Resettling the Lost Kingdom

[Bêthberry]

TheXPhial, Belin, and Susan Delgado hope you enjoy reading their game, Resettling the Lost Kindgom . It begins with a first post from The XPhial. . . .

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The westering sun was in Borgand?s eyes as he crested the last hill to his destination. Below him the surface of Lake Evendim shone red and the hills beyond seemed tipped with gold. It was a beautiful sight, made all the more lovely by the fact that this was to be his new home. He signaled to those behind him to come forward into the light and heard each new arrival?s breath catch in wonder. The settlers had made it at last, they were in Arnor.

Borgand urged his horse down through the meadow toward the edge of the lake. As he went he looked at the land. It seemed lush after the long journey. He had not seen a field so green since the band left Rohan so many months before. A winter and many miles had passed since that time, and Borgand welcomed the seeming abundance. His horse reached the water and stopped to drink. Borgand turned then to see the weary travelers descending the hill into the meadow, faces open and smiling. Even those who had taken ill in the long winter months, his own son included, were lighter in step and countenance as they streamed into the meadow.

As the final rays of the sun set behind the hills, the travelers were busy setting up a camp as they had every night for the past nine months. This night, however, Borgand heard no grumbling, only laughter. They set their camp in a circle out of long habit; circular camps were the easiest to defend. Borgand walked through the camp, soon to be the new city, and smiled at those he saw. His body was exhausted, despite the elation of his spirit, and he was leaning heavily on his cane, dragging his wooden leg a bit. Here and there he stopped to talk to someone and share the wonder they all felt at finally being at Evendim. This was the place they had decided on long before in Gondor as the most likely for the first settlement of the restored kingdom of Arnor. The king, who knew the lands well, had given his approval.


The ex-soldier reached his wife?s accustomed spot and saw that the teenaged sons of a fellow ex-soldier had already erected his family?s tent. He nodded his thanks and they ran off, suddenly full of energy despite their tiredness. Illith was starting a fire, getting ready to begin making the evening meal and Bregand, Borgand?s son had fallen asleep in his blankets. The boy was 6 and had suffered from a terrible illness on the journey. Only the constant care of Illith had brought him through the winter. Even so, he was pale and small. Borgand hoped that the wholesome air of Arnor would restore the boy quickly.

Borgand stopped his wife?s activity for a moment and pulled her into an embrace.

?We are finally here, Illith. Evendim! I thought I would never see the day.?

?Yes, love,? she answered, holding him closely. ?We are here, home. But I never doubted you would get us here.?

They ate together and Bregand woke to play with his father and eat his supper. Borgand had responsibilities, however, and couldn?t afford to spend the long hours with his family he once again craved. While recovering from his injuries he had been so sick of his family that he wasn?t sure he would make it one more day. After their long journey, however, he wanted nothing more than to spend a quiet evening with Illith and Bregand.

He made the rounds again and set a watch. The feeling of joy at arrival had sent most of the settlers into a state of carelessness that Borgand knew was premature. From across the water the sound of wolves howling suddenly sent the camp into silence. An answering howl followed, and then another. The night seemed altogether darker, and families decided it was a good idea to send their children to bed. Borgand sighed and signaled the watch. He decided he would turn in as well. The camp was secure and fire should keep the wolves away. Before retiring he found the Ilithien and they agreed that he would scout the area to find the best location in the morning. Tomorrow the settlers would start felling trees for the building of a temporary wall. Borgand wondered how long it would be until the carts of rock and supplies from the Blue Mountains would arrive, as promised by the contract with the dwarves. The builders themselves they had already met coming in from the Western Road. Until a stone wall could be built, however, a wooden one would have to suffice. The journey was over, but the dangers were just beginning.

[The X Phial]

In accordance with her wishes, I am placing Bethberry's post for her. It works well here smilies/smile.gif

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Crouching disinterestedly by the lakeshore, Calumdril had watched the first settlers reach the crest of the hill and then suddenly halt in amazement at the sight of Lake Evendim. It had shimmered in the setting sun like ripe, red fruit rippling on the laden branches of serviceberry shrubs in a gentle breeze. It was almost unbelievable to many of them that the long trek was over and they forgot exhaustion in the awe of arrival. He had watched them mass slowly at the top of the hill and then with sudden quick movement descend to the shoreline and begin animated talk. So unlike him, who had not even yet relaxed into simple pleasure and delight that the long trek had ended.

Calumdril had ridden ahead of the caravan and scouted the lake's shoreline to find the best favoured site for the first night's camp. He had found a small level plain, not too rocky, and had left a small stake with a green flag flying to signal where the caravan should camp for the night. Rocks had played havoc with many of the horses' ankles, and the settlers had lost valuable animals on the long trek. The shoreline was strew with boulders for many miles and the lake bed itself salted with boulders, stones, large rocks, many showing lines of scratches and etches. Calumdril guessed glaciers might have dug out the lake. The rocky shoreline made Calumdril happy, for it lessened the chance of any attack from across the water.

He had then tracked the nearby bush for telltale signs of the Hillmen. There were, eerily, many signs and he could tell that he himself had been observed as he searched for signs of them. Five, perhaps six, of the Hillmen had hidden in the bushes, then brushed out their tracks. Yet he could find broken twigs where bodies had rushed too closely by trees, dust settled on leaves where none should have reached, the small undergrowth of the forest showing crushed fungi and flowers where bare feet had trod. This was no virgin land Aragorn had sent the settlers to, but territory over which strange tribes held dominion.

Calumdril stood up and walked towards the encampment site. Borgand, his face animated, even ebullient, was busily overseeing the setup, receiving the congratulations of the many settlers who had for some time begun to dispair of ever arriving. Calumdril quietly circulated, speaking a few words to some of the men who would be watching with him that night, and arranging for others who would escort him out the next day to survey the official site for the log walls and cabins of the new city. Finally he sought out Borgand's tent.

"How fares Bregand?" he inquired of the young boy whose face had so often appeared feverish.

"He fares well. For the first time he ate a full meal before returning to his bed. And now it is time for your meal, Calumdil. You won't get to speak with Borgand until you put some nourishment into that wiry flesh of yours," Illith chastized him gently. Calumdil smiled. Illith reminded him of his second oldest sister and he was quite happy to play younger brother with her.

"I'll eat only if your food is tasty tonight," he joked in return.

"Tut! It will stick to the walls of your ribs. That's all you need worry about for tonight," she retorted, gently shoving him into a chair by the makeshift table. He ate with an unruffled manner, asking Illith about the final day's journey, Borgand's and her thoughts for the settlement, the boy's health. He brushed aside any of her concerned questions about the site and then rose quickly, excusing himself to find Borgand and deliver his news about the presence of the Hillmen.

[alaklondewen]

“Cuilad! Quick bring me the bag.” Collothion watched as a young girl stood up in the back of her family’s wagon and toppled off. A brief moment later, Collothion was off his horse and at her side. Cuilad untied his father’s tan medicinal bag from his own horse and lugged it to the scene.

Collothion looked the girl over. She couldn’t have been past her sixth or seventh year, and her tears stained her dust covered face. The only damage Collothion could see was a large gash in her left shin from landing on a rather sharp stone.

“You’ve taken quite a tumble, Miss.” He smiled kindly as he wiped a tear from her cheek smearing the dirt. “Cuilad, boil some water and find my alum.” Collothion tore a strip from a rag he carried in his pocket and tied it around the child’s leg to stop the bleeding. In the meantime, Cuilad followed his father’s instructions, first putting water on a small fire, and then digging in the bag for alum. He finally found the root and handed it to his father who immediately crushed a small portion of it before sprinkling it into the water.

The girl’s parents realizing what happened stood over Collothion and Cuilad with worried expressions. The healer reassured them that she was a lucky little girl for coming out of the fall with only a minor injury. As soon as the water boiled, Collothion cleaned the cut with the mixture and bandaged the small shin.

The family thanked him profusely before returning to their wagon and heading on their way. The only thanks Collothion wanted was the sweet smile given by the child…it made his work worth every minute.

Cuilad dutifully picked up after his father and stomped the fire out. After tightly tying the tan bag back to his horse, the men returned to the road. Several hours passed without further excitement when they crossed the last of hills that surrounded their destination. The sky was painted with a dazzling array of reds and pinks as the sun was lowered behind the hills in the west. The water of the lake already reflected the night sky. Collothion caught his breath taking the view in and turned to his son whose eyes were the size of saucers. Cuilad met his father’s gaze and smiled broadly nodding with approval. The joy in his son’s face caused Collothion to laugh aloud.

The father and son both nudged their horses with their right foot and followed the folk in front of them. As soon as they reached the bottom, Cuilad worked to raise their tent within the circle, while Collothion started his rounds before all was dark. Many of people had fallen ill along the way, and some were even lost. He checked tent by tent to see all was well. Jolly voices rose around him wherever he went. Only a few folk needed his assistance, and he did what he could when the need arose. However he was looking forward to checking on a special patient…a small boy who’d had a rough time on the journey.

Collothion could see the boy’s mother outside cooking, and he called to her waving. “Hello, there, Madame Illith.” He bowed his head slightly as she waved and smiled enthusiastically. “I came to see how the boy is.”

“Oh, Collothion. He’s doing wonderfully well. He ate a full meal today.” The news lightened the man’s heart and he asked her if he could look in on him. Nodding, the woman opened the curtain to the tent, and Collothion stepped in.

The light from a candle showed Bregand’s small face. “He’s getting his color back,” Collothion said to Illith who nodded in agreement. “I can already tell this place is special. The air of Arnor will return his health.” The man spoke softly with his eyes intensely searching the boy’s face for any signs of waking, then he turned quickly to the boy’s mother and thanking her he quickly left the tent and made his way back home.

Home, the thought just hit him and he breathed deeply with anticipation of all that was to come in this place. Yes, Home. In just a few minutes, Cuilad was visible. The boy had already kindled a fire and was cooking something in a large pot. Collothion grinned with excitement and put his arm around his son patting him on the shoulder. With a slight squeeze, Collothion told him, “This is our new life, son.” Cuilad warmly returned his father’s hug, and then went back to stirring the hot stew over the fire.

[Manardariel]

“Mother, look! Isn´t it gorgeous?” Ciana twirled around, her long braids falling around her. The setting sun was illuminating Lake Evendim, making it shine and glimmer under it´s green waters. Ciana did a cartwheel in the sand of the shore, her hands prickeling with exitement. They were here. After a long, wearying journey north, they had finally arrived in their new town, Evendim. Their new home.
Aletha smiled as she watched her daughter´s exitement. She was glad to have arrived, though Evendim wasn´t nearly as promising as it had sounded in Minas Anor. But at least she was free here, free to do whatever she wanted, start a new life. A new life. The sound, and the possibilty frightened her. Could she give up on being who she was in order to start a “new life”? Ciana could. The girl was talking less and less about the White City each day, she had even come to refer to their primitive wooden cabin by the lake as “home”. Aletha sighed. What was she doing here, in the wild? Did she belong here?
The truth was, Aletha didn´t know- and she didn´t want to, either. But what she did know was that whatever life had in place for them here, it was better what it had been at home.

“Ciana,” she called, “come on here. Dinner´s ready.”

Ciana got up and walked over to Aletha who had set up a fire before their small tent. Her eyes were shining full of exitement. Being out here was just wonderful. This is the kind of life I was made for! Not a boring life in a boring city- exitement, the wild, that´s where I belong! She looked around at the Lake, the colony of settlers. Families were eating, men fishing, children playing tag between plan wagons and tentds. They had arrived barely an hour ago. People were making plans for their houses, chatting happily about rooms, stables and working areas. Their was an air of exitement and dawn in the camp. Ciana sighed. Neither her mother nor herself had ever tried building something, let alone a house! But that was a worry for tomorrow. Tonight, they would spent another night in their tent. And it woldn´t be the last one...

Ciana joined her mother around the small fire. Evenings were friendly up north, though the weather was much harsher than down in Gondor. But the evenings were warm, and to Ciana and Aletha, that was a gift: they didn´t own a wagon, only thick woolen blankets, a small tent and the grass below them. That was their bed, and so it had been for the past weeks of traveling. They would be spending their time outdoors anyways, even later one when they did have a house. Here, they had sun and stars over their head, and other settlers to chat with if they wanted. Ciana looked up at her mother, grinning.

“So,” she said. “What next?” It wasn´t a question, not really. It was more an invitation to pull out an expected gift or idea. Aletha shrank together before her daughter. The truth was, she had no such present.

“I don´t know, honey. I thought things would settle themselves when we got hzere. I thought, we would have helpers, thought there´d be more people like us. People who don´t have a clue about the wild. I thought we´d manage...I think I was wrong.”
Horrified, Ciana jumped up. “You weren´t wrong, mother. We are managing. We have a tent, and blankets. We have enough to eat. We have friends. We perfectly fine. What did you expect this to be, a picnic?” Aletha smiled at her big girl, who always seemed to find the right words.

“We´ll manage,” she said, her voice louder as usual. “We´ll be fine."

Keep your hopes high, Ciana though. As high as those hills behind me.

[ August 31, 2003: Message edited by: Manardariel ]

[*Varda*]

Therin stood by the lakeside, watching the stars disappear in the sky above as the glow of the morning sun began to rise above them. The camp was quiet – most of the settlers appeared to be sound asleep, having gone to bed in surprisingly good spirits considering the long journey they must have had from Gondor. Aside from the odd man striding through the camp, there was little movement.

The dwarf was not in a mood to sleep longer, as he watched the pale light of the rising sun reflect upon the still waters of Lake Evendim. Imagine – soon this would be a city, not simply a circle of tents. Hills rose around them, the sun casting light on them. Therin had thought them cold and dark the night before, his mind filled with the stories of the Hillmen.

A ranger had told Therin the night before of the Hillmen who lived in this region – ominous tales, of how they were the enemies of the Dunedain, and had been known to be associated with the Witch-King. Therin sincerely hoped they would not stir up trouble – there so many families here, hoping for a new start, a new life. And Therin wanted a change from the daily life of the Blue Mountains. No Hillmen were turning him out of Arnor, he grumpily said to himself. He’d cut them down with his axe first, patting it as it lay beside him.

Slowly, the camp began to come to life. Children eagerly poked their heads out of their tents, running around in the cool morning air, feet soaked with dew, anxious to explore their new surroundings. Mothers started wood fires to make the breakfast, and every now and then, a Ranger would go through the camp, speaking to the settlers. Therin beamed at the children running past him, as they slowed down to stare at this strange, short figure sitting by a small fire, cooking his breakfast of a rabbit he had caught earlier. He was foreign to them, as many had heard of dwarves, but never seen one in the flesh. Therin chuckled to himself as their mouths opened in surprise, before realising their manners and scurrying off in the opposite direction. This would surely be an enjoyable place to live.

[Susan Delgado]

Thorgil rose before the dawn, knowing the first thing he had to do. There was a large group of people camped on the lake shore; he had to find out who they were and why they were here. He quickly prepared and slipped out of camp before the sun had fully cleared the horizon. He didn?t miss the girl, Alearindu slipping out after him, but he would let it go as long as she remained silent and hidden.

He watched the crowd set up camp along the lakeshore. They must be settlers, why else would they come in such numbers, and with women and children? He was not without a touch of bitterness at the thought. Travelers were one thing and easy to protect from the hillmen, but a settlement, an actual town, would be something else altogether. He glanced at the sky; the light was brightening quickly. He watched them and waited for them to stir for the day. He did not have long to wait; before long, women began stirring up the coals for cooking fires and men rose and stretched and gossiped about their neighbors. To a man they seemed in high spirits and he wondered how long they had been traveling for their arrival to induce such jollity. He shook his head at their antics. They would learn soon enough what a harsh land this could be.

At last the seeming leader of the camp appeared at the entrance to his tent, stretching and scratching himself in places that would make a woman or a younger man blush. Thorgil ignored it, however, and approached the man as a near equal, for even in his undergarments he had the bearing of a soldier, and did not seem surprised at the appearance of a stranger. He was missing a leg; his body was propped up on a wooden post attached to the stump. Thorgil would never trust himself to such a flimsy substitute.

After introductions and formal words of courtesy, Thorgil got down to business, warning Borgand and the crowd that had gathered about the presence of dangerous hillmen in the area and promising the aid of the Rangers in protecting the settlement. Borgand was appreciative and assured Thorgil that there were quite a few ex-soldiers among the settlers and they would gladly aid the Rangers. He also asked for one or two Rangers, if they were willing to help, to aid in defense until the settlement got on its feet. Thorgil told the man he would ask his men for a volunteer. Borgand nodded in appreciation. There were murmurs of assent from the crowd, and all seemed relieved. Thorgil nodded around and slipped back to the Rangers' camp to apprise the men of the situation and elicit volunteers to stay in the settlement.

When he arrived and gathered them together, there was some grumbling from the men about how it wasn't their job to be protecting settlers like that, and what were settlers doing here anyway? What did they think they were doing here in this dangerous northern waste? Thorgil waited patiently for them to be quiet and ten told them he would need one or two volunteers to stay in the settlement until it had established itself. There was silence for a moment as they considered this. He glanced around the group; they seemed unlikely to volunteer when a voice came from the back of the crowd. "I'll go, I'll do it."

He looked up, surprised. The voice was Awyrgan's, the last person he would expect to volunteer. As he watched the man, Awrygan added, "I'll watch them, but from the outside only unless circumstances require otherwise," Thorgil nodded, still bemused, but willing to let the man go to the settlement, though he was still fairly young, and unproven. He glanced around one last time and noticed the girl Alearindu watching Awrygan with an expression he could not identify. He considered for a moment. Two heads there would be better than one, though these particular heads could each be more reliable, and it would keep them both still in the same place and easy to keep an eye on. He said to Awrygan, "Alearindu shall accompany you." Both seemed startled, but made no objections. They went off to prepare and the rest of the men dispersed.

[ September 28, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Belin]

Unseen in the dim light, Wolf stared down from the side of the hill at the path along the lake where he had been so often of late. He hoped that none of the younger hunters had been foolish enough to leave traces of their presence, not that this weary group of travelers with their formerly fine clothing seemed very likely to be capable of any decent tracking. They moved along carelessly, many of them on horses as travelers so often were, talking and laughing among themselves as if they were alone in the wilderness and free from unfriendly eyes. A murmur went up as they descended the hill, and they stared at the lake as if they had never seen one before.

Wolf was aware that, unobtrusive as he was in his drab garb and earth-colored skin, any of them could have seen him if they looked carefully up at the hill, but moving was more dangerous still, and besides, they were fools and spent all their attention on the lake and the meadow before them, and on each other. It was principally the children that looked around, and he did not think that any of their eyes had lighted on him. Do they train all the sense out of them on purpose? he wondered irritably.

The presence of the children was not a surprise to him. He had received news of this group from several of his more reliable trackers, and had come to see for himself. As they had promised, it was a larger group of travelers than any he had ever seen, whole families and many of them, and with even more gear than he might have expected them to carry. In fact, they were unlike any travelers he had ever seen, more tattered and slow-moving certainly, and they looked at the lake differently. He was nearly certain he did not like the way they looked at the lake. He wondered for a moment how far they had come, and what business they possibly have out here. There were those who speculated that they were staying, and listening to the relief in the voices that floated toward him, Wolf had begun to believe it. He watched them for a few moments longer, sick children, tired women, and a crippled man who bore himself with surprising authority. As darkness fell, he moved off slowly and silently around the hills, never showing himself on their crests and never quite descending to their feet either. Around him, he could hear the wolves barking softly to each other as they assembled, and as the howling started he was nearly home.

The village was quiet. Except for the priests among them, the Hillmen seldom emerged at night, knowing its dangers well. Maybe the night would be enough to drive off these travelers, but he doubted it. There were so many of them. Wolf went straight home. He needed time to think.

His brother Knife was staring into the fire, as he often did at night for reasons Wolf had never fully understood. "Did you see them?" he asked.

"I saw them. You were right. There are more of them than I’ve ever seen, and they have come from far away, there’s no doubt of that."

"And…?" Knife watched him carefully. The way to deal with Wolf, he’d found, was not to ask more questions than were needed to give him space to say what he wanted to say.

"And they look like the Rangers. And if I didn’t think they were staying I would leave them alone; there are too many of them, far too many." Wolf frowned.

"Why would they want to stay here?" cried Knife. "What is there? Nothing! There’s nothing here even for us! Why would they leave their own country where they have whatever they need for our stones and what’s left of our hunting? Are they insane?"

"I don’t advise you talking like that," answered Wolf sharply. "We still have to live here, you know." Knife glowered but was silent. "I think I will watch them for another day or two. I don’t want to fight them if I don’t have to. But if they stay... they’re in the watering spot. So much of what we’ve been eating comes from there, and I won’t be starved. Or invaded. But I think the Rangers will side with them. I’d like you to gather some hunters and some spies for me in the morning."

Knife nodded. "That’s always been a good hunting spot, and now... well, now it is a good hunting spot again, I guess."

[ August 31, 2003: Message edited by: Belin ]

[Carrûn]

The bright afternoon Sun shone down in a dazzling display of yellows that reflected off the many ripples racing along Lake Evendim's surface. Near the Western shore the water gave way suddenly to reveal the shape of a man gliding smoothly from the bottom of the lake to the surface. He paused, waist deep in the lake shaking the excess water from his ears and wringing his hair. Stretching, he walked to where his clothes lay and dressed quickly. His sharp eyes noticed fresh deer tracks running along the soft mud of the lakeside. He glanced to where his gear lay, and was relieved to see that he had remembered a bow this time. Gathering his assortment of weapons & tools he set off, following the hoofed prints.

He traveled for some time before his highly-tuned senses warned him that he was getting close to his target. The vegetation had thickened, and there was sporadic rustling in the bushes. As the breeze shifted the man froze and dropped to one knee. Several yards in front of him his quarry stood, oblivious to the danger. The man's bow was already out and an arrow was soon notched. Slowly, the man began to raise the weapon into a comfortable position. He took his time for the wind was still on his side. Five minutes later he was in position. As luck would have it, the wind shifted. The deer's eyes bulged as it caught the unfamiliar sent. It took one great giant bound before a whistling arrow stopped it in midair and dropped it to the ground.

Grinning, the man rose from his concealed location and walked over to the deer. Pulling the arrow out of the animal he placed it back in the quiver. He paused, cracking his back, and then slung the deer over a shoulder and began the walk back. About halfway to his destination he began to wish he had come across a smaller deer.

In the distance he was sure he could hear the unmistakable sounds of someone setting up camp. It had to be newcomers, for Rangers or Wild Men would never generate as much noise. He considered following the noise for a closer look but knew that there were several other Rangers in the area who had most likely already scouted the noise out.

It was nearly dark when the weathered man arrived at the Ranger campsite, it had moved about a hundred meters from the previous night and it had taken him a few extra minutes to locate. Few of the Rangers currently at the site acknowledged him as he strode through their parameter and he gave no sign of recognition in reply. Someone had carried his tent to the new site, but had left it un-constructed in a pile. It was far away from all the other men's sleeping areas but was within the camp's limits. Setting the deer down the man constructed a quick tent out of the canvas sheet he carried with him and then used readily available bark and brush to camouflage it. Picking up the bow and arrow he silently walked across the site and returned it to its owner, a gruff older man who grunted slightly and gave him a crooked grin as Awyrgan handed him the weapon. The man gave his thanks and an honest attempt at a smile in return.

Returning to his solitary campsite the man skinned and cleaned the deer. It was not a task he enjoyed but it was a necessary one. When he had finished he carried the skin over to the tent of the camp leader Thorgil and set it in the growing pile of animal hides. Thorgil had not returned yet so the man walked back to where the half-prepared meat lay - only to find one of the dogs making himself at home. With a surprisingly realistic wolf-like growl the man sent the dog packing with his tail between his legs. Seeing that the damage was not too severe the man's expression softened slightly and he tossed the excess of the carcass and damaged meat outside the parameter. Several dogs descended on the remains at once as the man laughed darkly. Lighting a small fire he set about smoking the strips of meat. Satisfied that things were going smoothly the man crawled into his tent and went to sleep.

He awoke early the next morning to the sound of men grumbling as they shuffled around small fires in the chill morning of the Northern wastelands. A dog was licking his face and he pushed it away, cursing affectionately at the creature as he did so. He grinned as he recognized the shaggy features of Fang, the self-elected pack leader of the Ranger's dogs.

"Gitatta here!" Fang shuffled off wagging his tail, a smoked piece of deer clasped firmly in his jaws. Awyrgan had no dog of his own, but Fang had apparently taken a liking to him.

The Ranger glanced up to notice the figure of Thorgil passing him on his way to the center of the camp. He nodded briefly in greeting to his superior and was surprised to receive a similar response. Awyrgan still felt somewhat uncomfortable in the presence of the other Rangers and was hoping to have a talk with Thorgil about his place in the camp when he could; the feelings of one man couldn't always be on the top of a leader's priority list.

Reaching the center of the camp Thorgil called all of the other Rangers to gather around him. Dragging his feet slightly Awyrgan followed the rest of the men as they formed a semi-circle around their leader. He explained the situation to them and Awyrgan, for lack of anything else to do, joined in the collective grumbling running rapidly through the camp. This was to be expected and was more a chance for the men to let off steam than seriously complain. The general shared feeling however seemed to be that these newcomers from the South would be one additional burden on the already heavily tasked guardians of the Northern Kingdom. Still, Awyrgan was not surprised when Thorgil asked for several volunteers instead of just assigning a group. He was obviously a skilled leader and Awyrgan had only been in his company for a few weeks.

However, Awyrgan surprised himself and everyone else around him when he heard himself saying. "I'll go, I'll do it." He sat back and waited for the camp leader's response. It was not long in coming

[ August 31, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Barzûn left his tent, still strapping his axe to his side. The sun was rising and Barzûn had to go to work. For Men. Barzûn grumbled, complaining that the Dwarves never needed help and that Men must be weak to need to call on others for aid. But then again, the Dwarves were the best at this work. Barzûn just hoped that there would not be any Elves around. The thought of Elves made Barzûn start grumbling again. Awful creatures, these Elves, so full of their own virtue and self-righteousness, always thinking that they were the best.

Barzûn went about looking for the other Dwarves. They had to get an early start, and Barzûn did not want any laziness in his camp. That kind of behavior would not be tolerated. Whether his workers were Dwarves or Men, if it came to having Men help labor, Barzûn would not tolerate slacking on the job. When the job was over, then people could be merry and have their parties. Barzûn, himself, liked a nice celebration now and then as well as the next Dwarf, but it was a matter of priorities. The Dwarves had pledged a few of their kind to help build this Evendim.

A small child bumped into Barzûn. Even though he was a small child to the Men, he was already up to Barzûn’s shoulder. Barzûn swore at the child who ran away before Barzûn could scold him. Barzûn scowled a bit. It would be twice as hard to try to construct with all of these children around. He hoped the women took care that the small ones did not get in the way once the actual building started. They would have casualties due to accidents if that were the case. Barzûn would make sure that those casualties were not Dwarves.

Some Men greeted Barzûn, giving him a “Good morning”, while others just shot him curious looks. Barzûn grunted in response to the first greeting and just glared back when given the second. Children ran around everywhere as Mothers tried to either call them in for breakfast or just try to gain control of the wild young Humans. Barzûn’s glares managed to keep the children from barreling into him too much in their play.

Humans everywhere, but where were the Dwarves? Barzûn continued to walk and look around. He saw a few Dwarves sitting together eating breakfast. Barzûn’s stomach rumbled as he saw the Dwarves. The first trace of a smile touched his lips when he smelled the food and heard the Dwarves speaking. He forced the smile off his lips and crossed to the Dwarves. No need to show them any weakness on the first day of work.

He spoke to the Dwarves, forcing a more serious demeanor than even he felt. They spoke of work and of building. Finally, one offered him a seat and some breakfast, which Barzûn quickly accepted. He sat down to eat, giving one last glare to a very small child who stopped to stare at the Dwarves, obviously never having seen a Dwarf in his life before. The child went wide-eyed at the glare and ran off to play with the other children again.

[Rimbaud]

Hillmen

Calem was cold and miserable. He had wanted to watch the strange newcomers arrive. Instead, Wolf had told him to sit by the riverbank and catch some fish. Calem knew there were no fish at this part of the stream, it was too shallow and rocky, little more than a trickle at times.

He could smell the fires of the newcomers on the air and tasted food on the air. He was hungry. He would return to the others and see if they would throw him something to eat. There were no fish here.

He lurched to his feet and moved forwards, his left leg as ever dragging slightly behind him. Overlong and under-muscled, it caused him great frustration as he could only move very slowly and awkwardly. When he tried to run, he fell and struck his head. He bore the bruises, cuts and untended scrapes to prove this. Some of the cuts on his hands had festered in the dirt and grime and sores had cracked open. Calem had not noticed these for some time.

He was still hungry and the others seemed no closer. He grunted and kept his head down. The others did not like to see his slack-muscled, twisted face, or especially the deep-set, squinting eyes. He hoped they had not drunk tonight. He rarely got food if they were drinking. He wanted to go back to the village. He did not know why Wolf had made him come.

He was still hungry. He growled as he struggled up over a small ridge. He would be at the others soon. Perhaps they would not mind that he had not brought them fish.

[ September 08, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Meneltarmacil]

The sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon when Thoronmir woke along with the other rangers in their camp. He had breakfast along with the others, and reported in to the meeting with Thorgil and the other leaders. "As some of you may know," Thorgil had been saying, "there is a new settlement being built on the shores of the lake." Thoronmir nodded, having already noticed the large number of people who had been gathering on the shore along with the supplies for the new colony. "Awyrgan and Alearindu have already volunteered to stay with the settlers to protect them. I am going to need more volunteers to scout out the surrounding hills for the hillmen's strongholds."
"I'll volunteer," said Thoronmir. "I'm already familiar with the area."

And that is how he found himself in the southern hills of Evendim several days later.

He awoke one morning to the rising of the sun in the east. fastened his sword to his belt, threw on his cloak, and strapped on his pack, bow, and quiver of arrows. He got on his horse and rode off down the trail toward where he had spotted the hillmen the day before. He had not had much luck finding the hillmen's strongholds until the last couple of days, when he had begun following the group he had seen. If he was lucky, they would probably lead him right to a major stronghold.

When he arrived at the camp, he found that the hillmen had already left; only a few blackened stones were left to show where they had made a fire. Thoronmir dismounted and examined the ground carefully for signs of where the hillmen had gone. He found what looked like trampled undergrowth going in a regular path to the southwest. Thoronmir remounted his horse and started following the new path.

[ September 02, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[Arvedui III]

Dawn crept quietly over the landscape of Arnor, reflecting in the glassy blue lake as though it were a mirror to second world, seamless and unobstructed as the still water. Yet the sunrise reflected also in twin black eyes, pools as cold, glassy, and keen as the lake they watched in the early morning.

Knife had been right. They had appeared, and it didn't look like they would go away.

Fletch crept down to a lower rock and cursed as one of the circle of gray figures turned his way. Fletch tensed behind his hiding place, straining to descry the spy he had aroused and be invisible at the same time. But, it was only a passing glance; Relaxing his small frame, he returned the little shaft he'd pulled from a pouch around his neck gingerly. Now his watery eyes swept the camp around the lake, full of tents, horses, untended firepits, dirty pots from the night before.The outlanders were starting to stir, children starting to come out of tents and play, and noise such as Fletch had never heard before began echoing through the hills.

The whole scale of the invaders disrespect and sheer -there was no other word for it- defilement of their land, his land, made his blood seethe.

But Wolf would drive them away, Fletch soundly believed that. The night willing, they would drive the Southmen away, and he had every intention of helping anyway he could. It would start this morning, Fletch thought as he made no sound heading back to report. Now that the sun was rising, he would help it start.

[TheLadyAerowen]

Just before the first rays of dawn appeared over the horizon, Alearindu awoke. Quietly stretching and rolling up her blankets from the night, she packed up her gear and placed it into Mornen’s saddlebags.

Snorting and shaking his straw-like black mane, Mornen shoved his velvet-like muzzle into Alearindu’s hand. She rubbed his muzzle and waited for the other men to rise. What she didn’t know was that Thorgil, the company’s leader, was already awake and had left the camp.

Thorgil and the other Rangers didn’t exactly approve of Alearindu. They tended to ignore her and not care about her opinions or inputs; but they did manage to tolerate her and allow her (after much persuasion) to join them. She put up with everything so she could stay on the journey and have a chance at revenge for her father. She had gotten weary of wandering pretty much aimlessly, and besides, where else could she go? Their treatment caused her to become quiet and forlorn, but even she could sense a bit less tension between the lot of them and her during the past moons, and yet not much.

After some stirring and activity in the camp, She spied him leaving and followed, so quietly that he didn't even notice (she hoped) She took a spot sitting on a hill over-looking the group he had gone to visit. There were quite a lot of them. Thorgil did go talk to a man, whom she guessed was the leader, and after a bit of talking, Thorgil returned to the Ranger-Camp and addressed them; she returned behind him and found a place in the back of the crowd.

“Men," After a pause he added, "...and Alearindu. There is a group of Gondorians camped out on the shore of Lake Evendim. I spoke to the leader, Borgand, and he informed me that they are settlers. They are staying here.” He paused to let the men absorb this, and waited patiently as they muttered amongst themselves. They quieted after a few moments, and he continued. "Borgand has requested that I send a man to stay in the settlement, to guard and defend them. You would have to live in the camp until they become self-sufficient, and they may want you to help them build. I will accept a volunteer." He paused and glanced over the men. Alearindu looked too. They were looking at each other, and even she could see most of them would never volunteer; they had been Rangers all their lives, most of them, and would sooner give their arm than stay for an indeterminate amount of time in a settlement.

In her private survey of the crowd, she noticed Awyrgan. He was also fairly new to the camp, like her, and young, like her. She had only spoken to him a few times, but she wished she knew him better. She thought they must have much in common. After a few moments, she looked back at Thorgil to see what he was doing about the fact that no one had volunteered. He looked about to speak when a voice in the back of the crowd said, "I'll go, I'll do it." She looked. It was Awyrgan. He looked Thorgil directly in the eye, his own bright green and flashing. "I'll watch them, but from the outside only unless circumstances require otherwise," Suprised at the usually quiet man's forwardness, Thorgil nodded. He then glanced around the crowd, saw Alearindu watching Awyrgan and said, after a pause, "Alearindu shall accompany you."

Alearindu was silently surprised that Awyrgan had volunteered, and that Thorgil would have let one of the young, new ones go to the settlement. But, Alearindu and Awygran were both young and new. She had thought for a moment she, for once, wasn’t going to be the one doing the work the others didn’t want to. For now, at least she wasn’t the only one.

Alearindu scowled to herself, turned, and walked to Mornen. She tightened his girth, untied the reins from the tree, pulled them over his head, and mounted. She was ready to set-out; to set-out to protect the settlement.

[ September 02, 2003: Message edited by: TheLadyAerowen ]

[Belin]

Tinuviel of Denton's post

The Hillwoman frowned. Her husband and his brother had gone off investigating rumors of those cursed Dunedain settling on their land. Aye, it was barren, rocky and it had poor soil, but the land was theirs and noe cursed Mand of the West was going to take it from them, not while there were Hillmen to defend it. They had their own land, those men of Gondor; they could leave these rocky hills alone.

Her son, Flint, came running into the hut, crying because some of the bigger boys in the village had pushed him down again. “Mama, Mama,” he whimpered. “They pusheded me down again.”

“So push them back or stay indoors,” she retorted. This was too much. So what if he was smaller than they were; he had to learn to stand up for himself and learn not to come running to her every time he had a problem. He’d never get any respect that way, and if he wanted to ever be someone important, he’d have to earn the respect of the other boys, starting now. So Kestrel pushed her son to be strong, so that someday, when she was old, and her husband could no longer hunt for her, Flint could take care of his mother.

The tot sniffled a few more times, then ran out again, saying defiantly, “I’ll push 'em real hard, Mama!”

Kestrel nodded, proud that her son would prove his strength this early. Even if he was only two. She turned to her daughter, who was sitting in the corner of the squalid little hut, attempting to weave a rush basket. And Rain was going about in entirely the wrong way.

“No, no, no!” she scolded. “You do it like this.” Rain had to make a good match for them. There was no way that her daughter would ever be dependant on charity. She had to be a perfect wife and make her mother proud. Kestrel was going to have enough to do just dealing with Flint. Rain would have to get a good man, or at least a man who could take care of her, and that would have to be enough for her. Her mother wouldn’t be able to.

[Kryssal]

The first look at the lake had been beautiful, but that might have had something to do with Kaben being very tired of traveling. Smiling at a kid running by him, Kaben stoked up the fire slightly with his good arm.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll keep the fire up,” a nice young maiden said as she took her own stick and put it to the fire. She was the oldest daughter of the family Kaben had taken to traveling with. For one thing, they had the many teams of horses to pull the wagons, and for another, Kaben couldn’t get his two wagons to move by himself. It was mostly a business deal; Kaben paying the father for the use of the animals with a nice bonus for the son who was driving the second wagon, but naturally he had gotten to know them and they were now good friends.

“Thank you Terari,” he said as he stretched back and rubbed his right arm causing a sharp pain, he had expected it though, so his wince wasn't that pronounced.

As Terari started to prepare a dinner for their first night in ‘town’ she spoke up from across the fire. “Is your arm still bothering you much?”

Kaben smiled ruefully. “’Course it is, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” he winked as she looked over, causing her to laugh and shake her head. Thinking back to the accident that had happened while traveling not too long ago brought a slight frown to his face, but he didn’t want to think about that. He had made it to his destination, that was good, and that was all that mattered.

Soon he would be making absolute plans to set up shop, right now he only had tentative ideas: find an assistant (Apthan, the only son of Tauven, Kaben’s temporary traveling partner, was dutifully following in his father’s footsteps and couldn’t help) to help him with lifting, he was weak even without his wound, plus there were a lot of settlers and that would mean a lot of time to help them; set up the wares that would be wanted right now at this stage of the towns development; and to get his own living quarters set up.

His own father had been very kind to him, giving Kaben a generous loan to start up his own work. Even with the money from his father, he was slightly worried about being able to make everything work the way he wanted. First off, he needed a lot of help with setting up his shop, building it and his living quarters. Combining home and work would probably be much better for him, not to mention his pocket. He also wondered how much the new towners would be able to spend at his shop. He had to make good business with the settlers to be able to make good business with the traders to continue the cycle. The first trader would be coming in little under a month, not much time in Kaben’s mind.

Kaben came back to himself as Tauven clamped a hand onto his shoulder to help in the sitting down process. Kaben smiled and made mild fire talk with the now gathered family. It was a pleasant evening and everything seemed to be going well for the settlement. Some of the children got frightened when a wolf pack howled in the distance, but they were soon laughing again when Kaben told them a funny story about how his younger brother had been chased around by a vicious little puppy and how his father had finally caught the pet by ambushing it around the house. Full night set in and the soon to be shop owner slipped into his sleep roll with thoughts of set up keeping him awake till his body simply refused to keep conscious any longer.

~*~

The wild men seemed to be moving in and out of their camps by ones and twos a lot lately and the leader was in a foul mood. They hadn’t done anything that caused him much alarm, so Tane didn’t race to report yet. Something was definitely agitating the group though. He squinted to see the individuals better from his hiding place.

Tane wasn’t worried. If something had happened he was sure that Thorgil had known it before. He, however, did not need to sit and watch the wild men any longer. Looking over his back he could see his replacement coming through the hills. Backing out of his hiding place among some sparse brush, he walked down and over to where he had made his small camp for the past night. He packed up the small belongings he had taken with him and saddled up his horse Skit. He smiled at the memory of when he was given the horse from his father when he first set off with the Rangers. It had cost his father a lot to give him this one last present and Tane had let his little sister name the beast. She had giggled and said, “Well, he is rather skittish isn’t he?”

Brushing away the memories he greeted the replacement with a raised hand.

“Hoi, what news with the wild men?” said Ethiner as he reached the camp.

“They’ve been moving about a little more seemingly rechecking something and the leader is more troubled than usual. Do you know what’s bothering them so?” Tane responded as Ethiner dismounted and came over to the cold fire where Tane was standing.

“Aye, a large group of settlers has come in and decided to make the lake shore their new home. Thorgil is going to put in a few permanent posts at the village, young Alearindu and old Awyrgan are going there now.”

Tane smiled, “Wouldn’t think of Awyrgan in a village, would you?" the two men shared a smile. "Well, we all have our place. Good watching,” and he mounted in one fluid motion and gave a type of salute to the Ranger taking up his post who nodded in reply. Then he turned Skit into the right direction and started off, anxious to see and learn more about this new settlement.

[Meneltarmacil]

Rangers
After the hillmen were a safe distance away, Thoronmir followed out of sight. The hillmen had climbed over a steep hill, and Thoronimr's horse was having trouble getting up it, so he dismounted and left his horse at the bottom, climbing the hill on foot. As he reached the top of th hill, he looked down into a rocky, bowl-shaped valley. He had been here before, he noticed, recognizing the valley as one of the various old campsites where he and his friends had lived while he was younger.

He felt the terrible sense of depression as he thought of his friends, of their faces, before they had died in the great war. Not many of his group had been left alive on the Pelennor Fields of Gondor... He buried the memory once more, trying not to think about it.

Now the valley was again a campsite, but for a different group of people. Several shelters had been set up, and Thoronimr saw the hillmen wandering about their camp, apparently having set up there a while ago, even before the lakeside settlement had been established. But he saw few warriors in the camp. Where had they all gone, he wondered. Then it all came together. They had gone to spy on the settlement. He had to get back to the rangers' camp at once.

As he turned to go, however, Thoronmir accidentally dislodged a fairly large rock from the hillside. It rolled down the hill in plain view of the hillmen. A woman stopped watching her son attempting to fight several larger boys to look up at what had made the disturbance. Thoronmir wasted no time in getting out of there. He ran down the hill toward where he had left his horse.

[Himaran]

When Olin the dwarf slowly and unsteadily exited his tent, the sun had risen and noon was approaching. The young dwarf was an amusing sight; his beard was tousled and entwined the wrong way, his entire face covered with loose strands of dark brown hair. For that was how Olin always looked upon waking, his only thought being to reach the campfire without tripping and falling over. The dwarf had experienced the embarressment of doing so many times before, all slightly different versions of the same mishap.

Finally reaching a campfire, Olin snatched a nearby mug and filled it with steaming hot tea. Taking a deep drink, the dwarf ignored the scorching pain from the heat and allowed the marvelous property of the drink to fill him with new life. Looking down at the empty mug, he refilled it and drank again, this time emptying the cup in a single slurping gulp. Ah, tea; delicious and soothing. Now I can focus on the task at hand.

Returning to his tent, now moving quickly, Olin dressed properly and re-braided his beard. Next, he checked his weaponry and equipment. The dwarf was unsure of when he assistance would be needed, but he wanted to be ready either way. Now fully awake, with his personal chores out of the way, Olin decided to take a stroll over to lake Evendim.

Soon arriving at the bank of the wide body of water, Olin sat on a nearby log, watching a fish glide through the clear waters. Suddenly, a larger specimen appeared from a cove in the lake side, gobbling up its helpless prey. Olin studied the matter thoughtfully, bringing it into context with the matters at hand. The dwarf had listened intently to the various tales of the Hillmen; and to him it seemed as if they had the potential of becoming a formidible enemy. He turned again to look at the victorious predator, which darted back into its cave.

A trespasser will certainly get eaten by a larger foe. Hopefully, we can hold our own in these parts.

[ September 06, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[Belin]

Osse's post (Hillman)
Bear sat hunched against the large oak that grew amid the ruins atop the hill over looking the lake. The twinkling torches of the strange company were reflected in the glass-top surface of the water. The reflections shuddered and were distorted as a sharp breeze swept accross the lake from the north. Bear pulled his wolf pelt cloak around him more tightly and peered through his mane of grizzled hair down into the knoll where the company currently camped. As he peered into the fast engulfing gloom, he fingered the blade of his axe.

Knife was correct, these foreigners did move without due care. A leaping anger was kindled at the thought that these men were so arrogant. Another part of his mind contemplated the grey figures stealthily patrolling the skirts of the intruders camps and found that that was the basis for the camp's arrogance.

When Knife had rushed to him the minute he got back from tracking the party, Bear had not immediately sprung into the evening to see for himself, he waited until Knife had told Wolf about the intruders and Wolf had departed to see for himself, before he fetched his axe and departed for the ruins on the hill. He knew his brother well enough to know that he would be staying off the tops of hills, and sticking to cover if at all possible. To avoid being seen was second nature to Bear and he did it effortlessly as he made his way to the hill.

Now as he surveyed the strange company's camp he took into account the location and surroundings of the various tents, he also knew that the grey-clad sentinels were not to be taken lightly.

The sky clouded over, obscuring the moon as he rose; giving Bear a sudden sense of foreboding.

[The X Phial]

Settlers

Borgand strode through the camp in the early morning light, intent on keeping his footing on the rocky terrain. The sounds of metal on wood were already ringing across the lake, as well as men shouting and laughing together over hard work. The people of the settlement were still felling trees, trying to get together enough building materials for a low wall around the camp and the beginnings of some of the most important town buildings, which would later be rebuilt in stone. Rudimentary cabins of wood had already been started for sleeping in, though personal housing was not yet thought of. The settlers were mostly content to live out of their tents until the final plans for the town were drawn up by the dwarves and approved. Borgand would be heading to see the Dwarves about the plans as soon as the watch was changed.

No word had been heard of the Hillmen since Calumdril had noticed their traces on the first night. The rangers who had come to watch the camp were silent on the matter. Though they showed Borgand and his people all due respect outwardly, there was condescension in their eyes, as if they thought of the settlers like children they were too important to be babysitting. Borgand relied on Calumdril’s sharp senses and training to keep him informed on the status of the surrounding area. He knew the activities in the woods had scared away most of the game, for instance, and that messengers from the ranger camp still managed to disappear in front of his highly trained soldiers as if they, themselves were part of the landscape.

The soldiers were awake, if not totally alert, and Borgand saw Calumdril sneak up on one of them as a lesson in watchfulness. He chuckled to himself at the look of surprise, but resolved to set the guards to a more disciplined training schedule. They couldn’t afford to allow surprises. On the other hand, most men in the camp were pulling double duty, guard for a shift and then the hard work of felling trees. Only the injured, the healers, and Calumdril had been exempted, though all were kept busy with their own work.

For Borgand the hardest task had been the daily meetings with the Dwarf contingency. The entire group seemed insular and suspicious of other races and Borgand had to remind himself that they were master craftsmen and not just guests. There were numerous complaints about the accommodations, and an entire 10th of the population of the camp had been set to work building a forge to their specifications while they worked on surveying the land and drawing up plans. Borgand mused on the problems of dealing with the many children while so much dangerous work was going on. Several of the older girls had started gathering at his tent in the morning to get instructions from Illith on keeping the children of the camp busy and out of the way. He was grateful to have so many excellent human resources at his disposal.

Finally catching up with Calumdril, Borgand broke into a smile.

“You’re up early, friend,” he started. “Anything astir around us today?”

“Nothing, including game. I was hoping to find a hare or deer to supplement our rations, but it seems our arrival has sent everything else into hiding.”

Borgand nodded at him. “We do have enough stores for the moment, but we will need to start finding game soon if we are to last until the crops are planted and harvested. It is lucky we have arrived during the planting season. We may still be able to get a crop in and harvested before winter. In any case, I was relying on trade with Bree and successful hunting to see us through.”

“Aye. Well, I am certain we will find something soon. Especially since this noise cannot last forever.”

“Any word from the rangers?”

“They are as tight-lipped as ever,” Calumdril sighed. “I think I am winning some ground, however. They no longer feign boredom when I speak.” His eyes were twinkling with what was either amusement or irony.

