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After a seventh chair is hastily fetched, the Council of the North sits at last.  No sooner have his guests taken their seats than the Master stands, the rich brocade and furs of his robe on full display as he spreads his hands.  His words echo from the high ceiling of the Town Hall.  "To all those who have journeyed from far lands to speak for their people, I thank you and bid you welcome.  To all those who have come to voice their cares and petition the rulers of the North, I likewise thank you, for it is through such measures that news of both the dangers of the world and its opportunities might be brought to the ears they must reach." 

"And let us not," he continues, "lose sight of those opportunities!  Peace now reigns in the North, and the kingdoms of old are risen anew!  The Forest Road, once a memory preserved only in old tales, now traverses Mirkwood from one side to the other, and the rivers at each end run to further lands still!  No longer need we huddle close to our hearths, grasping only that which we already have, for a new age of Middle-Earth is dawning wherein the wealth of all the Free Peoples might be joined, and the lives of all thus eased.  I urge each Man – yes, and each Elf and Dwarf! – seek out the traders of other lands, and bid them welcome to your own!" 

As he continues, Grimbeorn studies the faces of his fellow council members.  King Bard fairly beams, clearly sharing this vision of a bright and rich future.  King Dáin's face is reserved, but he nods approvingly at the mention of the Forest Road.  Legolas sits still and inscrutable, betraying little hint of what consideration he may have for this talk of trade and commerce.  Recalling the Elves he saw and met in the Elvenking's Hall, Grimbeorn wonders whether he is even awake.  Gailar of the Woodmen drifts, her attention captured far more by the carving of the hall's timbers than by the words of the Master.  Mogdred watches intently, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair in visible impatience.  As the Master resumes his seat, to polite applause, he goes to stand. 

Bard, however, is quicker to his feet, and his speech follows suit.  "The Kingdom of Dale commends this talk of trade and opportunity.  But not all of us are so fortunate as to have our coffers so filled with coin!"  His jest is greeted with polite laughter, including from the Master of Esgaroth, who adopts an expression of mock offence.  "For those who dream not of far horizons and the hubbub of markets, but of the smell of loam and the songs of the harvest, I have another offer.  The lands that were once the Desolation of the dragon have burst once more into life, and the only shadow that now lies upon them is that of the Lonely Mountain at dawn.  The soil is rich, the fodder plentiful, and my invitation is open to any and all who wish to settle and make new steadings in the Dalelands.  Let the merchants seek their silver, and let our gold be that of endless fields of grain!" 

This is received with a cheer from many in the audience.  Hathcyn marks many young Woodmen, second sons and others drawn northward by the promise of Dwarven silver to work on the road, adopting the wide-eyed miens of Men in the grip of inward visions, and it is easy to suppose what such Men, born to a hardscrabble life in the Vales and beneath the trees, might see. 

Then, as Bard sits, does Mogdred, his patience at an end, leap forth.  "Pretty are the words of those who prosper, while we who dwell west of the Wood protect you!  For there is not one among you here who would not have felt the sting of orc-spears were the shield of Tyrant's Hill not blocking the gaze of Dol Guldur!" 

Legolas shudders, barely perceptibly, at the mention of that name, but Mogdred continues unheeding.  "The riches you speak of are a phantasm, if strong hands are not present to ensure that fouler things do not simply take them from you!" 

The Master, concern (and perhaps offence at the young king's tone) furrowing his brow, raises his voice.  "What do you seek by such talk, you who are known to few of us here?" 

Mogdred, his tone now one of conciliation, replies quickly.  "I seek only to remind all those gathered under this roof not to place their trust in dreams and wonders.  I speak of the Forest Road, which as you say was once mere memory and now is the key that unlocks the door for traders to venture west, and settlers to go east.  I tell you, the Northmen will fall, one by one, if the road cannot be secured!  And so," he concludes, "I offer to place the road under my protection, and the protection of the crimson moon." 

