The Tale of Viglar

[Eclecticon]

Between his efforts to endear himself to his rescuers, his idle boasting and his near-constant complaints, Viglar only rarely falls silent between the leaving of the farmhouse and the companions' return to the pier at Woodland Hall, by which time night has near-fallen and Luindîs lies slumped over the gunwale of the boat as if slain by sheer exasperation.  Between the litany of hollow words, however, a tale emerges of darkness and betrayal. 

"Oh aye, it's a tale you'll wish greatly indeed to hear, for I know the true import of what Little King Mogdred has done, and whose designs he has wrecked!  It was the winter afore last, if I rightly recall, when both father and I decided that it would be wise to venture south and seek the aid of the Necromancer who rules the southern forest.  Father clearly couldn't go with a war agin' Beorn's folk on our doorstep so I went myself to speak with his voice.  It wasn't an easy journey, let me tell you, for we ran afoul of such things as you can't even imagine along those dark paths..."

"... so, after we broke free of the spell, gave the slain to the waters of the bog (there being no dry wood to burn them) and slew the last horse so that it couldn't spread any lingering foulness to us, we came to that pile that I'm told is called Fenbridge.  Lo and behold, it seems that we weren't the only travellers to come there, for five rough-looking types (from the forest road, by the look of them) and a wench had come as well, and were ready to set off deeper into the mire!  Oh, she had a weird air about her sure enough, but I'd not seen a comely maid in a while and I thought I'd try..."

"... well, despite all that we made good time along the orc-made road and I found myself being welcomed into the black stronghold itself as an honoured guest at what proved, to our great fortune (or so I thought!) to be a great gathering of folk from all over Wilderland.  I recognised the ruffians from earlier and their kinswoman, though she had nought but scorn in her eyes now, as well as River-folk and Leofrings and grey-faced Dwarves... and Mogdred stood there among them all tall and proud before the black-robed king of that place, with everyone around him all bowing and scraping like it was his castle and he was king of everyone there.  Let me tell you, you'd not catch me on my knees before that snake..." 

"... so then I asked outright: 'What do my father and I have to do to get all these orcs on our side?' and do you know what he said?  I'll tell you what he said!  He said, in that creepy loud-whispery voice that he has, that all we had to do was seize the Old Ford and he'd aid us with orc-armies.  Of course, I knew that was just his first offer, so I stood strong and argued until he agreed that he'd pay us in gold and silver into the bargain!  Nobody in all Middle-Earth haggles better than a son of Viglund!  Now, clearly I wasn't watching ol' Mogdred at the time, but I know he was watching, and listening, and nodding that pretty head of his, wearing that fancy circlet he wears now..." 

"... of course, by that point Mogdred's horsemen had closed in on the bank and his archers were keeping up their volleys, so he said 'Flee, my lord!  The day is lost!'  And of course I was never going to do that, because I'm as great a warrior as can be found in Wilderland, even knee-deep in rushing water and with an arrow in my arm, so I just smashed my mace against my shield and yelled 'Slay me if you can, weaklings, and we'll see how large a pile of you I can make before I go!'.  But then something hit me in the back and I fell over, and I suppose I must have knocked my head on a stone because that's the last thing I recall for a while..."

[Telcontar]

Interlude::

The yammering continued as the party made their way up stream. Hathcyn was adamant and forceful that one member of the house come back with them to relate what they had told.

The husband and wife would not be parted and their youngest son still shaken by what he had seen that day. The Longspear paid a wergeld in gold for the son, though he yet lived. And he paid a ransom for the father to tell his tale at the circle. In the end the wife and youngest son stayed to care for the wounded boy and Hathcyn swore oaths that the man would not be slain by his hand.

In the end the parting was long. He agreed that he would tell the council what he saw and heard, but only if his family came with him. They all feared the reprisal of Mogdred. So the injured son and all the family were now loaded into the boat and headed up stream.

The gunwales sank low in the water, the small craft was overburdened. The elf and the Longspear did most of the work seeing the fatigue and hesitancy in the rest of the party. Together they poled the small, near swamped craft, into the center of the stream. The Elf argued that the center made their task harder, but the Longspear insisted.

