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.

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!" 


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. 

"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."

"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.

"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."

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."

"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."

"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."

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."

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. 


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.