We recently played the next adventure in Cubicle 7’s Wilderland Adventures, Kin Strife and Dark Tidings.  I used details from the Rhovanion Region Guide and The Mirkwood Campaign and from my own notes as I’ve some changes to the plot line. The Mirkwood Campaign spans thirty odd years, and with that and my own plotline, I have been dropping hints and giving exposure to things not in the original adventure. I think that doing so increases verisimilitude and really helps to draw the players in more.

Spoiler Alert! Note: If you are going to play this adventure please stop as there are spoilers ahead. 

Following our last session, our heroes undertook a fellowship phase before agreeing to meet up at the Most Easterly Inn.

A fellowship phase is a concept wherein the game programmes in down time for the adventures. During the fellowship phase (often over the Winter months) adventures rest, heal, work on maintain their holdings or establish bonds with others. The normal tempo for adventures is one a year, but I have accelerated this with three the last year as I want to meet up with some certain chronology.

This was a big party (at least for me). 7 players:

• Arador; a Dunedain Warden
• Caranthiel; an Elven Scholar from the Woodland Realms
• Eothygn; a Rohirrim Warrior
• Linder; a Woodland Elf Warrior
• Quentin T. Tarrowtook; a Hobbit Wanderer
• Skovrok; a Dwarven Warrior
• Tharin; a Dwarven Treasure Hunter

As per the last time, I laid out the ground rules for such a large party (and with so many players who were not the quietest):

• No cellphones at the table;
• 15 seconds per person during combat;
• Initiative rolled prior to game start and remains the same throughout;
• Name cards for each person, with character name, AC, maximum hit points, perception score and initiative – this time on green paper, green for good, not mauve for murder;
• 1 at a time (I am outnumbered rule); and
• Crit snacks rule (our group has a tradition of having nice chocolates set aside that are only used for when a natural 20 or 1 is rolled. Sometimes it’s a consolation prize, other times it’s celebration).

The party, less Eothygn, who was nearby at Beorn’s House delivering a message, were enjoying a picnic on the banks of a branch of the Anduin in the warm sunlight. Caranthiel had a bodyguard of sorts with her, an archer named Linder who, though quiet, seemed at ease with the rest of the group. Dody Brandybuck, the Hobbit proprietor of the nearby inn was present, so the food was excellent. As the Sun shifted into the western sky all seemed well, until some of the sharper eyed amongst the group noticed gore-crows circling near the water not far away.

Tharin grabbed his axe and disapeared into the undergrowth, followed by the Elves who moved down into the trees. Arador was tripped up by Inspiration, Quentin’s ass (though he insists that his noble steed be called a donkey). Skovrok sighed and clanked his way down, followed by the curious Hobbit.

Down where a small backwater of the Anduin meandered by, the party saw a boat. In it were two bodies of men, one whose limp arm bumped against the side of the boat as the gentle breeze blew it against the shore. Orc arrows could be seen sticking out of the bodies.

Quentin loosed an arrow at the Gore-crows and took one on the wing.

“One!” He called to Linder who responded with a kill of his own.

Caranthiel, Skovrok, and Arador checked out the boat as Tharin searched the area. The dead men wore cloak pins in the shape of a bear’s head, marking them as being sworn men of Beorn. They were well dressed, and clearly warriors, though a sword was missing from one of their scabbards. In the bottom of the boat…

“Two! Beat that Elf!” shouted Quentin

In the bottom of the boat were cut ropes and signs of third person (it was like herding cats for a bit of the game).

“Ah, boats,” grumbled Tharin, the Dwarf looking at the craft with suspicion. “My uncle died in a boat once.”

Quentin then hooted as Linder missed a shot. Arador saw a body on the other side of the narrow water and leapt across. Two dead orcs, impaled on the same spear. The spear was not orcish, so clearly one of the men in the boat had killed some of the attackers. On one of the Orcs was a small metal bar, in a lozenge shape with a symbol of a hanged man on one side. None of the party knew what it meant.

Caranthiel suggested that they bring the bodies to Beorn whose house was not far away. All agreed. Dody returned to his Inn.

Arriving at Beorn’s homestead, the party was greeted by dogs, who though first were eager, began to howl when they saw one of the dead men. The few people present by the big house stood quietly. Beorn was sitting on the stoop next to Eothygn, and was carving wood with his fingernails, looking calmly at the party as they came closer.

Beorn stood up, towering over everyone. All were quiet. He walked to the bodies and said “These were my men. Tasked to keep peace and bring law-breakers to me for judgement. Odo was one of my best. How did they come to this fate?”

