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

[Tevildo]

Azhar stared down into the pit and waited until the one of the boys walked over to the rope and began to climb up. She could see his feet and legs were wet. Azhar sighed but couldn't bring herself to scold the first girl who had encouraged them to drop down into the water. The children had been so excited in those early days when they'd left the plantation, but since then had found little time to play. Azhar stepped away from the mouth of the cave and started back to the rock where she had set out the food. But she got no further than two steps. Immediately, she stopped, her mouth and eyes wide open in shock as she took in the young orc who stood stuffing food into his mouth. Fighting to keep her panic down, she glanced back towards the pit and in a stern voice ordered the children to stay exactly where they were.

Azhar's immediate thought was to look for a weapon to defend herself. Before she could actually do that, the young thief stuffed another handful of bread and meat into his mouth and began to dart off. With a shock Azhar realized the boy was no older than herself. She had seen the look in his eye many times before.....a child so hungry that he or she would do anything to swipe or beg a little food. Instantly she felt ashamed. The orc gave no sign that he was going to attack. She was no better than the ones down the river who had voted to execute the intruders even though they had done them no harm. "It's alright, boy" she called out. "I have more in my bag. Plenty more. There's enough for us all." I must be crazy, Azhar thought. If only Athwen was here, she'd know exactly what to do.

Gwella stared at the young woman who was approaching, not sure whether she should leave or stay. The girl did not look like much of a threat, and she was still very hungry. She stood unmoving on the plain. Not more than ten feet separated the two figures. Finally, the orc snapped back, "I'm no boy! I'm a girl. My name is Gwella. Throw that stuff over here if you mean it." Gwella imperiously jerked her thumb towards the canvas bag.

Azhar stood in absolute shock. A girl? She never would have guessed it from her looks. But what shocked her more was that this creature had a name. Somehow she had never imagined orcs having real names. Azhar wondered who had given her a name. Then she took three steps over to the pouch and drew out a small loaf of bread and tossed it towards Gwella. The orc did not step forward but neither did she run away. Gwella bent down, snatched the loaf, and began to gnaw at the end, still glaring suspiciously at the other woman.

Azhar was wondering what she should do next when something happened that put the orc out of her mind. A sharp childish voice filled with panic sounded from the bottom of the pit: "Help! Help! The rock moved. Ina's trapped. There's water....lots of water..." A tangle of childish voices and cries was followed by a deadly silence. Meanwhile, up the river some hundred feet, the meeting continued, with no one even aware of what was happening at the entrance to the cave.

[Folwren]

Athwen, sitting on the opposite side of the hill, heard the disturbance in the executions. She had not meant to listen. She didn’t want to hear, but she couldn’t help it and her ears latched onto every sound. Finally, with a quiet word to Azhar to keep an eye on the children, she stood up and hurried in the direction of the execution.

A strange sight met her eyes as she came around the rise of ground. There were the orcs, lined up and ready to die, but not yet killed, and behind each of them stood the one who thought it a privilege to kill them. But before this neatly formed line knelt two new figures, unbound, unrestrained. Athwen’s feet slowed as she stared in wonder, and then, seeing that something odd was truly afoot, she sped up and hurried down the slope in time to hear the first orc’s plea.

“We’re on the run like you are… we’re alone in this cursed land and afraid like you are… we just want to get out from the plantations and to live in freedom, as I believe you did.”

Athwen drew in a sharp breath between her teeth. She had been right after all. Against all odds, her guess, her plea in defense of the captives had been the nearest to accuracy. She stood back away from the other group of ex-slaves and listened as the two female orcs unfolded their story.

As the second one finished speaking, Athwen saw first the child that she referred to. He still hung by the cloth of his collar from Qat’s hand. Her eyes grew a little wider as she looked at him. He was just a child! It was obvious that he was just a child – and yet he was being treated abhorrently. Not even a young wild animal would be handled so. She felt disgusted, and the loathing that had risen in her earlier came back.

At that moment, while Ungolt made her last plea, there came a faint cry from the direction of the children. Athwen stood farthest back of all the people there, and she may have been the only one to hear. She turned about abruptly and looking back the way she had come. What was going on?

Then she heard it more clearly, the cry for help. Her heart gave a small leap and her breath caught momentarily and she instantly began to run back.

[piosenniel]

The verdict the others had reached sickened him. He’d followed the group out of camp, hoping that there would be a change of heart somehow. Change of heart! Wishful thinking. Pride drove men's hearts more than compassion.

Guilt drove a greater portion of his thoughts. He never was much of a speaker and he hadn’t spoken up when the judgment had been made....as he should have, he knew. And the fact that he still hadn’t felt well, that his mind was still a little muddled, did nothing to assuage his feelings of complicity. I could step in..... he supposed. But what would that accomplish? I’d be cold-shouldered at best for the rest of this expedition, or thrown out of this traveling fellowship altogether, at worst. Perhaps he should return home, he thought, as he’d turned away from the execution site.

