RPG.avioc.org

Two more days' marching alongside the wain brings the band of Sunsteadlings and companions to the western edge of the forest.  At this shore of the sea of leaves, the wood seems tamed, with the trees well-spaced and wholesome-seeming, and here and there a trunk shortened and branches coppiced for firewood.  It does not take long, however, for the trunks to close in thickly about the travellers, forcing them from the straight path.  Arbogast, his spirits lifting in the country ever his home, finds long stretches where the woods long have been cleared, as if a road was once to be built in unconnected spans.  Even so, more than once the entire company must halt while trees are felled to make a way broad enough to fit the wain for Caewin, riding ever tall in his saddle with his head helmed in this less familiar land, seems sore loath to leave it, or even to unpack the goods it carries to lighten its load for a while. 

Much as his followers might shake their heads at his foolishness, though, the miles pass beneath the trundling wheels and trudging feet until at last the Fire-watcher, reading some sign plain to him alone, announces that the Dusky River is nearby.  "Scarce more than a mile from here," he promises, but this last mile is perhaps the worst of the journey, for a pothole lurking beneath a cover of leaf-mulch half-devours the front wheel of the wain, the axle cracking with the sudden shock.  From here, the strongest members of the party take turns bearing the load of the front corner, an ordeal that leaves each bearer with aching hands and back. 

Even this ordeal cannot bar the way of the company from their destination, and at last the high mound of Wuduseld can be spied between the tops of the trees.  When at last the wain rolls to a final stop outside the hedge and wall of the Woodmen settlement, to the clear relief of all but Caewin himself, it is plain that they are the last to arrive, for the sounds of a small town of Men all a-bustle come from within the gates.  Without, though, a grim body of Men, hard-eyed and heavily-armed, has made their camp beneath a richly-woven banner bearing a red circle made of intricate knotwork.  Mogdred, it would seem, has come to make his claim. 

Hathcyn frowned at the men outside the gate and weighed his options.

"Lord Caewin the most Generous, I have shared the road with you and I thank you for the company. Now that we have arrived I must make my own camp for I have come as an emissary of my own folk and the House of Beorn. I do not wish to prejudice the thanes of the woodmen, or have them think I am part of your delegation. Though I will hapily share food and drink once my camp is established and invite you to share what I have."

The Longspear nodded to the Lord and broke off with his own companions.

"Friends I do not think it wise to be perceived to be tied too tightly to Caewin in the matter. If this meeting is the same as such matters in the north than there will be much posturing and we need to appear open to any approach. I am wary to be tied to tightly to Caewin, but out shared road may be able to bend his ear. I propose we ride in tigether and formally present ourselves as emissaries and claim the customary rights and privileges."

He turned to the few companions that had come with them from the Greenstone on the journey.
 
"Jarad Flinthand, take a couple axes and fell some staves and brush. We have not brought tents, but here outside the walls let us build a bower to shelter ourselves while we remain here."

He lowered his voice, "and in such a way as we may keep an eye on our southern friends and be close to our arms."

Wheeling once more he placed his on helm upon his head, "shall we announce ourselves?"
 

Esgalwen gave a nod of agreement to Hathcyn, "Perhaps a clarion call of your horn, friend? Not a call to battle, but a call to announce that the Beornings have come and seek part in this moot."

The Dúnadan did not wish to have her friend outdone by the likes of Ceawin, with his entourage and his wain full of gifts. It might be simple, but the men of the wood would know that the ram horn that sounds in the north is present.

Hathcyn smiled, "I thought that would be over doing it Ætheldreám, but since you have asked..."

The Beorning waited for Caewin to make his entrance into the woodmen ring and then let sound a long clear note on the ram horn as the companions rode to the gates.

Inspire

The sprig of green bough danced on the crest of the bright helm as the note rang through the town and the companions rode into the enclosure.

"The Longspear of the Greenstone has come!"

The deeper note of a larger horn issues forth in response to Hathcyn's blast as they enter through the gates, passing through the narrow gap in the tall wall and thick hedge.  There follows as warm a welcome as ever the companions have received, for many are those in attendance who have good cause to fondly recall the Fellowship of the Helm. 

Almost no sooner have they passed the gate than they are met by Hartfast, headman of the folk who dwell in and about the Misty Mountains.  The passage of years since their visit (https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/index.php?msg=24125) to his home has deepened the furrows upon his long face but the effect is to broaden his smile as he throws wide his arms in greeting.  "Hail, Esgalwen the Southerner!  Hail Arbogast Fire-watcher!  Welcome are you, and welcome the hour of your coming.  Hathcyn Longspear, know that you are told of in travellers' tales even in our far-away home!"  At the sight of the two Elves, he catches himself.  "Forgive me, elder ones.  I am Hartfast, son of Hartmund, of Mountain Hall, at your service." 

