ROHAN RPG [Archive] - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Gilthalion

07-29-2001, 05:51 PM

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A cry went up from the sentry, riding the perimeter of the camp. It was only a horse. But it was Elfola, the horse of Elfshild, an unusually courageous and intelligent mount, well loved by his master. But now the horse was riderless and fatally injured, barely on his hooves. His heaving sides were thick with lather. His bleeding flanks were torn, almost shredded.

Crowds of staring riders looked on in stunned silence as the brave steed stumbled into the center of the camp. Tears came freely and without shame to the eyes of more than one rider as the dying horse came at last to a stop before Theodred himself. There, at the feet of the son of Theoden, the noble beast collapsed and breathed his last ragged breath.

Theodred's eyes were bright with the dew of compassion and no heart in the camp was unstirred by the final effort of the horse, spending his last strength to reach the master of his master. Theodred bid that a small mound be raised over Elfola beyond the edge of camp, near where the horses were pastured.

It was remarked by many in the camp that it looked as if the horse had been attacked by wolves. But his body had also been marked by weapons, and this set a puzzle for the Riders. Neither Elfshild nor Deomund, who was with him, ever returned and the puzzle was never solved to anyone's satisfaction. But the Riders now felt sure that wolves and orcs had come farther south of the Misty Mountains than they ever had before and that neither Elfshild nor Deomund would be heard from again.

The young son of Theoden King had come to inspect the camp that fateful day. He had become concerned, as had much of the Mark, that all was not well to the west. Now he was certain that something was not right. Theodred was a very young man, too young and untested for the burden his shoulders carried. But the old knights of the Mark supported him, the more so since his great father now rarely left Meduseld. The young man took his duties seriously, and none doubted his courage or his skill. He stood dry-eyed as a singer sang a song to honor the horse and his rider and all those who never return. If any Riders still doubted his fitness to lead, none in that camp did after his words to them, said over the mound of Elfola that night.

Theodred poured a few drops of wine from a golden cup on the burial mound, and all of the Riders did the same from their cups where they stood, gathered in a great circle, rank upon rank, around the son of their king. Then they turned to hear his words:

"Hear me, Eorlingas!

"Let all who see this mound know that this day we saw with our own eyes that there are enemies of the Mark who grow bolder than the day before. And we saw that our great friendship with the foals of the Mearas is rewarded with devotion beyond measure.

"Let all who see this mound know that the Riders of Rohan will ever strive to earn that devotion with the courage and loyalty it deserves. Gone now are the days of peace and games. See we now the wisdom of Theoden King, who prepared the Riders, bringing back the old ways, making us ready to ride against such a day as this.

"I have not seen as many winters as some of you. Yet I can ride and wield spear and bow and sword. Soon, the weapons of the Mark will know targets other than the practice of the field. The weapons of Elfshild and Deomund already have, let no one doubt, for they were brave men and true. We shall ride together in the years to come, for my heart tells me that the days of Rohan's peril is upon us. My heart tells me that many of us shall meet our doom.

"The House of Eorl shall not shirk such risk! Whatever befalls us, I will share your fate. My father still hears my words, and he has bid me inspect the defenses of the Mark and order things as I would. Let it not be said that the Riders of Theoden ever followed orders far from the site of battle. And if things are as they seem to me, then I will order many of you to your deaths, as died Elffola here. But your risk shall be mine as well, and there are worse fates than to die in service to save the land your longfathers bought with their blood.

"The Dunlendings are grown hostile! Orcs and wolves prowl far from their haunts! Emissaries with fair-seeming words make demands on our King. There are dark rumours on all our borders! And our horses are coveted by the Dark Lord of Mordor.

"But let those who think to prey on Rohan know that they will not find the Riders of the Mark craven! As long as I live and you will serve your king, our courage will keep Rohan free!"

The riders all cheered as Theodred raised high his cup over the burial mound of the noble steed and then they all drained their cups as one.

<center> ~~~</center>

Now weeks later, Theodred was in another part of Rohan and the Riders of the camp continued their vigil until he returned with greater numbers.

A handful of riders, from under cover of a rocky outcrop near the fords of the River Isen, have seen Grima Wormtongue on the road from Isengard. They challenged his going, but could not gainsay his passage, bearing as he did words from their king to the wizard who was lord there. But they decided to watch for when he returned.

As they watched from concealment, Grima met briefly with some men on the other side of the Isen. He then crossed into Rohan and continued on his way. No one observed the watching riders. But they were too far away to hear what Grima said to the men.

"Men from where, I'd like to know," said one of them. "Reminded me of orcs somehow."

"You've never seen an orc!" said another.

"I've heard enough about them from the old timers," replied the first. "And they just reminded me of what I've heard told."

"We'll see enough of them soon enough, if young Theodred is right," said a third Rider. "So what should we do now?"

The riders had often enough seen Wormtongue traveling between Isengard and Meduseld, sent by Theoden King to Saruman the White. It was whispered that Wormtongue secretly worked for the wizard, and that the dwimmer crafty old man in Isengard was no true friend of the Rohirrim. So who was Grima talking to, and what were they talking about?

Their captain had ordered them to return directly to the camp after their watch and not to take any unnecessary risks. Their relief would soon arrive. The riders debated their options. No good detaining Wormtongue. He'd never talk, and Theoden believed too much of what that man said. Sending back to camp for instructions would lose too much time. But they couldn't desert their post.

Finally, they decided to wait for their relief, tell them that they were going to track the strange men, and hope that the captain wasn't angry when and if they ever returned...

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 7/31/01 12:39:13 pm

Theodred21

07-31-2001, 09:08 AM

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Re: ROHAN RPG

One of the riders sat on the ground, with his back resting against a large rock. He scraped some mud off of his boots, then slowly lifted his head up, and looked toward the other riders. Most of them lay on their stomachs, still peering intently at the Fords, as if there was something far away that they wanted to make out. The rider sighed, and reached for a flask of water by his side, opened it, and gulped down a mouthful of water. He returned the flask to his side, and turned his head west. The sun was already sinking toward twilight.

"Hey 'Blacky,' stop wool-gathering," shouted one of the riders.

The rider sighed again, and crawled over to where the others were still watching the Fords. He slumped down next to another rider, who complained "I wish we were going back to camp Taradan, I'm starving"!

"We may ride many miles after our relief arrives," replied Taradan, the black-haired rider. "It may be late before we eat!"

"For my part," said another, "I think the sooner they get here the better!"

"Well the sooner they get here, the sooner we ride, and the sooner we catch them, the sooner we eat," said the first. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Why is it always about eating with you?" said the second.

Taradan let the two riders continue in conversation, as he drifted back into his own thoughts. He brushed back his long black hair, and smoothed out his old, grey cloak. He fingered a short daggar, that had beleonged to his father long ago. He stretched out his long legs, legs that stood him higher than the other Rohirrim. He was very much different than the others and the differences didn't stop with his long legs and his dark hair.

His mind was also thinking very different thoughts, because if his thinking was correct, there would be war soon. The disappearence of Elfshild and Deomund, the wounds on Elfola, now these strange Dunlendings (if Dunlendings they were) near the river. Theodred had it right, thought Taradan. It just smelled like war was brewing.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 7/31/01 12:50:30 pm

Gilthalion

08-02-2001, 12:57 PM

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Re: ROHAN RPG

Time passed slowly for the Riders as they watched the sun fall in the afternoon sky. Their relief was not late, but the men were eager to hit the trail of the strange men who had spoken to Theoden's unloved servant.

Taradan sighed, and looked west again. This time, the black-haired Rider's eyes were rewarded with the sight of them. They crossed the Ford, turned south and were soon lost in the rugged terrain down river. Taradan knew that it would be several minute before they arrived at the concealment, following a twisting way under the cover of the terrain not far from the banks of the Isen.

There were four of them, and three made ready to go. Dernwine, the oldest, was a family man and would return to camp. When their relief arrived, they told them what they had seen.

"With Wormtongue they spoke, and I liked not the looks of them," said the tallest of Taradan's three companions.

"Nor of Grima himself, either," added another.

"So we will follow. Dernwine will take word back to camp and tell them that we have gone east," said the tall one.

Taradan and the other two Riders of his shift gathered their gear. Thenamir, a dark mustached outland mercenary who had ridden in with the relief, picked his pack up again.

"I'm coming with you," he said.

"Suit yourself," said the tall Rider, who did not approve of Erkenbrand's decision to take this man into the ranks.

"May your horses soon return to their fields!" said Dernwine. "And don't let those outlanders do all the work!"

"Then tell these blond boys to keep up!" said Taradan.

The taller of the two straw-haired riders snorted.

<center> ~-~-~</center>

The riders made their way to where they kept their horses, watered them well, saddled them, and then rode out to follow the trail of the strange men into the territory of the Dunlendings. They wanted to find their camp for the night, watch them, if necessary capture one of them, but above all else, find out what Grima Wormtongue wanted with them.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 8/2/01 8:04:11 pm

Theodred21

08-02-2001, 01:34 PM

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Re: ROHAN RPG

The Fords shrunk behind the riders, as they distanced themselves from them. They rode in single file, with Taradan at the rear. His white mare Nimroch, winnied impatiently as if it wanted to speed ahead of the other horses for the joy of running. The riders ahead slowed their mounts to a gallop, and Taradan did so too. The horses trotted quitely along, the lead rider said loud enough for only the other riders to hear: "look, up ahead, a fire!"

"Is it the men?" asked Thenamir.

"I'm not sure," said the tall rider.

"Someone should go check it out" added the third. Instantly, all three heads turned to Taradan, who was known to be a better woodsman than most riders. "Hey 'Blackie!' Want to see what's going on over there?"

"Alright" said Taradan with a sigh, "I'll go! Stay here while I'm gone", and with that, Taradan dismounted and plunged into the overgrowth, to get a better look at the fire.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 8/2/01 8:07:48 pm

Thenamir

08-03-2001, 01:57 PM

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Re: ROHAN RPG

Thenamir jumped down from Windwight, his grey roan mount, and motioned to the other two to do likewise and stay low as Taradan crept off almost noiselessly into the overgrowth with a stealth even Thenamir thought he could not match, though he’d never had a low opinion of his own abilities. He was impatient for a closer look at these men and their associate, but he must bide his time yet and earn the trust of the others, especially Taradan, whose suspicion of Thenamir was unmistakable. It would be better for the moment to keep a low profile so as not to appear to be a cutthroat newcomer already vying for his superior’s job.

Thenamir clumsily tried to tie Windwight to a tree in the loose knot he had recently learned from the Rohirrim, which would keep the horse secured but which could be released quickly at need. The others, fluidly doing likewise from a lifetime of practice, chuckled quietly at his efforts. Thenamir pretended not to notice. He knew they meant no harm, but he intended to have a bit of fun at their expense nevertheless.

Finishing the knot, Thenamir reached into his pack for a couple of the special horse treats he occasionally made for Windwight out of oats and chaff, combined with enough honey to hold it together. He took a seat near the others who were already leaning on a convenient stone and digging in their own packs for a snack. Pretending to take a bite of one he handed the other to the taller one. “Try this,” he said with a mock full-mouth tone. “I make these for long journeys – they’re not bad.”

The flaxen-haired rider took the proffered horse treat suspiciously and sniffed it, then bit off a corner. “Mmm, “ he said, eyes brightening slightly, “this is pretty good.” The shorter rider, not to be left out of a good thing, said, “Hey, I’m the starving one!” before he broke off a piece from the unattended side of his partner’s goodie. With a full mouth he asked, “you’re not a bad cook after all, Thenamir. What’s in this?”

Thenamir could not restrain himself anymore. “It’s a special recipe I learned in Gondor…for horse treats...” was all he could get out before he started laughing, quietly but heartily, at the riders’ expressions as they realized they’d been had. Thenamir gave Windwight the unbitten treat in his hand while the aghast Rohirrim spat and rinsed and spat again. “It’s not really an insult mind you, “ Thenamir exhorted, “after all, who else but such fine horsemen could appreciate good horse chow?” He was about to launch another salvo (while they still could not speak) when Taradan silently reappeared in their clearing…

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 8/3/01 7:29:00 pm

Iulbahar

08-04-2001, 11:00 AM

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Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

In a shady corner of the horse enclosure, Kalohern was grooming his horse and keeping a an anxious eye open for the return of his father, Dernwine, who was out with the scout party. The ugly colt nuzzled his shoulder absently as Kalohern worked away,trying to bring a sheen to the horse's rough coat.

Only Kalohern knew the colt's true ancestry; one night, as a boy of 12, he had been left to watch over the horse ranks but had nodded off, only to be awoken by the pounding of hooves as the mighty stallion, Kentavrion, leaped the wooden fence and disappeared into the darkness. Following the hoof prints with a sinking heart, Kalohern had finally tracked the great horse to where he stood quietly, nose to nose with Dernwine's humble old brood mare and had been able to return him to his pasture before anyone learned of his escape.

In his secret heart, Kalhern had given the colt the name Telefax, knowing him to be of the great line of Meordas and half brother to the mighty Shadowfax, but he realised that to reveal the truth would result in his receiving such a whipping that he would not sit a horse for many months.

Unfortunately, 3 years later, Telefax appeared to have inherited few of the favourable characteristics of his illustrious forebears; his clumsy head made a jarring contrast with his staring ribs, bony quarters and dull black coat. Nevertheless, Kalohern loved him dearly with the affection that only one plain, gawky creature can feel for another and truly believed that, given the right care and training, the horse would one day achieve his true potential and they would ride together for the glory of the Mark.

Kalohern was jerked sharply from his reverie by a sneering guffaw. "Still wasting your time on that old nag? I don't know who is uglier, you or Ox-head there!"

Guthrin strode arrogantly into the yard, his rich clothes and gleaming boots bearing witness to his exalted status as the son of one of the Mark's most prominent captains. He barked an order and another stable lad deferentially led out his fine steed, saddled in readiness.

Telefax flinched and laid his ears back as Guthrin derisively poked him in the ribs with his leather whip. "Still they say hard times are coming and the Lord of the Mark may yet need flesh for his hounds....."

Kalohern moved swiftly and silently, unseen by Guthrin who was busy venting his spite on the defenceless Telefax. Gathering his reins with a flourish, Guthrin put his foot in the ornate stirrup iron and heaved himself heavily onto his prancing steed, only to utter a violent stream of curses as the fine saddle, its girth strap loosened, slipped around the horse's belly and deposited him on the ground in a cloud of dust. Trying to retain his dignity, Guthrin scrambled to his feet, tightened the girth with a savage tug and, leaping into the saddle, galloped off, throwing a shower of dried earth and dung over the two stable lads.

Kalohern's companion winked at him, "You'd have thought one chosen to ride for the Mark would remember to check his saddle before he sets off!"

Shrugging, Kalohern began to massage Telefax with a wisp of damp plaited hay to tone up his scrawny muscles. Placing on the horse a headcollar of untreated hide and an old sheepskin in lieu of a saddle, he vaulted nimbly onto the horse's back and giving him his head trotted out of the yard. He ignored the concealed sniggers as he passed through the camp and once on to open grassland squeezed the horse's flanks lightly with his calves. At once he felt the answering surge of power, as boy and horse instantly melded into one being, intent only on the forward rush into the welcoming wind.

The wail of horns caused Kalohern to pull Telefax to a sliding halt on lowered haunches as he saw his father, Dernwine, approaching the camp. Drawing nearer, he saw his father dismount and, tossing the reins to a groom, hurry to the tent of Erkenbrand, the man young Theoden had left in charge of the new camp. He was returning from the Fords of the Isen, where Riders had been watching to learn what they could from such traffic as there was in these darkening times.

Kalohern hoped his father would tell him more, but knew better than to ask.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 8/5/01 9:06:32 am

Gilthalion

08-04-2001, 04:35 PM

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What Taradan Saw...

The black haired rider crept as quietly as he could to where the strange men had made camp. Their language seemed uncouth as it came to his ears, filled with harsh words and sometimes animal like noices. Taradan crept closer.

He saw them sitting around the fire sharing a dinner carved from a goat they had been roasting. They were rude and noisy. Each of them was armed with a spear. Two or three of the dozen had swords. The rest may have had some short blades or long knives handy, for quiet a few were employed in the dismemberment of the goat.

There may have been bows present as well. There were no sentries that Taradan could see, and all the attention of the crude camp was on the goat and who could get what of it.

The black-haired rider had no idea what was being said in their speech. But they seemed nasty enough. Most of them were bronzed from a life spent out of doors, but some were sallow in complexion, and had squinting leering eyes.

Taradan decided to return. He saw that his own comrades were no more alert than the strange men he had seen. He came silently into the camp and surprised them, arguing over horse treats, such as were made for Gondor's stables.

He looked suspiciously at Thenamir, and then told them all of what he had seen.

</p>

Theodred21

08-05-2001, 08:24 AM

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Pay Attention!

As Taradan finished describing the enemy camp to his fellow riders, told of their language, which was strange to his ears, and then said what he thought of their own watchfulness.

"You could keep better watch!" he said.

The riders looked down guiltily. Taradan brushed back his jet black hair, and listened as the blond riders agreed that the men must have been Dunlenders. But none of the four quite knew what to make of the sallow-skinned, slant-eyed fellows. The conversation turned to their next move.

"So what will we do?" asked Thenamir.

"How about we come in from all sides and ambush them" said the shortest rider.

"That can't work!" said Thenamir, "There are too many of them for that!"

"Finally you show some intelligence, Gondorian" said Taradan his voice still cold.

Thenamir gave a cold look back. "Well 'Blacky'," Thenamir retorted, "do you have a plan?"

For the first time that night, Taradan smiled. "Actually, I do..."

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 8/6/01 12:05:51 pm

Thenamir

08-06-2001, 12:26 PM

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Re: Pay Attention!

Thenamir went ashen as he caught Taradan’s stare, withering and accusing, and realized he should have been intent on their safety and possible threats. No matter how rustic they seemed, a reconaissance was not a time for practical jokes -- he was not proving himself very well. Had Taradan been one of the enemy, they would have been caught flat-footed, and probably would be dead or captured. He hung his head as Taradan explained what he had seen in his sortie.

He looked up, though, as Taradan described the camp and the men he’d seen. A smouldering fire rekindled in his eyes – the description sounded too much like his memory of his dead wife’s attackers. He tried not to look overeager as the black-haired rider said that he had a plan. But he could not help but have his say.

“It sounds like an opportune time to catch one of them unawares and find out their purposes,” Thenamir mused aloud.

Taradan rounded on Thenamir. “You just said there are too many of them for that.”

Thenamir dismissed the venom. “I’m not suggesting a frontal assault. They have laid their weapons aside and are distracted roasting and eating that goat. They believe themselves to be safe and secure -- no watch. Surely with stealth, a good plan, and a bit of luck, one separated from the others can be captured, either now while they are full and dull of wit, or when they fall asleep.” Thenamir turned to the other two who noncommitally watched the interplay between the outlanders. “What do you think?” he asked them with a raised eyebrow.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 8/6/01 9:27:14 pm

Gilthalion

08-06-2001, 07:42 PM

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Re: Pay Attention!

"Let us hear what 'Blackie' has to say," said the taller of the two flaxen-haired Riders, gesturing at Taradan. "But I say we have to find out what they are doing."

"But if we do," said the other, "and word gets back to Grima that Riders of Rohan kidnapped and questioned one of these folk, then Erkenbrand might not be able to protect us from Wormtongue's malice."

The tall one spat. "I care that for the malice of Grima Wormtongue. But why borrow trouble? Perhaps there is a way that they will not know that the questioning was done by Riders."

"You mean besides killing whoever we capture?" said the shorter one. "It would probably serve them right!"

"We can't do that to some fellow who might not deserve it and you know it," replied the tall one.

"Aye. But my heart tells me they do deserve it! Elfshild and Deomund received no such mercy!" retorted the short one. "But that means we have to blindfold him at the least."

"What do you say, 'Blackie?'" asked the tall one. "Can you improve on Thenamir's plan? Can we catch one and blindfold him before he sees four Riders of Rohan?"

</p>

Theodred21

08-09-2001, 08:52 AM

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Capturing a Wild Man!

"Well, maybe we can" said Taradan, unsurely. "Now that I look at it, it is a good idea! Very well then, we shall try to capture one of those men, interrogate him, and if Master Wormtongue is preparing something of malice, he and his men shall feel the wrath of the Riders of Rohan, King's counsellor or not!"

The four riders all settled on Thenamir's scheme, to find out what they were up to first, and stop them if necessary! Once again Taradan took charge, strategizing the best ways to approach the camp, and slip one of those men right from under the noses of the rest of them!

It was decided that the shorter rider would stay behind and guard the horses, while the taller rider, Thenamir and Taradan, went to the enemy camp. Taradan decided that they must first camoflauge all of their equipment, and horses, before they left, in case a sneaky enemy scout was probing around.

As they were leading the reluctant horses into the concealment of the trees, Taradan said to Thenamir, "Good call Gondorian!" Thenamir nodded in return, then started as if he realized something, but said nothing.

Once everything was hidden, the shorter rider bade them good luck, and the three men plunged into the forest!

As they slowly plodded through the undergrowth, Taradan noticed the taller rider having trouble, getting through the tangle of vegetation. Thenamir moved quietly with a barely audible rustle, but the taller rider was not an experienced woodsmen, spending more of his time on horse training than woodlore. As they neared the camp, they could see the bonfire's orange glow, already starting to fade. At that moment the taller rider tripped over a root, and fell clumsily to the ground. Taradan tensely paused, and listened to see if anyone had noticed, then lifted the blond rider to his feet.

"Sorry about that" said the taller rider, and they moved closer to the camp.

As they approach the fringe of the woods, Taradan beckoned them to drop to their knees, then their stomachs. Taradan's sharp eyes scanned the encampment, looking for any Wild Men standing away from the rest, but sadly, all of the Dunlendings were crowded around the fire, now eating the goat that they saw roasting earlier.

"We'll have to wait here for a while" Taradan whispered to Thenamir.

After a few minutes, Taradan saw the fire, which had now burned low. One of the men lying near by, turned, and then sat up, and then wandered sleepily into the forest.

"He's had a bit more to drink than his bladder wanted!" said Thenamir.

"Now is our chance," said Taradan.

The Dunlending walked slowly in their direction...

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 8/9/01 11:33:10 am

Iulbahar

08-12-2001, 02:21 AM

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Re: A Ride in the Dark

Kalohern dismounted and, leading Telefax, fell in behind his father as he emerged from Erkenbrand's tent. Dernwine's severe countenance suggested that something serious had occurred but Kalohern knew that to ask would only result in his being sent back to the stables in disgrace.
At that moment Erkenbrand appeared and blowing his great silver worked horn, summoned the riders around him.
"Strangers have been sighted in the forest on our western borders. We need to send three of our most fearless to aid our men, should it come to a scirmish."
Many riders at once threw their gauntlets into the circle around the campfire, as was the custom when volunteering for battle. Among them were those of Dernwine and Guthrin, who tossed in his embossed glove with an arrogant swagger.
"Dernwine, you have ridden far today and your horse is spent. Rest now, and we shall have need of you ere long, I think."
Erkenbrand selected two of the most experienced and valiant riders by taking up their gauntlets and returning them face up to their owners. He considered for a moment.
"And you, Guthrin, son of Grimbourne, the time has come for you to prove your merit."
Guthrin retrieved the proffered glove with a self satisfied smirk. Erkenbrand gave orders for the horses to be brought out and light provisions were rapidly prepared.
"You will ride under cover of darkness. Turn aside for no man unless the need is great. Find our scouts and render them such support and aid as may be needed."
The chosen three quickly mounted their horses and quietly slipped away into the shadows cast by the great campfire. Those remaining in camp settled down to chew over their roast venison and along with it the speculation as to what these tidings might bode for the future.
Kalohern led Telefax away from the campfire and out into the night. His father was seated in the fire's glow, a welcome horn of wine helping to ease his weary bones. The call of a night bird caused Telefax to prick his ears and stir to alertness. All at once, Kalohern caught on the night breeze the pungent and tantalising aroma of the pine forest. Seized by a sudden strange impulse and barely aware of his actions, he slid onto Telefax's back and turned the horse's head to follow the track of the departing warriors.

</p>

Gilthalion

08-12-2001, 06:34 PM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Hobbitus Emeritus
Posts: 573</TD><TD><img src=http://home.att.net/~robertwgardner/lotrmap.gif WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE>
Captured!

Taladan and Thenamir, with greater woodscraft, and darker hair that might not be traced back to Rohan, slipped up quietly, and before the sleepy Dunlender knew what had happened, the butt of a sword crashed across the back of his head and he fell forward unconcious.

The dark-haired riders took their captive back to where their blond friends Gurthden and Baranthol were waiting. When he came to, they would have many questions for him.

Little did they know that other eyes were watching him for there were some among the Dunlenders that did not trust the straw-haired Riders of Rohan and kept watch even when it had not been ordered...

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 8/14/01 8:25:05 pm

SteadfastSam

08-12-2001, 06:39 PM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Ghost-Prince of Cardolan
Posts: 506</TD><TD><img src=http://www.lordoftherings.net/images/ca_sasti.jpg WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE>
Re: A Ride in the Dark

Ulfwine stared thoughtfully into the fire, a little apart from his rowdy companions. It crackled cheerily, warming the Dunlending's mind and spirit. He threw a small stick in, causing it to blaze, and pondered the recent events. He didn't like the mission he had been ordered on, whatever the Chiefs had said about the Riders of Rohan. He liked the wizard, Saruman, even less. He spat into the fire and stood up, stretching. He walked over to to his leader.

"Don't you think we should send out patrols? We are near the lands of Rohan."

The burly leader laughed and thumped him on the back. "Ahh, you young recruits! So unsure of yourself! Those Strawheads won't dare to attack us after nightfall! Now get some rest, if you aren't hingry! There is a lot of work tomorrow!"

Slightly reassured, but cautious nonetheless, Ulfwine curled up by his pack and tried to sleep.

*****

He awoke, hours later, after having disturbing dreams. He yawned and stood up, then started into the woods to empty his system of the large amounts of ale he had drunk the night before. He had the beginnings of a terrible headache, and stumbled through the undergrowth, tripping over prostrate, and snoring, bodies. Soon he was (by all appearances) alone. He didn't see or hear the shadowy figures approaching him from behind.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000054>SteadfastSam</A> at: 8/14/01 11:13:19 am

Thenamir

08-14-2001, 08:50 AM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Newly Deceased
Posts: 9</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
An unfortunate Dunlending

Thenamir silently put on his night-black helmet, pulled down low over his face but not so far as to obscure his vision, as Ulfwine stumbled towards the trio. Using hand signals, Taradan directed Thenamir to distract the hapless Dunlending from the right, while Taradan moved left to drop him from the opposite side. Gurthden, the tall rider, watched with a blindfold in one hand and his sword hilt in the other as Thenamir and Taradan readied themselves into position.

The Dunlending walked past the well-hidden warriors, stopped about ten feet short of Gurthden, and emptied his painfully swollen bladder (well clear of Gurthden, much to his own relief). He had just finished righting his rough clothing when Thenamir unsheathed his sword with an unnecessarily loud clang. The Dunlending, still tipsy but instantly alert turned immediately in that direction. At exactly that moment, Taradan rose without a sound from his cover and crashed the hilt of his sword down upon the head of the unfortunate Dunlending who swayed only a moment before collapsing.

Taradan caught him as he fell and set him gently to the ground, avoiding noise that might be investigated by the others. Thenamir and Gurthden quietly rushed up, Thenamir securely roping the hands behind him, Gurthden expertly handling the blindfold. Taradan’s keen eyes scouted the area, but could discover no evidence that they had been detected. Thenamir hoisted the limp Ulfwine none too gently over one shoulder and signalled ready to move out. Taradan led, attempting to make a quick but quiet path for the others to follow, and Gurthden followed behind as rear lookout.

The shorter rider, Baranthôl, breathed an audible sigh of relief as the trio came into view with their prize. Thenamir set Ulfwine sitting upright with his back against the rock. Taradan opened his water-skin and dashed cold water into the face of the unconscious Dunlending while Thenamir by prior agreement kneeled near, knife at the ready. Ulfwine came to with a start, but Thenamir held him down and pressed the point of the knife to his throat.

“See ‘ere now,” said Thenamir in a near-flawless rustic accent, “you be out of earshot of your friends, still havin’ a nice nap. You just sit ‘ere nice and quiet-like, and you won’t have to feel how deep me blade can go, there’s a good lad.” The Dunlending struggled only a moment before he felt a trickle of blood winding down the side of his neck. Ulfwine went limp. “You see,” said Thenamir to the others, “told ya he’d be a smart one.” They murmured assent, smiling faintly.

“Who are you?” Ulfwine demanded. “Ah, now, you’ll not be askin’ the questions today,” Thenamir continued in his ridiculous accent, “you’ll be answerin’ them – like first, you be tellin’ us just who you be, and what you and yer friends back there be doin’ a-traipsin’ in these parts?”

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000209>Thenamir</A> at: 8/16/01 9:02:32 am

Theodred21

08-14-2001, 07:14 PM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Phantom Rider
Posts: 1170</TD><TD><img src=http://www.jrrtolkien.org.uk/Graphics/Buttons/torch.gif WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE>
Re: An unfortunate Dunlending

Taradan, smiled as he listened to the Gondorian, frightening the Dunlending with his silly accent. As Thenamir tried to scare the Dunlending into talking, he walked over to where the horses were tied, and fed Nimroch one of Thenamir's horse treats. He glanced around nervously, something did not feel right. He had a strange feeling that he was being watched. Unlike the others, he had a foreboding feeling that there had been witnesses to their capture. He knew that they were not safe, and they had to move to a safer place quickly. But was it just a feeling, or were they in life threatening trouble. He wondered if he should voice his opinion to the others. He decided he would. As he crept back to their little camp, he heard Thenamir still interrogating the horror-stricken Dunlending. he decided not to break up Thenamir's fun, and wait. But that decision might have turned out a mistake...

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000011>Theodred21</A>  <IMG HEIGHT=10 WIDTH=10 SRC=http://www.ezboard.com/ezgfx/gicons/white_fire.gif BORDER=0> at: 8/25/01 9:45:35 am

SteadfastSam

08-14-2001, 08:14 PM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Ghost-Prince of Cardolan
Posts: 511</TD><TD><img src=http://www.lordoftherings.net/images/ca_sasti.jpg WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE>
Re: An unfortunate Dunlending

Ulfwine was no coward, and at first thought of fighting back. Unbeknownst to his captors, his blindfold had slipped, and he could clearly see them. He quickly started to think of a plan of escaping and returning to camp. Then he remembered his chief's words, mocking his caution and setting him up to be the fool. He bitterly answered the stranger.

"I am Ulfwine of Dunland, following my chief, who is in the service of the Wizard, Saruman. My chief's name is Borleg, and he is a fool. He believes he is safe, and yet here you are, right outside the camp!" He glanced, first at one figure, then the next, and angrily continued. "I can only assume you are riders of Rohan, sent here to spy on our movements. I cannot tell you any more than what I have, because I am but a lowly scouter troop, not even fit for the main body. I assume you will kill me, to prevent my escape, and good riddance. I never wanted to fight in this war; I have no quarrel with Rohan! Now I will never see my home again, and the sooner you get on with it, the better. However, if you spare me, I swear on the home of my father that I will do anything I can to aid you."

One of the figures turned to the other and murmered "How good is the word of a Dunlending? I say kill him and be done. He is useless to us."

Ulfwine smiled grimly, and steeled himself to death. His mind drifted to the home of his youth, and to his family. Goodbye, my family, I will see you in the life after.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000054>SteadfastSam</A> at: 8/15/01 4:25:36 pm

Thenamir

08-15-2001, 12:38 PM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pile o' Bones
Posts: 12</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
A Pertinent Question

Thenamir’s expression softened a bit, but he continued to press the knifepoint. “’ere now, we’ll ‘ave no talk o’ killin’ just yet,” prattled Thenamir (a quick glance to Taradan saw him nodding his assent), “but we aims to get out of you all we can afore we decides what t’do with yer. You might be tellin’ true, and you might not. Even if you were, ‘ow could the likes of us trust the likes of you, what so easily turns traitor to ‘is own when there’s trouble about?”

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 8/17/01 12:30:00 pm

SteadfastSam

08-19-2001, 02:23 PM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Seeker of Light
Posts: 516</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
Re: A Pertinent Question

Ulfwine did not know how to answer the stranger's probing questions, at first. He was silent for a moment, as he thought about why he was so willing to betray his chief. He remembered back to the day, months ago, when Borleg had first appeared in his village, high in the hills of Dunland. He sighed and slowly began to speak.

"Many months ago, Borleg came to my home, and demanded that my father join him. He said there was to be a war, and that every man was needed. My father was old, yet hale, and a mighty warrior. He did not want to leave my mother and sisters though, and resisted. Borleg cut off both his thumbs as an example to others. He took me anyway. He said to my father as we rode off, "Let the coward's son do the fighting for him!" I hate him and the day that he was born! I have tried to be the best soldier that I could, to honor my father, but he treats me with disdain. "

Ulfwine struggled to stand, but was stilled by the knife at his throat. "And now it seems that I will be useless even to his enemies. I wish there is more I could tell you, but all I know is this; A man of Rohan is in league with Borleg. Indeed he has great authority, and favor with the Wizard. He is the one who ordered Borleg here, and he is the one you should watch for. He is called Ortheng in our language, " Cunning Tongue". There is aught else I can tell you of use, but I may be able to aid you, in other ways."

"What did Wormtongue want with him?" asked Thenamir.

"Something about a trip somewhere, some city of the elves. I didn't hear much else."

"You expect us to believe that!" Taradan grabbed Ulfwine roughly with both hands pulling at the prisoner's collar so that breathing became difficult. "A bunch of Dunlenders going to the Golden Wood where not even the bravest dare to go?"

"NO! Urgh! Not there!" Ulfwine struggled to speak and to breathe.

Thenamir said, "Let him talk." Taradan released him with a hard shove to the ground.

"Another city.... an old city.... ruins now... to the north," gasped Ulfwine.

"Why?" demanded Taradan.

"To get something for the wizard. To find something. I don't know what," said Ulfwine, raggedly. But I can help you follow them to it. It must be important."

"Do we need his help?" asked Taradan.

"Please! I want to! I know what villages will be safe for you. And I know the places you should avoid. You'll never follow them through my countryside without meeting more trouble than you can handle. You need a guide!" said Ulfwine.

"He may be right," said Thenamir.

As the four riders deliberated, hostile eyes watched them from seclusion. The hunters were also being hunted.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 8/20/01 7:49:25 pm

Thenamir

08-24-2001, 10:19 AM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pile o' Bones
Posts: 13</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
Time for a Getaway

Ulfwine’s story reminded Thenamir of his own grief and loss at the hands of the Dunlendings. But here was a conundrum indeed: this man was a Dunlending himself – and the memory of his wife’s brutal death was still a raw wound in his mind – but one who also claimed to be a refugee from their brutality. An honorable Dunlending, Thenamir thought, wonders never cease. What next, polite and helpful trolls?

Thenamir looked at Taradan with a raised eyebrow, the implied question being, “you’re in charge – what now?” Taradan knitted his brow only for a moment before jerking his thumb towards the horses. Thenamir dropped the phony accent and put away the knife. “Don’t know what to do with you yet, but for the moment you’re coming with us,” said Thenamir in a low voice. “You can share a horse with Baranthôl,” Taradan said, “he’s the smallest.” Baranthôl grimaced, but understood.

“You’ll understand if we don’t untie you just yet,” Thenamir said with a half-smile. Ulfwine caught the hint of warmth in Thenamir’s voice, and nodded in return. Each of them thought they had found someone sympathetic to help with his own private war.

Thenamir and Gurthden helped settle Ulfwine side-saddle behind Baranthôl on the horse, then mounted up themselves. “Anything we need to know about ahead?” said Thenamir to Ulfwine, who pointed a path ahead. Thenamir was just about to rein Windwight around to follow when he detected a furtive movement in the brush ahead, and another in trees to his right. He whistled a shrill call to the others to warn them, but it was already too late…

</p>

Theodred21

08-25-2001, 07:44 AM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Phantom Rider
Posts: 1248</TD><TD><img src=http://www.jrrtolkien.org.uk/Graphics/Buttons/flamme1.gif WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE>
Re: Time for a Getaway

Taradan and Gurthden were not even mounted yet when they heard Thenamir's whistle. A group of Dunlendings had just burst from the bushes. Their wild unkept hair hung in their eyes, and they howled a shrill cry, alerting everyone else in their camp. At first, Taradan was in shock, at their sudden assault, but then, his startled mind began to think again.
We must get out of here to avoid endangering ourselves thought Taradan. He sprang upon his horse Nimroch, and saw that Guthden had done the same. As he began to pull the reins, he noticed that the Dunlendings were too close. Too late he began to spur his mount. It happened very quickly, but it seemed in slow motion for him. His horse began to gallop slowly, the Dunlending club began to swing at him slowly, and his feet moved slowly as he tried to spur his startled horse. This is it he thought grimly, as the Dunlending club smashed into his skull. For a moment it felt as if his head was on fire, then his whole world went black....

</p>

Thenamir

09-10-2001, 10:49 AM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pile o' Bones
Posts: 15</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
No Way Out

Thenamir was only dimly aware that Taradan had fallen – his mind was fixed on selling the lives of himself and his comrades as dearly as he could, and trying to get one of them -– anyone -- away safely to get word back to Dernwine and the others. The attention they fixed on Taradan slowed the Dunlendings just a heartbeat – long enough for Thenamir to hastily assess the grim situation. He whistled for Gurthden and Baranthôl to rally their horses to him, being closest to the center of the quickly-tightening circle of attackers. In a single movement Thenamir again pulled out his knife and sliced Ulfwine’s bonds, then handed him the knife as the ropes fell away. There was no time to prepare any other plan, for the dark men were upon them.

There seemed to be over twenty of them, all the men in the camp they had been following. Thenamir’s mind tried to stay clear of the careless and vengeful anger that betrayed him before he left Gondor, and just hoped that there were no hidden reinforcements. Their horses had been well trained for this kind of battle – almost instinctively they each turned their hind hooves to the attackers. Quickly the four powerful beasts caught as many unsuspecting Dunlenders, kicking their hearts out through their spines and shattering their ribs. Their suddenly limp bodies sailed several feet thru the air and knocked down the attackers immediately behind them. There was a beat of stunned pause in their advance. Reflexively the Rohirrim, the turncoat Dunlending and the Gondorian took the tiny advantage, each raising a terrifying battle cry in his own tongue as they charged the dark warriors.

Ulfwine ducked under the heavy blow of a swung club and stabbed upwards with Thenamir’s longknife, piercing and opening the gut of one of his former comrades who fell to the ground with a thud, desperately trying to keep his innards from gushing out. Thenamir’s sword Aranbold sang with the bloodlust, taking opportunity wherever he could find it in the melee, dodging a club or a sword here, pricking a shoulder there, parrying a swordthrust with one hand and punching a jaw with the other. He felt a club come down on his helm, but it glanced off the rounded surface leaving a dent near his right ear. Even before his ears began ringing Aranbold swept round in the only clear shot he’d had since the battle began and severed a dark head which splattered red over friend and foe alike. Still, the blow staggered Thenamir, and he was unable to completely parry the next sword blow, which opened a nasty gash in his forearm.

As far as Thenamir could see, Gurthden and Baranthôl were back-to-back, both wounded and bloody, battling the enemy in Rohirrim fashion. One dead Dunlending lay nearby. That still left fourteen or fifteen attackers against the four of them, and the attackers were no longer rushing headlong at them but beginning to coordinate. The horses had now escaped, each with an arrow or two in the flanks – they would perhaps survive if tended soon enough. Thenamir mentally bid the mounts all speed, especially Windwight, who bore a hastily carved scrawl in the saddle that if found would identify their attackers. The Two Rohirrim roared anew at the craven attackers for the loss of their beloved horses, but Thenamir knew that no amount of valor on their part could save them now – it was just a matter of time before they too were caught or killed…

</p>

SteadfastSam

09-10-2001, 03:12 PM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Seeker of Light
Posts: 526</TD><TD><img src=http://www.lordoftherings.net/images/ca_sasti.jpg WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE>
The plot thickens

Ulfwine was shocked at the sudden attack of his own people. He had thought that no guard had been set! He turned, and saw the savage Dunlendings set upon the horsemen fiercely. One was already down with a blow to the head.

Ulfwine was suddenly freed of his bonds by Thenamir and given a knive. The Dunlender rolled defty off the horse and fell to the ground with a thump. He jumped up and called out to a nearby Dunlending. "Hi! Girthfrith!" The burly man turned for a moment and guffawed at Ulfwine.

"Got caught did you, young whelp? Borleg will want a word with you." He laughed again.

But Ulfwine had other plans. He struck the bigger man with lightning speed, cracking him squarely across the jaw. Girthfrith cursed and stumbled back, dropping his sword. Ulfwine snatched it up and quickly dispatched him. He then ran over to the fallen Rider, who was about to be spitted by a Dunlend spear. The other Riders were hard pressed and unable to help, and Ufwine arrived just in time to sever the spear-point from the shaft. The Dunlend quickly looked up and leered into Ulfwine's face. "Traitor!" He spat out as Ulfwine ran him through. He fell to the ground, and Ulfwine replied, "Tell that to my father, cur."

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 9/10/01 7:52:05 pm

Iulbahar

09-13-2001, 12:29 AM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pile o' Bones
Posts: 19</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
Re: Reinforcements

Telefax's unshod hooves made little sound on the soft floor of the forest and it was easy to track the other riders provided Kalohern stayed some distance back. He fervently hoped Telefax would not betray his presence by calling to the other horses. At first his pursuit was made easier by the noise of Guthrin's loud and boastful account of his prowess as a warrior drifting through the trees ahead, but eventually the noncommittal grunts of the other more seasoned riders caused even Guthrin to fall silent.
Kalohern realised that the trail seemed to be leading westward, probably towards the River Isen, which marked Rohan's border with the realm of the mysterious enchanter Sarumen.
An unestimable period of time passed; the moon rose higher and Kalohern held Telefax back still furthur to avoid detection. Suddenly Telefax pricked up his ears and gave a soft whinny of recognition and Kalohern quickly slipped from the horse's back to silence the quivering nostrils with his hand. The rustling of dried bracken alerted him to a presence and a pale grey shape loomed out of the darkness.

With beating heart and a sharp sense of foreboding tearing at his gut, he realised that Telefax had recognised a stable companion; the grey roan steed belonging to a stranger who had recently joined the ranks of the riders. Kalohern saw that he was scarred and bloodstained as if from battle; the shaft of a strange arrow was buried in his left haunch and he limped painfully towards the other horse.
Gently taking hold of the horse's reins, he noticed that one stirrup was missing, and as he instinctively went to secure the remaining one to prevent the horse sustaining furthur injury his glance fell on a small scrap of parchment which was caught on the skirt of the saddle.
On closer scrutiny it bore a hastily scrawled rendering of the insignia of Dunland. What could it mean? The riders had obviously been attacked and had tried to send warning of some peril.
Grim faced, Kalohern remounted his horse and quickening his pace trotted in the direction that the others had taken. Suddenly he heard harsh cries and the clash of weapons; there was a dim glow ahead and the smell of woodsmoke as if from a smouldering campfire.
Emerging from the trees into a large clearing he saw that a deathly struggle was under way. In the centre the two warriors Gurthden and Baranthôl stood back to back, hard pressed and surrounded by what looked to be about a dozen swarthy and determined attackers. Another, Thenamir, was valiantly weilding his sword despite a bloody wound on his arm. The bodies of several of the foe were scattered underfoot and yet another rider, Taradan, lay as if dead, his helm dented from a severe blow.
The two approaching riders bellowed the battle cry of the Roherrim and leapt into the melee. One charged his horse at the swarm of dark faces surrounding Gurthden and Baranthôl and began to lay about them left and right with his sword. The other quickly sprang to the aid of the staggering Thenamir.
Aside from the furore, Guthrin sat astride his horse immobile, with a frozen expression of fear reminiscent of a cowardly child confronted by a ferocious dog. His sword dangled limply by his side as a whimper of terror escaped his gaping mouth.
Cursing, Kalohern gave a frenzied yell and as Telefax surged forward in answer he rode alongside and snatched Guthrin's sword from his palsied hand. Bearing the blade aloft he swept into the fray.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000220>Iulbahar</A> at: 9/13/01 12:12:43 pm

Thenamir

09-13-2001, 02:11 PM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pile o' Bones
Posts: 17</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
An Old Enemy

The only reason Thenamir was still standing at all was that the Dunlendings had acquired a new respect for, and a splattering of their associates’ blood from, his grim and terrible sword. The only reason Thenamir’s sword still remained in his hand was the fact that his hand was too cramped from exhaustion to release it.

Injured as he was, Thenamir allowed the bitter anger to spill over into his consciousness, anger at the loss of his family, and now his own life, at the hands of these filthy vermin. The emotion surged new strength into his arms and legs, and became a deadly, mithril-piercing glare in his eyes.

He took a rock in his free hand, and threw with wobbly aim, trying to goad the regrouping enemy into moving too soon and too fast. The missile nevertheless found it’s target, the head of a powerfully-built swarthy man who couldn’t duck quick enough. Thenamir heard what he thought was a howl of rage as his target turned and began running full-tilt at him, a bastard-sword at the ready, far larger and far heavier than Thenamir’s Aranbold -- but that was what he was counting on.

Just as the broadsword blade was about to cleave Thenamir’s helm (and head) asunder, Thenamir deliberately fell backwards onto the ground. The man’s momentary confusion caused him to stumble slightly. The momentum of his bulk and his sword carrried him to and over Thenamir, who bellowed “For Linwen!!” as he two-handed his own sword through the big man’s right knee as it passed.

He rolled out to avoid the stroke of the man behind him, but there were too many at once. He saw the face of one particularly ugly Dunlender leer at him as he prepared to axe Thenamir in two at the midsection, when the leer changed to a look of dull shock, the axe fell from his hands, and his body and head fell in separate directions to reveal a mounted Rider – three mounted Riders, one of them certainly a youth! What Thenamir had thought was a howl of rage was in reality the newcomers’ battle cry!

Thenamir had no time for wonder as the Riders found new targets. Regaining his feet at the edge of the thick forest he found his way now barred by Borleg, the Dunlending leader. For a few moments, the two stood silent as a shock of recognition struck them both – Borleg had been at the head of the brigands who had raided his wife’s village as Thenamir’s men had attacked to drive them off. “You!!” gasped Thenamir as vengeance clouded his mind in a red haze. “Gondorian!” spat Borleg in surprised contempt.

Like a flash Thenamir swung his sword, but Borleg was equally quick to parry as they locked eyes and clashed steel. Yet again Thenamir stepped back to swing, but he was too weak – the battle and the anger had exhausted him, and he had no reserves left. Borleg lowered a shoulder and rammed Thenamir, knocking him to the ground.

But Borleg had no time to finish it – the other riders had returned, mounted, with gleaming spears leveled at him. He disappeared into the woods with the remainder of the Dunlendings and was gone before the riders could follow. Thenamir, mentally drained, physically exhausted, thirsty and bleeding, simply could not move. Before he passed out he hoped that Ulfwine had not been accidentally slaughtered…

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 9/15/01 3:58:08 pm

SteadfastSam

09-13-2001, 02:31 PM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Seeker of Light
Posts: 527</TD><TD><img src=http://www.lordoftherings.net/images/ca_sasti.jpg WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE>
Re: ROHAN RPG

Ulfwine fought with the ferocity of a tiger guarding its young, knowing the fallen Rider may be his only hope to freedom. Time and again he felled a fierce Dunlending intent on the death of the Rider. His mind flashed to the lessons in fighting his father had taught him, years ago. "Never lower your gaurd, stay on the defensive!" His father had told him. "Too many times have I seen determined attacker foiled by their own eagerness!" Ulfwine silently thanked his father, and ran through a final attacker. He looked around; it appeared that more riders had entered the fray.

The Dunlendings, confused and unaware of the size of this new force, had fallen back momentarily. Ulfwine dropped to his knee and examined the Rider. He was alive, though unconsious, and bleeding heavily from the head. Ulfwine quickly bound up the wound to his head with a strip of cloth torn from a tunic of a fallen dunlending, and turned to look for the other Riders. The Dunlending would soon alert the camp, and return in a horde. Retreat was imperative.

</p>

Sharkû

09-13-2001, 05:14 PM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Hungry Ghoul
Posts: 1024</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
The Prey Shows Teeth

A number of the men from the western plains had fallen under the swords of the Rohirrim, among them the leader of his unit, Smrtan. When one of the tall and dark-haired riders had cloven Smrtan's shield asunder, and struck his blade into the Dunlending's body, the young Storwolos had howled out in fear.

