The Hills of Evendim RPG

[Meneltarmacil]

After finding water and healing herbs and helping to tend the wounded, Thoronmir spoke to Falowik alone.

"I've tried to discover who the ruffians were and where the survivors fled after the battle. So far all I know is that they headed west to the hills near Evendim, but it's still a mystery as to who they are. My best guess is that they came from the East as they somewhat resemble the Easterlings I once fought at the Pelennor Fields, but their manner of speech is different somehow."

"Falowik, you were among them and had the closest look at them. Is there anything you can tell me about them that may be useful?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Falowik," Thoronmir said, "you were among them and had the closest look at them. Is there anything you can tell me about them that may be useful?"

"They have a ring leader whom they call the Master, who doesn't tell anyone his true name. One of them said something about maybe the Master might want me for the next leeching, which means it's something that happens often. Drawing blood. Why, I don't know. That's all I could gather so far. What do you think?"

[Meneltarmacil]

"I'm not sure," replied Thoronmir. "Doesn't sound like anything I recognize. Perhaps Easterlings are hiring and arming local mercenaries for something."

"But what would they be trying to do?" asked Falowik.

"I don't know, but our answer lies somewhere over there." Thoronmir pointed to the craggy hills in the west. "We'll make for Evendim tomorrow morning. Perhaps then our questions will be answered."

[Imladris]

Gorby

I sighed and sat down, resting my weary feet. I looked at Lira, leaning against the trunk of a tree, her eyes half closed. A purple colouring crept from around bandage. I cringed, thinking of how she had protected Anson and me. Taking out my parchment, I took my quill, dipped it in my bottle of ink, and began to sketch her, how she had looked when she had come to Anson and me, offering to protect us.

Her scrawny legs, the blue skirt that had flapping around her ankles, her blue eyes cold as ice. In her hand I drew her silver dagger in a threatening her skeletal hand while the other beckoned to an imaginary place off the page. Her head was turned the opposite direction. I started to draw her hair braided, but then decided to take artistic license and drew it long, and swirling about her body. If I hadn’t done that, then it would have looked as if she was bald.

Putting the picture on my knee, I admired it, though lamenting once again I did not have paints. Once we reached Bree, I’d have to paint it for her. Carefully folding it up, I crept to her side and tapped her leg. Opening her eyes fully, she kind of smiled at me and said, “Hello, Gorby.”

I bobbed my head at her and my eye strayed to the wound. I knew it hurt, but how did it hurt? Was it an ache, or was it as if a fire burned under her skin. How did it feel like to be injured, to feel life slowly. I stared at her.

She looked at me quizzically and said softly, “You fought bravely, Gorby.”

I shook my head. “No I didn’t. You could have died.” I cringed again at the memory of the sword falling upon her and I did not shoot before then. I lowered my head in shame, my eyes closed, my teeth biting my lips.

“But I am alive,” she said with a smile that showed her teeth that glistened softly. “And we all could have died, including you. You did no wrong.”

Dropping to my knees I took her hand and said, “Forgive me, elven maid.”

“There is naught to forgive, little halfling,” she murmured, stroking my curly hair.

Kissing her hand, I took my drawing and dropped it on her lap. Creeping away, I glanced behind me and saw her staring at the open drawing, her lips upturned in a small smile.

[Elora]

Uien

Uien smiled at Lira, grateful for the other's words. The killings were done and she could not undo death. She had tried that before, and woe came of that. Uien looked across to where Falowik spoke with Thoromir some distance away. She watched the pair, her gaze resting on Falowik for a time.

"I would not undo them, yet death sits heavy on this place as it does me. You feel it also." Lira nodded and sent a troubled gaze to the stones that stood around them. Uien tried not to think of them, their insistent urges and tugs. Eswen neared and added, "As do I."

Uien's gaze returned to Falowik and a love made real in the darkness of Fornost. They were dragged into that darkness and the only way free of it was to push through it. Drawing a measure of strength from the man she watched, Uien spoke in a low voice to the two Elves that stood near her.

"A terrible secret lies in this place and the stones will keep it no longer. Feel how they push at us." Lira and Eswen murmured their assent, Eswen stroking Corn's sleek feathers that shone blue black with the morning light. Nearby, the prisoner moaned.

"There is new evil here, and the stones have yielded it to us. Rumour of terrible sorcery. We cannot move on, surely, until we know what it is we move on to. I fear this has much to do with Eodwine."

Lira frowned at the dewy turf and Eswen grimly stared at the blinded man that lay across a horse.

"We have the means to come to the bottom of this," she said. The prisoner would know of this evil if it was linked to Eodwine. Uien and Lira nodded.

Lira looked up and back to the stones with some reluctance. "We should not dally here. The day is passing."

"Yes," Uien said, "and it would be best if we come to this secret in daylight." Her shoulder throbbed but worse was the prospect of returning to the stones. Yet it had to be and she would bear it. She would bear a great deal for the man who had surely saved her in the night. Uien turned to the bandaged prisoner.

"It would be best if he guided us, rather than the stones. I will see to him if you can gather up the others," she said. To that end, Uien moved towards the man to do what she could. She had just laid her hand on the man's brow and was inspecting the bandages around his now empty eyes when Falco Boffin materialised, arms crossed and face red.

"What are you doing," he demanded.
"What do you think," Uien returned tersely, little disposed to entertain the Shirriff's antagonism.
"I think you're fraternising with our enemy and your ally," Falco announced, pleased to have an invitation to express his suspicions. Uien sighed and pushed back a harsh comment on the Shirriff's mental prowess.

"I am trying to heal what I can."
"Where is your pack then." Falco looked across to where it lay on the grass.
"What herbs would have eyes to re-grow Shirriff? I would be interested to know!" Falco's face darkened further.
"The you admit that you cannot be healing him," he pounced, voice rising an octave.

Uien's patience snapped, audibly it seemed to her at that moment. With an external calm that she did not feel, she spoke with icy anger that rained over the Hobbit who quivered before her, uncaring who listened or what they thought.

"Is it a great crime, Shirriff, to ease a prisoner's pain and discomfort so that he is better able to communicate with us? Are you such a heathen you would deny him that basic care? Are such a blind fool that you would have him die of shock or loss of blood before you could speak to him?

No, I am not attempting to heal his loss of sight. It is impossible. I am healer, not sorceress. You are a Shirrif, not a healer. Do not presume to instruct me on the proper application of healing for be certain that I shall not educate you on your laws. They seem cold and indecent to me, and I would have nothing of them!"

Falco had in that time moved from red, to purple and now was pale with shock and dismay. Uien closed her mouth and then in silence turned back to the prisoner. After an uncomfortable stretched moment, Falco strode off and Uien sighed again, this time in disappointment. Words spoken in anger and haste, no matter the provocation, were rarely of any merit but they could not be unsaid now.

Uien checked the prisoner's bandages, adjusting slightly and offering water. The man was in considerable pain but remained oburately silent beneath her touch. Whe he made no reply, Uien asked again if he wished water.

"You'll get nothin' from me, witch," he grated with some effort.

"Then I will have nothing. Still, I will not have you suffer needlessly. I will return with water," Uien replied. She winced at the strain on her shoulder as she stepped back and lowered her hands. Holding it, she walked back towards her pack and bent, retrieving water bottle and a packet of herbs that would dull the pain.

A high, clear hobbit voice sounded at her shoulder as she gathered what she wanted.

"Eswen says that there is something we should see in the ruins. Must we?" The uncertain waver of fear touched her heart for she felt it herself. She looked up into Anson's face from where she crouched and smiled gently.

"It is important, I think, Anson. Had I choice, I would not go in there. But I cannot turn aside, for Eodwine's sake... and our own. I will go back in there, though I hope not alone."

Anson nodded and sighed, staring at the forbidding stones, and said nothing of whether he would accompany them. Lira and Eswen were moving through the camp, speaking in turn with each about the need to venture into Fornost. Falco sat on a boulder, arms crossed and fuming. He glared at any who approached and sent particularly displeased glances in Uien's and Falowik's direction at every opportunity.

"Of course I'm going" he announced sourly. "I'm not letting either one of those two out of my sight!"

Uien poured out some water into a wooden cup, crushed the herbs and sprinkled them into the water. The scent was soothing and pleasant and she breathed it in as she rose to her feet and returned to where the prisoner was.

"Drink this," she said, guiding the vessel into his bound hands. His fingers closed around it and he lifted it to his mouth with all the desperation of a thirsty man, despite his earlier rejections. At his first taste of the herbed water, he paused and spat it out.

"Witch," he snarled.
"As you wish," Uien returned. "It will soothe your pain, but if you prefer to suffer then I will not gainsay you that." Uien turned her back on the man and walked towards the gathering group. The wooden cup sailed over her shoulder and landed on a bare patch of earth nearby. She bent and scooped it up, looking back to where the prisoner hunched on horseback. The cup had been drained.

Lumiel was nearest to her when Uien rejoined the group, Thoromir and Falco still speaking with each other.

"What was that about," she inquired as she looked at the cup in Uien's hands.

"A battle of thirst over stubborn pride," Uien said with a small smile. Perhaps now their prisoner would tell of the darkness in Fornost and release her from the burden of speaking for the stones. Lumiel frowned at the riddle of Uien's reply and set it aside.

"Are we moving out," she asked instead.
"I hope so. I do not wish to be within Fornost come nightfall," Uien replied with heartfelt conviction.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:14 AM January 13, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen walked about the camp with Lira at her side discussing the need, however unpleasant, that they must venture into the heart of Fornost. She looked at Uien giving the water to their prisoner and something cold passed through her, she had no thought or care for people like that.

Could it be because for a lingering moment she was very much like them? That she was capable of that pain towards others? An urge crept into her to touch the stone looming above, dark despite the sun having risen.

Her hand reached out pale like crystal in the sunlight contrasting strongly with the dark stone. She pressed her palm against the cold rough surface and the voices hit her with renewed strength.

Esgallhugwen's mind was tossed back into her past, or at least it seemed like the past but she could recall nothing.

There was snow but something was wrong with it, it was red, thick and steaming with newly spilt blood. She can smell it, horridly familiar and poignant, looking across the chill wilderness desolate and red.

Lira looked at Eswen stricken with fear. The dark haired elf seemed to be in trance, but her right hand the one that wasn't in contact with the stone reached across her stomach to her sword that hung in the scabbard at her side. Her fingers stroked the pommel.

Uien and Lira stood far off in the distance, but where they stood no blood could be seen it was pristine and white and they glowed with purity. As Esgallhugwen looked down upon herself she was drenched in blood, it ran into her eyes, down her chin, trickling off her fingers.

'Eswen.... Esgallhugwen!' Lira called softly trying to avoid alerting the others. Eswen's hand was now gripping her sword, ready at the call.

The season began to rapidly change before her eyes, into summer, but nothing really changed. The grass she was standing in was mingled with crimson, which reflected in the sun dark like garnet. She looked over again in the distance to see emerald green and it blinded her and enraged her. Her sword gleamed and the voices moaned and beckoned of sorrow and despair, but it was warped and something else came to mind.

