The Hills of Evendim RPG

[Imladris]

“Well, Anson,” I said. “Safe at last. I never realized how troublesome and adventure can be.”

Anson nodded and said, “I would like to get a pipe and a bit of tobacco.”

“I don’t believe we’ll find any here, though,” I sighed, kicking at a stone. It danced away through the tufts of grass and skittered to a stop. I trotted after it and kicked it again where it pattered off into a forest of weeds and stones. I was too lazy to go and look for it so I said, “From insane adventure to complete boredom.” I wondered if there was a happy medium between the two. More than likely not, I presumed and sighed.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if we had a nice hobbit hole and a fire and our gardens,” Anson said, patting me on the back.

I nodded glumly and collapsed onto the ground, which creaked in protest. A voice within the ground. Fingers of chillness traced my skin as I imagined a morbid wight creeping within the dirt. I shuddered and rolled off the mat, brushing the dirt away. A wooden trap door was revealed to us.

[Lumiel]

The thunder rolled like the ocean across the sky, accompanied by the stacatto flashes of lightning in the dark, morbid sky. Rain fell heavily in great dollops, soaking all below. The chill seemed to seep to the bone and memories of sun and dry clothes were swept away to only be recalled like remnants of a dream.

It all seemed like a dream. Lumiel was riding behind Thoromir and the Rangers on her horse, whom she had decided to name Felweth. Her dark cloak lay heavy on her skin, her brown hair plastered to her head and face. Small puffs of air blew from Felweth's nostrils, and the thought of a dragon sleeping dangerously in its lair flashed across her mind.

Beside her rode Furman, bent over in his saddle, his form a dark, unreadable shadow. She felt something for this man, a sympathy for his plight, a connection that went beyond the simple rope that linked his bound hands to her small hand which held the rope. As anxious as he had been to talk before, he was now silent and pensive, loath to speak or interact with anyone. But Lumiel had managed to get a few words out of him when they had stopped to rest.

She had asked him what he knew of the Master, but he would speak nothing of it to anyone save Thoromir, when he asked. She did not press the matter, he had his reasons she supposed. Instead, she asked him of his life before what he had become. He did not understand, but he seemed willing to talk of it.

He spoke of his home, where he grew up. A mother, a father, and a much older sister who married and moved far away when he was but a boy. His mother had died a few years later giving birth to a still-born child. With nothing to keep them tied down, they left for a life in the wilderness, away from the world. There he learned to hunt and track, he learned the ways of the woods, and of the woodsman. His father died an old, but strong man, and Furman continued his accepted life. Until he stumbled unknowingly at the time across such a malevolent force as they now faced.

His voice was soft and halting, and he did not meet her gaze. It seemed he could not. But he spoke. Lumiel never interupted him, but held her attention on him, encouraging him with her silent acceptance of what was. It was what he needed. How could he come to terms with what he had done? With what he had been a part of? He did not know where to begin the healing that he so desperately needed to be whole again. Yet somehow, speaking to this elf helped him...speaking of his past, of his once joyful innocence, helped him regain some of who he had been before. It seemed he could almost like her, almost enjoy her company. Almost. He seemed stubborn in his punishment against himself. He was unworthy of all who were there, he didn't deserve to live. And certainly he was beyond sympathy. Or so he thought.

He could not banish it anymore. As much as he tried to exile himself, he could not, for Lumiel was always there, silent and accepting. How was it possible? he asked himself again. And finally, he broke his silence on the matter. "Lady Elf, why do you linger? Why do you dote upon the needs of such a hellish fool as this?" he guestured to himself. "I am undeserving of your care and sympathy, save it for Eodwine, for the others for whom you fight. Remember how you found me." he said, looking into her eyes, pleading with her to give him the damnation he wanted.

Her eyes softened and her brows angled just slightly, and a strange expression of pity and regret mingled with an unconditional love of all things played out on her face. "You do yourself wrong, Furman. A fool you may be, but no more so than any other on this Earth. It is better to knowingly play the fool than laugh at one, not knowing that you are the true fool." she paused, gauging his face. "You didn't start off intending this, Furman. But you were a part of it. And here you are, trying to right what you did. You will need all your strength and bravery, and for that I give you willingly my care and sympathy, for in the end it may save Eodwine." she said. Furman swallowed and took in a deep breath, looking away. A faint sparkle was in his eyes, nearly hidden under the shadow of his bent brow. Lumiel gently turned his face to meet hers once more. "I believe in you." she said in a gentle yet strong voice that seemed to reach him.

"Thank you Lady Elf." he said, looking down again. His road out of all of this would be long and hard, and he hardly realized it yet.

"Please, call me Lumiel." she smiled at him as they stood up to remount and begin their journey again. Felweth labored through the mud stoutly, and several hours later they stopped once more, and Furman told Thoronmir the rest of what he knew. The fortress was within sight. The end was nearing. They were at the center of the storm.

[Nurumaiel]

A shiver went through Anson and he put out a hand to stop Gorby, forming on his lips the word stop. Yet he never spoke that word. Rather, he stopped himself and a different kind of shiver went through him. A shiver of excitement. For a brief moment he was back in the Shire with Gorby and they were mere children. They had just discovered a secret trapdoor by Merry Brandybuck's home and were debating over whether they should open it or not.

He could smell the grass as they crouched down by it, soft curls falling in their round, inquisitive faces. Gorby had wanted to open it right away; Anson had been afraid there might be a monster locked up inside there, something Meriadoc had caught in his adventures. Gorby had gone into a long narrative of what they would do to the monster when it came up, ending with it lying slain and the two hobbit children crowned heroes for saving the Shire, and Anson had relented... in that point, at least. His next objection was that Meriadoc might not like it. Gorby hadn't been able to answer that, but he didn't care.

