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

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Carl

Before Carl had gone more than a dozen paces, Kwell called out to him. And turning around the hobbit saw that the boy’s outstretched hands held Hamin’s sword by the hilt. “Take it,” Kwell shouted, his voice muted by the wind. “It’s too awkward for me, but someone else will trade you for it.” Carl knew that the thing would be cumbersome to carry, but responding to the young man’s attempt to better equip him, he jogged back. Taking the weapon with thanks, he paused a moment, suddenly thinking himself cruel to send him off alone. But it was a short lived notion, for in a flash he had dismissed the thought as sentimental. No, Kwell would be better off without him. If the lad wanted company, let him station himself with Lindir or one of the bigger folk who had a chance at defending him.

Parting ways, Carl retraced his steps hunting for arrows. The precious few he found he picked up, trying not to think of their uselessness in the gale. Working his way toward the earthworks, he hoped to find them more readily. But rather than coming across a bountiful crop of arrows, the hobbit found a riderless horse near the collapsed tunnel’s edge, and cautiously crept toward the beast. By all it trappings, it was a slaver’s mount, with quite outlandish gear. And Carl thought that if by chance he could manage to win the horse’s confidence, it would serve to provide a bit of cover for him out on the plain.

Carl looked about him, for a sign of the horse’s master. And the wind, which had been growing more erratic, lulled a moment. In a glance Carl saw that the horse was alone on the littered field, quite the picture of patient misery. Speaking soothingly and confidently to the creature, who tossed his head at the approaching hobbit, Carl pulled off his handkerchief, and wiping the dust from the horse’s face, took the reins loosely, quickly discovering that the horse was surprisingly good tempered. It did not take much coaxing for him to be led along the rim of tunnel.

As the wind shifted Carl saw the crumbled heaps of fallen men before him. Noting that they were slavers, he gave them wide berth and had almost passed them by, when a flash of light lit their clothing bright orange, and a pained wailing carried by the wind soon followed. A chill ran down Carl’s spine, and the horse suddenly reared up. And as the hobbit struggled to calm the animal, whose body and sharp hooves rose over him, he spied an archer half hidden behind one of the corpses, taking aim at him from the other side. “Whoa, Whoa there Dirand!” He shouted at the top of his voice. “Take care, over there! It’s just Carl you’re looking to drop!”

Grim and graying, the fellow slowly stood up muttering. “Whoa yourself! What were you thinking? You ought not hide behind the enemy’s horse if you’re not one of them!” He stalked over, quickly catching the horse’s bridle.

"Well, at least your hearing is sound!" Carl returned. "But what was that flash? Did you see it?"

"Aye, a burst of fire, from over that way," Durand said, nodding toward the back of the camp.

“It weren’t no firecracker, I’ll be bound. Must mean trouble,” Carl said.

Just then yet another archer appeared climbing over the rim of the collapsed tunnel, for he also had emptied his quiver and had sought to replenish his stock from the spend arrows lying around the trench and tunnel. After the two men exchanged a few words in a foreign tongue, the old man seemed reluctant to look back at the hobbit. And Carl was suddenly filled with foreboding as he saw the other archer weighing something in his mind. A hand came to rest on the hobbit’s shoulder. “I’m afraid I’ve bad news for you,” the younger of the two told him softly, so that the hobbit could barely hear him. “We saw your friend with the orange bearded one, carried off by Khamir and Adnan a little while ago. He was in poor shape by the look of things.”

“Not dead though, I’ll wager,” Dirand quickly added, seeing Carl’s stunned expression. “I don’t think they’d bother to move him if he were.”

But the hobbit’s mind had gone numb as the news sank in. “Where did go with him?” he asked. But before he had his answer the three heard the thunder of hooves break out at the back of the camp.

“I think they were taking him toward the shelter over there,” Dirand said frowning, for all three realized that this lay nearby the location now under attack. And the younger of the two archers, not hesitating, immediately sprinted off toward the fray leaving the two others by the side of the tunnel.

Carl handed the old man Hamin’s sword, which until now had been trailing in the dust behind him. Turning his attention back to the horse, he rapidly shortened the stirrup beside him. “What do you want me to do with this?” the man said.

“Use it well,” Carl said. “We are going to ride this horse and fight like we never fought before. Have you ever used a sword?”

“Wait… no! And I volunteered for archery not horses. I don’t know anything about horses… or swords!”

