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The summer wanes, as summers will, and the few who wander the war-scarred lands of the Anduin valley bring such tidings as they can to the hall of the Fox's Tale.  Viglund, they say, nurses his rage in Fystenheorth like a banked and bitter fire, and unwisely does any raise their voice to ask what he will do to avenge his shaming upon the field by this new southern enemy.  Or indeed to ask what ransom shall be paid for his heir, for Viglar his eldest son, it is told, was taken alive in the battle of the Old Ford and now languishes surely in some terrible dungeon, beaten by his captors as he once abused the thralls who fetched his drink and meat. 

Young Woodmen, leaving the lands of their kinfolk to seek their fortunes in Lake-Town or in the broad lands of Dale, tell of the coming of Mogdred, King of the Vales and Lord of Tyrant's Hill, to Wuduseld for to give the funerary rites for his father.  "It was a near thing that the elders of Woodland Hall let him enter," tells one young charcoal burner after she has drunk her fill and licked her bowl clean.  "But the duties of a son to his dead father are a sacred thing and not to be hindered, be he never so tardy in his coming!" 

Others come, not from the north, but the west, for though the folk of Beorn be proud they are just as much practical, and the clans on the western bank of the river were ever fewer, and further between.  "Here, where the great thegns still abide," says one who comes with his family to till the fields and tend the herds of the Longspear, "we can protect each other.  We'll all need to do more of that before the good times come again!" 

Yet, though the days may be dark for many of the Beornings, in the land of the Green Stone it is easy to think that all is well across the wide world, for the mead is plentiful and so is the game of the nearby woods.  But times of ease pass all too quickly, and before the green leaves of summer have begun to yellow, travellers come along the Forest Road bringing news of new troubles.  It is Esgalwen who sees them first as she wanders close to the road: a party of a score or more, many on foot but with a handful of grey-haired elders uncomfortably perched upon a wain piled with goods. 

In their centre rides one clearly their leader, for tall he sits in his saddle and the gleam of precious things upon his brow and saddle-pommel can be seen even at a distance.  As he spurs his horse forward, these resolve themselves into an iron crown and a finely-wrought helm, and the rider names himself as he calls out a greeting. 

"Ho, and well met warder of the way!  I am Caewin, Lord of the Sunstead and giver of rings to all who would have them!  Fair is the day... why stone me, for you are Esgalwen of Gondor, whom all folk of the Sunstead love and admire!  Fair indeed is the day we on which we meet once again!" 

The Ranger, for her part, beholds a man who has clearly aged since last he ventured west of Mirkwood, though his garb has grown only richer.  Upon his saddle rides the Helm of Peace, forged years ago by the hand of Rorin and still showing no sign of wear or damage.  If Caewin marks the downward twitching of the corner of her mouth at the unbidden memory of the same helm gleaming in the light of burning brands as dead hands held it high, he gives no sign.  Rather, he laughs as if he has never had a care in the world.  "Come!"  he cries.  "I greatly desire to meet the master of this hall, tales of which have spread even as far as my humble home!" 

The meeting, when Hathcyn has been fetched from the meadow where he and Aestid dally, enjoying this time of simple happiness, is suitably splendid.  Upon his high seat, the Foresthelm perches while Caewin, with a flourish, directs his host's attention to where two of his burlier followers heave and strain to carry something large into the hall.  "Please accept this in payment for our stay, for we have journeyed long already and have yet many miles ahead of us," he says as his men unroll a wide carpet, dark as spilled wine, upon the rush-covered floor.  "A small thing," he explains with a smirk, "to keep warm the feet of you and your kin as the nights draw in." 

 :ooc: i'm sufficiently suspicious...

:ooc: Good, good.  Get ready for more of that!

Gwaithlim watches the performance of this new-come petty lord of Men with equal parts curiosity and amusement.  Then comes a discordant twanging of strings close behind the pill a room against which her leans, startling for its suddenness at much at its volume.  Whirling about, he sees Luindis leaning against the same pillar, harp in hand.  "Merely tuning," she says, favouring him with an impish grin.

From not far away, a Mannish voice whispers "Look, Siegferth!  Elves!"

The elder approaches the younger, disregarding the mutterings of the Secondborn.  "I have heard the tales that entwined our friends with these folk.  Have a care and keen eye -- that one with the bright helm may yet bring forth yet another cautionary tale told about the nighttime hearths."

