Flight from Rohan RPG

[Himaran]

Pio's post

Archim shivered beneath his cloak, though the day was warm. He was glad, for once, to be the tail of the group - riding behind so that his brothers did not see how uncomfortable the nearness to this dark, twisted forest made him. There was an oppressive air under the dry brown leaves. And they rattled at him in a menacing manner, though there was no breeze to stir them.

Falling even farther behind as his two older siblings rode on, he stopped for a moment, his throat gone dry, and reached for his skin of water to take a pull at it. He could hear his brothers’ voices rise and fall, anger marking their words. He sat for a while watching them as they rode further from him. Toying with a lock of his greasy hair, he half considered turning his mount ad heading home . . . or better yet, something away from this mess that Fréa had got them into, and expected him to help clean up. He sighed, pulling his cloak closer about him. No . . . no . . . that would never work. They’d find him and there would be the piper to pay for his ‘disloyalty’. His thoughts continued on down that line. Fat chance they would stick by him if it were him who’d killed the guard, he thought. ‘Oh, Fréa might pay lip service to helping him out, but if push came to shove, I’m sure they’d find a way to shove old “Crow” to the forefront.’ He snorted at these dark meanderings. ‘Leave me to hang to save their own skins, I’ll bet. Then, cry at the funeral.’

His horse had wandered on a bit, close enough to the trees to try a nibble at a scraggly bush that grew beneath one. Archim’s cloak caught on a branch of the tree of the tree near it, or rather, as he thought, the tree had reached out for him and snagged him by the cloak. He was just tugging his cloak from its entanglement, when he thought he saw the trees move apart for a moment, and his eyes caught a grisly sight.

‘Hey!’ he shouted, kicking his horse hard to catch up with his brothers. ‘Hey! Back here!’ he yelled, motioning them back to where he had stopped his mount. He led them to where the scraggly bush stood and pointed in through the trees. The forest had shifted again, and Fréa looked at his brother with growing irritation.

‘Trees? What . . . ?’ Fréa shrugged his shoulders at Graitwa and turned his horse back down the trail. ‘But I saw them,’ murmured Archim, pointing into the forest. Something in his whispered tone caused his brothers to turn back to him. ‘Two horses’ heads . . .their sightless eyes staring back at me . . . gutted . . . fresh blood everywhere, turning the leaves red . . .’

[ July 29, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

With his eyes rivetted on the menacing contours of the weald that seemingly drew ever closer, Archim pulled his horse up short, leaping down from the saddle and stumbling over towards his brother. He stared up at him with unabashed fear reflected in his eyes, "I saw it. I tell you....I saw it."

For one fleeting instant, Fréa felt an overweening urge to raise his sword above his head and bring it down in a single stroke that would forever cut short his brother's wimpering tones. Fréa's fingers moved inexorably towards the blade hanging at his side, like a moth drawn towards a golden finger of flame.

Then, as quickly as the craving had surfaced, it again dropped away; the grey mists of rage cleared and brought with it a wave of shame. A small voice of filial affection spoke quietly within his heart, and he berated himself for the harsh manner in which he'd treated his brothers in recent days.

With the grey stormclouds lifted from his mind, Fréa reached out to tousle Archim's hair and affectionately added, "So bad, Archim? Such a fierce sight? Then, let's have another look. Just as we used to slide the cupboard door open an inch or two and battle the raging wyrm that hid inside on bleak misty nights." Fréa indulgently smiled back at his brother confident that the younger man's images would prove no more substantial that those they had imagined as young lads in their beds.

The two brothers dismounted, and with the youngest in the lead, walked back towards the shadowed grove where Archim had first pointed. When they reached the trees, Archim hung back and Fréa went to the head of the group. He forged ahead, deliberately shutting his ears to the howling noises that still swirled omenously throughout the grove; his sword held out in front of him, Fréa pushed back the overhanging boughs and trampled loudly through the bracken as if daring any foe to come forward and fight.

Finally approaching the inner circle of trees, he stared down at the forest floor fascinated by the scene that was revealed there. There were no sightless eyes or leaves bespattered with blood, no horrific sense of giant trees about to strike. Only a feeling of drowsiness and the skeletal remains of two horse heads resting silently on the grass, picked as clean as if they'd laid there for thirty years or more. Fréa crouched down to get a closer look. Attached to one of the skeletons was the tattered remnent of a bridle and bit bearing a faded crest of the Knights of Rohan, the leads clearly cut short by a dagger; it was the kind of paraphernalia that draft horses wear when hitched up to pull a wagon.

Fréa instantly yanked himself up and beckoned his brothers to follow him back to the clearing where their horses awaited. The men mounted up and followed down the path, with Hama coming close behind.

It was Graitwa who broke the silence, "We have been following a chimera. Brytta has played us for a fool. They have escaped to the pass while we chase after spare horses and trees." He glared over towards Fréa, his eyes openly hostile.

Fréa met Graitwa's glance with equal dislike. "Do you blame me alone? Do neither of you have eyes in your head? Must I do all the thinking for us? But then, it has always been like that."

After that exchange there was little talking between the men as they turned their back to the trees, and galloped hard and fast towards the southwest fearful that they would be far too late to pick up the trail of the escaped prisoner.

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

[piosenniel]

"Do you blame me alone? Do neither of you have eyes in your head? Must I do all the thinking for us? But then, it has always been like that."

Archim spit on the ground at his brother’s words. ‘Hmmph!’ he grunted to himself. ‘If you had been doing any thinking at all we wouldn’t be in this mess.’ His thoughts ran in dark spirals as he let his horse pick its way along the track.

He hung at the back, letting his brothers take the lead. One of them turned back and shook his head at him, but Archim looked away as if he hadn’t seen the glance and the sneer. He could just imagine one of them whispering something about ‘Crow’ to the other. ‘Well, just let me be the “crow”,’ he muttered to himself, reining in Kokoroch to an even slower pace. I’ll be the one left to pick over the remains of their mangled bodies when they run into Brytta and his brother, and the three that were with them.’

The thought of Brytta sent him down another dark path, and he shifted uneasily in his saddle. Brytta had outed him once as a card cheat – he would hate to think the man would somehow out him as an accomplice to murder. Archim’s left hand toyed with the daggers that hung at the left of his belt. ‘Best we bring back the escaped murderer’s body,’ he thought to himself, a cold smile on his lips, ‘and those of the foul men who helped him to escape.’

Fréa had picked up the pace, and Archim’s horse shook his mane in frustration and whinnied, wanting to move up. ‘Have it your way,’ he said, loosening the reins and letting the black horse make up the distance. Korkoroch took his place at the tail of Graitwa’s mount and settled in to the pace. Archim, his brothers for the most part ignoring his presence, fell deeper into his dark thoughts.

[Envinyatar]

Ardwulf shook the tension from his shoulders as they rode along. That had been a close call. If only they could make it to the Gap without further delays – he had hopes there would be no further problems once the had put a fair distance between them and the Riddermark. ‘And that will prove another problem altogether,’ he thought to himself as the group plodded on. ‘Once we have left familiar lands, how will we find our way to safety?’

Such thoughts occupied his mind as they made their way along the base of the eastern foothills of the White Mountains. ‘Two or three more days at the most,’ he thought, ‘and we can leave the pass behind and make for the road north in Dunland.’

He had fallen behind just a bit, and kicked his mount in the flanks, urging him forward at a faster speed. Something on the ridge to his left, to the west, caught his attention. Shading his eyes with his hand, he peered closely at it. But it disappeared, fading into the shadows of the trees that lined the sides of the ridge.

‘I wonder what that was?’ he asked himself, drawing up to the group. ‘Anyone else notice something moving?’ he said to the other riders, pointing west. ‘Up there . . . in that treeline just down from the ridge top . . .’

