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Old 07-23-2006, 10:35 PM   #1
Durelin
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Durelin is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Durelin is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Vrór

Knowing what felt as if it was going to be a long night would turn out much shorter than he would have liked in the morning, Vrór did his best to find rest. But there were too many things that did not sit right with him. He could not sleep when he was not sure what he would wake up to. This land did not seem to sleep – really, he could not help but feel that the night was when it was most awake and on the prowl. As if it could just swallow him up. It was a strange place indeed if he was afraid of every rock and pebble.

What would he find himself getting into tomorrow? They would be off, racing to the rescue in the direction that an old man determined from a bird and had perhaps double-checked with a squirrel, a butterfly, and…a horse? Horses…those were strange animals indeed. He had surely seen them on many an occasion, but never exactly…spent time with them. The fact that several of them were picketed close by, near enough so that he could hear the occasional snort and stamp from them.

Tomorrow he would be the only one without a mount. Already the Hobbit had kindly offered some kind of assistance, but the Dwarf was far too much of a gentleman around other gentleman such as Carl. And though a pony such as the Hobbit’s was much less intimidating than those tall horses the others road, Vrór could not imagine himself being caught on such a quaint little animal with an Elf, a couple from Rohan, and even a man from the South around to see him. He could imagine word spreading across Middle-earth about the Dwarf of the second Fellowship – the “Fellowship of the Fourth Age” as the letter had read – who was so ungainly on just a sweet, fat little pony.

So he found himself wondering if perhaps it was not too late to reconcile himself with this horse problem. A good night’s sleep would help if he would be running after a dust cloud at the tail end of the group, but that seemed more impossible to grasp even than the thought of him actually seeing what it felt like to sit on a horse. High in the air…the ground unreachable by his feet. What on earth would that feel like? Nothing on earth, in his opinion.

Making his way over to where the horses were tied, dragging his feet but trying hard not to shuffle them and make so much noise, Vrór stroked his beard, eyeing the night around him. At the moment, he was not sure if he was more afraid of the horses or the chance that someone might see him near the horses. Once close to the great animals, the Dwarf found his eyes glued to the large forms, black and shadowy in the darkness. It took him a moment to realize that there was another person nearby. He started, almost turning his head to examining closer who else found themselves drawn to these creatures, but finding himself too afraid of a horse taking advantage of such a distraction. The result was a tilt to Vrór’s head, leaving him looking more puzzled than anything else, if one could look puzzled in the dark.

Feeling the other presence draw closer to him, the Dwarf silently cursed, and was so on edge that he nearly jumped again when the person spoke. It was Rôg, the strange man from the South, seemingly a friend or even a servant to the even stranger old man from…well, who knew. Perhaps even Aiwendil himself didn’t. But was surprised him even more than everything that kept going bump in the night was the man’s offer. Ride with him? With him?

“Well,” Vrór found himself starting to speak before his mind was really prepared for him to. It was another moment before he spoke again in which the Dwarf swallowed and dragged his eyes away from the horses for a moment. “Thank you, Master…Rôg…” He steadied himself, and though he found his gaze drawn back to the tall animals a small distance before him, he forced himself to think clearly.

It was just like his blueprints. He was positioning himself on the horse where he would be balanced, held up even though he was strong and heavy and thus nearly unbreakable except by time itself… Surely if placed right he would be just a sturdy in structure… And with the right guidance… He glanced back at Rôg. Southern men knew all about horses, surely, even if not as much as those Rohirrim. All those tall folk seemed to spend a good amount of time off their feet, as if those long legs weren’t reliable enough.

