Quote from: Telcontar on Jan 29, 2018, 10:22 AM"Come master bard! You have collected enough of our songs!" Called the tall man to the bard Tate. "These are well known to us and oft times repeated. Sing something about dark haired Dorwinion women who smell like the spices of Rhosgobel!"

Hathcyn pounded the table with his hand and took a moment to fill his mouth with salted fish and more mead.

"Ah!" Tate cried out in false astonishment at Hathcyn's words (for the women of Dorwinion were quite lovely). "Why would we sing, man, of Dorwinion weeds, when everyone knows that the finest flowers grow 'round Beorn's bees?"

Laughter broke out around, but was cut short by Hathcyn's loud introduction of Rorin.

Quote from: Telcontar on Jan 29, 2018, 10:22 AM"What's this!? The road wardens second! The font of coin and work, the despoiler of tree, root, and spider.  All hail Rorin the Roadmaker!"

As Grimbeorn turns to Rorin, the assembled guests noticeably relax, seeing that violence is no longer imminent.  Moments later, the hall once again rings with loud conversation and music, and the cask indicated by the host begins to be enthusiastically drained.  Nor does Rorin abstain, taking up a large drinking horn, tipped in brass and finely carved, that hangs from his belt and filling it with evident glee.  "By the stony road," he proclaims, "but reunions are thirsty work!"  

With waves to Tate and Hathcyn, among others, as he passes them, the Dwarf accompanies Grimbeorn.  "Bofri sent me," he explains, "after we received reports of trouble by the western edge of the forest.  Some of our distant kinfolk (from the Grey Mountains, originally, and now residing in the vales) were waylaid on their way back home from beginning the paving work.  If the report is to be believed, the assailants fled north with several captives.  We sent some of your people in our employ to search the area, of course, but they didn't find any sign of an outlaw camp."  

He drinks deeply and wipes his beard before continuing.  "When I heard that, I immediately thought of the vile folk we came across last May.  They may not be trading their captives for orcish coin any more, but it seems that your northern neighbours haven't stopped taking innocent folk as their thralls.  Depending on how far they've taken them, there may yet be time to organise a raid in force to free them before your folk have to turn to the harvest.  At the very least, I came to petition your father for some more warriors to guard the western end of the Road.  Tell me, is he about?"  


Take an AP in the Custom track for settling the confrontation without violence.  Mark off another one in Perception for the successful Awareness roll earlier, as well.  

  Who did you mean for the APs to go to?

"We, too, have heard similar tales about still," sighs the big man.  "I am sorry about your folk.  As for my father... it seems as though you are in search of me actually.  He has taken leave to do as he is wont and left me to address matters, like this festival and petty bickerings of thegns.  It seems as though no matter the good we do about these lands, there is still more evil to combat."

The APs were for you.  Now that I have access to your character sheet, I've marked them on there. 

"Would that your words were untrue," Rorin sighs.  "But still, when there is such work to be done, I would have none other than my boon companions at my side to do it!"  His smile fading, he adds "well then, if your father's not here, then I'll make the same request of you.  Think it over, and see if you can have an answer for me tomorrow morning.  It's a serious business if the road is preyed on by bandits and slavers before it's even complete, and King Dain is of no mind to send his own warriors so far from his kingdom's borders, with orcs once more massing in the mountains." 

Meanwhile, word of the commencement of the contests has spread from the hall and into the grounds, and men of lesser rank and fame have come trooping through the doors with empty cups and an expectation of entertainment from the best speakers among their folk and beyond.  Soon, the mead-cask is drained and those who would compete for the sickle begin to make their way to the porch, where a crowd is gathered in the light of bonfires to hear the speeches.  Before Grimbeorn can even announce the official beginning of the contest, young Harhold (who bears yet no byname) strides brashly forward.  "Gathered we are by the light of the smoke-fathers, beneath a silver-strewn sky," he begins, each of his kennings being greeted with a chorus of applause or jeers. 


Okay, some quick rules mechanics.  The contest is not limited to Beornings, so anyone who wants to take part can do so.  The contest is based around kennings and euphemism, the more elaborate the better, so it's based around Courtesy.  Those who want to compete will need to make three rolls, against TN 14, 16 and 18.  Anyone who beats all three will find themselves one of the final contestants. 

