Hathcyn blury with the mead of Beorn sets his mind to guage the location of the nut. His focus was rewarded with a few early wins, but he is soon swept aside by the better men at the table. The Longspear laughed and drifted to the side of the crowd.

  paul, are you marking the APs or are we?

I started out marking APs, but I've given up due to time constraints.  Mark away, boys. 

I'm leaving things open for a bit in case anyone (especially Matt) has more RP they want to add.  If I don't see any activity by later tonight, I'll move the plot along. 

Grimbeorn's laugh and booming voice is as infectious and effective as his father's.  "It seems the man of the Lake has bested my folk this day.  This trial goes to Tate!  Pray lake-man tell what would you do with the sickle if it were bestowed upon you?"

Quote from: GandalfOfBorg on Feb 04, 2018, 04:38 PMGrimbeorn's laugh and booming voice is as infectious and effective as his father's.  "It seems the man of the Lake has bested my folk this day.  This trial goes to Tate!  Pray lake-man tell what would you do with the sickle if it were bestowed upon you?"

Tate's eyes widened at Grimbeorn's question. "M'Lord Grimbeorn, I cannot even imagine such an honour." He honestly paused to collect his thoughts for a moment. When he spoken, it was with sincerity and seriousness. "Your gift would be an heirloom of my house, a prized treasure. It would be the showpiece over my hearth and, with it, I would teach my kin the songs of your people, starting with how your father turned the tide of the Great Battle; how you, Lord Grimbeorn, slew the Beast of Mirkwood; how your house has united a mighty people, brave and true, a shield and spear in dark times. And I would tell them I know this first hand for Lord Grimbeorn allowed me the honour to walk amongst his people for a time." With a slight bow, he finished, "This is what I would do with such an honour."

Tate's answer causes visible consternation on the faces of the assembled thegns, some of whom begin to cast suspicious looks between the Lake-man and the heir of Beorn.  But any words that might pass between them are drowned out by the roar of approval from the crowd, and the resumption of music and dancing among those who still have the energy.  Ethal's lip curls, and he takes Tate's hand with obvious bad grace before stepping down off the porch and pushing his way out of the torchlight.  The mood continues merry, and the celebrations carry on into the night, but by and by the silent moon finds fires banked and all about them aslumber. 

The following morning sees the crowd assembled for the foot-race.  Before them stretches a narrow causeway, a steep earthen berm and a series of hurdles both high and low, and the earth between each soaked and churned into a sodden morass.  Eager participants are beginning to gather at the starting line to receive their oiled torches.  They are boisterous, these young men, and already there is pushing and shoving among them as they jostle for a prime starting position. 

Nearby, half a dozen men goad and drag Gnornung into his pen.  A smaller crowd has gathered by the sturdy fences and is now moving uncertainly, listening to the bellows of the bull and anxiously trying not to lose face by appearing unwilling to face it. 

Rorin, staying close to Grimbeorn as the host approaches the assembled runners, says little, lacking the fine humour of the previous night and clearly impatient to leave in pursuit of the captured Dwarves. 



Is anyone interested in competing in the race?  Alternatively, there's honour to be won by trying to stare down a penned bull without being gored. 

"Not exactly what I would expect but it would be your choice for your time with the sickle."
---
Before the next day's contests commenced, Grimbeorn addressed the contestants and other important nobles at the festivities.  "Before we continue with the games, I need to speak with all of you. It has come to my attention that kin of my friend Rorin here has been taken by men, likely from the north mountains or Vigs, passing through this realm doing so.  It is an offense that I cannot stomach and plan to pick up the trail as soon as the trials are complete.  If any of you will follow me, be ready the morning after tomorrow.  Now let's finish these trials."

  Gonna take a hard pass here on both of them...

Would Tate notice the suspicious looks of some of the thegns and, if yes, would he understand why they were concerned with Tate's talk?  


As Ethal leaves the porch, his pride bruised, Tate simply shrugged after him and turned towards Esgalwen. "Seems not everyone is pleased with the results." His eyes softened, and he smiled at his friend, gave her s light bow, "M'Lady, can I entreat you to one dance before I retire for the evening?"


Doug, if Esgalwen says "yes", during the dance, Tate will ask her if she noticed some of thegns tense up during his talk and if she knows the source of their consternation.

If Esgalwen refuses, Tate will give her another low bow and a winning smile and a "As you wish..." before retiring for the evening.

  Also... is the Sickle like the Stanley Cup? The winner has to return it for the next year's games? Or would Tate actually get to keep it?

The sickle gets returned every year, but there's no reason Tate would know that.  I've played things on the assumption that he's unintentionally mis-spoken and ruffled a few feathers among those who would otherwise benefit from the prize. 

  Ah... I see... twice in one night Tate sticks his foot in his mouth. This boy definitely needs to get some sleep.

Grimbeorn's words cause a ripple of excitement in the crowd.  The jostling of the young men becomes even more urgent with the implication that ambitious geoguth not only have a chance to impress their lord-to-be, but may soon do so on the field of battle. 