Before either can answer, the deep booming of a Dwarven voice announces the presence of another friend of old.  "Ah, my allies, good friends of another mountain folk!  Clasping Esgalwen's hands firmly in his own, Rorin's grin is infectious as he pumps her arms vigorously up and down.  "To all of you, I bring the warm greetings of the King Under the Mountain!" 

"Did he bid you bring these greetings?" Hathcyn replies with a wry smile of his own. 

"Ah, he leaves the details of these things to me, and I try not to trouble him with them without cause." 

By now, a small crowd has gathered around the companions, but through it, her face a mask of busyness, pushes Amaleoda the Shieldmaiden, come north from Sweartmereseld.  "Arbogast, I am glad beyond measure to see you here, and well," she says as soon as she can be heard above the rising babble of nearby voices.  "It is one thing to hear from those returning home that you live, but I feel it much safer to tell your wife and daughters when I have seen you with my own eyes."  She takes him by the elbow and begins to lead him away as she says "If you will allow it, I should like to borrow my kinsman for a short while.  There is news of home I should tell, and I doubt that it would interest you much." 

From nearby, the sound of a flute begins to rise, and a drum soon joins it as the folk gathered at Wuduseld decide, one after the other, that work and cares can be set aside for a short while. From inside houses, food begins to be produced for an impromptu meal, and as Esgalwen finds a horn of ale pressed into her hand from some unknown well-wisher, she chances to glance up toward the high hall on its mound to where a richly-dressed man who can be no other than Mogdred stands.  Aloof, he is but hardly alone, for both a pair of armed guards and a small throng of young men surround him.  If he sees her, if he recognises her in his turn, she does not know.  Then he turns and walks through the grand, carven doors of the hall and is gone. 


:ooc: Feel free to write in some interactions with any of the people currently accosting you, or with anyone else who might reasonably be here - this is the largest gathering of the Woodmen in more than a decade, and almost anyone who has the time and ability to travel has come here. 

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.

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.

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!

: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.

:ooc: And now it really starts to get interesting!  Doug, I'm just checking - are you alright with Tom's plan?

: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!  ;)

 :ooc: this was 100% an inspired thought from Hathcyn that wasnt a plan until it was.

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:

: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!'. 

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."   

Quote from: Eclecticon on Apr 21, 2024, 12:44 AM: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!'.

:ooc: It seems apropos to me and it goes along with how I envision Esgalwen. She has the Idle trait for her failings and she sees herself a stranger in a strange land, though she is surrounded by people that truly love her (probably?). She wants to go home, but cannot leave. She wants to be more here, but has no place. Back home she should be a wife and bear children. Here she feels she cannot do that, as she does not want to betray her bloodline by thinning the Blood of Númenor.

I think it would be very lonely.

I can say, she is one of my most favorite characters I have ever played in my 40 years of gaming and I love watching her story evolve. First female character, too, that I stepped into the role - granted she was a PC that was left behind by a player, but still.

Anyway, the dropping of an :~~: on that roll seems right and the dice continue to weave this tale.

 :ooc: that was but the sally of Hathcyns plan. The birth of the idea, now it must be cultivated and grown.

The people know the words of the song to be true and while the idea of an outsider being chief hasnt dawned on them yet they its a foundation based on truth and known expereince when it is revealed.

"You must speak with Luindis in matters elven within the bounds of the great wood.  For even in this day, I count near as much a stranger as another of the Free Peoples who wander upon King Thranduil's doorstep."  The old elf sits askance of the dwarf though at the notion of spying upon the Men here. "Now Rodin, you know as well as I that policy and petty squabbles mean little to my lord nor our companions outside anything that The Shadow might have it's fingers in.  Those stories and tidbits I will mostly be eager to share with any who would listen and act accordingly."

"Good!" Rorin answers.  "We are of one mind in this, then, and I'll leave you with that thought.  Keep your eyes and ears open!  I know more of trade and the forge than I do of the Shadow, but I don't doubt that the enemies of the Free Peoples have their agents here, and I'm glad that your friends and mine are here to do what must be done." 

As the Elf muses on the unexpected subtlety of this supposedly plain-spoken Dwarf and the rest of the companions are plied with ale and food from all quarters, Hathcyn spies a face in the crowd that, for a moment, he cannot place and is gone by the time the memory stirs.  She has traded her travel-stained eastern clothes for the dress of the Vales and a cloak bearing the red circle of Mogdred's kingdom, but he is sure he is not mistaken: Athala of the Leofrings is here at Woodland Hall. 

