Search for Rhûn RPG

[Himaran]

Carlas's Post


The sun was high in the sky as the two dwarves walked through the small forest. The day was cool and clear and a soft breeze glided gently through the air, brushing at the dwarves beards. The forest was calm and quiet, but perhaps a little too quiet…

“It is good that we finally get a bit of a rest.” Durin said as he bent over to pick up some wood. “After being in Erebor for the last couple of years, I seem to have forgotten how much work it is being on a journey like this.” Dwalin laughed. “You are younger than me, yet you talk as if you were twice my age!” Durin laughed loudly at this. “I don’t hear that too often, normally it is quite the opposite! Though I have been quieter these last few days…”

“Why would that be?” Asked Dwalin curiously. “Oh, it is silly really” Durin replied, dropping a stick on the ground. “This is the first time I have travelled anywhere without my father. It is not as if I need him, but it feels different not having him here with me.” Dwalin nodded sympathetically and the two went quiet.

As Durin bent over to pick up the stick he had dropped, he heard Dwalin throw all of the wood he had been carrying on the floor, and before he could figure out what had happened he felt a large weight push him forward into a small clump of reeds. He turned onto his back quickly to see Dwalin on the ground beside him and a large spear sticking up out of the ground right where he had been standing only seconds ago. He pulled himself up onto his feet and looked around the area, but found no footprints. Where had the spear come from?

“In the tree!” Dwalin said as he stood up beside Durin. Durin looked back over to where he had been standing and saw an arm reaching down out of the tree just above the spear. Thinking quickly, Durin pulled out his hatchet and threw it as hard and fast as he could, but the arm was too fast. It shot back up into the tree and once the hatchet hit the trunk it grabbed onto the spear quick as lightening, and pulled it up into the tree. The two dwarves cursed sharply and took out their axes, holding them high above their heads. “A tree orc…” Durin mumbled to himself.

The two stood silently, watching the leaves above them for some kind of movement. Just as Durin was starting to think that they might be safe the spear shot down, just narrowly missing Dwalin’s arm. Dwalin grabbed the spear and snapped it across his knees before throwing it down onto the path while Durin swung his axe high above his head into the branches above, hitting the orc hard in the arm. It squealed and they heard it move through the branches away from them.

“Are you alright?” Asked Dwalin as he walked over to Durin.

“I’m fine, you?” He asked back. Dwalin nodded and looked over to where they had left the wood.

“We better be heading back to…” The two stopped quickly and looked over their shoulders. There was a noise coming from down the path, it sounded like it was coming from the trees…! “More of them, a lot more of them!” Durin whispered in surprise. “But they’re coming from the direction where camp is!” Dwalin looked over at him quickly. “We didn’t camp too close to the trees, so the others should be fine, but us…”

The two did not need to say anything else, they knew they couldn’t fight all of those orcs by themselves. They turned and ran.

[Novnarwen]

There was no time to think, no time at all. "ORCS!" Dwalin yelled desperately. "ORCS!" he continued, helplessly. "I noticed they were Orcs," Durin said alarmingly through gritted teeth. "Now run!"

The two dwarves found themselves running like crazy. Both were stricken by panic, and none dared to look back. They heard the foul Orcs behind, shrieking and laughing evilly. As he heard them snigger and call for them, Dwalin could think of nothing other than running back to the camp and to the others. However, he realised that if the Orcs kept this speed (and they kept their speed), they would probably be dead and buried before they ever saw another dwarf again. Dwalin shuddered, but ran on as he saw he was falling behind. He fluttered his arms, hoping he would catch a good wind which would make him fly away from this horrid place. There was no wind.

For a second, they both stopped behind a huge tree trunk, catching their breath.

"We are so . . dead?" Dwalin said miserably.

"No, we are not. Come on, be positive!"

"Positive!? We have a dozen with Orcs behind us and you tell me to be positive! I'll remind you of that statement when we're dead!" Dwalin said aggressively, suggesting that they should make a run for it, before the Orcs actually grabbed them and killed them.

"What we need is a hiding spot," Durin explained calmly.

"Like ... where? A Tree?"

Durin wasn't able to reject to this suggestion, before Dwalin was pushing him up the tree and afterwards hearing Durin make his way up to the top. Dwalin, unfortunately, smashed his head into one of the branches and fell down onto the ground. He let out a little shriek, but helped himself up again as he saw the Orcs coming closer. Had they spotted him? Of course. He fought desperately to get hold of a new branch, hearing Durin, from above, calling to him about several good branches ahead. "I don't care about those ahead! I care about getting up!" Dwalin called back, shaking. He tried to calm himself down, but he realised that the branch was too high and he was too short. He would never manage to get up there.

