Borne on the south wind, the drums of desperate men!
Borne on the north wind, the smoke of a burning hall!
Between two wolves, Beornings to their banners bestir,
One from its lair driven, by greed and hunger made cunning,
One with old hatreds to fresh flame of wrath kindled.
Cleve now to kin, sons of the vales, the drum beat, the horn blow,
And make sharp the axe and the spear.
Welcome though the reunion is, the return journey is nevertheless hard, cold and thankless, for little have the escaped thralls of Viglund for warmth or provision. Tate and Esgalwen do what they can to keep spirits up, but it is a chill and weary company who emerge from the Elfwood to beg for food and space by the fire at cattle-herders' cottages. The Dwarf Polin, never eager to enjoy the company of Men, slips away as the band nears the ruins of the Easterly Inn. Not even to Anar does he vouchsafe his destination.
Then, at last, the outriders crest a ridge to find Beorn's House before them, and a host of perhaps ten score encamped nearby, their numbers great enough that some have sought greater comfort without the hedge-gate. There is, at first, a great commotion at the approach of a party from the north, but once their identity is realised the alarms turn to cries of congratulation and warm welcomes. Half a dozen fathers cry out Grimbeorn's name, and bow before he who has returned their sons from durance.
Footsore and half starved, the companions are ushered into the great hall, and given all the comfort that the wondrous beasts within may offer: cakes and cheeses, mead and ale to fill aching bellies, a blazing fire and thick furs to warm wind-scoured backs. Once their fast is broken, Ingelram sits by Grimbeorn's side. "Many have heard the call issued by your friends, and though the demands of the harvest keep many at home, many have arrived, as you see. I would wager that more are still on the road, and that our numbers will swell still further, if there is time enough to wait for them."
Waiting until Grimbeorn has finished a large swig of mead, he locks eyes with the son of his chieftain. "You return with clothes torn and bloodied, and without the horses on which you rode north. This will not go unmarked by the other thanes. I fear that another enemy has been roused to our north, as will they. You must gather them to you, to tell them the news and to seek their counsel as to the path forward."
Now back within the House of Beorn, Esgalwen spent her time mending and preparing her gear. It was likely that they would soon be off again - north or south - on another great expedition to quell either the Blood Moon Raiders or the Viglundings, and she wanted her armor and bow to be in good repair. The evening was almost upon them and she now sat by a cookfire, weaving arrow heads onto shafts. She prided herself on the fact that she had become a pretty good fletcher over the last few years. Nimronyn sat near her, but the whetstone lay unused as the blade never seemed to dull or notch. Glory to the Elves, she thought.
Grimbeorn had been in counsel with his thegns, over the past few days, while a host gathered outside his palisade. Esgalwen did not interrupt these meetings, instead she spent time with Tate and saw to the needs of Rorin, who was starting to return to health. Around her, there were new faces - some she knew, some she did not - but once more a fellowship was coalescing. Hathcyn the Beorning and a new Dwarf that had been released from the Vigs, named Anar.
Silently, the woman wished for the days before, the days of her former fellowship with Bandy and Arbogast, along with Grimbeorn and Rorin...even Orophin. A shadow crossed her brow, but then was gone. Those were good days - before any were heaped with the responsibility of leadership, or being a father. Esgalwen quietly scolded herself for her thoughts - no greater calling was there than that of a leader or father - and she was absolutely proud of what Grimbeorn and Arbogast had achieved for themselves
It just seemed things had been more... simple.
Even Bandobras, the happy-spirited Hobbit, and the doughty Rorin had moved on to their own callings. It was she that felt left behind. Tate handed her a plate piled with potatoes and some shredded meat, as she set down an arrow. She smiled back at him, but it was quickly lost. The minstrel recognized the look.
"So... are we riding with the folk, once more?" he asked. "Or will you take me up on my offer to dine once more along The Way, Gwen."
A smile. It had been a long time since they had dined together in Dale, along the strip of businesses and inns nicknamed The Way.
"You know I must... and thus, so must you."
"How could I leave you?" laughed the man.
Esgalwen knew his offer to leave was nothing more than humor - Tate would not leave these people in their time of need, just as she could not. Still, he enjoyed lightening her mood with his advances, and she enjoyed that he did. He had taken to writing poetry and songs, and she was sure she was the subject of one or two, though he vehemently denied it.
"No...no... t'is another woman of which I speak," he would say with a smile. "You're not the only auburn-haired, fair-faced woman that I know! She was friendly and did not suffer such bouts of distress."
The fire popped and the ranger's attention was brought back to the here and now. She scooped some potato and meat into her mouth, set down the plate, and retrieved her arrow. Wiping the grease from her fingers, she commenced her work once more.
It would not be long.
The raiders to the south were said to be moving out of the Wolfswood. They would meet them on the field and put an end to their ravaging.
:ooc: Again, another flavor narrative while we wait for things to stir.
By the hearth sit the Beorning thegns. Proud Æthelwold Red-Eyes, Ingelram of the Leap, Walcaud Shield-Gnawer and others have gathered for to give their sword-day counsel to the son of their chieftain. With them also are those closest to Grimbeorn, whose shed blood has mingled with his and who have shared his hardships and his triumphs: Tate and Esgalwen, his hand on her shoulder as she affixes arrow-heads to shafts one after the other, Hathcyn and Harhold, their wounds freshly healed and the still-livid scars a badge of their honourable service, Rorin, mail-clad, dour-faced, and Anar, who he has brought as a witness and who will fight in his stead while the Roadmaker prepares a missive to the King Under the Mountain.
"It's a right mess we have, and no mistake," exclaims Claudas Bare-legs, twirling the tip of his long-bladed knife on the floorboards before him. "Foes both north and south!"
"Leave it," growls Ingelram. "Grimbeorn set out to return our sons taken in battle, and that he did without paying a single cup of milk, and while demonstrating to the Viglundings that he fears them not, and why. If he has brought on a war, then it is nothing less than many here wished his father would do, when we gathered for the moon-sickle trials."
There arises a hubbub of protest and accusation, which subsides only when Walcaud barks "still your tongues for a while and think clearly! What is done cannot be undone, and it is given to us only to make the best of what we can. He," he says, indicating Grimbeorn with a respectful wave, "has a decision to make, and must make it well, for one son already have I seen buried this season and am loath to see another. War is upon us, but who ought we fight, and where?"
