Bright Days and Dark Words - the second day

[Eclecticon]

The Town Hall is in uproar when the companions arrive.  Even from outside, where a double-strength guard stands with swords drawn and eyes wide, the sound of raised voices is audible through the thick doors.  When the guards recognise Grimbeorn and usher the Fellowship inside, the full extent of the chaos becomes evident. 

Before the podium and the seven chairs of the Council, petitioners and bystanders alike huddle in small groups - a knot of Bardings here, a clutch of Dwarves nearby - each seemingly uncomfortable in the presence of the others.  Upon the podium, chairs have been knocked over and the Master of Esgaroth tries in vain to intercede as King Bard and Legolas of the Woodland Realm stand with red faces inches from each other, their retainers trying ineffectually to restrain them as they bellow at one another, all thought of dignity set aside. 

"AND FOR WHAT?" yells the Elven prince.  "TO FELL THE TREES THAT HAVE BEEN NURTURED BY MY PEOPLE SINCE THE SECOND AGE OF THE WORLD?"

"AND WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE US DO?" the King of Dale retorts.  "TAKE THE TREES THAT THE DRAGON BURNED CENTURIES AGO?  YOUR FOLK ARE WANING, BUT DALE IS BORN ANEW AND I WILL NOT HAVE IT STUNTED LIKE AN ILL-FED CHILD!" 

"Please, my lords, please..." the Master says, his eyes shut and his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"YOU DARE TO SPEAK TO THE WOODLAND REALM THIS WAY?  NOT FIFTEEN WINTERS AGO YOUR PEOPLE WERE HOMELESS AND DESPERATE!  WHO FED YOU THROUGH THE WINTER AFTER THE BATTLE OF THE FIVE ARMIES?  WE HAVE SEEN KINGDOMS OF MEN RISE AND BE FORGOTTEN, AND WE WILL FORGET YOU IN TURN!" 

"SO SAY YOU!  I SAY THAT WE WILL FELL YOUR TREES, THOUGH YOU FILL US WITH ARROWS AS WE DO IT, AND IN FIFTY YEARS OUR GRANDSONS WILL FARM THE FIELDS THAT WERE ONCE YOUR ETERNAL FOREST!" 

Laeral, appearing like an apparition beside Hathcyn, whispers "The news of the attack reached them not long after I did.  They have not... taken it well.  I have laid out the bones as best I can in the Justice Room, but I think the Council will not see much business done while the threat still lurks in Lake-Town." 

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn toys with a couple thoughts in his seething mind.  These impudent and ungracious, stiff-necked folk!  He had half a mind to sunder the entire dais upon which they stood but he was tired... and as a matter of fact, hungry.  He spied some pies and refreshments, grabbed what he could carry, and brought them to the not-so private tete-a-tete of Man and Elf.  Turning over a chair, he sat down right there in front of them, no more than an arm's length away to watch them go as if it were a child's drama of wooden dolls in the city square.  The food and drink went down especially well with the vitriol slung.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn took the scene in. Here were squabbles and petty fights passion had taken over and reason was lost. Sore and tired from the battle in the street the Beorning was tired and had in this case less patience than his Lord.

While he felt unqualified to speak to a King and a Prince he thought of some way in which his low status could intrude on the situation and place a momentary pause and regrouping.

From his side Hathcyn grabbed the silver tipped ram horn of the mountain. He placed it to his lips and blew a note. Not the loudest of notes inside, but sufficient that it could not be overlooked.

All stopped and stared at the wild Beorning for a moment.

"THRAIN KING UNDER THE MOUNTAIN HAS COME TO RETURN HOME. Lord Balin of Erebor."

He bowed his head in the direction of the elder dwarf and ceded the floor to him.

[GandalfOfBorg]

  Oh man, they were getting to the good part, Hathcyn.

[Eclecticon]

Both Grimbeorn and Hathcyn's actions call for some die rolls. For starters, mocking royalty to their face is one thing. Mocking royalty to their face and getting away with it is another.

Grimbeorn (Awe)

1d12 : 8, total 8
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 1, 5, total 8

[Eclecticon]

Looks like the great and the good are paying attention.  Hathcyn gets a roll too, to see how they take it.

Hathcyn (also Awe)  [/b]

1d12 : 10, total 10
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 2, 6, total 14

[Eclecticon]

Nice work. I'll write up the results in a bit.

I'm typing this out on my phone while dinner cooks, so please note that I haven't updated people's AP.

[GandalfOfBorg]

  Eh, well the great and powerful are making a mockery of their station, one can't help but pull up a box of popcorn, er meat pies.

[Telcontar]

  oh!  The LM rolls are always great when made for the players!!!!

Thats right chumps The Exiled King Under the Mountain is back. You know, the one in ALL THE SONGS YOU PEOPLE SANG UP UNTIL FOVE YEARS AGO.

[Eclecticon]

Like a blanket thrown over a fire, silence falls in the hall leaving resentments yet unabated to smoulder in the shadows.  Balin stands forth, hands raised in an appeal to the lords and kings upon the podium.

"My lords," he begins, "the herald of the Beornings speaks truthfully, for my people have been granted a gift beyond price by a great friend to all the Free Peoples.   But the news of this morning is hardly fair, for even now the emissary of Saruman the White, who by this gift has shown his willingness to serve the folk of the North in ways no other power is capable, lies sorely wounded in my house, and may yet perish for his good will in journeying here."

