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Posted by Hawke at May 20. 2013 From Brian: "Here, my friends, is the last part of the story. Please let me know with part 4 if I missed any important facts. It was enjoyable, and very meaningful to write. Thank you Hawke for encouraging me to RPG, and thus allow a part of my creativity to surface that otherwise would have not had story material. I think your Research Project ( http://www.rpgresearch.com ) has good potential. Thank you Katy, Richard, Drake, and Nate & Brad when they were part of the campaign. Thanks also to Aaron F. who played Ahir for one night. Thanks to all who brought food and drink. I'll never forget the song "Dwarf and Orc!"  I look forward to the Fellowship Phase in June, when school is over for Hawke and I. See you all then.   Tale of the Warriors Six, Part 4 (The End) * * *Valor and glory              Await the adventure;* *Onward and forward      We seek for the lost:* Erland the boldest           Man of Dale, Ahir Kari,                        Man of Mirkwood, Grimbarald,                    Man of the Carrock, Lindin the Elf                 Of the Woodland Realm, Balin the Stout                Dwarf of Erebor, Poppy Smallburrow,       Hobbit of the Shire. These warriors six          Had pledged their word, Their wits, each sword   And axe and arrow, All to succor                   Gloin’s kinsfolk Vanished into                 The Long Marshes. This mighty band            Was cleft in two: The quest in danger                From the distant toll Of the Marsh Bell.          Enchantment and evil Divided the fellowship   ‘Tween open sky And caves underwater.   Poppy, Erland, And Grimbarald too       Woke on steps Ruined and crumbling,   Free from the spell Of the bell of the marsh. Deep underneath The surface they were,   Glowing moss Growing on tunnel          Beyond the steps. Together the travelers    Rose to explore. The dim tunnel               Led to a cavern, Vaulted and vast             And the home of deep shade (And worse, as we          Were soon to find). Axeless, the man            Whose master was Beorn, Acutely embarrassed      At being in nightclothes, Borrowed the sword       Of Poppy Smallburrow, Though it seemed as if   He held but a knife. Into the darkness             Boldly the Halfling Followed the tracks                Of Balin and Oin. Behind her came             The Beorning and Barding To subterranean              Passageways old. A brief exploration         Rendered surprises! A marsh dweller             Stood and scowled With glowing eyes          And fearsome claws. It shuffled toward           Erland the fighter, Exchanged blows            And bites for damage. Still the Barding             Met it bravely, Lured it out                     Of the narrow tunnel, For the halfling’s shaft   To find its mark And bring it down.          Erland finished it. Close call,                       For others may come. The next tunnel               Showed signs Of fleeing footsteps,       So wisely we went Further across                 The cave in the gloom. Along the wall,               The company saw A chimney’s ruins.         Grimbarald looked Up through the hole,       And found an exit. Daylight’s well               Reached the cavern Far below.                       Crow feathers Littered the floor.           A rope dangled But no one pulled it;       Bells may be At the ends of things,      And we had enough Of bells, bells,                 Bells, bells, We’d had enough           Of crows and bells. Nevermore                      Did we want to hear them; Poe-try’s fine                  But even poets Can have enough            Of blasted bells. So there we were:           Two ways of escape But two dwarves             To discover. Hark! Some marble steps          We found ahead: Descending down           To a set of doors, Sturdy yet battered;                Scratched with claws Of dreadful beasts.          We knocked with hope And waited for answer.  Feebly we heard A muffled reply,             And the bolt was opened. Old Balin and Oin          Were still alive, Starving and weak          But near death’s door. Behind us stamped         The feet of friends And our fellowship         Was reunited! Quickly we greeted        Dwarf, elf, and man, Who followed tracks      Of the trail of our trance To the murky pool          And hidden tunnels To find our initials          Carved by the steps And hurried to catch us  In this craven cavern. Well met we were,         And smiles sprang To darkened faces:         Then died in a moment When screeches echoed Across the room And our hearts froze       In fear of pursuers, Of marsh dwellers          Whose evil hunger Would make this place   Our grave and tomb. Should we strike             For the watery tunnel? No good, for the crowd   Of shambling creatures Came that way.               What then, to the chamber? To bar the doors              Like the dwarves had done, And gnaw on leather      When our food was gone And wish for death         In the thick darkness? No! There is glory          In a shrewd departure, In a desperate attempt    That stands some chance. Quickly our pact             Was made with each other, But not quick enough.    