“I would be honored to share your…steed,” he finally responded hesitantly. He knew he had heard the animal called such a name, but it just did not feel right on his lips. Nothing seemed right about these creatures, really. “And I would most appreciate your guidance. And so I am merely at your service, whether at the front or to the rear.” Either way it would not be a pleasant view.
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Old 07-23-2006, 10:36 PM   #2
Durelin
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Durelin is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Durelin is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Khamir

Nearly everything the past nineteen years was about survival, but this was also a matter of trust. This Fewerth was one who felt completely certain of the way things should be done, which included things always going his way. This wasn’t the kind of mindset that made a person very cooperative, nor trustworthy. Fewerth and the two that seemed of a similar nature who followed him around were the type of people who you could only buy the trust of. But Hadith was just a boy who felt bullied.

Khamir felt himself growing frustrated, wondering how he got dragged into a role of mediation among children, making sure they played nicely. Unfortunately they were playing with lives, with freedom, with knives and chains. Was this all freedom was? The freedom to forget just how fortunate they were to be alive, to be away from the whip? Maybe they were just like animals, so accustomed to a way of life that they could know no other unless something made it impossible for them to live that way. And it wouldn’t be impossible for them to bicker, hate, fight, steal from, and backstab each other until they were all dead.

But they weren’t yet.

“Killed him with your own hands?” Khamir inquired, barely glancing at Fewerth.

“Yessir, choked the animal.”

“The horse or the man?”

“Uh…” Fewerth began, bewildered by Khamir’s question. “I strangled the Easterling scum!”

“He did! I saw it with my own two eyes!” one of his friends piped up, “The monster came at him from behind but he was ready for him in the blink of an eye…”

The one-armed man shook his head, deciding to ignore the three fools. Already they had forgotten the bounty hunters had ridden into camp. It seemed they had agreed on some kind of story, but had paid little attention to detail when doing so. Perhaps they had assumed too much weight in their words. It was clear they thought more of themselves than anyone should. Khamir didn’t think enough of any of them to ever expect one of them to bring a slaver off his horse and manage to kill him, even with a weapon.

And so it was still hard to believe that Hadith was perhaps telling the truth. It was not so difficult to believe that Fewerth had taken the boy’s knife – what Khamir had trouble with was that a dead man was involved. Had Beloan really been that right about the boy? A trap for birds, a few deer…that was not the same as throwing a knife in a man’s back. Was this fresh-faced youth really capable of something like that? The Southron had seen many men die, he had watched others suffer countless times, but every drop of blood and lifeless body was different. And it was somehow eerie that the boy he stared at was already a killer.

“I do not think I could believe them, but I cannot yet say I believe you. Tell me more of what happened, and neither elaborate nor humble yourself. The full truth is the most believable, and I will respect you for telling it.”

He was still seated in the grass, and so he had to look up at Hadith. But looking up at the boy was not at all like looking up to him. Khamir stared him in the eye with calm severity, but without any trace of condescendence. His words were not preached, though they formed weighty statements.

“And silence, you three,” he added in regard to Fewerth, Joshwan, and Guilledean, common sense telling him at least one of them was prepared to say something denigrating about the boy. If he treated anyone like children, as Johari suggested he did, it would have to be those three.
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Old 07-24-2006, 01:23 AM   #3
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Nogrod is wading through the Dead Marshes.Nogrod is wading through the Dead Marshes.Nogrod is wading through the Dead Marshes.Nogrod is wading through the Dead Marshes.Nogrod is wading through the Dead Marshes.Nogrod is wading through the Dead Marshes.
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Hadith

"Well", Hadith started but didn't seem to manage himself. He was torn between the hate he felt against Fewerth and his companions and the revererance he felt towards Khamir. But as Kahmir silenced the bullies with a quick gesture of his hand, he gathered his courage to speak openly.

"Well, when they first came upon us, I was still asleep and the first wave of them just swept over me", he looked at Khamir seriously and intensively, not paying attention to the smirks the others were giving him. "At last I managed to get from under my blanket and had to fight with a dog that ran on me." He passed the part that made him geel so guilty; the girl that had had been under the dog's attack and whom he couldn't save.

