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They were early - well before the games would start and even for the field to take form.

Arbogast and Lindwine separated from the merchant's, whom with they had traveled, and found a place to set their own tent.  It was well outside the designated areas of the upcoming festival, but close enough that they girls would be able to see all the excitement as it would build. Already the twins were struggling with sleep and overwhelming their parents with questions of when and how.

But the days passed and slowly things evolved.

First, men from the wood started arriving with long lengths of wood. Trees had been felled and stripped for various purposes. Next came the colorful carts with large drapes and tents. With oohs and ahs, the girls watched and clapped as a large tent - the Feast Hall - was raised in the center of the grounds. Ropes were staked and the three central beams were pushed up and the canopy took shape.

Next came the split logs for seats, as well as actual chairs and tables for those lords of men that would attend. On the field, archery targets were set and foot race paths were measured. Areas were designated for the brawlers and wrestlers, wood splitting and tree throwing, along with other trials in which the folks would compete.

Merchants began to arrive over the week and they, too, set up their pavilions so to sell their wares. In this group also came the bakers, brewers and gardeners who brought their dishes, ale and spring yields to be judged and shared. Finally, the animals began to be corralled for their judging and selling.

But what most excited Cyffa and Lafwyne was watching the fairway being set. A carousel was hung on a large central pole, suspended by ropes that would spin them at dizzying speeds. Large swings carved from tree trunks in the shapes of winged dragons and charging steeds were also hung, and the girls called out which they wished to ride on first. Finally, the pony round was set and soon small ponies would make continuous laps for their small riders to cry in glee.

Arbogast and Lindwine were filled with happiness that bubbled forth from their daughters and they, too, began to wait with anticipation.

With all of the activity came responsibility, though, and Arbogast saw to duties for which he was needed. There were times he was away in Rhosgobel for counsel with the elders and Radagast. He met with others from the Black Tarn - those that came to compete - to help set their competitor pavilions and mend any equipment that might be used. Lindwine and the children aided in cooking for the camps and the washing that was needed at times. Being an experienced fisher-woman, Lindwine would sit by the lake and bring in food for the people to eat.

It was an event that all actively participated and the field began to fill with people from near and far - the Men of Mountain Hall came only to be followed by those of Woodland Hall and Woodmen-town. Soon came the Beornings - tall and fierce in their regalia. Dwarves appeared and set their own camp near the men, but not quite amongst them. Though they would not have any direct participation in the events - as the Field of Heroes was a tradition of the Men of the Vale - still they brought their wares. Finally, though Lindwine and the girls only heard of their presence, having not seen them, Elves of Thranduil's Hall were said to be among the Free-folk.

The month-long competition was almost set and the games would soon start. May was almost over and June would see the festival of the clans - it would be splendid.

---

:ooc: I have attached a map of the Field of Heroes.

:ooc: Here are all of our thoughts so far - anything else before I start adding narrative about the commencement of events? I just need more contestants from Mountain Hall, Black Tarn, Rhosgobel, and other...

[EDIT] I am also going to include some kind of clan totem carving contest.

So start adding your narrative/dialogue for your PC's as they walk around the events. I am probably going to start with the next thread as Event/Game Day 1 and we can post based on the events going on that day.

So you guys helping me organized that stuff and who the contestants are would be REALLY cool, and it will make the world of the clans more your creations than mine.

So in this thread give me narrative on your arrivals, what you see, what you do, and if you look for one another among the many clans-folk.

Along with the excitement of the upcoming events came the happiness of meetings!

Arbogast and Lindwine were surprised when a young boy approached their camp - he was but a toddler. The two wondered to whom he belonged, but then the Fire-watcher smiled as he saw his sister, Sunne, approaching with a large grin of her own - beside her walked her husband, Theodwin.

"Hello Brother," she said as the boy walked to see what Arbogast's own daughters were up to. The man quickly embraced his sister and she said, "I'd like to introduce you to Theon, son of Theodwin."

