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Tolkien RPG Group 1 Discussion

Posted by Hawke at February 13. 2013

Discussion for the Tolkien RPG group #1 here.

Currently planning to meet on Friday nights from 6 pm to 10 pm.

Tentative player list:

Hawke (GM)

Katy, Brian, Russ

Other potential players: Brad and Richard

Game System: The One Ring RPG.

Setting: Wilderland area.

Re: Tolkien RPG Group 1 Discussion

Posted by Hawke at March 15. 2013

Last week Brian, Richard, and Nate finished up their characters, and we undertook a very short mini-adventure with them (plus Drake), working on familiarity with the action and combat resolution rules for TOR.

Re: Tolkien RPG Group 1 Discussion

Posted by Hawke at March 15. 2013

Next game session will be Friday, March 15th, 6:00 pm to 10:00 pm.

Expected to attend:

Hawke (LM)

Katy

Drake

Brian

Richard

Nate

Brad

 

We will begin the adventure that comes in the LM book (search for Dwarves sent by Esgaroth), as we all re-familiarize ourselves with the rules (since haven't played it since Tolkien Moot last summer.

As per Brian's request, and Drake's schedule, we will then meet every-other Friday at the same time. Will be having the game sessions in upstairs dining room since the game room only seated 6 total comfortably, with such a large group, using the dining room instead.

Re: Tolkien RPG Group 1 Discussion

Posted by Hawke at April 25. 2013

The group approved video recording the sessions. Members have also asked to have the sessions available for viewing so they can refresh their memories between sessions.

They will be uploaded to the same place as last year, at the Tolkien Moot Youtube channel

http://www.youtube.com/tolkienmoot/

Enjoy!

Re: Tolkien RPG Group 1 Discussion

Posted by Hawke at April 25. 2013

Brian has taken on the challenging, and very entertaining, task of putting the TOR RPG adventure sessions into Anglo-Saxon style!

You can also view the video of this game session here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35ggqzrKeWc

Here is the first installment from the first session. Well done Brian!

RPG Day 1 of Campaign in Anglo-Saxon style


At Esgaroth   The stilted city

Town on water   Ship never sailing,

Adventure awaited.   Free folk gathered

Few to the counting   Yet a strong-fingered fist

To strike the Shadow   And gain much glory.



From distant farthings   Hailed the Holbytlan;

Short folk they are   But sure-hearted the Shire:

Poppy Smallburrow   Landed at Laketown,

Found a round room   At the inn "River Bottom."



The second stranger   To find our fellowship

Was Erland the Barding;   A man of Dale

Bold in battle   And keen of eye,

Whose blessed blood   Keeps no cowardice.



Poorer are those   Who dwell in Mirkwood,

Woodmen and women:   But rich in courage,

Their bows & their axes   Fell all foes:

So Ahir Kari   Arrived in Esgaroth.



Grimbarald was next;   And grim his face

Yet saves his scowls   For Sauron’s slaves.

The Beorning bows   To the Carrock-keeper,

And swings his blade   As the Grimmer Reaper.



In ancient days   Was Esgaroth named

By elven tongues   The Lake of Reeds;

Now fair Lindin   Strode in strength,

Wielding his wisdom   And joining our throng.



Last but not least   Was Balin the dwarf;

Young in his years   Yet hardy are they

Who live in the halls   Of the mountain-king;

Sharp is his axe   And also his wit.



These six assembled   At the humble inn

And quickly heard   The rumor-storm

That hapless scouts   Of Durin’s folk

Had disappeared.   Gloomy news

Yet perfect purpose   For a band of fighters.

To Gloin’s house   We hurried, hoping

Honor and glory   (and greater riches)

Awaited our gang.   We came before

The grandson of Nar,   The companion of Thorin;

Gloin spoke:   “Find my people!

For Balin the Old   and Oin my brother

Both are missing;   They are late to return

From the Long Marsh   And the shadows lengthen.

Find my kinsmen!   Handsome reward

Shall be given   If your quest’s fulfilled.”

Bent then his brow,   Foreboding had filled him;

His mind-eye saw   His brother drowning.

