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The sun was naught but an orange, bright glimmer on the edge of the Mirkwood canopy when the flap to Arbogast's tent flew open.

The Fire-watcher jumped to the sound, his axe in his hand to defend his family even as he saw another man of the Tarn at his door. It was Bronin the Scribe - one of Amaleoda's men who was versed in the ways of written letters and numbers, "Arbogast! There is trouble! I do not recommend you bringing that axe."

Dressing quickly and still confused from being abruptly wakened, the men left the tent behind with Lindwine now also awake and wondering what peril there could possibly be. They moved through the still dark, morning air towards the center of the Field of Heroes where the Feast Tent and the seats of the clan elders were made. There seemed a thicket of torches around the great canopy, as many people had gathered. Even from a distance, Arbogast could hear the raised voices within. Their approach led them to where a majority of Black Tarn folk stood and the inside of the tent could be easily observed.

Ingomer sat on the center seat and his hand held his forehead - he looked tired and strained. Beside him sat the grim face of Grimbeorn and Hartfast of Mountain Hall. Two others of the council were there, too, representing Sunstead and Woodmen-town and their mood was very evident. Before the group was the opposing form of Mogdred - his stance was that of readiness, like a viper ready to strike.

Across the gathering, Arbogast saw Hathcyn standing also at the ready. The Beorning - bannerman of his patron - looked like he would jump at the first notice of ill-will by the master of the Toft, in defense of his lord. Not far away, Esgalwen stood on the periphery and her face was a mask of concern.

"You say this is proof?" asked Hartfast - his voice a hiss of wrath.

"What more do you need, Hartfast?" demanded Mogdred. "It has been evident from the start! The men of Mountain Hall and those of other clans have shown acrimony to my people! Ill words, vile gestures, and scornful looks! They deny my people food and drink at their tables and booths, and none are accepted among the other clan gatherings!

"Yesterday's success, as well as all of our victories in the games, was evidence enough - unless your old-eyes have now gone blind with white!"

Arbogast thought back on the yesterday's event - it was the free-for-all melee - where anyone and everyone who thought they might have a chance could take the field. No weapons were allowed, only bare fist and grappling, and the Men of the Toft had dominated the day. Many a tooth had been lost and black-eyes and bruises adorned not a few of those who stood round.

There had been a quiet unease over the end of the day as the Toft-men, and their associated Men of Tyrant's Hill, made their own celebration.

"Three of my people - the champions of the day - lay butchered in their tents! This knife I hold is one that I, myself, took from Odim's chest! It is marked with sigils of the Mountain Hall clan! What more need be said?"

Mogdred was becoming quite animated in his angry protestations.

"I want justice!"

Arbogast steps forward, hands raised in subtle placation.  "Calm yourself, for swift vengeance and justice are less alike than it seems when passions and voices are raised.  You have made grave accusations, but think: whom do you accuse of this act?  Are the Men of Mountain Hall to be punished as if all were murderers?" 

Before the enraged prince of the southern clans can answer, he continues, "of course not, for such would be beyond reason.  Yet if three lie dead, then someone has slain them, and they must answer for their crimes before the council of elders."  He holds his hand forth, palm raised, as if his receipt of the knife were already agreed.  And when he speaks, it is with his voice raised so that all can clearly hear him, though his eyes never leave those of Mogdred.

"You all know me, and know that I am an honest man.  So do you know the wisdom of Grimbeorn, who has sat in judgement of equally terrible deeds.  Hathcyn, his man, is as honourable as his spear is long and the shieldmaiden Esgalwen, though long known in the vales, is not of our people and thus has know reason to prefer any clan above another.  Let us discover the perpetrator of this dark act and bring him here for judgement." 


:ooc: I'm rolling Persuade, 'cause though it's technically the council's call whether to say yea or nay, the main person to convince here is Mogdred.  Without him on board, there won't be time for an investigation of any kind. 

:ooc: That'll hopefully do the trick! 

 :ooc: Great roll, Paul! Yes. Mogdred is listening. I will update tonight or tomorrow.