And with that there was much merriment as the two families caught up and became familiar with both spouse and children. As they talked, the three cousins made their way to the field where long trunks of trees were being stripped of all bark. These would be used for the totems that each clan would carve and paint and leave posted on the Field of Heroes for the next seven years, until the next event - each representing the people and their customs.

Men smiled at the children as they watched and inquired as to what was being done. One large man, shirtless and sweaty, gave a toothless grin, "Child, we shall be starting to carve these either later today or tomorrow once they are stripped, so come back then. That is when the real work begins!"

With a nod, he bent back to his work of notching off the bark with his wide-bladed axe.

The great festival had come, and to the Woodmen the Beornings arrived like great barbarians of the river and plains. They were all on average taller than the Woodmen, and their styles of dress and appearance set them apart. Each small band of them marched into the camp with zoomorphic designs of totem animals. In the past there had always been a few outliers who had attended the largely Woodmen games. This year however, Beorn encouraged the participation of his people and the standing and participation of Grimbeorn combined to multiple the attendants.

The Black Ravens made perhaps the greatest disturbance as they paraded. Each of their members bore a great large bird upon their shoulder. As one they released the birds into the air and to the consternation of the assembled folks they flew among the crowd and the camp snatching and grabbing bits of ribbon and shiny baubles.

Most were baubbles of no consequence, but should an item of import find it's way to one of the raven clan it was returned in good faith. Hroc, their chief wished no ill will between the peoples and made sure no real feelings were hurt.

Also came the boar folk. Their helms were decorated with long bristles, and their jowls with beards the men had grown on their own resembling tusks. These man carried big bass drums that thundered when they pounded, the noise carried far and wide.

Lastly, and though with no fanfare, he was the most praised came Grimbeorn. He came with a small company of men. Beside him flew the great standard of the Bear held aloft by Hathcyn Longspear. They paraded to the field with little pomp, but in doing so made a bigger entrance than the other groups. Behind them came a cart burdened greatly with the mead barrels of Beorn. There were many there that hoped to taste that renowned beverage!

Arbogast takes what joy he may in the simple pleasure of renewed familial bonds, and marks the changes in his kinfolk since his last return to Mountain Hall.  Theodwin's beard is longer, and greyer, and Sunne's body now shows the marks of motherhood.  But their talk turns, as he supposes it must, to their children.

"My sister," Sunne says to Lindwine, "I must know, had some ill fortune befallen you?  For you and my brother watch over your daughters like a miser over his treasures."

Arbogast opens his mouth to speak, but finds that heis  overwhelmed by the enormity of telling the tale to one who does not already know it. Instead, it is Lindwine who quietly answers.  "Our youngest was cruelly taken from us as the winter began."  Sunne and Theodwin share a look, and what began as an exchange of harmless gossip becomes a sharing of sorrows, as must surely be occurring in many places and in many ways about the Field of Heroes.

"The cold of the winter made for many hard days in the foothills," Theodwin relates.  "The harvest was cut short, and it will be years before the herds recover, so many were the beasts that had to be slaughtered lest they starve, let alone the clans who tend them.  We were among those lucky enough to escape the worst of the hunger, but even so, what we thought may have been the coming of a second child amounted to nothing in the end."  He and Sunne tell of hunters lost in blizzards and miners in a tunnel collapse.

"None, it seems, escaped misfortune..." the Fire-watcher begins, when his dark thought is interrupted by a crow that flies close enough to buffet Theodwin's falcon, roosting hooded and patient upon a makeshift perch and drawing an ear-piercing shriek from the startled bird.  To this is added the beating of great drums, announcing the arrival of the Beornings.  And sure enough, Arbogast sees the bear standard borne aloft in the distance.

"Come," he says, "no shadow lies yet upon this day.  Let us put aside our cares for an hour.  There are come men I would have you meet."

Quote from: tomcat on May 13, 2019, 04:02 PM:ooc: I just need more contestants from Mountain Hall, Black Tarn, Rhosgobel, and other...

