ROHAN RPG

[GreatWarg]

Khelek panted slightly, licking a wound to his right flank. The trail was confused, and the heat of the fire and reek of the smoke burned in his eyes and his nose. What was the use of going to Lorien now? But either the trail he was following was wrong, or his senses were telling him that Thenamir was no longer with them.

"My only hope is that the Elf is close enough to hear me..." he thought grimly to himself. "Master Elf!"

[Rimbaud]

Guthrin stumbled again, his shoulder connecting with a charred elm; agony stabbed through his arm, cramped from its awkward position around his unwieldy bundle. A miasma of pain accompanied him on his weaving voyage; somewhere in his mind he was aware that he was not thinking with any rationality. Some grim humour within him laughed that he had at least not lost his bearings, never having been in possession of them…

Voices jolted him from his self-absorption. He stopped moving on impulse and tried to quell the noise of his ragged breathing. He was unsuccessful in his attempt, for the voices ceased their low converse, and the forest went still around him. He began to shake in fear and retreated until his back was against a tree. He half placed, half dropped his bundle of armour and sodden clothing to the ground and drew his discoloured blade from the sheath, although it did not come smoothly and a dull shriek emanated, quite distinctly.

A low sob came unbidden from his throat as he saw two dark shapes moving steadily towards him through the smoke-riddled trees. He could discern not whether he faced friend or foe.

[ September 09, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Rimbaud]

Elwood had not fled as haphazardly as the others. He had moved from the conflict under cover and had seen the Dunlending commander assume swift control of his milling troops once the Riders and their comrades had melted away. He alone of the party had heard the barked instructions of that bearded commander. He had seen Guthrin a distance off, still surrounded by the enemy, who appeared more organised around the crazed man. He shook his head and grimly resigned his mind to Guthrin's fate.

The tall Elf had also ascertained the directions that that the party had scattered in - all but Thenamir, who had eluded his sight. He had wondered which to follow and eventually decided to keep an eye on the boy Kaloheren whose path had been seen by several of the Dunlendings.

He hastened through the damaged undergrowth after the horse and his boy.

[Dwarin Thunderhammer]

The small party found the stream up ahead and watered their horses. Dwarin took off his mail shirt and his boots and plunged his head into the stream. The water washed the ash and dust from his eyes. He took a long drink directly from the stream. The water was refreshingly cool compared to everything else in the wasteland. Looking around he noticed the horses drinking eagerly from the stream. He sat on the bank and reflected on recent events. The attack at Aspida's house seemed like years ago. He remembered holding her frail body as she died. His rage against Storworlos and his band rekindled. The dwarf reminded himself that now was not the time for anger but time for rest, he would have his revenge later. Remembering Aspida also reminded Dwarin of the girl he had sworn himself to protect. He looked up to see her washing her face in the stream. Satisfied and refreshed Haleth started to sit up but she caught her own reflection in the stream. She stared at herself in the rippling water. Dwarin too looked at the reflection. In the water he did not see a warrior or a bitter young lady. Instead he saw a face that was covered in sorrow and pain yet was strangely beautiful. It reminded him, beneath the anguish and anger that she bore there was a woman that needed friendship and comfort as much as anyone. Haleth splashed her reflection and raised her head. She caught Dwarin staring "Do you need something?" she asked. "Err. No. Nothing I'm sorry." The dwarf replied. "I sent Kalohern and Arenia to go see if they could find some food." Haleth continued. "Good, as soon as they get back I think we should find the others." Dwarin said half to himself.

Kalohern and Arenia returned empty handed. Shortly thereafter they discussed their next plan of action. They decided to backtrack a little and see if they could find some sign of their party.

After a few hours of riding they spied a fallen body through the trees. They recognized a wounded and tired Guthrin. "Guthrin! It's us!" Kalohern shouted!" But Guthrin did not make any friendly move and instead drew his sword. "Friend! Guthrin! Please! It is us! Do not be alarmed."

[Rimbaud]

They wrested his sword from his nerveless grasp without injury. Dwarin had no knowledge of what ailed the man, but helped him to put on his mail and sighed as he saw the state of the sword. There would be lessons ahead for the cowardly Rider, he could tell.

Dwarin cajoled and pushed them into order and they slowly made their way northward as best they could. The horses could not carry two for much longer, so Dwarin instructed Haleth and Kalohern to remain horsed and walked alongside, next to the dazed Guthrin, who appeared to be talking to himself under his breath. The horses seemed uncomfortable and uneasy and it took all of Haleth's horsemanship to keep them calm. Kalohern rode easly, belying the tension in his mount and what must have been great tiredness.

Dwarin longed to find Thenamir and Taradan and others of their party.

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

Elwood remained behind the party for now, seeing that the Dwarf had them moving aright, and that his presence might throw off the good leadership being displayed. He studied the trouble Guthrin most intently. The man did not seem capable of fleeing but Elwood did not know how best to deal with him.

He was amazed, nay, stunned at Guthrin's survival. How had he fought like that? A man possessed... The odds had seemed insurmountable, but from the brief glimpses he had seen through the fiery chaos last night, Guthrin had been unstoppable and untouchable.

Well, he mused, not entirely untouched...Guthrin walked tentatively, and the Elf saw the pain cloud on his face with each uneven footstep. Elwood's brow furrowed. Guthrin had always moved smoothly, even at the height of his cowardice. Elwood sensed great pain - yet Guthrin had never appeared the stoic sort. The mystery deepened for Elwood. The man needed a rude awakening, he decided. Perhaps that ill-tongued Dwarf could be of use in this matter...

***************
The day lengthened and no sight of friends did Elwood or the party he trailed make; enemies they saw and avoided on three occasions. Once, two Dunlendings, disoriented from the night's walk came across them, but Kalohern brazenly trampled down the first one with a showy charge of his mount, and Dwarin, in a more subdued manner, removed the other.

Elwood knew not of Leoden and Gurthden's whereabouts, nor those of Thenamir and Taradan. From his eavesdropping last night he had some idea where the new Dunlendings commander was leading his men...

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

Guthrin walked blindly, trusting in his hand upon the bridle of Haleth's mount Mim. His sword was strapped across Dwarin's back, a few paces ahead of him, but he seemed not to notice.

The noonday sun trickled between the thick branches of the forest...a forest become green again as they departed the last night's battlefields. The forest floor was thickly carpeted with moss and shrubbery and Dwarin the Dwarf guided them carefully, afraid of attracting unwanted attention.

[ September 13, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Thenamir]

"Volkmar," Thenamir began, "the tale of the last few weeks would take a week to tell." Thenamir chewed for awhile on a bite of stale bread as if it were a feast, even if it could be made palatable only with copious amounts of water from the stream. Volkmar's story had enough of a ring of truth to it that Thenamir decided on a bold gambit.

Swallowing his last bite he declared, "My name is Thenamir, and though I claim to be of Rohan, I was born in Gondor, to a soldier of the Tower of Guard. I and my companions from Rohan were tracking a rogue band of men from Dunland who have been responsible for many innocent deaths..." Thenamir winced perceptibly as the memory of his dead wife resurfaced as it did so often. He cleared his throat before going on, "Yet I believe that their treachery runs far deeper than mere pillage and plunder. They are seeking something, apparantly an item of great worth, which they hope to find in the ruins of an ancient elvish city to our north."

Thenamir paused before going on. Volkmar raised an eyebrow and pointed out, "There's something you've left unsaid, friend."

There was a long pause. "I suspect that the Wizard of Orthanc is in league with these men, and that this item is for the wizard's use...to ill purpose," Thenamir said finally.

[ September 09, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

[Ransom]

Volkmar shifted uneasily. Gandalf the Grey he knew about, for Gandalf often traveled to the Shire. Gandalf was friendly and honest, and most of the Rangers trusted him completely. Of Sauruman, he had heard little. Perhaps these wizards were just like men? Plotting to gain riches and power? If so, it was truly dark news.

“Well, Thenamir, it appears that you bear ill news. Long have we feared that the south would become entangled in war, for we do not have the men to guard against foes on all sides. May I enquire how you have come to that conclusion?

[Thenamir]

"One of the band we are pursing changed sides when we captured him," Thenamir returned, "he was pressed into service against his will, and didn't like being used as bait for their enemies. He was seen conferring with the emissaries of the Wizard, and knows that his troop has been to Isengard several times to receive orders."

Thenamir paused, and his eyes grew bright, but his face worked with intense bitterness before he went on, "I recognized their leader from a skirmish some months ago...they killed the whole village without mercy...my wife...my child..." Thenamir broke off and looked away, a single tear escaping his eye and sliding down his cheek. Composing himself slightly, Thenamir continued, "that leader, Borleg, was not with the band we fought last night. Where he is now is unclear but I vowed back then to find him and slay him to avenge my dead wife and her village. And if Saruman ordered that attack," here Thenamir's face grew hard as mithril-plate, "woe to him."

(ooc: refer to page 1 of the Rohan Discussion thread for Thenamir's back story.)

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Taradan’s legs moved automatically, running, stumbling, running, faltering, and running again. How long had he been trying to escape the heat and the crackling of the destructive fire behind him? How had he come to be separated from his comrades by the wall of flames? His head ached with the pounding of his blood and the pain of his wound. He could only vaguely remember fighting, enemies between him and the others, retreating, and then the fire, more powerful and murderous than his human foes. Would this burning forest never come to an end? He could feel his weariness overcome him, yet dread of burning alive filled his mind and kept his weakened body moving with the last strength of his will.

Suddenly realizing that his legs were cold despite the heat of the flames, he looked down with blurred eyes. He was running in water, a stream that widened ahead of him. His mind had not grasped the rescue, but his instinct led him into the middle. He lost his footing on the wet stones, stumbled and fell. The water was deeper than he would have expected, had he been able to think clearly. His weakness and the burden of arms and heavy clothing pulled him downwards. Arms flailing, he sought to find a hold, to grasp something that would save him.