Her breathing had stopped as if in preparation she lifted the sword part way and turned to Lira. Something remote and dark was in her eyes, she couldn't see her friend there, she couldn't see Lira.

Falco had turned his head and noticed what was going on. Esgallhugwen took a step forward her hand still upon the ruined block.

Her face was harsh and spiteful. Another step. Lira backed away but did not call out. Esgallhugwen stopped and a struggle was in her limbs, she uprooted her hand from the rock with effort and the rough surface cut at her hand.

She returned the sword fully to the scabbard and stepped backwards. A tear sighed down her cheek her eyes quivered. 'Forgive me!' escaped her lips.

Lira stepped forward to touch her hand but Esgallhugwen flinched and backed away, she didn't deserve to be given affection. Falco continued to stare storing what had happened in his head, his suspicion growing.

[Imladris]

Gorby

Just catching a bit of time to right, considering the rough tymes we have just gon thruu. It was aweful, those snarling beests of men. They tryed to kill us all, and Lyra almost dyed. And I culd have saved her…but I couldn’t it for som reeson …I couldn’t mooove…but the strang thing is that she forgave me…she didn’t hait me like I thought she wuld. I’m happy, in a strange way.

It’s amazing how companions can remind a hobbit of food -- or it could just be my typical oddness. For eckample: Lyra reminds me of red wyne…red wine because she is so warm, yet so high…I spose because she’s an elf and all. Anson’s like a mug of fine ale -- he’s always there when you nead him. Eswen is like a plant that heals you when you are wounded, but kills you when you eat too much of it. Scary, that is. Oh, I’m too tired to go threw the others, but maybe I’ll describe them another day…

I dropped my pen and blew into my chilled fingers. We had to go to Fornost….I didn’t want to go. It was clear what was to be found: nothing but past…and unpleasant things that crept into your dreams as nightmares.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lira

The stones, like the incessant dripping of water, whispered their secret tales of woe into Lira’s soul. They cried for life gone, at the shadow that haunted the forbidden ruins. When she closed her eyes, specters of the past flashed before them, images of death.

Lira looked around her, trying to ignore the stones. A frown creased her forehead, and she watched Uien try to heal the wounded prisoner. Her blue eyes widened and turned cold, like ice upon a frozen river. Her fingers twitched slightly, and she breathed heavily. She could imagine his pain, the pain of having your eyes ripped out by a mere bird -- yet the man had tried to kill her. It was only because of Corn that she was alive. With the drink that Uien gave him the pain would be depart and that was all that mattered. Turning away, she rushed after Esgallhugwen.

They soon finished speaking with the others, and they were walking together in silence each troubled with their own thoughts. Lira did not wish to venture into Fornost. Fear and pain throbbed within her as she listened to the stones’ lament. They were warning them not to venture within the ruined city, telling them the cost. With a swallow, Lira pushed the thoughts away and managed to summon a wan smile to her face.

Eswen was leaning against the stone, her face pale. Slowly, unbidden, her hand reached for the sword that hung at her side. Lira could feel the turmoil of grief and anger that raged within the other elf. “Eswen…Esgallguwen,” Lira called softly, as her hand tried to intercept Esgallhugwen‘s. With a soft snarl, Esgallhugwen pushed it away.

A smile curled about her lips as the sword rasped from it’s scabbard. Her eyes burned with fury as she gazed upon the drawn blade, but then they turned upon Lira, as a hunter looks upon his prey. She looked down upon the elf, her brows hooding her blazing eyes, her face contorted mask.

With a gasp, Lira looked into the other’s eyes, pleading with her. This was not Esgallhugwen that stood before her, but a dark lord who lusted after blood, who killed for sport. She backed away and thrust herself against the stone as she murmured in elvish, “It is I…Lira, your friend.”

The blade glittered eagerly in the moonlight as it drew nearer: a mocking grin twisted itself, carved itself upon her fine features. “Mellon…” Lira whispered.

With a convulsion and a backwards step, the sword returned to its scabbard. “Forgive me!” Esgallhugwen cried, as she turned away. Her brows relaxed, her eyes softened, dewy with tears.

Lira touched the limp hand that hung at her side, but Esgallhugwen backed away. Lira went after her and grasped the hand again. With the other, she turned Esgallhugwen towards her and said, “Mellon, it was a nightmare…nothing more.” Hugging her, stroking her soft, dark hair, she whispered in her ear, “You will always be my friend.”

[Lumiel]

The darkness was ubiquitious in the camp's atmosphere. The spirit of Fornost was a harsh one, and not one to be ignored. Lumiel sighed and pulled a stray hair behind her ear, hearing the wind whisper to her of things long gone but not yet forgotten. She wondered at it, the pervasiveness of the cruelty that once happened here. Even as a silent grave, it stank of death and misery. The others were affected by it as well, especially her fellow elven companions, and most obviously Eswen and Uien. She herself felt it too, an acute perception that nevertheless remained only in her peripheral vision.

They could not afford such distractions as they made their way into the very heart of Fornost. Either they would overcome it, or they would have to come to terms with it. She only hoped that either way, none of them would lose...anything...of themselves.

She was anxious for them to be on their way, and kept herself busy by keeping watch on their surroundings. Not that she didn't trust the others to do it, but she wanted to. It gave vent to her annoyance and time to deal with whatever it was that Fornost was. For as she watched, she listened. She let herself go, letting the spirit of the environment take her as it would, to some key to the mystery, to some understanding. But it was as evasive as their quarry.

Tired of watching and waiting, she went to the center of the camp, where Gorby was writing in a journal. He finished and closed the book as she sat down beside him and he looked up. "Lumiel." A pause. "I might be just a hobbit and not as sensitive as you elven folk...but sure as rain there's somethin' unnatural here."

Lumiel nodded. She enjoyed Gorby's company, though she did not know him well. "It is everywhere here, it is what Fornost is. But its name evades me. But we need to hurry, my mind, my heart, tells me so." she paused. "How are you doing so far Gorby? And Anson too?" She turned to face Gorby when she asked and she gave a small smile. As dismal and grey as this place was to the soul, she was determined not to be overtaken by it. She would prevail.

[Imladris]

Lira

Lira, with a reassuring smile Esgallhugwen, left the dark elf to her own mournful thoughts. Dropping the ground, her back against a crumbling ruin, Lira gazed at the golden thing she had found in the wood before she had drifted into unconsciousness. Vines of gold and silver entwined about each other, while a tear drop pearl hung from the center. A silver leaf clasped into a golden eye. Lira recognized the necklace: her mother had one just like it. As she held the pearl in the palm of her hand, she could feel scratches upon the back. Turning it over, she saw that the word Liralwen was engraved in curling strokes upon the milky surface.

Blue eyes soft with tears, Lira let the necklace hang from her thin fingers as she searched the horizon. It was her mother’s necklace and as long as she had remembered it had never left her mother’s neck. Bringing the pearl to her lips, she kissed it and then clasped the necklace around her own neck.

Rising, she saw that Esgallhugwen was wrapped in her black cloak apart from the group. With a little sigh, she filled two cups with water and brought one to Esgallhugwen. With a smile, Lira said, “I thought you would be thirsty, Mellon.”

Staring into her own cup, she saw a bandaged face in the wavering reflection. With expert fingers, she nimbly unwound the linen wrappings and looked at her face once more. A purple bruise lingered over the injury which was now stiff with dried blood. “It will scar,” Lira said softly, tracing it with her finger, wincing at the sting the slight pressure caused.

Gorby

I didn’t answer Lumiel right away because I wasn’t sure of what to say. “Anson’s alright, I suppose,” I said cautiously. A guilty feeling washed over me: Anson and me really hadn’t spoken since the fight, but I figured he wouldn’t want to go Fornost. No sensible hobbit would.

The elf Lumiel appeared to be rather restless: her eyes kept flicking here and there, as if she was trying to peer through the trees to see if any enemy approached. “I’m glad that we found Uien and Falowik,” I said softly, a flash of smug satisfaction that that Falco had been proved wrong, for once. It was not blatantly clear that the elf and human had not set us up…clear, to me at least.

I looked at Lumiel, remembering her hesitance regarding Falowik before. But her face didn’t say anything to me and I let the matter drop. “Why did you want to join us, milady?” I asked, not out of curiosity but because it was awkward to sit there in silence.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen gently took the cup from Lira. Yes, she would be left with a scar upon her pale face, ruinous and harsh a constant reminder of what befell her.

Deep in her own thoughts Eswen gazed into the water, she knew the malice and woe of the stones around her, as did the other Elves, she was determined never to be consumed by it again; not for her sake but for Lira's who strangely seemed to see something in Esgallhugwen. That is why Lira was her friend, because she could see what others could not and she had hope.

She sipped the water and turned to Lira 'my skill in healing may not be as great as yours mellon, but I may have something that will reduce the scarring after it has had a little time to air out'. Eswen produced a clear crystal jar from under her cloak, she set it in between her and Lira along with a fresh linen bandage.

Gorby was talking quietly with Lumiel, the young Hobbits were so friendly but even they were intimidated by Fornost. Never once had they ever spoken to her, not that Esgallhugwen couldn't see why, her behaviour hasn't been the most pleasant on this journey, she did not know what they thought of her; it would be rude to pry.

And there were the ever watching eyes of one Sheriff Falco Boffin to contend with who had seen the incident between Lira and Esgallhugwen. She looked at him with a cautious glance well aware of the potential to put forward his knowledge to give strength to his suspicions of the big folk and the lingering presence of the Dark Queen that Eswen could conjure up.

It was a ploy to confuse and assail their attackers with no intention of harming her companions, but how was he to know that. Esgallhugwen shook her head if it must be delt with it must be delt with.

The dark haired Elf stood up and glanced upwards, the sky seemed pale and hazy, almost grey. Eswen walked over to tend to the horses and ponies who were trying to graze on the dry sickly grass of Fornost.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:22 PM January 23, 2004: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[littlemanpoet]

There were more than a half dozen riderless horses wandering around over the heath. It occurred to Falowik that given time and nothing better to do, they would wander back to the camp from which they had come. That would not do. They had saved one mount for their captive. Falowik suggested to Thoronmir that it would be wise to corral the rest of the horses and some one or two of their number bring them back to Bree, as well as their captive; upon arrival in Bree, the captive could be questioned at length, the returning member of their party could make a report, and reinforcements could be sent.

Uien wanted to go to Fornost before that was done. She felt that it was urgent for the Elves among them to understand what the stones were saying, and for all of them to seek out evidence among the ruins for any sign of the ruffians and their allies or superiors.

Falco gave out that the stones talking was so much claptrap, and that of course they must search out Fornost, which made sense, and though he mistrusted the Wanderer's reasons, he agreed that rounding up the horses made sense. He also said that in his opinion the Wanderer should be one of those who went back to Bree. Falowik refused.

Thoronmir, having listened to their arguments, made his decisions. They would first round up as many horses as they could, then go to Fornost and search through the ruins for signs of occupation, and then the decision would be made as to who would return with the horses and their captive to Bree, and they would separate at the break of the following dawn; but only after the captive was vigorously questioned.

If any of the party had objections, they were not given voice.

