Guys, guys - my wife and I went out and saw Wind Rose last night and I cannot recommend these guys enough if you're into loud music about dwarves.

With a disdainful grunt, Mogdred leaves Esgalwen and stalks from the hall followed by the small retinue that accompanied him to the feast.  One woman favours the Dunadán with a glance as she passes, and it is with a start that Esgalwen marks her face for, though she is now richly clad and adorned with golden rings, and her hair has been dyed a firey red, Dagmar of Tyrant's Hill has aged but little in the years since last the two met.  No time is there for questions, however, before the Toft-King's party has stomped down the stairs of Wuduseld, plainly meaning to spend the dark hours in their own camp. 

At the long table, Arbogast finishes the last of the meat and begins to eat the hard bread on which it was served.  "Tomorrow," he says to Gwaithlim and Luindîs, his tone betraying little of the taughtness about his eyes, "the elders will gather in the doom-ring and the choosing will begin in earnest.  Oh, to have the many years of the Elves to spend!  Ingomer Axebreaker, I am told, was chosen after two days, and that was accounted uncommonly fast." 

Hathcyn, meanwhile, is jarred from his thoughts by a heavy knuckle rapping the bench near him and turns to find Rorin at his side, eyes glinting with the glee of secrets about to be shared.  "Our mutual friend says that Sanjar eats like a young stallion and is fast becoming a man in body, if not yet in heart.  She also says that, if you'd care to meet her down by the river-shore before dawn, she has news that she's eager indeed to share." 

More tale-y goodness coming soon, guys.  I just need half an hour of clear air.

  mogdred is going to be lucky if he leaves alive.

  Mogdred is here for what he believes is his birthright.

  I was thinking that only one person spoke for each village. Which is why i put forward they couldn't be war chief and a leader.

Now with font installed I also see that Tyrant's Hill and the Toft don't have any elders who can vote.....

With the Woodmen returning to their quiet debate, Esgalwen left the ring. Grabbing up her cup of wine, she began to move from her seat next to Hathcyn only to hear the Foresthelm say, "Do not let it bother you, Esgalwen. We have achieved a small victory with our words. They now question their choices, where before they were already set in their mind."

The Beorning's smile was broad - he was enjoying the game - but Esgalwen was tired. She gave him a tight-lipped smile in return, and merely nodded. Moving away from the front of the ring, the Ranger sought the shadows of the hall and the quiet of solitude.

Should Arbogast receive this title, then he too will be committed to a task that will fill his time. Grimbeorn has taken his place as ruler of his folk, and even Hathcyn has risen to status as thane of his lands. The Dúnadan mulled through her thoughts, The Company of the Helm has moved on. The images of Bandobras and Orophin presented themselves in her mind, And you, my friends, have paid the ultimate sacrifice in this endeavour... perhaps it is time for Esgalwen, daughter of Eradin, to go home.

Of a sudden, a firm grip took hold of her shoulder and the woman was inexorably turned to see the face of Mogdred. There was fire in his eyes and his jaw was tight. The wine in her cup spilled all over her tunic, even as she tried to comprehend the moment.

"You think yourself smart or wise, woman? You think this some kind of game? Like a viper in the grass you are, striking with poison and deceit. Lǣwend I call you! Betrayer and cheat, and I strike from you my patronage, saying you are no longer welcome in my house." All of his words were a quiet hiss, and Esgalwen could see his arm trembling with the desire to maybe do her more harm. Still, the Ranger kept her calm and stared back into his eyes.

"You call me thus? Betrayer? After what I did for you? Forget you not, Mogdred, son of Ingomer, whose steel you wield and whose mail protects your soldiers. T'was I that made an appeal to the Steward of Gondor, but not for your behalf - but for all of the Men of the Vale." Esgalwen kept her voice calm and quiet.

"You have taken such courtesy that was extended and turned it against those it was meant to help. It was Mogdred that held ransom the Beornings for that which was already theirs, just as you tried to do with your father - holding him guilty for your sufferings. It is now what you try to do with all the woodmen clans.

"I see you, Mogdred. I see your desires and your willingness to do what you will, to have what you want. But I have stood before every threat that has come upon these people, and I will stand between you, as well. Know that word is sent to Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor, to cease any future aid of arms to the Vale. You may now have enough to strengthen your position, but slowly that strength will wither on the vine.

"So unhand me, Master Mogdred of the Toft, or face me in arms. But know this... you do not scare me."

---

I leave Mogdred's response with you, Paul.

Like a fire doused, the wrath leaves from Artamud's eyes.  The faces of men and women all around the hall soften and accusations are put aside, for softly-spoken though they may be, the words of the Eldar are not lightly ignored.  For a short while, the only sound is the crackling of the wood in the fire pit.  Then, one by one and furtively, the Woodmen begin to speak again to their neighbours and a subdued murmuring, constant and peaceful as water over stones, once again fills Wuduseld. 


Nice work, Matt!  Over to you guys, now.  We can either move on to the next scene from here, or you can do anything else that your characters think is a good idea.  For example, Doug, this is a good time to have Esgalwen talk to Mogdred if you still wanted to do that.

Gwaithlim is amused, bemused, and a little taken aback all in the course of a minute.  Shouts, verbal and actual saber-rattling causes the elf to shrink further into the darker corners but he sees an opportunity to bring a bit of calm to the proceedings.

Artamund finishes his scolding and the fair visage of the older elf steps into the light of fire and torches, putting a hand upon the man's shoulder both as reassurance and announcement of his presence. He addresses the council, eyes of daggers coming from more than one, "Friends, please! This infighting must end.  The Shadow creeps in at times like this and its victory comes more assured if the coalitions of the Free folk sunder and become bitter.  I have traveled as wastrel," he gives a side eye and smirk to Artamund, "with many of your heroes for a time and have seen greatness, goodness within you all.  We have all been at odds but these grievances aren't above repair and reconciliation.  Pray give cooler heads and hearts a chance to prevail amongst you.  Prove the quality that your people have seen in you."

 
Use the Fair feature.  Come on dice gods   
 

Awe -  1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 2d6 : 6, 6, total 12

Use Hope if applicable.

  thanks paul. I was just looking for chief person and town but this will give us something more substantial to work with.


I thought it was just one elder per town this is much more clear on what is going on