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For two days, Caewin and his folk tarry at the Fox's Tale and enjoy the easy hospitality of Hathcyn as the eldest among them recover their strength and begin to speak with less trepidation and more excitement about the journey ahead.  "Five days," they say to each other, "if the weather and wain-axles hold, and we shall see at last the grandest of all houses of our folk." 

This last, however, is spoken in hushed tones, for Caewin boasts unceasingly about the Sunstead.  "Ah, my friends, you must consider yourselves invited, for my hall will soon match that of the King of Dale himself in its splendour.  Why, I mean to bring carvers and craftsmen back with me when I return who shall make the very timbers of my house a thing of wonder as they recount the tales of the old Rhovanion kingdom even to the present day.  Do not think that you will be ignored either!" he calls to Esgalwen as she sits with a handful of other warriors, fletching arrows.  "To every guest I will show the scene of your defeat of the king of the wights that brought peace between the living and the dead!" 

And all this for a carpet, Hathcyn muses as he watches Saradoc sleep upon it by the hearth. 

Soon enough, though, the day comes when wain and bags are packed, walking sticks are taken once again in hand and Caewin's followers set off once again for the south, their number now greater for that of the Fellowship of the Helm.  A light and sweet rain falls, but though the elders grumble and hide beneath heavy cloaks most seem glad to be abroad once again.  Perhaps it is simply that the end of their long journey feels at last close by. 

Still, it is difficult for the companions to feel at ease as Caewin mounts his horse and sets the Helm of Peace once again upon his pommel.  Still it sits as he spurs his mount, spectacles and nasal-bar swinging neither left nor right, as if an unseen presence looks out, its gaze fixed on the destination. 


:ooc: We'll resolve this as a perfectly normal journey, with one exception: Caewin is in charge of the travelling party, so he's acting as the Guide rather than Gwaithlim, meaning you get to use his Travel score to resolve the marching tests.  To whit:

 :ooc: so Rorin made the helm, but something happened to it in the barrow?

Player supposition is that it was possessed or cursed. This is probably something we need to discuss with Radaghast. Carwin doesnt seem like a bad dude just a little squirrely.

Problem Two. Mogdred. (I hate that guy) needs to be dealt with. I think there may be a play here though. I dont want to tip my hand to the LM on this though just yet.

Need to know who is on the Council, who gets a vote, so we'll need to lore and stories about this from the Firewatcher.

Paul, i recall a Yule or two ago someone approached Hathcyn about Mogdred and he asked them to get more info. i am thinking that was the wainrider chick? Maybe we need to see of we can find her or send a spy to Tyrant's hill. 

Quote from: Telcontar on Mar 26, 2024, 02:57 PM:ooc: so Rorin made the helm, but something happened to it in the barrow?

Player supposition is that it was possessed or cursed. This is probably something we need to discuss with Radaghast. Carwin doesnt seem like a bad dude just a little squirrely.

:ooc: Something did happen, though whether or not it's a good thing is unclear.  See here (https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/index.php/topic,1410.0.html) for some reminders. 

Quote from: Telcontar on Mar 26, 2024, 02:57 PMProblem Two. Mogdred. (I hate that guy) needs to be dealt with. I think there may be a play here though. I dont want to tip my hand to the LM on this though just yet.

Aaaaw.  G'waaaaan.  I won't tell anyone!

Quote from: Telcontar on Mar 26, 2024, 02:57 PMNeed to know who is on the Council, who gets a vote, so we'll need to lore and stories about this from the Firewatcher.

You'll find this out in due time.

Quote from: Telcontar on Mar 26, 2024, 02:57 PMPaul, i recall a Yule or two ago someone approached Hathcyn about Mogdred and he asked them to get more info. i am thinking that was the wainrider chick?   

That would be Athala, Hanno's daughter (https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/index.php?msg=33467), she of the stuck-on false beard, who subsequently visited Hathcyn (https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/index.php?msg=34307) accusing Mogdred of being the man who sold her into slavery in the east and asking for his help avenging herself and her slain family.  So far, she hasn't been able to produce any proof, though. 