“Well, you are among the best of us. If they cannot see that, they are not worth our concern.” Borgand cut Calumdril off when he would have replied. “I have to go and meet with the dwarves. If I am late they mutter in some language or another and I am sure it is not with concern for my busy schedule,” he winked.

Borgand nodded to the now hypervigilant guards and noted that they were still red with embarrassment at having been caught unawares. He gave them a rare smile and headed back into the camp to see if the dwarves were any closer to finalizing the plans.

[VanimaEdhel]

DWARVES - Barzûn

Barzûn saw a man approaching. He grumbled when he saw the man was obviously coming over to him. He was in no mood to deal with the Elf-loving humans. The man would probably want to know more about the plans for building and the like. Barzûn saw the other Dwarves stand up and stand respectfully as the man approached. Barzûn begrudgingly joined the respectful Dwarves and stood, keeping a bit of a scowl on his face.

He noticed the man had a post in place of a leg. He had seen this man around. Curious that a man so disabled would have what seemed to be such a high-ranking position. Well, maybe the man was more lethal than he looked. Barzûn noticed other Dwarves staring at the post. They had obviously not seen the man. Others looked unphased, though. Either they were not surprised, or they had met with this man before.

“And how may we serve you, Master…?” Barzûn asked, trying to show clearly with his voice that he was being disturbed.

“Borgand,” the man replied kindly. He showed no sign of being offended at the insincere greeting Barzûn had given him.

“Ah,” Barzûn said, “Now what can we do for you Master…Borgand?”

“I just came to see how you were doing with the plans,” Borgand said, maintaining his poise easily despite the Dwarf’s sarcasm.

The Dwarf was thrown off by Borgand’s polite, patient manners. Most of the men either became curt with the Dwarf or were intimidated. Barzûn quickly did a mental check of where they, in fact, were with the plans. They were still in the process of being drawn up, but there was no need to tell the man that they were slightly behind schedule.

“They are coming along fine, Master Borgand,” Barzûn said gruffly, “The plans would come along even more quickly if we were able to work without interruption.”

“Oh,” Borgand said mildly, “I did not know you were in the process of drafting them. I shall leave you to your business then.”

“We were not working on them now,” Barzûn said gruffly, without thinking. He spluttered, trying to explain that they were in the process of discussing the plans. The other Dwarves were utterly useless. They were just standing there respectfully, not aiding Barzûn in the least. Some were even still staring in shock at the post the man had in place of part of his left leg. He shot the others a glare. They just moved back a bit, not showing any expression. The Dwarf turned back to the sickeningly polite man. There was no working with this man. He showed no negative emotion, which just was not natural.

“The plans are coming along fine,” Barzûn finally said, “We are going to discuss them as soon as we finish breakfast. If that is all right with you, that is.”

“It is fine, Master Dwarf. There is no need to rush. Rushing leads to mistakes and we do not need mistakes in this undertaking,” Borgand said politely. There was an air of authority in his voice, though. It was obvious that while he was kind to his workers, Borgand still demanded respect. Well, he would have to prove himself to get any respect from Barzûn. Humans did not earn respect from Barzûn by merely acting with authority. The Dwarf could not remember any human he had really respected.

“You can rest assured that we will make no mistakes,” the Dwarf said, glaring as though he was daring Borgand to suggest otherwise.

“I would assume not. I have always heard that if you want something built, you should call the Dwarves. I trust that the talk will not prove to be false,” Borgand said. “Well,” he continued, “I merely came by to check up on you. I suppose you will want to get back to your planning.”

“Yes, that would be most appreciated,” Barzûn said, hoping Borgand was wrapping up his visit. The Human gave a small bow to Barzûn and the other Dwarves as he departed, showing composure until the end of his visit, and silently left the Dwarves to themselves.

Barzûn turned to the other Dwarves. “Well,” he said, “You heard what he said. It is time to plan. Now stop your lazing about before you are sent back to the Blue Mountains. And where are the others? There are at least five of you missing.”

The Dwarves shrugged that they did not know where the stragglers were. No doubt they were off eating or wandering about with the Humans. So many of the Dwarves seemed to show an unhealthy interest in the ways of the Humans. It was as though they thought that Human ways were better than Dwarf ways. Barzûn snorted aloud at that thought, gathering looks from the other Dwarves as they quickly finished their meal. While the Dwarves ate at a speed that was unusual for Dwarves, trying to finish their meals before Barzûn lost his temper, the Dwarf made his way to his tent to pick up the unfinished plans. When he returned, one or two of the lost Dwarves had returned. They were quickly told off for their sloth and neglect for their job. The Dwarves received the upbraiding quietly as Barzûn laid the plans out on a nearby table.

“I suppose we must start without the other lazy fools,” Barzûn grumbled in a loud enough voice that he was sure that all the other Dwarves could hear his mutterings. They muttered quiet agreement. “Now,” Barzûn said, quickly clearing everything except the plans from his mind, “About the previous structure we had laid out for this house…”

The Dwarves all contributed to the designs. When it came to creating plans, all Dwarves were allowed to voice their opinion. Barzûn did not disapprove of contributions. He, in fact, welcomed them. It showed that the other Dwarves were thinking about their jobs and not just sleeping on their feet. As the day progressed, the arguments and discussions moved along as well. The Dwarves worked surprisingly quickly, much to Barzûn’s delight. The right Dwarves had been picked for the project after all. Soon, all of the Dwarves, even the late ones, were gathered around, as intent on the designs as Barzûn.

[ September 12, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Kryssal]

Settler

Kaben stretched out his arms trying to relieve the built up tension and weariness. Setting up even a temporary shop was very tiring, especially for someone who couldn't lift without help. Fortunetly that help had been found in the form of a young boy of about sixteen years named Eydin who was only too greatful to get away from building duty by helping set up a much needed shop.

Many more people than Kaben would have thought had already come by and bought things before they were set up properly. Replacement cloth and candels seemed to be the most regarded right now, though a young man had bought a small necklace for his lady interest.

Not even half of his items had been unpacked yet and the thought of unpacking more made Kaben's arm protest. He hadn't even gotten to the food stores, though they weren't nearly as nurmerous as his other merchandise.

"Eydin, careful!" the young shopkeeper rushed to stop the crate from falling that Eydin had been trying to move by himself. The two tried to ease it down to the ground, but Kaben was in an ackward position and managed to get the crate pinned onto his foot. Once it got stuck there Eydin scrambled to the other side and heaved with all his might until Kaben was once again free.

"Is your foot damaged too much, Sir?" his voice raised in concern.

Kaben limped over to a chair and sat down heavily. "I'm sure I'll be walking right as stalks in two days or so. Don't worry so, it'll match my arm nicely. Now, why don't you go and get the blankets out of the big wagon, they go over in that corner opposite of the tools."

Eydin ran off and Kaben now stretched out his sore foot. It would be alright, but it was just another glitch to go in the day.

[Himaran]

The dwarven debate soon became heated once again. They had agreed that it would be best to construct the city on the eastern side of Lake Evendim, just north of its single outlet. However, the group was divided on the issue of how close the city should be to the lake, and the basic layout.

Already tiring of the ongoing argument, Olin lit his pipe and attempted to shut out the gruff conversation; running over possible plans in his mind. Finally he held up his hand and spoke. "The ground is good in these parts. Why not build over this very camp, with the western wall a good twenty yards away from the edge of the Lake for safety measures. Then have the city extend southward, with a bridge coming across the river and leading into the south gate." Illustrating his idea on a scrap of parchment, Olin passed it around, with other dwarves writing notes of their own. The dwarf knew that the city would not be built overnight, but he hoped that his plan would help to speed the process.

At length, the dwarves broke for lunch. Olin was disappointed with the fair, but the beer was good, and there was plenty of it. It is hard work, designing this city. But as long as there is beer such as this nearby, I will be fighting to accomplish it.!

[ September 14, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[*Varda*]

Dwarves

Therin scowled slightly at Barzun as Borgand walked away, but the older dwarf appeared intent on discussing the plans and did not notice his discontent.

"This is ridiculous," Therin thought to himself. "We've been here all of twenty four hours and already he's antagonising the settlers! What kind of impression is that going to give them?"

He awoke from his thoughts to discover Barzun glaring at him, his eyes darkening.

"Wake up, Therin! Honestly, with you half asleep and others not even here, this town will never get beyond a pile of stone!" Barzun turned away from the dwarf to berate several others who had only now decided to join the group.

A discussion duly began, and Therin brought out some papers and began to draw busily. Great halls...towers of stone...all these were talked about, and more. This would be a city fit for kings by the time they were finished.

Some hours of talk later, the midday sun was high in the sky and the dwarves were famished. Disappointedly, Therin looked at the food - while certainly not a meagre amount, it was not the size of meal he and the others had hoped for while listening to Barzun. Olin turned to him and told him what he had overheard.

"It seems our arrival here has frightend all the game away. The settlers don't want us dwarves eating their food too fast, it seems."

Therin grumbled and settled down to enjoy his meal, hoping sincerely that the game would return before too long.

[ September 13, 2003: Message edited by: *Varda* ]

[Bêthberry]

Settlers -- Calumdril

Perched on a large branch of the pine tree with the gnarled, rough bark pressing sorely against an old bruise, Calumdril felt around his armpit, winced, and then grunted with dissatisfaction. He had developed a large boil where the leather strap of the bow had grated against his skin and he couldn't get rid of it no matter lancing it twice now. He likely ought to see the healer Collothion but he was loathe to.

The man had reacted poorly when Borgand had taken Calumdril off tree felling duty, as had many of the settlers. Hard labour was making them cranky and they had objected to losing a strong pair of hands with so much work around. Collothion had pointed out that he was plenty busy with dysentery, fevers, cuts, strains, even a limb broken by a poorly planned falling tree and yet he wasn't exempted. Borgand had responded by relieving Collothion of tree felling duties, which everyone accepted, but he had had his hands full at that meeting explaining just why Calumdril was needed elsewhere. And so far, Calumdril had not produced the needed food.

The hot sun baked the pine tree. The sap, which a chickadee had been pecking at earlier, was oozing and, on impulse, Calumdil scooped some up in his fingers and sniffed it, rubbing it back and forth between thumb and forefinger, and then gingerishly tasting it. It was pungent but not unpleasant and he took more into his mouth, chewing it. At least it seemed to cleanse the stale feeling in his mouth, so he dug more out and packed it away in his small canteen. The sharp needles of this tree stung, tipped almost like porcupine quills. Their strong and unfamiliar scent was beginning to bother him but he did pack some of them away also, an offering to Collothion who would be looking to learn about the new vegetation here.

Calumdril hadn't expected the northern sun to be so hot. And he hadn't expected these swarms of black biting flies either, his neck and throat and any exposed skin covered with tiny bleeding bites. He wanted to eat, not be eaten. Seeing no herd of deer from his vantage point, nor any sign of the tribesmen who called this place home, he decided to climb down and do some tracking by the river bed where perhaps animals would have gathered to drink.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was a little cooler but more humid by the river, and there were different insects buzzing around the shoreline and skipping over the river. Thankfully, these ones didn't seem to bite. Calumdril splashed water over his head and neck, rinsing away the blood from the bites, and then filled his flask. He heard only the drones and buzzes of birds and insects, wind blowing through trees, grasses and sedges. Not even squirrels were scurrying around. Far off in the distance he could catch the yelling of voices, the ringing of hammer and axe. He would have to track farther away if he hoped to catch any game.

Something had been here! Calumdril was excited at first, but then confused. It wasn't an animal, he decided, with more than a little disappointment. But it was not a track he could clearly identify. Someone, something, had been dragging a foot it seemed, and sometimes fallen, yet the footprints might have been human, five-toed, no claws. But the heel and outside of the right foot made a deeper impression in the sand than a normal print would. From the smudged drag on the left side, he could not tell how many toes that foot held. Calumdril was confused, disturbed, wary.

Whatever it was, Calumdril felt his anger rise. He wanted to question Thorgil about it. They should have been told about strange creatures here! The rangers were being entirely too close lipped. He was tired of their supercilious attitude, their lack of coooperation. He was going to challenge them, rangers against the settlers, in a hunting match, that's what he'd do. Maybe that way the settlers could win some respect from the rangers. And find some food. They didn't want to have to slaughter their cattle. Not yet.

Calumdril sighed, wondering just how many surprises this place held and how many enemies. And how many challenges.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Kestrel saw the figure on the hill only briefly, but that brief glimpse was more than enough to tell her that the man up there was certainly not one of them. He was too upright, too tall. And he didn’t move like they did. He didn’t shamble; he strode. He didn’t hunch over; he held his head high and looked straight ahead. She hadn’t seen any of the Rangers with her own eyes; the warriors saw to that by moving the village when any of the cursed Dunedain got too close to their holdings. Women and children were too valuable for them to risk the Men deciding that the best way to get rid of the threat would be to destroy them.

Still, that had been no Hillman up there. It was someone else, maybe even one of the cursed Gondorians that Wolf and Knife had gone to investigate. It was something she would have to tell them about, immediately. They would deal with the trespasser if he ever dared show himself to them again.

By the time her husband returned, however, she had mostly forgotten the incident. Flint had taken on far too many of the bigger and stronger boys, much more than he could handle. It was one thing to prove his strength early, she thought grumpily as she bandaged his little wrist. It was quite another to take on four or five older boys who were half again his size. The wrist wasn’t broken, but it was quite possibly sprained, and there was a n.asty cut on his head where he’d hit a rock. Besides the two more serious injuries, he had various cuts and scrapes all over him where his roughly-tanned leather shirt didn’t cover, although those were fairly constant.

Of course, being the loving mother that she was, she had personally chased down and thrashed each of the boys responsible for the sprain and the bash on his head. Especially the bash on his head. If those idiots weren’t careful, they could have killed him. And Kestrel would not tolerate losing another child. Iron would be five years old if he’d lived…

She shook herself out of her melancholy and busied herself about the hut. When Knife arrived, she took out her temper on him, cursing the ill chance that led him to be away when his son needed him most. Knife sat silent under her torrent of abuse, then he told her, in the quietly angry voice that he used only seldom, that it was true. There were indeed Gondorians settling in the area around the lake. It silenced her tirade, as he’d meant it to. Though she immediately started a new one, this one was not directed at him but at the cursed Dunedain who dared to invade their homeland. Under it all, the children sat quietly in the corner, Rain with her lopsided basket and Flint with a short stick that he called his spear, silently watching the a.dults. Flint was sucking his thumb.

Kestrel eventually ran out of curses for the settlers and asked her husband what they were going to do. His answer was vague, “Something…”

[ September 14, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[Belin]

Hillmen

Wolf, resolved, ducked through the low doorway. His gaze passed briefly over his nephew and niece and missed the woman entirely to settle on his brother. "Call a meeting," he said briefly. "I want to talk to everyone." Knife winced slightly at his wife’s smirk, but rather than embarrass himself further with even an oblique challenge, he nodded his understanding and left the hut without a word. He knew Wolf better than anyone (certainly better than Bear did), and he understood what that calm, preremptory tone meant. Wolf nodded slightly and picked up his spear. He wanted it with him at the meeting. He had to show them that this was no mere hunting party or raid, but that they were once again taking up the old war against their ancient enemies. A real war... Wolf sighed quietly. He would not admit to fear, but such an event had not occurred in his lifetime and he had only the tales of his half-mad old grandfather to tell him what to expect. Those tales, already as vague as the old man’s memory could make them, had further faded during the long years it had resided in his own, and all that was left to him was the general impression of unspeakable horror. Of course, he had only been a boy at the time, and had probably understood it to be worse even than it was, but there were so many of these people like the Dunedáin...

Kestrel’s eyes were still on him, one sharp and bright, the other dead. He smiled grimly at the sight of her scarred face, thinking that, whatever this invasion might mean, surely it could be little worse than what they had to face on a regular basis. Knife was right about that much.

He sat by the hearth, blank-faced and unreadable as he steeled himself to the decisions he’d made. He hated making plans that would result in deaths, and he hated dealing with the aftereffects of those deaths, but anything was preferable to starvation. Better not to keep thinking about decisions that were already made. Better to just talk to Kestrel, who was a good sensible woman, and whose marriage to his brother he’d supported. She’d have questions, of course. Very well, he could tell her a little; after all, from whom would their plans be concealed once the war had begun?

[Meneltarmacil]

Rangers

Thoronmir crept back to where he had left his horse. He considered going back up the hill and having a second look, but he knew it would be too risky. He had already been spotted, and if he went back, he would probably get captured or killed. He got up on his horse and rode off, taking a wandering course through the hills to shake off any pursuit. After traveling for a while, he found a small cave in a hillside and camped there for the night.

The next morning, Thoronmir woke early and rode toward the settlement. He had to warn them about the hillmen before it was too late. He rode through the hills as fast as he could, finally reaching the settlement at some forgotten hour in the dead of night.

After stabling his horse, he went straight to where Awyrgan was staying. "Wake up," he said.
"Thoronmir?" Awyrgan wondered groggily. "I thought you were far away from here by now."
"I was," he said. "I came to warn you. The warriors of the Hillmen-- most of them are not in the village. They must be spying on us somewhere nearby."
"Spying?" asked Awyrgan, now fully awake. "But what can we do?"
"Get Thorgil and call a meeting of the Dunedain," replied Thoronmir. "We must make plans for defending this settlement before it is too late."

[ September 15, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[alaklondewen]

Settlers -- Collothion and Cuilad

Collothion’s hands had been kept busy from the time the sun rose over the Eastern hills until morning faded to noon. Not only did he have his normal duties in camp with fevers, flues, and his regular rounds, but he also lent his services in the forest. Although he didn’t actually cut the trees himself, he helped the other men carry the lumber. He did have a few selfish motives for being in the forest…the vegetation. This new place carried a variety of plants, moss, trees, and herbs he had yet to see, and he could hardly contain his excitement at the thought of what healing potential some of this new vegetation might hold. He would bring Cuilad back here when the other men were gone or on break, and they would take a closer look. In the meantime Collothion would stop now and again when he spotted some undergrowth that looked interesting and slip it into his tan leather bag which hung from his waist.

The ringing of the noon bell was heard coming from the camp, and the men let out sighs of relief as they set their tools down and headed back to rest and fill their weary bodies with much needed fuel to get them through the rest of the day. Collothion waited by the last wagon in line until Cuilad could join him. The boy had worked hard labor all morning and had been excused from his training so he could help with the felling of the trees. Cuilad was covered with dirt and sawdust, and Collothion could see exhaustion in the boy’s eyes, but Cuilad held himself proudly without complaint.

“How are you holding up?” Collothion asked his son whose only reply was the nod of his head as he stopped to rest with his hands on his hips. “When we’re finished here, I want to come back and collect some samples of the undergrowth and foliage. I already selected a few to look at on our break.” Collothion smiled as he patted his pouch. Cuilad shook his head with silent laughter knowing his father would never take a break from his healing duties.

As they reached the edge of circle of tents, they looked upon a long table that had been laid out for the working men. A modest lunch was set out at each seat. The father and son sat eagerly at the end of the table farthest from the trees. Shortly after, Calumdril sat down across from them. The man seemed to be deep in thought and his expression was serious.

“How’s the arm, Old Man?” Collothion smiled broadly at the younger Calumdril who had visited him earlier with a raw boil.

At first Calumdril looked at Collothion with a certain curiosity then he smiled and replied, “Much better, thank you.” Collothion watched the soldier instinctively touch the sore spot with his finger tips.

“It’ll heal much faster if you leave it alone.” Collothion winked as he dug into the luke-warm food on his plate.

Calumdril nodded and began to eat silently. A moment later, the younger man looked up in an almost startled way as though he’d just remembered something. “These came from a pine tree on the edge of the wood…I thought they might prove useful to you.” Calumdril produced a few needles from a small pouch.

Collothion carefully took the dark green needles and rubbed them between his fingers before bringing them to his nose. Despite their small size they had a strong, yet almost pleasant, scent. He could feel his senses clear just from the aroma. As soon as he had a chance, Collothion would steam the needles to see what he could extract from them through simple infusion. “I thank you, Sir.” Collothion stood as high as he could with the bench seat behind his knees and bowed his head with respect to Calumdril. “I will surely let you know what I find out.” This act of kindness touched Collothion and he looked at Calumdril with respect anew.

After sitting back down, the men finished their meals in silence. Only too soon did the ending of their lunch hour come, and the weary souls took to their work again.

[ September 16, 2003: Message edited by: alaklondewen ]

[VanimaEdhel]

DWARVES - Barzûn

Barzûn sat down discontentedly as the Dwarves broke for lunch. Although he knew that they would have to eat, he wished they would not take so long with the food. He ate his quickly, then stood watching the others while they ate. Many of them sped up their eating when they saw that he was watching.

Soon, the others finished their lunches. Barzûn barked at them to get back to work and planning. One or two groaned and another asked if they might call it a day.

"We still have planning," Barzûn growled, "The settlers would like to have a town to keep them warm when the winter comes. We should at least have the plans finalized by then."

The other Dwarves silently and sullenly consented and the group went back over to plan. Barzûn looked at the settlers as they went back over to the maps. It seemed as though everyone was working. Those that were not working seemed to be eating a quick lunch. They finished speedily and returned to their labor. At least the Humans were steady workers. So were the Dwarves once they got to work.

But they still were Humans. The Dwarves would prove to be better builders. That was why they had to get the plans finalized quickly. Without plans, they could not start to build the town.

Barzûn studied the plans with the other Dwarves for a second, clearing his mind. The latest plans were not the strongest, probably because the Dwarves had been hungry when they drafted them. He squinted and looked at the design, trying to think of a better idea.

"Now you see how we began to put this house here?" Barzûn began, "That would destroy our ideas to have that shop..."

The Dwarves focused, picking up around where they left off before lunch, working hard and diligently. Barzûn let the fleeting thought that this project just might work flutter quickly through his head before concentrating his attention back on the plans as the sun moved rapidly overhead, the afternoon growing later and later.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Hillmen

Kestrel often wished that she had been born a man, though never more so than now. It galled her that the warriors would go out and fight and she could do nothing to help. She hated feeling helpless, as if she were no stronger than her son. Oh, she knew that wasn't so, but still.

Knife was so placid about this whole thing; it was one of the many things that drove her crazy about the man. No matter what happened, he kept shoveling the thin stew into his mouth. Half the time he didn't even notice the herbs she put in it; the other half, he didn't comment. What he did notice was those times when there was no stew, which lack he usually remedied quickly.

Knife just wasn't much company to her, although her irascibility might have had something to do with the fact that he spent as much time as possible away from the hut and his family. Kestrel could be vicious in her criticism of her husband and ruthless in her correction of her children. But she did love them. Well, she loved the children at least. At night, she would cuddle with them in the corner of the hut, humming and gently brushing their hair with her fingers until they slept. Soon Flint would be too old for that; he was a boy, and as such would be expected to leave his mother's care behind as he learned to take his place among the warriors. She would miss her baby boy.

Wolf sat by the shabby hearth, staring into the flickering flames. Kestrel often heard people complain about Wolf's leadership, saying that Bear would probably be a better leader. Indeed, she heard a lot of things; no one paid any attention to a half-blind woman. She also knew that they didn't know what they were talking about when he complained about Wolf. She thought sometimes that Wolf felt about the people the way she felt about her children. Responsible for their welfare at the very least. He was a good leader; Bear could never do as well.

She sat down next to him; her feet hurt from walking about all day. That was how the end of her day usually was, with her eye stinging from the smoky hut and flickering light and her bad leg aching from the weight she had to put on it. Wolf’s shoulders were taut with the strain that he would never consciously let anyone see. She knew from past experience that he would not want her to try to ease him; he wouldn’t even want her to see that he was tired. She supposed that it felt like a slur on his manhood or some silly thing like that; men were like that. Especially important men it seemed.

“Wolf?” she tried. If he was really tired, he wouldn’t even answer her. If he wasn’t too tired, he might tell her a few things that the men would talk about in that meeting later. She, being a woman, would of course have to absent herself from that. Cooking and gathering was women’s work; fighting and hunting was for the men, though Kestrel sometimes thought that she could do at least as well as certain men, possibly better.

She said his name again, and he grunted in acknowledgement. Encouraged, she asked, “What are you going to do about those cursed Dunedáin? They can’t just come in and think they can take over.”

Wolf nodded. “We’ll fight them. That’s all.”

“There aren’t too many of them then, are there? If we are going to fight them, I mean.”

Wolf nodded, but his expression didn’t change, which meant that there probably were too many of them, but he didn’t want to tell her that.

“Do you think we’ll win?”

He didn’t answer, which meant that he probably didn’t think they would. It was odd how she could read his silences and half-answers. Maybe it was because she’d lived with him and his brother for five years now. She thought that maybe she knew him as well as any woman could know him. It would take a man to really know him though, because she could never understand hunting or fighting as long as she wasn’t allowed to do those things. And those were an important part of Wolf.

She sighed inaudibly, and looked again at her brother-in-law. She could see the tension in his shoulders hadn’t relaxed any, and she searched for some way to make him feel better without being too obvious.

Rain was humming some little tune and Flint sat in the corner, playing with his tiny ‘spear’ which was nothing of the sort. He was stabbing a little piece of leather that had a rabbit’s head drawn on it over and over again. Kestrel thought that maybe she saw a little smile hover on Wolf’s face when he glanced in their direction, especially at Flint.

“Can I tell you something Wolf?”

He grunted.

“I haven’t even told Knife yet, but I think I’m pregnant. I can’t be completely sure, but—I think so.” She searched for a sign in his face that he was pleased as he suddenly turned toward her. There was a little smile on his face, though, more overt than before, and he was just a little more relaxed. She was absurdly delighted to see him less worried, though she was sure that some of that worry was now for her unborn child. He was really a wonderful uncle and she sometimes thought that he should have married and had a few of his own children, but of course, being the leader he couldn’t do that.

That was when Knife returned, and Wolf was again thinking only of what he had to do for the entire village.

[ September 22, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan had awakened early, long before most of the camp was stirring. The ride over had been pleasent enough. Not knowing any of the other Rangers very well Alearindu made as a good a companion as any. Still, Awyrgan preferred to keep to himself.

He had pitched a tent far off on the fringe of the campsite. It was a practical location as well, giving him a good view of the grounds and surrounding terrain.

During the day, there was little for him to do. At night he would make the rounds of the camp, feeling not unlike a babysitter.

He had just gone back to sleep when he was hurridly awakened.

"Wake up." What, no bed and breakfast? He sat up groggily and his eyes focused on three Thoronmirs. "I thought you were far away from here." A note of envy was in his voice.

"I was," Thoronmir said. "I came to warn you. The warriors of the Hillmen-- most of them are not in the village. They must be spying on us somewhere nearby."

Awyrgan stood up. He nodded in asent to his companion's suggestion to notify Thorgil. But he needed to think. "You do it - you're senior and you have more firsthand knowledge it seems." Thoronmir nodded and strode off.

Awyrgan sat down by his small fire, trying to remember any details from his few short patrols since he had arrived. There had been a few hillmen tracks, but they were for the most part still keeping a safe distance. But that one set...

A bizzare set of tracks was still puzzling the man. He had his doubts, but they looked almost human. Still, they didn't fit the typical hillman mold.

He shrugged to himself. He'd find someone, notify them, and go out looking again once night fell.

[ October 05, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[The X Phial]

A chill entered the air as the sun slipped below the line of hills. Though it was Spring in Arnor, the evenings could get quite cool. The stone held the heat for a few hours, but by the time the moon rose it would be too cold to sit for long without a fire or a warm bed of blankets.

Most of the settlers would be asleep by then, anyway. The hard labor of felling and hauling trees and caring for children and animals in a wild atmosphere was draining on everyone. Often, by the time the chill settled in the entire camp was quiet, with the exception of the Dwarf quarter, where singing and laughter could sometimes be heard.

Borgand was heading in that direction again. He found the bulk of the dwarves around a merry fire, arguing in a good natured way about the best place to put a mill.

"Good sirs, I am sorry to interrupt your discourse, but we finally have enough timber to begin working on a short wall and a community hall. Would it be possible for me to see the plans as they stand? I would like to build the temporary hall in the city center."

The dwarves looked up at him with an expression bordering bewilderment and shock. Apparently he had overstepped his bounds. The grizzled dwarf who had spoken to him earlier, Barzun was it, spoke up again.

"We are not accustomed to sharing our plans before they are finished, man."

It was clear the "man" part was filled with a sort of contempt, but Borgand brushed it off.

"I would not ask, but I feel our camp needs a center. A place for people to call home, if you know what I mean. We are without a home at the moment, and the sooner we can make this place ours, give it a feeling of familiarity, the better. Perhaps it makes us weak, but if we do not have a center soon, this camp may not make it. I trust that, as our allies, you want to see this venture succeed."

The dwarf and his companions looked at one another. Clearly they understood the feeling of being away from home and in unusual surroundings. Though Borgand doubted any of them would ever admit it, he could see a sense of pity in some of their eyes. Barzun's eyes held no pity, but did reflect a shrewd intelligence, as if he were re-evaluating this crippled man in front of him.

Finally, he spoke again. "While the plans are not yet ready to be viewed, I can tell you that the city center will be on that small hill there." He indicated a small uprise about 500 feet from their current position. "I hope this will be enough for you."

Borgand bowed. "Indeed. I appreciate your candor."

As he left he felt their eyes following him. He did his best not to limp too much. In truth, the reticence of the dwarves annoyed him. They were working for him, not his masters. If a human contractor had spoken to him thus, Borgand would have had him immediately fired. These were not humans, though, but master craftsmen, and he knew that without their help the people would not have sufficient housing before the winter came. He would have to play their game, but the secrecy galled him. They won't even be living here. If anyone deserves to see the plans, it is my people.

From the nearby forest a line of weary men was returning to camp. They brought their tools with them, and several carried large branches for use in fire building. All around the camp the smell of cooking and fires was beginning to get pungent. Small children laughed to know that supper was on its way and older chidren prepared heated water for their fathers and brothers to bathe in. Borgand was proud of his people. They were survivors.

Approaching his own tent he saw that Illith had a group of children around the camp as usual. She often tended to the children of other women so they could look after the animals or take turns gathering roots from the woods. Some of the tough, edible roots and acorns had been found already, but Borgand knew that without game the settlement would be in trouble soon.

Men all over the camp were greeting their wives and children, happy to be done with a day of hard labor. Borgand still had many hours of work ahead of him, though. He had a watch to set and a meeting to call for the morning. Not wanting to trouble any of the tired workers further, he would carry the news of the meeting to each family himself. He sighed into the chilly air and smiled at his wife and son. It was worth it, for them.

[ September 29, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Arvedui III]

Hillmen
A light breeze sifted through the trees leering over the camp at lake Evendim; Only occasionally shifting rocks disturbed the soft wind weaving in and about the wild landscape of Arnor. Fletch licked his lips in anticipation, methodically making toward the village of the wild men, if indeed it was where he still thought it was. The gnawing fear playing gleefully in the back of his mind grew as Fletch, for all the stealth he had acquired over the years, broke into a gangly run once he was well out of hearing distance of the intruders camp.

A little creek now reached out before him, a stream barren of any life by the look of it. The land was moving on, and Fletch cursed his lot, the stream, the greedy invaders he had just surveyed, and many other ills after he glanced into the useless brook. It wasn't the last time he would utter curses this day. Fletch kept along the stream for around another thirty minutes, trotting quickly given the harsh terrain. Quite suddenly, he crouched low, hands finding their way to poison shafts without his bidding. Something was moving.

Eyes darting wildly about the landscape, they came to focus on a hefty figure lumbering away from the stream, clutching something. Fletch once again relaxed and shifted his weight, glaring questioningly at the man limping laboriously away. He was clearly no Dunedain, but then why would any of Wolf's folk be here? He licked his chapped lips again and slowly began to follow. The mystery of the limping wildman became even more perplexing as Fletch trailed him.

The fellow had the sense to be silent as he went, but that seemed to be the only good sense he possessed. With neither the wit to know that someone was only a few yards behind him, nor to bother even trying to conceal his path as he went, Fletch convinced himself that the man he now followed was no man of Wolf's, but still, the figure walked toward the village, so he had to be. Is he a renegade, then? Fletch stopped, squatted, and furrowed his brow in thought, allowing his quarry to turn left and move out of sight.

Fletch's watery eyes again darted to a corner of area, and this time instead of relaxing he tensed and readied a dart in his right hand. Another large figure was making its way toward the village. Knowing that flying now would only delay the inevitable, Fletch sighed and stood up, smirking slightly as the figure realized he was there. "Ah yes, the runt." Drawled the massive fellow as he came into hearing distance. In spite of himself, Fletch felt his cheeks flush and knew then that the man would only just begin his sport. Just let it roll off you. Fletch thought. Let it roll off you like rain on stone.

"Bear, brother of Wolf. Your fire burns well, I trust." Fletch couldn't have added more contempt in his voice if he tried. "Bah!" Bear spat, ignoring the greeting and drawing himself up to at least two heads above Fletch just to look down on him properly. "My fire burns not. Have you seen them?" "Yes, and why the filthy southmen have come I do not know." Both men, large and small, seared with hatred in their eyes, although whether it was for the invaders or each other, the gods only knew. "Wolf wants you." Bear grunted. "I know." Fletch retorted. Bear then shot him one disdainful look and kept walking toward the village. Half tempted to bury ten darts in his broad back, Fletch followed, the smell of fires already starting to reach him.

Southmen in the morning and Hillmen in the evening. Fletch thought bitterly. This was not going to be a good day

[Belin]

Hillmen

They held their meeting in the house of their priest, their usual public space. It was small and choked with smoke, and the nearness of the mysterious and revered individual who lived there, the only one in the village who lived alone, made most of the Hillmen uneasy, but all of this was to Wolf’s advantage as a speaker. They watched him closely, too nervous to murmur among themselves the rumors they’d all heard by now. Wolf surveyed them with a certain grim sorrow. Over the years, he’d found value in many of them, and he did not like to spend them in such a way. But he trusted their strength, and, remebering the rather pitiful, if large, band of travelers he’d seen, he reminded himself that it was useless to despair before they’d made an attempt. Surely they had nobody to answer Stone, or Spear, or Smoke.

Bear and Fletch came in late, and pushed past the others to sit as far from each other as possible. Both were glowering. Wolf groaned internally. His brother’s quick temper had been an issue in the past, but Wolf had thought he’d be able to control himself in a time of crisis such as this. Of all things, he ought to know better than to antagonize the sensitive and irritable Fletch. Wolf registered the problem quietly in his mind.

The priest, Cleft, was almost finished welcoming them to his house in his low, grave voice. Wolf was sure that he'd noticed the tension as well, but nothing registered on his lined face. Nothing of such a nature ever did, though the expectant look he directed toward Wolf was clear enough.

The chief settled himself on the low bench and looked around at them seriously. He was no Gondorian orator, to use fine words to stir men to great deaths. He was only their chief, who would direct them as well as he could. Without clearing his throat, and without assuming a more powerful voice, he began to speak. No such voice could have been necessary to an audience as intent as this.

“The rumors are true. I’ve seen for myself. There are about five hundred of them, and they look like the Rangers. They are not warriors…most of them are not… but they are many, and the Rangers will be there in strength to protect them.” He looked around. Nobody was surprised. “They are building a town in the watering spot. We must expel them, or starve.” General nods proved that he was not the only one to whom this had occurred. This part of the speech was not news, but a way of exchanging all the rumors for a single set of facts, and of proving that their chief was as wise as they were. The priest was silent and impassive. Wolf continued. “We will fight them as well as we can. They are tired, and busy, and they don’t know the hills. If nothing else, we can frighten them badly. Maybe they’ll want to leave for more comfortable places.” Here he found it necessary to ignore Knife’s smirk. Had the man no sense of propriety? “We will start with spies. We need to learn their habits, and I want to get the aid of other villages before I attack. Fletch, you will serve as messenger. You know where our friends live. Tell them there is a threat to us all, and remind them of their kinship with us.” He would give further instructions in private, but the prospect of allies had cheered them all slightly, as he’d hoped it would. He went on. “I want Smoke and Pelt as the first spies, but others will take their turns later, and the rest of you should be preparing.”

Wolf sat in silence when he had finished speaking, watching them exchange looks among themselves that bespoke uneasiness, if not outright panic. Nothing could cure them of that. After all, they were right. Wolf sighed, wondering how long this would last, and whether there would be anyone left to care for his nephew when he arrived.

Well, he would give them such confidence as he could. He would speak to them of their strengths. But first he moved among them, specifying what it was that each was to do, as they slowly began to disperse.

[ November 01, 2003: Message edited by: Belin ]

[Bêthberry]

Settlers -- Calumdril

A short, sharp "Chiv, chiv," sunk through to Calumdril's consciousness and he shivered in the dank chill of barely-light dawn. The flicker's cry was followed by a familiar tat-tat-tat and Calumdril actually found himself grinning. The woodpeckers had followed the felled trees into the settlement, searching for their nests. A pity, thought the man. They aren't large enough to catch and eat.

He rose, moving quickly to bring warmth to his chilled limbs. Much as he would have liked a hearty, warm breakfast, he did not take the time to start a fire, but gulped down some dried grains and nuts, sweetened with some of the berries which had hung fully on the shrubs around the lake. The water in his basin was too cold to wash in; perhaps he could wash himself later in the lake or river, once the sun had risen to warm the day. He didn't want his scent to linger on his trail. Who knows what animal it would attract, that creature whose tracks he had seen yesterday or the wolves whose howling had woken him in the night. He shrugged and went to seek Borgand.

The man was standing outside his tent. Calumdril wondered just how little sleep the man survived on.

"Morning," he whispered, in a quiet tone. The women and children were yet abed and the sun barely streaking the sky.

"Morning," returned Borgand. "What disturbs you this early?"

"Nothing but the flickers pecking at the wood. I'm off to find Thorgil. The Rangers moved their camp again yesterday and I could not find their trail. I'm going back to their main cabin. Thorgil must square with me about this creature whose tracks I found. And about those wolves I heard last night. Each day seems to bring more evidence of matters unshared. I don't like the man. I wouldn't let the children wander far from camp until we know more about what creatures lurk about. Even in daylight."

Borgand nodded a silent assent to Calumdril's advice and watched the man depart the camp on foot.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was mid-morn by the time Calumdril found the main Ranger cabin, a largish building of rough hewn timber and chinked caulking. Smoked trailed out of the chimney. Good, thought Calumdril, someone's afoot and I can surprise him.

Calumdril did not even knock but opened the door suddenly and marched into the middle of the Ranger's cabin. Compared to the conditions in the settlers' tents, it was almost luxurious. A large table stood in the centre of the cabin, surrounded by plank benches. Furs hung from the walls, curbing drafts and some covered small wide benches which were obviously for leisurely sitting. A large fireplace heated a cauldron, which simmered with a stew.

Startled, Thorgil stood up from a small table at the far end of the cabin, obviously his desk, and put down his cup. He strode towards The Ithilien Ranger with some surprise but his words were cut off by Calumdril's pointed address.

"There are wolves about. We heard them last night for the first time. And yesterday I tracked a strange being along the south river. A promise of protection should surely bring some honest sharing of information."

Thorgil looked surprised. "Wolves are moving in now, from the south, as the winter retreats and the land warms. But what tracks are these?"

"Likely human, but lame somehow. It showed no sense of how to mask its trail, as the other hillmen had done."

Thorgil released a grunt and large puff of breath, as if worried himself.

"It's this close to the settlement?"

"By the fork in the river, south side, near the small grove of pine trees. What is it?"

"I know not. I've seen the tracks myself, once, twice, usually following the hillmen or skirting 'round them someways. Once it left a bloodied trail."

Calumdril glared at the Ranger. "And you didn't warn us?"

"No one's seen the creature. It hides mostly. Tane was going to track it once but his horse went lame with a stone."

"And who's Tane?"

"My second in command. He's off on the north side of the lake, else you would have met him."

Calumdril continued to stare at the Ranger, not liking the speed of the easy explanations, but realizing the Ranger could be speaking the truth.

Thorgil began to feel uneasy; it was an embarassment to his men that this man had found the tracks which they so often missed. He had not thought it would be worth telling Borgand about. Maybe he underestimated these settlers.

"Are you going to look for it today?"

"No," replied the Ithilien. "I've got more important things to do. I want to track the deer herd. But you'll be wanting to keep Borgand appraised of the creature's whereabouts. If you intend to keep your word about offering protection."

Thorgil bristled. He didn't like this man's attitude but he couldn't blame him.

"I promise you, I'll look for it today and bring word to Borgand myself this evening."

The two men stood eyeing each other with a quietly disappearing unease. Calumdril knew no good would come from pushing the point further. Finally, Thorgil offered Calumdril some of the stew and drink from the hot pot over the fire. Calumdril accepted, sitting down to the long table with thankfulness for a hot meal.

Thorgil took his leave, packing his bow and arrows, with a curt nod.

"I'll see what I can learn about this creature. You're a sharp eye to have seen its tracks."

Calumdril finished his meal alone, taking a second bowl of the stew, wiping his face and hands with the luxury of warm water, and then departed. If he could reach the ridge in an hour, he stood a chance of finding the deer herd.

[ September 29, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Kryssal]

The crisp wind stung Tane's face as he prepared his breakfast. He had come in early this morning. He would have been back a day or so ago but he had found some interesting tracks that he couldn't quite identify. After a day and a half of completely fruitless searching and dead ends, the Ranger decided that he had been following the tracks of a creature that the Rangers had long ago decided not to disturb, it being in it's own habitat and not a threat.

Tane was putting out his small fire when Thorgil came out of the cabin. After glancing around the camp, the leader of the Rangers spotted Tane and quickly walked over.

Tane scuffed out the last embers, making sure all the ashes were out before turning to his commander.

"The settler Calumdril came to see me today."

Tane locked eyes. "What did he want?"

Thorgil shrugged. "He wants us to tell him everything we know, of course. Now he wants to meet you. He found the creature's tracks."

The leader of the Rangers was standing quite still as he talked to his second in command. Tane didn't like the way Thorgil was speaking in short sentences.

"That's suprising, but what's bothering you?" Tane pressed. Thorgil seemed more figity, as if he wanted to go out and ride.

Thorgil scowled, "This whole affair. We're like child-watchers. The settlers are now worried about the wolves; thinking they might attack."

Tane nodded. He knew the chances of a wolf pack actually attacking a settlement, and it wouldn't likely happen. The animals might take down a few settlers if they were out wandering on their own though.

"Plus," Thorgil continued. "Calumdril wants updates on the creature. I'm going to go out and track it myself. You'll be in charge again," once again Tane nodded. "Good luck if any of the settlers come calling, you'll need it."

Tane laughed as his old friend walked off to get his mount ready for the hunt.

[ October 24, 2003: Message edited by: Kryssal ]

[*Varda*]

Therin sat as he watched some of the dwarves work with the settlers to build some of the houses that the people would live in. Stone by stone, the settlement was beginning to emerge as more than just a circle of tents. Taking a last bite of his lunch,he brushed any crumbs out of his rough red beard, before rising to help the workers.

"Therin!" barked Barzun. "Get to work! We have no time for idlers who sit around all day!" A fire kindled in Therin's eyes, and a younger dwarf who had also just recieved an ear bashing for making a mistake looked at him sympathetically.

Finding himself a seat near the edge of the settlement, Therin began carefully carving away at what to other eyes appeared just a bit of stone. To Therin, however, it was more than this, and would look even better once it was finished.

An hour later, a design etched into the stonework, Therin's attention was beginning to waver, and he took to looking more at the hills around Lake Evendim, and thinking of the Hillmen. Perhaps it was possible they really didn't mind the presence of the settlers? After all, they had not come down to the camp, they had not caused any trouble, as Therin would normally have expected of disgruntled natives, resentful of people taking over their land.

His attention once more focused on his tools and his design, he jumped slightly when he heard a movement, and turned to see Barzun looking over his shoulder and inspecting his work.

"Very good, Therin," the elder dwarf said, giving Therin quite a surprise to hear compliments coming from him. "I hope some of the younger dwarves can carve like this." Therin uttered a mumble of thanks, but Barzun's attention was distracted, looking to the hills. Therin's eyes followed his gaze, to where some small dark shapes were moving about the hills.

"The Hillmen?" Therin asked. "Do you think they are watching us?"

"They may be," replied Barzun.

"We should report this to the Rangers," Therin said. "They will know how best to deal with this." A scowl momentarily crossed Barzun's face at leaving this up to the humans, but he said nothing as Therin picked up his work and walked away.

[Kryssal]

Kaben was in a stump. Eydin had to go out and do his turn in helping build the settlement. Thinking of Eydin leaving put the thought that he himself might have to go do his part in help building the settlement. Not wanting to be a nay-doer, but Kaben didn't particularly want to haul stone or such. Hopefully he'd get a smaller, more easy to handle job.

In Eydin's absence Kaben couldn't move any more boxes to set up in his shop. At least the warehouse was all ordered and taken care of. Kaben chuckled at the idea of warehouse, it was more just a big tent, well, a much bigger tent than the one the shop was set up in.

Looking around Kaben saw that he could do several small setting up projects, displays mostly. He had just finished the first display of small tools when someone entered the shop. Many people had come and gone through the shop already, but no one had left any impression. Kaben was hard put to try and learn everyones name. Being a good shopkeeper he immediately went to enquire if any help was needed.

[ October 05, 2003: Message edited by: Kryssal ]

[VanimaEdhel]

DWARVES - Barzûn

Barzûn watched as Therin walked away. The boy had talent. Barzûn just hoped that Therin would not waste it on idle carving. The lad could have a lucrative career ahead of him if he did not waste his talent.

Then there was this business of wild men around. Barzûn grumbled. Men of any creed were still trouble. The question was whether to tell the Rangers, those sly humans that Barzûn did not really trust either, or to let the Hillmen do as they pleased. The Hillmen could, of course, ruin the work that had so recently begun. It would probably be best to inform the Rangers of the threat that seemed to be lurking in the not-so-distant hills. But that could probably wait for tomorrow or even tonight, at earliest. At the moment Barzûn had more massive problems, such as the builders, who were slacking off again.

Barzûn made his way back to the workers, fixing his scowl on his face again.

"Just because I stop, it does not mean that I have given you a right to stop!" Barzûn barked. "I worked for eighty years to get to this position, and I did not achieve this job by slacking off. If I stop to chastise one of your fellow workers, it does not entitle you to a rest break. Now get back to work!"

A young Dwarf sighed dramatically as he went back to work. Barzûn's glare silenced him, however. Barzûn looked at the sky, hoping that they could get some good work in before having to stop for the night. He despised night, as the laborers stopped their toils when the darkness fell upon the land.

Barzûn sighed, looking again at the sky. There would still be some time to work left. He barked another order, then went back to work himself.

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir rode into the Rangers' camp early the next morning. He got off his horse and walked over to Thorgil's tent.

"Thorgil," said Thoronmir. "I have some news from the scouting mission that you might like to hear."
"Very well," replied the older man. "Let's hear your report."
"The hillmen have a fairly large encampment in the southwestern part of the hills. There weren't many warriors there, and I thought they might be spying on the village. I would have stayed longer, but one of the hillmen saw me and I had to get away."
"Spying, you say? That's what we'd been thinking all along," Thorgil said. "Maybe you should go to the settlement and help out the other two Rangers there. If the hillmen are spying on the settlement, they could use someone with your experience."
"Very well," said Thoronmir. "I'll leave this afternoon."

[ October 05, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[Himaran]

Dwarves

Olin grunted under the weight of the emmense stone, tripping several times during his walk to the house's foundation. Several other dwarves hurried over to relieve him of his burden, and he lowered it into their waiting arms gratefully. Wipeing trickles of sweat off his brow, the dwarf watched as the workers spread morter over the flat rock wall and placed the fresh stone onto it squarely.