With haste we left him,   eager to gather

Supplies and a boat.   That evening, all ready,

We rested before   The early beginning.



Balin and Lindin:   Strange was their friendship,

The tree and stone   Agreed well together.

Hard-headed also   And twins in their folly,

That night they were looking   For a forge to borrow.

The last smith was closing,   His shop was shuttered,

But the two spoke with him;   Persuaded him not,

As strangers they seemed   Dark and uncouth.

To the warriors’ alarm   The smith raised a cry,

“Guards! Guards!”   And the warriors fled

To a welcomer place,   To the Inn that we stayed at,

Where a blazing fire   And frosty flagons

Healed what ale’d em.   Then all our band

Did sleep, and night’s   Star-speckled dream-cloak

Covered our senses.   The cock later crowed.



The daylight roused us,  And swiftly we packed.

Down to the docks   Our feet gladly took us,

Into the river-steed   To ride the water,

The River Running.   Fiercely we rowed,

No fish was swifter.   That night we came

To the first falls;   Porters greeted us

With manly words.   We sat at meat

Together that night,   trading our stories.

Next day, the porters   Carried the boat

Down paths on cliffs,   such nimble goats;

They trod the rocks   And ate our cash.

On for three days   We took the wave-road

Until we approached   The mists of the marsh

And the hair on our necks   Stood up straight.

Our scouts scanned   For signs of life;

They found a trail,   and the boat was landed.

Into the marsh   We warily crept,

Following tracks   That led to the forest.

Mirkwood the Great,   Hider of Shadows,

Teller of secrets   If made to confess.

Dwarves have gone missing;    Earthen clues

Point to the trees   And our company follows.

After some time,   A campsite’s discovered:

A couple days old,   But abandoned and empty.

Night’s black sheet   Covers all again,

But Balin’s stonecraft   Keeps us all warm.

*Valor and glory   Await the adventure;*

*Onward and forward   We seek for the lost.*

Re: Tolkien RPG Group 1 Discussion

Posted by Hawke at April 25. 2013

Brian's second installment of the Heroes' adventures.

You can view the video of this second session here (it includes Brian reading his Anglo-Saxon poem from the first session, at the beginning of this video):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4cGdjk-oXfw

April 26 is coming... here's Part 2 of our Adventures in Anglo-Saxon Poetry
(Part 3 to come before Friday's RPG)

Lay of the Warriors Six, Part 2

* *

*Valor and glory              Await the adventure;*

*Onward and forward      We seek for the lost.*

The darkness came         As our fellowship camped.

Yet the halfling’s sight   Discovered at dusk

Watchers that waited--   Quiet crows

With scorn to share:       Wood Elves telling

Lindin a tale                    Of two dwarves down

A day to the south.         The captain of elves

Was Galion the cold,      No friend to dwarves

But fond of his wine,      Had slept when Bilbo

Burgled the barrels         To thwart Thranduil.

No wonder Galion          Nursed a grudge.

After the crows               Had cawed and left,

Finally the fellowship    Slept and were still.

Bright broke the morning, Breakfast to make:

I needed herbs                 To flavour the fish.

The elf almost                 Poisoned the posse

But Balin the dwarf        Found the foliage.

That day we returned     To the wave-steed’s side,

Darkened with doubts    And mysterious tracks.

Rowing and weaving     Through the perilous water,

With better skill               Lindin did guide us

Through  marshy maze, The River Running

Severed in streams,         And stinking swamps.

Yet faith flowers             In darkened places

And hope renewed         Companions’ courage.

The third day,                 We glided through glades

And pulled to the shore. As the sun marched

Down to her rest,            We marched through bogs.

A small hill rose              To greet our eyes

And all hands searched  The abandoned camp.

Where have you gone,   O children of Durin?

How have the folk          Of Erebor vanished?

Sturdy and grim                     Are Óin, Gróin’s son,

And grizzled Balin,        Whose father Fundin

Fell before foes               In Azanulbizar

Which the elves called   Nanduhirion.

