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

[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?”