Mogdred listened quietly and when Esgalwen was mentioned, his head turned this way and that until it settled on the fair woman of Gondor. A vague smile crossed his face of a memory - maybe it was love, or maybe appreciation - none knew. The Dúnadan had helped in providing for the men of Tyrant's Hill from far off Gondor and Mogdred had never forgotten her kind deeds for his people. Perhaps it had been love once, but she had never reciprocated and so the fancy had faded away.

The Toft chieftain gave a curt nod, "I accept this option, as will my people... as long as this council of dotards do the same!"

The anger rose again unchecked and a chorus of curses and jeers came from all around the tent - both sides spitting out vile words towards the others.

"Never should have come!"

"Thieves from the start!"

"If it wasn't for our clans in the south, you northerners would be feeling orc-steel in your guts!"

"We take what we want! That is our way!"

"Murderers!"

Arbogast cringed to hear such curses, but he understood the reasoning for the northerners to be so upset. The Toft-men, under Vidugalum and his Blood-moon Raiders, had many times led campaigns into the lands north of their own to take livestock, women, and even men as chattel. Some even said the Men of Tyrant's Hill were also among these raiders - specifically in the region of the Black Tarn, but long had Mogdred protested this and spoke instead that they provided safety for the north.

The sting was still fresh for the Beornings who had bled the fields just north of Rhosgobel, in the Village of Stonyford, and they shouted the loudest of threats.

Arbogast was pleased to see Esgalwen come to the fore and stand beside him. "Mogdred!" she shouted over the din, "Nothing will come of harsh words and hot tempers. Quell your folk and allow us to take council with you and the elders. To stand here and shout vile words at one another is certainly a poison that will spread across this field, and there could be more blood."

The Toft-chieftain looked at her and again his face softened. Once more Mogdred nodded and he gave a booming shout, "ENOUGH!"

The tent hall came to complete silence.

"I will abide no more words from my people here, lest they be calm and constructive." The giant leader stared a challenging stare at all who gathered under his banner. When he was sure he had gained the needed control, Mogdred then looked to the other clansmen, "I would ask, too, that the same be extended by the other 'counselors' here - Grimbeorn, Hartfast, and my dear father, Ingomer."

Grimbeorn himself had been caught up in the heated words when he knew better.  Properly chastised by Esgalwen's interjection, he quieted and calmed.  He was already instructing Hathcyn to get his people out and plead for calmer heads to prevail when Mogdred made his request.

All about Arbogast and Esgalwen, clan chiefs work to settle the passions of their kinsmen and followers.  Amid the noise, the Fire-watcher turns to the ranger.  "Let us away from here while their attention is elsewhere.  I would gladly see the place of this misdeed before others have the opportunity to kick over their traces." 

Hathcyn moved among the strong willed Beornings like a fox through the grass. Where he passed the folk grew quiet and still. To some he simply shook his head, for others a hand on their shoulder, his easy path was aided by the stern look of Grimbeorn who followed his path. Soon there was quiet among his folk.

Arbogast pulled the tent flap back and looked within.

The sight was grisly, but he had seen enough death in his life to no longer be moved by such a scene. The fact that the woman behind him had too made him feel unhappy. If only the world did not contain such evils - especially those perpetrated by men.

There were three of them. It was apparent that none had awakened prior to their deaths, for there was no evidence of scuffling. The straw mats upon which each laid was now sodden with dark, dead blood and was amassed with a cloud of flies. The men's faces were ghastly white, save where their flesh touched the ground - here the color took on that of a terrible bruising.

Esgalwen covered her mouth and nose, for the smell of death in the early day's heat was already strong. They moved to each body to examine - a knife wound to each neck that was made by a knife long enough to pierce completely through. The men would have either suffocated or drowned in their own blood. Certainly there would have been little noise, save for coughing and sputtering. Arbogast noted, too, that the stabs looked like they were placed neatly enough to sever the spine.

"They were skilled," said Esgalwen coming to the same conclusion. The Fire-watcher gave a grim nod.

Only one man had an extraneous wound. There was a puncture to his chest just next to the sternum, where Mogdred most likely extracted the blade.

Esgalwen looked to her friend, "It is an odd scene. If perpetrated by angry clansmen, don't you think this would look more like a fight? This reveals the expertise of an assassin. I have heard of such things in the city of Minas Tirith."

