Flight from Rohan RPG

[piosenniel]

It was late and most of the patrons had gone home, or to their rooms. Archim sat at the back table with 3 men from the Inn and Graitwa, while Fréa and Hama, yawning mightily sat at a nearby table blearily trying to keep track of Archim’s patter and his cards.

He was having a so called run of luck with them it seemed, but not so much to arouse the suspicions of the men playing with him. He would win a hand then lose a couple then win again – a pattern that repeated itself in a non-predictable manner. Fréa however knew that he was cheating, and he was hoping that soon his brother would call it quits and they could retire safely to their own beds.

This, however, was not to happen. Too many pints and too many hands lost raised the temper of one of the men, and he stood up quickly, his knife drawn and pointed at Archim. His slurring words accused the youngest Forgoil of all sorts of chicanery and he grabbed the edge of the heavy table and upended it.

Archim was on his feet in a blink, his own knives drawn, his eyes on the drunk man who stood just a few feet from him. The Innkeeper grabbed his stout stick from behind the bar and rushed to restrain the local man, while Fréa went quickly to Archim and spoke quietly to him, his hands on his brother’s arms. Hama and Graitwa stood ready to defend their companion, though Graitwa glared at Archim with undisguised contempt.

A brief while later found them out on the path leading from the Inn, their packs secured to their mounts once more. The pot of money had been equally divided among the card players and the Forgoils and Hama had been invited to leave the Inn with a strong suggestion by the Innkeeper that they leave Tharbad altogether.

_________________________________________________

Six days later found them just on outskirts of Bree, and with an hour more in the saddle they found themselves entering the South Gate and making for the Prancing Pony. Dusty and saddle sore, Archim dismounted with a grateful sigh, his eyes lighting up at the swinging sign bearing the logo of the Inn’s name.

His foot was on the bottom step of the Inn’s porch, when Fréa’s grip on his arm detained him. ‘Need something, brother?’ asked Archim as the other two companions traipsed by them and into the Inn. Fréa’s grip tightened on his brother’s arm and he held out his hand expectantly.

‘The cards, brother. Give them to me. All the cards . . .’

[ August 19, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Hama entered the Prancing Pony, thoroughly relieved to be back in an Inn after that idiot Archim’s performance at the last one. Hama had been hard-pressed to keep his temper in check after that little bit of foolery. And Archim had just been starting to seem like an all right fellow, but after his card shenanigan, Hama just couldn’t like the man. Not after losing a night’s rest in a real bed because of him. The Inn at Bree was much better than the wild lands between here and Rohan. There were beds, ale, and seats that didn’t move. As far as Hama was concerned, even heaven couldn’t get any better than this.

It had been just their luck that one of the men that Archim had been fleecing back in Tharbad hadn’t been as drunk as the youngest Forgoil had thought. He’d been utterly furious when he thought he caught Archim cheating, and Hama couldn’t blame him. That was why he didn’t gamble in the first place. It was far too easy to lose money and reputation when one gambled. Besides, it was a waste of time and effort, forget the money. Time that could be better spent practicing, heaven knows he needed it.

Hmm. Wasn’t one of the arguments presented at the trial of Heldor something along the lines of ‘the man couldn’t possibly remember killing the old man, he was drunk; he’d been gambling?’ Hama couldn’t remember. Still, even though Heldor had been a convicted criminal when he was in Hama’s charge, he’d not seemed like the type who lost himself in the game or the drink. It didn’t seem right. Besides, there were plenty of other men who Hama would have picked as more likely to kill someone. Archim, for one.

No, no, no. Of course Heldor had committed the crime of which he was accused. There were too many people who had good reasons for him to have done it, and why would someone frame a hero of Helm’s Deep for m.urder? It was silly, and Hama resolved to think no more on it.

[ August 21, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[Orofaniel]

After six days they finally entered the Inn, The Prancing Pony. Archim had lost his cards to his brother so that he wouldn't do anything that stupid again. Graitwa glanced over at the others as they walked through the doors.

"We'd better get some information about Brytta & co, while we are here." Graitwa said in a whisper to Frea.

"Yes, brother," said Frea in a harsh voice. "We better use our time here well, we will probably find some useful leads." He continued.

All of them looked at eachother. Frea turnded to his yunger brother Archim, he was about to give hime a lecture. Hama and Graitwa knew that for sure. Before Frea had the chance to say something, Graitwa interrupted. "I'll go this way," He pointed towards the kitchen.

"The kitchen?" Frea asked in a surprising voice.

"Yes," Griatwa answered shortly. "We should look everywhere, you never know who they've been bumping into." He continued.

"I guess that's fear and square," Archim said suddenly, as he moved away from Frea. He seemed to know what was waiting and he wasn't up for it right now. Sixs days on the ride, and them getting a huge lecture from his brother.....No, that wasn't what he had in mind. Frea however dragged his brother towards him, and opened his mouth again.

Hama interrupted for the second time. "Er....I'll just go...and, you know...find some information." He said looking terrified and at the same time grumpy. Frea looked him with great eyes. He was obviously irretated and very annoyed by the interruptsions. Graitwa and Hama looked at eachother and both of them made some signs that it was now time to go. The two of them, Graitwa and Hama, hurried of in different directions. Archim stood alone to face his brother Frea....

[ August 23, 2003: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[Novnarwen]

Liol wasn't very happy with this whole situation, as for Rochil and his behaviour she was even less happy.

"A blind squirrel could see that you are lost. I am not - and chance is a strange word. I am here because I choose to be, but I did not choose to follow you. I roam these parts, and they are like my home. Strangers in a house are to be followed." Arwyrgan said.

The lady looked at him, trying to get his attention. "A blind squirrel," she muttered, thinking of it as an awful thing to say. "A blind squirrel," she said again, in a low voice, so no one could hear her. The lady sighed.

"Lady I won't eat you, sit down." The man said suddenly after his short pause. Liol couldn't believe what she had just heard. How could he? The sentence: I won't eat you, grew louder and louder in her head. He was the one who should be careful not to be eaten. He was the one out of number. She grew even redder while sitting down on the grass, giving all the grimaces she could think of. He didn't see it though. Rochil who stood there, had heard it too. Now he had got the pleasure again, she thought. Now he could laugh..

[ August 23, 2003: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

Despite the initial appearance Fréa had given that he was about to snap off his younger sibling's head, he'd pulled back, relented, and cajoled his brother to retire to their room so they could speak in private. Fréa vowed to rein in his temper and have a serious talk with Archim about what they were doing and how his brother could forever seal the family's doom if he did not keep his behavior under control.

Fréa shot a sly glance at Archim as he took down his gear and began to unpack, growling out an initial warning under his breath, "This time, I don't intend to to get asked to leave. Too much is riding on us being here. After all, Brytta can't vanish into the mists. He's not some wildman to go live in the forests. There are few populated towns along this route. Somehow, someway, there has to be something in Bree that will show us what the Hildesons had in mind."

Archim looked over and grunted his acquiescence, looking very young and foolish. At this point Frea mellowed and spoke more gently, "Archim, please no gaming. We've got to keep our wits about us. I need to go to the marketplace and speak with some of the vendors and present myself to the authorities. This could be it.....the big break we've all been waiting for. The King will be grateful if we can track down and bring a criminal to justice. It can make a difference in our lives, not just for me but for all of us. All those things you've been wanting..."

Fréa's words trailed off as he surveyed Archim's crowlike form spread out recumbent on the bed. By all the Valar, it hadn't been easy for his brother. From childhood up, he'd been the but of jokes for his scrawny looks and appearance. Fréa felt a surge of genuine affection take hold. Despite all their squabbles, Archim had a special spot in his heart. He wanted to watch over him and make sure things came out right. And this time was no exception. As the older brother left the bedchamber and swung the door closed, Archim had picked up a jugful of beer and raised the container up to his lips. "Stay here, in the room," Fréa pleaded urgently. "Get as drunk as you want but keep yourself out of trouble." With those final words of warning, the older sibling turned and left.

[ August 23, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

Fréa quickly discovered that Thursday was market day in Bree. The streets were crowded with throngs of Breelanders walking towards the central square where traders had set up tables and stalls to display their treasured wares. A herd of sheet had somehow gotten loose and were rambling along the street, weaving in and out among those buyers who’d come to do their weekly shopping. Big and Little Folk jostled one another and crowded close to the tables as the savory aroma of fried river eel and hot buns wafted over the marketplace.

Fréa’s eye was initially taken by several of the smaller folk, the ones his people called halflings, since he’d never seen one before. But, after a half interested glance, he pulled his attention back to the main issue at hand and began searching the square for any sign of Brytta and his party. He dismounted from his horse and headed to a nearby booth purchasing a small trinket merely as a pretext to start a conversation. He repeated this procedure several times with different vendors, but came up with absolutely nothing of interest other than a sly invitation from a woman with flashing eyes to come up and join her for a pint of ale.

Ignoring this golden opportunity, Fréa continued his search, leaving the market and heading to the small building that he'd learned was the place where the mayor and the wealthiest of merchants transacted their most important business.

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

It took Fréa a considerable space of time to gain admittance to the inner room where the mayor was meeting with several wealthy traders of Bree. A clerk sat outside barring entry to the room for all those except a select few who'd been invited in for a meeting. Fréa finally remembered he'd managed to get a decree in Edoras that was stamped with the official seal of the commander of the knights. There was a brief message underneath explaining that the bearer was on the trail of a dangerous band of outlaws, a condemned prisoner and those who had facilitated his escape; the document requested that any and all assitance be extended to Fréa and his men.

