Resettling the Lost Kingdom

[Himaran]

Dwarves

Olin grunted under the weight of the emmense stone, tripping several times during his walk to the house's foundation. Several other dwarves hurried over to relieve him of his burden, and he lowered it into their waiting arms gratefully. Wipeing trickles of sweat off his brow, the dwarf watched as the workers spread morter over the flat rock wall and placed the fresh stone onto it squarely.

Far more a fighter than a worker in mind, Olin was already tired of the repetitive building and the constant bickering among the other dwarves. He continued working stoicly, however, knowing that the job would not be accomplished any quicker if he quit working. Soon it began to rain, and heavy droplets pattered the tents and inhabitants of the settlement. The water did little to help the mortar harden, and soon rocks which had been placed an hour earlier began to slide out of place as the subtance holding them together began moist. Soon heavy stones were falling everywhere; as were the dwarves that attempted to carry and secure them. Eventually, the dwarven taskmaster ordered a break, and the weary and annoyed workers returned to their tents to rest and eat.

[ October 21, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[Osse]

Hillmen

Bear glared out through the masses of tangled hair to the corner where Fletch was sitting; seething at the amount of face he had lost. Without looking away, one of his large fingers traced its way awkwardly down to the torn and bloody tatters that had at the start of the day been his lashings. He tried to mask the involuntary wince made as his finger touched the ripped and lacerated flesh of his calf. The wound wasn’t deep or serious, but it was sore. It was convenient that the meeting was being held in the priest’s hut; the old man had herbs to treat such a wound. The sound of Wolf’s quiet voice reverberated around the dim, smoky room. The setting was grim, as was the speech. Bear only listened in an off-hand manner. Much of which that was spoken he already knew or suspected. Instead his gaze wandered around the room, examining the familiar faces in a new light, wondering if these under-nourished men would be able to cope with what lay ahead. They would have to, either they did, or all of them would die.
Bear continued his visual inspection of the room, occasionally offering a nod of encouragement or twisted smile when his gaze met that of one of his comrades. As Wolf completed his speech, a shudder ran through the small, crowded room like water in an eddying pool. The younger men in the group could not control the fear as it kindled in their eyes, their faces became panic-stricken and their knuckles whitened as they gripped their seats or weapon hilts. The older, more experienced men could contain the fear to but a flicker, a quick burst of electric flame soon quenched that was only discernable from close quarters and even then only to those who knew them well. Bear knew them well, the young and the old. He had seen for himself the strength of the invaders, it matched that of his tribe tenfold.

His survey halted abruptly in the corner where Fletch stood when his gaze met that of the midget. He cursed himself and the anger as he felt it rush to his face. Whatever was written on his face, it must have quite startled Fletch, as he nodded quickly and broke Bear’s gaze, so unlike his usual manner of unbreakable will and contempt. Slowly the hillmen started to flow out of the hut, halting briefly to receive short words of encouragement from Wolf who stood near the door. Bear sat unmoving whilst the room emptied around him. Fletch risked a fleeting glance over his shoulder as he stood on the threshold. Bear stood up with a short groan, intentionally not putting any weight on his injured leg. He composed himself, and tried not to limp as he walked across the room to Wolf, who still stood unmoving by the door, staring with unseeing eyes into the village. The pale, natural light revealed blue-grey bags under Wolf’s eyes, evidence of lack of sleep.
“You worry overmuch brother.” Bear stated to the wind.
“Perhaps, but I fear these southerners shall be the death of us Bear, we cannot hope to overcome them with this rabble.” Came Wolf’s reply after some time. His voice sounded faint and tired.
Wolf had always been a mystery to Bear, often he could not perceive his brother’s mood or thought and on the off chance that he could, what he learned of Wolf’s mind made no sense to him.
“Come brother, hope is not lost. I deem we shall drive these haughty invaders away easily. They shall flee once they taste cold steel. We shall make them rue the day they set foot in our land.” And as he finished, his voice rose in such a tumult that the ravens roosting in a nearby tree took flight in alarm. Wolf’s gaze wandered down to the ground, he shuffled a stone with his foot.
“Brother, what ill chance has maimed your leg?” His voice was full of concern, either feigned or sincere.
“Nothing. I simply put my leg in a game trap.” Was his hurried, almost secretive reply.
“But brother, our folk never use such devices, rather they prefer to shoot or slay their quarry from close range.”
“If you must know, it occurred whilst I was monitoring the progress of the southerners, it seems they are stealing our game as well as our land!” said Bear.
“Whilst you are here you should get the priest to tend your leg.” and with that he strode out into the ruddy light.

[ October 11, 2003: Message edited by: Osse ]

[ October 11, 2003: Message edited by: Osse ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

"Rain, the reeds go under and over each other like this. They don't just go around and around in circles; it won't stay that way and you'll waste your time. Unless you want to have baskets that break when you touch them?"

"No, Mama."

Kestrel rocked back on her heels, rubbing at the scars on the torn side of her face, wishing that just once, she could see out of her left eye again. Things would be ever so much easier if her depth perception was like everyone else's. And why couldn't Rain master the simple task of basket-weaving? It wasn't as though it was a terribly difficult task... Sometimes Kestrel just wanted to go out and kill something. It would feel so good.

The hide that served as the door was pushed aside, and Wolf stalked in, followed closely by Knife. Neither said anything. Wolf's expression was one of worried tiredness, and Knife's--well, perhaps it could be described as one of tired but excited anticipation. Having lived with these men for most of her life (or so it seemed), Kestrel knew not to bother them, so she ended the basket-weaving lesson and shooed Rain and Flint into their corner pile of furs.

[*Varda*]

Dwarves

A light rain drizzled over the camp as the dwarves continued working. A long line of solid stone marked the beginnings of one wall of the future town hall. Although somewhat dampened by the rain, both physically and in spirit, the dwarves worked on, until another wall could be shown by the small line of stone in the ground.

Therin continually looked to the hills, on the look out for any sign of the hill men. But with the rain had come heavy grey clouds, and the hills were covered in mist. If there was any movement among the hill men, it was hidden from the eyes of the settlers.

Inwardly, the dwarf wondered if it had been wise to leave it up to Barzun to inform the rangers of what they had seen. So far, the older dwarf had made no sign that he had told the Rangers anything of what they had seen, but Therin felt it was unwise to speak to the Rangers himself. Barzun could take this the wrong way, and added tension among the dwarves was the last thing they needed.

The rain grew steadily heavier, and the ground the dwarves were working on became muddier. They could not work properly in this weather, and at least the foundations of the site had been laid, as Therin surveyed the land around.

"Dwarves!" Therin called. "This is useless. We cannot do our best work in this rain. Come inside somewhere and we will get on with other things, perhaps survey the plans more extensively. Perhaps some of you can make more suggestions." Sighs of relief were heard amidst the rain and the dwarves picked up their work and went inside to look over the plans some more.

[The X Phial]

Hillman and Ranger

A light spring rain was falling and Thorgil wiped his eyes with his sleeve once again. He needed to keep his vision clear while tracking the unusual creature. The discussion with the southern ranger had unnerved him a bit. He and his men had, of course, seen the tracks before. They had never bothered to follow them since there was no evidence that it intended any harm. The creature, whatever it was, seemed peaceable in its way. Though large and heavy enough to be a good-sized orc, it did not attack. At least it hadn't yet.

New settlers, though, meant upsetting the natural environment somewhat, and the creature might feel threatened. Whatever it was, its tracks were clearly like a human, so maybe if he found it, he could reason with it. He was galled that he had not thought to find it sooner. Clearly, the arrival of the settlers had put him on edge. He hadn't been thinking clearly.

Thorgil stalked through the undergrowth of the forest. He had lost the tracks by the stream a mile or so back and was now following a trail of crushed branches and broken leaves that most experienced woodmen would have been able to track easily. The creature did not seem to be able or willing to cover its traces. It was also moving relatively slowly. The bruised leaves were only an hour or so old.

The fading light and misty rain conspired to cloud Thorgil's eyes, and he almost missed a sharp turn in the creature's path. Stopping for a moment and slowing his own breathing, the ranger closed his eyes and just listened to the forest. The sounds of life were heavy in the thick and humid air. Insects were buzzing to end the day, a sound that was synchopated by the patter of water dripping from leaves, limbs, and Thorgil's own hair. After a moment or two Thorgil could hear the skittering of a pair of squirrels, then the heavier footfall of a fox on a parallel hunt. Then, very faintly, the breath of a larger creature, man-sized at least, in the direction of the creature's tracks. Thorgil was very close.

Opening his eyes again, the ranger oriented on the sound. It was off to the left, behind a stand of trees. Thorgil stilled his racing heart with an effort. A hunt, even one for information, always excited him. Creeping as silently as was humanly possible, he approached the trees.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Calem was tired of waiting. Wolf had told him to keep watch in the forest, a silly task that even Calem knew was pointless. Wolf claimed it was to look out for where the animals were going, since they were scared by the noise of the settlers. Animals never approached Calem, however. He didn't have the skill for hunting and being silent like some of the other men.

He didn't mind the rain, however. Calem was used to staying out in the elements. At least the air was warm and the coldest months were over. Calem hated the winter. He made the best shelters he could, but they were not as warm as the huts of the other hillmen, and he was never invited inside. They usually blew down in the worst storms. For those, Calem had a small cave near the lakeside. Hardly more than a hole, it kept the worst of the wind and snow away. He was used to the pain of cold. So he hardly noticed the soft spring rain, except to turn his head skyward now and then to catch some drips in his twisted mouth.

From within the stand of trees, Calem considered going back to the village. He was scared of going back before the other men returned however. If they found him at the camp when they returned, they called him a lazy cheat and refused to share their food. It was better to wait until they had eaten something, then they could afford to be more generous. Also, they were less likely to throw things if they were engaged in a meal. The fires hadn't started yet, it was too soon to return.

Suddenly, Calem heard a sharp intake of breath behind him. He spun as fast as he could, scared. No animals would come so close, so it must be a man. Maybe one of the hillmen had come to bring him back to the village. But that never happened. More likely he would be there to torture him. When he saw the man, though, it was no hillman. It was a ranger, taller than the men of the village and far scarier! Knife and the others had told him many times about what would happen if the rangers ever came after him. He didn't want to be spitted like a boar!

Fear threw him toward the man. His bulk made an impressive weapon, even with his weak leg. The ranger man looked scared, not at all like Calem expected. He was also fast. Before Calem could hit him, he had spun behind and drawn his long knife. None of the hillmen had knives this long, and Calem thought this was probably one of the swards, or whatever they were called.

Too scared to wonder why the man hadn't attacked him first, Calem lunged again, this time growling low in his throat. He barely saw the strike that brought him to his knees before the ranger. His side hurt. It hurt worse than the cold and worse than the burning fire. Looking down, he saw that the ground was getting redder. The ranger man was talking to him, but Calem wasn't able to understand what he said. The sounds were hollow in his ears.

