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

[Brinniel]

Shae stared back at Athwen, her hands still hidden behind her back. The last thing she wanted was a stranger to examine her self-inflicted injuries. She had been careless, letting the halfling see her hands. Shae couldn't help but reprimand herself for such foolishness. What would these people think, if they knew the truth?

"Well, come on over," Athwen beckoned. "We do not have long."
Shae hesitated, shaking her head. "Really, I am fine. You need not waste time tending to me."
"Now, we both know that isn't so," the woman spoke kindly. "Please let me have a look. I promise I will be gentle."
Shae hesitated once more before sitting herself down next to the healer. There seemed to be no avoiding it. By refusing, she would only raise more questions and the young woman figured it'd be best to get it over with sooner than later. She opened her hands, palms up, for the healer to see.

Athwen examined the cuts on Shae's hands and wrists gently, as promised. As Shae expected, the healer looked slightly puzzled.
"These are not new wounds," she noticed.
"No," Shae replied. "They do not heal so easily."
"And why is that?"
"I work with my hands a lot. I do not give them time to heal." Shae had hoped that this answer would be enough, but the healer still stared at her hands, unsure.
"These wounds are very strange," Athwen commented. "How did you receive them in the first place?"
Shae paused, unable to find an immediate answer. Why was it this woman's business to know anyways? "I...I don't know," she stuttered. "Life has been rough on us here in Mordor. I can't remember an exact time I injured them. It most likely happened when I was on a raid, or something...."
Shae knew this was a terrible lie, and it showed on Athwen's face. The healer didn't look convinced, yet she didn't press further.

Athwen throughly cleaned Shae's mutilated hands and put some healing salves on them before dressing the wounds. After the last bandage was on, Shae bent and flexed her hands and wrists, testing their mobility. The healer had done good job bandaging; even with the dressing Shae's hands remained flexible- it almost felt as though there were no bandages on at all. For a moment, Shae almost felt grateful for Athwen's skills.
"Now, I need you to leave those bandages on for now," Athwen spoke. "They aren't too restricting, but you still need to be careful. It'll be awhile before your wounds completely heal, as an infection was already beginning to take. You are lucky I managed to take care of it before it turned into anything serious."
Shae nodded at these words and the healer responded with a warm smile.

Athwen gave the young woman a gentle pat on the shoulder before standing up and turning away, leaving Shae to sit alone. In those short moments of waiting, Shae replayed the night's events in her head. The thought of losing her brother's necklace brought back the lump at the bottom of her throat. She pulled out the stone Carl had given and studied it, letting her finger trace over the engraving. Clutching the object, Shae allowed the feeling of loneliness to slowly seep back in.

[Firefoot]

Johari sat broodingly, preferring to take a background position in the more recent happenings of the camp. Why did she really care whether they chose to rescue the children or to defend the camp? She felt no personal duty towards either. This was nothing like how she had imagined escape would be, living in one large communal group like this, trying to find that enigmatic someplace to live.

When she looked around her, she did not feel amicably towards her companions. Rather, she felt a sense of loathing or disgust at the disorganized, pettily fighting mass of human flesh that did not even know what it wanted – and she was a part of it. She had stood up and complained and been compensated as if she were one of them, and she had been satisfied if only for a short time. It all seemed so pointless. Maybe they were meant to be slaves. Maybe that was all they were fit for. She reached across her body to touch the dark brand on the back of her left shoulder, and a brief but fierce fire burned up in her again. Never. She was a fighter.

The futility of it all still loomed behind her like an abyss, the abyss that she had not even realized was there until she had finally escaped the bonds of slavery, the abyss that had pulled her in a little deeper every day that she had chosen not to fight.

Because what was the point?

Kalin.

How long had it been since she thought of him who had once governed her thoughts? Where was he now? That had been the reason: to find him. So why was she here, and not looking for him? The thoughts had a well worn feel to them; she remembered thinking them before. He was looking for her, too, of course, and news of their large group, if they could ever settle somewhere, would surely reach his ears – he would come find her then. That was why she stayed with this group.

