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

[Folwren]

Azhar had asked for Athwen’s help with the children and Athwen had gratefully agreed. Perhaps the girl knew the way she felt and something in her told her to give the woman a way out. She quietly slipped away from Dorran, ignoring the reluctance with which he let her go.

“Azhar,” Athwen said, her voice somewhat hoarse with the recent overflow of emotion, “go and get the children, they should not watch the execution. I need to check on the wounded.” Her voice trembled towards the end, but it did not break, nor did more tears come to her eyes. She turned away and went to her charges. She made her passes and when she was satisfied that they were as comfortable as possible, she went out again to meet Azhar.

The girl had with her five children, all younger than eight. Athwen summoned up a small smile to give them before asking, “Is this all of them?”

“Three more are sleeping over there,” Azhar pointed. “And Kwell didn’t want to come. He wants to watch the executions.” Her voice was bitter and Athwen sympathized with her feelings.

“Kwell is just a boy,” she said quietly.

“That doesn’t mean he’s not just as responsible as any of the men,” Azhar said sharply. Athwen blinked and made no reply.

“Come,” she said instead. “Let’s not speak of it.” She stooped and took two of the children’s hands and led them away around the hill, out of sight of where the orcs were being hauled up from the pit and led to the edge of camp. They circled the slight rise of the land and came behind the embankment, where a few nights ago Carl and Vrór had dug Kwell and Azhar out of the pit. The girl pointed towards the embankment.

“That’s where we got out,” she said, “that night we were rescued from the slavers.”

Athwen nodded. “Let’s go and let the children play on the slope there,” she said. “I will sit and watch.” They did as she instructed and before very long the children were occupying themselves with a game. Athwen sat and for a while she did watch the kids. But slowly her awareness dropped. Her eyes lowered and she sat in silent depression, waiting for some noise from the proceedings of the execution to reach her and dreading it all the while.

[Nogrod]

When Lindir had announced the verdict a bunch of self-chosen ex-slaves took themselves towards the pit to execute the decision. None of the fellowship took part but stood back watching with the majority. Hadith tried to make for the company of willing executioners but Beloan’s strong hand landed on his shoulder to stop him.

“You’re a good man Hadith... and young. You have your life ahead of you unlike many of us. Don’t blood your hands and conscience with this.” He looked at Hadith with stern gaze. Hadith was about to open his mouth but Beloan cut him short. “This is an order Hadith. You will stay back here!” With that he took after those making to the pit.

The crowd was following the executioners' silent but resolute walk with an uneasy feeling when the party came to a sudden halt some ten yards from the caging.

“Look down there, at the low end of the bars!” Khamir said and pointed with his finger.
“Ropes! Tied to the bars...”, the giant man Qat continued.
“So they’re free and planning for escape”, Shae concluded.

Beloan had just caught up with the group and turned quickly around. “The orcs are on the loose! We need more men here!”

Hadith didn’t hesitate. After all Beloan had kind of cancelled his own orders. A dozen of the men and a few women came forwards unsheating their weapons as they walked.

The skirmish was short. The orcs had no chances as only Ishkur, Gwerr, Colagar and Makdush had had time to climb up over to the brink. Unarmed they were no match for the now furious ex-slaves. The four were beaten badly. Colagar’s left arm was broken and Gwerr’s eyebrow was bleeding heavily after a blow from Qat’s staff. Makdush was being forced to his knees by four men who kept on kicking him to the head and sides untill Beloan managed to make them stop. His body was bruised and his face was swollen.

“Let’s have some dignity! Beating and kicking someone to death is orc bussiness. We’ll behead them somewhere away from the sight of the children!”

The rest of the orcs had been climbing up when they heard their leaders caught and getting beaten. Griwzan and Zuhut made it to help their friends and were soon overpowered by the furious men. The five orcs left dropped down to the bottom of the pit but came up when threathened with burning. They showed no resistance after they realised that six already had been caught and tied.

The silent party of the executioners walked the orcs some hundred yards away from the slavers camp away from the crowd – even if some of the crowd did follow them to see the execution more closely.

“Let’s get this over with!” Khamir said in his straightforward manner. The orcs were lined up and forced to their knees. Behind every orc there was a man ready with his blade to perform his duty on the mark.

Beloan’s eyes met Khamir’s. The two men looked at each other waiting for the other one to give the order. It’s been a long journey from our childhood Khamir... We always stood side by side, you and me... what has happened to you these last days?... what has happened to us? It’s yours to give Kahmir, do it! The two stood silently their eyes nailed to each other. The men held their blades on the orc throats steadily but many of them started looking around in confusion.

