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Completed From the Barren Lands (Tolkien CYOA)

Discussion in 'Choose Your Own Adventure Land' started by MercantileInterest, Oct 20, 2016.

  1. Grimgravy Augur Patron

    Grimgravy
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    Codex 2016 - The Age of Grimoire
    A2z and B2x look good to me. What do the rest of you think?
     
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  2. oscar Arcane

    oscar
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    B3x
     
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  3. Gauldur's Bait Learned

    Gauldur's Bait
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    A 2 z, methinks.
     
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  4. Storyfag Arcane Patron

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    C2y
     
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  5. Usury Arcane

    Usury
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    (B)(3)(x) Maedoc Black-breath

    The rhysmun trusts Maedoc as his right hand. Black-breath's reputation extends across the Scorched Hills as one who can swallow any amount of drink without drunkeness, who never falls ill and who has never faltered in obedience to his liege. The skulls of the men he has killed adorn the doorframe of his house. He has brought Cingetix, his firstborn son. The boy is strong but hasn't proved himself.

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    ***The morning the Gondorim left the rhysmun's hall.***​

    The rhysmun, from atop the bailey, watched his guests gallop through the town gates. Mablung had promised six men from the southlands who would pay good silver to skim from the Bailey's stores. He had said nothing about leaving himself nor warned of creeping throat-slicers from the black land. The rhysmun knew the old man numbered among the next three riders to pass the gates, along with his weakling apprentice. The straggling handful of rhysmungard charging after them was proof enough.

    "Who is the third horseman?" He asked.

    "Looks to be the wisdom's girl." Hathrasil Falcon-glare could see better than any man in Hwairfyn. He had a nose like a falcon's beak and curling brands upon his narrow face. "They may well outrun our warriors."

    The rhysmun stroked his greying beard. "Muster every man who can hold a spear. We shall hunt them. Bring three weeks' - no, a month's provisions - and a few spare steeds. We go within the hour."

    As the guards and thralls prepared, Maedoc Black-breath took the ruler of Hwairfyn aside. They had stood side by side since swearing the rhysmun's oath, many years back. Even on that first day, each saw in the other an equal. The man who would become the rhysun had been haughty and clever but Black-breath had only ever been blunt and simple, like the rolling whence he came. The old hands had made them fight each other on that first day and each had been eager to show his strength by bloodying the other newcomer. For all it's battering, the brawl had not left either newcomer victorious but it had left both of them respectful of the other. More than twenty years had passed and the rhysmun trusted no one more than Maedoc.

    "Why are we doing this, Mull?" Black-breath still used the rhysmun's old name on occasion. "Yes, we look fools for them slipping out but we'll look greater fools if we go out with all our strength and bring back nothing. Let folk snicker. They'll forget."

    The rhysmun shook his head. "Old man Mablung has power. Power even you don't know. He stopped the wisdom from burning me. Every year he's lived here, we've had a good harvest. I want the man's luck."

    "Luck is all good, Mull, but a mad dash after a tottering old relic - an outsider?"

    "Enough! We are going."

    "As you command."

    Maedoc set the rhysmungard in order and bolstered their numbers with a few strong townsmen. The firstborn of each household customarily tried to join the guard. His own son, Cingetix, was not yet old enough but he had the lad join them anyway. The company of men would serve him well. Only his sisters had survived childhood. He was wary of Mablung but eager to impress. Maedoc also brought his battle-hammer, hefted in one hand and chained to the wrist.

    ***After Cerwick helped Culann escape the camp.***​

    "Let them go." The rhysmun shouted as the two fugitives rode north. The men shot arrows after them but none struck. "Finish gathering the tents. We'll save more time there than if half of you chased off after those rabbits. What is Culann anyway? A sniveling conjurer's apprentice? What should we who are strong concern ourselves with such as him? If he enters the cursed wood, he will die. If he goes east, he'll be back in the Scorched Hills. We can catch him in the west, so get all the goods packed."

    "Father," said Cingetix. "We could pick a few men to harry them."

    "Or we could heed our master. He speaks good sense."

    The party rode for three hours before encountering a man walking alone. He waved and they circled round him. He wore the garb of the Gondorim, with a yew bow slung over his shoulder. A circle of spears surrounded his head. A smile broke out on his face, wavered a moment, then returned.

    "Good day." He spoke in the common tongue. "I am Earnil of the White City. And you?"