“Don’t worry about the horse,” Carl said moving to the other stirrup. “I’ll do the steering; you just swing that sword with all your strength.”

“But it’s a slaver’s horse!”

“It’s not his fault, you know. And that’s a slaver’s sword as well.”

“You missed my point…”

But Carl had already scrabbled up onto the horse’s back. “Are you coming or not?” he asked as the horse shuffled sideways under him.


“Aye, I’ll come, I’ll come,” the old man said, “Though I think it foolhardy.”

As soon as Dirand, had found his way onto the horse, it lurched forward, and the grizzled man grabbed Carl to keep from falling off. Together they rode into the wind.

[Brinniel]

Shae kept at a steady pace, her teeth gritted against the pain. Would she make it in time? One could only hope. But then, how much damage could she really do? She was only one woman—an injured one at that. Where was everyone else from the tunnel? Didn’t they realize the slavers’ plans as well? Such thoughts rattled through her brain until they were interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats following her own.
Slavers.
Coming from behind, they clearly had the advantage. Shae was not prepared to fight this way and if she were to save herself, she would have to avoid it. Kicking hard, she picked up her pace hoping they would not catch up to her. And then, against the whistling wind came a voice clearly calling her name. Shae slowed, feeling rather confused. Then the shout came again.
“Shae! Wait up!” Slowing to a near stop, she turned her head, surprised to find Reagonn and another ex-slave named Syth on top of their horses. Other than a few cuts and bruises, both remained unscathed. “What are you doing?” the former asked. “This isn’t a race you know.”
“Sorry… I thought you were slavers,” she muttered apologetically. “…Were you following me?”
Reagonn hesitated, then nodded. “What happened back at the tunnel was complete chaos. Everything fell apart so quickly. Among the mess I saw you take off suddenly. You seemed to know where you were going, so Syth and I followed.”
“You were worried for me,” the woman stated plainly.
The man gave a slight smile and shrugged. “You should know it’s never smart to go off on your own like that. Especially in the middle of a battle. We fight together.”
Shae rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand why you men worry so much about me. You all treat me like I’m helpless, or something. You know, the last time I wandered off, I brought back the Fellowship. I’m completely capable of….” She trailed off, thinking for a moment before changing the subject. “Wait a minute…where’s the rest of the cavalry? What ever happened to Ayce and Darren? …Korden?”
There was a pause. “They fell behind.” The response came from Syth, who spoke with a quiet and solemn tone. The look on his face reflected the devastation the ex-slaves had already experienced in tonight’s battle. He continued, “Then we just took off…after you. We left them all behind.” The young man stared accusingly at the woman.
“Only because we had to,” was Shae’s reply. “We’ve wasted enough time…we ought to keep moving.”
“And where are we going, Shae?” Reagonn asked.
Shae could feel frustration taking over. There was no time to explain, and yet she had to. “Do you not understand?” she retorted. “We only fought half the slavers at the tunnel. Where do you think the rest are headed? Our women and children are in danger. I abandoned the tunnel to help them!”
“Of course,” Reagonn nodded, his eyebrow creased with understanding. “If help is what they need, then I am ready. How about you, Syth?”
The other ex-slave nodded as well.
“Alright then.” The woman took hold of her reins and repositioned herself on the saddle, slightly too quickly. A sharp pain hit her left side again, and she folded over despite all attempts to hide the pain.
A concerned Reagonn approached Shae on his horse until they were only a few feet away from each other. In the darkness, his grey eyes wandered from the blood on her forehead to the swollen wrist. “You’re hurt,” he stated simply.
“Well yes, that’s what happens when one fights in a battle.”
“You’re in no condition to fight.”
His comment angered Shae. Who was he to tell her what to do? “Of course I am,” she replied. “Surely you don’t think I’d let a few minor injuries stop me.”
The man would not let off so easily. “Minor injuries you may think, but keep fighting with a wrist like that, and you’ll do permanent damage.”
Shae smiled and held up her injured arm in front of Reagonn’s face. “Are you telling me you know how to fix broken bones now? If so, feel free to set it…”
Reagonn shook his head, slightly smiling. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll leave you alone. We’ll just make sure to have Athwen look at it once the battle is over.”
“If she’s still alive, that is.” Both frowned at the thought, but they knew it was possible—no one had seen the healer since she misled the slavers into the trench.
The sound of a loud tear startled the two. Looking up, Shae found Syth, holding out a strip of cloth. “Take it,” he mumbled to her. “It will at least stabilize your wrist for now.”
Surprised at his kindness, the woman thanked him and wrapped the cloth tightly around the swollen limb. When she was done, all three ex-slaves looked at each other. Nodding in unison, they continued on together.

