The other night our gaming group continued its heroics in Middle Earth. We played “Those Who Tarry No Longer,” one of the Wilderland Adventures published by Cubicle 7.
The party was:
- Arador, a Dunedain Warden
- Linder, a Wanderer from the Woodland Realm
- Quentin T. Tarrowtook, a Hobbit Warden
- Skovrok, a Dwarven Warrior
- Tharin, a Dwarven Treasure Hunter
Spoiler Alert: If you are going to play this adventure stop reading now!
Our heroes start at the Carrock, that large stone jutting out of the Anduin. They had seen justice done and were waiting on behest of Beorn, who had been hunting Orcs in the area. Eothygn and his new squire, Oderic, begged the importance of training and departed south for the Riddermark. Caranthiel skipped off to report back to Thranduil and seek out Rhadagast and ask about the Gibbet King. She asked Linder to remain with the party as Elvish eyes would be useful. Before leaving, Beorn gave the party cloak pins of a bear’s head, signifying that they are acting on his behalf.
Patronage is a very important thing in Adventures in Middle Earth. Patrons do give missions and direction to a party, but they also give a safe space to heal. In the wild there are no long rests. That is you cannot regain hit dice. You must seek out a safe space and either gain audience with a local magnate and try to convince them to stay or, gain a patron, who gives safety for free(ish). This makes it much more of a points of light campaign, and encourages people to not just load up on combat related skills as interpersonal skills effectively equal healing.
As they waited, an emissary from the Woodland Realm, with about a dozen Elves, found the party. The emissary, Galion, greeted the party formally. He explained that the Elves were troubled by the same Orcs that Beorn had been hunting. What’s more, these Orcs were not from the Mirkwood, but from Mordor. Galion stepped back, as two of the Elves stepped forward. They seemed brighter or more real than the rest. Linder recognized them as Noldor Elves. One was an Elf-lord in his prime. The other wore a gown of shimmering grey silks, her face veiled. The Elf-Lord stepped forward and introduced himself as Legolas, son of Thranduil, and the lady as Irimë, of the House of Finwë. Irimë was journeying to the West and has asked the party to escort her to High Pass, where folk from Rivendell will take over her escort. Legolas and the other Elves didn’t seem to want to leave Irimë, but the lady insisted that the party could guide her safely.
Linder spoke for the party and agreed to guard her, though all were a bit trepidatious at having 5 take over for a dozen Elves. Legolas seemed to agree but said that the Orcs needed tp be hunted, being so close to the Woodland Gate and driven by some purpose that the Elves had not discovered. Skovrok showed Legolas the metal lozenge with the graven image of the hanged man that the party had found on Orcs earlier. Legolas tossed it back, stating that it was something Mannish and not known to him.
Irimë gave a warning that a darkness was stirring in the Mirkwood, a howling not heard since the darkness left Dol Guldor. Cheered by that thought, Tharin stepped forward and showed Irimë the disembodied head that he had stolen from Valdemar the Bloody a month earlier. The lady looked at it and said that it was a linked by magic to a darkness that as unknown to her, but would act like a beacon to the servants of it. Now the party was worried. Really worried. But they accepted the invitation of the Elves to join them for supper under the trees.
The next morning Irimë was dressed for travel and the party found itself near to Old Ford, at least two days south of the Carrock! It was suggested that the Elves needed only have a few more dinner parties and they would be in Rivendell in a few days! Sadly, of the rest of the Elves there was no sign, and Irimë seemed withdrawn and morose, speaking of lost glories and the passing of the light from the land.
Starting the Journey (using the Journey rules) Arador rolled exceptionally well. Despite their depressing charge the party was so buoyed by their supper that nothing could bring them down, not even the sight of Old Ford preparing to defend itself from the Orcs that were obviously in the Mirkwood, judging by the fires nearby.
The first night across, Tharin came across the sign of an Orcish hunting party, and Linder also heard rumour of them through his connection to the natural world. There were too many to fight, maybe. The party decided to press on.