The small river craft made it's way into the center and the progress of the party started to slack as the current pushed them in the opposite direction.

The Longspear took a dangerous stance and stood in the boat. He took the cloaked warriors war gear in his arms and tossed it over the side.

"Here is a gift to Dusk-Shadow, formed in the likeness of a daughter who the elf calls Ulmo. Tribute and geld I offer to her whom the trout ask their leave and the river will bend its course."

The mail and iron waffled as it sunk to the bossom of the river. The small craft continued to lose its progress. Then a thump was heard sounding at the bottom of the boat. The craft slacked its drift abd then as if fresh oarsmen plied the craft it surged forward against the current.

Hathcyn looked into the water and saw a smiling auburn haired face, hair colored like rippling water kissed by a setting autumn sun. Trout leaped into the boat and flapped in the bilge. And the eyes of the water nymph spoke to the man telling him he was marked now forever. Sealed by kiss and by tribute.

"From fish kisser to fish whisperer I see." Lundis murmured.

"Eh," Viglar sounded broken from his own rambling and oblivious to what just happened.

The High Elf shook his head, he seemed beset by wild spirits of the wood and water and plagued by the ignorance of men.

"The Longspear is a fish speaker. Add that to his titles when next you introduce him."

[Eclecticon]

Brilliant writing, Tom.  Thanks for dealing with the hanging plot thread.

[GandalfOfBorg]

The words of the worm of a man caused distress to Gwaithlim.  The signs and sigils, those beings he encountered, spelled much danger to all.  He knows this information should be shared with those greater and of keener sight than he.  "Where is a Wizard when you need one?" he thinks.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn wanted to correct his Wife-brother. He wanted him to be clear of speech and direct in his thought. He stopped himself. This would make him less genuine and more coached. His ramblings had truth for those who would listen to them.

He felt that here, uncoached, were damning arguments and food for thought. Mogdred, whom he attributed ill intent, was far more dangerous. He thought him simply embracing a culture he felt that he had been unjustly sundered from. Here however, was proof he was in league with the dark spirits of the swamp. Now he had transgressed from a political rival to one of deep enmity. If he had any doubt of his previous slanders, any residual guilt at his machinations to defeat Mogdred's bid as war leader they were washed away. His wife-brother was perfect in his vanity, in his baseness, and in his dissimulating nature to prove beyond a doubt the guilt of Mogdred.

In the bilge of the boat was a dead swordman of the Hill. Cowering cold was a crofters family. Each in their own way proof of the guilt of this false king. This unwelcome aid to their cause would surely persuade the council of woodmen.

The wheel of seasons and events was turning. The Longspear felt as if many of their deeds and trials were coming to a conclusion. Mogdred could not be Warleader of the Woodmen. Ætheldreám would not be accepted. She was a good choice, but when he thought about it not the best choice. His own folk barely accepted Grimbeorn. Arbogast was the choice. He was the leader of the Woodmen that would be reluctant to lead but decisive when need arose. He should be War leader of the woodmen.

Viglar talked, the elves were silent. His pole idly thrust itself into the river, but the current carried them on its own, forward. Forward to the Doom-ring of the Woodmen, forward to their fates.

The Longspear stroked the hair torc around his neck closed with a silver fox and mouse and not for the last time wished Aestid were here or he with her.

Though he did not realize it his noble armor inlaid with the lines of a fox shone in the dim
Light of the evening. The glimmer contrasted and joined the reflection of the water and light as they boat sped into the docks of the Woodmen. Their absence was noted, ans a cry went up from the docks on their approach. Sardoc the hound of the Greenstone howled at their approach.

"Now, now all here must play their part in the fate of the Wood-men."

[Eclecticon]

Late is the hour and dim the day when the Fellowship at last ties the boat once again to the jetty, for the sun sets early and deep amidst the depths of Mirkwood.  Nonetheless, a small crowd is gathered to see them arrive, word of the morning's doings having passed around the small town and an eagerness having built to know what end may come of them.  Despite her aches and heavy limbs, Esgalwen cannot suppress a wry smile as she accepts the hand of a Woodman-wife to climb out and on to steady ground.  Another boat both borrowed and returned.  Perhaps, though darkness may fall about is, our fates do not turn entirely for the worse!

