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

[Nogrod]

"Chaar-rge!"

Hadith had seen the horse stop just before the tunnel. Then there was a gust of wind again and he could only see a vague form of someone flying over the horse and then disappearing from sight. Then the enemy was there, just a good thirty yards ahead of them. The first horses fell into the tunnel they had digged and their riders were thrown from their saddles.

"Grraaaah!"

It was Joshwan. He was already a couple of yards ahead of the others, building up rage within him with his bellowing. Hadith remembered what he had said before they had taken their positions. "Enrage yourselves if you can, you'll feel more powerful... and might forget the fear". Joshwan had smiled wryly after that, Hadith remembered his expression.

From the corner of his eye Hadith thought he recognised the form of Erlech running forwards on his right too. They were all jumping forwards. He had to force his legs to move. They were not willing to obey. Then he shouted with all that his lungs could afford.

"Iaaaiiiyy!"

He was so late to get up that Khamir almost run on him from behind. "Run Hadith, run!" he yelled at Hadith. And he ran. He ran against the wind that seemed to do everything to prevent him from advancing. But now he had to run. They were all running towards the enemy. And now they all yelled as loud as they could to keep the fear aside.

Hadith saw Joshwan jumping over the tunnel, landing his spear down to the tunnel as he went over it, kind of using it as a pole. But there was something wrong. He used it tip down. Hadith did see that. What? He got the answer immmediately. There was a harsh wail of a man that came to his ears from the tunnel, aided by the wind. Hadith saw how Joshwan had to twist the spear a couple of times to and fro before he got it released. Then he disappeared into the swirling dust.

"Watch out Hadith!" Beloan cried and passed him in great haste. Hadith only saw something like a shadow passing him and the swing of the naked blade. Only then he realised that there was a slaver on the ground just a yard or two to his left, trying to rise up and grasping for his blade. Beloan's shape came between him and the slaver. The sound of a blade cutting flesh from that distance made Hadith feel sick. He was sure he would throw up at any second. There was no yell from the slaver, just a dim rattle of death that he barely heard. Somehow it made it feel even more terrifying.

There were sounds of swords clinging to each other on his right. Hadith saw the bearded slave fighting with a slaver who had been dropped from his saddle over the tunnel. Fewerth was joining in to help him. Khamir ran past him and went forwards to jump the ditch. "Hadith! Check the tunnel!" Beloan called him against the wind and also went over, disappearing from his sight as well.

So, I’m no soldier... they all go and they all fight and I’m just slowing down, unable to do anything. Hadith turned to see was there anyone behind him just to see that all the others had slowed down too, looking just as unsure and frightened as he was. Now Hadith! Show yourself to be worthy of the trust Beloan and Khamir have laid on you!

“Freeedoom!”

Hadith turned to a slight angle towards the tunnel to gain an extra yard’s speed and ran for it. He swang his blade in the air and heard the others, at least some of them, following him. “Check the tunnels!” He shouted.

In front of him there was just dust and the frightening sounds of the battle. And into that horrifying unknown of the fight he jumped.

His jump carried him over the trench. After regaining his balance he managed to get a glimpse of a woman being forcefully dragged away by a man to his right. Athwen!, he knew her name. Hadith gathered all his courage and run towards them yelling as he went: “Leave her!”

As the slaver turned to see Hadith running towards them with a blade he hit Athwen forcefully to her face with the back of his hand. She fell to the ground. Hadith saw all this and also how the slaver turned towards him, a long sword in his hand ready to swing. “Come on you little one! Daddy won’t do you more harm than any loving dad would!” the Slaver grinned with the words as Hadith made the distance between them.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Carl

The sand crackled between his teeth as Carl clenched them, tensely shifting his jaw from side to side as he waited. Lowering his bow, he caught the green kerchief covering his nose and mouth and pulled it down, spitting into the sand at his side to gauge the wind. All of those who clutched bows were now poised, alert and frozen as they waited for the attackers to come into view. And with this changing wind they had to be doubly sure of their mark, there were too few arrows to waste, and as Lindir had told them, both Athwen and Dorran might be among those to reach the trench.

