Middle-Earth Role Playing Campaign

A new day was dawning, but from the bottom of the pit the sun could not be seen. It was always dark, here in the holding area for the slate mine slaves. About twenty languished there now, fewer than its capacity, but enough to run the operations of the mine.

None really knew where in Middle-Earth they were, but they suspected Angmar, the evil realm of the Witch-King. None were from Angmar itself; all had been captured in other lands and forced into a long and grueling trek to the mine.

One of their number was Bradlegar Boffenridge. A Hobbit, he had been travelling from the Anduin Vales to his new life in the Shire when he was captured and brought to the mine in a sack. Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn, a squat, stockily built Wose, had been captured near his home woods some time ago. For a while he was forced to work as a court jester of sorts for an Orc King, for his face was more homely even than those of the Orcs. Later he had been pressed into service as a leather worker. But his last Orkish master had been killed in a fight, and his new one had brought him here.

Mîriel and Luinár, tall, strikingly beautiful Dúnedain sisters, had had their home besieged by an army of Orcs. After the keep fell, men had captured them, placed blindfolds about their eyes and brought them north. But they had not been taken advantage of: it was obvious their captors were under strong orders not to molest them. From conversations they had overheard, it was apparent this was a stopover on their journey somewhere else.

There were Eklath and his four men, all that remained of an Arthedanian border patrol; and five others who appeared to be common peasants. They had been here the longest and, unlike the others, had long ago given up hope of escape and freedom.

The remaining two in the pit were Elves: Araquenval and Dennenor, captured at different times. Because they were Elves among mortals, they were viewed with deep suspicion by their captors and guarded closely. Often they were not let out with the others to work and were forced to endure the darkness for days on end. At night when all the prisoners were chained to the walls, the Elves were always placed directly opposite the door, where Wound the jailor could keep a nasty, wary eye on them.

Wound was not the jailor's real name: that was unknown to his prisoners and probably to the rest of the people in the mine. His name bore witness to the terrible scar on his head that he had suffered in a sword fight long years before. Cruel, mean-spirited, and hard of seeing, he delighted in torturing the prisoners with his whip after they had been chained up for the night.

"One of these days," Luinár promised him more than once, "I will get my own back at you, and strangle you with your own innards!" Wound would laugh at the Dúnadan lady when she said it, but his eyes betrayed his secret fear that she one day might make good her threat.

Even more feared than Wound among the prisoners was Froik, the overseer. A huge Hillman he was, calculating and ill-tempered. And there were Orcs. Rhâshka was the leader of that ugly and smelly contingent, but they were not allowed near the prisoners.

The cook, possibly just as much a prisoner as the rest, was a Haradrim named Zaid. Of all the staff of the mine he seemed to be the most concerned for the welfare of the men who spent their nights chained to the wall of the large, dark pit.

The distance from the door of the pit to the floor was a full eight feet. Wound would open it every morning to let down a ladder, then cautiously enter and unchain the prisoners from the wall. Once released, they were herded up the ladder and down a corridor to their jobs at the slate quarry outside.

Extracting slate was dangerous work: huge slabs could unexpectedly fall off the walls of the quarry and cut a person in half. The prisoners were moved from job to job throughout the day, first cutting slate slabs from the quarry, then reducing them to a manageable size, then loading them on to mules for transport to the stockpiles, and finally unloading the pieces and adding them to the piles. At every step along the way Froik and his men kept a close and harsh guard over them.

Today seemed quieter than usual. It was near the end of winter, a very long, dull, cold winter. Outside the sun was hidden yet again under a depressing grey overcast. There appeared to be just as many men guarding the slaves as on any other day, but there seemed to be far fewer men coming and going from the mine than normal. Sensing this, while leading a mule laden with slate to the stockpiles, Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn quickly examined the path and determined a large number of men had recently left the camp.

At the end of the day the prisoners were returned to the pit. There they received their meagre rations and settled down as best they could for the long and chilly night ahead. But later that evening the door opened unexpectedly and another prisoner let in. He was apparently Dúnadan: tall, clean shaven with long flowing hair, dressed in fine clothes. He climbed down the ladder into the pit, then Wound scuttled down after him and began chaining him to the wall.

