Fall of the North RPG

[Saurreg]

Belegorn stood on the grass covered knoll with his eyes closed and allowed the welcoming night breeze to caress his face. Refreshed and thankful, he opened his eyes and marveled at the brightness of the stars and their multitude. The celestial jewels were out in full force that night and they were like countless eyes burning bright in alternating hues of blue and yellow.

They were there to welcome the refugee’s return to the surface. They were there to witness and give testimony to their trials of tribulation under the Blue Mountains and before that.

The gift of the Lady to the Firstborn, mused the man as he continued to gaze serenely at the twinkling lights above him, witless that his lips were curled slightly by the sides of his mouth. The light of stars gave no heat, but on that winter’s night, Belegorn felt warmth like no other in his heart.

And now her Grace shares this gift with us…

A polite clearing of the throat brought Belegorn out from his daze. He smiled when he recognized that his interrupter was the young standard bearer of the regiment for he was glad the latter made it out of the underside also.

“Sorry to disturb you sir,” begun the young man softly, “but Captain Carthor requests your presence at the camp.”

Belegorn nodded his silent approval and turned to follow the young soldier down the mount. He turned and gave the stars, the warmth and the peace he was leaving behind a long reluctant look.

Real life beckoned.

[Osse]

Carthor shivered under the stars' cold gaze, in spite of his thick fur-lined cloak. The night no longer held any beauty for the old man; instead, through a harsh re-education of screams and unseen death, it had become a time of fear and malice to be slept through, or if the visions of pain stayed when his eyes closed, to be endured within the safety of stout walls.

Too many cold nights. Too many cold graves. Too many cold memories...

The soft sound of the camp gently drowned out the nightly noises, the shuffles of those sorting through their sparse belongings, the ring of metal on metal of those preparing their meagre meals.

Carthor added to the din, tapping out the tune to a favourite Arnorian marching song on the hilt of his broadsword. He quickly stopped as he remembered those he had first sung it with.

Carthor sighed.

Where was Belegorn?

The party needed to decide what to do, now that their last option was exhausted. Food was running short, even though the party had been substantially thinned, and its members had tightened their belts - many were substantially thinned themselves. Carthor reckoned on them lasting no more than a fortnight. Hunting was poor, the game had spread due to the cold.

Bitterly, there was little hope, particularly for the very young and the very old, many of whom had already been hastily buried in some lonely knoll or under some icy hillock, far from the white stone of their home.

Carthor lived without hope, as he had for many years. Inside he was as numb as his fingers were on the outside.

Pulling his great hood over his head, helm and all, he trudged off in search of Belegorn, the newborn frost crunching under his heavy boots.

[Saurreg]

Snow started to fall as Belegorn made his way back to the camp with the standard bearer by his side. They fell endlessly and everywhere; on his hair, on clothes and on his face where they melted instantaneously on contact with his warm skin, creating tingling little shocks that were invigorating. Fire and ice, he recalled the words of an old campaigner, worldly imperfection at its absolute – life itself. If there was anything Belegorn had learned to appreciate more than the wondrous beauty of celestial bodies at night, it was the sensations only the living could feel.

They trampled through the loose snow for a while until they reached the camp fire and torch lit camp. It was far smaller than the one the refugees had pitched before entering the Blue Mountains – a testament to the numbers that have fallen. Even with the map of the old dwarf king, Belegorn could not save all of his people. Many bands were lost forever, swallowed by the tunnels and caves that give no inking of their fate. Some were found but decimated, their members wide-eyed and trembling, slurring incoherently about monstrosities that burst out from the walls and watery depths, taking away screaming victims in their lethal coils and cruel maws before returning whence they came from. Even the king’s party was not spared and Belegorn learned soon after the re-ascend that chief amongst the victims of that band were Targon, commander of the king’s own guards and foul Mellonar – constant agitator and tormentor of Hirvegil whom they left in the underground also. He was also surprised to hear from the gossips that it was King Arvedui himself who led the rearguard of his party in the wake of his military commander’s demise and when a huge segment-bodied beast attacked, he was the one who slew it and in that struggle, Crown Prince Aranarth was the only who stood by his father’s side.

Belegorn’s mind was still fixated with the fantastic deeds of the King when a huge silhouette stepped out from the dark and neared him. Years of well honed reflexes kicked in, Belegorn immediately drew his blade and turned to face the intruder. However the dark figure had stepped out of the old soldier’s peripheral and revealed it to be a king’s own guard clad in dark mail and thick furs with the king’s own crest embroidered boldly across his breastplate.

“Well met, Lieutenant Belegorn,” intoned the soldier cautiously with his eyes on Belegorn’s sword, “The King requests your immediate presence, sir. I have been sent to fetch you back to the camp.”

Belegorn’s eyes narrowed and for a moment tension filled the air. The standard bearer eyed the newcomer and then his commander nervously but neither man moved. Finally Belegorn broke the deadlock and sheathed his sword. “I recognize you soldier. Very well, I shall go and see his Majesty. Lead the way.” He then turned to the standard bearer,

“Where is Captain Carthor?”

“The captain is at the west of the camp, sir.”

“Good, tell him that I will see him later,” Replied Belegorn and he turned to face the king’s guard,

“Lead the way.”