:ooc: While the Council is meeting, Grimbeorn will be occupied with its proceedings, as will Arbogast much of the time.  Matt, Grimbeorn can, of course, choose to skip sessions if there are other things you want to do, but that will be noticed and may have its own repercussions.

The rest of the Fellowship won't have standing to speak, and won't be able to influence the shape of the North.  On the other hand, they can operate more freely.  Doug and Tom, let me know where Esgalwen and Hathcyn are and what they're getting up to.

I caught up with Aly on the weekend and her thesis is now at the 'ah fuck it' stage of the editing process.  I'll take over Laeral until she's recovered a bit.

Esgalwen stood within the hall watching the lords and masters speak, her eyes ever falling on Mogdred. He had changed and yet his bitterness was ever present as a badge upon his chest. The Dúnadan could not help but notice the trappings upon this new 'king' - some of which she had assisted in obtaining. The armor and arms sent north from Gondor had made it as far as Mogdred, and he had hoarded them unto himself. Now he had taken the Toft as his own and believed that it was by his folk that the north was kept safe.

The impudence stung at her. Was it not Gondor that had secured the gates of Mordor to this day and kept the Shadow at bay - lest the hordes of Sauron overrun all? Then her mind shifted to a local memory in which she had hands on experience - Stoneyford and the battle of the Toft-men. It was Beorning and Woodmen blood on that field, not the men of Amon Bauglir. Mogdred had merely capitalized on the situation when Vidugalum was unseated and his cruel forces were driven from the field. Under the same crimson banner had the previous 'king' commanded, and now it was Mogdred.

This would not sit well with the Beornings and Woodmen within the hall.

Such a fool you are, Mogdred, she thought to herself. Even as you gain, you lose. Your bitterness drives you and it molds like-minded men to you, but it does not give you the wisdom you need to lead.

Her thoughts quickly shifted to Gandalf's warning. The Shadow was here and it would threaten all endeavors of the Free-folk. Was Mogdred its agent? Was she a fool those years ago to vouch for him, as she had?

Esgalwen cleared her thoughts and focused once more on the leaders that sat upon the dais, and the words they spoke.

 :ooc:
Grimbeorn will do the following:
- attend the gatherings of the council
- meet with his folk and see that they patrol the city as well, keeping an eye and ear out for anything amiss as I'm sure they remember the fair but stay clear of Mogdred's folk, not to mention discuss with them the business of the council
- break bread with his companions as often as he can, learn of the coming of Gandalf and his message, share the council talks, get their opinion on things, and just be content in be able to relax with them
- on occasion, walk the city himself to get a sense of the place and listen for any ill news from beyond the gates

Hathcyn had an idea and he believed it would address several problems at once. He first went among the dwarves foo the hall. Not the major Lords from Erebor, but those who had worked on the road or knew Rorin. The conversations all began the same way,

"What will you do as the road nears completion? Will the King Under the Mountain send his folk to guard the way forts and act as caravan guards? Few will be the wagons that will pay tolls if the path is not made safe. And here is this man west of the wood and far from the either opening of the road offering to be its steward. Surely this road was built and devised by the folk of Durin, and here is a mannish king who takes all into his hands offering to guard it. This man is not Bard. But what about another course? The road will soon be done, but it will still need repairs, maintenance, as well as guarding. Why not keep the workers you already have? Why not recruit from the work gangs for this task. These men have worked for you in the past, they know the forest, and they know the work. Many have no where else to turn when the job is finished. The cost would be slight to set these men up and offer them room at the way forts for wives and families. They also already have the skill to hew an haul wood. How much more traffic would there be on the road if the workhouse became barracks houses and men of good standing and loyalty were appointed over them who had a stake in the sucess of the venture? Surely then there would be no strange king of men demanding tribute or easily turned from guard to brigand."

Lets seee what I can do with my new Inspire skill

I"ll buff that if it will help.