Suddenly there was a weak and childlike wail that came from the thicket. Grask ran forwards with his revealed blade and shouted from the bottom of his small lungs trying to look as furious a nine-year old orc-child could.

Everyone froze. Had the situation been different it would have been a cause of a lot of merriment and produced a roar of laughter among the men and the women wittnessing the scene. But somehow it seemed to have almost the opposite effect of disquieting them all. It was a child. An orc child but yet a child. And a brave child trying to save his elders, his father perhaps? Beloan felt disturbed with the humanity of the act the little orc was making. Hadith was even more shocked. I didn’t brave to try and help my mother as they killed her in front of my eyes... but this one runs to a certain death to try.

Qat hadn’t ever been a tender-hearted man and he had no children of his own. On top of it he was already a bit frustrated as someone had managed to take Gwerr on his blade while Qat thought Gwerr belonged to him. With no one at his hands he frowned at the silent crowd around him and walked towards the onrushing orc-child. “I’ll take the little brat then”, he muttered as he went.

“Don’t kill him!” Beloan and Hadith called in unison after Qat. They looked at each other confused about their simultaneous reaction.

Qat didn’t seem to listen but dealt Grask’s swordhand a mighty blow with his staff sending the blade flying yards away. Grask screamed and was stunned with pain. He fell forwards to the ground. Qat picked him from the neck and easily raised him off the ground with his strong arm. “To the end of the line with this little vermin it is then?” he yelled back to the crowd with a smile. But the mood had changed.

There was an uneasy silence that had caught both the men and the orcs. Grask was groaning with pain silently as he hung in the air. There was a tear in Ishkur's cheek as he watched things unfold in horror, even Gwerr felt uneasy looking at the little orc been hung by the giant man. Lindir and Aiwendil were just coming forwards when there was a second surprise.

Out from the thicket from the other side of the gentle slope Grask had come from emerged two female orcs waving their hands in the air.

“Save him... save them... save us!” they yelled as they came forwards. Many a hand reached for a weapon in the crowd but no one made a move while the female orcs walked towards the execution company.

As they reached the kneeling orcs and their executioners they fell on their knees as well facing the male orcs a few feet away from them. They hung their heads low and knelt there in silence. The fellowship and the other onlookers had crept nearer to witness what was to happen. Even Athwen had rushed to the place.

Slowly the older one named Urga raised her head and let her gaze wander around the stern and confused faces of the men holding the orcs under their blades. Finally she found Beloan's face and looked straight at his eyes addressing him.

“We’re on the run like you are... we’re alone in this cursed land and afraid like you are... we just wanted to get out from the plantations and to live in freedom, as I believe you did.”

The other orc, Ungolt, broke in here. “We are just a small bunch of renegades. We tried to escape with a larger group but the guards of the plantation found our plan and caught the rest... They are dead now, our friends.” She swallowed as if searching for the next wise thing to say and then continued. “We will give you all we have plundered from this slaver-camp if you let us go. We have meat, bread, ale... valuables... just pick what you wish or take it all... But if you kill the males you’re practically killing us too as we wouldn’t survive the wilderness the five of us... or with the kid.”

“In that case you’d do well to kill us right here yourselves and not leave us to die to the hazards of the wilderness.” Urga added.

“Please, we have done you no harm. And the males were just trying to rescue their mates.” Ungolt said quietly.

Qat dropped Grask to the ground and took a twohanded grip from his staff.

Grask ran to the females and hid himself behind them weeping silently and shaking with fear.

[Child of the 7th Age]

There was an omenous growling from Gwella's stomach as the young orc crouched behind a large rock not far from the entrance to the pit and debated what to do. In all the commotion and excitement, she had become separated from the others. Her first instinct was to turn and run as far from this spot as her powerful legs would carry her. There was something terrible happening on the outskirts of camp. The entire circle of men and women had moved from their original spot and now stood some hundred yards downstream. The horrible man creatures were shouting and shrieking and brandishing weapons. Gwella could hear moans and cries coming from the male orcs and uruks who were now completely surrounded by their attackers.

