Defense of the Poros RPG

[Manôphazân]

The Gondorian saboteurs were thrown forcefully to the ground at Lan’Kâsh’s bloodstained boots, and their disguises were ripped from their bodies. Sergeant Benel delivered several vicious kicks into each man until both lay prostrate on the muddy site of the recent battle. Though the Haradrim treatment of spies was well-known to all of their enemies, neither prisoner showed fear, and the older of the two continued to stare at Lan’kâsh despite the beating he was receiving. Another well aimed kicked to the head broke his eye contact with his captor, but he did not cry out and he soon looked again.

“That will be enough, sergeant” said Lan’kâsh, and Sergeant Benel withdrew a step to allow his boss an opportunity for a swing or two.

Lan’kâsh smiled at the implied suggestion but declined to strike the prisoners himself, at least not with his hands. Instead, he hefted his spear and drove it cruelly through the back of the younger Gondorian, leaving the thrashing man pinned to the ground, screaming. The soldiers nearby gasped at the suddenness of the attack, and before the other captive could react, Lan’kâsh dropped to one knee and grabbed him by the hair with his right hand. In his left hand, a wicked looking dagger pressed against the man’s throat.

“You look important,” growled Lan'kâsh, ripping a gold chain from around the man’s neck, “and rich.” The necklace was beautifully crafted and bore the seven-starred emblem often seen on Gondorian royalty. It marked the captive as an officer and a valuable asset to retain. Nearby the other north-man had finally fell silent as he crossed into death. “He looked poor.”

“What did you hope to accomplish, Winger?” he asked the man angrily. “Do you think these are the only war engines we have? If you had properly reconnoitered our position, you would have seen that these are only the first of several such machines on the road behind us. Before we are through, the engineers of Umbar will reduce every Gondorian wall from here to Pelargir to rubble, your little fortress included.”

Angered that the man refused to answer him, Lan’kâsh shook him violently and then walked away, yanking his spear from the dead Winger.

“Keep the officer alive,” he instructed Sergeant Benel, “and get our men moving again. We’ve got a town to attack.”

[Nerindel]

The taste of warm blood filled Astalder’s mouth and a dull ache began to form in his right temple, made increasingly worse by the Haradrim warrior’s violently frustrated shake. But still he refused to speak or show any sign of outward emotion and only when his enemy had given up and turned his back on him, did he spit the blood from his mouth. As he did his gaze fell on the body of his dead companion, sorrow and regret gripped him for a moment. But he stubbornly tried to push it aside, they all knew the risk when they enlisted, but the knowing did not make it any easier to accept. At least he had the hope that the rest of the men in his charge would be able to return and report their enemy’s numbers and armaments to Captain Anhelm and warn the captain of the Haradwaith leader’s boldness.

His enemies had not gained anything from him, but the same could not be said of them. During his brief interrogation by Lan’kâsh he had learnt that the Haradrim’s boldness was not limited to this one unit, the Haradrim were on the move and the Poros settlement was not their only target. Astalder had killed at least two soldiers and wounded several others before he was finally over powered but still he was to be kept alive, for what gain he was not certain. But he was certain that he would not be used against the people he was bound to protect.

As he was dragged along by his guards he kept a sharp eye, looking for a weakness or a means of escape, many of the Hardrim soldiers looked on him with loathing and contempt, some even spitting at him as he passed, but he defiantly held his head up, ignoring their taunts and jibes. Weather intentional or not they dragged him past the battlefield, the empty eyes of dead Gondorian soldiers bore into his heart, filling him with an anger that threatened to break through his emotionless defiance. He looked away from the scene and as he did his gaze fell on the Lan’kash who was watching him with a satisfied grin and in his right hand was Astalder’s swords, the blood stained ribbon rippled lightly in the breeze, reminding him of the promise he made to his wife. a low growl escaped his lips and he silently swore that Lan’kash would regret letting him live.

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

The Requen

The Requen of the Poros had followed Khalad’s careful instruction and again scouted out the Haradrim camp, but after regrouping and much debate it was decided that it would be suicide to go in after Astalder, their leader was located in a large tent situated in the very centre of the camp, surrounded by many heavily armoured guards.

