Siege of Gundabad RPG

[piosenniel]

CaptainofDespair’s post

The wretched cold of the North had harried the small outfit of Gondorian soldiers for many weeks, as they marched through exhaustion to Esgaroth, the last way point for the army, as it prepared to make for Mount Gundabad, last of the major Orc strongholds in the north. Supplies had begun to dwindle, and the soldiers began to hope to arrive in the Dale soon, to replenish what they could before their confrontation. Yet, it was not food and water that the troops hungered for most, it was woolen cloth, and fur, to give them much needed warmth, so that they could fight, and not become mere statues in an endless waste of snow and ice.

This host’s commander was a brutally effective combat leader. With many of Gondor’s more able northern commanders unavailable due to the winter storms that were common in the barrens that formed during the blight of winter, Uther was summoned by King Elessar to remove the Orc threat of Gundabad. He was given a mandate; return to Gondor with an alliance, no matter how tenuous, or return with the head of the Orc chieftain. The aging Easterner knew better, for he had many dealings with the Orcs in the past. They would never submit to the strict stipulations of the King. Yet, on his honor, he was forced to at least offer the terms to his enemies, in hopes of them accepting them. His only real option, was to attempt to defeat the Orcs, on their ground. He did not like this, but he knew it must be done.

The actual size of the force that was put under Uther’s command was quite small, and was not wholly equipped to a siege of a mountain fortress. He had only managed to gather enough equipment to construct either a single battering ram, or build two or three light anti-personnel ballistas. With only sixty-five soldiers under his command, and countless orcs holding the well fortified, and easily defendable Mt. Gundabad, the prospects of a direct assault were slimmed to almost nothing. And to counteract any plans of his, the supply line had been thinned to nothing. He would get no reinforcements. His last bastion of hope was Esgaroth, where his army was now camping. Hopefully, with a little monetary incentive, he could obtain enough supplies to last a few extra weeks, should the siege drag on that long.

The troops under his command, though embattled by the elements, and beleaguered by the fear of both the stout Orcs they would face, and of their commander, remained surprisingly hopeful that at least a sizeable number of them would survive. Their hastily constructed camp was enough to hold off the brunt of the winter chill for now, but it was not suitable for the comfortable living many of them were accustomed to back home in Gondor.

Yet, with all the climatic hardships that were now set upon the Gondorians, they persisted. Uther had always been a driven, single-minded man when it came to war, and so he brushed aside the chill conditions, and prepared himself to face his enemy. His mind was set upon victory, and he was numb to the price he might pay to achieve that goal. But for now, he was content to plan his assault upon the battlements of Gundabad.

The aging commander had laid out a multitude of rudimentary maps, siege warfare doctrine papers, scout reports, and numerous other reports gathered from locals who had experienced either the Orc threat, or the terrain near the Mountain. He sat alone in a hastily constructed field command tent, with only his two hounds for companionship. But this was the way he preferred it. He did not always enjoy the company of his men, for many were brutes, or of the poor peasant class, and he did not wish to indulge their high hopes that war brought all men closer, no matter where they came from. But he was one of them, and that is what frightened him most, that he had risen through the ranks from that distant past, to a higher standing. His past was a burden to him, and he kept it to himself as much as possible. Thus, he kept to himself, so as not to reveal such matters to those who should not be privy to such knowledge. He had been like this ever since he came to Gondor, and joined the army. And now he only continued his lie of a life, pretending to be something he wasn’t, for the sake of vanity. And now he was yet again and scheming away, cooped up in his tent like a hermit.

[piosenniel]

Alaksoron's post

Huddling over a meager fire, Barak pulled his cloak closer against the biting wind. It was warmer in Gondor. He had lost count of how long they had been on the march. Surely it had been weeks. Though he was beginning to lose faith in his commander, he could never doubt King Elessar.

Uther Kahir was wild and often psychotic, but he was just the type of single-minded, agressive field officer needed for this type of mission. Not that Lieutenant Uther was the type to disclose information unneccesarily, but Barak knew something of what was going on.

They had been sent to siege and destroy the Orc/Goblin stronghold on Mt. Gundabad. King Elessar had ordered diplomatic efforts first, though he must have known it was hopeless. It would end in battle, and slaughter. Which was fine with Barak.

[piosenniel]

Witch_Queen's post

Mordred could barely feel his feet. The snow was cold and he longed for a chance to be by a fire. According to the rest of his conrads the supplies were diminishing. Mordred was eager to meet his enemies head on. There was nothing more he wanted to do. Mordred had no doubt that Lieutenant Uther would come through for his men. All he wanted was for the snow to be gone with the orcs. Mordred found that he could talk to only one person, that one person being himself. The others thought him to be crazy, but he found himself lonely alot and thought about what the others were thinking. Soon after he began thinking, he figured it took too much of his needed energy.

After weeks of marching all he really wanted out of everything was to lay in an actual bed. He often thought about his wife and young son. He knew in the future that his son would be in the same spot as he was if the orcs weren't taken care of. Mordred had only talked to Lieutenant Uther a couple of times and thought Uther was a very brave man. He never saw the Lieutenant without his dogs. Mordred figured the dogs refused to leave Uther just like Uther's men wouldn't abandon him. Mordred kept to himself alot because the other men were always talking about what they were going to do when the "battle" was over. He wasn't as experienced as the others and knew they thought him as still a "child." Mordred felt like he was back at home. He was the youngest of all his brothers and sisters and yet again he knew he was the youngest one in the group.

[piosenniel]

Soredamor's post

Hearing a disgruntled mutter as the goblin trooper turned his back to his Captain, Grûglach growled. The trooper sped up a bit, though he tried not to show his fear. He tried, but he did a poor job of it. The Captain observed this with a smirk. He was proud of how he kept his troops in line, and he enjoyed watching those retreating backs, fear apparent in the swiftness of their pace and their posture, their backs more hunched than usual. Under Grûglach’s eye, he intended them all to cower. He watched the back of the retreating goblin, trying to burn a hole in his back and stir him to running in his fright, but he soon tired of it. It never took Grûglach long to realize he was wasting his time with these creatures.

The fall of Sauron had made the Captain more reliant on himself than ever, and he felt he was wasting time if any of it was spent on anyone else. There were times when it sickened him that he was forced to show some kind of façade of loyalty to be in a secure position, but he realized that it benefited him to remain in his position among the goblins of the Misty Mountains, and that he would not find any benefit elsewhere. But it was one of those times, at that moment, when his disgust took him just slightly over the edge. And the approach of a sniveling lieutenant pushed him a little farther.

“Captain Grûglach, sir?”

The lieutenant, Gorurk, said everything as a question, most likely in fear of being wrong. Grûglach was revolted by this behavior, but he did not hesitate to encourage it by so often telling him how wrong he was. Gorurk waited for his Captain to answer, but Grûglach liked to make people wait. He hated to waste his own time, but he had no qualms about wasting others’. Finally the lieutenant understood that he would not receive acknowledgement, and he continued, his voice now shaking. It was always astounding what a little silence could do.

“There is word from Gundabad...it’s…not very good…”

“Really?” Grûglach spoke with mock surprise. He fooled Gorurk.

“Well…yes, sir… I always tell the truth to you, sir…”

“I’m sure you do, Gorurk.” The Captain said, almost soothingly, but so very contemptuously. “So tell me the truth, and tell me what word has come from Gundabad.”

“There is to be an attack. They say it will be the final attack. They say they will get rid of all that served the Master. Gorurk always praised the Master’s name. They say…”

“I have heard enough of what they say, and more than enough of what you say, Gorurk. We will wait for orders.” Then Grûglach would see if he would follow those orders.

[piosenniel]

Umwë's post

The cold chilly wind didn't scare Grokgash. He sniffed, but couldn't smell anything else than the tempting smell of man flesh that was getting fried over the open fireplace. "Come on you slugs!!" he screamed. "How long should it take for you idiots to get me some food!?" He heard a mumbleing voice behind him. He swiftly turned around and looked angrily at the orc that stood behind him.

"What did you say?!" he hissed to the orc.

"Ehhr, nothing, master, nothing!" the orc said with a low voice.

"Good! Now, get me some food, I am starving here!" Grokgash continued.

He knew that the humans were out there somewhere. He shook of anger when a small orc came shuddering towards him handing him a plate of meat. Grokgash snatched the plate from him and snarled to the orc.

The orc made a screaming sound and turned around and walked away. "Finally!" he said loudly for himself. While he was enjoying the nice meat, another orc came and tapped on his shoulder.

"What now?" Grokgash said without turning around.

"The men are close now, master!" the orc whispered in his ear.

He sighed loudly and rose up from the rock that he was sitting on. "Okay you slugs! These men should not be too hard for you morons! Move it!" he shouted and swung his scimitar in the air. His warcry made the orc's braver and confident. They all rose up and started to swing their spears and scimitars.

[piosenniel]

Boromir88's post

It's a soundless night, the fire is blazing outside the tent Sjorging has pitched, on the outskirts of the settlement ahead. He sits on a log, staring into the roaring fire, remembering, thinking of the situation at hand. His home in Dale, along with the rest of the town, had been overrun by marauding orcs. They were greatly outnumbered and had no choice, but to flee. He has gathered a few of his trusty companions to discuss what had just happened two nights ago, and what will happen.

"We don't have enough men here to make a suitable defense for these raiding orcs," says a tall, bearded man opposite of Sjorging. His name was Gelding. Gelding and Sjorging go back a long way, they had fought side-by-side against Sauron's forces.

'I thought this evil had been defeated a long time ago, they have said Sauron was defeated, and this new King Elessar was restoring order?" states another man sitting next to Gelding, he was Beluf, a member of the town that was overrun some two nights ago.

"Nay," says Sjorging, "Sauron has been defeated, but we are still a long way away from peace and order. There are still orcs occupying Gundabad, has anyone sent word to King Bard?"

"Yes," answers Beluf, "but we are greatly weakened by the war. I fear we are too weak, and Bard doesn't have enough men to come to aid."

"Our scouts report that King Elessar has sent out a force from Gondor to dispose the orcs of Gundabad for good." says Gelding. "But, we don't know when they'll arrive."

"Probably won't arrive in time at all." spouts Sjorging. Word had spread of King Elessar's greatness, and of the coming times of peace. But, Sjorging was doubtful with this recent threat of orcs raiding Dale. To him, he wasn't convinced until he saw the Gondor force himself. Until that time Sjorging, and his companions would fight on.

[piosenniel]

Firefoot's post:

Adranel looked out vacantly from her vantage point on the hill overlooking what had once been her village. The snow was no longer white. It was bloodstained by the people of her village and charred by the ashes of their houses. Night was falling, and it was getting cold. Adranel did not have a cloak, but she did not care if she froze. Nothing mattered, because they were gone. Everyone she knew and loved was dead or taken by the Orcs, the latter perhaps the crueler fate than the former. She tried to block away the horrible memories, but still they came back...

It had been a cold, crisp winter’s day. Adranel was alone in the house, for her younger siblings were off with friends and her father and older brothers were working in their small store. She was alerted by raucous cries, cruel laughter, and the ringing of metal on metal. Adranel, like every other person in the village, had hurried outside to see what was happening, though in her heart she knew that it was Orcs. She grabbed her bow without thinking about it, strangely enough since she had long since lost the habit.

