Lore - 1d12 : 8, total 8
Rolled 3d6 : 1, 6, 3, total 10

Try to determine an answer as to how to best nullify the dark effects of the helm.  I am assuming its unmaking.

Hathcyn pondered but his question was blunt and to the point, "can it be cleansed and how do we do so? If we take it by force it may break his mind and seems unkind. In a way this brings to mind something Beorn said, about the Werewolf being a fell spirit of possession. Maybe the elders have knowledge of this but I do not."

Gwaithlim responds, "I fear that the lord in is thrall to one, if not more, fell spirits when he dons the helm.  Like any such item tainted by the Shadow, it weighs on his mind even to don it again, to feel its power and use it.  As you said Esgalwen, these folk are no longer a threat to us but they are to the Shadow and its memory is long.  I suspect it remembers the breach of ancient fealty and so wishes their doom.  Sowing discord amongst the Free Folk is ever on the mind of such dark threats."

Hours later, the camp is made and many already lie asleep, the night giving all signs of being cool and comfortable with bright stars overhead flickering through the smoke of well-banked fires.  Mirkwood, and thoughts of the dark things that dwell within, is miles away and few will keep the watch through the dark hours.  Here and there, the soft wind brings snatches of song in a foreign tongue to the ears of the company from the campsite of the strangers and their herd. 

"Who are they, anyway?" asks Luindîs. 

"They are Erringmen," answers Esgalwen, "wandering herders who venture up and down the Anduin valley.  Hundreds of years ago, in old days even as the annals of Gondor reckon it, their ancestors were the Wainriders, who ravaged and conquered before being driven out at last.  I do not know the details, but they are certainly no threat to the folk of the vales today!" 

"Both things are true," Arbogast adds, stirring himself from what many might have assumed was slumber.  "For a lifetime of Men, or so it is said, they ruled the lands east and west of the forest, keeping the Northmen in their cruel thrall.  It was this rule that drove the builders of the lost city in the shadow of Mount Gundabad to abandon their halls and ride south.  But now they are few, and no longer serve the Shadow, and need not be feared." 

"Then why," asks the ever-curious she-Elf, "should our richly-helmed companion seek to raise his hand against them?" 

Then let's move things on!

  Yes, Gwaithlim will share what he learns but in the quiet secrecy of the group, this isn't an out loud time to share... yet.

  Matt, are you going to share what you learned about the helm?

They had largely settled down after Luindîs' harping, but Hathcyn's words have shifted their mood from confused to sheepish and embarrassed.  In the absence of clear orders from Caewin, they're looking to you guys for direction at this point. 

  you asked for a roll to inspire the men instead of Caewin. Did Hathcyns appeal have any effect on the followers?

"Peace.   Enough words have been spoken," Caewin says, lifting high his hand to show it holds no sword or spear.  "You are right, my good friends, as ever, and you have given me much to think on." 

Without further word he dismounts and doffs his helm, a smile returning at last to his face.  As Arbogast approaches with a quizzical look, he adds "I think perhaps my thoughts of perhaps becoming war leader of our folk darkens my thoughts, and I put too much credence in tales of wars fought long ago and by other Men." 


We've reached the time limit (based on the highest Valour or Woodman Standing) without quite reaching the success target, but Caewin seems to have calmed his farm, so I'm sure that's completely alright and nothing else need worry you. 

I'll move the story on unless anyone has some reactions to add.