The Gates of Mirkwood: RPG

[Butterbeer]

Fletch rolled, shook by the blasts and the wild seering flashes of electric fire dancing wildly on the hill top, these dancing spears of death seemed almost searching for something ....

fletch banged his head, hard, on a tree-trunk ... and springing up slightly dazed but now with adrenaline coursing through him he sprinted back to pick up his fallen bow and turning fast as he could he followed the running figure of lanor, rushing away from the lightning storm unleashed on the hill top... chaos seemed to reign, but even as he rasn fletch felt for his next arrow ...

[Earniel]

With some effort Beryn entered the tent as silently as she could. There was a lot of noice outside to mask any sound she could make, but when dealing with wizards one could never be too careful.

The tent was illuminated by a sudden flash of lightning outside. For a moment Beryn could see Seppicor's silhouette outlined in the tent's entrance. His back was turned towards her, just as she preferred it.

In the flash she had glimpsed a man's figure to her right. That had to be Eaol. Beryn let her breath escape in a hiss when she saw the shape Harn's friend was in. The nature of the assortment of 'tools' lying around the man became frightfully clear.

Beryn repressed a sudden impulse to batter the wizard on the head now that his back was turned. She quickly began untying Eaol, while trying to estimate the time she had left to carry or drag the wounded man out of the tent.

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

Anfal stood up, and picked up Kalin who he had fallen on. He drew his blade with a flash and ran towards the battle. He quickly caught up with Fletch, who seeing Anfal's sword, followed suit and drew his blade.
"C'mon," shouted Anfal. "Let's see if we can't free this lady friend of yours."
Together they ran towards the tent, slaying all in thei path.

[Tessar]

For all his laughter, Seppicor felt a cold chill in the pit of his stomach.

How had they caught up so quickly?

More importantly, why were Harn and Kalin still alive?

Turning his head from side to side, Seppicor felt a second chill as he saw no sign of his assassin in the battle. Something must have gone wrong.

Hearing a roar, he glanced towards the hill where the archers had been, and his lips curled up into a snarl as he saw that his lightning blasts had missed them all some how, and they were now charging towards his tent at full tilt. His spell would keep him safe for a time, but how long? He was trapped standing in one place until it ended, or he put a stop to it.

Then he saw something that calmed him completely.

The assassin was still alive.

Reaching out telepathically, he called out to the assassin and demanded a diversion.

The assassin was only too happy to comply. This was not the time to kill any one of them... not with them all so close and with weapons drawn, but a diversion was easily manageable.

A tiny needle whizzed through the air and struck Harn in the neck, burying itself deep into his flesh and driving a poison into his veins. He reached up and yanked the needle out without even glancing at it, struggling on for a moment. But the poison was strong, and swift.

By the time the archers reached the battle, Harn was on his knees--too disoriented to even swing his sword any more as darkness seemed to force itself before his eyes.

A vicious grin spread itself across Lanor's face as he dove forward and dropped into a neat roll, coming up to his feet with a dagger in each hand. Hardly stopping, he lurched first one way, and then the other as he planted each knife deep into the throat of an orc. Rolling again, he came up behind Harn and dragged his sword free of it's sheath, using the momentum of his swing to spin around fully and slice the head from an orc who had been charging towards his back. Grinning still wider as the body collapsed, Lanor reversed his grip and stabbed behind himself, catching an orc in the stomach.

Firing even as he ran, Kalin too saw Harn go down, and he imitated Lanor's roll, although there was no smile on his face. When the elf came to his feet, his bow twanged five times in rapid succession--firing with the speed and pinpoint accuracy of his people. Each arrow thudded into an orc--having been fired at such a close range that they had no chance of dodging--and five orcs fell. Now there was no room even for one of Kalin's skill to draw an arrow, and so he dropped the bow and flipped two long daggers from his belt.

