The Fellowship of the Fourth Age (Part 1): A New Beginning RPG

[Regin Hardhammer]

As soon as the sun had slipped under the horizon, Ishkur had gone to the slavers' camp hoping to help himself to another meal. He was upset to find that the camp was much better guarded than the night before. Ishkur cautiously circled the entire site and counted a total of five guards, all mounted on horses and each keeping a tight eye on the pens where the other animals were held. The pickings for dinner were going to be slim. Perhaps he'd been wrong when he'd insisted that they should stay and raid again.

Ishkur's empty stomach made him bolder than usual. Cursing quietly under his breath, the orc crept closer to the middle of camp and hid behind a pile of brush and small logs that had been stacked up near one of the firepits. It was actually a foolish thing to do. One man came uncomfortably close to where he was hiding so that Ishkur had to duck down and remain still. He pulled out his sword from the sheath in case he needed to defend himself but the man had thankfully drifted by and the orc was again left alone.

Within a short time, several men had clustered around the firepit. They talked excitedly and tapped into a large keg of ale, filling their tankards several times and greedily gulping down their brew. Ishkur's mouth watered as he saw the cask and smelled the enticing aroma. He hadn't had a decent drink in a very long time, and he would give a great deal to tap into that second keg that stood off unopened to the side. Unfortunately, there was absolutely no chance for him to do that unless he wanted to risk being seen.

Instead, Ishkur listened carefully trying to make out what the men were saying. At first he understood nothing. However, as the slavers refilled their cups, their words became louder and more insistent. Each was bragging about how he would recapture a dozen or more slaves and gain a rich reward. Piecing together the scraps of conversation, Ishkur was surprised to learn that all the slavers planned to ride out from the camp the next night in order to teach a lesson to an uppity group of slaves and drag them back to the plantations that lay further south. Ishkur couldn't care less what happened in the battle beween slaves and slavers. Let them all murder each other! But he was very interested to hear that the slavers' camp would be totally deserted, perhaps for the entire night.

The orcs wouldn't be able to capture any more horses, since the slavers would take these with them to help do their fighting. But the slavers would likely leave behind a few choice donkeys that they only used for transporting food and supplies. The donkeys, however, were not the only reason that Ishkur was excited. Being only weak men instead of strong and vital orcs, the slavers couldn't drink two full casks of ale in a single night. That full keg of ale, the one that hadn't been opened, would still be there tomorrow night. Plus, the orcs would be able to ride through the camp and strip it of any personal belongings that the men had left behind. This more than made up for the fact that they were unlikely to get very many interesting things tonight.

Eager to tell his news to the others, Ishkur slipped through the shadows and onto the plain. Then he trotted back to their camp. Reaching his destination, he called out to the others: "Gwerr, Makdush, Ungolt, Grask, Zagra and Mazhg.....all of you come here! I have wonderful news. The pickings are thin tonight, although I do plan to go back later and see if I can find something to eat. But tomorrow night will be different." He then proceeded to tell them that the slavers would be going to war against the slaves and how the camp would be totally deserted with many fine things for the orcs to steal and a bountiful supply of ale to enjoy.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Most of the group had already drifted away by the time Aiwendil turned from Rôg and went over to speak with Lindir. Athwen had retreated to check on the herbs and supplies that might be needed for the children who would soon be under her care, and several others in the fellowship were carefully surveying the weapons and tools that they planned to carry into camp.

The sky was grey and darkening with the first stars of evening visible overhead when Aiwendil pulled Lindir over to one side and briefly assured him that he and Rôg would be able to create a ruckus to divert some of the attention away from the prisoners and those who were digging in the tunnel. The Elf listened and then shook his head, "I have been worried about you two. Are you certain you want to do this? We may be just fine without a diversion."

Aiwendil stared straight at Lindir, a peevish look shadowing his face, "Come now. I have been creating mischief for a good many more years than you have been alive on Arda. I will be just fine."

With a sigh, Lindir replied, "My friend, be sensible, it's not you I am worried about. Your companion, though a hard worker, seems to have little familiarity with a sword."

"As to his training with a sword, I can not say. But Rôg has many skills that can be put to good use on the field of battle."

"I do not doubt his heart or will, but these are hard and demanding times."

Aiwendil quickly countered, "I'll keep an eye on the young man and make sure he comes to no harm. You have my word on that."

"You wouldn't want to give me any more information on what the two of you have planned." The words were spoken more as a statement than a question.

"We are still working things out. Only do not be alarmed if you hear some loud noises or see bright lights. And Rôg has an idea that may actually draw some of the men away from camp."

"Just be careful," Lindir pleaded. "I have no wish to explain to Elessar why two of his trusted emissaries met their end even before we could speak with the slave leader."

Aiwendil nodded in agreement, and, within a very short time, the entire party had mounted up and was riding towards the slavers' camp. At first Lindir headed slightly west leading the group to the half-concealed thicket where Athwen was to stay with the horses and prepare for the children. The rest of the fellowship waited a moment at a discrete distance to allow Dorran to say his private goodbyes to his wife. Then they turned to the east carrying both tools and weapons. By the time the moon was visible overhead, they had come to the outskirts of the slavers' camp.

