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

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Carl

The hobbit’s eyelids flashed open, and he sat up, looking around him. There was Hamin lying on the ground, a dark pool creeping out from beneath him. And Kwell too was just beside him. Why was Kwell still there? Carl realized he must have lost consciousness. “Am I dead? “ Carl coughed behind his kerchief. “Not yet, by the look of it, though I was well on my way. Picked a fine time to get the breath knocked out of me, that’s for certain!”

“But are you alright?” Kwell asked.

Putting his hands on his stomach, Carl quickly pushed here and there to see if anything was amiss. His abdomen was quite painful and he felt overwhelmingly nauseous, but he guessed it wasn’t anything of a serious nature. Satisfied that he would be fine, he pulled his legs out from under Hamins’s knees extricating himself from the tangle, and stood up. “Someone wise once said that hobbits are tougher than they look. But I’m telling you, even though I didn’t crack, I was sure to pop if that had gone on much longer” He offered a hand to Kwell, and helped him to his feet. “But how are you? Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m alright,” the boy said looking doubtfully at the frantic shadows moving around them in the haze, as if he expected something to leap out at them. He hurried to squat beside the dead man.

“What piece of luck saved our hides anyway?” Carl asked. But as Kwell removed his knife from the slaver’s throat, Carl needed no answer. “Is that what happened! Here I had thought to tell you to return to the other children where you’d be safer. But now I’m thinking that they would be safer. They might be needing a stout hearted lad such as you, just now.”

Kwell stopped what he was doing, and looked the hobbit in the eye. “As you can see,” Carl added, “Not all the slavers decided to enter the camp by the front door. As for me, I need to find me some arrows, or a sword or something a bit bigger than my knife! You go take care of Azhar for me, will you? I have a good hunch you might be better at it than me.” With a quick wink, the hobbit picked up his bow and headed off to see if he could find the other archers.

[Tevildo]

After long minutes of coaxing and prodding, Azhar had finally gotten the twins to open up. She had learned that the girls' names were "Lisel" and "Liriel". Such beautiful names for children born in the horrid confines of a Nurn planatation. Their mother must already have been thinking of the day when she would somehow get free and build a new home for her daughters.

Azhar had found it easier to talk with the girls than she had expected. Despite the mad chaos going on in the camp, she had managed to get the twins to trust her. They were cuddled up at her side listening to a whispered story about the fine palace they were all going to build as soon as they got away from this place. She had even begged some scraps of bread from one of the mothers so that the three of them could pretend to sit down and have a grand tea party. Even more importantly, there had not yet been any sign of the slavers. The grove was quiet and relatively peaceful.

But one problem had stubbornly refused to go away. The twins' little brother whose name was Tom would not settle down. He sat some distance from them in a miserable huddle and sucked his thumb as he called out for his mother and shed many tears. No matter how hard she tried, Azhar could not win the boy's confidence or trust. Even Aiwendil's magic drops didn't seem to work. After twenty minutes of balling, he'd worn himself out and fallen into a fitful sleep.

Finishing her story, Azhar excused herself from the girls and explained that she was going over to the bramblebush where Tom was sleeping. The bush was not more than twelve feet away; one of the mothers had promised to keep an eye on the boy while he slept. Azhar arrived at the bush but to her horror there was no sign of Tom. In the place where he'd been sleeping, the only evidence left was a few trampled weeds and a small scarf that he had been wearing. Azhar darted up and down the rows of mothers, anxiously asking if they'd seen Tom but no one could help her. What had happened was all too clear: the boy had decided to go off on his own.

Azhar felt tears swelling up in her eyes. How could she have been so careless? Here, she had berated Kwell for his lack of responsibility and yet her own behavior was worse than his. She had made a solemn promise to Aiwendil that she would do everything she could to keep the children safe, yet she had not even kept a close watch on Tom.

Taking the girls over to one of the other mothers, she'd asked if they could stay there and rest, explaining that she had to do something but would be back in just a little while. Then she loaded a number of the smaller rocks in her pocket and crept out of the grove softly calling Tom's name. l

[Child of the 7th Age]

piosenniel's post - Rôg


By the Great Winged One! The woman was crying.....

