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

[piosenniel]

Back at the main camp....


Rôg was still somewhat sore from the encounter with the slavers. His ribs ached if he moved too quickly, but he could now at least take in a decent breath without sending sharp little stabbing pains ricocheting through his chest. It was his head that bothered him the most. The gash at the base of his skull had scabbed over; tender only when he prodded at it.

Something, though, seemed to have come loose in whatever gave him a steady bearing. If he stood too quickly, turned his head too fast, the world would begin to spin a bit, his vision become slightly unfocused. Dizziness followed....and if he tried to walk, his legs would go all wobbly as if his feet could not find a steady place to put themselves. As such, he had begun to use a broken off stave with which to hobble about.

He joked about it to the others who’d stayed behind when the scouting party had gone out. ‘It’s like the old-wives saying,’ he’d tell whoever asked about his new reliance on the stick. ‘Four legs in the morning; two legs in the afternoon; three in the evening.’ Then laughing, he’d add, ‘Of course, with Athwen’s good ministrations I’m hoping time will turn back on itself soon and I’ll be able to walk about as before.’

I hope, at least, that will be the case! he often thought to himself. He could not imagine how he might manage a shape-change. The idea of some dizzy bird trying to fly, much less land somewhere dismayed him. And should there be another attack....A grimly funny picture ballooned in his mind. A large something....oliphaunt, perhaps – looking fierce, intimidating, even; for the briefest of moments. And then it would begin to wobble and totter; its eyes going all googly. The foe would begin to snicker and laugh....

Ah well....maybe they would laugh themselves silly and fall off their horses. He shook his head and laughed a little himself.Or maybe, I could just fall on them....

Laughter bubbled up at this conjured picture and he lost his balance as he shook his head again. Rôg crumpled down onto the dirt, his stick skittering away to the side. Others, he knew, would be looking at him rather oddly. Still chuckling, he sat up, brushing the dust from himself as best he could.

[Undómë]

“Hssst! Quiet, now!”

Mazhg gathered her sister close as they crouched in the underbrush where they’d been resting. Through the spaces in the leafy overgrowth of the bushes which gave them some semblance of shelter they watched; their dark brown eyes darting furtively at the loud intruders.

It was an oddly assorted group that had come clattering into the area where the males lay in their drunken stupor. Males . . . and female, too . . . all ahorse. A kind of raggedy looking bunch. But still, they were armed and they were Men.

And there was that tall one, bossy seeming, who looked particularly menacing . . .

“Keep still!” Mazhg whispered low in Zagra’s ear. “There’s nothing we can do for that drunk lot.” The sisters hunkered even lower among the leafy bushes. “I’ll keep you safe." As she circled Zagra’s shoulders in an assuring hug with one arm, her free hand was grasped tightly about the oaken handle of the sharp-edged spade beside her

[Regin Hardhammer]

Ishkur hides the gold

Ishkur advanced cautiously over the plain and was careful that the intruders in camp could not see him. He spent almost an hour searching for the women orcs. Gwerr was right about the need to find them. Their was always greater safety in numbers. He especially thought about Ungolt and hoped that she had not been hurt. He did not think she was among those who had fallen asleep after drinking too much.

After making a circle around the entire camp, checking every spot that he could think of, Ishkur finally gave up. He wanted to keep looking but he had other things he had to do. It was simply too dangerous to delay any longer. He swung back to the outsirts of their original camp site. There were two tumbled piles of rocks right beside a stream. Since he had no shovel, he had to find someplace to hide the gold that did not require a lot of digging. He looked over both piles of rocks and chose the one that offered the most protection. Then he went over to the pile of boulders and, using all his strength, removed one of the rocks, placing the gold into the hidden niche and covering it up again with the heavy stone. He scuffed out the ground to make sure that there was no trail leading to or from the treasure. Then he got on his horse and rode back to where Gwerr and Makdush were waiting, explaining that he could not find the women, although he had scoured the plain in all directions. He pulled Ishkur over to one side, some distance away from Makdush, and grunted a word or two in his ear to let him know where and how the gold had been hidden.

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

Ungolt

There was a rattling sound in the underbrush that made Mazhg and Zagra turn and nervously stare at each other. Then they heard another female orc whisper, "Sisters, is that you? I have Urga and Gwella with me." Ungolt's head popped out from behind the bush. She was immediately followed by the two orcs Gwella and Urga, the first younger, the second older, who usually walked together on the road.

