Duke Dagnir Therion moved a small figurine on the table across the map.  For weeks he had tracked the movements of pieces in a game only he seemed to understand.  His wisdom and foresight had brought his small duchy out of a period of ignorance and futility into an enlightened, wealthy position of prominence among all the duchies.  Though not the most powerful militarily, his knowledge of engineering had fortified his castle well beyond the means of any other duchies to take.  Only the might of Gondor itself might be able to take it...after a long siege and many thousands of men lost.  However, Gondor was far away and not a likely enemy.

Therion had carefully cultivated relationships with a few of the other like-minded dukes and duchesses of the region.  He had shared his knowledge and wisdom with them for as long as they made choices beneficial to their peoples and to their relationship with one another.  Talk of a council of dukes flitted through the streets like young summer birds who had learned to fly well after the spring.

Yet the maps on the table were of lands to the west, the Misty Mountains, Gondor, Erebor and the like.  This is the scene upon which Ourn Garamune intrudes quietly, answering the summons of his duke.

"Ourn!  Glad you are here.  I have need of your unique skill set.  Your information from Acharnim before those dukes attacked saved many of our lives.  Now I need you to leave our lands on a quest far more important.  Are you up for it?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:23, Sun 25 Oct 2015.

Ourn sweeps into a low bow, and then erects himself. His posture reflects his confidence and pride. "But of course my liege. Where pray tell will my services be needed?"

Ourn folds his arms, and glances at the map on the table, trying to guess at his destination.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:25, Sun 25 Oct 2015.

"I need you to journey west, into the lands of legend.  You've heard of the stars that fell, I presume."  He pauses only a moment, not really expecting you to answer.  "Of course you have.  Few have not.  These stars are more than simple signs, heavenly events.  I have reason to believe they are sent by The One.  Why is for you to figure out.  It may be that I am wrong, but I am convinced they are Maiar like Gandalf the White from the ancient tales."

Upon hearing the words Maiar and Gandalf, Ourn's eyebrows raise in a sudden look of surprise.

"The Maiar... my old Nan used to tell me tales about the likes of magic using folk like Gandalf. I never put much stock into em' as being truth though."
Ourn unfolds his arms, allowing one to rest on the hilt of his sword, and the other to rest on his hip.
"As skeptical as I may be, it's not my place nor privilege to second guess you. I'll make preparations immediately for departure. With your blessing, I should like to procure a horse and rations for my journey"

"Take what supplies you need.  It will be a long journey and open ended.  I do not expect you back here until you have discovered something of import.  If the information leads you further on, follow the quest where it leads.  Perhaps The One's hand will be your guide in this.  When the opportunity presents itself, send a report.  Use the gwanod code Haethar taught you."  The duke places a hand on your shoulder firmly.  "This might be the most important quest in this age, Ourn.  Our little duchy here needs to be prepared.  Take care of yourself.  Find allies if you can.  Something tells me a darkness is rising in the lands of Middle Earth.  It is not something to face alone."

GM:  Haethar is the Duke's Minister of Information, his chief spy essentially.  He would be one of, if not your primary, teacher.

"As you command my liege. I'll not take rest until I have the answers we seek, and my report will be sent without delay"

With a parting bow, Ourn exits the room and sets off to speak with Haethar.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:48, Fri 30 Oct 2015.

Haethar is out tending the garden just outside the Duke's home.  The home itself is just grand enough to know someone more than a peasant lives there, but humble nonetheless.  The Duke is a bachelor and scoffs at the idea of building a grander home.

The garden is intended for the poor of the community, those who are unable to work their own land and have little to offer in the way of skill or goods.  Volunteers work the garden (though some say the Duke pays some of them) to keep the crops tended.  Those who take from the garden also work it to the best of their ability.

Haethar works the garden to think.

When you approach, he works on as if you are not there for a few.  After judging your patience sufficient, he stops what he is doing, tilts his straw hat back and leans on his rake with an ease similar to a cat lounging on a windowsill.  He is a slender man, shorter than average, and almost boyish at first glance.  However, his hair silvered long ago and there are callouses and wrinkles aplenty to belie the young age.  He is handsome enough, but single, nothing that stands out really.  He can get lost in a large crowd (and showed you how to do the same).  Only when he dresses purposefully can he turn on an amazing charm.  Right now, he just seems like some average gardener taking a break.

"You heading out then?"

"Yes. I'm sure Duke Therion has already given you the details as well?"

"You be careful out there boy.  Them legends ain't nothin' to take lightly.  Death will be your constant companion."  He tilts his head up and scratches the top of his head for a second.  "But the wonders you will see.  I envy you, Ourn.  I envy you."

"I should think that you're the one to envy Master Haethar. Before I head out, I was wondering if you had any relevant information that would be helpful? I have a good idea of the direction to ride, and a fair idea of what I'm looking for. Even still, I can't help but feel ill prepared for this. Similar to the anxiousness I felt before the coming battle not long ago."

Ourn folds his hands in front of him, in an effort to be polite.

"My plants whisper of a disturbing account to the west.  Some say a star fell that way in the midst of a small lake.  People are gathering there and strange things, dark things, are taking place.  It's where I'd start."  He goes back to worrying the weeds out of the garden with his tool.  "You are the most prepared individual in this city save for the Duke himself.  Doubt will kill you as fast as any ancient monster, boy.  Quit whinin' and get to your job."  A small uptick of his lips is his way of taking the sting out of his words.  In his way, he's indicating that he'll miss you and will worry for you.

