The Gates of Mirkwood: RPG

[Earniel]

"I think that's not quite what he said," said Beryn, who was beginning to understand how Fletch thought, "But I think I've got a pretty good idea of what he meant. Now you should go."

After the horses had disappeared from sight, Beryn entered the tent to begin her sad duty. Carefully she lifted Ravenlocks from the cot where she had died and carried her outside. Here she lay the dead woman below a tree and went to fetch a shovel, or anything the orcs had abandonned that could serve as one.

The ground was loose and digging was not as hard as she had feared. The labour managed to take her mind of the things that had recently happened. When the grave was finished, she placed Ravenlocks in her final resting place and filled the grave. When she was done, she unhooked a little flask from her belt and held it up.

"This is mead from the Brown Ale Inn." she said to the grave. "Not the best sort, mind you, but still very drinkable."

She poured the liquid over the grave and rehooked the empty flask back on her belt.

It's your last drink, I fear, Ravenlocks. According to the Elves, there are Houses of the Dead across the western ocean where Humans linger a little before they move on beyond the circles of the world. I hope for you they serve mead there."

She turned around, hesitated and then turned around again back to the grave. "And if they don't, tell them to start stocking it until I arrive," she added.

Now that Ravenlocks was properly burried, Beryn set fire to the Torture Tent and the remains of the orc-camp that would burn. She left the orc-corpses for the carrion birds. But she took the head of the one she had identified as the orc-leader and placed it on a high stake for all to see.

"My work is done here," she said as she patted Honey on the neck. "Now let's go, before I start talking to dead people or horses."

Honey neighed offendedly. With a smile Beryn swung herself into the saddle and rode in the direction in which her companions had left.

[Tessar]

Seppicor had ridden his horse to its death. When the horse collapsed, the ancient wizard lay on his back and stared up at the star-strewn sky without moving for two full hours. As the golden fingers of morning began to creep above the horizon and hide the stars, Seppicor at last gave a moan and slowly rolled over onto his side, pressing an ear to the earth.

To his hearing, the ground was silent. Seppicor had always had a talent for reading the stars and hearing the earth, and now neither seemed to speak of any other being near him. For the moment, he was safe.

Staggering stiffly up to his feet, the old man chuckled and gave a rasping laugh. He was weary after his display of magic, and now bruised by his fall from the horse. But he was alive. His orcs were gone, and he had lost the prisoner.

A smile spread across Seppicor’s face. He had lost the prisoner, but he could not imagine that his master would be too displeased. Seppicor had interrogated the old man and learned everything he could. The girl captive had been a great help as well—the old man was nearly immune to pain inflicted on him, but torturing the girl had cracked him open like a book waiting to be read.

Laughing to himself, Seppicor began to stagger away from the spot where he had fallen. His steps were shaky at first, but the old sorcerer seemed to gain strength with every new stride. A masterful distraction, executed by his Traitor, and a little magic from Seppicor had so easily beaten the fools—Harn had been killed by the Traitor! Seppicor would’ve enjoyed capturing the Ranger and having some fun with him before letting him die, but at least one of his old foes was down.

“Now only the elf is left to oppose me… Neither of them was worth much without the other,” Seppicor reassured himself, quickening his pace slightly. He had a lead on them now, but for how long he didn’t know.

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


‘I did see something,’ Kalin signed in frustration to Harn. The Ranger seemed much recovered, although his movements were still stiff and breathing was a struggle some times, so using the sign language seemed to be a much more comfortable way for him to converse, although his fingers were clumsy.

‘I don’t doubt you,’ Harn signed back, his eyes flickering towards the horse that Lanor was slung across. The Ranger, Anfal, rode beside Lanor and kept a close eye on the wounded woodsman. On Anfal’s other side was Fletch—still unconscious, but now seeming to be in a deep sleep rather than his former coma-like state.

For a time the company rode in silence, until Beryn caught up with them. Her huge form seemed to instantly dwarf all of the other riders, and brought a smile to Harn’s face for a moment. He nodded to her, and waved a silent hello. His smile quickly vanished as his gaze fell back onto the two men—one severely wounded, and the other in a deep sleep. Perhaps Kalin had seen Lanor doing something suspicious, but Harn could not make himself believe that it was true.