Outside, the smell of smoke was thick in the air. The village was burning. She had to find her family and get away - it was the only way to survive. Oh, where could they be? Finally, she found her father on the other side of town. He was wielding a long hunting knife, undoubtedly the only weapon he could find in a hurry. She was about to call out to him when an Orc came from behind and swung its sword through her father’s neck. She stifled a scream and turned and fled, tears streaming down her face. In her haste she nearly passed the body of her fiancé Hergon. A black-feathered arrow shaft was sticking out of his blood-soaked chest. No, no, no, she thought. She knelt down beside him, and found him to still be alive. He opened his eyes at her touch, and the corners of his mouth turned upward.

“Adranel,” he murmured. His breathing sounded labored. Adranel took his hand in hers. “Get away from here, my love. Save your own life, for me. Let me know you are safe.” He closed his eyes again, and Adranel knew he was gone. She rose to her feet, sobs wracking her body. He couldn’t be dead; it wasn’t possible. Surely someone lived. Where were her brothers and sister? She did not know or care where her feet took her now. She ran blindly, her tears blurring her vision. She left the village, left the screams of women and children, left death behind her. Only it would never be gone, because she would never forget...

A lump rose in her throat once more. She had thought she had cried her tears away, but more came. Adranel turned away from the bloody wreckage of the village, for she could not bear to see it any longer. Hergon’s final words tugged at her heart. Let me know you are safe. These words were the only things that gave her will to live, because nothing mattered any more. They were gone. All of them were gone.

[piosenniel]

Novnarwen's post

He washed, the cold water making him giggle. Roughly, he was rubbing his face, trying to wipe away the dirt. His sister had taught him this. It was like magic, he thought, seeing how within seconds the dirt was gone from his face and he was clean. Watching himself in the mirror, he grabbed the kitchen knife. The brown-grey hair was growing out of his face again, something he found very frustrating. He took a hold of his beard with his left hand, and held the knife in his right. With a sudden movement, he had cut of most of his beard, leaving it uneven. It was burning with pain; his cheek. Red liquid started to run down from his chin, and onto his stubbles. Bending, he plunged his face into his little wash-tub. When rising, he looked satisfyingly into the mirror. After a few seconds however, something red was again running from his chin. Sighing, being rather frustrated, he turned quickly towards the door.

The weather was cold, but pleasant. The sun was casting long beams over the landscape. A thick white carpet was covering what once had been green fields. He frowned. When touching it, his fingers froze. When tasting it, his throat went cold and numb. He dropped dead. He looked down at his feet, pained by the coldness of the snow. He went hurriedly inside, finding his boots. He pulled them on, went for the door and slipped outside again.

He giggled to himself and called out. “Aeeeeeeeeeeieeeeeeeeeeia!” He held his hands in the air, running around and at last casting himself to the ground. The snow was piercing through his thin clothing, making him shiver with cold. He did not care though. The feeling of lying here was too great for him to abandon so quickly. He lay still, taking in the fresh winter air.

For a while, he lay motionless on the ground. At last he could not take it anymore; his teeth chattered, his legs were stiffening and his lips were turning blue. His whole body was trembling. Rising, he heard the sound of heavy boots. Being alarmed, yet not afraid, he looked desperately around. Who was coming at this hour? His sister! His sister! He was about to get up, but then he spotted several figures approaching his cottage. They didn’t at all look like his sister, or any other he had ever met. Not daring to move, he watched them. They were many. He giggled, wanting to run towards them, but his body was stiff, his limbs were numb.

It didn’t take long, before they took their leave again; their heavy boots echoing. Dragging himself forth, he suddenly discovered smoke. His cottage was hid behind a mixture of colours; orange, red and yellow. Slowly, he was drawn by the heat coming from it. He laughed merrily, feeling better at once. After a few hours, his cottage had disappeared; the ground where his cottage had stood was black; just like magic he thought.

[piosenniel]

Beserker_Warrior's post

Snagar stood on the hill above the trench. He could smell men on their way here. His soldiers would be ready, they were below in the trenches, waiting. His men would feast on manflesh soon. He was their leader, the one that they trusted but feared, he would keep them in line and reward them with fresh meat.

Snagar turned and walked down to the trench. "You and you ,up to the hill you maggots!" Snagar needed to keep lookouts on the hill to watch for any one who might be headed in this direction. They went without complaint or any sign of unwillingness, to have done so would have been death. Inwardly Snagar smiled, his force was the one who would have all the spoils and all the glory and a realm of their own. Snagar could even be called the king. That was what he really wanted, anything that he could get for himself, as is the nature of all orcs. Snagar remembered the days of living in the hills before and after Sauron was defeated, he and his tribe had been an advance guard for Mordor, but nothing had ever happened until the defeat of the Great Eye and the Wraiths.

[piosenniel]

Sarin Mithrilanger's post

"Get yer weapons and get moving," the commander was always yelling and making sure everything went as planned. They had been waiting here for what seemed like an eternity and it seemed they would be waiting even longer. Ugwakh stayed in his chair sharpening his swords and occasionally tearing into his small helping of mutton. He had the wonderful duty of watching after the goblins making and stringing the bows.

Why am I still punished for food! He thought angerily as he supervised these wretched vermin who did not deserve to do battle along side of him. They were only useful with bows and were useless when the enemy came nearer. He only wanted to do battle again....and taste his enemies' blood once more.

[Firefoot]

Adranel trudged on through the snow. Light was fading as the day waned, though it was still just bright enough for her to see where she was going in the sparse forest. She was heading for Dale, though she knew it would be a few days before she arrived if she did not freeze or starve to death first. She thought that freezing would be more likely; already her fingers and toes were numb, and she did not have a cloak or any additional layers to keep herself warm. Her mind, too, was numb from all emotion and care. She liked it that way, because she did not have to think, or remember. Adranel was glad the tears had stopped - she had always hated crying.

She lost track of time as she hiked. Surely she could not have been walking more than a couple hours? Darkness came early during the winter, and with it the frigid temperatures of night. Perhaps she would stop for the night soon, and build a fire to keep warm. She was drained, both physically and emotionally, but she did not want to stop. If she stopped, she might start remembering again. So she kept moving, even when it became to dark to walk safely through the woods. Dinnertime came and passed, and even though she had eaten nothing since breakfast, Adranel was not hungry.

Finally, Adranel could not go on any longer. Her body simply could not handle it, and she very nearly collapsed. It was late, she knew, for the waxing half moon had nearly set in the west. Due to the snow, none of the wood she could find in the deep dark was dry. She gave up on trying to start a fire and huddled down in the shelter of a tall tree and made no attempt to clear the snow away. If snow was used properly, it could also trap body heat and help keep her warm. Her older brothers had taught her about woodcraft, and focusing on the little things like the moon and snow helped occupy her mind away from her family, her village, and the cruel, merciless Orcs.

As she closed her eyes for sleep, the memories came back even as she feared they would. She could hear the screams, see her father being murdered by the Orc. Tears threatened again, and this time she tried to suppress them. She had no energy to do so, however, and they trickled down her cheeks in tiny rivulets. Overcome by weariness, Adranel finally fell asleep, though sleep was even less peaceful than waking.

[Umwë]

Grokgash stood in the freezing mud and tried to track the humans. But the tracks was all mixed up by others. He couldn’t move his feets, they were freezing and was trembled with cold.

“Get me another fur. It’s freezing here!” he shouted.

“But master, we don’t have any fur that’s not occupied.” Huggark said and trembled a bit for Grokgash’s bad temper.

Huggark the little coward. I will flay him alive, he thought and made a grimace.

“Okay, don’t just stand there now! Get ready to leave! You said they were close!” He screamed and sounded more angry than usual.

The orcs screamed and grumbled and all of them drew their swords and stood ready with their shields and started to beat their swords againt their shields. It ended up in a horrible metallic sound. Grokgash grinned and held his scimitar in the air. The orcs saw that and did the same and screamed. Grokgash inspected all the orcs slowly and Huggark stayed close to Grokgash.

Huggark was a small bony creature that always was afraid. He was so unlike an orc, and that made many of the other orcs laugh at him. He followed Grokgash wherever he went and served him.

They started to track, but after a long distance of running Grokgash made halt and sniffed. “We’ve lost them” he said and stomped in the ground with his foot.

“I’ve found pretty fresh tracks, master!” an orc shouted nearby.

Grokgash went closer and saw several footsteps in the mud. The direction was like before. “You want as to start going again, master. I believe I’m not speaking for only myself when I suggest that we stay here an rest for a moment..?” the orc that had found the tracks said. He stood and glanced at the others but everyone looked down in the mud.

“Bah! You whimp!” Grokgash started and drew his scimitar. “Are you an orc or a disguised human that think this is just another journey that we arrange for fun?!” The orc shuddered and tried to avoid Grokgash’s gaze. “I-I’m an orc, master, of course... Let’s go, let’s go now!” the orc finally said and shuddered.

They followed the tracks and they did just stop once for a short meal. The day turned to night and soon it was pretty dark and they could barely see anything. Grokgash commanded them to continue, and said that if they wanted any food, they would get it when they had hunted down the humans.

[Boromir88]

It was a dark and cold night and the sky appeared it was about to dump another storm upon the small settlement of Dale. Sjorging was lying on his bed, just about ready to call it a night. When suddenly, screams were being heard all around. Lancast, one of Sjorging's servants, busts through the door, in a frantic stammer.

"Sjorging, sir, the orcs....they're here.....ra-i-idi-n-ng and bu-r-r-rning the to-ow-w-n." Sjorging draws his sword and runs to the front door. He turns to the boy "Go to the tower, and sound the bell, we must alert the rest of the town, if they aren't already. Here," Sjorging tosses his long hunting knife to Lancast, "you'll be needing that."

The boy opened the front door, it seemed even before he could take a step outside Lancast fell to the ground. Sjorging collapses on his knees, and spots a thick, crude, black feathered arrow in his chest, he drags the boy's body in and closes the door, with a thud. Sjorging isn't even affected by Lancast's death at all, he simply takes back his hunting knife and puts it back at his side. Sjorging was often like this, doesn't remorse for the dead during a battle. He simply thinks, if he makes it through alive he can remorse later.

Sjorging here's a dull thumping on the door, he knows who is waiting on the other side, and...with a strike of fear he begins to smell smoke! The weak lock gives way to the constant jarring of the door. With a quick duck Sjorging avoids the orcs swipe, and thrusts his sword, through the thin leather and into his gut. He quickly kicks off the dead orc body and blocks another swing. Sjorging is struck in the back and falls to his knees, an orc fist..comes towards...closer...and....

Sjorging wakes up with a startle, panting, his breath could be seen in the air. "Sjorging...Sjorging....Sjorging," finally Sjorging realizes that Gelding is at the entrance of his room. "What is it Gelding?" Sjorging says in an annoyed, yet relieved tone.

"I have more word on the pursuing orcs." Gelding replies.

"Thanks for coming to inform me Gelding," then Sjorging starts to wonder, "Gelding, it's strange, the last thing I remember is this orc fist coming at my face, then I must have been knocked out. All I remember is waking up last night at your house...and I was just wondering..."