Far more a fighter than a worker in mind, Olin was already tired of the repetitive building and the constant bickering among the other dwarves. He continued working stoicly, however, knowing that the job would not be accomplished any quicker if he quit working. Soon it began to rain, and heavy droplets pattered the tents and inhabitants of the settlement. The water did little to help the mortar harden, and soon rocks which had been placed an hour earlier began to slide out of place as the subtance holding them together began moist. Soon heavy stones were falling everywhere; as were the dwarves that attempted to carry and secure them. Eventually, the dwarven taskmaster ordered a break, and the weary and annoyed workers returned to their tents to rest and eat.

[ October 21, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[Osse]

Hillmen

Bear glared out through the masses of tangled hair to the corner where Fletch was sitting; seething at the amount of face he had lost. Without looking away, one of his large fingers traced its way awkwardly down to the torn and bloody tatters that had at the start of the day been his lashings. He tried to mask the involuntary wince made as his finger touched the ripped and lacerated flesh of his calf. The wound wasn’t deep or serious, but it was sore. It was convenient that the meeting was being held in the priest’s hut; the old man had herbs to treat such a wound. The sound of Wolf’s quiet voice reverberated around the dim, smoky room. The setting was grim, as was the speech. Bear only listened in an off-hand manner. Much of which that was spoken he already knew or suspected. Instead his gaze wandered around the room, examining the familiar faces in a new light, wondering if these under-nourished men would be able to cope with what lay ahead. They would have to, either they did, or all of them would die.
Bear continued his visual inspection of the room, occasionally offering a nod of encouragement or twisted smile when his gaze met that of one of his comrades. As Wolf completed his speech, a shudder ran through the small, crowded room like water in an eddying pool. The younger men in the group could not control the fear as it kindled in their eyes, their faces became panic-stricken and their knuckles whitened as they gripped their seats or weapon hilts. The older, more experienced men could contain the fear to but a flicker, a quick burst of electric flame soon quenched that was only discernable from close quarters and even then only to those who knew them well. Bear knew them well, the young and the old. He had seen for himself the strength of the invaders, it matched that of his tribe tenfold.

His survey halted abruptly in the corner where Fletch stood when his gaze met that of the midget. He cursed himself and the anger as he felt it rush to his face. Whatever was written on his face, it must have quite startled Fletch, as he nodded quickly and broke Bear’s gaze, so unlike his usual manner of unbreakable will and contempt. Slowly the hillmen started to flow out of the hut, halting briefly to receive short words of encouragement from Wolf who stood near the door. Bear sat unmoving whilst the room emptied around him. Fletch risked a fleeting glance over his shoulder as he stood on the threshold. Bear stood up with a short groan, intentionally not putting any weight on his injured leg. He composed himself, and tried not to limp as he walked across the room to Wolf, who still stood unmoving by the door, staring with unseeing eyes into the village. The pale, natural light revealed blue-grey bags under Wolf’s eyes, evidence of lack of sleep.
“You worry overmuch brother.” Bear stated to the wind.
“Perhaps, but I fear these southerners shall be the death of us Bear, we cannot hope to overcome them with this rabble.” Came Wolf’s reply after some time. His voice sounded faint and tired.
Wolf had always been a mystery to Bear, often he could not perceive his brother’s mood or thought and on the off chance that he could, what he learned of Wolf’s mind made no sense to him.
“Come brother, hope is not lost. I deem we shall drive these haughty invaders away easily. They shall flee once they taste cold steel. We shall make them rue the day they set foot in our land.” And as he finished, his voice rose in such a tumult that the ravens roosting in a nearby tree took flight in alarm. Wolf’s gaze wandered down to the ground, he shuffled a stone with his foot.
“Brother, what ill chance has maimed your leg?” His voice was full of concern, either feigned or sincere.
“Nothing. I simply put my leg in a game trap.” Was his hurried, almost secretive reply.
“But brother, our folk never use such devices, rather they prefer to shoot or slay their quarry from close range.”
“If you must know, it occurred whilst I was monitoring the progress of the southerners, it seems they are stealing our game as well as our land!” said Bear.
“Whilst you are here you should get the priest to tend your leg.” and with that he strode out into the ruddy light.

[ October 11, 2003: Message edited by: Osse ]

[ October 11, 2003: Message edited by: Osse ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

"Rain, the reeds go under and over each other like this. They don't just go around and around in circles; it won't stay that way and you'll waste your time. Unless you want to have baskets that break when you touch them?"

"No, Mama."

Kestrel rocked back on her heels, rubbing at the scars on the torn side of her face, wishing that just once, she could see out of her left eye again. Things would be ever so much easier if her depth perception was like everyone else's. And why couldn't Rain master the simple task of basket-weaving? It wasn't as though it was a terribly difficult task... Sometimes Kestrel just wanted to go out and kill something. It would feel so good.

The hide that served as the door was pushed aside, and Wolf stalked in, followed closely by Knife. Neither said anything. Wolf's expression was one of worried tiredness, and Knife's--well, perhaps it could be described as one of tired but excited anticipation. Having lived with these men for most of her life (or so it seemed), Kestrel knew not to bother them, so she ended the basket-weaving lesson and shooed Rain and Flint into their corner pile of furs.

[*Varda*]

Dwarves

A light rain drizzled over the camp as the dwarves continued working. A long line of solid stone marked the beginnings of one wall of the future town hall. Although somewhat dampened by the rain, both physically and in spirit, the dwarves worked on, until another wall could be shown by the small line of stone in the ground.

Therin continually looked to the hills, on the look out for any sign of the hill men. But with the rain had come heavy grey clouds, and the hills were covered in mist. If there was any movement among the hill men, it was hidden from the eyes of the settlers.

Inwardly, the dwarf wondered if it had been wise to leave it up to Barzun to inform the rangers of what they had seen. So far, the older dwarf had made no sign that he had told the Rangers anything of what they had seen, but Therin felt it was unwise to speak to the Rangers himself. Barzun could take this the wrong way, and added tension among the dwarves was the last thing they needed.

The rain grew steadily heavier, and the ground the dwarves were working on became muddier. They could not work properly in this weather, and at least the foundations of the site had been laid, as Therin surveyed the land around.

"Dwarves!" Therin called. "This is useless. We cannot do our best work in this rain. Come inside somewhere and we will get on with other things, perhaps survey the plans more extensively. Perhaps some of you can make more suggestions." Sighs of relief were heard amidst the rain and the dwarves picked up their work and went inside to look over the plans some more.

[The X Phial]

Hillman and Ranger

A light spring rain was falling and Thorgil wiped his eyes with his sleeve once again. He needed to keep his vision clear while tracking the unusual creature. The discussion with the southern ranger had unnerved him a bit. He and his men had, of course, seen the tracks before. They had never bothered to follow them since there was no evidence that it intended any harm. The creature, whatever it was, seemed peaceable in its way. Though large and heavy enough to be a good-sized orc, it did not attack. At least it hadn't yet.

New settlers, though, meant upsetting the natural environment somewhat, and the creature might feel threatened. Whatever it was, its tracks were clearly like a human, so maybe if he found it, he could reason with it. He was galled that he had not thought to find it sooner. Clearly, the arrival of the settlers had put him on edge. He hadn't been thinking clearly.

Thorgil stalked through the undergrowth of the forest. He had lost the tracks by the stream a mile or so back and was now following a trail of crushed branches and broken leaves that most experienced woodmen would have been able to track easily. The creature did not seem to be able or willing to cover its traces. It was also moving relatively slowly. The bruised leaves were only an hour or so old.

The fading light and misty rain conspired to cloud Thorgil's eyes, and he almost missed a sharp turn in the creature's path. Stopping for a moment and slowing his own breathing, the ranger closed his eyes and just listened to the forest. The sounds of life were heavy in the thick and humid air. Insects were buzzing to end the day, a sound that was synchopated by the patter of water dripping from leaves, limbs, and Thorgil's own hair. After a moment or two Thorgil could hear the skittering of a pair of squirrels, then the heavier footfall of a fox on a parallel hunt. Then, very faintly, the breath of a larger creature, man-sized at least, in the direction of the creature's tracks. Thorgil was very close.

Opening his eyes again, the ranger oriented on the sound. It was off to the left, behind a stand of trees. Thorgil stilled his racing heart with an effort. A hunt, even one for information, always excited him. Creeping as silently as was humanly possible, he approached the trees.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Calem was tired of waiting. Wolf had told him to keep watch in the forest, a silly task that even Calem knew was pointless. Wolf claimed it was to look out for where the animals were going, since they were scared by the noise of the settlers. Animals never approached Calem, however. He didn't have the skill for hunting and being silent like some of the other men.

He didn't mind the rain, however. Calem was used to staying out in the elements. At least the air was warm and the coldest months were over. Calem hated the winter. He made the best shelters he could, but they were not as warm as the huts of the other hillmen, and he was never invited inside. They usually blew down in the worst storms. For those, Calem had a small cave near the lakeside. Hardly more than a hole, it kept the worst of the wind and snow away. He was used to the pain of cold. So he hardly noticed the soft spring rain, except to turn his head skyward now and then to catch some drips in his twisted mouth.

From within the stand of trees, Calem considered going back to the village. He was scared of going back before the other men returned however. If they found him at the camp when they returned, they called him a lazy cheat and refused to share their food. It was better to wait until they had eaten something, then they could afford to be more generous. Also, they were less likely to throw things if they were engaged in a meal. The fires hadn't started yet, it was too soon to return.

Suddenly, Calem heard a sharp intake of breath behind him. He spun as fast as he could, scared. No animals would come so close, so it must be a man. Maybe one of the hillmen had come to bring him back to the village. But that never happened. More likely he would be there to torture him. When he saw the man, though, it was no hillman. It was a ranger, taller than the men of the village and far scarier! Knife and the others had told him many times about what would happen if the rangers ever came after him. He didn't want to be spitted like a boar!

Fear threw him toward the man. His bulk made an impressive weapon, even with his weak leg. The ranger man looked scared, not at all like Calem expected. He was also fast. Before Calem could hit him, he had spun behind and drawn his long knife. None of the hillmen had knives this long, and Calem thought this was probably one of the swards, or whatever they were called.

Too scared to wonder why the man hadn't attacked him first, Calem lunged again, this time growling low in his throat. He barely saw the strike that brought him to his knees before the ranger. His side hurt. It hurt worse than the cold and worse than the burning fire. Looking down, he saw that the ground was getting redder. The ranger man was talking to him, but Calem wasn't able to understand what he said. The sounds were hollow in his ears.