Esgalwen, meanwhile, is brought forth from the pleasure of being feted by the reappearance of Arbogast at her side.  "My friend," he says with furrowed brow, "I seek your counsel when you can give it, for I have learned that Amaleoda means to put me forth as a candidate for War Leader and I know not whether I can accept." 

"I have all the time for you, friend," smiled Esgalwen at Arbogast's request.

To his concern, "She uses sound judgment if this be her will. But what would hold you back? Is it family or home? Or do you feel the right not yours? I can definitely understand the former, but if the latter... well, Arbogast, you are soft in the head." Esgalwen gave him a smile, "Long have we been friends and keen is your wisdom. I have and would follow you anywhere, Fire-watcher. This task to which you would be appointed - yes, it will give you great responsibility, but it would also secure your house and see your wife and child set far from any danger. Do your job right and you will have one hundred men that will stand between them and harm... and one woman." Again the Ranger, smiled.

"So tell me... what gives you pause?"

The Fire-watcher's gaze is steady as it meets hers.  "I have striven all my life as a man to be a shield for the Free Peoples, and for my own folk among them.  But when the hour came to win at last a victory and free the spirit of the maiden of the Black Tarn from its bondage..." he looks away.  "The hour came, but the man was wanting." 

Seemingly realising at last where he stands, and in what company, he gives his head a tiny shake as if to dislodge some piece of leaf-litter falling from above.  "I will say no more here, save that you are among a very few who know the fullness of my failure." 


:ooc: From here (and while this conversation continues, if it does) there's a bit of narrative 'free time' before the next event on my itinerary happens in the evening.  Let me know if there's anything you'd like to do and we'll work out a way to make it happen (this goes for the rest of the story, as well). 

Also, and this is important: the story is about your characters.  There's a risk that this type of scenario can turn into long scenes of the GM talking to themself and all the important actions being taken by GMCs, and I don't want that any more than you do.  If you want to get Esgalwen chosen as the War Leader of the Woodmen, then that's what the story is (and Arbogast can take his lumps and hopefully learn to be a bit more decisive!). 

Remember: if you're bored, do something!

 :ooc: I invoke players Council!

Paul, you are in this too! Take off your exceptional forum die roll hat and jump into the trenches with all of us. Let's have a discussion.

I think this is a cool story and also dont want to just read blocks of text from Paul. So how do we engage in this.

1. I dont want Mogdred to win.
2. I didnt consider Arbogast because it slipped my mind.
3. The Esgalwen idea was sparked by the opportunity for Hathcyn and as a player to attack Mogdred to really grind in the love story that wasnt between esgalwen and mogdred.

Hathcyn had a lot of play in the last chapter so I'll take a back seat on this, but I will push another character forward. Hathcyn will Machiavelli the shit out of this council those two pips in courtesy werent just for the Lols. 


Campaign wise we need a positive figure as war leader of the woodman to advance our unification effort.

Side quest is save Caewin

Thoughts? 

:ooc: It is not my intention to sit on the sidelines and read, and with the insertion of Esgalwen as a possible candidate - it will give her a lot to contribute.

1. I am opposed to Mogdred's victory, as well.
2. That said, with Arbogast now a candidate - Esgalwen will push him as the choice.
3. It is not that she wouldn't accept being chosen, in her heart (as I have told Paul) she believes there are better choices as she is an outsider. She definitely sees Arbogast as that option.
4. I like playing Esgalwen and I do not want to lose her, but I will 'retire' if the narrative leads to her being chosen.
5. Esgalwen REALLY wants to fuck Mogdred's ambitions, after he took the gift that she wanted for all the people of the Vale and has made it his own.

A Ceawin quest would be cool. It would be neat to go back into the barrows and fight some undead!  ;D

Esgalwen nodded at Arbogast, "We will not speak of it here, but I will say, do not be foolish to hold yourself responsible for the outcome of our quest. The maiden spirit was freed, and Arbogast, you have tread where most men's hearts would have quailed.

"You are made of sterner stuff than perhaps even him," and she gestured towards Mogdred's tent, "for though he survived the darkness of the Shadow's vaults for years, his suffering was forced upon him. You willingly went forward into such a place for the benefit of those you care about.

"You both survived the hardships you faced, but only Mogdred uses it as a weapon against all - a barb with which to stab with each incrimination he makes. Mogdred holds his people accountable for his suffering, and now holds the Vale hostage in the guise of their guardian.