***

Though the storm was clearly not over, the wind began to slow, if only slightly. Squinting into the distance, Shae could see the outline of where the women and children were hiding. They were close. But as they continued on, she heard the sounds of shouting and her heart sank. She had hoped to outrun the slavers, but already a battle had begun. With a yelp, the woman raced on even faster, with her companions following close behind. What she was not prepared for, was what happened next.

There was a flash of something whizzing by, then a loud gasp. Shae snapped her head around to find a spear skewered into Syth’s chest. The man stared at her for a split second, then dropped from his horse, and the animal continued to race into the distance. The remaining two ex-slaves instantly halted and dismounted. It was Reagonn who made it to Syth first.
After checking the pulse, he glanced up. “He’s dead,” Reagonn said, his voice hollow.
Shae nodded, but she was paying little attention. The owner of the spear was approaching quickly. He came at such ferocity, the ex-slaves’ horses began to spook and back away. The slaver shielded himself well, and from the angle they were standing, the woman knew there was no way to hit him with a weapon of their own. Unsheathing a throwing dagger, Shae waited until he was only feet away. With a flick of the wrist, the dagger left her hand and slid into the stallion’s throat. The horse died instantly, tumbling to the ground, taking the slaver with him. There was silence.

The wind began pick up again and much visibility was lost.
“You think he’s dead?” Reagonn asked.
Shae didn’t respond as the two glanced from the heap of the horse back to each other. A movement caught the corner of her eye and she shook her head. Reagonn turned around and approached the dead animal cautiously. “Watch out,” she warned him. Reacting to her sudden comment, Reagonn turned his head at the woman, a mistake that would cost him.

Instantly, the slaver was up. His body was slightly bloody and bruised from the hard fall, but otherwise it seemed little harm was done. Reagonn had no time to react, and in a flash of steel, the heavy blade entered his stomach. Shae yelled in horror as she watched the man she had known for years crumble to the ground. The slaver turned around and rose up his bloody blade as he gave the woman a hideous smile. He strutted toward her, sword still in hand ready to finish the job. Shae released her own newly prized sword from its sheath and used it just in time to block the attack. The two clashed swords and the woman found herself in a better situation this time using a stronger weapon. She used her swift speed to an advantage and this time it was she who knocked the weapon from her opponent’s hand. The slaver stared at his bloody hand in horror—two fingers were gone. Shae looked back at him in surprise, almost laughing at how easy it was to fight this supposed highly skilled man. Then her old injuries took hold and she doubled over as the pain once again hit her entire left side.

Shae’s opponent saw her vulnerable state and immediately charged at her. Before she knew what was happening, Shae was on the ground, her sword gone from her hand. The slaver pressed his bloody hand into her throat, and the woman gasped for air. She kicked and clawed at him, but the man on top of her was too large and too heavy. He raised his uninjured fist and plummeted it into her left cheek. She struggled, but he continued to hit her again and again. Shae was ready to give up, when suddenly the slaver froze in his movements. She glanced up, only to see the end of a blade protruding from his chest. Behind him kneeled Reagonn, growling with both anger and pain, as he grasped tightly onto the bloody hilt. The slaver took several short gasps, then collapsed right next to the woman.