So, you're as full of self-pride as those you would accuse, eh? he chided himself sharply.

Rôg’s wanderings had taken him a space away from the camp and the killing grounds. His thoughts his main company as he struggled with what he could, he should, he might do. The buzz of husky voices drew his attention outwards, as he walked along the periphery of the site where the men prepared to kill the captives. He stepped nearer, focusing hard on what was being said.

Foolish boys! he growled to himself as he heard the one’s plan unfold. Two disheveled looking youngsters were preparing to escalate the events with rocks..... Rocks!!! Good intention.....brave, even, but in the end they would be killed, too. Rôg shook his head. He’d done nothing before, perhaps he could do something now. Think, man!!!

Intent on reaching the two before the first stone was hurled, he trod unawares on a dried twig. The two young males startled, dropping their rocks. Rôg moved in quickly, grabbing them by the necks of their tunics. They twisted madly in his grip like little wildcats, one of them landing a few hard blows against his shins with her frenzied kicks. He hauled them down, in a crouch, hissing himself at them to be quiet and listen.

‘Nice plan!’ he began, offering as friendly a look as he could toward the two. ‘But I don’t think it would work. You’d all be dead at their hands, I think.’ He hauled them down, his grip still firm on them. ‘Now listen . . .’

With a few quick whisperings he laid out his scarcely thought out idea. It was a slim chance it might work, and he could see the one boy, the one who’d done most of the talking, thought so as well. But, too, there came a calculating gleam to the fellow’s eye as Rôg rambled on with his reasonings. In the end there was forged an agreement, if a grudging one at best. Rôg released his grip on the two, hoping not to be soundly whacked in the head by the perilous looking spade now held firmly in the grasp of the one young lad.

‘Right then,’ Rôg said, preparing to stand up. He unfastened his belt, indicating the fellow should secure his hands, so that Rôg would appear to have been captured and bound. The trio stood up and advanced a little ways toward the men and Orcs.

Mazhg held one of Rôg’s arms and threatened him with her knife held against his side. Zagra held his other arm, brandishing the spade as they drew nearer to the site. For his part, Rôg stumbled along as if beaten, and indeed his breeches’ leg was torn and the leg bled where he’d been so soundly kicked at first. They stopped short of entering the execution place itself. Mazhg shook Rôg hard, pushing him to his knees. She glared at the men holding the male Orcs, and nudged Rôg hard on his shoulder, pricking him a little with her knife.

With what he hoped might pass for a grimace of pain, Rôg looked beseechingly toward the men and in as beleaguered a voice as he could manage he spoke.

‘They’ll trade me for those Orcs you’ve got,’ he began. ‘They only want us to leave them be to find their own place to settle. That’s all they’re asking.’ His plea hung in the air between the two groups.

Great Winged One! he appealed in silence. Don’t let them think I’m just another expendable soul like the Orcs.....

[Undómë]

Zagra’s grip on the strange man faltered as her attention wandered. She was nervous and getting more so, standing out here so exposed. And there was too much to remember . . . keep her face grim, mean-looking, Mazhg had told her. Hold up the spade as if she would wallop him should he move too much. Keep your eyes on those men. And remember to sneak looks at Mazhg. ‘If you see me rub my cheek,’ Mazhg had said, ‘then get ready to run. And when I yell “run”, you light on out of here. Quick as if the Dark Lord himself is at your heels. Run and run and hide where we did beyond the bend in the stream . . . like we did that once. You remember, right?’ Mazhg had made her repeat the instructions and the landmarks for the hiding place. ‘I’ll come for you . . . soon’s I can. You stay hid.’

She felt Rôg’s shoulder twitch slightly, reminding her to keep contact. Her eyes flicked toward Mazhg. Her sister’s eyes were on the men and Orcs.

Mazhg called out to the captive males in a loud voice, the harsh, guttural sounds of Orkish tongue breaking the tense silence.

‘Sha! You big, dumb, snagas! Getting caught!’ She stopped herself, biting back the string of epithets ready to tumble off her tongue. She spit in the dirt for final emphasis. ‘Don’t mess this up, globs-bubhosh!

[Child of the 7th Age]

Gwella followed behind Azhar as the girl stumbled over to the entrance of the pit and stared down into the hole. With the shifting of the largest rock, the water had broken through and was now flooding the interior of the cave. Gwella could not see very much but she could hear the sound of swirling water and desperate splashing noises made by small hands and legs as five children struggled to keep their heads afloat.