Gesturing wildly with both arms, he now stood out among the Dunlendings who were about to encircle the three remaining riders, for he, Storwolos, felt that now it was his responsibility to order the ranks and take the lead as the most resolute of his unit. Although he had always respected Smrtan, he nevertheless knew he himself was alone cut out to be the real leader here, and the one who whom Borleg had also always seen as the one with the best 'Dunlending spirit', as he used to say.

His shaved head moved from left to right to strafe those of his men with a glare who seemed to fear the well-wielded swords of the riders, and, ramming the standard of their house, the long spear with three large ox-horns bound at the top like a fork, into the ground, Storwolos took his shield and attacked with the signal for the next assault in this skirmish. The Dunlending was filled with agonized fury as he crashed into the his next opponent, one of the two riders who looked not like the other strawheads, dealing a blow with his javelin, and warding off another with his small leaf-shaped shield. With his smaller and considerably more agile body, he dodged away to the side to regain the edge in close combat.

Then only for a glimpse, the hate in Storwolos's eyes subsided and gave way to his surprise, only to light up anew as he beheld his former comrade Vlodlak, who called himself 'Ulfwine' after the tongue of the forgoil, siding with the enemy and slaying his own kin, his own blood.

Before his anger allowed Storwolos to react other than to growl and shake his weapon at the enemy, piling on into the triangle of the three remaining opponents, the riders tried to break through to the south in a coordinated fashion, as if they responded to a hidden sign. Now Storwolos heard it – far away to the south, horns were sounding. Not in the shrill, complicated drum-based rhythm of the Dunlendings, but as the clear, piercing call of the strawheads. Storwolos had to kick one of his men, who was already about to scavenge among the goods of the riders, and reluctantly, he had to give the sign to break the ring and reconstitute in the northern flank.

'Try to kill them quickly, and then retreat!' commanded Borleg, and Storwolos did likewise to the men of his, who seemed to have accepted his initiative at least for the present, mainly because they seemed impressed with his battle prowess. But as he ended, the first riders of the relief were already in an arrow's range, and the doughty warriors would not yield to the spears from Dúnland. Before the charge of the new éored came crashing in, Storwolos removed from melee at the cost of a deep cut in his shield-arm, and with more gestures and angry shouts he was somehow able to turn the wild flight of his men to a ordered retreat, although many Dunlendings could not escape the strawheads' fast assault.

The Dunlendings were more familiar with these parts of the land than the Riders, who seemed to have stopped behind them, although none dared to turn and look. Some of the group seemed to have been seperated to them, Borleg and a few man of his house were missing, but since Storwolos had seen them fleeing and already out of the range of the enemy, they would not be far.

After some minutes of running, they came to a mould between some ragged hills, where they had camped often already. There, Storwolos adressed the men again for the first time since the command to retreat, thriving in the absence of his leader: 'Comrades, we have seen the malice of our enemy once again! They turned one of our men into a traitor. They raid deep into our land already again, this time into the land we had to withdraw to after they had first epelled us from the green eastern plains. Let us march northwards, to gather our kindred, and urge Borleg to lead us in a campaign, I say. The White Hand of Isengard has offered us Rohan, and we will rally to it. But it is our fist that has to crush them, and take back what is ours!'

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthalion</A> at: 9/15/01 4:23:32 pm

Thenamir

10-02-2001, 05:25 PM

When Thenamir came to, he wished he hadn’t.

His head could not decide whether to spin off his spine before or after it exploded from the pounding pain. His left arm was being probed by red-hot irons. He could not lift his head from the ground. Garbled voices seemed to be shouting his name from a distance. His throat seemed coated with sand, his eyelids sealed with a mild glue. When he did manage to get them open, it was only to see inky blackness, with odd shapes moving in an orange haze.

Someone lifted him roughly, sat him up on the ground, setting off another wave of spinning nausea. A bottle of water was placed at his lips which he seized in fumbling hands and gulped greedily. In a few moments the spinning slowed and finally stopped, the shapes became people and trees, and the glow became a hastily-kindled fire. Thenamir with a measure of relief recognized Ulfwine supporting him. Three of the new Rohirrim arrivals tending to Gurthden, Baranthôl and Taradan, but he could not see the person behind him tending to his arm and head. Ulfwine gave him the water-skin again and said, “We must move from here as quickly as possible – Borleg may return at any moment with more men. Can you stand?” Thenamir nodded weakly, and his two aides lifted him gently but firmly to stand, just a bit wobbly at first.

It was then with a start that he recognized the one who had been tending him – the youth from the battle! Thenamir held the young man’s eye for a moment, then placed a hand to the shoulder of the lad with a bit of effort. “Would that I had had your skill and bravery when I was your age. You and your companions have saved the lives of myself, my friends, and our beloved horses. I owe you a debt that will be hard to repay. What is your name?”

“Kalohern, sir,” said the lad, who looked as if he were about to stammer some humble reply, but was interrupted by one of the attending newcomers. He was dressed richly, strangely unsullied by the battle, urging a hasty departure.

The wounded horses who had now returned to their masters were tended as well, and could be pressed to bear their masters for a short time until the near danger had passed. Gurthden and Baranthôl were more severely wounded, but would live until they could be properly tended by the healers. Taradan was conscious, but still a bit dazed from the head injury when Thenamir saw him. “They tell me you quitted yourself well, Thenamir,” said Taradan in a near-whisper from the litter attached to his own horse. “I had doubted you before…can you forgive me?”

“Only if you live to be forgiven, and that means you must save your strength for healing and not words,” said Thenamir with a rueful smile. “We will see these men again before many days are passed, I fear, and will need your sword and your command to best them once more.” The well-dressed newcomer again nervously urged them to hasten. Kalohern and another rider helped Thenamir onto Windwight, who winced perceptibly from his arrow wound. It grieved Thenamir to have to so burden his wounded mount, but the loyal horse willing bore the man through the pain as the group now turned and headed away from the battle site…

[ October 04, 2001: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Theodred21

10-02-2001, 07:59 PM

Taradan could not believe he was alive. Before he had lost conciousness, he remembered the forceful blow to his head, and the sharp pain doubled. He looked to where his once gleaming helm now lay with a great dent in the side. If the club hadn't only glanced him, and the blow had been weakened by his helmet, he knew he would not be here. But was this better than being dead? His wound burned as if on fire, and dried blood covered his face and hair. he kept lapsing into periods of blindness, only seeing through a veiled mist. The pain was horrible, he could not keep his eyes open for long periods, and the throbbing went on incessantly.
He looked over at Thenamir again, and saw that he had received a bad wound too. He had been wrong about, he really was quite valiant. He felt better after telling him so though.
He heard noises around him and saw that the Rohirrim that had arrived were busy getting ready for a hasty departure. Taradan knew that they must get as far away from the Dunlendings as possible, but he was reluctant to do so. He was very tired, and he wanted to lay down and sleep. "They probably won't attack again,"he said to himself sleepily. "I am so, tired, I must rest. Yes...that's what I'll do...just lie down and rest...yes...rest...."

[ October 02, 2001: Message edited by: Theodred21 ]

Dwarin Thunderhammer

10-04-2001, 11:42 AM

The light from the torch fell softly on the path in front of the cart. Dwarin Thunderhammer was the traveling along the old south to Rohan. He had recently been to the shire and now had to deliver a set of custom armor and a little pipe weed to a friend in rohan. He scratched his beard and took a drink from his water skin. Then something caught his eye it looked like the glint of steel in the pale moonlight. He rubbed the drowsiness fro his eyes to get a clearer view. It looked like a band of the soldiers crossing the road in front of him. Dwarin put out his torch and picked up the speed of his horse. As he got closer to the group he saw that one of the soldiers was slumped in his saddle and it looked like another was about to fall off. As he approached his wheel hit a rock in the road and one of the precious parrels of pipe weed in the back of the cart tipped over with an audible thump. The solders looked over and spotted Dwarin's not so steathly horse cart. Several of them drew their swords and took a stance of battle. "I mean you no harm" Dwarin shouted into the night. Dwarin then spotted the emblem of Rohan on one one of the sheilds. "I see you are soldiers of Rohan, I hold your people in the highest regard. I percieve some of your friends are wounded and even your horses too. May I be of any assistance.?" Dwarin fingered his axe Orc Cleaver as he awaited his answer nervously.

[ October 04, 2001: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

shieldmaiden

10-11-2001, 02:19 PM

Baranthol looked suspiciously at the Dwarf. He drew his sword out with his left hand because the right was badly injured. He could feel the blood leaking and staining the cloth his wound was wrapped in.
He has rarely seen any Dwarves in his life and he wasn't sure whether they could trust this one. Did the dwarf say something about "assistance". Well, he sure needed some. The riders should decide fast.

Thenamir

10-15-2001, 09:16 AM

“Stay, Baranthôl,” said Thenamir quietly but sharply. “You are badly wounded, and there is no need to draw weapons against a lone traveller because he happens to share our road – but keep a watchful eye.” He turned – still painfully – to Ulfwine. “Do you know of any dwarf-kind in your ex-master’s service?”

“Absolutely not,” replied Ulfwine. “Borleg would side with the Great Goblin himself before he’d work with dwarves.”

“Good,” replied Thenamir. “Dernwine, let us go discover his business, and whether he can help us. Do not draw weapons, but be watchful.” Dernwine nodded, and motioned for Gurthrin to join them. Gurthrin hesitated only a moment before spurring his mount lightly towards the dwarven cart and its lone occupant.

Dwarin was a bit taken aback when three of the party approached and surrounded him, but none had given any sign of agression and all, except Gurthrin, seemed to be relatively at ease. Thenamir drew still nearer into the full light of Dwarin’s lantern to show he had no ill intent. “Friend dwarf,” began Thenamir, “I am Thenamir of Rohan, and we are indeed as you see men of the Mark, with whom you claim friendship. We were waylaid a short time ago by a renegade band of Dunlendings who we believe have some purpose against our land and our king. We have are travelling back to our land with several wounded among us, including our captain. We could use any skill you might have in tending wounds or the healing arts. Lacking that, if your errand is not pressing perhaps there is room in your cart for some of our wounded to ride more comfortably. Your help would be most gratefully appreciated.”

Dwarin Thunderhammer

10-15-2001, 12:33 PM

Upon hearing the plight of Thenamirs party, the tensions Dwarin felt were immediately relieved.

"Bring your wounded, I have plenty of room on my cart for them. Take the burdens off your hurt horses too there's of room enough for their packs also."

Dwarin then started rummaging through various bags and compartments in the back of the cart. He emerged with a gold traced chest. "I have no special healing powers, nor am I in the posession of any healing potions or plants." He said as he handed the box to thenamir. "What little I do have I for the relief of pain is at your service." Thenamir opened the box, inside there were some frsh clean bandages, various other items for the relief of wounds, a leather sack, and a cloth bag . "When the leaves in the leather pouch are wrapped in a bandage on a wound they will give some temporary relief to the pain. They can also be used to put somone to sleep. The herbs in the cloth bag can be used to clear up the mind and awaken somone, much like a cold bucket of water. The rest is pretty straightforward. I also have plenty of water, salted meats, bread and cheese, I was planning for a long trip. Go ahead and use as much as you neede."

"Oh before I forget, do know of a man called Taradan? I was supposed to give a new suit of armor to him." Dwarin then started preparing space in his cart for the men he knew would be riding with him. "One last thing. Care for a pipe?"

Imbadian

10-15-2001, 12:36 PM

"Healing, you say," said an elf who stepped into sight "I doubt this dwarf can help you there. However I can, for I am Elwood son of Arathral of Lothlorien and I am skilled in the arts of healing."
Turning quickly around Thenimar said "Lothlorien you say, I know little of elves and even less of the Golden Wood. Some say the Golden Lady is a witch, who is not to be trusted."
"Fool, talk no evil of the Lady Galadriel for there is no evil in Lotlorien. If you do not wish my aid then begone and trouble me no more. However if you do wish my aid then sit and allow me to tend your wounds," As Elwood spoke this he semmed to grow tall and terrible and the men shrink back in fear save one, Taradan.
"Forgive my friend," Taradan spoke "He is angry and foolish. I will accept your aid even if no others will."
Thenamir spoke again "Forgive me, Master Elf, for I am angry and foolish, as Taradan said, I too will accept your healing."
"I accept your apologies, come sit down and forget your troubles for a while."
With this the Men of Rohan dismounted and came and sat down in a circle around the elf.

shieldmaiden

10-20-2001, 01:13 PM

As Baranthol sat down a strange pain striked him. He realised that he had another wound, a nasty cut on his belly . He was sure about one thing, he wouldn't tell anyone about this one. "Could you give me some bandages? For my arm, you see," he asked the Dwarf. "And thank you for your offer, Elwood, but I would like to tend my wounds myself. Though, I could use some medical plants if you have them."

Imbadian

10-22-2001, 08:34 AM

"Certainly, i shall give you what you need," Elwood replied. Elwood handed Baranthol a number of herbs.

The men of Rohan sat down and rested for many hours as Elwood told them tales.

Suddenly in the hours of the night a chill came over the men of Rohan and a rider cloaked in white rode into the circle of firelight.

Elwood sprang to his feet "Steel your hearts men of Rohan for there is an enemy here far beyond your power," Elwood said "Begone old man you are not welcome here."

The White Rider simply stopped and said, "Let an old man pass, for the night is cold. Surely you do not fear a traveler who is elderly and alone?"

"Is that so," Elwood said as he drew himself up to his full height. "I am no fool for I am Elwood son of Arathral of Lothlorien, prince of Doriath and to my eyes you are more than you seem." At this point all the men cowered save one Baranthol. Elwood put forth his power and the men of Rohan found him wonderful to behold, yet powerful still.

The White Rider said nothing but laughed and shook his head. To the Rohirrim it seemed that the elf was overly suspicious and should have been more kindly to the old father. He spurred his horse and rode into the dark.

"Arise Men of Rohan for the darkness has gone and light has returned," said Elwood in soft tones.

[ October 27, 2001: Message edited by: Gilthalion ]

shieldmaiden

10-22-2001, 09:29 AM

Baranthol was lying on the ground, he felt a little dizzy. The cut on his stomack he took care of a few hours ago was hurting again. "Damn it! It took me so much to sneak out into the bushes without being seen to tend it and now I'll have to do it all over again," he thought. Then he remembered what had happened. " What in the name of Arda was it?!" he asked.

Tar Palantir

10-22-2001, 10:21 AM

"Who was that?" asked Thenamir.

"Do you not know?" Elwood replied. "Now, where is Baranthol he is strong of heart to stand against such an enemy and he will have taken a grevious wound and will require healing."

[ October 27, 2001: Message edited by: Gilthalion ]

shieldmaiden

10-22-2001, 02:18 PM

"No,no,no! I said I tend my own wounds and leave me alone. I don't want anyone to help me. If I wanted help I would have asked for it. I just want to be left alone."

Baranthol somehow managed to stand up and walked out of the camp taking some stuff from his bag. He ran for a few minutes (If that could be called running considering his state) until he reached a small stream. He made sure that no one was following him. He sat by the stream and took off his chain mail. There was a hole on the place where he was stabbed in the fight with the Dunlendings.

"I'll need someone to fix this. But I need to fix myself first." He rolled up his shirt so he could chage the bandages. The cut wasn't deep, about 4 inches long but it was on a very inconvenient place. The old man (whoever he was) scarred him stiff, though the others thought the elf was too cautious in dealing with the stranger.

"Haleth, you stupid girl what have you got yourself into?" he thought, actually SHE thought because Baranthol was a woman. Of course, no one knew about that, she kept her secret very well for three years - that's how long she has been with the riders. She joined the army instead of her twin brother, Baranthol who fled to Gondor because he had some gambling debts. He lost their horses, their farm and finally he was supposed to give Haleth to the man who he owed the money. In the end Haleth took the matter in her own hands and so Baranthol went to Gondor and she joined the army instead of him. She was well trained in battle skills for her father (may-he-rest-in-peace)taught her when she was young, she was a good pupil unlike her brother.

She washed the wound, took the plants that Elwood had given her and pressed them on it. She could already feel relief. She took the bandages and wrapped them around her waist.
"That should hold for a while," she thought.
She checked her right arm, it was getting better, the plants worked.

Haleth put on her chain mail and hurried back to the camp. She looked again if someone came after her but there was no one.
"I was lucky this time."

[ October 27, 2001: Message edited by: Gilthalion ]

Thenamir

10-30-2001, 02:10 PM

Thenamir took advantage of Dwarin’s herbs to shake off the fatigue which had been assailing him since the ambush. The old rider had shaken him as well, and he hoped that the herbs would also help to calm him a bit. The presence of Elwood the elf certainly helped, and he could not explain in himself why he had reacted so poorly to his presence at first. He took another deep breath from the pinch of herbs wrapped in a bit of old kerchief and tried to take stock of the situation.

He looked over at Taradan who was awake and seemed to be clear of mind -- technically he was in command, but he was still injured. Elwood was tending to him now, but whether he would be fit to continue following the Dunlendings was still an open question. The other wounded seemed to be much improved, and perhaps could continue on after a bit of rest. The addition of the new riders was a plus, but they would not be enough to stand against the numbers of now-warned Dunlenders Ulfwine expected to meet on the way to wherever-it-was that the enemies were heading. A decision had to be made, and soon. Thenamir rose, much relieved from his earlier pain, and approached Elwood. “Master Elwood, how is Taradan?”

Elwood at first did not seem to hear the question. He was kneeling on the ground beside Taradan, eyes closed, one hand upon the right side of Taradan’s head at the spot where he had sustained the crushing blow. Taradan closed his eyes again and seemed to sleep. After a few seconds Elwood exhaled audibly and stood up, looking down at his patient for a last moment before turning to Thenamir. “He should not have been allowed to sleep after that blow – he was near death when I began to tend him. His wound will heal in time, but he will be weaker on one side until he has had some time to rest.”

“Do you think he will be able to continue with us if we follow our attackers?” Thenamir asked with a note of concern.

Elwood’s brow furrowed slightly. “He will be able to ride, or perhaps walk, within a day, but the exertion of fighting will certainly kill him. If he is to recover fully, he should be in a healing ward for at least a week. But he has the face of a warrior upon him – I perceive that he will not willingly give up the chase.”

Thenamir was not really surprised, but the question of what to do was still unsolved. He recounted to Elwood the full story of the last few hours, from the suspicious meeting with Grima Wormtongue to their meeting here. Elwood listened attentively, nodding and asking an occasional probing question. When Thenamir was done, he asked, “is there any way you could join us, at least for a time? Your counsel, your wisdom and your woodcraft are sorely needed among us.”

“The paths of the elves seldom join with men in these days, willingly or no,” replied Elwood, “and even more seldom are we free with our counsel. But we have had word in the Golden Wood about the activities of Saruman, and the Lady has sent out scouts, of whom I am one, to seek out what may be discovered of his servants and plans. I do not care for the presence of the dwarf, but it appears that your purposes and mine will run together for a time.”

Thenamir smiled and breathed a deep sigh of relief. He extended his hand to the elf, who received it with a warm and firm grasp. “I thank you.” Thenamir's mind was now made up -- the chase would resume as soon as all could ride.

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

Thenamir of Rohan,
Chairman of the Rohan Non-sequitur Society
"We may not make sense, but we do like pizza"

[ October 30, 2001: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Dwarin Thunderhammer

10-30-2001, 04:43 PM

Dwarin was a dwarf that didn't like being upstaged, especially by an ELF! Especially an elf under orders from the witch Queen of the golden wood. Dwarin was very uneasy near and suspicious of the Elfwood. He almost attacked him when he threatened the men of rohan. "I don't like Elfs" Dwarin mumbled under his breath as he cleared a space in his cart.

Then the white rider came. Even though the men of rohan didn't seem to be bothered, and as much as he didn't like it, Dwarin agreed with Elfwood. There was something suspicious about the old man, even though he couldn't tell what it was.

A little while later Dwarin saw Thenamir talking with the Elf and decided to listen in. Even though he had been for the most part ignored until this point. He took along his Axe, which was to Dwarin just as neccesary in everyday life as the britches he was wearing.

He heard Thenamir and elfwood talk about the course of action to take. But when he heard Elfwood say "....I do not care for the presence of the dwarf...." Dwarin finally could hold back any longer.

"You! I was here first." Dwarin said as he stepped directly in front of the elf. "I offered assistance, I offered comfort and ease for the wounded men and their horses, you threatened!" Dwarin punctuated the end of every sentence with a light jab of the end of the Axe in the stomach of the elf who was easily two feet taller. "I don't like being upstaged my elves. I have done nothing wrong!"

Dwarin then turened to Thenamir to with a huff. "Good sir, I have blankets, bedrolls and food for your men. Which is more than I can say for that Elf. Also, I have prepared A space in my cart for the wounded men, if you choose to travel they can ride in ease with me. That is if you havn't decided to abandon my help."

Tar Palantir

10-31-2001, 11:33 AM

"Fooloish dwarf! Could you have protected these men against the evil that passed by, do you have the skill in healing to tend Taradan. I doubt it very much." Elwood said. "I knew many of your ancestors, they were a fine and upstanding people but I see that the years have taken their toll on the mannar of Dwarfs." Elwood replied anger in his voice and the dwarf seemed to be poor and weak compared to the grandur of Elwood.

Thenamir

10-31-2001, 12:12 PM

Thenamir watched in surprise, amusement, and mild alarm as the diminutive dwarf tongue-lashed the tall elf. He wondered whether it was great courage or foolhardy rashness that made him challenge the one who, only hours before, had unveiled such power in defending them against the old rider.

He stifled a smile as the dwarf rounded on him and spoke as if the group had been ignoring him. In fact, several of the riders had taken advantage of the graciously offered food and supplies, and the blankets and bedrolls were already gratefully in use by some, and each had expressed their thanks.

Thenamir's alarm ratcheted up a notch as the elf responded in seeming anger. Thenamir interposed himself to defuse the situation before the dwarf could formulate a stinging retort. He took a kind but firm tone.

“Good master dwarf,” he said, “we are indeed most grateful for your assistance, which will be difficult for us to repay, and by your continued kindness, we would ask that you stay with us overnight that we might rest. But tomorrow morning we are going to take a different course, out of your intended path, away from our homes and into unknown dangers. It is a path I would hesitate to ask anyone but my own men to take…”

“But you asked this…this…this ELF!!” Dwarin stammered.

“Master Dwarin,” Thenamir replied, “his purpose and ours are one. I would not trouble or delay you any more than necessary, nor put one to whom I am already indebted in danger…”

“Hang the danger! I am no less brave nor strong than this elf, I do not run from danger like a wood squirrel, and…” Here Dwarin motioned for Thenamir to lean over so that he could whisper, “…and you are a lot less trouble than my family back home!” Thenamir smiled. It looked like one more had been added to their small force, and they needed all the help they could get.

Now he turned to Elwood. "Master Elwood, we are a small band, and the forces which will come against us may be large. Our enemies are common to all of us." Thenamir spoke now to both, "Can we set aside our differences and move forward?"

=================
Thenamir of Rohan
Dwarf-Elf Relations Manager

Dwarin Thunderhammer

10-31-2001, 12:56 PM

"Sir Thenamir Your nation has protected me from maurauding orcs in the past, I will gladly repay my debt, but I cannot travel with one who has put down my people in such a manner. I will gladly put my differences aside and go along with you. IF AND ONLY if this ELF will take back his words about my people." Dwarin stated as he pointed a stubby calloused finger at the tall being standing behind him. "Never let it be said that a Dwarf fled from danger where an Elf will go." The dwarf said as he turned and looked the Elf square in the eye.

shieldmaiden

10-31-2001, 02:35 PM

Baranthôl and Gurthden sat wrapped in blankets and listened to the fight quite amused.
"I didn't like those two at first but they turned to be very entertaining in the end, especially the Dwarf." Baranthôl whispered to Gurthden.
"Indeed they are but don't let them hear that or you'll be in a big trouble. They might seem funny now but I wouldn't like to be on the enemy's side when they get really angry.
"Ah, men, they are so silly when their pride overcomes them," thought Haleth but Baranthôl didn't say that out loud."I just wish they could decide more quickly, I want to get some sleep before we set off.
"Me, too," said Gurthden."I feel like I haven't slept for ages."
"That Dunlanding Ulfwine seems a little strange, though. He hasn't spoke more than few words since the battle.I wonder what he's thinking about," said Baranthôl.
Gurthden was already asleep.

[ October 31, 2001: Message edited by: shieldmaiden ]

Thenamir

11-02-2001, 01:04 PM

<Sorry Imbadian, we wanted to wait for you...I'll be glad to edit or delete this if you like>

Elwood looked down on the iron-helmed head of Dwarin with a half-smile. "If the words of dwarves are not pleasing to the ear, it is more than made up for by their courage, rash though it may sometimes be. I do not seek your enmity, Dwarin Thunderhammer. If you will consent to travel with us, I will be content to watch and hope to see my words proved wrong."

Dwarin puzzled on this statement for a moment, trying to see whether it worked out to an apology. After a couple of moments wearing a knitted brow, his expression grew a little, a very little less fierce. "I'll show you the valor and the courtesy of the dwarves," he growled finally, "just keep a civil tongue in your head."

Thenamir breathed an even deeper sigh of relief. "Now my good people," he started, "it is high time we all got some rest." Elwood, not needing sleep, volunteered to take the first watch, to which even the dwarf did not disagree. Dawn was only a few hours away, and Thenamir wanted to make the most of it. He made sure the horses were well picketed, and then fell asleep atop one of Dwarin's makeshift bedrolls.

Gilthalion

11-03-2001, 07:51 PM

So it was that men of Gondor, riders of Rohan (one little more than a boy and another a maiden in disguise), a Dwarf, and an Elf found themselves following a mixed band of Dunlenders and strange orcish men who sought some relic from the ruins of an Elvish city for the wizard in Orthanc.

Ulfwine was of great help. He knew some of the folk of the northern-most village of the Dunlenders. Storwolos had been sent this way by Borleg, with the orcish folk and several of his best men. When they had left, following a little used track that in ancient times had been a road, Ulfwine knew that it was safe to enter the village, buy provisions, and get whatever news there had been of Storwolos and his men.

"I just hope there's a pub or tavern," said Thenamir.

"What are those?" asked Ulfwine.

"Uh, drinking houses. Places where travelers can go to get food and drink and a place to stable horses and a room for the night," replied Thenamir.

"Perhaps you have such places where you are from. We have little in Dunland. You can buy whatever you need, but we will camp outside of the village. Food is good here, and thiere is beer and wine and we make a drink from fermented goat's milk that you will never forget," said Ulfwine.

"Ugh," said both Baranthol and Kalohern at once. They looked at each other and laughed.

"Does this village have ANYTHING?" asked Taradan.

"Oh, you can buy most anything you need, Ulfwine smirked. "There are the women. There is one lady in particular whom you must meet. She is a gorgeous radiant creature who could tame the birds from the trees."

"The plainest elf maiden could do as much," said Elwood.

"Ah, but her personality! her warmth! She is no cold creature of the forest!" said Ulfwine. "She is the pride of the village, and I can't wait for you to meet her."

"She's ugly, right?" asked Kalohern.

"We have a saying in my land, when one is very ugly, we say that she has been hit with an ugly stick," Ulfwine grinned. "This woman was blindfolded as a girl and sent running through an ugly forest!"

"Great..." muttered Taradan and Thenamir together.

The band rode into what could only be called a village out of charity. It was really collection of primitive log and sod houses and livestock pens where two roads met. Here was such trade as the people knew, where the surplus of farmers in the valley was sold to buyers from Orthanc and the more populous regions of Dunland to the south.

"We are in luck," said Ulfwine. "There is the woman I spoke of. She knows everything that goes on around here. Let's go."

The band rode into the central area as various villagers looked out from their stalls and barns. At a well, drawing water, was the homeliest woman that any of the party could ever remember having seen...

onewhitetree

11-04-2001, 04:38 PM

As Aspida drew her daily supply of water from the well, she heard the approach of horses and men, some speaking with strange accents. "Well, well, something new for once," she muttered as she slyly watched them out from under her frazzled head of graying hair. A young boy, barely out of childhood, approached her with a poorly-hidden smirk. She knew at once who he was, an undisciplined brat who had disappeared from the area some time ago, disillusioned into seeking some nonexistent "fortune," no doubt. Who knew what sort of company he had foolishy gotten into?
"Wise Madam," he began. "These men are-"
"Shush, fool!" she croaked, her voice broken with the strains of age and bitterness. "Do you think I'm so blind as I can't see what's going on in my own town? I can see these men are injured, some dying, whether they know it or not. While I'm probably saving the lives of some lousy scum who are just planning on pillaging the town as soon as they get what they want out of me, it's my job, so don't you assume that I would shirk my duties! And don't think I don't know you, either! Why, your mother almost died giving birth to you, and this is the thanks she gets? A curse upon men and their callousness!"
Ulfwine, somewhat abashed at this outburst and that all the men were snickering in the background at his being scolded so by such a specimen, retreated back into the group with as much dignity as he could muster. Elwood, seeing that this hag was deluding herself into thinking she was going to Heal these men, decided to step forward and take the matter into his own hands. He approached, and she amusedly motioned for him to speak, saying, "Go ahead and get it off your haughty mind, Elf, so I can do my job and you can keep quiet about it."
Deciding this was no one to waste kindness on, Elwood announced, for about the fifth time since the men had met him, "Woman, I am Elwood son of Arathrol of Lothlorien and I, too, am skilled in the arts of Healing. We do not seek your knowledge, only a warm bed for these men for the night! Whatever cures they need, I am more than able to supply, for my father was renowned among Elves-"
"Alright, that's enough, Elthol son of Lothlorien!! I will not have my hard-earned skills be disdained by anyone, especially an Elf! Your people are more foolish than the men that inhabit my village, and you are the worst example I've laid eyes on in my long life! You may think you know what you're about, but if you are so great, why do your companions lie dying? Can you answer me that? I thought not. You waste your time rambling on about your irrelevant heritage when you could be helping, but I suppose such simple matters are below your notice. I know your type! If you want those men to live, which I would not blame you if you did not, you will leave your lofty thoughts about yourself outside my village and you will follow me! I'm not doing this because I like you, or even because I want to heal those men, but because I have to. I am no more happy about it than you are, but seeing as it is my house, you will listen to me and do as I say, Master Elf. And wipe that mud off those dainty little shoes before you even think about setting foot inside any dwelling of mine!"
Elwood angrily wheeled around and marched to the back of the group, showing as much anger as Elves let themselves show, at such a dismissal by the mortal. He knew that the men needed a place to stay, and so was unwilling to burn a bridge to the only suitable place in the village. Aspida suspiciously glared at each of the men in turn, passing judgement with a few sarcastic words to each. She claimed she needed a helper to gather from her herb garden and someone to assist her in the kitchen, and chose Dwarin for the former.
"I don't approve of Dwarves and Elves associating with men, but while you're in my house, you will make yourself useful!"
The Dwarf, still chuckling on the inside over the way she had handled the Elf, graciously accepted the task, which seemed to annoy the woman even more.
"Don't patronise me, that won't get you anywhere!" she snapped.
Aspida stopped for a moment when she reached Baranthol, giving her a piercing gaze that made the soldier flinch from the hideous ugliness. Aspida grunted knowingly a few times as she looked up and down the object of her attention. Baranthol fidgeted nervously under the keen watch of the woman, afraid she was not being fooled by the disguise.
"I see. You will aid me in preparing for these injured worse than you. I trust you are not so selfish as to demand care before the others?"
Baranthol shook her her head astoundedly, and breathed a sigh of relief when the woman turned away with a grunt of acknowledgement. Aspida hobbled back toward her cottage, having forced her water vessels on one of the more able men. She cursed the thought of having to aid the strangers, but it was part of the vow to become a Wise Woman she had taken when she was young, and she would not be a Healer, had she not taken the vow. There was nothing else to life, so why not send them on their way? The people they would hurt during the lives she was lengthening probably deserved it, anyway. But that Baranthol, there was a story behind that one, and Aspida was determined to get to the bottom of it. Perhaps those idiot men were foolish enough not to see, but she knew that was a woman hiding under the rough, armored exterior of a soldier.

[ November 05, 2001: Message edited by: onewhitetree ]

shieldmaiden

11-05-2001, 11:00 AM

smilies/eek.gif Haleth felt a relief when the hag turned her squnting eyes away from her. She was not sure why she felt so nervous while the old woman was looking at her. "She can't possibly know what I am," she thought,"or can she?"
She pulled her hood over her forehead to shade her face and followed Aspida to the cottage.

Sharkû

11-06-2001, 05:52 PM

Slowly the nervousness which had held Storwolos in its tight grip during the debriefing he had to go through waned, and the satisfied words of the leaders he had to visit made him openly show his pride. Still, although he would not admit it - now that he had been promoted to lead a small unit of two dozen Dúnlendings –, retelling the events of the past few hours to one of his men, was quite a relief to him. Now he finally understood why all who ever met Saruman himself spoke of him only in awe and fear.

Storwolos and Swartewit now walked side by side as they left the courts of Isengard, and made their way southwards along the Isen.
“Still, I don’t get why Sharkey wanted to see you in person,” Swartewit said, again expressing his amazement, “what in Middle-Earth was so special about the scouting you did?”
“The White Hand only wanted to see me after I had told my debriefing over and over to the army leader, and then to his new favorite, it seems, that spy from Rohan, Gríma… it seems the description of a black- and a brown-haired rider surprised them more than my anger at our traitor. All Rohirrim seem the same to me, I don’t distinguish one enemy from another, but the bosses appeared interested.”

“What’s more, even the Wizard himself could barely hide his surprise when he heard Borleg wasn’t back yet. Maybe that’s why I got entrusted with the new mission, and not old Borleg. Not my problem, old man!” Storwolos laughed, he was well aware this was one big step forward in the grace of his leaders.
“So how was Sharkey?”, asked Swartewit, interrupting Storwolos’s rant. “- How often do I need to tell you not to call Him that!” Settling from his short outburst of anger at what he found a derision of his Master, Storwolos continued, “Even if he wasn’t the greatest mind ever to walk among us, even if he wasn’t more skilled in the hidden crafts as noone in our legends of old, he’d still have no problems becoming the King of all! His appearance is breath-taking, his voice and speech is utter truth and beauty. Only fools could be so blind not to look in his face or hear him speak, and not to kneel down at once and swear fealty forever to him.”

“Whatever you say ‘boss’…” Swartewit could again not hide his mistrust in the leaders’ decision to promote Storwolos, even though that earned him another grim glance. “But just what exactly did he tell you to look for in the north?”
“That, I can of course explain to you, Swartewit...”

Dwarin Thunderhammer

11-08-2001, 01:09 PM

As the dwarf was unloading the things neccesary for night, he was asked to help get some herbs and such. He bowed low took off his hood and: "Dwarin, son of Doren at your service! I will gladlly assist m'lady" When Aspida sharply retorted, Dwarin was expecting it (seeing how she had treated the other men in the party with such disdain). So Dwarin retrieved a few small bags from the pantry (if it could be called that) cart and went outside. Dwarin rounded the corner of the house and found a gerden full of vegtables and herbs. He was framiliar with some and was not with others. Nonetheless hea dressed himself to his work, softly humming and singing to himself as he gathered the herbs. The dwarf got quite a few stares from people passing by, but he ignored them. When he was done he carried all the herbs inside (making very sure to take his muddy boots off before he went back in the cottage. Aspida Snapped again "What took you so long?" Dwarin ignored the comment and handed over the herbs to aspida saying: "What do you want me to do next? I am not an expert at cooking but I am no novice. and I would gladly assist you in the kitchen."

Thenamir

11-08-2001, 04:59 PM

Thenamir bustled about as best he could, unpacking, sorting, setting up makeshift tents, making sure the wounded were comfortable, and being as useful as possible -- he had not yet been singled out by Aspida's acerbic tongue, and hoped to avoid it as much as possible. But Thenamir thought there was something in this old woman, something undeneath the derision and hard words, something that had not yet been smothered by age and ill-treatment -- perhaps something as simple as the desire to be respected.

After things had quieted down a bit, Thenamir went to speak to Taradan. While he wanted to make sure that Taradan was alright, he also wanted to discuss plans. He carefully (and bootlessly) entered the house where Aspida, ever grumbling and complaining, was tending her patients. "Wise Woman," he began, but as usual was cut off immediately.

"Get out of my way! I've no time for..." This time Thenamir did the cutting off, catching and holding her eye and speaking in a soft and respectful tone that caught her off guard. "I know better than to meddle in your work, good woman, I merely wish to know if Taradan is able to have a visitor."

"Why, yes, for a short time," Aspida stammered before regaining her normal tone, "just don't weigh him down with a lot of tomfool talk, he needs some rest." Thenamir bowed a thank-you to the busy woman and stepped up to Taradan's cot.

[ November 09, 2001: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

onewhitetree

11-10-2001, 01:40 PM

As the evening waned, Aspida tended to all the injured men with a sharp tongue and a steady hand. When they had received all the care necessary for quick recovery, Aspida barked at Baranthol to join her in the kitchen to start preparing food. Baranthol nervously followed the woman into the other room and proceeded to shuffle about vegetables and spices, attempting to look busy.
"Be careful with those mushrooms, girl, they aren't made a stone!" Aspida snapped.
"Pardon, ma'am?" Baranthol choked, astonished and somewhat disbelieving that her facade was so easily seen through by the woman. She had spent years perfecting the disguise, now surely everything could not be torn down so quickly! She felt like a trapped animal and desperately sought her mind for a means of escape. "I am not...you must be mistaken...this can't be happening!"
"Girl, if you wish to pull the wool over old Aspida's eyes, you'll have to do better than that. And I don't rightly appreciate that you seem to think I'm out to give you away to all those idiot menfolk taking over my house. I've been around for many a year, and never would I have thought to see a woman trying to be a man. You are not leaving my kitchen until you tell me what you're up to, for it can't be any good from the looks a things. You could start out by giving up your rightful name. I don't hold with folks not telling true in my household."
The girl saw that there was no way out, for if she tried to escape, all the men would find out her secret and she would be cast out of the group. She did not know if the woman was to be trusted, but she had been pretending for so long that it seemed a relief to have a chance to talk about her real self.
"Well, ma'am, my name is Haleth. I once had a brother...."
As Haleth continued pouring out her story, Aspida noticed a slight movement in the doorway. It was the Dwarf, undoubtedly coming to pester her about offering his unnecessary assistance since she had ignored his previous suggestion. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he peeked inside the door. His mouth dropped open and his eyes became saucers as his eyes darted from Haleth, to Aspida, and then back to Haleth, who was beseeching the hard old woman to keep her secret. Aspida quipped that she was certainly no one to distrust and was not about to gab to those fool menfolk out in the living area, giving a piercing stare to the Dwarf.
Dwarin, disbelieving and knowing himself unwelcome in the discussion, quietly shut the door and rejoined the men in the other room.
Many minutes later, as Haleth started to slow down her torrent of words, Aspida was nearly done with the meal. Haleth peered at her progress and commented that she didn't remember if she had scrubbed those potatoes or not.
"Are you sure this is sanitary, Ma'am?"
She immediately realized her mistake as Aspida turned her hard grey eyes on Haleth's face and slowly recited, "I am a Wise Woman and a Healer. Do you think I would risk the health of my patients with unclean food? I always wash after cooking, and you would do well to learn my habits."

[ November 10, 2001: Message edited by: onewhitetree ]

Sharkû

11-10-2001, 03:58 PM

Storwolos took a breath and began to brief those of his men whom he had not already introduced to their scouting mission. Six men gathered in a small group around him, and walked with him for a short while.
“All of this, the bosses told me bit by bit, and it seems the more important facts only the more important people knew. Whatever, we are to scout the ruins of an old city in the north. Some of you may have heard of it, it once was a big city of the western men, at the Greyflood. It is possible that there are still remnants of goods or equipment left which can be helpful for our great cause.”
Before Storwolos could continue, some interjected, “Don’t you think those ruins are plundered enough already? And how are we to take anything with us with so few men anyway, and no horses?”
“The White Hand knows more about that place than you do,” Storwolos replied, “and he ordered me on this mission. We are not looking for treasure or booty of that kind. The Wise Man himself related to me what he wants us to look for and retrieve if possible. Since the latest events, I believe I best keep this to myself until we’re there. I trust all of you fine men, but we never know when the strawheads may ambush us again in their sneaky way.”

“About those riders whom you fought, Storwolos, do you think they are following us?” – “Into the heart of our and the White Hand’s power? What for? No, they may be sneaky, but they aren’t fools. Besides, they’re far too afraid of us even if those riders had personal reasons or high orders. Just relax. This is going to be a quiet walk there and back, with some searching of rubble in the middle, no more, I promise.”

Dwarin Thunderhammer

11-12-2001, 03:01 PM

Dwarin wasn't surprised that he had been ignored the first time he offered his assistance. So instead of working in the kitchen he went about the business of getting everything in order. He was surprised to find Thenamir outside unpacking the things that would be necessary for the next couple days stay at the house of Aspida.

"Friend, go inside and get some rest. You have come from a fierce battle and a long ride. You need to rest yourself for the days to come." Thenamir protested but Dwarin insisted. So the rider of Rohan finally gave in to the stubbornness of the dwarf and went inside.

It was not long before all of the supplies were unpacked and put away, and the horses were properly cared for. As twilight fell once more Dwarin decided to go and see if the old woman needed any more assistance. Dwarin had made it his personal goal to be as kind and as helpful as possible during the stay at her house. He wanted to see if he could crack her tough exterior. As Dwarin neared the door to the kitchen he heard a familiar voice, yet it was changed somehow. He slowed down and peeked around the corner. The sight he saw was one of utter amazement. He saw a young woman dressed in the garb of a soldier of Rohan talking to Aspida. Beneath the dirt and grim, of travel, part of which was a disguise, Dwarin saw one of the most beautiful creatures he had even seen. She had long beautiful rich flaxen hair, without the disguise her eyes seemed a deep piercing blue. It couldn't have been classified as cute or pretty, it was true beauty, not a cheap beauty, but a perfectly modest beauty that showed through the deception she had raised. As he looked closer, (still only peeking around the corner) He perceived that the young woman was actually Baranthol. As he was completing these thoughts he caught a glare from Aspida that told him that this wasn't his business. Dwarin noiselessly shut the door and stood in bewilderment. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind. is first inclination was to scold the riders for being tricked in such a manner but then he realized he had also been fooled. His Inclination was to report her to the men, but a thought stopped him. If she was taking so desperate measures, she must have had a fairly good reason. So Dwarin quietly leaned next to the wall and began to listen.

When Haleth (for that's what he gathered her name was) finished her story, Dwarin was satisfied, he would not report her to the men. But he did have a new responsibility. By the rules and laws of his family, he was obligated to keep her secret and to protect her whenever she was in danger, even with his life if the need arose. This was the code his father had taken and his father before him had taken. It was a personal family oath that originated many many generations ago.

After composing himself, Dwarin went back into the main room and propped himself up on a bedroll. He lit a pipe and proceeded to mentally review all the recent events.

shieldmaiden

11-13-2001, 05:34 AM

Aspida seemed a little nervous while she talked.
"What's the matter?" asked Haleth, "I think I heard something by the door a few minutes ago."
"Err, nothing, it was probably a rodent, don't mind it."
" A rodent indeed, did anyone hear us?" she asked and her words were filled with anger." Did anyone hear us, I said!?"
" All right, It was that fool of a Dwarf, but don't worry, he won't tell anyone my child, not after that fierce an meaningful gaze I gave him."
"You, you stupid woman, I should have never..." Haleth ran after the Dwarf.
She found him sitting alone in the main room. She grabbed him by his collar and almost lifted him up from his chair. Her blue eyes were gray and fierce and her lips were like a colourless straight line.
"There you are you, you eavesdropper, what did you hear? Tell me or your friends will have to scrub you from the floor with their pocket knives!" she whispered sharply.
"I swear on my ancestors' bones I won't tell anyone about your secret, ma'am"
"You better be telling the truth, cause If you tell anyone, I swear there will be no place you could hide, I'll track you down and make harp strings from your bowels!"
"Yes ma'am." whispered Dwarin.
"And it's sir for you." she said frowning.

[ November 17, 2001: Message edited by: shieldmaiden ]

Tar Palantir

11-13-2001, 02:31 PM

[ November 16, 2001: Message edited by: Tar Palantir ]

shieldmaiden

11-23-2001, 09:54 AM

Haleth went out from the cottage to get some fresh air. She was nervous but her anger was fading slowly. It was dark outside but she noticed Kalohern and Gurthden by the horses. The boy was currying his horse, a black nag called Telefax, and the rider was sitting on the ground playing with his dagger.
"Hey Baranthôl, when is that dinner gonna be done? We are starving here." asked Gurthden.
"You better find something else to eat. I wouldn't recommend you that hag's cooking, it's more dangerous than a dozen of angry Dunlendings." said Haleth laughing.
"I would rather die of food poisoning than of hunger and anyway, I could easily fight a dozen of Dunlendings."
"Whatever you say, Gurthden, but I'm warning you, you will be eating it on your own responsibility." She took a brush and started currying her horse, a dun and calm animal called Zelenko. "By the way, nice beast you have there, Kalohern." she said.
"Telefax is better than he looks." answered the boy. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you who his father is."
"Many things just aren't what they seem to be." said Haleth.

Dwarin Thunderhammer

11-26-2001, 10:34 PM

Dwarin took the verbal beating from the young woman without anger. The female rider obvously no idea how well a Dwarf can keep a secret. He did his best to comfort her but it was to no avail as far as he could tell.

After haleth left the room Dwarin thought it might be a good idea to visit some of the other members of the party. He found Thenamir kneeling at the bed of one of the riders who was hurt the worst. He was very suprised to find a man he had long knew. It was Taradan!

Seeing the suprised look on the Dwarf's face Thenair said: "Sir, is there something wrong? Do you know this man?"

With a hint of excitement Dwarin replied "Indeed I do! This is the man I asked for upon our first meeting, before we were "interreupted". He and I met on a journey a while back, much like the one I am on now. I was crossing the misty mountains and I was ambushed by a group of at least twenty orcs. I would have surely been killed had it not been for him. He was heading home from some errand for your king I assume. He found me almost overwhelmed and rushed into the fray and saved my life. As a gesture of my gratitude I promised that I would deliver him a full suit of armor, personally made by myself, to his home." Dwarin explained.

He then added with a heavy heart: "It seems I have been too late though."

"Please keep me informed on his health, if he wakes up again I would like to talk to him. I am going to turn in now. I will be asleep if you need me."

Dwarin then removed his hood, bowed and retired to his bunk.

[ November 27, 2001: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

Thenamir

11-27-2001, 03:17 PM

Thenamir waited by Taradan's cot until he awoke rather than risk Aspida's wrath by waking him however gently. After an hour, during which Aspida gave Thenamir a respectful distance, Taradan's eyes fluttered and opened. He tried weakly to raise his head from the pillow, but the sharp-eyed Aspida would'nt have it.

"Here, now, none of that," she spat, hurrying over, "you lie down and rest, even if you are awake. That bonk on the side of your head won't do with too much jostling." She turned to Thenamir, who seemed to be the only one in the crowd who could return her look with a steady eye, "whatever you have to say to him, make it short and easy -- he shouldn't be under too much stress tonight."

"I will," returned Thenamir with a respectful nod, "and thank you." Again Aspida found herself at a loss for a reply, but she covered it by hurrying off mumbling something under her breath and shaking her head.

Thenamir moved around and kneeled at the head of the cot. "You've looked better, my friend," he said to Taradan, who looked over with a half-smirk. "You don't look like the picture of health yourself," he replied in a voice tired, but not weak. "How is everyone else?"

"That's a long answer, but I'll make it as brief as possible," said Thenamir, and began to recount all that had happened since the beginning of the battle, the arrival of the ROhirrim reinforcements, the Dunlending retreat, the addition of the dwarf and elf to their company. "Which reminds me," Thenamir concluded, "the dwarf claims to be an acquaintance of yours -- Dwarin Thunderhammer."

A look of recognition came over Taradan's face. "Yes...yes I know him. Had to forcibly remove him from an impromptu Orc celebration on his behalf..he was having such a good time slitting orc throats with his axe that he didn't want to bid them good evening..."

"He brought you a gift, armor I believe if I'm not mistaken."

"Ah. Better late than never," Taradan responded, sounding tired. Aspida gave Thenamir a look that said, "that's enough" and he nodded in return. "You rest now, and we will talk of our plans tomorrow. If you are well enough, we should leave soon." But Taradan was already asleep. Thenamir walked out silently, put on the boots he'd left by the door, and decided it was time to do a little tracking.

onewhitetree

11-27-2001, 04:13 PM

Aspida bustled about the cottage bringing bandages and poultices to those in need with sharp comment to those who were unfortunate enough to get in her way. They all scurried away when they saw her coming. All, that is, except for that Thenamir fellow. A steady eye, and not a bad way about him, either. That man was raised right, like so few were in these sad days. Yes, Thenamir was all right.

