The Gates of Mirkwood: RPG

[Gulio, Strength of Many]

Rorin overheard the conversation, not completely by accident. He listened closely as two men explained the situation. It seemed an important person had been captured by the orcs, who were being led by a powerful servant of Mordor. He decided he was going to help, and went upstairs to grab his pace. When he came back down, the group was gone. Fearing he missed his opportunity, he ran outside. He spotted the men in the stables, and was relieved to see they had not left yet. He strode purposefully up to them, a grim resolution in his eyes. "I know I wasn't invited, but I'm going with you," he stated firmly.

[Aewionen]

Haleth had decided that he would go along on the little adventure, though he was not entirely sure what was going on. But that was most likely for the best. He had soon gone out to the stables and patted Thalion, his black stallion, gently. "Ready for another, mellonamin?" he whispered with a slight chuckle as Thalion nudged his pocket, knowing of the small white cubes that were inside. Haleth handed him a sugar cube, "Only one for now."

[Tessar]

Caught up in his own dark thoughts, Harn was startled by the voice. Giving a small jerk of surprise, the Ranger whirled, and glared with fierce eyes at the dwarf who had so intruded into his thoughts. There were a few seconds of silence, and the horse Harn had been bridling danced nervously, sensing Harn’s agitation.

Before Harn could begin to voice the acrid words that leapt to his lips, he sudden thought stopped him, and Kalin’s words returned to him.

“This is no time for foolish anger, Harn, and no time for weeping. We must avenge the girl and get this man back—more than just one life hangs in the balance; hundreds do, and you know that.”

Harn sensed he was allowing himself to be overwhelmed again by the near-impossible situation, and reassessed his position. One more body to fight Seppicor and the orcs under his command, and this dwarf looked able to handle himself in a battle… There was no time for arguments, at any rate.

“Fine. Do you have a horse? Ready it, or go rouse the stable-boy and buy one quickly,” Harn tossed the dwarf a coin bag as he spoke, and then turned back to the horse, fastening the last strap to its bridle. It was not his horse; Harn’s horse was black, and its back was nearly six feet off the ground—a massive battle mount trained to fight orcs, and be nearly as deadly as the man who rode it. This horse, however, was a graceful white palfrey; it was not as large or deadly as Harn’s warhorse, but with Kalin on its back, Harn had seen the animal move with a speed that his own mount could never match.

Moving to another horse, Harn quickly began to bridle and saddle it. The mount was a great, shaggy beast, as large as his own warhorse, although likely not trained in the same way. It didn’t take much thinking to realize that the animal must be Beryn’s mount. Harn found himself trying to imagine the massive woman riding anything, and for a moment pitied the animal. His pity faded though, as he bent and fastened a saddle on its back. The animal, although perhaps not trained for war as his was, seemed almost twice as muscled, although its shaggy hair hid the great strength.

Shaking his head in amazement, Harn stepped away from the horse and made a quick count. He would need to buy some mounts. There was no time to barter either, and the sort of horses he needed would not be cheap.

Harn could only hope he would be able to get his money back by reselling the horses after this was all over.


~*~*~*~

Keeping a frown from forming on his face, Kalin kept his arm at his side, and somewhat out of sight. He hadn’t realized anyone had noticed. Their keen observation was an excellent sign in any case, although it was something of a nuisance now.

“No, no, I am fine,” Kalin said smoothly, waving his other arm, as if to dispel their thoughts of his injury and wave their concern away. “It is a minor injury, and can easily be dealt with when we get a chance to rest. Are you all ready? Those who are, I suggest you go to the stables while I find those who are not. We must leave, and quickly.”

Like a puff of smoke, Kalin slid away from the small group and was gone up-stairs before anyone could react. His arm did hurt, but the anxiety Harn had showed earlier had begun to creep up on Kalin. They truly did need to leave now, and already the enemy had a good two hours on them.

It was time to be gone. Past time.

[Earniel]

Beryn just came downstairs as Kalin ascended.

"Escaping the terrible prospect of salve and a bandage, Kalin?" She asked innocently. "It wouldn't hurt, you know, you smell kind of... burned."

"In any case," she continued before the Elf could make any objections, "everybody who is coming, is ready and will be downstairs in a moment. I'll get the supplies to the stable, Harn will have finished saddling most of the horses by now."

Beryn picked up the food bags in the Inn hall with seeming ease and slung them on her shoulder. In the stable she put them down again and started dividing them in packs to be loaded on different horses.

"Everybody will be ready in a minute," she told Harn, "Kalin's rounding up the last few slackers."

