Conversation: `prsg_conv`

NPC lines: 87
PC replies: 111
NumWords: 1218
OnEnd
OnAbort

Triggered by

creature NPC Halmir the Grey prsg_trainer

Scripts referenced

Script	Slot	In module
`prsg_c_harper`	active	✓
`prsg_c_pdk`	active	✓
`prsg_c_pale`	active	✓
`prsg_c_shadow`	active	✓
`prsg_c_archer`	active	✓
`prsg_c_rdd`	active	✓
`prsg_c_assn`	active	✓
`prsg_c_wm`	active	✓
`prsg_c_bg`	active	✓
`prsg_c_divch`	active	✓
`prsg_c_dwdef`	active	✓
`prsg_c_shift`	active	✓
`q_hrp_c_off`	active	✓
`q_hrp_c_noh`	active	✓
`q_kwn_c_off`	active	✓
`q_kwn_c_noh`	active	✓
`q_pal_c_off`	active	✓
`q_pal_c_noh`	active	✓
`q_shd_c_off`	active	✓
`q_shd_c_noh`	active	✓
`q_arc_c_off`	active	✓
`q_arc_c_noh`	active	✓
`q_rdd_c_off`	active	✓
`q_rdd_c_noh`	active	✓
`q_asn_c_off`	active	✓
`q_asn_c_noh`	active	✓
`q_wpm_c_off`	active	✓
`q_wpm_c_noh`	active	✓
`q_dvc_c_off`	active	✓
`q_dvc_c_noh`	active	✓
`q_dwd_c_off`	active	✓
`q_dwd_c_noh`	active	✓
`q_shf_c_off`	active	✓
`q_shf_c_noh`	active	✓
`q_hrp_finish`	action	✓
`q_kwn_finish`	action	✓
`q_pal_finish`	action	✓
`q_shd_finish`	action	✓
`q_arc_finish`	action	✓
`q_rdd_finish`	action	✓
`q_asn_finish`	action	✓
`q_wpm_finish`	action	✓
`q_dvc_finish`	action	✓
`q_dwd_finish`	action	✓
`q_shf_finish`	action	✓
`q_bkg_finish`	action	✓
`q_bkg_c_off`	active	✓
`q_bkg_c_noh`	active	✓
`prsg_c_sum`	active	✓
`q_hrp_c_st3`	active	✓
`q_hrp_c_st2`	active	✓
`q_hrp_c_st1`	active	✓
`q_kwn_c_st6`	active	✓
`q_kwn_c_st5`	active	✓
`q_kwn_c_prog`	active	✓
`q_pal_c_st3`	active	✓
`q_pal_c_rdy`	active	✓
`q_pal_c_prog`	active	✓
`q_shd_c_st3`	active	✓
`q_shd_c_rdy`	active	✓
`q_shd_c_prog`	active	✓
`q_arc_c_st3`	active	✓
`q_arc_c_rdy`	active	✓
`q_arc_c_prog`	active	✓
`q_rdd_c_st3`	active	✓
`q_rdd_c_rdy`	active	✓
`q_rdd_c_prog`	active	✓
`q_asn_c_st3`	active	✓
`q_asn_c_rdy`	active	✓
`q_asn_c_prog`	active	✓
`q_wpm_c_st3`	active	✓
`q_wpm_c_rdy`	active	✓
`q_wpm_c_prog`	active	✓
`q_bkg_c_st3`	active	✓
`q_bkg_c_rdy`	active	✓
`q_bkg_c_prog`	active	✓
`q_dvc_c_st3`	active	✓
`q_dvc_c_rdy`	active	✓
`q_dvc_c_prog`	active	✓
`q_dwd_c_st3`	active	✓
`q_dwd_c_rdy`	active	✓
`q_dwd_c_prog`	active	✓
`q_shf_c_st3`	active	✓
`q_shf_c_rdy`	active	✓
`q_shf_c_prog`	active	✓
`q_hrp_start`	action	✓
`q_kwn_start`	action	✓
`q_pal_start`	action	✓
`q_shd_start`	action	✓
`q_arc_start`	action	✓
`q_rdd_start`	action	✓
`q_asn_start`	action	✓
`q_wpm_start`	action	✓
`q_dvc_start`	action	✓
`q_dwd_start`	action	✓
`q_shf_start`	action	✓
`q_bkg_start`	action	✓

Items checked

These items' tags are checked via GetItemPossessedBy in this conversation's scripts:

Harper Pin

Quest entries granted

Quest	Tag	Step(s)
The Banner of the West	`pc_pdk`	1, 6
The Cipher in the Inn	`pc_harper`	1, 3
The Fall	`pc_blackguard`	1, 3
The Old Wyrm's Fire	`pc_dragondisciple`	1, 3
The Quiet Knives	`pc_assassin`	1, 3
The Second Skin	`pc_shifter`	1, 3
The Shield of Others	`pc_divinechampion`	1, 3
The Sworn Blade	`pc_weaponmaster`	1, 3
The Twenty-First Tomb	`pc_palemaster`	1, 3
The Unbroken Stone	`pc_dwarvendefender`	1, 3
The Unlit Deep	`pc_shadowdancer`	1, 3
The Warden's Mark	`pc_arcanearcher`	1, 3

Custom tokens

These runtime tokens are filled by NWScript via SetCustomToken(N, text). The scripts listed set each token; the actual value depends on game state at runtime.

Token	Set by script(s)
`<CUSTOM6381>`	not found in static analysis

Starting entries

entry #0 — *An old man in a road-worn grey cloak looks up from a long roll of parchment* I …

Conversation flow

Each starting entry is expanded recursively. Repeated nodes (cycles, shared continuations) appear inline as ↩ link backrefs to the first occurrence.

entry #0 ¶

*An old man in a road-worn grey cloak looks up from a long roll of parchment* I am Halmir the Grey, keeper of the rolls of the old orders — the twelve disciplines that endure from the elder days. Each keeps its own trials, and each is particular about the names it will hear. Ask, and I will tell you where you stand.

reply #0 ¶

Which of the old orders would hear my name as I stand?

entry #1 (if prsg_c_sum) ¶

*He runs a finger down the roll* As you stand today, these would hear your name: <CUSTOM6381>. When an order makes its trial ready, word will reach me here at the well — the masters have not yet sent word for any, but the day comes. Return, and often.

reply #14 ¶

Then I will return. Keep your rolls well, Halmir.

reply #1 (if prsg_c_harper) ¶

Speak to me of the Harper Scouts.

entry #19 (if q_hrp_c_st3) ¶

*He does not look up, but the corner of his mouth moves* The rolls keep your name, Harper. When the orders have need of you, the road will bring word. It always does.

reply #15 ¶

Then I will listen for it. Farewell.

entry #17 (if q_hrp_c_st2) ¶

*He sets down the roll* You carry road-dust — and something better, unless I misread you. Say the word, then.

reply #32 ¶

'The road remembers.' So said the watcher at the Pony.

entry #18 → q_hrp_finish ¶

*For the first time, Halmir smiles. From beneath the roll he draws a small grey pin — a harp and a crescent, worn smooth by other collars than yours* It does. It remembers Arthedain, and the Angle, and every mile the quiet watchers have kept while kings forgot them. Wear this beneath the collar, not upon it. The rolls carry your name now — and by morning, so will Rivendell and the Golden Wood. Walk unremarked, Harper.

reply #33 ¶

Unremarked, keeper. The road remembers.

entry #16 (if q_hrp_c_st1) ¶

*He glances up from the roll* The corner table at the Prancing Pony, in Bree. A fern-green cloak, and patience. The word will find you, if you sit still enough to hear it.

reply #31 ¶

I am on the road.

entry #2 ¶

The quiet watchers of the North — song-keepers and cipher-readers who walk the roads of Eriador unremarked and forget nothing. They have marked you already; they mark everyone. *He folds the roll and studies you a moment*

reply #27 (if q_hrp_c_off) ¶

I already walk their roads, keeper. How may I be counted among them?

entry #14 ¶

*He lowers his voice, though no one stands near* Then hear the first errand. A friend of mine keeps the corner table at the Prancing Pony in Bree — a traveller in a fern-green cloak; no name you need yet. Sit with her. Offer her nothing but patience, and she will hand you the rest. Bring me back the word she trusts you with, and the rolls will carry your name.

reply #29 → q_hrp_start ¶

I will find her.

reply #30 ¶

Not yet, keeper.

reply #28 (if q_hrp_c_noh) ¶

How does one come to walk with them?

entry #15 ¶

The orders take no one by wishing. Learn the first discipline of the scouts — the woodscraft, the listening, the letters — and when you can call yourself Harper in more than hope, come back to me. *He taps the roll* The page keeps.

