The Third Age: A Lord of the Rings RP (IC/Closed)

by **Asyir** » Wed May 27, 2015 6:52 pm

Dain II Ironfoot, King under the Mountain
Erebor Citedal, Erebor
Upon the battlements:

The mid morning sun shined down upon the dwarven king as he marches across the battlements with his son and advisors. There was a great peace among the realm of Erebor and Dale, but that peace is about to shatter. Lorien is under siege, and some of the dwarven army is there, fighting to defend the Golden Wood, once bitter enemies of Dain. Dain also heard of a vast horde of spiders and orcs assailing Thrandruil's realm of Mirkwood. The enemy has made the first move against the north, but Dain decided he would make the last.

Looking down from his balcony high atop the Dale, a vast host of dwarves gathered. They stood in line, spears high, and shields at attention. The banners of Erebor fluttered gently in the light breeze alongside the force. These were his legions. This was his response to Sauron, the whole might of Erebor.

This was but a taste of what Dain could muster, a larger force would take more time, something that Dain has less of with each passing hour. His officers stood tall and proud alongside Dain, ready to fall, ready to die at a moments notice for Erebor. Turning to his advisor Flint, Dain gestured towards the foremost line.

"Is this all?" Dain asked curiously. The force was impressive, but not as much as Dain anticipated. Nearly 4,000 dwarves were mustered, armed and armored in the best gear in Middle-Earth. Such a force was valuable, worth several times more then an orc or goblin host, perhaps even an elven host. "Will this be enough you think?"

Flint nodded towards his superior with his grim expression. Flint was a battle hardened dwarf, one whom had fought at Gundabad hundreds of years ago, in the War of Dwarves and Orcs. He followed Dain into the Battle of The Five Armies as his second. Dain respected his advice more so then his own son. "Aye, this be a fine army," Flint finally said, gazing upon the force of glittering dwarves.

"We should continue to raise our forces though," he quickly added,"or we will lose this war. Mirkwood is a treacherous place. A place not meant for dwarves."

"Noted," Dain responded. He looked to his son,"write a letter immediately to Thranduil. Tell him we are coming."

"Yes father!" Thorin said, pounding his chest.

Dain looked out upon his host. "So it begins, the battle for Mirkwood, and soon all of Middle-Earth."

by **Aliasa** » Thu May 28, 2015 10:51 am

The Next Morning

Around fifty of the best soldiers they have access to wait outside the gate to the Dwarven stronghold, they're waiting for the king. All the soldiers stand at attention whenever the King finally exits the mountain stronghold with his cousin in tow. Nuli looks around whenever he exits and looks around, stroking his beard in ponderous thought. He then whispers a couple words to Dreack and Dreack signals for the expedition to get under way. Dreack is holding a map that has a rough approximation of where the Orc tribes are drawn on them, they are currently heading towards the current lead which isn't that long of a ride. This is where they meet with the first of the Orc chieftains.

The Orc chieftain comes out almost immediately after he hears of there arrival. He bares his fangs and says what ye dwarves bein doing in these parts eh?" Nuli grins and pulls out his axe, resting it in his shoulder. "we be here lookin for yer servitude." The Orc looks baffled "you what now?" another Orc come out of the crowd of orcs gathering "what makes you think we'd serve you, you slimy Dwarven..." that was all that the Orc could get out before he loses his head. "This is how this works, you come with me I don't kill you" about a dozen orcs come out with weapons drawn only to have arrows shot at them by Nuli's retinue. The rest back off. Nuli walks up to the Orc chieftain followed by several other dwarves and presses the blade to the orcs neck"Did I also mention i serve Sauron? You will serve me. Or die. It's that simple. The Orc gulps and nods Aye, we'll serve you, but what about the other chieftains?" "that's where you come in. Bring them here. I'll give you until tomorrow morning. If they don't come I'll kill you and get them myself." the orcs chieftain nods "very good, milord, I'll go do that." The Orc Cheiftain scurries off with a couple orcs following him while the rest just stare at him. Nuli turns to the gathered orcs. "what are you staring at. Get moving!"

Orcs
King Nuli

by **World Anarchic Union** » Thu May 28, 2015 11:58 am

King's Halls, Mirkwood
There had been skirmishes around the Halls with the Spiders with one Elf confirmed dead.
Thranduil was pleased witht he dwarves' decisions to help the Mirkwood Elves. The Spiders should have been dealt with and now was a good opportunity to reduce their presence in Mirkwood.
The Elvish archers were firing at the Spiders through the Halls' top positions that were specially made for having a way to attack potential invaders. This continued for days with the Elves not knowing how effective this was.
The Elves were preparing for the dwarves to strike the Spiders and drive them away from the Halls.

by **The Olog-Hai** » Thu May 28, 2015 2:09 pm

The Hornburg
"Men, we are here! After days of hard riding, we finally get to find out what was so important the Erkenbrand pulled us away from aiding Minas Tirith."

Ingimundr walks up to Erkenbrand and repsectfully asks "What was important that you had to drag us from the front lines to here?

Some time later....
"Men! We ride north! There are Dunledings to be killed! Onwards!"

by **Liecthenbourg** » Fri May 29, 2015 12:40 pm

The Dale/Dorwinion Border
Yyvvek Khar laughed triumphantly in his tent. The Rhunic North Army had encamped on the fringes of Dorwinion and now they celebrated an easy victory over the small amount of defenders of the vast plains of Dorwinion. Most had been men, but others had been present as well. None were a match for the organised Rhunic battle phalanx, her disciplined archers and her hammer upon their anvil; the dreaded cataphracts that Rhun used to trample those who got in her way with a mighty and righteous fury. Tonight they dined, did not drink and awaited the march that tomorrow would bring. Yyvvek was no fool, mind you. Outriders and scouts, sentries and patrols all monitored the sprawling Rhunic encampment during the evening. Civilians were denied use of the roads and any suspicious of hidden motives were generally threatened and pike or bow point.

