Bloodstained Elanor RPG

[Arry]

Gromwakh took the lead with Snikdul following close. Toward the rear of the ragged column they moved, the remainder of their companions trailing along behind them. They were just thirteen in number now, one of them having met the brutish death at the hands and foot of One Eye . . . and him, the poor dead Orc, in the midst of a winning streak with the dice. The little group kept well out of sight of the troops marching toward the Elven forest as they made their way in the opposite direction. And it was not until early afternoon that the supply wagons came into view.

Snikdul was all for running hurriedly toward them, as were the others. But Gromwakh growled at the group and urged them on behind the last of the lines. ‘They may be cooks and servers and water-fetchers but they aren’t all stupid. They’ll wonder why were running towards them from the front and some idjit’s bound to let slip to someone about Orcs that were running away from the battlefield.’ The group looked at him dumbly, no light of understanding in their eyes. ‘Just follow his lead, boys, old Grom’ll get us through. And best yet he’ll do the thinking for it.’ Now a flicker of comprehension glinted in the depths of their yellow eyes, like a small taper lit in a vast cavern.

As if by mutual agreement they all nodded toward him and waited expectantly for an order. He sighed, then belched, as if he had made up his mind. Seeing the dust from the wagons in the distance now ahead of them, he took off his pack and fished about in it until his fingers found what he sought. His whip! Braided from the hides of two tough old mountain goats he’d pursued and brought down in the Misty Mountains.

Gromwakh drew back his arm and snapped the lash with a quick snap. His companions eyes grew wide and they snarled at him, thinking he might hit them. Grom shouldered his pack and sent them shuffling off before him with a few words as he ran behind, the scourge snapping at their heels.

‘Oy!’ he shouted loud as they neared the wagons. ‘Get on you maggoty lot,’ he cried as they neared the wagons from the rear, in a voice great enough to be heard by the Orcs in charge. ‘I’ll not have you lagging behind. Some of you take up that wagon tongue, you lazy louts, and give those others a breather. The others run along beside and spell them once in a while.’

The Orcs who were pulling the wagon were more than happy to give up their work to the fresh crew. Gromwakh walked alongside his companions nudging them now and then with his whip handle for effect, all the while telling them to keep their heads low and their gobs shut . . . they’d make it through yet.

[Kransha]

“Urkrásh, why are the members of my glorious race such imbeciles?”

Urkrásh glanced glibly at his master and captain as the two of them stood at the center and front of the ragged column drifting, or oozing forward like a smoggy shroud of black moving with enervated speed across the forested plains. Thrákmazh, his armored form erect and stiffened, continued to direct the low-shouldered troops around, pointing them towards the front and issuing as many commanding gestures of he could. Out of the corner of his mouth, he spoke to Urkrásh, who blinked at him dazedly and answered as best he could. “Umm…” he searched for a response that would not anger his captain, stammering involuntarily. “I don’t know, sir.” he murmured, evading the real question.

Thrákmazh’s hand, which had been up with a gauntleted trio of fingers aimed forward and swinging to indicate the proposed movement for some very slow uruks, lowered slowly, falling limp and lifeless to his side, the chain mail riveted upon it jingling. Slowly, he turned to his orcish counterpart, who had the same ready and willing, if not slightly confused look on his face he’d borne a moment ago. Thrákmazh’s single eye narrowed icily, focusing into beady and acute orb that fixed its keen gaze on Urkrásh. After looking grimly at the servant for a dragging, slow-paced moment, Thrákmazh swiveled sluggishly to face the troops again, looking deep into their thick ranks with his single, precise eye, examining each and every mindless uruk.

“It’s because they don’t have a purpose, none at all. They serve like blind rats, being directed by those with high ranks and decorations to spare. I think I might’ve been like that once, but that changed soon enough. They’re just blind, aimless worms that do what they’re told when they feel like it. No loyalty, no devotion, no sense of purpose at all. They probably have no aspirations, no hopes, and I don’t blame ‘em. They’ll never get anywhere, not the way they conduct themselves. You and I, on the other hand, orcs like us are different. And, Urkrásh, if you serve with loyalty and show your mettle for the cause, you’d get somewhere, and any of that lot might too if they did so. But, most of ‘em won’t do anything to get anywhere, and they’ll stay in the filth they made. When they see the elves, they’ll fight all the same, and they might get some pleasure out of it, but no one will remember them, or care about them, or know their names.”

The speech was not meant, or implied as the speech it was. Thrákmazh considered himself quite the wordsmith, and impressive enough in that wording as well, for he had spent many days perfecting his skill with this second language, which most orcs did not speak well. It was considered a point of pride to be able to discourse in the common tongue diligently, as clan gatherings of orcs could not speak the Black Speech, their native tongue, in groups, for each clan and sect had a different, multifaceted dialect (though the speech was not complicated overall). Urkrásh looked now as if he was contemplating the petty oratory, looking as pensive as he could in the passing moment. Thrákmazh was not even looking upon him, had not turned to witness the other orc’s response. At last, as a disconcerting silence descended eerily over the two, though crashing, growling, rumbling, thumping, and snarling abounded all around them, Urkrásh found his voice and spoke, quietly but surely. “I see, sir.”

“I’m sure.” Thrákmazh murmured coolly, stepping back and finally turning toward Urkrásh. “Urkrásh,” he said, the commanding air faded from his guttural voice, “I want you to do something for me.” Urkrash, at this, piped up wholeheartedly, his own gait steadily brightening to reveal his constant willingness as he nodded his head vigorously. “Anything, sir.” Looking back upon him, Thrakmazh almost smiled, but contained the expression.