Only slightly less skilled with his daggers than he was with his bow, Kalin threw himself into a second roll that would put him near Harn and Lanor, and then leapt up from the ground, easily clearing the head of one of the orcs, only to come down behind him and slit the beast's throat. As another of the orcs lunged for him, Kalin bent backwards and kicked up with one leg, catching the orc fully on the chin and dropping him. As the orc fell, Lanor's sword snapped forward and slew the animal with a single stroke as Kalin regained his balance.

Kalin saw part of the needle still embedded in Harn's neck, the end having snapped off when the Ranger pulled on it, and a memory triggered in his head of Lanor pausing before they charged down the hill.

Spinning to plant a blade between the woodsman's ribs as he realized the traitorous deed, Kalin halted, and then reversed the movement as he saw a flicker of robes in the corner of his eye. Seppicor was running! Kalin nearly went after the wizard, but his instincts told him to remain and protect Harn.

Protect Harn?...

Eaol!

Forgetting all else, Kalin charged into the tent with daggers drawn and raised to strike. Unable to see in the sudden shift of lighting, the elf smacked directly into Beryn and found himself sitting on the ground and shaking his head in a manner almost as dazed as Harn's had been.

"Eaol!" Kalin cried, staggering to his feet and sheathing his blades. White-hot shame rolled through him. After all his mental debates over making a choice when the time came, he had forgotten the man completely!

"He is here, I have him," Beryn assured the elf, easily cradling the old man in her left arm while her right held her staff in a high guard.

"But Seppicor is escaping," Kalin gritted more to himself than to Beryn, and exited the tent again.

Harn was fully sprawled out on the ground now, and only the companions' combined efforts kept a crowd of suddenly vicious orcs from charging forward and ripping the ranger to pieces. Their hate for Harn, whom some had met and fought before, outweighed even their fear of the other fighters.

Seppicor was scrambling onto the back of a horse, and was well within range. At that moment, an orc had just bodily thrown the brave little hobbit Pansy aside to reach Harn.

Time seemed to freeze for Kalin, and a thousand arguments raged through his head.

His hand flickered, and a knife flew through the air.

The orc fell.

Swearing, Kalin threw his other knife, but it was too late. The wizard saw it coming and ducked, speeding his mount on to escape into the night.

Now the choices had been made, and it was time to back them up.

Kalin leapt back into the fight as the companions continued to mop up what was left of the orc party.

[Butterbeer]

running now and following hard on the ranger's fast pace fletch drew his blade ... a fey mood sweeping him as he leapt into battle behind Anfal ... their white hot fury sweeping the first resitance aside as a very real cold hard steel lightning strike hit the orcs full on ...

where was Ravenlocks? Was she still alive?

Shouting now fletch hid these thoughts with a primedial scream, a bezerker spirit rising up inside him he now had but one goal: to rescue her or to pay bloody vengence until he could no longer hold blade or thought ...

[Earniel]

Beryn surveyed the fighting scene from the shadows of the tent. Her companions didn't seem to falter now that Harn was down, it rather seemed to give them an edge that cut through the orc-horde like a knife through butter.

Pansy was hitting an orc that had dared to try and shove her aside so hard and fast that Beryn could hardly see the frying pan moving. The fast, repetitive 'dink' sound was the only indication of Pansy's strikes. Fletch, and Anfal too, seemed to be bitten by a rabid dog. Kalin's blade sliced through orcs with his usual Elven speed and acuracy. Beryn almost pitied the opposing orcs. Almost.

Already orcs were fleeing the other way, rather than attacking the small group of the Ranger's defenders. Although that could have something to do with Seppicor's own flight that Kalin had mentioned.

Eaol moaned softly as Beryn shifted her hold on him. "Now don't you complain, my friend," Beryn told him kindly, although she doubted he could already hear her. "My arms aren't such a bad place to wake up, you know. I could name a few that would very much trade places with you right now."

She looked outside again and briefly considered joining her friends and wipe out the remaining orc-rabble. But Eaol would slow her down and leaving him now that they finally had found him was just too dumb. Besides, it didn't seem that her friends really needed help...