Suddenly the man screamed and lunged at Wound, grappling with him for the key ring. It came loose; keys flew everywhere. Wound called for the guards. Laughing, they descended the ladder and after a brief struggle knocked the prisoner unconscious. Wound chained him to the wall, then with the guards standing around and mocking him he scraped through the straw and filth for his keys. He tried to count them, but between the poor light and his bad eyes he could not be certain he had them all.

He began climbing out of the pit, the guards still taunting him for having lost control of his charge. "Wound go get Froik," the flustered jailer spat at the guards from the ladder. "Froik put you in your places, he will!"

"Froik's just as likely to give you a hard time for letting this Dúnadan pansy get the better of you!" jeered one of the guards. His friends laughed. Then they too climbed out, pulled up the ladder, and closed and locked the door.

The prisoners could scarcely believe their turn of fortune. Had Wound missed a key or two? Quickly they searched as best they could. Bradlegar the Hobbit spotted what he thought were three keys. This information he passed to Mîriel, who gave it to Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn, who passed it on to the prisoner beside him.

"I see the key," said the man, "but it's just beyond my reach. Wait!" He undid a bit of leather from his boot, and in a couple of tries managed to snag the key with the leather strip. Carefully he pulled the precious treasure toward him. Once he had it in his hand, he tried it on several of the shackles that bound him. The one on his right wrist fell free. Quickly he retrieved the second key. But the third was out of reach: it was down by the boot of the new prisoner, still laying unconscious at the end of the row.

The first key was passed down the line and in minutes all had freed their right hands. The second proved a disappointment: it did not work on any of the cuffs. Bradlegar asked for the right-hand key, then used it to pick the lock that held him to the wall. It was tough work, with only one hand free and the wrong key, but after several minutes of effort the Hobbit had managed it. Barely able to contain his joy, he made his way over to Araquenval and freed him.

He located the third key. It opened the left hand shackle, and so was quickly passed around. Meanwhile, Araquenval picked the locks on the shackles that held him. Once free of the metal he was able to cast spells, so he did useful one that let him prepare and store a sleep spell which he could then cast at a moment's notice. While Araquenval worked on the leg shackles that bound Dennenor and Luinár, Bradlegar freed Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn, Tandil, then Mîriel, Luinár, and Eklath. Once free, Luinár got up and began walking across the pit.

"Where are you going?" asked Dennenor.

"I mm going to see if I can wake our new friend," Luinár replied.

"I think we should have as little movement down here as possible. We do not want to alert Wound before we are ready to deal with him."

"Thanks, pointy head," snapped Luinár, then walked over to the Dúnadan and brought him back to consciousness with a healing spell.

"Where am I?" he asked when he came to.

"You are in a holding cell for slaves who work the slate quarry here," said Luinár. "With luck, thanks to your unexpected tussle with Wound, we may not be here much longer. What is your name? How did you end up here?"

"Tandil," the new prisoner replied. "I was taking goods from one town to another in my home lands when I was beset by Orcs. To my surprise I was not killed, but rather thrown into a cart and brought here."

"A cart?" asked Mîriel. "Orcs normally send their prisoners on a forced march."

"Perhaps they were afraid I would not survive such an ordeal," said Tandil quickly. Luinár and Mîriel exchanged glances: it was clear neither of them believed his story.

Everyone was now free. It was time to get Wound's attention. They waited a while: the jailor was in the habit of coming down into the pit to taunt and torture the prisoners before retiring for the night. But tonight was different and he did not make his customary appearance.

"Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn go still for a while," said the Wose. "It will look as he has died, and even better eyes than Wound's not tell he is still alive." Having said that, he lay down and completely ceased to move.

"Wound!" called Araquenval. "Wound! The Wose is dead!"

A little window in the door opened and two nasty eyes peered in.

"Eh? What's that? Wose dead?" came Wound's voice from the other side of the door.

"Yes, we think he is dead. He was all right until after he ate, then suddenly he fell over. We have not seen him move since."

The door opened. A clearly nervous Wound let down the ladder and began climbing into the pit. "Wound's in trouble now," they heard him mutter. "Everyone goes away to big fight and leaves Wound to guard prisoners. Wound's supposed to keep prisoners safe, they said. Very valuable, the prisoners. Now Wound's--"

Araquenval fired off his stored sleep spell and Wound dropped from the ladder to the floor. Rhôn, now very much alive, jumped from his place. He ran to the sleeping jailer, hauled him to a spot in the cell that could not be seen from the door, and chained him to the wall. Luinár walked over and stuffed a dead rat into the hated jailer's month. Then she removed a dagger from his belt and slapped him a couple of times. Wound woke to find himself chained to the wall, Luinár standing in front of him, holding the dagger to his stomach. But the lady did not smile.

