Meet the original cast
His long blonde hair flowing down his back, the elf glided into the room. Despite the inn being lost in the wilderness of Ered Luin’s foothills, his well-tailored clothes are immaculately turned out. He smiles broadly to the room as he drops his fishing gear into a pot by the door. “Greetings, barkeep a bottle of fine wine and if your cook could prepare these fine fish, I would be most grateful.” he drawls mellifluously. Passing a basket to the barkeep he drops into a chair by the fire. Elegantly, tooled boots deftly pull a stool close and he props his feet to warm by the fire. “Of course sir, that will be 3 bronze pieces but as you brought the fish I will take a quarter of the price off. So I will add 5 bronze to your bill”, the Innkeeper replies. “Why you are most kind!”, replies Limolas, grinning inanely. The innkeeper retires with the basket to the kitchen muttering “Idiot!” under his breath.
Limolas a Silvan elf from the woods of Harlindon. A skilled in hunter, he is more interested in clothes and appearance. He has travelled over the Blue mountains to find treasure to enhance his look. His clan were probably relieved at his decision to leave.
Earnestly, the craggy features of the dwarf, his white beard obscuring his words, drones on about the wonders to be discovered in the deeps under the mountains. “..for it is only when a Khazad becomes one with the rock does he truly know the mind of the Seven Fathers,” he says coming to a halt. He shifts in his chair, chain shirt tinkling in a soft cascade, to draw a long draught from his mug of ale. His companion makes to move from his seat. “….and so,’ he continues. The unfortunate sits again, too polite to get up and leave and unable to move to another group of customers.
Pick is a Firebeard Dwarf from the Northern Blue Mountains. He is a stout warrior who is interested in exploring the deep places. He has travelled south to seek out new deep places to explore.
Meet the party
“I see your stake and I raise you 1 gold piece.” grins the diminutive hobbit, brown eyes sparkling. There is a chorus of groans from around the gaming table, as many players throw down cards in disgust. Only an implacable elf retains his hands. Cooly, the elf throws a gleaming gold coin onto the large pile in the middle of the table, followed by another. “Call” Small hands shuffle cards nervously before Billwise lays out a perfect full house. “I believe, the game is mine!” he says, a wide smile stretching across his face. “So it would be” replies the elf, ” if it were not for the fact that you have taken that ace from up your sleeve.” The hobbits grin fades as eight pairs of angry eyes turn on him, “Ah, gentleman it has been a pleasure”. Hands like lightening snatch gold coins from the table. The Hobbit disappears beneath the table. The sound of steel sliding from scabbards. A flash of daylight from the door and the thief is gone.
Billwise is a Harfoot Hobbit with a rather strange mix of character. Whilst loving the risk of the gambling table, he is far more cautious in combat. Perhaps it is his diminutive size, but he prefers to try and shoot arrows at foes rather than get caught in the bustle of combat. That is until he realises he is not getting a clear shot on anything and then he use is considerable speed and agility to outflank opponents and deliver a nasty surprise.
Character death – Farewell Limolas lost beneath the ruins of Elvellon manor.
Meet the Party
The scout moves stealthily through the undergrowth towards the firelight glowing in the trees. To one side of the clearing, a heavy horse shifts nervously, the scout pauses counting his breaths. There is no movement from the figure sat beside the fire. Silently, the scout moves closer; wanting a better view. The figure throws another log onto the fire causing it to flare. The flames suddenly illuminate the stone figure before him. The scout gasps in fear. A troll!
Denig is a Dunlending Shaman who, through a mishap with a potion, has stone skin. Whilst this is immensely useful for deflecting blows, it does make normal social interactions tricky. This has been further exacerbated by his being held by goblins and orcs under the Misty Mountains for a number of years and so he will frequently swear in Orcish.
Out of the mists a rider on a white horse appeared. Her hair glowed golden in the weak sunlight that was pierced the thin white veil as if it was desperate to illuminate only her fairness. The Orcs grinned at each other, even though the sun had made their legs wobble. Only one lone helpless human female. Fresh meat!
The lone Orc hauled himself painfully underneath a small rocky out crop away from the rising sun. It seemed in possible that a band of Orcs should be defeated by a lone human female. How had that been?
A Rhohirrim healer, the devastatingly beautiful Ydal has travelled far and wide on her horse helping those in need. You underestimate her at your peril.