Making a decision, Beryn turned around and carefully propped Eaol against the tent pole, checking his injuries. "Now," she said, "let's see what we can use for bandages around here."

[Butterbeer]

Fletch had in his fury hastened ahead of Anfal who was skillfully meeting out merciless death to the orcs in his path, Fletch though stood in a bloody pool of slaughtered foes many a gash and wound as yet unfelt or unnoticed in his fighting madness... a large swat orc seemed to hesitate attacking him seeing the cold intensity of his look and the blood-smeared assasin before him, he looked around quickly for an escape .. fletch whipped out his throwing mitres and targeting the orc's kneecaps brought him in agony to his knees ... quickly he butchered the orc's arms off and kneeling now close to the hapless Orc took out his garotting wire ...

"Time for a little talk... you can die quickly and cleanly or you can suffer ...

where is the girl you captured? Be quick now and for your sake no lies..."

breathed Fletch

[Tessar]

Despite the blood gushing from his shoulders, where his arms had been severed, the orc managed a grisly chuckle. More blood bubbled up from his throat, and stained his back teeth crimson.

“Girl… What’s left of her…” whatever else the orc had intended to say was lost as an arrow whipped past Fletch’s ear and took the orc between its eyes. Dropping the corpse and turning in anger, Fletch saw Lanor string a second arrow to a bow he had snatched up from an orc’s dying hands. There was a smirk on his face, as he spun and dispatched of a fleeing orc.

Kalin turned and raised his dagger high.

The elf slammed his dagger into Lanor’s ribs. Once. Twice. Withdrawing the blade fully and whipping his arm back to gain momentum, he struck a third time. Blood sprayed from the wound and splashed across Kalin’s face to mar his once fair elven visage into a mask of rage.

“TRAITOR!” Kalin screamed, drawing the blade back and meaning to strike again.

Already moving towards the two, Fletch reached them before any of the other companions and hooked his arms around Kalin’s to prevent him from finishing his assault.

Lanor’s bow fell from his suddenly weak grip and he turned wide eyes upon the elf-- staggering away as fresh blood seeped from his side and flowed down to stain his garments.

“Hold! Hold!” Fletch cried, his fingers deftly striking a pressure point on Kalin’s arm and forcing the elf to drop his bloodstained blade. “What is this madness?” Fletch demanded as Anfal helped him restrain Kalin.

“I saw him!” Kalin cried in rage, “He betrayed us and has slain Harn! I saw the dart that he fired as he ran down the hill behind me!”

Crippled with shock and pain, Lanor stumbled away and could not reply, or do more than shake his head in denial as he clutched at the stab wounds and attempted to stem the pain, and the flowing blood.

An image of Lanor slaying the orc before he could answer suddenly came to Fletch, and he mentally reeled in shock. Could it be that the surly woodsman had betrayed them? It almost seemed so… and yet to have traveled with such a one, and not have known? The image came to Fletch again, and he clapped a hand to his ear where the arrow had whistled past. There was blood.

“He tried to kill me!” Fletch gasped, and rage overcame him as well. The assassin had tried to kill him, and had prevented him from learning the fate of his beloved Ravanlocks.

Anfal let go of Kalin and took a step back, looking from Fletch, to the elf, and finally to the mute, hunched form of Lanor. “How?” Anfal shook his head, unwilling to believe that one of the companions had betrayed them and slain their leader.

“A moment ago!” Fletch roared, splotches of red covering his face as his rage built to a crescendo. “He tried to slay me as I had my back turned!”

Anfal’s face turned white, and the ranger looked back and forth once again between Fletch and Kalin. They had both seen the assassin strike?

Kalin bent and snatched up Harn’s sword.

There was a glint of metal as the blade swooped down to take the Traitor’s head from his shoulders.

The blade struck.

“NO!” Beryn roared as her staff deflected the sword. With a subtle, deft twist of the wood she sent the sword flying from Kalin’s grasp and knocked the elf back several steps with the butt of her weapon. Twirling the staff above her head, she warded the others away and stood guard over the fallen woodsman.