She shook herself from her reverie to see not too far away a small circle of women sitting around an elderly woman that Johari vaguely recognized. Overhearing them without really eavesdropping, she realized they were talking about the defense of themselves so that they could someday, “see our own crops grow in our own soil.” Pretty dreams, Johari scoffed, but she nevertheless felt a wistful smile tug at the corners of her chapped lips. For their sake, she hoped it might happen; crushed hopes were a hard thing to live with. It was better to simply live by fact.

With those opposing ideas meshing peacefully in her mind without the slightest conflict, Johari spent the night in restful wakefulness, by turns dozing and watching.

[Nogrod]

Hadith

At first there were not many reactions to Hadith’s speech and that made him all the more lost. Others seemed to be as baffled as he himself was. Hadith hadn’t quite been able to follow himself anyhow. What had made him to speak out aloud, even speaking against Khamir? Well, he had defended Khamir too. What is this? What is happening? So this is freedom: not knowing what to do as you at last have the choice and you have to make it solely by yourself?

Hadith stood there, standing straight and drawing breath, deep inhales followed by as long bursts that started to make foggy patterns in the air. It was getting colder.

I’ve been a slave all my life. It’s almost like from the moment of my birth I have been a slave. I will not go back to that, even if it costs my life. I have no memory of not being a slave... What might it be, to have memories of being free? How it would help now!

Hadith took a look around. First his eyes met with Joshwan some twenty yards away from him. Joshwan nodded to him approvingly. Hadith was unsure about how to react, but nodded Joshwan back slightly. Then Joshwan turned to argue about something with Fewerth, tugging him on the shoulder. Guilledean was there too, just looking at what happened from aside.

Then Hadith met Johari sitting on her own, seemingly deep in her thoughts but looking and listening intensely at a group of women on her left. Hadith tried to hear the discussion too. It was about arming themselves and fighting with planting sticks or something. Then he heard Granny Brenna saying: “Keep your sticks and slings handy, my friends”. He didn’t hear the next sentence, but then again the following was loud and clear as Hadith had instinctively started moving towards the group. “And one of us should keep watch for a while, then wake me and I’ll take over for the next bit. Nia, can you do that? Sun’s rise can’t be that far away.”

Hadith approached the women with confidence in posture but inside he was even more baffled than he had been before. What am I doing? What am I going to say to them?

“Friends! Let’s plan together, all of us?” Hadith called the women from some ten yards away as his approach was noticed. Brenna looked him straight in the eye and Hadith started to feel even more insecure. He had learned to respect older women and Brenna really had a commanding presence. He remembered her from the camp now.

"I mean that if we all just stick together in small groups, its of no use... I mean... erm... I mean we should all hold together..."

Hadith stopped and was not sure where to lay his eyes.

[Tevildo]

Tevildo's post for Dorran

It was a long time till Dorran replied. "It's strange, Lindir. For so many years, I dreamed this day would come. Somehow, someway, I wanted to get back to Mordor. I thought I might be able to do something for those who were still enslaved. Maybe that's one of the reasons I became a Rider. I learned how to wield a sword and to work with horses. I felt privileged to serve King Eomer and the people of Rohan."

"After Sauron was overthrown, I felt certain the whole system in Nurn would collapse on its own. But that did not happen. I kept hearing stories from merchants and soldiers that old plantation owners were simply replaced by new ones. Even without the presence of Sauron, the evil ways persisted. I left here with my sister when I was young yet so many of my memories, so many of my bad dreams, hearken back to here. My parents and older brother were victims of the slave system. Creide and I were lucky to escape alive."

"I have never been good with words in front of a group. I feel more comfortable on the back of a horse or even carrying a message to the court of Gondor where I can speak with someone face-to-face. But I won't say no. I can not. You or Aiwendil would be much more eloquent than I could hope to be. But I can tell them what happened to me. I know something of the nightmare they have lived through. And I can promise them that it is possible to build a new life."

Dorran turned a serious face towards Lindir and nodded. "They will fight. I know you are worried about that, but you shouldn't be. The first thing your learn as a slave is that nothing comes easy....everything has a price. And when you step off that plantation, you learn quickly that nothing worthwhile comes without a fight. Sometimes that fight requires a sword, and sometimes it doesn't. But nothing is gained by running away. If we explain to them why we just can't run away to the north, how the slavers might follow them or do even worse to others they meet, the men will listen, and they will follow. I can't promise you sweet or eloquent words, but I will do my best."