Obviously, there's plenty of other people to interact with while all this is going on, so feel free to seek out notable people (or each other) to speak to/seduce/beg for favours/whatever. 

Esgalwen watched from the side of the ring of tables and benches, sitting near the Rohirrim.

Men, she thought, no matter where they come from - either here in these simple houses or the high halls of Gondor, they are always blustering braggarts.

There were many men in the House of Beorn now and the mead had run its course, and so blood was high. She thought it better that she remain where she was and let them have their fun. She only hoped that as many as possible would leave the room tonight with all teeth intact.

---

Speaking of the Rohirrim - I am sorry, Paul. Above I took the narrative license to name him and make him a shepherd from the northern Wold. You might have had other plans for him, so feel to retcon my post if you need to.

Grimbeorn half-listened to the prose of man after man giving thought to Rorin's words.  While a particularly large and over-indulged contestant is hauled away after falling over his feet let alone words, Grimbeorn leans in to the Dwarf, "Aye, you will have aid from me, my people will aid as they so desire; only with attack or war imminent may I take direct command.  I will make a call for aid when this chicanery is through.  Regardless, those who assail others in my realm, irrespective of race, have forfeited much, if not their lives.  We shall see to that."

Rorin nods appreciatively.  "I have some authority to speak on behalf of the King Under the Mountain to the people west of the wood.  And I say to you that Erebor will not forget your friendship." 

Quote from: tomcat on Jan 31, 2018, 04:20 PM Speaking of the Rohirrim - I am sorry, Paul. Above I took the narrative license to name him and make him a shepherd from the northern Wold. You might have had other plans for him, so feel to retcon my post if you need to.

I've been doing that to you since the campaign got started! 

I'm going to wait a bit to see whether Hathcyn or Tate want to join in the festivities before I move the story on. 

  i would need three    to get anywhere, so no. Hathcyn while presenting a facade of bravura is actually unsure of his place and how to resond to the challenge he faced.

His oration at an end, Harhold leaves the impromptu stage to polite applause and finds a seat near Hathcyn.  "I think that I managed to get through that without bringing shame on my fam..." he says, before favouring his friend with an awkward glance.  "Sorry.  I meant no offence." 

He sits in uncomfortable silence while others take their turn upon the host's porch.  When it becomes clear that Gelvira Chalk-cutter will win this year, as she did last year and the year before, he points out the conversation between Grimbeorn and Rorin.  "What do you suppose they speak of," he asks.  "It is late in the year for more talk of work on the road.  Perhaps there is some secret doing afoot between them!  Did they not venture together to dangerous places in search of glory and treasure?  And no mean treasure did they find, if there be any truth to what I have heard!" 

He thumps Hathcyn on the shoulder (harder, perhaps, than he really means to).  "You should go with them!  What a way to restore your good name!  No, I am mistaken.  We should go with them!"


Thanks for the reminder!

Thump! went the last contestant, Old Harl, falling over before he could get a word out of his mouth.  Laughter all around including from the heir, he has yet to say one word in this contest in all the years his father has held it.  "So ends this contest with the usual tradition.  I have no doubt we all know who won this again... Gelvira! Men, beware the woman who can drink you under the table and still outwit the lot of you sober.  Now that you've had a bit of time to sober up or not," he says looking on to the form of Old Harl being drug off to his chair, "it is time for the next event, the Contest of the Eagle -- which of you has the keenest, the quickest eye."

  How much of the contests do you want to RP, how long will they take, and how much of the day is left?

Hathcyn slapped his companion on the shoulder.

"Truly! We should offer our help to our host if for his excellent drink if nothing else."

  paul, can you list the events and applicable skills for them so that I can make a better informed decision.

  No!!! Late to the party it seems. Sorry, I wasn't able to post last night. Tate would have taken part. If there's still time, here's Tate's rolls; otherwise, please disregard.

Round 1 - TN 14



Round 2 - TN 16



Round 3 - TN 18

  Haha! Success! I'm willing to let it stand that the Beorning woman bests Tate. I have a sneaky suspicion our GM has a practiced knack with kennings. Poor Tate would be put to shame...