"Two hundred and twenty strong is our host," muses Æthelwold. "No more arrived this day, and I would wager that all those whom the harvest would spare have already arrived. Minstrel," he says, turning to Tate, "how many of the Blood-moon folk stand against us?"
"I saw them not with my own eyes," Tate quickly answers, "but Esgalwen, Ranger of Gondor, counted at least eighty, and likely more that she could not espy."
"Then it is an easy decision," says old Wulfdas Ram's-blood (though he whistles a little around many missing teeth). "We go south, drive the Blood-moons before us with our greater numbers and return to face what may come from Viglund."
"I doubt that it will be so easy," interjects Claudas. "From what I hear, they have come not as a band of raiders but as a people on the march. If they are driven from Stánford, it will be without provisions and into the teeth of the oncoming winter. Viglund may fight for wounded pride, and we may in defence of our homeland, but they will fight for the lives of their wives and children. Not lightly will they give up what they have come to take from us."
"Is your counsel that we should simply leave them, then, and let Stánford fall beneath their yoke?"
"Aye, for now, and turn our men towards driving away Viglund and his people, who will surely seek their revenge."
"In time, surely," counters Ingelram, "but not yet, I think. Viglund's house was burned, and will need to be rebuilt before winter, and his folk will surely be as busy with the harvest as our own. Viglund has shown patience in the past. He will bide his time and strike in the summer, with as many men as will follow him."
"So think ye," asks Æthelwold, sceptically. "while his own daughter abides here, with his enemy? For such things have whole clans cast aside reason in favour of blood-lust."
"You weren't there," Hathcyn exclaims, surprising himself as much as anyone. In the sudden silence, he continues, "you saw not how little he cared for her, nor she for him. She is a fine reward for one of his thegns. Nothing more."
Walcaud stands and stretches, something in his back giving an audible 'pop'. "The Longspear is right. None of us have seen what we discuss." Looking one by one to the companions, old and new, he asks "you who have, what have you to say?"
:ooc: So, as I seem to have let my initial post without much of a hook for character action, I'm explicitly throwing the floor open. Feel free to chime in with reactions (external and otherwise), options for action, vows of epic vengeance etc.
Anar who had been listening quietly while stuffing his face downed the last of his ale. He stood up and stepped forward to make his presence known.
"My companion and I were...captives. For a time. We'd all but given up hope of freedom until this lot showed up and saved us. I, Anar son of the Iron Hills, have a debt to be paid. And I intend to make good on that debt. If you'll have me, I'll go wherever ye need."
On the journey back Hathcyn spoke much with the dwarves. From them he learned a great deal about orcs and war. Knowledge that they all expected would be useful in the days to come.
Upon their return to the hall Hathcyn was not idle. As the warriors assembled the former captives needed succor and aid for not all of those who traveled with them were of the folk of Beorn or had kin in these parts. So when safety was reached his hand was free with the hoard of Viglund. To each who had suffered loss or death or a burned homestead a few coins made there way into their hands. It was small succor for their loss, but it was fitting that the hoard of Viglund paid for the crimes of Viglund's folk. To each he smiled and reassured and to each the same words were spoken.
"May this lighten your burdens until the day of full repayment comes."
And thus the deeds of Grimbeorn were magnified again by the generosity that flowed from him into the hands of the suffering.
To the young and strong Hathcyn also gave food, a welcoming word to those from far lands, and the offer of arms from the armory of the Beornings. Few refused him, for their own wrath was white hot and it was not from Hathcyn alone that the treatment of the Beornings was spread among the folk. The tale of the honor duel grew in the telling and soon the tale of the harrowing of north spread throughout the camp and beyond.
The coins he gave with a free hand, but the other items of the hoard he set aside to do with as Grimbeorn saw fit. All that is save four.
He went then to Aestid.
" In your father's hall you were a thing. A servant at need, a tool for an alliance, but you have come from the shadow and brought light with you. In the Hall of Beorn you shall not be thought a slave."
He gave her then a great wolf pelt and two owl brooches taken from the hoard. Unknowing to Hathcyn the brooches once belonged to her mother, though her father kept them in hoard. Then he gave her a heavy torc of silver and a gold rimmed horn.
" and these are given to you for your bride price so your honor may stay separate from that of your father and brother and your station maintained."
Hathcyn had more to say at this council, but first looked to Grimbeorn. The Wolfslayer nodded and he continued.
"The power of Viglund is not as great as we might think. Truly his wrath is kindled and burns deep but what strength does he have? If he had the power he would have overcome us in the open when we were vulnerable and on our way south. Now that the fire of his hall has cooled he will find that his burdens have increased. Now not only will he need to repair his hall, but his reputation.
"To those he ruled by fear they now see a Lord who has lost his house, his slaves, and his daughter to only two of our folk."
Hathcyn smiled, "I assure you he has also lost the means to pay them for their loyalty."
"For those who followed him out of ancient loyalty he has shown his son to be a drunken sot incapable of lordship and has, if not by his own design than the allowing of it, profaned the ancient customs of both hospitality and single combat.
These double blows will be hard to recover from. Viglund is no fool. A hasty battle now before he can get a handle on his folk would spell is doom in victory or in defeat of any battle. No, I would think he would stoke the fires of revenge and insult to all his folk in order to mask his weakness and gather his strength. A raid maybe we will see this year, but open war he can not risk. This suits us, for surely the Folk of Durin would join us in the spring when word has reached their king.
This leaves us with the Blood Moon raiders. This is a force already prepared for war and on the move. If we move south those who have not assembled here but capable of bearing arms will swell our numbers. For it is their homes we would be protecting. If we called upon the guards of the fords and the toll takers that would perhaps give us a score more as well. If battle is joined and won a watch may be set in the north and preparations and alliances made to settle this feud either in battle or some other means and bring peace to north and south."
Anar looks around a little embarrassed. Shuffling his feet a little he spoke up,
"I uh...lost me gear and weapons to those who captured me. You wouldn't happen to have anything suitable for a dwarf would ye?"
Grimbeorn sat and listened like his father did to the arguments and counter-arguments, the fawning and preening, and stratagems these Men who call themselves Beorning out of oath only, knowing naught what truly lies beneath that name. When he tired of it as no knowledge nor wisdom more could be gained, he raised a hand for silence. It didn't come immediately but only after his man pounded his staff and raised his voice to those that were most defiant of his standing gave way their secret whisperings.