[Himaran]

Brytta scanned the ridge which Aldwulf was pointing to. Straining his eyes, he saw for a brief second what appeared to be a flash of movement, but the distance was too great to be sure. "Could be something, Aldwulf, but I doubt it. Maybe it was a wild horse, or a bird." The company continued without further discussion of the matter, but it was clear that Aldwulf was not convinced of the harmlessness of the creature he had spotted.

____________________________________________


After two days of hard riding, the group finally reached the Gap of Rohan. It was a glorious sight; a wide path through the tall peaks of the snow covered mountains, sparkling in the morning sun. It was a symbol to them all; one of freedom, and safety. Brytta felt an overwhealming sense of accomplishment. Heldor would soon be out of Rohan, not burried somewhere deep in the ground with a rope scar around his lifeless neck. They were nearly free, both from the Riders and physical bounderies of Rohan.

But just north of the company, a final trial was approaching. A rougue pack of wargs had left Fangorn and had torn across the West Emmet, slaying horses, livestock, and the occasional child they found playing away from its parents. But now the pack had arrived at the Gap, seeking new prey. And it had found a small group of unwary travellers; a perfect and easy target.

Below the wargs, Brytta and his company began to pass through the Gap, oblivious to the swarm that would soon be unleashed upon them.

[Envinyatar]

The feeling of being watched had made him wary. He had barely slept in the last two days, staying up late into the night to feed the camp fires they made. Light to hold back the darkness that seemed ready to press in on them. Twice in the late watches of the night, he thought he had seen a pair of yellow eyes watching from the safety of the trees. But only for a moment and then they were gone. He kept his counsel to himself, knowing the others had dismissed his infrequent sightings as surely something harmless. Now they were passing through the Gap. Perhaps his dark mood would lift when the threat of riders from the Riddermark was left behind.

Catnapping in the saddle, at the end of the line, as they plodded along, he almost missed the subtle signs his mount was giving. The horse’s ears twitched wildly. His nostrils flared and he looked about with wild, wide opened eyes. Nervous energy caused the horse to prance a little then rear up, almost throwing him to the ground.

Aldwulf came wide awake as he grabbed for a hold on the reins. Drawing his sword, his eyes flicked to the direction in which the horse pawed the air. Down from the hills, running beneath the trees, Aldwulf could see four dark grey figures bent on intercepting them. Tongues hanging red from between their great yellowed teeth. Lips curled back in ghastly grins of anticipation.

‘Wargs!’ he yelled as he reined in his mount, fighting to keep him from running wildly away . . .

[Novnarwen]

Liol felt bad about her sudden anger attack at Rochil. But somehow she didn't feel she could say sorry either. Rochil and Liol hadn't exchanged looks, but she couldn't blame him either. Her eyes had been hard and her mouth so big when she had snapped at him. Would he ever forgive her?

The atmosphere was tense when they reached the gap. Adwulf had seen movements in the woods. Liol could see he was worried, but she didn't quite know if she was herself. They would be safe now, she thought. While riding through the gap, she straightened up and paced beside Rochil.

"I am," she started. Liol grew red and pale at the same time. Oh, I should have prepeared myself, she thought. What could she say? Liol waithed and watched Rochil stirr in the ground, the same way he had done when she fooled the guard two days ago. Liol looked at him, and pitied him. He hadn't deserved it. She became angry with herself. Just the thought of her overreacting like that made her sick. "I am really.." she continued. Rochil didn't look up, he just kept staring a place where Liol couldn't reach him.

Liol's horse grew impatient and desperate. "What is it?" she said calmly trying to keep him under control. Rochil seemed finally to wake up, but he didn't say anything, and Liol was quiet too.

A cry ran through the air:"Wargs!" Both Liol and Rochil, turned to look in the direction the cry had come from. Far behind they gazed at Adwulf pointing towards some hills. "Wargs," Liol muttered watching the animals run.

[ August 02, 2003: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

Rochil was uneasy as they rode towards the gap. Something out their in the woods was watching him. He couldn’t shake the hard glares of the eyes from him. The rode towards the gap was quiet. Rochil didn’t feel like talking, for some times when he opens his mouth it comes out the wrong way. He was mad at Liol. Why she get so mad, I thought the whole husband thing was finny because I knew she didn’t have a husband, he thought angrily.

Liol rode up next to him but Rochil didn’t look up. His gaze was fixed on the ground. He didn’t listen to what she said. All of the sudden Rowan started to tremble. He looked up as a clear voice yelled wargs. He turned around to see at least four great wolves running towards them…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rochil didn’t have time to react as Rowan bolted up throwing him in the air. He landed hard on the ground, his spear two feet away. He drew his sword and stood up quickly. As he stood up a warg came charging towards Rochil, while a second went after his horse. He watched the Warg leap onto Rowan and bite his neck, killing him swiftly.

Rochil realized a warg was less than a foot away from him and as it leaped towards Rochil he stabbed the warg in the left shoulder. Rearing backwards it took a swipe at Rochil scratching his in the chest. Rochil quickly rolled over grabbed his spear and thrust it into the wargs belly.
Rochil pulled the bloody spear out of his stomach and threw it at the second warg that was tearing his horse to shreds. The warg scared ran of. Rochil retrieved his spear that now sat in the ground, and watched as the wargs that remained alive ran off in the distance.

Rochil stood and looked around. He saw the bodies of five or so wargs and five dead horses.

[ August 04, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Himaran]

Envinyatar's post

The wargs were on them before they could group together for defense. Not that it would have made a great difference anyway. Four wargs came down from beneath the trees along the western hills. The group, alerted by Aldwulf turned their attention to meet them. Swords drawn, they rushed the pack which separated and pulled back a little to their surprise.

It was Heldór who chanced to see the reason for their retreat. From the corner of his eye he caught the movement of five other grey forms swiftly approaching from the east. ‘Turn and guard the rear,’ he shouted to Aldwulf as Liol, Rochil, and Brytta faced the attack from the west.

Two wargs separated Aldwulf’s mount from Heldór’s, feinting in at the mare’s legs until she reared up at them. Her underside exposed, the nearer of the wargs launched himself at her, his great teeth sinking into her, bringing her down.

Aldwulf was thrown from his horse, and landed rolling on the ground. He had barely time to roll to his knees when the other warg was upon him. Aldwulf brought his blade up as the warg leapt, the weight of the rushing beast driving it to the hilt into his chest. The warg’s momentum threw him down upon the man, knocking him down, his still snapping jaws grazed along Aldwulf’s cheek, ripping a long gash, before the man could pull away. Leaving the beast to die, he yanked his blade from the writhing carcass and turned to see the other warg had now turned its attention from the dead horse to Brytta.

His spear lay near his horse, and he sheathed his blade and picked it up, glancing up just as he saw Brytta fall before the warg. The warg charged the downed man and Aldwulf ran quickly to the pair, sinking his spear into the warg from behind . . .

__________________________________________

Novnarwen's post

Liol hadn't the time to think. The attack from the wargs had come all of a sudden. However, Adwulf had been saying that something was troubling him, and now, they could saw what. The lady jumped off her horse when seeing it was attacked by one of the wargs. She fell on her back, feeling a pain through her spine, but Liol had no time for being hurt now. At once, she drew her sword, and held the hilt as tight as she possably could. Her hands were sweaty and she almost dropped it when making her fist effort of stabbing the warg.

From not far away, she saw Rochil and the others. Liol felt another pain, but not from her back. Deep in her heart she felt a handfull of guilt sneek up her neck and in her throat. It was almost as she couldn't breathe. What if she died, and never got the chance to say sorry? Liol shook her head. "Rochil!" she cried. "I cannot do this anymore!" she continued with a serious but desperate voice. Rochil paid attention but didn't turn around. They were both fighting for their lives and one slip; and it all would be over. Liol drew her sword, but missed. "I am really sorry Rochil. I never meant to.." The warg jumped up, but Liol escaped by an inch. "I never meant to get angry with you, and I hope it can be forgiven. I was really stupid and now..." She didn't finish her sentence. Her sword had rushed into the warg, blood and the sound of its' breathe coming to an end made Liol stop. It was over, she was alive.

