A World of Danger: Part One

Tal'niel stared out at the village for a few minutes, lurking silently within the surrounding trees. It was nearing dusk, and activity had died down, with only a few of the villagers wandering about. Some hunters strolled in, passing right beneath Tal'niel, yet not noticing him despite all their tracking skills. They laughed as they passed, and carried a large buck upon the shoulders - surely a great prize for dark times like these, with winter fast approaching. The three were all dark of hair, with bushy beards, and either brothers or close kin.

Tal'niel watched them enter the village, and go into one of the larger houses together, its warm light spilling out of the doorway and into the darkening streets, before it closed. Opposite the house was an even larger building, filled still with light and many sounds of merriment, for despite the few travelers that wandered in these dark times, this village was one of the few for miles around, and the inn was often busy.

Tal'niel leapt to the ground, landing silently, in a crouch, before rising back up. He checked his bow, upon his back, and his hand swept across the hilt of his sword - his father's before his own, and ancient and well made. Nodding to himself, he pulled the cowl of his cloak tight about his face, and walked into the village, and into the inn.

A few faces glanced his way as he entered, but noted his worn leathers and long cloak, and dismissed him as one of any other number of adventurers who wandered the woods. He glanced about, and then headed towards a corner, where a familiar face resided by a table.

As he sat down by the table, the face looked up - a bearded face, with a great nose and piercing eyes. Eyes that widened at the sight of him, and the dwarf bellowed, "Tal! By the forge, I have been waiting here for you this past week, now! Where have you been?"

Tal laughed, lightly. "I had some unfinished business to take care of. Mitzik and a company of his orcs were a few days away."

The dwarf raised his eyebrows. "So he's dealt with, then?"

Tal nodded. "He didn't have El'nela, or any of the others... but I knew that already, Dain. Still, he won't trouble anyone ever again, and that is one small evil laid to rest."

"What of the orcs?" Dain asked.

"Too many to deal with. They are probably still wondering how their commander died in the middle of the night, and will hopefully run back to the dark one's lair in confusion."

Dain nodded. "Well then, let's get to business," said the dwarf, and they fell to talking throughout the night...

An' tiar trudged through the black mud of the side road, wind howling past the windows and doorway of the inn just ahead. Raucous night-time laughter seeped through small cracks in the door, the welcome light of a roaring blaze and flickering candles drawing her closer.
Coming to the door she managed to push it open, but collapsed on the stoop in fatigue and hungar.

Tal'niel glanced up in surprise as the figure collapsed in the doorway, and then exchanged a glance with Gain. Without a word, the two arose and headed over to the door, even as others were gazing in curiousity at the figure lying there.

Tal'niel helped her to her feet with a grunt, as Gaun caught her from the other side, and helped her stumble over to a table.

"Innkeeper, some broth and ale!" called the dwarf, as Tal tried to get her back to coherency - but for a few minutes, could only get hazily murmured comments. Eventually, as they held some warm broth up to her mouth, she blinked, and greedily slurped down the soup - and then stared suspiciously at the pair.

The elf spoke quietly. "We mean you no harm, girl, though one wonders what someone so young was doing wandering through these parts on such a night."

"If they've managed thus far without satisfying their prying minds, it won't hurt them any to remain unenlightened," An' tiar said bluntly, her tongue and wit obviously suffering no damage from exhaustion.
"I thank you kindly for the broth and mead, but I'll not be subject to pity. I'll be on my way." The girl tried to stand, but found to her dismay (which she hid well from her fatigued face) that she hadn't yet the strength to do so.

"Or not," said a voice from behind Tal'niel.

An older man was standing there, leaning on a crooked staff, twisted and with odd designs criss crossing its surface. His face was sharp, but a slight smile played across his lips, vanishing almost instantly.

"You've come a ways, and I think that you should probably bed down here for the night. There isn't any other place for several days march, and here will be the only warm bed available. And by the way, if you don't want to tell us anything about you, it would be best on the whole if you did not tease our intellects by draping yourself across the doormat in this fashion. It draws attention to yourself. And no one wants attention in these parts."

His friendly and slightly tipsy voice altered instantly to something more serious as he spoke this last sentence.




Vardor placed his hand on his servant's forehead. "Attention leads to death. Do not fail."