The Hall of the Ancients, Umbar.
The Mouth stared at the librarian, pondering. He had ridden across scorching sand and in a sun with an unrelenting gaze. He rested on his staff, withered and boney fingers wrapping themselves around the obsidian device. He tilted his head over so slightly and his chaffed lips and crooked and stained teeth bore a smile.

"Sauron wishes for ancient knowledge - that of Numenor gone by." The Mouth began walking, approaching the impressively designed spiral of a library, his feet tapping against the tiled floor. "I intend on finding it, deep within this place."

Gongtown
Durnazag sat, polishing his blade black. The Great Gong, the wisest of the Gongs, the Eternal Shaman, had given him careful instructions. It was a truly monumental task, to retrieve artefacts of the Gong race deep within the ancient mountains of Mirkwood, where the Great Battle had once taken place. Once the sword was shinning to perfection and the local butcher had packed his crude provisions in his leather rucksack, Durnazag strapped his tools and necessities onto his warg and climbed aboard the creature. He kicked its sides and off it rode, out of Gongtown and into the wider world.

by **The Flutterlands** » Fri May 29, 2015 1:39 pm

Bree, Eriador.

After having his lunch Blarg paid for his meal and returned outside to reopen his stall in the marketplace. Luckily, the rain stopped while he had lunch, leaving behind a nice cool and refreshing mist. Blarg cleared his throat before advertising his merchandise once more. "Bows and arrows!" he shouted, "Perfect for hunting, all for a good price!" Blarg smiled as a hobbit, and eventually a man bought bows and arrows from him, getting a proper currency of gold from the man.

by **Shaggai** » Fri May 29, 2015 4:20 pm

A hot breeze swept across the Harad Road, stirring the nearby sands and giving fleeting life to the banners of the Black Serpent. It brought with it the faint sound of hooves. A lookout peered through a spyglass at the incoming rider. Upon seeing the rider's uniform, he scrambled from his post to alert his superiors. The high command of the Haradrim army stood as one to behold the messenger. The messenger galloped in, clearly out of breath, and dropped from his horse. He fell as he landed, his legs buckling beneath him. He rose slightly to kneel before the Black Serpent.
"You have permission to rise," the Serpent said. "What is your message?"
"Your Excellency, strange things begin in the North," the messenger gasped. "Events come to pass such as have not been seen for centuries. The Men of Gondor meet with Elves and Dwarves and it is whispered that the Ring has been found."
"The Ring?" interjected a general. "Surely you jest."
"No, sir," replied the messenger, beginning to recover his breath. "Just a few weeks ago, Gondor met with Rivendell and Erebor to determine the fate of the Ring."
"That is enough," the Black Serpent said. "You are dismissed. Go get some food and water, and do not trouble us further."
"Yes, my lord," said the messenger. He rose from his kneeling position and walked unsteadily away.
"What does this mean?" asked the general. "Can he be trusted?"
"I believe he can," replied the Serpent. "We must not allow Gondor to obtain the Ring. I will send my best men to find the Ring-bearers and kill them."
"What shall we do with the Ring?" asked another general. "Shall we keep it for ourselves?"
"Of course not," said the Serpent. "The ring belongs to Sauron. We shall give it to him. Now leave me, and bring my son. I must speak with him."

by **The Starlight** » Fri May 29, 2015 4:29 pm

G-Tech Corporation wrote:-snip-

Northwest of Lorien
The small host of 370 Galadhrim Heavy Archers marched alongside the Silverlode, having just reached the borders of Lothlorien, heading towards the Dimrill Dale, but planning to hold their position soon. The Wardens that had survived described a host of several thousand goblins, which the elves, in their present number would be able to defeat, for they though they were outnumbered greatly, the skill of the elves was far greater than that of the goblins, badly equipped and poorly armored. But there would be far more, they feared, and more elves would be needed to stop the flood of evil. They would have tochoose the battlefield, and it had to be advantegous, for them to survive. In the forest of Lorien, more forces were being marshalled and sent out to war, but Lorien was under attack from two sides now, and the lady Galadriel feared that more were coming, and new attacks would ensue. For the Enemy had always hated this haven east of the Misty Mountains, a star in the growing darkness. But Lorien must not fall, it could not, for the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth to survive. And so, these elves marched on in their armor and hauberks, knowing that they fought for Middle-Earth itself, and that a single defeat or victory could sway the tide of battle. But the Golden Wood needed reinforcements, and quickly, for they were few in number still.

by **Esternial** » Fri May 29, 2015 4:46 pm

Isengard, Nan Curunír

Sauron's armies march on Gondor and the Free Peoples of Middle Earth rally to oppose him. Fools.

"Black Riders" A grunting voice spoke. A goblin stood at the entrance of the dark hall where the Palantíri sat, resting on its pedestal, as the mighty Lord of Isengard consulted with his new ally.

Without responding, Saruman turned around and descended to meet with the Nazgul.

"What is Sauron's puppet doing in Isengard?" Saruman spoke with booming authority, demanding an answer from the Black horsemen.

"Your efforts...Sauron demands results."

