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

[Tevildo]

With his body sprawled over the horse's withers and his head hanging down, Dorran managed to open one eye and unsuccessfully tried to get a sideways glance at the rider in the saddle. His head throbbed and, even worse, there was a sharp pain on his left side that seemed to rise and fall with every breath he took. As he managed to lift his head slightly and glimpsed the slavers' camp just a short distance ahead, he began to suspect the worst: he was being hauled off to slavery. It was a misery that Dorran had personally experienced as a child and one that he had no intention of repeating.

Unwilling to acquiesce in such a fate, the young man summoned his last ounce of strength, bellowed out at the top of his lungs in the manner of one of the Riders of Rohan, and leapt off the horse, half sliding and falling and finally landing on the ground in an ungainly heap. He struggled to rise and run away but his knees buckled under him before he could take more than a half dozen paces. The rider was on top of him in a flash, glaring down and commanding him to close his mouth, or they would both be dragged off by the inhabitants of the slavers’ camp.

A wave of embarrassment swept over Dorran. He had evidently made a large miscalculation. The woman’s tattered clothes and the brand that showed on her ankle confirmed that his rescuer was not a slaver but one of the ex-slaves. There was also the fact that his rescuer had attempted to bandage his wounds, something no slaver would ever have done.

Seeing his error, Dorran struggled to spit out a hasty explanation and apology, using his most gentle and respectful tone. “M’lady, I am sorry. Forgive me. I had two slavers on my tail. I feared you were one of these. Instead, I see you have aided me. For that I am grateful. My friends and I were here to rescue the two children from the pit. We come from lands far west to help lead the slaves of Nurn to freedom. Perhaps, lady, you are one of these?”

Dorran grimaced and held his side as another wave of pain descended. He did not even wait for the lady’s answer. The words came more slowly now as he struggled to get them out. “My friends….my friends are west of the camp by the stream bed. I…must….go now. I must help them. For they will need all the stout arms they can get to strike against the foul jailers. Go back to safety. Please....take your horse. Flee. I will make my own way to my friends.”

With that Dorran leaned back, held his head, and moaned.

[piosenniel]

‘Perhaps one of us, either Rôg or myself, should ride ahead and at least give them some warning...’

He half heard the suggestion Aiwendil was making and heard even less of the rest of the discussion. His left shoulder ached fiercely and along his flank ran a long furrow where he’d been injured. He’d stanched the blood along its course with his tunic, but with each movement there was a searing sort of pain that made him quite woozy.

At the end of the hurried little tactic session, Rôg glance up at Lindir, only to find the Elf looking pointedly at him. He stifled a groan, knowing that the blighted man expected him to light out toward the slave group to give warning of the slavers’ plan to attack. It would mean mounting his willful, if not indeed Shadow-spawned beast, and riding at breakneck speed. And what good would that do, he wondered . . . to have some bookish, clerkish sort of fellow come riding into the slave camp shouting out some dire warnings. They would take him, most certainly he thought, for a madman or a pawn of their enemy and most likely dispatch him with what weapons they might have. And for his part – he’d had enough of weapons and injuries for now.

He sidled over to stand near Aiwendil, positioning himself on the far side of the old man, away from Lindir. ‘If there’s to be any hieing off to alert the escaped slaves, I hope that you will consider playing the messenger.’ He stepped back a pace and eyed the wizard. ‘You look more the part, you know. Commanding presence - what with your staff and long beard and snapping eyes and all. And really you’re much better at that authoritative sort of delivery.’ He scratched the back of his neck and smiled wanly at his companion. ‘And besides, I need some time to lick my wounds, so to speak . . . that bowman had a keen eye for his target.’ He shrugged, wincing as he did so. ‘Though, if you really want some company, I’ll come with you.’

Rôg peeked around Aiwendil to where Lindir stood. ‘What ever you want to do is fine with me. But looking at those two wet and bedraggled children, I think we should mount up right away, and get as far from those vile creatures as pass for men as we can.’

[Brinniel]

"My friends and I were here to rescue the two children from the pit. We come from lands far west to help lead the slaves of Nurn to freedom."

The hairs on the back of Shae's neck tingled at these words. She had long ago let Khamir convince her that help would never come. Yet....could it be? Before the woman could respond, the man spoke up again.

“My friends….my friends are west of the camp by the stream bed. I…must….go now. I must help them. For they will need all the stout arms they can get to strike against the foul jailers. Go back to safety. Please....take your horse. Flee. I will make my own way to my friends.”