↩ reply #15 “Then I will listen for it. Farewell.”

reply #2 (if prsg_c_pdk) ¶

Speak to me of the Knights of Westernesse.

entry #24 (if q_kwn_c_st6) ¶

*He taps the roll* The rolls keep your name, knight of Westernesse. Hold the line as the old line held it -- that is the whole of the order, and always was.

reply #39 ¶

While it flies, the West stands. Farewell, keeper.

entry #23 (if q_kwn_c_st5) ¶

*He looks up sharply -- something in the wind of the thing seems to have reached him already* Does it fly?

reply #38 ¶

It flies, keeper. The banner of the West stands over the Pelennor -- set by my hand.

entry #25 → q_kwn_finish ¶

*Halmir rises -- the first time you have seen him stand -- and from behind his pack he draws a tall shield, white-faced, the Tree beneath seven stars* Then kneel a soldier and rise a Knight of Westernesse. This carried the out-wall's standard once; it will stand behind yours now. The rolls keep your name -- and the field keeps your banner.

↩ reply #39 “While it flies, the West stands. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #22 (if q_kwn_c_prog) ¶

*He does not look up from the roll* The Gate Captain has your errand, and the field its stone. When the banner of the West flies over the Pelennor again, come and tell me so.

reply #37 ¶

It is not yet flown. I am about it.

entry #3 ¶

Banner-knights in the old Númenórean line — captains who hold other men steady when the field turns. Theirs is a trial of command on open ground, not of the sword alone. But no summons has come from the White City yet — the trial is not ready. Return when the banners move.

reply #34 (if q_kwn_c_off) ¶

I ride in their line already, keeper. How may I be counted among the banner-knights?

entry #20 ¶

*He finds the page without looking for it* Then the order's first proving is simple to say and long to do. The banner of the West has not flown over the Pelennor since the war -- the wall watched, the field bare. Report to Wart, the Gate Captain at the Gates of Minas Tirith, and do as he bids until it flies again. Then come and tell me so.

reply #35 → q_kwn_start ¶

I will report to the Gate.

reply #36 ¶

Not yet, keeper.

reply #40 (if q_kwn_c_noh) ¶

How does one come to ride under that banner?

entry #21 ¶

Banner-knights are made, not wished. Take up the discipline of the old Numenorean line -- learn what it is to hold other men steady when the field turns, and when you can call yourself a knight of Westernesse in more than hope, come back to me. *He taps the roll* The page keeps.

reply #16 ¶

I will await the summons.

↩ reply #16 “I will await the summons.”

reply #3 (if prsg_c_pale) ¶

Speak to me of the Pale Masters.

entry #31 (if q_pal_c_st3) ¶

*He does not open the bottom page* Your name lies where you left it, near the bottom of the roll, and the masters do not cross it out. Walk the pale road carefully, scholar of the sealed crypt -- it walks back.

reply #47 ¶

The dead keep their counsel, and I mine. Farewell, keeper.

entry #29 (if q_pal_c_rdy) ¶

*He looks up before you have spoken, and his nostrils narrow at something in the air* You carry grave-dust -- old, and pale, and no kin of the road's. Give it here, and let the roll be witness.

reply #46 ¶

It is here, keeper -- dust of the twenty-first tomb, unspilled.

entry #30 → q_pal_finish ¶

*He takes the dust without letting it touch his skin, and from beneath the roll draws a talisman of grey bone on a leather cord* Then be counted among the Pale Masters, scholar of the sealed crypt. The dust goes where the masters keep such things; the talisman stays with you. Wear it, and the dead will know you have knocked, and been answered.

↩ reply #47 “The dead keep their counsel, and I mine. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #28 (if q_pal_c_prog) ¶

*He does not look up from the roll* The lower vault keeps its count: twenty carved names, and one lid that bears none. Open the twenty-first with your own hands, and bring me its pale dust unspilled.

reply #45 ¶

The vault keeps it yet. I am about it.

entry #4 ¶

*His voice drops* Scholars of the sealed crypt, and of the arts best left within it. I keep their page at the bottom of the roll, and gladly. Their rite is not yet assembled — the masters have not sent word, and I confess I do not hurry them. Return, if you must, when the candles are found.

reply #41 (if q_pal_c_off) ¶

I have read the pale page already, keeper. How may I be counted among the Pale Masters?

entry #26 ¶

*He draws the bottom page of the roll into the light, and lowers his voice* Then hear the errand, and speak of it to no one above ground. Beneath the Bree Crypt lies a lower vault where the old families sleep under carved names. Count the tombs: twenty bear names, and one does not. Open the twenty-first with your own hands, take a measure of the pale dust within, and carry it back to me unspilled. Do this, and the masters will count you.

reply #43 → q_pal_start ¶

I will open the twenty-first tomb.

reply #44 ¶

Not yet, keeper.

reply #42 (if q_pal_c_noh) ¶

How does one come to read that page?

entry #27 ¶

*He does not lift the page from the bottom of the roll* One is not led to that page -- one arrives at it. The arts of the sealed crypt are learned beside the dead, not from me. Take the pale road's first step, and your name will already be waiting near the bottom of the roll. Then ask me again.

reply #17 ¶

I will return when the candles are found.

↩ reply #17 “I will return when the candles are found.”

reply #4 (if prsg_c_shadow) ¶

Speak to me of the Shadowdancers.

entry #37 (if q_shd_c_st3) ¶

*He does not look at the dim page, and it does not need him to* Your name is written there in a hand no candle can read, walker of the unlit road. The dancers keep no rolls above ground -- but the dark remembers its own.

reply #54 ¶

The dark keeps its own counsel, and I mine. Farewell, keeper.

entry #35 (if q_shd_c_rdy) ¶

*He does not look up, but the candle beside him leans as though something passed it* You walk in with more shadow than you left with. Show me what the deep gave, and let the roll be witness.

reply #53 ¶

It is here, keeper -- a skein of the unlit deep, drawn up in darkness.

entry #36 → q_shd_finish ¶

*He takes the skein without looking at it directly, and from beneath the roll draws a pair of soft boots soled in something that makes no sound on the floorboards* Then be counted among the Shadowdancers, walker of the unlit road. The skein goes where the masters keep such things; the boots stay with you. Wear them, and the dark will remember you crossed it unaided -- and let you cross again.

↩ reply #54 “The dark keeps its own counsel, and I mine. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #34 (if q_shd_c_prog) ¶

*He glances at the dim page* The well beside Balin's tomb keeps its count of the dark. Stand at its lip bearing no light -- no torch, no glowing blade, no conjured flame -- and bring me what the deep leaves in your hand.

reply #52 ¶

The deep keeps it yet. I am about it.

entry #5 ¶

Those who step where light does not follow. They ask one thing only: cross the dark unaided, and come out the other side still yourself. Their proving-ground lies far under stone, and I name it only to those who already walk unlit.

reply #48 (if q_shd_c_off) ¶

I walk already where light does not follow, keeper. How may I be counted among the Shadowdancers?

entry #32 ¶

*He turns the roll to a page that seems dimmer than the rest, and his voice goes quiet as a closed door* Then hear the trial. Under the mountains in Khazad-dum, beside Balin's tomb, the dwarves cut a well that no plumb-line ever found the bottom of. Go down through Moria's dark and stand at its lip bearing no light at all -- no torch, no glowing blade, no conjured flame. What the unlit deep leaves in your hand, carry back to me. But mind: come to the well carrying light, and the dark will close its hand and give you nothing.

reply #50 → q_shd_start ¶

I will stand at the well unlit.

reply #51 ¶

Not yet, keeper.

reply #49 (if q_shd_c_noh) ¶

How does one come to walk that road?

entry #33 ¶

*He does not turn to that page* No one is taught to step where light does not follow -- one night you simply do not come out of the shadow, and the shadow does not mind. Take the first step of that road yourself, and the dancers will already know your gait. Then ask me again.

reply #18 ¶

I will wait for the dark.

↩ reply #18 “I will wait for the dark.”

reply #5 (if prsg_c_archer) ¶

Speak to me of the Arcane Archers.

entry #43 (if q_arc_c_st3) ¶

*He taps the grey feather at the corner of the page* Your name stands on the wardens' page, Arcane Archer, and the old mark on the proving ground stands empty — which of the two says more, I leave to you.

reply #61 ¶

The string remembers the note, and I the string. Farewell, keeper.

entry #41 (if q_arc_c_rdy) ¶

*He looks up before you have spoken, his eye going to your quiver as though it heard something there* You carry a note the wind did not play. Show me.

reply #60 ¶

It is here, keeper — the warden's shaft, drawn from the old mark bow in hand.

entry #42 → q_arc_finish ¶

*He takes the shaft in both hands and listens to it a moment, the way other men read* Loosed by a warden of the Lady's wood, and drawn again by a hand the mark knew for its own. Your name goes on the grey-feathered page. *From beneath the roll he draws a pair of grey leather bracers, a single feather stitched in silver at each wrist* Wear these, Arcane Archer — and may the eye find the far thing, and the arrow agree.

