"Well, one of us should go and retrieve our mules and pony.  We'll not get far in this gloomy forest without them.  Right, I'll be back shortly then.  I probably shouldn't go alone though; the Greenwood is clearly still a perilous place.  Thrir, Evia Flamecloak?  Are you well enough to help me find our lost beasts?"

Evia and Thrir (NPCed as is Bofri) nod their assent and the three prepare to leave the clearing.  Bofri lights a torch from the burning brand near Óli and heads west.  The trio find, however, that the tree branches, trunks, and roots prevent them every time they attempt to depart.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:34, Sat 03 Feb.

Evia also volunteered for a shift in the dead of night so that others might get a more uninterrupted rest. Once the order of the watch had been created she would look for some wood within the forest as long as it was safe according to their guide. You found the forest with its close dark feeling as strangely familiar... or perhaps comforting.


-

Ymir inspects the pouch Hunginn dropped in his hand.

"Where'd ye pilfer this, ye black-winged cutpurse", Ymir said as he opened and looked within the pouch.

It is now clear to all of the dwarves in camp, no one is leaving or getting any rest, so long as the trees are physically barring the way!  Everywhere they turn, there are dark trees: larches, pines, oaks, elms, and walnuts, and others they cannot discern in the firelight, encircling the bowl-shaped clearing where the Troll battle took place.  The trees' branches are frenzied now, as if shaken in a violent wind, though not so much as a breeze stirs in camp.  They cast a deep shadow over everyone and everything beneath them, and their windy voices are now clearly heard; angry whispers, dark mumblings, low moaning and furious shrieking and other sounds that could not be understood.  The menace from these trees is palpable, and the entire of the woods beyond camp seems to blur and melt into some sort of dark mist, giving way to deep impenetrable shadow.



A deep shadow falls across Kronin and Nendiel as he examines her broken form by torchlight.  Cambeleg was still unsheathed, the Troll ichor staining the otherwise beautiful blade gleaming in the fire's glow.  The noble dwarf warrior can feel the anger radiating from the larch looming over him, and it almost seems as if the shadows, playing on its rough bark make a strange sort of face out of the knots and weathered wood...



As Evia moves to gather wood, she is quickly confronted by the enraged trees besieging their encampment!  Their irate voices, like a storm wind now, fills her ears and sends a shiver down her spine.  As a warrior, Evia knows she is already hurt from her battle with the Tawartereg, and she has no idea what these animated trees want or how strong they may be.  The only thing she can be sure of is they are defintely threatening. She's wise enough to know that, if these creatures DO attack, the odds are not at all in her fellowship's favour!



Looking inside the mouldering old pouch, the dwarf is astounded.  It appears to contain a fingerbone, a red gem of some sort, a bunch of dried toadstools, and a long oddly shaped stick of dark wood.  Definitely far more than its size should be able to contain.  He has very little time to ponder the marvelous old pouch or its curious contents, however, as Hunginn squawks raucously, alerting the Artificer to the looming danger of the animated trees!
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:50, Sat 09 Mar.

The former Stone-guard swiftly pulls out his mattock and takes a defensive stance beside Evia.  The fear shows in his usually stoic face, even in the dim light.  He shifts from foot to foot, looking to his companions for their reactions as he grips his weapon tighter.  The son of Brogur would not go down without a fight, if it came to that, although his own injuries quickly reminded him he'd not likely survive another battle so soon...

Thrir (NPCed) drew his own short sword and prepared to fight if it came down to it.  The torch light wasn't much, but they created many shadows that a dwarf like Thrir could make use of in a pinch.  He had to admit, however, that he'd never faced a tree before, and had no idea if they'd be fooled by the darkness.  Still they hadn't attacked yet...he waited, the tension in the air giving him goosebumps, as he watched to see what the trees would do.

Hearing the hate in the trees whispering wind, the Rune caster retrieves a torch from his satchel and lights it from the main burning branch he'd made earlier.

"Ye've no love for fire, that's certain!  Come on then, I've got something for you right here, if you're brave enough to wrestle with me!  I may be old, but I've lit many a merry blaze in my day.  Gainsay me and I'll stuff this strait down your wooden gullet!"

Evia backs up to the fire, both for a sense of comfort and perhaps as a guard against the trees. She makes no threatening gestures as she waits to see what is going on and if any of her companions may have a way of communicating with the trees....


-

Ymir looked up at his Raven Friend as he began to caw excitedly and then shot to the gathering forest seemingly surrounding them with its branches.

He shoved what Hunginn had given him into one of his many pouches on his person and pulled out his smithing hammer and joined the others in a defensive formation.