She turned to her own horse and tickled its nose. "Hello Honey," she rumbled. " 't Seems like you won't get to have a good night's sleep in an Inn stable after all."

The horse gave her a mournful look.

Honey may not have been the most suitable name for the huge horse, but it did tell much about Beryn's usual line of thinking. Something that hadn't quite changed much since she had named the horse.

"I'll make it up to you after all this is over," promised Beryn as she started tying a substantial amount of foodbags behind the saddle on top of her own pack.

She felt a small rush of adrenaline. It had been quite a while since she had joined a orc-hunt of this scale. It was a good feeling.

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

Seeing Kalin not wanting any fuss over his injury, Anfal walked out to the stables where his own horse was. He saw a few other member of this quest untying their horses. He approached his horse at the end of the stables. It was relativly big as it would have to be to carry a man of Anfal's height and brown. He untied it and walked down to the front of the stables waiting for the others.

[Earniel]

OOC: Exams are over! RPG time!

IC:

Dawn was still far away when the last luggage was slung upon an animal back and fastened there. Within minutes, the whole party was on horse back -or in one case: on donkey back.

Their breaths formed little clouds in the chill air. If anticipation was visible, it would have crackled among them like little lightning bolts.

Harn quickly surveyed the group. Seeing that everybody was finally ready, he nodded. "We've wasted enough time, let's go." he said, after which he turned his horse and steered it to the gate. If his followers had expected any lengthier speech, they showed it not but followed him immediatly.

Their pace was swift but steady. The many hooves beat a low and persistant drum on the street stones. Soon they had exited Bree - leaving the town to peacefully sleep through what was left of the night - and the sandy paths dulled the sound.

[PippinTook]

Pansy yawned heavily out of her lack of sleep, which she greatly needed. "I wonder if there's time for a drink before we go." she thought aloud to herself, but when she saw all her companions busying about getting ready, she felt like an ale would not be the right idea. Instead she packed her bags and her extremely dangerous frying pan.

The ran into a couple of the others in the stables, getting their horses ready to leave. She skipped over to George's stall and dished out a handful of carrots. "'Llo, buddy! Looks like we'll be leaving today. You won't mind will you? That's a lad!" she patted his head and leaped up onto the donkey's back. George eyed one of the horses suspiciously, he was not very fond of horses, really. Very cocky things, though definately more stupid than he.

Pansy followed the rest of her group, keeping close to Beryn who she thought was good company and was glad that she would be coming along.

edit: whoops! No llama, no sleep. All better!

[Earniel]

With the directions of Beryn and the obvious signs of a large number of orcs trampling the landscape, the group found the orc-trail relatively easy and followed it.

"This is as far as I followed their trail earlier. "Beryn told Harn and Kalin, who rode at the head of the group. "Beyond this we can expect anything. I don't know how far ahead the orc-group is, it might be wise to send scouts ahead."

She let Honey slow down a little until she rode behind them, and found herself next to Pansy again.

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

Anfal was riding at the back of the group. Every so often he would jump of his horse and examine what ground was unruined and had not been riden over. After doing this a few times a look of joy apeared on his face. He quickly mounted his horse and rode over to where Harn was at the form of the group.
"Back there," he said. "There are prints that are not from the orcs. They must be Eaol's,"

[Tessar]

Harn considered the possibility of sending scouts. The only ones he trusted to know the danger and come back alive were himself and Kalin.

’Ah well, it’s not as if I was exactly enjoying the ride anyways’ Harn thought to himself, signaling to Kalin to take over the leading of the group. He was about to move away from the party when the voice stopped him.

"Back there," Anfal said. "There are prints that are not from the orcs. They must be Eaol's,"

Pulling to a halt, Harn set his gaze on Anfal for a moment. Harn’s eyes were looking through Anfal though, and he was thinking furiously. “Eaol?… No I do not think Eaol cold walk after what he went through last night… and he would slow them down if he were walking. They will be carrying him. Human prints though? Perhaps I should go look at th-”

“Harn!” A voice cut across Harn’s conversation, and he turned towards Kalin to give the elf a quizzical look.

“Up ahead, I see smoke. Something has been caught on fire. Isn’t there a small village up ahead? If I’m remembering correctly, then that’s where the smoke is coming from.”

“Later,” Harn nodded at Anfal, “Keep it in your head where you saw those tracks, but we must ride on for now.”

The party brought their horses to a faster trot, and shortly they reached the source of the smoke. It had once been a village, but now it was little more than piles of rubble and ash. Clearly struck by lightning, trees that had stood in the middle of the village appeared of have spread the fire by falling and catching on roofs and walls.

