Lotr fighter dnd Chapter 3: 3, a 17776 fanfic

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The Lord of the D20: Or How I became a Fighter in Middle Earth (3.5 D /LOTR SI)

Thread starter KnightofTempest Start date Jul 5, 2022 Tags dungeons & dragons lord of the rings (middle-earth) self insert earth fighter

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KnightofTempest

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Nov 28, 2022

#233

The battle started with a clash between Branwen and her Assassin. She smashed the steel face of her shield into him twice, forcing her opponent back with bone-crunching force and out of the room and into the hallway. Sniffwise moved to follow, watching Branwen's back and raking his Assassin's calf with a golden-furred paw as he rushed past him. Once the assassin got over the bloody chunk taken out of his calf, he turned to Elred.

"Go after them fool! I warned you to wear boots instead of those shoes!" Snapped Elred. The Assassin moved out into the hallway after Sniffwise with a nod.

Then Elred turned back to me. "Now, where were we?" He questioned.

"I was about to kick your arse?" I shot back.

"Likely story!" Spat Elred as he began his attack.

Elred came in at me with his shortsword thrusting for my chest. I twisted to the side to avoid the thrust and blocked the follow-on attack with his dagger on my shield. A third attack from the shortsword cut out for my face and forced me to bend back slightly to avoid it. As the blade passed by my face a mere inch away from my nose, I caught a whiff of an earthy smell from the blade and saw a slick, gray-greenish, sheen coating the blade.

"Poison?" I queried, as I cut out with my blade.

"Siltaen extract! One cut and you'll be out like a light!" Grinned Elred, blocking my cut with both dagger and shortsword.

I bulled a head and struck out with the steel rim of my shield. The maneuver caught Elred by surprise and my shield bash caught him on the forehead, just above the eye, opening a gash on his brow that bled into his left eye.

"Don't count on it!" I snapped.

That only seemed to enrage Elred, as he came in again with his twin blades. The shortsword came in with a pair of slashes that I dodged one of and blocked the other on my shield. The dagger, however, struck out at the same time as the shortsword and my parry was a moment too slow, leading him to cut a shallow gash across my side. The ruby in the dagger's pommel flashed red then, and a blast of electricity arced out of the dagger and into me, massive voltage exploding on contact and sending me flying back into the foot of the bed, where I collapsed in pain.

"You're not the only one with trick weapons. A present from my master, pity that the dagger was not envenomed, but I only had the one dose." Sneered Elred.

I didn't hear much more of the monologue he was spouting, instead, I clenched my teeth in pain. Every fiber of my being was screaming out. It was all I could do to stay coherent and try not to black out. I had to focus before he stopped gloating and moved to finish the fight! I ground my teeth and willed my muscles to stop spasming. Come on damn it! Work! You don't want this asshole to take you to Saruman, do you? However bad this is, it pales in comparison to what he'll do!

Slowly, I managed to get back to my feet. Elred paused in his gloating to look at me. "How are you able to stand? Even a low-grade spell like that cast by my Master and stored in my blade for later use should have crippled you! What hidden strength do you have?" He demanded.

"My type of hidden strength? It's called willpower." I ground out. I wasn't exactly a time traveler to be paraphrasing those lyrics, but it was the first thing my brain thought of now that my body wasn't screaming in pain.

"Willpower? What nonsense! I'll simply cut you until we reach the limits of your so-called willpower!" Spat Elred.

"Come on then, if you think you're hard enough." I retorted.

Elred came back in at me but this time, I struck out fractions of a second before he did, cutting into his right upper arm and thigh with a pair of sword strikes. My Flametongue carved a pair of bloody gashes into him and immediately seared them closed with fire. The twin blows to arm and leg caused Elred to stumble past me, collapsing to the ground and dropping his shortsword. He tossed his dagger at me from his prone form and I blocked it with my shield. In the meantime, Elred grabbed his shortsword from where he'd dropped it and pointed it at me. The ruby set in the pommel flashed briefly as five bolts of force battered into my body in tandem. Individually, they would not have stopped my charge, but consecutively? They blasted into my chest and brought me up short, allowing Elred time to regain his feet.

The pair of us stared each other down, both bloodied and cut up. Elred a bit was worse off than I was, however. He was breathing hard, wounded a touch more grievously, and limping. If I had to guess, the next clash would finish this. I was determined to kill him before he killed me. I rushed in to begin my attack. He thrust out with his shortsword, attempting to get me to impale myself. I batted his shortsword aside with my shield and struck out with my Flametongue as he attempted to strike with his shortsword at my thigh. My blow struck first, cleaving into his thigh and carving right through his leg and up into his groin from below, effectively bypassing the leather pteuruges that would have deflected a blow from the front or sides. Elred toppled to the ground in a burst of flame and a spray of blood as several key arteries were severed before being cauterized by the flame. He died instantly, with his shortsword just a hair's breadth from my own femoral artery.

As I took stock of my injuries, Sniffwise came rushing into the room, sending feelings of alarm up our mental link. I followed him out into the hallway where I found the bodies of the two Assassins that had been clawed and hacked to death, along with two bodies I hadn't expected, a pair of Dunlandings wearing well-crafted Dragon-clan chain shirts that bore Dunlanding runes worked into the blackened leather of the pteuruges and spaulders. Two, well-crafted Dunlanding-style longswords that bore a single Dunlanding rune worked into the guard lay next to them, along with a pair of well-crafted large wooden shields with Dunlanding runes carved into them. They looked like they had charged up the stairs at Branwen and been cut down by axe blows to their extremities. One had his head barely attached to his shoulders by a bit of spine. The other seemed to have had his leg hacked off and bled out.

"What happened here?" I asked.

"I don't know. These two charged up the stairs after me, do you hear the battle outside?" She questioned.

"I do. It seems like the Dragon Clan weren't content to wait for the South to fall before moving on Galtrev." I noted.

"We'd better get dressed." Insisted Branwen.

I nodded, and we headed back to our room to get suited up. Branwen pulled six jiggers of Athelas extract out of her backpack, these were of a lighter shade of green than the olive ones we'd been drinking, clearly higher quality.

"Drink. I bought these from an Elf in the market that claimed to be a master apothecary from the Woodland Realm. I figured we'd need them, looks like I was right." She intoned.

It took three of them before I was back at full health, it wouldn't have before, which likely meant I'd leveled up from killing Elred. I knelt and meditated while Branwen pulled on her armor. I was once again in the white room with the trophies and my character sheet. Two more trophies lined the walls since last I'd been here. Elred's mask and the stuffed head of the Gnasher Lizard. I stepped up to the character sheet and selected one more level of Fighter, selecting skills and choosing Constitution for my eighth-level ability score adjustment and Cleave for my bonus feat. I finished by doing my skills, saving two points to pick up Khuzdul as a Language, then opened my eyes.

Branwen had donned her armor and was about to down one of her potions. I donned my armor and soon we were fully equipped. I stripped Eldred's corpse of any useful items. Thankfully, it seemed that the stuff he had on him was made with normal Wizard magic and not any of Sauron's gifts. Saruman, it seemed, refused to waste any borrowed Sauron Power on anyone but himself. Elred had Catskin Armor, a Plus Two Spell Storing Shortsword, a Plus Two Spell Storing Dagger, a Cloak of the Duskwalker, and a pair of Duelists' Vambraces. He also had two-hundred Castars worth of mixed silver coinage and an empty glass vial with a few drops of grayish-green liquid inside that had once held the Siltaen extract. All of it went into the bag of holding, save the empty vial.

The other assassins had less interesting gear, I recognized the Sindarin runes on theirs as being simple shadowed leather armor plus one, plus one shortswords, plus one daggers, and pair of amulets of natural armor plus one. About the only interesting things on their person were the coin pouches full of two-hundred Castars worth of mixed silver coinage and their vials, which still had their doses of Siltaen extract inside their stoppered forms. All of those went into the bag of holding, along with the Dragon-clan attackers' gear, which appeared to be plus one variants of all of the equipment. All of it went into the bag of holding for later sale.