The next day dawned cloudy, with a chill wind rushing down from the peaks of the Misty Mountains, bringing clouds along – cover for the Orcs. A quick scouting showed more Orc bands and some patrols of Goblins on Wargs. The party asked Irimë if these Orcs could be hunting her. She said that it could be her, or the head that Tharin carried. The treasure-hunter looked like he regretted taking something for the first time in years. The party decided to press on, and try to avoid the patrols. The first day passed quietly, and the party seemed well able to find their way around the hunters.
The next day the were midway from Old Ford tp High Pass when the Orcs caught them. Irimë seemed distracted by a stream nearby, remembering the gardens it once watered as the party sought a place for a last stand. There was an old ruined enclosure nearby, and steep-sided hill close by. The party moved to the hill, and Arador pleaded politely with Irimë. As Irimë climbed the hill, she looked around and stated that there were trolls nearby. The party must hold, for she would summon aid.
Dozens of Orcs and Goblins surrounded the hill. Half a dozen trolls lumbered forward and the party felt worried. Skovrok trembled for a moment before calming himself (after re-rolling his saving throw using inspiration). The Orc captain yelled at the party to let the she-elf go, but the party responded with such resolve that for a moment, all of the Orcs and Goblins froze, unsure. The first arrows flew out from the party and began to whittle down the numbers of enemies. Quentin laughed as he outshot the Elf yet again. “Are you even trying?” he shouted gleefully, not seeming to be concerned by the odds facing the party. The enemy surged forward and the party held. Arrows first then blades. Tharin had fired off some arrows then rolled into the long grass at the bottom of the hill, moving as fast as he could to quietly get towards the Orc leader, who had already been injured by a few well placed arrows. He attacked the leader, but he was unable to drop him before a hill troll intervened. Tharin quickly ran for the nearby woods and waited for a calm moment. When it appeared, he loosed an arrow and killed the chieftain, causing the trolls and orcs nearby to flee.
The rest of the party didn’t see this happening as the goblins and orcs surged up the hill. The weaker goblins actually helped the party as their puny arms did little hurt. Goblins did fall though, and some started climbing a steeper side of the cliff. There were trolls too, closing in. Skovrok threw himself in front of Irimë as a gap in the line opened. Arador called out to Quentin who slit a goblin’s throat and pivoted out of the way as Arador charged in, swinging his sword and calling out the name of his royal house. The orcs and goblins were stunned, and while a good dozen fled, more soon rushed in.
The orcs paused though, and soon the companions saw a dozen giant eagles rushing down, raking their claws into the packed ranks. The orcs, leaderless, fled.
Tharin appeared as the last of the orcs ran off and the eagles landed, bloody and covered in grass. The party wondered aloud what he had been up to when they were fighting for their lives. Tharin sighed and smiled as Irimë talked to the lord of the eagles. The lord of the eagles also addressed the party, asking if they were the ones who had saved one of his kind in the Mirkwood the year prior. When they said that they were, the party was carried to the base of High Pass. Before the eagles left, the party asked if the eagles could send a message to Beorn about the numbers of orcs in the West Middle Vales.
The eagles gone, the party followed Irimë as she wandered through the ruins of what the party had called Elendil’s camp. “I have been here before. This was Haycombe, the trader’s town leading to the Cirith Forn en Andrath. It was built by Middle-Men with golden hair who traded over the Mountains. They were a kind folk. They are gone, now. Some went South, with a brave chieftain called Eorl. Others stayed, until the shadow in the forest reached out and destroyed them. Treachery brought the enemy into the town, his horrors took the people here as slaves, and then there was no more laughter in the pass. Shall we move beyond this depressing place and wait for folk from Rivendell?” Arador muttered loudly that every place was depressing when she was reminiscing.
Up a little ways into the hill was the tower that the party had found so defensible before. A watch was set. In the night a darker bit of night seemed to swarm around Irimë. She cried out.
All awoke under the sunlight just outside a tall tower that overlooked not a ruin, but a bustling town. Irimë was no where to be seen. Tharin buried a coin in the dirt outside of the tower and the party moved into the town, stopping in the inn. The Falling Goat was a nice place, and relatively busy despite the ongoing market in the streets below. There were some children underfoot, and one youth who bravely approached Arador and asked to squire for him. Haleth, it turns out, was the son of a guardsman who would be back soon. Arador was non-commital towards the idea of a squire at first, when the party heard that the local lord was due back from investigating troubles near the Anduin.
