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

[Undómë]

‘Who is it?’ Mazhg whispered to her sister. She could hear voices, men’s voices just beyond the great trunk of the tree they stood behind.

‘It’s that one we gave food to,’ Zagra whispered back. ‘Talking to that one with the black fur on. You seen him; he’s got the metal over his one eye hole.’ She pressed her fingers to her lips, urging Mazhg to keep silent.

What is it now? It looks like you’ve seen the Dark Lord himself, or an elf-King?

Mazhg peeked around the tree at the two men, then darted back quickly. ‘Elf-King?’ She narrowed her eyes considering the fact that that unfamiliar word was paired with ‘Dark Lord’. Did it have anything to do with the wizard, the cat, she’d seen? She turned the word Elf over in her mind.

‘Zagra!’ she whispered, pulling her sister down into a crouch near the base of the tree. ‘Do you remember hearing any stories about these Elfs? Zagra shook her head ‘no’. ‘Let’s just listen in,’ Mazhg went on. ‘Maybe that on will say more about these Elfs.

[Regin Hardhammer]

At first Ishkur grunted and stared at the ground to avoid looking Gwerr in the eyes. What had been said made sense, but Ishkur refused to admit he might have been wrong by urging the orcs to stay and continue to raid. He was surprised that Gwerr's final question had been so close to the truth It was so close that Ishkur began to wonder how his friend had managed to crawl inside his head and discover what was hiding there.

Still, Ishkur did not want to risk an argument with Gwerr when they were inside the enemy's camp. The orc dismounted from his horse and good naturedly clapped the other orc on the back as he barked out a reasonably cheerful answer. "And you say I don't know what I'm doing? While you were sleeping and probably oogling women in camp, I was out here spying and doing an orc's job. Look around, Gwerr! It's the perfect time not to be seen." Ishkur wagged his finger towards the general chaos that was still going on around them.

"And I found out a lot. Really a lot!" Ishkur pulled himself up to his full height and grinned proudly at Gwerr. "Some men have attacked the camp. A few robbers pillaging things down by the stream. Probably slaves who've decided to get even. And yes! You're right, Gwerr. Somehow they've made an agreement with one of the Elf-kings. I saw it with my own eyes. There were men and an Elf working together. If you don't believe me, I'll take you over and show you. Or maybe you're afraid of Elves and wouldn't want to come?" Here Ishkur grinned slyly so that Gwerr would understand he was only poking fun. "Anyways it's all good news for us. These slavers are going to be hopping mad. They'll want to have some slave heads on a stick. For sure, they'll ride out tomorrow. Maybe even tonight. All we do is stick around till they're gone. Then the place is all ours. I already have a fine battle horse. Maybe I'll pick up some gold or jewels. And those flasks of ale look plenty inviting."

"Of course, I want you at my side to share in the loot. I wouldn't want Makdush to get any more treasure. It belongs in good orc hands. But I can't stop you from leaving if that's what you want. For my part, I'm staying here, but I won't tell you to go or stay." Ishkur's voice turned serious. "When I left that plantation, I was sick of being ordered around by the Uruks. I'm not going to start ordering other orcs around, not unless it's a matter of a warrior's honor."

"So how about it, Gwerr, want to get a look at a real Elf king? There's great honor to be had in taking down an Elf."

[Child of the 7th Age]

There was something in Rog's voice and demeanor that stopped Aiwendil from responding in his familiar cranky way. For the first time since returning from the far side of camp, the wizard took a hard look at his friend. He was concerned by what he saw. All worries about the rescue and the children's arrival were temporarily pushed to one side. Rôg was hurting badly despite the mask of cheerfulness he was still struggling to hold in place. Aiwendil chided himself for having been so unaware of his friend's problem. The young man was not the type to complain and preferred to keep problems to himself, which made his reference to "licking wounds" even more surprising. Aiwendil suspected that Rôg's consition was considerably worse than he was admitting.

The wizard spoke in a firm, gentle voice that left little room for contradiction, "You're right. We do need to help these poor wretches escape. But you are in no shape to race ahead to the slave camp. I should not have suggested that. Take care of yourself, my friend. Return to the knoll and let Athwen dress those wounds before we ride out." Not bothering to wait for an answer, Aiwendil explained to the others, "Rôg is hurt. I'm not sure how badly but he is no condition to fight."