“I want you to take command of this column,” he continued, causing Urkrash to jump unnoticeably, “just temporary command, and make sure nothing happens in my absence. We have to see to this task with those accursed men, so I might as well see who they are. I’m going to scope them out, see what I can learn. I think that you are capable of making sure nothing undesirable happens.” Urkrash looked at him, at first, as if his commanding officer might have been possessed, but calmed down within seconds, ever eager to serve, and said, simply, “Are you sure?” Thrákmazh glowered at him, a sight which would silence most orcs who knew his reputation. It might not have been the best idea, since another uruk captain might fit the task better. Yes, Urkrásh was sometimes a fool, but a loyal fool, and would not let his master down. He would do this task as aptly as he could. “I’m always sure about whatever I say and whatever I do.”

After a deep breath, Urkrásh bowed his head and answered. “Yes, Thrákmazh.”

Not returning the bow, Thrákmazh spun on his iron-booted heel and strode off slowly, still surveying and supervising, but not for long. Soon enough he was on the outskirts of the orcish line, which was interspersed with the lesser orcs. All orcs noticed Thrákmazh, save a happily ignorant few. Most cringed, and all those he passed busied themselves getting out of his way. This all changed, though, as he neared the equally ragged columns of men, dressed in all manner of bizarre, exotic garb, which escaped Thrákmazh completely. These mortal men did not think to oblige Thrákmazh’s path, and none took note of him except as what he was, an orc. None moved for him, few acknowledged his presence, and none stopped their idle conversation on the march. Snorting indignantly, Thrákmazh proceeded towards the head of the line, hurrying slightly, as he did not relish the company of men. At long and irksome last, he found the crest of the column, with the men there who he presumed held some notion of authority. He saw one, with another alongside, who fit the description of a captain of the men he'd been told of by other orcs on the societal fringes of the army, who had nothing better to do. Worming his way with very little grace through the claustrophobic rows, he found himself just behind the man and another beside.

“You are the one called Koran Cenbryt, yes?” He queried, utterly unexcited about the meeting. But, the meeting was not to happen yet, for the crowd had carried both away. Still uninterested, and irritated, Thrakmazh headed off, towards the rocky ground that bordered the whole area where and on which the armies traveled. The orc captain sauntered towards this virtual grove as night's pale hue tinged the reddening sky above. There, seated neatly upon an elevated outcropping of stone, was another Southron captain. The one called Herding.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

"I sure hope that you all got some more information than I did, or else we will probably never figure out what they intend!"

Lomarandil was lying down amid the leaves with his eyes shut, and humming a tune. His head reasted on his hands, and Thorvel shot a very sour look at him Stupid youngster, resting and singing while the others have been out scouting, looking for clues! "Indeed, Thorvel. They're mobilising, drilling their troops. But from what I've see ntempers are running frayed. With some luck they'll kill enough of themselves not to present much challenge." Thorvel turned away, but even so Lomarandil saw the muscles in his neck and cheek jerk angrily. Lomarandil chuckled silently and forcedly to himself. He knew that Thorvel didn't really like him, but deep down he wished that he could do a better job of hiding it, he was after part of the troop and he thought it would have been nice for people not to grimace every time he made a discovery.

Calenvasa nodded gravely at the news. "We have not much time then." Lomarandil relaxed once again on the leaves. Adn started humming again. Calenvasa went up to Thorvel and whispered something inaudible in his ear.Lomarandil muttered at this, and turned over onto his front. Taking out his knife he began to cut the earth in front of him. Targil looked aver to see what it was, but he couldn't make anything out. Calenvasa moved away from Thorvel, before walking over to the rest. Thorvel joined them soon after.
Lomarandil sat up, joining the group, before finally shrugging and standing up to his full height.."We must move quickly..." Calenvasa said in a whisper.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

The army marched forward slowly, it seemed; Urkrásh stood slightly behind his master, but both of them in the center and front of the army.

‘Urkrásh, why are the members of my glorious race such imbeciles?’ Thrákmazh said, looking out at the column of uruks. Urkrásh glanced at Thrákmazh, unsure of what to say, and slightly confused by the question. Searching for an answer, he quickly looked back and forth to leaves and stones on the ground.

‘Umm…’ he said, still trying to think of an answer that would not anger his master. He slowly began to loose the question. Not wanting to stall to long or ask again, he murmured, ‘I don’t know, sir.’ His voice was only loud enough to be heard over the sounds the uruks were making.

He nearly winced waiting for his master’s response to his reply. He watched him out of the corner of his eye as he dropped the hand that signaled some slow uruks, his armor rattling as he did so. Thrákmazh turned to him, the slit in his eye grew smaller as he focused on Urkrásh. He was just about to cower in fear from the gaze when his master turned back and looked upon the army that slowly progressed forward. Urkrásh looked upon them too; his eyes pacing back and forth along the columns, wondering what his master had meant.

‘It’s because they don’t have a purpose, none at all. They serve like blind rats, being directed by those with high ranks and decorations to spare. I think I might’ve been like that once, but that changed soon enough. They’re just blind, aimless worms that do what they’re told when they feel like it. No loyalty, no devotion, no sense of purpose at all. They probably have no aspirations, no hopes, and I don’t blame ‘em. They’ll never get anywhere, not the way they conduct themselves. You and I, on the other hand, orcs like us are different. And, Urkrásh, if you serve with loyalty and show your mettle for the cause, you’d get somewhere, and any of that lot might too if they did so. But, most of ‘em won’t do anything to get anywhere, and they’ll stay in the filth they made. When they see the elves, they’ll fight all the same, and they might get some pleasure out of it, but no one will remember them, or care about them, or know their names,’ he said, not looking back at Urkrásh, but still scanning the troops.

