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Relics of the Third Age: A Lord of the Rings Quest

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Vote total is a bit lower than usual, maybe on account of it being a holiday weekend in the US and the brief pause while I was moving, so I'll give it another day for things to settle out before calling the vote.
 
Right, I was probably thinking of Tigkiz at the time, which is why I mixed up the ranks. @legomithras , can you change the captain to lieutenant in the plan? I don't really want to split the votes over this mistake, but it seems right to fix it.

Also, I would again urge you to at least try to talk to the human before going at her with your fists. First, if there really are orcs outside, we both better have the strength to fight them, and second, she's probably not the only victim of the mind control in the squad.
 
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  • Voting
    • Scheduled vote count started by Chengar Qordath on Jul 5, 2024 at 8:01 PM, finished with 18 posts and 12 votes.
    • [X] Plan: Talking is a free action.
      -[X] Try to Snap Tirndis Out of it:
      --[X] From the sounds of it, the camp is under attack. Does Tirndis really want to fight you right now, even though it might endanger her subordinates? They need their lieutenant's orders.
      -[X] If the previous argument fails, point out that you were too young to harm anyone during Sauron's lifetime, and you know she knows it. Dark magic is messing with her head, she's convinced you before that such things happen in these parts.
      -[X] If trying to reason with her fails, restrain her.
      [X] Restrain Tirndis
      [X] Plan remember your duty as I remember mine.
      -[X] Try to Snap Tirndis Out of it:
      --[X] "Do you hear the commotion outside? Your rangers need you as Nurn needs them. I would die rather than fail MY task, so if you do not accept my help, I will restrain myself here at your mercy. Once you have seen to your rangers you can decide whether your desire for revenge sits higher than your oath to Faramir."
      -[X] If that fails Run Away
      [X] Run Away
      [X] Draw Her Own Weapon
    Click to expand...
     
  • Voting
    • Working on the update, but if folks wanted to know how the dice fell...

    Tirndis Charisma (2) + Leadership (2) + Noble Daughter of Numenor (1)
    5d6: 4, 6, 6, 1, 4
    Bonus 2d6: 2d6: 6, 2
    Bonus 1d6: 5
    Total: 5 Successes vs Target Number: 3
    Great Success!
     
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    Pathway to the Relic 7
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    • Chaos And Calamity​

    Arphazêl Charisma (2) + Leadership (2) + Noble Daughter of Numenor (1)
    5d6: 4, 6, 6, 1, 4
    Bonus 2d6: 2d6: 6, 2
    Bonus 1d6: 5
    Total: 5 Successes vs Target Number: 3
    Great Success!

    Despite my earlier skepticism on the topic, it was plain to see that there was some fell influence driving Tirndis to attack me. For all that she disliked me, she would never abandon her duty to Gondor to pursue a personal grudge, especially not when it sounded like the entire camp was under attack. All I needed to do was break whatever held her in thrall.

    "Remember your duty, Lieutenant Tirndis!" I snapped in the best imitation of Captain Tigkiz's parade ground voice. "You are a soldier of Gondor of the noble house of Madril, not some common thug who acts on her every violent impulse. You have a duty to your soldiers and to your prince Faramir that supersede any personal desires or grudges."

    "You…" Tirndis growled and shook her head, blinking several times as if she were coming out of a fugue. "Much as it shames me to admit it, you are right." She stared down at the blade in her hand, seeming shocked to find it there at all. "Why did I…?"

    "We will not find the answer to that question within my tent." I grabbed my boots and gambeson, lacing both up as quickly as I could manage and retrieving my emergency dagger from underneath my pillow.

    Once that was done Tirndis silently offered me my sword. "There is some trouble afoot outside. It would be wise not to face it unarmed."

    We emerged from my tent to find the camp in a state of budding chaos. Rangers ran to and fro, exchanging worried whispers while their eyes remained fixed upon shadowy blackness outside the light of our campfires. I already guessed what troubled them before confirming my suspicions when I found the first black-feathered shaft. "Orcs."

    "Some of them yet linger in the Vale," Tirndis confirmed, scowling at the arrow. "Whatever darkness hangs over this land does affect them as it does us."

    "Or it does, but they do not care." I scowled out into the black night, searching for any sign of them. "Fell magic does not affect them as badly as it does Men, for Orcs have always felt more at ease in the dark places of the world. Perhaps we should douse the fires, the light blinds us to what passes in the shadows."

    "My rangers do not see as keenly as Orcs in the dark of the night," Tirndis countered. "If the Orcs intend to close to melee range with us, as they surely will, I would prefer to be able to tell Man from Orc in the midst of the brawl."

