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

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Carl

Not only was his enjoyment of a delightful supper tainted by the bitterness of worry, so that he hadn’t the heart nor the stomach to volunteer to “clean” the pot, as was his usual habit, but sleep also eluded Carl. And as the others finished readying their gear and settling themselves, the darkness found the hobbit laying beside the embers, staring up at the points of light in the sky, their sparkling net so strangely familiar in this odd land. And yet these same stars wheeled their way over the former slaves and the slavers, the plantations and the Shire. All were to rest now, in the natural order of things, but try as he might to be obedient, Carl just couldn’t seem to manage it.

His evening thoughts did seem to drift always back to those two children whom the slavers had plucked from the others. How utterly frightened they must be, and for good reason. And for the hundredth time, or so it seemed, Carl was filled with a torrent of self-reproach. He should have spoken up. Weary or not, they might have pressed themselves to travel onward, at least until sleep could took them more quickly. Surely the King wouldn’t have delayed so. And the hobbit began to wonder how well Strider actually knew the group, thinking it might have been quite some time since he had last seen some of them. Aiwendil for instance, now there was a puzzle for you! Though Carl had always respected his elders, he knew that there does eventually come a time in the winter of life when even the pillars of wisdom might become a touch unsound, like a great tree that grows a bit hallow on the inside. How could Lindir be so sure of the Aiwendil’s declarations when much of the time the old man seemed more than a little eccentric? Might he not easily take them on a wild goose chase, confusing the sought after bat colony with the sought after slaves?

Shifting under his blanket with the uncomfortable thought, the hobbit’s mind felt like a caged squirrel as he struggled to think of other things. Had he tightly sealed the water skins? Yes, but he must remember to check them again before setting out. And what about Stumps? Would his peg hold? Craning his neck to reassure himself that the pony was still there, Carl saw the dear beast looking quite content among the larger horses. But a slight movement not far away caught the hobbit’s eye, and after a moment’s consideration Carl realized that it was only Lindir, sitting at the far edge of camp, his keen grey eyes keeping watch over them all. And after another moment’s consideration he thought perhaps the elf could calm his misgivings, at least enough to be able to find a bit of sleep. And so wrapping his blanket around his shoulders, the hobbit picked his way across to where Lindir sat, seating himself beside the quiet fellow. He remained silent for a while, trying to think of a good way to broach the subject.

“Nice evening, wouldn’t you say?” he spoke at last. Lindir merely nodded, seeming a bit reluctant to indulge in conversation with the hobbit. But Carl was determined to plumb the level of the elf’s confidence in Aiwendil’s latest ‘discovery’, hoping to find something to ease his own mind. So he proceeded cautiously, not altogether unmindful of the elf’s duty to keep watch, but unusually persistant all the same.

[Undómë]

Zagra and Mazhg


There are no Orcish words or phrases to convey the concept of ‘thanks’. So in answer to Ishkur’s grunted Here, take this. You’ll need it to stay strong on the road. Mazhg took the offered meat and grunted back at him.

Zagra and Ungolt huddled around her as she sliced off big juicy pieces for each of them. The blood ran down her arms, dripping off her elbows as she chewed off bites of the warm, rich, red meat.

‘Good!’ Zagra grinned a bloody smile at her sister and nodded her head enthusiastically. She paused in her eating and looked toward where Ishkur sat, then back at Mazhg. ‘He gave us meat,’ she said - offered more as a prompt than as a passing comment.

‘Well, then,’ Mazhg mumbled around a mouthful of meat. ‘Go on! But not too much…’

Zagra pulled out a few rounds of journey bread, some sticks of dried meat, and one of the tubers she knew were edible without having to be cooked. She crept as quietly as she could behind him and laid them as close by his hip as she dared. He moved a little as he ate, bringing his forearm up to wipe across his mouth. Zagra gasped, and turning quickly, ran back to where her sister sat. She huddled down next to Mazhg, and fixed her eyes on her piece of meat and her bread, pretending for all intents and purposes that he could not see her.

[piosenniel]

‘Any questions? If not, the rest of you should get some sleep.’ Lindir’s voice carried well in the little camp. And his tone of authority, though subtly voiced, impressed itself upon Rôg’s thoughts. It was a good choice of the King’s that such a one should pull the raggle-taggle fellowship together and look after its welfare.