:ooc: From Mountain Hall:
- the Quill-cloak
- the Seer
- the Rowdy.

From Rhosgobel:
- the Thorn
- the Unwise
- the Rock-tooth

Misc. Beornings:
Penda Bright-hair
Ulric Ironfingers
Eosca the Lucky

:ooc: added!

The Beornings found their area to tent and made their camp.  Well all but one.  He was knew to this life of a Beorning for he only took it up ... well, let him tell you how.

"Gather 'round all my looky-loos and whisperers, all you side-eyed starers and young rapscallions.  The Beornings of the Carrock -- the men of bear and fox, of crow and badger -- arrive and their stories are many and not all merry let me tell you. The road to the fields was not all daisies and picnics for the stout Beornings.  Remnants of their year harried them along the journey -- spiders here, orcs there, and other bands of ruffians. Of all these travails, I alone was saved when my caravan had been overrun by a whole nest of giant spiders.  Sadly, buried were six, all whom followed Grimbeorn and his father with bravery and loyalty.  I would remember them, you would do well to do the same, ere these games came to a close in song and challenges of honor.  Great feats strength and bravery are best remember that way.

But who is it that come this way from across the Anduin the Great in the North?  Those remaining in the march are all great amongst the Beornings in their talents and deeds.  Wanda with her silver tongue could weave tales and sing songs such that you could see them before your own eyes.  Imnachar Split-hair, as he now known, is the best with bow and dart for he won fair Wanda's hand with an arrow so cunning that it peeled a horse's hair at 30 yards.  Yet watch yourself and your purse about Faran the Debtor as you're likely to lose it in any game of chance put forth to him.  These praises and more be sung by the minstrelsy of Eosca the Lucky.  Why 'the Lucky' you say?  May be it the scimitar that missed my head by a hair's breath only to be caught by my friend's shield?  May be it I was the only one who didn't fall ill to the spoilt fish because I was the last to eat?  Or may be it that my lord, Grimbeorn, abides my whimsy to let this fool walk at his side?  That is for you to decide."

"But now did someone say there were games here?  That's Ulric over there... no no, that one there.  I, for one, know that he's a mean one and none best be in his way while caber in his hands lest that log drive your pile five feet deep.  I think I'll put three silver on him..."

---

While the rest of camp is set, Grimbeorn leaves his duties for a moment to find his friend that he spied when his people arrived.  In all his hopes the others would make it as well, the dwarf and fair knight of Gondor have been gone for too long.  As he approached, he found his friend had his family in tow but something was amiss...

Arbogast smiled as Lindwine was engulfed within the bear hug received from Grimbeorn. For his great stature and intimidating appearance, the Beorning was truly a gentle heart exhibited more so by the tears he shed at the news he was given.

The tale had been told once more of Wilone and when it was done, the Fire-watcher could see in his wife's eyes that it was enough. She could not bear to hear or tell the story anymore and he would make sure that it was no longer mentioned in her presence. Still, it was comforting to see his wife help the large man with his own emotional release.

They all sat at the fire and chatted into the evening on other topics - old and new - and slowly the sadness lifted once more. Grimbeorn took the time to speak with Arbogast's other two daughters and he laughed deeply at the excitement they displayed for what was to come. The Beorning had them enthralled with his own stories of what had been and how he had participated in the games when he was younger.

The sun set and Lindwine finally broke up the party for the girls and ushered them off to their tent, but not before all three of the women gave Arbogast a goodnight hug and kiss. She gave a fond good eve to Sunne and Theodwin, even as they too prepared to get their child to bed.

It was during these quiet hours of early night that Hathcyn finally found his companions - the man showing up with a small cask of ale under his arm. As a group, they opened the drink and filled their cups and began to talk of how the winter was for their perspective clans.

