Red Flows the Sirannon RPG

[Folwren]

‘Waiting is the worst part of all this,’ Bror observed after a few moment of silence ahd elapsed. It had been several hours since Riv had left and the sun was sinking behind the mountains. Skald sat with his face towards the sunset, and home. He didn’t turn to face Bror as he answered.

‘It’s only been a few hours. And besides, it was your idea to stay.’ Bror’s head turned at that. He’d been consciously avoiding the thought that Skald had stayed only for him ever since Riv had left. Had he only remained for that reason?

‘It wasn’t my idea for both of us to stay.’ Skald didn’t answer. Bror rebuked himself sharply. That certainly wasn’t the correct way to reply. ‘I’m glad you decided to stay, too, though,’ he said. ‘It would have been even more miserable waiting without anyone else.’ Skald finally turned around to look at him.

‘Well, we’d better go to the others,’ he said, getting up. ‘This silence is giving us too much time to think.’ Bror looked up, surprised. He had thought Skald wanted to think. Well then, if he wanted to be distracted bror could help with that. A smile flashed across his features and he got up. They went to where the other dwarves in their company were encamped.

No fires were permitted, but that didn’t surprise anyone, although it did make the evening even less cheerless. Bror looked around the quiet group and wondered to himself what their reasons for staying had been. If they had been the same as his. Whether they still felt bound by the choice to help or simply be cause they had wanted adventure. It was impossible to tell. Some certainly looked less excited than others - more thoughtful, and in some cases, more downcast. There had to be a way to cheer people up. But his brain was blank and no ideas came. He sat down heavily beside Skald. They’d have to wait out the evening. Bror had a plan, though, that may cause the morning to be slightly more exciting. And besides that, even if his idea fell through, at least they’d pack up and move on. . .

Darkness fell in a heavy blanket over the encampment. Clouds covered the moon and stars. Life was stilled and only a few elves remained awake on watch. Bror turned over onto his back and listened for Skald’s breathing beside him. He heard the soft, steady breathing that came with sleep, mingled with a mild threat of snoring, and he smiled. He rolled about and flipped the blanket off of himself and got stealthily to his feet. He paused, a few paces away, wondering if he really ought to go through with this. Skald was sleeping right next to him this time, instead of in another room a couple halls down the way. He considered the possibilities of Skald doing something before he had the chance to defend himself and decided the likelihood slim.

His water bottle rested near by and he picked it up as he passed. He didn’t know where he was going to get the ingredients for what he was about to create, nor exactly what he was going to do, but he had an idea, and now may be the only time he’d be able to do it. Besides, he said to himself, if we’re going to be killed, I’d like to have had the last say. He chuckled. The thought was almost funny.

Several paces away he stopped to consider what it would take to do the job at hand. His mind turned from one thing to another. Suddenly, he remembered something, and it may be just what he needed. Near to where they had stopped to decide upon things had been a patch of tall plants bearing bunches of plump, bright purple berries. In the darkness, Bror silently made his way towards it, hoping that he could locate it without the elven scouts spotting him.

After sometime of searching the area mainly by brushing his hand along the undergrowth and plant life, Bror found what he sought and harvested several of the bunches of berries. He chuckled to himself as he bore the fruit of his efforts back towards his sleeping place. He sat down carefully by Skald’s side and as he turned the berries over in his hand, he carefully considered his plan. The color of juice that these berries would provide was an uncertainty. However, it was the best he could do.

A shaft of moonlight pierced the clouds and lit the scene around him. Bror looked at Skald, weighed the costs one last time and decided to go through with it. Juice from the berries ran out about his clenched hand and dripped in a steady, dark stream over Skald’s beard. Bror bit his lip in concentration and to keep back the laughter in his chest. He had little idea of what color it would dry to. It may be too dark to even notice, but then again, it may end up being a lovely light color. Perhaps red or purple. Personally, he hoped for purple.

The last bit of liquid that could be squeezed out of the berries finally came and Bror carried the pulp and seeds carefully away and discarded them someplace where they wouldn’t be in the way. He washed his hands carefully with the water in his bottle. A slight chuckled escaped him as he came back to his place and laid down to sleep. With all luck, he’d manage to wake up either before Skald, or at least before Skald had discovered the mess of his beard. He wanted to have at least some chance of defending himself. . .

[Envinyatar]

Two brothers on the eve of battle

Lord Elrond did not sleep. There was much yet to be seen to; final discussions with his captains; reports gleaned from the many scouts he had sent out; the disposition of the Elves from Lorien; and that of the Dwarves who had offered their axes and their aid.

