The Fellowship of the Fourth Age (Part 1): A New Beginning RPG

[Orofaniel]

"You're bleeding," Regonn repeated, now with a slight frown on his face.

Reagonn hesitated; knowing that Aedhild usually was quite ill tempered, and did not appreciate being disturbed or talked to.

"I....I....,"Aedhild muttered, unable to continue. She was obviously disorientated and confused. Her face pale, and her mouth dry. The blood from her forehead continued to flow down her face. Her efforts into stopping the bleeding with the patch of dry grass was all in vain.

Reagonn never usually cared much for others than himself, nor did he ever feel any sympathy for anyone. Yet there was something about Aedhild that tickled his curiosity; by the look of her face, he, as well as the other ex-slaves, could see that Aedhild had endured much suffering throughout the years. She was an old woman now, with a past anyone would wish to forget. Of course all of them had nightmares about their past, the lives they had lived at the plantation, yet Reagonn had difficulties imagining what Aedhild’s dreams contained.

"Don't come near me," Aedhild said. Her voice cold and distant. Bewildered by this, Reagonn studied the expression on her face. This was not a person speaking - it was more like a madman. He let out his hand, in helping gesture he offered to help. She forced a chuckle.

Reagonn confused by this reaction backed away, not daring to attempt to help the woman, he motioned that he would leave. As he turned his back to her, taking his first step he could hear her voice again. This time however, her voice was not cold and distant as it had been before; on the contrary, it was soft - Almost human like.

"T-thank you..." she whispered.

[Nogrod]

Gwerr

Gwerr was munching his share of the pony and trying to set his mind in order. The meat was fresh and juicy, the warm blood streamed down from his mouth and kept dripping to his chest. Even though he had dried meat and waybread enough to make at least a journey of ten days, fresh meat was always a welcome change to the diet. But the meat couldn’t rise his spirits. He bit his chop quite angrily and chewed it aggressively. He was in a bad mood. And for a reason, he thought to himself. One more time he went through his list of things that both irritated him and made him almost mad with anger. Only his experience had made him stay outwardly calm this far, but he was near a breaking point.

We made the plan, myself and Colagar, to get away from the plantation, to get a life of our own. With thirty orcs of both sexes we could have built our own clan or something. Then Colagar’s insistence on a group escape that went totally wrong, then the Uruks... Fifteen of us left of which three are Uruks! And Ishkur! The one I trusted... The silent words Gwerr addressed to himself moved him greatly. He felt more anguished every time he went through the events of the last day. He had almost finished his piece and gnawed the bone frustratingly to pick the last bites of meat left.

So I gave him meat when he had taken on a journey without any provisions at all! And how did he thank me? He starts playing a leader here in accord with those leeches who are brimming over with exhalation! Yes, look at the Uruk faces now: so self-satisfied and so full of their supremacy – even if all was just pure chance, pure luck, I say! ... The slavers! They just happened to be there! And no decent guards so that even an Uruk can sneak unnoticed to their camp! And they think it was their wisdom that saved the day! Gah! Doesn’t Ishkur see that they use him as their puppet all the time, and all the more?I'll have to talk with him as soon as possible, maybe today... Gwerr threw the bones away despite Ishkur’s insistence of hiding them. If they come after us with their dogs, they will find this place anyway. We’ve left too many marks already...

Gwerr stood up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hairy palm. Then he gazed around at the others. “You saw that they had dogs”, he said with a loud enough voice for everyone to hear. “If they want to come after us they will find us. Too many of them for us to fight, I say.” He looked straight at Ishkur and then Colagar, trying to make the point without words. Too many of us will die or get badly injured in that fight to counterbalance the Uruks or to leave enough females around well enough to march fast...

“So we should move out and move quickly. There still is night left for us to gain some distance.”

[Nogrod]

Hadith

Slowly Hadith came back to reality from his inner misery. There were so many things going on around him. Johari had gotten a blade to herself from the woman that was called Shae and people had been running around Khamir who had spoken out his mind. Hadith had had to gather it from loose lines of words spelled out here and there to gather a picture of what had actually happened.

He didn’t know what to do or what to say, but just as he saw Adnan approaching Khamir and turned around, not wishing to see any more of the people getting at each other, he saw Fewerth. Indeed he saw Fewerth with his friends Joshwan and Guilledean. And what were they doing!

They had been in a compassionate discussion together and now they seemed to have reached an agreement. And Hadith saw how Fewerth gave to Guilledean Hadith’s knife – given to him by Khamir – and Joshwan giving him a beautifully decorated easterling blade with it’s sheath. Hadith knew exactly what the knife was. Guilledean hid the knives into his sack and remained motionless, not looking at anyone, while Fewerth and Joshwan took to Khamir who was just resettling himself down, Adnan running away from him.