    I wanted to point out that it would be far wiser for the Orcs to hold their position and exchange arrows with us from the shadows while our own forces were outlined by the fires, but she was probably right. Unless their commander was exceptionally keen or not an Orc at all, they wouldn't be able to restrain their soldiers' bloodlust for long. Few Orcs would be able to resist the prospect of charging in to sink their blades into enemy flesh, regardless of whether it would be tactically prudent to do so.

    That left me with nothing to do but wait for the Orcs to come. I considered asking one of the rangers to loan me a bow, but most of them would probably sooner give me their firstborn than part with their longbows. Not that I could have done much with a bow in any case, with no clear targets to strike. There were times I suspected I saw movement in the distance, but it was impossible to say whether that was Orcs lurking in the shadows or firelight bouncing off the nighttime mists of the Morgul Vale.

    I drew my blade and prepared for the inevitable Orc charge. Some of the other rangers also had weapons drawn, which only served to remind me of the difference in the quality of our swords. My blade was perfectly serviceable, but the blacksmiths of Nurn had far more experience with plowshares, nails, and working knives than with making swords. My sword was decently balanced and held an edge, all that was really needed for dealing with Orcs, but I could not help noticing with envy that the Gondorians' blades were more finely made.

    Much to my annoyance, the charge did not come. Occasionally one of the rangers would fire off an arrow, one would come streaking into our camp, or an Orc would let out a howl somewhere in the night, but nothing more. I growled and spun my blade in my hand. "What are they waiting for?"

    Even as I asked the question, I knew the answer. They were wearing us down, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Could all our rangers remain awake and alert throughout the night? How long would it be before one of them tired or let their guard down, providing an opening for their attack? It was a cunning strategy, which worried me all the more. Orcs could be cunning, but the sort of discipline they exercised spoke to an effective leader. Usually with a small band like this, the leader would be the biggest and strongest Orc who could kill any challengers in a one-on-one fight, not the smartest one.

    Arphazêl Perception (2) + Awareness (2)
    4d6: (3+1+5+4) = 1 Success vs Target 3
    Significant Failure

    After what felt like hours, I felt my eyes begin to droop and my edge slacken. I slapped my cheeks to try to force myself back to alertness, but it was hard to stay sharp. Even when I was fully aware, it seemed like I was almost too alert, jumping at every faint rustle in the grass and stirring in the dark mists beyond the camp as if it were a sign of the incoming Orc attack.

    Perhaps that was what allowed them to close in so quickly. By the time I realized it wasn't a phantom conjured by my own tired and hyperalert mind, the attacking Orcs were practically on top of us letting out their guttural battlecries. It took my exhausted mind a second too long to fully grasp that we were under attack, and prepare myself to deal with the massive brute bearing down on me with his crude blade cocked back to strike. Because my luck was terrible, he was the biggest and ugliest of the bunch, and thus presumably the leader.

    Orc Attack: Strength (4) + Melee Skill (1) + Ambush (1)
    Vs
    Arphazêl Attack: Dexterity (4) + Melee Skill (3)

    Orc: 6d6: 1, 1, 6, 6, 6, 4
    Bonus 3d6: 6, 6, 5
    Bonus 2d6: 6, 3
    Bonsu 1d6: 1
    Total: 6 Successes

    Arphazêl 7d6 2, 1, 1, 2, 6, 5, 3
    Bonus 1d6: 1
    Total: 0 Successes

    I snapped my sword up to meet the Orc's strike, only to realize at the last minute that I'd misjudged my angle. Instead of smoothly deflecting his blade to the side as I'd hoped, I met the Orcish blade in a straight edge-to-edge block. Like most Orc swords, his weapon was an appallingly crude thing, little better than a plain bar of steel with a sharpened edge. However, it was a very heavy weapon, being propelled by a great deal of Orcish muscle.

    I felt my fingers go numb at the appallingly loud crash of metal as our blades met, and my defenses buckled, followed by a heavy thud on my shoulder. At least it didn't hurt enough to feel like the Orc had cut through my gambeson. The flash of fire and pain across my cheek told me I hadn't escaped the attack completely unscathed, though.

    I tried to bring my sword around for a counterstroke, but the Orc's free hand latched onto my chest, grabbing a handful of my thick linen armor. Before I could do anything to free myself I felt my feet leave the ground as the Orc pulled me out of the defensive line and hurled me into the darkness.

