The Long Winter RPG

[Auriel Haevasawen]

The wind dropped and with it the sound of the carnage in the hen house carried to the farm house. Roth yelped loudly, the scent of man filled her nostrils. All the wargs turned toward the building to see the yard illuminated by an orange glow. The back door had been opened.

Ragnarok pulled himself up to his full, massive height and glared at the females. If they thought they could challenge him for power let them show their mettle now. Ragnarok was well fed. He felt strong. This night he would not run. He would face his fear of men.

Nimue ushered the pups, sticky with the blood of the fowl, behind the wall of the hen house. She growled at them softly. It was a warning to remain where they were placed.

The farmer staggered out into the yard, calling to see who might have disturbed his hens and muttering about 'cursed foxes' but the Wargs took no notice and stood as three against him. Ragnarok centrally; the she-wolves on either side.

He slipped slightly on the ice as he held the lamp high to see. Six yellow eyes were fixed upon him almost level with his own. So transfixed was he by this it took him several minutes to register that the snow all around him was dark red. His chicken shed was almost destroyed and his poultry, torn to shreds at his feet. A single gust of wind blew feathers and not snow across his path. Still he stared at the blood stained Wargs. They seemed unreal to him.

Ragnarok opened his mouth wide and the yellow latern reflected the shine of his teeth.

Fear gripped the farmer and he turned to run back. Too late. To turn your back on a Warg is foolish indeed. They were upon him in seconds. His screams so loud the neighbouring farms ran to their windows, seeking out the source of such an unearthly sound.

They were not alone in hearing it. Close to the forest fence another depleted pack, persuaded by hunger to stray close to agricultural land stopped and listened. Their leader, a young male howled in hope.

Ragnarok stepped back from the farmer's corpse. Nigh on his whole head scarlet from the murder. He turned his head to one side, a move in echo of a domestic dog and listened. Had he been mistaken? The winter wind had almost fooled him before. No Ragnarok was not mistaken. Another wolf howled to him. He barked at the others and the now revealed pups but they were absorbed in a feeding frenzy that even he could not draw them from. Nimue was nearest. He dug his teeth sharply into the scruff of her neck and dragged her off what remained of the farmer's carcass. She snapped at him but soon heard the sound too.

Ragnarok sat back upon his haunches and howled in reply. It was a cold and frightening sound, more chilling than ever the winter's weather. The wargs had arrived amongst men.

[ January 18, 2003: Message edited by: Auriel Haevasawen ]

[piosenniel]

They were happy for once that it was winter. The companions had just passed the Midgewater Marshes, and a few recalled stories to their fellow travelers of swarms of tiny voracious bugs swarming about their face and feet without relief. A few more miles down the road and they would set up camp.

It was an hour before sunset when they reached a likely looking place. To the north of the road, between the marshes and the Weather Hills they found a small clearing in a thick tangle of winter bare trees. The trunks of the trees would at least break the wind that was starting to pick up, and the clearing was big enough for them to pull their wagon in and have a nice sized fire.

The companions were tired and hungry and it didn’t take them long to set up camp and start the fire for a well deserved hot meal.

[ January 18, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Envinyatar]

Carl moved through the outer perimeter of the camp, beneath the trees, taking Hal and Gaddy with him. ‘Pick up as much downed wood as you can from the ground.’ he instructed them. ‘I want us to have a large pile of wood for the fire tonight. It will be cold out here, and whoever keeps watch will want to have a good supply to ward off whatever might come nosing around in the darkness.’

Hal and Gaddy did not like the sound of that last bit. ‘Come nosing around in the dark? What are you thinking of?’ one of them asked, as he piled more wood onto his arms.

‘I saw Warg tracks crossing the road we travel on.’ said Carl. ‘I haven’t sighted the beasts, but where there’s tracks, there’s the Wargs that made them. That’s why Bullroarer wants us to be so careful and stick together.’

Carl stepped on the middle of a long downed branch, breaking it in two. He loaded it on to Hal’s arms and picked up a few more pieces for himself. He spoke to the two over his shoulder as they headed back to camp.

‘Keep up lads! You’ld be naught but two mouthfuls to a hungry Warg!’

They hurried to catch up.

[ January 18, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[dragoneyes]

Hal and Gaddy followed Carl closely back to camp, checking behind them frequently for any signs of movement or any hint of anything sinister in the fading light.

When they reached camp, they welcomed the sound of other hobbits bustling about and the many eyes on look out for anything. The fire was fed and the remainder of the wood put in a pile nearby. Hal went to care for the horses while Gaddy helped Daisy set up the cooking things. They were having fish stew and it wasn't long before it was bubbling away happily in the pot.

Gaddy's front, being bent over the fire, was good and warm and his eyes were starting to water from the heat. His back however, was cold as it had been ever since they left the Forsaken Inn. The wind was picking up and Gaddy could feel it playing about in his curly hair and occasionally whipping about his cloak. How he would've liked to have been on a spit slowly turning above the fire, being warmed all over.

"Gaddy, it's ready, would you pass a bowl?" Said Daisy, waking Gaddy from his thoughts, he had stopped halfway through stirring the stew. He gained a slight redness about his face and mumbled something along the lines of "Sorry, Here's a bowl". Passing her a bowl and trying to hide his reddening face, though not all too well, he tried to look on the bright side. At least all that blushing's warmed you up! And it had, he was decidedly warmer than when he had started 'speaking' to Daisy. It was a nuisance though, not even being able to talk to someone properly.