"Sauron will get his results" Saruman scoffed back, his eyebrows sinking as his anger grew. The presence of Sauron's minions enraged him.

The Nazgûl remained silent, staring at the Ishtari with an uncomfortable silence. Lesser men would feel great discomfort, and the goblin that called his master to meet with the black rider felt increasingly anxious, but Saruman was no lesser man.

"Take your leave." He sneered, the grip around his staff growing tighter, almost to the point of shattering it.

A soft hiss came from underneath the Nazgûls cowl. Rather than follow the wizard's words, he dismounted from his black steed and approached.

"We shall remain."

"Fine. At least make yourselves useful. Accompany my forces."

The Nazgûl sat idle, apparently deliberating, looking at the second black rider that still sat on its steed.

"Very well." It hissed, striding back towards its black mount and climbing on top of it. Saruman glanced at his servant, which immediately knew what he had to do. The goblin scurried off, and shouts could be heard in the distance as the troops were gathered, given Isengard steel and outfitted for war.

Not even an hour later, 700 Warg Riders rode out from Isengard, accompanied by a Nazgûl atop his dark steed. The Warg would attack swiftly and without mercy, gone as quickly as they came, laying waste the towns and villages of Rohan while avoiding confrontation with larger forces.

After them followed long ranks of Uruk-Hai, Orcs and Goblins. Rohan would learn to fear the name "Saruman". Fresh siege engines were made and followed the rows, paving their path South. With such heavy siegeworks, their destination could be but one: Helm's Deep. With the twelve thousand Rohirrim gathering to aid both Gondor and Lorien, Rohan would be vulnerable, an advantage Saruman was eager to exploit. He would strike now, before they could muster more men.

With a small garrison remaining in Isengard, the mighty fortress is quieter than it used to be. A raven caws as it flies away from the central tower of Orthanc, carrying around its paw a message from the white wizard for the dwarves of Vim Maldur. It could be interpreted as both a message to merely inform as a demand for participation from the dwarves that align themselves with Sauron.

It reads as follows: "Sauron's allies move into Rohan."

Saruman hoped the dwarves would join his efforts in laying waste to Rohan's western holdings. They had no way to contact the Dark Lord, and surely the dwarves would be interested in forging bonds with the White Hand of Isengard, if only for access to the Palantíri of Orthanc, and with it the chance to speak with Sauron Himself.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Sat May 30, 2015 7:35 am

Mouth of the Vale of the Mirrormere

Forth came the chittering host, their numbers terrible to behold. Black was the Dimrilldale with hurrying forms and banners, all Moria unleashed to sweep away the Golden Wood like a tide. In their van the great pale Orc, Dagog son of Bolg rode, his immense ebony warg a powerful beast. He smiled cruelly as he beheld the margins of the woods already before his legions, iron-shod feet trampling grass and flower as they passed. In the hollow of the vale his most formidable Orcs were assembled, white faces mostly concealed by thick, crude, but effective helmets, their bodies shod in crude steel plate, wicked scimitars after the fashion of Gundabad and long pikes with gleaming tips in their hands. Amongst their lines also marched others, his swordsmen, bearing broad shields as wide as they were, and short cutting swords meant for the work of close-quarters. Each was paired with an archer with a bow of horn and wrought iron, clad only in boiled leather, but their numbers alone would make up for their comparable lack of skill. On either flank swarmed the goblins, scarcely soldiers, but they would do their job as his food for the carrion crows and to overwhelm a foe. They could scale mountains and trees with ease, swarming insects more than genuine folk. They had their purpose though. And behind all stomped his Troll-guard, immense cave beasts the color of dirt and sludge. They were poorly trained, but armored and armed for war. The Golden Wood would burn. Moria had been unleashed.

Tower of the Eyes, Southern Vale of Mirkwood

From the east they came, men bearing the gold and black of the Khanate of Rhun. More importantly, with them came one of the dread Nine, the Black Lord Khamul, and in his train was dread and in his right hand death. All was in readiness- after a day and a night of warfare by their brethren upon the Golden Wood, enough to draw off defenders and lay weak and unmanned fastnesses, another hammer blow would the Dark Lord strike against one of his most hated foes. As had been foreordained, the Orcs and Rhun-men began crossing at dusk, the setting sun behind the mountains enough light to throw any Elvish defenders into relief, but little enough to protect the archers covering the crossings and not harm their night-vision. Two immense rafts had been prepared, like those used at Osgiliath, each carrying a hundred warriors of the Great Eye. Behind them joined lengths of log unfurled from the bank, while beside them rowed dozens of lesser craft hoarded against need, their sides high and wet hides afixed to both side and front to protect their occupants from the vaunted archery of the Noldorin Elves.

Northern Lithuiaist

Khand had been silent for many years, those chiefs that sided with Sauron fighting those who would see their own dominion served first. No longer. The Barad-Dur had grown tired of their bickering, and so a host of Orcs and fell Men marched from the Borderforts east, to bring some of the more rebellious chieftains to yield.

by **Shaggai** » Sat May 30, 2015 1:41 pm

Kuravan the Black Serpent stared north along the Harad Road, lost in thought. The Ring... If the Ring has truly been found, everything will change. He was too far away from Gondor to see any of their lands, but that didn't matter. He imagined the possible consequences if Gondor ever obtained the Ring. Our ancestral lands, under a foreign king. Our culture, wiped out by our ancient enemy. Myself and my family, killed to prevent challenges to the throne... He shook his head. The Ring must not make it to Gondor. He heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see his son Suthrayar.
"You asked to see me, father?" his son asked.
"Yes, Suthrayar. I have a mission for your group." Kuravan said. "The One Ring has been found. It is being brought to Gondor. I want you to prevent that."
"I hear and obey, my lord."
"Good. You may gather your men. I want you to begin tomorrow."
Suthrayar nodded, then turned and walked briskly away.