"After the dog was dead I listened to the sounds of the villains being too far away, but then they were closing in again. I was dripping blood from my eyebrow and shoulder already. First came the dogs, from darkness, but they went past me. I was prepared then, but the rider came out from nowhere too soon and had a lance. He noticed me just a yard or two away and tried to hit me but I managed to duck the tip of the spear and then..." Hadith fell silent for awhile, the whole situation came back to him in a vivid memory he could describe with a length of details. But he knew, he had no time for that kind of stories now.

"Well, I tumbled to the ground and just somehow, instinctively, threw my blade at him when he had rode over me. The blade hit him at the back and he fell from his horse. Then there were suddenly a lot of people who appeared from nowhere - where they were hiding - and beat him to death. I tried to rise up and claim my knife back, but I was too confused and battered to make any real claim to it before I fell down. Khala and Cuáran helped me then..." He was looking at Khamir from under his eyebrows, looking honest but wild with anger as he gazed towards Fewerth and his friends.

"You just check Guilledean's sack to see that what I say is true. There will be the blade you gave me. I would recognise it anywhere, so dearly had I looked at it when you gave it to me. And there is an Easterling blade too, decorated and a fine art-one. The one the poor guy was carrying..." With that he fell silent. He had spoken too loud to reveal his own private embarrassement of the young Easterling that had gotten killed. mostly because of him. He had semeed like a boy of his age, nothing more, nothing less, and that had taken Hadith aback with the corpse when he was studying it. He just couldn't believe he had been bad through his veins.

Just to bring the things up to the order of the moment he added: "They will also know well enough, where is his lance and the jewelry he carried with him - and his boots as well."

With that Hadith draw his blade and took a few steps needed to make it behind the three, just to make sure they wouldn't ran away without needing to face him...

He waited for Khamir to respond as Joshwan grinned towards him maliciously.

"The kid is lying! We are men and you should believe us more than a brat of his weak stature! I killed the Easterling and this Hadith just happened to be around. He's making fantastical claims right now! He had no part in the killing of the Easterling!" Fewerth moaned loudly. Joshwan and Guilledean nodded in agreement with Fewerth, Guilledean making sure his sack was behind his back as he stood somewhat farther away from Khamir.

"Look at Guilledean's sack, Khamir! I'll prove myself right with it!" Hadith cried to Khamir. He was quite bewildered, still holding his new knife in his hand behind the three. He had no intention of letting them to escape this questioning. Fewerth glanced at him with an evil eye, but Hadith just returned the challenge with his sturdy glance back. He was ready for anything right now. He had been humiliated too much today already, now he meant what he said and would not take back his stance anymore. He would stand for it. He would stand for the truth.
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Old 07-24-2006, 02:42 AM   #4
piosenniel
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The night had proved a short one; sleep nearly impossible. Rôg rose before the sun was truly up and gathered together what few things were left to pack away. Aiwendil had taken the offer of waybread and fruit to break his fast; which left only the his bedroll to be rolled up and secured to his mount.

A short walk brought Rôg to where the horses were tethered. The dun mare was looking decidedly more rested than he and seemed in a good…no, make that, fair mood. Rôg piled his pack and bedroll on the ground and approached her.

‘I’ve come to make an offer of compromise for the day, dear horse,’ he began as he untied the rope holding her to the picket line. ‘We’ve a guest today. Vrór…Vrór Redfist. The fellow with the bright hair…the one that has walked all the way.’ He ran his fingers over her head and body checking for any problems. ‘I’m thinking he should sit the fore; don’t you? Be more stable up there. He’ll have the reins,’ he raised a brow to the mare. ‘But of course you will most likely take the lead as you normally do.’ Rôg reached into a small pouch he’d brought along with him and pulled out a handful of oats, offering it the horse.

‘By the way, he called you a “steed” when I spoke of you to him.’ The mare twitched an ear at the accolade, nodding her head up and down as she munched on the oats.

Rôg saddled her when she was finished and secured his small pile of belongings to the rear of the saddle, settling them so he would be able to perch on them as the Dwarf took the saddle. He then saw to Aiwendil’s mount.