↩ reply #61 “The string remembers the note, and I the string. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #40 (if q_arc_c_prog) ¶

*He touches the grey feather at the page's corner* The old target on Rivendell's proving ground keeps the warden's shaft yet. Come to the mark as an archer comes — bow in hand, arrow nocked, quiver full — and draw it, and bring it to me.

reply #59 ¶

The mark keeps it yet. I am about it.

entry #6 ¶

The bowcraft of the Galadhrim, where arrow and art are one motion. The Lady's wardens have sent their word at last — and their mark is an old one. It stands not in the Golden Wood but on the proving ground of Imladris: a target older than the house around it, and deep in its gold ring a grey-fletched shaft a warden loosed in an elder year. *He glances at your hands, as if weighing what they have drawn*

reply #55 (if q_arc_c_off) ¶

I have bent the bow to the art already, keeper. How may I be counted among the Arcane Archers?

entry #38 ¶

*He turns the roll to a page fletched at its corner with a sliver of grey feather* Then hear the trial. On the proving ground of Rivendell stands the oldest target the wardens ever set, and in its gold ring their grey-fletched shaft — loosed in an elder year, that no weather has touched and no hand has drawn. Draw it. It will not come for prying fingers or pommel-taps: the mark yields only to a hand that comes as an archer comes — bow in hand, arrow nocked, quiver full. Bring the shaft to me.

reply #57 → q_arc_start ¶

I will draw the warden's shaft.

reply #58 ¶

Not yet, keeper.

reply #56 (if q_arc_c_noh) ¶

How does one come to that craft?

entry #39 ¶

*He does not turn the page* One is not talked onto that page — one is shot onto it. Learn the enchanter's art and the bowman's both, until arrow and art are one motion — the discipline the orders call the Arcane Archer — and ask me again. The mark has waited an elder age; it will wait for you.

reply #19 ¶

The mark can wait. Another day, keeper.

↩ reply #19 “The mark can wait. Another day, keeper.”

reply #6 (if prsg_c_rdd) ¶

Speak to me of the Red Dragon Disciples.

entry #49 (if q_rdd_c_st3) ¶

*He taps the scorched corner of the page* Your name stands on the wyrm's page, Red Dragon Disciple, and Durin's coals burn a little lower -- what you took from them you carry now in your own veins.

reply #68 ¶

The fire remembers its own, and I the fire. Farewell, keeper.

entry #47 (if q_rdd_c_rdy) ¶

*He looks up before you have spoken, and holds his hands to you as a man holds them to a hearth* You carry a warmth the road did not give you. Show me.

reply #67 ¶

It is here, keeper -- an ember of the old wyrm's fire, drawn from Durin's coals with a bare hand.

entry #48 → q_rdd_finish ¶

*He takes the ember in his bare palm without flinching, and for a moment the light of it moves under the skin of his fingers like a slow heartbeat* Drawn bare-handed from Durin's coals, and it did not burn you -- the fire has named you kin, and I only write what the fire has signed. Your name goes on the scorched page. *From beneath the roll he draws an amulet, a drop of deep red on a plain iron chain, warm as a held coal* Wear this, Red Dragon Disciple -- and may the fire you carry stay yours to command.

↩ reply #68 “The fire remembers its own, and I the fire. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #46 (if q_rdd_c_prog) ¶

*He touches the scorched corner of the page* The Forge of Durin keeps the wyrm's ember yet, under the banked coals of Erebor's great hall. Shed every ward against the elements and reach in with a bare hand -- the blood must feel the flame -- and bring the ember to me.

reply #66 ¶

The coals keep it yet. I am about it.

entry #7 ¶

The dragon-blooded, who court the fire that ruined Dale to wake what sleeps in their own veins. A perilous inheritance, and its price is set in the North -- but word has come down from the Mountain at last: the old fire stirs. In the great hall of Erebor stands the Forge of Durin, and under its banked coals sleeps an ember of the wyrm's own breath, that no dwarf has dared to rake out. *He watches you the way men watch a lamp they suspect of being lit*

reply #62 (if q_rdd_c_off) ¶

The wyrm's fire is awake in my veins already, keeper. How may I be counted among the Red Dragon Disciples?

entry #44 ¶

*He turns the roll to a page scorched at its corner, though the scorch is older than the paper* Then hear the trial. In the great hall of the Lonely Mountain stands the Forge of Durin, and under its banked coals an ember of the old wyrm's fire -- the fire that ruined Dale -- still glows, and has not gone out in all the years since. Rake it out and bring it to me. But mark this: the fire gives itself only to its own kin. Come to the coals wrapped in any ward against the elements and the ember will sink away from your hand. Shed every such ward and reach in bare -- the blood must feel the flame.

reply #64 → q_rdd_start ¶

I will draw the ember bare-handed.

reply #65 ¶

Not yet, keeper.

reply #63 (if q_rdd_c_noh) ¶

How does one come to that inheritance?

entry #45 ¶

*He does not turn the page* One is not led to that inheritance -- one is born to it, or wakes it. The wyrm's fire sleeps in some few bloodlines, and it answers only to those who court it -- the discipline the orders call the Red Dragon Disciple. Wake what sleeps in your own veins, and ask me again. The ember has burned an age already; it will burn a while longer.

reply #20 ¶

I will listen for word from the Mountain.

↩ reply #20 “I will listen for word from the Mountain.”

reply #7 (if prsg_c_assn) ¶

Speak to me of the Assassins.

entry #55 (if q_asn_c_st3) ¶

*He does not mark your coming, and the blank page stays blank -- which is, among the quiet knives, the whole of an honor roll* Walk uncounted, Assassin.

reply #75 ¶

No one was ever here. Farewell, keeper.

entry #53 (if q_asn_c_rdy) ¶

*He looks up -- not because he heard you come, but because he did not* You have it, then. Sealed and unread, or we have nothing to say to one another.

reply #74 ¶

It is here, keeper -- sealed and unread, lifted with no eye upon me.

entry #54 → q_asn_finish ¶

*He breaks the black wax himself, reads the single name written there, and holds the writ to the candle until it is ash -- and only then speaks* The name on the writ was your own. You collected your own death unseen, and now it is removed: the quiet knives buy each of their own out of the ledger exactly once. *From beneath the roll he draws a pair of thin grey gloves* Wear these, and be no one, anywhere. The rolls keep your name, Assassin -- on the page no one will ever read.

↩ reply #75 “No one was ever here. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #52 (if q_asn_c_prog) ¶

*He glances at the blank page* The drop keeps its writ yet -- the old wine barrel against the houses of Bree. Shadow first, then the hand: come to it with any eye able to mark you and it will be only a barrel.

reply #73 ¶

The barrel keeps it yet. I am about it.

entry #8 ¶

*He does not look up from the roll* The quiet knives. Carn Dûm keeps their ledger, not I -- I keep only the blank page where their page would go, and blank it stays. They sign nothing, swear nothing, and are seen by no one; a name goes to them sealed, and the name is removed. That is the whole of their craft, and the whole of what I may say of it aloud.

reply #69 (if q_asn_c_off) ¶

The knives already know my hand, keeper. How may I be counted among them?

entry #50 ¶

*He turns the roll to the blank page, and his voice drops to something below a whisper* Then hear their trial, and mark it well: it is not a killing. Any brawler can kill. A sealed writ waits at one of their dead drops -- the old wine barrel standing against the houses of Bree. Go to it as the quiet knives go: in shadow, unseen, every step a held breath. If any eye could mark you when you reach for it, the drop will stay empty -- try again from the dark. Bring the writ to me sealed and unread. Especially unread.

reply #71 → q_asn_start ¶

I will lift the writ unseen.

reply #72 ¶

Not yet, keeper.

reply #70 (if q_asn_c_noh) ¶

How does one come to be counted among the quiet knives?

entry #51 ¶

*He does not look up* One is not counted among them -- one is uncounted, which is harder. First learn the discipline itself: a level of the Assassins' craft, the step that makes no sound and the knife that leaves no name. Carry that, and ask me again -- on a moonless night, if you can manage it.

reply #21 ¶

I was never here.