“Khamir! We also want blades! How do we defend ourselves without them? You people give blades to loud-mouthed women and little boys, why not to capable men that could really protect us?” Fewerth called Khamir from a couple of yards away, making sure that his call was heard around.

He’s building on his chances once again and I won’t be looking at it any more, Hadith sweared to himself and hastily took the few steps needed to reach the three. He knew exactly what Fewerth and his friends were about, he had known them long enough. They would use every opportunity to gain anything of value to trade them later to things that were in short supply. Now they had a chance to claim two knives to trade for food or something else at a later date... At the plantation that had been pretty normal with everyone just trying to hold onto oneself and those closest to one. But we are free! We should stick together, not steal from each other anymore! It’s different to steal from the plantation than from others like you yourself! There are no bad guys making us do the things we wouldn’t want to any more!

Before Khamir had time to answer the two, Hadith was beside them and declared with all the courage he had managed to build up. “Khamir! Do not believe them!” He glanced at both men, giving vent to his anger. “You have blades, you two! You scavengers have my blade and the one the dead easterling bore with him!” he shouted towards their faces.

“You lousy little brat! Leave tha adults to their bussinesses!” Fewerth replied angrily, throwing a look that could kill towards Hadith.

“Yea, you just check us! We have no blades”, continued Joshwan and looked at Khamir self-assertively. “This kid speaks foul words with nothing but his own frustration to back them.”

Before Hadith could answer their claims, Khamir rose up and looked at all the three firmly. “Now what is all this about? What is this thing of you having blades? As far as I know, myself, Beloan or anyone else haven’t given you none...” Khamir looked at the two boldly in the eye, faintly remembering the face of Fewerth from Beloan’s training-sessions. He was one of those who hadn’t passed the tests, now he remembered it. “And how come you claim they have blades, Hadith? You yourself have lost one already...” he looked at Hadith with a piercing gaze.

Hadith felt nervous again, but gathered himself to answer Khamir’s demanding presence. “Their friend Guilledean has the blades in his sack. I saw it! The one you gave to me and the one that the Easterling wore. They are trying to milk you of everything they can just to themselves! To trade them later on...”

“What Easterling are you talking about Hadith?” Khamir asked him seriously, clearly pondering the situation in his mind and trying to get some time and information to make up his mind.

Hadith was confused for a while but then answered: “The one on whose back I threw the blade at as he rode over me, and who then fell...” he managed to say, biting his lip, not daring to look at anyone around him.

“He’s lying! I killed the Easterling with my own hands!” Fewerth put in, his eyes gleaming with a hope that Khamir would take the bite that in a sense was the truth. He was the one to have given the Easterling the final blow and he knew it.

[Durelin]

Vrór

Knowing what felt as if it was going to be a long night would turn out much shorter than he would have liked in the morning, Vrór did his best to find rest. But there were too many things that did not sit right with him. He could not sleep when he was not sure what he would wake up to. This land did not seem to sleep – really, he could not help but feel that the night was when it was most awake and on the prowl. As if it could just swallow him up. It was a strange place indeed if he was afraid of every rock and pebble.

What would he find himself getting into tomorrow? They would be off, racing to the rescue in the direction that an old man determined from a bird and had perhaps double-checked with a squirrel, a butterfly, and…a horse? Horses…those were strange animals indeed. He had surely seen them on many an occasion, but never exactly…spent time with them. The fact that several of them were picketed close by, near enough so that he could hear the occasional snort and stamp from them.

Tomorrow he would be the only one without a mount. Already the Hobbit had kindly offered some kind of assistance, but the Dwarf was far too much of a gentleman around other gentleman such as Carl. And though a pony such as the Hobbit’s was much less intimidating than those tall horses the others road, Vrór could not imagine himself being caught on such a quaint little animal with an Elf, a couple from Rohan, and even a man from the South around to see him. He could imagine word spreading across Middle-earth about the Dwarf of the second Fellowship – the “Fellowship of the Fourth Age” as the letter had read – who was so ungainly on just a sweet, fat little pony.

So he found himself wondering if perhaps it was not too late to reconcile himself with this horse problem. A good night’s sleep would help if he would be running after a dust cloud at the tail end of the group, but that seemed more impossible to grasp even than the thought of him actually seeing what it felt like to sit on a horse. High in the air…the ground unreachable by his feet. What on earth would that feel like? Nothing on earth, in his opinion.

Making his way over to where the horses were tied, dragging his feet but trying hard not to shuffle them and make so much noise, Vrór stroked his beard, eyeing the night around him. At the moment, he was not sure if he was more afraid of the horses or the chance that someone might see him near the horses. Once close to the great animals, the Dwarf found his eyes glued to the large forms, black and shadowy in the darkness. It took him a moment to realize that there was another person nearby. He started, almost turning his head to examining closer who else found themselves drawn to these creatures, but finding himself too afraid of a horse taking advantage of such a distraction. The result was a tilt to Vrór’s head, leaving him looking more puzzled than anything else, if one could look puzzled in the dark.

