Flight from Rohan RPG

[piosenniel]

Himaran's post

It was a rowdy night at the White Horse Inn. Flushed faces laughed uproariously as card games (and money) were won and lost, and rounds of drinks bought for the victors and the vanquished alike. The fire blazed and stung the eyes of those who came too close to its hearth. Outside it was quiet as the stars shone down on the still night in Rohan. A stray breeze whistled through the tall grass as if to signify that something was about to occur.

Inside three brothers sat bemoaning their misfortunes at the card tables for the night. The small birdlike member of the party turned to the one in the center, as if he was the natural leader of the group. “Fréa, we need to be going.” “Aye,” the other answered. Rising from his chair he turned and paid their fee, borrowing a few coins from the silent one of the trio, whose facial lines marked him as the eldest. As he made his way to the door Fréa was met by a stumbling, gray-haired man who fell heavily against his shoulder knocking the pair to the ground in the doorway. Fréa’s eyes blazed as he gathered himself up off the floor. “Thou art an old drunken fool! If your own eyes cannot guide you perhaps you should obtain a walking stick and use it to find your way!”

The old man looked through bleary eyes at him and shook his head. “Young one, you have much to learn…” He drawled off as Fréa’s hand rose, only to be caught by his eldest brother. “Come Fréa.” Cursing, Fréa was led outside. As the youngest of trio passed the old man, he gave him a shove that sent him out the doorway.

The three were walking somewhat unsteadily when they were hailed from behind. Rapidly approaching them was the old man, demanding an apology. He grasped Fréa’s collar, asking in loud tones if this was how they treated all of the men who had done their time in the King’s service. Fréa’s eyes turned bright red, and his memory went hazy as his fists flew into the man, pummeling him into the ground. His boots found a target and ribs cracked.

When he regained his senses his two brothers were dragging him behind a shed. He was covered in blood, his own and that of the man. “Fréa, that was incredible!” His younger brothers eyes were shining. “Fool! You’ve killed a man, you’ve killed old Folca.” his older brother snapped. Fréa found that his hands were shaking nearly uncontrollably as he rose to his feet. His fingers were dripping red. Walking over he found the old man lying in a pool of blood. He had to act. He had to act fast. “Help me.” He ordered his brothers. Neither of them moved. “Help me!” Slowly they followed him and helped him sling the old man over Fréa’s shoulders.

They passed stealthily through the rest of the town following their leader until he arrived at their destination. “This is the hut of the scoundrel that cost me a month’s wages tonight,” Fréa explained. Pushing the door open quietly, they filed in, the youngest holding a lit candle. They placed the old man so that he would appear hidden, but could easily be found with a little effort. Cleaning up their tracks they exited. Fréa suddenly felt calm, as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He allowed himself a soft laugh. “This may even work to our advantage.” Behind him his younger brother gave a cackle but the oldest wore a mask of grim defeat. Fréa turned. “Come, I believe father still has a few old bottles of last year’s brew left. Let us celebrate our card victory.”

And as the trio walked off towards their distant home the moon shone red on a young Rohirrim saying goodnight to the barmaids before he left for the evening.

^*^*^*^*^

“May I see him now, sir?”

“Yes, but remember; he may be your brother, but he is a criminal and a murderer. Do not think that he will be at all pleased to see you. He knows his fate; the penalty for murdering a former servant of the king is death.”

Pushing the guard’s words aside, as well as the man himself, Brytta Hildeson strode into the dungeon where his brother Heldór was being kept. As he sat down on a block outside the cell, his brother looked up and gave him a faint smile, attempting to throw some levity into his dire predicament. “Glad to see you, brother. What is life like outside this box that I’m living in?”

“Keep your voice down. It will be far better once you’re out of here.”

“What do you mean by that, Brytta? I’ll be out of this cell soon enough, but not by your hands.”

“Listen, Heldór. I can’t explain right now, but I know who murdered old Folca, and it certainly was not you. Several of my friends and I are going to break you out tomorrow. I’m not going to let you be executed just because of the cowardice of a lone man and his wretched siblings.”

“It sounds lovely, but where shall I go? If I am caught…”

“We’re going north. I have a plan to help us get you safely out of Rohan, and from there we will follow the Old South road to a small town called Bree. I can find you a place to stay there. Hopefully, I can prove who the true murderer was, and have you pardoned.”

Reaching through the bars, Heldór clasped his brother’s hand in a tight grip. “Thank you Brytta, thank you for everything you’ve done to help me; before and now.”

^*^*^*^*^

That night, Brytta ran along a path toward the White Horse Inn, stumbling over rocks and rotting logs in his haste. In his cloak the Knight carried a crude map of the prison area, complete with the markings of an escape route he had created.

Finally reaching his destination, Brytta hurried inside and found a booth in the back of the Inn, a virtually deserted area. Retrieving the map, he looked over it one last time while he waited for the others to arrive.

[ July 15, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Envinyatar’s post

‘Osric! Lend me a hand here, man! I can’t lift these wheels myself.”

The bright midmorning sun blazed down on the square before the smithy, throwing the shadow of the straining man into stark relief against the packed earth. Aldwulf wiped his forearm along his brow and looked up, frowning, for the whereabouts of his younger brother. He was nowhere to be seen, and Aldwulf grew increasingly irritated at being left to wrestle the huge oak wheels himself. Shirt off to catch what breeze he could, sweat glistened on the straining muscles of his arms as he fought to pull the cumbersome wheel from the flat wagon’s bed and stand it on its rim to be rolled into the smithy.

They had come to the outskirts of Edoras, the city proper, to have the great wheels of the hay wagon rebanded by the blacksmith. As was usual, Osric had seen a group of his acquaintances and gone running off to see them, promising his older brother he would only be a moment. Moments stretched into quarters and halves of the hour, and still no sign of him. Aldwulf commandeered the smithy’s boy to give what help he could and together they got the two wheels into the blacksmith’s shop.

It was late afternoon by the time the smith had finished and the wheels were secured in the wagon for the trip home, an hour’s ride south along the Snowbourn River . . . and still no sign of Osric. Aldwulf sat on the bench in the shade of the spreading elm, calming himself with a pipe full of Westmansweed and a pint of local ale brought out by the smithy’s daughter.

A fair one, that one is! he could hear his mother saying, and her father’s only child. She’ll bring a large endowment into the marriage she makes. And the forge along with her when the smith looks to hanging up his hammer! he could hear his father chime in. He ran his pipe-stem along his bottom lip, watching her as she smiled at him, then hurried away. Pretty enough, he thought to himself, idly, wondering how she would fare away from the city, on their farm.

His thoughts were cut off with the hurried arrival of his prodigal sibling. Words of remonstrance were on Aldwulf’s lips until he noted the paleness of his brother’s face and his wide eyes. ‘Sit down,’ he said to the out of breath Osric, pulling the younger man down beside him. ‘Tell me what’s gotten you so upset.’

Over the next few moments, Osric delivered the news he had learned from Brytta just previous to his returning to Aldwulf and the wagon. A murder had been committed – old Folca had been killed, and Heldór stood accused of it. He had been arrested by the city guard and thrown into the dungeon to await execution.

Aldwulf’s face was grim as he listened to the news of his friend. ‘This cannot be!’ he said in a low voice. ‘Heldór is no craven to have murdered an unarmed old man, and one who had spent time in the service of the King.’

‘Brytta shares your faith in his brother, Aldwulf.’ Osric looked about for any unwelcome listeners. ‘He has asked me to tell you he would like to meet with you tonight . . . to discuss the situation. The White Horse – he said you would know the table.’

Aldwulf rubbed his chin, thinking quickly. He bade his brother take the wagon back to the farm. ‘Tell them nothing of what you have just told me, Osric. Just say that I met some old friends, with much new to catch up on. Tell them I will return soon, and not to worry.’ He clapped his brother on the shoulder. ‘Make it convincing.’

He saw his brother off, and sat for a long time, thinking, on the bench beneath the elm. When the sun had set, he stood and tapped his cold pipe out against the trunk of the tree. Placing it in the pouch that hung from his belt, he drew his cloak on and made his way quickly to the Inn.

There in the dark, back corner sat Brytta, his hands cupping a pint of ale – gazing into it as if to discern the course of events he was about to set in motion. Aldwulf advanced toward the table, and catching Brytta’s eye, nodded briefly to him.

‘I’m here,’ he said in a low voice, leaning across the table as he sat down. ‘Heldór – what are we to do for him . . .?’

[piosenniel]

Novnarwen's post

"What? Is it true?" Liol's voice was both alarming and desperate. She just couldn't believe it. The lady stood talking to herself. A note had just been left at her residence by her cousin Brytta. How can it be? she thought. In the little note, Brytta had left for her, was about Brytta's brother. "You have to come, we are saving him from the prison," she read out quite loud. She felt the rage inside her grow, and Liol discovered that she was growing quite red. She looked at the note, and knew exactly what to do. She had to go, follow Brytta and save Heldór. This situation was caused by a false accusation and Liol felt she had to get a grip on this whole thing. Liol wasn't going to sleep properly before she had her cousins safe and sound, not in a prison, just anywhere else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About thirty minutes later she was on her horse, riding very fast. "How could this possably happen?" Liol couldn't think about that now, anyhow. She had better not wasting time on finding an answer now, she had to wait, until she met Brytta Liol concluded and rode on.
Brytta had sent word for her, she had to wait and see, and then they both could figure out what to do, that was all she knew for now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The White Horse was seated right by the road, taking every traveller in, as it was a good Inn for resting. Liol jumped off her horse, and walked for the door. Inside it was quite dark. Only a few lamps in the roof, which gave a little idea where the tables, chairs and the fireplace was. Liol stepped forwards and met an old man standing behind the desk.

"I am looking for Brytta," she said in a low voice. Liol wasn't comfortable talking with strangers. An old man was the last on her 'want-to-talk-too' list. He looked at her, and laughed.

"What is a young lady, like yourself, here, at an Inn?"

How dared he, of all, say she wasn't welcome here? I have got to punch that man, she thought with herself. The old man stirred at her, actually expecting an answer, Liol thought. For a few moments she just stood there glaring at him. Are all Inn keepers like that, she thought. Liol remembered back, when she had visited another Inn, and she was actually kicked out. Liol shuddered. Well I am not going to be kicked out tis time, she thought by herself. I am a decent woman. Liol searched for an answer, while the Inn-keeper grew more and more imaptient.

"I want to talk to Brytta, not you," she said in kind of a harsh voice. The Inn-keeper didn't believe his ears, but could nothing else then to point at a table in the eastern corner. "There," he mutterd. She nodded and turned on her heels. The Inn-keepee gazed at her while walking to the pointed table with his mouth pen.

"Brytta," she cried at the man, sitting quite uneasy on a chair. He jumped up and greeted her.

"I got your note," Liol said, and the man gave a nod.

[piosenniel]

elven maiden Earwen's post

Rochil sat down to read the note left at his door. It was from Brytta. Rochil reread the letter. Heldór accused for murder! He would never do such a thing. Rochil read on. Meet me at the White Horse Inn . Brytta needed his help and Rochil new he had to go. Rochil got ready and ran outside to get his horse Rowan ready. He patted his chestnut horse, and he rode of towards the White Horse Inn.

Rochil hoped of his horse and let him graze.

“Well here I am” Rochil said not caring who heard. He entered the inn. It was filled with many people. Rochil squeezed around people until he reached the desk. Behind it sat the old innkeeper. Not the politest fellow.

“I need to speak with Brytta. Has he arrived?” Rochil asked in a demanding voice.

“Brytta sure seems to be popular,” He laughed “Probably because his brothers in jail.” Rochil was confused and not in the least bit amused.

“I do not care to be educated about his popularity. Now show me where he is!” Rochil ordered. The innkeeper stopped laughing.

“Over there” he said pointing to a table where Brytta sat. He wasn’t alone.

“Brytta” Rochil said as he neared the table. “I got your message. I’m sorry bout your brother, I know he would never do such a thing.” Rochil sat down.

[piosenniel]

Dain Ironfoot's post

Fréa stepped quietly into the cell and closed the door behind him. It was late in the evening; all the others on duty had already left except for old Balthor who was guarding the outside doors to the prison. Fréa could do or say anything he pleased to Haldór and there was no one to witness his actions or object.

Earlier that evening, he had seen Brytta stride into the cell block and talk privately with the prisoner. The two men had put their heads together in a conspiratorial fashion so that it was impossible for Fréa to hear what they were saying no matter how hard he strained. When he saw Brytta leaving the holding area, he’d gone up to the man and told him with a straight face and feigned sympathy in his voice that there was little help for his brother, and it was best if the family reconciled themselves to that reality and prepared for the worst. Brytta had not responded verbally, but had shot a vicious glance towards Fréa and clenched his fists quietly by his side.

As Fréa stepped inside carrying a torch to light the darkened cell, he glanced over towards the prisoner. “Not much longer,” he gazed steadily at Haldór. “I’ve been at these executions before. Usually, they come in the morning just before dawn to lead you out to execution. They place shackles on your legs, bind your arms, and blindfold you. Then, as you’re led down to the place where the scaffolding’s set up, the crowd will jeer and let you know how they feel about someone who murders an officer of the king. Such a pity you lost your temper and bludgeoned that poor man.”

Fréa acted as if he was about to turn aside and leave, then pivoted around at the last minute and spoke. His words did not hold a grain of truth, but then the prisoner had no way to know that. “By the way, there was something I needed to make sure and tell you. Oh, yes, I was with the commander today, and he mentioned that your brother Brytta was suspected of helping you hide the body. You know, the one who’s crippled. Someone denounced him, I believe. They’ll be charges prepared against him as well. Such a pity to see an entire family struck down. But then I guess you won’t need to worry about that since you won’t be here to visit him in prison.”

Fréa walked over to the shoddy, beaten mattress where Haldór was to sleep; the knight had taken off the chain he always wore round his neck and set it down nearby on the floor. The piece was a heavy silver chain of ornate workmanship with the insignia of the Hildeson family outlined on a golden crest. Woven in and about the frame of the crest were strands of silver hair, obviously from an older woman. Fréa reached down and fingered the piece of jewelry roughly, then picked it up and spoke with contempt, “What’s this? A family heirloom? And with your deceased mother’s lock of hair interwoven? Old Hilde of the famous Hildeson’s, the one who lost her life as Orcbait.”

Fréa lifted up the necklace and pulled out the misericord at his side, using its tip to strip out the strands of silver hair one-by-one. Then he held up the treasured locks near the flickering flame and watched as the fire totally consumed them. He halted for a moment to look over at Haldór and then pushed the jewelry deep inside his pocket. “We’ve got rules here. Prisoners aren’t allowed such trifles. This is mine by right. I don’t expect that you or your brother will need this back. See you in the morning.” Then he turned and left the cell.

[piosenniel]

First post for Archim Forgoil, compliments of Amanaduial the Archer

Fréa had returned from his duties as guard. Inside their father’s house, he, Graitwa, and Archim were celebrating ‘their card victory’ the night after Heldór had been arrested, with some fine old port which they had scavenged from the wine cellar.

“I can’t believe we pulled it off! Excellently done, Fréa.” Archim grinned at his older brother, holding up a glass to him before bringing it to his lips to take a sip, but Graitwa’s derisive snort made him stop, and his bird like eyes darted towards his oldest brother. Graitwa’s lip curled up.

“Excellently done? It was foolish, Crow, and you know it,” he spat.

Archim lowered the glass- he had not taken a sip yet, although both his brothers had been drinking. It paid for him not to get too drunk in their company, lest their drunken fists started itching for a fight. “It has been more than a day since Heldór Hildeson was taken in by the guards for murder,” Archim relished the last two words; it couldn’t have been more perfect that Fréa had chosen to frame Heldór, for he had long disliked Brytta, the man’s brother. “Did I not follow them in the shadows? If the fool had managed to persuade them he did not commit the crime, I think we would have heard by now.”

“Yeah, but if we had been caught, whose fault would that have been?”

Archim’s eyes darted towards Frea, who was grinning openly and wickedly, and his stomach tightened slightly. Subconciously, he began twisting a lock of his dark, greasy hair just behind his ear, a habit he had when he was nervous. “Not mine, surely, brother.” His tone was still jovial, but his dark eyes flicked towards the door for an instant, measuring the distance to it.

“Not yours? Why, was it not you who pushed the old man, Crow? Was that not the real reason why he came after us?” Graitwa was grinning now as well as he added his piece, shifting slightly in his chair. Frea stood casually, and Archim, knowing of what his brothers were like when drunk, checked the distance to the door again. Frea took the moment to take a swipe at him and his younger brother ducked quickly, his glass slipping from his hand as he did so, letting the rich, red port to spill across the stone floor. Graitwa laughed, amused at his little brother’s fear, and Frea sat as well. Archim stood disdainfully, stepping away from the mess on the floor- the maid could clear that up tomorrow morning. His stomach settled again, and he was thankful that Frea was still full of his success and the relief of getting the murder of his hands, but even so, now would be a good time to leave, before his brothers’ fists started truly itching- they would choose any excuse to pick on Archim, and murder was a good excuse.

“It’s late- I will leave you for the night,” Archim nodded smarmily to his brothers as if bowing to a master, before stepping up the few stone stairs as fast as he could, his black cloak swirling behind him.

“Hey, little brother,” Graitwa’s voice stopped Archim, and the little man flinched mentally as he heard his oldest brother stand. Swiveling slowly, he faced them, and, not to his surprise, but certainly to his unease, Graitwa was smiling wickedly again. “If anything does go wrong, it’ll be you the blame will be laid upon.”

Frea laughed at this and Graitwa joined in, and their drunken laughter followed the uneasy Archim up the stairs and out into the cool, early morning air, where he gave a sigh of relief. Yes, he told himself, they had got away with it. But in his sharp, indeed, bird-like mind, something told Archim that this crime would not be so easily dispelled as his brothers might like to think . . .

[ July 15, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Please remember to remove your signatures from your Game posts.

Will remove this once everyone has posted.

[Himaran]

Brytta did not wait long. Soon Aldwulf, Liol, and Rochil had all arrived. Worry shone on each of their faces; worry, and disbelief. Brytta knew that not one of the three before him thought Heldór to be an individual that would murder a man; and certainly not another member of the King's guard. [I]This will make my explanation far easier for them to believe.[I]

"Friends, I am glad that you were all able to come; it cheers me greatly to see three of my dearest friends all here in like mind to help my brother. Of course, I must first tell of how I discovered his innocence, before we discuss other matters."

He leaned in close before continuing, hoping desperately as he did so that he would not appear conspicuous. "I was there the night that Folca was slain, playing cards with Heldór. My brother was a frequent visitor at the inn, you see, though only on off duty hours."

"As I left the establishment, I saw Folca stumble against a man named Fréa Forgoil; who's two brothers were with him. The latter roughly pushed the man off, but I (thinking nothing of the affair) past by without so much as turning. Nearing home, I suddenly realized that I had left my coat at the inn, and hurried back to retrieve it. Looking down at the pavestones, I noticed several specks of dried blood. Someone must have cut his hand, I thought. But by the King, was I mistaken!"

The next morning, Heldór had been accused of murder after Folca's body had been discovered poorly hidden in his house. It was only then that I pieced together the evidence, soon coming to this conclusion: Fréa was the true murderer, probably slaying Folca in a drunken fight. He and his brothers hid the body in my brother's quarters, effectively covering up the crime.

Brytta sat back, giving the information time to sink in. Then Adwulf said; "Well my dear Brytta, why have you not said anything of this to the authorities. Are you going to let Heldór go to his death at the Executioner's block?"

Brytta glanced around him, making sure that no one was watching his table. Then he leaned forward again. "No, Adwulf, that would do nothing. It would be the word of a man and an accused murderer against that of three brothers with a stainless criminal record. You see, friends, that is why I have summoned you here. The only way for Heldór to live is for him to escape."

"I have developed a plan to ferry Heldór through the Gap of Rohan and up north, where he will be safe. But to do this, we must first spring him from prision. I want you to all take a good look at this; it is a map of the prisons of Edoras.

Brytta removed from his tunic a tattered sheet on which a crude outline with several notations written beside it. It showed a simple rectangular room, with prision cells on one wall and stools for visitors on the other. At the far end was a barred window. A door led out of the cell block, into another, smaller room where steps ascended into the main level of the Golden Hall.

"From this we must develop a plan to break Heldór out of Edoras, and down the hill to a wagon that will be waiting. We will then conceal Heldór inside it, and take him west towards the Gap. Once their, we destroy the wagon and continue north on horseback. But we must stay focused; study this map carefully, and tell me what you think would be the best way to free him from the prison area."

Brytta sat back and watched as the three looked over the map intently. He was playing on the hope that they would discover something which he had not; a reliable way out!

[ July 15, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[Envinyatar]

‘Which cell is Heldór kept in, Brytta?’

Aldwulf leaned back in his chair, a considering look on his face. His eyes glittered in the dim light of the candle lantern hung on the rafter above their table. ‘I have had the dubious honor of guarding the prisoners held beneath the Hall. It will not be easy to get a man out of there.’ His finger traced the smaller room that held the stairs to the main Hall. ‘We cannot go out this way. There will be too many guards placed here, protecting the entrance to the King’s Hall.’ He leaned forward and pulled the crude drawing closer to him.

‘Here, where the barred window is, is the south end of the Hall. The steps leading up to the Main Hall are on the north. The cells are here along the western wall – one large common cell in the middle with five cells to the north of it and six cells to the south. The last, and smallest one, is at the southern end, nearest the wall that holds the window. A dingy, hopeless little room – it is usually reserved for those facing the trip to the gallows.’

‘Aside from the lamps inside the prison hall, the only light comes through that barred window.’ He tapped his finger on the southern end of the rectangle. ‘That window may be Heldór’s saving grace. There are five bars in it, one inch rods, about three feet long, set into holes drilled into the wooden frame. It shutters from the inside. And they are just latched not locked.’

Aldwulf drummed his thick fingers on the table. ‘Two of my big draft horses could do it, I think.’ He tapped on the inside of the larger rectangle. ‘The window is set just a man’s height above the ground, not a far drop once the bars are gone.’ He looked round at Brytta, Rochil, and Liol.

‘Can you three get inside and get Heldór out of the cell? And to the window? And I’d need to have someone set the ropes about the bars for me.’

His voice dropped off at the end as a serving maid brought round a pitcher of ale, filling the patrons’ mugs as she went. She smiled invitingly at Aldwulf, brushing her hand against his as she took his mug to fill it. He winked at her, drawing her attention to him as his hand went out casually to cover Brytta’s map of the prisons.

‘Three coppers for you, darlin’ mine,’ he said to her, ‘if you’ll just leave the pitcher for our thirsty little band.’ The girl crimsoned prettily, and set the ale near him. He fished in his pocket for the coins and placed them in her plump outstretched hand. She smiled saucily and curtsied, leaving them to pour their own drink.

‘There is another problem once we get him out of the prison itself. There’s only one gate that passes through the dike and wall surrounding the city. There will only be a short time before they begin to pursue us. How are we to get him through . . .?’

[ July 16, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Himaran]

Brytta listened intently to Adwulf's plan, mentally weighing the odds of such an escapade. At length he spoke; keeping his voice low and wary. "It is a sound plan, Adwulf. Here is how I propose to execute it."

The Rohanian began to scribble furiously on the back of the original map, ripping through the thin parchment several times as he did. He then placed it before his friends for them to study.

"Liol, you and I will actually free my brother, as it will be the easiest for us to do so enter being suspected (as we are relatives). You will need to distract the cell warden outside the room while I knock out the guard. Of course, we will give similar treatment to the Warden in order to get the keys. After releasing Heldór, we shall signal to Rochil below, who will hand us a rope through the bars. I will attach it to them, and then Adwulf will pull the team and wagon (holding the other end of the rope) and rip the bars out of place. After locking and the warden and guard in the cell and gagging them, Heldór will exit through the window while Liol and I return the way to came to avoid investigation.

As for leaving the city, it will be up to Rochil and Adwulf to distract the guards. I recommend feigning a robbery, and telling the guards to hurry to a given area. This would give us time to leave; with no witnesses. However, the manner in which this is done will be completely up to you." Brytta sat back and waited for a response from his friends.

[ July 17, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

At the Inn

Rochil listened intently as Aldwulf proposed a plan. It was highly dangerous, and if we got caught we would be executed, Rowan thought. Rochil listened as Brytta began to speak of how he planed to execute the plan.

“After releasing Heldór, we shall signal to Rochil below, who will hand us a rope through the bars,” Brytta said. Hand a rope though the bars. That shouldn’t be too hard.

“As for leaving the city, it will be up to Rochil and Aldwulf to distract the guards. I recommend feigning a robbery, and telling the guards to hurry to a given area. This would give us time to leave, with no witnesses. However, the manner in which this is done will be completely up to you." Feigning a robbery. That’s were it gets a bit tricky.

“It doesn’t seem all too hard. I think we could pull it of. But after we escape with Brytta where north are headed?” Rochil asked taking a sip of his ale.

[ July 18, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Himaran]

"It doesn’t seem all too hard. I think we could pull it of. But after we escape with Brytta where north are headed?"

I wish I could tell them that I knew.

"Well, Rochil, I looked over a map of the lands west of Rohan, and found that a long trail known as the Old South Road will take us from the Gap of Rohan to a small town named Bree."

"Of course we will not enter it, passing by it and continuing north until we reach the North Downs. There we shall hide Heldór. We can erect a dwelling, and there I and my brother will stay; and you as well if you wish. We can get what we need and find work in Bree, and thus will be easily able to support ourselves."

...

Evening passed into night as the group debated the plan. A cold gust of wind blew into the the inn as a shadowy figure entered the inn. The man moved quickly over to the bar, ordering a drink. Looking around casually, he scanned the various tables and booths for a sign of the man he sought to find. And soon his target was spotted.

Brytta was talking to three others at at his table, a woman and two men. They were discussing something, occasionally pointing to a scrap of parchment before them. They are hatching a plan; they want him to escape. If only I could get that map...

The man was unable to get a decent look at the faces of the others at the table, but the meeting appeared conspiratorial to say the least. Knowing he had all the information he could get without endangering himself, Fréa Forgoil finished his drink and slipped out of the inn. One thing was certain to him; he would have to be extra careful while guarding Heldór the following day.

The man will escape over my dead body.

[ July 18, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

1 day later

Fréa walked purposefully over to the window that faced the northern side of the main hall, the room where the guards stayed when they weren't patrolling the cells in which the prisoners actually stayed. Leaning over the ledge and peering out between the heavy bars, he had a good vantage point from which to view the courtyard. The sight brought a wry smile to his lips.

In the dim moonlight, immediately adjacent to the prison, he could make out a wooden scaffolding that had been erected that afternoon to prepare for the execution slated to take place at dawn. The noose hung limp and empty with steps leading up to the central platform on which the condemned man would be asked to stand. A thick rope had been strung about to cordon off the area and make sure that any curious onlookers would keep their distance to permit the soldiers to carry out their task. A single piece of cloth had been tossed haphzardly down on a nearby bench; the executioner would use this to bind Haldór's eyes.