Urkrásh looked back at him, trying to think over what he was saying. Pondering this, Urkrásh wondered if he would ever be remembered, even by his master, if he ever left him. He blinked a bit, surprised at the speech his master had given. He was also surprised to be compared to someone with such a high ranking as Thrákmazh, and to be considered like him. Urkrásh had never tried to get anywhere. He had never wanted to be in charge of a mass number. But, he had served with loyalty and tried to please whenever he could: mostly because he just wanted to save his own hide, but he did it just the same. He would get pleasure out of fighting the elves. His right hand twitched at the thought, limp and barely useful, it lamed him, a scar that time does not heal. Looking back at the uruks, Urkrásh watched them. Disorderly they were, the lines were not perfect, yet you could make out each individual column, and some uruks did not look so willing, slow and sluggish, grunting or snarling now and then; it seemed as none had taken notice of Thrákmazh’s speech. But Urkrásh found himself replying with an ‘I see, sir’ before he had truly understood what his master meant.

I’m sure,’ Thrákmazh responded. He stepped back after his time scanning the troops and faced Urkrásh, ‘Urkrásh, I want you to do something for me.’ Urkrásh straightened up a bit, ready to please, nodding his head vigorously, ‘Anything, sir.’

‘I want you to take command of this column, just temporary command, and make sure nothing happens in my absence.’ Urkrásh jumped at his, having never been put in charge of such a big number, and back in his mind was doubt and uncertainty. Thrákmazh continued, ‘We have to see to this task with those accursed men, so I might as well see who they are. I’m going to scope them out, see what I can learn. I think that you are capable of making sure nothing undesirable happens.’

Urkrásh blinked a few times, looking at his master. ‘Are you sure?’ He said, not sure of what else to say. The task of commanding a whole column was never something he was commanded, maybe an orc or two, but never a mass of uruks. Thrákmazh glared at him, ‘I’m always sure about whatever I say and whatever I do.’

Taking a deep breath, he replied ‘Yes, Thrákmazh’ and bowed his head.

Urkrásh watched as Thrákmazh spun around and slowly rode away and disappeared among the uruks and then men, most of the uruks making sure they moved out of his way as he passed. After he had passed them, Urkrásh noticed the columns of uruks became less and less orderly. He grunted to himself, wondering why Thrákmazh chose him for the job: there were other uruks and orcs that would fit it better. His eyes paced back and forth, watching the uruks, waiting for something to go wrong, trying to remember all the signals he had seen used in the past. Urkrásh began to plan out every scenario in his mind, what he were to do if something went wrong.

[Durelin]

Calenvása smiled slightly at Thorvel's frustration. The elf seemed truly perturbed, and that was to be understood after a whole night remaining as still and as quiet as possible, with no outcome. Calenvása quickly glanced around him. No one seemed ready to speak. Targil in particular looked sour, of course, and his eyes fell upon the Captain often enough for anyone to see just what he was sour about. But Targil had always saved his bitterness for Calenvása. Never had it been such a constant battle between the two elves' wills, though. Calenvása thought he could blame it on the stressfulness of the situation, but could he blame it on anything or anyone but Targil? Or perhaps it was his own fault. He knew that so many of the faults Targil found were legitimate.

Thorvel waited quietly for someone else to speak, as did Targil. Calenvása felt the silence growing heavy upon him, and he knew that soon he had to speak. He had information that might help them, he thought, but he just could not put it together. There were pieces of something that could make a whole, he knew. But he also knew that there were some pieces that he held in his mind, and others that he did not. He waited, letting the silence go, hoping it would not grow out of control. Someone had to have one of the missing pieces. Calenvása now waited for someone to speak up. The silence did not grow out of hand. Lómarandil could be relied upon, as always.

"Indeed, Thorvel. They're mobilising, drilling their troops. But from what I've seen tempers are running frayed. With some luck they'll kill enough of themselves not to present much challenge."

Calenvása sighed, wondering how long it would take the young elf to realize that there was more to this army than a squabbling bunch of thick-skulled orcs and Men, slaves to Sauron. These numbers were greater than the elves had faced since the Last Alliance, or so Calenvása thought, to the best of his knowledge. But then, his knowledge had never extended very far into the wars of his people, or any people. And their brethren in Lorien were not at all prepared to face an army of any size.

Targil and Thorvel were obviously feeling the same vexation as their Captain. Targil’s mouth was twisted sourly in annoyance. All was quiet again, though the bitterness could be felt in the air. Lómarandil looked almost as sour as Targil, while Thorvel kept his features smooth, but fidgeted a bit too restlessly. Again, Calenvása waited for someone to speak. Unfortunately, so did everyone else.

The silence started to grow into a wild thing that lashed out at Calenvása's mind. Every moment of it made his body try to wince. He used all the will he had to remain still, and staying right where he was. He wanted to run away and escape it all, but Calenvása knew he couldn't. He was the Captain, and he felt the silence the most of anyone present for a reason.

"We have not much time, as you all know," he glanced at Targil for a moment, who smiled cynically. “I make this brief, as it seems there is little that must be said. As said before, there is more to this attack than a large frontal assault, as effective as that might be. Near where I was perched in a tree, a small troop gathered, consisting of both orcs and easterlings and southrons, seemingly all of some kind of high rank. I heard nothing of their words, but it was clear that they were far more organized than the army, and separate from it.”

Calenvása paused, seeing that this information was so general, lacking any details and bringing only more for their minds to ponder with worry. The Captain dug through his mind, trying to find something to add to his observations. He wished with little hope for a conclusion to this, as well. Then Thorvel spoke up, and Calenvása felt the burden be lifted from upon him.

“Then we head back the other way and stay as far as we can from them…” he said softly. “I knew that that orc sounded too close to where I lay in hiding. Now I think he must have been a part of your special troop, Captain. From this I believe we can assume that they will be remaining separate from the army. Unless ‘them’ refers to us…then we have more to worry about.”