The evening-songs of frogs and crickets are so loud in the air that at first she does not hear the words that the woman says to her, and it is not until she looks once again and marks that it is the hand of the lady Verwyne that grips her own that she hears and understands: "Boon friend of my kinsman, what hurts you have suffered!  Come!  Spend this night with my husband and I, and in the light of morning I would hear your tale." 

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn steps from the boat, a string of healthy big trout in one hand. Though his thoughts are far from fishing.

"I would speak again to the Elders. I have news and tidings that will not wait for the rising of the sun."

The hound Sardoc took up the meaning of his friends words and howled into the coming night.

"Sardoc, old friend, my guess is Mogdred has already fled the coup. However send word to your friends among the woodmen. His treachery is known and proved. Mark where he is or has gone."

"Bad nose, you smell like fish." The hound laughed and then bounded into the night.

"Woodmen, I have here witnesses to the perfidy of Mogdred. I call him stand witness and hear these accusations in the Council Hall."

He looked to Vilgar, "soon you will have a part to play brother. The first step on the path of revenge, but with it mark it is also just. Let us carry our parcel to the hall and show the Elders the werfeld we took for the abuse of my kin and of my war chief."

"Lundis, you are a star child and the twilight is your realm. Find the dwarf, there is much that he too would like to hear."

The Longspear was hot with anger and the need for justice he now held in his hand and in the voice of the crofters the guilt of Mogdred.

He called to several idle woodmen who stood upon the quay.
 
"There is an injured lad here and a family that needs comfort. Bring him to a healer or if none can be found carry them to my bower and my folk will care for them."

The Longspear made a fist and slammed it into his open palm.

"Mogdred."

"You move hastily Longspear" said the High elf.

"I must. Vilgar and the dead body will not remain a secret long in this place. My guess is Mogdred will flee at the news of our arrival. He will seek the safety of his men and withdraw. Tonight we destroy the image of the man, in the days to come the man himself."

"Cold words Hathcyn."

"Worse days are coming. Arbogast as War Chief of the Woodmen is a candle in the night that may build a fire of unity once this puppet of the swamps is cast down."

"You hate this man."

The Longspears eyes burned, but he paused. "Wrath drives me. You see it truly. Let me see it through this night."

He stopped and gazed at the twilight on the river and was quiet for a moment. Viglar strugged with the cloak wrapped body and the farmers climbed out of the boat.

"You speak truly. I'll let Viglar and the Crofter tell their stories and let the truth speak for itself. My drive for revenge may beget a greater woe."

The Longspear breathed the heavy night air on the river.

"Thank you, a see know the fingers of a fey mood clawing at me."

The Longspear toiched the hair torc at his neck and again wished Aestid were here.

"This was a long day" he murmured.

[GandalfOfBorg]

"And it will be a new one soon enough," comments the elf idly.  "Send word to where the captives reside if you need me; I will remain with those we brought to ensure no further evil befalls them until their recounting is done.  I cannot say whether a draught of wakefulness to see you through the night or one of sleep, but either way, my friend, get some rest."

[Eclecticon]

Not long does it take for Verwyne to bring the crofters to lodge for a time beneath the richly-carven timbers of the house she shares with Aodhan and his kin, and to place the body of Viglar's man in the cool of the caves worn from the cliffs beneath Wuduseld.  Viglar is eyed warily by Hathcyn's few followers about the evening fire as he settles himself down, already asking for meat and ale. 

Shortly afterwards, Arbogast finds the Thane of the Greenstone.  "Much does it gladden me to see you safely returned, for when I learned you had departed in haste and without leaving word I feared greatly whatever may have moved you to do so.  But now I see the treasure you have won and praise you for the winning!  For Esgalwen has told me already the worthiest parts of his tale." 

His stomach rumbles at the scent of woodsmoke and cooked food, and though his face remains impassive his heavy eyelids speak volumes of the long discussions he has watched.  "For the greater part of the day," he sighs, "the elders have done little but bicker about protocol and precedence, and who should speak before whom.  I cannot but think that the Viglunding aethling's tale will prove a welcome change!  In my wildest fancies, I confess that I hope that alone will sway them to our way, but no doubt more words will need to be wielded before the prospect of Mogdred's kingship is truly banished.  Know this, my friend, he has not fled this place, though the news of your going and returning must surely have reached him.  Some design he must yet hold, and I have not yet riddled what it may be." 