"When I left, I did not seek out any of this conflict but to regain my friend and any of the captives Viglund held of our people. Viglund and his son both were of irrationale mind, with no desire of peace or the slightest bit of honor. Yet, of those I fought, they were with honor and even gave an ear to my words of peace and honor. If they had not, fewer of our people would have returned. The man's daughter, Aestid, no less was key to their escape than I and she should be commended for her bravery."
"Yet, in all directions we have foes. To the North, the Viglundings and further distant, to whom they would bandy with, the goblins of Gundabad. To the south, these Blood Moon raiders. To the West, the goblins and wargs of the Misty Mountains. To the east, the spiders and other fell creatures of Mirkwood. Thinking one or two without paying heed to the other spells doom for any of our plans. Aye, we have foes, but we have allies just as great, if not moreso. The Woodmen to the south, whom would also be in peril from the Raiders. The Elves of Mirkwood and beyond those of Dale and The Mountain."
"We can move pieces and make plans but it all counts for nothing if we don't have more information. We must seek to know the mind of Viglund and catch any further word of these Raiders. Though he might seem level-headed, he is as far as it extends for I wouldn't count out a move by his son. The goblins of the Misty Mountains have been quiet and that is an ill we cannot discount at any season, and the Mirkwood threat has been quiet for far longer -- but these I would let fall aside for now in our deliberations. Before we make any major decisions, I believe we must send 2 small parties on horseback to search out signs of the Raiders and another to see about the Viglundings. Any further large movements of men must be made under the cover of night lest we are being watched here. In addition, messengers will be sent to our allies for any aid they might spare, though most are maybe too far away to reach us. I will seek help from our beast-friends too. Send word to your people that they make ready for any raid that might come and for them to either make for the Carrock or this hall."
:ooc: Okay, this is just a quick game-mechanics note - look for a proper post late Saturday evening, Ohio time. Mike, Anar can get re-equipped without any trouble - Hathcyn has his mail shirt, and (being Dwarf-sized) it won't be much good to anyone else around here. Beorn doesn't keep a huge armory, but he'll have a serviceable greataxe around (though it'll need some sharpening after probably having been used as a wood axe for years).
Matt and Tom, I think that, based on the narration above (which is pretty cool!) I'll count the distribution of the Treasure towards improving Grimbeorn and Hathcyn's social standing. Keep a tally of what's been spent (or spent on your behalf) - I've done the same for Arbogast with a view to actually doing an undertaking when I've spent the right total amount. I suggest a breakdown of 16/4, but you two can argue that out as you see fit.
North and south, the riders speed at Grimbeorn's command, and the thegns return to their followers to counsel patience and watchfulness. As the evening deepens, the wise among Beorn's folk go among the beasts of the moonlight fields and forests, spreading the call for aid. Then it is time to wait...
:ooc: More to come! Watch this space!
:ooc: I'm thinking that Grimbeorn may seek counsel of the Eagles if at all possible.
He'd go himself if you believe he would know how to go about it and it was something that wouldn't take him too far or long to accomplish.
:ooc: Well, you're in charge - it's your call. It's a minimum of three days to get to where it's reputed to be (the Fellowship has never been there). So that's the best part of an additional week that your men will be sitting around waiting for something to happen. On the other hand, the Great Eagles would be tremendous allies.
Is he speaking his thoughts out loud? If so, we can do some IC discussion of the question.
"I have a thought that may lend us both a powerful ally or at least more information: the Great Eagles whose eyeries are to the west of us. They have helped men and dwarves in the past, and they have no love for destruction or those that might aid the orcs and goblins. They a few days away as man travels though to seek their counsel."
"What about taking counsel with the Wizard? Surely he would be of some aid and may even know the counsels of the Eagles."
"Aye, he would be good too, but both present a problem of distance which means time lost."
:ooc: i can probably use my Night Goer ability to get an idea of how many Blood Moon raiders there are. Anyone have an issue if I burn a Hope point from the Fellowship pool?
:ooc: I'm fine with it
:ooc: Does anyone else want to weigh in on the plan(s)? This isn't a Beorning-only council, and I don't want to advance the plot until you guys have reached a firm decision (by the standards of a tabletop roleplaying group, at least) on what you're actually going to do.
And Tom, Stánford is well within the range you can access as a night-goer.
great, let me think bout how I can maximize this. Also, are th thegns going home? Or just going out among there people that are already here?
:ooc: The thegns will be spending much of their time among their own personal followers, keeping spirits up and warriors patient while you deliberate.
There is a point at which they'll lose their patience and demand to be allowed to return to their own clans and harvests, though. The demands of an agricultural economy are unforgiving, and you really don't have these guys indefinitely.
Hathcyn nodded to Grimbeorn.
"The night has often been a great councilor to all our folk. Let us see what counsel he brings tonight."
All at the council knew that Beorn forbade the killing of animals or hunting at night near his home. Some of those present knew the real meaning of his words. For it was at night that the totems of the folk ran with their spirits and they gave good counsel to those who could hear them.
The gathering broke up, but Hathcyn was not done. The thegns had planted the seeds of an idea in his head and he went to Harhold
"Harhold, we have road work to do!"
His friend raised a brow, "road work?"
"We have many idle hands here. Get your head straight man! What's the first thing the dwarves did on the road?"
"If you dont work you dont eat."
"No, before that."
"If you steal anything..."
"No you sod, work gangs. The first thing they did was put us into work gangs. We have all these men here worrying about clearing fields and everyone is worried about there own lands. Let's get work gangs started!"
He smiled at his friend and hit his shoulder.
"Everyone has fields to clear and wants to get back to them, but they are all idle here. Some of those men we rescued are landless, we'll ask for volunteers there first. Then we go to the freeholders and lords and ask for volunteers. We start with those closest and whoever's land we clear promises to aid and assist the next man. And so the lands are cleared faster and there is less concerns of home if we march north or south. You and I and the other landless men are the grease we need to get it started, should we march we can continue the work on our return. Then each who joins will see his lands cleared in turn and though he be last there will be many hands to pass it quickly. Grimbeorn will provide the beer! Come on, let's go!"
Hathcyn was filled with exuberance with his plan and his smile and quick words were headed by some and the plan began to take form. The morning would find him stripped to the waist scythe in hand with a song in his throat as the grass fell, but there was other work to do that night as well.
When the fire burned low in the great hall the two men gathered by the side boards. Hathcyn with a blanket and clean water made up a pallet and lay himself down. Harhold, with a flagon and a skin prepared to take watch over his friend while he undertook the night travel.