    "You're a stone man of the south." The rhysmun pricked the fellow's chin with his speartip. "Where are the others?"
    "I couldn't tell you. We ran short of horses. They continued without me. Don't ask whither they travel. I shan't betray my countrymen to violent rogues."

    Maedoc had listened long enough. He called out to the rhysmun:

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (A) "Enough! They went this way. Let's hurry after them."
    (B) "Mull, let me rough up the snot. He'll talk."

    (1) Compel Earnil to join you.
    (2) Kill him and divide his goods.
    (3) Leave him.
     
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  6. Grimgravy Augur Patron

    Grimgravy
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    A3 A2 A3. I like Earnil's style
     
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  7. oscar Arcane

    oscar
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    A3. I doubt he'll talk and he seems a bro.
     
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  8. Storyfag Arcane Patron

    Storyfag
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    A1
     
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  9. Gauldur's Bait Learned

    Gauldur's Bait
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  10. Azira Arcane Patron

    Azira
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    B2
     
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  11. Usury Arcane

    Usury
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    (A) "Enough! They went this way. Let's hurry after them." (3) Leave him.

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

    Earnil of the White City watched as the barbarians rode away, a little taken aback he had survived the meeting. They had argued fiercely in their savage tongue before cantering away. The hefty man with the bristling whiskers stared until all the others passed before setting heel to horse, not a fearful or a curious stare but a weighing look. Earnil wondered which of them could have killed the other first. From a distance, of course, the Burnt Man could not match his bow but, up close, matters were likely to go the other way. When they were gone, he resumed the long journey south.

    ***​

    The rhysmungard rode four days more, by wild places and tilled fields. Sheep dotted the heather and herds of cattle grazed. The farmers kept out of sight or hid in their cottages but the smoke through their roofs and footprints in the mud revealed them. The younger men laughed about shepherdesses. All the men had begun to grumble when the rhysmun's ear was turned away. On the fourth night, they camped few miles after seeing a village fortified with an earthen rampart and a wall of sharpened stakes, which turned their minds all the more to home. The waxing moon had just begun.

    Aife had sworn the rhysmun's oath three years past. He gave a good account of himself in battle games and had ridden patrol duty on more than one cold winter's morning but, as with the rest of them, he had never been so far from Hwairfyn. His friends had just struck a fire between their tents. They nibbled at hardtack.

    "Tastes like dirt and crumbles like powder." Aife said. "What're we doing out here, laggers? What about them goblin corpses at the wood's edge? Gribbly, weren't they?"

    "I heard we're out here on account of that sorcerer Mablung." Another man replied. "As long as our master 'as 'im in 'is pocket, he gets life undying. The wisdom didn't burn him last time. Now that's not natural. Should've turned our luck sour years ago, if it t'weren't for some spell."

    "We ought to raid these laggers as lives here and then scramble back." Aife said. "They 'aint Burnt Men but I wager they got a few girls worth rolling. 'Ey, Carney! You fancy a plump dark eyed piece?"

    Carney shook his head. "Nah, I like 'em stave thin with the brown braided hair, like Ulla."

    "Sure, sure, you'd take her now but not if you could get anything better. No, if we was home, I'd go for a lick at Black-breath's daughter. Leastways, would if she smelt better than her da."

    Maedoc stepped out from the shadow of the tents. The men fell silent and turned their eyes down. He circled them. The burning log crackled.

    "The little minx would enjoy that." Black-breath knelt by Aife. "But if you put a child in the girl, you'll be wedding her; or I'll tear off the bits you used to do the putting. With my hands." His breath curled in the younger man's face, half frost and half stink. "Now, this sort of talk doesn't mean anything to me but what's this murmuring about the rhysmun's orders? Not happy to be out here, eh? What about you, Carney? And you others? Not happy?"

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

    Time to restore discipline:
    (A) Crack some heads.
    (B) Make a joke out of it. Win the men over.
    (C) Issue extra liquor rations.
    (D) Warn them sternly.
    (E) Something else_____.

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

    A single long scar ran down Braeden Fell-Hand's forehead and cheek. He had been sore wounded once but never again. Not a man among the guards threw a surer spear. He had drawn the first watch. It was better duty than the mid watch or the last watch because his sleep would not be interrupted and the night was not yet so cold. The fenced village occupied his mind. The folk of these fields and were rivals to the Burnt Men. His grandfather had looted their villages in service to a long dead rhysmun. Then a strong new tribe, the Beornings, had conquered these people and driven off the raiders from the Scorched Hills. They might well look poorly upon the band of horsemen roving through their land.