Arbogast looked to his friend and wondered what kind of place could harbor such folk that would make death their art.

The Ranger took his stare for what it was, "Do not mistake my meaning - my home of Minas Tirith is a good place and we are good people, but there are elements that breach our walls that we cannot always control. Some whisper that these assassins come from the south out of Harad and Umbar."

The Fire-watcher looked to the chest wound. There was little to no blood staining the tunic, or the flesh. The stab wound was made after the man was dead.

A message? A ruse?

Pushing their way back out of the tent, the two looked around at the surrounding green fields with the multitude of colored tents from far away places. Was there such people that Esgalwen mentioned among them, or was this nothing more than an attack of hatred? If the former - for what purpose? If the latter, how would the clans react? Would the council be able to avert more bloodshed with words?

The two hurried back, but not before seeing two young lads quickly skirt off to a place of hiding. Arriving at the main tent, Arbogast saw that Mogdred now sat before the council, and all other folk were silenced.

Arbogast waits a moment, hoping that Esgalwen will take the lead in reporting what they have found, but the Ranger is silent beside him.  As the attention in the council tent shifts to the pair, he reports back what they have seen.  "Three men of of the Toft indeed lie dead, the victims of vile murder.  But their slaying was not born of high passion and strife between the clans.  We have examined the wounds upon the slain, and they were made swiftly and surely, and by one who has most likely done such things before." 

To Mogdred, he adds "the knife you hold is no deodand.  I suspect it was thrust home after the man in whose chest you found it lay already dead, to deceive and you and afear the folk while the murderer made their escape." 

:ooc: Just checking whether anyone is waiting for something in particular to move the story on or if you're all just busy people. 

:ooc: I was giving time for Matt or Tom to chime in, if they had something.

I will move the game on tonight.

Murmurs and the crowds noise rose again, but Grimbeorn rose and it quieted down again lest his wrath be brought upon them.  "So there is one or more among our folk that seek to sow dissent between our clans, to keep us weak.  There is at least one foe that isn't too far from these lands who would seek to prey on this weakness and strife, and likely more from further north, west, and east.  Regardless of who they are and what their allegiance, I say to you do not stoke this fear with blame and further discord.  We all are wearied from the constant threats from without, don't let us fall from within.  We came here under the banner of truce, of friendship, and of kinship so we must leave as such.  Let us seek the villain out and so his machinations made bare, only after that can justice be had."

Mogdred listened to Arbogast's words and then to the calm, but cautious words of Grimbeorn. He was about to respond when Ingomer spoke first, "My son, long have we been at odds and the sorrow I feel runs deep for the years we lost. Never did I think you were taken by the evil that dwells south of here - only that I lost my son. Your return at the Folk-moot years ago was a great surprise and one that I may not have handled well."

The large man in the center of the council grunted in agreement.

"But do not let these travails continue between our folks. Yes - some here have been wronged by others, but these things time and actions can heal. For some stranger to come among us and sow the seeds of dissent, and we jump at their crimes like a heifer pulled at the ring? Well then we have lost our ability to keep sound mind."

Even as Ingomer finished his words, a tall, bearded man of Mountain Hall pushed to the center of the ring of counsel - two lads were in front of him.

"What is this?" asked Mogdred, his patience still short.

"Tell them..." said the man forcibly.

The two boys looked scared to be before so many and they stuttered and stammered until one was tweaked on his ear, "Aah! Okay, father! We was up early this morning, masters, prior to the sun and we was playing on the field... though our Pa told us nah to."

"We weren't doing wrong!" chimed in the other boy, who looked younger than his brother. "We was just testing our bows on the targets that remained. Pa always said we should keen our eyes to the night, so as to bring down the early buck."

"Yea... we was just shooting the stray shot. Didn't think anyone would mind. Pa and Ma were busy sleepin' and Pa, he buzzes like a hive if you know what I mean. Me and Art, we couldn't sleep none, so we grabbed our bows and the few arrows we fletched and..."

"All right, Boy! We know your purpose and no ill is evident... why has your father presented you here?" The patience that the Toft chieftain had was fast unwinding.