The party then explained what they had found. They asked about the metal lozenge but Beorn did not recognize it. All agreed that it looked like a prisoner had escaped, who had taken a sword and also the purse of silver that Odo carried. Worse yet, this man may have been in league with the orcs. Orcs who should not have come so far out of the Mirkwood. Note that I did not treat the money as per the adventure. The adventure has the purse still in the boat, which strikes me as unusual. So I had it stolen and removed a possible source of conflict that I felt didn’t add much tp the overall story.

After a good and hearty meal, Beorn asked the party to find the prisoner and return him alive to the Carrock, the great stone island in the Anduin. Beorn would reward them handsomely. They could stay the night, and he would take it as a kindness if they stayed for the funeral of the men they had brought home to their final rest.

The next morning the party found Beorn with a pile of Orc helmets on his table. He explained that he had walked his lands in the night and found these trespassers. They should not have been so bold. Also, the prisoner had gone south. Beorn found his tracks and passed on where they should pick up his trail.

The funeral was a somber affair. The party was asked to speak. Linder said, “A warrior fights in the darkness so that others may enjoy the light,” or something to that effect. The player had said it so eloquently and with such poetry that all of us at the table were stunned. Tharin broke the mood by adding, “Dead eh. And a bear here. My uncle was killed by a bear once.”

The party picked up the trail of the fugitive and rolled well on their journey roll. Following his tracks they found a dead Orc in a small ditch. His head had been cut off by a sharp sword. He too had a sigil of the hanged man. Pushing south the party approached Old Ford with hungry bellies. After some stew at Galvira’s homestead, with the rumour that someone was seen skirting the Mirkwood and avoiding the town the party pressed on.

The next day they met some Woodsmen. The Woodsmen were from the Bight, on the far side of the narrowest side of the Mirkwood. They wished to gain support for a moot where the Woodsmen of the Mirkwood might come together. The group was on their way to talk to Beorn of their plan. They hadn’t seen anyone, but Stonyford had experienced a murder a week gone. A kin slaying in fact. A husband was killed. Jealous lover maybe. As they parted they called out Quentin, calling him a river sprite. The Hobbit did not look amused but there was no malice in the men’s words.

The next day the party came to Stonyford. It was a small hamlet, no evidence of a ford at all. A pile of stones that could have been the base for a bridge and around it small crude huts. Three figures came out to greet the party. One, an old man in once fine clothes, a young man, broad across the shoulders nervously holding an axe, and tired looking woman who introduced herself as Ava. Ava was daughter of Hartwulf, the aged chief that stood before them. Williferd was a young warrior.

The party was very polite and rolled well on their audience roll. Williferd was nervous at the mention of Orcs and Linder went over to calm him down. Ava saw Quentin. “A river faerie! Where is your barge? Did you drink up all of their milk?”

“I think you are confused,” came the reply. Quentin does not know what to make of the River Sprite talk, and seems to be becoming sullen, if such a thing were possible.

The party was invited into the town, and to a feast that night. The dead man was indeed a husband, Rathfic, Brunhild his wife lived over there. Her father, Helmgut, had apprehended the killer, his own foster son, and had retired to his hut for the past week.

The party split into two groups. The larger group talked to the drunk father and got little out of him, but that his foster son, Oderic, had always been an angry lad. Ever since he was orphaned as a child.

Caranthiel, Linden, and Tharin talked to the widow, who was tending to the grave of her husband. Linder sang to the flowers she had placed and they took root and seemed to blossom more fully. Brunhild was quiet, but said she was responsible to Caranthiel. She had a faint bruise on her cheek and her story about the killing kept varying in minor details. They figured she did it. And when pressed she as much as admitted it. She said the Oderic had been there not a day and a half before. He fled to flee a killer’s blame across the river. He was going to steal a boat, go straight across and let the boat drift downstream to make him harder to track.

That night the feast was well attended for such a small place. The party circulated and heard many conflicting stories of who Oderic was, and what the young man had done. There was some discussion between the party members of turning Brunhild in, but all agreed that Oderic, who had escaped custody, would have to be returned for trial regardless, and that Brunhild was likely justified in the killing. Arador, who was very concerned about his looks, found the idea of a widow appealing. There was laughter on this, as Arador’s prettiness had been the talk of the last few sessions. Then this picture was found online and it was proclaimed to be a likeness of him:

Crossing the river, the party found what may have been Oderic’s camp. The next day the passed a campsite on a small hill where there looked to have been a bit of a struggle. Deciding to stay there the night, the party was disturbed by a group of bandits. The party won the fight easily, taking one outlaw prisoner.