"Stupid, stupid," the orc girl growled. "Rain comes. Caves flood. Rocks move. Even chicken-brains know that. " Azhar did not reply but latched onto the rope that still hung limply from the grating and was about to lower herself into the pit. Gwella growled again and shook her head, yanking the rope from Azhar's hands. "No.... You help me. Don't like water but I do it. Then your bag is mine.' Gwella pointed toward the satchel still bulging with food. It was also evident from the orc girl's disdainful tone that the she did not think much of Azhar's slight frame or lack of real muscles. With a single leap, Gwella propelled herself onto the rope and shinnied down inside the pit. She landed with a large thud and splash as the weight of her body caused the rope to come loose from the grating and spiral downward into the water.

[Firefoot]

Cruel men! Horrible beasts! His right forearm throbbed and was virtually useless to him, but at that point such was the least of his distresses. He could feel himself dangling there, held by his neck. It had not only been painful, but humiliating and frightening. In the hands of that large brute, there had been nothing he could do. Never before had he felt so helpless.

And then, to be dropped to the ground like a sack of potatos - no, not even that, for one would take care that the potatos were not bruised. He had been dropped in a heap like so much expendable filth. It was a miracle he had enough wits about him to run away.

The females had come though, that was what mattered - two of them, anyway. He ran to them and crouched behind them. The tears that had been forced to his eyes from the trauma were already beginning to dry, though his body was still shaking uncontrollably. From behind Urga's shoulder he looked out warily at the crowd of men, watching with particular distrust and fear the man who had picked him up.

Two more females soon arrived, bearing a man between them, a captive. Quietly Grask watched the drama unfold, wondering if he should slip away. As a rule he had always kept himself clear of grown-up affairs, but it was a little late for that. He would stay for a while anyway - he seemed to be out of danger for now, though the men still had their blades pointed threateningly at the male orcs' throats. Whatever the verdict, it was out of his hands.

----

Johari

First a child orc, and now females. Her desire for the male orcs' blood to be shed slackened but did not wholly abate. While less strong than the males, the females were no more to be trusted, she was sure, and as for the child, he would soon grow up to be as much a beast as the Orcs they were now about to kill. Already he was savage - foolish, perhaps, but savage, swinging his little sword about like that to kill those that threatened his elders.

And when had Orcs stopped at killing women and children? Could any blame them for protecting themselves? This would be revenge, revenge for all those merciless years she had spent at Orcs' bidding. Revenge for her mother's death. Revenge for a stolen childhood. Revenge for the theft of her hope. Revenge for... revenge for Kalin.

She could almost hear Hadith's words though - how much killing is enough? What had the child done to deserve death?

The only responses she could think of sounded trite and unfounded even in her own head. Responses that would make her little better than an Orc herself.

Perhaps that's what this land does to us, though - makes Orcs out of us all. You do what you have to to survive, and live the only way you know how.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Not wishing to be a witness to the executions, and judging himself in too sour a frame of mind to help divert the children's attention, Carl had gone off alone, to see about storing the things he had scavenged during the night. The wagon was sure to be almost as full of wounded when heading out, as it had been when bringing them into the camp, so if he was to salvage anything at all, he must find the extra space for it somewhere, or carry it himself. And the practicality of the puzzle appealed to him, serving to calm him considerably, even though he had kept up a fiery soliloquy at first, threatening to pack himself up, and leave the group in order to search for Stumps, who he was convinced had more common sense then the lot of them.

Still, making no move to carry out such a threat, he sat on his hunches searching through the bits of iron in the heap he had assembled, until he had found four good sized brackets with loops formed in them. They were just the sort of thing that a slaver might think to fix to his wagon, so that he could pull several lines of chained slaves behind it, while the slavers remained free to harry them. But the hobbit had a far better use for them. Crawling underneath the wagon he fastened one to each corner, singing so that he would not fall into the gloomy business of speculating on the nature of the sporadic noises of the camp that reached him. It was hard work, for he had to make his own bolt holes in the tightly grained wood, and that proved far from easy. But when he was done, he thought to tie a corner of strong tent maker's cloth to each of the four loops, letting it sag in the center like a sling. And into that hammock would go all that the cloth would bear without braking, the rest he would have to find another place for.

Unfortunately, his fingers weren't as nimble as they might once have been, and it was a struggle to attach the stiff cloth. After quickly dismissing his original idea of making small slits at the corners of the material, so that he could tie the two edges together around the bracket, he settled on stuffing the whole of each corner through the loops and making a knot the size of his fist on the other side of the loop, to hold it in place.

Once finished, Carl stretched and stood back for a moment to admire his handiwork, before he began the tedious business of sorting the scraps, and carrying them by the handful to the wagon. Absorbed as he was, he remained by force of will quite oblivious to unraveling of events that were unfolding all around him.