Fall of the North RPG

[Garen LiLorian]

"As my Lady and my charge have accepted this from you," Angóre said softly, disapproval coloring every word, "I shall do so as well. But I do not know what you expect us to find. I do not believe we shall find any food fit for Elves or Men down these long-abandoned shafts of the Naugrim. Like as not, we will only find dust, or other pathetic creatures as desperate as ourselves and as hungry. Tell me, Belegorn of the Rearguard, why do you ask us to take the lead in the search?"

Belegorn repeated his explanation of Eldar senses, and Angóre chuckled mirthlessly. "I assure you, captain, I have no craft to lead us through such gnawings and worm-holes as these. Mayhap we can catch some small and unwary denizen of these holes, if indeed they are not utterly abandoned as I believe, but we would do better to mark our path carefully and retrace than rely on the senses of the Eldar to escape these wretched mines."

[Kransha]

“You realize that you cannot lead in this state.”

“Of course I can, and you know I can.”

Mellonar scratched his jutting chin thoughtfully, assuming the port of a philosopher, quiet and contemplative. He leaned back on the “imported” divan he had procured from the Arnorian supply wagons and lazily blinked, allowing an icy grin to perk up his colorless lips. “You do yourself too much credit, Hírvegil. You are sick, we both know it, but you, as always, are to stubborn to admit it. Perhaps it is a strain of the plague that harried us years ago, or a new strain. You are often in close proximity to the orcs and the dead. You are probably the most likely to fall ill in all the land, considering your exploits.” He feigned concern deftly, but Hírvegil was neither satiated nor amused. The Captain of the Rearguard sat woozily in a stone chair near Mellonar’s divan, leaning both arms on his downturned sword, which was stuck between the cracked floor stones.

“You are no physician, Mellonar, nor are you a healer – quite the contrary. Your prognosis is hardly one of an expert. I will be well after some rest, and the King no doubt has confidence in that. Besides, both of us want Belegorn to demonstrate his prowess as a commander and, after what happened to their brethren, the Elves probably despise me. It is better that I remain.” Mellonar clucked his tongue like a chiding school marm and giggled under his breath, obviously delighted by the whole situation.

“Yes, by the Valar, you’re a stubborn fellow, just like your father before you.” Hírvegil grimaced. His already whitened, pale face losing what little color it had as he became livid. “Don’t you bring my father into this, snake.” Mellonar looked slighted. “Snake? You call me this when all I wish to do is help you? I compliment your parentage and I am titled a serpent. Hírvegil, have you no shame?” He cackled noticeably, and Hírvegil’s face regained its color, but flushed irate red. He sputtered a little, feeling as if he should say something caustic, but nothing came from him, and he simply sat, rocking meagerly and flushing deeper and deeper crimson as Mellonar noticed his discomfort – and laughed again.

“I do not relish-” laughter “-your discomfort, Hírvegil, but it is rare that I see such an proud man of Númenórean blood, reduced so much, and yet so very arrogant still. You have not even the sense to admit your illness, but, t’is all the more humorous for me. The counselors in the King’s Chamber speak even now of what transpired at the Hills of Evendim; you are not what you once were, Hírvegil, do not pretend you are.” As these words fell from Mellonar’s lips, his tone remained an intonation of political sarcasm, but now deathly grave, as if the very syllables had become pale and grim. His eyes, bright with merry wickedness, lulled into serene dankness that peered, with some curiosity, at Hírvegil, as he snarled deep in his throat. “My mistakes,” the Captain said with a harsh rasp reverberating in his sore throat “shape my future successes. You are one to speak of such things, a politician whose career has been forged by underhanded movements and shady dealings. My faults are honest at least.”

“You fault may be honest,” Mellonar said in reply, slowly now and with no joy in him, all happiness having evaporated suddenly, “but you, Captain of the Rearguard, are not. You did not fare well, I dare say, and our troops have suffered. The Elves may have had their aristocrats rescued from the maw of goblins, but the loss of those two guards will cost us all.” He paused, gracefully, and settled back against the divan, easing into its sooty cushions like a wriggling serpent. “And,” he whispered, even though no one else was in the room, “I hear of other shortcomings. Some of the citizens have spread rumors, Hírvegil.”

The Captain’s graying eyebrows rose questioningly, both hairy tufts as skeptical as hairy tufts could be, “What rumors?” he said, his voice as deadly as a sword, but without the commanding strength of a well-forged weapon. Mellonar made a noncommittal chuckling noise.

