D&D 5E Adventures in Middle Earth: Over the Edge of the Wild (RP Thread)

ArtoriusaurusRex · Oct 9, 2016

March 27, 2947 TA

Since the death of Smaug the dragon, a certain vibrancy has returned to the surrounding countryside. The peace this morning is palpable in the wind as our company walks along the shore of the lake. The air is cool and clean and the dew hangs heavy on the grass.

Only our heroes know what brings each of them here this morning. Perhaps they were out fishing, perhaps they were returning from a prior journey, perhaps they've come a long way to answer the call for adventurers put out by King Bard, or perhaps they were simply enjoying a walk by the lake. But the day's first ferry to Lake-town would come soon.

The ruins of the old Lake-town are still visible in the water. Blackened poles poke out like ribs, and when the water is very, very still, one can sometimes spot the bones of Smaug the Dreadful. Sometimes, gemstones from the dragon's fabled diamond waistcoat wash up on the shore.

And it is here our story begins.

The Grassy Gnoll · Oct 9, 2016

Ceodric is waiting by the ferry landing. A nondescript young Woodman of slim build with dark shoulder length hair, he has a somewhat unimpressive beard and circles under his eyes as though he wants for sleep, but his eyes themselves seem bright enough.

He sits cross-legged, comfortably nestled against the warm grey body of a massive wolfhound who lies with its head on its paws, watching the gulls over the lake squabble with one another. Ceodric sits, contemplatively puffing on a long white pipe and blowing smoke rings towards the water's edge.

He has a dagger hilt visible in his belt, and a gnarled walking-staff across his knees and one end clamped in the dog's jaws, which is occasionally chewed upon in an early morning sort of a way. With his cloak pulled tight around his bony frame and a pack nestled under his pipe arm, he doesn't appear to be wearing much in the way of meaningful armour.

He looks up as he becomes aware of others approaching. It appears he has been here some time, and he and the hound are the only people in the queue. The dog yawns massively and drops its half of the staff with a schlop and an inquisitive whine. It raises its head towards the sound of footsteps. Ceodric reaches down and nuzzles its shaggy head, nodding to the newcomers. "Good girl", he says to the dog, who settles back to its task of absently chewing on the staff and frowning at the birds.

"Well met", he says, his voice deeper and more sonorous than his age and looks would have suggested. He raises his pipe and gestures to the lake and the approaching ferry, still some way off yet. "A fine day for a boat trip, if you are headed to Lake-town."

Jago · Oct 10, 2016

It had been a long trek through the Wilderlands. Over hill and under tree, through glorious sunlight and darkened shade, Halvar's boots had carried him far and further still. In the service of the Free Peoples of The North, the last son of Hal would surely walk farther than even that, but it was with a certain sense of elation and dread that finally his path tread home.

It was always queer; to come back again. To have seen more of Middle-Earth than he had dared to dream as a child, and yet somehow the world still felt so small around Lake-Town. The more things had grown, the more The Shadow had enclosed around them. The more joy spread, the more horrible rumors came out of Angmar to the North, and the desolate lands far to the East. These tales, however, were just as important to tell as that of the great heroes of old. Foolish child were he, that would listen solely to the epics and not the warnings. Had he had listened! Had Esgaroth listened!

So it was that when King Bard sent out the call, Halvar, Son of Halstein, was quick to answer the horn. He remembered well what had happened when Bard The Dragonslayer had gone unheeded in the past: the road took him along the rotting skeleton of his old home, the casualty of hubris. Hubris of Man and Dwarf, now laid bare as a testament to what the old bitterness and prejudices would bring them: Fire, and Death.

Upon seeing and hearing another at the ferry crossing, Halvar brightened considerably. He waved a gloved hand, calling out as he came closer.

" Hail, good sir!"

It would be good to have others aboard the boat: A Lakeman, though he felt the waters below his feet as assuredly as he felt the dirt, was never one to dismiss companionship upon the boat. It would make it far easier as well to sail past the ruins of a past life, were he to distract himself within present company.

Upon coming close enough to speak normally, the Lakeman put his closed fist to his chest and inclined at the neck to greet the other, including his animal companion.

" A morning spent on the waters is always a pleasant one," he agreed to the assessment, " And pleasant companions make the journey far more welcome. I am Halvar, of Esgaroth. Whom may I be in the company of?"

GreenKarl · Oct 10, 2016

Bromm strolled towards the ferry pier and seeing the humans standing about chatting he ignored them and looked about for a stump of some such item to sit upon while he waited.

The stout male dwarf was as clad in dark travel cloths pulled over well worked mail armor. His dark eyes roamed the shores and ruins, ever watchful of danger, for he did not feel safe even here. Doom was all around them and the fact that others did not see this only made him more determined to be watchful.