↩ reply #21 “I was never here.”

reply #8 (if prsg_c_wm) ¶

Speak to me of the Weapon Masters.

entry #61 (if q_wpm_c_st3) ¶

*He does not need the roll for you any longer* The notch is entered, and the Weapon Masters keep short rolls — a name cut there is not cut again. Carry the one blade well.

reply #82 ¶

One blade, one life. Farewell, keeper.

entry #59 (if q_wpm_c_rdy) ¶

*He turns to the short page without being asked* You carry fresh-cut oak — I can smell the sap from here. Show me the notch.

reply #81 ¶

Here, keeper — one cut, one blade, the one my hand is sworn to.

entry #60 → q_wpm_finish ¶

*He turns the chip once in his fingers, reading the grain as another man reads a letter, and sets it on the roll* One stroke, clean through seasoned oak, and no second mark beside it — the post does not lie about the hand that struck it. The Weapon Masters count you among them: one blade, one life. Wear this — the yards of Gondor buckle it on those whose blade needs no second.

↩ reply #82 “One blade, one life. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #58 (if q_wpm_c_prog) ¶

*He glances at the short page* The training row keeps its wood yet. One cut, with the one blade — the posts below Minas Tirith will know your hand when it comes honestly, and not before.

reply #80 ¶

The notch will be cut, keeper.

entry #9 ¶

*He finds the page without looking* Those wedded to a single weapon until it is less a tool than a limb — one blade, one life, the discipline the orders call the Weapon Master. Their roll is the shortest I keep; most hands want too many things.

reply #76 (if q_wpm_c_off) ¶

My hand is already sworn to its weapon, keeper. How may I be counted among them?

entry #56 ¶

*He sets down the quill* Then hear the proving. Below the white walls of Minas Tirith the Guard keeps its training row — scarred practice posts that have taken the cuts of every swordmaster Gondor ever raised. Go to the first post and cut your notch — with the weapon your soul is sworn to, and no other. Come to the wood bare-handed, or behind a borrowed blade, and it will show you up as it has shown up prouder men. Bring me the notch you cut.

reply #78 → q_wpm_start ¶

I will cut my notch with no blade but my own.

reply #79 ¶

Not yet, keeper.

reply #77 (if q_wpm_c_noh) ¶

How does one come to be counted among the Weapon Masters?

entry #57 ¶

*He taps the short page* One weapon, chosen and kept, until dodging, feinting and striking with it are one thought — the discipline the orders call the Weapon Master. Swear your hand to a single blade and ask me again. The posts below Minas Tirith have stood an age; they will stand for you.

reply #22 ¶

I have heard enough, keeper.

↩ reply #22 “I have heard enough, keeper.”

reply #9 (if prsg_c_bg) ¶

Speak to me of the Blackguards.

entry #80 (if q_bkg_c_st3) ¶

*He does not need the roll for you any longer* The oath is sworn, and an oath like that cannot be unsworn. You are of the fallen now, and the book remembers it -- as it remembers all the fallen, without flinching and without joy.

reply #104 ¶

The fall is written. Farewell, keeper.

entry #81 (if q_bkg_c_rdy) ¶

*He looks up, and does not flinch from what he sees in your face* You carry the brand of the fall -- cold iron the rack burned black, and blood dried on it that I think is your own. So it is done, then. Give it here, and I will write your name where the light no longer reaches.

reply #105 ¶

It is here, keeper -- the Black Oath sworn, and blood given freely.

entry #82 → q_bkg_finish ¶

*He takes the cold brand in both hands, and for a moment the grey of his cloak seems greyer still* Sworn at the instrument of cruelty, with your own blood freely given -- the Black Captain's book does not open to men who came clean-handed. The Blackguards count you among them now: the forsworn, the fallen. Take this -- the old orders lay it on those who have fallen, that others may know you at a distance and keep their backs to the wall.

↩ reply #104 “The fall is written. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #83 (if q_bkg_c_prog) ¶

*He glances at the blank line beside your name* The rack in the Keep of Barad-Dur waits for you still. Swear the Black Oath there -- bleeding, as it demands -- and bring me back the brand it burns into your hand.

reply #106 ¶

The oath will be sworn, keeper.

entry #84 ¶

*He is silent a moment, and does not look up from the page* The Black Captain's sworn -- those who broke a bright oath and swore a darker one in its place. I keep their page because a keeper keeps every page, even the ones that shame the book. The fall is not a thing I offer. It is a thing a man does, out in the dark, and then comes to me to have it written down.

reply #107 (if q_bkg_c_off) ¶

My bright oath is already broken, keeper. Write me among the fallen.

entry #85 ¶

*He turns to a page that smells of cold iron and old ash* Then hear how the fall is written. Go to the Dark Tower -- the Keep of Barad-Dur, where the instruments of cruelty still stand -- and lay your hand on the torture-rack. Swear the Black Oath upon it: no quarter given, none asked, the light you carried spent for good. But come to it bleeding: the oath takes blood freely given, or it takes nothing. What the iron brands into your hand, carry back to me.

reply #109 → q_bkg_start ¶

I am already fallen. I will swear the Black Oath at the Dark Tower.

reply #110 ¶

Not yet, keeper.

reply #108 (if q_bkg_c_noh) ¶

How does one come to be counted among the Blackguards?

entry #86 ¶

*He does not turn the page* One is not appointed to that page -- one falls to it. Break your bright oath in deed, take up the Black Captain's discipline, and the rack in Barad-Dur will answer to your hand. Until then it is only cold iron, and it has nothing to say to you.

reply #24 ¶

I will await the call to vows.

↩ reply #24 “I will await the call to vows.”

reply #10 (if prsg_c_divch) ¶

Speak to me of the Divine Champions.

entry #67 (if q_dvc_c_st3) ¶

*He does not need the roll for you any longer* The vow is entered and renewed, and the Champions' page reads well by candlelight. Stand between, as you swore.

reply #89 ¶

The shield of others. Farewell, keeper.

entry #65 (if q_dvc_c_rdy) ¶

*He looks up, and the candle beside him steadies* You carry a light that is not lamplight -- I can see it under the road-dust. Show me the oath-light.

reply #88 ¶

It is here, keeper -- an oath-light, kindled shield on arm.

entry #66 → q_dvc_finish ¶

*He takes the light in both hands, and for a moment the grey of his cloak remembers being white* Kindled with the shield borne, and nothing in the hand that takes -- the altar does not lend its light to men who came for themselves. The Divine Champions count you among them: the shield of others, sworn before the White Tree. Wear this -- the chaplains lay it on those who stand between.

↩ reply #89 “The shield of others. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #64 (if q_dvc_c_prog) ¶

*He glances toward the candle* The altar keeps its light yet. Shield on arm, champion -- the vigil is kept standing between, and no other way.

reply #87 ¶

The vigil will be kept, keeper.

entry #11 ¶

Champions vowed before the White Tree, sword-arms of the faith of the West. Their vow is renewed, not granted -- it must be earned twice over, once at the Tree and once at the altar. I keep their page near the top of the roll, where the light falls.

reply #83 (if q_dvc_c_off) ¶

My sword is already vowed before the White Tree, keeper. How may I be counted among the Champions?

entry #62 ¶

*He turns to a page that smells of oil and candle-smoke* Then hear the vow's renewing. In the temple of Minas Tirith stands the Altar of the Istari -- polished stone, and the faithful's hands did the polishing. Keep the vigil there as the order keeps it: come to the altar bearing a shield on your arm, for the champion's vow is not to strike harder but to stand between. Come with the arm bare, or with a second blade where the shield should ride, and the altar will keep its light from you, as it has kept it from prouder men. Kept rightly, the vigil kindles an oath-light. Bring it to me.

reply #85 → q_dvc_start ¶

I will stand the vigil as the shield.

reply #86 ¶

Not yet, keeper.

reply #84 (if q_dvc_c_noh) ¶

How does one come to stand among the Divine Champions?

entry #63 ¶

*He does not turn the page* One is not appointed to that page -- one is vowed onto it, sword raised before the White Tree. Take the champion's vow and ask me again; the altar in Minas Tirith has out-waited longer lives than yours.

↩ reply #24 “I will await the call to vows.”

reply #11 (if prsg_c_dwdef) ¶

Speak to me of the Dwarven Defenders.

entry #73 (if q_dwd_c_st3) ¶

*He does not need the roll for you any longer* The Defenders' page carries your name, cut deep, the way Durin's folk cut what they mean to keep. Hold the ground you swore, and let the drums find you standing.

reply #96 ¶

Baruk Khazâd. The stone does not yield. Farewell, keeper.

entry #71 (if q_dwd_c_rdy) ¶

*He looks up before you speak, as if something of the mountain came in the door with you* You carry a weight that is not iron. Show me the shard.

reply #95 ¶

It is here, keeper — a shard of Balin's stone, given to iron-clad hands.

entry #72 → q_dwd_finish ¶

*He takes the shard and sets it on the roll, where it sits like a mountain on a map* Unbroken, from an unbroken stone — the tomb does not give this to leather or to cloth. The Dwarven Defenders count you among them: the last hold of Khazad, the feet that are not moved. Wear this — forged for the heads that would not bow.