Then his gaze fell on the slumped figure that rode on Kalin’s horse, in front of the elf. One of Kalin’s arms held the old man steady and prevented him from sliding off the horse. Eaol was unconscious still, and no one knew when he would rouse and be able to tell him if he had given any information to Seppicor.

Harn frowned and shook his head. How could their attack have gone so wrong? It should have been simple enough to race into the camp and grab Eaol, but it had turned into a near massacre—He was weakened, Lanor might still die without constant attention, Fletch had withdrawn inside his own mind, consumed with grief over Ravenlock’s death, and they had lost much precious time. Until they found out for sure if Seppicor had obtained any information, they would have to assume that he had, and track him down.

Harn signed a message to Kalin, and then leaned back in his saddle slightly, waiting for an answer.

“Harn wants to know if anyone might have an idea how far ahead of us Seppicor could have gotten,” Kalin spoke aloud, twisting in his saddle to look at Beryn and Anfal.

[Earniel]

"That accursed wizard of yours will not have spared the horse in his flight," Beryn said after a few moments of thinking. "The horse will not have been in prime condition if it had been with the orc-hord for a while. The wizard may have had an hour or two of considerable progress before he would have had to slow down or before the horse dropped dead between his knees."

Distaste was audible in Beryn's voice. The Beornings cared greatly for their own horses and looked unkindly on the mistreatment of others.

"But we lost much time recovering from the fight and we cannot go as swiftly as we should be able to. He might have half a day, a day at the utmost ahead of us."

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

"I agree. We can not afford to set up camp for the night, but in a few house we must stop so I can tend to Lanor again, but we must know where he is heading to. I suggest we send a scout," said Anfal.

[Curubethion]

A cloaked man crept towards the smoke. In front of him, smouldering, was a pile of orc corpses. On a stake in the center was the ugly head of an orc, still hideously grinning. The man did not care; he had seen many things like that before.

What has happened? he wondered. Something is going on.

He tried to remember the message that had been sent: "Harn calls for aid; come to Bree."

And to Bree he had come, but he had not found the ranger; only tales of a fight there days before. He buckled his throwing-daggers and took a firm grip on his staff. It was silvery, and each end was shaped into a lethal point.

Harn had called for aid, and Haetar would answer.

[Tessar]

The party rode on. For several hours they moved in silence, each keeping his or her thoughts private, but all dwelling on the escaped wizard: wondering how far he could possibly have made it in before his horse gave out or he needed rest.

All save one. She knew only one thing…

She was hungry.


“Look,” Patsy the little hobbit maid finally groaned, clutching her aching stomach, “Isn’t anyone else absolutely starving?! We haven’t eaten in hours, and if we go much further then we’ll die of hunger before we ever catch up with this blaster wizard!”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as Patsy mentioned the wizard, and then an awkward laughter broke out, developing into a full, hearty laugh as soon as Beryn joined in, her large voice booming out.

“We’ll stop now,” Lanor said aloud once the laughter had subsided, catching a hand-signal from Harn, “I am not hungry, but I’m sure everyone else is, and I know the horses could use a rest.”

Winded once again from laughing, Harn managed a smooth dismount and slid to the ground, noting how each member of the company dismounted—he had known some men to ride for several days after a battle without mentioning serious injuries. The party seemed well enough. Naturally he, possibly the most battle hardened of any member in the party, had managed to get himself hurt.

The company had gathered around a large, shady tree, and the three invalids were settled down on the ground to be tended by Anfal. Those still conscious were sitting with their backs propped against the tree’s trunk, and looking out at the sky, or murmuring among themselves. One member in particular caught Harn’s eye as she moved around, doling out apples and cheese to the hungry travelers.

Telin. The girl had come with them, although not by choice at first, from her little town, which had been destroyed. A wave of guilt washed over Harn as he thought of how she had lost her family, her town, and her home because Seppicor had wanted to slow him down. It had worked. Then another girl, Ravenlocks, had lost her life to Seppicor’s cruel games. Another ploy to slow down the pursuit? Possibly. If so, it had worked.

