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

[Brinniel]

Once the intruders disappeared, Shae had thought the worst would be over. With only two captured and a few slightly injured, she considered themselves lucky. Yet as the night continued, the atmosphere only became increasingly chaotic. Listening to arguments being thrown back and forth, and the blame pointed at the fifteen, particularly Khamir, Shae could feel her headache gradually returning. She was beginning to regret following Khamir's orders. After many years of being part of the gang of ex-slaves, following them had become automatic. Yet, Shae was beginning to wonder if she would've been better off staying behind- even if it meant staying alone.

It took several minutes for the one-armed man to find a response. Finally, he spoke out, saying, “Was anyone behind you with a whip, forcing you onto the same path as myself? One man does not want to decide what we are going to do. You decide what you do.”

As Khamir sat down, Johari opened her mouth, ready to retort at his comment, but without another thought, Shae stepped in.
"There's no point in even trying to argue this, because Khamir is right."
Johari frowned. "Well, of course you have to defend him- you're one of them."
"I'm not defending him," Shae replied, making her voice clear. "I'm merely making a point. None of us were forced to leave the caves. We all chose to follow Khamir, and though he made a mistake in leaving, we are all to blame for choosing to let him drag us along."

Shae turned to Khamir, who looked surprised to hear the normally quiet woman speak out.
"You know, you brought some of this on yourself," she said to him, lowering her voice. "Johari wasn't entirely wrong in her argument- you do treat them like children. If you don't want to be a leader, don't act like one. You have no right to tell the others who may or may not handle weapons. Adnan made a mistake. We all make mistakes- yes, his was more costly- but nevertheless, it was a mistake and it is how we learn. But how will he learn from his error when you take both his weapon and his dignity away? I made many mistakes my first few years, but if I had not been given a second chance, I would not be who I am today. Everyone in this group- old, young, male, or female- deserves a chance to fight. By telling them who can have a weapon or who can have a night watch shift, you are only enforcing their opinion of how you consider them. Just as Johari said- like children." She paused a moment before continuing. "Tonight, I want to put an end to that."

Scanning the crowd, Shae sought out Adnan and handed one of her four daggers to him. "Like anyone else, you deserve another chance," she told him. "But please, just don't mess up again. I won't be around to defend you every time you make an error."

As the woman stepped back into her place, she handed a second dagger to Johari. "I've listened enough to your fiery tongue tonight and know you are completely capable of handling this blade," she said. "Be sure to use it well."

[Orofaniel]

The attack, or the kidnapping, had not come as any huge surprise on Reagonn. It sounded cynical, but he was a man who had experienced a lot throughout the years. He knew that a big party of over fifty men, women and children, would not be able to walk and make camp without being seen. This was only the beginning he concluded.

He had listened carefully to the things that had been said, and he realised that Khamir found himself in a very unpleasant situation. He was seen upon as their leader, yet it was clear that he was unwilling to take any responsibility for dragging the group out of the caves.

Sighing, he glanced over to Eirnar. He stood motionless, as if in deep thought. Then Reagonn glanced on to the person standing next to him. It was a man, or rather a young man, he had not seen before. Yet, Reagonn found himself staring at him, suddenly feeling akward and quite uncomfortable where he stood. Had they been slaves at the same plantation, labouring together, side by side, without really having noticed until now? As vague and silly it sounded, Reagonn could not get rid of this feeling that they knew each other, or had once known each other. Who was he?

[Novnarwen]

Aedhild

Aedhild had no recollections of having moved to this particular spot. Tilting her head, she frowned, trying to extract a memory of the last thing she had done. "The devil knows who has moved me," she muttered under her breath. Closing her eyes, she tried envisioning how she had come to sand here, surrounded by the other slaves. They were talking, "the heavens knows only about what," some more aggressively than others. In the darkness, she couldn't clearly distinguish their features, nor was she able to recognise anyone she knew. She had fallen to the ground. She remembered now. She had heard shouting, "the heavens knows ..." she repeated, slightly irritated. It didn't explain however why she was here, among strangers, not asleep with feet aching as if she had run a hundred miles.

Nearby, the one-armed man had settled in the grass. She eyed him suspiciously. "Do you know what they are quarrelling about? she asked, approaching with light steps.