Those who he does not know give their answers coldly before turning away and those alongside whom he has laboured speak with apologetic eyes, but each Dwarf he speaks to gives the same answer. The Road was laid by the stone-cunning of Durin's sons, and it is by the same hands that it should be maintained, for Men know nothing of the spells graven into each and every stone that will preserve the way for another age of the world, and Mannish craftsmanship would a poor substitute indeed.  'Let your people tend to their fields and pastures, and let us tend to the stones beneath,' one says. 

:ooc: We're going to run this as an encounter.  The Council isn't a democracy - it'll make its decisions by consensus, or not at all.  At the moment, it has Mogdred driving his proposal to act as the road's protector.  If you can convince the Council members otherwise, your history with Rorin, Bofri and all the other Dwarves involved will mean that the company will get assigned the responsibility (in return for a permanent share of the tolls).
 
To make that happen, though, you'll need to bring as many Council members around to your way of thinking as possible.  Insight rolls can help a lot here - each one has something they want from the discussion, so it's not just a matter of racking up successful rolls.  The usual tolerance threshold applies, though, and Hathcyn's failure will count, as word makes its way to King Dain...

:ooc: Also, as before I am making use of the Eye Awareness rules, so try not to roll :~~: s. 

Hathcyn saw that his line of reasoning was not having an affect. He knew and did not expect men to be able to do what the dwarves had done. But stone alone was not all that mattered. The trees would need to be cleared, the growing of trees pushed back, the axes of men were needed for both  wood and villainous orcs.

There were few here who knew him, and less still that he knew he could influence directly. He pondered a moment and thought.....

'Hathcyn you fool your playing a game you cant win. How does the fox get a chicken from the coup? Not by asking the farmer. Knowing when he sleeps and when he closes the gate is more important.'

A fox like thought occurred to him and working among the throng he blended instead of coming forth, he listened i stead of speaking. He moved towards the direction of Balin the dwarf. Here was one whom he heard was adventurous, one who knew the merits of others. Yet not so high as the king. He would start there.

Insight

:ooc: Arbogast will also try an Insight roll:

Hathcyn blends himself into the crowd, moving slowly about the knot of Dwarves that clusters around Balin.  It is clear that they do not wish others to know of their concerns, and the Longspear has time to marvel at how the commonly known blunt manner of Dwarves can be replaced at need with a remarkable talent for speaking cunning words that cast only a shadow of their true meaning.  But after a time it becomes clear, less from their speech and more from their tone, and from the way in which they hold their heads and hands, that they see the road as more than a passage.  To them, it is a treasure, no less part of the patrimony of Durin than Erebor, or the fabled Arkenstone itself, that once was lost and now is not so much made anew as recovered from the grasp of Mirkwood itself, and thus of greater worth than any quantity of mere silver.  It is a thing, not only to be defended, but revered. 

If king Iron-toes, or whatever he styles himself, is any judge of his people, Hathcyn thinks, then he will take their love of the Road to heart, no matter what his own feelings may be! 

Not far away, Arbogast approaches Esgalwen, bowing politely, if clumsily, to queen Una.  "I know not precisely what value the Master of this town places in the road, as I am not a trading man, but I believe that the King of Dale has similar concerns to those I have for my home and hall, albeit," he adds, "on a grander scale."  Leaning in, he murmurs "would you agree that he sees the road for a way for the movement he desires of folk west of the Wood into his own realm?"

Esgalwen nodded and responded quietly, "For certain - the road is a gateway and wealth of the mountain will draw many folk. Those that cannot, or do not wish to leave will be left in a precarious position. There will be an imbalance of strength and the weak shall be taken by the strong to subjugate. I believe we witness the foundations of this now being set."

Her eyes never left the dais where the lords were seated and in particular, Mogdred of the Toft. He would take advantage of those that stayed, all in the name of protection, but there would be little compassion. What she had witnessed of him thus far, save upon Amon Gaublir those many years ago, was always his brashness. Never humility. Never softness. Mogdred held strength above all other things. This new king would rule with an iron hand, as he had learned in the pits of Dol Guldur.

