No - put those Hope points away, Doug. There's nothing game-changing that the could reveal. The mud-wights put her in mind of the spirits that came to inhabit the Barrow-mounds of Cardolan of old, and which finally broke the spirit of the folk of that region. But of what it might mean that they are here in Esgaroth she has little idea, beyond it establishing that the Enemy has definitely targeted the Council, and possibly Lake-Town more broadly.
I'll have another post up this evening, if I possibly can, including Arbogast's contribution.
These dice really fucking hate this character... she is 2 points off from a success. Her points are critically valuable to her do to her inability to gain any new points save when her Fellowship Focus (Arbogast) goes unwounded in a chapter.
Is it worth the difference here? I am not sure. Her Lore traits will give her an auto TN 14 success, but I do not know if the success will reveal more. Paul... can you let me know whether this could be story changing info she might have?
Well - lore is Esgalwen's forte, so let's see if I can muster something to answer Hathcyn. I will invoke any of the my Lore traits (Old-lore, Enemy-lore, or Folk-lore) that would help in the conversation.
"Well we know that they did not all enter the city through the gate. Some of them at least took boat and climbed through the sludge to come from under the city."
The Beorning pondered a bit, "and what evidence do we have that the Elf Aethling was the target? How do we know that he was their mark? Did not the wizard warn us that the Queen of Dale was in danger, or am I remembering that wrong?"
"As for the men. I will offer them to the Elven Quarter first, they will refuse of course. But that should at least show them that not all westerners intend them ill will. I am also wondering if there are byways and shortcuts beneath the city that are known to the less noble element of the city. This may be worth looking into as well. Firewatcher, your brain is full of stories, and Esgalwen, your people delight in books of lore. What can you tell us about our muck and bone foes?"
"We'll see if they come to their senses; I won't hold my breath. Hathcyn, when, (or if he mutters under breath), the guard promised arrives, see to their deployment and charge. I must away soon to the council; no doubt we'll hear from hot heads and venomous tongues all day." He stands, downs the tankard, and wipes his mouth on sleeve. His pacing is odd for him, but speaks aloud his thoughts as he puzzles on the appearance of the strange and far afield assailants. "I assume the large force was deemed necessary to assail Legolas, for he is no mere Elven stripling, I have seen him action when I was younger -- he has a way with a bow unrivaled and a penchant for sliding out of tight spots. But what gnaws at me most is where they came from? This is sure to strain the good will of this gathering and hearken ancient memories of the Darkness from the North."
By daybreak, all of Lake-Town seems to know of the events of the previous night. Men sought to slay the Elven prince, the town gossips breathlessly recount. None have yet named the slain Men, but it is almost inconceivable that tongues of the warders of the Elven Quarter, or the Men who were besieged in the Tollhouse, will remain still for long. When they tell their tales, the news will spread like a plague. The assailants came from west of the wood, the townsfolk will say to each other. They were aided by dreadful beasts from the marshes, brought here by the chief of the southern Woodmen!
In such a feverish climate, meeting in private is difficult, for every group in every inn and boarding-house, and every knot of people on the timbered streets, is exposed to those seeking the next tidbit of news without thought to its truth or falsehood. Thus it is that the Fellowship of the Helm meets this morning, not in the closely-observed confines of the Eels inn that has become Grimbeorn's camarilla, but in the cool and musty air of Sigvald's warehouse. There, Lindwine serves hot cheese mixed with ale, while the children patrol the narrow and hidden spaces for eavesdroppers, unable to stifle the occasional giggle.
As her eyes adjust to the warmth and brightness of the brazier beside which the company gathers, Esgalwen is struck by a thought. The coins the dead Men dropped were so bright, even in firelight, and strange to this place. To those who pay heed, they will stand out from those struck in Erebor and Dale. If they were spent in Esgaroth, those who received them might recall it. Might they perhaps even recall the names or faces of those who spent them?
I'll assume, unless anyone says otherwise, that you're all together again. Doug, Esgalwen has had a comfortable night but not time for a long sleep. I'm going to say that she's recovered all but two of her Endurance. ()