CHAPTER 16 - Seven Houses

[Eclecticon]

The summer wanes, as summers will, and the few who wander the war-scarred lands of the Anduin valley bring such tidings as they can to the hall of the Fox's Tale.  Viglund, they say, nurses his rage in Fystenheorth like a banked and bitter fire, and unwisely does any raise their voice to ask what he will do to avenge his shaming upon the field by this new southern enemy.  Or indeed to ask what ransom shall be paid for his heir, for Viglar his eldest son, it is told, was taken alive in the battle of the Old Ford and now languishes surely in some terrible dungeon, beaten by his captors as he once abused the thralls who fetched his drink and meat. 

Young Woodmen, leaving the lands of their kinfolk to seek their fortunes in Lake-Town or in the broad lands of Dale, tell of the coming of Mogdred, King of the Vales and Lord of Tyrant's Hill, to Wuduseld for to give the funerary rites for his father.  "It was a near thing that the elders of Woodland Hall let him enter," tells one young charcoal burner after she has drunk her fill and licked her bowl clean.  "But the duties of a son to his dead father are a sacred thing and not to be hindered, be he never so tardy in his coming!" 

Others come, not from the north, but the west, for though the folk of Beorn be proud they are just as much practical, and the clans on the western bank of the river were ever fewer, and further between.  "Here, where the great thegns still abide," says one who comes with his family to till the fields and tend the herds of the Longspear, "we can protect each other.  We'll all need to do more of that before the good times come again!" 

Yet, though the days may be dark for many of the Beornings, in the land of the Green Stone it is easy to think that all is well across the wide world, for the mead is plentiful and so is the game of the nearby woods.  But times of ease pass all too quickly, and before the green leaves of summer have begun to yellow, travellers come along the Forest Road bringing news of new troubles.  It is Esgalwen who sees them first as she wanders close to the road: a party of a score or more, many on foot but with a handful of grey-haired elders uncomfortably perched upon a wain piled with goods. 

In their centre rides one clearly their leader, for tall he sits in his saddle and the gleam of precious things upon his brow and saddle-pommel can be seen even at a distance.  As he spurs his horse forward, these resolve themselves into an iron crown and a finely-wrought helm, and the rider names himself as he calls out a greeting. 

"Ho, and well met warder of the way!  I am Caewin, Lord of the Sunstead and giver of rings to all who would have them!  Fair is the day... why stone me, for you are Esgalwen of Gondor, whom all folk of the Sunstead love and admire!  Fair indeed is the day we on which we meet once again!" 

The Ranger, for her part, beholds a man who has clearly aged since last he ventured west of Mirkwood, though his garb has grown only richer.  Upon his saddle rides the Helm of Peace, forged years ago by the hand of Rorin and still showing no sign of wear or damage.  If Caewin marks the downward twitching of the corner of her mouth at the unbidden memory of the same helm gleaming in the light of burning brands as dead hands held it high, he gives no sign.  Rather, he laughs as if he has never had a care in the world.  "Come!"  he cries.  "I greatly desire to meet the master of this hall, tales of which have spread even as far as my humble home!" 

The meeting, when Hathcyn has been fetched from the meadow where he and Aestid dally, enjoying this time of simple happiness, is suitably splendid.  Upon his high seat, the Foresthelm perches while Caewin, with a flourish, directs his host's attention to where two of his burlier followers heave and strain to carry something large into the hall.  "Please accept this in payment for our stay, for we have journeyed long already and have yet many miles ahead of us," he says as his men unroll a wide carpet, dark as spilled wine, upon the rush-covered floor.  "A small thing," he explains with a smirk, "to keep warm the feet of you and your kin as the nights draw in." 

[Telcontar]

  i'm sufficiently suspicious...

[Eclecticon]

Good, good.  Get ready for more of that!

[Eclecticon]

Gwaithlim watches the performance of this new-come petty lord of Men with equal parts curiosity and amusement.  Then comes a discordant twanging of strings close behind the pill a room against which her leans, startling for its suddenness at much at its volume.  Whirling about, he sees Luindis leaning against the same pillar, harp in hand.  "Merely tuning," she says, favouring him with an impish grin.

From not far away, a Mannish voice whispers "Look, Siegferth!  Elves!"

[GandalfOfBorg]

The elder approaches the younger, disregarding the mutterings of the Secondborn.  "I have heard the tales that entwined our friends with these folk.  Have a care and keen eye -- that one with the bright helm may yet bring forth yet another cautionary tale told about the nighttime hearths."

[Telcontar]

"Caewin, aptly you are named The Generous! You would be welcome here in my hall without the need of such a fine gift. I believe several of my companions here you are aquatinted with already. Please, rest from your travel here I am sure the crossing of the forest was not easy. Any news you bring would be helpful, for no longer must I contend with spiders, but also foul men."

Hathcyn noted and realized for the first time what a marvel it must be for him to have elves at his hall. Truly he had traveled with them so long now that he forgot the wonder and amazement at seeing or meeting one. A talking dog, Woodland folk, a spear twice as long as a man's. He would be hard pressed to believe his own stories about him had he not lived them.

