The Doom-Ring at Wuduseld

[Eclecticon]

The lady patted her friend on the shoulder and smiled, saying softly, "Your people could have no better leader and guardian than you."

Arbogast neither nods nor smiles, but says, his voice level, "You speak perhaps too soon.  Much work is there to be done first."


Tom, I like your idea of using Rorin as a go-between.  Is there anything else that people want to do before I move the story on?

[tomcat]

I am going to be posting today where Esgalwen is going to go talk to Mogdred, unless you prefer that happen at a later time. My post will not be up until tonight, my time, so if you prefer not - go ahead and move the story on and I will know.

[Eclecticon]

As evening closes in about the small town of Men and the land beneath the leaves and branches of Mirkwood darkens to a nigh-subterranean gloom, the merry-making carries on at a measured pace, new loaves being broken and ale-kettles brought forth to keep the feast-day alive.  At last, as those of lower station begin to drift away to their own hearths, the high and honoured guests are bade to enter Wuduseld itself to see the beginning of the solemn business of the hour. 

Inside, the figures carven upon walls and pillars dance and shift in the flickering firelight and smoky air, bringing to life tales of deeds both dark and noble.  Among them, the assembled elders of the Woodmen watch as the Great War-Horn of the Hunter, long the token of the War-Leader of the folk, is lain upon an empty seat in the place of honour.  Almost within arm's reach sits Mogdred, clad in fabric well-woven and richly-dyed, the light reflecting from a bejewelled crown set upon his brow. 
Hardly further away sits Caewin, a pleasant smile upon his face and the Helm of Peace held by a man standing behind him. 

The murmur of conversation falls silent as an old man (Artamud, Hathcyn vaguely recalls) stands to recite the words that will begin the ceremony.  "Ingomer, son of Laudomer, whom Men named for the Axebreaker, is gone from Middle-Earth, and the seat of the War-Leader stands empty.  But sore are the folk beset.  Will any man stand to lead our warriors in this time of trial?" 

Mogdred is out of his seat with great haste, besting Caewin who has also begun to rise.  "I am Mogdred, and Ingomer was my father," he begins. 

Gwaithlim, his ears already pricked and alert, hears a nearby woman whisper "He looks more like Ingomer than the old Axebreaker himself did, toward the end!"

Mogdred continues with a short recitation of his deeds.  "In the south, I have gathered the dispirate, the broken and the lost to my hall, and in doing so have brought forth a new kingdom that has proven itself in war against many enemies.  The heads of orc-kind I brought as a gift in this place thirteen years ago as proof of my wishes for your weal, but the folk moot of that day cared not to count me as one of you.  Yet know this: when I led your sons alongside my own warriors to victory at the ford of the Anduin, I did so as a Woodman, and the spoils of the victory I shared freely with those who followed me!" 

Realisation dawns upon Esgalwen, the taste of roasted beef still filling her mouth.  Of course!  The Woodmen are shepherds, not keepers of cattle.  This is Grimbeorn's ransom for the Old Ford upon our plates!  And with more still he has bought the love of the young warriors, promising them great fame and fortune in his service I have no doubt.

"Take me as your War-Leader," Mogdred says, "and my kingdom shall be your kingdom.  Together, united as one, we shall have such strength as no foe will dare to challenge." 

A round of raucous applause follows the end of his speech, many beating cups and knife-hilts upon tables to increase the din.  Before it has died out, however, Caewin is upon his feet.  "I am Caewin, Lord of the Sunstead, whom Men name for the Generous.  Well do you know the truth of that name!  Even now, your granaries burst with my gifts of good-will, and more treasures have I brought: fine cloth and wine brought from far-away lands by the merchants of Esgaroth, and Dwarf-wrought silver and gold from the forges of Erebor!  The friendship of all peoples I have cultivated, and great kings now await only my call to lend their aid in blades and warriors to wield them!" 

Abruptly, he turns and seizes his helm from the hands of its bearer.  "Here, too, is the token by which I won peace for my folk - and for all my folk! - from the depredations of fell spirits and the dark things of the wood!  For know this: though terrible things may dwell in the darkness, I have the wisdom and the lore with which to keep them at bay, and nothing more need we fear, for ourselves and our kin, were I to speak to the wood-wights and spiders with all of the Woodman clans at my back!" 