"Caewin, aptly you are named The Generous! You would be welcome here in my hall without the need of such a fine gift. I believe several of my companions here you are aquatinted with already. Please, rest from your travel here I am sure the crossing of the forest was not easy. Any news you bring would be helpful, for no longer must I contend with spiders, but also foul men."

Hathcyn noted and realized for the first time what a marvel it must be for him to have elves at his hall. Truly he had traveled with them so long now that he forgot the wonder and amazement at seeing or meeting one. A talking dog, Woodland folk, a spear twice as long as a man's. He would be hard pressed to believe his own stories about him had he not lived them.

"Corvus, bring drink and bread for my guests! Caewin let us talk further at the board. I dont need to talk to a man from a chair."

The Longspear got up and wanted to be close to take the measure of this man and determine what he really wanted at the Inn. He doubted, as generous as he was known to be, that he didnt carry a rug across the woodland realm just to water his horses and slack his thirst. 

 :ooc: Player huddle. What do we know about this guy? Pretty sure the helm or something was corrupting this dude and his people were slowly leaving Sunstead. Did we also have a run in with him at Longlake or was that just more wight shennanigans?

:ooc: I can't give too much insight, as I was the Loremaster that introduced Ceawin to you guys a while ago, and so was formed the Company of the Helm. My plan for Ceawin is no longer valid, but I also do not want to reveal anything, as former-Loremaster, the intrigue is necessary to maintain.

I can say that Arbogast witnessed a ritual being performed over the inert form of the Sunstead leader and the helm appeared to be the focus of the dark magic. The heroes interrupted the sorcery and drove the spirits away (or destroyed them), but Ceawin awoke from his stupor and clutched at the helm while muttering.

After that, he made it a token of his house even with the protestations of the heroes. And then the Company left him to his own and returned home.

What is going on with Ceawin is left to interpretation of the current Loremaster, so I am not sure. Esgalwen thinks he is tainted, being whispered dark secrets from the cursed helm he keeps. I do not remember his presence in Dale, but I am going to read back through to see how he was acting.

We ran into some of his folks in Laketown so he hasnt been completely silent since the Helm. 

 :ooc: i'm also expecting that this has something to do with the Death of Ingomer that Paul slide into the narrative on the sly.

I a new "chief" of the woodmen is needed.

 :ooc: Gwaithlim has heard a bit from stories in the halls of Beorn/Grimbeorn, the group themselves, and other stories coming over the Misty Mountains of the tidings in the Wild.  Nothing great, and whatever might be good is still tainted with darkness.

"Wonderful!" Caewin says in response.  "Be it ever so filling, road-fare cannot match the repast of a kind host." 

As the longspear approaches, he subtly looks his new guest up and down, seeking any sign that might point to what lies behind the broad smile and open hand. 


:ooc: Hathcyn gets a quick Insight roll (usual TN):

Quote from: Telcontar on Mar 15, 2024, 06:32 AMWe ran into some of his folks in Laketown so he hasnt been completely silent since the Helm. 

:ooc: Indeed you did - and also long-dead 'heroes of the Lake-folk' who Caewin ordered unearthed (https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/index.php?msg=31992) and brought to Lake-Town on his way there, apparently knowing where they were buried all of a sudden.

Try as he might, though, Caewin's bearing, mien and manner speak of nothing but common courtesy and the generosity that has brought him great fame. 

Arbogast, watching and long familiar with his friend's habits of thought, sees the flicker of annoyance even if Caewin does not.  Ever hard to know the mind of that one, he thinks to himself, but a long road has he travelled already, and not alone.  He recalls the passage of his own small family along the Forest Road, the closeness of the wayfort common rooms and the unspoken drive to huddle together in the warm light of lanterns during long hours of travel.  This company has scarce been out of each other's sight for weeks, and what the chieftain may not say, his servants will surely know.

Rising from his bench, he finds Gwaithlim and Luindîs amid a knot of Sunstead-folk trying to be discreet in their gawping.  Leaning in close to the she-Elf, he whispers "Our friend's guest's mind is surely heavy with great business.  I do not doubt that he would welcome a distraction." 

Eyes fairly flashing, she seizes upon the opportunity.  "A song, then!" she calls and skips soundlessly to the side of the hearth.  "While the boards are brought out, take your ease my friends!  You who have traversed the greatest of all forests, sit now and enjoy the excellent mead, and hear if you will the Lay of Thranduil and the Vampire, which you may have heard from Mannish mistrels as the ballad of the Green Prince and the Red Queen!  For you have walked in the shadow of the Mountains of Mirkwood, and it is here that the story begins..." 