[Telcontar]

The Longspear reached by the fire and handed a pointed stake to his friend. A fire roasted trout was skewered on it.

"Take this Firewatcher, there are plenty and seasoned with salt from the Mountain Hold and berries and seeds from the pines. A good catch, take food and sit by my fire.

The Longspear picked at a fish of his own and drank deeply of the mug of beer that was always filled by the small barrel near him.

"A great darkness is it work. A malice drives our enemies to scheme in webs greater than our own designs. The attack on the Carrock was not by chance and the story my wife-brother tells confirms that we do not face singular enemies but a league of them working in harness. All centered on the Bilge Keep in the swamp, that thorn in the southern wood."

The Longspear licked his fingers and tasted the fat and salt of his catch. Raised his mug and looked around to make sure none sat too close.

"I will open my heart to you Arbogast of the Black Taryn, Yeoman of the Wood and keeper of the Flame. First and truest door warden of my own hall.

We must build for our people islands of refuge for our peoples in their dwelling places. I myself have sent to the Road Warden for a master mason. I seek the build a great burg, a millfort of men for my folk in the Greenstone land. A wall around it for the refuge of a great number of folk and cellars below for stores. For the protection of mine and those who may come to me. I do not seek to build a warren to hide in. Only a bulwark of stone like the dwarves for refuge so that I may endure while others come to my aid. So it is with axe and sheild. One defends the other thrusts. I will make ready a hold should the hammer fall on me, but also I must make ready to march to the aid of my allies who may take the blow before I. If each build a burg greater than their own need then the safety of neighbors is assured and if trapped faith, like at the Tarn, friends march to their relief. This is my vision for the march lands of the forest and river."

"I will name as ally any woodman hold that pledges the same for my people. A warchief among the woodmen who agreed with me would make this an easier task. If this is not to be then I shall try one hold at a time. And once more I extend to you in friendship, not in charity, a place for you and your family in any and all hours beneath any roof I hold any power over."

"We need to unite or perish. Mogdred will gnaw like a cur on a bone at anything left to him. His cut throats make us weaker when we could be stronger, in that he is right. He is right that we must join. However, its the darkness in him that twists a virtue into a vice. Like the love his father had for him. Even that he has now twisted to ill purpose. I confess that I hate the man, but my words are still true."

"Your offer is heart felt and appreciated Hathcyn." Responded the Woodman.

Hathcyn tossed the spine of the fish into the fire and stirred the coals with the spear before tossing it in.

"I also intend to ask a great favor of Ætheldreám. Though she doesnt know it yet."

The Firewatcher cocked his brow at this change of subject.

"She is not whole and something needs ro change for her. I thought to ask her to take several of my spearmen south. To make an introduction to the Lords of the Stone land so that they may learn their way of war and their wisdom. I would do this to enrich myself, but also to lever her into heading south again. I feel deeply she must see her own land again and then decide whether her place is here or there. I will ask her to nudge her and give her the choice to decide, but I think it best and this is partly a chance to compel her duty to step in the same way her heart directs."

Hathcyn pressed a larger and fuller mug into the hand of his friend.

"And now..."

Looked back and forth and side to side again.

"Let me tell you a tale. A tale worthy of the men they call Firewatchers. A tale that shall resound to your glory in the telling."

The Firewatcher was curious at this strange twist in the evening.

"Look me in the eye and know that I speak the truth. Look."

He paused.

"I was kissed by the river daughter Dusk-Shadow." 

[Eclecticon]

Dawn breaks late the following day and heavy hang the clouds above.  The youths who climb to the gabled peak of Wuduseld call down that they see lightning flashing on the slopes of the Misty Mountains as the gathered elders, grumbling all the while about stiff joints and old pains, emerge from the mead hall and descend the hill, following the path outside the palisade to the doom ring. 