↩ reply #96 “Baruk Khazâd. The stone does not yield. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #70 (if q_dwd_c_prog) ¶

*He glances at the roll without opening it* Balin's stone keeps its shard yet. Heavy iron, Defender — splint or plate on your shoulders when your hand touches the tomb. Stone knows stone, and no other way.

reply #94 ¶

The stand will be kept, keeper.

entry #12 ¶

The last hold of Khazad — dwarves who plant their feet and are not moved, though the deep itself come up against them. Only Durin's folk of proven years are written on this page. Their trial is no march and no errand: it is a standing — iron on the shoulders, stone at the back, and no step given.

reply #90 (if q_dwd_c_off) ¶

I am of Durin's folk, keeper, and the Defender's stand is already mine. How may I be counted among them?

entry #68 ¶

*He unrolls the page until the candlelight finds a name cut twice — once in ink, once in grief* Then hear where the Defenders' stand is taken. Go down to Moria, to Balin's Tomb, where Balin son of Fundin lies under one stone that was not broken. Stand at his grave as his guard stood — clad in the war-weight of Khazad, heavy iron, splint or plate on your shoulders — and lay your hand on the stone. Come in traveler's leathers or a wizard's cloth and the stone will not know you, as it has refused lighter feet than yours. Kept rightly, the stand earns a shard of the unbroken stone. Bring it to me.

reply #92 → q_dwd_start ¶

I will stand at Balin's tomb in the iron of Khazad. Baruk Khazâd.

reply #93 ¶

Not yet, keeper.

reply #91 (if q_dwd_c_noh) ¶

How does one come to be written on the Defenders' page?

entry #69 ¶

*He lays a flat hand on the page, the way a door is barred* Only Durin's folk are written here, and only those who have taken the Defender's stand — feet planted, shield up, the last hold of Khazad. Take that discipline and ask me again; Balin's stone has out-waited longer patience than yours.

reply #25 ¶

Baruk Khazâd. I will listen for the drums.

↩ reply #25 “Baruk Khazâd. I will listen for the drums.”

reply #12 (if prsg_c_shift) ¶

Speak to me of the Shifters.

entry #79 (if q_shf_c_st3) ¶

*He does not need the roll for you any longer* The skin-changers' page keeps your name in both its hands — ink and paw-print. Wear what shapes you will, and come back wearing your own name.

reply #103 ¶

Another shape, my own name. Farewell, keeper.

entry #77 (if q_shf_c_rdy) ¶

*He looks up, and for a moment seems unsure which of your faces he is speaking to* You carry a smell of bear and river-water. Show me the tuft.

reply #102 ¶

It is here, keeper — a tuft of the first skin, given to a borrowed eye.

entry #78 → q_shf_finish ¶

*He takes the tuft, and it stirs in his palm as though it remembered being worn* From the first skin, given only to a borrowed eye — the pool does not part with this for any face that was born, only for one that was put on. The Shifters count you among them: those who wear another shape and keep their own name inside it. Wear this — it knows every skin you will ever put on, and rides through the change when heavier gear will not.

↩ reply #103 “Another shape, my own name. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #76 (if q_shf_c_prog) ¶

*He glances at the half-paw-print page* Beorn's pool keeps its tuft yet. Another skin over your own when you look into the water, Shifter — the pool gives nothing to the face you were born with.

reply #101 ¶

The pool will be looked into, keeper.

entry #13 ¶

The skin-changers' discipline — older than any roll I keep. To wear another shape, and keep your own name inside it. Beorn's folk under the Carrock keep its oldest lesson yet, and their page on my roll is written in a hand that is half a paw-print.

reply #97 (if q_shf_c_off) ¶

The wild shape is already mine, keeper. How may I be counted among the Shifters?

entry #74 ¶

*He turns the roll to a page written in a hand that is half a paw-print* Then hear where the skin is tried. North of the forest, at Beorn's steading in the shadow of the Carrock, there is a still pool where the master of the house drinks on four legs as often as two. Go there wearing another skin — wild-shaped, another face over your own; the borrowed shape is the trial, not the road — and look into the water. Come in the face you were born with and the pool will show you nothing but yourself, as it has refused truer faces than yours. Looked into rightly, the water gives up a tuft of the first skin. Bring it to me.

reply #99 → q_shf_start ¶

I will look into the pool wearing another skin.

reply #100 ¶

Not yet, keeper.

reply #98 (if q_shf_c_noh) ¶

How does one come to be written on the skin-changers' page?

entry #75 ¶

*He does not turn to that page* No one is written there who has not already worn another shape and come back whole, their own name still inside it. Take the skin-changer's discipline — the Shifters' first wild shape — and ask me again; the pool has mirrored longer patience than yours.

reply #26 ¶

I will await the elder's word.

↩ reply #26 “I will await the elder's word.”

reply #13 ¶

Another time, keeper.

NPC lines (entries) — flat index

entry #0

→ reply #0 “Which of the old orders would hear my name as I stand?”
→ reply #1 “Speak to me of the Harper Scouts.” (if prsg_c_harper)
→ reply #2 “Speak to me of the Knights of Westernesse.” (if prsg_c_pdk)
→ reply #3 “Speak to me of the Pale Masters.” (if prsg_c_pale)
→ reply #4 “Speak to me of the Shadowdancers.” (if prsg_c_shadow)
→ reply #5 “Speak to me of the Arcane Archers.” (if prsg_c_archer)
→ reply #6 “Speak to me of the Red Dragon Disciples.” (if prsg_c_rdd)
→ reply #7 “Speak to me of the Assassins.” (if prsg_c_assn)
→ reply #8 “Speak to me of the Weapon Masters.” (if prsg_c_wm)
→ reply #9 “Speak to me of the Blackguards.” (if prsg_c_bg)
→ reply #10 “Speak to me of the Divine Champions.” (if prsg_c_divch)
→ reply #11 “Speak to me of the Dwarven Defenders.” (if prsg_c_dwdef)
→ reply #12 “Speak to me of the Shifters.” (if prsg_c_shift)
→ reply #13 “Another time, keeper.”

entry #1

→ reply #14 “Then I will return. Keep your rolls well, Halmir.”

entry #2

→ reply #27 “I already walk their roads, keeper. How may I be counted among them?” (if q_hrp_c_off)
→ reply #28 “How does one come to walk with them?” (if q_hrp_c_noh)
→ reply #15 “Then I will listen for it. Farewell.”

entry #3

→ reply #34 “I ride in their line already, keeper. How may I be counted among the banner-knig…” (if q_kwn_c_off)
→ reply #40 “How does one come to ride under that banner?” (if q_kwn_c_noh)
→ reply #16 “I will await the summons.”

entry #4

→ reply #41 “I have read the pale page already, keeper. How may I be counted among the Pale M…” (if q_pal_c_off)
→ reply #42 “How does one come to read that page?” (if q_pal_c_noh)
→ reply #17 “I will return when the candles are found.”

entry #5

→ reply #48 “I walk already where light does not follow, keeper. How may I be counted among t…” (if q_shd_c_off)
→ reply #49 “How does one come to walk that road?” (if q_shd_c_noh)
→ reply #18 “I will wait for the dark.”

entry #6

→ reply #55 “I have bent the bow to the art already, keeper. How may I be counted among the A…” (if q_arc_c_off)
→ reply #56 “How does one come to that craft?” (if q_arc_c_noh)
→ reply #19 “The mark can wait. Another day, keeper.”

entry #7

→ reply #62 “The wyrm's fire is awake in my veins already, keeper. How may I be counted among…” (if q_rdd_c_off)
→ reply #63 “How does one come to that inheritance?” (if q_rdd_c_noh)
→ reply #20 “I will listen for word from the Mountain.”

entry #8

→ reply #69 “The knives already know my hand, keeper. How may I be counted among them?” (if q_asn_c_off)
→ reply #70 “How does one come to be counted among the quiet knives?” (if q_asn_c_noh)
→ reply #21 “I was never here.”

entry #9

→ reply #76 “My hand is already sworn to its weapon, keeper. How may I be counted among them?” (if q_wpm_c_off)
→ reply #77 “How does one come to be counted among the Weapon Masters?” (if q_wpm_c_noh)
→ reply #22 “I have heard enough, keeper.”

entry #10

*He is silent a moment* The Black Captain's sworn. I keep their page because a keeper keeps every page, not because I commend it — the marks they bear are not lightly taken, nor ever put off. No summons has come from the Guildhouse — the trial is not ready. Return, if your feet still carry you that way.

