Last Ride of the Heir RPG

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Hanindur sighed hard. The battle was drawing so much of his strength away, it was harder to fight than many of the others he had been in, as before, he had never faced a troll with a mace before. Because of that little complication, his only choice was to keep his eyes peeled, rather than on whatever he was fighting, to stay alert. Already, anyone who danced would've been proud of him, with that amount of dodging he had to do.

Not to mention avoiding any misplaced arrows as well. What was it that had been said the day before... something about counting the enemies. He recalled answering Do you count your friends afterwards too?. And how true that was now, as he knew they had lost one... maybe more, though indeed, he hoped not. But there was no time to see whether any others were down, as he had to keep his eyes on the trolls.

After fighting so many, it became easier, it seemed, almost a programmed reaction to the trolls. And yet, he did not feel that he could let himself stop to take a breath, though it was what he needed most. There was no time, there was no way that he could take any such chances. Not now.

Dodging a hammer stroke, and dashing underneath a troll's fist just as he would've been cruched, Hanindur stroked sideways, and slashed at the troll's arm. With that disablement, he was able to thrust his sword into the troll's side, and it fell over sideways, now a habit for him to jump out of the way. But his jump was misguided, and, as the troll's hammer fell back in as a dead weight, he found himself hit from behind by another troll's thrust, just missing his head, but a close enough hit to knock him off his feet.

Hanindur swore in his mind. In the suddenness of the last moment, he had let himself slip up... somewhere. His sword lay just out of reach of his hand, the blow having knocked it aside. There was a choice, whether to just die there, as it seemed inevitable, or to make a dash for the sword, though it was seemingly impossible to get the blade in time to save himself from the final blow.

Ignoring the pain from the blow, he rolled over and grabbed the sword, taking a gamble, and throwing the blade up at the troll's heart.

The chance paid off, cutting through the troll's thick skin, and piercing it's heart, hopefully to the death. It fell over forwards, and Hanindur was lucky not to be crushed by the dead weight falling at him. His sword was in sight, he could've grabbed it, but couldn't make himself move to get the blade.

He stumbled against the ground, and fell forwards, having no control over himself now, the pain from the hammer hitting him too deeply to fight any longer. He knew he wasn't dead, but knew that there was nothing that he could do, as he sat against a dead tree, breathing sharply.

[The Perky Ent]

"You acursed creature!" Arathorn said, looking at Owacyn. He still wasn't moving. Arathorn, his rage filling him, ran under the troll assaulting him. While he was under, he shoved his sword upward. The troll began to scream as he fell to the ground, twitching the entire way. Arathorn quickly pulled out his sword and went to Owacyn. As before, he was motionless.

"Owacyn? Owacyn! Get up! You might not realize it now, but this isn't the best time to sleep." Arathorn said, pulling Owacyn to his feet. Owacyn gave out a small cough and mumbled what sounded like "yes sir!" Arathorn's stamana was getting worse and worse as the trolls kept comming. The elves were handling themselves pretty well, but the men were starting to loose focus. Suddenly, Owacyn's eyes bulged. He screamed "Watch out!", but it was too late. Arathorn, standing on the head of a dead troll, was already in mid-air by then.

A troll had come from behind and pounded its full weight on the dead troll's stomach, forcing a tornado of air through the mouth. A million thoughts were pouring through Arathorn's mind as he was airborn. His primary one was, "How do I get out of this?". As he began his descent, he realized he had two options. He could either try to land on a tree, or land in the middle of a upward facing ax. His choice was obvious. At once, Arathorn began leaning twords a slumping tree. In the process, he cought half of the branch he tried to catch, stopping the impact. However, he did, nevertheless, let go of the branch, falling ten feet.

The impact was heard all around the ring, and everyone stopped. Arathorn lay next to Owacyn. They shared one thing in common. They both weren't moving.

[Saraphim]

Elrohir was begining to run low on energy, but the enemy had not. The remaining trolls had gone battle mad and were hitting anything that moved, weather friend or foe.

A slice to the back of the knees brought down another troll, followed by an arrow to the head. Elrohir stood up from the dead hulk, wiping grime and sweat from his face.

He noticed Arathorn and Owacyn lying off to the side, and a jolt of fear shot through him. Another troll was standing over them, trying to get unstuck from a tree root that had mercifully caught on his foot.

Elrohir took advantage of the troll's predicament and threw his sword, imbedding it into the back of its neck. It roared in pain and anger, ripping it's foot free and turning to face Elrohir. The elf calmly loaded an arrow onto his bow, waiting for the troll to get close enough.

Then, too fast to follow, the shaft drove itself into the troll's throat, followed by another in the forehead. It dropped the arm it had been holding up, ready to rid Elrohir of his life, and crashed to the ground.

Elrohir ran over to Arathorn and Owacyn. He heard Elladan come up behind him.

"Check Owacyn," he said simply, checking Arathorn's pulse, only to find the Dunadan's hand grip his wrist.

A weak smile crossed his face, and Elrohir reflected it. Relief flooded him, and doubled when he heard Elladan confirm Owacyn was alive as well.

"You two rest," said Elrohir. As if they had any choice in the matter. "The rest of these filthy spawns of evil will not take too long to dispatch."

A grim smile crossed his face as he pulled his sword from the dead troll and entered back into the battle.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Owacyn would have cried out in pain if he had been able to take air into his lungs and then expel it again with any degree of regularity. He felt like he'd broken every rib in his chest, and he slumped down against the tree. He drifted into unconciousness, dreaming the same dream he'd dreampt back at the feast at Rivendell. He awoke with as much of a start as his broken body could manage and he saw Arathorn above him, cradling his head in his hands. "This is no time to be sleeping, Owacyn." he tried to sound as formal as possible, but his "Yes sir!" was laced with blood which he coughed onto Arathorn's armour. As he looked up, he saw the massive beast behind them raise its club menacingly. "Watch out!" he spat out with still more blood. He wasn't quick enough. He watcher in subdued horror as Arathorn was propelled into the sky by the blast of air. He saw him try to grab a branch, but it snapped in his hands and he landed on his head next to Owacyn. Owacyn swore as loudly as he could. Arathorn was still breathing, but it was erratic.

He looked up again to see the troll advancing on him, but then to see one of the brothers, he could not tell which through his misty eyes, slay it with extraordinary precision. He heard someone say "Check Owacyn". As two fingers were placed on his neck he coughed more blood onto his chest. "He's alive!" came the relieved reply. "You're damn right I'm alive!" he spat out. "You don't think I'd go dying on you do you?". Elrohir smiled warmly as he saw Owacyn pushing himself up using the tree. He regained his feet slowly and painfully, and even when he was up he nearly fell as he let go of the tree.

"You'd better stay out of the fighting..." Elrohir whispered into his ear. Owacyn nodded appreciatively and started to limp towards the camp. A cry caught his attention as he moved and he turned his head to see Elrohir knocked over by a troll with a vast mace. Elrohir was clearly in pain, clutching his arm in a fetal position. Owacyn grimly took his boww off his back. It was nearly ruined, but the string remained intact. Slowly he put an arrow to the string, drawing it back with great effort to his cheek. Letting it fly he saw it leave the bow completely before the bow snapped under the released tension. The arrow flew into the trolls throat and it gurgled disgustingly before starting to sway. Elrohir managed to roll out of the way of the falling troll just before it would have crushed him.

