RPG.avioc.org

Lo!  Repaireth the Skinchanger's son with the dawn once more unto his father's hall
Hathcyn, Harhold, brave warriors wounded, before the hearth to lay, hurts to heal, hearts to mend.
Rest they then, 'til evening once more lie upon the land. 

Dawn already begins to light the vales when the three remaining members of Grimbeorn's young warband arrive, on exhausted horses, back at the outer hedge of Beorn's House.  A cry from the young master rouses some of the wondrous dogs and sheep to bring cheese and ale, and to stoke the hearth and make ready warm furs and soft straw.  Messenger-beasts go forth to nearby homesteads to tell of the dolorous homecoming, and soon the house is full of the quiet, stoic business of healers.  As wounds are investigated, it quickly becomes apparent that Hathcyn will recover in a matter of days, if he will but rest.  Harhold's wounds, however, are deep and sere, to say nothing of the terror that now besets him even in this place of solace. 

Finally, their last reserves of willpower exhausted, the three slumber, not to wake again while the sun remains in the sky.  Then, with mead in hand by the banked hearth, the pair make fast their plans for the coming days. 


:ooc: As flagged earlier, I'm turning the narrative over to you again.  Grimbeorn's in charge, but most all of the great thegns who would counsel him have gone home to see to the harvest, leaving Hathcyn very much in the cat-bird seat as far as providing advice goes. 

"Now that our wounds be bound," Hathcyn says, as he and Grimbeorn pass the hours of evening next to the slumbering hearth, ale-horns half empty, "I bid once again your indulgence.  Solemnly have I sworn to assist the Roadmaker in his quest.  For this, I must travel north to the land of Viglund and his folk."

He shifts his gaze to Harold, who stirs uneasily beneath his sleeping furs. "You need not come with me, but I ask that this man, my boon companion since our boyhood days, be allowed to dwell here until he is healed of the wounds he had suffered in your service."

 :ooc: i was waiting for Matt but this works too.

:ooc: I thought as much.  Trouble is, after a while silence has a way of becoming self - perpetuating.  I just wanted to keep this side of this ticking over.  I hope you don't mind me putting words in your mouth.

 :ooc: I have unfortunately been held hostage by the all-consuming taskmaster called work.

Grimbeorn's mood has not been so dark in some time.  He doesn't take his frustrations out on those around him, both animal and man, but keeps it inward.  This internal self-flaggellation is apparent to all and so give their distance and space.

Finding none of use or consequence to consult these dark tidings, especially his father, the heir falls upon a great chair to drown himself in food and drink.

Hathcyn's query fell flat for the moment as Grimbeorn's mind wandered from the place.  Finally, he put aside these thoughts as voice reminded him not to dwell on what has happened, but to be in the moment and change what can happen.

"Of course, a man who fights for the Free People's  and with me deserves no less honor and service.  As for your desire to depart, you go with my blessing but I ask that you tarry until Esgalwen returns.  All must be known of what has transpired as I fear all this may be woven together in some fashion."

:ooc:  Much as it makes in character sense for Grimbeorn to say this, you need to bear in mind that it may be some time before Esgalwen and Tate's end of the story is played out.  If you're willing to wait, then cool - take five and enjoy the narrative.  Otherwise, you might want to think about what you could do in the meantime.

Especially because (and I'll give you this as a freebie since I probably didn't make it obvious enough in the flavour text) there were other survivors of the skirmish who fled before you guys.

"We do not know, Wolfslayer, how long your friends may tarry and doubtful they will not be following a straight path."

The Longspear had bread and honey mixed in his beard and he pulled and combed upon it absently.

"Loathe as I am to say so perhaps we should return to the longhouse. Our companions lay still defiled in the open, not to mention there were those who's courage failed and abandoned us to our fate when the battle turned. They may have escaped and lay wounded with the badges of honor, or lay cowering like a beat hare at the run's end. If we are not so soon to pursue the Roadmaker then these men at least we should deal with and bring to end this sorry tale."   

"You're right of course in regard to my companion; our group is not one for meeting expectations for promptness.  As for those left and lost, thought has been given to them and, yes, they should be recovered and found.  I have yet to decide how to address the deserters."

Quote from: GandalfOfBorg on May 14, 2018, 08:38 AM"You're right of course in regard to my companion; our group is not one for meeting expectations for promptness."

:ooc:  (-D  (-D  (-D

We're trying, man! Paul just keeps putting adversity in front of us. No straight answers coming at this end.

:ooc: Drama, Doug.  I'm putting storytelling in front of you. 