“That boy, Faerim son of Carthor; you tried to enlist his aid in spying on the Elves.” Hírvegil winced, remembering this. He had felt dreadful doing that, weeks ago, but it seemed to be a perfect solution considering the circumstances. Darkly, he nodded, his head drooping downwards. “Yes, I did. As far as I know, he did not uphold his end of the bargain, but I blame him not. The situation became very chaotic later on and it would have been monstrously unjust to charge him.”

Mellonar perked up, his hooked nose giving a little rigor-mortis-like twitch, that of a dead rodent. “Charge him with what?” Hírvegil winced again, but not because of painful nostalgia. He shouldn’t have assumed that Mellonar knew of everything he had told the boy on that chilly Evendim morning. Obviously, someone had overheard snippets of the conversation of the camp borders and word had diffused fierily throughout the refuge of the Dúnedain. Now, inadvertently, he had given away the source of his guilt, the ruthless attempt by him at bribing a Dúnadan youth, a shady maneuver that rivaled some of Mellonar’s. With uncharacteristic reluctant, Hírvegil dove onward, “I did threaten, at one time, to charge him with high treason if he did not comply with my plan. It was a moment of weakness, one which I am sure you will cherish, but it is in the past. I do not know if that boy has forgotten the fact, but it was never brought up again. I certainly don’t intend to bring charges against him now, so the matter rests. You have your answer.”

Mellonar drew a long, manicured fingernail against the cushioning of the divan, drawing a bit of fuzz stuffing like blood from a wound, and placed a finger before his mouth, pursing his lips in contemplative repose. Then, he threw himself up suddenly, his billowing fur robes fluttering as crows arched wings and alighting on the floor, kicking up some cobwebs that had settled between the cracks in the stones during their conversation. “That is all one, Captain. See that you get well before matters become…” he halted, “complicated.” The word seemed strangely impacted, ringing like a weighted bell that struck and sounded in Hirvegil’s already pounding skull. “I am off to do what you cannot: lead. I suggest again that you consult someone skilled in leech-craft, or perhaps simply consult a leech and let him do the job, without the hassle of social interaction. Farewell.” With a self-satisfied grin, Mellonar swished dramatically out of the room, leaving Hirvegil to wallow in the pain induced by unknown ailments and well-known ills.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"I would be glad to go with those who will scout ahead, Lieutenant Belegorn, if you so wish," Faerim said respectfully, glancing at his superior curiously although he inclined his head courteously. He saw Erenor look sharply at him and, out of the corner of his eye, he caught her smile. Belegorn also shot him a sharp look, then, after a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "Aye; Lady Erenor, if you are to take Faerim with you whilst you go ahead, as you have suggested, and Lady Bethiril can accompany the rearguard, if you deem it would be helpful."

Faerim could not help getting the feeling this swap appeared to be something like a hostage exchange - one of ours for one of theirs - but somehow he did not mind. Erenor had proved intriguing company and whilst he would probably make no difference in the rearguard full of over-eager, under-trained youths, he suspected he could be of some help if he was to go ahead in this smaller group. He bowed his head to Belegorn, accepting the order, but the Lieutenant still seemed distracted, frowning slightly as he regarded Angóre perplexedly - deep in thought over the elf's words, no doubt. At length, he spoke. "You are right, Angóre, about the importance of marking our tracks so as to get out of these blessed mines - you would have no more skill than we in retracing our footsteps?"

"Not so as to hang the fates of half the army on, Lieutenant," Erenor replied quietly. Belegorn nodded, looking troubled as he rubbed his fingers across his stubbly chin thoughtfully. Faerim ran over the possibilities in his mind, then alighted upon one as his thoughts grazed over it. How to mark their tracks back to the other Dunedain...

"Maybe if we were to leave a...man-" Angóre chose the word carefully and with a certain tone of disapproval as he glanced non-too-subtly at Nevhith, who still hovered nearby. "- behind in the tunnels every couple of hundred yards, or at every crossroads - we should easily be able to trace our way back that way, and if there was a problem we could call back to them and they would be able to return the cry to bring us back the right way?"

Erenor, Ereglin and Bethiril nodded thoughtfully, apparently liking the idea, but Belegorn shook his head, worry for his troops presiding. "A practical idea on the outset, Captain, but what if something was to come along the tunnels? They would find our men on their own, and then where would we be? A score of men down and even more lost."