"If'n it isnt one thing is another - we kill three troll trees & the whole forest be against us...Now i know why our kin choose our mountain holes as homes."

Each of the Dwarves takes a defensive stance against the Animated Trees.  The Trees loom ominously over the much shorter Khazad, muttering darkly in their strange whispering speech. Although still grievously wounded from their brutal battle with the Wood Trolls, those still on their feet watch and prepare to fight once more, if it should come to it.

Suddenly there is, of all things, the sound of many birds singing.  Nightingales, Whippoorwills, Nightjars, and Owls, to name but a few.  Their voices seem to blend in a loud music that drowns out the shrieking wind of the trees.  Soon the trees begin to sway, as if seduced by the merry birdsong.  Slowly the avian melodies quieten, and as they do the trees likewise grow still, and step back to fade into the forest many shadows.  The torches in the camp flicker and go out for the space of a few heartbeats, then flare to life once again, though dimmer than before.

When the Dwarves can see once again the trees around the clearing have thinned, and those that remain stay still.  There is no wind, only a pale sliver of moonlight that makes its way through the canopy and into the clearing to aid the wan torchlight.  There, standing in the pale splash of moonlight, is an old man, leaning upon a twisted staff.

Evia let out a long breath as she lowered her weapon and look at those behind here. "Everyone still in one piece?" she asked. Assuming everything is as it was before the trees she would return to the fire.


-

"Well, he most certainly is", Ymir said using his Smithing Hammer to point at the old man. The Artificer remained on guard should this man be a Wizard of some sort..

Hunginn cocks his head at the old man in curiosity but remains silent.

The old man regards each of the dwarves one by one.   His demeanour is calm, eerily at ease, considering the violence and tension mere moments ago.  His wizened face is round and ruddy in the torchlight, and from his chin sprouts a thick wiry reddish brown beard .  Two bright brown eyes peek from under his bushy brows.  In spite of the awkward silence, he smiles warmly and doffs his battered brown hat.

"'Tis a dangerous thing to be walking about this old forest alone.  Would you mind if I share your fire?"

"No of course not, please take a seat." Eva went back to her job of minding the hearth even putting on a couple more logs just to make herself feel better with a bit more light and flames. Turning to the old man she asks "And what brings you walking the eves of Mirkwood at night traveller ?



-

Ymir stepped back to let the strange man come forth but stood with his Smithing Hammer in hand, not quite ready to trust him just yet.

"So are we just to ignore what we just seen a few moments ago before he made an appearance?", the Artificer said to the group. "Birds don't sing and trees don't sway like that from me experience."

"I thought he may have been the one who calmed the situation. In my experience it is not like trees and birds to react like that unless they are threatened..... But you a probably right Ymir."


-

The Old Man nods in polite response to Evia's invitation and approaches the fire slowly.  His heavy brown robes, worn, mud stained and patched in several places, would seem impractical for wandering around the woods, save that they almost seem to flow with his movements, not impeding him in any discernable way.  Before taking a seat on a flat-topped stone, he glances over to Hunginn and 'caws' at him, in an exact imitation of a deep raspy raven's call.  Hunginn spreads his wings, flutters them in an unusually vigorous display, then bobs his head as he croaks in reply.

Hearing the Dwarves speak quickly in Khuzdul, the Hermit seems unconcerned, and if he understands any word of their dialogue, he makes no outward sign.  Instead, he sets his staff to one side and removes his hat, then reaches into it and draws forth an ornate glass bottle that contains some sort of ruddy coloured liquid.  Taking a quick swig of its contents, he wipes his mouth on one sleeve and then turns to Evia to answer the Dwarf maid's question.

"I thank you, for the hospitality, Mistress Dwarf.  And, to answer your query, I am returning from seeing a very old friend.   I thought I might visit my former home in the southwest of the Greenwood. I've not seen it in quite some time, and I find I rather miss it these days.  Of late I've had a bittersweet longing for the old place, I suppose one might call it a sort of 'homesickness' perhaps.  But of course, I noticed the commotion in this clearing, and I thought I'd make sure that everything was alright.  Trolls are a nasty business I daresay, and not many survive to tell stories of their encounters with them," he frowned, seeing the unconscious Nendiel and Dwór.  "I do have some skill with herbs, I might be able to aid your friends, if you would allow me to help."

He glances over towards Óli, who still clings to the burning torch, and Bofri, who has yet to lower his mattock.  Then he eyes Kronin and Thrir, standing guard over their fallen comrades, then finally he regards Ymir directly.