He had barely stood up when Shae pulled him back down.
"Wait...I can't just let you go. You are in no condition to fight."
The man glared back at her furiously. He opened his mouth, ready to argue, yet realizing he didn't have the energy to even bother, he closed his mouth and started to stand up a second time.

Shae watched the man attempt to find his feet, ready to again protest his foolish actions.

What am I doing?

This thought came abruptly, causing her to hesitate. She had left the camp in rebellion, furious at Khamir. How dare he attempt to order her around when she had spent her entire life struggling to be free of commands? Yet, here she was ordering this man- a total stranger- against his will.

The man had barely made it to his feet, clutching his side, yet his face was filled with determination to return to his friends. Before he could take his first step, Shae stood up and grabbed his arm.

"Wait..." Shae waited for the man to turn around before continuing. "I could be back at my camp, sitting safely with the other ex-slaves and waiting; but instead I am here. I left with the purpose to rescue the two children, and though your company may have beat me to it, it would be foolish to return empty-handed. I won't stop you, if you ride with me to your friends. Deal?"
The man hesitated, then slowly nodded.
"Good. Then let's go."

Shae helped the injured man mount the horse, then took her place in front of him.
"What's your name?" the man asked.
"Shae," she replied. "...And yours?"
"I'm Dorran....of Rohan."
"Rohan?" Her mind instantly when back to her childhood, remembering stories of the Rohirrim. "I have never met anyone from Rohan before."
Between his grimaces, Dorran gave her a smile.
Shae took hold of the reins. "So," she said, staring into the darkness. "In what direction are your friends?"

[Regin Hardhammer]

The three female orcs had not moved from their hiding place in the slagheap. Zagra still held Mazhg in her arms and was trying to comfort her. Both sisters looked upset. Ungolt scrambled up and announced, "I have no more heart to raid. That cat made me afriad. The lights burned my eyes. I am going back to camp." With that she began tramping across the dark plain.

When Ungholt reached camp, she grabbed a handful of turnips to eat and sat down beside the pile of reeds she had gathered earlier that evening. She began to work on weaving a new basket. But all her hard work could not chase Mazhg's words from her head or erase the cat's wild face. Mazhg had seen the cat fade into the shadows and a moment later a man stood in nearly the same place. He had looked at Mazhg strangely. Then the skies had broken open so that all three women plugged their ears and covered their eyes.

Ungolt trembled when she remembered the words that Mazhg used to describe what had happened: it was as if the Dark Lord's wizards had taken control of the night. Ungolt was afraid of meeting a wizard who was master of wild cats and fire and thunder. Could he master her too? She wanted to be free to have a small place of her own but maybe she had made a mistake coming here.

Ungolt began thinking very carefully about what Mazhg had said. The breeding farm owners had said that the Dark Lord had been killed at the end of the last great war. That was why the Orcs no longer had a leader and why the women on the breeding farms had been allowed to go away. If the Dark Lord was dead, Ungolt reasoned, then his wizards must be dead too. But soemone had made the fire.

When Ungolt was young, the others had told her about terrible creatures who hated and killed Orcs, especially young Orcs and women. Ungolt was afraid of regular men, but these monstors were worse. They were orc slayers and powerful wizards who were usually called "Elves". Elves had ugly pointed ears, ate food that tasted like wood, and made sappy music no orc could bear to listen to. By the time Ungolt finished weaving her basket, she had decided the monstor who commanded the cat and the sky fire must be an Elf.

She walked over to the edge of camp to do some personal business and happened to notice that Makdush had thrown out his rusted back-up sword into the bushes. Since makdush had a gleeming new blade, he no longer needed this one. She stared at it and stooped down. Glancing around to make sure that no one was looking, she scooped it into her heavy leather bag. She would need something to defend herself and her friends against the powerful Elf wizards.

[Nogrod]

Gwerr (and Ishkur)

Gwerr had slept most of the day quite peacefully, only waking up to the occasional burst of small birds flying low enough over the orc-camp or sudden calls from the slavers encampment. As the evening crept along he finally awakened and immediately saw that most of the others had gone searching for loot into the Slaver-camp, even though Ishkur had especially said that they should wait and stay easy for one night, to await for the night the slavers would be gone. Oh you blasted fools! You maggots and orphaned mummies! You just walk there in the middle of the camp that is already buzzing like a nest of bees because of the last night! Thanks to Makdush and his brain-dead Uruk-fellows...

“Have you gone berserk? Alarm then tonight and farewell to our next night of easy pillage. You get all killed and hunted. Mousebrains you are.” He cursed with a low tone, relieving a bit of his anger with it. There seemed to be a couple of orcs still sleeping in pits and hollows on the ground. The Uruk seemed all to be fast asleep in peace. Gwerr acknowledged the fact with reluctance. These Uruks seem to have more brains than most of us others...