"I promised one day I would do this!" she growled. And she slashed open Wound's belly, cut out his intestines, and tied them around his neck. Few people were deserving of such treatment, but Wound had more than earned the payment given him that day.

Rhôn heisted the keys, then climbed the ladder and looked into the room formerly occupied by the eviscerated turnkey. Little of interest was there, aside from an incredible mess. So he crossed the hall and tried the door there. It was locked, but the Wose had no trouble finding the correct key. Dennenor had joined him by now, and together they looked into the room. It was truly a treasure store: all their equipment and bags, carefully stowed away.

Back down in the pit, Araquenval the civilians if they were coming. At first they refused: their long imprisonment had sapped them of will and strength. But the Elf told them when their captors returned they would torture them to get the story out, and so, reluctantly, they agreed to be let loose.

"The guards that Wound called earlier are still up there," said Luinár. "I'm going up to help take care of them. Who else will join me?"

Her sister Mîriel, Bradlegar, Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn, and Tandil volunteered. Eklath ordered his men to stay behind to protect the civilians, then joined the others climbing out of the pit.

Carefully they moved down the main corridor, eight of them two abreast: Eklath and Luinár, Tandil and Mîriel, tall Araquenval and short Bradlegar, and finally Dennenor and Rhôn. On the left, three yards from the door to Wound's room, they turned down a hall they had passed twice a day but had never been entered. This they followed until they entered Zaid's kitchen. At the back of the line, Rhôn suddenly stumbled into Bradlegar. The Hobbit fell forward into Mîriel in from of him. Hearing the commotion, Zaid looked up, startled at the gang before him.

"Ah!" he said, masking his surprise as best he could. "You want seconds!"

"Yes," replied Araquenval.

"Here," offered the cook, "look into my pantry." He pointed to a small room on the left.

"While I'm looking in there," said Bradlegar to Tandil, "try to get some information from this man. Who's all gone, and who's all here, and all that stuff."

"You heard the little one," Tandil told the cook. "What can you tell us about what has happened here the past day or so?"

"Most men leave," said Zaid. "Big fight in the west. They needed all the men they could get to go to the fight. There might be twelve left. Don't think there are any Orcs. All left last night to go to the fight."

"Did they take any food with them?" asked Tandil

"Oh, yes," replied the cook. "Much food. Much food they take. My pantry is almost empty!"

"How much food?" asked Tandil. "How long would it last?"

The cook furrowed his brow in concentration. "Oh, many days. Three weeks perhaps. Big fight must be a long way away."

"Probably an attack on Arthedain," said Luinár. "Well, we're leaving too, as soon as we can. Do you want to come with us?"

"Oh, don't know about that," mused the cook. "Not too much for running around when summer is yet a few weeks away." He pasued and thought for a moment, making up his mind. "But if you people are all gone when the others come back, they may blame me! Yes, I come along with you. Better to take my chances with you than with the others."

"Very well," said Luinár, "you should hide in the pit along with the others. Things are going to get rough around here."

"Indeed they might," Zaid replied. "Four men in that room over there." He pointed to a door that Luinár surmised led to the mess hall. "You need to fight them to get out of here. Others, too. Don't know where they are."

"But no Orcs," said Dennenor.

"I no see Orcs. But then, Orcs come out at night. I sleep at night."

Araquenval and Dennenor escorted the cook to the relative safety of the pit, taking care he did not see the Wound's remains. When the Elves returned to the kitchen, the group launched their assault on the mess hall. The fighters --Eklath, Luinár, Dennenor, and Rhôn, charged into the room first. Araquenval, Mîriel, Bradlegar, and Tandil ran in right behind them.

The room was large, but as Zaid had said only four men were in it, sitting in a far corner and playing cards. No sooner had the group burst in than they jumped up, smacking on helmets and going for their weapons.