That done, with us fully healed and equipped, the three of us headed downstairs to the common room of the inn. What we found was a bloodbath. It seemed that either Elred's Group or the Dunlandings had slaughtered everyone alive in the inn except for us. Patrons and the staff on duty alike seem to have been killed by precise stabs to the back or otherwise hacked apart by the strike of a longsword or axe. Even Conal ap Dougal, the owner and retired warrior of renown lay dead in a pool of his own blood, though it seems he had taken six of the Dragon Clan attackers to the grave with him. As I surveyed the carnage, Branwen spoke up.

"This might sound Ghoulish, but we should loot what we can." She intoned.

I nodded. I couldn't fault her logic, we would need provisions going forward and the dead Dragon Clan's equipment was clearly of the same magical power as the two that Branwen had slain upstairs. We came away with three plus one chain shirts, six amulets of natural armor plus one, two plus one large wooden shields, and six plus one battleaxes. The rest of the Dragon Clan armor and shields had been rent asunder and smashed apart by Conal's Longsword. The weapon was a thing of beauty, made of adamantine, the pommel was worked in the shape of a snarling badger and the hilt bore a single, blood-red, gemstone in the center. Dunlandic runes not only ran down the blade but also around the hilt.

"The Roaring Badger. I'd thought that blade had died with the Badger Clan. It seems that Conal had it, likely looted from Ynys Broch. It's no wonder he was able to kill six Dragon Clan warriors without any armor after being retired for decades." Breathed Branwen.

"That good?" I questioned.

"Every Clan has a weapon of legend that is passed down from the Spirits to their first Brennin and on down the generations. Most wars between clans are as much for these weapons as they are for the limited available good land." Explained Branwen.

"Oh? Should we keep it or leave it be? I don't want any angry Dunlandings to come after us seeking an ancestral weapon." I frowned.

"Unlikely, the destruction of Ynys Broch thirty years ago was the beginning of the end for the Badger clan. Within ten years, they were wiped out by their rivals. The Toad Clan moved on them from their Brochs deeper in the Dunbog now that Ynys Broch no longer kept them at bay while the Dragon Clan attacked from the east and the Wolf Clan from the North to finish what Conal and his father started. Now if there are any left, they're enslaved." Explained Branwen.

I paused, thinking it over for a moment, before nodding and replacing my Flametongue with it. It was better in every measurable respect and we would likely need it before the night was over.

From there, we ransacked the kitchen for whatever provisions we could get. We prioritized things we could eat on the go over things that would require us to set up camp. We filled several wineskins with mead, ale, and cider, and took crusty bread, hard cheese, and salted pork. We took several strings of garlicky sausages and bushels of apples. Jars of honey and oatcakes we also foraged. All told, we packed away enough rations to last us the trip to Gondor.

That wasn't all, however, for we hit the jackpot when we entered the cellar. A decent chunk of Conal's wealth had to have gone into his cellar because what we found in there would pay for this Inn many times over. Casks of aged Dwarven Dragon Whiskey, bottles of Dol Amroth Red and Belfalas White, and a single cask of spiced wine from the shores of the Sea of Rhun sat amongst the more common fare. We only had so much room in the bag of holding, but we took two barrels of the Dwarven Dragon Whiskey and the one of Spiced Wine. Together, they should sell for a small fortune with the right buyer, more than enough to justify the space they'd take up.

Before heading out onto the street, we stopped by Conal's office to see about what else he had stashed away. He wasn't going to need it where he was. Turns out, Conal had few magic items of his own on the premises. A thick leather belt with a platinum buckle inscribed with a number of runes that I identified as a Belt of Physical perfection plus two, and a pair of gloves made of rich crimson leather with golden detailing and several Strange-looking Runes carefully picked out. I could make neither heads nor tails of the runes on the gloves since they weren't any magic runes I was familiar with. Ultimately, Branwen used up a spell by beseeching Raven to grant her the power to identify the item.

As it turned out, these were Gloves of the Skillful Chief, a bespoke magic item made by none other than Radagast the Brown for Conal's father Dougal decades before the attack on Ynys Broch. Dougal, it seemed, had aided Radagast in clearing out the nest of a rather large, rather nasty, monstrous spider that had been dubbed Nagloth by the Elves. Nagloth was the least of the direct descendants of Ungoliant, not as formidable as Shelob, yet still no ordinary giant spider. In thanks for his aid in facing the beast, Radagast used his powers to craft these gloves for Dougal as he wished for an item that would aid him in becoming a chief. They allowed their bearer to choose six skills from the Aristocrat's skill list and those skills would be considered class skills and brought up to the level of the highest skill the bearer currently possessed at the time of obtaining them as if they were trained. Of course, the spell didn't couch it like that exactly. The runes I could not recognize were Valarin.

I took the Belt and Gloves and replaced my current belt and gloves with them. Branwen took my old belt and gloves for her own. For skills, I selected Appraise, Bluff, Diplomacy, Knowledge: Tactics, Performance: Singing, and Sense Motive. Once that was done, we checked the rest of the office, but only found the strongbox and nothing else of note. Breaking the lock open, we found twelve-thousand-four-hundred-fifty Castars worth of mixed silver coinage. That went into the bag of holding along with the other loot. Once we finished that up, it was time to leave. Together, the three of us stepped out into the night of Galtrev.

We were greeted with the din of battle and the flames of a city attacked from within. . .

XXXX

AN: So yeah, it wasn't just the assassins led by Elred. The Dragon Clan had filtered warriors into Galtrev some time, waiting for the right moment to unleash hell.

The Dragon Clan Warchief currently active down south doesn't actually believe that the strike force he managed to sneak into Galtrev will be able to take the city. Not unless they get lucky or the Brennin gets unlucky. But he hopes they'll cause enough damage that Galtrev will be unable to send any forces down South in case of a change of policy.

He had planned to keep the attack force in reserve, but Saruman sent orders to use them. He wanted the cover of a raid from inside the walls for his assassination plan. The Warchief can't deny Saruman.

Now Brand, Sniffwise, and Branwen are going to have to fight their way out.

For those wondering about the Roaring Badger, it is a Plus Three, Wounding, Thundering, Culling, Longsword of Shock and Mighty Cleaving that can fire a 3d6 lightning bolt twice per day. It's an army killer in the right hands, unfortunately for the Badger Clan, the Brennin of Ynys Broch was not in the right hands, being more of a bowman than a melee combatant.

If that and the Gloves of the Skillful Chief seem powerful to you, remember that these were items made by an Incarnate Maiar and a powerful totemic nature spirit that may as well have been an Incarnate Maiar. Shit's powerful and are likely to be the most potent things that Brand owns for a long time.

Also, everyone leveled up. I'll have updated character sheets soon.

Next up will be the fight through the burning city as our heroes try to either reach the Brennin's forces or cut their way out of Galtrev.

Stay tuned. . .

KnightofTempest

Nov 28, 2022

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Threadmarks Chapter 21

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KnightofTempest

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Dec 6, 2022

#240

Galtrev itself was partially aflame, as Dragon Clan saboteurs had set fire to various buildings as part of their efforts to distract the Brennin's Guards. At the same time, there were several dead bodies along the streets, primarily those of non-Dunlandings who had been in town for trade or travel purposes. At one intersection lay the bodies of a trio of Stoors, a husband, wife, and young son peppered with arrows and left to bleed out on the street. On another intersection, a Dwarf lay bleeding out amidst the bodies of three Dragon-clan Warriors, having been stabbed in the back in such a way that had pierced the mail he was wearing. By far the most vicious wounds were found on travelers and merchants from Rohan who often were missing body parts.