It would serve those vermins just right to get caught tonight and get a nasty death! Fools you are, impatient children of the men you are! Gwerr was again loosing his temper. But what about our dream then? He stopped immediately with the thought. I can’t do it alone. There is no dream without the others...

Gwerr had already started towards the slaver-camp as the last thoughts were passing his mind. He was increasing his speed, going through the thicket quiet and fast as a shadow passes the ground at dusk.

Soon, just before coming to the perimeter of the camp, he heard the horse whine and the clatter it’s rider made. “Ishkur! What the heck?” He ran to Ishkur and took hold of the reins of the horse that were hanging loose. The giant beast clearly didn’t approve of either orcs presence, but Gwerr had handled too many horses during the couple of thousand years of life-span he had as not to give the animal a chance. He tightened the reins and and took a stiff grasp on its muzzle-rein, pulling it’s head down a bit to show who was the master here.

“What are you doing my old friend? You said yourself we should lay low tonight! And here you are, like an Easterling chieftain leading an army of dim-witted morons and playing the fool of everyone!” But as Gwerr was venting his anger and disappointment towards Ishkur, he suddenly saw his face.

“What is it now? It looks like you’ve seen the Dark Lord himself, or an elf-King?”

[Undómë]

‘Who is it?’ Mazhg whispered to her sister. She could hear voices, men’s voices just beyond the great trunk of the tree they stood behind.

‘It’s that one we gave food to,’ Zagra whispered back. ‘Talking to that one with the black fur on. You seen him; he’s got the metal over his one eye hole.’ She pressed her fingers to her lips, urging Mazhg to keep silent.

What is it now? It looks like you’ve seen the Dark Lord himself, or an elf-King?

Mazhg peeked around the tree at the two men, then darted back quickly. ‘Elf-King?’ She narrowed her eyes considering the fact that that unfamiliar word was paired with ‘Dark Lord’. Did it have anything to do with the wizard, the cat, she’d seen? She turned the word Elf over in her mind.

‘Zagra!’ she whispered, pulling her sister down into a crouch near the base of the tree. ‘Do you remember hearing any stories about these Elfs? Zagra shook her head ‘no’. ‘Let’s just listen in,’ Mazhg went on. ‘Maybe that on will say more about these Elfs.

[Regin Hardhammer]

At first Ishkur grunted and stared at the ground to avoid looking Gwerr in the eyes. What had been said made sense, but Ishkur refused to admit he might have been wrong by urging the orcs to stay and continue to raid. He was surprised that Gwerr's final question had been so close to the truth It was so close that Ishkur began to wonder how his friend had managed to crawl inside his head and discover what was hiding there.

Still, Ishkur did not want to risk an argument with Gwerr when they were inside the enemy's camp. The orc dismounted from his horse and good naturedly clapped the other orc on the back as he barked out a reasonably cheerful answer. "And you say I don't know what I'm doing? While you were sleeping and probably oogling women in camp, I was out here spying and doing an orc's job. Look around, Gwerr! It's the perfect time not to be seen." Ishkur wagged his finger towards the general chaos that was still going on around them.

"And I found out a lot. Really a lot!" Ishkur pulled himself up to his full height and grinned proudly at Gwerr. "Some men have attacked the camp. A few robbers pillaging things down by the stream. Probably slaves who've decided to get even. And yes! You're right, Gwerr. Somehow they've made an agreement with one of the Elf-kings. I saw it with my own eyes. There were men and an Elf working together. If you don't believe me, I'll take you over and show you. Or maybe you're afraid of Elves and wouldn't want to come?" Here Ishkur grinned slyly so that Gwerr would understand he was only poking fun. "Anyways it's all good news for us. These slavers are going to be hopping mad. They'll want to have some slave heads on a stick. For sure, they'll ride out tomorrow. Maybe even tonight. All we do is stick around till they're gone. Then the place is all ours. I already have a fine battle horse. Maybe I'll pick up some gold or jewels. And those flasks of ale look plenty inviting."

"Of course, I want you at my side to share in the loot. I wouldn't want Makdush to get any more treasure. It belongs in good orc hands. But I can't stop you from leaving if that's what you want. For my part, I'm staying here, but I won't tell you to go or stay." Ishkur's voice turned serious. "When I left that plantation, I was sick of being ordered around by the Uruks. I'm not going to start ordering other orcs around, not unless it's a matter of a warrior's honor."

"So how about it, Gwerr, want to get a look at a real Elf king? There's great honor to be had in taking down an Elf."