Shae stood up slowly, still shaking from her attack.
I’m a complete mess.
She couldn’t help but think this as she wiped her nose and spit the blood from her mouth. Her face felt sticky from both her blood as well as the enemy’s. A soft groan brought her attention back to Reagonn. He sat clutching his stomach, grimacing from the pain. Immediately, she was at his side.
“Let me see,” she instructed. Reagonn stared back, reluctant to remove his hands. “Please Reagonn,” the woman pleaded. “I only want to help you.”
The man lifted his hands and Shae’s heart grew heavy at watch she saw. The slaver’s sword had thrusted deep into Reagonn’s stomach, obviously penetrating several organs.
“You can’t help me,” he whispered, and Shae knew he spoke the truth. It was impossible for anyone to survive such damage. Yet, the woman found herself unable to face the facts, and instead chose denial.
“Of course I can,” she spoke confidently. “We just need to stop the bleeding.” Shae took off one of his two layers of shirts and tied it around his stomach. “I will take you to where the women and children are—surely the slavers haven’t completely breeched the camp yet. You’ll be taken care of there. There’s no need to worry. You’ll be fine—I’m sure of it.” She stood up and looked about. Her stomach lurched as she was unable to find what she was searching for. “Where are the horses,” she asked, frantic.
“They... probably frightened off…during the fight,” Reagonn spoke softly.
Shae cursed in frustration. “Very well then, I’ll just have to take you there myself.” She grabbed at Reagonn in an attempt to pick him up. But the man was heavier than she, and with only one usable arm, carrying him was impossible. Yet, she could not let herself give up, so she tried again.
“Shae…Shae!” Reagonn struggled to call her name as blood spewed from his mouth. “Shae, please stop already.” She finally listened, and let go of the man. “You cannot save me…You know that.”
“No!” the woman yelled through both tears and anger. “Don’t you say that!” A hand reached up to Shae’s, and Reagonn pulled her down near him.
“It’s okay,” he whispered to her. “I’m ready to go.” Shae’s hot tears splashed onto his cheek. Reagonn coughed. “There’s still a battle out there,” he continued. “They still need you. Don’t….don’t waste all you energy on me.” He gave a small smile. “All these years, I killed in the name of my friend Bornir, seeking vengeance for his death. But no matter how many men I killed…it was never enough…” Reagonn coughed again and gasped several times for air. Then his eyes fixed and he went still.

Shae closed Reagonn’s eyes and whispered a short prayer for safe passage. Standing up, she found her sword buried in sand and re-sheathed it. Staring at her companions’ corpses, she struggled to hold back more tears. Once again, the woman was alone. There was nothing more she could do except continue to her destination where the battle carried on. And hearing the cries in the distance, she knew it was time to go.

With the horses missing, Shae had no choice to walk. Despite her exhaustion, she managed to keep a fairly quick pace, her bare feet trudging through the sand. Not once did she take her eyes off her destination. Sounds became clearer and shapes took form. The battle was ongoing and all those involved fought intensely. Still too far away to identify enemy from friend, Shae continued her steps to bring whatever aid was needed. Suddenly, a sound coming from behind caused her to freeze in her tracks. She whipped around only to find two slavers on horseback coming her way. Glancing around, Shae began to panic. She may be close, but she had not quite reached the women and children’s camp. The only ex-slaves in sight were occupied with their own battles. There was no one to help her.

Shae could feel the sense of dread creep through her insides. Without a horse, she could not turn and run. And her duels with one slaver had been difficult enough—battling two of them at once would be impossible to survive. Injured and alone, she was already dead. Where was help when she needed it? The slaver continued towards her, weapons in hand, and still no sign of help came. Shae had no choice—she would have to face this battle alone. Giving a deep sigh, the woman unsheathed her weapon, praying that her luck would soon change.

[Child of the 7th Age]

For the past hour, Lindir and the young archers had played a game of tag with the three men heading south on horseback. What had seemed like an easy shot just a short while before was actually proving extremely difficult. Lindir would dart out from behind a boulder and try to slip up close enough to let his arrow fly straight and true. Although the winds had subsided to a bearable roar, they were still blowing stiffly. The Elf still could not shoot with any accuracy. Gretl and Wulf were having similar bad luck. Whatever element of surprise they'd had in the beginning was now completely lost. If the ground had been flat and open, the horsemen would have likely run them down, but the great clumps of scattered boulders offered them a handy refuge that the riders could not easily penetrate.

From the plains to the north and east, an urgent note from a rams horn swelled to a crescendo and then fell silent. The slavers stopped for an instant. glanced at each other, and immediately took off in the direction from which they had heard the horn. At the same instant, words of warning came tumbling into Lindir's head. Turning to his companions, he hastily explained, "Imak gathers his men for one final attack. They go to the grove where the women and children wait. Already, they being their attack." Gesturing with his arm to the others, the three took off at breakneck speed sprinting over the plain in the same direction as the slavers, hoping that they could get there before it was too late.

[Folwren]

Kwell watched Carl go until with wind whipped sand hid him from sight. Then he sighed and bent his head towards the wind and headed back the way he had come. He could hear nothing besides the rush of wind, but in his inner ear, he heard Carl’s voice. ‘They might be needing a stout hearted lad such as you, just now. . .You go take care of Azhar for me. I’ve a good hunch you might be better at it than me.’