He stood up, clutching his arm, which was bloodied, and walked over to Owacyn, his sword trailing along the ground. He smiled and slapped Owacyn on the shoulder. He coughed again. Smiling he drew another arrow...

[Mad Baggins]

The intensity of the battle had not waned, and Beroth was feeling his limbs begin to slow with weariness. His heart was pounding and he was breathing in short, sharp gasps. He wiped an arm across his forehead and it came away coated in sweat and blood. Running to and fro in the midst of the fray, he killed yet another troll. Then another, and then another...

The battle was long, so very long. Where are all these trolls coming from? Beroth wondered. They were seemingly popping out of nowhere. Dodging the trolls that were lumbering about, swinging their clubs and maces was a cumbersome and dangerous task.

Beroth leapt over a corpse and confronted an enormously obese troll. It roared and swiped at him with a paw. He sidestepped and then danced back in to deliver a fatal blow with his sword.

Time for a different approach, he mused, running for a tree. Sheathing his sword, he grabbed a branch and swung up into the crotch of the tree. He took out his bow and whipped an arrow from his quiver. The arrow sang through the air, straight and true, and found its mark: the eye of a troll. It bellowed in agony and pawed at its face. Before it could pluck out the arrow Beroth had sent two more, one into its other eye and the last into its throat. The troll moaned and crashed to the ground.

Smiling, Beroth snatched another arrow and sent it on its way.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

He gasped hard, and forced himself to stand up-- Hanindur was sure that he had been out of commission long enough to reenter the battle-- he wasn't going to let more friends die that easily, not again. They had already lost one, he wasn't about to lose himself either.

Hanindur picked up his sword from where it sat on the ground, where he had threw it at the troll. Surprisingly, the blade wasn't broken from the force of the troll's dead weight falling upon it. He wiped the black blood off of the blade, and took it into both hands, as the Ranger ran back into the battle, in the hopes that his friends were still alive. Where are all those trolls coming from? he wondered, as he went back to his old style, of dodging, and thrusting, not easy with the sharp pain that had built up in his side.

If there had not been so many more trolls, and so few of them, Hanindur would've left the battle, on the grounds that he could do nothing put hinder. But, as it was, there was no choice for him, but to fight, for, with the lack of one man, the battle might fall to their enemies, and he would die anyhow. If he was to die that day, Hanindur vowed to go out worthy of rememberance, and not as a coward.

Breathing in dully, he dashed under the first troll, slicing at it's legs, while it turned, and hurled it's mace at him. This time, he was ready for the attack, and dodged into the troll, and not jumping back, to avoid the injury that he had suffered the last time. He was still slightly limping, and wasn't as fast moving as before-- now Hanindur had to stay attuned to the battle, and all his senses, or he knew that he would be killed.

Continuing to dodge, and to disable different trolls, Hanindur slowly worked his way back to the heart of the battle, where he could work to protect his friends. The trolls were finally slowing down in their attack, but there was still so many of them, he didn't know how much longer they would be able to hold up if anyone else was injured.

[astarielle]

After checking that Owacyn was still alive Elladan dashed about picked up arrows between taking strikes at unsuspecting trolls. He climbed the nearest tree and surveyed the battlefield. Everyone was tiring but, though less numerous, the trolls were still about and making their presence felt. Elladan drew an arrow and fired it at a troll about to hit an elf.

He tried to count as he was firing the numbers of trolls remaing but it was difficult as many that tumbled to the floor staggered back up only to be hewed back down again. Slowly it seemed to the elf that the company were beginning to get on top of things but there was still much to do. Elladan fired another couple of arrows sending two trolls to the ground now covered with bodies and weapons. The clearing now had a blanket of troll flesh for grass. He doubted that much would grow there for a long time.

Soon enough his arrows were spent once more and he returned to the earth drawing his sword again. Summoning his waning energy he leaped onto the back of one of the trolls. The troll tried to hit him woth the club but Elladan swiftly moved to the opposite shoulder so the weapon came crashing down on the troll itself. The elf mada a dash for the head only just staying on as the troll swayed and thrashed about. Once more the club came crashing down adn one more time Elladan moved away. The troll came crashing to the floor seemingly dead but Elldan drove his sword into it to make sure. "Trolls really are more stupid than any creature that walks this earth".

[Phervasaion]

Like most of the others, Paladir was beginning to feel the effects of the battle. He was worn out and needed a place to breathe but the trolls would not allow it, and now they seemed to be stronger than ever before. Suddenly, Paladir glanced to see two bodies on the floor, the bodies of Arathorn and Owacyn.

No, Paladir thought to himself. Not Arathorn, he’s our leader and we need him to get anywhere in this fight. Please let him be alive! And Owacyn can’t die… He’s not the type to do that!! A weak smile came to Paladir’s face as he saw them move, when Elrohir and Elladan went over to check up on them. But, he knew they could do no more in this fight, and Paladir and the others would have to Finnish the battle on their own. This would be a difficult task, of course, with Arathorn, Owacyn and Hanindur now unable to help due to injuries.

Paladir was playing it safe against the trolls, not trying any fancy moves like Aragorn and Owacyn, incase it lead to him also being knocked out of battle, or even dead. Nor was Paladir trying to beat Arathorn’s and Owacyn’s score in the amount of trolls they killed, and even if he was he knew it would be a difficult task.

A troll swung his mace and Paladir dodged it, severed one of its limbs and finished it with a final blow to its head. “That’s for Arathorn you scum!!” He said as the troll fell to the ground. “And this is for Owacyn and Hanindur!!!” He yelled yet again as he sliced the neck of another.

Paladir seemed to feel a flame rekindle inside of him, giving him energy to kill all the trolls, and he felt as if air wasn’t needed anymore. The trolls were still many, but eventually, Paladir knew that they would all perish.

[The Perky Ent]

Pain hit Arathorn like a rock under the Falls of Rauros. Arathorn tried walking, but to no avail. "Well Arathorn, you can't just sit here" he told himself, and with a sigh, he threw his sword strait into the brow of a troll. It fell in a swift motion. The others weren't having such luck. "I'm in charge! I have to save them" Arathorn thought, once again trying to get up. He could bend his legs, but he didn't have enough energy to support the rest of his body. "Mind if i borrow that, Owacyn?" Arathorn said to owacyn, refering to the bow. "I don't see why not!" Owacyn said, handing the bow, along with several arrows, to Arathorn. Arathorn pulled the string back, and fired.

It was well into the morning, yet still dark. Everyone was getting weak and tired. It seemed, if the fight didn't end soon, they'd fall asleep never to wake. By now, Arathorn had used all of the arrows, and couldn't reach any. All the elves were using swords now, striking as many trolls as they could get their hands on. Owacyn now could weild a sword, but didn't have enough energy to fight a troll. "Good news Arathorn!" Elladan said, straying away from the battle. "Almost all of the trolls are in the ring now. It will be over soon!" "Excellent!" Arathorn said, once again trying to fight. "May their deaths be a long and painful one!" Arathorn said, giving a roar. Elladan smirked, and ran back into the fight. Those who weren't injured were getting on their last limb, and although Elladan sounded very enthusiastic, he was giving false hope. His energy was almost spent, and the same was with the others.