At first he didn't answer, just raised his eyebrow as if in surprise. Then, after a few moments, he erupted with laughter. Several moments went by, before he was able to control himself, and only then did Aedhild realise what had happened.

"Young man," she said sternly. "you laugh mockingly at an old woman!” she said horrified, still seeing the tendency of a faint smile on his lips.

“Did you mother never teach you ---” voice cracking, her anger grew, “respect?” she continued hotly, trying to resume her lost dignity. Her body shook with anger. The urge to give this youngster a serious beating, to teach him a lesson, seemed overwhelmingly tempting, but she managed to restrain herself. Even in this darkness, anyone could see that the otherwise ghostly white pallor of her face had been replaced by gloriously red; her cheeks seemed to burn under the cool, night sky. Taking a step closer, her mouth trembling, she straightened; her relatively small figure seeming to double in size as she did so.

Though, Aedhild did not possess any significant charismatic skills to intimidate her victims, she did seem to know how to make her fragile figure seem more frightening. Whether she straightened her back in these kinds of situations intentionally or not, no one would know, but it did seem to have an effect on the person she faced; in doing so, it seemed that she possessed an authority that only women her age can have; not even her wild appearance, which bordered to the humorous, could stop her from seizing this authority when she took a completely straight posture. However, knowing about her condition, what many slaves now dared call ‘madness', the others didn't take her seriously, and the authority she supposedly gained by this little trick had at least weakened if not completely been put to ruin.

“Shh! Take your anger elsewhere, woman,” the Southron replied at last, casting a last gaze upon her skinny figure body.

Gasping, Aedhild pointed her finger at him. This… this scoundrel of a man… disrespectful creature… Her body seemed to explode with the anger and tension she had tried suppressing. “You! You child of Mordor!” she screamed, but her words hardly escaped her lips before her all of the muscles in her body seemed to relax – at once. Dropping to the ground, hitting the wet grass, Aedhild lay motionless, her eyes wide open.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Carl

As he watched the shadowy figure of Rôg speaking to Aiwendil beyond the firelight, Carl couldn’t quite understand how they, or the king for that matter, could be so taken with a of survey of bats, as to put aside all else. He didn’t particularly care if Rôg had had found a whole nation of bats that rode horses and had their own postal system They would likely still be there, hanging upside down from their trees, like great winged cats, a year from now. And after all, bats had wings whereas slaves did not, and they need not be overly concerned with slavers like these people must be. He shook his head in disbelief. How could he be expected to understand the ways of the educated, when they seemed so often to make no sense what so ever?

The hobbit gradually became aware that his face had pressed itself into a frown, and he made an effort to find a more appropriate expression, for the dwarf had just confessed to them a certain gladness of heart at Athwen’s discovery, which the hobbit indeed shared. And so Carl smiled at Vrór, adding his own thoughts to this sentiment, as the lady slipped away quickly bringing her husband to them. But when the man took that item which his wife handed him, rather than finding cheer in it, he seemed burdened by memories and his words added immeasurable weight to the stone he held. Once again the hobbit felt the urge to ask him how he had managed to escape, but with difficultly held his tongue, judging it improper to make inquiries of such a personal nature. And so though the stone did little to give them direction, it still served to bring the hobbit at least, closer to those people they were to help.

Carl’s attention turned away from the others as he steadily became preoccupied with his own thoughts. A rapid adjustment had taken place in the hobbit’s heart, very unexpectedly, and with it came a pang of sorrow. He felt it sharply. For all the while he and the others in the company had traversed the land, he had never ceased thinking about those poor folk who they were to meet. And when the purpose of the branding iron was revealed, it chilled him to the core, to see evidence of the hardship that they must have endured in their lives. Indeed it was but a happy chance that they were not in fear of the slavers themselves. Or perhaps they should be! For if a man was black hearted enough to treat folk worse than the shoe he steps on with each stride, who’s to know if he’d care for anything at all beside his own good pleasure. Even the power of a just king and the might of arms might not give him pause, for he would be one wolf among many just as ruthless as he.

But still those former slaves, had always been held in his mind as a helpless, hapless group, a single entity to be pitied and to be lifted out of their misery, as if together he and his companions comprised the key to some invisible prison. The stone along with Dorran’s words shattered this notion as effectively as if he had hurled the thing at a flowerpot. Suddenly, it became clear that these people were individuals, like Dorran. And perhaps differed just as much as his own group.

