Voices of the great and meek alike are already rising in ire towards Mogdred as the King of the Toft and Tyrant's Hill at last breaks his silence.  "Such brave words!  But I cannot but ask myself what manner of a Man names himself for half a king?  Truly, the night darkens around us and it is for those of us who dare to seize the brand and light the warding-fire.  Half measures shall not see us through what is to come!" 

"And what is to come, say you?" asks Caewin, a fey look in his eye.  "Will your strength alone defeat those who even now make war upon us, upon all of Rhovanion, from their wains?  Will you -"

His questioning is cut short by the roaring of Mogdred, his hoarded patience at last all spent.  "What foe is this, you gilt-clad fool?  The kings of Rhovanion are long buried and the wainriders now spoken of only in tales of old!"  Turning his gaze from the lord of the Sunstead, he addresses the Doom-Ring and the gathered folk beyond it.  "I tire of this pass-time for the old and the weak of heart!  Hear the word of a king: this morn you shall kneel and hail me as your lord and giver of laws, and in return I will be your shield against the darkness and your sword against your foes.  Those who will not bow to me will find no friendship, but be left to their own defences when the orc, the wolf and the spider draw near!  I will pay no heed to the wailing of their womenfolk, nor their children-"

And here, he is at last silenced for unseen behind him Athala, who has moved like a stalking cat closer and closer to him, draws her knife and swift as a falling star plunges it into his throat.  As Mogdred's words are mangled into a shrieking gurgle she has time enough to look at him and ask "What of their children?  Will you make thralls of them and bring them before the Necromancer, as you did to me?" 

The Ring at once erupts into chaos.  Mogdred's men surge forward, seizing Athala as she holds high her bloody knife for all to see.  "Mogdred's reign is ended. Death to slavers! " she cries as they cast her and plunge their own knives into her belly, her back, her neck, staining the soil with more blood of the guilty and the executioner both.

Right, we've all waited long enough!  Let's see how Hathcyn's (Eacgrl's!) Song skill backs up his words!  I'm chucking in a +6 bonus in recognition of you actually writing out the poetry that spills from his lips:

Incredible.  The standard of both writing and storytelling in this game continues to blow me away.

"What further proofs are needed as to the perfidy of this man?"

In later ages he was know as Hathycn, Half-King of the Road. In this hour he spoke his true name before the council and cast a mighty spell.

"I am Eacgrl, the fox-brother, kin-slayer, Long-spear, the hall burner, spider hunter, tree feller and road builder, wight foe, mountain climber, bear friend, standard bearer, stone riser, hound speaker and fish whisperer, wall builder, cow-herder, boat borrower, orc foe and spiders bane, ring sword giver, defender of Carrock, the Forest-helm of the Greenstone Land, Gate-warden of the Forest Gate, Thegn."

His voice rose high for all to hear. His noble armor glistened like fish scales in rainbows of oily color and in the far ancient customs, ill remembered and long forgot, he sang the spell for Mogdred's doom.

"Beneath the blood-red moon's bright gaze, 
Where shadows shift and shadows sway, 
The warrior's wraith, with wicked blade, 
Brought death upon the darkened glade. 

With iron hand, he struck the soul, 
His heart, a furnace, black and cold. 
The victim's cry, a wailing call, 
Echoed through the forest hall.

A kenning rang from his cruel deed, 
The "sword-song" sung with savage speed. 
The "raven's feast" was swiftly set, 
And men would weep and never forget.

The sky did darken, clouds did swell, 
As gods of old would cast their spell. 
No joy was found in blood-stained soil, 
No home for those who killed in toil.

The murderer's name seared in time, 
A shadow cast, a silent crime. 
But in the circle-stone, warriors spoke, 
Of how the red-streaked cloak did soak.

The blade, the blood, the life so lost— 
What is the price of life's dark cost?
This false, treasonous, uncrowned King
Axe-men, sword-men, blood they bring.

Slave, despot, unruly, ungrateful son
In dark woods to shadow runs.
I name you. Mogdred, enemy of the wood and folk
Before your kin this doom is spoke!"

Silence filled the ring and assembled people, his words a dweomer no one soon broke by speaking for it hung upon all like a pall and the morning sun seemed dim.


