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The son of Viglund's mace-head strikes heavily into Grimbeorn's shield, but it was made with all the skill of the wood-wrights of Lothlorien and blunts his fury easily.  Still, Viglund watches, his mien impassive.  The tension in the audience is tangible, like a cord just about to snap.  And so it is that a scream from the gloaming beyond the crowd spreads panic and confusion like wildfire.  Within moments, the assembled Viglundings are drawing back from the duelling field, some running into the darkness, others rushing to seek out loved ones, none seeming to know what is taking place, but knowing that it bodes ill for them.  Viglund himself rises from his seat, his warriors drawing to him to defend against some treacherous attack, but it is no such thing. 

Rushing for the barred gates like a flood somehow streaming uphill, the loosed thralls of Viglund are making their bid for freedom. 


:ooc: First things first, you'll both need to get clear from the enemies closest to you, which I'll treat as escaping from combat (see TOR, p. 180).  The TN will be 13 in each case - Viglund's guards are more concerned with protecting their chieftain than holding on to Rorin, and while Grimbeorn is facing two foes, Thunar isn't going to make any attempt to stop him leaving, and Viglar isn't that effective a fighter.  Rolls follow:

Grimbeorn

:00: 1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 3d6 : 5, 4, 1, total 10

Hathcyn


Mike, if you want to bring Anar in here, feel free.  We can do this narratively while we work his stats out.  Bear in mind, though, that he won't have anything beyond what he stands up in (unless you can convince the other two to go and loot Fystenheorth, which they may want to do anyway to make sure that Rorin and Grimbeorn's followers are suitably equipped). 

:ooc: That's a tough result for Grimbeorn - though you can make it a success with a Hope point...

Also, it's an extra AP for Hathcyn, with the great success and his Swift trait.  :csu:

 :ooc:
What if I decide to take the fail?

:ooc: You'll just be stuck with Viglar trying to kill you for a bit longer.  If it goes on too long, you may have Viglund's other warriors to worry about, as well. 

In the mass confusion, Grimbeorn is unable to get to his friends.  Still armed, he he keeps his cool trying to protect himself and the Innocents from the wild and ill-conceived attacks from Viglar and possible furtive blows from opportunists.

The cry of panic is unmistakable to those who have heard it. The sound starts as a singular peel, almost a laugh, but then rolls into a screatch as other voices lend their music to the drama.

Hathcyn took it for a signal that the escape was nigh. He blew the rallying whistle and sought to link up with Rorin. For Grimbeorn was armed and ready, while the dwarf was alone, unarmed, and wounded.

As soon as his captors move away from him, Rorin leaps to his feet and shoves his way through to Hathcyn.  Clapping the tall man's arm, he exclaims "a less happy meeting than in Beorn's mead-hall, but no less welcome!"  Then a shout from one of Viglund's guards shows that his escape has been marked.  "My hammer lies somewhere in that hall," Rorin growls, "and I am loath to leave it for these vile folk." 

The weapons marking the corners of the duelling field shine in the firelight as Viglar fails to land another blow on Grimbeorn.  Thunar, raw hatred in his eyes, bellows at the drunken warrior.  "Foolish sot!  Look at what you've done!  I'll fight no longer in a duel whose honour you have trampled!" 

Then, and only then, does Viglund speak.  "No, you won't, for no duel is this any longer!  Bring him down, and quickly!  There is hard work to be done this night!" 

Needing no further encouragement, Viglar once more lays on.  Thunar merely stands by his side, however, ready to defend the son of his chieftain. 


:ooc: Another attack by Viglar.  There's no need to go back into combat rounds, as I think this is about to become a running battle better suited to narrative time.  I'll assume that Grimbeorn is continuing to sacrifice a weapon die to fight defensively, for a TN of 22.

"Thunar, don't.  Fight for a better future instead of for those drunk on wine and power."

 :ooc:
Yes, that is fine to keep up my defense for now.  Grimbeorn attacks Viglund to subdue, not harm, but reply with deadly force against any guards who attack him directly or his people.

