me after she found it, so I asked her for it."

"Is that why I am having trouble seeing you?"

Luinár laughed. "No. That is the result of a shadow spell I cast on myself before I came out. Now let's see what that mysterious something is that is apparently out there."

"Araquenval is watching on the south side. Make your way over to him. I will follow."

Aided by the klagul, Luinár immediately spotted Araquenval and walked over to where he was sitting. Looking where the Elf pointed, she too saw the strange tall flame moving slowly westward at a walking pace at the base of a hill. "Wait here," she told Araquenval. "I will be back in a moment."

She returned with Woltan's Hammer, its priceless mithril head glowing faintly blue in the dark. "Undead," she whispered. "Whatever it is that is out there, it is not alive, but neither is it dead. Who will come with me to investigate?"

"I will," said Dennenor. Since the Elf was still invisible, Luinár led the way, hoping he was staying close behind. Quietly they covered the five hundred or so yards that separated the camp from the strange glow.

About thirty yards out they could finally examine what had attracted Araquenval's attention. It was a tall, elongated blob, glowing ghostly white, and bobbing slightly up and down as though walking. It went westward a short distance, disappeared behind a rock, then reappeared a hundred feet east of where it had been. The two more corporeal beings stalked closer. Dennenor misstepped, his feet sliding on some loose stones, but the apparition seemed not to notice.

Now they stood beside the remains of a cart, and looking around they saw the broken and weather beaten remains of several others. The tall glow now moved toward them. Very strange it was: near the height of a human, a bit thinner perhaps, but where one would expect to see arms and legs only bulges were visible.

"Hail!" called Luinár.

The shape stopped. Near the top what appeared to be a head slowly materialized, its only features two large empty eye sockets. Then it moved closer, staring with its empty eyes at Luinár and Dennenor, even though the Elf was invisible. Luinár trembled. She pulled Woltan's Hammer from under her cloak, which now glowed with greater force than before. A strange, faint voice came into their minds, and they strained to hear what it was saying.

"Must go on. See to the horses. Go on."

"What happened here?" asked Luinár.

Now within ten feet of them, the ghost repeated its words. "Must go on. See to the horses. Go on."

"Well, Dennenor," said Luinár, "even if it is not evil, we will have to put it out of its misery."

The ghost stopped again and stared at Luinár. "Why don't you obey my orders? We must move quickly. We must go on."

"Who are you?" asked Luinár.

But the ghost merely retreated its request. "Work faster! We must get along!

"Go where?"

A blob extended from what would be the shoulder, gesturing west. The ghost turned back to look at them, and seemed now to be brighter than it was before. "Work faster," it said.

"We'll have to slay this thing," said Luinár.

"Must we?" asked Dennenor.

"Yes. Either this creature is evil, or it is living a miserable existence."

"Danger approaches," came the ghost's voice, stronger now. "Can you hear them? Trolls come! Work faster! Must get the wagons moving."

"What are we carrying?" asked Luinár.

"Precious goods."

"And where shall we hide them?"

"No place! Work faster! Must get going!"

Suddenly Luinár raised Woltan's Hammer, crossed the short gap between her and the ghost, and swung at it. She connected, her arms feeling a jarring impact, as though the hammer had struck a solid object. Flashes of light sparkled though the impact area and the side of figure caved in.

"Treachery!" shrieked the ghost, its edges flaring red. "Cur! I shall destroy you!"

Dennenor drew his sword and struck the ghost in middle. The light appeared to double over and the ghost shrieked more. Then it seemed to become even brighter, and it gathered itself together and flicked a tendril of white light out toward Luinár. She adeptly sidestepped it, tried to hit back, but missed. Dennenor raised high his sword and attacked the ghost again, striking it near the top. The light flickered all over, then rapidly failed and darkened, until all that was left were a few yellow sparkles that floated down to the ground and vanished.

Dennenor's mind reeled. A sudden tide of weariness washed over him and he fell to the rocky ground, gasping for breath. Luinár could now see him, for the invisibility spell had broken during the fight. In an instant she was beside him.

"What's wrong?" she asked urgently.

"Tired," was all Dennenor could say, and so quietly Luinár could barely hear him.

"You're very pale," said Luinár. "Let's get you back to camp."

She returned Dennenor's sword to its sheath, then urged the Elf to his feet. Half walking, half dragging, the two stumbled back to the camp. Araquenval came to their aid, and together he and Luinár carried the nearly unconscious Dennenor in. Luinár ran to get her sister.

"It was a ghost," she told Mîriel. "Dennenor slew it, but he fell down weak, and does not look well."

"Where is he now?"

"Laying on the ground in the camp. Come quickly!"

Mîriel hastily dressed and ran out to check on her companion. The Elf had suffered no physical damage, but his pulse was weak, his breathing shallow. Speaking only in whispers, he told her he felt very weak and cold.

Frantically the three tried to determine Dennenor's malaise. Mîriel cast a spell to detect channeling magic, and Araquenval a similar spell for essence magic, but they noticed nothing. Mîriel cast further spells to detect curse, poison, and disease, but again found nothing beyond the jegga on two of Bradlegar's arrows. She also tried a regeneration spell, but it had no effect, like trying to add water to a full skin. Luinár cast frost relief, but it also did not help

"What is happening here?" asked Bauglir, coming out of his tent. "I awoke to hear all this commotion."

"Dennenor and I attacked a ghost," Luinár replied. "After Dennenor killed it he fell down. He's been like this ever since."

"Perhaps the ghost was doing something to you," said Bauglir, "but is no longer, for it is no more. Was it attacking you?"

"It was getting brighter," said Luinár, after a pause.

Bauglir frowned, and to Luinár he even appeared to be concerned. "Luinár, how do you feel?"

"A little weak, perhaps; probably from lack of sleep."

"Perhaps. But then again, perhaps not," said Bauglir. "Among my people we have many tales of ghosts. Some tell of them draining the life out of a healthy person who gets within their grasp. It made the ghost stronger, and drew the victim into its realm." He suddenly stooped beside Dennenor and looked him intently in the eyes. The Elf blinked back slowly. Then Bauglir looked at the others.

"He will live," he said, unusual compassion in his voice. "Dennenor was very lucky tonight. It seems the ghost was depleting his life-force and came within a hair of taking it all. I expect he will recover, but it may take a while."

"How long?" asked Araquenval.

"Not overnight. He could be like this for a week. Or a month."

"Well," said Mîriel, "let's hope he recovers enough within a couple of days to ride. I do not wish to spend a month in this campsite so close to the Trolls. Luinár, go wake Bradlegar. He can watch you and Dennenor, and Bauglir can keep the watch with Araquenval."

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Day 34: At the Edge of the Troll-Hills

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Based on events played to May 08, 1998. Accesses since September 30, 1998: