Fellowship of the Dice

Varuthil shrugs at Aerth's warning. She has no issue with Wren--she was merely annoyed with his nattering. He should know her better than to play the fool around her--others might find amusement in it, but she does not.

She follows Aerth to the hall, looking about at everything with keen and obvious curiosity. She makes a formal curtsy to Ingomer and says, "Thank you for welcoming us to your community. We are most appreciative. If there is any news you would know of the Woodland Elves or Dale, please ask us and we will answer as best we can."

Ignomer Axebreaker calls to the woman that let you in, and has her bring some mugs of ale for those that have asked for it. "News of Dale? So far off and far away. What happens on the eastern side of Mirkwood is hardly of interest to us." She holds a hand up, "I know that is not completely true, but it feels a world away. I would hear your news eventually, if you the time."

He pulls his hide up tighter around his shoulder, the heat of the fire is warm, but he enjoys keeping the cold at bay with a bit extra. "Tell me, what could you have come here to speak to me about besides news and fine mugs of ale?"

Aerth nods, "We found something on our way," he says, pulling out the shard. "I assume you recognize it." He extends the ancient axe-piece to Ignomer, "Here, take a look for yourself."

The Chieftain reaches out and picks up the axe head shard as mugs of ale are brought out to the group. He puts his pipe down and rolls the piece over in his hands. Tears begin to form in his eyes, he grows silent and distant. Swallowing hard, and trying not to break down he looks through watery eyes at Aerth, "Wolfbiter, how came you by this?" He pushes down his emotions and then turns his eyes to the axe, "This once belonged to my son. He was taken captive by the Orcs of Dol Guldur long ago." Choking up he pauses and waits for a reply before managing to say more.

"Your son?" Aerth considers for a moment, attempting to come up with the correct words to ease the man's pain or concern. "It was given to us by a hermit, of sorts. He was living in Mirkwood. Pipkin here made him a meal which he enjoyed, and he gave us the shard as a gift. I figured you should have it."

Ignomer turns the axe head over and over in his hands, he starts speaking but not so much to you, just to himself or to his son. The fire crackles, and the mood is soft and silent, his words only more than a whisper, "It was decades ago, we were on a hunt, the Orcs came out of no where. I tried to save him, so many were killed, more were taken. The power of the dark tower was too great then, we had no hopes to breach it. I had told myself he was dead, I had hoped he was. To be locked up and tortured in such a place. No father could stand to bare the thought." He tucks the shard into his hand on his lap.

His voice grows, "You will tell me where this hermit was. I wish to speak to him." He looks up, wiping his tears away. "Thank you. Thank you all so much. You are welcome in the Woodmen lands for as long as you want. I will make it know you are friends of the Woodmen, and of me. For now however I would like to be alone."

With a frown, Aerth nods, "I will give you as complete directions as possible." He is now extremely happy they took care of the well. "I would even lead you there, if that is what you wish. You have always been kind to me and my kin." Standing, the half-elf begins to direct the others to leave so that Ignomer can grieve on his own.

Pipkin steps up and says, "I'm so very sorry about your son. But where there's life there's hope, as my old gaffer always said."

Varuthil says to Ignomer, "I will also gladly go with you to lead you to the hermit. You are kind to us, taking us in here, and the hermit was kind, taking us in as strangers, despite the constant fear he must live in in the midst of Mirkwood." For once, there is emotion in Varuthil's voice--it is filled with sorrow and pity. Ignomer's story reminds her too much of the deaths of her own parents--which may be another reason she offers to accompany them. "I must warn you, sir, that the hermit is not well in the mind. His captivity among the orcs and living alone for so long in Mirkwood have ... well, he is slightly mad. You should prepare yourself for that, as well as the possibility he might not even recognize you any longer."

Borir finishes off the mug of ale with a gulp. His frothy beard now covered with foam, he interjects, "And mah axe, too! There 're wild things in that forest that no person should ever set their eyes on."