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May 03, 2024, 07:29 PM

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Welcome to RPG.avioc.org!! If you have a story to tell or want to join one, you have come to the right place!


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21
As all eyes are drawn to Hathcyn and Esgalwen becomes once again famed in song, Gwaithlim hears the coarse clearing of a throat near him.  Turning, he sees the abundantly-beared face of the Dwarf Rorin, his expression carefully neutral.  "Your pardon, master Elf," he says, "but I fear you have the advantage over me.  My business keeps me often on the western side of the great wood, and I don't know the court of the Elvenking as well as perhaps an envoy of the King Under the Mountain should.  I am Rorin, as you may know, son of Nói and oft called the Roadmaker by Men, though in truth there were many whose hands worked harder to rebuild that grand passage."

Gwaithlim, accustomed of old to Dwarves' blunt-spoken and straightforward natures, cannot help but be impressed by the smoothness with which this ambassador of the Naugrim guides him into walking alongside him, away from the thronging Woodmen.  "That's a little better.  We can hear ourselves think now.  And I think that you and I can mayhap help each other, for few eyes will be on the likes of us, who have no voice in what is to go on over the next few days, but can hear much that might be of interest to our friends, if not our lords."   
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:ooc: Well, that could've gone better!  Looks like lots of people are thinking 'how fortunate are we to have the friendship of this heavily-armed wanderer who will roll up, solve our problems and then leave again without stealing so much as a single chicken!' rather than 'Ætheldreám for War Leader!'. 
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Quote from: tomcat on Apr 20, 2024, 05:55 AMShe sees herself in a land where she is ultimately a stranger and even though she has stepped up to face their challenges, she is still an outsider.
:ooc: Not gonna lie - that's going to make things much harder!  But few things are impossible here.  As a certain wanderer might say, the board is set and the pieces are all in motion, though you don't necessarily see all of them yet.  Much can turn on seemingly small things. 

With that in mind, let's roll for Hathcyn's song - not to see how well it's received in the moment, but to see how well it plants the notion of 'well, she's pretty badass, why doesn't she lead us?' in the heads of the crowd.  I'm setting the TN a bit higher (at 16) to reflect the fact that she's an outsider.  Luindîs helping him out with backing vocals helps to carry the tune, but not really to cement the political idea:
:00: 1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 2d6 : 1, 6, total 7
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 :ooc: this was 100% an inspired thought from Hathcyn that wasnt a plan until it was.
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:ooc: I am fine with it, for sure.

I think Esgalwen would be really surprised at Hathcyn's choice - not deeming herself the right pick. Not because she is unsure of herself, but due to her humility. She sees herself in a land where she is ultimately a stranger and even though she has stepped up to face their challenges, she is still an outsider. She might have traces of blood coursing her veins of the great men of Númenor, but here she is just Esgalwen.

I look forward to seeing where the story takes us!  ;)
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:ooc: And now it really starts to get interesting!  Doug, I'm just checking - are you alright with Tom's plan?
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:ooc: That was very cool, Tom. In my mind, I see Esgalwen red of face, and trying to hide from such fanfare but the people keep her there with them.
28
A merry gathering soon over took the companions. They had hardly made it through the gate as the well wishers and old friends gathered about them. The throng pressed to the side to clear the gates of the town, but no building within the circle could contain the merry making. The joyous shouts and the raised voices attracted others and soon tables and boards were laid out as the greeting began to take on a life of its own.

Undeterred the revelers rolled barrels of beer into the street and tapped the kegs as they stood. Torches dipped in pitch were pounded into the ground and then lit to add to the scene. Any passerby or distant folk attracted by the noise who happened to investigate the site would have thought that the wedding of some great magnate had occurred for so freely did drink and song come. The names of the companions circulated quickly through the holding and old friends, new friends, and would be friends thronged into the growing celebration.

Hathcyn noted his elven friends exit and the slipping of the Firewatcher into the crowd and found that he and Esgalwen now bore the brunt of the arm pumping, the back slapping and the bows of greeting. He wished in that moment that Aestid were here. To share in this celebration and the joy of people that had become so rare.

He marked the passage of Mogdred and the inkling of an idea sparked in his head.
"So he would be the war chief of the woodmen, but what credit is sung to his name?" thought the Longspear.
"There are others with greater fame who's name could be shouted with popular acclaim. Another leader to challenge his villainy."

A jar of wood ale in his hand, the forest helm now off and hanging at his waist, the Longspear climbed upon a barrel and with the help of Harfast quieted the boisterous crowd. He faced the High Hall and spoke clear and loud.

"Friends, Wood-Folk, Sons and Daughters of the Anduin Vales! I Hathcyn Foresthelm of the Greenstone Land speak, hear my words. From the joy of my heart springs forth song. A tune that has been long in the making for it was written in pieces with every blow and every act of courage upon countless unknown and known fights across Wilderland. Now in part it bursts from me and I am moved for you to hear the first telling of it. For I will begin it, but other hearts and other mouths will finish it as it grows.