"Wolfslayer, I have not the authority to summon or raise men here. Is it your will that men be summoned to account for the dead and collect the living? Though it was nasty and brutal those who died, and what is left of them, deserve more than bleaching in the sun. With the time that has past it will be nasty work indeed."

"Yes, do so.  Have them bring wains or wagons if they have them.  Some women of healing should be gathered as well.  I will seek whatever animal assistance can be given."

The Longspear left the company of the Aetheling of the Folk of Beorn and made his way from the hall. A hound sat upon the threshold and raised his droopy head at him. To all outside appearances a common hound and nothing remarkable. Hathcyn however bent and spoke to the beast.

"Bring the gate keeper and Speaker of the Hall. Grimbeorn has need of wains, drivers, and a healer. Our folk will not be left for the birds."

The dog nodded its head and the Longspear scratched behind its ears. He stood, wounds still tight and sore and went to make other preperations for the riding.

:ooc: Nice.  Okay, give me a bit to get a post up.  Time is tight on the weekend, so it may not be until Monday.

The wains and drivers gather with the breaking of dawn, the healers who tended to the wounded heroes having passed the news to their families, and word having spread from ear to ear throughout the following day.  The clouds have lowered overnight, and the sky hangs heavy and leaden as the door of a tomb.  They scull through the air above, but within the hedge wall there is barely enough wind to stir the corners of cloaks and stray hairs. 

There is an expectant hush as Grimborn and Hathcyn emerge on to the front porch.  Men, women, children and hounds alike are still, awaiting the words of their aetheling. 

"Beornings, we go to retrieve our folk who were slain and tend to any who yet survive for they are heroes to be celebrated even as we mourn our loss as well.  If we discover any who fled from the fight will be given over to me for they have much to answer for.  Go with caution for though we killed many orcs, even more yet still ate about and we know not if more swell their ranks."

His words hung in the still and heavy air for a few moments as the people took in his words but gave no response.  With a wordless motion, the signal was given and the caravan moved out with Grimbeorn's in the lead.

 :ooc: Did we heal any since the previous day?

While the folk were being addressed by Grimbeorn the Longspear was not idle. He knew that he had not the standing or breeding to speak before the folk. Instead he bent his mind and his energy to action. Slightly abusing his authority as the companion of Grimbeorn and the fact that it was known he was in his company he ordered a few items assembled that Grimbeorn had not thought of. Assembled also in the wains for the wounded he placed tools for burying and oil for fire. After their days in the open their fallen companions would be buried were they lay or burned and placed in an ossiuary and a cairn raised. To speed their passing the Longspear, along with tools, summoned and had packed soft bread, honey, and both cider and strong drink. The folk that came with them would need it due to the grisly work, but also for the fire and ceremony to speed the passing of the dead to the place men felt they went when they died.

The wains progress in solemn procession from the hall of Beorn to the nearby steading.  It is by no means an easy journey, but the was is, at least, peaceful.  Daylight is already fading by the time the large party arrives, but there is yet enough to see the devastation wrought by the passing orcs.  The longhouse and barn are still-smoldering shells, hastily and imperfectly burned.  Without, pieces of horses and Men alike lie strewn, crudely butchered and only partially consumed.  The body of a larger orc rises above, transfixed on a broken beam, a dark patch of earth beneath attesting to its recent demise.  Despite the chill in the air, flies swarm everywhere, their drones providing a mocking counterpoint to the cries of anguish and grief from the arriving Beornings. 

Then, when the initial shock has passed, the hard and gruesome work of interring the slain begins.  A pyre is built and the dead orcs heaped upon it, and by its light and that of torches the last remains of those who rode boldly forth are reassembled.  Tomorrow, they will be interred beneath earthen mounds and sped towards such fate as awaits the souls of Men. 

Hathcyn had seen and lived the battle, he had no desire now to be its grounds keeper as well. Once the work had begun the Longspear drew a wineskin from the wagon and took a pull from it. Just as he had no standing or right to command anyone else, none present but Grimbeorn or his master had any right to pronounce doom or order him about. Drawing his sleeve slowly across his mouth he stared off away from the homestead. His gaze lingered in each direction assessing the merits and advantages of each. Then he closed his eyes and turned slowly in a circle sensing which direction seemed to have the natural rightness to it. The warrior, following his instinct and his curiosity stepped off into the direction that felt right.

"I'll be about," he said to no one in particular.

"Not all who came with us lay here in this field, perhaps there are others round here abouts."

With his longspear held at the point of its natural balance, a spot on the shaft well worn and known to the warrior, he set off to see what his curiosity could discover about the aftermath of the battle.