    The impact with the hard ground sent my teeth crashing into each other with a sharp snap, and it felt like a small miracle that I hadn't bit off the tip of my tongue. I tasted blood in my mouth as I tried to rise to my feet and regain my bearings, struggling to spot my opponent in the darkness.

    I spared a quick look at my blade, and what I saw felt like a kick to the gut. It was hard to make out all the details in the half-light, but I could see the large chip in the blade and the fact that wasn't completely straight anymore. My sword wasn't completely ruined yet, but if the Orc landed another hit like that...

    Orc Charge: Strength (4) + Unarmed Skill (1) + Darkness (2)
    Vs
    Arphazêl Defense: Strength (3) + Unarmed Skill (2)

    Orc: 7d6: 6, 6, 2, 1, 5, 2, 3
    Bonus 2d6: 5,6
    Bonus 1d6: 4
    Total: 5 Successes

    Arphazêl 5d6: 3+3+2+4+2
    Total: 1 Success

    The Orc hammered into me before I could fully get my feet under me, driving me back and away from the campfire. The only good news was that he was using his bare hands instead of his sword. Or perhaps not, considering he'd closed in far too much for me to bring my damaged sword to bear to fend him off.

    A massive Orcish fist crashed into my wounded cheek and sent me staggering back with a fresh flash of pain. I wondered why he wasn't using his sword to finish me off. Was his blade as damaged as mine, or did he just want to enjoy killing me with his bare hands?

    I tried to stagger back to get a little bit of time and space to recover, but the Orc refused to give me a moment to recover. All I could do was continue falling back, trying to trade ground for an opportunity to recover. That only took me further and further from our camp and deeper into the dangerous mists of the Morgul Vale, but I didn't see any other option. It took me further away from help, but standing my ground would get me killed before any of the rangers could help me.

    I tried to reverse course and move around the Orc and back towards help, only for him to hammer a massive fist into my stomach that dropped me to my knees and left me wheezing for air and my damaged sword tumbling out of my fingers. The brute let out a growling chuckle and grabbed the neck of my gambeson to stop me from falling over completely, letting out a low chuckle as he grinned down at me. "Weakling Man-Filth. Die now."

    Orc Defense: Strength (4) + Melee Skill (1) + Darkness (2)
    Vs
    Arphazêl Dagger: Dexterity (4) + Melee Skill (3) - Wounded (-1)

    Orc 7d6 2, 2, 2, 4, 1, 4, 3
    Total: 2 Successes

    Arphazêl 6d6 : 6, 4, 4, 5, 2, 6
    Bonus 2d6: 2, 5
    Total: 6 Successes

    "Not today, and not to you," I growled back in Black Speech before pulling out my father's dagger and sinking it into the meat of his arm. The Orc let me go with a startled yell of pain, leaving me an opening to stab him again in the gut before I quickly backed off. Staying in close quarters with an Orc was never a good move, no matter how badly wounded they were. I didn't need him tearing my head off with some frantic burst of dying strength, especially when the wounds I'd inflicted on him wouldn't be enough to kill him swiftly.

    I kept falling back for now, using the time and space I'd bought to come up with a plan even if it meant falling back further into the darkness. I thought back to earlier in the evening and felt the beginnings of a plan coming together. Brawling in the darkness with an Orc armed with nothing but a dagger didn't seem like a winning strategy, but I remembered Captain Tigkiz's advice. If you can't win the battle, change the battlefield.

    It was a risky strategy, but it was the best one I could think of. I continued falling back, moving as swiftly as I could up the same pathway I'd used hours ago. Running up the hill in the dark of the night was a risk, but compared to facing the roaring Orc behind me it seemed like my best hope. And in any case, having the Orc half-blind with rage as he ran after me was perfect for what I had in mind.

    It didn't take long to reach the place I'd been earlier in the evening, when Lieutenant Tirndis came to find me shortly before sunset. I only hoped my vague memory of what the place looked like and what few details I could make out in the dark would be enough.

    Arphazêl Intelligence (2) + Awareness (2)
    4d6: 2, 4, 6, 6
    Bonus 2d6: 4, 5
    5 Successes vs Target Number: 2

    Great Success

    I stopped at the edge of the cliff and turned to face the Ork. It would've been nice if the fall was high enough to dash the Orc's body against the rocks below, but it was just a short drop onto a steep grassy hill. Baiting the Orc over the edge would still be more than enough for me. It was unlikely to kill him, but sending him rolling half a mile down a hill with a fresh collection of bruises should be enough to end the pursuit. Maybe even kill him if the fall tore open the wounds I'd inflicted on him.