Lindir looked up at the two young slaves and then glanced back at Rôg. Despite Azhar's brave demeanor in the tunnel, it was clear to the Elf that she was not well. Both the girl and Rôg needed to be led from the camp as quickly as possible. Neither were strong enough to defend against an attack. The Elf weighed his choices and then resolved, "Aiwendil, you and Rôg and the girl must leave immediately. What I would give for two horses! But we will have to do without them. I don't think the slavers will approach from the west. If anything, they will be at our backs. Carl and Vrór and I will follow a little ways behind. If a problem develops, we will stand our ground and hold off the slavers long enough for your party to cross over to where Athwen and the horses wait. Aiwendil, if anything should happen....if any of the slavers should get through, you must defend Rôg and the girl by using whatever means you can. I will leave that to you. And if our party does not make it back to the knoll within a few minutes of your own arrival, you must all mount up and take off for the slave camp together."

Aiwendil nodded as Lindir replied, "May Varda protect us all until we meet again at the grassy knoll or the lands beyond.."

The slave boy was last to speak to the Elf, "But what am I to do?"

"You are not a child. Neither you or the girl. I was wrong to think of you that way. You are free to choose. Go with Aiwendil or stay with us to fight if that is needed. Either way, you will need a weapon."

From inside his belt, the Elf drew out a dagger, a stout silver blade whose hilt was emblazoned with an intricate pattern of leaves and vines. "I crafted this blade when I was your age. Take it. It's yours. You've earned this weapon by your bravery and endurance." Then he walked over to where Carl and Vrór stood. "We'll let the others get a head start and follow a short distance behind: not too far, but enough that the slavers will take us as the bait and not be tempted to look too far ahead."

*************

Just before they left, Aiwendil yanked a limb from one of the bushes beside the stream and handed it to Rôg to lend him some support. Then he offered his arm to Azhar who quietly took it. Finally, he beckoned his group to start walking as quickly as they could. The others remained near the stream bank, crouching in the bushes.

[Folwren]

‘You are not a child. . .You are free to choose.’

The tall elf had said that. Facing a dripping, cold, frightened and stubborn boy, the elf had said that. Kwell couldn’t help the shiver that passed from his head to foot as Lindir handed him the dagger.

“I crafted this blade when I was your age. Take it. It’s yours. You’ve earned this weapon by your bravery and endurance.” Kwell looked at the dagger for a moment, saying nothing. That wasn’t true. There had been no real bravery and endurance. Azhar had been the one who was brave. Kwell had simply endured because he had to, not because he was brave. He looked up, tempted to say so, but Lindir had gone.

Kwell watched silently as Rôg limped away, leaning on a stick for support, and Aiwendil followed with Azhar. He felt weary and cold. The pit had been warm, the slight night breeze on his wet skin made the open air feel chill. He was bruised and sore, but Kwell decided to stay behind. What were all these discomforts and momentary pains compared to the ability of being free to choose, and then to fight for that freedom? Never before had he been able to make any choice of his own. At the plantation, all the slaves were treated worse than animals, and with the escaped slaves, he had been considered a child.

He squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw shut to keep his teeth from knocking together. He walked forward to stand by Lindir’s side.

“I’ll stay with you and the. . .hobbits,” he said, a little hesitantly as he darted a look towards Carl and Vrór. He drew a deep breath and looked down. He studied the dagger in his hand, working up the courage to say something he’d never uttered in his life. “Thanks,” he finally managed, and felt his face grow hot.

[Nogrod]

Hadith

Hadith sensed that Adnan was about to leave. From the corner of his eye he saw his movement.

“I thank you for your words of my father... I never got to know him. I remember just bits and pieces from my early childhood. But I believe you are right about him.” Hadith raised his eyes to meet Adnan’s. His eyes were gleaming faintly from the tears he had wept and from those which tried to force their way out from inside him. He bit his lip and then sighed somewhat resignedly: “But you are clearly misinformed about me. I’m not a wise man... I’m just a guy who’s lost and doesn’t know what to do, trying his best, which might not be enough.”

Suddenly Hadith was overwhelmed with sympathy towards Adnan, the lad he had scorned up to the very last minutes. He actually realised, that they were both just young boys searching for what they were and trying to cope with a totally different world that had been thrown to them; baffled, insecure, afraid. This freedom... it’s been lot more troublesome I ever imagined.

“Please Adnan, if you have nothing more urgent to do, sit by me for a while.” Hadith said, attempting a casual tone. No one would have said he managed it. Before Adnan said anything, Hadith continued: “We’re both loners, aren’t we? Lost in this free world. I have Khala and Cuáran, in away. They have looked after me every now and then since my father died. They were friends of my mother...” With that his voice broke and he started to weep quietly again. The memory of her mother and her death came vividly to his mind.

