Race to the Council

[Eclecticon]

Dim though the sunlight may be through winter's heavy cloud, to Laeral's eyes it is searing as she emerges from the labyrinth beneath Lake-Town.  Swiftly, she finds an empty pier in the market pool and makes fast the raft.  Curious that Hathcyn made such a matter of returning this, she thinks with a brief smile, for it seems simple enough to me! 

Turning her mind again to the urgent matter before her, she speeds up the pier and into the still-empty streets.  Though the chill air burns her throat and weariness threatens to claim her limbs, she sprints toward the great thoroughfare of Bridge Street, where scant hours ago the plot against the Council came to a bloody head.  There, however, she is brought up short by the sound of rough voices, one of which she is certain is that of Wulfdan, not far away toward the lake shore to her left. 

Briefly, she hesitates.  Following them would draw me away from the Town Hall, but much could be learned from overhearing their words, or swift retribution exacted for Wulfdan's betrayal of Grimbeorn!

[GandalfOfBorg]

 
If she believes that she can spare a moment, Laeral will remain hidden a moment, listening for anything of consequence.

Stealth -  1d12 : 5, total 5
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 3, 4, total 9

Awareness -  1d12 : 8, total 8
Rolled 3d6 : 3, 6, 1, total 10

Otherwise, she continues immediately on to the council.

[Eclecticon]

I'm going to take the position that rolling dice suggests she thinks she can spare a moment.  Narrative to follow (as I'm just about to leave work).

[Eclecticon]

"... brought the horses?" comes the voice of Wulfdan as Laeral cross closer, picking her way from alleyway to doorway as her ears prick up. 

"Aye, as we were bid," comes the reply.  "But what of Hafstan and Alwin?"

"Lost, curse them."

"Curse them?" the second man says, incredulously.  "Fell they to the blades of the Aethling's men?  Then they gave their lives for you!  Have you at least the treasure promised us by the southern king?  Nay, for we find you lone and poor as a beggar!"

Wulfdan's hiss of pain is audible beneath the sound of his mounting.  "Blunten thy tongue, lest it speak even less wisely to me!" 

"Bah!  Your father was in his day a man to be feared, but not you.  You will be forever my kinsman, but no longer shall I name you for my lord!   You shall lead us into perdition or death!"

"Abide here, then, and hope that the son of the Bear shall pay you no heed!"

Then comes the sound of rapid hoofbeats upon the timbers, and Wulfdan, son of Wulfdas Ram's-blood, takes flight from Esgaroth.

[Eclecticon]

Smiling once again, Laeral races down the empty street, all thought of concealment set aside.  She passes the side way from which she emerged, the breath rasping in her lungs, and carries on further until the street reaches the stout gate leading into the courtyard before the Town Hall.

Had she breath enough remaining, the elf-maid would cry out in frustration, for the gate is shut and before it, whether by some command of those within our through their own bravery, a loose knot of town guardsmen are making their stand, sword and shields at the ready.  They look at Laeral, momentarily agog at her sudden appearance. 


Over to you, Matt - how do you want to get past them?

[GandalfOfBorg]

"To the Council, they are in peril!  Protect the king and queen!  Follow me to protect them all!" the elf-maid cries.

 
She uses Fierce with her Awe test.

Awe -  1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 2d6 : 2, 3, total 5

If that doesn't get them to make way for her, she'll just budge through.

Athletics -  1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 2d6 : 2, 6, total 8

[Eclecticon]

Well that'll get it done! It's not formally an Encounter, but I think it's fun to bring her Beauty of the Stars virtue into play.

Narrative to follow, but congratulations - Laeral is going to make it in time.

[Eclecticon]

The Men start at Laeral's call to action, more than one leaping into the air in surprise as their arms and legs answer the call before their minds have grasped the situation.  Laeral has seen this reaction from the younger race before, and knows that, days from now, they will not be able to say with any certainty why they had bent their backs to heave the gate open, nor who they had seen race through toward the Town Hall. 

Through the doors of the Hall she bursts, cheeks flushed, limbs exhausted but with enough breath yet in her to cry "The wine is poisoned!  Do not drink!" 

Startled, the members of the Council, who were indeed in the midst of receiving cups of warmed wine from the Master's own supply, look at her in shock until Grimbeorn, knowing not how this knowledge came to Laeral but willing, from experience, to trust her, dashes the contents of his cup to the floor.  As the rest of the Council follows according to their nature, spilling the contents of their cups or simply setting them aside, the thin woman before the assembly, plain of face and garment, such that Laeral cannot rightly say whether she has seen her before at all, lets out a piteous scream.  Drawing a knife from her belt, she lunges for Queen Una.  No killer is she, however, for King Bard darts from his seat and seizes her, his strong hand wrenching the knife from hers while receiving no more than a cut across his jacket for his troubles. 

The woman, Solvieg surely, is taken by the guards in the chamber and Laeral, her breath only slowly returning after her exertions, is left to mutely receive the thanks and congratulations of the Master of Lake-Town, and of all the Council of the North. 

[GandalfOfBorg]

Some of the guards that heeded her words from the gate arrive shortly after her and bolster the protection about the council without further command, knowing it is what they should do.  Even worse news she still had to impart and worst for the Beornings. "Lords, Grimbeorn," she looks him dead in the eye, "Wulfdan has proven false, more false than you had ever hoped, for he is in league with the Shadow.  Send out riders with haste for he has bolted, leaving the bodies of your kin in his wake."

No more talk was needed for Grimbeorn stormed from the council chambers before hearing what more she had to say and like a gale he bounded out with the cry of a beast wounded and man betrayed in one.  No order he gave for treachery of this sort struck his honor and pride alone and he would bear none to deal with this alone.  "My lord," she looked to Legolas with urgency, "He cannot go alone!  If you did not hear or felt its presence, but a Nazgul was found in the bowels of the city.  Only by the utmost of our strength of us four were we able to drive it off barely yet it still could be nearby."  All it took was a look from the elf princeling's eye and the four Wood-elf guards disappeared from the chambers as if they hadn't been there.  He looked deep into her for a moment and his face softened as if coming to a fair conclusion.  "You appear to have suffered little with your battle but take me to the others," he commanded, "Even the merest encounter of these foul things can leave the worst of wounds."

There were mutterings and gasps at the words Laeral spoke.  "Nazgul?" as most only understood the barest of the Elvish tongue.  Those more steeped in lore and language blanched at the word translated to Common: Ringwraith!  And once that word was spoke aloud, the mutterings got louder in disbelief for it conjured up denial in old wives' tales and the bogeymen of childhood tales.  For others, and rightly so, quailed at their mere mention for they are terrible enemies of old and not encountered in these parts in half an age.