Having run out from the tent as she heard the accusations begin flying, Beryn had come to Lanor’s rescue and barely saved the man’s life.

“It was not him!” She declared, towering before the two men and the now sitting elf. “I saw him as you all came down the hill, Kalin! I saw no dart come from him. He stumbled over a rock!”

Silence reigned over the area, and shock held all tongues. Then a low moan came from inside the tent. A woman’s moan.

“Ravanlocks!”

The word tore itself from Fletch’s throat as he twisted and ran into the tent, forgetting entirely the plight of Lanor and Harn. Yanking aside the tent-flaps, Fletch allowed his instinct to guide him across the tent and towards the woman.

There was a cot in the back of the tent.

There, naked and barely conscious, Ravanlocks was tightly bound with wire cords that cut deeply into her flesh, and barely-healed scabs and welts covered her body where she had been whipped. There was no apparent reason behind it that leapt to Fletch’s mind, except that Seppicor had derived some twisted pleasure from it. Hatred for the wizard flared in Fletch’s mind, but then was washed away as Ravanlocks moaned again.

“Ravanlocks…” Fletch whispered, dropping to his knees and grasping at the wires with a bare hand—trying to relieve the cutting pressure they were putting on his beloved. Ignoring the wounds they cut into his own hand, Fletch fumbled with his free hand at his belt, finally managing to draw a small dagger with which he sliced at the wires.



“He killed Harn!” Kalin insisted as he pointed at the huddled, strangely silent Lanor; Kalin’s senses were blinded not by rage now, but by grief for the loss of the dearest friend he had attained in his long life.

“No…”

Kalin and Beryn looked towards Anfal as he denied the elf’s words.

“No…” Anfal said again, his keen eyes fixed upon the ranger’s body. “He… he is not dead. He lives still!”

Dropping her staff, Beryn scooped up Harn’s body and passed him to Anfal, then bent again and took up Lanor. “Inside the tent! Now!” She commanded, “There may still be time to save them both.”

[Earniel]

Inside the tent Beryn tore a blanket from a seat and spreading it out on the ground with one hand, she placed Lanor on it. Eaol still sat propped against the tent pole where she had left him, his bandages barely finished when she had rushed out to save Lanor fom Kalin's wrath. The old man still was unconcious.

Rising to her feet, Beryn quikly lit two of the lamps that hung in the large tent, illuminating the inside. And Beryn had for the first time a good view of the tent. It was far from inviting.

She glanced at the others. Anfal had placed Harn on the cot where Beryn previously had found Eaol. Kalin hovered behind him. Fletch was at the back of the tent, seemingly having found Ravenlocks but in not such a good condition judging by his grim look. That meant they would have four wounded to take care of, apart from minor scrapes and cuts the others had received in the melee.

She poked her head outside the tent. "Secure the camp, " she ordered the others, "Get water boiling. And someone go get the horses, we might be here for a while."

She returned inside and knelt next to Lanor to examine his wounds. Kalin had hit him well and Beryn doubted she'd have skill enough to keep the man alive. She had the feeling it was going to be a long day. It did not improve her temper.

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

Anfal placed two fingers on Harn's neck and checked hor a pulse. There was one there. He then opened one of Harn's eye which was strangley out of focus, even for someone who was unconscess.
"C'mon Harn," mutterdd Anfal, bringing out a leather patch with about ten or so leaves inside.
"Anfal," said Beryn sternly. "This is no time for smoking." Ignoring Beryn's words Anfal heater the leaves in the boiling water, then crushed them over the small wound in Harns's neck. Almost instantly Harn's face relaxed and his eyelid's began to move.
"Harn," whispered Anfal. "Harn. Say something."
"Seppicor. Where is he?" replied Harn, slightly dazed.
"He escaped, but that isn't important, at the moment the only important thing is healing you."

[Butterbeer]

"Mead!" shouted Fletch ....

"This is no time for drinking Fletch!" replied Beryn busily attending lanor.