After a while, the night sky became lighter. Morning would come soon. Arathorn fighted to not fall asleep. He desperatly tried to get up and fight, but he couldn't. Arathorn couldn't stand to lie there and watch the horror. Sudddenly, there was a great roar, and one of the trolls came running in Arathorn and Owacyn's direction. Apparently, someone had weged their sword in the trolls back, and the troll had run off with it. He troll was blinded with pain, and couldn't see where it was going. Feet before it reached Arathorn, he focused all his energy to jump out of the way. It worked as the troll ran off into the night. "That's it!" Arathorn said, getting to his feet. "I'm not gonna wait! If I die trying, then let it be said that I died fighting, and didn't wait to be killed!" Arathorn said, giving a loud roar, catching several trolls attentions. Arathorn got to his feet and fastly limped to the fight. Owacyn followed him.

There were now twelve trolls left, but all of them had maces, and the men could no longer fight. All that was left was Arathorn and Owacyn, who had mustered energy resting. "Kill the scum!" a troll shouted, as he looked down at Arathorn. The troll in front of Arathorn laughed, looking at the blood covering him. "This is for Nuwethion!" Arathorn shouted, grabbing a sword from the ground, and shoving it at the troll. Owacyn did the same. Both trolls fell down to the ground. "Gah! He killed Durb! Get him!" a troll shouted, as the ten remaining trolls circled. Ten strong maces stared down at Arathorn. "Well Owacyn, you were a great companion to the end!" Arathorn, said, giving a small smile. "As were you Arathorn! Goodbye" Owacyn said, putting down his sword. There was no hope. It was all over. Arathorn would never live to see his son. Suddenly, a beam of light shot from the bottom of the sky. "It must have happened. I am dead." he said, giving a great sigh. Suddenly, the trolls began to screem. "Nooo!" they shouted, as a rumbling sound was heard. All the elves and men looked up, watching in amazment. "Agh!" one troll shouted, as he began to swing at Arathorn, but stopped inches before his face. He had been turned to stone. The battle was over.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Hanindur sagged to the ground heavilly. "Thank Eru for daylight," he said hoarsely, knowing that he wouldn't've been able to fight any longer. The sun had came out, and the trolls were stone blocks under the new light. Then he recalled that there were others still alive... but whom? The ranger forced himself to his feet, exhausted, and in pain. His sword lay on the ground, coated in rapidly thickening blood, from the trolls that were now harmless stone.

If only the sun had came earlier. If only... it always came back to that. Then maybe Anga wouldn't've been killed, or Nuwethion, or Arathorn injured. There was so much that could've been changed, but it was always the 'if' there. There was no way to undo what was done.

He stroked his sword against the torn ground, to remove the black blood from the now tarnished blade, and sheathed the blade. Hanindur didn't know what had happened to his dagger, and, at the moment, didn't care either. He cared for his friends, and for their safety, surely they were still alive, surely most still lived. Indeed, he hoped, but hope was always only hope.

Hanindur crossed the torn field, stone-turned trolls littering the way, and uprooted trees still laying on the ground, where the trolls had tossed them. So much destruction... Everything that the new light touched seemed to be destroyed, or blood-stained after the battle. He would've picked up his pace, to cross the land that had once been a great forest-- and could've been-- but the wounds he had received during the fight pained him. Hanindur bit back a cry of pain, as he wove his way through to where the remainder of their party was.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Owacyn let out as much of a cheer as his broken ribs would allow. The fight was over, and they'd only lost one man...He swung his sword down and decapitaed the stone head of one troll. Then his eyes strayed over the battlefield. Over the body of Anga, and the body of...

"Oh no..." he whispered to himself as he ran to Nuwethion. He lifted the dead elf's head up, and frantically sought for a pulse in his wrist and neck. He ripped the elf's chest armour off in a vain attempt to liberate his lungs and allow breathing, but it was no use. He lifted his hands and noticed they were covered in blood. Shaking, he turned the body over, and saw that most of the back of the head had been utterly smashed, and small pieces of bone fell into Owacyn's hands. Shaking with rage he stood up and screamed into the sky. Cursing it violently, before sinking to his knees again. He had never been that close to Nuwethion, but his loss still saddened his heart.

Traipsing back over to the camp, the party held the bodies of the two fallen on biers. Elladan and Elrohir walked crestfallen behind the two biers. Two of their kin lost in the fight. As they laid the biers to rest Owacyn sat by the fire and started to whittle a small wooden sword. The rest of the group sat near, not saying anything, but sad faces were worn by all...

[ArwenBaggins]

Eirian dropped his sword. The trolls were stone… he was alive. Groaning in pain, he reached to the bloodstained ground and picked up his blunting blade. Rangers and Elves were sitting, gasping for breath, not far in front of him at camp. "I could join them…" he complained aloud, he himself struggling with the pain his wrist and other wounds brought.

He noticed the two bodies were not breathing in relief on the biers. Remembering the sanguinary incident with Anga, he cursed under his breath. If only he had been there to protect him and Nuwethion. If only Arathorn had not been injured. If…

Stupidly kicking a frozen troll as he walked past, he cringed as more unwanted pain drifted through his toes and then his foot. The pain in his swollen, almost certainly broken wrist was enough to make him pass out, but he forced it away. The battle was over… there was no need to fall now. He wouldn't fall now… if he could help it.

Wiping some blood from the edge of his gray eyes, he continued to slowly stumble toward the rest of the group. Finally reaching Arathorn, he collapsed. He couldn't stand the pain any longer. He had fought many battles, but none seemed as hard as this one was. He lay on his back, his bloody head resting on the knobby roots of a giant tree. 'This is wonderful, he crooned inside of his head, his eyes falling closed.

[Mad Baggins]

Beroth lifted his sword to deliver a fatal blow and stopped in mid-air. The sun was peeking over the horizon and the trolls had fallen silent. Tentatively, he touched one of the trolls and felt stone beneath his fingers. Relief flooded through his body as he raised his sword in a gesture of victory. Wiping his bloodied sword upon his tunic, he suddenly remembered the cut he had received earlier in the night. Pressing his hand to his forehead, he felt a long gash caked in blood.

He turned to see how the others had fared and noticed two still figures on biers. One of them he recognized as Anga, but the other...Nuwethion?

Beroth's eyes filled with tears as he joined the procession, trudging solemnly behind the biers. They were laid to rest respectfully and the Rangers and Elves dispersed among the camp. Beroth wiped his forehead with his dirtied sleeve, unmindful of his injury. The cut opened and blood began to trickle down his face.

Wincing, Beroth pulled a small fabric bag out of a pocket and opened it. He pulled out a leaf of athelas and replaced the bag. Then he pushed the leaf into his cut and pressed the sleeve of his tunic against it. His eyes watered as the leaf stung, but it subsided and became a soothing coolness instead. Beroth wandered over to where a group of rangers sat and let himself fall to a sitting position, filled with grief over the loss of their comrades.

[Will Witfoot]

Wielding his blade with superlative skill, Eldín wove a deadly dance around one of their hulking opponents, wounding the troll in the critical soft spots in it's flesh and leaving it chasing shadows as he ducked out of the way of it's clumsy blows, re-appearing again only to deliver another flurry of attacks, each deadly kiss of his sword drawing black blood from the creature. After the troll was sufficiently slowed by it's wounds, the nimble elf administered the coup de grace, somersaulting in the air past his adversary's face and slicing his sword across it's throat. The troll gave a final, gurgling roar and fell to the ground, it's blood pooling up under it's dead form.

