The Doom-Ring at Wuduseld

[Eclecticon]

The lady patted her friend on the shoulder and smiled, saying softly, "Your people could have no better leader and guardian than you."

Arbogast neither nods nor smiles, but says, his voice level, "You speak perhaps too soon.  Much work is there to be done first."


Tom, I like your idea of using Rorin as a go-between.  Is there anything else that people want to do before I move the story on?

[tomcat]

I am going to be posting today where Esgalwen is going to go talk to Mogdred, unless you prefer that happen at a later time. My post will not be up until tonight, my time, so if you prefer not - go ahead and move the story on and I will know.

[Eclecticon]

As evening closes in about the small town of Men and the land beneath the leaves and branches of Mirkwood darkens to a nigh-subterranean gloom, the merry-making carries on at a measured pace, new loaves being broken and ale-kettles brought forth to keep the feast-day alive.  At last, as those of lower station begin to drift away to their own hearths, the high and honoured guests are bade to enter Wuduseld itself to see the beginning of the solemn business of the hour. 

Inside, the figures carven upon walls and pillars dance and shift in the flickering firelight and smoky air, bringing to life tales of deeds both dark and noble.  Among them, the assembled elders of the Woodmen watch as the Great War-Horn of the Hunter, long the token of the War-Leader of the folk, is lain upon an empty seat in the place of honour.  Almost within arm's reach sits Mogdred, clad in fabric well-woven and richly-dyed, the light reflecting from a bejewelled crown set upon his brow. 
Hardly further away sits Caewin, a pleasant smile upon his face and the Helm of Peace held by a man standing behind him. 

The murmur of conversation falls silent as an old man (Artamud, Hathcyn vaguely recalls) stands to recite the words that will begin the ceremony.  "Ingomer, son of Laudomer, whom Men named for the Axebreaker, is gone from Middle-Earth, and the seat of the War-Leader stands empty.  But sore are the folk beset.  Will any man stand to lead our warriors in this time of trial?" 

Mogdred is out of his seat with great haste, besting Caewin who has also begun to rise.  "I am Mogdred, and Ingomer was my father," he begins. 

Gwaithlim, his ears already pricked and alert, hears a nearby woman whisper "He looks more like Ingomer than the old Axebreaker himself did, toward the end!"

Mogdred continues with a short recitation of his deeds.  "In the south, I have brought forth a new kingdom that has proven itself in war against many enemies.  Many are the spoils I have won and given unto you..." 

By the time he finishes, it is clear that many in the hall look favourably upon him, crown or no. 


More to follow, but feel free to add in reactions or other things.