"Here," grunted Fréa extending the papers outward towards the clerk. "This tells you who I am and what I'm doing. Could I speak with the mayor and his advisors? To find out if they've seen anyone who meets the description of the men I'm seeking."

The clerk gazed absentmindedly at the stacks of paper on the desk and vigorously shuffled them from one side to the other, looking very uncertain. Then he scrutinized the document Fréa had given him, drew a deep breath, and came to a decision, "Alright, Master Forgoil. You've come all the way from Rohan. Perhaps you'll agree to answer a question or two about the state of the roads, and trading prospects in Edoras. Our folk are always looking for information of that type." Fréa grunted his consent, and was finally allowed to go inside. He strode forward, pushed the door open, and peered around the room....

[ August 25, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[Himaran]

Awyrgan pushed the party forward at a quick pace for a day, letting them stopping once during the night to catch their breath. Most of them, Awrygan included, dozed for the short time he had allocated. Then they were off again, the rising sun peaking over the Eastern clouds. Once the sun was well on its way across the sky Awyrgan called a halt. Motioning Brytta over to him he pulled out a worn, hand-drawn map and laid it out on the ground. Picking up a stick he began tracing a path on the parchment in front of them.

"Here is the Old South Road." The stick jerked well off-course. "Here is where we met." He drew a line back towards the Road, making a small circle near what looked to be small rolling hills. "This is where we are at the moment. You say you want to get the the Northern Downs..." He paused, as if mulling over the possibilities in his mind. "If we continue in this direction," the stick moved northwest, "we should cross the Greyflood within little more than a days time. Unless we slow our pace which we may need to do depending on supplies."

"Once we cross the River I will head directly north through the South Downs. The walk is more pleasant than on the Road." He said nothing of it being harder to track, but the thought was evident in his eyes. "From there we'll have to cross through some marshes, but it can be done without too much difficulty as we are all on foot. Once we pass the Weather Hills we should be about at your desired location. from there, you'll be on your own again."

He straightened up. A stream was running nearby, and he dispatched Rochil and Liol to fill the groups waterskins. Some minor redistribution among the company's packs was done and then they were off again.

[ August 26, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[piosenniel]

Inactivity was not one of his preferred states. Archim swigged the last of his ale from the tankard and banged it down on the table beside him. Heaving his scrawny frame from the bed, he stood and crossed the room, opening the door carefully to see who might be in the hallway. ‘It would be just like Fréa to have someone babysitting me,’ he thought to himself.

There was no one about, and feeling the need for another ale and a little company, he wandered down the stairs, looking carefully when he reached the bottom landing for any signs of his brothers or of Hama. ‘Good!’ he murmured, a crooked smile lighting his face. He patted the pockets in his vest, then remembered his brother had taken all the cards. His face fell for a moment, then relit as he found the wooden dice tucked in his inner pocket.

A voice, low and inviting, spoke to him from behind. ‘You look like you might need a friendly face to talk to.’ He turned, seeing a thin, yet oddly pretty woman eyeing him. ‘Buy me a drink,’ she said, ‘and we can pass the time getting to know one another.’

‘Better yet,’ he replied, his crooked smile growing, ‘I’ll buy us several drinks, and some for any of your friends you can round up.’ He pulled out the dice from his pocket and rolled them around in his hand. She winked at him, saying laughingly, ‘I see.’ Her small hands pushed him toward the bar. ‘Get us a flagon, then. And I’ll see what I can do.’ She pointed to a back table, indicating he should meet her there, then went off in search of ‘friends’.

Archim leaned with his back against the thick wood of the bar, watching her flit from patron to patron in the in, all smiles and laughter, her eyes coming often to look at him as he moved from the bar to the table.

‘Ah!’ he said, seating himself at the table, in the chair with a good view of the room. ‘Perhaps Lady Luck has found me here in this forsaken corner of the world.’

[Himaran]

Days passed by slowly. The trek north was indeed a long one, filled with setbacks and obstacles. Awyrgan skillfully led them through and around swamps, thick forests and rivers. Eventually, they reached a long plain; the ground relatively flat and open. "This is the south downs," said Awyrgan. "We are halfway to your destination."

They continued to march for several hours more before they stopped. It was nearly dark, and Brytta hoped that no storm would blow in. With no tree cover, wind and especially rain would be disastrous to the companies supplies.

Brytta volunteered to go on first watch while the rest of the company slept. The moon shone bright, and the absence of cloud cover was comforting to the man. He thought back over the events of the past month. It had been a long journey, and they were still in the wilderness. Brytta was unsure if they were still being followed, and if so who was doing it. Was Frea part of the group? The man could only guess.

[Dain Ironfoot]

Inside the room, a handful of men wearing luxuriant cloaks and hats trimmed with ermine were seated at a large trestle table with their heads bowed low in fierce concentration. Several had fat ledger books sitting in front of them in which they were recording detailed lists of dates and numbers.

Fréa stiffened uncomfortably as he surveyed the mighty burghurs of Bree, a group whosse influence and numbers had expanded with the reurn of peace in the Fourth Age. He instinctively disliked and distrusted such men. As far as he could tell, they spent all their time sitting in dark corners and writing or instructing others to do the same; they rarely saw the back of a spirited horse, and had little skill with blade or bow. He doubted that any of them could survive for more than a day or two if left on their own in the middle of the wilds.

Fréa hated Brytta with a passion, but he still had some grudging respect for his enemy whose skills with a horse and sword were unquestioned. With these men, it was different. But he needed their support and any information they might have gleaned. He wiped his face clean of any expression other than that of the humble supplicant, and stepped forward holding out the piece of paper that his commander in Rohan had entrusted to him.

[ August 27, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Lady Luck’s name was apparently Beryl, and when asked for her last name, the reply was always, ‘Best left unsaid.’ It tickled Archim no end that she fawned on him, but he was no young pup in love to believe she meant anything by it. Five of the patrons at the Pony had been rounded up from the Common room, and had followed her like rabbits mesmerized by a snake. Behind them, the less brave toddled, wanting to watch the action but keep themselves from heavy losses.

It was a slow afternoon at the Inn, and one corner of it was now commandeered by the boisterous group. The jingle of coin pouches mixed with the hard slap of the dice as they hit the wooden wall and rebounded. The follow up to this either a rousing cheer by the thrower and the men backing him, or a grumble of disappointment when the dice went sour.

The Innkeeper kept one eye constantly on the game, both to keep tabs on any rising tempers, and to see when the tankards needed refilling. So far, he thought to himself, as he hoisted the end of his apron and dried off a rack of glasses, the game has been friendly.

Four pitchers of ale had been when one of the players, a certain Hugh Bearman, from Archet, accused Archim of having crooked dice, and took a beery swing at him. Archim, temperate in his drinking when he played, leaned back lazily as the man’s fist breezed by him. Hugh was winding up unsteadily for another swing when the hammy fist of the Innkeeper clapped down hard on his collar. ‘That’s enough now, Bearman,’ came the gruff voice of the Innkeeper. ‘Sit down here, ‘til you regain some sense.’

The man’s seat was placed firmly in a chair, and the Innkeeper asked to see the dice. Beryl picked them up and handed them over with a languorous manner, her fingertips brushing the Innkeeper’s palm. He snorted and shook his head at her, ‘None o’ that now, missy. The good-wife’s at home and she’s enough for me.’

He looked the dice over carefully and weighed them in his hand. For all he could see, they threw true, but just to be sure, he put them away behind the counter, saying Archim could get them back later, and gave the players a pair of Inn dice with which to finish.

The game continued in a friendly manner, the winning throws shared almost equally among the players. Archim was happy. Here he sat in the midst of a quick, exciting game, a foaming pint of ale in one hand, a pretty girl on his lap, his arm about her in a familiar manner.

Graitwa was not pleased by the scene when he entered the Inn. He, too, like Fréa, had been out and about inquiring about any dealings the town’s tradesmen had had with other Men of the Mark. He stood to one side of the now drunken group, and waited to catch Archim’s eye.

Archim, for his part, had seen him but was trying to ignore his gestures. Not to be put off, Graitwa moved up behind his little brother and hissed in his ear. ‘I thought Fréa told you to stay out of trouble.’ Archim opened his mouth to rebut his brother when Beryl spoke up.

‘Don’t worry, big brother.’ She looked at him from beneath her lashes and flashed a smile his way. ‘You are the big brother, right?’ Graitwa flushed and stood up sputtering as she ran her finger down the front of his tunic.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, her fingers now playing with the lanky hair of Archim as if it were precious strands of golden filament, ‘he’ll stay out of trouble. I’ll see to it. Won’t I Arky-warky?’

Graitwa rolled his eyes as Archim shrugged his shoulders at him and grinned. ‘It’s on your head then,’ he said staring icily at her. She blew him a little kiss and waved prettily. Graitwa’s parting comment was simply the sound of his boots thudding heavily and disapprovingly up the stairs.

[ August 28, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Orofaniel]

The kitchen hadn't been a huge sucsess to be straight, and he was beging quite 'grumpy' about it. He was supposed to be the 'big brother' and he had a lot of responsibilaty. He didn't use to care about that, but it was different this time. If they didn't get Brytta.....He didn't want to think about it.

