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

[Tevildo]

Azhar's eyes widened as she watched their party spring into action, carrying out the orders that Lindir had laid down. She could not tell from the look on Kwell and Johari's faces whether they were still upset or were content to go along with what the Elf had said. Personally, she felt relieved. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with the orcs. Even their looks repulsed her. But neither was she comfortable running them through with a sword while they lay asleep on the ground.

She slipped over beside Lindir and spoke quietly to the elf, "Thank you. I hadn't thought about other orcs being in the area. I just didn't feel comfortable slaying a sleeping orc when he had never done us any actual harm. But do you think that there are more of them?" She gazed nervously out towards the plain, her eyes sweeping the horizon, and shuddered slightly before she spoke again. "Lindir, if there are more of them, what would we do? And what if they come upon the spot where our main camp lies? Maybe we should leave to go back and warn the others."

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Can you handle a wagon?"

Azhar looked up puzzled at the question Lindir had posed to her. "A wagon?" she echoed.

"Yes. Have you ever driven a wagon before? Could you harness up a brace of horses to a good sized cart?"

Azhar frowned, reflected a minute, and then replied. "I think so. I did not have to work in the fields. But the overseers often asked me to run errands and bring out loads of supplies."

"Good. Get one of the other men to help. Have him bring along his horse. Walk over to the far side of camp. You'll see the slavers' wagon sitting near the campfire. I was going to use it to convey the supplies back to our main camp. Now it will serve a different purpose. Hitch up the horses and start driving west. I need you to return to the others as quickly as you can. Once you're there, speak with Athwen and Dorran to explain what has happened."

Lindir stared off in the distance, as if searching for something, before turning back to explain, "The plain truth is I can't answer your questions. I don't know why these orcs are here. Orcs travel in gangs. That's how they live, and that's how they are controlled. It's easier to influence a mob than someone standing off by himself who's able to think on his own. Sauron and even Morgoth before him made sure that none of the orcs ran off to grab anything of their own. Being an orc means blindly following the group. You have to keep your mouth shut and do what you're told. You can't think too much and never, never separate yourself from the gang. Some Elves used to say there was a tiny bit of goodness left even in orcs. A few orcs still dreamed of having lodgings of their own out in the wilds where they could hunt and fish and thumb their noses at the bosses. Not a very lofty dream, mind you, but better than going around the countryside slitting throats. But I never met an orc with that dream, and, I do know orcs don't go roaming on their own." Lindir again stared off in the distance as if he was trying to find something.

"What does this mean?" Azhar prodded.

"Either these orcs were separated from their band and are looking for a second one to join, or they are the advance party for a large military troop making its way to or from Nurn. If they don't report back to their troop, the whole band will flood this area to find out what's happened, looking for blood. Orcs are lousy trackers, especially on a plain like this. They are as likely to stumble over to our main camp as they are to come towards us."

"Tell Dorran and Athwen these things. Tell them we must bring the two camps together. I thought of having us ride back and just desert this place. But this camp is better stocked and can be more easily defended than ours. Our best chance for safety is here. Have Athwen put the most severely wounded in the wagon. The rest must walk. Have them start tomorrow morning. They must not delay any longer than that."

"They're not going to like this," the girl objected.

"No, I don't suppose so. Athwen will be understandably concerned about having to move the wounded and the others so quickly. And Dorran..... Dorran will not be pleased that our new camp will have a pit full of living orcs. Be that as it may. I will not run through a sleeping man or orc when I have no declared war against him. As to getting further information out of these orcs, I have my doubts. I am not prepared to torture them, though I will try to put the fear or Mordor into their hearts. Orcs have strange beliefs about elves and perhaps we can use that to our advantage. But for now, we must get the others here. Run now, be careful, and may you come back safely."

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Carl

It seemed to the hobbit that everyone was itching to do something about the orcs, and quickly. And being so, the search for a volunteer to help remedy the flaw in their lockhole, by means of filling it in, became unnecessary. For one of the settlers came forward directly, eager to lend a hand. It was a hand that Carl readily accepted, and together the two of them started for the dark mouth of the pit passing through the camp as silently as they could.

