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

[Regin Hardhammer]

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.

[Nogrod]

Hadith

Hadith stood behind Fewerth and Joshwan, tense as a spring with the blade in his hand. But the three were not at ease either. Only Joshwan seemed to have retained something of his outward calmness, even though Hadith could see the veins in his head to swell from tension. Guilledean, the youngest one of them who was a bit right from him started trembling quite visibly. He still had his sack behind his back.

Just as Hadith turned his eyes left from Guilledean to see Fewerth, he turned suddenly around and tried to make an escape. But Hadith was fast this time. Khamir had raised his hand with the daggers but Hadith was already blocking Fewerth’s way with his blade pointing to his chest.

“This time you don’t run anywhere before the thing is settled!” Hadith said almost calmly, but he couldn’t quite hide the excitement that was betrayed by his voice trailing up towards the end of the sentence. Still his posture and gaze, not to talk of the pointing blade, seemed to be convincing enough for Fewerth not to try any additional tricks. Fewerth took carefully a step backwards from Hadith’s blade but Hadith followed him, still pointing the tip of the knife towards his chest from just inches away. Fewerth tried a “only joking” –kind of a smile, but Hadith’s face stayed stern. After all Fewerth had done, not only this day but before too, Hadith was in no mood for joking.

Hadith was most afraid but felt triumphant at the same time. It was confusing and he had to do his best to keep his expression level. All the three were adults, two of them more than ten years older than he was. He had always had to look at them as his superiors, even though his mother had scorned them and their ways. But now the tables were turned, at least for a moment. Is this what it means to be free? To be what you are and not just obey the place given to you? He was even more confused.

Everyone was still for a moment. Hadith tried to have a picture of the whole situation glancing around without moving his head. Joshwan was still standing sternly but Guilledean was now shaking quite openly. Khamir seemed to be on the alert for anything around him, his hand with the throwing knives still raised up and ready.

Slowly Hadith said, loud enough to address all the three, but staring Fewerth straight into his eyes: “Khamir asked for Guilledean’s sack. Now show it!” With that he took a half step towards Fewerth so that the tip of the knife touched his shirt. Fewerth leaned back without moving his feet but Hadith followed his movement, keeping the tip pressed on his chest.

“Stop it, stop it you all! We don’t want to be left to the slavers and at least I don’t have any wish to die here from the hand of another refugee trying to make his living in this forsaken land as I do myself.”

It was Joshwan who spoke, loud and clear. He looked at Khamir earnestly, not glancing around to the others. “C’mon Guilledean, open it up!”, he said turning towards Guilledean. “And stop that shaking! Stand straight like a man!” Hadith knew Joshwan was a descendant of the famous pirates of Umbar. Now he could see some of the pride and self-assurance in Joshwan’s eyes he had always associated with the idea of pirates sailing free at the seas.

When Hadith was keenly following what happened, Fewerth tried to take a few unnoticed steps backwards just in case an opportunity presented itself for him to run away, but Hadith sensed the slight easing of pressure on his knife and was back on Fewerth in no time. “Don’t you try anything before this is over”, Hadith snapped to him. Now he was more confident than he had been before. He had been right and now it would be proved.

Guilledean took a few steps and brought his sack forwards, laying it to the ground in front of Khamir. With shaking hands he untied the knot and took the two blades out for everyone to see. The other was the one Khamir had thrown to Hadith but the other one was something Hadith had never seen so close before. He had seen elegant blades with some Easterling captains in the plantation, but from this distance it was even more impressive. It was beautifully crafted Easterling long knife, much longer than the normal ones he had seen. And it had a sheath that was decorated with all the splendour one could imagine; weaven figures and ornaments made with a silver thread on a dark red leather that had been strengthend with gleaming and beautifully carved pieces of metal. Hadith noticed himself gasping in awe.

“H-here they are. Don’t leave us to the Easterlings, please”, Guilledean mumbled and presented the blades to Khamir.

