Fellowship of the Dice

With a shrug, Aerth comments, "Here and there. Mostly self 'taught'." He smiles at that, "Years on the road, mostly alone with nothing else to do." He tries to repeat Pipkin's technique but largely fails. After a few attempts Aerth laughs aloud, "I am afraid I will never match your proficiency in this craft, Master Pipkin."

Pipkin nods, "Its rare you find someone out this way with the skill." He puffs on his pipe, "Most of the tobacco out this way hardly is worth even smoking. I did find a sweet blend in Dale once, said it was from a place called Dorwinion, but where that is I rightly don't know." He sends out three small smoke rings in a hurry. "You puff your cheeks a bit more and you've got it."

Breaking camp on the 18th of August the Fellowship sets out north once more. The terrain becomes easier as you traverse the fields of the Beornings. You have very little worry of running afoul of danger here other than boredom. Two days into the trip since Pipkin's apple cobbler Borir has some how lead the group further and further westwards away from forest and toward the river and the mountains.

Wren, your lookout spots a great field of wildflowers abuzz with bees, and far off a few figures working the bee pastures and you realize you are off course. Borir's lack of focus, or perhaps his desire to be away from Mirkwood has taken you off course. It's easily fixed out in these wide open spaces, but he has to lead you back around the fields to avoid the bees, the best way to do that seems to be clear enough, but if those figures some hundred yards off are in fact Beornings perhaps its worth pausing to speak to them.

Varuthil says, "Might I suggest we speak to those men over there? We seem to have lost our bearings. And we may gather some news, if there is any to speak of, from them."

"Remember the last man we met in the Mirkwood," Aerth warns, "I suggest moving on ahead. If they approach us, so be it, if not, better still." The half-elf does not seem overly eager to make friend while on the road.

"We might even be able to get some honey from them," Pipkin muses. That would be wonderful in some tea, and perhaps drizzled over some wheat cakes in the morning."

Wren with his keen elven eyes looks at the two men, "We likely are traveling through their pastures now. These are the Beorning's lands, and they looks like such men to me." He also reminds Aerth they aren't in Mirkwood, "They don't look like crazed hermits to me."

"Indeed, given that we are traveling on their lands, they might take it amiss and regard us with suspicion if we did not introduce ourselves," says Varuthil. "And the situation with the mad hermit did not turn out badly in the end. We were even able to help him--and Ingomer was able to learn the truth of what happened to his son."

Borir rubs his beard as he listens to the others. Then he states, "We're not lost. I was.. uh.. heading over to talk with them. We can head back to the trail after we've spoken to them. They may have news or other information that could aid in our journey."

The dwarf looks at the others and says, "I say we speak with them."

As the group pauses and decides whether to push on or engage with the Beornings, Wren searches through his pack. "Ah, here we are." He produces an apple, one of the not quite ready apples Pipkin used in his cobbler a few nights prior. Taking a bite, it is in fact not quite ripe but the elf prefers his fruit out of hand as they say. He muses to himself, It just loses something the moment you cook it.

When Borir states he was intentionally leading the group to the Beornings, "Ha! Is that so Borir?" With a half eaten apple and rather large grin, "Well why don't we go and introduce ourselves."