    I tossed the dagger stained with the Orc's blood back and forth between my hands and shot a confident smirk back at the Orc pursuing me before tossing out a final taunt, once more in Black Speech. "Orc-Filth like you belongs in a dung pit."

    The Orc let out a furious bellow and charged at me, my own damaged sword held high over his head. I waited until he'd almost closed with me before hastily ducking aside to dodge the overhand chop. As I passed I snapped out with dagger once more, scoring a hit on the Orc's thigh that compromised his balance at the critical moment when he might have caught himself before going over the edge.

    I allowed myself a triumphant grin as the Orc tried vainly to stop his moment and began tumbling over the edge. Few things tasted sweeter than victory.

    The Orc desperately flailed about for something to arrest his fall, and even as his feet left the ground one of his meaty paws latched onto my arm, yanking me off my feet before I even realized what was happening.

    "Oh."




    Ow

    Ow

    Ow

    Owwwww

    Awareness returned slowly and painfully once the long rolling fall finally came to an end. I shakily rose to my feet, groaning and the dull aching throb that now suffused my entire body, and tried to take stock of my situation. Everything hurt, but the fact that I could stand on my own two feet was a good sign.

    I'd lost my father's dagger somewhere in the fall. Though perhaps that wasn't entirely a bad thing, considering how much I'd been bumped and thrown about during it I probably would've wound up stabbing myself with it if I'd tried to hold onto it the whole way down. As bad as being killed by a lowly Orc would be, dying to my own blade would've been a far more humiliating end. A truly pitiful final note for the noble House of Shakalzôr.

    No. No matter what it took, I would not let it end here. I was going to live.

    I took a few deep breaths and tried to take stock of my surroundings. I'd fallen into the misty valley I'd been admiring earlier in the day. I should be able to make my way back to the ranger's camp, even if the walk would be a long and painful one. And quite dangerous, between the mist and the dark night I could barely see anything. Perhaps it would be wiser to find somewhere safe to wait until the morning? Trying to navigate in this darkness could easily just get me lost and in even worse trouble.

    I tried to find anything that looked like a good resting spot, but all I saw was pitch darkness and the blocky shapes of trees. Climbing up a tree would give me a bit more security to rest and catch my breath than staying on the ground, but I wasn't sure how much safety that would really bring. I might be blind in the darkness, but the Orcs wouldn't be. Even if the one who'd taken me over the cliff was dead, I needed to worry about any others who might be hiding out in the Vale, or any fleeing the fight with the Rangers.

    As I wandered through the dark valley, a flash of light caught my eye. I followed it and found myself in a small clearing. Sat in the middle of it was a sword struck blade-first into the rocky soil. As I drew nearer I realized that the clearing was unnaturally still, with none of the usual nightly noises one would expect. The soil around the sword was so bare and rocky because all the grass and shrubs seemed to have drawn away from its resting place. The entire clearing felt oddly cold, though perhaps that was just the usual nighttime chill in the air.

    There was something oddly familiar about the blade, though I couldn't quite place it in my rattled state with the darkness obscuring most of the details. I did note a curious circular protrusion on the hilt, maybe some kind of finger guard?

    A furious Orcish bellow, half-mad with pain and bloodlust, ripped out from the darkness, somewhere that sounded entirely too close to me. Of course that damn Orc had survived the fall.

    My eyes flicked back to the sword. I'd lost both my blade and dagger, and I didn't fancy my chances against an Orc in hand-to-hand combat when my entire body already felt like a single massive bruise. Even if something about this sword made my stomach squirm, it was a weapon at a time when I badly needed one.

    [ ] Take the Sword

    [ ] Leave the Sword
     
  • Threadmarks
    • [X] Leave the Sword

    It feels familiar because it's similar to the one the Nazgul wounded us with in the flashback. That and the shrinking-away of the vegetation surely means there is some fearful power in it.
     
    [X] Leave the Sword

    *Edit changed my mind
     
    Last edited:
    [X] Take the Sword

    It may be an evil sword, but it´s still better than fistfighting an orc. Also, this looks like one of the relics the quest name makes references to.
     
    [X] Leave the Sword.

    We wouldn't have been offered this option if taking the sword was a good idea.
     
    RwconHD said:
    May return to the mean save Arphazel. We rolled so bad in combat.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    Winding up with a total of zero successes on 7d6 was some incredibly bad luck. Especially when the Orc she's fighting was having his luck swing in the opposite direction. I actually went back in the writing process to make the guy she was facing the leader of the Orc warband just so Arphazêl wouldn't be having such a hard time against a random mook.
     
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