‘.....and Dorran’s going to be bringing up more of the wounded people, and soon we’ll be assaulted ourselves, and I don’t know what to do! I can’t mend people with all this wind and sand and – and.....’

Other than his sister, and mother of course, Rôg had never had many close dealings with those of the female persuasion. And to be truthful, he’d never seen his mother cry; she was much too practical a woman for that sort of thing, or so he always thought. His sister’s bouts of tears were in her younger years. Some frustrating thing or other that had gone awry. The tears were brief, and her mood at those points was not one to invite a hug or encouraging words.

Now had Athwen been a child, Rôg would simply have swept her into his arms and made some reassurances. But she was a grown women, and a married one to boot.

He pulled one of his yellow scarves from an inner pocket of his cloak and handed it to her as he gently withdrew his sleeve from her grasp. ‘For your eyes he said.....and you can tie it about your face, to cover your nose and mouth. It will help against the sand. The wounded.....I don’t know what to say about that. Except that I know you will do the best you can until the circumstances change.’

He paused and glanced briefly toward where the old man stood. ‘Aiwendil will take good care of us. Be assured. And I will help as I can.’


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Child of the 7th Age's post - Aiwendil

"Ah! My lady, do not lose heart." Aiwendil reached out with his hand to pat the woman gently on the shoulder. "Athwen, you have done a most admirable thing, leading these fellows straight into the pit. Truly I say that from the bottom of my heart. And telling us about this band is a big help. Since you have stood this perilous course so bravely, you must not doubt that others will do the same. There is too much at stake here.....people's lives and freedom. We must not give up so easily. I promise you that if these brigands attack, we will have our defenses up. Rôg is too modest, but he has a trick or two up that sleeve of his that he is too modest to divulge. And others will come to the grove to help."

"I have set aside a few buckets of water in the grove that you may certainly use. They are hidden under a large rock and protected from the winds. Plus there are a few herbs set there from my satchel that may do your patients some good. I am no healer of Men but sometimes I work with birds and beasts. So perhaps what I use can be helpful for you. If you have time before the wounded are brought in, you might talk with the mothers and have a look at a few of their children. From what I have seen some have suffered greatly at Nurn and could use the gentle hand of a healer. They may help them as much as potions or herbs."

Aiwendil hastily guided Athwen towards one of the women and introduced them. Then he took his leave, explaining that there was much planning to do. Rushing back to Rôg, he thumped the young man on the shoulder so hard that he spun around This time the wizard did not look or sound quite so confident. "Bad news, Rôg. Very bad news! Two of the women have told me that Azhar took off some time ago. The girl went to search for Tom, a little boy I put in her care who apparently slipped away, and all the mothers think that Azhar may be looking for him somewhere outside this grove. They did not see her go, but it does not look good. I would search on my own, but I mustn't leave when these men may attack AT ANY MINUTE. If you Would go out and do a little hunting, perhaps you could find them both and bring them back."

As to the other," he plunged forward without stopping, "I must speak with Lindir and tell him to bring as many men as he can to help us. I have a bad feeling about this band of slavers Athwen saw, and I wonder how many others are going to be heading here as well. You must hurry back as soon as you can. For we may need a helping hand or wing, whatever is available, once the battle starts. I only hope you can find these children before this Imak creature does....."

[Tevildo]

Azhar climbed onto the flat ledge of one of the larger boulders and hugged her knees to her chest, her body curled into a tight little ball. The wind stung hard against her back. Plunging her head into the folds of her skirt, she rocked gently back and forth in an attempt to find some relief from the tangled knot of her feelings, but her mind refused to let go. Two tears welled up and slid down, leaving dirty brown streaks on her cheeks and chin.

