[The Saucepan Man]

Those who arrived in Woodgard were surprised and fearful to find the village deserted. What had happened in this place? Where were the village’s inhabitants? Who had sent the summons, if not the people of Woodgard? What would await them upon their return to their villages? Rumour and speculation were rife, but none seemed to have any answers. Fearful of being murderously slain in the night, yet too tired from their travels to express more than half-formed thoughts, those present found what accommodation they could among the empty buildings and fell into a restless sleep, disturbed by nightmares of a strangely culinary and cacophonous nature.

By the first light of day, a gruesome discovery awaited those present. The Saucepan Man, an elder of the village of Farraway and noted chef, was discovered dead in one of the outlying huts. His pots and pans were scattered, and he had been torn limb from limb by cruel claws and sliced and diced by wicked fangs. Half of his bloodied corpse lay butchered on the table. The whereabouts of the other half was not immediately apparent, although a spicy ghoulash simmering in his largest pot on the rudimentary stove provided a grisly clue.

As the remaining delegates arrived in the village, it was agreed that the moot should nevertheless proceed as planned. All present filed in to the village’s council chamber. But the mystery surrounding the fate of Woodgard, fuelled by the terror which the most recent attack had inspired in every heart, meant that the proceedings soon descended into chaos. Try as they might, no one could bring order to the meeting, and every question raised provoked a confusion of voices, bewildered, angry and fearful.

But then, suddenly, the chamber fell quiet and all heads turned to the entrance, where a magnificent Golden Eagle, the size of a man, stood regarding the assembly with a quizzical eye. The crowd parted as the great bird hopped into the centre of the throng. Then, as the initial shock of the arrival subsided, hands reached for swords and axes were hefted. The people of the Anduin Vale were no friends of the great Eagles of the Misty Mountains, since the mighty birds preyed occasionally upon their herds, and many quickly concluded that the answer to their recent troubles was standing here before them.

But, before any present could move towards the avian apparition, the bird began to transform, and every hand froze once more. Gradually, the figure of the Eagle resolved itself into that of an old man, bearded and robed in brown.

Cries of recognition rang out.

“Radagast!”

“Yes,” replied the Wizard. “I am Radagast. But there is no time for introductions, for I have not long, and much to tell you. You have, I am sad to say, fallen into to a trap set by the minions of the Dark Lord, one which I only recognised as such myself late last night. It was by the will of Sauron that you were brought here. And those behind it are the very same fiends who are responsible for the attacks on your villages. They are some of his most terrible servants. Werewolves!”

Cries of fear and alarm.

“This village was the first to fall to them, and they are with us here now as we speak,” the Wizard continued. “By day, they walk among you unnoticed, yet by night they prowl unseen as fearsome beasts. The summons was sent to bring all of you, the strongest and wisest of your villages, here, so that they could murder you while you sleep and then plunder what remains of your villages with ease. They have waylaid some of the travellers on their journey here, and assumed their identities.”

As a multitude of questions rose up from the crowd, Radagast suddenly faltered and began to fade.

“My time is short!” he sternly declared above the chaotic voices. “A terrible enchantment has been wrought about this village. Its source is the Dark Tower of Dol Guldur, but more than that I cannot perceive. My appearance here is but a projection, and I cannot maintain it much longer, so you must all listen while I still have time. The enchantment is such that you will be unable to leave this place unless you kill those here who serve the Dark Lord of Mordor. It is they who provide the channel for his power.”

At this, a flurry of questions once more rang out.

“But how do we know who to kill?”

“How can we recognise the Wolves among us?”

“They dare not attack you by day, for your combined strength is too great for them while they walk in human form. But you cannot risk mass murder, for then you will fall prey to their wiles and your villages will be lost. So, you must choose each day one of your number to face death and continue doing so until you have found all of the murderous fiends. Some among you who are innocent will die at the hands of their companions, while others will be murdered by Wolfish claws by night, as The Saucepan Man was. But there is no other way. I cannot …”

Radagast’s image had all but disappeared and only a faint trace of him remained.

“I have done want I can to help you. My foresight allowed me to ensure that there are those among you who will be able to aid you in your endeavour. I am sorry I could not do more …”

And with that Radagast vanished completely.

*********************

The dead:

The Saucepan Man - Slaughtered and boiled up in a spicy ghoulash on Night zero.

The living:

Mormegil
Rikae - the naughty delegate from the village with the unlikely name of Castle Anthrax
Durelin - the Follywood delegate
Aganzir - the Dwarf delegate of a Woodsmen village
Gil-Galad
Shastanis Althreduin - the extremely detail-oriented centaur delegate from the Plains
Volo - the very hairy delegate from as far as it gets
Nogrod - the moody delegate from the Witch-burners' village who is ready and willing to form a theory to suit his feelings whatever the facts ...
Boromir88 - the filibuster delegate from Laketown, whose geography is not that good
Meneltarmacil - ye Olde Knighte delegate
The Sixth Wizard
Thinlómien - the Delegate of INSTRAW
Legate of Amon Lanc - the De-Legate of Amon Lanc
Kath
Isabellkya - the delegate from the village Kyaq
the guy who be short - the delegate from nearby Necropolis
xyzzy - the Kanudan representative
Mithalwen - the delegate of an anarco-sydicalist commune, taking her turn as a sort of executive officer for the week
Feanor of the Peredhil - the slightly offbeat delegate who offers controversial suggestions to the moot regardless of lycanthropic tendencies
Rune Son of Bjarne

Day 1 has now begun. Let the mooting (and the bloodbath) commence ...