They broke camp and hunted down the wandering riderless mounts; it took longer than they thought it would, and some ran away north that Falco pointed out might have stayed around if they hadn't been chased; and Falco further suggested that that must have been in Falowik's mind to do by way of warning his nefarious comrade brigands. Falowik glowered at Falco but gave no answer. In the end, they captured five mounts and the rest got away.

It was past noon when they made for Fornost. Uien and the other Elves grew more apprehensive the closer they came to the ruins. Falowik did not know what they felt, but he vividly recalled how it had affected Uien when she had been weakened by her wound. He was convinced that some Elvish gift, or curse, made it possible for her to perceive things in the very stones that bespoke of what had passed. It was what the Elven ladies were saying, and he saw no reason to doubt them.

They passed the first broken down walls, their mounts striding down a main road into the depths of the ruins. It was a gray, dark, and dank place. Deadmen's Dike, it was called by Breefolk. An evil place. Now they knew it was an outpost of brigands. Falowik believed that they were not mere brigands, though. They had a Master who used the blood of others for some dire purpose. It could not be good.

Thoronmir led them in. Uien and the other Elves moved now in trance like states, some of them more lost to normality than others. Falowik stayed close to Uien for fear she might run among the stones in a fever and do harm to herself. Lumiel seemed least affected by it of the Elves, but still seemed as one possessed by whatever sense. Meanwhile, Finéwen, the only female human among them, glanced from side to side, serious of face, but as unaffected by whatever the Elves felt as Falco. Lira seemed to shy away from the stones, her hand involuntarily coming to her wound, as if shielding it from the stones. Eswen seemed nettled by the place, as if she fought with something or someone the rest of them could not see. Anson and Gorby rode side by side, looking left and right, their faces written with unease. Falco took up the rear. His sword was drawn.

[Lumiel]

Lumiel tilted her head and paused for a moment before answering. "For...for honor. For myself and one that I loved. I made a promise to a man named Farin, who was like my father, that I would redeem his honor and find my place in the world. This quest will help me towards that end." she said. "But even if I didn't have such things to compel me to act as I have, I would still have come along. There's a man out there who needs help, who's alone and afraid." Her eyes showed the sympathy that she felt for Eodwine, though none of them had met him. "If we don't try and do some good in this world, what are we doing?"

Though she did not raise her voice, a certain passion entered her speech as she finished. She believed in the goodness of the world, in the necessity of preserving it. She would always do all she could to live as she should and to help others do the same, regardless of what may be required of her. She had a warmth, a light, a fire within her that shone fiercely when called upon, that could break darkness and carry burdens greater than what most could hold. But she had yet to fully tap into this, her greatest strength.

"I know that all of this" she swept her hand towards the landscape, "has cast a veil upon all of us, heavier on some than on others. But remember, all of this was once beautiful and full of life, though it may have forgotten. Eventually it will forget its hurts and renew the life that once flourished here." She paused. Her eyes seemed distant and Gorby wondered at her. It was hard to imagine that Fornost had ever been vibrant and lovely. "Besides, I'm expecting you to teach me some hobbit songs when we get back to Bree!" She laughed and stood up, going to her horse. The laugh pierced momentarily through the dismal fog that had penetrated their spirits, but it was quickly swallowed up once more.

Gorby shook his head. A strange elf, that one. But pleasant at least.

It was decided among the group to delve deeper into Fornost before deciding who would return to Bree with the prisoner, and they prepared to leave. Falco was quite blunt in his suspicions of Falowik's suggestions, but Lumiel merely scoffed. She didn't know what exactly was going on, no one did, but she did not believe Falowik or Uien to allied with their enemies.

As they plunged deeper into the heart of the mystery that was Fornost, the sense of impending doom became heavier. Lumiel kept close in her mind fond memories and fought off as best she could the strange trance that Fornost seemed to cast upon the elves. She seemed least affected, and she wondered at it. She realized though, that there were reasons for it. She had not grown up among elves, and any special elven senses she had were not as acute as the others. Her human upbringing had its benefits.

Still, she held the reins tightly as they entered the forbidding Deadman's Dike and whispered an elven prayer. The others seemed wary as well, and several had swords drawn. She hoped that they would not be attacked here, their chances of victory would be slim. They had been lucky the first time, but now they knew a little more about the brigands and what they were after. And their enemies had the group's fear on their side. Lumiel stayed on edge and prepared for the worst that could happen.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:14 PM January 24, 2004: Message edited by: Lumiel ]

[Imladris]

Gorby

My pony stumbled over the rocky path that led into Fornost: the abandoned city steeped with shadow. I glanced at the elves: Eswen and Lira looked as if they would rather be a hundred miles away from it, and I couldn’t blame them. If I could feel so uncomfortable about it, what did they feel. I remembered hearing a stray word of speaking stones that only the elves could hear, and I wondered what they whispered in their ears, what grieves they described.

I shuddered and, leaning over to Anson, whispered, “Well, Anson…” my voice trailed off, and I frowned. Not a bird sang, not a cricket chirped, even our ponies’ hooves were dead upon the ground. It was as if a silent hand shushed our every move.

Straightening, I slumped into the saddle and huddled deeper into my cloak. I looked at Lumiel: her face was smooth of wrinkles, though her eyes flicked here and there like a hawk’s. I dug my heels into my pony and clucked to him. He lowered his head and slowed his walk. “No, faster,” I instructed kicking him. With a little snort, a shake of the head, he broke into a lumbering trot before he fell into a walk. Leaning forward, I whispered into his ear, “I don’t have any sugar to persuade you, but I want you to go to Lumiel. She’s an elf,” I nodded my head wisely and continued, “She always makes me feel better when she sits beside me.”

To my everlasting delight (I always knew ponies had sense), he trotted over to the elf. I noticed that his hooves actually lifted off the ground…they used to be dragging. As we neared Lumiel, she turned around and flashed me a smile.

Grinning back, I shrugged and slowly maneuvered my pony so that her mount and mine were head to head. I didn’t say anything but I looked at her: she seemed to have a glow, like the dying light of a firefly. I couldn’t imagine that she would want to know anything about our humble nature, but she seem sincere enough. With a small cough, I asked, “So do you play an instrument?”

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen sighed as she rode atop her horse, which seemed to be getting nervous and tenser. She patted her on the side and whispered something in elvish she always heard the elves in Rivendell say to their horses when they tensed up. Finëwen knew little elvish herself, but could interpretate it when spoken. The horse calmed down a bit.

Finëwen watched the others. She was somewhere in the middle of the group, not really bothering to listen out for things, but still paid attention, just the same. Finëwen was grasping at the hilt of her sword with one hand and grasping the reins with the other: tension seemed thick in the air. The only sound Finëwen could hear was the footsteps of her own horse on the rocky path.

Not knowing what to think or do, Finëwen just rode without speaking. It seemed as if it would be a quiet journey: the only thing audible to Finëwen being her own horse's hooves hitting against the ground, echoing with every step.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:47 PM January 29, 2004: Message edited by: Alatariel Telemnar ]

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik found himself in charge of the extra horses, who had never had much at all to do with them. The prisoner's horse was controlled by Thoronmir, toward the front of the group. Falowik had found rope, and not knowing what better to do, had tied the rope around the horn of each saddle. At least, that was what he called the things; it was what they looked like to him. Falco had given him a look as if he were dotty, but said nothing for a change.

Uien was toward the front, looking around her, looking as if she were fending off insults form every corner. At one point, after they had wandered for some time about Deadmen's Dike, Thoronmir's hand went up. They were in a courtyard before an old broken down manse. The walls had the blackened look of soot. Litter of human activity was everywhere. There was a fire pit near one wall. Bottles and paper lay on the ground nearby. Thronomir told Falowik to tie the horses down and help him search the manse while the others looked over the grounds. Gorby and Anson were assigned guard duty at the gate, where they were to keep an eye on the prisoner. Lumiel and Finëwen were sent around back of the manse while Lira and Eswen were to search every inch of the front. Uien insisted on joining Falowik and Thoronmir. Falco insisted on joining them, to keep an eye on the wanderer and the Elf woman.

The floor was littered with rubble that was mostly former roof and walls. The roof was still intact in one back room. There was hay on the floor, and a rancid smell mixed with that of old hay dominated the room. There was a table and rickety chairs in the middle of the room. Uien studied the table. There was nothing on it, except for scratches gouged in the surface. Thoronmir checked the walls while Falco kicked among the hay here and there. Falowik looked all around, trying to imagine what had gone on in this room. Was it a headquarters for the brigands? Then they might be back, but it seemed as if this place had not been used for a while. Was it an outpost? Falowik wondered if there might be shallow graves in the courtyard.

Lumiel and Finëwen came in with scrunched up noses. They reported an old latrine in one corner of the back yard, and a working well not far from it. Falco said what was on his mind about the filthiness of brigands. Falowik asked if they had found any shovels or spades, to which they answered 'no'. He asked if there was a shed or anything like it nearby. They hadn't seen one.

"I'm going to look in the other rooms again. Falco, would you join me?"

Falco gave him a startled look. "What for?"

"To look for tools. Like shovels."

"What would brigands want with shovels? Not bludgeoning weapons, surely!"

"To dig graves."

Falco's brow shot up. He nodded with a look of reconsideration.

"Lumiel and Finëwen," said Uien, "if Thoronmir agrees, please check around the outside of the manse for sheds. See what you can find that brigands might have used at the command of some leader whose purposes the brigands might not have known." They looked confused. "Such as building an army or torturing captives. Or anything like that." Uien looked to Thoronmir, who nodded his head. Lumiel and Finëwen left the manse.

Falowik led Falco into the next room and started looking closely at everything.

"You're not just looking for shovels, wanderer."

"The name's Falowik, if you don't mind."

"Falowik, then. What's your thinking?"

"Any clues that might explain what our enemy would want with captives, and the blood in their veins."

"Mighty evil sounding, that."

"Indeed. I wonder if we might not find a no longer used throne room of sorts here."

"They say the King of the North once made this his seat of rule."

"No, much more recent, I'm thinking. Just guesses, of course."

"Of course!" Falco eyed him with suspicion. They kept looking.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:59 PM January 31, 2004: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Imladris]

Lira

Lira stared at the manse, her blue eyes wide as she took in every crumbling corner, the soot blackened planks, the weeds that struggled in the courtyard, the broken pottery, and the scattered ashes of old camp fires.

Esgallhugwen stood aloof from Lira, her grey eyes downcast. Lira flashed a gentle smile at the other elf, and then began to walk towards the left hand side of the manse. A wooden porch surrounded it, though the boards were warped and rotten. Tiny insects scurried within the labyrinth of holes and snake slithered between the cracks and disappeared into the shadows.

The greensward in front of the manse was a graveyard of skeletal weeds, moldering leaves of autumns past, and piles of stone here and there. The rings of dead fires dotted the yard, while a grove of dying trees sprawled beside the path. So far they had found nothing to explain the unaccountable darkness that seemed to grow in Lira when they had neared the abandoned city. Frowning, Lira slowly made her way over to the grove, wondering if the wound had made her slightly delusional.