" Until we meet again, then, Master Haethar."

Ourn gives a polite bow and exits from the garden. He then sets about gathering the needed provisions from the residences larder, and makes his way to the stables to fetch a horse. Upon acquiring a mount, Ourn rides to the cities main gate. On his way, he takes note of the citizenry, milling about in their ordinary ways.

" Never in my days have I ever thought I'd have a burden such as this placed upon my shoulders. I cannot fail. By The One, I'll fulfill my orders, or my life be forfeit. " he thinks to himself.

Ourn stops his mount short having cleared the cities gates, and turns to give one last look at his home.

" It will be quite some time, I imagine, before I see you again. "

He draws up the hood of his cloak and rides West.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:37, Mon 02 Nov 2015.

The journey west leaves plenty of time for reflection.  The land is gently fading to fall, though the weather still has no chill in it.  Travel is slow and steady to the west toward the turtle forest.  The villages here are filled with a content people who are willing to trade.  This duchy is north of Therion's and ruled by one of his allies.  Dutchess Stharane is well liked.  Haethor claims the woman is more of a steward than a ruler and lets his people govern themselves for the most part.  The townsfolk open up easily, especially if you show a sigil of Therion, and are happy to sell whatever you need in the way of goods.

Two weeks in brings you to the southern tip of the most eastern edge of the forest.  It is technically outside of Stharane's province, but marks her western border.  There is a sizable town nestled up against the trees at the bottom of a range of small hills.  The town bustles with activity, but harsh voices, the occasional crack of a whip and cries of pain or fear that follow indicate that not all is well below.

If your map and memory are correct, this large village is called 'Towertown'.  The mayor here is a young man named Wexis.  It should be a town reflecting Stharane's province, though it serves under no duke or duchess.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:48, Sat 28 Jan 2017.

Ourn rides towards Towertown, trying to get a good look what could be causing the commotion from underneath his hood. As he nears, he slows his mounts pace down to a slight trot.

01:50, Today: Ourn rolled 11 using 1d20+3 with rolls of 8. Gather Information Check.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:51, Tue 03 Nov 2015.

It is difficult to see much on the outside.  The buildings all face toward the center of town and there is no regularity to their spacing so that it is not a straight view down the streets.  You will learn nothing more without making your way into the center of town...perhaps on rooftops?

Ourn dismounts his horse and ties it off to a nearby tree. He then cautiously makes his way towards the back side of the nearest building, and begins searching for footholds and handholds in order to try and climb up for a better look at things.

Scaling the buildings is easy, but the first thing you notice poking your head above the roof is that there are men up here, watching both the rooftops and the ground below.  Quick count gives you five before you duck back down.  Four are definitely archers.  One wore the familiar clothing of someone in your line of work, loosely speaking.

"That doesn't bode well" Ourn mutters to himself. "They don't seem like the civil watch sort"

Ourn quietly scales back down the building and then walks along side down an ally way to sneak a glance at the towns folk on the streets.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:16, Sun 08 Nov 2015.

A couple of near misses with the 'guards' leads you on a roundabout tour of the town.  You see a despondent group, heads low and in misery.  Many have bruises or superficial wounds from task masters.  The men in charge are all armed and armored to various degrees.  On a couple of occasions, women are being manhandled in open daylight.  Those who see, just lower their eyes and scurry away.

You finally find your way around to what looks like the inn.  It's infested with these men.  All told the town likely has more than a hundred of them.  Outside the inn there is an old man in make-shift stockades.  He has been flayed alive, his clothing in tatters, and blood still drips from his face.

The longer you stay, the more likely you'll be seen.  It's been part skill and part luck that you haven't so far.

Ourn decides that, despite his wanting to help the oppressed people, there doesn't seem to be much he can do other than end up like the man in the stockades. There are far to many potential hostiles in the area. Furthermore, he has no real idea of what the current situation is, and without proper intelligence on the matter, it would be a fools game to rush in blindly.

He makes his way back to his horse, in preparation to take a long route around Towertown to continue avoiding being seen.

The days and weeks ahead are filled with a tension that is not hard to explain.  Within the duchies, the collapse of the human soul has been felt for decades, centuries perhaps.  In the last five years, though, it has been in free fall.  Only in places ruled by individuals like Duke Therion is there any hope left.  Out in the wilds, with nothing but your own thoughts, that pressure should have lessened.  Instead, it has only grown until it is something physical, something dark and powerful.

After a time, your journey leads you past villages that are decent sized, but almost completely empty.  At the fourth such village, a good sized town, only a scant few people can be seen.  They scamper from sight as soon as they realize your presence.  One such person is a woman, her infant wrapped tightly in the chill morning air and held tightly against her.  Looking at you in fear, she does not see where she is going and trips.  She whirls in the air to place her body between the baby and the ground.  The impact knocks the breath from her and she lies in the mud, weeping and cringing, but too winded to stand.

The baby does not cry.

" Miss! Are you alright? "

Ourn gently moves forward to try and help her up. He holds his breath at the infants silences, hoping against the worst.

" Please, do not fear me. I mean you no harm. Your child... "
This message was last edited by the player at 00:50, Tue 10 Nov 2015.