At the call of dinner, All the hobbits came and sat at the fire, getting as close as they could to the fire and each other, letting as little heat out as they could possibly manage. Gaddy could feel through his clothes Hal's cold arm,
"Hal, you're freezing!" he said,
"That's what you get for working in the freezing cold." Hal replied.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Giles gulped as the slimy reek of fish stew assaulted his nostrils. Gaddy and the others were smiling as broadly as kings in a banquet hall. Well, now came the test. Giles shuddered more than necessary in front of the fire, held out his hands to warm them, sat stretched until his toes were comfortably toasty, waited until the others were paying rapt attention to the inside of their bowls. *

* At last he could no longer delay the inevitable. Trudging over to the origin of the horrid smell, Giles held his breath, hoisted the ladle, dished himself a helping of stew, consoled himself with the thought that he could easily pick out the nasty fish-pieces and toss them back into the pot. *

* Clunk, plink, plonk, plunk. There! Giles looked into his bowl, but his face fell. Now all that was in there was hot water coated with a greasy bilious film of fish oil. *

* There was nothing for it. Giles dunked the ladle back in and scavenged the four torment-laden fish morsels. Closing his eyes, he swallowed them as best he could without chewing, then drained the broth with a body-tingling, quite necessary though quite involuntary, shudder. *

* Giles slinked quietly off to his bedroll and huddled deep inside, squinching his eyes tight shut and clutching his stomach. Trying not to let the queasiness win. *

[ January 18, 2003: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Branda was perched on the top of the hill standing watch while the other hobbits finished their dinner. His fingers gripped tightly round his bow, as he peered cautiously from one side to the next, trying to make out any suspicious signs or hints of danger. On the face of things, all was quiet. But he still did not like the look of the landscape in front of him. He couldn't put a finger on exactly what was bothering him, but he had a queasy feeling in the bottom of his stomach, and it had nothing to do with the greasy fish stew.

Finally, he figured it out. It wasn't how things looked, but rather how they sounded. Or, to put it more simply, the fact that he could hear no sounds at all! The usual noises of the night were missing. There were no scampering feet of tiny night creatures, no hoots coming from the snow owls who usually stood guard in the trees above, not even any barking from distant farmdogs. The whole place was so quiet that it was uncanny.

Branda pulled his cloak closer about his shoulders, reached down for the unlit torch, and sat hunched forward in front of the small campfire which Bullroarer had advised him to keep lit, as much a measure of protection as warmth. No, he did not like this situation at all. Why did Rivendell have to lie so far away? And why was the night so very, very quiet?

[ January 20, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Auriel Haevasawen]

The attack upon farm and farmer satisfied them for a short while.

The Wargs had waited in the snow by the gate for the wolves to join them and now they ran together across the farmland in search of a new kill.

Ragnarok felt invigorated. The fresh meat had given him new energy but it was more than that. The four wolves they brought with them gave him the feeling of once more being a leader. He ruled a pack. He was Ragnarok once more.

They holed up during the day and hoped to kill at night but the sound of their howls and the news of the slaughter at the farm travelled fast amongst outlying communities. They came upon farms they could not penetrate, guarded by barbed fence, fire and watchmen. More than once an arrow was sent skimming by their ears. Ragnarok may have overcome his fear of men but he still would take no irrational chances.

It was Roth who picked up the scent. It was that moment in the evening when sun had gone but the world was still visible in shades of darkest blue. The pups were failing again and lay exhausted at Nimue's side, unwilling to rise for the night's activity. The group were beginning to stir in the woodland hollow on a silent hillside they had chosen for their day's rest. Roth took in another breath of it. She stared straight into Ragnarok's eyes: challenging. Did he smell it too?

He did and stepped silently through the shallow snow to her side. They each breathed in the night air. Yes, there was a new scent. It was a living scent. It was not the scent of men but it was fresh.

The others shook snow from their fur and wandered aimlessly, stretching out their forelegs and yawning. They had not sensed the meal that Roth and Ragnarok had.

It was still an unusual odour to the Warg's nostrils. Ragnarok was hungry but he would take no risk. Since the incident with the sheep Roth had remained in line. Ragnarok decided to take a chance. Besides, if there was danger, it was better to lose her, than his own life. He would send her to investigate.

He walked her a little away from the pack, following the scent until it grew strong indeed. It seemed to come wafting up from the base of the hill where a road wound. Such things as roads did not concern them. The chance of a meal did. From their vanatage point at the bank top they could see nothing but a single curl of dark smoke issuing from the edge of the trees.

Ragnarok allowed himself a dark smile. He tapped Roth in the side with his muzzle and nodded in the direction of the smoke. Roth nodded in return. She new what was required of her. Silently she progressed down the hillside as the final shards of daylight vanished.

Ragnarok returned to the others, it would not be long.

[piosenniel]

They were grateful that they had come in beneath the trees. The cold wind was starting to pick up, and they could hear it buffeting against the trees. Bullroarer built up the fire a little, and brought the companions in close around its light and warmth for sleep.

*******

The moon was just past full, shining with a bright silvered light on the crust of snow that lay covering the ground. Celandine was restless, unable to sleep. She had seen, on their way into the clearing, a small patch of Snowdrop flowers in the tangle of a tree's roots.

It had been so long since she'd seen such pretty flowers. She thought of her grandma's house and the riot of flowers that used to grow there, before the weather had turned cold for so long. 'If I can just see them, I can go to sleep and dream about them.' she thought to herself.

She pulled her cloak about her, waiting for the opportunity to get away for just a few moments. Bullroarer had called the companion's attention and was listing off who would stand guard, and where they planned to travel to tomorrow.

No one noticed her as she slipped quietly from the edge of the group, walking in the shadows, and made her way quickly beneath the trees to where she thought she had seen the flowers . . .

[Auriel Haevasawen]

Ragnarok waited at the crest of the hill. Only moonlight illuminated the view below him now. The other creatures gathered about him and watched too. The woods were silent. A young and impetuous wolf moved to howl at the moon but Ragnarok issued a deep growl to silence him. This was not a night for howling. They would wait for Roth. They would use stealth. They would be fed.

[ January 19, 2003: Message edited by: Auriel Haevasawen ]

[ArwenBaggins]

Dafodyl pulled her cloak up around her shoulders, and then pulled her sleeping bag almost over her head. A cool breeze ruffled her curly hair, and she tried to push it back. The wind picked up and pushed it back again, so she just let it fly.

The full moon glistened and made the snow seems as it was dancing. The night was silent, and not even the smallest cardinal was singing his tune. Her eyes were heavy, yet she could not close them. It was eerie, and she knew it was not right.

When Bullroarer was telling the group who would stand guard and when, she was not fully listening. ‘I hope he didn’t say I had to stand guard tonight.’ Dafodyl said to herself. She did not want to face a mad Bullroarer if she did.

[ January 23, 2003: Message edited by: ArwenBaggins ]

[Envinyatar]

Carl took the first watch as the Hobbits prepared to rest for the night. He had pulled on an extra sweater and had his cloak draped about him, hood up. His bow was in his hands, his daggers ready at his belt.