As the three of us ran through the streets, we came across a barricaded Inn that was being assailed by a Platoon of Dragon Clan Warriors. The Dragon Clan warriors were being led by a bald, scarred, man in finely crafted, enruned, red leather armor. He was holding aloft a finely crafted, enruned, spear as he exhorted the group of warriors to break through the barricaded doors of the Inn. The warriors themselves were clad in the normal finely crafted chain shirts and had the usual well-crafted shield and battleaxe strapped to their backs as they attempted to break into the Inn using a chopped-down tree trunk as a makeshift ram.

The Inn itself was the Gilded Cup, a place whose clientele was more well-to-do than the rougher, more adventurous sorts that frequented the Burning Badger. Many of the higher-end merchants that passed through Galtrev stayed here, likely the reason they were trying to get inside. Not only would they be able to slaughter many foreigners by breaking in, but the loot from those foreigners would be well worth the effort. Fortunately, it didn't seem as if the Dragon Clan contingent had noticed my own small group as of yet. They were too busy trying to batter down the barricaded door.

I looked at Branwen, eyebrow cocked in a silent question. She frowned and looked back at the group. I could tell she wasn't pleased about pausing our own efforts to escape by trying to save the occupants of the Gilded Cup. She probably wanted to argue, but the decision was taken out of our hands as a cracking noise as if timbers had just buckled, came from the Gilded Cup. The Warriors were on the verge of breaking in, one more swing of the ram would do it. It was now or never.

As I drew the Roaring Badger, Branwen rolled her eyes but acquiesced and unlimbered her axe and shield. I sent sniffwise the order to guard my back down our mental link and received an affirmative in response. Then we charged the Dragon Clan Contingent from the rear just as the doorway gave way. My battle cry startled the rear ranks of the Dragon Clan Contingent, and they hastily unlimbered axes and shields as they turned to face us. The last thing I saw of the wider skirmish before we met the enemy was an Elf in a fine scale coat and wielding a finely wrought Elven Curveblade of silvery metal leaping out of the doorway to lay into the Dragon Clan Warriors.

As we closed with the rearmost Dragon Clan Warriors, I struck out with the Roaring Badger with as much power as I could muster. The blow not only splintered his shield but damn near carved his shield arm in twain. The warrior screamed out in pain before my follow-on stroke silenced him. Immediately, I cleaved through the next opponent next to him, Roaring Badger going from parting the first enemy's neck to cutting deep into the mailed side of the next man. I struck out with my shield to stave in his face and turned in time to block an axeblow from a third opponent on my shield.

A fourth opponent attempted to move toward my flank and cut out at my side, only to be caught by a vicious blow from Branwen's axe that bit into his thigh. A spray of arterial blood signified the man's femoral artery had been cut as he collapsed, bleeding out as Branwen battered a fifth opponent with a pair of cuts that scored glancing blows. A sixth enemy attempted to flank Branwen, only to get a face full of snarling Aurumvorax, as Sniffwise pounced on the man, savaging him with dagger-like claws from six paws, as well as a mouth filled with sharp teeth. The Dragon Clan Warrior went down flailing at his face as my little buddy protected our flank.

A quarter of the platoon was downed between our actions on the rear line, which caused an immediate shift in the enemy's priorities, as more warriors moved to shore up the rear, even as the leader moved to back up the two remaining enemies facing the Elf. Five enemies each struck out at myself and Branwen. They were clumsy, and not well practiced at arms compared to us, but the sheer volume of attacks ensured that something got through. I parried an incoming axe and blocked another on my shield. A third was dodged away from, but the fourth caught me in a glancing blow to my thigh between the leather of my drake-hide fauld and winter wolf-hide boots, scoring a gash in my leg just above my knee. The fifth blow did not pierce my helm, but the force of the axe slamming into my helm knocked my head about.

In response, I struck out wildly, laying about me with my blade and cleaving into and through, two enemies before downing a third with a thrust through his face. The man's open-faced helm not protecting him from my thrust one bit. As I took a pair of axeblows on my shield, I looked over to see Branwen cutting through her own horde of opponents with the aid of Sniffwise, though bleeding from a cut above the eye where someone had slipped in a glancing blow.

I struck out again, and this time, seemingly through luck, managed to kill one of my two remaining foes with a lucky hit in the throat as he misjudged his parry badly. I cleaved through my last opponent with a pair of blows that took off his weapon hand at the wrist and stove in his windpipe with my shield. Branwen was finishing her last opponent as well as I looked up to survey the battlefield. A shield bash knocked the hapless enemy to the ground where a downward chop of her axe cleft open his skull.

Of the Elf, it seemed that only the leader of the Dragon Clan forces remained. With four opponents, he wouldn't last long. He must have known that which is why he seemed to do what he did next. He incanted a spell in the Black Speech, that I couldn't understand, but seemed to curse the Elf. The Elf fell back with a scream as malevolent green light enveloped his body, turning his bones brittle and sending him into shock. The enemy then turned to us.

"The Great Eye sees all! It was his Lord who sent the Dragon, and he who directs its will now! In the name of the eye, I shall smite you!" Threatened the unstable man.

"You die first!" I intoned.

A chant in the Black Speech from the clear Shaman of Sauron sent a roiling plume of dark miasma at me and I had to steel myself mentally as it struck me and my stomach rebelled in pain. The miasma scorched my body with dark energy as I fought to get hold of the contents of my stomach and push the pain away. Distantly, I heard a shout from Branwen as she engaged the enemy, but it was all I could do to avoid throwing up! I had to get it together! Another black speech incantation had Branwen crying out in pain and falling back, I still could barely get to my hands and knees without puking, though!

Ironically, it was Sniffwise who knocked me out of the sickened state the dark miasma had left me in. My little buddy padded over to me, sending waves of concern up our mental link, and giving my face, which had broken out into a cold sweat, a lick. My companions were counting on me! I had to pull myself together! So that's what I did, stomach settling, I stood shakily and took a deep breath as I surveyed the battlefield. The Elf was sitting up but looked shell-shocked. Branwen was bleeding out of her nose and ears, but still fighting, and the Dragon Clan Shaman was bleeding from a cut on his arm, but chanting in Black Speech again.

As I rushed in to attack him once again, four, thumb-sized gobbets of blood floated out of the wound on the Shaman's arm and began to hiss and sizzle as if they were liquid flames. Two shot out at me and two shot out at Branwen. Branwen got splashed with the sizzling blood and cried out in pain. I tried to dodge but still took the hits from both gobbets. Thankfully, the hide of the Drakes we had made our armor out of insulated us from the heat of the attacks somewhat and we only took slight wounds from the globs of bloody fire.

Then I was upon him, striking out with Badger's Roar, catching him across the shoulder between the dragon-engraved leather and steel spaulders and chest piece of his leather armor. He cried out in pain and I immediately moved to strike him again, only for him to maneuver his spear in the way and parry my next cut. My third attack, however, was from my shield, and I bashed him to the ground. Unfortunately, my follow-up cut was rolled away from. Branwen came in with a cut of her axe that clipped the side of his leg and raked a line of blood above the man's hobnailed, steel-toed, boots at mid-calf. Her follow-up cuts were stopped short by parries with the spear. It was then the Shaman's turn once more.

Another chant in Black Speech had a crackling black wave striking out at all of us, I felt the inside of my mouth flare up in pain and spar a gobbet of blood from my suddenly bleeding mouth. Branwen had a cut open up on her upper arm as she was lashed there by the crackling bolt of force. Sniffwise let out a screech as he got hit in his frontmost, right paw and began to favor the limb. Even the Elf, who had just managed to get himself back up and into the fight was scourged with one of the bolts full in the chest and hurtled back to the ground.

I moved in to strike again with my blade and managed to cut a blow across the back of the Shaman's knee with my blade, which hobbled him. A second and third blow was parried, but a shield bash caught him in the side and sent him stumbling back. Branwen came in with her axe to try and finish the job, but he struck out with his spear at the same time, bringing her up short with the pre-emptive thrust and cutting out at her leg with the leaf-bladed head, tripping her to the ground and cutting a gash into her calf. He started up another chant in Black Speech as I came in and a gigantic, crackling black bolt struck me full in the chest, sending me to the ground in pain as my ribs felt cracked from the attack.