But when they came to a spot were it appeared some smithy had been at work, Carl motioned the settler to go on ahead. Then walking gingerly around the lengths of heavy chain that were stretched out on the ground, he picked up one of the many hammers, and a metal rod as well. And seeing a torch also, he tucked it under his arm thinking that it no doubt would come in handy. Looking around one last time for any other useful items, he put a few more things in his pocket and left, quickly rejoining the man who stood waiting at the opening to the pit. Together they slipped down into the chamber and out of view.

“It was still the dank musty place that Carl recalled, but it was a good bit cooler than it was out in the sun, and as the hobbit reached in his pocket for the flint, he vaguely hoped that the torch would not give off too much heat. The retreating darkness revealed the man once again, as he turned around to examine the walls of the pit, casting a huge shadow behind him as he searched. “Looking for the hole? It’s down over there,” the hobbit said nodding toward the back of the pit where the stream still flowed.

“Under the water!” the man summized. “How are we to keep the stream from washing away our work? All we have to bar its way is sand and gravel!” He bent down to try and scratch the floor of the pit with very little success, while the hobbit watched.

“True, true. You have a point.” Carl admitted, scratching his head. “It’s no good building a dam if it’s bound to burst, now is it?” He took a deep breath as he thought wistfully of Vrór, certain that the dwarf could easily have found some simple solution that he had been overlooking. But suddenly a thought struck him, and his eyes sparkled brightly in the torchlight as a grin grew on his face. “You aren’t a feared of dark places now, are you?” he asked. The man gave a mock frown and shook his head. “Nor water...nor small spaces?” the hobbit pressed.

“Nay, they give me no cause to be afraid,” the man replied, wondering what the small fellow before him had in mind.

“I thought as much,” Carl declared merrily, as he wedged the torch in the rocky wall. “Here, heft me up and out of this hole. I’ve an idea.”

[piosenniel]

Back at the main camp....


Rôg was still somewhat sore from the encounter with the slavers. His ribs ached if he moved too quickly, but he could now at least take in a decent breath without sending sharp little stabbing pains ricocheting through his chest. It was his head that bothered him the most. The gash at the base of his skull had scabbed over; tender only when he prodded at it.

Something, though, seemed to have come loose in whatever gave him a steady bearing. If he stood too quickly, turned his head too fast, the world would begin to spin a bit, his vision become slightly unfocused. Dizziness followed....and if he tried to walk, his legs would go all wobbly as if his feet could not find a steady place to put themselves. As such, he had begun to use a broken off stave with which to hobble about.

He joked about it to the others who’d stayed behind when the scouting party had gone out. ‘It’s like the old-wives saying,’ he’d tell whoever asked about his new reliance on the stick. ‘Four legs in the morning; two legs in the afternoon; three in the evening.’ Then laughing, he’d add, ‘Of course, with Athwen’s good ministrations I’m hoping time will turn back on itself soon and I’ll be able to walk about as before.’

I hope, at least, that will be the case! he often thought to himself. He could not imagine how he might manage a shape-change. The idea of some dizzy bird trying to fly, much less land somewhere dismayed him. And should there be another attack....A grimly funny picture ballooned in his mind. A large something....oliphaunt, perhaps – looking fierce, intimidating, even; for the briefest of moments. And then it would begin to wobble and totter; its eyes going all googly. The foe would begin to snicker and laugh....

Ah well....maybe they would laugh themselves silly and fall off their horses. He shook his head and laughed a little himself.Or maybe, I could just fall on them....

Laughter bubbled up at this conjured picture and he lost his balance as he shook his head again. Rôg crumpled down onto the dirt, his stick skittering away to the side. Others, he knew, would be looking at him rather oddly. Still chuckling, he sat up, brushing the dust from himself as best he could.

[Undómë]

“Hssst! Quiet, now!”

Mazhg gathered her sister close as they crouched in the underbrush where they’d been resting. Through the spaces in the leafy overgrowth of the bushes which gave them some semblance of shelter they watched; their dark brown eyes darting furtively at the loud intruders.

It was an oddly assorted group that had come clattering into the area where the males lay in their drunken stupor. Males . . . and female, too . . . all ahorse. A kind of raggedy looking bunch. But still, they were armed and they were Men.

And there was that tall one, bossy seeming, who looked particularly menacing . . .