If Balin survived             That orcish battle,

Surely the shadow          Has not extinguished

That dwarven spirit.       But questions fell

From our tongues           Like autumn leaves

And died as we spoke.   Our own Balin,

Younger in years,           But fiercely focused

On seeing some clue,     Found hasty runes

On a rotting stump          And dug out the secret:

A box of ivory                And a scroll to the Lord

Of the Eagles in the West; We all were dazzled

By the glorious gem,      Gift of Dain

To the Wind Lord.          Yet message never

Reached Gwaihir            Or the Misty Mountains,

But was hidden here       In secret spells.

Balin Smith                     Forged a fireplace

Greater in craft                Than aught made before:

A micro-Moria                Of wondrous stone;

That bright shafts            Of light could turn

In every direction.          Darkness came.

Throughout the night,    Each watch was taken,

And shadows darker       Than light’s absence

Pressed around.               Strange splashes

And eerie lights              Increased our dread

When watching;              Corpse candles

Flickered faintly             And the hobbit heard

Nightly noises                 By the foul pool.

In the dead of night,       Smallburrow crept

To investigate                 The fishy sounds.

Lunging into air,             A troll emerged

And stood above             The hapless Halfling.

Poppy fired                     Her first arrow

And fled for cover.         Lindin next arrived

To battle troll                  With slayer’s doom

To make him strong.      Back and forth

Did the two strive,          And all the camp awoke.

The Beorning lit             A lantern to see

What foul menace          Threatened his sleep.

Setting it down,               He leaped in the light

And held in his hands     Mighty Fyrn-Bereofan,

The splitting axe             Of his grandfather Wulfric.

He smote the troll           With a piercing blow,

Yet the monster was tough. Both elf and Beorning

Traded blows with the brute; And Balin Smith

Joined our fray.              Poppy Smallburrow

Nocked an arrow,           Aimed with gleaming

Eye at the enemy,           Sent the spinning shaft

Over the lantern’s glow, Sped between tree and elf

As tiny lightning             Struck its target:

Troll trembled                 As the door of its life

Was unlocked by a key  Both swift and terrible.

Enraged, it bellowed      And vainly plucked

The deadly dart               From its hellish hole,

Only to seal its doom     When blackish blood

Spurted fresh from         That mighty neck,

And fell forward             In the brackish slime.

Not to be outdone,          the doughty dwarf

(that Balin heretofore     Described in full)

Leaped to bury                His blessed blade

In the hide of the troll,   Yet miscalculated

And buried it instead      In the behemoth’s buttock.

Then early light’s           Stealthy approach

Was proven when           The troll turned back

To stone again.                Undeterred,

Our noble dwarf             Added insult

To injury when he          Used stonecraft skills

To turn that troll             Into a fireplace and shelter

All-in-one.                           The weary fellowship

Took rest and scanned   For further signs

Of missing dwarfs.         Ahir, quiet Woodman,

Scouted a track               That dwarves once walked.

We gathered our goods  And followed the trail…

*Valor and glory              Await the adventure;*

*Onward and forward      We seek for the lost.*

Re: Tolkien RPG Group 1 Discussion

Posted by Hawke at May 11. 2013

Brian's ongoing saga:

 

Lay of the Warriors Six, Part 3

* *

*Valor and glory              Await the adventure;*

*Onward and forward      We seek for the lost.*

When last we chanted      The tale of the heroes,

Ahir woodman                 Had traced the tracks

Of the missing kin           Of Gloin the dwarf.

Before we followed         The discovered clue,

We rested again               On that same hill.

On Grimbarald’s watch    His eyes grew weary;

Did not notice                  Serpent staring

Nor did he see                  Its falling form

Until too late.                   Constrictor’s coils

Grasped Grimbarald  In squeezing song,

Each loop of snake           A deadly stanza

Pulling the man                Toward death’s refrain.

The Beorning’s bulging   Muscles were no match

For the sly serpent,          And all he could do

Was call for help.             Smallburrow roused

Herself from sleep,          Sensed trouble,

Heard the hero’s        Hoarse cries.

