Bloodstained Elanor RPG

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Lomarandil scowled darkly at Thorvel as he shouted at him. When he finished Lomarandil shook his head and turned away. Starting to walk towards a tree, he reached it and started to climb, quickly reaching the top. Gengerly he walkled along a long branch to the end and straightened up. From this elevated position he could see the source of the lights more clearly, he saw the orcs swarming around in different directions. Anger welled up in him, his hands tightened around the hilts of his daggers, into closed balls. He looked down at Thorvel and Targil, and even Calenvasa. "They do not have to hate me," he whispered to himself, looking at the swarming orcs he smiled dryly and added to himself, "there will come a time soon, in the next few days, when they will call for my help...and shall I answer?" Lomarandil pushed such thoughts from his head, of course he would answer, he couldn't leave his friends to die..."But are they friends?" he mused. Surely he wouldn't miss Thorvel, but at the thought of Calenvasa dying he nodded. At least he had tried to hide his distaste for him.

"Lomarandil! Get down here now!" he heard Calenvasa shout and nodding downwards he made his way back to the trunk. Leaping off the branch he clasped the trunk with his hans and slid right the way down it, letting go a few metres above the ground in order to twist his body round in an elaborate somersault to land facing the group. Thorvel spat and turned away, Calenvasa looked exasperated, and Targil just shook his head. Lomarandil raised an eyebrow at Thorvel's back, but dropped it quickly again when he turned around. "Lomarandil, would you PLEASE stop showing off! I wouldn't be surprised if half the forest heard the noise of that little escapade! You're going to get us all killed!" Lomarandil's face tryed to contort enough to shout a reply back, but he held it straight with a visible armount of effort. Hopefully I'll get YOU killed, Thorvel," he thought bitterly...

[Durelin]

Calenvása watched Thorvel with a surprise, an angry shock that he tried to contain. He could not understand this outburst, which made Thorvel sound as childish as Lómarandil and as arrogant as Targil. He felt hurt and saddened by this practical betrayal, and even more so by the growing coldness in the air. He felt as if the hatred was whipping his body like a cold, hard wind, and it shocked him into fear. “Thorvel,” he said softly. Thorvel turned his wild eyes from the young Lómarandil to his Captain, looking flustered, his face a mix of emotions. At least he seemed confused, unsure of what he did, and Calenvása thought he understood. But he frowned at his comrade.

“I believe that orcs can hear both your voices. As you have just said, we should not underestimate their brains, or their ears.”

Calenvása was only slightly surprised when Thorvel practically sneered back. No one found the Captain’s humor appropriate at such times, but he had decided long ago that those under his command would have to endure it. Calenvása’s eyes then moved to Lómarandil, passing over Targil’s clearly derogatory face. The young elf smiled nastily at Thorvel, who avoided looking at him, with an arrogance that threatened to overcome even that of Targil.

“Forgive me, Lómarandil, for my harsh words, but you know that that was a foolish move. Both you and Thorvel have done many foolish actions in the past few moments, and said many a foolish. And this time, your words spoke much louder than any of your actions.” He sighed, and was glad that no one spoke during his short pause. But there was nothing to say. He had made that very clear. “I see now that too much has been allowed to be said.”

“Too much?” Targil asked with all his usually pride, an eyebrow raised. “ We have barely begun to understand each other, Captain. Too little has been said, for that.” The title used lacked any of its usual respect when it came from Targil’s mouth.

“It is clear that we will not listen enough to understand each other, Targil.” He changed the direction of his words from Targil to all three of his companions. “And you will start by understanding me.” He paused for emphasis, and found himself wondering at how much bitterness he had put in his voice. The pause grew to be too long as he choked on his words, finding it hard to pick up where he left off. For where he left off he had never meant to get to.

“What Thorvel suggested will now be fully taken into account. There are plans to every attack the Enemy makes, as well as overwhelmingly large forces to slaughter. What we must never do is ignore what could be. It is only reasonable to think that a small, separate force would not be used simply for more slaughter. And to say that our brethren could easily destroy such a force is to selfishly underestimate our enemy, and to overestimate ourselves. I believe this reminds us to mind our feet. They must remain on solid earth, the earth that we wish to protect.”

Calenvása smiled slightly, hiding the deepening sorrow and worry that plagued his mind and heart, as well as trying to lighten the air. It was heavy with chilling hostility. “And as to standing here all night, Thorvel, that is precisely what we are going to do. It seems that Lómarandil and Targil picked a perfect spot for a rest.”

~

Targil

Targil had been assigned the first watch, while the others were allowed to let their minds wander in waking dreams or dark, temporarily lifeless dreams. Glancing behind him at the others, he saw no movement, and so decided to make his own move. He began making his way toward the army camp, far to the right of where any of the lights shown in the night. Calenvása and Thorvel could ponder all they wished, talk all they wished. Targil would listen no more; he was going to discover answers for himself.

He knew Calenvása had taken the second watch, and he was glad of this. Let the Captain find himself angry enough to actually take command once more. Targil had watched the earlier proceedings with much enjoyment, finding it nice to see Calenvása finally speak to them with authority, even to Thorvel. That was another thing he had enjoyed, Thorvel losing his own temper, and so parting from his usual ways of being all but a pet owned by the Captain.

Dropping to a crouch, he allowed his eyes to pick at random glow in the shadowy night before him, and moved toward it until he could clearly see the shapes of the orc creatures sitting around their crude fire. The roughness of their voices rang harshly in his ears, and the cruelty of their nature resonated in those gruff sounds that resembled words. He listened to them until the darkness deepened enough even for these creatures to find some kind of rest.