As she lifts her voice to sing, the Fire-watcher turns his ears instead to the gossip of the travellers, mindful of anything that may hint at their business so far from home.   


:ooc: Right - this little sequence will be kind of a reverse-Encounter, because the key thing will be keeping Caewin distracted while you badger his underlings.  Each 'round', someone has to make a social test of some kind to keep his attention, and it needs to be something different from the last roll - there's only so much small talk to be made, after all.  Everyone else is allowed a Riddle roll (or something else that you can make a convincing case for) to find some information. 

Luindîs will start the former off with a Song roll:


And Arbogast will (provisionally) roll Riddle:

 :ooc: so one distraction roll and one riddle roll per round? Or one distraction and everyone else gets a riddle roll?

:ooc: The latter.  I assume that you're all moving around the hall independently, and only one distraction is required.

 :ooc: ok here goes. Once again Paul punching where I have no skill. 😂

Riddle:

 :ooc: 🤣

Hathcyn was wary, and wary was a trait he was known for by those who knew him. He clashed mugs with Caewin and watched over the lip of his mug. Hus tankard came down and he laughed, slapped the man and called for another.

:ooc: Esgalwen's riddle roll...
TN 14 riddle 2d

The Lady of Gondor sidled up to one of the member's of Ceawin's entourage who carried himself as a guard might - one of Ceawin's protectors. She handed him a freshly drawn cup of ale with a smile, "Here... to take the away the dust of the road."

The man took it with a pleasant nod, and Esgalwen continued making simple introductions. "The road is long, is it not? I, too, have traveled far... from Gondor, though it has been a lengthy time that I have been here. I might even call the Vale my home now, if it were not for the ever-constant stir within my heart to see the white towers once more. Will you be here long, as well, or is your task short? I do not envy you the return through the wood. I have done that passage a few times now and it never gets easier, or pleasant."

Gwaitlim, a novelty of these folk, seeks a more out of the way corner to keep himself.  A few of the star-struck still follow at his heel.  So out of main earshot of the rest of the room, the elf plies his little in the way of courtesy and more on his fair nature to sway the folk into telling their tales and about themselves, steering the conversation towards their latest dealings, purpose of their travel hence, and any news out of their lands.

 :ooc:
Uses his Fair trait along with Courtesy since he has no means of guile via Riddle (if you'll allow it).
 :00:

 :ooc:
Well if accepted, Skill of the Eldar makes it +1 success.

Little is needed to loosen the tongues of those who gather around Gwaithlim like children.  "Oh, we go with our chieftain and elders to join a great folk-moot!" whispers one, beaming in his sharing of a secret.  The rest nod their agreement, eagerly piling detail upon detail: "Yes," adds another, "Caewin goes to be made war leader of the Woodmen, and to save us from the new king!" 

"Whatever do you mean by that?" he asks. 

"Of course, I'm sorry.  The affairs of mortals must trouble you but little!  A new king has arisen in the west, the son of the old war leader, no less!  Well, he appeared to give the burial rites for his father..."

"And my word, was he a lordly sight, with a crown of gold and robes rich as anything!  Or so I've heard, at least," a younger woman says, trailing off in embarrassment.

"As I was saying!  Well, the folk of Woodland Hall would've proclaimed him their own king right then and there, so taken were they with him.  But the Brown Wizard was there, and he reminded them that there were traditions to be observed, or that's what the messenger they sent to us said anyways..."

As the high table is laid out, Hahtcyn begins at last to get the measure of his guest.  Though he claims it to be poor manners to speak of gifts he has given to others, still Caewin likes to do so, albeit in generalities.  Watchful as he is for signs of treachery, however, Hathcyn has the wit to add together 'a fine, pretty amulet' given to 'a widow of Woodmen-Town', 'two rings, with such gems upon them!' that went to 'a deserving man of Rhosgobel' and several more.  Caewin, it seems, has been spreading his gifts around the clans of the Middle Vales and Western Eaves for several years in anticipation of a day such as this. 

