Defense of the Poros RPG

[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."

[Imladris]

Jinan clambered to his feet, wheezing for breath. The Gondorian had escaped. Escaped. Under his watch no less. He had let the Gondorian escaped, but who could have expected so much fiery spirit in his broken frame?

Jinan snorted and stormed out of the tent. The Haradrim soldiers (the sheepherders as the Gondorian had aptly named them) were still fumbling for their arms and shooting arrows at the lingering cloud of dust. "Stop wasting your arrows, men!" he shouted. "The dust is not a living creature that will swallow you alive. Because of your incompetence, they have gotten away. I hope that you are pleased with yourselves," he snapped.

In the distance, the lieutnant, his horse rearing upon its hind legs called, "Rally your men! We march straightway to the Poros settlement!"

A thing that should have been done long ago. Jinan thought as he marshalled his farmers. It was not good to let an enemy know of your presence, nor was it good to let your numbers known to them.

[Novnarwen]

The rumour of the Gondorian Soldier's escape spread like an autumn wind. Soon, the soldiers were arguing about whose fault it was, and the bickering carried on to endless discussions. Few dared to withdraw from the aggressive conversations, as there weren't many who claimed their complete innocence. According to some (probably those who felt the most guilty for the inconvenient escape), the responsibility for a prisoner taken by the army, was everyone's responsibility. However, as Jinan ordered them to be silent and that the Poros Settlement could no longer wait, quite a few turned their attention to the future attack. Only a few minutes later though, the young Haradrim soldier heard that the jabbering and the foul words hadn't stopped, nevertheless. Frôzhal, on the other hand, found himself wandering about, with a grin on his face, playing completely ignorant about the incident. No one questioned his merry spirit.

The soldier was actually relieved. Everything seemed to suddenly go so smoothly. The prisoner had escaped and Erfâzh hadn't made contact with Jinan again, or at least not from what Frôzhal had seen.

When realising that his mood could cause suspicion, he tried to suppress his true feelings; he did in fact not approve of the way the prisoner had been treated, while being a captive. This new sense of moral struck him by surprise. Although, he tried reproaching himself for liking how things had developed, he couldn't shake off the feeling of being good; because these thoughts brought no evil with them. He wanted to feel this way more often, but it was stupid. It was actually impossible in the environment of which he lived in.

If not being good by the appearance of his actions, no one could hinder him to think this way. This was indeed the fabulous thing about thoughts.

Frôzhal's superior ordered their departure. It was time to go, time to destroy a settlement and take innocent lives.

[Orual]

As soon as Anhelm arrived at the settlement and had Astalder's wounds seen to, he wasted no time in preparing the settlement for an attack.

The entirety of the settlement's military staff was activated, and some capable young men who were not actually in the military. Anhelm suspected that one or two of the "lads" was actually a lass, but he did not say anything. They needed all the hands they could get.

In the small makeshift armory, Anhelm was getting suited up. As he pulled on his leather gauntlets he listened with half an ear to some older office worker talk at him about the numbers of swords and bows and arrows that the Poros defense had at its disposal. The numbers did not sound good, but the young captain was fairly sure that they could cope.

"Tell Astalder that as soon as he feels up to it, I would like to speak with him," Anhelm said, interrupting the man. The man stammered for a moment, then nodded and darted off.

Anhelm closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. "Let me fight well," he said softly. "Let me avenge my father. Let me defend my people.

"And give me the courage to die if need be."