Aspida gasped to herself. Was she actually condoning the actions of a man? This was new, no doubt about that. She wasn't sure she liked this turn of events....

As she boiled over the turmoil this band of travellers had brought to her house, Aspida took a moment from nursing the men to prepare some things for Haleth. Having spent so much time in the company of men, the girl was downright rough. Sometimes it seemed as though she cared nothing for her own well-being. She could, however, take better care of herself without giving away her identity. Aspida stuffed a few small things, such as a rather rich hairbrush and some soft garments into a pack that she deftly hid inside Haleth's belongings for her to find.

As Aspida returned to her work, she wondered what was coming over her. First a rogue girl softened her heart and made her feel like the mother she never was, then a strange man, of all things, demanded respect which she was unable to refuse! These conflicting feelings put her in an extremely snappy mood, which she took out on the Elf, as usual. Aspida had always been a little jealous of those who shared her few talents.

Theodred21

12-03-2001, 03:46 PM

Taradan was having a nightmare.

He was walking slowly through a forest. He seemed to be walking through a thick fog. All of a sudden he heard the beat of a horse's gallop behind him, and he began to run. But his legs seemed to be stuck in place, and he remained rooted to the spot.

Now it seemed as if he had turned around, and was facing the direction from where the horse seemed to be coming. But now, the sound of the hoofbeats were everywhere, and getting louder. And suddenly, the mist cleared, and the rider came into clear view. It was his father, only his face was distorted in pain, and he was covered in blood. He called Taradan's name in a low moan, and Taradan wanted to help him, but when he tried to move, he stayed rooted, and when he tried to call to him, no sound came out of his mouth.

Then everything dissolved, and one last image appeared, a giant wooden club swinging for his head....

Taradan woke with a start. His long black hair was wet with sweat, and it coursed over his pale face. He sat up, and immediately the throbbing pain in his head came back.

"Sir, please lay down at this instant, how do you expect to get better if you keep sitting up that quick?"

As he tried to regulate his breathing, Taradan looked to see the silloutte of an women beside him. She lit a lamp, and as his eyes adjusted to the bright light, noticed that she carried some poultices, and was old and ugly. After a moment, the face registered in his mind, and he recalled the healer who had been treating him earlier. He lay back, and she applied the poultice. It stung, but if it reduced the pain, Taradan was willing to bear it.

Thenamir

12-03-2001, 10:19 PM

Thenamir wandered down the mud track that served as the village main street. It was now late in the evening. Some high mackerel clouds scudding across the moon were a portent of rain tne next day, but for now there was plenty of moonlight to do some impromptu tracking. Something not best done alone.

He stopped in at the small tent camp near the hut where Aspida was tending the wounded. He tossed back the flap of the tent he recognized as Baranthol's and looked in. Baranthol was musing nervously over his pack.

"Baranthol! Good to see you up and about. Aspida finally let you out of her sight?" Baranthol stuffed the items back into his pack and turned slightly ashen-faced to Thenamir. "Oh!...yes, she let me go this evening after I had finished helping her with the dinner preparations."

"Excellent. I am going to do some scouting north of here. Find Ulfwine and come with me. It chafes me to have to wait restless while we tend the wounded. The Dunlendings who passed here may have left some token or hint of their purpose. If so, I intend to find it. Meet me at Aspida's hut in half an hour."

Baranthol/Haleth had been looking forward to some sleep, but warriors, she thought, sleep at the oddest times, and least when they need it most. She stuffed the soft items back into her pack more securely and went off in search of Ulfwine.

Theodred21

12-04-2001, 02:36 PM

Aspida wandered off to treat the others, and left Taradan to himself. His head stung from the poultice, but the throbbing had somewhat reduced.
By now he had calmed down from his eerie dream. The dream had seemed to reawaken an old wound, not a physical one like that on his head, but one inside him. For the first time in many years, his father had strayed into his mind. He constantly pushed thoughts of him away, so hed would not be tormented by thinking of him. For it was his fault why his father was dead, and why he was a soldier in Rohan, and not Gondor. But he was not willing to reveal his stiry with anyone, he hadn't yet, and he didn't intend to...

shieldmaiden

12-06-2001, 05:11 PM

When Thenamir left Baranthôl could breath normally again. If Thenamir had come a second earlier he would have caught her with a female hair brush and a dress in her hands. That insane hag, Aspida, was getting her into danger of unveiling her disguise all the time. Haleth didn’t really know what to do with the dress, she couldn’t remember the last time she wore any kind of feminine clothes and she probably won’t be wearing it in a long time.

She put herself together and went looking for Ulfwine. She hadn't seen him since their arrival, but then, she spent the whole day with Aspida in the kitchen.

She checked every tent but she had found only Gurthden, Kalohern and other three riders sound asleep and snoring like bears. She entered the cottage and went to the main room where she found Dwarin sleeping in a chair. The only person awake was Aspida, who was cleaning up the kitchen (with no visible results, the walls and the floor were covered with soot and grease and there was no hope that they would ever gain their true colour again, there was also that stench of rotting herbs that were hung around the ceiling to make an atmosphere of mystique).

“Where can I find Ulfwine, ma’am?” Haleth asked.
“I’ve sent that brat to get me some water, he’s probably still at the well, I provided him with many a jug, ” Aspida grinned.

Ulfwine was bent over the well and was getting the third bucket of water when Haleth arrived. He hadn’t noticed her and when she said “Ho there”, he dropped the bucket on the floor and spilled water over himself.

“Baranthôl, man, you frightened me, I haven’t heard you comming.” said Ulfwine trying to shake down the water from his clothes.
“Thenamir wants us to go trekking with him, he thinks that we might find some clues and since you know the land well you could be of great help.” said Haleth
“Yes, I’ll go with you but I have to deliver this to Aspida first, she’ll kill me if I don’t bring it on time.” Ulfwine filled the third and the fourth bucket.
Haleth helped him to bring the water back to the cottage.

Thenamir

12-13-2001, 01:31 PM

Thenamir walked to the edge of the village and looked down the road, musing on the path which had brought them there before joining his companions at Aspida's hut. He let the thoughts flow unimpeded through his mind, somthing he usually did when trying to clear up some mystery. Sometimes two thoughts would crash into each other and actually make a connection.

He muttered softly to himself as the ideas spilled and mixed. "The wizard Saruman...powerful, mysterious...seeking something...useful to a wizard...slaughtering innocents...using Dunlendings...striving for secrecy...king's counselor Grima...giving orders to those who killed my wife, her people...Saruman...what could he want..."

He went on like this for some minutes, but nothing came of it except the resolve that whatever this item was, it was probably important that Saruman not get it, not as long as he was in league with the men of Dunland who indiscriminately killed men, women and children in their pursuit. At length Thenamir sighed, turned and marched resolutely to Aspida's hut.

He rounded the corner and almost ran into Ulfwine, with Baranthol next to him. After the quiet of his thoughtfulness, he was startled, but recovered himself quickly. "Ready to go, I see," said Thenamir, seeing that they were lightly packed, carrying only a weapon and a water bottle each. He was also pleased to see that they had noted the coming change in the weather -- each had a rain-cover rolled into a small backpack. "We should not be gone too long -- the path they kept too is not far from here, right, Ulfwine?"

Ulfwine thought a moment. "Their track should have led them past here to the north, and a little east, about an hour's walk, maybe a bit more if we go with a bit of stealth."

"Good. With any luck we'll be back in three hours. I want to get a sense of the size of the group -- how many men, whether they are mounted -- and to see if they might have left a camp near. Any dropped item or throwaway might give us some ideas...especially you Ulfwine, since you have travelled with them for so long."

They tightened their belts and moved off at a moderately brisk pace to the east, led by Ulfwine, with Thenamir and Baranthol following.

Elwood, who never slept, espied them from the camp with his sharp elven eyes, even as darkly as they were dressed. Having no desire to cross paths with Aspida anytime soon, he took his knife and bow, slung his quiver on his back and followed them at a discrete distance.

[ December 13, 2001: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Gilthalion

12-13-2001, 09:45 PM

Ulfwine led them quietly along the way. His guess had been correct.

There, in the northern reaches of Dunland, far from the Isen and the land of Rohan, Storwolos and his band camped without fear of spies or enemies. After all, as wounded as many of them had been, they could hardly follow the fierce Dunlenders through unfamiliar lands. Or so they told themselves when the thought of watchful eyes crossed their minds. Storwolos was still intoxicated with the spell of his meeting with the Old Man, but still was more watchful than his men.

So it was that Thenamir and Baranthol looked on the camp as Ulfwine strained to hear what his countrymen were saying.

He could not hear much. Some of the men grumbling behind their leader's back, as was often enough the case. But they seemed unsure and uneasy. Something was different. Clearly, Storwolos had visited the Old Man, and was taking them somewhere strange. An ancient city to the north.

When they had stayed longer than Thenamir thought was safe, the three made their way as quietly as they could from the Dunlender's camp, and set off to return to the village.

Ulfwine was congratulating himself, wanting to be accepted by his new companions. "I thought we might find them in this area! And we have seen them without being seen. That is something! Perhaps we can follow them and find out what the Old Man is doing."

Soft laughter greeted them from the forest. "But you have been seen!"

Elwood stepped out into the path in front of them. Baranthol had his sword drawn in a flash of polished steel. Thenamir slowly released a sharply drawn breath.

Ulfwine had nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Do not do that again!" he cried.

"Then do not be so confident you have escaped the view of others. Who can say that we are not watched even now?" asked the elf.

"You might have let us know you were following," said Thenamir.

"Forgive me," said the elf, who could not quite wipe the smirk from his lips.

Thenamir decided to let it drop. "Ulfwine, a moment ago you were saying we could follow Storwolos to this ancient city to the north. What more did they say? Did they name it?"

"No, they did not," said Ulfwine. "I do not think they themselves know it's name."

"Ost-in-Edhil," said Elwood. "That is the only ancient city in such parts. But it is an age since any last visited. The Noldorin Elves once lived there. Evil things happened. None now know its location for certain. Like as not, we will follow these Dunlenders on a chase of wild geese through ancient Hollin, and never find anything."

"Perhaps there are some who have visited, or who at least know where it might be found," mused Thenamir. "If any of them are left..."

"Who do you mean?" asked Baranthol.

"My people once ruled mighty kingdoms in the northwestern lands of Arnor. Their kingdoms are gone, lost to plagues and wars centuries ago. If any of the people remain, we have not heard. But if they do, they perhaps they remember still something of the ancient lore, and being nearer to site, might tell us where we may find it."

"Then we might find it before they do!" cried Baranthol.

"And have a nice surprise waiting for them!" smiled Ulfwine.

"We'll see," said Thenamir. "It is a long shot in the dark."

They discussed their plans to find some lost remnant of the Northern Dunedain as they returned to the village.

Storwolos smiled from his concealment. Perhaps his mission would be made easier by the work of his enemies...

[ December 13, 2001: Message edited by: Gilthalion ]

Sharkû

12-15-2001, 04:14 PM

When he knew that the scouts of Rohan were out of sight, Storwolos slowly walked back to his tent, pondering what to do.
The few Dúnlendings, who apparently did not take the mission very serious, were already settling for a prolongued stay in the camp. Some made fires, and most laughed and joked over drink and food and playing dice. Some seemed to be dozing in one of the small brown leather tents the Dúnlendings always carry with them, which can be put up and packed away again with few movements in a glimpse of time.

This leisure behaviour irritated Storwolos, after what he had seen and heard just now. Upon entering his own tent to think out the situation before moving on, he noticed that one of the men was standing alone with his back to a small fire just behind his tent, apparently deep in thought, unlike the others. Storwolos saw that it was Smrtan, in whom he saw a rival in the grace of the leaders, but also one of whom he knew that he could be trusted in a plight, such as this could become.

“What is it you are pondering, soldier Smrtan?”, Storwolos asked, not bothering not to surprise Smrtan, whom he approached from behind. Smrtan did not stir for a while, and only answered after a few moments had passed, slowly turning around: “Nothing. You did not command me to, but I thought at least someone needed to look out. And it gave me time for thinking. Such as, it simply cannot be so easy to walk into Elf ruins and back without any trouble.”

“Noone ever mentioned the word ‘Elf’!”, Storwolos replied sharply, mainly irritated by the sharp thinking of Smrtan. Of course it was Elf ruins to which they were headed, he just did not want any of his men to know, most of all being aware of their inherent distrust and even fear for anything which has to do with this legendary folk.

“Well, you may say what you want”, Smrtan laconically replied.

Storwolos tried to sneer in vain, and bade the soldier to join him in his tent for a conversation. “And we also have to talk about your assumption that I, as the leader here, would not be caring for necessary reconnaissance.”

In reality, Storwolos would have been loath to admit, but he preferred to fell decisions, not to think them out himself. He would try to let the other one do the analysis, then fell a decision, and claim the plan as his own invention. That, and the use of big words, Storwolos saw as the mark of a great leader.

They went into the tent, which was only little bigger than the others, and barely provided enough space for two logs to sit on, and a blanket for the night. Storwolos closed it, and clinged a small torch to the middle staff, lighting the tent with a flickering red, causing shadows to dance on the rough brown hide of it.

Smrtan sat down, and Storwolos in front of him.

“As I said,” he began, “you were not the only one to be wary. What I just saw only a few minutes south of our place, were those same people of the strawheads we fought earlier. I think the strange raven-haired one was there, another one, and also the traitor, Vlkodlak. They are indeed about to follow us. They withdrew, so they will still be a bit behind, but it also means there are still the rest of them. Maybe even more… but what irritated me was another strange person I could see from afar. Tall and cloaked… maybe even one of the rangers the White Hand had warned me about, although they shouldn’t come as far down south as this. However, they seem to know where we are headed, and I thought I could also hear that they were trying to contact the rangers of the north, should they find any at the crossings of the Greyflood. They will be trying to trap us…”

Storwolos paused, and what he wanted to seem like a rhetorical pause was indeed an attempt to have Smrtan utter his thoughts first. Whether he knew that or not, he did not hesitate to answer this time.

“It is clear we cannot let that happen. As far as I see it” – Smrtan was perceivably proud that he already had a clear view of the situation – “we first have to depart immediately, to gain an advantage on them again. We also have to take care to cover our traces as well as possible. Then we will see whether we should try to get to wherever we are headed soon enough to be off again before they come, or try to ambush them in turn, or… whether we may want to let them do the work of finding those ruins. But of course I’m not telling you anything new, am I?”

“Indeed, you are not. What you say is correct, but I only wanted to reassure myself”, Storwolos replied. “Let us command the men to leave at once, and have an eye on those who seem to be careless. We cannot allow us any mistake from here on. Hurry northwards! I know quite clearly where the ruins are, have no fear. You might even have to know as well, so listen closely: 50 leagues from here northward, as the crow flies, between the swamps and the mountains. And now be off, and try to compensate your previous insult with deeds!”

Storwolos was content as he saw Smrtan leaving, and he shouted commands to those near his tent, before he started packing his own things.
At any rate, however it came out in the end, they would not let the enemy deal the first blow.

Dwarin Thunderhammer

12-16-2001, 05:19 AM

Dwarin slept uneasily. The cold ground was not kind to him that night. He tried to sleep as best he could but his slumber was not to be. He gripped the cold metal handle of his ax, simply to comfort his troubled mind. The cold night breeze blew his tent open, and a few leaves swirled around inside. All was quiet except for the wind blowing through the trees. The dwarf felt uneasy, it was a feeling he had felt before, once he could remember was before the battle of five armies. Dwarin had slept in his armor (which he was accustomed to doing) so he had no need to clothe himself when he decided to look around at put his mind at ease. He was at the door, when fate it seemed made him look at his helmet and shield lying at the foot of his bed. Dwarin normally wore a hood wherever he went, but fate it seemed instructed him to don his helm and take up his shield. Thus did Dwarin step out into one of the coldest nights he had known. The cold breeze sent a shiver through his sturdy body. He fingered the handle of his ax nervously as he walked about the tents checking in to see if anyone else was awake. He was surprised to find Ulfwine, Thenamir Kalohern and Baranthol’s tents all empty.

As the night drew on, Dwarin felt no less uneasy, but there was no foreseeable danger. With a sigh (and some grumbling Dwarin Started back for his tent. The Dwarf began trudging back to hi bed, still uneasy of himself he took one last long look over his shoulder. To his surprise he saw lights in the distance, coming through the woods. Quickly the lights moved through the trees, darting and dancing about. Somehow Dwarin knew that this wasn’t a friendly welcome party. As fast as he could Dwarin scramble to conceal himself in a thicket on the edge of the wood, well away from the camp. He also knew that he had to think of a plan, fast. Quickly the Dunedlings were coming past his hiding place inn the bushes. He counted, as many as he could, there were 16 of them descending on their camp. They were armed mostly with torches clubs, spears and wooden shields. When all but the last straggler had passed, Dwarin knew the time for action was now. The last one was a short overweight man who was well behind the rest of the party. When he was no less than a foot past the thicket, he felt the a blade slice through his spine. As he fell he let out a horrendous scream. The Dunedlings rushed to see what happened, and perhaps take amusement at the plight of their comrade. When they arrived at the scene they looked at their comrade lying dead in the dirt and wondered what had happened. Suddenly there cam from the tree above the fiercest war cry they had ever heard. Down upon them descended Dwarin the dwarf, arrayed in all his glory, his shield glittering like the moon and his eyes flaming like the sun, shouting: “Khazâd! Khazâd! Khazâd aimênu!”

When Dwarin jumped from the trees, he came down fighting, he cut open the chest of one Dunedlings who was oblivious to the nature of the attack. Few of the savages had ever seen a dwarf before, and none had ever fought against one in battle. He had attacked the dunedlings rear, positioning himself between the attackers and the camp, this combined with the surprise caused much confusion and chaos among the attackers. Dwarin knew his advantage was at hand, and the fact was it would not last very long and once it passed he would probably never regain it again. So the dwarf steeled his heart, and set to hacking. He rushed at one of the men standing around looking for the fight, he came with such suddenness that the man didn’t have time enough to defend himself, he was just barely able to raise his wooden shield, which provided no protection, and thus he died. One of the men spotted the Dwarf and rushed him with his club afire in the midst of the chaos fiercely yelling as he approached. Dwarin reacted quickly, he took two steps forward and dodged as the club hit the ground beside him. The surprised man practically fell on top of the dwarf, who then used his shield to flip him onto the ground behind him. Dwarin then slew the man with his ax, by this time 2 more foes were on top of him. The first one lunged at him with a spear, which the dwarf warded off with his shield. Dwarin then hewed the legs beneath the attacker and the man came tumbling down to the earth. Just after this the second of his attackers sprang upon him with a dagger, which he thrust into Dwarins back. The Dwarven armor guarding Dwarin turned the blade easily and actually snapped it. The man was stunned for a second long enough for Dwarin to bring the broad side of his ax against the side of his head, knocking him senseless. Dwarin’s good fortune did not last forever though, twelve angry, dunedlanders saw their opponent, and gained confidence.

Thus Dwarin became on the defensive, mostly trying to ward off blows, and avoid getting killed. He was getting pushed farther and farther toward the tents. Dwarin was desperately hoping that one of the other uninjured riders would hear the sounds of battle and rush to his aid, seconds later his hopes came true. The taller rider, Gurthden, came rushing out of his tent fully arrayed for battle. With a battle cry of his own the man rushed into the thick of the melee. He crashed into the line of battle, his sword immediately found the belly of a decent sized attacker who was caught unaware and he felled him with one stroke. Their attackers had very little or no battle training and easily gave way to the new attacker. So the Dwarf and the rider gained the offensive for a moment. Dwarin tripped and beheaded one more foe as he eagerly rushed at Gurthden with a little to much enthusiasm. Gurthden himself was busy killing another enemy, by slicing his throat when he let his guard down. Nine was the count now, nine angry dunedlanders against a soldier of Rohan and A Dwarf of the iron mountains.

The night air grew thick with the sounds of battle as the attackers once more gained the offensive. Dwarin and Gurthden were slowly pushed back to the tents. It was only due to their skill, training, guts and sheer determination that they had not been killed or captured. With many wounds and bruises inflicted on both sides. Seeing their goal reached the enemies began setting their tents aflame. The fire spread quickly as the flames spread from tent to tent and from the tents to Aspida’s house. Dwarin and Gurthden were now fighting in the midst of an inferno. They smelled the stench of death in their nostrils. Its slimy hands were about their feet as the flames began to stifle them as they fought. The two valiant warriors were on the verge of death when the sound of thundering hooves reached their ears. Suddenly it seemed the tent burst forth in flames! Through the tendrils and the flame a horse and rider appeared. The rider was screaming a war cry at the top of his lungs, he brandished a short sword in his right hand and a spear in his left as he fell upon the attackers. He hurled his spear at one his foes, and hit his mark dead on, piercing him through the heart. The dunedlanders gave way. With one stroke of his sharp sword he decapitated a hapless dunlander standing in his path. Suddenly the tide of the battle had turned! Kalohern and Telefax gave much needed support and reinforcement to the tow warriors. The odds were now in the rohanian party, with superior training and renewed vigor they took the battle to the dunedlanders. Kalohern himself slew one more as the man tried to wrestle the boy from his horse. Telefax sent a man, who was approaching from behind, flying 20 feet with his hind hooves. Gurthden scored two more, one he stabbed through while dodging a spear. Quickly he grabbed the fallen spear and sent the shaft straight through the man who was upon him. Dwarin killed the last three remaining. Dwarin was cornered betwixt Aspida’s house and a fiery tent when the three descended upon him, the biggest of the three struck first he brought his club down upon Dwarin just as the dwarf raised his shield. So strong was the blow that the club shattered on impact. Dwarin saw his chance and sliced his belly open while he had the chance, but he was forgetful of the two other club-bearing men who had also cornered him. One of them hit Dwarin with his club and sent him two the ground. When he came to finish the dwarf off, Dwarin sprang up and sliced his arm off below the elbow. He now had the last one cornered so he picked up a spear and ran him through pinning him to Aspida’s wall.

The battle was over, but at a dear cost, the tents were flaming and Aspida’s house was ablaze. The final Tally was, Dwarin: 8, Gurthden: 4, Kalohern: 3, Telefax: 1, Dunedlanders: 0. Though the battle was done they were not out of peril, Dwarin ordered Kalohern and Gurthden to salvage as much of the supplies as possible. Dwarin himself went inside to find and save the injured riders resting inside. Due to his many years in the smithies of Erebor Dwarin took no notice of the smoke but plunged into the oven, which was Aspida’s house. Dwarin quickly carried all of the injured riders out to the stables where the horses and his cart was (which thankfully hadn’t caught fire). He had made sure they were all unharmed and all right was about to rest, when he remembered that He hadn’t found Aspida! Dwarin rushed back inside, twice nearly being crushed by a flaming timber. Frantically he rushed from room to room, shouting and searching. He found Aspida in a corner of her bedchamber crumpled on the floor unconscious. So the weary dwarf picked up the fragile woman and carried her through the fragile structure made of embers, which had once been her home. He finally reached the threshold of her home where she awoke. She bade him to hold her and listen to her last words. Dwarin held back the emotions of anger and sadness as she spoke to him thus:

[ January 02, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

onewhitetree

12-16-2001, 07:18 PM

Aspida awoke from a black sleep, with a feeling of great heaviness uncharacteristic of the slight old hag. She dragged open her eyes to see the worried face of the Dwarf that had been staying in her house, and smelled the stinging scent of fire. Her body was not getting any lighter, and her sight no clearer. A blackness started to creep over the outer edges of her vision, and she knew her time had finally come.
"Boy, I am dying, and this is no time to mince words, so you just listen up. You watch after that girl, Haleth, for she may need your help in the days to come more than she guesses. Perhaps she will welcome a friend in the loneliness of her existence, and don't you be turned away by her callousness. I tell you this, follow Thenamir and no other, for he is an honest leader.
"Also, in my herb garden, beneath the parsley, you will find all I have, which isn't much, but may help you on your journey."
She coughed and drew a ragged breath as her eyes started to drift. Aspida fought off the blackness, for she had to get one last thing out.
"According to the innkeeper's wife, a band of men who passed through the town just before you arrived has been sent by old Sharkey to find some ancient ruins. I don't know what's there, but I get the feeling your little fellowship does. It may be that the West Men, if there are any left, will know where to guide you...."
With that, Aspida's body gave one last, frail, shiver as her ancient, embittered spirit passed on to other places.

Dwarin Thunderhammer

12-17-2001, 02:27 AM

Dwarin listened to aspida's final charge with profound sadness. Then Aspida's tired body finally went limp and her spirit left her. A single tear rolled down the craggy face of the old Dwarf. He thought of the persecution she had endured. The leers and stares of people at her because of their ugliness, the smirks behind her back as she passed places of meeting. Never to have known the love of a man, or the close bond of a family. Now the final injustice in her sorrow filled life was that she was killed by her own kind. Some men she quite possibly could have delivered as babies. Men she had healed and taken care of. A new fire awoke within the stone heart of the old Dwarf. Not only did he accept her order to watch after Haleth, but he decided to the best of his abilities that he would be the family Haleth never had. He also swore an oath to seek out and kill anyone ascociated with the attack.

Thus it was that among the ashes of a house. that a new foe arose. One more terrible and feirce than any they had ever seen before. So Dwarin once more picked up the frail body of Aspida and carried her to a small green mound behind her house. There he laid her down among the long grass. He picked some flowers and clasped them in her hands, and he set her hands upon her bosom. He then set Gurthden to watch the body until proper burial could be administered. Dwarin himself went to Aspida's garden. He dug with his hands until he found a small iron box. Dwarin then stood as he opened the chest, every bone and muscle complaining as he arose. Inside found a cloth bundle. He carefully unwrapped the material from it's contents. amking sure to fold it and set it in it's box with reverence. Inside he found an emrald brooch. It's beautifull jewel was set in simple silver with a pin on the back. After dwelling on it a moment he put both of them back in the box. The other contents were a map and a small journal. They were both very old and fragile. The cloth map seemed to be a chart of lands to the north, Dwarin made a mental note of this and set it back in its place. Dwarin then removed the journal. it was Aspida's personal diary. He decided not took invade the privacy of the dead woman. But he did notice that the last few pages were empty. He gently laid the journal in thebox. He then stashed the box in a locked compartment of his cart (which was undamaged).

It was drawing nigh on to morning so Dwarin trudged back to the green hill where Aspida laid and relieved Gurthden. He asked gurthden to tend to the wounded men who they saved from the burning house. There, with a heacy heart, he awaited the return of Thenamir and his party.

[ December 21, 2001: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

Thenamir2

01-02-2002, 03:16 PM

They were still a good mile or more from the camp when Elwood stopped so suddenly that Baranthol and Ulfwine nearly ran into him. Thenamir, bringing up the rear, saw Elwood standing rooted to his spot like a troll caught by daylight, head cocked slightly to one side, listening. "What is it, Master Elf," Thenamir managed to whisper as his concern and suspense mounted.

"I was unsure for a moment, but the wind bears news -- there is fighting ahead, near or in the camp. I can see firelight reflected in the air above the trees, and there is a smoke rising. There is faint shouting and the clash of steel on steel. We must hurry!" And with that Elwood sprang up and away with the speed of a hart, nocking an arrow to his bowstring even as he ran. The three others followed as they could, but soon Elwood slowed. As the others caught up he motioned for them to stop and take cover, which they did.

"The fighting has stopped," Elwood murmured, "but the burning grows greater. We must approach with stealth -- if the attackers worsted your men we may be all that is left of the pursuit."

"You have the best eyes and ears to see what our options are," said Thenamir, "how should we proceed?"

Elwood listened to the stillness again for a moment before answering, "I hear voices, excited and troubled, but not like those of the Dunlendings. We may have new enemies to worry about, or our band may have routed the enemy in our absence."

"I know this area well," contributed Ulfwine, "and there is a place not far from here where we can get fairly close without being seen, on that little rise to our right. Our hawk-eyed elf might be able to get us more intelligence than his ears and nose from there."

"Lead the way, Ulfwine, and quickly, for the camouflage of the night will be passing soon," Thenamir responded. They each made their way, half-sliding, half-crawling between bits of cover to the south for a couple hundred yards until they came to a stand of trees on a low hill overlooking the village. The first weak light of morning was beginning to show in the east when the elf got his first clear view of the village.

"Aspida's hut is engulfed in flames," Elwood said in a low but not emotionless voice. "Several of our men who were within lie nearby. They are alive and unmolested. The only living I see are comrades. The dead mostly lie on the edge of the camp, except for..." Elwood paused, "...Aspida herself, who lies dead under the vigil of Dwarin not far from her burning hut..."

Thenamir and the others cast aside what remained of caution and ran full tilt to the camp, swords drawn, but it was useless. Thenamir himself came first to Dwarin who barely noticed his arrival. When he did look up from his seat on the ground, all the dwarf could do was mutter, "Where were you..."

Thenamir fell to his knees near Dwarin as Ulfwine, Baranthol, and Elwood approached, and each allowed the tears to flow freely for some minutes, each in his (or her) own remembrances of the wise woman who had so touched each in a unique way. Thenamir then stood, and hoping that she found some peace in death he ordered a couple of the men to raise a mound over her in the manner of Rohan with full honors. Dwarin insisted that he should direct the effort, and Thenamir assented.

The rest of the men who were able to ride were ordered to make ready to leave in two hours. Taradan or no Taradan, this band of savage barbarians had to be crushed and their errands turned aside.

Once the burial was complete, Baranthol, Dwarin, Ulfwine and Thenamir, along with the rest of the Rohirrim who could still ride, gathered at Aspida's fresh mound. Thenamir tried to speak, but no words would come. Having no wine with them, they watered the mound with their tears, and none more than Baranthol, before dispersing to finalize their departure preparations.

shieldmaiden

01-02-2002, 04:16 PM

Baranthôl stood by Aspida's grave. Her eyes were full of tears she was trying to suppress. She was both sad and angry. She was angry at Dunlendings but also at herself because one of the last words she said to Aspida were "You stupid woman". She felt guilty, she wished that she said something nice to her when they were leaving to trek the Dumlendings but she didn’t even say goodbye.

Someone will have to pay for her death. She will be avenged.

Gilthalion

01-03-2002, 10:39 AM

The Rohirrim and their friends did not stay long in the village after the burial of Aspida. Some of them were hot to pursue the Dunlendish band to the ruins. But they all needed rest after the tragic night and the funeral the next day.

It was before dawn of the day after that they set out. Ulfwine led them out of the village and back to the encampment of the Dunlenders in the darkness. They arrived just as a red morning illumined the sky.

"It will mean bad weather," said Thenamir, remembering an adage of his sea-faring ancestors.

"Very bad weather," agreed Elwood.

The camp was abandonned. Dwarin felt the coals and the earth underneath and said, "Stone cold. They left a day ago at the latest."

"Then they left soon after we found them," said Elwood.

"Then we may have been seen," said Thenamir.

"Not necessarily," said Taradan. "They may have already planned to leave early yesterday morning."

"Perhaps," mused Thenamir. "Is there a trail to follow?"

Ulfwine was perplexed. He cast about the rough encampment and sighed. "They might have seen us. They took extra care to cover their tracks. I think that they have headed north, but I cannot be sure."

"Do you think you can pick up their track again?" asked Dwarin.

"Maybe, maybe not. And if we find them, we may lose them again," replied Ulfwine.

"At least we know where they are going," said Kalohern, hopefully.

"But we do not know where Ost-in-Edhil is," said Elwood. "And none have been there in ages."

"You forget my northern kindred," said Thenamir.

"If we can find any of them left," said Taradan.

"We won't find them here!" said Dwarin. "Let us find the old South Road. That leads to their lands, and by it the dwarves once had commerce to the lands of Eriador, where there are a few men to be found, of a different sort than these Rohirrim, and these Dunlenders. More like Taradan and Thenamir here, though taller it seemed to my eyes. They are Rangers in the land, and we may find some at their southernmost outpost. Tharbad it is called."

"You call it the South Road," said Ulfwine. "Our name for it is different. If it leads to Tharbad and Rangers, I cannot say. But we can find it easily enough."