Gelding interrupts him, "Yes, wondering why you aren't dead? I was about to call it a night, when I see this bright, red, glare outside my window. I rush outside and to my dismay, the whole town was ablaze. This young lad here, Beluf, comes running up, in a frenzy, and explains the orc raid. There we no trace of orcs in the town, I spotted their tracks heading southward, I figured they had left not five minutes ago. I sent Beluf through the town to check for any survivors. That's when I spotted your house, just up aheah engulfed in flames. Luckily, there was time for me still to get you in and out, without the whole house going down, taking us with it. I did spot you on the floor, and noticed that there was only dark, foul, orc blood on the floor. I still didn't know if you were alive or not, until I got you back at my house, when you woke up. Only you and Beluf survived it seems, unless some others escaped before, but it's likely they didn't get far."

Gelding's house was an isolated one, on the outsirts of the town. Only townspeople, who have been up there before, knew about it. Surely raiding orcs, that weren't familiar with the area, couldn't spot Gelding's house up towards the mountains.

"Bless you Gelding, I never thought I'd say it, but bless you." Sjorging remarks with a smile. Gelding is one of the few people Sjorging respects greatly. "What do you know about this Beluf? That you speak of?" Sjorging can be very curious, especially if he's around people he doesn't know. Which means, if he doesn't know them, he doesn't trust them.

"He's a young lad, was the local blacksmith." Gelding replies. "Besides you, and I, he was the only survivor. I couldn't just abandon him."

"I understand Gelding." Sjorging says. "What news have you, of these....orcs?"

"It's to my understanding they are going across Dale, burning anything in their path. We fear they are drawing close, maybe within a days reach. Let's hope for the King's soldiers to arrive soon, we have word they are on their way."

"Nay, Gelding, do not put your hope in them. We must alert King Brand, he'll know what to do." Sjorging remarks. "I'm not so sure about this King...King Elessar. If his troops do arrive, then maybe he will prove me wrong. I have a feeling Elessar isn't taking this situation seriously, that's why we must make our way towards King Brand."

[Soredamor]

Grûglach paced, scowling at the ground in anger at his own nervousness. This was what waiting did to him sometimes. There was a certain anticipation, as well as a good deal of impatience. This was true particularly when he waited for news that he worried might put him in a situation in which he did not wish to be. He liked his position, and he liked the authority he had here. He was always ready to shed the blood of Men, but he was concerned with who else’s blood might be shed. What ‘they say’ had been on the Captain’s mind for some time now.

He could not remember when he had ever felt like this. It bordered on fear, this feeling. Grûglach’s anger grew at the thought of him ever feeling fear, and he quickly disregarded the thought. It still burned in the back of his mind, unable to be completely settled or ignored. Neither could the feeling in the pit of his stomach be fully ignored. Realizing that it was a familiar feeling, and assuring himself that it was of no importance, the Captain decided it would easily be quelled. What would not be stifled was the concern he had for what the orders he knew were coming. Mainly he was concerned with what they would mean for him. And he expected that he would not like what he discovered when they arrived.

Gorurk seemed to sense his Captain’s anger. Luckily, he sensed only the anger, and not the uneasiness or the nervousness. Grûglach was pleased to see that the lieutenant still cowered and sniveled. It lightened his mood…barely. His breath no longer rushed out of him in a growl every time he exhaled, at least. A bitter smirk seemed to permanently adorn his face, any differences between it and a scowl or a sneer unnoticeable. And so all approached him with caution, and were afraid to leave his sight, though they hated to feel his eyes on them. Gorurk seemed to be having this trouble. The orc lingered, uncertain and afraid, always so afraid, fearful of his uncertainty. Grûglach was tired of seeing him out of the corner of his eye.

“There has to be something you can do around here, Gorurk. If not, I’d be happy to give you something to do for me.”

“And I would be happy to serve you, Captain, sir.” Grûglach gave a grunting laugh. The lieutenant smiled uneasily as his Captain turned to look at him. It was hard to tell if it was a good thing when Grûglach laughed. And normally it was not.

“Then take a walk through the barracks, would you? I’ll skip an inspection of my own for today.”

Gorurk’s nervous smile had been wiped from his face as soon as Grûglach had said ‘barracks’. What replaced it was a look of shock, and clearly of fear. He blinked several times and worked his mouth a bit before he could speak. His throat sounded dry. The Captain felt a smile grow on his lips.

“Ye-…” Gorurk swallowed, and Grûglach could hear him gulp. “Yes, sir.” The lieutenant turned and wandered away in a daze, his mind going over with growing fright what he was about to do. Gorurk had never gone into the barracks without Grûglach for a reason. And Grûglach knew this very well. The Captain would wait a little longer, just to see if the lieutenant returned from his walk, but he would soon take a look into the barracks himself. He felt the troops had been settled in there for far too long. It was time to get them moving. He knew what his orders would be, and he had waited long enough.

[CaptainofDespair]

A howling wind had arisen during the night, and now it was steadily growing in strength. The cold of the North was enough for most soldiers, but the wind drove through what that deathly cold could not. Uther sat quietly in his small field tent, going over the plans for his march, and listening to wind whipping about beyond the confines of his leather and fur shield that encased him, protecting him, from what nature could throw at him. He felt quite distant from his men, who would be languishing in their makeshift homes, cursing their luck, and cursing him for bringing them to the North. But at least he was warm, within his shell, watching the firelight of the torches outside dance about.

Yet, he had more important matters to attend to. He needed to prepare his men for battle, and he needed to get them on the march. Thus, after his solitude of many hours, he broke silence, and summoned his chief commanders and sergeants to him. Whilst he waited, he gnawed on a piece of salted pork, something that disgusted him, but that he would eat nonetheless. The taste of the meat was not as bad as some of the cram that he would eat while on his long journeys to Eriador, but he disliked it still. But he was saved from his meal, when his summoned commanders arrived, shivering with dread, of the cold, and of what was to be uttered by their lieutenant.

They slowly situated themselves about the tent’s interior, arranged in semi-circle around the seat of the outfit’s commander. Many of them muttered to themselves, speaking inwardly, of what might come of this meeting. Finally, Uther, with his map laid before him, rose from his creaky, wooden chair, and spoke to them.

“As you all know, we have few troops, but that cannot hamper our duties. We are under the orders of the King, to sway these Orcs, with whichever means we must.” He paused, letting the agitated centurions take in his words. “Thus, we must set out for Gundabad. Muster the soldiers, and prepare them to march before the morning sun rises. You are dismissed...” With that, the summoned men turned about, and strode out of the tent, some of them mumbling incoherent curses on the way out, seeking what rest they could gather before they were to depart.

Again, the aging Uther was left to himself, save for his ever-present hounds. He quietly drifted into a dream-like state, slowly petting his beloved dogs. His mind would not settle though, for thoughts of battle, and the screams of those long-since slain, arose from the blackest chasms of his mind, playing with his thoughts, as if they were a child’s toys. Sleep would not come to him this night, for with the bloodshed on the horizon, his mind could not rest. Thus, the weathered, war-weary commander rose from his bedroll, and wandered out into the cold air of the night, seeking some form of solace.

The sky was dull, brimming with the shadows of night, and only brightened by the twinkling light of a few meager stars. But, the lieutenant had not the time for the beauty and grandeur that often came with the presence of night. Instead, he was bent on shaking off the bloodlust that threatened to overrun his mind. Still, the cries of a battle long since passed, could be heard haunting the depths of his soul. He meandered his way through the small Gondorian camp, listening to the quiet that came with a soldier’s sleep, and he watched from the firelight, as the guards patrolled the perimeter, ready to defend their brothers-in-arms. He was pleased with these sights, and the soothing silence of sleep. After a short stint of his aimless wandering, he forced himself back to his abode, to make another attempt at sleep, while he remained as relaxed as he was. Now, he could only hope of not being disturbed from his rest, which would be needed in the trials that awaited him in the darkness.

[Alaksoron]

Barak lay outside, snoring. He was the only soldier outside of his tent that night, aside from the sentries. For most soldiers, it was much too cold to sleep outside, but Barak liked to look at the stars. It reminded him how small he really was, kept him humble. His father had taught him that, years prior.

Besides, he liked to be ready. His horse was tethered nearby, and his weapons lay beside him. A quiet footstep beside Barak's head woke him. Before he could look up towards the man's face he recognized Lieutenant Kahir's boot. Barak waited til Kahir moved on before twisting in his blankets to regard the man. Uther Kahir seemed to be wandering aimlessly, pausing every few steps. Normally, Barak could read man's faces, but his face was blank. An odd one, that.

Barak dismissed the scene and closed his eyes. Looking up at the stars, he fell asleep thinking of his wife and children, and how long before he could return to them.

[Novnarwen]

Smoke surrounded him; it came from the big black mark in front of him. For more than an hour he had been standing silently watching his cottage disappear behind the reddish curtain. Now, there was hardly anything left of the little house. Yet, the man from Dale stood giggling as if he was waiting for a big treat. When at last the colourful curtain disappeared, and when only the grey mass was left, he walked forwards, approaching it slowly.

The smoke made his eyes smart, and he felt his throat immediately going dry. The wind was driving the smoke; it was passing him, gently touching the top of his head. He tried grabbing a hold of it, the smoke, but it only flew right through his fingers and out of his hands. He coughed slightly, as he found himself standing in the middle of a cloud of smoke. Realising that he couldn’t quite see, he clapped joyously his hands together. “Inimcible!” he tried to cry out loud, but his voice failed him. Ingemar was of course under the impression that if he couldn’t see anything, no one could see him either. This, naturally, was great fun to him, and he started to run around in circles; round, round, round in a circle of less than one yard in radius. One can only imagine how it looked like, but the Man from Dale thought it extremely fun. Being invincible meant that he could do whatever he wished, when he wished and how he wished. It did not take long however before he almost fell over by dizziness and he reeled out of the circle and away from the black mark; he wasn’t surrounded by smoke, thus not invincible anymore. He sighed, being exhausted, dizzy and the same time very cold.

It was first at this point he actually felt the biting wind getting colder as the night fell. It was torturing him where he stood, making his limbs numb. His lips and fingertips had turned blue. His face had frozen completely. Making grimaces and such was suddenly turning rather difficult, as his cheeks had stiffened. When touching his hair, it was hard and wet. Ingemar did not quite realise what was happening however, as he had never experienced this before. The feeling of being cold had never reached to this extent earlier, and therefore he did not know what it meant. He only knew that being in this state was unpleasant, and he longed for something to make him warm.

[Firefoot]

Adranel awoke shivering after a long night of restless sleep and dark, dimly remembered dreams. The first thing she was aware of was the cold. Had she been more alert, she may have been surprised to have survived the night. Her body temperature was dangerously low, and her wet clothing provided very little warmth. Subconsciously she knew that if she stayed there much longer she would likely freeze, and had to find another source of warmth. As she sat up a groan escaped her mouth; her muscles had stiffened up during the night, and her back was sore from sleeping on the hard ground. She was able to stand with some effort using the tree she had slept near as a support.

A pale rim of light stretched along the eastern horizon, the only sign that morning was near. Still, she could see better now than last night. She saw that she had left the thickest part of the forest, and was now in a lightly treed area. She turned to face the direction Dale was in, and tested her legs by taking her weight off the tree against which she was leaning. They supported her, and some of the feeling was returning to her toes. Gingerly she leaned over to pick up her bow and quiver of arrows and swing them around onto her back. Those, a short knife, and the soaking clothes on her back were the only things she owned, now; everything else had been burned.