Hathcyn darted a quick glance to the fight at hand and summed in his head quickly the chaos that was the flight from bondage. They were flying without thought or care, knowing only to be away was better. These folk were Beornings, and some among them surely would have worked upon the dwarf road. And so Hathcyn drew his hand to his mouth and blew another whistle. This one hopefully heard by the flight of the captives and also hopefully understood by some. The call was to fly and scatter, but to assemble and help was near at hand. With that done he turned to the dwarf.

"Come Rorin Roadmaker, let us raid the den of the wolf and owl. For the fox too takes what it wants." The man smiled at throwing Viglund's words back at him. He laughed, "come, let us fetch your hammer Roadmaker so that the craftsman shall not be long sundered from his tool."

Quote from: GandalfOfBorg on Sep 07, 2018, 05:29 AMGrimbeorn attacks Viglund to subdue, not harm...
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:ooc:Okay, I'll treat this as another called shot.

Thunar almost seems to nod despite himself, but remains steadfast at Viglar's side.  The momentary connection coupled with his weariness from battle, though, is enough to distract him long enough for Grimbeorn to surge forward.  Beating Viglar's mace aside with Bear Claw, Grimbeorn puts all his weight and his considerable strength behind a shield blow that lifts Viglar off his feet and knocks him flat on his back. 

Through the thinning crowd, he sees Hathcyn and Rorin side by side, making for the doors of the hall.  At the same moment, he sees a knot of young Beornings he recognises from the day of Odo and Merovech's funeral.  Though bloodied and bruised, the men are rushing for the gate with the rest of the freed thralls, and Grimbeorn feels a stab of pride when he sees that they are grouped around a handful of children.  No, he quickly realises, not children.  Hobbits! 

As Thunar cries for the Viglunding warriors to rally to their chieftain, Rorin stops and siezes Hathcyn's sleeve so suddenly that the fabric tears and the swift-footed Beorning is nearly yanked off his feet.  There is barely time to speak, but Rorin points out a pair of Dwarves, their short legs pounding as they follow the rest of the captives. 

"Aye, the pits of this place held many captives it would seem, in time we will hear their tale and have our revenge. But roght now if you want your and many days left to you to ise it we must move now!"

"I've come for my people, nothing more.  No more blood need be shed.  I am leaving, pray do not hinder our passage."

Grimbeorn goes off to shield the escape of those helpless to defend themselves.

 :ooc: Give us an Awe roll on that one, Matt! Show that inner-Bear.  ;D

 :ooc:
 [<
 :00:
Use. Hope and Grim applicable

"Aye, right then," Rorin nods before heaving open the doors to the mead hall.  Wasting no time, for the warriors of Fystenheorth must be near behind them, Hathcyn slips behind the heavy cloth that hangs behind the now-empty space where sat the elk-horned throne and into Viglund's private quarters.  Inside, the air is thick with the smells of stale mead and unwashed bodies, and the space is dominated by a large box-bed covered in sheep skins.  Two disorganised piles of skins on the floor mark where Viglund's children sleep. 

Rorin's practiced eye quickly finds the door of a cupboard hidden beneath the bed, and he breaks it open with a single, expertly-placed blow.  Without a candle to light his way, he reaches in and feels quickly about.  "There's mail here," he cries.  "My hammer will be here too, come, help me look!"  Behind them, the pair can clearly hear the noice of Viglunding warriors pouring into the hall to fetch their own war-gear. 

Outside, the nearby warriors keep their distance from Grimbeorn as the escaped thralls, who must number near to a hundred, reach the gates.  The Son of Beorn hears the sounds of battle mix with the deep thump of a bar dropped to the ground, and the gates begin to open.  Dashing in that direction, he is in time to see the dark-haired maiden exhorting the ragged thralls.  "Faster!  Fly and do not stop!"  Then, seeing him, she nods and calls "Come!  We must away now if we are to escape!" 