He built the fire up to a cheery blaze before stepping to the shadowy perimeter of its light. 'Better here, in the dark.' he thought. 'I can see who approaches as the light catches their eyes.'

Carl threw back his hood to give himself a better range of vision, and proceeded to walk the outskirts of the camp.

[ January 20, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Auriel Haevasawen]

They waited as the moon rose higher in the sky and still no Roth returned. Ragnarok grew impatient. Had she disobeyed him again? The Warg-wench was probably gorging on some tasty morsel while he and the others froze upon the exposed crest of the hill. Despite his suspicions, he had heard nothing. He was sure that had she been able to make a kill some sound would have reached him. He leaned his head from one side to another slowly, listening intently to the night. Nothing but his own empty stomach.

He decided to follow her. There had been no snow to cover her tracks and her scent was still strong. He let out one low, barely audible bark to Nimue in the absence of Roth he was forced to make use of her. She was unwilling to leave the pups and come to the fore. One of the wolves looked at the sickly creatures and licked a slow tongue along its upper lip. Nimue glared down upon the smaller animal but still was forced to leave the young with them if they hoped to gather any food that night.

Ragnarok led them over the precipitous edge and down into the trees, following Roth's tracks, footstep for footstep. The others glided behind him. Some of the path they took was too steep to walk so they slid in silence instead. Steadily they progressed toward the strange scent and the plume of smoke that Ragnarok had spied earlier. As yet he sensed no danger.

They disturbed no living thing amongst the trees for the night was still and nothing stirred. Even the incessant wind began to abate. He leapt onto the trunk of a long fallen tree and took stock of his surroundings. There was a low glow of light ahead. The pack soon joined him, lined up along the log like some bizarre ornament: silent, cold and still.

He would go no further yet. His keen eyes made out much. He saw a cart or wagon. He saw the horse; asleep upon his feet. He saw the small fire that he knew was meant to frighten him. His jaw curled into a grin.

The pups squeaked in the snow below him, lacking the strength to reach his vantage point. He alowed himself a low snarl to silence them. A single bound and he was over their heads and into the soft snow that had drifted against the woodland edge. His mouth filled with saliva as he began his approach. The pack fell into their places as instinct directed them.

He halted. A sudden sound had distracted him. He turned his head toward the left of the camp. His eyes burned at what he beheld. A lone creature, man-like in shape but shorter. Perhaps a man-pup: he didn't care. It was a female. It walked with caution and peered into the roots of trees. Perhaps it hunted food? Ragnarok glanced back toward the camp. Her scent was the same. Why make life difficult? The others had already spotted her too and gathered about his shoulder waiting for his signal. She was unguarded, she was small, she didn't stand a chance.

Ragnarok gave the signal. The pack serged forward. She was over come in seconds. Her screams echoed throughout the wood. Claws and teeth tore at her. The snow was quickly stained a dark and frightening shade. The screams were silenced. Hunger drove them to begin to devour her there. In the frenzy only a single arm was visible between the shoving bodies of two wolves. In her tiny pale hand she clasped a single snowbell flower.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Branda was the first to detect the bone chilling howls that rent the quiet of the night. He leapt up from the campfire, his face a mask of fear, clutching his bow tightly in his hand. It sounded like a great number of beasts, both wargs and wolves, congregating in a frenzy of feeding.

Bullroarer recovered his wits almost instantaneously and glanced swiftly about the circle, counting numbers and faces to make certain everyone was there. As realization slowly dawned, he gasped with horror, "Celendine, Celendine, where is the girl?" There was no response to his question.

Then strict discipline and hard routine took over, despite the terror of the moment. "Get your weapons. Form in groups. Once they've had blood frenzy, they'll not stop. Our scent is like a beacon drawing them forward."

Hobbits scrambled to take up swords and shields and flaming torches as the incessent howls of wargs and wolves abated for a single instant. The pack pulled back from the mangled remains of the corpse, and stood like frozen statues, searching for the scent that would draw them onward in their relentless quest for food. Then, with feet swift and sure, they spun about and charged with ferocity towards the small campfire, sensing the nearness of more fresh meat that might put an end to their agony of hunger.

[ January 20, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Calenedheliel]

A very loud horrible scream brought Daisy out of the dream world. She sat up and looked around for just a moment. Everybody was starting to move with Bullroarer directions. Daisy got up and ran to her weapons and then went to join Autumn, Hal, and Gaddy. As she approached her group she wondered who had made that awful noise. Looking around she noticed that they were a hobbit shy.

Daisy gasped as she realized that the screaming came from one the members on this trip. One of the girls that she hadn’t had the chance to get to know was missing from the campfire. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, but she knew they would have to wait for later. Something was out there and it was heading their way. She hoped that she was ready for this attack.

She reached her group and they stood and faced the forest waiting for the attack to begin. She was scared to death but she was determined to meet this attack head on.

[piosenniel]

Bullroarer called for the companions to form a large defensive circle. With the fire as the starting point, Giles, Daisy, Gaddy, Hal, Lotho, Daffodyl, and Dinodas ranged from one side of it to the other. They faced out, standing only an arm’s length away, each holding a flaming, pitchy brand. Spread out, behind them, were the five archers of the band – Autumn, Carl, Olo, Robin, and Bullroarer.

Within the circle, near to the fire was the wagon and pony with Branda and Tomba ready to receive any wounded.

The pack charged toward the companions, slowing a little as they saw the flaming torches that blazed toward them. When they had drawn quite near the Hobbits, Bullroarer bade Autumn and Olo to fire on the advancing beasts, as did he. No sooner had they loosed their arrows than did Carl and Robin let fly with theirs.

They repeated this pattern quickly twice more, bringing down two Wolves and one of the pups, whose hunger had pushed it beyond caution. The sight of their pack members falling prey to the weapons of the Hobbits drove the remaining two Wolves into a frenzy, and they leaped between the torchbearers trying to get at those who were firing on them.

The Wargs and the remaining pup then drew near the group, harrying the defensive outer circle. By this time, Bullroarer had begun firing his black arrows, trying to drive these larger beasts away. The Wargs split apart and began to seek entry points into the middle of the circle, hoping to cut some of the companions away from the protection of their fellows.