He lay down and composed his mind. He thought of the heather and the fields, the grass on his nose, and eggs snatched from a coup. He thought of his ancestors, his brother, and of running swiftly with them across fields of moon filled grass. Then he was gone.
Out of the hall his mind fled and captured by moon and starlight he was once more among his people and his kin. A swift red fox with a silver tipped tail swiftly sped into the night.
His first stop was up the hill and along a trail. Speedily he passed a pasture and soon to a stone hut with a turf roof. The need of his lord was pressing, but Hathcyn could not resist the chance to check on his Lady Thornapple. She was there as he expected her to be in his minds eye. She sat by a low fire sharpening tools on an old whetstone. Her son heating rocks for night warmth. Another chair empty, but in pride of place for a man who would never return. He lingered a moment, and then was away south in pursuit of the news of war.
"I shall show crows the meaning of haste," he thought as he sped south.
:ooc: Hey Paul, Esgalwen is going to kind of sit back on this one. She will participate in whatever Beorn orders, but she will not be adding any guidance.
As a player, I am going to let Matt and Tom decide the direction, too. They are vested in the Beorning story and so should decide the fate of their people.
:ooc: One question: How soon are we moving to the end-of-year phase?
If we've still got another season to play out, Tate will speak up in favour of providing aid and defense for the people of Stanford. He would also like to see justice come to Oderic.
(though, if it is known that Hathcyn is scouting out Stanford, he'd remain quite until news arrived)
If we're moving to year-end phase, Tate would volunteer to go with some of Grimbeorn's thegns speak to the King of Dale to form an alliance to scout and clear out the Northwestern Vales of the encroaching Viglundings, bandits and goblins. (and he would invited Esgalwen to join him in the task.)
"Rorin, would you send your companion to Radagast?
I will send my father's swiftest flyer to the Eagles to request their aid or at least wisdom in the matters of what falls under their gaze in regard to the raiders, goblins or other such dangers. As much as I wish I could go, I believe ill would befall us and I wouldn't be here to meet it."
"Esgalwen, you're a lady of strength in arms and the ways of war. Would you train those willing to this end? We could use each and every edge against any of the foes we are to face."
---
Grimbeorn set out to ensure all was moving with haste and purpose. Riders had departed, messengers sent aloft, and men at work with blade of war or of the soil to help their neighbors. Word eventually came to him of promises made by Hathcyn and chuckled. Finding the man, he commended his determination and industry, but warned of overpromising on other men's barrels of drink.
Beneath the rising moon, Hathcyn goes forth from Ubhala's threshold cloaked in the fox-skin of his ancient ancestors. Like the shadow of a cloud, he flows across meadow and through wood, his footfalls soft as prayers. Guided by the stars, and the ever-present sound of the flowing river, he makes his way south, passing the shadow-touched bank where murdered men were discovered and orcs crossed to ravage and destroy. Though the scents of Esgalwen and Tate are long since gone, there remain traces in the trail that speak of their passage. Passing the hollow where, not long past, he discovered Oderic in his flight, he goes on, and further on.
By the time he reaches the village, the moon has drawn clouds about itself as if unwilling to gaze on what lies beneath, for it is plain that a battle has been fought here. Though the remains of the dead have been gathered and burned, the scent of the blood of Men, thick and metallic, still hangs in the air beneath the now-familiar smells of smoke and burned flesh. Beyond the trampled field, Stánford sits quietly, its hearths barely burning. From within its houses and hall wafts the weeping of children and the scents of many unfamiliar bodies.
Slipping silently between the shadows of buildings, Hathcyn stops at each door to sniff quietly and mark those within. Many smell as though they belong, their body-scents mixing with those of the soil, the beasts of the field and the ripened grain. Many others, especially those in the great hall, carry with them the memories of lands beyond those known to him.
Hours pass, and the moon glides toward the horizon, but little do those with him in Beorn's House see him stir until he is certain. Vidugalum now holds Stánford with a force of ninety-one men, and another fifty women and children besides.
:ooc:
Quote from: Posterboy on Sep 24, 2018, 07:12 PMOne question: How soon are we moving to the end-of-year phase?
I'm going to hand straight over to Doug once the adventure is done, but based on the timing I would expect that there'll be a year-end Fellowship phase right afterwards.
I should point out, since I haven't already, that you have the option of doing nothing militarily this year (though that won't impress the thegns, it'll allow for Beorn to decide things on his return), in which case we can go straight to the Fellowship phase.
Also, Mike, go ahead and give Anar six Advancement Points, distributed however you like, to represent his experiences so far this year. He's been through quite a bit, even though most of it was off camera.
Hathcyn stirred in the great hall of Beorn. The need was pressing, but he found it hard to return, like he was being forced to leave his home. A feeling the Longspear was quite familiar with. He opened his eyes.
"Stanford has fallen. The raiders have taken the hall and taken the homes of the survivors as there own."
He got up and made his way to Grimbeorn to report all that he heard.
:ooc: I'm assuming Hathcyn is making his report in the presence of the company, not just Grimbeorn... if, I am mistaken, please set this post aside...
Tate listened with interest as the young Beorning reported all to Grimbeorn. For the moment, the Man of the Lake overlooked the mystery and magic of how Hathcyn had managed to scout out Stanford unseen... and that a two day ride from here!
But the disastrous news that Stanford had been overrun, that Tate could not overlook. Addressing Grimbeorn directly, on the heels of Hathcyn, Tate appealed with passion, "My Lord, you must retake Stanford. These raiders will not be satisfied with the village. They are locust, feasting on all they can before moving on to the next settlement. Not only grain and wine, but hope. That is what they seek to devour... your people's hope.
"Strike now. Strike decisively. That your people may not grow faint of heart. Your people already know the stories of how your slayed the beast. Let them now learn the stories of how their Lord defended their lands and vanquished their foes."
With the grim news born to them by Hathcyn, Esgalwen sat in silent anger. She never should have left them.
Tate made his plea to Grimbeorn but she did not interrupt. Instead her mind went to Ava and Hartwulf, to Helmgut and Bruinhild, and even Oderic. Surely, if found there, he would have been put to the sword. The Blood Moon Raiders would have seen him as a traitor.
Her heart felt like it clenched. She had taken him back there and left him in the elders' charge. I can only hope they let him fight once more in defense of his home, she thought. If he has died in battle, at least his passing will be honourable. Esgalwen fought to resist the purging of her dinner, as acid filled her center.