Then came Azhar’s voice, shouting at him. He had ignored her. ‘Kwell, you louse. I am no child!...A real soldier wouldn’t disobey his captain’s instructions, and he wouldn’t desert his post!’ Would desert his post! Kwell urged his feet onward. Lindir had told him to stay back, but Kwell had thought that he had been told to stay behind so as to keep him out of danger. Could it really have been so that he could fight, when the time came?

He felt something sink in side of him. What if they were attacked? What if people were killed? What if he could have been there to help them? What if . . . what if . . .

But even as his feet hurried onward, his mind began to race to defend himself. They hadn’t told him that there might be danger. Lindir had not said that the women and children might be attacked. They had hidden them so that they would be safe. It was not his fault if they were found and some of them killed.

The excuses ran on in his head, but he could not dismiss the guilty feeling that lay in his stomach like a large stone. He knew he should not have left. He knew he had disobeyed and had done so intentionally.

Something interrupted his thoughts. He looked up and squinted into the wind. He’d gone too far to the right. His shoulders drooped farther, his feet worked faster, and he started again towards the left.

“I have to make it back,” he panted in the wind. “I’ve got to help. I must, I must, I must do something or I’ll never be able to face Lindir or any one else again. No one must die. No one!”

[Undómë]

Zagra & Mazhg


‘Look here,’ Mazhg whispered, lifting up the wadded woolen cloak which served it seemed as the absent slaver’s pillow. ‘Wonder who he killed to get this.’ She picked up the long sharp knife and drew it from its leather scabbard. ‘I doubt he had enough gold to have it made for himself,’ she went on, looking about at the poorer furnishings in the small tent.

Zagra took the weapon gingerly from her sister and inspected it in a hesitant manner. And more quickly slid it back into its case. ‘Here,’ she said with a shiver. ‘You take it.’ She watched as Mazhg tied the scabbard about her waist.

‘You know, Ungolt will like this I think,’ Mazhg said, patting the smooth, dark leather that hung down to her mid thigh. ‘She can use it with her sword,’ Mazhg went on, starting to look through the slaver’s leather sack tucked in at the foot of his rude bed. ‘I’ve seen the men back at the plantation...practice fighting.’ She snorted, remembering the all too bloody matches fueled by brave words and much strong drink. ‘Practice! Huhhhh!! Remember how many dead fellows they dragged off from the practice rings? Those men – they don’t care who they kill, long as there’s someone to mangle and bleed.’

‘Must be big farms where they breed all those ugly monsters,’ Zagra said, stifling a giggle. She shuddered at the thought. And in a brief moment of empathy, she felt some sort of sympathy go out to those women who must have served such beasts and borne their offspring. ‘Poor mamas!’ she spoke, almost to herself.

Mazhg looked fondly at her sister, the dim light inside the tent hiding her quick show affection. Such a tender heart! She shook her head. Sweet little fool...heart of my own heart... ‘Come Zagra,’ she called, taking her sister’s hand. ‘I don’t think we’ll find much more here. Let’s see what treasures another tent might hold.’

Like quick little shadows, the sisters moved quiet and low along the outskirts of the camp.....

[Regin Hardhammer]

Ishkur and Gwerr spent the hour sorting through their treasure of gold coins and tying them into smaller packets that they tucked inside their clothing and under the saddlebag of Ishkur's horse. They made sure everything was hidden and that no one could hear any jingling noises. All the while, Ishkur dreamed of how he would spend his share of the loot. In his head was a picture of a sturdy wooden hunting lodge with a large herd of horses grazing outside and several orc brats running around in circles in the yard, brandishing small swords. Where those Orc brats had come from, Ishkur wasn't sure but he kind of liked them being there.

On the walls of his lodge hung stuffed heads of boar and bear that he had brought down in the hunt. There were several females living in small, neat huts along the edge of his land. Now and then, he got up and ordered them around. Best of all, there were no bosses to tell him what to do. He could hunt and sleep as long as he wanted and spend the night carousing, and no one would yell or complain.

When the job of sorting was done, Ishkur turned back to Gwerr and grinned, "Well, my friend, a lowly maggot face you may be, but your idea was good. We should have no trouble getting back to camp and the Uruk-Hai will be none the wiser." Ishkur clapped Gwerr on the back. Still, there are two things I still want to do. Let's have at that ale. Those idiots won't be back for hours. I want some hot brew in my stomach to keep me warm in this storm. We can stay inside this tent since it's the sturdiest. It's blowing worse to the west so those fools will be tied up for a while."