Time started to run. Paces away, the Orcs were gathering to get them, but Dwalin saw no other choice than to try. Moving swiftly on to another tree, he grabbed the lowest branch he could get hold of, and pulled himself onto it. The rest was easy. Soon he sat in the top, satisfied by his accomplishment. In the neighbour tree, Durin sat nervously and just below the Orcs grinned evilly.

"Durin?" Dwalin suddenly burst out. What a stupid idea, he thought shuddering. "Who said Orcs can't climb?!" Dwalin asked, not daring to look down anymore, frightened that the Orcs would come up and seize him by the wrist and force him down, or worse; just fell the tree.

"You pushed me into this!" Durin exclaimed.

It was true. Dwalin had in fact pushed him up in the tree, and now they were done. There was no way out. The two of them were separately stuck, as in: very stuck, at the top of two high trees.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hænir shouldered his axe and followed Bali and Erulon into the thickets. He did not speak aloud what he was thinking, but his unease was growing quickly into alarm. Durin and Dwalin should not have been sent out alone to gather wood in these lands. Since the fall of Mordor the lands were safer but by no means should their party be sent off wandering about in small groups. Now, they were following them into unknown danger, having made no plans and having left but one guard at the camp to watch over all of their provisions. Hænir found it hard to admit this to himself, but he chafed against the overbearing manner of Bali, who seemed to feel that it was his place to order folk about at will. For a week, Hæenir had done as he was told, but he was beginning to reach a point at which such unquestioning obedience could be dangerous – there was no order to their approach, and no discussion amongst the Dwarves of their strategy in the search. He looked back at Nerin and Narvi who followed him. He had grown quite fond of Nerin in the week since they’d left Laketown. Although conversation between them had been little – for neither of them were over talkative – they had found that they had much in common on this journey insofar as both of them felt a bit like outsiders in the group, and made a little uneasy by their status.

Erulon and Bali found a trail and they plunged further into the woods. More than ever Hænir missed the King’s Companions and the easy authority that he enjoyed within their ranks. He had never thought of himself as a leader, and he had no illusions that he had ever enjoyed rank or prestige among the captains of the realm, but among the Companions he had been considered one of the most steady and trustworthy foot soldiers of the King, and over the years he had grown accustomed to having his opinion both asked for and respected.

The discovery of Durin’s and Dwalin’s sudden flight brought him out of his reverie and concentrated all of his attention on their plight. Bali and Erulon were attempting to read the signs, but all Hænir could sense was the presence of an overwhelming danger. He sniffed the air, and picked up on the wings of the breeze the hint of a familiar and dangerous scent. Before he could form the word, somebody cried out “Orcs!” and in a moment they all saw the unmistakable signs of their foul passage through the trees. Without waiting to speak of it, the Dwarves rushed headlong into the forest to find their friends. Even Hænir, who would normally have railed against the lack of due order, flew with the rest of them, fearing what might befall the likeable Durin and Dwalin.

It was not hard to find them, for a sound broke out from the woods before them, and somewhat to the left, that sounded like the cry of a pack of wild and bloodsoaked dogs. But the cries were not those of mindless animals, for there was sense in them – but the words were in the rough and ugly sound of the Black Speech. Hænir had heard that speech before, and as he heard it his face became grim and his axe came to the ready. The five of them rushed toward the cries, speaking no word and trying to run as silently as they could. But there were heavily armed Dwarves, and not fleet-footed Elves, and even over the din of their hatred, the Orcs could not long miss the sound of their iron-shod approach.

The monsters were soon in view, flitting and dancing between the trees. There were just over a dozen of the creatures, and they had circled two trees. Some were casting spears up into the branches while four or five of the smaller Orcs were shimmying up the trunks. The Dwarves rushed forward, and at the very last moment that Hænir judged that they could go unnoticed by the Orcs, he roared his battlecry to strike terror into their foes, and hearten his friends. “Erebor!” he cried, “Erebor!” and with one swift flight of his axe he sent an Orc’s head tumbling through the air, blinking in surprise at the sight of its own decapitated body. The Orcs turned and cried out in hatred and rage and drove at the Dwarves. The first to come in reach of Hænir’s axe fell beneath it, but two more came at Hænir from the sides. He spun about to the one on the right and cleaved its sword arm from its shoulder, trusting in his armour to protect his back from the other beast. His trust was well placed. The blow staggered him and nearly forced him to his knees, but there would be nothing more than a bad bruise between his shoulders. He spun about once more and swept that Orc’s head from off its shoulders. He paused for a moment and looked to see how the others were doing, and if Dwalin and Durin had managed to come down from out of their trees and join the fray.