"You, on the other hand, have seen the danger to kith and kin and what it foreshadows if we let our guard slip. You want for naught else than to have a safe home for your family." The lady patted her friend on the shoulder and smiled, saying softly, "Your people could have no better leader and guardian than you."

 :ooc:
Gwaithlim knows enough to:
1. Agree that one of the current or former Mannish members of the Fellowship is best suited to lead these Men as needed.
2. Agree that it would be best an NPC
3. Agree that Mogdred must be thwarted in any of his ambitions that further destabilize the ties that bind these Men but won't say as much aloud, not his place as emissary of the Elves across the mountains, yet he will advise towards anything that will bring the groups together in common task

 :ooc: why does it have to be an NPC?

Quote from: Telcontar on Apr 26, 2024, 07:53 AMPaul, you are in this too! Take off your exceptional forum die roll hat and jump into the trenches with all of us. Let's have a discussion.

:ooc: I feel so accepted!

Without wanting to put my thumb on the scale any heavier than I've been invited to, I think Arbogast would be an easier sell for the Woodmen than an outsider.  Also, that leaves the 'outsider' card to be played against Mogdred, and it seems that we're all agreed that the most important thing is to deny the title to that guy. 

(Parenthetically, it gladdens my blackened, GM heart to have an antagonist so strongly disliked that the players will say 'well, we could put one of our own on the throne I guess but what we really want is to spit in that fucker's eye'.)

If he gets up, Arbogast will almost certainly retire from active adventuring, but in return you'll have a second culture now partly-led by a former Fellowship member, i.e. one who's a sympathetic ear with access to resources and who understands the value of cross-cultural cooperation on a very deep level. 

An adventure to free Caewin of the helm would also be fun, and it's a good idea for a Fellowship-initiated story.  I've already got some ideas.  It's probably going to be out of scope for the current year, but you'll at least be able to get some initial leads from Radagast, if you can find him with a few free minutes. 

 :ooc: Well it doesn't have to be but the PC would likely turn NPC much in the same way that Grimbeorn did IMO.  You could also throw GB under the bus for war chief, too, for he loathes Mogdred as much as anyone here.

The Longspear spent many hours circulating. He shook many hands and slapped many shoulders in his circuit around the camp, but always he was watching and listening to the feel of the camp. Since he was not a woodman all factions welcomed him and he moved freely between the followers of the different contenders to the title of war chief. All those but Mogdred, he was singular in that his followers were avoided.

In his travels he sought an opportunity to speak to Rorin the dwarf again and he was not disappointed.

The Longspear spoke to him briefly. He named and described the woman he saw in the band of the Tyrant's Hill men.

"I believe her to be our friend despite her emblems. If you can find a way to subtly speak to her, and you are willing, it may be to our gain for you to relay messages between us. As token of what you say is true her real name is Athala Hannodaughter, though doubtful she is going by that name now. When you great her say, "the Longspear hopes Sanjar is well." Then if it is her she will know you have come from me truly and we may learn news of the young tyrant of the south.

Quote from: tomcat on Apr 26, 2024, 09:19 AMThe lady patted her friend on the shoulder and smiled, saying softly, "Your people could have no better leader and guardian than you."

Arbogast neither nods nor smiles, but says, his voice level, "You speak perhaps too soon.  Much work is there to be done first."


:ooc: Tom, I like your idea of using Rorin as a go-between.  Is there anything else that people want to do before I move the story on?

:ooc: I am going to be posting today where Esgalwen is going to go talk to Mogdred, unless you prefer that happen at a later time. My post will not be up until tonight, my time, so if you prefer not - go ahead and move the story on and I will know.

As evening closes in about the small town of Men and the land beneath the leaves and branches of Mirkwood darkens to a nigh-subterranean gloom, the merry-making carries on at a measured pace, new loaves being broken and ale-kettles brought forth to keep the feast-day alive.  At last, as those of lower station begin to drift away to their own hearths, the high and honoured guests are bade to enter Wuduseld itself to see the beginning of the solemn business of the hour. 

Inside, the figures carven upon walls and pillars dance and shift in the flickering firelight and smoky air, bringing to life tales of deeds both dark and noble.  Among them, the assembled elders of the Woodmen watch as the Great War-Horn of the Hunter, long the token of the War-Leader of the folk, is lain upon an empty seat in the place of honour.  Almost within arm's reach sits Mogdred, clad in fabric well-woven and richly-dyed, the light reflecting from a bejewelled crown set upon his brow. 
Hardly further away sits Caewin, a pleasant smile upon his face and the Helm of Peace held by a man standing behind him. 