Grimbeorn's saw Hathcyn's take off.  "If you're going to look around, do not go alone. Gràald will go with you.  I will stay with the others.  Good luck and may you find no further trouble."

The long legged warrior simply nodded and walked on.

:ooc: HO-kay, time to get this moving again.  Let's have a Hunting roll, with a small bonus for Gràald's assistance:

DC 12 Hunting 3

It takes the two Beornings mere moments to find the tracks of the orcs who left the steading aflame.  As on the previous night, they headed east toward the forest.  But where before they moved at the long, loping run characteristic of their kind, here their passage was slower and less steady.  Shortly after they leave, a further quantity of orcish blood marks the ground and the survivors of the skirmish split into two groups, one heading directly east, the other veering southward. 

But Hathcyn did not leave the steading to track orcs.  Instead, working with Gràald, he finds the spoor of Men fleeing for their lives: footprints, threads from torn clothing and flecks of blood from untended wounds, all left in hurried disregard for eventual pursuit.  Two trails head north-east, toward the Old Ford.  A third goes west, straight as an arrow shot at the broad Anduin. 


:ooc: A great success gets plenty of information!  Let's see what you do with it. 

Also, :csu: for an AP, since the roll was a great success and you specifically mentioned a Trait. 

Hathcyn stopped and looked at the divergent trails. The fear was on these men when they fled the battle, and it was night fall. The wise would have headed for the ford. Running there would allow them to pass over the river in a safer place. Perhaps they split up so as to divide any who might pursue them. These sounded like men who had and used their wits.

Then there was the river trail. The folk of Beorn knew the river well. It was a constant presence in their lives whether they lived east or west of it. The great river was the dominant feature of the vales and couldnt be missed. The river was a known thing, so it was a safe thing. In flight it would be a barrier, but only a thinking man would realize it. A terrified man would seek that which was known to him for the safety of its familiarity. Then only later realize they had ran towards a wall and not an escape.

If there were survivors that still could be found in the area, or wounded to weak to make a complete escape they would find them by the banks of the river.

Hathcyn said nothing, but pointed his spear towards the river and stepped off in a quick gait towards the river.

:ooc: This has been an update too long coming.  Apologies, guys. 

Hunting roll for Hathcyn:

:ooc: Hmmm.  A Hope spend will make that a success.  How badly does Hathcyn want to find this guy?

 :ooc: As I learned with the werewolf, hope is too precious a think to squander. I dont want to find a guy that bad.

 :ooc: what do we need to track if the path went straight towarss the river?

:ooc: In brief, the trail leads towards the river for a while, then starts following it south.  The Hunting roll was to follow it long enough to get an idea of where the guy was headed. 

 :ooc: hmmm my guess would have been south.... :\
Ok, I guess we'll head back to the others. Hathcyn really doesnt want to wander too far being wounded and all.

Hathcyn poked the butt of his spear into a rock here and there, or bent to examine the banks of the river. His query had made for the river and then left no sign.

"Well it appears that our query has gone to ground, or in the madness of fear plunged into the father of waters. Finding no one there is nothing we can do for the hurts of their bodies, those of their souls is their's to bear until they come before the judgement of their lord. I will not say we would have won the battle had they stayed, but more may have lived if each had held true."

The tall warrior scratched at his beard and peered at the river. He took a stone and touched it to head, mouth, and breast and then tossed it into the flow of the river.

Taking another pull from the wine skin he had brought Hathcyn then tossed it to his companion who did likewise.

"Let us return, we have made an effort and I have no desire to be here after dark or miss the funeral orations."

:ooc: Sorry Tom, more story coming, hopefully this morning.

When the pair return to the ruined steading, they are confronted with a mound already rising above the fell, and the grim countenance of the thegn Walcaud Shield-Gnawed.  Iron-grey his beard and brows, he waits upon his horse for Grimbeorn and Hathcyn to return.

As they draw near, he addresses the pair.  "Grimbeorn," he begins, with a bid of deference.  Then, in a markedly colder tone, "Longspear. I was not long past the Ford when I heard the news.  I thought I had best come and see for myself that the fallen were being treated appropriately.  It pleases me to see that it is so." His face, however, shows no pleasure.


:ooc: Though unannounced by Walcaud, this is very much an Encounter.  Making some Insight rolls...

Grimbeorn

:00 1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 4, 2, total 8

Hathcyn

Of the proud sons of the western vales are Walcaud and his kin.  Long have they known Hathcyn's small clan, and the thegn's moods are not unknown to the swift runner of the foothills.  Nor are his sons, Fencaud and Waldric.  Fiercer foes of orc-kind have the Beornings never known, and it was natural that they would be among the first to pledge themselves to the son of the Skinchanger when he called for young warriors to follow him into battle.