The minstrel had finished speaking and Grimbeorn sat in deadly quiet. The ranger stood, breathing deeply to keep herself then added softly, her voice weighed down by the guilt she now felt.
"Tate is right. Something must be done and quickly, but this is not just a Beorning problem. Yes, Stánford was a Beorning holding, but the Blood Moon Raiders are a problem for all clans within the vale. The Woodmen and Mountain Men are just as threatened and they must shoulder this burden, too. I say that riders - or other messengers - be sent forth post haste to both Woodland Hall and Woodmen Town, as well as to Hartfast of Mountain Hall. Grimbeorn, those folk owe us in blood and great now is the friendship between your peoples due to our aid with the goblins.
"Winter is almost upon us. Fields cannot go fallow. So use your alliances, use every asset that you can call upon! That has been the whole point of all of our efforts since the Folk-moot, years past! To bind the people together. To make a union of clans. So that none need face a danger alone."
Esgalwen shook her head to free her mind of Oderic's dead face, which faded into that of Orophin. Rallying herself, she stood back up straight.
"I will gladly aid in training your folk in weapons, but you must act swiftly and call all the banners. Even the band of outlaws that haunt the western eaves - it is their lands, too, that are threatened. Every clan in the vale must be rallied. If you wish me to ride instead, to carry that message, so be it."
With that, the woman returned to her seat.
Rorin, still groggy from awakening, arches an eyebrow. "Ye speak soundly. Long have we worked to build friendship between the Free Peoples. I don't know, though, whether the season is right for that tree to bear fruit."
"For several years I lived among the Woodmen at Rhosgobel," he says, "and I have seen how all hands, young and old, are put to work gathering what little bounty the forest provides. Your call will produce few volunteers, though those that do come will be the ones who have suffered at the hands of the Blood Moons. I do not doubt that Arbogast, if the call reaches him in time, will make his way to you, though all the shades of the wood sought to bar his way!"
"It is easy for us to say do this, or do that. The truth is that the burden is Grimbeorn's and heavier still that it is on loan from his father. This is not a criticism of any here, but a reality. We have but one throw to make against these raiders and with, as you say, enemies all around. Friends are further and they are but a promise. We have sufficient strength here for one good go at it. If we fail then like locusts these raiders will fall on steding and farm as its resources are used up or they grow tired and take the land for their own. Our enemies from the north will be back in the spring and so unless the dwarves come we will then be fewer in number against them, even in victory against the raiders we will be weaker. I have given what news I can, and rendered what small wisdom I possess to my chief. The decision is yours Wolfslayer and none others so I will say neither yes or no, only 'We obey'."
Esgalwen stood after both Rorin and Hathcyn's words.
"You both talk as if we are the ones on the end of a thread. These are our lands the invaders have entered. Our lands where allies can be quickly found and summoned. The Blood Moon Raiders - if they be Toft-men - are at the very end of a long supply line. If anything, it is they that must hunker down for the winter and hope that Stánford will have sufficient resources to see them through. If they be locusts, like you say, Hathcyn, then they must stop and wait before moving on, lest they die from the exposure.
"You talk of miles and distances...it was Magrac, our Dwarf-friend's raven that found me and Tate, bringing Grimbeorn's message. Where are our winged allies? Rorin? Cannot Magrac serve to carry word south? Or north? Can we recruit new such allies? As Grimbeorn asked, what of the Eagles? What of the wizards? Send word! A pair of riders can cover great distances at need."
She shook her head in confusion at what has been said thus far.
"If you fear that your current allegiances are not strong enough to bear this burden, then the people of the vale have achieved nothing in the five years that have passed. Daughters married to sons from Woodland Hall and Sunstead to Mountain Hall - combining of families - and it all for naught?" She looked to Rorin, "Dwarves were taken as slaves! I would think the sons of Durin would never allow such an offense."
Esgalwen surrendered to the movement of opinion in the room, but she added one last, "It has always been the plight of the people of the vale to be weaker then their neighbors to the south, the north, and east - all due to the weak allegiances that you keep. If not now, then when? If this threat cannot bring you together, then you can never achieve the security that your neighbors enjoy."
Her somber mood had gotten the best of her. Esgalwen did not return to her seat. Instead, the Dúnadan turned from the Hall of Beorn and walked out into the chill air of the new autumn day. Let me see how I can aid in bringing the tactics of Ithilien to these folk, she thought to herself.
:ooc: I think that I have at last found the perfect imagery for this character.
"The call will go out to all our allies and those with whom we hold tenuous relations. Aye there are those with whom we've aid but a call to any as the year ends is a great favor to ask indeed. Time is what we need for response and receipt of help if any is made and that is just what is against us. We will march on Stanford as soon as enough strength is mustered to drive them out but the words of loss even in victory are true. For the present we must wait for word from abroad and prepare for any strike against us. If nothing can be resolved within the week, then we will quietly disassemble until such time as need comes."
:ooc: I post this just to stress one more time the point Esgalwen is making, but she will be making no other counsel regarding it.
Y'all realize Stánford, though its a Beorning town, sits in the middle of the Woodmen clans - closer to them than to Beorn's house, right?
All right then, where are those straw dummy targets and hay bales? |) |) |) (-D
[EDIT] Aww...I thought those little icons were whistling, not snoring. Oh well! ;)
Quote from: GandalfOfBorg on Sep 25, 2018, 06:19 PM"The call will go out to all our allies and those with whom we hold tenuous relations.
:ooc: Cool, so we have a decision. I'm going to have to crunch some numbers around travel times, and I'm too brain-fried from work and assignment-writing to work it out right now. I'm going to try to get something together tomorrow morning (my time).
EDIT: And Doug, that's a very cool picture. Ought we expect that the portraits (https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/index.php?topic=1390.msg24501#msg24501) of the company will be updated sometime?
Quote from: Eclecticon on Sep 25, 2018, 09:46 PMEDIT: And Doug, that's a very cool picture. Ought we expect that the portraits (https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/index.php?topic=1390.msg24501#msg24501) of the company will be updated sometime?
:ooc: I am happy to update the character profiles, I just need pictures of the PC's - new and old (in case some of you want something different). ;D
If you want to email me the pics, I will update the Tale of Years.
And damn those time differences! (-D
:ooc: Love the pic for Esgalwen... with her changing demeanor, I almost wonder if you should spend a phase changing her Fair distinctive feature to something other. (Hardened, maybe?)