by **Elerian** » Sat May 30, 2015 2:18 pm

~Wip~

by **Shaggai** » Sun May 31, 2015 5:58 pm

The stars were beginning to appear in the sky when Suthrayar and his men set off along the Harad Road. They were to go to Isengard, and there to meet with the representatives of Sauron himself. As he rode, Suthrayar whispered a prayer to the gods of his people. He would need all the luck he could get.

by **Mesrane** » Tue Jun 02, 2015 4:22 pm

Western Ford of the Limlight River

The company froze as the orc-horns sounded out from the ford to the north. Garrick turned to one of his officers. "That host is bigger than the section of it that we saw. Much bigger. We'll double back into the hills and watch them there. If they cross the river, we'll follow at a distance. They seem to be massing for a battle, else they would've moved on by now. We can see the opposite bank fairly well from the hills, so if no battle is joined after a few hours, we'll move on. We can't contend with a force this big."

The officer nodded and relayed the orders down the column until all two hundred Rohirrim were informed of their captain's course of action. The men grumbled, mail clinking as they turned their horses about and ascended into the sparsely wooded hills. They understood an unwinnable fight when they saw one, but there was not a man there who wasn't keen on splitting orc skulls.

Dunharrow

Eomer drew back the tent flap and stepped inside the pavilion that was the last standing remnant of the Rohirrim's rapidly deconstructing camp. Inside, the torches and furs kept back the chilly morning air and cast an aura of warmth within the tent. Gathered around a table situated in the center of the pavilion was Erkenbrand and Elfhelm, Rohan's primary generals, along with a half-dozen captains of lesser rank but who commanded forces greater than a single eored each.

Rohan's Second Marshal wasted no time in starting the proceedings. He crossed to the table, on which a detailed map of Rohan and Gondor was set out, removing his helm as he did so. "We've tarried too long already," he growled. "Hundreds of warg riders are tearing across the West Emnet. One of the Black Riders accompanies them on his fell beast. By our scouts' reports they have already pillaged several villages in the Westemnet and are very quickly moving on to waste more." He paused, his hand curling into a fist of rage as he contemplated the fate of the villagers.
"But with the muster, we only have sufficient companies in the field to patrol our borders. Not enough men to mount an active defense. But all of this even must not be construed to be as dangerous as the host that has departed Isengard. Seven thousand strong it is, including two thousand of the Uruk-hai and various siege engines."

Elfhelm bent over the map and tapped a mailed finger on the Gap of Rohan. "They are coming south?"

Eomer nodded. "Aye, straight south."

Spit flew from Elfhelm's lips and landed on the grass below. Few of Rohan's captains held a hatred of orc-kind like grizzled Elfhelm. "They are coming for Helm's Deep, most like. Edoras perhaps, if they turn east shortly. But it's not far from Isengard to Helm's Deep and if they wanted to go to Edoras I think they would've turned aside already."

Erkenbrand looked puzzled, as did several other captains under the pavilion. "Why would they assault Helm's Deep with seven thousand? That is too small a force to take the fortress quickly, especially when it is held by over a thousand men. And it is large enough and slow enough that we will be able to find them in the plains with ease. And again too small because the whole of our strength here should be more than sufficient to smash them, especially with their warg riders away to the north and east. It's . .. this is a gift."

Silence reigned in the command tent. Indeed, it sounded far, far too good to be true. But if they moved on Minas Tirith as planned, Helm's Deep would eventually fall and the Westemnet would be a charred ruin. The whole of Rohan might fall, and then there would be no point whatsoever to liberating the White City.

It was Eomer who broke the tense silence. "We are Rohirrim. Rohan is the land we live in, the land we fight for. There are other free peoples that have need of our arms. Gondor is under siege. Lorien is not far from defeat. But we cannot hope to wage a sustained campaign to save anyone whilst our homes and families burn behind us. What portion of our host would not desert and return to Rohan in order to defend it if we neglect our own defense but ride off at once for others? Could we blame any man who might take that course? I could not." He crossed to the other end of the tent and flung open the flap, revealing a bustling mess of men, tents and horses as the greatest host of Rohan ever assembled prepared to ride. Guarding the Dunharrow vale which sheltered the army were the White Mountains, the Ered Nimrais, high snow-topped peaks that stood in peaceful repose, undisturbed by the war that raged around them. "We are ten thousand strong. They are not quite eight, even if the wargs are to be counted. Saruman has declared himself and made a grievous mistake. Let us punish him for it."

Elfhelm bared his teeth. "Aye. We ride."

6 Hours Later

Eomer's host was ready. The muster had finished the previous day, with the last companies from the Wold arriving in the night. Ten thousand Rohirrim there were, nine thousand lancers and a thousand horse archers. Helm's Deep had been emptied of riders, though a thousand men gathered from the spear levies still held the fortress, and they had artillery to support them. Lancers and horse archers totaling 2,000 were either in Edoras, or patrolling Rohan's borders in individual eoreds. These men would not take part, and would remain behind in Rohan along with the 10,000 spear levies that Théodred was currently raising.

Eomer commanded the center of his host, whilst Elfhelm took the right flank and Erkenbrand the left. A captain by the name of Baldric took command of the horse archers, which were gathered towards the rear of the army. Another captain named Hildred commanded the outriders and scouts, responsible for detecting the enemy and reporting hostile movements accurately and with great speed.