Though he tries to keep hidden the stirrings any father would feel in his heart at such a time, to the Longspear it is plain as day that he has found one son among those laid to rest in the mound, but not both.

Hathcyn had the insight to know that what he said here and now would shape and define the battle that had occurred here. His description would be the one that would be established in the minds of the people and would lodge itself as the true account. He was also the only one present who had survived the battle outside or was in any position to narrate how it had occurred.

"Hail Walcaud, I stood here in the line when the battle was joined. We tracked the party here; the beasts had taken to the buildings to despoil the folk when we arrived. There was little time for planning if any were to be saved. Bravely the van went in to the long house, the Aetheling in the front. While several remained-on horse to chase down any who ran. Their numbers proved too great, and from the barn their numbers swelled to two score, but the battle had been joined. One son here you can see fell with the wounds of honor, remembering the faces of his father, but as you can see not all are accounted for."

Here he paused, knowing that all who would be in hearing would hang on every word. Indeed, even the grip of the Shield-Gnawed tightened at what the warrior would say next.

"The fight grew desperate as the men and horses were slaughtered for sport, we could not win the day and night fell thicker than the blood we spilled. In pairs those who could broke off so word would be passed and the alarm raised as to the number of this ill company. As fate would have it the lot of keeping the path fell to me and my shield companion. The Wolfslayer fought free of the death trap of the long house and his axe swung until all who could made what escape they may. By order of Grimbeorn we have come to bury the dead, for he has brought comb, drink, and bread to honor them, but also to seek for the living who escaped bearing the wounds that also would honor the faces of their fathers. I have tracked some to the ford and others towards the river, but I am not hale and would not travel far while we were few in number. But I have spoke out of turn, it is Grimbeorn Wolfslayer son of Beorn you should speak with."

 :ooc: For lack of any other skill, and I believe Matt is on vacation I will try Song to attempt some successes. Success I covered Grimbeorn blurting out people bugged out on him, which Hathcyn thought he would do. Failure I am insolent, he doesnt beleive me anyway, or i made Grimbeorn's life more difficult.  ;D  1 d is all I got bro!

 :ooc:  delivery or reception apparently was crap, that will learn me to stick to what I know.

:ooc: Yeah, I think that Hathcyn jumped in a little quickly, and maybe was a little transparent in his excuse-making. 

"Hold your tongue, kin-slayer," Walcaud snaps.  "Your man has a voice of his own, to say what he will and not let lesser folk speak for him."  Behind him, his followers exchange glances, unprepared for such harsh words. 

"Enough," Grimbeorn retorts.  "You are right – my tongue is my own to speak as I please, and it pleases me to say this: I know not what may have passed between this man and his kin, but he has proven his worth to me.  No fewer than five of the enemy we faced met their ends spitted upon his spear, and this after he was sore wounded in my service!" 

They face each other, unspeaking, for a few seconds – faces stern, eyes unblinking. 


:ooc: Grimbeorn (NPC-ed for the time being) will try to use Awe to put Walcaud back in his box. 

Finally, the silence is broken by Walcaud.  The thegn spits on the ground, as if to clear his mouth of a foul taste.  "Your words are well-chosen.  My quarrel is with neither of you."  He looks bitterly at Hathcyn.  "You held your spear, that night, better than my own sons and that is to your credit.  As for you," he locks eyes with Grimbeorn once again, "I offer this counsel: every man who has ever shed blood in anger understands that losing battles goes hand-in-hand with fighting battles.  But there are precious few who will continue to follow a man who loses more often than he wins." 

He looks up at the mound, still growing as the ceorls and cottars continue to heap earth upon the cairn where rests his son.  "I did not come here to praise the raising of a mound, nor to pick open old wounds.  I came to see to my sons.  One lies here, and you have brought goods to speed him to his rest.  But how can it be that the other is still lost?" 


:ooc: I'll throw open the opportunities for skill-use here – feel free to use Hunting to describe the lack of a followable trail, or Travel or Lore to guess at where the escapees might be heading.  Don't forget also that you can use Insight once an encounter has started, to provide counsel to Grimbeorn. 

Hathcyn demurred.
Travel Roll



"I will speak, for in this matter I am not hasty, for it was I who followed the trail."

The Longspear waved his spear in the direction of his travels.