As a soft glow began to come from far away, a glint of gold from the snapped Targil out of the reverie he had fallen into. “Up, worms,” came the voice, clearly a man’s, since it’s gruffness lacked the animal-like snarl or growl of an orc’s. “Urkrásh, you may go to your master. Our work is done.”

“Thank you, Captain.” There was some scurrying in the dark, and one of the original orcs was gone. To the three remaining creatures, the man that Targil had easily identified as a Southron, the Captain, said, “We march, and we leave behind the stragglers, this time.”

Though this sounded a very light and rather lifeless threat, and one all too common to be taken seriously, the restlessness of the orcs was clear. They knew this ‘Captain’ was serious to no end. They all proceeded to rise with an extraordinary amount of livelihood for ones who had just risen from slumber. Then one dared to speak to the man, his voice quivering slightly. “Cap’n…” he began softly, and the Southron turned around, stopping in the middle of his departure from their presence. “Will we be reachin’ the river today?”

“If you ever stop your blathering and start moving, yes.”

“An’ what happens then?”

“Nothing happens to you, but others will be going in just a little different direction.”

“We’re splittin’ the forces?”

“No, we are taking advantage of these elves being of small number. Now shut your creaking jaws and get moving!”

As the anger in the Captain’s voice became so that it could not be ignored, the orcs were soon moving away from their put out fire, finding a motivation to move quickly. Targil smiled slightly. He was glad that the Southron Captain had found it necessary to show the orc that he knew the plans, fortifying the fact that he was clearly above them. Feeling satisfied, and yet angered that he would have to acknowledge what Thorvel and Calenvása had been suggesting, he waited for his enemies to clear the area before he moved. He then started back to where his companions rested.

Targil had barely reached a safe distance from the army camp before he found Calenvása seemingly waiting for him, sitting comfortably on the ground. He rose as Targil approached, a small smile on his face. “I missed my watch.”

“Thank you…” he said, the words coming more smoothly than he thought they would, as he practically choked at the thought of thanking the elf. “I found what I was looking for.”

“Good. The others must be roused, and then we move, immediately.”

Targil forced himself to smile back at Calenvása, as Targil’s found a respect for the Captain somewhere in his mind, if not in his heart.

[Firefoot]

Thorvel spaced himself off from the other Elves; within sight but just far enough away not to be part of a group. Targil had the first watch, and Thorvel tried to relax and rest, though his mind was too full of swirling thoughts for any such thing to happen. He had no idea where the angry outburst at Lómarandil had come from. He much preferred to keep his emotions in check, and was usually rather good at doing so. He supposed it was from not knowing the Orcs’ plans. He liked to understand things, and it bothered him when it did not. He did not even dislike Lómarandil nearly as much as he seemed to show. He did not regret his words to the younger Elf, only the way he had said them. He supposed it might have even been worth it, if Lómarandil gave his words any value at all. It might have been worth it, if not for the look Calenvása had given him. It had cut him deep, for that look had been full of disappointment, and even betrayal if Thorvel had read the look correctly. It made Thorvel feel ashamed, to have let his Captain down. He trusted Calenvása, and Thorvel had rarely let himself trust another before. Memories of past Captains nearly overwhelmed his mind: him stalking off because he disagreed with an order, him completely disregarding an order because he didn’t trust the Captain to make a correct decision, him having heated arguments with the Captain, and more. They all came out to about the same end: he was switched into a different troop until that Captain could no longer stand him. Thorvel could feel some of his independence and stubbornness creeping in. His loyalty to Calenvása was not gone; it was just buried beneath the surface.

His thoughts and emotions continued like relentless waves crashing themselves on a rocky shore until he became dimly aware of Targil and Calenvása speaking. He did not make out any of the words, and they soon split, Targil moving towards him.

“Come,” said Targil. “We are leaving.” Thorvel silently got to his feet, and the two Elves joined Calenvása and Lómarandil. Thorvel kept his distance from the others, mentally if not physically, and waited to hear if Calenvása had any additional orders before they moved out.

[Orofaniel]

The light was soon about to come, and for that Herding was thankful. He had been awake most of the night, even though he felt tired. He had only been dozing off now and then, when his thoughts didn't carry him away.

Herding opened the tent cloth slightly. It was quiet outside, expect from some orc mischief down in the corner of the field. The Haradrims and the Easterlings seemed to be asleep though. He turned his eyes to the path that Koran and his follower had taken up to his very own tent, just a few hours earlier. That was probably why this night had been less pleasant for Hedring, compared to other nights; this conversation that had turned into a ghastly fight. He couldn't believe what they had been arguing about, when it all seemed so clear; Koran was not the man to lead the small force, as simple as that. But what was he to do? He couldn't do anything about it, could he?

He felt helpless now, and angry. This feeling was quite unknown to Herding, whereas he didn't feel helpless nor weak very often. The feeling that was so often called "anger", he knew too well. Although Herding was quite sure that frustration and anger could sometimes be compared. He even felt that it could be the same ting, although he knew they were different things. He wasn’t making any sense now. It had obviously been too many hours without sleep for Herding and the man looked like he'd been out for days without sleep, food nor anything to drink. His face was pale and thin, while his dark sweaty hair was covered parts of it. His eyes were empty and inanimate. Herding thought about this, and struggled with himself. Frustration causes anger, he said to himself. That was what he was; he was frustrated. Yet, when he knew he could do nothing about his painful frustration it had developed to anger. Oh how angry he was.

Thinking about how thirsty he was, he seized the bottle he had gotten from his soldier earlier that day. It was empty. Herding threw it in the ground with great anger and the bottle reached great speed- not too surprisingly. The bottled flew through the air and Herding could hear it hit the ground once again.

Then finally, the captain dozed off again, even though the sun had just appeared on the horizon.