"I found them," Ungolt explained. "I thought we'd better stay together. There's a good hiding place near the brook. Not really a cave but the rocks are piled up. There's just enough room for us to crawl inside. I think we'd be safe there. It's not far."

"But the others," one sister asked, "what's happened to the rest?"

"I crept down to the camp. I saw what happened. I don't know about Grask or Makdush. I haven't seen them or Ishkur and Gwerr. But the rest have all been thrown into the pit where they used to keep the slaves. There are big rocks....too big for me to move. I can't help them." Ungolt sadly shook her head.

"What should we do? I took this to help." Ungolt held out an old battle sword, but then confided. "I don't really know how to use it. Ishkur showed me once but I still have a lot to learn. Should we hide, or keep looking for the others? Should we just wait till it's dark and try to run away?" She softly added, "I don't care so much about Makdush, but I was really hoping to find Ishkur and Grask and Gwerr. How can we make it all the way north without someone to help us? I wanted to get back to the mountains. But now everything looks so bad."

[Durelin]

Beloan

The varied responses of the scouting party confused Beloan even further in his feelings. He would have liked it if all the orcs in Middle-earth had gone with Sauron to a final grave when the War ended, but it still felt…wrong to take a blade to any sleeping form. It seemed like…well, something they would do - orcs. And they were not like them.

Beloan was surprised by Lindir’s lack of hesitation when it came to sparing the creatures’ lives. He admired the Elf’s honor, but he could not say he did not understand Johari and Kwell’s desire to be rid of the orcs. Shae appeared to be fuming and shocked by the idea that they would be kept alive. Well…for now.

The Elf did not hesitate in giving orders, either, to imprison the orcs and notify the others of the discovery. This discovery indeed complicated things, particularly because as Lindir and many of the others well knew, six orcs just wandering the country was not right. There were more somewhere, or there was something else going on. Either way, they needed to be careful.

What Beloan found most surprising about the Elf was that he was entrusting a great deal to a young girl. Khamir would have a fit, he thought a little fondly. But Azhar had proved a very strong person, and she certainly always had her wits about her. Beloan had heard she had done something quite heroic during the battle, and wondered if Lindir had been witness to it. And it was undoubtedly wise to keep as many men, and women like Shae, in the slavers’ camp as possible with orcs to guard and be on the lookout for.

“Other than that, I suppose all we can do is sit it out until the others arrive,” Beloan commented to Lindir and the others, “With our numbers, most of us should be keeping our eyes on these orcs all the time.” Most of them... He turned to look at Azhar, who appeared all prepared to get a move on with her orders. “Would you mind my help, Azhar?”

[Tevildo]

"Help? Yes." The girl's first words were brusque and short, but then she added in a softer tone. "I could use help, but you'll need to bring your horse to the other side of camp so we can hitch them both up to the wagon." Azhar gave a brief indication of the direction she was going with a wave of her hand and, without waiting for an additional response, began hurrying over to the spot where the wagon was parked.

Along the way, she was stopped by one of the other scouts who offered a temporary loan of his sword to ensure their safety on the road. She shook her head and immediately dismissed the offer, explaining she would do just fine with her trusty slingshot and knife.

Privately, Azhar was not sure about having Beloan come along. Although Lindir had suggested she find someone to join her in the wagon, she had been considering slipping out of camp totally on her own. She almost wondered if Rôg had confided something to Aiwendl or Lindir about what had happened during the battle, since the elf had not questioned her ability to fight. In any case, she would not try to wield a weapon like a sword of which she had absolutely no knowledge. If things got tough, she would opt for her animal form, as inexperienced as she was. Hopefully, none of this would be necessary. They would make the trip in a short time and arrive safely at the home camp.

Azhar was not sorry she was leaving. Orcs made her uncomfortable and nervous. Moreover, someone had to get a message through to the others, and she would be able to find out how Rôg was doing and perhaps even talk with him about what had happened earlier. She needed to talk with someone.

They hitched up the horses and climbed into the wagon. "You can drive, if you like," she indicated to Beloan. "To tell the truth, I am so tired from staying up half the night, I'm more likely to fall asleep. She crawled into the back and stretched out on a pile of old blankets, staring up at the skies as the wagon rocked gently along.

[Folwren]

All was dark and still. The hour was just before dawn. The party of scouts had left a little while ago, and all of camp was silent and seemed to be asleep. For a while, Athwen passed like a wraith from one patient to the next, but at last she, too, stopped her restless stirring and sat down next to Dorran. With her back to a rock, and her hand lying on Dorran’s hand, she fell asleep.