It was an quiet afternoon and Graitwa entered the Inn. He glanced over at his brother who seemed to be doing something Graitwa didn't approve of.. he walked over to Arcim and the drunken playeres, trying to get contact with Archim. Archim however, seemed to ignore him. Graitwa felt his temper rising. What was he doing??? "I thought Frea told you to stay out of trouble." He hissed in Archim's ears.

"Don't worry big brother," A woman said all of the sudden. Graitwa looked at her with stern eyes. "You are the big brother, right?" she continued, and smiled.

"Don't worry, "she added while her fingers were playing with Archim's hair. "He'll stay out of trouble, I'll see to it. " She said with a short laugh. "Won't you Arky-Warky?" She continued, now looking at Archim.

Archim looked at Graitwa and grinned. "It's your head then." Graitwa said icliy to her, rolling his eyes as he left.

"What a fool of a brother, " he said to himself when he had left the table, heading for the bar to get a drink.

[ August 30, 2003: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[Himaran]

It had been nearly a week since they had left their camp in the woods. The south downs were far behind them, and they entered an open forest; dotted with scrub and brush. The Misty Mountains were barely visible, far off in the east.

Suddenly, the forest broke away, leaving before them an open road. It was dusty, spotted with broken stone and light brush; but quite wide. "The Great East Road," said Awyrgan. "It runs from the Shire to Rivendell. But as you said that you wished to avoid discovery, I will take us on a less known path."

_____________________________________________
Within a day's march, Brytta's company was passing between the Weather Hills and Midgewater Marshes. The weather was dreary, the ground wet and soggy. Even on the outskirts, the marsh was uncomfortable to say the least. The bugs which thrived within its boundaries swarmed upon the party, but they trudged on stolicly after the ranger that had led them thus far.

Finally, Brytta's group could go no further, and they used what little dry wood they could find to create a meager fire in an attempt to fight off the wrath of the midges. Eventually, all slumbered peacefully, with the exception of Awyrgan; who stayed awake and kept watch. He lit his pipe, swating at an insect idly, and waiting for the break of a new day.

[ August 28, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[ August 29, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Envinyatar]

Just before the sun was up, Aldwulf rose from his damp bedroll on the ground. He could not decide which was worse, the swarms of tiny no-seeum bugs, or the ever present damp that seeped into everything.

Awyrgan had a small fire going, and Aldwulf gathered a small armful of relatively dry pieces of wood to add to it. Crouching down by the side of the fire pit, he poked at the burning embers, watching the smoke rise up. The small dampness the wood did contain, sent up a cloud of smoke that held the midges at bay for the moment.

He had set out several snares last night, and daring the swarms once again he rose from the fire to check on them. One was empty, but the other two held a coney each. Barely a mouthful for the company, but the broth would prove tasty, and he had a small packet of those herbs that Awyrgan had pointed out to them when the first met.

His eye was caught by a small cluster of familiar blue flowers in the marshy ground. His gran and mother had dug beneath just such patches for those tasty tubers used for soup. He checked the area carefully – white flowers of the same size and form were heralds of poisonous roots. No – all were blue.

An hour later and he had a pot of savory broth with bits of coney and thick chunks of tuber swirling amid the herbs. The smell woke the men and soon, one by one they tumbled from their ‘beds’ to have a bowlful.

‘Where to now?’ he asked Brytta as the man plied his bowl with his wooden spoon. ‘Was there somewhere in particular we are headed? And if so, are we near?’

[Novnarwen]

After today's march, Liol, the Rohan woman, had decided not to be grumpy or whiny, stop the bickering between her and Rochil (even though it was against her nature,) and not to be suspicous about the newcomer and his intentions.

As the day wore of and they had gathered around the little fire, Liol was both tired and hungry, but she didn't whine nor complain. To whine about something like this wouldn't be very useful, and besides, everyone were feeling the same way; hungry and tired. She settled down, trying to relax. "Where to now" Adwulf asked Brytta. Liol turned her head towards the two men. She was eager to know how far they had gone on the journey. "Was there somehwere in particular we are headed? And if so, are we near?"

A thought ran through Liol's mind. The company had never got to know where to go to. Where was this journey heading? Liol shook her head trying to get her thoughts in the right order. "Brytta," she interrupted, rising, walking a few paces towards Adwulf and her cousin. "Where are we going?" Liol said in a polite low voice. By this questions she wasn't doubting her cousin intentions, just, how far were they to go? When was this journy ending?

She looked upon Brytta.

[ September 04, 2003: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

If Fréa was leary about the mighty burghurs of Bree, they also had reservations about him. As mayor of Bree and the successful founder of the merchant guild, Barnaby Greenbush was proud of his well-earned position and wealth and had no intention of stirring up trouble. Trouble was bad for business, and he wanted no part of that. He would have to be very careful indeed.

Barnaby wrinkled his nose distastefully as Fréa approached the table; the latter was wearing the same bedraggled, travel-stained cloak that he'd had on since the beginning of the journey. The mayor quickly scanned the contents of Fréa's safe conduct letter with its request for all to render aid in bringing the escaped criminals to justice. The papers were signed and sealed by one of the commanders of the Riders of Rohan, a scrawled signature that the Breelander had never seen before, certainly no one with whom he had trading ties.

After weighing the pros and cons, the Mayor made an expeditious decision. He would make some semblance of respecting the letters and do what he could to help, but without any real effort or exertion; he would certainly not involve his own assistants in a chase which would likely end in bloodshed.

Barnaby furled his brow and pretended to listen intently as Fréa spelled out his tangled tale, describing Brytta and asking if anyone could render aid or had heard rumors of a band of Rohirrim advancing into Breeland. Most of those seated about the table shrugged their shoulders and shook their heads, indicating they had no knowledge of any travellers from Rohan in recent days.

Reluctant to send Fréa away without any show of help, Barnaby turned about and addressed the soldier, "Some two or three days ago, I saw a traveller in the marketplace who seems to fit your description of Brytta. He was doing a bit of business with a vendor, buying a horse or two. I stood next to him but, whether or not he is from Rohan, I can not say."

Fréa's eyes lit up as he heard this piece of news, "This fellow, is he still in Bree? Where can I find him?"

The mayor shrugged his shoulders, "I've no idea, but I know he was staying at a campsite in the far north of Chetwood, out beyond Archet." Whether or not the gentleman was still there, and whomever he might actually be, Baranby was pleased to have invented a scenario that would send Fréa scrambling beyond the borders of the city. If the soldier wanted to pick a fight, let him do so outside the city's dyke and hedge where he could cause less damage to their own citizens.

Fréa muttered a terse thanks and goodbye, and headed outside; he swung himself up in his saddle and clattered down the street heading for the North Gate.

[ August 30, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

Rochil had been glad when they finally reached the rode again. But Awyrgan was going to lead them on a different path. So they had traveled between the weather hills and Midgewater mashers. To Rochil it was a difficult journey passing around the marshes. The ground had oozed below their feet. There were bugs everywhere, and they swarmed around the small group. They were soon covered in many little bites.

Rochil woke up, to the smell of a stew. He was hungry and tried and looking at everyone else, he could tell they all felt the same way. His clothes were damp, and clung to his body. He was cold, even sitting by the small fire that had been made. He ate slowly. The stew was wonderful in his empty stomach. He listened to Brytta and Aldwulf talk, soon to be joined in by Liol.

"Where are we going?” I wish I knew Rochil thought.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Might be continued after Nova finish her post

[ August 30, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

Despite his first impulse to rush out headlong and immediately capture the stranger that the burghurs had described, Fréa eventually decided it might be more prudent to approach the camp by night. He rode north of the city to the very edge of the Chetwood, where the trees gave way to open grasslands. Searching the area, he found a secluded bower, well hidden by boughs and twining plants that concealed a campsite just large enough to house a small band of travellers.

The encampment was empty at the moment, but there were indications it had recently been occupied and that the travellers would probably return that evening, since many of their belongings were strewn over the ground. Fréa crept up cautiously and entered the grove. He investigated what had been left behind and found an odd assortment of things, but nothing that would identify the men as Rohirrim. This did not surprise him. If he was on the lam, fleeing from the law, he would have enough sense to mask his identity and assume another personna.

Hiding under the cover of a nearby rock overhang, Fréa waited till the sun had gone down, and darkness enveloped the skies. He heard the sound of horses' hooves approaching and went out to have a look, carefully concealing his body within the tangled underbrush. Unfortunately for him, the new moon was well hidden under a bank of clouds so that it was pitch dark and impossible to see any further than a foot or two away.

There was one thing, however, that he instantly noted. The men wore heavy cloaks pulled down low over their faces and seemed to look around now and again to check if anyone was following them. It was the kind of behavior Fréa expected from Brytta and his crew. His spirits rising, Fréa vowed to have a closer look. If these were indeed the outlaws from Rohan, he would return to get his brothers and Hama so they could confront the men. Creeping in as close to the edge of camp as he dared, Fréa lurked in the shadows straining to see the mens' faces and hear their words.

So intent was he on spying out the central portion of the camp, that he did not notice that the men had set a sentry far out on the perimeter. Nor did he see when this tracker skillfully and silently made his rounds, coming up in back of Fréa and collaring him by the neck. Within a split instant, Fréa went from being the pursuer to becoming the pursued, and was dragged out before the men who were now gathered round a campfire.

A single look at the travellers told him he had made a serious mistake. There was no sign of Brytta or Heldor or any of the other Rohirrim. Worse than that, these folk were thugs, pure and simple. They were hauling off a considerable batch of stolen goods they'd eveidently plundered that same day and hidden under their huge cloaks and in their horses' saddlebags. Fréa groaned as the leader of the band, the man who supposedly resembled Brytta, approached him with a flaming torch.