The murmur of conversation falls silent as an old man (Artamud, Hathcyn vaguely recalls) stands to recite the words that will begin the ceremony.  "Ingomer, son of Laudomer, whom Men named for the Axebreaker, is gone from Middle-Earth, and the seat of the War-Leader stands empty.  But sore are the folk beset.  Will any man stand to lead our warriors in this time of trial?" 

Mogdred is out of his seat with great haste, besting Caewin who has also begun to rise.  "I am Mogdred, and Ingomer was my father," he begins. 

Gwaithlim, his ears already pricked and alert, hears a nearby woman whisper "He looks more like Ingomer than the old Axebreaker himself did, toward the end!"

Mogdred continues with a short recitation of his deeds.  "In the south, I have gathered the dispirate, the broken and the lost to my hall, and in doing so have brought forth a new kingdom that has proven itself in war against many enemies.  The heads of orc-kind I brought as a gift in this place thirteen years ago as proof of my wishes for your weal, but the folk moot of that day cared not to count me as one of you.  Yet know this: when I led your sons alongside my own warriors to victory at the ford of the Anduin, I did so as a Woodman, and the spoils of the victory I shared freely with those who followed me!" 

Realisation dawns upon Esgalwen, the taste of roasted beef still filling her mouth.  Of course!  The Woodmen are shepherds, not keepers of cattle.  This is Grimbeorn's ransom for the Old Ford upon our plates!  And with more still he has bought the love of the young warriors, promising them great fame and fortune in his service I have no doubt.

"Take me as your War-Leader," Mogdred says, "and my kingdom shall be your kingdom.  Together, united as one, we shall have such strength as no foe will dare to challenge." 

A round of raucous applause follows the end of his speech, many beating cups and knife-hilts upon tables to increase the din.  Before it has died out, however, Caewin is upon his feet.  "I am Caewin, Lord of the Sunstead, whom Men name for the Generous.  Well do you know the truth of that name!  Even now, your granaries burst with my gifts of good-will, and more treasures have I brought: fine cloth and wine brought from far-away lands by the merchants of Esgaroth, and Dwarf-wrought silver and gold from the forges of Erebor!  The friendship of all peoples I have cultivated, and great kings now await only my call to lend their aid in blades and warriors to wield them!" 

Abruptly, he turns and seizes his helm from the hands of its bearer.  "Here, too, is the token by which I won peace for my folk - and for all my folk! - from the depredations of fell spirits and the dark things of the wood!  For know this: though terrible things may dwell in the darkness, I have the wisdom and the lore with which to keep them at bay, and nothing more need we fear, for ourselves and our kin, were I to speak to the wood-wights and spiders with all of the Woodman clans at my back!" 

More applause greets his words as a third man stands: bald of pate, red of beard, his girth and heavy arms mark him out among a slight and rangy folk.  "Munderic is my name," he cries out in a heavy baritone, "whom Men name for the Ponderous!  And true is this name, too, for I have claimed the hero's portion at many feasts.  The greatest warrior of Wuduseld am I, and I would guess that not a single man here could best me: not out-wrestle me, nor cast further a spear nor split as many shields as I can!" 

"Nor out-drink you!" comes a cry from close to the door, to a scattering of laughter. 

"Nay, nor that neither!" Munderic replies, accepting the compliment.  "Many of you...  ah...  Many..." he pauses a moment. 

Luindîs hisses "He's forgotten his lines!  These are not his words, but someone else's taught to him by rote!" 

"You all remember that, when the news came that Black Tarn Hall was under attack, it was I who Ingomer chose to lead the army to relieve our southern cousins, he being by then too ill to do it.  Many of you fought alongside me in that battle and saw that ever I had a pile of slain goblins before me.  Give me the title, give me the horn, and this I vow: that my fell hand will never falter, nor my stout shield ever slip from its protection of you and yours." 

Some cheers erupt in reply, and there does come clapping of hands, but markedly less so than met the words of the first two speakers.  Then come a few moments of silence but for the crackling of the fire-pit.  Across the flames and the wavering air, Amaleoda rises and, with a pointed glance in the direction of the Fellowship, loudly asks "Is there any other who would stand?" 

Gwaithlim casts a sidelong glance at Arbogast, for now his surely his moment to speak, but the Fire-watcher's face is that of one stricken.  He sees Hathcyn elbow him in the ribs, but perhaps even the Longspear cannot hear his friend say "Before the folk-moot I stood, years ago, but my words could not sway them.  I cannot..."   


:ooc: Oh crap!  Arbogast is having an attack of the Shadow-weaknesses!  Someone needs to jump in and prod him into action or he'll dither his chance away. 

EDIT:  Doug, Esgalwen will get her chance to speak to Mogdred after this little bit of drama concludes.