We fled across To the ancient chimney, Bid the hobbit To clamber above           To stand as a guard And wait for the rest.      The cries of the beasts Came nearer now,           And as we ran We formed a defense,     To ward off the blows For the duo of dwarves   And buy some time. Erland assisted them,      Yet Ahir, Grimbarald, Young Balin and Lindin All loosed their weapons And arrows let fly.          Erland had brought The Beorning a present; His great splitting-axe, Abandoned at camp,       To gladden the man, So Erland handed           The axe back to him. Grimbarald broke           Into laughter, for ‘twas The blade of Balderic,    His wise grandfather, Named Fyrn-Bereofan,   Ancient Bereaver And cleaver of orcs,       Wargs, and spiders When Balderic’s forefather    Lob-Hunter slew Giant spiders                   In yesteryear Near the dim mountains Of grim Mirkwood. Without any armor,        The Beorning did battle And hewed with his axe The first of the dwellers That came upon him.      Ahir and Balin And Lindin were fierce  In their blows to their foes, For the time allowed      Oin and Balin To start their climb         Up the shaft to the sky. The Warriors Six            Were reduced to Four When Balin helped         His kin of Erebor To escape the doom.       Hardy were we, Yet the claws and jaws   Of the marsh dwellers Tore our armor,              Tore our skin, And crowded around      Two score deep. Lindin was wounded,      Desired to stay, But we waved him on     To help the others. Desperate now               Was the stand of the Three. Woodman, Barding,       Beorning all brave, Battled the monsters,      Hacked, slashed, Parried and pierced         The fell dwellers. Yet on they came            Relentlessly And the Beorning fell     Under their bodies. Courage then flamed      In the heart of Erland, Leaped to defend            His fallen comrade. With bitter lessons          He taught the beasts To fear his spear.            The Man of Dale Spilled the blood            Of the Marsh’s minions, Feared not their fight      But dreaded defeat. Now stood only Two,     And they were fey. Then from beyond          The deadly din, Pure notes poured           Down heaven’s well, A song of strength          From their friends above And lifted their hearts    To endure this hell. With renewed power,     The Barding broke Away from his enemies, Carried the fallen, Ran to the side                        Of the good woodman, Covered Ahir                  As Ahir Kari Pulled the Beorning’s     Unconscious body Into the chimney.            Erland faced The creature-horde         Of the Long Marshes. He stood in the hearth    Where ancient fires Had once blazed             In happier days When the safe Road       Of the Old Forest Had provided places       For weary dwarves To rest their burdens       And warm their hands Between the Mountains  And the Iron Hills. That fireplace now         Was cold and still, But the Man of Dale       Kindled his wrath And furiously beat          Back the beasts As only One                    Remained to fight. Up the air-road               Flew these eagles. But the burden                        Of Beorn’s man Slowed them down.                Over and over Erland was attacked       As Marsh dwellers Climbed after them.       Out of the chimney Emerged on the hill                Ahir, Grimbarald… But before the Barding   Could climb free, The monsters raked                Erland’s back With cruel claws             And he fell unconscious Towards the hole.           Were it not for the arms Of his companions          Who carried him out. The beasts feared            The day’s eye So scrambled back          Into their lair. All was quiet                   For a short rest. Poppy was able               To heal the Barding And the Beorning           Enough that the party Could get to the boat      And return to Laketown. Ahir and Poppy               Guided the wave-rider Through the Marshes      to the River Running. Finally they reached       Their old campsite With the rotten stump.    Only once did they hear The Bell of the Marsh    Toll to enchant them; All but young Balin                Shambled to follow. That night the dwarf       Saved our lives And the next morning     Found us all tired. Half-alive in the boat,    Grimbarald sighed… Though thankful for       The eight surviving, Fyrn-Bereofan                Was lost forever. The axe of his ancestor   Had dropped in the fight, Was still in the cavern    Of the foul brutes Who almost ended          The Warriors Six. Grimbarald sang             A song of mourning For the splitting-axe       He would wield no more. There let it lie,                        Mused the Beorning, A mute testimony           To the Marsh shadow-spawn That the courage of comrades        Overcame evil To rescue the hapless     And deny them their prize. Their lair was despoiled,        And thus their defeat Would e’er be declared  By the blade on the floor. And so the companions  Returned up the river, Rowed out of reach        Of the curséd bell, Regaled the porters         By the waterfall, Took the lake-path         Toward Esgaroth. Then they could see        The ship of the Master Of Lake-town coming,   With Gloin onboard, And people cheering.     Thus were they welcomed As heroes come home    And the time of their resting And healing had come.   Let ale flow, Beards wag,                    Tales be told, Thanks given.                 All shall be well. *Valor and glory              And adventure they gained,* *Onward and forward!     For they found what was lost.*  