It was only a matter of hours until the square would fill with people and the guards would escort the murderer to his deserved punishment. Only a little while till Fréa could breath a sigh of relief and go about his regular business again.

Fréa cocked his head suspiciously towards the cells; for a moment he thought he heard a suspicious noise almost like the rustling of clothing or the sound of muffled footsteps. But, when he went and hastily unlocked the heavy gate, all was quiet and peaceful. Fréa yawned and stretched. It had been a long day, and he could certainly use some sleep. But there was no way he would relax his vigilence even for a second. Too much hung on the events of the next few hours.

He took his sword out of its scabbard and laid it across his knees, sitting alert and wide awake on the bench beside the door. With only a single torch to light the tunnel, he peered out into the semi-darkness, listening for any suspicious noises and scanning the southern wall for any movement of shadows. Yet still, all was silent and unmoving.

[ July 18, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[Envinyatar]

Once the meeting in the Inn was done, Aldwulf took the horse his brother had left him and made a speedy trip back to his family’s holding, slipping into the stable with only a wag of the tail from the family dog. ‘So, this is how you guard your charges is it, Cheorl,’ he said to the grey muzzled hound, who rolled back on his side and went promptly to sleep.

He stabled Osric’s horse, and brought out his own, as well as the two grey draft horses that pulled the haywagon. Hitching them to a smaller transport wagon in the yard, he set about putting a small load of hay and several old blankets in the wagon’s bed.

A stealthy trip to his room, and he made for the door, rucksack in hand with a change of clothes, a small purse of coins, and his shortsword, knife, buckler, and helm. As luck would have it, his brother roused from the other bed, and looked up blearily at him. “Good luck,’ he mumbled, seeing what Aldwulf carried. ‘I’ll say naught to the family except that you were called away on the King’s business.’ He raised up and looked out the window to the yard. ‘Though what the King would need with a wagon and two of our big geldings will be hard to explain.’ Osric waved him off and returned to the comforts of his warm bed.

Aldwulf stowed his gear and weapons beneath the seat of the wagon, along with four coils of stout rope. He planned to spend the next day seeing old friends in the city, and retrieving what information he could about the passage west. Tying his mount and an extra one for Heldór to the wagon, he climbed up to the seat and clucked at the greys. They pulled in tandem against the harness, setting the iron rimmed wheels clattering down the road east to Edoras.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The day flew by quickly. Aldwulf spoke with a few of his companions and had a meal with in the Inn with several of them. Some of them had been as far as Sarn Ford and regaled him with tales of the Trade Inn there, and the exotic customers who passed through it with their goods. None had actually been any further north and west than that, but one of them recalled his Da talking about someone he knew who’d traveled through there, and that the Inn served some very fine brew.

The evening passed in a pleasant manner, and it was quite late when the party broke up. Aldwulf was the last one out, waiting long enough that none of his friends lingered to say one last word to him. He bought two skins of ale from the pretty barmaid, and stowing them safely under the seat made his way up toward the Golden Hall, giving its grounds a wide berth. Judging from the angle of the moon, it was nearly time for Rochil to appear.

The guards at the main gate had been surprised when the hostler approached them with his wagon. It was late night and most of the citizenry were tucked safely in their beds.

'You comin' in?' one of them asked, recognizing Aldwulf. 'Wotcher doin' up there at the Hall. Had some late night business or somethin'?'

The two of them were very young men, who had drawn the least liked duty - that of guarding the entry way to the Hall's grounds for the night watch. The chance to have some sort of conversation livened their night a little, and they latched onto the opportunity like pups to their mother.

Aldwulf smiled engagingly at them, and clapped them on the shoulders, calling them his comrades. Yes, he said he had late night business with the Hall. Something they needed doing right away for the horses he had brought in just last week to the stabler.

'Ordinary sods like us are at their beck and call, ain't we?' He scratched his head and yawned. 'Much rather be in bed with summat soft and pretty than standin' here waitin' on the King's business.' The two guards nodded their heads and sympathised, grumbling out their own list of injustices.

'Not much happenin' tonight, is there?' The yard was dark and quiet, and the night breeze had sprung up, bringing in a little chill. 'No use you just standing here gettin' cold, doin' nothin.' He pulled out the two skins of ale he had stowed beneath the wagon's seat. 'Might as well warm up with a little of this.' He tipped the skin to his lips and took a pull at it, then handed it and its fellow to the men.

'You keep it,' he said, glancing up toward the Hall as if something had caught his eye. 'Looks like they'll be wanting me soon, up there, to take out the goods they're wanting transported.'

He left them seated to one side of the gate, working on the first of skins, the other tucked close in reserve. They were toasting him, calling him a good fellow, drinking to his health, and the health of each of his family members.

Aldwulf, waved at them as he climbed back on the wagon, smiling as he heard the chorus of loud belches behind him.

He pulled the wagon into the shadow of a great oak that stood facing the barred window in the southern wall of the cell block. Hidden in the shadows of the spreading branches, he looked up to where Heldor was being kept. The dim lights from the lanterns within threw tall shadows in what little of the room he could see.

‘One of those should be Brytta, and one Liol,’ he thought to himself. For a brief moment he wondered what unlucky sod had pulled guard duty tonight. He reached into the bed of the wagon and brought the ropes into easy access. Hearing the clip clop of hooves on the path near him, he dared a look. It was Rochil, drawing near.

Aldwulf walked quietly to the head of the nearest horse, and taking hold of the bridle, brought the horses and wagon round to a space below the window. He had greased the axles well earlier in the day, and had wrapped leather about the metal parts of the harness and bridle so they made only small muffled sounds as they swayed and moved with the motion of the horses.

Rochil drew near, and Aldwulf waved him closer, handing him two of the coiled ropes, while he took the other two . . .

[ August 10, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

After the Inn

Rochil hurried home. They foursome had decide to meet near the Golden Hall, early next morning. He tied Rowan up and gave him some food. Tomorrow Rowan needed to be ready. It was peaceful outside. The midnight stars twinkled and the air was cool. It was in this moment that Rochil knew that this night would be his last night in Edoras.

He slowly walked inside and pulled out a small bag. He dropped a couple changes in clothes and a small sack filled with coins. He stored his helmet and throwing knives in the bag, with some food and water. He hoped Aldwulf would let Rochil place his sword in the wagon.

The moon shone though the window, as Rochil lay in bed. Slowly he fell asleep.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

The Next Day

Rochil woke earlier than he usually did. It was still dark and the moon still shone. Slowly and quietly Rochil grabbed his bag and headed for the door. He grabbed a loaf of bread on the way. He knew that no one else was in the house but he was still wary. Silently he slipped outside into the cool morning air. All he carried was his bag and spear. He mounted Rowan and pointed him in the direction that he would be meeting Aldwulf.

The roads were silent as Rochil passed by. All you could her was the faint sound of hooves as Rowan rode by. Rochil breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the meeting place. Soon Aldwulf would appear with the wagon.

Not far away Rochil heard wheels. Aldwulf! He quickly rode towards the sound, but then it stooped. In the morning haze Rochil could see the dim outline of a wagon, sitting behind a great oak tree.
As Rochil reached Aldwulf, he handed him 2 coils of rope, while he kept the other two.

[Himaran]

After close to an hour of toil, Brytta placed a freshly sharpened knife into its sheath and tossed it into his traveller's bag. Collecting several articles of clothing, and his sword and bow, Brytta grabbed his light bag and hurried out of the house, locking it as he went.

The man walked swiftly toward the stables, soon arriving there. He soon found that the door was locked. Reaching into his bag, Brytta retrieved his knife and attempted to pick the lock. Failing, he kicked at the rug in front of the door in frustration; hearing a faint jingle as he did so.

Sheathing his knife, Brytta reached down and lifted up the map. Underneath was a set of stable keys, most likely left there for one of the early workers. Knowing that he had lost vabluable time, Brytta hurried to unlock the door and retrieve his steed.
___________________________________

Now leading his horse, Brytta walked swiftly toward the King's Hall. Arriving there, he turned off of the main path, and went instead around the back. Liol was there, and the two tied there horses and hurried up the hill toward the palace.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Novnarwen's post

Liol stood waiting around on the back side of the King's Hall, when Brytta appeared around the corner. The cousins trudged up the hillside and to the castle; none of them said a word. The building was large and looked a lot like an old barn. Liol looked up, the roof stretched up far above their heads. "Come on," Brytta muttered. "Lets do what we came here to do," he continued. The woman agreed with him, and was pleased to see he was eager to get started, just like herself.

Inside the light blinded them. Liol rubbed her eyes trying to see clearly. "Alright," she whispered and her cousin led the way. The hall was a stunning place. The golden walls were filled with pictures. They were carved into the wall, and the images were many. Liol got a glance at a woman from one of the pictures bending down to pick up a flower. Her eyes were deep and seemed to look out of the wall. Liol shuddered; it was almost as if the lady watched them passing the guards. Brytta and Liol continued, hoping no one would notice them. They walked with careful steps, looking around in the room to be sure there were no suspicious eyes.

"Oh dear. Where are you two going?" They had come to the end of the Hall. A tall guard looked down on them. Liol became suddenly insecure. Ouch, she thought, already noticed. Well, they had to explain their errand at least once, but to this guy? He looked like a rough guy who would cause problems, Liol thought. That one over there looks nice though. The woman looked around in the room, trying to get eye contact, maybe he would come over.

"I am Brytta, and this is my cousin Liol," Brytta explained. "We would like to see my brother Heldór," he continued. The guard looked at them with vicious eyes. "The guy who is going to be executed, you mean?" he said and gave a short evil, I-am-in-power laugh. Brytta grinned at him, while Liol just wanted to punch this nasty fellow. With some effort Brytta held her back, but Liol was stilled upset by this guard's reply. "You ain't getting anywhere with that attitude," he said at last, after watching their reactions. He was especially looking towards Liol.

Now I've done it. Liol gave an I-am-sorry look towards Brytta, but he turned away saying nothing. The tall proud guard set his hands to his waist and it seemed that he really expected them to turn around and go away. Liol was still mad but turned on the little charm she had. "I am sorry," she muttered while taking a step towards the guard. Liol made an innocent face, taking a hair lock and twinning it around her finger. "It's just that, this is my cousin, and he is going to die. Will you not let us see him one last time?" She folded her hands over her face and started weeping. From between her fingers she saw a crowd staring at the tall man, now looking quite embarrassed, and he let his hand slip down on her shoulder. Then the guard looked around to make sure nothing was wrong and that he hadn't done anything to upset the little lady standing in front of him. Brytta on the other hand was surprised by Liol's act, but also surprised by the guard's reaction. The vicious man seemed finally to loosen up. Liol dried her tears away from her eyes with the back of her hand, just letting the one tear left run down her cheek.

"Don't cry," the guard said at last, now desperate in his voice. He drew his hand roughly from the lady's shoulder and grew red. "Alright, you may see him. Just go down there," he pointed at a set of steps and continued, "You’ll find him, I guess."

Brytta grabbed Liol's hand and dragged her towards the steps leading to the dungeon. However, before Liol disappeared down and into the dark she could swear to have seen the guard pick up a tissue from his pocket and dry his wet eyes.

Brytta and Liol hurried down the curving steps. The light from the Hall grew fainter and fainter. As they were getting tired they finally reached the bottom. The light here wasn't too much to brag about; they were just able to see.

"Oh hi there," Liol shrieked. Brytta got the hint and hurried over to the other side of the room, unnoticed. The Key Master got up from his chair and stepped forward. It was a young (probably new) man. She passed him, walking over to the small desk. "Your office, eh?" she asked, settling herself on the chair. The man looked as if he was relieved finally to have company, and also flattered that someone had called his desk an office. "Come here," she bade, and pointed at the desk. "Sit," she commanded. "Here with me."

The man stirred at her and grew pale, but did as she had asked. Brytta sat still in the corner listening attentively to the conversation. Just then when the Key-Master turned his back to the desk, to jump up on it, Liol grabbed the keys which were placed so nicely there. Brytta ran from the corner, got the keys from his cousin who slipped them over behind her back and continued to the cell room; the Key-Master didn't suspect anything!

"I want to know all about your job," Liol said after their crazy stunt. The young man did again as she bade and started telling all there was to know about the different keys, the prisoners, (and to Liol's rage he mentioned Heldór and called him an evil murderer). It seemed that Liol was listening very carefully to what the young man said, but the truth was that her ears were somewhere else. The cell room was close by, but she could still not hear anything from Brytta.

Minutes passed, and suddenly Liol heard a faint voice let out a small shriek. The Key-Master continued telling about his job. Now or never, Liol thought.

"Is that a rat?!," she screamed while jumping up on the desk. She was standing and pointing at a spot on the floor. The confused man stirred first at the floor then at the screaming lady. Liol held her fot ready and when he turned, she kicked him so hard in the face he fell on the floor unconscious.

[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

Fréa was making his regular rounds of the prison. As normal procedure demanded, he'd gone into each of the cellblocks to empty out the slops and set down a fresh bowl of water. He hated doing such menial work. After his promotion was approved, he'd be able to delegate such thankless tasks to other men within his squad.

He’d brought the buckets of slop into the small anteroom just outside the hallway where the cells were located. He intended to carry them outside two by two and dump their contents into a backyard pit specially constructed for that purpose. Fréa bent over to grab onto the handles of two of the pails and hoist them off the ground; his back was squarely turned to the door.

Within a single moment, everything broke loose. Brytta had been standing in the stairwell for some time, hiding in the shadows and waiting for the right moment to strike. Now, he raced inside the room and, with a single motion, hurled his body through the air coming down directly on top of Fréa.

For several minutes, the two men rolled together on the ground struggling and clawing at each other. With one hand, Fréa pummeled at his attacker; with the other, he searched desperately for the stiletto dagger that he always wore strapped about his waist. He finally managed to wrench it out of the sheath and got a good hold on the hilt.

Fréa was the heavier of the two, but Brytta had the advantage of agility and speed. Fréa grabbed savagely onto Brytta's wrist and managed to wrestle his blade loose sending it harmlessly skittering over to the side. But when Fréa moved to plunge his own blade into Brytta's back, the brother instinctively wriggled loose, sprang up, and savagely brought his boot down on top of Fréa's hand. Stung by the blow, Fréa hesitated for a single instant cradling his injured hand. Instinctively Brytta lunged towards the bucket of slops that still sat on the floor nearby. Grabbing onto the handle of the nearest wooden pail, he reared it above Fréa's head and brought it down with a crash immediately rendering him unconscious.

Beating a hasty retreat, Brytta grimly reflected, It serves him well. A man with no honor. To be taken out in such a humiliating way!"

[ July 20, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[Himaran]

Leaving the stunned Fréa lying on the floor, Brytta hurried over to Heldór's cell. Jamming the key into the lock, he turned it and the door swung inward. Heldór was sleeping on the cell floor, stretched out on a straw matress.

Shaking him, Heldór rolled over, rubbing his eyes. When he looked up and saw Brytta, his face cracked into a smile. "I knew you would come; but how did you do it, brother?"

Brytta ushered him out of the cell. "No time to talk; I've got to get you out of here."

Liol appeared from the other room, dragging the key-master with some difficulty. They gagged both him and Frea, binding the two with cord Liol had found and locking the pair in an empty cell. Brytta then signaled to Rochil and Aldwulf through the window, and several ropes were handed up.

Brytta and Heldór attached them firmly to the thin bars. They then stood back and waited. Half a minute later, the ropes pulled taunt. Brytta had a brief moment of worry that the bars would prove to be too strong, but these fears were soon erased from memory. The bars were torn out in one quick jerk, falling to the ground below. Heldór was helped through the window, into the waiting hands of Rochil who was standing below.

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

Novnarwen's post:

Liol leaned back against the cold prison wall. It had not been easy to move the man's body. With great effort she had dragged him through the door, leading to the cell room, where she stumbled over another body. Close by were her beloved cousins, Brytta and Heldór. They gagged the two new prisoners and locked them up in an empty cell. The signal was given by Brytta and in the window ropes appeared. A few moments of waiting and there were no barred windows anymore. The had attached the ropes to the bars and pulled as hard as they could. Liol gave a sigh of relief when Heldór disappeared through the window, happy to see him in good hands.

After she'd dropped to the ground, she turned to Brytta with a grin. "Have you noticed?" Liol asked Brytta happily.

"What?" he asked while making ready to leave.

"I, Liol, have almost become a social person," she laughed. Brytta wrinkled his brows before he too gave a laugh. He had understood.

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Himaran]

Envinyatar's post

Aldwulf unfolded the blankets he had brought with him, and, clearing a space in the piled up hay, laid one down on the bed of the wagon. He motioned for Heldór to lie down on the blanket, then he and Rochil spread the other over him and piled the loose hay on top of his reclining form, hiding him well.

‘Free the ropes from the bars, Rochil,’ he whispered to the other man, as he crouched down by the barred window frame as it lay on the ground. ‘Never know when we might need them again. And to be honest, I’d like to leave as little evidence behind as possible.’

Having said that, he coiled the now untied ropes and stowed them in the back of the wagon. Taking out a straw broom he had brought just for this purpose, he had Rochil lead the wagon a little way down the graveled path along with his horse; then carefully swept back and forth across the dirt, removing the impints of their boots and those of the horses and the wagon’s wheels.

Aldwulf climbed aboard and had Rochil sit beside him. He clucked to the pair of greys and they plodded slowly down the path to the gate. The horses of the two were tied behind the wagon and followed along, ambling close to the wagon’s bed every so often to much on the hay that hung from it.

At the gate, the two young guards were well into their cups. They hadn’t moved from the seated position he had last seen them in, and the two skins of ale were now quite empty and flat as they lay on the ground between the two. They waved weakly at the wagon as it approached, and called out a garbled greeting. Their eyes, quite red and bleary, could not seem to focus on the occupants of the wagon. And it was far too much an effort to stand and see if there were anything of import in it.

‘Yer business done?’ one of them yelled up to him. Aldwulf shook his head yes, and reached behind the seat as they came abreast of the pair. ‘Don’t need this tonight, I’m headin’ home. You two work on it. I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.’ He handed down the third skin of ale into their eager hands. Aldwulf yawned widely for their benefit and waved at them as the wagon passed through the gate.

The wagon moved slowly through the city proper, looking very much like some tired farmers heading home after a night spent carousing. Once beyond the great gates of the city, they turned northwest, toward the Westfold and beyond it - the Gap.

At some point Liol and Brytta would meet up with them, bringing a mount for Heldór. The wagon would then be left behind, the greys set free to roam. Until then, they kept on their slow steady course away from the city.

[ July 20, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Brytta and Liol left the open window, surveying their work in the prison. Both Fréa and the key-master were bound and gagged, locked inside Heldor's cell. Casually glancing at the keys in his hand, Brytta tossed them out the window. I will have no further use for these, and hopefully it will be a while before they can be found.

The man turned back to Liol. "Cousin, it is time to go." The two hurried out of the cell block, slowing as they went up the stairs. They paced themselves as normally as was possible as the adrenaline of the escape flowed through them.

Reaching the door, the two were given an easy exit by the guard, who had lost all suspicion due to Liol's act. Once out of his sight, both dashed down the hill to where the horses were tied. Mounting, they rode slowly to the gate. Upon reaching it, they found two guards sleeping against the heavy supports, several half-filled wine skins set between them. Ignoring the drunken duo, Brytta and his cousin rode out of Edoras.

Several hours later, the two were reunited with Rochil, Aldwulf, and Heldor, who had dumped and destroyed the wagon and were waiting in a small camp with their horses. After a brief rest, the five fugitives mounted once again and began to ride west, leaving Edoras and Fréa Forgoil behind them.

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

[Dain Ironfoot]

It could not have been more than an hour later when Fréa groggily clutched his throbbing head and sat up inside the locked cell, instantly realizing what had happened. He looked down at the other guard who was still out cold on the floor, then grabbed the man's shoulders and frantically shook him back and forth. The guard groaned, reluctantly stirred for a moment, but sank back unconscious onto the matted hay that was spread out over the floor. There was no sense trying to get help there; the fellow would probably be out for at least another two hours.

With fear mounting in his heart, Fréa darted over to the locked cell door, savagely clenched a bar in his hand and, using his foot as an anchor, tried to yank it loose. His efforts proved totally useless.

Fréa cursed the day that Brytta Haldeson and his brother had ever been born. The one thing Fréa did not want was for the guards assigned to the morning shift to come inside and see him in this humiliating predicament. He might as well toss any thoughts of being promoted straight out the window of the cell. He had to get out of here and fast.

With such unhappy thoughts lurking in his mind, Fréa crouched down and frisked the unconscious guard, hurriedly searching through his pockets and vest for anything that could help him pick the lock or pry open the cell door. His fingers scrambled frantically but he came up with nothing useful. He was about to give up and concede the whole game, when at the last minute another idea crept into his head. He reached down and wrenched off the boots that the unconscious man was wearing. To his enormous relief and surprise, a key came clanging out onto the floor. Fréa's heart bounded upward as he seized the prize in his hand. He went over to the cell gate, hastily unlocked it, and sprinted down the hallway, pushing open the outer door and running up the stairs.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he hesitated. Just exactly what was he to do? If he reported the prisoner missing, the King would authorize a search party, but he might or might not be assigned to it. And he certainly could not control the actions of the other soldiers. A horrible image came flooding into his brain. The King's officers would capture Brytta and Heldór, somehow discovering the true story of what had actually played out in the alleyway that night, and then turn their wrath against Fréa arresting him instead.

He must do whatever was needed to stop that from happening, even if it meant chasing down the brothers and murdering them. No price was too high to pay.

He came to the room where the two guards still sat who'd approved Brytta's entry to the prison. Fréa instantly turned on them barking out his indignation, "You idiots! You complete idiots! You admitted Brytta into the prison and he's run off with his brother who was supposed to be executed this morning. The King will have both your heads on a plate."

Fréa glared menacingly in their direction, neglecting to mention that the King might also have his own head on that same plate. Fréa snatched up a piece of vellum on the table along with a pen and hastily scribbled out a few words:

Archim and Graitwa,

Come quickly. Heldór has escaped with the help of that blackguard Brytta and a small handful of accomplices. Meet me in the back room of the White Horse in one hour's time. Bring your horses and all your gear. We must give immediate pursuit.

Your loving brother,

Fréa


He stared at the tall guard and thrust the message into his hands, barking out his orders, "If you value your honor, take this immediately to my brothers Archim and Graitwa who are staying in our family's house. Then report back to the commander. Tell him that Fréa will do his duty and recruit a band to seize the condemned man and his would-be rescuers. I will see them brought to justice even if I must go to the ends of the earth and slay them with my own hands."

The tall guard reached out to grab the sheet of vellum and saluted, reading over the note before folding it up and disappearing down the corridor.

Then Fréa turned to the second man, "You there, Hama, you will come with us to help corral these jailbirds. I will leave word with your squad leader. Take money from the cash box and go down to the market to buy provisions for our trip adn a spare horse. Then report back to the Inn, fully armed and ready to go."

As the young man turned to sprint out, Fréa shouted after him, "And be quick about it, unless you want to end up in the brink yourself!"

[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[piosenniel]

‘Who is that?’ he muttered to himself drawing the bedclothes over his head until only his dark eyes showed out in the pale light of the half moon that crept through his window. Someone was beating on the downstairs door, and the racket had wakened him from a pleasant dream – he was just about to win a fat purse and a kiss from a lovely woman as his horse sped over the finish line to victory. Archim was hoping Graitwa would get up and see to it, but he didn’t hear his brother’s footsteps pad past his doorway.

Hauling himself up from his tangled covers, he threw on a shirt and hastily pulled on his breeches. ‘I’m coming,’ he growled as he stumbled down the steps, barefooted, and threw open the door. His left hand was on the hilt of the knife at his belt, just in case there was trouble.

A guard! And from the Hall, by the looks of him. His stomach lurched at the site of the man holding out a piece of paper to him. Now what trouble could there be? The man, having thrust the paper at Archim, turned quickly on his heel and ran back to his horse, riding away in a great hurry, as if glad to be away from him.

Archim read the note quickly, his heart pounding rapidly. ‘I knew it!’ he muttered to himself, balling the paper up and throwing it on the floor. ‘This will be nothing but trouble for us! We should have hidden the old man’s body where it would never have been found.’ Thinking better of his actions he picked up the wadded paper and smoothed it out.

He ran back up to his sleeping quarters, taking the stairs two at a time. ‘Graitwa! Get up!’ He threw the paper at his older brother, saying ‘Get dressed! I’ll meet you there.’ Archim went quickly to his room and jammed his feet into his boots. In his belt he secured his two other daggers – one more beside the one on his left side and the other, hidden at this back. Grabbing his cloak, he rushed down the stairs and to the stable, and was soon on his Way to the Inn.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He could see the questioning look in Fréa’s eyes as he entered alone, but he brushed it aside with a curt, ‘He’ll be here shortly,’ and hunched down in a chair opposite him.

His left hand ran through his greasy hair, stopping to twist a lock of it by his left ear in a nervous manner. And his eyes darted furtively about the nearly empty room. ‘Now what do we do, Fréa?’ he whispered. ‘Just how much trouble are we in?’

_____________________________________________

Orofaniel's post

Graitwa heard some noises downstairs. He didn't bother to get up however. When he heard the his brother stumbling down the steps he fell asleep again.

Suddenly Graitwa woke by a screaming voice in the air. "Graitwa! Get up!" it said. It sounded a lot like his brother Archim, and when a moment later when he saw his face he realised that it was his voice. "Get dressed! I'll meet you there." Archim said as he want quickly as he trew a paper at him and went to his room. Graitwa was rather confused but read the paper in a hurry.

Archim and Graitwa

Come quickly. Heldór has escaped with the help of that blackguard Brytta and a small handful of accomplices. Meet me in the back room of the White Horse in one hour's time. Bring your horses and all your gear. We must give immediate pursuit.

Your loving brother,

Fréa

"What has he done now?" Graitwa thought while dressing. In a rush he took with him his dagger and a sword, just in case. He hurried down for his horse and rode for the Inn.

As he arrived, it was dark and cold. He enterd the back room and found his brothers there. He went with stern steps over to them, and asked in a harsh voice: "What have you done brother?" "How did he escape?" Frea didn't take long and explained carefully with all detailes. "So Brytta helped him out...... " Graitwa repeted thoughtfully when his little brother had finished. An anxious look was upon him, something that his brothers had never seen before. "What is there to do now?"

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

Fréa hesitated a moment before he replied to his brothers. With outsiders, he would have spoken flippantly off the top of his head. But, with his own, it was different.