Even now, he neared the small encampment of the Children of Aulë. Walking softly through the cloud darkened night he paused, his eyes taking stock of these new allies. For a moment, the clouds thinned in their veiling of the moon’s light, revealing his tall form. In the pale light, his face seemed ageless, though in it were written the memory of many things both glad and sorrowful. His hair was dark as twilight shadows. And even now the clouds parted and it seemed a circlet of silvered moonlight was set upon it. His eyes, hidden in darkness by the late hour were grey and clear. And when the moonlight fell across the planes of his face, his eyes glinted with a deep light, like the light of stars. For one brief moment he seemed already a mighty Lord, and as hale as any tried warrior in his prime.

Then the darkness obscured the light once more, an ill wind blowing from the east drove the clouds before the pale, ringed moon. The last sliver of light caught the Elf’s lips as they twitched with a smile. He bade the captain who walked with him to stay for a moment; he had something to attend to. The captain, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, watched with a furrowed brow as Lord Elrond made his way through the small party of Dwarves. One, he noted, who’d been set to guard, rose up as Elrond approached and spoke with him. The captain’s hand tightened now about the grip of his blade and then as quickly relaxed as the Dwarf gave a small bow to Elrond and a few quiet words were said between them.

-----

Elrond approached the two Dwarves he’d noted, wrapped snug in their bedrolls, side by side. One, he knew was deep in sleep; the other trying his best to seem so. He crouched down by the posing sleeper, his Elven brows arched, a stern look on his face.

‘Bror Stonecut!’ he whispered, his eyes glinting as the Dwarf struggled up from his blankets. ‘Did I just see you meddling in some way with one of my warriors?’ He lifted his chin, pointing over to where Skald lay, snoring softly. ‘Whatever has been done by you, I would hope will not interfere with his ability to fight. Will it?’

Before Bror could muster an answer, the merry sound of soft laughter broke up the serious demeanor of the Elven lord. ‘I, too, have a brother, my Dwarf friend,’ he went on more quietly. ‘And many’s the time we have played pranks of all sorts on one another. It lightens my heart, in these grave days, to see that other brothers hold true to the tradition.’ His eyes glimmered in grey pools of his own long memory.

‘But, we stand on the eve of a great battle. And one that I fear will go hard against this small band. Make sure that when your brother wakes, and you’ve had your laugh, you make full amends. Nothing is stronger proof against one’s foes than the close heart and strong arm of a brother.’

His captain had come, and now bent down to whisper in Lord Elrond’s ear. Several of the scouts had come in – those who had managed to get close to the city. They brought alarming news. The attack had begun . . .

[Arry]

Amidst his dreamings there had come the sound of a single voice, like a soft airy breeze . . . refreshing . . . and in some way, hope filled. And then laughter . . . the tinkling of silver bells carried on the wind, echoing down the darker ways. It was a merry sound and it called him up, until he blinked, smiling into the cloudy night, as he sat up.

‘Bror?’ he called softly, reorienting himself to the fact they were camping rough with the Elves from Lindon. He shifted on the thin layer of blanket that served as a poor barrier between his skin and bones and the pebbly ground. And found the blanket wanting.

When at last he had squirmed into a less than bothersome position, he spoke quietly so as not to wake the others who were sleeping. ‘I had the most wonderful dream. Someone was laughing. Did you hear it? I was sure it was real.’ He raised his hands above his head then flexed his back, his bones crackling against each other down his spine as they popped protestingly into place.

‘It’s still night!’ he went on, knuckling the sleep from his eyes. Skald’s mouth yawned widely. He rubbed his hands down the sides of his face, scratching at his beard as he went.

‘What’s this?!’ he said in a peeved tone. The hair of his beard was damp and sticky; his fingers were tacky as he pulled them away from his face. In the occasional bar of pale light that crept out the rents in the clouds, he could see the tips of his fingers bore some dark stain.

‘Bror!’ he said again, this time in a manner more vexed and edged with disbelief. ‘What have you done?’

[Folwren]

‘What have you done?’ What kind of question was that? It sounded as though Skald thought he’d lit a fire and let the enemies know where they were. He hadn’t done anything against orders or rules.

‘Nothing!’ Bror replied, before he could stop himself. Skald’s question had surprised him. ‘Nothing serious, anyhow.’ He smiled suddenly at the thought. ‘Just experimenting with your beard, and taking advantage of your sleep. It’s the best time to do that sort of thing, when you’re sleeping. You take such particular care of that beard of yours, I thought you’d appreciate actually having something to deal with other than the normal routine.’

He gave a short laugh as he finished. He knew perfectly well that Skald would have a fit with the mess in the morning. It wouldn’t be impossible to get the berry juice out, but it would be sticky and uncomfortable ordeal. No one could say that it wasn’t an excellently thought up prank.

But Skald was not agreeing. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t saying anything. Bror looked at him and tried to see his expression in the dark. It wasn’t like his brother to make no comment. Usually Skald was the first to say that a trick was good and well executed, but now he said nothing at all.

