Middle-Earth Role Playing Campaign

The news of their takeover had gone before them, for some of their number had ridden the day before to make the announcement. Amalak and his men announced their arrival with a fanfare of trumpets, and the townsfolk turned out in force to see them. There was a brief meeting in what passed for the town square, and they raised the standard Luinár had brought over the town. Then they prepared to take to the road again.

Just before they left, Dennenor asked Amalak if they could expect to be charged tolls on the roads south. "Everyone collects some," replied the Captain of the Guard, matter-of-factly.

"No wonder there is no trade in this area!" exclaimed Mîriel, shaking her head in amazement.

"The tolls the others ask for are not as harsh, for the other castles do not have the men we have."

And here they bade farewell to Bauglir, for he was remaining behind to attend to the affairs of their new home. The others left southward on the final leg of their journey to Rivendell.

They thundered southward on the road for several hours, through the forest and around and over outcrops of rock. Some hawks and ravens they spotted overhead, but there was little other wildlife to be seen. Here and there the trees disappeared altogether as they road took a course over an expanse of rock.

Late in the morning, coming around a corner, they happened upon a great cat feasting on a kill of some sort in the middle of the road. Swiftly they reigned their horses to a halt, and stood staring at the animal from fifty feet away. It looked up savagely from its meal, growling at the intruders. The group looked about themselves nervously: the cat had apparently chosen the road as a handy place to eat, for the terrain was steep and the road offered a convenient surface.

Preparing an animal mastery spell, Mîriel said: "Let's back up, and give this one a bit of room."

Bradlegar agreed; he was comparing the size of the cat to himself. They moved back. As they did, it got up from its meal and with fluid grace walked so as to maintain the distance between it and the group. Mîriel cast her spell, suggesting to the animal it could take its meal down the gully. Keeping one eye on the group, the cat returned to its kill, where grabbed it in its powerful jaws and bounded away. No sooner had it disappeared into the bushes below than a second cat, to now unknown to any of them, suddenly darted across the road to join its mate.

They rode onward, passing an abandoned crumbling tower just as the road began to descend. A while after that a lone stranger appeared on the the road, and they slowed up to a stop as he approached. They examined him carefully across the gap. On his horse he carried heavy saddlebags that appeared laden with merchandise. A peddler, perhaps, moving from town to town selling wares.

"Hail!" called Araquenval when they were in range.

"Greetings," the rider called back. "You're in for a spot of rain up there."

"Thank you for the warning. Hopefully you're in for no big cats with big nasty teeth up ahead ... but we did see two."

"You saw a chatmoy?" asked the man. "Nobody's seen one in these parts for years! It's good luck." He paused, then laughed. "Good luck that you aren't eaten!"

"There's a castle up ahead, a day's ride from here," said Araquenval.

"Aye, Castle Imlach," replied the stranger.

"No."

"No?"

"No. We do not call it that, now that we own it."

The peddler laughed again. "That's a good one!" he said. "You had me going there for a bit with that line!"

"Nevertheless, it is true," said Dennenor. "You will see a new standard flying over the castle when you get there, the same as the one I bear."

"Is this some news? What has happened?" Suddenly the peddler was full of questions. "Has there been a siege? Has the old bastard himself been killed? Does this mean I won't be charged a toll when I come up to his castle?"

"Not an improper toll," said Araquenval. "A few coppers, perhaps."

"Ah, a new tyrant for the old. Same old, same old."

"Nay, you should find it fair."

"That I shall wait to see," said the man. "Ride hard, and you should make Caerwig by this evening. Unless the weather does not co-operate. The rain makes the stones slick, so you should be careful on your horses."

"Much obliged," said Araquenval. "Safe travels."

"Aye. Safe travels for you, too." And he rode off.

As the peddler had promised, within half an hour of their meeting they were met by heavy rain. They slowed their pace, careful not to let their horses come to harm. In the wet gloom, some distance ahead, Luinár noticed some people suddenly leave the road and head into the bushes. They stopped long enough for Mîriel to prepare a nature's awareness spell, then proceeded again slowly. Mîriel's spell did not pick up anything ominous and they passed the spot without incident.

Still the rain came down, until all were thoroughly soaked. The gloom deepened as evening wore on, and there was still no sign of the town the peddler had mentioned. But even as they were deliberating stopping for the night, a warm glow appeared on the trail ahead, and in a few minutes they came upon a village surrounded by a low wooden fence. Heartened, the wet riders entered and made their way to one of the two inns.

An unkempt stableboy took charge of the horses, receiving from Luinár a tip of one copper piece for his efforts. The expense of lodging and board for them and their horses came to but five pieces of silver, which they paid, and after changing into dry clothes they returned to the common room and sat by the fire. The meal was simple but adequate, save for Rhôn, who refused to partake of the meat and was forced to settle instead for bread and cheese.

Dinner over, they retreated into their rooms. For safety, they decided to double up, two to a room: the sisters in one, the Elves in another, and Bradlegar and Rhôn in the third.

The crowd in the bar downstairs was noisy and boisterous, partying late into the night. Rhôn tossed and turned, muttering to himself about the bed, the walls, and the roof, none of which he was comfortable with. Then, just as things were quieting down in the tavern, both he and Bradlegar were jolted awake by a sudden pounding on the door. "Let me in! Let me in!" cried a voice from the other side. "Who locked the door? Let me in!"

"Perhaps you could quiet him down a bit," said Bradlegar over the din. "Just don't kill him; I'd rather not have to leave town in a hurry."

"Hmmm," came the low reply. "Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn may make man quiet, but may not be able to do it without killing him." Bradlegar wondered about the reply: had Rhôn actually made a joke?

The pounding on the door continued, the man calling for them to open it. Bradlegar yelled back to him, "What's your room number?"

"What do I care?" came the petulant reply from the other side. "You're in my room! Open up the door, already!"

"Your room's probably on the other side of the hall!"

Rhôn got out of bed and put on his loincloth. Holding Trollfist in one hand, he went to the door and slipped off the bar. Looking at Bradlegar, he said, "You open door, stand back."

Bradlegar grinned, knowing the surprise the poor drunk on the other side was in for. Grasping the latch, he flipped it, then yanked on the door. It flew open. "Room is down hall," said Rhôn.

The unexpected guest looked in to see short, squat Rhôn, looking more hideous than normal in the flickering lamplight, grinning broadly and holding his great mace. "Yeaaahh!" he screamed. "There's a monster! Somebody let an Orc into the inn! Get the guard!" And he stumbled off down the hall and down the stairs, crying for guard.

Rhôn shrugged, closed the door, and locked it again. They settled down for an uninterrupted rest.

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Day 40: A Tired Pony and a White Horse

Day 38: A New Order

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Based on events played to July 17, 1998. Accesses since September 30, 1998: