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

[Tevildo]

Before stretching out to rest in her bedroll, Azhar helped Athwen care for the injured and made sure that the supplies were packed on the wagon so they could get an early start. Despite her exhaustion, she had difficulty falling asleep. Ghostly images of battle and menacing orcs came crowding into her head. She could not imagine what Lindir would do to appease all the different opinions in camp and make sure that the prisoners would not become a threat. Even if the elf agreed to have the prisoners executed, the main column of soldiers would turn up on the doorstep of their camp, curious to see what had happened to the missing scouts and likely hungry for blood.

To make things worse, a steady drizzle had fallen through the night, leaving the ground littered with puddles while the residents of the camp tossed and turned in discomfort trying to get some sleep. Azhar was not surprised by the weather. The wet season in Mordor was short and intense. Once the storms began, it was not unusual for there to be a steady downpour punctuated by intermittant storms three weeks or more. The rain had made it difficult to pack up quickly and get out of the camp at sunrise. By the time the long caravan had actually left camp, it was already late in the morning. With most of the party on foot and many still suffering in the aftermath of the fighting, it had taken them nearly three hours to cover the seven miles between the two camps. The steady drizzle had gotten worse and was now a heavy sheet of rain.

Wet and bedraggled, Azhar trudged into the slavers' camp, immediately presented herself to Lindir, and hastily explained, "We're here. All of us. I don't know how, but Athwen's managed to get everyone safely across the plain without losing any of the injured. But I have to tell you....there's one thing." Azhar's voice trembled as she struggled to find the right words. "It's the orcs. There are a lot of upset people in camp. They can't understand why you let the orcs live. They say it can only mean trouble. Lindir, I agreed with you. I didn't think it was right to kill them when they were lying there drunk. But what are we going to do? What can we do?" She looked up at the elf with a pleading look in her eye hoping to find some answers.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Lindir looked Azhar squarely in the eye and chose his words with care, "I'd be lying if I told you that I had all the answers. I am not sure what we're going to do, but I do know this. I could not live with myself if I had run those wretches through in their sleep. Elessar would have done no differently. All of us, myself included, are ultimately under his rule."

The elf sighed and continued, "You know, Azhar, sometimes what seems like the easiest course is not always the wisest. We'll have to go forward one step at a time and slowly try to figure things out. We haven't come this far to end up with swords at each other's throats. Otherwise the sacrifices made on the battlefield will have been for naught, and none of us want that. Plus, there's something else. There are dangers on the plain we have yet to face....perils which may be far more deadly than a pack of drunken orcs. Last night Aiwendil returned with some grim news, and it is this that I will share with the others when we consider what to do with the orcs."

"Go now," he added. "Run and tell the rest of the camp to gather near the entry to the pit that we may begin our discussions."

Azhar ran off and did as she was told. Within the space of an hour, a large group had gathered near the pit to talk about the fate of the orcs and to hear the news that Aiwendil had brought.

******************

Aiwendil had spent most of the morning sleeping, trying to regain strength after his hard trek over the plain with little food or rest. Now, he stood up to face the crowd. He hated speaking before large assemblies, but Lindir had asked him to tell the others what he had overheard about the threat of the olog-hai. Although the worst of the storm had passed, the rain continued to fall. The quiet stream that flowed beside the prisoner's pit had risen so high that the water was nearly out of its banks.

When the istar gazed out at the throng, he saw a number of sullen faces. Folk seemed to be in ill humor. The old man did his best, trying to explain the threat awaiting the group on its journey north. He spoke of the great size and strength of Sauron's trolls and how these giant creatures could withstand the rays of the sun even in the middle of the day. A few of the onlookers seemed openly skeptical, since none of them had seen trolls of this type. However, when the old man said how the trolls mentioned the need for more troops, several of the ex-slaves exploded, demanding to know if these trolls could already have sent for an army of orcs to help them.

Aiwendil shook his head, "We also wondered about this. Lindir and I asked if there could be an alliance between orcs and trolls, but neither of us believe this has happened. I heard nothing about orcs during my hours in the camp....only that more olog-hai would be gathering soon. Remember that there is no love lost between the different groups who fought us in the War of the Ring. Sauron could force orcs and trolls to cooperate, but that is not how they normally act. They naturally hate each other. If there had been an army of orcs coming into camp, I would surely have heard something. Most likely these orcs were telling the truth, or at least we can say this one thing they told us is not a lie.....there is no army of orcs. For some reason, this small group has set out on its own. Perhaps they are making their way back to the plantations in Nurn after finishing some errand in the north. That seems like the most likely thing. As such, they pose little threat to us."

