ROHAN RPG - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

***Gilthalion*** · 07-29-2001, 05:51 PM

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A cry went up from the sentry, riding the perimeter of the camp. It was only a horse. But it was Elfola, the horse of Elfshild, an unusually courageous and intelligent mount, well loved by his master. But now the horse was riderless and fatally injured, barely on his hooves. His heaving sides were thick with lather. His bleeding flanks were torn, almost shredded.

Crowds of staring riders looked on in stunned silence as the brave steed stumbled into the center of the camp. Tears came freely and without shame to the eyes of more than one rider as the dying horse came at last to a stop before Theodred himself. There, at the feet of the son of Theoden, the noble beast collapsed and breathed his last ragged breath.

Theodred's eyes were bright with the dew of compassion and no heart in the camp was unstirred by the final effort of the horse, spending his last strength to reach the master of his master. Theodred bid that a small mound be raised over Elfola beyond the edge of camp, near where the horses were pastured.

It was remarked by many in the camp that it looked as if the horse had been attacked by wolves. But his body had also been marked by weapons, and this set a puzzle for the Riders. Neither Elfshild nor Deomund, who was with him, ever returned and the puzzle was never solved to anyone's satisfaction. But the Riders now felt sure that wolves and orcs had come farther south of the Misty Mountains than they ever had before and that neither Elfshild nor Deomund would be heard from again.

The young son of Theoden King had come to inspect the camp that fateful day. He had become concerned, as had much of the Mark, that all was not well to the west. Now he was certain that something was not right. Theodred was a very young man, too young and untested for the burden his shoulders carried. But the old knights of the Mark supported him, the more so since his great father now rarely left Meduseld. The young man took his duties seriously, and none doubted his courage or his skill. He stood dry-eyed as a singer sang a song to honor the horse and his rider and all those who never return. If any Riders still doubted his fitness to lead, none in that camp did after his words to them, said over the mound of Elfola that night.

Theodred poured a few drops of wine from a golden cup on the burial mound, and all of the Riders did the same from their cups where they stood, gathered in a great circle, rank upon rank, around the son of their king. Then they turned to hear his words:

"Hear me, Eorlingas!

"Let all who see this mound know that this day we saw with our own eyes that there are enemies of the Mark who grow bolder than the day before. And we saw that our great friendship with the foals of the Mearas is rewarded with devotion beyond measure.

"Let all who see this mound know that the Riders of Rohan will ever strive to earn that devotion with the courage and loyalty it deserves. Gone now are the days of peace and games. See we now the wisdom of Theoden King, who prepared the Riders, bringing back the old ways, making us ready to ride against such a day as this.

"I have not seen as many winters as some of you. Yet I can ride and wield spear and bow and sword. Soon, the weapons of the Mark will know targets other than the practice of the field. The weapons of Elfshild and Deomund already have, let no one doubt, for they were brave men and true. We shall ride together in the years to come, for my heart tells me that the days of Rohan's peril is upon us. My heart tells me that many of us shall meet our doom.

"The House of Eorl shall not shirk such risk! Whatever befalls us, I will share your fate. My father still hears my words, and he has bid me inspect the defenses of the Mark and order things as I would. Let it not be said that the Riders of Theoden ever followed orders far from the site of battle. And if things are as they seem to me, then I will order many of you to your deaths, as died Elffola here. But your risk shall be mine as well, and there are worse fates than to die in service to save the land your longfathers bought with their blood.

"The Dunlendings are grown hostile! Orcs and wolves prowl far from their haunts! Emissaries with fair-seeming words make demands on our King. There are dark rumours on all our borders! And our horses are coveted by the Dark Lord of Mordor.

"But let those who think to prey on Rohan know that they will not find the Riders of the Mark craven! As long as I live and you will serve your king, our courage will keep Rohan free!"

The riders all cheered as Theodred raised high his cup over the burial mound of the noble steed and then they all drained their cups as one.

<center> ~~~</center>

Now weeks later, Theodred was in another part of Rohan and the Riders of the camp continued their vigil until he returned with greater numbers.

A handful of riders, from under cover of a rocky outcrop near the fords of the River Isen, have seen Grima Wormtongue on the road from Isengard. They challenged his going, but could not gainsay his passage, bearing as he did words from their king to the wizard who was lord there. But they decided to watch for when he returned.

As they watched from concealment, Grima met briefly with some men on the other side of the Isen. He then crossed into Rohan and continued on his way. No one observed the watching riders. But they were too far away to hear what Grima said to the men.

"Men from where, I'd like to know," said one of them. "Reminded me of orcs somehow."

"You've never seen an orc!" said another.

"I've heard enough about them from the old timers," replied the first. "And they just reminded me of what I've heard told."

"We'll see enough of them soon enough, if young Theodred is right," said a third Rider. "So what should we do now?"

The riders had often enough seen Wormtongue traveling between Isengard and Meduseld, sent by Theoden King to Saruman the White. It was whispered that Wormtongue secretly worked for the wizard, and that the dwimmer crafty old man in Isengard was no true friend of the Rohirrim. So who was Grima talking to, and what were they talking about?

Their captain had ordered them to return directly to the camp after their watch and not to take any unnecessary risks. Their relief would soon arrive. The riders debated their options. No good detaining Wormtongue. He'd never talk, and Theoden believed too much of what that man said. Sending back to camp for instructions would lose too much time. But they couldn't desert their post.

Finally, they decided to wait for their relief, tell them that they were going to track the strange men, and hope that the captain wasn't angry when and if they ever returned...

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 7/31/01 12:39:13 pm

Theodred21 · 07-31-2001, 09:08 AM

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Re: ROHAN RPG

One of the riders sat on the ground, with his back resting against a large rock. He scraped some mud off of his boots, then slowly lifted his head up, and looked toward the other riders. Most of them lay on their stomachs, still peering intently at the Fords, as if there was something far away that they wanted to make out. The rider sighed, and reached for a flask of water by his side, opened it, and gulped down a mouthful of water. He returned the flask to his side, and turned his head west. The sun was already sinking toward twilight.

"Hey 'Blacky,' stop wool-gathering," shouted one of the riders.

The rider sighed again, and crawled over to where the others were still watching the Fords. He slumped down next to another rider, who complained "I wish we were going back to camp Taradan, I'm starving"!

"We may ride many miles after our relief arrives," replied Taradan, the black-haired rider. "It may be late before we eat!"

"For my part," said another, "I think the sooner they get here the better!"

"Well the sooner they get here, the sooner we ride, and the sooner we catch them, the sooner we eat," said the first. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Why is it always about eating with you?" said the second.

Taradan let the two riders continue in conversation, as he drifted back into his own thoughts. He brushed back his long black hair, and smoothed out his old, grey cloak. He fingered a short daggar, that had beleonged to his father long ago. He stretched out his long legs, legs that stood him higher than the other Rohirrim. He was very much different than the others and the differences didn't stop with his long legs and his dark hair.

His mind was also thinking very different thoughts, because if his thinking was correct, there would be war soon. The disappearence of Elfshild and Deomund, the wounds on Elfola, now these strange Dunlendings (if Dunlendings they were) near the river. Theodred had it right, thought Taradan. It just smelled like war was brewing.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 7/31/01 12:50:30 pm

***Gilthalion*** · 08-02-2001, 12:57 PM

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Re: ROHAN RPG

Time passed slowly for the Riders as they watched the sun fall in the afternoon sky. Their relief was not late, but the men were eager to hit the trail of the strange men who had spoken to Theoden's unloved servant.

Taradan sighed, and looked west again. This time, the black-haired Rider's eyes were rewarded with the sight of them. They crossed the Ford, turned south and were soon lost in the rugged terrain down river. Taradan knew that it would be several minute before they arrived at the concealment, following a twisting way under the cover of the terrain not far from the banks of the Isen.

There were four of them, and three made ready to go. Dernwine, the oldest, was a family man and would return to camp. When their relief arrived, they told them what they had seen.

"With Wormtongue they spoke, and I liked not the looks of them," said the tallest of Taradan's three companions.

"Nor of Grima himself, either," added another.

"So we will follow. Dernwine will take word back to camp and tell them that we have gone east," said the tall one.

Taradan and the other two Riders of his shift gathered their gear. Thenamir, a dark mustached outland mercenary who had ridden in with the relief, picked his pack up again.

"I'm coming with you," he said.

"Suit yourself," said the tall Rider, who did not approve of Erkenbrand's decision to take this man into the ranks.

"May your horses soon return to their fields!" said Dernwine. "And don't let those outlanders do all the work!"

"Then tell these blond boys to keep up!" said Taradan.

The taller of the two straw-haired riders snorted.

<center> ~-~-~</center>

The riders made their way to where they kept their horses, watered them well, saddled them, and then rode out to follow the trail of the strange men into the territory of the Dunlendings. They wanted to find their camp for the night, watch them, if necessary capture one of them, but above all else, find out what Grima Wormtongue wanted with them.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/2/01 8:04:11 pm

Theodred21 · 08-02-2001, 01:34 PM

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Re: ROHAN RPG

The Fords shrunk behind the riders, as they distanced themselves from them. They rode in single file, with Taradan at the rear. His white mare Nimroch, winnied impatiently as if it wanted to speed ahead of the other horses for the joy of running. The riders ahead slowed their mounts to a gallop, and Taradan did so too. The horses trotted quitely along, the lead rider said loud enough for only the other riders to hear: "look, up ahead, a fire!"

"Is it the men?" asked Thenamir.

"I'm not sure," said the tall rider.

"Someone should go check it out" added the third. Instantly, all three heads turned to Taradan, who was known to be a better woodsman than most riders. "Hey 'Blackie!' Want to see what's going on over there?"

"Alright" said Taradan with a sigh, "I'll go! Stay here while I'm gone", and with that, Taradan dismounted and plunged into the overgrowth, to get a better look at the fire.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/2/01 8:07:48 pm

***Thenamir*** · 08-03-2001, 01:57 PM

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Re: ROHAN RPG

Thenamir jumped down from Windwight, his grey roan mount, and motioned to the other two to do likewise and stay low as Taradan crept off almost noiselessly into the overgrowth with a stealth even Thenamir thought he could not match, though he’d never had a low opinion of his own abilities. He was impatient for a closer look at these men and their associate, but he must bide his time yet and earn the trust of the others, especially Taradan, whose suspicion of Thenamir was unmistakable. It would be better for the moment to keep a low profile so as not to appear to be a cutthroat newcomer already vying for his superior’s job.

Thenamir clumsily tried to tie Windwight to a tree in the loose knot he had recently learned from the Rohirrim, which would keep the horse secured but which could be released quickly at need. The others, fluidly doing likewise from a lifetime of practice, chuckled quietly at his efforts. Thenamir pretended not to notice. He knew they meant no harm, but he intended to have a bit of fun at their expense nevertheless.

Finishing the knot, Thenamir reached into his pack for a couple of the special horse treats he occasionally made for Windwight out of oats and chaff, combined with enough honey to hold it together. He took a seat near the others who were already leaning on a convenient stone and digging in their own packs for a snack. Pretending to take a bite of one he handed the other to the taller one. “Try this,” he said with a mock full-mouth tone. “I make these for long journeys – they’re not bad.”

The flaxen-haired rider took the proffered horse treat suspiciously and sniffed it, then bit off a corner. “Mmm, “ he said, eyes brightening slightly, “this is pretty good.” The shorter rider, not to be left out of a good thing, said, “Hey, I’m the starving one!” before he broke off a piece from the unattended side of his partner’s goodie. With a full mouth he asked, “you’re not a bad cook after all, Thenamir. What’s in this?”

Thenamir could not restrain himself anymore. “It’s a special recipe I learned in Gondor…for horse treats...” was all he could get out before he started laughing, quietly but heartily, at the riders’ expressions as they realized they’d been had. Thenamir gave Windwight the unbitten treat in his hand while the aghast Rohirrim spat and rinsed and spat again. “It’s not really an insult mind you, “ Thenamir exhorted, “after all, who else but such fine horsemen could appreciate good horse chow?” He was about to launch another salvo (while they still could not speak) when Taradan silently reappeared in their clearing…

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/3/01 7:29:00 pm

Iulbahar · 08-04-2001, 11:00 AM

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Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

In a shady corner of the horse enclosure, Kalohern was grooming his horse and keeping a an anxious eye open for the return of his father, Dernwine, who was out with the scout party. The ugly colt nuzzled his shoulder absently as Kalohern worked away,trying to bring a sheen to the horse's rough coat.

Only Kalohern knew the colt's true ancestry; one night, as a boy of 12, he had been left to watch over the horse ranks but had nodded off, only to be awoken by the pounding of hooves as the mighty stallion, Kentavrion, leaped the wooden fence and disappeared into the darkness. Following the hoof prints with a sinking heart, Kalohern had finally tracked the great horse to where he stood quietly, nose to nose with Dernwine's humble old brood mare and had been able to return him to his pasture before anyone learned of his escape.

In his secret heart, Kalhern had given the colt the name Telefax, knowing him to be of the great line of Meordas and half brother to the mighty Shadowfax, but he realised that to reveal the truth would result in his receiving such a whipping that he would not sit a horse for many months.

Unfortunately, 3 years later, Telefax appeared to have inherited few of the favourable characteristics of his illustrious forebears; his clumsy head made a jarring contrast with his staring ribs, bony quarters and dull black coat. Nevertheless, Kalohern loved him dearly with the affection that only one plain, gawky creature can feel for another and truly believed that, given the right care and training, the horse would one day achieve his true potential and they would ride together for the glory of the Mark.

Kalohern was jerked sharply from his reverie by a sneering guffaw. "Still wasting your time on that old nag? I don't know who is uglier, you or Ox-head there!"

Guthrin strode arrogantly into the yard, his rich clothes and gleaming boots bearing witness to his exalted status as the son of one of the Mark's most prominent captains. He barked an order and another stable lad deferentially led out his fine steed, saddled in readiness.

Telefax flinched and laid his ears back as Guthrin derisively poked him in the ribs with his leather whip. "Still they say hard times are coming and the Lord of the Mark may yet need flesh for his hounds....."

Kalohern moved swiftly and silently, unseen by Guthrin who was busy venting his spite on the defenceless Telefax. Gathering his reins with a flourish, Guthrin put his foot in the ornate stirrup iron and heaved himself heavily onto his prancing steed, only to utter a violent stream of curses as the fine saddle, its girth strap loosened, slipped around the horse's belly and deposited him on the ground in a cloud of dust. Trying to retain his dignity, Guthrin scrambled to his feet, tightened the girth with a savage tug and, leaping into the saddle, galloped off, throwing a shower of dried earth and dung over the two stable lads.

Kalohern's companion winked at him, "You'd have thought one chosen to ride for the Mark would remember to check his saddle before he sets off!"

Shrugging, Kalohern began to massage Telefax with a wisp of damp plaited hay to tone up his scrawny muscles. Placing on the horse a headcollar of untreated hide and an old sheepskin in lieu of a saddle, he vaulted nimbly onto the horse's back and giving him his head trotted out of the yard. He ignored the concealed sniggers as he passed through the camp and once on to open grassland squeezed the horse's flanks lightly with his calves. At once he felt the answering surge of power, as boy and horse instantly melded into one being, intent only on the forward rush into the welcoming wind.

The wail of horns caused Kalohern to pull Telefax to a sliding halt on lowered haunches as he saw his father, Dernwine, approaching the camp. Drawing nearer, he saw his father dismount and, tossing the reins to a groom, hurry to the tent of Erkenbrand, the man young Theoden had left in charge of the new camp. He was returning from the Fords of the Isen, where Riders had been watching to learn what they could from such traffic as there was in these darkening times.

Kalohern hoped his father would tell him more, but knew better than to ask.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/5/01 9:06:32 am

***Gilthalion*** · 08-04-2001, 04:35 PM

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What Taradan Saw...

The black haired rider crept as quietly as he could to where the strange men had made camp. Their language seemed uncouth as it came to his ears, filled with harsh words and sometimes animal like noices. Taradan crept closer.

He saw them sitting around the fire sharing a dinner carved from a goat they had been roasting. They were rude and noisy. Each of them was armed with a spear. Two or three of the dozen had swords. The rest may have had some short blades or long knives handy, for quiet a few were employed in the dismemberment of the goat.

There may have been bows present as well. There were no sentries that Taradan could see, and all the attention of the crude camp was on the goat and who could get what of it.

The black-haired rider had no idea what was being said in their speech. But they seemed nasty enough. Most of them were bronzed from a life spent out of doors, but some were sallow in complexion, and had squinting leering eyes.

Taradan decided to return. He saw that his own comrades were no more alert than the strange men he had seen. He came silently into the camp and surprised them, arguing over horse treats, such as were made for Gondor's stables.

He looked suspiciously at Thenamir, and then told them all of what he had seen.

</p>

Theodred21 · 08-05-2001, 08:24 AM

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Pay Attention!

As Taradan finished describing the enemy camp to his fellow riders, told of their language, which was strange to his ears, and then said what he thought of their own watchfulness.

"You could keep better watch!" he said.