[ August 05, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

The warg attack was swift and vicious, the horses being their first target. Brytta was thrown to the ground as his horse fell prey to the deadly teeth of the predator. Leaping up, he saw the others of his company fighting for their lives; outnumbered nearly two to one by the assaulting pack.

The warg which had attacked his horse was finishing it off, sinking its teeth into the flank of the noble steed. Seeing that it was distracted, Brytta unsheathed his sword and ran at it; hacking at the creature's unprotected neck. The warg's body fell away from its head; the latter still stuck to the side of Brytta's horse.

Turning away from the carnage, the man was charged at by a second warg. Brytta threw himself on the ground, rolling off to the side as the beast pounced on the place he had stood a moment before. It lunged again, but this time into the outstretched blade of Brytta's sword. The warg jumped away, reeling from the fresh wound to its shoulder.

Brytta stood, his sword pointed at the beast; fencing it away from him. Backing up slowly, the man failed to see the dead warg behind him, and fell backwards overtop of it. His sword clattered to the ground, and the warg charged; sensing the vulnerability of its prey. It managed to catch a glancing blow on Brytta's arm, but was run through the back by Aldwulf's spear.

Ignoring his wound, Brytta surveyed the battle field. The wargs were all either dead or driven off, and the stench of death covered the small stretch of the Gap. Finding his horse alive, but mortally wounded, Brytta had no choice but to take its life. There was no reason to leave it to suffer.

___________________________________________


Accept for minor injuries, the group was unharmed. But devestating to Brytta was the loss of not one, but all of the company's horses. The long, dusty and undesirable trek north would have to be done on foot. But the group tried to keep hope, and started off within the hour; knowing that if there had been a chance of their capture by the authorities before, it was doubled by the catastrophe at the Gap.

[Envinyatar]

The group reached the Fords of Isen after a good hour of traveling on foot – what would have been a short distance on horse, now became a tiring march as the companions made for the river’s crossing. They would still be in the Riddermark when they crossed the river, but once they passed the southern tip of the mountain range they would pass out of the Mark and into Dunland.


The company had bathed their injuries in the cold waters of the Isen, and dressed them as best they could. Aldwulf had been able to retrieve his pack, and now it was secured on his back, the weight of it making his steps slower. He had found a small put of unguent in his kit bag and after washing the dried and still oozing blood from the gash on his right cheek, he applied the ointment to the raw wound. He caught a brief glimpse of his face in the pool of water, noting that he would carry a scar from this encounter – it would match the other scar on his left. He smiled to himself, despite the pain and the grimness of their situation. Both scars were from battles in which he had fought alongside the Hyldeson brothers.

Another hour later, the group had cleared Dol Baran, the last southern outpost of the northern range of the Misty Mountains. Brytta called a halt, and the group sat silently on the ground, leaning on their packs. A few gulps of water, and a brief cold meal and they were on their way again.

Two days of long marches, broken only by brief rest stops brought them just beyond the range of the Misty Mountains and out into the plains of Dunland. Now they were truly out of the Riddermark. Once again, Brytta called for a small rest.

The Brown Lands stretched before them, the home of the longtime enemies of the Men of the Mark. To the north of their position was Methedras, the southernmost of the tall peaks. It was toward there that they must make their way – somewhere, just a little to the south and west of it, lay the start of the ancient North-South Road that would bring them into the western lands.

Aldwulf fingered the healing wound on his right cheek, rubbing it lightly. The wargs were behind them, and now the prospect of crossing through Dunland faced them.

‘We have traded one danger for another,’ thought Aldwulf, as he shouldered his pack after the brief rest. Warily, the tired group pushed on.

[Dain Ironfoot]

Fréa herded his brothers and Hama back onto the main track and then drove them mercilessly to reach the Pass with only a stop or two for the rest of the day. There was a good hundred miles still to cover, some of it through the twisted forest paths of Fangorn and the rest over tracks skirting south of the Misty Mountains.

When the moon was high in the sky, Fréa finally consented to make camp directly below Derngingle where the great Ents formerly held their moots. But they saw no signs of life other than a few deer or rabbits that happened across their track. That evening Fréa sat by himself on a nearby log glaring grimly at both his brothers and barking out orders to Hama to set up the campsite and prepare a meal as quickly as he could. Privately, he berated himself for having misread the horse's tracks and sending them off on a useless chase into the wilds of the Entwood. But, to the others, his face looked implacable.

When the first rays of the sun peeped over the distant horizon, Fréa roused his companions despite their grumbilng protests and ordered them back onto their horses without even stopping to cook a hot breakfast. Gnawing on a small loaf of leftover bread, he vowed to make the Gap by noon. Within two hours, the group had entered the valley of Nan Curunir. Long a bramble infested waste under the guardianship of Saruman, the land had regained its former richness with fertile green fields spread throughout the valley. But little of the surrounding countryside or the secrets it might hold registered on Fréa's mind so intent was he to reach his goal.

Despite the grumbling of his brothers, Fréa kept the men riding hard and, just as he had promised, came within sight of the Pass at lunchtime when the sun was highest in the sky. Seeing the broad path ahead of him and the great snow-capped mountains towering overhead, he brought the group to a halt and peered about in all directions hoping to see some sign of the travellers or their earlier passage. Straining his eyes for even the slightest clue while standing up tall in his stirrups, he felt his heart plummet for, no matter which direction he gazed, there was nothing unusual in sight.

He sat back down in the saddle with a grimace, cursed his ill luck, and turned around to face his brothers, "May all the crows in the world dump their refuse on Brytta's head! Curse the man! He can't just vanish. Graitwa, dismount and search the land to the north. You Archim, look to the west, and Hama to the south. I will turn back some way and scour the land just off the trail on which we've come."

"There must be some clue. Some campfire or tracks or physical remains that will give us a hint as to when they were here and the direction they're heading now."

With that, Fréa turned his horse around and went back some distance, carefully scrutinizing the ground and the surrounding fields.

[ August 06, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[piosenniel]

‘There must be some clue. Some campfire or tracks or physical remains that will give us a hint as to when they were here and the direction they are heading in,’ said his brother. ‘You, Archim, look to the West.’

Letting his horse amble along at a slow pace, Archim kept his eyes fixed on the ground, sweeping his gaze from side to side. It was a fool’s job, or so he felt. The ground, it seemed, had split open and swallowed the golden boy, Brytta, and his companions, or so he hoped. No use telling Fréa that, though. Once he had an idea stuck in his mind, he would move earth and sky to see it done.

Archim, on the other hand, would be just as happy to head back to Edoras. Heldór stood accused of murder. Were he to set foot in the Mark, he would be a dead man. Better to go back to the tavern, and sit with the pretty girls there, roll the dice, drink ale. And tell stories of their glorious pursuit and slaying of the murderer and his accomplices. Who would know? Given enough wine, he thought to himself, he could forget that it was his actions that had started the whole downward spiral of events.

His thoughts drifted on in this fashion, and he slumped in his saddle, no longer paying attention to his search. His horse slowed even further and began picking at the clumps of grass that grew on the loose soil. The reins lay loose on his neck, and his steps turned south, following a rich line of succulent grass toward the promise of a lush verge just at the edge of the low lying hills.

The rider woke from his dark reverie when his mount jerked to a nervous halt and began backing up. Taking the reins firmly in hand, Archim brought the horse round, quieting him with soft-spoken words. A short distance, in a beat down ring of tall grass lay something that the horse would not approach. Archim dismounted and, tethering the horse securely to a nearby tree branch, approached the object carefully. The air grew heavier it seemed as he drew nearer, and a horrid stench assaulted his nose. Something dead, old blood stinking under the hot sun. He could hear the thick buzzing of flies as they swarmed about it.