Looking at the slumped, unconscious forms lying on the ground, Harn felt another wave of guilt. Despite the fact that he found the man, Fletch, to barely be grown out of boyhood mentally, Harn could sympathize with the pain he knew Fletch would go through, or perhaps already was.

The next form… Lanor. Perhaps the most troubling thing of all. What had Kalin seen? Harn knew Kalin—the elf did not go off half-drawn, and his near slaying of Lanor with what seemed to be no proof worried Harn. Perhaps Seppicor had cast some spell on the elf. That thought was even more worrisome than the idea of Kalin seeing things that were not there.

Taking a deep breath, Harn tried to clear his mind and center himself. There was no possible way he could keep track of everything that might be going on— He could easily enough command a large group of rangers in a battle, but hunting the sorcerer with even a small group was proving to be a thousand times more difficult and tricky. Seppicor had always been tricky like that.

Time for some answers.

Leaning towards Anfal and Beryn, and keeping an eye on Kalin as the elf gently brushed his horses’ mane and spoke soft words to the animal, Harn lowered his voice and took a deep breath before speaking in a raspy, breathy whisper, “Does anyone else besides Kalin think they saw Lanor ever make any hostile move towards me during the battle? I can’t believe it of someone like him, but I also can’t think Kalin would act the way he did without proof.”

[Curubethion]

Haetar carefully crept forwards, alert and ready. As he came closer to the group of people he could see ahead, he heard a noise behind him.

"Wizard's henchman!" a female voice yelled.

Whirling around, the man blocked a frying pan swung at him! The impact jarred his staff, and he whirled it into a blocking position. The hobbit-maid who bore the pan swung again! As Haetar blocked it, he realized that he could not last forever against his assailant.

"Harn!" she called. "Help me!"

"Harn?" murmured Haetar, stopping.

That instant cost him dearly, as a pan laid him low in a single blow. Haetar saw flashing points of light, and his head throbbed as he saw darkness.

[Earniel]

Beryn glanced briefly at Kalin when Harn asked her and Anfal what they had seen. She could speak softly but to call it whispering would be taking it too far.

"Was in tent, didn't see all," she replied curtly, most of her attention on changing the bandages. "Thought Lanor stumbled. Dagger in both hands. How shoot dart? Don't know."

She pulled one of the bandages taunt with her teeth and finished binding it. And only then did she look up to Harn.

"Kalin sees more than I," she said. "But does he knows for sure what he sees? No more than the rest of us, I thi-"

Her words were cut short by frenzied shouts and the tell-tale 'Boiiing!' sound of a frying pan hitting something.

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

As they looked towards the noise of Pansy's fryin pan Anfal replied.
"I didn't see anything. There were Orcs everywhere, we had no chance or opportunity to look round, except to protect our own backs. I still remain unsure to Lanor's loyalty. I will watch him carefully. One flase mover from him and I will finish Kalin's work."

[Tessar]

“I gott’m, I gott’m, I GOTT’M!” Pansy squealed with delight, brandishing her pan on high and waving it with a fiendish delight as she stood over the fallen ranger, adding a kick to the ribs for good measure.

“Hold!” Harn yelled, trying to push to his feet. The effort was too much, though, and he was forced to rise slowly and steadily while Anfal leapt forward instead to halt the delighted hobbit’s massacre.

“Stand fast, little one,” Anfal laughed, amused at the idea that Pansy had laid low the much taller, stronger man. “This is a friend—I recognize him. He is Haetar, a fellow Ranger, although why he is here I do not know. He was not stationed in Bree itself, but to the north in the wilder lands.”

Bending and rolling Haetar over, Anfal reached into a pouch on his belt and began to pull out some herbs, eyeing the swift-growing lump Pansy had put on the ranger’s head. “That will hurt, when he comes back around,” the healer commented, again a tinge of amusement touching his voice.

“So… he’s not an enemy?” Pansy demanded, looking highly dejected and forlorn at the idea that her efforts had been for nothing.

“No,” Anfal repeated, “he is a friend. Ah… I see he’s coming around now… Perhaps this time you’d like to give him a more pleasant greeting…”

[Earniel]

"And perhaps this friend of yours can explain why he was sneaking around in the first place," added Beryn.