The riders looked down guiltily. Taradan brushed back his jet black hair, and listened as the blond riders agreed that the men must have been Dunlenders. But none of the four quite knew what to make of the sallow-skinned, slant-eyed fellows. The conversation turned to their next move.

"So what will we do?" asked Thenamir.

"How about we come in from all sides and ambush them" said the shortest rider.

"That can't work!" said Thenamir, "There are too many of them for that!"

"Finally you show some intelligence, Gondorian" said Taradan his voice still cold.

Thenamir gave a cold look back. "Well 'Blacky'," Thenamir retorted, "do you have a plan?"

For the first time that night, Taradan smiled. "Actually, I do..."

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/6/01 12:05:51 pm

***Thenamir*** · 08-06-2001, 12:26 PM

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Re: Pay Attention!

Thenamir went ashen as he caught Taradan’s stare, withering and accusing, and realized he should have been intent on their safety and possible threats. No matter how rustic they seemed, a reconaissance was not a time for practical jokes -- he was not proving himself very well. Had Taradan been one of the enemy, they would have been caught flat-footed, and probably would be dead or captured. He hung his head as Taradan explained what he had seen in his sortie.

He looked up, though, as Taradan described the camp and the men he’d seen. A smouldering fire rekindled in his eyes – the description sounded too much like his memory of his dead wife’s attackers. He tried not to look overeager as the black-haired rider said that he had a plan. But he could not help but have his say.

“It sounds like an opportune time to catch one of them unawares and find out their purposes,” Thenamir mused aloud.

Taradan rounded on Thenamir. “You just said there are too many of them for that.”

Thenamir dismissed the venom. “I’m not suggesting a frontal assault. They have laid their weapons aside and are distracted roasting and eating that goat. They believe themselves to be safe and secure -- no watch. Surely with stealth, a good plan, and a bit of luck, one separated from the others can be captured, either now while they are full and dull of wit, or when they fall asleep.” Thenamir turned to the other two who noncommitally watched the interplay between the outlanders. “What do you think?” he asked them with a raised eyebrow.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/6/01 9:27:14 pm

***Gilthalion*** · 08-06-2001, 07:42 PM

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Re: Pay Attention!

"Let us hear what 'Blackie' has to say," said the taller of the two flaxen-haired Riders, gesturing at Taradan. "But I say we have to find out what they are doing."

"But if we do," said the other, "and word gets back to Grima that Riders of Rohan kidnapped and questioned one of these folk, then Erkenbrand might not be able to protect us from Wormtongue's malice."

The tall one spat. "I care that for the malice of Grima Wormtongue. But why borrow trouble? Perhaps there is a way that they will not know that the questioning was done by Riders."

"You mean besides killing whoever we capture?" said the shorter one. "It would probably serve them right!"

"We can't do that to some fellow who might not deserve it and you know it," replied the tall one.

"Aye. But my heart tells me they do deserve it! Elfshild and Deomund received no such mercy!" retorted the short one. "But that means we have to blindfold him at the least."

"What do you say, 'Blackie?'" asked the tall one. "Can you improve on Thenamir's plan? Can we catch one and blindfold him before he sees four Riders of Rohan?"

</p>

Theodred21 · 08-09-2001, 08:52 AM

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Capturing a Wild Man!

"Well, maybe we can" said Taradan, unsurely. "Now that I look at it, it is a good idea! Very well then, we shall try to capture one of those men, interrogate him, and if Master Wormtongue is preparing something of malice, he and his men shall feel the wrath of the Riders of Rohan, King's counsellor or not!"

The four riders all settled on Thenamir's scheme, to find out what they were up to first, and stop them if necessary! Once again Taradan took charge, strategizing the best ways to approach the camp, and slip one of those men right from under the noses of the rest of them!

It was decided that the shorter rider would stay behind and guard the horses, while the taller rider, Thenamir and Taradan, went to the enemy camp. Taradan decided that they must first camoflauge all of their equipment, and horses, before they left, in case a sneaky enemy scout was probing around.

As they were leading the reluctant horses into the concealment of the trees, Taradan said to Thenamir, "Good call Gondorian!" Thenamir nodded in return, then started as if he realized something, but said nothing.

Once everything was hidden, the shorter rider bade them good luck, and the three men plunged into the forest!

As they slowly plodded through the undergrowth, Taradan noticed the taller rider having trouble, getting through the tangle of vegetation. Thenamir moved quietly with a barely audible rustle, but the taller rider was not an experienced woodsmen, spending more of his time on horse training than woodlore. As they neared the camp, they could see the bonfire's orange glow, already starting to fade. At that moment the taller rider tripped over a root, and fell clumsily to the ground. Taradan tensely paused, and listened to see if anyone had noticed, then lifted the blond rider to his feet.

"Sorry about that" said the taller rider, and they moved closer to the camp.

As they approach the fringe of the woods, Taradan beckoned them to drop to their knees, then their stomachs. Taradan's sharp eyes scanned the encampment, looking for any Wild Men standing away from the rest, but sadly, all of the Dunlendings were crowded around the fire, now eating the goat that they saw roasting earlier.

"We'll have to wait here for a while" Taradan whispered to Thenamir.

After a few minutes, Taradan saw the fire, which had now burned low. One of the men lying near by, turned, and then sat up, and then wandered sleepily into the forest.

"He's had a bit more to drink than his bladder wanted!" said Thenamir.

"Now is our chance," said Taradan.

The Dunlending walked slowly in their direction...

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/9/01 11:33:10 am

Iulbahar · 08-12-2001, 02:21 AM

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Re: A Ride in the Dark

Kalohern dismounted and, leading Telefax, fell in behind his father as he emerged from Erkenbrand's tent. Dernwine's severe countenance suggested that something serious had occurred but Kalohern knew that to ask would only result in his being sent back to the stables in disgrace.
At that moment Erkenbrand appeared and blowing his great silver worked horn, summoned the riders around him.
"Strangers have been sighted in the forest on our western borders. We need to send three of our most fearless to aid our men, should it come to a scirmish."
Many riders at once threw their gauntlets into the circle around the campfire, as was the custom when volunteering for battle. Among them were those of Dernwine and Guthrin, who tossed in his embossed glove with an arrogant swagger.
"Dernwine, you have ridden far today and your horse is spent. Rest now, and we shall have need of you ere long, I think."
Erkenbrand selected two of the most experienced and valiant riders by taking up their gauntlets and returning them face up to their owners. He considered for a moment.
"And you, Guthrin, son of Grimbourne, the time has come for you to prove your merit."
Guthrin retrieved the proffered glove with a self satisfied smirk. Erkenbrand gave orders for the horses to be brought out and light provisions were rapidly prepared.
"You will ride under cover of darkness. Turn aside for no man unless the need is great. Find our scouts and render them such support and aid as may be needed."
The chosen three quickly mounted their horses and quietly slipped away into the shadows cast by the great campfire. Those remaining in camp settled down to chew over their roast venison and along with it the speculation as to what these tidings might bode for the future.
Kalohern led Telefax away from the campfire and out into the night. His father was seated in the fire's glow, a welcome horn of wine helping to ease his weary bones. The call of a night bird caused Telefax to prick his ears and stir to alertness. All at once, Kalohern caught on the night breeze the pungent and tantalising aroma of the pine forest. Seized by a sudden strange impulse and barely aware of his actions, he slid onto Telefax's back and turned the horse's head to follow the track of the departing warriors.

</p>

***Gilthalion*** · 08-12-2001, 06:34 PM

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Captured!

Taladan and Thenamir, with greater woodscraft, and darker hair that might not be traced back to Rohan, slipped up quietly, and before the sleepy Dunlender knew what had happened, the butt of a sword crashed across the back of his head and he fell forward unconcious.

The dark-haired riders took their captive back to where their blond friends Gurthden and Baranthol were waiting. When he came to, they would have many questions for him.

Little did they know that other eyes were watching him for there were some among the Dunlenders that did not trust the straw-haired Riders of Rohan and kept watch even when it had not been ordered...

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/14/01 8:25:05 pm

SteadfastSam · 08-12-2001, 06:39 PM

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Posts: 506</TD><TD><img src=http://www.lordoftherings.net/images/ca_sasti.jpg WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE>
Re: A Ride in the Dark

Ulfwine stared thoughtfully into the fire, a little apart from his rowdy companions. It crackled cheerily, warming the Dunlending's mind and spirit. He threw a small stick in, causing it to blaze, and pondered the recent events. He didn't like the mission he had been ordered on, whatever the Chiefs had said about the Riders of Rohan. He liked the wizard, Saruman, even less. He spat into the fire and stood up, stretching. He walked over to to his leader.

"Don't you think we should send out patrols? We are near the lands of Rohan."

The burly leader laughed and thumped him on the back. "Ahh, you young recruits! So unsure of yourself! Those Strawheads won't dare to attack us after nightfall! Now get some rest, if you aren't hingry! There is a lot of work tomorrow!"

Slightly reassured, but cautious nonetheless, Ulfwine curled up by his pack and tried to sleep.

*****

He awoke, hours later, after having disturbing dreams. He yawned and stood up, then started into the woods to empty his system of the large amounts of ale he had drunk the night before. He had the beginnings of a terrible headache, and stumbled through the undergrowth, tripping over prostrate, and snoring, bodies. Soon he was (by all appearances) alone. He didn't see or hear the shadowy figures approaching him from behind.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000054>Steadfas tSam</A> at: 8/14/01 11:13:19 am

***Thenamir*** · 08-14-2001, 08:50 AM

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Posts: 9</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
An unfortunate Dunlending

Thenamir silently put on his night-black helmet, pulled down low over his face but not so far as to obscure his vision, as Ulfwine stumbled towards the trio. Using hand signals, Taradan directed Thenamir to distract the hapless Dunlending from the right, while Taradan moved left to drop him from the opposite side. Gurthden, the tall rider, watched with a blindfold in one hand and his sword hilt in the other as Thenamir and Taradan readied themselves into position.

The Dunlending walked past the well-hidden warriors, stopped about ten feet short of Gurthden, and emptied his painfully swollen bladder (well clear of Gurthden, much to his own relief). He had just finished righting his rough clothing when Thenamir unsheathed his sword with an unnecessarily loud clang. The Dunlending, still tipsy but instantly alert turned immediately in that direction. At exactly that moment, Taradan rose without a sound from his cover and crashed the hilt of his sword down upon the head of the unfortunate Dunlending who swayed only a moment before collapsing.

Taradan caught him as he fell and set him gently to the ground, avoiding noise that might be investigated by the others. Thenamir and Gurthden quietly rushed up, Thenamir securely roping the hands behind him, Gurthden expertly handling the blindfold. Taradan’s keen eyes scouted the area, but could discover no evidence that they had been detected. Thenamir hoisted the limp Ulfwine none too gently over one shoulder and signalled ready to move out. Taradan led, attempting to make a quick but quiet path for the others to follow, and Gurthden followed behind as rear lookout.

The shorter rider, Baranthôl, breathed an audible sigh of relief as the trio came into view with their prize. Thenamir set Ulfwine sitting upright with his back against the rock. Taradan opened his water-skin and dashed cold water into the face of the unconscious Dunlending while Thenamir by prior agreement kneeled near, knife at the ready. Ulfwine came to with a start, but Thenamir held him down and pressed the point of the knife to his throat.

“See ‘ere now,” said Thenamir in a near-flawless rustic accent, “you be out of earshot of your friends, still havin’ a nice nap. You just sit ‘ere nice and quiet-like, and you won’t have to feel how deep me blade can go, there’s a good lad.” The Dunlending struggled only a moment before he felt a trickle of blood winding down the side of his neck. Ulfwine went limp. “You see,” said Thenamir to the others, “told ya he’d be a smart one.” They murmured assent, smiling faintly.

“Who are you?” Ulfwine demanded. “Ah, now, you’ll not be askin’ the questions today,” Thenamir continued in his ridiculous accent, “you’ll be answerin’ them – like first, you be tellin’ us just who you be, and what you and yer friends back there be doin’ a-traipsin’ in these parts?”

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000209>Thenamir </A> at: 8/16/01 9:02:32 am

Theodred21 · 08-14-2001, 07:14 PM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Phantom Rider
Posts: 1170</TD><TD><img src=http://www.jrrtolkien.org.uk/Graphics/Buttons/torch.gif WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE>
Re: An unfortunate Dunlending

Taradan, smiled as he listened to the Gondorian, frightening the Dunlending with his silly accent. As Thenamir tried to scare the Dunlending into talking, he walked over to where the horses were tied, and fed Nimroch one of Thenamir's horse treats. He glanced around nervously, something did not feel right. He had a strange feeling that he was being watched. Unlike the others, he had a foreboding feeling that there had been witnesses to their capture. He knew that they were not safe, and they had to move to a safer place quickly. But was it just a feeling, or were they in life threatening trouble. He wondered if he should voice his opinion to the others. He decided he would. As he crept back to their little camp, he heard Thenamir still interrogating the horror-stricken Dunlending. he decided not to break up Thenamir's fun, and wait. But that decision might have turned out a mistake...

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000011>Theodred 21</A>  <IMG HEIGHT=10 WIDTH=10 SRC=http://www.ezboard.com/ezgfx/gicons/white_fire.gif BORDER=0> at: 8/25/01 9:45:35 am

SteadfastSam · 08-14-2001, 08:14 PM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Ghost-Prince of Cardolan
Posts: 511</TD><TD><img src=http://www.lordoftherings.net/images/ca_sasti.jpg WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE>
Re: An unfortunate Dunlending

Ulfwine was no coward, and at first thought of fighting back. Unbeknownst to his captors, his blindfold had slipped, and he could clearly see them. He quickly started to think of a plan of escaping and returning to camp. Then he remembered his chief's words, mocking his caution and setting him up to be the fool. He bitterly answered the stranger.

"I am Ulfwine of Dunland, following my chief, who is in the service of the Wizard, Saruman. My chief's name is Borleg, and he is a fool. He believes he is safe, and yet here you are, right outside the camp!" He glanced, first at one figure, then the next, and angrily continued. "I can only assume you are riders of Rohan, sent here to spy on our movements. I cannot tell you any more than what I have, because I am but a lowly scouter troop, not even fit for the main body. I assume you will kill me, to prevent my escape, and good riddance. I never wanted to fight in this war; I have no quarrel with Rohan! Now I will never see my home again, and the sooner you get on with it, the better. However, if you spare me, I swear on the home of my father that I will do anything I can to aid you."

One of the figures turned to the other and murmered "How good is the word of a Dunlending? I say kill him and be done. He is useless to us."

Ulfwine smiled grimly, and steeled himself to death. His mind drifted to the home of his youth, and to his family. Goodbye, my family, I will see you in the life after.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000054>Steadfas tSam</A> at: 8/15/01 4:25:36 pm

***Thenamir*** · 08-15-2001, 12:38 PM

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Posts: 12</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
A Pertinent Question

Thenamir’s expression softened a bit, but he continued to press the knifepoint. “’ere now, we’ll ‘ave no talk o’ killin’ just yet,” prattled Thenamir (a quick glance to Taradan saw him nodding his assent), “but we aims to get out of you all we can afore we decides what t’do with yer. You might be tellin’ true, and you might not. Even if you were, ‘ow could the likes of us trust the likes of you, what so easily turns traitor to ‘is own when there’s trouble about?”

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/17/01 12:30:00 pm

SteadfastSam · 08-19-2001, 02:23 PM

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Posts: 516</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
Re: A Pertinent Question

Ulfwine did not know how to answer the stranger's probing questions, at first. He was silent for a moment, as he thought about why he was so willing to betray his chief. He remembered back to the day, months ago, when Borleg had first appeared in his village, high in the hills of Dunland. He sighed and slowly began to speak.

"Many months ago, Borleg came to my home, and demanded that my father join him. He said there was to be a war, and that every man was needed. My father was old, yet hale, and a mighty warrior. He did not want to leave my mother and sisters though, and resisted. Borleg cut off both his thumbs as an example to others. He took me anyway. He said to my father as we rode off, "Let the coward's son do the fighting for him!" I hate him and the day that he was born! I have tried to be the best soldier that I could, to honor my father, but he treats me with disdain. "

Ulfwine struggled to stand, but was stilled by the knife at his throat. "And now it seems that I will be useless even to his enemies. I wish there is more I could tell you, but all I know is this; A man of Rohan is in league with Borleg. Indeed he has great authority, and favor with the Wizard. He is the one who ordered Borleg here, and he is the one you should watch for. He is called Ortheng in our language, " Cunning Tongue". There is aught else I can tell you of use, but I may be able to aid you, in other ways."

"What did Wormtongue want with him?" asked Thenamir.

"Something about a trip somewhere, some city of the elves. I didn't hear much else."

"You expect us to believe that!" Taradan grabbed Ulfwine roughly with both hands pulling at the prisoner's collar so that breathing became difficult. "A bunch of Dunlenders going to the Golden Wood where not even the bravest dare to go?"

"NO! Urgh! Not there!" Ulfwine struggled to speak and to breathe.

Thenamir said, "Let him talk." Taradan released him with a hard shove to the ground.

"Another city.... an old city.... ruins now... to the north," gasped Ulfwine.

