FELLOWSHIP PHASE - Dragontide

[Eclecticon]

Arbogast, meanwhile, is going to do something a little different and try his hand at writing a song.  The normal TN would be 18 for this, but I'm going to drop it to 16 by making him write a springtime song (which means the Fellowship can only get a mechanical benefit from it in that season). 

Here goes:
Song roll

Rolled 1d12 : 9, total 9
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 1, 6, total 11

[Eclecticon]

And that's a nice little success there!  The  means that it'll be easier for the Fellowship to get a mechanical benefit from it (TN 14 rather than 16). 

[Eclecticon]

"Arbogast" Lindwine says, her voice hissing sharply in the darkness.  "Husband" she hisses again, taking his shoulder and shaking it as much as she dares. 

"Hzt?"  The Fire-watcher half-wakes in confusion.  "Wheh?"  His heart beats rapidly until he takes in the now-familiar surroundings of Sigvald's cloth warehouse: the scents of wool and moths, the deep, slow creaking of the lake-piles beneath, and the small, warm bodies of Cyffa and Lafwyne all a-slumber.

"You were snoring such that I feared for the state of the timbers above us." 

One eye still determinedly shut as though sleep were a bough he might hang from by a single hand, Arbogast raises his hands and prods at his nose, feeling out its new shape.  "It must be some new twist inside my nose," he whispers in return.  "I never used to snore." 

"You have snored since first I knew you, but never before did it trouble my sleep."  There is a stirring in the darkness as she shifts and pulls at the blankets.  Her feet have once again come uncovered, he guesses.  "And I fancy that you were trying to sing in your dream." 

He grunts.  "Of that I am less surprised.  Yester eve came Tate to see me, and he and I talked of songs for some hours." 

When Lindwine speaks again, he can hear her smile echo in her voice.  "Tate?  The doggerel-peddler who followed your friend Esgalwen with his eyes every waking hour and believed that she knew not?" 

"I am certain that he would name himself 'minstrel', but yes, the very same." 

"And did his heart break to know that she had borne you here but then departed without thinking to seek him out?" 

"Most certainly.  But he is now healed.  This," he says, his voice redolent with mock-gravity, "is likely due to the fact that he is recently returned from an embassy to Dale, and has arrived here with Una, king Bard's queen." 

"Ah.  I have heard tell of her.  The washerwomen and fishwives say that she would raise any man's... spirit." 

"Indeed," Arbogast says, turning over and closing his eye to welcome sleep once more. 

"And?" 

His eye snapping open again, he mutters "and that is all." 

Lindwine shoves his shoulder once again.  "What miser have I wed, that he will not share his treasure of song with me, though it should make him none the poorer?" 

"Darkness and silence enfold us," he groans.  "The blankets bid us take comfort and slumber." 

"Should you slumber once more," she states with all the finality of a judgment uttered, "there would arise such furore of snoring that I, and all the dreadful spirits who abide in darkness should be forced to endure a time of torment.  Nay, nevermore shall you slumber.  And your song do I claim as weregild for the slumber you have slain."

Sighing, he raises himself until his back can lean against the cold wood of the outer wall.  Then he begins singing in the cracking half-voice known to every parent who has tried to sing a lullaby to settle a child without waking them. 

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said
Their new-made buds relax and spread
They cast aside the winter's grief. 

Is it that they are born again
While Men grow old?  No, they pass too
Their yearly trick of seeming new
Is writ upon them in the grain. 

Yet still the high-thrust towers thresh
In full-grown glory every May
Last year is dead, they seem to say
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh!

There is a comfortable silence as she judges his efforts.  "Well have you two wrought your words.  Though I had hoped for something to stir my heart of a winter's night.  Your own heart, I know to be flint-hard but Tate is a great lover!  Or, at any rate," she adds, "a prolific one.  Has he shared no verse of love with you that I might take comfort of as my once-handsome husband is reduced and broken by the world?" 

He chuckles softly.  "I fancy that Tate's words would ill become my ill-mended jaw and toothless mouth, and would occasion only confusion in the hearts of maidens who heard and yet beheld me."  He moves again, lying his head close to hers.  "But I have myself stumbled upon something that may please you." 

Is it for now or for always
The world hangs from a stalk?
Is it a trick or a trysting place
The woods we have come to walk?

Is it mischance or a miracle
Your lips that lift to mine?
And the days like a tumbler's juggling-balls
Are they a sham or a sign? 

Shine out, my star of the evening
Break my sorrows with breast and brow
I take you for now and for always
For always is always now. 

Another pause, and then he adds "I fancy it would sound better coming from Tate." 

"It will sound better once my ears have recovered." 

"It will sound better once my nose has healed." 

"Perhaps," she says, her voice dubious.  "Perhaps you merely need practice."  She moves until their heads touch, their bodies forming an arch above their sleeping children.  "You should sing it for me again." 

He does so, and then the two of them return to their places beneath the blankets, where the Fire-watcher abides until morning. 

A short while later, Lindwine arises, finds a fold of woollen off-cut and hides her ears beneath it. 