The Hobbits were sore pressed to hold the defense, and Bullroarer gasped as a Wolf leaped between him and Dinodas to knock down Robin . . .

[Envinyatar]

Carl fired his bow in rapid succession, wounding one of the Wolves, as it leaped across the perimeter and into the center of the circle. The Wolf struggled to its feet snarling. And Carl dropped his bow, meeting the enraged, charging Wolf with his knife flashing. The point of his blade met the Wolf’s throat as he leaped toward his assailant, and the weight of the falling Wolf brought down Carl beneath him, gashing his left arm deeply with its fangs even as it died.

The second Warg pup charged at Hal, meeting the flesh of the Hobbit’s right leg with his fangs and clamping down hard on it. Olo turned to his left and fired an arrow at it, causing it to let go its hold. The Ranger drew his sword and brought it down in a mighty arc against the neck of the pup, dropping it just as it strove to rend Hal once more.

[ January 21, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Branda stood by the wagon with Tomba at his side. Caught up in the madness of the moment, he grabbed his weapons and raced over to where the achers stood. His fingers itched to draw out an arrow and cock his bow, to fire again and again at these beasts who knew neither mercy nor goodness, but only insatiable hunger. One stern look from Bullroarer quickly set him in his place, and he retreated back with Giles and Tomba to the safety of the wagon, though with some misgivings in his heart.

As he'd been instructed, Branda kept a close watch on the attacking wolves and wargs from this safe perch. He could see the beasts twisting and pivoting between those hobbits who wielded bows and torches, snarling and snapping in their frenzied desire to still the stinging arrows and draw closer to their prey. In a single instant a wolf had pressed in between Bullroarer and Dinodas, slamming into Robin. The girl crumpled to the ground, and Branda sprang into action, glad to be doing something when so many of his companions were hard pressed.

Bow and quiver were discarded near the campfire, since these would be of limited use within a close range. Instead, Branda clenched a blazing torch in his left hand, and the silver dagger he'd taken from the tombs in his right. A great warg was just about to set his teeth upon Robin's shoulder, when the hobbit raced in, crouching low, waving the firebrand, extending it out in the direction of the beast's simmering eyes.

Instinct soon took over. Even with flame and dagger, Branda knew he could not singlehandedly take on such a foe. Moreover, his duty lay with Robin. The warg howled and spun away as the flame came near his shaggy coat, directly under his eyes. Branda grabbed onto Robin's collar, and with some strength he never knew he possessed, wrenched her up from the ground and slung her over his back. He did not look behind, but ran over near the wagon and laid her down as quickly as he could manage. He did not know at the time, but Giles and Tomba had helped cover his retreat with their flaming torches.

Branda's heart was pounding wildly, both with the sheer terror of having been so close to a monster like that, and with the fear that he may have injured Robin more grievously by his none too gentle touch. As he knelt down beside the girl in the accutomed position of a healer, he willed himself to quiet concentration and began to examine her.

[ January 21, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[dragoneyes]

One of the wargs, seeing her last pup brought down before her eyes, leaped towards Olo, trying to get back at him. Her slavering jaws were open, ready for more meat when she was pushed aside by the full weight of Hal. Landing on her side, she quickly regained herself and lunged at Hal. Her jaws, this time aiming for Hal's neck, instead, met his arm. She clamped down hard, burrying her fangs in his forearm.

Hal yelled as the warg tried to pull him down by his arm, he pulled back hard, knowing that the floor is the last place he would want to be. Blood ran down his arm and dripped from his hand, staining the pure snow, his bitten leg was shaking from the strain. An idea flashed in Hal's mind, the torch, use the torch in your hand! He brought the torch down on the warg's side and held it there. It wasn't long before the smell of burning hair reached his nose. The wargs eye's widened when she too realised what was burning. She let go, Hal lost his balance and fell backwards.

He lay on his back, clutching his arm. A thought hovered in the back of his mind, get up, get up! The wargs will get you! He sat up quickly as he could, sending himself dizzy as the blood rushed out of his head. He looked up expecting to see a warg bounding towards him to finish him off, instead he saw a figure standing over him brandishing it's own flaming torch. Hal's world stopped spinning and he was able to see that the hobbit infront of him was Gaddy, warding off any more wargs intending to take a bite out of his friend.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Giles clutched the round metal barrow shield in one hand, and a blazing torch in the other. He frowned, thinking how it would have made no sense right yet to loan the shield to Autumn, as she had both hands full with bow and arrow. His stomach after early bedtime had mostly recovered from the barrage of fish stew, settled into a tolerable dull ache. Celendine was gone. *

* Some of the wolves had grown bold enough to try and dash through the circle. One snarled charging towards Giles, but Giles stood at the ready. With nightmarish speed he thrust the torch against the onrushing wolf's neck. A satisfying sizzle of singed fur and roasting flesh sprang up. The wolf sprang back. Not only was a patch of fur completely burnt off from the area, but the fire removed the skin underneath as well, leaving a deep mark like a black eclipsed moon after swallowing up the last light of copper-red glare. But the trickling flames did not spread, for the wolf threw itself down yelping to roll in the snow. *

* A warg, seeing its downed ally, cried revenge and hurled itself atop Giles. Giles raised his shield at the last instant and huddled under it. The warg brought Giles crashing down, pinning the Hobbit beneath the shield. The torch, knocked from his grasp, flew through the air and landed on the back of the wolf that though dead, still pinned Carl to the ground. Meanwhile, the warg lurched its jaws towards Giles, ending up instead with a mouthful of brown wool cloak. Giles frantically squirmed out of the cloak and ran for it, having to leave his shield behind, for it had gotten entangled in the cloak. *

* Giles drew his red and gold serpent dagger from out of its black sheath to wield the weapon in his right hand. Rummaging around his vest pocket, he breathed a sigh of relief as he found his salt-and-pepper containers still there. He drew out the pepper shaker as though it were a magic treasure of Elf-make and looked around, wondering where to go. *

[ January 21, 2003: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Nurumaiel]

"Robin!" Dinodas shouted, and whirled around, bringing his club down on the head of the Wolf. It gave a yelp and leaped back, and then turned to Dinodas, its eyes glowing. "Branda!" the hobbit lad called as the Wolf advanced towards him. "Robin needs help!"