And so it was that morning found them laying about the burnt out embers of the previous night's fire. Arbogast opened his eyes to see a patchwork of colors as merchant tents were being rigged. He glanced to the field and saw that more competitors had arrived with the early morning and tents and banners were fluttering. It would not be long before the ceremonial toast was made, the competitors announced and the games begun. Arbogast figured it could not be more than a few more days.

He was not wrong.

"I raise this cup as a salute to the brave and strong men and women of the Vale," said Ingomer. "I raise this cup to give toast to all who will compete over the next two weeks of games! Let them be fair! Let them be fun! And let them show the promise of our youth!"

HUZZAH! HUZZAH! came the cries of all the throng that stood within the large pavilion tent in the center of the Field of Heroes, each holding up a cup - if they had one. Clouds had filled the sky the day prior, and now a drizzle of rain fell and covered everyone who was unable to get under the cover with speckles of tiny drops. It had brought a chill to the days and it would make the grassy field damp and slippery, but it did not ruin the mood of the people. Those that would compete merely saw the conditions as a new challenge for them to overcome.

As the cheers subsided, the tent returned to a level of quiet buzz which allowed most to hear the counsel of the clan chiefs that stood in the center of the tent. These counselors spoke the rules of the games and how they would be observed and what the consequence would be should they be broken. They also spoke of the prizes that would received by the champions. The latter words incited many HEAR! HEARS! and HUZZAHS!

Through the clamor suddenly rose new cries from those that stood outside the pavilion - starting small and thin only to rise among the people to create its own din.

RIDERS!

FOLK APPROACH FROM THE SOUTH!

RIDERS

Ingomer looked to Fridwald who then turned to Theodwin who looked to Grimbeorn. The look that passed their faces, which went unspoken, was who? Was there some other competitors of clans not yet arrived? From their center platform, they strained to see over the crowds and out through the tent's low-hanging sides.

RIDERS! continued the calls and Grimbeorn strode from the stage towards the direction where everyone looked and then he heard the other words spoken...

Oh no! What are they come for? Certainly they aren't here for the games! Why? What does this mean?

Grimbeorn pushed out into the rainy day with his clan leader companions behind him. Arbogast had seen him coming and so he and Hathcyn now stood close at hand.

There they were. A group of riders at the head of a throng of people. Grimbeorn felt his blood go cold when he saw the banner which fluttered in the outriders hand - it was a chevron with a dragon's head. It was the symbol of Tyrant's Hill and their lord, Mogdred, son of Ingomer. What was worse, the men of Tyrant's Hill marched together with those of the Toft - the town from which the Blood-moon Raiders had sortied.

The throng of people watched as the Toft-men and Tyrant's Hill-men  rode towards the Field of Heroes where they dismounted and began to cry out orders as to how to set their own competitor's pavilion.

"Well at least they are pitching tenta instead of spears, this should be interesting."

Hathcyn was sardonic.

Grimbeorn echoed his companion's sentiments in his mind but other thoughts also come unbidden, memories of the past.  He was a people's champion but he was also a leader now, too, which can mean diplomacy and not rash action as much as his fingers itched for his ancestral weapon.  "These fields are a place of peace and camaraderie; we will greet them as such.  The newcomers will be afforded the same respect as the others lest they prove unworthy.  At that point, the common rules and laws will be enforced."

"Then let us greet them," Arbogast says, though his hard mien belies his friendly words.


:ooc: Doug, with Arbogast's Old Lore, does he know whether the Toft-men have ever participated in the games before?

:ooc: Paul, yes his Old-lore would let him know this and whether the Toft-men have ever been included is going to be totally random:

FEAT DIE roll
:~~: yes they have and there were problems with the clans
1-3 yes they have but it has been a while since they have participated
4-5 yes they have and it was just the last games that they participated
6-10 no, they have never been included
:g: yes and there were good relations then

"A wonder it is," Arbogast says darkly, "to see these Men here, for the folk of the Toft have not sent their champions to the Field of Heroes since the coming of the Dragon."