The Elf, he thought to himself, was one of those take-charge sorts. Which was not unusual for an Elf, at least in his opinion. Those he’d encountered in Imladris were certainly no pretty, shrinking violets.....and even the female of the species was known to be quite forward in their opinions of what should, what must, be done. He chuckled quietly to himself recalling the friend of Aiwendil’s with whom he’d become acquainted during their undertaking in Umbar. She’d been quite an unreticent and candid ally; and her blade as he recalled had been as quick and sharp as her tongue.

Aiwendil was off by himself, thinking most likely about some part of the larger plan he had in mind for this group, something beyond the details of riding fast to rescue two children from slavers, the need to meet up with the larger escaping slave group, or even the incursion of the Orcs-as-thieves in the midst of all. They were all little twists of....well, perhaps fate, of circumstance, which he would somehow see to, weaving them like stray threads into the whole of his, or the, tapestry.

Or perhaps he was simply thinking of breakfast, that too was a possibility…..roust Rôg from his bed to make gruel or accept the offer of fruit and waybread. A puzzle, a conundrum wrapped in the guise of a dotty old man. Rôg smiled and fetched out his old leather sack in which were stored the grains his companion was fond of. There was plenty still for a number of breakfasts.

He put away the sack and looked about. For all Lindir’s prompting, most were still awake. And there was the Hobbit, Carl, up and strolling off toward the edge of the camp. Toward the Elf. ‘Hmmm, I wonder what’s on his mind?’ he murmured, watching Carl sit down near Lindir.

His thoughts along these lines were distracted as he noted the sounds coming from the place where the horses were picketed. Comfortable nickering as the beasts settled in together, shufflings of hooves as they jostled for position. Rôg wondered if in the undercurrent of equine intimations his own dun mare was voicing her opinions of him. Was that a nicker or a snicker he heard between the clip-clop of hooves in the dust?

A movement to his left distracted him once again from his thoughts; someone else was up. A great mass of reddish hair, somewhat silver-shot in the pale moonlight, on a head cocked to one side as if listening to something. It was the Dwarf, Vrór. And his attention seemed captured, too, by the horses.

On an impulse, Rôg drew near to where Vrór stood. ‘Master Redfist!’ he called out as he approached. ‘I see you are perusing the choice of steeds.’ He lifted his chin toward the horses. ‘I had heard you might be needing a ride once we leave for the slavers’ camp. If that’s still so, and if no one has offered you one, you would be more than welcome to ride with me. I travel lightly, so there is plenty of room. And you may sit front or to the rear….as you wish.’

He left the offer hanging lightly in the air. Perhaps the Dwarf would prove a stronger hand for the dun mare; perhaps she would look on Vrór more favorably than she did on him….ignoring him altogether….that would be nice…..quite nice…..

[Child of the 7th Age]

“A nice evening perhaps, but I’ll feel more comfortable once we actually arrive at the slavers’ camp.”

The Elf said nothing further to Carl, but stared pointedly at the northern horizon. Whether he was searching for intruders or mulling over what might happen the next morning was not immediately apparent. Hoping to continue their conversation, Carl began speaking in a stouthearted manner concealing the very real worry that lay underneath his words. “I agree. We need to find those children quickly. But what amazing luck that Aiwendil already knows the location of both camps! I mean…it would make no sense to go galloping out if we didn’t know where we’re going.

The hobbit’s comments met with silence. In the distance, a coyote howled, one of the few animals they’d seen or heard since venturing across the border into Mordor. The howl sent an eerie chill down Carl's spine. When he spoke to the Elf a second time, his voice sounded more uncertain. “Lindir….does Aiwendil really know where those camps are? I suppose the birds could have come and told him. That’s what he said before.”

This time, Lindir promptly answered, “Yes, he really does know. I am convinced of it. But he is not telling me where he got this information. And since he has been in Arda even longer than I have, I am not about to ask.”

Carl’s response was immediate, one word tumbling out after the other, “But how can that be? You’ve told us tales of the First Age and the wars in Beleriand, stories like the ones from Master Bilbo’s book. You mean that Aiwendil is older than that?” ”

Lindir nodded and went on to explain, “It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? That a dotty old fellow should have been tramping about for who knows how long…. Still, it is true. I've known Aiwendil more than a thousand years, and his tales have convinced me his roots lie much further back than that. ”

Noticing the uncertainty still in Carl's eyes, Lindir searched for words that would give the hobbit the reassurance he needed. “I am sure you know that Gandalf was a great friend of hobbits. He had a very high opinion of them and spent considerable time in the Shire. You've heard stories, or prehaps even met him when you were younger. But you might be surprised to learn that Gandalf and Aiwendil were friends. Gandalf trusted Aiwendil and sometimes called upon him for help in tight situations. Indeed, if you examined the lineage of those two old birds, you’d find they come from similar stock ….almost like brothers. And it's likely they share other gifts as well, though I am not the one to ask about that.”

