Defense of the Poros RPG

[Manôphazân]

Lan’Kâsh allowed his anger to swell up inside him like a towering wave of fury until it crashed against his silent, iron will and washed away like the ocean tide. In seconds he went from a red-hot anger to an icy cold resolve. Against orders, he would destroy the Gondorians immediately, disregarding his intended purpose of drawing a larger force of Wingers to the valley. Much of the Army of Harnen lurked just over the horizon, expecting the northerners to expose themselves in force at the Poros, but Lan’kâsh could delay no longer. His honor demanded action.

Gathering his own soldiers about him, he moved quickly to the tent where the Gondorian had been kept. Looking down from his horse, he saw Jinan gathering his men into a semblance of order. The rescuers of the northern officer had chosen to attack at the exact position where these untrained farmers had stood guard, and their ranks had been sorely reduced. Less than 30 men were able to still fight, and Jinan looked shaken, his nose bleeding profusely as he shouted orders.

As usual, Frôzhal was nowhere to be seen and most likely lurking in the trees. The lieutenant made a mental note to himself to kick the cowardly boy in the face the next time he saw him. Fortunately, there was a competent man leading his group, so Lan’kâsh could concentrate on the upcoming battle and forget about the disappearing corporal.

He shouted for everyone to form on Jinan’s group, which he ordered into skirmish formation. The soldier was an angry and arrogant young man, to the point of insubordination, but he followed orders, even when did not agree with them. With luck, he would outlive his naivete and look back one day to realize that corporals are seldom told the whole story, and their opinions are irrelevant.

“Forward, march” he shouted, spurring his horse forward and falling into place beside Gimilzôr. They rode for a while in silence by the great hulking catapults being pulled by teams of draft horses.

“These machines slow us down,” Gimilzôr complained. He scratched at an ugly wound just above his left ear.

Lan’kâsh agreed, “Yes, but the settlement is not far now. We outnumber the enemy and will overpower them easily with these contraptions.” He did not care much for the great, clumsy weapons, but he did understand their usefulness. “By tomorrow we will tearing down the walls of Poros with these machines. There will be no more heroic actions from the Gondorians. At least none that will succeed.”

“Do you think they will fight?”

“I do. They have seen the force we have and will seek to evacuate their families, but they know they cannot escape us, so their soldiers will fight.” He took a long drink from his water bottle. “I hope to see the officer again. He will fight.”

[Nerindel]

Once back at the settlement Captain Anhelm had seen him to the small dimly lit room of the healers, where they now fussed about applying cold compresses and strange smelling ointments to his bruised and battered face and ribs, ignoring his insistent reassurances that he was fine and that he had to get back to where he would be needed most. Another healer pressed a cup to his lips and urged him to drink; hoping that if he complied they would finally let him go he drank. The sweet tasting liquid ran warm down his throat warming his entire body.

“Can I go now!” he asked handing the cup back to the healer, The dowdy older man frowned disapprovingly, shaking his head, “That rib may be more than just bruised; you should at least rest a while.”

Before he was even finished Astalder was shaking his head, “The Captain will need every able body he can muster, I am a little bruised, not dying!” he insisted, impatience lacing his words.

“Stubborn!” the healer snorted shaking his head, “Soldiers! always eager too rush to meet deaths call” he muttered shaking his head and wandering over to a low set shelf. , Where he removed a small dark bottle.

“Here, if you insist on this madness then at least take this,” he said placing the bottle into his hands.

“What is it?” Astalder asked holding the bottle to the light and examining it’s curiously.

“It is nothing much, just a healing draught, but you may well need it.” Astalder nodded his thanks and slipped the bottle into his pouch.

“Now get you gone before I change my mind!” the healer sighed deliberately turning away to tend another of his wounded. Astalder grinned and quickly made his way out of the room. As he reached the stairs that lead to the Armoury he heard a familiar voice, cracked and filled with worry and concern.

“Astalder… Please, I’m looking for my Husband I was told he was brought here, Astalder!”