With a last rush of rage, Calem grabbed a large rock and hurled it at the ranger man, who ducked, but not soon enough. The rock hit him on the head and he staggered, clutching his big knife in both hands. The last thing Calem saw was the big knife and the grass rushing to meet him.

~~~~~~~~

Thorgil's vision was blurry, and not from the rain, as he turned from the grizzly scene before him. The creature....no, man, though hideously deformed...had heard his surprised gasp and reacted with a force that shocked the ranger. His fingers were going numb and he staggered toward the trees. If he could get to the trail, he might have a chance. There were healing herbs and bandages in a kit hidden only a few miles away.

The sword slipped from his fingers. Thorgil realised that he could no longer hear the rain. Touching his fingers to his temple, he could feel the slick blood and was overcome with nausea. He bent, wretched, and found himself unable to get back up. He made it as far as the spot where he had stopped to listen to the forest before losing the strength even to crawl.

The rain began to fall more swiftly as Thorgil whispered a reverence to the West. By the time the shower ended, he had slipped away entirely.

[ October 24, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Barzûn - Dwarves

Barzûn sighed with relief as the rain let up. He had been afraid that the rain would stop the work for the rest of the day. The Dwarves lingered indoors still, however. Barzûn grumbled as he crossed from where he had been standing in the shelter over to where the other Dwarves were standing. He saw some stand back at his scowl, and he almost smiled at the effect. Others, however, glared right back. This caused Barzûn to miss a step. He tried to collect himself again and hoped that no one had seen his pause.

“Well,” he gruffly said to the group, “Time to get back to work.”

Barzûn traveled to tell every worker to get back to work. Within half an hour, all the Men and Dwarves were back to work. Barzûn wandered around watching the work. The work continued successfully for a few hours. Barzûn nearly smiled to himself at the progress…nearly…

A Dwarf came up to Barzûn. He looked nervous. “Um…Sir,” he said, “My name is Gamil.”

“I do not care one whit for your name,” Barzûn said, “What is it you desire?”

“Well,” the Dwarf said nervously, “The supplies for building…stone and the like…”

“Make it quick, boy,” Barzûn said impatiently, “I still have rounds to make.”

“They have not arrived,” Gamil said quickly, flinching as he spoke.

Barzûn swore quietly to himself. He knew something like this would happen. It was all going too smoothly so far. Well, now the Dwarves would have to decide what to do. Men could not be trusted with a decision such as this. The Dwarves would just have to find another location to obtain supplies.

“Dwarves!” Barzûn yelled. The Dwarves looked up from their work, “We must talk.”

The Dwarves gathered around Barzûn in the tent with the plans for the town. Barzûn called Gamil up and Gamil quietly explained their dilemma. A few Dwarves rolled their eyes. Others swore as Barzûn had done, and a few showed to be thinking of ways to solve the problem.

“It is our job to find new material,” Barzûn said, “So let us get thinking.”

Silence fell upon the Dwarves. Each one was obviously trying to form an idea. Their endeavors were unsuccessful for a time, however. Finally, one Dwarf’s face showed an image of realization. The Dwarf smiled. Barzûn looked at the Dwarf. It was Therin. Barzûn hoped the idea was not too ludicrous.

“Yes, Therin?” Barzûn asked. “You look as though you have just been struck with realization of something important. Would you care to share it with the rest of us?”

Therin looked up, startled. “Well,” he started, “I have heard talk. I was listening to some of the men. There is a town. I believe it is called Annuminas. It was once the capital of this area. It is in ruins now. They did not clean out the place, though. The men were wishing that they would refresh the place and create something where the skeleton of the city stands. That means there will be supplies there that we can use.”

Barzûn looked at the Dwarf with surprise. It was an intelligent, well-thought-out idea. It also might work in their situation. The other Dwarves nodded their agreement with Therin. A few muttered at his intelligence. Barzûn thought about it for a little while. The idea sounded completely logical and feasible.

“All right, Therin,” Barzûn said, quickly banishing the small smile that appeared for a second, “We will set out.”

“Shall we tell the Men?” Therin asked.

“We shall tell them, but they should not come,” Barzûn said. “This should be our work. They would just get in our way.”

After about an hour, the Dwarves stood at the ready. They carried with them wheelbarrows and other means by which they planned to transport the supplies from the wrecked city of Annuminas.

“All right, men,” Barzûn said, dragging a wheelbarrow himself.

The troop set out at a fairly brisk pace for the former capital of Arnor.

[ October 24, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Bêthberry]

Settlers, Rangers, Hillmen -- The Discovery of the Bodies of Thorgil and Calem

The steady, regular drip of the rain was unnerving Calumdril. Normally a self-possessed man, he would not usually be bothered by the sudden outburst, yet the pelting of the drops seemed to worry him, as if he had left something unattended which he should have seen to himself. Doubt was nagging him. He had made the ridge, but the cloud and mist shrouded his sight and hearing, so that any opportunity for tracking the herd of deer was well nigh impossible. He shrugged off his frustration at yet another day wasted by thinking of Thorgil, the Ranger. Perhaps he would be of more use to the Ranger, helping him track the strange creature. He slipped out of the thicket and made his way down the ridge, towards the fork of the river.

The rain was heavier in the lowlands and each footstep oozed into the forest bed, matted with last year's leaves. The rain now hid the sounds of animals and seemed to amplify his own heartbeat, as if he were alive and all around him in the forest dead or beyond his reach. He removed his hood, as if that would bring him closer to sensing Thorgil's tracks. It didn't, but merely made the eerie echo of the wet forest more pronounced. He hunched over to watch the ground more closely and nearly missed the sight of the large hawk circling overhead. No, it wasn't a hawk. It was a vulture. Calumdril shaded his eyes from the rain and watched it spiral down, towards a break in the stand of trees. He followed it.

~ ~ ~

The rain had ended by the time Calumdril came upon the scene. He saw first the Ranger Thorgil, whose flesh had already turned a waxy white and whose eyes had already been pecked away. A large wound on the forehead made almost a third eye and silently spoke of the Ranger's death. Calumdril had cursed at the giant birds and driven them off, but he knew without touching the Ranger's body that the man was dead. A crack of branch in the underbush and he tensed his muscles, putting his hand to the knife hidden at his back and jumping up and away, eyes darting for any sign of attack. All he heard now were the slowly returning sounds of the forest shaking off the rainwater. He backed away from Thorgil's body, spying the trail where the Ranger had staggered towards his last stand. Circling round, Calumdril edged his way towards the crushed path. What he found stunned him.

Malformed, horrid, frightening even, yet the creature had been human, a Hillman most likely, Calumdril decided. The body was large, out of proportion, a leg withered and shorter than the other but the arms and chest oversized. Calumdril looked around, reading the story which the coagulated blood and spilt entrails told. He looked back at Thorgil's body, remembering the ugly welt in the forehead and the stink of vomit. Had they surprised each other, he wondered. He walked around the area, searching, and found a bloodied stone. He knelt and picked it up, examining it. An ordinary rock. A primitive weapon but no less deadly for that. Calumdril placed it in his pocket, covered, to show the Rangers the nature of the threat they faced and returned to examine the hillman more.

Its body already stank and the contorted face left Calumdril with visions of orcs. Even the vultures had not yet wanted to touch it. Yet this was no orc, simply a violent, deformed brute, filthy, bruised, battered, feet bare, hands cracked and callused, hardly clothed at all, likely starved from the looks of his cheek bones and ribcage.

But the marks were old, not fresh, not committed by Thorgil. Had his own people treated him thus? Calumdril shuddered at the thought of what enemies they were facing. He crouched back on his haunches, mouthing words of silent mourning for the Ranger who he had sent to his doom. And gave thanks for his life in Ithilien.

A vulture landing audaciously close brought him back to the scene. Calumdril decided he would leave the Hillman for his kind to find him, not the vultures. He cut down branches from an elder bush, saying his prayer of apology to the tree's spirit for the cutting. Holding one hand over his mouth and nose and covering his other with moss, to keep it free from the taint of the Hillman, he straightened out the body, closed the eyes, brought one arm over the other. He wondered if the man had ever received as much attention in life as he was giving him in death. No matter. He would leave his message for the Hillmen to find. He lay the branches over the body, protecting it roughly from degradation by the animals, and lightly kicked earth over it. He searched then for Thorgil's sword.

Finding it, Calumdril thought for some time. By rights it should be returned to the Rangers and buried with Thorgil. Yet he needed to complete his message. Deciding, he broke the sword near the hilt, and buried it in the ground by the Hillman's head. The blade he took away with him.

Scattering the ground to obliterate his tracks and the evidence of Thorgil's death, Calumdril returned to the Ranger's body, cleansing as best he could the bloodied wound and tying a cloth around his eyes, hiding the indignity of the vulture's feeding. Then, straining, he hefted the body over his shoulder and began the long, slow trek back to the Rangers' cabin, dragging an elder branch behind him in hopes of masking his tracks. He staggered. Thorgil had been a tall, robust man and Calumdril was but a slight man.

He had plenty of time to think; he made but slow progress. This could have been him, he realized, as he wound his way back. And then he thought of other problems, more ominous for the settlement. Would the Rangers blame him? And what of these Hillmen? Would they avenge the death of so wretched a creature? Were they all as hideous and deformed as this one had been?

The rank odour of the forest, wet with decay, mingled in his nostrils with his memory of the Hillman's body. He began to sweat with the effort of carrying Thorgil's dead weight and he worried that he might not be able to carry him back to the cabin. For one of the first times in his life, Calumdril felt hedged in by the trees, the forest, and the clammy, humid air.

A shadow, the last of the storm clouds, blotted out the trail. His energy draining, he felt his own mortality a palpable thing and he shuddered, winded by his effort.

[ October 27, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Osse]

Bear - Hillmen

Bear lounged in the chair outside his hut and watched the smoke curl lazily out of the chimney-holes around him. The rain had eased over the last few hours, almost to the point of stopping, and with the change had come the unmistakeable smell one gets after a cleansing downpour.

The air felt fresh and clear with a wholesome tinge. He breathed in deeply and stretched his long legs out. No one else was around as they all shunned the rain and the perpetual damp that their thatch roofs had no hope of preventing.

Bear liked the rain; he felt it revived the soil and put a positive feel on the air, all was silent during rain, except the rhythmic drip or surge of dropping water, the flitter of a small bird making a burst for the next tree, the preciously quiet pad of a fox using the chance created by the absence of people to scrounge amongst the quenched fire pits; the sound of life.

Some of the best hunting was after the rain when the animals came to lick the droplets off the leaves. That was something that his country had going for it; it rained a lot.

He removed a battered leather pouch from his jerkin pocket and fumbled around for its contents. Bear removed the long, dark green leaves and bruised them before rolling them into a rough ball and placing them in his mouth. The plant was Harrow’s Leaf, a weedy plant that grew upon the hillsides. When chewed, it had a calming effect. Most of the hillmen had their own supply of the weed as it grew in abundance near the village.

Suddenly, the rain began to pick up again, torn by a thrusting southerly wind that clawed at his clothing and stung his face. Bear heeded it not. He reached down the side of his leg to where he kept his knife and reached once again into his leather pouch for his whetting stone. The blade was somewhat notched, and didn’t hold it’s edge very well. His grandfather had given it him when he came of age, the knife had been all that he had against the wolf that he now wore, that and his formidable strength.

What Bear really wanted was a good knife like the southerners and Bree-men possessed. “Soon I will have one” he thought to himself “…very soon.”

[ October 28, 2003: Message edited by: Osse ]

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan - Rangers