“It’s impossible!” Josef argued “our best option is to return to the Poros and return with reinforcements!”

“By then it may be too late!” another put in.

“I do not know why they keep him alive, but they have and they must have a purpose for doing so!” Khalad replied conceding to Josef‘s idea.

“Then it’s settled we return to the Poros, report to Captain Anhelm, then see to mounting a better prepared rescue party.” the gathered company nodded their agreement some more reluctantly than others. Within the hour they were mounted and heading out of the forest and into the rolling plains that would lead them back to the Poros.

The company where just exiting the forest when they heard the clash of weapons ahead, checking his horse Josef speed ahead to a near rise the rest of his company following close behind, “Gondorians!” he called back. “They must have been sent out when we failed to return on time.” he muttered looking on the battle that ensued.

The Poros soldiers were being attacked by a small contingent of Haradrim warriors, “A forwarding party?” he mused, grinning wickedly as the lust of battle grew within him, Drawing his sword and raising the horn that hung round his neck he blow long and hard, then raising his sword before him he dug his heels into the side of his mount and charged into the fray, his fellow roquen following close behind him.

Battle ensued all around him and as he ran through another Haradrim warrior he looked around trying to discern who was in command of this small contingent of Poros soldiers. “Who commands here!” he cried to a passing soldier.

“Adenain!” the soldier called back as he engaged yet another enemy.

“over there!” he pointed dispatching his opponent with a quickly drawn dagger across the unsuspecting mans throat. Josef nodded his head in thanks then fought his way to the man that the soldier had just pointed out.

The man was wounded but still he fought, “Adenain?” he asked.

“Who asks?” the man answered not taking his eyes of his current opponent.

“Josef sir, I was in the company of Astalder.” he replied his own sword clashing with that of another Haradrim warrior.

“Astalder!” the man exclaimed burying his sword into the exposed side of his enemy, “where is he I wish to speak with him.” Adenain continued as he pulled the sword from the dead Haradrim and drove it into the back of Josef’s attacker.

“Astalder is not with us.” Josef answered with a regretful sigh.

“He is dead then?” Adenain frowned studying the young knight.

“No, not dead, well he wasn’t when we left him, but he was a prisoner of the Haradrim.”

As they battled on side by side he continued to explain the events of the past few days.

[Novnarwen]

Frôzhal had dropped dead. As he was about to grab his knife and end Erfâzh's pathetic life, he had discovered that it wasn't just a random Haradrim Erfâzh had been talking to, his mysterious friend was Jinan. The Haradrim's mouth fell open. He didn't even notice Jinan saying something to him, as two Gondorians were violently dragged and cast to the ground only a few paces away from where the three Haradrims were standing. Before the extremely surprised Haradrim was able to react, Erfâzh and Jinan had sprinted over to see the two prisoners. He cursed as he watched them. How could this happen? How could this happen to him? Was Erfâzh a friend of Jinan? What had they talked about? He let out a shriek, or rather he tried to, but his voice drowned in his own throat. He cursed again. By now, Erfâzh would have told Jinan everything, he could see it, by the fire in their eyes. "Traitor," Frôzhal muttered. However, perhaps he still had a chance of killing Erfâzh and perhaps the way of his clothing, but also the gash he had faked on his cheek, could make Jinan doubt what Erfâzh had possibly told him.

Disgusted by Erfâzh possible behaviour, (depending on whether he had told Jinan about how Erfâzh had been in charge during the attack or not,) he paced over to where the two Gondorains lay. He refused to give further thought to the situation he would find himself in, if this secret had been revealed; especially if the wrong people knew. Instead, he tried to enjoy the violence the two Gondorians went through. He laughed evilly, trying to get a glimpse of their grim faces. He heard Lan’kash growl, deciding that one of them should live. Frôzhal was amused by this. He wondered what the Gondorian, who would live, thought about this matter. He hoped, crossing his fingers, that the one who would be dead soon was a very close friend of the one who was going to live. Pain.. Pain.. he thought, his eyes sparkling.