Araquenval fired off a spell. One of the men sat down again and fell asleep, his head resting on the table. Mîriel also tried a sleep spell, but none of the others were affected. Bradlegar fired an arrow and hit one of the three remaining men, and Dennenor ran over and struck him a great blow with his two-handed sword. The man collapsed to the floor. Luinár charged forward and killed the third man with two hits from her longsword. "Bar the far doors with a table!" Araquenval called to Tandil. "We don't want any company in here just yet!"

"I cannot," came the reply. "These tables are too large for me to move alone!"

And even as he spoke three other men came running into the room.

The last of the original four men in the room leaped over a table and caught Rhôn, cutting him, drawing blood. Tandil pulled his sword and went after him. The man fended off the blow and tried to hit Rhôn again, but the Wose parried. Suddenly the man dived under a table and emerged several feet away, coming up behind Dennenor. The Elf was busy fighting one of the three newcomers. After putting that man out of commission, he sensed the man behind him, spun around, swung and missed. But Rhôn did not miss: he hit the man from behind with his war mattock, and Araquenval joined the attack.

Just as Luinár killed another of the newcomers, three more entered the room. One was Froik, large as life and in a terrible temper. Gripping his spear, he roared at the prisoners for their surrender. The two bodyguards who had come in with him clanged their weapons on their shields.

But the group was not so easily frightened: they were armed and had satisfied themselves they could use their weapons. Bradlegar fired an arrow at Froik while Dennenor and Luinár moved in to engage him. Dennenor hit hard, but the Hillman quickly pulled out a flask and quaffed its contents. Axe in hand, Tandil ducked down--and vanished from sight altogether!

The last of the three men who had run in just before Froik arrived made a beeline around the tables, heading for the vulnerable spell casters still in position by the exit to the kitchen. Eklath quickly moved in behind him to attack. He cut the man twice with his axe and Mîriel killed him with her sword.

Araquenval and Rhôn continued their attack on the quick little man who had earlier so deftly escaped by diving under a table. He tried it again, but this time slipped and fell, his sword breaking underneath him. Rhôn seized the opportunity to hit him once with his war mattock, and killed him.

While Dennenor pressed his attack on Froik, Luinár and Eklath swiftly dispatched his bodyguards. Then just as quickly as he had vanished, Tandil reappeared behind Froik, striking with his axe. The surprised Hillman spun around to see what had hit him, and Tandil struck again, and Froik fell to the ground and died.

The battle was over; the prisoners had won.

Mîriel cast a healing spell on Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn, then checked Froik for more potions. Of these he had none, but he did have his spear, eight pieces of silver, and a gold torque about his neck. He was armoured in good chain mail, shield, and a metal helm. The mail was too badly damaged from the battle to be of any use, but the helm was very well made, giving the one who wore it no disadvantage in viewing the world about him.

In a pouch tied around Froik's waist they found a pair of tin whistles. They were quite ordinary, having no magic in them. The bodyguards had less then their leader: six silver pieces, eleven bronze, and a flask of sour wine.

Leaving the bodies behind, the prisoners left through the door by which the six other men had joined the battle. It led into a short corridor ending in an unlocked door. Beyond was a barracks room with enough places for thirty-six men. At the far end there was another door. The listened at it for a moment, and, hearing nothing, opened it and chared in.

The room was small and unoccupied. A quick glance around indicated they were most likely in Froik's quarters. It was furnished with a bed, a writing table, and a crate that proved to be full of clothes. A quick check under the bed showed Froik used it for his rubbish-bin. But Dennenor noticed a box attached to the bed frame, so he and Araquenval tipped the bed over and retrieved it. After checking for traps and finding nothing, they opened the box. Inside were eight pieces of gold and a sack containing over eighty gold coins: Bradlegar and Tandil recognized the gold as their own.

Also in the box were a scroll, a green leather sack with a stone inside, and a book with a red leather cover. The book contained a ledger of the slate mine's activities: food, production quotas, slaves received, slaves died. Mîriel added a new line: "Rebellion by slaves. Wound and Froik killed in battle. Mine disbanded."

The scroll was short, containing a three lines of instructions. They made for interesting reading: "1. Don't touch the prisoners' possessions." ("All except the gold," Tandil noted wryly.) "2. Don't let the Orcs near the slaves. They ate half of the last lot. 3. I will send a delegation during the month of Gwirth to check production. It had better be improved." The document was signed by a person named Estafrith.