"But at least Pansy's guard efforts are effective enough." she said with a nod to the Hobbit.

[Curubethion]

Haetar's eyes opened. They widened as they saw Pansy with her frying pan in hand, and he leaped up.

"Get away!" he shouted, looking wildly for his staff. "Where is my mithstaf? Harn, help me! Get her away!"

"Easy there, Haetar," Anfal told him. "It's only an overactive guard hobbit."

"Wh-? Anfal? How are you here...and what is this all about?"

Beryn shot in, "Maybe that should start with you, my friend. Why were you sneaking around, unlike a good, honest warrior?"

"I-I was sneaking because death walks these lands!" Haetar answered. "Is that answer enough?

"Anfal, can you tell me what's happening?"

[Butterbeer]

"wah?" mumbled fletch

one of the party was heard to ask "is he still comatose? he'll slow us down ..."

from somewhere a voice from one of the party piped up "has anyone thought to give him some mead?" ...

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

With a nod from Harn Anfal spoke.
"A party of Orcs attacked Bree and took a hostage. We have pursued them until yesterday. We found there camp and attacked. During this attack Harn was shot and almost killed. The same happened to Lanor, who is recovering. One of our party however found a loved one inside the tent, dead and tortured. He has been in a coma ever since," replied Anfal. As he said this a mumble was heard from Fletch who lying next to their fire.

[Earniel]

"Oi, you!" Beryn's voice boomed as she caught sight of Drut approaching Fletch's motionless form with a bottle she immediatly recognized. "Where are you going with that bottle of mead?!"

"We're trying to see if it wakes 'im up!" Drut called back, and pointed to Fletch.

"And I take it you didn't think of packing some mead of your own to go experimentin' with, didn't you? That's a valuable drink yer holding there!" Beryn shot back.

She quickly turned her back on Harn and the others and briskly walked over to Drut who still held the bottle of mead defensively. Some argueing ensued. With Beryn it always sounded worse than it was, but she was very good at looming over her opponent.

"Is... this how it always goes in this company, Anfal?" Haetar asked, somewhat puzzled.

"Pretty much, "Anfal admitted, slightly amused.

Behind them the argument finally subsided with Beryn throwing her hands in the air and grumble. "Fine, fine! Use the bloody drink to wake him up! But he better appreciate it!"

Drut knelt beside Fletch and poured a few drops of the yellow liquid on the comatose man.

[Butterbeer]

"gottle of gear!"

said fletch leaping up frantically ....

"mead!" he shouted still somewhat confused and aching all over...

[Earniel]

"And what do you know," Beryn muttered. "It worked." She put her hand on Drut's shoulder. "Don't give him too much, now that he's awake."

"Afraid there will be none of you left?" Drut said jokingly, obviously satisfied that his idea had woken Fletch up.

Beryn shot him a look. "If he's awake now, I'd think we'd like him to stay that way, don't we? If he gets drunk and falls asleep again, you get to carry him."

[Butterbeer]

"mead?"

said fletch somewhat distractedly, looking around, bewildered ...

[Earniel]

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Beryn said. "But I think you could use a meal more than a drink right now."

She turned around and yelled to the people preparing food. "Hey, is the food ready yet? Fletch here missed out on the last one."

[Tessar]

Harn nodded and sat up, “Haetar, my friend, I am glad you got my message. Another sword-arm is always welcome.” Pausing to catch his breath, Harn leaned against the tree a moment before continuing, “Kalin can give you… details later. Now we… should eat…. then… move… on.”

Sitting down again, Harn shook his head. It would take some time for the drug to wear itself out of his system, but it was irritating and dangerous for him to be this weak. The party had been struck hard, and so another weapon was welcome. Haetar especially, who had a reputation for being dangerous with his own, chosen weapon. Although it seemed some of that might be rather unwarranted, given his sudden defeat by the enthusiastic Hobbit maid.

“Here,” Telin spoke softly, crouching beside Fletch and offering bread to him. Her warm eyes spoke of sympathy, and even understanding for his situation. She too had recently lost one she loved. “They are right, you know, you should eat.”