“Feawyn” he called to her, she turned in his direction and he could see that dark lines that traced her delicate eyes and tears that rolled down her relieved face, she smiled and ran towards him. He winced as she wrapped her arms about him and resting her head on his chest. “I feared you where lost,” she sobbed silently.

“I promised I would return,” he whispered stroking her golden hair; she looked up at him and managed a weak smile.

“Captain Anhelm has ordered the evacuation! But you will not be coming with us, will you?” she sighed, her eyes glistening with fresh tears.

He pulled her closer as he regretfully shook his head, “I must remain, I have seen our enemy, their numbers are great and they are not far enough behind for all of us to retreat to the safety of Pelargir. We must stand and hold the fort long enough for you and the other get to safety. He whispered.

“What good is that safety if we do not have you there to share it with us!” she cried, her pleading eyes touching his heart that he thought it would break.

“I am always with you, my love. No matter where I am, my every thought is of you and little Falmir, But I must stay.” he smiled sympathetically, brushing away her tears. Slowly she nodded her head, she knew that everything he did in his life was done to protect them and his people, Gondor was in his blood and nothing she could do or say would ever change that, he was the last lord of the fallen city of Minas Ithil and even if he denied his heritage he could not escape it, it was carved into his very being.

“You do what you have too.” She smiled weakly, forcing her tears back and pulling slowly out of his comforting embrace, “just know that I will always love you” she whispered as she turned and hurried down the passage.

“And I you” he whispered staring after her.

“Astalder?” another voice questioned. With a start he turned to face his addressor, “Yes, I am he.” he answered seeing one of Anhelm’s officials.

“Captain Anhelm wishes to speak with you, once you feel up to it,” the man flustered.

“Well I am up to it, just let me get suited up and I will speak with him,” he answered.

“Good, good, The captain is already in the Armoury” the older man said gesturing for him to follow.

Nodding his consent he followed the official through the dimly lit passages to the makeshift armoury. As informed the Captain was already there, tall and strong the very image of a Captain of Gondor, his helmed head held high as he studied his sword and contemplated the approaching battle. Astalder felt proud to he witness to the young mans loyal determinations and any doubts he had about the captains abilities now faded from memory, in the young Captains eyes he could see the same zeal for crown and country that drove him to stand and fight. Unsheathing his sword and raising it to his brow he bowed respectfully.

“I stand ready to serve and protect,” he said re-sheathing his sword. As he approached his captain a young man appeared with his things, Astalder nodded his thanks and taking the heavy bundle, gestured for the lad to leave that he would attend himself. As Anhelm spoke, he pulled on a chain mail tunic over which he slipped on the black and silver livery of his station, a Roquen of Gondor, noticing with a slight smile the embroidery to the shoulder, the mark of his house, a crescent moon raising over a white tower.

“Feawyn” he whispered touching the fine stitches, for only she in the settlement would know his true heritage. With a shake of his head he fastened on his vambraces and re-belted his sword about his waist, holding his helm under his arm.

“I’m yours to command!” he said once he was ready.

[Orual]

Anhelm smiled as Astalder came up and saluted. "At ease," he said. Astalder relaxed. "It might be the last time you're at ease for a while. The Haradrim are coming, and they're coming fast. I want every man and boy who can fight to fight." He looked Astalder over. "What I don't want is for men who are incapable of fighting to push themselves beyond their limits. You have done an admirable job, Astalder. You don't have to do this if you are still injured. Your honor is secure."

"With all due respect, sir, my honor is my own concern," Astalder said, his voice polite but his eyes firm. "I'll fight alongside you as long as I can stand."

"Stand to fight?"

"Stand on my legs."

Anhelm smiled, his throat tight. This was brotherhood. This was a soldier. He clapped Astalder on the shoulder. "You are the best I have, Astalder. Thank you. I look forward to fighting next to you."

"Look forward--?" Astalder began, but Anhelm was already onto the next thing.