And easily enough they did find it, and that day they passed out of the lands that Ulfwine knew and into a region long abandoned, seldom traveled, and shrouded in legend.

~~~

Far ahead, and now well off the South Road, Storwolos led his band north across the wilderness, striking directly for the river where Ost-in-Edhil was said by Old Sharkey to have been situated.

Only Storwolos knew what they sought there, and his men complained when they thought he was out of earshot. Nevertheless, they followed their leader for league after league and day after day until Storwolos was sure they had found the river...

Dwarin Thunderhammer

01-04-2002, 02:26 PM

Dwarin fidgeted in his saddle. He was unaccustomed to riding for long periods, and this trip didn’t look like it was going to be brief. Dwarin would have rather walked but if he was to keep up with the other riders he needed to ride. He had been obliged to hide his cart back at Aspida’s grave because they would be traveling through forests he could not navigate the cart through. He knew it would be safe from being stolen because the local villagers were scared silly of the place, since the great fire, and the loss of their husbands and sons. They thought it was cursed. Dwarin had packed most of his stuff into the saddlebags of his horse he dubbed “Surefoot” including Aspida’s iron box. What he could not take he buried near his cart, hoping to come back for it later.

When they came upon the greenway, something clicked in Dwarin’s mind. He quickly retrieved Aspida’s box from the saddlebag. Once more he carefully took the map from the box. As he looked at it he realized it was a map of the greenway and the surrounding area. He quickly spurred his horse to reach the head of his pack. He reached Thenamir in the lead. Catching sight of Dwarin’s haste Thenamir said: "You look troubled, master dwarf. What is wrong?". “I think this might be of use to you” Dwarin replied as he handed the map to Thenamir. “I found it in a chest that Aspida gave to me on her deathbed. It is a map of the old south road and the surrounding cities, some of which I have never seen, or even heard of. I feel there is some treachery about. We might even use it to predict our enemy’s destination. For now I leave this matter to you.” With that Dwarin slowed up to let the convoy pass, so he could take up his position in the rear, where he had been posted.

Leighlei

01-13-2002, 06:00 PM

...Camp? Why so many?

The human girl peered out from behind the trunk of the tree, watching with peculiar gold-green eyes the party that had settled for the night.

Not seen so many in a long time...

She tilted her head to the side, her hair, which was cut rather sloppily to hang just below her jaw in uneven locks of gold, swished across her shoulder. It was matted with blood, impossible to tell if it was her own, and stringy with perspiration. She couldn't have been older than sixteen or seventeen, but the air about her was more mature, she seemed somewhat wise beyond her years...

I wanted to fight...I should join them...

But she knew she could not approach them, not after impersonating a man and fighting in a tournament. No, she had been cast out, having abandoned the ways of her people to be a warrior.

...Ah...why am I here?

She had come hunting a wolf who had killed her horse, a black mare who had been her only companion. But the animal seemed to have dissapeared. She turned, preparing to vanish into the shadows as always she did when strangers camped nearby, but something was thrown onto her back and before she knew it she had tumbled out of the woods, the jaws of a beast clamped on her arm.

SHE-WOLF!!!

She swing a desperate blow to the side of the wolf's head. It released her, and she felt the warm spill of blood down her arm. She rose, yanking a small, blood-encrusted sword out of her worn leather boot and growling at the animal.

Kill...

They leapt at each other at the same time, they went tumbling again, she thrust upward over and over again with her weapon, into the fur of the animal. Blood spilled from each, coating both bodies. Finally, the beast sagged atop her in a limp heap, and she had won.

Ayee...Pain...

She reached back with her good arm and felt her wounded arm. She lay still for a moment, then shoved the body off, reaching into it and pulling out her weapon, stuffing it back in her boot. She got onto her hands and knees, her body and clothes sticky with blood, and she rose slowly, the animal had put up a good fight. She couldn't move her wrist and was beginning to feel light headed, her chest was stinging something awful. The white and gray fur of the wolf had been stained red, and already flies were coming to feast on the carcass. She looked at it, and then the camp.

They saw me fight the wolf...

She rose to her full height, tall for a girl, and was still, staring back until consciousness left the wild girl and she knew nothing more.

[ January 15, 2002: Message edited by: Gilthalion ]

Rinurion

01-18-2002, 02:46 AM

As the rest of the party slumbered, Gurthden slowly pondered his fate. He had taken first watch, as he often did, wanting some time to think, some time away from other people. He had always liked to spend time thinking of things, even when he was a child. But the last few nights had been different. He had been given somthing real to think about.
That old hag, he cursed silently. As much as he tried to banish them, Aspida's words flooded through his head …your doom is near... A voice in his head admonished him for blaming the messenger, but he ignored it. She was just an old hag trying to rile me he decided. But then how does she know about my secret… and why do her words bother me still?.
A sudden rustling in the bushes pulled him out of his reflection. His eyes snapped to a large shadow behind some tall grass to his right. A wolf he concluded. It will cause no trouble unless it is really hungry. By its size, he somehow doubted that it was. Gurthden had lived in the woods for all his childhood, and had learned that wolves had no interest in killing humans, and were animals to be respected, not feared. He settled back, keeping an eye firmly on the wolf, but not acting.
As the wolf crept slowy forward, he realised it was hunting something. Curios, he moved silently forward to get a better view. It was then he realised there was something wrong. The wolf was impossibly large, its pearly teeth were too white and too sharp, and its eyes had a very menacing quality under the moonlight.
Suddenly it pounced, a blur of teeth and fur. Its quarry turned, too late. When the moonlight hit the poor creature, just before the wolf did, gurthden realised what it was, and the wave of shock and grief brought him to his knees. A woman he anguished, little more than a girl. She stands no chance.
With practiced ease he cleared his sword from its scabbard, but he knew he would be too late. He choked out a sob of horror, as he saw the wolf tearing at her flesh. As quickly as it had begun, it was finished. Tears flooded into the eyes of the grim, silent rider of the mark.
But then, beyond all hope, he saw the young woman, not the wolf rise from the carnage. Blinking, he saw that she was tall, and had an air of maturity about her. By the blood streaming down her arm, he was unsurprised when she slumped down again, unconsious.
He rushed over to her, his mind reeling at the fact that the wolf had attacked. As he looked down at the wolf, a jolt of realisation swept through him. This was no wolf, he shuddered, it was a Warg. And wargs don’t hunt alone.

Leighlei

01-18-2002, 06:22 PM

The girl looked impossibly pale in the moonlight, the animal at her feet seemed a bit too big to have fallen to her. She lay with her mouth slightly open, her hair slowly beginning to become soaked in the growing pool of blood. The rise and fall of her chest was gentle and shallow...
she needed help.

shieldmaiden

01-20-2002, 10:40 AM

Haleth slept uneasily, she had dreams about her twin brother, Baranthôl, again, she wondered where that irresponsible brat was now . The noise that came from the bushes awoken her. She quickly stood up and took her sword. She saw Gurthden rushing off to the woods. In a few moments the whole company was on their feet...

Rinurion

01-21-2002, 01:11 AM

A howl peirced the crisp night air. Gurthden scanned around for any signs of immediate danger, his grey eyes peircing though the veil of night as if it were day. He bent down, gently picking up the girl. She was thankfully light – she had obviously not eaten much in a while. Putting her over his sholder, he retrived his sword, and stealthily padded back to camp.

Baranthol was waiting at the edge of the camp. Upon seeing him, Gurthden breathed a sigh of relief. At least someone was paying attention. A questioning look from Baranthol was rewarded with a quick answer.
“She was attacked by a Warg. She managed to defeat it, but she will die if we don’t get her to Elwood soon”
Baranthol raised his eyebrows. “Wargs? Then we have no time. Elwood will be needed in battle”
Gurthden sighed patiently. “The wargs will not attack yet. The fact that they attacked the girl and not us must mean that they were after her, not us”. “But they will be now” he mused grimly. “Yet it will still take a good half hour to coordinate the attack”.
“Then we must get her to Elwood straight away”
“Indeed”

Elwood was already in the cart rummaging for his stuff by the time that they had got to him.
“How did you know…?”
Baranthol left the question hanging. But Elwood seemed not to notice, he had found his pack, and was now inspecting the girl.
“Hmmm. Not good. Not very good at all” Elwood murmured to himself.
“Can you do anything for her?” asked Gurthden in a rising tone of concern.

Tar Palantir

01-23-2002, 11:22 AM

Elwood produced a number of herbs and soaked them in water before mopping her brow. He then bound her wounds with bandages. "That should keep her alive for now but I can do no more for the wargs will be upon us soon," Elwood said.

The elf ran into his tent and returned with his bow on his back and his sword in his hand. "Arise! Wolves are near!" he urged, moving lightly from man to man.

All preparations had been made and Elwood, Thenamir, Dwarin, Baranthol and Gurthdan all stood ready to fight. All fell silent for a few seconds and then the largest wolf that any of them had ever seen stepped into the light of the fire....

[ January 24, 2002: Message edited by: Gilthalion ]

shieldmaiden

01-26-2002, 06:23 AM

Baranthôl drew her sword ready to fight. She was choleric and this was a good opportunity for her to waste some energy and anger , it was better than shouting at people or throwing and breaking things. She never favored killing animals or people, she didn’t like looking in their faces while they were dying, but she had no problems with killing wargs, the only thing better than killing wargs was killing Orcs.
She almost smiled. She took a branch and put its end on fire. Come on,come on, attack, i can't wait to slit your necks.
smilies/evil.gif

Leighlei

01-26-2002, 01:29 PM

The Girl awoke slowly, her eyes adjusting to the dark swiftly. She was sweating all over, freezing cold and so tired...
She shifted her gaze to her surroundings. It was some sort of tent...shaking her head, she tried to sit up.

...Ah...my arm

It hurt so bad, they had dressed and bandaged the wound, but still it bled, soaking the bandages.

...What happened...a...a wolf? No...it was too big to be a wolf...it was...was...

She forced herself to a stumbling hunch of a stand.

IT WAS A WARG!

She yanked from her boot the blood encrusted sword and staggered out of the tent.

My God...

The legions of peoiple stood before the Wargs. The fire separated the two opposing forces. In the fire though, the largest Warg's eyes gleamed like embers of an inferno.

...No, not to kill them as you do so many...

She took a deep, shaky breath and raised her sword high, forcing out of herself her last burst of strength as the Warg leapt, and she rushed into the crowd that immediately moved foreward.
The battle had begun.

Dwarin Thunderhammer

01-28-2002, 02:24 PM

Dwarin was extremely tired; he hadn't slept in three days straight. Dwarin had been the first to setup his tent and fall asleep. Unfortunately the sleep didn't last. Suddenly outside he heard A growl and a roar. Dwarin quickly grabbed his ax and stumbled outside. On his way he saw a girl stumble out of her tent. In the light of the fire he saw a huge warg, and plenty of eyes in the woods glimmering. Suddenly the wolf sprang at Baranthol. The Dwarf cried in rage as the girl fell to the ground. In a split second the rest of the pack was upon them. The dwarf leapt over the fire and grabbed one of the flaming pieces of wood from the fire. Distracted from his fallen prey the great warg fixed his eyes on the dark figure flying through the fire. In a moment Dwarin was between Haleth and the warg. Time and time again the warg struck and every time the dwarf managed to ward off the blow or at least dodge it. Dwarin had fought many wargs in his travels and he slew many in the battle of five armies, but this was one of the largest he had ever seen. Slowly weariness began to overcome him. His heart was on fire more than ever but his body was unwilling, slowly the dwarf gave ground. The other riders were hard pressed themselves. Dwarin felt like he was in a drunken stupor, he valiantly waved his torch in the face of the wolf but it was to no avail. The wolf bit at him, he warded the bite off with his brand but he couldn't avoid the next blow. The wolf struck at Dwarin with sending him flying, Dwarin let out one last cry of "Aiii!!" His limp body a tree and all went black.

[ February 05, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

shieldmaiden

01-28-2002, 05:11 PM

Baranthôl got up and took her torch again. She yelled and ran after the warg that attacked the Dwarf. She jumped in front the beast, weilded her sword and stabbed the giant animal trough it's throat. Then she put it on fire with the torch she made. She didn't have time to wach it burn. Many more were comming to replace it.

[ March 02, 2003: Message edited by: shieldmaiden ]

Thenamir

01-28-2002, 10:59 PM

Thenamir thought grimly that night is not the best time to try to sleep when one is a warrior. Night attacks were the worst. He'd only had a brief and sleepy glance of the girl being carried away to Elwood's care, but he was instantly awake upon hearing the word "wargs." So much had happened since they'd left the land of Rohan that he'd taken to sleeping in his battle gear..except for the helmet. No pillow, that.

Thenamir hurried to the spot where the girl had fallen and looked out, but it was no use, there was not enough firelight. The horses began to shriek with their fear as the smell of blood and of the approaching Wargs reached them. He began barking orders: "More wood to the fire! The light works for us and against them! And have torches at the ready! Elwood, stand ready with fire arrows!" Those standing near threw all that remained of the gathered wood and brush on the fire, which crackled and blazed up, sending showers of sparks upwards, reflecting all around them at least a dozen pairs of eyes in the sudden light. What seemed a pitiful few of them took up makeshift torches and stood ready as the first Warg padded slowly into view, fully half the size of one of their horses, the half-open mouth showing rows of glistening fangs, firelight flickering in the eyes of a deadly and purposeful stare.

He watched helplessly the lead warg leapt and began ravaging Durin (who gave some of his own in return), for the attack seemed to signal the rest of the warg-pack to leap forward from the shadows, each only slightly lesser in stature than their leader. He barely registered the girl he had seen in passing, bandaged and running to Dwarin's aid before he was overtaken by two more of the snarling beasts.

Thenamir's heart pounded as they padded round him, circling. There was intelligence here, malevolent and cunning. Thenamir spun first left, then right, trying to keep track of both wargs at once, to keep shield on one and sword towards the other, hoping one would make the mistake of coming too close to his blade.

As if on cue, the darker demon-wolf made as if to leap for Thenamir's shield arm, then ducked and sank his yellowing teeth into the leather greaves he wore just below the knee. The fangs could not penetrate the stout leather, but his leg was squeezed as in a cider press, and he was dragged off balance and began to fall. The wolf's teammate, waiting the opportunity afforded by Thenamir's awkwardness, aimed to rip the wrist from his sword arm which seemed to be flailing as he fell. The warg had no way of knowing that, as in the earlier battle with the Dunlendings, falling backwards was one of Thenamir's well-practiced tactics. The flailing arm was in truth regripping the sword in a peculiar fashion via the guard which allowed him to sever most of the warg's muzzle from the rest of his face. The deformed warg retreated in haste, deprived of his most deadly weapon, howling in anguish from a bleeding mouth that he would never close again.

The second warg, seeing his comrade depart, released Thenamir's leg and tried to make a quick grab for his throat, but Thenamir's shield arm came up as quick, and all the warg got was a bloody nose and a mouthful of metal shield. Still the warg was above, and Thenamir, try as he might, could not wrest the weight of this fell beast from atop him. With the shield over his face, he could not deflect the warg's slashing teeth from his midsection, and again the warg was thwarted by iron mail. The warg roared as a tooth broke, and then fell again atop Thenamir, not moving for a moment, seeming content to slowly suffocate him by his sheer weight. Then Thenamir smelled it -- the unmistakable smell of burning hair. Elwood had shot the beast dead with one of his fire arrows, and the fire was keeping the other beasts from coming to finish him off. But if he could not roll the fell corpse from over him, he would roast alive beneath it...

Rinurion

01-28-2002, 11:16 PM

Gurthden charged into the fray with a cry that made even his comrades flinch. His frustrated anger, so long kept in check by a wall of reason, now came out in a flood. His blade sang of blood as it cleaved through hide, flesh and bone alike, while his heavy sheild warded off the few blows that ever got to him. He dispatched the wargs in seeming rythm, for indeed he was in a grim dance with death. Through his rage he felt a shape brush past him, another victim for his fury. He unleashed a massive blow, only just stopping it when he realised that it was the girl he had saved earlier in the night. She ran lightly, her lithe body moving in a fluid motion. The realisation that he must protect her came at the same time as a ripping pain in his side. He whirled around, knocking the warg senseless with the flat of his blade. Cursing himself for letting his guard down, he ran after the girl, and into the heat of battle.

The girl hit the wargs bare moments before Gurthden did. She drove herself at them with a wild cry, twisting as she plunged her sword between the lead wargs eyes. In a blink, Gurthden was bye her side, his long, flat, unadorned blade lopping off another warg's head. His fury had been replaced by another feeling, one he had never felt before, but was just as strong. The girl beside him fought with such skill and determination that her injuries and slight build seemed not to matter. Dispatching another warg, Gurthden thought he heard a muffled cry for help. Redoubling his efforts
he slew two more wargs in quick sucession, and the wargs fell back momentarily. Grabbing the fiery girl's arm, he ran back towards where the noise had come from.

Kicking the burning carcass away, Gurthden could hear the wargs regrouping in the backround. He quickly bent down to survey Thenamir's stricken body, and was happy to see that he was regaining concience.
After a few seconds, his eyes were open, and he was looking around. What a tough campaigner, Gurthden thought as he smiled. A sickening howl cleared the sound of the battle, as a hand tapped urgently on his shoulder, shaking him out of his thoughts. Whirling around, Gurthden prepared to again enter the battle...

[ February 05, 2002: Message edited by: Rinurion ]

Leighlei

02-05-2002, 04:24 PM

The girl took a spinning slash at a Warg about to pounce on the man who had guided her here. With one swipe it's head fell from it's shoulders. Without saying a word she looked directly into his eyes, wide with surprise, then turned, and began to hack away at oncoming enemies. However great she was in battle, her arm bled profusely and her strength soon dwindled. Finally, a large Warg got the best of her and leapt upon her, knocking her to the ground. The girl made no noise, her sword knocked from her hand, she grabbed it by it's throat, and tried to keep its snapping jaws from her face, while even then they were only blessed inches from crunching her head to a pulp.
She let out a small cry and in a dwindling effort knocked it from herself.
"Why are you here!?" She yelled at it in perfect english, speaking for the first time so her compainion was even more shocked than before.
"We have wanted you for quite some time Arenia. You have caused much trouble to us." It growled, circling. "But 'tis not you we want." He let out a snicker and crept away. The girl, Arenia, staggered afew steps back before collapsing again. Her companion dove foreward and caught her, lowing her slowly to the ground and holding her head in his lap...

[00C-Better?]

[ February 09, 2002: Message edited by: Leighlei ]

shieldmaiden

02-07-2002, 02:31 PM

Baranthôl quickly ran to help the fallen Dwarf. Dwarin was lying unconscious on the ground, his forehead was bleeding, he must have hurt it when he fell down. She took a flask from her pocket and opened it. She poured the water over the Dwarf’s face and slapped him a few times. “Dwarin, wake up, come on you, you..” she stopped herself from saying something harsh, she had already told him enough ugly things.
She heard a noise behind her and turned just on time before a Warg jumped at her and so it landed on the end of her sword instead of pulling her down to the ground. The animal fell over Baranthôl and it’s cadaver covered her. She barely managed to get out under the animal’s foul corps when another wolf attacked her from her back. It overthrown her to the ground and grabbed her arm in its jaws. She though that it would bite it off but suddenly pressure stopped, she felt blood leaking all over her and the animal became slack and rolled down from her. Baranthôl turned and noticed Dwarin with a bloody axe in his hands. “Thank you” she uttered without breath. “
“No, thank you.” the dwarf replied.
Baranthôl picked up the torch she dropped when the first warg had attacked her. A terrifying thought crossed her mind. “Our horses! The wolves must have attacked them too!”

Thenamir

02-07-2002, 05:49 PM

Thenamir rose, heaving great gulps of air trying to recover from his near-suffocation. The wargs were now much fewer in number than when the battle was joined and the remainder seemed to be in retreat, but looking around Thenamir spied a good number of their company who were wounded and needed care. He barely had time to nod a grateful thank-you to Gurthden before he heard Baranthol's cry, "To the horses!" What little advantage they had over the Dunlendings depended in large part on the speed of their horses. They had been so busy defending themselves against the wolf-onslaught that the horses had had to fend for themselves. Thenamir grabbed Gurthden by the arm and ran, sword arm still swinging at wargs, to where the horses had been picketed.

The grim sight that awaited them was not easy to take. Several wargs lay where the horses had lauched mighty kicks at them in defense -- a few who merely had their ribs crushed still breathed, but were unable to move. Of the horses, though, not one remained. Not one. Thenamir's own Windwight lay lifeless, with horrendous gashes and open wounds. Baranthol knelt beside his own mount silently weeping. Thenamir turned away, both his explosive anger and his stomach threatening to well up again.

In turning Thenamir noticed something in the pale light coming from the campfire some yards away. One of the injured-but-not-yet-dead wargs had been trying to creep away unseen, the leader who was first seen in the firelight. Thenamir stepped close to the dying animal, who looked up into Thenamir's face with a scowl, and spoke.

"Have mercy...and slay me quickly...tark...end my suffering..."

Thenamir stifled his surprise and replied, "I will grant you this boon if you will tell me your master and your purpose. Otherwise I and my companions will end your days by throwing you into yonder fire!"

The warg emitted a weak growl of rage that faded into a whimper of agony. "Saruman...can do no more to me now...kill you if possible...slow you at least...aid Stor...wolos and...Dundlendings...now slay me, as you promised."

No matter how evil the beast, Thenamir could not watch it suffer. Thenamir raised the notched and bloodied Aranbold and gladly mingled the beast's blood with that of his comrades, but not without pause. A noble beast, one even to speak like Huan of old -- bred and tricked and turned to evil from birth by forces he knew not, for purposes he could not comprehend.

Thenamir then raised his head and began to walk slowly back to where the others were tending each other, wrapping gashes, setting broken limbs -- makeshift medicine, and how Thenamir hated it, all the more since the death of Aspida, the healer who might have joined them except for these barbaric servants of Saruman. It was a miracle any of them had survived this long, and Thenamir wondered how many would remain alive after tonight.

Gilthalion

02-07-2002, 11:31 PM

Far away, in a great black tower stabbing high into the night, an old man stood gazing into a crystal globe on a high pedastle.

"So they are not yet dead," he murmured in a low voice. "But their horses are, and without them, they are no match for Storwolos and his band."

"I do not trust these Dunlenders!" said Grima Wormtongue.

"They will serve my purposes," the old man replied. "Or do you think you know better than Saruman of Many Colours!" His voice rose as he turned upon his servant, and Grima cringed before the wizard.

"No Master!" cried Grima. "You should have let me recover the relic. They will surely steal it!"

"So you wish to recover the relic?" the old man scoffed. "Fool! Neither the Dunlenders nor the Rohirrim will live to tell the tale! Do you think I sent those savages to find me a treasure?" Saruman began to laugh, a deep sinister laugh that ended in a cackle of wicked glee.

"I'll tell you what I sent them for," cried the wizard. "And then you can tell me if you would rather I had sent you! When the savages find the hammer, they will find something else that they will not expect."

He gestured at the Palantir. Dark images of shadow and flickering fires could be seen at an impossible depth within the crystal orb.

"And when they find what they seek, something else will find them, and I will be watching," said the wizard. "When Sauron waged war upon the Elves of ancient Hollin, many creatures were unleashed that were conceived in an earlier day of great tumult and darkness. Much evil was brought against them, but there was great arrogance and pride that was brought against themselves, for Sauron was subtle and worked long amongst them ere they learned of his Ruling Ring. Do you know who, or should I say what, lies buried in the elvish ruins of Ost-in-Edhil? Of course you don't! But soon, the savages will. And if the barbarians from Rohan are persistent enough, they will also learn!"

And with that, the wizard's peals of evil laughter rang throughout the tower and Wormtongue was indeed glad that he had not been sent to the ruins.

shieldmaiden

02-11-2002, 03:07 PM

Haleth was not mad, it was a too small word to describe how she felt, she wanted to scream and yell and break something, she wanted to curse out loud the day she joined the riders ., but she had to keep all that inside of her.
She hugged her dead horse, Zelenko and cried without a sound, her tears made the animal’s
mane wet. For four years that horse has been her friend, sometimes the only friend she had. It was the only horse that left after her brother, Baranthôl lost their stables and farm, because just a few days before the happened, Zelenko had ran away and came back a couple of days later. She always had a special bond with it, she liked to whisper in its ears and many times Zelenko was the only witness of her thoughts and feelings.
Haleth closed the horse’s eyes.

Dwarin Thunderhammer

02-11-2002, 06:58 PM

Dwarin limped over to where the horses had been tied. He found that the rope that he had tied his horse "Nim" too had broken. There was no sign of the horse anywhere. Nim had seen almost as many wargs in her day as Dwarin had so she knew what to do. Nim had bolted and, if she was still alive, on her way north to the stables in bree. Dwarin kicked the dust and muttered something in Khuzdul. When he looked up he spotted Haleth crying over the coprse of her horse. He walked over to her and did his best to comfort her.

Theodred21

02-12-2002, 10:20 PM

Taradan was having horrible aches again. Fully concscious he was, but in his paralysis, he was unable to join the battle. So there he lay, in his makeshift tent listening to the sounds of fighting growing dimmer. And when he could hear the sound of Wargs no more, he mustered all his strength and sat up. Pain shot through his skull, but he was becoming used to it, there always seemed to be pain.
He slowly sat up and limped outside. Thenamir was organizing the burning of the hideous corpses, he was a good replacement leader. Taradan hated his helplessness, but at least he was in his right mind. Often times he had seen those who survived bad head wounds go mad.
Suddenly, the sounds of crying reached his ears. Turning his head slowly to avoid more pain, he saw the horses all dead. Nimroch, he thought, his beloved white mare. He quickly staggered over to find Baranthol, already weeping over his horse. But his voice did not seem like that of a man, the sobs sounded like a woman crying. But Taradan's thoughts were not focused on that now, as he stroked his brave steeds mane. First Aspida, the lady who had saved his life had died, now his beautiful horse. Like many of the others there that night, his veins coursed with burning hate, and his heart yearned for revenge.

shieldmaiden

02-13-2002, 10:18 AM

Haleth wiped the tears from her face. There was no use in crying, it only made her feel worse.
She politely refused the Dwarf's help. She needed to be alone.
"I'll go to the woods to get some wood to burn the corpses of the wolves"- she said.
Dwarin tried to say something but she stopped him "I can manage it myself, there can't be any more wolves out there".
She quickly left, not letting him reply.

In the meantime the others were clearing up the camp from the bodies of dead animals.
Leoden, one of the older riders noticed- "Has anyone seen Guthrin? I haven't seen him during the fight?"
"I'm here!" yelled Guthrin from somewhere above.
They raised their heads and saw Guthrin in a tree.
"What are you doing there little bird? The Wolves scared you away?" asked Gurthden.
"I gathered some rocks and threw them at the Wargs, that's what I did!"
"So that's what hit me in the head! And I thought that wargs threw rocks! Shouted Flandhere, the other rider from Erkenbrand's camp. "Come down you little bird, you haven't fought but you are sure going to do some cleaning."
"My horse has gone!", Kalohern yelled.
"Of course it has, all our horses are dead." said Thenamir.
"No, no, I mean it has gone, escaped, vanished. It must have run away when the wolves attacked. I hope that it survived."
"My horse has escaped, too", said Dwarin ."That leaves us with two horses, if they are still alive, that is, and that is not so bad after all."

[ March 02, 2003: Message edited by: shieldmaiden ]

Dwarin Thunderhammer

02-13-2002, 10:50 AM

Dwarin turned his attention once more to the man up in the tree. "Rocks my foot" he began angrily "I have half a mind to cut that tree down with you in it. If you don't come down here and help." Guthrin still refused to come down. "I can't come down, I'm going to stay up here and look out. You do your own dirty work Dwarf!" That proved too much for Dwarin's patience. "You miserable rat! I ought to....." Dwarin continued to mumble as he grabbed his axe and let into the tree with all the strength in his tired body. Guthrin's eyes turned as big as saucer when he saw the Dwarf starting to destroy his refuge. "HELP!!!! HELP ME!!! THE DWARF HAS GONE MAD HELP ME!!!! HE'S INSANE!!!!" Dwarin did not stop, Guthrin continued to scream for help, and desperately hoped that somone would stop the dwarf from destroying his refuge and him with it.

[ February 13, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

Theodred21

02-13-2002, 02:06 PM

Taradan looked up from his sorrows to see what was causing this new racket. The sight first appeared comical, Guthrin in a panic up in a tree while Dwarin, obviously releasing his pent up anger hewed at the tree in a frenzy. But then Taradan saw the danger in his acts. He got up as quick as he could and lurched over to the foot of the tree.
It was a tall pine, and very soft-wooded. Already it was beginning to sway.
"Peace Master Dwarin," said Taradan, in the most imperative voice he could manage. "We are all upset, but it is not right to be hostile to friends."
Dwarin stopped for a moment to reply,"that boastful, windbag is no friend of mine!" and he resumed chopping.
"Dwarin, do you think that only you has suffered? I say, put down that axe right now!"

Dwarin Thunderhammer

02-14-2002, 12:03 PM

Dwarin looked at Taradan and grudgingly hooked his axe to his belt.

"The tree should live" Dwarin started "But He wont! It wont be by my hand, but such cowards deserve to die."

"Thank you" Taradan muttered

"Now you must rest!" Dwarin replied. "Here let me help you to your tent." Dwarin took Taradan back to his tent and made taradan as comfortable as he possibly could.

When Dwarin left Taradan's tent he noticed that the situation with Guthrin hadn't changed at all. With the exception of Guthrin being scared witless. Dwarin walked over to the base of the tree and loooked up.

"You come down here right now and help!".

Once more Guthrin refused "I'm not coming down there you get back to work I don't need to do such mindless chores."

"If you're not down by the time I count to ten I'm coming up to get you"

"A Dwarf climing a tree! This ought to be a sight to see! I shall enjoy watching you fail" Taradan scoffed.

"One! Two! Three! Fo--" Splat something warm and wet hit the forehead of Dwarin's helmet. Guthrin had spat on him! From the tree above Guthrin laughed at his apperent victory. "ALL RIGHT I'M COMING UP TO GET YOU AND THROW YOU DOWN AND BEAT YOU TO A PULP! YOU SNOBBY COWARD ORCLING!!!" With that Dwarin started up the tree in a fit of rage Curing and yelling the whole way. Guthrin laughed once more at Dwarin's verbal attack, but his laughter quickly turned to frantic cries for help when he saw the speed at which Dwarin was climbing a tree. Dwarin ingored Gutrin's pathetic cries for help as he climbed relentlessly. Guthrins's only hope was that one of the riders would come nd save him from the enfuriated Dwarf, and fast!

Theodred21

02-14-2002, 02:10 PM

"Oh no, not again," muttered Taradan. Guthrin did not seem to know when to quit. Some day the fool would get himself killed, but it wouldn't be this one.
"Thenamir, come quick, there is trouble brewing between Dwarin and Guthrin!"

Thenamir

02-18-2002, 05:12 PM

Thenamir gauged the speed at which Dwarin was climbing and figured he had a good half-minute or so to meander over to the tree. He was not pleased with the way Guthrin had quitted himself since they left Rohan, and thought a good scare might do him good, and thus was in no hurry to slow Dwarin down.

Taradan stared as Thenamir unhurriedly approached and pulled a small dagger from his boot. Thenamir barked a commanding, "Dwarin!" from where he was, but the dwarf showed no sign of slowing down. Guthrin had been climbing higher into the tree, but now the branches were dangerously thin near the top and threatening to break under Guthrin's weight. Thenamir eyed the distance carefully, then with a zing threw his dagger into the trunk in the narrow space between Dwarin and his prey. As the dagger hit home inches from Dwarin's outstretched hand, Thenamir shouted "Khuzd!" in a gutteral scream. Dwarin stopped short, looked at the dagger, then slowly down at Thenamir.

"Khuzd Dwarin!" repeated Thenamir, "Dzik bund mak shakr shathûr! Baruk khazâd narag nik tumun theket turg-bark ghethen zrakh! Baraz kharesh ai-mênu, Dwarin, buzundushul!" ("Dwarf Dwarin! Your head does not belong in the clouds! The axes of the dwarves are black and hollow to so slay beardless cowards! A red curse upon you, Dwarin, son of a black root!")

Dwarin's mouth fell open in amazement hearing the words of his people from the mouth of a man, but his face flushed red at the last remark, and he scrambled down the tree, leaping the last 15 feet and bringing his axe down to meet the drawn sword of Thenamir. As the metal and the eyes locked, Thenamir said in a low and menacing voice, "Your petty argument with Guthrin will not stop the Dunlendings, nor avenge those we love who are dead."

Dwarin jumped back as if shocked. Thenamir's thought had brought back memory of Aspida, whose last breath had admonished him to follow Thenamir and no other as a man of honor. Thenamir continued, "your axe will not be honored to draw the blood of one such as Guthrin. I say he has learned his lesson, and ask you to put away your axe. I chafe also at the cowardice and haughtiness of Guthrin, but to slay a man for churlishness is not the way of the dwarves, or so I have heard. If you would slay him, you must first slay me."

[ February 18, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

[ February 19, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Dwarin Thunderhammer

02-19-2002, 02:08 PM

The wave of fury washed over the Dwarf "You defend him?! He could have saved our supplies! He could have saved our horses. HE COULD HAVE SAVED ASPIDA!! FOR THAT I WILL NEVER FORGIVE HIM! THE ANGER OF A DWARF IS NOT SOMETHING TO BE TRIFLED WITH!" In a moment the anger had passed. The complete weariness once again took Dwarin's limbs. He lowerd his axe and bowed his head. "I am sorry for my Rashness. I let my anger get the better of me." Dwarin sighed heavily. "These last few days have been heavy on my heart and on my body. I pray your forgivness."

Thenamir

02-19-2002, 03:03 PM

Thenamir nodded. "If we fight amongst ourselves, then Saruman wins. Go to your tent, Dwarin, and rest." Aside to Dwarin as he walked away, Thenamir added, "the insult was only intended to get you out of the tree quickly. I am not fool enough to willfully make an enemy of a dwarf." Dwarin grinned a moment, then headed for his tent, making a mental note to ask Thenamir how in the name of Moria he learned to swear so well in Dwarvish.

Thenamir turned to the tree, where the ashen-faced Guthrin was just beginning to regain some pale color in his face. "Guthrin, you will come down out of that tree and get to work, or I will finish chopping it down myself. You have shamed yourself and your family by your actions, and deserve to be horse-whipped across your bare back and sent home. You have been worse than useless -- you have endangered our lives and shown yourself to be a thrice-proved coward. What shall we do with you?"

[ February 19, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Dwarin Thunderhammer

02-19-2002, 04:50 PM

"String him up by his thumbs!" Dwarin said, just loud enough for Thenamir to hear. "Or better yet, feed him to the wargs!" The Dwarf said without stopping. Thenamir stifled a grin and ordered Dwarin to get back to his tentfor a second time. Dwarin was extremely curious about how Thenamir knew Khuzdul but he was more weary than he was curious. When dwarin finally got back to his tent he cdidnt even bother to unhook his axe from his belt. He simply fell over and slept like a rock.

Theodred21

02-20-2002, 09:48 AM

"Handled well my friend," said Taradan with a weak smile. "But I fear this affair of violence and grief has worn me out, and my strength has not yet recovered. It will be a hard journey for me on foot. So now I bid you goodnight, and go to rest now," he said with a sigh.
Taradan limped over to his tent, which he was sharing with Dwarin. The stout dwarf was already asleep, his beard rising and falling with his breath. The sight amused the weary rider as he lay down on the hard ground. He took off his cloak, and rolled it up to use as a pillow, and soon was dozing off. His last thoughts concerned the unknown maiden he had seen battling, and...was Baranthol really a man, or was he really a woman?

[ February 21, 2002: Message edited by: Theodred21 ]

Thenamir

02-22-2002, 01:48 PM

Thenamir saw Taradan off to his tent, then returned his attention to Guthrin's tree. Guthrin himself was climbing down with the slowness of a child who knows his guilt but dares not avoid the summons to judgement.

THenamir spoke, loud enough for those standing by to hear, "Guthrin, son of Guthmund, you are of the body of the Rohirrim by your own choice. I am an outsider to the Rohirrim, fighting with them only by their permission. I cannot judge you -- that is the province of your commander, Taradan, and your fellows. By the law of Rohan I am the least of the members of this party."

Thenamir now turned to the rest and spoke louder, "But I ask those who stand by to vindicate my decision now: that you be bound hand and foot to this tree, to prevent your cowardice from goading you to flee yet again, until you can receive the judgement of the Circle of the Rohirrim in the lawful manner in the morning."

There was a murmur of assent among the few standing by, and one, Gurthden, moved to retrieve a rope from his gear. Guthrin blurted out, "Tied?! What if the Wargs come back? I'll be defenseless!"

"This is true," Thenamir replied, "which is why you will be on watch tonight -- since you have not exerted yourself whatsoever over the last few days, as the rest of us have, you should be quite well rested for a good long watch, and all the more vigilant since your life will depend on rousing us to defend you!"

There was a chuckle among the rest as Guthrin's mouth gaped open, but there was obviously nothing he could say. He watched helplessly as Gurthden first tied Guthrin's hands behind him, then tied his feet with enough slack that he could take a half-step at a time and no more. He then loosely looped the free end about the tree and knotted it such that Guthrin could not get away, but could move around the tree so as to be able to watch in all directions.

Once Gurthden had tested the knots, he stepped back and observed as Guthrin shuffled about the tree a couple of times to make sure the watchman could indeed watch. Then Thenamir called for everyone to get whatever sleep they could, except Elwood. Elwood he called aside and asked if he would try to track down and retrieve the two horses which had broken their picket-ropes and fled. There were a couple of wounded, Taradan included, who would not be able to keep up with the quick-march Thenamir planned for the next day unless the horses could be found. Elwood agreed and disappeared into the night, but not before drawing a long dagger into each hand.

Thenamir gave Guthrin a last look, threw some fresh wood on the fire, and then collapsed in his tent. Even the helmet-as-pillow could not prevent sleep from overtaking him that night.

[ February 22, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Gilthalion

02-22-2002, 06:01 PM

There were horses like none others among the herds of the Rohirrim, the foals of the Mearas. They were intellingent beasts, fleeter of hoof and stronger of wind than any other horses in all of Middle-earth and no animal except the great Eagles of the Misty Mountains could travel faster than these mighty steeds.

Telefax was such a horse, though still young and ungainly, not yet come into the full growth that would flesh out his awkward bones. Even so, the great horse easily escaped the makeshift paddock and evaded every warg that he did not slay with his flashing hooves.

He found his way northwest and came upon a road and was soon lost to the pursuing wolves who could not hope to match the speed of Telefax in the open country away from the confining trees of the forest.

Now the horse reached his real stride and riderless ran as far and as fast as his great legs could take him and the leagues passed behind him like the wind. He ran not from fear of wolves, but as if guided to be where he needed to go to find help for his master and friend, Kalohern. The young rider thought his steed slain, and sat numbly back at the camp, ignoring the foolery of the coward, Guthrin, and the constrained wrath of Dwarin the dwarf.

But Telefax knew his master needed help that only he could bring. Now it is a strange thing, but the horse somehow knew, by that special grace that is given to truly noble beasts, that help lay upon the road he now galloped.

He ran until the night became day, and as the sun climbed her courses, the mighty steed found the Rangers of Tharbad and they looked in wonder at the great horse.

shieldmaiden

02-24-2002, 12:40 PM

During the “episode” with Guthrin and the tree Baranthôl was gathering firewood in the forest.

After some time she sat on a fallen tree and sighed. She didn't feel well, the death of Aspida, the fight with Wargs, the death of her horse, it all fell on her like a rain of stones and she couldn’t take it anymore. All she wanted to do was to wash off the sweat and blood and not think or do anything for some time.
She wondered through the woods until she reached a stream. It was not very wide and maybe 3 or 4 feet deep. She knelt on the ground, removed her helmet and hood and immersed her head into the water, she kept it under the surface until she was out of breath. The cold water helped her calm down and relax. Haleth wished she could take a swim but it was too dangerous, someone could see her and then her disguise would be revealed and all would be ruined.

She took off her boots and dipped her feet into the stream, she felt better immediately. She unbuttoned her shirt and took out a simple metal pendant on a chain that was hidden under several layers of clothes. She pressed a button on it and it opened revealing a mirror on one side and letters H and B carved on the other. Baranthôl and Haleth both got a locket from their father who made them so they could always see each other if they were separated. She looked at the face in the tiny mirror, it was strange but she couldn’t tell whose face she was looking at, hers or her twin brother’s. They were so much alike. She wondered what he was doing at that moment. Over three years have passed since she last saw him and heard from him. She missed him so much. She knew only one thing for sure, that he was alive.

Haleth was suddenly paralyzed from fear. Something wet and cold touched her neck. She was so frightened that she couldn’t speak. She slowly turned her head...it was Nim, Dwarin’s little horse. “You scraggy scallywag ! You are worse than your nosy owner” -she laughed. “I could have had a heart attack.” Haleth knew that it was in fact her fault that the horse had surprised her, she was lucky that it wasn’t something worse. She made a mistake, she was not careful.

She tied the firewood that she had gathered into a stack , put it on the horse’s back and headed back to the camp.

[ March 01, 2002: Message edited by: shieldmaiden ]

Thenamir

02-26-2002, 01:57 PM

Thenamir was sore, in more ways than one.

The battle had marred and bruised him, his leg ached where the warg had tried to wrench it off, his chest still felt like the other warg was sitting on it, and in his extreme fatigue he had neglected to clear the smaller stones from where he fell to sleep exhausted, and they now felt like boulders in his back.

He rolled to a more comfortable position as the morning light waxed pale in the east, and tried again to think. The horses had been killed in the night, and he was sore about that too. And his mind drifted back to other hurts inflicted on him by Saruman and his band of barbaric Dunlendings...his wife and child...his best friend...now his faithful and beloved Windwight.

All the legends and stories said that Saruman was a good wizard, Saruman the White, who had helped defeat the Necromancer and drive him out of Mirkwood a few years ago. And yet he was responsible for all this carnage, all this destruction, all this sadness. Was it possible that Thenamir and those who followed him were attempting to thwart the good plans of a good wizard, who surely knew more than they?

Thenamir shook his head to clear some of the cobwebs. The light was growing stronger, and with it, the conviction that Saruman, if he was good, had turned aside from his path into evil or madness...or both. If an evil wizard might be the equal of the Dark Lord, surely a mad one was worse. "Subtle and quick to anger," someone had once said about the wizards. Good, evil, or mad, his means could not be justified by any ends he could imagine. How he could hope to combat the purposes of a wizard, he had no idea, but fight him he would. It was time to move.

The sky was brightening as Thenamir began to rouse the others. Much to Thenamir's surprise, Dwarin's horse appeared at the end of the clearing, tied and getting an early start on breakfast. The Bonfire was still going, and Guthrin was wide awake though slumped against the tree he was tied to. Guthrin! His matter had to be disposed of before they could move on.

After a hastily prepared breakfast consisting chiefly of roast warg (tough and stringy meat, but alright in a pinch), Taradan called those who remained of the Rohirrim to the Circle, formed around the tree: Taradan himself, Gurthden, Baranthôl, Kalohern, Leoden and Flandhere. Once that was underway, Thenamir, Ulfwine, Dwarin, Elwood, and the mysterious girl walked apart, so as to leave the Rohirrim to their task. Thenamir used the time to discuss matters with the others.

Elwood had returned in the night, with news that Kalohern's horse Telefax had managed to escape northwestward. "The hoofprints that horse left are so deeply set in the hard earth where I last saw his tracks...the horse is moving with a speed I have never seen, and in the direction we wished to go. If he was not otheriwse hindered, he may well be beyond Ost-In-Edhil." Thenamir thought in wonder anout the unsightly horse Kalohern rode, and wondered if Elwood might have followed the wrong trail. He certainly hoped not.

Thenamir then turned to the mystery girl from the night before. "What is your story, lass? Why were the Wargs chasing you?"

[ February 27, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Leighlei

03-03-2002, 05:00 PM

The girl glanced at The man before her and glenced around, holding tightly her arm.
"My name is Arenia." She said, her aceent was the equivelant of what an irish accent would be here on earth. "And they chase me because I whacked off ear of their leader, big male who killed my mare. I cut out left eye." She motioned with her hands. "I come for food and shelter." She said after a moment. "Human company not...common in these parts." She had trouble speaking the language properly, then said something gutteral, like a grunt that was foreign to humans. It was the language she had spoken to the trees and the wind throughout her long past in the wilderness. And then she switched back to making words.
"Who are you?"

shieldmaiden

03-11-2002, 09:52 AM

"Indeed, what are we?" thought Haleth, "A bunch of wounded men in the middle of nowhere. Riders without horses. Taradan can barely walk, Leoden and Flandhere haven't fully recovered yet. And the rest of us...a boy and a not much older Dunlending outcast, a cowardly rich brat, a neurotic woman who pretends to be a man, a strange Elf and a nosy Dwarf and two men. We are in the middle of nowhere tracking a group of Dunlendings who outnumber us a dozen times..."
She remained silent and waited for someone else to speak.

[ March 11, 2002: Message edited by: shieldmaiden ]

Thenamir

03-13-2002, 12:22 PM

While the men of Rohan decided Guthrin's fate, Thenamir explained their situation to Arenia in the simplest words he could think of, interrupted occasionally by the dwarf, elf, and Dunlending who helped fill in the gaps--the king, the suspect advisor, the Dunlendings, the pursuit, the battles, the deaths. It was a lot for such a one to take in, but she absorbed it with the relish of a half-starved animal devouring a fresh kill.

Once she understood what was happening, she insisted on joining them. "I know where you go. Was there once, men there, dark hair, like you."

This comment raised the eyebrows of all the non-rohirrim in the huddle -- even the calm Elwood seemed cheered by this intelligence. Thenamir cried, "then there are men there, men who could help us! Arenia, how long will it take to go there from here? How many days to walk?"

Gilthalion

03-13-2002, 11:50 PM

The wild girl answered the exile from Gondor after a moment's thought.

"Some here are wounded," she said. "So we would be slow. Maybe two leagues in a day. Many days. It is fifty leagues to the River Greyflood on the old road. The moon will be full again."

"And it will take us that long to return on foot through Dunland to the Fords of the Isen," said Thenamir. "All choices are fraught with peril! If we find these men you speak of, we may lose time. If we return to Rohan, we will never learn what the wizard is up to. It is a hard decision. We will have to debate it after it is decided what we shall do with Guthrin."

"We must give the wounded time to rest," Arenia said, as if she herself bore no wounds. "And perhaps there will be better news when we are ready to move."

"We would be ready sooner if Aspida had not been slain," said Thenamir. "We could use her knowledge of herbs and medicines."

The dwarf, who had turned in disgust from the Rohirrim's overlengthy (to his mind) debate about Guthrin, heard the name of Aspida, and remembered the map she had given him....

[ March 14, 2002: Message edited by: Gilthalion ]

Leighlei

03-15-2002, 04:11 PM

After a moment of the others discussing among themselves, Arenia turned away. She felt odd, mismatched and cold in their warm circle, she wrapped her arms around her knees, which were drawn up to her chest, and rested her chin upon them. Ignoring the nagging pain in her arm, she remained like that for a few moments more before lifting her head, thinking of something, and getting to her feet.
"Name was man brought me here?" She inquired. After a managerie of confused looks, she tried again. "I fight Warg. Arm hurt." She motioned to her arm "I not awake. Who fine me asleep and bring here?" She said this slowly, so they could understand. She looked at them in a troubled way, asking with her eyes. "Understand words I make?"

Rinurion

03-16-2002, 02:56 AM

"That was I" said Gurthden softly as he looked up. "I was on watch. I saw what i thought was a wolf. I respct wolves greatly, they normally do no harm. But i was wrong. It was not a wolf. It was a warg. You were nearly killed, and it was my fault. I should have known sooner. I beg your forgiveness."

Leighlei

03-17-2002, 07:01 PM

"Your fault? I do not understand how fault yours." She strode over to him and looked into his eyes, "Please forgive me for endangering you." She put her hands on his shoulders and rose on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "Fault not yours."

Dwarin Thunderhammer

03-18-2002, 03:09 PM

Dwarin hastened to find Thenamir. When he found the Riders they were discussing Guthrin's punishment. Dwarin shot a glare in the direction of the coward. He found thenamir and asked to speak to him in private. Thenamir pulled away from the group and asked Dwarin what he wanted.

"Sir, first of all I would like to apologize for my behavior last night." Dwarin began. "Secondly I would like to remind you of the map I placed in your posession when we left aspida's. Thirdly, I would greatly like know how you learned to speak my language."

Thenamir

03-21-2002, 02:07 PM

Thenamir separated himself by a respectful distance from both the Rohirrim council and the conversation between Gurthden and Arenia. "As to what happened last night," Thenamir said, "think no more of it. I'm sure that several of the other riders had the same thought," he added with a half-smile. "If you can forgive my dwarvish insults, you are a better dwarf than the dwarves my father and grandfather knew in Gondor. They used to come from the Iron Mountains, and later from Dale and Laketown in the north, to sell weapons and metalwork. My sword Aranbold is dwarf-make from the forges of the dwarves of the Iron Mountains."

"Was it they who taught you the khuzdul?" asked Dwarin as they headed towards the tents. He no longer had to wonder how Thenamir's sword had withstood the blow of his axe.

"Nay," replied Thenamir, "My grandfather learned a bit from listening to the arguments between the dwarves with whom he traded to get arms for his men. He found his bargaining position was strengthened when he could insult their prices in their own language."

"I can think of no better way to a quick death," Dwarin mused.

"Normally you'd be right. The only thing that saved them was the fact that it would have been 4 dwarves against his 200 fully armed Tower Guards. A good deal for both the men and the dwarves was usually struck, though, and then they'd take the dwarves for a drink. The things they'd say when they were drunk..." Thenamir trailed off shaking his head. Dwarin smiled, thinking that Thenamir must be of good stock if his sires could handle 4 drunken dwarves without bloodshed.

Dwarin followed as Thenamir strode to his tent, rummaged around in his pack, and pulled out the dried-leather map rolled and tied with a thin strip of the same leather. He called Elwood, Ulfwine and Arenia over as he sat down on the ground, unraveled the tied leather and spread out the map on the grass.

The map appeared to be notated in the language of Gondor, but there were unfamiliar words, and some other recognizable words were spelled strangely. The Old North Road was rather obvious, and they were able to make out their position near enough.

Thenamir turned the map to Arenia, pointing. "We are here. Where did you see the dark-hair men, the men like me?" Arenia studied the map quizzically for a moment, then her face broke in a smile of recognition. She turned the map a quarter of the way around, saying "Sun rise from this side!" Everyone chuckled, then she pointed to a mark on the map and said "Here. Old broken city nearby, here. Many days walking."

Thenamir's brow was deeply furrowed. "Going straight to the Old North Road would actually take us somewhat out of our way. And that road is sure to be watched, both by the Dunlendings and...others. If we could strike a straight path through the woodlands, our path will be shorter, and more secret, although our progress will be slower. Arenia, is there a way we can go straight path to dark-hair men?" Thenamir thought that even this way they would need the speed of the great eagles to overtake the Dunlendings...

[ March 21, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Rinurion

04-04-2002, 06:07 PM

Gurthden looked up suddenly, and by the look in his eyes it was obvious that he had an idea.
"Its not going to work. Theres no way in hell that we can catch up to those Dunelings without horses, no matter what shortcut we take. We have to use our heads. We can trick them, Dunelings are not at all smart." Turning to Elwood, he continued.
"You said that the boy Kalohern's horse had escaped the wargs?" Elwood nodded in assent.
"Ok. My plan is simple. We have someone ride the boys horse to the Dunelings camp with a forged note from Saruman, with orders to turn back. I think it will have to be Arienia, as all of us are known to the Dunelings. It should stall the dunelings long enough for us to sneak ahead of them. Now I know how dangerous this is, but we are desperate. Does anyone have a better idea?"

Thenamir

04-04-2002, 11:25 PM

"Gurthden, I have only two things to say to you," Thenamir said with mock indignance. "One: that is an excellent idea. Two: shouldn't you be over with the rest of the Rohirrim deciding Guthrin's punishment?" Thenamir broke out in a smile, the first he'd had in a couple of days.

"Well, there's only one problem I can see with this plan. Kalohern's horse has not returned yet, and may not. The only horse we have is Mim, Dwarin's horse, and I think the Dunlending's might be suspicious if Arenia rode up on a horse sized for...well...someone shorter."

Meanwhile, far to the north, some men who resembled Taradan and Thenamir were still puzzling over the great horse with the bony flanks which had appeared in their midst like a ghost out of the mists that lay over the old North Road...

[ April 05, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Dwarin Thunderhammer

04-04-2002, 11:51 PM

Dwarin listened intently to Thenamir's explanation of his knowlede of khuzdul. When he was sufficiently satisfied they went to retrieve the map from Thenamir's tent. Dwarin listened intently to Arenia and Gurthdens advice.

When they had finished Dwarin was ready to explain a plan that had been formulatiog over the last few minutes. After thenamir finished Dwarin began to explain:

"The deception is an excellent idea, but I think we should capitalize on our oppertunity. The letter should delay them long enough for a few of our fastest men, not myself, to get directy in their path. I suggest that we send Elwood and Gurthden maybe to start a fire in their way. It could confuse them and delay them even more. if we do that we will surely have enough time to reach our destination first."

Dwarin's wheels were turning so quickly that he almost missed the reply that came next.

Leighlei

04-05-2002, 11:01 AM

Arenia looked at the ground, she had not been anyone's decoy ever, and much less anyone's accquantence or friend, nonetheless, shelooked around. "I will go." She said Determindely. "Although, I cannot remember How to mark the words."

Thenamir

04-07-2002, 09:43 PM

Thenamir rubbed his hands together in grim but glad anticipation. "Another good idea, master Dwarf. It is some comfort to know that Taradan and I can rely on the brains of others when ours fail us! Now if we just knew how long the Rohirrim were going to take in udging Guthrin."