Lira saw that pits of long rotten fruit littered the ground, and a rank mephitic stench saturated the air. Gagging, Lira stumbled, tripped over a gnarled root and fell headlong into a pile of rotting leaves. Shaking her head, Lira saw that the leaves hid something in their depths -- something that was had a pallid milky hue.

Shaking Esgallhugwen’s helping hand off, Lira gently brushed the leaves away and gasped: the empty sockets of a human skull stared up at her, the remains of an abandoned web fluttering in the breeze. The jaws were twisted into an agonized scream, the skull crushed, the fragments of bone scattered across the ground.

Ashen pale, Lira glanced up at Esgallhugwen, then, turning away, she stared at the skull and other bones that littered the area. Her blue eyes turned cold as steel, her jaws were set, and she fingered her dagger contemplatively. Corn, with a shrill squawk, dived from the branches of a leafless tree and rummaged in the leaves. He picked something up and then flapped to Lira, dropping in her lap rags of silver and sable colouring: the colours of a man of Gondor.
****************
Gorby

I paced back and forth between the gates while Anson rested against the mossy wall of Fornost. A chill seemed to have settled in my bones, and I soon began to wonder how the guards of cities such as Bree and Gondor ever manage to wait out the night. It swiftly became incredibly boring just walking back and forth, waiting for something to happen. Not even the snapping of twig broke the silence.

Finally, I went and sat down by Anson. “Too bad no surprises such as barrels of Longbottom Leaf and delicious meats await us here,” I said with a sigh to my fellow hobbit.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Remember when Merry and Pippin were the guards at that place called Orthanc?” I asked. “Meriadoc told me about it a long time ago,” I said. “I told you too, but you just don’t remember probably,” I said mournfully.

I looked around and wondered what the others were finding. Hopefully they wouldn’t find a thing and then Anson and me could go back home to our decent hobbit holes. This wasn’t really an adventure so far. Not only had we not found Eodwine and gallantly rescue him from his enemies, but we didn’t even know who had attacked and whether they really came from Fornost. I highly doubted they had, too. The place looked too deserted.

“Gorby,” Anson whispered, “what happens if someone tries to get past us?”

I rolled my eyes. Anson always was worrying about the worst. “Nothing will happen….there’s nobody here.”

“That’s what we thought when we were attacked,” he whispered back.
He did have a point there and now I could feel my back begin to prick, as if my hair were rising like the shackles of a frightened dog. “Then we’ll run to that ruined house over there,” I said, gesturing to the manse that Falowik and his crew had gone into. “The big men will protect us.”

“What if the big men run faster than us?” Anson asked, his brows puckering in concern.

That one got me. I looked at him and saw how small he really was, how pitiful he looked in his torn breeches and faded jacket. I never should have asked him to accompany me, to leave his siblings. I really hadn’t considered the possibility of Anson dying…nobody could hurt Anson. I coughed and said, “Then we’ll die.”

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:59 PM February 01, 2004: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir continued to search for clues about the men they had fought last night. His initial search turned up nothing, but after searching through a pile of broken stones, the glint of metal caught his eye. He reached down and picked up what he had found.

"Over here! I think I've discovered something!" he called.

As he waited for the others, he examined what he found. The object was a small dagger, but not any ordinary one. The wickedly sharp blade was stained with blood. The hilt was crimson red and had silver skulls with burning red gems for eyes at either end. A black serpent was carved along the crimson hilt in between the skulls, which was the only thing Thoronmir could clearly recognize. He had seen the same black serpent on red being displayed by the Haradrim armies at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields -he again felt the loss of his friends in his mind- but he had never seen it accompanied by a skull before.

"What is it?" asked Falowik. "What did you find?"

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:47 PM February 01, 2004: Message edited by: Meneltarmacil ]

[littlemanpoet]

Uien moaned when she saw the knife in Thoronmir's grip. "Death! Death! The stones speak of death and terror!"

Falowik saw the blade in Thoronmir's hand, who explained that it was a Haradrim blade.

"What do you suppose it's doing way up here in the north?"

But his question went unanswered. Lira came rushing into the room.

"I've found something! Skeletons among the leaves! In Gondorian garb!"

"Paydirt!" cried Falco.

They all followed Lira to outside. Thoronmir cried for torches to light up Lira's find.

"To think they didn't even bother to bury them one foot down," Falowik murmured.

One after another, they uncovered skeleton after skeleton, their bones crushed, sometimes even twisted.

"This is what the stones speak of," Uien said, "but not only this."

"What, there's more?" Thoronmir said.

"The stones do not speak as we speak, I cannot interpret as if with words, Thoronmir, but there is more evil than even this. Would that it were not so."

"What do you make of it all, then?" Falco said. "And don't let me hear that you'll be wanting to send some of us back to Bree now. We need to see this through!"

Thoronmir said, "Let's spread out again. I'd wager there's more to be found. Let's to it! Me, I'm going to have a word with our prisoner. Falco! I'll be wanting the help of a lawman. For persuasion."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:46 AM February 04, 2004: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Esgallhugwen]

Lira rushed in the ruined arch-way to find the others. Black scorch marks slithered up the broken mounds that were once walls, the pitch contrasted sharply with the pallid white of crushed bone.

The fires that seemed to have consumed everything brought back memories of Esgallhugwen's home, torched and purged of all life by orcs. But orcs were not the ones that did this to the bones.

Thoronmir came striding out followed by the rest of their company, Esgallhugwen shyed away from the bright torches, her cold grey eyes scanning the darker, as yet unlit, areas.

'What, there's more?' Thoronmir said

'Theres always more' Esgallhugwen whispered to herself.

She walked over to the bones, crushed skulls and gnarled limbs swimming in old rotted leaves. The shredded garb of Gondorian men and an evil dagger, fire pits and bones.

'Skulls crushed as if in sacrifice' she pondered what she said, kneeling, unafraid to brush away the decayed scraps of leaves and twigs. The company exchanged glances of curiosity and fear as Lira inched forward to Eswen's side.

Thoronmir gave the order, fan out and look for further clues of what had happened in this tortured place.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:15 AM February 04, 2004: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[littlemanpoet]

Falco followed Thoronmir toward the prisoner, who was sitting with his back to the wall by the gate where Gorby and Anson stood guard.

Falowik and Uien went back into the manse.

Falowik said, "You said the stones say more than what we've found. Do you think we'll find it here? And what think you of Eswen's words of sacrifice?"

"She senses as do I, my love."

"Sacrifice to what god or demon?"

"I know not."

"Let's see if we can turn up any clues here."

Uien halted and looked up.

"What is it, Uien?"

"Listen!"

Out of the north came the harsh sound of many birds. Crows. They came fast, flying low, filling the sky like a cloud of storm. Their cawing filled the air to maddening. Falowik and Uien covered their ears. The crows circled and winged about above the manse for several moments, then flew back into the north.

"That is ill news," Uien said. "Someone has power over birds to use them as messengers, and is fearless enough to send them openly."

"All the more reason to find what lies hidden in this place. And I still want a spade!"

[Imladris]

Gorby

I threw rocks and watched them with dull interest as they skittered across the ground and then landed in a small cloud of dust. Anson still leaned against the stone wall, eyes half closed, head downcast as he slowly stripped a wayward stem of its brown, crisp leaves.

I looked at the hurrying elves and men as they fanned across the dying greensward and stared after them longingly. No matter how unpleasant their search was, it surely wasn’t as unpleasant as loitering about an abandoned village on guard duty -- as if there was anything to guard against! With a sigh, I turned to Anson and said, “What about you and me go and explore a bit?”

Anson lifted his head and frowned. “But we are supposed to guard,” he said cautiously. “Besides, I don’t really want to go in there. The elves don’t like it.”

As usual, Anson was being responsible. Good old Anson. “Well, this guard duty really is a job for one,” I said. “If there’re any problems, just let me know.”

I tried to ignore Anson’s puppy dog eyes as I left and at the same time tried to smother my guilt and inflame the spirit of adventure. But as I climbed through the gate, stepping lightly on the ground, I didn’t really see why we were here at all. It was barren, deserted, brown. No life grew…even the weeds were dying which was strange for them since they can thrive just about anywhere to the dismay of any gaffer.

The brown skeletons of the weeds tickled my feet a bit, but that didn’t bother me really. It occupied me in trying to side step them and seeing if it would tickle me as much if I stepped differently. I imagined myself as a tracker seeking an unknown menace to society and that these weeds were his tracks and that if I stepped wrongly then the tracks would be mussed and I would loose my prey. It was quite unreal I know, but what else was I supposed to do?

My foot landed on something wooden. Then a low reluctant creak as I put my full weight on it and jumped. A hollow echo, a relieved sigh as I stepped from the wood and scraped the weeds away. I saw that it was a door to an underground cellar, more than likely. If it was a cellar maybe there would be a bit of decent food down there. But with our luck, the bread would be moldy, the vegetables shriveled and dry and the wine sour. I shrugged. It wouldn’t hurt to explore it. But the door was bound with iron and a rusted lock encircled the iron handle and a tarnished iron loop that was attached to the ground. Peering at the lock I saw that much of the metal had been eaten away and that it would easily break with a strong enough blow. I looked around for a rock and soon found one; it took only short work for the blows to break the lock.

A rickety ladder led into darkness and it took me awhile before I gathered the courage to climb down. I had to tell myself that even harmless cellars are dark and that the only danger they held was a spider contentedly spinning her web or else sucking the juice from an unfortunate fly. But not even those eight-legged creatures greeted me as I descended.

It was not as dark as it appeared: more brownish grey than pitch black which is what I had expected. I was in a large circular room paved with flat stones and the walls were lined with brick and in the center of the room was a large wooden post: strange, for cellars are dark and small with the solid dirt for walls. Also there were no bins of vegetables which was most curious for a cellar.

That was when I realized that I wasn’t in a cellar. A chill wind crept down my spine from the opening above and I hastily moved forward.

Something hung from the walls and clanked against them when the wind blew. I crept towards the hanging things and touched them: made of cold iron they were. Iron bracelets were attached to a strong chain: manacles stained with a brown that was not rust. I dropped it and shuddered. I knew that it was dried blood.

Making my way towards the wooden post that stood guard in the center of the room, I saw that a whip with nine leather strips hung from it. Shards of glass stuck from the leather and at the bottom broken chunks of pottery were attached. Beads of sweat dropped down my forehead as I imagined a warden, a mocking laugh upon his twisted lips, jeer and shout as he brought the cat o’ nine tails upon a shackled prisoner’s back; I could hear the agonized screams as the pottery and glass tore his skin into ragged ribbons, saw the blood running down like crimson rivers, staining the stones; I saw the iron manacles cutting into his wrists as he writhed in agony. I turned hastily away and saw a stone table draped in shadows out of the corner of my eye.

I didn’t want to go look at it, but a budding curiosity bid me go on. Slowly I crept towards it not knowing what to expect. I almost wished that I would find crumbling plates and scattered silverware upon it…what else would a table be used for? But who would eat in this hole of death and suffering?

