It is the year 2946 of the Third Age, and the lands east of the Misty Mountains are astir. From the cloud-shrouded peaks above the High Pass to the spider-infested gloom of the forest of Mirkwood, paths long-deserted are trodden once again. Busy merchants carry their wares to new markets, messengers bring tidings from foreign realms, and kings send forth armed men to extend their influence and the rule of law. Some say that a new age of freedom has begun, a time for adventure and great deeds to reclaim glories lost in long centuries of oppression and decline.
But adventures are not really things that people go out and look for. They are dangerous and rarely end well. While it is true that a handful of valiant individuals set out to make their mark on the world, for others it seems that adventure chooses them, as though it is the path they are fated to tread. They are restless warriors, curious scholars and wanderers, always eager to seek what was lost or explore what was forgotten. Ordinary people call them adventurers, and when they return successful, they call them heroes. But if they fail, no one will even remember their names...
The final day in Mountain Hall is spent in rest, you even manage to keep Varuthil from getting up and ruining her stitches. The plan seems to set out tomorrow to seek out Radagast and finish your mission.
So the last day you eat and drink, and consider all the things you've seen. You've packed up your gear, gained some new clothing, especially socks and boots, the old muddy items tossed out. Walar is recovering nicely, and Magric is locked away for ever.
Everything seems to be going perfectly.
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The Middle of the Last Night in Mountain Hall
Gerwald and Glirion, perhaps because of the still fresh pain of loosing their companion, sleep lightly. And both are woken by the sounds of guttural voices outside the hall where you are all sleeping....
Gerwald sits up in the darkness, the fire having burned down to scarcely glowing embers. In his dream, something dark and foreboding was prowling about trying to find a way into his home where his wife and children were still living, still sleeping beside him. It took a moment to clear away the fog of the dream. Then he heard the guttural voices outside. He noticed Glirion sitting up then as well and signaled to the elf silently to see if he had heard them as well.
Borir sleeps soundly, snoring as loudly as any dwarf could possibly snore. Having emptied a few tankards of wine earlier in the day, he is completely comfortable and deep asleep.
"Yrch," Glirion hisses, all but silent. He nods to Gerwald and then crawls over to where Varuthil is sleeping, whispering to her in the Elven-tongue to alert her of their danger.
Varuthil wakes up with a start. "Orcs?" she whispers. "Have they somehow found their way into the fortress? We should alert everyone." She climbs out of bed, reaching for her weapons.
Varuthil, Glirion and Gerwald are now awake, the noises outside are growing closer, time is critical now. The trio have managed to collect their weapons so far.
Borir snores deeply and Finn sleeps deep in his wine.
"He that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom." - Gandalf
J.R.R. Tolkien, Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring
Varuthil says to Gerwald and Glirion, "You go rouse the Woodmen--I will take care of our companions." She roughly grabs first Finn, then Borir, rolling them out of bed and shouting in their ears, "To arms! There are orcs about!" The current situation does not call for subtlety or gentleness. If they still will not awake, she splashes water from a pitcher on their faces.