With a mighty roar, the ten thousand Rohirrim poured forth from the vale of Dunharrow. Their ride took them across the River Harrowdale, at which point they ate lunch in the saddle. It was past supper time when they spilled out onto the plains of the Westfold, shaking the very earth before them. The sun hung low in the sky, cowering from the blood that was soon to be spilled.

by **Esternial** » Tue Jun 02, 2015 5:53 pm

The attention of Saruman was fixed on the Rohirrim, the crebain serving as his eyes as he observed their movements. Rohan was mustering its forces to attack the force he had sent out towards Helm's Deep, abandoning their oath to Gondor to protect their own lands. Divide and conquer. If only Saruman had the sheer manpower to conquer the tenacious Men of Rohan.

Saruman muttered under his breath. His lack of manpower frustrated him. His eagerness to besiege Helms Deep has caused him to act prematurely. The Rohirrim had yet to depart for Lorien and Gondor, and had now turned their attention to the West.

"This will have to do." Saruman mused begrudgingly, his eyes gazing at the Palantir. The thought of his actions benefiting Sauron alone left a bitter taste in his mouth, especially since he now risked his force being met in battle, a battle they would most certainly lose in open field. There was but one place where his host could fight such a force and deal a crippling blow to Rohan's fighting strength. The Fords of Isen. The size of Rohan's army would mean nothing when faced by a natural barrier, forcing them to cross the river at a single crossing.

A lone crow left the Tower of Orthanc, delivering a message to Saruman's Host, awaiting further orders from their Master.

It was received with mixed feelings at best.

Orcs, goblins and Uruk-hai roared amongst themselves. They were ordered to cease their advance and remain behind the river Isen, but the promise of combat had fuelled their vigour and had prompted their march. Now they were to halt? Wait? For the horse-loving scum of Rohan to meet them in battle or to not see any blood spilt at all?

Needless to say, Saruman's orders were obeyed, but not in the way he had hoped. Bickering and arguments within the ranks of his host had slowed down their movement to a complete halt. It were the orcs that were most reluctant to return, but those that stirred the most protests were silenced. Those loyal were superior in number, and that carried weight.

Around a hundred of both Orc and Goblin perished that day, with no Man to have a hand in their slaying. The Uruk had spent most of the blood, with mighty fervour. When the conflict ended, none dared to risk their fury again.

Saruman's Host entrenched themselves behind the river Isen, not expecting the Rohirrim to push any further. Their constant pressure was the only thing staying their advance, forcing their presence to remain West rather than East. Though, unfortunately, Orcs and Goblins were notoriously bad at waiting. Saruman would have to act at some point.

"Rohan turns its attention West." Saruman spoke, his voice echoing through the chamber as his hand lied atop the blackened orb. The palantir began to shimmer with an fiery glow, spreading throughout the pitch-black stone like a fire, raging, casting dancing shadows on the gleaming black walls of the chamber. Even if he could not take Rohan for his own, at least Sauron would now know and benefit from the absence of Rohan's aid in His conquests.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Wed Jun 03, 2015 8:10 am

Northern Lossarnach

Minas Tirith

Cape of Belfalas

March of Aldburg

Haeldfar, Old Forest Road

Central Khand

by **Arlye Austros** » Wed Jun 03, 2015 9:03 am

Beornas Beornsson, Gladden Fields

They had spent the night and the day in between the hills and marshes, expecting. Beornas just watches south, to the Golden Realm, and could only guess what happened south. He thought to see black plumes raising south, but soon the mirage seemed to fade, and told himself not to worry, that we has imagining the worse.

But news were Lothlorien was under attack, and if some fires yet had to be set it would be the most strange attack ever done by an orkish army. They had purchased some horses of variable quality in their way south, and as soon they made sure the area was safe they brought them south from a small camp some fraction of a day north. As soon they came Beornas made use of them. The Beornids sent three riders south along the river, the quickest group, and two more rode up through the mountain, hopefully to see from above the battlefield. It would take them several days to reach the woods, but Beornas hoped they would see the enemy or meet the elves before that time, and they would send someone to return with news.

He also sent a single raft down the river with a horse above. They disguised it to look like a merchant raft, and the single explorer was skilled with the vessel, in case he saw any orc activity, he would reach the western bank and abandon the raft to its fate, and to the orcs who would only find bags filled with grass.

Half a day had gone by, and Beornas was anxious. Foolish, as they were still close to him, and far from any results.
“I need to be ready for anything.” He said when Arngrim climbed to the treeline over a hill not too far from the pathway of the graves. “If the woods have fallen…”
Arngrim interrupted. “It hasn´t…”

“But if it falls… before we get there. We need to stop the orcs who come, either for us or for those who manage to flee north. We need to hold them. And these fields are perfect for that.”
“A bad omen.”
“A turn of them. Maybe we can add a Victory to the Gladdens, and eclipse the Disaster.”

After that exchange Beornas ordered his men to work, and the trees south of the hills all the way to the Sir Ninglor were to be cleared out, so that any force marching north and crossing the river would be exposed. The axes descended and opened the field, while some troops moved the logs back to the camps and started erecting some palisades and barricades on strategic points on the hillsides and by the road. The western edges of the marshes were also being fortified, so that a crossing of the Anduin would have to be made on the marshes themselves and then move through that terrain to the palisades. As the terrain rises from the marshes to the hills . It was not a terribly complex system of structures, but the distance between the overall seven fortifications would make the work slow and consuming. Still, it allowed Beornas to keep his men busy while they expected any news.

