Prelude: Many Meetings

It was in the beginning of the reign of Malvegil of Arthedain that evil came to Arnor. For at that time the realm of Angmar arose in the North beyond the Ettenmoors. Its lands lay on both sides of the Mountains, and there were gathered many evil men, and Orcs, and other fell creatures. The lord of that land was known as the Witch-king, but it was not known until later that he was indeed the chief of the Ringwraiths, who came north with the purpose of destroying the Dúnedain in Arnor, seeing hope in their disunion, while Gondor was strong.

Ruins of the North is a game set in the north of Eriador in the ruins of Arnor between the years of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. Using the One Ring RPG system the game will explore the legacy of the Dunedain and the dangers returned to that part of Middle-earth.

Run by the Loremaster Vardaen
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Post by Vardaen » Thu Dec 31, 2015 5:42 pm

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Bree was the chief village of the Bree-land.... Besides Bree itself,
there was Staddle on the other side of the hill, Combe in a deep
valley a little further eastward, and Archet on the edge of the Chetwood.
Lying round Bree-hill and the villages was a small country of fields
and tamed woodland only a few miles broad.
October 5th, Seven Months Ago - The Prancing Pony, Bree

Ever since Smaug was defeated and the Lonley Mountain reclaimed the dwarves have had a resurgence of trade and prosperity. It is common enough now to see small caravans of the dwarves travailing the East-West Road from Erebor to Ered Luin in the west. As autumn comes onto winter one such caravan has made its stop in Bree for the night. A handful of dwarven merchants and guards have parked their wagons and ponies in the stables and now fill the common room of the Prancing Pony.

They are a laughing bunch telling tales and singing songs as the eat and drink to their hearts content. For this caravan is wealthy, several prominent dwarves are with it including Balin's son Bláin. Then senior teamster, who's in charge of the caravan itself is just finishing up a tale.

"...and that's when I said, 'Not even with Gorwalin's pick-axe!'"

The dozen dwarves all give a hearty laugh and down more ale.
Welcome Boronnid to the game, this is a 'flash back' RP taking place 7 months prior to the current Book 1: Chapter 1 - Trouble in Tharbad thread.
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"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

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Prelude: Many Meetings

Post by Boronind » Thu Dec 31, 2015 9:14 pm

Though lost in his own thoughts as he stares into his mug of ale while stroking his long now pre-maturely greying black beard, Bláin still manages to chuckle approvingly with appropriate dwarven gusto so not to offend Fuin, an elder of Úri’s folk (aka the Firebeards) and head of this caravan of goods (mostly fine crafted weapons and armor from the two great dwarven halls in Ered Luin, Belegost and Nogrod) on its way to Erebor, Bláin’s “new” home since his father Balin, sent for him the following late spring after the Battle of Five Armies in the late fall of 2941.

Bláin, of Durin’s Folk (the Longbeards), who was born and grew up in Ered Luin among Úri’s and Linnar’s folk (the Broadbeams) has travelled this East-West route between these great dwarf mansions almost every year on trading missions at the behest of his father, former member of Thorin Oakenshield famous “quest for Erebor” and now chief counselor to King Dain Ironfoot, King Under the Mountain, since the retaking of Erebor. Of all those trips, the most memorable was the one of 2949 when he and his father, joined by the wizard Gandalf the Grey, stayed for some time at Bag End, as guests of Bilbo Baggins. There he heard, from three perspectives no less (!), the greatest adventure of his people in the Third Age, the Quest for Erebor: a tale of trolls, goblins, wargs, skin-changers, eagles, elves, and of course, dragons. As Balinul (son of Balin), he is a rightful “heir” to that adventure, though after so many years of trading between dwarf halls he doesn’t feel as if that is true anymore. All trading expeditions and no adventure have made Bláin, as the Men of Bree say about “Jack,” a “dull boy.”

But perhaps something will happen to change Bláin’s rather boring existence as a trader of fine dwarven goods. After all, it was right here in Bree, right here in the Prancing Pony, perhaps even at this very table, where it all started, when Thorin Oakenshield, his father’s distant cousin several times removed in line of Náin II, and Gandalf the Grey , in early spring of 2941, first birthed the plan to retake Erebor, so that Durin’s folk would be an exiled people no more. Though the Longbeards now had a place to call “home,” after losing not just Erebor, but Khazad-dûm (Moria), as well as Gundabad (twice!), it would seem that the many of his kindred over the last decade or so have lost the “edge” that they had had when they had next to nothing and no place of their own. Surely, Durin’s folk could not grow as “fat” Bombur, a true scion of Linnar’s folk; not if Bláin could help it.