Reaching over and affectionately slapping Archim on the shoulder, Fréa grinned reassuringly back at him, "I won't tell you there isn't some danger. But it's as much danger for Brytta and his men as it is for us." Then he went on and explained everything that had happened in the prison the past night, finally concluding, "So you see, it's a simple matter. We've got to find out where they are and chase them down. If we succeed and turn them over to the authorities, we'll not only have Heldór in our net but Brytta and the others as well. It's really a perfect situation, better than I expected. I think...."

Fréa glanced nervously about upon hearing the sound of approaching footsteps. As he looked up and saw Hama advancing towards the table, he cut short his conversation, rising to greet the guard and intending to ask him about the provisions he'd purchased.

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Hama hurriedly threw a few things together after being so summarily ordered to come along by Fréa. He didn’t really like the man, but—he was his superior and thus to be obeyed. Besides, Fréa knew what he was talking about, surely. After all, he’d had so much more experience than had Hama. But how was he supposed to know that the murde.rer’s brother intended a jailbreak? Wasn’t it customary to allow family to say goodbye? It had seemed only fair to him, but he still had much to learn.

He followed orders and took enough from the cash box to buy provisions for five. That should be more than enough for himself, Fréa, and anyone that the older guard decided to take along. He didn’t take just any spare horse, however. He took his own mare Lluagor. She was a tall, graceful bay whom he’d raised from a foal. He slid his sword into its sheath, crosswise on his back, strapped his longknives along his thighs, and placed his shield within easy reach on his back. He loaded Lluagor with his other things and as many of his provisions as she could carry without strain, then put the rest on a pack animal and proceeded to the Inn.

When he arrived, he found that Fréa and two other men were waiting for him impatiently. They didn’t even give him time to grab a quick drink before leaving. They seemed a little more anxious to capture this prisoner than he might have expected, but he supposed that it was just his inexperience. After all, they were chasing a murde.rer. Weren’t they?

He shook his head at himself. Of course Haldor was a murde.rer; he'd been tried and convicted. These silly doubts weren't worth bringing up with men who were vastly more experienced and surely wiser than he. He would have more than enough time to voice doubts of such things when he'd had as much experience as had they. Now was the time to catch this man and put him back behind bars where he belonged.

[Envinyatar]

It was slow going when they left Edoras with the wagon. They had been forced to take the roadway out of the city until they had crossed the River Snowbourne. Once beyond the river’s northern bank, they turned off the road to the east, and proceeded on a less used track that paralleled it. The track was narrow, bumpy and rutted.

A fair way down the path, Aldwulf pulled off into a clearing, well hidden by the surrounding trees. The wagon was broken up, its pieces scattered, and the great draft horses were set loose. Aldwulf, Rochil, and Heldór retrieved their horses and provisions from the wagon before it was dismantled and sat huddled around a small fire, awaiting the arrival of Brytta and Liol.

Aldwulf pulled one the blankets he’d taken from the wagon about his shoulders as the night grew chill. A breeze had come up, and clouds gathered thick in the sky. ‘Smell’s like a rain’s coming,’ he said, taking a deep breath. Heldór nodded his head in agreement. ‘It does at that.’

The new day was just breaking when their companions joined them at last, and soon they were off, making for the Gap. ‘We have about four days of riding ahead of us, Brytta,’ said Aldwulf, pulling along side him as he led them west. ‘How far shall we push it today?’

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

Aldwulf, Heldór, and Rochil rode slowly in the wagon. It was a long ride. Soon the stopped and let the horses go and obliterate the wagon. Rochil grabbed his bag, and spear from the back. He tied the bag to Rochil but he kept his spear with him. He sat as close as he could to the small fire they had made without getting burned. The night was chill and the fire small. Soon Brytta and Liol would arrive and they would be of again.

“Smell’s like a rain’s coming,” Aldwulf commented smelling the sky. Rochil agreed moving closer to the fire. Brytta and Liol finally joined them and they rode off towards the gap.

[Himaran]

Fréa was silent and thoughtful as the small group rode away from Edoras. They had gotten out easily enough; the guards at the gate were both drunk and asleep. Hopefully, there had been no witness to their escape; which would give them time to get out of the area before others could follow.

Fréa knew that his actions were justified by the law, but he still felt that irking feeling; that if Brytta managed to come into contact with the authorities, it was possible that the true murderer would be exposed. For above his pride, and the shame of allowing an important prisoner to escape, came the fear that his crime would eventually be discovered.

Fréa looked up and quickly realized that he had gotten ahead of the others. Turning back, he saw the other three off their horses; examining the ground. Dismounting, the man hurried over to them. "What is it, Archim, why have we stopped? Brytta has a full day's ride on us, and we must hurry if we are to catch up."

Fréa's brother looked up at him, shading his eyes from the sun. The grimace on his face showed the man's uncomfort. Spitting to the side, he looked at the ground once more, running his hand through the dusty turf. "Well, Fréa, I think we've lost them."

[Orofaniel]

They rode carefully out from Edoras, Graitwa and his two brothers, Frea and Archim. They all were in deep thoughts and didn't say much.

Graitwa and Archim, rode soon behind Frea. Suddenly there didn't seem to be a trail anymore. It was gone. Frea turned around and rode towards them. The horses and the two brothers were now examining the ground.
Frea had now reached them :

"What is it, Archim, why have we stopped? Brytta has a full day's ride on us, and we must hurry if we are to catch up." He said a bit irritated, while lookingat Archim.

Archim seemed uncomfortable, he spitted to the side and took some more time to examen the ground. "Well, Frea, I think we've lost them." Archim said finally.

"Lost the trail???!!??" Frea shouted angrily.

A loud discussion between the youngets brothers were at hand. Graitwa wasn't listening. He searched the ground all over again. Nothing to be seen however. Then suddenly he barked: "Would you stop fighting???!!" "We are not getting anywere with you fighting, and almost cutting over eachothers troat!"

Archim and Frea looked suprised. "Guess your right brother," Frea said while looking at Archim.

Frea's eyes were angry and he stared at Archim. Archim, however stared back at him with his own angry eyes. The arguing didn't seem to be over after all.

They all looked at eachother but they kept silent. All were wondering what they should do now. The smartest thing would probably be to follow the same road and try to find the trail again, but it was very risky. They may not find it, and if they didn't find it they would be several days behind, They woulød have to go all the long way back, and that they could not afford.

If they went backwards trying to chatch up with the place they lost the trail, they may never find it or they would be much delayed. So both things were undoubtful very risky indeed, and they would be delayed eaither way. That was now kind of obvious.

Frea grabbed the word: "What now?"

"We will be delayed and that means that they are several days ahead of us," Graitwa answerd after a while.

"Of course they will!" Frea said irretated.

"Oh, don't use that tone with me!" Graitwa barked back. "You got us into this mess, now it's time to fix it!" He continued.

Archim looked scared. Well, not scared, but he had a rare grimase on his face and he didn't seem comftarbel beeing there. Neither of them did.

"You say it's my responsible to fix it, don't you?" Frea asked Graitwa quite angry. His eyes were getting red and his hands were shaking with fury.

"No, I don't say it's your responsible, I'm just suggesting that you come up with a clever idea to get us back on the trail." Graitwa answerd, quite angry as well. "And that quick!" He added.

[ July 25, 2003: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[Novnarwen]

When they left the prison the two bounded men were locked up and still unconscious. Brytta tossed the keys out the window and turned back to Liol saying; Cousin, it's time to go, and they hurried out of the cell block and thereafter up the stairs. A smoothly as they coul, with no suspicious guards they were shown out the door, by the tall guard they had met just about half an hour before.

As they found their horses, they rode out of the gate, catching the sight of a couple of guards drunk, and now sleeping against the stone wall.

Liol was glad, the worst part was over. The King's Hall was small and ugly from here, Liol thought. It really looked like a prison.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For several hours they rode on, until the at last met Adwulf, Heldor and Rochil.They had found a small camp and settled down there with their horses. Liol thought it was a cosy place, and didn't mind at all resting there for a while before they rode, and left Edoras behind.

"Oh, I am starting to get tired," Liol whined. The others stirred at her. "Did I say that out loud?" she asked and grew red. Gosh, she thought. Her two cousins, Rochil and Adwulf gave a laugh, turning to her giving her are-you? look. Liol didn't want to show she was weak or anything like that. She was among men only, and it was hard in a way. Liol cast a short glance towards the boys, before she pulled herself together. She clasped her horse on the side with her hand. "Shall we not ride a little faster?" she asked, and sprinted forwards. The others followed.

[ July 26, 2003: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[Himaran]

"No, I didn't say that it's your responsibility, I'm just suggesting that you come up with a clever idea to get us back on the trail - and quick!"

The words smote Frea in the face, and he turned on his brother in furious anger; the words flying out of his mouth in a fit of screaming rage. "If I did not lose them, it is not my job to find them, you dull idiot! I am no tracker, I am a prison guard. You will regret those words, Graitwa!"

His brother did not flinch at the verbal barrage; in fact, a thin smile slowly covered his normally impassive features. When he spoke, Graitwa spit the words out with obvious contempt. "Well then, dear brother, I suppose that since we cannot find them, I shall return to Edoras. I will not stand here and be insulted by my young and foolish brother; who got us into this fine mess in the first place."

As he turned to go, Hama caught the man by the arm. "Wait, Graitwa, I am sure that this matter can be worked out peacefully. We have not completely lost the trail, it has merely become difficult to see the shallow markings in this dim light. Why not make a camp, as it appears that a storm is blowing in, and leave these troubles for the morning."

The words had been woven skillfully, with the tact of a true politician. Frea knew that it would be unwise to disagree, for doing so would certainly cause Graitwa to leave on the spot. The man consented to the arrangement, though still smoldering inside him was a deep anger at his brother. And it was one that would not leave him for many days.

[ July 25, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[piosenniel]

Archim backed away from his siblings as soon as the words started flying. Heated words, he knew, often led to hard blows. He circled out a little further, on foot, looking for signs of the fugitives’ passing, choosing to range up a little further north, rather than the westward tack his brothers had been pushing them in.

‘Hey! Look here!’ he yelled, coming back to within earshot of the other three. I may have found something.’

The others followed him a short way and gathered round a slim clue. There in a small clearing were some green leafed bushes which looked as if something had been grazing on them. The ground was hard and rocky, affording no chance for hoof prints – but just north of the clearing under the trees were two fresh sets of large hoof prints leading north, which crossed a small section of soft forest loam then petered out once again when the rocky terrain resumed.

‘Perhaps they’re heading to Fangorn to hide, or even into the Wold. There should be more tracks we should see, but here at least is something . . .’

[Envinyatar]

"Oh, I am starting to get tired!"

Aldwulf smiled to himself as he heard the words drop from the woman’s mouth. ‘How like my sisters,’ he thought, smoothing his mustache down as he drew his hand over the upturned curve of his lips, hiding his smile. ‘She’s not so much tired, I’ll wager, as she is bored by this grim male company.’

He watched her as she urged her mount to a faster pace, and moved ahead of the group. ‘Be wary, m’lady,’ he said, pulling up near her. ‘There have been reports of shadowed creatures lately, coming down from the north. One or two have been sighted among the trees that forest the hills along the Westfold. No reports of any attacks on men, though one or two deer carcasses have been found mangled in a savage manner.’ He looked at her appraisingly.

‘I would not care to have you be the subject of the first report . . .’

[Himaran]

Frea inspected the ground where Archim had discovered hoof markings. Sure enough, the tracks of several horses could be seen plainly in the wet mud. Excellent; at last we have found their trail. Now it shall be a simple hunt, with a successful end.

The man patted his brother on the shoulder. "Archim, this is just the find that we needed. But it is too late to continue now. Let us follow Hama's advice, and make camp for the night."

________________________________________


The Following Morning


Brytta was the first up among the group. He hurried to start a fire, and breakfast was soon simmering over the glittering light of the flames. Rochil and Liol were soon awake, and Heldor followed, but Aldwulf had to be shaken roughly before he opened his eyes and muttered several illegible words about men needing proper sleep.

Soon, the cousins sat around the fire at attacked the hot meal, their first in two days. Brytta looked over a crumpled map of Rohan, doing his best to calculate their aproximate distance to the boundary of Rohan with the other lands of the west.

"From what I can see, we are within three days ride from the Gap. Of course, that excludes any problems we may encounter along the way. But it appears as though we have an excellent chance of escaping Rohan without meeting resistance; from the authorities at least."

Rochil chewed thoughtfully on a strip of bacon. "What other problems are there, if Rohan is behind us and the west ahead."

Aldwulf answered the question, filling his mug with tea. "Wargs. Although the orcs of Isengard were slain, many their steeds remain in Rohan. Like I said yesterday, it is rumored that a group of them was spotted somewhere north of here. And Wargs travel fast, especially without riders. There could be an entire pack of the beasts waiting for us at the Gap. But Wargs or no, we must continue. I don't have this hunk of wood for nothing." The man patted the bow sitting next to him on the ground, and proceeded to fill his empty mug a second time.

After their breakfast was finished and the discussion over, the group packed their things, scattered the embers of the fire and erased footprints. Mounting, they rode off west, hoping that their easy passage out of Rohan would continue.

[ July 26, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

Rochil woke up the next morning and ate with the others. It was a peaceful morning but soon they would be ridding off again. And not long until that time come. Soon Rochil was riding with the company towards the Gap of Rohan of his beloved horse Rowan. But his thoughts weren’t at peaceful as the mornin’.

Wargs, I’d hate to have a run in with them. Rochil had seen trolls and Oliphaunt as well as Nazgul on flying steeds, and plenty of orcs but he had never encountered wargs. Monstrous wolves of the northern lands, that during the War of the Ring became servants of Saruman and headed towards southern lands, which they now inhabit. A ferocious and intelligent race.

Rochil looked up and noticed to shapes in front of them. Soldiers! Two soldiers of Rohan were riding slowly towards the company.

“Brytta!” Rochil said urgently, trying to alert him.

“Look in the distance. Soldiers!” he said pointing towards the men drawing closer and closer. Brytta looked up in the direction Rochil pointed in

[ July 28, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Himaran]

Soldiers!

The word snapped Brytta back into reality, and he scanned the area Liol was frantically pointing to. Two men, presumably Rohanian guards, were riding toward that at a significant pace. One was pointing at them, the other nodding and turning his horse to a course that would lead him straight into the midst of the company.

If they find Heldor here, then Edoras will know of our position before dusk. we must hide him, and quickly.

Leaping from his horse, Brytta urgently tugged on Heldor's hand. The man understood, and climbed off the horse quickly. "Stop here," Brytta yelled to the company, "Look as if you are setting up camp!" Grabbing an empty pot from his saddle bag, Brytta and Heldor dashed off.

Running down the steep hill, Brytta searched the surrounding ground for a hiding place. Heldor spotted a group of rocks, and ran over to them; ducking behind the blessed cover. Brytta, hoping that the rocks would prove sufficient, continued down the hill to a stream. He filled up the pot and began to climb the hill again, hoping to reach the top before possible hostilities could occur.

Reaching the camp, he saw Aldwulf arguing with the guards in a manner which one could only discribe as 'passionately.' "Look, I swear by Eru that there is no fifth man among this company. Why would we hide him from you?"

One of the guards was thoroughly unconvinced by the story. "Oh, I see. Well, what happenned to that FORTH man that was here. Where did he run off to, eh?"

While Aldwulf searched for a believable answer, Brytta made the decision to intervene. "Just going to get a pot of water from the spring, sir. Why do you ask, aren't people allowed to set up camp in the West Emmet?"

[ July 28, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[Himaran]

Envinyatar's post

The two guards drew near. Aldwulf could see their eyes dart about the place where the four of them now stood. The one on the right drew near his companion and said something, then pointed with his chin toward where Aldwulf and his companions stood.

Aldwulf was standing at his mount’s side, holding the horse’s leg in his hand as he picked at the inside of the hoof with his knife blade. He placed the hoof back on the ground as if he had finished his business with it, and turned smiling to the two men who had now drawn quite near, his knife held by its point hung casually from his hand.

‘Picked up a stone, the poor beast,’ he said shaking his head at the riders. Their eyes betrayed no friendliness and they glanced about the camp as if expecting to find something their search did not yet ferret out. ‘My three friends and I expected to make it to Halef’s holding by mid-afternoon today, but now it looks as if we won’t limp in until tomorrow.’

‘Your three friends, is it?’ challenged one of the guards, his gaze fixed on Aldwulf’s face. ‘We have been riding steadily this way ourselves.’ He raised a gloved hand, pointing west to a small rise just behind them. ‘We came down through there. Five riders is what we counted. Where is your other companion?’

Aldwulf said nothing, only noted that the guards had come closer by a few paces and separated their mounts. They had thrown back their cloaks, and he saw that their swords had been loosed of their clasps in the sheaths. ‘What can I say? There are only four of us. Perhaps it was just a shadow or a miscount – the trees are thick up there, our figures must have been cut from your sight as we passed along.’

The pommel of his knife came to rest on his other hand’s palm. They were close enough . . . one quick flick and he could take the man in the neck . . . the other could be dealt with quickly after that . . .

[ July 29, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Nova's post:

Liol grew almost motionless when she pointed towards two guards appearing and coming in their direction

Brytta hid Heldor and arrived when the riders were just about to unmount their horses. The others had set up a 'made-up' camp. The camp didn't really look like a camp, but Liol an the others tried to be as convincing as possible. The riders gazed at them, looking for something they could use against them. "My three friends and I expected to make it to Halef’s holding by mid-afternoon today, but now it looks as if we won’t limp in until tomorrow."

“Your three friends, is it?” asked one of the guards, having a threatening tone. “We have been riding steadily this way ourselves.” It was Aldwulf who spoke. "We came down through there. Five riders is what we counted. Where is your other companion?" asked the guard seriously, while haveing a stiff look in his eyes.

Liol felt a pain in her stomach; this was definitely going the wrong way. She couldn't see how they were getting out of this one. They knew they had been five, how was it then possible to fool them?

"What can I say? There are only four of us. Perhaps it was just a shadow or a miscount – the trees are thick up there, our figures must have been cut from your sight as we passed along." Aldwulf continued.

Liol stared at the guard, looking suspiciously at her and the others. "You, Milady, can you tell me what's going on?" the guard asked while pressing his lips together making it small and thin; just like a thread. Liol went all red, am I to speak, she thought.

"Well," she said in a frustrated voice. Liol couldn't breathe. What was she to say? The lady had no idea. And the warning looks from her travelling fellows didn't exactly help.

"The fifth man you saw, was.." she made a pause breathing like tired horse who had galloped for hours. An idea popped into her head and she said in a determined voice: ”It was my husband," she said, getting a glance of the others reactions. Brytta looked the most stunned, but Rochil was right behind, stirring down in the earth, trying not to laugh. Liol gave him a glare before the guard spoke again:" Then why did he leave?" The other guard laughed, thinking he had her, the place he wanted her; no escape.

"Well, his mother is sick, and I am going to my reletives, and he rode after me to say that, his mother had passed away," she answered, faking a couple of tears. The guard looked surprised at the lady. "Now, will you please let us do our business." she continued looking quite harsh at the harassing guard.

The man gave her a warning but also a pityful look, before seating himself on the horse again. "No trouble then?" he asked. Liol gave a nod saying: "You are a good man." But a stupid one too, Liol thought while turning around to the others.

As the guards disappeared, Brytta went to fetch Heldor. Rochil was the first to brake into laughter, Liol followed. "Guards are so stupid," she burst out. The others nodded. "I think the husband thing was funnier, though," Rochil cried out. The lady watched the man while he laughed. "Is it that impossible for you to imagine me, having a husband? I might have one in the future, you know" she snapped. "Am I that ugly?" she continued. Liol felt the rage inside of her just grow and grow. The man stared at her, quiet now. "But I didn’t mean...I didn’t.." he said quickly.

Brytta appeared with Heldor at the same time, and before Rochil could say more, Liol ran over to them.

It was really quiet when they continued, none said a word. Had Liol been too hard on him? Yeah, the lady thought. She had let her temper control her, and now, she was full with regret. The shield maiden rode right ahead of him, but she didn't look back. Liol was too ashamed.

[ July 31, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Orofaniel's post

It was Hama's idea to camp for the night and so they did. Next morning they had decided to follow their only trail, even though they would be days behind they were all relieved that they finally found something.

The night was drawing to a close and the darkness was creeping over them. The moon was rising slowly over the horizon. They got to bed, and they all slept the whole night except from Graitwa.

He found it very difficult to sleep, indeed. He lay with wide open eyes and let his thought flow with him like an uneasy stream. His thought were unclear somehow. They always were. Well, it would be a lie to say that Graitwa was a man that spent much of his time thinking about life, but this time he was. The unthoughtful man was thinking about his life situation for once!

The night grew dim and the morning fell over them as the sun was beginning to rise. The packed all their things in a hurry, because they wanted to to start going as soon as possible. They were heading north, and as they went, they all felt the burning sun in their faces. Graitwa was in the front, barking at the other to please follow.

[ July 31, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Tinuviel of Denton's post

Hama rode at the back. He was neither a tracker, nor was he the eldest. It seemed to be more appropriate for him to ride there, rather than at the head of the line. Graitwa--at least, he thought that the older man in the group was called Graitwa--had woken everyone rather rudely right before the sun rose. Hama hadn't complained. He'd somewhat expected to be the general dogsbody in the group and had not been surprised. The older men had ordered him to do the chores that were necessary when taking down a camp and he'd complied.

They rode all day, stopping several times to check their course against the trail of the horses. Archim relieved Hama as rearguard. Near noon, they stopped by a stream to water the horses and to eat some waybread.

"Poor Lluagor," Hama whispered to his mare, stroking her sleek neck. "So much work for you, my lovely one. Don't worry, we'll catch that man and then we'll go home and you can rest. I hate to push you like this though."

The older guard and his brothers were arguing softly about something, but when Hama came closer, they stopped talking and looked at him angrily. Family troubles, he surmised. The three of them, though they were brothers didn't seem to get along very well. He couldn't help but wonder why. If he'd been able to ride along, tracking killers with his brother, he would never argue with him. Of course, his brother was d.ead, so that would never happen.

They kept riding after the noon break, Hama behind the two older brothers, with Archim in the rear. Hama didn't like where this trail was going. Would the murd.erer and his rescuers really go into Fangorn? The forest was full of creatures that were said to be unfriendly to killers. The whole thing didn't make much sense.

Then they reached the edge of the Forest. Hama felt as though there were eyes on him. Unfriendly eyes. It seemed that either Graitwa and Frea didn't notice, or that they didn't care, because they immediately started looking for where the fugitives had entered the forest. Hama looked as well, though he didn't really know what he was looking for...

[ July 31, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Pio's post

Archim shivered beneath his cloak, though the day was warm. He was glad, for once, to be the tail of the group - riding behind so that his brothers did not see how uncomfortable the nearness to this dark, twisted forest made him. There was an oppressive air under the dry brown leaves. And they rattled at him in a menacing manner, though there was no breeze to stir them.

Falling even farther behind as his two older siblings rode on, he stopped for a moment, his throat gone dry, and reached for his skin of water to take a pull at it. He could hear his brothers’ voices rise and fall, anger marking their words. He sat for a while watching them as they rode further from him. Toying with a lock of his greasy hair, he half considered turning his mount ad heading home . . . or better yet, something away from this mess that Fréa had got them into, and expected him to help clean up. He sighed, pulling his cloak closer about him. No . . . no . . . that would never work. They’d find him and there would be the piper to pay for his ‘disloyalty’. His thoughts continued on down that line. Fat chance they would stick by him if it were him who’d killed the guard, he thought. ‘Oh, Fréa might pay lip service to helping him out, but if push came to shove, I’m sure they’d find a way to shove old “Crow” to the forefront.’ He snorted at these dark meanderings. ‘Leave me to hang to save their own skins, I’ll bet. Then, cry at the funeral.’

His horse had wandered on a bit, close enough to the trees to try a nibble at a scraggly bush that grew beneath one. Archim’s cloak caught on a branch of the tree of the tree near it, or rather, as he thought, the tree had reached out for him and snagged him by the cloak. He was just tugging his cloak from its entanglement, when he thought he saw the trees move apart for a moment, and his eyes caught a grisly sight.

‘Hey!’ he shouted, kicking his horse hard to catch up with his brothers. ‘Hey! Back here!’ he yelled, motioning them back to where he had stopped his mount. He led them to where the scraggly bush stood and pointed in through the trees. The forest had shifted again, and Fréa looked at his brother with growing irritation.

‘Trees? What . . . ?’ Fréa shrugged his shoulders at Graitwa and turned his horse back down the trail. ‘But I saw them,’ murmured Archim, pointing into the forest. Something in his whispered tone caused his brothers to turn back to him. ‘Two horses’ heads . . .their sightless eyes staring back at me . . . gutted . . . fresh blood everywhere, turning the leaves red . . .’

[ July 29, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

With his eyes rivetted on the menacing contours of the weald that seemingly drew ever closer, Archim pulled his horse up short, leaping down from the saddle and stumbling over towards his brother. He stared up at him with unabashed fear reflected in his eyes, "I saw it. I tell you....I saw it."

For one fleeting instant, Fréa felt an overweening urge to raise his sword above his head and bring it down in a single stroke that would forever cut short his brother's wimpering tones. Fréa's fingers moved inexorably towards the blade hanging at his side, like a moth drawn towards a golden finger of flame.

Then, as quickly as the craving had surfaced, it again dropped away; the grey mists of rage cleared and brought with it a wave of shame. A small voice of filial affection spoke quietly within his heart, and he berated himself for the harsh manner in which he'd treated his brothers in recent days.

With the grey stormclouds lifted from his mind, Fréa reached out to tousle Archim's hair and affectionately added, "So bad, Archim? Such a fierce sight? Then, let's have another look. Just as we used to slide the cupboard door open an inch or two and battle the raging wyrm that hid inside on bleak misty nights." Fréa indulgently smiled back at his brother confident that the younger man's images would prove no more substantial that those they had imagined as young lads in their beds.

The two brothers dismounted, and with the youngest in the lead, walked back towards the shadowed grove where Archim had first pointed. When they reached the trees, Archim hung back and Fréa went to the head of the group. He forged ahead, deliberately shutting his ears to the howling noises that still swirled omenously throughout the grove; his sword held out in front of him, Fréa pushed back the overhanging boughs and trampled loudly through the bracken as if daring any foe to come forward and fight.

Finally approaching the inner circle of trees, he stared down at the forest floor fascinated by the scene that was revealed there. There were no sightless eyes or leaves bespattered with blood, no horrific sense of giant trees about to strike. Only a feeling of drowsiness and the skeletal remains of two horse heads resting silently on the grass, picked as clean as if they'd laid there for thirty years or more. Fréa crouched down to get a closer look. Attached to one of the skeletons was the tattered remnent of a bridle and bit bearing a faded crest of the Knights of Rohan, the leads clearly cut short by a dagger; it was the kind of paraphernalia that draft horses wear when hitched up to pull a wagon.

