Year 2947: Theft of the Moon

[Vladim]

Nori looks relieved as Idunn assumes responsibility for introducing the fellowship to the Thane, the dwarf exhaling through his nose quickly and his shoulders noticeably relaxing. Yes, he wasn't looking forward to having to be a spokesperson. So now, instead, he falls in behind Idunn as she approaches her cousin and brings attention to their little group.

[Vladim]

Borin followed along with the others, listening to Hartwulf's tale about the sickle. "If I won it, it could be a powerful negotiating item," he thought to himself. The dwarf kept his counsel to himself, his face blank behind his helm. At the sight of Viglund's representative, he frowned slightly; they'd already heard enough about the man to gather they probably wouldn't like this representative very much. But, there was a chance the man wasn't as bad as Borin assumed; the least the dwarf could do was give the man a chance. At least one.

The sight of the children playing sent a pang of regret through Borin's heart. It always surprised the dwarf slightly when he saw just how quickly humans produced children, especially compared to his own people. The fact that Borin hadn't managed to find a wife of his own didn't help matters. That thought caused the dwarf to frown even more, this time at himself. He had a mission! He couldn't think about settling down and having a family, not until his homeland was restored! No matter how much he might want to...Borin followed after Idunn and Nori silently, the frown still on his face as he approached the table.

[Vladim]

Almarion listened with interest. Such a tool would permit someone to grow at least two crops instead of one. Maybe more than two given the right type of crop. She was no farmer but she knew that this would protect against bad years and in good years would give a surplus to sell on. Guaranteed safety and prosperity. She wondered at the trust extended by the Bear Lord to his subjects to let such a valuable item out of his hands. No doubt that kind of action was why the man generated such loyalty amongst his people. The Bear Lord was indeed a man to learn from and admire.

[Vladim]

"Current Marshall? Why that would be..." Hartwulf furrowed his brows and tapped his forehead, preventing Ragnar from squirming with the other. "Ah yes, Torbald. He is famous for making excellent jam. He should arrive to make a speech and present the Sickle to the next winner tomorrow." As the old man talks, Merovech shifts his seat aside and slowly walks up to Idunn, studying her face with narrowed eye for a moment. In the next, he is overcome by laughter and scoops her into a bear hug.

"Hah! Been a long time, little cousin! Almost didnt recognize you - but your eyes give you away!" He let go after clapping her on the shoulder: "Well! Come on, then, tell me what'd happened to you, how you are... What brings you here? Did you meet my wife?" The man practically exudes confidence and merriment, his sour mood gone like it was never there to begin with. Guthred's expression changes to a sneer, but Merovech has his back turned and doesnt seem to see it. The Beorning is far more busy greeting Idunn and everyone else. He is overeager an much friendlier than first seen. "So, who are your friends? What brings you to our neck of the woods? Dont tell me the word of the festival had spread so far and wide it's now as well-known as the Feats last November! Did you meet my son?... And our guests?"

[Vladim]

As soon as her cousin speaks, Idunn at once recalls her childhood memories. What she thought was forgotten now returns as vivid, happy scenes in Mountain Hall, and the behaviour of her cousin becomes at once familiar. She returns the embrace, though she cannot match Merovech’s strength, and a smile forms on her lips-a rare occurrence for someone as serious and gruff as her.

’Cousin!’ she says, happily. ’I have met Ava and your father-in-law, and I see now that you have a son. She is a kind woman, much like her father. You have done well for yourself,’ she concludes, ’and I am happy for you.’

She turns to her companions and introduces them all by their name, but chooses not to speak much on their behalf, for surely they can speak for themselves. ’We were sent here by Hartfast, who remains our chieftain. My dwarven friends are expanding the mines of Mountain-Hall, and the old man is looking to expand trade with the Beornings. But I am happy to see you, for much else has happened, and I am sure you have much to say too. Perhaps we can speak after finding some place by the fire for my tired friends.’

She casts a sideways glance to Viglund's thane, remembering Magric's words about the Viglundings. For a moment she contemplates ignoring the cruel-looking man, but good manners dictated she indroduce herself. So, after supressing her enthusiasm for meeting her cousin, she walks over and offers Guthred her name.