Posted by Hawke at May 11. 2013 Brian's ongoing saga:   Lay of the Warriors Six, Part 3 * * *Valor and glory              Await the adventure;* *Onward and forward      We seek for the lost.* When last we chanted      The tale of the heroes, Ahir woodman                 Had traced the tracks Of the missing kin           Of Gloin the dwarf. Before we followed         The discovered clue, We rested again               On that same hill. On Grimbarald’s watch    His eyes grew weary; Did not notice                  Serpent staring Nor did he see                  Its falling form Until too late.                   Constrictor’s coils Grasped Grimbarald  In squeezing song, Each loop of snake           A deadly stanza Pulling the man                Toward death’s refrain. The Beorning’s bulging   Muscles were no match For the sly serpent,          And all he could do Was call for help.             Smallburrow roused Herself from sleep,          Sensed trouble, Heard the hero’s        Hoarse cries. Waking the rest,        The Halfling hurried And vainly cut                  With dagger blade The mighty beast.            By now fair Lindin Arrived to seize               The spiral strength But found it hard.             With valiant blow He thrust his sword          But fate drove blade Past snake to plunge Into the shoulder Of the Beorning.       Darkness shrouded His senses as he               Fainted from the blow. Yet Grimbarald’s friends Betrayed him not But bravely stood             Over their comrade, Stabbed and hacked That snake to death. Poppy Smallburrow         Used healing arts To aid the man.                All was calm. Yet evil lurked                 Above the trees While tired travelers Lay down to sleep As Poppy took                 The last watch of the night. Many eyes glinted            Before they sprang. But swifter than spider    Was the hobbit’s hearing And two war needles Smote the shadows In the gloomy trees,         And fell beasts Dropped dead                  Out of the branches. By the time                      Courageous comrades Arrived, they found          The hobbit retrieving Her quiver’s quota.          Back to camp Again they yawned.         They cleared the cobwebs From their eyes                And continued on Their perilous journey     Through marsh and muck. Back in the boat               On the fifth morning, The company rowed Down Running River (Though sluggish be Its wandering ways) And followed the traces   Of dwarven doom. The lively stench             Of Rotting River Flowed from Mirkwood  To join Celduin. Past this foul                    Confluence of chaos Drifted our island             Of hope and hardiness, Followed further       To shallow fens. Grimbarald and Poppy     Stayed in the boat While the rest                  Searched for signs As light waned                 Toward gloaming-time. Their eyes found joy When saw in the water A dwarfish boat;        But gladness turned To sorrow’s surprise At the sunken state Of the small vessel.         Claw marks Scratched the surface       Of their wave traveler. Further in the fen,            We spied bone-piles. Sensing foreboding,         The band of companions Pressed onward                With careful courage. Lighting a lantern,            We hooded the sun-spill And ventured forward      Into the tangled Vines and vexations        Of the Long Marshes. After dark,                        three in the wave-steed And three in the water,    Who pulled them deeper Into the net.                      One of us remembered Some lore: the Wood       Of Hanging Trees Is the place we had come.      All too soon We found out why           They call it that… For gallows-weed            Is their other name. Our stealthy boat              Glided past trunks And darkened vines. Fast now, Balin Was attacked above         But not by beast. The very woods               Are bent against Our good quest,                And sought to slake Their thirst for death By jerking the dwarf Up in the air,                    Choking with vines Like living ropes.             Down in the boat Lay the Beorning             With fear and fatigue, Helpless to help.       Erland and Ahir Were grabbed by the weed,    Pulled to dangle Above their friends          By the fell trees. What horror when            The things of earth Do strive to kill                The sons of earth! As if a mind              Were filling trees And vines with malice.    