Fréa instantly yanked himself up and beckoned his brothers to follow him back to the clearing where their horses awaited. The men mounted up and followed down the path, with Hama coming close behind.

It was Graitwa who broke the silence, "We have been following a chimera. Brytta has played us for a fool. They have escaped to the pass while we chase after spare horses and trees." He glared over towards Fréa, his eyes openly hostile.

Fréa met Graitwa's glance with equal dislike. "Do you blame me alone? Do neither of you have eyes in your head? Must I do all the thinking for us? But then, it has always been like that."

After that exchange there was little talking between the men as they turned their back to the trees, and galloped hard and fast towards the southwest fearful that they would be far too late to pick up the trail of the escaped prisoner.

[ July 30, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[piosenniel]

"Do you blame me alone? Do neither of you have eyes in your head? Must I do all the thinking for us? But then, it has always been like that."

Archim spit on the ground at his brother’s words. ‘Hmmph!’ he grunted to himself. ‘If you had been doing any thinking at all we wouldn’t be in this mess.’ His thoughts ran in dark spirals as he let his horse pick its way along the track.

He hung at the back, letting his brothers take the lead. One of them turned back and shook his head at him, but Archim looked away as if he hadn’t seen the glance and the sneer. He could just imagine one of them whispering something about ‘Crow’ to the other. ‘Well, just let me be the “crow”,’ he muttered to himself, reining in Kokoroch to an even slower pace. I’ll be the one left to pick over the remains of their mangled bodies when they run into Brytta and his brother, and the three that were with them.’

The thought of Brytta sent him down another dark path, and he shifted uneasily in his saddle. Brytta had outed him once as a card cheat – he would hate to think the man would somehow out him as an accomplice to murder. Archim’s left hand toyed with the daggers that hung at the left of his belt. ‘Best we bring back the escaped murderer’s body,’ he thought to himself, a cold smile on his lips, ‘and those of the foul men who helped him to escape.’

Fréa had picked up the pace, and Archim’s horse shook his mane in frustration and whinnied, wanting to move up. ‘Have it your way,’ he said, loosening the reins and letting the black horse make up the distance. Korkoroch took his place at the tail of Graitwa’s mount and settled in to the pace. Archim, his brothers for the most part ignoring his presence, fell deeper into his dark thoughts.

[Envinyatar]

Ardwulf shook the tension from his shoulders as they rode along. That had been a close call. If only they could make it to the Gap without further delays – he had hopes there would be no further problems once the had put a fair distance between them and the Riddermark. ‘And that will prove another problem altogether,’ he thought to himself as the group plodded on. ‘Once we have left familiar lands, how will we find our way to safety?’

Such thoughts occupied his mind as they made their way along the base of the eastern foothills of the White Mountains. ‘Two or three more days at the most,’ he thought, ‘and we can leave the pass behind and make for the road north in Dunland.’

He had fallen behind just a bit, and kicked his mount in the flanks, urging him forward at a faster speed. Something on the ridge to his left, to the west, caught his attention. Shading his eyes with his hand, he peered closely at it. But it disappeared, fading into the shadows of the trees that lined the sides of the ridge.

‘I wonder what that was?’ he asked himself, drawing up to the group. ‘Anyone else notice something moving?’ he said to the other riders, pointing west. ‘Up there . . . in that treeline just down from the ridge top . . .’

[Himaran]

Brytta scanned the ridge which Aldwulf was pointing to. Straining his eyes, he saw for a brief second what appeared to be a flash of movement, but the distance was too great to be sure. "Could be something, Aldwulf, but I doubt it. Maybe it was a wild horse, or a bird." The company continued without further discussion of the matter, but it was clear that Aldwulf was not convinced of the harmlessness of the creature he had spotted.

____________________________________________


After two days of hard riding, the group finally reached the Gap of Rohan. It was a glorious sight; a wide path through the tall peaks of the snow covered mountains, sparkling in the morning sun. It was a symbol to them all; one of freedom, and safety. Brytta felt an overwhealming sense of accomplishment. Heldor would soon be out of Rohan, not burried somewhere deep in the ground with a rope scar around his lifeless neck. They were nearly free, both from the Riders and physical bounderies of Rohan.

But just north of the company, a final trial was approaching. A rougue pack of wargs had left Fangorn and had torn across the West Emmet, slaying horses, livestock, and the occasional child they found playing away from its parents. But now the pack had arrived at the Gap, seeking new prey. And it had found a small group of unwary travellers; a perfect and easy target.

Below the wargs, Brytta and his company began to pass through the Gap, oblivious to the swarm that would soon be unleashed upon them.

[Envinyatar]

The feeling of being watched had made him wary. He had barely slept in the last two days, staying up late into the night to feed the camp fires they made. Light to hold back the darkness that seemed ready to press in on them. Twice in the late watches of the night, he thought he had seen a pair of yellow eyes watching from the safety of the trees. But only for a moment and then they were gone. He kept his counsel to himself, knowing the others had dismissed his infrequent sightings as surely something harmless. Now they were passing through the Gap. Perhaps his dark mood would lift when the threat of riders from the Riddermark was left behind.

Catnapping in the saddle, at the end of the line, as they plodded along, he almost missed the subtle signs his mount was giving. The horse’s ears twitched wildly. His nostrils flared and he looked about with wild, wide opened eyes. Nervous energy caused the horse to prance a little then rear up, almost throwing him to the ground.

Aldwulf came wide awake as he grabbed for a hold on the reins. Drawing his sword, his eyes flicked to the direction in which the horse pawed the air. Down from the hills, running beneath the trees, Aldwulf could see four dark grey figures bent on intercepting them. Tongues hanging red from between their great yellowed teeth. Lips curled back in ghastly grins of anticipation.

‘Wargs!’ he yelled as he reined in his mount, fighting to keep him from running wildly away . . .

[Novnarwen]

Liol felt bad about her sudden anger attack at Rochil. But somehow she didn't feel she could say sorry either. Rochil and Liol hadn't exchanged looks, but she couldn't blame him either. Her eyes had been hard and her mouth so big when she had snapped at him. Would he ever forgive her?

The atmosphere was tense when they reached the gap. Adwulf had seen movements in the woods. Liol could see he was worried, but she didn't quite know if she was herself. They would be safe now, she thought. While riding through the gap, she straightened up and paced beside Rochil.

"I am," she started. Liol grew red and pale at the same time. Oh, I should have prepeared myself, she thought. What could she say? Liol waithed and watched Rochil stirr in the ground, the same way he had done when she fooled the guard two days ago. Liol looked at him, and pitied him. He hadn't deserved it. She became angry with herself. Just the thought of her overreacting like that made her sick. "I am really.." she continued. Rochil didn't look up, he just kept staring a place where Liol couldn't reach him.

Liol's horse grew impatient and desperate. "What is it?" she said calmly trying to keep him under control. Rochil seemed finally to wake up, but he didn't say anything, and Liol was quiet too.

A cry ran through the air:"Wargs!" Both Liol and Rochil, turned to look in the direction the cry had come from. Far behind they gazed at Adwulf pointing towards some hills. "Wargs," Liol muttered watching the animals run.

[ August 02, 2003: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

Rochil was uneasy as they rode towards the gap. Something out their in the woods was watching him. He couldn’t shake the hard glares of the eyes from him. The rode towards the gap was quiet. Rochil didn’t feel like talking, for some times when he opens his mouth it comes out the wrong way. He was mad at Liol. Why she get so mad, I thought the whole husband thing was finny because I knew she didn’t have a husband, he thought angrily.

Liol rode up next to him but Rochil didn’t look up. His gaze was fixed on the ground. He didn’t listen to what she said. All of the sudden Rowan started to tremble. He looked up as a clear voice yelled wargs. He turned around to see at least four great wolves running towards them…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rochil didn’t have time to react as Rowan bolted up throwing him in the air. He landed hard on the ground, his spear two feet away. He drew his sword and stood up quickly. As he stood up a warg came charging towards Rochil, while a second went after his horse. He watched the Warg leap onto Rowan and bite his neck, killing him swiftly.

Rochil realized a warg was less than a foot away from him and as it leaped towards Rochil he stabbed the warg in the left shoulder. Rearing backwards it took a swipe at Rochil scratching his in the chest. Rochil quickly rolled over grabbed his spear and thrust it into the wargs belly.
Rochil pulled the bloody spear out of his stomach and threw it at the second warg that was tearing his horse to shreds. The warg scared ran of. Rochil retrieved his spear that now sat in the ground, and watched as the wargs that remained alive ran off in the distance.

Rochil stood and looked around. He saw the bodies of five or so wargs and five dead horses.

[ August 04, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Himaran]

Envinyatar's post

The wargs were on them before they could group together for defense. Not that it would have made a great difference anyway. Four wargs came down from beneath the trees along the western hills. The group, alerted by Aldwulf turned their attention to meet them. Swords drawn, they rushed the pack which separated and pulled back a little to their surprise.

It was Heldór who chanced to see the reason for their retreat. From the corner of his eye he caught the movement of five other grey forms swiftly approaching from the east. ‘Turn and guard the rear,’ he shouted to Aldwulf as Liol, Rochil, and Brytta faced the attack from the west.

Two wargs separated Aldwulf’s mount from Heldór’s, feinting in at the mare’s legs until she reared up at them. Her underside exposed, the nearer of the wargs launched himself at her, his great teeth sinking into her, bringing her down.

Aldwulf was thrown from his horse, and landed rolling on the ground. He had barely time to roll to his knees when the other warg was upon him. Aldwulf brought his blade up as the warg leapt, the weight of the rushing beast driving it to the hilt into his chest. The warg’s momentum threw him down upon the man, knocking him down, his still snapping jaws grazed along Aldwulf’s cheek, ripping a long gash, before the man could pull away. Leaving the beast to die, he yanked his blade from the writhing carcass and turned to see the other warg had now turned its attention from the dead horse to Brytta.

His spear lay near his horse, and he sheathed his blade and picked it up, glancing up just as he saw Brytta fall before the warg. The warg charged the downed man and Aldwulf ran quickly to the pair, sinking his spear into the warg from behind . . .

__________________________________________

Novnarwen's post

Liol hadn't the time to think. The attack from the wargs had come all of a sudden. However, Adwulf had been saying that something was troubling him, and now, they could saw what. The lady jumped off her horse when seeing it was attacked by one of the wargs. She fell on her back, feeling a pain through her spine, but Liol had no time for being hurt now. At once, she drew her sword, and held the hilt as tight as she possably could. Her hands were sweaty and she almost dropped it when making her fist effort of stabbing the warg.

From not far away, she saw Rochil and the others. Liol felt another pain, but not from her back. Deep in her heart she felt a handfull of guilt sneek up her neck and in her throat. It was almost as she couldn't breathe. What if she died, and never got the chance to say sorry? Liol shook her head. "Rochil!" she cried. "I cannot do this anymore!" she continued with a serious but desperate voice. Rochil paid attention but didn't turn around. They were both fighting for their lives and one slip; and it all would be over. Liol drew her sword, but missed. "I am really sorry Rochil. I never meant to.." The warg jumped up, but Liol escaped by an inch. "I never meant to get angry with you, and I hope it can be forgiven. I was really stupid and now..." She didn't finish her sentence. Her sword had rushed into the warg, blood and the sound of its' breathe coming to an end made Liol stop. It was over, she was alive.

[ August 05, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

The warg attack was swift and vicious, the horses being their first target. Brytta was thrown to the ground as his horse fell prey to the deadly teeth of the predator. Leaping up, he saw the others of his company fighting for their lives; outnumbered nearly two to one by the assaulting pack.

The warg which had attacked his horse was finishing it off, sinking its teeth into the flank of the noble steed. Seeing that it was distracted, Brytta unsheathed his sword and ran at it; hacking at the creature's unprotected neck. The warg's body fell away from its head; the latter still stuck to the side of Brytta's horse.

Turning away from the carnage, the man was charged at by a second warg. Brytta threw himself on the ground, rolling off to the side as the beast pounced on the place he had stood a moment before. It lunged again, but this time into the outstretched blade of Brytta's sword. The warg jumped away, reeling from the fresh wound to its shoulder.

Brytta stood, his sword pointed at the beast; fencing it away from him. Backing up slowly, the man failed to see the dead warg behind him, and fell backwards overtop of it. His sword clattered to the ground, and the warg charged; sensing the vulnerability of its prey. It managed to catch a glancing blow on Brytta's arm, but was run through the back by Aldwulf's spear.

Ignoring his wound, Brytta surveyed the battle field. The wargs were all either dead or driven off, and the stench of death covered the small stretch of the Gap. Finding his horse alive, but mortally wounded, Brytta had no choice but to take its life. There was no reason to leave it to suffer.

___________________________________________


Accept for minor injuries, the group was unharmed. But devestating to Brytta was the loss of not one, but all of the company's horses. The long, dusty and undesirable trek north would have to be done on foot. But the group tried to keep hope, and started off within the hour; knowing that if there had been a chance of their capture by the authorities before, it was doubled by the catastrophe at the Gap.

[Envinyatar]

The group reached the Fords of Isen after a good hour of traveling on foot – what would have been a short distance on horse, now became a tiring march as the companions made for the river’s crossing. They would still be in the Riddermark when they crossed the river, but once they passed the southern tip of the mountain range they would pass out of the Mark and into Dunland.


The company had bathed their injuries in the cold waters of the Isen, and dressed them as best they could. Aldwulf had been able to retrieve his pack, and now it was secured on his back, the weight of it making his steps slower. He had found a small put of unguent in his kit bag and after washing the dried and still oozing blood from the gash on his right cheek, he applied the ointment to the raw wound. He caught a brief glimpse of his face in the pool of water, noting that he would carry a scar from this encounter – it would match the other scar on his left. He smiled to himself, despite the pain and the grimness of their situation. Both scars were from battles in which he had fought alongside the Hyldeson brothers.

Another hour later, the group had cleared Dol Baran, the last southern outpost of the northern range of the Misty Mountains. Brytta called a halt, and the group sat silently on the ground, leaning on their packs. A few gulps of water, and a brief cold meal and they were on their way again.

Two days of long marches, broken only by brief rest stops brought them just beyond the range of the Misty Mountains and out into the plains of Dunland. Now they were truly out of the Riddermark. Once again, Brytta called for a small rest.

The Brown Lands stretched before them, the home of the longtime enemies of the Men of the Mark. To the north of their position was Methedras, the southernmost of the tall peaks. It was toward there that they must make their way – somewhere, just a little to the south and west of it, lay the start of the ancient North-South Road that would bring them into the western lands.

Aldwulf fingered the healing wound on his right cheek, rubbing it lightly. The wargs were behind them, and now the prospect of crossing through Dunland faced them.

‘We have traded one danger for another,’ thought Aldwulf, as he shouldered his pack after the brief rest. Warily, the tired group pushed on.

[Dain Ironfoot]

Fréa herded his brothers and Hama back onto the main track and then drove them mercilessly to reach the Pass with only a stop or two for the rest of the day. There was a good hundred miles still to cover, some of it through the twisted forest paths of Fangorn and the rest over tracks skirting south of the Misty Mountains.

When the moon was high in the sky, Fréa finally consented to make camp directly below Derngingle where the great Ents formerly held their moots. But they saw no signs of life other than a few deer or rabbits that happened across their track. That evening Fréa sat by himself on a nearby log glaring grimly at both his brothers and barking out orders to Hama to set up the campsite and prepare a meal as quickly as he could. Privately, he berated himself for having misread the horse's tracks and sending them off on a useless chase into the wilds of the Entwood. But, to the others, his face looked implacable.

When the first rays of the sun peeped over the distant horizon, Fréa roused his companions despite their grumbilng protests and ordered them back onto their horses without even stopping to cook a hot breakfast. Gnawing on a small loaf of leftover bread, he vowed to make the Gap by noon. Within two hours, the group had entered the valley of Nan Curunir. Long a bramble infested waste under the guardianship of Saruman, the land had regained its former richness with fertile green fields spread throughout the valley. But little of the surrounding countryside or the secrets it might hold registered on Fréa's mind so intent was he to reach his goal.

Despite the grumbling of his brothers, Fréa kept the men riding hard and, just as he had promised, came within sight of the Pass at lunchtime when the sun was highest in the sky. Seeing the broad path ahead of him and the great snow-capped mountains towering overhead, he brought the group to a halt and peered about in all directions hoping to see some sign of the travellers or their earlier passage. Straining his eyes for even the slightest clue while standing up tall in his stirrups, he felt his heart plummet for, no matter which direction he gazed, there was nothing unusual in sight.

He sat back down in the saddle with a grimace, cursed his ill luck, and turned around to face his brothers, "May all the crows in the world dump their refuse on Brytta's head! Curse the man! He can't just vanish. Graitwa, dismount and search the land to the north. You Archim, look to the west, and Hama to the south. I will turn back some way and scour the land just off the trail on which we've come."

"There must be some clue. Some campfire or tracks or physical remains that will give us a hint as to when they were here and the direction they're heading now."

With that, Fréa turned his horse around and went back some distance, carefully scrutinizing the ground and the surrounding fields.

[ August 06, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[piosenniel]

‘There must be some clue. Some campfire or tracks or physical remains that will give us a hint as to when they were here and the direction they are heading in,’ said his brother. ‘You, Archim, look to the West.’

Letting his horse amble along at a slow pace, Archim kept his eyes fixed on the ground, sweeping his gaze from side to side. It was a fool’s job, or so he felt. The ground, it seemed, had split open and swallowed the golden boy, Brytta, and his companions, or so he hoped. No use telling Fréa that, though. Once he had an idea stuck in his mind, he would move earth and sky to see it done.

Archim, on the other hand, would be just as happy to head back to Edoras. Heldór stood accused of murder. Were he to set foot in the Mark, he would be a dead man. Better to go back to the tavern, and sit with the pretty girls there, roll the dice, drink ale. And tell stories of their glorious pursuit and slaying of the murderer and his accomplices. Who would know? Given enough wine, he thought to himself, he could forget that it was his actions that had started the whole downward spiral of events.

His thoughts drifted on in this fashion, and he slumped in his saddle, no longer paying attention to his search. His horse slowed even further and began picking at the clumps of grass that grew on the loose soil. The reins lay loose on his neck, and his steps turned south, following a rich line of succulent grass toward the promise of a lush verge just at the edge of the low lying hills.

The rider woke from his dark reverie when his mount jerked to a nervous halt and began backing up. Taking the reins firmly in hand, Archim brought the horse round, quieting him with soft-spoken words. A short distance, in a beat down ring of tall grass lay something that the horse would not approach. Archim dismounted and, tethering the horse securely to a nearby tree branch, approached the object carefully. The air grew heavier it seemed as he drew nearer, and a horrid stench assaulted his nose. Something dead, old blood stinking under the hot sun. He could hear the thick buzzing of flies as they swarmed about it.

There, on the crushed grass, lay the mangled hindquarters of a horse. And all about it the prints of several large animals. Wolves of some sort, he thought. Possibly WArgs from the size of the paw prints. They had dragged it here from a south east direction, he could see the trail of pressed down grass their efforts had made, and see the clots of blood drying along it where they had passed. It was a somewhat fresh kill, made earlier that day – the meat left on the bones was still red and fresh looking where he dug into it with his knife.

Kokoroch shied away from him as he returned. The stench of the dead horse clung to him, making the horse nervous. Archim calmed him and mounted up, marking the location of the remains in his mind as headed back toward his brothers and Hama.

‘With any luck, the wargs will have eaten the Hyldesons and their cursed companions,’ he thought to himself, spurring his mount on. ‘And then, we can turn back, the problem solved.’

[Orofaniel]

"Graitwa, dismount and search the land to the north." His brother said to him.

Graitwa did as Frea had wished, he didn't really want to go, but arguing would be no good. They all wanted to catch Brytta, so everyone had to make an effort. He turned north to look for some sort of clue, wheather it was campfire or some sort foot prints. Right now, anything could be helpful.

He searched the ground as he went, however Graitwa soon got tired.Suddenly he saw some prints that could be from Wargs, could it be? He thought. Is there any chance that they could have been attacked or something? A short smile rounded his lips, while thinking about this.

[ August 07, 2003: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Hama shrugged. He didn’t think he’d find anything important, but orders were orders. Even if he didn’t find anything, surely someone else would.

“Let’s go looking, lovely one.” He clucked to Lluagor and rode towards the south as Frea had commanded, keeping Lluagor to a gentle walk, so he wouldn’t miss anything that might lay beside or on the path itself. After a while, the trees and bushes all started to look the same. Hama thought briefly about going back before he got lost, but the idea of the older soldiers losing their tempers at him was not pleasant. He continued on.

Then Lluagor shied and danced away from a bush surrounded by some sort of tracks. Hama was no tracker, but even he could see that they had been made by some sort of doglike animal, dragging something heavy.

“Steady, my pretty lady, steady now. There’s nothing about to be so frightened of. What scared you so? Let’s have a look now, shall we?” He continued murmuring nothings to the frightened horse, gently patting her side. She calmed slowly, but eventually stood still, panting. Hama ground-tied her, leaving her reins to dangle a safe distance from the bush that had caused her such alarm.

He parted the branches of the offending bush, and nearly became sick. A half-eaten horse’s head grinned at him from a bed of blood covered leaves. The rest of the body was mostly gnawed bones. Doglike prints the size of his hand, fingers spread, surrounded the carcass, and the tooth marks on the bones looked to belong to mouths big enough to snap his arm, easily. He stepped away, barely holding in the contents of his stomach, and went back to Lluagor. The scent of the d.ead animal did nothing to reassure her, and it took him several minutes to calm her enough to mount.

[ August 06, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[piosenniel]

The four hunters were gathered round another dead horse. Archim shook his head in disgust. 'Trust to the luck of that blighted Brytta! We have found none of their bodies.'

‘They’re on foot now,’ he continued. ‘There were only five of them, as far as we’ve pieced together from the drunken reports of the guards and the ones that Fréa himself saw in the locks.’ He stood up from where he and his companions had been looking at the last horse carcass found. ‘There are five dead horses here plus the two dead draft horses found in the forest.’

The wind from the west had picked up, blowing little clouds of dust up from the vale’s floor. Archim shaded his eyes with his hand and looked westward. Footprints in the soil would soon be erased, and if the escaping band kept near the foothills, their prints would be hard to find on the rocky ground.

‘How can we know whether they’ve gone south or north from here,’ someone asked. Archim eyed the man, a crafty look on his face. ‘Were I them, and on foot, I would want to make for the nearest settlement of Men – real Men, not these swarthy Dunlendings who pass for Men.’ He spat on the ground to emphasize his point. ‘On horse, the escapees could easily elude or fight the shepherds on these plains, but on foot, they could be easily overcome.’ He looked at Fréa. ‘Isn’t there an old road just north of here that leads up to one of the trading post towns. There’s a ford there. The road would make it quick traveling for them. That’s where I’d go.’

Archim whistled for his horse, and mounted up. ‘We should easily catch up with them there.’ He waited for Fréa to give the signal for them to be off. He had had enough of stinking flesh and gore, and he wanted to put distance between himself and any wargs still hunting in these hills.

[ August 07, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

After two long, hot days of walking, Brytta's company had reached the heart of Dunland. The land was flat and open, a deserted plain without a tree in sight. Brytta was uncomfortable with the situation, knowing that it would be nearly impossible to hide if the need came.

Scanning the area ahead, Brytta spotted a faint cloud of dust. He could not pick out any movement, but the dust was spreading and heading toward the company. "Brytta, look ahead - what is that?"

"I see it, Aldwulf, I see it!" The frustration in Brytta's voice was evident, for if he did not know what the cloud was, the man had an excellent guess: Dunlanders.

Looking around him franticly, Brytta spotted a ditch about twenty yards from the road. "Everyone, follow me, quickly!" The group dashed over to it, diving into it after Brytta. By now the entire company had realized what was heading towards them; a column of Dunlanders, some of whom were on horseback.

The company scrunched down against the edge of the ditch facing the rode, as Brytta peaked over the edge. Sure enough, a group of nearly twenty Dunlanders was moving down the road, passing their current position. When it had passed the group let out one long sigh of relief.

"Well," Brytta said, "since we know that there are Dunlanders nearby, I propose to stay off of the road and follow along beside it, at least this far ahead of it." The others in his group agreed, and they set out once more.

But as the old South road neared Eregion, it began to curve to the west. Not being familier with the shape of the road, Brytta's company continued due north, eventually reaching the banks of a tributary of the Greyflood River, there was naught but a forest to the west of them. The Old South Road was gone.

[elven maiden Earwen]

After two days of walking Rochil was exhausted. It was a very hot day and without the two horses it made traveling quite hard.

"Everyone, follow me, quickly!" Brytta said snapping Rochil out of his thoughts. He followed Brytta into the ditch that he led them two. After a couple moments a large group of Dunlanders passed by and kicked up a cloud of dust. That’s why we left the rode Rochil thought.

Now it was time for traveling again. They were following beside the rode, as they knew that Dunlanders were nearby. And its better this way, Rochil thought. He didn’t want to have an encounter with the Mark’s oldest enemies.

[ August 13, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Novnarwen]

Liol couldn't believe this. Their horses were dead, and now the Dunlendings. She was horrified by the thought of walking, and none knew for how long. When the 6th day of walking arrived, Liol was tired. A good night sleep would do well, she thought. But there was no time.

It was still tense between Rochil and her. She didn't want him to think she was so sorry she couldn't live without his acceptance for the appologize. She hurried over to Adwulf trying to start a conversation. All for the boredness, she thought. Not that he was boring of course, she assured herself.

"How are you?" she asked. "Tired?" she added. Liol knew she was, she just didn't want anyone to know if there wasn't anyone else who felt the same way.

Awdulf looked at her, giving a short laugh before he answered: "Nope, you?" Liol sighed, giving him a disappointed look. "Of course I'm not tired," she said catching up with her two cousins in the front.

The woman walked between them, trying not to get them believe she was 'up' to something. If they figured she was unhappy they would just laugh at her, especially if she was tired. Liol knew they didn't laugh to be rude, they were just not very used to having a woman around. And she was definitely not used to just be around men either. Men were supposed to be so rough, trying to be the best, the smartest, the most valiant, and so on, Liol thought while trying to seem vigorious.

"How far?" she asked. Brytta didn't get the chance to answer before Liol was there again. "So, none of my two cousins are tired?" she asked. They both giggled, and said no, almost at the same time. "You?" Heldor asked. The woman tried to hide what she felt by this question, and tried to seem surprised. "No," she lied. "Why do you ask?" she said. "Do I look tired?" she burst out. She grew red. 'You look tired' wasn't the best thing a woman could hear. "You asked us first," Brytta assured her, meanwhile Liol figuring out that herself. She laughed trying yo pull herself together. "I could walk for days," she added after their short laugh. "I could you know!" On this very day, Liol had 'lied' enough for a whole week.

