Middle Earth [TA 2997]: The Phantom of the Northern Marches

[Inez Hull]

As Breor and Artos strain both eyes and ears for sign of their attacker, Antroine bravely charges into the fog. However, he does not make it far before he pulls up short in pain. The ground seems to be covered in spikes and Antroine has only barely managed to keep from driving his foot deeply onto one [takes 6 damage but no penalty to movement]. Something about the woods at night, the fog and his companions yelp of pain triggers off an unnatural need to be somewhere else in Breor. He roars, tapping into his rage and shakes off the building fear.

Valandil's magic focuses on a specific target and he sees the raven sitting high atop the branches of a tree rising above the fog bank. With Valandil's directions both Breor and Artos also spot the bird.

With a herculean effort Arathorn pulls himself free of the tangling undergrowth and moves forward to join his companions. The ball of flame begins moving again, seemingly intent on destroying the ranger but veers off towards his still trapped brethren. Valandil throws himself to the side as best he can with his grappled legs and somehow remains untouched by the flames, sustaining nothing more than singed eyebrows and fire-blackened clothes [passed saving throw].

 

[Mirth]

Upon sighting the raven, something inside Artos snaps and he charges forward toward the base of the tree where the bird has alighted. Despite his lumbering gait, the barbarian moves with astonishing speed and quickly disappears in the fog.

 

[Manzanita]

Valandil

Realizing that his concentration is now probably ruined, and his enemy identified, Valandil drops his spell. "It IS the raven! Kill it!" He yells. He struggles to break free from the vegitation. If he can do so, he then moves away from it and tries to shoot the bird.

 

[ferretguy]

As Breors fear slips from his mind he hears his companion yell out to kill the bird. Looking for his target he slips the longbow from his back and sights down his clothyard shaft towards the unnatural raven.

OOC: taking a shot +6 to hit longbow 1d8 dam

 

[rangerjohn]

Arathorn Ranger of the North

Arathorn draws his bow and joins his campanions in attacking the raven.

OOC:rapid fire +5/+5 1-8+3 20/x3.

 

[Festy_Dog]

String of curses escape the fog when the spike and Antroine's foot compete to occupy the same space. The stone spike wins over the fleshy appendage without difficulty, and Antroine hastily stumbles backwards out of the fog with a worse for wear foot.

"Wait a sec- What was that about a raven?" he asks hurriedly, what was said outside the fog suddenly sinking in.

 

[Inez Hull]

Valandil struggles and manages to at last clear himself from the clutches of the now burning undergrowth but is badly burnt by the flaming ball himself [10 damage]. He staggers and wades through the clutching foliage and manages to reach the safety of the trees near his companions. As a bewildered Antroine steps out of the fog an enraged Artos charges past him followed shortly after by a howl of pain. The huge woodsman has run straight onto a spike jutting from the ground [3 damage and can now only move at half rate]

A volley of arrows fly at the Raven in its high perch but it makes for a small target and only Breor's arrow connects, hitting the bird in its wing. It lets out a screech and then takes flight. To the keen eyed hunters watching from below, the bird is seen to fly directly westward, further upslope. The ball of fire remains stationary, burning the writhing undergrowth.

 

[Manzanita]

Valandil

"Let us retreat quickly, my friends. We are in no shape to continue this fight, & I have no healing left. Hopefully we can find a hidden place to camp and continue this quest tomorrow. We have learned much today."

 

[ferretguy]

Breor nodds in agreement "As much as it pains me to let our potential foe get away for now, at least we may have a direction in which to travel"
He takes note of directions of the ravens flight, the goes to help the others who are more wounded then he.

 

[Inez Hull]

The party heads back downslope, navigating around the gorge, Artos's companions helping him keep weight of a pronounced limp. Everyone is sore and tired and it is not until the early hours between dusk and dawn that a safe enough campsite is found and made. Although everyone could happily fall asleep straight away an effort is made to set out the camp properly and start a small fire. Then watches are volunteered and the dubious comfort of bedrolls on hard ground welcomed. Although all the company are experienced travellers, used to early starts, most of you sleep late, Arathorn continuing the watch and only Valandil rising early to make his morning devotions.

As the sun begins its march over the sky you alll eventually arise, in varying states of pain [the two Dunedain have taken the most damage (proportionately) but everyone else is on about half hits]. A camp breakfast is cheerlessly downed as conversation turns to plans for coming day.