At this juncture, Lindir stepped forward and spoke in support of Aiwendil, urging the group to come to some agreement. "You see how important it is for us to deal with these orcs quickly and go on to prepare for this larger threat of the olog-hai. I have thought about this problem at length. I recommend that we blindfold these orcs so they cannot see where they are going and then take them out a ways south of here. We leave them, bereft of weapons and horses so they can not do any harm even if they should stumble upon us by accident. At the same time the main camp heads out and continues the trip north, saving our energy for the larger threat that awaits us in the foothills of the mountains. I see no other way. My party was sent out under the command of King Elessar, and I am sure he would not slay even these despicable creatures, since they have done us no direct harm......"

[Durelin]

Khamir

It seemed a miracle to Khamir that they arrived at the slaver camp in one piece, but it hardly felt like a triumph. There was too much fear and hatred looming over them all for any small victory to matter, and the rain which would typically be welcomed as respite from the heat and the dry did nothing to help their spirits.

At least both Adnan and Vrór were doing well for what they had endured. Khamir, with Adnan’s help, had kept the Dwarf from walking as much as possible, though that was not always an easy task. The way the shorter fellow went on about how hardy Dwarves were, the Southron man was surprised that he had yet to try and get in on all the planning that seemed to be going on, mostly led by Lindir and Aiwendil.

Apparently Beloan had even made way for the two, which Khamir had to admit he did not find that surprising. He was too soft sometimes, too...accepting of whatever was. I suppose that was the only reason he ever listened to my command, the one-armed man thought.

So maybe this was the purpose of the elf and the old man: to lead and rule these poor lost slaves who have no order to them otherwise. With their wisdom they of course knew what was best for these people of Mordor. But they had already proven they knew nothing about this land, as there were nine orcs alive in this very camp.

Finally, though, it seemed they were going to do something about it. Leaving Adnan with a now sleeping Vrór at the back of the crowd, Khamir went to stand along the edge of the throng nearer to the front. Lindir would undoubtedly grant them his wisdom on the matter once again, but Khamir hoped now that with all the surviving slaves here sense would prevail, and he was prepared to make sure it did.

Expecting to hear only more about naïve and soft-hearted ideals, when Aiwendil spoke of yet another terror, Khamir felt all those lovely ideas of hope, freedom, and unity destroyed. Trolls? No…olog-hai. First monsters, now demons… At least orcs were of a size with men, but those… So those that were left, broken and bloodied after the Easterlings were defeated, who had already watched the lifeless bodies of their companions burned, were to have their bones crushed to dust.

And with less than a heartbeat’s pause in between, Lindir moved on to talk about just another of Sauron’s creatures as if they had rights, as if they deserved to live and breathe the same air as any of the good Men who sat here, most of whom had suffered much at the hands of the same animals.

Khamir almost laughed. It was suddenly all so absurd. Free slaves; Free Peoples sparing orcs’ lives; an Elf, a Dwarf, a Hobbit, and some strange old man from who knew were in Mordor; little underlings of ‘Elessar’ playing sovereignty in the land of Sauron; Sauron destroyed, and all over the Wester lands they had rejoiced and were thriving, but here…

“King Elessar’s laws do not apply in this land, much less his wishes,” Khamir spat angrily, not caring if he cut anyone off in their own attempt to speak up. “How can you think so carelessly, so selfishly? Is your ‘honor’ more important than an innocent person’s life? Can you really, with pure and noble conscience – far purer than my own, it must be – simply put those creatures somewhere else, to hunt and kill someone else, so you can sleep at night? Few other than who deserve whatever comes to them at the hands of orcs have weapons or horses.”

In a moment’s pause, though, Khamir’s raging diminished to a bitter laugh as a thought came to him. “If you are so concerned about keeping your or my or everyone else’s hands clean, then we do not have to kill them…but we can at least make use of them.”

The man smiled slightly, fond of his idea. “If we do run into those olog-hai, then surely it would be better for us if the monsters were interested in orc meat rather than our own?”

[Folwren]

Athwen busied her hands immediately when they reached the camp. She found the most sheltered place that she could and used it to the best of her ability while organizing the wounded. They were all tired after the journey between the two camps and they all moved quietly to obey her when she directed anyone anywhere. Soon, they lay in bleary heaps, trying to sleep in spite of the rain.

Athwen passed through them one more time, checking each one to make sure she could do nothing further for them, and then she turned and walked back towards the gathering of people grouped around one of the fires.

She drew near to the edge of them in time to hear Khamir’s upraised voice. He sounded angry. . .too angry, considering the circumstances. Why would he want to argue now?

