Red Flows the Sirannon RPG

[Encaitare]

The mountains had been growing before them for many miles, and at last the regiment had come near to the place where they would camp for the night. Boldog and orc captain Glûtkask halted the regiment with a barked order. Two hundred orcs, weary from the cold and the day's march, stopped in their places. The rest of the regiment was following in divisions of a similar size, for this attack would not require risking their full strength.

Glûtkask observed their surroundings. The terrain was already growing rougher and rockier; the Misty Mountains themselves stood but few miles away. He thought with derision that some of the fool Elves nearby probably considered it a beautiful sight. His withered lips parted to reveal crumbling teeth as he thought on how much improved the scene would be as soon as some elven carcasses were left to rot on the stone.

The two lietentants, one for each company of 100, came to him awaiting orders. They were an unsightly pair, orcs who had proved their mettle enough to be trusted with some authority. The captain surveyed them with yellow eyes, not wanting the encampment process to take any longer than necessary.

"We're three miles from the valley," he told them, his voice like wet, grating stones. "That's close enough that we can ambush the Elves coming from Lorien" -- he managed to twist the fair name into something less savory -- "when they come alone, but far enough that they won't see us until it's too late. The scouts'll be returning soon to tell us of their progress." He glanced eastward. "The sluggards had better be back by nightfall. For now, get your companies into some sort of order when they set up camp. I'm not going to command a regiment in shambles, hear me? It's just temporary, remember. We'll not be settling in; we're striking as soon as the Elves are in sight."

"What're the plans for them? The tactics?" asked one of the two, a squat creature called Lushurd with a cloak of rodent skins -- heads and all.

"Later," Glûtkask growled. "Report to me when your companies are set. Then we'll talk tactics."

[Firefoot]

At the captain’s order to halt, Grimkul threw down his pack right where he stood. He was tired of forced marching, tired of being forced to do anything. More than once in the past several days he’d had half a mind to simply desert and set off on his own, though Ulwakh’s good advice had prevented him from doing so, saying he would not get far in this barren terrain before being spotted. Grimkul didn’t particularly care; he figured he could fight any that came after him. Ulwakh knew better than this, too: large as Grimkul might be for their small breed of Orcs, he wasn’t a match in size or strength to most of the Orcs in the camp, the Captain included.

And he had more than half a mind to slip away now. They were close, oh so close, to the Mountains now, the same mountains where the pair had once lived. “What say we slip away, now, Ulwakh? They won’t see us now, eh, in the setting up camp? We can hide up in the mountains, be done with this filth. Be just like the old days.”

But Ulwakh was shaking his head. “We’s too far south – this ‘ere mountains are Dwarvish holds. We’d ’ave to go north first, ’fore heading into the mountains… and we’d not get far. See how far you can see? There’s not any cover for us. We’d be brought back and punished for sure… and that captain ain’t exactly a nice one.”

“So let’s be done with the captain,” said Grimkul, looking on his companion with irritation. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t want to go back to the mountain tunnels.”

“I do, I do!” Ulwakh rushed to assure him. He had seen that light in Grimkul’s eyes before – the one he got when he was getting ready to knock off a head or two. Ulwakh preferred to keep his head. “It’s just, we’ve got to be smart about it.” That was a bad thing to say; Grimkul didn’t like it when he mentioned smarts. And while Ulwakh would never say it out loud, Grimkul didn’t have a whole lot of smarts, but he still got angry if he thought anyone was offending his intelligence. Ulwakh hastily covered up, “We’ll get our chance, you’ll see.”

Grimkul chose not to respond. Instead, he took out his scimitar and began searching around for some small animal. He felt like fresh meat tonight. Ulwakh still didn’t know why Grimkul preferred the scimitar for hunting and such; weapons like his own knives were much more efficient. Once again, though, he would never say this out loud.

Grimkul’s blade was poised over a rodent hole, ready to kill the unsuspecting creature that showed its face. Too bad they didn’t have any bats around here – bats were tastier than rodents. In fact, Grimkul liked bats so much that he had made his jerkin out of batwings. He was distracted from his thoughts of bats as a nose and whiskers appeared at the bottom of the hole. Just a little bit farther…

“Get this camp in order; it’s in shambles!” called out their company leader as he walked by. “Captain’s orders!” Grimkul’s rodent disappeared back into its hole. He scowled at the leader – Lushurd, his name was.