"The second thing,....." At this point, Ishkur glanced away. His face was going red. He was having a hard time finding words to say. In fact, he could not remember when he'd said anything like this before. "Well, this probably doesn't make sense. But those females helped me when I was hungry. There's three of them. I'd like to give them a few of these coins--Zagra, her sister, and the one from the breeding camp who sometimes tags along with them." Ishkur could not even say the last one's name. "Yeah, that one," he nodded in reply to Gwerr's raised eyebrows. "She's the one who wants to learn how to use a sword." All the while, he privately thought how useful it would be to have a partner who could actually fight. Seeing the look on Gwerr's face, he quickly added, "Don't worry, Gwerr. I won't take money out of your share. And nothing very big. Just a coin or two. The silver ones that don't bring so much on the market. But when we finally get north, we may need some help setting up things. These women may even know a thing or two that we don't....." Ishkur thought deeply about this possibility for a minute and then muttered. "Probably not, since they're only women, but you never know...." This time Ishkur had a pleasant vision of female orcs complacently doing his laundry, sharpening his weapons, gutting the rabbits, and massaging his feet.

Ishkur turned and grabbed his large bag and started sorting out nine silver coins into three little piles and then tied them up with smaller rags. Then he poked his head out of the tent and looked around. Even with the storm roaring, he could see that there were many in camp. He stepped back inside and reported, "Well, Gwerr, the slavers' fine camp is now overun by our fellow Orcs. The whole band is here. I can see Makdush and his gang, and the women, and lots of others. Why don't you drag that ale barrel back inside the tent so we get our fair share?" Ishkur mumbled one more sentence, more to himself than Gwerr. "After that I'll go and give this money to the females and tell them to keep their traps shut." Ishkur had been talking so fast that Gwerr had not yet had a chance to say anything.

On a last minute impulse, Ishkur turned aside for a minute, untied the large bag and dug out one more silver coin, the smallest that he had. He stuffed it inside his pocket. This one was for that young Orc brat, the one they called Grask. He had no idea why he was doing this. He said nothing to Gwerr because he didn't think his friend would exactly approve....

[Firefoot]

Grask lifted his waterskin to his mouth for another swig of the fiery liquid from Iskur and Gwerr's keg only to find that it was empty. He felt vaguely discontented at this. He had drunk ale only once or twice in his short life, and never a whole skin's worth: only a small swallow snitched from the older Orcs, and typically on a dare. Now his senses seemed heightened and Grask was feeling remarkably carefree and bold, though light-headed. Life was good. He was possibly better supplied than he had ever been in his life; his pack was full and there weren't any other young orclings around to challenge him for it. And even if he were to want for something, an entire empty man camp was spread out before him, ripe for the picking.

He considered poking around the camp to find more ale to fill his waterskin - it couldn't be all that hard to find, as drinking seemed to be at least one thing men had in common with orcs - but decided against it. Gwerr and Iskur would undoubtedly find some more, and Grask could fill up then, if he wanted to and they still felt inclined to let him. And then there was the sandstorm that pricked at his skin and irritated his eyes and nose and mouth. Finding shelter would be preferable to finding ale.

Without making a conscious decision, Grask found himself again near the pit where the man children had been held captive. It ought to serve well; the wind would not reach him there. Grask slowly lowered himself down into the pit, though as he neared the bottom he somehow slipped and found himself sprawled on the ground. He blinked a few times in confusion and tried to clear his head. What had just happened? He shrugged it off.

He was disappointed to find that one of the meat packages he had thrown down to the man children was untouched. Surely they would have been hungry? Didn't they eat the same sorts of food? And that had been a nice chunk of meat. His initial disappointment wore off quickly, though, as he realized that he was rather hungry. He ate the meat himself, savoring the raw, juicy bites. After eating, he decided to explore the pit and quickly found the stream. It passed under the pit's walls and seemed fairly deep. Grask did not swim; he recoiled in disgust from the cool water. But he knew that some orcs could... and he supposed that men might, too. Why not? Could those men children swim? Had they escaped, rather than being put to death as he had previously assumed? So where would they be now? Might he see them again?

But he was not about to attempt a swim, and he contented himself with thinking over these questions while he waited out the sandstorm in the bottom of the pit.