The table was smooth, clean. A lean, long, dagger laid in the center. The silver skulls upon the dagger leered up at me. Strange writing was carved deeply into the stone and I wondered what it said. Shackles were at the foot and head of this stone table. I gasped and wondered why a man would be bound upon a table….some sort of torture maybe.

With a sob, I stumbled from the underground chamber and clambered up the ladder as fast as I could. Slamming the door down, I put a rock upon it and ran back towards Anson.

“What did you find?” he asked.

I glanced at him, wondering if I should describe it to him. No. He did not need to know, did not need to see it -- he could not bear pain or suffering.

Turning to the prisoner, I rearranged the bandage which was beginning to slip. Then I asked, “Who are you?”

Silence. The man curled his lips and spat at me. I leaned over and I whispered, “I saw the underground room and I saw the blood and the cat o’ nine tails and a strange table. What was it for?” I stared at his bandaged face, imagining his cold brown eyes.

A broad smile grew upon his face -- a cold smile as if he gloated over me. “You did, did you? Was there a dagger upon it?”

I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see. “Yes.”

“It was a sacrificial table,” he said in a whisper. “Men were put upon it, and shackled so they could not struggle. Then maybe their brains would be beaten out, or their heart ripped out with the beautiful dagger you saw and the priests held it, the heart still pumping, in their hands and --”

“Enough,” I tried to shout, but it came out as a mere squeak.

“Oh, but there’s more,” the prisoner said, with a soft smile. “You see, the priests leech you, suck the blood from you until no more comes out. And the blood is caught in a flagon which is sent to --” the prisoner stopped here, a satisfied smile on his lips. “You see, hobbit maggot,” he said in a whisper, “you’re still alive when they’re bleeding you, and they make it as painful as possible. And as they lay prone on the alter, their faces contorted in pain, you can read the dread as they feel their life and hope slowly draining from them; you can see, nay taste, their fear as they realize that they are dying and that not one can come and save them.”

Without answer and ignoring his hollow chuckle, I turned away and huddled against the wall, shuddering. I couldn’t get the images out of my head. I buried my face into my hands, trying to drive them away: I tried to think of flowers, but their petals dripped with blood; the sky was stained crimson; men with sacrificial bludgeons and knives lurked in the shadows of the Old Forest. I tried to think of Anson, but he was bound upon the table. I gasped and cried wishing that I was back home in Buckland alone with my pipe and sister.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:57 PM February 04, 2004: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Lumiel]

As they traveled, Lumiel talked softly with Gorby, talking of matters of little importance to hold back the weight of Fornost. Soon though, an eerie silence seemed to pervade everything, and they all fell silent. They soon came upon the ruined manse, shrunken and decrepit but bloated with death and misery.

Thoronmir split them up and they tried to discover the secrets of those who had taken Eodwine. Lumiel went with Finewen, and they said nothing as they went away from the manse to search for any sheds as they had been instructed. They quickly found what they were looking for. It was a slovenly shed, with only enough room for two people. It was empty and filled with dust, but it held no secrets that they could see.

They exited and went on searching. Not far away, yet hidden well amongst shrubbery and a few scraggly trees, was a door that blended into the surroundings fairly well. Lumiel had been the first to sight it and the two women headed towards it. When they approached the door, it seemed to be well-kept, the door was not rusty or blackened as the shed had been. Finewen grabbed an indentation on the surface of the door and pulled but it would not give.

"Lumiel, grab here, on the count of three, we'll pull." said Finewen. Lumiel nodded an agreement and Finewen spoke again. "One - two - three!"

They yanked hard on the door and it swung open with a whooshing noise that swept a breeze past their faces. Finewen stepped back at the nauseating smell and Lumiel gave a sour face. She was used to odd odors, and even most unpleasant ones did not phase her. But this was more than that, it smelled of an unspoken horror. Beyond the threshhold the light of the day penetrated only about five feet because of the angle of the sun. Lumiel stepped forward and through the door with uncertainty, Finewen following.

It was a stone tunnel, well-made at that. There were racks along the wall for torches, but most were missing. As they entered deeper, the light faded to an ephemereal glow that gave both the woman the palor of the dead. The stench grew and they made a turn in the tunnel, slanting down the floor deeper into the ground. Before them were several doors, each heavily bolted with only a blocked slot at the very bottom, presumably for food. One door was open and Finewen went to the door to see what she could find. Lumiel saw several bones along the edge of the floor, most of them raggedly cracked, as though some great force had shattered them. She pressed on, attempting to ignore the scene of death and the wrenching of her stomach and her head that threatened to cast her to the ground and opened another, different door. It did not have the same appearance as the others, it was not made to imprison. She opened it and it rusted loudly on its hinges, creaking loud enough that Lumiel instinctively looked over her shoulder to make sure that nothing had been woken by its metal scream.

Inside was a table, a turned-over chair, and several lamps. Across the paper were strewn papers and a dingy quill beside a spilled bottle of ink. Touching her fingers to the ink, she found that it was cold, but dry. She carefully separated the quill and bottle from the paper and set them aside. She had caused minimal damage to the papers and she tried to discern what was written on them. Even her elven sight was of little help. AS she was gathering the papers, she saw a seal stamp on the floor. Bending over it, she took it in her hands and tried to make out its symbol, again to no avail. Anxious to leave, she turned on a heel and eagerly left the room. Further up the hall was Finewen.

"I think I found the Keeper's room. There were several papers and a seal stamp, but I can't make out what they say in this light. What did you find?" she asked as she approached her.

"This place was not only a prison, it was a place of torture. There were shackles on the wall and bowls just out of reach of them. Further down there's a cell in the floor, filled with oil. I couldn't tell how deep it was but...there are few beneficial uses for such things. The bones tell tales as surely as the walls." she said. She seemed to be in pain of some sort, but Lumiel couldn't blame her. Whoever had been kept her had not lived the remainder of their life in peace. They had been brutally, cruelly killed. "There was also a few rusted knives, whips and the like about. Most of them seemed to have the same design on the handles, but I could not see them properly."

Lumiel nodded and spoke, "I think we've found all that we can here. I see no purpose in staying any longer." Finewen heartily agreed and they quickly found their way out of the tunnel and into the warm sunlight. Away from the stench of decay and blood, Lumiel realized that the hand that held the papers was shaking slightly. There had been more within that hellhole, but she did not have the heart to search out its evil treasures of blood.

Looking at the papers, she saw that names were written on and other things, but she couldn't make sense of exactly what they were or why they were written. She would give it to Thoronmir, perhaps he could figure it out. Shifting the papers to the other hand, she held up the stamp. On it was a hideous skull, its jaw open in the impression of its last death cry. A snake slimed its way from one of the eye sockets and around the rim of the skull. She felt a wave of nausea pass over her and she clenched the stamp tightly in her fist, hiding it from view. "What do they say? The papers and the stamp?" asked Finewen.

"I can't understand what the meaning of the writing is...there seems to be names and other words, but I don't understand." She paused. "The stamp is a skull with a snake. They had much experience with the correct shape of a skull, I think, to create such a thing of horror." The all-too-real image cast upon the stamp filled her mind for an instant and she spoke again to clear it. "Do you see any other sheds around Finewen?" she asked as she looked for Thoromir and the others within her sight.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen crouched alongside the bones, when she noticed something that brought her searching to a halt. She began to realize that the lower leg bones, the fibula and tibula were broken the same way for many of the victims, a clean break.

She picked up two broken halves that she thought belonged to the same victim and held them together imagining the flesh and life still remained intact, she placed them aside and picked up another pair. This concluded her suspicions.

Her fleet footed-ness brought her quickly to the two hobbits who were gaurding the entrance. Eswen pulled a bundle from her saddle bag, it was little Nimrómen; 'Forgive me little one in our distress I have almost neglected you, but thankfully Morsereg has kept you safe and out of harms way'.

She unwound one of his leg bindings and examined the break (it was almost healed), then she went back over to Lira, holding the pup, 'the same tool was used to break all the legs of the Gondorian men and who knows who else, the same tool broke Nimrómen's legs'.

Lira looked at the white pup with worry. 'He was left as bait for us to find. The black birds that flew past earlier must have seen us coming and told their Master' Esgallhugwen breathed, discontent in the grey haze of Fornost she pulled her cloak tighter around her and cast her hood about her face.

The sun couldn't seem to break through the thick mist that had encroached upon them, the others were spread out searching, trying to find anything they could. Esgallhugwen sighed and tried to pierce the shadowy veil with her keen sight, but to avail.

She watched the young Hobbits, Gorby and Anson, looking around the front while keeping an eye on their prisoner. Yes, the prisoner, the grey eyed elf walked over to him(having given Nimrómen over to Lira).

Esgallhugwen pulled the prisoner up off the ground rather roughly by his greasy stringy hair, having no patients to barter or coax things out of him. He gasped and shouted curses.

'rader a nasty way to handle your prisoner may not talk after what you'd done, sir' he spat.

'Aye, you may not want to talk, but you will talk none the less' Esgallhugwen's elvish lilt sang back at him.

'Ah, so ye be one of those lady elves, be ye then? What good der ya think ya can do 'ere, prancing about...'

'My good sir' she mocked cruelly ' seven of your good comrades I have slayed with naught but a blink of my eye, I think it best you tell me what I need to know'.

[littlemanpoet]

The prisoner sneered. "A quick death by your sword's a mercy set next to what 'appens if they gets me again. Find some other screamer."

Thoronmir and Falco walked up.

"Did you hear that?" Falco asked, ignoring the fact that everybody else was at least as near to the prisoner as he. "Makes you wonder what might have happened to this Eodwine."

Gorby and Anson grimaced at each other, then looked at Thoronmir, who stood regarding the prisoner with a determined expression.

[Imladris]

Lira

Brows furrowed slightly, Lira watched cooly as Esgallhugwen dragged the injured man from the ground, her long fingers grasping his hair. Lira did not know what to make of her -- already she could see glimmerings of the Dark Queen flash through her words and treatment of the prisoner. Yet he had killed them mercilessly, and he would gladly watch them die.

With a shrug, she stood beside Esgallhugwen and glanced at Thoronmir. His jaw set, their leader regarded the prisoner as if determining the best way to break him, the best way to squeeze the needed information out of him. Physical pain would be useless, Lira was sure: the man was not afraid of death obviously. Though his eyes were pecked out by Corn, it had not in anyway intimidated him...instead, it had increased his hatred of them.

A stifled sob reached her ear, and she turned quickly. His face pallid, Anson was kneeling beside Gorby and patting him on the back. Gorby himself was curled in a tight little ball, his face covered by his tanned hands. He was no longer crying, but a little sniffle every once in a while escaped from him.

Gliding towards him, she laid a hand upon his head and murmured an elvish blessing. "What ails thee, friend?" she whispered.

There was a moment of silence. "I saw something terrible in a cellar," he said softly, turning his large, glassy brown eyes towards her. He blanched, and trembled. "It was as if men were tortured and bled to death in there."

A torture chamber the words echoed in Lira's mind. The legs of men broken in cleanly in twain, the smashed skulls, their jaws contorted in a scream. "Would you bring me to this place?" she asked gently.

His eyes widened, his mouth slackened, and his face tightened. Breathing quickly, he said, "Yes, milady."