    The rest of the band curled in their sleeping rolls. The steeds stood at the picket lines. The animals lay down for only a scant few minutes of slumber every day, mostly remaining upright. The campfires had sizzled down to embers.

    Distant fires flickered at the village. A brazier lit the watchtower over the doors but the fence could be seen only as a small black line against the stars. A few other lights had flickered up. Then the wind shifted and carried the distant clash of iron on iron, battle cries and the screams of the dying.

    Braeden shook the rhysmun awake at once. "Mightiness, someone is attacking the village."

    "Show me." He peered at the dancing pinpricks. "All hands up! Fire and foes! To arms!"

    The rhysmungard roused in confusion and shouting. At their leader's behest, they strapped on their armor, mounted and took up spears. They blinked at the gloom through the eye-slots of their helmets. Something immense and dark swooped over them. The horses shrieked. The men gasped.

    The rhysmun cantered before them. "Some evil from the cursed wood attacks the village. We ride to their aid. I don't know what's out here but we'll be safer inside those walls than out. Now, let's stain this grass red." He also feared the Beornings would blame him for any attack which occurred while he was in their land. He had to win their trust.

    They trotted off over the plain. The village lay a mile away. A thatched cottage had begun to burn. Half aways across, they kicked the horses into a gallop. The wind brought shouts and shrieking whistles to their ears. A horde of fighting goblins besieged the village, larger and fiercer than the scouting breed. They bore jagged tipped spears and fought shoulder to shoulder, save when excited into pursuit of a fleeing foe. Numerous sharp teeth stuck out from their mouths. They had wrenched one of the gates off its hinges but the villagers had piled up carts and wheelbarrows to block the gap. A single hairy troll pulled at a loose log in the timber wall.

    A few of the goblins in the back felt the shaking of the earth under hooves but they did not have time to warn their fellows. The rhysmungard crashed into the green vermin like a river bursting through a weir. A great mass of goblins had been pressing forward so closely they could not easily turn about. The horses trampled and the men thrust their spears down. On the flank, Maedoc urged his steed toward the troll. He had never fought such a monster but, if he could not best it, what could lesser men do? He raised, swung and felt his heart rise as his hammer cracked the back of the beast's head. It collapsed with a long moan. The Black-breath swung off his horse and hammered down a goblin.

    The goblins numbered around four hundred. The villagers had already slain a few and the rhysmungard had trapped about eighty in front of the gate. The remaining three hundred formed a semicircle around the counterattack, blocking off their retreat. Then, with jagged spears lowered before them, they advanced. Their small stature and spears made them difficult to meet with a hammer, while the close quarters would lessen the value of the horses.

    With a great groan the troll pushed itself off the ground. Its tongue lolled out as its tiny eyes blinked. The goblins shook their shields and raised a cheer:

    [​IMG]

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

    You form a battle plan:
    (1) Rally the men to break out of the encirclement. Then, charge, retreat and repeat until the enemies are broken.
    (2) Crush the trapped goblins and take refuge inside the walls. (Assuming the villagers will let you in.)
    (3) Kill the troll in single combat. Teach the vermin to fear you.
    (4) Something else______.
     
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  12. Grimgravy Augur Patron

    Grimgravy
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    Codex 2016 - The Age of Grimoire
    D or A, 3. Hopefully the blow to the back of the head will have addled and/weakened it enough to defeat the troll quickly.
     
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  13. Azira Arcane Patron

    Azira
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    A3
     
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  14. Storyfag Arcane Patron

    Storyfag
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    A1
     
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  15. Gauldur's Bait Learned

    Gauldur's Bait
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  16. Usury Arcane

    Usury
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    (A) Restore discipline by cracking heads. (C) Kill the troll in single combat.

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    [​IMG]

    The troll belched and a rancid odor leaked out. A thick shaggy coat covered the creature's back and its hide was like cured leather. Despite the stench, it leaned forward and sniffed at the battle.

    With both hands on the shaft, Maedoc bent all his strength into a blow on the beasts's wrist. His hammer rebounded, leaving his own hands shaking. The troll swept its claws over his armor, gnashing through the leather and scattering iron scales like coins from a split purse. The man struck again but the blow glanced off the monster.