"All men to defense stations. Get the women and children out of here as soon as you can. But once the settlement is secure again, once we've taught the Haradrim that Gondorians don't give up as easily as they think that we do, everyone will come back. If the battle looks like it will take longer than expected, raise the red flag to say that the evacuation is to continue. Take them as far as it takes to keep them safe. The Haradrim, though they harm us, will not harm our women and children."

As he strode around the settlement, a golden feeling of pride rose in him. This was his settlement. His city. It was beautiful and he would defend it. The golden glow was only overshadowed by one feeling: the lust for battle. This would be a glorious war.

[Imladris]

Jinan fingered his dagger and smirked. The Poros was not far away, the Gondorians knew they were coming, and he was sure they would put up a fight, thus shedding more blood than was necessary on the Harad side. Jinan sighed. Why could they not just surrender? Because they probably knew that they would slaughter them without mercy. Jinan smiled his toothless smile. Yes...they knew that they would die either way. But was it not much more pleasant to just die quietly and swiftly, without the despair that you are fighting a useless battle and that their dead bodies would not dam the strength of Harad?

He shook his head. This honour was a foolish honour. It did not serve a purpose, it did not forward their cause, it would not save them. Well...no matter what they did nothing could save them. The toothless smile hovered about his face.

"Halt!" The troops slowed and Jinan saw that they had neared the Poros Settlement.

[Novnarwen]

"Halt!"

They halted.

Frôzhal let his gaze wander around and about. They were armed and ready. A feeling of distaste about the whole battle made Frôzhal's stomach turn. He couldn't care less about this settlement. He knew that there was a great possibility that he would never survive this attack, even though he was a great warrior. He shook his head, changing his mind; of course he would survive, and the whole Gondorian army would probably be wiped out. They would die like flies. The Haradrim tried to think positively, as a bunch with dead flies frightened him. Did he want this? It didn't matter. It would come anyway. The battle would take place, no matter what. This didn't depend on him. He was nothing but a solider with a platoon. It was indeed useless to think like this, as he couldn't control anything. The sooner they were wiped out, the better, he thought reluctantly.

He felt the sun in his neck, making him as uncomfortable as possible. Frôzhal hated the sun, and especially now. Letting the sun go to the soldier’s nerves just before a battle was not wise. However, he didn't seem to notice anyone else feeling this way.

The Poros settlement too, was bathed in the sun. It was not a very big settlement, or so Frôzhal thought. It would be difficult, nevertheless, to bring it down. The walls, just in front of them, were stout, strong and quite tall. Clearly the catapults would be a useful tool in this battle. After they had used their catapults and the wall had fallen, it would be possible to really attack the settlement itself. He wondered what was behind the walls; how many men were there? How did it look like? And how it would look like after they had put it to ruin. It was difficult to imagine this, but all the same easy.

When the battle broke out, the settlement would be filled with men fighting for their lives. He imagined the sound of steal against steal, the archers letting it rain arrows and spearmen running into each other piercing the other's flesh. Battle cries of pain and despair and orders would be heard, but no one really listened. To you it would be fainter than an echo, even though you were so near.

After the battle, when the Haradrim had won, The Poros Settlement would probably burnt to the ground. And then rain would come, and turn out the fire and the Settlement would be lost and maybe forgotten.

[Nerindel]

The sun burned a reddish, orangey glow across the evening sky. Standards of Gondor and the Poros fluttered in the cooling easterly breeze. The Poros was still, poised and ready, the anticipating silence was deafening. All had been set in order and now there was nothing left but to watch and wait. Archers like marble columns; Tall and erect, lined the main forward wall, Their golden helms glistening in the fading light, Long bows in hand and arrows comfortably within reach. Several men now walked the walls silently lighting the torches and Astalder watched them all trying to engrave every brave and determined face into his memory. He knew that the wall would eventually fall to the Haradrim’s monstrous machines and that many of the men he now watched would fall with it, they were good men, but their keen sharp eyes were needed to delay the enemies advance and lessen their numbers before they finally breeched the wall, but even knowing this didn’t make it any easier to swallow, his throat tightened as he thought of the sacrifice these men would make for their home.