Further South

Three scout groups moved south. One advanced on horseback at a steady pace through the western bank of the river, the other rode over the valley, always keeping the tree-line above, moving with only a couple of trees between the mountain range and themselves, and always able to look below through the forestry. Finally, the last scout moved over a raft, disguised as a merchant with a horse. Probably the most bold of them all.

High Chief Grimberon Beornsson.
Carrokburg

He had a good morning. The pain reseeded, his breath was less heavy, and he felt new energies. After an hour staring at the ceiling, fighting off his thoughts, Grimberon finally finds the strength to step off his bed. Ragreth is not by his side by then.

If there was something he regretted about being appointed the head of the Anduin, it was the lack of sleep. For years he was forced to see both sundown and sunrise, every day. Ironically, loss and poison gave him the opportunity to revive an old youth custom, though not with the same enjoyment, and certainly much more grief.

After getting a light bath and dressing he walked down the stairs and out to the street. People seemed grim, half of them were either looking from one side to another, as if they could be attacked by anyone, and the others walked slowly, as if they struggle to place one foot ahead of the other, and didn´t looked at people in the eye. Two huscarles awaited outside and looked at him. Grimbeorn was covered in furs. The air was fairly cold that morning. “To the Thyngsted” he commanded, and they walked among the population towards the black-wood building in front of Fangost. People didn´t looked at him.

<<I must be beyond recognition.>> He told himself before crossing the gates of the building, and crossing the halls where the guards waited. He would enter alone the Chamber. Aldfrid Leothsson was left in charge of the city, and spoke to Flir of Erebor, a dwarf who resided in Carrokburg and was in charge of the palisade.
“I tell you, those towers will fall within the forthnight, they need to be done again.”
“Save them if you can, Dwarf.”

The Dwarf seemed desperate to convince the Chief. “It can´t be done! We need new wood, the bases of that tower are burnt, they didn´t collapsed in the fire because the burnt wood formed a solid material to hold it, but it will crack or wash out in the first…” He was interrupted by Aldfrid, who noticed Grimbeorn walking in. The old son of Beorn smiled and kept moving towards the table, next to the place both Dwarf and Man stood and discussed.

“Keep talking, Dwarf, I am pleased to know what happens in this city.”
The foreigner nodded and continued, with the typical Dwarven pride. “As I was saying, those towers will collapse in the first rain orthe first knock an orc give it. They are only good as a very unstable observation post. ”
Aldfrid, perhaps influenced by his presence, gave ground to the Dwarf´s claims. “Very well… See to the wood and resources you need, Dwarf. But bear in mind we need every piece of coin and every arm ready and rested for when the Enemy comes.”

The small man walked away after bowing slightly before the Regent and the High Chief.
“You have your touch, Leothsson.” Grimbeorn commented while pouring some mead on a mug. Aldfrid rushed and took it away.
“I am sorry, High Chief. Your wife insisted you should stay away from drinking.”
A petty. He could really use some mead. “You are as nagging as my wife… How is your son?” Grimbeorn tried to start a conversation to drift his thoughts away from Rhosgobel. Aldfrid´s son, Aldwulf, was known to be fierce in combat and command, and with him being in charge of Aldfrid´s fief while he was in the capital could make anyone think of whatever could happen with him on charge.

“He is fine, it seems. Last I saw him he promised a dozen times not to let me down, and asked me to take care of his son. I hope your son won´t make me fail that promise of mine.”
Aldfrid´s grandson, Arngrim, had left south behind Beornas, and his fate was tied to the success of a campaign many saw to be foolish.
They chatted for a while till in the end Aldfrid opened the important matter, the Realm.

“The outside provinces are… in fear. We could, technically, be attacked from any side. We are probably the most vulnerable and exposed of the Free Peoples that now stand against Sauron.”
It was rare to see a Beorning speaking of the Shadow by its name. Aldfrid was educated in Thranduil´s halls for some time.

“I would say that´s bad, we can march in any direction.”
Aldfrid smiled slightly at the comment, but then headed to more important remarks. “Chief, if we are overrun, if our defences fall, we have nowhere to run. You brother took a third or more of our garrison, and we can´t finance a large scale campaign. Our best option remains the Hithaeglin. We can still carve our way through the enemy and to Eriador. But many would die.” He made a pause, hesitating, then continued. “You line too, My Chief. The line of Beorn is endangered. Beornas is your last living son with age to lead, and he has gone to war, carrying the entire burden on his shoulders, however young he is. If we are forced to fall back, your three… lesser sons… they could not survive the Crossing if we have to get to it, and the Powers don´t allow it, your son would not survive the campaign if we are defeated. They will haunt every bear they see in our ranks.”

“I have brothers to continue my legacy.” He answered, after a while he took to recover from ill thoughts and the assault of grief Leothsson sent against him. The screams of agony of Fralor echoed in his head, and his wife´s desperate questions about Fiorith and Bregareth followed. “Beortlad and Colbrand are worthy.”

Aldfrid was ready. “Beortlad knows shit about ruling, if you allow me to say it, My Chief. Colbrand…” Grimbeorn knew very well his brother had a rivalry with Aldfrid. “He is reckless, and after taking our forces… If he fails, is he worthy to lead unarmed, famished and defeated common folk across the Mountains?”

Grimbeorn looked at his eyes. “Are you suggesting an alternative?”

