CHAPTER 6 - The proving of kings

[Posterboy]

The woman slipped away and entered the tent leaving Tate with a questioned look.

Tate gave his head a shake, Oi! But she is an sorceress! Leave me spell-bound, she does!

He shook his head once more, gathering his wits about him. Too much of the bee's mead, I'd say... for me and here. The minstrel began to make his way to his own bed. Along the way, many congratulated him for his victory at evening's game. Tate had smiles and thanks for them all, but his thoughts were his own.

As his head finally lay down on his cot, Tate found his himself chuckling at himself, For all your bravado and panache, you are still chained to fearing how you have offended... Time to forget yourself for a while.

[Eclecticon]

Hathcyn Longspear has a mind to go, but first he has to avoid being gorged by a bull.

Cool.  The series of TNs is the same as the first two contests (14, 16, 18) but any failure means that Gnornung attacks.  Roll away!

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn Longspear awoke with the day as did all the other fire pit sleepers. Many it seemed had got but a little slip, but slipped back into the revelry quick enough. The man from the north knew what games he had a chance in and those that he did not. So with the morning he began to ready himself for the contest with the bull. One did not really practice for such an event so he stretched, had a glass or two of beer, and then made his way to the bullring.

The young man saw quickly enough that the list of contestants in this contest was quite small, but had a pretty large crowd. As he approached for his turn it was just in time to see the prior man jump the fence and avoid a great rush of the bull. The crowd it seemed favoured the bull over the man. Bracing himself, he waved to the crowd, took a swallow of honey mead and jump to his place....

AWE

Rolled 1d12 : 5, total 5

Rolled 3d6 : 6, 2, 1, total 9

awe2

Rolled 1d12 : 2, total 2

Rolled 3d6 : 1, 1, 2, total 4

Awe3

Rolled 1d12 : 11, total 11

Rolled 3d6 : 3, 5, 4, total 12

[Telcontar]

The tall man squared off and faced the bull, to his surprise the beast backed away from him towards its pen. He laughed and faced the crowd to recognize their cheers. As he set his sets back towards the bull he saw that whatever influence he had gained against the beast was lost when he looked away. Instead of retreating towards it's pen the great beast shook its head and came forward at him, none too pleased.

[Eclecticon]

Blasting breath from flared nostrils, Gnornung lowers his head and charges, and the cheers of the crowd turn abruptly to cries of alarm. 


No need for a new thread for combat, I hope.  Unarmed, I am assuming that Hathcyn will attempt to escape combat when it's his turn (TN 15).  The assistance of Men on the fence will give him an automatic attribute bonus to do so. 

DC 16 (assuming a Defensive stance) Gore 2d

1d12 : 5, total 5
Rolled 2d6 : 3, 1, total 4

will be 5 on a successful hit. 

[Eclecticon]

Battle roll for Hathcyn:

1d12 : 4, total 4
Rolled 1d6 : 5, total 5

[Eclecticon]

...and I probably should set up one of these:

Situation: Hathcyn is stuck in a pen with an enraged bull

Combat Advantage dice:
• Not a thing (unless he wants to use a Hope point...)

PC/NPC		PARRY		ARMOUR		HOPE		END		STANCE
Hathcyn	•	4	•	0	•	13/13	•	29/29	•	Defensive

ENEMY		PARRY		ARMOUR		HATE		END		NOTES
Gnornung	•	3	•	2d	•	3/3	•	21/21	•	n/a

STANCES

Forward - action order 1 Close combat TN 6+ parry Forward Stance maneuvers

Open - action order 2 Close combat TN 9+ parry Open Stance maneuvers

Defensive - action order 3 Close combat TN 12+ parry Defensive Stance maneuvers

Rearward - action order 4 Ranged combat Must be 2 other PC's in Close Combat May not use if outnumbered 2:1 TN 12+ parry Rearward Stance maneuvers

From any Stance Escape combat Must start in Rearward or roll TN 10 + highest attribute level of opponents Athletics roll. On success, may safely flee from the scene of combat

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn avoided the rush and realizing that discretion was the better part of valour beat a hasty retreat.

Rolled 1d12 : 8, total 8

Rolled 2d6 : 4, 6, total 10

[Telcontar]

Vaulting over the fence the man laughed as he went calling for the next man to come forward.

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn oversaw the contests with detached interest, his friends came and went from his side as they partook of the festival, both enjoying and as entertainment.  Never far from his thoughts though were the kidnappers and their victims.  While in the early morning, he spoke to the animals faithful to his father and sent those willing and swift to the far ends of the realm in search of news of them in hopes that word would return before he left to follow them.