[tomcat]

If I can bring the discussion back to the game for a sec, where did Esgalwen land on what to do with the goblins' treasure horde?  It's a fair-sized pile of loot (30* points of treasure) and it might prove tempting to certain individuals.

Man, that is a great question.

I feel she would want to see the materials back to Lake-town, as they are merchant products stolen from the many caravans that have traveled south or came north. Though some of the supplies are spoiled, there is still some that would have survived - whether they be casks of wine, wool, grains, manufactured goods, etc.

That said, she would want to make sure a percentage is given to her riders so as to make the long ride and any deaths a payment or weregild. Lastly, she would want to make sure that her companions of the Helm have substantial coin to be able to take care of their needs.

Is it possible to work it into the story as an Undertaking (Receive Title) to increase Standing? Surely the folks of Lake-town would hold us in high regard for returning their treasures.

As Esgalwen did not actually find this treasure trove, she would include Grimbeorn, Hathcyn, Laeral, and Arbogast in the decision-making.

So if I were to put it into percentages of 30 Treasure...

20% to the Riders of Dale for their efforts and to cover any weregilds on the fallen. [6 treasure]
25% to the companions for finding the treasure. [8 treasure - 2 each, not including Esgalwen as she takes none]
55% back to the people of Lake-town to create good-will and to establish Standing for all the Company of the Helm within the town. [16 treasure - that should earn 1 Standing]

I know the Raise Standing is on an individual level, but I could see their efforts being rewarded - at least as a Receive Title option.

All of this is for you to decide and for the others to input their opinion.

[GandalfOfBorg]

 
Grimbeorn offers no counter to the suggestion, finding it equitable.

[Eclecticon]

Kitbashing some collective Standing rules into existence is probably more mental effort than I can spare at the moment, but I'm happy to give her the 16 Treasure towards her own standing with the Bardings, given how close the alliance is between Dale and Esgaroth.  I think she's currently at 3? 

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn's ordeal among the Orcs had bruised his body and damaged his face but did little to dampen his spirit. He soon healed and while his smile would always be marked by the missing of his teeth, he took it all in stride. The Beorning still had a zest for life and an undying hatred for Orcs. He had traveled far and suffered much with Arbogast and Grimbeorn, but he knew he did not have the depth of friendship with either of them that they shared for each other. So while he stayed and served with Grimbeorn he was also sure not to be the man's shadow in all things.

Lake-town was a marvel to him. Never had he seen such a large body of water and was enthralled by the fact that folk lived upon the surface of the lake. He developed a fondness for fishing and the casting of nets and was quick to learn the art of spear fishing from a boat. He was also amiable and quick to offer a drink with his own coin, so in a thriving trade town he made friends quickly. He also discovered pleasantly that some of the folk of the Lake had worked upon the forest road and that he was known among them by name and reputation. The work on the road was developing a network of young men, eager for work who shared common trials and tribulations creating instant bonds between those who shared in the labor. His active and ambitious mind took stock of this and began to work upon what this might mean for him and the future. It was no surprise that his feet took him to the Elven quarter of the town. He had a desire to see this hidden folk up close and to see how they lived and worked among men, but he also desired to see their workings. He had discovered soon enough that the Elves controlled all of the timber that came out of the forest. The dwarves may build and control the road, but the Elves owned the market in timber, and it was here in Lake-town that it was sold. Only through the trade with the Elves could the men of Lake-town acquire the trees they needed to sink pilings and repair and expand their town. Seeing their workings in the town a plan had begun to take shape in his mind. Then from the Elven quarter he soon found his way to the Market Pool. He had never seen such a large gathering of merchants. The Field of Heroes was a pale shadow next to this and the assembly at the Carrok for Grimbeorn's ill-fated wedding did not match such a sight. And so again a plan began to take shape in his mind.

Hathcyn had a love for the folk of Durin. Of all the people that he had met they seemed closest to his spirit and bearing. Many called them dour and gruff, but Hathcyn only saw a people who had suffered great wrongs but still endured. They may have been stand offish, but anyone who has wandered in the wild for any length of time and been denied bread and shelter could understand how a folk came to be that way. He had always found that once you had proven yourself to a Dwarf they would stand by you even when your errored. He admired much in the folk of Durin and not least their skill in crafting. He was keen to see the dwarves of Lake-town as well and soon found a shop that would suit his needs.

"Hullo Master Dwarf."

"At your service and your family" came the perfunctory reply.

"I have traveled far, and it is a pleasure to be here at Lake-town."

"Pile of boards on a puddle."

Hatchyn slapped two traveling cups on the board that he carried with him and poured out some wine.
"I am Hatchyn, I have coin, and I have a service that needs done, but first we toast to the King Under the Mountain."

The Dwarf eyed him suspiciously but took up the mug, "To the King."

Hathcyn placed his ram's horn on the counter. "I received this for work rendered on the dwarf road, will you put a reinforced ring around it? It is precious to me and I would have no hurt come to it for I put it through hard use."

"This is a ram horn of the iron hills."

"It, is."

"This was made by Gringi."

"It was. I received it from the hand of his brother Krongi."