There was a dead look in her once bright eyes as she set off for another day’s march. There was nothing left to keep her moving; only a strong, determined force from deep inside drove her on. She had to reach Dale. She didn’t know anyone there, but surely she could find someplace to stay in the time being. Adranel frowned, trying to remember why she had decided to head for Dale. Because... because there is safety there. But why do I want to find safety? Why could I not have died with the rest? Then words came unbidden to her heart: get away from here, my love.

“Hergon,” she whispered. Fresh tears came to her eyes, but she brushed them away. This would never do. She had to stop tearing up all the time. Frustrated at herself and angry that everyone she had cared for had been taken from her, she locked all of her memories of family, friends, and home away in the far recesses of her mind, never to be recalled. She hardened herself against all tenderness, hope, and love, never to be so close to anyone again. Life would be easier, and less painful that way, she decided.

Within only a couple hours, the sun had risen and Adranel left the thinning woods behind completely. Having little resistence, the snow had drifted more here, but it still wasn’t terribly deep. In the distance she could make out a small settlement. She began to steer wide of it, because she had no desire to meet with other people. At any rate, she had no reasons to enter a strange town. She still had no desire to eat anything, and movement combined with the weak light of the sun had warmed her some. Then, of course, her lack of money would be a problem even if there had been something she needed.

As she continued her trek through the snow, Adranel’s steps became heavier. She had not gotten enough sleep, and by not eating she was starving herself of the nutrients her body needed. Still, she forced herself on faster. It was a long way to Dale, and she would not get there by resting.

[CaptainofDespair]

Move Out!

The muddled sounds of burdened movement in the darkness, nearly overpowered the voices of the commanders, who were vainly trying to get their men mustered in the gloomy twilight. Their shouts could be heard rising above the clanking of metal, and the beating of horse hooves. Many of the troopers, hungry, tired, and shivering from the cold, were on the verge of mutiny. They grew more and more agitated with each passing day, angry at their commanders, the King, and the Orcs. A few had even deserted the host, choosing to live a life of exile, rather than suffer what was their duty. But Uther was determined to take Gundabad, and he suppressed the mutinous thoughts of his soldiers at every corner. He himself was already becoming the heinous, feared leader of his past years, and it was prevalent in the eyes of his men.

Yet, the troops managed to drag themselves into marching columns, with a small baggage train of fresh supplies from Esgaroth, trailing in the rear. Many of them were still half-asleep, and the initial command to begin the march was not well received, and the soldiers took their time in moving forward. But eventually they moved, whether out of fear, or out of duty. What lay before them, was a vast stretch of empty, snowy wastes...

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

The march had not gone well, thus far. Only on the second day of their last leg, they had already met quite a few obstacles. Early in the morning, the pack animals had decided to break from their train, and attempt to run off, possibly from the faint reek of death that hovered in the winds. They were eventually recovered, and brought back into place, but not without a hassle. This required the entire column to halt its march, which was a welcome relief to the soldiers, who were forced to trod through the snow, seemingly without end. Uther however, was not pleased, and thus ordered the soldiers either to stand in the light snow, and slowly freeze in the cold, or go out after the pack animals.

But, finally, the march began once more, and the column slowly churned up the energy to press forward into the barren landscape. Uther rode at the head of the column, atop his horse, which was one of the few that was brought along for combat purposes. Many of his sergeants and other junior grade commanders stuck with their assigned deployment units. As the march trickled on, Uther began to review the small units under his command. Only one, the “Black Gate Garrison”, as it was often referred to, for its continued watch of the Morannon, was anywhere near combat ready. The other units were either conscripts, or hastily gathered segments of local garrisons. These units were obviously not the pride of the Gondorian Army, and that irritated the aged commander, who was accustomed to larger, better equipped outfits. But, he would not retreat. He knew he must accomplish his task, or die trying. Retreat was not an option, even against larger, more experienced foes. Against the orcs, it could only lead to humiliation.

Before long, Uther had sent out scouts, to survey a spot that would be suitable for camp, and he awaited their return with his normal impatience for such a small task. He had hoped it would not take long, for he was growing weary, and the rest of his “soldiers”, were already starting to complain of the harshness with which he forced them on. At last, he could stand it no longer, and had given into the demands for rest and food, and sent out his scouts. To pass the time, while the column carried on at a steady, yet slow pace, he drew out his maps and poured over them, as he straddled his horse, while it meandered along the faint outlines of what might have been a path or road of some sort. A few of his forward most soldiers could hear vague muttering emanating from the lieutenant, and they chuckled inwardly to themselves, at his apparent lunacy.

[Soredamor]

Grûglach spoke a command to Gorurk in a low growl. Unfortunately, the lieutenant had returned from his inspection of the barracks. And soon thereafter, the Captain made his own inspection, giving his orders directly to his troops. They had moved out at nightfall, and dawn was nearing, Grûglach could feel it, an acute hatred and mild fear of sunlight giving him the ability to sense its coming. He had wished before that it were the same way with Men, that his hatred for them would allow him to feel their presence. He would never admit it, but he feared what would result from his actions.

“Spread the word, we camp soon.”

The Captain listened to the growls and mutters among the ranks as he watched them pass by. Some of the troops snuck glances at their Captain as they ran by, while others boldly stared at him. They had been running since they left the night before, and Grûglach knew that such a thing never went well with them. They had all seemed enthusiastic, screaming and growling with the bloodlust as he had given them their orders and informed them that they would taste Man-flesh again. He was sure the excitement would return when the battle began.

His own excitement was more of a nervous energy, and he fidgeted with his various weapons. His finger slid along the blade of his axe then went to test the point of his hook. His eyes passed from one goblin to another among the ranks, and his hand tightened into a fist whenever his eyes met another’s. The Captain began to wonder if he should have waited for orders. It was uncertain that his orders were what the king wanted, and even more uncertain that they were wise. His luck hadn’t failed him yet, though, much less his skill.

Grûglach started to run again, keeping a small distance between himself and the troops. He couldn’t stand watching the goblins as they ran by, nor could he stay still without his mind wandering and wondering. Its machinations often made him proud, but other times he cursed them. But most of the time he cursed the goblins under his command. If the battle that was to come ended with Men triumphant, it was their fault. Gundabad would be held as long as Grûglach’s orders were carried out. So far, they were being carried out, and they had little more than a day’s journey left till they reached the Mountain of Gundabad.

Maybe the Captain had reason to consider the fate of the goblins, but for now he only considered his own fate. He was going to determine his own fate, and keep his fate separate from the fate of his troops, as well as the fate of the goblin remnant in the Mountains of Middle-Earth. Perhaps they had served a master, Sauron, as well as a king, but Grûglach had never served either. He served himself and his purposes, which mainly consisted of staying alive. And, for now, finding a good place to set up camp for the day.

The Captain suddenly cursed himself, realizing that he had left Gorurk at the head of the ranks. He hoped by some luck another one his lieutenants, preferably Skagrun, were up there with sniveling Gorurk to hold the dimwitted goblin’s hand. Grûglach hated that that creature had become a lieutenant by some accursed stroke of luck. It angered him greatly to think that the lieutenant had seen several battles, and not managed to die in a single one of them. The Captain laughed a low, snarling laugh that was barely distinct from a growl at the thought of Gorurk’s end. But his happy thoughts left him as he realized the ranks were beginning to slow. He picked up his pace, preparing his anger for his favorite officer, and hoping in the back of his mind that things would continue to follow his plan.

[Novnarwen]

Ingemar

Impatiently, Ingemar waited for his cottage to reappear. He tapped his foot on the snow, folded his hands and started humming to himself. He did whatever he could to entertain himself, but it was starting to become harder and harder as the coldness of the early evening was depriving him for all the warmth he still had left in his body. He waited and waited. Unfortunately, he was waiting in vain. But he did not know it.

His body grew tense, as he was putting too much effort into staying warm. His face expression now bore the feature of a grim and helpless, child. His deep grey eyes were lit with anxiety, as he came to realise that his cottage wouldn’t come back. But where could it possible have gone? He thought to himself. Why would it leave him? He frowned, tapped his brow with his numb finger, as he had seen his sister do when thinking. He was shivering wildly, his whole body trembling. His body was out of control, and he could do nothing to stop it. He was numb and stiff, cold and tired. What was happening to him? he wondered, starting to get frightened. Suddenly a thought hit him. He would have to go look for his cottage. Yes, he knew what it was doing. It was waiting to be found. He laughed merrily. He’d often played this game with his sister. She, or he, would go hide and then the other would try to find the one missing. “Find… Find!” he called, and forced himself to move. After having been still for so long, he could only make himself halt slowly, quickening his pace as soon as the blood was running normally through his veins again. He could no longer feel his toes, but it was a rather exciting feeling, or so Ingemar thought.

He made his way towards the woods, thinking that his cottage was probably hiding behind a tree. Maybe he could climb one, a tall one, and look for it from a branch high up in the air. This thought seemed to have an encouraging effect on the middle-aged man who smiled happily and sprang as fast as he could.

As the tall trees, and their shadows, closed about him, the darkness prevented him from seeing much. Being both beguiled and scared by this, at the same time having lost his way, he leaned his back to a tree trunk and sat down. The wind whistled, making the branches move threateningly over his head. He looked up, perplexed by the dim figures of monsters in the trees. They were moving, and they were many! He felt his eyes exploding, and tears started running down his frozen face. He cried helplessly and he covered eyes with his hands; they were swollen and blue, and he was able to feel them anymore. He did not understand . . .

[Witch_Queen]

Mordred couldn't believe that he was having to trample around in the snow looking for an appropriate sight for camp. But Mordred would lay his life on the line if Uther demanded it. Mordred didn't get much sleep the night before and already he could feel the anxiety from a full day of walking wearing out his troubled thoughts. With what sleep he was able to get Mordred dreamth of death. He couldn't even shut his eyes for fear of seeing his wife and baby dead from what would happen if he didn't succeed at his tasks. The snow underneath his feet crunched and gave way to the force of his boots. The wind was bone chilling and almost deadly it only made him want to hurry before the coldness caused him to run back to his warm home. Thinking of home and his wife made Mordred feel a little warmer but not enough to thaw the ice around his heart.

Looking ahead of him all Mordred could see was cold thick wet white snow. Without realizing what he had done Mordred hit something solid in front of him. Glancing beside him Mordred saw what appeared to be the entrance to a cave. Turning back to where Mordred had last seen the rest of the group he began to run back to Lt. Uther. Upon reaching Uther, Mordred was already out of breath and regretting the choice to run. "Sir, I have spotted a cave about a few minutes walk from here. It appears to be empty and untouched." The words were coming out between deep breaths. For once Mordred had attempted something worth the time and effort. All he wanted now was to get some place warm.

[Firefoot]

Adranel was steadily becoming more tired and cold as she trudged along. The settlement she had seen earlier was now off to her left; she was giving it a fairly wide berth. She was paying very little attention to her surroundings, and looking ahead she was somewhat surprised to see three men directly in her line of march. For a moment she considered avoiding them like she had the town, but she quickly decided that she did not care to go even more out of her way just to avoid three men. It was not that she was afraid or shy - far from it, in fact. She would just rather not have contact with any people right now.

Through sheer willpower Adranel drew herself up to her full height and walked with her head up, trying to appear ready to face the world. She would not be seen as a needy woman to these men. She could take care of herself and did not want their pity or anything else they might try to offer her if she appeared incompetent. Perhaps it would not be very convincing; anyone else who was travelling in this weather would have a cloak and very likely some kind of pack. Adranel had neither.