His gaze then turned to the main gate below them, it was closed tight and heavy wooden struts reinforced it, strengthening it against possible attack. Here also were the Roquen, they would meet any breech of the main gate, Dispatching as many of their enemies as they could. Their number was small, less than a third of the size of a full contingent. Thirty he reckoned at a glance and at their head he could just make out the tall proud figure of Khalad and Josef, The former having been promoted to first lieutenant of the Poros Roquen and the latter his second. It was odd looking down on his fellow knights, he should be down there with them sat upon his horse, ready to die with them as one of them, but the Captain had insisted that he would be needed as his second, reluctantly he had accepted and hoped, no prayed that there would be no need for him to take command. He could willingly march into battle risking his own life, but to ask, no order others to do so; he wasn’t sure he had the stomach for it.

His gaze then shifted to the Poros’ main body of Defence, a hundred or so men, all armed with swords and spears. Among them he could make out a few familiar faces, His friend Talfas the large innkeeper of ‘The Poros Crossing,’ the blacksmith, the baker and even a few of his wife’s stable hands, lads no older that boys. He could easily distinguish between the villagers dressed as soldiers and the Poros guard, the Guard stood tall and proud ready to die in their defence; they knew what they were about to face and what was expected of them. But the settlers did not and it showed in their faces, fear and apprehension. They where right to fear for he had see what was coming and even he could not deny the desperation of their situation. But soldier were taught to hide their fear and Astalder buried his deep and would not allow it to enter his mind.

He looked back across the settlement, in the direction of the rear gate were the women and children would make their escape, his wife and son among them. He did not know if he would ever see them again in this life, but he took some comfort in knowing that they at least would escape what ever fate was to befall the Poros.

“Are you ready?” Anhelm asked, his steady eyes still watching the horizon. Astalder turned from his thoughts and regarded his captain. Anhelm stood tall and proud, his sword in his right hand and his left balled and settled behind his back. He stood defiantly his grey eyes burning with unwavering determination and in that moment he felt proud and gained a new respect and love for his captain, Anhelm would remain defiant to the last and so would he.

“I am!” he replied confidently, drawing his own sword, the towers of the moon, engraved on each side glowing eerily in the torch light.

A horn sounded as the last rays of the setting sun caught the silvery gleam of helm and spear as the Haradrim army crested the horizon. Several men shifted uneasily as the ground shook and the two Catapults rumbled into view.

“Steady!” Captain Anhelm ordered, confidence bolstering his command.

“Archers ready!” he cried and every archer fluidly knocked arrows, pulling the string taunt and ready, their sharp eyes watching keenly the advancing lines of their enemies, waiting for their Captain to give the order to fire.

Astalder’s grip tightened on his sword, their was little for him to do until the wall was breeched, so he thought through his training and the many battled he had fought and won, letting the lust for battle grow within him, so that when the time came he could use it’s strength to crush his enemies.

[Orual]

Anhelm watched as the archers pulled their bows taut, his grey eyes scanning the ranks with pride. "Ready...ready..."

He watched as a young soldier stood straight, the muscles in his arms tensing and sweat trickling down his face. Anhelm followed his eyeline to the advancing ranks of the Haradrim. They moved in like locusts...

"...But they'll move out in caskets," Anhelm murmured, a fire in his eyes. Astalder looked concerned, but Anhelm paid him no mind. This was his moment for glory.

"They will break like the ocean on the walls of the settlement!" he cried. "They will break the walls, expect that now. We did not have the time to prepare our settlement for this! Not our buildings. But we are prepared! Every footsoldier, every archer, every cavelryman here is ready for this battle. We were born to fight in this war!"

"Captain..." Astalder said quietly, but again Anhelm ignored him.

"We were born to fight this!" Anhelm repeated. "They will break like waves upon us, and then we shall--"

"Captain!" Anhelm turned irritably to Astalder, but his anger faded when he saw how close now the Haradrim were.

"Archers, ready! Ready!...Fire!"

The battle had begun in earnest.