Rain. Awyrgan awoke from an unsteady nap to find himself soaked thoroughly. Kicking off the tunic he had covered himself with he watched lazily as the water pored off the garmet in rivers. Rain had always fascinated him. The smell of it, the look of it, and the taste of it. Beyond these, an old man had once told him that events that often changed many lives happened during the rain. The blessings and curses of the gods.

He rolled the tunic up, placing it in his pack. Shaking the water out of his hair to the best of his ability he pulled his hood over his head and lit his pipe. Most of the townsfolk were avoiding the outdoors as best as the could. Making his way to a small grove of trees he settled down on a semi-dry patch of moss and smoked. Something was bothering him. Rain poured down for a time and he sat up with a start that would have surprised those around him if they had seen it.

The rain was cold. Not a pleasent chill but an unnerving icey patter that rain down ones spine like a bad dream; as if Nature was enjoying in the discomfort of its many residents. His parents had told the man that he had an unnaturally close affinity with nature for a human, but he brushed it off as much as he could. He often feared what he might interpret. He thought back to the tracks that had been found the day before. Coughing, he pulled the cloak tighter around him. Lighting hit a ridge nearby him and he stood up. Crossing the edge of the settlement he entered the forest.

Thorgil had left earlier, looking for the owner of the strange tracks. Searching the paths Awyrgan cursed the skill of the older man, his footprints were all but invisible even to the skilled. Making his best guess he set off in what he hoped was the correct direction.

He had traveled for sometime when he noticed a large vulture circling overhead. The rain had stopped. The muscles in the man's body tensed as if involuntarily sensing the sudden change in Nature's song. He followed the bird towards a clearing. As he neared he stepped on a branch. Somehow it had remained dry and it gave off a resounding crack. Awyrgan threw himself to the ground, drawing two of his knives. He crawled through brush until he could see the clearing.

Coming up the path was the man Calumdril. Draped over his slight frame was the limp body of Thorgil. Awyrgan opened his mouth to shout a greeting and received a taste of death's breath in his mouth. Gagging, he placed one knive back in his belt. Gripping the other tigher he waited as the man shuffled closer.

The carried man was dead. The reality that it was Thorgil did not register immediately with the Ranger. He studied the body as if it was any other man. The scavangers had already been at work. Strips of flesh were ripped and judging by the cloth wrapped around the head the eyes and surrounding tissue were all but gone. Finally accepting the fact that the leader of the Rangers was dead Awyrgan's jaw tightened and he focused again on Calumdril. He was sweating heavily. Tied to his waist was a broken sword blade. Thorgil's.

All tact gone Awyrgan stood up and sheathing his knife strode towards the pair, green eyes ablaze.

[ October 28, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[The X Phial]

Borgand surveyed the camp that was slowly becoming a home. Already, some of the timbers that the men had worked so hard to fell were being put to use. A small group still worked in the forest, for the need of building materials was great, but many more were engaged in erecting the central town hall. The plans, which the dwarves had finally shared, had been enthusiatically received by the settlers. Many of the craftsmen and business men had put up temporary tent fronts where their more permanent stores and smithies would someday be. He passed a pen that held horses and another with cattle. Simple wooden enclosures that, nonetheless, gave the people a better sense of stability.

With a day or two more the town hall would be up. Borgand hoped to hold a small celebration to bring a sense of lightheartedness to the settlers. Despite the progress, many of his people were tired of living in tents. They had travelled so far and were tired. They didn't mind work, but also grumbled at the short rations and weather, which had been wet and chilly for spring. Borgand and the other men of the south were used to sunny days by this time of year, and the rain made tent living uncomfortable. No one ever really felt clean.

The wet weather also made Borgand's leg ache. For some reason the stump of his leg hurt more when the air was humid. Like an old man, he thought, ruefully. The mud also made walking more difficult. The last thing Borgand wanted was to slip into a puddle.

Things had been quiet since the dwarves had left for Annuminas. Though they claimed to want only building materials, Borgand felt odd about the picking over of the abandoned city. It was a place out of legend, and he hoped to take Bregand there someday. It seemed wrong for the dwarves to see it first. That was silly nonsense of course, and he knew it. Likely the native people had already defiled the place more than the dwarves, his allies, would. Still, he had avoided telling the settlers, who until now had been too busy for anything even resembling a trip into the past. Few asked about where the dwarves were, but Borgand knew there would be questions when they returned. He sighed.

I'll tell them tomorrow, he thought. I think I will announce the celebration at the same time. Maybe they will be too distracted to be upset, and at least by then the dwarves will be well away.

He wanted very much to talk to Calumdril. They needed game soon or the feast in a few days might be their last for a long while. The ranger had already been gone longer than was his wont, but Borgand was confident he would return. He only hoped it would be with good news.

[VanimaEdhel]

Dwarves - Barzûn

Barzûn grumbled as he marched. He leaned forward with his empty wheelbarrow feeling voluminous already, without even having any supplies yet. The Dwarves grumbled as they climbed behind Barzûn. They were nearing Annuminas. Barzûn shouted back, trying to rally the Dwarves, and grumbling under the weight of his own wheelbarrow all the while. They broke through the clearing and every Dwarf let out a gasp. Before them sprawled a great city. Barzûn’s sigh, however, was more in reference to the abundance of materials that could be found to carry back.

“We are back on the job, Dwarves,” Barzûn called as he pushed towards the great ruin of a city. The Dwarves moved forward. Many of them looked in wonder in the ruins of stone as they walked through the city. They neared what used to be an old square. The Dwarves stopped there to rest a bit. They leaned on their wheelbarrows, breathing fairly heavily. Barzûn allowed them to rest for a time, as he was a bit winded himself. He looked around as he rested, silently calculating how much stone they would need. He also looked at the wheelbarrows they had. They could probably carry enough to last them quite a bit of time. They might have to make another trip later on, but this would last them quite a while.

After they had rested sufficiently, Barzûn ordered them all to work. They split up and began hauling the remnants of various buildings into the wheelbarrows. They worked silently for a while until one Dwarf called Barzûn over.

“I was thinking, sir,” the Dwarf said briefly, looking down at his own feet, “Would it not be a good idea if we looked at the style of architecture in this glorious ruin of a city? It would make the Men proud indeed if their new city was as lovely as this one seems to have once been.”

Barzûn looked hard at the Dwarf. “I place you in charge of gathering as much information as you can, in that case,” he said levelly, “Here, have paper. Now record anything you desire.”

The young Dwarf scurried off, writing down various architectural schemes. Barzûn went to check on the other Dwarves.

They worked through the day. Barzûn kept a close watch on all the Dwarves. They moved quickly and made good progress. Eventually, however, the Dwarves began to lag. Barzûn called them in to break, then. Those that brought food slowly ate it and some shared with others. Barzûn looked at the sketches that the young Dwarf that was recording the architectural styles had made.

“There are some very fine examples of carvings as well, Sir,” the young Dwarf said, “Shall I record those as well.”

“Record anything you think will be helpful,” Barzûn said shortly. The young Dwarf smiled, and Barzûn increased his scowl a bit. The Dwarf still smiled a bit as he walked off to continue his job. Barzûn turned back to the other Dwarves and ordered them back to work. They begrudgingly complied and the work continued.

[Belin]

Hillmen

Wolf walked outside of the village with Fletch in order to make sure that the man understood precisely what was expected of him. He trusted Fletch’s knowledge of geography, but not of people, and he wanted no mistakes between him and the leader of the village nearby. He very much doubted that all of what he said would remain in this messenger’s memory, but he had at least the foresight to teach him an apology for any possible mistakes, to be spoken before anything else.

“But remember how to approach him. Remember, he is not your chief, so he expects more respect. Everything depends on this.” He looked Fletch full in the face, to make sure he understood. The messenger nodded. Wolf smiled faintly. “This will be good for you. Be sure you don’t insult his brother.”

Fletch opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but Wolf was already gone, loping off homeward with that peculiar grace of his. He didn’t hear Fletch grumbling briefly to himself, or see him trudging off through the thickening rain. He was intent on his plan to consult with his priest and to encourage his people. He would have to make sure that at least some aspects of life would continue normally. Where would the food come from, he wondered, and who would be free to hunt for it? If they were to have any hope of victory, they would need to eat well and build strength.

But do we have any hope?

Well, he would have to consult with his priest. His eyes wandered in the direction of that individual’s dwelling, and he followed the trail of smoke that emerged from the hole in its roof skyward, and there he saw a scavenging bird circle once, twice, and suddenly dive.

He frowned. What could bring them out in the rain? Was any death so choice? Perhaps it was worth his attention. He skirted the edges of the village, avoiding for the moment the eyes of others, and moved past it, a sudden unjustified anxiety prompting both speed and silence. Perhaps it would be no feast he’d want to steal from the birds, but he was not fool enough to leave anything valuable simply because others enjoyed it as well. Besides, the strangeness of their behavior alone merited a look. He seldom saw them in the rain.

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

There was only a pair of them there, sitting irritably on a branch, croaking to each other in their usual businesslike manner, but here was no carcass for them to pick at and quarrel over, though surely this was the smell of death.

“You’re early,” he said to them. “The real death hasn’t started yet.” They glowered down at him, apparently unmoved. “You see, timing is the secret to being a good scavenger,” he went on, maneuvering carefully around the base of a tree. “If you arrive too late, everything is gone, and all that’s left is to wreak your revenge on those that got there first—if you care for that. If you get there too early, you miss all the richer deaths that have happened elsewhere. You can starve to death on potential, you know. And then there’s always the revenge problem. It’s a hard life, scavenging.”

The vultures eyed him silently. He smiled grimly. They were merely resting, it seemed, not hunting… but the smell puzzled him. He scanned the ground carefully in search of whatever cautious beast was camoflauged so effectively even in death, but he saw nothing more interesting than a small pile of brush. He walked over to examine it more closely. Visible through the diverging branches, like paler twigs, stretched fingers and twisted human limbs. Wolf knelt near it carefully, pushing some of the branches aside, just enough to be sure that this was the corpse of Calem. The playful mood of a moment ago dropped from him instantly.

Who would dare to kill Calem? The hillmen might avoid him or mock at him, and there were many who would have done worse had he allowed it, but none of them would kill a man whose life was an omen they could not read. But there was no doubt that these branches had been drawn over him by a human hand. The settlers, or the rangers, if indeed there were any distinction to be made between them now.

Returning the branches to their former position, Wolf stood. Calem had no friend or kinsman to tend to the burning of his body, unless the gods themselves were to set fire to this place. Wolf would not interfere.

Deeply troubled, he trudged back toward the village. Perhaps the gods would avenge the impropriety of this death upon the Rangers. Wolf sighed. Perhaps the gods had been driven out by these offensive newcomers.

He hoped that Cleft could tell him more.

[ November 01, 2003: Message edited by: Belin ]

[alaklondewen]

Settlers

The old healer crouched as he silently stepped out from his tent, leaving Cuilad dozing inside. The rain had brought him a small rest, and for that he was grateful. Collothion and Cuilad had been performing double duties since they arrived, but the rain had alleviated their work in helping with the town hall, at least for the moment.

