A Ride to the Dark Side--RPG [Archive] - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Anglachel

12-28-2002, 12:35 AM

“Little time have I spent amongst the Rohirrim, yet little is a word I would never use to describe the spirit of your people,” said Anglachel to Ælfritha. “Truly an outsider cannot understand your love of horses without seeing it first hand. I pity the thief who dares to steal a horse from Rohan.”

“But I do not,” said Ælfritha without hesitation. “They will not get far.”

Anglachel turned from the conversation momentarily to check the progress of the preparations. Goods and provisions were arriving in abundance, and several of the Rohirrim had already volunteered to help with the pursuit. Impressive, thought Anglachel as he nodded approval, the Rohirrim can be quite dedicated to a task when motivated.

Being satisfied that the posse would be mobile soon, he returned to the conversation with Ælfritha. “Nevertheless, it is common knowledge amongst traveling merchants that the Rohirrim rarely leave their own lands. While that makes Rohan a favorite spot for the merchant with a full cart, it does not bode well for your team of pursuit should the thieves make it out of Rohan,” said Anglachel.

“We do not have time to locate a tracker,” said Ælfritha, “unless there is something else you had in mind?”

Though Anglachel paused a moment in thought, he had already come to a decision several minutes before. Nevertheless, he collected his thoughts before presenting his proposal to Ælfritha.

“Initially, I had planned to visit Gondor and then travel to the land east of the Rhun before returning to Esgaroth,” said Anglachel. “Yet, there is no reason I cannot conduct my business in the East first and then journey to Gondor. I had planned to spend a few days in Edoras, but under the circumstances, I will ready to travel with you when you depart. I have been to all corners of Middle Earth, and I know the roads of this land as well many trackers. Whether these Easterlings are returning home or even if they serve some darker purpose, I can help to locate them.”

Ælfritha quickly accepted this offer, knowing Anglachel spoke shrewdly on these matters.

Before leaving to gather his few possessions, Anglachel turned to his new traveling companion, “One last thought,” said Anglachel. “Make sure there are at least a few in the group who can handle a sword or bow, for it is a dangerous road we are about to take. As a seasoned traveler I can fight in a pinch, but remember, I am a tradesman, not a swordsman.”

He gave Ælfritha a quick smile as he excused himself to make final preparations.

Deorlin

12-28-2002, 04:01 AM

Deorlin was just finishing his ale and wiping the back of his hand across his mustache when he heard Aelfritha's grim declaration of the theft of the horses. He was on his feet in an instant, making for the door. All was confusion as the inn patrons talked loudly amongst themselves or joined the stream of horse owners, and the merely curious, going to see which beasts were missing. Deorlin swore under his breath as he pushed his way out into the darkness of the yard and thence to the stables. If Frey was gone . . . he wouldn't even allow himself to finish the thought.

A few short strides brought him to the stall where he had tended to his friend no more than 30 minutes before. Like all Rohirrim, to Deorlin his horse was more than just a means of travel or beast of burden - he was a friend, a true and loyal companion. More like a beloved family member than a four legged servant, or pet even. The bond formed between rider and mount was almost indescribable. In Frey, Deorlin would place his utmost trust, and there was no value in gold or jewels that could be placed on him. So without question, whenever they stopped for a respite from their journeying, Deorlin always tended to Frey's needs before his own. And he had left his friend here in this stall, with a bucket of fresh water and a manger of sweet hay. And now . . .

Empty! Deorlin's heart pounded in his chest, his blood throbbing in his temples. No! This can not be, he thought wildly. I am bound to go to Theoden! I must report on all that I have witnessed and heard these last few months! But, Frey . . . where have they taken him? What fate awaits him? I can not abandon him . . . but my duty to the king? Deorlin cursed his own stupidity for having chosen to stop, having been this close to Meduseld.

Torn between his two conflicting loyalties, Deorlin hesitated. But in his heart, he knew what he must do. Resolutley, he strode back to the inn, once more pushing his way through the noisy crowd. Standing tall, even among his fellow Rohirrim, he soon spotted Aelfritha and called out to her.

"Here am I, Deorlin, son of Deorwine, rider of the Mark, newly returned to our beloved land of Rohan. My horse, my companion, Frey, has been taken. If there is anyone here who can lend me the use of a mount, I will ride with you and not return unless it is with my Frey, and the others which have been so vilely stolen. Say you now, is there a horse I can borrow? If not, I'll run along side you, for this sort of of treachery can not be tolerated in our land. Not while a rider of the mark draws breath."

While waiting for Aelfritha's reply, the thought flashed through Deorlin's mind that these were dark days indeed when strangers came boldly into the very heart of Rohan, undetected, and stole good horses right out from under the noses of their people. The time was drawing near, very near, when all must look to their hearts and their sword arm to fight for what they held most dear, be it horse, family or country. There was no doubt in his own mind, the east was rising, and swiftly too!

[ December 29, 2002: Message edited by: Deorlin ]

*Varda*

12-28-2002, 01:43 PM

Malienna stood up as Aelfritha made the announcement. Her first fear was for her own horse, Naroch, until she remembered he had been stabled elsewhere for the night. That feeling of worry now over, she turned her thought to the matter in hand. Surely others would be feeling the worry of the loss of a horse, and her first task was to help them. Surely she could not sit in the Inn allowing the others to go, when she could help?

“Aelfritha, I will go with you. I will help in any way I can,” Malienna spoke to the woman, who merely nodded, and continued her preparations. Malienna slipped up to her room, placed a few items of clothing and herbs for healing in her bag, for they could be useful, though she had little skill. She put on her chainmail, but feeling selfconscious, she fastened another top over it. Pulling on her boots, and picking up her knives she stood up, ready to ride, and to fight. With her sword by her side, she went back downstairs.

She slipped outside and asked a stableboy to make ready her horse before they would leave. This done, she stepped back into the Inn to see who else was accompanying them on this quest.

As yet, only one or two had volunteered, but she felt sure there would soon be more.

[ December 28, 2002: Message edited by: *Varda* ]

Garen LiLorian

12-28-2002, 10:53 PM

Some time earlier...

The air was thick and warm. The moon shone coldly down, reflecting off of the Forgoil's dwelling-places, and giving the whole scene an chill. Gormel bared his teeth in an animalistic smile as he loped through the streets of Edoras, confident in his band to quiet any disturbance his appearance might create. Indeed, a sharply indrawn breath betrayed the presence of one of the Strawheads, out for an evening stroll perhaps, but it was quickly followed by a spinning blade, and a choked sigh. Gormel never paused.

He reached the Inn. Golden light spilled from its windows, and the sounds of merrymaking floated forth into the night. Gormel paused at the entrance to the stable, and motioned with his free hand. Two figures, cloaked and hooded, slipped past him into the stable. Gormel allowed himself a noisy exhalation of breath then, although his sharp eyes never ceased roving the landscape. This was the most dangerous part of the operation, he knew. One discordant sound from the four-legs, and the cursed Northerners would stream from the building like a kicked anthill.

Rhana would be inside now, blindfolding the beasts and persuading them to come quietly, while Bhurthnin, his loyal second, stood by to dispatch any beast that caused trouble. Better to arrive a few horses short than be caught in the act, he thought, and showed his teeth in what could be taken for a smile, by a blind man. A blind man facing the wrong way, on a moonless night. Maybe.

A soft nicker brought his attention back where it belonged. Rhana was leading the horses out, silent as a wisp of cloud. She had swathed their hooves in cloth. Gormel nodded approvingly. For a foreign mercenary, and a woman to boot, she had her uses. Several other "uses" flickered through his dark mind, and he grinned again.

He caught Bhurthnin's eye, and raised one eyebrow. His second showed his blade, clean of blood but for a spot on the hilt, and Gormel nodded again, less happily. He was displeased that the man had merely clubbed whoever had been in the stable, and would deal with it later, but he couldn't waste time finishing the job properly now. The time for secrecy was nearly at an end, then it would be a race back across the Riddermark.

Gathering his band around him, he led them back through the streets of Edoras, out the gate, and down the hill into the night.

VanimaEdhel

12-29-2002, 02:45 PM

Izrênna looked up in surprise as Ælfritha came in. She abandoned her ale in the hopes of getting to her new friends, Menelduliniel and Estelarion. These travelers would certainly be good members to have on this quest. They seemed to be used to traveling.

Izrênna tried, to no avail, to push through the bustling group towards Menelduliniel and Estelarion. She looked around quickly, and slid out of the crowd. She gave up the quest to find her friends and stood aside, trying to think of what to do.

Her father would throw a fit if he knew what she was about to do. She was so small, he always said, that she could do nothing to aid those of strength. She looked around the busy room, her brow furrowed in thought.

She finally took a breath and pushed through the crowds to the bar. She hefted up her very light pack and then put her bow and quiver on her back. Even if she was not much good if they were going to have to fight at close range, she could pick off the thieves from afar maybe. And someone else could share her horse.

She found her way to Ælfritha.

"I will aid you," she said, "And someone else can ride my horse with me of you need extra mounts."

Before Ælfritha replied, Izrênna quickly slipped out of the Inn and snuck in the shadows to the stable. She knew that her size would make her fairly undesirable for this quest, and did not want to give anyone a chance to refuse her. If they did refuse her, she would follow anyway.

She was very careful on the way to the stables, in case any danger was present in this area. She slipped in and hefted the heavy saddle onto the grey horse. She fastened his bridle and led the willing horse to the front of the Inn to wait for the others. She thanked the stars that this horse was willing, for others she had been given to ride on errands had not been, and she had been forced, in the past, to return and ask for another, as she could not control strong-minded horses. She held the horse's bridle and stood on the ground, quietly waiting for the others to be ready. She eyed the saddle, and was satisfied that it was large enough for more than just herself...

[ December 29, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

Bêthberry

12-29-2002, 02:54 PM

Word spread fast and as dawn approached, a posse was made ready. The White Horse, as became most inns, was one of the centres of the community, and was prepared for swift action. Horses for all the pursuers were brought forth, weapons at the ready as well.

Old Fróma made sure everyone had a warm breakfast under their belly, for the dark night sky meant that tracking must wait for dawn. Sausages, coffee, breads, preserves--he insisted that everyone ate, for to leave hungry would be foolhardy, and the Rohirrim were no fools.

Bethberry noted that Malienna, Ælfritha and Anglachel and the others were swift in arranging their affairs. She turned to Deorlin, though, in his distress.

"Deorlin, if you will trust me, tell me your message for the Golden Hall, and I will see it is safely delivered, both promtly and discreetly as well. You are needed here, for while the Merchant may well know the roads beyond our borders, you will be needed as the official of Edoras, for the laws and rules of Rohan must be represented as well as upheld."

==========

Meanwhile, Ælfritha made ready for departure. She took her leave of Heórrend with grim feelings, happy at least that he was out of danger.

She thanked Eomund for his horses and choose Nithal, a bay who looked strong enough to be able to endure a hard gallop of an hour or two at a time. Saddle bags, pack, blankets, a tack kit, all were saddled up. A sheepskin coat was all the mail she wore, and no weapons save the knives she used in the care of horses. Her whip as well, which she was prepared to use upon the thieves although no horse's back had ever known it. And for the first time in her life, she welcomed spurs upon her boots. She waited the greasy first light of day, the anxiety in her stomach snapping like the jaws of a wolf who paces around sniffing for the trail.

=========
Airerûthiel's first post

Maikadurion listened intently at this talk of stolen horses. He knew that such treachery was frowned upon intensely in Rohan, and that to have a horse stolen in the land of the horse-lords was like parting a mother from her babe. Despite the comfortable routine he had got himself into working at the inn of the White Horse, in his heart he still yearned to break his vow and seek adventure in Middle-earth once more.

Then suddenly his thoughts leapt outside to the stable. "Formenelen," he whispered, and his heartbeat quickened, pounding in his ears like raindrops onto a roof of Edoras during a downpour. If his mother's horse had been taken...no, it would be too great a blow to his memory. The image of her pale face with its long hair as golden as oak leaves in autumn and the ice-blue eyes as cold as the first spring morn had all but faded from the memory of nine years, when he saw her lying in state in the Great Hall of his uncle.

As the throng of people poured forward from the door of the inn like a river in flood, he slipped in among them as silently and quickly as a shadow or a breath of wind, noticed by none, and made his way across the cobbled courtyard to the stables.

The half-Elf quieted the horses in Rohirric and the tongue of his Elven kin, and they were still - he had possessed the gift prized so highly by Men of the Riddermark for as long as he could remember. Going through each one of the remaining beautiful beasts, whose eyes had grown in their heads to twice their size and were immersed in a liquid trauma that gazed out pleadingly at him, Maikadurion reached the stall of the North Star. He closed his eyes as his delicate fingers ran themselves over the engraved brass plate on the stall door, and then slowly opened them as he stood up, already knowing what it was he would find there.

It was as empty as a tombstone that waits with yawning open mouth, hungry for its eternal meal of a coffin and a life.

"Then I know what I must do," he said to himself in a saddened and sombre tone, his feet as heavy as the helm with the treacherous path laid before them. "I have no choice but to leave, to return to my old life...to go back to what appears to be my destiny."

He walked back into the inn alongside the stragglers who offered only provisions to the troupe of riders, and then walked towards the bar.

"Drink this, my friend." Maikadurion glanced up to see Bethberry's kindly face as she took in his own expression. "I am surprised you are not on this side of the bar; after all, you seemed more content there than you do when we are divided by this wooden barricade."

"Good lady Bethberry, I have a boon to ask of you," said Maikadurion, opening his mouth to continue with his request. But he got no further; the innkeeper's sorrowful half-smile told him all he needed to know.

"You were not destined for the simple life, my friend," she replied. "Although for a short time you were content to work for your living, I see that in your heart your desire is to taste adventure all your days in Middle-earth. And maybe one day our paths will cross again. Go now, and fulfil your desires."

Maikadurion kept a pack behind the bar, filled with everything he would need should he choose to leave Edoras for the unknown, and he gratefully took this now from Bethberry. "You have been good to me, and I owe you a great debt. I leave you with my promise that one day I will return to the White Horse."

"And I shall hold your faith to that promise," replied the innkeeper. "You are strong and brave, and you leave this place with honour, having proved your worth. Go now; without horses to spare and your own mount taken, it will be a long journey on foot, even for the son of Elves and Men."

============

Gryphon Hall's first post

It has been a tiring but deeply satisfying few months for the dwarf Corrin. Up and down Dunland, and through the homesteads of Rohan, now enjoying some warm ale and good pipeweed in the White Horse. And such good ale as he hadn't had in a long time, served by such a nice innkeeper, too. Being in the middle of Edoras, he didn't even feel the need to wear his armor; just normal clothes tonight, thank you very much. Aaaaah, yes, the wonderful fact of having sold almost all his wares and enjoying the profits. Nothing can spoil this, thought Corrin.

A woman suddenly burst in and she was obviously distressed. 'Good people of Rohan and guests of the Mark,' she began, 'we are abused and assaulted within our very gates. Our horses have been stolen, four of them mine, those of others as well. One of our own has been wounded. Who will join me in pursuit to recover the horses?' Oh, bother! thought Corrin, And it was turning out to be such a pleasant night, too. He turned to a gaping lad seated beside him, and said, '`Tis a bad thing to steal any of the horses of Rohirrim, you know.'

The lad turned toward him and looked even more surprised. Corrin paid no heed, but added, 'Yes, awful bad thing. Might as well steal one of their women or babies, it doesn't matter.' As he said this thing about women and babies, he thought of his own wife and children, and began to feel hot. 'The Horse-lords will go after 'em like nothing and make 'em pay,' he said, beginning to feel really riled up. 'Maybe,' Corrin added, 'maybe I go with them and test this out.' He was fingering his axe, then looked at the lad he was talking to, but he was gone.

He looked around, making sure that the silly kid didn't just sneak away, but the lad, well, what he thought was a lad was really nowhere in sight. 'Corrin, my boy,' said the dwarf to himself, '`tis a shame that you can no longer hold your liquor, talking to thin air like that.' The initial vengeful reaction gone, he greedily gulped his ale. 'But where's the fun if such good drink doesn't make you imagine stuff awhiles.' He raised his tankard to Bethberry, who smiled back.

By now, others were volunteering to go after the horse thieves and there was a general uproar. Some of the customers were suddenly leaving for the stables, probably to see if at least their horses were spared and left behind. Corrin sighed. 'I guess I can go on one free adventure,' he muttered softly to himself. 'Darrin is still on business and Dáie thinks I shall be returning by spring.' Quickly counting and estimating, he decided to go along with the posse. 'They will need a stout dwarf. Yes, they will.' Basking in his own heroism, and all the ale beginning to go to his head, he went up to his room without informing Bethberry or anyone that he was going. By the time he lay in bed, he had forgotten about the horses and the muster of the posse.

And he snored loudly, too, as only a dwarf can.

The next day, the sun was just about to rise, the posse that left some time before had already followed the trail, and Corrin the dwarf suddenly woke up with a start. He was feeling that he needed to do something important, very important, but he can't remember what.

'Breakfast!' he roared. 'I shall remember when I've had my breakfast.' As was his custom, he started preparing as if to leave. He wore his metal hose, his hauberk, his greaves, but not his helmet. All bundles neatly packed, ready to be heaved on his back, but in the meantime left in his room. He was beginning to feel good again and had forgotten about the posse. 'Tra-la-la-la-la,' he sang on his way down, oblivious to the others who may be sleeping. Hmmmmm... wait a minute, some of the doors are open.

The dining area was, understandably, quiet and almost empty of people, save Bethberry. She seems to have had quite a night, he thought. Looks like she hasn't slept a wink.

'Aaahh! My good innkeeper! Have you got any vittles for a hungry dwarf?' He suddenly felt the nagging doubt in his mind again, that something very important to do. Corrin was suddenly quiet and thoughtful as he went back to the exact same seat he was in the night before. Bethberry quickly brought some food over, as well as ale; too quickly, it seems. The food usually took time to cook. This was still warm. Corrin looked up and instinctly raised his tankard. Bethberry smiled back. He looked to where the gaping lad sat the night before.

And suddenly it all memory of the night before hit him so hard that he actually fell out of his chair. 'Foolish dwarf! There is no time for dilly-dallying!' He motioned to Bethberry, and roared, 'Ho! Inkeeper! Some provisions, if you please, for a week or two of hot pursuit.' Corrin's voice was shrill with dismay and hurry; he hated being left behind for any reason. 'Weapons! I need my weapons!' He ran back up and rummaged through his pack, taking one two-handed battle-axe, two smaller throwing axes, and finally his short broad sword and buckler shield.

Having these, he ran out of the door. And then ran back in. 'Of all the bother in this world!' he exclaimed as he shoved his helm on. He ran down the steps, and then fell down the rest of the way. He rolled back into a standing position and then faced Bethberry, whose hands were on her hips.

'Please, tell me where they went! I can catch up with them, dwarves need no sleep and I, we, can march day and night!' He took a step closer, his voice urgent and pleading. 'They will have to rest soon; I can catch up with them! I can! Please, tell me where they went and let me go, too.'

[ January 04, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

Sadbh

12-29-2002, 03:25 PM

Sadiya shrugged the tattered buckskin further up her shoulder, rubbing her hands together for warmth. In front of her, on the close cropped grass lay a tightly woven wicker basket. She down and cradled the basket gently, staring at the small, soft face inside. The child had been given a draught of herbs only hours before to give her sleep, lest one of the straw-heads of Edoras here the cries of a child outside the city walls. She tucked another soft rag around the child's head to supplement the lining of rabbit fur. It was a cold night, but a fire would have been impractical, given the circumstances.

The woman knew that the band faced a long night and morning, and they would travel hard to put distance between them and the straw-heads. The only regret she had was for her child, for she had been raised as a nomad, and was used to traveling many hours without food, fire, or rest.

The infant, sighing in her sleep, reached out and tugged at the end of her mother's braid. As Sadiya tucked her daughter's arm back into the warmth of the basket, the great gate groaned ever so faintly. She turned to see the group and stood, strapping the small cradle onto her back. She helped coax the gate gently open. As the men, Rhana, and the horses filtered from Edoras, her husband took her elbow and steered her away from the others.

"I hope the brat didn't cry?" He shook her hard as he spoke.

"No, she didn't wake at all!" Sadiya whispered furvently. Her throat pained her as she spoke. The man eyed her critically, but let go of her arm. As the group of horse thieves left Edoras, she trailed nervously and cautiously behind her husband. She had learned by now that any wrong action or word would result in a slap in the face or a cuff around the ear. She lowered her head and felt his gaze pierce her neck. Before her, her breath was tinged milk white in the frost touched air.

[ December 29, 2002: Message edited by: Sadbh ]

Maikadilwen

12-29-2002, 03:31 PM

Rhana eased the horses as they were gathered outside the great gate. She noticed the way Gormel looked at her and sent him a withering look. Just go ahead and try, you creep, she thought and placed her hand on her knife, letting him know she wasn't afraid to use it.
He just grinned at her or at least so it seemed. She wasn't sure whether the grimace on his ugly face could be considered close to a smile or not.

One of the men grabbed the woman, Sadiya, by the arm and dragged her away with him. He seemed to be upset about something. Rhana couldn't hide a smirk. How could anyone be so foolish as to bring a child with them, on a possibly dangerous mission such as this? This was no place for an infant.

The familiar sound of a flask being opened, reached her ears and she turned to see one of the men drinking greedily. A hint of a smile appeared on her face and she quickly stepped next to him and snapped the flask from him and drank, feeling the brew spread it's warmth through her blood. She ducked swiftly as the tall man tried to slap her and she laughed at him mockingly as she returned the flask to him.
Gormel made sign for them to be quiet and get ready to leave. They had to be far away before daybreak, since it wouldn't be long before someone would discover what had happened.

Once on the move, Rhana slipped closely to Sadiya. "You better make sure to keep that thing quiet!" She nodded toward the child. "Otherwise, I'll do it!" she said while fingering her knife, making sure the woman understood what she meant.

[ January 01, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

Sadbh

12-30-2002, 02:45 AM

Sadbh's brow furrowed in contempt, but she kept a scowl from her face. "For an outsider, you have extreme audacity to acost me with half-hearted threats." She slipped forward closer to her husband in a way so that no part of herself or her child were open directly to the long knife Rhana had touched.

Utha was looking intently forward, leading one of the large,toned mounts from Rohan. Its placidity far surpassed that of anyone else's, beast or human, and she instantly admired the animal. A tentative hand reached out to stroke the withers of the horse, but with a large, calloused hand her husband roughly pushed her away from the animal. His scowl was perturbed to say the least and his comment was cold and curt.

"Silly girl, don't touch it, you'll spook it." Well, if it lets you lead it... her thought trailed off and she looked away. Snorting, she shook her head. That was as far as any of her retorts got- thoughts. She felt a stirring in the cradle on her back. While her husband watched her bitterly, she shifted the woven device so that she could see inside. Her daughter had squirmed, but not waken. Less confidently than she felt, she fixed the cradle back on her back.

"She better not wake before we get a good mile outside of the city." Utha barely looked at his wife as he spoke, and instead directed his attention to catching a hip flask that one of his chums had thrown him. Sadiya shook her head, but agreed inwardly that it was best he drink. At least it pacified him.

[ December 30, 2002: Message edited by: Sadbh ]

Amanaduial the archer

12-30-2002, 11:13 AM

Kane watched Rhana threaten Sadiya and as the other woman walked away saw Sadiya slump and place herself behind her husband. The young man didnt look away in time and the huge man glared at him. Kane held his gaze solidly until the brutal easterling growled like an animal and pulled Sadiya to the other side of him, obscuring Kane's view. He looked away angrily then heard Utha speak to his wife again. "Silly girl, don't touch it, you'll spook it."

He speaks to her like a child! Well, like he'd speak to any child; brusque, harsh and firm.

Kane turned his attention to the horses. Rhana still led them, murmering quietly to pacify them. She was friendly to the horses than she was to Sadiya! He knew she could hold her own though. Running a hand over a long scar across his forearm, he remembered when she had give it to him, accompanied with a series of threats and curses and almost smiled; all he'd done was brush past her. He'd apologised with a flask of strong drink though, and so a sort of compromise was made between them.

Making his way to her side, he placed a hand on the muzzle of one of the horses she led, feeling the skittish beasts silky warm fur under his dark hand. Rhana glanced at him as she stroked the noble beast and smiled slightly. He returned the favour before it faded and he noticed without surprise yet another bruise high on her cheek. Touching his own he looked questioningly at her. The woman snorted.