“No, no, no…” Harn breathed wearily, urging his horse to gallop forward, “not another village… no…”

Kalin’s horse was beside Harn’s, and matching the larger beast stride, for stride, and so the pair charged into the wreckage, and immediately began digging through the rubble, trying to unearth some of the villagers who were still alive. Most of the ones who had made it out of their homes lay dead, stabbed by orcish blades.

[Selwythe]

It was chaos, mayhem. Hidden in the cupboard, Telin could not see, but she had a vivid sense of the merciless slaughter that took place outside. Screams of terror and anguish filled the air, mingled with guttural roars and maniacal laughter, so that it all became a great din that chilled the marrow and rankled the air. The air itself festered with a smell of death, putrid and foul. Blood was being spilled at a pace and scale inconceivable to imagine.

And as she trembled in her hiding-place, she gradually, grimly, came to the realization that the village was burning. The houses, barns and crops were going up in flames. She knew it well, for the heat and stench became overbearing, to the point that she knew that her own house was crumbling down on top of her.

In panic, she emerged, and was greeted by a scene straight out from a nightmare. In the space of a few seconds, the wooden shack she was in had become a deadly inferno. Flames leaped at her from all sides hungrily, threatening to consume her in a fiery tomb.

He had sternly instructed her to hide in the shack and wait for the orcs to pass along, but he could not have foreseen that they would raze it to the ground. As a wooden plank on the ceiling collapsed to the floor, narrowly missing her, she made up her mind. She had a better chance of surviving out in that massacre than in this fiery hell. Her short-sword and knives could hold off orcish marauders, if for a while, but against wrathful flames, she was defenseless.

Through the doorway she leaped, into a frightful scene. Corpses were strewn on the ground, and even as she watched, more villagers were being cut down. A valiant man jabbed his pitchfork at a raging orc, only to have his head taken off by a swipe from a scimitar. All around her, such scenes were played out with a gruesome intensity.

But she did not have time to be sick. One of the orcs leaped out at her, its broad blade glinting with a crimson hue. Before she could catch herself, she had drawn her own sword and parried the swing, and thrust back at the creature before losing her balance and falling to the ground. Frantically, she got to her feet, and to her relief, found that her blade had found its mark. But the sword, embedded deep in the orc’s hide, would not budge, no matter how she tugged at it. The futility became painfully apparent as she saw another orc approach from the corner of her eye. Swiftly it came, lusting to avenge its comrade’s death, and her only means of defense was irretrievable.

It stood before her, laughed and swung.

By instinct, she ducked, withdrew a knife from her sleeve, and stabbed it into the orc’s heart. It howled, took its last breath, and fell. And she, too, crumbled to her knees.

For she had not been nearly quick enough, and blood seeped from her left arm. The cloth around it lay in tatters. Clenching her teeth, she tore off the rest of the sleeve, and held the material of her dress to the wound as a salve. And helpless she sat, a maiden in white in the midst of a dying ground. The end had to be near.

There was no way she could know that the slaughter was near its end, and that all the orcs, if not already leaving with their plunder, had entered the woods once more. For in her pain and loss of blood, she faded in and out of unconsciousness, trapped in a dazed stupor, half-awakened, half-asleep.

[Earniel]

Seldom had Beryn seen a village that had been so badly damaged by an orc-raid. She had seen what orcs could do to a village many times on her travels between the Mountains and Mirkwood yet this was inconceivable. But this wasn't the normal desctruction by orcs, Beryn remembered Harn mentioning an certain Seppicor, this must have been his handiwork too.

A flash of white caught her eye and going around the rubble-heap that once was somebody's home, Beryn spotted a young woman sitting huddled and forelorn amid the corpses of dead orcs and men. The girl didn't react to Beryn's approach and Beryn soon saw why: little stripes of red ran down her left arm and the piece of fabric the girl held pressed against the wound was coloured vividly red. Beryn knelt next to her.

"Hey, little one, can you hear me?"

The girl raised her head slightly but didn't reply.

"It's okay," Beryn said, "the orcs have gone. Here, let me help you." Beryn gently picked up the young woman and carried her to where the rest of the group was digging out other survivors.

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

While the young woman rested Anfal tended to her wounds and soon left her to rest. He then walked over to Harn.
"the tracks," he said. "What do you make of them? I saw the look on your face, you were not convinced it was Eaol."

[Earniel]

Beryn wiped the the sooth and charcoal of her hands with some tall grass once it was clear no other survivors would be rescued from the debris. The number of survivors in the village was few and Harn's party had pulled more corpses than living people from the rubble. It was not a cheerful work.