[Ransom]

Volkmar listened closely to Thenamir. If Dunedling turncoat was correct, the southlands and even Gondor would be in immense danger. Yet, falsely accusing someone of treason, especially a wizard, would be a disaster. And if this wizard did retrieve whatever he was looking for in the ruins? What then?

The change of tone in Thenamir’s voice surprised Volkmar. More than once he had heard that tone, and more than once had he used it himself. Volkmar quickly came to the conclusion that this man was truly who he claimed to be. A plan slowly formed in his mind.

“Well, Thenamir of Rohan, I believe that you are an extremely honorable man. I thank you for the information you have given me, and I have a proposition of sorts. I will assume that the ‘we’ you spoke of earlier was a group of Riders. I also gather that they were scattered in pitch battle. In the confusion, I believe you were separated from your comrades.”

“I will help you locate your friends, under the simple request that I be allowed to travel with you to the city you speak of. I do not know the location of it, but if it is far enough north I may be able to summon help from my brothers.”

Volkmar leaned forward slightly, staring into Thenimir’s eyes. “The gauntlet is at your feet. Will you accept the offer? Or would you like to discuss it further?”

[ September 10, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[ September 11, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Thenamir]

Thenamir pondered the stranger's offer silently for a moment, then decided to do so out loud. Volkmar was a decent and honorable man, and deserved to know what he faced.

"Volkmar," he began, "since we left Rohan our tale has been one of surprise battle, unforeseen destruction, blood and death. I know that you would not shy away from such things, battle-hardened as I perceive you to be. Yet if I am correct, we are not facing mere flesh and swords. Saruman is the head of the White Council and the most powerful of the wizards in Middle Earth. If he has indeed fallen into villany, opposing him may mean the death of us all."

Thenamir continued, "I think that you, like me, would rather fall fighting evil than allow it to continue, but I would not have you walk blind into peril. If you would aid us, I would be glad of your help and that of your comrades. But now that you know more fully the danger, the choice is now yours and not mine."

[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

[Ransom]

“It is the mark of a true soldier to be cautious of his enemy, for one can never know the full extent of their adversaries. I believe your are correct in your assessment of the power of Saruman. My bretherin would not shirk from their duty, even if it is opposing an Istari. For me, death in doing my duty would be an honor.”

Volkmar smiled and, after clenching his right hand into a fist, placed it with a soft clank over his heart. “I will aid you wherever you go and however you need, Thenamir.”

[Estelyn Telcontar]

The flickering fire threw its reddish light on the faces of two men sitting beside it and showed concern in their eyes. “Will he live?” asked the brown-haired one of his companion.

“I know not what strength is left in him,” the other answered, gazing at the prostrate body lying opposite them. “He has been severely wounded and should have been resting, not fleeing.”

“He is burning with fever,” said the first. “Should we not take away the blankets to cool him?”

“Nay, Andros,” replied the taller of the two, “the fever will take its course and heal him, if that be possible. We will keep watch through the night; by daylight I will search for fresher healing plants than those I have in my pack.”

“Do you rest now; I will take the first watch.” Andros, apparently younger than the other and with a deferential bearing that showed respect for his companion, moved to sit next to the wounded man. With a nod and a faint smile that softened his rugged features, the other laid down and fell into exhausted sleep at once.

Several hours later he awoke. “How does he?” he enquired of the watcher.

“He grows more restless,” whispered Andros, “and more heated too, I deem.” He added wood to the dwindling fire before exchanging places with the older one and falling instantly into sleep. When he awoke, the grey light of early morning had dawned. His companion was nowhere to be seen; the wounded stranger tossed about and murmured unintelligibly in his fevered dreams.

With scarcely a rustle to betray his movement, his comrade stood beside him. “His condition has grown worse,” he said gravely. Worn lines of care were visible in his face.

“He looks so very like –“ Andros began. “Yes,” the other answered, “yet I hope to save him from the fate our kinsman suffered.”

“Had I not known that he had gone from us, I would have thought –“ “I thought the same.” Both turned to look westwards for a moment, eyes seeing inward, recalling a memory.

With a light shake, the leader stirred to open the pouch fastened to his belt and take some leaves from it. “Athelas?” Andros enquired.

“Yes, praised be Yavanna, it is well that it grows in many places, since it is so often sorely needed.” He tore two leaves into pieces, strewing them into the heated water in the kettle over the fire. A pungent, clear scent filled the air, which had been acrid with trailing wisps of smoke.

“I wonder whether this wounded soldier has something to do with the riderless horse that came to us?” Andros mused.

“He spoke much in his sleep,” answered his comrade, “saying the names of companions, most of all the name of ‘Thenamir’. I ask you to go seek for them while I tend him; perhaps they have survived battle and are looking for him. Be cautious; though he has not the appearance of an enemy to me, his gear is strange – Dwarven armour, Rohirrim clothing, and a Gondorian dagger. Let us attempt to solve this riddle in hopes that he will end this day yet alive.”

---------------------------


Thenamir’s alert eyes noted the slight movement of Volkmar’s head. “Wait here – I shall return shortly!” the ranger spoke, disappearing among the trees. Running swiftly and noiselessly, he soon reached the source of the signal he had heard. He grasped Andros’ shoulders in greeting, whispering, “What has brought you here? I knew not that any of our company were near!”

In low tones, Andros told him of the riderless horse that had alarmed the Ranger camp and of the wounded man they had found, before asking him about the man to whom he was speaking. Upon hearing the name ‘Thenamir’ his eyes lighted and he listened attentively to Volkmar’s story.

“Tell him his wounded comrade lives, but fares not well enough to rejoin the group. I shall follow with him if I can. May we meet again soon!” As quietly as he had come, he disappeared.

[Dwarin Thunderhammer]

Dwarin led the small party through the forest. The horses were visibly tired even more so were the people that he guided. Night was falling quickly. The party walked in silence for several miles. Arenia had fallen asleep hanging in to Kalohern who guided Telefax expertly enough that the girl didn't awake. Dwarin noticed that even Haleth was periodically nodding off on top of Mîm. Even though Mim didn't give as smooth as ride as Telefax. Guthrin was the worst off of the lot. He stumbled every few feet on a rock or a root. Dwarin was most likely the best off of the group. He still had his wits and strength about him. Dwarves did not tire easily, Dwarin least of all. He had been underground in his young days for weeks on end. Even if he wanted to go on he knew the rest of the party could not.

Dwarin walked over to Haleth "I think it is time we stopped for night." the dwarf stated. "I agree. Much has happened this day." Haleth replied. "I feel as though we are being watched." She continued. Haleth pointed at a large oak tree which stood out among the other trees in the wood "There, lets make for that tree. Hopefully it will give us a little shelter." "Fair enough" The dwarf agreed.

A little less than a mile later they came under the shelter of the magnificent oak. The night had fallen by now and the moon left a soft glow on the trees and ground. The ground around the oak was covered in a soft yet very thick grass. On the eastern and southern sides were enclosed in a thicket of berry bushes. It would have been a very painful and noisy process to approach the party from those directions. A small stream rolled through the clearing next to the tree. It was a paradise compared to the accommodations they had been accustomed to. Even if it were considered a rather normal glade under different circumstances.

Dwarin led Guthrin to the base of the oak and bade him sleep there. Dwarin decided to keep the sword just in case. The dwarf had misgivings about the man. Some would even call it anger, but something about the demeanor of the man had changed. The blood on the sword was surprising to Dwarin. Had he changed? Had he fought? Those questions would have to wait for morning. The task at hand was preparing for the night. Haleth had gone out to make sure the camp was secure from anyone watching. Kalohern deftly dismounted Telefax and gently picked up Arenia who was still sleeping. The boy carried her over to the oak and softly laid her on a particularly downy spot in the grass. There was no need to tie the horses. Mîm was not the wandering type and Telefax wouldn't leave his masters side. Haleth returned and reported that all was safe. "You sleep now, I will take the first watch." Dwarin whispered. Haleth wearily agreed and sat on the opposite side of the glade and laid down to sleep. By this time all was quiet. Kalohern was laid down to sleep on the grass.

The moonlight left a pale glow on everything. It was almost magical to the dwarf. Dwarin felt at peace. His heart was strangely light. Everything was beautiful. He removed his boots and helmet for what felt like the first time in years. He walked in the grass in bare feet. He realized how much he missed his days of youth in the mountains. Slowly he made his way over to Haleth. The grass felt cool and comforting to his tired feet. The night breeze whisked across the glade. Haleth was soundly asleep. The corners of Dwarins mouth formed a small smile. He uttered a dwarven blessing rarely issued on men. Dwarin turned with a sigh and his smile grew broader. He had hope now. They had gotten through another day. Aule had blessed. He strolled over to the creek and plunged his head in. The water cleared his brain and cleansed his soul. All was silent, the glade was at rest. Dwarin stepped into the water and let the water rush over his tired feet. He stood there admiring the beauty of the night. Singing a nightime song that his father had taught him he walked back to the great oak. He reluctantly donned his boots and helmet and sat down to keep watch. Dwarin enjoyed his watch for several hours. He finally decided that a little sleep would do him good. He woke Haleth and quietly whispered that her turn to watch was next. She sat up and silently acknowledged with a nod. Dwarin took a bed next to the oak. The solid old tree felt secure, it gave safety or so Dwarin felt. It reminded the old dwarf of the mountains back home. Dwarin fell asleep still singing and dreamt of large feasts filled with all kinds of good foods and of mountains overflowing with gold.

[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

[Rimbaud]

Guthrin woke suddenly. His dreams had been awash with images, savage and terrible, of import he could not imagine. Sweat was beaded on his face and his limbs were shaking. His right arm was still stiff and unwieldy, crossed against his chest. His tunic was soaked and he rose to move away from the others, sleeping under the cold blue stars. Dwarin had stopped them an hour or more after nightfall, seemingly reluctant to cease moving, but aware that fatigue threatened to cripple his companions and their mounts. Guthrin looked at the sleeping Dwarf, one hand on the worn, smooth haft of his axe. Across the other side of the small and temporary encampment, Baronthol lifted his hand in acknowledgement but said nothing and continued the watch. A man with secrets, Guthrin thought.