Hathcyn Longspear has a mind to go, but first he has to avoid being gorged by a bull.

Esgalwen watched Tate's feet as he danced to the upbeat strumming of lute, accompanied by flute and drum. It was jovial and hypnotic, and she felt that no sooner had she learned the series of steps that the musicians drew things to a halt. She laughed aloud, breathing hard as she did.

"I almost kept up with you," she said smiling. "You North-men and Vale-men have quite the jigs - fun but feet-sore!"

"You kept excellent time," he replied.

"Now you are just trying to flatter - you saw my steps."

The two strolled out from the lantern lit pavilion where the musicians began another tune. Tate became more serious and asked of any indiscretion that Esgalwen witnessed, when he addressed the Beorning leader. Seeing he was serious, the ranger changed her own demeanor in response.

"I cannot think of anything you said that was untoward - but understand that though I have spent many seasons alongside our host, he is still an enigma. In fact, the Beornings, as a whole, are a grim bunch. Fast friends. Fearsome foes. Quiet and grim. Your response seemed honoring to me, Tate, but I am not familiar with all of their customs. I would tell you to not worry over it, for certain it will be forgotten with the new day and the opening of a new cask." With that, Esgalwen's smile returned.

"Will you walk me to my tent?" she asked. The man nodded. And so they walked back to the guest tents in quiet conversation.

Esgalwen found herself staring into the younger man's eyes. He was truly handsome...and witty...and courteous. But he was a North-man. She was not of noble birth, and thus had no obligations to such, but she was a Dúnadan and her family traced its blood back to the few Faithful that followed Elendil to Middle-earth. There were few of that bloodline left and it grew thinner with each new generation of Gondorian. For her to find a husband outside of her kin...well, she thought, it would be the last betrayal of my father's wishes.

The stars shone above. Everything was right about the night. Esgalwen was a woman. Long had it been since she felt like a woman. Standing there with Tate, she looked down at her hands.

"Do you see the scars?"

"What?"

"The scars? Do you see how my hands are scarred from battle? They are no lady's hands."

Tate began to realize where she was going with her words. He took Esgalwen's hands in his own. She did not resist.

"They are coarse and calloused. They have been cut and broken. What you cannot see are the scars beneath. The scars that have marred my body. The wounds taken in battle in a land far from my own." She did not meet his gaze. "Perhaps I have made poor choices for my calling. Perhaps I should have stayed in Gondor and been the daughter my father wished."

"Esgalwen," started Tate...but she slowly pulled her hands away. She looked up to meet his eyes.

"Thank you for walking me to my tent, Master Bard. Understand, I am a Ranger of Ithilien and a woman of Gondor. I am daughter of Eradan, Dúnadan...one of the Faithful. I cannot be anything else...to you."

The woman slipped away and entered the tent leaving Tate with a questioned look.

---

Hey Ayrn - just to give you my thoughts on the above.

It is not my intention as a player to assume that your PC is getting hot and bothered for Esgalwen. It is SHE that is struggling with her lot in life, right now.

She has witnessed Arbogast marry Lindwine and they now have a home and family. She is far from home. She is a woman. She is growing older.

Putting all that stuff together, and me as a guy trying to think what the hell a woman would think, I come up with the above.

Esgalwen is falling for Tate - maybe it is just lust - but the life of a warrior is weighing on her.

Make sense? Anyway, the questioned look can be Tate going WTF? Or it could be him going, why is she resisting? Or whatever you want to interpret it as.

Have fun!  

The new day was a rarity for the Company.

As the contestants began to form on the grounds, Rorin looked up to see Esgalwen...in a dress!

The young maiden's hair was loose and flowing down her back. The auburn color caught the sun and shone, creating a nice compliment to the yellow fabric of her bodice. She wore no weapons. Her armor was also absent.

"Do you see this?" asked the Dwarf to Grimbeorn, who stood near. The Beorning looked out into the crowd but missed his female friend entirely, as her change did not register. Not having enough time to deal with the Dwarf, the man went about his duty of calling up the new day's events.

Esgalwen, lost in her own thoughts, did not hear Grimbeorn call out the new games. Nor did she look to find a place among the contestants, or observers. Instead she walked through the yards and around the homes of the common folk that lived there. She came upon a group of elder-women, three to be precise, accompanied by five young ladies that were still in their young teens. The elders were teaching the younger ladies to sew and mend both cloth and skin.

One of the women looked up to see Esgalwen standing there, fair in the afternoon sun. "Lady...you will find yourself more entertained within the walls of the Master. The party and festivities will continue for another few days. Much more enjoyable for ye, I would be thinking."

The other women, and young girls looked to her.

"Actually, Mum...I would prefer the simpler things today, if that would be all right?" Esgalwen came to stand near the log where the ladies sat. The older woman met the young Ranger's eyes, and something passed unspoken.

A crooked, wrinkled hand patted the wood seat next to her, "Right then, come sit near me, m'lady...I have another bone needle here somewhere."

"Esgalw...Gwen...my name is Gwen."

"Right then, Gwen...come now. Let's see what you know."