"Fools! If you only knew the power of the Eye! The Lord of Dragons is the Eye, and all of Arda shall tremble at his passing, as is right and proper!" Gloated the Shaman as he leaned heavily on his spear.

This guy must have been pretty high up in the Dragon Clan for Sauron to have invested this much effort into his sorcery, because Branwen, Sniffwise, and I were no pushovers, and he's fought the three of us, plus that Elf to a standstill. We had to take him out now before he caused any more trouble, but we were all pretty badly wounded. So was he, however. I judged that one more good, solid, blow would be enough to drop him. The problem was that another of the spells like he'd flung around before would also drop me. I had to find a way to get an opening somehow.

It came to me as the Shaman began chanting in black speech one last time. I had spells too as a fourth-level ranger. One of them might be able to interrupt his chanting and give me the opening to strike. I sent a silent prayer to Tulkas that this worked as I lifted my right leg and slammed it down on the cobbles while channeling the spell through the action.

Thunderstomp normally was a pretty poor offensive spell. It did no damage, just created a shockwave that might trip an opponent if you had the power and strength behind it. Normally, I'd shun using it in favor of something like Lead Blades, which augmented the damage of melee attacks. Mid-casting, though, distracted as he was? The Shaman was easy game. The shockwave spread out from the impact of my heel on the ground and raced out toward the Shaman. The Shaman was distracted and easy prey, his feet flew out from under him as he shouted mid-chant, breaking his spellcasting attempt.

He fell to the ground and I sprung up to my feet, roaring in defiance as I brought the Roaring Badger down on my prone opponent's head, cleaving the top of his skull clean off and killing him. For a few moments, I simply stood amongst the bodies of the battlefield, breathing heavily, bleeding from a half dozen cuts and gashes, with broken ribs galore. Then, I turned to help Branwen up off the ground.

Soon enough, the excitement of the fight turned into the mundanity of looting the bodies. The Shaman's crimson leather armor was covered in black-speech runes, and I refused to take it on the grounds that it was a clear trap. The boots, pauldrons, spear, and belt were not, however, being a combination of Dwarven, Dunlanding, and Rohirric items. The Shaman also bore seven hundred Castars worth of miscellaneous silver coinage. The rest of the warriors had fairly standard magic armor and weapons, courtesy of the Tower of Orthanc, no doubt. Between the whole platoon, they seemed to have a further four-thousand Castars worth of mixed silver coinage.

Once we had hauled the gear inside, we found the Elven Warrior being helped by an Elven Lady in a white and gold tunic of fine make. Her beauty was striking, but the most defining feature was her silvery, platinum-blonde hair. From the way she fussed over the warrior, it was clear that she cared a great deal for him. She turned to us once the Warrior was settled.

"My friends, thank you for coming to our aid. I am afraid that my beloved Thallanc would have perished attempting to drive them off if not for you. You have my thanks." Thanked the Lady.

"Is he going to be all right? That spell looked nasty." I questioned.

"Thallanc has been affected by the Curse of Brittle Bones. It is a foul thing, created by the Old Enemy in the time before the sinking of Beleriand. He will be unfit for fighting until the curse can be removed. The good news is that the curse is well known among scholarly and priestly circles. There are quite a few more wise men who would have the lore to break the curse than something more recent or obscure. Should we be able to leave Galtrev Unscathed, we may yet find a cure for it in any number of places. Gondor, Isendale, even Rohan would work. Lord Elrond in Rivendell for certain, though that Journey is further than the others mentioned." Explained the Elf Lady.

"I would not try for Isendale, my Lady. . ." I replied, trailing off.

"Of course, how clumsy of me. I am Curuiel, Mistress of Apprentices of Lothlorien. We were on our way west to Gondor on a matter of consultation for the Steward regarding a commission for his eldest son. Thallanc insisted on coming as my guard." Introduced the Lady.

"Brand of Dale." I responded.

"Branwen ferch Owain." Nodded Branwen.

"A pleasure. Why would I not want to go to Isendale? Surely the Tower of Orthanc has Loremasters or Sorcerers capable of removing such a well-known curse, to say nothing of the White Wizard." Frowned Curuiel.

"We have reason to believe Orthanc may be compromised by the enemy. If you and Thallanc are willing, you may travel with us through the Old Pukel Gap to Gondor. As you said, there should be someone there who can remove the curse." I answered.

"Orthanc, compromised? Surely we would have heard something like that?" Frowned Curuiel.

"The enemy is marshaling allies in subtle ways. I believe the Dragon Clan and Corsair attacks are occurring largely as cover for alliance building. Mark my words, a storm is coming for the Free People. When it does, I have my doubts that Orthanc will be standing with us instead of the Enemy." I intoned.

"Well, that is all quite above my station to resolve. Perhaps Lady Galadriel will be able to do something. I shall have to bring the matter to her attention upon our return to Lothlorien. In the meantime, I would gladly take your offer of an escort to Gondor." Smiled Curuiel.

I nodded at that as Branwen, Sniffwise, and I began to see to our wounds. Hopefully, the Brennin could lead his forces to victory elsewhere in the city and begin mop-up operations against the Dragon Clan Forces, because the proprietor of the Gilded Cup, a rather corpulent man named Brit who hailed from Esgaroth in my new home country, demanded we stay and defend his inn. Privately, I thought the man just wanted a countryman to talk to during a stressful time.

As it would happen, the Brennin would finally manage to put the rest of the warband of Dragon Clan Warriors to flight around an hour later. He would march at the head of his forces to get his city under control, killing fleeing Dragon Clan warriors and reclaiming plundered valuables along the way. The Brennin would arrive in front of the Gilded Cup just as dawn broke. When he saw the body of the platoon outside, and more importantly, the dead Shaman, he demanded to meet with the warrior who slew him.

That meant I was going to have a brush with Dunlanding Royalty before I could even try and sleep off my fatigue. . .

XXXX

AN: So yeah, the Dragon Clan has a few Shamans who were invested with power by Sauron and trained to cast by Saruman.

As you can imagine, the source of their magic being what it is, most of their spells are not exactly all sunshine and rainbows.

When you add the Gamification effect that Brand introduces to things, you wind up with a lot of inflict wounds spells, unholy blight, that sort of thing.

At any rate, it looks like they'll be traveling with Elves, at least as far as Gondor. Denethor wants Curuiel to arrive promptly in Minas Tirith because he wants to commission a weapon for Boromir worthy of his station. Once more, Denethor is disregarding Faramir, as he only intends to commission one weapon.

Meanwhile, Brand, Branwen, and Sniffwise are going to head for the coast of Anfalas and offer their services to Lord Golasgil of Anfalas against the Corsairs pillaging the shores of the coastal provinces.

The Elves have to go east and Brand's group south.

At any rate, next up will be the Meeting with the Brennin. Stay Tuned. . .

KnightofTempest

Dec 6, 2022

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Threadmarks Chapter 22

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KnightofTempest

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Dec 16, 2022

#246

Brennin Colm ap Cadwaladr of the Falcon Clan was an older man in his forties, though still hale and hearty. His large, muscular, bulk was covered in chainmail and his greataxe was covered in gore from the warriors he had slain last night. His beard was braided in the Dwarven style and ornamented with golden ringlets and upon his brow sat a golden circlet. All of his equipment was rune-inscribed, from his mail and axe to the circlet and even the ringlets in his beard.

In short, he looked every inch the Warrior King to all outward appearances, save his eyes. His eyes belied a weariness from all the death and destruction that had taken place in the night. He clearly felt the death of every subject keenly. I walked out of the Gilded Cup to meet with this mountain of a man at his summons.