No one paid the slightest attention to a solitary female who was so good at hiding in the shadows. If Gwella had been a year or two older, she would have had enough sense to disappear into the night and never return to this awful place, ignoring the others to save her own skin. But she was young and hungry and, because of that, she hesitated. When the others had been out pillaging the night before, the men had shoved her aside from the best prizes. She had not even managed to get a decent meal in her belly. She had begged a scrap or two from the other females, but it was not enough to appease the terrible gnawing inside her stomach that was becoming worse with each passing hour.

Just as Gwella was about to give up her search for food, a small group of man creatures ambled down to the stream bed not far from where she hid. These particular specimens did not look half as bad as the others who were yelling and screaming on the outskirts of camp. None were carrying weapons. A band of small ones scurried ahead while two others followed behind, looking to be slightly larger. Perhaps, thought Gwella, these were the ones in charge. The one older woman went and sat by herself, staring stonily towards the north, but had later leapt up and ran off in the direction where the larger crowd was gathered. The other woman was still trying to keep track of the children, but doing a poor job.

Gwella was fascinated by the mischief of the little ones who seemed to enjoy more freedom and less discipline from their elders than any orc child she had known. The boys had found a rope near the pit entrance and had retied it to the grating for a makeshift swing. One by one, they climbed onto it and dangled resolutely over the mouth of the cave. Another girl quickly joined their game and, daring the others to follow her, let go of the rope and dropped down inside the actual pit. It was only a short drop from the end of the rope to the muddy floor so that it would not be difficult to crawl up to the top again.

Gwella, however, was even more encouraged by the actions of the young woman who carried a bag over her shoulder. The woman opened the satchel and set out several portions of meat and bread on top of another nearby rock. Then she stalked over to the pit entrance, stared down at the children, and said they should shinny up the rope immediately and have something to eat. Gwella's eyes widened with delight as she considered the small feast spread before her. It was more food than she had seen all night. Her stomach growled appreciatively. The woman's back was turned. Even if the whole party came back, Gwella reasoned that she could easily fend them off. She was half uruk, half orc, and considerably heavier and stronger than any of the children or even the woman. On an impulse, she sprang up and hurried over to the boulder where the bread and meat had been set out, greedily snatching up the food with one hand and using the other to stuff about half of it inside her mouth.....

[Undómë]

Zagra peeked out from behind her sister’s shoulder. Her dark eyes went wide as the little drama unfolded. In a voice ragged with fear she whispered in Mazhg’s ear. ‘Bad men! Bad men! Cut their throats!’ she pointed a trembling finger at the kneeling line of Orcs, the last of their lives balanced lightly now against the men’s blades. ‘Kill them! Find us - kill us, too!!’ Zagra’s eyes rolled wildly as she clung tightly to her sister’s arm.

‘Quiet, little beetle!’ Mazhg drew her sister in close cradling her head against her shoulder, Zagra’s eyes shielded from the soon to be bloody scene. She pulled her down into a crouch, their small forms shielded by the leafy tangle of undergrowth at the base of the rocky outcropping. Sha! she spat out, contempt for Orc males infusing her features. ‘Stupid, drunken globs!’ she muttered. Mazhg’s eyes narrowed as she considered the possibilities.

Her first urge was to sneak quietly away with Zagra as quickly as they could. Light out on their own. Her head nodded at this answer. ‘Get away from these males,’ she reasoned to herself. ‘Man and Orc. Always trouble.’ She looked at Zagra, wondering how long the two of them would last on their own. Mazhg’s hand tightened on the haft of the sharp spade, her weapon a comforting feel in her small fist. Aside from that was just the little knife tucked in the waistband of her breeches. With a sigh she turned her mind away from thoughts of flight. Much as she disliked it, she and her sister would be safer traveling with a group.

But what could she do? Rush at the men with her spade? Foolish! Who would care for Zagra if . . . no, when she was killed. A distraction, maybe. And one leaving her and her sister enough time to run. That might work. If the dung-brained males would take advantage of it and run themselves.

‘Zagra!’ she hissed, giving her sister a little shake to focus her attention away from the fear. ‘See those biggish rocks there . . . on the ground by the bigger rock.’ She tipped her head, drawing Zagra’s gaze toward the stones. ‘Pick up a bunch.’ Mazhg gathered up the front of her tunic, indicating Zagra should do the same – use it like a little basket for the rocks. ‘Remember how we used to keep the crows from the fields? Remember how good your arm was. You always beat me . . . remember?’ Zagra’s mouth curved up in a smile, her simple thoughts relishing that recalled game. ‘We’ll throw them toward the men. Make ‘em drop their blades away from the males. Throw ‘em fast, and hard. Hurt the men just enough to make them squawk. Maybe that Ishkur isn’t so stupid and can figure out he needs to run. And then we run, too, Zagra . . . fast, fast!’