His mind began to race in the chill night air. His left hand groped for the star shaped stone that hung on a leather cord around his neck. He gripped it in his fist, the smooth edges pressing into his tender skin. Hands that once had been smooth and well-tended now carried scars and callouses from days of riding and rough-sleeping and that night…

He shuddered and sat, his back pressed to a thick and unyielding tree, gazing out away from the others, into the black of the forest. Tethered not far from him, Mim opened an indolent eye and whickered softly at him. Guthrin smiled wanly at the thickset horse and turned his attention back to the immalleable dark around them. He looked down at himself. The small paunch he had carried in more luxuriant days, caused by his choice of the finest cuts of meat and the thickest ales had dissipated, and his tunic fitted poorly around his waist. His legs were scarred and bruised and his boots, standing five paces behind him, he knew were worn but would keep.

He could not believe the change in his life. I used to order people like this around… but the thought did not carry the pride, which it once would have, and he reflected again on what a fool he had been for much of his time. Observing the Riders of Rohan and the tall Gondorian Thenamir had been something of a revelation for him; their poise and manners, taking command of situations when they demanded it. Unafraid of action, yet not blind pugilists, they sought solutions with reason. The beatings he and his friends had given to others at his homestead filled him with shame and a great bitterness grew in him. He saw that his father was not the great man he had thought him. So long he had feared the rotund yet embittered merchant, a man who had become a high ranking Captain of the Mark through less than bravery, he saw now. He saw that compared to his new companions, his father was weak-willed and foolishly arrogant. He sank his head into his hands. The air felt chill upon his clammy skin and he shivered, wrapping his arms around his legs, huddled beneath the trees.

His thoughts returned to his dreams. A tall bearded figure, dressed in ethereal white stood before him and some shadowy mass he could not make out but must reach… the myriad enemies clung to him, yet they seemed like flies. His size was disproportionate, he strode through an army of orcs, yet their swords were as pinpricks yet within him a pain grew and grew, his chest aflame…

He woke again, gasping for breath, his throat rasping. He could feel Baronthol’s eyes on his back, yet he ignored them. There was a sharp pain on his breast and he unlaced the top of his tunic and pulled it apart. He stopped breathing; scarred on to his chest, the shape of his white star-shaped stone was visible, red and painful, illuminated only by the dim light of the moon through the treetops.

A dread clarity descended upon Guthrin in those moments and his rebirth was complete. His jaw hardened and he turned back to meet Baronthol’s gaze firmly. A quizzical look came into the Rider’s eyes but they dropped from Guthrin’s stare after bare seconds. Guthrin remembered, as he did so often, Flandhere’s last stand and his lesson of true courage. He moved soundlessly to where Dwarin slept, and although the grizzled Dwarf’s breathing pattern altered, he did not move, as Guthrin took his sword and returned to his seated position. With great care he eased the stained blade from the scabbard and began the laborious task of cleaning, with oily rag and a stone, sharpened for such a purpose, that Kalohern had beside him as he slept.

Far above his head, two ravens, unnaturally alert for such an hour, observed the party with glittering eyes…

[ September 13, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Thenamir]

Thenamir was puzzled by the sudden disappearance of Volkmar. For a moment he was unsure if he had made the right decision, and the seconds stretched long and nervous before Volkmar returned with an unrestrained smile. "We must move from here," Volkmar said, "but I think you will be pleased indeed with where I will lead you."

[GreatWarg]

The draug cocked his ears, poised, listening to the night-speech of plant and stone. The Stars of Elbereth, Heaven's Jewels, were bright in the dark sky. A young, pale moon had reached the pinnacle, and would soon begin its course downwards. A breeze, heavily laden with the scent of night flowers and lush grass, ruffled the leaves of the nearby trees. And where was this journey taking him? A futile attempt to find ones that were missing? He could perhaps find them, for wolves do not tire easily, and only an Elf would be able out distance the Warg. Still, he waited, clear eyes gleaming in the night.

[Rimbaud]

Elwood sighed softly to himself and quelled the sharp feeling of loss. He longed for the woods of his homeland, not this oppressive and forbidding gloom. The smell of smoke lingered still, even here leagues from the travesty that had separated them all.

He sensed the Warg waiting patiently some distance off. In all of his years he had not come across a creature so strange, so naive yet so terrible. He rose and moved towards where the hulking black shape lurked.

My friend we...I... have need of your eyes and ears tonight...

[ September 13, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Dwarin Thunderhammer]

Kalohern sat with Dernwine around a campfire. They were talking and enjoying a meal as only a father and son could. They talked for hours and hours as the fire grew only to embers. Kalohern told his father about all that had transpired. About his great deeds and his courage. Dernwine's eyes burned with the pride that was unique to a father. Kalohern's heart swelled at the approval of his father. He was so glad to be back. Kalohern threw another log on the fire. Dernwine embraced his son and Kalohern heard the words he longed to hear for so long. "I love you son." Dernwines embrace started shaking the boy. Everything faded to black.

Kalohern awoke to Baranthol gently shaking him awake. It was only a dream. Sadness flooded over the boy. "I love you son" still rang in his ears. Baranthol informed the boy that it was his turn to watch. Kalohern sat up in the soft grass. The grass left a sweet soft scent as he rose. He longed for that dream again. He wanted his father badly. His heart ached for home, if only his father was there! Kalohern felt a soft nudge on the back of his neck. He turned and looked deep into the eyes of Telefax. The horse gave Kalohern comfort beyond words. The boy flung his neck around Telefax and wept softly into his mane. Minutes later the boy raised his head and wiped his eyes. It was his duty to watch. He would make his father proud! He would become the greatest Rider Rohan had ever known! His father would look and point at the young man at the head of the procession and declare "That is my boy! My son! A mighty man among men he is!" Kalohern would smile and wave to his father whose eyes would beam with pride. Kalohern would lead men into battle and score victories beyond belief. He would kneel at the foot of king Theoden and receive great honor. The King would say. "This is the great Kalohern, son of Dernwine!, a mighty man in Rohan!" All the time his father looking on with joy known to any other.

The vision faded and Kaloherns thoughts turned to the present. He was now charged with a task. He was to stand watch over his sleeping comrades. "A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step" He said softly to himself. There was dew on the grass. Dawin was coming. He looked down at the face of Arenia sleeping just a few feet away. Her face was beautiful to the boy. He wondered what her story was. He wished she had not been swept up in this affair like he had. "This is no place for her." He thought. She should be at home, carefree, not out here beset by evil. Kalohern sighed. How would this adventure end? What was at the end of the long and bitter road they traveled. Whatever the case Kalohern knew would meet it with courage.

The light was growing, the dew was sweet upon the grass. Kalohern realized that dawn was coming. Birds began chirping in the oak above him. He looked up and saw light streaming over the top of the trees. Everything was glowing in the light of a new day. The light merrily spilled over the tops of the trees like a waterfall. Everthing was flooded with the pale light of morning. Kalohern realized that despite all the troubles besetting him that a new day had dawned. The sun still rose in the morning. All was new again. This gave Kalohern comfort and hope. The light seemed to tell the boy that all would be well again one day.

[ September 13, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

[Ransom]

“What happened? Where do you intend to lead us?”

Thenamir gazed in quite a bit of confusion as Volkmar stowed away their meal and loaded the horse. Volkmar stuffed the half-folded tablecloth in a saddle bag and, still working, answered in a voice not unlike a child the night before a holiday.

“It appears that a band of my bretherin are encamped to the north. One of your comrade’s wounded steeds alarmed them when it stumbled into camp. Two of the fastest men came to investigate, and rescued one of your wounded friends. He is burning with fever and babbling, and his healing will take many days. For now, I deem that the best way to aid your friend is to keep our enemies away from them.”

By now, Volkmar had lashed the calvary spear onto the horse. He was untieing the horse when the screaming of ravens filled the woods. Both men gazed at the approaching flock for a moment before seeking cover.

The ravens soon disappeared, and Volkmar slowly crawled to Thenamir, ignoring the rather confused look his horse was giving him. “I fear that we have been found by fell powers, for those birds do not belong here. Let us attempt to track the rest of your group and continue. Your friend will catch up when he is ready. To delay would contribute to his death. We must move and move quickly.”

[ September 13, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Dwarin Thunderhammer]

Dwarin sat up groggily. His dreams had been pleasant. The images of roaring fireplaces and hot food lingered in his mind. He stood up and what he saw pleased his heart greatly. Rain was falling. Rain! The dwarf was ecstatic. Now many dwarves loved what some called ill weather. They loved the rain and the snow and such. But very few loved the rain as much as Dwarin. The scent of rain was unmistakable. As a young dwarf he would play all day in the rain on the mossy rocks of the iron mountains. He would run through the puddles in his bare feet. He would sit in a cave watching the rain fall and sing himself a little song. To Dwarin rain was a blessing of the highest order from Aule.