"Put me out of my misery, Fletch ... do it!" breathed ravenlocks
"let us share a cup one last time, love ..."

"Mead!" bellowed fletch, oblivious to all else, leaning closer and caressing Ravenlocks' hair, tears coursing down....

Fletch knew there was no hope for her, it would be a kindness indeed, but he didn't want to be the one to do it - all he could see was the dying embers of her spirit, her eyes glinting one last time,

"I held on for you ..." she whispered.

[Butterbeer]

Outside the tent, some of the lazier members of the group were talking.

"what's going on in there? " asked one.

"well, it sounds like Anfal is having a smoke, and fletch is calling for ale." replied the other.

[Earniel]

"Is Harn awake?" Beryn asked Anfal. "Good, then leave him to the Elf to look after. Come over here and try your herbal tricks on keeping Lanor here alive so I can go look what's gotten into our vocal friend in the back."

Beryn wiped her bloodied hands on a piece of cloth and moved aside to make place for Anfal.

"There doesn't appear to have been any main arteries hit." she told the ranger with a nod in the direction of Lanor, "but he's lost a lot of blood already. "

Beryn stood up and went to the back of the tent.

"In Beorn's name, where is all that bellowing good for, Fletch?" Beryn grumbled as she came closer. "Do you think we have nothing else to do then-" She stopped as she saw Ravenlocks and the state she was in. Beryn stood silent for a while to take in the situation, then she shook Fletch, not all to kindly.

"Don't sit there moaning like a kicked bear cub, man. Pull yourself together, Fletch. She doesn't want to die in a place like this! Take her outside, into the sun."

[Butterbeer]

Fletch didn't reply.

Beryn probably meant well, but it was an interuption that had no meaning to him. Ravenlocks struggled still to keep her eyes alive and fletch could not now take either his eyes or his mind, nor his soul from her, ... this last momment semed almost frozen, as if out of time, her eyes, her soul, the last touch of her hands in his, her soft flesh still for this momment alive and real to him ...

Almost a white circular light appeared growing and glinting in her drinking eyes; drinking in the last motes of light and love, reaching out in a bond of fusion, a bond of singularity and defiance: defying despair.

Fletch knew she would not last even the time it took to move her outside, let alone the the move itself ... her last request was to share a cup of mead with him one last time, and so end it as it had begun ... but these were thoughts that now, here in this eternatity of time had no longer any value.

Caressing her hair softly and gently one last time, fletch kissed her blood-stained lips, her eyes becoming dilated and filling all his vision. With a sudden convulsion and a last tightening grasp of his hands she died.

Fletch knew no more for a long, long time.

[Tessar]

“Kalin, what…” Harn has to pause to draw breath. His every movement felt sluggish, and breath was hard to draw. “What happened?” the ranger finished, his head swimming from even the effort of talking.

“I have been a fool,” the elf replied bitterly, “You were struck by a dart with poison on it that was either weak, or you have resisted its effects. I believed that Lanor was the one who had fired the dart and… I may have killed him.”

Harn was shocked, and for a time was unable speak, or even think of anything that he could say. Lanor? How could Kalin possibly believe that Lanor would do such a thing? Harn had only known Lanor for a short time, but he already trusted the man to a degree… more than he normally might trust one he had just met.

More than Lanor, though, Harn trusted Kalin. Harn had made many mistakes himself, and he could see the regret, and the pain, in his elvish friend’s eyes.

“You must have…” Harn paused to draw breath again. His head was still swimming from the short question he had asked, but he felt that something must be said. “Acted as you saw… best… Everyone….makes… mistakes.” Having exhausted himself, Harn wheezed out a cough, and then was unable to hold back the darkness anymore and fell back into a deep sleep once again.

A tear rolled down Kalin’s face, and he reached out to touch his sleeping friend’s hand.

For all his gruffness, Harn was kind at heart, and he constantly proved it to Kalin even if few others ever saw more than a grumpy ranger from the north.