The two sisters crept as close as they could to the execution site, keeping a fair distance still for their own escape. With a nod to Zagra, Mazhg stood up, indicating her sister should do so, too. Her hands occupied, Mazhg’s spade lay on the ground behind her. Her arm drew back, making ready to let the first rock fly.

Crack . . . A twig snapped somewhere close behind them. A strong hand clasped her tunic tight about her neck. Wriggling wildly, she could see her sister pinned in a similar manner. Mazhg tried to reach down toward her spade, but the man’s boot was planted firmly on it. Eyes blazing, she glared at their captor, half wondering why he hadn’t simply killed them. For her part, Zagra was kicking furiously at the man’s nearer leg, a few hearty blows finding their target.

‘Nice plan! But I don’t think it would work. You’d all be dead at their hands, I think.’ He hauled them down, his grip still firm on them. ‘Now listen . . .’

[Tevildo]

Azhar stared down into the pit and waited until the one of the boys walked over to the rope and began to climb up. She could see his feet and legs were wet. Azhar sighed but couldn't bring herself to scold the first girl who had encouraged them to drop down into the water. The children had been so excited in those early days when they'd left the plantation, but since then had found little time to play. Azhar stepped away from the mouth of the cave and started back to the rock where she had set out the food. But she got no further than two steps. Immediately, she stopped, her mouth and eyes wide open in shock as she took in the young orc who stood stuffing food into his mouth. Fighting to keep her panic down, she glanced back towards the pit and in a stern voice ordered the children to stay exactly where they were.

Azhar's immediate thought was to look for a weapon to defend herself. Before she could actually do that, the young thief stuffed another handful of bread and meat into his mouth and began to dart off. With a shock Azhar realized the boy was no older than herself. She had seen the look in his eye many times before.....a child so hungry that he or she would do anything to swipe or beg a little food. Instantly she felt ashamed. The orc gave no sign that he was going to attack. She was no better than the ones down the river who had voted to execute the intruders even though they had done them no harm. "It's alright, boy" she called out. "I have more in my bag. Plenty more. There's enough for us all." I must be crazy, Azhar thought. If only Athwen was here, she'd know exactly what to do.

Gwella stared at the young woman who was approaching, not sure whether she should leave or stay. The girl did not look like much of a threat, and she was still very hungry. She stood unmoving on the plain. Not more than ten feet separated the two figures. Finally, the orc snapped back, "I'm no boy! I'm a girl. My name is Gwella. Throw that stuff over here if you mean it." Gwella imperiously jerked her thumb towards the canvas bag.

Azhar stood in absolute shock. A girl? She never would have guessed it from her looks. But what shocked her more was that this creature had a name. Somehow she had never imagined orcs having real names. Azhar wondered who had given her a name. Then she took three steps over to the pouch and drew out a small loaf of bread and tossed it towards Gwella. The orc did not step forward but neither did she run away. Gwella bent down, snatched the loaf, and began to gnaw at the end, still glaring suspiciously at the other woman.

Azhar was wondering what she should do next when something happened that put the orc out of her mind. A sharp childish voice filled with panic sounded from the bottom of the pit: "Help! Help! The rock moved. Ina's trapped. There's water....lots of water..." A tangle of childish voices and cries was followed by a deadly silence. Meanwhile, up the river some hundred feet, the meeting continued, with no one even aware of what was happening at the entrance to the cave.

[Folwren]

Athwen, sitting on the opposite side of the hill, heard the disturbance in the executions. She had not meant to listen. She didn’t want to hear, but she couldn’t help it and her ears latched onto every sound. Finally, with a quiet word to Azhar to keep an eye on the children, she stood up and hurried in the direction of the execution.

A strange sight met her eyes as she came around the rise of ground. There were the orcs, lined up and ready to die, but not yet killed, and behind each of them stood the one who thought it a privilege to kill them. But before this neatly formed line knelt two new figures, unbound, unrestrained. Athwen’s feet slowed as she stared in wonder, and then, seeing that something odd was truly afoot, she sped up and hurried down the slope in time to hear the first orc’s plea.

“We’re on the run like you are… we’re alone in this cursed land and afraid like you are… we just want to get out from the plantations and to live in freedom, as I believe you did.”

