Wuduseld

[GandalfOfBorg]

In effort to maybe temper the response of one of his dearest friends whose been in his company maybe a little too much, Grimbeorn interjects, "We appreciate your plan to muster and come in force, as defending one of us defends us all.  We would hope that aside for your grand march that a few men be spared to ride with as scout and initial bulwark as the our troop moves with all haste."

  The Beornings are (at least attempting to be) the level-headed and even-keeled today?

 

Courtesy -  1d12 : 6, total 6
Rolled 2d6 : 5, 6, total 11

[Eclecticon]

 A here, a there, and sooner or later it adds up!  Six successes now and one failure. 

Tom, Rhosgobel is eight days from here, plus another if you go via Woodmen-Town.  Assuming nothing goes wrong. 

[Eclecticon]

A chorus of indignant 'aye's follows Esgalwen's plea as Ingomer scowls and tries to listen to Grimbeorn.  He cannot reply, though, before Fridja slaps him lightly on his wrist and adds "For shame!  Surely a force might be gathered sooner.  Why, we know of nigh six score warriors who would arrive within a day, were the Axebreaker of old to sound his horn!" 

Her statement drops like a stone into a silence, as the elders of Woodland Hall wait to see whether she has overstepped the mark.  Ingomer lets the silence linger as all eyes settle on him, and for a moment the companions see how it must have been in days past, when the hall waited on his word and that word was never questioned.  But the moment passes and the weight of years and cares settles on his shoulders once again.  "A day, then.  Send the word to the outlying steadings that I call the folk to arms.  Send word also to the crofters and shepherds at the wood's edge.  We shall march before they arrive, but some will come to defend this place in our absence." 

"And you, my lord," he adds to Grimbeorn, "shall have your scouts.  Fridumar is kin to Arbogast.  Take him and those who he names as his companions." 

[Eclecticon]

Anyone want to try for anything else, while you basically have the ear of Woodland Hall?

[Telcontar]

"Now that's settled, where's the smoked beer and beachwood fired boar everyone is always talking about?"

Hathcyn looked about him as if it would spring to life or enter carried by a shrub. Such was the reckoning of one who was long in Beorn's Hall. 

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn winces inwardly at his standardbearer's comment as he replies to the offer of men with a bow.  "I and the Black Tarn are grateful for your offer.  I will collect Fridumar and his men presently.  Our repast will be short, only so long as it takes for the men to gird themselves and horses for the journey and battle.  My thanks again for your hospitality."

[Eclecticon]

Quickly, the discussion concludes and the Fellowship are left to their repast.  As they take what rest they can, word is spread among the folk of Woodland Hall and its surroundings.  As the company watch, axes and shields are fetched from hidden recesses of Wuduseld, and forest hunters trickle in through the gates with bows and spears in hand.  Many of the assembling warriors, it seems, have brought their hounds, long-haired as they are long-legged, to join the fyrd with them. 

Some two hours after the meeting with the council of elders, Verwyne reappears.  Though she takes pains to conceal it, to those who have known her, be it ever so briefly, her distaste for the man she leads to the companions is clear.  Though he is alike to Arbogast and his brothers in face and body, there is a wariness in his eye like a cur accustomed to the boot of its master.  As Verwyne makes her excuses and leaves, he gives a lopsided bow and introduces himself, the smell of ale heavy on his breath.  "Fridumar, at your service.  I'm told you need men to scout the southern woods, and I know just the fellows!" 

His words are full of cheer as he leads the companions out through the southerly gateway, chattering almost without pause about the lambing over the winter just gone, the lives of shepherds and charcoal burners in the north and a host of other matters, few of which seem of any interest to the companions.  Before long, though, it becomes plain that he is speaking around a matter that he will not say outright. 


I'm going to do some Riddle rolls here to see if any of you pick it up ahead of time:
Esgalwen

1d12 : 6, total 6
Rolled 1d6 : 5, total 5

Grimbeorn

1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 1d6 : 1, total 1

Hathcyn

1d12 : 1, total 1
Rolled 1d6 : 4, total 4

[Eclecticon]

Esgalwen begins to have an inkling that Fridumar's living does not come by entirely honest means when there comes a whistle from beside the narrow woodland path that the four now tread.  Fridumar halts, stroking the head of his mangy hound with a nervous energy, and holds up a warning hand toward the companions as a small company of men even more ragged-seeming than he move out of the undergrowth to block their passage forward and back. 