 :ooc: Question, has anyone actually told Hathcyn that Arbogast was in the running?

The Wood-men were fond of dogs and they had a great many big shaggy hounds that went to the wood with their masters and were known to slay spiders on their own. There were many here in the hall as the meeting began. One great beast was near at hand after Hathcyn spoke.

His hand fell to the beast and started scratching it behind the ears. As the talk continued in the hall he knelt down beside the beast to look at it face to face.
 
"Hail Hound of the Wood, spider killer!"

The head of the hound cocked to one side as understanding dawned in its face that this man spoke plainly and clearly.
"I am Poor-Nose, friend to Sardoc of the Honey-Hall. Greetings."

"Poor-nose, your friend is known to russ."

"I have a favor to ask, and will give bones to you and all who will share in the task."

"Rut do you ask?" the hound questioned cautiously.

"A game. A game between me and another of the men-folk, but one in which you could gain. See the mean one with crown, the one who spoke first? I'll give a bone to any dog that starts to bark whenever he is speaking.  The louder and longer the bigger the bone."

The tail of the hound wagged quickly back and forth. "A game, a man-folk game. A game for bones? Alucard will bark. Alucard will howl!"

The hound Alucard made a laughing noise.

"Good, tell the others and I will leave out bones for you near the gate. With plenty of meat left too."

The Foresthelm stood and went back to the proceedings. A small smile on his face at what would soon occur. "All my clever words and to vex him you asked. Well, a shall prick his pride again Wife-father, the Fox will spar before even the fight begins." he thought.

Hathcyn stalled for time. "Atarmund!" The Foresthelm called out loudly. The crowd now not sure if Amaleoda looked to him or the Firewatcher.

"Your wisdom is sage and your years in the hall long. I am an outsider to the Wood-men, may any here speak or must they be a chief of one of the wood-men? Though I do not wish to speak, it has been so long since the Moot for War Chief has been held there are few here other then you that know the proper forms and ways. Pray, enlighten us strangers and those too young to recall how this is to proceed before the lords and men of the hall descend into speeches and boasts out of turn."

:ooc: I love everything about this.

Esgalwen stood when Amaleoda's question went unanswered, knowing the intent of the thane of Black Tarn.

"Aye, there is one more that will stand... as he has always stood... between you and the enemy. Always has he kept the best interest of the people of the vale at heart. And not just his people - family and clansmen - but all of the clans, as well as those that do not call themselves a woodman!"

The tenor of her voice climbed, as did the passion in her heart, "Always has he sought peace for the vale, but never feared to take up arms in its defense. He has stood against man. Orc. Spider. And the dead.

"I was there with him when the Toft-men tried to sack Stánford, and they were repelled! I was beside him, in the darkness of the crypt, when the dead tried to wrest control of one here who makes claim. I was beside him when the great beast of Mirkwood was slain." A murmur filled the room at the mention of the terrible creature that had once haunted the lands. "And I was there when he helped save the spirits of the Black Tarn by confronting the Parliament of Spiders. Through all this he had to fight for his home, his family, and his kin - and he suffers the loss of his own child.

"Through it all, he never did it for gain!" Esgalwen's eyes fell on Ceawin. "He never did it for power," and she found Mogdred's eyes. "He did it for love of his home and the people that reside here, with the simplest of goals - to build a home, take a wife, and raise a family. Not unlike most of you in this room!"

The Ranger stood quiet for a moment, noticing the room was now hushed. She had their attention. She let her chin fall and her voice softened. "I do not speak for him as might a herald. It is his voice you need hear, but he does not hesitate to speak out of fear... that has never been his way. If there could be any reason that I could give, it would be humility." Esgalwen met Arbogast's eyes. "Humility... for my friend Arbogast, even now, questions has he done enough?

"Has he given enough of himself? Has he paid the price? The price needed to gain the wisdom to be the best to lead you. And I say he has! You will all be foolish to not hear his words."

The Lady of Gondor returned to where she sat. She looked at Arbogast and gave him a confident nod, then cried out to the chamber, "Will you not hear him?!"

:ooc: I am going to make an Inspire roll to see how she comes across.
TN ?? inspire 2d (noble lineage trait)

:ooc: Well - she pulled off a :g: but nothing to make it a greater success.

:ooc: Not a bad roll!  I'm happy for you to tag her Fair trait for a second AP (:csu:) because, as the music industry saying goes, sometimes it's not about what you say, it's about how you look saying it.   

Quote from: Telcontar on May 03, 2024, 06:05 AM:ooc: Question, has anyone actually told Hathcyn that Arbogast was in the running?