With a last rush of rage, Calem grabbed a large rock and hurled it at the ranger man, who ducked, but not soon enough. The rock hit him on the head and he staggered, clutching his big knife in both hands. The last thing Calem saw was the big knife and the grass rushing to meet him.

~~~~~~~~

Thorgil's vision was blurry, and not from the rain, as he turned from the grizzly scene before him. The creature....no, man, though hideously deformed...had heard his surprised gasp and reacted with a force that shocked the ranger. His fingers were going numb and he staggered toward the trees. If he could get to the trail, he might have a chance. There were healing herbs and bandages in a kit hidden only a few miles away.

The sword slipped from his fingers. Thorgil realised that he could no longer hear the rain. Touching his fingers to his temple, he could feel the slick blood and was overcome with nausea. He bent, wretched, and found himself unable to get back up. He made it as far as the spot where he had stopped to listen to the forest before losing the strength even to crawl.

The rain began to fall more swiftly as Thorgil whispered a reverence to the West. By the time the shower ended, he had slipped away entirely.

[ October 24, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Barzûn - Dwarves

Barzûn sighed with relief as the rain let up. He had been afraid that the rain would stop the work for the rest of the day. The Dwarves lingered indoors still, however. Barzûn grumbled as he crossed from where he had been standing in the shelter over to where the other Dwarves were standing. He saw some stand back at his scowl, and he almost smiled at the effect. Others, however, glared right back. This caused Barzûn to miss a step. He tried to collect himself again and hoped that no one had seen his pause.

“Well,” he gruffly said to the group, “Time to get back to work.”

Barzûn traveled to tell every worker to get back to work. Within half an hour, all the Men and Dwarves were back to work. Barzûn wandered around watching the work. The work continued successfully for a few hours. Barzûn nearly smiled to himself at the progress…nearly…

A Dwarf came up to Barzûn. He looked nervous. “Um…Sir,” he said, “My name is Gamil.”

“I do not care one whit for your name,” Barzûn said, “What is it you desire?”

“Well,” the Dwarf said nervously, “The supplies for building…stone and the like…”

“Make it quick, boy,” Barzûn said impatiently, “I still have rounds to make.”

“They have not arrived,” Gamil said quickly, flinching as he spoke.

Barzûn swore quietly to himself. He knew something like this would happen. It was all going too smoothly so far. Well, now the Dwarves would have to decide what to do. Men could not be trusted with a decision such as this. The Dwarves would just have to find another location to obtain supplies.

“Dwarves!” Barzûn yelled. The Dwarves looked up from their work, “We must talk.”

The Dwarves gathered around Barzûn in the tent with the plans for the town. Barzûn called Gamil up and Gamil quietly explained their dilemma. A few Dwarves rolled their eyes. Others swore as Barzûn had done, and a few showed to be thinking of ways to solve the problem.

“It is our job to find new material,” Barzûn said, “So let us get thinking.”

Silence fell upon the Dwarves. Each one was obviously trying to form an idea. Their endeavors were unsuccessful for a time, however. Finally, one Dwarf’s face showed an image of realization. The Dwarf smiled. Barzûn looked at the Dwarf. It was Therin. Barzûn hoped the idea was not too ludicrous.

“Yes, Therin?” Barzûn asked. “You look as though you have just been struck with realization of something important. Would you care to share it with the rest of us?”

Therin looked up, startled. “Well,” he started, “I have heard talk. I was listening to some of the men. There is a town. I believe it is called Annuminas. It was once the capital of this area. It is in ruins now. They did not clean out the place, though. The men were wishing that they would refresh the place and create something where the skeleton of the city stands. That means there will be supplies there that we can use.”

Barzûn looked at the Dwarf with surprise. It was an intelligent, well-thought-out idea. It also might work in their situation. The other Dwarves nodded their agreement with Therin. A few muttered at his intelligence. Barzûn thought about it for a little while. The idea sounded completely logical and feasible.

“All right, Therin,” Barzûn said, quickly banishing the small smile that appeared for a second, “We will set out.”

“Shall we tell the Men?” Therin asked.

“We shall tell them, but they should not come,” Barzûn said. “This should be our work. They would just get in our way.”

After about an hour, the Dwarves stood at the ready. They carried with them wheelbarrows and other means by which they planned to transport the supplies from the wrecked city of Annuminas.

“All right, men,” Barzûn said, dragging a wheelbarrow himself.

The troop set out at a fairly brisk pace for the former capital of Arnor.

[ October 24, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Bêthberry]

Settlers, Rangers, Hillmen -- The Discovery of the Bodies of Thorgil and Calem

The steady, regular drip of the rain was unnerving Calumdril. Normally a self-possessed man, he would not usually be bothered by the sudden outburst, yet the pelting of the drops seemed to worry him, as if he had left something unattended which he should have seen to himself. Doubt was nagging him. He had made the ridge, but the cloud and mist shrouded his sight and hearing, so that any opportunity for tracking the herd of deer was well nigh impossible. He shrugged off his frustration at yet another day wasted by thinking of Thorgil, the Ranger. Perhaps he would be of more use to the Ranger, helping him track the strange creature. He slipped out of the thicket and made his way down the ridge, towards the fork of the river.

The rain was heavier in the lowlands and each footstep oozed into the forest bed, matted with last year's leaves. The rain now hid the sounds of animals and seemed to amplify his own heartbeat, as if he were alive and all around him in the forest dead or beyond his reach. He removed his hood, as if that would bring him closer to sensing Thorgil's tracks. It didn't, but merely made the eerie echo of the wet forest more pronounced. He hunched over to watch the ground more closely and nearly missed the sight of the large hawk circling overhead. No, it wasn't a hawk. It was a vulture. Calumdril shaded his eyes from the rain and watched it spiral down, towards a break in the stand of trees. He followed it.

~ ~ ~

The rain had ended by the time Calumdril came upon the scene. He saw first the Ranger Thorgil, whose flesh had already turned a waxy white and whose eyes had already been pecked away. A large wound on the forehead made almost a third eye and silently spoke of the Ranger's death. Calumdril had cursed at the giant birds and driven them off, but he knew without touching the Ranger's body that the man was dead. A crack of branch in the underbush and he tensed his muscles, putting his hand to the knife hidden at his back and jumping up and away, eyes darting for any sign of attack. All he heard now were the slowly returning sounds of the forest shaking off the rainwater. He backed away from Thorgil's body, spying the trail where the Ranger had staggered towards his last stand. Circling round, Calumdril edged his way towards the crushed path. What he found stunned him.

Malformed, horrid, frightening even, yet the creature had been human, a Hillman most likely, Calumdril decided. The body was large, out of proportion, a leg withered and shorter than the other but the arms and chest oversized. Calumdril looked around, reading the story which the coagulated blood and spilt entrails told. He looked back at Thorgil's body, remembering the ugly welt in the forehead and the stink of vomit. Had they surprised each other, he wondered. He walked around the area, searching, and found a bloodied stone. He knelt and picked it up, examining it. An ordinary rock. A primitive weapon but no less deadly for that. Calumdril placed it in his pocket, covered, to show the Rangers the nature of the threat they faced and returned to examine the hillman more.

Its body already stank and the contorted face left Calumdril with visions of orcs. Even the vultures had not yet wanted to touch it. Yet this was no orc, simply a violent, deformed brute, filthy, bruised, battered, feet bare, hands cracked and callused, hardly clothed at all, likely starved from the looks of his cheek bones and ribcage.

But the marks were old, not fresh, not committed by Thorgil. Had his own people treated him thus? Calumdril shuddered at the thought of what enemies they were facing. He crouched back on his haunches, mouthing words of silent mourning for the Ranger who he had sent to his doom. And gave thanks for his life in Ithilien.

A vulture landing audaciously close brought him back to the scene. Calumdril decided he would leave the Hillman for his kind to find him, not the vultures. He cut down branches from an elder bush, saying his prayer of apology to the tree's spirit for the cutting. Holding one hand over his mouth and nose and covering his other with moss, to keep it free from the taint of the Hillman, he straightened out the body, closed the eyes, brought one arm over the other. He wondered if the man had ever received as much attention in life as he was giving him in death. No matter. He would leave his message for the Hillmen to find. He lay the branches over the body, protecting it roughly from degradation by the animals, and lightly kicked earth over it. He searched then for Thorgil's sword.

Finding it, Calumdril thought for some time. By rights it should be returned to the Rangers and buried with Thorgil. Yet he needed to complete his message. Deciding, he broke the sword near the hilt, and buried it in the ground by the Hillman's head. The blade he took away with him.

Scattering the ground to obliterate his tracks and the evidence of Thorgil's death, Calumdril returned to the Ranger's body, cleansing as best he could the bloodied wound and tying a cloth around his eyes, hiding the indignity of the vulture's feeding. Then, straining, he hefted the body over his shoulder and began the long, slow trek back to the Rangers' cabin, dragging an elder branch behind him in hopes of masking his tracks. He staggered. Thorgil had been a tall, robust man and Calumdril was but a slight man.

He had plenty of time to think; he made but slow progress. This could have been him, he realized, as he wound his way back. And then he thought of other problems, more ominous for the settlement. Would the Rangers blame him? And what of these Hillmen? Would they avenge the death of so wretched a creature? Were they all as hideous and deformed as this one had been?

The rank odour of the forest, wet with decay, mingled in his nostrils with his memory of the Hillman's body. He began to sweat with the effort of carrying Thorgil's dead weight and he worried that he might not be able to carry him back to the cabin. For one of the first times in his life, Calumdril felt hedged in by the trees, the forest, and the clammy, humid air.

A shadow, the last of the storm clouds, blotted out the trail. His energy draining, he felt his own mortality a palpable thing and he shuddered, winded by his effort.

[ October 27, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Osse]

Bear - Hillmen

Bear lounged in the chair outside his hut and watched the smoke curl lazily out of the chimney-holes around him. The rain had eased over the last few hours, almost to the point of stopping, and with the change had come the unmistakeable smell one gets after a cleansing downpour.

The air felt fresh and clear with a wholesome tinge. He breathed in deeply and stretched his long legs out. No one else was around as they all shunned the rain and the perpetual damp that their thatch roofs had no hope of preventing.

Bear liked the rain; he felt it revived the soil and put a positive feel on the air, all was silent during rain, except the rhythmic drip or surge of dropping water, the flitter of a small bird making a burst for the next tree, the preciously quiet pad of a fox using the chance created by the absence of people to scrounge amongst the quenched fire pits; the sound of life.

Some of the best hunting was after the rain when the animals came to lick the droplets off the leaves. That was something that his country had going for it; it rained a lot.

He removed a battered leather pouch from his jerkin pocket and fumbled around for its contents. Bear removed the long, dark green leaves and bruised them before rolling them into a rough ball and placing them in his mouth. The plant was Harrow’s Leaf, a weedy plant that grew upon the hillsides. When chewed, it had a calming effect. Most of the hillmen had their own supply of the weed as it grew in abundance near the village.

Suddenly, the rain began to pick up again, torn by a thrusting southerly wind that clawed at his clothing and stung his face. Bear heeded it not. He reached down the side of his leg to where he kept his knife and reached once again into his leather pouch for his whetting stone. The blade was somewhat notched, and didn’t hold it’s edge very well. His grandfather had given it him when he came of age, the knife had been all that he had against the wolf that he now wore, that and his formidable strength.

What Bear really wanted was a good knife like the southerners and Bree-men possessed. “Soon I will have one” he thought to himself “…very soon.”

[ October 28, 2003: Message edited by: Osse ]

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan - Rangers

Rain. Awyrgan awoke from an unsteady nap to find himself soaked thoroughly. Kicking off the tunic he had covered himself with he watched lazily as the water pored off the garmet in rivers. Rain had always fascinated him. The smell of it, the look of it, and the taste of it. Beyond these, an old man had once told him that events that often changed many lives happened during the rain. The blessings and curses of the gods.

He rolled the tunic up, placing it in his pack. Shaking the water out of his hair to the best of his ability he pulled his hood over his head and lit his pipe. Most of the townsfolk were avoiding the outdoors as best as the could. Making his way to a small grove of trees he settled down on a semi-dry patch of moss and smoked. Something was bothering him. Rain poured down for a time and he sat up with a start that would have surprised those around him if they had seen it.

The rain was cold. Not a pleasent chill but an unnerving icey patter that rain down ones spine like a bad dream; as if Nature was enjoying in the discomfort of its many residents. His parents had told the man that he had an unnaturally close affinity with nature for a human, but he brushed it off as much as he could. He often feared what he might interpret. He thought back to the tracks that had been found the day before. Coughing, he pulled the cloak tighter around him. Lighting hit a ridge nearby him and he stood up. Crossing the edge of the settlement he entered the forest.

Thorgil had left earlier, looking for the owner of the strange tracks. Searching the paths Awyrgan cursed the skill of the older man, his footprints were all but invisible even to the skilled. Making his best guess he set off in what he hoped was the correct direction.

He had traveled for sometime when he noticed a large vulture circling overhead. The rain had stopped. The muscles in the man's body tensed as if involuntarily sensing the sudden change in Nature's song. He followed the bird towards a clearing. As he neared he stepped on a branch. Somehow it had remained dry and it gave off a resounding crack. Awyrgan threw himself to the ground, drawing two of his knives. He crawled through brush until he could see the clearing.

Coming up the path was the man Calumdril. Draped over his slight frame was the limp body of Thorgil. Awyrgan opened his mouth to shout a greeting and received a taste of death's breath in his mouth. Gagging, he placed one knive back in his belt. Gripping the other tigher he waited as the man shuffled closer.

The carried man was dead. The reality that it was Thorgil did not register immediately with the Ranger. He studied the body as if it was any other man. The scavangers had already been at work. Strips of flesh were ripped and judging by the cloth wrapped around the head the eyes and surrounding tissue were all but gone. Finally accepting the fact that the leader of the Rangers was dead Awyrgan's jaw tightened and he focused again on Calumdril. He was sweating heavily. Tied to his waist was a broken sword blade. Thorgil's.

All tact gone Awyrgan stood up and sheathing his knife strode towards the pair, green eyes ablaze.

[ October 28, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[The X Phial]

Borgand surveyed the camp that was slowly becoming a home. Already, some of the timbers that the men had worked so hard to fell were being put to use. A small group still worked in the forest, for the need of building materials was great, but many more were engaged in erecting the central town hall. The plans, which the dwarves had finally shared, had been enthusiatically received by the settlers. Many of the craftsmen and business men had put up temporary tent fronts where their more permanent stores and smithies would someday be. He passed a pen that held horses and another with cattle. Simple wooden enclosures that, nonetheless, gave the people a better sense of stability.

With a day or two more the town hall would be up. Borgand hoped to hold a small celebration to bring a sense of lightheartedness to the settlers. Despite the progress, many of his people were tired of living in tents. They had travelled so far and were tired. They didn't mind work, but also grumbled at the short rations and weather, which had been wet and chilly for spring. Borgand and the other men of the south were used to sunny days by this time of year, and the rain made tent living uncomfortable. No one ever really felt clean.

The wet weather also made Borgand's leg ache. For some reason the stump of his leg hurt more when the air was humid. Like an old man, he thought, ruefully. The mud also made walking more difficult. The last thing Borgand wanted was to slip into a puddle.

Things had been quiet since the dwarves had left for Annuminas. Though they claimed to want only building materials, Borgand felt odd about the picking over of the abandoned city. It was a place out of legend, and he hoped to take Bregand there someday. It seemed wrong for the dwarves to see it first. That was silly nonsense of course, and he knew it. Likely the native people had already defiled the place more than the dwarves, his allies, would. Still, he had avoided telling the settlers, who until now had been too busy for anything even resembling a trip into the past. Few asked about where the dwarves were, but Borgand knew there would be questions when they returned. He sighed.

I'll tell them tomorrow, he thought. I think I will announce the celebration at the same time. Maybe they will be too distracted to be upset, and at least by then the dwarves will be well away.

He wanted very much to talk to Calumdril. They needed game soon or the feast in a few days might be their last for a long while. The ranger had already been gone longer than was his wont, but Borgand was confident he would return. He only hoped it would be with good news.

[VanimaEdhel]

Dwarves - Barzûn

Barzûn grumbled as he marched. He leaned forward with his empty wheelbarrow feeling voluminous already, without even having any supplies yet. The Dwarves grumbled as they climbed behind Barzûn. They were nearing Annuminas. Barzûn shouted back, trying to rally the Dwarves, and grumbling under the weight of his own wheelbarrow all the while. They broke through the clearing and every Dwarf let out a gasp. Before them sprawled a great city. Barzûn’s sigh, however, was more in reference to the abundance of materials that could be found to carry back.

“We are back on the job, Dwarves,” Barzûn called as he pushed towards the great ruin of a city. The Dwarves moved forward. Many of them looked in wonder in the ruins of stone as they walked through the city. They neared what used to be an old square. The Dwarves stopped there to rest a bit. They leaned on their wheelbarrows, breathing fairly heavily. Barzûn allowed them to rest for a time, as he was a bit winded himself. He looked around as he rested, silently calculating how much stone they would need. He also looked at the wheelbarrows they had. They could probably carry enough to last them quite a bit of time. They might have to make another trip later on, but this would last them quite a while.

After they had rested sufficiently, Barzûn ordered them all to work. They split up and began hauling the remnants of various buildings into the wheelbarrows. They worked silently for a while until one Dwarf called Barzûn over.

“I was thinking, sir,” the Dwarf said briefly, looking down at his own feet, “Would it not be a good idea if we looked at the style of architecture in this glorious ruin of a city? It would make the Men proud indeed if their new city was as lovely as this one seems to have once been.”

Barzûn looked hard at the Dwarf. “I place you in charge of gathering as much information as you can, in that case,” he said levelly, “Here, have paper. Now record anything you desire.”

The young Dwarf scurried off, writing down various architectural schemes. Barzûn went to check on the other Dwarves.

They worked through the day. Barzûn kept a close watch on all the Dwarves. They moved quickly and made good progress. Eventually, however, the Dwarves began to lag. Barzûn called them in to break, then. Those that brought food slowly ate it and some shared with others. Barzûn looked at the sketches that the young Dwarf that was recording the architectural styles had made.

“There are some very fine examples of carvings as well, Sir,” the young Dwarf said, “Shall I record those as well.”

“Record anything you think will be helpful,” Barzûn said shortly. The young Dwarf smiled, and Barzûn increased his scowl a bit. The Dwarf still smiled a bit as he walked off to continue his job. Barzûn turned back to the other Dwarves and ordered them back to work. They begrudgingly complied and the work continued.

[Belin]

Hillmen

Wolf walked outside of the village with Fletch in order to make sure that the man understood precisely what was expected of him. He trusted Fletch’s knowledge of geography, but not of people, and he wanted no mistakes between him and the leader of the village nearby. He very much doubted that all of what he said would remain in this messenger’s memory, but he had at least the foresight to teach him an apology for any possible mistakes, to be spoken before anything else.

“But remember how to approach him. Remember, he is not your chief, so he expects more respect. Everything depends on this.” He looked Fletch full in the face, to make sure he understood. The messenger nodded. Wolf smiled faintly. “This will be good for you. Be sure you don’t insult his brother.”

Fletch opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but Wolf was already gone, loping off homeward with that peculiar grace of his. He didn’t hear Fletch grumbling briefly to himself, or see him trudging off through the thickening rain. He was intent on his plan to consult with his priest and to encourage his people. He would have to make sure that at least some aspects of life would continue normally. Where would the food come from, he wondered, and who would be free to hunt for it? If they were to have any hope of victory, they would need to eat well and build strength.

But do we have any hope?

Well, he would have to consult with his priest. His eyes wandered in the direction of that individual’s dwelling, and he followed the trail of smoke that emerged from the hole in its roof skyward, and there he saw a scavenging bird circle once, twice, and suddenly dive.

He frowned. What could bring them out in the rain? Was any death so choice? Perhaps it was worth his attention. He skirted the edges of the village, avoiding for the moment the eyes of others, and moved past it, a sudden unjustified anxiety prompting both speed and silence. Perhaps it would be no feast he’d want to steal from the birds, but he was not fool enough to leave anything valuable simply because others enjoyed it as well. Besides, the strangeness of their behavior alone merited a look. He seldom saw them in the rain.

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

There was only a pair of them there, sitting irritably on a branch, croaking to each other in their usual businesslike manner, but here was no carcass for them to pick at and quarrel over, though surely this was the smell of death.

“You’re early,” he said to them. “The real death hasn’t started yet.” They glowered down at him, apparently unmoved. “You see, timing is the secret to being a good scavenger,” he went on, maneuvering carefully around the base of a tree. “If you arrive too late, everything is gone, and all that’s left is to wreak your revenge on those that got there first—if you care for that. If you get there too early, you miss all the richer deaths that have happened elsewhere. You can starve to death on potential, you know. And then there’s always the revenge problem. It’s a hard life, scavenging.”

The vultures eyed him silently. He smiled grimly. They were merely resting, it seemed, not hunting… but the smell puzzled him. He scanned the ground carefully in search of whatever cautious beast was camoflauged so effectively even in death, but he saw nothing more interesting than a small pile of brush. He walked over to examine it more closely. Visible through the diverging branches, like paler twigs, stretched fingers and twisted human limbs. Wolf knelt near it carefully, pushing some of the branches aside, just enough to be sure that this was the corpse of Calem. The playful mood of a moment ago dropped from him instantly.

Who would dare to kill Calem? The hillmen might avoid him or mock at him, and there were many who would have done worse had he allowed it, but none of them would kill a man whose life was an omen they could not read. But there was no doubt that these branches had been drawn over him by a human hand. The settlers, or the rangers, if indeed there were any distinction to be made between them now.

Returning the branches to their former position, Wolf stood. Calem had no friend or kinsman to tend to the burning of his body, unless the gods themselves were to set fire to this place. Wolf would not interfere.

Deeply troubled, he trudged back toward the village. Perhaps the gods would avenge the impropriety of this death upon the Rangers. Wolf sighed. Perhaps the gods had been driven out by these offensive newcomers.

He hoped that Cleft could tell him more.

[ November 01, 2003: Message edited by: Belin ]

[alaklondewen]

Settlers

The old healer crouched as he silently stepped out from his tent, leaving Cuilad dozing inside. The rain had brought him a small rest, and for that he was grateful. Collothion and Cuilad had been performing double duties since they arrived, but the rain had alleviated their work in helping with the town hall, at least for the moment.

Shivering, Collothion stretched his long limbs and searched the heavens with his eyes. The clouds were breaking over the lake revealing the clear blue sky behind the thick layers of gray. Beams of light fell into the water causing the man to shield his eyes from its brilliance.

A northeastern breeze swept off the lake and swirled around Collothion’s head, whistling in his ears and lightheartedly dancing with his hair. The man shivered again. The prolonged winter in this new home worried the healer, and he hoped his fellow settlers’ physical defenses would not yet deteriorate. Coughing could be heard coming from his neighbors, which was not uncommon in the settlement. Collothion had been very pleased to find that the pungent needles Calumdril offered him seemed to soothe some of folks’ breathing when the fumes were inhaled. The healer would be sure to thank the soldier when he saw him next.

A rustle was heard behind Collothion. Pivoting on his heels, the man was just in time to see Cuilad’s head protruding through the split in the tent. The boy stepped out and stretched in the same manner as his father: first pulling his arms over his head, and then twisting his torso with his hand on his hips. Neither of them ever noticed how similar their mannerisms were.

Cuilad motioned to the sky, wiggled his fingers as he lowered his hand, and placed his fist firmly in his other palm. “Yes, it stopped, oh, close to a half an hour ago.” Collothion answered. “Can you smell the freshness in the air?” Cuilad nodded and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, but Collothion continued without noticing. “The ground is soft and the trees and grasses are clean. This would be a good time to search the edge of the forest again. We could see how the earth comes alive after the rain. What do you say?” The older man turned over his shoulder and saw his son sitting with his back against the exterior of the tent…Cuilad had fallen asleep.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

A high-pitched cry jerked Kestrel's attention away from the pot of squirrel stew just starting to bubble (at least, the creature had resembled a squirrel, but there was so little meat on it that Kestrel had at first thought it to be a very furry rat). She had enough presence of mind to shove the pot off the fire before running out to see (after a fashion; her bad leg made actual running somewhat difficult.)

Flint sat on the ground, clutching a bleeding knee, his face scrunched up trying bravely not to cry. His mother sighed in exasperation as she bent down to examine this latest cut, but that changed quickly to worry when she saw how long and deep the cut was.

Dear spirits! Kestrel clapped a hand to her mouth, and put the other to Flint's injured knee, pressing hard. She gathered the weeping toddler into her arms and shambled as quickly as she could to the healer/priest’s hut. The blood was still flowing sluggishly when she stumbled into someone just as he was leaving the ramshackle excuse for a temple and hospital, as well as the priest's home.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, and stepped to the side to go around the hard body of the man she'd bumped, and into the shadows of the hut. Inside, Cleft was kneeling at the shrine to the spirits, chanting in the language only he knew. She knew she shouldn't disturb him, she risked the anger of the spirits if she did, but this was an emergency. Cuts this deep sometimes went bad, and someone as young as Flint could--well, she didn't want another Iron.

"Sir? Sir, my son, he's cut himself badly, and I don't know what to do. Please, help me!" She was babbling, she knew, but she had to get it out before Cleft sent her away. He didn't seem too angry; he only ignored her as his chant wound to a close. Then, still without saying anything to her, he took Flint from her and waved her away while he took some of the herbs down from the wall. She hesitated and the priest's gestures grew more emphatic. She limped out, worried nearly sick over her son.

"What happened, Kestrel?" came a voice from her left. She turned her head so her good eye was facing the speaker.

"Wolf! I don't know; I was making dinner, and Flint screamed. I only saw that his leg was sliced open; I don't know what did it. I came here right away. Cleft was chanting to the spirits when I came in, and he wouldn't say anything. It's like someone died..." she trailed off at the shake of Wolf's head. "Someone did die. Who was it?"

[ November 09, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[TheLadyAerowen]

Alearindu awoke quietly from her sleep in the make-shift camp that was in the forest above the settlement. She packed up her equipment that she had used for the night, and planned her day. She was to watch over the settlement, so why not get a closer look of the place?

She walked over to Mornen, her horse, who had been grazing. Mounting effortlessly, Alearindu made her way through the forest on the path that led to the settlement. As they reached the clearing, Alearindu first noticed how many tents there were. Every building-to-be was either under a tent, or just out in the open. Her first impression of the place, was that it would be quite, dull, having no real buildings and people that either appeared to be wandering, or people that were working.

Still following a dirt path, Alearindu came upon the Lake Evendim and went to the right. She then came across a distributary of the lake, which appeared to be quite deep in that particular spot. Going to the right once again, Alearindu led Mornen down the banks of the distributary until they came to a more shallow part of the waters. Mornen obediently waded through the flowing waters and only his legs and up to Alearindu's boots got wet.

Alearindu and Mornen continued on, past a few more tents, and one smithy which was in the open. Right after the smithy, came what appeared to be a trading post. Alearindu decided to stop there, so she dismounted Mornen and let him go free; knowing he wouldn't wander far. Going under the tent, Alearindu entered the trading post. Even without a building, the trading post had just about everything one could need for a journey. Alearindu first went to a near-by table, picked up an arrow from a stack that was lying on the table and examined it. She then picked up nine more, and continued walking around the make-ship trading post. Everything was set up on tables, in shelves, or on the ground, depending on what the item was.

After perusing the shop for a while, Alearindu finally made her way to the front table with her arrows, a few herbs, and even snacks for Mornen.

"Hello, I'm the shop keeper Kaben Bieth. May I ask your name?" Alearindu looked to where the voice came from and saw the smiling face of a man sitting behind the front table.

Alearindu couldn't help but smile. "I am Alearindu," she responded.

"Nice to meet you, Alearindu; would you like anything else?" Kaben inquired. Alearindu shook her head and put her items on the table. After Alearindu gave Kaben a few silver coins, she gathered up her supplies and, thanking Kaben, walked out of the shop. Alearindu was looking down at her purchases right outside the tent as someone bumped into her going into the trading post. "I'm sorry," the ranger said automatically.

"That's alright, more my fault," the settler said with a smile. A smile came to Alearindu as they started talking, this place wasn't as bad as it first seemed.

[Bêthberry]

Settlers and Rangers

Calumdril staggered and almost fell back at the sight of the Ranger menacing him. He bent a knee and quickly but gently let Thorgil's body slide down. Then, he threw Thorgil's blade and his belt knife to the ground. He was unarmed.

"You come upon in haste and anger, but I need your help."

"It appears Thorgil needed my help more. Since you obviously couldn't provide it." The young Ranger Awyrgan stopped his rush, but his face was marked with fury, distrust, frustration.

"Give me time," replied Calumdril, short of breath. He took several gulps of air, as much to steady his own thought as to recover from the exertion of carrying the dead ranger.

"I was not there. I had gone to the ridge to hunt deer, but the rain drove the herd away, so I went in search of Thorgil. The rain had washed away his tracks, but the vultures led me to him." Calumdril stopped, and bowed his head, a quiet look of sorrow passing over his features before he looked up again at the young Ranger.

"You expect us to believe this? That Thorgil--Thorgil--would have ..." Awyrgan could not finish his thought.

Calumdril raised his hand, as if to signal he was not finished. Yet he stood a minute longer in silence.

"A rock caught him between the eyes. I found it; I have it here. Yet he was not surprised. He found the Hillman whose tracks we had seen. They fought. It was not an uneven battle. Thorgil wounded him, a death blow with his blade, but a blow that still allowed the Hillman to respond. I found them, two hundred paces apart. Both dead."

Awyrgan glared at Calumdril, not wanting to believe him. "You saw the Hillman? It was a man, not a creature?"

Calumdril nodded. "Let us not talk more. Help me carry Thorgil. Back to your cabin."

Awyrgan stood for a moment, not wanting to aid the settler in the least, but at last the desire to serve Thorgil won out.

With not a word between them the two men brought Thorgil home for the last time.

[*Varda*]

Therin gazed around him as the dwarves gathered in the square. The architecture in Annuminas was truly magnificent, and Therin noted the other dwarves were equally enthralled. As the dwarves spread out, gathering stone, Therin picked up a large piece of stone. He felt the craftmanship involved in making this one stone, his fingers feeling out the carving so carefully etched into the surface. This rock was once part of what had been a majestic city.

Moving on, Therin pushed his wheelbarrow in front of him, as it jolted and bumped against small pieces of stone. Slowly filling the wheelbarrow, the dwarf was surprised and slightly bumped as it came to a sudden stop in front of him.

"Another rock," Therin grumbled to himself. "A city so beautiful, now reduced to ruins and crumbled stone. What a waste." He moved round to the front of the wheelbarrow to dislodge what had caused it stop so suddenly. He picked up a large grey stone, and looked at it carefully, it feeling strange to his experienced hands. The stone was dented in several places, as though someone had tried to carve into it, and missed, the chisel unsteady in their hands. In a corner, however, was a slightly more precise carving, as if the person had become used to both the stone and the tool.

Looking around him, Therin saw several more attempts of this, evidence of someone trying to work on the old ruins of the city. It was messy, crude, and Therin wondered who had been here last, and tried to do this. His eyes scanning the area around him, he saw an intricate carving on a pillar a few metres from him, and looking back down at the stone he held in his rough hand, realised that whoever had attempted this had been trying to imitate the old style of architecture in Arnor.

Dropping it into his nearly full wheelbarrow, he began to trundle it back to show the other dwarves. They would be very interested in who had tried to make this poor imitations.

[ November 09, 2003: Message edited by: *Varda* ]

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan stood silently for some time before moving. Eventually he prodded himself into action. Stooping down to the slight man's level he spoke softer. "I will carry him." Calumdril nodded, seemingly grateful for a chance to catch his breath.

Awyrgan was broad and supposedly powerfully-built, but Thorgil was not a light man. Still, the limp frame offered little resistance as the ranger gently slung the dead man over his shoulders. Turning his back on the hated clearing he strode off with Calumdril in his wake.

They walked in silence for some time, each lost in their own thoughts. Awyrgan could not read the mind of his companion, but his own thoughts circled on how to best break the news to the town. For the leader of those supposedly responsible for the saftey of the settlement to suddenly appear dead could cause the people to lose faith. Still, it would be just as wrong to keep a secret from them. Not being familer with the villagers Awyrgan was unsure how to break the news to him. Besides, it was not his place.

Tane would have to be notified, the obvious choice to replace Thorgil. Borgand would have to be told as well. As they drew closer to the settlement Awyrgan turned to Calumdril. "We'll take him to Borgand's. Then I have to find Tane."

[ November 09, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Dwarves - Barzûn

Barzûn heard the sound of voices. He rose from where he was looking at the drawings done by the young Dwarf. Grumbling about the lack of respect that some Dwarves have these days, Barzûn marched over to what appeared to be a small group of Dwarves gathering around a wheelbarrow. They were looking at something within the wheelbarrow.

“What is the meaning of this?” Barzûn asked. “Get back to work!”

“You should see this, Sir,” a Dwarf said. Barzûn gave the Dwarf a confrontational stare. He sighed inwardly when he saw that the Dwarf was Therin. The little upstart…

“What do you suppose did this?” Therin looked at Barzûn, who scowled at the stones within the wheelbarrow.

“We do not have time for these games,” Barzûn said grouchily. “We have to get back to work. Now put those back where you found them and get some useful supplies.”

Therin began to object, but then seemed to think better of it. He dejectedly made his way back to where he found the stones and deposited them where they had originally been, all the while under the watchful eye of Barzûn. Barzûn waited a bit until he was sure that Therin was back to work before he made his way around to the other Dwarves. Having heard of Therin’s discovery and Barzûn’s negative reaction to the find, the Dwarves seemed even more somber than ever as they worked through the day.

[The X Phial]

Borgand - Settlers

Borgand was leaving the site of the town hall construction and headed for the guard tent to check on his soldiers when he saw Illith approaching from the direction of the tent. He took a glance at her flushed face and worried expression and felt his own heart jump into his throat.

"What is it, Illith? Is Bregand hurt?" he asked anxiously.

"No, Bregand's fine. He's sleeping. It's Calumdril. He says he needs to see you back at the tent right away. He was going to come find you himself, but I made him stop and rest. He's been running, says there's a ranger behind him with something you need to see."

"I will come right away," he answered, and joined his wife in the walk back to their makeshift home. Not for the first time, he cursed the fact that he could not run. Something bad enough to upset Calumdril had to be important. Pushing himself harder than he should, he briefly lost his balance, and would have fallen but for Illith's steadying hand on his shoulder. He pushed the support away, frustrated. By the time they reached the tent, Illith had fallen behind, deliberately putting space between them. Borgand sighed internally, and made a mental note to apologize later.

Calumdril was pacing in front of the tent when they arrived, glancing behind him. He approached Borgand immediately upon seeing him.

"I think it best we discuss this outside the camp, Borgand. How far can you walk? I want to try to head off the ranger before he enters the settlement."

"Don't worry about me, just lead, and I will follow," he panted, grabbing up his walking stick.

They walked for about 5 minutes before clearing the camp and entering the leafy cover of the forest. Calumdril explained about Thorgil and the hillman as they walked. Borgand was thankful that there was little undergrowth so close to the edge of the woods, for that lessened the chances of an embarassing spill, and he was able to pay close attention to the tale.

The news was bad. If all hillmen were such creatures, the settlement was in trouble. If he was a special case, the death might bring down serious anger and retribution from the tribe. The death of Thorgil was also very troubling. In an already unstable situation, changing the leadership of the rangers was an increased threat, not to mention the loss of a skilled hunter and fighter in times when every hand counted.

Soon, they met the ranger, Awyrgan, who was still carrying his grim burden. No one spoke as the body was lowered to the floor of the forest. Finally, Borgand stepped forward.

"This is truly a great loss, my friend. I did not know him well, but I mourn his passing. We will stand as an honour guard for him while you fetch your new leader."

The larger man nodded, mumbled something that sounded elvish, and slipped away. Borgand marvelled that a man of such size could move so lightly, but knew the skill was needed in such a hostile environment. Maybe these rangers could train his men. A thought for a less mournful moment. Borgand hoped that the new leader would be willing to work with him and his people. He had a feeling they would need to rely on each other in the coming days.

[Kryssal]

Kaben looked at the departing back of the Ranger lady. Alearindu was her name and the shopkeeper was determined to remember. The Rangers could be very good customers in the near future. Not wanting to let time pass without something useful being done, Kaben went to rearrange a display that had some vacant spots because of buyers. He could hear two people talking right outside his tent. Soon, someone walked in....

~*~

Tane didn't like staying in the commanders cabin very much, it still didn't feel quite right for him. Well, he wasn't really in command, only temporarily so. Because of his feelings he tended to leave and walk around doing other miscellaneous duties. He was back in the cabin and taking a report from a Ranger who had just patrolled his loop though when Awyrgan came bursting in with a fowl look. Both men turned in suprise at the angry interruption.

"Thorgil is dead."

Tane stared at the Ranger and knew he spoke no lie. His knuckles slowly curled and he rested them on the desk to keep them from moving. Looking back at the other Ranger Tane made several throat noises before he turned with a shocked look on his face.

"Please leave us and don't tell others what you have heard. I want to get all the facts before addressing all the Rangers," Tane's voice sounded strange to his own ears, but his message got accross perfectly for the Ranger nodded and he walked out, quitely exiting.

"Now, tell me your report of these .... events..." So close, he couldn't speak so harshly of it. Yet the truth was quickly sinking it's deep teeth in and the pain was surfacing.

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan slowly trunged along the wooded trails towards the Ranger encampment. As he approached the perimeter he was hailed by a lookout. A tall thin Ranger came sliding down a tree and landed in front of him. "Awyrgan, good to see you." The dark man nodded. "Likewise. Is Tane in the camp?" "Yes, yes he is. Things working out well at the camp for you and Alearindu?"

"Yes." Awyrgan lied. Come to think of it, he hadn't even spoken to his assigned companion. Leaving the guard at his post Awyrgan strode towards the cabin in the center. His mouth grew dry with each step. Tane was a good man, but Thorgil had been as much a friend as a leader to him. His reaction couldn't be predicted. Setting his jaw firmly Awyrgan entered, or rather burst into the cabin.

Tane and another Ranger turned surprised to face him. Awyrgan worked his mouth and finally spit out words that sounded hated to his ears. "Thorgil is dead."

"Please leave us and don't tell others what you have heard. I want to get all the facts before addressing all the Rangers." The third man left the cabin leaving Awyrgan alone with Tane. "Now, tell me your report of these .... events..."

Awyrgan swallowed, and with a deep breath began to relay the story. Following the tracks, finding the settler with Thorgil, his story, the creature, and the journey back.

Finishing his report the man sighed and leaned against the wall. The reality of the situation was beginning to truely sink in.

[Himaran]

Dwarves - Olin collecting materials

While several of the other dwarves gathered around a wheel-barrow and observed a strange object, Olin continued the basic routine he had mastered years before: lift, walk, drop. Soon, his cart was filled to the brim with chunks of unshaped stone; and, finished with his current assignment, the dwarf sat down for a break. Pulling a hatchet from his belt, Olin tested the blade against the rough palm of his hand. Truthfully, the dwarf was both bored with the common masonry and tired of the constant setbacks and arguments among the building party. He wished fervently that something - anything innormal would occur, to add some excitement to the dull work he was engaged in each day.

The thoughts were soon interrupted by an outburst from Barzun, who was beratting the group examining the object they had found. Just as well that I never bothered to see it; whatever it was, it is not at all interesting to our leader, and that is enough for me. Pulling himself upright, the dwarf grabbed the handles on his cart and slowly rolled it over to the filled caravan; waiting to be transported back to the camp. Returning to the site, he once again began the slow process of collecting materials for the new city; secretly wishing for something to happen. Something relatively violent.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:45 PM December 07, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[Kryssal]

Tane walked over to the Ranger who seemed to be beaten down by the news. Gripping his shoulder Tane spoke firmly, "Ride with me back to camp." Awyrgan's eyes popped a bit. "The Hillmen may react to these deaths very badly. I need to speak with Calumdril. I want you to go back with me and take up your post."

Tane didn't want Awyrgan to lapse into a fit of hate against their allies, his temper was well known and he didn't put Calumdril in a good light with his report. Giving him a specific task was a way to keep his mind slightly occupied, and if needed, he would still be in town for easy questioning.

The Cat's grey eyes were staring at his new leader with a varying intensity that Tane couldn't quite decifer. The Cat, it was a short name used in reference to Awyrgan by his close friends, yet Tane didn't know if he fit there yet. Giving a mental shake he came back as Awyrgan nodded and headed out the cabin.

Calling in the Ranger who had been there when Awyrgan had come back Tane quickly explained where he was going and why while he strapped on his gear. One never knew what would happen in tumultous lands. The Ranger's name was Hothem and he would be the camps temporary leader while Tane was out. He was a competent man, though not much of a politician.

Small flashes of thoughts like nick names and a Ranger's skills kept surfacing on Tane's mind while he tried to concentrate on the task at hand. Behind the surface he knew he was simply delaying facts that Thorgil, the leader of the Rangers was no more and he was the new commander. Perhaps he needed the real evidence of the dead body to show the truth, though if he thought on it, he knew he wouldn't need that proof.

Hurrying out he rode double with Awyrgan to where his horse was. It took longer than either Ranger liked for Tane to put the tack on Skit, yet soon he mounted with a slight wince coming to his face. In his haste he mounted with his right leg and the unwanted movement caused a twinge of pain to race through his body.

Taking lead with the fresher of the two horses, the new leader of the Rangers headed out toward the budding village.

[Belin]

Hillmen

Wolf’s eyes fixed on the two figures within the hut, each absorbed in a world apart, one of spirits and one of pain, and he watched carefully as the old priest, with a weary sigh, bent over the injured boy and immersed himself in another kind of concentration. Wolf could think of nobody who could shift so adroitly from one arduous task to another, except perhaps the mother who stood next to him, watching anxoiusly with her single eye, and, impatient as he was to hear what Cleft had learned from his ceremony, he had to admire his care of the boy. He nodded gravely at her story, and, ignoring her question, answered quietly, “I hope Cleft can help him.”

She brushed this comment aside as useless. “What happened?”

He looked at her carefully. “The newcomers are presumptious. They kill carelessly. Who they kill, and what the consequences are, mean nothing to them. If they live here long… I wonder what’s happened to the place they came from…”

Kestrel frowned, confused and anxious. “Who have they killed, Wolf? A child? A wanderer? A priest?”

Wolf snorted at the mention of a priest, a short, grim sound that nobody would have ventured to call a laugh. “Not a priest, no. Not yet, but who knows? ”

She was beginning to become exasperated. “If you’re going to talk in riddles, I don’t see why you even—ooh.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Calem?”

“Quiet!” The word burst out of him before he could weigh it, and Wolf could see that he had frightened her, perhaps as badly as she had frightened him. How could a one-eyed woman be so perceptive? This was dangerous. He gave her the admonishing glare he usually reserved for erring hunters and miscreant youth, but she held her ground. They stared at each other for a moment, frozen.

“You will know,” muttered Wolf finally, “everyone will know, but not yet. I can’t announce it yet. I need to know what it means. I don’t want a panic.” Avoiding her eyes, he added lamely, “Whatever it does mean, I need the right time, I mean, even if... if it is a panic… I think I can stop a panic, as long as I’ve got the right time... whatever Cleft might... I need time!”

He had already said far more than he meant to, and Kestrel’s silence had begun to unnerve him, whether it was bewilderment, anger, concern, or something else. Half angry himself, he stared into the hut, where the healer was still bent over the boy. “Isn’t he finished yet?” snarled Wolf ungraciously, turning on his heel and stalking to the back of the hut, where he prowled around impatiently, out of the reach of Kestrel’s eye. He could not remember ever being so much on edge. The awareness that his behavior toward her was uncharacteristic, unprecedented, and unsettling only increased his frustration, but he was in no state to go back and ameliorate it. For a priest and a woman to know more of his business than he did was intolerable.

[ 1:33 AM December 02, 2003: Message edited by: Belin ]

[*Varda*]

“Right, everybody!” Barzun ordered, as the dwarves stopped sitting comfortably on the ground and wearily began to get themselves up. “It’s time for us to get back to work, we still haven't collected enough stone for our purposes!”

Pushing their laden wheelbarrows before them, the dwarves went back to walking through the great ruined city of Annuminas. Therin looked wistfully now and again as they walked – the stonework and architecture had fascinated him, and it saddened his heart to see a place that must have once been so majestic reduced to a heap of crumbling stone. Turning his head away, looking down into his wheelbarrow, his eyes once again passed over the crude carving into several bits of stone, which so excited his curiosity.

No use mentioning it to the elder dwarf again, though. Having mentioned it to Barzun in his excitement, Barzun had just passed over it with no interest whatsoever. Therin sighed and picked up more heavy bits of rock, balancing them precariously on top of his already nearly full wheelbarrow.

[ 5:48 PM December 05, 2003: Message edited by: *Varda* ]

[Bêthberry]

Settlers

Calumdril had returned to Borgand's tent. He was exhaused from the physical strain of carrying the dead Ranger's body, tense and frustrated by the attitude of the young, angry Ranger, worried that a regular supply of food had not been found.

He slumped down on the rough wooden bench with a nod and hollow look at Illith.

"It's bad, isn't it? The news," she said quietly.

"Aye, that it is." Calumdril stared over at the sleeping boy Bregand, wishing he could sleep. "I couldn't find a trace of the herd of deer. The rainstorm and thunder drew them off. But I went looking for the Ranger leader, Thorgil. I had told him I found strange tracks, Illith, and suspected him of duplicity. He was supposed to warn us of dangers he knew in the area. He had not."

Illith nodded silently. She knew at this point better than to interrupt. Instead, she filled a bowl with the bubbling stew from the fire, cut a wide slice of bread, and placed the food in front of the man who was her husband's best friend. She hung a small tin pot with water over the fire, to brew a warm drink for him. For herself as well.

Calumdril exhaled deeply, several times, and watched the steam from the hot stew wander lazily upwards until it reached his nostrils. He was hungry. And he was glad he was close with Illith.

"I found Thorgil, Illith, but dead of a stone wound to the head. He had come upon the Hillman with the strange tracks. I don't know exactly what happened. Perhaps they surprised each other. Perhaps they were overcome with fear and mistrust. The Hillman was dead, too, of a sword wound to the stomach. Not a heroic end for either." He stopped to eat his stew while Illith prepared the draught. The warmth spread threw his belly and he relaxed a bit.

"So that is what you brought Borgand out to see. Thorgil's body."

"Yes, but it's worse. Did I sent Thorgil to his doom, Illith? Should I have tracked this Hillman myself? These thoughts travelled through my head as I buried the wild man, a deformed creature whose death likely will bring omens to his people. And as I struggled carrying Thorgil's body, one of the young rangers came upon me, impatient and hot headed with youth. Did he read guilt in my face as I explained what I had found? He might have. He nearly accused me of killing Thorgil myself, Illith."

Illith sipped her cup silently. "Did he tell this to the other rangers?"

"Likely, I would expect. At a time when we need cooperation between us and the rangers, this will set us apart. And we will be more vulnerable to attack from these wild men."

He ate silently, at first pulling his bread apart roughly and hastily swallowing it, but then slowly coming to wipe his bowl with the final pieces. Illith served him more stew and bread.

"You shouldn't be feeding me so much. We don't know how long our supplied will last."

"We've enough for now. And there are the cattle if need be. Take what is due you," she replied simply, "and don't let haste or panic bring fear."

Calumdril watched her face quietly for several minutes as she drank. There were lines around her eyes and forehead he had not seen before, but her eyes shone brightly with determination. He returned to his eating.

"So, what we need is something to bring us together, the rangers and the settlers," Illith suggested calmly, a hint of twinkle even in her face.

Calumdril looked up at her with some surprise. He had not expected her to think of strategy. He had come to her for solace, the way he had often done with his sisters. He nodded.

Illith looked directly into his face. "Then we take this difference and work it into a game."

"A game? This isn't child's play, resettling in the wilderness."

Illith laughed. "There's more truth in child's play than you men ever notice. Sometimes friendly competition teaches people to share in a similar goal."

The Ithilian ranger stared at the woman. He had never seen this side of her before. With a start, he realized why she was such a good mate for Borgand.

Illith continued. "When Borgand returns, or when the rangers arrive--they will pick a new leader, I assume--why don't you suggest a challenge? Create a wager between the northern rangers and us. See who will find the herd of deer and bring us back food. Maybe we will name a feast dinner after he who succeeds."

Calumdril sat back on the rough bench.

"A game?" he repeated.

"Why not" she replied. At that moment, the sleeping Bregand stirred and she rose to check on him.

[ 9:24 AM November 30, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Kryssal]

The two Rangers rode into Awyrgan's small camp on Tane's orders. He wanted to leave the already angered Ranger here. The meeting was going to be difficult enough without having a possibly hot headed Ranger there causing strife. Awyrgan didn't know this yet.

Tane dismounted hard onto his right leg; he wasn't paying as much attention as he should have been. Turning he led Skit to a nearby tree and tied him quickly. Soon all the tack was off the horse and put securely away. He'd give Skit a good rub down once he found the time. Awyrgan approached Tane, obviously wanting to get on their way.

Tane looked into the village. "Where is the leader's tent?"

Awyrgan was smart and caught what Tane was doing, yet tried to sidestep it. "I can take you there in a few minutes."

Tane locked eyes with his underling. "No. I want you to stay here and watch out for the hillmen. We still don't know if they know and what they'll do with the knowledge. The settlers have their own people, but they're not as good as you. If the hillmen do start something I want to be the first one to know about it," Tane saw the man's eyes dart a second, about to protest. "You will go to your post." It was not a question as the old Tane would have said and Awyrgan knew the difference showing through, he still wasn't happy with the decision.

"Thorgil is... Thorgil's body is there," he pointed off to one edge of the settlement. "The tent is on the edge of the village, by the forest edge. If you go straight from here you'll pass a knee high rock sticking out of the ground about one hundred paces from the tent. The tent is brown."

Tane nodded and started out, yet he didn't go straight to the awaiting meeting. He wanted to find Alearindu and he had seen her horse on happenstance while riding in. People had been walking around it while it ate the grass near a large tent. His mind raced as he walked. How did Thorgil really die? How would the hillmen react? Would a fight ensue? How would he lead the Rangers? He knew he could do it. He'd led many groups before, but this was different. He was now the ultimate authority. Not everyone might like it, Rangers and villagers both. Picking up his pace a bit he soon found himself by the horse and looked around for the female Ranger. He didn't look long; some people near him moved and behind them was Alearindu just finishing up a conversation with a young girl.

He walked over to her, startling her with his presence. "I need you to come with me. There's been an upset and I must meet with the leaders at once."

Surprise showed on her every feature, but it didn't stop her. She started to ask what had happened but a head jerk from Tane let her know that it couldn't be discussed in such an open place.

"We could ride Mornen," but once again Tane shook his head.

"No, but we'll walk her," he wanted to tell her what had happened so that she wouldn't be shocked or worse when they got to their destination. They would get there too soon if they rode. A brisk pace was set and they weaved out of the few people around and were soon alone. Alearindu kept the questions inside even though she must have been bursting. She was a trained Ranger before all else and she held herself true.

"The upset...Alearindu, Thorgil is dead," he was more blunt than he had intended.

She stopped immedietly and looked at Tane, her teeth grinding against each other as she got back in control. It didn't take long for her composure to come back, though she was still fighting grief and anger. "How? Tane..."

"It was the creature we thought of no importance. It seems they killed each other. They were found by a villager and that's all I know. I'm going to the leaders now to get Thorgil's body and to talk with them. I need you with me, can you do it?" Tane was gripping her arm as she stared into his face.

"Yes," she faced their destination now and started on an even faster walk, bordering on a slight jog. The one time Tane glanced over it was to witness three tears being viciously wiped away.

It didn't take them long to come up to the brown tent where a man was waiting outside next to an inert form covered in a blanket. Tane stared at the blanket covering his former leader until they got close, then focused on the man. Alearindu had kept her eyes unfocused so she could both see the body and observe the man, but as they came upon the threshold she refocused upon simply the living man. He stood slightly to one side but still held himself with intense authority.

He looked between the Rangers whose faces were as stone. "I am Borgand. I'm very sorry for your loss..." he looked down and weakly gestured. "Please come in so we can talk..." now he held the tent open as he looked at the two.

Tane stepped close to Alearindu. "Could you stay and guard him?" he had sensed no ill will from the leader of the settlers and didn't want Thorgil to be alone.

She nodded and Tane went inside. Sitting at a table was another settler who had just finished eating some stew, the remnant juices pooling in the bowl. A quick survey around the tent showed an orderly living space, as much as was allowed. Two other people were in the tent and Tane raised an eyebrow in their direction.

Borgand caught the look as he showed Tane to his seat. "My wife and son, please sit." Borgand himself taking a seat opposite of Tane's indicated chair.

The still un-named villager nodded to Tane and held out a hand as he sat down. "I'm Calumdril. I'm the one that found them."

Tane briefly clasped hands. "My name is Tane Arisn. I was Thorgil's second in command."

Calumdril didn't need to be asked and he started his short tale of events. The only emotion Tane let through was in his hands which clenched together making the tips of his fingers red and the bases white. The main concern now was the hillmen's reaction and the trust between the Rangers and settlers. Calumdril seemed to be thinking along those same lines.

"Barring an attack from the hillmen, there should be a show of trust between our people and yours," he waited for Tane to nod but was cut off by Borgand before he could complete his thread of thought.

"Thorgil could be burried in town with a memorium, it would show-" but Tane was already shaking his head.

"That's very generous on your part, but there's a burial site about a half days ride to the east where other leaders have been buried. He would want to go there..." Tane clenched his jaw a couple of times, allowing for Calumdril to interject.

"The town is in need of food supplies. It's been suggested that we have a game. A friendly competition between the Rangers and the hunters to see who can find a source of real game first," Calumdril sat back, satisfied that the idea was sound. He looked over at Illith who was watching from her place with Bregand and smiled at her friend.

Borgand looked thoughtful, but Tane smiled. "That sounds like a good idea. I could get something from your trader for the prize."

"Or perhaps name a feast after the victor," Calumdril got another smile from accross the tent.

Tane stood and offered a much more sturdy and firm handshake than before to both the men. "We must talk more soon, but I feel I must get to the Rangers." They each took his hand in farewell and walked out with him where he met with Alearindu who was standing stoutly in front of their burden.

"I'm going to get my horse. Wait here, I won't be long."

She nodded and shifted her legs ever so slightly. Tane hurried off and practically ran back to Awyrgan's tent. The Ranger had just done a quick patrol and was about to go out for a more thorough scouting; he had just stopped in to get his horse an encouragement treat.

"Awyrgan, Alearindu and I are going to take Thorgil's body back to camp. Day after tomorrow we'll head out to bury him. I want you to stay till tomorrow night and then come back unless something happens that needs you to return sooner," Tane spoke as he gathered back together his gear and was already strapping up Skit when he had finished speaking.

"I understand," Awyrgan quickly clasped Tane's hand then helped him gear up.

Soon Tane was with Alearindu again and they were heading off toward their camp, Thorgil on a stretcher behind Mornen, the much fresher of the two horses. Their pace was slow and they spoke quietly to each other on the journey back.

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan - Rangers

Awyrgan and Tane arrived at the outskirts of the village without incident. The older Ranger hastly tied his horse to a tree. Awyrgan shifted. He didn't feel much like standing around aimlessly. Tane turned to him. "Where is the leader's tent?"

Awyrgan tried unsucessfuly to appear indifferent. "I can take you there in a few minutes."

The pair locked eyes briefly. Tane spoke. "No. I want you to stay here and watch out for the hillmen. We still don't know if they know and what they'll do with the knowledge. The settlers have their own people, but they're not as good as you. If the hillmen do start something I want to be the first one to know about it." Awyrgan's eyebrows raised and his mouth opened slightly. "You will go to your post." Awyrgan's dropped his green gaze as his mouth snapped shut. He sighed.

"Thorgil is... Thorgil's body is there," he pointed off to one edge of the settlement. "The tent is on the edge of the village, by the forest edge. If you go straight from here you'll pass a knee high rock sticking out of the ground about one hundred paces from the tent. The tent is brown." Tane nodded and left.

Watch out for the hillmen. Tane's words echoed in his mind. Awyrgan doubted any would be found close to the camp, at least not yet. Still, nothing could be taken for granted. He coughed slightly. It was cold. Mounting his horse he road off, circling back and forth amongst the village outskirts.

He had just returned when Tane came hurrying back to where he had tied his horse. "Awyrgan, Alearindu and I are going to take Thorgil's body back to camp. Day after tomorrow we'll head out to bury him. I want you to stay till tomorrow night and then come back unless something happens that needs you to return sooner," Tane spoke as he gathered back together his gear and was already strapping up Skit when he had finished speaking.

There was nothing else to be said. "I understand," Awyrgan quickly clasped Tane's hand then helped him gear up. The man road off leaving Awyrgan alone. He felt a sudden urge for solitude.

Leaving his site he strode aimlessly off into the wilderness, his thoughts dwelling on the dead Ranger.

Pausing, he leaned against a tree. Then in a burst of anger he thrust a knife into it. The soft pine gave way easily and weapon buried itself nearly up to the hilt. He sat down.

A tear ran down the chasm on his face like a recently opened spring in a valley. He flicked at the scar, brushing them away. Drawing his pipe from his pouch he lit it and sat smokening in silence. The smoke and tears stung his face and the smouldering of the leaf matched the burning in his heart.

[ 6:54 PM December 03, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Hillmen

Stunned and hurt by Wolf's unusual harshness, Kestrel whimpered a little as he disappeared from her sight. She tried to watch him go, but he knew her weakness too well and her eye couldn't find him. She simply couldn't understand this change in the calm leader she thought she knew. He never raised his voice, never babbled like that--had Calem's d.eath (she was sure it was Calem; Wolf's expression told her that she was right in that much.) so worried him? The spirits would be angry, yes, but wouldn't their wrath be turned on the cripple's killer?

It was all too much for the practical Kestrel. Let Cleft worry about the spirits, she had her family to think of. They would need to be fed, and clothed just as usual, and she didn't understand the world of the spirits anyway. Such knowledge was reserved for priests, not crippled women. Still, she would leave an offering to appease Calem's spirit and keep him from her home.

A dry hand tapped her left shoulder. She turned and Cleft, still without a word to her, handed Flint into her arms, then ducked back into his little hut. A sigh, half of exasperation and half of relief, escaped her. She looked down at her son, who was sleeping, probably from some sort of herb the priest had given him, then, with one more look in the direction Wolf had disappeared, limped home.

[Osse]

Bear - Hillmen

Bear strode through the bare patch of corroded and muddy ground that served as the village’s meeting-place. He greatly desired to talk to his brother. The attack needed to be launched soon, before the southerners’ roots had delved too deep, weeding them out would prove very difficult if they were left to get settled; it was already perhaps beyond the hillmen as it was.

The recent rains had left the grounds soft and yielding; deep ruts were formed on the most commonly used trails. You could tell just by the depth of the rut how often a person went in and out of their hut, and that was usually in close affiliation with the person’s age.

It was easy to spot where the tribe elders lived. As he walked through the part of the village chiefly populated by the elders he stopped and stooped to look at something on the ground. Clearly outlined against the others, lay Wolf’s footprint.

The trail led away from the priests hut, it would be easy to follow, not many people were up and about, and no-one walked like Wolf. He had a slight instep on his left foot that made a very unique print.

Wolf had walked on a little used track that snaked between some of the larger huts, out onto the hill behind the village. He stood just below the mantle of the hill gazing up into the heavens.

Bear made no effort to be quiet as he approached his brother, when Wolf got like this sometimes even the loudest of noises wouldn’t disturb his train of thought. This time however, Wolf’s gaze descended upon Bear as he got to within about ten paces.

Even from this distance Bear could see the lines of worry and panic that beleaguered his brothers unusually pale face. For the first time in many years, he wished he could help his older brother bear his burden, had fleeting glimpses of a distressed child in need of a mothers care.

The vision went as quickly and fleetingly as it had come as Wolf quickly mastered his expression, though his eyes still had a worried, hunted look to them.

“What ails you brother, surely whatever worry you have cannot be as serious as your face tells?”

Wolf remained silent, and his gaze went back to the clouds.

“Come Wolf, you cannot shoulder this burden alone, whatever it is, you must tell me.”

When Wolf’s voice came at last it was most unlike his usual calculative, calm stammer. Instead of merely saying the words as he normally would, Wolf spat them.

“What I tell you is completely up to me! I am chief. It is my burden alone.”

And with that he strode off down the hill, his doubt and rage even apparent from behind. Bear stood in shock, peering through misty eyes at his brother’s receding form.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:03 AM December 07, 2003: Message edited by: Osse ]

[TheLadyAerowen]

Alearindu had just finished a conversation with a young girl when she turned around and found the Ranger Tane walking towards her. Alearindu was slightly startled and was going to ask what he was doing here, but she quickly stopped her question as Tane explained;

“I need you to come with me. There's been an upset and I must meet with the leaders at once."

Alearindu had heard nothing of some sort of upset and was struck with surprise as Tane finished speaking. She was going to ask what had happened, but was once again stopped Tane jerked his head signalling that this wasn’t the place to discuss it.

“We could ride Mornen,” Alearindu suggested, thinking Tane may have been in some sort of hurry. Tane shook his head, and told Alearindu to just walk him. Alearindu nodded, and pulled Mornen’s reins over his head. Tane set off at a brisk pace weaving through the few people, and Alearindu followed with Mornen, her head buzzing with many questions, but she refrained from asking any. She was sure, with time, most of them would be answered.

Soon, the thin crowds of people had diminished to none. Alearindu glanced over at Tane, and noticed he seemed to want to say something, but couldn’t quite find the words. Finally, he spoke;

“The upset… Alearindu, Thorgil is dead.” Alearindu stopped abruptly in her walk. Grief, anger, and shock flowed through her. “How? Tane…” Alearindu asked, her voice almost in a whisper. Tane then explained that Thorgil and another creature seemed to have killed each other. The only other information he knew, was that a villager had found him. The reason Tane was going to the leaders was to talk with them and get Thorgil’s body. “I need you with me, can you do it?” Tane asked, and Alearindu found herself staring into his eyes as he gripped her arm.

Alearindu nodded, and managed to answer yes, before facing the direction of the tent and starting off at a quicker pace than before. She blinked her eyes a few times fighting back tears, but three tears slipped from her eyes and began to roll down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away, but noticed Tane had glanced over. She said nothing, and continued towards the tent.

Not long after Alearindu had been told the news from Tane, they reached the brown tent. Alearindu noticed a man standing outside, but then, she noticed the body covered by a blanket. Her throat tightened into a knot, but she was able to hold back the tears this time; she just hoped she didn’t have to talk. Alearindu tried hard not to completely focus on the covered form, so as they neared the tent, she set her gaze upon the man who was standing, who explained that he was Borgand. He asked them to come inside, and held the tent open.

Tane asked Alearindu to stay and guard Thorgil’s body. She nodded, and Tane went inside. Alearindu stood with her knees locked in front of Thorgil, her arms crossed. What would it be like without Thorgil? He may not have been the most supportive of Alearindu being in his group, but there was still a lot of grief flowing through her. He was a very experienced Ranger, whom she had looked up to despite some of his actions such as leaving her in the settlement and not any of the other male Rangers, save Awyrgan who had volunteered. With this thought, anger pulsed through her as well. Alearindu’s arms dropped to her sides, and she clenched her fists together tight, digging her nails into the palm of her hand. A tiny trickle of crimson streamed from her palm, but she unclenched her fists as Tane walked out of the tent. He said he was going to go get his horse, and that she was to wait there. Alearindu nodded, and watched his back as he ran off. Now, Tane being Thorgil’s second-in-command would become their leader. Alearindu had no doubts whatsoever about if Tane could take up this responsibility. But still, how would the other Rangers react? What if they didn’t want Tane as their new leader?

Not too long after he left, Tane returned. They placed Thorgil’s body on a stretcher, and hitched it up to Mornen. They set off at a slow pace towards their camp, speaking quietly.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:59 PM December 20, 2003: Message edited by: TheLadyAerowen ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Dwarves

Barzûn watched the other Dwarves working. He eventually heaved his own wheelbarrow over to the rubble and began to pile the heavy rocks into the cart. The Dwarf controlled his breathing as he became winded. They worked for a while quietly. Barzûn figured they should carry as much back as they could, even if it would be a hard trek back to the camp.

Finally, Barzûn called the Dwarves together. He told them to grab what else they could and to start getting ready to head back to camp. As they started the journey back, Barzûn heard a shout of frustration behind him. He turned around just in time to see the wheels of one of the overladen carts snap in two. The disgruntled Dwarf lost his grip on the wheelbarrow and it began to roll away. A few other Dwarves let go of their own carts in surprise. Some of the other carts broke in the excitement that ensued. Finally, Barzûn yelled over the commotion.