Thorvel frowned in thought and in a certain disappointment at finding his information just as vague as Calenvása’s, and adding to the worries of the scouts. Calenvása lead Thorvel a little ways away from Targil and Lómarandil, and spoke to him quietly. “We will elaborate upon these thoughts later, friend. Would you mind my company in our chase?” Thorvel returned Calenvása’s smile, and nodded. Calenvása had been watching Lómarandil and Targil both, and he had seen the restlessness of the two, and the frustration. Calenvása knew they must have a reason for this anger, but he doubted that it was a rational one.

The Captain returned to the group, and it was immediately clear to the two younger elves that the ‘communication’ had ended. Lómarandil now chose to physically join the group, moving closer to Calenvása. Now he listened carefully, now that his blood was boiling in anticipation. The young elf awaited a word, and Calenvása was reluctant to give it to him. He felt that they were leaving something behind, forgetting something of great importance. He had felt since the beginning of this mission that they were rushing things, but time had always been a key issue. Time was important to Calenvása, and as he practically felt the sun rising in the sky to shine upon him from a different angle. He sighed heavily, and spoke softly, almost as if he wished the others would not hear it. “We must move quickly...” he paused, then lightened his voice, using his sense of humor to alleviate his thoughts. “But that is what we are best at, is it not, my pack of wolves?”

Targil grinned and let out a howl like a wolf. Calenvása opened his mouth to berate him, as he knew that any orc or Man ear could have heard that noise, but both he and Lómarandil were already disappearing into the forest. The Captain sighed once more. He looked at Thorvel, who still stood by him, waiting. The elf smiled slightly, and Calenvása found amusement in the situation as well. “That was truly a very natural sounding wolf call.”

The two elves made their way into the forest, following Targil and Lómarandil, with a few chuckles, growing silent as they drew near the army’s camp location. They found it clear of anything living, but covered with countless signs that a great number of dirty creatures had resided there. Calenvása studied it with disgust, as he and Thorvel came upon the other two. “We will not be scattered, each taking our own route. All of our skills will be needed.” Targil waited only for Calenvása to finish speaking, then made his way into the clearing that was the orc camp. Lómarandil followed, and they soon found the direction the army had taken. They took off in that direction, and Thorvel and the Captain could do nothing else but follow, running. They kept their two comrades in sight as Calenvása already began to feel the excitement and the anxiety of the race that they now ran in, with the finish line across a wide plain in Lorien.

[Arry]

An army travels on its stomach . . .

- and rumour and gossip pervade the ranks like gas after cabbage soup . . .

Gromwakh looked out over the small platoon of wagons that bore the food to fuel the invasion. At least, he thought it was an invasion, from what he’d gleaned in conversation with the Orcs sent back to fetch supplies. They were a never-ending source of information – overlooked grunts and cooks, barely worth noticing by the captains and such; too stupid to understand anything other than sharp barked commands, or so they appeared to the ones they served. And true they often misheard or misunderstood what was said, but with a little poking and prodding of memory and a small bribe, much could be put together.

At any rate, it appeared the Elves didn’t know what was to happen, weren’t waiting for the Dark One’s army. ‘It’ll be a surprise!’ snorted a one-armed Orc from near the front. ‘There’ll be plenty of Elves to kill and trees to burn to the ground.’ He nodded firmly, punctuating his comments with a belch. ‘Cap’n says we’re to have whatever prizes we can find.’

‘You should live so long,’ thought Gromwakh to himself, ‘the only prize you’re likely to get is one of them sharp, shiny blades in your gut.’

He’d helped the Orc fill his sack with supplies and sent him on his way, when one of his own band motioned him over to the side of the track. ‘Old Kreblug here says he’s picked up some tasty information . . . be willing to trade it for two salted fish and a small jug of Deadman’s-jack. Grom’s brows raised as his jaundiced gaze swept over the wretched specimen who stood opposite him. Deadman’s-jack was a particularly foul drink brewed from the leavings of leftover vegetable peelings . . . Orcs would drink it, but only after exhausting their supply of Orc-draught. Grom could see the trembling of Kreblug’s hands and how he smacked his thick lips. The fellow was desperate for something to take the edge off . . .

‘Two fish, and a cup of jack,’ he said to Kreblug. Kreblug wavered, looking as if he might say ‘no’. But Grom sweetened the deal. ‘’And one cup every day that you bring me back news.’ He motioned for his fellow Orc to pour a cup for Kreblug.

‘Now tell us what you heard . . .’ he urged the desperate Orc, holding the cup just beyond his reach.

[Firefoot]

Thorvel was running strongly beside Calenvása, their two companions up ahead. Running felt good, after the long night in a cramped position. His earlier frustration had faded as the thrill of the chase set in, if his irritation at Lómarandil had not. Arrogant young elf, he thought. Thorvel wasn't sure where he had been a scout previously, but in that time he had certainly not learned much about Orcs. They might kill a few of their own - he had already seen examples of such - but killing off the entire army? Thorvel didn't think so. The Enemy had a purpose for them, unclear though it was, and as long as that held true the Orcs would be held to his will. He shook his head of the gloomy thoughts. There had been far too many of those lately.

"Their trail certainly isn't hard to follow," said Thorvel, chuckling wryly. The grass under their feet was trampled, and any living thing in the Orcs' way had been hacked down. He was grinning, not that there was much to grin at but he needed to vent his humor somehow. Calenvása gave him a queer look but smiled back. Thorvel was enjoying Calenvása's companionship more and more as he got to know him better. His face returned to its usual expressionless gaze, but his eyes gleamed with pleasure. He remembered the Captain's words to him earlier: “We will elaborate upon these thoughts later, friend. Would you mind my company in our chase?” He had called him friend. It meant a great deal to Thorvel that his captain felt this way about him. Thorvel had not known many people he could call friends in his many years, but Calenvása was slowly but surely edging his way up onto Thorvel's short list of friends.

