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

[Folwren]

Lindir had been right. The visibility was bad, due to the wind. Gusts of strong wind grabbed up sheets of the powdery top dirt and pushed it on violently before it. The branches of the thicket around her swayed and bent in the wind. Momentarily, she doubted being able to see the group of slavers when they came. She felt a horrible feeling as she thought, what if she missed them? She licked her dry lips.

A strong burst of wind brought a new covering of dust that reached even Athwen, protected as she was. She bent her head and turned away from it. When she looked up again, her heart gave a great leap. There they were, as though they had sprung out of the earth. A few agonizing seconds past. The blood pumped in her ears, blocking all other sound. They were so near. . .so near. . .

“Gy’ap!” she cried hoarsely, and squeezed her heels sharply into her horse’s side. His head came up, his nostril’s quivered with indignation, and he bounded forward, through the last few bushes that hid them, and bounded out across the troubled earth. Faster, faster, his hooves pounded in the soft dirt. Athwen urged him on, into a faster trot, and then breaking into a canter. She sat erect and tall, rigid and proud. She let them see her. She let them look.

Straight before their path she cantered. Her horse took the ground with ease, his neck arched and his mane flying in the wind. He was fresh and not tired and his pure blood pumped with excitement through his veins.

Would they follow? Would they fall for this preciously lade bate? Athwen knew there was little space between her and the camp. They would have to turn. . .but would they follow her for such a long distance? She would taunt them, play with them. Gently, she tightened the reins and slowed her horse. He tossed his head, but his feet slowed. They drew nearer. Yes, they were following. How long, though? How long?

So close. Even in the wind and flying sand, she could see their weapons. She gave slack to the reins and he bounded forward. She gauged his speed until they had made the full loop. They were facing the camp straight on now. Ahead of them, she knew the traps lay, waiting for their prey. She could lead them straight to it. They were just behind her, the nearest of them on her horse’s very tail. She bent her body over his neck, her face in his flowing mane, her hands reached forward, giving him everything she could, and she dug her heels into his side.

The horse fairly flew. She heard his powerful breath, but she barely felt the impact of his hooves on the ground. Thus far, she had succeeded in her mission.

[Child of the 7th Age]

The wind thundered in Imak's ears as he savagely kicked his horse's flanks and urged his mount forward at breakneck speed. He had pulled out ahead of the others but then hauled back on the reins and slowed down to a lope to consider their situation. Even with the murky curtain of sand and dust, he had come close enough to glimpse a rough outline of the camp. Imak could make out a few huddled human forms just ahead, but he still could not tell if the defenders of the camp were limited to men. Young women fetched good prices on the market, and, despite his earlier show of wrath, he did not want to forego that source of profit.

Long years of leading this kind of attack made Imak suspect that several of the younger women and children might have been taken behind the lines and deposited in a safe niche. Quickly glancing over his shoulder, he bellowed at Urlok, "Take four more men and swing north. Approach the camp from the back. Look for a grotto where some of the slaves may be hiding. Get rid of the elders and the babes. Grab a few of the women. Then ride south and we'll meet up in the middle of camp. They have so few horses and weapons you should be able to push on without much trouble."

"Aye, Captain," the older man replied smartly, inviting a small contingent to ride north with him. As the band disappeared into the swirling sands, Imak pointed his own horse towards the south, thinking to approach the slaves from the underside of their camp. They would have the captives in a pincer and be able to fan out and surround them.

With that goal in mind, Imak motioned the men to follow and began cantering steadily south. But before he could advance more than a dozen paces, a lone rider came pounding into their field of vision: a young and healthy woman with golden hair streaming down about her shoulders. The slavers had been working on the plains almost six months and in that entire time had seen nothing as enticing as this. Even Imak turned around to stare and had to pull back hard on the reins to overcome his natural instincts to take off to the west and give chase. He yelled out to his men to hold steady. About half the group followed his command and continued in his track But the other half-- men who were young, impetuous and less experienced in battle--gave a mighty whoop. Spurred on by the heat of battle fury or perhaps not seeing or hearing their Captain clearly amidst the swirling sands, they impulsively jerked their horses around and raced towards the attractive figure. Imak cursed and cried out to the men to return, but his words were swallowed by the hard gusts that battered everything in their path.

[Firefoot]

Johari squatted down uneasily near some of the women she had overheard talking the previous night, waiting with them for the battle to start. She wished now that she had paid more attention to the battle plans; she was in the middle of it, whether she liked it or not, and had no idea what was going on or what she would be expected to do, or what these people she had finally settled in with were planning on doing. She should have asked Hadith while she was talking to him, but even the thought of asking him about anything left an unpleasant taste in her mouth.