Across the camp, he spied Vrór making his way toward the horses. Rôg waved him over. ‘A good morning to you, Master Redfist!’ He went to stand by the mare. ‘And here is our noble steed; ready for the day’s journey.’ He spoke a few soft words to the horse then moved near to the saddle. ‘May I give you a leg up? 'Twil be most comfortable here in the saddle, I think. I'll sit behind.’

Last edited by piosenniel; 07-24-2006 at 03:19 PM.
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Old 07-24-2006, 10:50 AM   #5
Child of the 7th Age
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The fellowship rides north:

To his relief, Lindir found that he had very little to do the next morning. The entire camp rose early, each member rushing about and making preparations for the journey long before the sun had risen. The Elf had checked over all the horses and tackle to make sure everything was fit for the road. Others in the group had hastily packed away their belongings and eaten a few snatches of food before mounting up and pointing their animals' noses firmly towards the north.

Dorran rode at the front of the line, with Aiwendil on one side and Athwen on the other. Lindir brought up the very rear; just in front of him were Vrór and Rôg, with Carl riding in the middle of the group. Occasionally, as their journey progressed, the istar would lean over and point out to Dorran some particular patch of shrubs or a tiny brook or bare hillock that showed they were still continuing in the right direction. The group made decent progress; for the most part the horses were able to maintain a steady canter except for a few stretches of rough ground, pockmarked with entry holes from a long abandoned rabbit warren or thick with prickley bramble bushes where they had to pick their way with great care. Most of the land was flat and barren, with little evidence of living creatures. There was no sign of the bat colony which had so caught Aiwendil and Rôg's interest the previous night.

A grey dreariness hung over the party, a feeling of heaviness and shadow that was not dispelled even when the first rays of the sun shone weakly over the plain. Unlike the night before, there was little casual talk or camradarie; all eyes remained fixed on the trail, each rider intent on making progress as quickly as they could.

They had been going on like this for several hours when Lindir ordered everyone to halt and then rode forward to the front of the group. The land where they were now riding was still grey and heavy, but craggy hills and larger patches of vegetation at least provided some cover. Lindir stared to the north to what looked like an empty plain to the rest of the party. Then he glanced over at Aiwendil, "It's hard to see because of the hills, but around that bend, where the small stream is, I think I can can make out the outline of a good sized Mannish camp."

Aiwendil glanced back at Rôg, raising one eyebrow and tilting his head. He was met with an affirming nod. Turning back towards Lindir, the old man spoke directly to the Elf, "Yes, that is it, I think. And this is the closest that we'll want to come in the light of day. These boulders and the surrounding brush will give us some cover, but we need a few brave folk to go down and get a closer look at their camp, and try to find out where they've taken the slaves."

"You're right, my friend. Any takers then? the rest of us will set up camp." Lindir stepped back and looked around the group.

Last edited by Child of the 7th Age; 07-25-2006 at 01:46 AM.
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Old 07-24-2006, 04:57 PM   #6
Durelin
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Durelin is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Durelin is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Khamir

The way the boy remained defiant made Khamir really start to believe that Hadith was telling the truth, and that any of the events leading up to the loss of his knife were not due to simple luck. Beloan’s faith had been well placed, it seemed. Perhaps it was time Khamir let himself trust someone, even a boy...a boy...how old was this Hadith, anyway? He looked so young, but Khamir thought he recalled hearing that the young man had endured at least eighteen summers, most likely all spent in Mordor. Eighteen years? Was that really what Beloan had told him?

Am I really treating them all like children...?

The Southron forced the thought away with a little annoyance. He did what he had to, and he should not regret it. They were lucky no more than two of them had been captured or killed. Obviously he had done something right; they just could not see it. But what exactly was it that they could not see?

This “child” certainly seemed prepared to use his knife.

“Lower your blade, Hadith. I can see you know how to use it.”