When he found a suitable stump he sat without comment and leaned his war mattock within easy reach. He then idly pulled out some random piece of wood from his travel pack to start absently whittling on it.

The Grassy Gnoll · Oct 10, 2016

Ceodric smiled at the young man from Esgaroth.

"A local?"

He grizzled his hound's head again and it looked up and woofed softly, reproachfully.

"This fine lady is Hilda. Whether she or I is the master of the other is a matter of some debate".

He smiled again.

"I am The Dreamer, of Rhosgobel. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Halvar of Esgaroth. Perhaps, being local,you can point me in the right direction for the King, when we land. Towns are...confusing to me."

Jago · Oct 10, 2016

" A local indeed," Halvar verified, " I know these waters as closely as a mother knows her child."

To greet Hilda, Halvar took a knee to come to the same height as the canine, gently holding out his hand, palm down, for her to pick up on his scent.

" A fine creature she is, and one I would account my self lucky had I such a companion on the road," he praised before rising to his full height again.

The name was odd, but he had heard stranger titles before.

" Most certainly, Master Dreamer - I myself am on my way to answer the summons of King Bard, and would happily accompany you to such a meeting."

Though the Dwarf had approached quietly, when he had politely finished his introductions with The Dreamer, Halvar turned his attention to the member of Durin's Folk. The Lakeman had stood alongside the Dwarves of the Iron Hills on the plains outside of Erebor, and considered them friends of himself and his people.

" Good Morrow, Master Dwarf," he stated simply. His eyes had taken in the Dwarven weapon, the ringlets of mail peeking out from under his clothing, and Halvar wondered if this one walked a similar path to his own.

" Have you come to answer the word of King Bard as well, friend?"

GreenKarl · Oct 10, 2016

The dwarf's gaze fell onto Halvar with little interest behind it. He then shrugged his shoulder and says "Aye". Bromm then returned to carving the piece of wood and scanning the horizons for anything lurking about...

RyraK · Oct 11, 2016

The shoreline felt good underneath Poppy's feet; nice and cool and she could feel the dew from the grass beading on the hair of her feet, along with patches of lake-mud squishing between her toes. Not completely unpleasant for a March morning.

Stopping briefly, she stood up on her tip-toes and looked over the lake. Her walking stick held tightly to keep her balance, Poppy peered into the water and frowned when she couldn't see the bones of the dragon they said lay beneath. Shame...she would have liked to have been able to go home and say that she saw the bones of Bilbo's dragon. Too bad no one would likely believe her anyhow. "All stories and gossip, that is," they'd probably say.

Falling back onto her heels and shifting her backpack more comfortably onto her back, pots and pans clanking, Poppy continued her trek towards the ferry landing. As she got closer, she could make out the forms of two Big Folk, a rather large dog (or is it a wolf?) and what appeared to be a Dwarf. Poppy's face lit up. She hadn't properly met a Dwarf yet.

Pulling some stray curls of light brown hair out of her face blown there by the breeze, Poppy hurried forward and approached the group with a hearty, "Mornin'! Looking to be a lovely day, isn't it?"

The Grassy Gnoll · Oct 11, 2016

Ceodric scrambled to his feet, joined in this endeavour by Hilda.

The Woodman gestured with palm down to his hound, softly telling her in the Vale of Anduin tongue to sit. With a yawn and the exposure of much pink tongue, she sat on her haunches, switching her attention from the wheeling gulls to the clanking hobbit.

"Good day, madam hobbit", calls Ceodric with an incline of his head as a mark of respect.

As she approaches he shoots a glance at the taciturn dwarf on the stump. "The Dreamer of Rhosgobel at your service" he says respectfully in the dwarfish language, softly enough that only the dwarf will hear. Again, a polite nod.

Turning his gaze back to the hobbit, he smiled again. He had only met one hobbit before, a chatty fellow by the name of Burleigh Newforest that he had had the pleasure of travelling alongside for three days as he made his way here. The hobbit had headed West back to Bree and Ceodric had much enjoyed his company and was sad to see him go - he especially misses the sociable blowing of smoke rings round the campfire of an evening; perhaps this hobbit will also enjoy a pipe?

He has become used to staving off sleep at night, at once drawn to and fearful of what dreams may come, and smoking his pipe in companiable quiet with a cheerful sort helped to both excuse his staying up late and help to soften his edges. For all that he tries to be friendly and sociable, it is a brittle covering over an urge to keep himself at arm's length, lest his dreams involve his new companions. He has seen what happens when his dreams come true and seen what happens when he tries to stop them coming true, and the results are invariably the same.

Nonetheless, his dream has led him here, with verses in his mind telling of new beginnings and of roots and both having something to do with a lakeside place. A place very much like here, like now. Despite himself, he allows a brief moment of hope and excitement to pass through him. Besides, there is a chance to race smoke rings with a fellow aficionado.

"You are a long way from home!"