[ August 09, 2003: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[Envinyatar]

They had been on foot for ten days now. The stream they had come to was a narrow one, and as soon as they saw it, they knew they were lost. ‘The Greyflood is a wide, deep river – like the Anduin. This is a mere slip of a stream, and shallow. Somehow we have taken a wrong turning.’ Aldwulf voiced his observations in a weary voice.

Brytta had called a rest to get their bearings, and Aldwulf had slumped down on the ground, leaning against his pack. He plucked a stalk of dried grass from a clump near him and chewed on the end of it. The day was waning, and a brisk wind was picking up. He drew his cloak closer about him and surveyed the rest of the group. They were all tired, their faces drawn with the pace they had pushed themselves to.

‘What say we camp here, beneath the trees tonight? They’ll give us some shelter from the wind, and we can gather firewood for warmth and a hot meal. There’s a stream nearby for water, and if we hurry we can catch the evening rise of trout.’

He grinned at Heldór, his tired eyes suddenly filled with new life. ‘You cut us some lengths of saplings and I’ll get out my thin cord. We’ll fish for our dinner like we did when we were boys.’ He searched in his pack for his roll of cord. ‘Who wants to join us?’

[Himaran]

Aldwulf's idea had been a sound one. The group altogether had caught nine fresh trout, enough for an excellent meal. But upon returning to the camp, it was realized that no firewood had been gathered.


"Leave the trout here; we will all go," said Brytta. "I doubt if anyone in these parts will suddenly pop up out of nowhere and defile our camp." And so the party left, taking with them an axe and several knives. Sticking together, they searched the area to the east for dead logs and other dry wood; completely unaware of the dark stranger that had entered their camp.

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan watched the small party with a lazy disinterest. He had first become aware of their movements a few days prior, a raggedy worn-out looking group of travelers. Judging by their appearance they had had one if not more run-ins with adversaries. The howling of Wargs could be heard for miles and the weathered man was prepared to bet his cloak on the wolf-like creatures having something to do with the party's misfortune. He had tracked the prints of a large pack for several days until it led out of his area and towards the Gap of Rohan. One thing was evident about this disheveled band - they had little sense of their direction or bearings.

He shifted from his high perch in a pine tree, attempting to regenerate some circulation in his feet. Trees made for uncomfortable seating but Awyrgan had learned their value in surveillance long ago. He weighed his options silently. He could totally ignore the travelers, but that went against all the Ranger principles he had ever been instructed in. He could continue to track them at a distance, but for all he knew he could end up following a lost group of strangers in a never-ending loop throughout Hollin. The only real option available was to make his presence known to the group and go from there. The man gave an involuntary grimace. He seldom tolerated the company of fellow Rangers, and these were total strangers.

The group was traveling closer to his location and he took a closer look. They were all Men, albeit one appeared to be a woman; an unusual addition to the already strange puzzle playing out in front of him. He could only assume that their intentions were noble; they appeared to be people of Rohan, which was preferable to Dunlanders. Still, the Rohirrim seldom traveled outside of their lands in such small numbers - if at all.

The company halted a few feet from the tree the Ranger was occupying. The majority slumped down on the soft terrain amongst collective groaning. One man seemed to be scanning all possible locations for something that could tell him where he was and were the group needed to go. Awyrgan froze as the man’s gaze swept back and forth across the tree several times before dropping back down to the ground.

One of the men proposed they halt for the night. Awyrgan nodded in silent approval at the man’s accurate assumption that the nearby stream was an ideal fishing location. Most of the party disappeared into the wood line towards the stream, cut saplings and cord in hand. Others wandered off to scout out the site.

When they returned Awyrgan had shifted his location to a tree that gave him a better view of their camp. The hunger evident in their eyes gave speed to their movements and soon all of the fish had been cleaned and were ready for cooking. However, as they began preparations for a fire they discovered what was obvious to the man high above. In their excitement of the catch none of them had gathered any fuel for a fire. He watched as they spread out in pairs a second time, tools in hand.

He sighed. Mind as well get it over with. He waited until he could no longer see or hear the movements of the strangers, then made sure that his rope was secure. Rapping the other end around his arm and waist he said a quick prayer and then ran headfirst down the truck. Reaching the relative safety of the ground he coiled the rope and placed it inside his cloak. Glancing around he noticed a number of small branches spread out across the ground that the group had either ignored or missed.

Gathering a decent cluster of sticks he set about making a fire. He was no dwarf, but soon he had sparks and then flame. He sat cross-legged on the ground in front of it, clearing the surrounding ground and feeding it slowly. Spitting a piece of the fish on a stick he held it over the dancing flames, turning it every few seconds. Soon, the smell began to rise and the man realized with some surprise that he had not eaten in several days.

Soon, as he had anticipated, the sound of footsteps began approaching through the woods from behind him. He remained seated with his cloak hiding most of his features, but checked to make sure that his knives were well loosened in their sheaths. He doubted an encounter with the strangers would lead to blows, but food could work in strange ways on hungry men.

The footsteps stopped as they reached the edge of the site clearing but no one spoke. The Ranger sat eating quietly in front of the fire as two of the men walked slowly around in front of him. He glanced up at them but in the dusk his cloak hid most of his face and only his eyes glowed green in the firelight. They stared at him, surprise outnumbered only by distrust.

He spoke first, waiting for their response. “Well met.”

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

[Dain Ironfoot]

Fréa shifted uneasily in his saddle. They had been on the trail almost two days cantering steadily northward in the direction of the Old South Road. Once they reached that junction, the road should lead them clearly and quickly to Tharbad.

With all their horses killed by the wargs, Brytta's men would have little option but to head straight towards the nearest mannish settlement and try to bargain for some additional mounts. That had seemed evident when they'd sighted the bloodied remains of the steeds. Fréa had headed back and even discovered the mutilated body of a warg or two that confirmed all their suspicions.

Tharbad wasn't a large settlement. Near the end of the Third Age, the city had been destroyed by floods and was only now, after endless years, finally beginning to recover and blossom again. But it was the only mannish settlement in the area, and had a fine marketplace where horses were regularly bought and sold. Brytta would have no choice but to plod along on foot as quickly as he could.

Initially, Fréa had rejoiced to see what had happened to Brytta's men; he had hoped it might be easy for them to overtake the Hildesons and their friends in a relatively short time. Then Haldor and his brother could be captured and returned to Edoras, or more likely slain under cover of whatever scuffle would result.

But what had looked extremely easy on the day they crossed through the Pass was now becoming increasingly difficult. Fréa's spirits plunged as the foothills led on and on with no sign of any other travellers, and no hint of the mysterious, hidden roadway that always seemed to be around the next bend but never came in view. Fréa kept taking the small map out of his pocket and peering down at it to see if he had only imagined that there should actually be a road here.

Worst of all, real game seemed to be scarce. They crossed paths with a coney or two, but had no luck finding anything more satisfying such as a deer, a wild boar, or even a brace of geese.

A scowl passed over Fréa's face as he heard his stomach growl. Curse that Hama for being so stingy with the supplies he'd bought in the markets of Edoras! They did have several days of provisions left, but it was miserable stuff that no self-respecting warrior would deign to eat--salt pork and hard bread that had definitely seen better days. What kind of provisions had this idiot of a lad brought? Moreover, they'd quaffed down the last of their sour ale and were even lucky to find a stream to fill their water jugs and slake their thirst.

It was near evening on the second day that Archim finally pointed out the last peak of Methedras just ahead of them; not far away and slightly to the west should be the point where the Old South Road began. At Graitwa's suggestion, the group agreed to settle here for the night and link up with the road early the next morning at the first hint of dawn.

Fréa barked out orders to set up camp and ordered Hama to go find some fresh game, telling the lad not to come back to camp until he had managed to do so, even if it took him all night. "Maybe you can live on salted pork, but my brothers and I are used to better. See that you bring us something decent to eat!"

With that Fréa stretched out on the ground and slammed his helmet onto his head so that he could block out the incessent grumbles of Archim and Graitwa who were continuously moaning about the situation that their ambitious brother had put them in. For an instant, Fréa was tempted to stand up and challenge them but then thought better of it, and left them to their endless complaints, lying down in the cool shade to take a little nap before dinner.

[ August 10, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[Envinyatar]

Aldwulf held back as soon as they spotted the light of the fire through the trees. ‘Those guardsmen have followed us!’ he thought to himself. Heldór was a few steps in front of him, and Aldwulf put a restraining hand on his shoulder, halting him. ‘Stay back!’ he hissed to him, drawing him down behind a thick bush. Keep hidden while we sort this out.’

The four companions moved forward into the flickering firelight. Brytta and Rochil advanced into the light to take a hard look at the man. Liol and Aldwulf hung back in the shadows, also taking his measure.

‘Well met,’ he heard the stranger say.

‘So you say,’ said Aldwulf, stepping up for a closer look at the well cloaked man, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his blade. ‘And who might it be that we are so well met by? Have you a name that we might know you by? And how come you to be sitting so comfortably in our camp, cooking our just caught fish?’

[piosenniel]

Hama dragged in late that night, empty handed as far as Archim could tell. A light sleeper made even lighter by his grumbling, empty stomach, he sat up on his bedroll at the guard’s return. Strain his eyes as he might, he could see no great haunch of some delectable meaty thing hanging over the back of the horse, nor could he see where Hama might have pulled his kill into camp behind him with a rope.

He watched as Hama dropped quietly down to his bedroll near him, then he hissed at him in a contemptuous tone. ‘It’s no wonder Heldór escaped so easily with the likes of you set to watch over him!’ He dropped back down onto his own bedroll in disgust. Hama’s patience had worn thin and he barked back a few comments of his own, prompting another volley from Archim.

‘Shut yer beak, Crow!’ came the snapped command from where Fréa lay. Archim’s bad mood escalated out of control with this remark, and he waded in to tell his brother just what he thought of his hare-brained scheme. By this time Graitwa had woken up, and joined in with his comments . . .

[Orofaniel]

'Shut yer beak, Crow!’ It was an angry voice that was speaking, or some would say yelling. Fréa seemed very irritated. Archim’s was already very grumpy, and that comment didn't really help. He walked over to Fréa, his temper was rising, and everyone could see that.

Graitwa woke by a hissing voice, it was Archim. He was talking in a very loud and aggressive voice to Fréa. Fréa didn't like being talked to like that, so he answered back.

"What do you think you're doing, Crow?" Fréa asked his brother much more irretated than before.

"What I am doing??!!" Archim yelled at him angrily and he seemed very surprised over the question.

It was here, that Graitwa interfered. "Would someone tell what is going on here??!!” He asked in a loud voice. When the two brothers went silent for a moment, just starring at their older brother, Graitwa continued:"I demand to know!!" His temper was now rising as well.

"It's none of your business, brother." Fréa said stern.

"YES! It's sure is my business!" Graitwa snapped, while walking towards Fréa. "I will not have it! I will not tolerate it!" Graitwa continued. I will not tolerate to be talked to like that," he said staring at Fréa.

The two younger brothers were still silent. Hama didn't bother to interfere.

"I'm warning you two," Graitwa said after a moment with silence. "One more time......and I'll walk away. I'll drop the whole thing, and you'll have to deal with this problem alone." he continued, to Achim and Fréa's surprise. They looked shocked, and the both looked at each other, exchanging looks. "Now I have warned you," Graitwa said in the end.

Suddenly Hama said something. "I have a small suggestion," he said in a low voice, while pointing his finger in the air. "Let's just go to bed, and not speak another word, until the morning comes." He said, looking at Graitwa. His eyes rolled over to Fréa and Archim.

They all nodded, and did as Hama had suggested.

[ August 10, 2003: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

What in all of Rohan had that argument been about last night? Hama wondered. Some sort of problem, some kind of trouble. They certainly didn’t act like the brave heroes of the Mark that he’d grown up worshiping, like his namesake, Hama of Helm’s Deep, and Eomer, and Theoden King. They acted more like the petty criminals that he’d guarded in Edoras.

He shook his head as he saddled Lluagor. That was silly—wasn’t it? There was no reason for them to be suspect of anything worse than losing their tempers, and if people started to get arrested for that—well, Hama wouldn’t be one of the guards, he’d be one of the prisoners. He was sorry that he hadn’t managed to find anything last night; they weren’t the only ones who hated salt pork, after all. But what right did it give Archim to call him incompetent!? He was a soldier, not a huntsman. There was no reason for him to know how to do this sort of thing. Stupid man. Still, he probably shouldn’t have blown up at him…oh, who cared? They wouldn’t be stuck with each other again if Hama had anything to say about it. He might even resign his commission to get away if all the older soldiers were like the Forgoils.

He tugged Lluagor’s girth a bit tighter than he perhaps should have.

****

“I’m starving here,” groaned Archim, with a sharp glance at Hama, who hunched his shoulders and tried to look submissive. None of the older men had allowed him to forget coming back with nothing the previous evening, but Archim seemed to have a special grudge. Since they started that morning, it seemed that every other remark that the man made was either a slur on Hama’s nonexistent hunting prowess or a complaint about the lack of food. Hama was having a difficult time keeping his temper in check and several times had started to tell the man what he thought.

Only there were three of them, and only one of him. If the brothers, however poorly they got along, decided to step in to defend their younger brother, he would have a serious problem on his hands. Besides, there was something that told him he would probably not survive if he really made them angry.

What was he thinking? They were men of Rohan, how could he attribute such actions to them? But then, there was the reason for this predicament to stand against that line of reasoning. If a hero of Helm’s Deep could commit mur.der, then what would really stop them from getting rid of him if they really wanted to?

Hama was shaken out of this melancholy line of thought by Graitwa, who’d been scouting on ahead.

“Tharbad is just over the next hill!”

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

[elven maiden Earwen]

The small company slowly drew near there camp. From the shadows they saw a man sitting on the ground. It too Rochil a couple of minutes to realize what he was doing. He’s eating our fish! Brytta and Rochil stepped warily into the light. He turned around and saw that Aldwulf and Liol stayed back in the shadows of the trees.

The stranger looked up at the two men. Neither Brytta, nor Rochil spoke as they stared at this man in front of them.

“Well met,” the man said, in a clear voice. Rochil stood still thinking of a good response but Aldwulf thought of one first.

“So you say” Aldwulf replied stepping into the light, “And who might it be that we are so well met by? Have you a name that we might know you by? And how come you to be sitting so comfortably in our camp, cooking our just caught fish?”

Rochil couldn’t help but smiling. Here was a small band of weary travels that stood with a stranger that was sitting, eating their fish, and the asked him who he was. Rochil inched forward a little bit to get a better look at the man. He couldn’t see much of him, as a weather-beaten cloak covered many of his features. His clothes were of dark colors and just as weather-beaten as his cloak. As Rochil looked upon the man he realized something. He was a ranger!

Rochil couldn’t believe how stupid he was being. He should have been able to take one look at the man and tell by his clothing that he was a ranger. As the man moved slightly, Rochil caught a sight of jet-black hair and keen green eyes. Rochil stepped closer to the man waiting for a response to Aldwulf’s question.

[ August 14, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Carrûn]

..."And who might it be that we are so well met by? Have you a name that we might know you by? And how come you to be sitting so comfortably in our camp, cooking our just caught fish?"

Awyrgan gave a dark chuckle. "Ah, riddles my friend. Who is more free - a rich man's pet bird in a cage or the servant who must carry it?" The men gave him a strange look and he laughed, cursing softly. He continued in a dark tone. "If you need a name, you may call me Awyrgan. It it not pleasant on the tounge but neither am I."

He straighted up where he sat, letting his hood fall back as he did so. "As to you other question - you could best answer it yourself. What are five travellers doing wandering about in the wilderness." They stiffened slightly at his words, confirming what his own eyes had told him earlier. He grinned. "It is said trees have eyes - a traveller should pay heed."

"As to your fish..." he turned towards the nearest man still carrying several logs under his arm. "Here is a fire." He gestured towards a small patch of plants on the edge of the clearing. "And those will add flavor."

He stood slowly running a hand tiredly through his hair. "I have seen many strange things in my travels, but certainly I am not the only one in these woods with a name?"

[ August 14, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Himaran]

Upon recovering from his surprise at finding this mysterious man sitting calmly in their camp, Brytta's immediate feeling was one of distrust. The man knew little of the Rangers, and in his opinion anyone connected to a King, whether of Gondor or Rohan, was a threat and a possible enemy. Either way, Brytta had no intention of revealing much about his party to the man aside from their names; let alone the purpose of their journey.

"I have seen many strange things in my travels, but certainly I am not the only one in these woods with a name?"

"Forgive our impolite manner, but we five travellers are hungry, tired and were not in any way expecting to have a visitor at our camp. I am Brytta. As for our business in this dark forest, I will be flat. We are lost. I and my friends were travelling north, and at some point left the Old South Road by accident. And so, we have made a camp, and now an aquaintance." The the others introduced themselves, but mentioned nothing about being related or having come from Rohan; and Awyrgan did not question them further.

The "invited" man shared the fish with the group, and the herbs which he had mentioned earlier added a delicious flavor to the meal. Having eaten thier fill, the group relaxed around the fire, the night soon becoming alive with the sounds of crickets and frogs from the stream.

[ August 18, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[piosenniel]

Archim sat hunched on his horse, miserable under the prickly heat of the noon time sun. ‘Just over the next hill,’ he muttered to himself, taking the tail position in the group. ‘Never mind the next hill is a good fifteen miles away, and who knows how far over it Tharbad is.’

He reached up to the back of his neck and picked at a boil that was festering there. No place and no time to wash up over the past week, and now he was beginning to feel a bit itchy. His mount looked back at him as if it had read his thoughts, and gave a great snort. ‘Yeah – well you smell none too fresh yourself, Master Horse!’

It was well into evening before they reached the small town of Tharbad. A trading post mostly with a small Inn on the north side of the river, and a few scattered farms. The Inn was a welcome sight to the weary group.

Thoughts of ale and a hot cooked meal drifted through Archim’s thoughts. Looking hopefully at Fréa who had already dismounted, he broached the subject of spending the night – the idea of a soft bed and a real pillow beckoned him to dismount himself and follow his brother into the Inn. Fréa it seemed chose to ignore the query and went straight to the Innkeeper who stood behind the bar eyeing the duty travelers as they came in.

Archim sat at a table and beckoned for the serving girl to take his order. Graitwa and Hama had by this time come in and made their way to the table and ordered pints for themselves. A few moments later, Fréa came stomping back toward the group, his face set in a scowl. Throwing himself down angrily onto the fourth chair he told them there had been no other men from Rohan through here recently, no men looking to buy horses. He was at a loss as to what to do now, and his mood darkened with each silent minute that ticked by.

It was Archim, finally, who broke the silence. ‘Well, I know what I want to do, brothers,’ he said expansively after his second ale, nodding at Hama inclusively. ‘I say we spend the night at this fair establishment – eat well, drink well, rest well. Then make out decision tomorrow.’ He looked round at the group. ‘Come on. What do you say! Dinner and drinks on me!’ He fished in the waistband of his breeches and pulled out his pouch of coins and plunked it on the table. It jingled promisingly, and he thought he saw an approving nod from Hama.

Archim raised his hand and waved the serving girl once more to his side. ‘A pitcher of ale . . . no, make it two . . . and a pint glass for my brother there,’ he said, pointing at Fréa. ‘We’ve got some plans to make . . . and by my reckoning it will be thirsty work . . .’ He winked at her and flipped her a coin as she flashed him her saucy smile.

[ August 15, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

Fréa glanced back at Archim as he heard his brother carrying on to the others about the joys of ale and a soft bed. He grudgingly sat down at the table and raised up the pint that the serving maid had set down there. As far as he was concerned, an evening spent on quaffing ale and eyeballing wenches was just a few hours lost from the need to find Brytta as quickly as they could.

Still, they had to find somewhere to sleep for the night and, more importantly, he could do some talking with the locals to see if they could provide any clue as to the whereabouts of the missing travelers. He shot a friendly glance at Archim and grinned, "Alright, for tonight you call the shots. Just make sure you don't drink yourself under the table! We have to be leaving right after sunrise, and I don't want anyone lying in bed and groaning about how their head hurts. So enjoy yourself, but take it easy."

With that, Fréa turned away to go talk to some of the villagers who were just wandering in after their day's work, while Archim and the others began scavanging the Inn in search of gaming and entertainment.

[ August 17, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Orofaniel]

Graitwa glanced over at the others. Fréa had gone over to some of the villagers and was now in a conversation with them. Graitwa however just wanted some pints with and some good food. Archim took up a pack with playing cards, and went over to some others to see if they wanted to play.

Graitwa and Hama seated at another table, waiting to order.

It took only ten minutes before they got their food, and they dug in. Graitwa was very hungry so he and Hama didn't talk much. Fréa was still sitting in the bar, glancing over at them now and then.

[ August 18, 2003: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[piosenniel]

I call the shots! ‘Bout time that happened! Archim’s eyes glinted in the yellowed light cast from the Inn’s lanterns. He rubbed his hands together and grinned broadly at Hama and Graitwa. They both looked askance at him, hoping there would be no trouble.

As if they had spoken aloud, he produced a worn pack of cards from his inner vest pocket, and shuffled them with a practiced hand. Fréa, talking to someone at the bar, glared his way when the riffling of the cards drew his attention.

Archim ignored his brother’s look, and feeling in an expansive mood, clapped Graitwa and the very surprised Hama on the shoulder. ‘There’s a nice sized table over there,’ he said motioning with his chin to a fair-sized round table at the back of the Common Room. He stood up and motioned for the serving girl. ‘Drinks on the house, from my companions and myself,’ he said, smiling and waving his hand to take in the patrons in the room. There were shouts of approval, and many glances fell his way. Once he was sure of his audience, Archim held up his pack of cards and pointed toward the round table.

‘A friendly game of chance, perhaps, good sirs,’ he said invitingly. ‘Something to occupy our minds and hands while the Inn’s good ale occupies our bellies!’

Several patrons stood and followed Archim as he made his way back to the table. Graitwa and Hama looking at one another, shook their heads. Fréa concerned that their stay here might be marked by something disagreeable came up to the table they still sat at and hissed at them in a low voice. ‘Best you two get back there and keep an eye on him. It would be all we needed to have some trouble start up over his card shenanigans, and us get thrown in the locks for it.’

Grudgingly, the two got up and trailed after Archim, who now sat with several new ‘friends’, explaining a mile a minute the beauty of a card game he learned in Rohan. And all the while his hands, in a mesmerizingly fluid motion, shuffled and reshuffled the cards . . . like a snake . . . drawing his willing victims in . . .

[Envinyatar]

"Ah, riddles my friend. Who is more free - a rich man's pet bird in a cage or the servant who must carry it?"

Who is this trickster? thought Aldwulf, eyeing the man who stood so at ease in their little camp. Heldór had come forward at his brother’s urging, and Aldwulf took his place at his side. Should the man come after his friend, he would have to deal first with him.

Before the man could speak, Aldwulf broke in. ‘Awyrgan, you say. I have not heard that name before.’ He paused, looking closely at the dark haired man in his dark, weathered clothes. For all his fair words, he seemed shadowed somehow. And Aldwulf could not tell the source of it. He wondered for a moment if this were some tracker hired by the Forgoils to find them and trick them somehow into coming back with him, or at least getting near enough to some place where they might be captured by a larger group. ‘And probably killed’ he muttered to himself. He cleared his mind of his jumbled thoughts and went on.

‘Tell me, if you will, are you one of those Rangers we hear of and never see. What business brings you to this section of forest? As Brytta said, we are lost. But you, it appears are not. Are you here by chance, and will you aid us. Or do you seek to hinder us?’

The man shifted his stance and looked at Aldwulf and at Heldór who stood to his right, just slightly behind him . . .

Neither is free in a sense thought Aldwulf, his thoughts going back to the man’s riddle. He kept his wary gaze on Awyrgan. Yet each in his own way is king of his little realm . . .

[Novnarwen]

She watched the new man, sitting there, as he was one of them. Liol halfway hid herself behind Rochil who was silent, and it looked as he was going to stay that way. Both Brytta and especially Adwulf asked the newcomer questions. Liol didn't dare come forwards. Her first impression was; they were caught and there was no way out. But somehow, the impression had slightly changed after a couple of moments had passed. A ranger, she thought. His way of dressing and his hair; all sweaty. She bent over to get an even better view, and Rochil standing before her, turned around and watched her move ness. She gave him two innocent eyes, telling him to stand still. The man nodded, but then slid away. And there she stood, a tiny lady having no power at all over her appearing redness in her face. Oh, this is so embarrassing she thought. She grew redder while thinking of herself being scared at first and now she stood before this Awyrgan.

However, the stranger didn't seem to notice the tiny lady, he was talking to her cousin about his doings.

"Tell me, if you will, are you one of those Rangers we hear of and never see. What business brings you to this section of forest? As Brytta said, we are lost. But you, it appears are not. Are you here by chance, and will you aid us. Or do you seek to hinder us?" she heard Adwulf ask, while Liol taking a step backwards, giving Rochil a stare.

No way was this over yet, Liol thought. She had asked him to forgive her, but that was obviously not enough. But something in her mind warned her against a 'war' between them. What if he hadn't meant it? Liol took a deep breath; it was helping her not to have an oral attack at her friend again. Rochil didn't notice her intense eyes, lightened with fire. It seemed to her that he as too busy catching up with the conversation going on. Liol stood in the background, thinking very hard. Who was this man, and why was Rochil acting like that? Was he doing it on purpose? Liol grinned, taking her eyes away from the group, wishing she was somewhere else..

[ August 18, 2003: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[Carrûn]

‘Tell me, if you will, are you one of those Rangers we hear of and never see. What business brings you to this section of forest? As Brytta said, we are lost. But you, it appears are not. Are you here by chance, and will you aid us. Or do you seek to hinder us?’

Awyrgan shifted slightly where he sat crosslegged. "A blind squirrel could see that you are lost. I am not - and chance is a strange word. I am here because I choose to be, but I did not choose to follow you. I roam these parts, and they are like my home. Strangers in a house are to be followed." He paused, glancing up at the sole female member of the party who was turning a crimson red for one reason or another and chuckled. "Lady I won't eat you, sit down." Turning back to the other he continued, cracking his neck as he did so.

"I will not hinder you, so long as you prove no threat to the ground I tread upon. I care not for your business, but I will lead you whither you wish until I am beyond where I choose to go."

He poked a stick through the last of the remaining fish, and turned it slowly over the dying embers of the fire. "After all, 'tis the least I can do for a fine supper."

"So what will it be - I will guide you until you are back on your path, but you will travel where and how I tell you. If not, I will be gone by morning and you will be off on your merry way again."

"As to whether or not I am a Ranger..." he shrugged, "in a manner of ways yes."

[ August 18, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Envinyatar]

Fair enough thought Aldwulf to himself. ‘Then I take back my harsh words, sir,’ he said. We are in need of a guide, and you will provide us with your expertise. We cannot ask for more.’