As she drew closer Adranel saw that the men seemed to be getting ready to move on. That made sense, as it was only a short time after dawn and about the time when most people would be waking. She was nearly upon them when one of the men addressed her.

“Good day to you, Miss...?” he said, indirectly inquiring what her name was. Good? Would someone care to explain that to me? mused Adranel sarcastically.

“Adranel,” she replied coolly. She eyed him and his companions over. He was the easily the youngest of the three, though still older than herself by a few years. “And you are?” Adranel wasn’t sure why she was asking his name. She needed to be moving on, not chatting with a complete stranger that she hadn’t even wanted to meet in the first place.

“Beluf,” he answered with a friendly smile. He seemed to have missed her less-than-warm undertones. He continued, “You are travelling then? Are you from this town?” He gestured vaguely towards the village. The other two men still had not acknowledged her presence, and that was fine with her.

“Yes, to Dale,” said Adranel curtly. “But not from here. I come from further west.” She honestly didn’t know why she was giving out so much information. She was trying to figure out how to rid herself of this man and his idle conversation so that she continue on her way when he spoke up again.

“We too are heading for Dale,” Beluf stated. “Why don’t you come with us? You look like you could use some company.” Adranel frowned briefly. Why would he invite her to travel with them? She certainly had given him no encouragement. He seemed genuinely friendly, but still she wondered whether he might see her in need of protection.

“Well, all right,” she found herself saying, and immediately wished she could snatch the words back. It was too late, though, and it seemed that she was stuck travelling with these men, at least for the mean time.

[Boromir88]

Sjorging gazed up at the sky, it appeared to him that another snowstorm was coming. He wasn't bothered much by the weather, he had lived in Dale his whole life, and was used to the cold that would often hit the region. Much more so then the Gondorians in the south. But, he has to admit the weather has been getting to him lately. He looked and saw this lady coming from the distant. She appeared rather young, but a certain sterness was on her, and she definately looked tired.

"Who's this" he whispers to Gelding, who was standing right beside him.

"How should I know." he replies, "Probably one of the townsfolk."

"Na, can't be," Sjorging says, "she's coming from the wrong direction. She also looks rather exhausted. I bet them orcs got her town too." Sjorging hated orcs more then anything else that slithered on the earth.

Pretty soon Beluf came up to Sjorging, with the lady behind him, "This is lady Adranel, she's heading to Dale too, I said she could come with us."

Sjorging shoots a sharp glare at Beluf, he turns and faces Adranel, "Will you excuse us for a moment." Adranel nods her head, seeming as if she wasn't surprised at this. "What gives you the right to just go and tell people they can join us?" Sjorging says loudly, but making sure Adranel can't hear.

Beluf is slightly taken off by this attitude of Sjorging's, but he better get used to it. "Wel-l-l, I-I just figured, since she's going where we are, she could come along." Sjorging fixes his eyes on Adranel, and looks at her hard. Adranel returned the look with the same intensity, and it was Sjorging who withdrew his glance. "Next time you tell me or Gelding when you even think about having somebody join us." Beluf lets out a sigh, but walks back towards Adranel, with Sjorging and Gelding.

Sjorging again, gives a hard look at Adranel, like he's studying her. "Nobody's forcing you to come with us. Our road lies onward, to King Brand. If you desire, you may follow us until our road splits, if it does split. I'm sure you already know Beluf, I'm Sjorging, and this is Gelding. We leave tomorrow morning to try to get a head start before this storm hits us."

[Beserker_Warrior]

Snagar stood knee high in a trench draped in fur. The whole world around him was a brilliant shining white. It was also freezing cold. " Curse this bad weather, we need warmth. Gushrag!" "Comin' Cheif, what do we need?" whined Gushrag. " Find us some food, and bring wood so we can light a fire in the caves below," Snagar snarled. Gushrag went loping off mumbling to himself, "One day I'll kill Snagar and then I'll be cheif that would be nic...."

A knife buried itself, hilt deep in Gushrag's back. " Thought you were better than me, aye, but no one's better than Snagar the Great, curse you scum," with that Snagar pulled out his knife, turned and walked to the caves. " You two, go find food and wood. Get going now before I skin the both of ye!" he roared andripped the top off of a flask of orc draght that he was holding.

The two small orcs scurried off to do their master's bidding. Snagar let loose a great laugh and started slopping the draght into his mouth. A few hours later two sentries were the only ones awake. Snagar lay on a bed of skins with an empty flask next to him and a mind full of dreams of bloodlust, war and victory.

[Firefoot]

As the man Sjorging introduced himself and the third man, Gelding, he appeared to be scrutinizing her, testing to see what she was made of. Adranel lifted her chin fractionally and set her jaw firmly, drawing on her inner strength. She suspected that there was a good deal more to Sjorging that met the eye. She wasn’t overly impressed by him, and doubted she would come to like him much. Even his manner of speaking rubbed her the wrong way: if you desire, you may follow us until our road splits. Well, she wasn’t about to do any following; she would go with them or alone, but she did not follow.

When Beluf offered their company to her, her acceptance, unwilling as it may have been, was partly because of his appearance of genuine friendship. She got the distinct impression that he did not want her along with them, and that he only invited her along because Beluf already had. It was partly this that made her decision - she would show him that she did as she liked, and his unfriendly attitude wasn’t going to put her off. This was compounded by the fact that she would feel immensely foolish saying she would go alone after having already agreed to travel with them.

“I will continue on with you,” said Adranel decisively. “I’ll be ready by tomorrow morning.” Sjorging grunted in acknowledgment. Adranel thought he sounded skeptical and resigned to her presence.

Beluf gave her a small smile. “You look cold. Why don’t you warm yourself up by our fire?” Warmth sounded heavenly to Adranel. Her fingers, toes, and ears were like ice cubes, and she was chilled to the bone. She realized how long it had been since she had been warm: almost a whole day, when... She blanched, and quickly swallowed down the emotions that had risen up. She could give no words to describe the previous day’s events, even if she had been asked, because she had buried all the memories into the deep recesses of her soul.

“That would be good,” Adranel replied, hastily trying to cover up her near loss of self control. Beluf nodded, and showed her to the logs they had set down to sit on near the fire. It was quite some time before Adranel began to feel any semblance of heat, and during that time she said little, concentrating on the crackling fire. Finally she looked up, and found Beluf sitting nearby, watching her with some mild curiosity. Sjorging and Gelding had separated themselves and were talking quietly.

Adranel wasn’t particularly in the mood for conversation, but the silence was starting to feel uncomfortable and, despite herself, her interest in her new companions had been piqued. She tried to think of something that would keep the conversation off herself, for she wasn’t ready to share much news of herself with these strangers, not until she knew more about them, especially Sjorging. She was rather wary of him, and glad he had not deigned to join her and Beluf. It didn’t occur to her that Beluf might be as close-mouthed about himself as she was about herself.

“So,” she began, finally unable to think of anything but the obvious. “Have you been travelling long? Did I hear correctly that you are going to see King Brand?”

[Boromir88]

Beluf looks at Adranel, and smiles warmly, "Not too long, we've been here for almost a day, and took us less then a day to get here. Sjorging wants to start off before this storm comes and he fears more orcs are on there way." At that he notices Adranel shudder, and almost appear as if her eyes began to water, but she quickly covered them up, and Beluf decided not to ask. "Yes, we are going to King Brand, we need to alert him about the raiding orcs, Dale is in trouble."

There was another long silence, Gelding and Sjorging had wondered off. Beluf continued, "I noticed some tension between you and Sjorging, don't worry about him, he's just got a hard-heart, that is his nickname after all. It's not that he's arrogant or anything, he's anything but arrogant, it's just that it's hard to win his respect, especially if you are someone he doesn't know. I'm not even sure if I've won it yet, but oh well, you get used to it after a while. I tend to keep my distance whenever possible, him and Gelding can worry about themselves."

Adranel simply nodded, but seemed as if she didn't care for any of Beluf's advice, if she wanted to say anything to Sjorging she would do it. "What about this Gelding?" she asked. Adranel didn't care what any of these men thought of her, but she had wondered about Gelding, who always seemed to follow Sjorging.

"Ahhh, Gelding, he's a good lad, you might say he keeps Sjorging in line, eventhough if Sjorging would never admit that. I guess they go a long way back, been best friends their whole life."

They both left things at that, it appeared to Beluf that Adranel wasn't going to say anything about herself, and was starting to get drouzy. Beluf wasn't going to press for answers. Sjorging and Gelding came back, and as the day was coming to a close, they began to prepare some dinner, before they would call it a night.

[Beserker_Warrior]

Snagar woke the next morning with a throbbing head and a nasty temper "Where have those two got too?" he roared, even though it alomst split his head, or so it felt," I sent them off for food last night and they aren't back yet! Bashrank when did you last see those two sniveling litte rats?" Bashrank shuffled forward with a defiant gleam in his eye, " I ain't seen them two since last night Cheif," he snarled," I thinks that they left us here, deserted, I mean. They was always saying hatefull thigs about the Cheif, right buckoes!" Murmered assents came from the other orcs.

Snagar drew his sword and had it at Bashrank's throat in a flash," Maybe they did and maybe they didn't, did it ever occur to you that they could have died in the storm,oh yes Bashrank, I see through your plan, let me go off and find them while you take over here and rally them all to you so you can be Cheif, right," with a viscious slash Snagar slew Bashrank on the spot,

" Anybody else want to be Cheif boys, no, I thought so you sniveling dogs. You score and Bishrah your going on a raid, we need supplies and it's the middle of winter, raid any villages or small towns you can find and be back here quick!" They all mumbled some form of agknowledgement and left the trash heap they called home.

[Firefoot]

Adranel’s mouth watered at the scent of dinner. For the first time since yesterday morning, food sounded good to her, and she was starving. It was only some dried meat and a the type of waybread that the people of Dale used for journeys, but to her it seemed a feast. She was also looking forward to a good night’s sleep after she ate. Though she didn’t realize it, being around other people had given her the will to live again. Beluf especially helped her, and she was relieved that he hadn’t questioned her for details on herself. He reminded her of someone, though she couldn’t place who. She knew she should be able to, and it was bothering her that she couldn’t.

As she ate her share of the meal, she observed the two older men surreptitiously, keeping in mind what Beluf had said earlier. She was grateful for his opinions on them, and though she intended to use his advice she wouldn’t necessarily follow it. What he had said about Gelding keeping Sjorging in line surprised her; she had immediately assumed that Sjorging was the leader of the three. Maybe it was more of a partnership. The rest of what Beluf had said made sense to her, fitting in with the pieces of Sjorging and Gelding’s personalities that she had already figured out. If it took a while for Sjorging to respect someone, it made sense that had been rather unfriendly to her. Well, if he was going to come to respect her it would be because of herself, not because she kept her distance and didn’t speak up if she had something to say.

They finished up their meal in silence and began putting things away. Beluf banked the fire for the night, and the other two began preparing for the night. Adranel helped out where she could, but she felt out of place in their camp, unsure of what she should be doing. It was getting dark, and the only light came from the fire. Adranel had long since noticed that there was only one tent, and figured she would be sleeping outside it, which didn’t bother her. There was a fire, which was more than she had had last night. Finally the activity started to die down, and the four of them were ready to call it a night.

“We’ll be leaving as soon as it’s light out,” Sjorging reminded her. Adranel heard the unspoken words clearly: Don’t keep us waiting.