"Why?" demanded Taradan.

"To get something for the wizard. To find something. I don't know what," said Ulfwine, raggedly. But I can help you follow them to it. It must be important."

"Do we need his help?" asked Taradan.

"Please! I want to! I know what villages will be safe for you. And I know the places you should avoid. You'll never follow them through my countryside without meeting more trouble than you can handle. You need a guide!" said Ulfwine.

"He may be right," said Thenamir.

As the four riders deliberated, hostile eyes watched them from seclusion. The hunters were also being hunted.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/20/01 7:49:25 pm

***Thenamir*** · 08-24-2001, 10:19 AM

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Posts: 13</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
Time for a Getaway

Ulfwine’s story reminded Thenamir of his own grief and loss at the hands of the Dunlendings. But here was a conundrum indeed: this man was a Dunlending himself – and the memory of his wife’s brutal death was still a raw wound in his mind – but one who also claimed to be a refugee from their brutality. An honorable Dunlending, Thenamir thought, wonders never cease. What next, polite and helpful trolls?

Thenamir looked at Taradan with a raised eyebrow, the implied question being, “you’re in charge – what now?” Taradan knitted his brow only for a moment before jerking his thumb towards the horses. Thenamir dropped the phony accent and put away the knife. “Don’t know what to do with you yet, but for the moment you’re coming with us,” said Thenamir in a low voice. “You can share a horse with Baranthôl,” Taradan said, “he’s the smallest.” Baranthôl grimaced, but understood.

“You’ll understand if we don’t untie you just yet,” Thenamir said with a half-smile. Ulfwine caught the hint of warmth in Thenamir’s voice, and nodded in return. Each of them thought they had found someone sympathetic to help with his own private war.

Thenamir and Gurthden helped settle Ulfwine side-saddle behind Baranthôl on the horse, then mounted up themselves. “Anything we need to know about ahead?” said Thenamir to Ulfwine, who pointed a path ahead. Thenamir was just about to rein Windwight around to follow when he detected a furtive movement in the brush ahead, and another in trees to his right. He whistled a shrill call to the others to warn them, but it was already too late…

</p>

Theodred21 · 08-25-2001, 07:44 AM

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Re: Time for a Getaway

Taradan and Gurthden were not even mounted yet when they heard Thenamir's whistle. A group of Dunlendings had just burst from the bushes. Their wild unkept hair hung in their eyes, and they howled a shrill cry, alerting everyone else in their camp. At first, Taradan was in shock, at their sudden assault, but then, his startled mind began to think again.
We must get out of here to avoid endangering ourselves thought Taradan. He sprang upon his horse Nimroch, and saw that Guthden had done the same. As he began to pull the reins, he noticed that the Dunlendings were too close. Too late he began to spur his mount. It happened very quickly, but it seemed in slow motion for him. His horse began to gallop slowly, the Dunlending club began to swing at him slowly, and his feet moved slowly as he tried to spur his startled horse. This is it he thought grimly, as the Dunlending club smashed into his skull. For a moment it felt as if his head was on fire, then his whole world went black....

</p>

***Thenamir*** · 09-10-2001, 10:49 AM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pile o' Bones
Posts: 15</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
No Way Out

Thenamir was only dimly aware that Taradan had fallen – his mind was fixed on selling the lives of himself and his comrades as dearly as he could, and trying to get one of them -– anyone -- away safely to get word back to Dernwine and the others. The attention they fixed on Taradan slowed the Dunlendings just a heartbeat – long enough for Thenamir to hastily assess the grim situation. He whistled for Gurthden and Baranthôl to rally their horses to him, being closest to the center of the quickly-tightening circle of attackers. In a single movement Thenamir again pulled out his knife and sliced Ulfwine’s bonds, then handed him the knife as the ropes fell away. There was no time to prepare any other plan, for the dark men were upon them.

There seemed to be over twenty of them, all the men in the camp they had been following. Thenamir’s mind tried to stay clear of the careless and vengeful anger that betrayed him before he left Gondor, and just hoped that there were no hidden reinforcements. Their horses had been well trained for this kind of battle – almost instinctively they each turned their hind hooves to the attackers. Quickly the four powerful beasts caught as many unsuspecting Dunlenders, kicking their hearts out through their spines and shattering their ribs. Their suddenly limp bodies sailed several feet thru the air and knocked down the attackers immediately behind them. There was a beat of stunned pause in their advance. Reflexively the Rohirrim, the turncoat Dunlending and the Gondorian took the tiny advantage, each raising a terrifying battle cry in his own tongue as they charged the dark warriors.

Ulfwine ducked under the heavy blow of a swung club and stabbed upwards with Thenamir’s longknife, piercing and opening the gut of one of his former comrades who fell to the ground with a thud, desperately trying to keep his innards from gushing out. Thenamir’s sword Aranbold sang with the bloodlust, taking opportunity wherever he could find it in the melee, dodging a club or a sword here, pricking a shoulder there, parrying a swordthrust with one hand and punching a jaw with the other. He felt a club come down on his helm, but it glanced off the rounded surface leaving a dent near his right ear. Even before his ears began ringing Aranbold swept round in the only clear shot he’d had since the battle began and severed a dark head which splattered red over friend and foe alike. Still, the blow staggered Thenamir, and he was unable to completely parry the next sword blow, which opened a nasty gash in his forearm.

As far as Thenamir could see, Gurthden and Baranthôl were back-to-back, both wounded and bloody, battling the enemy in Rohirrim fashion. One dead Dunlending lay nearby. That still left fourteen or fifteen attackers against the four of them, and the attackers were no longer rushing headlong at them but beginning to coordinate. The horses had now escaped, each with an arrow or two in the flanks – they would perhaps survive if tended soon enough. Thenamir mentally bid the mounts all speed, especially Windwight, who bore a hastily carved scrawl in the saddle that if found would identify their attackers. The Two Rohirrim roared anew at the craven attackers for the loss of their beloved horses, but Thenamir knew that no amount of valor on their part could save them now – it was just a matter of time before they too were caught or killed…

</p>

SteadfastSam · 09-10-2001, 03:12 PM

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Posts: 526</TD><TD><img src=http://www.lordoftherings.net/images/ca_sasti.jpg WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE>
The plot thickens

Ulfwine was shocked at the sudden attack of his own people. He had thought that no guard had been set! He turned, and saw the savage Dunlendings set upon the horsemen fiercely. One was already down with a blow to the head.

Ulfwine was suddenly freed of his bonds by Thenamir and given a knive. The Dunlender rolled defty off the horse and fell to the ground with a thump. He jumped up and called out to a nearby Dunlending. "Hi! Girthfrith!" The burly man turned for a moment and guffawed at Ulfwine.

"Got caught did you, young whelp? Borleg will want a word with you." He laughed again.

But Ulfwine had other plans. He struck the bigger man with lightning speed, cracking him squarely across the jaw. Girthfrith cursed and stumbled back, dropping his sword. Ulfwine snatched it up and quickly dispatched him. He then ran over to the fallen Rider, who was about to be spitted by a Dunlend spear. The other Riders were hard pressed and unable to help, and Ufwine arrived just in time to sever the spear-point from the shaft. The Dunlend quickly looked up and leered into Ulfwine's face. "Traitor!" He spat out as Ulfwine ran him through. He fell to the ground, and Ulfwine replied, "Tell that to my father, cur."

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 9/10/01 7:52:05 pm

Iulbahar · 09-13-2001, 12:29 AM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pile o' Bones
Posts: 19</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
Re: Reinforcements

Telefax's unshod hooves made little sound on the soft floor of the forest and it was easy to track the other riders provided Kalohern stayed some distance back. He fervently hoped Telefax would not betray his presence by calling to the other horses. At first his pursuit was made easier by the noise of Guthrin's loud and boastful account of his prowess as a warrior drifting through the trees ahead, but eventually the noncommittal grunts of the other more seasoned riders caused even Guthrin to fall silent.
Kalohern realised that the trail seemed to be leading westward, probably towards the River Isen, which marked Rohan's border with the realm of the mysterious enchanter Sarumen.
An unestimable period of time passed; the moon rose higher and Kalohern held Telefax back still furthur to avoid detection. Suddenly Telefax pricked up his ears and gave a soft whinny of recognition and Kalohern quickly slipped from the horse's back to silence the quivering nostrils with his hand. The rustling of dried bracken alerted him to a presence and a pale grey shape loomed out of the darkness.

With beating heart and a sharp sense of foreboding tearing at his gut, he realised that Telefax had recognised a stable companion; the grey roan steed belonging to a stranger who had recently joined the ranks of the riders. Kalohern saw that he was scarred and bloodstained as if from battle; the shaft of a strange arrow was buried in his left haunch and he limped painfully towards the other horse.
Gently taking hold of the horse's reins, he noticed that one stirrup was missing, and as he instinctively went to secure the remaining one to prevent the horse sustaining furthur injury his glance fell on a small scrap of parchment which was caught on the skirt of the saddle.
On closer scrutiny it bore a hastily scrawled rendering of the insignia of Dunland. What could it mean? The riders had obviously been attacked and had tried to send warning of some peril.
Grim faced, Kalohern remounted his horse and quickening his pace trotted in the direction that the others had taken. Suddenly he heard harsh cries and the clash of weapons; there was a dim glow ahead and the smell of woodsmoke as if from a smouldering campfire.
Emerging from the trees into a large clearing he saw that a deathly struggle was under way. In the centre the two warriors Gurthden and Baranthôl stood back to back, hard pressed and surrounded by what looked to be about a dozen swarthy and determined attackers. Another, Thenamir, was valiantly weilding his sword despite a bloody wound on his arm. The bodies of several of the foe were scattered underfoot and yet another rider, Taradan, lay as if dead, his helm dented from a severe blow.
The two approaching riders bellowed the battle cry of the Roherrim and leapt into the melee. One charged his horse at the swarm of dark faces surrounding Gurthden and Baranthôl and began to lay about them left and right with his sword. The other quickly sprang to the aid of the staggering Thenamir.
Aside from the furore, Guthrin sat astride his horse immobile, with a frozen expression of fear reminiscent of a cowardly child confronted by a ferocious dog. His sword dangled limply by his side as a whimper of terror escaped his gaping mouth.
Cursing, Kalohern gave a frenzied yell and as Telefax surged forward in answer he rode alongside and snatched Guthrin's sword from his palsied hand. Bearing the blade aloft he swept into the fray.

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000220>Iulbahar </A> at: 9/13/01 12:12:43 pm

***Thenamir*** · 09-13-2001, 02:11 PM

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Posts: 17</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
An Old Enemy

The only reason Thenamir was still standing at all was that the Dunlendings had acquired a new respect for, and a splattering of their associates’ blood from, his grim and terrible sword. The only reason Thenamir’s sword still remained in his hand was the fact that his hand was too cramped from exhaustion to release it.

Injured as he was, Thenamir allowed the bitter anger to spill over into his consciousness, anger at the loss of his family, and now his own life, at the hands of these filthy vermin. The emotion surged new strength into his arms and legs, and became a deadly, mithril-piercing glare in his eyes.

He took a rock in his free hand, and threw with wobbly aim, trying to goad the regrouping enemy into moving too soon and too fast. The missile nevertheless found it’s target, the head of a powerfully-built swarthy man who couldn’t duck quick enough. Thenamir heard what he thought was a howl of rage as his target turned and began running full-tilt at him, a bastard-sword at the ready, far larger and far heavier than Thenamir’s Aranbold -- but that was what he was counting on.

Just as the broadsword blade was about to cleave Thenamir’s helm (and head) asunder, Thenamir deliberately fell backwards onto the ground. The man’s momentary confusion caused him to stumble slightly. The momentum of his bulk and his sword carrried him to and over Thenamir, who bellowed “For Linwen!!” as he two-handed his own sword through the big man’s right knee as it passed.

He rolled out to avoid the stroke of the man behind him, but there were too many at once. He saw the face of one particularly ugly Dunlender leer at him as he prepared to axe Thenamir in two at the midsection, when the leer changed to a look of dull shock, the axe fell from his hands, and his body and head fell in separate directions to reveal a mounted Rider – three mounted Riders, one of them certainly a youth! What Thenamir had thought was a howl of rage was in reality the newcomers’ battle cry!

Thenamir had no time for wonder as the Riders found new targets. Regaining his feet at the edge of the thick forest he found his way now barred by Borleg, the Dunlending leader. For a few moments, the two stood silent as a shock of recognition struck them both – Borleg had been at the head of the brigands who had raided his wife’s village as Thenamir’s men had attacked to drive them off. “You!!” gasped Thenamir as vengeance clouded his mind in a red haze. “Gondorian!” spat Borleg in surprised contempt.

Like a flash Thenamir swung his sword, but Borleg was equally quick to parry as they locked eyes and clashed steel. Yet again Thenamir stepped back to swing, but he was too weak – the battle and the anger had exhausted him, and he had no reserves left. Borleg lowered a shoulder and rammed Thenamir, knocking him to the ground.

But Borleg had no time to finish it – the other riders had returned, mounted, with gleaming spears leveled at him. He disappeared into the woods with the remainder of the Dunlendings and was gone before the riders could follow. Thenamir, mentally drained, physically exhausted, thirsty and bleeding, simply could not move. Before he passed out he hoped that Ulfwine had not been accidentally slaughtered…

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 9/15/01 3:58:08 pm

SteadfastSam · 09-13-2001, 02:31 PM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Seeker of Light
Posts: 527</TD><TD><img src=http://www.lordoftherings.net/images/ca_sasti.jpg WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE>
Re: ROHAN RPG

Ulfwine fought with the ferocity of a tiger guarding its young, knowing the fallen Rider may be his only hope to freedom. Time and again he felled a fierce Dunlending intent on the death of the Rider. His mind flashed to the lessons in fighting his father had taught him, years ago. "Never lower your gaurd, stay on the defensive!" His father had told him. "Too many times have I seen determined attacker foiled by their own eagerness!" Ulfwine silently thanked his father, and ran through a final attacker. He looked around; it appeared that more riders had entered the fray.

The Dunlendings, confused and unaware of the size of this new force, had fallen back momentarily. Ulfwine dropped to his knee and examined the Rider. He was alive, though unconsious, and bleeding heavily from the head. Ulfwine quickly bound up the wound to his head with a strip of cloth torn from a tunic of a fallen dunlending, and turned to look for the other Riders. The Dunlending would soon alert the camp, and return in a horde. Retreat was imperative.

</p>

***Sharkû*** · 09-13-2001, 05:14 PM

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Hungry Ghoul
Posts: 1024</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
The Prey Shows Teeth

A number of the men from the western plains had fallen under the swords of the Rohirrim, among them the leader of his unit, Smrtan. When one of the tall and dark-haired riders had cloven Smrtan's shield asunder, and struck his blade into the Dunlending's body, the young Storwolos had howled out in fear.

Gesturing wildly with both arms, he now stood out among the Dunlendings who were about to encircle the three remaining riders, for he, Storwolos, felt that now it was his responsibility to order the ranks and take the lead as the most resolute of his unit. Although he had always respected Smrtan, he nevertheless knew he himself was alone cut out to be the real leader here, and the one who whom Borleg had also always seen as the one with the best 'Dunlending spirit', as he used to say.

His shaved head moved from left to right to strafe those of his men with a glare who seemed to fear the well-wielded swords of the riders, and, ramming the standard of their house, the long spear with three large ox-horns bound at the top like a fork, into the ground, Storwolos took his shield and attacked with the signal for the next assault in this skirmish. The Dunlending was filled with agonized fury as he crashed into the his next opponent, one of the two riders who looked not like the other strawheads, dealing a blow with his javelin, and warding off another with his small leaf-shaped shield. With his smaller and considerably more agile body, he dodged away to the side to regain the edge in close combat.

Then only for a glimpse, the hate in Storwolos's eyes subsided and gave way to his surprise, only to light up anew as he beheld his former comrade Vlodlak, who called himself 'Ulfwine' after the tongue of the forgoil, siding with the enemy and slaying his own kin, his own blood.

Before his anger allowed Storwolos to react other than to growl and shake his weapon at the enemy, piling on into the triangle of the three remaining opponents, the riders tried to break through to the south in a coordinated fashion, as if they responded to a hidden sign. Now Storwolos heard it – far away to the south, horns were sounding. Not in the shrill, complicated drum-based rhythm of the Dunlendings, but as the clear, piercing call of the strawheads. Storwolos had to kick one of his men, who was already about to scavenge among the goods of the riders, and reluctantly, he had to give the sign to break the ring and reconstitute in the northern flank.

'Try to kill them quickly, and then retreat!' commanded Borleg, and Storwolos did likewise to the men of his, who seemed to have accepted his initiative at least for the present, mainly because they seemed impressed with his battle prowess. But as he ended, the first riders of the relief were already in an arrow's range, and the doughty warriors would not yield to the spears from Dúnland. Before the charge of the new éored came crashing in, Storwolos removed from melee at the cost of a deep cut in his shield-arm, and with more gestures and angry shouts he was somehow able to turn the wild flight of his men to a ordered retreat, although many Dunlendings could not escape the strawheads' fast assault.

