Mountain Hall

The Woodmen of Wilderland are not united under a crown, but are divided into several Houses, as they call a group of clans or families who dwell together in the same great hall under a common token of kinship. Every house is ruled by its council of Elders, a circle of the old and wise. In times of need, the Elders from all houses meet at a folk-moot, a great gathering where the most important decisions concerning the Woodmen at large are taken. There are four main Houses of Woodmen in Wilderland: the House of Mountain Hall, the House of Woodland Hall, the House of Woodmen Town and the House of Rhosgobel.

Mountain Hall is the main settlement of the Woodmen on the west side of the Great River. It is hidden in a narrow valley east of the Misty Mountains, where a turbulent stream runs amid steep walls of rock and around grassy knolls and pine-covered hills. The village itself is located where the river loops around an area of grassland set against the stony shoulder of the mountains. It is not protected by a stockade or hedge, as the watercourse has been widened and deepened, making the village accessible only by a dirt road cut along the stream where it passes the nearest to the rock face.

Many villagers work in mines dug into the mountains to the west, searching in the recesses of the earth for metals prized by all inhabitants of the vales of the Great River: copper, tin and iron. It is a dangerous trade, as many creatures lurk in the dark under the mountains, waiting patiently for the unwary.

From the village, a flight of stairs reaches up to the burg, a stone tower built centuries ago by the Northmen who first discovered this remote dale. A watch is set upon it by night and day, ready to blast the great Horn of Warning in case Orcs or other foes would try to approach the village stealthily.

Hartfast, son of Hartmut
The head of the House of Mountain Hall. Hartfast sired five sons and seven daughters, and has more grandchildren than he can remember or bother to count. Hartfast looks like the Misty Mountains; craggy features, absurdly tall, and a wild shock of white hair. Golden amulets are braided into his grey beard. He has seen more than fifty winters here in the mountains, but he is yet unbowed. He does lean on a stout walking stave more than he used to, but he can still swing an axe or draw a bow with the best of his grandsons. He is a proud man, and has little time for outsiders – not even the other Woodman tribes are truly welcome here. It is a long way across the River to Woodland Hall, and Hartfast considers them distant cousins at best. Behind his back, the other Woodmen call him the ‘tallest dwarf’ for his stubborn pride and standoffishness.

Radagast the Brown

Radagast the Brown is a wizard. He abides in a small wood of ancient oaks in Rhosgobel, close to the southwestern eaves of Mirkwood, where many Woodmen have come to stay near him. Once content to spend his time in quiet conversation with birds and animals (whose diverse languages he seems to be able to speak fluently) Radagast had an active part in the White Council’s preparations to attack Dol Guldur, and since that time he has shown an increased interest in the matters of the people living in the area. The wizardry of Radagast seems to be connected to the animal and plant life populating Middle-earth. He is learned in the lore of herbs and beasts, and seems to have a special friendship with birds.

Like his peers Saruman the White and Gandalf the Grey, Radagast has always appeared to the eyes of mortals like a vigorous old man who doesn’t seem to wither and grow weaker with the passing of the years. He wears a tall, wide-brimmed hat and brown cloak over clothes of earthen colours, and sports a long, wild-looking reddish beard slowly turning grey, and long, unkempt hair of the same hue. He usually paces his stride with his long Oaken staff. He seems to rarely leave his small cottage, apart from short walks into the forest to the east. Despite his solitary life, Radagast seems to be well informed about events happening in the land of the Woodmen at any time, sometimes betraying knowledge of things befalling in more distant places in Wilderland. While never really rude, his years of isolation (or his friendship with Beorn...) seem to have made his conversation come across as brusque or abrupt, as if he was unused to the common laws of courtesy recognised by Men, Dwarves and Elves.

Strangers wanting to meet Radagast and asking the local Woodmen for directions are led all the way to his house, reached by a pathway of white stones starting close to the Great Hall of Rhosgobel. Visitors trying to reach the house of the wizard alone seem to lose their way easily and find themselves back in front of the Great Hall after walking aimlessly for some time. During the warm months of the year, any visitor might be forced to wait for a while, together with the many Woodmen coming to see the wizard and seek his help.

Banna

A Woodwoman named Banna greeted the company on the edge of Rhosgobel. She is tall and gangly, and while her features could not be called pretty, there is a merry glint in her eye. She says that Radagast asked her to accompany the companions to the River, where they can take boats upriver and then travel west to Mountain Hall.

