Foes of the Folk

[Eclecticon]

Weary in body but buoyed by Walcaud's approval, Grimbeorn and Hathcyn arrive by torchlight back to Beorn's House.  Despite the fact that the enchanted dogs, sheep and ponies stir from their slumber to press muzzles to hands in search of reassurance, and braziers burn on the vast porch to light the entry and the hearth is lit to drive away chill, there is a growing sense of emptiness to the place.  It is as if the spirit of Beorn, so long present that it has soaked into the timbers like the scents of smoke, honey and beasts, is now dissipating. 

Indeed, apart from the two recently returned, the hall is empty of Men.  There is no sign that either the northern company or the southern pair have returned from their journeys. 

[Eclecticon]

Anything from you two?  Otherwise, I'm happy to say that Hathcyn rests and heals while Grimbeorn waits for news. 

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn was on the mend, but now he was restless. There was no word from the other parties, and the house was void of companionship. He was not too keen on dogs, the spirit of the fox was strong within him and there was no friendship between those two beasts. He paced for a bit and knew that the Wolfslayer would neither begrudge his departure as an insult or participate in any palaver Hathcyn sought to engage in.

He stood on the porch drinking slowly and looking out at the hives and thought to himself. The Queens are surely busy in their hives, but there are no women in this hall, busy or idle. He tapped his foot and looked out across the wild flowers and westering sun, impatient, bored in an instant he decided.

The lanky warrior was soon striding across the fields, small barrel of ale under one arm, a full mug already in tow and no destination in sight. Surely some folk were close about and not all had departed. If not a herders daughter, a widow, if not a widow, a companion to dice with, if not a companion the stars themselves would be company and he would sing his songs to the firmament.

[Eclecticon]

Chance being what it is, it is not long before Hathcyn finds what he seeks.  Following the flight of starlings and the directions pointed by thrown sticks, he finds himself taking a path north and west of Beorn's House.  Then, upon a hillside not far from the trail he follows, he sees a woman sitting while a child plays, industriously beating a hawthorn tree with a stick and sending red and gold leaves flying into the air.  Nearby, half a dozen cattle impassively graze. 

As he comes closer, the woman sees him and climbs to her feet, though slowly as if reluctant to do so.  Like a banner raised upon a pole, her un-bound hair, as bright red as the leaves behind her, catches the breeze and begins to wave. 


Tom, you probably know this as well as I do, but for those following at home, un-bound hair on women was a traditional sign of mourning in early germanic cultures, much like growing beards was among Roman men. 

[Telcontar]

A broad smile broke out on the face of the warrior that not even his overgrown facial hair could hide. He admired the grace and form of the woman as she stood.

"Hail and good eve to you!" He said as he lifted the tankard in his hand.

He huffed along the trail and moved closer to the woman.

"I have come from the hall of Beorn the Great, and while there are wondrous things to behold in the quiet times the house is quite.....well quiet."

He had not moved too close but set down his barrel and took another sip and looked at the cows and dropped to the ground.

The woman eyed him slightly suspiciously, "I dont often converse with strange men who wander from no where over the hill."

He gazed upon her again while seated, "I am Hathcyn the Longspear," he looked then at his hands and limbs, "I am a man, a thirsty one, but no strange man. I was in search of conversation."

The woman was still standing, but here apprehension had lessened some.

"In deed, I know of you. I saw your oration at the gathering and i know you to be no great converser if your kennings be any indication. Have you brought a barrel of ale to ply strangers with?"

Hathcyn laughed again. "that was a rather poor showing, but who has said I am sharing my ale?"

At that the woman laughed in her turn. "You seem harmless enough, and wounded it would appear. But I have a staff and unless you're tougher than an old cow hide you'll behave yourself."

Hathcyn raised his mug in toast and took another swallow. "It brings me such joy to hear words spoken, especially when they come from such a lovely lady on a fine evening. The house of Beorn is silent and dogs make such terrible companions. May I share in your cow watching burden?"

"Truly. You are no master of words, its sounds like you just compared me to the dogs."

Hathcyn laughed again, "Since you have not given me your name I shall call you Lady Thornapple, both for your hair, cutting jibes, and the hawthorn you were beating when we met."

She blushed then and  looked away, "your aim is true Longspear, for my name is Ubhala, in the reckoning of the old tongue."

"You have shamed the fruit and the berry with your loveliness, and I don't mind the thorns. Come, share a cup and we may watch together, cows and calves require many eyes."

Hathcyn came nearer and they sat together, but his eyes were seldom on the cows.
 

[Eclecticon]

Ubhala partakes of Hathcyn's ale warily at first, but increasingly gladly.  She breaks pieces off a loaf of bread (stale, Hathcyn notes, and with no other fare besides), but eats little herself, leaving most to the boy.  Both are footsore, the Longspear sees, and with little supplies to be abroad.  "This is my son, Roderic son of Rodenath," Ubhala says, as the child settles long enough to enjoy his own cup of ale.  "If you are a friend to Beorn, then you may well know that many men remained to serve at his command after the festival of the moon, my husband among them.  No word has come to us of their fate, but my man visited me in a dream two nights ago and bade me beware his kin, for they would seek to deny me my morning-gift." 