There, on the crushed grass, lay the mangled hindquarters of a horse. And all about it the prints of several large animals. Wolves of some sort, he thought. Possibly WArgs from the size of the paw prints. They had dragged it here from a south east direction, he could see the trail of pressed down grass their efforts had made, and see the clots of blood drying along it where they had passed. It was a somewhat fresh kill, made earlier that day – the meat left on the bones was still red and fresh looking where he dug into it with his knife.

Kokoroch shied away from him as he returned. The stench of the dead horse clung to him, making the horse nervous. Archim calmed him and mounted up, marking the location of the remains in his mind as headed back toward his brothers and Hama.

‘With any luck, the wargs will have eaten the Hyldesons and their cursed companions,’ he thought to himself, spurring his mount on. ‘And then, we can turn back, the problem solved.’

[Orofaniel]

"Graitwa, dismount and search the land to the north." His brother said to him.

Graitwa did as Frea had wished, he didn't really want to go, but arguing would be no good. They all wanted to catch Brytta, so everyone had to make an effort. He turned north to look for some sort of clue, wheather it was campfire or some sort foot prints. Right now, anything could be helpful.

He searched the ground as he went, however Graitwa soon got tired.Suddenly he saw some prints that could be from Wargs, could it be? He thought. Is there any chance that they could have been attacked or something? A short smile rounded his lips, while thinking about this.

[ August 07, 2003: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Hama shrugged. He didn’t think he’d find anything important, but orders were orders. Even if he didn’t find anything, surely someone else would.

“Let’s go looking, lovely one.” He clucked to Lluagor and rode towards the south as Frea had commanded, keeping Lluagor to a gentle walk, so he wouldn’t miss anything that might lay beside or on the path itself. After a while, the trees and bushes all started to look the same. Hama thought briefly about going back before he got lost, but the idea of the older soldiers losing their tempers at him was not pleasant. He continued on.

Then Lluagor shied and danced away from a bush surrounded by some sort of tracks. Hama was no tracker, but even he could see that they had been made by some sort of doglike animal, dragging something heavy.

“Steady, my pretty lady, steady now. There’s nothing about to be so frightened of. What scared you so? Let’s have a look now, shall we?” He continued murmuring nothings to the frightened horse, gently patting her side. She calmed slowly, but eventually stood still, panting. Hama ground-tied her, leaving her reins to dangle a safe distance from the bush that had caused her such alarm.

He parted the branches of the offending bush, and nearly became sick. A half-eaten horse’s head grinned at him from a bed of blood covered leaves. The rest of the body was mostly gnawed bones. Doglike prints the size of his hand, fingers spread, surrounded the carcass, and the tooth marks on the bones looked to belong to mouths big enough to snap his arm, easily. He stepped away, barely holding in the contents of his stomach, and went back to Lluagor. The scent of the d.ead animal did nothing to reassure her, and it took him several minutes to calm her enough to mount.

[ August 06, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[piosenniel]

The four hunters were gathered round another dead horse. Archim shook his head in disgust. 'Trust to the luck of that blighted Brytta! We have found none of their bodies.'

‘They’re on foot now,’ he continued. ‘There were only five of them, as far as we’ve pieced together from the drunken reports of the guards and the ones that Fréa himself saw in the locks.’ He stood up from where he and his companions had been looking at the last horse carcass found. ‘There are five dead horses here plus the two dead draft horses found in the forest.’

The wind from the west had picked up, blowing little clouds of dust up from the vale’s floor. Archim shaded his eyes with his hand and looked westward. Footprints in the soil would soon be erased, and if the escaping band kept near the foothills, their prints would be hard to find on the rocky ground.

‘How can we know whether they’ve gone south or north from here,’ someone asked. Archim eyed the man, a crafty look on his face. ‘Were I them, and on foot, I would want to make for the nearest settlement of Men – real Men, not these swarthy Dunlendings who pass for Men.’ He spat on the ground to emphasize his point. ‘On horse, the escapees could easily elude or fight the shepherds on these plains, but on foot, they could be easily overcome.’ He looked at Fréa. ‘Isn’t there an old road just north of here that leads up to one of the trading post towns. There’s a ford there. The road would make it quick traveling for them. That’s where I’d go.’

Archim whistled for his horse, and mounted up. ‘We should easily catch up with them there.’ He waited for Fréa to give the signal for them to be off. He had had enough of stinking flesh and gore, and he wanted to put distance between himself and any wargs still hunting in these hills.

[ August 07, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Himaran]

After two long, hot days of walking, Brytta's company had reached the heart of Dunland. The land was flat and open, a deserted plain without a tree in sight. Brytta was uncomfortable with the situation, knowing that it would be nearly impossible to hide if the need came.

Scanning the area ahead, Brytta spotted a faint cloud of dust. He could not pick out any movement, but the dust was spreading and heading toward the company. "Brytta, look ahead - what is that?"

"I see it, Aldwulf, I see it!" The frustration in Brytta's voice was evident, for if he did not know what the cloud was, the man had an excellent guess: Dunlanders.

Looking around him franticly, Brytta spotted a ditch about twenty yards from the road. "Everyone, follow me, quickly!" The group dashed over to it, diving into it after Brytta. By now the entire company had realized what was heading towards them; a column of Dunlanders, some of whom were on horseback.

The company scrunched down against the edge of the ditch facing the rode, as Brytta peaked over the edge. Sure enough, a group of nearly twenty Dunlanders was moving down the road, passing their current position. When it had passed the group let out one long sigh of relief.

"Well," Brytta said, "since we know that there are Dunlanders nearby, I propose to stay off of the road and follow along beside it, at least this far ahead of it." The others in his group agreed, and they set out once more.

But as the old South road neared Eregion, it began to curve to the west. Not being familier with the shape of the road, Brytta's company continued due north, eventually reaching the banks of a tributary of the Greyflood River, there was naught but a forest to the west of them. The Old South Road was gone.

[elven maiden Earwen]

After two days of walking Rochil was exhausted. It was a very hot day and without the two horses it made traveling quite hard.

"Everyone, follow me, quickly!" Brytta said snapping Rochil out of his thoughts. He followed Brytta into the ditch that he led them two. After a couple moments a large group of Dunlanders passed by and kicked up a cloud of dust. That’s why we left the rode Rochil thought.

Now it was time for traveling again. They were following beside the rode, as they knew that Dunlanders were nearby. And its better this way, Rochil thought. He didn’t want to have an encounter with the Mark’s oldest enemies.

[ August 13, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Novnarwen]

Liol couldn't believe this. Their horses were dead, and now the Dunlendings. She was horrified by the thought of walking, and none knew for how long. When the 6th day of walking arrived, Liol was tired. A good night sleep would do well, she thought. But there was no time.

It was still tense between Rochil and her. She didn't want him to think she was so sorry she couldn't live without his acceptance for the appologize. She hurried over to Adwulf trying to start a conversation. All for the boredness, she thought. Not that he was boring of course, she assured herself.

"How are you?" she asked. "Tired?" she added. Liol knew she was, she just didn't want anyone to know if there wasn't anyone else who felt the same way.

Awdulf looked at her, giving a short laugh before he answered: "Nope, you?" Liol sighed, giving him a disappointed look. "Of course I'm not tired," she said catching up with her two cousins in the front.

The woman walked between them, trying not to get them believe she was 'up' to something. If they figured she was unhappy they would just laugh at her, especially if she was tired. Liol knew they didn't laugh to be rude, they were just not very used to having a woman around. And she was definitely not used to just be around men either. Men were supposed to be so rough, trying to be the best, the smartest, the most valiant, and so on, Liol thought while trying to seem vigorious.