Though the day passes slowly, the miles pass steadily beneath the travellers' feet, for the paths are well-trodden between the pastures of the Woodmen and the Green Stone Land.  The rain giving way to fitful sunlight as the wind rises to chase away the dourest of the clouds, and fitful conversation passes between the companions and the newcomers from the East Bight. 

Gwaithlim finds himself especially pestered, for the majesty of even the High Elves serves as a barrier to questions only for so long on an otherwise-empty road.  "Where are you from?" these Man-children ask him.  "Have you ever met the Elvenking?  Did you come here in the time of the old kingdom?  Have you been to the lands of the Men of Westernesse, or the sea beyond?"  Luindîs does not, and perhaps cannot, hide her delight at seeing the lordly Elf so beset, and echoes each question, beseeching him for "tales of elder days, of which we young creatures know not!" 

Arbogast keeps ever a watchful eye on the sullen forest that rises like a dark wall ever on the left-hand horizon, for it is hardly unknown for prize game to wander from its hiding place beneath the trees or, indeed, for some fouler thing to make itself abruptly known.  But neither beast nor foe troubles the sunlit hours. 

At last, the going-down of the sun behind the western peaks finds the band of wanderers within sight of the great white horse and rider cut into a hillside...


:ooc: More to follow, but I have to serve dinner.

 :ooc: paul, the woodmen are known for their hounds.... Any issue with Hathcyn bringing Sardoc along? Might open up some interesting investigation or information options for us. A hidden tool in our arsenal.

Gwaithlim only responds with recalling the longest story-song he knows, a lay of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad translating to Westron, which will last hours and hours for the tears are unnumbered yet it attempts to recount them all.

 :ooc: the elves love their repetitive refrains.

Quote from: Telcontar on Mar 27, 2024, 03:22 AM:ooc: paul, the woodmen are known for their hounds.... Any issue with Hathcyn bringing Sardoc along? Might open up some interesting investigation or information options for us. A hidden tool in our arsenal.

:ooc: I love this idea.  Let it be so. 

Quote from: GandalfOfBorg on Mar 27, 2024, 06:37 AMGwaithlim only responds with recalling the longest story-song he knows, a lay of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad translating to Westron, which will last hours and hours for the tears are unnumbered yet it attempts to recount them all.

 :ooc: the elves love their repetitive refrains.

Let's see how well they take it with a Song roll!

Gwaithlim's tale of the great deeds and greater sorrows of the past is in every sense grand: passionate, poetic and long.  For hour after hour he recounts the lays of the wars of Beleriand until his voice becomes simply another part of the landscape for the Mannish travellers.  Only Luindîs still listens, but she hangs on each word.  As dusk draws on and Gwaithilm at last reaches the end of the tale, she says "you sing like the lady Iremë, in the court of King Thranduil.  Ancient she is, and wise, but so sad!  I prefer my songs to be of smaller, and yet more joyous, things, but I would dearly love to learn your song as well for it is..."

Such words as she may have been about to utter are eclipsed by the cry of a sentry as the party begins to make its camp, for already the smoke of more nearby fires can be seen.  Esgalwen directs her gaze yonder and spies a handful of brightly-painted wagons surrounded by a substantial herd of long-horned cattle.  It is a bucolic scene, the peace of which is shattered by Caewin's bellow.  "WAINRIDERS!  To arms, Men of the Sunstead!"  At once, the entire camp is thrown into confusion as warriors rush to take up weapons and don armour.  Caewin tears his crown from his head to replace it with his helm, all the while crying "At them!
 Together, we shall break their power and cast the yoke of foreign conquest from our shoulders!" 

"Peace!" Bellows the Longspear suddenly.  "You are west of the wood here and the danger is not the same. I've never met a wainrider here between the Green Stone and the Woodmen. So let us not be over hasty in drawing swords."

