Defense of the Poros RPG

[Imladris]

Jinan followed the guards who dragged the Gondorian soldier away. He was disgusted with the physical torture the soldier had withstood. Physical torture was rather easy to withstand. All you had to do was to think of something else, separating yourself from the pain that was inflicted upon you. Jinan himself had done this many times. It was a game with him and his cronies.

The soldier was dragged to a tent where the other Haradrim tied his hands and feet. and left him. Jinan remained and stared at the soldier. His face was battered, his soft eyes were hardened, blood dripped from his mouth.

Jinan paced in front of the soldier, wondering how they could get information from him. Emotional torture was much more effective, but ten times more delicate to withstand information. With a snap of his black eyes, Jinan stopped short. A scowl flickered across his face as he realized with disgust that the Haradrim lieutnant had just been inflicting pain for the sense of blood lust joy that accompanied such an action, not for the information the Gondorian might possess. With a snort of disgust, Jinan once again thought how utterly foolish their stupid lietnant was. What happens if the Gondorians had an ambush? And her was a perfectly good Gondorian soldier ripe for interrigation. Well, if no one else was going to do it, he would.

Crouching on his heels in front of the soldier, Jinan said, "I suppose you are very thirsty from the beating and the fighting and the journey." He sighed and continued, "We have some very cool water in the saddle packs." He cocked an eyebrow suggestively. "You do realize that you have very little hope of surviving. The Haradrim like to play with their victims -- the journey could be quite painful for you. Then there is the issue of food -- have you ever starved? You become hungry, and then the pain drifts away with time. You begin to feel lightheaded, your strength is sapped, and then you die." Jinan stared at the soldier. "How many men are garrisoned in the Poros settlement?"

[Nerindel]

Astalder eyes followed the steps of the young Haradrim warrior who now paced before him; there was confidence in his steps that denoted that he was no mere guard set to insure that he did not attempt to escape. Outside he could hear his enemies making ready to break camp and make their final advance, if he was going to escape he would have to do it soon, but with both his hands and feet bound that was not going to be an easily task. As the Southerner continued to pace he surveyed his surroundings looking for something that he could use to loosen his bonds.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about the large canvas tent he now found himself in; However the folding table littered with papers, drew his attention. Several large pieces of parchment rustled with the breeze blowing through the waving flap of the tent entrance, Maps… he silently mused; this must be an officer’s tent. But before he could inspect his surrounding more closely, the young Haradrim Warrior stopped his pacing and crouched before him, the warrior’s dark eyes levelling with his.

“I suppose you are very thirsty…” his new interrogator began, it was true he was thirsty be he would not give his captors the pleasure of knowing so, so his gaze remained steady and his features impassive. The man sighed and continued cocking his head suggestively to were he had earlier seen two sets of saddle packs, but he did not follow the mans gaze, choosing instead to stubbornly keep eye contact with this man.

Without so much as a flicker of irritation the southerner went on to describe his chances of survival, describing in detail how one died of starvation, but Astalder was no inexperienced ohtcar and knew that a man could go at least three days without food, and with the Poros only a days hard ride away, his usefulness to Lan’kash would have ended long before he had the chance to die that lingering death. However water he did need but now he knew were that could be found, he just had to wait for the right opportunity to arise and he hoped that it would come soon.

“How many men are Garrisoned in the Poros settlement?” The southerners question brought him from his musings and he saw that the soldier was now staring at him intently waiting for an answer. Slowly leaning in Astalder whispered his reply into the ear of his interrogator.

“I do not fear death!”

Then remaining impassive he leaned back against the main pole of the tent, reciting his name and rank, he had no intention of giving these savages any more advantage than they already had, nor the satisfaction in knowing that they greatly out numbered the Poros garrison. He held his head high and tensed his body waiting to accept the blow that he was sure would follow.

[Imladris]

Blast it . Jinan realized he had made a fool of himself and he swore under his breath. The Poros was a day away -- of course the man would not starve to death by then. He shook his head.

“I do not fear death!” the soldier whispered in Jinan's ear.

The Haradrim smiled and looked at the Gondorian. Jinan did not doubt his bravery, but he also realized the foolishness of it all. The soldier was going to die, sooner or later, a painful death. The soldier himself must realize that. But Jinan wanted information from him before that time came. "Whoever mentioned death, brave Gondorian," Jinan said.

He called for a glass of wine and stared at the soldier. When the soldier/farmer returned, Jinan took a deep sniff and swished the wine in the crude goblet. The fresh scent of the liquor wafted from the cup. Jinan took a small sip, twirled the cup in his fingers, and said, "I suppose you have family in the Poros settlement. They are going to die you know, so you might as well tell me what I want to know."

The soldier lifted his head and replied, "Then why should I tell if you are going to kill them any way?"