The green leather pouch contained a smooth, oval stone. Runes had been inscribed on it. After determining there was channeling magic in the stone, Araquenval examined it closely, then said it had power to protect against channeling magic. They gave it to Mîriel.

"There's a hidden door over there," said Mîriel as they handed Froik's rune-stone to her. "We should see where it leads."

They had the door open in seconds. Beyond was a hallway that ended in another door. This they opened, and stepped out into the main hallway of the mine's living areas--the same one the group had been down twice a day for as long as they had been here. Turning right, they walked down the hall toward to the pit.

Eklath and his men were outside, standing guard, with Zaid the cook. He had retrieved a curved sword and leather shield from somewhere, had tied a red band about his head, and was carefully checking his spice pouch when the others arrived.

"We've cleared the way," reported Araquenval.

"Perhaps you did not get them all," said Eklath. "We think we've seen movement outside, down at the far end of the hall."

"How many?" asked Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn.

"Just one. He appears to be standing guard outside the door. There may be others, but we have not seen any."

"Then we should proceed with caution," said Mîriel. "We will put Luinár and Eklath in front, and the Hobbit behind them so he can listen, then Dennenor and Rhôn, and the rest of us can come up behind. The others still down in the pit we can get picks for. I do not wish to come back this way: if we do, it will probably be in chains."

So Araquenval opened the door to the pit and called inside, "Time to go!" Slowly the others came out of the pit, looking dubious and a little afraid. They joined the others heading down the hallway and Mîriel fell in behind them. Suddenly Zaid called a stop.

"If I read things correctly," he said, "I think we have many more around here still now."

"How many do you think are left?" asked Mîriel.

"How many you kill?" asked the cook.

"Ten, including Froik," Dennenor replied,

"You kill Froik?" asked the amazed cook.

"Does that change things at all?" asked Mîriel.

"Oh, yes," said Zaid. "Me think not many left now--one, two, three, no more."

"How about Orcs?" asked Luinár.

"Oh, don't know about Orcs. Don't speak with them too much. They don't like my cooking."

"Well, we should go kill the remaining," said Luinár.

Down the corridor they went once more, arriving at the equipment room without meeting any opposition. On the other side of the hall from the room was a curtain that appeared to cover the entrance to a hallway.

"We should go down there," said Luinár, "And send two fighters outside to deal with the guard."

Rhôn spoke. "First get something to use in fight. Then close door, deal with next one. Open one door at a time."

"I will stand by the curtain and ensure no one comes through it alive," said Luinár.

The equipment room was unlocked and the group quickly removed picks, ropes, iron spikes, hammers, and sacks from inside. Now prepared, they had Dennenor and Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn watch the entrance, then thrust aside the curtain. It opened into a tunnel, pitch black. Even as Bradlegar went to light his lantern, two arrows flew out and hit the back wall. A bell began sounding from down the tunnel.

"Oh no!" cried Zaid, "Orcs, Orcs, Orcs, Orcs!"

Two guards came running in from the outside, but they did not live past meeting Dennenor and Rhôn. Bradlegar lit his lantern and went for his bow. Araquenval called out in Orkish, "The fifth Elvish army has arrived to liberate the slaves in this mine. All of you will die!" He tried to return the Orcs' fire, but his shot went wild.

Unexpectedly, Luinár charged into the blacked-out tunnel. Cursing, Eklath ran after her. Araquenval drew his sword and followed them both. Shouting her sister's name, Mîriel snatched a torch from the wall and passed it to one of Eklath's men in front of her. They passed it down the line and the last threw it into the tunnel. In the flickering light they could make out five Orcs, two in front with shields and spears, and three behind with swords.

An Orc jumped forward and stamped out the torch, but by this time Bradlegar had his lantern shining down the corridor. And Tandil held up his hand, and to the amazement of many a beam of light projected from the palm and down the corridor. Araquenval's voice was heard coming from the tunnel, again speaking on Orkish. "Actually, we're just a bunch of scared little Hobbits," he said.

By now Luinár had reached the Orcs, swinging wildly at the one that had put out the torch. She missed, but her opponent did not. It hit back, hard; blood trickled from Luinár's chest.