Thorvel turned his mind back to the Orcs. He was still puzzled. All the information that they had was vague at best. A smaller more organized section of the army. Orcs trying to stay away from "them". Southrons and Orcs. What could it all mean? Calenvása had said they would speak more of it later, and Thorvel hoped that together they might be able to come up with something more than he alone was coming up with, which was little more than nothing.

"What do you intend to do if we catch up with the Orcs?" Thorvel asked, cocking his head towards the Captain. "It is a good deal harder to run swiftly and quietly under cover of trees."

[Arry]

Kreblug shivered as he looked at the proffered cup. ‘Just a taste,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Just something to wet my whistle. Easier to talk, if you catch my drift.’

Gromwakh poured just a tot into a small cup handed him by Snikdul and watched as the his benighted fellow Orc chased away his demon for the moment. Kreblug smacked his lips together when it was gone; looking deep into the cup in case he had missed a drop. He looked up hopefully at Gromwakh, only to see his eyes narrow and his head shake a definitive ‘no’.

‘Right, then,’ Kreblug began. ‘It were late last night, nearing sun up I think, when me and a couple of friends were off on some private business of our own.’

Snikdul wiped his dripping nose on the back of his arm and gave a small cough. ‘Drinking your “private business”, more likely,’ he thought to himself. Looking up he thought he saw the same assessment flicker in Gromwakh’s eyes. Gromwakh, in fact, had decided that perhaps the ‘information’ the Orc had might be from drunken imaginings. He urged Kreblug to go on.

‘It’s when we saw ‘im. Well not so much as saw him as smelled him. That stinking stench they have. Near enough to set our guts to roiling.’ Kreblug snorted as if the foul stench had hit him once again.

‘Probably got a whiff of himself,’ muttered Snikdul, moving to stand near Gromwakh. Grom kicked him in the ankle and cast what passed as a smile toward Kreblug. ‘Go on . . . we’re all pins and needles here,’ he said to the informant. ‘What was it that smelled so bad?’ Kreblug wavered, about to ask for one more little taste, but the look on Gromwakh’s face decided his course.

‘A stinking Elf it was! Sniffer, it was, who caught the scent - smelled him sure in one of the trees near us. Try as we might we couldn’t see him; couldn’t hear him either . . . the sneaking blighters!’

‘I know that Sniffer fellow,’ commented Snikdul. ‘Got nostrils the size of some of the caverns beneath Mount Gundabad, he does. Very reliable at sniffing things out.’

‘Anyway,’ continued Kreblug, ‘we moved away from that place and conducted our little business away from spying eyes. Went back in the morning, on our way back to camp, for a little look-see, so to speak, but he was gone by then.’ Gromwakh nodded thoughtfully and passed the cup of Deadman’s-jack to the eager waiting fingers of Kreblug. ‘Have you told your Captain about this?’ he asked.

‘Told my Captain!’ spluttered the Orc between convulsive swallows of the potent liquid. ‘Are you daft? We’d have to explain what we were doing away from camp, now wouldn’t we?’

Gromwakh sent Kreblug off and gathered his fellows about him. ‘Well, isn’t this a fine mess we’re in. Old One-Eye to the front of us, and him marching us to certain death. Elves spying in trees . . .’ He looked consideringly behind the slowly advancing wagons as the last of them pulled past him. ‘And what’s behind us I wonder?’

‘Can’t see anything, Grom,’ one of the band offered helpfully. Gromwakh led them back to the wagons, joining the forward march with a few jostlings and cursings thrown their way. ‘There’ll be no striking a bargain for our benefit with the ones in charge here. We’re so much fodder for their little war.’ He chewed thoughtfully on his lip for a moment.

‘Wonder if we could strike some bargain with the Elves,’ he muttered to himself.

[Firefoot]

“Time,” said Thorvel. “Yet another thing that we will probably lack.” He sighed, and lapsed into silence for a moment, thinking.

“I believe you are speaking of the Orcs’ plan,” said Thorvel, glancing inquiringly at Calenvása, who nodded. “Two separate forces of Orcs,” said Thorvel, thinking out loud. “Why? What do they need two forces for? And the separate one has orcs of high rank... perhaps they mean to launch a two-fold attack. And those other orcs want to stay away from ‘them’. The special forces? Or maybe the main force? If there are two forces,” he said, sighing. “I cannot make any sense out of it.” Thorvel was glad that he was able to speak to Calenvása alone on this topic, without Lómarandil’s arrogant comments and Targil’s disagreeing ones. It helped that he was now able to think on it.

Calenvása was nodding slowly. “Perhaps it does make some sense, though very little. Orcs do not fight for a cause, so perhaps they would want to stay away from the generals who would have them in the middle of the battle, where they would like as not get killed. Orcs like to kill, but not be killed.” Thorvel was beginning to understand, and chipped in as Calenvása momentarily trailed off.

“So, that would make it sound like they would stay away from their generals. It makes sense, and staying away from the Elves doesn’t make much sense anyhow, as we have remained well-hidden and why would they want to stay away from those who are attacking? Perhaps those Orcs I heard were rebels - not unlikely with Orcs.” Thorvel felt that this issue was pretty well settled: they had a solution that made sense, and that would be enough for now.

“But back to their plans,” said Thorvel. “If they have two forces, what could they be used for?” He realized how calmly he was talking of the Orcs, and that revelation was enough to cause the old hatred to flare up in him. The painful memories that they had caused him were buried deep, covered many times over by his determination to keep them there, but the vengeance was there. It had kept him going for a long time. The cold gleam returned to his eyes, but he spoke calmly.

“Clearly this army has a purpose that they mean to fulfill. This other force must have some role, and I would count on that role being a key part to their plan.” Sudden inspiration struck him. “What if they mean to trap the Lorien Elves between the two forces? Surely there must be some kind of trap.”