"And what may I ask are you doing hiding in the bushes of our encampment?" the leader of the band growled under his breath.

Fréa's mind went blank for a moment. Then he blurted out the best answer he could think of off hand, "I was waiting on a band of friends, well-trained soldiers from Rohan who were to meet me on the trail, but they'd apparently been detained. I do expect them anytime now, a considerable company of fighting men."

The ruffian leader placed his hands on his hips and threw back his head, roaring with laughter. "That is a strange tale indeed. You surely don't think I'd buy that."

"Believe me or not," barked Fréa in response. "But have a look at my horse. He is a fine stallion of Rohan, the best in the world."

The horse was led forward before the men, who began exchanging nervous glances. Perhaps there was something to this wild tale.

The leader of the band again stood up and approached Fréa with a scowling face. "You may be filled with lies. But my crew and I take no chances. We push out tonight just in case your visitors are coming. And you, dog of Rohan, will pay for your impudence!"

With that Fréa was seized and bound with ropes and left tied to a nearby tree. The leader gestured to the ropes and barked out a warning, "That should keep you busy while we make our way to safety. You are lucky that I'm in a very good mood, or I'd slit your throat from ear-to-ear, but I want no trouble with the Knights of Rohan. However, since you've put me to such inconvenience, I believe you owe me a favor. I have always fancied a horse from Rohan. Plus, your dagger and short sword."

Fréa watched helplessly as the men packed up and headed north out of the encampment. leading his precious horse with them. His only consolation was that his broadsword lay back at the Inn. For the rest of the night and all the next day, he chafed and pulled against the bonds. It was shortly before midnight when he finally managed to free himself. Fréa instantly collapsed on the greensward and fell asleep, thoroughly exhausted from all his travails, staggering back the next morning to the Prancing Pony.

Later that day, when his brothers approached and demanded to know why he'd been detained so long and had lost his horse and weapons, Fréa only growled and threatened to tan them if they asked any more questions. He rushed down to the market and quickly replaced his belongings, although his new stead sadly did not match up to the one that he'd brought with him all the way from Edoras. The brothers spent several more days in Bree, fruitlessly hunting for any more clues as to Brytta's whereabouts as tempers shortened and their bickering increased.

[ September 04, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[Himaran]

Where are we really going? It was a question which Brytta had asked himself many times over the course of the journey; though never truly coming to any definate conclusion. "Well, friends, Awyrgan is leading us to the North Downs, several days north of here. I can already see the looks of relief on your faces; I too am glad that this long journey is nearly over. But is it? For my brother and I, it is; I suppose. We will build a home, and take what we need from Bree during nightime hours.

But the true question before us is, where will you go? Rochil, Liol, Aldwulf: that choice will soon be before you. And only you can answer it. Will you stay in this area? Or perhaps turn east, or west; maybe even back south. That is your own decision. Not mine."

[ August 31, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[ September 05, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[piosenniel]

With Fréa gone for several days, Archim’s dice party rolled on unimpeded by brotherly remonstrances. The Innkeeper was pleased with the numbers of patrons it had drawn in, and pleased that so far there had been no fights over winnings.

Archim worked hard to keep it so. He was a shrewd better, and won just enough to fatten his purse modestly each day. Tempers were kept under control by having the drunker members of the party sit out or sleep off their ale, and by using the dice provided by the Innkeeper. Since he was not involved in the playing or the betting, his offer of dice was taken to be an honest one, and to top it off, all knew he kept a stout club behind the bar, and would lay into anyone with a heavy hand if they got too rowdy.

Beryl had dropped by the wayside, and Archim could not honestly say he was sorry to see her go. She had clung to him as long as he was the one with the lucky throws, but her affections turned elsewhere when his luck seemed to turn.

Fréa had growled at her when she made a joke to Archim that perhaps big brother had lost his horse and weapons in a game of his own. Archim shushed her, seeing the dangerous glint that had come into Fréa’s eyes.

Archim, in a rare fit of brotherly affection and devotion (or perhaps he had just grown tired of dicing), joined his brothers and Hama in their search for Brytta. It was a search for phantoms, no solid leads, and the flimsy leads they did get, did not pan out.

One of Archim’s gaming acquaintances approached him as the brothers and Hama were having breakfast in the Inn. He pulled Archim aside, and said he had heard something about a group of outsiders seen north of Bree-land. Somewhere in the triangle formed by Chetwood, the Weather Hills and Deadmen’s Dike. The details were sketchy, but not any more so than the other leads they had looked into.

The Forgoils and Hama were sick of Bree and beginning to chafe in each other’s close company. Archim urged them to pack up and get on the road. Another day in this place, and they might do one another in, he feared.

Hama was sent to pick up supplies, while Archim offered generously to settle their bill for food, drink, and lodging – all of which made hardly a dent in the tidy sum he had won in his dice games.

A few hours later and they were heading out the North Gate and up the old North Road toward Fornost. There was mild bickering as Archim complained that his ‘friend’ had said the group of strangers was somewhere between this road and the weather hills, and shouldn’t they range a little wider in hopes of getting news of them?

[Envinyatar]

Brytta’s words rolled round in his head as they trudged west toward the North Downs. ‘But the true question before us is - where will you go?’ he had asked of all of them. Aldwulf was growing surer of his decision as his feet ticked off the miles.

He had given his word that he would see Heldór safe. But now that promise was soon to be fulfilled. He would stay for a while to see that Brytta and Heldór were settled in their new home, and then he would be making his way back to the Riddermark.

To be quite honest he missed his family. And the day to day tasks that made up their life. He longed to see his parents, and his brothers and sisters, especially Osric. And he missed the simple pleasure of working with the horses. He was not at heart an adventurer, he thought to himself. Not someone who needs the excitement of something new everyday. He liked the routine of his life, and longed to lose himself in it once again.

But his promise to see his friend safe was not yet done. Aldwulf fingered the hilt of his blade, hoping that danger was now behind them . . . Best be careful! he reminded himself. Keep up your guard. We are not out of danger yet.

[Novnarwen]

But the true question before us is, where will you go? But the true question before us is, where will you go? But the true questions is, where will you go? But the true question is, where will you go?

Over and over again. The same sentence, spinning around in Liol's head. The truth was, that she didn't really have an answer to this. The woman reminded herself of the fact, that she was here for Heldor's sake. And she hadn't really planned what she was doing afterwards. Brytta's reply had surprised her, and now, she grew more and more insecure for every step she took heading for the North Downs.

________________________________________
Liol looked upon the others; Rochil, Adwulf and the Ranger. Where were they going after this? she wondered. Her legs ached, but she didn't whine. All she could think about was Brytta's words. Maybe she could stay a while, with her cousins. She had nothing waiting at home or no one, so that would probably be best. Or would it? Who would it be best for? After all her whining they would probably bee 'glad' to see her off. Liol gazed upon Brytta, he didn't see it though. Her eyes wandered over to Heldor then Adwulf. If Adwulf was going home, to Rohan, maybe she could follow. After all, it would be a long and sad road indeed to walk all the way to Rohan alone. She felt comforted by this thought, but not less confused.

[ September 08, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Orofaniel]

Frea had been gone for several days, and it was starting to annoy Graitwa. How could he just leave them? And not tell them where he had gone? Well, he couldn't really blame him either, Archim was starting to get on Graitwa's nerves as well.

Finally the Forgolis and Hama became sick of Bree and Archim urged them to pack up and get out from the city. Graitwa couldn't agree more.

Some hours later they were heading towards Fornost, they were taking the old North Road. Some arguing were a part of there traveling, and Graitwa was now used to it. Archim complained that his 'friend' had said something about a group of strangers somewehere between this road and the hills. Graitwa didn't quite understand what he was complaining about, though, so he didn't pay much attention.

[ September 06, 2003: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

Fréa calculated that the journey to Fornost would take about a day and a half if they kept to the main roadway and headed straight to their target. But that was before he'd considered the factor of all the bickering that was going on between the different members of the band.

As far as Fréa was concerned, he was all for sticking to the road and heading straight northward. But Archim was evidently of a different opinion, whining and moaning about the fact that Brytta may well have decided to slip eastward into the Weatherhills, perhaps even visiting as far south as Weathertop where he could climb up and get a good view of the surrounding flatlands. After much disagreement back and forth, Hama had even spoken up on Archim's behalf, noting that the Weatherhills was a notorious refuge for unsavory types who kept an eye on things outside and then come charging out to prey on unsuspecting travellers.

Archim was putting up such a fuss that Fréa found himself grinding his teeth and reaching down to clench the hilt of the dagger at his side. Struggling to keep his temper in check, the middle brother finally relented and agreed to a comproimise: the band would make one short foray towards the northern border of the Weather Hills to see if they could pick up any more clues or gossip. As the four horsemen shifted their direction and veered off towards the east, Fréa felt a small warning bell sounding in his ear that this might not be a very good idea.

[ September 04, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[Himaran]

After the long, tormenting night, the company finally left the insect infected marshland. Following Awyrgan, Brytta and his friends traveled west for an hour before turning north, leaving the swamp behind them. The companions walked quicker now, with the end of their journey in sight.

It took three days to reach the north downs. Passing around Fornost warily, the group soon reached the formost of the low hills. Brytta and Heldor began looking for a place to build a shelter, while the others set up a temporary camp.