The mighty oak gave shelter to those still slept. The field of grass glittered. There were flowers strewn about the field which Dwarin had not noticed the night before. Surveying the scene he noticed Kalohern standing in the middle of the field soaking up the rain face lifted up to the sky. Dwarin once again took off his boots and strolled across the field to Kalohern. "How are you this fine morning my young lad?" Dwarin inquired. A thoroughly soaked Kalohern turned on the Dwarf beaming. "I am no lad Master Dwarf. I am the mightiest rider in Rohan! I led the soldiers that defeated Mordor! I am the man that threw down the stones of Orthanc with his bare hands. I am the savior of my country!" Kalohern replied playfully picking up a stick and parrying a percived blow from an unseen enemy. Dwarin chuckled "Oh, are you really? Then I am not worthy to stand in your presence!" Dwarin bowed playing along. "Nay, stand Dwarin Thunderhammer! For you have been my companion on my first great exploit. You and I stood before the prince and recived our honors for saving Rohan from great peril. You are a great Dwarf!" Kalohern said. "I seem to have forgotten that part." Dwarin said. Kalohern still fought invisible enemies. Dwarin marveled at the boy. It seemed to the dwarf that the boy had an unbreakable spirit and undaunted courage. Something Dwarin admired greatly. "Well boy I am off I must go see what I can gather in terms of food." Dwarin stated. "Wait! I have already taken care of that." Kalohern said as he handed Dwarin a small canvas sack. "The berries here are wonderfull, I've already had my fill. Also, Elwood was here just moments ago." "Elwood?!" Dwarin started. "Yes, he said he and that wolf were off to find Thenamir and bring him here. He asked us to stay put." Even though the Dwarf did not much like the Elf. The plan seemed good. "I was planning on staying anyways." Which was partially true. "Good, another thing, he told me to tell you to talk to Guthrin. Elwood said his actions were valiant. This part most puzzles me, I hate the man. He is nothing but an arrogant cowardly blowhard. I hate him. I don't believe Elwood. Nonetheless I deliver the message to you." Kalohern finished. Dwarin was taken aback by this statement. He liked Guthrin no more than the boy. He shared the same opinions about Guthrin with him.

Dwarin walked back to the oak munching on a berry thoughtfully. He was most puzzled at the message. He decided it would be a good idea to talk to Guthrin. He found Guthrin resting against the oak. "I hear you have a story to tell." the Dwarf as sat next to Guthrin.

[Rimbaud]

Guthrin started and looked up at Dwarin uncertainly, his left hand shielding his eyes from raindrops, although the thick boughs of the oak diverted most. He said nothing but gazed at the bearded warrior. He licked his lips nervously. Dwarin sighed and sat beside him, back against the thick damp trunk, gazing out into the forest. Guthrin shifted uncomfortably but did not leave.

“Guthrin…” began the Dwarf uncertainly, not sure of how to deal with this weak-willed and troubled individual. Guthrin did not turn his head towards Dwarin but a sneer curled back his upper lip. Some of his matted hair, wettened from the opulent raindrops, fell into his grey eyes and he swept it back with his left hand. His right arm was clutched across his chest, and Dwarin realised he had hardly used it since rejoining the party.

“You can have the sword back,” muttered the tall Rider, and unbuckled the scabbard from his wide leather belt. Before Dwarin could protest, Guthrin had laid it across the Dwarf’s knees and returned his attention to the deep greens of the woods.

Seeing an opening, the Dwarf pulled the blade from the sheath, expecting some resistance. The blade pulled smoothly and quickly and he sliced open the top of his thumb. Cursing quietly in his guttural tongue, he extracted the blade fully and gasped. Where there had been blackened stains, from dried blood and burnt on filth from the fire and a night in the open, the blade now shone, a dull silver. The edge was clear and sharp. The bindings on the handle were loose, however, and without a word, Dwarin pulled out a length of twine and set to correcting the grip. Guthrin paid him no heed.

The rain fell steadily as Dwarin worked and behind him he heard the others rising and talking. None approached him however, and for this he was grateful. An hour or more passed and slowly sunlight cut through the branches and broke into multifarious hues as it intersected the thick droplets of rain. When he had finished, he sighed and re-sheathed the blade. He handed the scabbarded sword back to Guthrin; the Rider did not move at first but eventually, slowly, took back his weapon and awkwardly affixed it to his belt again, the length running parallel with his long legs, away from the tree. His feet were bare and dirty. Dwarin sighed and tried again.

“Guthrin, I know what happened at the battle. I know you were there. What happened to Flandhere? You saw him, did you not?”

Guthrin flinched at the name of the dead Rider. He looked at Dwarin then, and the Dwarf found himself inexplicably cold as the pale grey eyes bored into him. He tugged at his beards.

“Flandhere died,” said Guthrin finally, in a voice stretched to breaking. Dwarin wondered at the pain. “He was protecting me.”

The Dwarf absorbed this and said, in a steady voice, “Death happens. To all of us, it happens. Some fear it and some embrace it. Flandhere was a good man.”

Guthrin half-sat up and looked directly at his companion. “Protecting me!!! As if I were an infant!”

“Then he indeed died a noble death, for giving one’s life to save another is the finest sacrifice,” growled the Dwarf, although he longed to be rid of the cowardly fool. “Indeed, you live, so he succeeded.”

Guthrin shook himself and seemed to gain better control of his body. His eyes focused on the forest again. “When he died,” he started, in an even-toned voice “something changed in me. I…” His voice faltered and stopped.

Dwarin remained silent and lowered his eyes to the ground. He felt weak sunlight strike his grizzled face.

“I don’t remember much from that night,” finished Guthrin in a voice clear at first, but lowering and darkening. “I killed those that were there and then followed the noise of battle.” He closed his eyes and his right arm shivered violently against his chest. “ I don’t know how many there were or many came against me.” His voice was bleaker then any that Dwarin had heard and it cast chills down the Dwarf’s back. The voice held a pain and agony deep to the bone. For the first time, Dwarin saw the great doom laid upon the man and some of his heart softened. Guthrin continued. “I saw them standing over Thenamir…achhh.” A tear rolled down his cheek, a small drop of water compared to the deluge around them but Dwarin could watch nothing else, as it trickled through the stubble on the face of the man from Rohan.

Guthrin opened his eyes suddenly and the Dwarf half-jumped. “I dreamt about it, Dwarin,” said Guthrin, the words flowing quickly now. “I dreamt about myself. I dream about it every night. Only I’m not me!!!! I’m watching me. I see what I did, again and again. I look…hideous, grotesque!” The words came so rapidly Dwarin could not keep up. “They fall around me…they can’t touch me. Dwarin, I’m good with a sword. You can have no idea. Hah!! How could you know? I was trained, Dwarin, I was trained. By the best in the Mark, I was trained. Guthrin the Swift they called me as a child, for my sword was as quicksilver. But…” He stared again, silent for a few long seconds. “But…it came too easily. It always did, and I always won. My father was proud once, but I started to lose. Once at first, then often. They loved to best me, the others! They loved it. When I was fifteen, I…” He shuddered. “I paid some of my father’s servants to come with me and we… killed the son of one of the Captains, a boy who had bested me in tourney. When my father found out he whipped me. He paid the other Captain to keep it quiet. Since then, I…denied it all. I tried to seem better than all the others.”

Dwarin listened expressionlessly. He wished he was anywhere else.

Guthrin jumped to his face, and Dwarin only just caught the grimace of pain that crossed his face. “Dwarin, I can help! I can be more of a companion to you and the others.” The rain fell unchecked over the tall Rider, but he did not seem to notice. “I am not useless,” he whispered hoarsely. The distance in his eyes remained.

‘Thank you, Guthrin,” said Dwarin, slowly. “You saved our lives, that night. I…hope the scars for you do not run too deeply. There is a long road ahead.”

“The roads of some are shorter than others,” said Guthrin and turned, and walked back towards the others, who as ever, avoided him. Dwarin watched him go, thoughtfully. The rain fell, a ceaseless patter around him.

[onewhitetree]

The lurching shapes in Gurthden's vision slowly blurred to a halt and took the shape of blackened trees, still smoking, as he regained consciousness to a slow, rhythmic rasping sound. As his mind cleared, he realized that the rasping matched the rise and fall of his own chest, and tasted the bitterly stinging taste of smoke in his throat. After a few moments of thought, to absorb and work out his situation, he gingerly sat up and was greeted with a new wave of dizziness, which luckily subsided a bit faster than the last. As it left, images of giant, smoldering flames bearing down on himself, his comrades, and those they fought alike flashed through his mind's eye. He heard a voice --was it Baranthôl?-- shouting to run! Then it all gave way to the raindrops that began to pound into his head, startling him from his reverie. He suddenly wondered how long he had been lying there amongst the battle carnage, for carnage there was all around him, the stink of it horridly apparent even through the smoke. The last time he remembered having the leisure to examine the sky, there had been no sign of rain or storm. It would have been, were it not for the circumstances, a pleasant surprise.

Gurthden suddenly realized the danger of his position when an unmistakable approach broke the silence, a silence such that can follow only great sadness. He espied the hilt of his sword, partially hidden under the nearby body of a Dunlender. There was no time to find shelter, and indeed no shelter to be found, so Gurthden quickly freed his weapon from its unpleasant resting place and lurched to a standing position, wincing, but surprised at the comparative small hurt he had received. He brandished his sword high, hoping to give the intruder a second thought, in the event that his intentions were less than honorable. As the sounds grew nearer, he made out a rasping breath louder than his own, each one seemingly slower and more deliberate than the last. As the figure came into the open, staggering, almost dragging himself along, Gurthden let his guard drop and ran to catch Leoden as he collapsed, apparently not for the first time. The Rider's garments were almost completely charred away, and burns seemed to cover every inch of his body. As he looked into Gurthden's face with recognition, he scraped in breath to speak.

"Silence, brother," bade Gurthden. "Save your strength for living, for as I see you now, you will need all the breath you can yet draw."

Leoden continued, however. "Brother--," he coughed, "I have been running like a crazed man from a furnace for I know not how long, but know this -- I parted ways with Guthrin and Flandhere after we left your company to set aflame this wretched bane of men and beasts and trees alike. They are in one another's care, and I swear on my father's grave, if I live to see that the coward Guthrin has not shown his courage in protecting my comrade, he shall feel my blade...." Another fit of coughing overtook his body, as both breath and voice became weaker. "I fear, however, that I will not see our brother Flandhere again, whether he lives or no. You must find the others, Gurthden. Help them to avenge this great wrong that is done, and is still being done yet."