At that moment the men surrounding Guthrin, who was still tied securely to his tree, stepped a few steps away from the tree, still facing it. Taradan approached the knot of people where Thenamir was still seated on the ground with the map.

"Thenamir," said Taradan deferentially, "the circle is undecided. Some think Guthrin should be killed for his cowardice, others think he should be given the fhiornach, a chance to redeem himself by accomplishing a great deed."

Thenamir answered, "Why do you tell me this?" Taradan smiled in reply, "more than one of the circle would have your opinion before deciding."

Thenamir frowned, then a light dawned across his face. He jumped up so suddenly that the others over him barely had time to dodge. He walked briskly over to the circle of the men of Rohan watching to see what he would do. "Men of Rohan!" he began, "Last night you vindicated my interim judgement on Guthrin, and now you would have my counsel. Very well. I shall give it to you."

Thenamir removed the long leather gauntlet from one hand, and holding it so that the metal-beaded side would not injure, reared back and slapped the bound Guthrin full in the face with it.

He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "I am not one to shed blood hastily outside of clean battle. Some among you have counselled his death, and were the situation not so dire, I would agree. And yet, we may have need of just the kind of avoidance of battle Guthrin so aptly has demonstrated."

Thenamir bent down and cut the bonds from Guthrin's hands, and then stood straight with his hand on the hilt of Aranbold. "Guthrin, it is my judgement that you be given the opportunity to redeem your cowardice by the fhiornach! If the rest of the circle are agreed, you will accompany Leoden and Flandhere, where your skill at avoiding the enemy and climbing trees silently will be put to good use. You are to scout out the location and direction of the Dunlendings, get in front of them, and set fire to the forest in their path, and thus slow them, that we may get ahead of them."

Here Thenamir leaned into the face of Guthrin and said, "Although I am not of Rohan, and have no claim to judge your offenses to Rohan, yet these of Rohan are my honorable friends and allies. And so I charge you now: if you leave them, betray them, or demonstrate such craven behavior toward them as you have thus far exhibited on our journey, *I* will be the one to shed your blood if we ever meet again...not for Rohan, but for myself. What say you, O Circle of the Rohirrim?" There was a shout of assent.

--------------

The Rangers of the North examined the livery of the great horse which had come into their midst so unexpectedly. One of them recognized it as a saddle and gear from the stables of Rohan, which amazed them even more, for Rohan was many leagues indeed from where they stood. Though the beast had obviousl just run a long distance, it seemed ready to take off again, anxious to go somewhere.

Before Telefax could run off, one of the men, knowing the love of the steeds of Rohan for their masters, packed a rough leather sack with such food and medical supplies as they could spare, along with a packet of athelas leaves, and a map of the area showing their location, and tied it securely to the saddle of the horse before they released it again. It looked at each one in turn, as though trying to remember them to recognize them should they meet again. Then with a mighty neighing, it reared, turned, and galloped off again the way it came...

[ April 07, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

shieldmaiden

04-09-2002, 01:30 PM

Baranthôl stood up.
"I agree with the punishment. I'm against killing one's kin, even though he is a coward. I don’t know if we should trust him but I promise you, Guthrin, if you betray us you won’t live long enough to enjoy your treachery.” - She gave him one of her looks that made every man feel very uncomfortable, it made Guthrin think about harps with his bowels as strings.
“Now, about the plan. Is it safe to send Arenia after the Dunlendings? She is very young and cannot speak their language. I don’t know if they would believe that Saruman had sent a wild girl with such an important message.”

Thenamir

04-09-2002, 02:07 PM

Ulfwine spoke up for the first time in awhile. "Saruman often used illiterate mutes to carry his secret orders to Borleg. It keeps them from reading, or telling others. The sad part is that he raises them himself, in despicable conditions."

Thenamir nodded, then said, "Arenia will be better than most to play that role, but we still have not found Kalohern's horse. Nim is a strong and fine steed, but cannot pass for one of Saruman's stable. We can only hope he finds his way back soon."

"Taradan," Thenamir continued, "if a suitable horse is not found within a day, we should at least send Guthrin and the others to execute that part of our plan. We will need all the help we can get, at the slower pace we will have to maintain to help the wounded recover. What are your orders?"

Leighlei

04-09-2002, 02:31 PM

Arenia looked at the ground, overhearing their talk about illiteracy, and her inability to speak properly. She had not made the words in a long time, and for the first time felt ashamed of her inadequacy. She bit her lip, now feeling more than a bit inferior and much lower than the men and women who could use the language better than she.

Thenamir

04-09-2002, 05:21 PM

Thenamir looked at Arenia. "You know, I am not speaking bad of you. You will be a great help to us, but you must keep silent, and find the bad men, and give the words to their leader. You understand? It will help us."

Leighlei

04-10-2002, 10:14 AM

Arenia looked up, smiled, and nodded. If there was anything she could do well, it was tracking, and it was riding. She twisted her tongue around in her mouth, contemplating. "Best to leave when sun leaves sky." She uttered. "That way we arrive when sun shows." She ticked some things off on her fingers. "Tommorow, dark. Time to rest for us until then." She received weary looks. Obviously they wanted to leave as soon as possible. "Would you rather fight at full strength, or right away and die?" She waved her arm as best she could. "I cannot ride like this."

Thenamir

04-12-2002, 11:09 AM

"Arenia is right," Thenamir said, "we have just come off a sleepless night and hard battle against the wargs. We are wounded and weary. A day to rest and treat the wounded, to recover our strength and prepare for a quick-march north, is something we sorely need. In the absence of a compelling need, we will leave as Arenia suggests, tomorrow at dark. If Nim is the only horse available, so be it."

There were disgruntled murmers of grudging agreement, and they dispersed to their tents to rest and try to recuperate. Elwood's healing abilites were sorely put to the test, but by late afternoon, most of the wounds had been tended and the bites banadaged.

At Thenamir's insistence, Elwood came last to Thenamir's tent. "Thenamir, are you here?" he called from outside. Thenamir who had been napping, awoke, and groggily opened his tent to admit the elf, and winced visibly as he sat again on his blanket. Elwood probed Thenamir's ribs gently, an fortunately none were broken, but there were some dark bruises where the weight of the warg had driven the shield into his chest.

"Elwood," Thenamir began as the elf examined him, "what are we doing here? I know elves seldom give counsel, but I begin to doubt myself. Are we on a suicide quest, to no good purpose?"

Leighlei

04-12-2002, 01:26 PM

Arenia stood outside, although they had welcomed her into a tent, she had opted to sleep outside. They had offered her bedding, but she had declined. Now she stood a little ways outside the camp,on a small grassy knoll, staring at the stars. She wrapped her arms around her legs and leaned her head on her knees. She had a lot of thinking to do. Elwood had not gotten to her yet, mostly because she had been avoiding it. She couldnot sleep, however tired she was. There were people here, and now that the battle was over, she needed to think about all these new feelings that boiled over and over inside of her, feelings that she hadn't ever felt, and if she had, she could not remember or recognize...

Dwarin Thunderhammer

04-24-2002, 02:34 PM

Dwarin stood up and surveyed the scene. The injured were being tended to, and everything was being prepared for the struggle ahead of them. After all the events Dwarinneeded some time alone. As he wandered in the forest he heard the unmistakeable sound of hoofbeats. The dwarfs stomach dropped. Dwarin did not like the prospect of a Dunedling scount finding about their little party. Dwarin readied his ax once more to to take down another man, but he did not need it. Much to his great surprise and delight he recognized the horse as telefax, kalohern's horse. The horse immediately caught sight of the not-so-camoflauged dwarf. "Glad to see you've come back. Where did you go any ways?" Telefax didn't answer. "Well whatever the case we've got job for you" Dwarin said as he started walking back to camp.

Dwarin returned to camp the horse following faithfully. Dwarin cleared his throat, "I have something here that might interest some of you, not in the least kalohern." The boy looked up and gave a cry of joy. Kalohern ran and flung his arms around the neck of his horse. Telefax gave a soft neigh at his master as kalohern jumped on his back and proceeded to take a "victory lap" around the encampment. The party looked on with great delight as they boy and his horse were reunited. It was somewhat bittersweet since the young warrior knew tat his horse was to go on a mission that he would not be allowed to go on.

Thenamir brought Arenia out to the horse, and retrieved a pack off the horse back and then began investigating its contents. He took a moment to give her the message he had written for her to deliver. Kalohern looked like he was dying inside but he bore and hid it well. He brought Telefax to Arenia and introduced the two. He produced two horse treats and handed them to Arenia who in turn held them out palm up the horse. Telefax sniffed the treats and then ate them with relish. Arenia smiled when the horse gave her a small nudge in thanks. Willingly the young warrior helped the young girl get up on the back of the mighty horse. Kalohern then went around to the front of Telefax and put his forehead against the horse. He spoke soft and low to his beloved steed. The horse seemingly understood everything he was saying. Many riders understood the bond between the boy and his companion. For Telefax was truly a companion, not just an animal. He understood the boy and protected him. When the boy had finished he spoke a command and at that the horse neighed loudly and stamped his hoof. The resounding thunder was ringing in their ears as the horse galloped off to an uncertain fate. Kalohern wiped the tears from his eyes and squared his shoulders. Thenamir stepped up to the young man and clapped his hand on his shoulder. He spoke a few inaudible words as they watched the dust rise from the ground in the wake of the great horse.

Dwarin turned away from the scene and went to seek Haleth. He found her in her tent preparing for the journey ahead. He stepped into her tent and found her looking at a small object. Which she quickly hid underneath her armor. "What are you doing here?!" She said angrily as she turned to face him. "I-I-Um- Just came to thank you for returning Mim." He stammered. Dwarin realized that the red in her face was not from anger. She hastily wiped the tears from her eyes. "You're welcome. Now go!" She said. Dwarin could tell that she was working to keep the angry tone in her voice. "I err" the dwarf started, but he was cut off by Thenamir standing next to gurthden calling the camp to attention.

Thenamir

04-25-2002, 01:11 PM

Elwood had had nothing much to contribute to Thenamir's thought processes, other than to say that he sensed that they were where they should be. Of what to do next, Elwood would say not a word, as Thenamir expected. His mind was made up anyway. Some of the puzzle pieces were still missing, but there was enough of the picture clear to know that whatever happened from here, few if any would come back alive, and none would come back unscarred. There was no way to fight a wizard of Saruman's power, but they might perhaps hinder him enough so that those who *could* fight the mad wizard would have a better chance.

It was then that Thenamir called the camp to attention. Taradan also stood weakly at Thenamir's side, to lend his position and authority to Thenamir's words. Thenamir and Taradan had spoken long into the night, and were agreed to what had to be done. The unexpected return of Telefax, and the contents of the pack it bore, had given their determination a direction at last.

Thenamir was still uneasy at taking the leadership position, but with Taradan's trust and agreement, there was really no other that could take the lead. "Men of Rohan, and Master Dwarin, and Ulfwine of Dunland, and Elwood of Lothlorien. Duty compels me to lay out what I know, and what I believe lies ahead. I do not know where Telefax found this pack, but it contained some exceptional healing herbs that Elwood has put to good use, and a map which appears to show more directly where to find the Rangers of the North." There was a murmur of surprise, then Thenamir continued.

"We will make for the Rangers with as much speed as we can muster. Guthrin, Leoden, and Flandhere will meet us there as soon as possible after attempting their task. Those who cannot keep up will ride as necessary in Dwarin's cart."

Theanmir paused, knowing what had to be said. "My friends and allies, if Saruman the White is responsible for all the devilry we have seen so far, we are fighting a foe much greater than Dunlendings, or Wargs. If he knows of our doings, he will crush us, and none can save us. We may only hope to slow him, or hinder him in some small way. And yet my heart tells me that this is the way we must go -- that there is a purpose in it, though we probably will not return again. If there is any hope that men can turn aside the plans of powerful tyrants, let us go forth to our fate, and yet ride in hope that we serve a purpose higher still."

"Make ready. We leave in one hour."

An hour later, the only trace of the band was the blood of the wargs on the grass.

Leighlei

04-25-2002, 03:55 PM

Arenia rode quietly, uneasy. This horse meant a lot to someone, and she was in no rush for it to get hurt. Coming to a small outcropping of trees, she glanced back and then urged the horse foreward again.

Thenamir

05-01-2002, 12:26 PM

[[Since there is no one currently playing Guthrin, Leoden, or Flandhere, I am volunteering to write for their group as well as my own character -- anyone who wants to add for them is welcome]]

The "fire trio" took off on foot just before the rest of the camp, making their way running in a more northerly direction than Arenia, so as to intersect the course of the Dunlendings before they reached the same point.

They spoke little at first, out of breath from their running pursuit. Guthrin might have been a coward but no one could say he was not fit. He kept up with the fleet-footed Leoden and Flandhere with no trouble, and was not the first to call for a rest. When they did finally stop for rest and a bite, Guthrin felt himself being shunned by the other two, and he could only blame himself. He did try to engage them in conversation.

"Perhaps we should try to strike more directly for their trail, and then follow them north." Guthrin offered.

Leoden replied, "You don't know your triangles very well. We will have to cover more ground that way than by angling towards them as we are doing now." He then took another bite of the breadlike item in his hand and gave Guthrin no further attention.

"But if we get ahead of them," Guthrin retorted, "then we do not know where they will cross our path. I don't want to burn down any more forest than I have to." Flandhere snorted without looking up, "He shows more concern for the forest than for his friends!"

Leoden had in fact been thinking about that exact question. The Dunlenders had quite a bit of a start on them, but they were burdened and slowed by supplies and equipment. The Dunlendings did have scouts on horseback, but the rest were walking at the pace of the carts. While he tried to guess which angle was best to pursue thek, he mentally bid Arenia good speed and favorable treatment from the barbaric men. At least she had a horse with good sense, like all the horses of Rohan, even if it did not look like a Shadowfax...

Flandhere was not happy about being paired with this coward Guthrin, but Thenamir seemed to know what he was doing. He would do his part, but that did not mean that he had to be civil to Gurthrin unless and until he redeemed himself in the fhiornach -- which he doubted Guthrin would.

Guthrin, seeing that the others were finished with their lunch, such as it was, offered to fill their water-skins before they resumed the pursuit. They unslung the skin bottles and handed them to Guthrin, who filled them in a nearby stream. It was the least he could do for now to begin turning over a new leaf. Thenamir's judgement and threat had given him much new to think about, and he wanted at least to try.

With their bottles refilled, they sprang back to the pursuit, following Leoden's path which, though Leoden would not admit it, bent a bit more directly towards the Dunlendings than before...

[ May 01, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Leighlei

05-01-2002, 06:43 PM

After a good deal of riding Arenia slowed the horse. She didn't want the beast to tire. She glanced around the land of man that she had left. She wondered if it was still the same...

[ok...i have nothin to post...]

Thenamir

05-03-2002, 01:59 PM

The next morning dawned rose-pale in the east, but Guthrin had his back to it scouting the west. "I see the smokes of their camp about two leagues west, and a bit north," Guthrin called down from a treetop on a small rise which commanded an advantageous view of the immediate surrounding area. "If we start now, we should be able to get ahead of them and start the fires before sunset."

"Well then, slither down here and let's get going!" said Leoden curtly as he hoised his already-packed gear onto his shoulders. Flandhere was already scouting the path ahead. Inwardly he was glad, though, becuase it meant that they were closer than he expected. It meant that they could slow the foul purposes of the Dunlendings and soon return to the main body trying to outrun them to the east.

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

Thenamir was eager to find his long-sundered kindred of the Northern Kingdom, and seldom and grudgingly did he call for rest and food breaks. He had been leading the group at a pace barely under a run, and was frustrated that he himself was sore and wounded, and could not move faster.

Taradan and Baranthol, though able to walk, could not keep the pace, and so were riding in Dwarin's small cart being pulled by his recovered horse Nim. Dwarin, though short of height, was long in strength, and was able to keep pace with Thenamir, though he preferred to stay behind with Nim and the cart-riders.

Late in the afternoon, Thenamir saw a great smoke rising in the west to meet the setting sun.

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

Once more Guthrin found himself at the top of a tree, but this time the sun was setting to his right as he peered southwards. Some distance to the south there was a break in the trees, and he could see the rough and careless Dunlendings tromping through. He signalled silently to Flandhere who was at the tree's base. Flandhere smiled. Guthrin might not be any use in a battle, but his scouting and sharp eyes were unsurpassed.

Guthrin jumped to the ground with Flandhere, and Leoden who was busy putting together torches of tightly bound cloth soaked in warg fat saved from the recent massacre. He looked up with something as close to a smile as Leoden could get, and handed each a set of torches. "Which way are they heading, Guthrin?" he asked, a little less short than before.

"If they maintain a straight line, they will pass us a half-league east of where we are now," he replied.

"Excellent!" Leoden whispered. "The grasses and leaves are dry, and the wind is blowing to the southwest. If we start the fire here, we will drag the fire in an arrowhead shape, from here eastward until we cross their intended path, then southeastward for a league or so. That will form a wedge of fire that the wind will drive towards them, forcing them back."

Guthrin asked, "Could we not enclose them further by splitting up and sending one of us southward? That one would have to run far and fast to get around the enemy to to South and outrun the fire, but I can do it."

Flandhere looked at Guthrin with a new respect. "You are volunteering for this South run?" Guthrin nodded. "Isn't running from the enemy one of my strong points?" He asked perfectly deadpan. There was a chuckle before Leoden said, "We don't have a lot of time. Let's get these torches aflame before it gets completely dark and move out!"

Leoden decided to have Flandhere travel with Guthrin, and then they would try independently to meet up with the slower moving company of the rest of Taradan's men. They shook hands in the Rohirrim fashion, and then within moments they were off, dragging lit torches along the dry leaves, and soon the forest was aflame.

[ May 03, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

shieldmaiden

05-10-2002, 12:52 PM

The cart was shaking and trembling on the uneven rocky road but it didn’t disturb Haleth from dozing for a few hours. She hadn’t had more than a few hours of sleep in the last few days and the chance to close her eyes for a few moments was a blessed gift.

Taradan was not asleep. He was sitting in silence, thinking. He glanced over Baranthôl’s face. Even in sleep Baranthôl looked worried , his mouth slightly opened , frowning and lids moving like he was dreaming something not very pleasant. Taradan remembered what he had thought of that night when he heard him crying over his dead horse. There was something strange about the young man. Now, in daylight, his thoughts seemed silly to him but still...Baranthôl’s face could pass both as a face of a man or a woman and his voice wasn’t particularly manly nor womanish , anyway, the man didn’t talk much . Strange he was, sometimes bloodthirsty and merciless and yet sometimes gentle and fragile. “My injury must have addled my mind when it makes me think about such insane things. It would be better for me to rest “.

[ May 10, 2002: Message edited by: shieldmaiden ]

GreatWarg

06-05-2002, 08:32 PM

Unknown to Thenamir for the present, yellow eyes and fleeting feet were following the group silently, prowling, ever watching. The light landed on the large, white wolf momentarily before it moved swiftly back into the shadows. It watched as the forest burned with intelligent eyes, considering his next approach. ~Well, this is quite interesting~ he thought to himself. Then he shifted and knew it wouldn't be long before he was discovered.

~I'd better be more careful; I don't know exactly how the shrewd Man will think of me if I am discovered.~ The wolf crouched down against the grass, downind to avoid the heat of the licking flames, and watched stealthily.

Thenamir

06-06-2002, 12:52 PM

Thenamir made maximum use of the available sun before making camp. He smiled to himself when he could see the glow of the burning forest some distance away -- Leoden, Flandhere, and hopefully Guthrin too, had completed their task and should be joining them in the next day or two. If they were successful, the Dunlendings should be turning back, if they had not already turned back from the message that Arenia was delivering.

Thenamir was startled from his musings by Elwood, who called his name quietly. "Yes, Master Elf?"

"We are being followed."

"By who, or what, and how close?" said Thenamir in a sharp whisper.

"I do not believe there is cause for concern. I thought I heard another warg padding behind us several times, but it has had plenty of opportunity to attack, and has not. In the dark now I see eyes off in the woods, but they are not the eyes of a warg. I would say it was a small wolf, or wolf-pup, but I do not know why he follows us."

"Elwood," said Thenamir, re-sheathing his sword, "none are more skilled with bird and beast than the elves. Can you approach this beast and discover anything?"

"I will do what I can." Elwood turned and quietly walked toward where he saw the eyes that Thenamir could not spot. In a few seconds, Elwood was invisible to Thenamir's sight as well.

GreatWarg

06-06-2002, 06:09 PM

Khelek wakes up suddenly, startled out of sleep by an approaching Elf. He growls deep in his throat, then twitches his ear and sniffs the air. ~An Elf, of course, I should've known wuld be able to know I was following~ With tail swishing gently and low, he takes off in the direction of the main group from which the Elf had come. It wasn't far, and he drew near. ~The Elf will certainly discover my presence here soon, for none are better at tracking than their folk.~ Khelek had a certain amount of admiration for Elves, for they were close with the land and had sharp senses.

Khelek, for the moment seemingly safe, slipped into the shadows around the group and listened in with interest.

Dwarin Thunderhammer

06-12-2002, 04:50 PM

As they were marching along Dwarin could tell that Elwood was unhappy. Almost to the point of anger. He preferred to ignore the feelings of the Elf. He didn't care for him in the least. He would much rather have left him behind in a ditch or something. But he kept his thoughts to himself and didn't speak.

Elwood on the other hand was barely containing himself. He abhorred the idea of burning trees. He was sure that if they had taken just a little more time that they could have thought of a better idea. What's more it came from a Dwarf! That made it wrong at the start. When he saw the smoke coming over the trees he could no longer hide his irritation.

"What kind of foolishness is this?!" He said to the Dwarf.

Dwarin was a bit startled by the sudden outburst by Elwood. "Stop talking gibberish elf." He snapped back.

"I'm talking about the needless destruction of the trees." The elf replied angrily.

Dwarin was getting impatient. "First of all the fire is not needless. It is our only chance to get ahead of Saruman's men. Second trees grow back. It will only be a few years before that forest is as good as new. Besides, who likes trees anyways?"

Dwarin's last comment really set the elf off. "For your information, you ignorant rock brain dwarf, I do! Trees are-"

"Rock brain?! Well that's better than being some weak tree hugger elf who can't even grow a beard!" The dwarf retorted.

Kalohern listened as the pair continued to squabble. The young man was in no mood to listen to arguing. He had been worried ever since Arenia had ridden off that morning. Finally he couldn't take any more. The two were about to come to blows when he stepped between them. "Would you two stop!!!" He shouted. "This is pointless, quit your arguing." He turned to the elf "It would serve us well, if you would stop antagonizing Dwarin." Dwarin smiled smugly. The smile was quickly wiped off when Kalohern turned on him. "And you could stand to be a bit less inflammatory:" When he had said his peace Kalohern went to the back of the procession trying to soothe his own pain and deal with the situation he was in.

Both Dwarin and Elwood were embarrassed at their actions. Even though neither apologized, Kalohern's lecture quickly put an end to their argument. Each privately felt deep sympathy for the boy who had shown great courage during their present trial.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. With one exception Elwood had become aware of a small animal, most likely a wolf or a warg following them at some distance. When they were setting up camp the elf went to inform Thenamir, about the animal following them. When he received his orders he went out in search of the wolf.

It wasn't long before the elf spied the shape crouching in the woods. He was about to grab the animal when he slipped away into the shadows. It was a few more minutes before he found the wolf hiding from the light of the fire at the edge of the camp. He crept up softly to the wolf, for in the light he could tell it was not a warg. When he was close enough he sprung on the animal. He was very careful not to hurt him, for the animal had not shown any intent to hurt any of them. He had many chances during the march to catch a straggler or two. The wolf struggled to get away from the elf, but the elf held firm. When the others heard the commotion all of them came to see what was going on. They were all surprised to see Elwood wrestling with the wolf. Dwarin especially was amazed. He drew his axe immediately, but a hand from Thenamir stayed him. Elwood then spoke. "Thenamir, it would be best to decide a course of action. I cannot hold this animal forever."

GreatWarg

06-12-2002, 05:14 PM

Khelek struggled to get from the Elf's firm grasp, snarling savagely and turning his fangs on him. And the fact that a Dwarf had drawn his battle axe was even less appeasing to him. Wolves did not love Dwarves - for burning their forests and for taking their homes in the mountains. Khelek growled some more, but the Elf's hands stayed firm on him. He finally stopped and stayed lying on his stomach. The Elf did not release his grip.

If you do not want me to summon great beasts on you, I suggest you let go, Khelek said mentally to the Elwood. Elwood gave a little start, but did not release his grip. Khelek looked up at Thenamir. Tell him to release me or I will summon other beasts more powerful than you can imagine. Thenamir studied the wolf.

Thenamir

06-13-2002, 10:19 PM

Thenamir was puzzled, sensing more than hearing the wolf, and wondering what this might portend. He drew his sword and held it to the wolf's throat as he said, "withdraw, Elwood."

The wolf stopped struggling as Elwood released him, but the elf stayed near. "I sense no evil in him, Thenamir, just surprise."

Thenamir was not yet convinced. He stared down the wolf with the swordpoint of Aranbold still close to the wolf's throat, yet the wolf did not flinch or tremble. "You have followed us with stealth," he said to the wolf, "you have tried to elude our elf-scout, and you took great pains to escape once you were caught. With a Warg pack behind us, a band of Dunlendings before us, and an evil wizard fighting against us at every turn, you will understand if I am not too trusting in these times. You seem able to communicate, though somewhat unclearly to humans. If you can speak in your manner to my elven ally here," he said indicating Elwood, "then go peacefully with him and make your business known. We are an honorable band, but there is the blood of more than two-dozen wargs on the grass of our last camp to prove how we deal with treachery."

GreatWarg

06-15-2002, 01:30 PM

Khelek stared back with unblinking eyes, scanning the Man's face. The Dwarf in the background clearly protested against Thenamir's trust in him. Tell that Dwarf to sheath his blade, Khelek told Elwood, making his contempt clear to the Elf. Thenamir withdrew his blade slowly, allowing Khelek to stand up.

"Sheath your axe, Dwarin, he will not harm us," Elwood siad calmly. The Dwarf sheathed it rather reluctantly. Khelek moved away from the camp a ways with Elwood.

"Where are you from?" Elwood asked, stopping within sight of the camp.

Imladris, Khelek answered truthfully.

"Why are you here?"

On an errand to Lorien for Elrond, Khelek stated.

"And how did you come this far, and why are you following us?"

Khelek settled his wandering gaze to match the Elf's. I came upon a large band of Orcs and was waylaid near Moria. After escaping, I was once again forced to abandon my course by a pack of Wargs. I came upon your trail several days ago and decided to see what business a company of many folks were doing in such uninhabited parts, Khelek answered solemnly. Elwood could sense that no lies were spoken, but the full truth was not visible in the wolf's words. What was it's business in Lorien and what exactly did it want to find out from them?

Thenamir

06-17-2002, 12:53 PM

Flandhere and Guthrin continued running southward, fording small streams and rushing over low wooded hills, their night illumined by the fires they left in their wake. Their lives depended on their speed, not only to outrun the fire they deliberately started, but also to outflank the enemy they hoped to catch within the opposing pincer of flame set by their companion Leoden to the north and east.

An occasional night breeze drifted the stinging smoke lazily towards them as they ran, but they were glad, for the wind would drive the fire into their enemies and away from their friends.

They stopped for a moment to drink and catch their breath at a larger stream which would afford them some protection should the fire move faster than they anticipated. Setting his torch carefully in the ground so as not to start a closer blaze, Flandhere gasped, "You run like a hart beset by hounds, Guthrin!"

"Hounds would be a mercy compared to either the Dunlendings or the flames," replied Guthrin after slaking his thirst from the stream. "Think me not any less in hatred for the Dunlendings because I fear facing live swords or spears in their hands." He sat down on a rock and sighed. "The old warriors always cautioned me in my arrogance, 'It is easy to boast of prowess in battle when one has never seen bloodshed,' but I never took their words to heart until this quest. I have a new respect for those who face such dangers repeatedly and willingly."

Flandhere responded, "Do not be over hard on yourself. Had you asked, many of those same warriors might have told you stories of times when their fear might have bested their resolve, but they would not volunteer them to you, lest your arrogance laugh at their fear, and you become yet more insufferable." Flandhere chuckled, and Guthrin smiled ruefully at his haughty poltroonery.

Flandhere surveryed the surroundings. "How far do you think we have run since we started? Do you believe we are ahead of those barbarians enough?" "Nay," returned Guthrin after a moment's thought, "I deem we run yet again as far as we have come before we turn and try to get across their retreat-path ahead of them. Then we might rejoin the company."

Flandhere nodded. He dunked his head in the stream once more, then caught sight of a glimmer of the spreading flames thru the forest some ways off. "We must leave 'ere the flames catch us here," he said taking up his torch again, and lighting a new one pulled from the pack on his back. He threw the old torch into the woods in the direction of the oncoming flames, starting a new flaming patch, and then he and Guthrin set forth again.

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

Leoden's thoughts wandered as he too ran, setting the opposing wall of flame that should turn back their adversaries. His pace was slower, but less urgent, since he was already well across the intended path of the enemy, and he began to curve away to the south and east. "And thus the fiery trap is set, and may we all be far away when it is sprung," he thought. "And may Saruman rot in his tower!"

Leighlei

06-19-2002, 07:28 AM

Arenia began to tremble as she arrived at the place of men. Gruff, harsh voices from armoured people told her to dismount, she did so, and looked around. She could hardy contain her fear.
"Arenia." She said pointing to herself. "And Deliv..vering words..." She nodded as if she knew what she was talking about.
Oh! If only she had a companion!

Thenamir

07-22-2002, 03:27 PM

Elwood learned all he could from the strange warg and reported back to Thenamir. "There is no lie in his story," Elwood ventured, "but I can sense that not all his story is yet told. I believe it is safe to allow him to follow his course, whatever it may be."

"Very well," Thenamir replied, "find out if he means to join us, or to continue on his original journey to Lorien -- the Lady of the Wood is none of our concern at this time. And should he decide to remain with us awhile, see if he might track down Leoden, Flandhere, and Guthrin, and lead them to us."

"And Elwood," Thenamir continued in a softer tone, "I have heard reports of your grief and displeasure at the burning of the woods, from Dwarin and Kalohern. Necessity drove me to endorse that option, for the fire gives us a mightier advantage over their numbers than our strength at present." Thenamir looked towards the area of the camp where their recovering wounded were being tended in Dwarin's cart.

"Remember, Elwood, the groves and forests will grow back and be replenished in time...the men and women that are murdered by these barbarous men and their leader will never be seen again in Middle Earth." Elwood nodded, and then both he and Thenamir turned towards the glow on the horizon.

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

Leoden watched as his last torch sputtered and went out. He had run for several hours thru the night, but the first hints of dawn were not yet showing pale in the eastern sky. "Well," the exhausted man thought to himself, "that's done." He now darted off towards the east, to try to strike the old North Road, and then to catch up with Thenamir and the rest.

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

Flandhere and Guthrin had given up the fire-laying some time ago, and were now only interested in getting across their path and around the flames before they too were caught. They were now "between the pincers," and Guthrin once again climbed a tree on a small rise to see what was to be seen about their twin adversaries -- the flames and the warrior Dunlendings.

From his high perch he could just make out the trailing edge of the eastern firewall, somewhat to the north of them. Of the Dunlendings there was no sign. "In this case, he said to Flandhere after descending to the ground again, "no news is good news. We crossed their northward track some way back, and there is no sign that they have passed us going southward. Another hour's run, and we will have the advantage of both daylight and the flames to our rear, with our enemies caught in the middle."

"Let us hope that they recognize the danger soon enough for Arenia to outride the flames southward," Flandhere offered.

"If that horse Telefax is as fast as Elwood said it is, that should be no trouble," Guthrin replied as he started out running again...

[ September 04, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Rimbaud

08-23-2002, 10:30 AM

She had said the name of their Master repeatedly and it appeared to have thrown them. The taller looked at her suspiciously but fear appeared to have swayed him and he had given peremptory orders to stay their progress. The shorter Smrtan had stared at her with undisguised disbelief. When the noise and commotion caused within the party by the encroaching fire began, she was afforded enough confusion to make good her egress, noted only by Smrtan, whose eyes missed little.

*********

Storwolos strode from the tent barking orders. The whole area was in upheaval. Raising his voice he exhorted the milling soldiers into order. The fear of Storwolos’ officers shuffled the men into ranks and they began an almost orderly retreat from the onrushing maelstrom. Smrtan caught up to his side as Storwolos took saddle and rode with his guard.

“Where have you been?” asked Storwolos. Smrtan did not directly meet his eye but mentioned that he had “taken care” of the peculiar female messenger.

“Do you not find it strange, my Lord,” added Smrtan with uncustomary obeisance, “That the woman-child arrived moments before this adversity?” His voice, as always, contained the faintest of sneers.

“Mayhap you find it within you to question our orders, Smrtan,” rebuked Storwolos. “Or yours. Indeed, I believe such instruction came to aid our escape from the fire.”

Smrtan made no reply.

The troop made its way upon the track and turned back the way they came at a fast pace. Little or no time was afforded to concealment; the flames were licking the sky barely half a mile behind them. Smrtan looked to their rear. A nebulous wall of black smoke rose vast in the air behind them, seemingly descended from the clouds of improbable malice. An unearthly orange hue burned along the horizon, the noise of falling trees and the roar of the flames became thunderous. Ash and debris fell upon the men as they broke into a disorganized run. They streamed out on the road, fleeing the fire.

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

Areina rode hard, Telefax keeping true, branches whipping her cheek. She gave the steed his head and the horse’s pace quickened, nostrils flared with fear as the heat from the fire scorched their backs. Unable to use the track for Storwolos’ men, she kept within the margin of the trees, yet Telefax tired fast on this terrain and threatened to stumble on many occasions. If she had known she was otherwise pursued she might not have slowed as much as she did, hauling back on Telefax’s reins, knowing this speed was untenable.

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

Barreling through the undergrowth, Guthrin and Flandhere became heedless of stealth, as the omni-present crackling sound pursued them. The fire was catching far faster than anticipated. Guthrin ran smoothly still, those superbly trained yet untested muscles carrying him so far effortlessly over the ground, despite the weight of his arms and armour. Only his face revealed his terror. Flandhere kept pace, yet barely, the ground threatened to sink from beneath his feet at any time.

The run continued and breathing became laboured as the air became acrid and gritty. Yet Flandhere felt a certain peace descending upon him, knowing that this was one of the simplest moments. He moved onwards but his legs were beginning to fail him. Guthrin ran on. His hand tightened around the stone that usually hung around his neck. Blood seeped from between his whitened knuckles.

Then without warning, when gaining the crest of a ridge, they were plunged into an out-riding party of the Dunedlings. All was confusion, the enemy in no lesser disarray. Flandhere stumbled as he withdrew his pitted blade. Guthrin fell to his knees, skidding foolishly into the legs of an adversary, toppling him. Ash fell, in small flakes across the hill. A blade flashed for his unprotected skull, yet the sword of Flandhere parried the strike and then the next and then the Dunlending was swept away.

Flandhere positioned himself between the Dunlendings and the cowering Guthrin as best he could but the disparity in numbers was such that soon encirclement would defeat them. He blocked and parried mechanically, feeling painlessly the mace strike to his thigh and the knife slashing across his abdomen. He knew this fight. He had dreamed of it night on night. He shut his eyes as another came at him yet still, Flandhere’s blade found its mark. The fell aspect of Flandhere the Rider of Rohan in these moments caused the enemy to become panicked in their assaults upon him.

Guthrin looked in awe as Flandhere wielded his sword with impossible speed and precision. The man was become a fatal windmill, three warriors already down before him as he turned aside blade after blade from the remainder. With some surprise, Guthrin realized his unblooded sword was in his hands, although his legs refused to bear him to the fight.

Then, impossibly, Flandhere was down. The leering fighter who struck him down raised his blade for the final strike at the Rohan horseman as others approached Guthrin with scorn. Their guttural words struck him with derision and he recoiled from his doom.

All was slowed, as the blade reached for Flandhere’s heart and the mailed fist inched toward Guthrin’s head, as if moving through water.

Trained perfectly in the arts of war as befitted the son of the richest man of the community, Guthrin had never struck at a foe in anger. Conditioned for physical hardship through all manner of sport and trial, he had never experienced hunger or battle. Untested as the newest, rawest of steel he was, and perhaps, as fate wove upon him in those moments, he would one day wish he had remained such.

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

“We must move,” said Thenamir with easy command, once the murmurings at the fire had died down. “We have distracted the enemy but are no match for such numbers.”

“Aye,” said Taradan and the weary travelers moved onwards slowly, seeking to evade the path of the enemy and of the vast inferno consuming the horizon.

Elwood moved apart from the group. Tears ran unchecked down the cheeks of the fair Elf, yet he said nothing.

Dwarin aided the flagging party on with his hardy strength and driven spirit. Thus they were moving ere any could have anticipated and wended into the woods, Baranthol and Ulfwine flanking outwards, eyes peeled for sign of their absent friends.

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

Little these parties knew of the importance of these events or of how closely they were monitored. Yet the guider of events was satisfied. The main threat appeared to have been almost extinguished and other thorns…well, a small push…

He put forth his will and the winds upon the great forest slowly bent to his fell purpose.

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

Stowolos felt the breeze upon his cheek as he reined in his mount.

“The wind changes, my Lord,” reported Voldog, an outrider in his entourage. Those who had supported Storwolos as he had gathered the disparate wanderings of Dunedlings, many of his former unit, formed a group around him at present and he rewarded them well for such loyalty.

“We must be off this path,” said Smrtan quickly. “The fire blows itself before us; we must head west!” The heat and confusion was such that it appeared that the fire surrounded them with its fierce leaguer and the air was thick and unpleasant.

Storwolos hesitated. He saw the faster path being to keep to the road. He motioned onwards, yet before they had moved ten feet, Smrtan was at his side.

“Sire, do not act a fool!” he hissed, and his eyes glowed unnaturally red in the firelight. “We follow a path to death!” Others in the party, who had not heard the words of Smrtan also counseled, in fearful voices, that digression west into the trees was their option. Storwolos took muster and felt again the breeze with his hand. The wind was indeed lifting and veering. He motioned on into the woods.

*******

Elwood in the van, the party from Rohan and their mismatched companions moved through the forests at an uneven pace. The tall, fair yet grim-faced Elf appeared troubled. When the opportunity arose, Dwarin moved to the head of the party and tried to speak with his uneasy companion.

“Master Elf, I spare thee little love but afford you much respect and I see something troubles you.”

Elwood looked down on the Dwarf expressionlessly and said, “The wind is unnatural and this breeze cools not my spirit. I feel power in the air.”

“You fear…devilry?” questioned Dwarin, meeting the eye of the taller firmly.

“Yes, and I believe it to be a very great sorcery.”

“You suspect Isengard,” said Dwarin, his mind racing. Thenamir moved to join them, only the tension in his jaw belying his calm countenance. A flicker across his face as he missed his footing revealed a vast fatigue within him.

“Isengard I believe to be our foe also,” said Thenamir quietly, and his companions noted his keen ears.

“Isengard is no foe of ours!” exclaimed Elwood. “Saruman is wise and has bought order to this area. Were it not for him the enemy we track would be far more numerous. Gandalf it is that I fear, for he is fey and his manner a mystery to me.”

“I trust not the Pilgrim,” said Thenamir. “I have heard tell of his wanderings, yet I believe Saruman to be the force of malice in these things.”

Elwood gave no reply, but the others had heeded his words and noted the change in wind.

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

The blade sped for Flandhere’s throat, yet never found its mark. Guthrin, amazed to find himself moving, evaded his attacker’s great strike and dived for his fallen companion. His thin, mail gauntlet caught the blade that would have carried Flandhere’s spirit from the circles of the world, and he wrenched it aside. He could hardly think as he stumbled for his feet. A dark blade streaked for his chest and the reflexes of his training outdid his fear and he smoothly parried the blow. He stumbled backwards, up against a tree and gasped, sweating and exhausted. His enemies closed on him.

For the first time, he looked at them clearly, and then the tip of his blade, steady between his eyes and them, dropped out of focus and as it had so many times in sparring, his blade became an extension of his arm and he forgot about it completely. The path through his enemies was so clear and they moved so slowly…

He sidestepped the first strike, allowing the blade to cut deep into the tree beside his head. Dancing around the trunk, his mind fogged with the vast doom upon him, he cut down the assailant and came at the Dunedlings from another side. His legs, although weary, carried him with his customary grace and his sword parried and struck with an economical poetry.

They fell back from him. His eyes were fey, his aspect fearful to view, and he came against them with lethal force. Fear grew within them as their blades failed to reach him and as another of their number fell.

For the first time since Flandhere and he had encountered this force he managed to take count and saw that Flandhere had taken three and he had dispatched two, leaving just two more standing against him. The odds did not seem so very great, he had stood against four in trials.

Such was the ferocity of his assault and the unearthly hue in which he appeared to be clad, his light armour shimmering red from the firelight and smoke billowing behind him, that they fell before him in short order. Sheathing his blade as he ran, he returned to Flandhere. Lifting him, he made his way onwards, whither he knew not, evading the fire his only priority.

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

Storwolos heard the shouts and drew his blade. Smrtan dismounted and ran before them a few steps. “Hold!” Storwolos shouted, and the men slowly formed groups. The under-officers cajoled them back into line. The fire had slowed yet pushed them further into the forest, their direction becoming a mystery.

Word came that the vanguard had fallen upon enemies and Storwolos dismounted and took a large party forwards.

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

As they descended a light slope into a clearing, Elwood and Thenamir instantly saw Storwolos’ party come through the trees.

Horrendously outnumbered, the group from Rohan prepared for their doom. The only light came from a gibbous moon and the red glow from the fire, dying though it was.

There stood Thenamir of Gondor, blade in hand, tired and sick but unafraid. Dwarin Thunderhammer stood to his left, battle-axe in fist, looking almost eager to engage. There was no retreat from this. Elwood fired arrows smoothly and with fatal effect. As the enemy neared he drew his blade. They backed against the tree line as the first soldiers came up the hill against them. Baranthol stepped forward and took the first with an upward parry and flashing undercut, his blade embedding itself within the Dunlending’s torso. The man crumpled with a sickening gargle. Ulfwine of the Dunlendings there was also, who stood true to his new companions. At the last before closing, Leoden loped from the trees and stood without a word next to Taradan, who clutched a sword with weakened hand but resolute will. A shadow to Thenamir’s right revealed the unlikely shape of the odd Warg who had bound his doom to theirs. Flanking these stood the men of Rohan, who had urged the horses back into the trees. The young Kalohern waited patiently hand on sword hilt, seemingly unfazed.

“This is the work of the wind,” muttered Elwood. “ There is no reason for them to be here.”

These were the last words said by that party before battle commenced.

*********

The fight continued and Storwolos’ impatience grew. How can it be so hard to take down these stragglers? The Warg was amongst his Dunlending men, causing panic, snapping at necks with fearsome jaws. His men scattered from him, fearful of his dark malice.

Storwolos had never seen such a thing. The chaos was not helped by the approach of the fire, coming at them with renewed strength. Suddenly, Storwolos found himself swept away by the tide of the fight and the confused milling of his men in the heat as the fire exploded around them.

Several men screamed as they failed to escape the furnace. Storwolos found himself sparring with a tall Gondorian, one who seemed familiar. The battle shifted and he found himself separated from the conflict by a wall of flame, as the fire cut through the woods, cutting them into groups.

Smrtan came up to him then. “Where are my guard?” shouted Storwolos above the roar and the clash of fire and battle.

“My guard,” said Smrtan grimly and slew his commander there, alone in the maelstrom of the fight in the fire. He ran to press the fight and to assume his rightful command, now that the blundering fool was removed.

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

Baranthol and Dwarin stood back to back, tired and stumbling as yet another wave of attacked crashed and foundered upon them. Thenamir moved from fight to fight relentlessly, his sword hewing down foes as if it were the fire and his foes but trees. The group tightened into a circle, surrounded by the Dunlendings.

All seemed lost and the blades of the enemy sheared into the party as they split, each fighting desperately for themselves. Small melees span off from the group as some sought to run. Kalohern and Leoden battled amongst the trees, simply defending now, no energy remained to them. Thenamir, locked in a struggle with two very tall Dunedlings feinted and parried; his sword deflecting most of the blows from their smaller, waspish blades. Most. He staggered and fell, blood seeping from a dozen wounds. With a great cry however, his would-be slayers were thrown from him and dispatched and Thenamir lifted his head in disbelief as Guthrin strode through the trees, Dunlendings swarming at him, surrounding him.

Guthrin's blades flick-flicked through them, a red mist trailing in their wake. He span, his hair trailing, smoke and fire all about. He held a long knife in his left hand, to pair with his blooded and glistening sword and to come at him was death. He bore no shield yet some Dunedlings turned from his face and ran.

They had taken Flandhere and killed him in front of him as he fought helplessly against them, a mile before. His face showed no trace of mercy.

Imperious, ethereal he seemed, above and beyond his mortal ken, yet Thenamir's keen eyes discerned a struggle on the face of the unexpected warrior. His eyes seemed somehow unfocussed.

This unexpected and terrifying arrival scattered many of the Dunlendings and allowed the remnants of the group from Rohan to make their escape. The chance to flee thus proffered, all took it, although so scattered were they that it would take quite some time to reunite.

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

Saruman sighed and looked away from the stone. It seemed the one he feared had escaped and worse discovered himself. He hoped that he had left enough protection in the great ruins for what was there hidden.

A knock upon the door startled his reverie…

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

[ October 22, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

Dwarin Thunderhammer

08-23-2002, 01:42 PM

Dwarin saw the troop of dunedlings approaching through the trees. They would be upon them in seconds. He gripped his weapon tightly and smiled grimly. "Come and fight you filth ridden scum. You will not take this Dwarf alive." He said under his breath. In moments the battle had started and Dwarin had found enough enemies to satisfy his thirst for blood. Haleth dispatched the first attacker. Moments later his axe swept through the midsection of the second. He apparently didn't look down. Beside him stood Haleth Her face burning with rage as she cut through foe after foe with deadly graceful strokes. As the battle heated Dwarins ears heard the cry that had drawn his attention the very first night he spent with the company.

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

Kalohern waited for the approach of the dunedlings. The first came upon the boy with sup rising speed, but his progress was halted as soon as the boy's sword Found it's mark in the man's heart. Kalohern found himself missing his horse terribly. The confidence and power of his steed had comforted the boy in their previous encounters. That loneliness however soon turned to rage at the thought that these men might have hurt his horse and Arenia. With that thought lingering in his mind he plunged into the battle with the cry that shook the hearts of his enemies before

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

Elwood killed as many from a distance as he could. Soon enough it was hand to hand combat He drew a long knife and slit the throat of the first opponent that came. He moved with speed and accuracy unmatched by any of the company. The dunedlings thought he was a ghost. Through the confusion and bloodshed the elf saw a tall swarthy man raising his sword to strike Dwarin down. The dwarf wasn't even aware of his presence. Without hesitation Elwood hurled his knife at the attacker. With deadly precision the knife struck the unwary man in the spine he crumpled and fell on his own sword.

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

Not far off Arenia and Telefax were returning from their mission. Arenia was frightened and weary, but the horse was alert as ever. Suddenly a cry pierced the night. Telefax knew the call of his master. The horse neighed and took off at a blazing speed into the smoke an darkness. Arenia had no idea what was happenening. She clung to the horse's neck for fear of falling off, but there was no chance of that.

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

Wounded, Dwarin held his ground as the pool of blood on the ground beneath his and Haleth's feet grew. His concentration was full forward as wave upon wave of attackers came upon them. His footing gave way and behind him he heard the sound of a body falling. When he looked behind him he saw a Dunedling impaled on his own sword, but he also saw a knife sticking out of his back. An elvish knife. H turned his attention once more to the battle in front of him. His shield was becoming well used. A swift breeze passed through the forest surrounding him . He quickly killed a Dunelding who had stumbled from to Haleth's attack. Soon the dwarf and the lady were back to back surrounded by enemies.

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

Kalohern was bloody and tired. He had taken several cuts and bruises from enemy clubs and swords. He was being pushed away from the rest of the company slowly but steadily. His feet hurt and his hands grew weak. Without warning the Dunedling in front of him fell with a muffled scream. He had a hoof shaped indentation in his chest. Such joy is rarely known as was in that moment. Kalohern looked into the eyes of his horse and his heart leapt for joy. Wordlessly he mounted his steed with skill and speed. Arenia by now had regained her bearings and was fending off the attackers with a small sword she had gotten from a dead body. Kalohern let out a second cry this time not of fear or pain, but of victory. Kalohern felt truly invincible on his steed. His body filled with new energy and the pain left him. He plunged back into the battle not as a boy not as a young man but as a full fledged warrior with burning eyes and cold steel.

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

Elwood was in the thick of everything. He had retrieved his knife and was once more at the attackers. He was being overwhelmed. Three of them were upon him at once. He warded off blows as much as he could. Taking hits and being beaten down. The circle surrounding Dwarin and Haleth was shrinking. All seemed lost. As Dwarin prepared for the final moments. He spied a strange figure burst through the trees. The Dunedlings were thrown into chaos. Haleth saw her chance at withdrew. Dwarin was unwilling but she grabbed him by his beard and dragged him off into the night. Elwood also saw his chance and dissappeared into the trees. Even kalohern knew this opportunity would not come again so he spurred his steed and melted into the night.

Leighlei

08-25-2002, 11:52 AM

Arenia lowered her head as branches went whipping past...

((IM BACK!))

shieldmaiden

08-27-2002, 12:00 PM

Dwarin And Haleth ran like all armies of Mordor were chasing them. Wind forced ash in their eyes and they felt the heat of burning trees.
"Me must... must not loose the others..." Haleth tried to speak while she was running.

Thenamir

09-03-2002, 04:12 PM

Between the heat of his exertion and the flames which threatened to sear his lungs with each breath, Thenamir might be excused for jumping with such abandon into the stream which lay across his path. He was just thankful that the fire was well behind him enough to allow him the luxury, and grateful that his was not a heavy armor suit, which likely as not would have been the perfect oven to roast him to a turn.

Thenamir was, for the moment, alone. In that moment, though, all the rememberance of the last half-hour came back to him in a torrent. The battle, the fire, the Dunlendings, and most amazingly, Guthrin. Guthrin! Not only had he redeemed himself, he had given them their only chance for escaping the marauding enemies, such a charge as would have shamed any warrior in Gondor or Rohan.

Thenamir took stock of his situation. Not only was he totally alone, but without pack, supplies, or hunting gear. Having been trained in field survival by the best in Gondor, he did not fear for hunger or thirst, but for his friends, the allies for whom he felt a measure of responsibility. He had no way of knowing whether any of them were alive or dead.