Eldín glanced around him, determined to let no foe take him unawares. Despite his difficult condition, he had learned the teachings of Imladris' weapon masters well. His guard was always up and his keen eyes ever open in case of trouble.

Suddenly, there was a lull in the fighting. The trolls that had assaulted them stood completely still, and it was a moment before Eldín could understand the reason for it. Then it all came together as he realized the suns first light playing upon the rough features of one of their gargantuan assailants, illuminating the rough, grey stone quite clearly. Eldín smiled. The light was yet stronger than darkness.

The smile died from his lips, however, when he recognized the two figures lying amidst the carnage of the battlefield. He hurried over to the still forms, pain in his eyes as he saw the relaxed features of Anga and Nuwethion, their faces smoothed by death. He felt a deep sadness, especially at the loss of Anga. Even though they had only got acquainted with each other quite recently, he had felt that they were on their way to becoming friends. It would have been the first friend that Eldín had ever had.

The surviving members of the group laid their departed companions to rest, singing songs of lament for their memory. Eldín could not hear their song, nor could he partake in it or word his sorrow at the loss of their comrades. He was truly beginning to realize how removed he was from the world.

[The Perky Ent]

Arathorn propped his back against one of the stone trolls. The battle had been won, but at the cost of two fine people. Arathorn was amazed that there was only two. He, personally, had thoughts that there might not have been a single survivor. Clearly, he had made good choices in his party. The men were all in bad shape, and probably wouldn't make it out of the forest easily. And if they couldn't make it out by night...

Arathorn rallied the others foward, after a long period of time. The sun was now well into the sky, its golden rays cascading over the forest. "Let us not forget the dead. For they will not forget us. Let us remember Anga and Nuwethion, who died on our behalf. Today will be a sollum day. No trumpets will be heard while we are present." Arathorn paused, looked at everyone. They were are mourning their loss. Arathorn took a deep breath, then said, "Well, let's get to work." And with that, Arathorn began moving one of the edges of one of the trolls axes, and began to dig.

A little past mid-day, there were two even holes in the ground. Arathorn noticed that Eldin was secluded from the rest of the group. "Do not recoil" Arathorn said, giving a soft pat on Eldin's back. "We will see them, eventually." Arathorn said, walking back to the holes. There, Arathorn, with the help of Elladan and Elrohir, placed Angakemion and Nuwethion in their graves. And when the dirt was back in place, Arathorn took the stone from the trolls, and began to hack at them. After a while, Arathorn had made two gravestones for the dead. "Angakemion and Nuwethion now rest in the Ring of the Dead. This ring will be remembered, for their sake. And for ours. And all who pass will be filled with the sorrow of the scene. They will feel our pain." Arathorn said, in a loud but sorrow tone. As the others turned away, Arathorn whispered, "Goodbye Anga. Goodbye Nuwethion."

[The Perky Ent]

Although everyone couldn't focus, the thought of another battle kept them going. The forest was very vast, and in the process of fighting, the party had lsot their way. "It's this way!" One said, pointing in a direction as another said the same thing, pointing in the opposite. "Elladan! Elrohir!" Arathorn said in fury, summoning the elves to him. "Climb the trees and scout the horizon!" Elladan and Elrohir mustered their strength, and began in climb.

"There it is!" Elladan and Elrohir shouted in unison. "Head strait from this tree and you'll find the road!" The man and elves quickly ran thought the forest, dodging felled trees and sharp rocks as they went. As they ran, the sky became lighter and lighter. "We are almost there!" Arathorn said, after a few hours of jogging.

As they came out of the forest, they could see the sun set. The red orange sunk beneath the ground, singing a sad song. "If any orcs come, ignor them. We're not getting into that again!" Owacyn said, giving a small smile.

[Mad Baggins]

Beroth had not had more than a few moments' rest when they were called to move on again. Everyone was quite somber as they began to walk, but the silence turned to shouts of confusion as they realized that they had become lost. Arathorn ordered Elladan and Elrohir to climb a tree and scan the area to find the road. They were in luck; they had but to walk in a straight line from the tree that the elves were in and they would find the road.

Beroth followed the others as they picked their way swiftly through the forest. He kept his eyes on the ground, glancing up every so often to make sure he was with everyone else. He noticed the forest becoming lighter as the sun rose higher into the sky. The light brought a new feeling of energy to Beroth, and he jogged faster.

Hours later, he heard Arathorn announce that they were almost at the road. Beroth sighed inwardly, feeling a sense of relief. The forest was beginning to have a closed-in feel; the scent of pine and earth was becoming cloying and clingy. When the trees began to become sparse and they could see patches of the road, Beroth ran faster. He burst out of the forest, breathing deep the fresh air of the open country. He barely heard Owacyn's remark about ignoring Orcs.

[Phervasaion]

The death of Anga and Nuwethion saddened the whole group, but Paladir thought they had died most honorably and that the cause was true. The burying of the two valiant warriors was indeed one of the most touching things that Paladir had seen, even though it only seemed to last a few minutes, and soon they were on their war-torn feet again making good pace through the forest.

It was not easy, considering that Paladir had a large gash in his right leg which was bandaged up with rags torn from his clothes. Paladir limped as he ran, but still managed to just about keep up with the others and, even though the group was delayed at one point getting lost in the confusion of the numerous trees, they found the road before sundown.

All were relieved once they gotten to the road and felt free in the more wide and open spaces. Arathorn led the group down the road for some time until the sun finally sank behind the mountains, and then he said that they would make camp at the road side until sunrise.

Paladir volunteered for the first shift for night watch, which was rather uneventful, but even though he was glad to be out of the trees the open spaces gave him some feeling of insecurity. Suddenly, Paladir felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see the smiling, yet very tired face of Hanindur. “What brings you here my friend?” asked Paladir. “My shift doesn’t finish for another hour.”

“Just finding it difficult to get to sleep I suppose… I was too busy thinking about the last battle and the loss of Anga and Nuwethion. And how close I came to loosing my own life,” Hanindur responded in a quiet tone of voice.

“Aye,” Paladir began. “We all had luck in that battle. Still, I seem to find that luck plays a large part in most battles, and hopefully it will hold for many years to come. And, even though its saddening thinking of the lost who have died in battle, I always try to think on the more bright side of things. When I do, I feel even luckier. For one, we were lucky that only two of us died, and that the sun decided to come out when it did as if it didn’t, we would have all perished. If another one of us passes away on this journey try to think that they died for a good cause, and hope they have a better life, wherever they have gone.”

[ArwenBaggins]

Eirian could not walk another step. They had jogged at a quick yet normally non-strenuous pace, but with the current state it was a struggle for everyone. When they finally reached the Road at sundown, Eirian breathed a small sigh of relief in the cool open air. They decided to make camp on the roadside and continue in the morning.

"Good thing too," he called to anyone who would listen as he leaned against a tree. His wrist had not stopped hurting since the end of the battle, and he was beginning to feel the consequences of it not being properly bandaged. He was lightheaded and striving to just keep his eyes open.

True, the deaths of Anga and Nuwethion had saddened everyone and dampened their spirits, but they all tried to look on the bright side of things. He was more cautious, however, and realized how precious life really is. His thoughts fell upon his expectant wife and young daughter. I shouldn't have left them, he confessed silently, holding his wrist close to his chest. I was so caught up in the fighting aspects that I didn't take their health and well being into consideration… how stupid can I be?