“King Elessar’s laws do not apply in this land, much less his wishes. How can you think so carelessly, so selfishly? Is your ‘honor’ more important than an innocent person’s life?"

Athwen gently began to push her way through the crowd, saying nothing as she squirmed like a child between people's elbows. Khamir went on with his lecture. "Can you really, with pure and noble conscience – far purer than my own, it must be – simply put those creatures somewhere else, to hunt and kill someone else, so you can sleep at night? Few other than who deserve whatever comes to them at the hands of orcs have weapons or horses.”

Was the man actually making fun of Lindir and Aiwendil? Athwen reached the front now and she could see the elf and wizard standing close together, looking at Khamir as he spoke to them. Her brows drew closer together in confusion. How could anyone mock them? What had they said? But the sarcasm in the words ‘pure’ and ‘noble’ and a couple others had struck her ears rather violently.

Yet then his tune seemed to change suddenly. “If you are so concerned about keeping your or my or everyone else’s hands clean, then we do not have to kill them…but we can at least make use of them.”

Athwen stiffened instinctively. She disliked it when people discussed getting ‘use’ out someone. Especially when a person like Khamir was the one speaking. She waited, just like everyone else, in silence, feeling certain she would disagree with his idea.

“If we do run into those olog-hai, then surely it would be better for us if the monsters were interested in orc meat rather than our own?”

Athwen’s impatience with such hatred burst forth in an aggravated but quiet “Oh!” Her blue eyes flashed and her hands balled up into small fists and she was preparing to say more, when Aiwendil took it from her, speaking sternly, and looking as none of them had ever seen him look before.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Carl

Despite the sheets of rain, which had covered him through out the night, and despite too, his own conviction that he simply could not rest while the orcs remained in the camp, Carl had slept as soundly as one of the many stones that lay strewn on the dirt of Mordor. So deep was that slumber, after the tumult of the last several days, that the hobbit slept far into the morning, curled up on the modest heap of items he had scavenged in the night, as if he were some utilitarian dragon that lay guarding its hoard. Azhar had done her best to wake him, so that he might be present when the group discussed the hard decisions that faced them, but he had waved her away with drowsy irritation, not realizing fully who she was, or indeed where he was. Folding his arms about himself, it was only when he rolled painfully onto his side that he again remembered the orcs that had stealthily crept into camp at night. That, he recalled, hadn't been a dream. The hobbit's eyes snapped open, and he heard the growing rumble of voices, with the familiar tone of Aiwendil's rising above the them. The old fellow had found them again!

Carl tried to spring to his feet, but found that every inch of his body ached as he rose stiffly, listening to the istar's discourse from a distance. Hearing the old man's tale of the olog-hai, he soon forgot his discomfort. Olog-hai? It was a word he had never heard, though it was not long before he substituted the word troll for them in his mind. Sun hardy, great lumbering trolls, and a bumper crop of them! Well now, if it isn't one thing, it's another! he muttered as Lindir stepped forward to add his thoughts on the matter.

Listening with interest, the hobbit was heartened to hear the elf propose that they carry the orcs away, to leave them unarmed on the plain south of here. Glad not only because he did not trust the orcs, but because it restored his confidence in Lindir. Last night in his weary agitation, the hobbit had been none to sure that the elf was in his right senses when he kept the men from dispatching the orcs while the creatures were in their stupor. But now that Carl himself had slept, he saw how shameful it would have been to kill the orcs when they had been given no cause to attack them. It weren't as if they were a war on, now was it? Still, he didn't care to share camp with them. No good would come of it. War or no war orcs weren't to be trusted, not in the least, and the sooner that they were sentoff, the better. Lindir was right.

Just as the hobbit began feeling contented with the plan, one of the men at the edge of the crowd stood up, and Carl saw that it was that grim fellow Khamir. He had been sitting with Adnan and Vŕor, the latter of whom seemed presently to be dozing. Overjoyed to see his friend the dwarf with the others, not in some sickbed, Carl worked his way over to him, even as Khamir strode forward to address the group. But he had no time to ask Adnan how the dwarf was doing, for Khamir's words stung him soundly. “Strider's wishes don't apply in this land?” the hobbit muttered, scornfully. “That's fool's talk, ...and Strider ain't no fool!” Carl glanced quickly over to Adnan wondering if the lad felt the same way as Khamir, and then forced himself to concentrate on the man's words again. He certainly didn't mince them, but he did have a point. If they let the orcs loose, yes they might cause mischief to someone else. Carl felt as if there had to be a balance here somewhere, but he was quite confounded. And his confusion was replaced by repugnance once Khamir suggested keeping the orcs to appease the Olog-hai. As much as he disliked the creatures, the sheer cruelty of the idea was alien to him, and he felt fleetingly thankful for the King's insight in barring men from the Shire. But reading Athwen's face, he was reassured that not all of mankind stored up their bitterness in a heart of stone. And so the hobbit hung his head, worried what sort of decision might be reached by such a group as this one, and if he'd be bound to follow it.