[piosenniel]

In the distance, woven in the shadows of the scrubby trees, silence and moon-beribboned darkness held the figures of the man and women as they spoke softly with one another. The rest of the companions had drawn a little ways away to afford the couple some last moments of privacy before the undertaking.

Rôg stood a little apart from the others of the companions, his cloak wrapped tight about him against the cooler night breeze. His eyes fell often on the man and his wife. His sister had been married less than a year ago. Her letters spoke of her continued happiness and the little joys, the contentments that grow between a husband and wife. They echoed his recollections of his younger years, watching his own mother and father engage and interweave with one another in the daily patterns of their lives. He fingered the lobe of his left ear, wondering if such a union would be his to find.

Now where were these thoughts coming from?

The darkness hid his smile…along with the quick shift of his shoulders as he shrugged off the little reverie.

A few quick steps brought him to where Aiwendil waited. A few quick words gave the older man Rôg’s assurance that he would be ready and waiting for him to begin their diversion.

‘Just give me some small signal that you’re ready. I’ll see the horses set in motion then.’

~*~

A short time later . . .

The mountain cat stretched out his forelegs, digging his long sharp claws into the dirt. Muscles along his back flexed and rippled, ending in a sudden twitch of his tail. He was downwind from where the horses were picketed. His nostrils widened; his lips pulled back from his teeth in a ghastly sort of smile as he took in their scent. They were content; no scent of fear or panic laden sweat.

Dipping his jowls into the freshly killed carcass of some small animal he’d caught, the cat bloodied his muzzle. Once he moved upwind of the small herd they would catch the scent of blood and death and dread would drive them into frenzy.

[Durelin]

Khamir

That morning was the first thing in some time to catch Khamir off-guard. For the first time in his life he was not certain what to do. Decisions had been so easy up till this time. The path ahead of him had been clear. Things had been simple. It was live or die. He knew what he had to do to survive, and all that was left was to execute. Now he had been presented with people who did not seem to feel the same way, and even people who he had fought with for their survival would not take what to Khamir was the obvious route to survival. If they lingered here, they would all be captured or killed. And if they went on some daring rescue for just two lives, ten times that at least would be lost.

But somehow, pressing on did not seem right. Certainly it was impossible for now. Everyone was settled in, if restless. They could not sit still, but they had no direction, and so could not move either.

He heard footsteps, and shot his head up to see who was approaching. He found Beloan standing above where he sat. The one-armed man had not budged from his spot for hours. He had tried to rest, but found it impossible, perhaps because he had thought about how much he would regret it if he did not sleep. Strangely, his comrade was smiling. Anticipating a question as Khamir eyed him, Beloan spoke.

“It’s that boy, Hadith. He’s a sharp one. He’s sitting up top the hill,” the man gestured, “I can’t think we could be in better hands.”

“And I can’t think it matters,” Khamir responded gruffly.

Beloan simply shook his head and turned to look at the rising sun. After several moments of silence, the man started, and looked back at Khamir and their surroundings, seemingly pulled sharply back into the present by a sudden thought.

“Where’s Shae?” he questioned.

“Shae? Most likely still sulking because Gondor still has failed. Mostly she’s kept her distance since we left the caves…and I can’t say I’ve seen her since she gave that loud-mouthed girl an even better reason to slit my throat in the night…for which I’m glad.”

Beloan just stared at the obviously bitter man seated before him. “You really should have gotten some rest.”

[Brinniel]

Dusk approached, marking the end of a long, uneventful day. Shae sat facing the west, staring out at the orange and pink hue that was left of the sun. As each minute went by, she could feel the restlessness spread throughout her body. A whole day had been wasted by sitting and doing absolutely nothing. And why was that? Khamir. The slightest thoughts of him made her clench her hands into fists. The previous night had been spent in complete chaos, mostly in disapproval of Khamir’s actions, yet the ex-slaves still followed his orders.

Shae kept thinking back to the children who had been taken—Kwell and Azhar were their names. Surely they have given up on all hope of being rescued by now. Shae hated to think of the suffering they would forced to endure. It shouldn’t be so. Leaving innocent children in the hands of slavers while the others simply rested. And even worse, there were no intentions to depart the next day. Shae’s nails dug into her palms causing her old wounds to reopen and bleed through the bandages. She turned around and gazed at the others. Most were either eating or sleeping. No objections to Khamir’s orders. And not even the slightest bit of sympathy for the captured children. Shae couldn’t take it. For years, she had been reliant on others to help her. But not anymore. If anything were to be done, she would have to do it herself.

Standing to her feet, Shae searched for Khamir with her good eye. He stood in the back of the camp occupied with Beloan. Perfect. Few ever noticed her presence among the ex-slave. It would be a long time before anyone discovered she was gone. With one last look at the camp, Shae took off in the direction of the slavers’ camp.