:ooc: Tom, are you directing your words at Caewin (in which case this will be a Persuade test) or the Sunsteadingas as a whole (which would be Inspire)?

 :ooc: persuade

Confusion clouds the face of Caewin at the Foresthelm's words, but not those of his followers who round on the Beorning warrior angrily.  "Who are you to gainsay our lord and protector?" demands the young man who spoke to Esgalwen on the night of their arrival at the Fox's Tale.  "Well and wisely has he ruled, and if he knows yonder Men to be his enemies, then my enemies are they also!"  A low and angry chorus of agreement follows his words, while Caewin himself sits upon his horse, his eyes distant and lips moving soundlessly. 


:ooc: We've started an Encounter, but one with two goals.  Not only do you need to persuade Caewin not to attack the camp of the other travellers, you also need to convince his bodyguards that you're not being treacherous by doing so.  I've set success goals for each, and it'll be clear from the narrative when you reach them.

 :ooc: do we now make with the clackity clackity?  :00:

:ooc: Go for it.  Just make sure you let me know who you're trying to sway, and how, if it isn't obvious. 

::ooc:: I want to try something a little different. I know that Caewin is under some type of dweomer from the helm. My character suspects something is up. I would like to make a corruption test using my valour to try and shake Caewin out of his confusion. Seems like a neat way to try and shake the corruption in another.


"I dont challenge your lord's authority, but I do challenge him attacking travelers in my own lands."

Hathcyn bent his will and his mein towards the Lord of Sunstead.


"Lord Caewin, the sun is shinning and these wagons are west of the wood. Prey, caution is better served here. Should they be foes I will gladly join you, but let us be certain."

Valour Test

Esgalwen heard the raising of voices and the kindling of fiery lust for battle, but this was without reason. None knew who these folk were and by no right did the Thegn of Sunstead have to order such an attack without cause.

The Dúnadan woman stood from the breakfast fire and looked at Ceawin, "Lord, you call to arms against people you do not know and who have yet done no harm, or given fear of causing harm? What wisdom is this? You are here on a peace-building journey, yet you make judgement and decree punishment before you know the situation? Ceawin - how is this a way to lead? How is this a way to inspire trust?"

She did not stand defiantly against the man of Sunstead, but looked at him with reason while speaking calmly. Her stature - that of the Númenórean blood - lent to her presence, as did her noble mien. Esgalwen would not see bloodshed without cause.

---

:ooc: I will make a Persuade roll in an attempt to cool this Dude down, before we attack without cause. I know it only benefits my Inspire rolls, but I am calling into play her Noble Lineage, Fair, and Folk-lore traits- as well as her Blood of Númenor traits to lend to her authority and calm him down. She is being the pretty and reasonable woman that men will sometimes go, okay, sure...

TN 14 persuade 3d6

:ooc: Wow... the dice really love to suck up a scene! I will spend a :vv: to make that a 17 success.

Gwaithlim will stand, literally, with the fellowship against these rash actions.  At the side of Esgalwen, he will lend his fair bearing and resoluteness to the pleas of logic and mercy.

 :ooc: You betcha he's gonna stand and look pretty like a good elf, Fair Feature, towards the men of Caewin.

"Stay your hands!" barks Arbogast with the voice of one accustomed to calling out commands across the field of battle, and jus tas accustomed to having those commands obeyed. 


:ooc: He's going to be using Awe against Caewin's followers:

:ooc: Looks like the roller has spotted that I'm using a long-term player character.   :roll:

Arbogast will drop a Hope to turn that into a success. 

:csu: for everybody.

Tension still hangs in the air like a bared blade, and knuckles still tighten on the hafts of axe and spear as all eyes that can turn to Caewin.  But the lord of the Sunstead is still a picture of confusion, his mouth working as if trying and failing to speak.  At last, more perhaps in response to the gaze of the companions than their exact words, he mutters "We fought... our ancestors... fought these dark Easterlings... these bringers of the plague..." 