[Child of the 7th Age]

“If we do run into those olog-hai, then surely it would be better for us if the monsters were interested in orc meat rather than our own?”

Aiwendil's eyes flashed with fire as he heard the words from Khamir's mouth. Despite his mounting anger, he checked his temper before slowly turning to confront the slave leader. The meek old man, the confused but good hearted tender of animals who had been with them for most of the journey, had totally disappeared. In his place was a tall, stern father, who admonished his children with a long wooden staff that seemed to glow and pulse as jagged brown shadows fell over the assemblage.

"No, Khamir, no. You do not know what you say. To turn the orcs loose, even to kill them for crimes they have undoubtedly committed in other times and places......that is one thing. But to keep them with us and hold them as bait to snare our enemies to their death? If we do that, we become no better than they. We stoop to their level and play their games and, by so doing, become part of what they are. Do not speak of such things. It is not a matter of Ellessar's laws or some false notion of honor. There are laws that govern Arda whose roots lie far deeper than that. We are here, all of us, because of those dictates.

"Khamir, of all those who stand in this circle you know how easy it is for those in Mordor to lose heart and soul. What you suggest would set us on a perilous road from which there is no return. Persuade me that these ruffians deserve to die because of past acts. That I can believe. But do not suggest a plan that would have us become like the vermin of the Shadow Lord."

"I will tell you the truth. If we are going to defeat the olog-hai, we must have allies at our side. Alone, we will be powerless. Where we will get these allies, I do not know. Would that we had run into a troop of soldiers from the west rather than this pack of orcs! But such is our doom. Decide then the fate of these orcs: life or death. But do not speak of bringing them along to use as bait....."

"Aiwendil is right." There was a stirring in the crowd as Lindir stepped forward to address the group. "I can accept a judgment of life or death, but I will not have these orcs dragged along as live bait. Remember, one time in the distant past, before Morgoth twisted their lives, each of these poor creatures was actually a man.....or an elf. Whatever they have done, nothing can erase that fact. Let all who wish to be heard speak their mind as to whether these orcs should live or die. You already know my feelings on this. But this decision must not belong to only one. If most in this company vote for death on the grounds of the foul acts these orcs have committed in the past, I will not stand in the way. Speak then, one by one, and we will make a tally.

[Nogrod]

Gwerr and the orcs

Gwerr’s mood was darker than the cave they had been imprisoned into. He scorned himself for being an idiot but the thoughts he had of the others weren’t much nicer. Seeing Ishkur fall asleep finally made him burst out.

“Okay, let’s all just sleep on this, right? They will but kill us a little after we awake! Or maybe they will give us some of their ratios – and a lot of ale – after granting us this shelter from the rain, uh? Now let’s...”

Gwerr’s voice died suddenly as he had just caught a glimpse of something.

“Colagar, you old fool! What is it there next beside you on the left? In between the two rocks.”

Makdush was immediately aware of Gwerr’s finding.

“How could I forget that? It’s my blade which Ishkur dropped here for the others to cut themselves loose with...” Makdush looked at Gwerr and then at Colagar who was only slowly coming back to his senses after being dozing his hangover off. Then Makdush addressed the waking orc quite harshly: “Pick it up Colagar. Now! Start doing something useful.”

Gwerr couldn’t believe his ears. They had a blade here and everyone who knew it – which was everyone except Gwerr - had just forgotten it. Cursed be the day I joined with these scroundels with a memory matching that of the fishes!

“Speed up Colagar, they may be back any minute now! Cut yourself free and then give us a hand. And don’t cut the ropes into pieces if you can, we may need the ropes yet.” With that he turned to Ishkur and kicked him to the side a few times. “Allright you hero of the ladies, time to wake up and do something! We need to do some planning now.”

While Ishkur was struggling to awake and to get grips with the overall situation Gwerr turned to Makdush. Now he seems to be the only sensible person here... how can I think it this way? He’s an Uruk anyway...

“Now what do you say big-guy? If we just wait here we may be able to kill the first few who come down to get us but after that they will rip us to pieces with their arrows and slings securely from high-up there. So we must act first... If two or three of you Uruks would stand firmly together two of us could get on to your shoulders and then a third might climb on theirs to reach the top with a few ropes. With all of us up there we might break the door and make a charge... At least we would die fighting instead of being plain assassinated. Better to try than to rot here, or what do you say?”