"That oaf Gormel. Idiot." She grinned, a rare sight and Kane grinned back. Their dislike of their leader was one thing at least that they shared.

Behind them Sadiys baby stirred, moaning softly and Kane looked around sharply, hoping no one else had heard. Rhana also looked back though, and once again her hand found the long knife. Kane glared at her, a looked which she returned but dropped her hand. The young man just hoped Sadiya's baby would keep quiet...

Deorlin

12-30-2002, 01:08 PM

Deorlin drew a deep breath and considered Bethberry's offer. Yes, there was great urgency to make this report to Theoden, especially in light of this unprecedented raid right into the heart of Rohan. The audacity of the horse theives spoke volumes for the perceived weakness of Theoden's rule, and the growing strength of the enemies at their borders. But it would be impossible to relay all that he had learned, and surmised, over the last few months to a messenger to carry to the king.

"The only message I can give for the moment," he said through gritted teeth,"is for our king to look well to his borders and prepare for war, for it is coming. Throughout Middle Earth, all free peoples are doing the same, and the storm, when it breaks, will hit hardest those closest to Mordor."

Bethberry's face was equally grim as she listened to Deorlin's brief message.

"I'll see that the king is informed, and that you will make a full report when you return - which I hope will be very shortly." she said, the look in her eye bespeaking her thoughts about how the theives would be dealt with once the posse caught up with them.

Deorlin had little stomach for food, but managed to swallow a good amount of that set before him, knowing that it might be some time before they would break their pursuit to eat again. Although tall and muscular, the young Rohirrim had trained himself not to be too concerned about where and when he ate. But he knew the wisdom of filling his belly when he had the chance. As soon as he had gulped down his share, he went outside to look over the several horses which had been brought into the stable yard, loans from those who wished to help but could not be part of the posse themselves.

All the proffered mounts were excellent horses, but Deorlin's eye was drawn to a big boned chestnut gelding. He had a rough head, but a bright, bold eye, and a good broad chest, a sign of endurance. Willing himself to be calm, he walked quietly to the gelding's side, extending his hand to stroke its neck.

"What's this one's name?" Deorlin vaguely recognised the middle aged man holding the reins of the bridle.

"Why, 'tis Deorlin, Deorwine's son, is it not? Do you remember me, master? Aeric, I'm called. I was in service to your father's friend, Ceorl, also of the Westfold. But now I'm here in Edoras, with Ceorl's son. Tis he who sent this one, and a finer mount you couldn't find in all of Rohan, save for the mearas." The man chuckled. "Sami, that's his name. For fire is his coat, and so's his spirit. He'll carry you to the ends of the earth, if you ask him too. Not that it will take so long to catch up with those slinking thieves. I hope you'll put that sword of yours to good use when you do find them." The smile had run away from Aeric's face.

"Yes, took my own horse, Frey." The tone of Deorlin's voice left no doubt of how he intended to dole out justice to the thieves.

"Sami, a good name!" Deorlin grinned once more, the thought of pursuit and a good fight at the end not unwelcome at all to the warrior. "I'll take good care of him. Tell your master many thanks for his use. We'll be back soon." There was an emphasis on the last word.

Taking the reins, he led Sami to the front of the inn to await the others in the posse. He nodded his head slightly to a petite woman holding onto the reins of a placid grey horse. Was she intending to come with them? He snorted slightly through his nose - how could one so small be of use when they caught up with the theives and it came time to fight? Perhaps she was just holding the horse for another, hopefully someone pretty large from the looks of the saddle on the horse's back. He turned to seeing to his own tack, making sure all was secure and well fitting, while he waited for Aelfritha and the others.

[ December 31, 2002: Message edited by: Deorlin ]

[ January 03, 2003: Message edited by: Deorlin ]

[ January 06, 2003: Message edited by: Deorlin ]

VanimaEdhel

12-30-2002, 04:47 PM

Izrênna looked at the man as he left. He snorted. Was he snorting at her? Most likely yes, he was.

She rolled her eyes. Well, it seemed he was preparing to leave, so she may as well make his acquaintence.

She sighed and led the grey horse over back towards where the big man was. She flung the reins up over the horse's head and touched his nose, hoping that he would stay there, where she left him. She saw the man look at her in surprise as she approached. She smiled and extended her hand, hoping that she would change his opinion of her.

"'ello," she said, trying to sound at least a bit bigger than she was. She extended her hand and he looked at it. She drew it back.

"Yes?" he said, coldly.

Izrênna stepped back and thought to herself for a second. This was obviously not a good time. She stepped back and returned to her horse, who was still waiting. She wondered what this man's problem was with her. She knew she was small, but most people were fairly accepting of it.

She sighed and petted the horse, whispering to it. Horses did not care if you were under five-feet five-inches. She kissed the horse, then went back to waiting for the others to arrive...

*Varda*

12-30-2002, 04:57 PM

Malienna was outside, with her horse Naroch. She stroked his dark brown mane, before bending down to check the horse’s feet, and then checking the saddle and reins were on properly. She was cautious to trust stableboys with her horse, in days like these.

She joined the small group gathering outside the Inn, noticing in particular a small woman, whom she had heard was named Izrenna. She was perhaps small for such a journey, but Malienna thought little of it. She could be useful with a sword, and that was what mattered. Perhaps she would be useful for scouting ahead, before they attacked.

She walked over to speak to her, leading her horse beside her.

“You are coming on this journey as well, then?” smiled Malienna.

Bêthberry

12-30-2002, 11:40 PM

Helkahothion's first post:

Hading was standing on guard in front of the Meduseld when the dispatch arrived. However, he was surprised to see that it was not Deorlin, but somebody else who approached.

"Halt! What business do you have here?" he asked firmly with a commanding voice, while he held out his spear in front of the dispatch.

"I have a message from Deorlin for the King and a request on a matter that will concern him,? the dispatch said.

Because she apparently knew Deorlin, he gave her some trust. He asked her for the message and inspected it. As he inspected it carefully, he saw that the message had not been opened. The dispatch seemed in a hurry to get inside, but Hading was not completly sure it was safe to let her in.

His green eyes searched the woman carefully for any weapons. She was standing inpatiently and waited till the man was finished. She knew that she could not get past this tall man by force, so she just watched his beautifull armor until he was done. She noticed that it had a white horse, but not made out of silver. It was a metal she could not describe and she had never saw this before, exept with the other guards. Finaly the man spoke. He wiped the brown hair out of his face and said.

"You may enter, but as custom's go you must leave your weapons here. I give you my trust and do not break it, for then you will not leave the Halls of King Theodon alive."

The dispatch was clearly relieved and gave the only weapon she had: a nicely crafted knife. Hading hoped he did the right thing, but he had to stop being concerned and do his duty.

"The palace guards will take care of the King," he thought.

Hading was still standing on guard when he heard the King's loud voice.

"No", the King cried, "this can't be happening. How dare they!"

Hading, who feared that his decision was a wrong one, drew his sword and rushed inside. He feared for the worst, but no harm had been done to the King and the dispatch was standing next to him. Relieved that the King was unharmed, he turned to take up his post again. However, when he turned around, the King called him back.

"Hading, you are a loyal servant, but a little bit too hasty in your judgement. This maiden here has toed me something of great importance. It appears that a band of thieves has stolen horses at the White Horse inn. Deorlin's horse has been stolen as well. As the King of Rohan I can not tolerate this. You will ride to that place and help the victims of this raid in their pursuit to recover the horses,? Theodon said.

Hading accepted and, together with the dispatch, went to the inn with two horses.

When he arrived everybody was in an uproar. People were running here and there with weapons, supplies and other things. He went to Ælfritha and explained his business.

?My fair lady, I have come to offer the services of the king. With me I have two Horses and I myself offer you my spear. Would you accept me and my company of horses?? Hading asked.

Hading was sweating from the long ride and his green cape that he was wearing over his white armor wasn't comfortable at all. He drew his sword and kneeled down offering it to Ælfritha. In his other hand he held his spear.

"My spear, sword, and bow are your's to command. Will you accept them?" he asked.

"Of course," replied the anxious horsewoman. "None here would think of refusing the King's aid."
===================

[ January 04, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

Bêthberry

12-30-2002, 11:41 PM

Air as sharp on the lungs as pin pricks greeted the pursuers as they headed out the gate, watched by a grimly-faced crowd, and into the Barrowfield, through the barrows of the kings. No one was easy knowing that thieves had entered into the very heart of their city; nor were any calm in the knowledge that these riders would return with the stolen horses. Yet the theft could not go unchallenged.

Deorlin and Hading, the two Riders of the Mark to accompany the group, had compiled what news was available from those who had any inkling of what had happened. Some said it was Easterlings; others, Dunlendings; still others claimed they saw their own people sneaking out the gate. All they knew was that one man lay dead and his family in mourning, ten horses were gone, and strangely scuffed tracks wended out and down the hills towards the east. It would take good, strong eyes to see if the thieves had dared to take the Great West Road, or if they headed north towards great Fangorn Forest or east along the River Snowbourne.

Six rode out. Deorlin led the group, with Anglachel at his side, for the Merchant knew the roads and trails beyond Rohan better than any. They were followed by Ælfritha on Nithal with Doric as a pack horse. Malienna and Izrênna paced either side of Ælfritha, for the three women, near in age, had struck up a quiet conversation while they waited for the dawn to rise, although Ælfritha noted some slight tension between Izrênna and Deorlin. None smiled nor joked. Hading, the youngest Rider, took up the rear. Six people, eight horses, to recover ten lost.

Once past the gate, they began to ride in earnest, yet not hard, until they could determine for sure where to follow.

Finally, Deolin called out, "The Trail! The trail leads east. To the River Snowbourne." As if all with one accord, the riders moved at once into a fast gallop.

Anglachel

12-31-2002, 02:43 AM

It was just an hour before sunrise, with the light of the moon and stars quickly waning, when Deorlin spotted the trail of the perpetrators. Though not a tracker, Anglachel had seen enough tracks in his days to see the thieves were clearly trying to cover their trail. Fortunately for the pursuers, the comings and goings of ten horses are not easily masked.

“Well spotted Deorlin,” complimented Anglachel. His breath was plain to see in the intensely cold air, but the adrenaline of the newly begun chase was still serving to keep the chill at bay. The thought of the roaring fire and a frothy pint of ale at the White Horse was far from his mind as he hastily put together the few known pieces of the current puzzle.

“We now at least know a bit more about these thieves,” he theorized to the group. “If they took the time to disguise their tracks then they must legitimately be heading east. One must assume then that they are in fact Easterlings, but why they would travel such a long distance to risk stealing horses from Edoras itself is still a mystery that must be unraveled. Perhaps there will be some clues to be found for this riddle now that we have discovered the right path to take.”

[ December 31, 2002: Message edited by: Anglachel ]

*Varda*

12-31-2002, 06:12 AM

The sun rose as the group set off on their quest. Malienna watched the glowing sun rise in the sky, almost as a beacon of hope. She was riding next to Izrenna and Aelfritha, whom she had already spoken to.

The weather was chilly, and the frostiness crept into Malienna’s bones, despite the warm breakfast she had eaten not long before. Silent, she wrapped her cloak tighter about her body, and looked around.

She peered ahead, looking for any sign of riders on the horizon. The keen elven eyesight would have been a blessing right now. All that remained of the horse thieves were heavy footprints and light hoof marks in the cold earth. They followed the marked dirt path, in search of battle and victory.

Deorlin

12-31-2002, 01:49 PM

Deorlin's thoughts turned in his mind as the party headed east. He was not a seasoned tracker, but what he saw had told him it was a relatively small band of humans that they were following. He admitted, at least to himself, that he was relieved the thieves were not orcs. He had not yet had the 'pleasure' of doing battle with the foul creatures, but he had heard enough tales to know they were no child's play.

The equally small size of the posse concerned him, but at least there was Hading, another rider of the Mark, whom he knew well enough to appreciate his good fighting arm. And the merchant Anglachel seemed knowledgeable enough about the area that perhaps they would be able to use the element of surprise on their side. Through questioning various witnesses around the inn and the city gate, it appeared the thieves had departed Edoras sometime around two hours before the cock's crow. They had a lead on Aelfritha's group, but not so much as to make overtaking them, perhaps by next daybreak, imposibble.

Deorlin considered the other members of the group. He had been a little rude back at the inn to the one woman, Izrenna she was called, now mounted on the grey and riding with Aelfritha and the other, Malienna. He still questioned whether her presence would be a help or a hindrance to their mission. She seemed hardly big enough to even pick up one of the heavy, double edged swords that the Rohirrim used, let alone wield it as a weapon. Well, soon enough, time would tell.

Deorlin glanced back over his shoulder. The three women were deep in conversation, Izrenna wearing a studied look of concern. She happened to glance up and catch Deorlin looking at her. The expression that crossed her face was one of mingled friendliness and wariness. His in return was a stern grimace.

He turned to Anglachel and said "If I recall rightly, there is a ford across the river some ten leagues or so hence. Think you the theives will make for that, or continue on along the northern bank? I know of a way to cut off several leagues from our path, if we knew for certain that was the way they would take. If we travelled fast enough, we could even make it to the ford before them. But, if they choose another route, or turn off north somewhere, we'll lose them." Deorlin watched Anglachel's face as the merchant mulled over his suggestion.

[ January 03, 2003: Message edited by: Deorlin ]

Anglachel

12-31-2002, 02:36 PM

“The thieves likely intend to follow the Snowbourne to the Entwash,” answered Anglachel. “It is the fastest way east without using the Great West Road, which they must avoid if they plan on traveling in stealth.”

“Your question has been in my mind as well Deorlin,” he continued, “but we must continue to assume that the thieves are Easterlings which is what all the clues tell us. In that case, cutting northwards at any point would take them too far from their chosen path. No, I believe they must cross the Snowbourne at some point. If you say the closest ford is ten leagues from here, then that is where they must be heading. Let us make haste to this shortcut of yours and see if we can end this pursuit before the day is up.”

Deorlin nodded in approval and quickly turned his mount from the trail. “Yah!” he yelled and sped off towards the ford, followed closely by the others. The chase had begun in earnest.

Amanaduial the archer

01-01-2003, 01:32 PM

"Which way are we heading?" Rhana asked after a while. Kane snorted. "Well, you know; our fearless leader didnt want to tell anyone in case they knew a different way, in which case they could argue. I reckon we'll be crossing the Snowbourne. We're close to a ford."
"Crossing it? On foot, and expecting not to be caught?" Now Rhana snorted. Kane nodded. "Exactly. However, Im not going to say anything - Gormel isnt too keen on me on the best of times."
At that moment the group stopped. Gormel was talking heatedly to Sadiya's husband, who it seemed had gone overboard even for himself with the drink, and hands were on swords. Kane smiled slightly; he certainly wouldnt miss Utha, and he somehow doubted Sadiya would either. Utha turned then and, seeing Kanes smile, stormed towards him, swinging his arm at the young man. Kane only just ducked, feeling the breeze past his face and his sword was out in a flash, its owners eyes narrowed.
"You have a problem, friend?" The last word was mocking and Utha narrowed his eyes. Gormel saw that he was this close to losing two of his thieves and now intervened, slapping Kane, who reeled, putting his hand to his face. He wisely didn’t hit him back, but glared resentfully at Gormel.
"Stop!" Gormel bellowed. Out of the corner of his eye Kane saw Sadiya wince at the noise and she placed her hand back onto the wicker basket on her back. Rhana was more forthright though. "Gormel, be quiet!" She sneered. He turned on her and she stood up to him. "Well, whats the point in having her brat drugged and having had the horses hooves bound if youre going to yell like that?"
Gormel snorted but said nothing. He couldnt have got out of the city alive without Rhana so he'd let it drop. This time.
"What is our route?" Rhana continued.
"Snowbourne." He grunted in reply. "We will cross the ford."
"On foot, O fearless leader?" Kane sneered and ducked again as one of henchmen, Bhurthnin, took a swing at him. Stepping nimbly away to the side, he continued. "We have some of Rohans finest horses here, and we're going to cross Snowbourne on foot?! Why not use the beasts?”
Gormel growled again and considered, before he nodded grudgingly. All the easterlings were able to ride bareback, and if they couldnt they would have to learn very fast. As Kane took one though, one of the finest horses, he found a sword at his throat. "Ill have that one, boy." Growled Gormel. The young easterling held his eyes as he quickly slipped one of many small daggers from his clothing and held it so it pricked the older mans stomach. After a moment of silence, Gormel resheathed his sword and turned to the rest.
"We will ride. I intend to be joining of the two rivers as soon as possible. Harm the horses and Ill do alot more harm to you."

Kane swung himself onto the horses bare back beside Rhana and they set off, with Gormel leading.

[ January 02, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

Sadbh

01-01-2003, 02:23 PM

Sadiya was hoisted up roughly from behind, and was seated immediately before the withers of the dun. She felt Utha swing up behind her and saw his arms grasp the long dark locks of the stallion's mane. "Move the basket." His voice was slurrish and annoyed, but no difference. It was either that, or harsh and patronizing. She readjusted the child until it faced to her front. Utha yanked on one handful of plaited mane and spurred the horse towards the banks of the river.

Tongues of biting cold spray lapped at the darkish sand, and where the horses stepped, small pools of murky water gathered in the footprints. One by one each animal was edged into the water. As the dun they rode stepped into the water, a jet of icy water deflected off the animals muscular limb. It hit Sadiya roughly on the cheek, and she was astonished at how cold the water was.The horse edged further into the water, and Utha's lips curled. He swore as the dark water bit at his legs, and Sadiya shivered with the chill. About half way across the river, a very strong current caught the horse's legs.

For one split second he lost balance and half rolled. Sadiya's legs instantly tightened around the horse's girth, but the less than sober Utha was too slow. He rolled from the horse and into the current. Sadiya instantly leaned out to reach him, but missed. His hand did, though catch the horse's braided tale. Hardily, he swung angrily onto the animal's back and struck Sadiya's shoulder and cheek bone.

"Stupid! Why did you not reach out?" Sadiya cowered to deflect the blows.

"I did reach!" She cried. The other thieves were watching, some shaking their heads and others snorting.

When they reached the opposite banks, Sadiya was oulled from the horse and shaken, again. Amidst the stream of yelling and curses, she felt her daughter wake up. In a flash, she kicked her husband's shin and struggled to pull away. "You idiot, she's waking." Her hiss was loud enough so only he would hear. He grimaced, but pulled away and rubbed his wet, bleeding shin. He stalked back to the dun. Taking the oppurtunity, Sadiya wipped off the basket and draped a cloth over the hole to keep the rising sun from her child's eyes, to try and keep her asleep. She took pains to do so descreectly, and she hoped no one had noticed.

[ January 02, 2003: Message edited by: Sadbh ]

Maikadilwen

01-01-2003, 02:27 PM

Rhana pulled her fur-coat closer around her, shuddering from the cold. She was less than pleased about crossing the cold water, especially when there was a risk of getting her feet wet but she gritted her teeth and drove the horse into the river.

Something caught her attention and she looked up just in time to see Utha fall from the horse. Disliking the man as she did, she could have wished for nothing better than this to happen and she laughed at him, a hoarse, derisive laughter, which only caused him to anger further.

Finally, she reached the opposite shore and was relieved to once again have solid ground under the horse's hooves. Right now she could think of nothing worse than to have joined Utha in the cold water.

Sadiya's baby began to whimper and Rhana turned her head abruptly, glaring at the woman with an angry look in her dark eyes and her hand moved toward the knife.
A hand was placed firmly on her arm, holding her back. It was Kane. He looked at her, then shook his head.
Moving her anger toward him instead, Rhana slapped his hand away. "Get lost! And don't you dare touch me again!" she snarled and rode closer to Gormel though still keeping a safe distance. She knew his reputation and she would have as little as possible to do with him.

She looked back toward Utha and Sadiya, seeing that they were moving again. Good, they had a long way ahead of them and no time to waste, unless they wanted to be captured soon.

[ January 03, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

VanimaEdhel

01-01-2003, 04:41 PM

Izrênna followed the others, staying towards the back of the group. If it came to fighting, she would need to be farther back in order to get in a good place to fire her arrows, yet to stay out of the way of the stronger, hand-to-hand fighters.

She clutched onto the gentle horse's mane as they moved along after the thieves. She noticed that her horse was smaller than the horses of the others. It was only fitting, she supposed, but, as the horse had shorter legs, it was harder for him to move as quickly as the others. She hoped that this horse had the stamina the former owners had promised her he possessed. This was a fairly new horse, and she had never had the need to race him.

At the moment, the horse's grey neck was arched as it moved along after the others. It was a pretty horse for one so small, Izrênna supposed.

She strained her eyes and looked to see if there was any sign of the thieves ahead. She quietly reprimanded herself, for the thieves most likely had quite a good start on them. It would take a while to catch such a crowd. And then, when they caught them...

Izrênna paused in her flighty thinking. When they found the thieves, what was she to do? She was fine at long range, yes, but the thieves would not stay a good distance away to let her fire at them.

This was not going well for her already. That man, she did not know his name, did not trust her. He was strong too. He would be a good one to defend her, were she to have to fire from afar.

But, he did not like her. She knew why, as well. No one trusted her for her size. They thought she would be in the way. Well, she would certainly stay out of the way. Whatever happened, she would make sure she did not hinder the others.

"Izrênna!" Malienna called over her shoulder.

Izrênna jerked herself out of her thoughts, and looked up. She had fallen behind a bit. She bit her lip and dug her heels into the grey horse, who sprung forward with renewed vigor. She flinched a bit as she caught up, and hoped that no one except Malienna had caught her lapse in judgement. There was very little doubt, however, that her lapse of attention had been evident, for Malienna had called fairly loudly.

Izrênna looked around. She sighed, as the scenery had not changed much, indicating that she had not lost herself in thought for very long. She gritted her teeth and pushed the horse to go a little faster, so as to remain more towards the middle of the group than towards the back, in the hopes of not falling behind again.

Orofacion of the Vanyar

01-01-2003, 04:45 PM

"But..."

"So it's decided, Ulfeg, you will meet up with our thieves and escort them here. Wait for them by the ford at the Snowborne and give them this letter, the leader will recognize the emblem," a large personal guard walked up and gave him a scroll with a primitive looking seal on it. "They won't be there for a few more days, I suggest you hurry."

Ulfeg, a short, swallow man, stood infront of three other men, two fairly large at either side of one lankier man, tall and dark who was sitting at a table. Ulfeg looked nothing like this more regal man, the Easterling was dirty and uncared for from miles of travel, his unkept sword, rusting a bit at the hilt, hung loosely from his side, skirting the ground. His boots and lower grey cloak caked with mud, as well as his tunic being stained from various things. "You realize my compensation will have to match my expenses travelling that far east?" Ufleg asked, though in a more demanding sort of way, spitting off to the side. The tall man nodded.

"Oh and Ulfeg, do be sure they are unspoiled mind you," the tall man added as the Easterling began to leave.

Ulfeg snorted and turned from the meeting hall. "Spoiled! If anything is spoiled it's him!" he said underneath his breath as he walked out the doors and to the stables around the right. "So it's come to this, Ulfeg the Great, errand-boy, looking after savages as if they were children! Grashk!" Ulfeg cursed.

It was warm, and thick, as Ulfeg made his way east out of the town. The air was moist with the recent rains and the ground was soft with new mud. Ulfeg's horse was finding it a bit hard to traverse the difficult terrain, but as they rode on to higher ground the grass became much more full and easy to ride upon. Off in the distance he caught a glimpse of the lower end of the Misty Mountains to the right and the seemingly endless wall of the White Mountains off to his left. In front of him was a wide pass that seemed to stretch on forever, "Perhaps I'm too old for this," Ulfeg thought to himself, as he pumped his cramped, arthritic fingers. It was four days hard ride to the Snowborne.

[ January 16, 2003: Message edited by: Orofacion of the Vanyar ]

*Varda*

01-02-2003, 05:41 PM

Malienna riding ahead with Aelfritha, failed to notice Izrenna fall behind at first. When turning to speak to her, she saw no one, and then saw Izrenna a little behind the group.