His eyes bright with amusement, the Elf noted, "Weren't you the one who shared with me that famous hobbit adage? Don’t judge a book by its cover or a ploughshare by its handle. That is what you must do with Aiwendil. There is more to him than meets the eye. But hadn’t you better settle in? Tomorrow will be a long day. Good night for now. Plus, I need to check and make sure everything is quiet.”

Without waiting for an answer, Lindir trotted to the outskirts of camp and stared out across the plain to make sure there were no unwelcome intruders, all the while thinking about everything that had happened during the day. The Elf was not easily impressed by one of the Secondborn. He had lived too long and seen too much folly. But he could not help but be impressed by Carl. Despite long years spent in Arda, the Elf had never even met a hobbit until he’d gone off on this trek. Like most of those living in Rivendell, Lindir had heard tales of Carl's kinsman Samwise who'd accompanied Frodo Baggins during the War of the Ring, but these were only tales, not the same as getting to know a living and breathing person.

Lindir was beginning to understand why Gandalf had been so intrigued with hobbits. Of all the members of their band, it was Carl who’d had the good sense to question the information provided to him. He had also been the one to ferret out the entrance to the slaves' hideaway. Without him, they would likely be riding in circles. Perhaps, just like Aiwendil himself, these curious small folk had more inside than was readily apparent. He promised that one evening he would draw Carl out and get him to share stories about his kin. For now, however, Lindir was content merely to have discovered that there were people in Middle-earth who still had the ability to surprise him.

That still did not solve his other problem. If only he could get Rôg to open up and share more about himself. Aiwendil was obviously not going to reveal anything more about his friend, despite his cryptic comments referring to their joint adventure in Harad. Yet not for one instant did the Elf believe that Rôg had gone off to survey a bat colony this evening. No reasonable man went off on his own after dark crossing the dreaded Ash Plains of Mordor for such a trivial reason. It was simply too dangerous, especially for Rôg who looked and acted nothing like a soldier.

For all his defense of the wizard, Lindir recognized that Aiwendil had one major weaknesses. He was not the best judge of men. What if the old fellow had been taken in by someone posing as a friend though with far darker motives? Lindir glanced back to where Rôg was supposed to be sleeping and saw a suspiciously empty bedroll. Couldn't that fellow ever stay where he was supposed to? Perhaps he was out again with the bats.

Elessar had called their group "The Fellowship of the Fourth Age", but there were parts of that tale Lindir did not want to see repeated. The first fellowship had included one member who, certain that he knew a better way, had secretly tried to sabotage the group's efforts. Giving one last hasty glance at the empty bedroll, Lindir promised to speak with Rôg tomorrow about being careful not to wander so far from camp without at least letting him know first. In the next few days he intended to keep an eye on him.

[Novnarwen]

Aedhild

When Aedhild finally gained consciousness, she found herself lying in the soft, damp grass. Sitting up, her legs curled up to support her body, she rested her head in her hands. "Not now. Not for everyone to see," she muttered under her breath. She knew this feeling, this feeling of weakness and vulnerability; it was within every inch of her body and much to Aedhild's distress, she had come to realise that it would never fully go away. Touching her forehead, she felt the warm stream of blood. Disgusted, she ripped a patch of grass and scrubbed her forehead clean. It wasn't much, but she shuddered all the same.

The hurriedly aging woman didn't know how many times she had fallen to the ground, supposedly without reason, and awakened from unconsciousness to find her body aching from the fall, her head penetrated with intense pain and her memory blurry. Countless of times, she had found herself alone in the dark, shivering, afraid that another fit would seize her without warning, this time more ferociously. Having escaped from slavery, she had wandered in a land, unknown to her and alone in he wilderness, a fit could be the end of her. For six weeks, she had hardly slept a full night, and during day, she had not risked walking for many hours, knowing that exhaustion made the fits occur more regularly. For weeks and weeks, she had only looked for a safe shelter that would protect her from the consequences of a potential fit would have. Though much indicated that Aedhild was hardly present, or at least not very attentive to the things surrounding her, she was very well aware of the fits that occasionally took her by surprise, and the danger of the occurring.