He wants to say more, but for now he holds his tongue.  Grimbeorn and the elders of the Woodmen houses are present, and he knows it is not his place to address the new arrivals before they do.

Even as the southerners began to organize their space on the field, a few of the new arrivals broke from the group and steered their horses to the throng of onlookers. At the lead was a large man whose auburn hair was tied back into a long braid. His beard and mustache were full but it was easy to see for those that knew him that this was Mogdred, leader of the Men of Tyrant Hill and son of Ingomer.

Mogdred rode his horse up until he stood just a few feet from where the council leaders had gathered at the fore. "I am glad to see that the games have not yet commenced. It would be a shame if you had forgotten that we should be included among the Men of the Vale." It was easy to hear his bitterness.

Ingomer spoke, "Ingold..."

"Do not call me that! My name now is Mogdred, father."

Ingomer cleared his throat, "Very well... Mogdred, we did not expect to see you here and long has it been since men of the Toft included themselves in any activities of our folk."

"Well, things have changed for the Toft. After Vidugalum's ambitious attempt to make himself a king failed at our Beorning cousins' hands, the people of the Toft accepted me as their new leader. It has been a few years that we have been creating a mutual alliance between my folk of the Hill and their own, and it was a common consent between both that I should rule.

"And so, being a Woodman," again his words rang of resentment, "I saw it fitting that my people should join yours of the Vale and partake in these friendly games. After all, it is how we strengthen our oaths and alliances."

Ingomer nodded silently.

---

:ooc: I do not know how much more you guys would like to delve into this encounter, but I would love it if you each would take up a part of a leader of the Woodmen along with your own PC's. I have them listed below and have included the suggested player to take the roles.

The leaders present are:
Ingomer of Woodland Hall - chief counselor [Tom]
Amaleoda of Black Tarn - chief counselor [Paul]
Theodwin of Mountain Hall - representative for Hartfast, leader of Mountain Hall [Paul]
Waldric, son of Walcaud of the Carrock - thegn of Beorn [Matt]
Grimbeorn [Matt]
Freda, daughter of Fridwald of Woodmen-town - counselor [Tom]

Speak for them and make arguments or sue for peace and I will reply as Mogdred. This will make it so it is not LM scripted. You may make rolls for skills and use traits at need, but I am not going to run this as a standard encounter. No matter how it goes, the Toft-men are here to play.  ;D

Freda looked at Ingomer, the senior member of the council, but it appeared as though he was not yet ready to respond.

"Truly a woodman you were born, and a woodman you were raised. For by whatever name you choose you are the son of Ingomer, an honourable man. You speak of oaths and alliances, an interesting topic, but one to be addressed later perhaps, in a more formal council however, this raises a question. You speak of the Toftmen as having chosen you as their leader. Have they chosen you in all matters or as their war leader? While it is not unheard of for multiple settlements to be represented by one man this is usually only done when the Woodmen go to war. In times of peace it is the usual custom for each to represent themselves by one of their own. At least among the Woodmen."

Mogdred eyed Freda with a sardonic look, "Do you fear that we come armed for war, Lady?

"Nay, we have come to put our best against your own to see whose champions claim the field - that is all. As to your wondering, yes, they have named me their chief in all things. But fear not! I still keep the tower on Tyrant's Hill fully manned to keep watch on the evil fortress of sorcery further south. We men of Tyrant's Hill work diligently to keep your lands safe to the north."

Amaleoda spits as she hears Mogdred's words.  "You keep warriors at Tyrant's Hill that they may steal our swine and harass our hunters," she shouts.  "Or are we to believe that the Man-crafted arrows that were shot into Hathus' farmstead were loosed by thieving forest-goblins?" 

She steps toward the mounted man and continues her accusations.  "Long and hungry has the winter been, and the worse for the appetites of your ever-so-vigilant followers!" 

Arbogast looks with concern at his chieftain, for few among the assembled crowd bear arms or shields and a fight would be a bloody and one-sided affair, but he continues to hold his tongue.  Much could be gleaned from Mogdred's answer, he thinks. 


