Foes of the Folk

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn poked the butt of his spear into a rock here and there, or bent to examine the banks of the river. His query had made for the river and then left no sign.

"Well it appears that our query has gone to ground, or in the madness of fear plunged into the father of waters. Finding no one there is nothing we can do for the hurts of their bodies, those of their souls is their's to bear until they come before the judgement of their lord. I will not say we would have won the battle had they stayed, but more may have lived if each had held true."

The tall warrior scratched at his beard and peered at the river. He took a stone and touched it to head, mouth, and breast and then tossed it into the flow of the river.

Taking another pull from the wine skin he had brought Hathcyn then tossed it to his companion who did likewise.

"Let us return, we have made an effort and I have no desire to be here after dark or miss the funeral orations."

[Eclecticon]

Sorry Tom, more story coming, hopefully this morning.

[Eclecticon]

When the pair return to the ruined steading, they are confronted with a mound already rising above the fell, and the grim countenance of the thegn Walcaud Shield-Gnawed.  Iron-grey his beard and brows, he waits upon his horse for Grimbeorn and Hathcyn to return.

As they draw near, he addresses the pair.  "Grimbeorn," he begins, with a bid of deference.  Then, in a markedly colder tone, "Longspear. I was not long past the Ford when I heard the news.  I thought I had best come and see for myself that the fallen were being treated appropriately.  It pleases me to see that it is so." His face, however, shows no pleasure.


Though unannounced by Walcaud, this is very much an Encounter.  Making some Insight rolls...

Grimbeorn

:00 1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 4, 2, total 8

Hathcyn

:00 1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 6, 5, total 17

[Eclecticon]

Of the proud sons of the western vales are Walcaud and his kin.  Long have they known Hathcyn's small clan, and the thegn's moods are not unknown to the swift runner of the foothills.  Nor are his sons, Fencaud and Waldric.  Fiercer foes of orc-kind have the Beornings never known, and it was natural that they would be among the first to pledge themselves to the son of the Skinchanger when he called for young warriors to follow him into battle.

Though he tries to keep hidden the stirrings any father would feel in his heart at such a time, to the Longspear it is plain as day that he has found one son among those laid to rest in the mound, but not both.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn had the insight to know that what he said here and now would shape and define the battle that had occurred here. His description would be the one that would be established in the minds of the people and would lodge itself as the true account. He was also the only one present who had survived the battle outside or was in any position to narrate how it had occurred.

"Hail Walcaud, I stood here in the line when the battle was joined. We tracked the party here; the beasts had taken to the buildings to despoil the folk when we arrived. There was little time for planning if any were to be saved. Bravely the van went in to the long house, the Aetheling in the front. While several remained-on horse to chase down any who ran. Their numbers proved too great, and from the barn their numbers swelled to two score, but the battle had been joined. One son here you can see fell with the wounds of honor, remembering the faces of his father, but as you can see not all are accounted for."

Here he paused, knowing that all who would be in hearing would hang on every word. Indeed, even the grip of the Shield-Gnawed tightened at what the warrior would say next.

"The fight grew desperate as the men and horses were slaughtered for sport, we could not win the day and night fell thicker than the blood we spilled. In pairs those who could broke off so word would be passed and the alarm raised as to the number of this ill company. As fate would have it the lot of keeping the path fell to me and my shield companion. The Wolfslayer fought free of the death trap of the long house and his axe swung until all who could made what escape they may. By order of Grimbeorn we have come to bury the dead, for he has brought comb, drink, and bread to honor them, but also to seek for the living who escaped bearing the wounds that also would honor the faces of their fathers. I have tracked some to the ford and others towards the river, but I am not hale and would not travel far while we were few in number. But I have spoke out of turn, it is Grimbeorn Wolfslayer son of Beorn you should speak with."

  For lack of any other skill, and I believe Matt is on vacation I will try Song to attempt some successes. Success I covered Grimbeorn blurting out people bugged out on him, which Hathcyn thought he would do. Failure I am insolent, he doesnt beleive me anyway, or i made Grimbeorn's life more difficult.    1 d is all I got bro!

Rolled 1d12 : 6, total 6

Rolled 1d6 : 1, total 1

[Telcontar]

   delivery or reception apparently was crap, that will learn me to stick to what I know.

[Eclecticon]

Yeah, I think that Hathcyn jumped in a little quickly, and maybe was a little transparent in his excuse-making. 

[Eclecticon]

"Hold your tongue, kin-slayer," Walcaud snaps.  "Your man has a voice of his own, to say what he will and not let lesser folk speak for him."  Behind him, his followers exchange glances, unprepared for such harsh words. 

"Enough," Grimbeorn retorts.  "You are right – my tongue is my own to speak as I please, and it pleases me to say this: I know not what may have passed between this man and his kin, but he has proven his worth to me.  No fewer than five of the enemy we faced met their ends spitted upon his spear, and this after he was sore wounded in my service!" 

They face each other, unspeaking, for a few seconds – faces stern, eyes unblinking. 