The Dunlendings were more familiar with these parts of the land than the Riders, who seemed to have stopped behind them, although none dared to turn and look. Some of the group seemed to have been seperated to them, Borleg and a few man of his house were missing, but since Storwolos had seen them fleeing and already out of the range of the enemy, they would not be far.

After some minutes of running, they came to a mould between some ragged hills, where they had camped often already. There, Storwolos adressed the men again for the first time since the command to retreat, thriving in the absence of his leader: 'Comrades, we have seen the malice of our enemy once again! They turned one of our men into a traitor. They raid deep into our land already again, this time into the land we had to withdraw to after they had first epelled us from the green eastern plains. Let us march northwards, to gather our kindred, and urge Borleg to lead us in a campaign, I say. The White Hand of Isengard has offered us Rohan, and we will rally to it. But it is our fist that has to crush them, and take back what is ours!'

</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 9/15/01 4:23:32 pm

***Thenamir*** · 10-02-2001, 05:25 PM

When Thenamir came to, he wished he hadn’t.

His head could not decide whether to spin off his spine before or after it exploded from the pounding pain. His left arm was being probed by red-hot irons. He could not lift his head from the ground. Garbled voices seemed to be shouting his name from a distance. His throat seemed coated with sand, his eyelids sealed with a mild glue. When he did manage to get them open, it was only to see inky blackness, with odd shapes moving in an orange haze.

Someone lifted him roughly, sat him up on the ground, setting off another wave of spinning nausea. A bottle of water was placed at his lips which he seized in fumbling hands and gulped greedily. In a few moments the spinning slowed and finally stopped, the shapes became people and trees, and the glow became a hastily-kindled fire. Thenamir with a measure of relief recognized Ulfwine supporting him. Three of the new Rohirrim arrivals tending to Gurthden, Baranthôl and Taradan, but he could not see the person behind him tending to his arm and head. Ulfwine gave him the water-skin again and said, “We must move from here as quickly as possible – Borleg may return at any moment with more men. Can you stand?” Thenamir nodded weakly, and his two aides lifted him gently but firmly to stand, just a bit wobbly at first.

It was then with a start that he recognized the one who had been tending him – the youth from the battle! Thenamir held the young man’s eye for a moment, then placed a hand to the shoulder of the lad with a bit of effort. “Would that I had had your skill and bravery when I was your age. You and your companions have saved the lives of myself, my friends, and our beloved horses. I owe you a debt that will be hard to repay. What is your name?”

“Kalohern, sir,” said the lad, who looked as if he were about to stammer some humble reply, but was interrupted by one of the attending newcomers. He was dressed richly, strangely unsullied by the battle, urging a hasty departure.

The wounded horses who had now returned to their masters were tended as well, and could be pressed to bear their masters for a short time until the near danger had passed. Gurthden and Baranthôl were more severely wounded, but would live until they could be properly tended by the healers. Taradan was conscious, but still a bit dazed from the head injury when Thenamir saw him. “They tell me you quitted yourself well, Thenamir,” said Taradan in a near-whisper from the litter attached to his own horse. “I had doubted you before…can you forgive me?”

“Only if you live to be forgiven, and that means you must save your strength for healing and not words,” said Thenamir with a rueful smile. “We will see these men again before many days are passed, I fear, and will need your sword and your command to best them once more.” The well-dressed newcomer again nervously urged them to hasten. Kalohern and another rider helped Thenamir onto Windwight, who winced perceptibly from his arrow wound. It grieved Thenamir to have to so burden his wounded mount, but the loyal horse willing bore the man through the pain as the group now turned and headed away from the battle site…

[ October 04, 2001: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

Theodred21 · 10-02-2001, 07:59 PM

Taradan could not believe he was alive. Before he had lost conciousness, he remembered the forceful blow to his head, and the sharp pain doubled. He looked to where his once gleaming helm now lay with a great dent in the side. If the club hadn't only glanced him, and the blow had been weakened by his helmet, he knew he would not be here. But was this better than being dead? His wound burned as if on fire, and dried blood covered his face and hair. he kept lapsing into periods of blindness, only seeing through a veiled mist. The pain was horrible, he could not keep his eyes open for long periods, and the throbbing went on incessantly.
He looked over at Thenamir again, and saw that he had received a bad wound too. He had been wrong about, he really was quite valiant. He felt better after telling him so though.
He heard noises around him and saw that the Rohirrim that had arrived were busy getting ready for a hasty departure. Taradan knew that they must get as far away from the Dunlendings as possible, but he was reluctant to do so. He was very tired, and he wanted to lay down and sleep. "They probably won't attack again,"he said to himself sleepily. "I am so, tired, I must rest. Yes...that's what I'll do...just lie down and rest...yes...rest...."

[ October 02, 2001: Message edited by: Theodred21 ]

Dwarin Thunderhammer · 10-04-2001, 11:42 AM

The light from the torch fell softly on the path in front of the cart. Dwarin Thunderhammer was the traveling along the old south to Rohan. He had recently been to the shire and now had to deliver a set of custom armor and a little pipe weed to a friend in rohan. He scratched his beard and took a drink from his water skin. Then something caught his eye it looked like the glint of steel in the pale moonlight. He rubbed the drowsiness fro his eyes to get a clearer view. It looked like a band of the soldiers crossing the road in front of him. Dwarin put out his torch and picked up the speed of his horse. As he got closer to the group he saw that one of the soldiers was slumped in his saddle and it looked like another was about to fall off. As he approached his wheel hit a rock in the road and one of the precious parrels of pipe weed in the back of the cart tipped over with an audible thump. The solders looked over and spotted Dwarin's not so steathly horse cart. Several of them drew their swords and took a stance of battle. "I mean you no harm" Dwarin shouted into the night. Dwarin then spotted the emblem of Rohan on one one of the sheilds. "I see you are soldiers of Rohan, I hold your people in the highest regard. I percieve some of your friends are wounded and even your horses too. May I be of any assistance.?" Dwarin fingered his axe Orc Cleaver as he awaited his answer nervously.

[ October 04, 2001: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

shieldmaiden · 10-11-2001, 02:19 PM

Baranthol looked suspiciously at the Dwarf. He drew his sword out with his left hand because the right was badly injured. He could feel the blood leaking and staining the cloth his wound was wrapped in.
He has rarely seen any Dwarves in his life and he wasn't sure whether they could trust this one. Did the dwarf say something about "assistance". Well, he sure needed some. The riders should decide fast.

***Thenamir*** · 10-15-2001, 09:16 AM

“Stay, Baranthôl,” said Thenamir quietly but sharply. “You are badly wounded, and there is no need to draw weapons against a lone traveller because he happens to share our road – but keep a watchful eye.” He turned – still painfully – to Ulfwine. “Do you know of any dwarf-kind in your ex-master’s service?”

“Absolutely not,” replied Ulfwine. “Borleg would side with the Great Goblin himself before he’d work with dwarves.”

“Good,” replied Thenamir. “Dernwine, let us go discover his business, and whether he can help us. Do not draw weapons, but be watchful.” Dernwine nodded, and motioned for Gurthrin to join them. Gurthrin hesitated only a moment before spurring his mount lightly towards the dwarven cart and its lone occupant.

Dwarin was a bit taken aback when three of the party approached and surrounded him, but none had given any sign of agression and all, except Gurthrin, seemed to be relatively at ease. Thenamir drew still nearer into the full light of Dwarin’s lantern to show he had no ill intent. “Friend dwarf,” began Thenamir, “I am Thenamir of Rohan, and we are indeed as you see men of the Mark, with whom you claim friendship. We were waylaid a short time ago by a renegade band of Dunlendings who we believe have some purpose against our land and our king. We have are travelling back to our land with several wounded among us, including our captain. We could use any skill you might have in tending wounds or the healing arts. Lacking that, if your errand is not pressing perhaps there is room in your cart for some of our wounded to ride more comfortably. Your help would be most gratefully appreciated.”

Dwarin Thunderhammer · 10-15-2001, 12:33 PM

Upon hearing the plight of Thenamirs party, the tensions Dwarin felt were immediately relieved.

"Bring your wounded, I have plenty of room on my cart for them. Take the burdens off your hurt horses too there's of room enough for their packs also."

Dwarin then started rummaging through various bags and compartments in the back of the cart. He emerged with a gold traced chest. "I have no special healing powers, nor am I in the posession of any healing potions or plants." He said as he handed the box to thenamir. "What little I do have I for the relief of pain is at your service." Thenamir opened the box, inside there were some frsh clean bandages, various other items for the relief of wounds, a leather sack, and a cloth bag . "When the leaves in the leather pouch are wrapped in a bandage on a wound they will give some temporary relief to the pain. They can also be used to put somone to sleep. The herbs in the cloth bag can be used to clear up the mind and awaken somone, much like a cold bucket of water. The rest is pretty straightforward. I also have plenty of water, salted meats, bread and cheese, I was planning for a long trip. Go ahead and use as much as you neede."

"Oh before I forget, do know of a man called Taradan? I was supposed to give a new suit of armor to him." Dwarin then started preparing space in his cart for the men he knew would be riding with him. "One last thing. Care for a pipe?"

10-15-2001, 12:36 PM

"Healing, you say," said an elf who stepped into sight "I doubt this dwarf can help you there. However I can, for I am Elwood son of Arathral of Lothlorien and I am skilled in the arts of healing."
Turning quickly around Thenimar said "Lothlorien you say, I know little of elves and even less of the Golden Wood. Some say the Golden Lady is a witch, who is not to be trusted."
"Fool, talk no evil of the Lady Galadriel for there is no evil in Lotlorien. If you do not wish my aid then begone and trouble me no more. However if you do wish my aid then sit and allow me to tend your wounds," As Elwood spoke this he semmed to grow tall and terrible and the men shrink back in fear save one, Taradan.
"Forgive my friend," Taradan spoke "He is angry and foolish. I will accept your aid even if no others will."
Thenamir spoke again "Forgive me, Master Elf, for I am angry and foolish, as Taradan said, I too will accept your healing."
"I accept your apologies, come sit down and forget your troubles for a while."
With this the Men of Rohan dismounted and came and sat down in a circle around the elf.

shieldmaiden · 10-20-2001, 01:13 PM

As Baranthol sat down a strange pain striked him. He realised that he had another wound, a nasty cut on his belly . He was sure about one thing, he wouldn't tell anyone about this one. "Could you give me some bandages? For my arm, you see," he asked the Dwarf. "And thank you for your offer, Elwood, but I would like to tend my wounds myself. Though, I could use some medical plants if you have them."

10-22-2001, 08:34 AM

"Certainly, i shall give you what you need," Elwood replied. Elwood handed Baranthol a number of herbs.

The men of Rohan sat down and rested for many hours as Elwood told them tales.

Suddenly in the hours of the night a chill came over the men of Rohan and a rider cloaked in white rode into the circle of firelight.

Elwood sprang to his feet "Steel your hearts men of Rohan for there is an enemy here far beyond your power," Elwood said "Begone old man you are not welcome here."

The White Rider simply stopped and said, "Let an old man pass, for the night is cold. Surely you do not fear a traveler who is elderly and alone?"

"Is that so," Elwood said as he drew himself up to his full height. "I am no fool for I am Elwood son of Arathral of Lothlorien, prince of Doriath and to my eyes you are more than you seem." At this point all the men cowered save one Baranthol. Elwood put forth his power and the men of Rohan found him wonderful to behold, yet powerful still.

The White Rider said nothing but laughed and shook his head. To the Rohirrim it seemed that the elf was overly suspicious and should have been more kindly to the old father. He spurred his horse and rode into the dark.

"Arise Men of Rohan for the darkness has gone and light has returned," said Elwood in soft tones.

[ October 27, 2001: Message edited by: Gilthalion ]

shieldmaiden · 10-22-2001, 09:29 AM

Baranthol was lying on the ground, he felt a little dizzy. The cut on his stomack he took care of a few hours ago was hurting again. "Damn it! It took me so much to sneak out into the bushes without being seen to tend it and now I'll have to do it all over again," he thought. Then he remembered what had happened. " What in the name of Arda was it?!" he asked.

10-22-2001, 10:21 AM

"Who was that?" asked Thenamir.

"Do you not know?" Elwood replied. "Now, where is Baranthol he is strong of heart to stand against such an enemy and he will have taken a grevious wound and will require healing."

[ October 27, 2001: Message edited by: Gilthalion ]

shieldmaiden · 10-22-2001, 02:18 PM

"No,no,no! I said I tend my own wounds and leave me alone. I don't want anyone to help me. If I wanted help I would have asked for it. I just want to be left alone."

Baranthol somehow managed to stand up and walked out of the camp taking some stuff from his bag. He ran for a few minutes (If that could be called running considering his state) until he reached a small stream. He made sure that no one was following him. He sat by the stream and took off his chain mail. There was a hole on the place where he was stabbed in the fight with the Dunlendings.

"I'll need someone to fix this. But I need to fix myself first." He rolled up his shirt so he could chage the bandages. The cut wasn't deep, about 4 inches long but it was on a very inconvenient place. The old man (whoever he was) scarred him stiff, though the others thought the elf was too cautious in dealing with the stranger.

"Haleth, you stupid girl what have you got yourself into?" he thought, actually SHE thought because Baranthol was a woman. Of course, no one knew about that, she kept her secret very well for three years - that's how long she has been with the riders. She joined the army instead of her twin brother, Baranthol who fled to Gondor because he had some gambling debts. He lost their horses, their farm and finally he was supposed to give Haleth to the man who he owed the money. In the end Haleth took the matter in her own hands and so Baranthol went to Gondor and she joined the army instead of him. She was well trained in battle skills for her father (may-he-rest-in-peace)taught her when she was young, she was a good pupil unlike her brother.

She washed the wound, took the plants that Elwood had given her and pressed them on it. She could already feel relief. She took the bandages and wrapped them around her waist.
"That should hold for a while," she thought.
She checked her right arm, it was getting better, the plants worked.

Haleth put on her chain mail and hurried back to the camp. She looked again if someone came after her but there was no one.
"I was lucky this time."

[ October 27, 2001: Message edited by: Gilthalion ]

***Thenamir*** · 10-30-2001, 02:10 PM

Thenamir took advantage of Dwarin’s herbs to shake off the fatigue which had been assailing him since the ambush. The old rider had shaken him as well, and he hoped that the herbs would also help to calm him a bit. The presence of Elwood the elf certainly helped, and he could not explain in himself why he had reacted so poorly to his presence at first. He took another deep breath from the pinch of herbs wrapped in a bit of old kerchief and tried to take stock of the situation.

He looked over at Taradan who was awake and seemed to be clear of mind -- technically he was in command, but he was still injured. Elwood was tending to him now, but whether he would be fit to continue following the Dunlendings was still an open question. The other wounded seemed to be much improved, and perhaps could continue on after a bit of rest. The addition of the new riders was a plus, but they would not be enough to stand against the numbers of now-warned Dunlenders Ulfwine expected to meet on the way to wherever-it-was that the enemies were heading. A decision had to be made, and soon. Thenamir rose, much relieved from his earlier pain, and approached Elwood. “Master Elwood, how is Taradan?”

Elwood at first did not seem to hear the question. He was kneeling on the ground beside Taradan, eyes closed, one hand upon the right side of Taradan’s head at the spot where he had sustained the crushing blow. Taradan closed his eyes again and seemed to sleep. After a few seconds Elwood exhaled audibly and stood up, looking down at his patient for a last moment before turning to Thenamir. “He should not have been allowed to sleep after that blow – he was near death when I began to tend him. His wound will heal in time, but he will be weaker on one side until he has had some time to rest.”

“Do you think he will be able to continue with us if we follow our attackers?” Thenamir asked with a note of concern.

Elwood’s brow furrowed slightly. “He will be able to ride, or perhaps walk, within a day, but the exertion of fighting will certainly kill him. If he is to recover fully, he should be in a healing ward for at least a week. But he has the face of a warrior upon him – I perceive that he will not willingly give up the chase.”

Thenamir was not really surprised, but the question of what to do was still unsolved. He recounted to Elwood the full story of the last few hours, from the suspicious meeting with Grima Wormtongue to their meeting here. Elwood listened attentively, nodding and asking an occasional probing question. When Thenamir was done, he asked, “is there any way you could join us, at least for a time? Your counsel, your wisdom and your woodcraft are sorely needed among us.”

“The paths of the elves seldom join with men in these days, willingly or no,” replied Elwood, “and even more seldom are we free with our counsel. But we have had word in the Golden Wood about the activities of Saruman, and the Lady has sent out scouts, of whom I am one, to seek out what may be discovered of his servants and plans. I do not care for the presence of the dwarf, but it appears that your purposes and mine will run together for a time.”

Thenamir smiled and breathed a deep sigh of relief. He extended his hand to the elf, who received it with a warm and firm grasp. “I thank you.” Thenamir's mind was now made up -- the chase would resume as soon as all could ride.