[Tevildo]

With the stern rebuke from Kwell ringing in her ears, Azhar had turned her face from the wooden grate and stared fixedly at the ground. At one point, she heard angry voices from the other side of camp and wondered if the slavers had found whoever had stolen their horses.

Despite the girl's initial resolve to remain awake and wait for her rescuers to appear, her eyes had gradually closed until she found herself fitfully dreaming. Her visions were a tangled mass: images of blood and battle, some real scenes she had witnessed, others dreary depictions from inside her head that bore little resemblance to reality. Twice in her dream she heard Kwell bellowing at her; at least once, the strange eyes stared down from the grate. Only this time, the eyes did not look friendly. They reminded Azhar of some hideous, angry beast out of a nightmare that had finally spotted his prey and was considering the best way to kill it. From nowhere, a lumbering brown bear appeared, growing larger by the minute. Its great claws outstretched, the bear turned upon the creature with a mighty swipe and swallowed the nightmare in a single gulp.

Jerked out of quiescence, Azhar opened her eyes. Kwell still lay sleeping on the other end of the pit. The girl had no idea how long she'd slept, but outside the sky had turned from black to grey, and she could no longer see the stars. Her skin was hot, burning with fever, and sweat dripped down from her hair. Wriggling herself into a sitting position, she slumped weakly against the stone wall for support. Her fingers splayed out and felt along the ground as far as the ropes would allow, almost like a bear groping for honey on the inside of a large tree trunk. In the midst of these gyrations, she was surprised to make contact with something that had not been there before: a bulky package wrapped in fern leaves. She stared over to where Kwell was sleeping and noticed a similar object laying near his feet. With difficulty, she ripped the packet open and found a bone inside.

Curious to learn more and desperately hungry, she stretched out flat on her stomach to get a closer look. The stench nearly overwhelmed her. It seemed to be a thigh bone of some unknown animal, raw and red. Yet something told Azhar that the bloody packet was a gift. Certainly the slavers would not have shared a generous portion of meat with the prisoners, not when moldy bread or porridge would work just as well at keeping them alive. Instinctively, she glanced up at the grate but saw nothing there.

Azhar had never eaten raw meat in her life. Meat was not often given to slaves, and frankly it had never appealed to her. The girl had been pampered by the slaveowners, usually able to pick and choose what she ate. The smell of the meat almost nauseated Azhar, but she was desperately hungry. For a minute she debated. Then she arched her body forward, opened her mouth, and reached out with her lips and tongue, nibbling on the end of the bone. The taste was sweeter and more appealing than she had imagined. Ravenous with hunger, she sucked in the juices, envisioning herself as a a wild beast standing guard over its fallen prey.

There was a blinding sensation inside Azhar's head. Whether something from within wanted to break free, or some unknown power had inexplcably overcome her, she was incapable of knowing. Whatever the reason for the change, Azhar could sense a power and a fury from deep within that had never been there before. One good jerk and she had yanked off her cords, her body collapsing in a tangled heap. An instant more and blackness caved in. She lay on the ground unconscious, a tiny figure caught in the clutches of an unrelenting fever.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Post for Imak

A small tent sat in the middle of the encampment, poised midway between the pit where the prisoners were kept and the area with the horses and donkeys where they'd searched for signs of an unknown assailant. While the rest of the men always set up their bedrolls under the open sky, Imak used the tent as a place to hold meetings, to sleep, and to store his personal belongs. The sun had risen above the plain by the time the captain of the slavers trudged wearily across the compound and threw himself onto his bed, hoping to get some rest.

He and the others had tried to track down the intruders for the past two hours. They had scoured every corner of the camp, and a small party had ridden out to inspect the open plain. None of these efforts had met with success. Imak had made his living by stealing from others: taking away their freedom and possessons. To have the tables turned, to be taken in by a trickster and thief, was a bitter pill to swallow. In all his years working on the plains of Mordor, this had never happened before.