‘What’s wrong?’ Bror asked after a rather lengthy pause. ‘Surely Riv’s leaving hasn’t put you into such a depressed humor that you can’t even see the fun in something like this.’

[Firefoot]

Ulwakh didn’t think that Grimkul had slept at all before the camp was called to assemble for the attack. Grimkul climbed to his feet resentfully, moving off towards their pre-assigned area. Ulwakh followed along, taking delight in the darkness. They’d catch the Elven city by surprise, they would! Elves. The word carried every single bit of contempt that Ulwakh could associate with a word. He didn’t like Kharn, but Grimkul had been acting like a fool and an idiot and deserved at least some of the grief he had been given. But Elves.

Grimkul had all but forgotten about the Elves and the whole purpose of this campaign. He settled into his assigned position mechanically, giving Kharn a look of undisguised hatred as he passed, inspecting the ranks. And if Grimkul wasn’t smart enough to catch the subtleties, Ulwakh still noticed the evident aura of fear about Kharn.

All around them torches were being lit, displaying in all its perverted magnificence the awesome size of the army. Ulwakh didn’t care how big or fine the Elves thought their city was; it would be swallowed by the black horde.

The city soon drew into sight, temporarily distracting Grimkul from his absorption in how much he hated Kharn and reminding him how much he hated Elves. It gave him tremors of delight to think that they would destroy the Elvish city, kill its inhabitants, make them suffer.

Then there was a lull, quite a long one to Ulwakh’s mind, as the siege engines were assembled. Grimkul, thus aroused by the sight of the untouched Elvish city, took the opportunity to launch into a long tirade about how they’d all die, and when that failed he switched to grumbling about the long wait, his hunger (Ulwakh recalled that he had not eaten since lunchtime the previous day), and anything else that caught his attention.

When the siege finally was ready to begin, the pair found themselves stationed near one of the monstrous catapults, and for a while, Grimkul gleefully aided in loading the missiles and launching them, watching the flaming projectiles crash into the city. But after a while, he caught sight of Kharn overseeing the proceedings, and a plan began to form in Grimkul’s mind, a plan for Kharn’s destruction. After all, lots of Orcs died in battle…

[Child of the 7th Age]

Ulrung's fists tightened about the reins of the battle chariot. The horses champed at the bit eager to be going forward. But it was not time for the forward assault to begin. For now, there was nothing more to do than send a few warning volleys towards the great city and keep an eye on the troops. The full heat of battle would only come after they had broken through the heavy stone walls and made a breach into the city. It was only a matter of time, and there was no need to be in a great rush. The heaviest barrage of artillery would probably start once the sun had climbed above the plain; the last of Lord Sauron's troops were still drawing up their forces in front of the Elvish city. A pleasant way for the residents to awaken, Ulrung mused with a smile.

With time to spare, Ulrung's thoughts ran back to the words of the Great Lord. So he wanted Ulrung to keep an eye on Glûtask? The Easterling would be most happy to oblige. Surely, the insolent Orc would make a mistake sometime during that long day, and Ulrung would be only to glad to rid himself of a miserable pest. There should also be time today to eliminate a few Elves from the face of Arda. The miserable whelps with their harp playing and cooing. thinking themselves so superior to men, were certainly not favorites of Ulrung. For now, however, he was happy to bide his time and keep an tight rein on his troops till the main attack would begin.

[Arry]

. . . see the fun . . . in something like this . . .

Skald had gone coldly quiet as Bror prattled on. ‘In something like this – what “something like this” are you talking about?’ Skald asked, trying to keep his tone even. ‘We’re not back under the mountain. Our lives aren’t going on as they normally do.’ He put his hands to his face and rubbed at his eyes, hoping, he thought, that perhaps he could wake himself and find this all a dream.

‘This isn’t “fun”. There’s no place for “fun” here. We’re going into battle against the Dark Lord’s army. He has ten times ten times more warriors to launch against us than we have to hold him back.’ He gestured about in the dark. ‘Many of these Elves will be killed in this battle. Many in the city will already be dead by the time we arrive. And our little number . . . we will be lucky to lose less than half our companions.’

‘Did it occur to you that we may have seen Riv for the last time? Either by his death . . . yes, who can say if he and the others will get back safely. Or, by our own deaths . . .’

A sudden wave of weariness assailed him, both in body and spirit. ‘It will be a short night, Bror. We should try to get what rest we can. Put aside what resentment my words might conjure in you. There’s no room for it when we wake tomorrow. We’ll stand with our fellows, axes at the ready . . . and Aulë willing, live to see another day.’

He rubbed his beard, forgetting the presence of the sticky berry juice. Muttering a few choice imprecations, he stood up and took a few steps away from his bedroll. ‘Hand me the water skin, won’t you Bror?’ he asked, gesturing toward where it lay. ‘I’ve no wish to stick to my blankets tonight . . .’