Unless you have a reason not to want him to know that, I'm happy to assume that a discussion took place between the characters not unlike the one we had out of character. 

Hathcyn's question meets a swift response from Artamud.  "A wise request indeed.  Hear then the law of the folk!"  He spreads his hands wide above his head and leaves them there as he recites the ancient ways of the Woodmen: "The elders of each clan shall choose from among the warriors one to set above the rest, and to lead the fyrd into battle.  This choosing is for the term of their life, and into their hands shall be set the power to bid others follow them to victory or to death.  For this reason, no clan, nor kindred, nor man must be set against them and they shall be chosen by the whole of the council, every voice as one, or not at all." 

As soon as he takes his seat once again, Esgalwen is on her feet, her fair face golden in the firelight, her hair agleam as she rehearses the deeds of the Fire-watcher.  At first, her subject squirms on his bench, eyes tight-shut and face averted.  But as if carried by the scent of wood long nourished on the waters of his homeland, or the sounds of familiar tongues, the long-ago words of Bandobras (https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/index.php?msg=23011) come to him across the years: One day, you will be a leader among your people. I can see that.  You may have to join the shield wall on occasion, but your greatness will be in your words and in your council.  Until then, rely on the fellowship of your friends.

"Yes!" comes the scratchy-voiced cry of Hartfast amid a growing number of others as he comes back from his own memory.  "Let him speak!" 

Before they can begin to chant his name, Arbogast rises, his face showing clearly a new resolve.  "Friends and kinfolk," he begins, perhaps too softly, "I am Arbogast, son of Arbodag, whom Men name for the Fire-watcher.  I..."

His eyes widen as he searches for the right words.  "All that my friend, herself a heroine famed in tales told from here to the Lonely Mountain and back, says is true.  I have sought no great name, nor rich fortune, but only to protect those who I could, and to avenge those who I could not." 

Warming at last to his speech, he meets the eyes of the others who have stood and made their claims.  "The Lady Ætheldreám speaks of the price paid to reach this day.  I say to you, kinfolk of Balthi, there may yet come a day when all of us are called upon to pay a price.  A geld beyond reckoning for our kin, for the glory of our halls and for the life we have desired to live.  Know this: that should that day come it shall not find me wanting.  Whatever price is due, I shall pay, and I shall do so with my voice raised in song." 

Arbogast's voice rises above a growing chorus of murmurings.  "On that day, I shall sing of the Woodmen!  I shall sing of the courage of those who, alone of all Men, have dared to dwell within Mirkwood and to make of it their home and sanctuary!  I shall sing of the fortitude of those who, with little but stout shields and the strength of their hearts, have withstood the fangs of wolf and spider, and the swords of orcs and wicked Men!  I shall sing of the light of the Lamp, and the glorious tales of those who brought it forth from darkness, and who keep it to this day!"


:ooc: Okay, thanks guys.  My moment of grandstanding is now over.   

"The Tarn and the Warchief!" Cried the Foresthelm.

The mind of the Longspear churned over what Artamund had said. Was there an advantage buried somewhere in their, he thought maybe there was.

He looked around the gathering and leaned in to one of the woodmen near him and said,

"Who speaks for Woodman-hall in this council, who is their elder now that Ingomer has gone?"

The one he turns to, a young woman with her hair braided in the fashion of the shieldmaidens of the wood, regards the Foresthelm with something approaching scorn.  "Why, nobody!  Have you not heard?  We are a folk without kings, and even in the least of our halls every toothless crone and misty-eyed greybeard demands their say.  Had they the sense to simply choose Mogdred, we would have a king at last and all this faffery would be done away with!" 

Surely not every last crone and greybeard, is it? the Longspear thinks to himself as he looks around the assembly in the hall.  I count here seven and thirty grey-hairs in places of honour.  These, surely are those whose hearts we must court.


:ooc: Tom has figured out one of the things you'll be able to do as you go: with an extended Insight task (requiring three successes) you'll get a feel for the current spread of opinion among the Woodmen's wrinkly-faced electors.  You'll be able to make a roll every couple of hours (so, one roll tonight and another after a few hours of observing the doom-ring proceedings tomorrow). 

 :ooc: going to have a Odysseus moment here, bear with me.

"Artamund, again I rise to speak. Pray all here excuse me for I do not know your ways as well as a native woodman does and many years have passed since last there was a need for this council. The Law-giver says 'from among their warriors'. Was not Ingomer first warlord and then came to be chief of Woodman-hall through wisdom and age?

 By your words must not the elders nominate among their warriors as Amaleoda has done?

