Bloodstained Elanor RPG

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

From where he lay in the cart, Ambarturion watched as the orc fell with an arrow jutting from his shoulder. The Elf scowled darkly to himself: whatever plans his distant kinsman had hoped to lay, they had been badly disturbed by the sudden capture of one of their number. Ambarturion strained to see if any were coming to his and his companions’ succour, but he had only a limited view of the lands about and could not tell fully what was happening. There was no more time for debate and doubt, he had to act. With one last mighty shrug he broke the bonds that held his hands and reached for those binding his ankles. Coromswyth whispered to him urgently, “My knives, quickly!” She rolled onto her stomach and held out her arms, and Ambarturion knew instantly what she was suggesting. Reaching into her long sleeves he withdrew the hidden weapons and slashed at the cords at his ankles.

He turned then to Megilaes, but a sudden cry of warning from Coromswyth drew his attention. Ambarturion barely had time to parry the orc’s blow. Three of the creatures had come scampering back to the cart at the sight of their captain’s fall and were now clearly intent on slaying the prisoners. They were enraged and in full furor, while Ambarturion was flat on his back, armed only with short knives and stiff from having been bound for nearly a full day. But he was in his wrath and as he rose up, his eyes blazed with the light of his age and those who looked upon him quailed.

Leaping upon the orcs, the Elf slashed the throat out of the first. The other two came at him, but he swirled below their attacks and spinning about on the ground like a striking adder he sliced through the leg of one, before coming up and burying a knife in the gorge of the third. He then coolly stooped and dispatched with his bare hands the orc he had hamstrung. He looked about for more enemies, but for the moment at least the only living orc was the wounded captain. In mere moments, Ambarturion had freed the other Elves. As he cut the bonds of the wounded stranger, there appeared at the side of the wagon an Elf dressed in the garb of a Mirkwood scout. “Come,” he was saying hurriedly, “come with me! We must be away before they discover your escape.”

Ambarturion drew himself up to his full height and looked upon the Elf with thinly veiled contempt. Ambarturion was unused to taking orders, and did not like the peremptory tone of this person. “Your companion cannot flee in his condition, nor will I run away from orcs. Coromswyth, you remain here with the wounded and see what you can do for him. If it is safe to move him, find shelter in the trees. Megilaes and you…”

“Thorvel,” the newcomer replied, stunned by the manner of this tall Elf with eyes like blazing stars.

“Thorvel, you will accompany my student and I in pursuit of the orcs.”

“Ambarturion!” Coromswyth’s tone spoke in equal measure of caution and resentment – resentment at being ordered once more to avoid battle, and caution for Ambarturion not to presume to lead where he was in debt to a rescuer. Ambarturion noted her meaning, but there was no time for such matters.

“No,” he said coolly. “You must stay here and see to his wounds. If the orcs return they will slay him.” Coromswyth merely nodded in mute acquiescence, but he could tell that she was unhappy with his manner.

Thorvel, having recovered from his initial shock, was the next to protest. “We should not pursue the orcs, they are too many. Let us seek shelter and come upon them in secrecy.”

Ambarturion paid little attention to the other Elf, not even deigning to look at him as he replied. “The orcs are many, your companions are but two. Would you allow them to be overcome by these monsters while we seek shelter for ourselves? Come, we are enough to lend your kin aid – if not, we are enough to die with them.” Not waiting for a reply he returned the knives to Coromswyth before stooping for an orc’s sword, and racing off in pursuit of the enemy.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

The jolt of the cart woke Lomarandil. Opening one eye slowly he saw Gashronk staggering, blood pouring from a wound in his chest. Reaching down slowly for his knife that lay on the cart bottom he muttered to himself, such careless fools orcs are...taking hold of the hilt he twirled it around in his bound hands and sliced upwards, cutting his bonds. Luckily for him the orcs had broken the arrow shaft...and by the looks of it had tried to stop him dying...ransomed, was the first thought that came into his mind. Smiling he stood up slowly. Gashronk was staggering to the cart with his sword, probably to try and kill him. With a huge cry Lomarandil threw the knife with his remaining strength, it embedded itself in Gashronk's neck, the orc gurgled for a second, then collapsed.