Gorby had pulled open the trapdoor, babbling something about hidden treasure, and when the slow creaking had died away and there was nothing but a murky blackness and a deep pit that seemed to go on forever he had lightly jumped in without hesitating. Anson, too terrified to stay by himself though the sunshine surrounded him, had followed.

Inside they had found nothing... nothing? Nay, they had found hidden treasure of a sort. All sorts of pretty baubles sat here and there, bright-colored balls and richly painted toys. They had gazed about in awe, their little fingers yearning to touch those toys and play with them. And then they had heard that loud laugh and turned and, oh the horror, seen Meriadoc Brandybuck, his gaze fixed straight at them, laughing. Anson had always felt awed by Merry Brandybuck and a bit uncertain about them. It wasn't natural for a Hobbit to go have adventures. For a moment it flashed through his mind that Meriadoc Brandybuck had gone on adventures because he was insane and now he was going to lock them up in that dark room forever.

But Meriadoc had ceased to laugh and looked about him with a helpless gesture at all the toys. "I see you've found this little lair," he said. "My children's lair." He had paused a moment, then a broad smile had come to his face. "Would you like to play with the toys?" he had asked. The two children had not answered, for they were still rather surprised, but they had eagerly leapt at those bright things and had spent a merry two hours playing, and Meriadoc Brandybuck had actually played with them.

Anson stared at this new trapdoor and a little smile flickered across his features. They might not find toys but perhaps they'd find something delightful, such as pipes and tobacco. And if they found a monster they'd just have to carry out Gorby's plan of yore.... what a shock Lira would have when she returned and found they had slain a fierce monster.

He touched Gorby's shoulder. "Let's open it."

[Imladris]

Gorby

I was surprised that Anson of all people wanted to go down into the trap door. But I couldn’t be more thrilled…finally he wanted to go on an adventure!

The trap door didn’t open very easily. I was afraid we would have to get an axe and chop it open, but Anson discovered a lock that I had overlooked. It wasn’t rusted like the other one had been, but we had a terrible time opening it all the same.

The door opened quietly, without a creaking protest, which was nice. It always made me uncomfortable when a door creaks…it just makes everything more spooky.

There was a iron ladder which Anson and I clambered down. The tunnel wasn’t pitch black like the first one I had discovered which was nice. Blackness is a herald of doom and doom usually means death.

We crept into a large room. Gold over spilled from dusty bags and large wooden chests. Gems sparkled upon the floor and were imbedded in the blades of axes and swords. My jaw dropped, my eyes widen. So much wealth! Then we heard a low, snarling, growl.


Lira

Lira listened to Furman’s plan and said, “Will we not be slain anyway once we leave the pipe?” There was a short pause, and Lira continued, “Is there no way we could go in disguise there?”

She waited again, praying that they would not have to risk their lives in such a way. Then she laughed. It was musical, like water. What craven coward she was. Afraid to go into a fortress because lives would be risked. Had not thousands of other brave warriors risked their lives?

[littlemanpoet]

Lira asked her question, then laughed. Furman regarded her in confusion.

Falowik spoke up. "We could try going in using a wagon, as if most of us were prisoners or slaves, but that would take time. I fear for Eodwine's life this night. I would that we go as soon as we may, even if I have to drown in that watery pipe in such a storm as this."

Falco stood. "If the Wanderer is willing to risk his life, then this hobbit shirriff can do no less. I will go tonight and face what danger may come."

[Meneltarmacil]

"I will also go, even if there is no other way but through this pipe," Thoronmir said. "For I have sworn an oath as a Ranger to guard this land against evil, even if those under my protection do not appreciate it." He looked knowingly at Falco as he said this last part.

"But I must have some clear idea of what we will be facing once we are inside," he continued. "Furman," he said to their captive. "Tell me all that you know of the Master."

[littlemanpoet]

"I have been in the fortress, or I would not know of the pipe. The Master chooses to keep his fortress cleansed of rubbish, unlike most such abodes. So his slaves are ordered to sweep and shovel away food that is tossed away after it is eaten, and human dung, and any other filth that collects in the fortress. Even the prison cells below are kept clean. I wager this is so that the blood he collects is unspoilt.

"The upper floor is no more than a ring of rooms built from the wall of the fortress. One gets to them by stairs at each corner. It is much like any fortress without lookout posts along the walls. The main floor has matching rooms beneath the ones above. In the center of the main floor is a square gutter down which all the rubbish is dumped. It is caught in a round basin below. From the basin extends another gutter, which leads to the wall, where it joins the pipe. The gutter passes by the prison cells. If Eodwine is in one of the cells, the pipe into the fortress leads us to him by the shortest way.

"If Eodwine is not in the prison cells, then he has been taken by the Master to the temple, which is on the main floor. The temple is walled off from the rest of the fortress, its own little house within the larger house. I have not been inside it and can tell you nothing about it. If the Master has taken Eodwine in there, our only hope is to overcome the guards we meet, and fight our way in. We would lose more lives trying to save Eodwine than we would if we let the Master have him."

Falowik stood. "That is a cold, calculating thing to have said, Furman. It may be true, but we have sworn to save Eodwine, and to save any others that we may. So if it is as you say within the fortress, be assured that we will free what prisoners we may, as Falco did back at Lake Evendim. Who knows? It may be that they can help us to overcome the Master's guards."

"Aye," said Furman, "that may be. I hope so. I have told you all I know."