→ reply #23 “My feet know their own road. Farewell.”

entry #11

→ reply #83 “My sword is already vowed before the White Tree, keeper. How may I be counted am…” (if q_dvc_c_off)
→ reply #84 “How does one come to stand among the Divine Champions?” (if q_dvc_c_noh)
→ reply #24 “I will await the call to vows.”

entry #12

→ reply #90 “I am of Durin's folk, keeper, and the Defender's stand is already mine. How may…” (if q_dwd_c_off)
→ reply #91 “How does one come to be written on the Defenders' page?” (if q_dwd_c_noh)
→ reply #25 “Baruk Khazâd. I will listen for the drums.”

entry #13

→ reply #97 “The wild shape is already mine, keeper. How may I be counted among the Shifters?” (if q_shf_c_off)
→ reply #98 “How does one come to be written on the skin-changers' page?” (if q_shf_c_noh)
→ reply #26 “I will await the elder's word.”

entry #14

→ reply #29 “I will find her.”
→ reply #30 “Not yet, keeper.”

entry #15

→ child “Then I will listen for it. Farewell.”

entry #16

*He glances up from the roll* The corner table at the Prancing Pony, in Bree. A fern-green cloak, and patience. The word will find you, if you sit still enough to hear it.

→ reply #31 “I am on the road.”

entry #17

*He sets down the roll* You carry road-dust — and something better, unless I misread you. Say the word, then.

→ reply #32 “'The road remembers.' So said the watcher at the Pony.”

entry #18 → q_hrp_finish

→ reply #33 “Unremarked, keeper. The road remembers.”

entry #19

*He does not look up, but the corner of his mouth moves* The rolls keep your name, Harper. When the orders have need of you, the road will bring word. It always does.

→ child “Then I will listen for it. Farewell.”

entry #20

→ reply #35 “I will report to the Gate.”
→ reply #36 “Not yet, keeper.”

entry #21

→ child “I will await the summons.”

entry #22

*He does not look up from the roll* The Gate Captain has your errand, and the field its stone. When the banner of the West flies over the Pelennor again, come and tell me so.

→ reply #37 “It is not yet flown. I am about it.”

entry #23

*He looks up sharply -- something in the wind of the thing seems to have reached him already* Does it fly?

→ reply #38 “It flies, keeper. The banner of the West stands over the Pelennor -- set by my h…”

entry #24

*He taps the roll* The rolls keep your name, knight of Westernesse. Hold the line as the old line held it -- that is the whole of the order, and always was.

→ child “While it flies, the West stands. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #25 → q_kwn_finish

→ reply #39 “While it flies, the West stands. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #26

→ reply #43 “I will open the twenty-first tomb.”
→ reply #44 “Not yet, keeper.”

entry #27

→ child “I will return when the candles are found.”

entry #28

*He does not look up from the roll* The lower vault keeps its count: twenty carved names, and one lid that bears none. Open the twenty-first with your own hands, and bring me its pale dust unspilled.

→ reply #45 “The vault keeps it yet. I am about it.”

entry #29

*He looks up before you have spoken, and his nostrils narrow at something in the air* You carry grave-dust -- old, and pale, and no kin of the road's. Give it here, and let the roll be witness.

→ reply #46 “It is here, keeper -- dust of the twenty-first tomb, unspilled.”

entry #30 → q_pal_finish

→ reply #47 “The dead keep their counsel, and I mine. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #31

→ child “The dead keep their counsel, and I mine. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #32

→ reply #50 “I will stand at the well unlit.”
→ reply #51 “Not yet, keeper.”

entry #33

→ child “I will wait for the dark.”

entry #34

→ reply #52 “The deep keeps it yet. I am about it.”

entry #35

*He does not look up, but the candle beside him leans as though something passed it* You walk in with more shadow than you left with. Show me what the deep gave, and let the roll be witness.

→ reply #53 “It is here, keeper -- a skein of the unlit deep, drawn up in darkness.”

entry #36 → q_shd_finish

→ reply #54 “The dark keeps its own counsel, and I mine. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #37

→ child “The dark keeps its own counsel, and I mine. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #38

→ reply #57 “I will draw the warden's shaft.”
→ reply #58 “Not yet, keeper.”

entry #39

→ child “The mark can wait. Another day, keeper.”

entry #40

→ reply #59 “The mark keeps it yet. I am about it.”

entry #41

*He looks up before you have spoken, his eye going to your quiver as though it heard something there* You carry a note the wind did not play. Show me.

→ reply #60 “It is here, keeper — the warden's shaft, drawn from the old mark bow in hand.”

entry #42 → q_arc_finish

→ reply #61 “The string remembers the note, and I the string. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #43

→ child “The string remembers the note, and I the string. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #44

→ reply #64 “I will draw the ember bare-handed.”
→ reply #65 “Not yet, keeper.”

entry #45

→ child “I will listen for word from the Mountain.”

entry #46

→ reply #66 “The coals keep it yet. I am about it.”

entry #47

*He looks up before you have spoken, and holds his hands to you as a man holds them to a hearth* You carry a warmth the road did not give you. Show me.

→ reply #67 “It is here, keeper -- an ember of the old wyrm's fire, drawn from Durin's coals…”

entry #48 → q_rdd_finish

→ reply #68 “The fire remembers its own, and I the fire. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #49

*He taps the scorched corner of the page* Your name stands on the wyrm's page, Red Dragon Disciple, and Durin's coals burn a little lower -- what you took from them you carry now in your own veins.

→ child “The fire remembers its own, and I the fire. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #50

→ reply #71 “I will lift the writ unseen.”
→ reply #72 “Not yet, keeper.”

entry #51

→ child “I was never here.”

entry #52

→ reply #73 “The barrel keeps it yet. I am about it.”

entry #53

*He looks up -- not because he heard you come, but because he did not* You have it, then. Sealed and unread, or we have nothing to say to one another.

→ reply #74 “It is here, keeper -- sealed and unread, lifted with no eye upon me.”

entry #54 → q_asn_finish

→ reply #75 “No one was ever here. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #55

*He does not mark your coming, and the blank page stays blank -- which is, among the quiet knives, the whole of an honor roll* Walk uncounted, Assassin.

→ child “No one was ever here. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #56

→ reply #78 “I will cut my notch with no blade but my own.”
→ reply #79 “Not yet, keeper.”

entry #57

→ child “I have heard enough, keeper.”

entry #58

*He glances at the short page* The training row keeps its wood yet. One cut, with the one blade — the posts below Minas Tirith will know your hand when it comes honestly, and not before.

→ reply #80 “The notch will be cut, keeper.”

entry #59

*He turns to the short page without being asked* You carry fresh-cut oak — I can smell the sap from here. Show me the notch.

→ reply #81 “Here, keeper — one cut, one blade, the one my hand is sworn to.”

entry #60 → q_wpm_finish

→ reply #82 “One blade, one life. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #61

*He does not need the roll for you any longer* The notch is entered, and the Weapon Masters keep short rolls — a name cut there is not cut again. Carry the one blade well.

→ child “One blade, one life. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #62

→ reply #85 “I will stand the vigil as the shield.”
→ reply #86 “Not yet, keeper.”

entry #63

→ child “I will await the call to vows.”

entry #64

*He glances toward the candle* The altar keeps its light yet. Shield on arm, champion -- the vigil is kept standing between, and no other way.

→ reply #87 “The vigil will be kept, keeper.”

entry #65

*He looks up, and the candle beside him steadies* You carry a light that is not lamplight -- I can see it under the road-dust. Show me the oath-light.

→ reply #88 “It is here, keeper -- an oath-light, kindled shield on arm.”

entry #66 → q_dvc_finish

→ reply #89 “The shield of others. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #67

*He does not need the roll for you any longer* The vow is entered and renewed, and the Champions' page reads well by candlelight. Stand between, as you swore.

→ child “The shield of others. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #68

→ reply #92 “I will stand at Balin's tomb in the iron of Khazad. Baruk Khazâd.”
→ reply #93 “Not yet, keeper.”

entry #69

→ child “Baruk Khazâd. I will listen for the drums.”

entry #70

→ reply #94 “The stand will be kept, keeper.”

entry #71

*He looks up before you speak, as if something of the mountain came in the door with you* You carry a weight that is not iron. Show me the shard.

