Monday, April 22, 2013

029 - The proverbial lost sheep(s).

November 16th, FA 15

The following morning, the company woke up in the Slapfoot Inn to a small gathering of hobbits in he dining area. Most noticeably, the Mayor of Michel Delving was present. Samwise Gamgee, one of the most famous living hobbits was surrounded by half a dozen of nosy geesers. They were waiting for the company to rise from their slumber. 

A breakfast was served. Sam was concerned that these wargs were bad news for the Shire. The company asked to talk to him in private. Sam dismissed the other hobbits. 

Finbert proceeded to explain to Sam that there was much more to yesterday than a bad snow storm and a trio of wargs. They told the story plainly to him. Sam was visibly disturbed. He expressed concerns for the Shire and its denizens. The company discussed on possible ways to find more about the drake (possibly named Farathu). Ideas of baiting him with treasure were proposed. But to what end?  Where to? ... and what IF the drake bit the bait?

News from the Fenwick sheep farm came in. The pen had been smashed yesterday, the sheeps were gone, and there was too much snow to track them down. A number of neighbors were organizing a search to rescue the flock. The company suggested to assist, Sam wholeheartedly agreed. 

The farm was made of a number of pen fenced-in by strong stone 6' walls. These were designed to keep wolves during the winter months. A number of hobbits were playing forensic experts where the wall had been smashed. They all agreed that this was the work of a wargs: warg are big, the hole is big... makes sense. However, the company astutely noted among themselves that these wargs must have came from nowehere, gone nowhere, and damaged an uncanny amount of trees in the process... [An easy tracking check to figure that out]

While the hobbits busied around the farm, the company set out on horseback and followed the trail left by the drake. This lead them soon outside the boundaries of the Shire and into the Western Downs. Nimrodel climbed atop a hill and quickly located a trail in the crest between nearby hills. The company proceeded until the trail became evident. Irina examined the trailed carefully [passed tracking with a large margin], and figured out that the sheeps had passed a few hours ago, in panic, and were shortly followed at least three large wolves. They followed the trail until they could hear braying and barkings. They disembarked from their horses and walked to the next hill.

The wolves were setting up an attack on the flock. The terrain was very rough as everywhere but on the sheep's path, the snow was deep [cost a "penny" to walk one hex*]. When the PCs arrived on the scene, it triggered the wolves' attack on the herd. Two of the five wolves noticed the PCs and instead decided to go for the delicious looking hobbits running to meet them. Nimrodel, Finbert and Irina had their bows/blowpipe ready and fired their first shots. Nimrodel crippled with two arrows both front legs of one of them. The beast's wolving days were over, although it was still conscious. The second wolf was dispatched by the small folks. The turn of events convinced the rest of the pack to scramble away while the sheep herd was scattering madly in deep snow. Nimrodel, obviously not a canine lover, crippled the leg of a fleeing wolf while Halin, really not a dog lover, caught up and dispatched the animal with his warhammer. The company played herdsmen for a few hours to bring back the flock to Fenwick's farm.

Back at the Slapfoot, the company was served many half-pints of Wesfarthing's Honey Ale and as much stew as they could eat. The celebrations extended late into the night. The wargs are gone or else they would have slaughtered the sheeps! Everyone in the inn was jolly, except maybe for the PCs and Samise Gamgee. Rather, they often could be caught glimpsing out the window, hoping that no freak snow storm was rolling in the Shire once more.

*We use an simpler AP system where each 3d6 rolls cost a penny, and 5 pennies is worth one FP.

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