"Dwarves!" he growled, once he had their attention, "Due to this...mishap," he glared at the poor Dwarf with the broken cart, "We do not have enough stone to dignify going back. I propose we fix the wheels as best we can and carry what we are able back to the camp in the fixed wheelbarrows. I suppose," he added crankily, "We will have to stay a while longer. Each Dwarf with a broken wheel: get to fixing your cart. You others, see if your cart can take anymore stone. If not, then stay close and be useful."

Even the other Dwarves grumbled a bit at the delay. Barzûn stood back to oversee the repairs. The Dwarves that kept their carts in one piece mostly wandered around, looking at the ruins and exploring various nooks and the like, pretending to look useful. Barzûn let them wander, feigning ignorance. There was not much to do anyway. All they could do was wait.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 7:31 PM January 18, 2004: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[The X Phial]

The rangers had retrieved the body of their fallen leader and freed Borgand and Calumdril to return to camp. The Ithilien had found him soon afterwards with news that he had spoken to both Illith and the new leader of the rangers, Tane. They had come up with an idea that might help solidify the relationship between the two groups, even in the wake of tragedy. Borgand had quickly agreed and was now headed to a hastily assembled settlement meeting.

He looked at his assembled people. So many were chatting amiably with each other. He was proud that, despite the hard conditions and harder work, they were building a community of people as well as of wood and stone. Of course, many were sitting without speaking, tired and cranky from long days and little reward. Borgand hoped that today's announcements would snap people about of their feeling of drudgery. He did not relish telling of the death of Thorgil. Whether they said so or not, the settlers all felt the rangers were standing between them and the worst of the dangers. With the death of a ranger, and the leader at that, fears would rise. Hopefully, the second announcement would temper that fear and give people something to look forward to.

Borgand stepped in front of the assembly, mindful of the need to keep things brief and to the point. A hush slowly fell as people noticed him. One advantage of the wooden leg was that he stood out from the general crowd and was almost instantly recognizable. He cleared his throat and glanced at the group, cheered to see Illith and Calumdril standing near the back.

"Hello my friends!" he began. "We have been working hard and the settlement is starting to take shape before our eyes. You should all be very proud of your accomplishments here. I know that I am proud of all of you. We stand at the edge of civilization, and through our efforts we bring order to the chaos of the wild around us.

"Part of this endeavor, of course, is hard work, which we have all been contributing. Another aspect, however, is loss. I am saddened to announce that Thorgil, one of the northern rangers here, has been slain in an encounter with the hillmen. It looks as though this incident was accidental. We must, however, be vigilant in our watch. The leader of the rangers, a man known as Tane, is both efficient and dedicated to the safety of his people and our settlement."

He paused, gauging the reaction. There was anxiety in the faces looking back at him, and the murmur of fear had not yet died down. As anticipated, the death of the ranger was a difficult bit of news to process. Taking a deep breath, he forged on.

"The rangers will be taking a few days to mourn the loss of Thorgil. When they return, we should have finished the building of the town hall." Borgand gestured to the frame slowly being erected behind him.

"Tane and I have discussed a fitting way to do honor to the dead while celebrating a new beginning. We think a feast is in order." He smiled at the crowd. The tone had changed slightly from anxiety to a lighter mood.

"And so, in two days time, we will have a contest. A hunting contest, to be exact. A team of settlers and a team of rangers will go looking for game. Whichever team finds the herds first will be honoured at the feast. Prizes will also be given for the team and the man who brings in the most game. The stores of wine shall be opened, and our first celebration as a community will truly take place. Now, are there any questions?"

Borgand smiled to Illith at Calumdril as the excited chatter started. The people hadn't forgotten the threat, but they had a goal now, something to bring them together. He hoped the hunt would produce more than just good will, though. A good hunt would provide a much-needed supplement to their stores. He promised himself he would treat Illith to a bath he hauled up from the lake and heated himself for this idea. She really was a gem.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:27 PM December 14, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir had just returned to the settlement when Awyrgan came up to him.
"I really need to talk to you, Thoronmir. Something bad has happened."
Thoronmir could tell by the younger man's expression that it must have been terrible. "What is it?" he asked.
"It's Thorgil. He's...he's dead."
Thoronmir was shocked by the news. "Dead?" he said after a few seconds. "How did he die?"
"One of the hillmen surprised him and hit him with a rock," Awyrgan answered.
"If that's true, then we'd better watch our step from now on," said Thoronmir. "If there was one hillman out there, there are bound to be more. Excuse me a minute."

Thoronmir left Awyrgan and walked away from the settlement. He came to the top of a nearby hill overlooking the town, and sat there for a long while, thinking about Thorgil and what his death would mean for the Rangers now. Out of the 30 Dunedain from the north that had fought alongside King Elessar in the war, 11 were from the Hills of Evendim. 4 had died at the Pelennor Fields, and 5 more at the Black Gate. Only Thorgil and Thoronmir himself had survived from that group. Now Thorgil, the last of Thoronmir's generation of Rangers, was dead. Thoronmir knew now that his time was not as long as he had thought either. Back when he was growing up, the Rangers, at least the good ones, were all experienced men above 50. Now Tane had assumed leadership, and both he and the others were about twenty years younger than Thoronmir. It saddened him to know that he would probably never quite fit in among the Rangers again. Perhaps it was time to retire...

As Thoronmir came back down the hill, he saw that everybody was gathered around listening to Borgand. He joined in, eager to see what was going on.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:00 PM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[Kryssal]

Not all of the Rangers could be brought in for Thorgil's funeral. Some wouldn't even know of his death until they had returned from their outposts and patrols. Tane glanced over the Rangers that were present and looking at him with somber or angry eyes. He didn't hide the former leaders body as he and Alearindu had come back into camp and at questioning glances or words, he told them what had happened. They formed small groups talking stories, staying silent, or vowing vengence, Tane didn't really know himself. He went to his old tent to one side of Thorgil's old cabin. Tane wouldn't move into the cabin for a few days, it just didn't seem right. He didn't want to move in there, but it was the traditional living quarters of the commander. Someone approached from outside and Tane wearily let the Ranger in. They talked late into the night and eventually false dawn leaked over the hills.

~*~

A group of Rangers were riding their mounts eastward with a steady pace. In the middle there was a stretcher being pulled.

The procession arrived at the burial grounds...several cairns littered the ground in the small space. Slowly the group dismounted and started their ceremony. The cairn was raised slowly with a few words spoken by several Rangers moved into the moment. Tane didn't speak, this was the time for them, and he was no longer a part of them. He was above them whether he wanted to be or not because now he had to make decisions that could change their paths....

~*~

Tane walked into the cabin that was now his...soon he would have to move his stuff into the room and move out Thorgil's things. There wasn't much either way. He walked over to the fire place and looked at the staff leaning against the wall beside it. It was such a simple staff, but it had been Thorgil's. It hardly ever left it's place beside the hearth and as Tane gripped it he felt that this should at least stay.

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan arrived at the Rangers' camp as dusk was approaching. He found his small tent undisturbed and, tying his horse, wrapped himself in a blanket and quickly fell asleep.

He awoke early the next morning to a misty horizon. Other Rangers were already stirring, some returning from patrols, others leaving. In the distance Awyrgan could see Thorgil's funeral procession being prepared. Deciding to travel on foot he left a feedbag of oats tied around his horses neck and made his way towards the other Rangers, pausing briefly to swipe good-naturedly at the dogs nipping around his heels.

The burial grounds were some distance from the camp. To the unskilled eye it was no more than a clearing with several small cairns. Yet Awyrgan recognized all but several of the newer ones as former companions. Thorgil's cairn was slowly raised. None hurried, reflecting on their fallen leader as they toiled. Several spoke, but for Awyrgan there were no words.

As they returned to the camp Awyrgan's eyes followed the ranger Tane as he strode slowly into Thorgil's former cabin, now his own. The green-eyed man paused, then followed the footsteps of the new commander and knocked firmly on the door.

"Enter."

Awyrgan slowly opened the door and walked inside. The cabin was dimly lit even in the daytime. Tane stood near the hearth holding a staff in his hand. The ranger wondered if he had unintentionally stumbled in on a private moment - he hoped he hadn't.

Tane turned to face him and Awyrgan did his best to get straight to the point. "I want to talk about my assignment at the settlement." Tane's eyebrows raise before Awyrgan hurriedly continued. "I'm not asking to be relieved." The older man cracked his neck. "Unsatisfied with your companion?" Awyrgan shook his head. "I couldn't tell you one way or the other - we haven't spoken." He pulled a knife from his belt and whittled absently on his pipe.

"Until now I've stayed close to the village on all my patrols. There is little of interest besides various bird droppings and several fine deer. I know it's not normal procedure but I want to extend my searchs father out into the woods. I'd like to know what's out there," he finished.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:45 PM December 23, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Himaran]

More work: can it get any worse, pray tell?

A disgruntled Olin examined his full cart, roughly following Barzun's instructions. Already tired, disgruntled and relatively bored, the routine check of the wheels and axles was positively infuriating. Finding no visible defects, the dwarf turned away stalked off two inspect a strange rock formation he had noticed earlier.

No sooner had he left than the axle on Olin's cart snapped clean away. The dwarf, however, continued onward, oblivious to both the malfunctioning vehicle and the angry bellows of his leader.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:07 PM December 29, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[Kryssal]

Tane didn't particularly want any more Rangers out than was already there, but he could understand Awyrgan's view; however, he wouldn't have him go alone and he told the Ranger as much.

Awyrgan immediately tensed. "I do not need a partner, Tane." He liked working alone, everyone knew this and Tane seemed to be pushing his bounds as leader.

Tane mentally sighed after the others angry words. "I know, but neither did Thorgil."

Awyrgan leaned back slightly and started at Tane as he continued.

"I don't want any exploring going on without at least two people together. I've also been doubling patrols that go into territory where hillmen have been spotted in the past. I wouldn't even go out alone. I have a feeling the hillmen are going to react against us."

Tane went to the table and shuffled out the map Thorgil had made of the surrounding area when he had first arrived. Several things had been added, including the settlement and current location of the hillmen.

"You can go along here," he moved his finger along the settlement and off around the hillmen area. "I don't want you to get too close to the hillmen though, we don't need another fight. If you want to go beyond or around, you may, but if you go here," his finder traced a line toward the west a bit, "you can meet up with the current patrol on that route; share some information perhaps."

Awyrgan nodded and traced a vague route of his own. "I was figuring to go round about this area."

Tane nodded his approval. "That looks sound. Now, for your partner, I want Thoronmir to go with you."

Awyrgan was about to retort again and try to get out on his own when Tane said quietly, "Please go with Thoronmir. I was going to reassign him regardless, but he has been out there recently. He could save you some trouble perhaps."

It was the please that stopped Awyrgan. Tane didn't want to loose another Ranger and it sounded in that word. Finally Awyrgan nodded and agreed even though he didn't particularly want to. Thoronmir wouldn't like being with a partner either.

Tane sighed inwardly and grabbed a blank parchment on which he promptly started writing. "Here is an explanation from me to Thoronmir though I'm sure he'll get your side as well," Tane smiled up at Awyrgan and handed him the now rolled parchment. They clasped hands and Tane wished him well as Awyrgan departed.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:09 AM January 06, 2004: Message edited by: Kryssal ]

[alaklondewen]

Collothion and Cuilad stood at the outer edge of the crowd that had assembled to hear the tidings Borgand brought to the settlers. Thorgil’s death was troublesome and did not sit well in Collothion’s heart. Any death caused by the brutes that lived in the hills would have been ill news, but the murder of the leader of the rangers was something else entirely.

Those men… Collothion thought. Men?…hm, those uncivilized beasts…must be a greater threat than we thought, Collothion spit a wad of unwanted saliva at his feet in disgust. The older man suddenly had a bitter taste in his mouth.

Cuilad, seeing his father’s motion from the corner of his eye, turned to meet his father’s gaze. Collothion could easily read his son’s green, anxiety-ridden eyes. His son was filled with uncertainty. What would happen if the hillmen, proud of their accomplishment, decided to attack the village? The older man squinted and burrowed his brows as he assured his son, “We will be fine, son…The rangers are still strong, and we have Borgand and ranger from Rohan to lead us. Don’t you worry, we’ll be fine.” His voice trailed off as Borgand changed the subject to the impending hunting competition.

Borgand was a wise man. Collothion recognized his ploy to distract the settlers from the danger in the hills with a friendly competition with the rangers. It would hopefully bring much needed food to the camp as well.

The competition peaked Cuilad’s interest. He felt a strong desire to go with the men from the settlers’ camp. He was quick and silent and felt he could learn much from the other hunters. Not only did he feel that it would be a great opportunity to be free from the camp for awhile, but the time might also give him a break from the herbs his father was so passionate about.

Cuilad bit his lower lip and glanced at his father to see what the old healer’s reaction was to Borgand’s announcement. Collothion stared straight ahead in thought, giving no clue as to the processes going on his mind. Cuilad would ask for his father’s permission to join the competition when the time was right.

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan left Tane's cabin elated. The prospect of leaving the settlement, even if only for a few days, was a welcome change. It was not that the man disliked the village's inhabitants, at least no more than he disliked any other men, but rather that any sort of roof other than the open skies left him feeling hemmed in and stuffed. Doors compressed the breath in his chest and roofs were a cage. Yes indeed, this will be a useful change of pace.

Walking to where his horse stood he untied the harnesses from the tree, letting it run free for a few moments. He fingered the copy of Thorgil's map in his pocket. Drawing it out he ran his finger over the route again, committing it to memory. Especially the supposed locations of the hillmen. The paper could be easily destroyed by rain and Awyrgan had no desire to bumble alone into one of the wild men's camps, with or without a companion. Placing the map in a saddlebag he whistled sharply. Within a few minutes he was mounted on his horse and headed towards the settlement.

It was nearing evening when the ranger arrived, he had ridden fast and his horse was breathing heavily. Sitting in the saddle at the outskirts he watched a few children play a game with an assortment of sticks and stones. The man could not discern any pattern in the game but the children laughed in glee nonetheless. He fingered the green-studded ring on his finger, watching the reddening Sun's rays catch and dance on the metal. He glanced briefly. The flame of the West. He chuckled darkly but his eyes did not laugh. Looking again at the children a shadow passed across his face, but only for an instant. The memories were quickly pushed deep into the murkier recesses of memory and spurring his horse, he rode to where his tent stood.

A wind had pulled the cloak Awyrgan called his tent out of the ground and several corners now leapt free in the light evening breeze. Rolling it up, the man began to store several days’ worth of food and equipment in a small pack. Paths, plans, and calculations flowed automatically from his mind to his hands. Within several minutes he was ready to leave.

He had already decided on traveling by foot. He walked into the town, all his possessions on his back and leading his horse by the bridle. Several of the townsfolk looked at the man with an expression he could not quite comprehend as he passed by. He had not been particularly friendly with the villages. Still, he did not regret it. Better they ignore him then become attached to him. That was justification enough for the locals, but his fellow Rangers were another matter. The man could not explain his wall of silence towards Alearindu and Thoronmir. It was as if he had unconsciously willed himself never again to become close to another human being.

He stopped at the hut of the fur trader he had dealt with on a few occasions. A few coins from palm to palm and the horse had a multi-day vacation.

Thoronmir was sitting smoking in the "square" of the town. Awyrgan set his pack down and slid next to the elder ranger, drawing out the map as he did so. He explained his conversation with Tane, tracing out their route and objectives. He purposefully failed to mention that he had requested the assignment. Thoronmir was known for his love of the outdoors, but shared Awyrgan's desire for solitude. Better that he believe Tane had assigned the pair together strictly of his own accord.

Awyrgan finished his explanation. Thoronmir gave no initial response, blowing a smoke ring across the map as he glanced over it. Sitting back he nodded. Awyrgan stood up. "We leave at dark."

Shortly after the Sun had sunk the pair went over their gear again. Adjusting the pack and the bow he had strapped to it Awyrgan cursed at the weight and loosened the knives on his belt and boots. His sword hung at his side, strapped in tightly. The muscled in his legs and back twitched with an eager anticipation and a longing to be off. This was what he lived for.

On their way out of the town the men passed by Alearindu. Awyrgan's green-eyes twinkled and he hummed several lines from a small tune sung loudly around Inn fireplaces of the virtue of the women who tend to house and young. It was a common joke among the Rangers but Alearindu apparently failed to see the humor. Laughing, Awyrgan avoided the daggers her eyes shot at him and strode over the grassy knolls and into the woods. Thoronmir walked silently at his side. Their quiet footsteps soon were lost in the songs of the birds and the patter of animal feet that filled the wooded havens.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:27 PM January 11, 2004: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Kryssal]

Kaben had been getting a lot of scattered information through his shop. He knew he didn't know the whole story, yet he was still a little worried. Not too much though, everything aroung him kept bustling around from one spot to another and he didn't really have to time to truly think about what might happen. Even if he did the tradesman was fully confident in the current militia made up of the soldiers and Rangers. The thought of an attack on the settlement seemed a bit laughable.

"Hello Kaben," a kindly voice rang from the tent flap.

"Oh, welcome Terari," he went and hugged his once travelling partner. "Need any help finding something?"

"Just in for a little salt. Apthan spilled the rest of ours," she rolled her eyes and laughed jovially.

As he led her to where the food stores were kept he asked her about how the building was going.

"Well, the Dwarves have not yet returned with stone so they're still using what wood they've been gleaning. Father tells us every night how hard the work is trying to build things with so little material."

"A town can't be built over night," Kaben smiled and handed her the salt.

[Belin]

Hillmen

Wolf had made his way back into town quietly, not wishing to face anyone who might have heard of his unusual flare of temper, and particularly not those who had experienced it first hand. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He had hoped to prevent panic and infighting, and here he was supporting, even participating in it. What kind of a chief was he, after all? Old Shadow had never done any such thing, and for a moment he wondered whether the former leader’s confidence in him had been misplaced.

None of that, he admonished himself silently. You’re making it worse. Shadow never faced a crisis like this and you know it.

But neither had Wolf. Everything had changed, and he felt as if he were not the experienced leader, but once again the youth who had carefully hidden his apprehension at his newfound power, who had had to learn to deal with men without competing and women without flirting. He had done well then, but now… With a sigh, he slowly made his way to Cleft’s hut, half-expecting to be told that this was a test which he had now failed, that he was unworthy to be a leader, after all these years of work. It was a bitter thought, and at root he was not convinced of it. He would happily have given up his leadership if he’d thought that there was any man in the village who could save them.

Quietly, he entered the hut, hoping to catch a glimpse of Cleft before the priest saw him. No such luck. The man should have been called Fox for his quickness. He was greeting Wolf almost before he’d managed to round the corner, with the impassive, unreadable expression that most of the Hillmen thought the only one of which he was capable. Isn’t he tired?

"You were gone longer than I expected," he said.

"Yes, I was," answered Wolf shortly. He would not apologize. He was not a truant child. "What have you learned?"

"I can well believe the Rangers are in league with these foreigners. They are... they are very powerful, Wolf." Wolf waited out the silence. Priests liked a chance to tell their stories well, and interruping them only made them irritable and cagey. "I have consulted the gods, but they are ...very subdued. They are not pleased, but they are quiet."

Wolf looked at the priest carefully. Cleft was a very old man, and he had heard of priests to the south (where, admittedly, everyone was softer and weaker) who found assistants when they began to grow old, assistants to whom, some said, they eventually became secondary, in just the way that leadership was passed on among the chiefs when age began to make them weak. "Why do you think that is?" he asked, as politely as he could. "Do you think that under other circumstances their voice might be stronger?"

Cleft had seen the look, and he shook his head. "I do not think it is my own weakness that stops me from hearing them clearly—-not only my own weakness, old and feeble as I may be," he said, quickly returning a few herbs to a high shelf in a rather transparent display of agility. "But we are weak, a handful of scavengers living on what we can get, from wherever we can get it. This is why Calem died. We are not strong enough to hold our gods. Whether they are actually weakening themselves or simply losing interest, I cannot say. They may help us a little. But only strong people have strong gods."

"Unfair, that; I'm sure the weak would have far more use for them," said Wolf, with a grim smile. "Is that what I should have my brother tell his warriors? That they must be stronger? I’m sure it’ll be tremendously helpful."

"Well, have them focus at any rate." Cleft rolled his eyes, with the disdain of the old for the young. "I hope the messenger brings good news. Oh, and if you can spare the time, have them plant something. That helps."

Wolf nodded, and with the usual ceremonial thanks to his priest, left the hut. Perhaps he did not need to make the death public, or to keep it a close secret either. Let those know who could find out. Don’t start a panic.

He repeated his resolves as he walked purposefully toward his own hut to talk to his brothers. Don’t start a panic. We need to be strong.

[Arvedui III]

It seemed that with the coming of the southmen, everything had turned against Fletch, including his long ally the weather. Shrill wind and hammering rain flayed mercilessly at everything in the slopelands, where Rook's tribe abode. Fletch did not much care for the giant's land with its storms and surges, humbling once mighty trees and betraying faithful passes between the rocks; But Wolf wanted allies, so allies he would have. Still, Fletch concluded that his dry attitude towards his role in fighting the southmen didn't count for much as a torrent of water broke through the rocks to his left, and the water level came up to his shines. The most painful part of the experience, however, was the fact that had he stayed in the black uplands until the old moon died or remained in the village, he would be warm and dry. How, as Fletch squatted under a jagged overhang, he just liked to think those words, as if he could absorb them into himself and make them real.But, wishing and thinking, no one would know better than Fletch, made nothing real. So, despondently he sighed and trudged out into the rain again, setting his slight shoulders for the lashings to come.

Fletch had not been struggling for ten minutes when a huge, blurred figure appeared over the rocks. The figure dipped out of view again, and Fletch dogged him closely, but not without an undignified scramble out of the water and onto Rook's ledge. The village on top of it was lain out in much the same way Wolf's was; However Rook and his family had no home of their own, but dwelt with whichever tribesman they chose for the night or for even as long as a moon, praying upon their people for hospitality in exchange for the protection they gave. It was an old custom that had died near the lake ages ago, and Fletch found it an infuriatingly difficult one when he was trying to deliver a message. The blurred figure had by now ducked into a hut and Fletch groaned when it reemerged with six others behind it. Rook never traveled without at least four other men to back him, a lesson his father learned the hard way.

Supposing he was a familiar enough sight, Fletch waited with already ebbing patience as the greatest of the figures took one look at him, snorted, and beckoned him inside the nearest hut, after evicting what looked like woman and two children out of it. Blinking against the warmth and the light, Fletch sat and stared at the towering man surrounded by bodyguards that would put even Bear's brawn to shame.

"So your return, little worm." Rook said, as he always did when Fletch happened around. "Surely you are early? Or has that tiny head of yours at last impaired your sense of seasons? It is raining!" The five others lounging about him laughed at this, Rook grinned at his own cleverness, and it took all of Fletch's willpower to not gorge all of them full of the darts he made so well. But Wolf's words and the picture of the southmen's camp came to his mind, and Fletch stayed his hands and smiled.

"Nay, Rook, I know it rains. I bear a message from Wolf, who abides by the Clearlake now, and I would have you hear it."

At this Rook frowned. "Remember, little Fletch, it is what I would have that matters here. And, it is unlike you to bear anything for anyone, including Wolf, who was always, I think, too soft with you and your queer wanderings. Does his fire burn well?"

"For now. But it flickers." And Fletch told Rook and his guards of the southmen, of their filthy ways, of how they planned to stay, of the rangers protecting them, of Wolf's situation and plea for help. Rook seemed to take all the information in stride, nodding occasionally with a indiscernible expression on his face.

"The rangers have not plagued us since we came here." Rook said after a moment's thought. "But southmen spread, so the rumors say. And the more southmen, the less Rooksmen return from driving them off. If we came, what would Wolf, who if you speak true has little, do for us in return? Do you know that, tiny worm?"

Fletch narrowed his eyes, trying hard to conceal his anger at Rook for his slights against both Wolf and himself. "I do not" He said through gritted teeth. Rook smiled then, beaming with his eyes for the first time in Fletch's presence. "Good." He said and rose. "Then since you are getting so good at bearing words, little Fletch, bear some for me. Tell Wolf that Rook and his finest warriors will come, but I want a wearguild for our trouble, and a mighty one at that. In fact," Rook continued thoughtfully, "A few females wouldn't be missed among Wolf's folk either, I'm sure." And with a devilish smile, Rook nodded to his thugish fellows, who promptly threw Fletch out of the hut, and back into the cold, unmerciful rain.

[Osse]

Still Bear stood on the hill, peering up into the heavens. The ruddy light of late afternoon turned into the golden light of sunset, and still Bear stood gazing at the sky. The clouds that Wolf and he had seen rolling in from the west had stopped overhead, and had blackened. Still Bear looked into the darkening sky.

Looking, searching in vain for solace. The black clouds shouted their last threats, and lightning rent the sky to the south. Rain stung his upturned eyes and soaked his shaggy mane. Still he peered into the tumultuous dusk.

Movement to his right suddenly made him tense, and he looked to see Kestrel standing there, also peering into the clouds.

“How long have you been standing there brother-wife??” He asked, unsettled.

“Not as long as you apparently! You are soaked right through, and your meal is ruined, such as it was!” Was her reply, she drew herself up to her full height, and though she was shorter than he, she still seemed formidable.

Bear’s gaze once again returned to the forest of water that was the sky.

“What trouble or ailment causes you to stand out in the rain thus? Or should I say what madness?” Kestrel’s voice was filled with the usual sharpness, but Bear thought he could hear a touch of genuine concern in a deep undertone.

“I am worried about Wolf, his troubles are laid thickly yet he seems unable to share any of the load…”

“Yes, I too am worried, Calem’s death has taken its toll on him…it troubles me also. What can this mean? Have our gods forsaken us? What is this sign?” Bear looked down at her as she said this. The rain had slowed, but not yet stopped and her face was specked with droplets.

As he looked one of these gained enough weight and started it’s decent to the ground, it ran down the left side of her face, and into the long scar that marred the eye on that side. Like the lightening above it flowed through the shaft, giving her face an even odder look.

Suddenly what she had just said sunk in.

“Dead??? Calem is dead? When… wh… how??” The shock rose up and like icy fingers it curled around his throat, gently yet inescapably stopping the air reaching his lungs. His brother, his own flesh and blood had neglected to tell him of such an important event… life changing even.

“What? Didn’t you know? He was killed by the southmen… I know Wolf was going to keep it concealed, but I mean… you’re his brother.” She stammered. The words came haltingly, she was unsure.

Bear looked up once more to the heavens and the rain concealed the two silent tears that in his weakness he had allowed to roll onto his cheek. Without a backwards glance he trotted away into the darkness, soon lost to Kestrels half-sight.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:36 PM January 25, 2004: Message edited by: Osse ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Kestrel growled softly. If this kept up, Knife was likely to walk away from her too, next time she saw him. That, in itself, would not really bother her, but the trend was growing highly frustrating.

Why hadn't Wolf told Bear about Calem? It would have made sense; Bear was a warrior, wise in his way, and loyal to his brother. He would have been able to help Wolf deal with the load of worry he carried much better than she could. All she could do was try to keep them from killing themselves with their worries. Which would be difficult if she couldn't find them.

She sighed and began to limp home toward the by-now congealed broth.

Her own worries weren't exactly the lightest, either. Flint's wound would need to be kept as clean as possible and Rain had been coughing when she left the hut. Perhaps the gods had indeed deserted them, and were showing their displeasure by the bad luck the leader's family was having. It was not a comforting thought.

She entered the dark hut, shaking her head almost like a dog to rid herself of the l.ingering rain, and looked at the poor excuse for broth sitting in the corner. It was not fit to be eaten, but it was all she had at the moment. Knife had been lax in his hunting with all the worry about the Southmen. Cursed Dunedain.

She stirred the fire up and put the pot back on it to reheat.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:27 PM January 25, 2004: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[Kryssal]

Tane had been dealing with more beurocratic things than he liked. Taking report after report got very tedious when it was mainly the same thing - nothing new. Halfway through the day one of the Rangers asked about the contest that was coming up with the settlers and Tane simply blinked. He had forgotten about it and it seemed that a group needed to be put together. "I'll get back to you," was all he could offer the scout.

Sitting back in his chair he started making a mental list of all his Rangers. Awyrgan and Thoronmir had just left on their own mission. They wouldn't have liked working in a group regardless. Tane frowned as he continued through, he didn't want to have to put this whole group together. The settlement would be making their own group and the leader probably would choose his own men. The settlement...Alearindu was in the settlement right now. She had been there for several days and was probably getting tired of the people. A lot of the men wouldn't like being put under her command, but they would take it. Especially if they wanted to go on this hunt, which many did. The scout who had first inquired about the contest had mentioned that several of the men were eager to know who was going. There were many volunteers it seemed. Tane smiled. Alearindu would have many to choose from then.

He glanced at the sky. There was still time to go to the settlement and come back before nightfall. There were no more scheduled reports and if anyone wanted to find him, it wouldn't be that difficult. Besides, he wanted to visit the trading post and now was a fine time.

A couple of explanations and a short ride later Tane rode into the village and immediately went to where Alearindu kept her camp. She wasn't there, but her horse was nearby and Tane thought it best to simply wait for her. The wait was short, no more than half a candle mark. When she saw him she gave nothing away, but she did quicken her step.

"Alearindu, how would you like to be in charge of the Ranger group for the contest? You get to pick your own men and from what I hear, there are many that would like to be in on this venture. What say you?"

[Bêthberry]

Settlers

It was the morning of the second day after Borgand's announcement of the hunting competition. The weather had finally cleared; even the morning mists and dew had evaporated rapidly in the heat of the sun in an unclouded sky. Was this a portend of more promising things? Calumdril would not say. He was not superstitious and would not let the vissitudes of weather determine his aim or his endeavours. Yet he was glad to have the dreary events and rainstorms behind him.

He felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to see Cuilad standing shyly beside him, his eyes gleeming but his mouth held tightly as if expecting to be turned down.

Calumdril noted with a quiet wariness the eagerness of the young Cuilad. It had taken some discussion with Collothion to agree to allow his mute son to join the hunting competition. But the boy was chaffing under the restrictions of the settlement and he did not share his father's endless fascination with herbs and plants. Calumdril thought it interesting that the boy could hear but not speak. Finally, though, Borgand's and Ithil's gentle remonstrations won over the father, particularly since Calumdril had agreed to take the boy under his wing. They would be the left flank of the settlers' hunting team, responsible for some of the advance scouting.

"Then you are ready to become a mature member of this settlement, Cuilad?" the Ithilian asked solemnly.

The boy nodded eagerly, his eyes flashing with excitement.

"You remember my lessons on tracking yesterday, about the rubbing of bark and way that grasses are cropped?"

This time the eyes flashed with impatience.

"And your pack? You are ready for a long trek, over several nights if need be?"

Cuilad's face flushed. He was being treated like a child and he began an indignant frown that glowered at the older man.

The frown passed to Calumdril as he regretted his treatment of the boy, after he had spoken so strongly for him with the father. He knew the boy had no mother to coddle him. Calumdril remembered how much he had hated being patronized as a young boy. Why could he not forgo the very ways with this boy which he knew were wrong? Old habits are cultivated even where they are despised, he decided.

"You are right, and I apologize if I seemed not to respect your talents. You have already done more than many other of the young people in helping your father collect his herbs and prepare his potions. I am proud to have you with me."

The boy nodded and then silently the two trekked out towards their horses to begin the competition.

Once on horseback, the two turned towards the camp which was now stirring. Calumdril held a horn to his mouth and blew three times. Settlers came out of their tents, Kaben peeked out of his shop, Ithil suddenly appeared at their side. A cheer rose up as the settlers realized the hunt was on.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:35 AM February 05, 2004: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Belin]

Wolf had hoped to take counsel with his brothers as soon as he reached his own hut. He knew it would be difficult- Bear would want to fight, of course, and Knife would roll his eyes and wearily explain the virtues of the south to them once again, and it would take some coaxing to show either of them that there were virtues to strategy and planning. The quick, all-out attack that Bear would want was an idiotic, if vaguely exciting, idea, given the rangers and the possibility that the settlers themselves were warriors of one sort or another. As for the notion of abandoning the land where they’d always lived to wander homeless in the plain sight of those sneering men from Bree, it violated both pride and common sense. Were they not desperate enough as it was? They would attack, but they would attack on their own terms, and he needed his brothers to help him decide what those terms would be.

The hut seemed smaller and darker in the rain, filled with the close air common to places that escaped the wind. Wolf stood in the doorway, rainwater dripping from his beard, and peered into the corners of the room, puzzled by the absence of either of his brothers, and suddenly uncomfortable under the gaze of Kestrel, who was sitting by the stove, stirring the pot with a steady, patient hand that belied the look in her single bright eye. She said nothing.

Wolf cleared his throat. It would be not merely difficult but actually inappropriate to apologize to her, so he smiled wearily and moved nearer the fireplace, making a conspicuous effort not to drip water on the floor. "How is Flint?" he asked quietly.

She looked at him for a moment, measuring the question against her own unease, understanding that it was an offering, and she smiled an answer to it, though her voice was still grave as she explained to him that the child would need careful watching for some time to come, but that she knew he was a strong boy... She trailed off, and Wolf understood that she was terribly worried, not only about her son, but about all of them. He wondered again about the fate of the other child, the one that had not yet been born. It would certainly be in good hands, at any rate. How could Cleft say they were weak when they had such mothers as Kestrel among them? He murmured something polite, heartened.

When he asked after his brothers, though, Kestrel stared into the pot for several moments, struggling for words. "Wolf, I don’t know what you…" she paused, looked at him, and started anew. "I didn’t realize you hadn’t spoken to Bear. He is upset. Were you hoping to fight off the Southmen by yourself?"

It was Wolf’s turn to struggle for words. In the face of her frustration and her concern, his need for time to think seemed strange and difficult to explain, and he could only imagine what Bear might be thinking. He took a deep breath, attempting to clear his head. "I... I would have told him. Do you know where he’s gone?"

Kestrel shook her head.

It required only a moment’s deliberation before Wolf took his leave of her, turned, and headed back out into the storm.

[alaklondewen]

The call of a horn was heard inside the old healer’s tent. Collothion, who had been diligently recording one of his recent findings at a small table covered with jars of varied colors and sizes, raised his head and uncovered one ear by pushing his thick red hair to the side. The horn was blown twice more, and after quickly shuffling his papers, Collothion stepped from the shelter with his heart beating anxiously and his eyes gleaming with pride. The time had come!

As he hurried toward the center of the settlement, he shaded his eyes with one long hand trying to get a better view of the competitors. It had been against his better judgment to allow Cuilad to join the men, but the boy had been so persistent. Cuilad looked so much like his mother when he wanted something badly that Collothion found it difficult to disappoint those fiery green eyes. He would put his trust in the Ithilien ranger who had promised to keep an eye on the lad. Trying to catch his son’s eye, the healer waved to the boy.

Cuilad held himself high in his seat with his chest out and chin up as the crowd’s cheer rose. Searching the crowd he found his father waving to him and a broad smile instantly formed on both of their faces.

Collothion approached his son and nervously laid his hand on the steed’s mane. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked quietly, not wanting the Calumdril to hear him giving Cuilad a chance to step out of the competition. Cuilad answered clearly by knotting the corner of his mouth, raising one eyebrow, and nodding slowly. “I thought as much, but you can’t blame me for trying, son. Stay close to Calumdril, and…” Here the old healer looked down as his feet and pushed his hair behind his ear. He wanted to tell his son to run and hide if he saw any of the hillmen, but he changed his mind and continued with, “if you see any new flora, be sure to bring me a sample.”

Looking up Collothion met Cuilad’s eyes which first were serious but then relaxed and full of laughter. The son knew his father well enough to know the healer’s curiosity of new herbs and plants would not be curbed by his own absence in the competition. Collothion patted the horse once more, and then his son’s knee. Turning his back on Cuilad, the father raised his head to meet Calumdril's eye. The men nodded in silent respect and understanding and Collothion stepped back to blend in with the rest of the crowd praying his son would be kept from harm’s way and the hunt would successfully bring the settlement much needed food.

[Carrûn]

"----!"

Following closely behind Thoronmir, Awyrgan had failed to notice the whippy pine branch bend against his companion until it struck him squarely in the face. His string of raw curses drew a chuckle from the older man which was cut short by the foot which stepped firmly on the back of his ankle.

The pair had been walking all throughout the night into the early morning, pausing only once to check their bearings. They had subconsciously settled into a rhythm of sorts, switching off walking in front for a few hours each at a time in long sweeping fan-shaped paths. So far, their search had yielded few results which both relieved and frustrated them at the same time. They were moving beyond the regions the settlers regularly traversed, and the forest was getting thicker.

Horns in the distance behind them startled a small flock of birds out of the trees above their heads, prompting a small jump from Thoronmir. It was Awyrgan's turn to smirk. "Tane said the village would be having a hunt. I'll wager you a month of our wages I bring home a larger catch than you." The two shared the inside joke with the dry humor of a seasoned tracker. Not everyone could be king.

However Awyrgan's sly grin quickly faded and turned grim as he glanced slightly off their main path. Thoronmir saw it at the same time and both approached cautiously, senses alert.

Large footprints trailed out of the woods, through the wet dirt on the edge of the clearing and back into the trees. They were fresh, less than a day old. The rough imprint in the ground left little doubt in either of their minds. Hillmen were moving.

Silently the two moved into the thicket. Brushing away the undergrowth with his hand Awyrgan spread their map out in front of them. His finger ran lightly over it as he spoke. "We've traveled to about here." He tapped his fingers lightly on a ridgeline. "Going beyond here wouldn't allow us to check the other sides of the settlement. As much as I'd like to go further I doubt Tane would appreciate our being late."

He rolled the map up and placed it back in it's pouch. Thoronmir spoke. "We should wait here for a while and see if anything passes." Awyrgan nodded and the two moved until they were sitting back to back with both pairs of eyes scanning the regions outside of their thicket.

...

....Fire...

The sound of brush breaking brought Awyrgan out of a daydream and back to reality with a jolt. Beside him he heard Thoronmir mutter "A deer." Neither moved. Slowly Awyrgan drew his bow out and set it on the ground in front of him. Some yards away a large stag stood drinking out of a puddle. Awyrgan forced him self to wait as minutes felt like hours. Slowly he notched an arrow to the bow and picked it up, steadying it on the ground. He sniffed. The wind was still with them. Drawing the string back he held his breath, exhaled, and let the arrow fly with a twang. The deer fell like a rock. Thoronmir gave a somewhat congratulatory grunt. Awyrgan grinned. "Wait here."

There was little blood from the deer so Awyrgan moved it back into the thicket with the pair, disguising the ground as best he could.

He had only just settled down when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something else was moving through the woods and he did not move like any animal. He heard Thoronmir whisper beside him, "It appears you are not the only hunter in these woods today." Awyrgan clenched his jaw tightly and the two sat, waiting.

[TheLadyAerowen]

Alearindu noticed Tane standing near her make-shift tent. She quickened her pace, and before she could even greet him, he spoke;

"Alearindu, how would you like to be in charge of the Ranger group for the contest? You get to pick your own men and from what I hear, there are many that would like to be in on this venture. What say you?"

She blinked. "How could I of all Rangers lead the group? I'm sure all of them won't like being under my command. I wouldn't mind, Tane, but I'm sure they would..."

[Kryssal]

"Well, if you wouldn't mind, then take it. It'll be good training in leadership for you. We all have to do things that we don't quite agree with. If they're going to be stubborn, then they don't get to go on the hunt. It'll all be up to you."

Alearindu still looked unconvinced, but nodded her agreement. Tane smiled and gripped her arm. "Don't worry. Remember, it is just a little contest."

Tane remounted Skit and turned toward the settlement with a wave to the female Ranger. He didn't want to debate the matter with her too much, or give her too much input from himself. This would be her venture and learning experience completely.

The settlement seemed to be eeking along in growth, but most things took time to start a faster development. They needed to get an outer wall up though, as fast as possible. Most of the villagers he saw went about their business with the only worries on their minds dealing with trivial things like what to cook for dinner or if they had time to move the wood. Tane had been dealing with the hillmen for a good while now and they were volitile and unpredictable, which made them a hard opponent to defeat. If they chose, they could do a lot of damage to the settlement before the fight was over.

Tane came upon the trading post and dismounted in front of a small makeshift roping post for horses. The Ranger loosely tied up Skit and entered through the flap to see a lot of things shoved into a small space.

"Hello, my name is Kaben and if you need any help finding something I can point you in the right direction." The greeting came from a slightly thin man adjusting some material off to the right.

"I'm just looking for right now."

Kaben smiled brightly. "That's fine. Hope you find something you like," and then he went back to lifting and adjusting.

There were two other shoppers around and a few others came and left as Tane went through the semi-lanes made from shelves and tables. This little post did have quite a lot for just starting out in such a desolate place. Tane still wasn't quite sure what the prize for the winning group was going to be. A feast had been mentioned, but he was thinking about small tokens as well. It could be the Rangers contribution to the winners as the feast was from the settlers. He just wasn't sure at all of what to get. There were some nice daggers, blankets, and even a few decorative items. This might take some serious thought.

[*Varda*]

Therin, his wheelbarrow turned on the side, stone tumbled out of it, examined the wheel and sighed. It had cracked clean in two during the scuffle of dwarves rushing to regain control of their own wheelbarrows, and Therin grumbled inwardly. A few of his toes were also causing him pain, due to the amounts of stone falling out of the wheelbarrows, and Therin could see a few other dwarves nursing various wounds and bruises, their dignity lessened.

He turned his full attention to the wheel in front of him, deciding it couldn't take that long for him to fix it. For the next half hour, he worked with it, just the dull murmur of the dwarves around him. Finally, the wheel fixed, he looked up to see that most of the dwarves were also well on the way with their own wheelbarrows, and with some surprise to see that Barzun was leaning against one of the ruined stone walls, not barking orders. A pleasant change, Therin felt, proceeding to reload his wheelbarrow with all the fallen pieces of stone.

This task finished, he wandered round the rest of the ruins, staring once more at the crumbling stone walls, pieces of moss growing out of the cracks, and barely any memory of the people who had once lived there. A sad sign of the times, mused Therin, that in such an age as this, such beauty was so forgotten.

[Osse]

The soft ground was yielding and soft under Bear’s feet. He heeded it little. His wrath had been lessened very little since he had left the hill and as he walked he slashed at the foliage on both sides with his axe. Though his mood was surly and his mind was elsewhere, his instincts still caused his eyes to scan the areas around him and in the periphery of his vision he caught movement.

Suddenly, without thought, he had stooped behind a nettle bush. His hand had moved subconsciously to his axe hilt and in the back of Bear’s mind he wished he had put his stolen dwarven-mail on that morning. He fingered the strap that bound his large round shield to his back and prepared for fight or flight. Bears fears were soon relieved when out of a thicket emerged a stag of great stature.

His coat gleamed with drops of water and steam issued from his nostrils like smoke from a fire-mountain. The majestic beast passed Bear’s hiding place and like a fire spirit flowed off into the forest. Suddenly horns brayed through the thick air and the stag raised his proud, antlered head in alarm. He broke into a gallop and passed out of Bear’s view. The horn sounding had brought Bear out of the daze that he had entered in with the arrival of the stag and he once again gripped his axe-hilt and crouched as he went in the opposite direction to the sound, the same direction the stag had took only moments before. Suddenly the sound of voices stopped Bear in his tracks.

He lay almost flat on the damp earth in time to see two tall men stride through a slight clearing in the trees. One now had the great stag slung across his shoulders, its proud head now hung limp and lifeless. An irrational, fierce anger was suddenly kindled in Bear’s heart and he reached to unhitch the shield on his back. Without the consent of his mind, his eyes took in the position and type of weapon each man bore. The Man carrying the stag’s bow was strung across his right shoulder and was hindered by the dead bulk of the stag.

The other man had a long sword strapped to his hip and Bear could see at least two knives strapped to his person. Before Bear knew what he was doing, he was on his feet and roaring towards the two men. His shield felt both heavy and comforting on his left arm and his right hand was sweaty where it gripped the leather of his axe-grip. The Man bearing the stag suddenly became aware of his approach and attempted to untangle himself from the dead weight he bore.

As he attempted to free himself from his burden the Ranger yelled out to his companion, who in a flash had his long, keen weapon facing Bear. Bear’s onslaught was furious and he broke through the man’s offhand parry with ease. However, his axe was not the best weapon for such a foray and he was unable to land any blows on his adversary. This man was cunning and skilled with his weapon and Bear was soon put on the defensive.

The man bearing the stag had finally detangled himself and was fitting an arrow to his bow. A sudden break in the blows of the man with the sword allowed Bear to swivel in his bearings. Sudden instinct caused him to bring his shield arm up and as he did, it thudded with vibration as an arrow slammed into it. Bear aimed a savage blow at the bowman, and just as it was about to hit, the other man had thrust his sword out and parried the blow. Bear’s axe was flung aside and panic stricken, he grappled with the swordsman. He felt a gashing blow hit his upper forearm and a searing pain filled his mind. In frenzy, with his bare fist, Bear landed blow after blow upon his assailant and he heard the Man’s weapon fall to the ground. Bear aimed a savage blow at the Man’s head with his shield and felt with a bitter relish the sensation of its impact.

His thigh suddenly felt as if it had been burnt with searing ice and he felt the sticky, warm blood flow down to his ankle. The arrow had lodged itself far into his upper leg and he could put little weight on it.

The swordsman stood dazed and staggered as if he would fall. Bear’s shield had knocked him almost senseless. Another arrow whipped past Bear’s shoulder and he realized just how much peril his folly had landed himself in. Hope seemed to die in Bear’s heart and he started to advance towards the bowman. The man fitted an arrow to the string and began to bent toe bow.

Wolf could not have picked a better time to enter the scene. He ran screaming into the fray like a wild thing. The savage blow he aimed at the bowman with his long spear had swung wide as the Man turned to face the new threat. The bowman turned and fled, helping his still dazed comrade as he ran.

Wolf began to follow, but hearing a pain-filled groan escape his brother’s lips, he stopped and turned. The blood had congealed around the wound in Bear’s leg and breaking the shaft of the arrow, he placed his hand upon the wound to stem the flow. His dark red life poured silently from his leg and he began to swoon.

“Quickly brother, we must get you to aid!” Wolf slung his brother’s arm around his shoulders and the two hobbled towards their village.

[Carrûn]

Rangers

Awyrgan limped along in a foul mood, dragging Thoronmir alongside him. He could feel a deep gash running along the top of his back where the deer's antlers had caught when he had tried to drop it quickly. Moreover, the heavy blow aimed at him that Thoronmir had blocked had struck his foot at an angle and the man was all but positive it was broken. A cut over his eye left a trail of blood trickling down his face.

He turned to his companion. Thoronmir was walking along in a daze, still somewhat stunned from the shield blow. Fortunately it had only been made of leather and other sturdy materials, or it might have taken his head right off. Bruises covered his forehead where the broad fist of the hillman had pummeled him. Thoronmir groaned and then spit out a broken tooth, cursing loudly.

The two walked on in silence, their instincts picking the shortest route back to the camp. Each had saved the other's life at least once in the fight, but neither thought much of it - it was to be expected. Awyrgan's thoughts hung on the deer they had left behind. Soon, he knew, the hillmen would return and claim it. Hopefully it would provide some distraction and delay any attack they might have been planning. Thoronmir meanwhile played the fight back over in his pounding skull, chiding himself for losing control of his sword.

A raven passed overhead, its cry echoing ominously in the dark. The two man shared a brief glance and then, still bleeding, broke into a run. They would need to cover in less than a night the distance they had traveled in two days. They ran in silence, their footsteps landing softly as only a Ranger could; their only sound was their labored breathing. Awyrgan tripped and was pulled roughly back on his feet by Thoronmir, who in turn stumbled and was caught by the younger man. They moved on in this fashion, their thoughts focused solely on reaching the camp.

It was early the next morning when they arrived. The camp was still deserted, nearly the entire settlement had taken part in the hunt. The dawn mists swirled about them as they broke through the shadow like some bizarre specter. A group of children ran crying from them as they passed through the outskirts of town towards their tents. It was eerily quiet. Reaching their makeshift camp they cast themselves down on the ground, gasping for breath. Awyrgan vomited as Thoronmir began to build a fire. The younger man did a quick priority check on his wounds and, taking of his boots, pulled the broken foot back into alignment. Silent tears rolled down his eyes as the adrenaline from the run wore off and the blood began to recirculate through the limb. He began to wrap it tightly. Meanwhile Thoronmir was boiling herbs for the splitting headache plaguing him. They treated each other in silent agony, waiting for Tane to arrive.

[TheLadyAerowen]

Alearindu watched as Tane trotted on his horse away from her. He had a point. If any Ranger really wanted to go on this hunt, they wouldn’t mind her being their leader. After all, there was only going to be one team of Rangers.

Alearindu mounted Mornen, and headed over to the camp. As soon as she got there, she started to glance around; looking for any Rangers who might want to go on the hunt. It was late morning, so she had some time. She spotted one Ranger, dismounted Mornen, and jogged over to him.

“Excuse me, fellow Ranger?” He looked over at her. “I was wondering if you were interested in joining the hunting team for the Rangers.” The look on the Ranger’s face made Alearindu think he thought she was jesting.

“I don’t know if I’m interested. Why would I want to be on your team?” He responded with emphasis on ‘your’.

Alearindu raised an eyebrow. “Well. I guess you don’t want go on the hunt so much, then. Or else you wouldn’t mind me being your leader.” Having said this, Alearindu turned the opposite way, and began to walk away.

Alearindu heard him sigh, and then call out to her; “Lady, wait. I’ll join the team.” Alearindu somewhat winced at him addressing her as Lady, but smiled nevertheless.

Alearindu turned around and smiled at him. “Good. Be back at the settlement an hour after midday.” The male Ranger nodded, and Alearindu went on her way. She found two more Rangers talking amongst themselves. After a slight hesitation, they both accepted her invitation. Her team now consisted of four; including her. She was going more for a five or six person team. Alearindu rounded up another Ranger, who wasn’t going to join the team until she mentioned that there was already three other men on it. The last Ranger had watched Alearindu discuss with the previous, and came over to her asking to be on the team. Alearindu gratefully accepted, and with him, she completed her team.

She was going to go to the settlement, but she saw Tane walk into his cabin. Alearindu jogged over to him and reached him before he went inside the cabin.

“We have a team for the hunt after all,” Alearindu said, grinning. “I managed to get together a team of six; Ethiner, Roharan, Sulënar, Athruin, Dínrandir and myself. I really didn’t think I would’ve been able to manage this one.”

Tane smiled, but seemed somewhat distracted. “Good, Alearindu. I told you you could do it.”

“What are you going to do while the hunting is going on?” Alearindu asked.


“I need a small break…” he replied. “I think I’ll go out and take a ride tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t mean to rush off, but I think I need to be getting back to the settlement. I told the rest of my team to meet me there an hour after midday. Thank you, Tane, for letting me do this.” Tane nodded and slightly waved as Alearindu mounted Mornen, and left for the settlement. She arrived a little early, but she wanted to be there before the rest of her team did. As the moments passed, the team gradually came together, until finally all six were there.

“Alright. Now that we’re all here, I’ll begin.” Alearindu said. “You all know what the hunt is about, and we are to represent the Rangers in the competition. I figure we should start looking for game in the Southern section of the woods. I’ve heard from various rumours around here that the settler team is already out and in the Eastern area. Let’s not fall too far behind so let’s get going.” Alearindu squeezed Mornen’s sides, and trotted him out of the settlement.

Once they reached the woods at the Southern border, Alearindu urged Mornen into a canter, and the others followed suit. After a few minutes of riding, Alearindu slowed her horse to a quiet trot. They continued for the rest of the day without any signs of tracks or trails. There were times when they followed tracks, but came to a stream where the tracks ended, or went on a goose-chase down a wood trail to find nothing. A few hours after dusk came upon them, Alearindu made the decision to stop for camp. “We’ll start out early in the morning, and hopefully have more luck then.”

The Rangers found a small clearing in the woods that would due for a temporary night camp. They tied their horses to near-by trees, and set out their own sleeping gear. Sulënar and Roharan were the first on watch, and Alearindu was part of the third watch, with Athruin. No one and nothing bothered any of them during the night watches, and once Alearindu had awoken Dínrandir to switch shifts, she stretched out underneath the tree she had tied Mornen to, and fell into a light sleep.

As soon as the first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon, she awoke. Two of the other Rangers were already packed for the day; the ones who had had the last watch, and the other three rose shortly after Alearindu. It didn’t take the rest of them long to pack up, and once they had, it was back to the trails.

Alearindu, being in front, was the first to spot a trail of deer tracks on a trail that led to the left of the path. She motioned to it, and the Rangers dismounted their horses; the trail was too narrow and dense for them. The six of them walked slowly and quietly down the path, until they came to a small opening in the woods. There was a buck drinking water from a small stream on the opposite bank of where the Rangers were. No one or thing could have heard the Rangers, even if they were standing right beside them.

Alearindu looked back at her team, and nodded. She drew her bow, and strung an arrow. Silently pulling the string of the bow back, she whistled quietly, and the buck raised his head to see where the noise came from. That, was the opportune moment. An arrow pierced the chest of the buck, but it wasn’t Alearindu’s. She looked back and saw that Sulënar, the first and somewhat rude Ranger she had asked to join the team, had an empty bow. He smirked at her and went to retrieve their game. Alearindu released the tension of her bow and sighed. This was going to be a long day, unless she came up with some other idea.

After putting up the smoke signal, the Ranger team traveled on; deeper into the woods. Alearindu was still trying to come up with a way so that they could get the most game, when they came to a four-way fork in the road. That was when the idea struck her. “From here, I’ll mostly let you be on your own. We’ll go out in pairs; Roharan and Athruin, go west, Ethiner and I will head south from here, and Sulënar and Dínrandir; take the deer back to the area where we had the night camp and guard it there. If you manage to get any game, take it back to Sulënar and Dínrandir. Meet back at the camp a few hours after dusk. Good luck.”

[Kryssal]

It was the first real day of the competition. They wouldn't be getting back until at least this evening, if not a few days down the road. If ever Tane was going to slip away for a moment to himself, this would be it.

The idea had come to him when he and Alearindu spoke before her departure. She had asked him what he was going to do and he realized that he hadn't had time to himself since he had assumed command. The activity of riding Skit to and from posts was one of the most calming to him, and he missed it dearly. The settlement was in no danger and all the rangers had their current assignments. He didn't see why he couldn't take a day off.

Hothem was still in the commanders cabin looking through some papers, and he was exactly who Tane wanted to see.

"What are you grumbling about now Hothem?" for indeed, the other Ranger had just mumbled to himself with a very disagreeable mask on.

He looked up and sighed. "A disagreement in politics I'm afraid. Of no real matter," and he tossed them genially aside while moving for a seat.

Tane let the matter lie. He didn't particularly want to discuss yet another problem.

"I think I'm going to ride out tomorrow," Tane had just sat himself across from Hothem and looked as haggard as his voice sounded.

"Oh, and just for how long?"

"I was thinking about making it an over night venture."

Hothem raised his eyebrows and stared steadily at his commander. "And you want me to assume command in your absence?"

Tane nodded.

"What about no one going out alone?"

"I knew you'd bring that up. I'm going to travel our back lines and meet up with the post out there. I'm staying on the opposite side of trouble, with company too."

Hothem just nodded. One day wasn't all that long. They went about their duties and before Tane realized time had passed, it was dark outside.

Hothem was making to leave for his own tent when Tane called him back.

"I'll be leaving as soon as I wake, so it's yours now, and I forgot to send a replacement to the settlement. With Awyrgan and Alearindu gone there's no one there for reports. Send someone out in the morning."

Hothem laughed and patted Tane on the shoulder. "Sure, sure, leave it for me. I see how your mind works," and with a wink, he was out.

~*~

Dawn had not yet broke, yet Tane was awake and just finishing packing. Habits of a Ranger. Others were up and about, but they didn't give him much heed as he saddled Skit and set off. He went fast at first, getting a refreshing morning air ride. After a little bit he slowed to a small canter and then meandered toward his destination. Tane was in no hurry. Today was going to be very relaxing. No orders, papers, or duties besides brushing down his horse.

After a few side tracks and extended breaks Tane saw the patrol he had been heading for. They saw him as well and waved him forward, not bothering to mount up and greet him. Half an hour later he arrived in their small camp. They were scheduled to stay out there for two more days, then shift positions to next post before reporting back and switching assignments. They were more than happy to share a meal with him and were more than pleased to add on the rabbit that Tane had killed on one of his extended breaks.

The three rangers disregarded rank and joked around the lunch fire. It was a fine day away.

~*~

Hothem slept in and woke up just as the sun was coming out of false dawn. Stretching he tried to get all the cold and cramp out of his system before heading off to his water pitcher.

The morning went slowly and after a few hours he remembered that he had to send someone to babysit. After taking a look at who was in the camp, he decided to send Rherrin who had been at base the longest. Let him stretch his legs.

After a short search he found the man doing some exercises off to one side of his tent. Hothem hailed Rherrin who quickly went over, apparently anxious to get a move on.

"There's a short assignment I'd like you to do. Awyrgan and Alearindu are out of the settlement right now and I need a, now don't give me that look, it'll hold you over till your switching party comes back."

Rherrin looked disdainful. "The settlement? For how long?"

Hothem took a firm stance. "Until Alearindu or Awyrgan comes back, so maybe you can check their temporary camps for them. It should take no more than a day or two."

"But what am I to do in that place?"

Hothem let his eyes bug a little at the obstinant man. "What you do in every town. Go through the trading post, I'm not sure there's a tavern anywhere yet, but you can always check on or stay in one of the camps, maybe you'll even chat with some folk. Now, I want you out of here within a candlemark and in town in two."

Rherrin nodded and moved to get some form of equipment or other.

Hothem shook his head. Since when had the settlement become such a place to be avoided?

[Carrûn]

It was several hours before midday when Rherrin arrived at the settlement. From their makeshift camp on the outskirts of the town Awyrgan and Thoronmir watched as he appeared over the outlying hills. Riding towards them he raised his hand in greeting. Awyrgan frowned; his relationships with the other Rangers were anything but close, but with Rherrin it was almost hostile. Rherrin and he seldom saw eye to eye on any subject and had been disqualified from the most recent Ranger wrestling competition for "excessive aggressiveness." The green-eyed man grinned at the memory and turned to his companion. "I wonder if his fingers have mended yet?" Thoronmir shook his head in mock amusment and returned to rebinding his wounds. Both men were healing quickly, but the marks from the previous days encounter were painfuly obvious. A long scar was forming on the side of Awyrgan's face, a match for the one already there on the other side.

Reaching the pair, Rherrin dismounted and strode towards them. He had an slight, perhaps involuntary swagger about him that irked Awrygan. His demenor changed however when he saw the marks covering the pair, and the binding around Awyrgan's foot. "What happened," he demanded.

Awyrgan gazed slowly up at him. "Hunting accident."

"Really."
"Yes."
"A hunting accident?"
"Yes."
"Shut up," Thoronmir interjected. His headache had returned.
"A hunting accident?"
"Yes."
"What was it, a rabbit?"

Rherrin's last words were ill-fated for he had strode to close to Awyrgan and the dark man quickly swept his feet out from under him and pinned him. Awyrgan spoke with a tone of dark humor. "It was quite larger than a rabbit. Where is Tane?" Rherrin pushed the man aside and sat up. "He left the camp for a few days, I didn't here exactly why. He put Hothem in charge." He glanced at the dark expressions on the other Rangers faces. "Is something amiss." Awyrgan traced a finger across the still fresh gash along the back of his shoulder and cursed. "Yes."

He briefly told the other of their encounter with the hillmen. Pulling out the map he showed Rherrin the paths they had taken and where they had ran into the wild men. Rherrin shook his head. "Do you think they will make an attack in the near future?" Awyrgan sighed. "I don't know." "And all the townsfolk are somewhere out there in the wild?" Awyrgan nodded. "Yes, along with Alearindu's team." Rherrin chuckled. "Well I guess we have nought to worry about then." The joke passed and they fell silent, each running as many possible scenerios through their heads. Finally, Rherrin broke the silence. "What do you want to do?"

Awyrgan glanced at Thoronmir only to find that the other two were staring at him. He looked back down at the ground and scratched aimlessly at the dirt with a stick. He turned to Rherrin. "How long are you here?" Rherrin grinned. "Until you return." Awyrgan nodded. "I want to to set up on the other side of town. Alearindu has her tent there so you should be able to find some supplies." He cracked his back, sitting up a little straighter now that his mind was made up. "The villagers have as good a chance of survivial out in the woods as they do here, no defenses are prepared. We will check the nearby woods for any signs a few times throughout the day and hope that Tane passes through soon. In the mean time try to scout out any good defensive positions." Rherrin nodded, and calling his horse rode off towards the other end of town leaving the other two alone.

Awyrgan turned. "Do you think he'll stop at the tavern?" Thoronmir looked up hopefuly. "There's a tavern?" Awyrgan laughed. "No." Standing up he tried putting weight on the broken foot. It was painful, but he could manage. Striding away from the camp a short distance he let the breeze whip through his hair. It was cold.

[alaklondewen]

Cuilad reached over slowly and tugged on Calumdril’s sleeve. When the ranger turned toward him, the boy pointed to a spot above the trees. A billow of smoke rose, stopped, then another followed.

“Ah, so the rangers have made the first kill,” Calumdril sighed. “A second prize will be given to those who bring in the most game…there is still hope, my lad.”

Cuilad turned away from the ranger and gazed straight ahead. He was beginning to doubt they would bring back any game at all. The day before, Cuilad had been so excited to be allowed to join the team of settlers on the hunting competition, but now, as he lay on his stomach against a log camouflaged by fallen leaves, he wished he had stayed with his father. Or did he? The boy had had high expectations for this competition. He had placed Calumdril on a pedestal, and believed that if he followed the Ithilien he would be seen as a man, a fighter, a hunter. He didn’t feel like any of those things at the moment, and it was to no blame of Calumdril’s. The ranger probably didn’t realize how much the boy look up to him…he was different from Cuilad’s father, who had a never ending fascination with herbs and medicines. Although he would never tell his father, Cuilad did not possess that same passion.

The sound of a broken twig brought Cuilad out of his thoughts. Calumdril slowly pulled out his bow, and Cuilad did the same. Some twenty-five feet from where they lay, a doe stood gently picking the bark from a nearby tree. The ranger nodded to Cuilad, letting him know he could make the shot. The boy slowly placed the arrow to the string of his bow and smoothly pulled it back. He had the deer directly in his path…all he had to do was let the arrow fly. Something within him filled and he felt overwhelmed by a sense of compassion for this animal. Just do it…shoot the arrow! He inwardly yelled at himself, but he still didn’t make the shot.

Cuilad heard the arrow released from Calumdril’s bow and a moment later the doe collapsed. The boy turned crimson from the neck up…he had blown his chance…he had failed.

[Bêthberry]

Calumdril had noted the boy's hesitation. Well, it wouldn't be the first time a lad had flinched in the face of duty, although he was not like most other lads.

Calumdril thought of the typical bits of behaviour he had seen. Boys using frogs for targets in knife-throwing contests, watching the pinned frogs squirm and shudder before they expired. Or pinning down birds' wings and watching the birds struggle to escape. Or even cutting off the wings and then laughing at the bloodied, maimed bodies as they struggled to hop, then tumbling into a twitching mass of frantic pain.

No, thought Calumdril, this boy is not like those. Still he needs to understand how the settlement depends on this hunt.

Calumdril pulled his bow taunt and let the arrow fly. With luck, it would fall sure and sharp and the doe's pain would not persist.

~ ~ ~
The two, the boy and the man, stood mutely as spasms shot threw the doe and the quivering body slowly came to a rest. Calumdril watched the boy's face grow red and then pale white.