The elves looked disheartened and fell once more to thought, but Faerim silently mulled over his own idea. Maybe it was that he was younger than the rest of them: their childhoods and childhood stories were far behind them - gods, who knew if the elves even had bedtime stories? Looking at Angóre's pale, solemn stone face, he somehow could not imagine those stern features tucked up in a cot, snuggled into a delicately embroidered baby blanket... Feigning a coughing fit so as to cover up his smile as the image sprang through his head, Faerim looked away, but as he did so, he once more caught Erenor's eyes: she appeared to have been watching him all the time, once again with this air of study about her fair features. She raised an eyebrow sardonically at him and Faerim grinned back behind his hand, wrinkling his nose impishly. Angóre cast a disapproving glance at the pair, then fixed his eyes on Erenor. "Lady Erenor, Lady Bethiril, have you any thoughts on the matter?" he asked, like a teacher reprimanding a child caught talking in the back of class.

Faerim jumped in first. "Actually...actually, Captain, I have an idea that may work. What if we were to leave a trail behind us, so to speak, tracing our way back to the camp? Nothing special, mind, just something large enough for us to see and follow back - say a cloth or spare item of clothing tied to the rocks so as to mark our way out of the mines?"

The elves seemed to be mulling over the idea, frowning slightly as they mused what flaws it might have, but Belegorn gave a faint half smile as he nodded slowly at Faerim. "A trail of bread crumbs," he said softly. Caught out in his fairytale source, Faerim blushed and looked away, feeling suddenly even more juvenile. But the elves, it seemed, did not quite understand, and Bethiril jumped in. "Oh no, Lieutenant Belegorn - why, we are short enough of food as it is, that would be a waste of..."

Belegorn shook his head, smiling at the elven emissary. "A turn of phrase, my Lady, a mere turn of phrase." He looked back at Faerim. "Alright, Faerim, we shall try your 'trail of breadcrumbs' through the mines - it is as good an idea as any, I suppose, and I cannot see a problem. Oh, except..." He frowned, sagging slightly as he found the flaw. "Except...if there is some creature in these mines, surely it would help them trace us all the more easily?"

The reply that came was grim. "If something is to find us, Lieutenant, believe me: they shall find us just as easily with or without a trail of petals." Faerim looked across in surprise at Erenor as she used not 'breadcrumbs', but a second reference to the childish tale from which he had had the idea. Caught out...

Belegorn nodded, pursing his lips but in agreement. "Let us hope not, my Lady, let us hope now." Looking around the small group of elves, plus, as always, Faerim, the man's expression resolved and he gave a deep sigh of satisfaction, before murmering a few words and striding away to the rest of the soldiers, holding himself with a bearing strong and tall as he went to address them. As the elves fell to talking among themselves about how to conduct the scouting party, Faerim continued to watch Belegorn, his head on one side like a sparrow having seen something unexpected in a murky lake: maybe not all the superiors in the army were quite so ready as Hirvegil had been to threaten him - maybe Belegorn was that glimmer beneath the pondweed. Smiling to himself at the thought, Faerim turned back to his new companions to hear their plans about the scouting party.

[Mithalwen]

Erenor mused on Faerim's idea and cast her mind back to the distant days when she had learnt to scout and track for fun - fate had not required her to use woodcraft much for real, her status meant that she was invariably accompanied by elves skilled as rangers. Angore was a fine guide across country or through wood but these tunnels seemed to be affecting him, she thought. And of course the deaths of Gaeredhel and Rosgollo had affected him ... the whole wretched episode. Erenor was aware that their guard opened his mind seldom but she tried to reach him with her thought nonetheless. He was unreachable but she hoped that his bitterness and misery would not blind him completely. She also hoped that Berethil would not insist on joining the advance party. If they met trouble the unarmed woman would be a liability but if she remained they could communicate with the main group by thought quickly and silently.

"when we track in woods we leave signs. In these tunnels it will be necessary only to mark junctions. We will not need much material .. or maybe it would be possible to mark the stone somehow". She looked at the walls and tested them with the blade of her short knife..... the fine line could be maybe it would be enough... but she doubted it . Then out of the recesses of her memory a fact emerged. The Noldor, alone of the elves shared the dwarvish delight in metalwork. "Chalk! - see if there is any chalk around" she ordered .

"My lady Erenor, I don't think that there will be - these walls are hard stone" said the captain.