He clasps his hands behind his back and begins to pace the floor in an attitude of grave contemplation, the assembled petitioners edging out of his path. "We all must grasp the gravity of what has occurred.  A messenger, protected by the custom of all civilised folk, has been foully assaulted.  My lord Grimbeorn..."

"Has put to death Osgar, a true thegn and hearth-companion of mine," cries Mogdred, bursting from his seat. "And now his name is blackened by this falsehood,that he was in league with dark powers and accosted the Beorning prince with murder in his heart!  I tell you, there will come great sorrow for the folk of Beorn if his weregeld is not..."

"The Lonely Mountain will pay," Balin interrupts in turn, and Mogdred, his fury suddenly without focus, can only stand silent for a pregnant moment.  Then, without further word, he resumes his seat.

"As I was saying," Balin continues, "one of the Council has come under attack."  He casts his gaze toward Legolas and adds "another has already been the target of violence.  It is clear to me that the Council cannot continue its business in such conditions, and must be prorogued until such time as the source of the threat is found and driven hence." 

"I agree," says the Master, with visible relief. 

King Bard, his face no longer flushed and his breathing calm, then speaks.  "So may it be.  The Men of Dale have long been the protectors of Esgaroth, and we shall not now shirk from that duty.  My warriors and I will join the hunt, and the battle." 

"As shall I, and mine," proclaims Mogdred.  "I shall demonstrate the might and honour my people in the clash of iron."

[tomcat]

"And to whom shall you take this battle, my Lords?" Esgalwen asked, having been silent through the whole ordeal. "What enemy shall we confront and where? It seems that as soon as a threat is revealed, the Shadow shrinks back from the light cast upon it. From what we have seen thus far," the Ranger gestured towards her companions, "It is evil that has rooted within our own allies."

Voices rose about the chamber, but Esgalwen spoke louder, "Yes, a man of Tyrant's Hill has been slain, Mogdred, but it was not due to his idleness. He threatened all within the square and Grimbeorn did what was necessary - as did we all. The archer I struck, before he died, called out to his wife - or maybe his sister - in fear of the Shadow that they followed. Lastly, undead things made of the charnel earth from whence they came, attacked us last night and so threatened the Elven Prince."

She looked around at the hall to see where Ceawin sat among them. "I believe we need to look first within our own houses before we go forth to face this unknown foe. Our watch must be ever vigilant, but it must start here."
Before she says anything else, Esgalwen will want to know if Ceawin is within the Master's Hall.

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn pauses from his reverie with the conclusion of Esgalwen and stands.  "My compliments to the show put on by our righteous and indignant lords," he says eyeing the elven prince, lord of Dale, and Mogdred. "For who needs such dread enemies as The Dark Lord when we have friends as these, sniping as you do?"  He lets that sink in for a moment.  "I agree with my friend that we must both stand together and look within before rushing to meet an unknown foe.  That also means keeping our vigilance from becoming a witch hunt as well that may lead to a sundering of our bonds and ties, tenuous as they may be in some cases.  Make no assumptions, follow the facts where they lead."

[Eclecticon]

Doug, Caewin is here.  Go for it. 

[tomcat]

Esgalwen felt her tension diminish with Grimbeorn's words thrown in to support her own. Across the room she saw the Thegn of Sunstead sitting amongst his peers.

She looked back to the Beorning and nodded, "We must follow the facts. I will seek out this woman - her name was Solveig. Perhaps she lives within the town and may provide answers to what the dead man spoke. Hopefully, I do not search in vain. Perhaps some of you have heard this name? If so, it will ease this burden."

Esgalwen waited to hear any response to her question, all the while keeping Ceawin within her peripheral vision. It was time to speak to the man of Sunstead. Ever since he donned his crown, the oddities spoken of him had increased. Why would he have had dead things dug from the ground and brought here to Lake-town?

It was another lead that needed pursued.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn scratched at the beard at his chin and looked a sideways glance at Mogdred. He spoke to him, from the side of his mouth.

"This is twice now you have made demands of others on the honor of your folk in my presence. Once on the Field of Heroes, and now again here in the Halls of Long-Lake. Perhaps, if your folk practiced better manners in general you would not have to constantly rise to their defense sword in hand. Is your honor so thin that only the edge of a blade defends it? Your father thinks you a better man than that. This is not Woodland Hall, this is Long Lake, this is east of the wood. Let us not prove to these people that we are woodland savages though our customs are different. Let us not squabble."

Hathcyn rose his hand to the air and spoke,   

"Lords, here assembled are the great magnates of the realm. East and West of the wood. Nowhere and at no other time has there been a more distinguished body of men to sit upon an Althing. Here is the highest seat of judgment assembled in our history. Are we blind to not see that this union is threatening? These attacks and these troubles are meant to undermine this opportunity. Among you all matters could be settled and among your peoples see that will done. Who would see such a union a threat? The answer to that question is who is to blame for these ills. Appoint bailiffs among you to investigate this matter and dedicate your time to resolve the issues of the realm, make peace, forge bonds, and take the return of Thrain King Under the Mountain as a sign that lordship has again returned to the land. Was it not sung, The streams shall run in gladness, The lakes shall shine and burn. All sorrow fail and sadness At the Mountain King's return!"