A single hand had drawn that handsome tree, and that person’s presence shone evident in each scratch on it. Who was it that first thought to leave this sign behind, this bit of themself? Was it a group decision, or an individual one? Perhaps the very same hand that wrote the letter to King Elessar sketched it out. Soon the former slaves began to become well populated with intelligent and practical persons in the hobbit’s imagination, but most of all the stone provided a palpable link and fragile bond to at least one of them. And the hobbit felt compelled to find its author.

Turning to Athwen who again possessed the token, in a voice soft with emotion, Carl asked if he might have the honor of carrying the stone with him, to better keep it's source in mind. She agreed, handing it to him, and he quickly slipped it in his vest pocket, before addressing the dwarf. “It seems to me. Mister Vrór, that we will have to travel more quickly now than we have up to this point. And while I don’t mean to cause you any offence, I’d like to let you know that if you’d care to, you are more than welcome to ride with me. Stumps is even tempered beast and while not the fastest thing on four legs, he is sure footed and as strong as they come. That is how he came by his name, after all. No pony better in all Bywater for helping pull out tree stumps. He’s all muscle in there, a real hard worker and I’m sure he’d be just as pleased as I’d be, if you took up the invitation.” The dwarf looked doubtfully at the well-padded little farm horse. “Don’t worry. You just think on it a bit, Mister Vrór,” Carl reassured him, seeing his offer wasn’t immediately accepted. “I wouldn’t want to rush your decision any.” And with that the hobbit walked over to the red pony, and after stroking the side of the animal’s neck, he rested his hand on the stone that lay in his pocket.

[Child of the 7th Age]

The voices at the entrance to the pit had become increasingly loud and contentious. Accusations flew back and forth as Khanun confronted each of the men and accused them of planting a snake inside his water flask. At one point he came perilously close to exchanging blows with another member of the band. The two were spitting and fuming and calling out curses as they circled each other, their hands instinctively dropping down to pull out their knives.

Hastily jumping in between the combatants, Imak put an immediate stop to the ruckus. "Enough! I will have both of you in neck collars before this night is out! Think, Khanun. Even someone as dull witted as you should realize it wasn't the men. You were supposed to give that water to the captives. Why would the men pull a trick on the slaves? No, you sluggard. Your complaint tells me that you failed to follow my orders, and used the water yourself. In fact, if I had to guess, I'd say that you fell asleep and somehow one of the prisoners, probably the boy, stuffed the snake inside."

"But.....but....that's not possible. They're tied up." Knanun pointed weakly towards the bottom of the pit."

"We'll see just how secure your knots are. Ghila, go down with two of the men and bring up the slaves." Imak glanced over at Khanun with a sadistic smile. "This should be fun. If I am right, you've earned yourself ten lashes."

Within a few minutes, Azhar and Kwell had been removed from the pit and forcibly dragged into the presence of the bounty hunters. Imak bent down to examine their bonds, but before he could get a close look, there was an outcry from the other side of the camp, and the man who cooked for them came bounding up to Imak.

"Captain, something's wrong. Two of the donkeys are gone. The grass is matted, stained with blood. It looks as if one great brute, maybe more, came smashing into camp."

What more could go wrong, Imak mused. Things were spinning out of control. He'd best act and act quickly. Imak barked out his orders, "Ghila, you and your two men keep an eye on these slaves. We'll deal with them later. Khanun, don't leave my side. You men look over the camp. Make sure everything's alright. If there are any problems, sound your horn. Meanwhile, I'll check out these missing donkeys."

With that the group split up and went about their duties.

[Child of the 7th Age]

The members of the fellowship sat chatting and laughing in the fading light of the cooking fires, their faces relaxed as they temporarily set aside the worries of the day. Dorran and Athwen had finished preparing the meal. A pot of fish stew simmered over the coals, alongside a smaller kettle of mushrooms, a delicacy they'd discovered growing in one of the tunnels of the cave.