Shivering, Collothion stretched his long limbs and searched the heavens with his eyes. The clouds were breaking over the lake revealing the clear blue sky behind the thick layers of gray. Beams of light fell into the water causing the man to shield his eyes from its brilliance.

A northeastern breeze swept off the lake and swirled around Collothion’s head, whistling in his ears and lightheartedly dancing with his hair. The man shivered again. The prolonged winter in this new home worried the healer, and he hoped his fellow settlers’ physical defenses would not yet deteriorate. Coughing could be heard coming from his neighbors, which was not uncommon in the settlement. Collothion had been very pleased to find that the pungent needles Calumdril offered him seemed to soothe some of folks’ breathing when the fumes were inhaled. The healer would be sure to thank the soldier when he saw him next.

A rustle was heard behind Collothion. Pivoting on his heels, the man was just in time to see Cuilad’s head protruding through the split in the tent. The boy stepped out and stretched in the same manner as his father: first pulling his arms over his head, and then twisting his torso with his hand on his hips. Neither of them ever noticed how similar their mannerisms were.

Cuilad motioned to the sky, wiggled his fingers as he lowered his hand, and placed his fist firmly in his other palm. “Yes, it stopped, oh, close to a half an hour ago.” Collothion answered. “Can you smell the freshness in the air?” Cuilad nodded and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, but Collothion continued without noticing. “The ground is soft and the trees and grasses are clean. This would be a good time to search the edge of the forest again. We could see how the earth comes alive after the rain. What do you say?” The older man turned over his shoulder and saw his son sitting with his back against the exterior of the tent…Cuilad had fallen asleep.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

A high-pitched cry jerked Kestrel's attention away from the pot of squirrel stew just starting to bubble (at least, the creature had resembled a squirrel, but there was so little meat on it that Kestrel had at first thought it to be a very furry rat). She had enough presence of mind to shove the pot off the fire before running out to see (after a fashion; her bad leg made actual running somewhat difficult.)

Flint sat on the ground, clutching a bleeding knee, his face scrunched up trying bravely not to cry. His mother sighed in exasperation as she bent down to examine this latest cut, but that changed quickly to worry when she saw how long and deep the cut was.

Dear spirits! Kestrel clapped a hand to her mouth, and put the other to Flint's injured knee, pressing hard. She gathered the weeping toddler into her arms and shambled as quickly as she could to the healer/priest’s hut. The blood was still flowing sluggishly when she stumbled into someone just as he was leaving the ramshackle excuse for a temple and hospital, as well as the priest's home.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, and stepped to the side to go around the hard body of the man she'd bumped, and into the shadows of the hut. Inside, Cleft was kneeling at the shrine to the spirits, chanting in the language only he knew. She knew she shouldn't disturb him, she risked the anger of the spirits if she did, but this was an emergency. Cuts this deep sometimes went bad, and someone as young as Flint could--well, she didn't want another Iron.

"Sir? Sir, my son, he's cut himself badly, and I don't know what to do. Please, help me!" She was babbling, she knew, but she had to get it out before Cleft sent her away. He didn't seem too angry; he only ignored her as his chant wound to a close. Then, still without saying anything to her, he took Flint from her and waved her away while he took some of the herbs down from the wall. She hesitated and the priest's gestures grew more emphatic. She limped out, worried nearly sick over her son.

"What happened, Kestrel?" came a voice from her left. She turned her head so her good eye was facing the speaker.

"Wolf! I don't know; I was making dinner, and Flint screamed. I only saw that his leg was sliced open; I don't know what did it. I came here right away. Cleft was chanting to the spirits when I came in, and he wouldn't say anything. It's like someone died..." she trailed off at the shake of Wolf's head. "Someone did die. Who was it?"

[ November 09, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[TheLadyAerowen]

Alearindu awoke quietly from her sleep in the make-shift camp that was in the forest above the settlement. She packed up her equipment that she had used for the night, and planned her day. She was to watch over the settlement, so why not get a closer look of the place?

She walked over to Mornen, her horse, who had been grazing. Mounting effortlessly, Alearindu made her way through the forest on the path that led to the settlement. As they reached the clearing, Alearindu first noticed how many tents there were. Every building-to-be was either under a tent, or just out in the open. Her first impression of the place, was that it would be quite, dull, having no real buildings and people that either appeared to be wandering, or people that were working.

Still following a dirt path, Alearindu came upon the Lake Evendim and went to the right. She then came across a distributary of the lake, which appeared to be quite deep in that particular spot. Going to the right once again, Alearindu led Mornen down the banks of the distributary until they came to a more shallow part of the waters. Mornen obediently waded through the flowing waters and only his legs and up to Alearindu's boots got wet.

Alearindu and Mornen continued on, past a few more tents, and one smithy which was in the open. Right after the smithy, came what appeared to be a trading post. Alearindu decided to stop there, so she dismounted Mornen and let him go free; knowing he wouldn't wander far. Going under the tent, Alearindu entered the trading post. Even without a building, the trading post had just about everything one could need for a journey. Alearindu first went to a near-by table, picked up an arrow from a stack that was lying on the table and examined it. She then picked up nine more, and continued walking around the make-ship trading post. Everything was set up on tables, in shelves, or on the ground, depending on what the item was.

After perusing the shop for a while, Alearindu finally made her way to the front table with her arrows, a few herbs, and even snacks for Mornen.

"Hello, I'm the shop keeper Kaben Bieth. May I ask your name?" Alearindu looked to where the voice came from and saw the smiling face of a man sitting behind the front table.

Alearindu couldn't help but smile. "I am Alearindu," she responded.

"Nice to meet you, Alearindu; would you like anything else?" Kaben inquired. Alearindu shook her head and put her items on the table. After Alearindu gave Kaben a few silver coins, she gathered up her supplies and, thanking Kaben, walked out of the shop. Alearindu was looking down at her purchases right outside the tent as someone bumped into her going into the trading post. "I'm sorry," the ranger said automatically.

"That's alright, more my fault," the settler said with a smile. A smile came to Alearindu as they started talking, this place wasn't as bad as it first seemed.

[Bêthberry]

Settlers and Rangers

Calumdril staggered and almost fell back at the sight of the Ranger menacing him. He bent a knee and quickly but gently let Thorgil's body slide down. Then, he threw Thorgil's blade and his belt knife to the ground. He was unarmed.

"You come upon in haste and anger, but I need your help."

"It appears Thorgil needed my help more. Since you obviously couldn't provide it." The young Ranger Awyrgan stopped his rush, but his face was marked with fury, distrust, frustration.

"Give me time," replied Calumdril, short of breath. He took several gulps of air, as much to steady his own thought as to recover from the exertion of carrying the dead ranger.

"I was not there. I had gone to the ridge to hunt deer, but the rain drove the herd away, so I went in search of Thorgil. The rain had washed away his tracks, but the vultures led me to him." Calumdril stopped, and bowed his head, a quiet look of sorrow passing over his features before he looked up again at the young Ranger.

"You expect us to believe this? That Thorgil--Thorgil--would have ..." Awyrgan could not finish his thought.

Calumdril raised his hand, as if to signal he was not finished. Yet he stood a minute longer in silence.

"A rock caught him between the eyes. I found it; I have it here. Yet he was not surprised. He found the Hillman whose tracks we had seen. They fought. It was not an uneven battle. Thorgil wounded him, a death blow with his blade, but a blow that still allowed the Hillman to respond. I found them, two hundred paces apart. Both dead."

Awyrgan glared at Calumdril, not wanting to believe him. "You saw the Hillman? It was a man, not a creature?"

Calumdril nodded. "Let us not talk more. Help me carry Thorgil. Back to your cabin."

Awyrgan stood for a moment, not wanting to aid the settler in the least, but at last the desire to serve Thorgil won out.

With not a word between them the two men brought Thorgil home for the last time.

[*Varda*]

Therin gazed around him as the dwarves gathered in the square. The architecture in Annuminas was truly magnificent, and Therin noted the other dwarves were equally enthralled. As the dwarves spread out, gathering stone, Therin picked up a large piece of stone. He felt the craftmanship involved in making this one stone, his fingers feeling out the carving so carefully etched into the surface. This rock was once part of what had been a majestic city.

Moving on, Therin pushed his wheelbarrow in front of him, as it jolted and bumped against small pieces of stone. Slowly filling the wheelbarrow, the dwarf was surprised and slightly bumped as it came to a sudden stop in front of him.

"Another rock," Therin grumbled to himself. "A city so beautiful, now reduced to ruins and crumbled stone. What a waste." He moved round to the front of the wheelbarrow to dislodge what had caused it stop so suddenly. He picked up a large grey stone, and looked at it carefully, it feeling strange to his experienced hands. The stone was dented in several places, as though someone had tried to carve into it, and missed, the chisel unsteady in their hands. In a corner, however, was a slightly more precise carving, as if the person had become used to both the stone and the tool.

Looking around him, Therin saw several more attempts of this, evidence of someone trying to work on the old ruins of the city. It was messy, crude, and Therin wondered who had been here last, and tried to do this. His eyes scanning the area around him, he saw an intricate carving on a pillar a few metres from him, and looking back down at the stone he held in his rough hand, realised that whoever had attempted this had been trying to imitate the old style of architecture in Arnor.

Dropping it into his nearly full wheelbarrow, he began to trundle it back to show the other dwarves. They would be very interested in who had tried to make this poor imitations.

[ November 09, 2003: Message edited by: *Varda* ]

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan stood silently for some time before moving. Eventually he prodded himself into action. Stooping down to the slight man's level he spoke softer. "I will carry him." Calumdril nodded, seemingly grateful for a chance to catch his breath.

Awyrgan was broad and supposedly powerfully-built, but Thorgil was not a light man. Still, the limp frame offered little resistance as the ranger gently slung the dead man over his shoulders. Turning his back on the hated clearing he strode off with Calumdril in his wake.

They walked in silence for some time, each lost in their own thoughts. Awyrgan could not read the mind of his companion, but his own thoughts circled on how to best break the news to the town. For the leader of those supposedly responsible for the saftey of the settlement to suddenly appear dead could cause the people to lose faith. Still, it would be just as wrong to keep a secret from them. Not being familer with the villagers Awyrgan was unsure how to break the news to him. Besides, it was not his place.

Tane would have to be notified, the obvious choice to replace Thorgil. Borgand would have to be told as well. As they drew closer to the settlement Awyrgan turned to Calumdril. "We'll take him to Borgand's. Then I have to find Tane."

[ November 09, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Dwarves - Barzûn

Barzûn heard the sound of voices. He rose from where he was looking at the drawings done by the young Dwarf. Grumbling about the lack of respect that some Dwarves have these days, Barzûn marched over to what appeared to be a small group of Dwarves gathering around a wheelbarrow. They were looking at something within the wheelbarrow.

“What is the meaning of this?” Barzûn asked. “Get back to work!”

“You should see this, Sir,” a Dwarf said. Barzûn gave the Dwarf a confrontational stare. He sighed inwardly when he saw that the Dwarf was Therin. The little upstart…

“What do you suppose did this?” Therin looked at Barzûn, who scowled at the stones within the wheelbarrow.

“We do not have time for these games,” Barzûn said grouchily. “We have to get back to work. Now put those back where you found them and get some useful supplies.”

Therin began to object, but then seemed to think better of it. He dejectedly made his way back to where he found the stones and deposited them where they had originally been, all the while under the watchful eye of Barzûn. Barzûn waited a bit until he was sure that Therin was back to work before he made his way around to the other Dwarves. Having heard of Therin’s discovery and Barzûn’s negative reaction to the find, the Dwarves seemed even more somber than ever as they worked through the day.