[Himaran]

"Defend yourselves," Bali screamed over the cries of tree orcs catapulting from nearby branches. They were acrobatic, agile and flexible, wielding primary long, thin spears. The dwarves were forced to move constantly, swinging their short axes in a defensive patern. But Bali knew they wouldn't last for long under the incoming onslaught. As he skillfully beheading an approaching orc, and snapped the spear of another before he disposed of it, the dwarf realized that much of his force had only fenced with targets and each other. They were not great warriors. And so his decison was a quick one.

"Run, follow Eruantalon! Back, out of the forest, quickly! I will pick up the rear." The dwarfs who were unengaged rushed to Eruantalon, who led them up the path towards the river. Nerin was still fighting, being pushed up against a nearby tree. The young dwarf ducked one blow, only to rise and find not an orc but Bali standing before him; his opponent was dead. The two raced after the others, scattering the orcs before them. And then it suddenly occured to Bali that Dwalin and Durin were still unaccounted for...

[Arvedui III]

There were times when the physical sensation of it almost stopped.

But for the most part, the pain was constant, soreness rubbing coarsely with newfound hunger pangs. Sometimes, rain would seep in through the crack in the cave that was his only window into the outside world, but for the rest of the time there was no respite, no relief from knowing endless pain and hunger and thirst. In the brief periods when he was able enough to walk, he found, much to his dismay, that he was completely sealed into his rocky prison. It was all he could do to stay lucid, let alone fend off the panic that keep washing over him every time he woke. The blessed times during the beginning of his confinement when he could lie in absolute, mindless lethargy were over. Now he had many hours to mull over his fate.

Most of the time he found himself wondering about his captors. Who were they? What were they? There was no chance in all Arda that they were the dwarves. An exploratory probe of his back proved that only a man or an elf could strike the blows he barely remembered. Blurred images, like something out of a nightmare, flashed before him in moments of terror, but were gone as soon as they had come, leaving him with nothing but a fresh sense of dread. He had learned to live with it, shrug it off, because all the screaming and crying he had done during the beginning had availed him nothing. He could only console himself in that, so far, nothing had happened to him. Perhaps nothing ever would. Maybe, just maybe, he would just be left here to linger and die.

He knew he must be in a bad way when he was comforting himself with thoughts of starvation.

However, he awoke one day, if indeed he could still judge time by days, to a most peculiar smell. The dank, musky sent of the cave and his own waste had become familiar, but somehow this waking period was different. He peered around, sniffing something quite intangible, yet he knew it was there. He turned over from the corner that had become his sleeping place, blinked, and blinked again. He wasn’t quite sure if he could trust his eyes, if he hadn’t finally gone mad. Because, before him lay the most beautiful platter crammed with steaming broths, frothing mugs and colorful, shining fruit. He crouched low, instinctively mistrustful of the bounty which had appeared innocently out of nowhere.

Perhaps it is a last, glorious fantasy. One final happy thought that manifests itself before dying men.

He moved toward the plate, sniffing the wonderful smells that were now filling the cave, and suddenly, painfully aware his stomach had never felt emptier, convulsing in protest. It was probably poisoned, probably would cause acute agony ere the life left him. He touched a large orange fruit, withdrawing his hand quickly. The thing was cool to the touch and certainly seemed real enough. He grasped it, feeling the wonderful weight of it in his hand. Resolve falling away, he brought it within inches of his mouth, but did not bite. The fear of what this food might contain pervaded through him, and he began to shake. Better to die sooner than later. He closed his eyes tightly as if facing a row of archers, and took a bite.

It was, perhaps, the most magnificent moment in his entire life. The juice was sweet and shiver ran down his spine at the wonderful taste. Before he knew it, he was crunching into anything he could get his hands on, sparing no crumb for the cave floor. For the first time in, well, a long time he felt genuinely happy and at peace. If he was going to die, he decided, he was going to die well fed.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hænir was dismayed to see that the battle was not going well. More orcs had appeared and were swarming about like vermin. He saw young Nerin being held at bay and tried to help him, but three foul orcs dropped from the trees above him and attacked with their spears. Quickly lopping off the head of the first spear, he then did the same to its owner. The other two drove at him, howling and spitting with hate, but Hænir was the veteran of innumerable battles and was not to be dismayed by them. He brought his axe down on the head of the foremost orc and clove his head to the chin. Letting go of his axe where it had stuck, he caught the spear of the hindmost orc in his hands and wrenched it loose. A mighty punch sent the orc reeling into a tree, its face now a contorted mass of pain.