As though Leoden's seeping energy had flooded into his body through their mingling blood, Gurthden felt new strength to go on and search for the rest of the party, though they may lie dead miles away, he would not give up until they were all found and reconciled. Nor would he leave Leoden behind, though it was apparent that he was not to be saved, even if the healing skills of Elwood and Aspida both were at hand. He wrapped the ailing man in a cloak plundered from one of the many corpses that now scattered the charred ground, once green with foliage and flowers. Gurthden set off at a slow run, carrying Leoden in his arms and speaking comforting words to the stricken babbling that had taken over his mind. He stopped once, at midday, and partook of some stale bread and foul meat he had plundered with the cloak, and fed Leoden as best he could with the bread and water from a nearby stream, fresh with the morning rain. He decided to stay a while and let the man rest as best he could while he watched sorrowfully, knowing full well that nothing he could do would slow fate.

After about an hour more of tortured visions and imaginary flames, Leoden's spirit left his ragged body as the skies opened and unleashed torrents of wind and rain, smothering what was left of the fire and readying the ground for the new growth of the next season. Gurthden bent his head and sobbed over his countryman's corpse, lying mortally burnt upon the forest floor.

Presently, he raised his head and let the cleansing rain stream down into his face and meld with his tears. He gathered up the limp body and continued on his way, making speed that the Elf would have admired. As evening neared, he saw a giant oak in the distance that seemed to beckon him. He girded up his mournful baggage and and made for the tree.

[ September 13, 2002: Message edited by: onewhitetree ]

[GreatWarg]

The draug looked the Elf in the eye. "And I believe our journey may last longer than a day," he stated simply.

"I have found no scent or sign of Thenamir since the battle. Unless he has the power to vanish into the earth itself, we will have to search the lands around the place of battle. Even then, we may not find a plain path. But come, Master Elf! We have many long miles before us yet while the night lasts."

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Andros gazed with concern on the motionless body lying beside the ashes of the fire. “Does he yet live?” he enquired of his companion.

“He was at the very gates of death,” the older Ranger answered, “yet he will not pass through them at this time. He sleeps so deeply that I cannot awake him; I do not know if it be wise to arouse him from that rest. Have you found others who know aught of what has come to pass?”

“Yes, I have found one of our company, Volkmar Heidenhammer, who has befriended the man called ‘Thenamir’.” Andros proceeded to give an account of what he had heard, concluding: “I have advised Volkmar to aid and accompany the group on their mission without waiting for their wounded comrade. They now know him safe, as much as that be possible, and can travel more quickly without him.”

“Have you knowledge of this man’s name?” his friend enquired.

“It must be ‘Taradan’, for he it was whose head was grievously wounded in battle many days ago,” replied Andros.

His companion turned back to the sleeping man. Gently he laid his hands on the wounded head, bent close and called, “Taradan”. Andros watched with bated breath, but no movement betrayed an answering response. His comrade called again and yet again, face drawn as if spending much strength. There! Did not one eyelid flutter, then the other?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Taradan wandered aimlessly in a thick mist, seeing and hearing nothing. He felt disembodied, in a world by himself, and was content to stay there. Yet it seemed that he heard something, a familiar sound, though he could not fathom its meaning. Nearer and louder it grew, until he could no longer ignore it. “Taradan” – it was his name! Who called him? The sound hovered on the edge of recollection. “Taradan!” the voice reached out to him, encompassed and grasped him until he could no longer resist.

He opened his eyes and looked into the compassionate gaze of a man, feeling as though he knew him, then realizing with a sharp pang that he was a stranger after all. His smile seemed to warm Taradan, bringing his numb limbs back to life. Suddenly memories flooded into his mind and questions filled his eyes.

“Welcome,” the stranger said, “do not be afraid! You are in safety and among friends. Rest now in peace; your questions shall be answered in due time.”

[Rimbaud]

"The smoke addles your senses," replied Elwood, speaking directly to the Warg for once. The battle was but a day past - he cannot have travelled far. We must trust that he survived.

The Warg looked at him doubtfully. These woods are no place to be alone and tired. Even I cannot outrun things that lurk in this forest. And the men you fought swarm over eveything. It is a miracle your Dwarven companion and his party remain undiscovered.

Elwood sat, crosslegged, two paces afore the great wolf, whose hot coat steamed in the morning air. If any mere mortal would survive the night alone, 'twould be that one.

The draug bowed his head. His mind was unclear to Elwood. The Elf spoke, out loud again; "We must make haste, for our enemies shall gather and regroup. I shall hunt with thee."

The unlikely pair loped off through the branch-splintered sunlight. The forest in this part was free of the fire yet smoke hung heavy in the air and the gloom in the deepest places seemed impenetrable. A rain began to fall, as the morning awoke, steady and fine. As they were in a thickly wooded area, they remained mostly dry. The Warg rab silently, flitting in and out of Elwood's vision. The Elf moved with his inherent fluid grace, his breath silent in the cool air, depite his fatugue.

An hour or more of switching, this way and that, the Warg's nose to the ground, they found faint spore and traces of passage and the Warg sped, so that the Elf could no longer keep pace. Up ahead, some mile east, Elwood heard the music of a stream, dashing against pebbles.

[ September 16, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Thenamir]

Thenamir followed his new guide Volkmar who moved with a speed and stealth which belied an obviously lame and stiff-braced leg. Normally Thenamir would not be hard pressed to keep up, but the battle and the long race against the fire had left him wounded and weakened in body, while the absence of his comrades weakened his spirit.

Finding Volkmar helped to an extent on both conditions. He had adeptly, if roughly, treated his wounds, and the news of Taradan found and in friendly hands gave him hope that others had perhaps escaped the twin enemies of fire and foes. The elf, and perhaps the warg, stood the best chances of safe retreat. The last he had seen of the others was glimpses of pitched battle, and the scattering of Dunlending forces by the arrival of Guthrin, of all people!

The scorched land seemed to stretch endlessly before them, but Thenamir had insisted that they make an effort to find some signs of his companions before heading northward to the ruined city. Volkmar seemed to have heard of it, referring to it alternately as "Tharbad" and "Ost-In-Edhil". It was not too long before they reached the signs of battle...

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

Ulfwine heaved a ragged cough as he surveyed the corpses where the rain had put an end to the smoke and smoulder. Not knowing whether his friends were still living he wanted to take whatever might be of value from his dead former-fellows to aid his escape -- and his enemies might still be close.

He moved with a kerchief over his face to help mitigate the double stink of ash and dead flesh, methodically going from body to body scattering the carrion fowl who had begin to gather. At least the bodies had not been dead long, Ulfwine thought. He did not have time to linger over the scene even if it had smelled like a meadow in full flower -- if there was any chance of connecting again with those who saved him from this band of brigands, he had to complete his task and start legging it northward.

He had obtained a small collection of swords with burnt leather grips that could be rehabilitated with some ease, a relatively undamaged pack which now contained several small and useful metal items and a meager sum of gold and silver plundered from the ashes of pockets and packs -- he considered it some small measure of revenge against those who would have betrayed him and his family.

Only twice did Ulfwine cease scavenging. He recognized with a start the charred body of Flandhere, one Ulfwine had grown to respect and even to friendship. He reverently retrieved the sword which had once fought alongside him and wiped it clean as best he could, though a proper cleaning would have to wait. Then with a small shovel which was part of his plunder, he dug a quick and shallow grave. For the brave man of Rohan there should have been a proper mound watered with the wine and tears of his comrades, as was the Rohirrim ceremony for those fallen in battle. There was no time, and he did not know the proper words, but Ulfwine honored him with his own sweat and tears, and such words as the people of Dunland speak over their honored dead.

The other time Ulfwine stopped was when he recognized the ornate scabbard of Storwolos, a gift from Borleg long ago, lying next to his blackened corpse. Ulfwine was momentarily stunned, for the body lay not in the twisted positions of the others who had died writhing in the agony of smoke and flame, but face down as though fallen dead before the flames arrived, and yet there were no visible signs of battle. One of the troop, probably Smrtan, had knifed him in order to take his place. He was not honorable, even for one of Dunland, thought Ulfwine.

Carefully rolling the body over he saw that the corpse had protected a small satchel-pack from the wasting power of the flame. The satchel contained a fair amount of gold, but also written orders...orders describing their destination and instructions on what to look for and where to look.

He quickly added these to the larger pack he carried. Then he used the sword of the honorable Flandhere to cut the heart from Storwolos' body and hack it into four sections. Taking each section in turn, he spat on it before casting the sections away, one to each of the four winds, muttering a gutteral Dunland curse over each one. He then turned to face Storwolos' remains and said, "As you left my family defenseless to be picked over by your friends, so I leave you defenseless to the carrion beasts to become food for their young. As you used me to gain advantage over your enemies, so I use what you have left behind to aid them. Thus my father is revenged."

Once he had completed the ritual desecration, he gathered together his plunder, discarded all but what he considered essential, and began his run to the north, seeking signs of his friends, to rejoin or avenge them.

Now, a half-day into his journey he was tripped by an unseen root and fell forward headlong into a mat of leaves and forest debris. Before he could arise he felt the flat of a swordblade against his neck and a stiff voice barked "Hold! Who are you?" Ulfwine unknowingly looked up into the face of Volkmar Heidenhammer. Before Ulfwine could protest there was a shrill whistle, and Thenamir came bursting from behind a scorched tree trunk ordering, "Stay, Volkmar! This is one of our comrades, the Dunlending who came over to our aid!"

"Glad to see you too," said Ulfwine as Volkmar resheathed his sword.

"Oho," said Volkmar. "I have some questions for you...

[ September 16, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

[shieldmaiden]

Baranthôl was woken up by Dwarin’s and Kalohern’s conversation. She stood up and stretched her back. She slept peacefully, without dreams and she felt better than she had felt for a few past exhausting weeks.
“Ho there, “mightiest rider in Rohan”! I’m dying of hunger. Would you be so kind to give me some of those berries for I, too helped you save Rohan from great peril.” she shouted and laughed. “Let’s eat and let Dwarin talk to Guthrin. Arenia must be hungry, too.” she added with a wink. Kalohern’s face went completely red.