“Keep still!” Mazhg whispered low in Zagra’s ear. “There’s nothing we can do for that drunk lot.” The sisters hunkered even lower among the leafy bushes. “I’ll keep you safe." As she circled Zagra’s shoulders in an assuring hug with one arm, her free hand was grasped tightly about the oaken handle of the sharp-edged spade beside her

[Regin Hardhammer]

Ishkur hides the gold

Ishkur advanced cautiously over the plain and was careful that the intruders in camp could not see him. He spent almost an hour searching for the women orcs. Gwerr was right about the need to find them. Their was always greater safety in numbers. He especially thought about Ungolt and hoped that she had not been hurt. He did not think she was among those who had fallen asleep after drinking too much.

After making a circle around the entire camp, checking every spot that he could think of, Ishkur finally gave up. He wanted to keep looking but he had other things he had to do. It was simply too dangerous to delay any longer. He swung back to the outsirts of their original camp site. There were two tumbled piles of rocks right beside a stream. Since he had no shovel, he had to find someplace to hide the gold that did not require a lot of digging. He looked over both piles of rocks and chose the one that offered the most protection. Then he went over to the pile of boulders and, using all his strength, removed one of the rocks, placing the gold into the hidden niche and covering it up again with the heavy stone. He scuffed out the ground to make sure that there was no trail leading to or from the treasure. Then he got on his horse and rode back to where Gwerr and Makdush were waiting, explaining that he could not find the women, although he had scoured the plain in all directions. He pulled Ishkur over to one side, some distance away from Makdush, and grunted a word or two in his ear to let him know where and how the gold had been hidden.

****************

Ungolt

There was a rattling sound in the underbrush that made Mazhg and Zagra turn and nervously stare at each other. Then they heard another female orc whisper, "Sisters, is that you? I have Urga and Gwella with me." Ungolt's head popped out from behind the bush. She was immediately followed by the two orcs Gwella and Urga, the first younger, the second older, who usually walked together on the road.

"I found them," Ungolt explained. "I thought we'd better stay together. There's a good hiding place near the brook. Not really a cave but the rocks are piled up. There's just enough room for us to crawl inside. I think we'd be safe there. It's not far."

"But the others," one sister asked, "what's happened to the rest?"

"I crept down to the camp. I saw what happened. I don't know about Grask or Makdush. I haven't seen them or Ishkur and Gwerr. But the rest have all been thrown into the pit where they used to keep the slaves. There are big rocks....too big for me to move. I can't help them." Ungolt sadly shook her head.

"What should we do? I took this to help." Ungolt held out an old battle sword, but then confided. "I don't really know how to use it. Ishkur showed me once but I still have a lot to learn. Should we hide, or keep looking for the others? Should we just wait till it's dark and try to run away?" She softly added, "I don't care so much about Makdush, but I was really hoping to find Ishkur and Grask and Gwerr. How can we make it all the way north without someone to help us? I wanted to get back to the mountains. But now everything looks so bad."

[Durelin]

Beloan

The varied responses of the scouting party confused Beloan even further in his feelings. He would have liked it if all the orcs in Middle-earth had gone with Sauron to a final grave when the War ended, but it still felt…wrong to take a blade to any sleeping form. It seemed like…well, something they would do - orcs. And they were not like them.

Beloan was surprised by Lindir’s lack of hesitation when it came to sparing the creatures’ lives. He admired the Elf’s honor, but he could not say he did not understand Johari and Kwell’s desire to be rid of the orcs. Shae appeared to be fuming and shocked by the idea that they would be kept alive. Well…for now.

The Elf did not hesitate in giving orders, either, to imprison the orcs and notify the others of the discovery. This discovery indeed complicated things, particularly because as Lindir and many of the others well knew, six orcs just wandering the country was not right. There were more somewhere, or there was something else going on. Either way, they needed to be careful.

What Beloan found most surprising about the Elf was that he was entrusting a great deal to a young girl. Khamir would have a fit, he thought a little fondly. But Azhar had proved a very strong person, and she certainly always had her wits about her. Beloan had heard she had done something quite heroic during the battle, and wondered if Lindir had been witness to it. And it was undoubtedly wise to keep as many men, and women like Shae, in the slavers’ camp as possible with orcs to guard and be on the lookout for.

“Other than that, I suppose all we can do is sit it out until the others arrive,” Beloan commented to Lindir and the others, “With our numbers, most of us should be keeping our eyes on these orcs all the time.” Most of them... He turned to look at Azhar, who appeared all prepared to get a move on with her orders. “Would you mind my help, Azhar?”