RPG.avioc.org

The fight put from them by the enchantment of the helm, the Gundabad hill-Men lurk in the wood like trolls fearful of the sunlight.  "What you want, Fox?" calls one in a surly tone. 

"Only what I have said," Hathcyn answers.  "Send word to him whose banner you fight beneath.  Tell him that Hathcyn Foresthelm waits to challenge him, or else to settle our feud forever more.  He will recognise my name, I am sure." 

The response comes as further grumbling in the hill-Men's tongue, but it seems that the custom of the duel of honour is known even among their cruel folk and they have no wish to become entangled in the personal affairs of chieftains not their own.  Instead, the Fellowship is escorted to the river's edge and rowed across in small wood-and-hide boats to the isle of the Carrock, though all with evident bad grace. 

There, it is clear to the practiced eye of Esgalwen that a war party has been in residence for a week or more.  The light brush that scatters the lowest rise of the island is hacked and broken in almost orcish fashion to feed a fire-pit dug at the base of the great stone itself, and bedrolls are scattered hither and yon according to the stations of their owners and, she supposes, the dryness of the ground beneath. 

Gwaithlim, already alert to the use of sorceries of old, sees about them glyphs daubed in what he hopes is mud and blood.  Debased and malformed things are they, if they are as he supposes them to be, and he supposes that their authors may no longer know of their ancient meaning as praise for the Witch-King of long-vanquished Angmar.  He turns his eye from them.  What power they might once have had, he thinks, is now guttering at worst, and likely long snuffed out.

That night, they are fed a haunch of meat cooked on their hosts' fire, and no move is made to take their arms, an account of their battle-prowess having no doubt spread from the white-haired sole survivor of their brief skirmish.  Never is it make perfectly clear whether they are now honoured guests or captives.  "I'll hazard that after my meeting with Viglund, they'll decide what we have been this whole time," Hathcyn ventures when Luindîs raises the subject. 

Once the hill-Men have eaten their fill, several go straight to their beds to go still and quiet, just as the Foresthelm did the previous night.  Shortly thereafter, the howling of wolves announces their night-going.  For the next two days, the shores of the Carrock isle become the edges of the Fellowship's entire world, the waters of the Anduin flowing relentlessly onward.  Hathcyn finds himself wondering at the strange, unbidden thoughts that came to him (https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/index.php?msg=35255) as he swam as a spirit-fox across that span.  What else, besides water and soil, he thinks, do the great rivers wash out into the sea? 

The wind shifts as they wait, now blowing clear and cold from the north, now heavy and wet from the western peaks, now bringing the scent of meadows from the east.  But it is on a southern wind, swift and steady, that Viglund comes to answer the challenge, the sails of his ship full as the belly of a woman soon to bear a child.  A dozen more ships follow in his wake, disgorging their warlike passengers on the east and west banks of the river, but the lead ship makes straight for the isle, and it is Viglund himself, his eyes flint-hard beneath his spectacled helm, a coat of mail about his shoulders and a terrible greataxe in his hands, who is borne from its prow upon the shoulders of his hearth-men. 

:ooc: I just have to do some preparatory rolling here:

Esgalwen (Awareness)


Gwaithlim (Awareness)


Hathcyn (Insight)


Luindîs (Insight)

To the wolf-headed prow of Viglund's boat is lashed the corpse of some unfortunate wretch, no doubt a thrall taken from his hall or a captive seized along the way.  His throat has been cut near through to the back of his spine, and his body below glistens with half-dried blood beneath the cloud of flies.  But this is clearly a device to seize and hold the attention of any onlooker, for Esgalwen and Gwaithlim both mark that many of the men unloaded from the ships east and west are borne on pallets, and the occasional piteous moan reaches Elf-ears when some terrible wound is momentarily worsened by the movement. 

Hathcyn and Luindîs, however, have eyes only for Viglund and his warriors.  But even among these battle-proven men there is a brittleness just beneath the surface, and a desperation in the theatre of their chieftain's might. 

To all the Fellowship it is clear: Viglund has come indeed to answer a challenge, but barely has he strayed from his way to do so, for he and his followers were already sailing north.  They are beaten in the south! Luindîs thinks, her heart racing.  Beaten like a drum!

As his hearth-men set him down with his feet on dry land, Viglund speaks in a loud and grating voice that, at least, has lost none of its power.  "Well!" he calls.  "The burner of my hall and the thief of my daughter has challenged me and I am here to answer!

 :ooc: this response is going to require some crafting....

:ooc: Craft away!  Matt and Doug, feel free to add in any flashbacks you want to do to fill in the intervening couple of days.