[Durelin]

Calenvása’s mind worked speedily, attempting to process all the words that his ears were hearing. Thorvel spoke with an air of absent-mindedness, voicing every one of his thoughts without organizing, for fear that he would lose them in the proceedings. This was exactly what Calenvása had wished for him to do, as thoughts were misplaced or retained that could be important if all were not uttered. Between two minds in the quiet of the world, a tumultuous quiet as it might be, these thoughts would all be taken into proper consideration. And Calenvása’s mind was trying to do the same. He had gotten a word in, letting forth a suggestion that had to be heard, if not sound likely. For now, it seemed, their two minds thought alike. Which was natural considering their similarities. But Thorvel’s differences brought to the Captain’s mind a freshening view of the same circumstances. They thoughts along the same lines but saw things in their own minds’ eyes, and so were able to look at the situation from different angles, much as they had been viewing the enemy from different places and through each elf’s eyes.

“A trap? Very much a typical component to the Enemy’s plans,” Calenvása said, letting his own thoughts run free, and so already finding his sense of humor becoming a part of expressing these sober thoughts. “But to trap between…and between the two forces, you say? I would not call that a force, but a party, perhaps a troop. Just enough to fill an inn, and one of the town tavern kind. Elite though they may be, I doubt that the orcs and Southrons would be enough to pinch those of Lorien in between they and the main force…” He trailed off for a moment, pausing shortly when finding himself lacking of a conclusion to this suggestion. He kept his mouth working, knowing that words were soon to come from it, and, as he had hoped, Thorvel saw this and remained silent, for now.

“The ‘special force’, you called them?” Calenvása glanced at Thorvel, with a grin, taking his eyes away from the sun, which he had stared at as he pondered. The elf smiled back, and nodded. “Interesting…it sounds misplaced, but I can think of no better term. For ‘special’ they just might be.”

Thorvel nodded anxiously at this, his eyes shining as they had back in the clearing, frustrated and angered, as well as excited. The vexation of a mission, of any obstacle the scouts had to overcome, brought with it its own kind of excitement, if not a jovial one. He spoke quickly, the irritation clear in his voice to the point that he practically breathed the words with hot breaths of anger. “Special, yes, but how? How are they of a special importance?”

“It is almost as it I have heard those words before…” Calenvása said, rather dryly, but grinning all the same. He looked at his comrade once more, and the blazing eyes that met his did not abash his smile. Quickly those eyes began to cool after one last great flaring and a shake of the head they were set into. The Captain’s grin grew, and soon Thorvel lowered his eyes, a smile appearing on his own face. “You bring us back to the beginning, Calenvása continued, “when you should allow the pieces to work their way to a whole.”

~

Targil, Night

Targil ran at a quick pace, finding himself wishing that Lómarandil would fall behind. But it was getting late in the day, falling into night, and the elf had easily kept the intense pace. He almost quickened his pace, but the young elf chose this moment to speak. “Should we not wait for our Captain?”

Targil sighed heavily, but Lómarandil did not catch the annoyance in his voice as he spoke. “Yes, Lómarandil.” It dripped with mock cheerfulness, and his eyes flashed with anger. He glanced at the young elf, but Lómarandil looked him straight in the eyes without a flinch. The boy had himself on his mind much too often, and nothing could change that. Nothing changed what he was, and in his mind, he was foremost of all. What Targil would not accept was that this made the young elf that he so despised so much like him.

It was impossible that Lómarandil did not see the anger in his companion’s eyes, and yet he smiled slightly as he began to speak. No apology came from him, as he of course saw nothing that required one. Targil’s hand that swung at his side as he walked was balled up into a tight fist, gripping hard to keep a hold on to his anger.

The young elf pointed ahead into the distance, where trees had become scarce. Targil followed Lómarandil’s gesture to see clearly ahead of them several bright dots in the growing darkness. “Should we not wait for our Captain?” the elf asked again as he brought his arm down. This time, Targil reluctantly saw past the young one’s arrogance and recklessness, and nodded.

[Orofaniel]

The late evening was drawing near and the army, both Orcs and men, were soon feeling great need of sleep, food and not to mention some nice fresh water. The last couple of hours the army had increased its speed and many felt that this was definitely the time to find a decent place to pull up camp for the night. It was also true; the sun had passed its origin home long ago, and the sun had yet again, as every other night, been replaced with the bright moon. Herding pulled his hair back, as he felt the cold breeze slightly striking his face.

As they came across an area where there were fewer trees than there had been on their whole journey Herding decided that this would be a good place to out up a camp for the night. The green grass on the field was just beneath a hill. Along the hill a small river was flowing, and cool water seemed excellent right now. "We’ll camp here! Now!" Herding cried, to everyone's great relief. The other Captains had been thinking the very same, because many soldiers had already left their position in the army, heading down to the blossoming field. Orc were soon running down in the green grass which was soon stamped down by their heavy feet. Herding sighed a little and ordered that some of the soldiers would follow him to set up a tent.

While some soldiers were walking along the river to fetch some fresh, cold water, others were pulling up tents for the night. Orcs were talking with loud voices, and making other noises that Herding, among others, weren’t' too pleased about. Herding had always disliked Orcs, because of their nasty habits, although some were actually decent fighters. At least they weren't afraid to die in a battle, something other soldier could be at times. Huge bonfires could bee seen in the left corner of the field, where the Orcs had settled. It almost seemed like they were having a feast. On the northern side of the field, the Easterlings and Haradrims had settled. They were much calmer, although grumpy and seemingly tired the whole lot of them. Some had also started to make themselves a nice meal, with the fresh water, something they all seemed pleased about. Herding himself hadn't offered a hand in the organizing of the new camp, he didn't bother, but then again he knew that some of the other soldiers would have pulled up his tents and belongings within short time. This time was no exception of course.