Banna is one of Radagast’s aides and messengers. She is eternally optimistic and positive, and loves tramping through the forest and the vales of Anduin more than anything else. She is curious about other folk, but has no desire to leave the lands she knows and loves – maybe one day, when she has seen all the forest and walked every valley from the Forest Gate to the Mountain Pass, but not yet. While she is a good shot with a bow and can handle a knife, she only fights in defence of her homeland. She knows little about the outside world, but knows everything about the lands of the Woodmen, down to the smallest piece of gossip or the best-hidden path through the woods of the Western Eaves.

Banna is cheery and upbeat. She asks questions of any who are not Woodmen or Beornings; Banna has never seen a Dwarf or a Hobbit, or even a house that was made out of anything other than wood. She tilts her head as if listening to the wind every few minutes. She addresses animals as ‘Master Rabbit, Mistress Cow, Lord Bear’ and so on – treating them as people.

That Damned Crow

KAW! *blink, blink, stare*

That cursed wee beastie! Braegin glared up at those black opalescent eyes following his every step. The thing was too small to be anything but a damned crow. Braegin scratched at his beard with the end of his pipe and blew out a hearty harrumph. He stepped smartly to keep pace with Podo down the winding trail of the Elf Path as the young hobbit led them deeper into the Mirkwood. Somewhere flitting between the trees no doubt was Artem looking for signs of trouble. Though Braegin never could catch sight of the bounding elf.

Braegin paused to regard the sleek black silhouette sitting in the tree above. Perhaps the damned thing wasn't one of those pestering lesser breeds so common these past years but in fact a true raven-born? Though the damned thing had yet to speak. Braegin shook his shaggy head as a lopsided grin broke across his stony face.

Aye the idea had merit! My beloved, such a clever lass. Wouldn't put it past her to find a way to send an extra pair of watchful eyes to aid him. Oh and it had brought such sweet tidings! If only he had found and returned the shield of Thror himself, oh such an honor! It was a good omen to see its return and to be hung in the great hall during these troublesome times. Perhaps he would have a chance to speak to this Lockmand the next time he made Esgaroth, should the merchant still be peddling his wares.

Braegin watched as the raven took flight and began to circle somewhere ahead. He missed his cart, Braegin decided. He'd left it at the Easterly Inn now lighter of the load he had carried from Erebor across the foothills of the Grey Mountains. Aye 'twas with the purpose of making new friends along the northerly trade path for business as he had told his beloved. Yet his dreams of the giant saw-toothed orc still haunted him and Braegin had inquired all along the way if any had seen one with the jagged visage left long ago by the axe-head his father had carried.

A loud squawk pierced Braegin's reverie along with a pair of whistles that disappeared somewhere into the distant wood. Braegin's eyes went wide and his lips formed an "O". He stood as still as he could while managing to look to his right at the tree root hanging at the height of his head where an elven boot sat. Braegin's brow furrowed, then rose up his forehead as he followed the boot up to a leg, then a taut bow with another arrow knocked, and finally an arched elven eyebrow. Artem held a single bow finger to the sky and then pointed towards the wood beyond. Braegin looked about but Podo was no where to be found. Damned furry-footed hobbit! Suddenly Braegin caught the sounds of orc cries tumbling down the wooded slope!

"Oh yea!" Braegin unlimbered his shield, loosed Wolfbiter from its sheathe, and listened to the sound of the northern orc horn as it blew the sound of retreat. Retreat? Northern? Orcs burst into the small clearing and slammed against Braegin's shield. A spear as thick as Braegin's thigh slid across the top of his great shield to skewer a charging orc through the chest in a spray of arterial blood.

Stone and bones! Braegin had nearly forgot about the human.

Brunhild

Widow of Rathfik, who was slain by Oderic.

What Once Was Great . . .

What Once Was Great

Day 7 - 

Finding and gathering the escaped slaves took much more time than I thought.  Many ran from us as well as their captors.  I wish them luck in their travels.  28 former slaves are now under our protection.  I find Artem and Podo discussing a thing they found in Valtar's tent.  It seems he had a head in a chest.  But not a war trophy.  No it is a tool of the Shadow.  It is used to communicate with others.  So it comes to show that once again Valtor deserved destruction.  And that the Shadow's corruption is spread further than thought.  

It also shows that Men are easily corrupted.  Men are weak.

We begin our march North - home.

