Book I - The Forging of a Fellowship

[Vardaen]

Both men nod to the dwarf, Druce commenting "A gran idea mista dwarf."

Beathan agrees quickly, "More fer us!" They laugh a bit, their mood lightened slightly at the prospects of getting drunk off Dwarven Ale.

The group moves up the hill to the village...

The Village of Watchtower Hill (Toorarrey Dinnien) is a collection of twenty family homesteads clustered around an old Dunedain tower from the Second Age. The houses are simple stone, mud, and straw buildings. Some of them are dug down into the earth a few feet so one steps down entering into the home. The entire village stinks like sheep right now, and perhaps it always stinks of sheep here. The men and woman here live off their flocks and their simple crafts. One of the rarer products produced here is the maple syrup that they harvest from the nearby woods; which you have already seen the taps for. The villagers have just finished a seasonal event of sheering scores of certain sheep for their wool. The woman are gathering it up still, and will take it to the spinning wheels to turn into yarn and eventually into the garments the Dunlendings wear.

Young boys and girls scamper around the village collecting scraps heedless of the sheep's 'used meals' scattered around the packed dirt streets. Your escort vears away from the villagers and their continuing festivities, which will turn from work to pleasure, and eventually feasting and drunken singing. Druce leads you past a few buildings right up to the watchtower the village is named after. "Draig said ta bring ya ta him directly."

The watchtower, or just The Rarrey, as the villagers call it, is in effect a tiny castle. A wooden palisade, built by the Dunlendings out of tree trunks circles the tower and acts as their main defense in the event of attacks (from wolves, uruks, or other clans). You head through the simple 'sliding' gate to the courtyard. The packed dirt couryard is just large enough to gather the people of the village in huddled close together. A three walled stable is set up on the east side, a few oxen, and a fine looking, if not old, horse visible from here inside. On the west side is a well, and a small building that must be a blacksmith's workshop. The main feature of the area is of course the tower.

The tower rises three stories into the air, ancient granite blocks layed with the skill and knowledge of the Dunedain during their prime has kept the tower standing for several thousands of years. The ancient frescos and base relief carvings are long since gone, destroyed by war, weather and age. Several narrow windows, more like arrow slits, peer into the tower's upper levels, while a single stout wooden door seals the bottom. The flag of the Madoc Clan flies off the top of the tower, where a single sentry stands watch. The sentry looks down at you enter the courtyard and gives a shrill whistle.

"Wait 'ere." Druce heads into the tower, opening the heavy door, and closing it behind him. Beathan doesn't leave the ale.

[TetNak]

Hwindsul stands there, waiting, and gives both the dwarf and elf a short glance. "Things have gone well so far," he comments, clasping his arms behind his back. "If we can secure these people as true allies for the King, and not simply defeated peoples, then we shall have added even more worth to our goal of cleaning out Tharbad."

[Trogdor]

Faladril nods in agreement with Hwindsul's statement. Then he turns again to face the remaining Dunlending. "<Dunael>It seems we've come at a festive time," he says in a light tone. "<Dunael>Is this simply the annual sheep shearing, or have you gathered for some other celebration?"

[Vardaen]

The Dunlending doesn't even balk at the Elf's comments, "<Dunael> It's a seasonal sheering. We do this four time a year." Then Beathan blinks, realizing that the Elf speaks Dunael and suddenly his face turns red. He looks down and away hoping, Did he hear us?

He clears his throat and rubs his forehead, "<Dunael> So, um, you speak our langauge?"

[TetNak]

"<Dunael> We are further traveled than you might believe," Hwindsul says with a smile, "<Dunael>Elves, as you might imagine, have had many years to learn more than we humans can in our brief stays amongst the living."

[Trogdor]

"<Dunael>In an age long ago," Faladril replies, "<Dunael>I spent time in Tharbad and among your people. There I learned your customs and your tongue. That and my memories of Tharbad as it once was are most of the reason I travel on this quest."

"<Dunael>During that time I learned to have a great respect for the men of Dunland," he continues. "<Dunael>I was impressed by your strength, your tenacity, and your wisdom. Few are as fierce as your warriors; and few as skilled as your healers. In fact, I had hoped to meet one of the latter, that we might exchange knowledge of such matters."

[Shurijo]

Borir just looks up at the humans and elf speaking in Dunael, he doesn't understand what they are saying, but there's no mention of ale or fighting that he's noticed so far. Having nothing to contribute to their conversation, the dwarf takes a seat and attempts to rest for a few moments as they wait for the other human to return or the ale drinking to begin.

[Vardaen]

Beathan looks proud, puffing his chest out as the Elf compliments him. Only a few of those traits really apply to these people anymore. "<Dunael> Well, well, well you speak fair words to us. We shall see if your words and deeds are the same. We have no Healers here in Rarrey, at least not the ones you speak of." He is about to go on when the door of the keep opens and out comes Druce and Draig. The leader of this watchtower takes a few steps out of the tower, looks the trio and the keg up and down, and then smiles. "Well, are yea gonna stand there on mea doorstep like some begging children on All Hallows Eve, or ar yea gonna come inside? Come on now." He motions for you all to join him inside. "Druce, Beathan, yea got yoor assignments, new git to'um iffen you wanna be back before all the ale be gone."

Druce and Beathan gives a grumble, look at the ale longinging, and then offer their fairwells to the group before picking up their spears again and walking out of the palisaded courtyard and heading back into town.

Draig offers once more, before ducking back inside, "Common."

[TetNak]

Hwindsul patiently follows the Dunlendings into the building. He holds his hands slightly at his sides and advances showing as much respect as possible for their hosts.

[Shurijo]

Borir smiles and puts away his axe as the man opens the door and invites them in, 'œWell, eh man affer my own heart. Where'd be the mugs or shall we just drink it the dwarven way?' The shortest of the group enters the building rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the festivities. 'œYe got any food to go with his?' he asks.