As one of the filthy Gondorians was dragged by the Haradrim guards, Frôzhal used his opportunity to spit on the man. He didn't make a grimace, his face remained straight. Frôzhal didn't quite understand this reaction. Surely, it was odd. The Haradrim's, who were standing around the poor captive, had been showing him no respect whatsoever. Of course, the Gondorian couldn't demand it either, but why didn't he do anything; like spit back or curse? Was it not his character maybe? Frôzhal wasn't familiar with this kind of behaviour. Did all these Gondorian's act like this?

Frôzhal watched him, trying to read his mind. He didn't seem to be afraid of anything. His eyes were soft; humanly, greyish blue. He sent out this signal of being good, fearless, proud of his kind, and gentle. This, Frôzhal realised, was rare or unusual, at least among the Haradrim; who were hard, rough and proud but only proud of their own skills and accomplishments. Suddenly, out of the blue, he thought it stupid of him to spit at the Gondorian. It was out of place, it was gruesome. But even though he had done it, yet the Gondoiran kept his dignity by showing the Haradrim that he was different. The Haradrim's however, didn't realise this and continued their stupidity.

Frôzhal cursed. This Gondorian was bad news. He made the Haradrim think too much.

[Orual]

The heat of battle was all around him.

The thunder of horses' hooves.

The whistling of arrows overhead.

The shrill, primal cries of the warriors.

Radenan had not foreseen this when he volunteered to help guard the Poros settlement. He had expected excitement...but safe, contained excitement. Not life-or-death excitement. Not war.

He was eighteen years old. He wanted to be a blacksmith.

His keen, black-brown eyes stared wildly around him as he tried to calm his panicky horse. Where was Astalder? He was following Astalder. And...

"Adenain! Lieutenant Adenain!" Radenan dismounted and ran up to his superior, who had been shot in the shoulder. A small pool of dark blood lay around the wound, and Adenain was pale from the blood loss. The lieutenant coughed and tried to speak, but could not. Radenan lifted him with much difficulty and laid him across his horse's back.

"Astalder," Adenain gasped. Radenan froze. "Astalder...captured. Tell the captain!"

Radenan rode harder than he had ever ridden before.

***

"Captain Anhelm! Captain Anhelm!"

Anhelm, collecting fallen papers from beneath his desk, knocked his head on the underside. Rubbing it ruefully, he glared at the boy who had rushed into his office. "What is it?"

"It's Lieutenant Adenain and Radenan," the boy cried. Anhelm stared at him. "The lieutenant was injured. Radenan says they're surrounded! It's the Haradrim!"

Anhelm rushed to the infirmary. "Adenain," he said softly, ignoring Radenan as the young man saluted. "Adenain, what happened?"

"There were too many," Adenain coughed, wincing in pain from the effort. "They surrounded us. And Astalder...Astalder was captured. Captain, you have to help them. Send backup!"

"It's sent," Anhelm said, squeezing Adenain's hand. He turned to Radenan, still stiff at attention. "Good job, soldier. Consider your tour of duty done." The boy broke into an unintentional smile and ran off.

"Activate all the soldiers we can spare," Anhelm ordered. "We're mounting up and going to the battlefield."

They were there as soon as possible, not having wasted a moment. Anhelm was done playing games with the Haradrim. It was time to end this.

[Imladris]

Jinan followed the guards who dragged the Gondorian soldier away. He was disgusted with the physical torture the soldier had withstood. Physical torture was rather easy to withstand. All you had to do was to think of something else, separating yourself from the pain that was inflicted upon you. Jinan himself had done this many times. It was a game with him and his cronies.

The soldier was dragged to a tent where the other Haradrim tied his hands and feet. and left him. Jinan remained and stared at the soldier. His face was battered, his soft eyes were hardened, blood dripped from his mouth.

Jinan paced in front of the soldier, wondering how they could get information from him. Emotional torture was much more effective, but ten times more delicate to withstand information. With a snap of his black eyes, Jinan stopped short. A scowl flickered across his face as he realized with disgust that the Haradrim lieutnant had just been inflicting pain for the sense of blood lust joy that accompanied such an action, not for the information the Gondorian might possess. With a snort of disgust, Jinan once again thought how utterly foolish their stupid lietnant was. What happens if the Gondorians had an ambush? And her was a perfectly good Gondorian soldier ripe for interrigation. Well, if no one else was going to do it, he would.