“Izrenna!” she called out. She saw Izrenna look up and flush slightly, and Malienna felt a slight pang of guilt. It was, after all, not Izrenna’s fault about her size, and perhaps she had called out a little too loudly. She shrugged briefly, discretion was not one of her virtues. Still, the woman should not have come along in the first place, if she was unable to keep up with the rest. She would only be a hindrance, not a help.

Malienna kept these thoughts to herself, more tension would never do. Deorlin appeared to have no love for the woman himself, but the quest was to rescue the horses. Not to engage in petty squabbles, while these thieving Easterlings got away with their animals. Malienna spurred Naroch on, until she was nearer the front of the group. She was ready for battle. Perhaps Izrenna would be a less able fighter, but she would show a woman was equally capable of fighting, if that was also what Deorlin was angry about.

Taking Deorlin’s shortcut, they rode on for some hours, before Malienna’s heart rose with hope.

She laid her hand on her sword. They could see the Fords ahead. Now was the perfect timing to catch up and lessen their lead.

Bêthberry

01-02-2003, 06:35 PM

If Ælfritha had been short-tempered, she would have been cursing by now. Deorlin's short cut had brought the pursuers into the forest rather than around it, their progress now a pitiful, forelorn strawhope.

The horses were contending with torgues and twists of tree roots, gravelled and muddy and water-rutted roads, even diverging paths and routes. They had camped by the Snowbourne for the first night and had risen with dawn, but the forest was swallowing any advantage they had gained in time.

Ælritha could barely see Deorlin ahead of her, for he had riden on ahead, wanting to find a direct path. Anglachel had remained with the main group.

"At least he knew how to run a tracking group," thought Ælfritha to herself. "Interesting how the skills of the market and trade come out in a different context."

Yet she remained frustrated. Precious time was being lost as well as the other riders. Malienna she could hear behind her and Maikadurion, but she had lost track of Izrênna in the last few minutes. And Hading was so far behind that he had not answered calls. Nor was it helpful that the forest was still dark with the haze of night.

Suddenly, up ahead, Anglachel called out, his voice echoing around the trees.

"There's a glade up ahead. Let's regroup there and wait for the stragglers to arrive."

Ælfritha patted her mount, reassuring him, and rode forward, taking care to give Doric more line on the tether which ponied him. Worry sat in her stomach like a heavy meal, weighing her down. If she couldn't recover her horses, it would be a bleak year for her family.

[ January 04, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

Bêthberry

01-02-2003, 06:36 PM

Estel the Descender's first post

A rider rode up Edoras on his way to Meduseld with disturbing news to Théoden King: Théodred's company had discovered the presence of Easterlings on the east bank of the Entwash. The rider had riden full speed along the road from the Entwade all night and had just arrived dawn. Leaving all his weapons by the doorway, he hurriedly walked up to the dais where the king sat. Théoden seemed to be awake for some time now. The riser bowed low.

'Arise, Béowulf sister-son,' said the king, 'What news from my son?'

'My king,' began Béowulf, 'I regret to inform you of the presence of strangers upon the east bank of Entwash. . .'

'Easterlings?' said Théoden.

'Aye, my liege,' answered Béowulf, 'But how did you know?'

'A bunch of thieves stole horses from the stables of the White Horse ere ye came,' said the king, 'Already a posse has gone in pursuit of the robbers.'

'My liege,' stammered Béowulf, 'I ask leave to overtake the posee so that I may join the chase. I fear that my news hath come too late.'

'It is well, my son,' said Théoden, 'ye have leave. But refresh yourself first ere ye continue on this journey, for I deem that ye have not eaten supper.

.............................................

After eating his breakfast, Béowulf rearmed himself and mounted Léod and started to ride down Edoras. He was delayed from going out the gate, however, by a cart which was driven by a dwarf.

'Out-of-the-way-halfling!' shouted Béowulf, 'I am already quite delayed and need no further delaying!'

Corrin shuddered with rage and shouted back, 'Halfling?! HALFLING?! You will regret your words, horse-master, but I will not dally with you now, for I too am in a hurry: I have thieves to catch. But once I have caught them, I WILL DEAL WITH YOU, YOU PALE-FACE!'

'Indeed,' retorted Béowulf, 'ever has a dwarf been so-o-o protective of his own property. . .'

'NOT MY OWN, BUT YOURS!' cried the dwarf, 'Horses were stolen from the White Horse where I was a guest and now I am on my way to overtake and aid the posse that was formed to catch the thieves!' Then added Corrin in a whisper, 'Ungrateful whippersnapper. . .'

Béowulf's eyes flew wide when he heard this and he answered, 'My apologies, sir dwarf, for speaking rashly. I did not know that you were going out of your way to help us. I too am on my way to join the posse. I know that by mine actions I deserve your scorn, but since we have the same errand, let us travel together now and swiftly ere the thieves and the posse get too far ahead.'

'Well, I suppose that we have to hurry,' answered the dwarf, 'But once we have done with this business, I will deal with you!'

'Fair enough,' said Béowulf, 'Though I already repent my harsh words earlier.'

Both rider and dwarf rode out the gates and turned east after passing by the barrows, following the path of the Snowbourne.

[ January 04, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

Lugbúrz

01-03-2003, 03:22 AM

The frore season had cast a shroud of gloom upon the two groups alike, almost like a cerement that signalled their impending doom. Discontent was spreading, distrust was brewing, anxiety was strewing.

A perilous quest had proven triumphant in its early execution. The thieves were fleeing from a mortiferous band of riders while the horsemen were making a tenebrous pursuit.

The lethal encounter between the groups would be a pardon beyond the thieves could expect for their tortious act, and a canter for the riders on the trail of these mortal foes. An evil so ghastly that their spines would shiver and crack and force them to seek umbrage in the most unlikely of places, was seeking them out.

Their only hope lied in matters beyond their minds, matters beyond most men except for the Line of Kings.

"I sense a portentous gloom in this fell air," said the Ranger, "must we fear the worst?"

"The East is growing hazardous, it does not bode well that our path is leading South. Let us hope beyond hope that other matters busy the Enemy. Free peoples everywhere might yet keep the evil at bay, with their relentless quest for justice. Every resistence will aid the cause of Elves and Men," said the Grey Wizard and as he nudged his horse into a quicker pace, the beast stopped suddenly and let out a short neigh.

The Barrow-Wight

01-03-2003, 08:26 AM

The pack of thieves fleeing Edoras was so intent on the icy crossing of the Snowbourne that they never knew a pack of another sort had found them, until it was too late. As Utha cursed and shivered, as Sadiya and her baby suffered, as Gormel grumbled, a noose encircled them, tighter and tighter, until it finally snapped. Kane felt the pressure only as the trap door fell out from beneath them.

For hours, a group of hungry wargs had been waiting on the eastern bank of the river, lying in wait for the horses and men their scouts had alerted them of. After watching them cross the water, they had waited for the perfect moment to spring, the moment which had come as each human turned to the one closest to the river.

“Halt!” hissed Kane, ear to the wind. He had heard an unnatural noise and needed silence to pick it up once more. The others did not stop, but turned to stare at the young man.

“It’s me that gives order around here,” said Gormel fiercely, “so you’ll keep moving or I’ll…”

He did not finish his sentence, but instead looked with wide eyes toward a stand of trees just beyond where Utha and Sadiya rode. “Beware wolves!” he shouted, and drew his sword charging.

The drunken Utha slurred in indignation and took a moment to consider what Gormel had said, a moment that cost his life but spared that of his woman and child. Before he had the chance to even turn his head, he was ripped from the saddle by a huge wolf and pulled to the ground. Another beast savaged him as he lay kicking and punching.

Sadiya’s wits were about her, though, and by quick action she missed the fate of her husband by spurring her mount forward and then pulling him quickly to the right. Gormel rushed past her to attack the beasts, Kane and Rhana close behind him.

The three Easterlings charged into the three wargs, for these were surely no ordinary wolves, that ripped and tore at Utha’s bleeding body. The animals fell back quickly and ran into the trees, but it was then that the trap of the wargs was truly spun. Horses screamed in terror and dismay as another six of the great wolf-beasts appeared from the high grasses nearby and sprang into the stolen horses left unprotected by the rush to save Utha.

Seeing Utha dying and a new threat appearing, Gormel, Rhana, and Kane charged to drive the attackers from the prized horses. Sadiya turned to aid her injured husband, but as the warriors left the wounded man to protect their stolen treasure, the three wargs again jumped from the trees, dragging Utha, who no longer struggled, away. Sadiya smartly chose not to follow.

The battle that followed was quick. Two of the horses were already dead and another was injured, and the Easterlings rode hard into the wargs to protect it and those that remained alive. Claws and teeth met hand and sword, and blood, fur, and flesh flew, but finally the creatures withdrew, dragging the carcass of one of the dead horses with them. Kane and Rhana were both clawed and scratched, but neither had taken a serious wound. Sadiya remained unharmed with her baby, but Gormel was in bad shape.

As the wargs had fled, two of them had turned suddenly and caught Gormel off balance. He had been thrown from his horse and had barely survived, killing one of beasts but taking a terrible wound to the shoulder. As the remaining wargs departed, Gormel lay on the cold ground, his lifeblood streaming out of his wound.

VanimaEdhel

01-03-2003, 03:13 PM

Izrênna quickly came up to the few people that were waiting in the glade ahead of her.

"There are still some behind me," she said, triumphant that she had not been the last to arrive. She was actually ahead of many others, as she had not let her thoughts get the better of her common sense again.

However, she did not get a warm welcome. That man, she still did not know his name, only ignored her. Izrênna patted the grey horse and stayed mounted, waiting for the other to arrive. She shifted the bow on her shoulder and sighed. Izrênna began to smile. She figured that she had to show that the scorn she faced as a member of this group was not effecting her. She shifted in the saddle and waited for the others to catch up...

Deorlin

01-03-2003, 03:20 PM

With a mighty effort, Deorlin held in his frustration at missing their chance to catch the thieves at the ford. As the first night had fallen, they had dismounted, discouraged, tired and hungry. Deorlin sensed Aelfritha's disappointment in his choice, and he had little heart to socialize with the others. After gulping down a quick meal of bread and cheese, Deorlin rolled himself in a blanket and slept.

The dawn saw the party already away and into the forest. Here the going was even slower, with some distance to go before reaching the ford. Deorlin urged Sami forward, anxious to get to the river and see if his guess was correct. At least to know that the thieves had made their way here would be some comfort to him, even if his "shortcut" had not availed them of any tactical advantage.

Pulling somewhat ahead of the others, he thought little beyond travelling at all speed. Soon, Aelfritha, Anglachel and the others fell behind. Deorlin was barely aware of this, until he came out of the thinning trees. Finally, the ford!

The ice rimmed river rushed past. Deorlin dismounted, and although the ground was hard with frost, he saw clearly the tell-tale signes of the Rohirrim horses and the theives as they had made their way into the water. So they had crossed here sure enough.
Deorlin remounted and looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the others coming up behind. But for the first time, he noticed the silence that hung in the air, save for the sound of the river. Waiting a few more minutes, he realized that, for whatever reason, Aelfritha and the posse must have fallen behind him. He was alone.

Deorlin felt no fear - he was sure the thieves were still far ahead. But nonetheless, he flipped back his short riding cloak and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. He considered carefully what to do. His incination was to go on, fording the river and then finding the trail of the thieves once more. Barring unforseen circumstances, the posse should be at the ford soon, and would undoubtedly cross over, anticipating that he had done the same. However . . . "unforseen circumstances" might be exactly what was holding up the others now . . .

Never one to delay action for thought, Deorlin came to a swift decision.Hading was with the others - he should be able to handle whatever it was that was delaying them. He nudged Sami into the icy water of the river, breaking through the thin ice at it's edge and splashing across. Within moments he had made the crossing and was on the southern shore. He would pick up the trail of the thieves and then wait at the river's edge for the others to catch up to him.

Riding through the grass leading back into the trees, Deorlin noted the eery quiet that still pervaded. Even in the cold season, one usually heard the sounds of small animals and birds rustling and chirping in the undergrowth. But here, all was silence. Sami snorted nervously as Deorlin pushed him forward with his knees. The horse threw his head up and down, and sidestepped, reluctant to go further. But Deorlin urged him on.

Suddenly, Deorlin felt his blood run cold through his veins. He had been bending over the saddle bow, following the tracks of the stolen horses, when his eye caught the flicker of a movement in the grass about twenty yards ahead. And at the same time, a sickly sweet smell met his nostrils. One that he had encountered before, in the farmyard, and on the battlefield - blood!

[ January 03, 2003: Message edited by: Deorlin ]

[ January 06, 2003: Message edited by: Deorlin ]

Orofacion of the Vanyar

01-03-2003, 04:04 PM

Ulfeg waited anxiously behind a fallen log that stuck out the woods by the river like a stray hair on a nappy head. The wolves were presenting quite a problem for the theives, especially one soul who hadn't the wits to keep them off. "He should've ducked," Ulfeg chuckled to himself.

Just as it seemed the company had fended off the attack, another came, though more fierce and engaging. While the theives left their comrade to defend their horde, Ulfeg caught the initial wargs carrying off their prize, "A pity."

Ulfeg stayed hidden as the company of thieves fought off their attackers. But as the wargs retreated, two ran right past the fallen log where Ulfeg was crouching. The beast closest to the Easterling stopped and sniffed the air, turning to Ulfeg. The wind had changed. The warg snarled, dripping saliva from his bloody maw, red from a wound, his eyes black like rotten carrion.

Ulfeg started to crawl backwards from the creeping beast, trying to grab for his sword. The rust at his hilt had been a bit more severe then Ulfeg thought as it broke at the touch. Ulfeg threw the hilt at the animal, but it only seemed to flame the fire.

As he crawled back closer and closer into the trees behind him, Ulfeg noticed a vine hanging down the his left. The warg charged and Ulfeg grabbed to vine and held it out infront of him. It found its way into the beast mouth and Ulfeg quickly tied up the muzzle, kicking the beast off him. Ulfeg stumbled away and ran back towards the thieves. The warg made quick work of the vine and charged Ulfeg once more, but stopped and ran at the sound of the company yelling.

The Easterling slumped down behind the fallen tree once more and sighed deeply. "I am too old for this," Ulfeg said shaking his head. He stood up and found his horse where he left it in the shallows of the woods, dead from a warg attack. "Grashnk," he curse once more. Ulfeg walked out of the trees and over to the company of theives.

"Ho there!" he yelled out to the them

[ January 04, 2003: Message edited by: Orofacion of the Vanyar ]

piosenniel

01-04-2003, 12:38 AM

They moved through the dark like a shadowed mist, driven by the need to hunt – a three night journey from the bramble choked valley of Nan Curunír across the wide plains of The Mark, with only a small winter starved deer to take the edge from their hunger. The sour smell of the two-leggeds held them back from bringing down more prey as they crossed the snow covered grasslands, while the scents of horse and goat made their mouths slaver in anticipation.

Now they had reached the place Men called Entwade, and turned south, travelling once more in darkness. The forest that edged the smaller river as it flowed into the greater waters of the Entwash would give them shelter. They would rest for a span of the sun, hiding themselves from the day’s light. When the great yellow eye hung low on the horizon, and the rim of the world reached up to swallow it, they would cross the Snowbourne. Then, the hunt would begin.

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

Carchmoroth raised his head from his massive paws to sniff the breezes from the south and west. Evening had not yet come. His yellow eyes glinted in the dim, filtered light of the sun beneath the thick bare branches of the trees. His ears swiveled to the southwest, picking up hints of sounds. He stood, and the hair along the back of his neck to his silvered shoulders rose as he growled a low warning. The pack raised their heads from the snowy lairs they had dug for themselves, their senses now on alert.

Dûrêl and Dúgoroth trotted to their father’s side. The faint scents of men and horses came to them. Fear, too. And the scent of blood. Now all the pack stood ringed about their leader as the other smell assailed them. Stiff legged, they drew back their lips from their long, yellowed fangs, snarling.

‘Another pack has hunted and has brought down a kill!’ growled Carmoroth. ‘Up, Wolves! Let us not come too late to the feasting.’

Ten wolves, six males, four females, loped under cover of the trees – dark grey wraiths in the forest’s twisty shadows, picking up speed as they trotted west along the northern bank of the Snowbourne. Before them went Carchmoroth, their silver-backed grey Warg leader, and behind them, driving them on at great speed, were two black furred Wargs, nipping at the heels of those who did not keep up the pace.

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

They ran on silent feet along the northern shore of the Snowbourne. Still within the boundaries of the trees, Carchmoroth halted, his head swinging to the south, across the water. A single rider had crossed the river. Motioning Dúgoroth forward, they stood, silent watchers, as the Man and horse stepped from the icy river to the southern shore. The Warg, Dúgoroth, took three of the Wolves and crossed the river downwind of the horse and rider. The encounter was swift and brutal when they reached them.

The three wolves positioned themselves at the horse’s head, one before him and one to each side of his range of vision. Just out of striking distance of the horse’s deadly hooves, they harried the steed and drew his and his rider’s attention from the Warg approaching near the left flank. Deorlin slashed at the snarling, leaping wolves, sending one of them flying with a deadly blow.

Too late he saw the Warg lunge at the soft underbelly of the horse, his maw closing in on vital organs and ripping them from the horse’s belly in a spray of blood and gore. The horse stumbled and went down, sending Deorlin flying to the ground a number of feet away. Sword drawn, he fought to regain his stance, thinking to strike out at the Wolves which inched toward him.

The Warg growled once, and the Wolves retreated. ‘Pull the carcass beneath the trees you two.’ he said in a menacing voice. ‘I will drive the two-legged off. Not enough meat on his bones to bother with a kill.’ The Warg growled loudly at the man, his eyes ablaze with yellowed flames. He feinted in and out, tearing at the man’s legs and driving him back to mid-river, snapping savagely at his sword arm as he could. Oft times the blade bit at him, and he renewed the fury of his attack until the waters of the river pulled the man’s feet from under him, and he slipped away in the icy current.

The Warg and the remaining two Wolves followed the scent of their pack and ran swiftly to join them.

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

Carchmoroth and Dûrêl led the remaining seven Wolves toward the scent of fresh kill. They approached the western boundary of the forest, halting again at a signal from the giant Warg. They forded the Snowbourne, swimming strongly to the southern shore, and trotted at full speed toward the southern boundary of the trees. A new scent of fresh prey had come to them with the shifting breezes, and they sought to find it.

Now there were seven two-legged creatures they saw and eight horses, skirting the edge of the forest, making their way south and east along the line of trees. ‘We shall make our own feast.’ spoke Carchmoroth to the pack, as he led them downwind of the horses.

They flanked the companions of the Mark from the rear and attacked at a run. The horses neighed wildly, their eyes flying wide as the Wolves bore down upon them. The riders were hard pressed by the suddenness of the attack and fought to control their steeds, which panicked and tried to run from the pursuit or reared up perilously to counter the foe.

Izrênna drove off one Wolf with her bow as Aelfritha and Malienna strove to control their horses, aiming mighty slashes at the remaining Wolves. The pack animal with them pulled loose from Aelfritha’s control and was driven far under the trees to meet its swift death by two of the Wolves.

The two Wargs harassed the other horses, speeding swift as shadows among them, tearing at their flanks as they could, and slashing at the legs of the men and women, even as the weapons of the riders cut them deeply.

The Dwarf held his ground strongly against the Wolf which sallied against him. Legs firmly planted in a wide stance, he swung his two handed great axe in a wide and deadly arc. The Wolf gashed the Dwarf’s right arm deeply with an unexpected lunge, then met his death from a well aimed down swing as he retreated to attack again.

Béowulf and Hading took Anglachel in hand and formed a fighting circle. The hindquarters of their mounts were nearly touching and their heads and deadly hooves faced out from the center in a deadly formation. Three Wolves circled them, rushing in as they could to nip and slash at the flesh of rider and mount.

Hading, his white armor, blazing in the sun, struck down one of the Wolves as it leapt at him - a mortal blow, which dropped the carcass to the unrelenting fury of his mount’s deadly hooves. Béowulf struck another Wolf, disabling the creature’s front leg. He held back his raging steed who sought to follow and strike at the limping Wolf.

Dúgoroth and his two Wolves had now joined the fray, and savaged the trio which had wounded one of their pack. Anglachel’s horse shied at the nearness of the Warg. Rolling his eyes in terror, the horse sought to bolt, and Béowulf pushed against the frightened animal with his and reached out to help the merchant steady his mount.

It was enough of an opening for the Warg and three remaining Wolves to cut Hading’s mount from the group and drive him beneath the trees. As before, three of the Wolves held the attention of the rearing and striking horse, while the Warg brought him down with a lunge to the soft belly.

The Wolves, in the frenzy of their hunting rage, turned their deadly attention to the fallen Hading. He cried out once, a mighty shout from the depths of his fearlessness, and smote a mortal blow with his blade to the nearest Wolf. Then were the other two upon him. His blood ran like a river over the green field of his cape, and never again was his fair voice heard in Rohan.

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

Four Wolves were dead and one was limping on three legs, its bloodied foreleg hanging limp as it retreated from the attack. Carchmoroth called to the pack and they rallied to him, disappearing as a dark cloud beneath the shadows of the dense trees. They pulled the carcass of the dead pack horse with them, stopping only when the sounds and sights of the wounded were far behind them. They would eat well for a good while, and then move on.

[ January 06, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

Deorlin

01-04-2003, 02:16 AM

Deorlin floated, his mind a blank. Only the dull throbbing in his head letting him know he lived still.The open wounds on his legs and arm were too numb from the icy waters to cause any pain - yet. Blessedly, he was unaware really of all that had transpired in those few short moments. He knew vaguely that if he didn't get out of the water soon, he would go under and draw water instead of air, and that would be the end. But the end of what? He tried hard to think, to remember. An image flashed through his mind - a horse - Frey? No this was a chestnut, not a dun. It wasn't Frey. But he was riding it - why would that be? And then he saw a bright spurt of blood and heard a horrible horse scream and it was down, falling, rolling already in the grip of its death throws. and then . . . once more his mind was blank. Why was he in the river? Where were the others? The others? Why had he been riding with, who was it now, Aelfritha, Anglachel, and . . . oh yes, the tiny woman, Izrenna, had that been her name? This was the River Snowbourne, for some reason he knew that much for sure. Once again, he thought he had better get out of the water, befoer he drowned, but a strange lassitude had taken hold of him; he felt oddly relaxed, warm even. It would take such an effort to roll over and swim to shore. It was much more pleasant to jst let the current carry him along. he opened his eyes. The sky above was bright blue, with only one white cloud to be seen. perhaps he should just stay like this, forever.

As he drifted into unconsciousness, Deorlin's body was carried closer to the northern shore. There it came to rest, lodged against a fallen tree trunk. he bobbed gently up and down in the backwash, his face still turned towards the sky.

Maikadilwen

01-04-2003, 06:03 AM

Rhana knelt down next to Gormel and Kane dropped down on the opposite side of their wounded leader, both trying to figure out what to do with him. His wound was bad and it was obvious, that if it wasn't tended quickly and properly, he would die.
As if struck by the same thought, they both raised their eyes and gazed at each other. What if they didn't tend the wound properly? Surely he would die and there would be one less to think about.
Rhana looked closely at Kane. He was young, barely anything more than a boy but he had guts. He had courage and though he was quiet, he wasn't stupid. She knew it was quite the opposite which was why he didn't show it. He was content with waiting for his chance to come. And it seemed that chance had come now.

None of them noticed Bhurthnin, Gormel's second, before he was standing next to them. He had wisely kept himself out of sight under Gormel's wing during the fight. "Are you just waiting for him to die or are you going to do something about that wound of his?", he yelled at them, trying to demonstrate his power.
Rhana slowly stood and stepped toward Bhurthnin. "No matter what we do, he will die!" She was furious and Kane, knowing too well where this would end, looked down at the ground, shaking his head.
She stepped even closer to Bhurthnin, so close she was almost standing on his toes. "And where were you when we were fighting off the wargs? Where were you when your precious leader was attacked? Where were you when..."
He struck her hard across the face with the back of his hand and, not entirely sober, she lost her balance and fell to the ground, feeling the blood pouring from her nose.
"If he dies, you die!" Bhurthnin said and left.

Swallowing hard Rhana struggled to get up and gratefully accepted a helping hand from Kane. She looked him in the eyes and nodded. He could rely on her help.
She wiped some of the blood away from her face and took a close look at Gormel's wound, then grabbed the flask he kept at his side. She drank some of the brew herself, then, without any care, she poured some of it over Gormel's shoulder to cleanse the wound. The man groaned from pain and she smiled sadistically as she bound his wound none too gently. Now who has the power, Gormel? she thought as she finished and left to take care of her own wounds.