Waking the rest,        The Halfling hurried

And vainly cut                  With dagger blade

The mighty beast.            By now fair Lindin

Arrived to seize               The spiral strength

But found it hard.             With valiant blow

He thrust his sword          But fate drove blade

Past snake to plunge Into the shoulder

Of the Beorning.       Darkness shrouded

His senses as he               Fainted from the blow.

Yet Grimbarald’s friends Betrayed him not

But bravely stood             Over their comrade,

Stabbed and hacked That snake to death.

Poppy Smallburrow         Used healing arts

To aid the man.                All was calm.

Yet evil lurked                 Above the trees

While tired travelers Lay down to sleep

As Poppy took                 The last watch of the night.

Many eyes glinted            Before they sprang.

But swifter than spider    Was the hobbit’s hearing

And two war needles Smote the shadows

In the gloomy trees,         And fell beasts

Dropped dead                  Out of the branches.

By the time                      Courageous comrades

Arrived, they found          The hobbit retrieving

Her quiver’s quota.          Back to camp

Again they yawned.         They cleared the cobwebs

From their eyes                And continued on

Their perilous journey     Through marsh and muck.

Back in the boat               On the fifth morning,

The company rowed Down Running River

(Though sluggish be Its wandering ways)

And followed the traces   Of dwarven doom.

The lively stench             Of Rotting River

Flowed from Mirkwood  To join Celduin.

Past this foul                    Confluence of chaos

Drifted our island             Of hope and hardiness,

Followed further       To shallow fens.

Grimbarald and Poppy     Stayed in the boat

While the rest                  Searched for signs

As light waned                 Toward gloaming-time.

Their eyes found joy When saw in the water

A dwarfish boat;        But gladness turned

To sorrow’s surprise At the sunken state

Of the small vessel.         Claw marks

Scratched the surface       Of their wave traveler.

Further in the fen,            We spied bone-piles.

Sensing foreboding,         The band of companions

Pressed onward                With careful courage.

Lighting a lantern,            We hooded the sun-spill

And ventured forward      Into the tangled

Vines and vexations        Of the Long Marshes.

After dark,                        three in the wave-steed

And three in the water,    Who pulled them deeper

Into the net.                      One of us remembered

Some lore: the Wood       Of Hanging Trees

Is the place we had come.      All too soon

We found out why           They call it that…

For gallows-weed            Is their other name.

Our stealthy boat              Glided past trunks

And darkened vines. Fast now, Balin

Was attacked above         But not by beast.

The very woods               Are bent against

Our good quest,                And sought to slake

Their thirst for death By jerking the dwarf

Up in the air,                    Choking with vines

Like living ropes.             Down in the boat

Lay the Beorning             With fear and fatigue,

Helpless to help.       Erland and Ahir

Were grabbed by the weed,    Pulled to dangle

Above their friends          By the fell trees.

What horror when            The things of earth

Do strive to kill                The sons of earth!

As if a mind              Were filling trees

And vines with malice.    Bent were they,

Bent to harm us,        Waylay and destroy.

Yet elf and Halfling         Did not forsake us;

Of great worth was           Their friendship shown.

Poppy’s arrows,               Keen as always,

Bit the vines                     To break two free.

Balin bit his own              With arrows of

His dwarven teeth            And fell in the boat.

Our rage was roused  Against the creepers;

With flame and blade      We fought back well.

We blazed a trail              For fellowship’s freedom;

We found a patch             Of clearer sky

Where stars shone            Onto our boat.

We had some peace, And made our camp

Without a fire.                  Inside our ark

The warriors six        Were huddled down

To catch our breath.         I saw in the heavens

The Swordsman of the Sky    Passing over

Our small company,         And drew some hope

For our grim quest.          Where have you gone,

O Durin’s folk?                Where do your axes lie?

Then into sleep                My head soon nodded.

The sixth day started With a crow on our mast,

That flew away                Before all had woken.

The battlefield’s bird       Had flown to the south

So our fellowship followed, Half in the muck

And some in the boat.      The fen grew lighter

But misty were the trees  In the distance beyond.

Soon we had dragged       Our supplies to those trees,

And spied 12 spies           Whose feathered heads

Stared our way                 With coldest glances.