    The rhysmun charged from the other side, ramming his spear into the hairy back under the shoulder bone. The tip cut through the coat but did pierce the troll's hide. It did not notice but knocked out Maedoc's legs with a ham-fist and leaned in close. It was a biter more than anything else, using all the oversized teeth in its broad jaw to tear out huge chunks of flesh and snap the bones of its prey. Black-breath rolled aside but the teeth caught his cloak and pulled him back. With its head bent low, the rhysmun stabbed his spear into the creature's ear. It flinched, vomited a gallon of green bile over Maedoc and swatted its own ear, breaking the spear's handle but driving the iron head farther in. It stood up, clapped a hand over each ear, and bellowed.

    Black-breath's choked him as it dangled him with the tip of his boot scraping the ground. He unclasped the cincher and landed on his heels. The hammer, still chained to his wrist, smacked his thigh. He caught it up, spun around and struck the beast's mouth. Teeth shattered as it bit down, snapping the iron links of the chain. The troll staggered and gulped. Then it heaved forward, coughed up the hammer and lurched away from the fighting, stomping on a goblin which had ran to help it. Maedoc himself barely dodged the creature's foot.

    "Mull, why do you have to steal my glory?" He clapped the rhysmun's back. "Let's end these vermin."

    The mass of goblins still circled the rhysmungard who themselves had trapped a good portion of the enemy at the gate. Those goblins had pressed against each other so tightly they could not even turn about and ten of the men were slaughtering them. The rhysmun drew his sword and Maedoc picked up a fallen spear from the cursed wood as they rejoined the fight. The armor and height of the men protected them from many blows but the horses fared poorly. Many fell to undercut jabs. The rhysmungard stabbed downward and made a bloody reckoning. The men cried out and the goblins squealed. When their arms at last weighed down like lead and their joints creaked like rusted hinges, the remaining goblins fled. Black-breath roared and the horsemen cut them down as they ran. In the darkness, some few escaped but the greater part lay strewn out over half a mile of heather.

    The night finished like a half remembered dream. They had ridden all day with but a little sleep before the battle. Four were dead and eleven sorely harmed. A dozen horses were maimed or slain. The Beornings (none of whom spoke the Westron tongue) would not permit them into the village, so they slept as best each man could. By morning, the stench of the dead woke many. Flies buzzed about, not yet killed by the autumn cold. The slain goblins, more than two hundred, moved the men to silence. Some began to boast but bone cold weariness and numbness of fingers soon calmed them. Two of the injured had not woken and never would. The villagers would still not permit them through the gates, but when they saw the growing anger of the strange warriors, they brought honey-cakes, blankets and casks of mead.

    The Burnt Men piled up much dead wood and lay their dead upon it. They chanted for the fallen as the flames licked away their bodies.

    Their camp was unspoiled. They stayed the day, waiting to see how the wounded men would heal. Towards evening, an elder let a few of them into the village. Though they could not speak, after some discussion by means of signs, the villagers agreed nurse six of the worst wounded in exchange for a few goods. The next day, twenty-eight rhysmungard rode on.

    (Village Elder)
    Show Spoiler
    [​IMG]


    (Villagers)
    Show Spoiler
    [​IMG]

    ***​

    Two days later they came upon a cairn so freshly built there was no grass upon the new earth. A token of a silver kestrel was laid upon the stones and a sword of southern steel. No man dared touch it, for reverence of the dead.

    ***​

    A week after departing from the village of the Beornings, the rhysmungard reached the Mountains of Mist, loftier than any hills they had ever beheld, silver slopes crowned with white. The birches and willows of the plain gave way to craggy pines, as the wild cattle gave way to goats. At night, snow fell in place of rain. There were pillars and immense rough stone works, the splendor of ages since forgotten. Two men had deserted, creeping away from sentry duty. Others wondered aloud when they would return home. The mountains gave them new faith. These were the walls of the world, beyond which men could not pass. They could go no farther this way.

    "By all those who lived before us!" The rhysmun exclaimed. "Culann spoke the truth. They went to the tomb of the rhysbidean. You see? There between the peaks."

    Maedoc shaded his eyes. High in the crags could be seen a great carving of pillars and stone hewn like the ribs of dragons. None had seen but all had heard all had heard of it. Darkly, the legends spoke of the tomb sinking into the heart of the mountain like poison through a vein. Before any had the measure of them, a cloud covered the ruins.

    "Our eyes 'ave looked on wickedness." Carney said. "We oughtn't set our feet towards it."