[Vladim]

The dwarf with the rust colored hair gives a few nods of the head as Hartfast drops Torbald's name. Who the current marshall is might be of some significance, and it does hurt to have a starting point. But beyond that, Nori remains silent as the group approaches the table where Merovech and Guthred. Nori stands behind Idunn as introductions are made, giving the Thane a bow of the head as he's introduced as a 'dwarven friend', but remains silent - letting the woman with the "in" speak for the group.

[Vladim]

Besides the matter of her cousins, Bella had no other real worries but attending to her Fellowship. She went to find her fellows and she how should could be of assistance...

[Vladim]

Borin nodded his head to Merovech as the Bride gave his name to her cousin. However, he remained silent like his cousin. He had little to add to their conversation, and knew Idunn likely wanted more time to speak with her cousin. Besides, the Grey Mountain dwarf was keeping an eye on this other Man. He disliked the expression on the man's face, and was considering beating some respect into him if his attitude didn't change. But, that probably go over well with the rest of the humans, and would hurt their mission. So he settled on glowering at the man for the time being.

[Vladim]

The Rohirrim was unsatisfied with Hartwulf's answer - he wanted specifics on the festival right now, not its history, which was barely a couple years old. In theory, it should have been the story he should care about most, being a bard - bur currently, it seemed that his profession took a step back to his desire to have fun. It didnt seem, after all, like the Beornings would have a Festival similar to the Eafolc - which meant no drinking or pie-eating contest, and the thought of a best dancer competition here made him break out into a coughing fit to hide his laughter as he imagined it - but that made it all the more interesting! What did these people, which he knew little of, who have not been together long, consider a fun pastime? How would their story develop? The smile, and in general, the friendly, open manner he witnessed from Idunn was something new to him, despite knowing her for a while now. It was good to see that she could relax like this. He watched the scene silently until Merovech had asked after them, so he stepped forward: "Gramtyng, son of Fastred. I am a Bard of the Golden Hall, and I hail from the Mark. If you require songs, I would be happy to provide. As for the fame of it - Magric here told us about it."

Merovech smiled broadly at his cousin, recalling to mind the serious little girl he used to play with sometimes - she'd grown enough for him to be hard to recognize her; but blood would always recognize blood, he reasoned. He looked over her companions with interest, not bothering to hide his surprise: After all, the sheer diversity of the group was near abnormal: Two dwarves, who his chief did not welcome much, but whom he respected. A hobbit, who he'd always expected to stay home, wherever that was - over the mountains? Or so they kept assuring him, but recently, all that was proven false. The woman he could not read, might have been a Woodsman or of Laketown, maybe... Magric he knew well, and nodded to him. And the man he thought was from Dale until he announced otherwise. "You're all a far ways from home, huh? Well." He knelt lightly beside the girl, poking her in the shoulder, making her turn a bit, shyly, and Beorn's Thane to chuckle at her reaction: "Thats Aestid." He got up, dusting off his knee, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder: "That's Guthred the Cu..."

"Lets not lie to your cousin upon your tearful reunion, shall we, Merovech?" Guthred moved entirely differently from how one expected him to with that kind of large body. The Viglunding was graceful, his movements almost catlike - not one shift of muscles was wasted. As a result, he moved with surprising speed, his expression now changed to that which was supposed to be a pleasant smile, but fell somewhat short due to the sheer amount of scars on his face, and the way his eyes stared ahead, as if he'd been looking somewhere beyond. "My name is Guthred the Wicked, and no matter how you all try to hide your knowledge of that, it is plain to see and hear." He ceased the effort his smile required, dropping it entirely, his face returning to what must have been his usual, somewhat bored, expression: "I've received it for quick thinking and decisive measures, though it was meant as an insult... But I consider it a compliment. Now... If you're done, we should return to our talk." He walked back over to the desk and settled down, pouring himself some ale.