He volunteered for third watch. The night was very uneventful; he even noticed a scarcity of woodland creatures. "The bloody trolls probably scared them all away," he scoffed aloud, kicking a small stone down the dark Road. "As long as they stay away from here, they can have the animals."

[astarielle]

Elladan barely slept that night but lay gazing up at the inumerable stars that set the night afire. They blazed like glittering gems on a sea of shapeless shadow. As he lay his mind wandered accross many plains, forests and mountain ranges and at last to the sea. He could her the waves rolling repeatedly onto the shore and the distant cry of gulls over the ocean waves. Elladan could taste the salt in the air that blew in his face. He stood there motionless listening to the breaking waves and the whisper of the wind.

"Long you will yet live in our hearts and ever on in our dreams, Newethion and Anga" He spoke into the wind. The wind rose then fell as if that his thought had been acknowledged.

Slowly the vision faded and the air felt cool and the soft sound of the waves was replaced with a rippling of leaves of the forest behind. It was still dark but by his reckoning it was near dawn. Elladan glanced around, he could tell that it was not only the watchman that was awake at that time. He got up and walked around the camp, he knew he was not going to get anymore sleep.

[Saraphim]

Elrohir slowly washed his wound in the small stream he had found not far from camp.

It was a shallow cut, as the troll's weapon had merely glanced at his arm, and for that Elrohir felt grateful. He winced as he wrapped a rag lightly around it and slowly eased his arm back into his tunic.

He knew he was lucky, as he walked slowly throught the forest back to camp. They had made graves for too many of thier comrades already.

Stepping into the light of the fire, Elrohir came upon his brother. No words were spoken for several minutes as the two just looked at the stars.

"There is no sleep in you tonight," said Elrohir.

"Nay, and neither in you," said Elladan, " And not simply due to your wound."

Elrohir shook his head.

A few more moments passed in comfortable silece between the twins.

"They will go go quickly to rest in the halls of thier fathers," said Elrohir, speaking to both himself and his brother, who nodded.

"But come," said Elrohir," It would be an insult to thier memories not to be well rested in time for any other battles that we may find."

"You may go attempt sleep," said Elladan, "But I will stay watch for tonight."

"Very well," said Elrohir, who began walking back to the fireside,"But you forget I am you brother, who knows you better than any other," he turned slightly and smiled back at Elladan,"And I know you will soon join me in sleep,"

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Hanindur was quiet for a moment, after Paldir finished speaking. "Yes," he said lowly, and hoarsly. "May we hope that they will find a better life after death. And I suppose," he added, "that one could consiter it luck, that there were merely two slain in battle of out team, but nevertheless, their absence will be felt, harshly." He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, not really feeling the tiredness upon him, for there was also a harsh restlessness as well. "Uneventful watch?"

"Aye," Paldir answered, "though the open spaces give one a sense of insecurity, in a manner."

Hanindur nodded. "Well, friend, I suppose I had bess try at least, and get some rest before my watch," he stated, though sleep was not really upon him, more a sense of unease... probably a leftover sense from the battle that had just taken place. He found himself staring at the horizon, where the sun had gone down a mere two hours ago, while he had wondered in restlessness, and thoughts. Too many thoughts, as to how close he had came to losing his life, as to the loss of two members of their party.

They were not pleasent memories that filled his mind, and they hurt too, as it was never well for another to lose their life, non deserved to die in battle, though an honorable death, nevertheless. He walked away from Paldir slowly, in thought, as he left the other to his watch, and tried to pull himself to sleep.

Hopefully the remaining watches would be as quiet as the one at the moment.

[piosenniel]

Dunlendings

Dawn was near. A pale light crept through the trees, illuminating the figures asleep by the near dead fire. It was quiet; no sound of birds readying for the day – save for the deep, echoing croak of a lone raven somewhere among the towering trees to the north. A single figure sat huddled near the last embers, hood shadowing his face, head nodding toward sleep. His companions, there were eight of them, lay near – sleeping fitfully on the ground as if pursued by bad dreamings.

Wulfson watched them from his vantage point atop a high rocky outcropping to the south of the road. His tall, lanky form was pressed low against the flat surface, his dark eyes scanning the meager camp for any booty worth taking. He put his finger to his lips as his younger brother, Ulrich joined him. Both watched the scene for a few moments then withdrew to their cold camp a little ways away.

Four others welcomed them back – all tall men, swarthy in appearance, with long, braided black hair. Dunlendings, the rangers and Elves would have termed them. But in their own language they called themselves the Men of the White Horned Mountains, and they bore a deep and abiding anger against those who had displaced them from their homeland – the Rohirrim and the men of Gondor who had given away their land to the horse farmers. And any who aided these two groups were also fair game in their belief.

‘What did you see?’ one of them asked Wulfson, their leader. ‘How many and what kind gather about their little fire?’ asked another.

‘Nine there are,’ answered Ulrich, his eyes on his brother. ‘Two of the Fair Folk,’ continued Wulfson, ‘and seven of those meddling Rangers.’ He spat the last word out in anger. ‘They’re camped just off the Great Road. They look worn out, as if from battle.’

There were low grumblings at this turn of events. The group had been traveling along the road, beneath the cover of the trees for some time, bound for Breeland. A fine group of ten horses had been ‘obtained’ from an unfortunate farmer on the outskirts of the Mark, and they were now bound for sale to certain men in the woods of Breeland who would pay well for them.

‘Shall we head further south to avoid them?’ asked Ulrich, looking to his brother for direction.

A feral light rose in Wolfson’s eyes, and he shook his head ‘no’. ‘We are well rested and well armed and horsed,’ he said with a toothy grin. Pulling his long, double bladed knife from its sheath, he kissed it. ‘Why should we run? Let them run, instead. And our blades taste their blood when we catch them.’

Silently, the others drew their own knives and touched the pommel of each to his. Then two were sent to watch the Elves and Rangers and report back on their activities. The others packed up their few belongings and saw to the horses.

‘We’ll ride ahead to the marshlands before the Last Bridge. There are some rocky outcroppings there, thick with bushes to shield us from view. We’ll ambush them there. Take what we can from them.’

‘And kill them?’ asked an older fellow, who’d lost one eye in years past in an encounter with a Ranger.

Wulfson’s lips drew back in a gruesome smile, showing his ragged yellow teeth. ‘Kill them all . . . the Elves, too . . .’

[Mad Baggins]

Beroth slept fitfully. His dreams were full of trolls and the lifeless bodies of his two companions, their eyes staring sorrowfully at the red sky. Your time has come! a voice screamed, and Beroth jerked awake. His skin was drenched in a cold sweat and he was quivering. Someone was shaking his shoulder.

"Beroth, it's your watch," he said. "I'm sorry if I startled you."

"Oh...no, no you didn't," he replied, trying to stop trembling. He rose from his bed, shaking off the grip of sleep, and crossed his arms, hiding his hands. His awakener (he could not see his face for the darkness) gave him a strange look and asked, "Beroth? Are you all right?"

"Yes...I just had a dream. It was quite vivid and for a moment --" He gave a hoarse laugh. "For a moment, I thought it was reality. But I'm fine now."

The person put a hand on his shoulder, then turned and walked away towards his gear, singing softly. Beroth smiled and sat down, yawning. A movement upon an outcrop to the south caught his eye, but when he turned swiftly to look, nothing was there. He shook his head, thinking, That dream has made me become skittish. I must calm down.