Crouching on his heels in front of the soldier, Jinan said, "I suppose you are very thirsty from the beating and the fighting and the journey." He sighed and continued, "We have some very cool water in the saddle packs." He cocked an eyebrow suggestively. "You do realize that you have very little hope of surviving. The Haradrim like to play with their victims -- the journey could be quite painful for you. Then there is the issue of food -- have you ever starved? You become hungry, and then the pain drifts away with time. You begin to feel lightheaded, your strength is sapped, and then you die." Jinan stared at the soldier. "How many men are garrisoned in the Poros settlement?"

[Nerindel]

Astalder eyes followed the steps of the young Haradrim warrior who now paced before him; there was confidence in his steps that denoted that he was no mere guard set to insure that he did not attempt to escape. Outside he could hear his enemies making ready to break camp and make their final advance, if he was going to escape he would have to do it soon, but with both his hands and feet bound that was not going to be an easily task. As the Southerner continued to pace he surveyed his surroundings looking for something that he could use to loosen his bonds.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about the large canvas tent he now found himself in; However the folding table littered with papers, drew his attention. Several large pieces of parchment rustled with the breeze blowing through the waving flap of the tent entrance, Maps… he silently mused; this must be an officer’s tent. But before he could inspect his surrounding more closely, the young Haradrim Warrior stopped his pacing and crouched before him, the warrior’s dark eyes levelling with his.

“I suppose you are very thirsty…” his new interrogator began, it was true he was thirsty be he would not give his captors the pleasure of knowing so, so his gaze remained steady and his features impassive. The man sighed and continued cocking his head suggestively to were he had earlier seen two sets of saddle packs, but he did not follow the mans gaze, choosing instead to stubbornly keep eye contact with this man.

Without so much as a flicker of irritation the southerner went on to describe his chances of survival, describing in detail how one died of starvation, but Astalder was no inexperienced ohtcar and knew that a man could go at least three days without food, and with the Poros only a days hard ride away, his usefulness to Lan’kash would have ended long before he had the chance to die that lingering death. However water he did need but now he knew were that could be found, he just had to wait for the right opportunity to arise and he hoped that it would come soon.

“How many men are Garrisoned in the Poros settlement?” The southerners question brought him from his musings and he saw that the soldier was now staring at him intently waiting for an answer. Slowly leaning in Astalder whispered his reply into the ear of his interrogator.

“I do not fear death!”

Then remaining impassive he leaned back against the main pole of the tent, reciting his name and rank, he had no intention of giving these savages any more advantage than they already had, nor the satisfaction in knowing that they greatly out numbered the Poros garrison. He held his head high and tensed his body waiting to accept the blow that he was sure would follow.

[Imladris]

Blast it . Jinan realized he had made a fool of himself and he swore under his breath. The Poros was a day away -- of course the man would not starve to death by then. He shook his head.

“I do not fear death!” the soldier whispered in Jinan's ear.

The Haradrim smiled and looked at the Gondorian. Jinan did not doubt his bravery, but he also realized the foolishness of it all. The soldier was going to die, sooner or later, a painful death. The soldier himself must realize that. But Jinan wanted information from him before that time came. "Whoever mentioned death, brave Gondorian," Jinan said.

He called for a glass of wine and stared at the soldier. When the soldier/farmer returned, Jinan took a deep sniff and swished the wine in the crude goblet. The fresh scent of the liquor wafted from the cup. Jinan took a small sip, twirled the cup in his fingers, and said, "I suppose you have family in the Poros settlement. They are going to die you know, so you might as well tell me what I want to know."

The soldier lifted his head and replied, "Then why should I tell if you are going to kill them any way?"

"Death will take them. We Haradrim would merely hasten their deaths," Jinan answered. "You will have to see your loved one's die in either case. Again I ask, how many people are garrisoned in the Poros settlement."

The sound of men breaking camp drifted through the tent and Jinan cursed. Why was the Gondorian being a mule, so strong under physical torment and the beginnings of mental torture? He drummed his fingers on his knees. He might have to finish his interrogation on the road.