"You need two minds about it, Cuilad,' Calumdril said.

"You need to understand the moment and how to take the animal. And you also need to remember yesterday and tomorrow, those of your own kind who might be starving if they don't eat."

Cuilad turned his face away from the ranger, clearly upset with himself over his failure to shoot the doe.

Calumdril strode over to the boy and gently turned his face towards the ranger's.

"It was an honest and understandable mistake. Learn from it. If you run away and hide with every mistake, you will fail. But if you learn from mistakes, if you take their lesson to heart, you will be stronger, stronger than the loudest bully in the largest croup. Don't let them make you think otherwise."

Cuilad reluctantly nodded at the Ithilien.

"Come,' said the Ithien after a bit, 'let us track the herd more. And you can show me what you've learnt."

A breeze ruffled through the glade as the two prepared the deer for carrying back to the settlement. Then they went forth again, to find more. No one at the camp would go hungry for several days.

[Belin]

Wolf’s brother was heavy. There was no way around this simple fact. Bear had always been a tall man, and his training and hunting had made him tough, efficient, and large instead of merely gangly. He was all the heavier, thought Wolf, when he’s leaning against your right shoulder for support, only vaguely conscious and unable to walk by himself, especially when one’s own left ankle had somehow been twisted awkwardly, and even more so in the cold wind that had followed the storm. At least the persistent drizzle had subsided for the moment. Spring. Wolf gritted his teeth against it.

Bear was silent, whether from pain or anger his brother could not say. His face, usually so expressive, was quiet in a way that Wolf did not want to break in upon. Bear needed to know that he would have been part of Wolf’s counsel, that the death of Calem called for special action from them and that Wolf knew he couldn’t do this by himself. But to place such responsibility on a fainting man was absurd. Still, if he was still angry…

As so often in the past few days, Wolf hesitated. Surely Bear, even a half-conscious and wounded Bear, would not accept help from him if he did not want reconciliation? With a strange, unaccustomed timidity, Wolf addressed himself to the brother in whose eyes he had worked so hard to remain strong, aloof, unquestionable.

“That was… very brave, Bear.”

Very foolish, he thought, very stubborn and irritating and very, very dangerous. But all of those things were Bear, had always been Bear, and he needed to recognize his virtues too, his virtues and his flaws apparent in the same act, like the two sides of his hand…

Sun and moon, I’m becoming a sentimental old woman. It must be the weight.

Bear, however, did not respond, not so much as a grunt. His eyes were distant, and his face changed no more than if he hadn’t heard him at all.

Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe what consciousness he had was so focused on overcoming his pain and keeping their maimed steps shuffling along the path toward the village, and no attention was left for voices, his own or someone else’s.

But it was someone else’s voice that Wolf heard suddenly, not far off and through the trees. A southern voice.

Wordlessly, and hoping fervently that his brother wouldn’t notice, Wolf turned aside and headed toward the village by another, safer route.

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

Cleft busied himself about Bear's prone form and steadfastly refused to answer or even acknowledge questions. The two brothers and Kestrel had crowded into the hut, filling it with gloom and impatience, until Cleft waved them away along with their questions. "I'm working," he said shortly. "You are not working. You are interfering with my work. Go do something useful."

Knife strode away, filled with resentment. Wolf suspected he was going to look for the barrel of wine they'd taken off a traveler's hands some months ago. He moved to stop him, but thought better of it. What was the use of irritating him further?

More worrisome to Wolf was Kestrel, whose face was so quiet as she limped back to her house, away from her absent husband and back to her injured son. Her family...

[alaklondewen]

Cuilad walked along at Calumdril’s right heel, hanging his head and mulling over the ranger’s words. He had expected the ranger to be angry and tell him he wasn’t ready for this trip, but Calumdril had surprised the boy by giving him a lesson. When Cuilad held the arrow in his hand, ready to shoot, he never thought of his own people and their survival, only the doe that stood in front of him. His father’s training had dealt only with healing others and caring for them, so when Cuilad was faced with taking a life, even that of a mere animal, he was unprepared.

Now Cuilad scanned the ground from side to side hoping he might redeem himself by exhibiting the tracking skills the ranger had taught him. They had walked for near half an hour when the boy spotted a tree with bark missing from the part of its lower portion. Touching Calumdril’s elbow to stop him, the boy pointed to the tree and motioned toward its base.

“Ah, you have a good eye,” Calumdril said and then grabbed the boy’s wrist when Cuilad stepped forward to have a closer look. The boy spun around and looked at the ranger inquisitively, not understanding yet why he could not check it out. The ranger, seeing Cuilad’s puzzled expression, quickly explained, “If that mark is due to the presence of more game, there will be tracks. We must tread carefully for we mustn’t spoil them. Do you understand?”

Cuilad nodded and stepped back to let the ranger make the first move. The boy still had much to learn of these things, and he did not want to ruin anything else that day. Calumdril walked slowly and gently. Cuilad noticed the Ithilien paid special attention to every foot placement as they searched the area for tracks. Sure enough, around the base of the tree hoof prints could be seen in the patched earth and Calumdril pointed out how the grass was broken. The prints seemed to move in the direction the two hunters were already heading. Cuilad followed the ranger as they swiftly and silently followed the line of prints in hopes of finding more food for the settlement and maybe a prize at their homecoming.

[The X Phial]

Borgand sat in his tent, trying not to sulk. The competition, the wonderful idea for saving his people, was underway and he could have no part in it. The dwarves were still gone on their mission for stone, and the settlement seemed to languish in the meantime. In truth, it was simply Borgand's own mood that lent this cast to events. The town was still progressing, focus on a central hall had meant that other projects had suffered a bit, but the former soldier's instincts about getting the one community center completed had been dead on. People were excited. Maybe it was the prospect of a place to call their own, maybe it was the prospect of fresh meat, or maybe it was simply the excitement of the upcoming feast and competition, but Borgand had not seen his people this excited since the first night of their arrival. If only he could share in their joy.

Illith bustled about the tent, deftly avoiding both her husband and the subject. Though a decent hunter and tracker before his injury, Borgand had not attempted a hunt since. His place was in the settlement, in any event, and Illith took care to remind him of his duty to the people and downplay his physical disability whenever she could. Still, he was in a foul mood, and since he had to keep up a face for the settlers, she got the worst of it.

"By the stars, woman, can you not be still for one minute altogether?" he demanded, peevishly.

"Actually, I can," she replied, smiling. "I'll take that as an offer to take Bregand out to the wall to find wood for tonight's cooking fire. It will gives me just the chance I need to be still for one minute altogether. Thank you."

With that she sat beside her husband and batted her eyes at him. Despite himself, the man began to laugh.

"Very well," he chuckled, "point taken. Come, Bregand, we're off to find some kindling for your mother. Though we needn't go to the wall for it. Let's go and see how the town hall is progressing. It should be almost finished, despite the rain and there are bound to be plenty of wood scraps to be found."

He lifted himself with his good leg and bent to take his small son's hand. The boy was eager to be out and about, fractious at having been kept inside by the weather. Though generally good tempered, he was still a boy, and as they emerged from the tent he pulled his father through the mud to the center of the settlement, heedless of the puddles and the mist, stretching his young muscles. Borgand looked down at the boy fondly and let go of his hand, allowing him to run ahead, jumping through the water. His footing was less certain than the child's and he had to be careful of the mud, but he did not begrudge Bregand his romp. In truth, it was good to see the child healthy enough to make a mess again.

Father and son made it to the building site and Bregand threw himself into the search for dry wood scraps with the focus only a child can muster. Meanwhile, Borgand spoke to the workers, encouraging them in their work. It was, in fact, almost finished. One more day would bring an end to this particular project and Borgand felt the infectious happiness of the settlement swelling inside him once again at the accomplishment. The town hall was going to be large enough to hold every settler for the feast, plus the 30-odd rangers. In design it was simple, but no less impressive for that fact. Their first real town project, the settlers had every reason to be proud of it.

A young soldier, barely of age, came running up to Borgand, splashing mud in his wake and drawing the attention of the assembled workers.

"Borgand! Oh, Borgand, smoke has been seen! The first of the game has been caught!" he shouted as he ran.

The former soldier perked and straightended, addressing the young man who was now directly in front of him and huffing after his exertions. "What color, Roland? Red or grey?"

"Grey, sir."

"Ahh..then the rangers have taken the first prey of the competition."

Borgand saw the settlers sink a bit at this news. He added, quickly, "Let us not forget that there are two prizes at stake here. First catch does not mean they will find the most game. Our men will show their stamina. After all, they made it here. I have every confidence that the rangers have no idea what they are up against."

The crowd murmered their agreement and went back to their work with renewed effort. The hall had to be done by tomorrow night to have time to prepare for the feast. Inwardly, Borgand did not care who felled the most game, he was simply thrilled that the herds had been found. Things were looking up. He called to Bregand and laughed when the boy appeared, crusted head to toe in mud, but carrying a pile of dry kindling in his shirt.

"Your mother will have a fit, so I guess we'll just have to get you cleaned up before she sees you. Come on, let's get that fire started and when the water's hot enough I'll give you a bath myself."

[Himaran]

"Look out!"

Olin dived to the side as an old stone pillar toppled down several feet from his previous location. "Can't you darn fools be more careful!?" He roared. Already, bored, tired and murderously hungry, the exitement of exploring an ancient city had lost its glamor. The bosses were aslo visibly grumpy, and the dwarf was now willing to yell right back at them. On top of that, it didn't help that he had nearly been pinned (and possibly squashed) to the ground by a someone elses ignorance.

Olin stomped away from the site of his near demise and collected another cart. How long would it take to get each and every load back to the settlement? A line of overflowing wheelbarrows extended through much of the ruins, and the dwarf was tired of walking to the back of the line - as the majority of the good material was at its head. "Fools, idiotic self-absorbed fools," he muttered; although not to anyone in particular.

His primary thought as he pushed the cart up to a stone pile and began loading it was of food; he had not eaten anything since breakfast, and it was late in the afternoon. Olin's exausted, frustration-wraught mind began to fantasize. "Beer... yes, yes, that would be nice. Malt, of course. Perhaps with a nice slab of cheese, some warm bread, a roast fish or too... maybe even a good, plump, fried chicken. Hm... what about some fresh fruit? No, no, too light; solid food is the key, yes, solid fo-"

The dwarf's wheel barrow tipped over, dumped his load of stone onto the legs and feet of several others who were resting. They awoke from their dozes instantly, and preceded to send an avalance of curses in his direction. And Olin gave as good as he got; tempers were frayed at the site indeed.

[Kryssal]

The last of the sun's light was fading slowly over the hills. Tane and the two Rangers he was staying with had long ago built up the fire for the small dinner they'd eaten and the light that was now needed.

Tane had momentarily thought of riding back to camp, but it was too dark now to go back in the safest way. A slightly pressing weight of his duties had started coming back to him. Sighing, the new leader put his face in his hands, though he let his eyes peak out through his fingers at the flickering flames.

Tane had never expected to take command of the Rangers so soon, if ever. It was always a slight possiblity since he was second in command, but Rangers shifted groups constantly and he could well have been in another part of Middle Earth when Thorgil finally gave up his command. Tane hadn't been trained properly for dealing with all the responsibilities. He did know how to logistically run the camp, but all the politics and ethics were things you couldn't learn unless in deep leadership training.

Giving his face a slight shove with his hands, he leaned back into a stretch and finished with wringing his arms a few times. Darkness had truly set in now and unless the three decided to make idle banter they'd be making bed soon. As soon as he woke, he'd return to camp and resume command, but right now he had to wash the dishes he had used for dinner.

[Bêthberry]

Midmorning had brought another kill for Calumdril and Cuilad, this one the boy's own doing. Their horses were laden with three now and Calumdril was beginning to question the need for more slaughter. Good enough that the boy had one himself, thought Calumdril, but who knew how many animals other settlers had felled. And the rangers. It would not be good to take too many from the herd all at once.

Calumdril watched the boy's excitement at his first success and for the first time noted that Cuilad was mouthing words as he worked over the animal, even if his voice was mute. When he was done, the boy looked up, his face inquisitive and eager to go on.

"No, lad, we've enough now. I won't even start a fire to send a signal. We'll head home."

The boy's face fell flat and disappointment clearly registered in his eyes.

"You've done as well as me, lad. We each took one and shared in another. Your dad will nave nowt to complain of you and much to commend."

The boy stood still, stubbornly rooted to the ground, feeling as if he was being denied a precious opportunity. Calumdril took no note of the rebellion but went about collecting his things before beginning a quiet talk with the boy. It was awhile yet before they set back to the settlement.

~ ~ ~

The mud had made the going harder, as the horses' hooves slipped as often as did their own. Yet as the sun rose higher in the sky, the earth dried partly and they were able to make their way faster. The two could hear the ringing of hammers and thuds of axes as they neared the settlement and then the rise of voices as their approach was noted. Calumdril was eager to hand the animals over to Illith and the other women. He wanted a swim in the cold lake and relief from the days of worry over the need for food. And he wanted time to think of the body he had found with the Rangers. His job was done. Let others prepare the feast.

[The X Phial]

Borgand watched as the last roofing slate was put in place and the last few boards were hammered home, beaming. The town hall was finished! Weeks of work and agonising waiting had finally paid off with the completion of the first building of the settlement. The former soldier heard a cheer go up from the people in the makeshift streets and it took him a few moments to realise that the cheer was not for the finished building, but for the returning hunters.

Borgand hurried to greet Calumdril and Culiad and sighed with inward relief when he saw that their horses carried fresh meat.

"Hail, Calumdril," he called. "It seems our team has also found the herds. I congratulate you! I was awaiting your signal fire, but will be happy to send one myself letting everyone on the hunt know that the contest is now over. The town hall itself was just finished, and I believe we are all primed for a celebration."

The Ithillian smiled at him, clearly weary, and handed off his prizes to a waiting lad of maybe 12 who was eager to be near the hunters. Culiad seemed less weary than resentful, but Borgand knew that a young man with a taste of freedom was usually the hardest to satisfy, and that honour at the feast tonight would cool his temper.

Calumdril jumped from his horse and handed the reigns to another lad...they seemed to have srung up around him in a kind of hero worship. "I'll ask you lads to take care of my animals. The horse needs brushing, feeding and water and the deer need cleaning. I'll trust you to figure out which is which," he told them with a wink and a smile. "Now, I am off for a swim."

"An excellent idea," Borgand agreed. He turned to the men who had been working on the town hall. "Let's clean this place up and then it's a swim for all while the preparations for the feast are underway!"

Another cheer went up from the townsfolk, and Borgand got back to work overseeing the cleaning of the site, but taking the time to kindle the signal fire himself, as he had promised his friend.

**********

Several hours later, as dusk was settling in, things were looking almost festive. Infected with a party mood, no one seemed to want to slack just yet, and the work, rather than falling off, had actually increased. More hunters from both sides kept arriving, brought back to the camp by the smoke signals which indicated that the contest was over. As they returned and their kills were added to the tally of those already sent back by messenger for preservation, it became more and more evident that the settlers would have more than enough for a feast and smoked and cured meat for several months. Though not the end of their troubles, seeing such a bountiful take had lightened everyone's mood.

Women tended fires, cooked and cleaned the game, worked on other dishes to supplement the meal, attempted to keep their children from running wild in the excitement, and generally laughed, smiled, and joked in spite of the stress. Tonight everyone would eat, everyone would sing and make merry, and it was worth the extra work now. Some men, after bathing, had set about helping with the food preparations, others had gone through the camp gathering every spare chair, table, and flat surface for setting up the interior of the town hall. Soon they would have proper furniture, but for now the assembled goods of the town were sufficient and added to the holiday mood. The rangers were also not immune from the excitement. Though they seemed less abandoned in their joy, it was impossible not to feel the celebration when your return was hailed as heroic and the smell of hundreds of savory dishes reached your nose.

In all of the excitement, Borgand moved from fire to fire encouraging, lifting tables, tasting stews and sweetmeats, and generally keeping an eye on how the preparations were going. As woman all across the camp seemed to be putting the finishing touches on their food after bathing both themselves and their children, he hurried to the town hall and pulled his battered battle horn out. With a single blast he signaled the beginning of the feast and streams of excited faces, each with something good to eat or drink in hand, began to pour past him into the hall. He allowed himself a moment of quiet before joining his people inside their new town hall.

The feast had begun.

[Kryssal]

Tane was back in camp and looking over a request sent from the settlement’s trader when Rherrin came into the cabin.

“Is Awyrgan or Alearindu back in town already?” Naturally Hothem had told Tane that he sent Rherrin into town and under which circumstances, but Tane thought it unlikely that either team would be back yet. Awyrgan had wanted to scout around and would need several more days to get a good enough look around. Hunting had not been easy and if Alearindu had already found enough game Tane would be pleasantly surprised.

“Awyrgan and Thoronmir came in yesterday. It seems that they got into a spat with one of the hillmen and came running back as if their tails had been stepped on. They’re afraid of retaliation and had me scout for good defense positions around town, even though it’s obvious there aren’t any saving spots.”

“Did they kill the hillmen?” If Awyrgan was afraid of an attack it must have been a good fight and the hillmen still had the death from the Rangers former leader Thorgil to think about.

Rherrin shrugged his indifference. Tane narrowed his eyes at the Ranger. He knew that Rherrin an Awyrgan didn’t like each other, every Ranger knew. However, Rherrin was a Ranger and had duties to perform that went above personal regard.

“Next time, bring a full report. Your switch comes in tomorrow,” Tane continued before the other could speak back. “You’re dismissed.”

Rherrin looked as if he was going to argue for a couple of minutes, but when Tane held his gaze he nodded sharply and walked out.

Tane let out a quick sigh. He had just gotten back into camp that morning and now had to go to the settlement. Hailing Hothem again and explaining the new situation, he once again left his post, riding Skit to the settlement. His first stop was to Awyrgan’s camp where he found the two Rangers in need of a healer. They were probably a bit too proud and preoccupied to seek one out.

“What happened?” Tane asked as he dismounted.

“Were out when we happened on a hillman. Had a good fight and came back to warn you, who were out on a ... trip,” Awyrgan spoke from his sitting position.

Tane ignored the side issue of his absence. “Did you kill him?”

Thoronmir said “No” as Awyrgan shook his head. Thoronmir elaborated. “As Awyrgan said, it was a good fight and he got in some harsh blows.”

Tane nodded and looked at the two. “I know you have something to say Awyrgan.”

The older man nodded again. “They’re not going to sit idle anymore, not after this. It’s too close. I think they’ll come after us. By us I mean Rangers or town. They know we’re the competition, but they’re not stupid as to the settlement’s value.”

Tane nodded and looked off toward the town.

Thoronmir spoke up again. “They’re having a celebration tonight and no one is worrying about any hillmen. They need to understand that just because they found some game doesn’t mean that they aren’t in danger.”

“You’re right,” and even from the small camp Tane could see the preparations under way for the festival. “I’ll talk to their leader tonight and consolidate the Rangers tomorrow. Right now I want you two to go into town and find the healer. If you’re right about the attack, I’m going to need you at full strength if possible.”

Awyrgan scowled a bit and Tane cocked his head. “Would you rather I find the healer and send him out here to you?”

Awyrgan narrowed his eyes and answered a short, “No.”

Tane mounted and nodded at the two men. “I’ll see you tomorrow to keep update you.” Then he turned and had Skit take him to the town a little faster than he normally would have. The news had made him a bit worried because he thought the possibility of an attack was probable. Now, however, he had to see to the trader and his request. It didn’t take Tane long to reach the post and was grateful to see the shopkeeper still inside, helping a last minute customer before closing for the celebration.

“Ah, Tane, thank you for coming so quickly,” Kaben smiled warmly and walked over for a firm handshake once his customer had left. “I would have talked to you about this when you came in the other day, but I simply forgot. Can you do anything for me?”

“A trader is coming in and you want a couple of Rangers to keep an eye out for it and then bring it in, correct?”

Kaben continued to smile, “Yes, that sounds it. Can that be done? It’s just that the town needs some of those supplies and I don’t want anything to happen to it. A broken wheel could make the candles and food stuffs late.”

Tane almost stared at the trader. The town was next to notoriously dangerous hillmen and he was worried about the wagons getting bogged down in some manner. The town did need those supplies however, and a small watch wouldn’t hurt them. With the town being in danger though, he might need to have most of his Rangers in the settlement. Quickly crunching some numbers and switch dates in his head, he slowly nodded at the trader. “I think I could spare two Rangers to find and bring it in. Are you sure it’s going to be coming soon?”

Kaben nodded vigorously. “Yes, he’s one of my best connections and promised to come within about a week from now. Always a day or two on either side for travel though, you know how it is.”

Tane nodded and hoped that he would be able to find sufficient men to hold all positions that needed to be watched.

Kaben clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “Good, makes me feel a little more at ease. I was just about to go to the festival, care to join me?”

“No, I’m sorry. I have to find the leader of the Rangers group and then talk to Borgand. You don’t perchance know where the Rangers are, do you?” It was a small chance, but if he did it would save Tane just that much time in wandering.

“I would suspect at the newly finished town hall, but I can’t be positive.”

Tane nodded and thanked him as he headed out to find Alearindu.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Hillmen

The little hut was dark. A window would have been far too difficult to keep sealed in winter, welcome as its air and light might have been in summer. The only openings were a small smokehole in the middle of the ceiling and the doorway, covered with a large hide. Although, the wind always seemed to find cracks and crevices in the walls. Here, ensconced in the least drafty corner of the hut sat a small boy, his leg bound in the softest skins his mother had been able to lay hands on. Here also was a little girl, two years older, halfway finished weaving a lopsided basket with already calloused fingers. She looked at her brother, who was staring at some point in the middle of the room, and asked, "Does it hurt?"

A nod.

"A lot?"

Another nod.

"You're not crying anymore," she pointed out.

Yet another nod, followed by, " 'Cause I'm a man." The words 'you idiot' were left unspoken.

"You're not a man yet," Rain contradicted. "You're still a little boy."

"But I'm gonna be a man."

His sister considered this for a moment, then shrugged. He did have a point.

"And," Flint added, "I'm gonna be just like Unca Wolf."

[The X Phial]

The feast was well underway when Tane found Borgand. The latter was a practicer of restraint, and so was only on his second glass of wine, though a number of the settlers and even the rangers were well into their cups by this time. The food was excellent, helped of course by the best spice of all, the hunger of a long day's work.

"Borgand, we need to talk about some important things," the ranger started, interrupted by a burst of laughter from a nearby table.

The one-legged man smiled at his counterpart. "Tane! I'm glad you could make it! Here, have some of this venison steak, it's fresh and cooked to perfection."

Tane smiled a bit, and sat down, but did not eat anything. "Borgand, this is important. Things are insecure here. I walked into the settlement with nary a challenge after dark! Do you know how dangerous that is?"

Borgand sobered. "Yes, of course I do. I didn't realise it was quite that bad, but with so many of our soldiers engaged in building and hunting I guess we are stretched a little too thin."

He looked around at his soldiers, mostly well past the level of useful sobriety, and sighed. Real improvements would have to start in the morning. For now, he could pull maybe 5 of these men to beef up the patrol in addition to the 10 he had asked not to drink heavily so they could relieve their brethren halfway through the celebration.

He turned to the ranger, "I will send out some more men as soon as the prizes have been announced. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Oh, that reminds me, would you like to announce your prize yourself?"

"No...no, thank you. I'm not much of a public speaker. I have these tokens from the trading post for the winning team. Kaben will give out 25 silver pennies worth of goods for each. I hope that is acceptable."

Borgand's eyes widened, he had no idea the rangers could afford to be so generous.

"Oh, yes, that's an excellent prize, Tane. You are very generous," he was quick to assure him.

He stood and knocked his now empty plate against the table to get the attention of the crowd. All through the hall songs, stories and conversations slowly died down so people could hear Borgand speak. A whispered undertone continued though, excited voices wondering what would come next. Borgand cleared his throat.

"Well, we all know why we're here tonight, to celebrate the completion of this hall, " he paused for the cheers to die down, " and also to honour our hunters on both teams who have made this feast and many future meals possible!" There was a louder and longer cheer this time, and Borgand could not help but smile as he noticed several of the settlement's hunters blush in pleasure. "And so, without further ado, we will announce the winners and declare the prizes." This time the cheering was short and to the point. Everyone wanted to know what the prizes would be, and at least one of the winners was still a mystery.

Borgand continued, "Now, the prize for the first catch comes from the settlement, and so it is my pleasure to announce that the ranger team will be receiving in appreciation a barrel of Gondorian wine, brought all the way with us from the wineries of the South! They can share their prize as they wish amongst themselves, or choose to share it with others, but the barrel is yours, gentlemen!" He bowed to the ranger team, mostly sitting together on one side of the room and was pleased to note that the cheering from the settlers was appreciative and friendly in general. The wine was very valuable, and people would be sorry to see it go, but no one really begrudged the winners a decent prize. He added, playfully, "We just ask that you not drink it all tonight!" This produced a laugh and broke up some of the remaining tension people might be feeling over losing.

Borgand raised his arms for silence once again and the crowd grew a little less rowdy. He smiled at his people, proud of them for their generosity and their strength. He winked at Illith, who was holding a sleeping Bregand in her arms, and continued.

"As many of you know, the ranger's leader Tane has generously added another prize to the mix. There is skill in finding a herd, and there is skill in capturing the most game; and so we decided on an additional prize for the team that brought in the most! I am pleased to announce that talliers from both sides have agreed that the settler team brought in more game!" This time the cheer was almost deafening and rung through the hall for a full two minutes.

Borgand raised his arms for silence once again. "Tane has provided a most excellent prize for the winners. Each member of the team will receive one token for the trading post worth 25 silver pennies!"

A racous cry went up and Borgand could hear men around the hall calling for toasts to Tane and the rangers. He looked at Tane, glad things had worked out so well, and then caught Calumdril's eye. The Ithillien was pleased, but restrained. He had overheard the conversation about security, and Borgand could see that was torn between the feast and organizing some sort of patrol. He smiled at his friend and hoped he would stay in the feast just a little bit longer. If anyone deserved a break, it was Calumdril.

He raised his voice again, "Winners should come and find me before the end of the feast to collect their prizes. And now, back to the food!"

He got no argument from the crowd, and singing and laughter erupted around the room once again. The feast was over for Borgand, however. He had men to find, a patrol to organize, and fears to allay. He sighed...leaders never get a day off.

[Carrûn]

Rangers

Awyrgan limped towards the center of the settlement, thoughts swirling. In the distance he could see the lights of the fires and hear the sounds of the chatter from the feast. Judging by the level of noise the Ranger teams had returned and were holding their own. Sulenar would be there, Awyrgan knew. While he could keep up with most of the other Rangers with the ale he left Sulenar well enough enough alone, the man was a legend.

Searching through the unfinished streets he approached the healer Thoronmir had directed him to. The older ranger had already visited the man earlier in the evening while Awyrgan had put it off as long as possible, choosing instead to check the edges of the camp again. He had identified several key areas for possible defenses on the outskirts of the town as well as a few escape routes. Marking them on the map he had left it with Tane on his way to the healer's.

The man Collothion was sitting at a small desk pouring over a book, scribbling notes along the edges. He looked up as the Ranger came in. "Can I help you?" Awyrgan nodded. Sitting down he removed his tunic, revealing the gash the deer's antlers had left. "I think this might be getting infected. Also I don't think my foot was set properly." He mentioned it as an afterthought, but the limb throbbed. The healer nodded. "Let me see the foot first." Running his hands over it he murmured softly to himself, then looked up at Awyrgan. "I should reset this..." He offered a small flask to the Ranger, who should his head. "This might hurt." Awyrgan gritted his teeth as the healer gave a quick tug on his foot. For a brief moment, he saw the stars in all their glory. He didn't think he had made any noise but he couldn't be sure.

Wrapping the foot tightly Collothion passed him a small container of salve. "This should keep the shoulder clean." Thanking him Awyrgan passed him a few coins, apologizing that they were all he had. He didn't know if his status as a Ranger granted him any leway but he wouldn't have accepted it if it had. Leaving the healer's he moved towards the feast. He found the main group of Rangers in a corner and slid in next to Roharan who grinned, slapped him on the back, and passed him a drink. Thoronmir inquired about his foot and Awyrgan grunted. The Rangers were arguing in good spirit over their fortunes of the hunt and Awyrgan sat back and listened, letting the talk run over him as he did his best to relax.

Looking across at the adjoining table he caught the gaze of one of the settlers. She had fiery red hair, and blue eyes that stirred memories out of the Ranger's repressed unconsciousness. She smiled. Awyrgan choked, and setting his drink down hurriedly left the table, not meeting the quizzical glance Alearindu gave him as he did so. He passed Tane on his way out the door, briefly responding to the Ranger leader's question as to where the other Rangers were with a short gesture. He quickened his pace, striding out of the settlement until he was well into the wood line.

Stopping, he traced the scar on his face, tasting once again the bitter memories. Lighting his pipe he sat down, fists clenched with his head bowed. It was some time before he moved at all. A rabbit scurried across in front of him, then dashed off into the nearby bushes. When he raised his head there was a smoldering red fire in his eyes, as if Hell itself had been woken within him. Standing up he strode off, stalking the edges of the camp, eyes and ears alert for any sounds or sights of hillmen or others that might be planning a move.

[Osse]

Bear woke with a start. Sweat flowed down from his brows like rain from laden gutters and his eyes were cloudy. His fast-receding dreams had been full of phantom voices and shadows, he was left dazed, as if a mace had smashed into his senses, yet he could not remember any specifics of his dream; it stood like a column on the edge of his perception.

The snores echoing from the floor in the corner opposite Bear confirmed that the old healer was asleep rolled up in many pelts. It was nearing midnight and the near-full moon was peering down on the village. Ruddy light shot through the chimney-hole and threw Bear’s prone form into relief. With a sharp groan, Bear lifted himself off the short bed and regretted his actions immediately.

The throbbing pain that had been all but absent from his injured leg came back with redoubled strength and like a hot poker being thrust repeatedly into the muscle it continued for quite a while. Bear had needed to be stripped from the waist down in order for the wound to be properly treated. Looking down to inspect the wound, he became aware that a sprig of some plant had been stuffed into it. He tugged at the exposed stem and as he did, the throbbing pain became constant, white-hot agony.

He quickly desisted and the pain subsided, once again to be replaced by the general throb. Bear hobbled over to the doorway and peered out into the night. The fire that was usually kept alight had been quenched by one of the misty rains that plagued the hills. Often the hillmen would rise to find the village square muddy and dank, despite the sun riding high. This would prove to be another of those days. Bear stood, half-naked and gazed out at the sleet, heedless of the droplets forming on his hair, heedless of any watchers. Already the pain had settled in his leg.

Bear began to feel ready for anything-his anger had not subsided; if anything, it had intensified. Kestrel peered from the dark doorway of her hut and seeing her brother-in-law’s half naked form quickly flitted back into the shadows.

[Kryssal]

"Borgand," Tane caught the leader just as he was about to leave the table. "There was an incident involving two Rangers and a hillmen. There were no deaths, but this is an already unstable situation. Please advise your men to be extra wary in their patrols."

Borgand had a frown on his face from the news, but nodded before he left.

Tane sighed. The Rangers seemed to be stirring up more trouble with the hillmen than the settlement and if any fighting did break out, the people would get hurt not only because they thought themselves safe, but because this was a barren land. The contest had brought a respite, but it might not last. In the talk with Alearindu it had been affirmed that there were some herds out there, but they weren't as big as she would have liked. Then again, the settlers did bring in the bigger bounty.

Tane walked over to where the Rangers were huddled and found half less than adequately sober.

"I need you all to stop drinking," Tane eyed Sulenar in particular. "As I told Alearindu just a bit ago, before the festival began, there was another incident with the hillmen and I'd like some Ranger patrols out there."

All but Sulenar and Roharan nodded and put down their drinks. Tane reached over and grabbed the front of Sulenar's tunic with one hand and his drink with the other. "Sober up and get out on patrol within the hour," he let the man go and put the drink on the table. "Take shifts, Alearindu is the coordinator and commander, her next is Ethiner. I want two teams of two on constant patrol with four hour shifts. Get rest when it's your turn."

He motioned Ethiner and Alearindu closer to him as the other four started getting up and stretching. "I know you're tired, but there's no time to get more from the camp. I'm going to send replacements near morning," Tane glanced back at the group. "Ethiner, I want you and Sulenar to go out first together, then split the teams as Alearindu and you see fit. I want him sober and under control, he's not behaving as well as I'd like for this, but he is a Ranger."

Tane raised his eyebrows at the two, but they nodded their understanding and turned toward their group.

"And Alearindu, make sure you command with a strong hand in this. Tonight may mean nothing to the settlement, but it's still a lesson for you...and them."

Then Tane walked out of the hall and found his horse. He needed to get back to the camp and find enough replacements for the town and the incoming wagon for the trader Kaben. With the six already on patrol here and Awyrgan and Thoronmir healing, there weren't many extra Rangers. He'd have to pull out some Rangers from posts and then some.

Tane saddled Skit and kicked her into action. He didn't know exactly how he was going to handle this and didn't like that.

[Bêthberry]

The swim and bath in the cold lake had eased Calumdril's overstrained muscles as the boyancy of the water lifted him up and held him. He had relaxed and allowed his body to be buffeted by the waves. For a brief time he let go of his self-control and just wafted on the water, the sounds of the settlement registering but distantly on his mind and the lapping of water making a rhythm over his face, eyes closed. Yet after a time the cold had also quickened his mind and thoughts. His resolve returned and stiffened and he was once more ready to act the disciplined ranger from Ithilien.

So it was that Calumdril had watched Borgand's conversation with Tane and noted the frown. He had cheered loudly the announcement of the winners of the challenge and called out enthusiastically, "Cuilad, Cuilad" to the cheers of the settlers. He had even reflected upon the strange fact of the boy's muteness and wondered briefly if the chance to prove himself and accomplish something substantial in his own eyes would help mediate the atrophied power of speech. Yet when he caught Borgand's the social veneer was gone. He shook his head, as if to acknowledge wordlessly his readiness.

Then, he slipped out of the hall to survey the perimeter of the settlement, the lay of the tents and wagons. He had been away for what amounted to much time and much had been accomplished in his absence. He needed to be familiar with the settlement, particularly in the dark of a half moon and a night sky overcast with clouds.

[alaklondewen]

Cuilad sat silently amidst the hunters from the settlement who patted him gingerly on the back and chanted his name after Borgand announced their prize. First, the boy worked to keep his face chiseled, but their rising excitement counteracted his resolve and soon his face melted into a broad grin. If only his father would have been there to witness the enthusiasm Cuilad received from the other men, then the night would have been perfect. The boy had pleaded with his father to come, but Collothion answered only that he needed to finish archiving one of his discoveries and then he might be along. In the meantime, Cuilad celebrated merrily keeping his mind from wishing and knowing his father would be very proud of him when he returned with his prize.

One of the men next to Cuilad plopped a second serving of venison on the boy’s plate, laughing heartily and saying that the lad needed more meat on his bones if he was to be a real hunter. Cuilad laughed and took a mouthful of the steak, which brought a roar from the man.

Cuilad leaned forward to see Calumdril’s reaction, but he saw the ranger rising from his seat a slipping outside. The lad was slightly disappointed the Ithilien was not giving his attention to Cuilad, but as the inquisitive young man began to observe those around him, he noticed that the rangers were sober and their leader was leaving also. Borgand was suddenly less than enthusiastic compared to his state moments before.

Cuilad quickly tuned his senses into those activities set with these men hoping to catch some word of whether something was happening or he was reading too much into it.

~*~*~*~

Collothion set his pen down and vigorously rubbed his eyes. He’d worked many hours, and it was time for a break. Staying this long away from the celebration had not been his plan, but his services were needed by two of the rangers who had some nasty scuffs from the hunt. The older man leaned back in his chair and stretched his long arms out yawning. He was exhausted. A short rest would not hurt before joining the festivities, he thought. The healer rose and lay down on his small cot in the corner. Moments later he was breathing softly sound asleep.

[Meneltarmacil]

Althoughhe was still recovering from his injuries, Thoronmir managed to keep up a conversation with some of the settlers. The talk was getting all too familiar. News about the hillmen had filtered in and rumors were going around about an attack coming soon. Thoronmir filled the settlers in on what had happened during his patrol with Awyrgan, and it only made everyone more worried.

"I've noticed it's always been you rangers who have been getting into trouble with them," said an older man with grayish-black hair. "I think you're the ones who should be blamed for what's been happening here lately."

"Now wait a minute," Thoronmir replied, "We're only trying to protect this settlement from harm, not cause it. We don't just ride about seeking trouble with the hillmen."

"That's what you all say," the man retorted. "If you hadn't been going on all those little 'patrols' and stirring up trouble with them, we'd probably still have game aplenty and there'd be no need for this hunting contest."

"Now look here, good sir, I do not want to start any trouble--"

"I'm not finished yet," he went on. "This isn't the end of it, Ranger. Those men are going to do far worse things because of you. You just watch."

Thoronmir did not want to start an incident in the middle of a feast, so he got up and left the table.

"That's right. If you really want to help, you can just get out of here and never come back."

[Himaran]

Olin wandered through the ancient buildings of the crumbling, stone city. No one seemed to notice him, and he avoided the taskmasters descreetly. The dwarf was tired of collecting fresh blocks; he had gathered more than most, aye, and been nearly injured more than most, too. And so he spent his time surveying the broken walls, although vines had grown up around them and choking much of the beautiful scenery. Then, he tripped.

Olin landed facedown in a dark pile of thick mud, which enveloped him into its waiting and uncomfortable embrace. The dwarf struggled for a moment, finally standing and seeing the small stone block that had caused his "accident." Grabbing it, he made as if to hurl it angrily but stopped. Olin suddenly realized tha the stone was covered with odd drawings. Stepping out of the mud, he sat down on a large rock and wiped dust off of the tablet. Sure enough, he could make out intricate symbols scratched into its surface. Strangely, they resembled many that he had seen on pillars and the like throughout the city. Tucking it under his arm, the filthy dwarf returned to his wheelbarrow, promising to ask someone more knowledgeable than he about the odd artifact.

[VanimaEdhel]

As soon as one thing was fixed, it felt as though another thing broke. Barzûn was in a fatal mood. He marched among the Dwarves, barking at those that seemed to feel as helpless as he was beginning to feel.

"Curse the Fates," he grumbled, "It is almost as though we are not supposed to return to the camp before tomorrow arrives."

Barzûn kicked a pebble in frustration. He gave a hoarse bark of frustration, then surveyed the Dwarves around him. Some still appeared determined, but most appeared sullen and a very few even appeared indignant at Barzûn's persistence. There were one or two Dwarves missing from the work, it seemed, but Barzûn gave up trying to find and reprimand the deserters. They were, no doubt, observing the architecture of the city. The area was, in fact, magnificent. Barzûn wished he could have had more time to explore.

"Oy! Did I call for a break?" Barzûn barked at an unhappy Dwarf, who looked longingly at the water that sat within five feet from where he toiled. "Oh," Barzûn said reluctantly, "Fine. Get some water. Then back to work. All of you."

Barzûn grumbled as he took some water himself. He looked up at the sky and sighed.

"We should be getting back soon," he said out loud, more to himself than to the Dwarves around him. He directed his next comment to the Dwarves. "I am going to search for the others. I will let them know that we are going to prepare to leave soon. In the meantime, you all should ready for the departure. Take what stone you can. I doubt we can get everything, but we will come back tomorrow if necessary."

The Dwarves nodded, looking relieved that the tedious work was almost finished for the day. Barzûn wound his way through the streets of the city, looking for the other Dwarves. When all of the men were accounted for, Barzûn allowed one more rest before they were to set out. He wanted to reach the camp without stopping. Barzûn sat on a boulder with his wheelbarrow, looking one last time over the city. The Dwarf Olin, looking a bit muddy, happened to sit next to Barzûn.

"What happened to you, boy?" Barzûn asked.

"I had an accident, sir," Olin replied, looking down at the dirty garb.

"Well, we shall be back at camp soon. Then you may change, I suppose," Barzûn growled.

Olin seemed to be trying to determine something. He finally came to an accord with himself and spoke up. "I found something, sir. I was wondering if you would like to take a look at it."

Barzûn looked at the Dwarves resting around him. "I suppose I have time. What is it, then?"

Olin took something out from under his arm. The Dwarves bulky clothes had concealed it slightly. Barzûn took the object and looked at it. It was a stone that bore scratches and patterns. He recognized the markings immediately.

"This was done recently," he rumbled to himself. He looked back at the city, "But few people have been here lately. Why would anyone...?"

"What do you make of it, if I may ask, sir?" Olin asked Barzûn.

"I do not know. It appears as though someone has been making carvings recently." It also appeared as though the artist was not immensely skilled or used to the medium, as the lines were rougher than those in the city. The line quality improved as the work seemed to progress. "It is getting late," Barzûn finally barked, "We should get back to camp. We can look at this more there. Dwarves! We're going back!"

The Dwarves stood by their wheelbarrows. Barzûn gave Olin the stone block back, telling him to keep it safe. Then, Barzûn gave the order and the Dwarves began the slow trek back to camp.

[Kryssal]

Tane rode in and walked into the cabin to find Hothem gathering up some parchments. At Tane's entrance Hothem held up the papers and proclaimed, "I finally finished the Ranger rotations for the next two weeks."

Tane couldn't help but laugh at the irony. "My friend," he said as he went to one wall and grabbed a chair, carrying it over to the one already at the desk. "We're going to have to revise those. I need a group of fresh Rangers at the settlement and a couple to go out and watch for an incoming wagon train."

Hothem dropped the papers back on the table and sighed. "This is going to take awhile."

Many hours and several drafts went by before they were finished. Three relays had to be emptied, but since they were on the opposite side of the settlement and normally barren, it would be alright for the time being.

Hothem left the cabin and Tane started writing out the orders.

~

Alearindu and Ethiner,

You two are immediately reassigned. There is a small wagon train coming in on the same road that the settlement entered on. You are to watch for it, meet it, and lead it safely in. The local trader expects it within a week. For more information, contact him. Leave the settlement before noon tomorrow.

Tane

~

Awyrgan and Thoronmir,

Awyrgan is going to be lead Ranger at the settlement and Thoronmir his second. I'm sending in a new batch of six Rangers that you need to divide into groups of two. Set up a rotation and keep tabs on activities - Always have a patrol on the border between the settlement and the hillmen's camp. Speak with Borgand about crossing patrols to cover more ground. I will be coming in two days for reports.

Tane

~

The other orders were easier to write. Tane simply told all the Ranger currently in the settlement to come back to the camp and check in with Hothem or Tane for their new assignments. As for the Rangers in the camp, Hothem was already in the process of sending them out.

After stretching, Tane closed all the letters and went out to find a Ranger inbound for the settlement. That Ranger wasn't hard to find since one was riding past the cabin enroute. Tane hailed him, gave instructions, and watched as the Ranger rode off toward the nearest hill.

[Himaran]

Olin was relieved when the order to pack up and leave was finally given. He had been at the sight far too long for his personal comfort, and had suffered his share of injuries. The settlement was like a shining beacon of hope, and at last he was returning to it. But his trials were not yet over.

As the many wheelbarrows filled with stone were slowly pushed down the winding path, the dwarf was ready to collapse with exhaustion. And there were miles yet to go. Occasionally a cart would tip, and loud curses would echo throughout the valley. Finally, it became too dark to travel, and the dwarves stopped and built a small camp. Olin collapsed on the ground minutes later, knowing that the journey would end the next day. Finally, his work was over!

Or so he thought.

[Belin]

Unlike the news of Calem, the news of Bear spread quickly. Wolf saw to it. His war-leader was an effective one even when gravely injured; the rage of the warriors was spectacular and necessary, especially if they would have to fight without him. They could not hesitate. Perhaps, reflected Wolf, he should have waited for Flint to return with news of Rook, but they needed to attack soon, before the Southerners had established themselves, while they were perhaps still congratulating themselves on having injured such a dangerous warrior as his brother. In any case, he thought privately, Rook was just as likely to refuse as he was to join battle, or more so.

In fact, Raven’s presence and Bear’s seemed about equally likely. Wolf had to be ready to fight without either.

There had been little sleep for any of them, as Wolf had spent the evening gathering his warriors, anybody at all who was tall and strong enough to wield a spear and angry enough to fight. The second criterion was hardly a problem. Gently, he had had to remove spears from the hands of children and return them to their fathers or brothers or, in some cases, to some man who did not know the child but whose own weapons had been lost. Some of the old men, even more stubborn than the children, were allowed to remain, but Cleft’s niece Kite was firmly discouraged.

“In the very last attack,” Wolf had told her, “at that time when we know we are all going to die, Kite… then we will need your spear. But while we have some hope, I don’t want to weaken the village by letting you be killed.”

She was very young, as strong as a tree root that splits rocks and certainly no less brave than Bear was. “I won’t be killed!” she cried, indignant.

“Good,” he answered. “Don’t.” And he took her weapons and went back to his slowly gathering party of men.

It would have perhaps been desirable for them to have slept, but they needed the time to gather their weaponry and discuss their plans. They were admirable swimmers, and would need to use this to their advantage. He wondered whether the Southerners could swim. He supposed they would find out.

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

The preparations were nearly complete. As the light of early morning began to find its feeble way through the sleet, Wolf stopped by Cleft’s tent, peering in to see whether his brother was conscious and angry, or asleep and likely to be angry later on. Cleft lay in the tent, sleeping imperturbably, but Bear was nowhere to be seen. Wolf sighed in sudden exasperation. It would be just like him to have taken off on his own, the idiot. Didn’t he ever learn from his mistakes? Didn’t he care at all whether he ended up crippled from walking on a bad leg, or dead from slow reflexes? Growling to himself, Wolf turned—and came face to face with the very man he’d been thinking of, clad in that peculiar armor that nobody else could match.

“You look nice,” said Wolf, sourly. “Can you walk?”

Bear grinned. “Am I not walking?”

“Are you falling down and giving the enemy an advantage?”

His brother drew himself up to his full and impressive height, barely wincing as he did so. “I am Bear,” he said, simply.

“You are arrogant,” snapped Wolf. “But if you are certain, then I can certainly use your help. I was wondering what it would be like to go into battle without you.”

Bear was certain. They returned to the square together, and looked at their warriors.

They were hunters and scavengers. They were survivors of the land that less tenacious people had abandoned as worthless. They were flea-bitten, wet with sleet and armed with spears. There were twenty-seven of them.

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

About half of them had been sent off to silence the guards. The settlement was absolutely still. Its walls, still being constructed, had numerous weak spots, one conveniently located next to the river. They broke through, as quietly as they could.

Though none of them had planned on sightseeing, the inside of the settlement was unmistakably bizarre and exotic, especially to the many among them who had never been to Bree. These southerners made buildings the way the Bree-men did, with tall straight walls that required a very elaborate and impractical support system. They made the paths between their buildings straight and wide, a waste of effort that some of the younger warriors, either nervous or overconfident, found a source of humor. It was clear, much clearer than in their own village, which building was the most important, and they crept up to it with that careful quietness of which they were so proud.

[Osse]

Silence ran free throughout the settlement; the guards had been quietly eliminated. Without looking, Bear massaged the cramp from his stiff, sore fingers and peeked timidly around the corner of a canvas tent. The weak moon was hiding himself behind masses of cloud and the night was almost pitch black; light from many fireplaces cast long, would-be startling shadows across the open space that lay between his band of warriors and the large wooden structure they were making for. The night was crisp and cold, as the nights in the hills often were, causing his weapon hand to become almost numb.

Reaching inside his pouch, Bear retrieved a small bone square and squeezed it, as he did so, a high-pitch creak issued from it, sounding just like a cricket. Answering clicks were heard from a patch of deep shadow behind a wood hut off to Bear’s right where Wolf and his half of the warriors lay hid, completely indiscernible, like mist in the darkness.

Light suddenly spilled forth from the large wooden building; two men staggered out into the night, wheeling and singing as they came. One peeled off towards a tent, but the other kept coming on towards them. As he passed the group, Bear caught a whiff of wine.

The man stopped right next to the warriors and turned his back to urinate on a tree. Bear quickly nodded at Finch, who stole over to the man and arching his head back slit the southerner’s throat, his blood poured black onto the dew stricken grass, another man never to return to the flower-clad downs of the south.

Finch soon returned to the group, after dragging the man’s corpse into a small copse of firs; his face was void of any emotion, be it anger or hate or disgust, completely and utterly void – the hillmen’s anger was now beyond any reasonable emotion and they all now danced in a steel-like, mechanised waltz of death.

Without a backward glance, Bear strode towards the closed door of the great building, only going out of his way to stoop and pick up a burning brand from a nearby fire. Like a host of locusts, the hillmen descended upon the building. Suddenly Bear tossed his flaming brand high up above the roof of the building.

It came crashing down and smote itself upon the thatching around the guttering of the building. Other hillmen lobbed their torches onto the roof and if the hillmen had stayed to observe, fires sprang up all over it and began to consume it.

All twenty-seven warriors rushed their way into the hall. Southerners sprang up from their seats, many to Bear’s silent, private approval still wore their weapons, at least it wouldn’t be too much of a massacre.

Bear’s musings were suddenly broken when a tall man took a long, drunken swipe at his head with a club. Quickly ducking the blow, Bear slammed his axe into the man’s torso. The hit landed across his chest and he fell crashing back onto a fallen table. Torrents of blood mixed with spilled wine as Bear crashed through the southerners.

[The X Phial]

Borgand had seen to the distribution of prizes, and was about to take Illith and the now sleeping Bregand back to the tent when the shouting started. As one of the least drunk men in the hall, he was almost the first to his feet when the giant hillman burst inside, followed by more than a dozen...no, two dozen... warriors. All were armed and had a sort of berserker rage in their eyes. Borgand's thoughts flew to the women and children still populating the hall. They had to run! Thankfully, there was a back entrance to the hall. It had been planned as an entrance for bringing in food and wine, but it would do as an escape route with the other doorway inaccesible.

Through the shouting, his deep voice rang out...desperation making him louder than even the screams of the terrified children.

"Women and children, out the back. Roland, Cuilad, guard them with your lives! Make for the horses and run to Bree as quickly as you can!"

He caught the eyes of the two boys, frightened and determined. Maybe they would be spared the worst of the fighting now. They were young, but both had proven to be strong, and Borgand needed people he could trust to guard the innocents, but also people who wouldn't be too missed in an all-out battle. He watched them spring into action and had to force his mind back to the issue at hand. He had done what he could for the innocents, it was time to deal with the guilty. He wished he had told Illith once more how much she and the boy meant to him, but couldn't spare the time now. Nor did he want her to stick around so he could tell her. He watched the women stream out the door behind him, thankful that most of them seemed to be keeping their calm in spite of everything.

Borgand drew his sword and advanced on the hillmen. Already, the air seemed thick with fighting. He engaged a wiry young man who was chasing a girl on the cusp of womanhood, buying time for her to escape with the others. The hillman was clumsy with his weapon, but strong in general, and fast. Borgand disarmed him, but wasn't able to cut him down. Something was interfering with his sight, and his breathing... SMOKE! Aware of the threat to everyone in the hall, he shouted once more.

"Everyone outside, the hall is on fire!"

Those who heard him pushed toward the entrance. The others would figure it out soon. Smoke was quickly filling the space, making defender and attacker alike cough and hack. It was an unusual tactic, running into a burning building. Borgand didn't understand these hillmen at all. Did they -want- to die?

Borgand lost track of individuals as he fought his way to the door. He slashed at the hillmen, injuring at least one as he went, trying not to lean too much on his false leg. He had heard no alarm. That meant the guards were likely dead. He wondered, briefly, if Calumdril was among the dead. He had slipped out before the attack and failed to raise the alarm. It did not bode well. Still, perhaps he was simply engaged in the fighting. Borgand sincerely hoped this was the case, had grown rather fond of the ranger. Thinking of rangers, he noticed that they were none of them too drunk to put up a fight. He wondered how much more effective they would be if they hadn't been drinking for several hours.

Borgand dodged an attack, a close one, and parried another. This was bad..he was trapped and his air was slowly failing. He stabbed out in a rather non-graceful, but effective, manner and watched as the wiry young hillman from before fell down dead. His path was clear, and he took it as quickly as his one leg would allow.

He entered the open night, which seemed cold and crisp to his smoke-filled eyes and lungs. Coughing and hacking still, he fought the urge to let his guard down. The hillmen had also made it out, and the fighting was thick out here as well. Borgand looked around, trying to identify their leader. They wore no rank or insignia...cowards. He assumed the largest man must be the leader. The others certainly seemed to rally around him. There was another rallying point as well. A smaller man, older..he might also be the leader. Borgand decided the giant was his best bet, though. These hillmen would value physical power.

The one-legged man advanced toward his target. Take out the leader and dishearten the enemy; it was a well-known and proven tactic. He heard the roof of the town hall collapse as he threw himself into battle; all their work up in smoke. The anger flamed within him, rivaling the heat of the actual flames behind him, and he attacked the large hillman with a vigour he had not mustered since the fields of the Pelennor. Slashing, shieldless, he let his body surrender to the battle lust.

[Carrûn]

Rangers

"They came across the lake..." Thoronmir panted out as best an explanation as he could while the Rangers from the outpost moved as rapidly as they could towards the commotion. His patrol had spotted the two dozen or so attackers as they were swimming and had sprinted around the settlement. Engaging them with four men would have been suicidal. Still, Awyrgan was fuming; to have hillmen slip into the town unnoticed even if he was not the one on patrol was a personal insult. Rherrin and one of the younger rangers had been left at the camp in the event more hillmen arrived or tried to escape. The settlement was well within the range of their bows.

The moon had hid its face, and the darkly clothed men moved like shadows past the dead sentries into the village, pausing only briefly to check in case any of them still showed signs of life. None of them did.

As they approached the city they ran into a mass of people fleeing. The billowing smoke in the center of the town told all to clearly where they had come from. Thoronmir directed them towards the ranger camp, instructed the two lads who led them to have Rherrin escort them to Bree.

As they drew nearer to the main hall they could hear the horse shouts of battle mixed with the screams of the dying, wounded, and innocent. They quickened their pace until they were right next to the burning walls of the hall. The battle was moving outside, but most of the combatives were still in the building which was quickly filling with smoke.

Awyrgan looked at Thoronmir, who guessing his mind, shook his head defeated. "No Awyrgan, no." Awyrgan gave a dark chuckle, green eyes glinting in the firelight. His companions watched in shock and then followed as he leapt through the remains of the burning wall into the fray.

The crashing arrival of the six rangers caused a momentary lull in the battle, giving Thoronmir enough time to skewer a hillman who had been pursing one of the remaining children in the hall. Having failed to draw his sword before entering Awyrgan simply grabbed the nearest hillmen he could find and threw him against the burning foundation stakes he had leapt over. The brutal attack worked with gruesome effectiveness.

As he pushed further into the midst of the battle Awyrgan notice Sulenar. The man was fighting well, abet drunkenly, but had neglected to put down the drink in his left hand. Finding himself suddenly back to back with the drunk man Awyrgan roared over his head that he might fight better with two hands. Sulenar replied that it would be a shame to waste such fine ale. A portion of the roof collapsed, driving the two apart.

A giant of a hillman stood solidly swinging an axe in the center of the battle. With somewhat of a start Awyrgan recognized him as the hillmen Thoronmir and he had encountered while on patrol several days before. He was not the only one to notice. The hillman's eyes followed the ranger as the pair moved closer in the heat of the fight. They glowed.

[Kryssal]

Kaben's mind was filled with fear the second he realized who had burst through the hall's main doors. He stood up so fast his chair rocked back and hit the man behind him. He would have stood there had a young maiden not grabbed his arm and started pulling him towards the back doors. He looked at her, startled slightly, then shook his head as he recognized her to be a friend. When she saw that he was moving on his own she let go and ran head long for the doors, picking up a small, crying child on her way.

A man cried out close to Kaben's right and he turned to see the young man knocked down and trying to get up and away from a quickly approaching hillman. Grabbing a plate and goblet he threw them at the invadors head. They didn't do any damage, but they made the warrior turn which gave the young man enough time to stand and unsheath his sword. As the two started to fight Kaben spun around and made his way once more toward the back doors.

There were hardly any people left in the hall besides the combatants, but once he got outside there were people everywhere. The ones who had fled the hall cried out and woke those sleeping in their near by tents. Kaben was relieved to see that most of those who were being awakened came out of their tents armed and ready to fight.

But where can we go they can't come? Kaben's frantic mind screamed at him as he ran through the tents. He was no fighter, and knew it.

He suddenly found himself at his trading post, his legs automatically directing him there in his fright. Dashing inside he ran to one corner and hunched down. He gripped a small throwing dagger that he had scooped up while passing the front desk, knowing he probably wouldn't be able to use it regardless. Shaking and hearing the cries from outside, he sat there and could think no more.

[alaklondewen]

The shouts of battle finally reached the ears of the old healer, and he woke with a start. His eyes were still blurry and his head thick as he stumbled from his low bed and peaked outside his tent. A thick black smoke billowed from the center of the village and men all around him were engaged in battle with Hillmen. His head cleared with one thought…Cuilad!

Collothion ducked underneath his tent and took hold of his old sword, then he leapt back in to the open air and began running through the village calling his son’s name. Only once did an enemy step in his way and challenge him. With the fury and strength of a wild bear the old healer rammed into the young man knocking him to the ground. Wishing not for battle but for the safety of his son, Collothion let them man live, but took his sword, tucked it in his own belt, and kept running.

The healer searched the tents one by one still calling, “Cuilad! Cuilad!” He threw open the door of the trading post and faced a bewildered Kaben. “Is Cuilad in here, Kaben? Have you seen him?” Kaben did not speak, but shook his head negatively, and Collothion spun and exited the establishment.

On his way out, a fallen villager called out for help, and Collothion rushed to his side. “Help me, please.” The young man pleaded. The healer could not refuse, but he looked up into the crowd searching for his boy as he helped the man rise and half carried him to a nearby tent.

“Let me take a good look at that wound.” The healer gently pulled the man’s shirt from his side where a large about of blood was escaping. “This is a nasty gash, but you will survive.” The young man winced as Collothion squeezed water from a barrel in the tent over the wound. He then quickly tore the sleeve from his own shirt and tied it around the young man’s waist. “Stay here and don’t go out. I will check on you again when I can.”

With that Collothion ducked under the tent’s opening and stepped outside. Placing his hand on his own waist, he had almost forgotten about the weapon he took from the young Hillman, so he pulled out the sword and opened the door of the tent where the young man lay. “I forgot this. I hope the need does not find you, but use it if the occasion arises.”

The young man nodded and gratefully took the sword. Collothion then shut the entrance and continued on his search for Cuilad.

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir had just gotten back to the settlement when the hillmen attacked. He and Awyrgan drew their weapons and tried to regroup with the others. Thoronmir gave orders to get the settlers out as quickly as possible. He and Awyrgan faced off against a giant of a man, whom they had encountered for. The two charged at him together, but mor hillmen arrived at split the two of them up. Thoronmir soon found himself trapped by several hillmen. There was no way out.

Thoronmir cut several men down with his sword while parrying blows with his long knife, but was driven further and further back. These men fought even harder than the forces of Mordor he had encountered at the Pellennor Fields, he noticed. He was about to give up hope when suddenly realized that he was backing into the still flaming remains of the town hall. He siezed a burning piece of wood from the remains and hurled it at the nearest man. The flames spread, and the men hesitated somewhat. Thoronmir bolted through a newly created opening, still slashing at the hillmen with his sword, but one of their spears pierced his left shoulder. He turned and ran the attacker through with his sword, then continued to try to get bck to the rest of the Rangers.

As he ran past the flaming ruins of another building, he realized that he may have made a grave mistake. There were definitely more hillmen than he had thought. He got to the stable, where many horses, including his own Brandir, were being saddled. Thoronmir mounted his horse and resumed the battle. At least this way he would have the advantage of speed.

Thoronmir entered the battle and again the same man stood facing him.
"Come on, Ranger, you ain't scared of me, are yuh?" the man taunted him.
Thoronmir charged at him, sword pointed directly at the man's heart.
"This is for Thorgil," he said

[Bêthberry]

An ominous contrast had presented itself when Calumdril had left the feasting hall to familiarise himself with the layout of the new buildings in the settlement.

The hall had been bright with torches, candles, cooking fires and had rung with cheers and raucous, boisterous laughter of the celebration. Crowded, the settlers had jostled shoulder to shoulder and the warmth of their bodies had added to the heat of the fires. The air had been heavy with the scent of rich spices, roasting meat, beer and wine, bodies in close proximity. It had almost been overpowering. Calumdril's nostrils had been aware of every odour and scent and aroma, his ears attuned to several conversations, the timbres of many voices he knew well, his own muscles made langorous by the sensations.

Once he had stepped outside, he had been disoriented by the contrast. Here, it was dark, dark as the caves he had once hid in in Ithilien, but without the musty, earthy scent. He could smell only the aromas of cut wood and chipped stone. The sounds of the hall had been muffled by the walls or by his own efforts to shake the scene out of his head and orient himself outside. His eyes could not immediately adjust to the darkness and only slowly could he distinguish between the dark of a wall and the dark of the air around around him or the sky. He stumbled once or twice around timber and planks that had been left lying around and without the moon he could not make out the outlines of the tents and wagons.

He had felt the hair on his arms and legs and head rise in the cool breeze and suddenly his mouth became dry and his neck stiff. He had a premonition of what was coming to pass and his mind was filled with images of the dead Hillman he had found and of Thorgil's body, eaten by vultures. He smelt the decay of their flesh and remembered the waxy feel of their bodies, touched by the musty odour of the forest, wet from rain. He heard the strange clicks around him too and then stumbled back as the spear thudded into his chest and drove through him.

He went to pull his knife from his belt but he could not feel his arm moving and wondered why not. He was in no pain, just removed from contact with his body as the spear severed his spine and he saw wavering in front of him the Hillman he had buried come to haunt him. Or a different one and then others. And as they kicked at him and withdrew the spear from his body his eyes went blank. He remembered the scent of niphredil and then no more.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Kestrel hated waiting. She hated the uncertainty that came with waiting, and the knowledge that no matter what she did, nothing would or could change the outcome that the spirits had decided upon. She hated the wondering, whether all of her men would come home, or whether she would have to light the funeral candles for one or all of them. Oh, yes, Kestrel hated waiting.

It didn't help that, in addition to her worries about her husband and brothers-in-law, she was afraid for her children. Despite all of Cleft's herbs and chanting, the cut on Flint's leg was red and inflamed, and the tiny brow was fevered. Though already Flint was determined to 'be a man' and not show how much it hurt, he could not hide his wince whenever Kestrel tried to have a look at the cut. Rain's cough was worse too, and she slept fitfully in the corner of the hut.

A heavy sigh escaped Kestrel's twisted lips as she watched her children sleep and repaired the inexpert work on the basket that Rain had begun. Her fingers were quick and deft with years of practice, and it was not long before the basket actually began to resemble a basket, and not a bird's nest...

"Kestrel?"

"Oh. Be welcome, Kite. What is it?" This happened occasionally; women would come to Kestrel with their questions, as if by sharing the leader's hut she somehow automatically knew things that they didn't. Sometimes, this was true, but not this time.

"We're going to win... right? The spirits are on our side, aren't they?" Kite was some years younger than Kestrel, a difference in age that was never felt more than now. The priest's niece still had a stubborn belief that somehow, everything would be well, a belief that had died in Kestrel with her firstborn.

"Maybe they were. Once. But I don't think they are anymore. Do you think they'd have let Bear be wounded if they were? Or Calem die?"

The younger woman was silent, digesting this. "I suppose not," she finally answered in a small voice. "Maybe I will fight after all."

"What?"

