Book 3: Chapter 2 - Into the Cold North

Blubbo_Baggins · Post by **Blubbo_Baggins** » Fri Feb 15, 2019 7:32 pm

Telurin suddenly recognizes the area in which they are standing. It is an old Memorial Circle of the Hill-men; a mound in which their ancestors' bodies were burned; Hill-men who had fought and died in battles against the Dunedain, when they had been joined to the Witch-king of Angmar.

He speaks up, sharing with the rest of the party the details he remembered from his occasional studies in the library of Rivendell. "This place...it is like a barrow, only the Lord of the North did not send foul spirits to inhabit it, as far as I know. Nevertheless, the Hill-men consider this place sacred or cursed, depending on their leaning. If the owners of those hounds believe the place cursed, this is a good spot, for they will not dare approach it for fear of ghosts. But.... if the former, then we are standing on the worst spot possible, for the hounds' owners will believe we are not only enemies, but have desecrated a holy place, the honored mounds of their dead. Let us at least go to the far side of the mound.

When the Hill-men return with their hounds - and I doubt it could be anyone else - let them not see we are standing on the mound. If they are hostile but seem to fear this hill, we can consider returning here, for they may avoid us. If they do not fear the place, then we give them less reason to be hostile."

The Elf looks at Halleth. "It might be good for you to disguise yourself in some way. Hide any sign that you are Dunedain. It might be that the Hill-men will allow an Elf and a Bree-man, and two Hobbits to pass through unmolested. But I doubt they will be willing to overlook you. You know better than me the way folk see you here in the North."

AndyDez · Post by **AndyDez** » Sat Feb 16, 2019 10:54 pm

Hugo mutters,

"They had been roused from the haunted ground,
By the yelp and bay of the hunting hounds!"

It is an old rhyme, often told to young restless hobbits keen on leaving the bounds of the Shire. My mother often reminded my father and I of our danger while executing his duties abroad. She would say, "Mind you two fools! Stick to the road and travel by day. Don't drift into the barrow-lands for 'they had been roused from the haunted ground; by the yelp and bay of the hunting hounds!' They being the dead of course. Though here it may be orcs.....or worse.....," he finishes drifting off to silence.

Wbweather · Post by **Wbweather** » Mon Feb 18, 2019 5:49 pm

"Perhaps they mean no harm and are just checking on us. Let's prepare to fight, but make it clear that our intentions are peaceful. I agree with Telurin, let's at least make our way to the edge of the hill."

Post by **Vardaen** » Mon Feb 18, 2019 6:37 pm

Quickly you make your way to the far edge of the hill compared to the path the hound took. You are ready for a fight, but present a peaceful front. The baying of the hounds is still heard in the distance, but after a while the echos grow silent. You wait, expecting some surge of foes, but nothing comes, at right at once at least. As the hobbits are starting to doubt the whole thing, Telurin holds his hand out to stop any hasty actions from the little folks, the patience of immortality behind his years. So you wait a bit longer, and are 'rewarded' for it, coming up the hill, stalking with care, come a dozen wild Hill-men of Rhudaur, every other man holds on a leash one of the great wolfhounds, and with them too is a lone girl. They are armed and rugged, with primitive armor. They are low men, some look malnourished, others stunted or deformed as the result of inbreeding.

Leading the wedge formation of Hill-men up the memory hill is a warrior of great strength and skill with a spear. He brazenly shows awful scars on his left arm: evidence of a bear attack. Beside him are three scraggy men carrying shields and blades and hold the leashes of two of the six dogs among the group. They are similar in appearance and age, yet easily distinguished by their embellishments: one wears an armband of teeth, another a bright green tunic, and the other a large helm masking his countenance. The last among the vanguard is a young man half the size of the largest among the Hill-men, but he wears a heavy iron helm and carries a broad sword. Many more, each with various appearances, weapons, and wolfhound move up slower behind the vanguard. Their weapons are out, and on seeing you they shift their stance, sizing you yup.

Muskrat · Post by **Muskrat** » Mon Feb 18, 2019 7:10 pm

Halleth nods at Telurin's suggestion pulling his cloak up to obscure his features and his clothes. When the Hill-Men approach, he holds his tongue, letting someone better with words speak on their behalf.

Blubbo_Baggins · Post by **Blubbo_Baggins** » Tue Feb 19, 2019 5:04 pm

Telurin whispers to Hartley and Hugo; "These folk will know little of halflings, the less threat we appear, the more likely they will let us go . . . I hope. Maybe you both should introduce us."

Wbweather · Post by **Wbweather** » Wed Feb 20, 2019 6:42 am

"Greetings and well met," begins Hartley. "We meant no harm and hope we have not trespassed where we aren't welcome. I am Hartley Sandheaver, a hobbit from Bree and these are my travelling companions, Hugo, Halleth, and Telurin."

AndyDez · Post by **AndyDez** » Wed Feb 20, 2019 11:56 pm

Hugo steps forward with Hartley, forcing a broad smile on his face. He has never seen men such as these, wild and scruffy. A far cry from Bree-men indeed!

Post by **Vardaen** » Fri Feb 22, 2019 8:13 pm

Hartley steps forward, a moment later joined by Hugo, the Hobbits, who look like nothing more than children to the Hill-men smile and speak. Hartley has a kind face, and speaks plainly with a sweet voice. The warriors in the van of the group grunt, and call back to another behind them. He says something sharply to them and then pushes forward. He is rugged and weather-worn, yet pallid as if from living in the darkness under the hills. He points to scabrous fingers at Hartley, "More children to deal with? Is this place infested now with children?!"

A man comes up with him, a bodyguard by his manner, he bears his spear and a thick wooden shield with ease. The shield displays the carved image of a Savage Wolfdog’s head: the chosen symbol of the tribe. He wears a black iron cap matching his equally dark eyes, while his beard is full and untamed, covering the birth deformity of his jaw. "I do not think those are children, beardless dwarves I say, petty dwarfs I guess."

"Dwarfs with elves? No! No I don't think so Fráech." This voice comes from the lone woman, a rare beauty among these tribes. Eyes from several of the men do not hide their lust they have for the fine looking woman, a bit of a family resemblance is there between her and the first man to speak.

"Perhaps you are right Essylt, those are not dwarves." He turns, the lead man, and shouts at you, "I am Chieftain Cynbal, who and what are you, and why are you here? These lands are not for outsiders, why are you in the Black Hills!?"

Blubbo_Baggins · Post by **Blubbo_Baggins** » Wed Feb 27, 2019 12:54 am

"We do not have much, but if it a toll that we must pay to cross your lands, I will do so. I understand the difficulty and importance of guarding the roads from orcs, which are many here in the North."

Fellowship of the Dice