Esgalwen, meanwhile, has to bite her tongue to stifle a laugh as the man-at-arms (and lanky, corded arms, she notes, not the knotted muscles of the Beorning cowherds) flirts clumsily with her.  Why, he must be half my age! she thinks to herself.  Still, many a man's tongue has been loosened at the sight of a handsome woman!  Nor is she wrong, as the young man before her tells stories of his travels along the Forest Road, bearing his master's gifts.  "Oh," he says, "but the terrors of the road are naught before the darkness from which our treasures are wrested!  Deep into ancient barrows I have delved, and followed my lord's directions to forgotten hoards buried beneath the trees!  Such sights I've seen as would freeze your blood!" 

Arbogast, true to his nature, speaks little but listens much.  And much he marks in what goes unsaid, where uneasy glances are exchanged or directed at the high table, and where the Sunsteadlings hush each other lest a word be unwisely spoken.  For all is not well in the East Bight, and many hwo were once close to their ring-giver now wander the lone places, banished for questioning commands that few claim to understand, made when the shadows gather close about his mind.  Some hold out hope that a lost hero or former loved one might live still, and have joined this company hoping to catch a glimpse of them among the outlaws that roam the outermost fringes of the Woodmen's land. 


:ooc: Awesome rolling, guys!  That's kind of all the information I had to give out to you this scene, but feel free to RP out your reactions etc. as long as you're all enjoying it.

If he came for a folkmoot he must worry about the southern route. He would pass by the two towers of the south and the Narrows too mist have been too dangerous. They also avoided the river as it drew close to the Beacon Towers. Was it safety that drove him so far around or was this stop and the carpet a deliberate plan? Hathcyn believed his arrival was no accident on Caewin's part.

He poured another mug for Caewin.

"Happy I am to be seated with a chief of the woodmen. Our closest and best allies, especially as my march is by the wood, your experience and knowledge is valuable to us, and glad I am that the road was your choice of travel thought it lengthened the journey."

"Nonsense," replies Caewin with another broad smile.  "I would not trust my safety and that of my people to any other way, for it is known from the western mountains to the Iron Hills and beyond that the Forest Road is the only safe way through Mirkwood!  And just think of what your long labours now offer: a long, straight chain binding together east and west..."

As the Longspear watches, a change comes over the lord of the Sunstead.  For a moment, his eyes are glassy and his gaze fixes upon some far, unknowable distance.  "With it, we can at last join together our people, and break free of the scourge of the Wainriders!"  Then, as suddenly as it came, the spell passes and Caewin is once again present in the hall.  "Truly," he finishes, "if I knew not how beloved you are of Grimbeorn Beorn's son, and he of you, I would offer you my protection, for it would be to the good of both of us to join as one, and prosper at each end of the Road." 

As Luindîs finishes her song (something about a green Elf-prince and some mountains, of which Hathcyn marked but little) to delighted applause, Arbogast approaches the high board.  "Forgive my interruption," he says, "but there is a problem in the kitchen that requires you." 

"Of course," the Foresthelm replies, rising from his seat and giving a brief apology to his guest before following his friend outside to the kitchen building as the minstrel strikes up a rousing tune and calls "Join me now, and dance!"  Gathered within, trying their best to keep out of the way of the sweating, bustling cook and servants, are Esgalwen and Gwaithlim, their faces troubled. 

"We need to speak quickly," the Ranger says, her voice barely above the noise.  "For I wager we have all learned matters that bode ill, and we've little time to decide what we can do about it."

"I have marked some strangeness in the man, but what do his companions have to tell?"

Hathcyn listend to the others rely what they had learned and he commented on the "offness" of the man but guessed many thought themselves all off as well.

" I think he speaks true. He comes for the Folkmoot of the Woodmen and their choosing of a new leader. Would he not be a better candidate to the position than Mogdred? My first thought is for us to go and learn what we may between here and there. We all have some claim to be present at least and then we could judge who the contenders are and see how we could shape events. I believe the Brown Wizard will take an interest in this as matter as well."

Esgalwen listened to Hathcyn and replied, "Since when has it been the way of the Men of the Vale to have a leader or king? Granted, each house has always relied on the wisdom an Elder council, but none have ever been named leader save for Beorn alone. And understand me, I am not necessarily opposed to such things - long have my people lived under the rule of King and Steward, but I worry here. I do not know the hearts of said candidate-kings, and I cannot counsel on the rightness of one choice. The problem of the Vale is that each clan has always had its sole interest at heart. Only since Ingomer has there been talk of a closer unity for your people - going back to the ancient days when Númenor still sat above the sea.

