Foes of the Folk

[Eclecticon]

Lo!  Repaireth the Skinchanger's son with the dawn once more unto his father's hall
Hathcyn, Harhold, brave warriors wounded, before the hearth to lay, hurts to heal, hearts to mend.
Rest they then, 'til evening once more lie upon the land. 

Dawn already begins to light the vales when the three remaining members of Grimbeorn's young warband arrive, on exhausted horses, back at the outer hedge of Beorn's House.  A cry from the young master rouses some of the wondrous dogs and sheep to bring cheese and ale, and to stoke the hearth and make ready warm furs and soft straw.  Messenger-beasts go forth to nearby homesteads to tell of the dolorous homecoming, and soon the house is full of the quiet, stoic business of healers.  As wounds are investigated, it quickly becomes apparent that Hathcyn will recover in a matter of days, if he will but rest.  Harhold's wounds, however, are deep and sere, to say nothing of the terror that now besets him even in this place of solace. 

Finally, their last reserves of willpower exhausted, the three slumber, not to wake again while the sun remains in the sky.  Then, with mead in hand by the banked hearth, the pair make fast their plans for the coming days. 


As flagged earlier, I'm turning the narrative over to you again.  Grimbeorn's in charge, but most all of the great thegns who would counsel him have gone home to see to the harvest, leaving Hathcyn very much in the cat-bird seat as far as providing advice goes. 

[Eclecticon]

"Now that our wounds be bound," Hathcyn says, as he and Grimbeorn pass the hours of evening next to the slumbering hearth, ale-horns half empty, "I bid once again your indulgence.  Solemnly have I sworn to assist the Roadmaker in his quest.  For this, I must travel north to the land of Viglund and his folk."

He shifts his gaze to Harold, who stirs uneasily beneath his sleeping furs. "You need not come with me, but I ask that this man, my boon companion since our boyhood days, be allowed to dwell here until he is healed of the wounds he had suffered in your service."

[Telcontar]

  i was waiting for Matt but this works too.

[Eclecticon]

I thought as much.  Trouble is, after a while silence has a way of becoming self - perpetuating.  I just wanted to keep this side of this ticking over.  I hope you don't mind me putting words in your mouth.

[GandalfOfBorg]

  I have unfortunately been held hostage by the all-consuming taskmaster called work.

Grimbeorn's mood has not been so dark in some time.  He doesn't take his frustrations out on those around him, both animal and man, but keeps it inward.  This internal self-flaggellation is apparent to all and so give their distance and space.

Finding none of use or consequence to consult these dark tidings, especially his father, the heir falls upon a great chair to drown himself in food and drink.

Hathcyn's query fell flat for the moment as Grimbeorn's mind wandered from the place.  Finally, he put aside these thoughts as voice reminded him not to dwell on what has happened, but to be in the moment and change what can happen.

"Of course, a man who fights for the Free People's  and with me deserves no less honor and service.  As for your desire to depart, you go with my blessing but I ask that you tarry until Esgalwen returns.  All must be known of what has transpired as I fear all this may be woven together in some fashion."

[Eclecticon]

  Much as it makes in character sense for Grimbeorn to say this, you need to bear in mind that it may be some time before Esgalwen and Tate's end of the story is played out.  If you're willing to wait, then cool - take five and enjoy the narrative.  Otherwise, you might want to think about what you could do in the meantime.

Especially because (and I'll give you this as a freebie since I probably didn't make it obvious enough in the flavour text) there were other survivors of the skirmish who fled before you guys.

[Telcontar]

"We do not know, Wolfslayer, how long your friends may tarry and doubtful they will not be following a straight path."

The Longspear had bread and honey mixed in his beard and he pulled and combed upon it absently.

"Loathe as I am to say so perhaps we should return to the longhouse. Our companions lay still defiled in the open, not to mention there were those who's courage failed and abandoned us to our fate when the battle turned. They may have escaped and lay wounded with the badges of honor, or lay cowering like a beat hare at the run's end. If we are not so soon to pursue the Roadmaker then these men at least we should deal with and bring to end this sorry tale."   

[GandalfOfBorg]

"You're right of course in regard to my companion; our group is not one for meeting expectations for promptness.  As for those left and lost, thought has been given to them and, yes, they should be recovered and found.  I have yet to decide how to address the deserters."

[tomcat]

"You're right of course in regard to my companion; our group is not one for meeting expectations for promptness."

     

We're trying, man! Paul just keeps putting adversity in front of us. No straight answers coming at this end.

[Eclecticon]

Drama, Doug.  I'm putting storytelling in front of you. 

[Telcontar]

"Wolfslayer, I have not the authority to summon or raise men here. Is it your will that men be summoned to account for the dead and collect the living? Though it was nasty and brutal those who died, and what is left of them, deserve more than bleaching in the sun. With the time that has past it will be nasty work indeed."

[GandalfOfBorg]

"Yes, do so.  Have them bring wains or wagons if they have them.  Some women of healing should be gathered as well.  I will seek whatever animal assistance can be given."

[Telcontar]

The Longspear left the company of the Aetheling of the Folk of Beorn and made his way from the hall. A hound sat upon the threshold and raised his droopy head at him. To all outside appearances a common hound and nothing remarkable. Hathcyn however bent and spoke to the beast.

"Bring the gate keeper and Speaker of the Hall. Grimbeorn has need of wains, drivers, and a healer. Our folk will not be left for the birds."

The dog nodded its head and the Longspear scratched behind its ears. He stood, wounds still tight and sore and went to make other preperations for the riding.

[Eclecticon]

Nice.  Okay, give me a bit to get a post up.  Time is tight on the weekend, so it may not be until Monday.

[Eclecticon]

The wains and drivers gather with the breaking of dawn, the healers who tended to the wounded heroes having passed the news to their families, and word having spread from ear to ear throughout the following day.  The clouds have lowered overnight, and the sky hangs heavy and leaden as the door of a tomb.  They scull through the air above, but within the hedge wall there is barely enough wind to stir the corners of cloaks and stray hairs. 

There is an expectant hush as Grimborn and Hathcyn emerge on to the front porch.  Men, women, children and hounds alike are still, awaiting the words of their aetheling.