[The X Phial]

Borgand - Settlers

Borgand was leaving the site of the town hall construction and headed for the guard tent to check on his soldiers when he saw Illith approaching from the direction of the tent. He took a glance at her flushed face and worried expression and felt his own heart jump into his throat.

"What is it, Illith? Is Bregand hurt?" he asked anxiously.

"No, Bregand's fine. He's sleeping. It's Calumdril. He says he needs to see you back at the tent right away. He was going to come find you himself, but I made him stop and rest. He's been running, says there's a ranger behind him with something you need to see."

"I will come right away," he answered, and joined his wife in the walk back to their makeshift home. Not for the first time, he cursed the fact that he could not run. Something bad enough to upset Calumdril had to be important. Pushing himself harder than he should, he briefly lost his balance, and would have fallen but for Illith's steadying hand on his shoulder. He pushed the support away, frustrated. By the time they reached the tent, Illith had fallen behind, deliberately putting space between them. Borgand sighed internally, and made a mental note to apologize later.

Calumdril was pacing in front of the tent when they arrived, glancing behind him. He approached Borgand immediately upon seeing him.

"I think it best we discuss this outside the camp, Borgand. How far can you walk? I want to try to head off the ranger before he enters the settlement."

"Don't worry about me, just lead, and I will follow," he panted, grabbing up his walking stick.

They walked for about 5 minutes before clearing the camp and entering the leafy cover of the forest. Calumdril explained about Thorgil and the hillman as they walked. Borgand was thankful that there was little undergrowth so close to the edge of the woods, for that lessened the chances of an embarassing spill, and he was able to pay close attention to the tale.

The news was bad. If all hillmen were such creatures, the settlement was in trouble. If he was a special case, the death might bring down serious anger and retribution from the tribe. The death of Thorgil was also very troubling. In an already unstable situation, changing the leadership of the rangers was an increased threat, not to mention the loss of a skilled hunter and fighter in times when every hand counted.

Soon, they met the ranger, Awyrgan, who was still carrying his grim burden. No one spoke as the body was lowered to the floor of the forest. Finally, Borgand stepped forward.

"This is truly a great loss, my friend. I did not know him well, but I mourn his passing. We will stand as an honour guard for him while you fetch your new leader."

The larger man nodded, mumbled something that sounded elvish, and slipped away. Borgand marvelled that a man of such size could move so lightly, but knew the skill was needed in such a hostile environment. Maybe these rangers could train his men. A thought for a less mournful moment. Borgand hoped that the new leader would be willing to work with him and his people. He had a feeling they would need to rely on each other in the coming days.

[Kryssal]

Kaben looked at the departing back of the Ranger lady. Alearindu was her name and the shopkeeper was determined to remember. The Rangers could be very good customers in the near future. Not wanting to let time pass without something useful being done, Kaben went to rearrange a display that had some vacant spots because of buyers. He could hear two people talking right outside his tent. Soon, someone walked in....

~*~

Tane didn't like staying in the commanders cabin very much, it still didn't feel quite right for him. Well, he wasn't really in command, only temporarily so. Because of his feelings he tended to leave and walk around doing other miscellaneous duties. He was back in the cabin and taking a report from a Ranger who had just patrolled his loop though when Awyrgan came bursting in with a fowl look. Both men turned in suprise at the angry interruption.

"Thorgil is dead."

Tane stared at the Ranger and knew he spoke no lie. His knuckles slowly curled and he rested them on the desk to keep them from moving. Looking back at the other Ranger Tane made several throat noises before he turned with a shocked look on his face.

"Please leave us and don't tell others what you have heard. I want to get all the facts before addressing all the Rangers," Tane's voice sounded strange to his own ears, but his message got accross perfectly for the Ranger nodded and he walked out, quitely exiting.

"Now, tell me your report of these .... events..." So close, he couldn't speak so harshly of it. Yet the truth was quickly sinking it's deep teeth in and the pain was surfacing.

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan slowly trunged along the wooded trails towards the Ranger encampment. As he approached the perimeter he was hailed by a lookout. A tall thin Ranger came sliding down a tree and landed in front of him. "Awyrgan, good to see you." The dark man nodded. "Likewise. Is Tane in the camp?" "Yes, yes he is. Things working out well at the camp for you and Alearindu?"

"Yes." Awyrgan lied. Come to think of it, he hadn't even spoken to his assigned companion. Leaving the guard at his post Awyrgan strode towards the cabin in the center. His mouth grew dry with each step. Tane was a good man, but Thorgil had been as much a friend as a leader to him. His reaction couldn't be predicted. Setting his jaw firmly Awyrgan entered, or rather burst into the cabin.

Tane and another Ranger turned surprised to face him. Awyrgan worked his mouth and finally spit out words that sounded hated to his ears. "Thorgil is dead."

"Please leave us and don't tell others what you have heard. I want to get all the facts before addressing all the Rangers." The third man left the cabin leaving Awyrgan alone with Tane. "Now, tell me your report of these .... events..."

Awyrgan swallowed, and with a deep breath began to relay the story. Following the tracks, finding the settler with Thorgil, his story, the creature, and the journey back.

Finishing his report the man sighed and leaned against the wall. The reality of the situation was beginning to truely sink in.

[Himaran]

Dwarves - Olin collecting materials

While several of the other dwarves gathered around a wheel-barrow and observed a strange object, Olin continued the basic routine he had mastered years before: lift, walk, drop. Soon, his cart was filled to the brim with chunks of unshaped stone; and, finished with his current assignment, the dwarf sat down for a break. Pulling a hatchet from his belt, Olin tested the blade against the rough palm of his hand. Truthfully, the dwarf was both bored with the common masonry and tired of the constant setbacks and arguments among the building party. He wished fervently that something - anything innormal would occur, to add some excitement to the dull work he was engaged in each day.

The thoughts were soon interrupted by an outburst from Barzun, who was beratting the group examining the object they had found. Just as well that I never bothered to see it; whatever it was, it is not at all interesting to our leader, and that is enough for me. Pulling himself upright, the dwarf grabbed the handles on his cart and slowly rolled it over to the filled caravan; waiting to be transported back to the camp. Returning to the site, he once again began the slow process of collecting materials for the new city; secretly wishing for something to happen. Something relatively violent.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:45 PM December 07, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[Kryssal]

Tane walked over to the Ranger who seemed to be beaten down by the news. Gripping his shoulder Tane spoke firmly, "Ride with me back to camp." Awyrgan's eyes popped a bit. "The Hillmen may react to these deaths very badly. I need to speak with Calumdril. I want you to go back with me and take up your post."

Tane didn't want Awyrgan to lapse into a fit of hate against their allies, his temper was well known and he didn't put Calumdril in a good light with his report. Giving him a specific task was a way to keep his mind slightly occupied, and if needed, he would still be in town for easy questioning.

The Cat's grey eyes were staring at his new leader with a varying intensity that Tane couldn't quite decifer. The Cat, it was a short name used in reference to Awyrgan by his close friends, yet Tane didn't know if he fit there yet. Giving a mental shake he came back as Awyrgan nodded and headed out the cabin.

Calling in the Ranger who had been there when Awyrgan had come back Tane quickly explained where he was going and why while he strapped on his gear. One never knew what would happen in tumultous lands. The Ranger's name was Hothem and he would be the camps temporary leader while Tane was out. He was a competent man, though not much of a politician.

Small flashes of thoughts like nick names and a Ranger's skills kept surfacing on Tane's mind while he tried to concentrate on the task at hand. Behind the surface he knew he was simply delaying facts that Thorgil, the leader of the Rangers was no more and he was the new commander. Perhaps he needed the real evidence of the dead body to show the truth, though if he thought on it, he knew he wouldn't need that proof.

Hurrying out he rode double with Awyrgan to where his horse was. It took longer than either Ranger liked for Tane to put the tack on Skit, yet soon he mounted with a slight wince coming to his face. In his haste he mounted with his right leg and the unwanted movement caused a twinge of pain to race through his body.

Taking lead with the fresher of the two horses, the new leader of the Rangers headed out toward the budding village.

[Belin]

Hillmen

Wolf’s eyes fixed on the two figures within the hut, each absorbed in a world apart, one of spirits and one of pain, and he watched carefully as the old priest, with a weary sigh, bent over the injured boy and immersed himself in another kind of concentration. Wolf could think of nobody who could shift so adroitly from one arduous task to another, except perhaps the mother who stood next to him, watching anxoiusly with her single eye, and, impatient as he was to hear what Cleft had learned from his ceremony, he had to admire his care of the boy. He nodded gravely at her story, and, ignoring her question, answered quietly, “I hope Cleft can help him.”

She brushed this comment aside as useless. “What happened?”

He looked at her carefully. “The newcomers are presumptious. They kill carelessly. Who they kill, and what the consequences are, mean nothing to them. If they live here long… I wonder what’s happened to the place they came from…”

Kestrel frowned, confused and anxious. “Who have they killed, Wolf? A child? A wanderer? A priest?”

Wolf snorted at the mention of a priest, a short, grim sound that nobody would have ventured to call a laugh. “Not a priest, no. Not yet, but who knows? ”

She was beginning to become exasperated. “If you’re going to talk in riddles, I don’t see why you even—ooh.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Calem?”

“Quiet!” The word burst out of him before he could weigh it, and Wolf could see that he had frightened her, perhaps as badly as she had frightened him. How could a one-eyed woman be so perceptive? This was dangerous. He gave her the admonishing glare he usually reserved for erring hunters and miscreant youth, but she held her ground. They stared at each other for a moment, frozen.

“You will know,” muttered Wolf finally, “everyone will know, but not yet. I can’t announce it yet. I need to know what it means. I don’t want a panic.” Avoiding her eyes, he added lamely, “Whatever it does mean, I need the right time, I mean, even if... if it is a panic… I think I can stop a panic, as long as I’ve got the right time... whatever Cleft might... I need time!”

He had already said far more than he meant to, and Kestrel’s silence had begun to unnerve him, whether it was bewilderment, anger, concern, or something else. Half angry himself, he stared into the hut, where the healer was still bent over the boy. “Isn’t he finished yet?” snarled Wolf ungraciously, turning on his heel and stalking to the back of the hut, where he prowled around impatiently, out of the reach of Kestrel’s eye. He could not remember ever being so much on edge. The awareness that his behavior toward her was uncharacteristic, unprecedented, and unsettling only increased his frustration, but he was in no state to go back and ameliorate it. For a priest and a woman to know more of his business than he did was intolerable.

[ 1:33 AM December 02, 2003: Message edited by: Belin ]

[*Varda*]

“Right, everybody!” Barzun ordered, as the dwarves stopped sitting comfortably on the ground and wearily began to get themselves up. “It’s time for us to get back to work, we still haven't collected enough stone for our purposes!”

Pushing their laden wheelbarrows before them, the dwarves went back to walking through the great ruined city of Annuminas. Therin looked wistfully now and again as they walked – the stonework and architecture had fascinated him, and it saddened his heart to see a place that must have once been so majestic reduced to a heap of crumbling stone. Turning his head away, looking down into his wheelbarrow, his eyes once again passed over the crude carving into several bits of stone, which so excited his curiosity.