As I emerged I saw that the weariness in his eyes extended to property damage as well. A decent chunk of the Lower Town had been burned by the Dragon Clan, including the Lower Town Marketplace and the Stables. It would take a large amount of time, effort, and funds to rebuild from the losses incurred from the attack tonight. I would guess that Galtrev wouldn't be fully rebuilt for a decade, possibly more. With over a decade until the War of the Ring kicked off in full, it may just be becoming prosperous again by then. Just in time for another war to grip Dunland.

"You are Brand? I have been told you slew Gruffyd the Baleful, one of the leaders of this attack?" Questioned the Brennin.

"Was he the Shaman with the red leather armor and the spear?" I asked.

"Aye, the bastard's armor was made from the hides of Wargs and enchanted with foul magics. You slew him?" Pressed the Brennin.

"I did. It was a hard fight, but we prevailed." I confirmed.

"Then you are the only one to slay an enemy commander last night. For that, you should be honored. Alas, with much of my town in ruin, I have little in the way of reward for you." Intoned the Brennin.

"You did not slay the leader of their warriors?" I queried.

"Nay. Llew the Blade is a canny warrior, I had thought he would stand his ground, yet I was mistaken. The coward fled from my axe the moment he saw his death coming. Some foul magic contained in a potion allowed him to retreat faster than we could follow. He left his guards to face us while he fled. My son and heir caught up with him near the south gate. It did not end well for him. Even now my son lies fighting for his life from some dread poison inflicted upon him from Llew's sword. I have had my apothecary attempt to find a cure, but she had never seen such a poison before. I have heard that a party of Elves was saved by your intervention. Perchance one of them knows of a cure?" Explained the Brennin.

"Unfortunately, the Elves I saved were a Master of Apprentices and her bodyguard. Neither of them were apothecaries or healers." I refuted.

"Then my son is lost to me." Sighed the Brennin.

"I'm sorry. There was an Elven apothecary from the Woodland Realm in town yesterday, selling their wares. I know not where they were staying, or even if they are still alive, but if so, you may yet save your son. I will help you search." I nodded.

The next several hours were spent aiding the Brennin's guards in searching for the Apothecary that Branwen had run into yesterday. Thanks to Branwen praying to Raven for guidance in our search, we managed to pick up the trail near the stall in the Lower Town Marketplace. The area was so scorched that without those Guidance spells, we would never have found the trail. Thankfully, we managed to find a piece of the robe that the Elven Apothecary had been wearing in the ruins of the stall that smelled strongly enough of the Elf still for Sniffwise to track by scent.

I followed my best boy as he followed his snout from the burned Marketplace, up past an area where several arrow-riddled Dragon Clan corpses lay. Through the ruins of a residential district and up the hill to within sight of the gate to the upper city. Here lay several more arrow-riddled Dragon Clan corpses and the body of an Elven Archer wearing reinforced mithril elven chainmail with runes in Silvan Elvish that I couldn't parse. The Archer had died from what appeared to be blood loss after having his arm cut off at the elbow. His blades, boots, and bow had been taken from him, leaving him barefoot with only the runic quiver and a few arrows to show his specialty. Around his neck was a small mithril token on a silver chain inscribed with Sylvan Elvish letters. I did not know Silvan Elvish, so I could not read it. The stump of his arm smelled foul like it had been cut by a poisoned blade. Likely it had been Llew the Blade and the warriors that had pushed on the Brennin's Hall that had killed him. There was no sign of the Apothecary, however.

Sniffwise was undeterred though, sniffing around the area as I took the reinforced elven chainmail and quiver off the Archer and put it into my bag of holding. After I'd finished with that, Sniffwise let out a little yip and sent a sense of urgency up our mental link. He'd picked up the trail again. We followed him past the broken gates to the upper city, through a winding alley, and up to the door of a locked-up grain storehouse. Sniffwise began scratching at the heavy oaken doors of the storehouse with a little whine. Affirmation was sent up our mental link.

"Looks like he found our Apothecary." I announced.

Thankfully, it simply took one of the Brennin's guards to pound on the door while stating his qualifications for the Apothecary to unbar the door. We stepped inside to find a honey-blonde elven woman in a green and bronze robe with part of the sleeve torn off and a bandage on her forearm amidst the sacks of grain. She had with her a steel lockbox and a small traveling pack filled with various potions, oils, and unguents. She looked harried, or as near to harried as you could make an Elf. Glancing around at our party with a worried look in her blue eyes.

"Is it finished?" She asked.

"It is." I intoned.

"What of Pillindi? My bodyguard? Surely you found him? He stayed behind to draw the attention of the attackers while I fled here." Pressed the Elf.

"We found him, he had been stripped of his weapons, boots, and coin purse by the attackers." I answered.

"But not his armor and quiver? Both are quite valuable and possessed of potent magics." Frowned the Elf.

"Likely anything further ran into an issue of time. It takes a while to strip a corpse of armor, and between that and the buckles on a quiver, it was likely that the marauders decided to push on the Brennin's Hall first and come back to loot the rest after they had won." Interjected Branwen.

"Indeed, we have the armor and quiver, if you would like them back?" I questioned.

"Nay, I would rather they stay with those who could utilize them. I am no warrior. Did he have a small mithril token on his body? Connected to a silver chain as a medallion?" Queried the Elf.

"He did. Would you like that returned?" I responded.

"Not for my own sake, but for that of his family. It was a gift given to him by his sister Ioth just before we left." Affirmed the Elf.

I reached into my bag of holding and pulled out the token, handing it over. The Elf took it with a certain degree of reverence before nodding and said, "You may keep the armor and quiver as thanks for returning the medallion. The Quiver is an Efficient Quiver and can hold much more than a few dozen arrows. The armor is Reinforced Mithril Chain and is enchanted to the third degree."

"You have my thanks. May I ask your name?" I asked.

"Apologies, I am Gwennod, Master Apothecary of the Woodland Realm." Introduced the Elf.

"I am Brand of Dale, these are my companions, Sniffwise, my Glutani Kit, and Branwen ferch Owain." I smiled.

"Greetings to you all, now. I suspect you did not track me down to a grain storage silo simply to make small talk?" Questioned Gwennod.

"The Brennin requires your aid. His son and heir is fighting for his life against a poison unfamiliar to the Brennin's Apothecary." Pled Branwen.

"Indeed, and we have reason to believe it was the same warrior who slew Pillindi that wounded him so." I added.

"How would you know that?" Questioned Gwennod.

"The wound that felled your bodyguard smelled foul as if tainted by poison. Will you help?" Answered Branwen.

"I will. Lead me to him." Affirmed Gwennod, grabbing her pack and lockbox.

So the four of us were led by a squad of the Brennin's Guard back through the city up toward the Brennin's Hall, where Llewellyn ap Colm, son and heir of the Brennin lay abed. His face was flushed and feverish and his sweat soaked into the quilt and blanket of his bed. His shoulder was bandaged up, though the wound underneath bled with darkened blood and smelled foul. Gwennod inspected the wound, cutting off the linen bandage to find it red and angry, bleeding blood darkened with black fluid, and filled with pus. She scowled at the sight of the tainted wound, sniffing at it lightly, then nodding as if her suspicions had been confirmed. Then she returned to her pack, rummaging through the bottles and vials. She pulled a jar of yellow salve and a jar of green salve out of her pack, along with a mortar and pestle.

Once that was over, Gwennod began to mix the salves together in the mortar and pestle until a thick, yellow-green, salve was produced of an even consistency. Then she pasted one side of a fresh linen bandage in the salve before binding Llewelyn's shoulder, wrapping it in such a way that the salved part of the bandage was pressed tight against the fouled wound. That, finished, Gwennod began to mix together more of the two salves until she had a full jar of the thick, yellow-green, composite salve. Once that was done with, Gwennod turned to the Brennin.

"The boy has been poisoned with essence of blight mushroom. It is no wonder you didn't recognize it, for it only grows in areas where the shadow of the enemy looms large. It would have caused the wound to fester, twisting the boy's mind and Fea with the pain until it became too much for him. If I had not been called when I was, it is likely that the process would have been irreversible and the boy would have either died or become a slave to the Enemy. It was fortunate that you found me." Intoned Gwennod.