"Lead them on and make for my lands. Be wary of outriders. I will stay to the last man, woman, and dwarf!"

Hathcyn wondered what fair or foul things would be kept in the clutch of this lord of the north. With a haste born out of natural alacrity and pushed on by curiosity the northman began to reach into the cupboard as fast as he could spilling all the contents onto the floor.

"I'll grab, you sort Master Rorin. Your hammer should be here and perhaps a geld price for the dishonourable treatment we have suffered."

In short order, Hathcyn brings out two suits of Dwarf-sized mail, a heavy but finely-wrought maul, a short sword (on which he cuts his hand fumbling in the dark), a greataxe and a leather sack from which comes the unmistakeable clinking of coin.  Hastily, Hathcyn helps Rorin don his hauberk.  In the gloom, struggling to lift the weight and fumbling with straps and ties, it is an undignified affair, but when Rorin smooths his beard down over the steel rings, hefts his hammer and narrows his eyes, the young Beorning is glad of his efforts.  Rorin favours him with a glance as he says "Carry as much as you can and stay close to me.  It's time to show these dogs what one of Durin's folk may do when not ambushed and surrounded!"


As the thralls of Viglund stampede through the gate, the maiden calls out "Fly!  Run and scatter!  Run to your homes!  Run to the river!  You are too many for him to chase all of you!"  As Grimbeorn stands guard, three Viglunding warriors approach at a run, though they become instantly more cautious as they see him, proud, furious and ready to fight for his people.  "Stand aside," one growls.  "This is a matter for our chieftain and his family.  Enough harm you have caused already!"

"You shall not pass unless you are here to help these people to freedom.  If you value your hide, you will stand down and let these people go.  Slaving is no business for man."

 :ooc:
 :00:
Grim to help if possible.

 :ooc: And Hope too

Hathcyn had one more thing to do. They were alone in the enemies camp and the Viglunds would need something more precious at risk than their slaves to keep from following them with the full weight of all their people. Some other distraction was required. The burnt inn and desolation of their own land came to his mind then.

"Let this den of thieves feel the revenge of the fox and the bear. Doubtless war now exists between our people." 

Hahcyn relying on his speed once more dashed to the great fire ring and with his great spear tossed as he could the brands and cinders about the hall in the direction of anything that would burn.

"A ruin upon this house and its breaking of out most ancient custom."

Hathcyn hoisted up the sack and fled the smoking hall.

Quote from: GandalfOfBorg on Sep 12, 2018, 01:38 AMGrim to help if possible.

I'll give you that one as a Grim-based freebie, given everything that's happened! 

Hathcyn's raucous shout mixes with the cracking of bone and a pained scream as Rorin puts his maul to work.  More follow as high-tossed cinders rain down on to skin, and into hair and eyes.  The hall begins to fill with smoke, and then with the characteristic crackling of burning straw as the thatched roof begins to burn.  And with that, the matter is decided.  The warriors of Viglund make haste for the door, some dropping arms and shields in the rush to be safe from the fire. 

Their flight quickly degenerates into a crush at the doorway, and it is the combined weight of Hathcyn and Rorin that forces the last few men through, sending them sprawling on to the hard ground.  The pair do not wait but dash over the fallen, Hathcyn dodging nimbly about twisted arms and legs despite the beating of the sack on his back, Rorin not deigning to avoid anything but treading down his former captors and tormentors.  As the pair charge through the chaos, Rorin bellows the ancient war cry of his folk: "BARUK KHAZÂD! KHAZÂD AI-MÊNU!" 

The cry carries clearly to Grimbeorn as he stands watch at the gate.  "Forget me," he calls to the warriors before him.  "Forget these people!  Your home is afire!"  For a heartbeat, they do not move.  Then one casts a look over his shoulder and cries out in wordless anguish.  A second later, all three have turned and are running back towards the hall, now brightly-ablaze.  As Grimbeorn spies the approaching silhouettes that can only be Hathcyn and Rorin, he hears the maiden by his side whisper "merciful fortune!  My home..." 