Brytta's party soon sat around a fire, eating the last of their packed provisions. Everyone was tired and footsore, but joyful that the journey had been successfully completed.

Though Brytta had expected Awyrgan to leave as soon as they had reached the North Downs. However, after the meal he merely sat back on a log and smoked quietly. Brytta thus decided to ask him about it.
"Awyrgan, we thank you profusely for your guiding of us through the wilderness. But when will you be taking your leave of us?"

The ranger continued to smoke quietly, and for a moment Brytta thought that Awyrgan had missed his question altogether. "I will linger here a while longer, Brytta. For I do not believe that your troubles are over yet."

[ September 05, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[piosenniel]

Archim slouched in his saddle, letting the reins sit idly on his horse’s neck. Korokoroch ambled along at the end of the line that Fréa led, as interested in the surrounding countryside as his master. Hama, for some reason, rode along at his side, and often they would both throw out comments toward the two older brothers that it was hardly likely the Hyldesons would be tromping along a public road. Archim had come to a grudging respect for the guard his brother had threatened into coming with them.

They were three days up the Old North Road when Fréa’s patience with the pointed comments from the rear guard came to an end. Archim watched with sly interest as his brother’s hand went to the hilt of his dagger. He was beyond caring what Fréa’s next action would be, and to be honest was in the mood for a fight. He picked up the reins with one hand and loosened the dagger at his own belt.

He was surprised as Fréa mastered his anger and agreed to head east in hopes of finding traces of Brytta and his troop. Archim’s hand left his dagger and he smiled crookedly at Hama. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, kicking his mount in the flanks.

Hama and Archim took the lead as they headed east, across the rolling hills and tall grass of the downs.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A day and a half later, they were within a few hours ride of the Weather Hills. Even Archim was beginning to grant the fact that this may have been a useless trip – they had seen signs of no one in the area with the exception of yesterday’s meeting with an elderly sheep farmer and his small flock. And he had no news for them, only a warning that they should avoid the area north of the Weather Hills.

‘Times have been hard,’ he told them, leaning on his staff, a stalk of grass in his teeth. ‘There be rough men in them parts since the war ended. A few bands of ‘em wiv nuffink to do ‘cept bother honest folk.’ He eyed them, wondering if these were another kind of ruffian bent on causing trouble. ‘Best you be sticking to the Old Road. Like honest men’d do.’ His voice trailed off as his gaze swept over the land seeking the whereabouts of his little flock.

‘Honest men, eh?!’ snorted Archim to himself. The old fellow wandered off after a straying lamb and the brothers and Hama gathered round for a quick conference. ‘These ruffians sound like an old man’s pipe dreams,’ Archim said, No one mentioned any ruffians to me while we were in Bree.’ Hama took Archim’s side saying that they’d seen no evidence of anything other than the old man and his sheep in these parts, and that they should press on toward the Hills.

Again the little alarm bell went off in Fréa’s head, but he was pressed hard by Archim and Hama, and even Graitwa said what could it hurt to just see what lay at the nearby northern end of the Hills. Reluctantly he let Archim and Hama take the lead again while he and Graitwa fell back at rear guard.

It was nearing evening as they road through the last of the tall swaying grass and approached the base of the hills. Archim and Hama had discovered they shared a broad knowledge of tavern songs and were in the midst of singing to each other the one about the Man in the Moon and his taste for ale. Their verses echoed off the sides of the hills and rang loud across the grasses.

Too late, Fréa hissed at the two of them to be quiet. They had just come to a small dip in the plain, in an area at the foot of the hills, speckled with rocky outcroppings.

From behind the tall grass and rocks on either side of them, stepped out four men. They had lain in wait for the horsed party, crouching down in position as the Forgoil’s and Hama drew near. Two of them held swords as they stood up, menacing the riders and their horses. Behind, were two ruffians bearing spears, and their long wicked points were pointed threateningly at Fréa and Graitwa.

‘Well, my little songbirds,’ said the tallest man with a sword. He was ragged and dirty, and his face bore the ill-healed scars of old battles. ‘What treasures have you brought for old Will, eh?’ He looked them over with his one good rheumy eye. ‘You look plump and well fed, and you ride some fine horses.’ His patchy eyebrows went up a little as he surveyed Fréa’s mount. ‘They’ll fetch a fair price, I’m thinking.’ ‘Nice clothes and boots, too. They’ll do nicely.’ He noted the saddlebags behind each man. ‘And what you got in there, laddies. Enough to get us through the winter, I’m thinking.’

‘Get down from your horses, boys! You won’t be needing them any more.’

The four ruffians closed in on the brothers and Hama. One of the men with a sword grabbed at Kokoroch’s reins. In a split second Archim’s left hand snatched out his dagger and threw it, sticking the man in the side of the neck with it. With his right hand he drew his short sword and slashed at the man’s arm, knocking his hand from the reins.

The others, mobilized by his action, dove into the fray . . .

[Orofaniel]

The evening drew near and they rode through the tall swaying grass. The hills were drawing close as well, for each second. Hama and Archim seemed merry and started to sing a song they both knew well.

Suddenly without the Forgolis and Hama notecing, four men stepped out from the grass. Two large men had already drawn their swords and they looked dangerous. In the next second two ruffians were pointing their long wicked points at Graitwa and his younger brother, Frea.

‘Well, my little songbirds,’ said the tallest man with a sword. He was dirty, and his face bore the ill-healed scars of old battles.
‘What treasures have you brought for old Will, eh?’ He looked them at them. Graitwa looked unpleased, he knew what was coming.

‘You look plump and well fed, and you ride some fine horses.’ His eyebrows rised when he spotted Frea's horse. ‘They’ll fetch a fair price, I’m thinking.’ ‘Nice clothes and boots, too. They’ll do nicely.’ He glanced over at the saddlebags ‘And what you got in there, laddies. Enough to get us through the winter, I’m thinking.’

‘Get down from your horses, boys! You won’t be needing them any more.’

Graitwa looked over at the man in disgust. He spitted down on the ground as he glanced over at the others. Hama and Frea looked back at him, but didn't say anything. Archim however, grabbed one of his daggers and threw it. The dagger hit one of the men right in his neck. Archim drew his sword and slashed it at the man's arm, so he lost his grip on the horse. The man fell on the ground with a loud 'boom'.

Everything had gone so quickly and Graitwa was just about to grab his sword as well, when one of the remaining men stood threatingly with his sword against Graitwa's throat.

But Graitwa wasn't dumb. He gave a short evil laugh as he pushed the man forward with the horse. The man stumbled in his fat legs as he gave a sigh before he hit the ground. Graitwa took the sword that was noiw laying on the ground next to the fat loegged man. "Make a wish, fool!" Graitwa sneered while his eyes blazed. He pointed the sword against the man's chest....

[ September 06, 2003: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[Himaran]

Pio’s post

Graitwa pointed his sword against the man’s chest. ‘Get it done with!’ cried Archim, finishing his own attacker off with a savage thrust to the hapless man’s neck; though, not before the man plunged his dagger into Archim’s right forearm. Graitwa grunted his compliance as the hilt of his sword slid into the other ruffian’s chest.

‘Two down!’ The excitement of victory gripped him, and Archim turned toward the last two of their attackers. The one nearest Hama had thrust his spear viciously toward the guard’s leg, and would have cut him clean through, save that Hama’s horse veered out of the way. Hama received a nasty cut on the side of his calf, but putting aside the pain that ripped through his leg, he rounded on the man with his blade slashing. Archim drew near on his horse to lend Hama aid. Graitwa by this time had dropped back to where Fréa had stopped, his sword ready to defend his brother.

Dain's post

With two of the bandits so readily dispatched, the remaining ruffians took off racing for the hills at breakneck speed, as they left their fallen companions behind on the ground. When it looked as if Hama might also decide to give chase and try to emulate Archim’s deed, Fréa raised his hand in warning and abruptly drew the band to a halt, throwing an angry glance over his shoulder. “You worthless curs, all of you.” Fréa bellowed out his rage. “We’ve lost enough time on this fool’s errand! If you’d listened to me, this would never have happened. We’d be far north by now, and Brytta would be in our grasp.”

Archim turned around and froze, “Cur? You dared call me a cur? Your own brother! Who saved your neck back there? Fréa, I did not see you take down any bandits. If Graitwa and I hadn’t saved your skin, you’d be lying in the dirt cold and stiff. If anyone deserves the name of “cowardly cur”, it is you, not me.”

Fréa felt his rage boil over as he automatically grabbed for the hilt of his sword and brandished it at his younger brother, swinging it wildly in his direction. Only his blind madness caused the blow to go astray and swipe harmlessly down into the grass. At this point, Hama intervened, recklessly positioning his own body between those of the two feuding brothers, crying out at them to stop, since Brytta and his band would go unpunished if the Forgoils managed to kill each other first.

These words jerked Fréa back to reality as he shakily slid his sword back within its scabbard and barked at the group to head north and west in the direction of Fornost. He took off at a wild gallop outdistancing his brothers and Hama, listening to the angry voice in his head that raged on. If it was not for Archim’s stupidity, we would be there by now. Why am I blessed with such idiots as brothers?

[ September 08, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Pio's post: The Forgoils reach Fornost

Fréa rode away with reckless abandon. Archim watched as his brother’s sad excuse for a horse galloped off toward the northwest, disappearing at last over a small rise with only a small cloud of dust lit in spirals against the late evening sun.