"Not in the walls! Around", The elf was at her most imperious, impatient that what now seemed obvious to her was lost on the others. " The dwarves worked metal here didn't they? Chalk is used as a flux when smelting copper and iron... " Erenor realised this was not the moment for a lecture on metal production " the dwarves would have needed it in quantity and they are unlikely to have taken it with them - I think we just passed some work shops - perhaps you could send a couple of your ...men back to have a look?"
Men! boys scarce out of babyhood who made Faerim look like a hardened warrior... nevertheless the lad was bright, and brave. There was somehing about him she liked and she gave him a quick smile while they waited for the boys to return. She would have to be careful though since it might do him no good to be seen overmuch as an elvish protege.

After a few minutes the lads returned with handfulls of soft white stone. "You see Captain? Chalk " said Erenor taking a pocketful before advancing, sword drwn into the tunnel.

[Garen LiLorian]

She had only advanced a few steps down the tunnel before she felt Angóre's cold hand on her shoulder. She looked up at his disapproving face. "You may do as you wish, lady Erenor," he said quietly. "But as long as I remain your guard I would order you at least in this; let me go first! I will walk ahead some ways and remain alert for dangers. I'll wait for you at intersections."

He turned to the young man. "I am entrusting the safety of Lady Erenor to you, Faerim. See that no danger befalls her; her life is more important then mine. Or yours." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and vanished into the darkness of the tunnel."

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Bethiril wanted to step back from the conversation. She knew little of caves, and less of exploring them. But she found no way of exiting gracefully, so she stood there awkwardly, like a peasant watching the discussion of nobles.

I’m sure nobility wouldn’t include allusions to children’s stories in their lofty discourses. She hoped no one would discover that she knew the tale. As unbelievable as it sounds, she had heard of it from an old man from Dor Lómin who somehow found his way to the mouths of Sirion. But Bethiril didn’t want her image . . . tainted.

Well, she thought, my acting was pretty good. She gazed at the stone roof above. And what will we find here? An edible cottage? She almost laughed, but then remembered, And what evil thing will we find residing in it?

[Lalwendë]

The air was acrid as though something had been burning, yet it was also chill and clear, and there was no sign of any recent fire. All was desolate, and there was no sign of life let alone the kind of life that might want the cheer of a fire. Renedwen was more unsettled than ever, even though she was not alone. Lissi at least came along with her, and though they did not talk together, her presence at least was a small comfort.

Renedwen was now troubled with her son. Since his birth he had been remarkably quiet, and this had been a blessing on this journey, but he had begun to grizzle when they left behind the daylight, and now they were deep underground, he had begun to cry. The noise echoed in the dark passageways and she saw how the others winced at the sound. If there was anything living down here, it would surely hear them now. Seeing the disquiet on the faces of her companions, she only felt worse. There was little she could do, as she dared not let go the hand of little Gilly, who now clung to her as though she were his own mother. If she did not have him to care for then she could attend to her son, comfort him, but now she had two to care for, two frightened boys.

Something in the cries of her son chilled her heart. It was more than cold or hunger, as she had made sure he was not suffering from either of those; it was terror. She knew that coming into this dark place, leaving behind the wide open skies, had awakened a dim memory of the terror that had assailed them back in the city. It was as though a curse had been placed upon them and the child was voicing what no adult dared to mention.

If she could but speak with someone, she might get some help, but she was frozen not just with foreboding but with fear of her companions. She knew she had been aloof and had made sure they could see she could cope; it was her way of withdrawing after her grief, and now that the silent tears had passed she did not know how to approach anybody. She looked at Lissi when she thought she would not be noticed doing so, wondering how to speak to this other woman who had been so helpful many weeks ago, but she could not find the words.

The company stopped in one of the passages and Renedwen, busy with the boys, walked on, not noticing that her companions had halted. Gilly tugged on her hand and eventually let go. Panicking, Renedwen spun about and looked for the boy, but stumbled backward. Her fall was halted by something soft, but instead of standing up again, she found she was unable to move, suspended with just her toes touching the ground. The more she tried to stand upright, the further she got from the floor, until she was hanging there, held by something sticky she could not see in the gloom.

Remembering a familiar childhood tale, a chill went right through her. She tried to scream for help but the words stuck in her throat. Like a nightmare she could not wake from. And then her cry for help suddenly echoed along the passageway, but the nightmare did not stop.