Rorin's cry also carries to where Anar and his erstwhile travelling companion, Polin of the Greydelve, run down the path from the top of the tor.  "Come, khuzsh," Polin grunts in the Khuzdul tongue, "he of Erebor has won our freedom!  Let us slip away from these Barum-u-Bhunad and take refuge in the forest!" 


:ooc: Mike, welcome to the story! 

 :ooc: Well that didn't go as planned.

:ooc: DUNK OF THE DAY! 

Anar being protective of his friend made sure that his companion Polin was in front of him the whole time as they started to race off to reach the Dwarf who was shouting the war cry of his people. Eager for them to be able to escape the nightmare around them both past and present, and on to the first breath of freedom waiting for them.

In very little time, Hathcyn, Rorin, Anar and Polin converge on the gate where Grimbeorn and the maiden Aestid await them.  As they do, Aestid turns to Grimbeorn, her eyes still full of the shock of seeing the hall of Fystenheorth burn, and says "Grimbeorn, son of Beorn, I must leave here and never return.  I know not the way to your lands, but I will go with you, an you lead the way there."


:ooc: This scene is essentially over, but I'll throw the floor open for anyone who wants to add some RP as you make your escape.

Grimbeorn's countenance is maintained but he is astounded, nay flabbergasted, at the sight.  "This will fall heavy upon our peoples.  I never sought an end like this for we are not destroyers, but tenders and tillers and lovers of things that grow by our own two hands.  This must be made right some how, some day."

He turns from the carnage and leads his people home.

"Whether you wished it or no Lord war is upon you. The burning will delay the pursuit and allow these folks to fly far from their captives however, when the pursuit comes it will be more vehement and the wrath great. You have this day surely won allies with Durin's Folk."

They stood a ways from the hillfort gazing as those who broke free assembled now free from pursuit.  Hathcyn pointed at some.

"Those folk resemble the archer at the mound, are they the little folk of the inn?"

Grimbeorn nodded and staring a moment longer at the burning wreck turned and began to walk away. Many followed him beginning their long trek.

Hathcyn gazed upon it a moment longer. His face illuminated even in the distance by the growing fire as thick black smoke reached up to touch he sky.

"I call it a fitting punishment for those who would abuse so the ancient customs of hospitality. Those who accept a path tamer into their home and accept the offer of drink should not be then set upon. The burning of their hall will answer that insult to us and calm the spirits of their fathers. The treason of the combat though shall be answered by the living.

Roadmaker, if you have the fire in your belly for it perhaps we should take a few others of like mind and guard the rear. Buying time for the tired and weak to fly and forestall any pursuit. We would have to hang back but a little and there are weapons we took that may be passed out to those with a mind to use them."

The dwarf smiled grimly, "you call your debt paid Hathcyn Longspear, my account with this folk is not yet balanced. Had I a score of my kin at my call I'd slack their thirst for war that would last a generation. But Aye, I'll march with you in the rear and fill their night terrors with the battle cry of dwarves should they press us close."

Hathcyn nodded, "there are many tales among this group that I would like to hear, but now is not the time."

Beside them stood Aestid, watching the smoke engulf the home of her father and the tongues of flame dance upon its walls.

Mercy dawned then on the Longspear seeing the anguish in her face.

"Lady, it was bravely done. Your pain reminds me that folk are not born to evil though they may walk all their days in its shadow."

He set down the sack and removing his cloak he placed it around her shoulders.

"Come, your grief is admirable, but as you say you must come now with us and be taken into the circle of our fate."

With his cloak removed in the light of the fire the wet spot of his wounds was visible and the bandages he bore disheveled and out of place. Damp were his clothes with the sweat of previous blade bites, but he was still young and the passion of life was full within him. Many miles he would go yet still and none that followed after would waylay them while his spear was at hand. He shouldered the sack again and turned to follow the others taking her by the hand.

:ooc: Beautiful work as always!