[ September 16, 2002: Message edited by: shieldmaiden ]

[Thenamir]

Borleg sat looking down on the ruins of Ost-in-edhil from his hillside perch. He and the small but strong force he commanded had travelled here on the instructions of Saruman. His orders were to observe and to record all that happened or might happen here, any comings and goings no matter how small, and send the notes back to Orthanc courtesy of the crebain, the oversized raven-crows which trafficked between them. There had been little enough to report. An occasional Ranger rode thru without stopping or camping, but other than that, nothing.

This morning the crebain had a rather obvious note. He carefully unwrapped it from the leg of the bird, one he never handled without the heavy leather gloves -- the birds might be willing messangers, but they did not suffer themselves to be handled except by Saruman without a great deal of fussing and pecking.

In Saruman's bold hand was written,

Borleg,
Storwolos' forces encountered the strawheads, but failed to eliminate them. Smrtan now commands them. You will know what to do should the forgoil arrive before Smrtan and his men.

It was signed, if signature it could be called, with the letter "S" beside the insignia of a hand imprinted in white wax.

Borleg scrawled out an acknowledgement, clumsily attached it to the bird with the gloves, and sent the black fowl on its way.Considering what it was Saruman told him to expect, Borleg was more than happy to wait and watch from a distance.

[Ransom]

Volkmar carefully examined Ulfwine. He was not the most impressive Dunedling Volkmar had ever seen. It looked to like he had been beaten and then thrown into a fire pit. His cloathing was charred. The sword at his side was dirty and the sheath slightly singed. The bulges in his backpack left Volkmar with a general idea of the nature of the task Ulfwine had labored at for the previous hours.

“Oho. I have some questions for you. Many questions. Yet, it is not safe to remain in one place for very long. Let us find somwhere where we can talk.”

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

In a short time, they found a ridge surrounded by a thick grove of evergreens. Volkmar tied the horse to a tree. He glanced upwards and established that it was nearing noon before extracting the remaining three apples. It took some effort to bend his armored body far enough to fit under the rock, but he eventually succeeded. The apples were handed out before Volkmar began his questions.

“Ulfwine, Thenamir has told me that Sauruman has been stirring up your people and sending them to retrieve an artifact. Have your people had past dealings with the wizard?”

[ September 17, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Rimbaud]

The sun was nearing its zenith by the time Elwood, who was slowing in the thick air of the forest, saw the Warg returning through the trees, darker than shadow.

Upon that ridge yonder sent the great wolf, seeming tired, although his muscled form showed no sign.

Elwood could not discern the ridge amongst the thick rows of trees but said nothing and followed the Warg as he led, more slowly through the undergrowth.

Before long, Elwood ascertained that he was upon a slight slope and moved purposefully but quietly upwards, not wishing to disturb whoever spoke at the summit, for voices he could hear.

You make enough noise to wake a thousand wolves of the dead, spake the Warg, sounding disgusted. Elwood rerained from reply for the second time. He motioned the Warg to lay still and moved silently to a vantage point, where he might view the sandy peak of the small ridge. He saw three figures; one prone, two supine, eating. The man on the ground he could not distinguish, of the seated two, one was familiar, the other not. Sensing little danger, he whistled for the Warg - whose reply was a mindburst of incredulity, disgust and outrage at the insult - and stepped into the clearing. His hand hovered over his sword hilt, although he stood at such an angle to the trio that they could not see this.

"Hail and well met again, Thenamir of Gondor," he said cautiously, then instantly cursed himself for a fool for using the man's name out in the open.

At his approach, both seated men had gained their feet, blades out, but on seeing Elwood, Thenamir waved Volkmar down and sheathed his own.

"Master Elf," began the bearded Gondorian. "Congratulations on your survival of that night! I trust you have news of the others."

"Indeed, Master Thenamir," said Elwood, relaxing a little. The Warg had not come up to the ridge, but the Elf heard his faint breathing scant paces behind and belw him. The stranger stood slightly unsteadily, he noted, and seemed to be in some discomfort. He favoured his left leg, he noted. His attention stayed on the stranger, as Thenamir introduced him as "Volkmar, a new ally."

"Hail and well met," said the Elf reservedly, eyeing the stranger's used battleaxe and his hardened manner uncertainly.

"Likewise," said the thick-set stranger gruffly, and offered a calloused hand.

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

Elwood sat with them, and shared some roots and fruits he had found on his search. He found himself as wary as ever of Thenamir and a little bemused by the stranger's easy grasp of the situation. The man sleeping turned out to be Ulfwine, who had appeared to have been through a furnace and back, and slept, seemingly having troubled dreams, beside them, although he woke when Elwood offered him water, and drank eagerly. The Elf saw that this man needed serious attention to his burns, but did not feel safe in this area of the forest.

After pleasantries had been carefully exchanged, Thenamir asked if Elwood knew of the whereabouts of the others. He did not mention again the battle of the fires and Elwood followed his lead.

"Some ways hence," said the Elf, gesturing behind him in no specific direction. "We can be there before nightfall, if we make good time." He could not avoid glancing at Ulfwine, lying stiffly on the ground. He wondered if they had time to treat him properly. He wanted the security of the full group first; his mind set, he advocated swift departure.

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

Before long, they were wending their way back down the shallow ridge and into the murky green light of the dense forest. Ulfwine walked unsteadily between Thenamir and Volkmar, and seemed delirious, for he said little of any import. The Elf ensured he drank often, although they had limited water. He decided to take them on the small detour that would bring them past a slight meander of the stream, where they could replenish their supply. The Warg trailed them, but not once came within eyeshot of the men, although Elwood discerned him from time to time, flitting behind them. He wondered at the suspicion that hung heavy over him. The day lengthened.

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

( Post by Dwarin Thunderhammer )

Kalohern turned in surprise to Baranthol. He tried to squelch a grin as best he could but the other rider saw it anyway. He produced a small leather bag of berries and handed it to Baranthol "I gave the majority to Dwarin, I'm sorry."

"Apology not needed," Baranthol replied, eating a couple of the berries. The rider removed a handful of fruit from the bag and tossed it back to Kalohern. "Better go see if your riding companion wants some." Kalohern blushed again and ran off into the rain.

Arenia was slowly waking up beneath the eaves of the mighty oak. To his own surprise Kalohern was a tad nervous. He was very grateful to Arenia for bringing Telefax back safely. He thought her pretty and that intimidated him more than any Dunlending. He stood next to her on the grass "I-I gathered some food this morning. It's good! Try some." Kalohern stumbled over his words a little. Arenia giggled at the soaking wet boy standing in the rain. She motioned for him to sit. He gladly accepted. The ate and talked under the shelter of the great tree. Kalohern in his nervous tongue and Arenia in her broken words. The rain pattered about them gently as they talked.

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

Dwarin silently watched the two talk. The pair laughed. They seemed carefree. Much to the contrast of his conversation with guthrin. He smiled to himself. "A boy should have interests other than conquering the world shouldn't he?" Dwarin chuckled. The dwarf stood up. "This weather is too fine to waste under a tree," he thought to himself.

He informed Haleth that he was going for a walk. The trees glittered in the rain. The forest was peaceful. Dwarin breathed the fresh scent that only rain can give. He walked for about an hour when something caught his eye. He saw a ash sapling pinned beneath the fallen stump of a much larger tree. He stood there contemplating the possibilities. Dwarin scratched his head "There's got to be a better use for this than to sit here and rot. This would make a nice tent pole but we have no tents. It would make a nice walking stick but we have no need. It would make a fine weapon but......A spear!" The thought hit him like a thunderbolt.

The Dwarf was instantly excited. The thought of actually doing something constructive appealed to him very much. He immediately set to freeing all he could from under the tree. The wood proved very stout and unyielding. This only pleased the dwarf more. Stronger wood made a better weapon and a greater challenge both of which were welcome. Dwarin looked hungrily at the wood as he freed it. He was left with a seven foot section of the perfect diameter. Dwarin was very satisfied. He decided that the spear would go to Kalohern. He produced a knife from his pack and immediately set to carving.

About an hour later Dwarin realized that the rain had let up and that he had been gone for quite some time. He hurried back to camp to find that everyone was up and making the best of the daylight. He sat down on the opposite side of the oak and resumed his little project.

[ October 30, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Thenamir]

As they walked, Thenamir tried again to let his thought flow on what direction he should lead the group once they were rejoined. THe total absence of Taradan for the foreseeable future meant that he was truly in charge now, at least in presence if not in real rank. It came as a shock that he was now in the position that he'd sought since vowing revenge for the death of his wife -- in command of a strong and diverse cadre of warriors ready to attack the enemies who had destroyed his loves, and his life. Though it was a heady thought, he must not allow his personal desires influence the needs of the moment or the greater good.

The Dunlendings had been diverted, their leader slain (according to Ulfwine), and though the battle of the fires could hardly be called a victory, it did what was needed -- scattered and confused their enemies and set them ahead in the race to Ost-in-Edhil and to whatever they might find there.

Thenamir would have loved to get all the Rangers that Volkmar referred to and march on the ruins. The reality was that there was no time -- the new Dunlending leader would find and muster whatever troops remained to him, and begin his attempts to catch them, or at least pass them up.

He did not fear for losing his direction. Between Volkmar's and Arenia's knowledge of the area and terrain, they had the advantage of knowing the country and the roadblocks in detail. They had the advantage of having Saruman's commands to the Dunlending troop, courtesy of Ulfwine. They had the keenest eyes in Elwood, and the sharpest nose in the Warg, not to mention that they were also two brave and valiant warriors. As was Dwarin, who had proved himself over and over in strength, fortitude, and loyalty. And with any luck at all, the others would remain reasonably well and ready. Thenamir could not help but be happy with his assets.

He also wanted an audience with Guthrin. Elwood had expressed his concern for him as they continued on to join the rest, and after hearing his tale told by Elwood, with occasional exclamations of disbelief form Ulfwine, Thenamir had to agree with Elwood's trepedation. For someone to have undergone such a radical transformation was beyond his ken, and he wnated a chance to see whether Guthrin might be victim of some new sorcery of Saruman, rather than just battle stress.

