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.


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). 

"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?"

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 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!"


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

Not a bad roll!  I'm happy for you to tag her Fair trait for a second AP () 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 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. 

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?!"

I love everything about this.

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."

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