And Beryn was fairly certain the orcs had only attacked this village to delay any pursuit, knowing no one could pass by the stricken village without trying to help the victims.

[Tessar]

“Remember, the price of failure is death from me. I don’t think you want to find out what those above even me would do, if you fail on this mission,” Seppicor snarled at his spy. Most people were easily cowed by Seppicor—his strange aura of anger, the mind-piercing command in his tone, and fear of his magic drove most people to near groveling when he really tried to be commanding. Seppicor’s spy was not afraid of him, but knew enough to follow his commands. Seppicor might be a fool in many ways, and have none of the subtle ways of his betters, but he was old and had Power.

“I will remember” the Traitor murmured, turning and moving away swiftly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"The tracks," Anfal said, "what do you make of them? I saw the look on your face, you were not convinced it was Eaol."

Harn arched an eyebrow and gave Anfal a piercing look before returning his attention to the town. Honestly. Now people thought they could read his mind. Once again Harn was beginning to regret bringing along anyone but Kalin.

“Harn is convinced of few things, unless they are shoved in his face,” Kalin’s voice came from behind Harn and Anfal, startling Harn slightly. “But I’m afraid those tracks were not the tracks of the man we seek Anfal, I saw them as well, but they are too deep. I met Eaol once, and his body does not carry that much weight.”

Shrugging, Harn pondered briefly over the tracks again. So they were not Eaol’s… he had hoped they might be, but Kalin was not the sort to make a mistake of that kind. The only question was, who had been with the orcs and then split away?

“Well then who’s tracks could they have been?” Anfal asked Kalin, voicing Harn’s unspoken question.

’Seppicor?’ Harn signed to Kalin.

“No,” Kalin said aloud, answering both men’s questions at once. After a slight pause, a smile flickered over the elf’s face and he signed at Harn in amusement: ’Not unless Seppicor has been grossly over-eating since we last saw him’. Harn’s weathered face flashed the barest hint of a smile, and then he nodded in agreement.

“Harn,” Beryn called out, the large woman striding across the ground towards him with a concerned look in her eyes. “I can’t believe that this was done just for the fun of it. Perhaps this Seppicor Wizard simply meant to delay us. We have to choose a course of action, and we have to choose it now.”

Harn nodded in agreement and turned to look over the smoldering ruins again. So few survivors… Seppicor would pay for this. Harn had let him get away the last time they met, but this time the cruel enchanter would pay in blood for his crimes. Harn felt responsible for the people of this village: his weakness had let Seppicor live to do this.

“Pile the dead,” Harn said at last, his voice and face devoid of any emotion, “we’ll burn them. The girl we’ll take with us so that she can be tended to, but anyone else not too seriously injured must make their way back to Bree.” The girl would slow them down considerably, but Harn couldn’t help it.

’If she dies, it’ll be the second girl who’s blood is on my hands’ Harn thought bitterly.

As Harn turned towards one of the corpses, he saw a man coming out from behind the remains of a building. The man was dressed simply in browns and greens, and carried a plain sword and longbow, a half-empty quiver at his hip. There was dark blood on him, and Harn instantly recognized it for orc blood. As Harn opened his mouth to speak, the man silently yanked an arrow from the quiver and flipped the longbow off his back, drawing the arrow to the bow with one smooth movement and snapping off the shot.

Startled, Harn threw himself to the side and came to his feet drawing his sword, the blade ringing from its sheath with such noise that the others turned. A scream sounded from behind Harn, and the ranger glanced over his shoulder quickly, before turning fully to look in surprise at the orc who had been creeping up behind him. A second arrow seemed to suddenly sprout from the orc’s chest, and the beast fell dead.

“You should be more careful, Ranger.” The man grunted, his voice reminiscent of two boulders being ground together. “The man who passed through here with his orcs left a few behind. None left now, though.”

“My thanks,” Harn grunted back, sheathing his sword. “Your name, friend?”

“Lanor,” the man grumbled, as if the name were being drawn out of him with hot pincers. “Looks like you need someone to watch your back.”

“I have plenty of help already, thank you,” Harn said, his voice carrying a hint of sarcasm that brought an arched eyebrow from Kalin.

“Fine,” Lanor shrugged, “but I’m going to find that man and do him the same favor I’ve done his minions,” the man grated, moving to the orc he’d just killed and working to free his arrows.

’Harn, we could use the help,’ Kalin signed, a frown plain on his face.

Nodding reluctantly, Harn said “Lanor, you’re welcome to come with us, since it seems your mission is the same as ours.”