Tate listened 'round the room as others chimed in until finally the Beorning Prince made his decision. Like Gwen, Tate felt the Wolfslayer was making a mistake. And, while his heart desired desperately to follow after the ranger, he stayed and approached Grimbeorn. "My Lord, tell me where I may be of service to you and I will depart at once."
:ooc: Truthfully, it is my hope that something happens by the end of this adventure phase that restores Esgalwen to her former self.
She has 5 Hope and 4 Shadow - so I am waiting on a sign. Some kind of evidence that the things they have achieved have been for the good. An alliance of friends would be that sign; Oderic returning to Beorn's house and showing his better nature would also have worked. The slaves being freed has bolstered her heart, but there appears to still be a constant squabble between friends (at least in how she is perceiving it all), while the world presses in on all sides.
Mechanically, if I feel it justified by the story and she achieves 8 EXP, she will take the Mastery Confidence to restore her to herself. As it is, she will be taking on another Shadow Point at the end of this phase due to Tate taking a wound during the river attack - he is her Focus. If she can't get Confidence, she is officially Miserable and will stay that way unless she takes a Fellowship undertaking to reduce Shadow.
We'll see.
"What you others dont realize is that unlike your homes this is not a kingdom and we have no king. Personal loyalty and faith are glue, not bound circlets of gold."
West and east the riders speed, bearing the tidings and pleas of Grimbeorn. Thereafter, there is little to be done but wait and keep ready. Hathcyn and Harhold busy themselves once more with the work gangs, and their youthful enthusiasm for the task proves infectious. Before long, each and every man present has joined them, and Tate lends his voice to theirs as they sing the reaping songs of the vales. Even Esgalwen, after reassuring herself that her quiver is full and her eye and sword-arm remain keen, finds herself joining in, though she tells herself that it is for the good of the Beornings and not merely for the sight of Tate stripped to the waist, the sweat of his brow cutting channels through the grime on his face.
With hundreds of men at work, the fields of the nearby farmsteads are soon cleared, and so the gangs venture onwards to the next, and the next again. With such enterprise going on all about, it becomes easy to forget the promise of war, and so it is almost a shock when a week later, while clearing the steading of Gelvira Pot-Stirrer near the Old Ford, armed strangers are sighted, and the gangs working the fields dash to arm themselves. But no raiders are these, but a half-dozen Woodmen from Woodland Hall, bearing the strong bows and long-hafted axes of their folk. Young men are they, long of limb and firey-eyed. The following day, as the news is sped to Grimbeorn, come still more: four men of Woodmen-Town and a further three who have made the trek from Mountain Hall.
All bear the same tale: days ago, the brown wizard came out of the wild lands, burrs in his beard and a dour look on his face, bearing counsel (who could say from where?) that war was come to the kin of the Woodmen, and that no man who volunteered his sword-arm would be turned away.
Those that the folk of the wood can spare are making their way to their allies.
Esgalwen feels her heart fill with the sight of armed Woodmen coming to the aid of the Beornings. The numbers were still unknown, but the folk of the vale were joining together under one banner to face a threat. She breathed in deep and smelled the cut hay in the air.
"It is a good day," she said to no one in particular. The ranger then looked to Hathcyn, "It does not take a king to bind a people, my friend. We of Gondor have not had a king for the lives of generations. It is love of family, land, and freedom that will be the call-to-arms."
:ooc: No changes needed to the above, Paul, as she has taken to Tate and so would venture out into the fields to see his sweat - but she has been focusing on Grimbeorn's request in teaching the ways of the sword and bow to all who need.
Quote from: Telcontar on Sep 26, 2018, 10:56 AM"What you others dont realize is that unlike your homes this is not a kingdom and we have no king. Personal loyalty and faith are glue, not bound circlets of gold."
"You others?" Tate did little to hide his indignation. "You others, you say, Master Hathcyn. I will not speak for Lady Esgalwen, though her deeds alone should speak loud enough to silence your witless tongue.
"But I will speak for me, for you speak as one who is ignorant and lacks understanding.
Pulling off his shirt, Tate reveals his fresh scars from his recent battle with the Blood Moon Raiders. "These scars here, pay close attention, Master Hathcyn. These scars here were made when my blood mingled with your people's, trying to rescue one of your own from these raiders, nearly drowning in the Anduin whilest trying. For one of your people, I did this! Why? Did I ask for a promise of rich reward? Tracts of lands or circlets of gold?
"We are not some vagabonds, Master Hathcyn. While Lord Grimbeorn's hospitality is warm enough, Lady Esgalwen and I have not stay alongside your master for piece of the spoils. We have homes of our own that we can return to.
"Personal loyalty and good faith are exactly what keeps us others here. They are all that keeps us here. Love for your Lord and your people -- that is why I bleed out in bogs far from home, that is why I offer my services. Did you think I counselled your Lord to strike out against those who have taken your people's land without counting the cost on my life? Did you not hear in my counsel, the offering up again of my blood to be spilled out again in service of your Lord and your people? Are you quite deaf, Master Hathcyn?
"Bound by circlets of gold, indeed. I'll tell you a tale of circlets of gold. One I only heard told last night. Stop me if you know it, Master Hathcyn. It's of a young ruffian, drunk on the spoils of war, looking to buy up loyalty with offers of treasure taken from another man's house.
"Tell me, when the gold runs out and the storehouses are empty, what loyalty will you have gained, Master Hathcyn? Who then will be bound to your Lord."
Turning to Lord Grimbeorn, "Pah! Lord Grimbeorn, tell me how I may be of service, and I will depart at once."
:ooc: Looks like it's back over to you, Matt.
"The bickering is pointless, serving none but our enemy. We all bear scars, visible or no, in service to one end or another, and yours are no less worthy than the other, Tate. All of you have given much for me and my people alone."
"But think not I do not chafe at the thought of leaving those of Stanford in the thrall of the raiders while we gather strength and knowledge. I alone bear this charge and will suffer the what slings and arrows are sent for this decision. But hasn't been for naught for we are seeing the fruits of our patience."
:ooc: How much time has passed since the call went out? By how much have numbers swollen? I will finish my post after I get this info.
"Minstrel, you misunderstand me. Those men out there are bound by no oath and no law. Only their personal relationships with Beorn lord of this hall make them a people. They are not to be ordered here or there by commands. The thegns of the north have only to decide that Viglund better matches their temperment or provides better securtiy and like that the Viglunds have grown. Is this a problem in Dale or Gondor?