==================

Thenamir of Rohan,
Chairman of the Rohan Non-sequitur Society
"We may not make sense, but we do like pizza"

[ October 30, 2001: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

07-29-2001, 05:51 PM	#1
*Gilthalion* Hobbitus Emeritus Join Date: Jan 2001 Location: South Farthing Posts: 635	ROHAN RPG <font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Hobbitus Emeritus Posts: 523</TD><TD><img src=http://home.att.net/~robertwgardner/lotrmap.gif WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE> A cry went up from the sentry, riding the perimeter of the camp. It was only a horse. But it was Elfola, the horse of Elfshild, an unusually courageous and intelligent mount, well loved by his master. But now the horse was riderless and fatally injured, barely on his hooves. His heaving sides were thick with lather. His bleeding flanks were torn, almost shredded. Crowds of staring riders looked on in stunned silence as the brave steed stumbled into the center of the camp. Tears came freely and without shame to the eyes of more than one rider as the dying horse came at last to a stop before Theodred himself. There, at the feet of the son of Theoden, the noble beast collapsed and breathed his last ragged breath. Theodred's eyes were bright with the dew of compassion and no heart in the camp was unstirred by the final effort of the horse, spending his last strength to reach the master of his master. Theodred bid that a small mound be raised over Elfola beyond the edge of camp, near where the horses were pastured. It was remarked by many in the camp that it looked as if the horse had been attacked by wolves. But his body had also been marked by weapons, and this set a puzzle for the Riders. Neither Elfshild nor Deomund, who was with him, ever returned and the puzzle was never solved to anyone's satisfaction. But the Riders now felt sure that wolves and orcs had come farther south of the Misty Mountains than they ever had before and that neither Elfshild nor Deomund would be heard from again. The young son of Theoden King had come to inspect the camp that fateful day. He had become concerned, as had much of the Mark, that all was not well to the west. Now he was certain that something was not right. Theodred was a very young man, too young and untested for the burden his shoulders carried. But the old knights of the Mark supported him, the more so since his great father now rarely left Meduseld. The young man took his duties seriously, and none doubted his courage or his skill. He stood dry-eyed as a singer sang a song to honor the horse and his rider and all those who never return. If any Riders still doubted his fitness to lead, none in that camp did after his words to them, said over the mound of Elfola that night. Theodred poured a few drops of wine from a golden cup on the burial mound, and all of the Riders did the same from their cups where they stood, gathered in a great circle, rank upon rank, around the son of their king. Then they turned to hear his words: "Hear me, Eorlingas! "Let all who see this mound know that this day we saw with our own eyes that there are enemies of the Mark who grow bolder than the day before. And we saw that our great friendship with the foals of the Mearas is rewarded with devotion beyond measure. "Let all who see this mound know that the Riders of Rohan will ever strive to earn that devotion with the courage and loyalty it deserves. Gone now are the days of peace and games. See we now the wisdom of Theoden King, who prepared the Riders, bringing back the old ways, making us ready to ride against such a day as this. "I have not seen as many winters as some of you. Yet I can ride and wield spear and bow and sword. Soon, the weapons of the Mark will know targets other than the practice of the field. The weapons of Elfshild and Deomund already have, let no one doubt, for they were brave men and true. We shall ride together in the years to come, for my heart tells me that the days of Rohan's peril is upon us. My heart tells me that many of us shall meet our doom. "The House of Eorl shall not shirk such risk! Whatever befalls us, I will share your fate. My father still hears my words, and he has bid me inspect the defenses of the Mark and order things as I would. Let it not be said that the Riders of Theoden ever followed orders far from the site of battle. And if things are as they seem to me, then I will order many of you to your deaths, as died Elffola here. But your risk shall be mine as well, and there are worse fates than to die in service to save the land your longfathers bought with their blood. "The Dunlendings are grown hostile! Orcs and wolves prowl far from their haunts! Emissaries with fair-seeming words make demands on our King. There are dark rumours on all our borders! And our horses are coveted by the Dark Lord of Mordor. "But let those who think to prey on Rohan know that they will not find the Riders of the Mark craven! As long as I live and you will serve your king, our courage will keep Rohan free!" The riders all cheered as Theodred raised high his cup over the burial mound of the noble steed and then they all drained their cups as one. <center> ~~~</center> Now weeks later, Theodred was in another part of Rohan and the Riders of the camp continued their vigil until he returned with greater numbers. A handful of riders, from under cover of a rocky outcrop near the fords of the River Isen, have seen Grima Wormtongue on the road from Isengard. They challenged his going, but could not gainsay his passage, bearing as he did words from their king to the wizard who was lord there. But they decided to watch for when he returned. As they watched from concealment, Grima met briefly with some men on the other side of the Isen. He then crossed into Rohan and continued on his way. No one observed the watching riders. But they were too far away to hear what Grima said to the men. "Men from where, I'd like to know," said one of them. "Reminded me of orcs somehow." "You've never seen an orc!" said another. "I've heard enough about them from the old timers," replied the first. "And they just reminded me of what I've heard told." "We'll see enough of them soon enough, if young Theodred is right," said a third Rider. "So what should we do now?" The riders had often enough seen Wormtongue traveling between Isengard and Meduseld, sent by Theoden King to Saruman the White. It was whispered that Wormtongue secretly worked for the wizard, and that the dwimmer crafty old man in Isengard was no true friend of the Rohirrim. So who was Grima talking to, and what were they talking about? Their captain had ordered them to return directly to the camp after their watch and not to take any unnecessary risks. Their relief would soon arrive. The riders debated their options. No good detaining Wormtongue. He'd never talk, and Theoden believed too much of what that man said. Sending back to camp for instructions would lose too much time. But they couldn't desert their post. Finally, they decided to wait for their relief, tell them that they were going to track the strange men, and hope that the captain wasn't angry when and if they ever returned... </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 7/31/01 12:39:13 pm __________________ Please read my fan fiction novel THE HOBBITS. Wanna hear me read Tolkien? Gilthalion's Grand Adventures!

07-31-2001, 09:08 AM	#2
Theodred21 Phantom Rider Join Date: Jun 2001 Location: Edoras, Rohan Posts: 1,213	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Phantom Rider Posts: 1024</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> Re: ROHAN RPG One of the riders sat on the ground, with his back resting against a large rock. He scraped some mud off of his boots, then slowly lifted his head up, and looked toward the other riders. Most of them lay on their stomachs, still peering intently at the Fords, as if there was something far away that they wanted to make out. The rider sighed, and reached for a flask of water by his side, opened it, and gulped down a mouthful of water. He returned the flask to his side, and turned his head west. The sun was already sinking toward twilight. "Hey 'Blacky,' stop wool-gathering," shouted one of the riders. The rider sighed again, and crawled over to where the others were still watching the Fords. He slumped down next to another rider, who complained "I wish we were going back to camp Taradan, I'm starving"! "We may ride many miles after our relief arrives," replied Taradan, the black-haired rider. "It may be late before we eat!" "For my part," said another, "I think the sooner they get here the better!" "Well the sooner they get here, the sooner we ride, and the sooner we catch them, the sooner we eat," said the first. "Is that what you're saying?" "Why is it always about eating with you?" said the second. Taradan let the two riders continue in conversation, as he drifted back into his own thoughts. He brushed back his long black hair, and smoothed out his old, grey cloak. He fingered a short daggar, that had beleonged to his father long ago. He stretched out his long legs, legs that stood him higher than the other Rohirrim. He was very much different than the others and the differences didn't stop with his long legs and his dark hair. His mind was also thinking very different thoughts, because if his thinking was correct, there would be war soon. The disappearence of Elfshild and Deomund, the wounds on Elfola, now these strange Dunlendings (if Dunlendings they were) near the river. Theodred had it right, thought Taradan. It just smelled like war was brewing. </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 7/31/01 12:50:30 pm __________________ Rohan All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not whither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken: The crownless again shall be king. -The Riddle of Strider

08-02-2001, 12:57 PM	#3
*Gilthalion* Hobbitus Emeritus Join Date: Jan 2001 Location: South Farthing Posts: 635	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Hobbitus Emeritus Posts: 538</TD><TD><img src=http://home.att.net/~robertwgardner/lotrmap.gif WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE> Re: ROHAN RPG Time passed slowly for the Riders as they watched the sun fall in the afternoon sky. Their relief was not late, but the men were eager to hit the trail of the strange men who had spoken to Theoden's unloved servant. Taradan sighed, and looked west again. This time, the black-haired Rider's eyes were rewarded with the sight of them. They crossed the Ford, turned south and were soon lost in the rugged terrain down river. Taradan knew that it would be several minute before they arrived at the concealment, following a twisting way under the cover of the terrain not far from the banks of the Isen. There were four of them, and three made ready to go. Dernwine, the oldest, was a family man and would return to camp. When their relief arrived, they told them what they had seen. "With Wormtongue they spoke, and I liked not the looks of them," said the tallest of Taradan's three companions. "Nor of Grima himself, either," added another. "So we will follow. Dernwine will take word back to camp and tell them that we have gone east," said the tall one. Taradan and the other two Riders of his shift gathered their gear. Thenamir, a dark mustached outland mercenary who had ridden in with the relief, picked his pack up again. "I'm coming with you," he said. "Suit yourself," said the tall Rider, who did not approve of Erkenbrand's decision to take this man into the ranks. "May your horses soon return to their fields!" said Dernwine. "And don't let those outlanders do all the work!" "Then tell these blond boys to keep up!" said Taradan. The taller of the two straw-haired riders snorted. <center> ~-~-~</center> The riders made their way to where they kept their horses, watered them well, saddled them, and then rode out to follow the trail of the strange men into the territory of the Dunlendings. They wanted to find their camp for the night, watch them, if necessary capture one of them, but above all else, find out what Grima Wormtongue wanted with them. </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/2/01 8:04:11 pm __________________ Please read my fan fiction novel THE HOBBITS. Wanna hear me read Tolkien? Gilthalion's Grand Adventures!

08-02-2001, 01:34 PM	#4
Theodred21 Phantom Rider Join Date: Jun 2001 Location: Edoras, Rohan Posts: 1,213	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Phantom Rider Posts: 1066</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> Re: ROHAN RPG The Fords shrunk behind the riders, as they distanced themselves from them. They rode in single file, with Taradan at the rear. His white mare Nimroch, winnied impatiently as if it wanted to speed ahead of the other horses for the joy of running. The riders ahead slowed their mounts to a gallop, and Taradan did so too. The horses trotted quitely along, the lead rider said loud enough for only the other riders to hear: "look, up ahead, a fire!" "Is it the men?" asked Thenamir. "I'm not sure," said the tall rider. "Someone should go check it out" added the third. Instantly, all three heads turned to Taradan, who was known to be a better woodsman than most riders. "Hey 'Blackie!' Want to see what's going on over there?" "Alright" said Taradan with a sigh, "I'll go! Stay here while I'm gone", and with that, Taradan dismounted and plunged into the overgrowth, to get a better look at the fire. </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/2/01 8:07:48 pm __________________ Rohan All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not whither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken: The crownless again shall be king. -The Riddle of Strider

08-03-2001, 01:57 PM	#5
*Thenamir* Spectre of Capitalism Join Date: May 2001 Location: Battling evil bureaucrats at Zeta Aquilae Posts: 987	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Newly Deceased Posts: 6</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> Re: ROHAN RPG Thenamir jumped down from Windwight, his grey roan mount, and motioned to the other two to do likewise and stay low as Taradan crept off almost noiselessly into the overgrowth with a stealth even Thenamir thought he could not match, though he’d never had a low opinion of his own abilities. He was impatient for a closer look at these men and their associate, but he must bide his time yet and earn the trust of the others, especially Taradan, whose suspicion of Thenamir was unmistakable. It would be better for the moment to keep a low profile so as not to appear to be a cutthroat newcomer already vying for his superior’s job. Thenamir clumsily tried to tie Windwight to a tree in the loose knot he had recently learned from the Rohirrim, which would keep the horse secured but which could be released quickly at need. The others, fluidly doing likewise from a lifetime of practice, chuckled quietly at his efforts. Thenamir pretended not to notice. He knew they meant no harm, but he intended to have a bit of fun at their expense nevertheless. Finishing the knot, Thenamir reached into his pack for a couple of the special horse treats he occasionally made for Windwight out of oats and chaff, combined with enough honey to hold it together. He took a seat near the others who were already leaning on a convenient stone and digging in their own packs for a snack. Pretending to take a bite of one he handed the other to the taller one. “Try this,” he said with a mock full-mouth tone. “I make these for long journeys – they’re not bad.” The flaxen-haired rider took the proffered horse treat suspiciously and sniffed it, then bit off a corner. “Mmm, “ he said, eyes brightening slightly, “this is pretty good.” The shorter rider, not to be left out of a good thing, said, “Hey, I’m the starving one!” before he broke off a piece from the unattended side of his partner’s goodie. With a full mouth he asked, “you’re not a bad cook after all, Thenamir. What’s in this?” Thenamir could not restrain himself anymore. “It’s a special recipe I learned in Gondor…for horse treats...” was all he could get out before he started laughing, quietly but heartily, at the riders’ expressions as they realized they’d been had. Thenamir gave Windwight the unbitten treat in his hand while the aghast Rohirrim spat and rinsed and spat again. “It’s not really an insult mind you, “ Thenamir exhorted, “after all, who else but such fine horsemen could appreciate good horse chow?” He was about to launch another salvo (while they still could not speak) when Taradan silently reappeared in their clearing… </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/3/01 7:29:00 pm __________________ The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane. ~~ Marcus Aurelius

08-04-2001, 11:00 AM	#6
Iulbahar Pile O'Bones Join Date: Mar 2001 Location: Greece Posts: 23	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Newly Deceased Posts: 9</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch In a shady corner of the horse enclosure, Kalohern was grooming his horse and keeping a an anxious eye open for the return of his father, Dernwine, who was out with the scout party. The ugly colt nuzzled his shoulder absently as Kalohern worked away,trying to bring a sheen to the horse's rough coat. Only Kalohern knew the colt's true ancestry; one night, as a boy of 12, he had been left to watch over the horse ranks but had nodded off, only to be awoken by the pounding of hooves as the mighty stallion, Kentavrion, leaped the wooden fence and disappeared into the darkness. Following the hoof prints with a sinking heart, Kalohern had finally tracked the great horse to where he stood quietly, nose to nose with Dernwine's humble old brood mare and had been able to return him to his pasture before anyone learned of his escape. In his secret heart, Kalhern had given the colt the name Telefax, knowing him to be of the great line of Meordas and half brother to the mighty Shadowfax, but he realised that to reveal the truth would result in his receiving such a whipping that he would not sit a horse for many months. Unfortunately, 3 years later, Telefax appeared to have inherited few of the favourable characteristics of his illustrious forebears; his clumsy head made a jarring contrast with his staring ribs, bony quarters and dull black coat. Nevertheless, Kalohern loved him dearly with the affection that only one plain, gawky creature can feel for another and truly believed that, given the right care and training, the horse would one day achieve his true potential and they would ride together for the glory of the Mark. Kalohern was jerked sharply from his reverie by a sneering guffaw. "Still wasting your time on that old nag? I don't know who is uglier, you or Ox-head there!" Guthrin strode arrogantly into the yard, his rich clothes and gleaming boots bearing witness to his exalted status as the son of one of the Mark's most prominent captains. He barked an order and another stable lad deferentially led out his fine steed, saddled in readiness. Telefax flinched and laid his ears back as Guthrin derisively poked him in the ribs with his leather whip. "Still they say hard times are coming and the Lord of the Mark may yet need flesh for his hounds....." Kalohern moved swiftly and silently, unseen by Guthrin who was busy venting his spite on the defenceless Telefax. Gathering his reins with a flourish, Guthrin put his foot in the ornate stirrup iron and heaved himself heavily onto his prancing steed, only to utter a violent stream of curses as the fine saddle, its girth strap loosened, slipped around the horse's belly and deposited him on the ground in a cloud of dust. Trying to retain his dignity, Guthrin scrambled to his feet, tightened the girth with a savage tug and, leaping into the saddle, galloped off, throwing a shower of dried earth and dung over the two stable lads. Kalohern's companion winked at him, "You'd have thought one chosen to ride for the Mark would remember to check his saddle before he sets off!" Shrugging, Kalohern began to massage Telefax with a wisp of damp plaited hay to tone up his scrawny muscles. Placing on the horse a headcollar of untreated hide and an old sheepskin in lieu of a saddle, he vaulted nimbly onto the horse's back and giving him his head trotted out of the yard. He ignored the concealed sniggers as he passed through the camp and once on to open grassland squeezed the horse's flanks lightly with his calves. At once he felt the answering surge of power, as boy and horse instantly melded into one being, intent only on the forward rush into the welcoming wind. The wail of horns caused Kalohern to pull Telefax to a sliding halt on lowered haunches as he saw his father, Dernwine, approaching the camp. Drawing nearer, he saw his father dismount and, tossing the reins to a groom, hurry to the tent of Erkenbrand, the man young Theoden had left in charge of the new camp. He was returning from the Fords of the Isen, where Riders had been watching to learn what they could from such traffic as there was in these darkening times. Kalohern hoped his father would tell him more, but knew better than to ask. </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/5/01 9:06:32 am

08-04-2001, 04:35 PM	#7
*Gilthalion* Hobbitus Emeritus Join Date: Jan 2001 Location: South Farthing Posts: 635	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Hobbitus Emeritus Posts: 549</TD><TD><img src=http://home.att.net/~robertwgardner/lotrmap.gif WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE> What Taradan Saw... The black haired rider crept as quietly as he could to where the strange men had made camp. Their language seemed uncouth as it came to his ears, filled with harsh words and sometimes animal like noices. Taradan crept closer. He saw them sitting around the fire sharing a dinner carved from a goat they had been roasting. They were rude and noisy. Each of them was armed with a spear. Two or three of the dozen had swords. The rest may have had some short blades or long knives handy, for quiet a few were employed in the dismemberment of the goat. There may have been bows present as well. There were no sentries that Taradan could see, and all the attention of the crude camp was on the goat and who could get what of it. The black-haired rider had no idea what was being said in their speech. But they seemed nasty enough. Most of them were bronzed from a life spent out of doors, but some were sallow in complexion, and had squinting leering eyes. Taradan decided to return. He saw that his own comrades were no more alert than the strange men he had seen. He came silently into the camp and surprised them, arguing over horse treats, such as were made for Gondor's stables. He looked suspiciously at Thenamir, and then told them all of what he had seen. </p> __________________ Please read my fan fiction novel THE HOBBITS. Wanna hear me read Tolkien? Gilthalion's Grand Adventures!