More applause greets his words as a third man stands: bald of pate, red of beard, his girth and heavy arms mark him out among a slight and rangy folk.  "Munderic is my name," he cries out in a heavy baritone, "whom Men name for the Ponderous!  And true is this name, too, for I have claimed the hero's portion at many feasts.  The greatest warrior of Wuduseld am I, and I would guess that not a single man here could best me: not out-wrestle me, nor cast further a spear nor split as many shields as I can!" 

"Nor out-drink you!" comes a cry from close to the door, to a scattering of laughter. 

"Nay, nor that neither!" Munderic replies, accepting the compliment.  "Many of you...  ah...  Many..." he pauses a moment. 

Luindîs hisses "He's forgotten his lines!  These are not his words, but someone else's taught to him by rote!" 

"You all remember that, when the news came that Black Tarn Hall was under attack, it was I who Ingomer chose to lead the army to relieve our southern cousins, he being by then too ill to do it.  Many of you fought alongside me in that battle and saw that ever I had a pile of slain goblins before me.  Give me the title, give me the horn, and this I vow: that my fell hand will never falter, nor my stout shield ever slip from its protection of you and yours." 

Some cheers erupt in reply, and there does come clapping of hands, but markedly less so than met the words of the first two speakers.  Then come a few moments of silence but for the crackling of the fire-pit.  Across the flames and the wavering air, Amaleoda rises and, with a pointed glance in the direction of the Fellowship, loudly asks "Is there any other who would stand?" 

Gwaithlim casts a sidelong glance at Arbogast, for now his surely his moment to speak, but the Fire-watcher's face is that of one stricken.  He sees Hathcyn elbow him in the ribs, but perhaps even the Longspear cannot hear his friend say "Before the folk-moot I stood, years ago, but my words could not sway them.  I cannot..."   


Oh crap!  Arbogast is having an attack of the Shadow-weaknesses!  Someone needs to jump in and prod him into action or he'll dither his chance away. 

EDIT:  Doug, Esgalwen will get her chance to speak to Mogdred after this little bit of drama concludes.

[Telcontar]

  Question, has anyone actually told Hathcyn that Arbogast was in the running?

[Telcontar]

The Wood-men were fond of dogs and they had a great many big shaggy hounds that went to the wood with their masters and were known to slay spiders on their own. There were many here in the hall as the meeting began. One great beast was near at hand after Hathcyn spoke.

His hand fell to the beast and started scratching it behind the ears. As the talk continued in the hall he knelt down beside the beast to look at it face to face.
 
"Hail Hound of the Wood, spider killer!"

The head of the hound cocked to one side as understanding dawned in its face that this man spoke plainly and clearly.
"I am Poor-Nose, friend to Sardoc of the Honey-Hall. Greetings."

"Poor-nose, your friend is known to russ."

"I have a favor to ask, and will give bones to you and all who will share in the task."

"Rut do you ask?" the hound questioned cautiously.

"A game. A game between me and another of the men-folk, but one in which you could gain. See the mean one with crown, the one who spoke first? I'll give a bone to any dog that starts to bark whenever he is speaking.  The louder and longer the bigger the bone."

The tail of the hound wagged quickly back and forth. "A game, a man-folk game. A game for bones? Alucard will bark. Alucard will howl!"

The hound Alucard made a laughing noise.

"Good, tell the others and I will leave out bones for you near the gate. With plenty of meat left too."

The Foresthelm stood and went back to the proceedings. A small smile on his face at what would soon occur. "All my clever words and to vex him you asked. Well, a shall prick his pride again Wife-father, the Fox will spar before even the fight begins." he thought.

Hathcyn stalled for time. "Atarmund!" The Foresthelm called out loudly. The crowd now not sure if Amaleoda looked to him or the Firewatcher.