"Ah yes, the trees... Your concern was well founded. They were angry at the hurt and death to their own; the result of your battle with the Wood-trolls.  Truthfully, they are not overly fond of Dwarves in their forest in general, for they've had cause to dislike your folk, in the past that is, and they have the longest memory of almost any living thing.  Also, they do not like large amounts of fire (he looks back towards the Rune-caster) or axes (he looks over to Kronin).  I suggest you douse the torches and sheath your axe; you will not need either of them for now."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:02, Sun 14 Apr.

"Your help for out wounded with be appreciated my name is Evia and I will let the others introduce themselves." "Would you share a meal with us once you have finished with the wounded ?" she asked as she began to prepare some food.


-

Smiling to the dwarf maid, the old man replies: "I should like that very much.  I haven't eaten at all today, oddly enough, and I've heard dwarves make a fine stew.  I was told of your coming, of course, so I know your name, and those of your companions.  Still, I am honoured to formally meet you, Lady Evia, Dwalinsdottir.  You may call me  Radagast, if you like.  Your people had a name for me, as I recall...GÛHULKÛN if my old memory still serves.  In truth, I never was as quick to learn the overly clumsy tongues of most folk.  Now those of beast and bird I find much more to my liking."

The wizened hermit reaches for his staff and then rises and makes his way to where the injured lay.  Thrir gives him an appraising look, while Óli's regard is downright suspicious.  Kronin meets Radagast's gaze and then nods, stepping to one side to allow the man access to Dwór and Nendiel, watching him closely.  Bofri leans on his mattock, his brow furrowed and a frown marring his bearded face, but he makes no movement.  The hermit leans heavily on his hazelwood staff, kneels slowly and examines the wounded elf and dwarf, his bright eyes widen as his wrinkled brown fingers gently explore their hurts.  He shakes his head sadly, then reaches into the well worn satchel at his right side.

He draws forth a parcel of what appear to be dried blue flowers, then a packet of whitish brown mushrooms, cloth bandages, clean wash cloths, a small clay mortar and pestle, and finally a larger dark wooden bowl.  Almost reverently he lifts the flowers and blows softly upon them, speaking words in a tongue none have heard before (any character with Ancient History NWP or Linguistics, or Spellcraft may roll at a -3 penalty to the roll to discern what language he uses and/or what he might be doing).  He places the flowers in the bowl and then speaks in the odd language again, his tone one of authority.  In his hands the water steams and a refreshing fragrance, like a mountain meadow filled with wildflowers, wafts over all gathered there.  He then retrieves a washcloth and immerses it in the flower concoction, wringing it out then using the cloth to clean Nendiel's wounds.  The old man smiles softly as he bandages her wounds and nods, leaving the sweet-smelling bowl close by her side, its vapours drifting over the elf maid.

"Her wounds are grave, but she has a strong spirit.  I believe she will recover and heal with rest.  Now to see to the young dwarf that lies yon."

Moving with surprising fluidity for his apparent age, the wizard now looks to Dwór's wounds.  He places the mushrooms in his clay mortar, then crushes them carefully with the pestle.  Radagast glances over at Hunginn the raven, then croaks and caws to him in a quick staccato.  The raven flies off into the wood, returning five minutes later with a small branch bearing a cluster of dark berries.  Hunginn flies directly to the old man and drops the berries and branch into the mortar, bobs his head to him, then returns to Ymir's shoulder and begins preening himself.

"You've a rascal of a rook for a companion, Master Ymir, but he has a noble heart nonetheless."

Making a paste of the contents of the mortar, the wizard swiftly covers the dwarf's wounds with the dark paste, then again bandages them carefully.  Once complete, he washes out and returns his belongings to his satchel, then takes his staff and slowly stands up.

"Well, I have done what I can, for the moment.  Time and slumber must do their part now.  You should find a safe place to stay for a day or two while they recover.  I can provide that, in recompense for your hospitality.  Trust me, I bear you neither ill will, nor foul intent, I merely wish to help in some small way, if you will permit it."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:46, Mon 15 Apr.

"Well, Wood Trolls wanting our heads will make us use what gives them hurt back...But i understand", Ymir said at Radagast's words of the trees being none too pleased at their presence & put his Smithing Hammer away.

Upon seeing Hunginn react to the Wizard's raven's call, he merely looks at his Raven-Friend.

"Look at ye making a good impression without a bit'o cheese being held out."

Ymir watched Radagast tend to their companions, merely observing his work and relieved that they would live and continue their journey. Upon the Wizard asking Hunginn to fetch herbs and him doing so, Ymir gave a slight scowl.

"Ye never are that enthusiastic when i ask ye to fetch something for me, ye black-feathered boobie."

Hunginn responded by pecking at his hat a few times.