The Wolf suddenly jumped at him and he was knocked down, but he managed to kick it off him. Then he scrambled to his feet and hit it with his club once more. It gave a yelp and fell to the ground, dying.

There's one Wolf down, thought Dinodas, seeing that Branda had already rescued Robin. But how are we going to stop the Wargs?

[Child of the 7th Age]

Supporting Hal with an arm about his waist, Gaddy managed to drag his friend half-way towards the safety of the wagon. Tomba ran out to meet them, and together they brought the lad back to where Branda was seated, examining Robin.

Gaddy shot a strict look at the healer, "Take good care of Hal!" he commanded, with an earnestness born of deep friendship.

Branda nodded his consent, and told Tomba to begin cleaning Hal's wound. Before turning to go back into the fray, Gaddy quietly asked, "How's Robin?" His eyes were filled with concern.

"She should be alright," Branda responded. "We got her out in time. She's conscious, but in pain. I've given her something so she can rest."

Gaddy cast a lingering glance at the small girl whose eyes were closed in fitful sleep, with her wounds already dressed and bound.
Then he quickly turned and, with a seriousness that was new to him, went grimly back towards the companions who continued to battle on the ridge.

[ January 21, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Ringwraith Number Two]

Roth, on Ragnarok's command, had gone to trace down the new smell but found herself hungrier than ever as she padded on silently. Suddenly, she decided to disobey Ragnarok as hunger blinded her senses. She would go back to the farm they had passed a short while ago, and then follow the scent. Yes, that seemed a good plan.

***
Roth sniffed the night air once more. She smelt smoke, and blood. Licking the own blood off her lips when she had been lucky enough to kill a chicken, panic reared through her. Blood, Warg blood, was present in the air. Panic became replaced by anger as she remembered the scent of the blood which she recognised. It was one of the pups'. As she raced forward, she could see a group of man-like creatures wielding fire. They would pay for spilling Warg blood. Howling loudly, and tore over to group in enraged near-madness. An arrow whistled out of nowhere and grazed her shoulder, stopping her fast attack and causing her to slow down. Snarling, she ran at the source of her pain, at the man-like creature holding the weapon.

[Auriel Haevasawen]

Ragnarok had ceased to notice the remainder of his pack. His heart was turned to blood and that alone would sate him. His practiced hunter's eye caught out a hobbit separated from the rest. He knew not what these creatures were: he cared not. They were food. They were a pleasure to kill.

He had been cut in several places. A snapped arrow shaft protruded from his right haunch. He stopped a moment to pull it out with his teeth. It snapped again closer to his hide. He turned and glared and the little beasts. Blood from a cut above his yellow eyes had begun to impede his vision. They were a fraction of his size. How dare they think they could take him on and think they could survive?

He looked at the devastation about him. At least one of the wolves was down. The two remaining pups were hacked to pieces. He cared not but Nimue and Roth fought in a frenzy driven by revenge. Not grief: for Wargs do not know such a word.

A rock frantically thrown cast him a glancing blow. He turned to stare at he who had hurled it. Ragnarok pulled himself to his full height, towering over these little vermin. While all around him was mayhem. Ragnarok focused on one lone hobbit who stood facing him, apparently unarmed. The noise of battle faded from his ears. This was his prey, this little creature was his foe. Ragnarok breathed in, enjoying every quiver the little man made. Now to step forward, now to hypnotise with his eyes, now to move closer, now to breathe the same air, now to ...strike.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Quiver Giles did, for without the protection of his cloak, the night wind too became an attacking foe, an invisible warg with gusty howl and fangs of ice. Yet the bulky cloak and clanging shield had limited his movement. Now that he'd lost them, his world became quick and free. And he'd rehearsed for this moment in his mind. So often, that vivid images of the actions he meant to take left no room for images of panic. *

* As the warg strode forward, eyes gazing with garish yellow glint, the very ground seemed to become the warg's ground. Giles shifted his weight onto his right foot, balancing his left foot lightly on the tips of his toes, poised. The serpent dagger became a centering force, a balance rudder in a mobile grip. The unobtrusive pepper container held leisurely as if to flavor bacon. *

* The waiting game ended. The warg launched itself in on Giles with scrabbling claws. But Giles caught the warg full in the eyes and nose with a dusty pepper-cloud. The warg retaliated with a swift jerk of its muzzle, knocking the pepper-shaker skidding across a patch of ice. *

* Giles used the momentary distraction to cartwheel himself up atop the warg's back. Landing among the coarse hairs in smooth acrobatic form long-practiced, Giles swung down his weapon hand, directing a successful dagger plunge into the straining beast. Blood flowed from the hole like a mockery of dark-daubed perfume, but did not seem to seriously impair the warg. Giles tugged at the weapon, cleanly pulled it free, gripped the handle tightly for another blow ... then suddenly remembered where he was and that he hadn't exactly planned this far ahead. "Now what?" he wondered. *

[ January 21, 2003: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Calenedheliel]

Daisy realized that Hal had been injured and Gaddy had gone to help him. She was standing all by herself. Her dagger was ready but she knew it wouldn’t be any help against the warg that now faced her. It’s snarling muzzle was getting closer and closer. She tried to stand her ground and not be frightened. All of a sudden the warg leaped right at her and she turned and tried to run. The warg sank its nasty yellow teeth into her leg and lifted Daisy up and shook her like a rag doll.

Daisy’s mind went blank as the searing pain sunk in. Her life was hanging in the balance, when all of a sudden the warg let go and down she dropped. Before falling into unconsciousness Daisy looked up and saw that Autumn was the one who had just saved her life.

[dragoneyes]

Gaddy watched as Autumn shot at the warg, saving Daisy, he also saw that Daisy was unconcious and injured. A great rage grew inside him, unlike he'd ever experienced before. It was the same warg as had hurt Hal, it bore the burn which Hal had given it. This warg had hurt his two closest friends in this group and he wasn't going to let it get away without it first knowing his anger.

He drew the knife he'd salvaged from the barrow, it glinted coldly in the firelight. Torch in left hand, knife in right, he faced the warg, staring it in the eye. He knew he should be wary of it, he was the same height as it, but the anger coursing through his veins told him that that didn't matter anymore.