While still feigning attention to Fuin and his comrades at his table, Bláin raises his head and looks around the tavern for somebody who might tell him of some adventure worth taking him from this monotonous albeit pleasure existence….

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Post by Vardaen » Fri Jan 01, 2016 4:38 pm

Fuin is laughing still at his own tale, and then with his mug down he dives into the roast leg of lamb on the table. The whole caravan sort of fades into the background as muffled noise and vague shapes and movement as Bláin scans the Pony's common room wishing for more for himself than just a glorified merchant caravan member.

That's when he notices in the corner of the common room another dwarf, one he doesn't know. This fellow is sitting in the shadows looking rather meekly around the room. He hasn't touched his ale for a good ten minutes now, and barely has eaten his stew. He's finely dressed, but they cloak and boots are badly worn around the hems and soles as if they haven't been tended too in a some time. He glances over at the party from time to time, but also is checking the door just as well worriedly.
"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

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Post by Boronind » Fri Jan 01, 2016 6:25 pm

Bláin stands up, brushes off the crumbs outta of his greyish-black beard and red robes, and walks away from the raucous table rather unceremoniously as if going to relieve himself. As he glances back to make sure his departure is unnoticed he makes his way quietly to the corner where the rather wary looking dwarf sits.

As he approaches he can’t immediately tell by beard or cloth what folk this reticent looking stranger belongs. Given his years of traveling he is usually able to guess at a person’s house just by a few simple clues. As he approaches this unknown Khazâd, he checks off a list of characteristics that do not fit: his beard is too short to be of Durin’s , not red enough nor decorated to of be of Úri’s, he’s not broad enough to be of Linnar’s , not tall, gaunt and grey enough to be of Sindri’s (Ironfists) nor rustic and rough enough to be of Thulin’s (Stiffbeards)and way too far West to be either of Var’s (Blacklocks) nor Vigdís (Stonefoot), who never leave the halls of Baraz-lagil in the farthest East. The man remains an utter mystery to Bláin as he moves quietly toward him.

Respecting the demeanor of the Khazâd before him, he speaks in Khudzul in a voice just above a whisper, which is still quiet loud for a dwarf: “Gajut men (Forgive me). Men gajamu (I apologize) for disturbing you and intruding on your peace. But you see, I seek a moment of quiet from the din over there and relief from tales I’ve heard many times before. I thought you might wish to converse for a spell and enjoy a smoke with me.” As he pulls out his pipe and begins to pack it with Longbotton Leaf that he just acquired from the Shire, he continues, “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Bláin, Son of Balin of the House of Durin. I am a trader by vocation and a frequent traveler on these roads over the last decade or so.” He bows slightly as the custom of his people and finishes, “I am at your service.” He offers a his pouch of pipe-weed to the stranger with a faint smile and twinkling eyes.
I am using C. Seeman's Dwarves of Middle-Earth: Seven Houses of the Khazad from Decipher's Moria module for my source material here. I will pdf a copy of it for you today and send it to you. I think it would be interesting to give him (Vara?) a house to belong. Makes the whole thing thicker, but I will leave it to you which of the 7 he belongs, not counting the Petty dwarves which I know very little about
Courtesy 2 roll if necessary

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Post by Vardaen » Mon Jan 04, 2016 3:53 pm

The caravan dwarves hardly notice Bláin heading off as they drink and tell stories.

As Bláin reaches the lone dwarf he watches as he withdraws some, but the offer of a pipe by Balin's son brings a raised eyebrow. "Well Bláin son fo Balin, take a seat, and pack me a pipe." He slides his own haggered looking pip across the table to the other dwarf. "I am Vara, son of... well no one nearly as important as Balin." He glances at the party of dwarves, "Anyone caravan passing through? Busy must be good you Erebor folks are always moving back and forth these days."
"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

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Post by Boronind » Mon Jan 04, 2016 6:04 pm

Still speaking the secret tongue of their kinfolk, Bláin thanks Vara for letting him join him, “Akhminruki astû (Thank you wholeheartedly), then takes his seat across from him at the darkened table, packs the other dwarf’s pipe generously with Longbottom Leaf, hands it back to him, strikes a match, lights the other dwarf’s first and then his own before saying anything else so as not to seem to eager.