 :ooc: I dont want to keep everyone waiting, and this isnt my finest work but the game must go on.

The Longspear stepped forth. Lundis found that she was holding her breath anxious to see how this tale, long in coming, would continue. In a peace or in an epic fight upon the rock of Carrock, with all the flowing Anduin to witness.

"Wife-father, we meet again at last, but by what course shall this meeting go? How shall we embrace, you and I? Clasping arms joined as family or with the ring of steel and blood shed upon the rock?

Fire has seized us both as the seasons have come and gone, inner fire that has stirred the soul and given rise to deeds both fair and foul, and the consuming fire which has laid great halls low.

Great Halls now lay crumbling in burnt beam and ash, but from your hall sprang love and union. I gained a wife from that fire, from the fire of Beorn shall you now find peace and a son?"


Hathcyn lifted his spear and the leaf blade swept the horizon, first to the mountains in the west, then north to the vales were Viglund and his folk dwelt, and then to the eaves of the forest.

"How ruinous are the ambitions of men. When the world and things stand wasted. Like we find here, and there, and now in this middle rock, the sacred seat of the night goers.

There, walls totter, wailed by the winds, gnashed by frost, the building snow lapped and charred. The winehalls molder, the ring-giver washed of joy as his kinsmen and peers are perished, less proud do they stand by the ruin. War ravaged the land is broken both in the waking world and in the night going, the folk bearing tears as a war mask.

Your folk around you equally ruined as is the land by this needless war encouraged by the were-wolves and the shadow hunters. Forsake them. Recall to mind the days of your fathers when the night goers knew who the enemy was.

But what wife geld do I offer? In my pride I could speak long. I am Hathcyn Foresthelm, Thane of the Greenstone land. I am known to the Men of the Lake, The King of the Stone towers, the sons of Durin know the sight of my sweat. I am the road guardian, the spider killer, and the mountain climber.  I am the stone riser and the hall maker. The cattle keeper and the Banner Bearer. The Longspear of the Beornings! Many names have I earned both the great and the small. But the first of these was Kinslayer. Hathcyn Kinslayer I began, and to him I will return if you choose the iron price wife-father.

This is the wife-geld I offer.

A daughter-keeper of worth and children that may know the ways of the Mouse and Fox. I offer peace and a sharing of the forest gate road tolls for each year we have been sundered and I wed to Aestid, fairest of women, the spirit of her folk, highest treasure of my heart and hall."

Then he raised the longspear high.

"Or your blood shall be a warning to the shadow hunters to never come here again. I shall don the blue cloak, and fight the holmgang before the assembled people and decide the issue.

I do not ask for love to move you, but perhaps wisdom and a clear eye of what may be gained will do what affection will not. I Hathcyn Foresthelm I offer peace and filial aid in just cause."

:ooc: Not your best work, you say, but that was an awesome read. 

We're going to play out the resulting interaction as an Encounter/Council - I'll assume an auto-success on your introduction because see supra and you get a bonus die for Hathcyn's earlier Insight roll.  As for the rest, this sounds to me like a Persuade attempt:



Doug and Matt, feel free to chime in with suggestions, or even in character (though be warned that you'll need an introduction roll to do so, and the TN will be higher than usual because this is a very personal interaction).  You guys have sat on the sidelines long enough and I don't want this to be any more boring for you than it needs to be! 

:ooc: Well blimey!

EDIT: adding some mood-setting music.

Eyes narrowed beneath his helm, Viglund lowers his axe until its head rests on the stony shore, folds his hands atop the iron-shod shaft and stares at the Longspear.  After a few moments, he speaks: "You speak of peace as if it were a thing a man could hold in his hands and give to another.  Never was it so.  You seek peace between war-like men, and such is found when only one stands." 

With a dark chuckle he continues "You offer me a son, and in truth I find myself in want of a good one, but I know of you, Hathcyn Fox-shanks, and no son of mine could you be, to serve two fathers.  Banner-bearer and longspear as you are, you'll not raise your spear for my sake besides.  No, I'll not take these things you offer." 

"Your road-geld could you give to me,"  he adds with a cruel smile, "an that my warriors had already taken it from you!  Did you think that your hall, and your famed stone member, were unknown to me, or that I would fail to answer the blow you struck against my pride like for like?  Mark me, proud Hathcyn, when I tell you that this is the way of Men: to make war until all cast themselves down before the strongest.  And no promise is to be believed without the might to take what is not freely given.  Believe elsewise at your peril!" 