"Yessir," came the trembled response.

"It is okay, child," said Esgalwen. Her fair face broke into a warm smile and her voice was calm, "Tell us what you know."

"It was three men, Milady!" said the younger. "At least we think it was men. We heard a rustle from the outer tents where the Toft-men camped. Pa told us not to go over there, as they were nah good people." A murmur came from the crowd. Looking scared again, the younger boy continued, "We didn't go snoopin', but we was looking for our arrows and that's when we saw them."

"Yea, three of them. Big men. Dark cloaks. We hid by the waterin' tub and watched. They came from under the back edge of the tent - not its entrance - squirmin' out in an odd way. Once all three were out under the mornin' stars, they stood there whisperin' to themselves. Looked around. And then they were movin', heading west towards the vale and the river."

"But nah before..." the child paused.

"Not before what?" asked Mogdred, no longer irritated.

The older boy, "We heard a hiss, sir. Like a cat. And then a croaked voice said, "Sees! I takes them wheres they ask. Told you the big folk have gathered! Nows I am freeeee! Your master said so!""

Art, the younger boy, shuddered. "One of the big men looked around and kicked at something that gave a yelp. "Silence!" he hissed and then theys were off into the darkness."

Esgalwen looked around at the others, "If the boys saw true, then they only have a few hours on us! We could follow these men at speed and potentially catch them before they reach the river!"

Mogdred grunted at the woman's statement, "Upon horse, we could track them down even faster."

"Perhaps," replied the Dúnadan, "but it is possible a mounted rider will miss a clue in tracking their quarry. Whereas anyone afoot would have a closer eye to the trail."

The Toft chieftain shook his head, "Too slow! You do as you please, Esgalwen - you and these old fools. But this is Toft blood spilled and we will see this errand done swiftly. Like the Men of Tyrant's Hill, we will brook no crime done upon us and our justice, as always, will be swift."

Mogdred stood and turned from the gathering, the cheers of his people greeting him for his fast call to action.

Hathcyn knew that Esgalwen's approach was the better one, but he also knew that the situation required immediate action. The Longspear looked to Grimbeorn and nodded in the direction of Mogdred, then he strode after him.

"Lord Mogdred of the Hill! May I ride with you? I would have our foes know that when we are struck all the bees swarm together."

"Do as you will, Beorning, but know it is my intent to run these criminals to the river and put spear to heart! I will leave them, like your totems, as a reminder of what happens when you assault my people."

Suddenly another voice rose above the Toft-mens' calls for death, "Yes, yes, run them down! Leave their carcasses as a symbol of your wrath. It seems that wisdom still escapes you, Mogdred!"

The Toft chieftain turned in a fury at her voice, "Watch your tongue woman! Remember you are a guest here!"

Mogdred's anger did not phase Esgalwen and she strode forward to stare up into his face, "And you remember that until my liege-lord granted my request, were your people still fighting with the crude scraps of orcs! I have fought with these people. I have bled for these people. I nearly died for these people. I have earned my place among you and you will not treat me as an outsider!"

The crowd watched as Mogdred's powerful countenance cracked for a moment and he averted his eyes from the Dúnadan. In turn, the woman seemed to grow before their eyes.

In a calmer voice she said, "A crime has been committed against your people. Do you not think it wise to find the answer as to why? Yes, let us ride these culprits down - I, too, will join you. But upon reaching them, let us find out why they were sent, and more importantly, who sent them."

He took a moment to regain his composure and then Mogdred gave a silent nod.

Esgalwen looked to Arbogast, "Will you join me in this Fire-watcher? And mayhaps Grimbeorn will join his man?"

Arbogast nods his agreement, though his furrowed brow attests to his troubled thoughts.  Men in dark cloaks, moving in strange ways.  Another who speaks in hisses and croaks and calls us 'big folk', much like Bandy often does.  I fear there are much darker things abroad here than bloody-handed Men. 

All he says, however, is "Let us be not over-hasty.  I think that we shall find few traces of our quarry, and a keen eye will avail us more than swift feet." 

"Yes, I will go with Mogdred and see what I can do to help temper rash behavior," said Grimbeorn, "But the lady seems more adept than I in that matter."