Ahir bent                          His mighty bow

And loosed an arrow To find a mark,

But the crows departed.   Soon we saw

More claw marks             On tree trunks.

We went further        To find some ruins

Drowned by the fen, And a choice to make:

Open water                       To the southeast,

Or an embankment          That led to a hill.

Dry land we chose           And scouted the slopes.

There we had time           To make a small camp,

Eat our rations,                 And kindled a fire.

We held our watches In twos to protect

Each other from danger.         That night

Balin Smith                      Pulled out the gem

That Dain made gift         To the eagles’ lord.

He caressed the jewel      And fell asleep,

His hand open.                 A crow snatched

The sparkling gem           And flew away.

Ahir chased it                   But the dwarf was fey

And took his aim             With stone and stick

At the woodsman.            An arrow grazed

The crow’s wing       And the gem was dropped.

But dragon’s greed           And treasure lust

Had grazed the wing Of Balin’s soul.

He fought to take             The jewel fair

To keep it himself.          Here is the sorrow,

The tale of the fight         That threatened the friendship

Of the warriors five          With the young stonesmith.

The gem was finally  Given to Lindin

Who kept it high       In the tree’s branches

Where he slept, yet fell   Like strange fruit

In the night.                      Balin came

To his senses                   And regretted his deeds.

The company rest            And seek to sleep.

A bell sounded,                Distant and remote,

Beorning, hobbit,             Barding all left

To follow the call            And spell’s trance.

Behind were the dwarf,   Tightly tied up

To the wood, and the elf         Asleep in the wood,

And the woodsman too.   How much would

The woodman budge,      If a woodman could

Budge wood?                   It mattered not,

Since Ahir also                Failed to resist

The enchantment.            He walked away

While elf freed dwarf      And they followed together.

They saw the tracks         Of their friends

Disappearing                    Into the woods

Along with familiar          Tracks of two dwarves

That we had long             Looked to discover.

Down the hill                   Went the fey woodman,

Walking to the edge         Of the water and ruins.

A deep pool beckoned     And the two friends

Held back their friend      From a strange summons.

Where have all gone Into depths of the earth?

What weird foe                Has summoned us all?

And what greater power         Can bend the aims

Of the darkness to serve         A greater good?

Illuvatar knows.               The quest continues…

*Valor and glory              Await the adventure;*
*Onward and forward      We seek for the lost.*

Re: Tolkien RPG Group 1 Discussion

Posted by Hawke at May 20. 2013

From Brian:

"Here, my friends, is the last part of the story. Please let me know with part 4 if I missed any important facts. It was enjoyable, and very meaningful to write.

Thank you Hawke for encouraging me to RPG, and thus allow a part of my creativity to surface that otherwise would have not had story material. I think your Research Project ( http://www.rpgresearch.com ) has good potential.

Thank you Katy, Richard, Drake, and Nate & Brad when they were part of the campaign. Thanks also to Aaron F. who played Ahir for one night. Thanks to all who brought food and drink.


I'll never forget the song "Dwarf and Orc!"  I look forward to the Fellowship Phase in June, when school is over for Hawke and I.

See you all then.

 

Tale of the Warriors Six, Part 4 (The End)


* *

*Valor and glory              Await the adventure;*

*Onward and forward      We seek for the lost:*

Erland the boldest           Man of Dale,

Ahir Kari,                        Man of Mirkwood,

Grimbarald,                    Man of the Carrock,

Lindin the Elf                 Of the Woodland Realm,

Balin the Stout                Dwarf of Erebor,

Poppy Smallburrow,       Hobbit of the Shire.

These warriors six          Had pledged their word,

Their wits, each sword   And axe and arrow,

All to succor                   Gloin’s kinsfolk

Vanished into                 The Long Marshes.

This mighty band            Was cleft in two:

The quest in danger                From the distant toll

Of the Marsh Bell.          Enchantment and evil

Divided the fellowship   ‘Tween open sky

And caves underwater.   Poppy, Erland,

And Grimbarald too       Woke on steps

Ruined and crumbling,   Free from the spell

Of the bell of the marsh. Deep underneath

The surface they were,   Glowing moss

Growing on tunnel          Beyond the steps.