08-05-2001, 08:24 AM	#8
Theodred21 Phantom Rider Join Date: Jun 2001 Location: Edoras, Rohan Posts: 1,213	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Phantom Rider Posts: 1092</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> Pay Attention! As Taradan finished describing the enemy camp to his fellow riders, told of their language, which was strange to his ears, and then said what he thought of their own watchfulness. "You could keep better watch!" he said. The riders looked down guiltily. Taradan brushed back his jet black hair, and listened as the blond riders agreed that the men must have been Dunlenders. But none of the four quite knew what to make of the sallow-skinned, slant-eyed fellows. The conversation turned to their next move. "So what will we do?" asked Thenamir. "How about we come in from all sides and ambush them" said the shortest rider. "That can't work!" said Thenamir, "There are too many of them for that!" "Finally you show some intelligence, Gondorian" said Taradan his voice still cold. Thenamir gave a cold look back. "Well 'Blacky'," Thenamir retorted, "do you have a plan?" For the first time that night, Taradan smiled. "Actually, I do..." </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/6/01 12:05:51 pm __________________ Rohan All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not whither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken: The crownless again shall be king. -The Riddle of Strider

08-06-2001, 12:26 PM	#9
*Thenamir* Spectre of Capitalism Join Date: May 2001 Location: Battling evil bureaucrats at Zeta Aquilae Posts: 987	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Newly Deceased Posts: 7</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> Re: Pay Attention! Thenamir went ashen as he caught Taradan’s stare, withering and accusing, and realized he should have been intent on their safety and possible threats. No matter how rustic they seemed, a reconaissance was not a time for practical jokes -- he was not proving himself very well. Had Taradan been one of the enemy, they would have been caught flat-footed, and probably would be dead or captured. He hung his head as Taradan explained what he had seen in his sortie. He looked up, though, as Taradan described the camp and the men he’d seen. A smouldering fire rekindled in his eyes – the description sounded too much like his memory of his dead wife’s attackers. He tried not to look overeager as the black-haired rider said that he had a plan. But he could not help but have his say. “It sounds like an opportune time to catch one of them unawares and find out their purposes,” Thenamir mused aloud. Taradan rounded on Thenamir. “You just said there are too many of them for that.” Thenamir dismissed the venom. “I’m not suggesting a frontal assault. They have laid their weapons aside and are distracted roasting and eating that goat. They believe themselves to be safe and secure -- no watch. Surely with stealth, a good plan, and a bit of luck, one separated from the others can be captured, either now while they are full and dull of wit, or when they fall asleep.” Thenamir turned to the other two who noncommitally watched the interplay between the outlanders. “What do you think?” he asked them with a raised eyebrow. </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/6/01 9:27:14 pm __________________ The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane. ~~ Marcus Aurelius

08-06-2001, 07:42 PM	#10
*Gilthalion* Hobbitus Emeritus Join Date: Jan 2001 Location: South Farthing Posts: 635	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Hobbitus Emeritus Posts: 561</TD><TD><img src=http://home.att.net/~robertwgardner/lotrmap.gif WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE> Re: Pay Attention! "Let us hear what 'Blackie' has to say," said the taller of the two flaxen-haired Riders, gesturing at Taradan. "But I say we have to find out what they are doing." "But if we do," said the other, "and word gets back to Grima that Riders of Rohan kidnapped and questioned one of these folk, then Erkenbrand might not be able to protect us from Wormtongue's malice." The tall one spat. "I care that for the malice of Grima Wormtongue. But why borrow trouble? Perhaps there is a way that they will not know that the questioning was done by Riders." "You mean besides killing whoever we capture?" said the shorter one. "It would probably serve them right!" "We can't do that to some fellow who might not deserve it and you know it," replied the tall one. "Aye. But my heart tells me they do deserve it! Elfshild and Deomund received no such mercy!" retorted the short one. "But that means we have to blindfold him at the least." "What do you say, 'Blackie?'" asked the tall one. "Can you improve on Thenamir's plan? Can we catch one and blindfold him before he sees four Riders of Rohan?" </p> __________________ Please read my fan fiction novel THE HOBBITS. Wanna hear me read Tolkien? Gilthalion's Grand Adventures!

08-09-2001, 08:52 AM	#11
Theodred21 Phantom Rider Join Date: Jun 2001 Location: Edoras, Rohan Posts: 1,213	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Phantom Rider Posts: 1136</TD><TD><img src=http://www.jrrtolkien.org.uk/Graphics/Buttons/flamme1.gif WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE> Capturing a Wild Man! "Well, maybe we can" said Taradan, unsurely. "Now that I look at it, it is a good idea! Very well then, we shall try to capture one of those men, interrogate him, and if Master Wormtongue is preparing something of malice, he and his men shall feel the wrath of the Riders of Rohan, King's counsellor or not!" The four riders all settled on Thenamir's scheme, to find out what they were up to first, and stop them if necessary! Once again Taradan took charge, strategizing the best ways to approach the camp, and slip one of those men right from under the noses of the rest of them! It was decided that the shorter rider would stay behind and guard the horses, while the taller rider, Thenamir and Taradan, went to the enemy camp. Taradan decided that they must first camoflauge all of their equipment, and horses, before they left, in case a sneaky enemy scout was probing around. As they were leading the reluctant horses into the concealment of the trees, Taradan said to Thenamir, "Good call Gondorian!" Thenamir nodded in return, then started as if he realized something, but said nothing. Once everything was hidden, the shorter rider bade them good luck, and the three men plunged into the forest! As they slowly plodded through the undergrowth, Taradan noticed the taller rider having trouble, getting through the tangle of vegetation. Thenamir moved quietly with a barely audible rustle, but the taller rider was not an experienced woodsmen, spending more of his time on horse training than woodlore. As they neared the camp, they could see the bonfire's orange glow, already starting to fade. At that moment the taller rider tripped over a root, and fell clumsily to the ground. Taradan tensely paused, and listened to see if anyone had noticed, then lifted the blond rider to his feet. "Sorry about that" said the taller rider, and they moved closer to the camp. As they approach the fringe of the woods, Taradan beckoned them to drop to their knees, then their stomachs. Taradan's sharp eyes scanned the encampment, looking for any Wild Men standing away from the rest, but sadly, all of the Dunlendings were crowded around the fire, now eating the goat that they saw roasting earlier. "We'll have to wait here for a while" Taradan whispered to Thenamir. After a few minutes, Taradan saw the fire, which had now burned low. One of the men lying near by, turned, and then sat up, and then wandered sleepily into the forest. "He's had a bit more to drink than his bladder wanted!" said Thenamir. "Now is our chance," said Taradan. The Dunlending walked slowly in their direction... </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/9/01 11:33:10 am __________________ Rohan All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not whither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken: The crownless again shall be king. -The Riddle of Strider

08-12-2001, 02:21 AM	#12
Iulbahar Pile O'Bones Join Date: Mar 2001 Location: Greece Posts: 23	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pile o' Bones Posts: 12</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> Re: A Ride in the Dark Kalohern dismounted and, leading Telefax, fell in behind his father as he emerged from Erkenbrand's tent. Dernwine's severe countenance suggested that something serious had occurred but Kalohern knew that to ask would only result in his being sent back to the stables in disgrace. At that moment Erkenbrand appeared and blowing his great silver worked horn, summoned the riders around him. "Strangers have been sighted in the forest on our western borders. We need to send three of our most fearless to aid our men, should it come to a scirmish." Many riders at once threw their gauntlets into the circle around the campfire, as was the custom when volunteering for battle. Among them were those of Dernwine and Guthrin, who tossed in his embossed glove with an arrogant swagger. "Dernwine, you have ridden far today and your horse is spent. Rest now, and we shall have need of you ere long, I think." Erkenbrand selected two of the most experienced and valiant riders by taking up their gauntlets and returning them face up to their owners. He considered for a moment. "And you, Guthrin, son of Grimbourne, the time has come for you to prove your merit." Guthrin retrieved the proffered glove with a self satisfied smirk. Erkenbrand gave orders for the horses to be brought out and light provisions were rapidly prepared. "You will ride under cover of darkness. Turn aside for no man unless the need is great. Find our scouts and render them such support and aid as may be needed." The chosen three quickly mounted their horses and quietly slipped away into the shadows cast by the great campfire. Those remaining in camp settled down to chew over their roast venison and along with it the speculation as to what these tidings might bode for the future. Kalohern led Telefax away from the campfire and out into the night. His father was seated in the fire's glow, a welcome horn of wine helping to ease his weary bones. The call of a night bird caused Telefax to prick his ears and stir to alertness. All at once, Kalohern caught on the night breeze the pungent and tantalising aroma of the pine forest. Seized by a sudden strange impulse and barely aware of his actions, he slid onto Telefax's back and turned the horse's head to follow the track of the departing warriors. </p>

08-12-2001, 06:34 PM	#13
*Gilthalion* Hobbitus Emeritus Join Date: Jan 2001 Location: South Farthing Posts: 635	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Hobbitus Emeritus Posts: 573</TD><TD><img src=http://home.att.net/~robertwgardner/lotrmap.gif WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE> Captured! Taladan and Thenamir, with greater woodscraft, and darker hair that might not be traced back to Rohan, slipped up quietly, and before the sleepy Dunlender knew what had happened, the butt of a sword crashed across the back of his head and he fell forward unconcious. The dark-haired riders took their captive back to where their blond friends Gurthden and Baranthol were waiting. When he came to, they would have many questions for him. Little did they know that other eyes were watching him for there were some among the Dunlenders that did not trust the straw-haired Riders of Rohan and kept watch even when it had not been ordered... </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/14/01 8:25:05 pm __________________ Please read my fan fiction novel THE HOBBITS. Wanna hear me read Tolkien? Gilthalion's Grand Adventures!

08-12-2001, 06:39 PM	#14
SteadfastSam Seeker of Light Join Date: Jul 2001 Posts: 503	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Ghost-Prince of Cardolan Posts: 506</TD><TD><img src=http://www.lordoftherings.net/images/ca_sasti.jpg WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE> Re: A Ride in the Dark Ulfwine stared thoughtfully into the fire, a little apart from his rowdy companions. It crackled cheerily, warming the Dunlending's mind and spirit. He threw a small stick in, causing it to blaze, and pondered the recent events. He didn't like the mission he had been ordered on, whatever the Chiefs had said about the Riders of Rohan. He liked the wizard, Saruman, even less. He spat into the fire and stood up, stretching. He walked over to to his leader. "Don't you think we should send out patrols? We are near the lands of Rohan." The burly leader laughed and thumped him on the back. "Ahh, you young recruits! So unsure of yourself! Those Strawheads won't dare to attack us after nightfall! Now get some rest, if you aren't hingry! There is a lot of work tomorrow!" Slightly reassured, but cautious nonetheless, Ulfwine curled up by his pack and tried to sleep. ***** He awoke, hours later, after having disturbing dreams. He yawned and stood up, then started into the woods to empty his system of the large amounts of ale he had drunk the night before. He had the beginnings of a terrible headache, and stumbled through the undergrowth, tripping over prostrate, and snoring, bodies. Soon he was (by all appearances) alone. He didn't see or hear the shadowy figures approaching him from behind. </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000054>Steadfas tSam</A> at: 8/14/01 11:13:19 am

08-14-2001, 08:50 AM	#15
*Thenamir* Spectre of Capitalism Join Date: May 2001 Location: Battling evil bureaucrats at Zeta Aquilae Posts: 987	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Newly Deceased Posts: 9</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> An unfortunate Dunlending Thenamir silently put on his night-black helmet, pulled down low over his face but not so far as to obscure his vision, as Ulfwine stumbled towards the trio. Using hand signals, Taradan directed Thenamir to distract the hapless Dunlending from the right, while Taradan moved left to drop him from the opposite side. Gurthden, the tall rider, watched with a blindfold in one hand and his sword hilt in the other as Thenamir and Taradan readied themselves into position. The Dunlending walked past the well-hidden warriors, stopped about ten feet short of Gurthden, and emptied his painfully swollen bladder (well clear of Gurthden, much to his own relief). He had just finished righting his rough clothing when Thenamir unsheathed his sword with an unnecessarily loud clang. The Dunlending, still tipsy but instantly alert turned immediately in that direction. At exactly that moment, Taradan rose without a sound from his cover and crashed the hilt of his sword down upon the head of the unfortunate Dunlending who swayed only a moment before collapsing. Taradan caught him as he fell and set him gently to the ground, avoiding noise that might be investigated by the others. Thenamir and Gurthden quietly rushed up, Thenamir securely roping the hands behind him, Gurthden expertly handling the blindfold. Taradan’s keen eyes scouted the area, but could discover no evidence that they had been detected. Thenamir hoisted the limp Ulfwine none too gently over one shoulder and signalled ready to move out. Taradan led, attempting to make a quick but quiet path for the others to follow, and Gurthden followed behind as rear lookout. The shorter rider, Baranthôl, breathed an audible sigh of relief as the trio came into view with their prize. Thenamir set Ulfwine sitting upright with his back against the rock. Taradan opened his water-skin and dashed cold water into the face of the unconscious Dunlending while Thenamir by prior agreement kneeled near, knife at the ready. Ulfwine came to with a start, but Thenamir held him down and pressed the point of the knife to his throat. “See ‘ere now,” said Thenamir in a near-flawless rustic accent, “you be out of earshot of your friends, still havin’ a nice nap. You just sit ‘ere nice and quiet-like, and you won’t have to feel how deep me blade can go, there’s a good lad.” The Dunlending struggled only a moment before he felt a trickle of blood winding down the side of his neck. Ulfwine went limp. “You see,” said Thenamir to the others, “told ya he’d be a smart one.” They murmured assent, smiling faintly. “Who are you?” Ulfwine demanded. “Ah, now, you’ll not be askin’ the questions today,” Thenamir continued in his ridiculous accent, “you’ll be answerin’ them – like first, you be tellin’ us just who you be, and what you and yer friends back there be doin’ a-traipsin’ in these parts?” </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000209>Thenamir </A> at: 8/16/01 9:02:32 am __________________ The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane. ~~ Marcus Aurelius

08-14-2001, 07:14 PM	#16
Theodred21 Phantom Rider Join Date: Jun 2001 Location: Edoras, Rohan Posts: 1,213	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Phantom Rider Posts: 1170</TD><TD><img src=http://www.jrrtolkien.org.uk/Graphics/Buttons/torch.gif WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE> Re: An unfortunate Dunlending Taradan, smiled as he listened to the Gondorian, frightening the Dunlending with his silly accent. As Thenamir tried to scare the Dunlending into talking, he walked over to where the horses were tied, and fed Nimroch one of Thenamir's horse treats. He glanced around nervously, something did not feel right. He had a strange feeling that he was being watched. Unlike the others, he had a foreboding feeling that there had been witnesses to their capture. He knew that they were not safe, and they had to move to a safer place quickly. But was it just a feeling, or were they in life threatening trouble. He wondered if he should voice his opinion to the others. He decided he would. As he crept back to their little camp, he heard Thenamir still interrogating the horror-stricken Dunlending. he decided not to break up Thenamir's fun, and wait. But that decision might have turned out a mistake... </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000011>Theodred 21</A>  <IMG HEIGHT=10 WIDTH=10 SRC=http://www.ezboard.com/ezgfx/gicons/white_fire.gif BORDER=0> at: 8/25/01 9:45:35 am __________________ Rohan All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not whither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken: The crownless again shall be king. -The Riddle of Strider