A stranger had joined them while Rhana and Kane had been busy with Gormel's wound, an older man who presented himself as Ulfeg. He claimed to have been sent out to meet them here and escort them the rest of the way.
How convenient to appear after the attack, when the fight is over, Rhana thought but she kept quiet. No need to fall out with this man. First they had to take care of Bhurthnin and this Ulfeg might be of use.
The three men worked together on getting Gormel back on his horse and Rhana, with help from Sadiya, gathered the others. She noticed that Sadiya seemed relieved, though a bit shaken and she flashed her a quick smile. "He wasn't any good for you anyway." she said and mounted her horse, anxious to get away from this place. They still had a long ride ahead of them and they had to move swiftly. She looked at Bhurthnin once more. They were awaited, but just how many of them would return to their employer was very uncertain.

[ January 05, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

Estel the Descender

01-04-2003, 08:20 AM

'We have to journey fast, said Béowulf, 'and unless you can run as fast as a mearh you will be left behind.'

Corrin (and Léod) reluctantly agreed to this proposal. To show his displeasure of having a stranger ride him, Léod ran so fast that even Béowulf had trouble keeping his seat.

Izrênna saw the bay coloured lightning that was Léod approaching her. She smiled once more, a weary smile, for she was fatigued. Though she struggled to show that she was not bothered by the attitude towards her by the group she was with, it was beginning to affect her anyway. She was pleased somewhat when the bay mearh stopped in front of her suddenly (Corrin fell off because of the momentum: he was not to pleased by that) and Béowulf greeted her with an embarrassed smile.

'Greetings my lady,' panted Béowulf, 'I hope that my companions and I are not too late to join the expedition.'

'No, you are not,' replied Izrênna, 'We have just stopped to rest for a while to wait for stragglers.'

'That must mean us, Léod and Corrin,' laughed Béowulf, 'But I am so glad that we caught up.'

I would have been gladder,' grumbled Corrin, 'if your horse did not try to KILL us in his haste. Yes, Mr. horse, I said kill, murder. . .

'Gentlemen,' interrupted Anglachel as he came up to them, 'I am glad that you came as well. I was beginning to wonder if ever you would come.'

Léod suddenly whinnied and shied away: the group became aware that Wargs were attacking them.

As quickly as she can, Izrênna drew her bow and shot at one wolf, causing it to retreat in pain. Ælfritha and Malienna, barely controlling their mounts, began to hack or whip at gaping jaws. One of the pack horses was killed already by the wolves while the other horses were being harried by the rest of the wolf-pack.

Corrin, seeing a wolf lunge at him, swung his two-handed axe as quicly and as powerfully as he could, but the wolf was too quick, clamping down upon his right arm. Thank goodness I wore my mail, but OW! the bite still hurts. . . Angered by the pain, Corrin brought down his axe and severed the wolf's head.

Hading rode up to where Anglachel and Béowulf were, shouting, 'Mearh-hring!!! Mearh-hring!!! Forþ tó beadu!!!' Immediately, Béowulf and Hading took Anglachel in hand and formed a fighting circle. The hindquarters of their mounts were nearly touching and their heads and deadly hooves faced out from the center in a deadly formation. Three wolves circled them, rushing in as they could to nip and slash at the flesh of rider and mount.

One wolf leapt up to Hading, going for his throat, but instead the wolf met Hading's blade which cut deeply. The carcass fell down to be trampled by horse-hooves.

Another wolf sprang at Béowulf but his sword struck off the creature's foreleg. Léod, in bloodlust, sought to leave the protective ring in order to harry the stricken wolf but Béowulf reined him back, 'Ná, Léod! Bæc!'

Dúgoroth and his two Wolves had now joined the fray, and savaged the trio which had wounded one of their pack. Anglachel’s horse shied at the nearness of the Warg. Rolling his eyes in terror, the horse sought to bolt, and Béowulf pushed against the frightened animal with his and reached out to help the merchant steady his mount.

The disturbance, however, left Hading's mount unprotected. The Warg and the other wolves lunged at the Hading's horse. The Warg brought down the horse, while the wolves attacked Hading.

'Déað!!! cried Hading, a mighty shout from the depths of his fearlessness, and smote a mortal blow with his blade to the nearest wolf, 'Déað tó þé wulf-héap!!!

But even as he shouted, two other wolves went for him, one at his throat and the other at his shoulder. His blood ran like a river over the green field of his cape, and never again was his fair voice heard in Rohan.

Angered by the death of a fellow Rider, Béowulf charged the wolves who were upon the fallen Hading. Retreating from the sudden attack, Carchmoroth called to the pack and they rallied to him, disappearing as a dark cloud beneath the shadows of the dense trees. They pulled the carcass of the dead pack horse with them.

What are wolves doing in the Mark, thought Béowulf bitterly, If only we had arrived sooner! He was especially sorry for Hading: Béowulf decided that he will be the one to inform Hading's family of his untimely death.

[ January 06, 2003: Message edited by: Estel the Descender ]

Anglachel

01-04-2003, 04:38 PM

Anglachel dismounted and, thrusting his long knife into the earth, knelt next to the body of Hading. Finding the great sword of Hading in the grass nearby, he wiped it clean before carefully placing back into the warrior’s grasp. He then folded his arms onto his chest in the traditional manner for one who has fallen in battle.

Bowing his head while still on one knee, Anglachel contemplated the appropriate words for such a bleak occasion. After a few moments, he composed one or two lines in his mind that sounded fitting for a soldier of Rohan.

“Though we have lost a valiant member of our company,” spoke Anglachel slowly yet clearly so that everyone could hear, “we should not mourn for him beyond this moment that we now share, for a warrior that dies in battle has fulfilled his duty. Needless is not the death that comes from sacrifice and courage. The bravery of Hading has allowed those of us who remain to continue our quest. We must not linger overly long in sadness when our goal is yet unachieved. Hading now rides in the sunny fields amongst his ancestors, so mourn no longer, his worries are forever gone.”

After a few moments of silence, he rose and sheathed his long knife. Following a quick survey of the damage and loss, he spoke briefly with the others to arrange a burial for Hading and hasty retrieval of whatever goods they could gather in a short time. The thieves were increasing the distance between them every minute they delayed. Time was not on their side.

Anglachel looked around at the faces of the other riders expecting to see despair, yet all that he could read in the eyes of his colleagues was resolve. This group has a strong will, he thought to himself, these few do much to inspire hope. He allowed this thought to linger for a moment before turning to the task of laying Hading to rest.

VanimaEdhel

01-04-2003, 05:58 PM

Izrênna looked at the body of Hading, and tried her hardest not to show the terror she felt. She clenched her jaw and tried to steel her will against the events that had just took place. She looked at her bow, and then at the Warg she had killed.

Izrênna took a deep breath and looked around at the firm decided look in the company's eyes. This company was one, and they would all do anything for each other now. Although she may be an outcast due to her diminutive frame, Izrênna could feel that the others were beginning to think of her as part of the fraternity that was forming in this small group. She hoped that the dedication would last them throughout this quest. There would be no fame or glory in this mission, but there was comraderie nonetheless, and it was beginning to show. They may earn themselves more respect than they could have ever imagined, merely by aiding these people find the beasts that the thieves wrongfully took from them.

In her thoughts, she suddenly remembered that one member of the group was still unaccounted for.

"That man!" she exclaimed, "Where is the man?"

She looked at the puzzled looks she was given, and realized that she did not even know this competitor's name.

"The one...the one...that was ahead," was all Izrênna could say to describe Deorlin.

"Deorlin!" said Anglachel, remembering, "He is not here!"

"Where is he?" Izrênna asked, flushed with worry. She had a fleeting thought of confusion for why she should be so worried about so hostile a companion, but then she shook it off. Her personal issues were of no import now. The important thing was to find the valuable member of the company.

"We must look for him!" Izrênna said, immediately beginning to scan the land, trying to see evidence for where he may have went. "Can any of you read tracks?" she asked, "We may be able to tell where he went through the markings he left!"

Gryphon Hall

01-05-2003, 03:24 AM

'Stupid, lazy, irresponsible dwarf!' thought Corrin angrily. 'You knew that they will need a stout dwarf! You felt it in your bones! Now a man is down and even the sacrifice of riding that murderous beast was for naught.'

Corrin stuck the spike of his axe into the earth and inspected the damage to his arm. He smiled to himself, seeing that the mail was not penetrated; still, that warg's bite was strong and he was sure that he was thoroughly bruised. 'Looks like one-handed fighting is out of the question for a while,' he thought. He sighed, grabbed his axe from the ground, then looked around to make a survey of the group. 'Well,' he muttered aloud, 'you would think the Horse-lords would send more people for this sort of thing.' He shook his head, then added silently, 'Ah, Corrin-my-boy, don't you go looking down on this folk. It's your fault that a man was down. You could have armed them. For free, too.' He shook his head again.

A man walked up to the middle and said, 'Will no one help me lay to rest one of our comrades?' Hearing this, Corrin harrumphed loudly and walked purposely forward.

'I will. I will,' cried Corrin. 'I cannot save the poor lad's life, but I can fix it that his body will be molested no more.' He walked passed Léod, and as he did so both of them looked each other in the eye then turned away, the horse snorting and the dwarf muttering.

'This is going to take some work,' said Corrin. 'The ground is hard but we need to dig deep; good thing you have me!' Corrin reached for his mattock, then remembered that he left it in The White Horse. He slapped his helm but said nothing, instead bringing out his broad-bladed sword and his throwing axes. He handed one axe to Anglachel and the other to Béowulf, saying, 'Please measure out earth where you want the lad laid by striking the ground like this,' as he made a chopping motion with his hand. 'Don't be afraid to strike as hard as you can, even on the stones. Those axes were designed to stick into rock. I shall later empty the hole of the earth with my sword.'

'A disservice to your sword, master dwarf,' said Béowulf.

'You know, I have had about enough of you treating me like some halfling,' said Corrin, but with humor and laughter in his voice. 'If you must know, this sword is strong enough to penetrate some types of armor, so this ice-hard ground shall be no match. Wielded by me, a veteran of The Battle of the Five Armies, why, I tell you...' Béowulf's eyes rolled up, 'Oh, no!'

You see, before Béowulf had been forced to take Corrin on Léod, a simple remark had started the dwarf on a long tale about this or that battle, this or that bit of trouble. Probably one of the reasons why he felt forced to take him on Léod.

And so, the dwarf worked and talked animatedly at the same time, sometimes chuckling to himself about some particularly good fray. It did not take long to hollow out the ground, for even with just the sword and the axes between them dwarves have always had the skill to delve. So the torture of listening to Corrin did not last very long.

Meanwhile, everyone was regrouping and taking stock of what had happened. A slight woman took the attention of everyone, though. 'That man!' she exclaimed, 'Where is the man? The one...the one...that was ahead.' Before Corrin said 'We just buried him' (and good thing too) Anglachel exclaimed, 'Deorlin! He is not here!'

'Another one, eh?' thought Corrin. He patted the last of the earth on top of Hading. 'Well, looks like you can still show your worth, Corrin-old-chap.' So Corrin cried out loud, 'Save the Horses! Save Deorlin! Ha-hah! Yesh! Let's go!'

Airerûthiel

01-05-2003, 04:14 AM

Ælfritha sighed heavily as she continued to search for the pack horse's scattered wares. There seemed to be precious little good light left, and she needed as much of it as possible to collect the goods as they lay divided. 'Every little strange misfortune that befalls us on this journey puts another distance between the thieves and ourselves,' she thought to herself as she collected a parcel of medicinal herbs and placed them with the motley arrangement of other fallen items.

Suddenly, the noise of one in slumber was brought to her ears from behind a nearby rock. She walked slowly and carefully towards the stone, not knowing if what lurked behind it was friend or foe. Her breathing seemed to grow louder to her own ears with every step she took, and her heartbeat doubled its pace every time, sending a dizzy sensation to her mind as she tried to consistently exercise control over her ever-greatening trepidation.

The figure that lay behind the stone, wrapped in a blanket and a ragged travelling cloak, was male and at the irresponsible point in his young life that falls between childhood and the coming of age. He looked strangely ethereal, and yet almost too human for his own good. "The child of two races," whispered Ælfritha as her eyes perused the appearance of the young figure. He had hair of a colour rarely seen in Middle-earth, a sort of golden-red, as a flame might look in the first ray of dawn's light, and a face that seemed as though he carried cares of one years older than he.

Reaching carefully out to see whether the perfectly still figure had not chosen to cross into the Undying Lands at this time, Ælfritha gently laid her fingers upon the hem of the half-Elf's cloak. Without warning, he leapt up and partially drew his sword. "What business do you have in the Riddermark?" asked Ælfritha as she staggered backwards slightly, unnerved at the young one's boldness.

"My business is my own, and yet you and your party share it," he replied, his eyes staring icily out at the horse-seller. When he next spoke, his voice was humbler, meeker, as a child who knows he has done wrong. "I seek the ones who took the horses from the stable at the White Horse. 'Tis twice the blow for me, for not only does it greviously wound the otherwise excellent reputation of Bethberry, the innkeeper whom I worked for there, but one of the horses they chose to take belonged to my mother, and me in my turn."

"What is your name, child?" asked Ælfritha, feeling a strange sympathy towards this stranger, who although fierce in words became more servile in actions. "And what of your mother, and your history? Why do you ride upon the back of her horse?"

"I am Maikadurion of Ithilien, son to Orowethwen of Mirkwood and Théomer son of the lands of Men," he replied, "and I ride upon my mother's horse for he is all I have to prevent her image from passing into the world of shadow, there to be forever forgotten. Until the name of my father and my house is restored to its former glory, I will not rest to hold my family's legacy together, and I fear neither pain nor death."

"Greetings, Maikadurion. I am Ælfritha, and my business with this party is simple - four of the horses those thieves took from the stable of she who you served under were mine, some of the finest in all Rohan, and on their way to be sold to another. But for the moment I am a little preoccupied with collecting the wares of a pack horse of this party, which we lost not long ago. Would you be so kind as to help me collect them?"

"It would be a great honour," replied the half-Elf, bowing low as he rose from his position. "I believe that this may well belong to you anyway." He offered out the blanket he had spent the previous night earning some rest in after his collapse earlier that day, due to his virtual non-stop running to catch up to the party.

[ January 08, 2003: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

Bêthberry

01-05-2003, 10:28 AM

Ælfritha was thankful for the young elf's presence, for his youthful enthusiasm kept her mind from dwelling too heavily on the yet further losses they had suffered. Then she came upon the torn leather bindings of the saddle bags which Doric had carried and she shook with grief and rage and frustration, mingled.

Doric had not been her horse, but Eomund's, and now she had failed him in protecting his gift. Slowly she dismounted from Nithal, who was still skittish from the attack and who sensed the presence of horse blood. She spoke calming words into his left ear as she held tightly to his reigns and stroked his neck. She remained thankful that her whip had kept the whargs from hurting him; she hope that her one lunge with her spurs had raked one wharg's eye and nose deeply, so that he would never forget the cost of his victory over Doric. She should not have left the ponied tether strap so long; he might still be alive had she been more forethoughtful. She would not again so soon underestimate the presence of danger nor give harm such an easy victory.

Maikadurion's voice called her back to their task. She picked up the bloodied leather straps and followed the drag marks on the frozen ground; soon she came upon two of the saddle bags--the two which held food provisions for man and beast. Lost it appeared were the extra blankets.

"Let us be thankful for what we have," she murmured. Then, to Maikadurion, she called, "Come, we have found most of what we will need; let us return before we have lost any more time and see that the Rider is returned to his rest in full homours."

Climbing back atop Nithal, she led the way back to the glade, where she would introduce Maikadurion to the others.

[ February 05, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

*Varda*

01-05-2003, 10:38 AM

They had stood by the grave of Hading, silently mourning, until Izrenna had called out about Deorlin’s disappearance. The group had been taken with panic, as they looked around and ahead for Deorlin. There appeared to be no sign of the man, but Malienna distinctly remembered him riding far ahead. Was there a chance he had avoided the attack altogether? Or had…had they got him first?

Not knowing what the company would choose to do, to follow Deorlin and help him, or to remain and hope, Malienna busied herself with other tasks. She gently tended to Naroch’s scratches, cleaning them with some ointment she had found in the bottom of her pack. She had some pain in her arm, from a cut that was bleeding slightly, but she could see to that later. Malienna sighed to herself. Who knew what they might find ahead, but they could hardly afford to lose another member of their group, and if Deorlin was hurt, they could not waste too much time in finding him. And with every moment they lingered, the horse thieves were getting further and further ahead…with Rohan’s precious horses.

No, they could not delay much longer. Malienna silently checked Naroch’s tack, finding nothing terribly beyond repair, being ready to depart swiftly when the command came.

[ January 06, 2003: Message edited by: *Varda* ]

Estel the Descender

01-05-2003, 01:35 PM

'That man!' Izrênna exclaimed, Where is the man?'

Béowulf looked at her wondering what she meant.

'The one...the one...that was ahead,' continued Izrênna.

'Deorlin!' exclaimed Anglachel, suddenly remembering, 'He is not here!'

Deorlin! thought Béowulf, Another Rider of the Mark!

'Where is he?' Izrênna asked again.

'We must look for him!' said Izrênna, looking at the ground, hoping to find any sign of Deorlin's tracks.

'Can any of you read tracks?' she called out to the group, 'We may be able to tell where he went through the markings he left!'

'I may be of service!' said Béowulf, 'In what direction do you think he went?' If there is another Rider who needs rescue or. . . burial, I need to be one of those to do it.

'Save the Horses!' cried Corrin the Dwarf 'Save Deorlin! Ha-hah! Yesh! Let's go!'

Béowulf once again took the Dwarf to ride with him. (Léod was still not pleased by the arrangement, but he made no fuss this time). Izrênna also by this time had mounted and both Rider and Dwarf joined her.

After riding for some time, Izrênna was the first to see Deorlin where he lay. She spurred her horse ahead of the others, gladdened that they were able to find him, and was soon near the wounded man.

[ January 06, 2003: Message edited by: Estel the Descender ]

VanimaEdhel

01-05-2003, 04:57 PM

Surprised at how much her plea for aid in finding Deorlin was listened to, Izrênna watched, in awe, as others did what she said. People had never awaited orders from her in any way, much less in how to go about finding a missing companion.

Izrênna rode around, looking for any sign of Deorlin she could see. She saw an odd indentation. She also thought she saw some sort of form in the water nearby.

She spurred her horse forward, giving a shout. She saw that it was Deorlin's body as she drew near. She dismounted the horse while he was still in motion and ran over to the body. He still seemed alive, though he was obviously badly hurt.

Izrênna struggled to lift the large, strong warrior out of the water before the others got there. She managed to pull him out fairly well, but his legs were still in the water. Béowulf and Corrin, who were sharing a horse, were the first to catch up, and they aided in pulling the wet body out of the water. Izrênna panted with the effort of moving this heavy man.

When Deorlin was safely out of the water, Izrênna stood, her outfit now fairly wet. She shivered in the cold winter air and prayed that she did not catch some horrible illness that would cause her company to lose yet another comrade before the horses were safely recaptured.

She kneeled down by Deorlin and touched his arm. She saw his eyes open a very little bit. She thought she could hear him make a small groaning sound before he lapsed back into an unconscious state.

"Thank the Vala he is alive," Izrênna whispered, touching the man's face. She suddenly remembered those around her, "Help me move him!" she shouted.
"Does he live?" Beowulf asked.

"Aye, but just barely," Corrin said in a serious tone from where he stood, "We should get him back to the others immediately. Let us help the girl lift him."

The group hefted the heavy man onto Izrênna's horse, and Izrênna boosted herself up behind him. The other two stood a ways off and spoke quietly for a moment, Izrênna knew not what about, then they came and mounted up.

"Let us go back to camp," Beowulf said, "We must give Deorlin aid."

"I do not think we can press forward at too swift a pace," Izrênna said, looking at the injured Deorlin, still mostly unconscious in front of her, "I leave it to you to decide whether I press on with you or not. If it is what you desire, I shall stay here in the glade with Deorlin and you can press ahead. We should not leave him unattended and I am probably the most expendable on this mission. If it is what you desire, I can ride back to that glade and stay with Deorlin until...if...you return."

She looked at the others, realizing for the first time that any or all of those on this quest really and truly could, in all honesty die on this mission. Many could die to save a few horses. Izrênna bit her lip and suddenly felt tears in her eyes. These were great, noble people, she realized, and she wondered how she could have not seen it before. What she considered to be a simple task of finding a few stolen horses had become so much more. It was not only a quest to find lost animals, but it was proof of the wonders that a small band of people could do when they worked together for a single goal, no matter how small the goal was.

Izrênna sighed, blinking back her tears, and holding onto Deorlin, as the others seemed to think about whether to leave her behind or not.

"Do not feel guilt for leaving me," Izrênna said, "For, if I would be of more use here with Deorlin, I would rather stay. We cannot move too quickly with this man, though, I warn you."

"I do not think that we should separate," Corrin said, "After what happened when Deorlin ran ahead. Although you may be fine with a bow at long distances, if there was to be more danger in these parts, both you and Deorlin would be open to attack. But I suppose we should ask the others, for it is up to the group as a whole to decide."

Izrênna bit her lip for a second in thought. She felt her horse shift his weight a little, though not from strain. Although this was not the largest of horses, Izrênna thought that he might be sturdy enough to bear two riders, as she had originally offered.

"If Deorlin awakes," Izrênna began slowly, "I think that I should be fine. My horse may be smaller than yours are, but I do not think that an alert man would be too much of a hinderance. If, however, Deorlin remains unconscious when it is time to leave, I suggest that you let us ride back."

Izrênna silently hoped that Deorlin would wake in time, for she did not want to ride back to the Inn. As she sat in a slightly confused stupor, she turned her horse, and began to trot slowly back to the glade, careful to keep a tight hold on the semi-conscious Deorlin.

She noticed that the two men remained a little ways behind her, speaking of she knew not what. She wished that this group would let her in on their secrets, but, then again, they were men, and no matter how skilled she was, they would still hold a fraternity with each other that no woman could ever penetrate into. She sighed and spurred her horse on a bit to give the men their space as they made their way back to camp and to relative safety...

[ January 08, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

Garen LiLorian

01-06-2003, 02:40 AM

Gormel ran down a dark tunnel, sweat pouring from every inch of his heavily muscled body. Eyes gleamed at him from every side, teeth long and sharp snapped at his heels. Then, abruptly, he was free. He turned and howled, a long, drawn out sound of triumph. His howl was echoed.

He spun, slow as cold honey. He felt the awful weight of the thing crashing down onto him, the rancid breath two inches from his face, the mighty claws scratching furrows into the flesh of his arms and torso. Then there was pain, and a howl of a different sort. His left shoulder disappeared in red, and all he saw was the yellow of the great beasts eyes, closing in...

Gormel awoke with a sound too guttural to be a scream and too panicked to be anything else. He started to bring his hands up to defend, to hold the beast away from him, but his shoulder caused him to collapse back, whining softly like a hurt animal. The camp was dark. Night had fallen, and those who had survived the great animals attack were huddled around a campfire, blazing bright into the darkness.

Gormel tested his shoulder, and winced sharply as the pain flared through it. The dressing was good and tight, though. He wondered who had taken the trouble. Bhurthnin was no healer, and he knew full well there were many in his band who would sooner drag a knife across his throat than bind his wounds. He wondered also who had been dragged off by the beasts. He felt for his sword. Not there. His spear, the haft snapped, lay at his right hand, though, and he palmed the point. If someone was looking to lead the thieves, this would be an excellent time finish the Warg's work. That someone would have a surprise waiting, though, Gormel thought, and grinned through the haze of pain. Had to keep awake... "A sleeping sheep hears no wolves" he thought, and grinned again. Different wolves, though. Just had to keep...

Gormel ran down a dark tunnel...

[ January 06, 2003: Message edited by: Garen LiLorian ]

Amanaduial the archer

01-06-2003, 02:15 PM

Kane looked up from a game of dice as he heard a wild animal cry. Glancing around, his hand on his sword, he saw it was Gormel who had screamed. He cursed silently- he would rather have had wild animals than Gormel coming around. He wouldnt be as easy to deal with.