She questioned herself again for her appeal to Ecthelion II and the resources she provided to Mogdred. Esgalwen knew she would need to approach him soon to make a new appeal for him to show wisdom - to learn from the hardships he suffered. It was the duty of a king to heal and unify his people and lands, not to hold them under his boot.

"There will be bloodshed if they are not careful in these proceedings," she spoke once more to her friend. "We are not high lords, Arbogast, but we have the ears of those that sit upon the dais. We must do all we can to help guide them in their choices."

-ooc- ok im back. whats Laeral up to?

:ooc: Huzzah! Good to have you back.  Laeral can be wherever you would like her to be - probably either in the Town Hall or scouring the streets of Lake-Town for anyone looking suspect.

More story coming today!  This I vow!

EDIT: Given that Laeral hasn't introduced herself, and doesn't know any of the principal movers and shakers on the Council (except Grimbeorn, obviously) it might make more sense for her to be somewhere else.  That will give me an opportunity to move another part of the story on.  Does that suit you?

Seeing that Esgalwen shares his suspicions, Arbogast raises his voice from the floor.  "For many years have we at the Black Tarn known the neighbourly fellowship of King Mogdred," he says.  "In all this time, he has sent no messenger but men-at-arms, to harry those who seek to build lives beneath the Wood.  He has shared not grain nor ale, and while he has demanded wives for his warriors he has not deigned to allow my folk to pay handgeld for the women he claims to protect."

Looking now directly at King Bard and ignoring the fury on Mogdred's face, he concludes "I tell you truly, Mogdred is no fit guardian of the road, for he seeks to keep and hold to himself all that he can grasp.  Why should such a one help folk move to the east, when he could have them fill his coffers and swell his host?  Should you place the road under his control, it will become a gateway that permits travel only in the one direction."


:ooc: Arbogast will roll Persuade, since he has a particular target in mind.  You may feel free to do the same.

:ooc: Great roll!

---

Esgalwen felt her breath clutch in her chest, as Arbogast spoke out to the hall. She did not expect him to confront Mogdred directly before his... peers?

Her hand reached out to grab her friend's arm and she gripped it tightly, not knowing why. Did she mean to restrain him from his directness? Did she not want this hornet's nest to be kicked? Was she now afraid for her friend?

The rush of questions that filled her mind also cleaved her tongue to the roof of her mouth, even as the ire of Mogdred became visible upon his face. The self-named king stared in their direction and her eyes met his and she saw the same cruelty that he had displayed in times past.

Releasing Arbogast's arm, Esgalwen resolved herself and the noble mien of her birth replaced her sudden panic. "The Fire-watcher speaks the truth and greatly should this matter of the road be addressed and debated. The Anduin Vale is nothing more than small independent fiefs. Should offerings of opportunity create an exodus from the vale, those that stay behind will be less likely to have a voice - or at least the strength to have a voice. And should the very passage that provides the accessibility to come and go be controlled by those that would gain by this exodus - then that passage becomes a gate that traps those inside and those without.

"These past years, the Woodmen and Beornings have toiled alongside the Dwarves of the Mountain to restore the Mirkwood road. Certainly the Dwarves have the say as to what shall be done with said road, but do not discount the labors given by Men. I ask, give them a voice, too, in this decision. Let Grimbeorn speak for his people, along with the chieftains of Woodland Hall and Woodmen Town, as well as Mountain Hall. Certainly their labors and the stability they provide both along the path and its western-end are something to be accounted."

Seeing that she must try to also give something back to Mogdred, Esgalwen continued, "And though we debate his placement as keeper of the road, we cannot discount the efforts of Mogdred and the Men of Tyrant's Hill. Long have they been the wall that stands between the Free-folk and the darkness. It is a hard task that asks for great sacrifice - a task we of Gondor know too well. Whatever be decided, make sure it is for the benefit of all so as to unify the people of Mountain, Lake, Wood, and Vale."