"How far?" she asked. Brytta didn't get the chance to answer before Liol was there again. "So, none of my two cousins are tired?" she asked. They both giggled, and said no, almost at the same time. "You?" Heldor asked. The woman tried to hide what she felt by this question, and tried to seem surprised. "No," she lied. "Why do you ask?" she said. "Do I look tired?" she burst out. She grew red. 'You look tired' wasn't the best thing a woman could hear. "You asked us first," Brytta assured her, meanwhile Liol figuring out that herself. She laughed trying yo pull herself together. "I could walk for days," she added after their short laugh. "I could you know!" On this very day, Liol had 'lied' enough for a whole week.

[ August 09, 2003: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[Envinyatar]

They had been on foot for ten days now. The stream they had come to was a narrow one, and as soon as they saw it, they knew they were lost. ‘The Greyflood is a wide, deep river – like the Anduin. This is a mere slip of a stream, and shallow. Somehow we have taken a wrong turning.’ Aldwulf voiced his observations in a weary voice.

Brytta had called a rest to get their bearings, and Aldwulf had slumped down on the ground, leaning against his pack. He plucked a stalk of dried grass from a clump near him and chewed on the end of it. The day was waning, and a brisk wind was picking up. He drew his cloak closer about him and surveyed the rest of the group. They were all tired, their faces drawn with the pace they had pushed themselves to.

‘What say we camp here, beneath the trees tonight? They’ll give us some shelter from the wind, and we can gather firewood for warmth and a hot meal. There’s a stream nearby for water, and if we hurry we can catch the evening rise of trout.’

He grinned at Heldór, his tired eyes suddenly filled with new life. ‘You cut us some lengths of saplings and I’ll get out my thin cord. We’ll fish for our dinner like we did when we were boys.’ He searched in his pack for his roll of cord. ‘Who wants to join us?’

[Himaran]

Aldwulf's idea had been a sound one. The group altogether had caught nine fresh trout, enough for an excellent meal. But upon returning to the camp, it was realized that no firewood had been gathered.


"Leave the trout here; we will all go," said Brytta. "I doubt if anyone in these parts will suddenly pop up out of nowhere and defile our camp." And so the party left, taking with them an axe and several knives. Sticking together, they searched the area to the east for dead logs and other dry wood; completely unaware of the dark stranger that had entered their camp.

[Carrûn]

Awyrgan watched the small party with a lazy disinterest. He had first become aware of their movements a few days prior, a raggedy worn-out looking group of travelers. Judging by their appearance they had had one if not more run-ins with adversaries. The howling of Wargs could be heard for miles and the weathered man was prepared to bet his cloak on the wolf-like creatures having something to do with the party's misfortune. He had tracked the prints of a large pack for several days until it led out of his area and towards the Gap of Rohan. One thing was evident about this disheveled band - they had little sense of their direction or bearings.

He shifted from his high perch in a pine tree, attempting to regenerate some circulation in his feet. Trees made for uncomfortable seating but Awyrgan had learned their value in surveillance long ago. He weighed his options silently. He could totally ignore the travelers, but that went against all the Ranger principles he had ever been instructed in. He could continue to track them at a distance, but for all he knew he could end up following a lost group of strangers in a never-ending loop throughout Hollin. The only real option available was to make his presence known to the group and go from there. The man gave an involuntary grimace. He seldom tolerated the company of fellow Rangers, and these were total strangers.

The group was traveling closer to his location and he took a closer look. They were all Men, albeit one appeared to be a woman; an unusual addition to the already strange puzzle playing out in front of him. He could only assume that their intentions were noble; they appeared to be people of Rohan, which was preferable to Dunlanders. Still, the Rohirrim seldom traveled outside of their lands in such small numbers - if at all.

The company halted a few feet from the tree the Ranger was occupying. The majority slumped down on the soft terrain amongst collective groaning. One man seemed to be scanning all possible locations for something that could tell him where he was and were the group needed to go. Awyrgan froze as the man’s gaze swept back and forth across the tree several times before dropping back down to the ground.

One of the men proposed they halt for the night. Awyrgan nodded in silent approval at the man’s accurate assumption that the nearby stream was an ideal fishing location. Most of the party disappeared into the wood line towards the stream, cut saplings and cord in hand. Others wandered off to scout out the site.

When they returned Awyrgan had shifted his location to a tree that gave him a better view of their camp. The hunger evident in their eyes gave speed to their movements and soon all of the fish had been cleaned and were ready for cooking. However, as they began preparations for a fire they discovered what was obvious to the man high above. In their excitement of the catch none of them had gathered any fuel for a fire. He watched as they spread out in pairs a second time, tools in hand.

He sighed. Mind as well get it over with. He waited until he could no longer see or hear the movements of the strangers, then made sure that his rope was secure. Rapping the other end around his arm and waist he said a quick prayer and then ran headfirst down the truck. Reaching the relative safety of the ground he coiled the rope and placed it inside his cloak. Glancing around he noticed a number of small branches spread out across the ground that the group had either ignored or missed.

Gathering a decent cluster of sticks he set about making a fire. He was no dwarf, but soon he had sparks and then flame. He sat cross-legged on the ground in front of it, clearing the surrounding ground and feeding it slowly. Spitting a piece of the fish on a stick he held it over the dancing flames, turning it every few seconds. Soon, the smell began to rise and the man realized with some surprise that he had not eaten in several days.

Soon, as he had anticipated, the sound of footsteps began approaching through the woods from behind him. He remained seated with his cloak hiding most of his features, but checked to make sure that his knives were well loosened in their sheaths. He doubted an encounter with the strangers would lead to blows, but food could work in strange ways on hungry men.

The footsteps stopped as they reached the edge of the site clearing but no one spoke. The Ranger sat eating quietly in front of the fire as two of the men walked slowly around in front of him. He glanced up at them but in the dusk his cloak hid most of his face and only his eyes glowed green in the firelight. They stared at him, surprise outnumbered only by distrust.

He spoke first, waiting for their response. “Well met.”

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

[Dain Ironfoot]

Fréa shifted uneasily in his saddle. They had been on the trail almost two days cantering steadily northward in the direction of the Old South Road. Once they reached that junction, the road should lead them clearly and quickly to Tharbad.

With all their horses killed by the wargs, Brytta's men would have little option but to head straight towards the nearest mannish settlement and try to bargain for some additional mounts. That had seemed evident when they'd sighted the bloodied remains of the steeds. Fréa had headed back and even discovered the mutilated body of a warg or two that confirmed all their suspicions.

Tharbad wasn't a large settlement. Near the end of the Third Age, the city had been destroyed by floods and was only now, after endless years, finally beginning to recover and blossom again. But it was the only mannish settlement in the area, and had a fine marketplace where horses were regularly bought and sold. Brytta would have no choice but to plod along on foot as quickly as he could.

Initially, Fréa had rejoiced to see what had happened to Brytta's men; he had hoped it might be easy for them to overtake the Hildesons and their friends in a relatively short time. Then Haldor and his brother could be captured and returned to Edoras, or more likely slain under cover of whatever scuffle would result.

But what had looked extremely easy on the day they crossed through the Pass was now becoming increasingly difficult. Fréa's spirits plunged as the foothills led on and on with no sign of any other travellers, and no hint of the mysterious, hidden roadway that always seemed to be around the next bend but never came in view. Fréa kept taking the small map out of his pocket and peering down at it to see if he had only imagined that there should actually be a road here.

Worst of all, real game seemed to be scarce. They crossed paths with a coney or two, but had no luck finding anything more satisfying such as a deer, a wild boar, or even a brace of geese.

A scowl passed over Fréa's face as he heard his stomach growl. Curse that Hama for being so stingy with the supplies he'd bought in the markets of Edoras! They did have several days of provisions left, but it was miserable stuff that no self-respecting warrior would deign to eat--salt pork and hard bread that had definitely seen better days. What kind of provisions had this idiot of a lad brought? Moreover, they'd quaffed down the last of their sour ale and were even lucky to find a stream to fill their water jugs and slake their thirst.