The black clouds shifted and writhed over the vast mines and scoured earth of Angband.

Folstan sat at the corner of the street. His robes were muddy and tattered, and his face narly, with a sinister smirk playing across it. He could not be more then fifty, but the years had not dealt well with him. He sat now curled up in a ball, sticking his staff out occasionally to trip the unwary passerby.

As the night grew on a cold wind blew in from the north. Folstan hated people, and the more there were, the more miserable he felt, but the cold was such that he found he had to take shelter somewhere, and the only place to do so was in the tavern.

He stood up slowly, putting all his weight on the staff. His legs were not very good at supporting him, despite the fact that he was used to walking for long miles. He had vague memories of his childhood in which a dark figure he assumed was one of his parents thrashed his legs with a large, thick rope for reasons he could not remember.

Folstan made his way across the threshold of the tavern. Inside people seemed to be having a grand old time, but to him the place seemed menacing, as if all the figures were waiting to pounce on him at the slitest movement.

His gaze was caught by a great dark man staring down at a young girl. The man had a wicked look in his eyes, one Folstan liked.

Vardor's servant trembled at the memory of his touch. But Vardor seemed also more desperate than usual. More strained.

The servant looked out upon the small village that Vardor had designated and prayed for success. Things were getting too dangerous, and Vardor would be likely to kill if the mission was not a success. The orcs feared him, and even his very powerfulest servant, the Nightrider moved cautiously around him at this point. His mood was black and evil. Murderous.

The servant continued down the road toward the village, hurrying now. Fingers brushed away dirt upon the forefront tree of the road, and just as expected, the mark was revealed to the morning sun. This was indeed the village where Vardor's hopes and fears rested on, and his eventual peace of mind would be reached through. It would increase his power and prominence in the eyes of his master, as well as the position of the one who succeeded in the mission.

It was the servant's destiny. The servant had been named Fore Dog. A measure of contempt from the master the servant had grown to serve. It was the only name the servant knew. But a different one would likely be given, as reward for success in this mission. And then the one who had been trodden on and whipped with orcish lashes, beaten and counted as dirt would rise and become greater than they. Then no more of those continual punishments, and the memory of what had once been. Fore Dog lived to serve.

Tal's lips curled in a bitter smile. "Wise words, indeed, and well taken. As for you, girl, I'll ask no more, but you had best get yourself a room here, for the night. Whatever you've been through, its left you weak as a kitten."

He glances back at the old man, and raises an eyebrow, saying, "And what of you, elderly one? You seem to possess some measure of wisdom, so what brings you to such a place as this?"

Dishes... elbow high in human dishes. She frowned and scowled, cursing under her breath the fool she had been to mess up in such a mess... Dunking another dish, she caught more noise then she was used to during this season. Customers had been scarce.. though not dishes... Dishes upon dishes... Was this how she was to waste her life? Had she been a bit meaner, she would have zapped the innkeeper in his bottom, and run for it. She flipped out her dagger, and rubbed off a piece of dried something or other. If she worked quickly, she could poke her head out and see what all the comotion was about. Her bow rested a few feet away, a reminder of what she had been...
"Green leaves and toadstools" She smiled for the first time this evening. "Dishes done, and I should almost be too" Wiping her hand, she pushed back the doors, her eyes growing accustomed to the light and slowly the shadows became figures

in a far corner of the tav a small hobbit sat perched on a stool sipping ale and waiting patiently for dinner to be served. his name was hushpad, though his friends called him furryballs. in the company of so many of the big people he knew his place; out of sight and out of mind.
however the ale was tasting even better than usual for some reason tonight, and as he drained his third mug a gay mood overtook him, and without quite understanding why he leaped onto the table, skittling his stool he whipped out his little flute and began playing a merry tune. as he was wont to do began to dance in a most extroverted manner, scattering plates and full mugs of ale from the table...

"I travelled here to leave the last place, and that place I had gone to for the same reason. One cannot hide, but one can run." The old man smiled slightly and drained his mug of its remaining contents. "One must eventually stop running. But none who are sought will stop while the cursed one's presence still hangs over Beleriand.

"My name is Steward," he said, extending a hand. "What is your name, and your purpose for remaining in a village so near the border?"