Esgalwen fell silent, though she prayed that her diplomatic skills learned these years as a voice for her Steward would help in the debate. That her words would help steer all of these leaders to wisdom.

---

:ooc: I am going to make a Persuade roll, too, but pair it with her Fair trait which makes her appealing to all races - and thus they might not dismiss her as not one of their own.

TN ?? persuade 3d

:ooc: Well that is a handy roll!  :)

Just an FYI - the fear that gripped her of a sudden at the start of my post is her Idle flaw that she has from her Bout of Madness back at the battle of Stoneyford.

Self-assuredness is now inconsistent with Esgalwen.

Grimbeorn smirks to imperceptibly to himself, bemused at his friends weighing in (and rightly) regarding these matters.  He watches around the dais to the reactions of the others before speaking, no need to pile on.

:ooc: Let's see what he can make out without opening his mouth. 

To Grimbeorn's right, Gailar of Woodland Hall is nodding slightly before Esgalwen even finishes speaking, clearly gratified by the recognition of the years of labour dedicated by her kinfolk to the restoration of the road.  To his right, King Bard regards Arbogast and Esgalwen neutrally, his expression unreadable.  Beneath his rich robe, however, his knee twitches ever so slightly, and he steals glances at Mogdred from the corners of his eyes.  If he is not fully convinced not to accept Mogdred's demands, then the seeds of doubt have at least been planted and their roots are spreading. 


:ooc: Doug, I'm using Esgalwen's Fair trait to let her start talking without a successful introduction.   

Mechanically, things are pretty promising so far.  You have one Council member fully convinced to take your side of things (two, assuming Grimbeorn is so inclined  ;) ) and another well on the way.  Only one failure. 

Quote from: tomcat on Nov 11, 2020, 06:37 AM:ooc: <SNIP>
Just an FYI - the fear that gripped her of a sudden at the start of my post is her Idle flaw that she has from her Bout of Madness back at the battle of Stoneyford.

Self-assuredness is now inconsistent with Esgalwen.

Arbogast is likewise speaking with more resentment of Mogdred than he otherwise might.  He really has no proof of any wrongdoing on the part of Tyrant's Hill. 

Drama drama drama drama drama!

"We thank you, Lady Esgalwen and Master Arbogast of the Black Tarn, for your words and will take all under advisement as we continue. Two years now has this lady of Gondor served my court as both an emissary from the court of Ecthelion II in Minas Tirith and as warrior among the ranks of Dale-men - I hold her to be true of both word and heart, and would recommend others to do the same."

There were a few mumbled voices on the dais at Bard's statement, but it was Grimbeorn who gave a heartily voiced agreement. "As are the words of the Fire-watcher of the Tarn!"

The room erupted with clapping and cheers for those who knew them and had fought beside them, but the Master of Laketown quieted all with a raised hand. "We appreciate their offerings, but the council must maintain order so that we - as the chiefs of our clans - may discuss and debate."

The king of Dale quietly agreed and he rose, "Perhaps Lady Esgalwen, you might take my wife, the queen, to our apartment within the town and see she is safe?"

Esgalwen, not knowing if she was being dismissed for her words, nodded politely and looked to Queen Una who smiled. The room and dais returned to the matter of the council, as the Ranger gathered her items and her charge. She looked to her friend, "I will be in the Reed's Shallow - a pub off the market square - if you would like to meet me. I feel the need to wander the town quays. Gandalf's words have me on edge."

Arbogast knew the place. He gave a nod of understanding.

The beer was rich and hoppy and it warmed her from the inside. She decided to slow down with her second, tearing at a small loaf of bread she had purchased and munching on its crust. Her eyes were forward, but she was watching the crowd within the Shallow Tavern. It was a well-visited locale by the fisher-folk and other residents of Laketown. Esgalwen knew if there were strange activities going on within the town, or on the lake and shores, it would be these people that told the stories.