It was near evening on the second day that Archim finally pointed out the last peak of Methedras just ahead of them; not far away and slightly to the west should be the point where the Old South Road began. At Graitwa's suggestion, the group agreed to settle here for the night and link up with the road early the next morning at the first hint of dawn.

Fréa barked out orders to set up camp and ordered Hama to go find some fresh game, telling the lad not to come back to camp until he had managed to do so, even if it took him all night. "Maybe you can live on salted pork, but my brothers and I are used to better. See that you bring us something decent to eat!"

With that Fréa stretched out on the ground and slammed his helmet onto his head so that he could block out the incessent grumbles of Archim and Graitwa who were continuously moaning about the situation that their ambitious brother had put them in. For an instant, Fréa was tempted to stand up and challenge them but then thought better of it, and left them to their endless complaints, lying down in the cool shade to take a little nap before dinner.

[ August 10, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]

[Envinyatar]

Aldwulf held back as soon as they spotted the light of the fire through the trees. ‘Those guardsmen have followed us!’ he thought to himself. Heldór was a few steps in front of him, and Aldwulf put a restraining hand on his shoulder, halting him. ‘Stay back!’ he hissed to him, drawing him down behind a thick bush. Keep hidden while we sort this out.’

The four companions moved forward into the flickering firelight. Brytta and Rochil advanced into the light to take a hard look at the man. Liol and Aldwulf hung back in the shadows, also taking his measure.

‘Well met,’ he heard the stranger say.

‘So you say,’ said Aldwulf, stepping up for a closer look at the well cloaked man, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his blade. ‘And who might it be that we are so well met by? Have you a name that we might know you by? And how come you to be sitting so comfortably in our camp, cooking our just caught fish?’

[piosenniel]

Hama dragged in late that night, empty handed as far as Archim could tell. A light sleeper made even lighter by his grumbling, empty stomach, he sat up on his bedroll at the guard’s return. Strain his eyes as he might, he could see no great haunch of some delectable meaty thing hanging over the back of the horse, nor could he see where Hama might have pulled his kill into camp behind him with a rope.

He watched as Hama dropped quietly down to his bedroll near him, then he hissed at him in a contemptuous tone. ‘It’s no wonder Heldór escaped so easily with the likes of you set to watch over him!’ He dropped back down onto his own bedroll in disgust. Hama’s patience had worn thin and he barked back a few comments of his own, prompting another volley from Archim.

‘Shut yer beak, Crow!’ came the snapped command from where Fréa lay. Archim’s bad mood escalated out of control with this remark, and he waded in to tell his brother just what he thought of his hare-brained scheme. By this time Graitwa had woken up, and joined in with his comments . . .

[Orofaniel]

'Shut yer beak, Crow!’ It was an angry voice that was speaking, or some would say yelling. Fréa seemed very irritated. Archim’s was already very grumpy, and that comment didn't really help. He walked over to Fréa, his temper was rising, and everyone could see that.

Graitwa woke by a hissing voice, it was Archim. He was talking in a very loud and aggressive voice to Fréa. Fréa didn't like being talked to like that, so he answered back.

"What do you think you're doing, Crow?" Fréa asked his brother much more irretated than before.

"What I am doing??!!" Archim yelled at him angrily and he seemed very surprised over the question.

It was here, that Graitwa interfered. "Would someone tell what is going on here??!!” He asked in a loud voice. When the two brothers went silent for a moment, just starring at their older brother, Graitwa continued:"I demand to know!!" His temper was now rising as well.

"It's none of your business, brother." Fréa said stern.

"YES! It's sure is my business!" Graitwa snapped, while walking towards Fréa. "I will not have it! I will not tolerate it!" Graitwa continued. I will not tolerate to be talked to like that," he said staring at Fréa.

The two younger brothers were still silent. Hama didn't bother to interfere.

"I'm warning you two," Graitwa said after a moment with silence. "One more time......and I'll walk away. I'll drop the whole thing, and you'll have to deal with this problem alone." he continued, to Achim and Fréa's surprise. They looked shocked, and the both looked at each other, exchanging looks. "Now I have warned you," Graitwa said in the end.

Suddenly Hama said something. "I have a small suggestion," he said in a low voice, while pointing his finger in the air. "Let's just go to bed, and not speak another word, until the morning comes." He said, looking at Graitwa. His eyes rolled over to Fréa and Archim.

They all nodded, and did as Hama had suggested.

[ August 10, 2003: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

What in all of Rohan had that argument been about last night? Hama wondered. Some sort of problem, some kind of trouble. They certainly didn’t act like the brave heroes of the Mark that he’d grown up worshiping, like his namesake, Hama of Helm’s Deep, and Eomer, and Theoden King. They acted more like the petty criminals that he’d guarded in Edoras.

He shook his head as he saddled Lluagor. That was silly—wasn’t it? There was no reason for them to be suspect of anything worse than losing their tempers, and if people started to get arrested for that—well, Hama wouldn’t be one of the guards, he’d be one of the prisoners. He was sorry that he hadn’t managed to find anything last night; they weren’t the only ones who hated salt pork, after all. But what right did it give Archim to call him incompetent!? He was a soldier, not a huntsman. There was no reason for him to know how to do this sort of thing. Stupid man. Still, he probably shouldn’t have blown up at him…oh, who cared? They wouldn’t be stuck with each other again if Hama had anything to say about it. He might even resign his commission to get away if all the older soldiers were like the Forgoils.

He tugged Lluagor’s girth a bit tighter than he perhaps should have.

****

“I’m starving here,” groaned Archim, with a sharp glance at Hama, who hunched his shoulders and tried to look submissive. None of the older men had allowed him to forget coming back with nothing the previous evening, but Archim seemed to have a special grudge. Since they started that morning, it seemed that every other remark that the man made was either a slur on Hama’s nonexistent hunting prowess or a complaint about the lack of food. Hama was having a difficult time keeping his temper in check and several times had started to tell the man what he thought.

Only there were three of them, and only one of him. If the brothers, however poorly they got along, decided to step in to defend their younger brother, he would have a serious problem on his hands. Besides, there was something that told him he would probably not survive if he really made them angry.

What was he thinking? They were men of Rohan, how could he attribute such actions to them? But then, there was the reason for this predicament to stand against that line of reasoning. If a hero of Helm’s Deep could commit mur.der, then what would really stop them from getting rid of him if they really wanted to?

Hama was shaken out of this melancholy line of thought by Graitwa, who’d been scouting on ahead.

“Tharbad is just over the next hill!”

[ August 14, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

The small company slowly drew near there camp. From the shadows they saw a man sitting on the ground. It too Rochil a couple of minutes to realize what he was doing. He’s eating our fish! Brytta and Rochil stepped warily into the light. He turned around and saw that Aldwulf and Liol stayed back in the shadows of the trees.

The stranger looked up at the two men. Neither Brytta, nor Rochil spoke as they stared at this man in front of them.

“Well met,” the man said, in a clear voice. Rochil stood still thinking of a good response but Aldwulf thought of one first.

“So you say” Aldwulf replied stepping into the light, “And who might it be that we are so well met by? Have you a name that we might know you by? And how come you to be sitting so comfortably in our camp, cooking our just caught fish?”

Rochil couldn’t help but smiling. Here was a small band of weary travels that stood with a stranger that was sitting, eating their fish, and the asked him who he was. Rochil inched forward a little bit to get a better look at the man. He couldn’t see much of him, as a weather-beaten cloak covered many of his features. His clothes were of dark colors and just as weather-beaten as his cloak. As Rochil looked upon the man he realized something. He was a ranger!

Rochil couldn’t believe how stupid he was being. He should have been able to take one look at the man and tell by his clothing that he was a ranger. As the man moved slightly, Rochil caught a sight of jet-black hair and keen green eyes. Rochil stepped closer to the man waiting for a response to Aldwulf’s question.