The day was drawing near to sunset when the huge tree under which Dwarin and Company camped came into view, even among the other tree trunks. It was Baranthol who spotted them first, and happily aroused the rest of the camp to meet them. Joyful indeed was that reunion, and many handshakes and hugs went around as Thenamir smiled his way through the group. Guthrin he came to last. There was a beat of silence among them all in that moment as they all remembered Thenamir's judgement and sentence on him before sending out the fire-starters. Guthrin stood before him, silent but steady, ready to receive whatever Thenamir might have to say. Before the silence had a chance to lengthen into awkwardness, Thenamir looked him in the eye, extended his right hand, and said only, "Well done. I pronounce the fhiornach accomplished."

[Rimbaud]

Guthrin immediately looked away, his eyes shifting, his countenance distorted. He took Thenamir’s hard hand and briefly clenched it before turning swiftly away. He said nothing. Thenamir looked at his retreating back, saddened.

An uneasy silence fell on them all. They watched Guthrin return to his seat beneath the tree, back resting on the gnarled trunk. Thenamir scowled swiftly and muttered something of ‘questions later.’ Dwarin looked prepared to smite down Guthrin as he sat. The man stared out into the vista of trees, seemingly unaware of the eyes on him.

Elwood broke the silence, turning smoothly from perusal of Guthrin. “Here comes our strangest companion,” he said, and his light and even-toned voice soothed the company somewhat. Thenamir shook himself and turned to where the giant shape trotted through into the clearing. Dwarin snorted.

“Elvish ears are not all that,” he said, with a good-natured air. “I heard his blundering progress some minutes back.”

They all strained to hear any sound of the great wolf’s progress, but although in the still wood they could hear birds singing, somewhat subdued, above them (and Elwood could hear a squirrel in the oak scratching his ear) not a rustle came from the padded feet of the Warg. Elwood smiled. The others in the company hid grins and Baranthol went so far as to pat Dwarin on the back.

“What is wrong with that man?” asked Kalohern, none too quietly, still gazing at the estranged Rider beneath the oak.

None replied to him and he fell silent. “We must move,” said Areina, anxiously. “I feel we have been here too long.”

With that, it was as if a switch had been applied to them. The camp erupted in activity, although there was discernable order if experienced eyes were the watchers. Soon, the two horses were laden and the party was ready for movement. No one spoke of the battle of the fires and the absence of their friends was too obvious to point out. Nevertheless, after the Warg had returned for the second time, with blood around his muzzle, looking rather full, Elwood knelt beside him. The others knew not what he commanded, but the Warg silently left, in the direction of the battle. Thenamir nodded at Elwood in approval. The tall Gondorian, growing into his role of leadership, motioned them forwards.


Even Guthrin had readied himself. He laced his boots up, and rolled his bedding. He swiftly checked his sword, which came smoothly from its plain, unadorned scabbard. He avoided the eyes of the others but he saw Dwarin speaking with Thenamir and knew that it was of him that they spoke.

He could not say why he had been so rude to Thenamir but he could not take the condescension of these people. He wished to be back at home…again he shook his head. Why must I torture myself? I did well that night…they would accept me… Yet he did not walk next to the others, but some way behind. He made some show of looking behind them and scanning the forest and the others let him be, but in reality he saw little and his mind was on other things. He sensed a great darkness in his future. His dreams were as ugly as ever and he was desperately tired. Still, the hard life had done wonders for Guthrin’s physique and although he knew it not, but for his bowed posture, he cut a finer figure than ever he had in the rich clothes of his homestead. The weight had fallen from him and his brown hair hung around his shoulders, clean from the rain that had fallen, mercifully for the whole of the preceding day. The forest smelt fresher and more alive, although still the dark places held fear for him.

Before long, the line of the party had extended to single file, with two exceptions. Kalohern walked with his horse to his left and Areina to his right, just ahead of Guthrin, and at the very front of the party, Thenamir strode with Dwarin at his side, seemingly in animated converse. Some of it floated back to Guthrin. “Nay, but he remembers little!” he heard the Dwarf exclaim, and he wondered at it. Of the Warg there was no sign. Guthrin feared the moment he knew would come again, when Thenamir would drop back to speak with him. As the day reached its mid-part, he relaxed somewhat. The party moved on, silenced by the endlessness of the forest and the difficulty of the path.

[ October 14, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[GreatWarg]

Khelek trotted out ahead, leaving barely a mark a Ranger or an Elf could follow. He preferred to sleep after an especially good meal, but running was not unpleasent. They were soon leaving behind the scent of ash and burning wood, which filled the draug's sensitive nose with a wretched smell. But now his mind was clear of the acrid stinging, and the land was alive with the scent of soft grass and blooming flowers. Ears perked at a faint creak and snap of a twig, and the draug stood poised, still and silent, like a statue of memory, or a still drawing. Then he suddenly came back to life, putting on a burst of speed and flitting amidst tall grasses. Stopping once again, and ears perked, he listened to the distant sounds of the company moving. He could hear the faint clop of hoofs against the solid ground, and the scent of Man, horse, Elf, and Dwarf drifting in the warm wind.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Taradan awoke, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face and seeing its light through closed lids. He felt refreshed and calm, content for the moment to lie quietly, listening to the birds singing. Gradually he realized that the murmuring sound he heard was that of voices conversing somewhere near him. With reluctant curiosity, he opened his eyes and lifted his head, turning in the direction of the speakers. A flash of pain caused him to gasp and drop back to his resting place.

Andros heard the faint intake of breath and saw the slight motion of the wounded man. Quickly he came to his side. “Careful!” his friendly voice admonished, “you should not move in haste yet.”

Taradan looked up, seeing a man whose merry eyes belied the aged appearance of his weathered face. “Who are you? Why am I here? What has happened? Where are my friends?”

“So many questions at once,” laughed Andros, “I will endeavour to answer them one at a time. My name is Andros; my companion and I found you, fleeing from the fire, gravely wounded, exhausted beyond your strength and nigh unto death. Your comrades have been scattered after fighting their enemies, but there is hope that some of their number have escaped alive. I spoke to Thenamir; he will seek to find them and lead them on. One of my people has joined him and will aid in the mission you have set out to accomplish. Indeed, I was sent to your assistance after an unmounted horse came to our camp. I will abide with you and we shall join the others when you are able to do so.”

“There was another man here,” Taradan spoke uncertainly, “or was it a dream that I recall?”

“Nay,” Andros answered, “yet my travelling companion is preparing to leave, for he must continue his journey on a mission of his own. He it was that healed you, being skilled in that craft.”

The face Taradan remembered came into his sight, and again a smile warmed his heart. “I am glad to see that you are now awake, for I was loath to leave without speaking with you. Your life has been spared, though you will still need time to recover your strength. You may yet feel pain; heed the warning it gives you and be patient. I foresee that you will yet have a part to play in the story you have been caught up in.” With these words, he grasped Taradan’s hand firmly and gently, gripped Andros’ shoulder in farewell, and disappeared silently into the woods.

[Dwarin Thunderhammer]

Dwarin walked away from the confrontation with Guthrin worried frustrated and angry. In his mind he had spurned the second chance the group was giving him. “Why should we take a chance on him?” Grudgingly he admitted to himself that he had seen a change. His thoughts churned in his mind slowly as he began to pack

Dwarin had finished the spear. The shaft was decorated with runes near the head and the base. The head of the spear was not of sharpened wood, instead Dwarin moved the double-edged blade from his knife and affixed it to the head. The Dwarf was proud of his work. The wood was excellent and the point was Dwarvish in nature. It would serve its bearer well. Dwarin put one finishing touch on the weapon. He removed a cloth strap from one of his bags. The strap bore the mark of his family, a gold hammer on a blue background. He tied it just below the head of the spear as a banner of sorts. Dwarin held the spear at arm length and admired his craftsmanship. That’s a fine spear. One any Dwarf would be proud to make he said aloud to himself.

Dwarin gathered up his handiwork and readied himself to go. He shouldered his pack with a sigh. The trip had taken many of his emotional and mental reserves. His little project had released some of his frustration. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy but Dwarin would be prepared.

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

Kalohern was so absorbed in the conversation with his new friend that he barely noticed the arrival of Thenamir and the stranger that accompanied him. Soon he too was preparing to leave. He loaded his gear onto Telefax and put on his sword belt. Arenia packed too, even though she possessed very little. Kalohern was startled from his work as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“How goes it oh mighty champion of Rohan?”

Kalohern blushed a little at the title, Arenia giggled.

“Fine.” Kalohern said as he shot a disapproving look at the old Dwarf.

Dwarin chuckled. “I have something for you Dwarin said with a smile. He produced the spear and handed it to the boy. “No more playing with sticks for you lad. I’ve seen riders using short swords and such, but this is the proper weapon for a horseman.”

Kalohern beamed. The boy had practiced with the spears of the older more experienced riders but now he had one of his own. Kalohern took the spear and examined it. The weapon was light and strong He loved it. Kalohern thanked Dwarin several times.

“I’ve got to go finish packing Mîm . We should be leaving soon as Arenia stated.” With that the Dwarf turned and left.

To the boy Dwarin seemed worried Kalohern made a note of it. He knew it most likely had something to do with Guthrin. Kalohern had no affection whatsoever for Guthrin. He wished he had died instead of Aspida. He wished Guthrin were dead whatever the case. He wished he was home. Even so he knew his responsibility was now to his party. He wanted to make everything better especially for Arenia. He never really had spent much time around girls. He was the son of a military man. He had the army in his blood. The simple fact was, even though he wouldn’t admit it, that he liked Arenia.

Kalohern was stirred from his thoughts by a tap on the shoulder. Arenia was standing there the whole time.

“We must ride now.” She said.