"Those who left the battle traveled that way and I found three tracks. Two that made for the ford, and one that made straight for the river. Being on foot I made for the river to see if any trace could be found of survivors, but there I lost the trail. As for the ford and who went that way they would have passed over it, and i had not the speed on foot nor the time to follow. Across the ford went the greater number. I found no signs of pursuit."

 :ooc: Sorry for the absence.  Both business and personal travel got in the way of being able to post, not to mention crappy net access to explain the absence.

Grimbeorn knew the man's words to be true and they stung for they echoed what was in his heart. He thought about replying but stayed his tongue.  The man lost his son and he grieved with bitterness in his  heart and was right to do so.  "There will be ample time for revenge and plenty of orc necks to cleave in feeding that fire, but let us finish this work, find our survivors, and honor our dead.  We will then take counsel as to our next course of action."

Mollified, Walcaud bows his head.  "Find our survivors, indeed.  I will admit to having my doubts about you, Grimbeorn Wolfslayer.  But you have proven by your willingness to put yourself in peril that others might live on, and to honour those who fought and fell in your name, to be your father's son.  I will ride in quest of my own boy - never did Waldric have a sense of direction!" 

He also spares Hathcyn a look, and says, simply "thanks for your pains."  Then he puts heels to his mount and he and his small retinue go on their way west. 

:ooc: That was nicely handled.  What's next?  There is daylight enough to be back at Beorn's House not long after nightfall.  The mound building will take at least another day, and someone should be nominated to lead the funerary rites (or one of you could handle it).  Esgalwen and Tate have headed south in pursuit of a fugitive, and a small party headed north to the ruins of the Hobbit inn.  There has been time enough for either party to come back if everything went well.  Rorin is also somewhere north of where you are, making his way to Viglund's hall. 

Grimbeorn and Hathcyn continued to help for awhile longer before succumbing to the dread of hands-on leaders: delegation.  Setting some men aside to guard this area, the others were left to finish the task they had set out to do this morn.  He returned to the house of his father to see if the others returned and deliberate the next course of action.

Hathcyn remained available to the Wolfslayer, but did not follow him around. He leaned upon his spear or watched the folk toil as the mound rose. In time the burned out buildings and the mound would mellow and fade into the countryside. Perhaps to be settled again, perhaps not. Once again the passage of Orcs had marred the land and people in their passing. In the quiet peace of the evening Hathcyn replayed the battle again in his head. Not in the way that a horror haunts the mind of the living, but as a problem to be studied and reviewed. He walked the ground again and picked through the gear of the orcs. Studied how it had been carried and the way they had fought. As he did so a deep hate was born within him. Far past the urge or call for revenge, but the deep slow burning hate that could sustain a man for a lifetime. Such a hate was born that evening in Hathcyn Longspear for all orcs.

When Grimbeorn summoned him he came. The Aetheling was addressing what at first he took to be a child. Upon closer inspection however it was, if not a man, at least full grown. A bow was at its side and a broach of a great helm adorned his cloak.

"I came to help Grimbeorn. I heard the news and came with those who were close at hand. An attack on your father and his folk is an attack on me, in debt both for the gift of my own land, but also out of friendship."

Hathcyn saw Grimbeorn crack a rare smile.

"Thank you friend. I'll leave the task in your hands. You will more readily find the words for this mound than I shall and labors still I have of which this is only one."

The great bear of a man shook hands with the diminutive warrior and bade Hathcyn follow him. The details of the battle having been seen again with fresh eyes only the burden of the battle's loss encumbered the young warriors as they made their way back to the house of Beorn.

Weary in body but buoyed by Walcaud's approval, Grimbeorn and Hathcyn arrive by torchlight back to Beorn's House.  Despite the fact that the enchanted dogs, sheep and ponies stir from their slumber to press muzzles to hands in search of reassurance, and braziers burn on the vast porch to light the entry and the hearth is lit to drive away chill, there is a growing sense of emptiness to the place.  It is as if the spirit of Beorn, so long present that it has soaked into the timbers like the scents of smoke, honey and beasts, is now dissipating. 

Indeed, apart from the two recently returned, the hall is empty of Men.  There is no sign that either the northern company or the southern pair have returned from their journeys. 

:ooc: Anything from you two?  Otherwise, I'm happy to say that Hathcyn rests and heals while Grimbeorn waits for news. 

Hathcyn was on the mend, but now he was restless. There was no word from the other parties, and the house was void of companionship. He was not too keen on dogs, the spirit of the fox was strong within him and there was no friendship between those two beasts. He paced for a bit and knew that the Wolfslayer would neither begrudge his departure as an insult or participate in any palaver Hathcyn sought to engage in.