He picked up the water-skins and made his way back to the river to refill them for the night, taking the extra ones so that they might be ready to leave in the morning. The others were seated on logs about the small fire when he returned, talking among themselves. After he stowed the skins,he picked up a crisped fish leaning in on a stick near the flames, and looked about for a place to sit.

Aldwulf leaned his pack against a tree, and himself against it, stretching his long legs out before him. The fish was tasty, and felt good in a belly shrunk by rationed foods. He took a long pull on the water-skin to finish up.

Sounds of the oncoming night were all about them, soon to be fading he knew into a hush. The little fire crackled merrily, and he fished in his pack for his pipe and pouch of pipeweed.

[elven maiden Earwen]

Rochil sat leaning up against a tree. The fish was wonderful, and he was happy to have a decent meal. It was something their company hadn’t had in awhile. He remembered Awyrgan’s words to Liol, and laughed softly to himself. He knew she probably shouldn’t have moved but it was just a little joke he thought. They ate and then they all went to bed. The next day they would start up early and Awyrgan would lead them back on their path.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The next morning Rochil woke to the smell of bacon cooking. He stretched and yawned. The morning sun shone down. Rochil started to prepare for the days journey before heading off to breakfast. After there breakfast Rochil headed back to his pack. Soon Rochil was finished. He put on his belt and put his sword in his sheath. There, I’m already now.

[ August 21, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Himaran]

"Thank you, Awyrgan, for your offer of help; which we will accept graciously. However, we are far from the lands which we seek, and it may take several weeks of travelling." Brytta pulled a map out from his bag and showed it to Awyrgan. He took a pencil and made a scratch in the North Downs, north of Bree.

"This is where we are heading for. As you can see, the Old South Road will take us directly past Bree, and north to our long awaited destination."

Awyrgan scanned the map quickly. "I may be able to take as much as a week off of your journey. I will work out a route tonight, but I doubt if it will be necessary for us to go to the road in question at all."

With the conversation over, Brytta tossed several logs on the fire and stroked it gently. Aldwulf disappeared with the water skins, presumably to fill them from the nearby stream. The group then retired, each with their own worries about the next day.

As he rolled over on the uncomfortable ground, Brytta could not help but ponder the mysterious man's offer. For all he knew, they had been found by an undercover Rohanian scout and would be led straight into an ambush. Or, more likely, the man would simply turn them in; recieving a sizeable reward. But despite his doubts, Brytta felt a genuine trust for the man; and after all, they were bound to be caught if they did not move. The man decided to leave the thinking for the morning, and soon drifted off into a troubled sleep.
____________________________________________

The next morning was hot, the sun rising quickly to fill the sky with its splendor. Awyrgan was the first awake, and the smell of fried bacon soon filled the camp. The others rose quickly, and after the short breakfast began to prepare for their journey.

It took less than a quarter of an hour for Brytta's party to finish packing. Each hoisted a heavy pack, and they began to follow Awyrgan through the wilderness. The man seemed right at home, as if the brush and scrub before him was a clear path. Moreover, the pace he set was somewhat blistering.

Awyrgan had turned to Brytta earlier as they travelled, speaking quietly. "I wanted to get an early start. Soon we'll stop and I'll show your our route." He did not say why he moved them out out as rapidly as he had.

[ August 24, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[piosenniel]

It was late and most of the patrons had gone home, or to their rooms. Archim sat at the back table with 3 men from the Inn and Graitwa, while Fréa and Hama, yawning mightily sat at a nearby table blearily trying to keep track of Archim’s patter and his cards.

He was having a so called run of luck with them it seemed, but not so much to arouse the suspicions of the men playing with him. He would win a hand then lose a couple then win again – a pattern that repeated itself in a non-predictable manner. Fréa however knew that he was cheating, and he was hoping that soon his brother would call it quits and they could retire safely to their own beds.

This, however, was not to happen. Too many pints and too many hands lost raised the temper of one of the men, and he stood up quickly, his knife drawn and pointed at Archim. His slurring words accused the youngest Forgoil of all sorts of chicanery and he grabbed the edge of the heavy table and upended it.

Archim was on his feet in a blink, his own knives drawn, his eyes on the drunk man who stood just a few feet from him. The Innkeeper grabbed his stout stick from behind the bar and rushed to restrain the local man, while Fréa went quickly to Archim and spoke quietly to him, his hands on his brother’s arms. Hama and Graitwa stood ready to defend their companion, though Graitwa glared at Archim with undisguised contempt.

A brief while later found them out on the path leading from the Inn, their packs secured to their mounts once more. The pot of money had been equally divided among the card players and the Forgoils and Hama had been invited to leave the Inn with a strong suggestion by the Innkeeper that they leave Tharbad altogether.

_________________________________________________

Six days later found them just on outskirts of Bree, and with an hour more in the saddle they found themselves entering the South Gate and making for the Prancing Pony. Dusty and saddle sore, Archim dismounted with a grateful sigh, his eyes lighting up at the swinging sign bearing the logo of the Inn’s name.

His foot was on the bottom step of the Inn’s porch, when Fréa’s grip on his arm detained him. ‘Need something, brother?’ asked Archim as the other two companions traipsed by them and into the Inn. Fréa’s grip tightened on his brother’s arm and he held out his hand expectantly.

‘The cards, brother. Give them to me. All the cards . . .’

[ August 19, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Hama entered the Prancing Pony, thoroughly relieved to be back in an Inn after that idiot Archim’s performance at the last one. Hama had been hard-pressed to keep his temper in check after that little bit of foolery. And Archim had just been starting to seem like an all right fellow, but after his card shenanigan, Hama just couldn’t like the man. Not after losing a night’s rest in a real bed because of him. The Inn at Bree was much better than the wild lands between here and Rohan. There were beds, ale, and seats that didn’t move. As far as Hama was concerned, even heaven couldn’t get any better than this.

It had been just their luck that one of the men that Archim had been fleecing back in Tharbad hadn’t been as drunk as the youngest Forgoil had thought. He’d been utterly furious when he thought he caught Archim cheating, and Hama couldn’t blame him. That was why he didn’t gamble in the first place. It was far too easy to lose money and reputation when one gambled. Besides, it was a waste of time and effort, forget the money. Time that could be better spent practicing, heaven knows he needed it.

Hmm. Wasn’t one of the arguments presented at the trial of Heldor something along the lines of ‘the man couldn’t possibly remember killing the old man, he was drunk; he’d been gambling?’ Hama couldn’t remember. Still, even though Heldor had been a convicted criminal when he was in Hama’s charge, he’d not seemed like the type who lost himself in the game or the drink. It didn’t seem right. Besides, there were plenty of other men who Hama would have picked as more likely to kill someone. Archim, for one.

No, no, no. Of course Heldor had committed the crime of which he was accused. There were too many people who had good reasons for him to have done it, and why would someone frame a hero of Helm’s Deep for m.urder? It was silly, and Hama resolved to think no more on it.

[ August 21, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[Orofaniel]

After six days they finally entered the Inn, The Prancing Pony. Archim had lost his cards to his brother so that he wouldn't do anything that stupid again. Graitwa glanced over at the others as they walked through the doors.

"We'd better get some information about Brytta & co, while we are here." Graitwa said in a whisper to Frea.

"Yes, brother," said Frea in a harsh voice. "We better use our time here well, we will probably find some useful leads." He continued.

All of them looked at eachother. Frea turnded to his yunger brother Archim, he was about to give hime a lecture. Hama and Graitwa knew that for sure. Before Frea had the chance to say something, Graitwa interrupted. "I'll go this way," He pointed towards the kitchen.

"The kitchen?" Frea asked in a surprising voice.

"Yes," Griatwa answered shortly. "We should look everywhere, you never know who they've been bumping into." He continued.

"I guess that's fear and square," Archim said suddenly, as he moved away from Frea. He seemed to know what was waiting and he wasn't up for it right now. Sixs days on the ride, and them getting a huge lecture from his brother.....No, that wasn't what he had in mind. Frea however dragged his brother towards him, and opened his mouth again.

Hama interrupted for the second time. "Er....I'll just go...and, you know...find some information." He said looking terrified and at the same time grumpy. Frea looked him with great eyes. He was obviously irretated and very annoyed by the interruptsions. Graitwa and Hama looked at eachother and both of them made some signs that it was now time to go. The two of them, Graitwa and Hama, hurried of in different directions. Archim stood alone to face his brother Frea....

[ August 23, 2003: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[Novnarwen]

Liol wasn't very happy with this whole situation, as for Rochil and his behaviour she was even less happy.

"A blind squirrel could see that you are lost. I am not - and chance is a strange word. I am here because I choose to be, but I did not choose to follow you. I roam these parts, and they are like my home. Strangers in a house are to be followed." Arwyrgan said.

The lady looked at him, trying to get his attention. "A blind squirrel," she muttered, thinking of it as an awful thing to say. "A blind squirrel," she said again, in a low voice, so no one could hear her. The lady sighed.

"Lady I won't eat you, sit down." The man said suddenly after his short pause. Liol couldn't believe what she had just heard. How could he? The sentence: I won't eat you, grew louder and louder in her head. He was the one who should be careful not to be eaten. He was the one out of number. She grew even redder while sitting down on the grass, giving all the grimaces she could think of. He didn't see it though. Rochil who stood there, had heard it too. Now he had got the pleasure again, she thought. Now he could laugh..

[ August 23, 2003: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

Despite the initial appearance Fréa had given that he was about to snap off his younger sibling's head, he'd pulled back, relented, and cajoled his brother to retire to their room so they could speak in private. Fréa vowed to rein in his temper and have a serious talk with Archim about what they were doing and how his brother could forever seal the family's doom if he did not keep his behavior under control.

Fréa shot a sly glance at Archim as he took down his gear and began to unpack, growling out an initial warning under his breath, "This time, I don't intend to to get asked to leave. Too much is riding on us being here. After all, Brytta can't vanish into the mists. He's not some wildman to go live in the forests. There are few populated towns along this route. Somehow, someway, there has to be something in Bree that will show us what the Hildesons had in mind."

Archim looked over and grunted his acquiescence, looking very young and foolish. At this point Frea mellowed and spoke more gently, "Archim, please no gaming. We've got to keep our wits about us. I need to go to the marketplace and speak with some of the vendors and present myself to the authorities. This could be it.....the big break we've all been waiting for. The King will be grateful if we can track down and bring a criminal to justice. It can make a difference in our lives, not just for me but for all of us. All those things you've been wanting..."

Fréa's words trailed off as he surveyed Archim's crowlike form spread out recumbent on the bed. By all the Valar, it hadn't been easy for his brother. From childhood up, he'd been the but of jokes for his scrawny looks and appearance. Fréa felt a surge of genuine affection take hold. Despite all their squabbles, Archim had a special spot in his heart. He wanted to watch over him and make sure things came out right. And this time was no exception. As the older brother left the bedchamber and swung the door closed, Archim had picked up a jugful of beer and raised the container up to his lips. "Stay here, in the room," Fréa pleaded urgently. "Get as drunk as you want but keep yourself out of trouble." With those final words of warning, the older sibling turned and left.

[ August 23, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

Fréa quickly discovered that Thursday was market day in Bree. The streets were crowded with throngs of Breelanders walking towards the central square where traders had set up tables and stalls to display their treasured wares. A herd of sheet had somehow gotten loose and were rambling along the street, weaving in and out among those buyers who’d come to do their weekly shopping. Big and Little Folk jostled one another and crowded close to the tables as the savory aroma of fried river eel and hot buns wafted over the marketplace.

Fréa’s eye was initially taken by several of the smaller folk, the ones his people called halflings, since he’d never seen one before. But, after a half interested glance, he pulled his attention back to the main issue at hand and began searching the square for any sign of Brytta and his party. He dismounted from his horse and headed to a nearby booth purchasing a small trinket merely as a pretext to start a conversation. He repeated this procedure several times with different vendors, but came up with absolutely nothing of interest other than a sly invitation from a woman with flashing eyes to come up and join her for a pint of ale.

Ignoring this golden opportunity, Fréa continued his search, leaving the market and heading to the small building that he'd learned was the place where the mayor and the wealthiest of merchants transacted their most important business.

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

It took Fréa a considerable space of time to gain admittance to the inner room where the mayor was meeting with several wealthy traders of Bree. A clerk sat outside barring entry to the room for all those except a select few who'd been invited in for a meeting. Fréa finally remembered he'd managed to get a decree in Edoras that was stamped with the official seal of the commander of the knights. There was a brief message underneath explaining that the bearer was on the trail of a dangerous band of outlaws, a condemned prisoner and those who had facilitated his escape; the document requested that any and all assitance be extended to Fréa and his men.

"Here," grunted Fréa extending the papers outward towards the clerk. "This tells you who I am and what I'm doing. Could I speak with the mayor and his advisors? To find out if they've seen anyone who meets the description of the men I'm seeking."

The clerk gazed absentmindedly at the stacks of paper on the desk and vigorously shuffled them from one side to the other, looking very uncertain. Then he scrutinized the document Fréa had given him, drew a deep breath, and came to a decision, "Alright, Master Forgoil. You've come all the way from Rohan. Perhaps you'll agree to answer a question or two about the state of the roads, and trading prospects in Edoras. Our folk are always looking for information of that type." Fréa grunted his consent, and was finally allowed to go inside. He strode forward, pushed the door open, and peered around the room....

[ August 25, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[Himaran]

Awyrgan pushed the party forward at a quick pace for a day, letting them stopping once during the night to catch their breath. Most of them, Awrygan included, dozed for the short time he had allocated. Then they were off again, the rising sun peaking over the Eastern clouds. Once the sun was well on its way across the sky Awyrgan called a halt. Motioning Brytta over to him he pulled out a worn, hand-drawn map and laid it out on the ground. Picking up a stick he began tracing a path on the parchment in front of them.

"Here is the Old South Road." The stick jerked well off-course. "Here is where we met." He drew a line back towards the Road, making a small circle near what looked to be small rolling hills. "This is where we are at the moment. You say you want to get the the Northern Downs..." He paused, as if mulling over the possibilities in his mind. "If we continue in this direction," the stick moved northwest, "we should cross the Greyflood within little more than a days time. Unless we slow our pace which we may need to do depending on supplies."

"Once we cross the River I will head directly north through the South Downs. The walk is more pleasant than on the Road." He said nothing of it being harder to track, but the thought was evident in his eyes. "From there we'll have to cross through some marshes, but it can be done without too much difficulty as we are all on foot. Once we pass the Weather Hills we should be about at your desired location. from there, you'll be on your own again."

He straightened up. A stream was running nearby, and he dispatched Rochil and Liol to fill the groups waterskins. Some minor redistribution among the company's packs was done and then they were off again.

[ August 26, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[piosenniel]

Inactivity was not one of his preferred states. Archim swigged the last of his ale from the tankard and banged it down on the table beside him. Heaving his scrawny frame from the bed, he stood and crossed the room, opening the door carefully to see who might be in the hallway. ‘It would be just like Fréa to have someone babysitting me,’ he thought to himself.

There was no one about, and feeling the need for another ale and a little company, he wandered down the stairs, looking carefully when he reached the bottom landing for any signs of his brothers or of Hama. ‘Good!’ he murmured, a crooked smile lighting his face. He patted the pockets in his vest, then remembered his brother had taken all the cards. His face fell for a moment, then relit as he found the wooden dice tucked in his inner pocket.

A voice, low and inviting, spoke to him from behind. ‘You look like you might need a friendly face to talk to.’ He turned, seeing a thin, yet oddly pretty woman eyeing him. ‘Buy me a drink,’ she said, ‘and we can pass the time getting to know one another.’

‘Better yet,’ he replied, his crooked smile growing, ‘I’ll buy us several drinks, and some for any of your friends you can round up.’ He pulled out the dice from his pocket and rolled them around in his hand. She winked at him, saying laughingly, ‘I see.’ Her small hands pushed him toward the bar. ‘Get us a flagon, then. And I’ll see what I can do.’ She pointed to a back table, indicating he should meet her there, then went off in search of ‘friends’.

Archim leaned with his back against the thick wood of the bar, watching her flit from patron to patron in the in, all smiles and laughter, her eyes coming often to look at him as he moved from the bar to the table.

‘Ah!’ he said, seating himself at the table, in the chair with a good view of the room. ‘Perhaps Lady Luck has found me here in this forsaken corner of the world.’

[Himaran]

Days passed by slowly. The trek north was indeed a long one, filled with setbacks and obstacles. Awyrgan skillfully led them through and around swamps, thick forests and rivers. Eventually, they reached a long plain; the ground relatively flat and open. "This is the south downs," said Awyrgan. "We are halfway to your destination."

They continued to march for several hours more before they stopped. It was nearly dark, and Brytta hoped that no storm would blow in. With no tree cover, wind and especially rain would be disastrous to the companies supplies.

Brytta volunteered to go on first watch while the rest of the company slept. The moon shone bright, and the absence of cloud cover was comforting to the man. He thought back over the events of the past month. It had been a long journey, and they were still in the wilderness. Brytta was unsure if they were still being followed, and if so who was doing it. Was Frea part of the group? The man could only guess.

[Dain Ironfoot]

Inside the room, a handful of men wearing luxuriant cloaks and hats trimmed with ermine were seated at a large trestle table with their heads bowed low in fierce concentration. Several had fat ledger books sitting in front of them in which they were recording detailed lists of dates and numbers.

Fréa stiffened uncomfortably as he surveyed the mighty burghurs of Bree, a group whosse influence and numbers had expanded with the reurn of peace in the Fourth Age. He instinctively disliked and distrusted such men. As far as he could tell, they spent all their time sitting in dark corners and writing or instructing others to do the same; they rarely saw the back of a spirited horse, and had little skill with blade or bow. He doubted that any of them could survive for more than a day or two if left on their own in the middle of the wilds.

Fréa hated Brytta with a passion, but he still had some grudging respect for his enemy whose skills with a horse and sword were unquestioned. With these men, it was different. But he needed their support and any information they might have gleaned. He wiped his face clean of any expression other than that of the humble supplicant, and stepped forward holding out the piece of paper that his commander in Rohan had entrusted to him.

[ August 27, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Lady Luck’s name was apparently Beryl, and when asked for her last name, the reply was always, ‘Best left unsaid.’ It tickled Archim no end that she fawned on him, but he was no young pup in love to believe she meant anything by it. Five of the patrons at the Pony had been rounded up from the Common room, and had followed her like rabbits mesmerized by a snake. Behind them, the less brave toddled, wanting to watch the action but keep themselves from heavy losses.

It was a slow afternoon at the Inn, and one corner of it was now commandeered by the boisterous group. The jingle of coin pouches mixed with the hard slap of the dice as they hit the wooden wall and rebounded. The follow up to this either a rousing cheer by the thrower and the men backing him, or a grumble of disappointment when the dice went sour.

The Innkeeper kept one eye constantly on the game, both to keep tabs on any rising tempers, and to see when the tankards needed refilling. So far, he thought to himself, as he hoisted the end of his apron and dried off a rack of glasses, the game has been friendly.

Four pitchers of ale had been when one of the players, a certain Hugh Bearman, from Archet, accused Archim of having crooked dice, and took a beery swing at him. Archim, temperate in his drinking when he played, leaned back lazily as the man’s fist breezed by him. Hugh was winding up unsteadily for another swing when the hammy fist of the Innkeeper clapped down hard on his collar. ‘That’s enough now, Bearman,’ came the gruff voice of the Innkeeper. ‘Sit down here, ‘til you regain some sense.’

The man’s seat was placed firmly in a chair, and the Innkeeper asked to see the dice. Beryl picked them up and handed them over with a languorous manner, her fingertips brushing the Innkeeper’s palm. He snorted and shook his head at her, ‘None o’ that now, missy. The good-wife’s at home and she’s enough for me.’

He looked the dice over carefully and weighed them in his hand. For all he could see, they threw true, but just to be sure, he put them away behind the counter, saying Archim could get them back later, and gave the players a pair of Inn dice with which to finish.

The game continued in a friendly manner, the winning throws shared almost equally among the players. Archim was happy. Here he sat in the midst of a quick, exciting game, a foaming pint of ale in one hand, a pretty girl on his lap, his arm about her in a familiar manner.

Graitwa was not pleased by the scene when he entered the Inn. He, too, like Fréa, had been out and about inquiring about any dealings the town’s tradesmen had had with other Men of the Mark. He stood to one side of the now drunken group, and waited to catch Archim’s eye.

Archim, for his part, had seen him but was trying to ignore his gestures. Not to be put off, Graitwa moved up behind his little brother and hissed in his ear. ‘I thought Fréa told you to stay out of trouble.’ Archim opened his mouth to rebut his brother when Beryl spoke up.

‘Don’t worry, big brother.’ She looked at him from beneath her lashes and flashed a smile his way. ‘You are the big brother, right?’ Graitwa flushed and stood up sputtering as she ran her finger down the front of his tunic.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, her fingers now playing with the lanky hair of Archim as if it were precious strands of golden filament, ‘he’ll stay out of trouble. I’ll see to it. Won’t I Arky-warky?’

Graitwa rolled his eyes as Archim shrugged his shoulders at him and grinned. ‘It’s on your head then,’ he said staring icily at her. She blew him a little kiss and waved prettily. Graitwa’s parting comment was simply the sound of his boots thudding heavily and disapprovingly up the stairs.

[ August 28, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Orofaniel]

The kitchen hadn't been a huge sucsess to be straight, and he was beging quite 'grumpy' about it. He was supposed to be the 'big brother' and he had a lot of responsibilaty. He didn't use to care about that, but it was different this time. If they didn't get Brytta.....He didn't want to think about it.

It was an quiet afternoon and Graitwa entered the Inn. He glanced over at his brother who seemed to be doing something Graitwa didn't approve of.. he walked over to Arcim and the drunken playeres, trying to get contact with Archim. Archim however, seemed to ignore him. Graitwa felt his temper rising. What was he doing??? "I thought Frea told you to stay out of trouble." He hissed in Archim's ears.

"Don't worry big brother," A woman said all of the sudden. Graitwa looked at her with stern eyes. "You are the big brother, right?" she continued, and smiled.

"Don't worry, "she added while her fingers were playing with Archim's hair. "He'll stay out of trouble, I'll see to it. " She said with a short laugh. "Won't you Arky-Warky?" She continued, now looking at Archim.

Archim looked at Graitwa and grinned. "It's your head then." Graitwa said icliy to her, rolling his eyes as he left.

"What a fool of a brother, " he said to himself when he had left the table, heading for the bar to get a drink.

[ August 30, 2003: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[Himaran]

It had been nearly a week since they had left their camp in the woods. The south downs were far behind them, and they entered an open forest; dotted with scrub and brush. The Misty Mountains were barely visible, far off in the east.

Suddenly, the forest broke away, leaving before them an open road. It was dusty, spotted with broken stone and light brush; but quite wide. "The Great East Road," said Awyrgan. "It runs from the Shire to Rivendell. But as you said that you wished to avoid discovery, I will take us on a less known path."

_____________________________________________
Within a day's march, Brytta's company was passing between the Weather Hills and Midgewater Marshes. The weather was dreary, the ground wet and soggy. Even on the outskirts, the marsh was uncomfortable to say the least. The bugs which thrived within its boundaries swarmed upon the party, but they trudged on stolicly after the ranger that had led them thus far.

Finally, Brytta's group could go no further, and they used what little dry wood they could find to create a meager fire in an attempt to fight off the wrath of the midges. Eventually, all slumbered peacefully, with the exception of Awyrgan; who stayed awake and kept watch. He lit his pipe, swating at an insect idly, and waiting for the break of a new day.

[ August 28, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[ August 29, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Envinyatar]

Just before the sun was up, Aldwulf rose from his damp bedroll on the ground. He could not decide which was worse, the swarms of tiny no-seeum bugs, or the ever present damp that seeped into everything.

Awyrgan had a small fire going, and Aldwulf gathered a small armful of relatively dry pieces of wood to add to it. Crouching down by the side of the fire pit, he poked at the burning embers, watching the smoke rise up. The small dampness the wood did contain, sent up a cloud of smoke that held the midges at bay for the moment.

He had set out several snares last night, and daring the swarms once again he rose from the fire to check on them. One was empty, but the other two held a coney each. Barely a mouthful for the company, but the broth would prove tasty, and he had a small packet of those herbs that Awyrgan had pointed out to them when the first met.

His eye was caught by a small cluster of familiar blue flowers in the marshy ground. His gran and mother had dug beneath just such patches for those tasty tubers used for soup. He checked the area carefully – white flowers of the same size and form were heralds of poisonous roots. No – all were blue.

An hour later and he had a pot of savory broth with bits of coney and thick chunks of tuber swirling amid the herbs. The smell woke the men and soon, one by one they tumbled from their ‘beds’ to have a bowlful.

‘Where to now?’ he asked Brytta as the man plied his bowl with his wooden spoon. ‘Was there somewhere in particular we are headed? And if so, are we near?’

[Novnarwen]

After today's march, Liol, the Rohan woman, had decided not to be grumpy or whiny, stop the bickering between her and Rochil (even though it was against her nature,) and not to be suspicous about the newcomer and his intentions.

As the day wore of and they had gathered around the little fire, Liol was both tired and hungry, but she didn't whine nor complain. To whine about something like this wouldn't be very useful, and besides, everyone were feeling the same way; hungry and tired. She settled down, trying to relax. "Where to now" Adwulf asked Brytta. Liol turned her head towards the two men. She was eager to know how far they had gone on the journey. "Was there somehwere in particular we are headed? And if so, are we near?"

A thought ran through Liol's mind. The company had never got to know where to go to. Where was this journey heading? Liol shook her head trying to get her thoughts in the right order. "Brytta," she interrupted, rising, walking a few paces towards Adwulf and her cousin. "Where are we going?" Liol said in a polite low voice. By this questions she wasn't doubting her cousin intentions, just, how far were they to go? When was this journy ending?

She looked upon Brytta.

[ September 04, 2003: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

If Fréa was leary about the mighty burghurs of Bree, they also had reservations about him. As mayor of Bree and the successful founder of the merchant guild, Barnaby Greenbush was proud of his well-earned position and wealth and had no intention of stirring up trouble. Trouble was bad for business, and he wanted no part of that. He would have to be very careful indeed.

Barnaby wrinkled his nose distastefully as Fréa approached the table; the latter was wearing the same bedraggled, travel-stained cloak that he'd had on since the beginning of the journey. The mayor quickly scanned the contents of Fréa's safe conduct letter with its request for all to render aid in bringing the escaped criminals to justice. The papers were signed and sealed by one of the commanders of the Riders of Rohan, a scrawled signature that the Breelander had never seen before, certainly no one with whom he had trading ties.

After weighing the pros and cons, the Mayor made an expeditious decision. He would make some semblance of respecting the letters and do what he could to help, but without any real effort or exertion; he would certainly not involve his own assistants in a chase which would likely end in bloodshed.