He yawned again and shivered. He drew his hood over his head and poked at the fire with a long, pointed stick of ash. The chilly night woke him up quickly enough, and Beroth kept himself awake throughout his watch. Soon the eastern sky grew paler, and Beroth realized how fast the time had slipped by. He roused the others and was greeted by a few good-natured grumbles. Soon they were all wide awake and nibbling on a quick breakfast.

After everyone had eaten, Arathorn led them west on the road. Beroth found himself glancing at the place he thought he had seen the movement. He had a feeling that he was being watched, but he shrugged it off as leftover uneasiness from the battle with the trolls. To ease his mind, Beroth began to sing.

[piosenniel]

The Dunlending dog lends its voice to Beroth’s song . . .

The two Dunlendings watched from their vantage point as the group of Rangers and Elves fixed a meager morning meal, and then gathering their possessions, started off down the road. They noted that it was one of the men, and not the Elves, who was the leader of the group. “Arathorn”, they heard someone call him.

From the cover of the bushes and trees set off from the sides of the road, the two outlaws followed at a distance from the center of the group. With them were two of their great hunting dogs, said to be bred from the wolves that lived in what was once their people’s homeland. One of the men in the group they watched had begun to sing. In a wavering, thin voice he had started his song, and at the nods and smiles of his companions, his voice gathered strength.

The dogs twitched their ears at this curious sound and growled low to each other. One of them, thinking to join in the odd howling, raised his own voce in a long, drawn out howl of his own, which was quickly silenced by his owner . . .

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Owacyn jumped out of his bed as he heard the howling of the dog, within seconds Arathorn too was standing with weapon drawn. Owacyn had a look of fear slightly embedded in his face. "What is it?" whispered Arathorn?, "That howl...I know that howl...that's a dunelending hound!" Owacyn replied back. Arathorn looked puzzled. "Owacyn, we've just fought how many trolls?" and you're scared of a dog?", Owacyn looked at Arathorn. "Trolls are slow and stupid, these dogs are almost unbelieveably fast...and deadly...about the size of a wolf..."

Arathorn gulped slightly, "And how many are there?" Owacyn hook his head, "I only heard one...but we should be careful, there could be many more..." Arathorn shook his head, "What a foolhardy venture this is turning out to be, eh? Owacyn?"

[Saraphim]

Elrohir had woken before the howl, but a grogginess from extreme fatigue had kept him from immediatly finding his bearings as a good night's sleep would have afforded him.

Most of the others were already awake. Elrohir looked down at his brother, who was still asleep with a cloak over his head. A well placed kick sent Elrohir's older twin into action, and a snarky comment was silenced when a second howl tore the area.

Elrohir looked to Arathorn.

"Well?" he asked," What do we do now?"
But he knew the answer and was already fitting his bow with an arrow.

[astarielle]

The day passed slowly as Elladan's eyes tracked the movements of the sun with his eyes. "The star of the day seems to tarry in its long journey more so today" he said no no-one in particular as the group, still anxious from the events earlier that day, continued along the road. Minutes seemed like hours, and hours like days to both elves and men alike.

The group was walking quietly along the road, everyone trying not to listen too closely for strange sounds but inevitably doing so. The previously high moral now seemed stricken with melancholy and uncertainty for the future. Stopping only briefly for meals the companions made quick progress along the road. Not soon enough did night fall and sleep could soon forget the troubles of the day.

Elladan remained on watch tuning his hears to the slighest sound and his eyes to the slighest change of shadow. The murmering wind whipped up the flames of the fire and sent embers crackling far into the distance. The grass played its mournful song as the lingering sounds of the day disappeared as night grew and cast its shadow.

[piosenniel]

A day later -

The Attack at the Bridge . . .

The two Dunlendings trailed alongside the slow moving Rangers and Elves keeping well out of sight. It had been two days since they’d first come upon them, and the group seemed to have some idea that they were being tracked. Though, the Dunlendings took especial care now to keep their dogs quiet and them selves well hidden behind the trees and bushes that lined the road.

As the seven Rangers and two Elves drew in sight of The Last Bridge, their spirits seemed to lift a bit. Their stride lengthened and their eyes were now fixed on the passage across the River Hoarwell. The two Dunlendings who were tracking them pulled silently away and rode quickly away to where their fellows awaited,

Hidden three to each side of the road behind a copse of trees on one side and above on a rocky outcropping to the other, the Dunlendings watched the approach of the men and Elves with great anticipation. As the last of the men reached the small rocky cairn the Dunlendings had put near the road to guage the moment of attack, The Wild Men and their four great hunting dogs swept down and out from their hiding places with a great cry. Wolvish grins on their faces, swords and lances raised in readiness they charged the Rangers and Elves from both sides and behind.

Ulrich led the attack on the hated Rangers from the rear. He spurred his horse in, his two great dogs running alongside, their lips pulled back in a snarl from their sharp, yellowed teeth. The first man to fall was the Ranger, Eldin. He took Eldin’s lance in his left shoulder and stumbled back. Ulrich’s female dog saw her opportunity and was on him in a flash of fur and fang . . .

[The Perky Ent]

Seeing the bridge gave hope to Arathorn. He figured by then the loss of their company would ease. And, however slow it took, it was. "At last!" Arathorn shouted, slighty quickening his pace to the bridge. As Arathorn paced slightly ahead of the others, he had no idea what was in store for him. When Arathorn reached the Dunlendings cairn, he had only seconds before he a Dunlending followed by two massive dogs. By the time Arathorn pulled out his sword, Eldin was on the ground, covered by two gigantic dogs.

Running to Eldin's side with his sword in his hand, Arathorn was inches from one of the dogs attacking, when Arathorn himself was pinned down on his back by a dog. Arathorn tried holding the dog back, but as his sword had flown five feet away, it became complicated. Finally breaking through Arathorn's grip, the dog raised it's paw. Arathorn could see it's sharp nails, each a small dagger. As the paw came closer and closer to Arathorn's face, Arathorn heard a small sound in the distance. Before the dog could even touch Arathorn, an arrow had plunged itself in the canine. It fell on the ground, not moving. Getting up to his feet, Arathorn could see Elrohir give him a small salute as he cocked his bow with another arrow. Recovering his sword, Arathorn ran back into the battle, where his sword would taste flesh.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Owacyn shouted as he ran towards Eldin. The dogs paused for a moment, then one of them turned and leapt at Owacyn. Crying out with hate, he brought his sword up, leaping into the air, before reversing it and plunging it blade-first into the ground, and the head of the hound. He drove it until the dog's smashed skull would permit him to push it no more, then wrenched it out and swung a precise swipe at the other dog, who turned just in time to see Owacyn's sword cut its throat. It sank, whimpering, to the ground, where Owacyn thrust his sword into its heart. It slumped to the ground, before gasping out a final howl.

At the death of the two dogs, Ulrich screamed and charged at Owacyn, the horses hooves thundering as they bore down on the prone ranger. At the second before his head would have been crushed, Owacyn rolled to the side and in a single, fluid movement swung his sword at the horse's legs. He cut clean through the front left leg, and the horse buckled, hurling Ulrich under itself, and rolling until lack of momentum forced it to stop. Ulrich looked up at the ranger standing over him, the dark hair and scar looked familiar. "Owacyn, [* EDIT BY MOD *]...", Owacyn smiled widely as he looked at the man. "Ulrich, I told you I would never forget...and I haven't..." Owacyn drove his sword into Ulrich's chest, blood spurted from the dunlending's mouth as he wrenched it out. "I'll deal ith you when all of your freinds are dead, Ulrich."