"What can be done?" Asked the Brennin.

"I have mixed together a potent milkthistle and lhinestad salve that will counteract the poison. Your apothecary needs to coat one side of the bandages in the composite salve and wrap the wound tight so that the salved portion of the bandage is pressed into the wound. Change the bandages twice a day, every day, until the jar of salve is gone and your son should make a recovery, though his wounded shoulder will always be weaker now." Nodded Gwennod.

"You have my thanks, and that of Galtrev for saving my son, all of you." Intoned the Brennin, gazing from Gwennod, to me, to Branwen, and even down at Sniffwise.

"What will you do now?" I asked.

"I shall rally the Brennins of the North and Center of Dunland. The Dragon Clan must be brought to heel before their war of domination destroys us all. Once that is done, we shall march southeast to Dun Caladach to lift the siege, then we will see how the Dragons like being penned up in their own homes as we will close in on their stronghold at Dol Baran! I will have vengeance for my town, my people, and my son, I swear it!" Vowed the Brennin. I believed him too.

"We're away south, across the Isen into Isendale and then through the Old Pukel Gap to Gondor. I wish you luck in your attempt to rally the Clans against the Dragons. You'll need it." I said.

"Indeed, you and your companions may rest in my hall if you require it. I am sorry that I have little enough to give you, though now that I say that, I may have something for you. I was planning to give it to my son in a few days, but this wound has crippled his fighting ability and I doubt him capable of wielding it now." Intoned the Brennin, sending a servant to go fetch something. When the servant returned, he was carrying a parcel wrapped up in a velvet cloth. He presented the parcel to the Brennin who took it, unwrapping the cloth and revealing an exquisitely crafted, Dunlanding-style, battleaxe. The haft was made of blackthorn, and the rippled steel of the head looked to be sharpened to a razor's edge. The blade also came to an upward point, like an Irish Kern or Gallowglass axe from back on earth, allowing for piercing as well as slashing damage. Dunlanding runes were worked into the knotwork decorations etched into the head of the axe, I could see ones for power, accuracy, sharpness, and two separate foebane runes.

"I had this made for my son for his birthday, though now he will never be able to properly use it. Its name is Foe-hewer and it will serve you more than it will serve him now." Intoned the Brennin as he handed over the axe. I took it, inspecting the runes in more detail. it appeared to be a keen battleaxe of human and orc bane plus two. A potent weapon against foes that we would be facing off against, as the Enemy would likely field a majority of his forces as orcs and humans.

"We will use it well. You have our thanks." I nodded.

"You are friends of Galtrev, you and your descendants will always have a welcome here for as long as my line rules this town. I will have some of the servants show you to a room you may rest in." Intoned the Brennin.

With that, the Brennin swept out of the room. Gwennod was conversing in the corner with the Brennin's Apothecary in hushed tones, leaving Branwen, Sniffwise, and I to our own devices. We wouldn't be on our own for long, however. Soon enough another servant came to show us to our room. It was a small guest room on the other side of the Brennin's Hall from the Brennin and his Sons' rooms, meant for visiting dignitaries. Inside a pair of featherbeds and a small cushion for Sniffwise were laid out, along with a wash basin, a jug of brown ale, and a platter of sausage, bread, and cheese. Sniffwise got a sausage and some raw gold to eat while Branwen and I ate our fill and decided who got what of the rewards.

I wound up taking the Reinforced Elven Chainmail and Efficient Quiver, while Branwen took Foe-Hewer. It was only once I inspected the contents of the efficient quiver that I found that it held more than the ten arrows that had been apparent when we had found it. In addition to ten normal arrows, there were also twenty plus one arrows and sixteen alchemical fire arrows in the arrow compartment. In the Javelin compartment, there was only a single weapon called the Tusk of the North Sea, a plus two returning javelin of freezing burst that was seemingly made from the tusk of a Forochel walrus sharpened to a lethal pint and affixed to a hilt of darkwood. The Tusk of the North Sea also seemed to allow the wielder to breathe underwater. The bow compartment contained a backup weapon, an adaptive composite longbow of shock plus two. Branwen claimed the bow for herself. In the meantime, I loaded four of my own alchemical fire arrows into the quiver along with ten of my own normal arrows to get a good mix of ammunition.

Of the other equipment, Branwen decided to take the Cloak of the Duskwalker that Elred had for herself. Of Gruffyd the Baleful's equipment, the belt was a Belt of Frost Giant Strength, the Pauldrons were Pauldrons of the Dragon, which gave fire resistance similar to my drake skin armor and the ability to breathe a gout of flame three times a day as if under the effects of an elixir of fire breath, and the boots were Boots of Striding plus four. The spear was called the Dragon's Tooth and seemed to have a unique weapon ability. In addition to being a flaming spear plus three, it also dealt an additional two force damage when hitting an opponent. I wound up taking the vambraces while we agreed to give the belt and boots to Thallanc to counter the Curse of Brittle Bones. Neither of us wanted the spear, though so it went into the Bag of Holding along with everything else.

Finally, we decided to go to sleep. Tomorrow we would meet back up with Thallanc and Curuiel and start our trip south to Gondor. As soon as I fell asleep, I noticed that I had leveled up. I was brought to the white room with the trophies on the walls and my character sheet moments after falling asleep. A new trophy had appeared, a painting of Gruffyd the Baleful falling to a fissure in the ground, which was close enough to the way the Thunderstomp I had used gave me the opening to kill him. I stepped up to my character sheet, ready to claim my ninth level.

This time, I opted for another level of Ranger, giving me another favored enemy. I chose Orc for my next favored enemy and chose my first favored enemy of Human to receive the extra bonus. For my ninth-level feat, I grabbed Great Cleave. Finally, my skills of which, I increased search, hide, move silently, and diplomacy to eleven, increased knowledge tactics to twelve, and put the remaining five points into swim, bringing it up to eleven. I figured it'd be a good idea to invest in swim since I would be fighting Corsairs soon. Once I was done with that, the white room faded away to be replaced by a dream of me in a Middle Earth-style casino. I had just managed to strike it big time at the roulette table when I was awoken by daylight. I had slept for nineteen hours and dawn was breaking over Galtrev once more.

By the time this day was over, we would be on the road south out of Galtrev, heading for the Dunbog and the river Isen beyond. . .

XXXX

AN: Ok, so Brand has officially reached the same level as Boromir with level nine. I plan on him being most of the way through level ten by the end of the Corsair Hunt, which would put him around the level I have Aragorn at. Once that happens, we'll have a series of kingdom-building interludes as he sets up his fiefdom in Gondor. By the time the Council of Elrond is called, I plan for him to be level eleven.

What got him there was the pair of quests to return the Mithril Token to Gwennod and to save the Brennin's son from the blight mushroom poisoning. If they hadn't gotten Gwennod to Llewellyn in time, he would have died in excruciating agony, but thanks to Sniffwise being the Best Boy and following his snout, they found Gwennod in time to save Llewellyn. That pushed everyone over the edge to the next level up.

The Curse of Brittle Bones is nasty, it decreases STR and CON by four each. Even with the fairly powerful magic items they're giving Thallanc, that only cancels out the Curse instead of furthering his abilities. Sauron doesn't play around when it comes to dark curses. Fortunately, that means that Thallanc won't be made of spun glass for the trip south to Gondor and can actually be a useful party member.

I'll have character sheets up at some point tonight.

At any rate, the next chapter will be the start of the trip south. Stay tuned. . .

KnightofTempest

Dec 16, 2022

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Threadmarks Chapter 23

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KnightofTempest

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Jan 1, 2023

#255

As we traveled south on the road to Angren, I noticed a few things as we went further south from Galtrev. The first being the relative lack of wildlife. On the way to Galtrev, we couldn't go for more than a day without chasing off a wolf pack or dealing with a group of wild boars or something. Not here, though. Here, what animals there were kept well away from the roads, hiding themselves in thickets or between boulders. When I asked about it, Branwen simply said that the wildlife knew better than to nose around the roads in wartime, when armed groups move up and down them on the way to and from various battlefields.