:ooc: I know we're not doing regular encounter rules here, but I'd like to attempt an Insight or Riddle roll (possibly modified by his Cunning attribute?) for Arbogast to read between the lines of whatever Mogdred says in response.  Use whichever is more appropriate (assuming he's right, and that there's anything at all to be learned beyond the face value of the words he uses). 

Insight:

:00: 1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 2d6 : 3, 3, total 6

Riddle:

Ingomer looked as if he would object to the line of questioning here in the open and not in council, but his hesitation betrayed either curiosity in the answer or indecision. 

Freyda waxed sardonically, "I question only why the Toft folk do not speak for themselves. In times of peace there is no need for the many to be represented by one."

Her words seemed to be more for the assembled woodmen than for Mogdred, "It is not our way for a community to not speak with it's own voice, unless war has come to all the Woodmen and our need as a people is most pressing. We have no Kings among the wood folk, we require no Kings who demand more than they give. Dominion is instead granted in the home instead of the keep."

"So say you," comes the deep voice of Hartfast of Mountain Hall, "but I say instead that those of the folk who live far afield, and who must travel long and hard miles to address the gathered elders at Wuduseld or Woodmen-Town, find it easiest to have it be known that one voice speaks for all, as I do for the folk at Mountain Hall, and as Caewin and Amaleoda do for their folk." 

Mogdred smiled, finding pleasure in the contention that the two chieftains revealed with their words.

"So it would seem that among the clans there are different view points on how we govern." Then he turned to the leader of the Black Tarn. "Men must eat and tough times can drive them to ill choices...but no, I cannot say whether the arrow fired was feathered by orc or man, as I did not see it. What I will say is that the sacrifices made by my people - unbeknownst to you all - gives them liberty to make feast of the occasional piglet. Perhaps if you knew the efforts we make to keep your lands free, then maybe you would offer such things as gjald.

"But as spoken, we do not come girded for battle but for games! Let us speak of this and let me offer you the names of those that will compete and the games which they will participate."

Mogdred handed his father a rolled parchment upon which contained the names of fifteen Toft-men and their desired games.

Waldric opened his mouth to add his voice to the .. conversation(?) but Grimbeorn caught his eye with a look of disapproval.  He wasnt a man typically cowed by a mere look of another but he knew his lord brooked no wasted words or interference in the matters of others.  His mouth shut presently.

This wasn't their fight to weigh in on but Grimbeorn is resolved to keep his eye and ear upon this beknighted wolf's head, turning his harsh gaze upon the mounted man.  There is no love lost nor trust but mutual respect is there, tenuous at best.

Ingomer took the rolled parchment from his son and addressed the group.

"This discussion is better to be had in council. The differences spoken here are ones of degree. Our traditions have been unchanged. Each community sends its representative to the council so that the many voices and concerns may be tempered by leadership and community. Mogdred, you are by birth and by rearing a Woodman, regardless of by what name you choose to go by you are still my son.  The folk of the Toft have been estranged from us, but we welcome them back to the Field of Heroes. May their coming be a sign of strength and unity among cousins too long separated from us." 

"You have spoken of oaths and allegiances, these too shall be discussed, but in their proper time and place. Everything shall come in its time, now is the time of welcome and the pitching of tents. Perhaps even the folk of Sunstead will come, who can know. When all are assembled and take joy in the games of our people, then we may speak of such things with lighter hearts."

After Ingomer's words ring out in the still air, silence falls and the assembled crowd begins to disperse.  Some go nonchalantly, as if having witnessed nothing more than an interesting piece of theatre.  Others go with greater unease, still uncertain of the motives of the southerners. 

Arbogast takes his leave of his family and joins the newcomers, thinking perhaps to help raise tents and settle travellers weary of the road.  Everywhere he looks, he sees the red circle that, until recently, was the mark of a foe to be feared.  If nothing else, perhaps in doing this I might learn their precise numbers, and how well-provisioned they are for such a journey, he thinks, but does not say. 

