Newell

Ten days had come and gone as Newell found him standing in the same spot as he had a week and a half before. Little suggested that something had changed, yet things had changed considerably since then. Men and women had been swayed, and he now knew the faces of most of the people who came into the Dawnhall to prepare for the vote. Newell looked across the room to find Taala sat talking to Basaran, and a small smirk crept across his face. The lieutenant was a well-liked man in the Dawn and an important figure at that.

It was early morning as he ventured back to the Dawnhall from a night at the Prancing Pony. New recruits had been hired all thinking him the captain, drinks had been drunk and jests had been enjoyed. He dismounted his gelding, Stranger, and led him into a booth where the steed could rest for the night. He gave him two pats on its neck, softly whispering to him "Soon you'll be a captain's horse." He grinned a bit as the horse looked at him, whinnying a bit.

The days were growing shorter as winter was coming to the Bree-lands. As he made his way inside the mutterings had grown more hushed. People were huddled together in small groups talking to each other and every now and again a glance would be cast at one of the other groups. Newell smirked faintly as he walked through the hall that had more or less turned into a political battlefield. So many of those present were like carrion feeders that were squabbling for a piece of meat.

The members had started squabbling almost instantly about who should lead them in the future. Half of them seemed to be carrion feeders if little else, suggesting different deals with each other to gain the power. Casually, Newell strolled through the Dawnhall and out the door, following the mute he had seen faintly grin at the words that came from the plateau. Outside, he saw the fire that was lit up, and the heavy smell of smoke and burning wood made a stark contrast with the fresh and lively evening air. Around there fire stood two men and a woman, all members of the Dawn.

It was well past noon, going on the evening when the last of the available summoned had arrived. Only some had come. Those who had, had just happened to be near enough for the riders to find. Like as not, some of them would be coming drunk, but Newell kept an eye on all who came and noted what their eyes fell on when entering and who they talked to. As the people gathered in the main hall of the Dawnhall, Newell stood near the back, leaning on one of the pillars as he kept an eye on who were there, or even more interesting, those who were not.