Kissing him on the forehead, she helped him to his feet. His little hands clenched within hers as he led her to the cellar.

The air was still and heavy within the chamber as she stood beside Gorby at the foot of the ladder. The hobbit had insisted on coming with her, but he was pressed close against her and she could feel him tremble. It was as he had said: the alter, the whipping post and the manacles hanging upon the walls. Yet there was something else as well, off to the side.

Slowly she drew towards it and soon saw that there were two slabs of stone, about a foot high and a little more than five feet apart. Chains, with manacles at the end, were slung around the small pillars. A butcher knife rested upon the first of the stones.

"What is it?" Gorby whispered softly.

"I don't know." Lira stared at it and closed her eyes. Whispers touched her ears: a song of grief.

Weep for the tears of the innocent,
For the lives wasted and spent,
Cry for the torturous pain,
For the bodies of the slain.

Wash us clean from the crimson tide
That poured from a victim's side,
Whose body was cleaved by the blade alone
Upon this cold bed of stone.

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she saw a ranger lying upon the two slabs of stone, hands and feet shackled to the ground. A man, garbed in black robes, swung the iron rod and brought it upon his legs. A snap of bones, a shrill scream, a lingering echo.

With a shake of her head, she opened her eyes. Gorby was beside her, shaking her. "Let us leave," he said plaintively.

She nodded and followed Gorby towards the ladder. But at the foot of it, she looked back at the "iron bedm," remembering the dirge of the stones.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:29 AM February 08, 2004: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Meneltarmacil]

"What is your name?" Thoronmir asked the prisoner.

"I ain't tellin' you." the man replied, and spit at the Ranger.

"You will tell me your name, or I will be forced to leave you here. In this environment, far away from civilization, I doubt a blind man could live for very long. It would be much better to die quickly than to choose that alternative."

"I still ain't tellin' you, western scum!" he said defiantly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Thoronmir said. "You leave me no choice but to stab you with this razor-sharp knife I found. Oh, you'll still be alive, of course. But if you don't bleed to death first, the wild animals will find your trail easily and kill you. Unless you tell me what I want to know."

Thoronmir was only bluffing, but he made it sound like he was serious. He pulled out the knife he had found and pressed the tip ever so carefully against the man's flesh.

"Don't do it! I'll talk!" the prisoner cried.

"Good decision," Thoronmir said, putting the knife away. "What is your name?"

"Boris," the prisoner answered.

"And where did you come from?" Thoronmir continued his questioning.

"I'm from Bree, myself, but the Master came from Down South and said I'd be paid lots o' gold if I joined him." said Boris.

"And you have no idea who he is?" asked Thoronmir.

"That's right," said the man. "I ain't got no clue."

[littlemanpoet]

Uien touched Falowik's arm. "I think we will find no more within these walls, my love."

They joined the others in the front of the manse, and overheard the prisoner's latest words to Thoronmir.

"He talks to us!" Falowik said to Uien.

"Ask him about the leeching!" Uien said.

[littlemanpoet]

"What about the leechings?" Thoronmir asked the prisoner. "We've seen evidence of them down below ground, so out with it."

"You're gettin' nothin' more out of me."

Thoronmir knelt down beside him, and drew out his knife again, and laid it on the prisoner's cheek. "Do I have to show you again that I mean business?"

The prisoner winced and began to sweat. "I'll talk! I'll t-" An arrow pierced his throat. He fell over and lay bleeding on the ground. The party members looked to where the arrow had come from. A man jumped down from the wall behind the manse, and was lost to sight. They heard his running feet.

"After him!" Thoronmir cried. He gave chase, passing through the manse. Falowik and Uien were on his heels. Falco, surprisingly quick on his feet for all the weight he carried, went around the right side of the manse, followed by Gorby and Anson. Lira started to run, but looked back and saw that Eswen had not moved.

"Go!" Eswen waved her on. "I shall wait here for Lumiel and Finéwen."

Lira ran around the left side of the manse, and caught up to Anson and Gorby as they slipped through the bottleneck of the back entrance. She passed them by and soon overtook Falco.

Falco, for all his quickness, was gasping before long, and Anson and Gorby passed him by.

"Slow down, shirrif, and think." He came to a stop and looked around and listened. He could hear more than one set of hooves retreating into the distance. They knew this Boris was still alive, and they knew he'd talk, so they came back to shut him up. Clear enough. An' now they're headed off west. That's clear enough too, the bumpkins. Ruffians never were very smart, none that I ever knew anyways. The others'll be comin' back soon enough. I'm back to the manse to see what the other Big Trouble have found. With that he retraced his steps and found Lumiel and Finéwen relating their discovery to Eswen. Falco asked for a repeat of their tale, which they were quite ready to give.

"So this skull and snake keep showing up, eh?" Falco said. "It's as if somebody's got it in his head that he's the new dark lord or some such."

The two elves and one human turned and gave him looks that put him on edge.

"What'd I say?

"Someone styles himself a new dark lord, you said," Eswen remarked. Her eyes were slitted, watching him. "Do you know something, or were you thinking aloud?"

"Just thinking! Just thinking! Why? Do you think I'm right?"

"Time will tell," was Eswen's mysterious response. Lumiel and Finéwen visibly shuddered.

The others returned and reported pretty much what Falco had figured using his own wits. And he told them so. It was in his mind that these folks ought to know that he had a good head on his shoulders for figuring things out. They didn't seem too convinced, though.

Lumiel repeated their discovery to the rest of the party.

"It's time to move on," Thoronmir said. "Let's to our horses and follow the riders to their hiding place."

"I hope it's not too big a hiding place," said Falco, "nor a fortress, for that matter. And what about some of us going back?"

"Not now," Thoronmir answered. "It's time to give chase. Let's go!"

Uien insisted that the prisoner at least deserved burial. Thoronmir allowed them the few moments necessary to gather brush and other debris from around the manse, to cover the corpse. Then they mounted their steeds and gave chase.

They had already lost perhaps fifteen to twenty minutes. Falco was pretty sure that they were not going to catch the fleeing horsemen, and said so. They did not slacken their pace, but they did not go faster than the hobbits' ponies could stand.

After an hour, the hoof prints divided, going two different directions around a hill. Thoronmir chose the path taken by the most horses. At the next hill there was another split.

Thoronmir called a halt. The sun was westering.

"I do not like this," Thoronmir said. "We are in their land, I wager, and our enemies could be anywhere."

As if on cue, rows of horsed brigands appeared atop the hills on both sides of the party, as well as on the hill before them. Sixty strong, at least.

[Lumiel]

Sickened by what she and Finewen had found as well as by the disturbing findings of the others, Lumiel's mind for the first time felt a true whisper of fear. All around her, she could feel the echo of the screams, though they had long fallen silent. This manse was throbbing with the hate and anguish felt so violently by those imprisoned here. While she had never felt true fear like this before, though it was a mere wisp in her mind, she knew it could grow and overtake her whole being if she did not control it. Taking a few deep breaths, she repeated a short elvish prayer in her head and remembered the words and heart of her father. Her fear passed and she sighed. As the two women approached the encampment, she heard an arrow whistle through the air and heard the sickening gurgle as Boris, their prisoner, died. Instinctively turning towards the source of the trouble, she saw a dark shadow of a man outlined on the top of a hill. She was too far away to hope to catch him, but some of the others ran to try to catch him. With hurried footsteps, she made her way towards Eswen and Falco. She and Finewen described what they had found and showed them the stamp and papers with the strange seal. Then Falco spoke.

"So this skull and snake keep showing up, eh?" Falco said. "It's as if somebody's got it in his head that he's the new dark lord or some such."

Lumiel stopped as his words percolated through her head and she paled visibly at the thought. Though she did not look to Finewen who stood beside her, she could tell that the woman was as distraught as she at such an idea. Falco had obviously no idea why what he had said had so disturbed the three women.

"Someone styles himself a new dark lord, you said," Eswen remarked. Her eyes were slitted, watching him. "Do you know something, or were you thinking aloud?"

It had not crossed Lumiel's mind that someone may be trying to fill the void left by Sauron and Saruman, yet as it entered her thoughts it chilled her to the core. She had not been in any of the battles of the One Ring, she had not known what it was like to live in fear of death and worse under the rule of the Lord of the Ring. But she knew enough of it to know that another dark ruler could not be allowed to arise. As all of this flickered through her mind, the others returned empty-handed and she gave a recount of their findings.

Thoronmir announced his decision for them to follow the horsemen and Lumiel hurried to her steed, gripping the reins as they gave chase. Unfortunately, they had already lost precious time and with the hobbits among their party, they were slowed. As much as she had come to enjoy their company and as valuable as they were to their journey, it was beginning to seem more and more likely that they would be a burden.

As they went, the paths of their quarry diverged and a warning bell sounded loudly in her head. Yet what could they do except continue the chase? The sun was nearing its resting place and Thoronmir called them to a halt.

"I do not like this," Thoronmir said. "We are in their land, I wager, and our enemies could be anywhere."

As he spoke, brigands arose on all sides except behind them, sixty strong at least. "Gorby! Anson! Falco! Get in the middle!" she cried to the hobbits without thinking. As stout a people as they were and with brave hearts, they were still the most vulnerable of their group and she would not let harm come to them if she could help it. She backed closer to the hobbits and drew her sword. It glittered silver with blood red from the setting sun and her hair echoed its sentiment as the last rays of the sun picked up and embellished the fiery glints in her earthen hair. Her dark blue eyes were like a warm sea set into a tempest by the dark arches of her eyebrows set like unmoveable stone on her brow. She would prevail.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen waved Lira on, she could not leave Lumiel and Finéwen without trace of where their companions had gone. They had only gone so far when they had to come back to retrieve the horses and ponies.

At first it seemed difficult to catch up, Morsereg was hungry for the chase but Eswen checked him quickly reminding him that they must wait for everyone. The Hobbit ponies were fast in their own right and they tried desperately to keep up with the large fast horses.

The horse trail began to split up, she was about to call out but they were already surrounded by sixty mounted men. Lumiel yelled for the Hobbit's to hide in the middle of their party, she was one of the first to draw her sword in protection of them, it glowed blood red in the failing light.

The men didn't respond. Esgallhugwen looked at each man that surrounded them, rough, vile and cruel, bent on torture and slaughter. All whisps of a time that people wished was utterly destroyed, only to find that they would be swallowed up again by the darkness of it.

She came to the Hobbits, 'keep a close eye on all of them, if you can, stay near and at hand to Lumiel and myself, we will help you' her face was hooded but a lovely, caring Elvish voice emanated from the sable green cloth.

Nimrómen shifted in her saddle bag, Eswen hoped he would be able to take the rough ride that awaited him, she had no time to set him aside in safety. The men made no move, Esgallhugwen fitted an arrow to her bow, still no move.

The uneasy tension rose among their company, what were they waiting for? What strategem did they have in mind? The silence was reverberating with death and foreboding.