“I hope no. But assuming the worse is to come, if your line falls. Your son dies in the south…” He didn´t minded Grimbeorn clearly suffering at the thought. “… if your brother is defeated, Beortlad shows himself unable to rule. The remaining Freefolk will never stand before us a child in that time of need. The next in line, if we follow the Edain usual rules, is your sister Anglis…”

His wife, Grimbeorn knew. He felt angry at Aldfrid trying to imply himself as a claimant of the Vales, specially in that time. He came to hate him for reminding him of his dead family, and the remaining he supposed would die. However he respected him for his daring.

“Beortlad has sons, so does Colbrand. My nephews are worthy.”
It seemed Aldfrid was not ready for that, but insisted nevertheless.
“It is imperative a successor is appointed, High Chief, or at least appoint a regent should we choose Brimlad. He is twelve. If he was to succeed you right now he would be too young to be taken seriously.”
Grimbeorn felt uneasy about this talk, and made a gesture to change the subject. “You said a third of our forces are compromised in the east.”
“Probably more, if we consider the city only. There are more forces to the west and north, but I wouldn´t touch them. ”
The High Chief felt the urge to issue command once more. For a moment Aldrid seemed confused on what to do. “You are suffering…”
His brother-in-law seemed confused about this too. “Sire?” He answered with that educated tone of his.

“Your brother, Alchfrith, has he been found yet?” For some reason, Grimbeorn felt happy, as if it was revenge for the earlier words of his brother, he also felt guilty, but not ashamed of it, enjoying Aldfrid´s grief.
“He hasn´t been found. Gods be good, he is dead and resting beyond the Walls.”
“A nasty matter. However if he is still alive…. Can he be helped?”
“Not really, though my sister insists there is a way. I think we need to put him out of his misery.”

There was silent now, as if both men quietly recognized they had both injured the other, and without words asked forgiveness. After a while Aldfrid poured some mead in Grimbeorn´s mug.

“We need to expand our strength. People is returning, afraid, but they return to the fields.”
Grimbeorn felt he needed to take command again. “Have some of them work on our structures. I want you to issue the construction of barracks. We need to be able to train, arm and prepare more men in little time.”

“Then I will have the forges working all day and commission bows. And of course some barracks.” Aldfrid replied, and said nothing more while Grimbeorn walked out. The mead provided him a pleasant feeling in his belly. He crossed the door, and the sunlight came forth to welcome him.
“Where to, Chief?” His guard asked. Some of the folk recognized him and waved, but he was an equal in the street. Authority meant little in the city, unless needed.

“Let´s just walk. I need to let the mead drop.” He could feel strength returning. For some reason that conversation was invigorating. They descended to the east and south, and soon the Anduin was within sight. The river seemed cleaner than some days before, when the burnt wood and many bodies washed all across the shores. He spooked away those memories, but failed. Somehow, he asked himself if his son and daughter wouldn´t have floated south across the river. At least the mead was warm.

“Are those docks working?” He asked the guard.
“Yes, your son departed from them some days ago.” He answered. The thoughts returned. Beornas had floated south too.
“Father!” A young voice said. Brimlad came forth, smiling and jumping, making his black hair bounce as a horse´s load on charge. Behind him Beornwen also rushed, and he embraced them. “I am glad you are up and out.” He smiled up at his father.

“Yes, it is good. Where is your mother?” He noticed his son´s hug had pushed the mead inside his body, and caused some pain. How the mead did took so much time to fade into the depths of his self? He wasn´t feeling drunk.

“She is back there, buying something, not sure what.” Beornwen answered. Grimbeorn looked ahead and saw his wife, Ragreth. She gazed at the river, lost in her thoughts. The mead felt acid inside.

“Go back to her and tell her to come, would you?” He told them. The children rushed down the path towards their mother. He stared at her, admiring her beauty, yet she seemed sad. Was she thinking of the same things he did a minute ago. She seemed to watch at something floating on the Anduin, and Grimbeorn proved himself wrong.

Halfway to their mother, the children shouted at her, but she didn´t turned. The mead boiled and Grimbeorn grabbed his belly. Probably his body playing a joke. One of the things floating in the Anduin was entangled in the poles below the dock she stood by. It extended a limb, and the dark legs of the creature slowly pulled it up. It was ready to jump. Grimbeorn felt uneasy and his heart jumped in his chest, but was unable to react. More things floated in the Anduin. Human figures. He saw the twins, floating upside, and dead. He also saw another figure raising from below the dock, just by the dark many-legged figure. A face. Lagertha.
“Ragreth!” He shouted. He lost his foot and kneeled with his left leg on the wooden floor. “WIFE!”

His guts were in pain, and she looked at him. Was she claiming for help? But no, the dark spider faded, the bodies either sunk or vanished, and the face of his dead wife departed from the sight of the living one. Grimbeorn felt somebody grabbing him up, and after a minute in darkness he felt he was lying on a warm riverbed of the Anduin, soaked wet and weak. Haunted. He could smell a red metal only, and that was the last thought before fading into darkness.

Brimlad Beornsson, Carrokburg

His father collapsed, Brimlad observed his face suddenly became pale, and a red line crossed his chin. Was he wounded?

“FATHER!” He yelled, and rushed back to him. His two guards pushed away the people who gathered around, and Brimlad forced his way through. Grimbeorn was almost unconscious.
“Father….” He muttered, was he crying? Brimlad tried to shake him, but seemed to be fruitless. The old man was still breathing, but clearly dying. The hands of his mother pushed him back, but he struggled and returned to his father, almost bringing down Ragreth.