Turning his head, he spits into the water.  "You can keep faithless Aestid if you will.  I've yet the tools to make more and better daughters.  And for your bride-price I'll accept the gift of a lesser man to a greater one, a treasure whole for one despoiled.  That helm you wear, for my daughter.  Pretty will it look, hanging in my hall." 


:ooc: Three successes so far...

Faithless? Faithless you call the only shinning light from an otherwise bleak hearth. Warriors you have, but how niggardly have you given rings of gold or silver? Even now your folk speak of her with high esteem and not singularly do some dwell with her still. Were you to open your eyes and ears you would find her name, and I would wager mine as well, spoken with praise among your own folk. Faithless you call her, but what leadership have you given your folk that they lie bleeding and broken about us? If this is the sight of a victory loathe I would be to be your thegn in defeat.

Truly though did I speak. I would rally to your cause if it were just. If it were to drive the orc and the orc-friends from your hall and land you would find me an ally indeed. Against these wolf men of the north too you would find a willing spear joined to your axe for soon they will bite the hand that feeds them.

Each day your true son, lecherous and weak as he is, hastens closer to the straw death that awaits him. You claim simply to spring forth new issue to replace them. Tell me Viglund, would the woman be willing or would such issue also come with bites and kicks of protest?

With words and deeds you toss aside your children. What legacy you have then you toss in the midden and leave to the beasts and to the sky. So be it. The fox claims the mouse. Though you dismiss the greatest treasure from your hall and family, though you carelessly discard an item of true worth I shall take it! I shall take it from the steaming pile of your family and home and see its true worth. By your words you have cast out Aestid as a thing of little worth and easily replaced. Well then, I claim it. I will give you only so much for it as you valued it. Nothing.

So, then let us turn to other matters. I shall speak then for Grimbeorn Wolfslayer. I, Hathcyn Foresthelm and bearer of the bear standard, will speak. Listen all to my words.

You speak of peace as an empty palm. So too is war. You speak of war as a thing that can be held in the hand. Not so. Any treasure or plunder gotten by war would be larger and brighter if it were won through peace. Look to the old ford. The Beornings guard its crossings and the free peoples pass unmolested. A toll is paid for services rendered and each has grown profitable for it. Why take a wagon one year, when you can collect a tithe for each year after year? And the numbers grow and the coin freely given to keep folk like your friends at bay. Yea, strength may do this too and its not accompanied by the whimpering and sobs, the night music that accompanies foul deeds.

If not for a daughter's sake then maybe for the folk about you see the path of wisdom and peace. All share in the burden of guarding the road and the ford, but all share in its profit. I recognize your strength Viglund. Your axe is keen and well handled. Would you turn its bite and its strength to nobler and better purposes?

Speak, speak so all can hear. Let your thegns as well as axemen know your heart. Here is a chance for Viglund of the North to show wisdom paired with strength. You have but to take peace, grab it as if it were plunder. And you will find it more profitable with your axe directed in more nobler purpose, your hall rebuilt, and your people singing your praise instead of whispered oaths and curses in waking and in night-going.

If you refuse all others hear me. Those who would forsake the wolfmen and orc-friends are welcome. Come and wash the stink of them from you in the waters of Anduin the Great and join the folk and share in its prosperity and just law. Here in this place. The rock of the water, where the earth and water meet, here at the Carrock, the most fitting and right place to renew our bonds. Join us, and let your people and your spirit guides be as one.

:ooc: I can see you're trying to goad me into rolling for you again, and it won't work because I'm not sure which route you're trying to take - are you setting up a Persuade or an Awe attempt here?

 :ooc: lol, damn I have been unmasked....

 :ooc: my stats are the same for both, but Persuade seems more fitting. Do I know what the target number of successes is here?

Hear me oh Dice Norns! What fate do you have in store for Hathcyn the Longspear?

Persuade:

 :ooc: Also, in case it isnt apparent I am trying to appeal to Viglund and applying pressure to his status as a lord. While also making a direct appeal to the people in the fine tradition of a tribune of the plebs.

At Hathcyn's mention of the Old Ford, the hands of Viglund's bodyguards tighten about the hafts of axes and spears but their chieftain's mien changes but little.  As Hathcyn finishes, though, his reply comes in an instant.  "You would speak to me of the Ford?  Well do I know of its value, for he who rules in the darkling forest promised his friendship, aye and a kingly sum besides, if I would but seize it.  And this I did," he adds, "for few can stand before my folk when the battle-thirst is upon us!" 

He raises his voice to be heard by all those who the Longspear addressed.  "But we were betrayed, for though we expected that the bear-whelp would raise his men to face us, we reckoned without the coming of another!  Riders struck us as we celebrated our conquest, and must have been awaiting our coming to do so, for no southern man ever was friend to us!" 