Herding seated on a rock, looking at his map. Finally his sword and bow weren't a big burden to him anymore, as he had put them aside. He felt rather exhausted after a long day’s walk with weapons and armour. Soon a soldier approached him; he brought with him some of the fresh water from the running river. "Sir, the water you asked for," he said while bowing his head. Herding took it. The small bottle was lifted to his mouth as the cold water ran down his throat. What an exquisite taste, he thought. Never had he appreciated a bottle of water more than now, in this very moment. He breathed heavily as he pulled the bottle away from his mouth. Thereafter he pulled up his sleeves, which were already getting dirty, and washed his hands. Herding then looked up at the soldier, and told him that he was thankful for the water that he just brought him and that he was allowed to go. The soldier bowed his head again, slightly, and walked away.

Herding then noticed that an Orc only a few paces ahead of two men, were walking towards him. The Orc was quite thin; although Herding spotted that he was quite muscular. By looking at him, examining his face the best possible way from such a distance, Herding noticed that this Orc only had one eye! His, so to seem, red eye was horrifying, although Herding didn't know for sure if it really was red or if he even only had one of them, he was after all too far away for any accurate details. Also by looking at the Orc’s armour, that had spikes on it, he was certain that this was some Captain who was walking, soon about to approach him. The two men looked like Haradrims, but Herding wasn't sure. But as they got closer, Herding saw indeed that two of them were indeed of his kind. One of them was probably a bit younger than the other; Herding could see that for sure. He would think that there would at least be sevem years between them. Age, however, didn't matter; it was their errand that mattered and that brought great curiosity to his mind. One of them had a scar across his cheek. Herding figured it had to be a nasty one-to one fight that had caused such a scar. He was also quite tall, with tanned skin, and rather dark hair. Then again, dark hair was typical for Haradrims.

The other man was walking next to him, constantly turning around to look backwards. Why he did that, Herding couldn’t tell. Herding didn't have time to analyze the second man any more than that, because the Orc had now approached him. Herding got to his feel, still holding his knife, while looking at him. His eyes hadn't let him down this time, because this Orc that was now standing in front of him, had one eye only. Herding had to struggle with himself to keep himself from staring, although he found it quite difficult. At least this showed, after Herding's opinion, that the Orc in front of him was a good warrior. There was nothing bad about that, was there now?

"You'd better put that knife down..." The Orc said a bit annoyed by being greeted like this. Herding couldn't do anything but take it down as he asked what errand the Orc had here. "I'm Thrákmazh, Orc Captain," he said, as he sat down on one of the stones. Herding seated as well feeling a little embarrassed for not being prepared for such a visit. "Herding - Southron Captain," Herding replied sternly. The two of them said naught until the tow men approached them which happened to be only moments after. "An Orc Captain, named Thrákmazh, just arrived. “And now you two," Herding said, with the slightest sound of annoyance in his voice, "Although I do not know your errand yet," he continued.

"Koran Cenrbyt is my name," the tall, with the scar said and seated. The other man seated as well, right next to Koran. Oh, so that is Koran Cenrbyt, Herding though while looking at him. His eyes looked quite unpleasant in the moon ligth. "This is Ehan Fazian, one of my soldiers," he continued looking at the Orc. "You’re the Captain Koran Cenrbyt," The Orc said bluntly while looking back at him. "Indeed I am," he said and smiled. "You know who I am," he said, sounding a bit pleased, but not arrogant. "And yet, Orc, you have not told me yours..." he said, while his face expression faded. "You're right; I have not told you my name. I'm Thrákmazh," he said as he narrowed his eyes.

"I've heard your names. Maybe one more time than necessary," Herding said, while his temper was raising. He didn't want to feel uncomfortable or overlooked while sitting by his very own tent. "But still, none of you have told me your errand...or errands?" Herding said, now seeming quite calm. He was quite curious why they were all brought here. "Well, isn't it obvious?" Thrákmazh said looking at him suspiciously. In that moment, Herding felt rather stupid. Before another thought would run through his mind, Koran interrupted. "I and my soldiers, among them is Ehan, will spilt up from the main army – meaning the armies you’ll be leading you. Remember?" he said and looked at Ehan. Of course Herding remembered, and so he told them.

"I thought our plan was quite clear," Herding said awkwardly and pulled his map forwards so that the all of them could see it clearly. He looked at Koran, then on the map: "The army that splits up from the main army, lead by myself and this Orc here," Herding said, then paused, looking at the Orc if he had disliked not calling him by his name or Captain. However, the Orc Captain didn't seem to notice it, so Herding continued now pointing at the map, following their route with his finger; "The army that splits up, lead by you, Koran, will break off from the main force at the fording of the Anduin," he said and paused again. Koran nodded, confirming what Herding just had said was correct. Thrákmazh nodded too, examining Herding's map. "And what exactly is your plan Koran?" Thrákmazh said with despise, something Herding thought was a reasonable question.

"We will walk straight to Caras Galadon," Koran said while he took the map from Herding and pointed at it. "Here," he said and looked at Ehan. He had remained quiet for quite a while as if he had no tongue, now however he told them that they would only consist of a fair, and not too many, amount of men.

Herding remained quiet for a moment, while thinking. He looked at Koran. He is to young to lead such an army, he thought. How despicable, he continued, while curling his lips. And the young man…boy next to him. Far too young. He didn't like the sight of him. No, not even the slightest. How would they ever manage to fulfil their mission with no experience, he thought, although he knew nothing of Koran's history, nor earlier battles. How could one expect an old head on such young shoulders? Well, you couldn't. He concluded.