Khamir kept his face smooth, though if one looked closely enough it was likely they would observe a certain amount of surprise glinting in his eyes. There was no avoiding that he was taken aback by what he saw in the young man – not a boy.

Not drawing his eyes away from Hadith, the one-armed man spoke to Fewerth and his cronies.

“One of you had best bring me Guilledean’s bag, otherwise, whichever direction we decide on, you’re getting left behind for those Easterlings and their dogs.”

If nothing else, fear of losing their own skins might persuade them to think more along the same lines as Khamir. There was not a bit of sarcasm in the Haradrim man’s voice, and the grins were wiped from the three’s faces once the weight of his words crashed down on their heads.

But none of them moved or said a word, each most likely waiting for the other to take the initiative and thus take the first blow if one of some kind was to come. It was enough of a hesitation to tell Khamir that they didn’t think much of threats, at least while they were in numbers. And so with a sigh he reached for his belt and drew two knives in a flash. They had been hanging at his belt in the same place for at least five years. Reaching for them, even with just one arm, one hand, was second nature.

“One, two,” he counted, holding up the two small but deadly throwing knives in between his fingers for Fewerth, Guilledean, and Joshwan to see. He had enough confidence in his grip that he knew he would be able to strike two of them down where they stood at the moment, but he wasn't sure how much distance he could manage with them both drawn. Still, he kept his face blank, and his eyes steady with clear and dangerous certainty when it came to his abilites. “Three,” he finished, nodding toward Hadith.

“That’s one for each of you.”

Last edited by Durelin; 07-24-2006 at 06:08 PM.
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Old 07-25-2006, 03:57 PM   #7
Regin Hardhammer
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Ishkur

Ishkur chewed the plump donkey rump he held with great satisfaction. The slab of meat, thick and tender, dripped red blood down Ishkur’s chin as he ate. Ishkur savored the taste of meat in his mouth for the first time since they left camp. His suggestion to look for travelers to steal food from was indeed paying dividends. Now everyone will take a keen interest in my ideas for the group, he thought with pleasure. I will be a leader.

In the middle of his delicious meal, Ishkur sensed someone come up behind him and then leave suddenly as if they were afraid of being seen. Such trifling interruptions did not disturb Ishkur in the middle of his much loved meal. Later on, after he had finished eating the meat and began to gnaw on a bone, Ishkur noticed a bundle of dried meat, loaves of travel bread, and what looked like a tuber stacked neatly next to him. Ishkur looked around curiously and wondered who could have left this food for him. A large group of orcs had gathered nearby grabbing at the leftover bones so it was hard to tell which one had done this.

Ishkur had no particular ties with anyone in the group except for Gwerr so he could not imagine anyone who liked him enough to give him food. Although not completely full, Ishkur decided to store the package of food for later in case they came to a place where pack animals for stealing were not so plentiful. This food could last a long time on the journey and he could eat it when he needed to.

While thinking about the mysterious orc who had left him food, Ishkur remembered giving the two sisters meat from his donkey. Maybe, he thought, they had decided to give him some of their own food in return. Ishkur did not exactly know how to respond to this, as no one had ever done anything like this for him before. But then Ishkur could also not recall a time when he had given out food of his own free will to anyone else. What changes had crept up on him, being out here on the road even for just a few days? Although he could not bring himself to thank them for their gift, not even for such a precious thing as food, he made a note in his mind. From now on, he would try not to think so badly of these sisters and maybe even help them when he could. Ishkur forced himself to admit that, although they could be annoying, female orcs were not completely rotten.

At least the sisters had not been as thin skinned as his old comrade Gwerr. The latter had been in a foul mood and seemed to avoid him. Gwerr seemed to forget the fact that it had been Ishkur who suggested they raid the camp. Suddenly he heard Gwerr bellowing from across the compound about leaving immediately. With a resigned grunt Ishkur marched over to him, determined to settle the problem once and for all.

Last edited by Regin Hardhammer; 07-31-2006 at 08:45 PM.
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