“I’ll give you orders,” Grimkul muttered, but he was mindful of Ulwakh’s restraining hand on his arm and did nothing for the time being. Ulwakh feared for the day he did decide to “give the captains orders.”

[Kath]

Having been sent out as a scout to find out what the terrain ahead was like and whether there was a good place to conduct an ambush from Ugburz was getting hungry. He'd thought as the leaders made camp that he'd have a chance to go hunting or at least pilfer something from Gradakh, an orc he had developed a strong dislike to. Instead he had been sent out with orders not to come back til he had something worth reporting. As he had left he had seen Gradakh sitting on a rock, smirking as he stuffed something into his mouth.

Brooding on his misfortunes he suddenly noticed a movement. Looking over to where it had come from he quickly realised what he had seen and ducked down behind a bush. Looking through the leaves was difficult so he slashed some out the way with a knife, grinning to himself at the thought of destroying something the Elves held dear.

As he watched he saw a lone Elf creep through the shadows opposite him. It obviously thought it was too quiet and unobtrusive to be noticed, but Ugburz had not been chosen as a scout for nothing. He had keen eyes for an orc and the ability to keep still and breath quietly so as not to be noticed. The Elf paused for a moment, looking towards the bush behind which Ugburz sat, but his tricks seemed to have worked as it looked away again and moved on. For a moment it looked toward the mountains, and then it disappeared into the growing darkness.

Ugburz remained still for several moments, knowing the Elves used their abilities as dirty tricks. The Elf could still be there, just waiting for him to think it was safe and get up. Then the second he did it would shoot him, with that uncanny accuracy that would leave him no chance of staying alive.

Finally he crawled out from behind the bush, staying in a low crouch to create as small a target as possible. Once he'd reached the relative safety of the taller rocks he ran full pelt back to the encampment. The rules were to tell one of the faster scouts but he wasn't going to let some young thing take credit for what he had seen. And he wanted something to gloat to Gradakh about as well.

Reaching the camp he headed toward his leader's tent and barged past the orcs standing guard outside. The orc inside looked up in anger and Ubgurz shouted out his news before he could be dragged off.

"I saw an Elf! One of their scouts. They must be close!"

"Did it see you?" he asked rising from the floor.

"No I was hidden."

His leader smiled grimly and headed out of the tent past Ugburz toward Glûtkask's area of the camp.

Assuming that his work for the night was done Ugburz stole the remainder of the meal his leader had been eating and loped back to his patch of ground, desperate to find Gradakh and inform him of the evenings events.

[Amanaduial the archer]

“Did Lord Celembrimbor not speak to you concerning the Three Rings?”

Though the question was sensitively asked, there was still no concealing the surprise that tinged Maegisil's voice - and that, along with the assumption in the wording of the question, made Narisiel shoot the other a very sharp look. But his features told her immediately that he was not mocking her, far from it: he was simply inquiring. And the surprise in his voice, she realised, mirrored her own - her own shock at how far she had distanced herself from her lord.

"I haven't spoken much with him recently- that is, he hasn't called upon- or rather, I haven't..." Narisiel trailed away, folding her arms and shrugging as she faltered to a halt. Raising an eyebrow at Maegisil, the craftswoman smiled ruefully. "I'm making excuses," she stated simply. Trying again, she said carefully, "No. No, Lord Celebrimbor has not spoken to me of the Three - or not of what finally became of them."

Maegisil's grey eyes studied the other's face silently, but even through his silence, Narisiel knew what he was going to suggest yet. As he opened his mouth to speak, she butted in quickly. "Maegisil...Celebrimbor is expecting you tonight?"

"I am getting later as we speak, indeed," the other replied with a smile. His face regained some of its solemnity as he continued, "Lord Celebrimbor does not see many of his counselors regularly any more - but that simply means that he has plenty of time in which a meeting could be arranged."

The statement had all the subtlety of a labelled brick thrown through a window, and its point was not missed by Narisiel. Unfolding her arms and wiping her hands nervously on her apron as her eyes darted to the window, the words thrown to the edge of her lips but refusing to spill over. It had been long since she had spoken to Celebrimbor, indeed, but...well, maybe this was not such a bad thing. If there was talk of the Rings, if Maegisil, one who had not been involved in the work of those innermost forges nearly a century ago, knew of them and spoke of them as if they may be of concern to the smith... perhaps it was better if she kept herself and her family out of such matters. She had her husband, her forge and responsibilities, and her very own, most precious jewel: Artamir. Narisiel knew the power of the rings: if they were to go off, the repercussions...