Archim deliberately slowed his horse. He wanted nothing to do with his older brother. The man had snapped - fallen over the edge of sanity in his opinion. Had it not been for the intervention of Hama, Archim was sure he would be lying in the dust even now, mortally wounded if his brother had had his way.

Kicking Kokoroch lightly in the flanks with his heels, Archim drew up along side the Guard. He matched his horse’s stride to that of Hama’s and passed a few miles in companionable silence. There were a few desultory remarks about the countryside, and the inevitable hordes of tiny stinging bugs that seemed to swarm in the cool of the evening, and did Hama remember passing any streams as their water skins were getting low. Archim, in a moment of rare civility, managed to stumble over a ‘thanks’ to the man who rode next to him. It was not a mode of communication he was used to, there were not many in his life that had done things for him; rather, most had done things to him and suffered his acid tongue for it or the cold steel of his knives.

Hama was taken aback at this offer of thanks from a Forgoil, and mumbled something fairly incomprehensible but positive sounding. To which Archim grunted in the affirmative. And so it was settled – one had given thanks the other received it. Now they felt free to let the matter drop as finished between them.

Daring to enlarge upon this moment of what might pass as the beginnings of a mutual respect, and possibly friendship, Archim drew out the flat silver flask from the inside of his vest and offered a drink of the fiery spirits he had discovered in Bree. ‘Grow hair on your chest, Hama!’ said Archim, watching the man’s eyes water and him gasp for breath at the end of the swig. Hama rasped out a laugh, saying that if that were so he’d best be careful he was not shot as a bear. And with that declaration, tipped back another shot of the drink.

Graitwa, hearing their laughter, pulled his mount to a stop and glared back at them. ‘Hurry up, you two! We’ll never hear the end of it if Fréa makes it to Fornost before us.’ He dug his heels hard into the sides of his mount and took off at a gallop. Archim and Hama looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Then, kicking their horses they galloped off after him.

________________________

Two days of hard riding, brought the four riders to the little settlement of Fornost. Archim viewed the ramshackle assortment of huts and tents that passed for civilization here in the north, and started to sigh . . . then thinking better of it, bit off his breathy comment. Fréa’s shoulders had tightened another notch at the perception of a negative comment from Archim. And Archim, not wanting to have another scene play out with his edgy sibling busied himself in dismounting from his horse and fiddling with the adjustments on the bridle.

Hama looked at him curiously, a half-smile on his face, hidden from Fréa. Looking up toward Fréa, his face now devoid of all emotion, Hama asked innocently enough what Fréa would like them to do . . .

[ September 08, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Envinyatar’s post

They had been camped in the Downs for a number of days.

‘I’ll be going south then.’ Aldwulf crouched down and drew a crude map in the dirt. Opposite him was Awyrgan, who nodded his head ‘yes’ at the man’s statement. ‘About four leagues from here, and a short distance to the west,’ continued Aldwulf. Again, Awyrgan confirmed he had the right of it, then queried him on how he would approach the small settlement left in the ruins of Fornost.

‘I’m going south of it and approach it as if I’ve just come up from Bree. I’ll give some story if I’m asked that I’ve come up to see about some land for a small holding for my family. Goat farming, along the hills of the Downs. I’ll say I plan to stay at least a fortnight to cover my need for a quantity of food supplies.’

Aldwulf stood up, running the list of needed supplies through his mind one more time. He emptied his pack to make room for them, and shouldered it. ‘Look for me tomorrow, late,’ he said, fastening his sword securely round his hips. ‘I’ll come back as quickly as I can.’

The others saw him off, saying that they would post a lookout for him on the outcropping of rocks that jutted out from the low hillside that hid their camp. And that if there were any problems as he approached their camp, he should signal the lookout by stopping, as if weary, and readjusting his pack, then running his left hand through his hair, as if pushing it back from his forehead.

The instructions were repeated, and Aldwulf set off south at a brisk pace, keeping his eyes and ears open for any signs of trouble.
_____________________________________________

At Fornost/Deadmen's Dike

‘Yer lucky ya come when ya did, sir.’ Will, a dirty faced urchin in tattered breeches and a threadbare shirt, filled several small cloth sacks for the waiting man. Rough ground flour, some oats, dried beans and peas, and a larger burlap bag of taters, onions, and a sprinkling of carrots. The monthly supply wagon from Bree had just made it back to the little encampment of settlers at Deadmen’s Dike and they had a little to spare for one who offered silver for it.

The taters, onions, and carrots had come from Will’s mother’s garden patch, an admirable woman with a green thumb and the amazing ability to coax plants to grow in abundance on their hardscrabble little farm. ‘It will be good to have new neighbors,’ Miriel said smiling up at him as she knelt to pluck out the vegetables. She shook the dirt from them, and layered them carefully in the sack. ‘Tell me about your family,’ she continued, digging out the tubers from one of the small hillocks.

Aldwulf had prepared his story as he’d traveled. His wife, Aelfwyn, and his new bairn were staying at the Inn in Bree. Once he had found a likely enough place, they would come up by wagon and stake their claim, driving their small herd of goats along with them.

‘A wee one,’ she said, standing up and wiping the dirt from her hands on her apron. ‘I will look forward to meeting all three of you, then!’ She sighed and rubbed the back of her hand along the side of her forehead. ‘Will’s my youngest, and last I fear. A wasting sickness claimed my husband several years ago, and now it’s just me and my two sons who are left to eke out what we can in this place.’ Will’s older brother, Girion, came out from the rude shack that served as the family’s house. He looked to be about ten years old, five years older than his brother. ‘I’ve got these, too, mother,’ he said, holding up a generous twist of salt, and a packet of tea leaves. He grinned up at Aldwulf, and brought out a small sealed pot from behind his back. ‘You’ll be wanting some of this, too, I think. We have bees, too, as well as our garden.’

Aldwulf grinned back at him, and bowed. ‘A most generous gift. I thank you!’ He reached out a hand to ruffle the boy’s ragged hair, unaware of the wistful look on Miriel’s face, remembering how their father had often done so to his sons.

‘You’ll stay, of course,’ she said, as he packed the foodstuffs in his pack, placing the jar of honey carefully on the top. ‘Yes!’ chimed in Will and Girion, tugging at his tunic. ‘You can sleep in our bed, and we’ll bunk with Ma.’ Will looked hopefully up at his mother, who laughed and said that would be fine.

He passed a pleasant evening with this little family, delighting in being part of their little group, if only for a while. He was up early, as were they, and after a small breakfast, did a few repairs to the house he had noted last night. Miriel he found to be a pleasant companion as she worked by his side and the antics of the boys made him laugh often, thinking back on his brothers when he and they were young.
_____________________________________________

Novnarwen's post

It was boring now. Ever since Adwulf had left, he was the only one talking, Liol thought. She sat alone restless, trying not to seem like a baby waiting for someone to entertain her. It wasn't about that, it was just... hmm.. boring. "It's healthy to be bored," she muttered after a while, looking up in the sky. The clouds were moving swiftly over the blue 'background'.

How long were they to stay here, she thought. The woman already knew the answer, but it helped. She felt refreshed by the thought of Adwulf coming back tomorrow, then they had to leave right?

[ September 11, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Dain's post

Fréa looked over at Hama and glared. "Today we'll stick together. I want no one running off on hare-brained errands and getting in trouble. We need to pick up a supply or two. More importantly, we need to keep our eyes and ears open to see if there is any sign of Brytta or his companions."

Fréa and his brothers trailed in and out of stores, filling up their saddlebags with needed supplies while Hama walked alongside Archim. There was little enough to buy in a poor settlement such as this. A look around suggested that things were definitely tight in this run-down excuse for a hamlet.

Fréa asked a few questions of people milling about the street, but with little results. The villagers merely shrugged their shoulders and indicated they'd seen no travellers who fit the description he'd given them. As the party came near the middle of what passed for a market square, the two brothers and Hama disappeared into a shop selling spirits while Fréa continued ambling further up the street.

It was then that he saw him. Fréa could not initially tell exactly who he was. But his dress and stride clearly marked him out as an outsider and, even more, as a man of Rohan. The fellow was stopped in a public square lifting a ladle of water to his lips, having stopped for a moment at one of Fornost's public wells.

Fréa crept up as close as he dared and was stunned by what he saw. Standing in front of him, no more than ten feet away, was the familiar figure of Aldwulf. He looked once, and then again to make sure that he was seeing things correclty, but always with the same results. The man was clearly Aldwulf.

Sprinting back towards the shop where he had last seen his brothers, he tugged impatiently at Graitwa's sleeve, all his personal anger and impatience dissolving as he considered the possibility of victory and freedom looming just ahead.

"Come now, quickly lead your horses through the street. I have seen Aldwulf no more than fifty paces from here, stopping at a public well to take some water. He gives no heed to his surroundings or those about him. I believe we can follow cautiously as long as we keep a fair distance between us."

Fréa grinned with pleasure. Perhaps Aldwulf was fool enough to lead them to Brytta's encampment. Perhaps tonight, they would attack the camp and all his troubles would be ended, so that he could return to Edoras and get the promotion he deserved. With these positive thoughts, Fréa guided his brothers and Hama out into the roadway.

[ September 09, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Envinyatar’s post

Too soon, it seemed, it was time to leave. He shouldered his pack heading north toward his companions’ encampment. He turned and waved to the woman and her sons several times before he disappeared down a small decline and he could see them no longer.

