Rowanhold and Greymuzzle Hob
Spring, Year 2946 of the Third Age
Ere before dawn, things took a dark turn as they tended to when folks traveled through the eaves of Mirkwood.
Nearly two dozen folks from the nearby farmstead of Rowanhold captured the company of heroes and all of the dwarves as they slept. Beran, still dizzy with the night's ale, was on watch when the villagers snuck upon the sleeping group. Awoken rather roughly, everyone found themselves tied up with lassos of leather thongs, stout ropes, and had killing mallets used to slaughter animals pointed at them.
When asked why they were attacked, a villager said the pig which the group had enjoyed so much the night before did not belong to the dwarves. Rather, it was raised by the folk of Rowanhold, and left staked out in the wilderness as an offering to placate a Warg-king named Greymuzzle Hob.
Eyes turned to gaze upon Borri, who could only shrug in shame for being snared in his own lie.
Beran recognized the villagers as possible beornings and introduced himself. The villagers said they were close kin to the Beornings and the Woodmen, but they kneeled to no lord or master and did not acknowledge Beorn or the Woodman-elders or any other as their chief.
Nevertheless, Beran persuaded the villagers to take him and his traveling companions to Rowanhold. There they would explain all and perhaps make amends for any wrongdoings.
The group was taken to the nearby farmstead of Rowanhold, and brought into a smoky gathering hall to meet the village matriarch Gailavira, who was the mother and grandmother of many of those who dwelt in Rowanhold. Gailavira was in her late middle-aged years but was clearly in good health if seeming a little tired. She told the group she had seen the long seasons in the eaves of Mirkwood wax and wane and believed there was little new under the sun. But in the last two years, Rowanhold had suffered increasingly ill-fortune. Goblins were regularly sighted around the fringes of their meager fields. Parties seeking timber, game, and firewood were menaced, and more recently attacked. Several small-holders had been slain. Their meager livestock had been carried off by successive goblin raids, and most recently by a huge Warg, which the villagers had named Greymuzzle Hob. They tried to hunt the monster, but it eluded them and killed two of Gailavira’s sons. Rather than fight the beast, they came to an arrangement with the monster. Each month, they left a pig out for Hob to eat, and in exchange, the Warg spared the villagers.
Now, the company of heroes found themselves unwitting accomplices in a theft and had endangered Rowanhold. When the folk of Rowanhold heard Greymuzzle Hob’s furious howls, they realized that someone had stolen their offering, breaking their bargain with the beast.
The group conceded that they had done wrong and offered to make amends if allowed. In return, they offered to help slay Greymuzzle Hob and put an end to his reign of terror over the villagers of Rowanhold.
As Gailavira was about to announce her decision whether or not to accept the traveler's aid, a shout went up outside the hall, followed by the sounds of commotion and running feet beyond. All inside looked around, suddenly nervous. Then came a terrible sound of breaking timber and a baleful, roaring howl filled the air, chilling marrow-deep.
A voice spoke from outside the hall. “Gailavira! I am hungry now, and your scrawny pigs will not satisfy me. Send out your children, Gailavira. Send out your bravest sons, so I may kill them too and drink their hot blood. Send out your suckling babies and their mewling mothers, so I may eat my fill. Send them out, or you all die.”
Greymuzzle Hob had come!
Gailavira called for the group to be cut loose and their weapons returned. “Can you fight? If not, learn now! If yes, then we draw swords together this day, be you friend or foe!”. She too held a shining blade of rippled steel!
And from outside came a dread voice in answer. “So be it.” The doors of the hall burst open, and in rushed the still-dark early morning and with it Greymuzzle Hob accompanied by many goblins.
Greymuzzle Hob was a fearsome black-furred Warg, a giant wolf, with burning coals for eyes. Its coat was matted and slick with old blood. It reeked of death.
***
The battle against the warg-king and his goblins was won at a cost. Several villagers were killed in the attack. But thanks to the company of heroes and the dwarven merchants, Greymuzzle Hob was slain along with many of the goblins. Some goblins, though wounded, fled back into the safety of Mirkwood beyond Rowanhold's walls.
When the battle was over, everything had changed. The company was no longer looked on with suspicion or scorn. All debts were repaid, and the folks of Rowanhold were nothing but grateful. Gailavira ordered the Warg skinned, and sat in motion the repairing of the broken palisade.
Snorri and his companions agreed to aid in the rebuilding. The company was most welcomed to help or to take their rest in the great hall. That night a celebration was held. What meager stores the village held were opened, and a simple feast was enjoyed by all.
Snorri taught the villagers the game of Smoke Rings, and songs were sung late into the night.
The next day saw a gentle spring dawn casting its fragile yellow light across the farmstead. Serious repairs to the palisade began with the rising of the sun, and the sound of axes and mallets woke the company. They slept in Gailavira’s hall as honored guests.
Realizing that the heroes would be keen to continue their journey, and somewhat keen to forget capturing them, the villagers began to appear at the repaired doors of the hall with gifts for their journey, supplies for the road, clearly meager by normal standards, but great gifts from so poor a people.
Along with Beran, the merchant dwarves decided to stay a while in the village to help with repairs. They bid a fond farewell to the company of heroes, and expressed a wish to see them again. Gailavira also bid them farewell, thanking them for their efforts. All punishments were forgotten. They even secured her as a patron friend and she hoped to see them all again someday soon. But for now, she knew, they must head on to the Forest Gate, and then into the depths of Mirkwood.
The company of heroes then gathered their belongings and supplies and left Rowanhold before noon.
***
Days after leaving Rowanhold, the company of heroes approached the road which led to the Forest Gate.
There they saw another traveler ahead of them on the trail, leaning on a staff as he walked wearily along the road. He was an old, old man, and wore a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, and a silver scarf. He had a long white beard and bushy eyebrows that stuck out beyond the brim of his hat.
“Your path goes East, I think, and so does mine today," the old man said. "May I join you on the Road?”
Played on September 6, 2019
Plot type
Chapter
Parent Plot
Fellow Travelers: Snorri, Borri, and Hár (dwarvish merchants from various parts of the Wilderland making their way to their ancestral homeland of Erebor)
Gailavira by Jon Hodgson and Sam Manley
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