Looking back, he ended the game, taking his meagre winnings, then exchanged a look with Rhana. Her dark eyes flickered across briefly to Bhurthnin. They were only there for a second, but Kane understood. He nodded slightly then raised an eyebrow, questioningly.

"How?" He murmered, for her ears only.
A shrug in reply. "Not sure. I mean, Bhurthnin is a strong player of dice and no mistake." She added louder, smiling, seeing that the object of their discussion was looking at them strangely. "I dont know how we would be able to beat him."

Bhurthnin snorted slightly in a way that was quite possibly some primeval form of laugh before he turned around to face the fire again, unaware of the hidden meanings carried.

"It would be easier to beat another, for his mind is wandering." Kane replied in an equally cryptic way, flashing a glance at Gormel. "I suspect he would be easier to beat."

"Men are weak in the night." Rhana replied. Kane couldnt help smiling at this and, partly for the look of it to anyone who might have been watching, he shoved her to the side, knocking the slim woman as she was caught unaware. She grabbed his hand on the way down though, making him lose his balance, pulling him over. Kane put his arms out just in time, on either side of Rhana, his face equal with hers. For a moment, his eyes caught with those of the beautiful foreign horsewoman and the world seemed frozen...before Rhana shoved Kane and he pulled himself off.

Shaking his head, clearing such strange thoughts that had entered, he squatted onto his haunches and spoke again in the cryptic way they had before. "I think I shall try against such a one then. I will be able to beat him this night."

" Its a high risk game Kane."
"And a high prize Rhana. From which we would both benefit." With that he turned back to the fire, working out how he would deal with Gormel...

Orofacion of the Vanyar

01-06-2003, 05:14 PM

Ulfeg threw two rabbits down beside Kane and dropped another infront of himself. He took out a small cutting knife from his boot and began skinning his catch. "They ain't much, but if you think hard enough, they can taste like a thick roast... maybe," Ulfeg said spearing some meat with a stick and placing it over the fire.

"Your leader's wounded, bad I measure." There wasn't much response. "There a second in command?" Still nothing. Ulfeg moved closer to Kane, "If you wanna save your neck, as well as that pretty little thing's over there, you'd best think long an' hard about how you're gonna do him in," Ulfeg said in a whisper, nodding towards Gormel.

"Now I know what you're thinkin', who am I and what business I got here?" Ulfeg reached in his saddle bag and showed his sealed letter, and a vile of liquid. "This is for howler over there. I'm supposed to give it to em', but I don't think he's in a reading mood at the moment. Can you hand me that rabbit over there?" Ulfeg asked pointing to one of the two beside him. As Kane looked away, Ulfeg poured the contents of the vile onto the cooked rabbit and slipped it under his sleeve. "Here, this one's done," Ulfeg said handing the cooked rabbit to Kane, and taking the other.

[ January 09, 2003: Message edited by: Orofacion of the Vanyar ]

Deorlin

01-07-2003, 12:20 AM

Deorlin's head swam in a foggy mist, his limbs feeling like leaden sticks. The only sound he heard was the thumping of a drum somewhere, very far off, but very rhythmic.He no longer felt the water against his skin; his body was numb and unresponsive to the tentative signals he was trying to send it to move. Once again he tried desperately to remember what had happened, but it was still a blur.

Time passed, Deorlin slipping in and out of consciousness. At one point, he dreamed he looked up and saw a face, the face of the woman he had sneered at back at the inn, at Edoras. Now why would she be in his dreams? He felt himself being tugged at and pulled; at first he thought it was a wolf, worrying at him, trying to nip at his legs and arms. Where was his sword? Then the wolf changed into the woman again, and she bending over him, speaking to him, calling his name. But her voice was so far away - he saw her lips move but heard no sound. The woman melted away and once again he was being pushed and pulled, this way and that. He felt his body rising, being lifted up, and for an instant he felt the warmth and smelt the wonderful animal smell of horse. He might have groaned, he really didn't know. Then all was blackness again and the dream was gone.

Amanaduial the archer

01-07-2003, 01:19 PM

Kane opened the letter, curious, and read it slowly, his eyes widening as he did. He opened his mouth to say something to Ulfeg before someone hit hit head with the flat of their hand, hard. Standing and turning furiously in one movement, Kane came face to face with Bhurthnin.

"Whats your problem?" He demanded.

Bhurthnins eyes narrowed and he grabbed hold of Kanes shirt, pulling him closer. "Your tongue will over reach your abilities one day, boy. Ive had enough of your cheek." He growled. "And now you start causing trouble, plotting I think!"

His hand now came up holding a knife close to Kanes face. The young easterling caught Rhanas eye and she nodded. He thought fast. "Plotting? Surely not." He forced himself to sound almost jovial. "Tell you what though, Bhurthnin; I will play you a game of dice."

The big man looked at him in surprise and suspicion. "Why?"

"Well, you are at least the best in the camp at that game. I will play you; If I win, you will drop your suspicions of me." Kane talked fast; he could now see the glint of the blade a few inches from his eye.

Bhurthnins eyes narrowed again, suspicion returning. "And my prize?"

Your prize. Once more his eyes flickered to Rhana in a brief apology, but once again she nodded. Now, how to get the brute to say it himself to avoid yet more suspicion..."What would you suggest? Money? Oh surely not." He said quickly as he saw Bhurthnin was about to suggest this. "Wouldnt you like something more precious, more enjoyable...?" He said suggestively. Now he let his eyes wander to Rhana once again, for longer this time. Bhurthnin followed his gaze and his eyes lingered on the woman. A slow smile spread over his ugly features and he pointed with a thick finger. "Her. Thats what I want as my prize."

Rhana gave a small smile to Kane, then put on every show that this was exactly what she didnt want. "Me? You will involve me in your game of cards?" She spat. Bhurthnins face darkened. "I want you or nothing, and Ill kill you both."

Rhana opened her mouth again but Bhurthnin got in first. "No excuses."

"Fine." Kane said quietly, trying not to smile. "Lets play."

As they sat, Bhurthnin snatched the pair of 8 sided dice like a spoilt child. The prizes had already been decided on, so he took his first throw, but rashly. They jumped over the muddy ground, ending with one dice facing up with the rune for two points, one with the mark for losing a point. Bhurthnin grunted and Kane smiled outwardly, much to the irritation of the big man. He threw the dice with a quick flick of his wrist and they skittered over the ground, ending up with far better results than Bhurthnins.

The game carried on, with Kane winning easily, until he decided it was time for the real plan to come into play. He took his turn simply dropping the dice onto the board and losing half his points in one go. Bhurthnin let out a series of grunts that Kane guessed might be laughing and his ugly face twisted into a sort of smile. Kane kept losing points, but he was having trouble; Bhurthnin was a terrible player at dice and was only winning by a fraction. Kane groaned inwardly. Ah well, now to make the ending move. He paused, the dice in his hands, and his eyes met with Rhana's, a hint of worry there. She shook her head and moved a small knife in her clothing out so he could just see its sharp blade. Taking a deep breath, Kane made the move to end the game; he had had long practise at getting the exact side he wanted in games with such idiots. Dropping the dice, he looked down and forced himself to groan. They had both landed on the crude skull sign.

"Hur hur hur...Sudden death!" Bhurthnin snorted. "I win....my prize!"

He stood suddenly and in a few strides had grabbed Rhana. "Come on, my darlin'" He breathed salaciously into her ear. "Lets go."

[ January 11, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

Maikadilwen

01-07-2003, 02:23 PM

Rhana kept a worried eye on the game, realising that it was difficult for Kane to lose, even though he was supposed to. Not because he didn't want to, but simply because Bhurthnin was the worst player of dice she had ever seen.
She rolled her eyes and took a look around the camp. Sadiya appeared to be asleep with the child in her arms, and the newcomer, Ulfeg, was watching the game from a distance.

Suddenly she was struck by a terrible thought. What if she failed? She had done this several times before, but Bhurthnin was a large, strong man. She shuddered and her stomach turned by the thought of what could happen if she wasn't careful.

Forcing herself to calm down she glanced at Kane and noticed the concerned look in his eyes. Shaking her head, she showed him her blade, assuring him that she could take care of herself, and he dropped the dice to lose the game.

Rhana closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She cast a quick glance back at Kane, as Bhurthnin grabbed her arm and dragged her away with him into a group of trees. "He can't help you now, love, he just lost you!" he said with a hoarse laugh. "And now I want my prize!"

He shoved her against a tree and she closed her eyes, gritting her teeth in disgust, as he leaned against her, his hands finding their way under her clothes, groping and searching.
Slowly her hand moved toward her knife, and she grabbed firmly around the hilt.

Not a sound escaped him when she slit his throat, he just glared at her, a surprised look on his face. She slipped out of his grasp and quickly stepped away from him, watching the large man fall to the ground as his blood swiftly left his body.
A satisfied smile appeared on her face as she stood, looking at the lifeless body on the ground. Once again a man had been lured into the trap and had fallen for that trick.
She shook her head over such stupidity and kneeled down to search his pockets. She found nothing but grabbed the flask in his belt and went back to the camp.

Kane saw her first, since he had been staring the way they had left, all the time. Rhana didn't return is gaze, but dropped down by the fire next to Ulfeg, pulling her fur-coat close around her. She opened the flask she had taken from Bhurthnin's body and quickly emptied it, staring into the flames with an empty look.

[ January 11, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

Anglachel

01-09-2003, 02:10 AM

Daylight had completely faded before any form of normalcy returned to the company. By the time the team had become organized for pursuit, the gibbous moon was high in the night sky. After a brief discussion, and even though precious hours had been lost, it was agreed upon by the group that they would restart their chase at first sign of light. While some of the pursuers took this time to get a few hours of sleep, Anglachel remained awake and took stock on what had occurred in the hours after the warg attack.

Ælfritha, with some enlisted help, was able to gather a healthy portion of the company’s scattered supplies together. With the loss of the pack horse, the remaining goods had to be distributed amongst the other company members. This was quickly seen to, and soon each person was equipped with a marginally heavier pack.

Anglachel, with some assistance, saw to it that Hading was laid to rest. The burial spot was just north of the river Snowbourne, not ten steps from where the warrior had fallen in battle. A cairn of rocks was hastily erected over the grave of the horseman. It was the only honor the company could bestow upon one who died bravely in combat.

It was not the recovery of supplies nor the burial of Hading that Anglachel was now dwelling upon though, but rather what was going to occur with the injured Deorlin and his newly assigned protector Izrenna. He briefly rehashed the events of Deorlin’s return to the company in his mind.

While rocks were being gathered for Hading’s cairn and Ælfritha was busy dividing up the supplies, Izrenna had returned with Corrin and Beowulf. She had Deorlin perched precariously on the back of her horse while she kept him as steady as she could. It was immediately apparent that he was still alive, he was wounded and nearly frozen, but alive nonetheless.

A fire was quickly started and Ælfritha was able to piece together a set of dry clothes for Deorlin from the remnants of the supplies. Deorlin remained unconscious while he was placed by the fire, dressed in dry clothing, and had his wounds treated as thoroughly as possible.

Anglachel looked over to where Deorlin was sleeping next to the fire. His breathing was even and color had returned to his skin, yet he would be in no shape to travel anytime soon. Fortunately, Izrenna – for reasons not fully understood by Anglachel – volunteered to remain with the injured man until he was able to ride again. He recalled the conversation:

“My horse can carry both of us,” Izrenna had said. “If he wakes up soon and seems to be coherent, we can still follow you. Otherwise, I can take him back to Edoras. There will be little danger on the road back.”

“It is not the road to Edoras that presents the danger that concerns me,” Anglachel had responded. “The wargs will be satiated for the time being on horse flesh, but they could easily come again. You have a half day at most before I would look for the return of those foul beasts.”

Anglachel thought for a moment and continued, “If Deorlin does not regain much of his health by midday tomorrow, Izrenna, you must find a way to get him on your horse and back to Edoras. I realize that is not much time, but you must not take any chances with wargs loose in the Mark. Keep your bow notched at all times, and be extremely weary of the woods. I would leave Corrin and Beowulf to assist you, but we are already short both horses and more importantly, those who can wield a weapon against an enemy.”

Anglachel felt he could trust Izrenna to make the right decisions in this matter though he did not wish to see her left alone to guard Deorlin, especially with the uncertain condition he was in. Nevertheless, she was good with a bow and a competent rider. Perhaps more importantly, there was really little choice.

These thoughts still occupied his mind as darkness turned slowly to the grey light of early morning. The company was in need of haste, so Anglachel woke the others and preparations were made for a pre-sunrise departure. Though little sleep had been granted to the group, there was a level of anticipation to begin the next leg of their journey which allowed the pursuers to appear as almost refreshed. Anglachel spotted Izrenna gloomily watching the company make final readiness to leave. Though he did not expect to see her or Deorlin again on this journey, he placated her by describing the path they would be taking south along the Entwash in pursuit.

Soon, the six remaining members of the company were mounted and under way. Ælfritha, Anglachel, Malienna, and Maikadurion each rode singly while Corrin and Beowulf once again rode double. They quickly and uneventfully crossed the Snowbourne and made there way to the banks of the Entwash before urging their horses into a speedier gait south. As the sun rose to his left, now peeking through the branches on the far bank, Anglachel could not help but ponder the near disaster they encountered the previous day, nor could he shake the worry that they had lost too much time as the thieves plunged ahead towards more dangerous lands.

Gryphon Hall

01-09-2003, 09:09 AM

Corrin was getting really warmed up now. At last, he was of some use. At last...

'Excuse me, Master Dwarf,' said a voice behind him. It was Béowulf. 'It's Corrin,' he replied. 'What d'you want.'

Béowulf pointed at Léod, saying 'We need the speed if we are to keep up with her.' Both horse and dwarf let out a very audible sigh. Corrin looked the horse straight in the eye (who also looked back) and said, 'Look horse, er, Léod, eh? don't try to kill me please. Don't drop me, don't throw me, DON'T KILL ME! If you spare me, I'll give you some sugar. What do you say?'

The horse gave him a meaningful glance. Léod was not pleased with the dwarf on him, but the promise of sugar prevented him from fussing. 'Up you go,' said Béowulf, then hoisted the heavy armored Corrin up.

Izrênna was already a little way ahead but Léod had no desire to ride up to her and her horse. So they continued thus until Izrênna suddenly spurred her horse forward, giving a shout. Alerted, Léod also began to sprint.

Not for long, for they reached the water's edge where Izrênna had dismounted and was struggling to pull a body out of the water.

To the relief of Corrin, Léod stopped swiftly but not suddenly, so he did not fall this time. But now came a new problem, how does he dismount. He saw Béowulf swing his leg over his mount's head, then drop to the ground. Okay, lesee, let's give that a try. Corrin kicked his right leg forward, then toppled backward across the rump of Léod.

'Oh, dang!' said Corrin, picking himself up swiftly, then running towards where Béowulf and Izrênna were struggling to pull the large warrior out. By the time he got there, though, all that remained to be pulled out were Deorlin's ankles.

Izrênna quickly tended to Deorlin. 'Thank the Vala he is alive,' Izrênna whispered, touching the man's face. She suddenly remembered those around her, 'Help me move him!' she shouted.

'Does he live?' Beowulf asked.

Corrin made a big show of putting his ear to the man's chest (Can't hear a thing! Oh, it's the armor...) then to the man's mouth and nose, where he heard a sigh.

'Aye, but just barely,' Corrin said in what he hoped was a serious, responsible tone.'We should get him back to the others immediately.' Woooo, that sounded so, so, 'heroic', thought Corrin happily, then Oh, what can I be thinking at a time like this. Someone needs help. 'Let us help the girl lift him.'

[ February 02, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

Bêthberry

01-10-2003, 09:10 PM

Normally taciturn, Ælfritha had become even more withdrawn, perhaps even morose, as the ride wore on. She had tried her best to respond politely to Malienna's attempts at conversation, but her mind was elsewhere, and Malienna soon wearied of the hesitant yes or no answers.

Coming upon what appeared to be the thieves' camp had changed the mood and tone of almost all the riders, but Ælfritha was particularly disturbed by the discovery. It had been Maikadurion, with his keen eyes, who had first made out the makeshift grave, and then the trampled, bloodied tracks.

The grave was unsettling in itself, for it had been disturbed by maurading small animals; the condition of the corpse has sickened everyone. It was galling to disrupt the pursuit to rebury one of the very thieves they had wished to catch, but the Rohirrim were moved by a sense of decency. And, strangely, the ritual seemed to some restore some small sense of decorum to a situation which was increasingly confused and frustrating.

Clearly, there had been horses lost here also, not just Doric in the attack they had sustained. Ælfritha had known every one of the four horses stolen from the White Horse stable. She had broken each one, trained each, curried each, cared for each. She knew where one was scared, where another had had a pulled tendon, where a third skin infections underneath its hair. She knew them almost as intimately as a mother knows her first child. And now she had a dread sense that at least several of the stolen horses were lost to whargs. Unease sat in her mouth like an iron bit as she wondered what else lay in store.

Airerûthiel

01-11-2003, 03:45 AM

Maikadurion's heart was as heavy as the stones of Meduseld as he wandered aimlessly in the countryside surrounding the pursuers' last camp, not particularly concerned with whether or not he lost the group. Secretly he suspected that, while his new companions were hospitable towards him, he was about as much use to them as the end of a broken sword is to the child of kings.

"Mayhap this is not my place," he said to himself in a sombre tone barely audible by even himself. "I asked only for the chance to avenge the name of my family and the strength and wisdom to find my mother's horse. Instead I find myself as what I am - barely out of childhood, yet not grown to be a man worthy of the position and name bestowed upon those whose blood flows through my veins."

The keen eyes he had inherited from his mother - her only legacy save Formenelen - searched the landscape surrounding him. Not seeing the other riders, he continued on ahead, still trying to present the constant cheeriness and good humour that hid who he truly was - an orphan attempting what seemed to be an impossible task for even the greatest king of Men.

And then he saw it.

The remnants of a camp, complete with charred ground where a small fire had blazed and the compressed patches of grass where figures had lain and horses had stood. But the sight that disgusted Maikadurion's eyes the most was the unmistakeably recognisable rectangular patch of raised ground, left in sickening condition due to marauding small animals.

"Death has visited this place," whispered the half-Elf, kneeling down in the verdant ocean of soft green blades, stained with rivers of pale red in patches that sent a horribly familiar taste into his mouth, which was already dry as as a river after a seven-season drought, making him feel incredibly ill. "One of those who took the horses of my friends has met his end here, and while it may be no more than he deserves, common decency says that we should bury him with the correct decorum employed in this matter."

But his attention was diverted by trampled, bloodied tracks leading east. He picked up one of the indelibly stained grass blades and rubbed it between the index finger and thumb of his right hand, inhaling the stench that came from them shortly afterwards. It was a distinctive smell that had reached his senses many a time when he had worked as a stable boy - it was the blood of a horse.

Suddenly, he turned at the sound of thundering hooves that shook the ground to its very foundations, and his new-found friends came riding up to him. Ælfritha dismounted from her horse and walked towards him. "Are you all right?" she asked, looking from the Gondorian's face to the makeshift grave and back again. "We thought you'd run off again. But I won't scold you for that this time - you've helped put us back on the right route after the thieves. Well done, my young friend!"

The funeral of the nameless robber was the first Maikadurion had ever attended - his father had not been lucky enough to receive a decent burial, and he was not permitted to attended that of his mother on the grounds that 'no child should have to see their parent buried when they are as young as the sons of Orowethwen and Théomer'. As the others lowered the companion of those they tracked into the ground, he followed the trail of horse blood a little way ahead of everyone else. All he hoped for was that the blood shed was not that of the North Star, for if it was so then he would have to go back to being a Ranger once again.

*Varda*

01-11-2003, 11:14 PM

Malienna stood silently and sombrely as the dead thief was buried and placed into the ground. She knew that this was indeed the decent and right thing to do, but at the same thing she was filled with a sense of hatred, for these callous thieves who stole horses in the dead of night, who cared nothing for others, hardly anything for their own kin. It was so far away from her own life that she could not even comprehend what it must be to live like that, with fear and hatred, a life of theft and murder. Malienna shuddered inwardly.

Feeling uncomfortable by the grave, she slowly rode over and rode alongside Maikadurion.

“It was good of you to find the trail,” she said to him. “It might have taken us longer, otherwise, and we should have lost more time in the pursuit of the thieves.”

Malienna looked ahead and scanned the horizon, thinking at first that she saw a few black specks away, far ahead, but peering ahead, she couldn’t make out who or what they were. Sighing, she looked back, hoping for the rest of the group to finish with the burial.

Deorlin

01-13-2003, 11:25 PM

Deorlin groaned heavily, his eyes half opening. His tongue felt like leather and his thrist was enormous.

"Water . . . water." he managed to get out of his parched throat, although the words were greatly slurred.

"Water?" Izrenna said with a small laugh. "I'd have thought you had had enough of water to last you for a lifetime." Even as groggy as he was, Deorlin could still hear the relief in her voice.

He felt her slip her hand behind his head, lifting it so that the flask she held in her other hand could more easily reach his mouth. "This will do you better than water, for the moment, anyway." she said softly. The contents poured into his mouth, and though at first he coughed and spluttered, the liquid cooled and refreshed his burning throat. He gulped greedily and gratefully.

"What . . . what happened? Where are we? Are the others gone?" He gazed at Izrenna's concerned face and knew that he was in serious condition, although his own body had not yet quite caught on to the fact. But he heard no other noises, other than his own labored breathing. No sound of horses, no talking or moving about. Instinctively he knew, they were alone.

"The horses, the thieves, have they gone after them still? How long have I lain here?"

His little strength spent, he let his head fall back to the earth. But he looked at Izrenna, waiting for her to tell what she could.

Orofacion of the Vanyar

01-14-2003, 01:55 PM

"I hope you enjoyed yer'self, cause now we got all these horses and one wounded to tend to now," Ulfeg said as he took a swig of his leather flask. He stared at Rhana, expecting a response but she only sat still and quiet, looking at the fire infront of her. Ulfeg spat to his side. "Like talkin' to a dwarf," he muddled under his breath. Ulfeg got up and walked out to the edge of the camp, staring out onto the dark plains.

It seemed Kane and Rhana were plotting something together, that of which Ulfeg couldn't quite put his hand on at the moment. It was obvious the two were close. In matters like this, Ulfeg usually kept his place, bidding his time till an opportune moment arrived and the advantage would be his. But Ulfeg was getting steadily frustrated with the thieves, they didn't seem to have any idea what the stakes of this mission were. His job was clearly laid out, escort the company back to the meeting place where he had left the tall dark man. From there they would either leave the horses and go on their way or move the horses to another location if instructed to do so. Ulfeg didn't like the change in affairs, or the mood, and he didn't take well to the deception.

Ulfeg turned around and faced the camp. "Alright, before you two get any more ideas, I'll let you in on a little something. Right now you're all being watched, by somethin' you know nothin' of. You mess this mission up, you'll find yourself missing a neck. There's people out there that'll slice you without a second thought, I know cause I work for em'. Get me?"

Maikadilwen

01-14-2003, 02:13 PM

Rhana jumped on her feet, soon standing toe to toe with Ulfeg, her knife drawn. "I'll slice you without a second thought!", she snarled at him, ready to take whatever he had.
Kane jumped up and grabbed her, swiftly pulling her away from an almost certain death. She fought hard but he refused to let go of her until she calmed down. Rhana narrowed her dark eyes as she looked at Kane, spitting against him, barely missing his feet. "I thought you wanted to take over the leadership of this pack", she hissed, angry that he had not yet shown any leader-abilities. "I suggest you do something, very soon. Else you might end up regretting it. Accidents happen all the time, Kane!", she said, not taking her eyes away from his face.

She left Kane staring after her as she walked toward Gormel, an idea forming in her mind. She was a survivor and she knew exactly how she could get out of this alive if their current plan failed.
Kneeling next to Gormel, she checked on his wounds. They seemed to be healing just fine. He would be weak for some time because of the severe bloodloss he had suffered.
Rhana turned and looked back against Kane and Ulfeg. If it turned out she couldn't count on Kane....
She bent down over Gormel, leaning close to his ear. "You are in danger, Gormel" she whispered, keeping an eye on the others. "You hear me? Bhurthnin.....had an unfortunate accident. You're alone now, Gormel!"