"Death will take them. We Haradrim would merely hasten their deaths," Jinan answered. "You will have to see your loved one's die in either case. Again I ask, how many people are garrisoned in the Poros settlement."

The sound of men breaking camp drifted through the tent and Jinan cursed. Why was the Gondorian being a mule, so strong under physical torment and the beginnings of mental torture? He drummed his fingers on his knees. He might have to finish his interrogation on the road.

[Novnarwen]

His naïvety took over. Erfâzh had to be loyal to Frôzhal, no doubt about that. There was nothing Erfâzh could possibly do to harm the other Haradrim in any way. Without Frôzhal, who had been given a platoon when they set out to destroy the Poros settlement, Erfâzh was nothing other than a soldier, who had absolutely no power in the army at all. If he, nevertheless, proved or had proven to be disloyal who would their superior believe; a simple soldier of a low rang, or Frôzhal, who happened to be in charge of a platoon? Surely, it would have to be the latter. With this conclusion, he wasn't very pleased about the fact that a certain Haradrim slowly approached him.

"Where were you, during the attack?" Erfâzh asked, curious about how Frôzhal had got the gash in his face, and why his clothing was badly ripped.

It was important, in these kinds of situations, to keep ones mask. After all, Frôzhal didn't know whether this man's intentions were good or not. Frôzhal repeated the question silently, avoiding the piercing look from the soldier. What was he supposed to say? He frowned, thinking hard, meanwhile watching Erfâzh getting more and more impatient.

"What do you think?" Frôzhal asked, taking his sword halfway up from the sheath to show the blood at the upper half of the sword and to the hilt, (which was intentionally done; to put a fright into the young man's heart). Erfâzh looked at Frôzhal with surprise, as if all doubt, whether his superior had fought in the battle or not, was gone.

"But you said that you were going to watch . . . "

Frôzhal interrupted. Grim-faced and eyes narrowing, he told Erfâzh it had been a test. By this, the other Haradrim's eyes lit up, but he didn't seem to fully understand though.

"Well . . . Did I pass?" he asked, not even knowing what this so called test was about. Both of them stood motionless for a while, Frôzhal again thinking; being afraid to say something wrong, which could be used against him later, if Erfâzh indeed was disloyal.

At last Frôzhal grinned. A feeling of satisfaction embraced him, as he understood that Erfâzh, surprisingly enough, had believed him. However, to Frôzhal's surprise, Erfâzh hadn't even bothered to ask what this test was all about. This was perhaps for the best, he thought.

"You passed . . . " There was a long pause, before Frôzhal stepped forwards, reminding himself of the Gondorian knife he had taken from a fallen soldier; and of which he had been tempted in using. He whispered in Erfâh's ear:"But only just . . ."

[Orual]

"They are disciplined and well-prepared, Captain. It will take more than a simple ambush to regain our men."

Anhelm's steely eyes were fixed on the camp that lay just before them. He heard the warning of his current second-in-command, Sarandros, but did not heed them as perhaps he might. He scanned the camp, and his gaze fell on one tent in particular. "There," he said, pointing to it with a mud-caked finger. They had ridden hard and had not stopped, and they all showed signs of wear. "That is where they are keeping Astalder."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Anhelm glanced at Sarandros. "Granted."

"There's no way you can know that."

Anhelm frowned. "I just know. I can tell."

"Sir--"

"I need a diversion," Anhelm snapped, changing the subject. "Take twenty of your men and go around that way." He gestured in the opposite direction of the tent. "I will take ten and we will get Astalder." He put a hand on the sheath of his sword. "Give me an hour."

Sarandros knew the question that Anhelm wanted him to ask. "And after an hour, sir?"

"Leave, and start the evacuation of the settlement." The young captain stroked his horse's neck. "I'm going to go down with this ship, but the civilians don't have to. One hour, Sarandros. That's all I can take. One more hour."
He rode towards the tent.

[Nerindel]

Astalder

The Haradrim soldier drummed his fingers impatiently on his knees, his face showing that he did not understand Astalder’s lack of cooperation and that his strong Gondorian discipline and self control was something the young man had never encountered before, in fact it was a rare gift that Astalder had worked at during his numerous campaigns in Rohan, against fouler things than southern men.

“While you sit here wasting your time, my captain prepares the settlement for your attack, your fires set these things in motion. You will not find the settlement unprepared!” he calmly told his interrogator keeping his eyes level.

“If I where you I would leave these lands before they can find out what you have done, Gondorian vengeance is strong and unyielding, in destroying the outposts you have already instigated a war, a war which you can not win!”

“Tsk! you know nothing Gondorian, the Poros is weak, Gondor is weak and we will break both like waves crashing over stone,” the Haradwaith answered rising to his feet.