    "Listen to you trembling like a woman." Maedoc spoke before any could agree. "Do you want to go back like those two cowards? Go on, crawl away! As for me, I'm a Burnt Man and I don't know fear." He spat. "Should've brought those villagers. They wouldn't quake for a few old rocks. Huh." He trotted up the path, not wanting to show the fear in his face. The men followed.

    It was four hours ride to the tomb on a trail of gravel and mud. Unmelted snow sat where the sunlight did not reach. A chill brushed over their skin every time they crossed a tall pine's shadow. A flight of geese passed overhead. The howl of wolves echoed through the valleys. In the fourth hour, a bitter fog stole over them. They rode in single file. Each man saw only five yards ahead. There was no wind but the fog grew ever colder.

    They came upon the great avenue leading to the tomb; on one side a hard steep slope, on the other a precipitous drop. They saw the four fingered hand on carved columns five times a man's height. In the Scorched Hills, that sign meant desolation and emptiness. It was branded upon the flesh of outlaws, whom any might rightfully slay. The horses stepped over broad rock steps, chipped and worn down by wind and running water. The fog thinned and the great ruins stretched ahead.

    They were high and bare with only a scattering of weeds growing amid the grey. The pillars leaned together to point upwards in harsh arches and at their peaks were harsh carvings of snarling men and cruel beasts. Some had tumbled in misshapen heaps over the ground. The roofless ruins covered an area big as Hwairfyn. A north wind began and stung at the travelers' eyes.

    They found a small encampment. Fine southern garments inside tents and satchels of dried meat. Swords, quivers and bows lay among stacks of breastplates and greaves. There was a cold cookfire and a picket line for horses, with the ends of the ropes melted away, though there were no scorch marks. A great bronze door, all encrusted with skulls, was set into the side of the mountain. There was a lock but it had been sprung.

    "Night is falling quickly." The rhysmun leaned close to his right hand man. "What do you counsel?"

    The icy wind whipped over them and the men shivered.

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    (A) Take refuge inside the tomb. Shouldn't be as cold.
    (B) Build a huge bonfire and stay outside until morning.
    (C) Retreat halfway down the mountain for the night.
    (D) Something else______.
     
    Last edited: Apr 19, 2019
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  17. Azira Arcane Patron

    Azira
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    B
     
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  18. Grimgravy Augur Patron

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    Codex 2016 - The Age of Grimoire
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  19. Storyfag Arcane Patron

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    Btw, I'm getting more and more interested in what Mablung is really after. He's more than a destitute Gondorian noble, else he would not entice the scrutiny of Khamul.
     
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  20. Gauldur's Bait Learned

    Gauldur's Bait
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  21. Usury Arcane

    Usury
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    (B) Build a huge bonfire and stay outside until morning. (Note) Rewrote the last full paragraph of the previous entry because I forgot to mention the rather important detail that all the weapons and armor of the Gondorim are neatly stacked inside their tents. Also addressed Grimgravy's question. Remember, no one uses polyester. These ropes should burn, not melt.

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------​
    "Let's topple some trees!" Maedoc shouted. "We're going to light such a bonfire, the folks back home will see the glow. Start swinging those axes!"

    The group carried a handful of wood axes for just such a purpose. They struck best with wide overhead strokes, not well suited for combat but ideal at splitting trunks. The men had to go back past the broken and barren ruins to find trees. They tumbled small pines and firs and dragged them back up the road with kindling besides. The rhysmun chose not to make a single great heap of the wood but spread out five piles to shield them on one side, with the mountain and the tomb on the other. Though the labor left them sweaty and breathless, they had enough fuel to last the night.

    The men gathered around the first eager flames and watched as the bright tongues spread over the logs. Each kept his back to the bronze door but kept tilting his neck to steal a glance. When the fired blazed, faces and chests became so hot they had to turn around and expose their colder backs. The firelight glinted on the bronze but shadows hid the inset skulls.

    "This'll make a fine tale." Carney spoke first. "We 'ave come to the very walls of the world. Now, those as stayed in Hwairfyn, they ain't not ever going to have anything like this to boast of, eh."

    "If we ever get back," Cingetix said. "What if we never do? What if no one ever learns what happened to us? Suppose those six wounded we left in the village are the only ones who ever make it home?"

    "Nah," Aife said. "Them Beornings 'et 'em, for sure. They don't take any meat, save for that as walks on two legs." He leaned close to the boy. "And they 'et that when it's still alive."