Athwen drew in a sharp breath between her teeth. She had been right after all. Against all odds, her guess, her plea in defense of the captives had been the nearest to accuracy. She stood back away from the other group of ex-slaves and listened as the two female orcs unfolded their story.

As the second one finished speaking, Athwen saw first the child that she referred to. He still hung by the cloth of his collar from Qat’s hand. Her eyes grew a little wider as she looked at him. He was just a child! It was obvious that he was just a child – and yet he was being treated abhorrently. Not even a young wild animal would be handled so. She felt disgusted, and the loathing that had risen in her earlier came back.

At that moment, while Ungolt made her last plea, there came a faint cry from the direction of the children. Athwen stood farthest back of all the people there, and she may have been the only one to hear. She turned about abruptly and looking back the way she had come. What was going on?

Then she heard it more clearly, the cry for help. Her heart gave a small leap and her breath caught momentarily and she instantly began to run back.

[piosenniel]

The verdict the others had reached sickened him. He’d followed the group out of camp, hoping that there would be a change of heart somehow. Change of heart! Wishful thinking. Pride drove men's hearts more than compassion.

Guilt drove a greater portion of his thoughts. He never was much of a speaker and he hadn’t spoken up when the judgment had been made....as he should have, he knew. And the fact that he still hadn’t felt well, that his mind was still a little muddled, did nothing to assuage his feelings of complicity. I could step in..... he supposed. But what would that accomplish? I’d be cold-shouldered at best for the rest of this expedition, or thrown out of this traveling fellowship altogether, at worst. Perhaps he should return home, he thought, as he’d turned away from the execution site.

So, you're as full of self-pride as those you would accuse, eh? he chided himself sharply.

Rôg’s wanderings had taken him a space away from the camp and the killing grounds. His thoughts his main company as he struggled with what he could, he should, he might do. The buzz of husky voices drew his attention outwards, as he walked along the periphery of the site where the men prepared to kill the captives. He stepped nearer, focusing hard on what was being said.

Foolish boys! he growled to himself as he heard the one’s plan unfold. Two disheveled looking youngsters were preparing to escalate the events with rocks..... Rocks!!! Good intention.....brave, even, but in the end they would be killed, too. Rôg shook his head. He’d done nothing before, perhaps he could do something now. Think, man!!!

Intent on reaching the two before the first stone was hurled, he trod unawares on a dried twig. The two young males startled, dropping their rocks. Rôg moved in quickly, grabbing them by the necks of their tunics. They twisted madly in his grip like little wildcats, one of them landing a few hard blows against his shins with her frenzied kicks. He hauled them down, in a crouch, hissing himself at them to be quiet and listen.

‘Nice plan!’ he began, offering as friendly a look as he could toward the two. ‘But I don’t think it would work. You’d all be dead at their hands, I think.’ He hauled them down, his grip still firm on them. ‘Now listen . . .’

With a few quick whisperings he laid out his scarcely thought out idea. It was a slim chance it might work, and he could see the one boy, the one who’d done most of the talking, thought so as well. But, too, there came a calculating gleam to the fellow’s eye as Rôg rambled on with his reasonings. In the end there was forged an agreement, if a grudging one at best. Rôg released his grip on the two, hoping not to be soundly whacked in the head by the perilous looking spade now held firmly in the grasp of the one young lad.

‘Right then,’ Rôg said, preparing to stand up. He unfastened his belt, indicating the fellow should secure his hands, so that Rôg would appear to have been captured and bound. The trio stood up and advanced a little ways toward the men and Orcs.

Mazhg held one of Rôg’s arms and threatened him with her knife held against his side. Zagra held his other arm, brandishing the spade as they drew nearer to the site. For his part, Rôg stumbled along as if beaten, and indeed his breeches’ leg was torn and the leg bled where he’d been so soundly kicked at first. They stopped short of entering the execution place itself. Mazhg shook Rôg hard, pushing him to his knees. She glared at the men holding the male Orcs, and nudged Rôg hard on his shoulder, pricking him a little with her knife.

With what he hoped might pass for a grimace of pain, Rôg looked beseechingly toward the men and in as beleaguered a voice as he could manage he spoke.

‘They’ll trade me for those Orcs you’ve got,’ he began. ‘They only want us to leave them be to find their own place to settle. That’s all they’re asking.’ His plea hung in the air between the two groups.

Great Winged One! he appealed in silence. Don’t let them think I’m just another expendable soul like the Orcs.....