08-14-2001, 08:14 PM	#17
SteadfastSam Seeker of Light Join Date: Jul 2001 Posts: 503	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Ghost-Prince of Cardolan Posts: 511</TD><TD><img src=http://www.lordoftherings.net/images/ca_sasti.jpg WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE> Re: An unfortunate Dunlending Ulfwine was no coward, and at first thought of fighting back. Unbeknownst to his captors, his blindfold had slipped, and he could clearly see them. He quickly started to think of a plan of escaping and returning to camp. Then he remembered his chief's words, mocking his caution and setting him up to be the fool. He bitterly answered the stranger. "I am Ulfwine of Dunland, following my chief, who is in the service of the Wizard, Saruman. My chief's name is Borleg, and he is a fool. He believes he is safe, and yet here you are, right outside the camp!" He glanced, first at one figure, then the next, and angrily continued. "I can only assume you are riders of Rohan, sent here to spy on our movements. I cannot tell you any more than what I have, because I am but a lowly scouter troop, not even fit for the main body. I assume you will kill me, to prevent my escape, and good riddance. I never wanted to fight in this war; I have no quarrel with Rohan! Now I will never see my home again, and the sooner you get on with it, the better. However, if you spare me, I swear on the home of my father that I will do anything I can to aid you." One of the figures turned to the other and murmered "How good is the word of a Dunlending? I say kill him and be done. He is useless to us." Ulfwine smiled grimly, and steeled himself to death. His mind drifted to the home of his youth, and to his family. Goodbye, my family, I will see you in the life after. </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000054>Steadfas tSam</A> at: 8/15/01 4:25:36 pm

08-15-2001, 12:38 PM	#18
*Thenamir* Spectre of Capitalism Join Date: May 2001 Location: Battling evil bureaucrats at Zeta Aquilae Posts: 987	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pile o' Bones Posts: 12</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> A Pertinent Question Thenamir’s expression softened a bit, but he continued to press the knifepoint. “’ere now, we’ll ‘ave no talk o’ killin’ just yet,” prattled Thenamir (a quick glance to Taradan saw him nodding his assent), “but we aims to get out of you all we can afore we decides what t’do with yer. You might be tellin’ true, and you might not. Even if you were, ‘ow could the likes of us trust the likes of you, what so easily turns traitor to ‘is own when there’s trouble about?” </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/17/01 12:30:00 pm __________________ The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane. ~~ Marcus Aurelius

08-19-2001, 02:23 PM	#19
SteadfastSam Seeker of Light Join Date: Jul 2001 Posts: 503	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Seeker of Light Posts: 516</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> Re: A Pertinent Question Ulfwine did not know how to answer the stranger's probing questions, at first. He was silent for a moment, as he thought about why he was so willing to betray his chief. He remembered back to the day, months ago, when Borleg had first appeared in his village, high in the hills of Dunland. He sighed and slowly began to speak. "Many months ago, Borleg came to my home, and demanded that my father join him. He said there was to be a war, and that every man was needed. My father was old, yet hale, and a mighty warrior. He did not want to leave my mother and sisters though, and resisted. Borleg cut off both his thumbs as an example to others. He took me anyway. He said to my father as we rode off, "Let the coward's son do the fighting for him!" I hate him and the day that he was born! I have tried to be the best soldier that I could, to honor my father, but he treats me with disdain. " Ulfwine struggled to stand, but was stilled by the knife at his throat. "And now it seems that I will be useless even to his enemies. I wish there is more I could tell you, but all I know is this; A man of Rohan is in league with Borleg. Indeed he has great authority, and favor with the Wizard. He is the one who ordered Borleg here, and he is the one you should watch for. He is called Ortheng in our language, " Cunning Tongue". There is aught else I can tell you of use, but I may be able to aid you, in other ways." "What did Wormtongue want with him?" asked Thenamir. "Something about a trip somewhere, some city of the elves. I didn't hear much else." "You expect us to believe that!" Taradan grabbed Ulfwine roughly with both hands pulling at the prisoner's collar so that breathing became difficult. "A bunch of Dunlenders going to the Golden Wood where not even the bravest dare to go?" "NO! Urgh! Not there!" Ulfwine struggled to speak and to breathe. Thenamir said, "Let him talk." Taradan released him with a hard shove to the ground. "Another city.... an old city.... ruins now... to the north," gasped Ulfwine. "Why?" demanded Taradan. "To get something for the wizard. To find something. I don't know what," said Ulfwine, raggedly. But I can help you follow them to it. It must be important." "Do we need his help?" asked Taradan. "Please! I want to! I know what villages will be safe for you. And I know the places you should avoid. You'll never follow them through my countryside without meeting more trouble than you can handle. You need a guide!" said Ulfwine. "He may be right," said Thenamir. As the four riders deliberated, hostile eyes watched them from seclusion. The hunters were also being hunted. </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 8/20/01 7:49:25 pm

08-24-2001, 10:19 AM	#20
*Thenamir* Spectre of Capitalism Join Date: May 2001 Location: Battling evil bureaucrats at Zeta Aquilae Posts: 987	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pile o' Bones Posts: 13</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> Time for a Getaway Ulfwine’s story reminded Thenamir of his own grief and loss at the hands of the Dunlendings. But here was a conundrum indeed: this man was a Dunlending himself – and the memory of his wife’s brutal death was still a raw wound in his mind – but one who also claimed to be a refugee from their brutality. An honorable Dunlending, Thenamir thought, wonders never cease. What next, polite and helpful trolls? Thenamir looked at Taradan with a raised eyebrow, the implied question being, “you’re in charge – what now?” Taradan knitted his brow only for a moment before jerking his thumb towards the horses. Thenamir dropped the phony accent and put away the knife. “Don’t know what to do with you yet, but for the moment you’re coming with us,” said Thenamir in a low voice. “You can share a horse with Baranthôl,” Taradan said, “he’s the smallest.” Baranthôl grimaced, but understood. “You’ll understand if we don’t untie you just yet,” Thenamir said with a half-smile. Ulfwine caught the hint of warmth in Thenamir’s voice, and nodded in return. Each of them thought they had found someone sympathetic to help with his own private war. Thenamir and Gurthden helped settle Ulfwine side-saddle behind Baranthôl on the horse, then mounted up themselves. “Anything we need to know about ahead?” said Thenamir to Ulfwine, who pointed a path ahead. Thenamir was just about to rein Windwight around to follow when he detected a furtive movement in the brush ahead, and another in trees to his right. He whistled a shrill call to the others to warn them, but it was already too late… </p> __________________ The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane. ~~ Marcus Aurelius

08-25-2001, 07:44 AM	#21
Theodred21 Phantom Rider Join Date: Jun 2001 Location: Edoras, Rohan Posts: 1,213	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Phantom Rider Posts: 1248</TD><TD><img src=http://www.jrrtolkien.org.uk/Graphics/Buttons/flamme1.gif WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE> Re: Time for a Getaway Taradan and Gurthden were not even mounted yet when they heard Thenamir's whistle. A group of Dunlendings had just burst from the bushes. Their wild unkept hair hung in their eyes, and they howled a shrill cry, alerting everyone else in their camp. At first, Taradan was in shock, at their sudden assault, but then, his startled mind began to think again. We must get out of here to avoid endangering ourselves thought Taradan. He sprang upon his horse Nimroch, and saw that Guthden had done the same. As he began to pull the reins, he noticed that the Dunlendings were too close. Too late he began to spur his mount. It happened very quickly, but it seemed in slow motion for him. His horse began to gallop slowly, the Dunlending club began to swing at him slowly, and his feet moved slowly as he tried to spur his startled horse. This is it he thought grimly, as the Dunlending club smashed into his skull. For a moment it felt as if his head was on fire, then his whole world went black.... </p> __________________ Rohan All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not whither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken: The crownless again shall be king. -The Riddle of Strider

09-10-2001, 10:49 AM	#22
*Thenamir* Spectre of Capitalism Join Date: May 2001 Location: Battling evil bureaucrats at Zeta Aquilae Posts: 987	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pile o' Bones Posts: 15</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> No Way Out Thenamir was only dimly aware that Taradan had fallen – his mind was fixed on selling the lives of himself and his comrades as dearly as he could, and trying to get one of them -– anyone -- away safely to get word back to Dernwine and the others. The attention they fixed on Taradan slowed the Dunlendings just a heartbeat – long enough for Thenamir to hastily assess the grim situation. He whistled for Gurthden and Baranthôl to rally their horses to him, being closest to the center of the quickly-tightening circle of attackers. In a single movement Thenamir again pulled out his knife and sliced Ulfwine’s bonds, then handed him the knife as the ropes fell away. There was no time to prepare any other plan, for the dark men were upon them. There seemed to be over twenty of them, all the men in the camp they had been following. Thenamir’s mind tried to stay clear of the careless and vengeful anger that betrayed him before he left Gondor, and just hoped that there were no hidden reinforcements. Their horses had been well trained for this kind of battle – almost instinctively they each turned their hind hooves to the attackers. Quickly the four powerful beasts caught as many unsuspecting Dunlenders, kicking their hearts out through their spines and shattering their ribs. Their suddenly limp bodies sailed several feet thru the air and knocked down the attackers immediately behind them. There was a beat of stunned pause in their advance. Reflexively the Rohirrim, the turncoat Dunlending and the Gondorian took the tiny advantage, each raising a terrifying battle cry in his own tongue as they charged the dark warriors. Ulfwine ducked under the heavy blow of a swung club and stabbed upwards with Thenamir’s longknife, piercing and opening the gut of one of his former comrades who fell to the ground with a thud, desperately trying to keep his innards from gushing out. Thenamir’s sword Aranbold sang with the bloodlust, taking opportunity wherever he could find it in the melee, dodging a club or a sword here, pricking a shoulder there, parrying a swordthrust with one hand and punching a jaw with the other. He felt a club come down on his helm, but it glanced off the rounded surface leaving a dent near his right ear. Even before his ears began ringing Aranbold swept round in the only clear shot he’d had since the battle began and severed a dark head which splattered red over friend and foe alike. Still, the blow staggered Thenamir, and he was unable to completely parry the next sword blow, which opened a nasty gash in his forearm. As far as Thenamir could see, Gurthden and Baranthôl were back-to-back, both wounded and bloody, battling the enemy in Rohirrim fashion. One dead Dunlending lay nearby. That still left fourteen or fifteen attackers against the four of them, and the attackers were no longer rushing headlong at them but beginning to coordinate. The horses had now escaped, each with an arrow or two in the flanks – they would perhaps survive if tended soon enough. Thenamir mentally bid the mounts all speed, especially Windwight, who bore a hastily carved scrawl in the saddle that if found would identify their attackers. The Two Rohirrim roared anew at the craven attackers for the loss of their beloved horses, but Thenamir knew that no amount of valor on their part could save them now – it was just a matter of time before they too were caught or killed… </p> __________________ The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane. ~~ Marcus Aurelius

09-10-2001, 03:12 PM	#23
SteadfastSam Seeker of Light Join Date: Jul 2001 Posts: 503	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Seeker of Light Posts: 526</TD><TD><img src=http://www.lordoftherings.net/images/ca_sasti.jpg WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE> The plot thickens Ulfwine was shocked at the sudden attack of his own people. He had thought that no guard had been set! He turned, and saw the savage Dunlendings set upon the horsemen fiercely. One was already down with a blow to the head. Ulfwine was suddenly freed of his bonds by Thenamir and given a knive. The Dunlender rolled defty off the horse and fell to the ground with a thump. He jumped up and called out to a nearby Dunlending. "Hi! Girthfrith!" The burly man turned for a moment and guffawed at Ulfwine. "Got caught did you, young whelp? Borleg will want a word with you." He laughed again. But Ulfwine had other plans. He struck the bigger man with lightning speed, cracking him squarely across the jaw. Girthfrith cursed and stumbled back, dropping his sword. Ulfwine snatched it up and quickly dispatched him. He then ran over to the fallen Rider, who was about to be spitted by a Dunlend spear. The other Riders were hard pressed and unable to help, and Ufwine arrived just in time to sever the spear-point from the shaft. The Dunlend quickly looked up and leered into Ulfwine's face. "Traitor!" He spat out as Ulfwine ran him through. He fell to the ground, and Ulfwine replied, "Tell that to my father, cur." </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 9/10/01 7:52:05 pm

09-13-2001, 12:29 AM	#24
Iulbahar Pile O'Bones Join Date: Mar 2001 Location: Greece Posts: 23	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pile o' Bones Posts: 19</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> Re: Reinforcements Telefax's unshod hooves made little sound on the soft floor of the forest and it was easy to track the other riders provided Kalohern stayed some distance back. He fervently hoped Telefax would not betray his presence by calling to the other horses. At first his pursuit was made easier by the noise of Guthrin's loud and boastful account of his prowess as a warrior drifting through the trees ahead, but eventually the noncommittal grunts of the other more seasoned riders caused even Guthrin to fall silent. Kalohern realised that the trail seemed to be leading westward, probably towards the River Isen, which marked Rohan's border with the realm of the mysterious enchanter Sarumen. An unestimable period of time passed; the moon rose higher and Kalohern held Telefax back still furthur to avoid detection. Suddenly Telefax pricked up his ears and gave a soft whinny of recognition and Kalohern quickly slipped from the horse's back to silence the quivering nostrils with his hand. The rustling of dried bracken alerted him to a presence and a pale grey shape loomed out of the darkness. With beating heart and a sharp sense of foreboding tearing at his gut, he realised that Telefax had recognised a stable companion; the grey roan steed belonging to a stranger who had recently joined the ranks of the riders. Kalohern saw that he was scarred and bloodstained as if from battle; the shaft of a strange arrow was buried in his left haunch and he limped painfully towards the other horse. Gently taking hold of the horse's reins, he noticed that one stirrup was missing, and as he instinctively went to secure the remaining one to prevent the horse sustaining furthur injury his glance fell on a small scrap of parchment which was caught on the skirt of the saddle. On closer scrutiny it bore a hastily scrawled rendering of the insignia of Dunland. What could it mean? The riders had obviously been attacked and had tried to send warning of some peril. Grim faced, Kalohern remounted his horse and quickening his pace trotted in the direction that the others had taken. Suddenly he heard harsh cries and the clash of weapons; there was a dim glow ahead and the smell of woodsmoke as if from a smouldering campfire. Emerging from the trees into a large clearing he saw that a deathly struggle was under way. In the centre the two warriors Gurthden and Baranthôl stood back to back, hard pressed and surrounded by what looked to be about a dozen swarthy and determined attackers. Another, Thenamir, was valiantly weilding his sword despite a bloody wound on his arm. The bodies of several of the foe were scattered underfoot and yet another rider, Taradan, lay as if dead, his helm dented from a severe blow. The two approaching riders bellowed the battle cry of the Roherrim and leapt into the melee. One charged his horse at the swarm of dark faces surrounding Gurthden and Baranthôl and began to lay about them left and right with his sword. The other quickly sprang to the aid of the staggering Thenamir. Aside from the furore, Guthrin sat astride his horse immobile, with a frozen expression of fear reminiscent of a cowardly child confronted by a ferocious dog. His sword dangled limply by his side as a whimper of terror escaped his gaping mouth. Cursing, Kalohern gave a frenzied yell and as Telefax surged forward in answer he rode alongside and snatched Guthrin's sword from his palsied hand. Bearing the blade aloft he swept into the fray. </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000220>Iulbahar </A> at: 9/13/01 12:12:43 pm

09-13-2001, 02:11 PM	#25
*Thenamir* Spectre of Capitalism Join Date: May 2001 Location: Battling evil bureaucrats at Zeta Aquilae Posts: 987	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pile o' Bones Posts: 17</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> An Old Enemy The only reason Thenamir was still standing at all was that the Dunlendings had acquired a new respect for, and a splattering of their associates’ blood from, his grim and terrible sword. The only reason Thenamir’s sword still remained in his hand was the fact that his hand was too cramped from exhaustion to release it. Injured as he was, Thenamir allowed the bitter anger to spill over into his consciousness, anger at the loss of his family, and now his own life, at the hands of these filthy vermin. The emotion surged new strength into his arms and legs, and became a deadly, mithril-piercing glare in his eyes. He took a rock in his free hand, and threw with wobbly aim, trying to goad the regrouping enemy into moving too soon and too fast. The missile nevertheless found it’s target, the head of a powerfully-built swarthy man who couldn’t duck quick enough. Thenamir heard what he thought was a howl of rage as his target turned and began running full-tilt at him, a bastard-sword at the ready, far larger and far heavier than Thenamir’s Aranbold -- but that was what he was counting on. Just as the broadsword blade was about to cleave Thenamir’s helm (and head) asunder, Thenamir deliberately fell backwards onto the ground. The man’s momentary confusion caused him to stumble slightly. The momentum of his bulk and his sword carrried him to and over Thenamir, who bellowed “For Linwen!!” as he two-handed his own sword through the big man’s right knee as it passed. He rolled out to avoid the stroke of the man behind him, but there were too many at once. He saw the face of one particularly ugly Dunlender leer at him as he prepared to axe Thenamir in two at the midsection, when the leer changed to a look of dull shock, the axe fell from his hands, and his body and head fell in separate directions to reveal a mounted Rider – three mounted Riders, one of them certainly a youth! What Thenamir had thought was a howl of rage was in reality the newcomers’ battle cry! Thenamir had no time for wonder as the Riders found new targets. Regaining his feet at the edge of the thick forest he found his way now barred by Borleg, the Dunlending leader. For a few moments, the two stood silent as a shock of recognition struck them both – Borleg had been at the head of the brigands who had raided his wife’s village as Thenamir’s men had attacked to drive them off. “You!!” gasped Thenamir as vengeance clouded his mind in a red haze. “Gondorian!” spat Borleg in surprised contempt. Like a flash Thenamir swung his sword, but Borleg was equally quick to parry as they locked eyes and clashed steel. Yet again Thenamir stepped back to swing, but he was too weak – the battle and the anger had exhausted him, and he had no reserves left. Borleg lowered a shoulder and rammed Thenamir, knocking him to the ground. But Borleg had no time to finish it – the other riders had returned, mounted, with gleaming spears leveled at him. He disappeared into the woods with the remainder of the Dunlendings and was gone before the riders could follow. Thenamir, mentally drained, physically exhausted, thirsty and bleeding, simply could not move. Before he passed out he hoped that Ulfwine had not been accidentally slaughtered… </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 9/15/01 3:58:08 pm __________________ The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane. ~~ Marcus Aurelius