"Your wisdom is sage and your years in the hall long. I am an outsider to the Wood-men, may any here speak or must they be a chief of one of the wood-men? Though I do not wish to speak, it has been so long since the Moot for War Chief has been held there are few here other then you that know the proper forms and ways. Pray, enlighten us strangers and those too young to recall how this is to proceed before the lords and men of the hall descend into speeches and boasts out of turn."

[Eclecticon]

I love everything about this.

[tomcat]

Esgalwen stood when Amaleoda's question went unanswered, knowing the intent of the thane of Black Tarn.

"Aye, there is one more that will stand... as he has always stood... between you and the enemy. Always has he kept the best interest of the people of the vale at heart. And not just his people - family and clansmen - but all of the clans, as well as those that do not call themselves a woodman!"

The tenor of her voice climbed, as did the passion in her heart, "Always has he sought peace for the vale, but never feared to take up arms in its defense. He has stood against man. Orc. Spider. And the dead.

"I was there with him when the Toft-men tried to sack Stánford, and they were repelled! I was beside him, in the darkness of the crypt, when the dead tried to wrest control of one here who makes claim. I was beside him when the great beast of Mirkwood was slain." A murmur filled the room at the mention of the terrible creature that had once haunted the lands. "And I was there when he helped save the spirits of the Black Tarn by confronting the Parliament of Spiders. Through all this he had to fight for his home, his family, and his kin - and he suffers the loss of his own child.

"Through it all, he never did it for gain!" Esgalwen's eyes fell on Ceawin. "He never did it for power," and she found Mogdred's eyes. "He did it for love of his home and the people that reside here, with the simplest of goals - to build a home, take a wife, and raise a family. Not unlike most of you in this room!"

The Ranger stood quiet for a moment, noticing the room was now hushed. She had their attention. She let her chin fall and her voice softened. "I do not speak for him as might a herald. It is his voice you need hear, but he does not hesitate to speak out of fear... that has never been his way. If there could be any reason that I could give, it would be humility." Esgalwen met Arbogast's eyes. "Humility... for my friend Arbogast, even now, questions has he done enough?

"Has he given enough of himself? Has he paid the price? The price needed to gain the wisdom to be the best to lead you. And I say he has! You will all be foolish to not hear his words."

The Lady of Gondor returned to where she sat. She looked at Arbogast and gave him a confident nod, then cried out to the chamber, "Will you not hear him?!"

[tomcat]

I am going to make an Inspire roll to see how she comes across.
TN ?? inspire 2d (noble lineage trait)

2d12 : 12, 8, total 20
Rolled 2d6 : 3, 3, total 6

[tomcat]

Well - she pulled off a but nothing to make it a greater success.

[Eclecticon]

Not a bad roll!  I'm happy for you to tag her Fair trait for a second AP () because, as the music industry saying goes, sometimes it's not about what you say, it's about how you look saying it.   

Question, has anyone actually told Hathcyn that Arbogast was in the running?

Unless you have a reason not to want him to know that, I'm happy to assume that a discussion took place between the characters not unlike the one we had out of character. 

[Eclecticon]

Hathcyn's question meets a swift response from Artamud.  "A wise request indeed.  Hear then the law of the folk!"  He spreads his hands wide above his head and leaves them there as he recites the ancient ways of the Woodmen: "The elders of each clan shall choose from among the warriors one to set above the rest, and to lead the fyrd into battle.  This choosing is for the term of their life, and into their hands shall be set the power to bid others follow them to victory or to death.  For this reason, no clan, nor kindred, nor man must be set against them and they shall be chosen by the whole of the council, every voice as one, or not at all." 

As soon as he takes his seat once again, Esgalwen is on her feet, her fair face golden in the firelight, her hair agleam as she rehearses the deeds of the Fire-watcher.  At first, her subject squirms on his bench, eyes tight-shut and face averted.  But as if carried by the scent of wood long nourished on the waters of his homeland, or the sounds of familiar tongues, the long-ago words of Bandobras come to him across the years: One day, you will be a leader among your people. I can see that.  You may have to join the shield wall on occasion, but your greatness will be in your words and in your council.  Until then, rely on the fellowship of your friends.

"Yes!" comes the scratchy-voiced cry of Hartfast amid a growing number of others as he comes back from his own memory.  "Let him speak!" 