Lomarandil stepped onto the ground hesitantly, then walked up to Gashronk, turning the huge body over he saw the orc was still alive, but would die in seconds. "Elf!" the orc tried to say, but all that came out of his ruined windpipe was a gurgle. Lomarandil took hold of the knife's hilt, and wrenched the razor sharp balde right round Gashronk's neck, cutting through the spine. Lomarandil held the head up, before throwing it into the bushes near Snikdul...

Looking at the corpse, he saw a flash of gold and reached for it, the pendant of his dead wife came out in his hands and he put it back around his neck, giving the body a final kick, which jolted something out of a pocket. Looking closely Lomarandil saw that is was his cloak pin. Smiling he retrieved his cloak from the cart and repinned it. Walking over to Thorvel he whispered in his ear. "Thank you." before turning away.

[Durelin]

Targil stared with a look of disgust that bordered on hatred at the scene. He had moved slightly closer to the orc camp upon the disappearance of Lómarandil, and he now saw what his heart had been dreading since Thorvel had said the young elf was missing. Now that it had happened, it seemed that the capture of Lómarandil had been inevitable from the beginning of this mission. With the rest of the scouts having to look after the young elf, while still carrying on with their duty, the focus on this task was lessened, while its importance would never diminish. And its importance would never be forgotten. Not by Targil, at least. He glanced at Calenvása. Thorvel was still trying to believe make the elf his Captain, when he did not want to be. Targil supposed he was the only one who saw it, and this saddened him greatly. Calenvása would not lead, as he had lost all confidence in himself and his actions. Targil had watched for so long, disapproving of the leadership he followed, and now, when all leadership was gone, he smoothly took control.

Feeling a sudden dread come over him, he quickly rose from where he crouched and looked around him, ready to move, even though there was no reasoning behind this feeling. He had learned long ago not to ignore such signs. Today, it was of the utmost importance that he did not, for there was now no sign of Thorvel. Targil turned to look at Calenvása, who sat on the ground, staring at nothing. It was a rather pitiful sight, and so made the elf’s disgust grow. For a fleeting moment, he felt his eyes burn with anger and hatred, one that went beyond the surface, beyond simply annoyance. But this was a quickly passing moment, and one that left him feeling guilt. He did not look at the elf that he should be calling Captain as he spoke.

“Thorvel was with you a moment ago, Calenvása, was he not?” Targil no longer tried to remember to call him ‘Captain’. He now tried not to. The elf had lost the respect that went with such a title when he had gone beyond the greatest extent that Targil would put up with and given up. A Man given up with life and hope was a sad thing, barely worthy of being called living. But an Immortal who had given up was a disgrace to Elvenkind, and a disgrace beyond the reaches of human disgrace fell upon that elf. The fact that an immortal being without any hope or grace walked the earth marred the beauty of the Children of Illúvatar, who were one with Eä, their souls tied down by it and to it.

“He was…a moment ago.”

From several yards away, a small noise rang in his ears. Calenvása practically jumped at the sound, automatically brought out of his thoughts by a foreign sound, the habits gained as a scout not lost, even in his sad state of mind. He rose from where he sat to join Targil as the elf immediately made his way toward the sound. Perhaps it was not the wisest move, but they had few choices, and he knew how to silently come upon a single person or a group of people; enemies, he quickly assumed, in this case. Coming upon the sight he had expected, he did not waiting to see if Calenvasa had followed him before flying out upon several orcs snooping around in the trees, his two hunting knives drawn for the first time on this seemingly fated mission. Finally the elf had something to direct his anger towards, and he battled only to slaughter.

As his third orc went down missing an eye and with its throat cleanly slit, Targil frantically searched the area around him for another enemy, his heavy breathing caused by more than the simple exertion of the fighting. But he was surprised, and his breathing lost its furied heat, his heart slowed and his mind cleared, as he watched Calenvasa stab a quivering orc body on the ground through the middle. Head tilted slightly in a plainly curious look, Targil eyed his Captain. The elf's expression did not change as he pulled his knife out, took his eyes away from the dead orc, and looked his companion in the eye. Targil kept himself from shuddering, as a strange light that glowed behind the despair in the Captain's eyes sent a shiver up his spine and a warning to his heart.