For what seemed liked forever, Azhar had scrambled from rock to rock and peered into the tiniest crevices where a small boy might have hidden. All her efforts had been for naught. There had been no trace of the lad. Azhar had a vague sense that a young woman, unarmed and inexperienced, should not be out in the open while a band of slavers still roamed the camp. But her guilt at having failed Tom was even stronger than her fear of being caught. Aiwendil had shown his trust by giving her an important task. It was the first job she’d ever had where she actually had the choice of saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Only she had not done it terribly well, and now there was a little boy lost somewhere on these bitter plains. Azhar would have given everything she had, not even stopping at life itself, to see that child safe in his mother’s arms.

The harsh swirl of the sands made it impossible to see more than a few paces away. The first warning of the approach of the men was the pounding of horses’ hooves. For one instant, the young girl thought of trying to run away. But they were almost upon her and, more than that, she had a dreadful presentiment that this trio might know something about where Tom had gone….better to know than not know, even if the truth was hard.

The one thing Azhar had not expected was to recognize one of her attackers. As the horses drew up and she cowered helplessly behind the boulder, the girl caught a glimpse of an all too familiar face. Imak, cruel as ever, slipped down from his horse and came striding over to where she was, jerked her up by the collar and glared down. Imak’s face went a deadly black as the leader of the slavers recognized the girl who had escaped from his camp two days before.

“What a pleasant surprise!” Imak sarcastically intoned. Then he announced to the other men, “This one is mine. She’s one of the two from the pit. The cause of half our troubles!” He took Azhar’s arm and pinned it against her back while snarling, “By the time I’m through, you’ll wish you were dead.”

In desperation, Azhar peered around hoping to see someone who could help but she was alone in this wasteland. Taking in the other riders, she glimpsed something that made her heart pound: a tiny body sprawled across one of the saddles. Whether the child was dead or alive, she could not see. But it was definitely Tom. The reality slowly hit her. No man would carry along a body of an enemy in the midst of battle. Spurred on by the knowledge that Tom was probably alive, she struggled with all her might to wrench free, kicking and flailing as she struggled towards the boy and called out his name. Azhar hardly knew what she was doing or why. She only knew she had to get over to Tom.

“So you know this one?” sneered Imak, taking hold again on Azhar’s collar and yanking her back.

“No, no, I’ve never seen him.” The girl protested. By now she was shaking with fear.

“That’s funny. I could have sworn I heard you call out a name.” Imak sauntered over to the unconscious child and removed his dagger from his belt, grinning at the girl. “Well, no friend of yours is a friend of mine.” With one rapid movement, he flashed his arm up intending to plunge the blade into the boy’s body.

Everything happened so fast that Azhar, even years later, could never explain how or why the change took place. It was almost like a dream. One moment Azhar was a girl standing there helpless while Tom was about to be killed and the next moment there was a quiet flash of understanding. Yes, mother, that’s how I do it. Faster than Imak’s arm could descend the little girl was gone and instead a gigantic brown bear roared up on his hind legs. Turning towards Imak, the bear reached out with a single swift paw and smacked the man on his side, sending him sprawling on the ground. The bear gave a triumphant growl and turned towards the other men, preparing to charge.

But the bear stopped dead in her tracks, shook her great lumbering head as if she was dazed, and then collapsed on the ground in a tangled heap. One moment the men were staring at a bear, scrambling to get away, and the next instant the little girl had come back.

Imak struggled to sit up, the pain pounding through his side, and then called out to one of his men. “Kill her Urgl. She’s a witch.”

The man turned his horse around and then dismounted, drawing out his sword as he strode over to where the girl lay.

[piosenniel]

Azhar and little Tom are rescued.....

By the time he found her, it was too late to finesse some way out of the deadly situation. From a short distance he’d watched her as she collapsed, resuming her young girl’s form. And now one of the men, his blade raised to strike, advanced rapidly on her still form.

There was simply no time to put a plan in place. In less than a few breaths Azhar would be dead.

Rôg did not relish the thought of killing the man.....the form he took, his clan form, had no such reservations.

The sword melted in the heat of the fiery blast. The flesh on the slaver’s arm caught flame and he screamed, turning as if to outrun the fire’s grip. Reaching out, the great wyrm’s foreleg crushed the man into the sand as if he were no more than a flea.