Slowly she rose and walked back toward the others, when she suddenly realised that Sadiya was looking at her. She stopped for a moment in front of her, unsure of what she had seen or heard, then decided to let it go. The woman was wisely too concerned about the safety of her child to say anything.
Kane looked at her as she sat down by the fire, across from him. "So?", he asked her. When she finally spoke, she looked straight at him, making sure he knew what she was saying. "His wounds are healing fine. He'll soon be up and back in the lead." Kane slowly nodded, confirming without a word that he had understood her message.

[ January 18, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

VanimaEdhel

01-14-2003, 05:05 PM

Izrênna paused for a second, worried about how much she should tell Deorlin. He was in no condition to travel immediately and she was worried that if she told him the truth, he would immeditately want to follow them. Deorlin was in no condition to travel at all, even over short distances at the moment. Some of his wounds were not horribly serious, but others...those others looked as if they were not even beginning their healing process well.

But what was she to tell him? He would know she was lying if she were to tell him that the group was merely foraging for firewood and food for supper. However, he could not know the truth, could he? But he would have to learn the truth eventually, and it would be better if he learned it now, as he would feel horrible rancor towards her if she were to hold information from him and especially if she were to lie to him.

"Izrênna?" Deorlin asked again, a little softer, as speaking was obviously weakening him.

Izrênna shook herself out of her daze. She realized that she had just been standing there for some time. She quickly made up her mind on what to say.

"They had to leave," she said, "For they had to complete the mission that was laid before them. I offered to stay here with you, as you are in absolutely no condition to depart. We could not bring you with them, for you would have hindered their progress. I was instructed that, as I offered to stay here and aid you and even protect you, if more foes were to return. I am also to take you to the closest civilization tomorrow if you are not well then. I doubt that you will be well, so I would accustom myself to returning, if I was in your place."

Izrênna took a small sigh and knelt back down next to the prostrate man, laying helplessly on the ground. She saw him think about what she said quietly for a second. Izrênna busied herself changing some of the bandages and pretending to be busy fussing over Deorlin's wounds, all the while worrying about what his response to the present situation would be.

"Those were the orders they gave you?" Deorlin reconfirmed, "To return to civilization with me?"

"Yes, if you are unwell," Izrênna reconfirmed, sitting up straight and kneeling next to Deorlin, "And you are unwell, so we must return tomorrow. You cannot be better by then."

"What classifies 'unwell' in your eyes?" Deorlin asked, obviously formulating a plan in his mind.

"What you are at the moment," Izrênna said, gesturing to Deorlin's wounds, and wincing while she did so, "Anyway, they said that, if by midday today, you were not awake, we were to return to Edoras no matter what your condition when you awoke. We are too far behind as of now."

Deorlin, however, remained silent at that. She could tell that he was thinking, and she worried that she knew what he was plotting. She had been considering the same thing. What if they were to disregard the last part and they followed? Anglachel had said that this part would get dangerous again, but what if they were to follow? The group ahead would eliminate any danger, and Izrênna did want to join up with the group and finish the quest...

Izrênna did not speak her feelings out loud at this time, however, and she made herself busy around the camp, noting Deorlin's eyes following her all the while as he plotted silently to himself...

Deorlin

01-14-2003, 11:23 PM

Deorlin digested Izrenna's news carefully. To return to Edoras? Without Frey? This was unthinkable! He saw the uncertainty in the young woman's eyes. He sensed that she felt uncomfortable - but was it because she regretted her decision to stay behind with him? Or did she know that to return with his tail between his legs, having not only deserted his duty and his fellow chasers, but also his truest and best friend and companion, was totally inpossible for him, no matter what his condition?

Which brought the next obvious question to mind, what exactly was his condition?

"Izrenna, my wounds, how bad are they?" He was just now beginning to feel the rips and tears in his legs and forearms. The wargs had not meant to make a meal of him, apparently. But they had certainly done a good job of disabling him and driving him into the river. It was all coming back very clearly, in fact, much too clearly now.

"Well . . . " Her hesitation alone spoke volumes. "There are many superficial bites and tears on your calves and forearms. but . . . The gash on your thigh is deep, very deep. I think falling in the river actually saved you. The chill of the water slowed the bleeding; otherwise . . ." Izrenna's eyes strayed to the bandage covering the ugly gash running from his right knee up at least several inches. The bone had showed through the torn and mutilated flesh, and they had had to bind it extremely tight to stop the new bleeding. Even now, she feared for the rest of the limb, which was cold to the touch. There was no way he could ride far or fast with such a wound, let alone fight if it came to that. Still, she knew what was in his mind.

"Rest now. Don't think on it." She said soothingly.

But Deorlin needed no time to think of what he would do. Whether Izrenna would help him or no, tomorrow he would be up, mounted or walking, and following the others, to recover his horse, or die trying.

Bêthberry

01-16-2003, 12:26 PM

There was riding, riding, terrible determined riding that endured without end until the horses were nearly winded and almost crippled. And the riders were stiff with cold, with fatigue, with clenched tension throughout their bodies. Hooves struck the ground with thudding force, reverberating up their legs, their whithers, their flanks into the riders' legs and hips and backs, grinding bone against bone and joint against joint with each jolt.

Sometimes the ground gave way, and the crusted rim of frozen earth collapsed under the weight of the horses. This did nothing to ease the tension; it merely added new worry to the pursuit, that a horse would stumble or an ankle turn, or a rider fall.

Sometimes the wind blew, hollow and echoing across the broad plain, sweeping down from East Emmet and colliding with the damp fog-encrusted air which drifted over from the Nindalf. Sometimes ice crystals hung in the air around the riders and horses, so both were covered in a mantle of pale white reflections, producing ghostly figures which hunkered down over the land until the sun produced a pale yellow light which glimmered sickly in the crisp air.

They passed evidence of two camps, men hurriedly making a fire and then dousing it, feet and hooves stomping the ground into a pulp of earth and moss and stone. The last fire had still been warm to the hand even though the pursuers could not yet see the thieves in the distance. Yet the air shook ahead of them, as if some disturbance lay there for them to capture. And they were angry with each other, angry that they could not rest, angry that they could not catch up quickly, angry that they were no longer sure these thieves could be caught. Few words were spoken even during the short stops to determine the thieves's direction and none at all while riding.

The Mering Stream ran chilly into the Entwash, running too fast yet to be frozen. It was crossed with little difficulty as the pursuers drove on into Anórien. The bitter irony of its name, Sun-land, was lost on them as off to the southwest the White Mountains glistened with frozen peaks.

[ January 16, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

Anglachel

01-16-2003, 06:20 PM

Time passed quickly as the company made its way steadily south and east along the Entwash. To the south of the riders, the plains opened up nearly as far as the eye could see. Yet, the plains would only serve as a backdrop as the chase was intimately following the path of the swiftly flowing Entwash, rapidly guiding the small group towards darker lands. At their current pace, the pursuers would easily reach the Anduin in less than two days.

Though it was not spoken, no member of the group wished to see the Great River. The Anduin served to be both a physical and psychological barrier. Though times were troubled, the riders held some comfort knowing the western side of the river remained as friendly soil. Crossing over would be venturing into lands rife with peril. Given the small size of the group and its current exhausted condition, pursuit across the Anduin seemed to be certain folly.

These musings dominated Anglachel’s thoughts as he rode on with the others in silence. He knew all too well that this group was too stubborn to give up the chase now that there was clear evidence ground was being gained on the thieves. Nevertheless, the Anduin grew closer every hour and the quarry had yet to be spotted. As the sun dipped into the west behind the mountains, the ensuing shadows too plainly reminded him of the growing sense of foreboding that consistently distracted his thoughts.

[ January 17, 2003: Message edited by: Anglachel ]

VanimaEdhel

01-16-2003, 06:23 PM

Izrênna passed the evening quietly. She did not speak and neither did Deorlin. She could almost feel his brain working, developing the plan he seemed to be concocting. While she feared what this new plan would entail, for it would probably be risky and they would get in an enormous amount of trouble for what he would plan, she also desperately desired to know this new plan.

Later, as the moon rose in the sky, Izrênna began preparing a small meal of what little provisions she had. She went over to change the bandages again. In the firelight, at least, Deorlin's wounds seemed to maybe look a little better. She grew hopeful that he would quickly return to health. She knew that her face clearly showed her relief.

"Do you think that your body could handle food?" Izrênna asked Deorlin.

"Probably," he answered.

"Well, no matter what you think, you are going to try. You need nutrition." Izrênna said, going over to the fire. She gave Deorlin some food, then fetched some for herself. She sat a few feet away from Deorlin, eating quietly. He ate silently too. After they were done, Izrênna put out her bedding.

"I can take a watch tonight," Deorlin said.

"No," Izrênna said, "You should rest. You will need your strength for tomorrow, whatever the day may bring."

Izrênna sat, her hand by her bow, in case a foe should approach. She could hear that Deorlin, however, was still awake where he lay.

The night passed slowly, or so it seemed to the tiny woman...

Deorlin

01-16-2003, 11:28 PM

Deorlin realized that Izrenna intended to stay awake all night. She had no trust in his ability to keep a watch, and he couldn't blame her. He had managed to sit up for a while and when she had changed the dressings on his wounds he had seen the extent of the havoc the wargs had wreaked. he willed himself to endure the pain, but he could do nothing to force the bleeding to stop on the deepest gash in his thigh. If he was to move in the morning, something needed to be done.

"Izrenna" he called out softly.

She looked up from where she sat, staring out into the darkness beyond the fire. She made no answer, but he could see that she knew he was about to propose something she wasn't going to like.

"Izrenna, whether we head west or south tomorrow, I can't ride for long if this gash in my leg continues to bleed. By noon I'd be dead."

She simply nodded her head in grim agreement.

"We must stop the bleeding somehow . . . we must cauterize the wound."

He caught the momentary shudder of revulsion that swept across her face, but again she merely nodded her agreement to the grisly task ahead. This woman was made of much sterner stuff than he would ever have guessed, Deorlin mused to himself. Regardless of her size, for now he was quite thankful that she had come on this hunt.

"Take my knife from my belt. I think the blade should be long enough. Stick it in the fire . . ."

"I know what to do." Izrenna said quietly, already at his side and reaching for the knife. She laid it on a stone, pushing it blade end into the hottest part of the flame it would reach. She then felt around and found a stout piece of kindling the width of a man's finger. "Here, you'll want this." She offered the stick to Deorlin, who let a puzzled look crease his features.

"To hold between your teeth." Izrenna explained.

"Oh, hmmm . . . yes." Deorlin muttered. "Thanks."

They waited with no further conversation ubtil the blade glowed in the heat. Izrenna bent forward and blew at the flames to increase the heat as much as possible. Finally, she turned to Deorlin and said, "I think that's the best we can get it. I hope it's enough. Are you ready?"

"Whenever you are, " he managed to get out through. He gripped the stick between his teeth and clenched his fists. Swiftly, She pulled the knife from the fire, the handle so hot it was burning into the flesh of her hand. But stoically she held it to his thigh, the flat reaching just from end to end of the ugly wound. Deorlin heard the sizzle of his own flesh and smelled the pungent odor, and then quickly passed out.

Izrenna turned her face away, but held steadliy to the knife until she could feel the heat finally give way to mere warmth. She lifted the blade clear of the wound nad placed it back in the fire to cleanse it. Not wanting to, but knowing she must, she examined the wound closely. The edges seemed to have sealed themselves, the exposed flesh now blackened with the cauterization. It looked very clean, and for now, there was no seeping or bleeding. Morning would tell better if the trick had really worked.

VanimaEdhel

01-18-2003, 03:41 PM

Izrênna sat watching the unconscious man for the rest of the night. She had wrapped up the leg again, in case it should happen that their efforts were for naught. Izrênna tried to think what would be the best approach, were they to be trapped there due to Deorlin's injury. She decided that, were the wound to be serious, they should travel as far as they could in the direction of Edoras. They could take as many breaks to rest as they needed, as Anglachel had just told them that they needed to get out of this area.

Izrênna got up and silently crossed over to Deorlin and looked at where the wound had been. It appeared that cauterizing the wound had worked. Izrênna sighed quietly in relief, and was about to rise when she heard a whispered voice.

"How does it look?" Deorlin, asked. Izrênna gave a little gasp of surprise, for she did not know that he had come to in the time she had been thinking.

"You are awake," she said, suddenly feeling very stupid for making such an obvious comment, "Well," she said, trying to redeem herself, "I believe it worked. I hope you will be fine."

"Good," Deorlin muttered under his breath. He addressed her, then, "How is your hand?"

Izrênna looked in surprise at her hand. She had nearly forgotten the burns. They could not have been very serious injuries if she could not feel them. She crossed silently over to the fire and looked at her hand in the gentle light that flickered from the orange flames.

"The burns are very minor," she noted, looking at the burns, "They will most likely be fully healed by the morrow."

She crossed back over to where Deorlin lay. He had struggled and had managed to get himself up onto his elbows. She looked worriedly at his position, but he seemed to be in no immediate discomfort. Izrênna wondered if he was in any pain at the moment, but she knew he would not tell her truthfully, as there was nothing she could do to aid his suffering, even if he was in pain. Izrênna sat down next to Deorlin and stared into the fire again.

"Sleep," she heard the command, as Deorlin touched her arm. She turned and faced him, and saw that he had pulled himself up to a sitting position.

"No," she began to protest, but he cut her off.

"No, I can rest the entirety of tomorrow. I feel better. I tell you the truth. You must now rest. I will rouse you if anything approaches."

Izrênna reluctantly agreed to this new arrangement. She fetched her bow and arrows, in case they should be attacked, then lay next to where Deorlin sat. She knew she only had a few hours until the suns rays touched the land as it rose to fill the heavens with its light. Deorlin sat, looking off into the darkness around them.

Curiously secure, Izrênna dozed off quickly, having the first peaceful dreams she had experienced in a while...

Bêthberry

01-19-2003, 07:20 AM

Kiara's post:

A feeling of unrest and brooding fury emanated from the fortress of rock where a dark figure stood, it's shadow stretching grim and long over the glowing walls of the tower....Though "glow" did not adequately describe the luminous quality of the stone. For, where the brilliance of moonlight once did well, now this tower, this fortress of death and despair radiated not those gentle beams, no. A corpse-light, it was. Not dark from the absence of light, but pale with a sickly gleem as the skin of someone recently past retains the signs that life once dwelled within. Like that self-same husk, discarded when the spirit flees the flesh for a better world, the spirit of Gondor had fled this fortress shell, and the glory and the brilliance that once shone in Minas Ithil was not warped to its demonic and sorcerous purpose. For this was Minas Morgul, Tower of Sorcery.

A once-white bridge yawned across the river which divided the lands of men from Mordor. Silent and creeping, the only sign of its existence was the heavy vapor that clung in the air about the legs of the bridge. Just as the vaporous shadow of the Witch-king clung about him as he stood on the marbled Morgul walls.

The Morgul-king made his presence known, now upon the battlements of his city, schreeching his message of doom to the land laid to waste about him. Even the flowers that still held tenaciously to the dark fields about leered with the sickly palor of the undead, a ghastly reminder of the Ringwraiths within. Day and night, for neither could be ascertained in this land of shadow, the Nazgûl screamed their fearsome reply to their lord, ever increasing in intensity as the Nameless Lord of their land urged them to action on his behalf. Their lusting increased with his, for long had they been subdued to his resistless, relentless will. In agonies of desire, therefore, they watched and waited for their time had almost come

...soon....soon....soon....doom. They had need of but nine simple things....

VanimaEdhel

01-19-2003, 04:10 PM

Izrênna awoke to the gentle dancing of early morning light on her face. It was still almost completely dark, but a gentle finger of light was creeping over the horizon. Deorlin sat where she had left him, but he was gently shaking her awake. She rolled over and sat up quickly, pulling an arrow to her bow and preparing to aim. She committed this action out of habit, not out of necessity, and, after he gave her a startled look, she guiltily lowered the tip of her arrow.

"It is morning," Deorlin explained, "I thought you would want me to wake you. We should probably prepare to start out. They are a good ways ahead of us if we are to catch up. We can have a very quick breakfast, then ride after them. If we do not stop during the day, except when it is necessary for both my safety and that of the horse, we should gain sufficient ground on the others. We may arrive in time."

Izrênna sat up slowly and looked at Deorlin. He assumed they were going. She guessed that meant that he was feeling better...or that he was even more incredibly foolhardy than she had originally imagined. Izrênna hoped that it was the first. She realized that Deorlin was still looking at her and waiting.

Izrênna brought herself to a kneeling position and checked his wounds quietly. The leg wound was going to get better, Izrênna could see, much to her joy, and it would not cause too many problems on the road. The other wounds were already healing quite rapidly, much to her relief, as well.

"We can eat these," she said, fairly numbly, going over to her pack and tossing him some cram. "It is not a pleasure to eat, but you wanted a quick breakfast."

"No, no, this is good," Deorlin said.

The two ate in silence, then Izrênna packed up. She decided to leave all that was not completely necessary, as she wanted the load that the horse was carrying to be fairly light, thus hopefully making the horse more swift and agile.

Deorlin sat quietly while Izrênna packed up. After the horse was saddled and packed, Izrênna brought him over to where Deorlin was seated. She debated how to get the large man onto the horse. Finally, she crouched down, putting Deorlin's arm around her shoulders. He aided her in lifting him up, and used his arms, which were mostly unharmed, to help pull himself onto the horse. She pulled herself up behind him, and urged the horse forward in the direction that the company had taken.

The horse sprung forward, for Izrênna had found many things to leave behind, and moved even more quickly than he had when Izrênna was riding by herself. The horse and the riders moved quickly and quietly across the land, as the sun slowly rose in the heavens, creating more light on the brilliant day that was ahead...

Garen LiLorian

01-20-2003, 05:10 AM

Gormel lay on the cold ground, immersed in thought. Why was he still alive? The wound in his shoulder pained him still, and it would be long before he could wield a shield in that hand, but his other remained strong, ready to wield blade. He was considerably stronger than he had let on, prefering to watch the action until he could be sure of his new place in the hierarchy. The newcomer looked to be the strongest, and ready to take control, but that youngling, Kane, seemed to have something up his sleeve. Rhana was the wildcard. Why had she warned him of Bhurthnin's death? Did she think he'd protect her if it hit the fan? Gormel snorted mentally. Fat chance. Although...

She could be useful, if she's decided to use me as well, he mused. Perhaps it is time to make my presence felt again. The thieves had been running swiftly towards the Anduin, yet the lack of a clear leader was causing problems. Already some of the thieves had split of from the group, heading for homes in whatever part of the country they happened to live in. Gormel made his decision, and sat up.

"Hoi! Kane! Rhana! You there! Get your flea-ridden carcasses over here." The newcomer looked considerably startled to hear from Gormel, but, after a deliberate pause, slowly made his way over to where Gormel sat. He munched indolently on a heel of bread. The other two exchanged looks before strolling over towards him. Gormel gritted his teeth. This insolence would not go unpunished, when he had his command back.

"I've been thinking." He ignored the look Kane gave him. "You there. You're my contact. Where are we taking these beasts? If it's that bloody tark city, we've taken a bad route. If it isn't, where the hell are you taking us?" He ignored Ulfeg's look of surprise, and continued "Kane, you've done a decent job managing this lot, so I'm gonna let you take care of buisness 'till we strike the city." There. That oughta swell the boy's head. Long as he's pleased, I'm alive. "You. Contact. You've got a letter for me. Hand it over, and then get the hell outta here. Keep out of trouble, and keep up." Ulfeg stood up, smoldering, but handed the letter to Gormel and stalked away, stiff-legged as a tomcat. "Well, Kane, what the hell are you staring at? Get these idiots on the move! You wanna be sitting here when the horsemen find us?" Kane opened and shut his mouth a few times before moving, and when he did, he looked utterly nonplussed.

"Rhana. Siddown." The horsewoman stared at him, and kept her distance. "Dammit, sit" he snarled, and her eyes flashed before obeying. He collected himself. Wouldn't do to alienate her. "I've been thinking," he said, in a much softer growl, "who can I trust? Bhurthnin's dead. Kane pro'bly slit his throat in the night, and that blasted newcomer-" "Ulfeg" "Ulfeg. Right. That blasted Ulfeg'd as soon gut me as look at me. That leaves you. Now. You're a smart woman, and you know that you'll never command yourself. You know also that Kane's too brash to listen for long, and Ulfeg's an unknown. That leaves me. We need each other, Rhana. That spasting dog made sure I won't be fighting anytime soon, and you won't be leading by yourself. So." And he held out his good hand. "Whaddya say, Rhana. Ever wanted to lead a band of horse-thieves?" He tried to smile winningly. Come on, you pushdug, come on...

Gryphon Hall

01-20-2003, 11:12 AM

[Gryphon Hall's Post]
The setting sun cast long shadows before them, yet they still trudged on. The sky before them was darkling, which did not do one bit of good to the already low spirits of Corrin. He sat dejectedly on the back of Léod, silent all throughout the ride. He would not speak, why should he! They left her, and he had been obliged to leave her. His honor and word obliged him.

But they left her! With only a wounded man to protect her. For what? 'Horses!' he thought furiously. 'Horses! The all important horses! We left a defenseless girl alone to get back horses, which may already be dead.'

He looked sadly at the others, then at Béowulf. I hope he is right. I hope the lad is right. How did it come to this? His thoughts turned unwillingly to a conversation that happened only hours before. . .

[Estel's Post]

We shouldn't have left her, thought Corrin, but it cannot be helped. I swore to hunt the thieves, so my oath binds me. The dwarf cannot help but feel angry: at himself and, strangely, at his fellows. Angry that they could not rest, angry that they could not catch up quickly, angry that they were no longer sure these thieves could be caught. But he was mostly angry at Léod, that arrogant son of a mare who is too proud to carry a-- no, not at the horse. His wrath lay elsewhere.

'Thinking that we should have stayed behind with Izrênna?' asked Béowulf.

'So what if I am!?' retorted Corrin but hastily added, 'Sorry, lad, I've been on edge since we crossed the Mering.'

'Everyone has been on edge, Corrin,' answered Béowulf, 'I feel the same way as you do.'

Ælfritha called out, 'Their tracks lead towards the Anduin. Everybody, mount!'

They all rode again in silence.

Some time has passed when Béowulf whispered to Corrin behind him, 'I do not understand, Corrin. Where do these cursed thieves come from? My éored espied Easterlings at East Emnet and these thieves are also probably Easterling. But how in the name of Helm did they get over the Anduin? It makes no sense at all!'

[Gryphon Hall's Post]
'Yes, it doesn't make any sense, does it. None of these make any sense! My heart is heavy, lad. Curse those thieves! May their losses be as grievious as ours, more! by the end of this cold and wretched endeavor.' Corrin was thinking what he would just do with some thief neck. Oh, yes! He knew exactly what to do.

Léod shifted uneasily. Béowulf looked uneasily back. 'Master Dwarf. . . Sir, please calm yourself. It doesn't do to be perturbed this way, especially if we expect battle soon.'

Corrin looked up at the rider, a retort ready, but stopped. 'Aye, if nothing else makes sense, you do lad. We are just too few. . . Why are we too few, Béowulf? Why? There could have been someone to stay with the poor lass. . . someone. . .'

'Worry not, friend,' said Béowulf. 'I don't think Izrênna and Deorlin will come to any more grief. I said worry not, sir! I forbode that doom follows the horses stolen, so it is we, the thieves and pursuers that will have the chief danger. You are needed here. We are needed here. And they both are needed here, but they fell but are not dead. Be thankful that she rests now far from where we will perhaps meet our deaths. Think no more of her!'

'How could I not?' thought Corrin. 'Father and I were wrong about poor Mother when we left her.' He squeezed his eyes shut, sadness threatening to overwhelm him.

Ælfritha gave a shout, signalling that they must go at a gallop now, one of many that must be made at intervals. They must close the gap before the river is reached, and all trace of the pursued is lost.

[Estel's Post]

The setting sun cast long shadows before them, yet they still trudged on. The sky before them was darkling, all the land was grey and still, particularly in the lowlands beside the Anduin, where cool mist covered much of the great river.

The pursuers were getting tense: once they were silent, but now each began to talk to their fellows in an effort to release the tension. Ælfritha spoke quietly with Maikadurion while Corrin and Béowulf whispered. Malienna and Anglachel remained silent.