"I'll... Go back to Ava. She probably needs my help." Hartwulf clapped Merovech on the shoulder encouragingly, nodded to him and then waving to the companion, before departing. Merovech simply sighed, relaxing when his father-in-law did so - previously, when Guthred walked up, his face deadened momentarily, as if expecting something. "...Ragnar, help me out, show them upstairs - there should be plenty of beds. Cousin..." He turns to Idunn: "There's a lot of things I want to talk about and ask you, but in Beorn's absence, I have to be act by my duty as Thane... Perhaps later tonight, or tomorrow, we can talk about what's happened since. I cant tell you how happy I am to see you again, and how good to hear it is that Mountain Hall wants better ties to us all. It is great that it was me who had to do this; usually I travel all over the Beorning lands, carrying out Beorn's law." At this, a short cough, almost like a laugh, sounds from behind, but Merovech does not react, instead nodding to the group, and heading back over to resume the discussion.

Ragnar walks over to the group, scratching the back of his head: "Well, lets go! Da says I should show you around, so thats what I'm gonna do!" He knocked himself on the chest proudly and grabbed Aestid by the hand, running to the wooden stairs leading to the second floor. The girl seemed to hesitate, looking back at Guthred, but then was pulled a bit and ran along with the boy, racing up the stairs. If anyone had been looking at the Viglunding in that moment, they would have seen his face darken with some emotion not easily understandable - but only for a moment. In the next, he'd calmly put down his mug of ale and resumed a quiet conversation with Merovech.

[Vladim]

Idunn carefully listens to what her cousin has to say, as she is eager to hear all that has happened to him ever since he left the Woodmen. Their reunion is cut short, at least for the time being, when Guthred interrupts him. She immediately remembers why she was sent here, and her first impression of the Viglunding confirms her fears and suspicions. She gives the man a cold stare as he tells his part, and when he is finished, she speaks.

’I shall not disturb you, then-I see you have important matters to discuss.’ she says coldly, before turning to Merovech. 'Seek me out tonight, cousin, after your duties are dealt with.' she says, and then follows Ragnar upstairs.

(Upstairs)

As the Woodswoman arranges her few belongings in the room, she is visibly nervous. She places her weapons and travelling gear by her bed, but decides to hide the dragon-scale under the mattress, feeling that others might want to steal it. The huntress is not particularly difficult to read, and any of her companions that care to pay attention can most likely tell that it is her encounter with Guthred that has unsettled her.

After about an hour has passed, Idunn decides to 

I’ll post something in the dice thread

sneak downstairs and try to listen to Guthred and Merovech’s conversation, under the pretence of checking what her cousin is doing.

[Vladim]

Perhaps sensing Idunn's contempt for the Viglunding, Nori prepares to intervene. Stepping forward slightly, he positions a portion of his stocky frame as an obstacle between the two - not enough to act as a wall, but if one of them should lunge at the other, they would find their path impeded. Hearing Idunn verbally bow out of the conversation and seeing Guthred turn away from them, Nori lets out a sigh of relief, but holds his hand out as a weak rope to guide Idunn away and towards the path Ragnar takes them on.

Upstairs

Either to distract himself or just preoccupied with the rooms, Nori begins complaining to whoever will hear him about the shoddy workmanship of the beds and other sparsely placed furniture. He proceeds to busy himself with making 'minor' repairs that should moderately improve the functionality and comfort of their lodgings for the evening. And while he does notice Idunn making her way back to the stairs, he says nothing of her departure - she is her own woman and it is, after all, her cousin. Not being one for sneaking himself though, he does prepare for the worst case scenario. While leveling the leg of a chair, he sets his axe up against the nearby door frame, leaving it ready should the need arise.

[Vladim]

The Grey Mountain dwarf watched the Viglunding warily, sensing the man's disrespect and hostility towards them. Of course, he seemed the type to feel that way towards everyone, so at least it wasn't personal. He relaxed slightly as they made their up the stairs, glad to be away from the situation. That feeling of relief left in a hurry when Idunn brushed past him to head back towards the stairs. Sighing, he stood in the open doorway to their room, leaning against the doorframe, one hand on his axe handle, one ear out for signs of trouble.