“Oh, yes, of course. I-I’m sorry! Here let me help you up!” Kalohern replied.

Arenia smiled at the comment as Kalohern deftly mounted Telefax.

“Grab hold.” Kalohern extended his hand to Arenia. She took it and skillfully jumped up on the back of the horse. Kalohern was impressed.

“She knows horses! That’s a good quality.” He thought to himself. Telefax moved with a nudge and they started out.

“My hand?” Arenia queried. “

What?” he replied, emerging from his trailing thoughts again. “

“My hand” She said again.

A rock dropped in Kalohern’s stomach as he realized he hadn’t let go of her han. He quickly released her palm as his face began to burn bright red. Arenia just smiled.

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

Dwarin found Haleth packing up the rest of the supplies on Mîm.

“Looks like everything is ready to go” Haleth said. “I’m walking now, your horse won’t have to have a rider again” Mîm looked relieved.

“Good. Looks good. Are you ready?” Dwarin inquired. Haleth replied with a nod.

“Can I help you with anything?” Dwarin asked.

“No I’m fine” Haleth answered. “I think Thenamir wanted to talk to you. I’ll take care of Mîm.”

The horse was a little stubborn to follow anyone except Dwarin, but the young woman and the horse seemed to have come to a mutual understanding. They got along fairly well. “Then I must go” Dwarin replied. “You take care of yourself” He finished. As he walked away Dwarin heard a faint “You too.”

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

Thenamir introduced Dwarin to Volkmar before their departure. Dwarin noticed the hammer and made a Mental note to ask about it later. There were more important matters to discuss. Thenamir and Dwarin walked at the head of the party for many hours. They discussed many things not the least of which was Guthrin. Dwarin told his story at length to Thenamir who walked in stunned silence. It was clear that Dwarin was angry with him. Dwarin couldn’t read what Thenamir was feeling. Then again Dwarves, especially Dwarin, weren’t known for their capabilities in judging others thought.

“There’s something else I need to talk to you about.” Dwarin said to Thenamir.

“Go ahead.” Thenamir replied with a look of question.

“Kalohern and Arenia. We’ve been through much hardship and there’s sure to be more on the road ahead. I think it would be a good idea to send them home. Especially now that I think our young companion’s heart has been taken” Dwarin explained.

Thenamir showed a painful smile “I have noticed that the affections of Kalohern seem to be on Arenia instead of his sword. That’s only natural. In fact I’m glad to see it a boy his age should know more than battle and bloodshed. It’s good for him. As for Sending them home I see no way it can be accomplished.” Thenamir said with a frown.

“He shouldn’t have to waste his life so young. Arenia too. Send baranthol to accompany them home! THEY SHOULDN’T BE HERE!” Dwarin siad angrily.

Thenamir was surprised by the Dwarf’s outburst. “Master Dwarf. We are surrounded by enemies There is no escape for him. Their fate lies with us! I can’t help it! I want them to run away just as much as you do! I don’t want to see anything like that happen again! His love may very well save his life her life or both of them. There’s nothing I can do.”

Dwarin saw the hurt and the anger in Thenamir’s eyes and took a half step back. “I’m sorry. For bringing it up.”

Thenamir recovered himself. “It’s a valid point. No apology is necessary. I agree, however, that if an opportunity presents itself that they should be sent home.”

They walked silence again until they reached a good place to camp.

[ October 30, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

[onewhitetree]

Gurthden arrived in the clearing almost completely spent, emotionally and physically. He laid Leoden's body at the foot of the majestic oak and collapsed on the other side, the heavy fog of his tears almost as exhausting as his grievous burden had been.

Sleep came in waves over the next few hours, and when Gurthden's head cleared, it was night, and a beautiful night it was. The moon was rising and bright, shining through the foliage of the tree to light the ground in a speckled pattern of silver and shade, magical to behold. Gurthden felt the power of the earth and the tree seeping into his body as he lay against the oak, unable to move. The moon then rose into full view, clearing the tree and releasing him from his reverie.

He arose, not completely rejuvenated but filled with a sense of purpose, and decided to examine his surroundings. Upon further scrutiny, he discovered the traces of recent encampment. Whether this belonged to his friends or his foes was impossible to know, but Gurthden seemed to feel the goodness of this place, and he decided that men such as the Dunlendings would not inhabit it, at least not without somehow defiling it. All traces of habitation had been respectful to the terrain and wildlife, so Gurthden assumed that he was on the right path, and took heart.

He turned back to the tree, knowing that he still had duties with Leoden and could not shirk them any longer. He dug a shallow and makeshift grave at the foot of the tree, between the roots so that they surrounded the final bed as strong, protective arms. He laid Leoden in it with his sword upon his chest and his arms crossed over his heart. He covered him with soil and a small cairn of rocks and pebbles from the nearby stream. A silent prayer and a last tear for his comrade were given, and Gurthden then gathered up his gear and continued on his path, grateful for the dreamlike interlude but not wishing to linger when his companions seemed so close.

He trekked through the brush swiftly and quietly, now and then seeing signs of travel and following them as close as he could discern. After many hours of this, he thought he heard voices, and went on more cautiously, remembering that he still did not know exactly who it was he tracked. As he drew nearer, he recognized the voices of his friends and his heart leapt with joy. "Ho, Master Dwarf!" he shouted in a few minutes, unable to contain himself when he saw the troupe a short distance away through the woods. "Will you not slow your caravan for a friend weary of travel and sorrowful times?"

[ October 14, 2002: Message edited by: onewhitetree ]

[Thenamir]

Saruman turned away from the window. The latest missive from Borleg was comfortingly uneventful. Soon his long-laid plans could be brought to light, provided he could take care of that surprisingly hardy band of motley meddlers. He turned his thoughts to the challenge.

The Palantir was a surprisingly useful tool, but using it left him drained. He never consulted it without a chair and glass of wine near to hand. He sat now in the chair, pondering the fully reunited group (minus a few casualties). A bothersome crew, but so far completely unaware of the totality of his plans, and the number of tangled webs in which he could ensnare them...he'd thought about enslavng them, but it was are too much trouble, and besides, he had too many other matters to which he had to attend at present.

That spear of that insuferable dwarf, combined with the forest fire they'd deliberately set, gave Saruman an idea. He had friends and allies other than Dunlenders and Wargs on which he could call to take care of annoying "pests". He recalled several conversations with Fangorn about trees -- the sleeping ones can be wakened given the right circumstances. The Ents had not roused the huorns in many hundreds of years, perhaps not in the entire third age. But Saruman knew the right words to say, and the Voice would just add to his persuasion. Just add a bit of confusion to the minds of Thenamir and that travelling circus of his...

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

The travellers had joyfully welcomed Gurthden back into their company, but were sorrowed yet again to hear the fate of Leoden. Themamir brushed away yet another set of tears as he listened to Gurthden's tale, silently adding Leoden to the mental tally against the White Wizard. The reckoning must come, and it must come soon.

They decided to take a short rest break to allow Gurthden to catch his breath, since all suddenly felt a bit more tired than usual. Some broke out and shared around their edibles, some just stretched out on the ground to rest their eyes for a few moments.

The moments turned to minutes, the minutes became an hour, and still no one made any move to resume their chase. They were so very tired, and this place seemed so comfortable. Thenamir fought to keep his eyes open, but to no avail, he just had to have a quick nap. Just before he fell completely asleep he decided he must be really tired, since he thought he saw trees moving in closer to their camp....

[GreatWarg]

The draug froze. He blinked several times to make sure he wasn't asleep. He could've sworn that the whole forest was stalking them. Frowning and peering once again, the draug lept up nimbly and gave a warning snarl. The trees were moving in on them! And Thenamir had fallen asleep!

Khelek backed up, hackles raised, snarling and growling. A lone Warg couldn't do much to a tree, really. The bark was thick and had an acrid taste, and the sturdy branches could easily render much damage.

The whole group were trapped in the circle of advancing Huorns, all of them snapping their twigs restlessly. Eye shot with dark green pretty much scared the fur on the Warg stiff.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

So, Storwolos fallen. The enemy approaching. For if Storwolos’ forces had failed to eliminate them, so had Smrtan’s. But he, Borleg, would be ready, and prove the Dunlendings worthy of the aid of Saruman the Wise. If a few mutes belonging to Saruman’s service happened to die along the way, that could be chalked up to the misfortunes of war. It was the winning that was important. If death was unjust, so was life. So was the fact that Dunlending land was now in the hands of others. The time for peace was after victory. Let the strawheads put down their weapons and go, if they wanted peace ... or let them die. As long as Borleg no longer had to look on them, it mattered not.

Borleg tossed aside the bone of roasted goat leg he’d been sucking the last bits of meat from, wiped greasy hands on a creased tunic, belched, and stood. Striding to the midst of the encampment, he shouted to rally his fighting men. Making sure to turn his head so that none of the mutes could read his lips, Borleg began:

"Mighty Dunlending Warriors, I salute you. The forgoil approach. Storwolos lies viciously slain. Smrtan comes, but he won’t find us idle. We will set an ambush to greet the forgoil. Our orders come from Saruman the Wise. Observe, yes. But observe unseen. Then strike. For Storwolos! For Dunland!" As Borleg went into his battle cry, he made a salute in the Dunland fashion: Making a fist with his right hand, palm down, he beat his heart with a resounding tap and then lifted his fist high into the air.

A troupe of stalwart voices rang out echoing "For Storwolos! For Dunland!" and saluted in response.

"You there!" Borleg grabbed a scruffy man who was getting a little old for battle but had much talent with sign language. "Tell the mutes to stay and observe from here, as Saruman wishes. Tell them, the rest of us have much time to wait, with nothing happening, and so we go now to practice our fighting skills. Tell them, we will return soon." As the interpreter went off to do his leader’s bidding, Borleg smiled grimly. The mutes had camped here overnight, the crebain had only been sent today. The mutes could have no way of knowing what message had been sent. Borleg crumpled up the note, stuffed it down his shirt.