It is the last few good years of Mirkwood, set in between the time of the Hobbit and the upcoming War of the Ring. Little do the denizens of the north realize that Sauron has set his sights on reclaiming the fortress of Dol Guldor. To that end he has sent 3 of the dreaded Nazgul to carry out his will.
However new faces have been seen in the region of southern Mirkwood. Attending a grand meeting of Woodmen in 2947 an unexpected representative from Gondor has arrived, signaling the Steward's interest in the growing power of men within the region. Accompanying him is an exiled Rider of Rohan, a Mirkwood Elf Warden representing king Thranduil's interest, and a wayward elf hunter of the woods. They would soon meet a lone hobbit accompanying the wizard Mithrandir and become embroiled within the fate of the region.
Is it possible to change the fate of the darkening of Mirkwood? Or will all fall to the inevitable shadow?
(This is something of a fanfiction dramatization of an rpg game I run, of Cubicle7's the One Ring's "The Darkening of Mirkwood" adventure. Due to the rather epic 30 year scope, heavy Tolkien influence, and general unknown nature of what exactly happens to the Mirkwood between the Hobbit and the War of the Ring other than that it does not go well for the free peoples. I have decided to do some micro writing of my player's adventures within the region. These will be revised and written in short bursts to maintain my own interest and be kept for general notes on where a narrative might be going and such. Characterization will be lacking at first as I get a feel for my player's characters. At the very least it will help to improve my writing and storytelling skills.)
Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them,
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
It had taken many months for the Gondorian Ciron to arrive in the lands of Rhovanion on behalf of Steward Turgon. It had only been six years or so since word of the famed Battle of the Five Armies had reached the Gondorian court and Ciron was sent on his quest. The isolation from Gondor was an odd feeling, he was no longer among his own people. he had traveled north to make contact with these new Bardings of the kingdom of Dale. The importance of his journey was not lost on him, for they could be potential allies of Gondor in the coming days ahead. More than the Bardings though, he had heard rumors of a people known as the Woodmen who lived in the southern Mirkwood. Luck had graced him with the information that a meeting was soon to be called in Rhosgobel, the famed home of Radagast the Brown gathering many of these Woodmen. Although Steward Turgon had not directly ordered him to consult with these peoples of Mirkwood, it would be befitting of Ciron's position to at least evaluate this additional kingdom of men.
Ciron bared the famed white tree of Minas Tirith proudly on his heraldry. Its black and white colors clashing against the endless green of Rhovanion. He was a young man still, fair skinned with oaken hair. Trained in the art of war as many of his forefathers before him, yet unique in having traveled so far from Minas Tirith in order to protect it. Such thoughts weighed heavily on his mind each day of his travels northward, the legacy of his ancestors and what he would leave behind by his actions in this age.
"How do you fare Eobrand?" Ciron called out to the masked man. Ciron's could not tell if his words affected his traveling companion. For the rider's head was encased in an intricate metal helm of fluted steel. It betrayed none of his facial expression and his lack of words meant that he did not care to contribute further. He simply continued to ride his horse at a steady pace along the ever winding road.
Ciron sighed with discomfort but focused on the travels ahead and the impending difficulties on their journey ahead.
The roads leading into the Mirkwood were light and open, but seemed to be swallowed upon approaching the forest proper like a living maw. Ciron was cautious to travel in this unknown land on his own. Accompanying him was an odd companion indeed. A Rider of Rohan cast in his mail hauberk with a grim visage of his dark past, had accompanied him since their first encounter. The Rohirrim had said little about his presence or his past other than he was from Harrowdale; a dark place even for the stoic riders of Rohan. Ciron only knew him by the name of Eobrand. Although he made for rather miserable traveling company, the Gondorian dared not to chase him off. Many times he had been saved by the rider's skill with horse and blade. Even beyond that the rider was still an old familiar ally to Gondor despite his oddity at times. That if anything, at least guaranteed a place alongside Ciron's mission. The men of the south had come to forge an alliance with the men of the north.
The path to Rhosgobel was shrouded in the dark gloom of the forest. Its thick branches choking out the light's rays. They had met many wanderers on the path to the Woodmen meeting, many who had treated the pair with caution and suspicion. Circumstances had led them to a rather odd additional pairing in their travels to Rhosgobel once inside the Mirkwood proper. Two elves of Mirkwood, one a more traditional warden of the Silvan the other a wayward elf. Both opposites of each other and both suspicious of one another. Yet they traveled together on this shared path and both seemed equally curious of Ciron's purpose for coming so far north.
The Wayward elf Peregorn had mentioned something of seeing an ungainly creature unlike any she had seen on the edge of the Mirkwood forest and had come to the woodmen to gain further insight. While the elf of Mirkwood Algarwen, had been given explicit instructions from King Thranduil himself to attend the woodmen meeting to assess if there was any growing threat to their beloved realm.
They seemed to be of polite enough company and their presence on the road added something of an additional air of legitimacy to Ciron's presence at the woodmen meeting. Still these four had gathered together in unusual circumstances but little did they know in the coming years how much they would rely on one another in the fight against the shadow in the north.
A man as pale as a ghost came stumbling out of the woods on the way to Rhosgobel. Clutched against his chest he held a crumpled message. With yellow flecks of spittle spilling from he cheeks he wandered up to the group and pressed the message towards Algarwen before passing out.
Ciron checked the man's condition carefully drawing on his past skills as a healer within Gondor, "he's alive but he has been poisoned," Ciron carefully administered some herbs to the passed out man, "this should help with his recovery."
"No doubt, poisoned by the spiders of Mirkwood." Peregorn chimed, her sharp eyes observing the cobwebs that clung to the man's back.