All thought of showering rocks upon the enemy as they climbed out of the tunnel, had quickly been put aside. And Lindir had impressed upon them all the importance of not only indentifying just who they were targeting, but also those surrounding them. It made a good deal of sense with this wind whipping about. Shooting long distance was simply too dangerous. But still having to wait while two-dozen armed horsemen came barreling toward them was not easy. Carl could only shoot so fast, and once his arrows were done, he might be done for as well. With no time to even find a hole to hide in.

The hobbit raised his bow again as he faintly heard the rumble of approaching horses in the wind. Aye, he couldn’t think like that. He had to keep an eye out and a few spare arrows for Hamin, the fellow who he had struggled with in the pit. In truth, he was quite anxious that he find the slaver before Hamin could discover where Kwell and Azhar were hidden. He held himself quite responsible for Hamin’s ill temper toward the two children, and even if that where not the case, just knowing what sort he was, made the hobbit that much more eager to confound the slaver's revenge.

Through squinted eyes and stinging wind, Carl looked over at Lindir. The elf was stationed with the other half of the bowmen to the right of Beloan’s men. Lindir’s body turned, as he looked down the length of an arrow, piercing the veil of dust with his keen eyes, searching for the riders in the storm. “There are too few of them here,” he shouted over the roaring wind. “Only a portion has taken our bait.” And Carl watched as Lindir’s group stood down, the elf running easily behind the lines to were the hobbit and a scant handful of other bowmen were positioned to the left of Beloan’s men.

“Carl,” he said in the hearing of all, as he drew up. “As an archer of the Shire I trust you to direct the bowmen around you, while I gather the rear guard quickly. Once the group of riders that is descending on us has gotten past the trench, and its numbers have been sufficiently depleted, let Beloan’s men finish dealing with them. You and your fellows are to fall back, for I believe you will be sorely needed elsewhere in the camp.”

Carl nodded his understanding, as Lindir glanced quickly across the murky plain before departing. The hobbit looked up just in time to see the first wave of horses that jumped the trench, coming into view. Just as their hooves found the earth, it gave way beneath them, and the riders were hurled, slamming against the exposed side of the collapsing tunnel. Carl winced as he saw the first horse somersault into the deep gouge, that was rapidly lengthening. But giving a loud shout he and his men loosed their arrows on the slavers that had fallen in the left side of the tunnel, and were struggling to climb out of the pit. They looked fierce, with eyes smoldering and sand clinging to great scratches and welts, and the hobbit wondered what else had befallen them on their way. Two of his group ran closer to the edge, shooting the at the rider’s below them.

Looking along the length of the tunnel, Carl saw some of Beloan’s group rush forward to jump into it, and fight the young slavers there. None of those he saw resembled Hamin’s bulk and he could recognize neither Athwen nor Dorran in the brown haze that enveloped everyone. But worrying that Hamin might enter the camp elsewhere or that Athwen had ridden off to the side at the last moment, perhaps still under pursuit, Carl shouted loudly over the din. Garnering no response from his archers, he put his fingers to his mouth emitting an ear-piercing whistle at which the archers fell back, and the small group quickly disappeared into the camp.

[Nogrod]

Gwerr (and Ishkur)

Gwerr had been not been too succesful with his findings. The only thing he considered worth plundering was the slaver leader’s bear pelt he found from the bed. It could keep him warm, come winter and the cold days. But he recognised the jingling noise of the coins immediately as Ishkur shook the chest ha had found. Gwerr turned to look at him and grinned approvingly. Then he went on with his search with increased fervour as in the end there seemed to be something worth finding around.

The next thing he came aware of outside his own search was the voice of an axe hitting something solid and the following sound of splintering wood. He turned to see Ishkur exalted with the treasure that now had spread over the floormat.