At the moment he heard Ishkur rising up behind him.

“And what say you Ishkur?”

[Folwren]

“Oh!” This time the explosion of vexation was loud enough for most of them to hear. Athwen pushed her way forward to the very forefront of the crowd, her face red and her eyes flashing blue sparks. “You speak of justice!” she cried, motioning towards Khamir, “and you throw it in the face of our honor! You talk of rightful vengeance,” she fumed, looking at Beloan, “as though vengeance and revenge were all that mattered here! You - my very husband - talk about killing them simply because long ago some other orcs killed your family. And you! You, a woman,” turning savagely on Shae, “a girl - you speak like a hardened warrior - or murderer - yourself! Ridiculous? To consider sparing their lives? Why? Do they not breath the same air as we? Do they not drink the same water? Do they not bear children and bring them up, in their own time and way? Beasts? Even a wild beast has a right to live when it has done nothing wrong!

“Oh, you all make perfect sense. ‘Let’s kill these because sometime ago some others of their race hurt and killed us.’ Perfect reasoning!” Athwen threw her arms up in the air. “Morons! Brutes! You’re as bad as they are! I’m not quite so oblivious as you may think,” she went on, her voice shrill with emotion. She stared hard at a couple who wanted to interrupt her as she continued to speak, and they shut up and withdrew. “I’m not quite so as untouched and unharded as you imagine. I, too, once lost everything I ever held dear to me. Every single thing and every single person. And not to orcs, but to men. Do you suppose we should despise and kill all men then? According to what your saying - yes, that’s exactly what we should do.

“And you may hate me if you like, after this. I’ve said what I have to say, but I wasn’t about to keep it all shut in. Their blood won’t be on my head, do you understand me? I won’t be-” but her voice suddenly broke and her mouth clamped shut. Sudden tears bleared her eyes - tears of fury, loathing, and fear. She saw someone approaching her slowly and the next moment, Dorran took her gently by the hand and drew her away from before all those people. They stood on the fringe of the crowd, and she huddled close to his chest, protected by his gentle arms. Perhaps he thought she was going mad, perhaps he imagined it was exhaustion taking over. He’d be wrong if he thought such things.

“Dorran,” she sobbed quietly, “Dorran, it’ll be just as bad as what they claim the orcs did to them. Can’t you see that? They can’t be pure if they kill the orcs now - not without a fair trial, at least.”

[Durelin]

Khamir felt the unbridled hatred he had allowed to fester for years - a deep-rooted hatred not only of Orcs, but of the day he was born and the family he was born into, the life he was forced to lead in captivity and then as a killer and a thief, the people of the West who sat in their ivory towers and thought of him as scum like the rest of his people - he felt it rise in him, wanting to explode. He hated so much of what defined him, he was only glad it left no room for him to hate himself. It filled him up, it kept him going.

It was obvious that simple words were not going to get through to this old man who Khamir was, who these creatures were, and what the laws of Mordor were. The only sort of person who could be so concerned with hierarchies of morality was one that saw the world through eyes distorted by wealth and intellectualism: exactly the sort of condescending do-gooders Khamir had expected to come from Elessar.

If he had to endure this much longer, he would kill every one of those Orcs himself, with his bare hand, with his teeth…he would make sure they felt pain.

But before he could say more or act on his anger, Shae spoke up, and Khamir felt his eyes glue themselves to her, watching and listening to her strength. Seeing her own anger was soothing, and the man found himself smiling. She…she defended him, stood up for him. He met her eyes for a moment, and found it difficult to turn away. His focus was still on Shae even when Beloan began what would surely prove a speech.

The man had some charisma, that was sure. He put value in inspiration as a leader, something Khamir never really did. He was practical and perhaps reckless, and was accustomed to having natural purpose driving him that did not need to be justified, explained, or encouraged. He supposed Beloan was more the sort of person many of these former slaves needed.

But was he ever kissing up to those Westerners, as if they determined who may speak, who may think. And at the word ‘forgive’ and at the way his name was used, Khamir’s rage was fully renewed, and he felt like a cornered beast in a mad world, not knowing who his friends or his enemies were. The one armed man’s breaths were quick and deep, and his hand was itching to tear something apart.

And then the woman started…the brainless, spineless woman who thought she could speak to them that way, who could not stand the weight of killing even someone or something out to kill you.

They didn’t know when to stop. They would persist with their nonsense until he broke. They were provoking him.

Morons! Brutes! Their blood won’t be on my head…

Her voice was loud for one so weak. Khamir would have almost pitied her, had she not also turned her lofty, insulting tone specifically on Shae.