[Imladris]

Gorby

I tried to keep my dratted pony at a somewhat reasonable pace as we dashed as quickly as we could (which wasn’t very fast at all I’m afraid) after those who had killed that poor blind prisoner. I could tell that the others were impatient (you can read it in the humans’ but not so much in the elves), and I could feel my face turn bright red with embarrassment. It was because of us hobbits that we couldn’t go as fast as we needed to go. I remembered something that Merry or Pippin had once said and I had to agree that we really were nothing but a rag-tag piece of luggage.

Turning to Anson, who trotted beside me, huddled in his ragged jacket, I said, “So, what do you think about this wretched business?”

“Dreadful…awful,” he said quietly. He turned his head, and I could see that he was looking back towards the Shire and all the way back to his own hobbit hole.

I frowned. It was my fault he had come on this horrid business, my fault that he had left hearth and home and pipeweed, my fault that he couldn’t dance and sing with his own siblings. “Do you think that Eodwine is still alive?” I said hopefully. He probably wasn’t though – more likely one of the skeletons Lira and Eswen had found. I shuddered.

Anson shrugged in reply. “I want to go home. Falco can find some strong able bodied men to rat out these men who serve the new Dark Lord….” His voice faltered and his ruddy cheeks blanched paper white.

A chill crept up my spine and I said, “Nonsense. The man may style himself as a new one, but the old was conquered and we can conquer this one as well. I just hope we find Eodwine soon.”

“We really should go back,” Anson muttered, as if he was ashamed of himself.

I looked at him sympathetically. I wanted to go back too – I had not idea there would be so much danger when I had been almost forced to join. But, what if Eodwine was alive…could we leave him to be tortured to death? But he probably wasn’t alive and then we’d be one band going against who knew how many.

I shook my head. Suddenly, an echoing stillness descended around us…the horses stopped, the elves’ eyes hardened. I looked up, and saw mounted men with twisted faces surround us. Lumiel ordered us to stay in the center and then a circle was formed around us hobbits. I swallowed hard. Then, as if their arms were commanded with a single tug of a string, they drew their swords. Then they paused. The glint of their drawn blades was like the lightening heralding the thunder of their mounts as they charged down upon us.

Lira

With an elvish blessing, Lira drew her knife and held it ready in her hand. It would be almost useless against their mounted assailants, but it would kill at least one before she herself fell under the onslaught. She wondered why the hobbits did not draw their crossbows, and then saw that they no longer carried them. She shook her head. They, with typical hobbit foolishness, had probably forgotten them at the manse.

Like a river released from a dam, they roared towards the small group. Arrows sung as the elves loosed them and several men fell to the ground; if the arrow had not killed him, the hooves of his fellow riders quickly trampled his remaining life into the ground. But in an instant their bows were useless and they fought hand to hand. With a shrill whinny, Merkaliel reared to her feet, her sharp hooves casting both man and beast to the ground.

A tortured scream and she saw Gorby fall – an arrow buried in his pony’s heart. It seemed as if time slowed as she saw the hobbit crawl from under the animal, his face white, lips trembling. Turning, she saw Esgallhugwen and Lumiel hewing their foes before them. Anson was helping Gorby climb onto his own pony. Should she leave the others and bring the hobbits to safety, away from death and bloodshed? With a brief struggle she made up her mind and, going to the hobbits, she said, “Make for the manse and hide somewhere, anywhere! I’ll follow behind.”

Somehow, they fought their way through them; somehow they made it towards the edge of the ring that encircled. Shrubs straggled the barren land and to the left was a dead copse of small trees. An arrow whizzed, and Merkaliel stumbled to her knees. An arrow protruded from her neck, blood dripped down, staining her amber coat. With a cry, Lira leaped clear and landed on her knees beside the fallen horse. Rising to her feet, she looked around for Anson and Gorby. Fear clutched at her when she Anson’s pony galloping madly across the plain, and Anson himself was lying prone upon the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Gorby was no where in sight.

[Lumiel]

A seeming moment of eternal silence followed as they drew their weapons. It was broken by the earth-shaking pounding of sixty horses bearing down on them heightened by the harsh, gleeful cries of their foes. Victory would be sure for them, their master would be pleased. And they would be able to have some sport...

Lumiel whispered softly to her mount, a calming, soothing word before the brigands were upon them. This was only her second true battle, but one had been enough for her to adapt as was necessary. Although they were outnumbered, only so many of the men could attack them at once. If they had bows, she didn't know, but it would be stupid to use them now, they would kill their own men just as readily as their group, unless they were able to draw any of their company off.

Back and forth her blade flew, too quick for the men to follow, and she wrecked havoc around her. In her first battle, she had been injured, and she would not let it happen again. Her qualms of bloodshed and right and wrong disappeared before the necessity of her own life and those of her companions and any hesitance that she had had before was vanished.

So far, she had been holding her own and had been able to kill a few already in the first moments of battle. Her sword seemed to sing victory for her, though that was unlikely here. She did not look to her friends to see if they were alive, but listened and used what glimpses she could catch of them to try and see how they were. She heard a neighing scream behind her and heard Gorby give a cry as he fell. So they did have bows. Near her, Esgallhugwen was a dark force striking fear into the hearts of their foes. Even as they raised their swords against her, their hearts quailed.

Off farther to the side, she heard Merkaliel scream and she turned to see Lira falling to the ground. Somehow, they had made it almost out...and Gorby and Anson too, she guessed. But where were they? She had to take attention away from them. Gathering her will, she gripped her sword tightly. Her all too calm battle demeanor fell away in an instant to be replaced by a mad grin and glinting eyes. She gave a high, harsh, loud battle cry and raised her sword as her horse reared, kicking wildly at the men. The wind caught her hair and tossed it like a web in the air. The men were not sure what to make of it, she had so suddenly changed, and for the worst they feared.

"Come, come! And I will slay thee before the sun sleeps! I will show thee true pain and power, of which your foul master knows nothing!" she cried as demonically as she could. She then added in elvish, in the same voice, "Lira, run!" so that Lira would know that Lumiel knew she was in trouble. She laughed then, and it filled the air in strange echoes. Her foes now turned their attention to the main group; renewed by Lumiel's outburst and insult they seemed almost to forget about Lira and the hobbits.

Lumiel had no time to consider how the others had taken her actions nor if they approved of it. She had not become a Dark Queen as Eswen had, nor was such a queen in her. She had put on a show for their enemies and they had fallen for it. Though her heart remained calm, her eyes darted wildly and she cackled as her blade sought the soft, vulnerable flesh that gave such a scream. She only hoped she had given Lira and the hobbits a chance.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik
Falowik had the sword in his hand that he had taken from one of the ruffians back in Deadmen's Dike. His hand was sweaty. He was convinced that they were doomed, but he was going to go down fighting. Better death than what he had heard of from Gorby and Lumiel. The sixty-plus ruffians galloped down the hills from three sides. Falowik had been expecting, waiting, for Thoronmir to call an immediate retreat from their precarious position, but the order had not come. Maybe I should have been the leader. He shook his head. Fool, there was no way you were ready, and you are no more so now. He raised his sword and watched the fighters among the group - he did not consider himself to be one - to see what they did, and copy them.

Uien took the reins of the extra horses from Falowk and joined the hobbits in the middle of the group. She was a healer, not a fighter, even though she had killed. Falowik knew that she would again, if it came to the final moment. Lumiel seemed seasoned and confident as she watched the riders come down the hills and charge among them. Thoronmir seemed just as confident. What was wrong with these people? Then Falowik began to see.

Since they were all horsed, their foes could only come at them so many at a time, and had to make room for each other in their attack, which meant that only about a dozen of the brigands could engage them at one time. They had a chance! Falowik's eyes went wide with hope. A fierce eagerness swept up in him. He had never felt the sensation before. He let out a whoop of his own and swung at the closest enemy, who parried his blow and pulled back for a quick cut underneath Falowik's slow blade.

"Falowik!" Uien cried in fear behind him.

He reacted with a wild swing that glanced off the other man's arm, sending the sword that would have struck off Falowik's head useless, off to the side. He was alive! He hollered again and swung as hard and fast as he could. The man went down, cut at the shoulder and thrown off his mount. Falowik saw another foe come up where the other had been. He knew he had been lucky and reckless. He tried to be more in control this time.

He would have to thank Eodwine for having trained his mount for war so well. Flithaf moved as if he knew precisely how Falowik should swing next. Falowik allowed the horse's movements to guide his swings just as much as his own eyes did, and somehow it worked! Instinct took over. He knew he wasn't good at this, but in the heat of battle, the next move was all that mattered.
Lumiel screamed and cackled and taunted the foe. Falowik didn't know why, but it had a powerful effect on him, filling his veins with fire. His sword swung faster as his foes' hesitated: it was their undoing. The first wave of attackers lay on the ground, and their horses were getting in the way of the next wave. The humans, elves, and hobbits who still stood took the moment to catch their breath.

Falco

Get in the middle? What do you take me for? Falco was determined not to be mere baggage. It was times like these that made him wish he'd taken his pa's advice and learned the bow. Ah well. These ruffians would feel the worst of his dagger, sword, and cudgel then. And he knew the best job for a quick and sturdy hobbit like himself. He got down from his mount and waited for the foe to fall from their horses. Keeping his wits about him, he stabbed the fallen to make sure they would not rise again. Let the others scream and holler. I'll stay quiet and do good hobbit work. Someone has got to be practical around here.

Gorby fell. It looked to Falco like Lira jumped off her horse and went to Gorby. Anson was right beside Gorby and pulled him onto his pony. Lira remounted her steed, and the three of them pushed back the way they had come.

Lumiel started screaming and cackling. "Lira!" she called and some elvish word Falco didn't know. Lira, Anson, and Gorby were pushing east, Lira swinging her sword right and left, cutting a swath for their escape. Are they crazy? thought Falco. It's an hour back east! Those ruffian horses will overtake Anson's pony in minutes! Or they could be dropped from behind by any arrow!

"Don't divide the group!" Falco shouted. Too late. They weren't listening. Falco shook his head. Big Trouble through and through! It was the foolishest thing he'd ever seen a soldier do because safety was in what little numbers they had all in one place; but these elves thought they knew best. Ten horsemen came around the long way, pointing at Lira, Gorby and Anson, yelling to each other. Fool elves! He could not catch up to them, so he left them to their fate, hoping for the best and fearing the worst.

Falco turned back to the frey at hand. There were more fallen ruffians to put out of their misery. He was glad to oblige.

[Nurumaiel]

Anson

By the time Lira had reached Anson, he was already struggling to sit up. His face was pale and he was shaking all over. Lira helped him up and gazed at him, apparently wanting him to say something but unsure of what to ask. Anson looked about him and his eyes widened. "Gorby?" he asked her, but no sound came from his mouth. His eyes widened with fear at this and he clutched her hand, trying to speak to her but finding he could make no noise whatsoever. Lira put her free hand on his brown curls and spoke gently to him. "Don't worry, Anson," she said. "You've just had the wind knocked out of you." She cast an uneasy glance behind her at the fighting, wondering how much more time they had.

"Do you think you can walk if I help you?" she asked. "We have to find Gorby."