No use mentioning it to the elder dwarf again, though. Having mentioned it to Barzun in his excitement, Barzun had just passed over it with no interest whatsoever. Therin sighed and picked up more heavy bits of rock, balancing them precariously on top of his already nearly full wheelbarrow.

[ 5:48 PM December 05, 2003: Message edited by: *Varda* ]

[Bêthberry]

Settlers

Calumdril had returned to Borgand's tent. He was exhaused from the physical strain of carrying the dead Ranger's body, tense and frustrated by the attitude of the young, angry Ranger, worried that a regular supply of food had not been found.

He slumped down on the rough wooden bench with a nod and hollow look at Illith.

"It's bad, isn't it? The news," she said quietly.

"Aye, that it is." Calumdril stared over at the sleeping boy Bregand, wishing he could sleep. "I couldn't find a trace of the herd of deer. The rainstorm and thunder drew them off. But I went looking for the Ranger leader, Thorgil. I had told him I found strange tracks, Illith, and suspected him of duplicity. He was supposed to warn us of dangers he knew in the area. He had not."

Illith nodded silently. She knew at this point better than to interrupt. Instead, she filled a bowl with the bubbling stew from the fire, cut a wide slice of bread, and placed the food in front of the man who was her husband's best friend. She hung a small tin pot with water over the fire, to brew a warm drink for him. For herself as well.

Calumdril exhaled deeply, several times, and watched the steam from the hot stew wander lazily upwards until it reached his nostrils. He was hungry. And he was glad he was close with Illith.

"I found Thorgil, Illith, but dead of a stone wound to the head. He had come upon the Hillman with the strange tracks. I don't know exactly what happened. Perhaps they surprised each other. Perhaps they were overcome with fear and mistrust. The Hillman was dead, too, of a sword wound to the stomach. Not a heroic end for either." He stopped to eat his stew while Illith prepared the draught. The warmth spread threw his belly and he relaxed a bit.

"So that is what you brought Borgand out to see. Thorgil's body."

"Yes, but it's worse. Did I sent Thorgil to his doom, Illith? Should I have tracked this Hillman myself? These thoughts travelled through my head as I buried the wild man, a deformed creature whose death likely will bring omens to his people. And as I struggled carrying Thorgil's body, one of the young rangers came upon me, impatient and hot headed with youth. Did he read guilt in my face as I explained what I had found? He might have. He nearly accused me of killing Thorgil myself, Illith."

Illith sipped her cup silently. "Did he tell this to the other rangers?"

"Likely, I would expect. At a time when we need cooperation between us and the rangers, this will set us apart. And we will be more vulnerable to attack from these wild men."

He ate silently, at first pulling his bread apart roughly and hastily swallowing it, but then slowly coming to wipe his bowl with the final pieces. Illith served him more stew and bread.

"You shouldn't be feeding me so much. We don't know how long our supplied will last."

"We've enough for now. And there are the cattle if need be. Take what is due you," she replied simply, "and don't let haste or panic bring fear."

Calumdril watched her face quietly for several minutes as she drank. There were lines around her eyes and forehead he had not seen before, but her eyes shone brightly with determination. He returned to his eating.

"So, what we need is something to bring us together, the rangers and the settlers," Illith suggested calmly, a hint of twinkle even in her face.

Calumdril looked up at her with some surprise. He had not expected her to think of strategy. He had come to her for solace, the way he had often done with his sisters. He nodded.

Illith looked directly into his face. "Then we take this difference and work it into a game."

"A game? This isn't child's play, resettling in the wilderness."

Illith laughed. "There's more truth in child's play than you men ever notice. Sometimes friendly competition teaches people to share in a similar goal."

The Ithilian ranger stared at the woman. He had never seen this side of her before. With a start, he realized why she was such a good mate for Borgand.

Illith continued. "When Borgand returns, or when the rangers arrive--they will pick a new leader, I assume--why don't you suggest a challenge? Create a wager between the northern rangers and us. See who will find the herd of deer and bring us back food. Maybe we will name a feast dinner after he who succeeds."

Calumdril sat back on the rough bench.

"A game?" he repeated.

"Why not" she replied. At that moment, the sleeping Bregand stirred and she rose to check on him.

[ 9:24 AM November 30, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Kryssal]

The two Rangers rode into Awyrgan's small camp on Tane's orders. He wanted to leave the already angered Ranger here. The meeting was going to be difficult enough without having a possibly hot headed Ranger there causing strife. Awyrgan didn't know this yet.

Tane dismounted hard onto his right leg; he wasn't paying as much attention as he should have been. Turning he led Skit to a nearby tree and tied him quickly. Soon all the tack was off the horse and put securely away. He'd give Skit a good rub down once he found the time. Awyrgan approached Tane, obviously wanting to get on their way.

Tane looked into the village. "Where is the leader's tent?"

Awyrgan was smart and caught what Tane was doing, yet tried to sidestep it. "I can take you there in a few minutes."

Tane locked eyes with his underling. "No. I want you to stay here and watch out for the hillmen. We still don't know if they know and what they'll do with the knowledge. The settlers have their own people, but they're not as good as you. If the hillmen do start something I want to be the first one to know about it," Tane saw the man's eyes dart a second, about to protest. "You will go to your post." It was not a question as the old Tane would have said and Awyrgan knew the difference showing through, he still wasn't happy with the decision.

"Thorgil is... Thorgil's body is there," he pointed off to one edge of the settlement. "The tent is on the edge of the village, by the forest edge. If you go straight from here you'll pass a knee high rock sticking out of the ground about one hundred paces from the tent. The tent is brown."

Tane nodded and started out, yet he didn't go straight to the awaiting meeting. He wanted to find Alearindu and he had seen her horse on happenstance while riding in. People had been walking around it while it ate the grass near a large tent. His mind raced as he walked. How did Thorgil really die? How would the hillmen react? Would a fight ensue? How would he lead the Rangers? He knew he could do it. He'd led many groups before, but this was different. He was now the ultimate authority. Not everyone might like it, Rangers and villagers both. Picking up his pace a bit he soon found himself by the horse and looked around for the female Ranger. He didn't look long; some people near him moved and behind them was Alearindu just finishing up a conversation with a young girl.

He walked over to her, startling her with his presence. "I need you to come with me. There's been an upset and I must meet with the leaders at once."

Surprise showed on her every feature, but it didn't stop her. She started to ask what had happened but a head jerk from Tane let her know that it couldn't be discussed in such an open place.

"We could ride Mornen," but once again Tane shook his head.

"No, but we'll walk her," he wanted to tell her what had happened so that she wouldn't be shocked or worse when they got to their destination. They would get there too soon if they rode. A brisk pace was set and they weaved out of the few people around and were soon alone. Alearindu kept the questions inside even though she must have been bursting. She was a trained Ranger before all else and she held herself true.

"The upset...Alearindu, Thorgil is dead," he was more blunt than he had intended.

She stopped immedietly and looked at Tane, her teeth grinding against each other as she got back in control. It didn't take long for her composure to come back, though she was still fighting grief and anger. "How? Tane..."

"It was the creature we thought of no importance. It seems they killed each other. They were found by a villager and that's all I know. I'm going to the leaders now to get Thorgil's body and to talk with them. I need you with me, can you do it?" Tane was gripping her arm as she stared into his face.

"Yes," she faced their destination now and started on an even faster walk, bordering on a slight jog. The one time Tane glanced over it was to witness three tears being viciously wiped away.

It didn't take them long to come up to the brown tent where a man was waiting outside next to an inert form covered in a blanket. Tane stared at the blanket covering his former leader until they got close, then focused on the man. Alearindu had kept her eyes unfocused so she could both see the body and observe the man, but as they came upon the threshold she refocused upon simply the living man. He stood slightly to one side but still held himself with intense authority.

He looked between the Rangers whose faces were as stone. "I am Borgand. I'm very sorry for your loss..." he looked down and weakly gestured. "Please come in so we can talk..." now he held the tent open as he looked at the two.

Tane stepped close to Alearindu. "Could you stay and guard him?" he had sensed no ill will from the leader of the settlers and didn't want Thorgil to be alone.

She nodded and Tane went inside. Sitting at a table was another settler who had just finished eating some stew, the remnant juices pooling in the bowl. A quick survey around the tent showed an orderly living space, as much as was allowed. Two other people were in the tent and Tane raised an eyebrow in their direction.

Borgand caught the look as he showed Tane to his seat. "My wife and son, please sit." Borgand himself taking a seat opposite of Tane's indicated chair.

The still un-named villager nodded to Tane and held out a hand as he sat down. "I'm Calumdril. I'm the one that found them."

Tane briefly clasped hands. "My name is Tane Arisn. I was Thorgil's second in command."

Calumdril didn't need to be asked and he started his short tale of events. The only emotion Tane let through was in his hands which clenched together making the tips of his fingers red and the bases white. The main concern now was the hillmen's reaction and the trust between the Rangers and settlers. Calumdril seemed to be thinking along those same lines.

"Barring an attack from the hillmen, there should be a show of trust between our people and yours," he waited for Tane to nod but was cut off by Borgand before he could complete his thread of thought.

"Thorgil could be burried in town with a memorium, it would show-" but Tane was already shaking his head.

"That's very generous on your part, but there's a burial site about a half days ride to the east where other leaders have been buried. He would want to go there..." Tane clenched his jaw a couple of times, allowing for Calumdril to interject.

"The town is in need of food supplies. It's been suggested that we have a game. A friendly competition between the Rangers and the hunters to see who can find a source of real game first," Calumdril sat back, satisfied that the idea was sound. He looked over at Illith who was watching from her place with Bregand and smiled at her friend.

Borgand looked thoughtful, but Tane smiled. "That sounds like a good idea. I could get something from your trader for the prize."

"Or perhaps name a feast after the victor," Calumdril got another smile from accross the tent.

Tane stood and offered a much more sturdy and firm handshake than before to both the men. "We must talk more soon, but I feel I must get to the Rangers." They each took his hand in farewell and walked out with him where he met with Alearindu who was standing stoutly in front of their burden.

"I'm going to get my horse. Wait here, I won't be long."

She nodded and shifted her legs ever so slightly. Tane hurried off and practically ran back to Awyrgan's tent. The Ranger had just done a quick patrol and was about to go out for a more thorough scouting; he had just stopped in to get his horse an encouragement treat.

"Awyrgan, Alearindu and I are going to take Thorgil's body back to camp. Day after tomorrow we'll head out to bury him. I want you to stay till tomorrow night and then come back unless something happens that needs you to return sooner," Tane spoke as he gathered back together his gear and was already strapping up Skit when he had finished speaking.

"I understand," Awyrgan quickly clasped Tane's hand then helped him gear up.

Soon Tane was with Alearindu again and they were heading off toward their camp, Thorgil on a stretcher behind Mornen, the much fresher of the two horses. Their pace was slow and they spoke quietly to each other on the journey back.

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan - Rangers

Awyrgan and Tane arrived at the outskirts of the village without incident. The older Ranger hastly tied his horse to a tree. Awyrgan shifted. He didn't feel much like standing around aimlessly. Tane turned to him. "Where is the leader's tent?"

Awyrgan tried unsucessfuly to appear indifferent. "I can take you there in a few minutes."

The pair locked eyes briefly. Tane spoke. "No. I want you to stay here and watch out for the hillmen. We still don't know if they know and what they'll do with the knowledge. The settlers have their own people, but they're not as good as you. If the hillmen do start something I want to be the first one to know about it." Awyrgan's eyebrows raised and his mouth opened slightly. "You will go to your post." Awyrgan's dropped his green gaze as his mouth snapped shut. He sighed.