Béowulf himself was worried sick about Izrênna and Deorlin. He remembered earlier failure to prevent Hading's death. Deorlin at least was alive. Béowulf dare not let Corrin know that he too was wishing to have remained with the stricken Rider and the maid. Honor constrained them both.

Riding just behind Ælfritha and Maikadurion, Béowulf could not help but overhear snatches of their conversation, softly though they spoke.

'No son of Théomer the Traitor will walk freely in that country until the true King returns. . .'

[ January 31, 2003: Message edited by: Gryphon Hall ]

Airerûthiel

01-20-2003, 01:13 PM

Maikadurion's irrepressible cheeriness seemed to have left him for once. He sat alone, wrapped in his cloak, staring out into the darkness...and thinking. It was at times like these that he missed his brother immensely, even though they had mutually parted ways. Laitalathion had always been content to remain in comfort and places of security, and in these times that roughly constituted that the further west you were was a guide to your safety.

Maikadurion, on the other hand, was a thrill-seeker. Adventure seemed to find him rather than the other way around. It had been his decision to leave his uncle's house and seek his ancestors, his choice to go back to Gondor...his choice to remain in Rohan, where alliances sifted like the tides of the sea and the proud yet isolated people loved their horses more than life itself.

Ælfritha had noticed how quiet he was, and suspected that there was something wrong. "What's the matter?" she asked, not unkindly, and received no reply. "Maikadurion, you've helped us considerably on this quest, and now it's our turn to help you. You don't seem to want to continue, I feel. The opportunity to return to Edoras is still freely available."

The young half-Elf turned around and shook his head. "My thanks to you for your gracious offer, Ælfritha, but I must decline. When I joined you on this quest I swore to myself that I would remain part of it until my task was filled or I fell at the hand of evil, whichever fate I met with first. I fear to go into the land of Gondor, for its ways are barred to outsiders in these times of trouble, and I am most certainly not welcome in that land. No son of Théomer the Traitor -" his eyes narrowed and his voice hardened as he spoke, "- will walk freely in that country until the true King returns.

"My father was not an outright traitor - he was not in league with the evil ones who rise in the East. But he was outspoken and aired his views with no concern for what any other thought of them - regardless of whether he was talking to his family or the Steward of Gondor. He did not believe in the Steward's laws, despite being lucky enough to become a Ranger of the borderland, and would often say - with or without the aid of drink to loosen his tongue - that he would follow none except the one who could prove himself to be the true King of Gondor. It was lucky the wargs killed him, for the rumour was that he would have been killed for his views shortly afterwards.

"If I walk into Gondor, I will be slain as soon as any guard catches sight of me. But if I do not, I will lose everything - my mother's horse, my brother, and the honour that rightly belongs to my family and my name."

Amanaduial the archer

01-20-2003, 02:40 PM

"Ive been thinking...." Gormel started. Kane grinned openly, knowing how insolent it was. Gormel ignored him though and started talking softly to Rhana. Long practise in card games had given kane exellent hearing, so he heard snippets of Gormels low voice.

"who can I trust?...Kane pro'bly slit my throat in the night,

Well youre right there at any rate Gormel...Kane smiled to himself. Gormel continued.

"and that blasted newcomer-"
"Ulfeg"
"Ulfeg. Right. That blasted Ulfeg'd as soon gut me as look at me. That leaves you. Now. You're a smart woman, and you know that you'll never command yourself. You know also that Kane's too brash to listen for long, and Ulfeg's an unknown. That leaves me. We need each other, Rhana. That spasting dog made sure I won't be fighting anytime soon, and you won't be leading by yourself. So-Whaddya say, Rhana. Ever wanted to lead a band of horse-thieves?"

Rhana hesitated, thinking, and that moment was enough. Walking back ans squatting down in front of Gormel, Kane then hit him across the face, not hard, but hard enough to send the weak man reeling. The younger man laughed in his face.

"Ah, what a strong leader you make and have made in the last few days Gormel!" He lowered is voice. "What makes you think that you can give orders like this anymore? What makes you think that you can propose such offers to anyone anymore? How much power do you think you hold?" He was practically hissing into Gormels face now. The older man pushed him away with his good hand, but not with much strength.

"Bhurthnin!" He yelled. Kane and Rhana now exchanged a look and smiled. Once again Gormel tried to call for his henchman, going red in the face. Then Kane snapped his fingers and clicked his tongue lightly, as if just remembering something. "Oh Bhurthnin. Ah yes, of course, your muscle. Sorry Gormel, but the brute wont be coming."

"Yes, he might be finding it a little hard to get here." Rhana added. "It tends to be, when your bloods congealing where you lie."

Gormel stared at them for a moment before Kane punched him across the face, harder this time, sending his head spinning backwards. But Gormel reacted quicker this time, kicking Kanes ankles from where he lay, knocking the younger easterlings legs from under him. Kane went down, but was in a crouched fighting stance with a knife in his hand in a flash.

"Alright Gormel. If thats how you want it." He said softly, a slight, feral grin on his features.

Maikadilwen

01-20-2003, 03:50 PM

Rhana took a few steps back, watching the two men carefully.
Suddenly she noticed the glint of a knife in Gormel's hand and she gasped from surprise. She thought they had removed all his weapons, but it appeared they had missed one.
Her own survival mattered most and she knew, that if Kane was killed now, she would probably be next, so she had to do something.
Think, Rhana, think! Think!
With a swift movement she drew her knife as she stepped forward and she grabbed Kane from behind, pressing her blade against his throat. "STOP! Both of you!"

She held her breath for a moment until she saw Gormel lower his knife and a quiet sigh of relief escaped her, not loud enough for Gormel to hear it, but Kane did and he relaxed a little, suddenly beginning to understand what it was she was trying to do.
"I believe Gormel ordered you to make sure everyone is ready to go, Kane. I can't see you doing that. Now drop the knife!" Her voice was harsh as she pressed the blade harder against his throat, causing a small streak of blood to run down his skin.
Turning her head so Gormel couldn't see her mouth, she whispered quietly to Kane. "At least let him believe I'm on his side!"
Kane slowly let his knife drop to the ground and Rhana released her grip and stood for a moment looking after him as he trotted back to the fire and began to break up camp.

"That boy is nothing but trouble."

The sound of Gormel's voice almost made her jump and she turned her head, staring at him, trying to calm herself. She had to play this part right if she wanted to survive this trip.
"How's the shoulder? Can you use your arm?"
Gormel nodded and Rhana helped him up to stand and made a quick examination of the wound. It seemed to be healing fine and it would be far to soon that he would be back as the rough leader. Hopefully she would be far away by then.

[ January 24, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

Bêthberry

01-20-2003, 05:48 PM

All the land was grey and still, particularly in the lowlands beside the Anduin, where cool mist covered much of the great river. The tracks of the horse thieves had moved towards the River and so the pursuers edged the River also.

Ælfritha rode next to Malienna and Maikadurion, in single file, followed by Currin, Béowulf, and Anglachel in the rear. Would they evade detection more easily this way? Who could tell? It was already quite beyond comprehension that the horse thieves could have preceeded them and not been stopped. Yet this had been the very case.

Ælfritha spoke quietly with Maikadurion. "Thrill-seeker, you have met your match here, for we can tell neither rhyme nor reason with these thieves. I would almost have been tempted to search for scouts of Gondor to tell them our tale."

"I would not have stopped you, but merely left you had you made that determination," spoke the young elf, "for I would have brought dishonour to your need."

"Never mind," said Ælfritha. "It is perhaps better this way, that we do not announce our presence." Yet she was perplexed. She could understand the desire to avoid the highway, the Great West Road, but were there really types in the White City who would steal horses of Rohan? Thinking about this possibility, she became lost in thought and the group rode on for several miles. She had never, ever, been this far south, this close to the White city, and she was tempted to loose herself in the old stories of the River. She was almost thankful for the wide plain below Cair Andros because her sight was better. Across the Great River all she could see was forest, brought even to the very edge of the River itself.

Movement up ahead caught her eye and she called out to Malienna and Maikadurion.

"What do you make out there, up ahead? I see shadows moving. And a barge upon the water. Come, ride!" she called out, as she feared her horses would be taken beyond her reach.

[ January 26, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

Garen LiLorian

01-20-2003, 10:52 PM

The boy's first slap had been a surprise. Gormel sincerely thought he'd done a good job of bribing the lad, and he hadn't even noticed Kane returning to the circle until the boy was right in front of him. Then the slap. Gormel's blood boiled at that, and he thought about how close he had come to giving the game away. He was pretty sure he could deal with the young upstart, and in any case, the spearpoint he kept concealed at all times would have come as a nasty surprise, but he knew full well he couldn't fight Kane and Rhana together.

But Rhana hadn't chosen to side with Kane, and Gormel couldn't for the life of him understand it. He was weak and seemingly defenceless, they were strong and well armed. In her position, he would have waited for Kane to kill him, then killed Kane while he was celebrating. Pah. Women are weak, he thought for perhaps the thousandth time.

Perhaps she was blinded by his generous offer. Maybe she had some connection to Kane, and didn't want him hurt. Gormel turned that thought over in his mind. He liked the idea that she was protecting him. It both flattered his ego and provided a handle on her, if it became neccessary. Gormel considered love, like all of the other kindly emotions, something to be taken advantage of in others. Perhaps, if Fate was smiling, he could even use her as a handle on Kane. He smiled evily. Yes. Things were indeed looking up.

On the downside, however, he'd lost his cover. Rhana and Kane both knew now he was not as weak as he had pretended to be, and now there was only one course of action left to him. He had to take control, utter power, back into his fist quickly. Once the rest of the band was behind him, Kane would follow. The question was; what to do about Rhana? She was staring after the boy, in a manner which Gormel considered extremely heartening. Grasping the nettle, he said out loud, "That boy is nothing but trouble." He noted the flash of resentment that crossed her features, quickly muffled, but couldn't decide if it was for impugning the boy or simply resentment at Gormel himself in general. He liked to believe the former.

"How's the shoulder? Can you use your arm?" She asked him, after a moment. Gormel thought quickly, then nodded. Not well, he didn't add. Her practised fingers searched his wound quickly and seemed satisfied at what they had found.

"Have you thought about my little proposal?" He asked quietly. This was important. Whether she was to be tenous ally or an obstacle to be removed.

[ January 24, 2003: Message edited by: Garen LiLorian ]

VanimaEdhel

01-21-2003, 06:38 PM

Deorlin and Izrênna pressed on as quickly as they could. They only paused when either Deorlin or the horse needed care. Both could see, by the nearly untraceable signs left by the company, that they were gaining ground on the group, for the signs were getting fresher as they pressed on. Izrênna's spirits rose as they continued to close the distance between them and their friends.

They made their way over the Snowbourne, galloping quickly and quietly along, trying to take as straight a path as they could, while still keeping signs of their company's passage within sight.

Soon, the two found themselves approaching the Entwash. Izrênna slowed a bit, trying to reclaim her bearings.

"Which way did they go?" she muttered to herself, trying to catch a glimpse of their tracks. It seemed as though another group had passed through and gone in the opposite direction as the company, whichever way they had gone.

"Stay here," Izrênna muttered, dismounting and leaving Deorlin on the horse.

"Where do you think I will run off to?" Deorlin said quietly from where he sat.

Izrênna blushed and crouched down on the ground, trying to see. She could not tell which way the others had gone. She stood up, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face and looking around.

"Which way could they have gone?" Izrênna asked, mentally wishing she could invoke the Universe for an actual answer.

"They turned in that direction," Deorlin said from up on the horse.

"How do you know?" Izrênna asked doubtfully. The tracks looked the same to her.

"Count the different number of horses that went in each direction. More horses passed that way," Deorlin said.

Izrênna looked down and almost laughed, "You are right! I suppose I should learn to track. It seems that it does come to be useful in time."

She swung up behind Deorlin and they continued on. She was happy that Deorlin knew more about the wilderness than she did. Izrênna was only used to following the straightest path between two points to deliver a message. She always knew the exact route she would follow. This tracking was a new experience for her.

They galloped along the Entwash, hoping to reach the River Anduin in the near future. As they moved, Izrênna could see that they were on the right path by little signs. She felt merrier again, and her anxiety lifted from her once more.

They soon had to stop, for both the horse and Deorlin needed a rest. They stopped for a short while and Izrênna scouted out the area a bit, her bow always in hand, as Anglachel had commanded her. If they were not to follow the path he had chosen for them, she would at least follow his orders for preparation.

Deorlin

01-22-2003, 03:30 PM

Deorlin eased himself to the ground, barely supressing a groan. He had waited to dismount until Izrenna had gone a few paces away, scouting around for more signs of their fellow pursuers, knowing that he would more probably fall off her horse than be able to manage to get his feet under him. As it was, he did manage, using every ounce of strength he had, to keep from pitching over its neck.

Now he lay flat, trying to control his breathing, which was heavy and labored. He didn't even have to look under the bandages on his thigh to know the wound there had reopened. He could feel the moisture against his skin, blood and serum seeping from the gash. Well, the cauterization was a hope, nothing more. And now hope was gone, at least the hope that this wound would heal up properly.

He had seen enough of wounds to know this one was going to be nothing but trouble. He wondered if Izrenna had ever seen, or smelt, rotting flesh, the wounds that went gangrenous? And how she would react if it came to cutting the leg off? Though it would not come to that, because there was no point - even under the best of circumstances an amputation was simply a last ditch effort to save a life, which usually failed. And here, in the middle of nowhere, with no-one to help her . . . No, he would not ask her to do that.

There was only one option - to keep travelling. Ultimately, he probably would pass out and fall off. Then she would stop and keep vigil while he bled to death. Then she would be free - to either try to find the others, or turn back to Edoras. Or they might just be able to catch up, but there were still many long weary hours of riding in order to do that.

Izrenna returned to his side, glancing anxiously at his pallid face and sweating brow.

"How goes it?" she asked quietly. "Here, let me check the wound."

"No, stay." He reached out and grabbed her hand as she bent forward. "I've already looked. It's well on the mend."

The frown on her face creased her forehead. "You don't look well. We should rest here a while. Perhaps we should go ahead and make camp for the night?" Deorlin heard the slight disappointment mingled with concern in her voice.

"No, no. There's still several hours of light left. We should make the best use we can of them." Deorlin forced a smile onto his lips. "I am a bit tired, I'll admit. You're hard to keep up with!" His smile became genuine as he considered with what disdain he had first thought of this tiny woman. But here she had proved herself to have a core as hard as steel.

"Let me lay here a few more minutes, and then we'll be off again." He lay back and closed his eyes, praying that she would make no protest. If she insisted that they stay, he was afraid he would not have the will to oppose her. If any chance still existed that he might yet find and rescue Frey, he preferred to die in that attempt than here in the middle of nowhere.

VanimaEdhel

01-22-2003, 06:09 PM

Izrênna sat watching Deorlin on the ground. He was not well, she could see that, but she also knew that there was no way to force him to obey her. Although he was kind to her, he still did not have respect for her, at least not enough to speak to her truthfully of his pain. She looked at the bandage on his leg and hoped that the wound had not reopened. It would be pure idiocy based on pride if he did not let her know if it had. She sighed and patted the grey horse.

"What are we to do if we cannot make it?" she muttered into the horse's ear, "And what if Deorlin cannot go on? Should I turn back with him or push on without him?"

The horse merely turned her head and nuzzled Izrênna. Izrênna smiled and patted the horse, waiting for Deorlin to be ready.

When Deorlin was ready, Izrênna hefted him up onto the horse. She could tell that his leg was hurting him. She swung up behind them and the moved along for a bit more time.

When darkness fell, they made camp. Deorlin lay down, obviously in pain, while Izrênna bustled around, starting a fire and making dinner.

Estel the Descender

01-26-2003, 10:24 AM

Estel’s Post:

'What do you make out there, up ahead? I see shadows moving. And a barge upon the water.' Ælfritha called out to Malienna and Maikadurion, as she feared her horses would be taken beyond her reach, 'Come, ride!'

But even as Béowulf, Corrin and Léod heard Ælfritha's cry, Anglachel also called out, 'Look! Horsemen to our rear!'

Horsemen? thought Béowulf, By Helm, wolf-riders! They have come from the Entwash!

'Ælfritha!' called Béowulf, I will face these orcs!'
Then he turned to Corrin and said, 'You will have to get off, Master Corrin. Go with Ælfritha and fulfil your oath!'

Corrin answered firmly, 'Nothin' doin', horse-master! You face them with me!'

'Look, friend', said Béowulf, 'There is an entire troop of mounted orcs and a dwarf who, well. . .'

'Who cannot keep his seat?' finished Corrin, 'Then should I fall off I shall fight them on the ground and keep them busy enough so that you can do whatever you have to do. Wait! let me finish! I know that you are trying to get me angry enough so that I would not stay with you anymore, but it won't work! You cannot get rid of me that easily! Just a sec, I’m not done yet! I will not leave a comrade again, like I did Izrênna and Deorlin! Please do not interrupt me! I am going to fight beside you, you hear! I happen to be a veteran of--'

'Alright, ALRIGHT!' interrupted Béowulf, 'You are with me! Hold on to my belt so that you can get a firm seat and use your weapon.'

Béowulf added, 'You really talk too much, Master Corrin!'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah,' said Corrin, 'Are we just standing here or are we going to fight?'

Béowulf urged Léod forward with a cry and they charged, Béowulf holding his spear above his head as if to hurl it while Corrin held his axe poised to strike. In the meantime, Ælfritha called out to the others to follow her, saying, 'Come! Béowulf has given us time! Quick, before the thieves escape!'

Man, dwarf and horse charged straight into the enemy formation. 'Cwelan!' cried Béowulf as he hurled his spear. The spear struck the eye of the lead wolf-rider who fell off its mount. Quickly shifting his shield to his right hand, the man drew his sword from his left side with his left hand. With the sword he slashed the throat of the wolf whose rider was slain by the spear. As other wolf-riders closed in, Béowulf would either strike them, both rider and wolf, or parry the blows aimed at him.

Beneath Béowulf's shield Corrin swung his axe with his right hand as he gripped Béowulf's belt with his left. Corrin cried
, 'Strike their mounts! they cannot fight without their wolves! And wolf necks are a closer target! And even as he cried, his axe swung down upon a wolf's neck, causing it to stumble along with its rider. Béowulf followed suit and began striking at the wolves first before the orcish riders.

Léod would kick anyone or anything that came up behind them and trample on those that would come before them. Any rider who has lost its wolf to either the sword of Béowulf or the axe of Corrin was rendered helpless to the hooves of the mearh. Sometimes Léod would push forward, sometimes he would walk backwards, trampling upon the fallen orcs. Sometimes the mearh would quickly wheel away from a cut or thrust meant either for him or his own riders. Then, biting here and there, Léod would suddenly crash headlong into a wolf, knocking it off-balance, and either Corrin or Béowulf would finish it off, both crying their battlecries.

For gúðhréð! Forþ tó beadu! Hading! Tó beadu!

Khazâd ai-mênu! Baruk Khazâd ai-mênu! Izrênna!

Thus, despite the fury of the orcish attack man, dwarf and horse were for the present unharmed.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0 ~0~0~0~0

The charge slowed down the wolf-riders but did not stop them. Several of them went after Ælfritha's group. Seeing them come, Maikadurion wheeled his horse back and drew his sword. Charging the borrowed horse, he would cut all who would come close enough to him. The wolf-riders halted their advance and quickly surrounded the half-elf.

Big mistake.

Maikadurion in an instant leapt from his horse onto the nearest wolf while slashing its rider. With his next stroke, he killed the wolf even as it tried to bite him.

Leaping once again, he began to systematically cut the throats of every wolf and rider he encountered. Swerving clear of the riders' blades and spears, Maikadurion proceeded to incapacitate the other wolves. Soon, all orcs have lost their mounts.

Twenty orcs and almost double that number of wolves lost their lives to Maikadurion's blade.

Demoralised, the remaining orcs surrounded the half-elf once again, this time hesitantly. Thirteen goblins attacked, screaming their harsh battlecries.

All thirteen orcs were dead in thirty seconds.

Remounting the borrowed horse, Maikadurion rode swiftly to rejoin Ælfritha's group.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0 ~0~0~0~0

Inspite of the skill, fury and cooperation of man, dwarf and horse, the greater numbers of the Orcs soon had the upper hand and Léod was obliged to retreat towards the Anduin, some distance north of where the barge was first sighted.

Gryphon Hall’s Post:

Though they were making the orcs pay for every inch of ground they took, they were getting wounded. Blades kept coming from every direction, seeking to maim and kill, but for the skill of the man, horse and dwarf they would have. However, even Corrin, suited in armor began feeling the bite of black steel.

Léod was moving sideways, facing south, so that their relatively protected right side was exposed. There was a great many of them but they cannot get near for fear of Béowulf. But one orc, dismounted now that his warg was dead, tried to go for Léod’s rump, his curved blade raised high. They were now just ten yards away from the river, when Corrin saw the orc come. He let go of Béowulf’s belt, took his throwing axe and as he fell backward hurled it at the attacker. Corrin never saw the axe bury itself between the eyes of the orc; now he had to hold his ground as horse and rider was still driven back. Shifting his heavy two-handed axe to his left hand, he threw his last throwing axe with his injured right arm at the throng, then drew his broad-bladed sword. Then, following Béowulf, he fought.

Béowulf had, by now, shifted his shield to the left and his sword to the right. His sword swung many times, cleaving many a goblin neck, but still on they came. Corrin did his best to stay as far away from the kicking legs of Léod without getting himself isolated away from the horse. ‘I am a veteran of the Battle of the Five Armies! I survived! I triumphed!’ cried Corrin, unheard above the din of the orcs pressing around. ‘I will not die today!’

They were by the water’s edge by now, trying very hard not to be flanked, but it was becoming difficult: there was just too much dead, and the orcs climbed over their comrades to attack them. There was no bank, but something like a small cliff with water lapping at edge. This, of course, helped them from being encircled from behind, but they were in danger of slipping in themselves. Corrin had been using his own body to shield Béowulf and Léod from the more dangerous strikes; strong though the armor of the dwarves are, Corrin, too, was getting injured. And a lot of the blades still hit Léod or Béowulf, all of them getting bloodied.

Corrin then had the irresistable urge to break free, and madness seemed to overcome him as he made a desperate rush to where the orcs (living and dead) seemed to be thickest.

For a while, he actually seemed to open a gap for them to go through. Then the press of orcs on him became to great, and he stumbled. As the orcs started to strip him of his armor, he heard the horrible scream of the horse as a blade struck. Corrin, struggled up, his hauberk and helm gone now and stabbed and cut several more orcs.

‘GHAAAAAAARRRRGGHHHH!!!’ Corrin screamed as he turned and charged the group of orcs being held at bay by the sword of Béowulf. Corrin’s own sword stuck and broke on one of the orcs as he took them all with him down into the waters of the Anduin. With his remaining weapon, his father’s two-handed axe, he continued to hew and hack at his enemies, but his eyes strove for the water’s edge, hoping to see Béowulf and Léod escape.

But the water bore him away swiftly, and he saw no more.

Estel’s Post:

Seeing their friend fall, Béowulf and Léod fought with renewed fury.

But in vain.

Without the dwarf to protect them, both rider and horse were being wounded liberally. Béowulf made one mighty stroke with his sword and the weapon cleaved through the helm of one orc. Yet the sword broke at the hilt and Béowulf, seeing his father’s sword destroyed, cried in grief and anger. He threw the useless hilt at the horde.

Another goblin, armed with a mace, swung upward at Béowulf. The rider, seeing the peril, attempted to block the club. But the force of the blow broke Béowulf’s arm and the mace-head caught his chin.

Béowulf swayed on his saddle for an instant then fell off into the freezing water. Léod kicked the goblin with the mace and then leaped into the water to his master and friend.

Gryphon Hall’s Post:

Corrin had killed his last orc, but he was still floating swiftly down the Anduin. He was struggling to keep his head above water, but would not let go of the heavy axe, the only thing left to him. ‘No, I shall die before I lose this,’ thought Corrin. ‘This last of all. . .’ His right arm was broken and useless, but with his left he grasped the axe, and saw an outcrop of rock on the west side of the river. Beside it was a small bank. With a heave, he drove the axe into it and stopped his progress down the river. ‘I knew I wouldn’t die. But the poor lad and beast, I left them! Woe is me! I have never left a comrade, nor a friend,’ wailed Corrin. He was weeping openly now. ‘And I have just left two to the mercy of those orcs.’