“You can show me as much disdain as you please in your self-righteousness,” he exploded at Athwen, “and you can call me all the names a child would, but you do not insult my…my people! Shae speaks like a hardened warrior because she is one, and an excellent one at that. You watch your own tongue, girl!”

Suddenly Khamir felt a hand grasp his arm not roughly but tightly, and he turned to see Adnan staring up at him. The one armed man froze in surprise, and in that moment the younger man spoke softly.

“And how does vengeance feel?”

~/*\~

“Enough!” Aiwendil shouted with even more power in his voice than when he had spoken to Khamir. “We will decide this as people and not as animals. It is left up to us all, no one can avoid the responsibility of this decision…and so I call for a vote.”

As the old man called first for those who wished to spare the Orcs’ lives and then for those who thought they should be killed, Khamir watched those around him with a troubled mind. Holding up his hand as part of the second group, he did not need to count to know the verdict. But he could not feel smug. No, this was not the sort of battle that had a winning side.

“Sense prevails,” he muttered to Adnan.

“Then it is death,” Lindir announced, for Aiwendil stood in silence.

[Tevildo]

For the past ten minutes, Dorran had been struggling to find the right words to bring some small comfort to his distraught wife. As upset as he was about the orcs and the even more difficult prospect of confronting the olog-hai, these problems seemed to dwindle in his mind as he saw the depth of feeling that underlay Athewen's hard words and bitter tears.

"There is no easy answer here," he whispered softly under his breath. "These creatures have done bad things......terrible things. I have no doubt. I have seen this too many times. I am willing to bet my life on that. And I am truly not sure that they could ever change their behavior. Still, even I would like to know what they are doing here in the middle of a barren plain with no orc army anywhere in sight. But what else can we do, my sweet? How would we feel if, two nights from now, a child was struck down in sleep by one of these orcs who returned to our camp? Could we look each other in the eye, all the while knowing that we had the monstor in our hands and yet did nothing to stop them from such an evil deed."

Dorran looked hopelessly down at his wife. None of his pleading words or soft gestures seemed to be doing any good. She continued to stare at him with a hard look. At that moment, there was a slight pull on his sleeve. He turned around to see Azhar, whose frozen face held the same message.

"I feel no different," the young girl spat out her words in an even sharper tone. "But I will not stand here and watch the punishment given when I cannot even agree with it."

Azhar turned towards Athwen and spoke, "I do not think the children should see this. I plan to take them down by the stream to play. Will you come with me to keep an eye on them?"

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Carl

Carl was sitting next to Vror, no more than a yard or two from Khamir, when the vote was cast. And the hobbit shook his head in disappointment as he heard the disfigured man's aside, followed quickly by Lindir's pronouncement. He had had the chance to do some of his own thinking, as he listened to the others. And the conclusion that had been reached by the group, the hobbit envisioned as their own death sentence. Moved to speak, he stood up pulling himself as straight and immovable as a rather stubby fence post, and shouted over the commotion.

"So we move from the King's justice to the justice of Mordor. Death it is then, and I'm the last to begrudge you for it, as I haven't a share in your grief. But before you go burnin' that particular bridge, I feel I should remind you all that if you choose to live by such justice you will be judged by the same measure. And I hope you all plan to grow in number and strength right soon, as you're fixing to place a brimful of hot coals under any orc that hears tell of it. Unless of course you see fit to route them out of every corner of Mordor like so many spiders, before you get down to the business of living. I personally don't think that it can be done, or that the orcs will take well to our ragtag group, who go around executing them every chance they get."

Carl relaxed his stance a bit, bending under the weight of frowns and sharp glances directed at him, and he thrust his hands in his pockets. "You certainly must think me mad or deaf, but think on it. When you're walking, your bound to fall if your eye is always fixed on what's behind you and you are not looking ahead. Like Beloan said, look ahead... past these orcs and past the Olog-hai too, if you can see past them! What your doing now with this decision might be sowing the salt that blights your very future."

Greatly discouraged, Carl turned to go, wondering if this whole journey would turn out to be of no use at all.

[Durelin]

Hardly to Khamir’s surprise, various members of Elessar’s envoy voiced complaints regarding the decision, but it was done and even they knew it. He, Shae, and other familiar faces marched dutifully to the pit, some seeming more eager than others. Khamir avoided looking at Shae perhaps so she would not see the confusion in his eyes and take it as a sign of weakness.