"Thorgil is... Thorgil's body is there," he pointed off to one edge of the settlement. "The tent is on the edge of the village, by the forest edge. If you go straight from here you'll pass a knee high rock sticking out of the ground about one hundred paces from the tent. The tent is brown." Tane nodded and left.

Watch out for the hillmen. Tane's words echoed in his mind. Awyrgan doubted any would be found close to the camp, at least not yet. Still, nothing could be taken for granted. He coughed slightly. It was cold. Mounting his horse he road off, circling back and forth amongst the village outskirts.

He had just returned when Tane came hurrying back to where he had tied his horse. "Awyrgan, Alearindu and I are going to take Thorgil's body back to camp. Day after tomorrow we'll head out to bury him. I want you to stay till tomorrow night and then come back unless something happens that needs you to return sooner," Tane spoke as he gathered back together his gear and was already strapping up Skit when he had finished speaking.

There was nothing else to be said. "I understand," Awyrgan quickly clasped Tane's hand then helped him gear up. The man road off leaving Awyrgan alone. He felt a sudden urge for solitude.

Leaving his site he strode aimlessly off into the wilderness, his thoughts dwelling on the dead Ranger.

Pausing, he leaned against a tree. Then in a burst of anger he thrust a knife into it. The soft pine gave way easily and weapon buried itself nearly up to the hilt. He sat down.

A tear ran down the chasm on his face like a recently opened spring in a valley. He flicked at the scar, brushing them away. Drawing his pipe from his pouch he lit it and sat smokening in silence. The smoke and tears stung his face and the smouldering of the leaf matched the burning in his heart.

[ 6:54 PM December 03, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Hillmen

Stunned and hurt by Wolf's unusual harshness, Kestrel whimpered a little as he disappeared from her sight. She tried to watch him go, but he knew her weakness too well and her eye couldn't find him. She simply couldn't understand this change in the calm leader she thought she knew. He never raised his voice, never babbled like that--had Calem's d.eath (she was sure it was Calem; Wolf's expression told her that she was right in that much.) so worried him? The spirits would be angry, yes, but wouldn't their wrath be turned on the cripple's killer?

It was all too much for the practical Kestrel. Let Cleft worry about the spirits, she had her family to think of. They would need to be fed, and clothed just as usual, and she didn't understand the world of the spirits anyway. Such knowledge was reserved for priests, not crippled women. Still, she would leave an offering to appease Calem's spirit and keep him from her home.

A dry hand tapped her left shoulder. She turned and Cleft, still without a word to her, handed Flint into her arms, then ducked back into his little hut. A sigh, half of exasperation and half of relief, escaped her. She looked down at her son, who was sleeping, probably from some sort of herb the priest had given him, then, with one more look in the direction Wolf had disappeared, limped home.

[Osse]

Bear - Hillmen

Bear strode through the bare patch of corroded and muddy ground that served as the village’s meeting-place. He greatly desired to talk to his brother. The attack needed to be launched soon, before the southerners’ roots had delved too deep, weeding them out would prove very difficult if they were left to get settled; it was already perhaps beyond the hillmen as it was.

The recent rains had left the grounds soft and yielding; deep ruts were formed on the most commonly used trails. You could tell just by the depth of the rut how often a person went in and out of their hut, and that was usually in close affiliation with the person’s age.

It was easy to spot where the tribe elders lived. As he walked through the part of the village chiefly populated by the elders he stopped and stooped to look at something on the ground. Clearly outlined against the others, lay Wolf’s footprint.

The trail led away from the priests hut, it would be easy to follow, not many people were up and about, and no-one walked like Wolf. He had a slight instep on his left foot that made a very unique print.

Wolf had walked on a little used track that snaked between some of the larger huts, out onto the hill behind the village. He stood just below the mantle of the hill gazing up into the heavens.

Bear made no effort to be quiet as he approached his brother, when Wolf got like this sometimes even the loudest of noises wouldn’t disturb his train of thought. This time however, Wolf’s gaze descended upon Bear as he got to within about ten paces.

Even from this distance Bear could see the lines of worry and panic that beleaguered his brothers unusually pale face. For the first time in many years, he wished he could help his older brother bear his burden, had fleeting glimpses of a distressed child in need of a mothers care.

The vision went as quickly and fleetingly as it had come as Wolf quickly mastered his expression, though his eyes still had a worried, hunted look to them.

“What ails you brother, surely whatever worry you have cannot be as serious as your face tells?”

Wolf remained silent, and his gaze went back to the clouds.

“Come Wolf, you cannot shoulder this burden alone, whatever it is, you must tell me.”

When Wolf’s voice came at last it was most unlike his usual calculative, calm stammer. Instead of merely saying the words as he normally would, Wolf spat them.

“What I tell you is completely up to me! I am chief. It is my burden alone.”

And with that he strode off down the hill, his doubt and rage even apparent from behind. Bear stood in shock, peering through misty eyes at his brother’s receding form.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:03 AM December 07, 2003: Message edited by: Osse ]

[TheLadyAerowen]

Alearindu had just finished a conversation with a young girl when she turned around and found the Ranger Tane walking towards her. Alearindu was slightly startled and was going to ask what he was doing here, but she quickly stopped her question as Tane explained;

“I need you to come with me. There's been an upset and I must meet with the leaders at once."

Alearindu had heard nothing of some sort of upset and was struck with surprise as Tane finished speaking. She was going to ask what had happened, but was once again stopped Tane jerked his head signalling that this wasn’t the place to discuss it.

“We could ride Mornen,” Alearindu suggested, thinking Tane may have been in some sort of hurry. Tane shook his head, and told Alearindu to just walk him. Alearindu nodded, and pulled Mornen’s reins over his head. Tane set off at a brisk pace weaving through the few people, and Alearindu followed with Mornen, her head buzzing with many questions, but she refrained from asking any. She was sure, with time, most of them would be answered.

Soon, the thin crowds of people had diminished to none. Alearindu glanced over at Tane, and noticed he seemed to want to say something, but couldn’t quite find the words. Finally, he spoke;

“The upset… Alearindu, Thorgil is dead.” Alearindu stopped abruptly in her walk. Grief, anger, and shock flowed through her. “How? Tane…” Alearindu asked, her voice almost in a whisper. Tane then explained that Thorgil and another creature seemed to have killed each other. The only other information he knew, was that a villager had found him. The reason Tane was going to the leaders was to talk with them and get Thorgil’s body. “I need you with me, can you do it?” Tane asked, and Alearindu found herself staring into his eyes as he gripped her arm.

Alearindu nodded, and managed to answer yes, before facing the direction of the tent and starting off at a quicker pace than before. She blinked her eyes a few times fighting back tears, but three tears slipped from her eyes and began to roll down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away, but noticed Tane had glanced over. She said nothing, and continued towards the tent.

Not long after Alearindu had been told the news from Tane, they reached the brown tent. Alearindu noticed a man standing outside, but then, she noticed the body covered by a blanket. Her throat tightened into a knot, but she was able to hold back the tears this time; she just hoped she didn’t have to talk. Alearindu tried hard not to completely focus on the covered form, so as they neared the tent, she set her gaze upon the man who was standing, who explained that he was Borgand. He asked them to come inside, and held the tent open.

Tane asked Alearindu to stay and guard Thorgil’s body. She nodded, and Tane went inside. Alearindu stood with her knees locked in front of Thorgil, her arms crossed. What would it be like without Thorgil? He may not have been the most supportive of Alearindu being in his group, but there was still a lot of grief flowing through her. He was a very experienced Ranger, whom she had looked up to despite some of his actions such as leaving her in the settlement and not any of the other male Rangers, save Awyrgan who had volunteered. With this thought, anger pulsed through her as well. Alearindu’s arms dropped to her sides, and she clenched her fists together tight, digging her nails into the palm of her hand. A tiny trickle of crimson streamed from her palm, but she unclenched her fists as Tane walked out of the tent. He said he was going to go get his horse, and that she was to wait there. Alearindu nodded, and watched his back as he ran off. Now, Tane being Thorgil’s second-in-command would become their leader. Alearindu had no doubts whatsoever about if Tane could take up this responsibility. But still, how would the other Rangers react? What if they didn’t want Tane as their new leader?

Not too long after he left, Tane returned. They placed Thorgil’s body on a stretcher, and hitched it up to Mornen. They set off at a slow pace towards their camp, speaking quietly.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:59 PM December 20, 2003: Message edited by: TheLadyAerowen ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Dwarves

Barzûn watched the other Dwarves working. He eventually heaved his own wheelbarrow over to the rubble and began to pile the heavy rocks into the cart. The Dwarf controlled his breathing as he became winded. They worked for a while quietly. Barzûn figured they should carry as much back as they could, even if it would be a hard trek back to the camp.

Finally, Barzûn called the Dwarves together. He told them to grab what else they could and to start getting ready to head back to camp. As they started the journey back, Barzûn heard a shout of frustration behind him. He turned around just in time to see the wheels of one of the overladen carts snap in two. The disgruntled Dwarf lost his grip on the wheelbarrow and it began to roll away. A few other Dwarves let go of their own carts in surprise. Some of the other carts broke in the excitement that ensued. Finally, Barzûn yelled over the commotion.

"Dwarves!" he growled, once he had their attention, "Due to this...mishap," he glared at the poor Dwarf with the broken cart, "We do not have enough stone to dignify going back. I propose we fix the wheels as best we can and carry what we are able back to the camp in the fixed wheelbarrows. I suppose," he added crankily, "We will have to stay a while longer. Each Dwarf with a broken wheel: get to fixing your cart. You others, see if your cart can take anymore stone. If not, then stay close and be useful."

Even the other Dwarves grumbled a bit at the delay. Barzûn stood back to oversee the repairs. The Dwarves that kept their carts in one piece mostly wandered around, looking at the ruins and exploring various nooks and the like, pretending to look useful. Barzûn let them wander, feigning ignorance. There was not much to do anyway. All they could do was wait.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 7:31 PM January 18, 2004: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[The X Phial]

The rangers had retrieved the body of their fallen leader and freed Borgand and Calumdril to return to camp. The Ithilien had found him soon afterwards with news that he had spoken to both Illith and the new leader of the rangers, Tane. They had come up with an idea that might help solidify the relationship between the two groups, even in the wake of tragedy. Borgand had quickly agreed and was now headed to a hastily assembled settlement meeting.

He looked at his assembled people. So many were chatting amiably with each other. He was proud that, despite the hard conditions and harder work, they were building a community of people as well as of wood and stone. Of course, many were sitting without speaking, tired and cranky from long days and little reward. Borgand hoped that today's announcements would snap people about of their feeling of drudgery. He did not relish telling of the death of Thorgil. Whether they said so or not, the settlers all felt the rangers were standing between them and the worst of the dangers. With the death of a ranger, and the leader at that, fears would rise. Hopefully, the second announcement would temper that fear and give people something to look forward to.

Borgand stepped in front of the assembly, mindful of the need to keep things brief and to the point. A hush slowly fell as people noticed him. One advantage of the wooden leg was that he stood out from the general crowd and was almost instantly recognizable. He cleared his throat and glanced at the group, cheered to see Illith and Calumdril standing near the back.