The second difference was the bleakness of the countryside. Further north, rolling fields and meadows dominated, with lush forests and low hills interspersed between them. Here, the meadows and fields were replaced with moorland, scraggly brush and heather dominated over grass and flowers. What hills and forests were here were craggy and overgrown, all the while the elevation lowered towards the marshes of the Dunbog that were getting closer and closer as we traveled more and more south. Villages and Brochs that had before been welcoming turned suspicious of travelers, when they weren't outright hostile or in ruins. Even spreading good silver around for a place to stay wasn't always a guarantee of hospitality. Especially when Thallanc and Curuiel took down the hoods of their cloaks to reveal their Elven features.

More often than not, we wound up making camp in a ruined settlement. That sort of thing carried dangers of its own as we learned very quickly. If we were lucky, it would just be a few scattered bandits or goblins we'd have to clear out, as had happened the first two times we'd tried. If not, then we might run across the undead victims of a previous raid. That only happened once, and they were minor undead compared to the constantly reforming wights of the Barrow Downs near Bree, but it was still rather harrowing to see human corpses up and moving about when they shouldn't be.

It had happened in a small ruined hamlet. Several burnt-out barns, fallow fields, and scorched cottages had been clustered around a group of drystone houses that had their doors smashed in and were themselves clustered around a broch that had similarly been broken into. It looked like maybe seventy people had once lived here, dependent on the Lord in the Broch for protection. It was clear they had been attacked by some foe, probably not the Dragon Clan, since they weren't this far west, but some rival clan or another had stormed this small settlement and killed everyone.

We checked the drystone houses, cottages, and broch but found no bandits, only corpses. It was odd, but few of the valuables had been looted from the settlement, which should've been our first red flag that something about this village was not right. In any case, we cleared out the top floor of the Broch of any corpses, moving them to the floor below, and made camp for the night up there. The sun began to set as we lit a fire in the hearth there and began to cook a rabbit and wild vegetable stew for dinner. By the time we had eaten and were ready to rest for the night, the last rays of the sun were finally dipping below the horizon. As soon as they had, that was when the horror started.

The moonlight shone in through to slit of a window and brought with it the groans of reanimating corpses. Sniffwise immediately had his hackles raised and sent warnings of danger up our mental link. I frowned and went to peek out the window, finding that all of the corpses outside had reanimated into undead monstrosities. About fifty of the villagers that had once lived here were shambling around outside, moving between drystone houses and the cottages and fields they'd lived in and worked in life. It was a grim parody of village life playing out from beyond the grave. Ten of the corpses however were armed with various weapons and armor, from rusted swords and tarnished mail to chipped axes and dented breastplates. The soldiery of the Lord whose Broch we had usurped for the evening gazed out over the zombie workers.

"Undead yes?" Questioned Curuil.

"How did you know?" I asked.

"It was not so long ago that the Necromancer and his shambling horde had taken up residence within Dol Guldur. I have learned to recognize the feeling of such dark magic in the air. This has the feel of a death curse about it rather than a deliberate act of malice. I couldn't say any more than that. You would need a sorcerer of Lady Galadriel's power, or perhaps an Istarii to know for certain what happened here just from the feel of the magic. That does beg the question of what happened to the Lord of the Broch and his retainers, though." Frowned Curuiel.

As if on cue, the trap door leading up to the room we had occupied began to rattle and thump, as if someone or something was attempting to enter from below. Thallanc braced the trapdoor with his body in case the lock didn't hold, turning to us and saying, "Equip yourselves for battle, I believe we may have company!"

I quickly donned my armor, strapping on pauldrons and shield before drawing my sword. Branwen did the same. It took about four minutes, during which time, it seemed as if Thallanc might be able to hold the trapdoor indefinitely. It wasn't to be, however, for as soon as we were ready, the pounding on the trapdoor became heavier and more insistent, causing Thallanc to rock up into the air with each thump. He turned to us and demanded to know if we were ready. I responded in the affirmative, as did Branwen. Sniffwise merely bared his teeth at the trapdoor and growled.

"Good, then I'm going to get off the door and armor up. you'll have to hold them back while I do!" Intoned Thallanc.

"Got it!" I affirmed.

"Ready. . .Now!" Exclaimed Thallanc as he scrambled off the trapdoor and headed over to his armor.

Branwen, Sniffwise, and I rushed forward, passing Thallanc as he fell back. The next thump on the trapdoor exploded the wood off its hinges, completely busting the lock, chain, and all. Up clamored a form with dark black leathery skin, armored in thick, leathery, scale armor inscribed with Dunlaning runes, it wore a copper circlet with a single, cut, amber gemstone set into it at the forehead and small Sindarin runes etched into the copper, its spindly fingers ending in wickedly sharp claws. A horrifying stench, like putrid, rotting, fish mixed with burnt hair wafted off the thing and almost made me vomit up my recently eaten rabbit stew, but I kept hold of my gorge and refused to allow myself to vomit. Branwen seemingly did likewise, but Sniffwise refused to be within ten feet of the creature, high-tailing it back to the other end of the floor while sending feelings of wrongness up our mental link.

The creature roared at us and attacked Branwen, lashing out with both claws which she took on her shield, but then snapped a bite off that managed to get through her defenses and clamp onto her arm. The bite didn't do much damage to her but caused her to fall back unmoving. From the rear of the room, Curuiel called out, "It's a Dread Ghast! It can paralyze even an Elf with its touch!"

That was good to know, as I decided I was going to do my best to not get hit by this thing. I attacked it with the Roaring Badger. My first two attacks carved great rents into the creature's deceptively powerful legs, but my third glanced off the armor and my fourth failed to bite into the toughened hide. Branwen still was lying unmoving on the ground and Sniffwise still refused to come near the damn thing which meant the Dread Ghast's ire was directed entirely at me. It launched itself at me in a flurry of claws and teeth. I was caught off guard enough by how the thing moved that a bite and a claw swipe managed to find purchase on me, clawing a line of blood across my sword arm and biting into my leg above the boot but below the fauld. I felt the thing's fetid breath on my calf and pain in my leg and arm but managed to shake off any paralysis from the bite or the claw swipe.

I came back with a series of slashes aimed at pressing the thing backward toward the trapdoor. Cutting into its leathery hide and slipping blows past the armor it wore. My first two blows caught it on its elongated torso, beneath where the scale armor covered thanks to its distended belly, carving rents into its side. My third was only a glancing blow to its leg that forced it back while only leaving a small, thin, shallow, cut oozing with black blood. My fourth blow rebounded off the leathery scales of its armor. In response, it screeched out in fury and pain and its cry was answered by a pair of screeches from down on the floor below.

Clambering up the ladder was a pair of similarly clawed, similarly emaciated, similarly horrific creatures that nonetheless seemed a bit less daunting than the Dread Ghast. Both still wore armor, one had on a brigandine with a green gemstone set into it, inscribed with Old Adunaic Runes, and the other wore a chainmail hauberk of purplish metal with Khuzdul runes inscribed on it. Both screeched and moved to join their Lord in assaulting me. I had to dodge four claw swipes and a bit, managing to dodge two of the claw swipes and get my shield up in front of the bite. One of the Dread Ghast's claw swipes got through as did one of the other creatures, scoring gashes on my upper arm and thigh. Once more I managed to shake off the attempt to paralyze me, which came now from three foes instead of just the one.

Striking back, I struck the Dread Ghast with a large, diagonal, fendente cut from the Roaring Badger, taking off part of its skull and splattering its brain, killing it, before my blade cleaved into one of the other foes, tearing a deep wound into its leg above the knee and hobbling it. My next cut finished the job of hacking off the thing's leg, even though it was still moving on three limbs, gripping the wall with a clawed hand to stay upright. My third cut was a rising slash that cleaved into its face, killing it and allowing me to spin around and cleave into the last foe standing before my final cut unfortunately rebounded off the thing's rubbery hide.