[Vladim]

Almarion measured the man who called himself The Wicked. She knew naught of the history of his nickname but movements showed him to be a veteran warrior and his manner a man who was a pragmatist and liked to get things done with no fuss and no argument. She respected that. It was a leaders role to make the difficult decisions regardless of who it was going to offend. As to the obvious tension, it did not concern her. The politics of a tribe were their own business. Still, she noted Nori's move to intervene and remained ready to help if the worst should happen.

She was relieved nothing did and headed up the stairs with the rest, last as usual. She moved aside to let Idunn go back downstairs and nodded in understanding, continuing on to find a bunk to rest upon.

[Vladim]

Gramtyng spent some time tuning his lute as he felt some tension was lost after the day of travel. It always took him a decent amount of time, but the process always held some manner of odd fascination for the bard. He lovingly stroked the strings, humming an old tune under his nose - something Aldor had taught him ages ago when he was first taught how to handle an instrument and found it incredibly dull. Back in those days, he was but an impatient brat who could force a lute to make somewhat satisfactory sounds, but never maintain it in good shape for long - but what did he care, if a handful of coins and a short trip would have it fixed again? His teacher actually lectured him back then about how he was being a moron - he recalled with a half-smirk as the old man kicked the fence he'd sat on, causing it to waver, sending the young bard into a horse trough, and earning the ringing laughter of the girl he'd been trying to impress.

Fingers moving mechanically, Gramtyng was finishing his work just as he'd heard Idunn walk past him from the other room into the hallway and towards the stairs. Cocking his head a bit, the Rohirrim attempted to understand what it was that was strange about this picture - the footsteps and posture of his friend seemed a little... off. She was moving somewhat carefully and slowly - did he hurt her foot or something else? Or perhaps... Was she trying to sneak? The floor's creaking would likely give away any attempt to do such a thing a bit further down the stairs - before she'd done something she might regret, perhaps he ought to have stopped her or... Heh, no. Grinning, the bard got up and tapped Magric on a shoulder: "Lets go get a drink. Feelin' like I need to sample some of the Beorning mead a little early - whaddya say? It any good?" The other man shrugged, not understanding the bard's intent and made a distracted, puzzled face - clearly, the trapper was thinking of something else, and if his facial expression was any indication, it was something entirely unpleasant. "It's got more honey in it. You know what..." He paused. "Hold that thought. Go and get a drink, I need to head out for a bit."

Gramtyng shrugged, not understanding the sudden desire to leave when it was already dark outside, but the hunter kept his own counsel. He'd simply gotten up and began walking at a liesurly pace after Idunn - if she DID get spotted, his sudden appearance might have been enough to help her out and distract the two below - after all, if there was anything he knew how to do, it was distract!

Merovech raised his head as he heard Gramtyng's voice humming something so terribly off-key even the Beorning, whose taste in songs was less than refined, had winced at this display, and cut off his sentence mid-word. Guthred looked half-displeased, half in disbelief, with a raised eyebrow, and Gramtyng passed Idunn on the stairs just before she entered the view of the two men, winking at her along the way, and continuing his way until he stopped by the stand with the large barrels. Merovech broke the awkward silence: "You need a drink, friend? Help yourself, mugs are over there. Our usual man who handles this sort of thing is already asleep." Guthred snorted at this, muttering something under his nose, but fell silent after a sharp glare from Merovech. At about this time, Magric had chosen to ignore the stairs and leap directly out of a back window in one of the rooms.

"Some innkeep... Lazy." The man muttered quite audibly, but not as loud as to think he'd done it on purpose. "Listen, Thane, I dont really care if we're overheard - I just want to know how you're justifying your denial of letting me and mine compete in this... Friendly little contest?" He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, shrugging at Merovech's incredulity. "...While simultaneously wanting to host this little uh, troupe of yours led by your... Cousin, was it? Seems like a strange distribution of judgement from the Great Bear Lord... or is this one of your own famous Judgements?" He puts a great deal of spite into the last part of his words.