You are one of Lord Celebrimbor's advisors - as such, you have responsibilities, no matter what.

Narisiel sighed, her eyes still fixed distantly on Celebrimbor's regal dwelling, biting her lip slightly. No matter what he concerns she could not escape that truth. Coming to a decision, Narisiel turned suddenly back to Maegisil who immediately turned his gaze to the cupboards in a badly concealed cover of the fact that he had been curiously watching her.

"A necklace it shall be then." A new edge of decisiveness leant itself to her voice as she turned back to business matters. "I will draw up a few rough designs orf ideas that I think appropriate and will deliver them to you as soon as I can, either through my apprentice or...well, or by hand." Maegisil smiled slightly and Narisiel returned it, nodding thoughtfully. "And when I am up at the palace, who knows what else I may get done?"

Maegisil bowed his head formally, still smiling with a decided air of satisfaction that Narisiel knew was not entirely to do with her agreeing to take his commision. "Good evening, Narisiel."

Narisiel ducked her own head slightly and bid the other goodnight as he turned out of her forge. Turning back to her 'box of tricks', the smith let her hands stray absently into one of the boxes that Maegisil's fingers had run through earlier. The dying sunlight as it faded behind the high walls of the city glinted through the luscious gems within, the very essence of the sun seeming to swirl inside the fine, beautifully cut rubies. With a smile, Narisiel lifted her hand a little, letting the rubies fall through her fingers until only one of the tiny jewels remained, glowing from within from the borrowed light from the sun - and even as she watched, as she sun sank lower, the light died suddenly, leaving only the blood-red teardrop resting on her palm.

The elf's smile vanished. Replacing the ruby quickly, she hastily locked the cupboard up, tidied her work away and made for home.

[Arry]

Skald spluttered awake and staggered to his feet. Any other day and a boot would have gone flying after Bror’s form. But Skald did not relish the thought that his brother might be just as likely to pick up said boot and hide it somewhere. Bat-brained changeling! he growled under his breath. Surely we are not sons of the same mother! He snorted with irritation. I’ll pay you back in my own time, mud-worm!

He knuckled the sleep from his eyes, yawning and stretching himself awake. Pulling his soggy night-shirt over his head, he used the drier hem of it to rub dry his face and hair. Tossing it over the wooden trunk which stood at the end of his bed, Skald reached to his bedpost where he’d hung his breeches and tunic the previous night. He pulled on his clothes, found a relatively clean pair of socks, and jammed his feet into his boots.

The beard was another matter. With it, he took more care. He combed out the thick length of it, then divided it and made two neat braids that hung down from either side of his chin. Each was tied off with a wrapping of thin leather cord and a gleaming brass ring affixed over it.

Riv was already up when he entered the kitchen. The two brothers acknowledged each other with nods and a few communal grunts as Skald filled the small knapsack he’d brought with bread, cheese, and smoked fish. He could feel Riv about to comment on the quantity of food, but he held up his hand to stave him off. ‘Don’t plan on going hungry from here to the East-gate brother! Now hand me a small skin of wine and I’ll be off, if you don’t mind.’ He eyed Riv for a moment. ‘And yes, I’m a bit snappish this morning. Seems there’s a leak in my room . . . over my bed . . .’ He said no more, but hurried out to the outer chambers and made for the path that went eastward.

-----

Bror and Skald met up as agreed in the large chamber east of theirs, off which a number of other families had their quarters and workshops. Skald refused to give his brother the satisfaction of seeing him resentful or angry and was all briskly businesslike instead.

‘I’m going to see the Grimsteel’s first,’ Skald told his brother. ‘I’m sure Bildr and Bisi will want to lend their hammers to our company. And I know they’ve just finished the project the King had set for them, so they will be at loose ends and ready for a bit of action.’ He chewed on the side of his thumb, in thought for a moment. ‘Meet you down the way where path dips down toward the King’s bridge. You have some fellows near here you’re going to round up, yes? I won’t call on any others until we reach the eastern chambers . . . the Brassbeards and the Hardhammers have a few strong arms they can send with us, I’m sure.’

Skald set off at a run down the chiseled path leading north to the Grimsteel forges . . .