09-13-2001, 02:31 PM	#26
SteadfastSam Seeker of Light Join Date: Jul 2001 Posts: 503	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Seeker of Light Posts: 527</TD><TD><img src=http://www.lordoftherings.net/images/ca_sasti.jpg WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=60></TD></TR></TABLE> Re: ROHAN RPG Ulfwine fought with the ferocity of a tiger guarding its young, knowing the fallen Rider may be his only hope to freedom. Time and again he felled a fierce Dunlending intent on the death of the Rider. His mind flashed to the lessons in fighting his father had taught him, years ago. "Never lower your gaurd, stay on the defensive!" His father had told him. "Too many times have I seen determined attacker foiled by their own eagerness!" Ulfwine silently thanked his father, and ran through a final attacker. He looked around; it appeared that more riders had entered the fray. The Dunlendings, confused and unaware of the size of this new force, had fallen back momentarily. Ulfwine dropped to his knee and examined the Rider. He was alive, though unconsious, and bleeding heavily from the head. Ulfwine quickly bound up the wound to his head with a strip of cloth torn from a tunic of a fallen dunlending, and turned to look for the other Riders. The Dunlending would soon alert the camp, and return in a horde. Retreat was imperative. </p>

09-13-2001, 05:14 PM	#27
*Sharkû* Hungry Ghoul Join Date: Jun 2000 Posts: 1,719	<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Hungry Ghoul Posts: 1024</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE> The Prey Shows Teeth A number of the men from the western plains had fallen under the swords of the Rohirrim, among them the leader of his unit, Smrtan. When one of the tall and dark-haired riders had cloven Smrtan's shield asunder, and struck his blade into the Dunlending's body, the young Storwolos had howled out in fear. Gesturing wildly with both arms, he now stood out among the Dunlendings who were about to encircle the three remaining riders, for he, Storwolos, felt that now it was his responsibility to order the ranks and take the lead as the most resolute of his unit. Although he had always respected Smrtan, he nevertheless knew he himself was alone cut out to be the real leader here, and the one who whom Borleg had also always seen as the one with the best 'Dunlending spirit', as he used to say. His shaved head moved from left to right to strafe those of his men with a glare who seemed to fear the well-wielded swords of the riders, and, ramming the standard of their house, the long spear with three large ox-horns bound at the top like a fork, into the ground, Storwolos took his shield and attacked with the signal for the next assault in this skirmish. The Dunlending was filled with agonized fury as he crashed into the his next opponent, one of the two riders who looked not like the other strawheads, dealing a blow with his javelin, and warding off another with his small leaf-shaped shield. With his smaller and considerably more agile body, he dodged away to the side to regain the edge in close combat. Then only for a glimpse, the hate in Storwolos's eyes subsided and gave way to his surprise, only to light up anew as he beheld his former comrade Vlodlak, who called himself 'Ulfwine' after the tongue of the forgoil, siding with the enemy and slaying his own kin, his own blood. Before his anger allowed Storwolos to react other than to growl and shake his weapon at the enemy, piling on into the triangle of the three remaining opponents, the riders tried to break through to the south in a coordinated fashion, as if they responded to a hidden sign. Now Storwolos heard it – far away to the south, horns were sounding. Not in the shrill, complicated drum-based rhythm of the Dunlendings, but as the clear, piercing call of the strawheads. Storwolos had to kick one of his men, who was already about to scavenge among the goods of the riders, and reluctantly, he had to give the sign to break the ring and reconstitute in the northern flank. 'Try to kill them quickly, and then retreat!' commanded Borleg, and Storwolos did likewise to the men of his, who seemed to have accepted his initiative at least for the present, mainly because they seemed impressed with his battle prowess. But as he ended, the first riders of the relief were already in an arrow's range, and the doughty warriors would not yield to the spears from Dúnland. Before the charge of the new éored came crashing in, Storwolos removed from melee at the cost of a deep cut in his shield-arm, and with more gestures and angry shouts he was somehow able to turn the wild flight of his men to a ordered retreat, although many Dunlendings could not escape the strawheads' fast assault. The Dunlendings were more familiar with these parts of the land than the Riders, who seemed to have stopped behind them, although none dared to turn and look. Some of the group seemed to have been seperated to them, Borleg and a few man of his house were missing, but since Storwolos had seen them fleeing and already out of the range of the enemy, they would not be far. After some minutes of running, they came to a mould between some ragged hills, where they had camped often already. There, Storwolos adressed the men again for the first time since the command to retreat, thriving in the absence of his leader: 'Comrades, we have seen the malice of our enemy once again! They turned one of our men into a traitor. They raid deep into our land already again, this time into the land we had to withdraw to after they had first epelled us from the green eastern plains. Let us march northwards, to gather our kindred, and urge Borleg to lead us in a campaign, I say. The White Hand of Isengard has offered us Rohan, and we will rally to it. But it is our fist that has to crush them, and take back what is ours!' </p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://www.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_profile&u=00000006>Gilthali on</A> at: 9/15/01 4:23:32 pm

10-02-2001, 05:25 PM	#28
*Thenamir* Spectre of Capitalism Join Date: May 2001 Location: Battling evil bureaucrats at Zeta Aquilae Posts: 987	When Thenamir came to, he wished he hadn’t. His head could not decide whether to spin off his spine before or after it exploded from the pounding pain. His left arm was being probed by red-hot irons. He could not lift his head from the ground. Garbled voices seemed to be shouting his name from a distance. His throat seemed coated with sand, his eyelids sealed with a mild glue. When he did manage to get them open, it was only to see inky blackness, with odd shapes moving in an orange haze. Someone lifted him roughly, sat him up on the ground, setting off another wave of spinning nausea. A bottle of water was placed at his lips which he seized in fumbling hands and gulped greedily. In a few moments the spinning slowed and finally stopped, the shapes became people and trees, and the glow became a hastily-kindled fire. Thenamir with a measure of relief recognized Ulfwine supporting him. Three of the new Rohirrim arrivals tending to Gurthden, Baranthôl and Taradan, but he could not see the person behind him tending to his arm and head. Ulfwine gave him the water-skin again and said, “We must move from here as quickly as possible – Borleg may return at any moment with more men. Can you stand?” Thenamir nodded weakly, and his two aides lifted him gently but firmly to stand, just a bit wobbly at first. It was then with a start that he recognized the one who had been tending him – the youth from the battle! Thenamir held the young man’s eye for a moment, then placed a hand to the shoulder of the lad with a bit of effort. “Would that I had had your skill and bravery when I was your age. You and your companions have saved the lives of myself, my friends, and our beloved horses. I owe you a debt that will be hard to repay. What is your name?” “Kalohern, sir,” said the lad, who looked as if he were about to stammer some humble reply, but was interrupted by one of the attending newcomers. He was dressed richly, strangely unsullied by the battle, urging a hasty departure. The wounded horses who had now returned to their masters were tended as well, and could be pressed to bear their masters for a short time until the near danger had passed. Gurthden and Baranthôl were more severely wounded, but would live until they could be properly tended by the healers. Taradan was conscious, but still a bit dazed from the head injury when Thenamir saw him. “They tell me you quitted yourself well, Thenamir,” said Taradan in a near-whisper from the litter attached to his own horse. “I had doubted you before…can you forgive me?” “Only if you live to be forgiven, and that means you must save your strength for healing and not words,” said Thenamir with a rueful smile. “We will see these men again before many days are passed, I fear, and will need your sword and your command to best them once more.” The well-dressed newcomer again nervously urged them to hasten. Kalohern and another rider helped Thenamir onto Windwight, who winced perceptibly from his arrow wound. It grieved Thenamir to have to so burden his wounded mount, but the loyal horse willing bore the man through the pain as the group now turned and headed away from the battle site… [ October 04, 2001: Message edited by: Thenamir ] __________________ The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane. ~~ Marcus Aurelius

10-02-2001, 07:59 PM	#29
Theodred21 Phantom Rider Join Date: Jun 2001 Location: Edoras, Rohan Posts: 1,213	Taradan could not believe he was alive. Before he had lost conciousness, he remembered the forceful blow to his head, and the sharp pain doubled. He looked to where his once gleaming helm now lay with a great dent in the side. If the club hadn't only glanced him, and the blow had been weakened by his helmet, he knew he would not be here. But was this better than being dead? His wound burned as if on fire, and dried blood covered his face and hair. he kept lapsing into periods of blindness, only seeing through a veiled mist. The pain was horrible, he could not keep his eyes open for long periods, and the throbbing went on incessantly. He looked over at Thenamir again, and saw that he had received a bad wound too. He had been wrong about, he really was quite valiant. He felt better after telling him so though. He heard noises around him and saw that the Rohirrim that had arrived were busy getting ready for a hasty departure. Taradan knew that they must get as far away from the Dunlendings as possible, but he was reluctant to do so. He was very tired, and he wanted to lay down and sleep. "They probably won't attack again,"he said to himself sleepily. "I am so, tired, I must rest. Yes...that's what I'll do...just lie down and rest...yes...rest...." [ October 02, 2001: Message edited by: Theodred21 ] __________________ Rohan All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not whither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken: The crownless again shall be king. -The Riddle of Strider

10-04-2001, 11:42 AM	#30
Dwarin Thunderhammer Khazad-Doomed Join Date: Sep 2001 Location: The Green Dragon Posts: 182	The light from the torch fell softly on the path in front of the cart. Dwarin Thunderhammer was the traveling along the old south to Rohan. He had recently been to the shire and now had to deliver a set of custom armor and a little pipe weed to a friend in rohan. He scratched his beard and took a drink from his water skin. Then something caught his eye it looked like the glint of steel in the pale moonlight. He rubbed the drowsiness fro his eyes to get a clearer view. It looked like a band of the soldiers crossing the road in front of him. Dwarin put out his torch and picked up the speed of his horse. As he got closer to the group he saw that one of the soldiers was slumped in his saddle and it looked like another was about to fall off. As he approached his wheel hit a rock in the road and one of the precious parrels of pipe weed in the back of the cart tipped over with an audible thump. The solders looked over and spotted Dwarin's not so steathly horse cart. Several of them drew their swords and took a stance of battle. "I mean you no harm" Dwarin shouted into the night. Dwarin then spotted the emblem of Rohan on one one of the sheilds. "I see you are soldiers of Rohan, I hold your people in the highest regard. I percieve some of your friends are wounded and even your horses too. May I be of any assistance.?" Dwarin fingered his axe Orc Cleaver as he awaited his answer nervously. [ October 04, 2001: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ] __________________ “Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd aimênu!” Come visit The Rohan RPG! The only RPG to fanfic on the downs! Without law there can be no freedom. Without justice there can be no law.

10-11-2001, 02:19 PM	#31
shieldmaiden Wight Join Date: Oct 2001 Location: oblivion Posts: 103	Baranthol looked suspiciously at the Dwarf. He drew his sword out with his left hand because the right was badly injured. He could feel the blood leaking and staining the cloth his wound was wrapped in. He has rarely seen any Dwarves in his life and he wasn't sure whether they could trust this one. Did the dwarf say something about "assistance". Well, he sure needed some. The riders should decide fast. __________________ Huonya harya vanyë heni yassen sila i eleni! :)

10-15-2001, 09:16 AM	#32
*Thenamir* Spectre of Capitalism Join Date: May 2001 Location: Battling evil bureaucrats at Zeta Aquilae Posts: 987	“Stay, Baranthôl,” said Thenamir quietly but sharply. “You are badly wounded, and there is no need to draw weapons against a lone traveller because he happens to share our road – but keep a watchful eye.” He turned – still painfully – to Ulfwine. “Do you know of any dwarf-kind in your ex-master’s service?” “Absolutely not,” replied Ulfwine. “Borleg would side with the Great Goblin himself before he’d work with dwarves.” “Good,” replied Thenamir. “Dernwine, let us go discover his business, and whether he can help us. Do not draw weapons, but be watchful.” Dernwine nodded, and motioned for Gurthrin to join them. Gurthrin hesitated only a moment before spurring his mount lightly towards the dwarven cart and its lone occupant. Dwarin was a bit taken aback when three of the party approached and surrounded him, but none had given any sign of agression and all, except Gurthrin, seemed to be relatively at ease. Thenamir drew still nearer into the full light of Dwarin’s lantern to show he had no ill intent. “Friend dwarf,” began Thenamir, “I am Thenamir of Rohan, and we are indeed as you see men of the Mark, with whom you claim friendship. We were waylaid a short time ago by a renegade band of Dunlendings who we believe have some purpose against our land and our king. We have are travelling back to our land with several wounded among us, including our captain. We could use any skill you might have in tending wounds or the healing arts. Lacking that, if your errand is not pressing perhaps there is room in your cart for some of our wounded to ride more comfortably. Your help would be most gratefully appreciated.” __________________ The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane. ~~ Marcus Aurelius

10-15-2001, 12:33 PM	#33
Dwarin Thunderhammer Khazad-Doomed Join Date: Sep 2001 Location: The Green Dragon Posts: 182	Upon hearing the plight of Thenamirs party, the tensions Dwarin felt were immediately relieved. "Bring your wounded, I have plenty of room on my cart for them. Take the burdens off your hurt horses too there's of room enough for their packs also." Dwarin then started rummaging through various bags and compartments in the back of the cart. He emerged with a gold traced chest. "I have no special healing powers, nor am I in the posession of any healing potions or plants." He said as he handed the box to thenamir. "What little I do have I for the relief of pain is at your service." Thenamir opened the box, inside there were some frsh clean bandages, various other items for the relief of wounds, a leather sack, and a cloth bag . "When the leaves in the leather pouch are wrapped in a bandage on a wound they will give some temporary relief to the pain. They can also be used to put somone to sleep. The herbs in the cloth bag can be used to clear up the mind and awaken somone, much like a cold bucket of water. The rest is pretty straightforward. I also have plenty of water, salted meats, bread and cheese, I was planning for a long trip. Go ahead and use as much as you neede." "Oh before I forget, do know of a man called Taradan? I was supposed to give a new suit of armor to him." Dwarin then started preparing space in his cart for the men he knew would be riding with him. "One last thing. Care for a pipe?" __________________ “Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd aimênu!” Come visit The Rohan RPG! The only RPG to fanfic on the downs! Without law there can be no freedom. Without justice there can be no law.

10-15-2001, 12:36 PM	#34
Imbadian Guest Posts: n/a	"Healing, you say," said an elf who stepped into sight "I doubt this dwarf can help you there. However I can, for I am Elwood son of Arathral of Lothlorien and I am skilled in the arts of healing." Turning quickly around Thenimar said "Lothlorien you say, I know little of elves and even less of the Golden Wood. Some say the Golden Lady is a witch, who is not to be trusted." "Fool, talk no evil of the Lady Galadriel for there is no evil in Lotlorien. If you do not wish my aid then begone and trouble me no more. However if you do wish my aid then sit and allow me to tend your wounds," As Elwood spoke this he semmed to grow tall and terrible and the men shrink back in fear save one, Taradan. "Forgive my friend," Taradan spoke "He is angry and foolish. I will accept your aid even if no others will." Thenamir spoke again "Forgive me, Master Elf, for I am angry and foolish, as Taradan said, I too will accept your healing." "I accept your apologies, come sit down and forget your troubles for a while." With this the Men of Rohan dismounted and came and sat down in a circle around the elf.

10-20-2001, 01:13 PM	#35
shieldmaiden Wight Join Date: Oct 2001 Location: oblivion Posts: 103	As Baranthol sat down a strange pain striked him. He realised that he had another wound, a nasty cut on his belly . He was sure about one thing, he wouldn't tell anyone about this one. "Could you give me some bandages? For my arm, you see," he asked the Dwarf. "And thank you for your offer, Elwood, but I would like to tend my wounds myself. Though, I could use some medical plants if you have them." __________________ Huonya harya vanyë heni yassen sila i eleni! :)