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Old 08-29-2006, 12:54 PM   #148
Child of the 7th Age
Spirit of the Lonely Star
 
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Aiwendil:

Impatient to be doing something, Aiwendil squatted down on the outskirts of camp, his gangly frame concealed behind the protective cover of a boulder that stood in the midst of a patch of scrub bushes. One time, his heart thudded loudly against his chest as he spied a lone sentry approach close to his hideaway, stop to reconnoiter the surrounding plain, and thankfully ride off into the night.

A ways ahead of him, just over to the right, the istar could glimpse the pens and crude thatched shelters where the animals were kept: mostly horses but with a few donkeys and goats mixed in. Two guards paraded around the enclosures, each with a sword girded at his waist. Aiwendil gave little heed to their gleeming blades, since these should pose no real threat. But peering more intently, the old man noted a menacing longbow and quiver of sharp arrows flung over the back of one of the men. It was only at this moment that he considered the risk that such a weapon posed.

Aiwendil gritted his teeth in frustration and grunted to himself. Rôg would need to be careful. An arrow aimed straight and true could prove to be more than an inconvenience. He hoped his friend would remember that. The young man would hopefully approach the camp in such a way that his attack would come before the guard would even be aware of his presence.

For one moment, the istar considered the possibility of slipping into another guise and personally taking out the watchman with the bow, thus lessening the danger to his friend. Since his return from Harad, the old man had quietly reclaimed an increasing number of his skills. Although inferior in knowledge and standing in many areas, Aiwendil had long been known for his superior skill in shifting shapes even among those who lived across the sea. Thr brown robed wizard felt his skin tingle in anticipation. Tired of waiting and eager to be moving forward, he would have welcomed such a change.

But with the return of his skills had come other lessons--hints of important messages that Manwe had imparted to him before his departure on the ship. There were still many things hidden from his view, dreams and portents that made absolutely no sense, but one message had come through very clearly. He was to teach and encourage others to act rather than focusing attention on himself. Aiwendil quickly dismissed the idea of singlehandedly attacking the guard carrying the bow. He would trust in Rôg's judgment. The boy had not let him down on other occasions.

Still, he had a role to play, and it wouldn't hurt to help Rôg along a bit. The two men had orignally agreed that Aiwendil would let off the great thunderclaps after the animals had scattered to create even more of a ruckus. The wizard had little native command of fire, but his cousin Olorin had taught him how to make the powder and pack it into tubes, capable of being lit and whizzing off into the night. Since Aiwendil had never displayed great interest in the arts of war, these brightly colored flaming rockets were more for show than inflicting any real damage. But right now a little show of light and noise might accomplish a great deal. And if he could set the fuse off before the cat attacked, that fellow with the bow might be momentarily diverted.

The wizard spotted the cat padding softly towards the camp. He tried once to speak to the creature and issue a mental warning. But the animal's maw was covered with blood, its eyes bright and gleeming. The cat was part of another world to which Aiwendil was denied entrance, at least for the moment. He would have to rely on the flaming sticks.

After the horseman had retreated, the old man skittled forward with a surprising show of dexterity. Half crouching and hidden beneath the folds of his robe, he made his way to the camp, slipping from boulder to boulder, sometimes lying flat in the dirt. Oddly enough, his mind operated in two directions at once. Mainly, he was thinking about Rôg and hoping that he could create a diversion before the attack began. But the rest of his brain was focusing on something totally different: the earth that lay beneath his body. He could see and smell the top layer of soil, tired and despoiled. Even the destruction of the Ring could not bring immediate life to a land that had been so abused. But, unlike men whose knowledge is limited to what lies on the surface, Aiwendil had the advantage that he could reach down and marvel in the richness of what lay underneath. There were great riches here if only they could be nurtured and tended. His cousin had been good at seeing and nurturing the goodness in men and elves. That was harder for Aiwendil. But the tending and nurturing of green growing things and the creatures who made their homes there was something he instinctively understood. He reminded himself to speak with Carl, who would surely appreciate the treasure he had discovered.

It was not long until Aiwendil managed to slip up to camp. He did not directly approach the animal pens but remained behind the scraggly pile of branches and twigs that were used to light the fire for cooking. The wizard glanced back to be sure that the cat was about to strike. It would do no good to set off the rockets and draw attention to this part of the camp unless the other attack occurred at the same time. Confident that he was not too early, Aiwendil drew out the tubes and the firelighting sticks that Gandalf had shown him how to make. He placed a few tubes on the woody pile and others on the bare ground. The first should start a sizable blaze; the second soar forth into the heavens. Aiwendil wondered if Carl had heard tales from his older kinsmen about the great displays Gandalf had put on in the Shire. This would not be so bold or beautiful but it would serve his purpose. He bent over and struck the firestick against the flint stone and then placed the burning stick beside the powder tubes. Then he leapt up and ran back as fast as he was able, taking up his position outside of camp, as he waited for the sticks to catch light and explode.

Last edited by Child of the 7th Age; 08-29-2006 at 01:52 PM.
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