Bent were they, Bent to harm us,        Waylay and destroy. Yet elf and Halfling         Did not forsake us; Of great worth was           Their friendship shown. Poppy’s arrows,               Keen as always, Bit the vines                     To break two free. Balin bit his own              With arrows of His dwarven teeth            And fell in the boat. Our rage was roused  Against the creepers; With flame and blade      We fought back well. We blazed a trail              For fellowship’s freedom; We found a patch             Of clearer sky Where stars shone            Onto our boat. We had some peace, And made our camp Without a fire.                  Inside our ark The warriors six        Were huddled down To catch our breath.         I saw in the heavens The Swordsman of the Sky    Passing over Our small company,         And drew some hope For our grim quest.          Where have you gone, O Durin’s folk?                Where do your axes lie? Then into sleep                My head soon nodded. The sixth day started With a crow on our mast, That flew away                Before all had woken. The battlefield’s bird       Had flown to the south So our fellowship followed, Half in the muck And some in the boat.      The fen grew lighter But misty were the trees  In the distance beyond. Soon we had dragged       Our supplies to those trees, And spied 12 spies           Whose feathered heads Stared our way                 With coldest glances. Ahir bent                          His mighty bow And loosed an arrow To find a mark, But the crows departed.   Soon we saw More claw marks             On tree trunks. We went further        To find some ruins Drowned by the fen, And a choice to make: Open water                       To the southeast, Or an embankment          That led to a hill. Dry land we chose           And scouted the slopes. There we had time           To make a small camp, Eat our rations,                 And kindled a fire. We held our watches In twos to protect Each other from danger.         That night Balin Smith                      Pulled out the gem That Dain made gift         To the eagles’ lord. He caressed the jewel      And fell asleep, His hand open.                 A crow snatched The sparkling gem           And flew away. Ahir chased it                   But the dwarf was fey And took his aim             With stone and stick At the woodsman.            An arrow grazed The crow’s wing       And the gem was dropped. But dragon’s greed           And treasure lust Had grazed the wing Of Balin’s soul. He fought to take             The jewel fair To keep it himself.          Here is the sorrow, The tale of the fight         That threatened the friendship Of the warriors five          With the young stonesmith. The gem was finally  Given to Lindin Who kept it high       In the tree’s branches Where he slept, yet fell   Like strange fruit In the night.                      Balin came To his senses                   And regretted his deeds. The company rest            And seek to sleep. A bell sounded,                Distant and remote, Beorning, hobbit,             Barding all left To follow the call            And spell’s trance. Behind were the dwarf,   Tightly tied up To the wood, and the elf         Asleep in the wood, And the woodsman too.   How much would The woodman budge,      If a woodman could Budge wood?                   It mattered not, Since Ahir also                Failed to resist The enchantment.            He walked away While elf freed dwarf      And they followed together. They saw the tracks         Of their friends Disappearing                    Into the woods Along with familiar          Tracks of two dwarves That we had long             Looked to discover. Down the hill                   Went the fey woodman, Walking to the edge         Of the water and ruins. A deep pool beckoned     And the two friends Held back their friend      From a strange summons. Where have all gone Into depths of the earth? What weird foe                Has summoned us all? And what greater power         Can bend the aims Of the darkness to serve         A greater good? Illuvatar knows.               The quest continues… *Valor and glory              Await the adventure;* *Onward and forward      We seek for the lost.*

Posted by Hawke at April 25. 2013 Brian's second installment of the Heroes' adventures. You can view the video of this second session here (it includes Brian reading his Anglo-Saxon poem from the first session, at the beginning of this video): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4cGdjk-oXfw April 26 is coming... here's Part 2 of our Adventures in Anglo-Saxon Poetry (Part 3 to come before Friday's RPG) Lay of the Warriors Six, Part 2 * * *Valor and glory              Await the adventure;* *Onward and forward      We seek for the lost.* The darkness came         As our fellowship camped. Yet the halfling’s sight   Discovered at dusk Watchers that waited--   Quiet crows With scorn to share:       Wood Elves telling Lindin a tale                    Of two dwarves down A day to the south.         