Before they can begin to chant his name, Arbogast rises, his face showing clearly a new resolve.  "Friends and kinfolk," he begins, perhaps too softly, "I am Arbogast, son of Arbodag, whom Men name for the Fire-watcher.  I..."

His eyes widen as he searches for the right words.  "All that my friend, herself a heroine famed in tales told from here to the Lonely Mountain and back, says is true.  I have sought no great name, nor rich fortune, but only to protect those who I could, and to avenge those who I could not." 

Warming at last to his speech, he meets the eyes of the others who have stood and made their claims.  "The Lady Ætheldreám speaks of the price paid to reach this day.  I say to you, kinfolk of Balthi, there may yet come a day when all of us are called upon to pay a price.  A geld beyond reckoning for our kin, for the glory of our halls and for the life we have desired to live.  Know this: that should that day come it shall not find me wanting.  Whatever price is due, I shall pay, and I shall do so with my voice raised in song." 

Arbogast's voice rises above a growing chorus of murmurings.  "On that day, I shall sing of the Woodmen!  I shall sing of the courage of those who, alone of all Men, have dared to dwell within Mirkwood and to make of it their home and sanctuary!  I shall sing of the fortitude of those who, with little but stout shields and the strength of their hearts, have withstood the fangs of wolf and spider, and the swords of orcs and wicked Men!  I shall sing of the light of the Lamp, and the glorious tales of those who brought it forth from darkness, and who keep it to this day!"


Okay, thanks guys.  My moment of grandstanding is now over.   

[Telcontar]

"The Tarn and the Warchief!" Cried the Foresthelm.

The mind of the Longspear churned over what Artamund had said. Was there an advantage buried somewhere in their, he thought maybe there was.

He looked around the gathering and leaned in to one of the woodmen near him and said,

"Who speaks for Woodman-hall in this council, who is their elder now that Ingomer has gone?"

[Eclecticon]

The one he turns to, a young woman with her hair braided in the fashion of the shieldmaidens of the wood, regards the Foresthelm with something approaching scorn.  "Why, nobody!  Have you not heard?  We are a folk without kings, and even in the least of our halls every toothless crone and misty-eyed greybeard demands their say.  Had they the sense to simply choose Mogdred, we would have a king at last and all this faffery would be done away with!" 

Surely not every last crone and greybeard, is it? the Longspear thinks to himself as he looks around the assembly in the hall.  I count here seven and thirty grey-hairs in places of honour.  These, surely are those whose hearts we must court.


Tom has figured out one of the things you'll be able to do as you go: with an extended Insight task (requiring three successes) you'll get a feel for the current spread of opinion among the Woodmen's wrinkly-faced electors.  You'll be able to make a roll every couple of hours (so, one roll tonight and another after a few hours of observing the doom-ring proceedings tomorrow). 

[Telcontar]

  going to have a Odysseus moment here, bear with me.

"Artamund, again I rise to speak. Pray all here excuse me for I do not know your ways as well as a native woodman does and many years have passed since last there was a need for this council. The Law-giver says 'from among their warriors'. Was not Ingomer first warlord and then came to be chief of Woodman-hall through wisdom and age?

 By your words must not the elders nominate among their warriors as Amaleoda has done?

We could perhaps overlook the fact that a chieftain has nominated themselves, but does not the position of chieftain of a folk invalidate a claim to war-chief? True Ingomer was both, but he was unique among men and perhaps the council was not so accurate in his day so as to keep to the traditions of the people. Was it not wisdom of the before-comers that established that the war-chief not be swayed by the needs of just one settlement, that which they also governed?

By your rendering of the law however the only real candidate that has been put forward is The Firewatcher of the Black Tarn. These times are full of troubles and the War-chief is unlikely to be idle and I may have misheard the law. Would it not be better and best for the Woodmen that the war-chief not have responsibility over one settlement, but to keep all the Wood-men in mind?

Let the deliberations be clear and ancient customs adhered to from the ouset to avoid confusion later."

[Eclecticon]

Interesting.  Do you mind if I ask where Hathcyn's going with this?  Is this a good-faith attempt to have everyone else disqualified?