"Corvus, bring drink and bread for my guests! Caewin let us talk further at the board. I dont need to talk to a man from a chair."

The Longspear got up and wanted to be close to take the measure of this man and determine what he really wanted at the Inn. He doubted, as generous as he was known to be, that he didnt carry a rug across the woodland realm just to water his horses and slack his thirst. 

[Telcontar]

  Player huddle. What do we know about this guy? Pretty sure the helm or something was corrupting this dude and his people were slowly leaving Sunstead. Did we also have a run in with him at Longlake or was that just more wight shennanigans?

[tomcat]

I can't give too much insight, as I was the Loremaster that introduced Ceawin to you guys a while ago, and so was formed the Company of the Helm. My plan for Ceawin is no longer valid, but I also do not want to reveal anything, as former-Loremaster, the intrigue is necessary to maintain.

I can say that Arbogast witnessed a ritual being performed over the inert form of the Sunstead leader and the helm appeared to be the focus of the dark magic. The heroes interrupted the sorcery and drove the spirits away (or destroyed them), but Ceawin awoke from his stupor and clutched at the helm while muttering.

After that, he made it a token of his house even with the protestations of the heroes. And then the Company left him to his own and returned home.

What is going on with Ceawin is left to interpretation of the current Loremaster, so I am not sure. Esgalwen thinks he is tainted, being whispered dark secrets from the cursed helm he keeps. I do not remember his presence in Dale, but I am going to read back through to see how he was acting.

[Telcontar]

We ran into some of his folks in Laketown so he hasnt been completely silent since the Helm. 

[Telcontar]

  i'm also expecting that this has something to do with the Death of Ingomer that Paul slide into the narrative on the sly.

I a new "chief" of the woodmen is needed.

[GandalfOfBorg]

  Gwaithlim has heard a bit from stories in the halls of Beorn/Grimbeorn, the group themselves, and other stories coming over the Misty Mountains of the tidings in the Wild.  Nothing great, and whatever might be good is still tainted with darkness.

[Eclecticon]

"Wonderful!" Caewin says in response.  "Be it ever so filling, road-fare cannot match the repast of a kind host." 

As the longspear approaches, he subtly looks his new guest up and down, seeking any sign that might point to what lies behind the broad smile and open hand. 


Hathcyn gets a quick Insight roll (usual TN):

1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 2, 2, total 6

We ran into some of his folks in Laketown so he hasnt been completely silent since the Helm. 

Indeed you did - and also long-dead 'heroes of the Lake-folk' who Caewin ordered unearthed and brought to Lake-Town on his way there, apparently knowing where they were buried all of a sudden.

[Eclecticon]

Try as he might, though, Caewin's bearing, mien and manner speak of nothing but common courtesy and the generosity that has brought him great fame. 

Arbogast, watching and long familiar with his friend's habits of thought, sees the flicker of annoyance even if Caewin does not.  Ever hard to know the mind of that one, he thinks to himself, but a long road has he travelled already, and not alone.  He recalls the passage of his own small family along the Forest Road, the closeness of the wayfort common rooms and the unspoken drive to huddle together in the warm light of lanterns during long hours of travel.  This company has scarce been out of each other's sight for weeks, and what the chieftain may not say, his servants will surely know.

Rising from his bench, he finds Gwaithlim and Luindîs amid a knot of Sunstead-folk trying to be discreet in their gawping.  Leaning in close to the she-Elf, he whispers "Our friend's guest's mind is surely heavy with great business.  I do not doubt that he would welcome a distraction." 

Eyes fairly flashing, she seizes upon the opportunity.  "A song, then!" she calls and skips soundlessly to the side of the hearth.  "While the boards are brought out, take your ease my friends!  You who have traversed the greatest of all forests, sit now and enjoy the excellent mead, and hear if you will the Lay of Thranduil and the Vampire, which you may have heard from Mannish mistrels as the ballad of the Green Prince and the Red Queen!  For you have walked in the shadow of the Mountains of Mirkwood, and it is here that the story begins..." 

As she lifts her voice to sing, the Fire-watcher turns his ears instead to the gossip of the travellers, mindful of anything that may hint at their business so far from home.   


Right - this little sequence will be kind of a reverse-Encounter, because the key thing will be keeping Caewin distracted while you badger his underlings.  Each 'round', someone has to make a social test of some kind to keep his attention, and it needs to be something different from the last roll - there's only so much small talk to be made, after all.  Everyone else is allowed a Riddle roll (or something else that you can make a convincing case for) to find some information. 

Luindîs will start the former off with a Song roll:

1d12 : 7, total 7
Rolled 4d6 : 3, 6, 3, 3, total 15

And Arbogast will (provisionally) roll Riddle:

1d12 : 7, total 7
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 3, 6, total 15

[Telcontar]

  so one distraction roll and one riddle roll per round? Or one distraction and everyone else gets a riddle roll?

[Eclecticon]

The latter.  I assume that you're all moving around the hall independently, and only one distraction is required.