[The Perky Ent]

The battle was short. After Owacyn's dramatic heroics, it wasn't very hard for the group. Especially the elves. Together, Elladan and Elrohir had killed 2 men before Arathorn could even kill one of the riders. Hanindur and Beroth killed the others. It was Arathorn who killed Wulfson. He ran up to Wulfson and sliced his right shoulder. Falling on the ground, Wulfson was pinned and couldn't use his arm to save himself. Lying there helplessly, Wulfson began to moan.

"Awww!" Wulfson said in a raspy voice, sucking in small amounts of air in short intervels. "My arm is ruined!" Wulfson continued, "My body is worthless. My life is worth nothing! Please! Have a heart! We're all on the same side, aren't we?"

Arathorn paused. Wulfson began coughing, still waiting for mercy from Arathorn. There was silence for a moment. Then, suprising everyone, including Wulfson, Arathorn calmed his grip on his sword. "No savage. We are not on the same team. However, I will give you mercy...but it will cost you."

Arathorn's face was rock solid, unlike Wulfson, who was whimpering. "You are a savior! I will pay whatever price! Just please let me live!" Wulfson said, trying to clasp his right hand with his left. "You will pay the price for your life, murderer?" Arathorn said, lowering his sword to Wulfson's neck. "Yes! Yes! Just let me live!" Arathorn lifted his sword from the Dunlending's neck, and moved his sword into a stabbing position. "Here is what you pay!" And in one swift movement, Arathorn punctured Wulfson's other shoulder.

Screaming bloody murder, Wulfson began cursing at Arathorn madly. "What have you done?!?" Wulfson said, his face red as a cherry. "What good is living without my arms?! You idiot! How could you do this to me?" Arathorn's face was as much as stone as when he showed mercy. "That was the price for spareing your life. He accepted. In saving your life, I have stopped you from ever killing again" "You," Wulfson was mad now. All sanity that might have been in him left with the blood flowing from his shoulder. "You think I still can't kill? We'll see about that! Maravmar!" and as he shouted, the last living dog ran twords Arathorn.

"You coward!" Elrohir shouted, as he was watching the event from behind. Before the dog could even jump on Arathorn, Eldin suprised everyone as he weakly threw a dagger at the dog, killing it. After this, Arathorn could take no more. "This is how you treat life? You would waste such a precious gift? Surely Anga or Nuwethion would not. Had I the power to determine who has life, I would surely use it. But I believe that a man should use every power he has. And I know the one just for you!" The was silence for a split second. "Death" Arathorn said, stabbing Wulfson for the third time, but this time, in the heart. Spitting up small amounts of blood, Wulfson exhaled greatly, and lived no more.

"Is it over?" Hanindur said to Arathorn. "No" Arathorn said, pointing to two figures in the distance. They were Owacyn and Ulfang.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Hanindur made a slight face-- the ranger had been hoping it was over. After the amount of fighting that had gone on over the last while, he was getting slightly tired of it, though he was used to it. At least this battle had been fairly short, the one he had killed had been less of a challenge than a 12 year old boy had been... luckly he had not had to face one of the dogs. Those had been vicious looking creatures, wolfen, and evil.

The hope to be able to resheath his sword was vanquished for a moment, as he watched to see what would happen-- to see if his blade would be needed again. One thing was certain, and that was with the choice to follow Arathorn, and the others this time-- his blade would not go unused. No, there was no dust to settle on the once shining blade, not with the amount of times they had needed to fight. First the trolls, which had been a heavy battle, and then now-- and it was inevitable to say that there would be more.

Hanindur sighed slightly. At least with this battle they had captured the horses, which meant for less walking, anyhow. That would be useful-- for at least something good had came from the shorter fight.

[The Perky Ent]

Arathorn wasted no time in getting a horse. "Come men!" Arathorn said to the rangers, who were all looking at Owacyn. "He can handle himself! Let's get some horses, and set the rest free" Arathorn said, pointing to a group of horses. Coming to a dark red horse, Arathorn began to approach slowly. The horse was very calm, and didn't notice Arathorn at all. Taking a deep breath, Arathorn placed one hand on the horse, and began to stroke. Making a slight movement, the horse shivered, but then calmed. Taking an even deeper breath, Arathorn gulped, and climbed upon the horse.

Some of the men were having harder time. The twins hopped on two white horses very easily while Hanindur fell off once. After everyone was on a horse, Arathorn looked at Owacyn, who was standing over Ulfang's body. "Come Owacyn! Time is short!" Hanindur said, pointing to a horse. Quickly, Owacyn picked out one of the imprisoned horses, and tried to get on.

It was a sad scene. The horse and the man had completly different points of views. The first time Owacyn approached, the horse lightly bucked him. "Why you good for nothing-" but Owacyn stopped. The horse was running away. "Owacyn, just grab another! There's tons!" Elladan said. "No, it's gotta be this one!" And running across the bridge, Owacyn tried to catch the horse. The others followed for about a mile, until Owacyn became so tired he could chase no longer. After all, the fight with Ulfang had taken a lot of energy out of him.

"That's it!" Arathorn said, riding up to the horse the color of space. Speaking someting in elvish, the horse slowly calmed down. "Try now." Arathorn said, offering the horse. Slowly climbing up, Owacyn got on his horse. "Finally!" Elrohir said, riding his horse alongside. Then, into the sun, the travelers rode north, to glory and death.

Traveling all across Arnor, they slew many orcs. From North, South, East, and West, they fought. It was rather quick, except for one skirmish in Weathertop, where Arathorn nearly died. Then, after about a month of riding, Arathorn looked up into the horizon and saw something he never thought he would. "Look!" Arathorn said, pointing to a small black dot. After about 10 minutes, that tower got bigger and bigger. Then, after an hour, they were within reach of Arathorn's final destination. Angmar. "We camp here tonight!" Arathorn said, getting off his horse! "Tomorrow, we break the doors, and find what mysteries lie in the dungeons of the Witch King's lair."

[The Perky Ent]

Arathorn was having trouble getting sleep. He couldn't deside if it was because of the towering black castle shadowing him, or the fact that his horse had picked a really bad time to go to the bathroom. Whatever the matter, it caused Arathorn to get up and walk around. "So much history" Arathorn said, looking around the fields surrounding Angmar. All around the ground were remnants of skeletons shattered from battle. "Much evil rests here" Hanindur said, walking up to Arathorn. He too was facing the same sleeping problems as Arathorn. "I still don't see why we should come. The orcs only came this way. We don't know if they came in. Face it, Arathorn. It's been deserted for years." "Then what's the harm? I know you mean well, Hanindur, but this is something I have to do. After all, how often do you get to come here? And what if the orcs didn't come here? Then that makes it even safer." Arathorn said, picking up a rusty sword from the ground.

"Not necessarily" Elladan said, walking behind Hanindur. "Say something dark still festers there. If the orcs came, it would have killed them, and revealed itself. If the orcs didn't come, and something is there, we betting hope we don't catch it's eye." "We won't" Arathorn said, putting the sword back on the ground. "I promise."