The Wandering Lady of Gondor.

In days of yore, when arrayed spears did shine,
A heroine of might, a Ranger fine,
With sword and shield, she fought for her kin,
Her valor unmatched, noble spirit within.

Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám, the warriors cry!
Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám her sword by our side!

Her long, bound braid did swing in woven bind,
Her eyes, like the stars, shone bright and kind,
Her strength, like the oak, unyielding and true,
Her courage, like the sun, forever renew.

Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám, the warriors cry!
Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám her sword by our side!

She rode into battle, her heart full of fire,
Her enemies trembled, their souls desired to retire,
For she was a warrior, a shieldmaiden of old,
Her prowess in combat, a tale of a lady bold.

Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám, the warriors cry!
Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám her sword by our side!

Her armor, unadorned with cuts and worn seem,
Shone bright in the sun, like a beacon's gleam,
Her sword, like a lightning bolt, swift and true,
Cut through the ranks, her foes to subdue.

Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám, the warriors cry!
Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám her sword by our side!

Our people, they sang her praises loud and long,
For her bravery, her honor, her strength so strong,
She was a wanderer, a warrior, a legend in her own right,
A shining star, in the annals of the fight.

Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám, the warriors cry!
Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám her sword by our side!

And though the battles raged, and the wars were fought
She struggled on, unyielding, her spirit unfrought,
For she knew that the people, the land, her name,
Were worth fighting for, until the end of the day.

Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám, the warriors cry!
Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám her sword by our side!

So let her name be remembered, through the ages,
As a heroine, a warrior, a shining sage,
For she fought for what was right, for the few,
A Gondorian warrior woman, forever strong and true.

Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám, the warriors cry!
Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám with her name on our lips ride!


The words of the chorus now known to the assembled folk reverberated off the walls and echoed into the evening sky of Wuduseld.

Lundis her harp catching the tune of it as he went joined into the lay. The words of the warrior matched with the accompaniment of an Elf minstrel would be a tale that was told for many nights to come and the song itself entered that night into the folk memory of the Wood-men.

"Again!" Came the cry from the crowd. Another tankard was lifted to the Longspear and he drained it in one motion. "If Lundis is willing, but this time let's see how red we can make the face of the lady of Gondor with the strength of the chorus.

He began again, but in his head he thought. "I honor a friend who deserves this much and more, but with it a barb to strike at the pride of Mogdred. Here in part is my oath fulfilled Wife-Father, and here is the beginning of the trial to make Ætheldreám War chief of the Wood-men."

Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám, the warriors cry!
Ætheldreám, Ætheldreám her sword by our side!
29
Esgalwen bowed to Hartfast, giving the elder man a bright smile at his greeting. "Master Hartfast, it is good to see you, too! Long have the years been since I was able to enjoy the comforts of your house. Hopefully the challenge of goblins underfoot has been remedied?"

Hartfast swelled with a bit of pride at Esgalwen's mentioning of his home, but gave a shake of the head, "M'lady, ever are they a blight to our home! We no sooner close a tunnel or passage, and they have snaked their way through another. Still - we keep them away and have not seen such a gathering as that which you and your companions had helped defeat."

"T'is good to hear! I have been spending much time with the Beorning's of recent, but I will see to coming to your home again soon."

"It will be an honour to have you."

Rorin appeared and Esgalwen was drawn from the thegn of the mountain, as her dwarf friend had also been a long time gone.

"Rorin, I fear you will take my hand and perhaps my arm," she said as he vigorously welcomed her.

"Forgive me lady," flustered the dwarf, "my hands are more oft bent at the task of smithing than holding the delicate hand of the Lady of Gondor."

"Pray I am not too delicate, Master Rorin, lest I no longer be able to do my part in these lands," Esgalwen laughed. Again Rorin took on a shade of pink, as he released her hand. "Of course, m'lady. It is good to see you and that you fare well. I have not seen you since your time in Dale. What have you been doing with your days?"

Esgalwen proceeded to tell a brief tale of all that she had done since her release from King Bard's service - some was good, some was not - but Rorin listened with great interest. The Ranger soon became distracted at the sight of Mogdred, and she apologized to Rorin.

"Perhaps we might continue this tale at dinner? There are more greetings I must make." To which Rorin smile broadly and told her he would see her later that night.

With that, Esgalwen made her way towards the grand hall.
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Gwaithlim reflexively bristles at the sound and sight of the dwarven delegation; he thought he smelled their presence ere they arrived.  Remembering his manners, he gives a slight salute and bow to Harfast, "I am Gwaithlim, Swiftfooted in your tongue. At your and your family's," he gives courteously in return.  He scans the room quickly to find a quiet corner to keep unnoticed and a sure eye upon his companions.  "This is my distant kinsman, Luindis -- I am sure you'll find her more than willing to entertain."  And at that, he insinuates himself into the shadows and throng to remain little noticed.
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