[piosenniel]

Riv could not sleep. The news from Skald about who was behind the increased activity of the Orcs kept his mind churning. And what had begun as a small rankling ember of displeasure had now become a hot flame of anger. The long remembrance of enmity against the Dwarves from both the long gone Dark Lord and his whelp fueled it; fear for his wife and son fueled and fanned it.

He had caught what rest he could on the couch in his wife and son’s chambers. They were sleeping when he came down to bed. His mind was already churning and he knew if he slept beside his wife his tossing and turning would awaken her. ‘One of us at least, he grunted to himself as he stretched out on the couch and pulled the bearskin over him. ‘One of us should at least sleep peacefully this night.’

Up long before dawn, he made his way to the kitchen above and gulped down a steaming cup of tea by the light of the small banked fire on the hearth. Skald it seemed had left his armour for him already; Bror’s would appear when he wakened. He washed out his cup and left it on the counter. Taking down one of the lanterns from its peg on the wall, Riv checked it for oil and lit it with a sliver of kindling. He was off, then, heading into the southern chambers, toward the forges of the Glitterfists.

~*~

Afi, the oldest Glitterfist son, was up already, sorting through a tray of gems that were yet uncut. He welcomed Riv with a surprised smile and offered him a cup of strong, dark tea laced with honey and a stool to sit in at his worktable. His face darkened as he listened to Riv; his fingers clenching and unclenching about the wooden handle of a rock chisel. He was one of Riv’s closest friends and from him, Riv held back no detail of what he had learned from Skald.

In the end, Afi woke his brothers, Brand and Dari. And they in turn brought their younger apprentices who slept in a small room off the forge - Egil Deepdigger and Odi Ironforge.

~*~

Their gear stowed in great packs on their backs, the five companions quickly followed Riv down into the storerooms below the Stonecut chambers. The six Dwarves made short work of loading up a small cart each with dried meats, skins of ale, and the Dwarven journey-bread, cram. Once done, they headed back up to the main floor and eastward to the place where Riv had promised to meet Orin and his companions.

[Nurumaiel]

Araorë smiled up at Heledharm, a smile that was not lacking in pride. Whenever she saw him she was quite pleased with herself for having arranged him as her daughter's husband. It had turned out as wonderfully as could be wished. Heledharm and Erinlaer adored each other, and Araorë's own husband thought Heledharm a very fine young Elf.

Araorë heard the sound of harp music and faint singing coming from another room. For a moment her eyes grew hard, and her lips set in an annoyed line, but then she tossed her head back and smiled. It was not a crime if Erinlaer wished to sing once in a while, or even most of the day, if Heledharm did not mind. The place looked tidy enough. It was only when she spent her whole day playing her harp, singing, and dancing that it was not a good thing. And then it was for Heledharm to take care of.

The music stopped, and through one of the doorways Erinlaer came, her steps light and breezy and her face full of delight. She took her mother by both hands and stood up on her toes to kiss her cheek. "I'm so pleased to see you, Mother," she said. "Heledharm said you would be visiting some time soon, and I have been anxiously waiting."

"You don't look anxious," said Araorë, brushing her lips on her daughter's hair. "No, you look fresh and young and happy. Your music sounded exactly as you look."

"I couldn't play anything gloomy today," said Erinlaer. "I feel more at peace than I can possibly say. I have had all the day to play my music; Heledharm has listened to me, and sometimes he would sing to my music. And now, Mother, you are here! I could ask for no more, except that Father would come."

"He is close behind me," said Araorë. "He will be here very soon. Now come and bring me to your music, if it is pleasing you so much." She glanced about, her eyes searching and critical. "Everything is very clean," she said, her voice sounding well-satisfied. "These rooms seem to sparkle and shine with cleanliness."

"I knew you would be glad if it was," said Erinlaer. "I worked very hard at it."

So she had only made an effort to keep things tidy because her mother was coming. Perhaps rather because it would make her glad if all were proper, she thought she would be angry if things were not. Araorë shook her head. That was very foolish. At least the place was not falling in ruin. At the least the girl had pulled herself away from the music to work, whatever her motive for it might have been.

"Come, let us sit and you can talk to me," said Araorë. "I do not see you as often as I would like. No, you cannot play music for me. Your father can understand your thoughts through your music, but I need you to speak. Come along. You will have your music when he comes."