Barnaby furled his brow and pretended to listen intently as Fréa spelled out his tangled tale, describing Brytta and asking if anyone could render aid or had heard rumors of a band of Rohirrim advancing into Breeland. Most of those seated about the table shrugged their shoulders and shook their heads, indicating they had no knowledge of any travellers from Rohan in recent days.

Reluctant to send Fréa away without any show of help, Barnaby turned about and addressed the soldier, "Some two or three days ago, I saw a traveller in the marketplace who seems to fit your description of Brytta. He was doing a bit of business with a vendor, buying a horse or two. I stood next to him but, whether or not he is from Rohan, I can not say."

Fréa's eyes lit up as he heard this piece of news, "This fellow, is he still in Bree? Where can I find him?"

The mayor shrugged his shoulders, "I've no idea, but I know he was staying at a campsite in the far north of Chetwood, out beyond Archet." Whether or not the gentleman was still there, and whomever he might actually be, Baranby was pleased to have invented a scenario that would send Fréa scrambling beyond the borders of the city. If the soldier wanted to pick a fight, let him do so outside the city's dyke and hedge where he could cause less damage to their own citizens.

Fréa muttered a terse thanks and goodbye, and headed outside; he swung himself up in his saddle and clattered down the street heading for the North Gate.

[ August 30, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

Rochil had been glad when they finally reached the rode again. But Awyrgan was going to lead them on a different path. So they had traveled between the weather hills and Midgewater mashers. To Rochil it was a difficult journey passing around the marshes. The ground had oozed below their feet. There were bugs everywhere, and they swarmed around the small group. They were soon covered in many little bites.

Rochil woke up, to the smell of a stew. He was hungry and tried and looking at everyone else, he could tell they all felt the same way. His clothes were damp, and clung to his body. He was cold, even sitting by the small fire that had been made. He ate slowly. The stew was wonderful in his empty stomach. He listened to Brytta and Aldwulf talk, soon to be joined in by Liol.

"Where are we going?” I wish I knew Rochil thought.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Might be continued after Nova finish her post

[ August 30, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

Despite his first impulse to rush out headlong and immediately capture the stranger that the burghurs had described, Fréa eventually decided it might be more prudent to approach the camp by night. He rode north of the city to the very edge of the Chetwood, where the trees gave way to open grasslands. Searching the area, he found a secluded bower, well hidden by boughs and twining plants that concealed a campsite just large enough to house a small band of travellers.

The encampment was empty at the moment, but there were indications it had recently been occupied and that the travellers would probably return that evening, since many of their belongings were strewn over the ground. Fréa crept up cautiously and entered the grove. He investigated what had been left behind and found an odd assortment of things, but nothing that would identify the men as Rohirrim. This did not surprise him. If he was on the lam, fleeing from the law, he would have enough sense to mask his identity and assume another personna.

Hiding under the cover of a nearby rock overhang, Fréa waited till the sun had gone down, and darkness enveloped the skies. He heard the sound of horses' hooves approaching and went out to have a look, carefully concealing his body within the tangled underbrush. Unfortunately for him, the new moon was well hidden under a bank of clouds so that it was pitch dark and impossible to see any further than a foot or two away.

There was one thing, however, that he instantly noted. The men wore heavy cloaks pulled down low over their faces and seemed to look around now and again to check if anyone was following them. It was the kind of behavior Fréa expected from Brytta and his crew. His spirits rising, Fréa vowed to have a closer look. If these were indeed the outlaws from Rohan, he would return to get his brothers and Hama so they could confront the men. Creeping in as close to the edge of camp as he dared, Fréa lurked in the shadows straining to see the mens' faces and hear their words.

So intent was he on spying out the central portion of the camp, that he did not notice that the men had set a sentry far out on the perimeter. Nor did he see when this tracker skillfully and silently made his rounds, coming up in back of Fréa and collaring him by the neck. Within a split instant, Fréa went from being the pursuer to becoming the pursued, and was dragged out before the men who were now gathered round a campfire.

A single look at the travellers told him he had made a serious mistake. There was no sign of Brytta or Heldor or any of the other Rohirrim. Worse than that, these folk were thugs, pure and simple. They were hauling off a considerable batch of stolen goods they'd eveidently plundered that same day and hidden under their huge cloaks and in their horses' saddlebags. Fréa groaned as the leader of the band, the man who supposedly resembled Brytta, approached him with a flaming torch.

"And what may I ask are you doing hiding in the bushes of our encampment?" the leader of the band growled under his breath.

Fréa's mind went blank for a moment. Then he blurted out the best answer he could think of off hand, "I was waiting on a band of friends, well-trained soldiers from Rohan who were to meet me on the trail, but they'd apparently been detained. I do expect them anytime now, a considerable company of fighting men."

The ruffian leader placed his hands on his hips and threw back his head, roaring with laughter. "That is a strange tale indeed. You surely don't think I'd buy that."

"Believe me or not," barked Fréa in response. "But have a look at my horse. He is a fine stallion of Rohan, the best in the world."

The horse was led forward before the men, who began exchanging nervous glances. Perhaps there was something to this wild tale.

The leader of the band again stood up and approached Fréa with a scowling face. "You may be filled with lies. But my crew and I take no chances. We push out tonight just in case your visitors are coming. And you, dog of Rohan, will pay for your impudence!"

With that Fréa was seized and bound with ropes and left tied to a nearby tree. The leader gestured to the ropes and barked out a warning, "That should keep you busy while we make our way to safety. You are lucky that I'm in a very good mood, or I'd slit your throat from ear-to-ear, but I want no trouble with the Knights of Rohan. However, since you've put me to such inconvenience, I believe you owe me a favor. I have always fancied a horse from Rohan. Plus, your dagger and short sword."

Fréa watched helplessly as the men packed up and headed north out of the encampment. leading his precious horse with them. His only consolation was that his broadsword lay back at the Inn. For the rest of the night and all the next day, he chafed and pulled against the bonds. It was shortly before midnight when he finally managed to free himself. Fréa instantly collapsed on the greensward and fell asleep, thoroughly exhausted from all his travails, staggering back the next morning to the Prancing Pony.

Later that day, when his brothers approached and demanded to know why he'd been detained so long and had lost his horse and weapons, Fréa only growled and threatened to tan them if they asked any more questions. He rushed down to the market and quickly replaced his belongings, although his new stead sadly did not match up to the one that he'd brought with him all the way from Edoras. The brothers spent several more days in Bree, fruitlessly hunting for any more clues as to Brytta's whereabouts as tempers shortened and their bickering increased.

[ September 04, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[Himaran]

Where are we really going? It was a question which Brytta had asked himself many times over the course of the journey; though never truly coming to any definate conclusion. "Well, friends, Awyrgan is leading us to the North Downs, several days north of here. I can already see the looks of relief on your faces; I too am glad that this long journey is nearly over. But is it? For my brother and I, it is; I suppose. We will build a home, and take what we need from Bree during nightime hours.

But the true question before us is, where will you go? Rochil, Liol, Aldwulf: that choice will soon be before you. And only you can answer it. Will you stay in this area? Or perhaps turn east, or west; maybe even back south. That is your own decision. Not mine."

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

[ September 05, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[piosenniel]

With Fréa gone for several days, Archim’s dice party rolled on unimpeded by brotherly remonstrances. The Innkeeper was pleased with the numbers of patrons it had drawn in, and pleased that so far there had been no fights over winnings.

Archim worked hard to keep it so. He was a shrewd better, and won just enough to fatten his purse modestly each day. Tempers were kept under control by having the drunker members of the party sit out or sleep off their ale, and by using the dice provided by the Innkeeper. Since he was not involved in the playing or the betting, his offer of dice was taken to be an honest one, and to top it off, all knew he kept a stout club behind the bar, and would lay into anyone with a heavy hand if they got too rowdy.

Beryl had dropped by the wayside, and Archim could not honestly say he was sorry to see her go. She had clung to him as long as he was the one with the lucky throws, but her affections turned elsewhere when his luck seemed to turn.

Fréa had growled at her when she made a joke to Archim that perhaps big brother had lost his horse and weapons in a game of his own. Archim shushed her, seeing the dangerous glint that had come into Fréa’s eyes.

Archim, in a rare fit of brotherly affection and devotion (or perhaps he had just grown tired of dicing), joined his brothers and Hama in their search for Brytta. It was a search for phantoms, no solid leads, and the flimsy leads they did get, did not pan out.

One of Archim’s gaming acquaintances approached him as the brothers and Hama were having breakfast in the Inn. He pulled Archim aside, and said he had heard something about a group of outsiders seen north of Bree-land. Somewhere in the triangle formed by Chetwood, the Weather Hills and Deadmen’s Dike. The details were sketchy, but not any more so than the other leads they had looked into.

The Forgoils and Hama were sick of Bree and beginning to chafe in each other’s close company. Archim urged them to pack up and get on the road. Another day in this place, and they might do one another in, he feared.

Hama was sent to pick up supplies, while Archim offered generously to settle their bill for food, drink, and lodging – all of which made hardly a dent in the tidy sum he had won in his dice games.

A few hours later and they were heading out the North Gate and up the old North Road toward Fornost. There was mild bickering as Archim complained that his ‘friend’ had said the group of strangers was somewhere between this road and the weather hills, and shouldn’t they range a little wider in hopes of getting news of them?

[Envinyatar]

Brytta’s words rolled round in his head as they trudged west toward the North Downs. ‘But the true question before us is - where will you go?’ he had asked of all of them. Aldwulf was growing surer of his decision as his feet ticked off the miles.

He had given his word that he would see Heldór safe. But now that promise was soon to be fulfilled. He would stay for a while to see that Brytta and Heldór were settled in their new home, and then he would be making his way back to the Riddermark.

To be quite honest he missed his family. And the day to day tasks that made up their life. He longed to see his parents, and his brothers and sisters, especially Osric. And he missed the simple pleasure of working with the horses. He was not at heart an adventurer, he thought to himself. Not someone who needs the excitement of something new everyday. He liked the routine of his life, and longed to lose himself in it once again.

But his promise to see his friend safe was not yet done. Aldwulf fingered the hilt of his blade, hoping that danger was now behind them . . . Best be careful! he reminded himself. Keep up your guard. We are not out of danger yet.

[Novnarwen]

But the true question before us is, where will you go? But the true question before us is, where will you go? But the true questions is, where will you go? But the true question is, where will you go?

Over and over again. The same sentence, spinning around in Liol's head. The truth was, that she didn't really have an answer to this. The woman reminded herself of the fact, that she was here for Heldor's sake. And she hadn't really planned what she was doing afterwards. Brytta's reply had surprised her, and now, she grew more and more insecure for every step she took heading for the North Downs.

________________________________________
Liol looked upon the others; Rochil, Adwulf and the Ranger. Where were they going after this? she wondered. Her legs ached, but she didn't whine. All she could think about was Brytta's words. Maybe she could stay a while, with her cousins. She had nothing waiting at home or no one, so that would probably be best. Or would it? Who would it be best for? After all her whining they would probably bee 'glad' to see her off. Liol gazed upon Brytta, he didn't see it though. Her eyes wandered over to Heldor then Adwulf. If Adwulf was going home, to Rohan, maybe she could follow. After all, it would be a long and sad road indeed to walk all the way to Rohan alone. She felt comforted by this thought, but not less confused.

[ September 08, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Orofaniel]

Frea had been gone for several days, and it was starting to annoy Graitwa. How could he just leave them? And not tell them where he had gone? Well, he couldn't really blame him either, Archim was starting to get on Graitwa's nerves as well.

Finally the Forgolis and Hama became sick of Bree and Archim urged them to pack up and get out from the city. Graitwa couldn't agree more.

Some hours later they were heading towards Fornost, they were taking the old North Road. Some arguing were a part of there traveling, and Graitwa was now used to it. Archim complained that his 'friend' had said something about a group of strangers somewehere between this road and the hills. Graitwa didn't quite understand what he was complaining about, though, so he didn't pay much attention.

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

[Dain Ironfoot]

Fréa calculated that the journey to Fornost would take about a day and a half if they kept to the main roadway and headed straight to their target. But that was before he'd considered the factor of all the bickering that was going on between the different members of the band.

As far as Fréa was concerned, he was all for sticking to the road and heading straight northward. But Archim was evidently of a different opinion, whining and moaning about the fact that Brytta may well have decided to slip eastward into the Weatherhills, perhaps even visiting as far south as Weathertop where he could climb up and get a good view of the surrounding flatlands. After much disagreement back and forth, Hama had even spoken up on Archim's behalf, noting that the Weatherhills was a notorious refuge for unsavory types who kept an eye on things outside and then come charging out to prey on unsuspecting travellers.

Archim was putting up such a fuss that Fréa found himself grinding his teeth and reaching down to clench the hilt of the dagger at his side. Struggling to keep his temper in check, the middle brother finally relented and agreed to a comproimise: the band would make one short foray towards the northern border of the Weather Hills to see if they could pick up any more clues or gossip. As the four horsemen shifted their direction and veered off towards the east, Fréa felt a small warning bell sounding in his ear that this might not be a very good idea.

[ September 04, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[Himaran]

After the long, tormenting night, the company finally left the insect infected marshland. Following Awyrgan, Brytta and his friends traveled west for an hour before turning north, leaving the swamp behind them. The companions walked quicker now, with the end of their journey in sight.

It took three days to reach the north downs. Passing around Fornost warily, the group soon reached the formost of the low hills. Brytta and Heldor began looking for a place to build a shelter, while the others set up a temporary camp.

Brytta's party soon sat around a fire, eating the last of their packed provisions. Everyone was tired and footsore, but joyful that the journey had been successfully completed.

Though Brytta had expected Awyrgan to leave as soon as they had reached the North Downs. However, after the meal he merely sat back on a log and smoked quietly. Brytta thus decided to ask him about it.
"Awyrgan, we thank you profusely for your guiding of us through the wilderness. But when will you be taking your leave of us?"

The ranger continued to smoke quietly, and for a moment Brytta thought that Awyrgan had missed his question altogether. "I will linger here a while longer, Brytta. For I do not believe that your troubles are over yet."

[ September 05, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[piosenniel]

Archim slouched in his saddle, letting the reins sit idly on his horse’s neck. Korokoroch ambled along at the end of the line that Fréa led, as interested in the surrounding countryside as his master. Hama, for some reason, rode along at his side, and often they would both throw out comments toward the two older brothers that it was hardly likely the Hyldesons would be tromping along a public road. Archim had come to a grudging respect for the guard his brother had threatened into coming with them.

They were three days up the Old North Road when Fréa’s patience with the pointed comments from the rear guard came to an end. Archim watched with sly interest as his brother’s hand went to the hilt of his dagger. He was beyond caring what Fréa’s next action would be, and to be honest was in the mood for a fight. He picked up the reins with one hand and loosened the dagger at his own belt.

He was surprised as Fréa mastered his anger and agreed to head east in hopes of finding traces of Brytta and his troop. Archim’s hand left his dagger and he smiled crookedly at Hama. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, kicking his mount in the flanks.

Hama and Archim took the lead as they headed east, across the rolling hills and tall grass of the downs.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A day and a half later, they were within a few hours ride of the Weather Hills. Even Archim was beginning to grant the fact that this may have been a useless trip – they had seen signs of no one in the area with the exception of yesterday’s meeting with an elderly sheep farmer and his small flock. And he had no news for them, only a warning that they should avoid the area north of the Weather Hills.

‘Times have been hard,’ he told them, leaning on his staff, a stalk of grass in his teeth. ‘There be rough men in them parts since the war ended. A few bands of ‘em wiv nuffink to do ‘cept bother honest folk.’ He eyed them, wondering if these were another kind of ruffian bent on causing trouble. ‘Best you be sticking to the Old Road. Like honest men’d do.’ His voice trailed off as his gaze swept over the land seeking the whereabouts of his little flock.

‘Honest men, eh?!’ snorted Archim to himself. The old fellow wandered off after a straying lamb and the brothers and Hama gathered round for a quick conference. ‘These ruffians sound like an old man’s pipe dreams,’ Archim said, No one mentioned any ruffians to me while we were in Bree.’ Hama took Archim’s side saying that they’d seen no evidence of anything other than the old man and his sheep in these parts, and that they should press on toward the Hills.

Again the little alarm bell went off in Fréa’s head, but he was pressed hard by Archim and Hama, and even Graitwa said what could it hurt to just see what lay at the nearby northern end of the Hills. Reluctantly he let Archim and Hama take the lead again while he and Graitwa fell back at rear guard.

It was nearing evening as they road through the last of the tall swaying grass and approached the base of the hills. Archim and Hama had discovered they shared a broad knowledge of tavern songs and were in the midst of singing to each other the one about the Man in the Moon and his taste for ale. Their verses echoed off the sides of the hills and rang loud across the grasses.

Too late, Fréa hissed at the two of them to be quiet. They had just come to a small dip in the plain, in an area at the foot of the hills, speckled with rocky outcroppings.

From behind the tall grass and rocks on either side of them, stepped out four men. They had lain in wait for the horsed party, crouching down in position as the Forgoil’s and Hama drew near. Two of them held swords as they stood up, menacing the riders and their horses. Behind, were two ruffians bearing spears, and their long wicked points were pointed threateningly at Fréa and Graitwa.

‘Well, my little songbirds,’ said the tallest man with a sword. He was ragged and dirty, and his face bore the ill-healed scars of old battles. ‘What treasures have you brought for old Will, eh?’ He looked them over with his one good rheumy eye. ‘You look plump and well fed, and you ride some fine horses.’ His patchy eyebrows went up a little as he surveyed Fréa’s mount. ‘They’ll fetch a fair price, I’m thinking.’ ‘Nice clothes and boots, too. They’ll do nicely.’ He noted the saddlebags behind each man. ‘And what you got in there, laddies. Enough to get us through the winter, I’m thinking.’

‘Get down from your horses, boys! You won’t be needing them any more.’

The four ruffians closed in on the brothers and Hama. One of the men with a sword grabbed at Kokoroch’s reins. In a split second Archim’s left hand snatched out his dagger and threw it, sticking the man in the side of the neck with it. With his right hand he drew his short sword and slashed at the man’s arm, knocking his hand from the reins.

The others, mobilized by his action, dove into the fray . . .

[Orofaniel]

The evening drew near and they rode through the tall swaying grass. The hills were drawing close as well, for each second. Hama and Archim seemed merry and started to sing a song they both knew well.

Suddenly without the Forgolis and Hama notecing, four men stepped out from the grass. Two large men had already drawn their swords and they looked dangerous. In the next second two ruffians were pointing their long wicked points at Graitwa and his younger brother, Frea.

‘Well, my little songbirds,’ said the tallest man with a sword. He was dirty, and his face bore the ill-healed scars of old battles.
‘What treasures have you brought for old Will, eh?’ He looked them at them. Graitwa looked unpleased, he knew what was coming.

‘You look plump and well fed, and you ride some fine horses.’ His eyebrows rised when he spotted Frea's horse. ‘They’ll fetch a fair price, I’m thinking.’ ‘Nice clothes and boots, too. They’ll do nicely.’ He glanced over at the saddlebags ‘And what you got in there, laddies. Enough to get us through the winter, I’m thinking.’

‘Get down from your horses, boys! You won’t be needing them any more.’

Graitwa looked over at the man in disgust. He spitted down on the ground as he glanced over at the others. Hama and Frea looked back at him, but didn't say anything. Archim however, grabbed one of his daggers and threw it. The dagger hit one of the men right in his neck. Archim drew his sword and slashed it at the man's arm, so he lost his grip on the horse. The man fell on the ground with a loud 'boom'.

Everything had gone so quickly and Graitwa was just about to grab his sword as well, when one of the remaining men stood threatingly with his sword against Graitwa's throat.

But Graitwa wasn't dumb. He gave a short evil laugh as he pushed the man forward with the horse. The man stumbled in his fat legs as he gave a sigh before he hit the ground. Graitwa took the sword that was noiw laying on the ground next to the fat loegged man. "Make a wish, fool!" Graitwa sneered while his eyes blazed. He pointed the sword against the man's chest....

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

[Himaran]

Pio’s post

Graitwa pointed his sword against the man’s chest. ‘Get it done with!’ cried Archim, finishing his own attacker off with a savage thrust to the hapless man’s neck; though, not before the man plunged his dagger into Archim’s right forearm. Graitwa grunted his compliance as the hilt of his sword slid into the other ruffian’s chest.

‘Two down!’ The excitement of victory gripped him, and Archim turned toward the last two of their attackers. The one nearest Hama had thrust his spear viciously toward the guard’s leg, and would have cut him clean through, save that Hama’s horse veered out of the way. Hama received a nasty cut on the side of his calf, but putting aside the pain that ripped through his leg, he rounded on the man with his blade slashing. Archim drew near on his horse to lend Hama aid. Graitwa by this time had dropped back to where Fréa had stopped, his sword ready to defend his brother.

Dain's post

With two of the bandits so readily dispatched, the remaining ruffians took off racing for the hills at breakneck speed, as they left their fallen companions behind on the ground. When it looked as if Hama might also decide to give chase and try to emulate Archim’s deed, Fréa raised his hand in warning and abruptly drew the band to a halt, throwing an angry glance over his shoulder. “You worthless curs, all of you.” Fréa bellowed out his rage. “We’ve lost enough time on this fool’s errand! If you’d listened to me, this would never have happened. We’d be far north by now, and Brytta would be in our grasp.”

Archim turned around and froze, “Cur? You dared call me a cur? Your own brother! Who saved your neck back there? Fréa, I did not see you take down any bandits. If Graitwa and I hadn’t saved your skin, you’d be lying in the dirt cold and stiff. If anyone deserves the name of “cowardly cur”, it is you, not me.”

Fréa felt his rage boil over as he automatically grabbed for the hilt of his sword and brandished it at his younger brother, swinging it wildly in his direction. Only his blind madness caused the blow to go astray and swipe harmlessly down into the grass. At this point, Hama intervened, recklessly positioning his own body between those of the two feuding brothers, crying out at them to stop, since Brytta and his band would go unpunished if the Forgoils managed to kill each other first.

These words jerked Fréa back to reality as he shakily slid his sword back within its scabbard and barked at the group to head north and west in the direction of Fornost. He took off at a wild gallop outdistancing his brothers and Hama, listening to the angry voice in his head that raged on. If it was not for Archim’s stupidity, we would be there by now. Why am I blessed with such idiots as brothers?

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

[Himaran]

Pio's post: The Forgoils reach Fornost

Fréa rode away with reckless abandon. Archim watched as his brother’s sad excuse for a horse galloped off toward the northwest, disappearing at last over a small rise with only a small cloud of dust lit in spirals against the late evening sun.

Archim deliberately slowed his horse. He wanted nothing to do with his older brother. The man had snapped - fallen over the edge of sanity in his opinion. Had it not been for the intervention of Hama, Archim was sure he would be lying in the dust even now, mortally wounded if his brother had had his way.

Kicking Kokoroch lightly in the flanks with his heels, Archim drew up along side the Guard. He matched his horse’s stride to that of Hama’s and passed a few miles in companionable silence. There were a few desultory remarks about the countryside, and the inevitable hordes of tiny stinging bugs that seemed to swarm in the cool of the evening, and did Hama remember passing any streams as their water skins were getting low. Archim, in a moment of rare civility, managed to stumble over a ‘thanks’ to the man who rode next to him. It was not a mode of communication he was used to, there were not many in his life that had done things for him; rather, most had done things to him and suffered his acid tongue for it or the cold steel of his knives.

Hama was taken aback at this offer of thanks from a Forgoil, and mumbled something fairly incomprehensible but positive sounding. To which Archim grunted in the affirmative. And so it was settled – one had given thanks the other received it. Now they felt free to let the matter drop as finished between them.

Daring to enlarge upon this moment of what might pass as the beginnings of a mutual respect, and possibly friendship, Archim drew out the flat silver flask from the inside of his vest and offered a drink of the fiery spirits he had discovered in Bree. ‘Grow hair on your chest, Hama!’ said Archim, watching the man’s eyes water and him gasp for breath at the end of the swig. Hama rasped out a laugh, saying that if that were so he’d best be careful he was not shot as a bear. And with that declaration, tipped back another shot of the drink.

Graitwa, hearing their laughter, pulled his mount to a stop and glared back at them. ‘Hurry up, you two! We’ll never hear the end of it if Fréa makes it to Fornost before us.’ He dug his heels hard into the sides of his mount and took off at a gallop. Archim and Hama looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Then, kicking their horses they galloped off after him.

________________________

Two days of hard riding, brought the four riders to the little settlement of Fornost. Archim viewed the ramshackle assortment of huts and tents that passed for civilization here in the north, and started to sigh . . . then thinking better of it, bit off his breathy comment. Fréa’s shoulders had tightened another notch at the perception of a negative comment from Archim. And Archim, not wanting to have another scene play out with his edgy sibling busied himself in dismounting from his horse and fiddling with the adjustments on the bridle.

Hama looked at him curiously, a half-smile on his face, hidden from Fréa. Looking up toward Fréa, his face now devoid of all emotion, Hama asked innocently enough what Fréa would like them to do . . .

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

[Himaran]

Envinyatar’s post

They had been camped in the Downs for a number of days.

‘I’ll be going south then.’ Aldwulf crouched down and drew a crude map in the dirt. Opposite him was Awyrgan, who nodded his head ‘yes’ at the man’s statement. ‘About four leagues from here, and a short distance to the west,’ continued Aldwulf. Again, Awyrgan confirmed he had the right of it, then queried him on how he would approach the small settlement left in the ruins of Fornost.

‘I’m going south of it and approach it as if I’ve just come up from Bree. I’ll give some story if I’m asked that I’ve come up to see about some land for a small holding for my family. Goat farming, along the hills of the Downs. I’ll say I plan to stay at least a fortnight to cover my need for a quantity of food supplies.’

Aldwulf stood up, running the list of needed supplies through his mind one more time. He emptied his pack to make room for them, and shouldered it. ‘Look for me tomorrow, late,’ he said, fastening his sword securely round his hips. ‘I’ll come back as quickly as I can.’

The others saw him off, saying that they would post a lookout for him on the outcropping of rocks that jutted out from the low hillside that hid their camp. And that if there were any problems as he approached their camp, he should signal the lookout by stopping, as if weary, and readjusting his pack, then running his left hand through his hair, as if pushing it back from his forehead.

The instructions were repeated, and Aldwulf set off south at a brisk pace, keeping his eyes and ears open for any signs of trouble.
_____________________________________________

At Fornost/Deadmen's Dike

‘Yer lucky ya come when ya did, sir.’ Will, a dirty faced urchin in tattered breeches and a threadbare shirt, filled several small cloth sacks for the waiting man. Rough ground flour, some oats, dried beans and peas, and a larger burlap bag of taters, onions, and a sprinkling of carrots. The monthly supply wagon from Bree had just made it back to the little encampment of settlers at Deadmen’s Dike and they had a little to spare for one who offered silver for it.