→ reply #95 “It is here, keeper — a shard of Balin's stone, given to iron-clad hands.”

entry #72 → q_dwd_finish

→ reply #96 “Baruk Khazâd. The stone does not yield. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #73

→ child “Baruk Khazâd. The stone does not yield. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #74

→ reply #99 “I will look into the pool wearing another skin.”
→ reply #100 “Not yet, keeper.”

entry #75

→ child “I will await the elder's word.”

entry #76

*He glances at the half-paw-print page* Beorn's pool keeps its tuft yet. Another skin over your own when you look into the water, Shifter — the pool gives nothing to the face you were born with.

→ reply #101 “The pool will be looked into, keeper.”

entry #77

*He looks up, and for a moment seems unsure which of your faces he is speaking to* You carry a smell of bear and river-water. Show me the tuft.

→ reply #102 “It is here, keeper — a tuft of the first skin, given to a borrowed eye.”

entry #78 → q_shf_finish

→ reply #103 “Another shape, my own name. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #79

*He does not need the roll for you any longer* The skin-changers' page keeps your name in both its hands — ink and paw-print. Wear what shapes you will, and come back wearing your own name.

→ child “Another shape, my own name. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #80

→ child “The fall is written. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #81

→ reply #105 “It is here, keeper -- the Black Oath sworn, and blood given freely.”

entry #82 → q_bkg_finish

→ reply #104 “The fall is written. Farewell, keeper.”

entry #83

→ reply #106 “The oath will be sworn, keeper.”

entry #84

→ reply #107 “My bright oath is already broken, keeper. Write me among the fallen.” (if q_bkg_c_off)
→ reply #108 “How does one come to be counted among the Blackguards?” (if q_bkg_c_noh)
→ reply #24 “I will await the call to vows.”

entry #85

→ reply #109 “I am already fallen. I will swear the Black Oath at the Dark Tower.”
→ reply #110 “Not yet, keeper.”

entry #86

→ child “I will await the call to vows.”

PC replies — flat index

reply #0

Which of the old orders would hear my name as I stand?

→ entry #1 “*He runs a finger down the roll* As you stand today, these would hear your name:…” (if prsg_c_sum)

reply #1

Speak to me of the Harper Scouts.

→ entry #19 “*He does not look up, but the corner of his mouth moves* The rolls keep your nam…” (if q_hrp_c_st3)
→ entry #17 “*He sets down the roll* You carry road-dust — and something better, unless I mis…” (if q_hrp_c_st2)
→ entry #16 “*He glances up from the roll* The corner table at the Prancing Pony, in Bree. A…” (if q_hrp_c_st1)
→ entry #2 “The quiet watchers of the North — song-keepers and cipher-readers who walk the r…”

reply #2

Speak to me of the Knights of Westernesse.

→ entry #24 “*He taps the roll* The rolls keep your name, knight of Westernesse. Hold the lin…” (if q_kwn_c_st6)
→ entry #23 “*He looks up sharply -- something in the wind of the thing seems to have reached…” (if q_kwn_c_st5)
→ entry #22 “*He does not look up from the roll* The Gate Captain has your errand, and the fi…” (if q_kwn_c_prog)
→ entry #3 “Banner-knights in the old Númenórean line — captains who hold other men steady w…”

reply #3

Speak to me of the Pale Masters.

→ entry #31 “*He does not open the bottom page* Your name lies where you left it, near the bo…” (if q_pal_c_st3)
→ entry #29 “*He looks up before you have spoken, and his nostrils narrow at something in the…” (if q_pal_c_rdy)
→ entry #28 “*He does not look up from the roll* The lower vault keeps its count: twenty carv…” (if q_pal_c_prog)
→ entry #4 “*His voice drops* Scholars of the sealed crypt, and of the arts best left within…”

reply #4

Speak to me of the Shadowdancers.

→ entry #37 “*He does not look at the dim page, and it does not need him to* Your name is wri…” (if q_shd_c_st3)
→ entry #35 “*He does not look up, but the candle beside him leans as though something passed…” (if q_shd_c_rdy)
→ entry #34 “*He glances at the dim page* The well beside Balin's tomb keeps its count of the…” (if q_shd_c_prog)
→ entry #5 “Those who step where light does not follow. They ask one thing only: cross the d…”

reply #5

Speak to me of the Arcane Archers.

→ entry #43 “*He taps the grey feather at the corner of the page* Your name stands on the war…” (if q_arc_c_st3)
→ entry #41 “*He looks up before you have spoken, his eye going to your quiver as though it h…” (if q_arc_c_rdy)
→ entry #40 “*He touches the grey feather at the page's corner* The old target on Rivendell's…” (if q_arc_c_prog)
→ entry #6 “The bowcraft of the Galadhrim, where arrow and art are one motion. The Lady's wa…”

reply #6

Speak to me of the Red Dragon Disciples.

→ entry #49 “*He taps the scorched corner of the page* Your name stands on the wyrm's page, R…” (if q_rdd_c_st3)
→ entry #47 “*He looks up before you have spoken, and holds his hands to you as a man holds t…” (if q_rdd_c_rdy)
→ entry #46 “*He touches the scorched corner of the page* The Forge of Durin keeps the wyrm's…” (if q_rdd_c_prog)
→ entry #7 “The dragon-blooded, who court the fire that ruined Dale to wake what sleeps in t…”

reply #7

Speak to me of the Assassins.

→ entry #55 “*He does not mark your coming, and the blank page stays blank -- which is, among…” (if q_asn_c_st3)
→ entry #53 “*He looks up -- not because he heard you come, but because he did not* You have…” (if q_asn_c_rdy)
→ entry #52 “*He glances at the blank page* The drop keeps its writ yet -- the old wine barre…” (if q_asn_c_prog)
→ entry #8 “*He does not look up from the roll* The quiet knives. Carn Dûm keeps their ledge…”

reply #8

Speak to me of the Weapon Masters.

→ entry #61 “*He does not need the roll for you any longer* The notch is entered, and the Wea…” (if q_wpm_c_st3)
→ entry #59 “*He turns to the short page without being asked* You carry fresh-cut oak — I can…” (if q_wpm_c_rdy)
→ entry #58 “*He glances at the short page* The training row keeps its wood yet. One cut, wit…” (if q_wpm_c_prog)
→ entry #9 “*He finds the page without looking* Those wedded to a single weapon until it is…”

reply #9

Speak to me of the Blackguards.

→ entry #80 “*He does not need the roll for you any longer* The oath is sworn, and an oath li…” (if q_bkg_c_st3)
→ entry #81 “*He looks up, and does not flinch from what he sees in your face* You carry the…” (if q_bkg_c_rdy)
→ entry #83 “*He glances at the blank line beside your name* The rack in the Keep of Barad-Du…” (if q_bkg_c_prog)
→ entry #84 “*He is silent a moment, and does not look up from the page* The Black Captain's…”

reply #10

Speak to me of the Divine Champions.

→ entry #67 “*He does not need the roll for you any longer* The vow is entered and renewed, a…” (if q_dvc_c_st3)
→ entry #65 “*He looks up, and the candle beside him steadies* You carry a light that is not…” (if q_dvc_c_rdy)
→ entry #64 “*He glances toward the candle* The altar keeps its light yet. Shield on arm, cha…” (if q_dvc_c_prog)
→ entry #11 “Champions vowed before the White Tree, sword-arms of the faith of the West. Thei…”

reply #11

Speak to me of the Dwarven Defenders.

→ entry #73 “*He does not need the roll for you any longer* The Defenders' page carries your…” (if q_dwd_c_st3)
→ entry #71 “*He looks up before you speak, as if something of the mountain came in the door…” (if q_dwd_c_rdy)
→ entry #70 “*He glances at the roll without opening it* Balin's stone keeps its shard yet. H…” (if q_dwd_c_prog)
→ entry #12 “The last hold of Khazad — dwarves who plant their feet and are not moved, though…”

reply #12

Speak to me of the Shifters.

→ entry #79 “*He does not need the roll for you any longer* The skin-changers' page keeps you…” (if q_shf_c_st3)
→ entry #77 “*He looks up, and for a moment seems unsure which of your faces he is speaking t…” (if q_shf_c_rdy)
→ entry #76 “*He glances at the half-paw-print page* Beorn's pool keeps its tuft yet. Another…” (if q_shf_c_prog)
→ entry #13 “The skin-changers' discipline — older than any roll I keep. To wear another shap…”

reply #13

Another time, keeper.

reply #14

Then I will return. Keep your rolls well, Halmir.

reply #15

Then I will listen for it. Farewell.

reply #16

I will await the summons.

reply #17

I will return when the candles are found.

reply #18

I will wait for the dark.

reply #19

The mark can wait. Another day, keeper.

reply #20

I will listen for word from the Mountain.

reply #21

I was never here.

reply #22

I have heard enough, keeper.

reply #23

My feet know their own road. Farewell.

reply #24

I will await the call to vows.

reply #25

Baruk Khazâd. I will listen for the drums.

reply #26

I will await the elder's word.

reply #27

I already walk their roads, keeper. How may I be counted among them?