The captain of elves Was Galion the cold,      No friend to dwarves But fond of his wine,      Had slept when Bilbo Burgled the barrels         To thwart Thranduil. No wonder Galion          Nursed a grudge. After the crows               Had cawed and left, Finally the fellowship    Slept and were still. Bright broke the morning, Breakfast to make: I needed herbs                 To flavour the fish. The elf almost                 Poisoned the posse But Balin the dwarf        Found the foliage. That day we returned     To the wave-steed’s side, Darkened with doubts    And mysterious tracks. Rowing and weaving     Through the perilous water, With better skill               Lindin did guide us Through  marshy maze, The River Running Severed in streams,         And stinking swamps. Yet faith flowers             In darkened places And hope renewed         Companions’ courage. The third day,                 We glided through glades And pulled to the shore. As the sun marched Down to her rest,            We marched through bogs. A small hill rose              To greet our eyes And all hands searched  The abandoned camp. Where have you gone,   O children of Durin? How have the folk          Of Erebor vanished? Sturdy and grim                     Are Óin, Gróin’s son, And grizzled Balin,        Whose father Fundin Fell before foes               In Azanulbizar Which the elves called   Nanduhirion. If Balin survived             That orcish battle, Surely the shadow          Has not extinguished That dwarven spirit.       But questions fell From our tongues           Like autumn leaves And died as we spoke.   Our own Balin, Younger in years,           But fiercely focused On seeing some clue,     Found hasty runes On a rotting stump          And dug out the secret: A box of ivory                And a scroll to the Lord Of the Eagles in the West; We all were dazzled By the glorious gem,      Gift of Dain To the Wind Lord.          Yet message never Reached Gwaihir            Or the Misty Mountains, But was hidden here       In secret spells. Balin Smith                     Forged a fireplace Greater in craft                Than aught made before: A micro-Moria                Of wondrous stone; That bright shafts            Of light could turn In every direction.          Darkness came. Throughout the night,    Each watch was taken, And shadows darker       Than light’s absence Pressed around.               Strange splashes And eerie lights              Increased our dread When watching;              Corpse candles Flickered faintly             And the hobbit heard Nightly noises                 By the foul pool. In the dead of night,       Smallburrow crept To investigate                 The fishy sounds. Lunging into air,             A troll emerged And stood above             The hapless Halfling. Poppy fired                     Her first arrow And fled for cover.         Lindin next arrived To battle troll                  With slayer’s doom To make him strong.      Back and forth Did the two strive,          And all the camp awoke. The Beorning lit             A lantern to see What foul menace          Threatened his sleep. Setting it down,               He leaped in the light And held in his hands     Mighty Fyrn-Bereofan, The splitting axe             Of his grandfather Wulfric. He smote the troll           With a piercing blow, Yet the monster was tough. Both elf and Beorning Traded blows with the brute; And Balin Smith Joined our fray.              Poppy Smallburrow Nocked an arrow,           Aimed with gleaming Eye at the enemy,           Sent the spinning shaft Over the lantern’s glow, Sped between tree and elf As tiny lightning             Struck its target: Troll trembled                 As the door of its life Was unlocked by a key  Both swift and terrible. Enraged, it bellowed      And vainly plucked The deadly dart               From its hellish hole, Only to seal its doom     When blackish blood Spurted fresh from         That mighty neck, And fell forward             In the brackish slime. Not to be outdone,          the doughty dwarf (that Balin heretofore     Described in full) Leaped to bury                His blessed blade In the hide of the troll,   Yet miscalculated And buried it instead      In the behemoth’s buttock. Then early light’s           Stealthy approach Was proven when           The troll turned back To stone again.                Undeterred, Our noble dwarf             Added insult To injury when he          Used stonecraft skills To turn that troll             Into a fireplace and shelter All-in-one.                           The weary fellowship Took rest and scanned   For further signs Of missing dwarfs.         Ahir, quiet Woodman, Scouted a track               That dwarves once walked. We gathered our goods  And followed the trail… *Valor and glory              Await the adventure;* *Onward and forward      We seek for the lost.*