“Brim… We have to go!” She insisted. Brimlad turned and saw his sister Beornwen. She was pale as his father. For a second he thought she would collapse as well. His knee was wet and warm.

“What is that? He is wounded!” one of the burghfolk claimed, pointing at the floor. Brimlad looked at his trousers and noticed they were wet. It was blood. His father was bleeding, and no wound was in sight. It was unlikely his nose bleed caused all that blood to be spilled on the docks.
“Brim! Son!” His mother yelled. A guard pushed him away while some of the burghfolk who knew how to aid the sick tended to his father, who seemed to regain consciousness and look at him in the eyes, only to fade. Brimlad looked back as he and his sister were carried away. Their mother followed.

“What was he doing before this happened?” She asked a guard as she pushed them forward towards the Fangost.
“The High Chief gathered with Chief Aldfrid… They discussed for some time silently and then he left. He mentioned he needed to let the mead fall down.”
“Then he was drinking?”
Brimlad stopped walking.

“What is it, Brim?” Beornwyn asked. His mother also looked at him and crouched in front of his eyes, holding his arms.
“Son… Come on, you need to calm down. He will be alright…” She tried to calm him, but he was not worried… Well, he was, but that was not his main concern. He simply looked into the void beyond his mother, and thought of what had happened to his father before they even met. Something in him was different. He suddenly looked at his mother in the eyes and muttered. “Aldfrid…”

He then rushed forth and headed into the Thynstate. The guards tried to stop him, but he was fast, and that day, on that hour, he felt even faster, stronger, deadly.

“Brimlad?” Aldfrid asked as he rushed in the chamber. What was that noise? I heard this com… What are you doing?" Brimlad walked in in a hurry and locked the door from the inside, before tearing down a bookshelf so that it would block the way, then turned to Aldfrid. He was standing next to the table, and a bronze jar was lying on it. Brimlad could hardly breathe slower. He looked at Aldfrid in the eye.

“I will kill you!” He rushed to him and jumped. Surprisingly, he managed to tackle down a grown man and push him against the table. Once done Brimlad went on to beat him in the face. Aldfrid couldn´t react between the surprise and the fact it was the son of his High Chief who attacked him. After three punches he rose a hand and covered his head. Two punches later he managed to push Brimlad back, who landed on a chair. He landing caused him some pain on his back, but his rage was true, and in no time he had grabbed the very chair and smashed it on Aldfrid´s head. This time he caused some real damage.

“Open the door!” a voice called from behind the barred entrance. Aldfrid looked at Brimlad in the eyes, and something happened. He saw something different. His face was tense, and for a minute his eyes had lost part of their humanity. But it faded, and the Regent raised a hand.

“Calm down, son. Please… You won.”
“I will kill you… You killed him!”
“Who?”
What? He dared denying it? He went again and trued to punch him back, but this time Aldfrid was ready, and easily grabbed his fist, pushed his arm aside and against his back. “Come on! Stop!” He pleaded, or maybe commanded. Was he his father now?

Brimlad yelled at this thought and broke free, at a price, the arm made a horrible sound as it slipped away, but he didn´t cared too much about the crack. As the door was opened by the axe, Brimlad climbed the window and jumped down to the street. He rolled between two burghfolks before heading down into the Inn Quarter. Aldfrid followed him.

He rushed as fast as he could, and after a minute he couldn´t keep on. He laid on a corner of a building, and used his right arm to rest. The pain was like two chains ripping each other apart. He cried out and fell down.

It only took a minute. Slowly his body started to rip apart, to change. Hair started to grow, and beyond his own explanation his heart jumped up and down. <<So this is what it feels like?>> Was his last thought.

When Aldfrid arrived people screamed and rushed, while the cub, a brown bear as tall and his chest, rose in the back paws before smashing a man´s chest. He supposed it was Brimlad, and the beast smashed the man´s head aside, making him cry in pain and cover his bloodied ear. Aldfrid didn´t hesitated and transformed himself. He, unlike Brimlad, could take control of his transformation, and was stronger. It took a minute to subdue the cub, who was also wounded, but seemingly careless about a broken arm. After the small bear was taken down and protested in pain, Aldfrid, unable to turn back right away, bit his neck and carried Brimlad away from the street, into an alley. It was an hour later when Ragreth found them both. Brimlad was sleeping against a wall, and Aldfrid rested by his side, with only a cut over his brow, but clearly surprised. Aldfrid gasped slowly, and raised his look at Ragreth.
"It wasn´t I..."

She walked towards her son and raised him on her arms with an extraordinary strenght. "I know it wasn´t you. I am sorry this happened."

"How is he?
Aldfrid asked as she turned back. Regreth looked at her brother in-law. "He is still alive, though I don´t think he will last the night, and if he does, he may never wake back."
[spoiler= Recruitment and Buildings
Recuirtment and Upgrades:
-Anduin Spearmen: +30
-Anduin Warriors: +20 ->25 from Spearmen.
-Anduin Housecarls: +6 -> 4 from Warriors.
-Mountain Axemen: +20
-Mountain Housecarls: +5
-Woodsmen Warriors: +40
-Woodsmen Sworn Shields: +10
-Northmen Archers: +10
-Beorning Longbowmen: ->5 from Archers.
Anduin Light Cavalry: +12
Skinchangers: +1

Constructions:
-1 Barack in Carrokburg (3 IC Pages to go)
-Pallisaded Positions in the Gladden Fields (+5 IC Pages to Go?)
[/spoiler]

The Third Age: A Lord of the Rings RP (IC/Closed)

Who is online