“All right,” she said, with an undertone of her own: Anything else? I already knew that. Sjorging frowned and disappeared into the tent. A few moments later Beluf poked his head out and tossed her a blanket.

“Here,” he said. “It’s cold out there. Sorry we don’t have another tent or something.” Adranel caught the thick blanket deftly and waved away his concerns with her free hand.

“It’s alright, really,” she said. “Thanks for the blanket, though. Good night.”

“Good night,” said Beluf, the flickering firelight casting shadows on his face. He ducked back into tent and Adranel was left alone. She laid down as close to the fire as she dared and wrapped the heavy blanket around her. During the day, she had been distracted from herself by the men. Now, during the night, there was no such diversion and she was alone with her thoughts. She soon fell asleep, but not before quiet tears had started to trickle down her cheeks.

*~*~*

Old habits die hard, and it had been a long time since Adranel had slept in. When she awoke, streaks of pink and orange lined the ominous clouds that had moved in over night. Sjorging had been right; a storm was coming. She sat up and stretched, wondering again why she had decided to go with these men. She could just go now, before they awoke... she shook her head with a small smile. No, she had said she would go with them, and, if she would admit it to herself, she rather liked Beluf’s company. Night had brought no hint as to who he reminded her of so strongly.

No signs of life yet came from the tent, and Adranel took a few minutes to enjoy the early stages of sunrise. Though her mood was far from cheery, there were glimmers of hope stirring inside her. Deciding she didn’t want to lay around any longer, she got up and immediately considered snuggling right back into her blanket; the temperature was frigid cold. The combination of blanket and fire had kept her much warmer than she had realized. With a shrug, she began methodically folding the blanket, setting it down near the tent when she finished. All the supplies that had been used had been packed up yesterday night so that they might get an early start this morning, so Adranel sat down on a log near the fire and began finger-combing through her hair while she waited for the men to wake up.

She did not have to wait long - only a few minutes to be precise - before they began arousing. Sjorging was the first to appear out of the tent, and seeing her said, “You’re up.” There was a more than a bit of surprise in his voice, and though it was so brief she couldn’t be sure, Adranel thought she had also heard a hint of approval. Adranel smiled as if to herself

“I am. Good morning,” Adranel replied. It sounded stiff, but she was at least trying to be polite. She bit back the sarcastic remark what did you expect?, knowing full well what the answer would have been.

Beluf and Gelding emerged then, and they ate a quick breakfast, not even taking the time to cook anything over the fire that had now died to embers. The four of them all helped to dissemble the tent and pick up anything they might have left unpacked. Adranel was eager to be going, as she had spent the entire day yesterday idle, though she had needed the rest.

“I suppose we’re ready to go, then? If you have a fourth pack, I wouldn’t mind carrying some things,” offered Adranel.

[CaptainofDespair]

With the Sun’s decline, the night slowly crept over the slowly marching host of Gondorians. The darkness also brought its seasonal friend, the winter cold, and no one wanted to be out with those two roaming the land. Not only could the cold kill, but it relaxed the senses, and the darkness was eager to hide the dangers of the night, which included the roving Orcs raiding parties. Thus, the soldiers were craving a safe, somewhat warm hide-out, some place they could rest easy. Apparently, such a place had been found by Mordred, one of the scouts sent forth to find a camp site. It was a small cave, which would provide some manner of insulation from the weather, and was rather easy to defend. Uther was pleased with the find, and ordered the troops to it, with Mordred acting as the guide.

The march was still not as easy as Uther had hoped. Many of the men were struggling to make it through the light snow, which had hampered the movements of the overburdened soldiers. After an hour or so of leading the column, Mordred halted, and whispered to his commander that they were now only a few hundred yards from the cave’s entrance. The lieutenant dispatched a small contingent of soldiers to explore the cave more fully, and to begin constructing the palisades to defend them. The next hour crept by slowly, as the forward expedition finally sent word back that the cave was cleared, and that the stockade wall was nearing completion.

But, as Uther gave the order for the final leg of the march, there came wheeling out across the snow, a single horsemen. It was one of the other scouts sent out to discover a habitable camp location. But this one didn’t come back with good news. The scout, after pushing his horse the last bit to the column, brought news of a small village, and the carnage and burnt wreckage of what was left after the supposed Orc raid. Yet, the scout was not done. He also had sighted the Orcs, some ways from the village, along a tree-line. As he explored the trees, looking for any prisoners the Orcs might have left behind, he discovered the unconscious body of what appeared to be a man, one of Dale. He had brought the body some ways, upon his own horse, before coming across another scout, to whom he transferred the incapacitated man to. That scout, would be due back any moment.

After his discussion with the scout, Uther, and a small group of soldiers acting as his guard, made their way to cave, where they unloaded their burdens, and prepared to rest themselves for the next day’s march. Slowly went the night, without any signs of the Orcs. The final scout, bearing the body of the man, who was now wrapped in the furs of the soldier, had appeared earlier in the evening, and had taken the man to a tent where he could rest, and be treated for any wounds. Uther spent his night dwelling on the day’s events, and planning a sortie against the Orcs the scout had seen.

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

Even before the sun had arisen into the sky, Uther was up and about, planning the day’s march. He had been displeased with the first two, in which his men had constantly complained of the harsh conditions, which they claimed they could not fight in. But, he was determined to force the best out of these soldiers, and bring the Orcs to their knees.

With the sun’s ascent into the dim morning sky, the soldiers slowly came to, as did the mysterious man the scout had found the day prior. After the men had finished consuming their morning rations of gruel, water, and small portion of salted pork, they quickly began to pack up their camp, and load the supplies onto the pack animals. Once this chore had been completed, Uther ordered them into marching formation, and gave them the order to move out. Some of the men wished to stay in that cave only a bit longer, for it was warm, and more comfortable than the hard soil of the plains of Dale.

Slowly, the column began to weave its way through the snowy fields. Uther was quite pleased at the moment, for his men seemed to be invigorated, and reborn with a new life. They moved faster then what he expected, and were far more orderly now. Deep within himself, he wished it would hold like that until their task was done. But in his mind, he knew it would not. Mutiny could crop up at any moment, and knowing his luck, it would happen when it was most unwanted.

But he kept up his somewhat stern facade, hoping to keep his thoughts as that, just thoughts. Needing a change of pace, he took himself for a trip down the broken paths of his memory, to his campaigns in Harad, and his tenure as an administrator in Minas Tirith. He slightly missed those days, where life was easy, and he didn’t have much work to do. He was eager to retake that position now. This small stint as a commander was not going well for him, and he generally disliked leading such soldiers, who were obviously ill-prepared for the rigors of war. Maybe he could retire after this, and buy a farm, and live out the rest of his days away from the cities of Men.

But Uther could not keep up those thoughts, and his mind drifted back to the current, almost desperate situation. He immediately began wondering where those Orcs had gone, for he wished to hunt them, and bring them down. He thought for a while, and realized a scout had brought back that man, who has been lying unconscious in the cold snow. Thus he ordered the man to be questioned, preferably by a sergeant, or even the scout who found him. Then, he sat back in the saddle of his horse, and waited for the answers, and for the day to pass him by.

[Boromir88]

After the meal Sjorging and Gelding retreated back into the tent, soon accompanied by Beluf. They all settled down, there was no talk between them until Belup popped up, "You know, Adranel is probably freezing out there. Maybe, we should give her a blanket."

"We don't have extra blankets," Sjorging grunts, "if you want to give her yours and freeze, by all means do so."

Beluf poked his head out of the tent "Here, It’s cold out there. Sorry we don’t have another tent or something.” He tossed her the blanket, Adranel thanked him, and he went back into the tent. Gelding was already sleeping, he also tended to snore a lot. Soon Beluf and Sjorging fell into a dreamless slumber, and morning was about them again.

Sjorging awoke yawning and rubbing his eyes. He got up stretched, and made his way out the tent. To his surprise, Adranel was already up, and getting ready. "You're up" he says.

Adranel was irritated by this statement, but she could tell he was suprised, and wondered if that was a good thing. She even thought he might have been pleased that she was ready, but what else did he expect? "I am. Good morning." she responds.

Beluf and Gelding came out of the tent. Beluf immediately smiled seeing that Adranel was already up, he was worried what Sjorging would have done if she wasn't. Sjorging said there was no time to get the fire started again, so for breakfast they all settled for some bread, atleast that would give them some energy for the journey ahead.

After breakfast they, all packed and started preparing for the road to come. “I suppose we’re ready to go, then? If you have a fourth pack, I wouldn’t mind carrying some things,” offered Adranel.

"That'll be all right," Beluf responed, "We only took what we could carry on our backs."

"Not unless you wouldn't mind carrying my stuff?" Gelding chucked. Gelding was often the humorous one of the three.

Without any objections the four of them set off, with the storm behind them, and who knows what other evils ahead. They hadn't even travelled two hours when Gelding spotted a soldier, wearing some strange armor, and was upon a horse. "That's a man of Gondor." he exclaimed.

"See I knew King Elessar would deal with these orcs" Beluf said. Sjorging turned and gave Beluf a sharp glare. He was very doubtful of this King, from a distant land, despite his widespread prestige. Sjorging signaled the soldier over, and explained their business.

"This is good news, I'm sure Lord Uther would be pleased to hear what you have to tell, being that you are all from Dale. Maybe you can tell him a bit about these rampaging orcs." said the Scout. Beluf turned and faced Adranel, he was smiling, but noticed something was wrong. "Everything ok?" he asks.

Adranel simply nodded, she was questioning why she even came along in the first place. Now she's going to be around a whole army of soldiers, and from GONDOR. Beluf frowned, he could tell something was bothering her, but didn't have any business to further delve into the subject.

It wasn't long before they all spotted the host up ahead, they were resting at this moment. Sjorging lets out a grunt, he wasn't pleased with this puny army of peasants the King had thrown together. He expects this rubble to break through the fortress of Gundabad.

Sjorging and Gelding approached the captain, Beluf and Adranel had wandered away from everyone. Sjorging explained the whole story of having their town attacked and making their way across Dale.

"We are here for that exact reason," Uther boasts, "to get rid of these orcs once and for all." Sjorging thinks to himself, good luck with that, you'll be lucky to put a dent into the force, with these men you have.

"There's an orc company up ahead that's been roaming through the Dale, burning as they go." Gelding remarks. "Also, it might be good to stop here, there's a nasty storm on it's way, I deem. However, you are in charge, and our road lies onward, not back."

Uther nods and grants Sjorging and the rest of them to stay as long as they wish. Beluf and Adranel were quite a bit away from the camp, they didn't care to talk to any of the Gondorians. They just sat and stared ahead, wondering what was to happen next.

[Firefoot]

Adranel sat silently on a fallen log with Beluf, wondering if this all was some kind of joke. Some cruel, terrible joke fate was playing solely on her. These Gondorians - there were perhaps seventy of them, and that was being generous - expected to get rid of the Orcs? She had seen them, had watched them destroy her village. Though not large, her village must have had at least the number of people here, and those Orcs had overrun them like a pack of wolves would take down a deer. Granted, these were trained soldiers, but what did they expect to do against so many? Did they see any hope in this mission? She suspected that the vast majority of the men there were older than herself, but she wondered if she wasn’t the wiser.