We could perhaps overlook the fact that a chieftain has nominated themselves, but does not the position of chieftain of a folk invalidate a claim to war-chief? True Ingomer was both, but he was unique among men and perhaps the council was not so accurate in his day so as to keep to the traditions of the people. Was it not wisdom of the before-comers that established that the war-chief not be swayed by the needs of just one settlement, that which they also governed?

By your rendering of the law however the only real candidate that has been put forward is The Firewatcher of the Black Tarn. These times are full of troubles and the War-chief is unlikely to be idle and I may have misheard the law. Would it not be better and best for the Woodmen that the war-chief not have responsibility over one settlement, but to keep all the Wood-men in mind?

Let the deliberations be clear and ancient customs adhered to from the ouset to avoid confusion later."

:ooc: Interesting.  Do you mind if I ask where Hathcyn's going with this?  Is this a good-faith attempt to have everyone else disqualified?

 :ooc: The goal is for several reasons. First, I'm proposing that a town chief is ineligible for the position as the law was rendered and that this is wise because it means the warchief may speak for all woodmen and not overly concerned with the needs of their town.

Second, if we can invalidate Mogdred and Caewin as a point of order it means we dont have to outright campaign against them. So saving a friendship with Caewin to help him later and removing Mogdred as a candidate and marginalizing him.

Third any other candidate those two would have to propose will be weaker than the two already put forward with Arbogast a more likely choice and in the lead.

Fourth, if there is sufficient doubt planted any power play by the others can be challenged later.

Finally, as we say colloquially in the US, "Mogdred can eat the biggest of dicks, F that guy." Embarrassing him and making him look ineffective is not only a joy, but keeping a promise.  ;D

 :ooc: so yes, a good faith attempt as part of the opening shots of the contest.

I'm also hoping Mogdred is sufficiently prodded to rebut and the dogs bark him down.  ;D

On Hathcyn's endnote, Esgalwen stands, too. "Thank you, Artamund, for your insight into the customs and laws of your people. As an outsider, I have little to add to this moot, save as witness to the last Folk-moot that Ingomer hosted those years past - enough years that some of the younger clansmen here might not have been present, or aware.

"You say that the law of the folk binds each of the clans in a common agreement, but I remind this - one who has presented himself was never accepted into the clans, by vote. The Toft was never part of the clans of Woodmen, either. So, as I am a stranger from my lands of Gondor far away, so too are others who are present here, even though their houses border your own.

"Do you wish the interests of the Woodmen clans to be guarded by outsiders? Outsiders with interests of their own? Or shall you present and choose from among your sons and daughters for this honorary position?"

With her question asked, Esgalwen sits back down.

  :>

:ooc: Interesting!  Let's see how well your arguments are received with some Persuade rolls: 

Esgalwen


Hathcyn

Before the Ranger has even finished speaking, Caewin holds up a hand in a gesture of peace.  "Now, now, let us not be hasty," is as far as he is able to go before Mogdred rises once again, a thunderous look in his eyes.  "This is an outrage!" he cries.  Then, as if on cue, every hound in the hall begins a terrible barking and howling, drowning out any further word he tries to speak. 

As if by some unheard command elders and warriors, visitors and locals alike are all of a sudden rising to their feet and pointing angry fingers at one another, each man and woman shouting dire accusations that go all unheard beneath the frenzied noise of the dogs.  Barely has the hall begun to calm when Artamund dashes an earthenware pot against the stony side of the firepit.  Shaking with rage, he faces the two outsiders.  "ENOUGH!" he screams, the word silencing all other voices in the hall.  "Such matters are for the elders of the doom-ring to decide, not for wandering wastrels to speak to us!  We will hear no more of such things and you, who think so little of our ways should perhaps seek hospitality elsewhere!" 


:ooc: So, two things have happened here: your rolls both succeeded, which has shifted some opinions, but you've also suffered a Revelation episode (given the current goings-on, the threshold for Revelation in the lands of the Woodmen is lower than usual and you've had one hanging over your heads for a little while).  Hathcyn and Esgalwen will have to make some apologies to the elders if they want to address the doom-ring later on, and should probably look for somewhere else to finish the evening. 

Let's let the dice-gods determine how many elders' support slips away from Arbogast due to his obvious association with you two troublemakers:

 :ooc: can we get a listing of the elders and where they are from?

:ooc: I have no idea what just happened.

We both succeeded at our arguments - Hathcyn with an Extraordinary success - but we failed with some kind of Revelation and also lost support? What triggered the Revelation?

I can see Mogdred getting pissed off from our persuasive arguments, but we lose here? "Wandering wastrels"?

Esgalwen is about to let the Woodmen stick it where the sun doesn't shine.