Even with winter setting in and the ice forming across the great expanse of water, the fishermen were still busy. Some had small boats from which they cast their nets to bring in the bait fish, and others had their multiple poles that hung off their own boats, or leaned along the many pilings of the town. Some labored as ice breakers - strong men with heavy bars of metal, pointed at one end, who took on the dangerous task of walking the ice and cutting it away from the town and clearing passages for boats. The effect was to have quite a few large chunks of ice floating atop the water, which was dangerous for the boats, but necessary to keep commerce possible in the cold months. The draw of the southern falls on Long Lake assisted somewhat in keeping the flow-ice moving south.

"That took a while," she said not looking up at Arbogast who appeared from the crowd. Beside him was Hathcyn - the Beorning eyeing her bread and stout.

"I had some things to do. One being a stop to see the girls."

Esgalwen turned to smile at Arbogast at the mention of his wife and children. "They are well?"

He nodded a grateful reply as he swung a leg over a chair that sat empty. Hathcyn followed suit, breaking off a piece of the bread loaf. Esgalwen gave him a wink and pushed it towards him.

:ooc: I do not know what the story arc is leading to, but I thought I would add some fill for our PC's as we do things around the town. Esgalwen walked the docks for a while, looked out along the shores of the lake to the north and south - Gandalf's words of things gathering along the shores prompting this. Then she came back to the tavern to meet her friends if they came and to warm up.

I will continue these narratives and dialogues if nothing is happening for us at the moment, but please fill in with any notes on what we might find, hear, see, or other potential dangers (or blessings).

Here is an awareness test to see how attentive she is to the crowd - or if anything is revealing.

TN ?? awareness 2d

:ooc: Yikes! An :~~:

That could be either an absolute fail or maybe Paul will bring some dark dangers into our world.

And as usual, Esgalwen really brings out some great rolls when she is attempting to do ANYTHING to help move the story along.  :roll:

Hathcyn felt at home in any taverna nd this was one was no exception.

"Mogdred's in town, I better have a beer before his presence spoils that too. The dwarves weren't to keen on my idea of hiring guards for the road from the workers, but they will be less keen with the Lord of Tyrant Hill. I also doubt they will take kindly to any other than dwarves mailing any decisions about their road either. They will need someone though. I doubt they have the resources or the desire to guard the road with companies of dwarves." 

The conversation in the small common room of the Shallow stills for a moment as the looming form of Grimbeorn fills the doorway, then warily resumes as he makes his way toward the table where his companions are gathered - one more foreigner in a town ever filled with them. 

Hathcyn is the first to greet him.  "Welcome, my kinsman and my lord!  We have taken it upon ourselves to ensure that the threat from the shadows does not manifest itself in the form of poisoned bread, nor spoiled ale."  Grimbeorn cannot help but grin at his fox-blooded friend. 

"The business of the Council is over, then?" Arbogast asks. 

"For the night," Grimbeorn replies around a mouthful of ale.  "I've sat through more speeches now than I thought it possible for Men to make, and all to end up where we started."  At the expectant looks of the fellowship, he elaborates.  "None of the Council, save Mogdred himself, thought it wise to place the protection of the road in the hands of Tyrant's Hill.  Erebor will honour the promise made by Bófri the Roadwarden that we would share in the tolls as a reward for our efforts in its restoration, and in its defence." 

"Good news indeed," exclaims Hathcyn "for the honour of Erebor and our purses both." 

Grimbeorn grunts in blunt agreement.  "Then the Dwarf Bifur got up and argued long and hard for more road-building!  It seems there was a road that stretched from the River Running to the gates of the Iron Hills." 

Arbogast raises an eyebrow.  "And?" 

The answer comes as a shrug.  "If it gets built, it won't be at the command of the Council.  I'd say the Dwarves don't need any help laying their stones across open country."  He sighs, the weariness of long hours of boredom evident in the slouch of his shoulders and the droop of his eyelids.  "Then the Council withdrew to a private room – the Justice Chamber, they called it – and talked about whether they should invite another to join them." 