Imak was sure he'd guessed what was actually going on. The slave camp had been large--over sixty men, women, and children. While most of the group had no horses, it was certainly possible that their leaders did. He and his followers had seen only the eastern fringes of the slave encampment; a few horses could easily have been tied up on the far side of the hill, an area with a tangled web of long grasses, bushes, and stunted trees that would provide heavy cover and a place for the animals to feed. The owners of the horses had probably sensed an easy target and actually followed them back across the plain, waiting in the darkness till the camp had fallen asleep. Then they had struck, perhaps at the time when the men had risen to argue about the snake. Uninterested in the fate of a few worthless children, the slaves had stolen two donkeys and a horse to make their own life easier. Imak did not doubt that they would be back sometime.

Restless and on edge, the gang leader forced himself to rise and, thrusting his head outside the tent, barked out an order that the camp's watch was immediately to be doubled to prevent any further mishaps from occurring. Returning inside, he went over to where his belongings were stored, pulling out a small jeweled flask that was filled with fine wine. He took a large gulp from the flask and then knelt down to have another look, just to make sure that nothing had been stolen. The first item he spied was the satchel containing his most prized possession: a curved blade of eastern origin kept inside a fine metal scabbard, all encrusted with rubies and emeralds. After eying the satchel with the scabbard sticking out at the top, he vowed to sleep with the sword beside him and to wear it at his waist the next day to make sure that nothing happened to it. In Imak's eyes, the weapon was worth as much as two hundred worthless slaves.

The instant he picked up the bag to hoist onto his lap, Imak knew that something was wrong. The satchel felt light, far too light to contain his prized saber. Opening the sack confirmed his worst suspicions. Although the scabbard still remained as a decoy, the actual sword was gone. Overcome with fury, Imak ran out in the center of camp, swearing that the slaves would pay dearly for what they had done. Hearing the voice of their enraged captain and used to responding quickly to his fits of temper, the men leapt from their bedrolls and gathered to hear what he had to tell them.

"We will ride against the slaves," Imak snarled. "Those thieves not only stole our mounts but the finest sword in this camp. I will retrieve that weapon and personally cut off the head of whoever did this. The rest of them will be dragged off in chains and taken back to the plantation."

"Gurug, come here." He jerked a finger at one of the men. "You will ride this morning to the slave camp. find out what's happening, and then come back. If the slaves are packing to move, we will strike at them immediately. If they dally, we will wait till the following night. There is much to do to prepare. We have the weapons to slay such a worthless bunch, but I did not expect to be taking back a gang of over sixty slaves. It would be best not to attack until we gather the brands, mend the shackles and neck collars, put up holding pens and enlarge the pit, and gather more food. Defeating the slaves will be the easy part. Getting them back to the plantation is another matter. It may have to be done in two batches. I will not lose my profits by having some collapse from hunger or escape after they've been caught, but I swear that whoever stole this sword shall die."

Imak's face grew red with anger as he bellowed at the men. "I will not be cheated of my prey. Go now, Gurug. The rest of you....sleep for an hour or two if you must. Then rise and begin your preparations. There will be no slackards here!"

Immediately, Imak withdrew into the tent. All thoughts of sleep were gone. He spent the morning fuming and pacing in circles, planning for the battle that would surely come sometime in the next two days.

_________________

Post for Makdush

When Makdush returned to camp about an hour after the other orcs, he brandished a new saber, a fine blade of eastern workmanship heavily inlaid with jewels. He had never possessed a weapon of this quality before, not even in the days when he had worked as one of Saruman's chief lieutenants. His eyes gleemed possessively as he drew out the weapon and flashily showed it off in front of the others.

"Keep your hands off my sword," he barked out to the orcs who had gathered to look at the weapon. He turned and glared at them with a jaundiced eye. "If I catch anyone near this, you'll be sorry you were ever born." Then he strutted over to his two Uruk friends, and the three put their heads together talking about something in low, hushed voices so that no one else could hear.