"Wolf said if we were all going to die, then he would need my spear. But I can't fight unless it comes to that."

That was very bad news. Wolf was not one to say such a thing, unless he believed that it would be necessary. Which meant that he was not optimistic about the warriors' chances of victory, or even survival. Kestrel looked back at her children.

"Kestrel?" Kite asked, when there was no answer.

"Return home, Kite. I need to think."

"Have I offended you?"

"No. Please go."

Kite nodded, and ducked out into the gloom.

Kestrel watched her go, and stared into the flickering light of the dying fire. If the warriors lost, which they probably would, those who were left would have to flee to the nearest village. Rook's, probably. She and her children would have to live on whatever the people of Rook's village didn't want, if none of the brothers survived. That meant that her children would get the worst of everything, if they got anything at all, which in turn meant that Rain would grow sicker, and Flint's injury would grow worse. They could die, even.

Cursed trespassers the Dunedain might be, but no tale she had ever heard of them told that they gave aught but mercy to women and children. It was considered an indication by some that they were weak. Whether or not that part was true, it meant that if she had to, Kestrel could count on finding aid from the Dunedain for her children, as much as it would stick in her craw to ask them for help. If she stayed here, either or both of her children could die. If she left, the cursed Dunedain might be able to help.

Rain coughed in her sleep and Flint moaned. Kestrel hunched her shoulders, wishing that she could see another way for the conflict to end. The warriors would lose, and the villagers would be forced to flee. If she fled now, she would have her choice of road, with none the wiser for where she had gone. The fire did not offer an answer, but the Hillwoman came to a conclusion all the same. She would go to the Dunedain, and cast herself and her children on their mercy. She only hoped that they would not turn her away.

[TheLadyAerowen]

Alearindu and Ethiner,

You two are immediately reassigned. There is a small wagon train coming in on the same road that the settlement entered on. You are to watch for it, meet it, and lead it safely in. The local trader expects it within a week. For more information, contact him. Leave the settlement before noon tomorrow.

Tane


Alearindu was leading Mornen in the direction of the livery stable as she read the order. She decided to find Ethiner as soon as she stabled Mornen. However, she found Ethiner coming out of the make-shift livery stable which was really just a makeshift corral, and called him over.

He jogged over to Alearindu and Mornen, and she handed him the order. "All of the patrols are starting out for tonight," He said, then opened the note up and read it. He visibly sighed, but nodded and handed the order back. Alearindu placed it in Mornen’s saddlebag. She knew that they both would have rather stayed in the settlement, but someone had to escort the wagon train.

“I wonder why we were chosen for this…” Ethiner muttered; voicing both of their thoughts. Alearindu shrugged and motioned for Ethiner to wait while she placed Mornen in the corral.

However, just before Alearindu opened the gate to the corral, Mornen stopped dead in his tracks and his nostrils flared. Shortly after, shouting came from the east of the corral and screams were conspicuous as well. Alearindu took no time in letting go of Mornen’s reins and grabbing her bow and quiver from atop Mornen’s saddle. She knew Mornen would run if danger came near him, so she sprinted towards the screaming and shouting. Ethiner caught on quickly as well; following closely behind her.

They ran past the make shift warehouse, turned the corner and dashed through the creek; passing the market square. As they came near to the town hall, Alearindu came to a quick stop, and Ethiner almost ran into her but he stepped around and was taken back by what he saw.

The entire hall was on fire. There were women and children running out of it from the back; coughing from the smoke. Out front there were about a dozen men that Alearindu didn’t recognize, pushing into the hall where she knew that a few men were eating and drinking before. The thought of mostly drunken men fighting didn’t go too well with the thought of fending off these people.

Alearindu and Ethiner simultaneously set an arrow to their bow, took aim, and shot. After a few arrows though, it became too hard to fire an arrow without possibly hitting some of their men that came out of the dining hall. Alearindu nodded to Ethiner and they dropped their bows and quivers where they were standing and withdrew their swords from their sheaths. They were about to run towards the town hall, but Alearindu quickly grabbed Ethiner's arm.

"Ethiner, wait." He turned around and looked at her. "Someone needs to tell Tane about this..." They looked at each other for a half second; both wanted to fight; but both knew Tane needed to know. Alearindu went to sheath her sword, but Ethiner stopped her.

"No, it's fine. I'll go." Ethiner said; sheathed his own sword and placed his hand on Alearindu's shoulder. "Fight well, and be careful." With that Ethiner nodded, and sprinted off towards where he knew Tane was. They'd stalled too long already, so Alearindu had decided not to argue. She pulled out her half-way sheathed sword, and sprinted her way towards the town hall.

[Kryssal]

Tane woke up to someone bursting into the cabin. He had fallen asleep at the desk and his body was cramped with the unwanted position he had been in for the last hour or so. His mind was blurred, but instinct was stronger than groggy eyes and he snatched a dagger from his belt before he consciously knew what was in his cabin.

"Tane!" Tane recognized the voice as being a friend and shook his head to clear his eyes, bringing Ethiner into focus.

Ethiner! He shouldn't be here. Tane stood up as Ethiner rushed around the desk.

"The settlement is invaded!"

Tane's eyes widened. The building conflict had finally broken out and the settlement was to pay.

"Come," Tane whirled around and grabbed his sword that was resting against the wall, strapping it on as they walked out. "Go around the edge and call to every Ranger in camp, tell them to meet back here, hurry!" He almost stumbled through his words in his haste. Ethiner nodded and started off as Tane went the other way, yelling for attention as he ran through the tents. Within fifteen minutes all the Rangers were at the cabin, some half dressed and most breathing heavy at the short run.

Tane's voice was hoarse, yet he raised it again to get through this order.

"The settlement has been invaded by the hillmen! We do not know how many or if they are still there. We do know there are casualties on both sides. Tonight I want Hothem and five Rangers to keep alert in the camp" Tane looked at Hothem and he nodded, then briefly touched several Rangers immediately around him to let them know he had chosen them. "The rest of you, get ready and armed and ride as fast as you can to the settlement. Be wary if the hillmen are still about and help the settlers as much as possible."

With that said Tane turned and went to saddle Skit, feeling the whole time as if he were to blame for everything. Tane cursed furiously as a saddle strap twisted, but kept on moving as quickly as he felt he could. As soon as Skit was ready Tane started out. Skit was tired from riding earlier in the day, but still up to Tane nudges and they raced to the settlement with a few Rangers already in line behind.

Smoke and a red haze haloed the settlement, causing a great swelling in Tane's chest. He would not five in to any emotions yet, the situation had to be stabilized. As they neared the town settlers were running out in panic just trying to get away.

Tane reined in Skit and turned to catch one of the following Rangers. "Get another Ranger and try to gather these people. Take them back to the Ranger camp where they can feel safe. Keep an eye." Then Tane turned again and left the Ranger behind.

He headed straight for the source of the fire and found the hall collapsed and smoldering into an inferno. The heat from the fire was intense and no one could get within ten feet of the once building. As Tane had come in he didn't see any fighting taking place, just settlers running, hiding, and helping each other. Tane had to find Borgand and get information on what had happened.

Tane hailed a soldier holding up an older man. "Where's Borgand?"

The soldier nodded his head, "He was there when I was last."

Tane nodded his thanks and pulled the reins to the right. It didn't take him long to find Borgand who was just down from where the soldier had indicated. Tane dismouned and called out "Borgand!" to get his attention.

[The X Phial]

Borgand hurt, and it was more than just his arm. His attack on the large man had been ill-fated. As he approached the giant, another hillman had hit his right arm from behind with the dull end of a spear. This had jarred the arm to the point of numbing his hand and rendered his sword arm useless. It wasn't a permanent injury, but it had kept him out of the thick of the fight, and his pride was hurt. He supposed it was too much to expect that a one-legged man would be able to hold his own in an all-out fight, but he had expected it nonetheless.

He was away from the fighting now, which was still going on in knots around the settlement. Carried away by a men from the settlement after being knocked to the ground by the spear shaft, he had been forbidden to return to the battle, and was too weak to physically overcome the man who was guarding him. He didn't even know what had happened to the giant. Reports were coming in from around the village and they were depressing in the extreme. The hall was gone, he could see that himself. A smouldering pile of rubble was all that remained. And the guards had all been killed, it seemed. No one had seen Calumdril. On the positive side, however, the hillmen had mostly fled, and at least half had been slain. There were few civilian casualties, as well. Most of the women and children had made it out safely. He was just discussing with one of the other soldiers when it would be safe for them to return when he heard his name being called. He turned to see Tane approaching.

"Tane, I'm glad you're here. The fighting seems to be mostly over, but things are still very confused. I could use your help and that of your men to assess the damage and contain the remaining hostilities."

The ranger nodded, "Of course. Were you injured?"

Borgand looked down at his useless arm. "Not seriously, but it does keep me from wielding a sword. I've never felt more in the way."

"Your role is to keep your people focused. There are other people to do the fighting. Still, you are to be admired for wanting to lead your people in battle."

He simply nodded, thanking Tane silently for understanding and not making a big deal of his infirmaries.

"The most important task right now is finding out how badly we were hurt. We lost the hall, but it can be rebuilt. No one has seen Calumdril, and as much as I would like to, I cannot leave to search for him myself. Would you take on this task for me, or assign someone you trust? He may need medical or physical help. He can take care of himself, but this attack caught us all off guard."

"I'll do what I can," the ranger intoned, and turned to go.

Watching him walk away, Borgand felt a stab of envy. The smoke had left an acrid taste on his tongue, but the bitterness of defeat was stronger still. His heart burned within him for justice, fueled all the more by his utter inability to mete out this justice himself.


We'll make these animals pay, somehow, he thought to himself, and was surprised at his own vehemence. Pushing down his anger, he turned back to his personal guard.

"Now, about the women..."

[Kryssal]

Tane would go about searching for Calumdril, but he saw some Rangers coming in and wanted to send them on more specific orders than he had given at the camp. He hailed two that had already entered the town and led them to where the other Rangers would be coming in. When he had six Rangers he split them up. Four to be on constant parol around the village, two to go through the village to search for any hillmen that were left. If any saw other Rangers they were to tell them to help the villagers except for two more, which should join those patrolling.

As they went to carry out his orders Tane thought about how to find Calumdril and was at a loss for thought. Turning his horse he saw Rherrin come up to him, bloodied and limping.

"Tane!"

Tane dismounted and hurried over to the man, giving his arm for support.

"The hillmen slaughtered the patrols. Only two pairs of us had gone out and I only escaped because Athruin heard something and had me move off to the side just before they struck," Rherrin's eyes were wide in angry recollection.

"It's ok Rherrin. They're gone and now we need to help the settlement."

"No!" Rherrin grabbed Tane's tunic, causing the leader to fall forward a step before rebalancing himself. Rherrin blinked and quickly let go of Tane, sputtering "I...I'm sorry. I jus...I don't-"

"It's alright," Tane wanted to send the Ranger to his tent, but the settlement was safe yet and Rherrin seemed a bit unbalanced by the attack. He was one of the younger Rangers and hadn't seen a large battle, only small scuffles. He was trying to absorb all the images and seemed to be struggling. "I want you to come with me and help me find a settler name Calumdril, do you know what he looks like?"

Rherrin nodded. "Yes."

"Do you know where he might be?" Tane prodded.

Rherrin shook his head slowly. "I .... don't. I just saw people fighting..."

"Lets find someone to ask," Tane moved to start walking and Rherrin seemed able to support himself, though he was still limping.

People were still going through the streets at random intervals, but none had seen the settler. The two men had been walking and were soon nearing the edge of the town when they spotted two villagers carrying a dead third man. The carriers were struggling a bit and Tane hurried over to lend a hand and ask if they'd seen Calumdril. Just as he reached for the body and opened his mouth to ask, he saw the face of the man they carried. They had found Calumdril. Sighing heavily, Tane took the place of the one carrying from the arms and directed everyone to where Borgand was.

[Carrûn]

The blood in Awyrgan's head was pounding. As the battle raged, most of the fighters had moved out of the burning hall into the settlement. Awyrgan and a few others had stayed in an attempt to take out the giant who seemed to fear neither the flames nor the men. A final collapse of the hall's roof had knocked several of the Rangers unconscious, including Awyrgan, and as Sulenar and Alearindu dragged him out the hillman had made good his escape.

Pockets of fighting were still scattered all over the town, but most of the hillmen had been driven off or killed and it seemed like the entire populace was almost ready to breath again. The weathered man scratched at the bandage wrapped around his head where Alearindu had insisted on tying it. It irked Awrygan that if he had been several years younger he probably would have ducked faster and been able to avoid all injuries together. He smirked. Young was such a relative term - he was a father figure to many of the settlers but still a boy to many of the rangers.

Drawing a whetstone and towel from his pack he began to clean and re-sharpen his weapons. He glanced around briefly, noticing that many of the Rangers were making their way to the small group of them that was already formed on the outskirts of the town. Nearly all were bruised in bloody and many were still untreated. But they were all preparing to go back into battle, focused on completing whatever their next task might be. Awyrgan looked for Tane knowing he would be in the settlement soon, but could not pick him out of the masses as they moved about. Most of the six he had been left with originally were still there, but he was unable to locate Rherrin.

A part of Awyrgan wanted to pursue the hillmen immediately, track them back to their village and raise it to the ground. It was a part he recognized that needed to be controlled. First, the settlement needed to be secured and the dead and dying cared for. Then they would take the fight to the invaders. He counted his arrows as the flames from the settlement began to paint the nightime clouds. Most of them were there. It was a good night for hunting.

[The X Phial]

The sunrise stung Borgand's eyes, as he helped to count the dead. Twenty three guards, seven civilians, and Calumdril, all dead. There were no women and children among the fallen, but many of the guards had been little more than boys. He pushed down his anger once again. It wouldn't do to be seen shaking his fist...his good fist...at the sky. The time for revenge would come, and soon, but for now, he had to attend to the dead.

Heart aching, he spoke to his personal guard. "Have those who are strong enough begin working on graves immediately. They are to have full cairns. These men all fought and died for us and we owe them the honor of a decent resting place."

Borgand wanted to distinguish Calumdril some way. The man had been greatly skilled, an invaluable resource, and a personal friend. He knew, however, that to raise one dead man above the rest would breed resentment among the families of the fallen. Inwardly, he resolved simply to stand the traditional soldier's watch over Calumdril's grave himself. His thoughts drifted to Illith and Bregand, sent off toward Bree in the heat of battle. He desperately hoped that none he had sent away were suffering. His reverie was broken by his guard's reply and departure.

Borgand needed sleep but knew it would be a long time before he would be able to rest. He looked down at the bodies again. He knew every face. He would have to visit every family. They deserved to hear the news from him. Before that, though, a decision remained.

Turning, he headed to the growing knot of rangers, looking for Tane. They waved him in the correct direction and Borgand stumbled as he hurried, weakened after the night and caught often in the slicks of blood and mud that dotted the ground. Wooden legs are not suited to urgency, but Birgand pushed himself and managed to find Tane in record time.

He pulled the leader of the Rangers aside.

"Tane, our losses are not fatal, but they cut deep. So many men who died needlessly...." Borgand set his mouth into a grim frown. "Please take your men and hunt down these hillmen. Capture them and bring them here to stand trial for what they have done. I don't want a slaughter, but, justice must be done."

[TheLadyAerowen]

After Alearindu had bandaged Awyrgan, she took time to notice her own wounds. There were the occasional and expected nicks on her arms and a few on her torso, but there was one on her upper left arm that had cut pretty deep. Alearindu also noticed she had a few burns from where she had been too close to the fire.

She knew she had bandages in Mornen’s saddlebags, so she walked towards the corrals and where she had split up with Ethiner. Ethiner… had he found Tane and told him about the attack? Alearindu was picking up her bow and quiver along with Ethiner’s when Sulenar came up to her.

“Tane wishes for all of the Rangers and any settler still left to meet him at the trading post.” Sulenar said. Alearindu nodded, but didn’t feel much like talking. Sulenar left, and Alearindu decided to find out what Tane was planning. She glanced at her wound, and decided she wasn’t bleeding to death, so she would be able to bandage it later.

Alearindu made her way to the trading post, and found Tane there; but no one else had come yet.

“Tane!” She called, and jogged over to him. Tane turned around and smiled; most probably at the relief that she was still among the living.

His smile faded as he noticed the wound on her arm. “Alearindu…your arm. Why isn’t it bandaged? It still hasn’t even stopped bleeding.”

“I’m fine Tane.” She brushed away his hand, and attempted to change the topic. “Why do you need all of us here? What are you planning?”

Tane shook his head. He should have expected the small show of stubbornness. “Alearindu, come.” He took the wrist of her good arm, and led her into the trading post tent.

Tane located cloth and bandages, and then walked back over to where he had left her. He pointed to the pouch of water she had, and smirked as Alearindu rolled her eyes. However, she didn’t argue, and handed him the water. Tane poured a few drops onto one of the cloths, and dabbed at the dried blood around her wound.

Alearindu winced as he brushed over the opening of the wound, but Tane didn’t notice. “You know. You wouldn’t be doing this if I were, for instance, Sulenar…” Alearindu commented. “And you know very well that I am capable of cleansing and bandaging my own wounds.”

Tane placed the cloth over the wound and applied a small amount of pressure. He looked at Alearindu for a moment, and then smiled. “Sulenar isn’t as easy on the eyes. Plus, he would have taken care of his own wounds, as you obviously have not. And then again, maybe I just wanted to.” Alearindu narrowed her eyes slightly, and was going to comment about how she was on her way to get her own bandages when she decided to come see him, but she couldn’t help but smile as well as she saw the jesting in Tane’s eyes.

Just then, Kaben walked through the opening of the tent. Alearindu made a move to somewhat hide the bandages, but Tane held her in place. Kaben was obviously affected by the battles; he still seemed nervous and on edge, but he merely glanced at the bandages and smiled. Tane pulled out a few coins, and handed them to Kaben, but Kaben pushed them away. “Don’t worry about that. Just go ahead and use however much you need. You Rangers helped us, so I’m just returning a small portion of our thanks. Even though, I believe this battle is far from over…” And with that, he bowed slightly and exited the tent.

Alearindu went to follow Kaben out, but Tane grasped her good wrist again and shook his head. “Be patient. At least let me wrap the wound.” Alearindu sighed, but gave in. Tane placed a clean cloth over the wound, wrapped a bandage a few times around her arm, and then tied it. “There. See? Now was that so hard?”

Alearindu smirked. “Thank you, Tane.”

Tane smiled again. “Anytime.”

[Belin]

Those who would stack up the bodies side by side and count them would say that the losses of the settlement were greater than the Hillmen’s. This idea was not much comfort to Wolf, who knew that each man who was killed was a heavy loss to the Hillmen, who had always been few. There were few advantages in attacking their enemies this way. Central to the plan had been the hope of frightening these newcomers off with a show of greater force than they were actually able to muster. They had no warriors who had not been present, and any damage the southerners had done to the attackers was damage done to the Hillmen as a whole. It was too much. Wolf had learned much during the battle; he knew the settlers in a way he had not known them before. He had seen their grimaces as they drove his men out of their strange new buildings and the vehemence with which they had hacked away at anyone who came near them. He had drawn his conclusions about them.

They were a people who lived by war. Unlike the Hillmen, who used raids and hunts to get what they needed and were willing to spend the rest of the time quietly minding their own business, these intruders had a regularity about they way they killed people that suggested serious training and considerable practice. Wolf vaguely remembered stories he had been told in his youth, about a king who had helped them to defeat the southerners once and keep this land for themselves. The Hillmen must have been then as their enemies were now, practiced, grim killers whose lives consisted of little else.

But Wolf’s ancestors had had a reason for becoming killers. It had been the grim necessity of those who would defend the land that by rights was their own. He couldn’t fathom what had driven the southerners to become killers, but he imagined it as some event long past from which they had never truly recovered. They were still the killers they no longer needed to be, seeking out places to carry on their wars, and truly he could think of no other reason that they would want this land, which was not their homeland, after all. And that was the other thing that he had learned; they did want it, badly enough to battle past fear and resistance and the anger that faced them…. badly enough that they would not simply flee. He had seen it.

On the other hand, so did they. Bear was badly injured again, and Wolf thought, this time without a trace of irritation, that it was really Bear’s own fault, that he was the most reckless kind of warrior who would endanger himself and do whatever was needed. Certainly they could cure him again.

Certainly they could make a show of their own strength and determination before they were annihilated. Wolf would expect nothing less of his people.

They did seem exhilarated by their victory in this battle. Those who at some point in the battle had been near Bear were a bit more serious, gossiping quietly about their own theories of what had become of him, how Oak claimed to have seen him lying in a building, wounded by the blade of a frenzied southerner, and had found the brothers Fox and Mink to help carry him out, how Oak had been killed beating settlers away from that spot only to find that he had vanished. One young warrior whom a doting mother had optimistically named Star was spinning a tale for the others about how the pain of Bear's wound had come back to him in the battle and how he had helped him along, and much lighter Bear had become at that moment, but none of the others seemed to believe him. Wolf certainly didn't. For such a large man to simply disappear was strange, they all agreed, but none of them had any news of him for long after the fire was set.

Others of the Hillmen, many of them young, lacked even this solemnity. Some were truly impressed with their newfound prowess at war and insisted on recounting, at length, all their exploits to companions who wanted nothing better than a chance to tell their own. Others were all for mimicking the settlers’ errors. “It’s a pity we didn’t pick up some of that wine!” cried an enthusiastic man who, fortunately, Wolf could not identify in the darkness. “I hear it mixes well with what we picked up from those travelers last month!” Wolf snarled something thoroughly discouraging in his direction and there was no more talk of wine, but the voices of his men were neither quiet nor serious on the way back to the village. Wolf did not ask them to be either, not yet.

He also wondered, not for the first time, what had become of Fletch. Certainly he should have returned by now. Wolf was of two minds about the help of the other village. His new certainty that even another such battle would be insufficient to drive out the southerners made him hesitate to ask others to give up their whole village to the same fate as his own. But perhaps if Rook were to join them, others would too. In any case, he would have liked to have heard what Rook had said. Perhaps Fletch was on his way, or perhaps he had been delayed somewhere… Wolf moved to the edges of the group, searching for Knife, who he found in the midst of a detailed description of the inside of the town hall to the men who had killed the guards.

“I need to take care of something,” he said quietly. Knife raised an eyebrow, but Wolf ignored it. “I should be back early in the day, but I want to see if I can learn something. Please don’t let anything disastrous happen. And make sure everyone gets cured, whether they think they want it or not. The hard part of this is still ahead of us. I doubt that they will be able to attack us today, but it is coming. Keep that in mind.”

Knife stared at him. “And you want to leave?…”

“There’s something I need to know. I won’t be gone long. Will you do what I ask?”

With a long, pale glance over at the place on the horizon from where they had come, the village that had killed so many and the place where the earth had apparently devoured their brother, Knife nodded slowly. “Until noon, I will. Come back by then.”

“Yes.”

He had no plans to go farther than the stones where lightning had struck, a walk of one or two hours. Perhaps he would meet Fletch coming home from his journey, or perhaps he would find his bones. If they had allies, they would need them soon.

[Belin]

Bear pulled himself from the water and lay panting on the large, smooth, wet stones. His warm, red blood mingled with the muddied water and surged over the rocks, creating an ironically warm environment for the great man to lie in. His sodden wool tunic hung lankly to his prone form and he shivered as a wind shot over his bulk. Memories of the last few ill-fated hours shot through his weary mind. Things had appeared to go well for the hillmen, their initial attack seemed to be a complete surprise, and for a while the southerners were on the back foot.

The soft ground seems to echo as his feet pound into it. Through the smoke-haze around him he can feel the thundering voices of men, the screams of women and the crackle of flame; his senses seem inflamed and unruly. Like a poisoned beast he feels himself crash into man after man, filling the sodden night with showers of red. Screams resonate around his existence.

With a gasping intake of air, Bear regained consciousness.

Things had started to turn as the fight spilled out into the extents of the settlement and Bear found himself almost alone with only a few hillmen around him. Grasping a stone firmly in his palm, he struggled to stay conscious. Grasping for a thought to hold on to, his mind raced through his recent past. A face… long and unfamiliar…filling with sudden recognition…a sudden anger, burning at his chest… a tempest unleashed…

Bear had espied his adversary and immediately recognized him as his attacker. Further, ice-cold wrath had piled and squeezed itself into his existence and he had thrown himself further into the fray; further towards his foe. Then, in the midst of his glory, covered in the death of his foes, he found himself alone; dead hillmen lay by him, their blood flowing into and mingling with that of their dead enemies. An almost complete ring of southerners had been made about him, many of whom he recognized. The man he had encountered only days before stood there before him, panting and hunched in his weariness. Slowly the men advance upon Bear. The whirlwind of steel that ensued smote both helm and limb and soon the ring was broken. A fog had fallen upon his eyes and he only saw dim shapes.

Stumbling like a blind man, he had hacked his way through a gap in is opponents and out onto a patch of clear ground. Cold suddenly rushed up his legs and looking down, he realised he was knee-deep in the water of the lake. His foes still beat down upon him, their blood filling the cool water. Bear tired, he would not be able to continue to fight off so many attackers. Using a slight break in the melee, he dove into the frost-cold, murky water. Bear's numb fingers fumbled with the straps of his belt... with the fabric of his tunic...with the weight of his hauberk. Like fire in the scrub, aching pain rushed through Bear's lungs. Moonlight flickered through the brown water, turning the metal in his hands to gold. Relief seethed though his veins, like a cool breeze on a hot day, like drought-breaking rain, like sea crashing into a desert - the encumbering metal vest was off. Bear watched it as it fell heavily to the bottom. Clutching his axe firmly in his left hand, Bear pushed powerfully off into the inviting darkness of the water ahead.

So it was that he came to be lying unconscious on the bank of lake Evendim. Utterly exhausted, wounded and steaming, Bear clambered to his feet and strode off. Water dripped off his bulky form as it meandered towards the place he called home.

[Kryssal]

It was early in the evening when the hillmen had attacked, but now, slightly past mid of night, the fire of the town hall was finally starting to smolder to embers. It was still too hot to get close, but at least the flames had left, making any danger of it spreading very unlikely.

Tane could still see the hall's glow from the open flap of the trading post tent. Rubbing his temples, he went over his plan one more time before stepping out and addressing the gathered Rangers and settlers.

Raising his hand, he got their attention and a hush fell over the small crowd.

"We're going to the hillmen's village at dawn," several burst of shouting erupted from the crowd and Tane had to raise his hand again to try and quiet down the men eager for battle. "Not all of us are going," ignoring a few protestations, he pushed on. "The town still needs to be on guard in case the hillmen decide to strike again. We lost many loved ones tonight...too many, and I'm not going to chance another slaughter by leaving the settlement open. Borgand is in charge of the settlement as always, so if told to guard the settlement, report to him."

Tane turned and called Hothem to him. "Go through these men here and decide which ones are able and fit for the journey and fight. The ones you deem need to stay, tell them to go report to Borgand," Tane glanced at the group that was now talking amungst themselves, each man swearing they'd get retribution from the hillmen. "I don't want anyone coming that is too blood thirsty. Another blood bath isn't going to help any of us."

Hothem nodded and started going through the men, telling each one where to go. Tane turned to the other side of the crowd and started to do the same when Awyrgan stepped in front of the crowd with a determined grimace on his face.

Tane looked Awyrgan up and down and noted several wounds that would make a normal man take to bed recovery. Before Tane could say anything he pronounced, "I'm going and you know it."

Tane nodded slowly. "All right, but if you fall behind, stay there. We don't need to cover for wounded Rangers."

Awyrgan was about to make a sharp reply, but found that it didn't matter regardless. He had gotten what he wanted, and if truth be told, if Tane had ordered him to stay he would have gone anyway. This was one hunt he was not going to miss out on.

Awyrgan nodded and turned to leave when Tane hailed him back. "How's Thoronmir?"

The old Ranger shifted his position, standing up straighter. "'Bout the same as me in all regards."

"Alright," Tane understood that to mean Thoronmir was hurt, but just as stubborn as Awyrgan. "Tell him the same thing I told you."

The rest of the settlers and Rangers went by in a blur until Alearindu came up to Tane with an angry look on her face. "Hothem has informed me that I am not to go to fight the hillmen!"

"Alearindu-"

"No! I am not to stay behind. I'm as good a fighter as any man going!"

"You're also injured!" Tane raised his voice a notch to get Alearindu to stop so he could speak.

Her eyes were angry and hurt, but she waited for him to continue.

"I know you can fight. This isn't special treatment against you. That burn on your shoulder is going to hamper your fighting much worse than any scrape."

Alearindu unclenched her jaw and took a deep breath, gathering her arguement. "The burn is not that bad and the only other real injury I have is just a small cut. I can still ride, can still shoot a bow, and can still swing my sword with force," to demonstrate her mobility she swung her arm up and around, controlling her face so that she wouldn't wince. The burn had tightened her skin, but she knew she could fight.

Tane stared at her eyes, seeing the determination. She seemed just as resolute as Awyrgan and Thoronmir. "Fine, but you're going to be in my group."

Alearindu smiled and gave Tane a quick hug. "I knew you'd come to your senses."

Tane snorted. "I think I left them in the trading post."

~*~

All the men that were going to go to the settlement were gathering their weapons and horses when Tane went to see Borgand. The leader of the settlers was barking out orders and moving around as if he were stomping out hillmen with each footstep. When he saw Tane he waved those around him away so that they could talk privately.

Borgand's eager voice started before Tane had even reached his side. "You're about to leave then?"

Tane nodded slowly. "We've selected about thirty men to go, about half of them are settlers."

Borgand didn't seem to hear him. "Bring them all back and then we'll see.... Tane! Bring them all back."

Tane didn't like the sound and shift of Borgand. The man needed some rest, at least, but even then the Ranger didn't think it would get rid of that gleam in the Leaders eye.

"I wil...."

Borgand smiled disarmingly and clapped Tane on the shoulder. "Good....good..."

~*~

Tane had been disturbed by Borgand's behavior, but now he needed to address the fighters one last time before they started out for the hillmen. There were around forty men going, almost half of them settlers. Even though the Rangers had lost several men to the hillmen, they made up for it with all those in from the camp.

Hothem came up to Tane. "They've been split like you've asked, and we're all ready to go."

"Good." Tane mounted Skit and faced the two groups, once again raising his arm to get attention. "Hothem and I will be leading the two groups. Hothem's will be going in first, attacking head on while my group will spread out and try to cover as much perimeter as we can. Let me make it perfectly clear, this is not a retrubution blood bath! You are to kill only if the hillman will not stop fighting and you cannot disarm him. Get the warriors first. Bring them back to the perimeter where I will have several men there to hold them. When the fighting slows down, help those guarding so that the hillmen have no chance to overtake our men. Once the warriors are captured, gather the women and children. They are not to be harmed! We'll move them en masse back to the settlement where they can be held accountable for their actions. Let's go."

Tane swung around and started out, Hothem still at his side.

"Tane," Hothem looked back at the men who were still turning around to start out. "You told me you were wary of Borgand and his wish to bring them all back."

"I still am, but if I leave the women and children I won't be able to protect them."

"And what are we to do with them once Borgand is done with the men?"

Tane looked sharply at Hothem. "I'm not bringing them to the settlement just to be killed. There has to be some solution.... Let's focus on the upcoming battle for right now."

Hothem nodded and they continued in silence.

~*~

It was nearing dawn when the group was close enough to the hillmen's village to split into the two groups again. Hothem's group had left their horses and were proceeding on foot, running lightly across the shadowed terrain. Tane made sharp movements with his hands as Hothem was almost to the village and his group started galloping out to cover the perimeter. Kicking Skit into action Tane went straight forward. He was going to cover their entrance, in case any hillmen decided to get his men from behind.

Soon shouts were coming from the village and all the men, hillmen, settler and Ranger became a giant swarm in Tane's eyes.

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan had positioned himself with Hothem's group. He listened with a dull sort of indifference to the chatter surrounding him as the men made ready to leave. Many of the settlers voice held a shrill tone, angry and eager for revenge. He glanced around at the other rangers, most of whom were sitting still, waiting; veterans with nought more but a look of grim determination on their face. Even the youngest of them seemed old.



A quiet stirring among the men caused them to fall silent. Tane had ridden up and was addressing the group. "Hothem and I will be leading the two groups. Hothem's will be going in first, attacking head on while my group will spread out and try to cover as much perimeter as we can. Let me make it perfectly clear, this is not a retrubution blood bath! You are to kill only if the hillman will not stop fighting and you cannot disarm him. Get the warriors first. Bring them back to the perimeter where I will have several men there to hold them. When the fighting slows down, help those guarding so that the hillmen have no chance to overtake our men. Once the warriors are captured, gather the women and children. They are not to be harmed! We'll move them en masse back to the settlement where they can be held accountable for their actions. Let's go."



A pale moon highlighted the shadows of the forty or so men moving through the wilderness. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled. Awyrgan smiled. The wolves hunt as we do. He mused their leader's instructions over in his head. They were noble, but the weathered man doubted they would work in practice. He deeply hoped he was wrong.



A small ray of light was beginning to break over the skyline as they approached the camp. The groups split into two again, with Hothem's group moving directly towards the camp. Awyrgan closed his eyes briefly, checked that his sword was loose it it's sheath, and notched an arrow to his bow. One of the men stepped on a branch, snapping it and a dog barked. The dam burst and the patrol swarmed forward into the village.

[VanimaEdhel]

Light was about to spill over the Western line of the horizon. Barzûn sat by a fire, smoking his pipe and musing at the miles they had yet to traverse before the break of day. Also, the carvings that had been brought to his attention the previous day kept returning as images in his mind. They were done recently. Who could have done them? Only the Hillmen he heard spoken of lived nearby. Were they trying to copy the old and glorious designs? Barzûn grunted as he stood, shaking off his thoughts. There was no way he would put all the pieces of the puzzle back just sitting there. They had to begin the trek back to the settlement if they wanted to reach the camp before midday so they could get back to building.

“Dwarves!” Barzûn grunted, moving amongst the Dwarf bodies, some sitting others reposing. Soon, they all stood awaiting Barzûn’s command.

“The sun will rise soon,” Barzûn said, “I want to get back to the settlement before midday. We have to start now. We still have a few miles to go yet, and getting there before midday would be better.”

With sighs from various members, the Dwarves stood, packing and preparing to leave as quickly as they could. Barzûn oversaw the progress, grunting corrections to the Dwarves’ methods of carrying the stone.

“We cannot stand for any more delay,” Barzûn said, “So be careful with those wagons. Alright, Dwarves, let’s move out.”

The train of Dwarves moved along over hills steadily moving back towards the settlement. As he pushed his own wagon, Barzûn pondered the stone carvings more. Say the Hillmen did draw the images: why would they do such a thing? Was there something about the men they envied? Or did they merely admire the designs? Barzûn wondered if the men knew about these carvings. Perhaps the Hillmen wanted to be more like the other men in their designs, valuing the delicate strokes required for such intricate impressions. Barzûn decided that he would ask one of the men about such things. To think that the men expressed worry about the Hillmen! Perhaps they could live in peace after all.

“Oy!” Barzûn said, seeing part of the train falling behind, “Catch up, Dwarves! Come on! We need to make time!”

Barzûn intentionally sped up, moving at about twice his previous speed. The Dwarves grumbled and struggled to keep up. They made good time as the sun began to poke its head out and the dark shadows became fewer. Light began to illuminate Barzûn’s face as he pondered the carvings and their origin.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Kestrel had left most of their belongings behind in the hut, since she could not carry both her children as well. Flint was ensconced on her shoulder, his head resting by her cheek and his tiny fingers gripping her hair, which she ignored even when he accidentally pulled. Rain had been riding on her hip until dawn, when the light woke her, and now trotted alongside her mother, clutching at her leather tunic with a grubby hand. They made a pitiful sight, all told.

The buildings in straight lines that had so amused and puzzled the warriors the previous night did not look so grand now. Perhaps that was because of the rubble that surrounded them, and the scorch marks from the previous evening's fire. Perhaps it was merely that Kestrel was less interested in the architecture than in asylum.

The men who were moving around the buildings looked very different from the men she was used to seeing. They were taller, straighter, and their clothing was very, very different. She felt more and more uncomfortable by the moment, but it was far too late to turn back now. Her absence was almost certainly discovered, and she somehow doubted that she would be welcomed back with open arms. More like drawn bows. If any of the warriors had survived the night, that is.

She held Flint tighter and reached down to clasp Rain's little hand in her own as one of the men glanced up, spotted her, and pointed, shouting something she couldn't quite make out.

[Himaran]

The long caravan of dwarves and carts continued towards the settlement, as if a trail of ants pushing their cargo across the ground. Like most of the others, Olin was tired a grumpy, but his spirits were lifted by the prospect of a few days rest back at the camp. He was, of course, sadly mistaken.

"What's going on here," the dwarven leader shouted upon entering the settlement. Everything was in a state of complete disaray, and a foul stench hung in the air. Olin looked around at one tent, which had collapsed and been trampled to the ground. Fighting, perhaps?

A man carrying a load of debris walked past them. "Hillmen attacked. They were fought off, but did some considerable damage. We'd be much oblidged if you could help us in the clean-up effort."

The dwarves, who had done nothing but pick up stone for days, were not exactly pleased with their new job. They did, however, set their carts aside and join the group fixing up the camp.

[Kryssal]

No hillmen were approaching Tane yet, and he hoped that it meant the captures were going well.

Soon after that thought had flashed through the Ranger leader's mind he saw a settler fighting with a hillman that was much larger, and another hillman was fast approaching from the rear. Kicking Skit into action Tane left his temporary post and charged the hillman coming from the rear.

They clashed swords and Tane quickly moved to turn Skit around for another pass. The hillman was faster than the horse, though, and Tane found himself wildly defending from a rearing horse that was trying to avoid the hillman's sword. The warrior was not giving Tane any easy in's to his weak points by keeping his sword low with quick jabs being his main assult. One of those jabs caught Tane's leg and blood started to run down his leg and onto the side of Skit, leaving an ugly smear.

The hillman took another swipe at the horses leg, trying to get it the beast to fall with over correction, and as Skit reared again Tane turned her into the hillman, knocking him over. Jumping down Tane brought his sword around to pin the man.

"Surrender!" Tane yelled, but the hillman tried to roll and grab a long knife strapped to his leg. As the long knife left its sheath Tane plunged his sword into and out of the man in two, jerky movements.

Breathing heavily and cursing Tane looked around at his surroundings. He was still at the edge of the village and the only men around him were the settler and hillman he had been fighting. The former leading the latter toward the holding guards at sword point. Tane nodded to himself in satisfaction. At least one hillman had given in rather than perish.

A tent opened next to Tane and he whirrled around, bringing his sword up in defense, but there was no need. The tent was filled with women and children who had thought it save to try and run.

"Come on out," he said as they looked at him fearfully. "I won't harm you."

A mother, holding a two year old in her arms, came out slowly and nodded at those behind her, beckoning her other two children to her side. Tane pointed his sword toward where the prisoners were kept.

"Walk slowly toward that small group up there. Don't try to run. We're not going to kill you or-"

"You have already killed us!" A young female stood proudly, pointing accusingly at Tane.

"Kite!" The mother of three sharply admonished the maiden. "Live for another day. There is time still..."

Tane raised an eyebrow at the girl and she jerked her head away from his gaze. He would have to keep an eye on her. She had an intense fire in her that wouldn't smolder easily.

"Go," he commanded, staying at the rear of them after quickly checking to make sure there was no one else in the tent. The small procession of four females and five children wound their way slowly toward their destination. Tane glanced over his shoulder once in awhile and saw that Skit was still following him, though a little further behind. Should he call Skit to him and mount? But then, they were almost at the guards. Sheathing his sword, Tane looked over his shoulder again and frowned at Skit, who had decided to stop and look at the village behind them where a scream had emitted from. He turned back just in time to see Kite poised with a dagger aimed at his chest. The only problem for the hillchild was that the she had an arrow in her chest.

The mother had turned around in time to see the girl fall and yelled, "Kite! No!", but the warrior child had already died.

Looking around quickly he saw Alearindu a bit off, with her bow still in firing position.

[The X Phial]

Borgand watched as the rubble and mess was slowly extinguished and the clean up began. Fueled by anger, he had driven the surviving men of the settlement hard this morning. Maybe a bit too hard, he suddenly realised, watching the men stuggle with the roof they had just erected the day before. His anger gave way to despair, briefly. All these people, relying on him, and he had failed.

The ex-soldier clamped down his self-pity firmly, there would be time for mulling over his failings later. Borgand was a firm believer in work as the antidote to sorrow, and only wished his body would allow him to throw himself into the clean up physically as well as mentally. He had hauled water with the rest of them earlier, but could not do the heavy lifting required now.

Turning his back on the rubble, he slowly hobbled to the makeshift camp kitchen where the younger boys and walking wounded he had put in charge of making sure there was food while the women were away had already nearly finished preparing the noon meal. A message had been sent after the women, telling them they could return in a few days when the clean up was mostly complete and the problem of the hillmen would, hopefully, have been dealt with. In the meantime, it would be military camp conditions. He spoke his encouragement to the men there. None liked this duty, women's work, but he reminded them that each had comported himself bravely and that they were doing vital work even now.

He sent one of the youngest boys to run the village and announce time for a meal and a rest. Even fueled by their anger and hurt, the men would have to take a break soon. Borgand had no use for a soldier who drove himself blindly to exhaustion.

Sighing, he took a bowl of stew for himself and decided to walk the perimeter of the settlement once again. Despite his feelings about exhaustion in his men, he could not, himself, rest. Paranoia and a nagging sense of loss kept him from sitting still while the hillmen were still out there, free. For the hundredth time he wondered how things fared with Tane and the rangers and stifled his eager hope for their destruction. It was an unworthy thought, and he knew it. Hiding behind this idea of a trial lurked his darker need for revenge. A part of Borgand hoped he would not be in control of it by the time the rangers returned. The dominant part, however, knew that he would be haunted by his actions if he acted rashly. Maybe the missing leg was a good thing after all, he mused angrily, forcing him to come to grips with his fury before the next confrontation.

Borgand paced the camp, eyes and ears wide open. When he reached the southeast border he stopped. Something was on the horizon, and coming toward them slowly. He squinted at the figures, trying to quell the instant feelings of panic that arose in his throat. He could hear them but they seemed to be too far away for that...but...no..they were closer than he had thought, but shorter than he had expected. The dwarves! A sigh of relief escaped him and he was glad there was no one around to hear it. These were not enemies, but his own contracted workers returning. He glanced over his shoulder at the mess that was his village, wondering what the dwarves would have to say about the battle.

Standing tall and squaring his shoulders he called a greeting and waved. Maybe, with the right explanation, they would be willing to join his revenge. He knew, at least, that he could not allow them to get in his way.

[Kryssal]

Belin's post

Cleft was still sunk deeply in the semiconscious, meditative state in which he spied upon the gods. In this state, oblivious to ordinary sight and sound, he had been searching for some omen, any omen of hope for long fight ahead. He wanted to know that the feeling that had awoken within him at the news of the successful battle was a justified one, and so he was searching, not for promises, but for hope. All was yet confused and uncertain when the smell of the horses, strange and distinctive even through the cloud of smoke from herbs he burned to ward off that particular sensory weakness, roused him from his meditation. So strong was the other world’s hold on him that he wondered for a moment what such a smell could mean, before he remembered that smells did not exist here, and with that thought the smell was broken and the old man was slowly and carefully stumbling to his feet. Now he could hear the horses’ hooves, and, gradually, as he sometimes heard thunder, the sounds of calm foreign voices and panicky familiar ones.

Cleft stumbled to the door of his hut and peered out, careful to keep his body hidden in the shadows. The scene that met his eyes was one of chaos. All the members of the village—men, women, and children—were milling about in total confusion, some of them striking against the strangers whose experience and superior numbers made short work of their attacks by means of captivity or death. Others were either fleeing the village or being dragged from huts to which they had apparently retreated in order to hide, and several, to Cleft’s surprise and reflexive shame, had willingly surrendered. At the moment they were too preoccupied to notice him or his unobtrusive hut, but it was only a matter of time, and the confusion was already dying down as their strength and their intentions became clear. They were evacuating the village.

The choices of an old man were few. Cleft had no desire to die valiantly in battle; he was a priest, not a warrior, and death seemed a singularly pointless outcome at the moment. An old man’s broken body added to the growing number of them would benefit neither the living nor the dead. Running away on his stiff, skinny old legs was absolutely out of the question. He could be captured, then, either hiding in his hut or out among his people. Cleft cast an eye upon the instruments of his trade, most of which he had crafted himself. Should he not spend his last free moments as near them as he could?

A proud, strong voice rang out: “You have already killed us!”

Turning his head for the source of the voice, Cleft saw first the pale face of his sister, Crescent. Unthinking, he moved toward her—though two of her children were standing near her, she looked so alone and so in need of comfort—even before his gaze followed hers and he saw Kite fall.

He froze for a moment, stunned, and then with his healer’s instinct, Cleft strode unhesitatingly to Crescent’s side and took her hand. She gasped at the touch of another human, and stood still. He could do little for her or for the others until the soldiers had finished, but Cleft had found his place and made his decision. He would be captured here. His place was here, in his village... with his family.

~*~
Kryssal's post

The fighting had died down and the only life in the hillmen's village were the Rangers that Tane had sent through. They were to meticulously search all the tents and buildings for any last hillman.

Tane glanced over at Alearindu. She was still astride her horse, but she started blankley at the captives. She hadn't realized that Tane's attacker had been a young girl. "I just turned and saw - I didn't mean for - Tane, I'm sorry! I disobeyed and kill... killed... the..." Tane had tried to reassure her that he didn't blame her for anything, in fact he thanked her for helping him (trying to help her work through her clashing emotions). He knew that right now she needed to settle with herself and so had asked her to simply watch the captives with the other guards. She had been motionless since.

Hothem came over to him, one arm badly slashed. "They're not going to find anyone in there. If they didn't come out to fight they're not there," he said looking at the desolate village and slowly shaking his head. "Are you sure you want to take them all back to the settlement?"

"What else can we do?" Tane sighed and looked at Hothem, his eyes asking for an answer. If the hillmen were left another fight would erupt with more casualties on both sides. Tane would have to pull in all his Rangers for constant watch if they took the captives to the ranger camp. If they were in the settlement there were men to guard and tents large enough to house them until some kind of agreement was reached. What that agreement was, Tane didn't know, though he assumed it would end with the hillmen being pushed from the land. He just hoped that they would stay away and avoid further conflict. But where would, or could they go?

Tane came back to his senses when Hothem grunted in sadness. Two men were just arriving at the spot all the dead were being placed, carrying a large body in between them. All three were Rangers.

"It's Thoronmir...." Awyrgan spoke from behind the dead body, having just placed down the dead Ranger.

Tane's jaw clenched and his hands unvoluntarily formed into fists.I shouldn't have let them come! Tane was furious with himself. Awyrgan had gone on to explain how Thoronmir had fallen, saving a settler fighter beset by two hillmen, but Tane couldn't hear it above the rush in his head.

He had failed as a leader. The hillmen had attacked and killed the people he was supposed to be protecting, and in response he brought out his own men to die and kill....

Looking away from the dead bodies of the hillmen, which were far too many, that mingled with a few dead Rangers and settlers, Tane tried to gather himself. The sudden loss of control, Tane felt everything was cracking around him. Nothing he did came out as it should.

And what about the captives...? Should I take them to the settlers that are still hot with anger and blood?

Slowly, Tane shook his head, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes.

Hothem was looking edgily at Tane. He could see a struggle going on and didn't want to inturrupt. So when Tane suddenly turned and grabbed his good arm he started a bit.

"Get some men and get some of those tents. We're taking the dead back to the settlement for burial. All of them." Hothem knew how to make large temporary stretchers that could be pulled by horses and set off at once to find a few settlers to help.

Awyrgan had moved off to where the captives were, but Tane didn't follow. Instead he turned to where a small group of settlers had sat down to rest. Normally Tane would have asked for volunteers, but the orders came out before he thought about it. "You and you, go through the captives and bind any wounds you find, warrior, woman, or child. You two do the same for the Rangers and your fellows," Tane turned to the last five, who looked back slightly apprehensively. "Go through the settlement and gather enough for a small meal and distribute it to the hillmen first, then to the rest." Tane finished and stayed just long enough to see them move to start their respective jobs. They didn't look happy at serving to the hillmen, but Tane wasn't going to let anyone die on him from neglect, and besides, the settlers and Rangers should have brought some rations and binding kits with them in their tether bags.

~*~

It was late in the morning when Tane was satisfied that they could leave. He was still wound up and didn't talk to anyone on the uneventful ride back to the settlement, though he did acknowledge Alearindu and Hothem as they camp up to ride next to him.

The procession was much slower than it had been during the night, being so burdened by the captives and even more so by the dead, but they made steady progress and just after noon Tane found himself coming on the settlement.

There was a dark feeling about the land and a rancid smell of death mingled with cold ash. It stung Tane's nostrils and made Skit shake her head in disgust.

The settlement was very active, but cleaning and burial weren't the only things going on. Some carts that weren't there before now littered a few of the streets. So the Dwarves had come back to find a ruined town they had hoped to build upon. One could look at it as starting with an almost clean slate, but Tane knew that was stretching too far.

It wasn't long before the settlers noticed the slow moving procession and went to get Borgand. Tane didn't know what was going to happen once the settlers and hillmen were faced with one another.

[Osse]

Though the darkness was slowly lifting from the land, darkness was slowly descending upon Bear’s sight as he stumbled homewards. Every step he took seemed a trial. Voices spun around his head, some willing him to go on, and some laughing at him as he dragged himself along. He waved a hand in front of him, as if to ward off some unseen blow and suddenly stopped.

Standing up straight, he felt the wind caress his brow, playing with his shaggy, sodden locks and whistling through his beard. Like a beast he sniffed at the breeze, willing it to give him solace. And suddenly it seemed to Bear that the shadows receded; he could now see around him quite clearly and his head, though thumping, felt a little clearer. Shaking his head, he trudged on, slightly faster, using the occasional tree as a prop.

Ever since he had ripped his mail vest off, a throbbing, severe, yet dull pain in his back had plagued his movements. If he had been able to notice, Bear would have found the blue-fletched arrow that was imbedded just below his shoulder plate; he would have felt the blood as it began to dry, he would have noticed just what peril his body was currently in. As it was, Bear was completely oblivious to this fact. Even at the time, he had been, due to weariness and anger, oblivious to the many arrows as they peppered the water around his almost-submerged form. One thought continued to reverberate through his mind: “I must get back home…”

Bear’s feelings told him that he was nearing the village – a last effort was needed, just one, and he’d be home. Like a whipped horse, he grudgingly quickened his pace.

Suddenly, there it was. The village seemed to shimmer for a moment as Bear scanned the familiar structures. Without thinking, he found that his legs had broken him into a loping run. A thought eased itself gently, yet strongly into Bear’s mind; where were the sentries?

Seldom was anyone allowed to approach the village in such a manner, sentries should have questioned him by now. It was this rather than anything else that made Bear suspect that anything was wrong. Every hut was empty; every fire had been kicked out…fires that were never let to go out…

Here and there, were patches of darker earth, stained deep red. By smell, the blood was not animal. Bear wandered around aimlessly for a few minutes, his disbelieving mind rolling around in the fetal position of denial. Though all the while, Bear’s eyes and his nose were constantly scanning the area for further clues. Boot-prints, hoof-prints, broken arrows – it was apparent immediately what had happened. The large rut made by something huge being dragged, was not even needed to make up his mind, nor was the direction in which it was being dragged. All hurts and weariness forgotten, Bear plunged off, like a wolf, in the same direction as the raiders.

[VanimaEdhel]

Barzûn watched as the soldiers stumped into the town. Men tended to the wounded while the Dwarves attempted to clean up. The progress was slow, however. The attacking Hillmen had ruined much of the work Barzûn and the other Dwarves had accomplished before the battle. As he pushed debris away to make room for his cart, Barzûn eyed the etchings on the carved stones. For some reason, he had felt a part of his heart sink a bit lower when the Dwarves had returned to the camp and learned of the attack.

“Sir,” a young Dwarf said, panting, “The Northern Quarter is about cleared. We salvaged what stone we could, but most of it is unusable. What should we do with what we have?”

“Pile it over there,” Barzûn said. “And was there anything left standing?”

“Parts of foundations,” the young Dwarf said, looking back at the Northern Quarter, trying not to meet Barzûn’s eye. “But those will probably have to be knocked down anyway. There are large chunks taken out of them.”

Barzûn sighed. “All right. Do what you can.” The young Dwarf trotted away to his Quarter and Barzûn turned back to the rubble that he was hauling. Men continued to trickle slowly into the settlement, some more injured and some less. Other men quickly tended to their injuries, but the Dwarves pushed on with their cleaning up of the city. The beings worked as a unit, trying to efficiently make up as much lost time as they could. However, now that they lost so much workable stone, it was impossible to predict how much time it would actually take to build the city. They would certainly need more stone. The old settlement was too far away to try to cart new stone every time they needed to resupply. If only they had an area more closely situated to the camp. Barzûn squinted up into the sun and looked around. He did not know of any easily obtained stone, though. Perhaps the Hillmen could help them—but no, after this battle, the Hillmen would be in no mood to help either the Men or the Dwarves. Barzûn wondered how much damage the Hillmen had taken. He assumed that the Men had won the battle, as so many were still alive, but he did not know whether they had annihilated the Hillmen or not. For all Barzûn knew, all of the Hillmen could be dead.

“Well, at least we could have the rock from their settlement then,” Barzûn grumbled out loud, tossing a stone aside to reveal a partially smashed foundation. He swore and kicked the destroyed structure, knocking it down completely. Every now and again a Dwarf would approach cautiously, telling Barzûn of a different failure in salvaging the beginnings of the construction.

Finally, Barzûn told the Dwarf Olin to spread the word that the Dwarves were to take a break for about an hour. Barzûn sat on a pile of rubble and took out his pipe. As he exhaled a trail of smoke, Barzûn took the slabs of stone with the engravings and looked at them again. He pondered whether to tell the Men of his findings or not. Finally, stepping out of the small cloud of smoke a few minutes later, Barzûn set off to find one of the Men in charge. He would not just tell any man. The Dwarf set off, wandering through the streets to find one of the few Men he knew in camp.

[The X Phial]

BELIN'S POST

Wolf scanned the horizon anxiously for signs of his messenger. The dim light revealed nothing, but he continued on in the direction that Fletch ought to be coming from. He was surprised not to have seen him already. The distance between the villages was not this great, not even for a weakling like Fletch. Wolf sighed. He should have known better than to send that fool off on such an important errand, but he did seem to know the land so well, and in any case, what use would he have been in a battle?

He certainly hadn’t been much use so far. Couldn’t he even cover this short distance unaided?

Wolf had always thought that Fletch, despite his gripes and his physical weakness, was at least a courageous man, but it was beginning to occur to him that the errant messenger had taken some of Knife’s less fortunate words to heart and simply decided to stay in the neighboring village where, for now, it was safer. Wolf had even begun to generously bestow a stream of uncomplimentary adjectives on the absent Fletch when he noticed the small, mobile figure of a man in the distance. He rushed toward him.

It was only after he had begun trying to devise the proper words to say to him without knowing, yet, whether the mission had been a success when he realized that this was not Fletch, that this was no any man belonging to his own village. He must be one of Rook’s people. Wolf stopped, eyeing him cautiously. The man had seen him.

For a long moment they simply stared at each other. There were protocols for encounters with Hillmen of other villages, but each knew that the circumstances were no ordinary ones, and each harbored certain new suspicions of the other. The stranger was the first to break the silence. “Good hunting, friend,” he called, his tone anything but friendly.

Wolf laughed grimly at the mundane greeting. “Today I hunt for one of my own. Have you seen a puling, useless little messenger? I had hoped he would return with news, or at least in one piece.” The last sentence held the shadow of a threat, and the stranger knew it. He shrugged carelessly.

“Then I suppose your name is Wolf? I’ve seen your messenger. I must say, I do agree with you; I didn’t take kindly to the way he left. No compliments, no gifts. Then again, he was encouraged to take his leave rather quickly.”

Wolf said nothing. He understood quite clearly that the man was trying to taunt him, but he could not stop the anger from building, palpably, in his body.

The stranger must have seen it, because he grinned slightly and, with a slight gesture of satisfaction, he continued. “Does he leave you this way? He gave us no reason to think we would receive what we had asked, no reason, in truth, to believe that he would even carry our message properly, putting our requests in the most acceptable light. Truly one would think they had offended him, modest as they were for the price that we were asked.” That grin again. Wolf’s eyes narrowed. “I had more to say to him, and I wished to say it in the open. But our business is finished now.”

“Finished?” croaked Wolf.

“I wanted assurance of the weregild and the women. He took offense. He is, as you say, a puling, useless little messenger.”

“Ah,” said Wolf, quietly, “but Rook employs foolish, impudent messengers who do not understand that one cannot demand a price for saving one’s own life, and especially not such a price as this.”

But the other did not hear him. Wolf’s spear was too deeply embedded in his throat.

*~* ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~*~

Wolf was on his way home when he heard the steady, rhythmic clashes that floated over the hills. It took a moment to register as a variant of a sound he’d heard before; the sound of swords beating against shields, but with more obvious purpose than the haphazard clangs of battle. A sound no Hillman ever made. They did not use shields, preferring the use of both hands and relying on their strength and their reflexes, as well as the inexperience of their usual foes, to protect them from injury; shields were the provenance of professional soldiers. Of the Rangers.

But it was far too close to the village to be the Rangers, thought Wolf as he loped homeward, and he saw no reason why they would do any such thing. All thoughts of Fletch were abandoned as possibilities flashed through Wolf’s mind. Perhaps it was some kind of ceremony. Perhaps they did this merely to amuse themselves, though why they were amusing themselves so far from their settlement, and so soon after the attack, was far beyond his mind to fathom. Still, all their actions were inexplicable, he reminded himself, so this could well be too. It didn’t have to be an attack.

It didn’t have to be an attack.

It didn’t have to be…

But as he reached the crest of the hill, Wolf could see that there were indeed Rangers beating their shields with their swords, apparently in order to frighten the members of his village back into the long line that they were leading away, back toward the settlement.

He stood still, paralyzed. After all that he had done, he had imagined a bloody battle in which most would die. He had imagined that he would be able to protect at least a few. He had thought that he and Bear and a finally reformed Knife would die side by side, giving a few of their people… maybe Kestrel… the opportunity to escape. Maybe those few could have found a new life somewhere else, started a new village, told the tales of this battle to their children for years to come, with tears in their eyes and a note in their voice that hinted at their pride and their sorrow. Surely they would have been clever enough to avoid the eyes of Rook and those like him, and surely the Rangers would find nothing more worth fighting them for. His fear as he left had been precisely this, an attack he could not help to protect them from.

But he never could have predicted this exile. Where under the sky were his determined warriors? And where, in the name of his own endless foolishness, was Bear?

He wondered what the Rangers intended to do with his people once they had arrived wherever it was they were taking them, and his stomach twisted suddenly with a sickening fear. As he ran down the hill, to follow them as stealthily as he could, only one thought was in his mind. Please, if the gods are with me… please let me still be able to help them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Wolf had a moment to think over his actions as he stood, hidden and breathless, behind the sheltering wall of a house near the center of the settlement. He had attempted to be careful, but in his dazed state he was sure he could not have done well, and he wondered how they could possibly have been so careless as not to have seen him. He had followed them all the way across the hills, his apprehension growing with the certainty that the Rangers intended to bring their captives back to the settlement. He did not know what he would do when he arrived, but he could do nothing now, and there was none to help him. But he did not worry. His mind was a blank and his body merely followed what it knew: that he had to protect these people, somehow. Somehow. He couldn’t lose them.

He supposed he must have hidden and waited for the inevitable commotion surrounding the arrival of the Rangers to die down before entering the city, but he could not remember at all clearly. He only remembered how quiet the city had been as he skulked along under the overhangs and in the shadows when he could almost as easily have sauntered down the middle of those strange, wide streets. He remembered how he had chosen to hide behind a house that faced the square, where he could hear the voices of a gathering crowd. Nobody was out in the city. They were all here, assembled without him to decide the fate of his people.

The initial shock had never left him, and so he never noticed the rage he ought to have felt, any more than the alarm that would have been appropriate earlier. He was simply waiting and listening. Waiting and listening.

Let them think and speak for now; Wolf intended to act.

__________________________________________________ ______________

THEXPHIAL'S POST


Borgand stood before the assembled men and pondered what to do with the mess that lay before him. He was atop what remained of the stone steps to the community hall looking into the cleared square, now teeming with people. In the middle stood the captured hillmen, men women and children. He saw among them some of the soldiers who had looted and burned his new home and the intense spark of hatred that boiled within him at the sight was quelled only by the fact that they stood there surrounded by their wives, children and parents. It was hard to hate a man standing with his family. The children, especially, were heartbreaking. Small and dark like their parents, he could see that hunger had carved their faces and bodies. Even the youngest lacked the excess fat he had seen in his own child, and he wondered how often they actually got to eat their fill.

Surrounding the prisoners were the rangers. These men..and woman...were guarding the hillmen, but Borgand wasn't sure if they were guarding them from running or from being lynched by the men of the settlement. Outside the ring of rangers stood Borgand's own people, tired, angry, and mourning the ruin of their hope. The muttering hadn't ceased, and more than one looked to him hoping their hot fury would be met with vengeance at his hands. Standing apart from the rest were the dwarves, trying their best to look uninterested but clearly waiting, as the others were, for his judgement.

The hillmen didn't seem to expect mercy from him. They were a realistic lot, and even the children looked at him with resigned, despising eyes. The only person who seemed to be regarding him with some measure of hope was the woman Kestrel. She had arrived before the others, surrendering herself and her children to him of her own will. He had spoken to her briefly, and come away with the impression that she would do anything to save her children, a trait he admired. The fact remained, however, than anything could also include selling out the settlement to the hillmen in exchange for the lives of her family. He hadn't decided what to do with her when the rangers returned with the others. She stood next to the hillmen now, but wasn't part of their group. They seemed not to know what to make of her sudden appearance.

Borgand cleared his throat.

"Last night was a night of bloodshed and fire. This settlement lost much in lives and in work. Our enemies also lost much. Those who stand before us here today are all that remain of our attackers"

The answering angry shouts were cut short by a hand movement from the grim-looking leader of the settlement. He continued.

"I want to hear, and I want these people to hear, from those who lost a family member to this attack. If your son or brother was lost last night, come forward and be heard. Let's know exactly why we are here."

One by one, men came forward and told of their lost sons and brothers. One young man, barely 12, spoke of his father who had died in one of the fires. Borgand listened to each and watched the hillmen as the tales were told. The eyes of many were glazed in a sort of defiant inattention, but others were listening. One woman had tears on her cheeks, perhaps thinking of her own son or husband now dead in the senseless battle. The woman Kestrel was clutching her children to her ever more tightly.

Borgand needed to hear these stories. Ever since his interaction with Kestrel, he had been struggling with his heart, and he hoped that hearing about the dead would steel him for action against his enemies. His eyes, however, kept returning to the crying woman and against his will he remembered his earlier interaction with the leader of the dwarves.