"You are welcome, kinsmen," he says, but does not feel. 

Hathcyn was by the side of the Firewatcher. He had, as always, seemed to produce a small barrel out of nowhere. He was quick to offer a drink to all and sundry and had a ready welcome on his lips. Those who knew him well understood the natural friendliness of the man, but also a nee wariness that was just below the surface.

His hand was more ready and more honest in willing to help, and perhaps as such he would hear and know more.   

Grimbeorn remains where he is for a brief time.  The group breaks up and life returns mostly to normal in the area of the games.  Whispers and rumors among tents abound regarding the new arrivals.  The mighty son of Beorn doesn't paryake of the idle gossip but remains in the outskirts of things with an ever watchful eye on Mogdred and the people he appears to lead.

Quote from: Eclecticon on May 24, 2019, 08:40 PM:ooc: I know we're not doing regular encounter rules here, but I'd like to attempt an Insight or Riddle roll (possibly modified by his Cunning attribute?) for Arbogast to read between the lines of whatever Mogdred says in response.  Use whichever is more appropriate (assuming he's right, and that there's anything at all to be learned beyond the face value of the words he uses). 

Insight:
(https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/Themes/default/images/dice_warn.gif) This dice roll has been tampered with!
:00: 1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 2d6 : 3, 3, total 6

:ooc: I forgot to give you a response on this, Paul. Arbogast is seeing Mogdred like he had come before - a bit arrogant, challenging, and haughty. Maybe some of those words are synonyms of the others so forgive the redundancy.

Still, to Arbogast it seems a veneer. Mogdred seems to imply he has a tight rule over the lands he rules, but he looks tired. He looks stressed and his face has aged a bit since you last saw him at the Moot. Back then he looked haggard, too, after his captivity but now he seems like he has too many ropes blowing in the wind that he is trying to pull together.

Arbogast sees danger in whichever direction it could go:

- if pushed, Mogdred could snap and bring a pretty formidable might against at least one of the clans of the vale.
- if left alone, he might be consumed either by the power he is holding or by those he thinks he controls.

Friendly words were spoken between the Vale-men and those of the Toft, but smiles did not seem to meet the eyes. Thanks were given but conversations were short and no offer of sharing table or wine was given. And so, the Toft-men situated themselves upon the Field of Heroes.

Ingomer reset the celebration announcement for the games to commence a day later than planned, so as to allow Mogdred and his people to ready themselves. No new gathering was made to celebrate the start and there was an awkward feeling in the air when the day of games finally began and the contestants marched onto the field. The Toft-men had an evident resentment towards the others, for no wine cup was raised to honor their place here save among themselves.

The field was a rich green save where it had been changed for the purpose of a given game such as the Tree-climb and the lists where the few horse riders would attempt to hook rings or melee. There was also bright splashes of color of the many tents and banners.

Arbogast and Lindwine smiled to each other at the wide-eyed stares of their excited children. Around them, other folk gathered to watch as the contestants were announced from the grand stand. Under the canopied shade, Ingomer stood from his seat and called the games and competitors to order. Banner-men stood at the near to allow everyone to know which clansman was still playing and which would be removed due to loss. It helped the spectators who knew the clans' sigil better than their athletes' name.

Cyffa ran around in a circle as her outstretched hand held a stick that had a streamer fluttering behind. It was the color of rose and was creatively embroidered with soft threads in the shapes of flowers and dancers. She had begged her father the night prior, as they walked through Merchant's Row, for him to buy it for her and Arbogast could not resist. Lafwyne chased behind her sister with a gaggle of other children that joined in the merriment.

The Fire-watcher felt content for the first time since winter. He felt at peace. Beside him sat Lindwine, who chatted with another woman, along with Hathcyn and Grimbeorn. The scion of Beorn had the right to take his seat upon the grandstand, but preferred to sit under the sun beside his friends.