How long he hung there, being buffeted by the waters, he didn’t know. He felt weak, cold and despondent, he hung there, unwilling for now to pull himself to the safety of the bank. Then he saw a struggling speck upstream, making splashes as it was borne down. It was Léod! But were was Bé- NO! Béowulf was on Léod, but was slumped on the saddle, seemingly dead. ‘No, lad! NO! Not like this!’ He could see Léod’s struggling getting weaker, as his wounds sapped his life’s blood down the waters. Béowulf, too, had wounds. But there was no time to waste! Gathering his last ounce of strength, he shoved his broken arm through the leather loop at the end of his axe and in one smooth motion turned around in a way that momentarily hid the horse as it passed by, but grabbed the harness at the last possible moment. The broken arm stretched and felt like tearing, but Corrin held on. ‘I am a veteran, a brave veteran, a stout dwarf,’ thought Corrin in his mind, then yelled, ‘OF THE LONELY MOUNTAIN!’

But the horse was too heavy and he felt the reins slipping. Then he heard a sickening crack and a wash of pain went over him. He forgot everything then, not seeing his left hand let go, not feeling the broken arm slip limply out of the axe's leather loop. Water closed over his face. Sigh, Corrin thought sadly, If it ends this way, it ends this way. If I had saved the lad and the bothersome beast, it would have counted for something. I guess it's better this way: Dáie would have been ashamed. I wish Bethberry gives the gear I left at the White Horse to Darrin. I wish I could have seen Dáie one more time. I wish-’

Estel’s Post:

A splash, then nothingness.

[ February 06, 2003: Message edited by: Estel the Descender ]

VanimaEdhel

01-28-2003, 06:28 PM

Izrênna and Deorlin set off early the next morning. Deorlin tried his best to hide his injury. He wanted to catch up to the others. Sadly, however, his wound, he could feel, was worsening as they moved on. Somewhat luckily, his leg had gone numb, so he did not feel the pain of the rotting skin. He sighed as the galloped on, nearly oblivious to the scenery around them as they moved.

Izrênna urged the horse along, hoping that they would reach the river before long. It was still a good ways ahead of them, but it was probably within twenty-four hours of riding if they kept up this good pace.

She heard Deorlin let out a small grunt as the horse took a sharp turn. Izrênna's worries again returned to Deorlin's leg. Although he did not speak of his injury to her, she could tell that it was worsening again. She could feel it in the way he lifted himself, she could see it in the way he walked gingerly, and she was even beginning to smell something that was obviously the wound.

Izrênna pulled up fairly abruptly, planning on resting for a time. She felt Deorlin give a start. She aided him to a place for him to recline. Izrênna backed off a bit and tried to contemplate how to phrase her questioning of Deorlin's wellness. Finally, she came to a decision.

"Deorlin," she said, "I refuse to press on at all until you allow me to see your wound. I shall remain here with you until you let me near to you and that leg that you are obviously favoring."

She marched herself over to where Deorlin sat and ripped the bandage off. Izrênna jumped back, staring in awe at the gaping, festering wound. Deorlin gave a groan as the bandage tore at the sticky wound. Izrênna grew furious at what she saw.

"Why did you not tell me?" she demanded, "We may have been able to aid the injury in recovery again! This is now past my abilities. We cannot go on! This is your fault. Why do you insist on acting like you are well when you are obviously not!"

Seeing that Deorlin was in no position to really disagree greatly, Izrênna continued, "I could have at least tried to save the leg! I do not know if we can even do that now! Why did you feel you had the right to keep such an injury from my knowledge? This relationship was to be about trust and, not that you have broken it, you have stranded both of us here, probably to die! If you had made me aware of this injury even a day ago, I may have been able to aid you. Now...now I do not know."

Izrênna stopped herself, as she could tell that she had already nearly gone too far in her scolding of Deorlin. He sat, looking guilty at their situation but also looking scornfully at Izrênna. Izrênna paused for a second, guilt now welling up in her soul as well.

"I apologize," she said, quietly, "This is not the time for casting blame. I should have confronted you on this earlier, anyway."

Blushing, Izrênna slowly approached Deorlin who did not, surprisingly, lash out at her for her disrespect in any way. She knelt down by the infected wound and looked at it.

"Does it hurt you?" Izrênna asked. She was greeted by a nod, indicating "no". "Then it is numb?" she asked worriedly. This time, there was a nod of "yes".

Izrênna took some of their precious water and put it on a cloth. She went back to Deorlin and his wound. Even though it would probably be useless, Izrênna thought she should at least try to clean the wound and get some of the bacteria out of it.

Deorlin sat quietly as she scrubbed the injury for a time. Finally, Izrênna sat back. Although the wound was, by no means, better, Deorlin may be able to keep the leg.

"Did it help? Or is it useless?" Deorlin asked, finally speaking.

"We shall see," Izrênna said. She quickly ripped a wide of cloth from the hem of her dress and wrapped the wound tightly. She tied the ends and sat back to look at her work.

Suddenly, Deorlin let out a small groan.

"Are you regaining feeling in that leg?" Izrênna guessed, being met with a nod, "That is good," she surmised, "Having feeling should be good. Tell me if it goes numb again and I shall clean it again."

Izrênna looked at the sun, noting that there would be a few more hours of daylight. They could probably press on gently.

"We shall ride," she decided, "Let me aid you."

She helped the aching Deorlin up to the horse and she boosted him up onto the horse and mounted behind him. The two started off again, this time at a slower pace, for Deorlin's sake...

Amanaduial the archer

01-29-2003, 03:40 PM

Kane was sure he could defeat Gormel; he could easily kill this weak older man. As Gormel slipped back onto the ground, he smiled, his knife ready in his hand-

He felt the prick of cold metal against his throat- a knife. He struggled for a moment, the adrenaline still pumping in his veins before the knife pressed closer and he heard a familiar voice behind him. "Drop it."

Kane felt anger surge through him and his hand came up to the hand holding the knife at his throat before he stopped, feeling the knife once again closer and he felt a small trickle of blood run down his neck.

"I believe Gormel ordered you to make sure everyone is ready to go, Kane. I can't see you doing that. Now drop the knife!"

Rhana! How dare she?! No, wait- he heard her give a quiet sigh of relief as Gormel lowered his knife. But why-? He relaxed slightly, but only slightly.

Now her voice was beside his ear. "At least let him believe I'm on his side!"

Damn. He paused, but couldnt see her face. He had to trust her, not something which came easily to the wary young easterling. After a moment he dropped the knife. She took away the knife and he angrily pushed away her arm from his throat, picking his knife up from the ground where he had been forced to drop it. Standing he glared right into her eyes for a moment before stalking away back to the camp.

As he approached none of the others looked up before he kicked some turf over the fire. "We're moving. Get ready." He said shortly in reply to the angry protests. He still had the knife in his hand, so none of the protests were that loud.

He sat down, facing the fire, watching Rhana talking to Gormel. Her body language was almost flirtacious and he ground his teeth before looking away, not able to watch.

After a few minutes trying to calm himself down, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Spinning around and stood and faced Rhana, looking down into her face only a few inches from his. She was unperturbed.

"You know I had to do that Kane." She said, her voice calm. He snorted and now his anger was bubbling back up again. "What?!"
"You think you could have won?-"
"Yes! Easily!" He shoved her in the chest, making her step backwards heavily. "I could have had him, and you betrayed me!" He was almost shouting now.

"Keep your voice down you fool!" She hissed.
"Im a fool?!" He shoved her again and she stepped backwards, her foot catching a stone. But as she fell, she grabbed Kanes wrist and he fell on top of her almost, his hands coming out and stopping himself from landing on her, his hands on either side of her shoulders, his face almost in front of hers.

She looked up at him and her expression softened slightly, and so did his. He felt himself calming down but after a moment he pushed himself back into a crouch, regarding her still with anger, but less so.

Standing he walked away, going to the remaining nine horses as he checked they were ready also.

[ January 30, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

Lugbúrz

01-30-2003, 03:08 AM

Gathering the remaining horses, the company of thieves made its way slowly but surely on foot through the very last few leagues to the Great River. They were fraught with danger all around them, and the altercations did not bate the peril, seen or unseen.

The only travelling conspirator who was noting the squabbling with growing glee was Ulfeg. The old Easterling was aware of their whereabouts and was plotting his split. His acute senses had yet a while before they dissembled into infirmity, and with such skill as he still possessed, he espied their purlieu in silence. Far in the distance he could see a faint light, and still further the faint gleam of water. The rest of the group heard the river too, they took each step with wariness.

"And we are to meet someone here?" growled Gormel, who had been informed that Ulfeg was leading them to the mastermind of this foolish mission. Gormel could not understand the need for a middleman, and distrusted Ulfeg thoroughly, but having no choice with the returning pain, he followed in anger.

"Yes, if we are not killed by the watch of Minas Tirith before that," hissed Ulfeg.

A few more paces and the light became visible to all, and behind that the silhouette of a barge against the bank. They approached quietly until they were addressed.

"Halt! Who goes there?" came a refined voice.

"It is me, Ulfeg, and I bring with me the company of thieves, my lord," replied Ulfeg.

"So the quest was successful?" asked the voice.

'It soon will,' thought Ulfeg, but replied, "Yes, the horses are yet nine in number as you wished."

"Good, get the horses onto the barge, and quietly," the voice commanded. None could see the face of the tall, frail man who spoke.

"Now wait a minute!" shouted Gormel, "those are my horses, and they are not going anywhere until I say so."

"Quiet, you fool! It has taken the lives of many people greater than you to arrange this passage. You will do as I say or you will die," said the voice in an icy tone.

Gormel flew into a rage when he heard these words, and in his wrath he pulled out his sword in a flash and cried out, "you shall die yourself before these horses go onto the boat, and your tongue will be the first to bleed!"

He moved forward in a frenzy of spite and wielded his weapon in a menacing angle, while the other stood calmly much to his disconcert. For an instant Gormel considered stopping, something had told him that this was folly, but his ego was now to be placated. He stood in front of the man and pointed his blade at the shrouded face.

"Are you scared?" he cried.

"Of a wounded Easterling?" came the retort, and many faces flinched among the company of thieves. Some shouted their support for Gormel, and this only heightened his madness.

"Die, you filthy cur!" he roared as he brought his sword down.

Before the thieves could say watch out, the veiled man had pulled out his sowrd in a swift and smooth motion, after which he turned around and striked out to complete the single graceful move.

Gormel's beheaded body collapsed to the ground even as his bloody head rolled down into the river, and after bobbing a while on the surface, it plunged into nothingness.

The thieves watched in amazement at the sword of Gondor, and realized that there was no match for it among them. Without another word they began to load the horses and themselves into the barge.

After everyone was on, the mysterious Gondorian untied the rope tying the barge to a tree and boarded the barge himself. As he did so, he heard a voice in the distance, And a barge upon the water. Come, ride!.

The man calmly urged his men to propel the barge forward, and he smiled at the timing of his escape.

Airerûthiel

01-30-2003, 04:01 PM

There was a strange sense of destiny weighing heavy on Maikadurion's heart as he rode in pursuit of the horse-thieves, some way behind his companions. He could not help feeling that this was like cheating on his destiny; fate had chosen this course for him in life and would see it through to the end without fail. He knew that every step he took in the land of the Stewards was one closer and closer to his death and destruction at the hands of either the black forces of Mordor or the Gondorians.

Ælfritha and Malienna had seemingly vanished, and the young half-Elf was left alone in a land he had only the vaguest recollections of. "I was but a child when my family walked in this place," he muttered, "and the knowledge of this country has left me after so long a time." He made his way forward in the gathering gloom that seemed to grow and change all around him, like the unknown monsters of his childhood that he could not distinguish between when the hours of darkness came.

Urging the horse he had borrowed forward, he scanned the countryside for patrolling parties of Gondorian guards. Slowly he made his way along the trail of hoofprints left by the others, but his mind was on the last time he had seen the country of his birth. He could not even remember Ithilien's sorrowful beauty, nor any other aspect of his homeland - all he knew of Gondor was the house of Airerûthiel and Pennrod, his aunt and uncle.

"Halt! Who goes there? What do they call you, stranger of the western lands?" A harsh shout shook Maikadurion violently from his deep and pondering thoughts. He could see shadowy figures garbed in the traditional dress of Gondorian military advancing towards him, becoming gradually clearer. All had their hands on their sword hilts, ready to attack in case he was what they saw him to be - an enemy and a traitor to Gondor.

"I asked a question of you, yet you gave me no answer. My patience lessens as your silence grows. Speak!" The guard who had spoken was clearly a young boy; Maikadurion smirked silently as he watched his contemporary try and deepen his voice and sound important. "We are Guards of Gondor, and we allow none to pass into this land lest they are not friend to us. Give me your name, and make haste with it!" The half-Elf detected a hint of nervousness in the youngest guard's voice, which gave him a new-found superior confidence to speak the truth.

"I am Maikadurion of Ithilien, son to Théomer of Gondor and Rohan, and I come to find my horse and sole companion," he replied. "Neglect the rumoured deeds of the shadowed past that hang over my house and allow me passage. My friends have gone ahead of me - it is of great importance I catch them up."

"You must not have heard us correctly the first time we spoke to you," said the leader of the guards, a muscular and deep-voiced man with a steely gaze and a cold temperament. "You and your brother were forbidden to return to Gondor on pain of certain death by order of the Lord Denethor. The Steward of Gondor does not make pledges of that nature lightly. We have no choice but to kill you." His eyes scanned the other guards, as if deciding whom to select for the gruesome task.

"If it be my fate to die by a blade of Gondor, let me die with the honour I wished to restore to my name," said Maikadurion. "Let me fight your chosen one, and then should I fall it will be fairly won on your part." The guard just grunted in response, clearly ignoring the youngster. Suddenly, his gaze fell upon the runt of the party, and a strange gleam appeared there.

"You boy!" he said. "Draw your blade and fight this vagabond! Spare his life not, lest you wish to face our Lord's wrath on discovery you did not slay the Traitor's heir." The young boy looked terrified, but walked forward nonetheless. Maikadurion bowed low as he had been taught by his uncle, never taking his eyes from his opponent, whose gaze was firmly focused on the floor.

There was a sense of tranquility about Maikadurion as the two adolescents locked blades repeatedly with one another, never able to break the stalemate. He seemed to just be mindlessly exercising the moves drummed into him during his childhood training sessions for one last time. Maybe it was because he seemed to know that these would be his final moments; he was not about to cheat in the card game of life, lest he change the course of what would come to pass for the worse. He knew he would never go back to the White Horse, never see Formenelen again, never know if his companions had survived and completed their quest.

He saw the sword blade coming towards his heart, and knew that his time had come.

~*~*~*~*~

The silence was deafening, drowning out everything around the fallen. It seemed to go on for ever, shouting out the news of Maikadurion's death for all the natural world to hear. "Well," said the leader of the guards eventually, clapping his hands together and rubbing them almost gleefully. "I suspect the Lord Denethor will be greatly pleased with our work in this place. We have vanquished one of his greatest enemies. Once we find the other child, there is no hope for the descendants of one who betrayed his people."

He and the others turned to leave - all save one. The youngest of the soldiers was kneeling down beside the corpse. He had removed his helmet as a mark of respect, his shoulder-length red-gold hair blowing back slightly in the wind. "Why do you stay?" asked the chief guard, growing impatient. "You should be basking in the glory bestowed upon you for slaying one of Gondor's enemies. Let us leave this place and have done with it. The birds and beasts of the fields will give his body the funeral it deserves."

"I..." The boy cast around for an excuse, desperate to absorb his actions' consequences a little longer. "I must clean my blade. We may not return to Minas Tirith before I can wash away the stains of this unfortunate's blood."

The other guards merely shrugged and walked away into the distance until they were naught save black specks on the horizon, leaving him alone with his thoughts. "My brother," the young half-Elf whispered, tears running down his face like two miniature waterfalls. "I did not know 'twas you; I would not have taken your life from this world so early had I known the truth. But I shall bear the burdern of my actions and their consequences for as long as the name of my father's house lives."

After committing his brother's body to the ground and marking it with a carved stone, the young Gondorian threw off his guise as a soldier and dressed once more in the simple garb he loved best - that of a Ranger. Without looking back, he turned his tear-filled cobalt eyes westward, and began the long journey back to the lands of relative safety.

[ January 31, 2003: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

Bêthberry

02-03-2003, 09:29 PM

Ælfritha could not believe the terrible luck. The barge was slipping away, gliding out five feet, ten feet, fifteen feet from the river bank. By the time she reached the water's edge, her horse could not have made the jump. She sat there, stunned, for several minutes and could have sworn she heard derisive laughter from the strangely cloaked figure standing watching her. The arrival of Malienna at her side brought her out of her stupor. What happened next passed so quickly before Ælfritha's eyes that even after she could barely understand how events transpired.

"We must find another barge, quickly," spoke Ælfritha, turning Nithal around. She and Malienna rode back along the river bank, hoping to find another barge. Instead, they found Izrenna and Deorlin riding towards them. By the time the two groups of riders met, Deorlin fell from his horse. Both Izrenna and Malienna dismounted, running to him.

There was no hope. A crusted line of dark fluid, black and crimson even in the moonlight, soaked his leg, the horse, the sand of the river bank. His face shone with a ghostly pallor, colourless and waxy, and his eyes remained open, unblinking. Izrenna called out to him, holding him, her voice rising hysterically with each call. Malienna, trying desperately to quiet her, began speaking loudly also. The horses were panicking, stomping and snorting, creating even greater noise.

"What intruders to Gondor do we have here?" spoke a sly voice out of the dark. It was one of the Guards, indeed, the guard who had watched the river bank as the barge had pulled away. He approached the two women who knelt beside the dead man.

"We have come..." began Malienna, expecting help, but before she could rise to her feet the guard's sword crossed her throat, leaving a carmine trail behind, and the woman swayed and fell, silently, her mouth still essaying to speak, wordlessly. Izrenna's shrieks grew louder until they were stifled by a second thrust of the bloodied sword, into her heart, a moment before Ælfritha rode her horse into the guardsman and over him. One, perhaps two, hooves crashed into his skull, crushing it, leaving a twitching corpse with one staring eye amid the other three bodies.

Panting with the sickening excitement of terror, violence and horror, Ælfritha dropped from her horse, barely comprehending that both women were dead and that her reactions had been too slow for them. Her spine shivered and knotted and her entire body shook, her head reeling with an unbearable whelter of stunned disbelief and relief for her own survival. Then, across the water, there arose a sound which would have chilled the very saliva in her mouth had her throat not been parched by her heavy breathing. She dropped to her knees, looking out to the river.

[ February 05, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

Lugbúrz

02-05-2003, 12:30 AM

Even as the pursuers were delayed, the barge was getting out of reach of the Western bank and making its way steadily across. The nine horses were tied to the far-end of the barge, away from the approaching bank, a precaution the traitor from Minas Tirith had thought necessary. Now he stood beside them while the thieves were scattered around the barge. His eyes were scanning the Eastern bank, which lay in a murky mist, and as he spied the shore, the mist seemed to stretch out and engulf the boat, and settle heavily on the whole river.

The barge soon came to gently dock against the bank, and in that very instant all on the boat felt despair, for through the fog, they could make out in the bleak light of the lamps, a tall dark menace. Panic did not find the time to enter their bodies, for they stood petrified and hopeless. As the Witch-King moved through the ranks, the bargees fell with no noise, voiceless corpses they had become.

When the Wraith confronted Sadiya, he sniffed at the horror in her eyes, and then perceived the baby. For a moment, his gaze appeared to vacillate and then a black hand slowly stretched out and pulled the baby that was now crying, away from its mother's touch. Lifting it for all to see, as if with a diabolical smirk, he dilatorily choked the very last cry out of the infant and threw the lifeless child at the mother's feet. Sadiya stood for a moment paralyzed without life, and then let out a chilling scream that made even the Nazgul consider her again in fear. But Sadiya slumped to the floor and covered her beloved baby.

One and all were shattered by the stupefying shriek. Even across the Anduin, Ælfritha cowered to the ground in fear, and looked out into the mist between. As she turned around in despair she found an outstretched hand to help her up. It was Anglachel, and behind him stood a grim band of guards from Minas Tirith. On their swords shone the blood of the remaining orcs that had bothered them a while ago. Although the merchant had proven swift to elicit the aid of friends, he knew he was helpless in their quest, and as he aided Ælfritha up, their eyes met and both understood that they could not stand up to this Evil.

And even while they gave up hope, hope anew gushed into the heart of the Gondorian aboard the barge. As he saw the child fall as a lifeless heap, he came face to face with the evil of his folly. Then did he wish most to be within the walls of the White City, safe from the debauchery of Middle-earth, save himself. In a way he felt happy to have rid Minas Tirith of himself, and in spiteful honour he took out his sword for one last time and cut loose the nearest horse.

Kane, who was next to him noticed what the man had done, and understood. As he pulled his sword out too, both of them nodded to each other with pride, and Kane freed another beast. As the beast neighed, another scream they heard, and Kane turned around and dropped his sword in horror. For at the feet of the Witch-King lay Rhana, a sword still through her bossom, for she had gone to Sadiya's aid. As the Ringwraith detached her from the sword, she crumpled with a whimper, but as she collapsed, a hand caught her fall, and she gazed at it with a smile. Her hand extended to stroke the young face and look into its welled up eyes, and she knew that even in death she had found what she had never hoped to find. As Kane closed her eyelids he did not care what was going on around him.

The Nazgul, having felt the Gondorian's intent had charged to secure his prizes, and mete out death. As he fell upon the traitor, all the nine horses had been freed. The clash of swords was monumental. Both swung with a burning rage, and the momentum of the strikes pushed the man ever closer to the edge of the barge. His skill with the sword was no help against the raw evil that wielded the other one. There was no way to fight the dead, and he knew it. A devilish blow severed his right hand and the sword fell to the ground with a clang. Just as the Ringwraith pierced his heart with the fatal blow, the Man of Gondor found the last ounce of strength with which he kicked the plank of the barge that opened out. He fell with awe and was redeemed, because as he met his doom, the nine horses sensed their calling too, and seeing but despair around them they rose in a graceful crescendo, and plunged into the gushing river that flowed before them, not as nine but as one.

The Witch-King let out a horrible cry when he knew his defeat and turned into a Monster of Malice. He turned around and smelt the fawning Ulfeg and came upon him as a hundred mad oliphaunts. Not even the Witch-King could have expected what happened next, for Ulfeg did not die, yet.

As he struck out in hopeless hate, he stopped midway and turned around as if in reply to an urgent voice. And he beheld a most amazing sight, for the horses were being pulled to the Eastern shore, the river had risen as a wave and was channeling the beasts to the bank, as if powered by an unseen force. Unseen maybe, but the Witch-King raised his sword and stood in wonder, as so did Ulfeg, for he had not seen anything like this.

As they stood watching, the beasts were pulled to the very edge even as they struggled to get free and perish in the river. But suddenly, the river swelled in the middle and another wave, much bigger and much more powerful rose above the first and with a merciless vengeance struck out and engulfed the smaller one like an eagle killing a snake. The horses were plunged to the very depths of the river and the exploding waves rocked the barge with a vigour so great that along with Ulfeg, the King of the Ringwraiths also lost his balance into the turbulence of the Anduin.

Kane, who was on the other end of the barge, was knocked off onto the other bank, where he lay for a while in self-pity. He then stood up and saw in despair, upon the escaping barge, the frail outline of Sadiya, who was sitting in ths same place upon the barge, unaffected by the events, caressing the corpse in her arms. As Kane watched, the broken barge flowed into the mist and out of sight.

He fell on his knees, and fatigue gave way to an overwhelming sadness. He started sobbing, and as he looked around him and realised he had nowhere to go, he began to weep. With what little sanity he had left, he looked around once again, and as the first rays of dawn descended upon the horizon, the mist gave way to give him a glimpse of hope. For across the Great River, upon the bank of the enemies of his people, rose the White Tower of Ecthelion. On the very height of Minas Tirith, like a spire rising above the misty waters, it shined of hope to the most unlikely heart.

Warmed by something he could not explain, and did not want to believe, Kane stood up with a fresh determination, and walked forth, a Solitary Leader of the disbanded quest.

[ February 05, 2003: Message edited by: Lugbúrz ]