"What have you brought us, friend?" asks one who steps forward. 

Fridumar, his throat bobbing nervously, looks back to the Fellowship.  "They're not the most well-regarded of men, but for sneaking through the woods I should think of none better.  But I, uh, think you should explain to them what you want them to do." 


  Given that all three PCs have a Martial living standard (and I'm presuming you haven't brought much Treasure along with you) you don't have enough to just buy these guys off, so someone will need to make a roll or two to get them on side.  There's no need to do this as a full encounter, but you'll need an Awe roll from someone to avoid a fight, and an Inspire or Persuade roll to get them properly on side.

[Telcontar]

  As we learned from the last chapter if someone is mean or feels off they should be killed out of hand. Redemption of character isnt a thing Paul is into, he's a die is cast kinda guy.

I'll try to drop an Awe roll.



Hathcyn looks at the band of men.
"Good fortune friends, you stand now upon the skane of fate. Your lives about to take a change as your paths have entered the weave to be forever changed. Behold! Grimbeorn Wolfslayer is here, son of Beorn, victor of Stonyford. We have need of your blades and bows, and as if in answer to my lords need here you appear."

Rolled 1d12 : 11, total 11

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

[Telcontar]

   my heart wasnt in it anyway. 

[tomcat]

Esgalwen side glances at Hathcyn as he prattles on, even as she looks to the faces to see if there are any that she may know. Not a few weeks did she stay within the house of Mogdred and certainly were there many transient men among his ken. Perhaps one of these ruffians might know her from her time amongst them, but still she adds to the greeting.

"Well met, all! As my companion speaks, so it is that you all are needed to aid in a task that could bring you renown and even penance for any wrongdoings you might be charged of. We are in need of able bowmen and sword-hands to scout out the area of the Black Tarn."

She does rattle the small pouch on her hip that holds the coins that she carries. "It could promise coin and it might even promise death, but your valour will be remembered by all the folk of the wood."
The side glance is because of Tom's roll, I am interpreting it as if Hathcyn is overdoing it just a little and coming on a little strong.

The coin is what I mark on my sheet that she always carries.

I will call on my folk lore trait to aid in this - thinking Esgalwen lived among men of this type for a short while.

The rolls are...
TN -- awe 3d

1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 6, 4, total 16

TN -- persuade 3d

1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 3, 2, total 7

here goes...

[tomcat]

Well the awe worked despite the getting a possible success.

The persuade I may spend a on if necessary. It depends on what Grimbeorn might acheive.

[Eclecticon]

Well, since Matt's away and talking things out really isn't Grimbeorn's style anyway, let's assume he lets Esgalwen do the wordy stuff.  I'll take it that she spends the Hope unless I hear otherwise from you, Doug.  Provisionally:

[Eclecticon]

"You speak well," comes the reply, "as does the pouch in your hand!  Absolution and fame are well and good, but a coin in my hand and food in my belly I can enjoy even if I don't perish!" 

With that, the tension dissipates and the outlaws, for such they are, relax.  Their speaker casts his gaze about in a way that seems merely habitual as he introduces himself.  "I am Oren, though in these days Men name me for the Dowel.  You two," he says to Esgalwen and Grimbeorn, "I know already, for once I held the door in the hall of Caewin of the Sunstead when you bore hence the Helm of Peace.  Your hearts are bright and my friends and I shall bring you to the shores of the Tarn, or go there and bring back tidings to you, whichever is to your pleasure." 


  We're about done here, unless there's any more RP you wanted to do (in which case, go for it - it's always a fun read).  Can I confirm, before I start the next thread, that your plan is to go down-river to Woodmen-Town, then cross country to Rhosgobel, without necessarily waiting for the army to muster?

[Telcontar]

  yes, that is my understanding.