*Lief, do you have two characters running again? I'm confused as to who is who.*

An' tiar felt relieved, the interest in this old bag of bones distracted them from her. She couldn't abide attention, it's best if they don't reconize her. Drape myself over the doorway indeed, she thought, attempting to slide herself away as quietly as possible. This failed when, to her utter humiliation, her chair toppled over sideways and she found herself once again on the well scubbed, but hoplessly stained floor. An' tiar nearly bit her tongue clear through in anger, a scowl as dark as midnight in her eyes. Best if they don't reconize you, she taunted herself, that was a clever move An' tiar.

*Three. I've been keeping up on them in the characters area of this game, you can check them out there.*

Steward glanced down at An'tiar and slowly let his hand drop. "Well, it appears that our young friend cannot abide the lack of attention." He turned to face her entirely. "Well, now that you 'have the floor,' you had best make the most of it."

Tal reached down, and helped the girl to her feet, which she obviously needed, despite the fact that her face grew hard and she pulled away as soon as she was standing.

"Here now," said the dwarf, "If ye've had your fill of the food, ye had best be getting to a bed. My name be Dain, lassie, and my friend is Tal'niel. What do ye call yourself?"

*Well, here ya go, Lief!*

El'nela looked up, wearily, as she felt herself dragged to her feet. She flinched away as her gaze met that of one of her captors, a cold man she thought of as One-eye. She didn't know any of their names, and didn't want to.

A push sent her moving with the others, also stumbling along, exhausted and tired. She barely recognized her old friends and neighbors from the village, whose faces all blurred together with those who had died in the raid, or during the long, forced marches north.

Soon they were moving again, marching through the woods. The men were better than the orcs, at least, she thought, who had seemed to enjoy being rough and cruel. The men simply ignored them as long as they kept in line, and being left alone was a small blessing amid the misery they all felt.

Her attention was grabbed by the hobbit playing the flute. She had not heard one for quite a long time, and pleasant memories came back. She smiles again. A movement caught her, and she turned her head in time to see a chair fall over, and a woman a moment later. As the matter was settled, her eyes were drawn to the enterance, and beyond to outside. Looking through the windows it seemed to be a well enough night, but something tingled deep within her, and despite herself, she drew her robes closer to her body. With a fluid motion, staying out of the main commotion, she ended up at the door, and pushed it open, slipping outside. Cool air rose to greet her, and her eyes scanned the horizen, but only little houses nestled in among the landscape was what she saw, turning she headed back in, the tingle still their

*Thanks.*

Fore Dog groaned in sleep. Dreams, haunting memories . . .


Torture. Whips. Flame. Vardor. Deep mines. Whiteness.


Fore Dog whined at remembered pain. Tears rolled down cheeks, and it would not leave. Peace was not to be found this night. It was unattainable


"My name is El'nela, what's yours?"

"Erenfor." The young elven man glanced at their captors. "At least it is to me. They take our names from us, along with everything else. But I have to hold onto some s**** of what I once was, or else all will be lost."

"Yes, indeed. You must hold on, Erenfor. All of us must. Morgoth retains his dark throne by the work of slaves. If us slaves revolted, or refused to work from him, it would weaken his production and stop up his progress in stopping up the Noldor. The choices are either this or working for him."

"We would all be killed. I've seen it happen before. There have been two other uprisings among the slaves, and each of those brutally put down, the leaders being taken away to somewhere else. Someplace worse."

"Listen," El'nela said, putting her hand on his arm. "If we do otherwise, we would betray our countrymen."

Erenfor frowned, undecided. "Listen, if we do it, I would rather if you did not involve yourself in it. I've already had thoughts several times about starting something like this, but I would not care to see you carved up by our enemies."

"I'd like to see you try to stop me," El'nela said with a mischievous smile.

"You may call me An' tiar," she stated. Turned to glare holes in the old man (still chuckling to himself) then left to find her self a room, leaning heavily on the arm of one of the serving girls.

"People have the best of manners nowadays," Steward said wryly as he turned back towards Tal'niel and Dain.

Tal gave a bitter laugh, and said, "Manners seem less important when every day could be your last." He trails off, looking lost in thought.

Dain looks up at Steward, and gestures him over to the table they were sitting at, motioning for the waitress to bring over another ale. "You seem to be a man who knows many things. At the moment, we are looking for information - would you be able to aid us?"