The silent consensus among the volunteer executioners seemed to be that the deed would not be done in the pit, but rather a little ways outside their camp. If they moved the living bodies away from where they would sleep, there would be no need to drag the corpses very far. It would all be very logical, very practical from here on out. The sensibility of the plan was obvious to Khamir, but he could not completely ignore a feeling that he was going through the motions of some ritual. His knife felt particularly heavy in his hand.

But the Orcs were not prepared to have their throats slit as simple prisoners. Something did not feel right about the apparent resigned nature of the orcs to their fate, and then Khamir noticed...ropes? “Look down there, at the low end of the bars!” he shouted with great urgency, and Shae, Qat, and Beloan were quick to follow his discovery to the same conclusion.

“The orcs are on the loose! We need more men here!” Beloan cried, keeping his head and realizing that they needed more than one man to each Orc to manage them now they were free and desperate to save their lives or bring down as many men with them as possible. Khamir’s own desperation drove him far more than his anger or loathing.

The fight ended with the Orcs recaptured and some of them much worse for wear. Even Khamir agreed with Beloan when he spoke of dignity when he saw what shape Makdush was in at the hands of the former slaves. Surely many of them had seen men and women brutalized in such a way at the hands of Orcs - though also likely at the hands of certain men - but…that was what Orcs did. Beginning to feel he was getting too close to agreeing with Aiwendil, Khamir fell back into focusing on the recaptured Orcs and the knife in his hand.

Weapons drawn and held close to the victims, the Orcs were led away, the men and women who were not their executioners still standing by with their own knives, bows, slings, and spears at the ready. They all understood that any animal was most ferocious when it was cornered.

The general quiet as the Orcs were marched a short distance from the camp made the situation darkly awkward. The heat in the air from the passion and anger of the debaters had dissipated, cooled to a chill. Nothing seemed to be fueling the ceremony: no hatred, anger, or fear; and no spark to light them. A number of people followed the party, but very few threw out the rare jeer or justification, and even fewer paid them any mind.

Sweating, aching, light-headed, heavy…oh yes, Khamir remembered, that’s what it was…tired. They were all so tired, weren’t they?

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, typically curt and gruff. Agreement was voiced among the spectators - or the guards, or the witnesses; whatever they might be called - as a final verdict not on the guilt but on the fitness of the punishment.

Man liked lines and order, they liked having a system to things. So the Orcs were haphazardly lined up, then forced on their knees. The scowls, the snarls, and the snapping of the cornered animals were ignored, and instead each creature was given the privilege of a personal executioner. Man watched each other, learned from each other, copied each other. Once one or two held their knives at the throats, the rest followed suit.

For a moment the Orcs were suspended just before the end as the Men waited for the word, the sign; and the first laceration of flesh; and perhaps even the last, vain effort of the captives to alter their fate.

But none of it came.

[Folwren]

Athwen came over the rise in time to see the orc child preparing to lower herself into the pit. Azhar stood quite near - Athwen could have sworn they had touched hands briefly - staring downwards with wide eyes and open mouth.

“What’s the matter? What’s going on?” Athwen called out as she continued to hurry forward.

Azhar turned about. “Athwen!” she cried. “The water’s rising!”

“Water!” Athwen reached the opening of the pit and looked down in horror. She took stock of the situation instantly, even the broken rope. At least four children were in there...more, including the other creature. Could she save them? Not alone, she instantly realized.

“Azhar, run back as quick as you can and get help!”

The girl set off immediately. Athwen looked down into the pit again. The water was dark. She heard frantic splashing, but no more cries. “What can I do?” she asked herself viciously. She needed rope, but there was none near. If she were to leap down into there without rope, there would be no purpose. She could not save all of them alone. But she might be able to save some of them...if there was anything to hold onto down there, just to keep their heads above water.

Athwen did the only thing she thought she could do. After tearing off her boots and pulling off her extra shirt she lowered herself down into the pit below and dropped into the water.

The scene below was strange, dark, and chaotic. For a moment, Athwen clung to the rock edge, getting her bearings. And then she struck out towards the nearest child in distress. The little boy, as soon as he felt her hand on him, turned towards her and clung frantically to her. His arms went around her head and her neck and they both were submerged.

Athwen twisted in his arms, turned her head and pushed him free of her, and then she approached him again, from behind. This time, she was careful that he could not face her as she swam both of them to the edge.

“Grab hold,” she gasped in his ear. “Quiet down, you’re alright, take hold of the rock, you feel it?” His panic calmed as his fingers clung to the rough rock. “Stay here,” Athwen commanded. “Wait for help.” And she turned to find the next child.