"That said, Hathcyn, beware the gifts given this day. I believe they have come from the trove of some long dead king or thane. Ceawin's man told me that by his order, the graves were despoiled and items taken... or maybe they were given? And if so, for what foul purpose?" She concluded, "I do not trust the heart and will of this Thane of Sunstead."

"Peace Ætheldreám, I said leader not King, and these are not my people. Firewatcher, Ingomer was first voice in council and had authority, but not rule over it. I suppose this Folk Moot will determine who shall take on that role, and Mogdred will claim it. Of that I have no doubt. Also, I do not say Caewin should have it, I say only that he could be our gateway to the moot a lever by which we may shape events. By oath and by desire I will thwart the Lord of Tyrant's Hill in this position. For now I say only that we head south with Caewin and attend this folk moot. Arbogast by birth, you as Emissary of the South, and I as Emissary of the Carrock. Our esteemed elves may travel at will and so none will refuse them. I do not believe this should be an event we do not engage in, and while I wont say it wont be dangerous at least this is something less lethal."

"When will you see to Grimbeorn be appraised of these tidings, ill-seeming as they are?  Not lightly would recent events and this upcoming folk-meet lay upon his mind and he's likely to give voice to his thoughts," says Gwaithlim.

"And if a basket is overladen with stones how will one know the weight of one over another? The west vales are burnt, the old ford pillaged, the apiary of his father's knocked down. Grimbeorn did not give voice to his thoughts when the weight upon his shoulders was lesser, I doubt now he would be overflowing with words when these troubles are greater."

"What would he tell us that we dont already know? The moot is important and the Beornings should have an ear and maybe a voice to what happens."

Arbogast nods his agreement.  "Though the choosing is for the Woodmen alone, the Beornings are our kin and their words would not lightly be ignored.  We shall venture south," he says, the choice made by all.

"Grimbeorn should be told of what we have learned and of our purpose in going abroad, though we cannot expect his aid while so many other cares beset him.  There are those here in this hall, though, who would carry word to him were we to but ask it, and I doubt not that he would welcome an extra pair of hands as he rebuilds his hall." 

Turning to Esgalwen, he adds "Neither do I trust any gift from that man's hand, for the most precious of them will have lain long in deep-shadowed places.  I am thankful that he seems not long to remember what he has given, and to whom." 

"Then it only remains to make my excuses to the man," Hathcyn says.  With a thoughtful mien, he adds "He and his have already come a long way, and the greybeards among them will want to rest a day or two, I'm sure.  Nor can they travel faster than we, with most of them afoot.  If we leave with the morn, we'll have a fine head start on them.  No doubt there'll be a lot for us to do before the moot even begins!" 


:ooc: As Hathcyn suggests, Tom, politeness demands that you say something to Caewin before you leave - you're his host, after all.  You can either a) tell him the truth about where you're going and why, b) lie about it (no roll necessary for the deception, though it'll count as a Misdeed) or c) dissemble and try to hide your true purpose with another Riddle roll. 

 :ooc: is there a reason not to travel with him?  Leaves us time to send a message to Grimbeorn and get an answer back if one is required and provide more numbers for the journey.

:ooc: Mainly just that it would let you get the lay of the figurative land before everything kicks off.  Caewin and his people have the furthest to come, so they'll be the last to arrive before the folk moot begins.

I probably should've made that clear in the narrative.

 :ooc: what do you guys think? Leaving seems like an insult and we may need to leverage him later. Why go in with a foe when we can travel with him as "allies"

:ooc: I see no challenge in traveling with him. It will also give us more time to get more insight of the man and his intentions.

 :ooc: Splitting the party is also an option but a none too kind one to the Narrator  ;)

:ooc: I've done it before, if it's a thing you want to do.

:ooc: You know what, never mind - I've been giving it some thought and the story will work fine no matter what you do from here.  If you want to travel with Caewin, go right ahead. 

 :ooc: from our side of the screen it makes more sense to travel with him, get to better read on him and not sour the relationship just before we might need to negotiate with him.

"If the action is to accompany this caravan, I will send my feathered friend to the seat of Grimbeorn bearing news of what has transpired here.  She can then proceed to return to us upon the road or at our destination," offers Gwaithlim.

"Let us prepare, then," says Arbogast in a solemn tone.  "Doubtless, this will be an interesting journey."