He wrenched his axe free from the bloody mess it had made and turned to look for more prey. But a cry came to him above the sounds of battle, sounding the retreat. Hænir glared at Bali with open dismay – the orcs were many, but so far none of the Dwarves had taken any harm and with stout hearts and steady hands could still hold sway. For a moment he considered ignoring the command, for Dwalin and Durin were still trapped behind a wall of orcs, but as he saw the others move off, a lifetime spent in military service took over and he went after them.

As they got back to the camp Kain came forward, demanding to know what had happened, and looking more than a little relieved to see his companions. They quickly told him about the orcs and about Dwalin and Durin’s dilemma. There was a prolonged silence after that, as the Dwarves shuffled their feet nervously – and, perhaps, a bit sheepishly. It grated upon Hænir’s conscience to have left two companions in danger. He looked at his axe, and at the engravings upon it that had been laid down by his ancestors to commemorate their honourable deeds. There was no cause this day for him to add to them.

Snarling at himself, Hænir faced the forest. Nearby, Bali and Nerin were standing bent over with their hands on their kness, catching their breath after their efforts in guarding their retreat. Before he had time to think, Hænir spoke to the leader of their expedition. “It doesn’t sit well, leaving those two to their deaths at the hands of those orcs. I’ve never before fled when a companion was in danger, and I can’t believe that I’ve gone and done it this time.” He paused for a moment, weighing his next words carefully. When he spoke next he did so with his feet planted apart and his hands clasped upon his axehead, which he held propped before him so that he looked like a statue of old. “We must go back and get them. Heedless were we in our first attack, and the orcs made use of that against us. If we take counsel now and proceed carefully, we might be able to gain the advantage over them!”

[Novnarwen]

Suddenly, when Dwalin could feel his pulse rising to another level, something happened down on the ground. He tried to get a proper look, but realised that a person like him, who was scared of heights, would only fall down if he attemtped to look downwards. "What's happening?" Dwalin hissed at Durin apologetically. All of this was quite embarrassing. Here they were, stuck in two trees, Dwalin was scared of heights, there were Orcs on the ground, and who knew what was happening now. On top of all of this was Dwalin, who had claimed to be a true adventurer, but the truth however, was that he was scared to death of all of this and especially of the situation he found himself in now.

A roar could be heard from down below. Well actually, several roars and screams and the sound of steel against steel. It made a severe sound, which pierced through Dwalin's ears and caused pain in the left part of his brain. "Ouch," he muttered, still waiting for Durin to reply.

"I don't know. I can't see properly. But from what I hear, it must be some kind of a battle.." Durin answered at last, being uncertain by the tune in his voice. Dwalin sighed. This too, was bad news. Who were fighting the Orcs? Was it Bali and the rest of the group, or was it someone else who was after them? Dwalin shivered when thinking of more of these foul creatures. However, as long as they sat in the trees, no one would even give thought to them as there was a battle to attend to on the ground. Dwalin sniggered, leaning his back to the tree. "I don't think we need to be afraid. I mean, those Orcs are probably busy with that battle," Dwalin said, comforting himself as he heard more of those horrible noises from the steel. The left part of his brain was again in pain.

Durin seemed to be pleased by this argument, and said nothing more.

***

"Defend yourselves!"

Dwalin froze. He bumped his head in a branch, forcing himself to look downwards. It had sounded like something Bali would have said, or at least it sounded like his voice. A fire lit up in the Dwarf's eyes, as he gathered his thoughts. If it was Bali and his other companions who were down there, everything would be okay for certain. Dwalin and Durin could, by now, probably just slide down the tree trunks and join the battle and Bali would see them and be immensely happy and then they all together could just bring down those Orcs. It sounded like a good plan, but was probably more difficult to put into action. Dwalin shurgged. They could at least try.

"Did you hear that?" Dwalin started quite eager now and relieved that his brother had come to his rescue. Yes, it was Bali. Dwalin was sure of it. "Hear what?" Durin said sarcastically. "Do you mean the battle in itself, the screams of those who are being killed or the Orcs sniggering? Yes, of course, I can hear it!" Dwalin chose to ignore his annoyed tune, and leaned over and pulled himself to another branch, being a bit more visible to those on the ground. But this didn't matter, they were saved anyway. "No, I mean Bali. Did you hear it? Bali and the rest of our companions have come to get us! We're being saved!" With much enthusiasm he waved his hands in the air, letting go of the branch. He grinned ecstatically, catching Durin's eye in the other tree.

"Watch it!" Durin said alarmingly.

Nonetheless Durin's warning, Dwalin was already halfway down the tree. With a shriek he had lost his balance. By pure luck he had managed to cling himself to another branch on his way down, but the medium sized dwarf was too heavy for the thin branch. With a crack, it broke and again Dwalin was falling.

He landed on his back. Writhing in agony, his eyes were searching for light to hold on to, as he wandered into darkness.