The dwarf bowed low, "At your service and your family Hathcyn, I am Selmi son of Drundi. I took you for a waif of the wild."

"There is no need to apologize, I look waifish enough and my smile has suffered as of late."

"I will indeed take up this task and what's more I shall surpass your request. You shall not have a crude band, but a circlet of silver engraved by own hand, and an iron rim that will bring strength not only to the horn itself, but also it's voice."

"I have come to the right place! Let us share another drink, this one for ourselves."
{Undertaking Go to the Market Pool LT p12. Horn gains +1 Inspire, cost 2 Treasure.)

Once the coin had passed hands and the wine settled in Hathcyn was quick to continue his day at the market. Long he had saved the coins he had won in his travels and today seemed to be the day to spend it to good effect. Next, he visited the stall of a goldsmith to commission a ring. He described what he wanted in great detail and was pleased by the sketch the merchant had produced. A golden band shaped in the likeness of a fox, with green chipped emeralds for eyes with a body tempered with Iron so the gold would shine almost red and a tail that tapered into silver. {Undertaking Go to the Market Pool LT p12. Ring  gives +1 Awe, cost 2 Treasure.) Next he bought a cloak of Ermine for Aestid and bracelets beloved by the women of the far east.

The days were spent in fishing and cavorting with his new friends along with dinners and passing the time with Grimbeorn and Arbogast. The only other meeting of note was when he ran into the rascal bard Tate.

Two met, both already having shared songs and stores in other establishments, that evening. Several tables were knocked over as the two one time foes embraced. They swapped stores and shared wine until Hatchyn opened his mind to his friend.

"It goes passing Tate it goes passing. I have the bud of an idea that has come to me here. I dare not share it with my other friends for they will think me mad. I have no closeness with the woman you pine for, Grimbeorn will say nothing but either shake his head or frown, I still have no idea what those mean for sometimes it means yes and sometimes no. Arbogast will laugh, call me a fool, and wish me luck."

"This must be a deed for sure then."

"Shut up or I wont tell you."

"Alright friend pray continue."

"I wish to marry Aestid."

"You are right you need luck."

Hathcyn looked him in the eye, "Are you going to let me continue?"

"Yes my friend sorry."

"Wish to marry Aestid, she is much above me and I need to increase my standing among our people. However, that is only the beginning. I have seen here in Lake-town a possibility for my people. The forest road will be the key to great wealth for us in the west. I intend to not only marry Aestid, but as the daughter of Viglund's convert those people to our cause. She will be chief of her people and I will build a great market. At the edge of the wood together we will build a town like this but made of stone not wood. Well some wood, we have a forest.  And there we will the center of trade in the north for Grimbeornings, Aestidian, and Arbogastians."

"Arbogast would be right; you are a fool, but good luck."

Hathcyn looked at him square in the eye quite serious, then laughed and slapped him on the shoulder and smiled a gapped tooth grin.
"It will take luck! But I have been told by the wise that my name means Half King in the speech of other men! Let us toast to the market of the west!"


(Character sheet updated in Drop Box)

[Eclecticon]

Cool narration!  I might ordinarily quibble about the two Underatakings as we're doing a short Fellowship Phase, not the long ones we tend to have at the end of the year, but a) they're the same thing done twice, b) he has the Treasure to spend and c) it hardly gives him an overpowering advantage, so I am officially comfortable with it.

[AlyC]

Laeral finds herself a fish out of water in Lake-Town.  The town is all a-bustle with Men going about their business, and there is a seeming about the place as if anything here today could be different tomorrow - a far cry from the pleasant, but endless stasis of the House of Elrond!

Laeral chose to accompany Hathcyn on his earlier adventures into the Elven Quarter in the hopes of finding and gaining the company of others of her long-lived folk. Instead, to her dismay, Laeral has discovered that the Wood-elves that live and pass through the district are scarcely older (to her) than the Men around them. Indeed, compared to the long-memoried historians and philosophers of Rivendell, they are a wild and bellicose people, though Men may scarcely mark the difference.

Disheartened Laeral retires to an inn having coin and goods about her person sufficient to secure a private room, and a little peace and quiet away from the thronging crowds of Esgaroth at Dragontide.

She doesn't sleep, but still there is a sensation like awakening as she turns from her contemplation of the stars to find a fine-looking elf perched on the edge of her bed.  She looks as if she has been there since the beginnings of Middle-Earth, and that she deigned to allow the room to be built up around her.

The elf greets Laeral as kin for she is Laeral's aunt. Her name is Irimë. The two exchange news for a brief period.

Eventually, Irimë grows grave. To Laeral she imparts the following:
"Few folk of the dusk are willing to venture far from their havens in these waning days, and this makes you of great significance, though you may not yet realise it.  I know that the servants of the Enemy are abroad, but I have worked against them too long, and the hurts my heart bears grow heavier each day.  I fear that I no longer have the strength to face them directly, and the time  will soon come when I can bear the cares of Middle-Earth no longer.  Neice, until that day, I ask that you be my hand."

Honoured, Laeral agrees.