Seeing there was no more that he could do for Harn, Kalin stood and glanced about irresolutely. He saw Fletch bent over the body of a dead woman, shaking and sobbing quietly. Beryn crouched beside the weeping man and spoke soft words to him that the woodsman made no reply to. With a sigh, the giant woman stood and turned to look towards Harn, her head nearly brushing the top of the tent.

“He is unconscious again?” Beryn asked Kalin, to which the elf replied with a nod.

“I have some skill with healing, as do all my kin.” Kalin said softly, “I will help to mend what I have broken.”

Striding to Lanor, the elf bent and watched what Anfal did for a time before reaching out to help. Even for one of Anfal’s considerable skill, Lanor would have been difficult to save. Working together, the elf and the ranger were hard pressed to keep him alive as the night wore on.

As the dawn broke, Anfal and Kalin stepped away from Lanor watched him for several minutes without speaking. Lanor would live, and likely recover quicker than most would, but it would take time, and would slow them all down. Seppicor’s purpose had been achieved.

“We must take him with us,” Anfal said finally, shaking his head slowly as he voiced the thought on everyone’s mind. “He will recover, but his strength may come back slowly.”

[Earniel]

"So he's going to live, is he?" Beryn asked as she rose from where she had been sitting -and to her surprise, also sleeping- against a tent pole. "That's the best news we've had in a while."

"I'll have Pansy make you two some break fast," she said as she went to the tent entrance. "We still have a lot to do before we can pursue the wizard," she added with a glance at the back of the tent where Fletch hadn't moved yet.

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

With help from Beryn, Anfal lifted Lanor onto the front of his horse as they prepared to leave.
"You know," sighed Beryn, looking towards Anfal. "I feel really bad for Fletch. But one way or another we have to make him leave with us now."
"Point taken," replied Anfal. "I'll go and talk to him now."
As he entered the tent he saw Fletch sitting hunched up in the corner, next to the body of Ravenlocks.
"C'mon mate. I'm sure Ravenlocks wouldn't want this. She'd want you to be out there finding those who did this to her," said Anfal sympathetically.
Fletch sat still as stone, oblivios to Anfal's presence.
"C'mon, she wouldn't want this, would she?" repeated Anfal.
Fletch still didn't reply. His eyes were closed as if he was asleep, but he wasn't snoring as was usual with Fletch. Slightly worried Anfal left the tent, and returned to Beryn.
"Nothing," he said. "He looks as if he is asleep, but he isn't snoring. He's completly oblivious to everything around him, it's as if he was in a coma or something."

[Butterbeer]

Fletch knew not where he was ... he saw a great white light, glimmering ripples of reflected light as if caught by moving water ... he thought he could see two vast towering trees hazy in the distance.

All was surreal ... he felt pulled... for a second it seemed he saw there amid blurring transcendant shapes and swirls of the azure blue sea the form of ravenlocks smiling and laughing and looking back at him, her jet black hair and eyes alive with glints and promises ...

it seemed he floated in a downy soft pillowed light ... with a final ringing laugh that he would never forget and a soft ethereal caressing touch on his neck everthing went black ....

[Earniel]

Beryn sighed. "Help me carry him outside," Beryn said to Anfal. "If he hasn't woken up by then, we'll tie him to his horse."

Both entered the tent again and carried Fletch's limp form out.

"That is indeed no normal sleep," Beryn agreed with Anfal has they carried Fletch to his horse and secured him on the back of the animal.

Beryn turned to Kalin and Harn. "With everybody wounded as it is, I doubt we can go fast or far before tonight. We'll have to make camp soon enough, but any place is better than this. Maybe you should go ahead, I'll catch up with you after I have buried Ravenlocks. Fletch didn't like the idea of a pyre back in the village and although he is in no condition to say something about it now, I don't doubt he wants Ravenlocks to have a proper grave."

[Butterbeer]

Deep in coma, an odd sound came out of fletch's lips, kind of a happy sigh...

Anfal thought he heard the suggestion of a phrase in it

"what was that?" asked Anfal, intriguged ... "did he just say 'gottle of gear"?