Perhaps you can relate a tale of the number if bellies a song filled in winter? Your accusations against me are unjust, and they will be remembered."
:ooc: I am also double-checking on the timing of Hathcyn's words... originally, I had thought Hathcyn spoke after Esgalwen had left the council hall and while Tate was waiting for his orders from Grimbeorn (just as the calls for help were going out). Tate's response came in that setting.
But then I read Doug's post better and Esgalwen seems to be addressing Hathcyn in the field. If Hathcyn's comment was made in the field as we are reaping, Tate's words would not have been as strong. The minstrel would not look to call the Beorning's loyalty into question in front of these work gangs. In fact, if Hathcyn's words had been said in this context (the fields), and Esgalwen had already responded, Tate would have likely remained silent, or made some good natured retort about their sweat mingling together to water the soil.
Regardless, thanks Tom for throwing in the bait. ;) If this conversation took place in the field, then it will be simply fun banter. If this conversation happened in the hall, especially with Grimbeorn's words added... I imagine Tate will, for the first time wonder, why he's out in here.
Anyway, let me know where Hathcyn's comment was made in the flow of time.
Peace,
Ayrn
Edit:Just seeing that Hathcyn is replying, Tom. Nice! Heh... love it
:ooc: Again... I'm assuming this conversation is still happening in the council hall, not in the field.
Quote from: Telcontar on Sep 27, 2018, 02:19 AM"Minstrel, you misunderstand me. Those men out there are bound by no oath and no law. Only their personal relationships with Beorn lord of this hall make them a people. They are not to be ordered here or there by commands. The thegns of the north have only to decide that Viglund better matches their temperment or provides better securtiy and like that the Viglunds have grown. Is this a problem in Dale or Gondor?
Perhaps you can relate a tale of the number if bellies a song filled in winter? Your accusations against me are unjust, and they will be remembered."
Tate listened once more to Hathcyn, breathing deeply as he let the words of both the young lad and Grimbeorn sink in. The youth was right... he had misunderstood the lad's words. Disappointment and frustration had made him hard of hearing.
Son of a... I'm becoming just like Gwen! Mirth returned to his eyes. The minstrel shook his head and nearly laughed at himself.
Tate turned and moved closer to Hathcyn, examining the young Beorning before deferring his eyes, "Your master has bade us bicker no more, and I shall submit to his wish. But let me say this clearly so all may hear and know..." Tate paused for effect. "You are correct in your judgement, Master Hathcyn... I did indeed misunderstand your words, and then proceeded to speak out of my misunderstanding and misplaced offense. I cannot take my words back, though I wish now I could. I can only ask your forgiveness... and the time to sweat and bleed alongside of you in service to your Lord. If you are willing, let us teach these northern thegns by our own lives what loyalty and love looks like."
Ooc: Sorry I thought I posted this in the OOC thread.
My underestanding of the timing was that Hathcyn made the "we have no King" comment in the hall after Esgalwen stormed out. Hathcyn's response is based soley on his feeling of outsiders not understanding the political ramifications and the position Grimbeorn is in with the Thegns. Tate's comments in that context were taken as proving his point of not understanding their cultural with an added unjustified and unearnerd personal insult in front of and in the hall of his lord. Hathcyn's response was both to show his independence after Grimbeorn said enough, but also a not so subtle reminder that the laws of hopsatility prevented any other escalation at the present time.
Hathcyn's understanding of Tate and Esgalwen is only that they were sent to apprehend a criminal and that they may possibly had been invovled somehow with the death of the werewolf.
We can clean the timing up however we want and restructure the tone and sequence.
Hathcyn looked at him a moment and paused before speaking again.
"War is a serious bussiness, and so words are taken hard first and thought about after. Let the words we spoke pass between us and if you teach us a new song and cut the hay with us we shall drink and work together and all be forgotten."
He smiled then, "come we are not war lords, but we are young and have strongbacks, let us put back to work now and sword arm later."
"Ha!" laughed Tate, his eyes sparkling once again. He grabbed Hathcyn in the embrace he had seen given by Grimbeorn's people. "You show me a kindness I shall not soon forget. Now... if I recall, you once requested a song about the women of Dorwinion. I know just the tune... should help us keep time well enough as we bend our backs."
As men from far afield began to arrive to swell the ranks of the Beorning host it became the custom of the men in the field to pause and hail them as they came. Either from where they came from or by the name of whom they followed a cry would spring up and pass down the line of workers.
Before the week was out a strange name was hailed and echoed.
"BANDIS! Bandis Halfman has come!"
Esgalwen stopped the sharpening of iron and looked up. Who?
She thought for a moment, surely not.
"Hullo Gwen."
She turned from her work to the path and saw Bandy atop a pony. The helm of the company shone brightly on his cloak and two quivers hung from the pommel.
"Bandy?" She laughed.
"They made me ride. I have brought four archers and one angry burned Inn owning Hobbit with me as apparently the Beornings have renamed me and taken me as one of their own. My farm does well and if I were home they'd call me a squire or some such. The land is a marvel, rich as any at home. The Anduin river, being much larger than the Brandywine, and older, has deposited such fertile earth and being nearer the mountains given the land over to rolling hills. Untamed as of yet, but a Hobbit knows rolling hills and rich earth. The Bracegirdles are not known for being idle, and I'll have a home built by next year I hope. The mound raising delayed us some and the threat of orcs caused lingering longer still. Where is everyone, are we too late?"
:ooc: Meh, guess my need to finish has been OBE.
Grimbeorn could do nothing but open his mouth to continue when overriden and then shut it. He shook his head, he'll never really understand these folk.
As Esgalwen shares a happy reunion with Bandy, Grimbeorn catches sight of old Iwgar the Slow lingering meaningfully by the edge of the field. Crossing over as he scratches the sweat from his beard, he grunts "what news, old one?"
Iwgar nods, pauses, as if to gather his voice to him and then says "Have you noticed the robins that follow you and your men? They wait by the field edges for the grains dropped and discarded, and thereafter forgotten..."
"Yes, good then. Lots of robins about. What of them?" Almost instinctively, Grimbeorn looms over the smaller, much older, man. But Iwgar remains impassive.
"I hear from them that our friend the Fire-watcher approaches from the south, with ten men at his back. Even now, they pass east of Stánford. He expects that he shall meet you on the path."
:ooc: Tom, go ahead and give Bandy half a dozen AP to represent what he's been up to since we last saw him.
