Many Meetings.   Posted by Bandobras Bracegirdle.Group: 0
Bandobras Bracegirdle
 GM, 1 post
Sun 20 Jan 2019
at 04:09
Many Meetings
A yellowish smudge appears against a leaden sky announcing the break of dawn. No birds greet the day. The air, damp and pregnant with rain, envelops everything like a smothering blanket and traps the pungent but pleasant smells of smoke and fresh cut wood. Small knots of men and women stand outside of tents that seem to have sprung up like mushrooms after a rain in the greensward outside a brown, bristling hedge. Huddling around sputtering campfires, they speak in low tones as they try to ward off the dampness and warm their breakfasts. The once flat and pleasant lawn has been reduced to a muddy, rutted mess under the groaning weight of iron-rimmed wheels, as ox-drawn carts bring people and supplies from the western eaves of Mirkwood and the Vales of the Anduin. An old man with a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face and wrapped in a dark cloak occasionally can be seen on the margins of the encampment to survey the destruction. Shaking his head sadly, he disappears as quickly and quietly as he appeared. Rumors claim the elusive stranger is none other than the Brown Wizard, the master of Rhosgobel, upon whose lands the encampment has arisen.

Drawn by news that the great Folk Moot will take place at mid-summer, people have begun to arrive even though the snows of winter has only just released its grip on the land. Word of the meeting went far and wide across the Wilderland. The excitement is palpable; none want to miss the first great meeting in generations. Tis said that Ceawin the Generous from the distant East Bight called the Moot to propose an alliance between his people and the Woodmen. Ceawin and his company have reportedly traversed the dangerous Narrows and will arrive within the week. The source of the news is unreliable though. Iglund, son Ingomer Axebreaker of Woodland Hall, let the information slip while in his cups. People whisper about how different are father and son. Ingomer holds the respect of all the Houses of the Woodmen and could be king if he so desired. The clans of Woodman Town are well represented in the encampment. Led by old Fridwald, their voices will be strong on the day of the Moot. Amaleoda the Shieldmaiden of Black Tarn leads a smaller contingent but is said to have a proposal of her to lay before the elders. Representatives from distant Mountain Hall and Wood End are expected soon and more will come in the days and weeks that follow.

The meeting has not gone unnoticed by the other cultures. Two elves, Calimehtar and Gowesdir, have taken up a site on the edge of tent town, near the forest edge, where they can be near their beloved trees. They have separate tents and it is unclear whether or not they arrived together. Awe and suspicion work in equal measure to ensure the fair folk are left alone. Rakli the Dwarf, perhaps unaware of the elvesí presence, has pitched a tent nearby. He sits alone thoughtfully chewing on hard bits of cram that he washes down with the last of the beer he brought from Erebor. A short distance away, Scarlet, a diminutive Hobbit wearing travel-stained clothes talks with Berethin, a Woodman, who seems to prefer her company and that of an Easterner named Blegwyn to his own people. Berethinís quiver of Wood Elf arrows has not escaped the attention of Calimehtar and Gowesdir. Blegwyn, some say, is from Esgaroth, near where Smaug now rests beneath Long Lake, and that he is known to the people at Wood End. No one from that place has arrived to either confirm or deny the rumor. The strange trio converse easily as if they had known each other for a long time. A spitted goose roasts over their fire, sending delicious smells wafting into other camps. Few eat as well as they. The odd assortment of people inhabiting this end of the camp became the subject of hushed conversations and much speculation.

Iglundís booming voice breaks the silence. Oyez, oyez! The powerfully-built Woodman leads a straggling party of armed men and women. A regular visitor to the encampment, Iglund assists his father in finding camp sites and supplies for new arrivals. Oyez, oyez! My father, Ingomer Axebreak of the House of Woodland Hall requests volunteers to go out as hunters. Up close, his eyes are red and sunken. The early arrival of so many people has strained our food supplies. Anyone willing to render this service will have his gratitude. Volunteers will present themselves now and be in readiness to depart tomorrow morning. Tired and ill-looking, Iglund slouches and leans heavily on his spear while waiting for volunteers.
Bandobras Bracegirdle
 GM, 3 posts
Sun 20 Jan 2019
at 04:30
Many Meetings
In reply to Bandobras Bracegirdle (msg # 1):

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