Her talk with him had ended badly. After her outburst, he had stood there shocked for several moments trying to think of something to say when Johari had interrupted, fighting hard to keep her voice under control. "Right then. You had best be getting on with the rest of the group... the battle seems about to begin." Then she had turned on her heel and left, keeping her pace strictly measured. She wanted to break off and run as she might have as a child or young teen. She didn't know what kind of answer she had wanted or expected from Hadith, or even if she had wanted to hear one. It was as if some part of her wanted only to reject any offer of caring or friendliness as one of those things it was easier and better to live without. Wasn't that why she wanted to find Kalin? To feel as if she wasn't so alone in the world?

You are alone in the world, some voice told her.

Not while Kalin's still out there somewhere, she answered fiercely.

Why not let someone else in? Why not let Hadith in?

He's young - naive - confused - obnoxious sometimes... But they were feeble excuses, and if Johari would admit it to herself, she would realize that she wanted Hadith to come out of the battle all right.

Of course he would. By believing it, she could make it fact, a strategy that had worked well over the years. She had believed she would make it out of slavery, hadn't she? And that had happened. She would find Kalin, and Hadith would survive the battle. Simple as that.

Before she ever saw the horses, she heard the hoofbeats. They were coming. In the gusting wind and gathering darkness, she could not see. She only wished she knew what was going on. She wished she knew as much as Hadith sometimes seemed to think she did.

[Nogrod]

Hadith

They were on their knees waiting. The wind had steadily arisen and the gusts were ever more fiercer. There were five of them in the front row and six in the line behind them. The visibility was reducing from poor to non-existant. There was sand all over, the fine dust of Mordor filled the air around them and with violent breezes it filled their noses and ears. They were silent and they waited.

Joshwan was in the middle, his blade still sheathed as he had a spear in his right hand leaning to the ground tip down so that the line of it could not be seen. As the most experienced fighter around he would lead the way jumping over the tunnel and attempting to bring down one rider who would not have fallen into the trap. Erlech was farthest right. He also had a spear and would go round the tunnel from his side, trying the same as Joshwan. Hadith was at the left end of the row. Beloan was kneeling between him and Joshwan, looking stern and focused. Then there was this bearded and grim-looking former ex-slave Hadith didn’t know by name between Joshwan and Erlech. Hadith took a short glance around the front row. Only five men. Looking backwards he could see Khamir and Adnan behind him and then some others he didn’t recognise by name – albeit the last in the right end of the second row was Fewerth. So this is the best we can muster against a cavalry of experienced riders? Hadith thought to himself shaking his head slightly. He was afraid.

Hadith thought of Johari again, as he had so many times after she had left him with biting words. What have I done wrong to her? He thought for the hundreth time. Why is she like that? What has happened to her? Hadith just couldn’t understand. But the more he thought of her, the more he wished to understand her. There was something in her, some magic, something he could not form an idea in his feelings, let alone describe in words in his mind.

Suddenly he felt a strong urge to go and see that Johari had made it to the safety and was not wandering around alone as an easy pray to the slavers. He should go and see to her. But it was not his will-power that restrained him from springing up and making the dangerous and stupid thing he was wishing to do. His legs just refused to move. They felt like they were made of a mass of trembling jelly over which he had no control.

Hadith remembered Joshwan and Beloan encouraging the men just an half an hour ago. The mood had been different then, although also some grave words had been uttered. Hadith closed his eyes from yet another gust of wind and just dived to the past words.

“The sound of a charging cavalry disheartens even the experienced soldier. It will sound like a thunder of Darkness itself is coming to get you, rushing over you with a force you can not withhold. That is what you’re going to hear. I’ve stood against a cavalry onslaught twice and at the first time I wetted my pants from the sheer horror of it. But I’m alive as you can see!” That had been Joshwan.

“We will be afraid brothers. We will be. But just because of that no one should be ashamed of it! It’s all about overcoming the fear. Show them our hearts are ringing! Show them that our hearts are a mighty-thumping! Show them our hearts are made of iron! We will fight for our freedom!” That had been Beloan in turn.

Hadith remembered the upbeat feeling there had been just a while ago. Beloan had asked him to join the first row, to join him, by his side. Overrun by the enthusiasm of that moment Hadith had agreed. It had been an honour to be called to the first row. He remembered Adnan’s face as he had walked to the first line beside Beloan. Somehow he had felt sorry for the guy.

Now he was getting second thoughts and was more than happy on behalf of Adnan who got to be on the second row. What am I doing here? I’m just a boy! I’ve thrown a knife at a human being once, instinctively. I’ve killed a few deer... I’m no soldier. I’m no warrior. What will I do when the thunder of the onslaught will come? My legs don’t obey me even now.

Hadith didn’t hear or see them coming as the gust of wind deafened his ears and brought the visibility next to nothing. But he felt them. At first it was just a slight trembling of the ground under him, but it grew stronger by the second and in no time the earth had started to shake violently. Then he heard them despite the ever harder blowing wind. Joshwan had been right. Hadith felt his blood rushing away from his limbs and started to tremble himself. His teeth were chattering and he felt dizzy. If his legs seemed not ready to follow his orders a moment ago, now he didn’t even feel their presence any more.