~~~~~~~~~

Barzûn had come to him carrying a pair of carvings in stone. He had shoved the stones into Borgand's hands and gruffly muttered, "Look here, human."

Borgand had puzzled over the stones a bit before looking at Barzûn blankly.

"I see carvings. What does it mean?"

The dwarf had sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Look you, this was done by your ancestors." He indicated the smoother and larger carving. "This other one was done by someone since then, and as far as I know, it's just been those hillmen living here."

Borgand had looked at the crude cuttings, how they obviously mimicked the older art and when he raised his eyes to question the dwarf again, he found that Barzûn had already left, allowing him time to drawn his own conclusions.

~~~~~~~~~

The last of the men finished his story and stepped back into the crowd, but Borgand felt no more decided than he had before the tales. He sighed to himself. Originally, he had planned to order these people off the land, but he knew now that this would be a death sentence. They had been living in these woods, had made their own mark on the land. He thought about the carvings and shook his head to clear it. Finally, he spoke.

"My friends. Your words have moved me, and it is not in a way that I expected. You all loved your lost relatives. I, too, have lost much. The answer is not in vengeance, however." He waited for the murmer to die down and turned to the hillmen.

"It's been brought to my attention that we are not so different. It's possible that we can live in peace, together on this land. But a betrayal like last night cannot be lightly set aside. I will give you a choice. Those who wish to may live with us here, in the settlement. As for the rest, you must agree never to attack us again, or you will be driven mercilessly from these hills. The choice is yours."

Borgand closed his eyes as settler and hillman alike erupted into vocal protests. No one was happy...this must be the right decision, at last.

[Himaran]

Olin watched with heavy eyelids as his master wandered off down the road, obviously preoccupied with the carvings he carried. The dwarf sighed -- ah, to be able to meander at will; without schedules and deadlines and... orders. But it was not his job to wonder and dream, he had a job to do, and one that would finally be enjoyable.

"Break in one hour," Olin called out to the other dwarves, who cheered and then went back to work with newfound energy. They were all tired, as was he; the group had been working with broken stone for days. But, the dwarf decided (before dumping his armload of wood at a nearby stack), "Productive is good, and exciting is better. But at least I've been doing something productive."

[Osse]

Thorns and branches whipped evilly at his legs, taking delight in the dark blood as it seeped down. Heedless, Bear ran on. Through glade and fen, tussock and moor, Bear ran on, tireless steadfast and sure-footed. Light he would have felt, if his anguish filled mind had allowed him to. His mail lay rusting at the bottom of the lake; his shield lay forlorn and ill treated, stamped into the mud of the settlement. Sweat mingled with water beaded on the blade and caused the axe in his right hand to glisten and dance through the air – a blood-filled night had conceived a bright, new day.

Leaping like a stag, Bear cleared a small brook and went crashing into the young trees on the opposite side. The wounds on his shins now wept freely, the blood mingling with that already contained in his sodden lashings. Like a crazed and angered beast, would Bear appear to any who chanced to see him. The forest behind him was left in a stammer-like shock-silence. Not even the gods could stop him.

Suddenly no trees barred Bear’s way. There stood the settlement. It glared at him like a cancerous growth upon the landscape. Its tall wooden walls seemed like a shell around a rotting carcass and a grey smoke still wound itself up to the heavens from within. Without hesitation, Bear shot forth through the cleared ground between the forest and the walls like a shaft loosed from a bow. Bellowing like a war horn came Bear of the Hillmen.

The first of the arrows sped past him thigh and lodged itself up to the fletching in the soft soil. Others sped into the ground around Bear. None met their mark. Not even the gods could stop him now.

Another arrow screamed death as it fled past Bear’s ear. Some instinct caused him to raise his left arm; his shield arm and immediately a burning pain filled his being. An arrow had pierced the sinuous flesh in his forearm, slicing tendon and chipping bone. The arrow-tip came well through Bear’s lower arm. On ran Bear of the Hillmen.

His bellow was cut short by another feather-clad woe-bringer, this time lodging its terrible form in his now exposed, lower abdomen. Two more thudded into Bear’s torso, yet still he ran on. It appeared to bear that all went grey and misty, except for the now fast-receding wall in front of him. Like walls of an icy tunnel, the peripheries of Bear’s vision melted into darkness. An arrow sped straight through Bear’s breast and went cartwheeling away into the void behind him.

The great man’s breathing became scant and irregular, the whole in his left lung depriving him of oxygen. Plummeting forwards into the soft ground, Bear’s mind slowly ticked over. Grasping with his fingernails, he pulled himself forwards – inch-by-inch he crept towards the wall, leaving a trail of his dark-red life behind him like some gruesome snail. Slowly the life drained from his defeated form like water through cupped hands. Inch-by-inch, Bear became limp, his lifeless hand still clutching the ground. The sweet wind whistled through his unhearing ears. Not even the gods…

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Kestrel had come away from Borgand with an impression of weariness, not too unlike Wolf, she thought. Here was a man who was doing his best for his people and she could understand that. The weight on Borgand's shoulders was no less than the weight on those of Wolf. Perhaps she despised them less, now. Perhaps she did not. But it remained that she had come to them first, and when the other hillmen realized this, she would never be welcome among them again. She had burned her bridges behind her.

As Borgand finished his speech, she began to step forward, intending to declare that she would live with the settlers. There was resignation on her face, as well as hope of sorts. She did not expect the Dunedain to accept her easily, especially not after hearing about all those they had lost as well.

She shivered a little, took a deep breath, and began to speak, pitching her voice to be heard over the angry shouts of both groups. "I and my children will stand with the Men of the West," she shouted. "I will raise Flint and Rain side by side with their children. They will play together and they will grow together. Let us fight no more."

Someone among the crowd of Hillmen hissed, "Traitor!" Kestrel did her best to ignore it, but she couldn't help feeling that he was right--whoever he was. Wolf would have thought the same, she was sure. But she had spoken, and the words could not be taken back, so she limped, head high and children clasped with each hand, to the side of Borgand. A single tear slid from her good eye. She refused to wipe it away.

[Meneltarmacil]

Thronmir woke up and looked into the faces of several rangers. He gave a low groan as he tried to sit up. The rangers all looked at him in amazement.

"It can't be!"

"But you're dead!"

Thoronmir had sustained some heavy injuries and had been knocked unconscious, almost dead. But he was of a breed that did not so easily give in to death.

"I'm... sorry to... disappoint you," Thoronmir said, his strength just beginning to return. "But you cannot get rid of me that easily." He smiled, and they smiled back. Awyrgan put Thoronmir on the latter's own horse, and together they all returned to the settlement.

Later, when Thoronmir had fully recovered, he had come to a decision about what he was going to do from now on.

"Awyrgan," he said. "I must leave you and the rest of the rangers now."

"But why?" Awyrgan asked.

"All of my friends are dead now," the older man replied. "I am the only one in my generation left. I have seen more death and spilled more blood than you know. I do not want to keep living like this."

"Well, I'll certainly miss you around here, that's for sure," Awyrgan said. "Who could ever take your place?"

"You could, and I'm sure you will," Thoronmir told him. "I shall take only my weapons and my horse. The rest I leave to you. Take care."

"You too."

Thoronmir saddled his horse, took up his gear, and rode off into the sunset.

[Kryssal]

Tane had breathed a sigh of relief when Borgand had the settlers tell their stories and not get their bloody revenge on the only too vulnerable hillmen. After a time Alearindu came up to him. Several moments passed as they listened to the stories before she touched his arm, making him acknowledge her.

She spoke very quietly, "I....I shouldn't have gone.... How will they ever join when I've killed a child?" Borgand had just offered to let the hillmen live with them.

Tane glanced around at all those that were gathered. "Those who will join, will join. Those who won't....nothing would have changed their minds regardless. Many have died on both sides and one that happened during battle won't change the outcome at this point. You saved me, please do not punish yourself."

Alearindu was staring intently at Tane because he had touched on the subject she had really come over to talk about, but he had turned and was watching the proceedings once again. A woman with two children had just stepped forward to state she would stay with the settlers and Tane smiled. At least one small family would be spared.

There was running coming from behind Tane and he turned to see a Ranger hurtling toward him. "Tane!" he gasped as he came to a sudden stop. "A disturbance, on the perimeter-"

Tane grabbed his arm and turned him about. No one had specifically noticed the running man as they had all erupted in shouts again, but Tane didn't want them to notice anything going on besides the decision at hand. "Show me," he spoke as they started out; he set a brisk pace just below a small jog. Alearindu had fallen into step behind them, but Tane didn't turn to speak to her; she could do as she pleased. A disturbance could be anything, but with things so emotional at the gathering he didn't want whatever it was to tip any decisions that would be made.

As he neared the edge he saw another Ranger and two settlers looking down at a body. Away from the prying eyes of the gathering Tane set into a run to get through the last little spot of distance.

"What happened!" Tane's voice was harsher than he meant it to be, but the dead man was a hillmen and if anyone else found out what happened, hell could brake loose.

The Ranger that had been standing with the two settlers started talking. He had been one of those too injured to go to the hillmen's camp with one arm bound up tightly to his side. "He was charging. Saw he was a hillmen straight off and tried to call to him to surrender. It was as if he couldn't even hear us. He didn't even look to see where our voices came from. He was almost on top of us when we finally fired. Tane, he wouldn't have stopped for anything. He would have attacked anyone he came across."

The Ranger, while keeping a professional manner about him, seemed desperate to be understood. He knew what was going on in the settlement right now and the dangers in killing a hillmen after the rest of his clan were captured.

Tane sighed. "You did what was neccessary. Him running into the meeting would have caused other hillmen warriors to come to his aid and the mass bloodshed that would have come about would have been endlessly worse."

There was a pause as Tane tried to decide what action to take. If he delivered the dead man to his people, they might get a surge of bloodlust over his body, but leaving him here wasn't a very good option either.

"The bodies we brought from the settlement are still gathered near the edge of town, by the road," Alearindu spoke up, seemingly her mind was going on the same trail as Tane's. "If we brought him around the back and you spoke to those still there, though I don't think many will actually be at the stretchers..."

Tane nodded and smiled at Alearindu for her solution. The hillman's body would be discovered with the other dead and if anyone noticed that he had not been there before (even though the captured hillmen had not been near the stretchers), they would be told his dead body was found. Which was close enough to the truth to be kept easily. He just didn't want this to upset things further.

Grunting he picked up the torso of the man while the two settlers got the legs and they started their ungainly walk with the Rangers as guiders and lookouts for the tiny procession.

[Belin]

The first, hissed response to Kestrel’s speech was not the only one. A slow, angry murmur ran along the edge of the crowd, but stopped as Cleft, unexpectedly, stepped over to her side and gestured for silence.

“Why did we come here?” he asked them. There was nothing but silence from the crowd. Even the few rangers who were still standing there did not venture to interrupt him. He continued. “If we wished for death, we could have found it in our own village, instead of coming here as captives. We can still die if we desire to do so. I do not blame anyone who does. But I am old. My life, I think, is worth little of itself, but if I throw it away, who will remind us who we are when the foreign people have overrun us?” Cleft did not notice the disgruntlement of the Gondorians at his words, or Borgand’s gesture that stopped them from acting upon it. He was still speaking. “I have worked for all of you, all these years of life. I cannot choose death now. I will acknowledge these my kinsmen.”

He nodded his head toward Borgand, the gesture that, to the Hillmen, indicated recognition of another village’s chief. Such a nod suggested respect and at least temporary validity of any deals made. It was not a gesture of deference, and Cleft noted with amusement the surprise on the faces of the southerners as the previously grim and taciturn Hillmen began to converse animatedly among themselves. Surely they do not imagine that we are like this every day!

[Belin]

Wolf was prepared to leap into the fray that he had expected the Hillmen to start, causing as much confusion as possible by rushing in where nobody expected him and helping to rescue as many as he could before he (and most of the others, no doubt) was cut down. All the work he'd done in the past had been focused on the art of surviving, of escaping the death that was always hovering around them, but suddenly the death that was offered to him now seemed almost appealing. To give some of his people, few as they may have been, an opportunity to continue the village by arriving as thunderstorms arrived, sudden and life-giving and unexpected, preventing a greater death. Truly, this was a death for a wolf.

But he did not realize he was thinking such thoughts until they had died. Kestrel had killed them, and Cleft, and whoever it was among the murmurers that was so loudly praising the priest's gifts as an orator.

Wolf thought he had been numb before, but he could no longer feel even his own heartbeat. They were lost to him. Their words were those of enemies. They had abandoned themselves, their village. They had abandoned him. Wolf could hear murmurs of agreement and indecision, much more so, it seemed to his jealous ears, than of dissent. Were these truly his people?

They were lost to him, they could not be rescued, they had refused rescue. They had chosen to be prisoners. Wolf was too late. He had always been too late.

And so he went stumbling backwards for several steps before he turned, running from the settlement with his vision strangely blurred. He did not know where he was going, but the settlement was no longer any place in which he could consent to die. There was no victory to be found there.

He was outside of it now, still stumbling gracelessly over rocks and tufts of grass, and then over something that made him stop and stare. Bear. Wolf's brother lay dead on the ground, arranged in a straight line and appearing far more composed than he ever had in life. Wolf stared at him in blank incomprehension. Here was a real death, after all these others. After the first moment of shock, Wolf knew exactly what had happened. His brother had not known of the change in the villagers... or else he had fought it.

"Fool," thought Wolf, automatically, but suddenly he checked himself. Perhaps it was indeed foolish to attack hopelessly, only for the sake of people who could not be saved. But at least Bear had understood that there was no wise or prudent response to these events. For Wolf the strategist, such a realization was actually painful, and had not brought such an obvious answer. Could he not have prevented this weakness of his people? Had he somehow failed them, just as they had failed him? He stared around blankly, but the hills could not answer such questions. The hills were all that was left to him now, those hills whose own freedom would probably be short-lived.

Cleft had explained to him long ago why bits of hair, lost fingers, even severed limbs in the rare event that any existed were often carried quickly to the grove across the hills. For reasons Wolf could not remember, the grove was a special place, and blood left there nourished the gods, makng them stronger, making everyone stronger. It was to these woods that Wolf fled now, and it was one of those trees, a large, spreading oak whose shade he had always admired, against which he rested his back to stare at the quiet trees around him. His failure to derive much pleasure from this did not surprise him, but it did strengthen his resolve. He raised his spear and drove it through his body until he heard it hit the wood behind him. As his blood seeped into the tree, he was incongrously glad that the spear kept him from falling to the ground.

Through the pain and the impending darkness, Wolf saw, quite clearly, a vision of a bird of prey flashing golden against the sky, and he was filled with a certain vague wonder, though he did not remember why. Not enough time to understand. But what does it mean? he thought quietly, the moment before he died.

[Kryssal]

Tane and Alearindu returned to the main gathering to find discussion still rampant, but not in the direction that Tane had thought. It seemed that many of the hillmen were starting to join the settlers. One had just stepped up to join the ten or so that were already by Borgand. Several in the captured hillmen group cried out "Knife!" and two more immediately went to join.

Looking at the faces of the others, there were some that would join and some still debating, but there were a few that would never join the settlers. Alearindu looked over at Tane.

"What are you thinking?"

Tane looked at her and smiled. "That we'll all be able to work through this."

Alearindu smiled back up at him.

Tane looked back at the gathering. All those who seemed to want to join had moved to Borgand's side and the leader of the settler's had raised his hand for silence.

[The X Phial]

The group by his side was nearly half the population of the hillman village when Borgand raised his hand. It was clear there would be no more volunteers and those left in the middle of the courtyard were glaring at those next to the stairs with a smoldering anger. He cleared his throat to speak and felt the eyes of all upon him.

"Our new settlers honour us with their presence. It's clear we have much to learn from each other. I won't pretend to understand everything that's happened in the last day, but these people are under my protection now. They will work with us and learn our ways, and I hope they will teach us what they know of these lands and the people in it. I know there are other villages than this one represented here, but it's a start."

He focused on the hillman who had refused the offer. "As for the rest of you, all I ask of you is that you sign a treaty with us. We will leave you alone, and you will not attack us, nor join with others who do."

The older man who had nodded at Borgand stepped forward and looked at him now.

"They are leaderless. There is no chief among them to sign your treaty, even if they were willing."

Borgand frowned. "Then what do you suggest?"

"They will give their word, and they won't break it. We don't know your signing. For us, to say something is enough. It's not fancy, but it's our way." Then he stepped back and Borgand was left with the impression that he had just been spoken to as one would address a child. He shrugged it off and turned back to the remaining hillmen.

"Will you give your word or will you be driven from these lands?"

One by one, they stepped forward and gave their word...not to Borgand, but to the man the others had called Knife, who stood now next to the woman Kestrel. He buried his annoyance. If it suited them to give their word to this Knife, he would accept it. It was probably more likely to be binding that way anyway, he mused. The other settlers weren't pleased, but he stilled their protests at the slight with another wave of his hand.

When the oaths were done, the hillmen left, and none moved to follow them. Borgand looked at his newest charges...he had no idea what to do with them. He looked at the old man and then at the man named Knife.

"Find a place within the walls for yourselves. You can stay as a group or you can mingle with the others. I speak for all when I say no one will harm you. We are rebuilding the structures damaged yesterday and salvaging what we can of the building materials. Once you are settled you can join us in this activity."

He nodded at them and then addressed his own people.

"Back to work. We have a lot to do before the women and children return."

He caught Tane's eye and gave him the ghost of a smile before throwing himself back into creating order out of chaos.





~~~~TWO WEEKS LATER~~~~




By the time the women and children had returned to the settlement the rubble had been cleared and the public hall restarted. All over the settlement there had been tears of joys and sadness as loved ones were reunited..or discovered they would never meet again in this world. There had been so many questions, and too few answers.

Borgand looked at Illith as she stirred her cauldron and thanked the West that she had returned to him safely a little over a week before. Behind her, Bregand was playing a game of hide and seek with two small dark children. Flint and Rain were faster than he was, but he had a keen eye for finding them as they hid. Kestrel sat removed from the others, watching her children play but refusing the acknowledge either Borgand or Illith. There was still a lot of work to do.

The hillmen..or former hillmen..had created their own small community within the walls of the settlement, prefering to make huts rather than taking the tents offered by Borgand and his people. There had been some stir when news arrived of the death of a wolf..but whether this was an animal or a man seemed a little unclear. Even when asked directly, the hillmen would slide their eyes to the sides and answer simply "Wolf."

They prefered to keep to themselves, mostly. Hardly a direct word had been spoken between them and Borgand didn't know how long the uneasy silence would last. For now, he could but hope they would weather the storm. There were notable exceptions to the silence. Flint and Bregand had found each other at the lake 3 days ago and had insisted on playing together since. The other surprise had been the old man, who Bregand had learned was named Cleft. He had made it a point to visit Collothion and the two had exchanged stories and remedies, quickly falling into an argument over the best use for the herb starwort.

Suddenly, the sound of a shout broke Borgand's reverie. He stood as quickly as his one leg would allow and hurried to the wall after nodding to Illith. At his side were Calumdril's hunting knives. He had found he couldn't part with a small reminder of his friend, now properly entombed and mourned. He wondered what the Ithilien would have thought of his solution.

Borgand approached the walls and waited for a report. The dwarves, of all people, had raised the alarm. He looked to Barzun.

"What is it? What's happened?"

The dwarf smiled...a sight that shocked Borgand..and then quickly fell back into his gruff demeanor.

"Look for yourself, human." he said, as he pointed to the horizon and then wandered away, muttering about men and their need to be babied.

The ex soldier followed the dwarf's signal and saw a string of heavily laden carts approaching, just becoming visible as they crested the hill. He broke into a grin. Even from here it was clear what this must be. The stone for the city had arrived. With this shipment, he knew that there would be no turning back. For good or bad, Arnor would once again be the home of the Dunedain.

From this point on, Gondorian, Rohirrim, or Hillmen though they had been, they were the new Arnorians. It wouldn't be the same Arnor as the past, but they would make it their own. Together.

[Bêthberry]

* * * * * * To Elvenhome * * * * * *