Hearing the foolish words of the general - Uther, was it? - and seeing this small force had brought back the flood of memories she had fought to lock up. The too-familiar lump had risen in her throat again, but she fought it down. For a moment, she considered confiding in Beluf. His village had been destroyed, too, hadn’t it? Had not he lost everything dear to him? So why didn’t he seem to suffer as she did? She banished the thought. He was a still a stranger to her, really, though there was a familiarity about him. What did she need to confide in him for? She was strong. She didn’t need him - or anyone. Why, oh why, hadn’t she just continued on her way alone? Relationships with people brought nothing but pain and sorrow. Once more, she drove back the memories and locked them away, but this time they were nearer the surface, though certainly not by her own choosing. The slightly vacant look returned to her eyes, and the hope she had felt earlier that morning vanished.

A darted glance showed her that Sjorging and Gelding were still speaking with the general. She wondered what was going to happen, and Beluf appeared to be thinking the same thing. She realized then that he was almost as much an outsider to the two old friends as she was.

“What do you think is going to happen? I mean, your whole purpose was to tell King Brand of the Orcs ravaging the area, wasn’t it? But now... these troops have come,” she commented. More quietly, she added, “Not that I can see what good so few will do against so many.”

“Yes... I see what you mean,” Beluf mused. “I’m not sure what they’ll decide. It might be that they choose to join the Gondorians.” Adranel nodded. What would she do then? She had no place with a military unit. She had difficulty calling it an army - it simply wasn’t big enough. Would she go on alone to Dale? What then? She did not know anyone in Dale, and in fact had only been there once. She imagined that she would end up going with Sjorging and Gelding’s decision. At least she knew them.

So many unanswered questions. Only a few days ago, she had been sure of her future. Everything she had known to be true had been shaken off its foundation, leaving her in a desperate state of unsureness. They sat in silence again, neither sure what the future held in store.

[Novnarwen]

Something was touching his cheek, gently, like an early morning breeze. Liquid of some sort was being forced into his mouth, and it ran down his throat. It tickled. He smiled weakly, and sighed. It had given him a wonderful feeling; it had grasped him like a firm hand. He felt warmth streaming into his body, spreading. As it ran through every vein in his body, it was giving him new life, a new existence. It was as if he had never felt warm before. It was a new feeling, which he enjoyed to the fullest. He moved his head from his resting position, getting the impression that it was light as a feather as his strength was slowly starting to come back.

Suddenly, something cold seemed to stir him from this wonderful dream. He opened his eyes wide. The strength of the light that met him, made his eyes burn in pain. All of a sudden, he knew what it was. "Nonna," he said, his voice willed with anxiety, "Nonna." He continued his mutterings until his eyes had gotten used to the yellow rays that pointed directly at him. Finally being able to fully open his eyes, he was at once filled with disappointment when he discovered that it was not her. Was it not she who usually lit up his day like nothing else? Who was it then if not her? Desperately, he looked around, searching for her amongst the few men that stood in front of him closing about him. He tried furiously to rise to his feet but it was all in vain. His body didn’t function; his limbs were still stiff and cold, frozen and immovable. He grabbed the blanket that covered him from top to toe and pulled it over himself completely. What was this? Who were these men that slowly surrounded him? He hid; he was invincible. No one could harm him, no one.

"He is awake! Uther, he is awake!" A man jumped down from his horse, eagerly coming towards the newly awaked man.

Hurriedly, someone tried pulling the blanket off him, but Ingemar held tightly. How come they still knew that he was there? Horrified by this thought, he started crying. They were monsters! They had to be. How could they else see him, if he was invincible? He felt the strength of a man pulling from the other side of the blanket overcome his own; in a second he lost his grip and the blanket was ripped away from him.

Ingemar stared wildly around, not certain about what to do. Flashbacks of events he recognised, but could not place into time or date, made him cry out in despair. He grew silent as the pictures from his past started rolling around in his head. Norna, his sister, with a basket of fruits and meat, was visiting in his cabin. They were playing, and he was laughing. All of a sudden she was gone, replaced by odd figures whose heavy boots made the ground tremble. They were screaming, squeaking, and making noises like hungry wolves. They bore lit torches. Smoke, heavy dark smoke, like clouds, surrounded him. They embraced him like a friends, performing magic. His cottage was gone, gone behind the reddish curtain.

The man was interrupted; the images in his head disappeared. Someone was grabbing him, holding him firmly by the arm, shaking him madly. A pair of grim eyes stared at him, as if trying to read him like an open book. "What is your name?" the man, who was staring at Ingemar, asked.

Politely, yet hesitating, Ingemar answered; "Innemaa."

A smile appeared in the middle-aged man's face. "My name is Uther."

"Uthee," Ingemar copied.

"He seems a bit lost, probably due to the cold night he has spent outside, or he's had too much beer for one night." There was a roar of laughter, but it was quickly silenced.

"Let's bring him with us. When he's perking up, I'll question him."

[Boromir88]

Sjorging and Gelding spotted Adranel and Beluf, sitting on a log away from everyone else. Sjorging also didn't care for the company of Gondorians, he felt as if King Elessar was making a mockery of the situation. They plopped down next to Adranel and Beluf, when Sjorging broke the silence, "So, Beluf, do you still hold this King in such high regards? This is a grand army indeed." Beluf bowed his head. Adranel didn't like Sjorging's remarks but she couldn't deny that he was right, this was a rather pitiful force of men. Gelding sighs, and motions that he is going to wonder around, Sjorging gets up and joins him.

"What do you think about this?" Beluf asked, looking at Adranel.

Adranel shrugged, she was upset, like everyone else. She didn't understand the reason why Elessar sent so little men, and she didn't care to know why. All she knew was these orcs have been pillaging through Dale and nobody was making a serious attempt of stopping them. Beluf again tries to break the uneasiness between the two, "I was relieved when I heard King Elessar was sending an army. Despite Sjorging's rude remarks about him, I heard great news of this King, and I couldn't wait to prove that Sjorging was finally wrong. But it appears as if I was foolish enough in believing that Elessar cared about us."

"You aren't foolish." Adranel said. "You just believed what you thought was right. I learned not to..." and Adranel stops, catching herself. She looks at Beluf, hoping that he won't ask anything further, but to no avail.

"What is it?" he asks.

[Firefoot]

Adranel searched about wildly for something to say. Just not the truth, it could be anything else. A feeling of panic arose in her as she fought to keep control. She did not want or need to break down in front of Beluf. As much as she tried to keep her grief bottled up, it was still there, an ever-present pain that she was not ready to speak of.

“It’s just...” Her voice cracked. “It’s nothing. Really, I’m all right.” It was a lie, without a single element of truth to it, and Beluf knew it. Adranel hoped he would drop it, as he had yesterday, and she pleaded with him nonverbally not to dig deeper, but it was not to be.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Nothing you want to talk about?” Something snapped in Adranel then, and she unleashed her sorrows in frustration and anger.

“You really want to know, don’t you? You couldn’t listen, you just have to know, don’t you?” fumed Adranel, ignoring to his shocked protests of “Only if you want to tell - forget I asked!” She knew she was being unfair, but at the moment she didn’t care. “Fine. I’ll tell you, because you just had to know. Two days ago in the morning my village was attacked by Orcs. It was in the late morning, and I was inside cooking the lunch meal. My older brothers and father were working in the store, and my younger siblings were away. I was alerted by screams, cruel laughter, and the clang of metal. I hurried outside to find out what was happening, and to find my family. I found my father, eventually, but I had no time to cry out to him for at that moment his head was cut off with the scimitar of an Orc. I ran, then, and nearly missed the body of my fiancé, Hergon. I held him in my arms as he died, and he said he wanted me to be safe. The entire village was burning around me, and I ran, wishing I could die myself. I reached the woods, and when the Orcs left, I found that no one had survived. I never saw my brothers or sister again. I have nothing left.” Her voice had grown more intense as she continued, though she had quieted the volume for she did not want the whole camp to know her story. Now, it began to rise again. “Now you know. Are you happy now? Maybe now you can mind your own business!”

Adranel did not wait for him to reply. She had been stripped bare of all privacy, and she felt exposed and vulnerable. She sprang up from her seat on the log beside him and fled, grabbing her bow and quiver as she went. Tears began to flow freely from her eyes, and she made no attempt to stop them. She did not have any strength left; what strength she had drawn from previously had come from the locked away memories. Now, they raged free after she had been forced to relive them, the sights, smells, and sounds of death and devastation surrounding her. She wanted to die. She had not gone far when she came upon a stand of trees. While it could hardly be called a forest, the setting was comforting, reminiscent of the woods surrounding her home. She needed to stop for breath anyway, and she slumped against a tree. She exhausted herself with the stress, but she was driven to channel the energy she had let loose with her tirade.

She picked up her bow and notched an arrow to the string. She drew back, feeling the strain in her muscles that had long since become unused to this activity. She took careful aim at a tree fifty yards away and fired. The arrow went at least a foot wide of the trunk, and frustrated, she removed another arrow from her quiver and shot to the same effect. What was wrong with her? She had always been a sure shot. This time she didn’t think about it, and simply felt the way she held the bow in her arms and the position of her target. She hit it square on. She loosed every single arrow she had, each time hitting her target within a few inches, and finally, feeling completely drained both physically and emotionally, collapsed by a tree. It was then that she finally allowed herself to grieve for her family and everything else she had lost, heart-wrenching sobs wracking her body.

[Soredamor]

Yet another sunrise came, ending the orcs’ nightly march, and bringing them within one more such march of the Mountain of Gundabad. Grûglach let out a growl of a sigh as he observed a pinkish hue spreading across the sky from seemingly a certain point along the horizon. The serenity of it disturbed him. An uncertainty grew in his mind as the sun rose and they again made camp. It seemed Skagrun knew these mountains and the land surrounding them as he did the blade of his knife. And he was quite familiar with all of his weapons, so they soon found formidable shelter, even for all the troops.

Soon tiring of making patrols of the camp, listening to the many grumbles and growls and finding no one that deserved a slit throat for a crime, Grûglach decided to meet with his lieutenants. He would focus himself on what lay ahead, and on scaring Gorurk out of his wits. As long as his mind was occupied the feeling that something was about to go wrong was subdued. He had everything under control, held tightly in his clutches. Staring down the orc officers under his command gave him the confidence that things would continue to go his way. They had never gone any other way, and he was not planning to allow them to.

For now, Grûglach sat back and let Skagrun do the talking, trusting that he would have the same interests as his Captain, as he was smart enough to know that was what kept him in such good health. This made the cruel lieutenant a formidable second in command, certainly at the Captain’s right hand, yet still in his grip. Grûglach would never loosen his grasp on anyone, and he continually tightened it on Gorurk. And before he reached Gundabad and a battle that might just have the greatness to decide Grûglach’s fate, it was time to crush the incompetent lieutenant and display once more his power.

“It is time to crush…” The orc Captain was pulled out of his thoughts as Skagrun seemingly voiced them. “…the race of Men and their newly declared lordship over the lands. We have lost much that the Master worked for; we cannot stand to lose anything more.”

“But we will stand whether we win or lose!” barked Urknash, a particularly large and rabid orc, who managed to make a relatively competent officer because of his fierceness, leading particularly well in battle. Grûglach put up with the orc’s often blatant stupidity because of the certain amount of respect he gained for adorning his belt with the fingers of his enemies. Urknash had always been particularly proud of the few elf fingers he had collected, and the Captain could not help but find them a bit fascinating himself.