It scared her. More than anything. Even the fight of being punished by the plantation guards didn't scare her as much. Over time, she had become used to it. She wasn't familiar with another reality, a reality of freedom and being your own master, and thus she had learnt to accept it. This illness or plague however that seemed to have taken possession of her so long ago didn't seem to seize, and despite the long period of time of which they had defined much of her life, she could never get used to them. Each time, she stirred, rose and shivered like and old hag, anxiety grasping her so intensely she could barely breathe. The thought of being alone again, entirely on her own was unbearable. She would never make it; during the weeks after her escape, she had been lucky, lucky for the first and last time in her life.

She couldn't count on it again. She couldn't count on the abilities she didn't have. In truth, Aedhild's independency was more dangerous to her than being under someone else's command.

“Is something wrong?”

Aedhild didn’t realise that a cry had escaped her lips, and that silent wailing followed. She would never make it. This was a battle for survival, and she would never win. In due time, the others, the young and healthy slave escapees would leave her, leave her to die alone.

“You’re bleeding!”

Casting a glance at Raegonn, she couldn’t help hating him for being the young and vibrant man he was. He was one of them, who were conspiring against her to leave her rotting in this dark land.

[Orofaniel]

"You're bleeding," Regonn repeated, now with a slight frown on his face.

Reagonn hesitated; knowing that Aedhild usually was quite ill tempered, and did not appreciate being disturbed or talked to.

"I....I....,"Aedhild muttered, unable to continue. She was obviously disorientated and confused. Her face pale, and her mouth dry. The blood from her forehead continued to flow down her face. Her efforts into stopping the bleeding with the patch of dry grass was all in vain.

Reagonn never usually cared much for others than himself, nor did he ever feel any sympathy for anyone. Yet there was something about Aedhild that tickled his curiosity; by the look of her face, he, as well as the other ex-slaves, could see that Aedhild had endured much suffering throughout the years. She was an old woman now, with a past anyone would wish to forget. Of course all of them had nightmares about their past, the lives they had lived at the plantation, yet Reagonn had difficulties imagining what Aedhild’s dreams contained.

"Don't come near me," Aedhild said. Her voice cold and distant. Bewildered by this, Reagonn studied the expression on her face. This was not a person speaking - it was more like a madman. He let out his hand, in helping gesture he offered to help. She forced a chuckle.

Reagonn confused by this reaction backed away, not daring to attempt to help the woman, he motioned that he would leave. As he turned his back to her, taking his first step he could hear her voice again. This time however, her voice was not cold and distant as it had been before; on the contrary, it was soft - Almost human like.

"T-thank you..." she whispered.

[Nogrod]

Gwerr

Gwerr was munching his share of the pony and trying to set his mind in order. The meat was fresh and juicy, the warm blood streamed down from his mouth and kept dripping to his chest. Even though he had dried meat and waybread enough to make at least a journey of ten days, fresh meat was always a welcome change to the diet. But the meat couldn’t rise his spirits. He bit his chop quite angrily and chewed it aggressively. He was in a bad mood. And for a reason, he thought to himself. One more time he went through his list of things that both irritated him and made him almost mad with anger. Only his experience had made him stay outwardly calm this far, but he was near a breaking point.

We made the plan, myself and Colagar, to get away from the plantation, to get a life of our own. With thirty orcs of both sexes we could have built our own clan or something. Then Colagar’s insistence on a group escape that went totally wrong, then the Uruks... Fifteen of us left of which three are Uruks! And Ishkur! The one I trusted... The silent words Gwerr addressed to himself moved him greatly. He felt more anguished every time he went through the events of the last day. He had almost finished his piece and gnawed the bone frustratingly to pick the last bites of meat left.

So I gave him meat when he had taken on a journey without any provisions at all! And how did he thank me? He starts playing a leader here in accord with those leeches who are brimming over with exhalation! Yes, look at the Uruk faces now: so self-satisfied and so full of their supremacy – even if all was just pure chance, pure luck, I say! ... The slavers! They just happened to be there! And no decent guards so that even an Uruk can sneak unnoticed to their camp! And they think it was their wisdom that saved the day! Gah! Doesn’t Ishkur see that they use him as their puppet all the time, and all the more?I'll have to talk with him as soon as possible, maybe today... Gwerr threw the bones away despite Ishkur’s insistence of hiding them. If they come after us with their dogs, they will find this place anyway. We’ve left too many marks already...