"Hello my friends!" he began. "We have been working hard and the settlement is starting to take shape before our eyes. You should all be very proud of your accomplishments here. I know that I am proud of all of you. We stand at the edge of civilization, and through our efforts we bring order to the chaos of the wild around us.

"Part of this endeavor, of course, is hard work, which we have all been contributing. Another aspect, however, is loss. I am saddened to announce that Thorgil, one of the northern rangers here, has been slain in an encounter with the hillmen. It looks as though this incident was accidental. We must, however, be vigilant in our watch. The leader of the rangers, a man known as Tane, is both efficient and dedicated to the safety of his people and our settlement."

He paused, gauging the reaction. There was anxiety in the faces looking back at him, and the murmur of fear had not yet died down. As anticipated, the death of the ranger was a difficult bit of news to process. Taking a deep breath, he forged on.

"The rangers will be taking a few days to mourn the loss of Thorgil. When they return, we should have finished the building of the town hall." Borgand gestured to the frame slowly being erected behind him.

"Tane and I have discussed a fitting way to do honor to the dead while celebrating a new beginning. We think a feast is in order." He smiled at the crowd. The tone had changed slightly from anxiety to a lighter mood.

"And so, in two days time, we will have a contest. A hunting contest, to be exact. A team of settlers and a team of rangers will go looking for game. Whichever team finds the herds first will be honoured at the feast. Prizes will also be given for the team and the man who brings in the most game. The stores of wine shall be opened, and our first celebration as a community will truly take place. Now, are there any questions?"

Borgand smiled to Illith at Calumdril as the excited chatter started. The people hadn't forgotten the threat, but they had a goal now, something to bring them together. He hoped the hunt would produce more than just good will, though. A good hunt would provide a much-needed supplement to their stores. He promised himself he would treat Illith to a bath he hauled up from the lake and heated himself for this idea. She really was a gem.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:27 PM December 14, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir had just returned to the settlement when Awyrgan came up to him.
"I really need to talk to you, Thoronmir. Something bad has happened."
Thoronmir could tell by the younger man's expression that it must have been terrible. "What is it?" he asked.
"It's Thorgil. He's...he's dead."
Thoronmir was shocked by the news. "Dead?" he said after a few seconds. "How did he die?"
"One of the hillmen surprised him and hit him with a rock," Awyrgan answered.
"If that's true, then we'd better watch our step from now on," said Thoronmir. "If there was one hillman out there, there are bound to be more. Excuse me a minute."

Thoronmir left Awyrgan and walked away from the settlement. He came to the top of a nearby hill overlooking the town, and sat there for a long while, thinking about Thorgil and what his death would mean for the Rangers now. Out of the 30 Dunedain from the north that had fought alongside King Elessar in the war, 11 were from the Hills of Evendim. 4 had died at the Pelennor Fields, and 5 more at the Black Gate. Only Thorgil and Thoronmir himself had survived from that group. Now Thorgil, the last of Thoronmir's generation of Rangers, was dead. Thoronmir knew now that his time was not as long as he had thought either. Back when he was growing up, the Rangers, at least the good ones, were all experienced men above 50. Now Tane had assumed leadership, and both he and the others were about twenty years younger than Thoronmir. It saddened him to know that he would probably never quite fit in among the Rangers again. Perhaps it was time to retire...

As Thoronmir came back down the hill, he saw that everybody was gathered around listening to Borgand. He joined in, eager to see what was going on.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:00 PM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[Kryssal]

Not all of the Rangers could be brought in for Thorgil's funeral. Some wouldn't even know of his death until they had returned from their outposts and patrols. Tane glanced over the Rangers that were present and looking at him with somber or angry eyes. He didn't hide the former leaders body as he and Alearindu had come back into camp and at questioning glances or words, he told them what had happened. They formed small groups talking stories, staying silent, or vowing vengence, Tane didn't really know himself. He went to his old tent to one side of Thorgil's old cabin. Tane wouldn't move into the cabin for a few days, it just didn't seem right. He didn't want to move in there, but it was the traditional living quarters of the commander. Someone approached from outside and Tane wearily let the Ranger in. They talked late into the night and eventually false dawn leaked over the hills.

~*~

A group of Rangers were riding their mounts eastward with a steady pace. In the middle there was a stretcher being pulled.

The procession arrived at the burial grounds...several cairns littered the ground in the small space. Slowly the group dismounted and started their ceremony. The cairn was raised slowly with a few words spoken by several Rangers moved into the moment. Tane didn't speak, this was the time for them, and he was no longer a part of them. He was above them whether he wanted to be or not because now he had to make decisions that could change their paths....

~*~

Tane walked into the cabin that was now his...soon he would have to move his stuff into the room and move out Thorgil's things. There wasn't much either way. He walked over to the fire place and looked at the staff leaning against the wall beside it. It was such a simple staff, but it had been Thorgil's. It hardly ever left it's place beside the hearth and as Tane gripped it he felt that this should at least stay.

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan arrived at the Rangers' camp as dusk was approaching. He found his small tent undisturbed and, tying his horse, wrapped himself in a blanket and quickly fell asleep.

He awoke early the next morning to a misty horizon. Other Rangers were already stirring, some returning from patrols, others leaving. In the distance Awyrgan could see Thorgil's funeral procession being prepared. Deciding to travel on foot he left a feedbag of oats tied around his horses neck and made his way towards the other Rangers, pausing briefly to swipe good-naturedly at the dogs nipping around his heels.

The burial grounds were some distance from the camp. To the unskilled eye it was no more than a clearing with several small cairns. Yet Awyrgan recognized all but several of the newer ones as former companions. Thorgil's cairn was slowly raised. None hurried, reflecting on their fallen leader as they toiled. Several spoke, but for Awyrgan there were no words.

As they returned to the camp Awyrgan's eyes followed the ranger Tane as he strode slowly into Thorgil's former cabin, now his own. The green-eyed man paused, then followed the footsteps of the new commander and knocked firmly on the door.

"Enter."

Awyrgan slowly opened the door and walked inside. The cabin was dimly lit even in the daytime. Tane stood near the hearth holding a staff in his hand. The ranger wondered if he had unintentionally stumbled in on a private moment - he hoped he hadn't.

Tane turned to face him and Awyrgan did his best to get straight to the point. "I want to talk about my assignment at the settlement." Tane's eyebrows raise before Awyrgan hurriedly continued. "I'm not asking to be relieved." The older man cracked his neck. "Unsatisfied with your companion?" Awyrgan shook his head. "I couldn't tell you one way or the other - we haven't spoken." He pulled a knife from his belt and whittled absently on his pipe.

"Until now I've stayed close to the village on all my patrols. There is little of interest besides various bird droppings and several fine deer. I know it's not normal procedure but I want to extend my searchs father out into the woods. I'd like to know what's out there," he finished.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:45 PM December 23, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Himaran]

More work: can it get any worse, pray tell?

A disgruntled Olin examined his full cart, roughly following Barzun's instructions. Already tired, disgruntled and relatively bored, the routine check of the wheels and axles was positively infuriating. Finding no visible defects, the dwarf turned away stalked off two inspect a strange rock formation he had noticed earlier.

No sooner had he left than the axle on Olin's cart snapped clean away. The dwarf, however, continued onward, oblivious to both the malfunctioning vehicle and the angry bellows of his leader.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:07 PM December 29, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[Kryssal]

Tane didn't particularly want any more Rangers out than was already there, but he could understand Awyrgan's view; however, he wouldn't have him go alone and he told the Ranger as much.

Awyrgan immediately tensed. "I do not need a partner, Tane." He liked working alone, everyone knew this and Tane seemed to be pushing his bounds as leader.

Tane mentally sighed after the others angry words. "I know, but neither did Thorgil."

Awyrgan leaned back slightly and started at Tane as he continued.

"I don't want any exploring going on without at least two people together. I've also been doubling patrols that go into territory where hillmen have been spotted in the past. I wouldn't even go out alone. I have a feeling the hillmen are going to react against us."

Tane went to the table and shuffled out the map Thorgil had made of the surrounding area when he had first arrived. Several things had been added, including the settlement and current location of the hillmen.

"You can go along here," he moved his finger along the settlement and off around the hillmen area. "I don't want you to get too close to the hillmen though, we don't need another fight. If you want to go beyond or around, you may, but if you go here," his finder traced a line toward the west a bit, "you can meet up with the current patrol on that route; share some information perhaps."

Awyrgan nodded and traced a vague route of his own. "I was figuring to go round about this area."

Tane nodded his approval. "That looks sound. Now, for your partner, I want Thoronmir to go with you."

Awyrgan was about to retort again and try to get out on his own when Tane said quietly, "Please go with Thoronmir. I was going to reassign him regardless, but he has been out there recently. He could save you some trouble perhaps."

It was the please that stopped Awyrgan. Tane didn't want to loose another Ranger and it sounded in that word. Finally Awyrgan nodded and agreed even though he didn't particularly want to. Thoronmir wouldn't like being with a partner either.

Tane sighed inwardly and grabbed a blank parchment on which he promptly started writing. "Here is an explanation from me to Thoronmir though I'm sure he'll get your side as well," Tane smiled up at Awyrgan and handed him the now rolled parchment. They clasped hands and Tane wished him well as Awyrgan departed.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:09 AM January 06, 2004: Message edited by: Kryssal ]

[alaklondewen]

Collothion and Cuilad stood at the outer edge of the crowd that had assembled to hear the tidings Borgand brought to the settlers. Thorgil’s death was troublesome and did not sit well in Collothion’s heart. Any death caused by the brutes that lived in the hills would have been ill news, but the murder of the leader of the rangers was something else entirely.

Those men… Collothion thought. Men?…hm, those uncivilized beasts…must be a greater threat than we thought, Collothion spit a wad of unwanted saliva at his feet in disgust. The older man suddenly had a bitter taste in his mouth.

Cuilad, seeing his father’s motion from the corner of his eye, turned to meet his father’s gaze. Collothion could easily read his son’s green, anxiety-ridden eyes. His son was filled with uncertainty. What would happen if the hillmen, proud of their accomplishment, decided to attack the village? The older man squinted and burrowed his brows as he assured his son, “We will be fine, son…The rangers are still strong, and we have Borgand and ranger from Rohan to lead us. Don’t you worry, we’ll be fine.” His voice trailed off as Borgand changed the subject to the impending hunting competition.

Borgand was a wise man. Collothion recognized his ploy to distract the settlers from the danger in the hills with a friendly competition with the rangers. It would hopefully bring much needed food to the camp as well.

The competition peaked Cuilad’s interest. He felt a strong desire to go with the men from the settlers’ camp. He was quick and silent and felt he could learn much from the other hunters. Not only did he feel that it would be a great opportunity to be free from the camp for awhile, but the time might also give him a break from the herbs his father was so passionate about.

Cuilad bit his lower lip and glanced at his father to see what the old healer’s reaction was to Borgand’s announcement. Collothion stared straight ahead in thought, giving no clue as to the processes going on his mind. Cuilad would ask for his father’s permission to join the competition when the time was right.