Child's post on Lindir

"That is all I could ask for, Dorran. And I pray you are right about these men. We have come a long way, but it is no good if the will is not in them. They must find it in their own hearts. Then we can stand together against these slavers, and whatever else threatens us on the trek north."

Lindir stood up and swept his eyes towards the north. A faint glow, harbinger of the dawn, was barely visible over the horizon. "Look there, Dorran to the north. One of the old Towers left by the former residents, probably to mark the supply route for carrying materials up to Sauron and his troops. Undoubtedly, a place of nightmares. Yet this land and even that tower is strangely compelling. Strange, but it reminds me of parts of Beleriand far to the north. So beautiful in a stark way. Yet those lands in Beleriand no longer exist. They are under the Sea. Let us hope we have more luck here. Let's hope we can somehow preserve what is good here. Ah, now, that is strange, too. In Rivendell, I would never have dreamed of calling parts of Mordor good or beautiful. Yet there is goodness here buried deep. Let's hope these new settlers can somehow feel that goodness and learn to build on it."

Lindir helped Dorran up, and the two walked back to where the others were gathering. Lindir called to the others, "If everyone is done then, could we mount up and get moving west? We should get there just before dawn." With that Lindir mounted his horse and looked around to be sure everyone was following.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Carl

Carl, his clothes still damp, stood by the horses for a moment with his eyes closed. Not having had much sleep over the last few days, standing still lent the chance to rest his eyes for a space. Just the shortest time he told himself, while Athwen saw to the needs of those requiring her skill, and Lindir discussed matters with Dorran beyond the weary hobbit’s hearing. But when Carl’s nose caught the familiar scent of tobacco in the air, he thought he might go sit down while he waited, for surely he was drifting off while on his feet, dreaming of the comforts of home. Still, he could not bring himself to open his eyes in order to find a place to rest.

As his chin sank slowly to his chest, Carl imagined he was sitting at home beside the fire. His pipe was full, though his stomach felt empty as he deliberated with himself over the best way to approach Athwen regarding her stone. He knew now was not a good time to try to explain, for she was busy with more pressing things. And surely it would not be right to tell her on the road either, and so spoil her disposition in time for meeting those they would be working closely with, in the near future. There was nothing he could do, but merely wait until things settled down a bit. The hobbit’s jaw worked rolling the stem of a phantom pipe between his teeth, as he leaned back in the overstuffed chair he didn’t remember being there. He considered what might happen if Athwen discovered things on her own before he had gotten round to telling her, and wondered as he wandered in that mental haze rapidly approaching sleep, whether it would be advisable to escape to The Ivy Bush for a few days in that event. Perhaps it might be best take Dorran and Athwen to the inn tomorrow for a nice meal, and tell them there. If they wanted to, Azhar, Kwell and Shae could join them too, for the slavers would not think to find them there. And you can’t wax too sour with one of Miss Lilly’s pies under your belt, no matter how angry you are. He was smiling with fond remembrance, when he felt someone shake his shoulder.

At the second attempt to wake him, the hobbit’s eyes fluttered opened, and he found that he stood propped up against Stumps. And looking confusedly at the figure before him, Carl wondered just how long Kwell had been at The Ivy Bush, and since when did Miss Lilly allow Stumps in her kitchen!

The young man had to explain a second time that Athwen had said to ask him for bread to eat. But Carl was still foggy and it took him a few minutes to regain his bearings. Finally the hobbit sputtered to life saying, “Bread and water! You look like you could use a bit more than that, if you’ll excuse my saying so.” And rummaging though packs and bags, the hobbit produced some dried fruit as well as the items requested, placing them in Kwell’s hands. “The bread’s a tad stale, I’m afraid,” he apologized. “But a man like yourself has got to eat plenty, and it’s the best we have at present.”

But boy did not need to be coaxed, making short work the food, as Carl watched him. And the hobbit wished he had more to give, but knew that they must be careful, for their stores were running lower than he would have them. “You know,” Carl began, and the dark haired boy looked over at him. “Once we get though all this, and you and the others have a place to call your own, I’ll make you a nice meat pie that you won’t soon forget. And you can sit down and have it all to yourself, if you like. I’ll set aside a bit of flour, just for it.”