Gwerr stood up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hairy palm. Then he gazed around at the others. “You saw that they had dogs”, he said with a loud enough voice for everyone to hear. “If they want to come after us they will find us. Too many of them for us to fight, I say.” He looked straight at Ishkur and then Colagar, trying to make the point without words. Too many of us will die or get badly injured in that fight to counterbalance the Uruks or to leave enough females around well enough to march fast...

“So we should move out and move quickly. There still is night left for us to gain some distance.”

[Nogrod]

Hadith

Slowly Hadith came back to reality from his inner misery. There were so many things going on around him. Johari had gotten a blade to herself from the woman that was called Shae and people had been running around Khamir who had spoken out his mind. Hadith had had to gather it from loose lines of words spelled out here and there to gather a picture of what had actually happened.

He didn’t know what to do or what to say, but just as he saw Adnan approaching Khamir and turned around, not wishing to see any more of the people getting at each other, he saw Fewerth. Indeed he saw Fewerth with his friends Joshwan and Guilledean. And what were they doing!

They had been in a compassionate discussion together and now they seemed to have reached an agreement. And Hadith saw how Fewerth gave to Guilledean Hadith’s knife – given to him by Khamir – and Joshwan giving him a beautifully decorated easterling blade with it’s sheath. Hadith knew exactly what the knife was. Guilledean hid the knives into his sack and remained motionless, not looking at anyone, while Fewerth and Joshwan took to Khamir who was just resettling himself down, Adnan running away from him.

“Khamir! We also want blades! How do we defend ourselves without them? You people give blades to loud-mouthed women and little boys, why not to capable men that could really protect us?” Fewerth called Khamir from a couple of yards away, making sure that his call was heard around.

He’s building on his chances once again and I won’t be looking at it any more, Hadith sweared to himself and hastily took the few steps needed to reach the three. He knew exactly what Fewerth and his friends were about, he had known them long enough. They would use every opportunity to gain anything of value to trade them later to things that were in short supply. Now they had a chance to claim two knives to trade for food or something else at a later date... At the plantation that had been pretty normal with everyone just trying to hold onto oneself and those closest to one. But we are free! We should stick together, not steal from each other anymore! It’s different to steal from the plantation than from others like you yourself! There are no bad guys making us do the things we wouldn’t want to any more!

Before Khamir had time to answer the two, Hadith was beside them and declared with all the courage he had managed to build up. “Khamir! Do not believe them!” He glanced at both men, giving vent to his anger. “You have blades, you two! You scavengers have my blade and the one the dead easterling bore with him!” he shouted towards their faces.

“You lousy little brat! Leave tha adults to their bussinesses!” Fewerth replied angrily, throwing a look that could kill towards Hadith.

“Yea, you just check us! We have no blades”, continued Joshwan and looked at Khamir self-assertively. “This kid speaks foul words with nothing but his own frustration to back them.”

Before Hadith could answer their claims, Khamir rose up and looked at all the three firmly. “Now what is all this about? What is this thing of you having blades? As far as I know, myself, Beloan or anyone else haven’t given you none...” Khamir looked at the two boldly in the eye, faintly remembering the face of Fewerth from Beloan’s training-sessions. He was one of those who hadn’t passed the tests, now he remembered it. “And how come you claim they have blades, Hadith? You yourself have lost one already...” he looked at Hadith with a piercing gaze.

Hadith felt nervous again, but gathered himself to answer Khamir’s demanding presence. “Their friend Guilledean has the blades in his sack. I saw it! The one you gave to me and the one that the Easterling wore. They are trying to milk you of everything they can just to themselves! To trade them later on...”

“What Easterling are you talking about Hadith?” Khamir asked him seriously, clearly pondering the situation in his mind and trying to get some time and information to make up his mind.

Hadith was confused for a while but then answered: “The one on whose back I threw the blade at as he rode over me, and who then fell...” he managed to say, biting his lip, not daring to look at anyone around him.

“He’s lying! I killed the Easterling with my own hands!” Fewerth put in, his eyes gleaming with a hope that Khamir would take the bite that in a sense was the truth. He was the one to have given the Easterling the final blow and he knew it.