He stood on the porch drinking slowly and looking out at the hives and thought to himself. The Queens are surely busy in their hives, but there are no women in this hall, busy or idle. He tapped his foot and looked out across the wild flowers and westering sun, impatient, bored in an instant he decided.

The lanky warrior was soon striding across the fields, small barrel of ale under one arm, a full mug already in tow and no destination in sight. Surely some folk were close about and not all had departed. If not a herders daughter, a widow, if not a widow, a companion to dice with, if not a companion the stars themselves would be company and he would sing his songs to the firmament.

Chance being what it is, it is not long before Hathcyn finds what he seeks.  Following the flight of starlings and the directions pointed by thrown sticks, he finds himself taking a path north and west of Beorn's House.  Then, upon a hillside not far from the trail he follows, he sees a woman sitting while a child plays, industriously beating a hawthorn tree with a stick and sending red and gold leaves flying into the air.  Nearby, half a dozen cattle impassively graze. 

As he comes closer, the woman sees him and climbs to her feet, though slowly as if reluctant to do so.  Like a banner raised upon a pole, her un-bound hair, as bright red as the leaves behind her, catches the breeze and begins to wave. 


:ooc: Tom, you probably know this as well as I do, but for those following at home, un-bound hair on women was a traditional sign of mourning in early germanic cultures, much like growing beards was among Roman men. 

A broad smile broke out on the face of the warrior that not even his overgrown facial hair could hide. He admired the grace and form of the woman as she stood.

"Hail and good eve to you!" He said as he lifted the tankard in his hand.

He huffed along the trail and moved closer to the woman.

"I have come from the hall of Beorn the Great, and while there are wondrous things to behold in the quiet times the house is quite.....well quiet."

He had not moved too close but set down his barrel and took another sip and looked at the cows and dropped to the ground.

The woman eyed him slightly suspiciously, "I dont often converse with strange men who wander from no where over the hill."

He gazed upon her again while seated, "I am Hathcyn the Longspear," he looked then at his hands and limbs, "I am a man, a thirsty one, but no strange man. I was in search of conversation."

The woman was still standing, but here apprehension had lessened some.

"In deed, I know of you. I saw your oration at the gathering and i know you to be no great converser if your kennings be any indication. Have you brought a barrel of ale to ply strangers with?"

Hathcyn laughed again. "that was a rather poor showing, but who has said I am sharing my ale?"

At that the woman laughed in her turn. "You seem harmless enough, and wounded it would appear. But I have a staff and unless you're tougher than an old cow hide you'll behave yourself."

Hathcyn raised his mug in toast and took another swallow. "It brings me such joy to hear words spoken, especially when they come from such a lovely lady on a fine evening. The house of Beorn is silent and dogs make such terrible companions. May I share in your cow watching burden?"

"Truly. You are no master of words, its sounds like you just compared me to the dogs."

Hathcyn laughed again, "Since you have not given me your name I shall call you Lady Thornapple, both for your hair, cutting jibes, and the hawthorn you were beating when we met."

She blushed then and  looked away, "your aim is true Longspear, for my name is Ubhala, in the reckoning of the old tongue."

"You have shamed the fruit and the berry with your loveliness, and I don't mind the thorns. Come, share a cup and we may watch together, cows and calves require many eyes."

Hathcyn came nearer and they sat together, but his eyes were seldom on the cows.
 

Ubhala partakes of Hathcyn's ale warily at first, but increasingly gladly.  She breaks pieces off a loaf of bread (stale, Hathcyn notes, and with no other fare besides), but eats little herself, leaving most to the boy.  Both are footsore, the Longspear sees, and with little supplies to be abroad.  "This is my son, Roderic son of Rodenath," Ubhala says, as the child settles long enough to enjoy his own cup of ale.  "If you are a friend to Beorn, then you may well know that many men remained to serve at his command after the festival of the moon, my husband among them.  No word has come to us of their fate, but my man visited me in a dream two nights ago and bade me beware his kin, for they would seek to deny me my morning-gift." 

She favours Hathcyn with a harsh look, and he now realises that her eyes show the signs of much weeping and little rest.  "I fear my man is slain, and would seek lord Beorn's word that these cows, all my son and I have left in the world, are mine by right of his law, no matter that my family may grasp and snatch at them." 

Overhead, the wind blows cold. In the distance, a raven flies past, heading pell-mell for the south. 

 :ooc: Grimbeorn doesn't have anything really, other than the anxiousness of word from the others.