“Fine.” Lanor shrugged once more, drawing the arrows free and dropping them into his quiver. “When do we leave?”

[Selwythe]

"Are you alright?"

Telin blinked away the haze in her eyes as she sat up, all too soon stepping into the nightmare once more. The fumes of the dead were an assault upon her senses, and a stark reminder of what had happened. In confusion, she looked around herself. Her wound had been dressed, and folk walked around and near her, talking in hushed tones as they gathered the slain. Were they rescuers?

It took her a while to find her voice, cracked as it was. "I think so," she answered as the person in front of her nodded. Still in a dazed confusion, she kept her eyes moving in a bid to regain her bearings.

And then she saw him. Rising to her feet in spite of her fatigue, she stumbled over as the tears began to creep down her face. He lay in the dirt, his eyes wide open and lifeless, his gray hair matted and coated in blood, his stomach impaled by a broad sword. In his hands he still clutched his pitchfork,the last remnant of his futile resistance.

"Father!" she wailed as she crumbled to her knees before him. Her hands flew to his lifeless face as she stared with glassy eyes. "Father," she murmured once again, this time in acceptance and grief.

[Earniel]

[soundeffect]BUMP![/soundeffect]

Beryn wrinkled her nose, piling dead bodies on a pyre wasn't exactly her favorite past time. Especially not when a nagging feeling told her they were losing valuable time. She tried to find a balance between showing the victims some respect and making haste to continue the chase.

The cry of the girl interrupted Beryn's gloomy thoughts. It was to be expected, she thought with a pang of sympathy, no doubt the girl lost a lot more family and friends than her father. Kneeling next to the girl, Beryn kindly took the girl's hands from the corpse.

"I am sorry for your loss. But there is nothing you can do for him anymore, lass. Let him go." she said softly. "Come."

Beryn carefully picked up the body of Telin's father and carried him to the pile of corpses. There she laid him down and laid the pitchfork, with which he had fought in his final hour, beside him.

[Butterbeer]

Suddenly a horn rang out from the woods surrounding the smouldering village,
from the trees near Beryn a figure leapt out and rushes forward urgently

"You there!"

Beryn looked round quickly suddenly alert

"Do not burn them!"

breathless and urgent a man dressed all in black, with shaven head and horn in hand rushed up to the tearful Telin and poised Beryn

" This is no Pagan comminity ..." he said slowing up, a peircingly curious glance taking in Beryn in more detail ... his sharp eyes quickly scanning the wanton destruction and the odd company assembled there ...

"leave them! News has been sent to Bree: they will be buried as befits their custom: my Great Uncle at the Pony will see to it.. " he breathed heavily: still apparently out of breath and exhausted

"Come! I have seen them! They headed over there, and they were moving fast," the man panted, pointing in the direction he had last seen the orcs heading. "You must help me!" he pleaded urgently, "They have taken one of my companions! They have my Fiancee!"

Beryn studied him quickly: he was just under six feet, dressed all in black with a shaven head, a diamond peirced eye brow glinted in the flickering firelight, beneath which peircing grey eyes burned with emotion, he had a belt with throwing knives, wore close fitting black leather gloves and had a pouch tightly slung across his back .

[Earniel]

Beryn mused shortly over how many new people she had met these last few days that popped up out of nowhere. It was a pity there was so little time to get to know them all better over a pint of mead (the best way to make acquintances, in Beryn's view) instead of amidst corpses in a burnt village. The newcomer was wearing a diamond on his eyebrow, a custom Beryn was unfamiliar with but which she found quite amusing. An odd place to store one's fortune, the people outside of Rhovanion had such funny ideas.

"We had no intention of calling this village a pagan community," said Beryn with a nod as greeting. "However fire is the best grave one can have when one's undertaker in a hurry to look for the living. You said the orcs have taken your fiancee, have you seen them? Come with me, we are on a rescue mission also, and our leader, Harn, will be very interested in what you can tell us about the orc-hord."

She beckoned the man to follow her and led him to where Harn and Kalin stood.

[Butterbeer]

The newcomer walked quickly and urgently alongside Beryn, taking in the appalling slaughter and feeling nauseated by the sickening smell of scorched flesh and the opressive heat: not the best hang-over cure he could think of!

"what's your name?" he asked the tall girl.
Suddenly he wanted to talk, just talk about anything: his senses were suddenly pressing in on him: the corpses, the smells and the burning with the wailing cries of lament pounded his senses.

Looking back he wondered whom the shocked distraught girl was crying for and wondered how this reckless slaughter could be happening so near to Bree?