"Stop that! I like this hat too much for ye to peck a hole through it."

At Radagast's kind words of Hunginn, Ymir replied, "Well that he is but hide the cheese if ye have any or ye'll be thinkin otherwise."

At his words of aiding them and asking for hospitality, the Artificer says "Well, ye healed our hurt companions and ye offer of shelter would be most welcome after what we been through."

Radagast shuffles over, leaning on his staff for support, then sits down near the campfire close to where Evia and Ymir.  The other Dwarves gather around, but each gives the wizard a wide berth, all that is, except Óli the Rune caster., who quietly sits to his immediate left.  The old man waits quietly for a Evia to finish preparing the meal.  After an awkward minute or two, Radagast clears his throat and says:

"I would ask what it is that brings you all to the Elf Wood, but I know Dwarves prefer to keep their business to themselves, and, in truth, I can respect that.  If you would, at least, tell me the destination you are trying to achieve however, I might be able to offer some counsel, if you will accept it.  I promise you; he glances around, our converse will not be overheard, and my friends will warn if anyone else approaches."

Evia busied herself with the food preparations unsure if she should be the one to deluge their task within the wood. She decides to answer the question with another question. "Have you seen others of our kind within the borders of the wood ? Perhaps within the hills or mountains within ?"

When it is time she will serve out the food to those present and take a seat herself to eat.


-

Radagast smiles and nods to Ymir. "You are a wise young Dwarf, to accept the offer of help without letting your pride get in the way.  It speaks much of your character, Ymir Ravens-friend, if I may make so bold as to say so.  Also I appreciate your advice, about the cheese; I shall ensure it remains well away from our rogue of a rook." He gave Hunginn a glance.

Hunginn simply clacks his beak and bobs his head and blinks at them old man and the dwarf, as if he is laughing at them both.



The wizard rubs his chin under his bird's-nest of a beard and furrows his bushy brows. "Truth is, I have, in fact, though I'm not at all certain you will like my answer.  Many years ago, long after the Necromancer had left his hold to the care of his servants, I plucked up my courage and entered Dol Guldur in secret.  There I found many dark and terrible things, the sort of evil that casts its shadow over even the most steadfast heart; of those I shall, out of kindness, say nothing more.

"At one point, however, I ventured deep, deep into the bowels of that foul fortress, and I found there, living in the dark and filth, a cluster of creatures that, I am quite certain, were once dwarves like you.  They were shorter than yourselves, as if they'd shrunken, and they were far less stocky, some might even say they seemed guant in comparison.  Their beards were wispy and dark, their skin was wrinkled and ashen in colour, and their angry eyes shone in the near total darkness of the hole in which they dwelt.  They were clearly enslaved to the Dark Lord's will, indeed I think they had been there so long they no longer knew who they had been before, if they ever had.  I called them MORNAUGRIM, Dwarves of the Shadow, but that name meant nothing to them, for they only spoke in a strange mixture of their original dwarf-tongue, heavily influenced and altered by Morbeth, the Black speech.  It was only with great effort on my part, that I managed to communicate with them at all.  I spent over a year trying to help them, but in the end I was sadly forced to leave them to their fate, for one of them had betrayed me and told the guard of my presence."

Radagast shook his head in sorrow, though his eyes brightened as Evia handed him a generous bowl of stew.  "I have often wondered what became of them when Dol Guldur was razed and destroyed by Lady Galadriel.  I'm sure, if they still lived they'd have been forced to flee, but I doubt they could have gone far, for they'd been lived so long under the Necromancer's Hill that they abhorred the outside and light of almost any kind.  Perhaps they are still here in the woods, somewhere.  If you encounter them, I can only hope you have more luck than I did.  They deserve better, as all living things do."

Evia had taken a seat as well once she made sure everyone had a bowl. She listened to Radagast and his story and he seemed to confirm all that she feared, even if they found the dwarfs it seemed they were under the sway of the Dark Lord. Their number seemed to be few and probably even less if any escaped the scourging of the hill. "How many were there before the Elf Queen came ?" she asked.


-

Between mouthfuls of stew, Radagast appeared to be pondering Evia's question.  After a few minutes of thought he replied, "the one that I spoke with most, an elder named Nagarin, claimed there were three score of his people still mining in Dol Guldur, but that was, as you say, before the White Lady of Lothlorien came to unmake the evil tower.  Any of the Mornaugrim who survived the razing of that dread place would have been free at that moment.  Where they went and how many still lived at that time, I honestly cannot say.  My guess, however, is that they did not get very far, for fear of the outside world, to which they had become estranged."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:37, Wed 15 May.