As Beloan’s hand fell on his shoulder he wetted himself from sheer panic that had totally immobilised him. He felt that he had no control over his body. The approaching sound of the hooves filled his consciousness and made even his mind to go on slow motion. Hadith was shaking all over, uncontrollably.

“Courage, Hadith, Courage” Beloan said to him in a low voice, leaning carefully towards him and taking a firmer grip on his shoulder. Even Beloan felt tense and a bit shaky. “For freedom, Hadith. If we don’t fight, who will?”

As Beloan withdrew his hand there was a new and even fiercer gust of wind that filled Hadith’s ears and nose with dust and for a moment the thunder of the oncoming cavalry went off. Then, just without warning the wind ceased for a second. He saw something. There was a lonely rider coming towards them. Just then the rumble of the chasers filled his ears again and he felt the earth pounded under the heavy horses. The sound now even beat the howling of the wind.

This is it then... Courage Hadith, courage.

[Child of the 7th Age]

The journey back to camp had not been easy. With the winds gusting hard from behind, the old man had found it took all his strength and will just to place one weary foot in front of the other and somehow keep moving in a straight line. If it hadn't been for Rôg and his uncanny sense of direction even in the middle of the blowing sand and dirt, Aiwendil would likely have veered off on the wrong path and totally missed the encampment. As it was, their return trek had been frustratingly slow. They had staggered into camp just a few moments before the main body of the attackers came riding into view.

At least he and Rôg had managed to stall the slavers long enough to allow Lindir and the others to complete their preparations for the camp. Nor was it a bad thing to have the slavers caught up in the storm, scarcely able to see more than a few feet in front of them. Aiwendil had spoken briefly with the elf, first telling him what had happened out on the plain. Then he had offered to mount up and go with the group of riders who would be the first to face the attacking slavers. Lindir had responded with a slow shake of his head, "You would be a welcome addition to the riders, of course. If you feel that is where you belong, I will not stop you. Still, something else has been bothering me. Aiwendil, we have unprotected women and children, to say nothing of the elders, hiding in the rocks just west of camp. It is not much cover at all, but we could find nothing better. If the slavers attack head on and we manage to stop them, then all should be well. But how do we know they will all ride into camp on exactly the path we want? Or, worse yet, what if we are not able to halt them? I can not leave those people without the slightest shred of protection. Aiwendil, could you and possibly Rôg go out and join them? If there is an attack from the rear, do what you can to protect those folk."

Aiwendil quickly countered, "I will do as you say. But what can two do against a band of roving warriors?"

"To be truthful, I am not sure. I only know that two are better than none. There are others hiding in the rocks who might be able to help in a pinch. That young man Kwell who was rescued from the pit, the one to whom I gave the dagger, put him in charge of the other boys in case there is fighting. Have them all collect some rocks. Perhaps some of the boys have slings. Anything is better than nothing. And if the battle does come to you, you must call out to me. If I still have breath in my body, I will hearken to your cry and immediately send more fighters down to help you."

"I will do this then. Whether or not Rôg will agree, I do not know. But I will ask him as you suggest." With that, Aiwendil unstrapped his sword from the back of his horse and gave the animal to Lindir, suggesting that it be given to one of the others to ride.

[Brinniel]

As time passed, the storm only grew stronger. The wind howled with a fury and dust blew into Shae's face, causing her eyes to tear. She sat impatiently on top of the horse she had won- a horse she had named Furie- waiting, waiting for what seemed like hours.

As soon as it was announced that a cavalry would be formed, Shae volunteered to be part of it. After only one night on horseback, she had already grown accustomed to riding, and could not bear to part from this particular mare. If Shae had not been enslaved, she would have been an expert rider by now. Her great-grandfather had been a Rider of Rohan, and though they were Gondorians by two generations, her father often took pride in his grandfather's heritage. They owned many horses, and Shae had been taught to ride before she even learned to walk. Her father told her she had natural talent and a special bond with the creatures, and it proved so. By the age of five, she could ride just as well as Joren, who was eleven at the time. But after twenty years, Shae had lost much of what she learned- she could not claim to be anymore than a novice rider. Yet, over the course of one night, memories of the lessons her father gave came flooding back into the woman's memories, and she felt an attachment to Furie that she could not explain. While she was no where close to being an expert rider, Shae no longer felt uncomfortable in her saddle. On top of this horse was where she belonged, and sitting there gave her a thrill she had not experienced in years.

The dust storm only continued to grow in strength, blinding the woman's already poor vision. She began to ponder whether it was even possible to fight in such conditions. Relying on her ears, Shae listened closely, past the wailing wind. And then, the sound she had been searching for: hoofbeats. Clutching her long knife in her right hand and the reins in the other, she eyed the men next to her, who sat on their horses just as anxiously. She gave them a slight nod, listening as the hoofbeats grew louder. It would not be much longer. Her wait would soon be over.