“With this army...?” Astalder mocked, “Farmers and sheepherders from what I have seen, with no knowledge of the horrors and hardships of war!” he paused and studied the young warrior before him, “Perhaps even you do not know of what I speak.” His words got the expected reaction as the Haradrim soldier belted him hard across the face.

“You are a fool if you believe that this is all we have, we are only the…..” The warrior stopped in his angered words, regarded him with a wry grin, “Very clever, Gondorian. Just not quite clever enough!” he said realising what the Gondorian had almost tricked him into revealing.

“But you are right, some of our men are novices, untrained and undisciplined, I do not think even I will be able to stop them from taking what they want from the destroyed settlement, some may even take a fancy to tasting your women! Do they taste sweet, Gondorian?” He whispered into his ear.

That was it, the thing that broke his careful discipline, a blind rage took him, the image of his beautiful wife being ravaged by haradrim soldiers was more than he could bare. He smashed his head into the face of his interrogator, who fell back in surprise, disoriented and grasping at his bloodied nose. Astalder then threw himself towards the table where he had caught the glint of a knife, finding the knife he rubbed his bonds against the sharp blade, a small trickle of blood ran down his hand as he nicked himself on its sharpened edge.

The Haradrim soldier had regained his bearings and was on him again before he had the chance to free his legs, gripping the hilt of the wicked looking Haradwaith knife he turned to met the soldiers advance. But as he turned a new sound erupted outside, causing both men to pause. Panicked shouts and swords clashing in the distance, a horn sounded and a grin crossed Astalders face.

“It sounds like Gondors wrath has already found you!” he taunted to his interrogator.

“But you will not live to see it!” the soldier growled advancing towards him in a threatening manner.

Astalder again dived to the floor and rolled out of the way slipping the knife between his feet and cutting his bonds, he was forced to roll again as his opponent drove his sword towards his head. Getting to his feet he ran for the exit, but his opponent was quicker and barred his way. As the soldier rose his sword to strike Astalder threw out his fist smashing the haradrim hard in the stomach, the soldier doubled over winded and he lifted the knife in his hand meaning to slit the mans throat, but catching the glint the young man moved and the knife only caught him across his left cheek. His side step left the exit open and Astalder plunged through the flap leaving the young Haradrim warrior behind.

“Where’s your uniform, soldier!” a familiar voice called before him.

“Captain!” Astalder grinned taking the hand the man thrust out to him, “that is a long story,” he laughed letting Anhelm pull him onto the back of his mount.

“Well, let us get out of here and you can tell me all about it.” Anhelm replied kicking his horse.

“Wait! There is something I must first retrieve,” he called above the ringing sounds of battle, his eyes narrowing towards the battling form of Lan’kash and the sword hanging at his waist.

“No, are you mad!” Anhelm exclaimed following his gaze, “I have got what I came for we must leave!”

“Perhaps I am, but he still has something of mine and I am loathed to leave it behind, just ride hard and I will do the rest.”

Anhelm shook his head but urged his mount on faster, Astalder leaned low over the right side of the horse his eyes narrowing, as he fixed them on the hilt of his sword that hung from the Haradrim leader’s belt. “It’s all a matter of timing,” he reassured himself licking his dried bruised lips. Then as they past he threw out his hand and grasped the hilt.

The weapon was well oiled and slipped easily from its sheath, but the momentum knocked the Haradrim leader from his feet and in a moment of spontaneity he mockingly saluted the fallen leader. Then Anhelm gave the order to retreat.

[Orual]

"You don't know how glad I am to see you," Anhelm said to Astalder with fervor in his voice. "Things have gone south so badly we're going to be hitting the sea soon. Adenain was injured. He's back at the settlement, getting patched up. He's out of commission entirely."

"How many of the men were injured?" Astalder asked, concern permeating his words. Though it was clear that he had not been treated kindly by the Haradrim, his first thoughts went to his men. Anhelm felt pride swell in his heart. This was the kind of man that Gondor turned out; this was the kind of man who he would be fighting alongside. For now, a fight was imminent; there was no more 'if', only 'when'.

"We'll find that out once we get to the settlement. But from what I can see..." He twisted around on his horse and looked back at his men following him. "Far too many. I don't think we lost too many, though, but it will be a bitter fight at the settlement."

"A bitter fight?" Astalder echoed dubiously. Anhelm nodded.

"The Haradrim aren't going to give up without one," he said confidently. "But I'm not concerned; we'll manage."

"We're sorely outnumbered and from what I saw, they're not lacking in weapons," Astalder insisted.

Anhelm glanced at him with a look of injured pride. "I know what I'm doing, Astalder. I can handle this. The men that were sent to me are the best--you included. We can take whatever the Haradrim throw at us."

He looked before him, towards the settlement, and nodded. "Whatever they throw at us."