She favours Hathcyn with a harsh look, and he now realises that her eyes show the signs of much weeping and little rest.  "I fear my man is slain, and would seek lord Beorn's word that these cows, all my son and I have left in the world, are mine by right of his law, no matter that my family may grasp and snatch at them." 

Overhead, the wind blows cold. In the distance, a raven flies past, heading pell-mell for the south. 

[GandalfOfBorg]

  Grimbeorn doesn't have anything really, other than the anxiousness of word from the others.

[Eclecticon]

Brooding alone, save for the mute company of magical dogs and sheep, Grimbeorn has drunk all the ale, and eaten all the bread, honey and cheese, he cares for.  Uncharacteristic worry now sits in his stomach like a stone, heavy and undigestible.  Up until now, though his path has been oft uncertain, his objective has always been clear.  His people, and all the free folk, have enemies who must be defeated and driven back to the dark places from which they creep.  But this worry, this mute absence of news from north or south, cannot be defeated by steel and sinew, nor will passionate rage enough to enflame all of Middle-Earth win the trust and goodwill of his people. 

The son of Beorn spits into the firepit, and spits once more, but the foul taste is not in his mouth, but his mind, and will not be cleared.  So it is with no little relief that he hears the sudden beating of wings as a raven swoops into the hall through the open smoke-hole.  The bird alights on a cross-beam and croaks "suuuun of Beaaaawwwwn!  Suuuun of Beaaaawwwwn!  Knooow that Raaaawwwrin is beseeet!  He is waaaylaaaid in the woooods to the naaaawwwth!" 


Passive-aggressively ask and ye shall receive. 

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn cleared his throat and thought for a moment.

"I have not the ability to say whether you have dreamed falsely or truly. There was a battle in which I played a small part. The Wolfslayer and two companions only left the field in order. The rest were slain and other fled, I do not know there where bouts though today I tracked some of them with no luck. I do not know if your husband was among those who fled or those who fell."

Hathcyn was quiet for a moment while his news sunk in. His thoughts turned to all the coin he had made and saved along the forest road of the Dwarves. He could perhaps buy all of the cows though it would take all that he had saved. He thought then of his own small herd of goats and sheep he had in the north, and of his brother....

"I will speak to Grimbeorn, who rules during his father's travel. He has the authority to make a judgement in this matter I believe."

He paused, "But he has many cares and worries. Another option is we can go before the Reeve and I will buy your cows at a fair price, and then entrust them to your safe keeping and herding. As payment you shall have use of the products of the beasts and retain one fourth of all profit for your own, including any new calves for a herd of your own. If your husband's relatives complain, you may give them half of the money if you wish or claim it all as steward of the inheritance of your son. Either way you would be able to keep the cows and a livelihood for you and your son. And I would gain the profits of a herd without all the flies."

Hathcyn laughed then. "I'll not be a herder again I think. Those foul beasts that slew our kin have awoken a burning hatred in my heart and this is not the last wound I think I shall from them..... It is no matter. What say you to my agreement Lady Thornapple?"

[Eclecticon]

Ubhala regards Hathcyn dubiously.  "Such an offer you would make to a widow you have barely met?  I find that I must question either your motive or your good sense."  Sparing a glance at Roderic (who, ale-cup empty, is now casting his stick as if it were a spear) she stands.  Unbidden and largely unconsciously, Hathcyn stands with her.  "Nonetheless, I will not spurn such a generous offer with winter drawing so near.  In return for your silver, then, it shall be as you say.  Further," she adds, eyes narrowed, "if your hatred of those beasts who deprived me of a husband and Roderic of a father is truly great enough to send you from home and field to fight them, then know that you shall always find hospitality at the house of Ubhala." 

[Eclecticon]

My apologies - I wrote that post yesterday and thought it had gone through.  Not sure what happened there. 

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn's fingers probed at the bandages at his side. He felt the dampness of it from lugging the beer barrel around as it had wept some in the process.

"The money was gained felling trees and pulling stumps along the great road the dwarves are building. It was honest work and I did it for something to do with no thought as to what I would spend the money on. I'm restless in heart and spirit, and do not think to stay long in one place. But now that curiosity and wandering have been sharpened to hate for these creatures."

He watched the boy shout as he banged the stick on his arm and then tossed it at his imaginary foes. 

" I see my offer as both a kindness and an investment. You have a need and it is within my power to help you. You have a skill already with the beasts and I otherwise would squander my coin. In turn I thank you for your generosity and hospitality."

Hathcyn plucked several of the hawthorn leaves and placed them in his belt.

"I should return to the Wolfslayer and the Hall of Beorn. Make what arrangements are required and I will leave the coin for you there if I am called away."

He filled his mug one more time and leaving the barrel went back down the hill he had come up. 

[Eclecticon]

Nice.  Okay Matt, what does Hathcyn find when he returns to Beorn's House?  What's Grimbeorn up to?

[Telcontar]

   ok lets get this party back to at most three action settings.

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn cursed his luck, the weather, and the absence of his friends.  "Bird, what besets your master and how far away?"