Together the travelers    Rose to explore.

The dim tunnel               Led to a cavern,

Vaulted and vast             And the home of deep shade

(And worse, as we          Were soon to find).

Axeless, the man            Whose master was Beorn,

Acutely embarrassed      At being in nightclothes,

Borrowed the sword       Of Poppy Smallburrow,

Though it seemed as if   He held but a knife.

Into the darkness             Boldly the Halfling

Followed the tracks                Of Balin and Oin.

Behind her came             The Beorning and Barding

To subterranean              Passageways old.

A brief exploration         Rendered surprises!

A marsh dweller             Stood and scowled

With glowing eyes          And fearsome claws.

It shuffled toward           Erland the fighter,

Exchanged blows            And bites for damage.

Still the Barding             Met it bravely,

Lured it out                     Of the narrow tunnel,

For the halfling’s shaft   To find its mark

And bring it down.          Erland finished it.

Close call,                       For others may come.

The next tunnel               Showed signs

Of fleeing footsteps,       So wisely we went

Further across                 The cave in the gloom.

Along the wall,               The company saw

A chimney’s ruins.         Grimbarald looked

Up through the hole,       And found an exit.

Daylight’s well               Reached the cavern

Far below.                       Crow feathers

Littered the floor.           A rope dangled

But no one pulled it;       Bells may be

At the ends of things,      And we had enough

Of bells, bells,                 Bells, bells,

We’d had enough           Of crows and bells.

Nevermore                      Did we want to hear them;

Poe-try’s fine                  But even poets

Can have enough            Of blasted bells.

So there we were:           Two ways of escape

But two dwarves             To discover. Hark!

Some marble steps          We found ahead:

Descending down           To a set of doors,

Sturdy yet battered;                Scratched with claws

Of dreadful beasts.          We knocked with hope

And waited for answer.  Feebly we heard

A muffled reply,             And the bolt was opened.

Old Balin and Oin          Were still alive,

Starving and weak          But near death’s door.

Behind us stamped         The feet of friends

And our fellowship         Was reunited!

Quickly we greeted        Dwarf, elf, and man,

Who followed tracks      Of the trail of our trance

To the murky pool          And hidden tunnels

To find our initials          Carved by the steps

And hurried to catch us  In this craven cavern.

Well met we were,         And smiles sprang

To darkened faces:         Then died in a moment

When screeches echoed Across the room

And our hearts froze       In fear of pursuers,

Of marsh dwellers          Whose evil hunger

Would make this place   Our grave and tomb.

Should we strike             For the watery tunnel?

No good, for the crowd   Of shambling creatures

Came that way.               What then, to the chamber?

To bar the doors              Like the dwarves had done,

And gnaw on leather      When our food was gone

And wish for death         In the thick darkness?

No! There is glory          In a shrewd departure,

In a desperate attempt    That stands some chance.

Quickly our pact             Was made with each other,

But not quick enough.    We fled across

To the ancient chimney, Bid the hobbit

To clamber above           To stand as a guard

And wait for the rest.      The cries of the beasts

Came nearer now,           And as we ran

We formed a defense,     To ward off the blows

For the duo of dwarves   And buy some time.

Erland assisted them,      Yet Ahir, Grimbarald,

Young Balin and Lindin All loosed their weapons

And arrows let fly.          Erland had brought

The Beorning a present; His great splitting-axe,

Abandoned at camp,       To gladden the man,

So Erland handed           The axe back to him.

Grimbarald broke           Into laughter, for ‘twas

The blade of Balderic,    His wise grandfather,

Named Fyrn-Bereofan,   Ancient Bereaver

And cleaver of orcs,       Wargs, and spiders

When Balderic’s forefather    Lob-Hunter slew

Giant spiders                   In yesteryear

Near the dim mountains Of grim Mirkwood.