“Well spoken, Urknash,” Grûglach said, and the great orc clearly looked pleased with himself. Howling with a gargling laugh, he gave Gorurk who sat next to him a hard slap on the back, causing the considerably smaller lieutenant to double over. He sat back up nervously, rubbing his back and eyeing the big orc next to him. The Captain almost laughed as well at Gorurk’s discomfort, but any more laughter was sure to distract Urknash for a much greater amount of time than Grûglach or any of them had.

“Well, Gorurk, what do you think?” the Captain continued, ignoring the few chuckles of laughter that had yet to fully cease. “Considering you will lead a part of the forces yourself once we reach Gundabad.”

Grûglach watched with pleasure as the sniveling lieutenant’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped slightly. It was not long before he dropped his eyes to stare at the ground, avoiding the eyes of his cruel superior. “I think…” he began, muttering slightly. “I think we will…show them what we’re made of.” He received another clap on the back from Urknash for these words, while Skagrun openly sneered and Grûglach smiled slightly.

He kept that image of Gorurk’s face in shock with him the rest of the day, as he was once again forced to wait till darkness by the wretched sun. But the uncertainty that had been in the orc’s voice was now in Grûglach’s mind. And just as the uneasiness grew to an extent that the orc Captain had never known, Skagrun disturbed him. “Sir, Gorurk has made an escape.”

[Boromir88]

Beluf was ashamed for what he caused; what he did. He really liked Adranel, but he always wondered why she looked so depressed; now he wished he didn't know. He thought about going to find her, but he figured she didn't care for his company anymore. All he could hope for now was that she decided to come back, instead of running far away. He sat staring into the heart of the fire, with his thoughts on her.

Gelding heard the whistle of bows and arrows past his ears. He turned, to look behind him, and to his surprise he saw Adranel. Even a bigger shock, she was quite a markswoman. "That's some impressive marksmanship," Gelding said, "for a...." Adranel whips around, and stares at him, as if tempting him to finish what he was going to say. Gelding sees the bright red-rimmed eyes, and streams of water down Adranel's face, he catches onto the hint. "Sjorging is talking to Uther now. When he returns we'll discuss what we are going to do." He is taken off by this anger, and sadness within Adranel, and starts stumbling for words. "You may join.....I mean we would love to have your company. I'm not saying you.....have to come with us.....but....we would be pleased to have you around....yes." Adranel just turned back, and walked towards the trees to gather her arrows. Gelding didn't want to make a fool of himself anymore, and just walked away.

He returned back to their tent and fire, to see Beluf with his eyes red-rimmed and his head smothered with his hands. Oh boy what is happening around here he thought first Adranel, and now Beluf....ohhh it hit him....but decided it wasn't any of his business. He took a seat next to Beluf. "Sjorging's talking to Uther, when he gets back, we will decide what to do. Each person is free to do what they desire."

Beluf picks his face up, he had streams of water down his face too, "I'm joining the Gondorians, these orcs have rampaged through my country too long."

"You seem to be one that searches for the glories of battle, but be aware there are also many spoils." Gelding wisely replied.

"I figure if I can't prove my loyalty to Sjorging by travelling with him, I could do it in battle." Beluf said.

"So that's it," Gelding said, "and what if Sjorging doesn't want to go along with these men? He doesn't look to happy at the size of this army."

"You'll just have to make him." Beluf snapped.

[Witch_Queen]

Mordred had found sleep easily in the cave but only dreamed of being back at home with his wife. Mordred, my dear, why do you find it your duty to still follow Uther. For you know as good as I do, in the heart of powerful men can be found greed and self-doubt. The last words his wife had said to him haunted his sleep, but the matter that she said them in sent a chill down the back of a rock. For Mordred's wife was concerned only for herself and for her husband. I will follow my leader till death claims me or the city is safe again. I go for the protectoin of you and my parents. Rolling over he hit his head on a small rock and woke from the sudden feel of pain. "Ouch!", he whispered as he wiped the blood away from the frest cut. "Why did I have to do that? Now I'm gonna have a headache out of this world and nothing will get rid of it. The cold snow will only make the throbbing worse."I am such an idiot!

He stood up and walked outside, the others were already preparing to leave the area. Deep down inside his heart Mordred yearned to be at home beside the fire. But he knew at this moment it was impossible. He would continue on this expedition to whatever death he may find or the final sign of confidence he has needed. Courage is my friend and above all fear is the only true enemy besides the cold and orcs we chase. May the others find courage in whatever means they must. For Uther's lack of doubt is the driving force behind my eager mind.

[Firefoot]

After a while, Adranel’s sobs quieted and then ceased, and she began to feel much more in control and relieved of some of her grief, poignant though it still was. She was also feeling decidedly uncomfortable from sitting in the snow, which had soaked her skirts. They weren’t dripping, but it was the deep, slow-chilling damp that could cause pneumonia and other such winter illnesses. She slowly stood up, her breathing somewhat ragged and her knees shaky, but she felt better than she had in a while. She picked up her bow and quiver, and having already retrieved her arrows, began to trudge back to camp. She had not gone far, only a sprinter’s course, and despite the swirling snow which had began to fall she was not out of sight.

As she drew closer, she began to make out individual figures, the one that stood out clearest being Beluf’s. He was hunched over with his face buried in his hands. A wave of remorse washed over Adranel. What had she done? He had been nothing but kind to her and she had snapped at him. He probably did not want her company any more, and despite Gelding’s words that she would be welcome, she felt as if she would be imposing on them. Beluf had not seen her and she changed her course, heading for the army’s camp. She wished she had someone to talk to, though there was no one that she knew besides the men she had been travelling with. She had little hope of finding anyone in the soldier’s camp, but she still hoped.

A few of the men leered at her, but she ignored them, and most of them appeared curious. She wandered around the periphery, feeling things out. She was about to turn away with a sigh when one form caught her eye. He was a middle-aged man, and covered with a blanket. Adranel cocked her head curiously. She saw that there was an unoccupied soldier standing nearby and walked over to him boldly.

“Excuse me,” she said. He looked up at her in interest. She pointed to the man. “But can you tell me who that man is over there? He’s not a soldier, is he?” The Gondorian barked a short laugh.

“Him? No, no, we found ’im yesterday. ’E’s not quite right, like ’e’s a-had too much ale.” He laughed again. “I didn’t catch ’is name, but ’is speech was right slurred.”

“Huh,” mused Adranel. “Well, thanks.” The man nodded and went about his own business. Adranel was now more curious than ever, and she approached. A soldier was standing nearby - Guarding him? she wondered - and politely she asked, “Would it be all right if I talked to him?” A smirk spread across the guard’s face. He said, “I don’t see why not, but don’t expect to get much out of him. And the Captain’s going to want to talk to him soon, probably when he gets done with that man you came in with.”

Adranel supposed that was a yes, and walked up to the man slowly. She wondered what he meant by “don’t expect to get much out of him.” The first soldier had said he was likely drunk, but in her experience drunk men were always more free with their tongue, not less. Cautiously, she asked him, “Who are you?”

He seemed as wary of her as she was of him, and he clutched his blanket tighter, but he did answer, “Innemaa.” Adranel frowned, trying to understand him. “Innema?” she echoed. The man shook his head violently and tried again, slower, “Inn - e - maa.” Though more pronounced, it did not sound any different to Adranel. She wondered what was wrong with him. He couldn’t talk very well, that was for sure. She was almost sorry she had tried to talk to him.

“Well, all right,” she said. “I’m Adranel.”

“Adaneh,” he annunciated. In an attempt to communicate with him, she asked, “Why are you here? Where do you live?” A childish light leapt into his eyes. “Find... find. Nonna, gone.” Adranel wondered what she had gotten herself into. What was he trying to find? Nonna? Who was that? She wished he would speak clearer.

“You’re trying to find Nonna?” she asked. “Do you live with her?” He seemed uncertain, and frustrated that she couldn’t understand him. Finally he shook his head. “No. Find,” he repeated. Adranel was getting a headache. This man had definite problems. She was grateful for the diversion, though. It was like a strange puzzle.

“What are you trying to find?” she asked him. It was a simple, direct question, and hopefully she could get an answer. By the way his face lit up, he seemed pleased that this was a question he could answer.

“Cotta,” Innema said. Adranel worked to decipher the word, but the only thing that came close was “cottage.” Was he lost, then?

“You want to find your cottage?” she queried. He grinned and nodded, “Cotta hide.” Adranel’s brow knitted in concentration. She gave up trying to understand him for the moment and moved on, simply talking to him for the sake of someone to talk to.

“You don’t seem to have a family, either,” she said to him. “I guess we have that in common, at least. I wish I could understand you better. You seem to have a pretty interesting story to tell, if anyone could understand it.” She blushed as soon as she said it - it was quite rude, for he could understand her quite well. She hurried on, “Anyway, I bet you had some kind of run-in with the Orcs, too, or else what would you be doing all alone? They burned my village, too. There’s nothing left for me here...” she trailed off wistfully, forgetting for a moment that the strange man was there. He was watching her, listening. Oh! thought Adranel. Alas that I have no one normal that I can trust to talk to!

[Novnarwen]

Orcs? Only by the sound of the word made him wriggle. He started shaking helplessly, as if cold. He drew the blanket about him again, covering himself from top to toe, only letting his eyes be visible. He had heard of Orcs before, but where, he didn't know. They were monsters; he knew that much.

Ingemar looked directly at the woman, whose name he couldn't remember; was she an orc? If so, then he would hide, hide all day and make her go away. Looking grimly at her, his gaze studying her movements stiffly, he felt a burning hatred swell up inside of him. Her face became at once blurry, and he could no longer see her true features. A new figure took shape. It was a most horrible shape; its hair was back and greasy, its eyes shone with evil and its faint grin was making him shiver with fear. He felt a sudden need to take action. Whether it was due to him being frightened or that he reacted towards something which appeared to him to be evil, it was impossible to tell. This new hostile attitude towards the brown-haired woman seemed to have a great effect on the woman herself, who started looking quite nervous where she stood, struggling with her anxiety. "What's wrong?" she asked, troubled, clearly seeing the sudden change that had come over the middle-aged man. Coming closer, Ingemar felt the little strength that remained in his body gather. He jumped up, having one target in mind; this person, this orc.

"Wraaaaah!!" he screamed. He stretched his hands out, threw the blanket over her and grabbed her about the waist. The burning fire in his eyes witnessed of a mad man, who was not used at having company. Not being able to distinguish between an orc and a woman emphasized particularly his lack of knowledge. Feeling the body of the young woman breaking under him, he too fell to the ground, rolling wildly, but getting to his feet as quickly as possible, aiming. He ran towards her, bending slightly to let his head get the first impact. He was just about to cast himself over her again, having only one thought in mind; she or whoever she was would not get away, when he felt a hand grab him briskly. “What do you think you’re doing?!” the man screamed, holding him firmly, forcing him to lie down on the ground.

Around him, Ingemar could see that the men were gathering. What were they going to do with him, he wondered? They were not orcs, or so it seemed; but that nevertheless, didn’t mean they weren’t monsters. He waited for something to happen, for them to get closer, but nothing did happen. Instead, they were all gathering around Ingemar’s victim, who lay silently on the ground a few feet from where himself. Ingemar looked oddly around him; what had happened? The woman who he had been talking to, a woman who had such kind eyes, lay motionless, it seemed, on the ground...