Taking his eyes away from what should not frighten him, Targil scanned his surroundings, even though it was obvious that the rest of the orcs - he had briefly counted 6 - had fled. He knew the creatures, and after watching four of their comrades die, they would not stand to see any more. Another small sound among the trees and Targil tensed up, his eyes darting to where the sound had come from. Looking at Calenvasa out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the elf had not moved, had not tensed. The scout Captain looked disinterested. Luckily the face that emerged from the leaves was immortal.

[Firefoot]

Thorvel stared after Ambarturion and Megilaes as they disappeared into the trees. “The plan...” he started to say, but the words started soft and faded from his lips. The plan had gone to pieces starting with Lómarandil’s capture. Now it was time to improvise. He was too wrapped in his own thoughts to pay close attention as Lómarandil regained consciousness and made his way over to where the Orc lay. The young Elf clearly wasn’t fit yet to do any serious fighting, and the wound in his shoulder didn’t look pretty, to say the least. Somehow there had to be some way to get all the Elves back together. They were spread out now, as surely as birds were scattered when their perch was disturbed. They could do nothing effective as spaced out as they were Why did Ambarturion see that? Thorvel did not think that the other Elf was thinking very clearly at the moment. They needed to escape from the Orcs and regroup, not go plunging wildly in every which direction. Thorvel remembered a small stand of trees not too far from where they were right now; he thought he could see it. He noticed that Lómarandil had regained that which was his from the Orc camp, and turned to the female Elf who was now standing nearby. He thought he had heard her called Coromswyth. Despite her appearance, he suspected that she was very capable of defending herself if need be. Ambarturion had told her to stay there, but Thorvel saw no sense in that and said so.

“I think it would be better if we all gathered together away from here,” Thorvel said. “Do you see those trees over there?” She nodded. “Make your way to those, and take Lómarandil with you. He is in no condition to fight, so make sure he does not try to come after us. I think that he may be foolish enough to think he is a fair match for the Orcs that are around. I will try to find the others and meet you there. Does this sound all right to you?”

“I suppose so,” she replied, sounding resigned. Thorvel nodded, and started to walk towards Lómarandil when he noticed Lómarandil was already coming to him.

"Thank you," Lómarandil whispered. Thorvel was rather startled and somewhat confused; he had not expected it and was not sure what the thanks was for. He did not let it put him off for long though, and he knelt to retrieve his arrow from the dead Orc and replacing it to his quiver before speaking.

“You and Coromswyth,” - this was said with a movement of his head toward the female Elf - “are going to make your way to that stand of trees in the distance. Do not think you are fit to fight the Orcs; your shoulder needs tending to.” The last bit was added when he noted the younger Elf open his mouth as if to speak in argument. Now he scowled: it was a look Thorvel was becoming used to. He decided to take that as agreement. “Good.” With that, Thorvel turned and began running swiftly and softly towards the trees, and the sound of crashing metal.

Even as he went, he removed the knife from its sheath, wanting to be ready should he come on any Orcs. He found one, and slew it from behind before it was aware he was there. He wiped his knife on the fallen Orc, and continued where he found Ambarturion and his younger companion finishing off a pair of Orcs.

“Listen to me, Ambarturion,” said Thorvel, determined not to let the other Elf’s manner overcome him this time. “This is madness. Eventually we will come upon more Orcs than just a few stragglers, and it will be three against many, if we do not find the other two first. I do not care whether you do not want to run from the Orcs or not. If we are slain, it will do nobody any good at all, and Lothlórien will have little or no warning at all of the coming attack. We must regroup elsewhere! I have sent Coromswyth and Lómarandil on to a small stand of trees where the Orcs will not find them, and I said we would join them, and we will. It is in that direction,” he said with a gesture of his arm. “You say my companions need aid? What they need is to know that the rescue is complete so that they can escape!” His tone was soft so as not to alert the Orcs of their presence, but forceful. Ambarturion’s frown had grown deeper with each sentence. Thorvel could tell he did not like taking orders one bit, and suspected that an argument would come if he allowed it to. “Meet us there. I will get the others.” He turned to where he thought he heard sound of battle without waiting to hear the other Elf’s reply. He dearly hoped that Ambarturion would listen.