Quote from: GandalfOfBorg on Sep 27, 2018, 01:44 AMHow much time has passed since the call went out? By how much have numbers swollen?
It's now been eight days since you put the call out for allies. What with people coming and going from field work (some have had their fields cleared and are now free to fight, others have mistakenly gathered that war isn't happening any time soon and have returned home) your army has a different head-count every day, but counting the Fellowship, and the 23 Woodmen that either have already arrived or are on the way, you can count on a strength of about 250.
Bandy did not know why, but Esgalwen erupted into tears, so overwhelmed was her heart.
She walked up to the halfling, still sitting atop his pony, and threw her arms around the small scholar. Heavy were her sobs and Bandobras awkwardly hugged her back, with the occasional pat on the back. He did not know what to say, nor why his friend was so broken up, but he did not want to interrupt her in her tears.
Esgalwen sobbed.
The small Hobbit had brought back such good thoughts of friendship, love, and happiness. Always had Bandy been the positive light in the Company - with simple stories and songs of farmers stubbing their toes or mules too stubborn to move, he would take away all of the cobwebs of Shadow that filled their hearts and minds. The great heaviness of the world, and the actions they need take, could be lessened by his smile and happy words. Keen, too, was his eye and his bow and arrows had been a great boon to them when times were grim.
Esgalwen lifted her face to his, eyes swollen from tears, and smiled. Using the back of her hands she wiped away the tears, though the dusty dirt left tracks of grime upon her cheeks. Grabbing either side of his face, she lowered it to kiss him on his forehead. The Hobbit's face flushed pink and he stammered to say something, but Esgalwen laughed in interruption.
"You must think me a fool!"
"Well... I don't know..."
"Were there to appear a host of Gondorian knights, dear Bandy, I do not believe that it could make me as happy as I am now!"
"Has something happened, Gwen? Are you okay?"
She smiled that he called her by her father's given nickname - he remembered!
"I am now, Bandobras! I am now."
Again Bandobras Bracegirdle flushed, as Esgalwen, fair and beautiful, smiled at him keenly with a twinkle in her eyes. The Hobbit saw pure love and adoration in her face and again he felt embarrassed and awkward.
"Then good is our meeting and glad am I to see you," he semi-stuttered, so taken aback by her beauty.
From the field, Tate watched with a bit of concern when he saw the ranger embrace the small...child? He knew she was sobbing, but then she stood upright and her shoulders no longer seemed bent from some unseen burden. Tate did not know why, but he was happy of a sudden. The woman that he had grown feelings for seemed once more to be...herself.
:ooc: For those playing at home, I'm waiting on the word from Grimbeorn. The army is ready to march where and when he tells it to.
After the haying had been done it soon was a habit to pile up the loose ends and dry sod into large bonfires. The men hot from the dry work slacked their thirst and told stories long into the night and the pattern would repeat itself into the next day. Hathcyn often took Tate with him, and Harhold was almost a shadow to the louder engaging Longspear. As the food was finished and the tools were prepared for the next day the evening often started with, "Come with me song singer and you may hear something new."
On one night, before the week was out the three sat beside the glowing coals of a dying fire, the stars cast across the sky. Men still drank and snatches of songs would erupt and fade away with the smoke into the night. Hathcyn, eyes bright and mug never dry turned to the man from Dale.
"Do you swim with the fish?" He asked.
The bard looked at him a little quizzically, but saw too that he was in earnest.
"Yes, I have gone into the water of the Long Lake."
"NO, do you swim with the fish?"
"I do not catch your meaning Hathcyn."
The Longspear looked at him and cast his head back looking askew at his new friend.
"You do not understand my question? I am a fox," he pointed at one of the other men around the fire.
"He is a boar, Harhold here," and he kicked him with his heel eliciting a grunt from the man, "is a smelly goat." He laughed.
"The woodmen told me a tale. They say that the rivers of the wood have maidens. Sometimes they come from the water and lay with a man and leave him be, and sometimes he slips into the water and is gone forever. But they do not swim with the fish, they have forgotten their ancestors I think, and the maids of the water try to remind them. I thought perhaps with a water as wide and deep as that in your homeland you would swim with the fishes, and so remember your kin."
Tate saw that the jovial Hathcyn was not in jest, in fact he seemed almost sad when he spoke of the woodmen forgetting there past. Tate prodded him to continue so that he might better understand.
"I AM a fox!" he said. "Yet I see that you too do not understand."
"Long ago this land was covered in a great shadow. This shadow came for men and beasts, so together they took league with one another. The Southrons, the kin of your Lady, had the elves as friends. More educated they think themselves and refined, but we had not friends like them. To the east at are the Wood Elves, and they have alas been dangerous and aloof to us. And so it was only that the men of the vale had the beasts as allies else we all would have suffered alone. We men endured with our beast friends, and it is in Beorn that the great kinship of old is the most prominent. This is way so many followed him so quickly when long years each clan and their beast companions toiled alone."
"We have not had the friendship of kind and generous elves, nor have we needed their charity. They sing under the stars and it is pleasing, but they give nothing of the plight of men. Your folk maybe know more, you would agree that the dwarves are different. For who else but Man and dwarf have slew a dragon! Have you ever heard of an elf that slew a dragon? I have not. The great scourge of all men and beast, but we only have bested them. The small Masters work in the earth and have the metals and jewels as their allies, and we above it have the beasts. It is sad that you have lost your companions, perhaps you will find them again, and the friendship rekindled in your heart and you will hear the song of your ancestors again."
Hathcyn flung the last of his drink in the fire and looked to the stars lost in deep thought.
"It is time then. This is good tidings indeed."
Grimbeorn gathered those near him and put the word out: prepare to march, Stanford awaits it's liberation.
As he issues orders, his friends gather and Esgalwen presents him with a surprise unlooked for but most welcome, the return of Bandy. A feast, though spartan as the situation demanded, was made to honor those whom arrived from the call, but also gave them all a chance to catch up and plan. He also had his own surprise with the word of Arbogast moving from the south in aid -- their fellowship would be reunited once more.
The day waned and the night came. The bustling of preparations for battle continued and those leaving said their good byes and sought what respite they could before the early morn. Of the great numbers that had come most would travel to the town, but Grimbeorn also left a small detachment of some of his most trusted to remain as guard for their land in the event some unknown befell them while away. "This charge, though seeming to lack glory, is grave still for you are the last bullwark of our people and my heart dwells here like all those marching today."