Anson gave a stiff nod and allowed Lira to help him to his feet. She began walking forward as quickly as she dared, one arm about Anson's shoulder. He clung to this arm, his eyes travelling desperately about, searching for Gorby. It was not long before his breath came more regularly, and soon he was brokenly telling her what had happened. When Lira's horse had screamed, the pony had become terrified and went into a mad frenzy of fear. Anson had quickly concluded that it would be better to jump off, but the pony had already taken off at an uncontrolable gallop and Anson had been flung off. Gorby had still been clinging to the pony's mane when everything went black.

Lira and Anson followed the pony's tracks, looking desperately for Gorby. Both realized that they were easy targets for the attackers and they were solely relying on the rest of the group to see their plight and assist them by keeping the enemy away. The color had come back to Anson's face and they began moving quicker.

At last Lira gave a cry and sprang to one side, Anson close behind her. Gorby was lying face up on the ground, breathing heavily and staring up at the sky. When he saw Lira and Anson he smiled faintly at them and held out both his hands. Anson took one and Lira the other and they pulled him to his feet. "Are you all right?" Anson asked, embracing him warmly.

Gorby nodded. "I do believe I am. I almost got trampled by your pony, though."

"I'm sorry!" Anson cried, grasping his hand tightly.

"Don't worry yourself over it," Gorby replied. "The bravest man may turn coward in the face of a steel blade, and I fancy ponies aren't any different."

Lira had watched this reunion with a little smile. Through the most dangerous fights, Hobbits would always remain simple, gentle folk. Taking the hobbits' hands, she said, "It would be best if we were to find somewhere to hide. Our best chance is there."

"But, Lira!" Anson cried. "Isn't your horse hurt? I heard a horse scream, and here you are on foot." A shadow of pain passed over Lira's face, but she murmured, "That isn't what we need to worry about now." As she led them away, her eyes searching for a hiding place, Anson and Gorby exchanged a look that clearly showed they were both thinking the same thing... Elves were grand entirely.

[Imladris]

Lira’s blue eyes swept the landscape, looking for a suitable place for the hobbit’s to hide. Fear bubbled up inside of her, clutched her, as she didn’t even find anything that could hid someone so small as a hobbit. Taking a hobbit’s hand in each of her own, she sprinted across the plain, the brown grass bending noiselessly under their feet.

Lira did not know how she managed to protect the hobbits from the assailants that swarmed around them…she only knew that her hand was stained with red, her dress was spattered with brown flecks, that the hobbit’s faces were white with fear. She stooped and picked up a sword and a bow and arrows from a fallen man, sheathing her dagger, and they continued on. Gorby stumbled to the ground, and Lira and Anson bent to help him to his feet.

A tremor shivered in the ground, the brown dry grass trembled. Turning, Lira saw ten horsemen galloping towards them, blades drawn, a cruel smile about their lips. She and the hobbits were almost near the copse of trees, only a few more minutes of running and they would be safe…maybe. “Come on,” she whispered, redoubling her pace.

They could hear the pounding of hooves chanting the coming of their death as they entered the shelter of the trees. Lira led the hobbits into the midst of the copse and stopped at the base of a dying oak. Dropping her sword to the ground, she gripped Anson under his arms and heaved him to the top bow, then did the same to Gorby. As she lifted them, she said, “Climb as high as you can and lay perfectly still. I’m going to keep them off our trail,” she said as she disappeared through the trees, bending and snapping twigs as she went, making the trail as noticeable as she dared. Then she circled back, swung herself into a tree near the hobbits, and waited with her bow drawn.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen had been witnessing what Lira and the Hobbits were going through but could do nothing being engaged with more than one enemy around her. She knew who had killed Gorby's brave pony, who took his own life, rearing up just in time to save his master from the cursed arrow.

She galloped up to him and drove her terrible blade into his heart "a heart for a heart, though yours is of lesser kind" she cried as arrows went whizzing by her head. Her horse reared with a resonating roaring scream knocking men clean off their mounts.

A number of spears were sticking up from the ground, failed casts that never had a second chance at their target. Esgallhugwen plucked one up from the ground and with an awe-inspiring cry of her own threw it at close range.

The cruel twisted metal spike struck the target's throat with great force, but missing the voice box he choked and spluttered as he slid off his horse, Eswen rode up to his fallen body, blood foamed from his mouth, she took the spear from his throat and his life with it.

The mangled bronze glowed with crimson blood with the last failing rays of the sun, the stars arose from their deep blue cloak and the moon cast ominous light on all the figures who were engaged in battle. Eswen threw the spear one last time leaving it embedded in the man's chest.

Then a second wave crawled over the hilltops, after all they could only come in so many at a time. Esgallhugwen drove at them with fear and power as a shepherd drives cattle to the slaughter.

She was full of wrathful tyrant-like slaughter, but the thought in her heart was pure she must do her best to keep any further men from getting to the Hobbits and Lira who were sitting in a rather tall sickly tree, susceptible to arrows and perhaps spear throws. Lumiel was doing her share taunting and harrasing the men trying to distract them from their exposed companions.

And now Eswen had been surrounded by four horsemen, with notched blades and tempers full of hate against her for killing many of their own men, she taunted them further "hah, you dare brandish your swords at me when they are barely sharp enough to cut a loaf of bread! You fools! My sword will play your ribs like a violin and you will weep to see an end to that sweet melody"

With that she struck the one to her left in the head, dodging the swing that came at her next, parrying yet another, she managed to miraculously dispatch all four without injury to herself.

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir drew his sword and fought desperately against the brigands. He fought hard, slaying at least ten foes, but he knew it was hopeless. "Enough of this!" he called. "We must retreat!"

Doing so proved to be harder than it looked. Everybody was surrounded by foes. He frantically tried to cut his way through to aid some of the others, but in the process, he got a nasty cut across his left arm with a ruffian's scimitar. He swung to cut the man down, but there were too many of them. He kept fighting, trying to reach everybody and get them out safely.

[Lumiel]

The battle raged harshly around her and screams filled the air as the combined swords of their company rent through one after another of the brigands. Yet too many there were, and they too few. Unaware if her diversion for Lira, Gorby, and Anson had succeeded or not, for she could not afford to spare her attention, Lumiel heard Thoronmir sound the retreat. "Enough of this! We must retreat!"

His voice carried to her, and she knew he was right. Both her and her mount had gone this far with few injuries and those being only a few superficial cuts by close calls. She did not know how many she had slain, but knew only that the pile of dead near her was growing steadily. The smell of blood was sharp in her nose and her head seemed to pound with the ringing and clashing of metal and steel, staccato in its warlike rhythm.

As well as they seemed to be holding up, she knew that their momentum was dying. Her own arms were beginning to feel heavy, though still capable of arcing and slashing her sword as need demanded. A rosy pink crept from her cheeks and she suddenly realized how restrictive her clothing seemed to be. She had been trained since childhood for battle and her stamina and strength were remarkable for a woman her size. Yet if she was beginning to tire, what of the others?

She carefully backed away towards Thoronmir, keeping a close eye and count on all the foes who were at the moment a direct threat to her. She made it to Thoronmir and saw in her peripheral vision a sword cut across his left arm. Instinctively she turned and buried her blade under his armpit and a gush of warm blood flowed down the already slick sword. He grunted and fell to the ground. Lumiel had no time to notice this as a scimitar sliced across her back as she was jerked closer to Thoronmir. She grimaced in pain and turned to her new foe. She had been saved by her horse, who had realized the danger before her and pulled her away just in time to avoid death, but not injury. Blood seeped down her back in trickling rivulets and soaked her shirt. It was not fatal, but it had cut near the muscle. They had to escape, and soon. "Thoromir!" she called loudly to the man since her back was turned to him at the moment, though he was no more than two feet away. "I've got your back!" She could help defend him as he made his way out of the circle of ruffians. She would depend on her horse to make sure she was safe. He had saved her once, he could do it again, or at least she hoped.

[Esgallhugwen]

"We must retreat!" Esgallhugwen heard Thoronmir call across the plain, it was then she realized that they were no longer together as one group but had spread out during the fighting. A significant amount of corpses had encircled Morsereg and herself, he had no choice but to leap across or crush their bones with his massive heavy hooves.

She urged him on calling to the others who may not have heard "retreat" she shouted, slashing the face of another rider. The vile man clutched at his face in pain letting go of the reins, his horse reared in terror and he fell backwards onto one of his dead companions, Falco finished him off.

A barrage of arrows came swooping past above her head, Eswen could distinctly hear someone from the other side crying "bring her down, bring them all down!" his voice was harsh and loud. She bolted to one side then to the other, trying to dodge and loose some of her own arrows upon them.

Esgallhugwen had taken down five men and wounded five more before she was hit, twice in the thigh and once in the front of her left shoulder. Giving a blood curdling scream at the men that shot her she killed them swiftly, two in the chest one penetrating the skull.

The hot blood began to ooze from her leg and across her arm as she sped toward Thoronmir and Lumiel who were trying to make their way out of the fray. Mosereg whinnied with concern for his friend and master "I'll be fine, keep going!" she told him gently yet sternly.

Her whole body throbbed with every heartbeat, but she was used to being wounded in battle having fought many a time before. A smooth white scar ran across her back from many years ago when she was captured by orcs and tortured for who knows how long in those deep treacherous caves, slashed, beaten, and stricken by hot blades and whips.

Esgallhugwen always remembered her mother having died there. Her passion grew, vigour and power renewed in her limbs she struck the enemy with renewed force, aiding in the company's retreat.

[Imladris]

A twig snapped, a sword glinted in the filtered sunlight. Lira crouched on the limb, barely breathing, and hoped that the hobbits wouldn’t do something foolish to bring attention to themselves. She pushed herself against the trunk of her tree, hoping that her dirtied green dress would go unnoticed against the bark.

With a flurry of feather, Corn, his black beak stained with blood, silently landed beside her. He was weary, and he swayed unsteadily upon the branch. His tail feathers drooped, and his eyes were glazed as he stared back towards Fornost. Lira frowned in puzzlement, but then she realized, as she heard the clashing swords, the cries of men, the echo of retreat, that they had been defeated. She faltered and a tear trickled down her cheek. Who had died, and who had lived?

A man strode through the copse, dead leaves crunching under his heavy footfalls, and paused, his black eyes glittering. With a mocking smirk, he called out, “Do you think that this rotten wood can save you, you little runts? And do you know what will happen once we find you? We’ll bind your wrists tightly with rough rope so that it will bit into your skin, causing the blood to ooze from the wound as if a burning fury were cutting you with a heated blade. You will be tied to a stake, your back bared to the leather strips of whip. Broken pottery and glass will be bound in the tails and they shall strike your flesh deeply. If you’re lucky, the wounds won’t get infected. But, after we finish breaking your bones, burning your flesh with heated metal, and starving you, you’ll be killed on the alter as a sacrifice. They’ll bleed you like a stuck pig, except that you’ll be alive, writhing in agony.” He snorted and then laughed coldly. “Maybe we’ll stuff the fat little weasels with herbs and bread until they can’t eat no more and then cook them for ourselves!”

Lira gagged and drew the bow close to her ear, aiming for his heart. With a silent elvish prayer, the arrow with a chilling hiss, sped from the string and buried itself deep into the hunter’s heart.