His great tail flicked round catching the other slaver, still ahorse, as the man turned his mount to escape. Rôg caught the man by the arm and yanked him from his saddle flipping him in a long high arc toward the hard, jagged edges of a rocky outcropping. The slaver’s screams grew distant as he flew through the air; stopping altogether as his heavy form met the earth.

All of the horses had now panicked and fled. The wyrm turned his yellowed eye on the last man, Imak. The slaver was struggling to rise to his feet, though it was clear he was still in some pain from the bear’s attack. Rôg dipped down his great head, clamping his razor sharp teeth on the man’s left arm.

It was a cry from Azhar that stopped him from snapping off Imak’s limb altogether. As it was, his maw slipped down to the end of the arm and with one small but satisfying crunch, he snipped off the man’s hand.

The girl had raised up weakly and was pointing to a small form on the ground where the little boy had slipped off the horse. Despite the fall, he did not seem harmed by his tumble. Only scared.....or perhaps angry, as he had begun to bawl quite loudly.

Flicking the slaver to the side with a brush of his forearm, Rôg started toward the small form.....

~*~

Straightening his robe about him, Rôg gathered up the wailing boy in his arms. His cloak found its way about Azhar’s shoulders to keep the chill from her thin form.

‘Come along, little one,’ he said as she leaned against him. One hand found its way to her shoulder, encouraging her to walk along with him. His other arm held the little boy, still fussing, against his chest. ‘You did a brave thing, Azhar, trying to protect him. A very brave thing.’

‘Later, when there is time, I’ll show you how to hold your form.’ He picked up his pace as he headed them toward where the women and children were gathered. ‘Come now, we must get back to where the others are waiting. I need you to watch him and his little sisters.....until the last of the slavers have been taken care of.....’

[Nogrod]

The first thing Beloan noticed after he had crossed the trench was a fast approaching figure of a man on his right. Beloan turned quickly to face the man and raised his sword ready. The man seemed to have noticed it and altered his course slightly to meet Beloan from his backhandside. He was now swinging his sword around in the air as he approached. And he was coming in fast. Beloan tried to regain the earlier angle to meet him face to face and took some fast steps backwards, turning slightly right as he suddenly recognised the man coming towards him just a few yards away.

“Erlech! No! It’s me, Beloan!” he shouted against the wind and waved his left hand. “Stop, Erlech!”

Erlech heard him at the last moment and managed to pull off his swing towards Beloan. He stopped just some feet from Beloan and stood still a while, breathing heavily.

“Something’s wrong here”, Beloan noted as his pulse had settled enough for him to speak. The men were staring each other, panting. “Where are all the slavers?”

Erlech straightened his back and tried to look around but the sudden gust of wind throwing whirls of sand everywhere had reduced the visibility to just a yard or two. The howling of the wind filled their ears. “Qat and Fewerth were fighting one down there behind!” Erlech shouted over the wind pointing backwards. “I’ve met no one!”

The wind slowed down for a moment. They both heard the sounds of a fight a little further away from them. “It must be Joshwan! C’mon!” Beloan cried and ran towards the noise. Erlech followed and soon passed Beloan. He was the younger and stronger of the two.

Joshwan was fighting two slavers at the same time. His spear laid splintered on the ground and another one of the slavers was bleeding heavily from his shoulder. The slavers were bombarding him with heavy blows from both sides and Joshwan was only parrying right and left as he tried to back away.

“Hang on Joshwan! We’re coming!” Erlech yelled as he and Beloan leapt forwards as fast as they could. A lot of things happened in the following seconds.

The unscratched slaver who was about to land his hit on Joshwan in turn noticed the two coming in and halted his attack for a second to judge the new situation. Joshwan noticed it and decided immediately to go for a surprise. So all of a sudden he reversed his retreat to an attack. In stead of parrying to his right he turned back to his left and towards the wounded slaver who had just hit him. He was just raising his sword for the next blow when Joshwan’s blade went through his chest. He had no time to realise what was happening. His eyes turned around in their sockets.

But the other one had only halted for a second and was quickly back in the tracks of what was happening. Before Joshwan had time to pull his sword back from the chest of the one, the other swang a mighty blow to his now open back. The pierced slaver fell backwards and Joshwan tumbled over him crying from pain.