    Cingetix shook his head. "You stink like my da and you lie like my ma." He grinned. "Hear you're going to chase my sister. Heard what my da threatened you too. He's done it before, you know. Long time ago, he came back all drunk from the rhysmun's hall to find some fellow with ma. Ripped off his man parts and tossed him naked into the snow. Then da finished his woman himself."

    "That clinches it, boy. I'm going after all three your sisters."

    "Oh, it's true. The oldest remembers it. She didn't see but she heard all the caterwauling. You suppose you'll make the same sort of sound?"

    Carney's hands clutched their shoulders. He pointed past the flames, where glowing pairs of eyes wandered low to the ground. More than a dozen pairs flashed in the firelight. One set padded close and all saw that it belonged to a sturdily built wolf. The others approached and sat on the far side of the flames.

    "Gor," Hathrasil whispered. "Creep up on us without a sound, will they? Where's my bow?" But even as he knocked an arrow, the beasts scampered away.

    Another of the rhysmungard laughed. "Hunted by wolves at the walls of the world. Aren't we the bravest lads ever to come out of the Scorched Hills? Let's have a round, eh?" The men cheered.

    "If this is the edge of the earth, where does that door lead?" Carney asked.

    The men stared. One of the double doors was open and behind it was only blackness. They shivered as if a chill had issued from the gap. The men looked to Black-breath. He looked to his master. The rhysmun stared at the opening with his eyes wide. Everyone looked to everyone else but no lips moved. Carney stepped across the broken paving stones. All eyes followed him. He pulled the door shut.

    "Get away from there." Maedoc called out. The man shook himself and ran back. Maedoc lifted his drinking horn. "I just heard someone say we should have a round. Let's have two!"

    A half hearted hurrah faded away. They drank in silence and soon turned into their tents. The sentries cursed the gleaming door. The wolves returned but darted away at the first sign of a bow. Black-breath caught his master's arm.

    "I'm afraid, Mull. I've never said that before but if we don't find that scribbling sorcerer tomorrow, I'm not going to spend another night up here."

    "No. Not another night."

    ***​

    Maedoc's eyes opened. He had passed in a blink from sleep to full wakefulness. The wind had died. The fires crackled distantly. A pale flat voice seeped through the canvas of his tent, not in the Burnt Speech but in the Westron:

    Cold be hand and heart and bone,
    and cold be sleep under stone:
    never more to wake on stony bed,
    never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead.
    In the black wind the stars shall die,
    and still on gold here let them lie,
    till the dark lord lifts up his hand
    over dead sea and withered land.

    His muscles cramped as if some dread hand held him down. His breath came ragged and choked. Soft footsteps on stone reached his ears. He forced himself up and his muscles loosened.

    Outside, the sky had cleared and filled with ten thousand stars like jewels. The quarter moon washed over the ruined stones. Below the cliff, a vast blanket of cloud covered the land. A dark figure very slowly approached the tomb, with its entrance dark as a well at midnight. Maedoc had slept in clothes and coat on account of the frost so he quickly buckled on his boots. He stood outside the tent.

    "You there." He called out and his voice trembled a little. "Hold fast!"

    The figure did not even look. It merely continued at the same pace. Black-breath swore at himself and hurried after it. As he drew closer, he recognized Carney. Then, the man disappeared into the shadow. The creaking of weary hinges echoed across the stones and a blast of cold air washed over him.

    Maedoc could make out nothing in the darkness ahead. He looked back and saw the fires burning low but no sentries.

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    What do you do?​
     
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  22. Grimgravy Augur Patron

    Grimgravy
    Joined:
    Sep 12, 2013
    Messages:
    3,163
    Codex 2016 - The Age of Grimoire
    Try to raise the camp while checking on Cingetix and Mull in particular then assess the situation.
     
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  23. Gauldur's Bait Learned

    Gauldur's Bait
    Joined:
    Oct 14, 2015
    Messages:
    236
    Agree on raising the camps. Organize, find weapons, and stay close to the fires. Warn the men of black sorcery yet keep them focused.
     
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  24. Storyfag Arcane Patron

    Storyfag
    Joined:
    Feb 17, 2011
    Messages:
    6,203
    Location:
    A Dark Place
    Oh no, the dreaded open-ended choice. Prepare for the Codex Stupidity(tm)
     
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  25. Azira Arcane Patron

    Azira
    Joined:
    Nov 3, 2004
    Messages:
    7,835
    Location:
    Copenhagen, Denmark
    Codex 2012
    And thus, the CYOA ground to a halt.
     
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