Brooding alone, save for the mute company of magical dogs and sheep, Grimbeorn has drunk all the ale, and eaten all the bread, honey and cheese, he cares for.  Uncharacteristic worry now sits in his stomach like a stone, heavy and undigestible.  Up until now, though his path has been oft uncertain, his objective has always been clear.  His people, and all the free folk, have enemies who must be defeated and driven back to the dark places from which they creep.  But this worry, this mute absence of news from north or south, cannot be defeated by steel and sinew, nor will passionate rage enough to enflame all of Middle-Earth win the trust and goodwill of his people. 

The son of Beorn spits into the firepit, and spits once more, but the foul taste is not in his mouth, but his mind, and will not be cleared.  So it is with no little relief that he hears the sudden beating of wings as a raven swoops into the hall through the open smoke-hole.  The bird alights on a cross-beam and croaks "suuuun of Beaaaawwwwn!  Suuuun of Beaaaawwwwn!  Knooow that Raaaawwwrin is beseeet!  He is waaaylaaaid in the woooods to the naaaawwwth!" 


:ooc: Passive-aggressively ask and ye shall receive.  :)

Hathcyn cleared his throat and thought for a moment.

"I have not the ability to say whether you have dreamed falsely or truly. There was a battle in which I played a small part. The Wolfslayer and two companions only left the field in order. The rest were slain and other fled, I do not know there where bouts though today I tracked some of them with no luck. I do not know if your husband was among those who fled or those who fell."

Hathcyn was quiet for a moment while his news sunk in. His thoughts turned to all the coin he had made and saved along the forest road of the Dwarves. He could perhaps buy all of the cows though it would take all that he had saved. He thought then of his own small herd of goats and sheep he had in the north, and of his brother....

"I will speak to Grimbeorn, who rules during his father's travel. He has the authority to make a judgement in this matter I believe."

He paused, "But he has many cares and worries. Another option is we can go before the Reeve and I will buy your cows at a fair price, and then entrust them to your safe keeping and herding. As payment you shall have use of the products of the beasts and retain one fourth of all profit for your own, including any new calves for a herd of your own. If your husband's relatives complain, you may give them half of the money if you wish or claim it all as steward of the inheritance of your son. Either way you would be able to keep the cows and a livelihood for you and your son. And I would gain the profits of a herd without all the flies."

Hathcyn laughed then. "I'll not be a herder again I think. Those foul beasts that slew our kin have awoken a burning hatred in my heart and this is not the last wound I think I shall from them..... It is no matter. What say you to my agreement Lady Thornapple?"

Ubhala regards Hathcyn dubiously.  "Such an offer you would make to a widow you have barely met?  I find that I must question either your motive or your good sense."  Sparing a glance at Roderic (who, ale-cup empty, is now casting his stick as if it were a spear) she stands.  Unbidden and largely unconsciously, Hathcyn stands with her.  "Nonetheless, I will not spurn such a generous offer with winter drawing so near.  In return for your silver, then, it shall be as you say.  Further," she adds, eyes narrowed, "if your hatred of those beasts who deprived me of a husband and Roderic of a father is truly great enough to send you from home and field to fight them, then know that you shall always find hospitality at the house of Ubhala." 

:ooc: My apologies - I wrote that post yesterday and thought it had gone through.  Not sure what happened there. 

Hathcyn's fingers probed at the bandages at his side. He felt the dampness of it from lugging the beer barrel around as it had wept some in the process.

"The money was gained felling trees and pulling stumps along the great road the dwarves are building. It was honest work and I did it for something to do with no thought as to what I would spend the money on. I'm restless in heart and spirit, and do not think to stay long in one place. But now that curiosity and wandering have been sharpened to hate for these creatures."

He watched the boy shout as he banged the stick on his arm and then tossed it at his imaginary foes. 

" I see my offer as both a kindness and an investment. You have a need and it is within my power to help you. You have a skill already with the beasts and I otherwise would squander my coin. In turn I thank you for your generosity and hospitality."

Hathcyn plucked several of the hawthorn leaves and placed them in his belt.

"I should return to the Wolfslayer and the Hall of Beorn. Make what arrangements are required and I will leave the coin for you there if I am called away."

He filled his mug one more time and leaving the barrel went back down the hill he had come up. 

:ooc: Nice.  Okay Matt, what does Hathcyn find when he returns to Beorn's House?  What's Grimbeorn up to?

 :ooc:  #:S ok lets get this party back to at most three action settings.

Grimbeorn cursed his luck, the weather, and the absence of his friends.  "Bird, what besets your master and how far away?"

"Meeeeeeeen!  Maaaany meeeeen with speeeeeaaaaars and aaaaaxes in the Eeeeelfswoooood!  Their leeeeaaaader beeeaaars a gooooldeeeen tuuuussk upoooon his shiiieeeld!