Algarwen opened the crumpled message, it told tale of orcs moving into the Fenbridge an abandoned fortress near Dol Guldur.
"Do not touch our quarry!" a voice yelled out from the woods ahead.
The path was suddenly blocked by a group of six well armed woodmen of a particularly ragged and war ready company. Speaking for them a broad shouldered woman stepped forward, taking over her helmet to reveal her dark hair streaked with white, "I am Dagmar of the Tyrant's Hill. My lord Mogdred has need of that man." She pointed to the unconscious man.
"And what business would you have with him?" Algarwen asked with her fists clutching her bow tighter.
"This degenerate is Beran, we caught he attempting to steal from us but he fled into the woods and into trouble no doubt," She eyed Algarwen never breaking contact, "we mean to take him back to the Tyrant's Hill to have him pay for his crimes."
"This man needs proper medical attention and we are travelling to the folkmoot at Rhosgobel. If you have problems then you may address them there with your fellow Woodmen." Peregorn said.
Dagmar eyed Ciron carefully before nodding in agreement. "Then we shall accompany you to Rhosgobel and seek satisfaction."
During the night in camp, Algarwen had vanished for some time. Far more than what she had suggested what her usual patrol time. Suspiciously the members of the Tyrant's Hill had also vanished during the making of camp, preferring to stick to their own seperate camp. Peregorn had suggested that they assemble a search party and Ciron readily agreed.
Navigating the dark of Mirkwood was a near impossible task for a man of Gondor, but for an Elf who had lived there for near 200 years, it was second nature to Peregorn and soon the tracks to Algarwen were more than apparent.
They crept up on the camp of the Tyrant Hill Woodsmen and there they spotted Algarwen tied to a tree and being questioned by Dagmar.
"What did you read in that message Beran gave you! How much do you know!?"
Peregorn prepared her bow as Ciron and Eobrand got into fighting position. Ciron unfurled his massive great shield bearing the white tree, while Eobrand mounted his trusted palfrey and unsheathed his sword.
"RIDE TO RUIN!" Eobrand yelled as his horse swiftly rode into the camp taking the woodmen off guard. With a quick swing of his blade he skewered one of the woodmen with practiced precision and rode another one down.
Ciron moved up with his great shield protecting him as Dagmar turned around and charged with the woodsmen who were left.
Peregorn took careful aim with her bow and felled one of the charging woodsmen with a single well placed bow, as the rest crashed upon Ciron's shield.
Dagmar flanked around Ciron's front arc and hit him with a considerable amount of force with a blade, forcing the Gondorian back.
Meanwhile Algarwen using the distraction managed to free herself from her bonds. One of the woodsmen turned and noticed this, backing off from Ciron and charging her instead.
The woodman's axe buried itself deep into Algarwen's ribs with a shattering blow the moment she freed herself. When the woodman approach to finish her off, he was suddenly taken off his feet by a passing blow of the Rohirrim riding back into the fray.
Flanked by the rider and Algarwen retrieving her weapon, short work was made of the what woodmen remained. All were dead except for Dagmar. Algarwen in fury tied Dagmar to the tree she was recently herself tied to.
"How do we make her talk?" Algarwen said with malice in her heart.
"I know a way. That makes even orcs tongues loose." Ciron smiled wickedly, his heart hardened by the endless plight of his country.
Eobrand raised his blade in anticipation savoring the lust of battle of bloodshed, as blood still glistened on it. A man of Harrowdale was expected to give and take no quarter.
Paragorn looked at them with horror, at the clear darkness they had let into their hearts during the struggle of battle. For while defending themselves was one thing, active cruelty even for a greater good was a sign of degeneration and the encroaching shadow.
She walked over to Dagmar, and cut her bonds. "Go." she said stiffly.
Dagmar's eyes lit up with hatred but behind that understanding at the events unfolding. She picked a path and ran deeper into the Mirkwood leaving the company behind.
Eobrand's palfrey whinnied as if he was to pursue, but Algarwen held her hand up to stop him. The madness of vengeance had passed temporarily and there was no point to ride down their unarmed foe. The Rider's eyes still shone with passion and when she gazed over to the Gondorian she saw the same look within Ciron's eye. The weakness of men.
Algarwen felt shame wash over her and she avoided the burning gaze of Peregorn. "Come," she said, "let us return to the path."
Approaching Rhosgobel an expected but unfamiliar face was there to greet them. Clad in brown and having an appearance of a wizened old man, Radagast the Brown greeted every visitor to his home. The new, the old, the expected, or the unwanted, they were all equally welcomed to the folk-moot.
Fellow woodmen had come to take Beran in. He was lifted from Eobrand's palfrey and taken inside.
Meanwhile, Algarwen handed the note from Beran into Radagast's hands. He looked at the message for a moment with a consternation of concern passing over his face before snapping back to a grin. He pressed the message back to Algarwen, "I wish we had more time." his voice echoed with sadness tinging every syllable.
He spoke nothing further than that and motioned for the company to follow him in.
The last of the good years had finally come to pass and the shadow had once again returned to the Mirkwood.
Notes for the year:
The winter was spent building a small cottage at Rhosgobel as a sanctuary. The Woodmen were impressed with the fortitude of Eobrand's singular undertaking that they helped to assist him. Creating a small inn sized building by the end of the year.
Cirion, Eobrand, and Algarwen attacked the Woodmen of the Tyrant Hill violently after Algarwen was kidnapped. They left one alive after threatening to torture him and riding down some of their fellows that had escape. Bad blood will be caused by their reckless actions. Peregorn protested their overly violent actions as one encouraging the corruption of the shadow to overtake them and unfitting of their roles.