Sure enough, within a few minutes he found Calenvása and Targil hidden by the trees. There were some dead Orcs lying on the ground, and by the sound of it, more were coming.

“Hurry!” he said urgently. “The prisoners are free, and I have arranged for us all to meet in a group of trees not too far from here. Follow me!” Thorvel hoped they would all meet together. It all depended on whether the Lórien Elves and Lómarandil had decided to listen. He plunged into the trees, Calenvása and Targil close behind. Oh, I hope everything works out...

[Arry]

‘He’s dead! The Elf’s killed ‘im!’

Snikdul’s voice was squeaky as he announced the demise of Gâshronk, ending in a strangulated gasp as Gromwakh clapped his hand over his companion’s mouth and pulled him down. Elves, he’d heard, have a nasty way of overhearing things. The two Orcs were silent for the space of many heartbeats before Grom dared a look up. The captain was indeed dead and the Elf who had done him in was nowhere to be seen.

Nor were there any of the other Orcs about. He’d heard the big Elf and another go thundering after them, weapons at the ready, he supposed. Gromwakh wondered how many of his fellows would return. He’d also heard the big Elf tell the lady she was to stay with their wounded companion. Grom poked his head up to look for her, but did not see her by the wagon. He wondered if she’d managed to drag the wounded one off to the cover of the trees on the other side of the wagon. He debated with himself whether to take a little look-see about the apparently deserted camp, then thought better of it. She’d looked as formidable as the Big Elf. And lady, or no, he figured she was probably as set against dealing with Orcs on anything other than a dire level. He sat back on his haunches and thought for a few more moments.

‘Let’s pull back even further,’ he whispered to the white-knuckled Snikdul. ‘We can circle around under cover and find what’s left of the troops.’ He pulled on his companion’s arm, motioning for him to stay low and move quietly. He recalled a scrap of information one of the Uruks had let drop when they’d first heard about going to the Golden Wood. It wasn’t too far from the mountains in parts, the Uruk had said, and he’d wondered if they’d come down through that route.

In his simple line of reasoning, Gromwakh held on to that word – ‘mountains’. They’d go back to the main body of the army and even if the route didn’t go near the mountains, still perhaps he and his little band could drift away at some point and make for them. That little beam of hope in his Orcish mind, he urged Snikdul on toward where they thought the other Orcs might be

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Ambarturion scowled at Thorvel’s retreating back. It was madness to stop the battle now: the orcs were scattered and leaderless, unaware still of their danger and more bent on booty and pillage than ordered combat. With swift action, the Elves could destroy them one by one, rather than face an ordered attack. His disdain for these Mirkwood scouts grew even more. So used are they to hiding in the trees and shooting their opponents from beneath the cover of darkness that they have lost the will to face them in open combat. He tightened his grip on his sword and paused, lost in a moment of rare indecision.

As though he had been waiting for just such an opportunity, Megilaes spoke. “Perhaps Thorvel is right, Master. If we rejoin the others we can take counsel for a more ordered defence.”

He had expected a tart retort, and was surprised when Ambarturion replied to him in an even manner. “Thorvel is not right, I fear. At the moment the orcs are dispersed into small groups and could be easily engaged by us. We could destroy half of them or more before they were even aware of their danger. Retreating now gives them as much time to regroup as it does us.” Ambarturion looked about, having already decided to press ahead with the attack, when he saw through the trees three Elves making their way for the meeting point described by Thorvel. Ambarturion cursed beneath his breath. “Come Megilaes; it would appear that we must follow the plans of our Mirkwood brethren.” There was little point in continuing the battle alone.

They ran back through the trees and saw no orcs, but their cries were all about them. Once, as they passed by a small growth of shrubs, Ambarturion sensed the sickly gaze of two orcs in hiding, but as they seemed more intent on avoiding combat he passed them by. They found the others waiting for them where Thorvel said they would be. Coromswyth had bound the wounded Elf’s shoulder and now stood with her blades drawn. No matter what Ambarturion said to her now, she would not be left behind in the battle. He smiled at that with grim satisfaction. The two new Elves with Thorvel were a surprising pair to Ambarturion. One bore about him a deep despair that Ambarturion did not have the time to think upon, although it was clear that this Elf was the nominal leader of the group. The other seemed in equal parts angry and dismayed by his leader’s manner. Ambarturion began speaking quickly.