[Nogrod]

Beloan listened closely to the discussion. There were many points with which he felt he should break in but he held his temper and listened. At some moment he was distracted for a while when Hadith’s and Johari’s discussion became louder. Looking at them he managed to caught a glimpse of Hadith’s eyes looking at him ashamed like a ten-year old’s… Oh, Hadith… Sometimes you feel like a good man with a good heart… and sometimes like a little boy lost in this world we live in… Maybe these are no contradictory statements… after looking at the world we live in… Beloan shrugged and turned his attention back to Dorran. A sudden melancholy had taken over him.

After Dorran had stopped a weird silence fell over the people gathered around the elf and the old man. It seemed to Beloan that everyone was pondering the different possibilities Dorran had opened to them. As no one spoke in a while Beloan took the few steps needed to break out from the ring surrounding the two and walked towards them. He nodded to them both and as they indicated their will of wishing to hear what he would have to say he turned around and faced the ex-slaves and the rest of the fellowship.

“Friends, my fellows! Knight Dorran here speaks wisely. We have no other way but to go forwards. And we can not stay here even if it feels now that through a fight that took it’s toll and made us all suffer things most of has ever met we have earned our peace… It sadly seems we haven’t earned it yet…There will be no peace here.” He looked around the crowd with compassion. He was as sad of the situation as anyone else but he felt it possibly a bit deeper than many around him because he already understood there was no hope for them if they just stayed and rested which clearly was what most of them wanted.

“I know this sounds harsh to you… it sounds harsh to me as well. I’d like to sit back and enjoy the things we have found from this camp of the slavers and just to forget everything else… But that would be with the cost of our peril!” Beloan’s voice was raised as he pronounced the last words.

“We need to go forwards… not today but possibly tomorrow depending on how well our wounded are to travel and how can we carry them… There are orcs around as we all know. If there were these ten so would they be here alone? There probably are more somewhere very near… And as there was this slaver-party there will the next one soon enough… We need to continue! Let’s show we have not struggled in vain this far! Or that those who have given their lives or gotten themselves wounded fighting for our common dream have not suffered for nothing if we fail their sacrifice!”

Beloan’s eyes were on fire now. He quickly glanced at Lindir who nodded to him politely. Searching at the crowd for Dorran he finally caught him nodding approvingly as well.

“So there are some Olog-hai in between us and our dream? I know many of you have heard stories about those monsters. Now just remember, stories are stories and reality is reality.” Suddenly he got an idea and turned himself towards Dorran.

“Now think about your image of a knight of Gondor! What a magnificient fighter that is in the stories…” He pointed at Dorran while looking at him apologetically under his brows wishing he would understand why he was doing this… he would explain this afterwards if it needed to be done.

“Now look at Dorran here! A king’s chosen Rider of Rohan! A great soldier he is indeed! But many of you saw him in battle as well as us “worthless ex-slaves”… Now do you say he was riding over the battlefield with a flying horse leaving all of us others and the enemy in shade? Was he the invulnerable all-defining key to victory? Was he the one who alone lead us to victory? No and no and no! He fought bravely… and possibly worth two of us… or even more…” He glanced at Dorran once more hoping he was not upset with what he was saying. “It’s just that he’s no creature from the lore that beats everyone whenever he wishes… and neither are the Ologs! They’re flesh and blood just like Dorran… or just like you and me!”

Beloan had to take a breath. He felt so bad now having spoken against the special honour of a rider of Rohan and against his own fears about the Olog being really insurmountable enemies to them. And anyway he thought he had clearly overdone it. He just hoped it was foor the good. These people needed encouragement in the face of the inevitable… and with their only chance. That much Beloan had understood from Dorran’s speech.

“A final word, if you may?” He glanced at Lindir and Aiwendil and as they didn’t seem to protest too much he continued. “But what comes to the orcs… After seeing their brutality… indeed the evil and sick malice of them for too many years, I remember that from my first experience on I knew I was different from them. I would never fall to their level… But this situation is a bit different…” With this he turned to face Lindir and Aiwendil straight on. “I think I understand what you speak of being just or following an order larger than this world – at least a bit of it. My mother told me stories about that kind of things when I was young and I kind of believe in her still. At least I wish I could believe in them in this world.”

The ashamed face of Hadith came to his mind and he frowned. “So I hope you forgive the feelings of my friend Khamir, the many of us – myself included – who have suffered under the most cruel and savage rule of these ruthless creatures… Many a rightful vengeange would take place if we’d make them our baits and if that would help us overcome the Olog-hai. But I’m hesitant with this scheme… Anyhow, we just can’t leave them alive or free, they’d backstab us with their friends lurking around the next night… So I say we kill them and leave in the morning.”

With that Beloan bowed to Lindir and Aiwendil and walked back into the group standing around them.