[The Perky Ent]

The red sun raised slowly from the endless horizon. A magnificent display of ruby, saphire, and magenta danced around the sun in such a way that gave awe to Arathorn. "Now that," Elladan said, "Is something you can only see up here. In the cold places of the north. Slowly, one by one, everyone began to wake up. And after they woak, they sat and looked at the sun. Then, after a while of watching, the sun took a breath, and lifted up from the horizon, shining great beams of light, reflecting on the men.

"Well men," Arathorn said, though pausing, as Eldin gave a grunt. "And elves!" Arathorn corrected. "We're going in! To mystery and glory! What mysteries lie here we do not know, but I know that there are many. This is why I call for an act of seperation. You elves will go up to the towers and see what is there. No doubt many secrets...and treasures." A murmer passed through the elves. "Us men," Arathorn continued, "We will go down into the dungeons." There was a mixed reaction throughout the group: elves and men. "What!" Elrohir shouted! "You get to find the real adventure all by yourselves?" "There is too much danger Arathorn! This is madness!" said Paladir. "It is what it is! It may be danger, but what glory has been taken without danger?" Arathorn said fiercly. There was silence. "Then it's decided. We're going in!" said Hanindur.

Standing in front of the gate, the men felt acquard. It wasn't in as good a shape as it was when the place was inhabited. What was once a great, thick, strong door, was now a rancid decaying hunk with cracks in it. "Time to break it open!" Owacyn said. "Not exactly." Arathorn said. "There's a crack large enough to crall through over there." Arathorn said, pointing to a small hole at the bottom of the gate. Owacyn began to blush. "Well...well...well where's the adventure in that." Owacyn said, charging up to the hole. Shocking everyone, Owacyn took his sword and began swiping his sword just above the crack, making it bigger. In a few moments, he had made a small door. "See! Now we don't have to crawl!" Owacyn said, drawing a breath. "Very heroic" Arathorn said sarcastically, walking into Angmar.

Inside, everything was dark, with the exception of the light from the "door", and two torches. "I don't like this" Hanindur said, taking a step back. Eldin looked at him as if he was looking at a monkey, and grabbed a torch. "What a nice coincidence!" Arathorn said, taking a torch. "Well, let's get going! It looks like there's a stairway past that hall! Let's go." Arathorn said, walking slowly into darkness.

The dark, high ceilings were starting to get to the men. Suddenly, they heard a scream. Though, none of them were screaming. "Calm down men!" Arathorn said. "The place is old! It squeaks!" "It came from outside!" Elladan said, rushing back to the "door". Outside, there was nothing. "See, nothing!" Arathorn said, starting to go back inside. Suddenly, something hit Eldin very hard. He nugged Elrohir, and then he too realized. "Exactly." Elrohir said, softly. "Nothing. There's nothing here, or anywhere. This is bad!" "What?" Arathorn said. "Of course there's nothing here! We're in the middle of a deserted kingdom. There hasn't been anyone here for centuries!" "You don't get it!" Elrohir said, once again softly. "I know where the scream came from. Our horses are missing."

Arathorn was mentally hit with a ton of bricks. He looked all around, but the horses weren't anywhere. "No horse, not even of Rohan, could get beyond the horizon that fast. Something is wrong." Arathorn said, looking at everyones mildly scared faces. "We should run now! Go back!" Owacyn said. "No. If something did take the horses, the could take us. We're safer inside...for the moment" Elladan said, walking back inside. The others followed.

Comming to the stairs, everyone took a gulp. Two great black stairs were stretching for what seemed miles. "Well, I'll be seeing you!" Arathorn said, going down. The others followed, except for the elves. Once the men had passed beyond light, Elladan, Elrohir, and Eldin stopped going up. Waiting for a minute, Elladan signaled Eldin, and they, with Elrohir, began to take the stairs not up, but down.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

The group moved down slowly through the total darkness. Owacyn kicked a stone by accident, and it made a resounding sound as it bumped down the stairs. Owacyn cursed wildly, silently, at himself. He heard a scratching noise above him and looked up. He couldn't see a thing, and he shook his head for being so stupid. He felt a breeze on his back, and he took another step down. He heard the scratching sound again and his heart started beating faster. He took a torch out of his pack and struck a tinderbox to illuminate it. Light flooded the tunnel. Again he looked up, seeing nothing, he again berated himself for being so paranoid.

He tried to step forward but found that his legs had gone numb. He pulled his legs forward with a concious effort and stepped down the stairs. Breathing heavily now, trying to keep as calm as he could. He slowly drew his sword with his right arm he continued down, trying to make as little sound as possible...

[astarielle]

The air inside Angmar was stuffy and putrid. A foul stench eminated from the inner chambers of the abandoned Kingdom. Moss clung desperately to the slimey stone walls, now crumbling with years of decay. All in all it was not a very nice place to be, a stark comparison to the light and fairness of Rivendell. The darkness seemed to grow thicker as the group made their way along the tunnel, by the time they split the dark was almost tangible.

The three elves, following commands from Arathorn, made their way up some stairs. Elladan lead the small group keeping his sword free in his right hand and the other hand against the wall. They climbed slowly and waited for the light of Arathorn's torch to disappear in to the growing darkness. Elladan raised his hand, barely visible to Elrohir at the back of the group, signalling to stop. With a sideways incline of his head Elladan signalled that they should make their way down into the depths of the forebodding place. "If any evil does still linger in this place, it will shun the light and therefore remain in the shadows below" he said quietly not wishing to disturb the air and signal their presence to anything that my be lurking in the vacinity. The light footedness of the elves meant they travelled along in relative silence.

[The Perky Ent]

Climbing down the stairs, Arathorn held his torch tight. If it fell, it would be a long way down. Looking around, Arathorn could tell that, as run down as the place looked, it wasn't empty. Hearing a scratching noice, Arathorn looked back at Owacyn, who had also looked behind him. Thinking nothing of it, Arathorn continued down the black sharp stairs to the dungeons of Carn Dum.

After about an hour of walking down the steps, Arathorn could see the bottom. It was smooth, even black marble, similar to that of Isengard. At the bottom, Arathorn could also see a small canal running through the middle, and continuing for miles. Halfway in the middle of the canal, there was a small, crumbling, bridge, which connected both sides. "Quiet men!" Arathorn said, looking behind him as he stepped onto the ground. "Shadows must not even know our presence!" As the men rested on the ground, Hanindur saw something very strange. "What is that light on the stairs?" He said, pointing to a soft, red light slowly comming down. Then, spontaniously, the elves jumped off the stairs onto the ground. "You really didn't think we'd let you have all the fun, did you?" Elladan said, greeting the men. Elrohir and Eldin followed close behind. "I figured as much" Arathorn said, taking a close look at the stairs, making sure it was just them. Arathorn wouldn't risk anything. That is, anything if he knew about it.

[Saraphim]

Elrohir kept his grey eyes open, searching the shadows for movement, and his ears tuned to every sound. An arrow was nocked on his bow, and his sword was loose in its sheath.

The ascent to the towers proved nothing more than dust, so Elrohir followed his brother down the steps to meet the men in the lower levels. He could feel Eldin close behind him, just as wary.

They were nearly down the stairs, Elrohir began to hear things from the chamber below.

"That cannot be the men?" he asked, incredulous at thier noise.

"The Dunadain are still men, I suppose," said Elrohir, using elven grace to avoid a crumbling step, "Shall we give them a good scare? Just to keep them on thier toes?"

Elladan smiled wickedly, "I wouldn't dream of doing anything else."