:ooc: Paul, ignore this if this is not the time or place. I just wanted to write.  ;)

---

Esgalwen and Tate rode under the rising sun of another new morning.

Signs of passage had become scarce as the trees of the Elfwood had thinned, but they knew that the land of Viglund was north. No matter what, they would eventually find answers as to their comrades well-being. It was then that the ranger eyed the black smoke on the horizon. It was thin and sparse, but a smudge on the sky nonetheless.

"Tate," she pointed and the minstrel nodded. "I can only assume we need be ready for trouble."

"Aye, Lady," he agreed as he loosened his sword in its scabbard.

They spurred their horses forward, racing towards the unknown. At the distance, it was impossible to know what burned - or had burned - only that it was big enough to be seen from so far away. The land pitched up into a series of rolling hillocks and Esgalwen thought the elevation would lend aid to their pursuit, and so steered her horse in the direction of the first rise. Cresting the top, the swath of land before them shone with the gold of the yellowing grass, while to the east the patchwork of Mirkwood in its Fall colors was very evident. The western horizon was bounded by the ribbon of the Anduin.

Esgalwen raised her hand to shade her eyes. A black raven flew high above, rapidly towards the south. In the distance, the man and woman could make out the movement of a large group. Was it a herd of kine, or other beast of the plain? No...the individuals within the group were too small.

"Those are people," said Tate. His memory of the exodus from Lake-town back towards Dale, flooded his mind, as the refugees fled for the relative cover of the old city. The minstrel could clearly remember what a mob of people moving looked like from a great distance.

"Our people?" asked Esgalwen.

"I cannot say."

"Then we must be cautious. Though, I could not imagine why the Viglundings would be moving southward in great numbers, lest they come for war."

"If that were the case, would they not be carrying banners to announce themselves, and have outriders positioned to espy the land?"

"Perhaps, Tate, but these are not my people and I am still learning their customs...we must be cautious."

"Aye, you are right, Gwen. They are a strange lot, aren't they."

"Simple," was her reply, though she nodded at his remark. "I would say they are more simple in their ways." Her eyes looked back to some distant past, "I sometimes envy it."

Esgalwen drew her bow and readied an arrow in the same hand, while her other took back up the reins. She urged her horse forward at a pace and the two raced down the opposite side of the hill. They steered to the right of the oncoming group, so to have the forest on their right. If things went bad, they could make for the cover of the wood. If it was Grimbeorn and their friends, then all would be well.

It took only a short time to make the approach. They watched the van of the oncoming group slow and become guarded, as the two riders thundered at them, but Esgalwen raised her hand in wave when she saw the large frame of Grimbeorn in the front, leading his people!

"HAIL! GRIMBEORN!" The ranger veered left and rode to where he stood.

The Beorning yelled in reply, "We have weak and wounded to the fore. If you are well, then go to the rear. We will need all the strength there if any should come to waylay us!"

Understanding his meaning, Esgalwen and Tate passed up the line. Some recognized them and waved. Some cried out excitedly believing reinforcements had come and that many riders followed. Some wondered at who these two riders were and if there was a new threat. At the end of the line, Esgalwen saw Rorin stomping along and she smiled. Beside the Dwarf was Hathcyn, whom she had just only met. Lastly, she saw halflings!

Is Bandy among them? she wondered, excitedly.

Admid the joy of the reunion on the road, there comes a raucous croak and a beating of wings.  Landing on the branch of a nearby tree, Magrac spreads his wings.  "Griiiiimbeooooorn!  Griiiiimbeooooorn!  Eeeesgalweeen seeeeks youuuu!  Waaaar is cooooome to your laaaaaaaaand!  Invaaaaders maaaass to the sooooouuuth, beneeeeeaaath the baaaaanner of the bloooood moooooon!" 

His message delivered, the raven looks about him, finally recognising Esgalwen, Tate and Rorin.  "Yoooouuuu coooould have toooold meeee yoooouuuu kneeeew wheeeere he waaaaas," he croaks, somewhat shamefaced.