Then the lord returned and all hell broke loose. The lord was dead, as were many of the local guards that marched with him. Easterlings, all alive, helped to round people up as the undead slaughtered those who resisted. The party barricaded themselves in the in as Haleth led the children out the back. Unfortunately some undead got in by the windows and Tharin and Quentin did what they could, even grappling with their foes so the children could slip out. I gave them one die for every child they saved but did not tell them what they were for.
All awoke on the ruined hill. Irimë struggled, the transport of slaves to Dol Guldor, first by Easterlings, and then orcs. Once in the dungeon, the party tried to help those from Haycombe who had survived the journey. Haleth had survived, and Arador seemed far more amenable to a squire in the dungeon. One of the townsolk was dead in the cell, another lay sick. An emissary of the Master of Dol Guldor offered food and care to those who swear to serve him. The party talked about the risk of accepting to the bard that survived from Haycombe (who ended up turning and leaving the party in the cell). Skovrok was tempted to give in to double cross, but the others convinced him that even in dreams swearing to the Enemy was not to be undertaken lightly. Instead, the party opened the cell lock and grabbed a guard and pulled him in. Or tried to. After some wrestling and use of improvised weapons they succeeded, but another of the guards had run for help. Quentin snuck out in the excitement, and proceeded to poison some of the supplies he could find before the party was subdued. The orcs seemed to think the party would give good sport, and so said that they would fight in the arena the next day. The kid too!
Haleth was scared, but the party took the time to train him a bit. The party then were called out, leaving the kid in the cell.
The arena had a large cave troll and the party had been given weapons or armour, not both. Skovrok hunkered down and tried to distract the troll, as the others filled the troll with arrows and knife cuts. In a surprisingly short amount of time their foe lay dead. Back to the cell the party went, only to see poor Haleth thrown in, bleeding and dying. The guards didn’t like missing out on the big match, so had their own sport. Haleth had killed an orc though, and no longer seemed afraid. The party tried to comfort him, and the lad gave the group a bracelet he had hidden before he died.
At that time the old man who had died just after their arrival to the cell began to glow as large orc guards and men entered the cell. The Gibbet King began to speak.
“I once ruled these lands. The King of Rhovanion. The cities have been shattered and my people scattered due to the greed of Gondor and the blindness of the failed blood of Numenor. Murdered by the Tower of Ecthelion who feared I would lay claim to Minas Tirith. A young man poisoned by those professing to protect. Hung as I died, strung up to show that the blood of Gondor was not to be trifled with. I have waited. I have served the darkness of Dol Guldor. And. And. AND! Now I have the blessing to reform my kingdom. The light of the Noldor will not stop me. The Woodland Realm will not link with Imladris or the followers of the lost light of Laurelin. And the meddlers. Dwarves who stole from Fram. Elves of Thranduil’s ilk. And the failed blood, fallen to wallow in the mud of kingdoms of the north long since cast down. You will serve or die. Your actions cannot help the Noldor.”
Guards attack.
The party wakes to see Irimë struggling in the eary dawn light. The party then rolled for Irimë, 1d20 plus the dice they had received by saving lives. Irimë was saved and the darkness fled.
“Even lesser lights exist, though some, like the Lamps of Amon Lanc are missing. Lost but maybe not destroyed for even now the shades of a greater evil in the south seek them. Be watchful for them in your travels. For they can hold back those who fear the music of the ainur. Not all beauty must perish before its time. I will still head into the west, but I may, perhaps leave some memory of the light for those who are still able to hear the music.”
With that she gave the party great gifts of wondrous items, which we will see more of next session. Rangers from Rivendell appeared and the party asked to travel with Irimë a little longer, as the way back to the Mirkwood was so full of the enemy. We leave our heroes journeying over high pass, maybe to winter in Rivendell.
Another solid adventure, though I deviated heavily from the script to meet my own campaign throughline and reduce the railroaded nature of much of it. Nonetheless, I am still very happy with Cubicle 7’s offerings and I highly recommend checking them out if you enjoy FRPGs.