And then there was that shift in the wind...how convenient that it shifted at the exact moment when it would foil his plans to slow the Dunland band, and drive his enemies towards him instead of away from him. He had overheard Elwood fearing devilry in the air, and again re-pledged himself to the thwarting of the wizard Saruman, even if he had to do it alone.

Thenamir plunged his head into the stream again to drink, and to let the stream wash some of the battle grime from him. He washed his wounds and dressed them as best he could, then stood up in the middle of the stream to assess his position. The wind, which had shifted again with a sigh as if free once more to go its own way after an annoying redirection, was now blowing the fire away from him -- that immediate danger was past.

Taking his bearings from the setting moon half-hidden in the hazy smoke which remained, he comforted himself that at least he had retreated to the north, which put him that much closer to his eventual destination. He pulled the map from his inner jerkin, the only item he had managed to escape with aside from what he wore, only to put it back again. The long and the short of it was that he was utterly exhausted.

He climbed out of the stream which had been so delightfully cool to his feet, even with the boots on, and scouted a place where he could sleep for a time without being easily seen, against a small rock outcropping near the stream itself, where leaves and a few fallen branches could be used as a temporary camouflage. Tomorrow he would scour the forest for signs of his party, and of his enemies, to aid the former and elude the latter. When all the preparations were made as he was able, Thenamir took a last look around, then he lay down on the ground and slept the sleep of the dead.

Morning had crept over the near hills and illumined the treetops when Thenamir was startled awake by the sound of a walking horse, muffled by the leafy ground cover. He moved quickly but quietly to a position where he could see without being seen, and waited...

[ September 03, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Ransom

09-03-2002, 05:16 PM

Volkmar Heidenhammer had awoken to the acridic smell of smoke and the bright rays of the sun. His first thoughts were on his fire from the night before. Yet, as he sat up and surveyed the campsite, he could see no fire in the clearing. Shrugging, he rose and packed his meager amount of gear on his steed, Ana. Breakfirst consisted of a few apples and a small piece of bread, for his stores were running low. Whistling to himself, he carefully scowered the campsite, burrying the firepit and scattering the twigs he had gathered.

For two weeks he had rode, comming south from Bree at the commands of his superiors. Word had reached the Dunedain of the North of stirrings among the Dunedlings, and sightings of orcs and other foul creatures. Yet their lord, Aragorn, had ordered the Shire protected. Not that Volkmar had a grudge against the halfings, save that someone had to investigate. Besides, this trip had given him some time to think. What more could a Ranger ask for?

Topping the hill did not reveal much, for the smoke had not been blown away by any wind. At least Volkmar would not have to worry about the fire spreading. He began to travel down the other side of the hill, coming upon a small stream. As he let his horse drink, he gazed downwards. Someone had crossed recently. Tieing his horse to a tree and pulling his warhammer from it's sheath, Volkmar began to follow the tracks. It lead to a low outcropping that had recently been slept in. It could not have been an ork, for orks did not travel the wilds alone. No dwarves travelled here, and Volkmar had no reason to believe that an elf would be so careless in their bedding arangements. That left two possibilities: the Dunedlings or the Rohirrum.

"Hail, fellow traveler. Do show yourself, for I mean you no harm. Perhaps you would be enclined to join me for some breakfast?" Volkmar made a show of leaning the warhammer against the rock, yet keeping it close enough to grab in an instant.

Rimbaud

09-04-2002, 09:08 AM

Some distance away, Guthrin came to his senses. Acrid smoke wafted through the sparse and blackened trees. He could not find any area on his body that did not cause him pain.

Sunlight filtered weakly through scorched and broken branches. The humbled forest smelt of fire and death. He lay on his back, in the center of the clearing. He had no recollection of how long he had been here. His right hand gripped something tightly. Manoeuvering himself up upon his elbows to take stock, he realized the severity of his fatigue. He gasped as he raised his head. Everything began to spin and red pain descended upon him, blurring his vision. He could hear some birds nervously restarting their song but at some distance away. He also heard the slow and muffled cracking of the dying fire, still consuming areas of undergrowth. Several of the proximate trees smouldered and the smell from the damp wood filled the area.

His hair was matted and fell in his eyes as he wrestled himself to a seated position. His right hand was clutching the hilt of his sword, which was black with dried blood and dark roasted soil from the forest floor. His left hand was similarly dirtied but no trace of his long hunting knife could he find. His mail jerkin felt stiff and uncomfortable around his torso. He wiped his left hand on his filthy tunic, protruding from beneath his armoured covering and gingerly prodded and poked at himself. His body was aflame with bruises, yet he discovered no cut. He reached towards his face, noting with distaste the grime upon his fingers. His right arm lay still, the hand remaining upon his blade, forgotten.

His fingers traced his face, finding loose skin, as if he had lost much weight swiftly. He had a three-day growth of beard and he longed for the hot water basins of his father’s house. His face felt burned and sore. He found a wound above his eye. This was his own blood, he ascertained.

Suddenly he realized the exiguous nature of his cover and the need to move overcame the pain within him. He stumbled to his feet and entered the forest, not knowing where he headed. He longed for water and stumbled forwards for what felt like an eternity. His sword trailed uselessly behind him, still held in his fist, point cutting a furrow through the earth behind him.

The morning was still young as he reached the banks of the impuissant waters. At this point, the flow was little more than a trickle. He fell to his knees, hurting himself on a rounded pebble. He winced and gasped. His left hand slowly removed the offending rock and he slipped it into his leather belt-pouch, which had miraculously survived the night. Some memory returned and his left hand found its way to his neck, where he found his charm still hanging, a small white stone, in the rough shape of a five-pointed star.

Finally he looked down at his right side, and his arm hanging there. His eyes widened and his hand, shaking, reluctantly released its grip on the hilt of his sword. The blade slid instantly down the muddy bank and into the brook. He shook his head, not without pain, and reached for the sword – with his left hand, his right appeared locked still in its clenched position. He remembered watching others clean their blades. He had never before had to do such a thing, but he remembered that within his pouch was a rag for the purpose. He set to. Laying the blade down on the ground beside him, he refreshed his face in the water and tended to the cut above his eye. He struggled out of his mail, heedless of danger, and disrobed. He bathed as best he could, gasping as the cold water reached his soft and tender flesh. He had no wrappings or poultices for his bruises and he ached from head to toe.

Whilst washing his tunic, it all came back, an unbidden torrent of memory. The noise and the confusion and the combat…he groaned in memory of the violence. He shuddered for several minutes and then vomited, his bowels empty; dry retching; his body stretched in torment.

When his mind had cleared – to some extent – he again took stock of his surroundings. His eyes had skipped the carnage on his trip to the stream but now they heeded the corpses and the mutilation. His stomach turned again, and he realized what the cooking meat smell must be. His jaw hardened and he dressed himself in his wet tunic and trousers. His boots, well made that they were, appeared yet hardy. He thanked his father’s retainers anew.

He appeared to be very much alone. Neither friend nor foe could he discern in the murky, smoky morning light. He affixed his belt and scabbard around his waist and sheathed his poorly cleaned blade. He tied his armor into such a bundle as he could manage and held it awkwardly under his left arm. His mind fogged by the oppressive nature of his surroundings, he wended his way toward the sunlight, hoping to encounter others of his party.

His memories of the night's work were yet hazy; he felt as though he had been born again, through a red maelstrom of the night.

[ September 04, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

Dwarin Thunderhammer

09-04-2002, 10:44 PM

Dwarin and Haleth raced through the seared wasteland that once was a forest. The smell of battle lingered heavily in the air. The ground beneath their feet was scorched and dry. Dwarins eyes stung and watered from the debris in the air. Day was indistinguishable from night as the curtain of smoke closed about them.

As soon as they were sure they were not being pursued any longer the pair slowly came to a halt. Haleth collapsed at the foot of a black tree. Dwarin stood leaned on his axe. He suddenly realized that he hadn't released his grip for hours. The dwarf noticed that his companion had several serious looking wounds. He hooked his axe on his belt and retrieved a canteen of water from his pack. He handed the canteen to Haleth as he sat down at the foot of the tee. She accepted and eagerly drank. "Your wounds need tending" the dwarf said as she eagerly drank. She passed the canteen back saying "You should be one to talk. You look like a leaky piece of meat" Dwarin chuckled and put the canteen to his lips. Dwarin suddenly realized how thirsty he was as the water soothed his burning throat. As Dwarin drained the canteen he heard a horse approach. Haleth drew her sword instantly and Dwarin was on his feet in seconds. A wave of relief and joy washed over Dwarin as he saw Mim slip through the veil of smoke. Dwarin let out a little laughter and a exclamation as he embraced his horse. Even so Haleth noted that the horse was not alone and did not let down her guard. She was relieved too when she saw it was only Telefax bearing Kalohern and Arenia. "Your horse knows it's master well." Kalohern said. "We found her wandering on the other side of the fire. We found no sign of Taradan. She led us here, to you." "It is certainly good to see you my boy. I thank you very much for returning Mim. For now I think it is best we find the others. I hope they have been as fortunate as we have in finding each other. Let us be off." With a little effort Dwarin climbed aboard his horse, who had rather gotten used to being ridden over the past few days. Dwarin noticed that his horse had a few minor scrapes and cuts with displeasure. Mim had obviously been in battle. "I'll have to have a talk with Taradan about this" Dwarin said to himself. "What's this? Am I supposed to walk?" Dwarin apologized and held his hand out to haleth who gladly accepted it and mounted Mim behind the dwarf. Mim barely even noticed. As they rode off in search of the others Dwarin said over his shoulder to Haleth. "I was very impressed by your skill and courage today."

Thenamir

09-04-2002, 11:16 PM

Thenamir eyed the new stranger closely from his vantage point, which was behind and to the left of Volkmar as he set his heavy warhammer to the ground, leaning against the rocks which had been his hiding place the night before. The stranger's dark hair and odd yet somehow familiar accent did not put him off his guard, but he felt he must at least address the stranger. But he would do so from a position of strength and not vulnerability -- the events of last night were too close in mind to allow that.

Thenamir stood out from his cover and shouted "Hail, good sir!" loud enough to cover the rasping of his sword as it slid from its sheath. Volkmar swung round, warhammer ready to hand in an eyeblink, and faced Thenamir, who held his sword Aranbold in a defensive, non-threatening position. "Hungry indeed I am," Thenamir continued, "but forgive me if I request to know my host better before partaking of his kindness. My escape from my enemy's traps is far too near to be trusting, and his spies are numerous, and cunning."

shieldmaiden

09-05-2002, 01:49 PM

"Thank you master Dwarf, but keep your compliments for another time. I was just doing what I was trained for." said Baranthôl grimly.
“Do you remember the map Aspida gave you?” She continued. “You had it in your hands and I just glanced over it. I remember that there should be a stream that runs into River Gwathlo up north but I don’t know how far it is from here. Our water supplies are short and I’ve lost the sack where my food was when we were fighting.”
Incidentally, the only bag that Haleth had with her was the one that contained tha plain dress Aspida gave her and some other useless stuff. “That’s the first place that comes to my mind when I think about where the others could be.”

Ransom

09-05-2002, 03:53 PM

“You are prudent not to trust any traveler you meet.”

Volkmar gripped his warhammer in both hands, slowly rotating it. “Let us be honest. I doubt that I could prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am not in league with any evil. Yet, I will try as best I can.”

“I am Volkmar Heidenhammer. I live far northwest of here, though I am afraid that I do not stay in one place for very long. My line has long guarded the north from orks and other foul things. Several long months ago, a comrade from the south rode reported that their was uneasy stirring in the south, and my superiors were worried. I have been sent south to have a look around.”

Volkmar could tell that this man was not one of the Riders of Rohan that he had heard about, and he certainly did not look like a Dunedling. Telling him this information would normally be of great risk, save that this man was alone, for even the birds had fled the acrid smoke. He watched the man intently, scrutanizing his face for any indication of emotions or actions.

Thenamir

09-07-2002, 06:46 PM

Thenamir tried to hide a rising expectation, a wild hope that perhaps Volkmar might be part of the group they sought to the north...for if Saruman could see their movements from afar, he might also see their thoughts. And what better to give Thenamir into the hands of an enemy than to pose as one of his highest hopes come true? Yet if he was indeed one of the Northern Rangers, he could be of inestimable assistance.

Thenamir stepped closer to the dark-haired stranger, noting anything that might help him should it come to a fight, like the way he favored his left leg. He was alone, but that mattered little if he was in league with a wizard. In a burned-out forest, though, he would find little to eat if he did not get it from this man...and he *was* hungry. He decided to risk it, sheathing his sword (though with a dagger hidden at the ready) and joining Volkmar near the stream with his horse.

[ September 17, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Ransom

09-07-2002, 08:02 PM

“I appologize for the amount of food I can offer you, for there is little game here and only a handful of towns.”

Volkmar opened one of the sadle bags upon his horse and realized that his stores would not last two men very long. He extracted a fair sized loaf of stale bread, several apples, a rather large chunk of venison, and a table cloth. The table cloth went on the ground, and the food on top. Volkmar set aside his warhammer. While not exactly fast, Volkmar still believed that he could draw his sword fast enough to parry a blow.

Their conversation lapsed into silence, for Thenamir was obviously hungry. After bearing the silence for a few minutes, Volkmar attempted to begin a conversation. “Now that you know something of me, may I enquire your name?”

Leighlei

09-08-2002, 07:48 AM

Arenia Smiled as they rode. To be in the company of people again!

(00C- Is ee no great part to play in this..............................)

GreatWarg

09-08-2002, 12:12 PM

Khelek panted slightly, licking a wound to his right flank. The trail was confused, and the heat of the fire and reek of the smoke burned in his eyes and his nose. What was the use of going to Lorien now? But either the trail he was following was wrong, or his senses were telling him that Thenamir was no longer with them.

"My only hope is that the Elf is close enough to hear me..." he thought grimly to himself. "Master Elf!"

Rimbaud

09-09-2002, 09:38 AM

Guthrin stumbled again, his shoulder connecting with a charred elm; agony stabbed through his arm, cramped from its awkward position around his unwieldy bundle. A miasma of pain accompanied him on his weaving voyage; somewhere in his mind he was aware that he was not thinking with any rationality. Some grim humour within him laughed that he had at least not lost his bearings, never having been in possession of them…

Voices jolted him from his self-absorption. He stopped moving on impulse and tried to quell the noise of his ragged breathing. He was unsuccessful in his attempt, for the voices ceased their low converse, and the forest went still around him. He began to shake in fear and retreated until his back was against a tree. He half placed, half dropped his bundle of armour and sodden clothing to the ground and drew his discoloured blade from the sheath, although it did not come smoothly and a dull shriek emanated, quite distinctly.

A low sob came unbidden from his throat as he saw two dark shapes moving steadily towards him through the smoke-riddled trees. He could discern not whether he faced friend or foe.

[ September 09, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

Rimbaud

09-09-2002, 11:16 AM

Elwood had not fled as haphazardly as the others. He had moved from the conflict under cover and had seen the Dunlending commander assume swift control of his milling troops once the Riders and their comrades had melted away. He alone of the party had heard the barked instructions of that bearded commander. He had seen Guthrin a distance off, still surrounded by the enemy, who appeared more organised around the crazed man. He shook his head and grimly resigned his mind to Guthrin's fate.

The tall Elf had also ascertained the directions that that the party had scattered in - all but Thenamir, who had eluded his sight. He had wondered which to follow and eventually decided to keep an eye on the boy Kaloheren whose path had been seen by several of the Dunlendings.

He hastened through the damaged undergrowth after the horse and his boy.

Dwarin Thunderhammer

09-09-2002, 02:31 PM

The small party found the stream up ahead and watered their horses. Dwarin took off his mail shirt and his boots and plunged his head into the stream. The water washed the ash and dust from his eyes. He took a long drink directly from the stream. The water was refreshingly cool compared to everything else in the wasteland. Looking around he noticed the horses drinking eagerly from the stream. He sat on the bank and reflected on recent events. The attack at Aspida's house seemed like years ago. He remembered holding her frail body as she died. His rage against Storworlos and his band rekindled. The dwarf reminded himself that now was not the time for anger but time for rest, he would have his revenge later. Remembering Aspida also reminded Dwarin of the girl he had sworn himself to protect. He looked up to see her washing her face in the stream. Satisfied and refreshed Haleth started to sit up but she caught her own reflection in the stream. She stared at herself in the rippling water. Dwarin too looked at the reflection. In the water he did not see a warrior or a bitter young lady. Instead he saw a face that was covered in sorrow and pain yet was strangely beautiful. It reminded him, beneath the anguish and anger that she bore there was a woman that needed friendship and comfort as much as anyone. Haleth splashed her reflection and raised her head. She caught Dwarin staring "Do you need something?" she asked. "Err. No. Nothing I'm sorry." The dwarf replied. "I sent Kalohern and Arenia to go see if they could find some food." Haleth continued. "Good, as soon as they get back I think we should find the others." Dwarin said half to himself.

Kalohern and Arenia returned empty handed. Shortly thereafter they discussed their next plan of action. They decided to backtrack a little and see if they could find some sign of their party.

After a few hours of riding they spied a fallen body through the trees. They recognized a wounded and tired Guthrin. "Guthrin! It's us!" Kalohern shouted!" But Guthrin did not make any friendly move and instead drew his sword. "Friend! Guthrin! Please! It is us! Do not be alarmed."

Rimbaud

09-09-2002, 03:07 PM

They wrested his sword from his nerveless grasp without injury. Dwarin had no knowledge of what ailed the man, but helped him to put on his mail and sighed as he saw the state of the sword. There would be lessons ahead for the cowardly Rider, he could tell.

Dwarin cajoled and pushed them into order and they slowly made their way northward as best they could. The horses could not carry two for much longer, so Dwarin instructed Haleth and Kalohern to remain horsed and walked alongside, next to the dazed Guthrin, who appeared to be talking to himself under his breath. The horses seemed uncomfortable and uneasy and it took all of Haleth's horsemanship to keep them calm. Kalohern rode easly, belying the tension in his mount and what must have been great tiredness.

Dwarin longed to find Thenamir and Taradan and others of their party.

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

Elwood remained behind the party for now, seeing that the Dwarf had them moving aright, and that his presence might throw off the good leadership being displayed. He studied the trouble Guthrin most intently. The man did not seem capable of fleeing but Elwood did not know how best to deal with him.

He was amazed, nay, stunned at Guthrin's survival. How had he fought like that? A man possessed... The odds had seemed insurmountable, but from the brief glimpses he had seen through the fiery chaos last night, Guthrin had been unstoppable and untouchable.

Well, he mused, not entirely untouched...Guthrin walked tentatively, and the Elf saw the pain cloud on his face with each uneven footstep. Elwood's brow furrowed. Guthrin had always moved smoothly, even at the height of his cowardice. Elwood sensed great pain - yet Guthrin had never appeared the stoic sort. The mystery deepened for Elwood. The man needed a rude awakening, he decided. Perhaps that ill-tongued Dwarf could be of use in this matter...

***************
The day lengthened and no sight of friends did Elwood or the party he trailed make; enemies they saw and avoided on three occasions. Once, two Dunlendings, disoriented from the night's walk came across them, but Kalohern brazenly trampled down the first one with a showy charge of his mount, and Dwarin, in a more subdued manner, removed the other.

Elwood knew not of Leoden and Gurthden's whereabouts, nor those of Thenamir and Taradan. From his eavesdropping last night he had some idea where the new Dunlendings commander was leading his men...

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

Guthrin walked blindly, trusting in his hand upon the bridle of Haleth's mount Mim. His sword was strapped across Dwarin's back, a few paces ahead of him, but he seemed not to notice.

The noonday sun trickled between the thick branches of the forest...a forest become green again as they departed the last night's battlefields. The forest floor was thickly carpeted with moss and shrubbery and Dwarin the Dwarf guided them carefully, afraid of attracting unwanted attention.

[ September 13, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

Thenamir

09-09-2002, 06:09 PM

"Volkmar," Thenamir began, "the tale of the last few weeks would take a week to tell." Thenamir chewed for awhile on a bite of stale bread as if it were a feast, even if it could be made palatable only with copious amounts of water from the stream. Volkmar's story had enough of a ring of truth to it that Thenamir decided on a bold gambit.

Swallowing his last bite he declared, "My name is Thenamir, and though I claim to be of Rohan, I was born in Gondor, to a soldier of the Tower of Guard. I and my companions from Rohan were tracking a rogue band of men from Dunland who have been responsible for many innocent deaths..." Thenamir winced perceptibly as the memory of his dead wife resurfaced as it did so often. He cleared his throat before going on, "Yet I believe that their treachery runs far deeper than mere pillage and plunder. They are seeking something, apparantly an item of great worth, which they hope to find in the ruins of an ancient elvish city to our north."

Thenamir paused before going on. Volkmar raised an eyebrow and pointed out, "There's something you've left unsaid, friend."

There was a long pause. "I suspect that the Wizard of Orthanc is in league with these men, and that this item is for the wizard's use...to ill purpose," Thenamir said finally.

[ September 09, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Ransom

09-09-2002, 07:52 PM

Volkmar shifted uneasily. Gandalf the Grey he knew about, for Gandalf often traveled to the Shire. Gandalf was friendly and honest, and most of the Rangers trusted him completely. Of Sauruman, he had heard little. Perhaps these wizards were just like men? Plotting to gain riches and power? If so, it was truly dark news.

“Well, Thenamir, it appears that you bear ill news. Long have we feared that the south would become entangled in war, for we do not have the men to guard against foes on all sides. May I enquire how you have come to that conclusion?

Thenamir

09-10-2002, 01:07 PM

"One of the band we are pursing changed sides when we captured him," Thenamir returned, "he was pressed into service against his will, and didn't like being used as bait for their enemies. He was seen conferring with the emissaries of the Wizard, and knows that his troop has been to Isengard several times to receive orders."

Thenamir paused, and his eyes grew bright, but his face worked with intense bitterness before he went on, "I recognized their leader from a skirmish some months ago...they killed the whole village without mercy...my wife...my child..." Thenamir broke off and looked away, a single tear escaping his eye and sliding down his cheek. Composing himself slightly, Thenamir continued, "that leader, Borleg, was not with the band we fought last night. Where he is now is unclear but I vowed back then to find him and slay him to avenge my dead wife and her village. And if Saruman ordered that attack," here Thenamir's face grew hard as mithril-plate, "woe to him."

(ooc: refer to page 1 of the Rohan Discussion thread for Thenamir's back story.)

Estelyn Telcontar

09-10-2002, 02:27 PM

Taradan’s legs moved automatically, running, stumbling, running, faltering, and running again. How long had he been trying to escape the heat and the crackling of the destructive fire behind him? How had he come to be separated from his comrades by the wall of flames? His head ached with the pounding of his blood and the pain of his wound. He could only vaguely remember fighting, enemies between him and the others, retreating, and then the fire, more powerful and murderous than his human foes. Would this burning forest never come to an end? He could feel his weariness overcome him, yet dread of burning alive filled his mind and kept his weakened body moving with the last strength of his will.

Suddenly realizing that his legs were cold despite the heat of the flames, he looked down with blurred eyes. He was running in water, a stream that widened ahead of him. His mind had not grasped the rescue, but his instinct led him into the middle. He lost his footing on the wet stones, stumbled and fell. The water was deeper than he would have expected, had he been able to think clearly. His weakness and the burden of arms and heavy clothing pulled him downwards. Arms flailing, he sought to find a hold, to grasp something that would save him.

Ransom

09-10-2002, 03:05 PM

Volkmar listened closely to Thenamir. If Dunedling turncoat was correct, the southlands and even Gondor would be in immense danger. Yet, falsely accusing someone of treason, especially a wizard, would be a disaster. And if this wizard did retrieve whatever he was looking for in the ruins? What then?

The change of tone in Thenamir’s voice surprised Volkmar. More than once he had heard that tone, and more than once had he used it himself. Volkmar quickly came to the conclusion that this man was truly who he claimed to be. A plan slowly formed in his mind.

“Well, Thenamir of Rohan, I believe that you are an extremely honorable man. I thank you for the information you have given me, and I have a proposition of sorts. I will assume that the ‘we’ you spoke of earlier was a group of Riders. I also gather that they were scattered in pitch battle. In the confusion, I believe you were separated from your comrades.”

“I will help you locate your friends, under the simple request that I be allowed to travel with you to the city you speak of. I do not know the location of it, but if it is far enough north I may be able to summon help from my brothers.”

Volkmar leaned forward slightly, staring into Thenimir’s eyes. “The gauntlet is at your feet. Will you accept the offer? Or would you like to discuss it further?”

[ September 10, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[ September 11, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

Thenamir

09-11-2002, 10:18 AM

Thenamir pondered the stranger's offer silently for a moment, then decided to do so out loud. Volkmar was a decent and honorable man, and deserved to know what he faced.

"Volkmar," he began, "since we left Rohan our tale has been one of surprise battle, unforeseen destruction, blood and death. I know that you would not shy away from such things, battle-hardened as I perceive you to be. Yet if I am correct, we are not facing mere flesh and swords. Saruman is the head of the White Council and the most powerful of the wizards in Middle Earth. If he has indeed fallen into villany, opposing him may mean the death of us all."

Thenamir continued, "I think that you, like me, would rather fall fighting evil than allow it to continue, but I would not have you walk blind into peril. If you would aid us, I would be glad of your help and that of your comrades. But now that you know more fully the danger, the choice is now yours and not mine."

[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Ransom

09-11-2002, 01:25 PM

“It is the mark of a true soldier to be cautious of his enemy, for one can never know the full extent of their adversaries. I believe your are correct in your assessment of the power of Saruman. My bretherin would not shirk from their duty, even if it is opposing an Istari. For me, death in doing my duty would be an honor.”

Volkmar smiled and, after clenching his right hand into a fist, placed it with a soft clank over his heart. “I will aid you wherever you go and however you need, Thenamir.”

Estelyn Telcontar

09-11-2002, 03:26 PM

The flickering fire threw its reddish light on the faces of two men sitting beside it and showed concern in their eyes. “Will he live?” asked the brown-haired one of his companion.

“I know not what strength is left in him,” the other answered, gazing at the prostrate body lying opposite them. “He has been severely wounded and should have been resting, not fleeing.”

“He is burning with fever,” said the first. “Should we not take away the blankets to cool him?”

“Nay, Andros,” replied the taller of the two, “the fever will take its course and heal him, if that be possible. We will keep watch through the night; by daylight I will search for fresher healing plants than those I have in my pack.”

“Do you rest now; I will take the first watch.” Andros, apparently younger than the other and with a deferential bearing that showed respect for his companion, moved to sit next to the wounded man. With a nod and a faint smile that softened his rugged features, the other laid down and fell into exhausted sleep at once.

Several hours later he awoke. “How does he?” he enquired of the watcher.

“He grows more restless,” whispered Andros, “and more heated too, I deem.” He added wood to the dwindling fire before exchanging places with the older one and falling instantly into sleep. When he awoke, the grey light of early morning had dawned. His companion was nowhere to be seen; the wounded stranger tossed about and murmured unintelligibly in his fevered dreams.

With scarcely a rustle to betray his movement, his comrade stood beside him. “His condition has grown worse,” he said gravely. Worn lines of care were visible in his face.

“He looks so very like –“ Andros began. “Yes,” the other answered, “yet I hope to save him from the fate our kinsman suffered.”

“Had I not known that he had gone from us, I would have thought –“ “I thought the same.” Both turned to look westwards for a moment, eyes seeing inward, recalling a memory.

With a light shake, the leader stirred to open the pouch fastened to his belt and take some leaves from it. “Athelas?” Andros enquired.

“Yes, praised be Yavanna, it is well that it grows in many places, since it is so often sorely needed.” He tore two leaves into pieces, strewing them into the heated water in the kettle over the fire. A pungent, clear scent filled the air, which had been acrid with trailing wisps of smoke.

“I wonder whether this wounded soldier has something to do with the riderless horse that came to us?” Andros mused.

“He spoke much in his sleep,” answered his comrade, “saying the names of companions, most of all the name of ‘Thenamir’. I ask you to go seek for them while I tend him; perhaps they have survived battle and are looking for him. Be cautious; though he has not the appearance of an enemy to me, his gear is strange – Dwarven armour, Rohirrim clothing, and a Gondorian dagger. Let us attempt to solve this riddle in hopes that he will end this day yet alive.”

---------------------------

Thenamir’s alert eyes noted the slight movement of Volkmar’s head. “Wait here – I shall return shortly!” the ranger spoke, disappearing among the trees. Running swiftly and noiselessly, he soon reached the source of the signal he had heard. He grasped Andros’ shoulders in greeting, whispering, “What has brought you here? I knew not that any of our company were near!”

In low tones, Andros told him of the riderless horse that had alarmed the Ranger camp and of the wounded man they had found, before asking him about the man to whom he was speaking. Upon hearing the name ‘Thenamir’ his eyes lighted and he listened attentively to Volkmar’s story.

“Tell him his wounded comrade lives, but fares not well enough to rejoin the group. I shall follow with him if I can. May we meet again soon!” As quietly as he had come, he disappeared.

Dwarin Thunderhammer

09-12-2002, 08:05 PM

Dwarin led the small party through the forest. The horses were visibly tired even more so were the people that he guided. Night was falling quickly. The party walked in silence for several miles. Arenia had fallen asleep hanging in to Kalohern who guided Telefax expertly enough that the girl didn't awake. Dwarin noticed that even Haleth was periodically nodding off on top of Mîm. Even though Mim didn't give as smooth as ride as Telefax. Guthrin was the worst off of the lot. He stumbled every few feet on a rock or a root. Dwarin was most likely the best off of the group. He still had his wits and strength about him. Dwarves did not tire easily, Dwarin least of all. He had been underground in his young days for weeks on end. Even if he wanted to go on he knew the rest of the party could not.

Dwarin walked over to Haleth "I think it is time we stopped for night." the dwarf stated. "I agree. Much has happened this day." Haleth replied. "I feel as though we are being watched." She continued. Haleth pointed at a large oak tree which stood out among the other trees in the wood "There, lets make for that tree. Hopefully it will give us a little shelter." "Fair enough" The dwarf agreed.

A little less than a mile later they came under the shelter of the magnificent oak. The night had fallen by now and the moon left a soft glow on the trees and ground. The ground around the oak was covered in a soft yet very thick grass. On the eastern and southern sides were enclosed in a thicket of berry bushes. It would have been a very painful and noisy process to approach the party from those directions. A small stream rolled through the clearing next to the tree. It was a paradise compared to the accommodations they had been accustomed to. Even if it were considered a rather normal glade under different circumstances.

Dwarin led Guthrin to the base of the oak and bade him sleep there. Dwarin decided to keep the sword just in case. The dwarf had misgivings about the man. Some would even call it anger, but something about the demeanor of the man had changed. The blood on the sword was surprising to Dwarin. Had he changed? Had he fought? Those questions would have to wait for morning. The task at hand was preparing for the night. Haleth had gone out to make sure the camp was secure from anyone watching. Kalohern deftly dismounted Telefax and gently picked up Arenia who was still sleeping. The boy carried her over to the oak and softly laid her on a particularly downy spot in the grass. There was no need to tie the horses. Mîm was not the wandering type and Telefax wouldn't leave his masters side. Haleth returned and reported that all was safe. "You sleep now, I will take the first watch." Dwarin whispered. Haleth wearily agreed and sat on the opposite side of the glade and laid down to sleep. By this time all was quiet. Kalohern was laid down to sleep on the grass.

The moonlight left a pale glow on everything. It was almost magical to the dwarf. Dwarin felt at peace. His heart was strangely light. Everything was beautiful. He removed his boots and helmet for what felt like the first time in years. He walked in the grass in bare feet. He realized how much he missed his days of youth in the mountains. Slowly he made his way over to Haleth. The grass felt cool and comforting to his tired feet. The night breeze whisked across the glade. Haleth was soundly asleep. The corners of Dwarins mouth formed a small smile. He uttered a dwarven blessing rarely issued on men. Dwarin turned with a sigh and his smile grew broader. He had hope now. They had gotten through another day. Aule had blessed. He strolled over to the creek and plunged his head in. The water cleared his brain and cleansed his soul. All was silent, the glade was at rest. Dwarin stepped into the water and let the water rush over his tired feet. He stood there admiring the beauty of the night. Singing a nightime song that his father had taught him he walked back to the great oak. He reluctantly donned his boots and helmet and sat down to keep watch. Dwarin enjoyed his watch for several hours. He finally decided that a little sleep would do him good. He woke Haleth and quietly whispered that her turn to watch was next. She sat up and silently acknowledged with a nod. Dwarin took a bed next to the oak. The solid old tree felt secure, it gave safety or so Dwarin felt. It reminded the old dwarf of the mountains back home. Dwarin fell asleep still singing and dreamt of large feasts filled with all kinds of good foods and of mountains overflowing with gold.

[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

Rimbaud

09-12-2002, 08:36 PM

Guthrin woke suddenly. His dreams had been awash with images, savage and terrible, of import he could not imagine. Sweat was beaded on his face and his limbs were shaking. His right arm was still stiff and unwieldy, crossed against his chest. His tunic was soaked and he rose to move away from the others, sleeping under the cold blue stars. Dwarin had stopped them an hour or more after nightfall, seemingly reluctant to cease moving, but aware that fatigue threatened to cripple his companions and their mounts. Guthrin looked at the sleeping Dwarf, one hand on the worn, smooth haft of his axe. Across the other side of the small and temporary encampment, Baronthol lifted his hand in acknowledgement but said nothing and continued the watch. A man with secrets, Guthrin thought.

His mind began to race in the chill night air. His left hand groped for the star shaped stone that hung on a leather cord around his neck. He gripped it in his fist, the smooth edges pressing into his tender skin. Hands that once had been smooth and well-tended now carried scars and callouses from days of riding and rough-sleeping and that night…

He shuddered and sat, his back pressed to a thick and unyielding tree, gazing out away from the others, into the black of the forest. Tethered not far from him, Mim opened an indolent eye and whickered softly at him. Guthrin smiled wanly at the thickset horse and turned his attention back to the immalleable dark around them. He looked down at himself. The small paunch he had carried in more luxuriant days, caused by his choice of the finest cuts of meat and the thickest ales had dissipated, and his tunic fitted poorly around his waist. His legs were scarred and bruised and his boots, standing five paces behind him, he knew were worn but would keep.

He could not believe the change in his life. I used to order people like this around… but the thought did not carry the pride, which it once would have, and he reflected again on what a fool he had been for much of his time. Observing the Riders of Rohan and the tall Gondorian Thenamir had been something of a revelation for him; their poise and manners, taking command of situations when they demanded it. Unafraid of action, yet not blind pugilists, they sought solutions with reason. The beatings he and his friends had given to others at his homestead filled him with shame and a great bitterness grew in him. He saw that his father was not the great man he had thought him. So long he had feared the rotund yet embittered merchant, a man who had become a high ranking Captain of the Mark through less than bravery, he saw now. He saw that compared to his new companions, his father was weak-willed and foolishly arrogant. He sank his head into his hands. The air felt chill upon his clammy skin and he shivered, wrapping his arms around his legs, huddled beneath the trees.

His thoughts returned to his dreams. A tall bearded figure, dressed in ethereal white stood before him and some shadowy mass he could not make out but must reach… the myriad enemies clung to him, yet they seemed like flies. His size was disproportionate, he strode through an army of orcs, yet their swords were as pinpricks yet within him a pain grew and grew, his chest aflame…

He woke again, gasping for breath, his throat rasping. He could feel Baronthol’s eyes on his back, yet he ignored them. There was a sharp pain on his breast and he unlaced the top of his tunic and pulled it apart. He stopped breathing; scarred on to his chest, the shape of his white star-shaped stone was visible, red and painful, illuminated only by the dim light of the moon through the treetops.

A dread clarity descended upon Guthrin in those moments and his rebirth was complete. His jaw hardened and he turned back to meet Baronthol’s gaze firmly. A quizzical look came into the Rider’s eyes but they dropped from Guthrin’s stare after bare seconds. Guthrin remembered, as he did so often, Flandhere’s last stand and his lesson of true courage. He moved soundlessly to where Dwarin slept, and although the grizzled Dwarf’s breathing pattern altered, he did not move, as Guthrin took his sword and returned to his seated position. With great care he eased the stained blade from the scabbard and began the laborious task of cleaning, with oily rag and a stone, sharpened for such a purpose, that Kalohern had beside him as he slept.

Far above his head, two ravens, unnaturally alert for such an hour, observed the party with glittering eyes…

[ September 13, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

Thenamir

09-12-2002, 09:09 PM

Thenamir was puzzled by the sudden disappearance of Volkmar. For a moment he was unsure if he had made the right decision, and the seconds stretched long and nervous before Volkmar returned with an unrestrained smile. "We must move from here," Volkmar said, "but I think you will be pleased indeed with where I will lead you."

GreatWarg

09-12-2002, 09:29 PM

The draug cocked his ears, poised, listening to the night-speech of plant and stone. The Stars of Elbereth, Heaven's Jewels, were bright in the dark sky. A young, pale moon had reached the pinnacle, and would soon begin its course downwards. A breeze, heavily laden with the scent of night flowers and lush grass, ruffled the leaves of the nearby trees. And where was this journey taking him? A futile attempt to find ones that were missing? He could perhaps find them, for wolves do not tire easily, and only an Elf would be able out distance the Warg. Still, he waited, clear eyes gleaming in the night.

Rimbaud

09-13-2002, 07:08 AM

Elwood sighed softly to himself and quelled the sharp feeling of loss. He longed for the woods of his homeland, not this oppressive and forbidding gloom. The smell of smoke lingered still, even here leagues from the travesty that had separated them all.

He sensed the Warg waiting patiently some distance off. In all of his years he had not come across a creature so strange, so naive yet so terrible. He rose and moved towards where the hulking black shape lurked.

My friend we...I... have need of your eyes and ears tonight...

[ September 13, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

Dwarin Thunderhammer

09-13-2002, 11:27 AM

Kalohern sat with Dernwine around a campfire. They were talking and enjoying a meal as only a father and son could. They talked for hours and hours as the fire grew only to embers. Kalohern told his father about all that had transpired. About his great deeds and his courage. Dernwine's eyes burned with the pride that was unique to a father. Kalohern's heart swelled at the approval of his father. He was so glad to be back. Kalohern threw another log on the fire. Dernwine embraced his son and Kalohern heard the words he longed to hear for so long. "I love you son." Dernwines embrace started shaking the boy. Everything faded to black.

Kalohern awoke to Baranthol gently shaking him awake. It was only a dream. Sadness flooded over the boy. "I love you son" still rang in his ears. Baranthol informed the boy that it was his turn to watch. Kalohern sat up in the soft grass. The grass left a sweet soft scent as he rose. He longed for that dream again. He wanted his father badly. His heart ached for home, if only his father was there! Kalohern felt a soft nudge on the back of his neck. He turned and looked deep into the eyes of Telefax. The horse gave Kalohern comfort beyond words. The boy flung his neck around Telefax and wept softly into his mane. Minutes later the boy raised his head and wiped his eyes. It was his duty to watch. He would make his father proud! He would become the greatest Rider Rohan had ever known! His father would look and point at the young man at the head of the procession and declare "That is my boy! My son! A mighty man among men he is!" Kalohern would smile and wave to his father whose eyes would beam with pride. Kalohern would lead men into battle and score victories beyond belief. He would kneel at the foot of king Theoden and receive great honor. The King would say. "This is the great Kalohern, son of Dernwine!, a mighty man in Rohan!" All the time his father looking on with joy known to any other.

The vision faded and Kaloherns thoughts turned to the present. He was now charged with a task. He was to stand watch over his sleeping comrades. "A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step" He said softly to himself. There was dew on the grass. Dawin was coming. He looked down at the face of Arenia sleeping just a few feet away. Her face was beautiful to the boy. He wondered what her story was. He wished she had not been swept up in this affair like he had. "This is no place for her." He thought. She should be at home, carefree, not out here beset by evil. Kalohern sighed. How would this adventure end? What was at the end of the long and bitter road they traveled. Whatever the case Kalohern knew would meet it with courage.

The light was growing, the dew was sweet upon the grass. Kalohern realized that dawn was coming. Birds began chirping in the oak above him. He looked up and saw light streaming over the top of the trees. Everything was glowing in the light of a new day. The light merrily spilled over the tops of the trees like a waterfall. Everthing was flooded with the pale light of morning. Kalohern realized that despite all the troubles besetting him that a new day had dawned. The sun still rose in the morning. All was new again. This gave Kalohern comfort and hope. The light seemed to tell the boy that all would be well again one day.

[ September 13, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

Ransom

09-13-2002, 12:41 PM

“What happened? Where do you intend to lead us?”

Thenamir gazed in quite a bit of confusion as Volkmar stowed away their meal and loaded the horse. Volkmar stuffed the half-folded tablecloth in a saddle bag and, still working, answered in a voice not unlike a child the night before a holiday.

“It appears that a band of my bretherin are encamped to the north. One of your comrade’s wounded steeds alarmed them when it stumbled into camp. Two of the fastest men came to investigate, and rescued one of your wounded friends. He is burning with fever and babbling, and his healing will take many days. For now, I deem that the best way to aid your friend is to keep our enemies away from them.”

By now, Volkmar had lashed the calvary spear onto the horse. He was untieing the horse when the screaming of ravens filled the woods. Both men gazed at the approaching flock for a moment before seeking cover.

The ravens soon disappeared, and Volkmar slowly crawled to Thenamir, ignoring the rather confused look his horse was giving him. “I fear that we have been found by fell powers, for those birds do not belong here. Let us attempt to track the rest of your group and continue. Your friend will catch up when he is ready. To delay would contribute to his death. We must move and move quickly.”

[ September 13, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

Dwarin Thunderhammer

09-13-2002, 02:51 PM

Dwarin sat up groggily. His dreams had been pleasant. The images of roaring fireplaces and hot food lingered in his mind. He stood up and what he saw pleased his heart greatly. Rain was falling. Rain! The dwarf was ecstatic. Now many dwarves loved what some called ill weather. They loved the rain and the snow and such. But very few loved the rain as much as Dwarin. The scent of rain was unmistakable. As a young dwarf he would play all day in the rain on the mossy rocks of the iron mountains. He would run through the puddles in his bare feet. He would sit in a cave watching the rain fall and sing himself a little song. To Dwarin rain was a blessing of the highest order from Aule.

The mighty oak gave shelter to those still slept. The field of grass glittered. There were flowers strewn about the field which Dwarin had not noticed the night before. Surveying the scene he noticed Kalohern standing in the middle of the field soaking up the rain face lifted up to the sky. Dwarin once again took off his boots and strolled across the field to Kalohern. "How are you this fine morning my young lad?" Dwarin inquired. A thoroughly soaked Kalohern turned on the Dwarf beaming. "I am no lad Master Dwarf. I am the mightiest rider in Rohan! I led the soldiers that defeated Mordor! I am the man that threw down the stones of Orthanc with his bare hands. I am the savior of my country!" Kalohern replied playfully picking up a stick and parrying a percived blow from an unseen enemy. Dwarin chuckled "Oh, are you really? Then I am not worthy to stand in your presence!" Dwarin bowed playing along. "Nay, stand Dwarin Thunderhammer! For you have been my companion on my first great exploit. You and I stood before the prince and recived our honors for saving Rohan from great peril. You are a great Dwarf!" Kalohern said. "I seem to have forgotten that part." Dwarin said. Kalohern still fought invisible enemies. Dwarin marveled at the boy. It seemed to the dwarf that the boy had an unbreakable spirit and undaunted courage. Something Dwarin admired greatly. "Well boy I am off I must go see what I can gather in terms of food." Dwarin stated. "Wait! I have already taken care of that." Kalohern said as he handed Dwarin a small canvas sack. "The berries here are wonderfull, I've already had my fill. Also, Elwood was here just moments ago." "Elwood?!" Dwarin started. "Yes, he said he and that wolf were off to find Thenamir and bring him here. He asked us to stay put." Even though the Dwarf did not much like the Elf. The plan seemed good. "I was planning on staying anyways." Which was partially true. "Good, another thing, he told me to tell you to talk to Guthrin. Elwood said his actions were valiant. This part most puzzles me, I hate the man. He is nothing but an arrogant cowardly blowhard. I hate him. I don't believe Elwood. Nonetheless I deliver the message to you." Kalohern finished. Dwarin was taken aback by this statement. He liked Guthrin no more than the boy. He shared the same opinions about Guthrin with him.

Dwarin walked back to the oak munching on a berry thoughtfully. He was most puzzled at the message. He decided it would be a good idea to talk to Guthrin. He found Guthrin resting against the oak. "I hear you have a story to tell." the Dwarf as sat next to Guthrin.

Rimbaud

09-13-2002, 03:46 PM

Guthrin started and looked up at Dwarin uncertainly, his left hand shielding his eyes from raindrops, although the thick boughs of the oak diverted most. He said nothing but gazed at the bearded warrior. He licked his lips nervously. Dwarin sighed and sat beside him, back against the thick damp trunk, gazing out into the forest. Guthrin shifted uncomfortably but did not leave.

“Guthrin…” began the Dwarf uncertainly, not sure of how to deal with this weak-willed and troubled individual. Guthrin did not turn his head towards Dwarin but a sneer curled back his upper lip. Some of his matted hair, wettened from the opulent raindrops, fell into his grey eyes and he swept it back with his left hand. His right arm was clutched across his chest, and Dwarin realised he had hardly used it since rejoining the party.

“You can have the sword back,” muttered the tall Rider, and unbuckled the scabbard from his wide leather belt. Before Dwarin could protest, Guthrin had laid it across the Dwarf’s knees and returned his attention to the deep greens of the woods.

Seeing an opening, the Dwarf pulled the blade from the sheath, expecting some resistance. The blade pulled smoothly and quickly and he sliced open the top of his thumb. Cursing quietly in his guttural tongue, he extracted the blade fully and gasped. Where there had been blackened stains, from dried blood and burnt on filth from the fire and a night in the open, the blade now shone, a dull silver. The edge was clear and sharp. The bindings on the handle were loose, however, and without a word, Dwarin pulled out a length of twine and set to correcting the grip. Guthrin paid him no heed.

The rain fell steadily as Dwarin worked and behind him he heard the others rising and talking. None approached him however, and for this he was grateful. An hour or more passed and slowly sunlight cut through the branches and broke into multifarious hues as it intersected the thick droplets of rain. When he had finished, he sighed and re-sheathed the blade. He handed the scabbarded sword back to Guthrin; the Rider did not move at first but eventually, slowly, took back his weapon and awkwardly affixed it to his belt again, the length running parallel with his long legs, away from the tree. His feet were bare and dirty. Dwarin sighed and tried again.

“Guthrin, I know what happened at the battle. I know you were there. What happened to Flandhere? You saw him, did you not?”

Guthrin flinched at the name of the dead Rider. He looked at Dwarin then, and the Dwarf found himself inexplicably cold as the pale grey eyes bored into him. He tugged at his beards.

“Flandhere died,” said Guthrin finally, in a voice stretched to breaking. Dwarin wondered at the pain. “He was protecting me.”

The Dwarf absorbed this and said, in a steady voice, “Death happens. To all of us, it happens. Some fear it and some embrace it. Flandhere was a good man.”

Guthrin half-sat up and looked directly at his companion. “Protecting me!!! As if I were an infant!”

“Then he indeed died a noble death, for giving one’s life to save another is the finest sacrifice,” growled the Dwarf, although he longed to be rid of the cowardly fool. “Indeed, you live, so he succeeded.”

Guthrin shook himself and seemed to gain better control of his body. His eyes focused on the forest again. “When he died,” he started, in an even-toned voice “something changed in me. I…” His voice faltered and stopped.

Dwarin remained silent and lowered his eyes to the ground. He felt weak sunlight strike his grizzled face.

“I don’t remember much from that night,” finished Guthrin in a voice clear at first, but lowering and darkening. “I killed those that were there and then followed the noise of battle.” He closed his eyes and his right arm shivered violently against his chest. “ I don’t know how many there were or many came against me.” His voice was bleaker then any that Dwarin had heard and it cast chills down the Dwarf’s back. The voice held a pain and agony deep to the bone. For the first time, Dwarin saw the great doom laid upon the man and some of his heart softened. Guthrin continued. “I saw them standing over Thenamir…achhh.” A tear rolled down his cheek, a small drop of water compared to the deluge around them but Dwarin could watch nothing else, as it trickled through the stubble on the face of the man from Rohan.

Guthrin opened his eyes suddenly and the Dwarf half-jumped. “I dreamt about it, Dwarin,” said Guthrin, the words flowing quickly now. “I dreamt about myself. I dream about it every night. Only I’m not me!!!! I’m watching me. I see what I did, again and again. I look…hideous, grotesque!” The words came so rapidly Dwarin could not keep up. “They fall around me…they can’t touch me. Dwarin, I’m good with a sword. You can have no idea. Hah!! How could you know? I was trained, Dwarin, I was trained. By the best in the Mark, I was trained. Guthrin the Swift they called me as a child, for my sword was as quicksilver. But…” He stared again, silent for a few long seconds. “But…it came too easily. It always did, and I always won. My father was proud once, but I started to lose. Once at first, then often. They loved to best me, the others! They loved it. When I was fifteen, I…” He shuddered. “I paid some of my father’s servants to come with me and we… killed the son of one of the Captains, a boy who had bested me in tourney. When my father found out he whipped me. He paid the other Captain to keep it quiet. Since then, I…denied it all. I tried to seem better than all the others.”

Dwarin listened expressionlessly. He wished he was anywhere else.

Guthrin jumped to his face, and Dwarin only just caught the grimace of pain that crossed his face. “Dwarin, I can help! I can be more of a companion to you and the others.” The rain fell unchecked over the tall Rider, but he did not seem to notice. “I am not useless,” he whispered hoarsely. The distance in his eyes remained.

‘Thank you, Guthrin,” said Dwarin, slowly. “You saved our lives, that night. I…hope the scars for you do not run too deeply. There is a long road ahead.”

“The roads of some are shorter than others,” said Guthrin and turned, and walked back towards the others, who as ever, avoided him. Dwarin watched him go, thoughtfully. The rain fell, a ceaseless patter around him.

onewhitetree

09-13-2002, 04:39 PM

The lurching shapes in Gurthden's vision slowly blurred to a halt and took the shape of blackened trees, still smoking, as he regained consciousness to a slow, rhythmic rasping sound. As his mind cleared, he realized that the rasping matched the rise and fall of his own chest, and tasted the bitterly stinging taste of smoke in his throat. After a few moments of thought, to absorb and work out his situation, he gingerly sat up and was greeted with a new wave of dizziness, which luckily subsided a bit faster than the last. As it left, images of giant, smoldering flames bearing down on himself, his comrades, and those they fought alike flashed through his mind's eye. He heard a voice --was it Baranthôl?-- shouting to run! Then it all gave way to the raindrops that began to pound into his head, startling him from his reverie. He suddenly wondered how long he had been lying there amongst the battle carnage, for carnage there was all around him, the stink of it horridly apparent even through the smoke. The last time he remembered having the leisure to examine the sky, there had been no sign of rain or storm. It would have been, were it not for the circumstances, a pleasant surprise.

Gurthden suddenly realized the danger of his position when an unmistakable approach broke the silence, a silence such that can follow only great sadness. He espied the hilt of his sword, partially hidden under the nearby body of a Dunlender. There was no time to find shelter, and indeed no shelter to be found, so Gurthden quickly freed his weapon from its unpleasant resting place and lurched to a standing position, wincing, but surprised at the comparative small hurt he had received. He brandished his sword high, hoping to give the intruder a second thought, in the event that his intentions were less than honorable. As the sounds grew nearer, he made out a rasping breath louder than his own, each one seemingly slower and more deliberate than the last. As the figure came into the open, staggering, almost dragging himself along, Gurthden let his guard drop and ran to catch Leoden as he collapsed, apparently not for the first time. The Rider's garments were almost completely charred away, and burns seemed to cover every inch of his body. As he looked into Gurthden's face with recognition, he scraped in breath to speak.