:ooc: The Elfswood, for those playing at home, is the lightly-wooded area around the Forest Gate and the start of the elf-path through Mirkwood.  It seems Rorin is taking the direct path to Viglund's lands. 

By chance, if chance it was, Hathcyn had just returned to the hall and was being led by one of the beasts to the hall of Beorn. He heard the message of the bird. Instinct called him to action, but that same reaction had led them into a terrible defeat not yet two days ago. He must learn to think more like the fox, and less like the bear.

He stood silently, thought, and waited for orders from Grimbeorn.

:ooc: Give me a second (figuratively speaking) and I'll let you know how much Hathcyn had healed since the skirmish.

Grimbeorn sees Hathcyn arrive as the bird speaks.  "Is Rorin held captive and do you know how many men?"

The bird gives a raucous squawk and flaps its wings in clear agitation.  "Maaaany Meeeen, though some were booouuund and bore no aaaarms!  Roooriin stooood alooone with haaaammer in haaaand, and I heeeaaard a maaan cry as I fleeeew!  I know noooot whereeether he still liiiives!  Make haaaaste!  I will guiiiide you!"

 :ooc: What resources left does Grimbeorn have to command?

 :ooc: YOU HAVE MY SPEAR! and maybe a weiner dog and a talking horse.

 :ooc: Kinda what I figured... Lol

:ooc: Tom is basically right - with the exception of Hathcyn, the young men willing to follow Grimbeorn in to battle at the drop of a hat are all either dead or back with their clans and in no hurry to accompany him into battle in the future.  You are still the acting lord of the Beornings, and you could send word out asking men to muster, but for a non-emergency (as they would see it) like this, the response would be slight, and slow in coming.  Especially as many steadings and villages will need every strong hand to get the harvest in. 

If you would like to go that route, let's say that it'll take a minimum of two days to get any followers to turn up (Beorning settlements aren't large, and are widely spread), and you'd be looking at 1d6 men per day after that, to a maximum of 30 or so. 

Quote from: Eclecticon on Jul 07, 2018, 10:02 PM:ooc: Give me a second (figuratively speaking) and I'll let you know how much Hathcyn had healed since the skirmish.

:ooc: And Hathcyn has healed five Endurance (:csu:), so he's still Wounded. 

"Hathcyn... are you with me?"

"Yes," said the injured man, trying to appear more ready that he actually felt or looked.

"Good," Grimbeorn replied gruffly, and giving a wan smile to the man's dedication to duty and honor.  "You and I will need horses and some provisions, we set out as soon as we may to see to our friend."  To the bird, he commanded, "Find Esgalwen, to the south I think you'll likely find her and her Dalish companion.  Tell them what you've seen and that I request their assistance for Hathcyn and I leave to deal with this."  With a loud squawk of acknowledgement, the bird fluttered off with his hopes of finding his friend in time.

While he prepared for his departure, he bade messengers give word to the thanes of what is transpiring and his intention to confront the harassers lest they look and find him not in the hall of Beorn.

 :ooc:
I'm going to make an insight roll for Hathcyn before I reapond. I have some thoughts but I'm not sure he would see things as I do...

Hathcyn nodded in response, "my spear is yours to command Wolfslayer."

He listened to Grimbeorn order his affairs and raised his hand to speak.

"Lord, I have not the cares or burdens that you do nor the experience. I do come from a large family with many uncles and nucles who do not see eye to eye. Though leadership may fall to a son they are seldom quick to follow a younger man. May I suggest you leave out the details of where you are going. They will think you rush forward to another ill conceived battle having learnt nothing from the last. Say only you have pressung bussiness with the Dwarves that you must see too. Then leave a trusted man, one of the Thegns respected by the others to receive news of any issues that may arise. This will allow you to do your bussiness as you see fit, raise the confidence of one of your thegns, and show to all your ability to trust others and insure the management of your people.  None would question your personal courage, but leave no room for them to continue to question your judgement."

:ooc: Matt, any response? 

"hmm," pondered Grimbeorn. "I loathe being circumspect about things, but in this case I agree.  I would hope they'd be more practical and take that this is more about safeguarding our land.  Too many of these 'lords' of late are more concerned with position and perception than honor and duty.  Thank you."

"I can be ready in but a moment. I have arranged to buy some cattle, but I can leave the money aside. Do you wish to ride tonight or tomorrow?"

:ooc: It's still early in the day.  To keep the story limping along, I'm going to assume that you leave as soon as horses can be saddled.