Questioning the surviving outlaw, the party learned that Valter the Bloody was the ruler in these parts. He had been gathering outlaw groups to him, and their group was going to score off the party and head for other pastures. Why? Valter was a rough man. Seemed to see himself as above others. Taking the outlaw back to his camp and securing some of the supplies, they let the outlaw go. They did give guidance to improve his life choices for if they saw him as an outlaw again they would turn him over to Beorn.

Valter’s camp was large. Well over a hundred men, women, and children. Small routine patrols checked the woods nearby. The party sent scouts in to look and they saw Oderic, seemingly free in camp, with a sword at his side. He was being tailed though. A man, who only could have been Valter talked to Oderic and clearly told him make up his mind. Oderic and his shadow soon left the camp so Oderic could clear his head and were promptly jumped by the party’s scouts.

A round later and Oderic had barely gotten his sword out and the party had killed the bandit tailing him. Talking of Brunhild convinced him to go a ways with him and discuss what was going on. Oderic was not in league with the Orcs, but had taken the opportunity (and the sword and silver) to run for freedom. Oderic didn’t want Brunhild to suffer for the death of Rathfic, and would return with the party. Valter was trying to get him to reveal the strengths of Beornings as the outlaws would raid the towns soon. A plan was hatched.

Oderic would return to Valter, claim that Beorning scouts had killed Faron, his guard. He would lead Valter astray, coming by Gloomyford. This would protect Stonyford and give the party some time to raise forces in response. So, Oderic left. Eothygn raced north to Old Ford and on to Beorn. Skovrok Linder, and Caranthiel ran north, while Tharin, and Quentin infiltrated Valter’s camp. There, they spoiled supplies and caused difficulties, slowing the outlaws. Tharin even got into Valter’s tent, where he came face to face with a talking disembodied head, who said he was the emissary of the Gibbet King. The head called for guards as Tharin gagged it and stuffed it into a sack before fleeing.

Eothygn had ridden hard. To keep the play flowing, his player had written the following so we did not need to take time from the coming battle:

Beorn, I ride fresh from the Gladden Fields, where we found Oderic, the prisoner who was to be delivered to you. He swears that it was Orcs who killed your friends, and I believe him. He also claims guilt in the murder of kin, but I have taken measure of the man and I say in this he lies. His lie is to protect a loved one, and to accept death to spare his family hardship and further grief. I say there is hope and honour in this man, and ask you to turn him to my keeping, as my ward. His last deed to us was to help us against a bandit tyrant, who even now marches on the southern hamlets, who cannot stand against the bandit army alone. I intend to ride from here to the aid of my friends, and the defence of those who cannot defend themselves. I ask your aid, whatever you can provide.

Beorn sent word to gather for war.

The battle lines were drawn up. Ennalda, Beorn’s lieutenant explained that Beorn was delayed by Orcs. She wanted the party to break through the lines and kill Valter. So they did. Archers from on high opened a gap in the ranks of the enemy and then the melee experts ended Valter, as Oderic stabbed an outlaw leader through the back and Arador revealed his Numenorian ancestry, sending a half-dozen fleeing. Beorn arrived as the battle ended,

At the Carrock, Beorn presided over the trial. Ennalda called Oderic out for his sins against kin, for theft, for joining the outlaws. The party then spoke, and impressively every single character spoke out in his favour. The question of justice itself was raised before Beorn raised his big hand.

He found that Oderic did not mean to kill Rathfic. But a man was dead. Kin. His actions since then, in helping to defeat Valter, could not change that. Beorn, however, would be merciful. Oderic would owe a half-weregild to be split between Brunhild and her father. At this, Eothygn intervened. He offered to pay the weregild and take Oderic on as his squire. Beorn approved. (Eothygn’s next level gives him the option for a squire, so I was pleased to see him coming up with an in-character reason for the new addition).

We leave our heroes there, in the shadows of the Carrock, ready for what I’m going to throw at them next.

Once again, it was a great session. The rules fit the feeling of Middle Earth, and they also discourage the murder-hobo playstyles that you see in other RPGs. Everyone got into character really well. While seven players was a big group and there was some table chatter, it was almost all in character, and all of it good natured. Arador’s picture was shown several times as the Dunedain tried to impress everyone he met with his winning smile.

I really enjoy running Adventures in Middle Earth, and the published adventures from Cubicle 7 are excellent. I have not used published adventures in years, but these are excellent, and I look forward to running the next in the series. I highly recommend the system and the adventures to everyone who plays RPGs.