His voice lowering now to an angry growl, he goes on.  "So I say it is they, not you, who should be offering me peace to take in my hands, for they are upon the east bank, but all the wide Anduin lies between Beorn's son and I, an that he pay whatever toll the lord of the riders sees fit.  By right I am owed a price for my daughter, whether or not I care for her wellbeing.  But if you would speak of turning strength to better purpose, then this I offer: let the lord of these riders be your hated enemy as he has made himself mine.  Work with your long spear and clever words ever against him, vex him and do him ill, and I shall hold your debt to me paid in full." 


:ooc: Four successes.  I'll also make an Inspire roll which won't affect the current Encounter, but will determine how well Hathcyn's invitation is received.  The TN is 16 because Viglund is right there telling them not to listen to him. 

:ooc: Looks like there'll be a few families making their way south over the next year or so. 

 :ooc: are these riders per chance of the folk from that woman who sought Hathcyn's aid over the winter?

Also I guess we need to bluff that we know what he is talking about, but I have no clue.

:ooc: Hathcyn has no clue, but fortunately he's not here by himself.  Let's see what Esgalwen knows, shall we?

Yeah I'm running out of rope here.

:ooc: Well hopefully a 16 is a success. Esgalwen hasn't had a play in this story for a while, save to swing her sword. If it is a success, Paul will have to let us know what she knows.

 :ooc: I'm ready for help anytime now. :)

:ooc: Yep, sorry guys - I was called away to do house admin things and intended to get back to this before I went to bed.  Best-laid plans and all...

As Viglund and Hathcyn exchange proud words, Esgalwen thinks frantically of where this new threat may have arisen.  Surely, she thinks, the Eorlings would not think to come so far north, or to do such mischief if they did?   No, the folk of Rohan are blameless in this.  Their kinfolk though... 

She recalls from years ago the sight of a small band of mailed riders watering their horses on the far banks of the great river, and a passing comment that these were Leofringas, cousins to the Eorlings who had not followed Eorl the Young all the way to his southern land.  And how do they now come by their bright mail, here over the edge of the Wild, she wonders.  By banditry and plunder, perhaps?  Or by service to another who can reward them?

And from there, her chain of thought leads in a darker direction, from the transport of mail hauberks as a gift in hope of a new friend of Gondor, to the sight of the same armour on the shoulders of the bodyguard of King Mogdred (https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/index.php?msg=31930[/url).  Her heart beats faster as her brow furrows.  Surely not!  But whoever these riders are, they came in force through the lands of the Woodmen and this they might allow of one who was once their own. 

A cold sureness settles upon her as her thoughts reach their dreadful end.  Yes, that will be it.  The vanquishers of Viglund will have borne red circles on their shields.  And Mogdred of Tyrant's Hill now holds the Old Ford.


:ooc: Apologies to anyone who read an earlier version of this post.  I've redrafted it to make Esgawlen a lot more certain of herself, and to set up developments for coming chapters.

(Doug does Esgalwen want to interject here? Otherwise I'm going to go with the following. Our other goal was to delay these folks so any time we can buy is also a win.



Hathcyn pondered this news and this offer.

"Viglund, my duties and my roles here are mixed between our business and that of the Beornings. I must confer on this matter and the tidings you bring before I can offer an answer on behalf of myself or the Folk. We both have traveled far and overcome many trials. Shall we meet tomorrow on this matter? Were I better able to offer you hospitality I would, but what I have I will share."

"Twice betrayed and foolish is the daughter of Gondor who came with gift in hand, only to offer such to he who shows no honor - neither to father or kin." Esgalwen stared at the ground while her thoughts churned from the words of Viglund. Looking to Hathcyn, "Whom else could he speak of then Mogdred, son of Ingomer."

Esgalwen felt the stone in her stomach, heavy and sour. She had lived among his people, if but for a short time, and she thought she had seen something in the young man - maybe a kinship. He was strong, brash and handsome, and loved his people seeking only their protection. Thus had he moved her, stirred within her a desire to help him. She had spoken for him before the Steward of Gondor, pleading a case to assist him and so grow a potential ally in the north.

Instead, all she had done was enable a ruthless viper, giving him mail and arms that gave advantage over all the folk of the Vale - simple as they were in their customs and means. Now Mogdred used the tools given for the purpose of strengthening the Vale, to instead lord over it and place his boot on its neck.