[ August 14, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Carrûn]

..."And who might it be that we are so well met by? Have you a name that we might know you by? And how come you to be sitting so comfortably in our camp, cooking our just caught fish?"

Awyrgan gave a dark chuckle. "Ah, riddles my friend. Who is more free - a rich man's pet bird in a cage or the servant who must carry it?" The men gave him a strange look and he laughed, cursing softly. He continued in a dark tone. "If you need a name, you may call me Awyrgan. It it not pleasant on the tounge but neither am I."

He straighted up where he sat, letting his hood fall back as he did so. "As to you other question - you could best answer it yourself. What are five travellers doing wandering about in the wilderness." They stiffened slightly at his words, confirming what his own eyes had told him earlier. He grinned. "It is said trees have eyes - a traveller should pay heed."

"As to your fish..." he turned towards the nearest man still carrying several logs under his arm. "Here is a fire." He gestured towards a small patch of plants on the edge of the clearing. "And those will add flavor."

He stood slowly running a hand tiredly through his hair. "I have seen many strange things in my travels, but certainly I am not the only one in these woods with a name?"

[ August 14, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Himaran]

Upon recovering from his surprise at finding this mysterious man sitting calmly in their camp, Brytta's immediate feeling was one of distrust. The man knew little of the Rangers, and in his opinion anyone connected to a King, whether of Gondor or Rohan, was a threat and a possible enemy. Either way, Brytta had no intention of revealing much about his party to the man aside from their names; let alone the purpose of their journey.

"I have seen many strange things in my travels, but certainly I am not the only one in these woods with a name?"

"Forgive our impolite manner, but we five travellers are hungry, tired and were not in any way expecting to have a visitor at our camp. I am Brytta. As for our business in this dark forest, I will be flat. We are lost. I and my friends were travelling north, and at some point left the Old South Road by accident. And so, we have made a camp, and now an aquaintance." The the others introduced themselves, but mentioned nothing about being related or having come from Rohan; and Awyrgan did not question them further.

The "invited" man shared the fish with the group, and the herbs which he had mentioned earlier added a delicious flavor to the meal. Having eaten thier fill, the group relaxed around the fire, the night soon becoming alive with the sounds of crickets and frogs from the stream.

[ August 18, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[piosenniel]

Archim sat hunched on his horse, miserable under the prickly heat of the noon time sun. ‘Just over the next hill,’ he muttered to himself, taking the tail position in the group. ‘Never mind the next hill is a good fifteen miles away, and who knows how far over it Tharbad is.’

He reached up to the back of his neck and picked at a boil that was festering there. No place and no time to wash up over the past week, and now he was beginning to feel a bit itchy. His mount looked back at him as if it had read his thoughts, and gave a great snort. ‘Yeah – well you smell none too fresh yourself, Master Horse!’

It was well into evening before they reached the small town of Tharbad. A trading post mostly with a small Inn on the north side of the river, and a few scattered farms. The Inn was a welcome sight to the weary group.

Thoughts of ale and a hot cooked meal drifted through Archim’s thoughts. Looking hopefully at Fréa who had already dismounted, he broached the subject of spending the night – the idea of a soft bed and a real pillow beckoned him to dismount himself and follow his brother into the Inn. Fréa it seemed chose to ignore the query and went straight to the Innkeeper who stood behind the bar eyeing the duty travelers as they came in.

Archim sat at a table and beckoned for the serving girl to take his order. Graitwa and Hama had by this time come in and made their way to the table and ordered pints for themselves. A few moments later, Fréa came stomping back toward the group, his face set in a scowl. Throwing himself down angrily onto the fourth chair he told them there had been no other men from Rohan through here recently, no men looking to buy horses. He was at a loss as to what to do now, and his mood darkened with each silent minute that ticked by.

It was Archim, finally, who broke the silence. ‘Well, I know what I want to do, brothers,’ he said expansively after his second ale, nodding at Hama inclusively. ‘I say we spend the night at this fair establishment – eat well, drink well, rest well. Then make out decision tomorrow.’ He looked round at the group. ‘Come on. What do you say! Dinner and drinks on me!’ He fished in the waistband of his breeches and pulled out his pouch of coins and plunked it on the table. It jingled promisingly, and he thought he saw an approving nod from Hama.

Archim raised his hand and waved the serving girl once more to his side. ‘A pitcher of ale . . . no, make it two . . . and a pint glass for my brother there,’ he said, pointing at Fréa. ‘We’ve got some plans to make . . . and by my reckoning it will be thirsty work . . .’ He winked at her and flipped her a coin as she flashed him her saucy smile.

[ August 15, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Dain Ironfoot]

Fréa glanced back at Archim as he heard his brother carrying on to the others about the joys of ale and a soft bed. He grudgingly sat down at the table and raised up the pint that the serving maid had set down there. As far as he was concerned, an evening spent on quaffing ale and eyeballing wenches was just a few hours lost from the need to find Brytta as quickly as they could.

Still, they had to find somewhere to sleep for the night and, more importantly, he could do some talking with the locals to see if they could provide any clue as to the whereabouts of the missing travelers. He shot a friendly glance at Archim and grinned, "Alright, for tonight you call the shots. Just make sure you don't drink yourself under the table! We have to be leaving right after sunrise, and I don't want anyone lying in bed and groaning about how their head hurts. So enjoy yourself, but take it easy."

With that, Fréa turned away to go talk to some of the villagers who were just wandering in after their day's work, while Archim and the others began scavanging the Inn in search of gaming and entertainment.

[ August 17, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Orofaniel]

Graitwa glanced over at the others. Fréa had gone over to some of the villagers and was now in a conversation with them. Graitwa however just wanted some pints with and some good food. Archim took up a pack with playing cards, and went over to some others to see if they wanted to play.

Graitwa and Hama seated at another table, waiting to order.

It took only ten minutes before they got their food, and they dug in. Graitwa was very hungry so he and Hama didn't talk much. Fréa was still sitting in the bar, glancing over at them now and then.

[ August 18, 2003: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[piosenniel]

I call the shots! ‘Bout time that happened! Archim’s eyes glinted in the yellowed light cast from the Inn’s lanterns. He rubbed his hands together and grinned broadly at Hama and Graitwa. They both looked askance at him, hoping there would be no trouble.

As if they had spoken aloud, he produced a worn pack of cards from his inner vest pocket, and shuffled them with a practiced hand. Fréa, talking to someone at the bar, glared his way when the riffling of the cards drew his attention.

Archim ignored his brother’s look, and feeling in an expansive mood, clapped Graitwa and the very surprised Hama on the shoulder. ‘There’s a nice sized table over there,’ he said motioning with his chin to a fair-sized round table at the back of the Common Room. He stood up and motioned for the serving girl. ‘Drinks on the house, from my companions and myself,’ he said, smiling and waving his hand to take in the patrons in the room. There were shouts of approval, and many glances fell his way. Once he was sure of his audience, Archim held up his pack of cards and pointed toward the round table.

‘A friendly game of chance, perhaps, good sirs,’ he said invitingly. ‘Something to occupy our minds and hands while the Inn’s good ale occupies our bellies!’

Several patrons stood and followed Archim as he made his way back to the table. Graitwa and Hama looking at one another, shook their heads. Fréa concerned that their stay here might be marked by something disagreeable came up to the table they still sat at and hissed at them in a low voice. ‘Best you two get back there and keep an eye on him. It would be all we needed to have some trouble start up over his card shenanigans, and us get thrown in the locks for it.’

Grudgingly, the two got up and trailed after Archim, who now sat with several new ‘friends’, explaining a mile a minute the beauty of a card game he learned in Rohan. And all the while his hands, in a mesmerizingly fluid motion, shuffled and reshuffled the cards . . . like a snake . . . drawing his willing victims in . . .

