The Prancing Pony roars with alarm. Tankards slosh, chairs scrape, and Bree folk twist toward the door as a breathless hobbit bursts in, pale with dust and terror.
The Messenger
Trolls. On the road to Staddle. They came down on Rufus Chumwell’s farm and took the whole family!
Fear ripples through the room. Some folk back from the hearth. Others shout questions over each other, already imagining the dark road east and the teeth of the hills beyond.
Gwendolyn springs onto a sturdy oak table. Her sword flashes in the lantern-light above the spilled ale and startled faces.
Gwendolyn
I'm going after them! Who's with me?
A hush follows her cry, broken by uneasy murmurs. Near the bar, a lean traveler in a weather-stained cloak straightens, one hand already on his pack.
The Ranger
I know the tracks east of Bree, and trolls leave a trail a blind man could read. If you mean to ride or walk into that dark, I will go with you.
At another table, a broad-shouldered smith rises too, jaw set, while the messenger trembles beside the door and points east, toward Staddle and whatever waits there in the night.
✓ Quest Accepted
Rally volunteers for the rescue
“"Follow me, those who dare!" She rushes out of the inn, hoping to hear footsteps behind her.”
FAILURE (Fair Athletics, rolled -1)
Gwendolyn drops from the table and drives for the door, her boots skidding on spilled ale. The tavern blurs around her in a rush of oak and lantern-glow.
She reaches the threshold, but her heel catches a fallen chair. She stumbles hard against the frame instead of clearing it cleanly.
Gwendolyn
Follow me, those who dare!
Her cry carries into the room and the street beyond. It does not win the whole crowd, but it breaks the fear enough for a few heads to lift.
The Ranger
Wait, ranger. The east road is in plain sight from here, but the yard will bottleneck us. Take the back alley by the kitchens, and we can keep together.
The Smith
Aye. I am coming, and if there are more of us in this room, let them choose now.
Behind Gwendolyn, the messenger blinks through his terror and points toward the dark lane beside the inn, while the open doorway shows the wind worrying the street lamps.
“"I wait for no one!" Impetuously, she continues.”
SUCCESS (Good Agility, rolled -1)
Gwendolyn tears free of the threshold and slips through the kitchen alley, her boots striking wet stone as the inn noise falls behind her.
The night air snaps cold around her. Lantern light gutters on the wall, and the alley opens toward the darker lane beyond.
Behind her, the doorway coughs out voices, but none call her back. The chair at the threshold stays where it is, a crooked obstacle left in the room she has already quit.
The Ranger
By the back way, then. Keep moving.
The Smith
Go on. I will catch up.
The messenger darts after them, pale and breathless, and the lane ahead yawns black between the leaning inn walls.
“She runs down the road to Staddle, sword in hand.”
SUCCESS (Good Agility, rolled +1)