Without any armor,        The Beorning did battle

And hewed with his axe The first of the dwellers

That came upon him.      Ahir and Balin

And Lindin were fierce  In their blows to their foes,

For the time allowed      Oin and Balin

To start their climb         Up the shaft to the sky.

The Warriors Six            Were reduced to Four

When Balin helped         His kin of Erebor

To escape the doom.       Hardy were we,

Yet the claws and jaws   Of the marsh dwellers

Tore our armor,              Tore our skin,

And crowded around      Two score deep.

Lindin was wounded,      Desired to stay,

But we waved him on     To help the others.

Desperate now               Was the stand of the Three.

Woodman, Barding,       Beorning all brave,

Battled the monsters,      Hacked, slashed,

Parried and pierced         The fell dwellers.

Yet on they came            Relentlessly

And the Beorning fell     Under their bodies.

Courage then flamed      In the heart of Erland,

Leaped to defend            His fallen comrade.

With bitter lessons          He taught the beasts

To fear his spear.            The Man of Dale

Spilled the blood            Of the Marsh’s minions,

Feared not their fight      But dreaded defeat.

Now stood only Two,     And they were fey.

Then from beyond          The deadly din,

Pure notes poured           Down heaven’s well,

A song of strength          From their friends above

And lifted their hearts    To endure this hell.

With renewed power,     The Barding broke

Away from his enemies, Carried the fallen,

Ran to the side                        Of the good woodman,

Covered Ahir                  As Ahir Kari

Pulled the Beorning’s     Unconscious body

Into the chimney.            Erland faced

The creature-horde         Of the Long Marshes.

He stood in the hearth    Where ancient fires

Had once blazed             In happier days

When the safe Road       Of the Old Forest

Had provided places       For weary dwarves

To rest their burdens       And warm their hands

Between the Mountains  And the Iron Hills.

That fireplace now         Was cold and still,

But the Man of Dale       Kindled his wrath

And furiously beat          Back the beasts

As only One                    Remained to fight.

Up the air-road               Flew these eagles.

But the burden                        Of Beorn’s man

Slowed them down.                Over and over

Erland was attacked       As Marsh dwellers

Climbed after them.       Out of the chimney

Emerged on the hill                Ahir, Grimbarald…

But before the Barding   Could climb free,

The monsters raked                Erland’s back

With cruel claws             And he fell unconscious

Towards the hole.           Were it not for the arms

Of his companions          Who carried him out.

The beasts feared            The day’s eye

So scrambled back          Into their lair.

All was quiet                   For a short rest.

Poppy was able               To heal the Barding

And the Beorning           Enough that the party

Could get to the boat      And return to Laketown.

Ahir and Poppy               Guided the wave-rider

Through the Marshes      to the River Running.

Finally they reached       Their old campsite

With the rotten stump.    Only once did they hear

The Bell of the Marsh    Toll to enchant them;

All but young Balin                Shambled to follow.

That night the dwarf       Saved our lives

And the next morning     Found us all tired.

Half-alive in the boat,    Grimbarald sighed…

Though thankful for       The eight surviving,

Fyrn-Bereofan                Was lost forever.

The axe of his ancestor   Had dropped in the fight,

Was still in the cavern    Of the foul brutes

Who almost ended          The Warriors Six.

Grimbarald sang             A song of mourning

For the splitting-axe       He would wield no more.

There let it lie,                        Mused the Beorning,

A mute testimony           To the Marsh shadow-spawn

That the courage of comrades        Overcame evil

To rescue the hapless     And deny them their prize.

Their lair was despoiled,        And thus their defeat

Would e’er be declared  By the blade on the floor.

And so the companions  Returned up the river,

Rowed out of reach        Of the curséd bell,

Regaled the porters         By the waterfall,

Took the lake-path         Toward Esgaroth.

Then they could see        The ship of the Master

Of Lake-town coming,   With Gloin onboard,

And people cheering.     Thus were they welcomed

As heroes come home    And the time of their resting

And healing had come.   Let ale flow,

Beards wag,                    Tales be told,

Thanks given.                 All shall be well.

*Valor and glory              And adventure they gained,*

*Onward and forward!     For they found what was lost.*

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