[ January 21, 2003: Message edited by: dragoneyes ]

[Envinyatar]

Carl pushed the Wolf carcass from off him and scrambled to his feet, pulling the knife from the Wolf’s throat. He could not find his bow, but grabbed up a burning brand dropped on the ground when when Hal fell, and charged toward the Warg bent on bringing down the Ranger.

Olo was slashing at the advancing Warg with his sword, but was rapidly loosing ground. His back was almost to the wagon where Branda and Tomba were caring for the fallen companions.

Carl saw the Warg prepare to leap at the Ranger. He took aim, and threw his knife with deadly force. It caught the Warg just above the right eye, cutting a deep furrow in the flesh, before hitting bone and glancing off. Blood spilled into the Warg’s eyes, and she shook her head violently trying to clear her obscured vision.

Olo rushed in, swinging his blade in an arc. He missed his intended target as the Warg’s head moved and sliced off the beasts left ear. Carl rushed in with his flaming brand and held it to the Warg’s face, where the knife had gashed her . . .

[piosenniel]

Bullroarer took quick stock of the chaos around him. A lone Wolf was working its way toward the wagon area and was menacing Tomba. The young lad had his small blade out and was trying to keep the Wolf from the injured Hobbits and from Branda who was trying to work on them.

Too close for a goo shot with the bow, Bullroarer waded in with his club, swinging it in a mighty arc. Tomba slashed at the beast just as it bit down on his left arm. The boy screamed and Bullroarer caved in the skull of the attacking beast.

Bullroarer gently hurriedly picked up the bitten Tomba and placed him on the wagon. He gave him a blanket to press against his arm, teling him to stay put until Branda could see to him.

Then, taking up his bow, Bullroarer knocked an arrow and took aim at one of the attacking Wargs . . .

[ January 21, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Envinyatar]

Olo dropped the point of his sword as soon as he saw the Warg go howling away beyond the tree line. Carl’s thrust with the fiery brand to the already injured Warg’s face had driven the beast off.

Carl stood gasping for air. The fight had been quick and strenuous, and his ribs ached where the previous Wolf he had killed had knocked him to the grown with the dead weight of its body. Olo had dropped the point of his sword, and also stood wearily, head down.

They could see Bullroarer to their right, taking aim at one of the other Wargs. The Orcish arrow had been dipped in pitch from one of the unused brands and lit. Now it flew with a deadly accuracy toward the beast, burying itself deeply in the left shoulder. The Warg gave a yelp of surprise and then a howl of rage as the arrow bit deeper with its fiery tip. The long hair where the pitch stuck blazed up, pushing the Warg to a frenzy. He ran after the other escaping Warg, beyond the perimeter of the clearing, and rolled in the snow trying to bring himself some relief.

Carl and Olo pulled back to where Branda and Tomba were. Three Hobbits looked to be seriously injured, and the healer had his hands full taking care of them. ‘My injuries can wait.’ said Carl to the Ranger. Olo nodded his head in agreement.

They gathered in others of the Hobbits who had suffered injury and began treating their wounds as best they could, leaving Branda and Tomba free to work on those more grievously hurt.

[ January 21, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

The ponies had been safely stashed beyond the far hill, which was to the extreme rear of the campsite, tied securely to a ring of trees. Ever since the sound of attack had filled the night with horror, the animals had reared and tugged against their halters, in a frantic attempt to take off into the night.

If he'd had any warning at all, Bullroarer would have advised the hobbits to loose the ponies and swat them on the rumps, sending them scurrying in the opposite direction. By morning, when all was quiet, they would all have come trotting back, looking for their owners and a fresh mouthful of hay. But there had been no time to think of ponies, or to hear their terrified whinnies, which were drowned out completely by the fierce noise of battle.

Somehow, someway, one of Branda's horses managed to pull his tether loose. Mad beyond knowing, he reared up and plunged forward, not to the safety of the hills, but running swiftly southward towards the campsite itself where the battle was still being fought.

Branda's heart sunk as he saw his pony slip past the wagon. An unguarded pony on the loose would not last long. The wargs would soon catch the animal's scent and realize that this source of meat carried no torches or arrows for protection, but could be swiftly killed and dragged off to the safety of their lair.

Then, out of nowhere, another thought flooded though his mind...better my pony, than any more of our companions hurt or injured.

[piosenniel]

Bullroarer was weary. Sweat stung at his eyes, though the night was chill. The battle had wound down. Four Wolf carcasses lay dead within the circle they companions had formed, along with the bodies of the two Warg pups.

He had seen two of the beasts run north from the fight and disappear beyond the circle of trees that ringed the clearing. They had been injured, driven away from the companions by sheer determination. He rubbed his arm across his eyes clearing away the sweaty film of battle. A lone Warg stood watching him from the inner perimeter of the trees, its baleful yellow eyes catching the firelight. Pacing back and forth, it looked as if it were deciding to charge once more or to join its fellows. From the corner of his eye, Bullroarer saw a frightened pony take off, away from the battle scene and go running toward the supposed freedom and safety of the trees.

The Took knocked his last black arrow and took aim. The fell creature looked straight at him, nodding his head once, as if in momentary acquiescence. With a snarl, and one last look over his shoulder, the great beast turned and sped away. It had caught the sight and scent of the pony and now ran after it, seeking easier, less hurtful prey.

Bullroarer heaved a sigh of relief and loosed the tension on his bow string. Placing the arrow back in his quiver, he shouted to Dinodas, Lotho and Dafodyl to come in close to the fire. ‘Build it up.’ He instructed them. ‘Nice and bright and high.’ Gaddy, Giles, and Autumn come with me.’

The three with Bullroarer broke into two teams of two each and dragged the Wolf and Warg pup bodies to a space away from the Hobbits campsite – to a place downwind of the campfire. They piled the carcasses together and threw some sticky pitch brands in among them and a layer of wood.

The pyre blazed up, a reeking warning to any others who dare attack. The four weary Hobbits dragged back to the campsite, to see if there were any other help needed . . .

[ January 21, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[ArwenBaggins]

Dafodyl grabbed sticks and threw them on their growing fire. She had received a gash across her face, but nothing serious. It burned when she would blink, so she tried to keep her eyes open as long as possible.