Grimbeorn (NPC-ed for the time being) will try to use Awe to put Walcaud back in his box. 

1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 4, 5, total 15

[Eclecticon]

Finally, the silence is broken by Walcaud.  The thegn spits on the ground, as if to clear his mouth of a foul taste.  "Your words are well-chosen.  My quarrel is with neither of you."  He looks bitterly at Hathcyn.  "You held your spear, that night, better than my own sons and that is to your credit.  As for you," he locks eyes with Grimbeorn once again, "I offer this counsel: every man who has ever shed blood in anger understands that losing battles goes hand-in-hand with fighting battles.  But there are precious few who will continue to follow a man who loses more often than he wins." 

He looks up at the mound, still growing as the ceorls and cottars continue to heap earth upon the cairn where rests his son.  "I did not come here to praise the raising of a mound, nor to pick open old wounds.  I came to see to my sons.  One lies here, and you have brought goods to speed him to his rest.  But how can it be that the other is still lost?" 


I'll throw open the opportunities for skill-use here – feel free to use Hunting to describe the lack of a followable trail, or Travel or Lore to guess at where the escapees might be heading.  Don't forget also that you can use Insight once an encounter has started, to provide counsel to Grimbeorn. 

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn demurred.
Travel Roll

Rolled 1d12 : 7, total 7

Rolled 3d6 : 6, 3, 2, total 11

"I will speak, for in this matter I am not hasty, for it was I who followed the trail."

The Longspear waved his spear in the direction of his travels.

"Those who left the battle traveled that way and I found three tracks. Two that made for the ford, and one that made straight for the river. Being on foot I made for the river to see if any trace could be found of survivors, but there I lost the trail. As for the ford and who went that way they would have passed over it, and i had not the speed on foot nor the time to follow. Across the ford went the greater number. I found no signs of pursuit."

[GandalfOfBorg]

  Sorry for the absence.  Both business and personal travel got in the way of being able to post, not to mention crappy net access to explain the absence.

Grimbeorn knew the man's words to be true and they stung for they echoed what was in his heart. He thought about replying but stayed his tongue.  The man lost his son and he grieved with bitterness in his  heart and was right to do so.  "There will be ample time for revenge and plenty of orc necks to cleave in feeding that fire, but let us finish this work, find our survivors, and honor our dead.  We will then take counsel as to our next course of action."

[Eclecticon]

Mollified, Walcaud bows his head.  "Find our survivors, indeed.  I will admit to having my doubts about you, Grimbeorn Wolfslayer.  But you have proven by your willingness to put yourself in peril that others might live on, and to honour those who fought and fell in your name, to be your father's son.  I will ride in quest of my own boy - never did Waldric have a sense of direction!" 

He also spares Hathcyn a look, and says, simply "thanks for your pains."  Then he puts heels to his mount and he and his small retinue go on their way west. 

[Eclecticon]

That was nicely handled.  What's next?  There is daylight enough to be back at Beorn's House not long after nightfall.  The mound building will take at least another day, and someone should be nominated to lead the funerary rites (or one of you could handle it).  Esgalwen and Tate have headed south in pursuit of a fugitive, and a small party headed north to the ruins of the Hobbit inn.  There has been time enough for either party to come back if everything went well.  Rorin is also somewhere north of where you are, making his way to Viglund's hall. 

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn and Hathcyn continued to help for awhile longer before succumbing to the dread of hands-on leaders: delegation.  Setting some men aside to guard this area, the others were left to finish the task they had set out to do this morn.  He returned to the house of his father to see if the others returned and deliberate the next course of action.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn remained available to the Wolfslayer, but did not follow him around. He leaned upon his spear or watched the folk toil as the mound rose. In time the burned out buildings and the mound would mellow and fade into the countryside. Perhaps to be settled again, perhaps not. Once again the passage of Orcs had marred the land and people in their passing. In the quiet peace of the evening Hathcyn replayed the battle again in his head. Not in the way that a horror haunts the mind of the living, but as a problem to be studied and reviewed. He walked the ground again and picked through the gear of the orcs. Studied how it had been carried and the way they had fought. As he did so a deep hate was born within him. Far past the urge or call for revenge, but the deep slow burning hate that could sustain a man for a lifetime. Such a hate was born that evening in Hathcyn Longspear for all orcs.

When Grimbeorn summoned him he came. The Aetheling was addressing what at first he took to be a child. Upon closer inspection however it was, if not a man, at least full grown. A bow was at its side and a broach of a great helm adorned his cloak.

"I came to help Grimbeorn. I heard the news and came with those who were close at hand. An attack on your father and his folk is an attack on me, in debt both for the gift of my own land, but also out of friendship."

Hathcyn saw Grimbeorn crack a rare smile.

"Thank you friend. I'll leave the task in your hands. You will more readily find the words for this mound than I shall and labors still I have of which this is only one."

The great bear of a man shook hands with the diminutive warrior and bade Hathcyn follow him. The details of the battle having been seen again with fresh eyes only the burden of the battle's loss encumbered the young warriors as they made their way back to the house of Beorn.