Esgalwen, her interest piqued, says "Indeed!  Who did they have in mind?" 

"The chieftain of the horse-folk in the southern vales.  But nobody knew where to find him, so it came to naught."  His ire at last fading as his frustrations are told of, he looks to his friends.  "Tell me, at least, that you have discovered something worthwhile." 

Now it is the turn of the Dúnadan to scowl at memories.  "Pah!  Not a thing besides fishwives dumping guts in the lake and many a pair of closed lips.  Still," she adds, "I saw the Elf Laeral making her own patrol.  Perhaps she will turn up what I could not." 

"Perhaps indeed," agrees Arbogast.  "The Elves who dwell in this town are withdrawn and wary, but they may speak to her, and their eyes are ever open." 

"And they see better than those of Men in the moonlight." 

As her companions greet each other in the Reed's Shallow, Laeral strides the narrow streets by the docks of Lake-Town, her feet falling soft as prayers on the well-weathered timbers.  If Men are doing the Shadow's bidding, she thinks, then it will be done beneath the cloak of darkness, when they suppose no other folk to be about. 

And indeed, all across the town the lights in windows are beginning to disappear as inhabitants and guests alike judge their remaining business not to be worth the cost of a candle.  Only in a few inns and alehouses, she guesses, will lights burn long into the night.  To the eyes of the Firstborn, however, there is still much to see, and still more signs reach her keen ears.  Well does she mark the passing of cats from rooftop to alleyway, and the muffled sounds of bed-borne seekers after slumber.  But by the bright light of the moon, something else is yet abroad: a boat, heralded by the creaking of strong oars and weary rowers alike, makes its way against the current toward the riverside tollhouse.   

Hathcyn took another long draw off a beer mug.
"Well i have learned spear fishing and if we are here much longer it looks like I'll be able to try ice fishing as well. Apparently they walk about on the frozen water and fish through chipped holes. These folk delight in walking above the water upon any platform, in any season."

Hathcyn left the table a moment and came back with smoked fish, a local dish he had taken a liking to. He passed the plate around and took no offense when Esgalwen and the Fire Watcher turned their noses up at the smoked dish.

"I'd like to see this Dale they speak of, the waterways, and the stone. People of mountain and lake making a city together. I am sure it is a thing to see. Esgalwen you have been to Dale?"

She rose to the question and regaled him with tales of fountains and waterways and comparing them to cities he never heard of in the south and he picked up from her discourse that some of the cities she compared to Dale no longer even existed. Though he listed politely eating smoked fish and then pickled turtle eggs....

"So. What are we to do? We never solved the mystery of the swamp trolls. Should we had out again against a known foe or do we sit and wait for the barmaids to reveal themselves as enemies of the people and cast dire spells agains the ale? I have not the skill or position to speak in council and I'm sure that day after day it will not be necessary for me to hold the banner of the bear in a stuffy hall. Fell deeds and action have always been the stock of the heroes of our folk. So shall we choose a direction and sally forth?" 

Hathcyn paused a moment in thought. "Grimbeorn, not all the Thanes here of like mind as you, and I am sure they all came for reasons of their own. Perhaps its worth seeing what factions are about. This may also be an opportunity for you to honor them by taking counsel of them, see who wants what."

:ooc: I'm putting Laeral on autopilot again so that we don't lose momentum. 

Stealth

Her footsteps hidden beneath the creaking of timbers and piles, and hiding in the shadows from the sight of moon and Men alike, Laeral comes closer and closer to the tollhouse.  Finally, she is near enough to mark the voice of the toll collector.  "What business keeps you upon the water at this damnable hour?" 

"I come on the business of Caewin, Lord of the Sunstead," comes the reply from the boat's captain.  "Who was most insistent that our cargo be brought here as soon as we had unearthed it?"