After the ritual is complete, Bláin takes long draught of ale from his mug, wipes his beard as is dwarven habit, and begins to speak, this time in the common tongue so as not to seem pretentious or draw attention. From his father and his long experience in trading he has learned to be a master of “getting-to-know-you” small talk.

“Indeed,” he says heartedly, turning his eyes to his own fine red garments, "you can tell by my looks that times for trade and commerce could not be better. Good fortune shines upon us now as brightly as does the Arkenstone itself. Now, after the cessation of our former afflictions, we are growing richer and fatter in ways that exceed the great treasury of dwarven halls of yore.”

Pausing briefly to take a puff off his pipe, he sighs and continues, “Yet, without a dragon to slay, an orc horde to battle, what honor is there to be had in growing so large that one can no longer fit in one’s armour and whose arms have become to flacid to wield one’s great axe? When one abandon's the glory to be had in that search for that elusive mithril vein,what then?”

“But it would seem,” his gaze now turning to Vara’s thread-bare clothing while nodding sympathetically, “that you, my kinsman, have seen better days, no? Perhaps your clothes have seen more adventure than mine?” He lets his query linger so as not to embarrass Vara.

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Post by Vardaen » Mon Jan 04, 2016 7:23 pm

Vara takes the pipe and puffs away on it happily. "A fine leaf, thank you." The dwarf does look a bit slender as well as having well worn gear. "Perhaps dwarves grow fat in Erebor, but it is not so in Bree." He nods at one point, "Trouble in the north is always at hand. A fortune can slip through your fingers, and you'll never see it again once it does." He leans back and puffs away, "Perhaps you might have need of an other hand among your caravan? I could stand to get out of Bree."
"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

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Post by Boronind » Mon Jan 04, 2016 7:59 pm

Smiling gently but not over enthusiastically, Bláin replies, “There might be such an opportunity. However, you’d have to pass muster with Fuin. And though he is jolly now, when it comes to business his beard can be quite stiff. But I could put in a good word for you…though I would know your story first.”

After another deep inhale and exhale of the finest of Shire-leaf, Bláin redirects the conversation back to Vara. “You speak of fortunes gained and lost. Alas, is that not the lot of our people? Gabâsh nekha azafr 'azm-markh-muzm ra besenata nidlugul azafr tharkhkund. (Wealth comes like a turtle, and runs away like a fox) Isn’t that how the old saying goes? You look and sound like you speak from experience. Tell me a tale, your tale of trouble, won’t you Vara?”

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Post by Vardaen » Tue Jan 05, 2016 4:18 pm

Vara checks his mug and its nearly empty, "Its a long and thirsty tale." After convincing Blain to refill it the dwarf agrees to tell his tale. "Well you see it all started with one of these Rangers up here, name of Arafel. He put together a little expedition north, into the cold north area. Place called Carn Dûm, now this is a terrible place, just terrible, but the chance for a pay out, a real one, was too great for anyone to ignore. I mean anyone, this little expedition set out with dwarf, man and elf among its group. We traveled into the places that no one should travel because Arafel talked us into it. He was a good man, driven, perhaps a bit too much, but he had a way to make you forget your fears. Anyhow, we found what we were looking for, and more." He downs half his mug and wipes his beard.

"We found riches, treasures, gold....and well, more than we bargained for. That sort of gold is never unguarded. It weren't no orcs or even a dragon sitting on this horde however, but the very living dead. Ghosts and ghouls, ghasts and wraiths! I know I know, you say these aren't real things. I tell you they are! And well, when those things come after their gold you don't stick around. I was lucky to escape with my life. Many of that that group didn't, Arafel included."

He downs the rest of his ale and grows dark and silent for a bit.
"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

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Post by Boronind » Tue Jan 05, 2016 6:33 pm

Bláin feels the burly hairs on his neck stand on end at the tale of the undead and the mention of Carn Dûm, which he father told him used to be a great mansion of Linnar’s folk back in the Second to the mid Third Age of the world, Barazbizar as it was known. A deep sadness floods him temporarily as he recalls how so many of the great halls of his people have either been destroyed due to cataclysm or taken over by vile servants of the Enemy. But he quickly refocuses back on Vara and his tale of woe.

“That is a most ghastly tale indeed, Vara.” He pauses to puff and drink before continuing. “But surely that is not the end of it, just the low point….is there more to tell? After all it is long way from Carn Dûm to Bree…..”

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