Feeling the other presence draw closer to him, the Dwarf silently cursed, and was so on edge that he nearly jumped again when the person spoke. It was Rôg, the strange man from the South, seemingly a friend or even a servant to the even stranger old man from…well, who knew. Perhaps even Aiwendil himself didn’t. But was surprised him even more than everything that kept going bump in the night was the man’s offer. Ride with him? With him?

“Well,” Vrór found himself starting to speak before his mind was really prepared for him to. It was another moment before he spoke again in which the Dwarf swallowed and dragged his eyes away from the horses for a moment. “Thank you, Master…Rôg…” He steadied himself, and though he found his gaze drawn back to the tall animals a small distance before him, he forced himself to think clearly.

It was just like his blueprints. He was positioning himself on the horse where he would be balanced, held up even though he was strong and heavy and thus nearly unbreakable except by time itself… Surely if placed right he would be just a sturdy in structure… And with the right guidance… He glanced back at Rôg. Southern men knew all about horses, surely, even if not as much as those Rohirrim. All those tall folk seemed to spend a good amount of time off their feet, as if those long legs weren’t reliable enough.

“I would be honored to share your…steed,” he finally responded hesitantly. He knew he had heard the animal called such a name, but it just did not feel right on his lips. Nothing seemed right about these creatures, really. “And I would most appreciate your guidance. And so I am merely at your service, whether at the front or to the rear.” Either way it would not be a pleasant view.

[Durelin]

Khamir

Nearly everything the past nineteen years was about survival, but this was also a matter of trust. This Fewerth was one who felt completely certain of the way things should be done, which included things always going his way. This wasn’t the kind of mindset that made a person very cooperative, nor trustworthy. Fewerth and the two that seemed of a similar nature who followed him around were the type of people who you could only buy the trust of. But Hadith was just a boy who felt bullied.

Khamir felt himself growing frustrated, wondering how he got dragged into a role of mediation among children, making sure they played nicely. Unfortunately they were playing with lives, with freedom, with knives and chains. Was this all freedom was? The freedom to forget just how fortunate they were to be alive, to be away from the whip? Maybe they were just like animals, so accustomed to a way of life that they could know no other unless something made it impossible for them to live that way. And it wouldn’t be impossible for them to bicker, hate, fight, steal from, and backstab each other until they were all dead.

But they weren’t yet.

“Killed him with your own hands?” Khamir inquired, barely glancing at Fewerth.

“Yessir, choked the animal.”

“The horse or the man?”

“Uh…” Fewerth began, bewildered by Khamir’s question. “I strangled the Easterling scum!”

“He did! I saw it with my own two eyes!” one of his friends piped up, “The monster came at him from behind but he was ready for him in the blink of an eye…”

The one-armed man shook his head, deciding to ignore the three fools. Already they had forgotten the bounty hunters had ridden into camp. It seemed they had agreed on some kind of story, but had paid little attention to detail when doing so. Perhaps they had assumed too much weight in their words. It was clear they thought more of themselves than anyone should. Khamir didn’t think enough of any of them to ever expect one of them to bring a slaver off his horse and manage to kill him, even with a weapon.

And so it was still hard to believe that Hadith was perhaps telling the truth. It was not so difficult to believe that Fewerth had taken the boy’s knife – what Khamir had trouble with was that a dead man was involved. Had Beloan really been that right about the boy? A trap for birds, a few deer…that was not the same as throwing a knife in a man’s back. Was this fresh-faced youth really capable of something like that? The Southron had seen many men die, he had watched others suffer countless times, but every drop of blood and lifeless body was different. And it was somehow eerie that the boy he stared at was already a killer.

“I do not think I could believe them, but I cannot yet say I believe you. Tell me more of what happened, and neither elaborate nor humble yourself. The full truth is the most believable, and I will respect you for telling it.”

He was still seated in the grass, and so he had to look up at Hadith. But looking up at the boy was not at all like looking up to him. Khamir stared him in the eye with calm severity, but without any trace of condescendence. His words were not preached, though they formed weighty statements.

“And silence, you three,” he added in regard to Fewerth, Joshwan, and Guilledean, common sense telling him at least one of them was prepared to say something denigrating about the boy. If he treated anyone like children, as Johari suggested he did, it would have to be those three.

[Nogrod]

Hadith

"Well", Hadith started but didn't seem to manage himself. He was torn between the hate he felt against Fewerth and his companions and the revererance he felt towards Khamir. But as Kahmir silenced the bullies with a quick gesture of his hand, he gathered his courage to speak openly.