Aiwendil had waited till late in the evening to pull Lindir aside and speak with him. Partially, this was because the wizard did not know how he was going to convey his news in a way that would make sense, yet still respect Rôg's right to keep certain matters private. This was not the only reason for his delay. With the possible exception of Lindir, everyone needed time to rest. It made no sense for the company to push forward without at least stopping for dinner.

Aiwendil and Lindir walked together down the stream bank, confiding to each other in low voices. At one point, the istar knelt down and, using the end of his staff, etched something in the dirt, taking time to explain what the different scratchings meant. The Elf peered skeptically over Aiwendil's shoulder and shook his head in disbelief, "How can you possibly have learned this? Even the brightest birds in Mordor could not have described these landmarks with such precision. I know you are from the West, but I find this difficult to understand."

Aiwendil spoke with quiet confidence, "Lindir, trust me. This information was freely given. I am certain it is true. Indeed, I am prepared to stake my own life on it and the lives of all those in this company. The slaves are here; the slavers there, just a few miles apart. The slavers have captured the two children, imprisoning them against their will. We must leave now, not wait an instant longer. When the sun rises, the bounty hunters may well ride back and attack the slave camp. Although the slaves outnumber their pursuers, they lack the weapons and experience to stand against a trained band. Many of them are too young or old to defend themselves. And who knows if they can agree among themselves, or possess the heart and will to fight? Cruelty and bondage can do strange things to men."

With a sigh, Lindir shook his head, "I believe you, Aiwendil. You have spoken the truth. But, as Elessar has said, I am the one who must make the hard decision whether this group should go forward under these difficult circumstances, a journey that will likely end in combat. I must think on this further. Aiwendil, go back to the others. I will return within the space of an hour once I decide what we must do."

"By the way...." the Elf interjected a hasty afterthought, "Is Rôg back from the bat colony?"

"Yes, over an hour ago. The lad had great success, but I believe he was having a problem with his horse and wanted to attend to it. Now he has rejoined the others at the fire."

Lindir nodded his head, turned away, and continued walking up the stream bank.

[Folwren]

Kwell’s body ached, but his head was clear. They had been dragged out of their prison by their own captors, and before the brutes could discover the loose bonds, they had been left with only three men as guards. Kwell looked carefully from one swarthy face to the next. Two of them had their eyes following their captain who was bounding away into the darkness at a terrific rate. The last one, Ghila, he thought, looked at them carefully.

Kwell’s eyes settled on this one. He caught his eye and then looked away. He knew very, very well that no other chance like this would likely show up in the future if they stayed with these men. Their ropes were loose and easily removed and not even a handful of men had been left to watch them. But what to do?

His eyes darted about, hoping that anything would help him or at least spark some plan of escape. They lit on the slaver’s dagger and the rock he had found came back to his mind. He looked back up at Ghila. The man’s eyes had wandered in the direction of the donkeys, just as his companions, but only briefly.

Kwell edged closer to Azhar and leaned his mouth towards her ear. “Take the ropes off and run. I’ll keep them back. You just run, understand?” He hoped she did. In fact, he knew she did, but he didn’t know if she would obey. Oh well, if she didn’t, that was her affair, not his. His hands twisted out of the ropes and just as Ghila turned back to him, his hand dodged into his pocket and pulled out the sharp edged rock.

Ghila gave a shout and started forward, his left hand drawing his dagger and his right hand extending forward. Kwell bounded backwards and hurled the stone with as much force as he could muster at the brute’s face. It struck the man above the right eye and brought him up short.

“Run!” he cried. “Go!” He stooped to get another rock. He straightened and threw recklessly. The two others were bearing down on him. He scrambled hastily for more rocks and pelted them mercilessly. But these rocks weren’t as well aimed nor as dangerous as the first. He managed to halt their advance momentarily and he turned to try to escape. He didn’t know where Azhar was or what she had done, but he hoped she had run. He bounded forward into the darkness-

“No you don’t, you little rat.” A hand caught his arm and he was jerked back. He went sprawling onto the ground, one of the men stood above him, his foot on his stomach. “Get up. Get up!” He reached down and grabbed a handful of his hair. Kwell struggled up to his feet as he was pulled upwards. Hardly were his feet underneath him before he was struck down again.

“That’s enough,” a voice growled behind the man. Kwell remained on the ground, one arm wrapped about his head, the other around his middle. “Get him up and bring him here. Where’s the girl?”