Good to hear.  It may be that I've consumed more current affairs stuff about your election than is strictly healthy for someone with no real skin in the game. 

No worries here so far... honestly i'd be more concerned about this time going forward to the swearing in at the end of January and during his next term.

Hathcyn waits for the words of Viglar to settle on the elders then pulls him back.

"Good, you may find the truth suits you." He whispers and pats his shoulder.

The Longspear steps forward, his noble armor oiled and buffed. (Bonus encounter die and tolerance improvement)

"Elders, when last I spoke my words rose a few hackles. Now however, we stand in the Doom Ring and not the Council Hall. Some may say to themselves, 'this is Viglar wife brother to the Longspear, this may be a plot.' They would be wrong. Any who know or seek to ask will find I am not held fondly by my wife's kin. Not on this word alone do I provide proof."

Hathcyn motioned to the circle and a bundle was brought forth. Wrapped in a red cloak the form was dropped near Mogdred. The Longspear bent and uncovered the face of the deadman.

"Here! In proof twice told I offer this wergeld to Mogdred for the abduction of my War-chief. A sword-thegn I return to you."

He looked from Mogdred to the Elders, "but that is not all."

"Listen now to the tale of the crofters, 'subjects' of this petty tyrant. Let their words be added to the scale of the other proofs."

Looks like Arbogast and Esgalwen did acceptably well, and Hathcyn reasonably so.  The two Elves, perhaps less used to reading mortal faces, not so much. 

In any case, I've marked the elders and their preferred candidates that you've managed to collectively riddle out in the table. 

EDIT:  Oh, and all successful rolls are .

Lol, I thought you were talking about the War Chief of the Woodmen at first....  

Hi guys.  I know things have become pretty fucking heated as the season finale of your election nears.  Whatever the result, I hope you and yours are alright, and that any rifts that have opened close with time. 

Stay safe, guys.

Dawn breaks late the following day and heavy hang the clouds above.  The youths who climb to the gabled peak of Wuduseld call down that they see lightning flashing on the slopes of the Misty Mountains as the gathered elders, grumbling all the while about stiff joints and old pains, emerge from the mead hall and descend the hill, following the path outside the palisade to the doom ring. 

With them go many of the folk of Woodland Hall who have no pressing business for though few know the tale whole, word has spread that the state of matters has shifted and grave news will be revealed.  And so it is in front of a crowd as great as any he has seen that Arbogast steps forward to raise his voice.  "Folk of the Wood, hear me!  No joy does it bring me to lay these tidings before you, but they must be heard and known." 

Turning slowly about to look as many in the eye as he may, he stops to point out Esgalwen where she stands next to Hathcyn, the two Elves and a small knot of the Greenstone Thegn's followers.  "Here stands Esgalwen of Gondor, who Men now name for Ætheldreám.  A great hero is she, known by name to all under the Western Eaves and far beyond!  Yet by her own word, and that of others whose honour is beyond reproach, I know now that before yester dawn she was struck by surprise and without cause by men in the service of Mogdred.  This they know for they followed their flight south along the river, guided by none other than the River-maiden Sunshadow, who blessed them with her kiss." 

Murmurs abound at this, for though the River-maidens are known to dally from time to time with mortals, rare indeed is the day when they choose to do so with those not of Balthi's folk.  Across the doom-ring, Mogdred's face is stony, betraying none of what may fill his heart.  "As you see," the Fire-watcher continues, "my friend was freed from her brief bondage, but not alone for another captive of the King of Tyrant's Hill was found beside her!" 

Seeing the moment come, Hathcyn steps aside to reveal Viglar, who moves hesitantly forward into what he clearly sees as a throng of enemies.  As he does so, the Foresthelm whispers "Now speak, and speak truly." 

"Ah...  Greetings to all you good wood-folk," he begins.  "I'm Viglar, aethling of my father's folk, and this is my tale..." 

Though nerves make him stutter and his tale wanders near as much as it did over long, lazy hours in the boat, the son of Viglund tells of his journey to Dol Guldur, and of Mogdred's presence at that black council.  He tells of the plot for Viglund to seize the Old Ford and, in tones dripping with wounded pride, of Mogdred's interruption of those plans and his own capture. 

Around the ring, the companions watch the faces of the elders.  Some show disbelief, others outrage, fear or simple shock.  It is plain that some are rethinking their former support for the son of Ingomer.  But how many, wonders Gwaithlim, and who now do they look to?


I'm going to do some Insight rolls to see how well you can gauge the current levels of support for each candidate.  You can each get another roll after watching the debate for a few hours. 

Arbogast


Esgalwen


Gwaithlim


Hathcyn


Luindîs

The Longspear reached by the fire and handed a pointed stake to his friend. A fire roasted trout was skewered on it.

"Take this Firewatcher, there are plenty and seasoned with salt from the Mountain Hold and berries and seeds from the pines. A good catch, take food and sit by my fire.