“I’ll look after myself, now I’m out of that pit,” Kwell said, handing back the water skin.

“I know that,” Carl said. “And like a foraging bear, no doubt. It’s just that you seem to like food, and I like to see folk enjoy a good meal, that’s all. Makes me happy. I suppose it’s one reason why I work the land to begin with.” Then remembering their talk in the pit, he was quick to add, “That is, if you decide to stay with us. If not, I’m sure I’ll find other takers, especially when they smell the thing cooking. Never had to trouble with leftover pie in the past.”

Kwell pursed his lips and nodded as though weighing the matter.

“Ah well,” Carl sighed, hanging the water skin back on the pony, as Lindir approached calling for them to be off. The hobbit turned again to Kwell, and cocking his head, he winked, “No need to decide that just now, is there? We seem to be on the move again.”

[Undómë]

Brenna

Brenna was sitting on the little hillock, her shawl wrapped about her tightly. Her gaze flicking from one pool of shadow in the darkness to another. She glanced up as the young man approached, swallowing a smile at his nervous demeanor. She set a serious, considering look on her face.

He’d stopped a few feet away from her, held back, she supposed, by the merciless burden of her own years and his own youth. Still, and despite the fact he was a male, they were in the same fix, now, weren’t they?

The young man’s gaze flicked nervously about the ground, inspecting it seemed each pebble as if it were the most important thing in his world at the moment. Brenna smiled, in spite of herself, and bent her head down to the side, catching his eye. ‘I’m Brenna; Granny Brenna, if you wish. You’ll forgive my memory. I seem to remember your face, but can’t for the life of me remember your name.’

As she waited for his thoughts to untangle and him to speak his name, Nia came up, planting stick held defensively in her hands. She laid her hand on Brenna’s shoulder as she reached the old woman and shook her stick fiercely at Hadith. ‘What do you want, you boy you? You better not be bothering Granny!’ Others of the women and girls had waked up now, and come to stand silently behind Brenna and Nia.

‘It’s all right, dears,’ Brenna said, speaking calmly to those gathered. ‘He’s just saying that maybe we and the men should put our strengths together. Against the slavers. At least for now. Right . . .?’ She picked up her own planting stick and poked the young man lightly on the leg. ‘Now perhaps you can begin by telling us your name. And your plan, if you have one.’

Nia lowered her own stick at Granny’s words, but kept a very attentive and slightly skeptical eye on the fellow . . .

[Durelin]

Adnan

Watching Hadith stand up and speak to the entire camp, actually willingly taking on a position of leadership, was nearly awe-inspiring for Adnan. This young man was only a few years older than him, and he was addressing everyone...and most everyone seemed to be listening? Hadith may have faltered several times, but he still left Adnan amazed, and everyone else at least surprised. The eighteen year old had more strength and courage than Adnan ever thought he would have, but he did not know just how much that meant. To think standing up to your friends and allies seemed like such a more daunting task than standing up to your enemies.

The strength and energy and sincerity in Hadith's voice made Adnan wonder: was that what it meant to be free?

There was a moment or two of silence until someone spoke up, and the fifteen year old was surprised - yet again - to find that it was an old woman, who apparently even called herself "Granny Brenna." What showed of her elderly body, particularly her face, was so weathered and cracked with age that one might estimate her age at practically eighty, but anyone who understood what life was like in Mordor would know that looks could be decieving. The land made old men out of young long before time did.

Another woman seemed to think she needed to defend this Granny Brenna, which set Adnan's thoughts spinning a little more. Why on earth would she feel the need to be waving her stick around at Hadith? Would she be prepared to wave that blasted stick at some black-gutted Easterlings instead? The young man practically snarled. This time...

"He's just saying that maybe we and the men should put our strengths together. Against the slavers. At least for now. Right?"

"Well of course we should!" Adnan burst out before he could stop himself, sounding a little more furious than he meant to. A blush filled his cheeks, but his stubborness stopped him from saying anything to take his words back in the least. Looking at the ground for a moment, as if he would find some sort of revelation there, he continued only after a pause that said what he said was what he meant.

"They're after us, so we should be after them. And it's us they're after, not just one or two of us..." he trailed off into a mutter as the anger that fueled his momentary bravery passed.