The taters, onions, and carrots had come from Will’s mother’s garden patch, an admirable woman with a green thumb and the amazing ability to coax plants to grow in abundance on their hardscrabble little farm. ‘It will be good to have new neighbors,’ Miriel said smiling up at him as she knelt to pluck out the vegetables. She shook the dirt from them, and layered them carefully in the sack. ‘Tell me about your family,’ she continued, digging out the tubers from one of the small hillocks.

Aldwulf had prepared his story as he’d traveled. His wife, Aelfwyn, and his new bairn were staying at the Inn in Bree. Once he had found a likely enough place, they would come up by wagon and stake their claim, driving their small herd of goats along with them.

‘A wee one,’ she said, standing up and wiping the dirt from her hands on her apron. ‘I will look forward to meeting all three of you, then!’ She sighed and rubbed the back of her hand along the side of her forehead. ‘Will’s my youngest, and last I fear. A wasting sickness claimed my husband several years ago, and now it’s just me and my two sons who are left to eke out what we can in this place.’ Will’s older brother, Girion, came out from the rude shack that served as the family’s house. He looked to be about ten years old, five years older than his brother. ‘I’ve got these, too, mother,’ he said, holding up a generous twist of salt, and a packet of tea leaves. He grinned up at Aldwulf, and brought out a small sealed pot from behind his back. ‘You’ll be wanting some of this, too, I think. We have bees, too, as well as our garden.’

Aldwulf grinned back at him, and bowed. ‘A most generous gift. I thank you!’ He reached out a hand to ruffle the boy’s ragged hair, unaware of the wistful look on Miriel’s face, remembering how their father had often done so to his sons.

‘You’ll stay, of course,’ she said, as he packed the foodstuffs in his pack, placing the jar of honey carefully on the top. ‘Yes!’ chimed in Will and Girion, tugging at his tunic. ‘You can sleep in our bed, and we’ll bunk with Ma.’ Will looked hopefully up at his mother, who laughed and said that would be fine.

He passed a pleasant evening with this little family, delighting in being part of their little group, if only for a while. He was up early, as were they, and after a small breakfast, did a few repairs to the house he had noted last night. Miriel he found to be a pleasant companion as she worked by his side and the antics of the boys made him laugh often, thinking back on his brothers when he and they were young.
_____________________________________________

Novnarwen's post

It was boring now. Ever since Adwulf had left, he was the only one talking, Liol thought. She sat alone restless, trying not to seem like a baby waiting for someone to entertain her. It wasn't about that, it was just... hmm.. boring. "It's healthy to be bored," she muttered after a while, looking up in the sky. The clouds were moving swiftly over the blue 'background'.

How long were they to stay here, she thought. The woman already knew the answer, but it helped. She felt refreshed by the thought of Adwulf coming back tomorrow, then they had to leave right?

[ September 11, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Dain's post

Fréa looked over at Hama and glared. "Today we'll stick together. I want no one running off on hare-brained errands and getting in trouble. We need to pick up a supply or two. More importantly, we need to keep our eyes and ears open to see if there is any sign of Brytta or his companions."

Fréa and his brothers trailed in and out of stores, filling up their saddlebags with needed supplies while Hama walked alongside Archim. There was little enough to buy in a poor settlement such as this. A look around suggested that things were definitely tight in this run-down excuse for a hamlet.

Fréa asked a few questions of people milling about the street, but with little results. The villagers merely shrugged their shoulders and indicated they'd seen no travellers who fit the description he'd given them. As the party came near the middle of what passed for a market square, the two brothers and Hama disappeared into a shop selling spirits while Fréa continued ambling further up the street.

It was then that he saw him. Fréa could not initially tell exactly who he was. But his dress and stride clearly marked him out as an outsider and, even more, as a man of Rohan. The fellow was stopped in a public square lifting a ladle of water to his lips, having stopped for a moment at one of Fornost's public wells.

Fréa crept up as close as he dared and was stunned by what he saw. Standing in front of him, no more than ten feet away, was the familiar figure of Aldwulf. He looked once, and then again to make sure that he was seeing things correclty, but always with the same results. The man was clearly Aldwulf.

Sprinting back towards the shop where he had last seen his brothers, he tugged impatiently at Graitwa's sleeve, all his personal anger and impatience dissolving as he considered the possibility of victory and freedom looming just ahead.

"Come now, quickly lead your horses through the street. I have seen Aldwulf no more than fifty paces from here, stopping at a public well to take some water. He gives no heed to his surroundings or those about him. I believe we can follow cautiously as long as we keep a fair distance between us."

Fréa grinned with pleasure. Perhaps Aldwulf was fool enough to lead them to Brytta's encampment. Perhaps tonight, they would attack the camp and all his troubles would be ended, so that he could return to Edoras and get the promotion he deserved. With these positive thoughts, Fréa guided his brothers and Hama out into the roadway.

[ September 09, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Envinyatar’s post

Too soon, it seemed, it was time to leave. He shouldered his pack heading north toward his companions’ encampment. He turned and waved to the woman and her sons several times before he disappeared down a small decline and he could see them no longer.

His steps were light, as he strode along thinking on his pleasant meeting. His mind though was distracted with his thoughts of the encounter, and he did not pay attention to what was happening round him . . .

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

[Himaran]

Pio's post - Archim and Hama trailing Aldwulf

They trailed Aldwulf from a safe distance, keeping to the west of him, hidden in the line of trees that marched along the foot of the North Downs. The man kept up a brisk pace, with the occasional brief stop for water or a piece of dried meat to chew on.

‘He seems distracted,’ doesn’t he?’ Archim motioned with his chin to Hama at the ambling man. ‘No, not distracted. There is something about him that runs counter to the fact he should be acting like a hunted man.’ Hama arched his brows at Archim; then, took a good long look at their quarry. There was no sign of weariness or wariness about him. In fact, to Hama’s eyes he looked like someone about to burst into song. ‘Strange, don’t you think,’ whispered Archim.

As if on cue, they heard a low humming trail back to them from Aldwulf. Archim narrowed his eyes, trying to catch the familiar tune. Hama, too, leaned forward in his saddle. He sat up straight after a few moments, and prodded Archim in the side with his elbow. ‘Turn me into an addlepated broodmare if he isn’t humming that lovey-dovey song we heard the minstrel in the White Horse sing a month ago.’ Archim looked at him as if he had spoken in an unknown tongue. ‘You remember, Archim. The one I saw you mimic afterwards in the Inn yard. The one who sang of courtly love, all that pure-love blathering – you remember,’ he said winking salaciously at his companion. ‘The one you turned into a rather bawdy song.’

‘Hmm,’ replied Archim, the memory growing clearer. ‘I wonder what’s gotten into him?’ He stared at Aldwulf wondering if the man had been bewitched by some fair, dead maiden buried long ago at Deadmen’s Dike.

‘No matter the reason, Archim. It’s a fortunate turn of events for us that he is so oblivious our following him.

They lapsed into silence, guiding their mounts carefully over the forest floor, their eyes ever on the man before them.
____________________________________________

Dain's post

Fréa hung back at the rear of the column keeping a close watch on the others who were further down the trail. He could see Archim and Hama parading at the front of the line, with Graitwa following just a few paces back.

At this point, Fréa was as much worried that Graitwa or Archim would do something impulsive to blow their cover as he was about actually losing sight of Aldwulf. Aldwulf didn't seem to be going anywhere except straight ahead on the path; he was clearly in their view. Yet, every so often, Archim would turn to Hama, and the two men would engage in spirited conversation about the vagaries of the man whom they were following. Once or twice, Fréa turned to his elder brother and grimaced, letting him know that he didn't approve of Archim's loose tongue.

Graitwa picked up on this, and trotted forward to his youngest brother's side, "Pipe down, you two. You're chattering like a flock of young jackdaws. If you don't close your mouths, Aldwulf may overhear us."

Despite this warning, Aldwulf remained totally oblivious to his pursuers as he continued striding up the path. At one point in the late afternoon, Graitwa dropped back to Fréa's side and started a discussion of his own, this one focusing on what would happen once they arrived at Brytta's camp."

"Do you think we'll have the chance to attack today and put an end to all this," Graitwa queried.

Fréa shook his head, "I hope so, but let's not be in such a big hurry until we actually see their camp. Even if the layout looks good, we'd probably want to wait till late tonight under cover of darkness, when their men have fallen asleep."

Graitwa flashed back a grin, "So you think it will be as easy as following this one?"

Fréa shook his head, "That's hard to believe. If they have any sense, they'll post a guard. I do not think that Brytta is as big a fool as this one who walks ahead of us. If there's a sentry, he'll have to be carefully taken out. Then we'll see what happens...."

Aldwulf came to a temporary halt surveying the ridge that stood before him. He hesitated for an instant, looking about in all directions and then moved on. The campsite, the goal of all their travels, had to be dead ahead.


_____________________________________________

Envinyatar’s post

It was very early evening when Aldwulf rounded the dip in the path he had taken south as he left the camp. There, visible now a short distance away was the rocky outcropping the others had said would hold a lookout for him. Whoever it was on the rock had hidden himself, or herself. He grinned thinking of Liol crouched down behind the tops rocks awaiting his signal.

But there was none to give. He had seen or heard no one in pursuit. All was clear, as far as he was concerned. He strode on toward the bend which would take him behind the outcropping, and down to the little dell in which his companions waited.

Shifting his pack on his shoulders, he looked up again at the rocks. Then, with a quickened pace he headed back to where Brytta and the others waited, his voice raised in the low singing of some ballad.

At his left shoulder, he heard someone hiss at him. ‘Quiet down! No need to let anyone near know where we are!’ Chastened, he kept quiet as he marched the last few yards into camp.

Unheeded the Forgoils drew nearer, taking up advantageous positions above their quarry . . .

[ September 11, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[ September 11, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan had finished his pipe. Rising to his feet, he stretched. Most of the companions were close by.

Walking over to Brytta he spoke softly. "Here out paths diverge. I do not know your purpose, but I deem it an honorable one. Farewell."

Striding silently to the edge of the campsite he soon blended in with the brush and was out of sight, back to his watch.

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

[Orofaniel]

The had spotted Aldwulf. Graitwa walked over to his younger brothers: "Pipe down, you two. You're chattering like a flock of young jackdaws. If you don't close your mouths, Aldwulf may overhear us." He said in a bit grumpy voice.

As the afternoon drew closer Graitwa got back to Frea's side, discussing and focusing on what would happen when they reached Brytta's camp. Graitwa was wondering if they should attack today or wait, so he asked Frea what he thought about the subject:

"Do you think we'll have the chance to attack today and put an end to all this," Graitwa asked.

Fréa shook his head and looked at him, "I hope so, but let's not be in such a big hurry until we actually see their camp. Even if the layout looks good, we'd probably want to wait till late tonight under cover of darkness, when their men have fallen asleep."

Graitwa looked him in the eyes for a second and the he grinned. "So you think it will be as easy as following this one?" He continued with short laugh. It was obvious that Graitwa found this very much amusing indeed, because he didn't stop laughing until he almost trembled in his own feet. When this happened he pulled himself together and waited for Frea's comments. Frea thought for some moments, while he turned his head and looked in all directions.

"Hm......" Frea said while he shook his head, "That's hard to believe. If they have any sense, they'll post a guard. I do not think that Brytta is as big a fool as this one who walks ahead of us. If there's a sentry, he'll have to be carefully taken out. Then we'll see what happens...."

"I think you have a point there, mate." Graitwa said to Frea. "I doubt that Brytta is a big fool as the one in front of us here." He continued while his eyes turned to his brother again.

*~*

They were creeping forwards to the Hyldesons' camp, Graitwa, Hama, Frea and Archim. There were men by the Camp, and Graitwa gave a short sigh while glanceing over at the others. His eyes reached Frea. What did he want them to do?

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

[piosenniel]

Tinuviel of Denton's post

Following the Forgoils, Hama crept forward towards the Hyldesons' camp. Since the battle with the bandits, he hadn't really felt at ease with himself. Yes, stepping between the brothers had been the right thing to do, he didn't doubt that action, but there just was something not quite right about this whole mission. Things didn't add up, the Forgoils kept referring to something that sounded out of place on the road when they thought he couldn't hear them, and Frea--well, Frea just made the young man nervous. Something was rotten here. Hama just couldn't figure out what.

Archim. Well, Hama hadn't liked the man at first, but...he had been friendlier after that fight and it was getting harder and harder to keep things straight. Graitwa. He never said much, just...looked. He made Hama almost as nervous as Frea did. But, Frea, Frea had been ready to kill his brother. His own brother. And something about the whole thing just ate at Hama's gut.

Things were moving so fast; he didn't know what to do. It was like a dream, one that he would have given a great deal to be able to wake up and for none of it to have happened. He wasn't supposed to be here; he was just a jail-guard. The killer had been caught, given trial as was right and proper, and that should have been the end of it.

He watched the men in the camp, and waited for the signal. He didn't like this, and he was beginning to wonder if he'd made a mistake in joining the Guards of Rohan in the first place. He didn't know if he could take a life, which he might have to do when things came down to that critical point.

[Himaran]

Dain's post

By the time the Forgoils had reached the outer edge of the encampment, the forest was wrapped in semi-darkness. Still, Fréa was able to see at least the broad outline of the camp in the grey mist of dusk and what the men inside were doing. Telling the rest of his group to stay put, Fréa cautiously made his way along the perimeter, lying flat on the ground and pulling his body slowly forward through the underbrush.

He did not particularly like what he saw. Brytta's men were wide awake and showed no eagerness to set down their weapons and relax over their dinner. Daggers and swords were still strapped about their waists, with bows and arrows set down near the center of camp within easy reach if an unexpected attack should come. However foolish Aldwulf had acted in his trip to Bree, Brytta was showing a great deal more caution and common sense in the way that he had organized the camp.

A sentry stood beyond the clearing patrolling along the outskirts. At one point, when the man strode forward and stared off into the forest, Fréa had to jump back and cower under a bush to avoid detection. He scowled, cursing his bad luck underneath his breath, and then crawled back towards the others as quickly as he dared.

Reaching the spot where Archim and Graitwa were waiting, he turned to them and shook his head, his voice no more than a whisper, "No luck! We shall have to hold off. At least till everyone sets down their weapons and relaxes over their evening meal. It's too risky to try and strike now."

Archim glowered back at him, "How long a wait?"

Fréa casually shrugged his shoulders, "However long it takes. I don't really know. I'll keep a keen eye on the camp and see what's happening. But, from what I can see, they plan to be here a while. They're apparently gathering some sort of building materials. I'd rather be cautious than end up with us losing our necks."

He turned back to look at his brothers to see what they would say.

~*~

Orofaniel's post

Even though it was very late, and the darkness had krept over both Forgoils and Brytta's camp, they were still awake. Brytta and co. made no signs, at all to take down their weapons, and leave their camp unguarded for a nice dinner at the fireplace. Graitwa laughed at the thought of Aldewulf, how the fool had acted in his trip to Bree. Brytta however, seemed to be much wiser, the camp was very well organized and he seemd to show much more caution. Graitwa was very much impressed by this, but he didn't say this to his brothers.

Graitwa had been standing looking at the camp, examing every inch of it. This would be difficult he knew that. To attack a camp that was fully guarded was on the edge to be...isane.

Graitwa returend to his brother Archim, the very same evening. They were both quiet and didn't say much, nothing of importance anyhow. The silence was broke when Frea turned up.

"No luck! We shall have to hold off. At least till everyone sets down their weapons and relaxes over their evening meal. It's too risky to try and strike now." He wisphered while he shook his head.
Archim didn't seem too pleased about this and growled back: "How long a wait?"

Frea obviously didn't know what to answer, or what to do, so he shrugged his shoulders. Then, moments later, he took a deep breath and continued: "However long it takes. I don't really know. I'll keep a keen eye on the camp and see what's happening. But, from what I can see, they plan to be here a while. They're apparently gathering some sort of building materials. I'd rather be cautious than end up with us losing our necks." Graitwa stared at Frea, and Frea noticed this so he turned his head to hear Graitwa's point of weiw.

"I think it's a good idea." Graitwa said shorthly. "We have to wait, or we'll blow our chances. It's no point going to the camp now. They are well armed, and to tell you the truth; we will not have the slightes chance to get what we want and to get out alive." Graitwa continued. "I've been watching the camp very closely this evening." He added. "I've been examing every inch of it." He said at the end.

Graitwa looked over at his two bothers. He glanced over at Frea and his eyes met Frea's. Then Graitwa turened his eyes over to Archim. Archim seemed to be in his own thoughts so Graitwa clapped him on the shoulder. "I suggest we hide in the bushes near the camp too keep an eye on them." He said to get Archim's attention. Graitwa sucseeded to get Archim’s attention, because Archim was now looking at him with great eyes.

Archim was about to say something when Graitwa interrupted. "As I said, we need to keep an eye on the at all times. So that we can be ready when they are not!" He said in a stern voice. Then he laughed of his own comment.

"You want us to wait???" Archim said to Graitwa's amazement. Hadn't his brother listened to anything he had said?

~*~

Pio's post

‘No luck. We shall have to hold off . . .’

Fréa’s words of caution grated on Archim. He had reached the end of whatever small store of patience he had and wanted to act . . . be done with this problem . . . return to the Mark . . . And now here was his brother urging them to wait for the opportune moment.

Nothing about this misguided venture was given to opportunity. It had begun with a series of ill thought acts, the burden of which chafed Archim. And in his mind it should be ended quickly. They had them in their fist it seemed, the element of surprise would be on their side. Why not hit them now and be done with it. The more he thought on it, the more he thought this a better plan of action.

‘I think it's a good idea." Graitwa said shortly, forcing him out of his dark reverie. ‘We have to wait, or we'll blow our chances. It's no point going to the camp now. They are well armed, and to tell you the truth; we will not have the slightest chance to get what we want and to get out alive.’

As evenly as he could, Archim spoke his objections. He knew they would not be listened to. And that, in fact they would probably be dismissed as the harebrained reasoning of their younger brother once again. He bit his tongue as the response he knew would come, did indeed fall from their lips.

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

[Himaran]

Pio's post

His brothers and Hama were huddled together, hidden well within the shadows of the surrounding trees and rocks. Fréa had hunkered down, his back against a rocky outcropping, chewing on a piece of jerky. The slow, deliberate rhythm of his chewing irked Archim. Fréa, for all intents and purposes, looked like a man prepared to wait until doom’s day before he saw an ‘opportune moment’.

Archim sat apart from them, his own meager, cold meal hastily downed. Thoughts of the five men in the other camp rolled about in his head . . . thoughts of Brytta . . . his smug little, self-assured self going about the business of making a safe place for him and his brother. Just like him, he thought, to be so efficient . . . so overweeningly confident . . . to think that they would be safe now . . .

His thoughts spiraled further down dark and twisted paths. Brytta, he imagined, was somehow snubbing his nose at them even now. Thinking once again how stupid and incompetent the Forgoil’s were for even daring to think they could pin the murder on his darling brother, Heldór. And yes, he was sure the Hyldeson’s knew exactly who had done the deed.

Fréa and Graitwa were talking low, heads together. Hama was nowhere to be seen. Probably sent off by Fréa to scout the Hyldeson camp once again. Archim picked up a sharp stick from the ground beside him and jabbed it viciously into the dirt.

‘There are five of them, and four of us,’ he thought to himself. ‘perhaps that is the reason Fréa is holding back.’ The hint of a crooked smile crept on his lips. He stood, and drew his dark cloak around him. Fréa called out to him, and Archim waved him off, saying softly he was just stepping away for a moment to answer a call of nature.

He patted the knives hid beneath his cloak and strode off, deeper into the cover of the trees. The sun was westering, twilight was darkening toward night. Circling round, out of sight of his brothers, he approached the Hyldeson camp.

Perhaps, he thought, continuing down his path of paranoia and illogic . . . if he could pick one of them off . . . even the odds, so to speak . . . then, Fréa would be prompted into action.

He drew up on the top of a small rocky outcropping that stood above their camp. ‘The sentry,’ he thought, ‘he should be alone. If I can take him down, we can go in.’ Flattening himself against the level top of one of the taller rocks, he waited.

It wasn't long before he spied a figure walking the perimeter of the camp. 'Better and better!' he grinned in the failing light. It was Brytta . . .

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

[Himaran]

Dain's post

Frea's eyes were rivetted on Brytta's encampment as he intently watched every move that the men made. Once more, he crept up closer to the clearing, being careful to keep his body hidden under the low lying bracken and overhanging bushes.

He watched with intent interest as Brytta's men finally settled down for the evening. One by one, they began unbuckling the swordbelts from about their waists, setting the weapons down on the ground and drawing closer to each other as they engaged in spirited conversation. A thick stew was bubbling in a large pot that hung over the central fire. The woman went forward to dole it out as laughter and joking rose from the circle and one of the men drew out some pipes and began to play. Finally, the sentry who'd been patrolling on the edge of the camp came forward to share in a bit of the supper and companionship.

Fréa's eyes alit with glee. Now! Now was the time to strike! He raced backed to his own companions, heedless of the noise that he was making as he clambered through the underbrush.

"Up, now. Their minds are elsewhere. Quickly men! Forward. This is our chance."

Fréa pivotted around to face the group, taking in the forms of Graitwa and Hama. His older brother and Hama sprang up instantly and began roaring towards the clearing with swords and daggers drawn. But, before they could strike, one last question rose in Fréa's mind. Where in the blazes was Archim? Where was his brother? Although rapidly surveying the encampment, Fréa could still see no sign of Archim.

Powerless to call back his own men or to stop time from advancing, Fréa did the only thing he could do under the circumstances, snatching out his own blade and running to catch up with the others. The lust for battle swept over him, and he was instantly overcome with only one thought: the desire to strike as hard and fast as he possibly could.

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

[Himaran]

Pio's post

Archim's eye was on Brytta as he drew back his right arm. He could almost hear the thunk of the blade as it embedded itself in the man’s neck, see the thin seep of blood that preceded the pulsing torrent that would take his life.

The taste of victory was fleeting. Damn Brytta and his luck! Two others of the fugitive group had come up to him, engaging him in some talk. If they would but stand back a little, though, he would still have a clear shot at his quarry . . .

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Tinuviel's Post

Stop being such a fool! Hama ordered himself. He pulled out his sword, ready to do his duty, for Rohan and for the King—even if his conscience cried out against it. It didn’t matter, it didn’t. Whether or not Heldór was the killer, he was a fugitive from Rohan and a lawbreaker. His brother and all of their companions were just as bad. They all deserved prison, at the least.

He watched for Fréa’s upraised hand, tensely waiting for the signal to charge. He kept telling himself that this was for Rohan, this was for the King, this was for Rohan, this was for the King…his eyes were starting to strain and his vision was growing blurry. He wasn’t crying, understand; there must have been something in his eye. His eyes didn’t blur enough for him to miss Fréa’s signal though.

Sword held high, he rushed down into the camp, screaming the war cry of the Rohirrim. Heads flew up, and he almost thought he detected relief that the running was finally over on a few of the faces. He charged straight for Brytta, though there were several fugitives between the two of them. The look on Brytta’s face wasn’t that of a man about to die, he thought. It was more an expression of betrayal than of fear. Betrayal of what?

He was too engrossed in forcing himself to take the last steps towards the cripple to pay attention to what was going on around him. Now the fugitive will pay...
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Pio's post

There! The little group parted, Brytta stood alone as the others turned from him. Archim stood quickly, hurling the dagger with deadly accuracy . . .

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

[Himaran]

Pio's post

Had he been able, he would have called back the fatal dart. Too late! It flew true on its grisly path. But now the target of its certain destruction was no longer the intended one.

Fréa had called for the attack to begin. And Hama, true to his calling, as a loyal guardsman of the Mark had responded. Sword held high he had charged toward Brytta.

With growing horror, Archim watched as the knifed flew straight at the man . . .
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Tinuviel's Post:

The knife that thudded into Hama’s chest came as a complete surprise. It was like a dream. He saw it coming, as if time had slowed down to barely a quarter of normal speed. He felt the pain, heard the wet THUNK! as it pierced his leather tunic, skin, and splintered bone. But it was all at one remove. It didn’t feel real.

He fell to the ground, still wrapped in the haze of disbelief. It was only as the stunned face of Brytta came into view that he realized that he wasn’t dreaming. Time resumed its normal pace, and he suddenly felt the knife in his chest. He saw Brytta’s mouth forming words, but comprehension was slow. His body was reacting at a normal speed, but his mind was stunned. Archim’s knife. Aiming for Brytta. It hit Hama instead.

He tried to form words, to ask for water, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. It was like trying to talk around a mouthful of cotton. He coughed blood; the blade had pierced a lung. He kept trying to understand what Brytta was trying to tell him because he thought it must be important. But he was so sleepy, and he just couldn’t remember why it was so important. Brytta’s face started to waver, as Hama’s breaths grew shallower, more forced. He coughed more blood. His breathing was labored.

He tried to ask Brytta to slow down and start from the beginning again, but for some reason, his body refused to obey him. The worried faces of the fugitives began to fade, and Hama closed his eyes.

Just a little rest . . .

[ September 17, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Dain's Post

Fréa watched in shock as Archim's knife hurtled through the air and found its fatal target. Too stunned to respond, he stood frozen to the spot, legs rivetted and eyes unblinking, unable to move forward or to bring his weapon down on Brytta's head. Fréa stared at the tiny rivulets of blood that were seeping out of Hama's wound and pooling idly on the ground nearby.

Normally, for such a fool mistake, he would have turned upon his brother in a rage and let him know exactly how he felt. But something inside stayed Fréa's mouth. And words did not seem to fit right now. He motioned to his brothers to retreat and pull back towards the horses at the edge of camp.

When he glimpsed Archim stumbling about in the dark, seemingly not knowing where to go, Fréa went over to his brother and steadied him with an arm about his shoulder, and then gave him a lift up onto his mount. There was dead silence as the three brothers turned and hastily rode off. If they were pursued by Brytta's men, Fréa did not see it. All about was silence, as the trio urged their horses forward and disappeared into the night.

[ September 18, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[Himaran]

It all happened too quickly. The screams of the Forgoils, attacking the camp. Hama, dashing in with his sword at ready, prepared to kill them all. And then the knife, that fatal chunk of metal, hitting the guard of Rohan in the chest. And then it was all over.

Brytta dashed to where Hama had fallen, bending over him. He tried to explain what had happened, but the words did not come out right. Hama seemed to struggle to speak, but then his eyes closed. The noble man had died, and Brytta bent over his form in tears.

Aldwulf stood nearby, sword at ready, moving towards him slowly. "He was a pawn, Brytta, nothing more. They used him, and he suffered in their place." But the words were not of comfort. And Brytta knew that they were true. The Forgoils had disappeared, and it seemed that at last Brytta and his brother were safe. They were free to start a knew life in a knew place, without threat of discovery.

But it did not stop the tears.

[ September 18, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[piosenniel]

~*~ To Elvenhome ~*~