Then, all at once, his gaze brightens and sharpens, alighting upon the two Elves in his entourage.  "You would not know, you of endless years beneath the wood!  Never shall you feel the sorrow and terror of the pestilence, nor its hunger for innocent life!" 

As he speaks, so waxes Gwaithlim's certainty of what he sees: a fleeting, flickering thing of shadow twisting beneath the bright helm that, briefly afrighted by the boldness of the Foresthelm, now slinks back to shroud Caewin's eyes and mind once again.  Or was it so simple?  For, for the most fleeting moment, it seemes to his Elf-eyes that two such things jostled with each other for the better place. 

Forgotten toward the rear of the company, Luindîs unslings her harp and, as voices wax wrathful about her, strums a loud chord that fades immediately into the tune of a restful lay.  It may not calm them by itself, she thinks, but it may draw their attention away.


:ooc: Tom, I like your idea about using Valour to defeat Corruption.  Unfortunately, a simple success won't get you much, nor for long, but with a bit of communication from Gwaithlim you'll have learned something valuable. 

Luindîs is going to attempt to calm/distract Caewin's people with a Song roll:

Little by little, the anger of the warriors and travellers of the East Bight begins to wane, their appetite for bloodshed slowly vanishing.  Now, as many look to Esgalwen and Gwaithlim, high and lordly among Men and Elves, as do to Caewin.  Hathycn is unsure, but may have heard a voice mutter "...more and more often...". 


:ooc: The next person to speak can make an Inspire roll directed at the crowd and have it count against the successes for Caewin, with a bonus success thrown in for good measure if the roll succeeds. 

 :ooc: this sounds like a job for Ætheldreám!

Esgalwen continued to speak directly to Ceawin, "Lord of Sunstead, the logical path here is peace. Let us speak to these folk, if need takes us to them. There is no need of bloodshed lest threat is made. Besides, how lordly would thou look, if you should come before them with your entourage and speak of unity. That is a word not oft spoken in these lands and such would go far, like water to a thirsting man. No?"

:ooc: changing tack, Esgalwen will now work to inspire Ceawin by stroking his pride - something that is probably already being stroked regularly by the inhabitant of the helm.  ;D

Her Noble Lineage should play into this, but tell me if that is not the case, Paul. I will make a Favoured feat die roll.

TN 14 inspire 2d

:ooc: LOL! Wow... maybe not, Tom - maybe this calls for divine intervention!

I am not spending another hope on that, as it will not work no matter what.

 Hathcyn wheeled his horse about and rode up to the gathered men. He had a helm of his own and he would pit his against this one of suspicion and fear.

"Men of Sunstead, you have traveled under the shadow of the trees of Mirkwood. You have braved the perils of the long forest road. Your rest was brief, but brave and noble deeds have you performed in the service of your lord. The malice of the wood is behind you. As we travel to the Woodmen the danger is less, not every shadow hides a spider, not every traveler a brigand. Your task now is to protect and unite the Woodmen in the service of your [roll]Lord. A task I know you may nobly perform, but keep this task in mind. Be generous to friends as your Lord is, and guard against his foes, as you have. But be sure to not use the striking hand when the one that gives is better suited."

Hathcyn will attempt to inspire the men.

"Peace.   Enough words have been spoken," Caewin says, lifting high his hand to show it holds no sword or spear.  "You are right, my good friends, as ever, and you have given me much to think on." 

Without further word he dismounts and doffs his helm, a smile returning at last to his face.  As Arbogast approaches with a quizzical look, he adds "I think perhaps my thoughts of perhaps becoming war leader of our folk darkens my thoughts, and I put too much credence in tales of wars fought long ago and by other Men." 


:ooc: We've reached the time limit (based on the highest Valour or Woodman Standing) without quite reaching the success target, but Caewin seems to have calmed his farm, so I'm sure that's completely alright and nothing else need worry you. 

