The Fellowship of the Fourth Age (Part 1): A New Beginning RPG - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Regin Hardhammer · 11-11-2006, 07:41 PM

Once the hornets had flown off, the slavers took a while to retrieve their missing horses. Then Imak ordered his men to get back in their saddles and immediately ride to the slave camp. But several of them complained loudly, since they had been badly stung around the eyes.

"You can't do that. It't not smart," confirmed Urlok, one of the oldest in the band who knew a few simple remedies. "Their faces will swell till their eyes shut. They'll be no good for fighting. Either treat the men or leave them here." A few of the others nodded in agreement.

Imak reluctantly agreed to wait until the wounds were treated. Urlok used the flat of his dagger to draw out the stingers and then made a mud paste with water from the leather pouch. He applied the soft mud dressing to their faces, and also found a bit of plantain weed, which he chewed up and spat on each of the bites. By the time he finished, a whole hour had passed, but their faces were not swelling as much.

After they mounted up, Urlok rode his horse over to Imak and said in a low voice. "Captain, the weather looks bad. A hard wind is coming." Imak stared where Urlok was pointing. He could see the wind was blowing harder and that the sky behind their backs looked more brown than blue.

"So what do you expect me to do? Wave a wand and change the weather?"

Urlok answered evenly, "Perhaps we should turn back and wait till the winds blow over. The slaves aren't going anywhere. We can ride out tomorrow morning."

"The bites, the wind. How many excuses can you come up with? You've gotten soft. A few gusts of wind aren't going to stop me. I swear I will not sleep tonight until we defeat those slaves, and I get my sword back." With that, Imak dug his heels into his horse's flanks and took off at a gallop towards the slavers' camp.

Child of the 7th Age · 11-13-2006, 01:49 AM

Lindir waited until husband and wife had finished their private conversation and then went over to speak briefly with Athwen. He bent down to sketch some rough lines in the dirt, pointing out a few scrub bushes not far from camp where the woman could conceal herself until the slavers arrived as well as indicating the direction she might want to take when approaching the camp. He expressed his thanks and then reminded her that the weather and visibility could possibly be quite bad. Dorran remained nearby, carefully committing the map to memory.

Just as the elf was finishing up, a grey pigeon came circling down. landing on the ground in a wobbly manner directly ahead of them. The bird's feathers were ruffled; her wings noticably drooped. Lindir gently took the bird in his hand and removed a small scrap of parchment wrapped about its leg. The message was written in Quenyan in a remarkably delicate and precise script. Lindir stood off to one side while reading the note and then raised his voice to explain so that any others standing nearby could hear the news. "Aiwendil reports the slavers have been sighted. He and Rôg have drummed up some mischief to delay them. However, my guess is that this pigeon had tough going in the air, since the winds are beginning to blow. The slavers may be no more than thirty minutes away. It is time for each group to move into position. Go now, each of you, and tell the others. Be prepared for the slavers but do not forget the weather. Keep your heads covered and try to shield off the worst of the sand and dirt. And may Varda smile on our endeavor."

Slowly, the men and women started to disperse. Lindir bent down to retrieve his bow and slung it over his shoulder starting towards the appointed place where the archers were to meet. As he glanced eastward, the elf could see one and possibly two figures in the distance, both striding towards the camp. It was definitely Aiwendil and possibly Rôg. At the same time, the winds had picked up. The sand on the plain was swirling about in a number of small funnels and eddies, first blowing one direction and then the other. At this point, the winds and sand were no more than an irritation. But they were likely to get much worse before the night was over. Any work with the bows would have to be done early and from very close in, if there was any hope of their arrows actually hitting the mark. Aiwendil and Rôg had been right about the weather, but whether the slavers would get here first or the giant gusts of wind, he could not even guess.

11-11-2006, 07:41 PM	#1
Regin Hardhammer Shade of Carn Dûm Join Date: Feb 2004 Location: Tumunzahar/Nogrod Posts: 364	The Slavers.... Once the hornets had flown off, the slavers took a while to retrieve their missing horses. Then Imak ordered his men to get back in their saddles and immediately ride to the slave camp. But several of them complained loudly, since they had been badly stung around the eyes. "You can't do that. It't not smart," confirmed Urlok, one of the oldest in the band who knew a few simple remedies. "Their faces will swell till their eyes shut. They'll be no good for fighting. Either treat the men or leave them here." A few of the others nodded in agreement. Imak reluctantly agreed to wait until the wounds were treated. Urlok used the flat of his dagger to draw out the stingers and then made a mud paste with water from the leather pouch. He applied the soft mud dressing to their faces, and also found a bit of plantain weed, which he chewed up and spat on each of the bites. By the time he finished, a whole hour had passed, but their faces were not swelling as much. After they mounted up, Urlok rode his horse over to Imak and said in a low voice. "Captain, the weather looks bad. A hard wind is coming." Imak stared where Urlok was pointing. He could see the wind was blowing harder and that the sky behind their backs looked more brown than blue. "So what do you expect me to do? Wave a wand and change the weather?" Urlok answered evenly, "Perhaps we should turn back and wait till the winds blow over. The slaves aren't going anywhere. We can ride out tomorrow morning." "The bites, the wind. How many excuses can you come up with? You've gotten soft. A few gusts of wind aren't going to stop me. I swear I will not sleep tonight until we defeat those slaves, and I get my sword back." With that, Imak dug his heels into his horse's flanks and took off at a gallop towards the slavers' camp.

11-13-2006, 01:49 AM	#2
Child of the 7th Age Spirit of the Lonely Star Join Date: Mar 2002 Posts: 5,133	Lindir: Lindir waited until husband and wife had finished their private conversation and then went over to speak briefly with Athwen. He bent down to sketch some rough lines in the dirt, pointing out a few scrub bushes not far from camp where the woman could conceal herself until the slavers arrived as well as indicating the direction she might want to take when approaching the camp. He expressed his thanks and then reminded her that the weather and visibility could possibly be quite bad. Dorran remained nearby, carefully committing the map to memory. Just as the elf was finishing up, a grey pigeon came circling down. landing on the ground in a wobbly manner directly ahead of them. The bird's feathers were ruffled; her wings noticably drooped. Lindir gently took the bird in his hand and removed a small scrap of parchment wrapped about its leg. The message was written in Quenyan in a remarkably delicate and precise script. Lindir stood off to one side while reading the note and then raised his voice to explain so that any others standing nearby could hear the news. "Aiwendil reports the slavers have been sighted. He and Rôg have drummed up some mischief to delay them. However, my guess is that this pigeon had tough going in the air, since the winds are beginning to blow. The slavers may be no more than thirty minutes away. It is time for each group to move into position. Go now, each of you, and tell the others. Be prepared for the slavers but do not forget the weather. Keep your heads covered and try to shield off the worst of the sand and dirt. And may Varda smile on our endeavor." Slowly, the men and women started to disperse. Lindir bent down to retrieve his bow and slung it over his shoulder starting towards the appointed place where the archers were to meet. As he glanced eastward, the elf could see one and possibly two figures in the distance, both striding towards the camp. It was definitely Aiwendil and possibly Rôg. At the same time, the winds had picked up. The sand on the plain was swirling about in a number of small funnels and eddies, first blowing one direction and then the other. At this point, the winds and sand were no more than an irritation. But they were likely to get much worse before the night was over. Any work with the bows would have to be done early and from very close in, if there was any hope of their arrows actually hitting the mark. Aiwendil and Rôg had been right about the weather, but whether the slavers would get here first or the giant gusts of wind, he could not even guess.