Day 8 -

Artem has hunted early and brought down two elk.  More than enough to feed all of us for the return trip.  He has also discovered a shorter route to return us to Beorn's Hall.  I have not traveled these paths long but again Artem shows the difference between us.  Men are weak.  

As we explore the South and journey North I wonder how my companions are handling the company of the young race.  Also I begin to think of the weakness of Men and find myself wondering if I am making excuses for my own short comings.  Isn't it easier to blame my race than myself?  It is a thought that leaves me cold and unsure as we travel on. 

Day 9 -

Artem and Podo hear of a fight in the distance and use their stealth to investigate.  Braegin follows behind while I find a suitable place to watch over both my companions and our charges - the now freed slaves.

A dirty man stands before 4 of the bandits we recently made leaderless.  I can not hear them but Artem and Podo tell me he was repaying a debt he owed them and was keeping the bandits from us.  Artem and Podo listen for a short while before Artem unleashes a deadly volley.  Braegin charges into the fray and the dirty man also joins the fight.  The bandits fall before I can even make my way closer.  I am weak.  The companions collect some weapons before returning to the group.

The dirty man is called Shanker.  He talks a little with Podo and then leaves.  I am not sorry to see him go.  He disturbs me for an unknown reason.  He is known as a troublemaker in Beorn's Hall.  Again I am not sorry to see him go.  I am weak.

Selva a slave Podo rescued splits off from us here.  She will make for the Mountain Hall.  It seems she is a woodsman after all.  The way she holds herself speaks of a martial upbringing.  I am not worried for her safety.  We send her with a few weapons and more than enough elk to make the short journey.

Day 10 -

We arrive at Beorn's Hall a full day earlier due to Artem's woodland skill.  I am weak.  Beorn invites us in and listens to our story.  Podo sings a beautiful song of our deeds while Artem plays a melody to compliment Podo's voice.  It has inspired me to try and sing in the future.  Beorn wise and good allows the escaped slaves to stay at his Hall.  He will find places for them if they wish to stay.  

Artem explains in more detail about the head we found at Valtor's camp.  It seems an agent of the Shadow lies somewhere to the South.  Beorn listens to the plea for help but decides he is unable to help without a foe to see.  With no target to vent his rage upon he will not act.  For the first time I disagree with my chief and offer my services to Artem as well as Beorn.  I will become Beorn's hound and find this foe for him hiding in the South.  Beorn disagrees with me in return but allows me to go all the same.  Does Beorn also think I am weak?  Too weak to even be a faithful hunting dog?  

We feast for the night.  I make sure to return Odo's sword to his shield maiden.  Her tears bring anger to my heart and I am glad again for the death of Odrik.  I am weak.

Day 11 -

I stop and visit my father and explain my reasons for leaving him for an extended time.  I have made preparations for Brunor to check on him from time to time and see he is kept stocked.  We argue at first but finally gives up.  Instead he gives me Giantbane.  A great spear passed down from father to son for many generations.  I accept the gift with reluctance and promise to return it.  

Artem, Podo, and Braegin believe the agent of Shadow dwells in the heart of the Old Forest Road.  We will go to Dell and Rivendell to ask aid for keeping several small outposts safe upon the Old Forest Road so that we may have both aid and safety if we need it.

Day 12 - 

Artem once again impresses me with his archery and his hunting.  Podo's breakfast is once again delicious and seems to wash away the weariness of the road.  Braegin speaks with a raven and learns news of his homeland.  Before we are set to investigate the Old Forest Road we will prepare ourselves.  Promising to meet at an Inn to the North in a month's time we go our own ways.

I will go South to better my skills and make myself familiar with the creatures, woods, and dangers we will be facing in the future.

Day 33 - 

I begin my return trip today.  I make way for the Inn and my companions.  I find myself missing them far more than I had thought possible.  We have known each other such a short time but it seems to have impacted me greatly.

Day 43 -

It is the day of our promised reunion.  Podo and I await Artem and Braegin eagerly.  Podo was the first be here and sits comfortably near the fireplace.  

Soon the four of us are reunited and set pace for the Dale the first of our stops.  Telling tales of our journey I feel lighter than I have since Beorn's Hall.

Orcs.  Artem hears the sounds of many feet.  Braegin smells their foul odor and announces they are orcs.  Braegin and I position ourselves in the middle of the road and await their arrival while Artem and Podo wait for an ambush.  

