The Hills of Evendim RPG

[Imladris]

Lira

Lira listened to Esgallhugwen’s fears for the wolf with sadness. Drawing her knees to her chin and clasping her hands around her legs, she nodded slowly and said, “I fear Fornost.”

Esgallhugwen looked at her quizzically and asked, “What do you mean?”

“It’s as if a sadness lingers there,” Lira murmured as Corn scrambled to her shoulder. “A dread feeling always comes to me when I think of the ruined city.” Dropping her hand, she stroked the cub’s chin with her long, skeletal fingers. She sighed and whispered, “He’s a cute little one.”

Suddenly, Corn flapped frantically into the air, cawing raucously the word of warning as men poured from the hidden refuge of the bushes, their swords gleaming with blood lust in the lurid light of the dying fire. Leaping to her feet, Lira stood frozen as she saw the men swarm around them. She could vaguely see the hobbits and men huddle around the fire swords and weapons drawn. With a swift motion, she withdrew the dagger, the gift of Esgallhugwen, and watch it brilliant whiteness glitter brightly in the dreamy, silver light of the moon. A passing thought rebuked her for being so thoughtless as to forget to bring her bow. Now she would have to fight almost hand to hand, at very close quarters with her enemies. Twirling the dagger easily in her hand, she shifted it to a more comfortable position in her hand as the company faced the tidal wave that fell upon them.

Lira was instantly torn from Esgallhugwen, who was lost somewhere in the screaming mess. A sword blade swung at her and she parried it with her dagger. Sparks flew, the blades screamed in agony. Her muscles tightened as his massive strength bore down upon her; blue eyes stared fixedly into his dark ones, the ones that froze with black hatred, his lips twisted in contorted scorn. Their blades rasped as they struggled to unlock the parry. Dropping into a half kneeled position, Lira twisted, slashing upwards at his face as she did so and with a final lunge thrust the blade into his heart.

Another was upon her before she had time to catch her guard. Almost instantly she was driven against the trunk of a massive tree, fending off the blows of her antagonist. For an elf, she was an able fighter and had great skills in weapons. However, she was a young woman against a man whose sadistic pleasure was to spill the blood of his victims and who lived for the joy of killing. He was stronger than she, and her strength was failing.

A livid form thrust himself between the elf and the man, his sable wings blinding him, causing him to stumble backwards. Onyx eyes hard as stone, Corn pursued him, his nails raking the man’s cheek until the blood flowed like rivulets down his cheek. Arms flailing wildly, he cried out in pain at the merciless onslaught of corn. Lashing out with his beak, crying hoarsely, the bird strived to tear his eyes out, eventually succeeding.

Glancing around, Lira saw the hobbits: Gorby was brandishing a burning stick wildly about him, while Anson loaded their small, wooden crossbows. Sprinting to them, Lira cried, “Behind that boulder, both of you!” She pointed to a stone and added, “I’ll protect you from behind.” The hobbits scuttled behind the boulder. Turning, to see if there were any who needed her aid, a searing pain ripped down her face, crossing her temple. Something hard hit her in the head, and she fell limply to the ground.

Gorby

I shivered as a chill wind managed to twist under my cloak and numbed my fingers. Huddling myself into a tighter ball, and grasping the quill feather which served as a pen, I continued my writing:

‘Tis mighty cold at night, here beside Fornoste. Thoronmere -- I scowled at the paper. I knew it wasn’t spelt right but I was to embarrassed to ask him how he spelt it -- is our leader. I think I heard that he was once a ranger. He realy is the perfect man for the expidition, since he has lived in the Evindim Hills.

Oh! I found an extra bottle of ink and some spare peices of paper (well wrinkled now, I can assure you) stowed away. I can only imagine that Doderic (fine fellow that he is) slipped them in when I wasn’t looking. Hence the reason I am writing.

It has been rather dull, to be perfectly honest. Not a sine of anything. The only jolly elf is Lumielle -- I know that‘s not right. The other elven lasses are too busy brooding and being depressed, subsequently extraordinarily dull company. Fin, I shan’t even try to spell her name (I have a hard enough time spelling as it is), is quite withdrawn.

And the fair is very poor. Nasty camp cooking. But I do supose it is better than starving, though my waiste has shrunk, since my trousers don’t fit nearly as well as they used to. But all in all I am enjoying this adventur. Every once in a while, one needs to be free of people, of village sounds, of seeing hobbits scurry this way and that, intent upon their business. To see a different of this world. When I think of Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck, I wonder how it must have ben to see those grand places: Gondorr and Rohan! And the king!

I stopped writing for my fingers had developed a cramp. Sighing, I put my things away and once more thanked Doderic silently to myself. I made myself promise to thank him whenever I got back to Buckland -- unless something else happened to me instead. Quickly pulling my things back out again, I added: Thank you, Doderic, for the extra paper and ink. Putting them back again, I flung the sack across my shoulder and stared deeply into the fire, toasting my hands as I did so. For some strange reason, I was not sleepy this night.

A crash rent the silence, and I glanced quickly up, bewildered as I saw men, armed with cruel swords, hurry towards us, screaming all the way. Climbing to my feet, I shook Anson awake and bawled, “Wake up, Anson! Wake up!” Turning around, I looked anxiously for my cross bow, but didn’t see it -- drat me and my tendency to misplace things! I darted around, looking for anything to use as a weapon against them. Finally, I took up a burning log, and brandished it about me. Anson was beside, loading our two cross bows -- good fellow. Always finding the things I loose.

An elf came to us and ordered us behind a boulder. I was only too happy to comply -- it was too dangerous in the open. I don’t like to consider myself a coward, but I did want to live, if you get my meaning. And having an elf watching you back -- well, it couldn’t get any better.

As we crouched behind the boulder, I peeked around it, about to gesture the elf to come join us. I recognized her as Lira. But she didn’t. She paused, her blue eyes sweeping the area. A man at came at her, his fell sword falling: her head the target. Raising my crossbow, I opened my mouth to shriek a warning, but froze as his blade met her pale hair. My finger on the trigger, I could only watch in dismay as she crumpled to the earth. My finger squeezed suddenly, and I shot the man as he circled around her.

Jumping from my hiding place, I ran to her and saw that blood gushed from a wound that cut across her forehead down her cheek, nearly catching her eye. I smiled as I heard her breath shallowly, slowly. Anson was with me, and together, we dragged her best we could behind the protection of the boulder.