[Envinyatar]

"Ah, riddles my friend. Who is more free - a rich man's pet bird in a cage or the servant who must carry it?"

Who is this trickster? thought Aldwulf, eyeing the man who stood so at ease in their little camp. Heldór had come forward at his brother’s urging, and Aldwulf took his place at his side. Should the man come after his friend, he would have to deal first with him.

Before the man could speak, Aldwulf broke in. ‘Awyrgan, you say. I have not heard that name before.’ He paused, looking closely at the dark haired man in his dark, weathered clothes. For all his fair words, he seemed shadowed somehow. And Aldwulf could not tell the source of it. He wondered for a moment if this were some tracker hired by the Forgoils to find them and trick them somehow into coming back with him, or at least getting near enough to some place where they might be captured by a larger group. ‘And probably killed’ he muttered to himself. He cleared his mind of his jumbled thoughts and went on.

‘Tell me, if you will, are you one of those Rangers we hear of and never see. What business brings you to this section of forest? As Brytta said, we are lost. But you, it appears are not. Are you here by chance, and will you aid us. Or do you seek to hinder us?’

The man shifted his stance and looked at Aldwulf and at Heldór who stood to his right, just slightly behind him . . .

Neither is free in a sense thought Aldwulf, his thoughts going back to the man’s riddle. He kept his wary gaze on Awyrgan. Yet each in his own way is king of his little realm . . .

[Novnarwen]

She watched the new man, sitting there, as he was one of them. Liol halfway hid herself behind Rochil who was silent, and it looked as he was going to stay that way. Both Brytta and especially Adwulf asked the newcomer questions. Liol didn't dare come forwards. Her first impression was; they were caught and there was no way out. But somehow, the impression had slightly changed after a couple of moments had passed. A ranger, she thought. His way of dressing and his hair; all sweaty. She bent over to get an even better view, and Rochil standing before her, turned around and watched her move ness. She gave him two innocent eyes, telling him to stand still. The man nodded, but then slid away. And there she stood, a tiny lady having no power at all over her appearing redness in her face. Oh, this is so embarrassing she thought. She grew redder while thinking of herself being scared at first and now she stood before this Awyrgan.

However, the stranger didn't seem to notice the tiny lady, he was talking to her cousin about his doings.

"Tell me, if you will, are you one of those Rangers we hear of and never see. What business brings you to this section of forest? As Brytta said, we are lost. But you, it appears are not. Are you here by chance, and will you aid us. Or do you seek to hinder us?" she heard Adwulf ask, while Liol taking a step backwards, giving Rochil a stare.

No way was this over yet, Liol thought. She had asked him to forgive her, but that was obviously not enough. But something in her mind warned her against a 'war' between them. What if he hadn't meant it? Liol took a deep breath; it was helping her not to have an oral attack at her friend again. Rochil didn't notice her intense eyes, lightened with fire. It seemed to her that he as too busy catching up with the conversation going on. Liol stood in the background, thinking very hard. Who was this man, and why was Rochil acting like that? Was he doing it on purpose? Liol grinned, taking her eyes away from the group, wishing she was somewhere else..

[ August 18, 2003: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[Carrûn]

‘Tell me, if you will, are you one of those Rangers we hear of and never see. What business brings you to this section of forest? As Brytta said, we are lost. But you, it appears are not. Are you here by chance, and will you aid us. Or do you seek to hinder us?’

Awyrgan shifted slightly where he sat crosslegged. "A blind squirrel could see that you are lost. I am not - and chance is a strange word. I am here because I choose to be, but I did not choose to follow you. I roam these parts, and they are like my home. Strangers in a house are to be followed." He paused, glancing up at the sole female member of the party who was turning a crimson red for one reason or another and chuckled. "Lady I won't eat you, sit down." Turning back to the other he continued, cracking his neck as he did so.

"I will not hinder you, so long as you prove no threat to the ground I tread upon. I care not for your business, but I will lead you whither you wish until I am beyond where I choose to go."

He poked a stick through the last of the remaining fish, and turned it slowly over the dying embers of the fire. "After all, 'tis the least I can do for a fine supper."

"So what will it be - I will guide you until you are back on your path, but you will travel where and how I tell you. If not, I will be gone by morning and you will be off on your merry way again."

"As to whether or not I am a Ranger..." he shrugged, "in a manner of ways yes."

[ August 18, 2003: Message edited by: Carrûn ]

[Envinyatar]

Fair enough thought Aldwulf to himself. ‘Then I take back my harsh words, sir,’ he said. We are in need of a guide, and you will provide us with your expertise. We cannot ask for more.’

He picked up the water-skins and made his way back to the river to refill them for the night, taking the extra ones so that they might be ready to leave in the morning. The others were seated on logs about the small fire when he returned, talking among themselves. After he stowed the skins,he picked up a crisped fish leaning in on a stick near the flames, and looked about for a place to sit.

Aldwulf leaned his pack against a tree, and himself against it, stretching his long legs out before him. The fish was tasty, and felt good in a belly shrunk by rationed foods. He took a long pull on the water-skin to finish up.

Sounds of the oncoming night were all about them, soon to be fading he knew into a hush. The little fire crackled merrily, and he fished in his pack for his pipe and pouch of pipeweed.

[elven maiden Earwen]

Rochil sat leaning up against a tree. The fish was wonderful, and he was happy to have a decent meal. It was something their company hadn’t had in awhile. He remembered Awyrgan’s words to Liol, and laughed softly to himself. He knew she probably shouldn’t have moved but it was just a little joke he thought. They ate and then they all went to bed. The next day they would start up early and Awyrgan would lead them back on their path.

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

The next morning Rochil woke to the smell of bacon cooking. He stretched and yawned. The morning sun shone down. Rochil started to prepare for the days journey before heading off to breakfast. After there breakfast Rochil headed back to his pack. Soon Rochil was finished. He put on his belt and put his sword in his sheath. There, I’m already now.

[ August 21, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Himaran]

"Thank you, Awyrgan, for your offer of help; which we will accept graciously. However, we are far from the lands which we seek, and it may take several weeks of travelling." Brytta pulled a map out from his bag and showed it to Awyrgan. He took a pencil and made a scratch in the North Downs, north of Bree.

"This is where we are heading for. As you can see, the Old South Road will take us directly past Bree, and north to our long awaited destination."

Awyrgan scanned the map quickly. "I may be able to take as much as a week off of your journey. I will work out a route tonight, but I doubt if it will be necessary for us to go to the road in question at all."

With the conversation over, Brytta tossed several logs on the fire and stroked it gently. Aldwulf disappeared with the water skins, presumably to fill them from the nearby stream. The group then retired, each with their own worries about the next day.

As he rolled over on the uncomfortable ground, Brytta could not help but ponder the mysterious man's offer. For all he knew, they had been found by an undercover Rohanian scout and would be led straight into an ambush. Or, more likely, the man would simply turn them in; recieving a sizeable reward. But despite his doubts, Brytta felt a genuine trust for the man; and after all, they were bound to be caught if they did not move. The man decided to leave the thinking for the morning, and soon drifted off into a troubled sleep.
____________________________________________

The next morning was hot, the sun rising quickly to fill the sky with its splendor. Awyrgan was the first awake, and the smell of fried bacon soon filled the camp. The others rose quickly, and after the short breakfast began to prepare for their journey.

It took less than a quarter of an hour for Brytta's party to finish packing. Each hoisted a heavy pack, and they began to follow Awyrgan through the wilderness. The man seemed right at home, as if the brush and scrub before him was a clear path. Moreover, the pace he set was somewhat blistering.

Awyrgan had turned to Brytta earlier as they travelled, speaking quietly. "I wanted to get an early start. Soon we'll stop and I'll show your our route." He did not say why he moved them out out as rapidly as he had.

[ August 24, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]