She thought about how that young lass, Celedine, died like that. Dafodyl never really gotten to know her. ‘How could I have been so foolish by not asking about her? I can not believe we have lost two already.’ She said to herself when she was picking up a stick. Her eyes was caught by a bunch of snowbells.

She bent down and picked up a handful of snowbells. Her soft tears dripped down her face. Some left little holes in the snow, and some froze to her face. She shook her head, and hugged the flowers tightly.

"What is the matter Dafodyl?" Dinodas said as he put his hand on her shoulder. He smiled. "You shouldn’t cry when ‘tis so cold out here. You could freeze your cute little face!"

She looked up at him and smiled. "Thank you Dinodas."

[Envinyatar]

Leaving Olo to bandage the last of the Hobbits with minor injuries, Carl took Lotho out beneath the trees to gather in more firewood. They brought a blanket with them and piled on the downed branches. 'This should be enough to see us through the rest of this night.' said Carl as they pulled their findings back to the fire.

He started a large pan of water heating, and when it had come to a boil, he made tea and passed it round to the companions, many of them shivering not from the cold but from the after effects of the attack.

Branda was sitting on the back of the wagon, Tomba asleep beside him, head on the older Hobbit's leg. Carl handed the weary healer a cup of steaming tea, and offered to watch over Daisy, Hal, and Robin while he stretched his legs a bit . . .

[ January 24, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Nurumaiel]

Dinodas smiled back at her. "I can't stay long," he said, sitting down. "Branda may need my help once again caring for the injured."

He took one of the sweet flowers from Dafodyl's hands. "Snowbell," he said softly. "It's so beautiful..." He turned to look at Dafodyl, a sad expression in his eyes. "We're all going to miss Celandine," he said. "Even though none of us spoke very much, we still became friends by just being around each other. But she's happier now than she's ever been, and though we'll miss her, we should not mourn overmuch for her. She's in peace, and she's happy."

"But who will go next?" asked Dafodyl, tears suddenly springing to her eyes again.

"No one," said Dinodas. "Or, at least, I hope not. I'll do my best to keep us all safe. Though," he said with a little grin, "I'm not the leader, I feel it my duty as a man to look after you girls. And I can begin with you. That gash really needs some treating."

"It's not that serious," Dafodyl protested.

"Any wound can be serious when it's brought by a wild animal," said Dinodas. "Come on over to Branda and I'll treat it for you, and then see what I can do to help him."

[piosenniel]

He rubbed his hand across his eyes, breathing deeply. His face was drawn, grimed with sweat and dirt and the blood of the dying Wolves he had dragged to the fire. So tired, he thought, and still so far to go.

Bullroarer shifted his weight on the rock he sat on and looked up as Carl offered him a mug of tea. He nodded gratefully as the man walked on. The feel of the warm mug was a welcome relief against the chill in his fingers. A few sips of the fragrant liquid lifted his spirits as well.

He hoisted himself off the rock and walked stiffly to the wagon. The injured Hobbits were sleeping, warm beneath their blankets. So pale and fragile they looked, these little warriors. Bullroarer looked West and sent a small plea. 'Let them heal quickly, in body and spirit.'

The Took paused near Daisy and brushed the side of her face with his hand. 'Come on, girl! You and I still have some snares to set and some hunting to do. Got to keep this hungry band fed!'

Gaddy was standing between Daisy and Hal, griefstricken at the sight of them. His eyes puddled with tears, obscuring his sight. Bullroarer tapped him on the arm, drawing his attention to the two. 'Look, Gaddy!'

Daisy stirred beneath her blankets, her eyes fluttering open . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

Branda sat quietly on the back of the wagon with Tomba's head nestled on his knee and his own legs dangling outside. He was bone-tired and his heart weary beyond belief.

For Celendine, he'd been able to do nothing. He needed to speak with Bullroarer about proper treatment for the sparse remains that were left after the wargs' attack. There was no question of sending what remained back to the Shire. They were too far away to think of that as an option, and, more importantly, the family would not be consoled to see how the girl had died. Perhaps, they might burn the remains, and scatter them over the land, or take the ashes back to her home town in one of the golden urns that Autumn had taken from the Barrows with thoughts of giving it to the Elves. He would speak to Bullroarer and leave the decision to him.

In any case, it was Celendine he missed, her soul or fea. The body was a simple case to hold it. The remains needed to be treated with respect, but whether the ashes were scattered here where they stood or taken back to the Shire was a secondary matter.

One thing was certain. They needed to get on the road again as quickly as possible. The wargs were still enjoying their full bellies, especially with their attack on his pony. They needed to take advantage of that little respite. Still, the companions should stop for a moment to remember Celendine about the campfire, to talk about the girl and how they would miss her, and let the wounded have a few hours of rest before pushing on.

There was one other thing Branda resolved to discuss with Bullroarer. He was very certain of one thing. Although no other hobbit had died in the attack, many had been sorely wounded. There was no way they could possible beat off another attack by the wargs, even if it was only two or three. If that happened, they would all perish here in the wastelands, and no food would get through to the Shire.

There must be another way to deal with this, he thought. At first Branda had hated the beasts with a passion, for their cruel attacks and dark ways. Yet, part of him couldn't help thinking....I also attack and kill beasts to feed myself....does that make me evil too? We killed the baby wolflings. Does that make me a tool of the shadow? What Man or Hobbit wouldn't be angry if they found themselves in a similar situation where a creature attacked a young child, even if that child was flailing out at him?
All these questions made his head spin.

Branda wasn't sure whether wargs were like Orcs, who seemed to be helplessly mired in the shadow with no chance of escape. Or maybe they were more like a type of giant wolf, who would stick to their packs and not bother Man as long as they could get enough to fill their bellies.

For one minute Branda formed an amusing picture in his mind, seeing himself laying out food for the wargs to keep their bellies full and their minds off of tasty hobbits, much as he himself brought hay to his ponies. Stop being ridiculous, he berated himself. We can barely find enough food to feed ourselves. How would we ever come up with provisions for such large beasts, even if they would take it and leave us alone? His ideas seemed so ridiculous that he vowed to keep them to himself, and not say anything to Bullroarer, other than pointing to the fact that the hobbits could not possibly survive any further warg attacks.