"Well, my friend! We may not agree on everything but we can surely agree on this. We'll be doing these slavers a favor if we empty out their chest........ Now all we have to do is figure out a way to bring these coins with us but keep them hidden. I wouldn't mind sharing a coin or two with a few of the girls, but I sure wouldn't want our friend Makdush to get any idea about this." Ishkur took several swigs of ale and asked. "Alright Gwerr, any ideas?"

“Oh you moron you! That chest might have done just fine but you had to go and break it, now did you?” Gwerr grinned to Ishkur, but couldn’t hide his satiscfaction with the find. “Don’t tell me you hadn’t the faintest what that chest held in it – and you were just forced to break it to find it out?”, he queried Ishkur, flashing now a cunning but open smile.

“C’mon Gwerr, don’t start again!” Ishkur bursted back to him. “How would you have carried this chest unnoticed by the Uruks? Now tell me!”, he complained and took to his flagon. Gwerr came over to sit by Ishkur and opened his own skin, taking a considerable draught from it. After he had wiped his chin and cheast from all the dripping ale he finally turned to meet his mate. He smiled now.

“I just couldn’t resist it you old bore”. With that he tugged Ishkur between the ribs companionly but hard enough as the orcs had a habit of doing when they were pleased. “Ahh, that’s a pile of valuable things down there comrade” Gwerr said with a half-voice, nodding to the carpet where the coins were among the splintered chest. “ But yes, how to carry them unnoticed... hmmm.” Gwerr straightened his back and started looking around the tent to find something that could give him an idea. Suddenly he fixed his eyes towards the corner of the tent.

“What is it now, Gwerr. Wha'ss up? There is something?” Ishkur asked his mate. Gwerr didn’t answer but rose up hastily and ran for the corner of the tent where there was a rack of slaver captain’s clothes hanging. “This man must love scarfs... and that suits us just fine, pluming on one’s looks really bites one back I say... Ohh, the vain git has made us a favour now.” Gwerr talked as he ripped several scarfs off the rack and returned to Ishkur and the treasure.

“Okay, you master of the maggots. Look and listen. This is what we do.” With that Gwerr kneeled down to reach the stack of coins. He spreaded one of the scarfs open beside the pile and then took two plenty handfuls of the coins, laying them carefully into a heap into the middle of the scarf. After that he collected the four corners of the scarf into his left hand and lifted the bunch in the air. He made a few swings with it over his head like he was using a sling.

“You see this now, light-brained friend of mine?” Gwerr smiled openly, which was rare among the orcs. Then he stopped the scarf-bag in mid air, gave it a twist with his fingers to sned it rolling around, and as it had strained enough, he stopped it and made a tight knot just above the point where the coins were.

“So you see, no jingling any more” Gwerr said and dropped the pouch from the level of his chest. It gave a dull thump and just a faint tinkle as it landed to the carpet.

“Now this kind of bags we can hide in many places. Wrap them in your spare clothes or stuck them into your spare boots – if you have ones. Wrap them into a gold-embroided negligee there and stuck it to your horses saddlebag. Anyone seeing it will think you were going to sell that cloth with a fair price somewhere... or thought you were getting soft! Both ways are fine, aren’t they?” Now Gwerr was laughing, laughing openly. It was not totally evil laughter but something nearing joy. His eyes smiled to Ishkur as he rose up and received a sudden punch to the chest from his mate. Gwerr rolled back to the ground but his laughter only grew louder.

“You know my friend... we’re not only free, we’re rich too!”

[Tevildo]

At the last minute, Dorran had slipped behind the other slavers wearing the plain garb of a traveller, his hood pulled low over his eyes. He'd had to leave his own horse behind and use the one that Rôg had ridden, since it looked far more commonplace than his own mount and allowed him to ride undetected. A hundred times that evening he'd asked himself why he had ever agreed to let his wife do such a dangerous thing. But part of him already knew the answer to that question. They had always worked as a team, each respecting the other. He did not want to change that now when it counted the most.