His steps were light, as he strode along thinking on his pleasant meeting. His mind though was distracted with his thoughts of the encounter, and he did not pay attention to what was happening round him . . .

[ September 08, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Pio's post - Archim and Hama trailing Aldwulf

They trailed Aldwulf from a safe distance, keeping to the west of him, hidden in the line of trees that marched along the foot of the North Downs. The man kept up a brisk pace, with the occasional brief stop for water or a piece of dried meat to chew on.

‘He seems distracted,’ doesn’t he?’ Archim motioned with his chin to Hama at the ambling man. ‘No, not distracted. There is something about him that runs counter to the fact he should be acting like a hunted man.’ Hama arched his brows at Archim; then, took a good long look at their quarry. There was no sign of weariness or wariness about him. In fact, to Hama’s eyes he looked like someone about to burst into song. ‘Strange, don’t you think,’ whispered Archim.

As if on cue, they heard a low humming trail back to them from Aldwulf. Archim narrowed his eyes, trying to catch the familiar tune. Hama, too, leaned forward in his saddle. He sat up straight after a few moments, and prodded Archim in the side with his elbow. ‘Turn me into an addlepated broodmare if he isn’t humming that lovey-dovey song we heard the minstrel in the White Horse sing a month ago.’ Archim looked at him as if he had spoken in an unknown tongue. ‘You remember, Archim. The one I saw you mimic afterwards in the Inn yard. The one who sang of courtly love, all that pure-love blathering – you remember,’ he said winking salaciously at his companion. ‘The one you turned into a rather bawdy song.’

‘Hmm,’ replied Archim, the memory growing clearer. ‘I wonder what’s gotten into him?’ He stared at Aldwulf wondering if the man had been bewitched by some fair, dead maiden buried long ago at Deadmen’s Dike.

‘No matter the reason, Archim. It’s a fortunate turn of events for us that he is so oblivious our following him.

They lapsed into silence, guiding their mounts carefully over the forest floor, their eyes ever on the man before them.
____________________________________________

Dain's post

Fréa hung back at the rear of the column keeping a close watch on the others who were further down the trail. He could see Archim and Hama parading at the front of the line, with Graitwa following just a few paces back.

At this point, Fréa was as much worried that Graitwa or Archim would do something impulsive to blow their cover as he was about actually losing sight of Aldwulf. Aldwulf didn't seem to be going anywhere except straight ahead on the path; he was clearly in their view. Yet, every so often, Archim would turn to Hama, and the two men would engage in spirited conversation about the vagaries of the man whom they were following. Once or twice, Fréa turned to his elder brother and grimaced, letting him know that he didn't approve of Archim's loose tongue.

Graitwa picked up on this, and trotted forward to his youngest brother's side, "Pipe down, you two. You're chattering like a flock of young jackdaws. If you don't close your mouths, Aldwulf may overhear us."

Despite this warning, Aldwulf remained totally oblivious to his pursuers as he continued striding up the path. At one point in the late afternoon, Graitwa dropped back to Fréa's side and started a discussion of his own, this one focusing on what would happen once they arrived at Brytta's camp."

"Do you think we'll have the chance to attack today and put an end to all this," Graitwa queried.

Fréa shook his head, "I hope so, but let's not be in such a big hurry until we actually see their camp. Even if the layout looks good, we'd probably want to wait till late tonight under cover of darkness, when their men have fallen asleep."

Graitwa flashed back a grin, "So you think it will be as easy as following this one?"

Fréa shook his head, "That's hard to believe. If they have any sense, they'll post a guard. I do not think that Brytta is as big a fool as this one who walks ahead of us. If there's a sentry, he'll have to be carefully taken out. Then we'll see what happens...."

Aldwulf came to a temporary halt surveying the ridge that stood before him. He hesitated for an instant, looking about in all directions and then moved on. The campsite, the goal of all their travels, had to be dead ahead.


_____________________________________________

Envinyatar’s post

It was very early evening when Aldwulf rounded the dip in the path he had taken south as he left the camp. There, visible now a short distance away was the rocky outcropping the others had said would hold a lookout for him. Whoever it was on the rock had hidden himself, or herself. He grinned thinking of Liol crouched down behind the tops rocks awaiting his signal.

But there was none to give. He had seen or heard no one in pursuit. All was clear, as far as he was concerned. He strode on toward the bend which would take him behind the outcropping, and down to the little dell in which his companions waited.

Shifting his pack on his shoulders, he looked up again at the rocks. Then, with a quickened pace he headed back to where Brytta and the others waited, his voice raised in the low singing of some ballad.

At his left shoulder, he heard someone hiss at him. ‘Quiet down! No need to let anyone near know where we are!’ Chastened, he kept quiet as he marched the last few yards into camp.

Unheeded the Forgoils drew nearer, taking up advantageous positions above their quarry . . .

[ September 11, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[ September 11, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan had finished his pipe. Rising to his feet, he stretched. Most of the companions were close by.

Walking over to Brytta he spoke softly. "Here out paths diverge. I do not know your purpose, but I deem it an honorable one. Farewell."

Striding silently to the edge of the campsite he soon blended in with the brush and was out of sight, back to his watch.

[ September 15, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Orofaniel]

The had spotted Aldwulf. Graitwa walked over to his younger brothers: "Pipe down, you two. You're chattering like a flock of young jackdaws. If you don't close your mouths, Aldwulf may overhear us." He said in a bit grumpy voice.

As the afternoon drew closer Graitwa got back to Frea's side, discussing and focusing on what would happen when they reached Brytta's camp. Graitwa was wondering if they should attack today or wait, so he asked Frea what he thought about the subject:

"Do you think we'll have the chance to attack today and put an end to all this," Graitwa asked.

Fréa shook his head and looked at him, "I hope so, but let's not be in such a big hurry until we actually see their camp. Even if the layout looks good, we'd probably want to wait till late tonight under cover of darkness, when their men have fallen asleep."

Graitwa looked him in the eyes for a second and the he grinned. "So you think it will be as easy as following this one?" He continued with short laugh. It was obvious that Graitwa found this very much amusing indeed, because he didn't stop laughing until he almost trembled in his own feet. When this happened he pulled himself together and waited for Frea's comments. Frea thought for some moments, while he turned his head and looked in all directions.

"Hm......" Frea said while he shook his head, "That's hard to believe. If they have any sense, they'll post a guard. I do not think that Brytta is as big a fool as this one who walks ahead of us. If there's a sentry, he'll have to be carefully taken out. Then we'll see what happens...."

"I think you have a point there, mate." Graitwa said to Frea. "I doubt that Brytta is a big fool as the one in front of us here." He continued while his eyes turned to his brother again.

*~*

They were creeping forwards to the Hyldesons' camp, Graitwa, Hama, Frea and Archim. There were men by the Camp, and Graitwa gave a short sigh while glanceing over at the others. His eyes reached Frea. What did he want them to do?

[ September 12, 2003: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[piosenniel]

Tinuviel of Denton's post

Following the Forgoils, Hama crept forward towards the Hyldesons' camp. Since the battle with the bandits, he hadn't really felt at ease with himself. Yes, stepping between the brothers had been the right thing to do, he didn't doubt that action, but there just was something not quite right about this whole mission. Things didn't add up, the Forgoils kept referring to something that sounded out of place on the road when they thought he couldn't hear them, and Frea--well, Frea just made the young man nervous. Something was rotten here. Hama just couldn't figure out what.

Archim. Well, Hama hadn't liked the man at first, but...he had been friendlier after that fight and it was getting harder and harder to keep things straight. Graitwa. He never said much, just...looked. He made Hama almost as nervous as Frea did. But, Frea, Frea had been ready to kill his brother. His own brother. And something about the whole thing just ate at Hama's gut.

Things were moving so fast; he didn't know what to do. It was like a dream, one that he would have given a great deal to be able to wake up and for none of it to have happened. He wasn't supposed to be here; he was just a jail-guard. The killer had been caught, given trial as was right and proper, and that should have been the end of it.

He watched the men in the camp, and waited for the signal. He didn't like this, and he was beginning to wonder if he'd made a mistake in joining the Guards of Rohan in the first place. He didn't know if he could take a life, which he might have to do when things came down to that critical point.

[Himaran]

Dain's post

By the time the Forgoils had reached the outer edge of the encampment, the forest was wrapped in semi-darkness. Still, Fréa was able to see at least the broad outline of the camp in the grey mist of dusk and what the men inside were doing. Telling the rest of his group to stay put, Fréa cautiously made his way along the perimeter, lying flat on the ground and pulling his body slowly forward through the underbrush.

He did not particularly like what he saw. Brytta's men were wide awake and showed no eagerness to set down their weapons and relax over their dinner. Daggers and swords were still strapped about their waists, with bows and arrows set down near the center of camp within easy reach if an unexpected attack should come. However foolish Aldwulf had acted in his trip to Bree, Brytta was showing a great deal more caution and common sense in the way that he had organized the camp.

A sentry stood beyond the clearing patrolling along the outskirts. At one point, when the man strode forward and stared off into the forest, Fréa had to jump back and cower under a bush to avoid detection. He scowled, cursing his bad luck underneath his breath, and then crawled back towards the others as quickly as he dared.

Reaching the spot where Archim and Graitwa were waiting, he turned to them and shook his head, his voice no more than a whisper, "No luck! We shall have to hold off. At least till everyone sets down their weapons and relaxes over their evening meal. It's too risky to try and strike now."