[Eclecticon]

Rolling dice for no particular reason.  Go ahead and talk among yourselves...

1d12 : 9, total 9
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 2, 5, total 9

[Eclecticon]

Standing briefly atop the fence, Hathcyn feels the wind on his face.  It is of the north, racing cold along the path of the great Anduin from its source, where brood the Grey Mountains and grim Gundabad.  Above his head wheel, not the hawks he assumes them at first to be, nor the great eagles of the mountains, but carrion-crows, their calls raucous and discordand. 

In the distance, their shadows still long this early in the morning, he spies a small group of men bearing a burden toward the House of Beorn.  It seems for all the world to be a boat. 

[Telcontar]

He stands piosed on the split rail fence. His body over to the safer side, but still his feet upon the rails giving him a boost.

He shades his eyes with a hand and then give a cry pointing.

"Oii! Something strange this way comes. A boat borne by men and driving crows in thier wake!"

[tomcat]

She counted three holes in her fingers. Three!

I can successfully put my sword through an orcs chest or feather a wolf at distance, but I cannot push a needle through cloth without drawing blood!

The other seamstresses were being polite, but it was clear on their faces that the ranger might be a lost hope. The older woman, who was named Brunihild, looked at Esgalwen, "Ya're not holding it right, girl...you are going to..."

A cry came from the Ranger as she watched another pinprick of blood appear on her index finger.

"Seems you're right, Mum. This is not the simplest of tasks."

The other women croaked, "Nay! If it were, the men-folk would be doing it." Chuckles and giggles were heard around the circle.

Esgalwen went immediately back to the previous conversation. It seemed an odd thing that the circle of women in most communities were ignored by the men when it came to information - they were a bank of stories and details.

"So...about the young maiden you spoke, Druessel, what was it she saw again?"

"Well...she comes a'runnin' back from her chores down near the Little Bend." Esgalwen questioning look made the woman explain. "Little Bend is a small river that feeds into Andewn. There's Big Bend, too, but we don't wash clothes there. Nor do we fetch our waters."

Esgalwen smiled to herself at the accented speech and words, even as she deciphered such words as Andewn the great river.

"So Drues is washing her clothes in the rocks there and she hears this callin' and yellin' of men. Now mind you, t'was just mornin'...sun has barely broke. Drues has always had a habit o'early startin'. Get'em done soon, so as to not be lackin' daylight, she always says to us." The old woman chuckled and Esgalwen smiled again at how the tale just seemed to go in every direction. The other women added their own Drues' quotes and habits, and how the Little Bend had good rocks for beating clothes upon.

Finally the story came back around, "So now she's sittin' low in the river bed and reeds be coverin' her form and she tells us a small barge craft - pole barge...ya know them? They are used a'plenty along the river to fish, move goods, and more. Anyway, this morning barge is filled with hard men...blonde and burly, she said. Vigs, she was sure! They are always makin' early raids south. So's she's a'watchin' and sees 'em lead at least four Dwarves onto this float. Dwarves? I say...where there be Dwarves round here? But Drues, she just wrinkled her nose in that way she do, and says, I tell ya they were Dwarves! And none to happy with their condition, for they's were shackled - or roped - and we knows what Vigs do with peoples they catch."

Another woman chimed in, "Not gonna be long afore the Master calls to arms. They canna be doing this no more to us. Season after season, they raid and take a few away. Gonna be blood, I guarantee it."

"True enough! Dwarves...oddest thing." And the woman went back to tending her sewing.

Esgalwen had heard enough. Her fingers were sore. Her bottom ached from sitting so long upon the wood stump. These were softer duties, to be sure, but they were not easier. She looked down at the dress she wore and knew that it was time to return to Esgalwen the Ranger. She stood and handed Brunihild the bone needle and laid her portion of the fabric-work where she sat.

"Ladies, much have I enjoyed your company today along with the labors at which you work, but I must be off now. I need to speak with Grimbeorn and see about this news of Dwarves and Vigs. Thank you for everything."

Brunihild stared back at Esgalwen with a twinkle in her eye and said, "Right now, love! Be on your way now!"

With her far enough away, the old seamstress turned to her sisters, "Off to speak to Grimbeorn, she says!" There was a chuckle. "She was right fair of the eye, but not much there to work with! Her hands were not deft to the needle." Again the ladies laughed. "Off to speak to the master...oh my!"

Even as the seamstresses joked and continued their work, the Dúnadan woman made her way to the tents. Once there, she closed the flaps and quickly saw about changing from the beautiful dress she had borrowed, and back into the clothing that seemed to fit her better.

Esgalwen left her tent in search of Grimbeorn and the others that were in her 'new' company.