The Longspear picked at a fish of his own and drank deeply of the mug of beer that was always filled by the small barrel near him.

"A great darkness is it work. A malice drives our enemies to scheme in webs greater than our own designs. The attack on the Carrock was not by chance and the story my wife-brother tells confirms that we do not face singular enemies but a league of them working in harness. All centered on the Bilge Keep in the swamp, that thorn in the southern wood."

The Longspear licked his fingers and tasted the fat and salt of his catch. Raised his mug and looked around to make sure none sat too close.

"I will open my heart to you Arbogast of the Black Taryn, Yeoman of the Wood and keeper of the Flame. First and truest door warden of my own hall.

We must build for our people islands of refuge for our peoples in their dwelling places. I myself have sent to the Road Warden for a master mason. I seek the build a great burg, a millfort of men for my folk in the Greenstone land. A wall around it for the refuge of a great number of folk and cellars below for stores. For the protection of mine and those who may come to me. I do not seek to build a warren to hide in. Only a bulwark of stone like the dwarves for refuge so that I may endure while others come to my aid. So it is with axe and sheild. One defends the other thrusts. I will make ready a hold should the hammer fall on me, but also I must make ready to march to the aid of my allies who may take the blow before I. If each build a burg greater than their own need then the safety of neighbors is assured and if trapped faith, like at the Tarn, friends march to their relief. This is my vision for the march lands of the forest and river."

"I will name as ally any woodman hold that pledges the same for my people. A warchief among the woodmen who agreed with me would make this an easier task. If this is not to be then I shall try one hold at a time. And once more I extend to you in friendship, not in charity, a place for you and your family in any and all hours beneath any roof I hold any power over."

"We need to unite or perish. Mogdred will gnaw like a cur on a bone at anything left to him. His cut throats make us weaker when we could be stronger, in that he is right. He is right that we must join. However, its the darkness in him that twists a virtue into a vice. Like the love his father had for him. Even that he has now twisted to ill purpose. I confess that I hate the man, but my words are still true."

"Your offer is heart felt and appreciated Hathcyn." Responded the Woodman.

Hathcyn tossed the spine of the fish into the fire and stirred the coals with the spear before tossing it in.

"I also intend to ask a great favor of Ætheldreám. Though she doesnt know it yet."

The Firewatcher cocked his brow at this change of subject.

"She is not whole and something needs ro change for her. I thought to ask her to take several of my spearmen south. To make an introduction to the Lords of the Stone land so that they may learn their way of war and their wisdom. I would do this to enrich myself, but also to lever her into heading south again. I feel deeply she must see her own land again and then decide whether her place is here or there. I will ask her to nudge her and give her the choice to decide, but I think it best and this is partly a chance to compel her duty to step in the same way her heart directs."

Hathcyn pressed a larger and fuller mug into the hand of his friend.

"And now..."

Looked back and forth and side to side again.

"Let me tell you a tale. A tale worthy of the men they call Firewatchers. A tale that shall resound to your glory in the telling."

The Firewatcher was curious at this strange twist in the evening.

"Look me in the eye and know that I speak the truth. Look."

He paused.

"I was kissed by the river daughter Dusk-Shadow." 

Not long does it take for Verwyne to bring the crofters to lodge for a time beneath the richly-carven timbers of the house she shares with Aodhan and his kin, and to place the body of Viglar's man in the cool of the caves worn from the cliffs beneath Wuduseld.  Viglar is eyed warily by Hathcyn's few followers about the evening fire as he settles himself down, already asking for meat and ale. 

Shortly afterwards, Arbogast finds the Thane of the Greenstone.  "Much does it gladden me to see you safely returned, for when I learned you had departed in haste and without leaving word I feared greatly whatever may have moved you to do so.  But now I see the treasure you have won and praise you for the winning!  For Esgalwen has told me already the worthiest parts of his tale." 

His stomach rumbles at the scent of woodsmoke and cooked food, and though his face remains impassive his heavy eyelids speak volumes of the long discussions he has watched.  "For the greater part of the day," he sighs, "the elders have done little but bicker about protocol and precedence, and who should speak before whom.  I cannot but think that the Viglunding aethling's tale will prove a welcome change!  In my wildest fancies, I confess that I hope that alone will sway them to our way, but no doubt more words will need to be wielded before the prospect of Mogdred's kingship is truly banished.  Know this, my friend, he has not fled this place, though the news of your going and returning must surely have reached him.  Some design he must yet hold, and I have not yet riddled what it may be." 

"And it will be a new one soon enough," comments the elf idly.  "Send word to where the captives reside if you need me; I will remain with those we brought to ensure no further evil befalls them until their recounting is done.  I cannot say whether a draught of wakefulness to see you through the night or one of sleep, but either way, my friend, get some rest."