With them go many of the folk of Woodland Hall who have no pressing business for though few know the tale whole, word has spread that the state of matters has shifted and grave news will be revealed.  And so it is in front of a crowd as great as any he has seen that Arbogast steps forward to raise his voice.  "Folk of the Wood, hear me!  No joy does it bring me to lay these tidings before you, but they must be heard and known." 

Turning slowly about to look as many in the eye as he may, he stops to point out Esgalwen where she stands next to Hathcyn, the two Elves and a small knot of the Greenstone Thegn's followers.  "Here stands Esgalwen of Gondor, who Men now name for Ætheldreám.  A great hero is she, known by name to all under the Western Eaves and far beyond!  Yet by her own word, and that of others whose honour is beyond reproach, I know now that before yester dawn she was struck by surprise and without cause by men in the service of Mogdred.  This they know for they followed their flight south along the river, guided by none other than the River-maiden Sunshadow, who blessed them with her kiss." 

Murmurs abound at this, for though the River-maidens are known to dally from time to time with mortals, rare indeed is the day when they choose to do so with those not of Balthi's folk.  Across the doom-ring, Mogdred's face is stony, betraying none of what may fill his heart.  "As you see," the Fire-watcher continues, "my friend was freed from her brief bondage, but not alone for another captive of the King of Tyrant's Hill was found beside her!" 

Seeing the moment come, Hathcyn steps aside to reveal Viglar, who moves hesitantly forward into what he clearly sees as a throng of enemies.  As he does so, the Foresthelm whispers "Now speak, and speak truly." 

"Ah...  Greetings to all you good wood-folk," he begins.  "I'm Viglar, aethling of my father's folk, and this is my tale..." 

Though nerves make him stutter and his tale wanders near as much as it did over long, lazy hours in the boat, the son of Viglund tells of his journey to Dol Guldur, and of Mogdred's presence at that black council.  He tells of the plot for Viglund to seize the Old Ford and, in tones dripping with wounded pride, of Mogdred's interruption of those plans and his own capture. 

Around the ring, the companions watch the faces of the elders.  Some show disbelief, others outrage, fear or simple shock.  It is plain that some are rethinking their former support for the son of Ingomer.  But how many, wonders Gwaithlim, and who now do they look to?


I'm going to do some Insight rolls to see how well you can gauge the current levels of support for each candidate.  You can each get another roll after watching the debate for a few hours. 

Arbogast

Rolled 1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 3d6 : 5, 6, 4, total 15

Esgalwen

Rolled 1d12 : 7, total 7
Rolled 2d6 : 6, 1, total 7

Gwaithlim

Rolled 1d12 : 2, total 2
Rolled 1d6 : 4, total 4

Hathcyn

Rolled 1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 3d6 : 5, 1, 5, total 11

Luindîs

Rolled 1d12 : 1, total 1
Rolled 2d6 : 1, 5, total 6

[Eclecticon]

Looks like Arbogast and Esgalwen did acceptably well, and Hathcyn reasonably so.  The two Elves, perhaps less used to reading mortal faces, not so much. 

In any case, I've marked the elders and their preferred candidates that you've managed to collectively riddle out in the table. 

EDIT:  Oh, and all successful rolls are .

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn waits for the words of Viglar to settle on the elders then pulls him back.

"Good, you may find the truth suits you." He whispers and pats his shoulder.

The Longspear steps forward, his noble armor oiled and buffed. (Bonus encounter die and tolerance improvement)

"Elders, when last I spoke my words rose a few hackles. Now however, we stand in the Doom Ring and not the Council Hall. Some may say to themselves, 'this is Viglar wife brother to the Longspear, this may be a plot.' They would be wrong. Any who know or seek to ask will find I am not held fondly by my wife's kin. Not on this word alone do I provide proof."

Hathcyn motioned to the circle and a bundle was brought forth. Wrapped in a red cloak the form was dropped near Mogdred. The Longspear bent and uncovered the face of the deadman.

"Here! In proof twice told I offer this wergeld to Mogdred for the abduction of my War-chief. A sword-thegn I return to you."

He looked from Mogdred to the Elders, "but that is not all."

"Listen now to the tale of the crofters, 'subjects' of this petty tyrant. Let their words be added to the scale of the other proofs."