What would she do now? Go back to Gondor and ask for aid again from her folk? To what? March north and seize that which was given? No, Gondor would do no such thing, seeing this a problem for the Northmen. Ruinous, too, would it be for her father's house and name.

Fury filled her heart. She had brought this on Grimbeorn, her dearest friend.

She looked to Hathcyn once more, "I will not let this be, Hathcyn. If he wishes to bring war to the Vale then he will find it. As you have called out Viglund for his wrong-doing, so, too, shall I face Mogdred. He will see my face and know what his betrayal has brought. Only by renouncing any claim, or by asserting that he has come for naught else, save to secure Grimbeorn's holdings, only then will he prove himself true. Mogdred will tell me his heart, or he will find my sword quick and vengeful."

Esgalwen spat the word and fey was the look she gave her friend.

 :ooc: there is a lot to think about here and I have about five questions circling in my head as a player.

Hathcyn listened to the rangers words.

Viglund, we both have traveled far and under many ordeals. I wish to take counsel and reflect on what had been proposed. I have little with me in terms of food and drink, but I'm willing to share it with you, and then let us meet again tomorrow."

Ooc: not sure where to go from here and delaying was also one of our goals here.

The tension had not bled off, but Esgalwen now wondered if there would be conflict here. She was certain that Viglund would not relinquish his claims, but with Mogdred now on the field, Grimbeorn had even more to deal with.

Unless Mogdred has rallied his banners in aid of Beorn's son? her mind sought to escape this betrayal that filled her heart.

She spoke softly, "There is no point for swords here, Hathcyn. No more need for talk to this maker of slaves. He may hold this victory in his hand for a day, but let us be on our way back south to determine this new threat and see if Grimbeorn needs us. By the look of Viglund's forces, they have been bloodied and have no fight left in them for now. I believe the greater threat is Mogdred."

Viglund waits not until Esgalwen has finished before calling out, making sure his folk hear him.  "I've no need of your fire or your meat, Longspear of the Beornings.  You have my offer, and I'll have your answer at dawn, else know that the strife between us shall go on!" 


:ooc: This ends the die-rolling part of the story (for the most part).  Hathcyn can think his answer over while we turn our attention southward...

Once the company are together again and outside the hearing of others.

"This beast is an obstinate one, I'll give him that. Such a foul and ill mannered man it would be just to cut him down, and probably safer for everyone, but I am not certain of the test or the need. Esgalwen, who is this red moon man? I have only passing knowledge of him and as I recall the folk we drove from the Stony Ford merged with his people. It appears the snakes have emerged from their hole yet again. My instinct is to accept Viglund's terms. This price seems fair, or at least the fairest in his eyes I could bargain him down to. What are your thoughts? I feel like I shall be fighting these men anyway." 

 :ooc: Sorry, busy all day. I will respond tomorrow.

The lady of Gondor looked off to a point in the sky, as Hathcyn spoke. She listened intently, but her mood was foul.

"He is Mogdred, who was once named Ingold, and he is the son of Ingomer - chief among the elders of Woodland Hall. When he was young, he went with a hunting party into the forest. They were waylaid by orcs and Ingold was taken prisoner. He and others of the party who survived suffered long in the prisons of Dol Guldur. When the power of that dark place was broken, these prisoners escaped their torture and found refuge in a broken tower. A place called Amon Bauglir. Over time, more refugees of Dol Guldur came to this place - forgotten and untrusted souls.

"Well, when the Folk-moot of 2949 was called, I was newly arrived in the Vale. I met Ingold - now Mogdred. We spent time together... I lived among his people for a short time. Do not get me wrong, it was not a romantic interest, but one of common situation. He was lost from his folk, me from mine." Hathcyn looked at Esgalwen's face and he was not sure if she spoke truth or not, for her face had changed as she spoke of the man.

"Anyway," she continued, "I had traveled south again to Minas Tirith. It took many long months. I almost died. When home, I spoke before the lords of Gondor and requested aid for the Vale... for Mogdred in particular. I thought I saw in him an ally. A redeemable man who, with some help, could be a great leader here. A good leader."

Esgalwen stood up and pitched a stone that she held. It plopped into the river. She said gruffly, "I was wrong."

To his other question, Esgalwen looked to where Viglund and his party had gone - to tents and their spoils. Again she spoke with no emotion, "You will have to fight him, Hathcyn. And you will have to kill him. Let them get fat and lazy with their spoils, while we see to this challenge at the Ford. Once removed, we can come back here and take back what is Grimbeorn's. We shall return with such fire and rage that every Vig will be driven from this region unto the northern wastes, so as to not threaten this land again."

PLOP!

The second stone she held disappeared into the cold, dark river.