"Well, when they first came upon us, I was still asleep and the first wave of them just swept over me", he looked at Khamir seriously and intensively, not paying attention to the smirks the others were giving him. "At last I managed to get from under my blanket and had to fight with a dog that ran on me." He passed the part that made him geel so guilty; the girl that had had been under the dog's attack and whom he couldn't save.

"After the dog was dead I listened to the sounds of the villains being too far away, but then they were closing in again. I was dripping blood from my eyebrow and shoulder already. First came the dogs, from darkness, but they went past me. I was prepared then, but the rider came out from nowhere too soon and had a lance. He noticed me just a yard or two away and tried to hit me but I managed to duck the tip of the spear and then..." Hadith fell silent for awhile, the whole situation came back to him in a vivid memory he could describe with a length of details. But he knew, he had no time for that kind of stories now.

"Well, I tumbled to the ground and just somehow, instinctively, threw my blade at him when he had rode over me. The blade hit him at the back and he fell from his horse. Then there were suddenly a lot of people who appeared from nowhere - where they were hiding - and beat him to death. I tried to rise up and claim my knife back, but I was too confused and battered to make any real claim to it before I fell down. Khala and Cuáran helped me then..." He was looking at Khamir from under his eyebrows, looking honest but wild with anger as he gazed towards Fewerth and his friends.

"You just check Guilledean's sack to see that what I say is true. There will be the blade you gave me. I would recognise it anywhere, so dearly had I looked at it when you gave it to me. And there is an Easterling blade too, decorated and a fine art-one. The one the poor guy was carrying..." With that he fell silent. He had spoken too loud to reveal his own private embarrassement of the young Easterling that had gotten killed. mostly because of him. He had semeed like a boy of his age, nothing more, nothing less, and that had taken Hadith aback with the corpse when he was studying it. He just couldn't believe he had been bad through his veins.

Just to bring the things up to the order of the moment he added: "They will also know well enough, where is his lance and the jewelry he carried with him - and his boots as well."

With that Hadith draw his blade and took a few steps needed to make it behind the three, just to make sure they wouldn't ran away without needing to face him...

He waited for Khamir to respond as Joshwan grinned towards him maliciously.

"The kid is lying! We are men and you should believe us more than a brat of his weak stature! I killed the Easterling and this Hadith just happened to be around. He's making fantastical claims right now! He had no part in the killing of the Easterling!" Fewerth moaned loudly. Joshwan and Guilledean nodded in agreement with Fewerth, Guilledean making sure his sack was behind his back as he stood somewhat farther away from Khamir.

"Look at Guilledean's sack, Khamir! I'll prove myself right with it!" Hadith cried to Khamir. He was quite bewildered, still holding his new knife in his hand behind the three. He had no intention of letting them to escape this questioning. Fewerth glanced at him with an evil eye, but Hadith just returned the challenge with his sturdy glance back. He was ready for anything right now. He had been humiliated too much today already, now he meant what he said and would not take back his stance anymore. He would stand for it. He would stand for the truth.

[piosenniel]

The night had proved a short one; sleep nearly impossible. Rôg rose before the sun was truly up and gathered together what few things were left to pack away. Aiwendil had taken the offer of waybread and fruit to break his fast; which left only the his bedroll to be rolled up and secured to his mount.

A short walk brought Rôg to where the horses were tethered. The dun mare was looking decidedly more rested than he and seemed in a good…no, make that, fair mood. Rôg piled his pack and bedroll on the ground and approached her.

‘I’ve come to make an offer of compromise for the day, dear horse,’ he began as he untied the rope holding her to the picket line. ‘We’ve a guest today. Vrór…Vrór Redfist. The fellow with the bright hair…the one that has walked all the way.’ He ran his fingers over her head and body checking for any problems. ‘I’m thinking he should sit the fore; don’t you? Be more stable up there. He’ll have the reins,’ he raised a brow to the mare. ‘But of course you will most likely take the lead as you normally do.’ Rôg reached into a small pouch he’d brought along with him and pulled out a handful of oats, offering it the horse.

‘By the way, he called you a “steed” when I spoke of you to him.’ The mare twitched an ear at the accolade, nodding her head up and down as she munched on the oats.

Rôg saddled her when she was finished and secured his small pile of belongings to the rear of the saddle, settling them so he would be able to perch on them as the Dwarf took the saddle. He then saw to Aiwendil’s mount.

Across the camp, he spied Vrór making his way toward the horses. Rôg waved him over. ‘A good morning to you, Master Redfist!’ He went to stand by the mare. ‘And here is our noble steed; ready for the day’s journey.’ He spoke a few soft words to the horse then moved near to the saddle. ‘May I give you a leg up? 'Twil be most comfortable here in the saddle, I think. I'll sit behind.’