"Unearthed it, you say?" says the toll collector, clearly intrigued despite the chill, the damp and the dark. 

The captain, relieved perhaps to have arrived after a hard journey, tells his tale.  "Aye, and what a business it was!  We were ferrying the man north along the river when all of a sudden he leapt to his feet, eyes shining, and pointed to a place on the riverbank that looked just the same as any other to us.  But he declared that the spot was the resting place of three great heroes of the Lake-folk and, well, he has an uncanny knowledge of such things.  He bade us remain behind to dig them out, that he might return their ancestors' bones to his hosts." 

"And that's them, then, is it?" 

"As well as I know.  We found the bones of three men, and a damn sight more rusty mail.  True to our word, we packed them in barrels to bring them here.  Them, and much reeds and river muck besides, for stars above did it cling to them!" 

"All to the good!  Heave them up, then.  As they're official gifts, I'll waive the toll to bring goods into town.  Know you where they might be bound next?" 

Laeral holds her breath, unwilling to risk missing this vital detail. 

"My Lord mentioned a warehouse, but said not precisely where." 

Rolling her eyes in the shadows, Laeral exhales once more. 

"Fear not.  You may leave them here to-night.  His nibs can come collect them once dawn has broken." 

Is this the sign she was awaiting?  Unsure, but unwilling to risk further investigation on her own, she takes some time to search the inns and alehouses for the Men who shared her recent captivity.  Surely, she thinks, I can rely upon them.

In the end, it is the loud voice of the long-bearded one that she recognises.  "... taking counsel of them, see who wants what." 

"Your pardon," she interrupts, and tells her tidings. 

"Sunstead!...."

Hathcyn grew noticeably pale in the company of his friends when the tale was all told.

"I do not like that place, and my experience in the woodhall weighs heavily on my heart. It's lord is queer and it's lands cursed. Nah this cant be good, why would one dig up the dead? If they were lakemen then leave them along the lake. This troubles me."

Hathcyn pushed the smoked fish away from himself.

"I do not like the sound of this at all." His hand trembled and his face was pale.

He spoke again, but almost to himself.

"...I still see the vile creature of the hall in my dreams and in the face of one I once loved. The hall of the dead king..."

Arbogast listens to Hathcyn's words, and cannot bring himself to disagree.  His mind elsewhere, his hand traces the long, jagged scar where his belly was cut open beneath the barrows of the East Bight.  "Much ill may come from disturbing the bones of the long-dead," he says.  "But who will stand against it if we do not?"

"None here have likely encountered such vile creatures," said Grimbeorn.  "Laeral, thank you for this news; it is certainly the kind of news we've been awaiting.  Yes, Hathcyn, that is where I am off to next, while you all have a bit of fun without me chasing down barrels full of what we hope remain, er well, remains. I will at least seek their support in keeping an eye on the city as well; we cannot be less watchful."

Hathcyn took another swig if ale and drummed his fingers on the table.

"The tollman knows what's in the crates....What if we haunted him to get him to remove them or ask us to take them from him? Or do we attempt simple theft?"

Laeral grins sardonically, her teeth flashing bright in the dim light of the common room.  "No theft is ever simple, in my experience," she says, "but I can certainly find a way in to the storehouse." 

"Nor might there be any need of stealing," Arbogast adds.  "Though Caewin has been touched in the head since the night beneath the barrows, it may be that he has brought nothing but old bones and river muck.  But I will not rest well until I know for certain." 

"So we plan to break in and look around? Maybe you should sit this part of the mission out Grimbeorn? Or at least not be inside the warehouse."

Grimbeorn's brows close in on each other as his countenance darkens.  Though he sees the wisdom in his friend's words, still it goes against his nature to hold himself in reserve while others venture ahead into peril. 

Arbogast, pushing his unfinished tankard away, does not mistake his companion's turmoil.  "You need not decide yet," he says.  "Mull it as we go, for I fear to tarry when an opportunity might be missed."