I'll move the story on unless anyone has some reactions to add.

 :ooc: you asked for a roll to inspire the men instead of Caewin. Did Hathcyns appeal have any effect on the followers?

:ooc: They had largely settled down after Luindîs' harping, but Hathcyn's words have shifted their mood from confused to sheepish and embarrassed.  In the absence of clear orders from Caewin, they're looking to you guys for direction at this point. 

 :ooc: Matt, are you going to share what you learned about the helm?

 :ooc: Yes, Gwaithlim will share what he learns but in the quiet secrecy of the group, this isn't an out loud time to share... yet.

:ooc: Then let's move things on!

Hours later, the camp is made and many already lie asleep, the night giving all signs of being cool and comfortable with bright stars overhead flickering through the smoke of well-banked fires.  Mirkwood, and thoughts of the dark things that dwell within, is miles away and few will keep the watch through the dark hours.  Here and there, the soft wind brings snatches of song in a foreign tongue to the ears of the company from the campsite of the strangers and their herd. 

"Who are they, anyway?" asks Luindîs. 

"They are Erringmen," answers Esgalwen, "wandering herders who venture up and down the Anduin valley.  Hundreds of years ago, in old days even as the annals of Gondor reckon it, their ancestors were the Wainriders, who ravaged and conquered before being driven out at last.  I do not know the details, but they are certainly no threat to the folk of the vales today!" 

"Both things are true," Arbogast adds, stirring himself from what many might have assumed was slumber.  "For a lifetime of Men, or so it is said, they ruled the lands east and west of the forest, keeping the Northmen in their cruel thrall.  It was this rule that drove the builders of the lost city in the shadow of Mount Gundabad to abandon their halls and ride south.  But now they are few, and no longer serve the Shadow, and need not be feared." 

"Then why," asks the ever-curious she-Elf, "should our richly-helmed companion seek to raise his hand against them?" 

Gwaithlim responds, "I fear that the lord in is thrall to one, if not more, fell spirits when he dons the helm.  Like any such item tainted by the Shadow, it weighs on his mind even to don it again, to feel its power and use it.  As you said Esgalwen, these folk are no longer a threat to us but they are to the Shadow and its memory is long.  I suspect it remembers the breach of ancient fealty and so wishes their doom.  Sowing discord amongst the Free Folk is ever on the mind of such dark threats."

Hathcyn pondered but his question was blunt and to the point, "can it be cleansed and how do we do so? If we take it by force it may break his mind and seems unkind. In a way this brings to mind something Beorn said, about the Werewolf being a fell spirit of possession. Maybe the elders have knowledge of this but I do not."

 :ooc:
 :00:
Try to determine an answer as to how to best nullify the dark effects of the helm.  I am assuming its unmaking.

Though he wracks his mind and trawls the depths of his centuries-long memory, still Gwaithlim cannot bring to mind any hint of how the hold of the helm might be broken.  It was not, as he understands it, forged with the intention of making it into a tool of domination and ill-intent.  Rather, it has come under the influence of dark things of the wraith-world, and absent their fell clutches he hazards that it will become a simple thing of steel and brass. 

"If I am right in my suspicions", he says, "then this helm is a wraith-touched thing, and it is in the wraith-world that its undoing will be found.  The loremasters of Imladris, who have striven against the evil spirits of bog and barrow since before the rising of Angmar, may know more, or the wizards who have long given their aid and counsel, but I do not."

Hathcyn shuddered at hearing the Elf mention wraiths and their world.

His hand went to the braided black hair torc at his neck and he drew comfort from the thought of his wife.

"Wraiths. I do not soon wish to be touched by their world again. Perhaps Rahdagast will know more, and have a cure. We must be on guard until then."

:ooc: That looks like a good place to wrap the scene up.  Let's see how the rest of the journey goes:

:ooc: That'll bring you the rest of the way, though not in great style or comfort.