“We haven’t much time. The orcs will soon realise that we have escaped and that their captain is dead. They will then seek to recapture or kill us rather than return to their masters with news of their failure. Now that we have withdrawn from the battle they will have time to take counsel for the attack, so we must do the same. You three,” he said pointing to Thorvel and his companions; “you are still armed with bows. When the orcs come, shoot as many as you may. The rest of us will engage them here, in the midst of the trees where their advantage in numbers might be lessened.”

[Amanaduial the archer]

The dark elf, quite as tall as Ambarturion and bearing himself as well nodded briefly as the latter doled out instructions, before turning away curtly and speaking a few words quietly to his companions. Coromswyth watched one in particular more carefully - the gloomy looking, fair elf. He was certainly the eldest among them: the air of age and wisdom that came only through long experience settled around his shoulders like the dust of time. He was evidently the leader of the group, and as Ambarturion began ordering the others around, the female elf kept her eyes on him from under her eyelashes, pretending to be fiddling with some detail on the binding of her dagger's handle. He did not seem to mind so much, nodding mildly, but as Ambarturion turned away, the elf stopped the other two and murmured a few words of his own to them. Interesting.

Ambarturion took a deep breath, surveying the area in front of him as if running through in his mind a mental vision of what would happen if all went according to plan. Then he turned his head to look at Coromswyth, and she saw the pained expression flit momentarily across his face. "Lady - are you sure you will fight with us? I would prefer it if-"

The female elf cut him off with a shake of her head, smiling lightly at him. "Please...please, Ambarturion," she said softly. He watched her with his keen, dark grey eyes, then sighed and seemed ready to turn away. Rather than leave it simply like that, Coromswyth gave a small smile and continued: "Besides - my bow is in the back of that wagon." She spun the dagger and sword in her hands easily in two circles around each other, flashing two deadly rings of silver through the air. She grinned dangerously at Ambarturion. "You don't think I'd leave it there, do you?"

The older elf smiled slightly at her even through his worry, then his brow crumpled in concern and his eyes closed up suspiciously. "Your bow is in the back of the wagon? How?"

Coromswyth felt her pulse increase marginally as she remembered the Southron captain's face and his kind actions. No matter what the male elf thought, that he was merely the lesser of two evils, she couldn't help but fight the certainty in her mind that there was something more in this youngling's kindness. She knew exactly who had put the bow in the back of the wagon. Not letting on for a second, forced herself to shrug lightly, and was pleased to note that her male companion had not tried to probe into her mind. "Who knows? Maybe the orcs meant to get something more out if it - it is a fine weapon, would sell to one of the Men on guard for something extra, I suspect."

Ambarturion's eyes rested on her only a for a moment more before he nodded, satisfied, shrugging as the suspicion departed from his eyes. Coromswyth relaxed slightly but it took a while for her pulse to slow down. The image of the Man's eyes were in her mind again - dark and melancholy, full of wisdom one so young shouldn't have to know. She smiled slightly to herself in confusion - of course, it wasn't surprising that he had made an impact on her, but why should she be grateful to him? He had 'saved' her from the orc's touch...the thought was immediately parried by the instantaneous response in her mind: it was he who had originally captured her. She sighed. She knew who had put the bow in the back of the wagon - but was no closer to knowing why.

Taking a deep breath and calming herself, Coromswyth swung her blades around deftly once more, getting the feel of both long and short together. As she did so, she caught the eye of one of the archers, who had shot a curious look at her as she did so, and smiled without thinking. He seemed slightly taken aback - after all, her readiness to smile was so different from the other, severe Ambassador. Looking away, Coromswyth watched Ambarturion's still form nearby, worry tinting her light eyes.

"Be careful, Ambarturion."

The other elf stiffened momentarily and turned to look questioningly at Coromswyth, wondering why she had chosen to share her good luck for the fight secretively rather than openly with spoken words. She held his eyes for only a moment, then let them flicker to the other elves before they returned to his. Her meaning was perfectly clear, but Ambarturion did not reply: he kept her gaze for a moment, then turned again.