[ January 24, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Bullroarer walked round to where Branda still sat. The healer had declined the offer of Carl, choosing to stay close to his charges. ‘The weather will hold for us for another few days.’ said Bullroarer, glancing up toward the cloudless sky. ‘Can we get the companions on the road by tomorrow? Will those who are sorely hurt be alright to ride along in the wagon?’

Branda brought up the subject of Celandine, and Bullroarer sighed deeply. ‘Another one gone.’ He looked about at the weary circle of Hobbits. ‘We can’t take her back. We must go on and soon to Rivendell.’ His brow furrowed as he glanced into the darkness beneath the trees. ‘And I don’t relish the thought of leaving her for the Wargs.’

He called Carl, Lotho and Giles over to him. ‘Build up a fitting pyre for our fallen companion. Dafodyl, Gaddy, and Dinodas – you give them a hand. Make it far away from that other pile.’ He pointed toward the burning Wolf carcasses ‘Put one of the pitchy brands in it so it will burn hot and clean. When it’s done we’ll lay our friend’s body to rest.’

Bullroarer gently laid Celandine’s blanket wrapped body on the platform of the branches. The Hobbit’s gathered round, and a hush fell on them as Bullroarer lit the wood. Each of them spoke a few words in their hearts to her as the flames burned bright, and some threw small white flowers into the pyre, watching them float up on the heated currents and then burst into flame.

Once they were done, and the flames had burned down a little, Bullroarer bade them all move in close to the fire to sleep as best they could. Tomorrow they would once again be on the road, going East.

Branda was just taking a final look at the three in the wagon when Bullroarer pulled him aside for a whispered conference. ‘I fear that the Wargs will not be held off long, even by one fat Shire pony. We must come up with some plan to get by them safely.’ He looked closely at the healer. ‘I am at a loss at the moment. All the ideas I have churning in my mind don’t seem to work out well for us as I follow them to their end. We’re tired, and injured, and dispirited by the loss of another companion. Is there anything you can think of that we might do to give us a safer passage?’

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Giles bowed thanks as Carl handed him a cup of tea, cupping the cup within benumbed fingers. Indeed, Giles was one who shivered with cold, for the warg had torn his wool cloak to shreds. The resulting brown unravelled knotted yarn of rags and ribbons was completely unsalvageable as a garment. Nothing else he had could match or fully replace his cloak in terms of warmth and comfort. The best Giles could do was rummage around for spare clothes in a sack he'd slung on Puddlejump the Pony. At last he fetched an extra sweater and a loose-fitting blue Dwarven hood that flopped about in the breeze . If the mood hadn't been so subdued on account of Celandine's death, his fellow hobbits would surely have laughed merrily, pointed, and called him "Giles Bluehead" or the like. As it was, one or two smiled faintly with their eyes while maintaining a proper air of respect for their fallen companion. *

* Giles battle against the warg he'd leapt up onto had ended with the creature flicking its head, flinging Giles onto the ground, and retreating towards the woods after a runaway pony. The cloak, as mentioned, was lost. His beloved pepper shaker, gone missing. Fortunately, he'd been able to recover his round metal barrow shield. *

* Giles had been glad when Bullroarer gave him a part in the task of toting wood and building the pyre for Celandine, along with Carl and Lotho. Fighting the wargs, he'd felt, wouldn't bring Celandine back. In the midst of the business of defending himself and everyone left in camp, in the midst of reminding himself that they had to defeat the wargs if they were ever going to return with food for a hungry Shire, "but Celandine ... " he held the thought carefully, like holding his breath, as though to forget her in the heat of battle would be to do her further harm. Giles was glad he hadn't been present to witness the first death that had befallen his group. He hoped against hope not to witness any more. *

[Calenedheliel]

Daisy slowly opened her eyes and tried to move. She was hurting all over and it took a few minutes for her to remember what had happened. She looked up and saw that Gaddy was watching her with so much pain, sorrow, and concern in his eyes.

“Gaddy” she whispered. “Who else is hurt and am I going to be okay?” she continued. Gaddy moved over a little and Daisy saw that Hal was also hurt, as well as Robin. Daisy started to cry and reached for Gaddy to hold him for her comfort as well as his. He really looked like he needed it more than she did.

Daisy tried to close her eyes to go to sleep but the images of the wargs come after them kept creeping into her mind and would not let her forget. Suddenly she remembered that she and the others may have been injured but Celandine had been brutally killed by the wargs. The thought brought tears to her eyes again.

Slowly the pain started to make Daisy weary. She closed her eyes to get some rest because she had overheard some talk about getting back on the road in the morning and she wanted to be well rested for it would be a long day.

[dragoneyes]

Gaddy let Daisy go back to sleep. His bout with the warg had ended with the warg running, though not because of Gaddy. Gaddy could remember clearly the mocking in the warg's eyes, asking why something so small should dare go against it. Gaddy had tried not to cry, and had succeeded so far, it wouldn't help anything if he cried. Instead, he thought of anything but what was going to happen to them all. His thoughts travelled back to happier times at home, but the picture of his thinning family and bare larder kept interfering.

He thought then of Celandine, he had never got to properly know her but her loss would still be felt. He didn't know Robin all too well either, he now made sure that he would speak to her more. From there his mind roamed to Daisy, he'd been told she'd be fine, his heart had been made lighter when she'd woken up and he believed that she was going to be alright.

Finally, he thought about Hal, never before had he seen him look so helpless, even when he'd had his head trapped between the cartwheel and the kerb, it'd been him who told Gaddy what to do. Gaddy looked back at him, his face so pale in the firelight, scenes of the fight flashed before his eyes, when he'd first noticed that Hal was being attacked and not been able to do anything. He shook his head, he didn't want to think about that now.

If Hal had been awake, he would've been comforting him now, but he wasn't and everyone else looked busy, he didn't want to interrupt them, they were doing more important things. Gaddy felt alone, he wanted to sleep but he also wanted to be there if Hal woke up. Gaddy gave up on holding back the tears, he sat down and rested his head on his arms, letting the tears silently run down his cheeks and drop onto the snow.

[ January 25, 2003: Message edited by: dragoneyes ]