The orcs are many in number and at first seem to be taken back by the sight of us blocking the road but soon begin fleeing deeper into the forest or up the road.  Some attack us upon the road but Braegin and I make short work of those that tally to long within the reach of our weapons.  Artem and Podo devastate those that flee and I am gladdened to see the ground littered with orc corpses.  Soon a party of elves appear.  They were the cause of the orcs fear and rightfully so.  These elves differ from Artem who seems to be a natural extension of the forest.  These are like the stars.  So bright and pure they make me feel small and dirty and unworthy to be in their presence.  Artem exchanges many words with the hunting party in a language I do not understand.  The mere sound of it is like beautiful music.  Again I am reminded that Men are weak.  

Artem introduces us to the elven party.  Legolas and Lady Irime shine even more brightly than the rest of the elven party.  Lady Irime invites us to dinner and it is clear from Artem that this indeed a great honor and something we can not refuse.  

Oh but I wish too!  

The Lady smells of lilacs and all that is good on a warm spring breeze.  I am unkempt and covered in orc blood.  I have not bathed in this week yet and even if I had do not feel it would have been enough to attend a table with her.

Smiling and nodding I lock these emotions deep within my heart and follow Artem deeper into the forest.  Artem and the Lady share some small words that I can not hear.  Before long we are brought to a clearing that has a feast laid out fit enough for a kingdom.  A large silver wash basin is noticeable and I take great care to clean myself as best I can.  For the first time I am able to see that I am not the only one affected so.  Braegin seems to have been struck mute with the Lady's beauty and Podo also seems beside himself for the first time.  

Dinner passes by very quickly and honestly I remember very little other than ashamedly sneaking glances at the Lady Irime.  Suddenly I find myself addressed by the Lady.  In a panic I ask her to please tell a tale of Men.  She does me a great kindness and tells a tale of Men who dwelt to the North that I may be descended from who had a once great kingdom.  Sadly it was swallowed by the ocean and the Men fell into barbarianism.  Men are weak?  But were not always so?  I am a decedent of decent and honorable Men.  A Man of Twilight.  I feel my heart quicken and surge with hope, regret, and embarrassment.

The rest of the night flashes in a blur.  Artem and Podo sing a song and please the Lady.  Braegin exchanges wits with the Lady and seems to both challenge and please her.  I can only sit at the table and keep the emotions in my heart from showing on my face.  

Only now in privacy can I write my feelings to paper and banish them from my heart.

Men are weak.   What once was great.  

Men were once strong but now have fallen.

Men were honorable but have been corrupted.

Men had a kingdom even the elder races acknowledge but time has claimed it.

Men were once great but now are weak.

But once was great can be reclaimed.  What once was great can be remade.

Men are weak but a person, a Man, could be a guiding example.

Exploring the past.  Accepting the failings of Men and pushing forward.  

Men could reclaim their greatness if we had a leader.  

I am not that Man but perhaps I can find him.

Men are not weak I am.

But I now know this and will seek to correct it.

It is only later - now - that I am reminded that we will be escorting the Lady Irime West.

I only pray that I do not embarrass my companions on our journey.

A Raven From The Lonely Mountain

Dearest Braegin,

I write you with great news from the mountain. I could not wait for your return with the snows of winter. Word is spreading of your work and we have new friends seemingly emerging from the stone. The news I send was not a secret for long.

King Dain received the visit of a merchant from Esgaroth. He bore letters of introduction from the Master of Esgaroth, and presented himself by the name of Lockmand.

He had a treasure to trade with us, a shield that once belonged to Thrór, the grandfather of Thorin Oakenshield. The shield had passed from Thrór to his son Thráin, and it was believed lost since when Thráin disappeared in Mirkwood one hundred years ago. Lockmand claimed to have bought the shield in a market in the far south.

In exchange for the shield, Lockmand wanted payment in gold, and a fair price was arranged. He also asked, as a favour, for a look in our records. He claimed to be a buyer and seller of treasures and relics, and he hoped that the old books might contain information useful to him. But we do not let foreigners easily in our Chamber of Records, and King Dain and his advisers deliberated for some time before finally refusing his request.

Fortune smiles on us for having this treasure returned to us. You will see it hanging in the great entry hall upon your return as we embrace.

Take heart! Father constantly speaks ill of you. No other suitor of mine occupies his mind as much. Erebor is full of richer dwarves with longer beards he says. Win your fortune and bring it home so that we might be joined in union before the stone eyes of Thorin.

Your sparkling gem,
Mar daughter of Munin