As we seem to be culminating here towards an end or at least a pause to the game I figured now was the time to reveal a literary device I have been toying with since way back when I made this character. Hathcyn wasnt his true name, this was the name he was know of in later days in the telling of these stories. That's why I was always adding epithets or mixing them up. As if the narrator were speaking of him.
The character goal was that one day he would be a Half-King of the region, since the woodmen and Beornings had no real kingship tradition. So this Mogdred King thing really underlines in my mind how his story went. Casting down a false King, uniting the Vigs to his own people through his wife and with strong influence over the Wood-men of the south. A crown-less king, Hathcyn. 

Having stood back from the ring with the beginning of the crofters' tale, Hathcyn now shushes the whisperings around him as the two continue.

"... before the arrival of this man, who named himself for Haftmund, with the tall woman there bound and beaten" Ewo gestures first at the dead man in his red cloak and then at Esgalwen.  "This was not part of our bargain with the king, but three swine is three swine and so we agreed to hold her as well."  He finishes with a recounting of the coming of the Fellowship to the Ranger's rescue speaking plainly of their terror at the raid and the near-slaying of their son.

As the two step from the doom ring, Mogdred folds his arms and maintains his stony face.  Instead, it is Dagmar who stands forth, bright the morning sun on her golden bracelets.  "True it is that the king saw fit to keep Viglar apart from the great Woodland Hall, for he knows that many foemen, in willing league with the dark things of the Wood, dwell even by the light of bright fires.  He could not risk the son of such a one being freed to wreak further woe upon the innocent."

Casting her gaze now at the laik of Haftmund, she adds "This man knew Esgalwen of Gondor, for years ago she dwelt among us and accepted the generous hospitality of the king's own table.  When he saw that she now strives against those who took her in as a lone and pitiful wanderer, his wrath overtook him and he acted rashly, and without the command of the king."

As she speaks, one of the warriors who stand behind her, mailed but without weapons, shifts uneasily.  Hathcyn, Esgalwen and Arbogast mark the face of Athala the Leofring come, it seems, into the service of he who she accounted a thrall-taker and officer of Dol Guldur. 

Forth stand the crofter couple, the husband plainly drawing strength and courage from the wife's ire.  Their dress, drab and plain next to Hathcyn's lordly armour and helm, is still stained with the blood of their wounded son, and the husband shudders to see once again the dead man at Mogdred's feet. 

"Most of you know us," the croft-wife begins, "for we are close kin to those who dwell here.  But, for the newcomers," (here she shoots a barbed look at the two Elves) "I am Woda daughter of Havnar, and this is my husband Ewo son of Ewolc.  Long have we enjoyed the protection of the river and the warriors of Wuduseld, but the days are growing dark and no longer can these alone defend our hearth.  When word came to us of the victory of King Mogdred we rejoiced, for at last here was one who had the strength of spears to defend the folk!"

Ewo nods and takes up the tale. "To his side our boy went, carrying out vow of support.  When he returned, he brought with him three strong warriors, one of whom now lies here before you and the others will be buried in mounds near our home, for they brought also this man," he says, pointing to Viglar,"and a promise of three fat swine in the autumn in payment for his keeping."

Another round of murmuring begins around the outskirts of the ring and many of the assembled elders look visibly nonplussed.  Esgalwen, folk-wise from years of dwelling among the clans of the values leans toward the Elves and whispers "By the laws of the wood-folk, such a valuable captive should have been brought to the hall to be placed in the keeping of the clan as a whole. By not doing so, Mogdred seems to show that he doesn't trust them."

"Should that bind a king, though?" asks Luindîs, "Especially one who was disowned by his kin?"

"The Woodmen are proud," the Ranger answers "and will think twice before pledging themselves to one who holds their laws and customs lightly."  Or so I hope, she adds to herself.

Yep, sorry.  Post coming as soon as I can - not too long of one either.

  i have a follow up post but I am waiting to see how the farmers are received and if anyone else has comment.

New post coming today!  This is an accountability measure!

Yeah man, so has Europe. Everyone freaked out and the German government coalition collapsed. Granted it was on shaky ground from day one, but their "nighmare" was basically they were worried about Trump calling them out on all the things they already know. It was fascinating to read their concerns and then see how all of them were issues the news had been covering for months. Dude was more a mirror than a provocateur.