As Athwen thundered forward across the plain and caught the attention of Imak, Dorran's eyes never left his wife, intent on seeing that she was alright. At the last minute Dorran had jeked at his horse's reins and forced his mount to go forward with the group of younger riders who had disobeyed Imak and pounded on behind the fleeing woman. Unlike the other riders in the band, he knew exactly where the tunnel was and the point where it would be safe to cross over to the other side. He thought of pushing forward at breakneck speed to try and come abreast of his wife's horse. But that would be foolish. It was not only important that he escape detection, but Athwen needed space so that she would be free to maneuver the steed and wouldn't have to worry about running into anyone else. With great reluctance, Dorran pulled back on the reins at the very last instant so the others surged by him. Let them go by. He was more of a rider than any of them and would be able to catch up very quickly if his wife encountered any problems.

Things had turned bad very quickly. To his horror, Dorran saw that Athwen had fallen from her horse. One of the attackers had put his hands on her and was preparing to drag her off. Filled with rage and dread, the young rider of Rohan spurred his horse forward , came galloping on, and attempted to leap over the trench in order to reach the brute who was carrying off his wife. But Dorran had forgotten just one thing. He was not riding his own usual horse who would have been able to clear the tunnel in a single leap. Instead, he was mounted on a placid and nondescript animal that had been given to Rôg whose skills as a horseman were minimal. With all his heart and will, Dorran tried to maneuver the animal across the trench half jumping and half scrambling. But his efforts were to no avail. The animal was not used to the sounds and smell of war, and gave a loud whinny, his eyes wild with fears and his ears pinned back flat against his head. One more lurch and they'd both fallen to the ground. His horse's hind legs were scrambling for support as the dirt gave way underneath them.

Dorran freed himself from the saddle and, clawing at the dirt, began to drag his body out of the pit where so many others lay kicking and screaming. Pushing back the dirt that threatened to engulf him and throwing aside the rotted beams that collapsed in his path, he struggled to find a footing. Then he lunged forward and managed to scramble to his feet calling out to his wife, "I'm here. I'm coming." Already, other fighters had scrambled in and were beginning to battle their way through to where his wife was held. Dorran drew his sword and gave a fierce cry, half of madness and half of hope, as he ran forward across the field, oblivious to any dangers.

[Folwren]

Struggling seemed absolutely futile. His grip was too strong for her to even hope to break, although she struggled and twisted in every possible direction. Where was Dorran? Why wasn't he here? And why was this brute so intent on getting her? Why didn't he go and fight like he was supposed to? She expected any moment to see him draw a blade to wound and disable her with, but he never did. He only fetched a rope out of his saddle bag. 'He probably wishes I wouldn't squirm so much,' she thought bitterly to herself as she jerked one hand free to keep away from the loop of rope. She gasped in pain as his hand on her other wrist tightened with anger.

A man's voice called suddenly from behind them, from the trench. "Leave her!" Athwen twisted to look, expecting to see Dorran. Her expectations were shattered, but not too violently, for she half recognized the face of the young man who came running forward. Her mouth opened to call to him, but no sound came. Before she could speak or cry out a stunning blow from the man holding her stretched her to her full length on the ground. Her ears rang with the shock of the blow and in the few seconds that she lay still, she felt the whole left side of her face grow hot with pain. She gasped once or twice and her eyes watered, but she still struggled to get back to her feet.

A few paces away from her, she saw the young man - he was scarcely out of boyhood - and the slaver. They were not yet fighting. They circled, testing each other's weaknesses. Or perhaps it was only the older slaver who was testing the boy's weaknesses; Hadith almost looked like he was retreating. Athwen could not quite see clearly, nor could she make out the expression on his face. In addition to the sand blowing about in the air, her head spun with dizziness and she could hardly stand straight.

Before the two of them had crossed swords, another voice called out from the wind and blowing sand. "I'm here. I'm coming!" She knew this voice for certain. She knew who came. She lifted her head. Her eyes cleared of spinning lights and she saw Dorran's figure drawing closer. And then the cold sound of steel against steel filled her ears. The slaver had begun his onslaught against Hadith.