[Vladim]

The Company enjoyed a bit of restful sleep at the Beorning inn - a rare thing to be found these days. Beorning beds were simple, but the faint, non-intrusive aroma of honey that emanated from the sturdy wooden frames eased the sleep of any who rested on them. After awakening, a simple but ample breakfast awaited them downstairs, with meat being absent from the menu, much to the bard's disappointment. Honey seemed to be a recurring theme, including the twicebaked honeycakes that Beornings had been famous for. There was little in terms of alcohol, perhaps as a precaution that nobody start celebrating the Festival of the Moon a bit early.

The morning had been blessed with a warmth uncommon for this time in autumn, the town having already awoken and people rushing to Stonyford's main square, which held a small stage, an elderly man standing upon it, looking slight nervous as he glanced at the sky in suspicion. The sky, however, hadn't a single cloud in it: it promised to be a nice, clear day. Magric's is easily located in the crowd of Beornings due to the difference in attire and hair color, and seems to be simply leaning against the stage, idly carving a piece of wood with his dagger into the shape of a raven. Ava and Merovech are both with the man on stage - from their conversation, it seems clear his name is Torbald, and he is the Marshall. Torbald begins to speak when he sees enough of the people gather.

"Friends and compatriots!" He began, smoothing his beard. "I have come before you today to announce the beginning of the Festival of the Moon, founded by our Chieftain, Beorn, three years ago, for the purpose of..." Merovech cleared his throat and the Torbald began to roll up the massive roll of parchment in his hands, looking somewhat apologetic. "...Yes, well, anyway - here is the Sickle of the Moon." He reached into a large wooden box he'd had at his hip, and pulled out a large silvery sickle. The sun's rays danced on the blade and the intricate designs on what was visible from the handle, and the crowd cheered in excitement. "Yes yes, settle down!"

Torbald smiled at the display, and, having proudly swished the sickle through the air, hid it in its case once more. "For any who've forgotten the rules or are new to this - There are to be seven trials. Seven! In order, they are: The Stage of Nobles, Thimblerig, The Torch Race, The Seeking Field, The Ancient Game, Mean Shurack, and The Lay of the Moon! I and my helpers will be selecting winners, and at the end, the winner in one of Games will be awarded the Sickle of the Moon by myself, with Beorn here to cut the first hank of grain!" The man winked at the crowd, slowly becoming used to this position of authority, causing some to laugh: "Of course, if you manage to win more than one, old Torbald may see you as better than the rest of the competition!"

During this speech, Guthred and Aestid stood a bit off to the side, the man smoking a pipe while seated on a large tree trunk flipped over to become a chair, with Aestid standing a fair distance away, looking a bit uncomfortable despite Ragnar happily chatting away with her. "As a heads up for those who are participating with sponsors - we cannot allow the Sickle to leave Beorning hands until such a time as Beorn deems it so - but those who compete will be rewarded by their sponsor." Torbald looked over to Guthred, who merely smirked, and then the company. "Apart from that, there is plenty of stalls to look at with merchants coming by to buy, sell, and trade - the food has been cooked and laid out... Well, what are you waiting for? Go and enjoy yourselves!"

After the cheering was done with, Merovech had walked off the stage and made his way to the Company: "In the end, we decided to compromise." He announced gruffly: "The bear-lord made no mention of giving the sickle to anyone whom is not a Beorning is how we ruled it - so we cannot give it to the Viglundings if they win. But neither can we entirely ignore Viglund... So if they win, they will be compensated instead of being giving the sickle. As for you... In the spirit of the festival, how would you like me to sponsor you for this? Neither I nor Ava have much time for this, and Ragnar... That lad has his hands full, looks like." Merovech smiled in his son's direction. "What do you think? I think its a good way to develop camaraderie."

 

OOC

The events will occur in order described by Torbald, as he cannot attend them all at once. They will feature one skill each:

• Stage of the Nobles(Courtesy)
• Thiumblerig(Awareness)
• The Torch Race(Athletics)
• The Seeking Field(Search)
• The Ancient Game(Riddle)
• Mean Shurack(Awe)
• The Lay of the Moon(Song)

Additionally, due to sheer amount of merchants and festival-going folk, there's some minor things to do - Foot Races are held; some have monetary bets(Athletics). You can assess the value and craftsmanship of the merchants' crafts or buy some (Craft). Anything else you can think of at a festival also goes.