Hadith tried to recollect himself but it wasn’t easy. In the end he managed to half whisper his words to Adnan who hadn’t dared to move anywhere while Hadith had been crying. “Do you have anyone?”

[Durelin]

Adnan

Adnan could not have been more shocked when Hadith actually asked him to stay. No one had voiced any desire for the fifteen-year-old’s company before, and he did not know quite how to react. His body worked in autopilot as he obeyed what was not even a command and sat back down. He had spent so long following orders… He was rather lost these days, now that he felt he actually was going somewhere. Hadith’s remarks that followed matched Adnan’s thoughts all too well, and sent a chill through his body, which forced him to shudder. He hoped the other young man hadn’t noticed. It seemed not, since the he was lost in his own thoughts.

The boy could not help but feel even more awkward now that Hadith was being so open with him, even though it made him feel warmer inside than he had felt in a long time, even though he felt honored. The slightly fairer skinned man would never know how much he was giving to Adnan just by telling him about his parents, those who cared for him, and how much it hurt that they were gone. The emotion – pain the sharpest – in his voice gave the younger man the deepest sense of what it meant to have someone love you, which was something Adnan had never been able to even begin to understand.

The awkwardness reached a new peak for the boy as Hadith burst into tears once again. Adnan felt some kind of pain close to his heart, but it did not pierce it: it was too strange to the boy, empathy, much less sympathy, was something he had learned to avoid. He was prepared to say something to break the silence and anguished sobs, but then Hadith broke out of his tears for a moment, though his voice shook violently.

“Do you have anyone?”

Adnan was caught with his mouth halfway open, and it remained that way, as he slowly and painfully realized that he did not know how to answer the question. He forced his mind to think. Did he have…“someone?” But what kind of someone? Someone like Hadith’s parents, like Khala and Cuáran? No one like them. He hadn’t really thought about what “having” someone was like. No one had ever been free enough for him to have…

“I guess not,” he said, more drearily than he really felt. He quickly spoke up again after a short pause, disliking the idea that Hadith might think of him as lonely or pathetic, pitiable. “I mean…not anymore… I mean, I had my mother, for a while, I guess…but there were my sisters and brother… I was older than them. Mostly I took care of them when my mother couldn’t. I never really felt like I “had” someone…in that way, at least…at least no one in particular…” he trailed off as he tried to put into words the deeper memories of his childhood. It had been only three, maybe four years, but he had already forgotten so much. It was astounding how quickly time could erase anything.

Yet again he felt he had successfully played off his loneliness as something of no matter, and he felt both filled with regret and stubborn determination. He would never ask for the help of others, he would never ask for another’s company… And yet he felt Hadith was undoubtedly the better man for being able to do so.

Suddenly there was a loud shout of someone calling for the camp’s attention, and both Adnan and Hadith’s heads shot up too look over in the direction it came from: only a few yards away where Khamir and Beloan stood. Adnan felt a sudden rush of fear. Were those golden monsters back for them already?

[Durelin]

Khamir

“Free Peoples!” Khamir shouted a term he had heard some of the westerners use to address the former slaves. The sound of it was proud, and it asserted the very fact that they were now free, which was something he dearly wished to remind them of.

“Anyone who wishes to head after the Easterlings, the bounty hunters, and free again the children…our children…may prepare to leave as soon before dawn as possible.”

A murmur rose up all around the camp, everyone wondering all at once about this sudden decision. Khamir could only imagine their thoughts and their words: finally a decision, trying to make up for his cowardice, pretending to be leader, playing games of heroes… He was careful not to allow his ears to hone in on any of the voices.

“All of those who remain must be prepared to guard the camp, particularly if anything should go wrong.”

The one-armed man ran a hand through his hair, and looked a great deal like his former self: a weary plantation slave.

“I would never claim to be a hero. I would never claim that I have done anything right. I only tell you now what I know…and what I plan to do. No one must come with me. We are free to do as we will. And I will not sit here any longer… I-“ he paused, and reached down to collect the two knives he had been sharpening and placed them in his bag. As soon as he rose up again, he finished his sentence, with no less assurance, “am sorry.”

Knowing not what else to say, and not at all certain about what he had said, Khamir shouldered his bag, and was followed by Beloan a few yards away from the camp. This would require careful planning, and the Southron man felt a slight thrill of excitement. It was just like the raids of old, only with more precious spoils than ever before…