→ entry #14 “*He lowers his voice, though no one stands near* Then hear the first errand. A f…”

reply #28

How does one come to walk with them?

→ entry #15 “The orders take no one by wishing. Learn the first discipline of the scouts — th…”

reply #29 → q_hrp_start

I will find her.

reply #30

Not yet, keeper.

reply #31

I am on the road.

reply #32

'The road remembers.' So said the watcher at the Pony.

→ entry #18 “*For the first time, Halmir smiles. From beneath the roll he draws a small grey…”

reply #33

Unremarked, keeper. The road remembers.

reply #34

I ride in their line already, keeper. How may I be counted among the banner-knights?

→ entry #20 “*He finds the page without looking for it* Then the order's first proving is sim…”

reply #35 → q_kwn_start

I will report to the Gate.

reply #36

Not yet, keeper.

reply #37

It is not yet flown. I am about it.

reply #38

It flies, keeper. The banner of the West stands over the Pelennor -- set by my hand.

→ entry #25 “*Halmir rises -- the first time you have seen him stand -- and from behind his p…”

reply #39

While it flies, the West stands. Farewell, keeper.

reply #40

How does one come to ride under that banner?

→ entry #21 “Banner-knights are made, not wished. Take up the discipline of the old Numenorea…”

reply #41

I have read the pale page already, keeper. How may I be counted among the Pale Masters?

→ entry #26 “*He draws the bottom page of the roll into the light, and lowers his voice* Then…”

reply #42

How does one come to read that page?

→ entry #27 “*He does not lift the page from the bottom of the roll* One is not led to that p…”

reply #43 → q_pal_start

I will open the twenty-first tomb.

reply #44

Not yet, keeper.

reply #45

The vault keeps it yet. I am about it.

reply #46

It is here, keeper -- dust of the twenty-first tomb, unspilled.

→ entry #30 “*He takes the dust without letting it touch his skin, and from beneath the roll…”

reply #47

The dead keep their counsel, and I mine. Farewell, keeper.

reply #48

I walk already where light does not follow, keeper. How may I be counted among the Shadowdancers?

→ entry #32 “*He turns the roll to a page that seems dimmer than the rest, and his voice goes…”

reply #49

How does one come to walk that road?

→ entry #33 “*He does not turn to that page* No one is taught to step where light does not fo…”

reply #50 → q_shd_start

I will stand at the well unlit.

reply #51

Not yet, keeper.

reply #52

The deep keeps it yet. I am about it.

reply #53

It is here, keeper -- a skein of the unlit deep, drawn up in darkness.

→ entry #36 “*He takes the skein without looking at it directly, and from beneath the roll dr…”

reply #54

The dark keeps its own counsel, and I mine. Farewell, keeper.

reply #55

I have bent the bow to the art already, keeper. How may I be counted among the Arcane Archers?

→ entry #38 “*He turns the roll to a page fletched at its corner with a sliver of grey feathe…”

reply #56

How does one come to that craft?

→ entry #39 “*He does not turn the page* One is not talked onto that page — one is shot onto…”

reply #57 → q_arc_start

I will draw the warden's shaft.

reply #58

Not yet, keeper.

reply #59

The mark keeps it yet. I am about it.

reply #60

It is here, keeper — the warden's shaft, drawn from the old mark bow in hand.

→ entry #42 “*He takes the shaft in both hands and listens to it a moment, the way other men…”

reply #61

The string remembers the note, and I the string. Farewell, keeper.

reply #62

The wyrm's fire is awake in my veins already, keeper. How may I be counted among the Red Dragon Disciples?

→ entry #44 “*He turns the roll to a page scorched at its corner, though the scorch is older…”

reply #63

How does one come to that inheritance?

→ entry #45 “*He does not turn the page* One is not led to that inheritance -- one is born to…”

reply #64 → q_rdd_start

I will draw the ember bare-handed.

reply #65

Not yet, keeper.

reply #66

The coals keep it yet. I am about it.

reply #67

It is here, keeper -- an ember of the old wyrm's fire, drawn from Durin's coals with a bare hand.

→ entry #48 “*He takes the ember in his bare palm without flinching, and for a moment the lig…”

reply #68

The fire remembers its own, and I the fire. Farewell, keeper.

reply #69

The knives already know my hand, keeper. How may I be counted among them?

→ entry #50 “*He turns the roll to the blank page, and his voice drops to something below a w…”

reply #70

How does one come to be counted among the quiet knives?

→ entry #51 “*He does not look up* One is not counted among them -- one is uncounted, which i…”

reply #71 → q_asn_start

I will lift the writ unseen.

reply #72

Not yet, keeper.

reply #73

The barrel keeps it yet. I am about it.

reply #74

It is here, keeper -- sealed and unread, lifted with no eye upon me.

→ entry #54 “*He breaks the black wax himself, reads the single name written there, and holds…”

reply #75

No one was ever here. Farewell, keeper.

reply #76

My hand is already sworn to its weapon, keeper. How may I be counted among them?

→ entry #56 “*He sets down the quill* Then hear the proving. Below the white walls of Minas T…”

reply #77

How does one come to be counted among the Weapon Masters?

→ entry #57 “*He taps the short page* One weapon, chosen and kept, until dodging, feinting an…”

reply #78 → q_wpm_start

I will cut my notch with no blade but my own.

reply #79

Not yet, keeper.

reply #80

The notch will be cut, keeper.

reply #81

Here, keeper — one cut, one blade, the one my hand is sworn to.

→ entry #60 “*He turns the chip once in his fingers, reading the grain as another man reads a…”

reply #82

One blade, one life. Farewell, keeper.

reply #83

My sword is already vowed before the White Tree, keeper. How may I be counted among the Champions?

→ entry #62 “*He turns to a page that smells of oil and candle-smoke* Then hear the vow's ren…”

reply #84

How does one come to stand among the Divine Champions?

→ entry #63 “*He does not turn the page* One is not appointed to that page -- one is vowed on…”

reply #85 → q_dvc_start

I will stand the vigil as the shield.

reply #86

Not yet, keeper.

reply #87

The vigil will be kept, keeper.

reply #88

It is here, keeper -- an oath-light, kindled shield on arm.

→ entry #66 “*He takes the light in both hands, and for a moment the grey of his cloak rememb…”

reply #89

The shield of others. Farewell, keeper.

reply #90

I am of Durin's folk, keeper, and the Defender's stand is already mine. How may I be counted among them?

→ entry #68 “*He unrolls the page until the candlelight finds a name cut twice — once in ink,…”

reply #91

How does one come to be written on the Defenders' page?

→ entry #69 “*He lays a flat hand on the page, the way a door is barred* Only Durin's folk ar…”

reply #92 → q_dwd_start

I will stand at Balin's tomb in the iron of Khazad. Baruk Khazâd.

reply #93

Not yet, keeper.

reply #94

The stand will be kept, keeper.

reply #95

It is here, keeper — a shard of Balin's stone, given to iron-clad hands.

→ entry #72 “*He takes the shard and sets it on the roll, where it sits like a mountain on a…”

reply #96

Baruk Khazâd. The stone does not yield. Farewell, keeper.

reply #97

The wild shape is already mine, keeper. How may I be counted among the Shifters?

→ entry #74 “*He turns the roll to a page written in a hand that is half a paw-print* Then he…”

reply #98

How does one come to be written on the skin-changers' page?

→ entry #75 “*He does not turn to that page* No one is written there who has not already worn…”

reply #99 → q_shf_start

I will look into the pool wearing another skin.

reply #100

Not yet, keeper.

reply #101

The pool will be looked into, keeper.

reply #102

It is here, keeper — a tuft of the first skin, given to a borrowed eye.

→ entry #78 “*He takes the tuft, and it stirs in his palm as though it remembered being worn*…”

reply #103

Another shape, my own name. Farewell, keeper.

reply #104

The fall is written. Farewell, keeper.

reply #105

It is here, keeper -- the Black Oath sworn, and blood given freely.

→ entry #82 “*He takes the cold brand in both hands, and for a moment the grey of his cloak s…”

reply #106

The oath will be sworn, keeper.

reply #107

My bright oath is already broken, keeper. Write me among the fallen.

→ entry #85 “*He turns to a page that smells of cold iron and old ash* Then hear how the fall…”

reply #108

How does one come to be counted among the Blackguards?

→ entry #86 “*He does not turn the page* One is not appointed to that page -- one falls to it…”

reply #109 → q_bkg_start

I am already fallen. I will swear the Black Oath at the Dark Tower.

reply #110

Not yet, keeper.

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