Archim glowered back at him, "How long a wait?"

Fréa casually shrugged his shoulders, "However long it takes. I don't really know. I'll keep a keen eye on the camp and see what's happening. But, from what I can see, they plan to be here a while. They're apparently gathering some sort of building materials. I'd rather be cautious than end up with us losing our necks."

He turned back to look at his brothers to see what they would say.

~*~

Orofaniel's post

Even though it was very late, and the darkness had krept over both Forgoils and Brytta's camp, they were still awake. Brytta and co. made no signs, at all to take down their weapons, and leave their camp unguarded for a nice dinner at the fireplace. Graitwa laughed at the thought of Aldewulf, how the fool had acted in his trip to Bree. Brytta however, seemed to be much wiser, the camp was very well organized and he seemd to show much more caution. Graitwa was very much impressed by this, but he didn't say this to his brothers.

Graitwa had been standing looking at the camp, examing every inch of it. This would be difficult he knew that. To attack a camp that was fully guarded was on the edge to be...isane.

Graitwa returend to his brother Archim, the very same evening. They were both quiet and didn't say much, nothing of importance anyhow. The silence was broke when Frea turned up.

"No luck! We shall have to hold off. At least till everyone sets down their weapons and relaxes over their evening meal. It's too risky to try and strike now." He wisphered while he shook his head.
Archim didn't seem too pleased about this and growled back: "How long a wait?"

Frea obviously didn't know what to answer, or what to do, so he shrugged his shoulders. Then, moments later, he took a deep breath and continued: "However long it takes. I don't really know. I'll keep a keen eye on the camp and see what's happening. But, from what I can see, they plan to be here a while. They're apparently gathering some sort of building materials. I'd rather be cautious than end up with us losing our necks." Graitwa stared at Frea, and Frea noticed this so he turned his head to hear Graitwa's point of weiw.

"I think it's a good idea." Graitwa said shorthly. "We have to wait, or we'll blow our chances. It's no point going to the camp now. They are well armed, and to tell you the truth; we will not have the slightes chance to get what we want and to get out alive." Graitwa continued. "I've been watching the camp very closely this evening." He added. "I've been examing every inch of it." He said at the end.

Graitwa looked over at his two bothers. He glanced over at Frea and his eyes met Frea's. Then Graitwa turened his eyes over to Archim. Archim seemed to be in his own thoughts so Graitwa clapped him on the shoulder. "I suggest we hide in the bushes near the camp too keep an eye on them." He said to get Archim's attention. Graitwa sucseeded to get Archim’s attention, because Archim was now looking at him with great eyes.

Archim was about to say something when Graitwa interrupted. "As I said, we need to keep an eye on the at all times. So that we can be ready when they are not!" He said in a stern voice. Then he laughed of his own comment.

"You want us to wait???" Archim said to Graitwa's amazement. Hadn't his brother listened to anything he had said?

~*~

Pio's post

‘No luck. We shall have to hold off . . .’

Fréa’s words of caution grated on Archim. He had reached the end of whatever small store of patience he had and wanted to act . . . be done with this problem . . . return to the Mark . . . And now here was his brother urging them to wait for the opportune moment.

Nothing about this misguided venture was given to opportunity. It had begun with a series of ill thought acts, the burden of which chafed Archim. And in his mind it should be ended quickly. They had them in their fist it seemed, the element of surprise would be on their side. Why not hit them now and be done with it. The more he thought on it, the more he thought this a better plan of action.

‘I think it's a good idea." Graitwa said shortly, forcing him out of his dark reverie. ‘We have to wait, or we'll blow our chances. It's no point going to the camp now. They are well armed, and to tell you the truth; we will not have the slightest chance to get what we want and to get out alive.’

As evenly as he could, Archim spoke his objections. He knew they would not be listened to. And that, in fact they would probably be dismissed as the harebrained reasoning of their younger brother once again. He bit his tongue as the response he knew would come, did indeed fall from their lips.

[ September 16, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Pio's post

His brothers and Hama were huddled together, hidden well within the shadows of the surrounding trees and rocks. Fréa had hunkered down, his back against a rocky outcropping, chewing on a piece of jerky. The slow, deliberate rhythm of his chewing irked Archim. Fréa, for all intents and purposes, looked like a man prepared to wait until doom’s day before he saw an ‘opportune moment’.

Archim sat apart from them, his own meager, cold meal hastily downed. Thoughts of the five men in the other camp rolled about in his head . . . thoughts of Brytta . . . his smug little, self-assured self going about the business of making a safe place for him and his brother. Just like him, he thought, to be so efficient . . . so overweeningly confident . . . to think that they would be safe now . . .

His thoughts spiraled further down dark and twisted paths. Brytta, he imagined, was somehow snubbing his nose at them even now. Thinking once again how stupid and incompetent the Forgoil’s were for even daring to think they could pin the murder on his darling brother, Heldór. And yes, he was sure the Hyldeson’s knew exactly who had done the deed.

Fréa and Graitwa were talking low, heads together. Hama was nowhere to be seen. Probably sent off by Fréa to scout the Hyldeson camp once again. Archim picked up a sharp stick from the ground beside him and jabbed it viciously into the dirt.

‘There are five of them, and four of us,’ he thought to himself. ‘perhaps that is the reason Fréa is holding back.’ The hint of a crooked smile crept on his lips. He stood, and drew his dark cloak around him. Fréa called out to him, and Archim waved him off, saying softly he was just stepping away for a moment to answer a call of nature.

He patted the knives hid beneath his cloak and strode off, deeper into the cover of the trees. The sun was westering, twilight was darkening toward night. Circling round, out of sight of his brothers, he approached the Hyldeson camp.

Perhaps, he thought, continuing down his path of paranoia and illogic . . . if he could pick one of them off . . . even the odds, so to speak . . . then, Fréa would be prompted into action.

He drew up on the top of a small rocky outcropping that stood above their camp. ‘The sentry,’ he thought, ‘he should be alone. If I can take him down, we can go in.’ Flattening himself against the level top of one of the taller rocks, he waited.

It wasn't long before he spied a figure walking the perimeter of the camp. 'Better and better!' he grinned in the failing light. It was Brytta . . .

[ September 16, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Dain's post

Frea's eyes were rivetted on Brytta's encampment as he intently watched every move that the men made. Once more, he crept up closer to the clearing, being careful to keep his body hidden under the low lying bracken and overhanging bushes.

He watched with intent interest as Brytta's men finally settled down for the evening. One by one, they began unbuckling the swordbelts from about their waists, setting the weapons down on the ground and drawing closer to each other as they engaged in spirited conversation. A thick stew was bubbling in a large pot that hung over the central fire. The woman went forward to dole it out as laughter and joking rose from the circle and one of the men drew out some pipes and began to play. Finally, the sentry who'd been patrolling on the edge of the camp came forward to share in a bit of the supper and companionship.

Fréa's eyes alit with glee. Now! Now was the time to strike! He raced backed to his own companions, heedless of the noise that he was making as he clambered through the underbrush.

"Up, now. Their minds are elsewhere. Quickly men! Forward. This is our chance."

Fréa pivotted around to face the group, taking in the forms of Graitwa and Hama. His older brother and Hama sprang up instantly and began roaring towards the clearing with swords and daggers drawn. But, before they could strike, one last question rose in Fréa's mind. Where in the blazes was Archim? Where was his brother? Although rapidly surveying the encampment, Fréa could still see no sign of Archim.

Powerless to call back his own men or to stop time from advancing, Fréa did the only thing he could do under the circumstances, snatching out his own blade and running to catch up with the others. The lust for battle swept over him, and he was instantly overcome with only one thought: the desire to strike as hard and fast as he possibly could.

[ September 16, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

Pio's post

Archim's eye was on Brytta as he drew back his right arm. He could almost hear the thunk of the blade as it embedded itself in the man’s neck, see the thin seep of blood that preceded the pulsing torrent that would take his life.

The taste of victory was fleeting. Damn Brytta and his luck! Two others of the fugitive group had come up to him, engaging him in some talk. If they would but stand back a little, though, he would still have a clear shot at his quarry . . .

_____________________________________________

Tinuviel's Post

Stop being such a fool! Hama ordered himself. He pulled out his sword, ready to do his duty, for Rohan and for the King—even if his conscience cried out against it. It didn’t matter, it didn’t. Whether or not Heldór was the killer, he was a fugitive from Rohan and a lawbreaker. His brother and all of their companions were just as bad. They all deserved prison, at the least.

He watched for Fréa’s upraised hand, tensely waiting for the signal to charge. He kept telling himself that this was for Rohan, this was for the King, this was for Rohan, this was for the King…his eyes were starting to strain and his vision was growing blurry. He wasn’t crying, understand; there must have been something in his eye. His eyes didn’t blur enough for him to miss Fréa’s signal though.

Sword held high, he rushed down into the camp, screaming the war cry of the Rohirrim. Heads flew up, and he almost thought he detected relief that the running was finally over on a few of the faces. He charged straight for Brytta, though there were several fugitives between the two of them. The look on Brytta’s face wasn’t that of a man about to die, he thought. It was more an expression of betrayal than of fear. Betrayal of what?

He was too engrossed in forcing himself to take the last steps towards the cripple to pay attention to what was going on around him. Now the fugitive will pay...
_____________________________________________

Pio's post

There! The little group parted, Brytta stood alone as the others turned from him. Archim stood quickly, hurling the dagger with deadly accuracy . . .

[ September 16, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]