She woke again to the sound of rumbling wheels and the clopping of trotting hooves. She stirred and lifted her head. The last few stars were burning out as light from the rising sun climbed higher and higher into the sky. A cold, grey dawn was breaking, and a gentle, chilling wind began to sweep the plain.

Athwen looked around herself, taking note of the wounded around her. They were all sleeping peacefully it appeared. Dorran had moved in his sleep, evidently, and folded her hand between his two. She smiled, and gently pulled free so that she could stand and go see what was coming.

She went to her bags and picked up her traveling cloak. Putting this around herself and drawing it close, she started out, away from the grove of rocks, and towards the open plain to where the wagon must have stopped.

She came out into the open and made her way carefully down the slight slope. Where the ground became level again, a wagon had indeed stopped. Two horses stood harnessed to it, looking glad for the rest. On the seat, still holding the reins, sat Beloan. Athwen didn’t really know him, but she figured there was some reason for him to have come back. She approached and stood beside the wagon, looking up at him.

“Good morning, friend,” she said, “how is the scouting party going? What have you returned for?”

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Carl

By the time Carl revisited the spot in the camp where the metal work had been done, and had returned once more to the pit, the man named Tikam had waded into the stream and busied himself gauging the size of the crevice. “Watch yourself there,” the hobbit whispered hoarsely overhead, before dropping down a few more pieces of metal that clanked as they hit the chamber floor. The man looked up to see Carl's silhouette briefly obscured as the smithy’s leather apron followed, fluttering down heavily.

It was only as Carl hesitated, staring at the apron below him that he realized perhaps it would have been better had he tossed the things a bit further off. And reading the hobbit’s expression, without a word Tikam strode out of the water and moved the things aside. "Many thanks friend," Carl puffed as he dropped to the floor of the chamber himself. Brushing the dirt from his hands he picked up the large piece of leather and began rolling the other things in it. "So now, do you think you could fit through that chink in the wall?" he asked leaning back on his heel as he appraised the man's bulk.

"Surely, it would run too close to try," Tikam replied. “But if it proved too tight for me then so much more so it would be for an orc.”

“Well let’s hope they fit as well as the bung in a cask of Nurn’s finest. Sadly I don’t know a twig’s worth about orcs, but I hope their bones are made of ivory and not willow wands, otherwise they’ll slip through anything we do to stop them, like a mouse.” Carl said pointing to the tiny opening high above the stream. “How are we to fill that?”

“I don’t believe the smallest orc would fit there. Anyway, they are more like gutter rats than field mice! But they’ve flesh and bone same as you and I. ”

“Have they now?” Carl mused as he climbed into the water. Truth be told, he didn’t care to think too closely about the comparison. “Well one thing I do know for certain is that this chink here in the water is bigger than it seems. Are you sure you won’t have a go at it? There is a cavern on the other side and I figure it's best block it off from over there.”


Tikam held up his palms as though to ward off the very idea. “I do not like the idea of drowning overly much. But I will try to hide the openings on this side, if that would be of help.”

“If I can't do anything to change your mind, that would be the next best thing,” the hobbit said, sloshing into the water. Tikam suggested that he pass the bundle of leather through the hole once the hobbit had had the chance to reach the other side. But thinking about it Carl insisteded on tying the bundle to his ankle so that he could drag it along behind him.

The water was cold as the hobbit summoned the courage to travel once again under the stones. Then, disappearing suddenly under the water he pushed through the current that streamed through the hole. In a few short moments he emerged on the other side. Black as pitch it was, and Carl had a trying time freeing his ankle from its burden in the dark. All the while he hoped fervently that no orcs were lurking in the cavern waiting to strangle him. But when he had loosed himself from the apron he opened it and spread it over the hole, holding it in place with the metal rods he had found.

Blindly, he heaped loose stones against the wall, and silt over that, until he was too tired to do anymore. It seemed sturdy enough. Trudging weakly out of the water he plopped himself down on a dry rocky seat in the wall, resting awhile. He had not been there but ten minutes when he noticed his toe was in the water, when it hadn’t been a minute before. This was easily dismissed as his imagination. But in a few more minutes the dark water was lapping at his heel. “Oh glory, the dam is working. The water must be rising already!” he muttered, realizing that given time it would overwhelm him. Jumping back into it, he found that even now it was thigh high, and so hurriedly he began his sodden and stumbling march up the dark passage until he could see the opening onto the old stream. It shone like a beacon in a miserably flooded burrow, and Carl made for it with haste.