The Doom-Ring at Wuduseld

[Telcontar]

  I was thinking that only one person spoke for each village. Which is why i put forward they couldn't be war chief and a leader.

Now with font installed I also see that Tyrant's Hill and the Toft don't have any elders who can vote.....

[tomcat]

  Mogdred is here for what he believes is his birthright.

[Telcontar]

  mogdred is going to be lucky if he leaves alive.

[Eclecticon]

More tale-y goodness coming soon, guys.  I just need half an hour of clear air.

[Eclecticon]

With a disdainful grunt, Mogdred leaves Esgalwen and stalks from the hall followed by the small retinue that accompanied him to the feast.  One woman favours the Dunadán with a glance as she passes, and it is with a start that Esgalwen marks her face for, though she is now richly clad and adorned with golden rings, and her hair has been dyed a firey red, Dagmar of Tyrant's Hill has aged but little in the years since last the two met.  No time is there for questions, however, before the Toft-King's party has stomped down the stairs of Wuduseld, plainly meaning to spend the dark hours in their own camp. 

At the long table, Arbogast finishes the last of the meat and begins to eat the hard bread on which it was served.  "Tomorrow," he says to Gwaithlim and Luindîs, his tone betraying little of the taughtness about his eyes, "the elders will gather in the doom-ring and the choosing will begin in earnest.  Oh, to have the many years of the Elves to spend!  Ingomer Axebreaker, I am told, was chosen after two days, and that was accounted uncommonly fast." 

Hathcyn, meanwhile, is jarred from his thoughts by a heavy knuckle rapping the bench near him and turns to find Rorin at his side, eyes glinting with the glee of secrets about to be shared.  "Our mutual friend says that Sanjar eats like a young stallion and is fast becoming a man in body, if not yet in heart.  She also says that, if you'd care to meet her down by the river-shore before dawn, she has news that she's eager indeed to share."