"Silence, brother," bade Gurthden. "Save your strength for living, for as I see you now, you will need all the breath you can yet draw."

Leoden continued, however. "Brother--," he coughed, "I have been running like a crazed man from a furnace for I know not how long, but know this -- I parted ways with Guthrin and Flandhere after we left your company to set aflame this wretched bane of men and beasts and trees alike. They are in one another's care, and I swear on my father's grave, if I live to see that the coward Guthrin has not shown his courage in protecting my comrade, he shall feel my blade...." Another fit of coughing overtook his body, as both breath and voice became weaker. "I fear, however, that I will not see our brother Flandhere again, whether he lives or no. You must find the others, Gurthden. Help them to avenge this great wrong that is done, and is still being done yet."

As though Leoden's seeping energy had flooded into his body through their mingling blood, Gurthden felt new strength to go on and search for the rest of the party, though they may lie dead miles away, he would not give up until they were all found and reconciled. Nor would he leave Leoden behind, though it was apparent that he was not to be saved, even if the healing skills of Elwood and Aspida both were at hand. He wrapped the ailing man in a cloak plundered from one of the many corpses that now scattered the charred ground, once green with foliage and flowers. Gurthden set off at a slow run, carrying Leoden in his arms and speaking comforting words to the stricken babbling that had taken over his mind. He stopped once, at midday, and partook of some stale bread and foul meat he had plundered with the cloak, and fed Leoden as best he could with the bread and water from a nearby stream, fresh with the morning rain. He decided to stay a while and let the man rest as best he could while he watched sorrowfully, knowing full well that nothing he could do would slow fate.

After about an hour more of tortured visions and imaginary flames, Leoden's spirit left his ragged body as the skies opened and unleashed torrents of wind and rain, smothering what was left of the fire and readying the ground for the new growth of the next season. Gurthden bent his head and sobbed over his countryman's corpse, lying mortally burnt upon the forest floor.

Presently, he raised his head and let the cleansing rain stream down into his face and meld with his tears. He gathered up the limp body and continued on his way, making speed that the Elf would have admired. As evening neared, he saw a giant oak in the distance that seemed to beckon him. He girded up his mournful baggage and and made for the tree.

[ September 13, 2002: Message edited by: onewhitetree ]

GreatWarg

09-13-2002, 09:36 PM

The draug looked the Elf in the eye. "And I believe our journey may last longer than a day," he stated simply.

"I have found no scent or sign of Thenamir since the battle. Unless he has the power to vanish into the earth itself, we will have to search the lands around the place of battle. Even then, we may not find a plain path. But come, Master Elf! We have many long miles before us yet while the night lasts."

Estelyn Telcontar

09-16-2002, 06:29 AM

Andros gazed with concern on the motionless body lying beside the ashes of the fire. “Does he yet live?” he enquired of his companion.

“He was at the very gates of death,” the older Ranger answered, “yet he will not pass through them at this time. He sleeps so deeply that I cannot awake him; I do not know if it be wise to arouse him from that rest. Have you found others who know aught of what has come to pass?”

“Yes, I have found one of our company, Volkmar Heidenhammer, who has befriended the man called ‘Thenamir’.” Andros proceeded to give an account of what he had heard, concluding: “I have advised Volkmar to aid and accompany the group on their mission without waiting for their wounded comrade. They now know him safe, as much as that be possible, and can travel more quickly without him.”

“Have you knowledge of this man’s name?” his friend enquired.

“It must be ‘Taradan’, for he it was whose head was grievously wounded in battle many days ago,” replied Andros.

His companion turned back to the sleeping man. Gently he laid his hands on the wounded head, bent close and called, “Taradan”. Andros watched with bated breath, but no movement betrayed an answering response. His comrade called again and yet again, face drawn as if spending much strength. There! Did not one eyelid flutter, then the other?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Taradan wandered aimlessly in a thick mist, seeing and hearing nothing. He felt disembodied, in a world by himself, and was content to stay there. Yet it seemed that he heard something, a familiar sound, though he could not fathom its meaning. Nearer and louder it grew, until he could no longer ignore it. “Taradan” – it was his name! Who called him? The sound hovered on the edge of recollection. “Taradan!” the voice reached out to him, encompassed and grasped him until he could no longer resist.

He opened his eyes and looked into the compassionate gaze of a man, feeling as though he knew him, then realizing with a sharp pang that he was a stranger after all. His smile seemed to warm Taradan, bringing his numb limbs back to life. Suddenly memories flooded into his mind and questions filled his eyes.

“Welcome,” the stranger said, “do not be afraid! You are in safety and among friends. Rest now in peace; your questions shall be answered in due time.”

Rimbaud

09-16-2002, 07:52 AM

"The smoke addles your senses," replied Elwood, speaking directly to the Warg for once. The battle was but a day past - he cannot have travelled far. We must trust that he survived.

The Warg looked at him doubtfully. These woods are no place to be alone and tired. Even I cannot outrun things that lurk in this forest. And the men you fought swarm over eveything. It is a miracle your Dwarven companion and his party remain undiscovered.

Elwood sat, crosslegged, two paces afore the great wolf, whose hot coat steamed in the morning air. If any mere mortal would survive the night alone, 'twould be that one.

The draug bowed his head. His mind was unclear to Elwood. The Elf spoke, out loud again; "We must make haste, for our enemies shall gather and regroup. I shall hunt with thee."

The unlikely pair loped off through the branch-splintered sunlight. The forest in this part was free of the fire yet smoke hung heavy in the air and the gloom in the deepest places seemed impenetrable. A rain began to fall, as the morning awoke, steady and fine. As they were in a thickly wooded area, they remained mostly dry. The Warg rab silently, flitting in and out of Elwood's vision. The Elf moved with his inherent fluid grace, his breath silent in the cool air, depite his fatugue.

An hour or more of switching, this way and that, the Warg's nose to the ground, they found faint spore and traces of passage and the Warg sped, so that the Elf could no longer keep pace. Up ahead, some mile east, Elwood heard the music of a stream, dashing against pebbles.

[ September 16, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

Thenamir

09-16-2002, 01:38 PM

Thenamir followed his new guide Volkmar who moved with a speed and stealth which belied an obviously lame and stiff-braced leg. Normally Thenamir would not be hard pressed to keep up, but the battle and the long race against the fire had left him wounded and weakened in body, while the absence of his comrades weakened his spirit.

Finding Volkmar helped to an extent on both conditions. He had adeptly, if roughly, treated his wounds, and the news of Taradan found and in friendly hands gave him hope that others had perhaps escaped the twin enemies of fire and foes. The elf, and perhaps the warg, stood the best chances of safe retreat. The last he had seen of the others was glimpses of pitched battle, and the scattering of Dunlending forces by the arrival of Guthrin, of all people!

The scorched land seemed to stretch endlessly before them, but Thenamir had insisted that they make an effort to find some signs of his companions before heading northward to the ruined city. Volkmar seemed to have heard of it, referring to it alternately as "Tharbad" and "Ost-In-Edhil". It was not too long before they reached the signs of battle...

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

Ulfwine heaved a ragged cough as he surveyed the corpses where the rain had put an end to the smoke and smoulder. Not knowing whether his friends were still living he wanted to take whatever might be of value from his dead former-fellows to aid his escape -- and his enemies might still be close.

He moved with a kerchief over his face to help mitigate the double stink of ash and dead flesh, methodically going from body to body scattering the carrion fowl who had begin to gather. At least the bodies had not been dead long, Ulfwine thought. He did not have time to linger over the scene even if it had smelled like a meadow in full flower -- if there was any chance of connecting again with those who saved him from this band of brigands, he had to complete his task and start legging it northward.

He had obtained a small collection of swords with burnt leather grips that could be rehabilitated with some ease, a relatively undamaged pack which now contained several small and useful metal items and a meager sum of gold and silver plundered from the ashes of pockets and packs -- he considered it some small measure of revenge against those who would have betrayed him and his family.

Only twice did Ulfwine cease scavenging. He recognized with a start the charred body of Flandhere, one Ulfwine had grown to respect and even to friendship. He reverently retrieved the sword which had once fought alongside him and wiped it clean as best he could, though a proper cleaning would have to wait. Then with a small shovel which was part of his plunder, he dug a quick and shallow grave. For the brave man of Rohan there should have been a proper mound watered with the wine and tears of his comrades, as was the Rohirrim ceremony for those fallen in battle. There was no time, and he did not know the proper words, but Ulfwine honored him with his own sweat and tears, and such words as the people of Dunland speak over their honored dead.

The other time Ulfwine stopped was when he recognized the ornate scabbard of Storwolos, a gift from Borleg long ago, lying next to his blackened corpse. Ulfwine was momentarily stunned, for the body lay not in the twisted positions of the others who had died writhing in the agony of smoke and flame, but face down as though fallen dead before the flames arrived, and yet there were no visible signs of battle. One of the troop, probably Smrtan, had knifed him in order to take his place. He was not honorable, even for one of Dunland, thought Ulfwine.

Carefully rolling the body over he saw that the corpse had protected a small satchel-pack from the wasting power of the flame. The satchel contained a fair amount of gold, but also written orders...orders describing their destination and instructions on what to look for and where to look.

He quickly added these to the larger pack he carried. Then he used the sword of the honorable Flandhere to cut the heart from Storwolos' body and hack it into four sections. Taking each section in turn, he spat on it before casting the sections away, one to each of the four winds, muttering a gutteral Dunland curse over each one. He then turned to face Storwolos' remains and said, "As you left my family defenseless to be picked over by your friends, so I leave you defenseless to the carrion beasts to become food for their young. As you used me to gain advantage over your enemies, so I use what you have left behind to aid them. Thus my father is revenged."

Once he had completed the ritual desecration, he gathered together his plunder, discarded all but what he considered essential, and began his run to the north, seeking signs of his friends, to rejoin or avenge them.

Now, a half-day into his journey he was tripped by an unseen root and fell forward headlong into a mat of leaves and forest debris. Before he could arise he felt the flat of a swordblade against his neck and a stiff voice barked "Hold! Who are you?" Ulfwine unknowingly looked up into the face of Volkmar Heidenhammer. Before Ulfwine could protest there was a shrill whistle, and Thenamir came bursting from behind a scorched tree trunk ordering, "Stay, Volkmar! This is one of our comrades, the Dunlending who came over to our aid!"

"Glad to see you too," said Ulfwine as Volkmar resheathed his sword.

"Oho," said Volkmar. "I have some questions for you...

[ September 16, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

shieldmaiden

09-16-2002, 06:03 PM

Baranthôl was woken up by Dwarin’s and Kalohern’s conversation. She stood up and stretched her back. She slept peacefully, without dreams and she felt better than she had felt for a few past exhausting weeks.
“Ho there, “mightiest rider in Rohan”! I’m dying of hunger. Would you be so kind to give me some of those berries for I, too helped you save Rohan from great peril.” she shouted and laughed. “Let’s eat and let Dwarin talk to Guthrin. Arenia must be hungry, too.” she added with a wink. Kalohern’s face went completely red.

[ September 16, 2002: Message edited by: shieldmaiden ]

Thenamir

09-16-2002, 10:03 PM

Borleg sat looking down on the ruins of Ost-in-edhil from his hillside perch. He and the small but strong force he commanded had travelled here on the instructions of Saruman. His orders were to observe and to record all that happened or might happen here, any comings and goings no matter how small, and send the notes back to Orthanc courtesy of the crebain, the oversized raven-crows which trafficked between them. There had been little enough to report. An occasional Ranger rode thru without stopping or camping, but other than that, nothing.

This morning the crebain had a rather obvious note. He carefully unwrapped it from the leg of the bird, one he never handled without the heavy leather gloves -- the birds might be willing messangers, but they did not suffer themselves to be handled except by Saruman without a great deal of fussing and pecking.

In Saruman's bold hand was written,
Borleg,
Storwolos' forces encountered the strawheads, but failed to eliminate them. Smrtan now commands them. You will know what to do should the forgoil arrive before Smrtan and his men.
It was signed, if signature it could be called, with the letter "S" beside the insignia of a hand imprinted in white wax.

Borleg scrawled out an acknowledgement, clumsily attached it to the bird with the gloves, and sent the black fowl on its way.Considering what it was Saruman told him to expect, Borleg was more than happy to wait and watch from a distance.

Ransom

09-17-2002, 09:18 AM

Volkmar carefully examined Ulfwine. He was not the most impressive Dunedling Volkmar had ever seen. It looked to like he had been beaten and then thrown into a fire pit. His cloathing was charred. The sword at his side was dirty and the sheath slightly singed. The bulges in his backpack left Volkmar with a general idea of the nature of the task Ulfwine had labored at for the previous hours.

“Oho. I have some questions for you. Many questions. Yet, it is not safe to remain in one place for very long. Let us find somwhere where we can talk.”

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

In a short time, they found a ridge surrounded by a thick grove of evergreens. Volkmar tied the horse to a tree. He glanced upwards and established that it was nearing noon before extracting the remaining three apples. It took some effort to bend his armored body far enough to fit under the rock, but he eventually succeeded. The apples were handed out before Volkmar began his questions.

“Ulfwine, Thenamir has told me that Sauruman has been stirring up your people and sending them to retrieve an artifact. Have your people had past dealings with the wizard?”

[ September 17, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

Rimbaud

09-17-2002, 09:46 AM

The sun was nearing its zenith by the time Elwood, who was slowing in the thick air of the forest, saw the Warg returning through the trees, darker than shadow.

Upon that ridge yonder sent the great wolf, seeming tired, although his muscled form showed no sign.

Elwood could not discern the ridge amongst the thick rows of trees but said nothing and followed the Warg as he led, more slowly through the undergrowth.

Before long, Elwood ascertained that he was upon a slight slope and moved purposefully but quietly upwards, not wishing to disturb whoever spoke at the summit, for voices he could hear.

You make enough noise to wake a thousand wolves of the dead, spake the Warg, sounding disgusted. Elwood rerained from reply for the second time. He motioned the Warg to lay still and moved silently to a vantage point, where he might view the sandy peak of the small ridge. He saw three figures; one prone, two supine, eating. The man on the ground he could not distinguish, of the seated two, one was familiar, the other not. Sensing little danger, he whistled for the Warg - whose reply was a mindburst of incredulity, disgust and outrage at the insult - and stepped into the clearing. His hand hovered over his sword hilt, although he stood at such an angle to the trio that they could not see this.

"Hail and well met again, Thenamir of Gondor," he said cautiously, then instantly cursed himself for a fool for using the man's name out in the open.

At his approach, both seated men had gained their feet, blades out, but on seeing Elwood, Thenamir waved Volkmar down and sheathed his own.

"Master Elf," began the bearded Gondorian. "Congratulations on your survival of that night! I trust you have news of the others."

"Indeed, Master Thenamir," said Elwood, relaxing a little. The Warg had not come up to the ridge, but the Elf heard his faint breathing scant paces behind and belw him. The stranger stood slightly unsteadily, he noted, and seemed to be in some discomfort. He favoured his left leg, he noted. His attention stayed on the stranger, as Thenamir introduced him as "Volkmar, a new ally."

"Hail and well met," said the Elf reservedly, eyeing the stranger's used battleaxe and his hardened manner uncertainly.

"Likewise," said the thick-set stranger gruffly, and offered a calloused hand.

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

Elwood sat with them, and shared some roots and fruits he had found on his search. He found himself as wary as ever of Thenamir and a little bemused by the stranger's easy grasp of the situation. The man sleeping turned out to be Ulfwine, who had appeared to have been through a furnace and back, and slept, seemingly having troubled dreams, beside them, although he woke when Elwood offered him water, and drank eagerly. The Elf saw that this man needed serious attention to his burns, but did not feel safe in this area of the forest.

After pleasantries had been carefully exchanged, Thenamir asked if Elwood knew of the whereabouts of the others. He did not mention again the battle of the fires and Elwood followed his lead.

"Some ways hence," said the Elf, gesturing behind him in no specific direction. "We can be there before nightfall, if we make good time." He could not avoid glancing at Ulfwine, lying stiffly on the ground. He wondered if they had time to treat him properly. He wanted the security of the full group first; his mind set, he advocated swift departure.

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

Before long, they were wending their way back down the shallow ridge and into the murky green light of the dense forest. Ulfwine walked unsteadily between Thenamir and Volkmar, and seemed delirious, for he said little of any import. The Elf ensured he drank often, although they had limited water. He decided to take them on the small detour that would bring them past a slight meander of the stream, where they could replenish their supply. The Warg trailed them, but not once came within eyeshot of the men, although Elwood discerned him from time to time, flitting behind them. He wondered at the suspicion that hung heavy over him. The day lengthened.

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

( Post by Dwarin Thunderhammer )

Kalohern turned in surprise to Baranthol. He tried to squelch a grin as best he could but the other rider saw it anyway. He produced a small leather bag of berries and handed it to Baranthol "I gave the majority to Dwarin, I'm sorry."

"Apology not needed," Baranthol replied, eating a couple of the berries. The rider removed a handful of fruit from the bag and tossed it back to Kalohern. "Better go see if your riding companion wants some." Kalohern blushed again and ran off into the rain.

Arenia was slowly waking up beneath the eaves of the mighty oak. To his own surprise Kalohern was a tad nervous. He was very grateful to Arenia for bringing Telefax back safely. He thought her pretty and that intimidated him more than any Dunlending. He stood next to her on the grass "I-I gathered some food this morning. It's good! Try some." Kalohern stumbled over his words a little. Arenia giggled at the soaking wet boy standing in the rain. She motioned for him to sit. He gladly accepted. The ate and talked under the shelter of the great tree. Kalohern in his nervous tongue and Arenia in her broken words. The rain pattered about them gently as they talked.

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

Dwarin silently watched the two talk. The pair laughed. They seemed carefree. Much to the contrast of his conversation with guthrin. He smiled to himself. "A boy should have interests other than conquering the world shouldn't he?" Dwarin chuckled. The dwarf stood up. "This weather is too fine to waste under a tree," he thought to himself.

He informed Haleth that he was going for a walk. The trees glittered in the rain. The forest was peaceful. Dwarin breathed the fresh scent that only rain can give. He walked for about an hour when something caught his eye. He saw a ash sapling pinned beneath the fallen stump of a much larger tree. He stood there contemplating the possibilities. Dwarin scratched his head "There's got to be a better use for this than to sit here and rot. This would make a nice tent pole but we have no tents. It would make a nice walking stick but we have no need. It would make a fine weapon but......A spear!" The thought hit him like a thunderbolt.

The Dwarf was instantly excited. The thought of actually doing something constructive appealed to him very much. He immediately set to freeing all he could from under the tree. The wood proved very stout and unyielding. This only pleased the dwarf more. Stronger wood made a better weapon and a greater challenge both of which were welcome. Dwarin looked hungrily at the wood as he freed it. He was left with a seven foot section of the perfect diameter. Dwarin was very satisfied. He decided that the spear would go to Kalohern. He produced a knife from his pack and immediately set to carving.

About an hour later Dwarin realized that the rain had let up and that he had been gone for quite some time. He hurried back to camp to find that everyone was up and making the best of the daylight. He sat down on the opposite side of the oak and resumed his little project.

[ October 30, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

Thenamir

09-19-2002, 04:36 PM

As they walked, Thenamir tried again to let his thought flow on what direction he should lead the group once they were rejoined. THe total absence of Taradan for the foreseeable future meant that he was truly in charge now, at least in presence if not in real rank. It came as a shock that he was now in the position that he'd sought since vowing revenge for the death of his wife -- in command of a strong and diverse cadre of warriors ready to attack the enemies who had destroyed his loves, and his life. Though it was a heady thought, he must not allow his personal desires influence the needs of the moment or the greater good.

The Dunlendings had been diverted, their leader slain (according to Ulfwine), and though the battle of the fires could hardly be called a victory, it did what was needed -- scattered and confused their enemies and set them ahead in the race to Ost-in-Edhil and to whatever they might find there.

Thenamir would have loved to get all the Rangers that Volkmar referred to and march on the ruins. The reality was that there was no time -- the new Dunlending leader would find and muster whatever troops remained to him, and begin his attempts to catch them, or at least pass them up.

He did not fear for losing his direction. Between Volkmar's and Arenia's knowledge of the area and terrain, they had the advantage of knowing the country and the roadblocks in detail. They had the advantage of having Saruman's commands to the Dunlending troop, courtesy of Ulfwine. They had the keenest eyes in Elwood, and the sharpest nose in the Warg, not to mention that they were also two brave and valiant warriors. As was Dwarin, who had proved himself over and over in strength, fortitude, and loyalty. And with any luck at all, the others would remain reasonably well and ready. Thenamir could not help but be happy with his assets.

He also wanted an audience with Guthrin. Elwood had expressed his concern for him as they continued on to join the rest, and after hearing his tale told by Elwood, with occasional exclamations of disbelief form Ulfwine, Thenamir had to agree with Elwood's trepedation. For someone to have undergone such a radical transformation was beyond his ken, and he wnated a chance to see whether Guthrin might be victim of some new sorcery of Saruman, rather than just battle stress.

The day was drawing near to sunset when the huge tree under which Dwarin and Company camped came into view, even among the other tree trunks. It was Baranthol who spotted them first, and happily aroused the rest of the camp to meet them. Joyful indeed was that reunion, and many handshakes and hugs went around as Thenamir smiled his way through the group. Guthrin he came to last. There was a beat of silence among them all in that moment as they all remembered Thenamir's judgement and sentence on him before sending out the fire-starters. Guthrin stood before him, silent but steady, ready to receive whatever Thenamir might have to say. Before the silence had a chance to lengthen into awkwardness, Thenamir looked him in the eye, extended his right hand, and said only, "Well done. I pronounce the fhiornach accomplished."

Rimbaud

09-23-2002, 08:00 AM

Guthrin immediately looked away, his eyes shifting, his countenance distorted. He took Thenamir’s hard hand and briefly clenched it before turning swiftly away. He said nothing. Thenamir looked at his retreating back, saddened.

An uneasy silence fell on them all. They watched Guthrin return to his seat beneath the tree, back resting on the gnarled trunk. Thenamir scowled swiftly and muttered something of ‘questions later.’ Dwarin looked prepared to smite down Guthrin as he sat. The man stared out into the vista of trees, seemingly unaware of the eyes on him.

Elwood broke the silence, turning smoothly from perusal of Guthrin. “Here comes our strangest companion,” he said, and his light and even-toned voice soothed the company somewhat. Thenamir shook himself and turned to where the giant shape trotted through into the clearing. Dwarin snorted.

“Elvish ears are not all that,” he said, with a good-natured air. “I heard his blundering progress some minutes back.”

They all strained to hear any sound of the great wolf’s progress, but although in the still wood they could hear birds singing, somewhat subdued, above them (and Elwood could hear a squirrel in the oak scratching his ear) not a rustle came from the padded feet of the Warg. Elwood smiled. The others in the company hid grins and Baranthol went so far as to pat Dwarin on the back.

“What is wrong with that man?” asked Kalohern, none too quietly, still gazing at the estranged Rider beneath the oak.

None replied to him and he fell silent. “We must move,” said Areina, anxiously. “I feel we have been here too long.”

With that, it was as if a switch had been applied to them. The camp erupted in activity, although there was discernable order if experienced eyes were the watchers. Soon, the two horses were laden and the party was ready for movement. No one spoke of the battle of the fires and the absence of their friends was too obvious to point out. Nevertheless, after the Warg had returned for the second time, with blood around his muzzle, looking rather full, Elwood knelt beside him. The others knew not what he commanded, but the Warg silently left, in the direction of the battle. Thenamir nodded at Elwood in approval. The tall Gondorian, growing into his role of leadership, motioned them forwards.

Even Guthrin had readied himself. He laced his boots up, and rolled his bedding. He swiftly checked his sword, which came smoothly from its plain, unadorned scabbard. He avoided the eyes of the others but he saw Dwarin speaking with Thenamir and knew that it was of him that they spoke.

He could not say why he had been so rude to Thenamir but he could not take the condescension of these people. He wished to be back at home…again he shook his head. Why must I torture myself? I did well that night…they would accept me… Yet he did not walk next to the others, but some way behind. He made some show of looking behind them and scanning the forest and the others let him be, but in reality he saw little and his mind was on other things. He sensed a great darkness in his future. His dreams were as ugly as ever and he was desperately tired. Still, the hard life had done wonders for Guthrin’s physique and although he knew it not, but for his bowed posture, he cut a finer figure than ever he had in the rich clothes of his homestead. The weight had fallen from him and his brown hair hung around his shoulders, clean from the rain that had fallen, mercifully for the whole of the preceding day. The forest smelt fresher and more alive, although still the dark places held fear for him.

Before long, the line of the party had extended to single file, with two exceptions. Kalohern walked with his horse to his left and Areina to his right, just ahead of Guthrin, and at the very front of the party, Thenamir strode with Dwarin at his side, seemingly in animated converse. Some of it floated back to Guthrin. “Nay, but he remembers little!” he heard the Dwarf exclaim, and he wondered at it. Of the Warg there was no sign. Guthrin feared the moment he knew would come again, when Thenamir would drop back to speak with him. As the day reached its mid-part, he relaxed somewhat. The party moved on, silenced by the endlessness of the forest and the difficulty of the path.

[ October 14, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

GreatWarg

09-23-2002, 05:34 PM

Khelek trotted out ahead, leaving barely a mark a Ranger or an Elf could follow. He preferred to sleep after an especially good meal, but running was not unpleasent. They were soon leaving behind the scent of ash and burning wood, which filled the draug's sensitive nose with a wretched smell. But now his mind was clear of the acrid stinging, and the land was alive with the scent of soft grass and blooming flowers. Ears perked at a faint creak and snap of a twig, and the draug stood poised, still and silent, like a statue of memory, or a still drawing. Then he suddenly came back to life, putting on a burst of speed and flitting amidst tall grasses. Stopping once again, and ears perked, he listened to the distant sounds of the company moving. He could hear the faint clop of hoofs against the solid ground, and the scent of Man, horse, Elf, and Dwarf drifting in the warm wind.

Estelyn Telcontar

09-24-2002, 01:45 PM

Taradan awoke, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face and seeing its light through closed lids. He felt refreshed and calm, content for the moment to lie quietly, listening to the birds singing. Gradually he realized that the murmuring sound he heard was that of voices conversing somewhere near him. With reluctant curiosity, he opened his eyes and lifted his head, turning in the direction of the speakers. A flash of pain caused him to gasp and drop back to his resting place.

Andros heard the faint intake of breath and saw the slight motion of the wounded man. Quickly he came to his side. “Careful!” his friendly voice admonished, “you should not move in haste yet.”

Taradan looked up, seeing a man whose merry eyes belied the aged appearance of his weathered face. “Who are you? Why am I here? What has happened? Where are my friends?”

“So many questions at once,” laughed Andros, “I will endeavour to answer them one at a time. My name is Andros; my companion and I found you, fleeing from the fire, gravely wounded, exhausted beyond your strength and nigh unto death. Your comrades have been scattered after fighting their enemies, but there is hope that some of their number have escaped alive. I spoke to Thenamir; he will seek to find them and lead them on. One of my people has joined him and will aid in the mission you have set out to accomplish. Indeed, I was sent to your assistance after an unmounted horse came to our camp. I will abide with you and we shall join the others when you are able to do so.”

“There was another man here,” Taradan spoke uncertainly, “or was it a dream that I recall?”

“Nay,” Andros answered, “yet my travelling companion is preparing to leave, for he must continue his journey on a mission of his own. He it was that healed you, being skilled in that craft.”

The face Taradan remembered came into his sight, and again a smile warmed his heart. “I am glad to see that you are now awake, for I was loath to leave without speaking with you. Your life has been spared, though you will still need time to recover your strength. You may yet feel pain; heed the warning it gives you and be patient. I foresee that you will yet have a part to play in the story you have been caught up in.” With these words, he grasped Taradan’s hand firmly and gently, gripped Andros’ shoulder in farewell, and disappeared silently into the woods.

Dwarin Thunderhammer

10-12-2002, 12:38 AM

Dwarin walked away from the confrontation with Guthrin worried frustrated and angry. In his mind he had spurned the second chance the group was giving him. “Why should we take a chance on him?” Grudgingly he admitted to himself that he had seen a change. His thoughts churned in his mind slowly as he began to pack

Dwarin had finished the spear. The shaft was decorated with runes near the head and the base. The head of the spear was not of sharpened wood, instead Dwarin moved the double-edged blade from his knife and affixed it to the head. The Dwarf was proud of his work. The wood was excellent and the point was Dwarvish in nature. It would serve its bearer well. Dwarin put one finishing touch on the weapon. He removed a cloth strap from one of his bags. The strap bore the mark of his family, a gold hammer on a blue background. He tied it just below the head of the spear as a banner of sorts. Dwarin held the spear at arm length and admired his craftsmanship. That’s a fine spear. One any Dwarf would be proud to make he said aloud to himself.

Dwarin gathered up his handiwork and readied himself to go. He shouldered his pack with a sigh. The trip had taken many of his emotional and mental reserves. His little project had released some of his frustration. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy but Dwarin would be prepared.

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

Kalohern was so absorbed in the conversation with his new friend that he barely noticed the arrival of Thenamir and the stranger that accompanied him. Soon he too was preparing to leave. He loaded his gear onto Telefax and put on his sword belt. Arenia packed too, even though she possessed very little. Kalohern was startled from his work as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“How goes it oh mighty champion of Rohan?”

Kalohern blushed a little at the title, Arenia giggled.

“Fine.” Kalohern said as he shot a disapproving look at the old Dwarf.

Dwarin chuckled. “I have something for you Dwarin said with a smile. He produced the spear and handed it to the boy. “No more playing with sticks for you lad. I’ve seen riders using short swords and such, but this is the proper weapon for a horseman.”

Kalohern beamed. The boy had practiced with the spears of the older more experienced riders but now he had one of his own. Kalohern took the spear and examined it. The weapon was light and strong He loved it. Kalohern thanked Dwarin several times.

“I’ve got to go finish packing Mîm . We should be leaving soon as Arenia stated.” With that the Dwarf turned and left.

To the boy Dwarin seemed worried Kalohern made a note of it. He knew it most likely had something to do with Guthrin. Kalohern had no affection whatsoever for Guthrin. He wished he had died instead of Aspida. He wished Guthrin were dead whatever the case. He wished he was home. Even so he knew his responsibility was now to his party. He wanted to make everything better especially for Arenia. He never really had spent much time around girls. He was the son of a military man. He had the army in his blood. The simple fact was, even though he wouldn’t admit it, that he liked Arenia.

Kalohern was stirred from his thoughts by a tap on the shoulder. Arenia was standing there the whole time.

“We must ride now.” She said.

“Oh, yes, of course. I-I’m sorry! Here let me help you up!” Kalohern replied.

Arenia smiled at the comment as Kalohern deftly mounted Telefax.

“Grab hold.” Kalohern extended his hand to Arenia. She took it and skillfully jumped up on the back of the horse. Kalohern was impressed.

“She knows horses! That’s a good quality.” He thought to himself. Telefax moved with a nudge and they started out.

“My hand?” Arenia queried. “

What?” he replied, emerging from his trailing thoughts again. “

“My hand” She said again.

A rock dropped in Kalohern’s stomach as he realized he hadn’t let go of her han. He quickly released her palm as his face began to burn bright red. Arenia just smiled.

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

Dwarin found Haleth packing up the rest of the supplies on Mîm.

“Looks like everything is ready to go” Haleth said. “I’m walking now, your horse won’t have to have a rider again” Mîm looked relieved.

“Good. Looks good. Are you ready?” Dwarin inquired. Haleth replied with a nod.

“Can I help you with anything?” Dwarin asked.

“No I’m fine” Haleth answered. “I think Thenamir wanted to talk to you. I’ll take care of Mîm.”

The horse was a little stubborn to follow anyone except Dwarin, but the young woman and the horse seemed to have come to a mutual understanding. They got along fairly well. “Then I must go” Dwarin replied. “You take care of yourself” He finished. As he walked away Dwarin heard a faint “You too.”

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

Thenamir introduced Dwarin to Volkmar before their departure. Dwarin noticed the hammer and made a Mental note to ask about it later. There were more important matters to discuss. Thenamir and Dwarin walked at the head of the party for many hours. They discussed many things not the least of which was Guthrin. Dwarin told his story at length to Thenamir who walked in stunned silence. It was clear that Dwarin was angry with him. Dwarin couldn’t read what Thenamir was feeling. Then again Dwarves, especially Dwarin, weren’t known for their capabilities in judging others thought.

“There’s something else I need to talk to you about.” Dwarin said to Thenamir.

“Go ahead.” Thenamir replied with a look of question.

“Kalohern and Arenia. We’ve been through much hardship and there’s sure to be more on the road ahead. I think it would be a good idea to send them home. Especially now that I think our young companion’s heart has been taken” Dwarin explained.

Thenamir showed a painful smile “I have noticed that the affections of Kalohern seem to be on Arenia instead of his sword. That’s only natural. In fact I’m glad to see it a boy his age should know more than battle and bloodshed. It’s good for him. As for Sending them home I see no way it can be accomplished.” Thenamir said with a frown.

“He shouldn’t have to waste his life so young. Arenia too. Send baranthol to accompany them home! THEY SHOULDN’T BE HERE!” Dwarin siad angrily.

Thenamir was surprised by the Dwarf’s outburst. “Master Dwarf. We are surrounded by enemies There is no escape for him. Their fate lies with us! I can’t help it! I want them to run away just as much as you do! I don’t want to see anything like that happen again! His love may very well save his life her life or both of them. There’s nothing I can do.”

Dwarin saw the hurt and the anger in Thenamir’s eyes and took a half step back. “I’m sorry. For bringing it up.”

Thenamir recovered himself. “It’s a valid point. No apology is necessary. I agree, however, that if an opportunity presents itself that they should be sent home.”

They walked silence again until they reached a good place to camp.

[ October 30, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

onewhitetree

10-14-2002, 12:27 PM

Gurthden arrived in the clearing almost completely spent, emotionally and physically. He laid Leoden's body at the foot of the majestic oak and collapsed on the other side, the heavy fog of his tears almost as exhausting as his grievous burden had been.

Sleep came in waves over the next few hours, and when Gurthden's head cleared, it was night, and a beautiful night it was. The moon was rising and bright, shining through the foliage of the tree to light the ground in a speckled pattern of silver and shade, magical to behold. Gurthden felt the power of the earth and the tree seeping into his body as he lay against the oak, unable to move. The moon then rose into full view, clearing the tree and releasing him from his reverie.

He arose, not completely rejuvenated but filled with a sense of purpose, and decided to examine his surroundings. Upon further scrutiny, he discovered the traces of recent encampment. Whether this belonged to his friends or his foes was impossible to know, but Gurthden seemed to feel the goodness of this place, and he decided that men such as the Dunlendings would not inhabit it, at least not without somehow defiling it. All traces of habitation had been respectful to the terrain and wildlife, so Gurthden assumed that he was on the right path, and took heart.

He turned back to the tree, knowing that he still had duties with Leoden and could not shirk them any longer. He dug a shallow and makeshift grave at the foot of the tree, between the roots so that they surrounded the final bed as strong, protective arms. He laid Leoden in it with his sword upon his chest and his arms crossed over his heart. He covered him with soil and a small cairn of rocks and pebbles from the nearby stream. A silent prayer and a last tear for his comrade were given, and Gurthden then gathered up his gear and continued on his path, grateful for the dreamlike interlude but not wishing to linger when his companions seemed so close.

He trekked through the brush swiftly and quietly, now and then seeing signs of travel and following them as close as he could discern. After many hours of this, he thought he heard voices, and went on more cautiously, remembering that he still did not know exactly who it was he tracked. As he drew nearer, he recognized the voices of his friends and his heart leapt with joy. "Ho, Master Dwarf!" he shouted in a few minutes, unable to contain himself when he saw the troupe a short distance away through the woods. "Will you not slow your caravan for a friend weary of travel and sorrowful times?"

[ October 14, 2002: Message edited by: onewhitetree ]

Thenamir

10-15-2002, 02:02 PM

Saruman turned away from the window. The latest missive from Borleg was comfortingly uneventful. Soon his long-laid plans could be brought to light, provided he could take care of that surprisingly hardy band of motley meddlers. He turned his thoughts to the challenge.

The Palantir was a surprisingly useful tool, but using it left him drained. He never consulted it without a chair and glass of wine near to hand. He sat now in the chair, pondering the fully reunited group (minus a few casualties). A bothersome crew, but so far completely unaware of the totality of his plans, and the number of tangled webs in which he could ensnare them...he'd thought about enslavng them, but it was are too much trouble, and besides, he had too many other matters to which he had to attend at present.

That spear of that insuferable dwarf, combined with the forest fire they'd deliberately set, gave Saruman an idea. He had friends and allies other than Dunlenders and Wargs on which he could call to take care of annoying "pests". He recalled several conversations with Fangorn about trees -- the sleeping ones can be wakened given the right circumstances. The Ents had not roused the huorns in many hundreds of years, perhaps not in the entire third age. But Saruman knew the right words to say, and the Voice would just add to his persuasion. Just add a bit of confusion to the minds of Thenamir and that travelling circus of his...

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

The travellers had joyfully welcomed Gurthden back into their company, but were sorrowed yet again to hear the fate of Leoden. Themamir brushed away yet another set of tears as he listened to Gurthden's tale, silently adding Leoden to the mental tally against the White Wizard. The reckoning must come, and it must come soon.

They decided to take a short rest break to allow Gurthden to catch his breath, since all suddenly felt a bit more tired than usual. Some broke out and shared around their edibles, some just stretched out on the ground to rest their eyes for a few moments.

The moments turned to minutes, the minutes became an hour, and still no one made any move to resume their chase. They were so very tired, and this place seemed so comfortable. Thenamir fought to keep his eyes open, but to no avail, he just had to have a quick nap. Just before he fell completely asleep he decided he must be really tired, since he thought he saw trees moving in closer to their camp....

GreatWarg

10-15-2002, 04:12 PM

The draug froze. He blinked several times to make sure he wasn't asleep. He could've sworn that the whole forest was stalking them. Frowning and peering once again, the draug lept up nimbly and gave a warning snarl. The trees were moving in on them! And Thenamir had fallen asleep!

Khelek backed up, hackles raised, snarling and growling. A lone Warg couldn't do much to a tree, really. The bark was thick and had an acrid taste, and the sturdy branches could easily render much damage.

The whole group were trapped in the circle of advancing Huorns, all of them snapping their twigs restlessly. Eye shot with dark green pretty much scared the fur on the Warg stiff.

Gandalf_theGrey

10-15-2002, 10:31 PM

So, Storwolos fallen. The enemy approaching. For if Storwolos’ forces had failed to eliminate them, so had Smrtan’s. But he, Borleg, would be ready, and prove the Dunlendings worthy of the aid of Saruman the Wise. If a few mutes belonging to Saruman’s service happened to die along the way, that could be chalked up to the misfortunes of war. It was the winning that was important. If death was unjust, so was life. So was the fact that Dunlending land was now in the hands of others. The time for peace was after victory. Let the strawheads put down their weapons and go, if they wanted peace ... or let them die. As long as Borleg no longer had to look on them, it mattered not.

Borleg tossed aside the bone of roasted goat leg he’d been sucking the last bits of meat from, wiped greasy hands on a creased tunic, belched, and stood. Striding to the midst of the encampment, he shouted to rally his fighting men. Making sure to turn his head so that none of the mutes could read his lips, Borleg began:

"Mighty Dunlending Warriors, I salute you. The forgoil approach. Storwolos lies viciously slain. Smrtan comes, but he won’t find us idle. We will set an ambush to greet the forgoil. Our orders come from Saruman the Wise. Observe, yes. But observe unseen. Then strike. For Storwolos! For Dunland!" As Borleg went into his battle cry, he made a salute in the Dunland fashion: Making a fist with his right hand, palm down, he beat his heart with a resounding tap and then lifted his fist high into the air.

A troupe of stalwart voices rang out echoing "For Storwolos! For Dunland!" and saluted in response.

"You there!" Borleg grabbed a scruffy man who was getting a little old for battle but had much talent with sign language. "Tell the mutes to stay and observe from here, as Saruman wishes. Tell them, the rest of us have much time to wait, with nothing happening, and so we go now to practice our fighting skills. Tell them, we will return soon." As the interpreter went off to do his leader’s bidding, Borleg smiled grimly. The mutes had camped here overnight, the crebain had only been sent today. The mutes could have no way of knowing what message had been sent. Borleg crumpled up the note, stuffed it down his shirt.

Rimbaud

10-16-2002, 08:34 AM

Thoughts of a glowing white star haunted Guthrin. The image scorched itself into his mind and on his breast he could feel a white-cold heat, burning his flesh. He could feel his skin crisping and curling away, blackening, smoking. A voice rose above the din of thought, moaning and crying. He was immersed in fog, an immalleable, gruesome force that pressed down on him, his limbs leaden. He did not recognise the voice. He did not know the words, although they seemed bright and yet terrible at the same time.

The voice rose in pitch, quavering, hanging between hearing and a silence that ballooned, thick and unyielding, as the voice quailed and tremulated against its encroachment. The voice quivered, beating against the descending wall of soundlessness like a futile butterfly of song.

The voice grew hoarse and rasping, and the piercing note dwindled and then died. The fear grew sudden in him that the voice would not come again, that it had broken itself against the dark.

Suddenly, the voice returned, redoubled in power, words discernable, screeched as though from a shattered larynx, "A Elbereth Gilthoniel!"

The words seemed unfamiliar to him, but the black and soundless force recoiled from the power they seemed to hold. The voice came again, and this time it was accompanied, by a second voice, a tuneful quaver. The two voices stood strong together, the broken syllables of the first complemented by the toned beauty of the second, "A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon! The voice of the first broke at the last but the second continued, swelling in power as the darkness fell away. The voice came closer and closer, as if the speaker was right there.

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon sí di-nguruthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos!"

Guthrin woke, gasping for breath. His eyes sprang open, yet saw nothing, a darkness was upon the party, unforgiving and as cold as obsidian. Elwood crouched beside him, panting, he knew him by his scent. The Elf's breathing was ragged and suddenly Guthrin was aware of a rasping pain in the back of his throat, red, raw and bleeding, as if swords had been dragged from his windpipe. He realised with a numbing shock that the first voice had been his own. The tender star-shaped scar on his breast was burning cold, and he rubbed it through his tunic. The scar did not seem to have changed from before, the skin was not burnt.

Still, nothing could they see, yet malice was all around them. Guthrin heard Elwood chanting under his breath, the whispered words emitted in shallow gasps; he recognised the words as those spoken in his fever-dream, although he knew them not.

"Thou savest us," spake the Elf then softly, and sprang from his side. Guthrin lurched to his feet, and looked around wildly. He swept his hair from his eyes and face with his hand, realising that he was covered in mulch and soft, wet leaves. He felt the moist earth, smeared on his face. The only sound he could discern was his own irregular breathing. The pain in his throat was choking him. He tasted bile and blood on his tongue.

A dark shape pushed him from the back, and he span around, his hand slapping at the low form. He met thick, wet fur and seconds later, smelt the warm, pungent breath of the great wolf Khelek. He stayed his hand and staggered backwards, a step away from the beast. He felt branches at his back and wondered at it, for his memory told him that this clearing had been larger than this...

The Elf was back at his side, moving soft as moonlight, his cloaks a faint rustle in the clammy, thick air and the impermeable black.

"Enchantment," whispered Elwood. "The Forest surrounds us, these trees act under some malignant power." He stopped, although he sounded as if he would say more.

The nature of the silence led Guthrin to thought that the Elf and the Warg were communicating and he said nothing. The presence of the Warg disappeared abruptly, and he knew not where it went. It fell quiet again. Guthrin splayed his hands and fingers out in front of him, feeling outwards, navigating blind. His left hand caught the sleeve of the Elf, who did not stir. The Elf stood upright, Guthrin ascertained, with his palms pressed against the bark of the tree, a tree the touch of which sent a shiver down Guthrin's spine. Stranger though, the rider of Rohan had the sense that the tree recoiled from his touch, and as they made contact, a sibilant hiss cut through the air. The Elf shifted at that, but made no sound. Elwood seemed fiercely concentrated and Guthrin let him be. He crouched and reached with his fingers and sniffed like a hound for touch or smell of the other Companions.

The air was thick and clammy around him, the silence was gelatinous.

His seaching finger-tips found the matted hair and beard of a man, whose height, ascertained roughly, revealed him to be Thenamir. Guthrin, still dizzied by the darkness and the fell atmosphere that swallowed them, shook him frantically but to no seeming avail.

Panic threatened to overwhelm him.

"Ai! This is evil work!" he muttered, the sound of his voice distant and lost in the darkness. "Anything for my horse and a path from this gloomy dell!" To his surprise he found himself wondering if he would take such an opportunity, if it would mean abandoning the others. The decision would have been clear to him, scant days before.

He heard Elwood's voice again, now recognising it for the second singing voice in the song against the darkness that had awoken him, although he understood little of what had transpired. The Elf was singing to the tree! The malevolent atmosphere did seem to be receding. The pain in his chest grew stronger, however. In the darkness, he fumbled to take his stone out from under his tunic. It seemed to him as though he could perceive it, although all else was indistinguishable. Even in the gloom, he saw the star-shaped whiteness and he wondered at it. As the stone came out into the fuggy blackness, the rasping hiss, like that of an old man, was heard again, floating down from the over-arching blackness.

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

Without warning, light flared in the darkness. Guthrin was blinded all of a sudden, and with a cry took a step backwards, tripping on a form on the ground and fell, striking his head on a root, He held on to his consciousness, yet the knock improved his mood little. When his vision cleared, he stood, and espied Elwood beside him, still facing the tree - a knarled almost human figure - with his hands against him. The Elf was sweating, which Guthrin did not think he had ever seen before. Yet he seemed motionless. The source of the light was Ulfwine, he strode towards them, a flaming brand held aloft in his right hand. The shadows streamed into the fire, seeming to quench it, yet it remained burning. Its light did not seem to to reveal much of their surroundings, the darkness seemed unimpressed.

Guthrin remembered. Ulfwine had been sitting someway from the rest of the party, wrapped in his own thoughts. Perhaps the Dunedling had escaped the enchantments.

"What happens?" whispered the dishevelled man, as he approached.

"The forest assaults us," said Guthrin, wondering at his own words. "The Elf believes it is guided."

Ulfwine bowed his head, his hair hanging down across his face in the dim, flickering light of his torch.

"'Tis Isengard," he said in his accented Westron, almost too quiet to hear, but elaborated not at all.

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

A voice startled them all, coming from behind them all, as they faced Elwood, who faced the tree. Light flooded the clearing, blinding them. Thick strands of darkness unravelled around them, and the deadening silence lifted.

"Hroom! I am no Elbereth!"

The deep voice seemed wry with some vast amusement. The darkness seemed to melt away, and Guthrin could swear that the clearing expanded in reality, as much as light entered also.

Elwood span, astonishment in his eyes, mirrored in those of Guthrin and Ulfwine. The noise of their comapnions stirring, and the sight of the trees seemingly marching back from them could not break their gaze from the character who had entered the glade.

Sunlight came upon them then and they realised it was full day without, and they cast their eyes upwards with joy, seeing blue skies and clouds, as if they had feared never to do so again.

"Hro! Hrrroom. You called for a Starkindler, yet you find a Shepherd," said their saviour, his voice as deep and strange as his appearance. "I trust you are not disappointed?"

Around him, Guthrin sensed the others rising, to stand and stare at the strangest thing any of them had ever seen.

[ October 22, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

Estelyn Telcontar

10-17-2002, 03:43 AM

Andros awoke with a start. All was dark, but for the smouldering ashes of the fire; he could discern no noise that would have disturbed his sleep, only the soft sound of Taradan’s shallow breathing. Nothing seemed amiss, and yet… There was a restlessness to be felt in the woods; it infected him, making it impossible to go back to sleep. A sense of urgency gripped him, and as a barely perceptible lightening on the eastern horizon became visible through the tree branches, he came to a decision.

They would move on as soon as daylight came. Andros did not know whether Taradan would have enough strength to travel, but he was certain that they could no longer remain there waiting. His sturdy horse could carry both, at least for some distance. Soon he had the fire burning brightly, heating the rest of the nourishing broth he had prepared the day before. Both men drank it, savouring the warmth of the liquid that made their breakfast of dry waybread more palatable.

“Will you be able to hold yourself and ride behind me, Taradan?” Andros asked. His wounded companion’s face was drawn, speaking eloquently of pain, but he simply answered, “Yes.” Andros made sure that the fire was quenched; they had had enough of burning trees! Then they mounted the horse, which waited patiently with packed saddlebags, and headed northwards.

Thenamir

10-18-2002, 02:24 PM

It was some moments before Thenamir could reopen his eyes, doubly blinded as they were from the earth which had found its way into them and the sudden sunlight which threatened to make the blindness permanent. His eyes were still squinting and adjusting to the brightness when he discovered that the clearing had widened somewhat. Even so, the brooding trees had left not so much as space enough between them for the squirrels to escape through. They were encircled, trapped in a living prison. The return of light brought no relief from the malevolent heaviness which clung to those in the clearing like a thick layer of pine sap.

A shadow and a figure straight out of the frightning childhood tales of his own youth parted the trees on one side of the clearing, staring each of them through in turn. It's black-pearl eyes peered out of a craggy, bark-hewn face mounted on the top of a roughtly human-shaped tree, or a roughly tree-shaped human, whose hair (or topmost branches) rose full twenty feet above the forest floor. And though the face of the giant was unreadable as to the emotions behind it, the atmosphere was not. The trees were angry. More than angry, they were livid -- filled with a rage such as only be felt by those whose lives are measured in decades and centuries rather than days and years.

Thenamir knew fear, having faced it in the smell of battle many times, but he was unaccustomed to the sheer, unreasoning, stultifying terror that filled his limbs with adrenaline but left him no will to run. He rose to his knees and tried to speak, but his body had dried his mouth in order to wet his forehead. He, in as brave a voice as he could muster, finally managed to stammer, "Shepherd...of the trees...why are we confined in this fashion? Why are you angered with us? And what do you...and they...intend to do to us?"

Bêthberry

10-21-2002, 10:00 PM

A MEETING IN THE FOREST

The Shepherd of the Trees strode towards Thenamir, each great foot splayed widely as he did and pressing deeply into the forest bed. His movements were sturdy and rhythmic, but he did not hurry. "Hum shrah hum shrah, rhum mabrah," intoned a hollow voice coming less from his mouth than his throat. "You need to ask when one of yours is even now holding a flaming brand aloft? After having already torched our brothers? And whittled cruelly a sturdy arm severed from another brother?"

Somehow, the voice broke Thenamir's fear; it drained out of his muscles and left them instead with a wary urgency. He rose to his feet but spoke to the Dunlending first. "Ulfwine, douse those flames. Or I'll inter you myself in that mulch and give you lichen and moss for a winding sheet."

Ulfwine stepped back, cowered as much by Thenamir's ferocity as by the great-limbed giant and the harrowing trees. Confusion and fear trickled down his back. He stumbled; the brand fell, its flame snuffed out more by the dank earth than by his desperate pawing with cloth-covered hands, sniffling as he did so.

"Shrum, shrum. llalla rhummah." The words murmured around the enclosure and the trees appeared to stand down a bit. The air, which had seemed taken up before, ran back into the enclosure. Leaves now ruffled, audible for the first time, and branches quivered. Yet palpable anger still hung in the air.