It too let out a shriek and another pair of the same type of slavering enemies as it clambered up the ladder, one wearing a chain shirt made of a dark black metal traced in blue Khuzdul runes and the other wearing a golden breastplate that caused Sniffwise to growl at from across the room. Fortunately, however, Branwen managed to finally snap out of her paralyzed state and move to attack the newcomers, and with the Dread Ghast slain, Sniffwise was feeling bold enough to join the fight. Between the three of us, we managed to carve our way through these three foes, even as the last remaining Foe from the second wave somehow managed to turn one of Branwen's axe strokes that would have killed it aside as if by magic. Branwen managed to put it down with a follow-on attack. I only took one more claw hit, Branwen took two, and Sniffwise one. Nobody got bit, and nobody got paralyzed.

By the time this third wave was finished, Thallanc was fully armed and armored and ready to join us. The floor below seemed to contain five more of the lesser Dread Foes, each seemingly armored in various runic gear. With Thallanc joining us, however, there was literally nothing they could do to take us down. We put them down before moving outside and onto the undead soldiers outside. One of these seemed to have been an officer of some kind in life and capable of commanding the other undead soldiers. That officer also had higher quality gear, a breastplate with Khuzdul runes on it that discharged an electric bolt after being hit with an attack from Thallanc's Curveblade, a longsword bearing Dunlanding runes that caused wounds struck by it to bleed profusely, and a light-weight, wooden, shield of black wood bearing old Adunaic Runes. This Captain was focused on me as we killed the soldiery and he managed to inflict a bleeding wound on me with his blade that wouldn't cease bleeding until it was tended to by Curuiel. After the death of the Captain, the other undead warriors were much easier to put down, having only masterwork-level equipment that had seen better days.

From there, putting down the Zombified villagers only ran into one or two hitches. The first was in the form of the village blacksmith, whose hammer was made of black metal and carried Khuzdul runes that worked just as well for cracking bone as for forging steel. He struck me a blow that I felt even beneath my armor before we managed to put him and his zombified apprentices down. The second hitch was in the form of a civilian overseer, like a mayor except not really. The mayor was wielding a darkwood club studded with obsidian knobs that was carved with Runes I had come to identify as belonging to the Druedain. He also wore a leather jerkin that was etched with runes in Silvan Elvish. The club hit with the strength of a greatsword as well as striking with sonic damage, and made a high-pitched whistling sound as it sailed through the air. The Jerkin seemed to absorb a certain amount of damage from flames and corrosive attacks, as Curuiel attempted to lend her weight of spellcraft to the mopping up of the undead. In the end, though, he too fell before our combined might with only a few blows being taken in the process.

By the time we managed to clear the village, the first rays of dawn were creeping over the horizon as the various undead were being dragged out into the village square, stripped of anything useful, and cremated by Curuiel in a ritual cleansing. Then the ashes were scattered at four separate points outside the village so that they could not be brought back together to be resurrected. It was the best we could do at the moment, though without a curse like the kind Sauron placed on the Barrow Downs, it was likely to be more than enough. We'd wasted the night clearing this place, however, which meant we had to take part of the day to rest. Branwen and I slept for eight hours before waking up, but Curuiel and Thallanc only need a few hours because Elven constitutions were bullshit.

When we awoke, Curuiel let us know about what she'd found out about this place. Apparently, this Hamlet was the stronghold of a small Mercenary Brotherhood that fought in several wars over several years, always looting choice bits of gear and wealth from defeated enemies. That made them plenty of other enemies from various warriors who felt that the Mercenaries shouldn't be getting the choicest spoils. The issue was compounded by the fact that Mercenary Brotherhoods who were known for looting, also tended to be the sort of people for whom the phrase 'rape and pillage' was invented to describe. Eventually, the children of the victims of said raids grew up, joined with their disgruntled rivals, and slaughtered the Mercenary Brotherhood. They didn't have long to divide the spoils, however, because the Mercenary Brotherhood reanimated as undead monstrosities that night, driving off the victors after only token loot had been taken.

"That's why it didn't feel like a deliberate curse, it was a spontaneous resurrection based on hatred and the fell deeds of the Brotherhood." Summarized Curuiel.

"So we should be good with how we disposed of the bodies, then?" I questioned.

"More than good. With undead generated like this, typically you do not need to do more than kill them again and burn the bodies." Answered Curuiel.

"So, what sort of loot did we get?" I pressed.

"Well, there were several sets of armor as potent magically as the one you are currently wearing, including Wyvern Scale Armor, Darksteel Chainmail Hauberk, Mail of Luck, Breastplate of Shocking Retaliation, Golden Glutani Breastplate, Adamant Chain Shirt of Fortitude, and Leather Jerkin of Resistance. There was also a Headband of Mental Prowess, Thundering Cudgel of Striking, Darkwood Round Shield of Heavy Fortification, and a Wounding Longsword all at the same level of potency. And those are just the ones with actual special qualities. There were also five magical sets of armor of the same potency without anything extra on top. Two chain shirts, one Breastplate, and two Chainmail Hauberks." Answered Curuiel.

"Ok, so what of the random soldiers?" I queried.

"Most of that equipment is either rusted, dented, chipped, or otherwise unsuitable for use. It may have been high quality once, but that quality didn't survive its bearers' death and resurrection. I don't believe any of us have the time to reforge such equipment. It's probably best to leave it behind." Intoned Curuiel.

"Any material wealth? Coins, jewels, anything like that?" I asked.

"That sort of thing was the first thing the Brotherhood's enemies looted. It's easily portable enough that they could have taken it with them as they fled from the undead. I think we've found everything we're going to get here." Frowned Curiel.

I nodded, stashing the looted equipment in my bag of holding as we prepared to break camp and continue on south. I fed Sniffwise, did my business, and donned my gear. By three hours after noon, we were ready to hit the road once again, traveling south towards Angren. We made camp only four hours further south along the road, having wasted a lot of daylight sleeping. This time we were able to sleep blessedly free of any undead, goblins, bandits, or Dragon Clan warriors. Two more days passed like that, without any encounters or hazards. The day after that, we entered the Dunbog.

We would have another encounter soon after. . .

XXXX

AN: So yeah, first encounter with the undead. As it turns out, the Barrow Wights are a specific kind of undead created by a pretty dark curse. That seems to be why they keep reforming every time someone destroys their bodies. It makes them functionally immortal so long as Sauron is around to power the curse.

These aren't that type of undead, so it was easy enough for Brand and Co to take them out. Doubly so since Thallanc is at least level eighteen, same for Curuiel. Likely both are higher level even than that just cause Elves live so goddamn long, possibly even level twenty. Brand doesn't know for sure, he can only go off of displayed capabilities. He doesn't think they're Epic level though.

Accordingly, because Thallanc and Curuiel are so high level, Brand and Branwen only received six-hundred-seventy-five XP for clearing the town of undead and Sniffwise only received one thousand-three-hundred XP. Fortunately, Thallanc and Curuiel will be parting ways with Brand and Company as soon as they exit the Old Pukel Gap and enter Gondor. XP gain won't be gimped for the Corsair Quest.

Brand is planning on keeping ahold of those sets of magical armor, just in case he needs to bribe some provincial officer in Gondor. Gondor has the capability to make Magic Equipment, but Denethor is notoriously stingy when it comes to spending money on people who aren't in Minas Tirith. That leaves a lot of provincial officers and lords to fend for themselves, and when you're in the middle of the largest organized Corsair Raid in twenty years, you don't exactly have time or cash to spend on improving your gear. Not when you need gear and troops right now to help safeguard your big settlements.

Perfect is the enemy of good enough in this case.

At any rate, the next chapter will be an encounter with a strange creature in the Dunbog.

Stay Tuned. . .

KnightofTempest

Jan 1, 2023