Posted by Hawke at April 25. 2013 Brian has taken on the challenging, and very entertaining, task of putting the TOR RPG adventure sessions into Anglo-Saxon style! You can also view the video of this game session here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35ggqzrKeWc Here is the first installment from the first session. Well done Brian! RPG Day 1 of Campaign in Anglo-Saxon style At Esgaroth   The stilted city Town on water   Ship never sailing, Adventure awaited.   Free folk gathered Few to the counting   Yet a strong-fingered fist To strike the Shadow   And gain much glory. From distant farthings   Hailed the Holbytlan; Short folk they are   But sure-hearted the Shire: Poppy Smallburrow   Landed at Laketown, Found a round room   At the inn "River Bottom." The second stranger   To find our fellowship Was Erland the Barding;   A man of Dale Bold in battle   And keen of eye, Whose blessed blood   Keeps no cowardice. Poorer are those   Who dwell in Mirkwood, Woodmen and women:   But rich in courage, Their bows & their axes   Fell all foes: So Ahir Kari   Arrived in Esgaroth. Grimbarald was next;   And grim his face Yet saves his scowls   For Sauron’s slaves. The Beorning bows   To the Carrock-keeper, And swings his blade   As the Grimmer Reaper. In ancient days   Was Esgaroth named By elven tongues   The Lake of Reeds; Now fair Lindin   Strode in strength, Wielding his wisdom   And joining our throng. Last but not least   Was Balin the dwarf; Young in his years   Yet hardy are they Who live in the halls   Of the mountain-king; Sharp is his axe   And also his wit. These six assembled   At the humble inn And quickly heard   The rumor-storm That hapless scouts   Of Durin’s folk Had disappeared.   Gloomy news Yet perfect purpose   For a band of fighters. To Gloin’s house   We hurried, hoping Honor and glory   (and greater riches) Awaited our gang.   We came before The grandson of Nar,   The companion of Thorin; Gloin spoke:   “Find my people! For Balin the Old   and Oin my brother Both are missing;   They are late to return From the Long Marsh   And the shadows lengthen. Find my kinsmen!   Handsome reward Shall be given   If your quest’s fulfilled.” Bent then his brow,   Foreboding had filled him; His mind-eye saw   His brother drowning. With haste we left him,   eager to gather Supplies and a boat.   That evening, all ready, We rested before   The early beginning. Balin and Lindin:   Strange was their friendship, The tree and stone   Agreed well together. Hard-headed also   And twins in their folly, That night they were looking   For a forge to borrow. The last smith was closing,   His shop was shuttered, But the two spoke with him;   Persuaded him not, As strangers they seemed   Dark and uncouth. To the warriors’ alarm   The smith raised a cry, “Guards! Guards!”   And the warriors fled To a welcomer place,   To the Inn that we stayed at, Where a blazing fire   And frosty flagons Healed what ale’d em.   Then all our band Did sleep, and night’s   Star-speckled dream-cloak Covered our senses.   The cock later crowed. The daylight roused us,  And swiftly we packed. Down to the docks   Our feet gladly took us, Into the river-steed   To ride the water, The River Running.   Fiercely we rowed, No fish was swifter.   That night we came To the first falls;   Porters greeted us With manly words.   We sat at meat Together that night,   trading our stories. Next day, the porters   Carried the boat Down paths on cliffs,   such nimble goats; They trod the rocks   And ate our cash. On for three days   We took the wave-road Until we approached   The mists of the marsh And the hair on our necks   Stood up straight. Our scouts scanned   For signs of life; They found a trail,   and the boat was landed. Into the marsh   We warily crept, Following tracks   That led to the forest. Mirkwood the Great,   Hider of Shadows, Teller of secrets   If made to confess. Dwarves have gone missing;    Earthen clues Point to the trees   And our company follows. After some time,   A campsite’s discovered: A couple days old,   But abandoned and empty. Night’s black sheet   Covers all again, But Balin’s stonecraft   Keeps us all warm. *Valor and glory   Await the adventure;* *Onward and forward   We seek for the lost.*

April 25. 2013 The group approved video recording the sessions. Members have also asked to have the sessions available for viewing so they can refresh their memories between sessions. They will be uploaded to the same place as last year, at the Tolkien Moot Youtube channel http://www.youtube.com/tolkienmoot/ Enjoy!

t March 15. 2013 Next game session will be Friday, March 15th, 6:00 pm to 10:00 pm. Expected to attend: Hawke (LM) Katy Drake Brian Richard Nate Brad   We will begin the adventure that comes in the LM book (search for Dwarves sent by Esgaroth), as we all re-familiarize ourselves with the rules (since haven't played it since Tolkien Moot last summer. As per Brian's request, and Drake's schedule, we will then meet every-other Friday at the same time. Will be having the game sessions in upstairs dining room since the game room only seated 6 total comfortably, with such a large group, using the dining room instead.

Posted by Hawke at March 15. 2013 Last week Brian, Richard, and Nate finished up their characters, and we undertook a very short mini-adventure with them (plus Drake), working on familiarity with the action and combat resolution rules for TOR.

Posted by Hawke at February 13. 2013 Discussion for the Tolkien RPG group #1 here. Currently planning to meet on Friday nights from 6 pm to 10 pm. Tentative player list: Hawke (GM) Katy, Brian, Russ Other potential players: Brad and Richard Game System: The One Ring RPG. Setting: Wilderland area.

Posted by Hawke at May 25. 2013    

ke at May 25. 2013 The Pass of Southern Andrast