"Rhumm limbah rhummah. You are guests in our forest yet you act so inhospitably. You ask what we intend to do. Should we intend to do anything? You seem capable of doing enough harm to yourselves. You have lost companions, several. Maybe if we wait long enough you will accomplish your own demise. We can wait and watch. No sense being hasty."

The sunlight steamed into the enclosure and the forest floor appeared to heave and bend but it was only the stirring of the pine needle bed as Arenia and Kalohern, covered, shook off their stupor. Catching sight of the rough, impassive giant, Arenia flinched and then swallowed a single word, "Ahrhoom," before kneeling stock-still. The Shepherd looked down, way down, at her and for the first time small waves of meaning broke through his black eyes. "Hum lalla, lalla rill, hill rhum," they whispered to each other. "Treetop," Arenia said.

"Yes, Forest Child, Taurelien . Come, come back to me," the Shepherd said, reaching his gnarled, knobby hands out and lifting her high onto his shoulders where her head became hidden in the upper most brambles of his hair, drooping in flat sprays. Her arms encircled his forehead as she nestled closer to him. Memory pooled in his eyes as he thought of this only entling he would ever know. Then he slowly lifted her down and placed her on a weathered, decayed stump. "A fine way you have of thanking us, joining with this hasty bunch of tumbleweeds. I suppose you can explain yourself, Taurelien?"

Arenia hugged her legs, showing as she did the hardly-healed scar of her encounter with the Warg. She looked over at Kalohern and then Thenamir and finally at Gurthden. "Stupid of me to revenge on a Warg. Too stupid. Nearly lost his life as well." Here she nodded quickly at Gurthden. "I speak few words, but I repay, Treetop."

The Shepherd turned to Thenamir. "It seems this one who we have nurtured, you have protected also." Had Treetop not been so tall, Thenamir might have sat down again, feeling the ground give him some stability, but he remained standing so Treetop could read his face closely. His mind plundered the folktales of his nursery days for the ways to deal with the forest people. He swallowed hard and willed his face to soften in homage to the giant.

"We have been forced to decisions we did not want to make. We have a road to take and must recover it, for our business does not lie in the Forest, although it might lie with the Forest. We cannot achieve this without your help. We need safe passage over the Mountains, out of sight of Dunlender or wild man, beyond the vigilant eye of any who would detain our business. It is our own and not for any others to know. We cannot fight the entire forest." Thenamir swallowed hard again.

Treetop looked down on him. "Hasty, I see. We have barely finished with the damage you have wrought." He surveyed the faces of the others who had nearly been ensnared in the malevolent stupor. The dwarf made him twitch, but he did not want to take sides. He knew that the wizard was no longing respecting the forest either. Smoke and more smoke was beginning to blow regularly from the south, and there were trees he no longer heard from. Fear and exhaustion lined these faces and the one who had spoken as if in dream to the Starkindler was now becoming anxious, jumpy. "Decidedly unentish that one is," Treetop thought. "Why couldn't someone take their side, the Forest's side," Treetop thought again. It was a surprising number of thoughts for so early in the day. He thought back over the long ages to when the entwives lived among the trees. He thought forward to, to what? His thoughts lingered over the long years of his life. They were and were not pithy. "Shrum shrah hum, shrum, llalla, rhummah," he said to himself.

"We promise no more fires," Thenamir finally said, luring Treetop out of his revery. "Hroom humh. It could be done, in good time," answered the Tree Shepherd. "The trees will not forget their anger, but perhaps I can keep them from hindering you. That you would avoid all eyes I cannot promise. There is one who is crafty, prescient, and who commands land, forest, creatures. Perhaps you would do well to consider making his work more taxing. Confuse him of your aim."

So it was decided, after a considerable time from the men's point of view, that they would travel to the foothills near Wellinghall under Treetop's auspices, climbing then to the headwaters of the Entwash, where passage might be found around the Last Peak. Perhaps Methedras would shield them from the eyes of Isengard, eyes which saw too easily everything which passed through the Gap of Rohan. Perhaps.

[ October 23, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

Ransom

10-24-2002, 03:06 PM

Volkmar lagged behind the group, grasping his warhammer in both hands. He’d seen orcs that would reduce grown men to sniveling cowards and trolls large enough to smash through rock. But this tree thing, this ent, took the preverbal cake. He’d heard a few tales of them, mainly from old men and women reminiscing about the old tales over a tankard of ale. It certainly seemed friendly enough, even offering to lead them out of this forest.

Finding himself without much of a job, the ranger had taken it upon himself to guard their rear. Volkmar lagged about thirty feet behind the main body, stopping every once in a while to listen for pursuers. None came. His mind began to wander into his memory, traveling gray and murky paths.

They had been traveling for three weeks, traveling back towards Rivendell and home. Volkmar, then a simple green soldier, had been in the rearguard when the main body of Rangers stumbled upon a small settlement besieged by orcs. He had drawn his swords along with his mentor and charged, fully expecting a victory.

A sharp pain in his left foot brought him back to reality. Not one of his friends had survived that day. Volkmar began to feel lonely and presently decided to rejoin the rest of the group. He quickly covered the gap and joined the rest of the group, eying the warg with some trepidation.

Estelyn Telcontar

10-26-2002, 08:01 AM

Taradan swayed as the horse stumbled on the stony path. He steadied himself by gripping Andros’ cloak, regaining his balance. How long had he been riding: hours, days, weeks? He had no recollection of the time that had passed. His head ached less, now that they had left the oppressive air of the forest, yet he felt his weakness still. It irked him to be doomed to this helplessness, and brooding thoughts filled his mind during the waking hours.

He had been a leader of men, used to decisive action and easy comradeship with those who followed his command. Now he felt as if he had failed his men; were Gurthden, Baranthôl, Leoden and the others still alive? Andros had spoken to Thenamir; would he have the skill and character to lead those who had survived? Taradan felt unnecessary, a burden to the stranger who shared his horse and campfire with him. It would have been better if I had died, perhaps doing some heroic deed, than to be alive and useless, he thought.

And yet, in the midst of his dark thoughts, an image arose unbidden. He recalled the eyes of the man who had drawn him back into life. That gaze had filled him with warmth then and seemed to pour hope into his heart now. With the shadow of a smile softening the hard lines of his face, he lifted his head. Suddenly he became aware of the surroundings.

They were going steadily upwards, into scrub-covered hills ahead of them. The air was clearer now, and cooler as well. Already the sun was sinking to their left, its rays reflecting from the white tip of a mountain far ahead.

“Andros,” he asked, “what is that mountain ahead of us?”

His companion turned his head slightly to answer. “That is Redhorn; there is a pass on the south side of the mountain. We will cross there and travel west to Ost-in-Edhil, where the others hope to meet us.”

“Caradhras the Cruel!" Taradan exclaimed. "I have heard tales of strange and dangerous things there.”

“I doubt we could pass in winter,” agreed Andros, “but now only the top is snowy; Redhorn Gate should be clear, though perhaps not easily passable.”

Despite the other’s confidence, Taradan shivered.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

As the days went on, the peak of the mountain was visible at times, when lesser hills did not hinder their vision. It seemed to get no nearer, though they rode on in the same direction. Taradan felt somewhat stronger and was able to help gather what brush and wood they could find for a fire in the evenings. He was glad to be able to use his legs as often as he could. And he found himself talking to Andros with an ease that he had not known since the friendships of his youth.

They conversed as equals, and Andros’ unobtrusive friendliness opened his heart and loosened his tongue more than he would have thought possible. Almost without realizing it, he told him of the death of his father and his feelings of guilt. He spoke of his beloved home in Gondor and why he had thought it necessary to leave. For the first time, he was able to speak of Nimroth, his beloved white mare, who had been killed in the fight with the Wargs. Andros’ sympathetic companionship brought cheer into the darkness of his thoughts; gradually, his wounded heart began to heal as well as his body.

Gandalf_theGrey

10-26-2002, 11:09 PM

By the dark of the new moon, wolf howls padded the wind with a grim, unhurried air. First a solo, then a chorus crept through the night to where Taradan and Andros had encamped. After another day’s journey towards Redhorn Gate, they looked towards peaks softened by night’s greasy charcoal pencil into dim smudges against clouds like lowered brows. The wolf chant wavered like a lurid lullaby. A final lullaby for the fallen.

As the warlord and his healer-friend were still far off, the sound quavered just on the brink of hearing, and only then, because the wind deigned to carry a warning. But whose side the wind favored, none could say. Was the warning meant to school them in readiness to face upcoming danger, or scare them from their path?

The wind sighed, fell, lifted its voice again. But now, with fresh tidings. The soloist uttered a thick choking yelp of surprise. Shrill staccato shrieks creaked from the chorus. The wind shifted, and the silence grew black.

Dwarin Thunderhammer

10-30-2002, 03:07 PM

The members of the camp were asleep--at least most of them. Dwarin was
set for the first watch. Hours passed. It was almost time to wake
Thenamir for the next watch. Suddenly, he heard the sounds of footsteps
in the wood. He dismissed them as nothing. Several minutes later, he
heard them again. Still he ignored them. The third time, he crouched
and
listened closer. "Oh, I'm going to get you. You can't hide," he said.
Heedlessly, Dwarin plunged into the woods, seeking his unseen
annoyance.
However, despite his best efforts, Dwarin failed to find the source of
the disturbance and decided to return to the others. He walked back in
the direction of the camp, but he found several thickets in the way,
thickets that he had not remembered before. He tried to go around them,
but the forest seemed to have changed. He began to feel suffocated, so
he started shouting at the trees. That only made the situation worse.
He
felt someone or something was watching him. He cursed at himself for
leaving his axe behind at camp.

"All right, you stupid forest, if you don't let me through, I'll burn
you to the ground!" No sooner were the words out of his mouth than all
went black.

Meanwhile, Kalohern had woken with a start at the commotion in the
campsite. The clearing seemed smaller than before. He spotted Arenia
kneeling before a giant tree. Suddenly he realized that the tree was
talking! A hundred thoughts ran through his mind. The first he acted on
was the impulse to defend. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword and
took a step toward the giant tree, but a look from Thenamir stopped him
short. As he watched the conversation play out, his sword hand relaxed.

All seemed to be resolved when suddenly out of nowhere a small body
flew
from the edge of the clearing. Dwarin wasn't flying actually, for he
landed face first in the dirt and leaves.

"Thenamir! We're under attack! My axe! The forest is alive! Have at
them!" Dwarin tripped over a root that popped out of the ground. Elwood
grabbed Dwarin by the neck and whispered in his ear.

"This is all your fault. Everything was settled. They're not attacking.
Now be quiet or we'll let them have you!"

Dwarin stopped his tirade but stood with his arms crossed, staring
directly at the Ent. He was about to say something when Elwood shut him
up with a slap on the back of the head.

Treetop questioned Dwarin about the wood he had chosen for his spear.
Dwarin explained that the tree was already dead as best he could tell.

"Next time don't be so hasty to kill things that are still yet alive."
Dwarin just stared back defiantly.

[ November 01, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

shieldmaiden

11-01-2002, 04:35 PM

Haleth was walking with the group thinking and still not being able to believe what happened:

She was sleeping when she felt someone stepping and tripping over her arm...someone heavy and wearing iron boots. “That darn Dwarf never looks where he’s going, I’m not a piece of wood!” she thought.
She opened her eyes and tried to move and realized that she was covered with a thick layer of fallen leaves.
She managed to sit up and was amazed by what she saw.
There was something that looked like a mixture of a tree and a very, very tall man talking to Dwarin and the others. She thought that she was still dreaming, she remembered the tales that her father used to tell her and her brother when they were kids. Tales of giant walking and talking trees that lived in the haunted Fangorn forest.

And now she was striding in the company of one of them. She couldn’t get her eyes off it. This journey was getting stranger and stranger.

Bêthberry

11-02-2002, 10:08 PM

A PARTING IN THE FOREST

Arenia squirmed around in her perch high atop The Shepherd's shoulders.

"Ahrhoom. Treetop, you have left the others far behind. They cannot keep up with your long strides. And the forest is still angry with them.'

"Heh, so I have, Taurelien, so I have." The Shepherd's face creased into a papery, flaking grin which curled like birch bark. "Let them fend for themselves for a bit. Too often these men think the land is theirs to dispose, and all must bend to them. Trees bend only to the wind. But they are close enough to Wellinghall to find their own way without great harm."

Arenia squirmed some more. "Look, I see Kelohern coming. Let's wait for him. I want you to meet him."

"Hoom frumh. Frumph! Humh lalla rhum," replied The Shepherd to her. "There will be time for that. Let him appreciate the forest a bit while we have some time together."

With those words, the evergreens around the girl and the Shepherd wove branch and stem. The yews and cedars behind fashioned a thicket through which the boy could neither see nor climb. Tall broad hemlocks in front swayed, their branches swinging aside to reveal an entrance into a large compound cut into the foothill of the mountain, with stone ledges and tables and jars.

Arenia slipped down into the Shepherd's arms and he lifted her up and away, onto one of the stone ledges so she could look straight into his eyes and he into hers, as they had in bygone days. She had grown so much, not particularly in height or weight, but in presence. She knew herself now, Treetop sadly realized with sudden poignant insight. He brushed some leaves out of her hair and smudged a bit of dirt on her chin. He bent closer to her and she reached over to straighten some twiggy strands of hair over a bare patch on his head. Both smiled recalling the old habits and as they did the evergreens tottered and waved around them, happy to see the forest girl again.

"It is restful here. It was always restful here," said Arenia, inhaling the pungent scent of pine and cedar. With her eyes closed, she entered once again the quiet stillness of the forest's immutable life.

"Have you missed us? The way we have missed you?" The Shepherd could not help but ask. "Everything seemed much older and quieter and stiller once you went to find your people."

He brought a stone bowl to her, filled with a liquid taken from the large stone jars. Cupping the bowl in both hands, she sipped it tentatively at first, wanting to make it last, but then, being unable to resist, she gulped it ravenously. As the draught washed down her throat, a remembered vigour spread up through her, from her toes, then winding around her spine, and out the roots of her hair. Arenia smiled, for she had always been fascinated by that reversal of feeling. For the first time since the warg had attacked her, she felt sound and fit, recovered.

"Rhumm limbah rhummah. I miss your soothing ways and the quiet rush of the leaves at dusk. I miss the heavy blanket of forest air around my shoulders. I miss being tossled from branch to branch and seeing over the canopy. I miss your belongingness. But return I cannot, Ahrhoom. I long for elsewhere."

The Shepherd of the Trees watched her possessively and for more than a brief moment jealous envy was added to his feelings about the men who had found her and protected her.

"These are my people, and they have a job to finish. And my word is with them. We must cross over the mountains. Something important waits for them at this ancient place, something they think will help them fight off this darkness."

Whistful sorrow overcame the Shepherd and he seemed to slump. These weren't the words he had wanted to hear. He was loathe to let her go again, but he knew he must.

"Butterfly, you have left your cocoon," he finally admitted.

"No," replied the forest girl. "Bird, from a loving, protected cage."

At least, Treetop decided, he could help her. "There is a secret passage around Methedras, where the Entwash begins its journey to the sea. I will tell you where to find it."

Treetop leaned over, his large, knobby hands covering her shoulders, and whispered the directions to the pathway to her. Then he stood back.

"It has not been used since the Old Forest was mangled in the days before Beleriand was lost. But it will help you."

A commotion in the trees interrupted them. Treetop looked away towards the north and then nodded. As he did, the hemlocks at the entrance to the ent house parted and Kelohern scrambled in, running pell mell around the edges until he spied Arenia.

"Hum sharah mabrah. Rulla hoom. I am called elsewhere, Forest Child. Taurelien, this is your home, was in the past, is now, and will be evermore. Treat your friends to the hospitality of an ent's house and go on your way."

The Shepherd of the Trees then shuffled off, chuckling softly as he decided to let the boy figure out for himself how to reach Arenia on the stone ledge.

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

Ulfwine cursed and picked himself up. He would have kicked at the root which tripped him, but Thenamir stayed him.

"No sense giving them more reason to play tricks. They are not harming us, just making sure we get their point," said Thenamir.

Ulfwine scowled, trudged on some more, stumbled with fatigue, and finally slumped down on the carpet of pine needle and cedar, moss, desiccated leaf, and brittle twig. He was tired, tired of incessant struggle and deprivation, tired of being forced and driven and needled. He was tired of chasing after that giant and none too sure of where they were headed. He lay still for some time until he suddenly realized that the aroma of the forest bed was tingling his senses, making him breath more deeply. Then, rudely, a foot, Guthdren's foot, prodded him to get up.

"What do you think you are doing, inviting a warg to dinner?" Guthdren snorted at the Dunlender.

Elwood offered a hand up to Ulfwine, who accepted it with a nod of thanks as a token of fellowship. "Come," said the elf. "The boy has run ahead, far in advance. Let us try to catch up."

Another hour of tramping through the undergrowth, climbing over fallen trunks, skirting shrub and thicket, and detouring around sloughs of fetid, stagnant water found them face to face with the wall of hemlock guards, which strangely seemed to move aside. Uncomprehending and wary, the ragtag band stood immobile until the branches began to sweep them unceremoniously into the compound.

[ November 03, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

Rimbaud

11-05-2002, 06:57 AM

Stones and Shadows

The glint of metal in the weak, westering sun was first spotted by Elwood, yet it was Kalohern who ran, heedlessly, across the rocky ground, scrambling up, to the peak of a ridge. Once there, he let out a yell, and the others of the company bounded up to meet him, bar Baranthol who was left, bemused, with the horses. The slim Rider led them cautiously up the incline.

The release from the Forest seemed to have imbued them with fresh vitality and renewed purpose. Kalohern gestured outwards, to the far side of the ridge.

Guthrin followed more slowly. When he reached the top of the grey crop of stones, the others were already descending to what lay on the other side. The troubled straw-haired Rider watched them pick their way down and remembered that the original glimmer of steel had come from here, at the peak. His eyes scanned the rock in the failing light, and soon fell upon the object in question. A badge, as that of a soldier, battered, bent and ruined. It was silver, with a crude ‘S’ writ harshly upon the face, in thick angular script. Guthrin turned the item over in his hands and thought deeply. He put the badge in his pocket wordlessly, and sat on the lip of the ridge, legs hanging down, feeling a little exposed but able to see far in each direction. Behind him he heard Baranthol skillfully fastening the horses’ packs and checking the straps, now that the opportunity had arisen. They had moved hard and fast this day.

Arenia had led them, at times unsure, directly into the foothills of the Last Misty Mountain. They had come, somehow at a pace that surprised even their young guide, who seemed transformed after her meeting with the Ent, outside of the trees and onto desolate grey shale, early in the morning. Even Thenamir had lost count of how many days it had been since they started on the trail of the odd men, when they were on watch, all that time ago. They followed the Entwash as it left Fangorn’s Western flank and curved upwards into the Mountains. The incline was severe in places and the journey had taxed them all.

Guthrin looked around him in the fading light of the day. It was Autumn and the winds were gathering and cooling, prepared to bring Winter upon them. He hoped they were long gone from the Mountains before heavy snows came. Onedlo to his left sighed and glimmered as it wound its way into the peaks. It seemed to hold a different force to that it carried within the perimeters of Fangorn and was somehow less vital . All the view to the West and North was dominated by the shadowy masses of the Misty Mountains. Dunland lay beyond, and an uncertain future. The tall, arching peaks slashed through sky and cloud, as if the Earth strived to reach the heavens. The peaks seemed darker and more ominous than Guthrin had expected. There was something in the air, some dark force brooding nearby. He had the closest feeling of being watched. He shook his head and looked South. Before him stretched a long expanse of ground similar to that they were traversing, hard, unforgiving rock, with little greenery. In the failing light he fancied he caught a glimpse of the Isen, far off, into the Gap. Something stirred in his heart and he longed to be on horseback, out on the Plains. A decidedly unfamiliar notion of leading men to a great victory came unbidden to his mind.

On the sheltered side of the crag lay the solution to the riddle of the soldier’s badge. Three large, swarthy looking Orcs were scattered, dead and broken, strewn in a rocky depression in the ground. Guthrin stared down at the scene. The company moved in and around the area as one body, their separate movements somehow forming a unity. Arenia and Kalohern knelt by the nearest corpse to Guthrin. Kalohern was talking and gesturing animatedly. Arenia seemed silent, head bowed. Dwarin leapt from rock to rock, gathering the lay of the land, glad to be free of the trees, as he had mentioned often during the day. Gurthden and Thenamir walked around the edge of the hollowed-out shell-like crater, scanning the ground. As they passed the point nearest to Guthrin he heard their low converse. Thenamir looked up and caught his eye, and Guthrin met it as firmly as he could, as he had tried to throughout the day, but the sun was setting directly behind the once-disgraced Rider and the gruff Gondorian looked away quickly.

Elwood and Volkmar sat in the middle of the scene, the Elf with his chin cupped languidly in hand. Volkmar seemed interested and, Guthrin thought, a little perplexed by the Orcs, which was surprising in the experienced Ranger. A man of few words who doubtless thought little of him, Guthrin deemed. Elwood looked up at him, silhouetted on the ridge, quite often. Three or four birds wheeled distantly high, sky-blown in the quiet blue-gray. They were lost sometimes in the streaks or orange, duskier light that suffused the sky, emanating from Arien’s sinking chariot. The air was chill after the close, prickly suffocation of the Forest.

Ulfwine was climbing towards him, unkempt as ever. Presently he gained the lip of the ridge and sat near Guthrin and Baranthol, and although them men kept the silence, there was an unspoken bond between them, of which Guthrin was shocked and afraid to be part. Feeling more at peace than for many days, the Riders continued to watch the still grey lands around them.

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

Day had all but died by the time the others returned to the peak. None of them wished to make camp near the corpses, the pit held an uncomfortable air. Dwarin pointed to the great shape of Methedras before them.

“Best shelter in the lee of yonder Methedras,” he growled. Thenamir nodded inconspicuously, and the party moved on, hastening in the darkness, despite the treacherous ground. None complained. Guthrin helped Baranthol and Gurthden with the horses. Kalohern seemed more interested in Arenia than Telefax for once, although the young lady seemed a little discomforted by the attention.

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

They made camp in the shelter of Methedras itself. It was dark before they had finished eating what little food remained, some leafy supplies, roots and berries supplied by their Entish guide, and some of the hard, tasteless wafers that remained from the packs of the Riders. The packs were now both blessedly and worryingly light. Elwood made some infusions with what little he had left, and the vapours he wrought did clear heads and aided sleep for most.

Arrangements for the watch designed that Guthrin and Gurthden take the first half of the night. The remainder made themselves as comfortable as they could on the ungiving surface; only Dwarin seemed at all happy with the ground.

Unable to light a fire, the two Riders paced quietly for warmth, circling the encampment. They spoke little, but both felt the strange unity that had fallen upon the party. Still, as always with Guthrin, the silences were ever uncomfortable.

The pale moon surfaced from behind night clouds sporadically, clouds that had not been there during the cold daylight but were now visible, limned in the ghostly moonlight. The night drew on. Gurthden moved slightly further away from the sleepers at one point, startled by the howling of wolves that drifted from far away, across the stones. When he returned, he realized with a shock that he could discern no sign of Guthrin. He crossed carefully through the makeshift encampment, yet the other Rider was nowhere to be found. Gurthden realised soon that the belongings of Guthrin were not amongst those of the others. The howling drew closer and members of the sleeping company stirred.

Gurthden had no idea what to do. Guthrin had simply disappeared.

[ November 05, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

Leighlei

11-05-2002, 03:33 PM

Arenia opened one eye as the rider returned. He seemed to be looking for something. With a sigh, she pushed herself up from the uncomfortable ground and slid back so she was sitting. She cocked her head, nodding towards him. "You... missing something?" She inquired, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. He looked confused, disturbed. Arenia lifted one eyebrow, looking around again, her body felt heavy, and her mind was still only peeking out from it's shell of sleep, limiting her will to discover what he was upset about to only a shrug and yawn; "Where is Guthrin?" She asked plainly. "He... help you find." She nodded to herself and slid back down onto her side, attempting to find sleep again.

[ November 06, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Ransom

11-14-2002, 03:31 PM

Volkmar’s dreams were of strong wine and good food. He dreamed that he was back in the open fields in front of Bag Ends, watching and eating as the hobbits danced. But somehow, the hobbits were dancing on their hands while twirling sticks with their toes. However, his mind was only concerned with the food in front of him. A great chunk of beef, a large loaf of bread, and a bottle of ancient wine sat on a picnic cloth in front of him. Around him were old friends, though the Ranger couldn’t remember who they were. They conversed for some time about the weather, the moon, even the quality of the hobbit’s dancing. Volkmar began to notice something strange. Each ‘friend’ looked like they had been long dead. One lacked half of his head; the other tried to pick up a piece of bread with his missing arm. All turned to watch him, reaching out to embrace him in their cold grip.

Guthden must have been startled by the old ranger as he shot straight upright with a shout. He was sweating, his dark hair matted against his head. Slowly, the body slid back into a lying position. Volkmar woke just as his head hit the ground and promptly bolted back up. He tore off his blankets and reached toward the metal brace that covered his left leg. The Ranger had taken most of the armor plating off when he went to bed, simply sleeping in his chain mail. However, the left leg still stayed in the brace, for one couldn’t know what the future held.

He unbuckled the clasps with immense speed, finally yanking it open and feeling the warm flesh of his scarred leg with both hands. Get a grip, you old fool. You’ll get everyone killed. Volkmar heeded this thought and sank back down onto his bed sheet, panting slightly. He felt his body cool as he lay on his back and stared at the stars.

Thenamir

11-19-2002, 03:30 PM

Climbing to their camp left Thenamir only enough energy to set up a bare camp, assign watches, and eat a small morsel from his pack before lying down and sleeping as soundly as he would allow himself. Thenamir had taken to sleeping, as they said in Gondor, "with one eye open and one hand around the hilt." Though the rest of the band had grown to trust him implicitly, the only way to wake him up of late was to prod him with a pole or stick long enough so as to be beyond the reach of his sword. In starting awake the stick had occasionally been sliced short by the bright blade before he realized where he was.

Gurthden therefore considered carefully before rousing Thenamir to alert him of the missing Guthrin. He placed one booted foot upon the blade just in case before shaking him awake. Thenamir was instantly alert, but did not try to draw, recognizing his overnight watchman. "Trouble, Gurthden?" Thenamir muttered, removing his helm and raking his fingers through his helm-formed hair.

"Guthrin is missing." Thenamir sat bolt upright at that revelation, and stood, quickly gathering his effects as Gurthden continued, "I heard wolves howling from afar, and walked a short distance from camp to see if I could spot them from the ridge-rise yonder, and when I returned, he had gone. I scouted about the camp, and believe I found his trail leading away north, but not into the mountains. The trail skirts the foothills as far as I tracked it."

"Help me wake the others," Thenamir started to order, then checked himself. “Hold, Gurthden, one moment.” He turned to go first to Elwood and found him already awakened from that strange eyes-open half-sleep of the wood elves. Elwood had felt the turmoil of emotional urgency emanating from Gurthrin like a tangible cloud of angst and dread and had kept vigil on him as he departed, making note of his direction with his preternaturally keen eyes. “Do you see him, Elwood?” Thenamir asked softly as he turned and faced the same direction, squinting in the pale moonlight.

“He appears and disappears as he reaches each top of the foothills he crosses to the north,” Elwood replied. “Thenamir, he is torn, broken. As he left I could sense a strange emotion boiling in him, a melancholy urgency combined with a foreboding sense of a doom he cannot escape. Never in all my dealings outside Lorien and Rivendell have I seen someone driven so, and yet at the same time of two minds, the stronger half dragging the weaker with it. I do not know what he intends to do, or where he thinks to go, but I feel in my heart he should not be left to his fate alone.”

“How far away is he? Can we catch him?”

“He is running, but not at full speed, almost as though he is pacing himself for a long journey. We can catch him in time, but to do so we must start immediately.” He paused a moment before adding, “this might be a good time to split our band, as Treetop suggested.”

That was all Thenamir needed. Volkmar awoke with a cry and a commotion from a frightening dream, but once awakened, Thenamir explained the situation and Volkmar understood. After brief conference, Elwood went to wake the warg, Thenamir did the same for Arenia, and Volkmar packed only the most necessary items so as to travel as lightly as possible. Gathering the newly awakened together he laid out the plan quietly, trying to allow the rest to get some badly-needed sleep.

With Elwood for eyes, and the Warg for ears and nose, Volkmar for his ranger skills and Arenia for her knowledge of the wild and her friendship with the ents, they were to follow Guthrin and catch up to him if possible – find out his intentions, and assist him if they could. They could cross the mountains at the Redhorn Pass – no sense backtracking round to the gap of Rohan – and meet them somewhere along the banks of the Sirannon, nearest to the mountains. But under no circumstances should either party wait more than 7 days for the other before continuing on to Ost-In-Edhil's location on the map -– time was crucial. Thenamir bid them good speed and good hunting. Elwood shook Thenamir’s hand and committed him to the care of Elbereth, then started off after Guthrin, followed closely by the warg and the rest.

Kalohern pretended to sleep, and even to snore, but once the tracking group left, and Thenamir lay down to resume his rest, he stealthily wrapped his essentials in his bedroll and tied it to the saddle of his horse, Telefax. The horse whickered a greeting which Kalohern quickly shushed by slipping him a mouthful of sweetgrass, then mounted the horse and followed after Elwood...

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Rimbaud

11-25-2002, 10:27 AM

The Followers Followed

They had barely covered a mile in the bleak darkness before the Warg, who strayed far from the party when they travelled, especially at night, appeared at Elwood's side again. The hulking beast appeared amused to Elwoods mind.

We are being followed.

Elwood nodded, whispered for the others to halt, and motioned to Volkmar, who was currently bringing up the rear. The grizzled Ranger moved to his side. A heavy silence had fallen on the party since they had started the chase, whether through fatigue, frustration or confusion, Elwood could not say.

"It seems the pursuer is also the pursued," he said, lightly. To his surprise, Volkmar nodded curtly.

"It is the boy, Kalohern," said the Ranger gruffly. "He has been trailing us by horseback - not the subtlest of approaches."

Elwood wondered at his own distraction, that he had not noticed their shadow. He shook his head, and with some annoyance, told Volkmar to rein in the errant youngster.

"As you wish," said the Ranger, unfazed by the terse command. He melted back into the night, behind them. The unnatural silence of the daytime persisted, and the harsh shale was exhausting to travel upon by night, when each footfall threatened treachery. Elwood felt the tension within him and forced his mind to relax, to embrace the night.

Immediately, his perception increased, and he heard the light scuff of Volkmar moving in the darkness behind. He heard the breathing of the girl nearby. He realised Arenia was exhausted and perhaps pained, he sensed a great loss within her. He silently cursed himself for a fool. He had seen the bond between her and the old Ent. He made there and then a pledge to set her mind at ease at a more opportune moment.

More than these things though, he felt a presence, an immalleable force in the night airs. An evil dread hung around the mountain slopes, emanating from beyond Methedras...Isengard. Elwood wondered at it, but before he could set his mond in order to seek at the presence further, it removed itself and the air hung easier again around them. Arenia shivered, her teeth chattering audibly.

Before too long, they heard the unmistakable sound of Telefax picking his way through the loose, stony ground. Volkmar, Kalohern and the great steed loomed out of the darkness before them. Volkmar wordlessly handed the reins to Arenia, who led the horse on a small way at the motion of the Rangers hand. Volkmar followed her, leaving Elwood and Kalohern alone in the darkness. The Warg, of course, had disappeared as efficently as he had appeared. Elwood sensed him, not too far away, however.

"Young fool!" started Elwood, more harshly than he had intended, He softened his tone. "You could endanger us all coming this way, and with Telefax too! We may need to cross the mountains and leave him behind. Did you bring food? Provisions for Telefax?" Some mild scorn entered his tuneful voice. Kalohern seemed pertified, as well he might - he had never seen an Elf in wrath before. "Or perhaps," went on the immortal, "Perhaps you bring further word from Thenamir." He did not need Kalohern's murmured denial to know the truth of it.

"So? What course do you suggest, oh mighty Rider?" Elwood crossed his arms and stared at the boy intently, the faint starlight rendering him unearthly pale.

[ November 25, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

Thenamir

11-27-2002, 12:15 AM

"It is unfortunate for them," the man in the white robes mused aloud as he peered into the jet sphere atop the obsidian pedestal, "that they have split themselves so. That fool with the star-scar will be the last to die, despairing in the full knowledge that he caused their demise." He sipped at his wine chalice, and turned again his attention to bringing the swirling images in the seeing-stone into focus...

Estelyn Telcontar

11-27-2002, 03:06 AM

The night was quiet, much too quiet to Andros’ thinking. He looked across the flickering fire and saw his concern mirrored in Taradan’s eyes. They moved restlessly, as if seeking to discern what lay beyond the small circle of light that surrounded the two travellers. Their conversation had ceased, turning into an uneasy, listening silence, but no sound could be heard.

There should have been nightly noises, rustles among the trees and the scuttling of small animals in the brush. They had climbed steadily higher during the last days, and the snow-bedecked peak of Caradhras loomed large before them. Yet it was early enough in the waning year; they should have found some game to be hunted, or some birds to be shot for their nourishment. Instead, their supply of waybread and dried meat diminished, though they ate sparingly.

The howling of wolves some nights ago had chilled Andros’ blood, but its sudden cessation did not comfort him. He did not relish the memories of his past encounters with the wild beasts; they were enemies to be reckoned with. Yet a danger known was better than this nameless dread.

He was startled out of his brooding thoughts by the sound of Taradan’s voice. “Let us take turns at keeping watch this night,” his companion said. “I know not what I fear, yet I cannot sleep. I will wake you when your time comes.”

Andros turned restlessly under his blanket, but his discomfort did not come from the rough ground on which he lay. He was not usually given to dark thoughts, being of a calm and cheerful nature, yet it was long before he found sleep, and his rest was troubled by disturbing dreams.

[ November 27, 2002: Message edited by: Estelyn Telcontar ]

Gandalf_theGrey

11-27-2002, 10:26 AM

* The next day, when Andros and Taradan once more took to the trail, they came upon a scene ruinous enough to freeze the wind into the sluggish, festering heaviness of a witness unable to look away. *

* Strewn helter-skelter along the ground were Orc-bones, picked clean, snapped in half. Some stuck up from the mud at odd angles, trodden heedless underfoot. There was a neat pile of spears, each snapped in half, meticulously arranged like a pile of firewood. Near that were similar piles of cloven helmets, shields, and gutted armor, each item cracked with slow, deliberate care and lined up in a stack. A large wolf-pelt hung draped across a branch bereft of leaves, only its bare skeleton left in a heap below. *

[ November 27, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

Leighlei

11-27-2002, 01:59 PM

Arenia took the reins submissively, wanting to stay, but she knew Elwood would not allow her that. Leading the horse foreward, she felt as though her soul had snagged on a tree branch, and was being slowly pulled from her limbs. Leaving behind her only family-- the one thing she trusted the most. She knew her party could have never understood the bond she and the old Ent had shared. She didn't even want to try to explain it. Gazing up, then back over her shoulder, she let out a small sigh, then stroked the horse's nose gently. She moved on, slowly, her sorrow weighing down her limbs. But she had a greater purpose now. She had somewhere where she was needed, moreso than with the Ents.
She just wished her companions understood her the way her foster family had.

Bêthberry

11-29-2002, 01:33 PM

The Turncoat Unnerved

A cold dawn brought sunlight in split shafts into the campsite. Groaning, Ulfwine rolled over and sat up, rubbing his side and hip where rocks had dared to make their mark. His sleepy eyes only slowly took in the depleted numbers of the group, but once he realized who was missing, he screamed at Thenamir.

"Thenamir! We're betrayed. That crazed Guthrin is gone, the Elf, the Ranger, the girl, the boy." Yet even in his fear, he remembered to give Thenamir a wide berth, leery of that hand ever on the hilt of his blade.

Ulfwine rose to his feet, his jerky movements bespeaking not only an uncomfortable night, but his own fearful, uncomprehending sense of the night's events. He ran around the edge of the camp and began barking fears to Thenamir again, even as the man was trying to speak up to the Dunlender.

"What are we doing here? What's going on? We can't even discuss our plans among each other but have to sneak off in the dark? What about this treasured secret pass the Tree creep told the girl about? Have they gone on ahead to it and left us to the Gap of Rohan? What do you know of it, Thenamir?"

With his anger and fear mounting, Ulfwine hurriedly packed his bedroll and his small bag of personal goods. Then he stood, anxiously rubbing his head and neck with his hand, seemingly not able to run but not wanting to stay, either. If he had any spit, he would have swallowed it, but his mouth was dry, his tongue cracked. His breath came in quick, sharp spurts.

"Let's get out of here."

[ November 29, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

Thenamir

12-02-2002, 03:46 PM

Thenamir took Ulfwine roughly by the shoulders and spun him around to face him, spitting the word "Silence!" in an insistent low hiss. Ulfwine had to be shaken, and once slapped, before he would calm himself. Gurthden offered his water skin to Ulfine, who drank in nervous gulps while Thenamir tried to explain.

"Guthrin slipped off in the night, Ulfwine. By the time Gurthden noticed Guthrin was gone, he was already a long way off, and he is NOT heading for Isengard and the Gap of Rohan! He is heading in the opposite direction, northward along the eastern foothills of the Misty Mountains. *I* was the one who sent the party after Guthrin, save Kalohern, who I hope will one day learn the importance of chain-of-command. He is liable to get himself or his horse killed trying to get *both* over the mountains." This last Thenamir said while looking off in the direction into which he had sent the pursuers, before coming back to himself. "I let the rest of us rest, becuase that was the one thing we most sorely needed. What we don't need is to have you screaming at the top of your lungs. Every living thing between here and Deadman's Dike probably knows where we are now."

[ December 02, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Dwarin Thunderhammer

12-11-2002, 12:48 PM

Kalohern was taken aback by the comments of the elf. First he was frightened. Soon however his fear turned to anger. He had had enough of the biting words of others. Guthrin had always treated him harshly and the other riders ignored him. Damned if he was going to take this from some prissy Elf.

“What right have you to say such things to me?!”

Kalohern took a step towards the taller Elf.

“Who put you in charge of our party? You are not a Rider. You are simply a tag along. If anyone is in charge here it should be me. None of you are soldiers of Rohan! I am rightfully the leader of this little expedition! Thenamir did not forbid me to come! You’ve been causing strife ever since you came here.”

He spat at Elwood’s feet.

“If you’re so perceptive then tell me, why didn’t you see the attack on Aspida’s house? Why weren’t you there to help? I was! I owe you nothing you coward! Are you afraid of a fight? I am a mighty Rider of Rohan and you WILL NOT MOCK ME!!!”

The boy put on his sword belt.

“My horse has saved lives. No other steed could have carried me faster on that first night! Have you provided healing? Guidance? No. You haven’t? And what of your people? Have they helped our wars? Will they assist us if we fight Isengard? No they won’t they sit in the damned forest and watch and mock! When have they helped us? They lack the courage! You come from a cowardly people! Your queen will never help us! You are a coward! You come from a people of cowards! I lay my challenge at your feet! Even if I die the whole word will remember me as a MAN. They will see me as a Man who stood for Rohan and DIED for Rohan!"

With those words still on his lips and a flame in his heart Kalohern drew his sword.

“Come if you can for I am NOT afraid”

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

Rimbaud

12-11-2002, 01:07 PM

The air was cold about them, and the tall Elf could see the boy's breath, misting by the lamplight and pale starlight.

The boy took another step towards him, but the Elf did not move. Kalohern's blade faltered somewhat, although his eyes still raged.

The Elf laughed, a crisp, clear sound in the night. Further up the path, they heard Telefax whicker in reply and a faint smile even came to Kalohern's face. He lowered his sword.

"Do you mock me again?" he asked,but some of the pride had ebbed.

"I do not mock thee, Kalohern of the Mark," said Elwood calmly. "I respect your abilities too much to mock. You are a fine horseman and in you burns a noble spirit. But the finest steel must be tempered. For if it is not chilled in waters or oils after forging, the best steel blade will snap in its first test. Let that sword not be thee, Kalohern."

The boy stared at the ground. His rage seemed to have dissipated. Elwood sensed Arenia and Volkmar straining to hear, some distance away.

"Sheathe your blade, Kalohern," said the Elf, and the boy did so, but stubbornly.

"You do not lead me, or any of the Mark," he whispered fiercely.

"Indeed, I do not," said Elwood. "And as this started as a mission of Rohan's, so shall it be. The command of our party is up to you."

The boy stared at him. "Just like that?" he wondered aloud. Then, suddenly, his face paled and he looked down at his feet again, which were shifting.

The Elf stood impassive. The night was silent about them. "Young master, our quest," he prodded, after a time.

Kalohern shook himself. "Very good, Master Elwood," he said, only the slightest tremor in his voice. "Let us carry on."

They turned and made their way forwards, towards the others. Elwood followed the boy, checking the night behind, and the string of his bow. His left hand let the slim dagger remain undrawn in its sheath, relaxing its grip.

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

Thenamir

12-11-2002, 02:08 PM

The Mind of the Master

The first light of the sun began working its way down from the tip the obsidian tower of Orthanc. White robes swirled with the faintest rustle as the one who wore them stirred out of his reverie from the dark throne to which he had retired. His thoughts, which had swirled cloudy like a dust devil on the desert of Rhun had now settled themselves into order.

Let them think they have confused me, he mused silently. Let them think they are attaining their goal by stealth and subterfuge. Only one thing now remains to be done. In an adjacent room he penned a note in a thin but strong hand:

Borleg:
The plans have changed. The forgoil have split their party and are coming from two directions. You are NOT to interfere with them in any way until they have reached their destination. If any of them survive what they find there, make sure that none of them escape alive. You will find their numbers much reduced and easier to deal with. To Victory!

After appending his ornate S-rune and the wax insignia, he stepped to the window and gave a shrieking whistle. Within moments one of his messenger raven/crows appeared at the window. The old wizard tied a note to the leg of the bird, whispered a destination in its ear and an incantation over it's head, then sent it off in the direction of Ost-In-Edhil...

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Thenamir

12-11-2002, 02:31 PM

Orc Patrol

Not long after dawn Thenamir and company were up again and on the march, warily skirting the foothills below their camp, nearly opposite of the way Guthrin had left.

Before they'd left, Thenamir had had a look at the orc corpses they'd passed on their way in. The cold had slowed their decay, and to the untrained eye, the slaughter looked as if it could have taken place in the last hour or two. The signs pointed to a small party, perhaps just a patrol, which had erupted into an argument.

There was an insignia and crest of sorts in the appearance of a white hand on their light armor. Thenamir stripped one of the corpses of its armor, thinking it might be a useful disguise at some point, and then burned the remains of the rest.

Now some hours after dawn, Thenamir called for a halt and a bite near one of the many streams which flowed down from the mountains. Dwarin unhitched Mim and led him to the waters, while Ulfine and the rest drank deeply of the stream and refilled their water-skins. It was then that Thenamir caught his first sight of the tip of Orthanc tower, some miles off, a blackened dart aimed at the sun. He shivered, but not becuase of the cold.

It was then that he heard the distant noise, the rhyhmic clank of pieces of badly-forged metal striking each other in a march-tempo. And getting louder.

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Gandalf_theGrey

12-11-2002, 03:42 PM

* On reading his new orders, Borleg crinkled Saruman's parchment until it was as wrinkled as the wizard's face. The Dunlending warrior clenched his teeth into a scowl gritty from where the wind sprayed stray grains of sand. So then, they were to sit and wait. Let the weight of The White Hand fall where it would, do most of the work against the forgoil. Personally, Borleg didn't mind leaving tasks to others. But his men would be itching to fight tonight, deprived of the battle and booty they'd been gearing up for. Might turn on each other. Borleg would watch his back. Sighing, he called his men together and explained the change of strategy in a gruff voice. *

* Using the mutes as bait/distraction was no longer necessary. The aged sign-language interpreter told them through gestures to stay together with the Dunlendings now, lay low, and continue to observe while keeping hid, as the warriors kept alert, ready to wield weapons at the first sound of a Horse-Man's hoofbeat. *

Estelyn Telcontar

01-11-2003, 07:10 AM

Taradan stared in consternation at the scene of carnage before them. What could have caused this destruction? He turned to his companion with a questioning look; Andros was kneeling on the ground, looking for clues in the trampled marks that surrounded the piles of orc bones, weapons and armour.

“I cannot tell,” Andros said, “but it must have been a mighty foe indeed to destroy so many orcs – wolves too, I deem.” He rose and strode further to search for clearer marks. His brow furrowed as he studied the ground and vegetation. “There are tracks here, the likes of which I have not seen before,” he called.

Taradan joined him and looked, but was equally puzzled. “What concerns me more,” he said, “is that it has not been long since this has happened. Where is this foe now? Are we ourselves endangered by it?”

Andros nodded slowly. “I thought the same. I cannot see if the tracks move in one direction, for the ground is hard and cold. Even if we knew, we would have no choice; our path leads us up to Redhorn Gate. There is no other way.”

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

Faster they travelled now, seeking to hasten towards their goal though they knew not if they were only approaching danger more quickly. They no longer dared to light a fire at night, since it would have revealed their presence over a great distance. No warm food or drink combated the chill that pervaded the air and grew increasingly numbing as their path took them higher and higher. They sought sheltered places between large rocks or under some jutting promontory of the foot of Caradhras to make camp, and though they took turns keeping watch, neither slept well.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

Taradan was awake during the first half of the night. He shifted position, trying to wrap his clothing and blanket more closely about his cold body. He wished that he could have walked about to warm his legs, but the moon had not yet risen and the ground was treacherous in the dark. Suddenly he felt more than heard a great rumble. He was on his feet in an instant, all senses alert. The noise grew louder, and the reassuring sound of Andros’ quiet snoring stopped.

“What is it?” Taradan heard him call.

“I know not – confound this darkness!” he exclaimed.

Nearer and nearer came the stomping and roaring of a creature they could not see. Suddenly a flickering light became visible, bobbing up and down at a height well above their heads.

Gandalf_theGrey

01-12-2003, 02:48 AM

* The torch-light swayed nearer and nearer. About a quarter-mile away it lowered to hover just above the ground, and stayed there. For a time nothing happened, and Taradan and Andros stared at the fateful flame with wide eyes, breathing furtively, as though a strong exhalation would put out the light. *

* Then a stumbling sound was heard, and crashings, and snapping branches of tree and bush, and heavy brutish breathings, and odd deep mumblings, and a rumble on the ground ... Too late they saw the boulder! Now the massive round rock thrown like a bowling ball smashed into the front of the shallow cave, trapping the two Men encamped within. There were only small hand-sized cracks allowing air to pass through, and daylight, should they live to see it. *

* Two voices without roared and bellowed victory. The first voice cried, * "We smelled them sure enough, and now we've gots them sure enough! Men and beast! Beast and men! Gus knew! Knew Gus! Us!" The second voice babbled incoherently in what sounded like agreement.

Gus, the two-headed Mountain Troll, slobbered front and back as his primary, forward-facing head descried the horse he'd smelled. Stomping over, he picked up the horse and tucked it under his left armpit, squashing the wind out of it just a little to keep it from kicking.

"Back to torch, build a fire, hang horse over it, horse to scorch. Back to fire, build with torch, horse tightly tied, horse nicely fried."

Gus trundled away, looking behind him with his backwards-facing head at the boulder blocking the entrance to the cave as he looked forward to a sumptuous supper.

[ January 12, 2003: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

Bêthberry

01-20-2003, 02:19 PM

His legs shaking from their stiff tension and unable to relax, Ulfwine leaned against the trunk of the pine tree, gulping great quantities of air as if he were starving. Yet he couldn't take in enough air. His lungs burnt from pain of breathing the sparse air at this altitude. They burnt from the pain of his narrow escape. They burnt from the agony of calling to Gurthden after the man had slipped from his grasp. It wasn't enough to have escaped detection from the marauders after they found the orc bodies. The mountain itself was hostile to them.

He looked out over the land spread in front of them, Baranthol, Thenamir, Dwarin, who else? There lay Dunland before them. His land. In the bright sun of late morning, the land shimmered, patches of grassland, lakes, forests shining like a patchwork quilt. He had never seen it before from the height of Methedras. He hoped he never would again.

Calming himself, he relived the moments of Gurthden's fall, the shale suddenly giving way beneath their feet, the pebbles rolling faster and faster, until half the side of the mountain it seemed rolled away under them. How he avoided the rock slide he didn't know, only that he had grabbed Gurthden's hand as the man's feet splayed out in front of him, but in a slow agony of frozen moments their fingers slid, slid, slid away from each other. Gurthden rolled over and over, awash in the shifting rock and battered by the larger bolders which had broken loose, until he could no longer be seen, buried under the detruss of the slide, the dust his winding sheet.

Ulfwine forced the images from his mind and returned to the present. Thenamir was calling to them, to begin the western descent which could prove to be as treacherous as the eastern ascent had been. "When, when would it end?" wondered Ulfwine. But it was not a thought he spoke aloud.

Rimbaud

01-21-2003, 09:00 AM

He Who Ran

He had lashed his belongings to his back too tightly, and the cords cut cruelly into him as he ran, stumbling often, across the loose shale ground. The dark and the cold threatened to disorient him, but he was driven by something more powerful than fear, and more palpable than the air on his face. His brain felt compressed, strangulated; his thoughts were not his own. His boots were starting to come apart, the constant slamming into edged rock scoring and now, piercing the thick hide. He held his frantic pace, quickening even, the night rushing by. He fell, several times, his hands bleeding unchecked. The cold of the air felt as though it would freeze his face, he could barely open his mouth to gasp for more air. He ran on, but in his mind there was a howl of horror and despair.

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

When morning light began to make the journey easier, he felt the iron bands crushing his will loosen, and he sank, gasping, nauseous. On his bloodied knees on the rock, he swayed. His hair was loose and soiled, from the blood and earth on his hands, sweeping the light locks from his face as he had run. Ragged and exhausted he seemed. He toppled and lay still, sleep swallowing him where he lay, exiguous and exsanguinating, transuding profusely as if in a fever-dream. His lips moved as if forming foreign words, and his eyelids shifted and flickered. Against his chest, the stone burnt him with its cold, unyielding harshness. The thing had grown heavier in the last few days, threatening to drag him down to his knees at times. Tears slipped through his clenched eyelids, freezing on his cheeks in the cold, cracking the skin. The visions of the white figure in the black tower remained strongly with him, as they had since they had exited the woods, what felt like a lifetime ago.

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

He woke, shivering, his chest thumping as his heart struggled. He could not open his eyes, they seemed frozen shut. He could barely draw breath. Even the grip on his mind seemed to be fading into a red-black vista. There was a yawning chasm, warm and inviting, all he had to do was let go…

With a sudden, shocking wrench he was brought back to consciousness, in a flame of pain and horror. He was barely conscious and had no concept of where, what or when he was. His eyes snapped open, tearing the skin around them, the blood stinging his eyes, blinding him as his body pushed itself impossibly from the ground, limbs awkward, stiff and wreathed in agony. Driven by an immalleable will, he staggered unseeing onwards, barely alive, falling, stumbling, lacking the strength or the presence even for despair.

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

For a further half-day and full night this continued, the mind dragging the body forwards even as it failed. At some time during the night, the tortured Rohirrim must have come across foes, for battle he saw, and death he dealt, unknowing. He remained trapped in a shrinking corner of his own mind, barely even registering the maelstrom of pain.

By the end of the second night, Guthrin had reached a narrow and hidden pass, winding up seemingly straight into the heart of Methedras. He had never been there before, nor had anyone ever spoken of it in his hearing, yet unerringly he went, rising up and up, on treacherous and hidden ways, until morning came and he was released to a near-death sleep once more.

[ January 25, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]