Erlech charged the still standing slaver with his spear roaring with rage, just to realise that the slaver was not only stunningly fast to recover a defending posture but that he also had a shield! How could he have missed it? But it was too late. The slaver parried the baffled Erlech’s spear easily and managed to duck away from the onrushing man himself. By quickly shifting his place he was able to unbalance Erlech even more, so that with a slight bunch of the shield and a well placed leg Erlech went stumbling towards the ground head on in full speed. And still, after all this, Beloan who had been only a few steps behind Erlech was now facing a slaver perfectly ready for a duel.

The swords hit one another once, two times. On third encounter the blades clinged together, both men meeting the other from eye to eye on close range trying to yield another’s blade down and gain the upper hand. The slaver’s eyes were burning with spirit. “You scum! Take your place, slave!” the slaver hissed from between his teeth. Beloan didn’t answer but just tried to press harder while remaining calm on his face.

Then, from the corner of his eye Beloan saw Erlech rising up behind them. His eyes betrayd him and the slaver managed to back off from the situation. But before the slaver or Beloan had time to take advantage of the new situation they were both distracted by the sound of fast approaching thunder of hooves. Beloan saw the figure emerging from the sandstorm first. It was coming from behind of Erlech and it was coming in fast. And there it was, a spear lowered ready to hit. “Erlech! Behind you!” Beloan managed to cry out before the slaver was up on him again, now even more confident than earlier. He was attacking and hacking with fervour and Beloan had to back away just defending himself.

Erlech who had just risen up from the ground had only time enough to turn his head before the spear went through him.

Happily for Beloan, the wildly charging rider went on straight between him and the slaver he was backing away from thus giving him the valuable chance of pulling himself together and to draw some breath.

In the instance there was yet new movement to Beloan’s right. “I’ll take the rider! Go help Beloan!” thundered the deep voice of the giant man Qat, the bearded escapee, as he ran to pick up Erlech’s spear from the ground. Fewerth, although slightly wounded, was rushing to help Beloan shouting a battle cry as he came on.

The slaver who had been fighting Beloan took a few steps back to re-evaluate the situation and glanced around to locate his riding fellow. Beloan now had his two seconds of thought and yelled at Fewerth: “Fewerth! Get behind him and stay behind him!” Then he charged the slaver straight ahead.

The rider had been able to stop his mount and turned to face the fight again. He had heard bellowing from behind him and saw that something had changed. There was another man rushing towards his comrade. He charged immediately forward, aiming at the newcomer as he was nearer to his tracks. But before he managed to get into the striking distance a flying spear came out from the swirling dust and hit him on his left side. He fell down from the saddle and stumbled to the ground. The spear on his side twisted under the weight of his body but at the same time it swerwed even deeper inside, bringing unbearable pain to him.

The horse had no time to react and trampled Fewerth under it’s hooves as it tried to get out of this madness.

The next thing the unmounted slaver realised was a stern face bending over him. “Here’s for Erlech!” it shouted. The sword went through his throat and then it was over. Black. Nothing. A relief from pain.

After that Qat joined Beloan to fight the last slaver. The slaver had no chance. Beloan was attacking him from the front and Qat from behind. And even as he quite skilfully tried to back out to have his attackers on his sides, the two went on countering his moves. After a few rounds of blows Beloan managed to get behind the slaver as he was engaged with Qat and ran his sword through his back. The slaver fell to the ground face down.

“That was a real fighter...” Beloan whispered between panting. Qat nodded silently, trying to come even with his breath too.

“Erlech is dead, Joshwan is too, I’m afraid. How about Fewerth? We’ll have to check them. And check them fast! If they are alive, every moment counts! Come my fellow, check Fewerth, I’ll go for Joshwan!” Beloan said to Qat and forced himself on the move even though his whole body cried for rest. Qat forced himself to follow Beloan.

Joshwan was dead as Beloan reached him.

“He’s alive! Badly bruised but alive!” Qat called from beside Fewerth’s unconscious body. “What do we do now?”