"You better do this right, Koran. You better fulfil your mission," Herding then burst out, full of anger. Koran gazed, and looked at him sternly. "I certainly will do just that," he said beneath clenched teeth. "Do you question my judgment and my capability of leading a small force?" He asked Herding, angrily. Ehan looked surprised over how their conversation all of a sudden had turned into a conversation with such hostility atmosphere, with harsh and unreasonable comments. Herding remained quiet for a moment, but Thrákmazh left no space for such silence; "How can you guarantee us victory?" he asked him, while is red eyes blazed. "I will have victory and you shall both see it!" Koran said, now getting to his feet, while his eyes flickered. "You are a fool, Koran," Herding said. "And far too young," he added. He too, got to his feet. "You shall see Koran that you or your army will not succeed...You will face defeat, that is what you will do," he said and grasped his knife again. He held it behind his back, so that the others wouldn't notice. "Herding, sir, keep your words and treats within your own mind, for I will not hear them," he said harshly, as he seized Ehan's arm and turned away. "Young fool," he Orc said behind his back and laughed.

The tow Haradrims walked away from the tent with stern steps. Herding could hear them talking, but not their exact words. Herding didn't say one more word, just took a hold of his map and went inside his tent and closed it. Night had befallen them, and so had jealousy.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Coromswyth

"But what have I said that deserves such a look as this, lady? Do you account the Woodmen among your friends and take offence that I should weigh them so slightly?"

Ambarturion's tone was light now, rather than attacking as it may have been whilst asking the same question earlier, and his laugh made it seem more jocular. These things made Coromswyth consider her answer more carefully than she may otherwise have done, and she hesitated, regarding Ambarturion contemplatively for a long moment. Then she smiled, looking away and shaking her head. "Ambarturion, with such conversation, I do not doubt talking to the Woodmen will be interesting. I don't think you have once spoken to you and not been intrigued by your opinions."

"I don't think that I have once spoken to you and recieved a straight reply to a question," he replied.

Sharp as knives! Coromswyth grinned, unlady-like as it may have been, and held up a finger. "Ah! But that was not a straight question. I merely replied with a roundabout answer to a roundabout question."

For a split second, Coromswyth thought Ambarturion might have replied angrily, but thankfully he took the other option, smiling back at her but saying nothing, his characteristic silence coming back once more. Taking a long deep sigh, he dropped his head so it hung on his chest, then tilted it back to look up at the stars. From where the pair were seated on the ridge of the hollow, about half a metre apart in one of the uniform gaps in the trees, they could see the clear, fine night well, every winking bright star and fine diamond cushioned in dark velvet, perfectly defined. The starlight gleamed on raven black hair and noble faces as the elves sat it silence, watching the stars, each allowing themselves a few moments of peace, without worry or the world. Then Coromswyth drew in a deep breath and rose, smoothing her skirts softly as she shook her hair back, a hand automatically coming up to brush the stray strands from her face. "What time shall we leave tomorrow, Ambarturion?"

The simple question was a token gesture: Coromswyth left it entirely up to Ambarturion, without opinion of her own - allowing him to judge. He turned his head to look up at her then rose also, stepping towards her. "I shall wake you - we shall leave a few hours after daybreak, for it has been a long night."

"Wake me?" A smile played over Coromswyth's lips. "Nay, Ambarturion, I shall watch - you must be tired."

Ambarturion's face changed, shocked. "Nay, Lady, I will watch for the rest of the night - my pupils have enough trouble and one is wounded, and you may have trouble tomorrow without your horse-"

She waved this aside, shaking her head. "Ambarturion, I insist," she replied softly. "Really, you have had as hard a night as I - harder even. I admire you for it. But please - I am not a weak and liable to snap as you may think. I will watch."

He hesitated for a moment, unsure, then offered a halfway point: she would watch first, then he. "And then Megilaes," he added. "He must learn also."

Coromswyth smiled and rolled her eyes. "If you say so, teacher," she replied mockingly, smiling at him. Turning, she settled back down on the ground, next to where she had lain her sword. "Goodnight, Ambarturion."

"And you, Lady Coromswyth," came the formal reply.

~*~

Koran

Several miles from where she elves rested the night afterwards, a fiery scene had unfolded inside Herding's tent. Glaring venemously at the Southron captain, Koran contemplated saying more, then chose to remain silence, clenching his teeth together fiercely before he turned away from the other Southron captain. Touching Ehan on the arm and turning on his heel without bowing as may have been expected, walked out of the tent with stiff, dangerous, inhaling sharply as the cool night air hit him. He didn't move for a moment, a tall, lithe figure against the moonlight, looking out from the eaves of the trees under which Herding's tent had been constructed, calming himself as he breathed in the cool air slowly.

"You are a fool, Koran! You will face defeat, that is what you will do!" The other Southron Captain's words came back cruelly to Koran. He clenched his jaw, looking down at the ground and a bitter smile came onto his face. A fool? The orc knew Koran's name - and so, probably, did Herding. Not that he would ever sink to admitting it - men like that were happier when aware only of themselves. What need had the mighty Herding for knowledge of a mere youth's battles? He shook his head angrily.

"Are you alright, Captain Cenbryt?" Ehan's voice was surprisingly soft. Koran had seen the boy's surprise at the hostility that had arisen in the tent so quickly - indeed, Koran himself was a little mystified as to why things had got so out of hand so quickly. But he knew how it had started. He is the model of Ferach and Cortim...

He turned sharply to look at Ehan and saw the boy move back very slightly. His face softened and he took another deep breath, letting his young brown eyes, full of experience that Herding would never even guess at, before he looked again at Ehan, sliding his eyes sidewards at him. "Captain Herding's way of thinking is..." he hesitated, trying to formulate the right words, before giving up. "Frankly, the man reminds me all too strongly of a pair of the most despicable human beings I have ever come into contact with."

Ehan gave a short laugh. "Sounds a little dire, Koran. Can I ask who?"

Koran glanced across at the younger man and gave him and ironic smile, his white teeth and dark eyes glittering in the clear light of the stars and the moon. "Why, family of course. Didn't you guess?"