Since throwing back the curtain, Rhôn had gone outside to search for clues to determine where all the soldiers had gone. Coming back in, he looked around and noticed fewer people than expected were in the hall. "What is happening here?" he asked Dennenor.

"Luinár has charged down the tunnel without looking to see what was there," said the Elf. "Eklath and Araquenval followed her. There appear to be five Orcs."

"And the fighters are obstructing the archers!" snapped Mîriel. "What do they think they're doing anyway, fighting in such a narrow space?"

The Wose stepped inside the tunnel. "Make way clear!" he cried. "Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn now throws his axes!"

Quickly the three down the tunnel stepped back against the wall. Dennenor put away his sword and switched to his bow. Two axes flew past, but they failed to strike any of the Orcs. Bradlegar fired an arrow and hit one. Then the fighters moved back into position; an Orc hit Luinár. The wound stung terribly and her head began to spin. She retreated unsteadily back to the tunnel entrance. "Something is wrong!" she gasped to Mîriel. "I think I've been poisoned!" Then she collapsed to the floor. An arrow followed her out: one of the Orcs in the back had fired it. Mîriel looked anxiously about, unsure how to help her sister.

"Someone else is here!" Tandil called.

A short, stocky person clad head to toe in metal armour and carrying a huge shield and morningstar came through the door that lead to the outside. He carried a sheet of parchment on which was drawn a map, and appeared to be studying it intently. Then the stranger looked up from the map to the scene before him. "What is happening here?" he asked.

"We're trying to escape from this place!" said Mîriel. "Right now we're fighting Orcs!"

"Orcs!" the stranger exclaimed. "I can handle Orcs! Where are they?"

"Down the corridor, there," Mîriel replied, steering him in the proper direction. The Dwarf walked down the hall straight to the Orc that had just hit Luinár and killed it with a single blow.

Now Rhôn ran into the tunnel. He retrieved one of his axes from the floor and quickly killed an Orc with it. The mysterious Dwarf suddenly turned and exterminated another Orc with a single blow.

It was all confusion now: Orcs were dropping weapons and scrambling to pick up others from their fallen comrades. The archer Orc fired arrows at Eklath and Baldôr but missed them both. Dennenor and Bradlegar returned fire: both arrows hit. Tandil shone his projected light directly into the Orc's eyes. It put up its arm to shield himself from the light, and so never saw the Dwarf that stepped over and killed it.

The last remaining Orc, who up to now had been fighting a futile battle with Eklath, turned to flee down the tunnel. Araquenval and Bradlegar fired after it: Araquenval's arrow hit its shield, but Bradlegar's hit squarely in the back of the neck. The Orc crashed head first to the floor and died where it lay.

They searched the bodies: only two bronze pieces were found among them. One Orc had hidden in a pocket the remains of a meal from a couple of weeks before, but it stank so terribly when they removed it that they flung it into a corner.

"Thank you!" said Araquenval to the Dwarf. "Your arrival was fortuitous. But why are you here? Surely you were not captured and brought here as a slave, as the rest of us were."

"I was not," the Dwarf replied. "My name is Baldôr, and I'm searching for a silver mine that was the property of my father."

Dennenor turned quickly to take a closer look at the Dwarf, as if he recognized the name. "I remember you!" he exclaimed several seconds later. "From the library in Imladris! Back then you were searching for a silver mine. It would appear you are far off your course. This is a mine, but here we take slate, not silver."

Mîriel appeared at the tunnel entrance and called down, "Are you quite done yet?"

"Almost," replied Araquenval. "How is your sister?"

"Alive," came the reply. "She is unconscious, but Zaid and I think she will recover. I was also just taking with Zaid. He tells me they took much food, at least a month's worth."

"A month!" exclaimed Bradlegar. "They would leave the mine unguarded for a month?"

"Why you need to guard this place?" replied Zaid. "We be so far back in Angmar, nobody attack here! Nobody in right mind."

The fighters returned from the tunnel and joined the others in the main hallway. Mîriel was speaking. "If the rest of the fighters and the Dwarf take care of the remaining Orcs, it may be safe to stay here a day or two so we can get everything together for our journey out."

"Then we should also get rid of the bodies," said Araquenval. "They can join Wound's in the pit."

"Let's clear out the rest of the Orcs first," said Araquenval. "Who will join me on a search of the tunnel?"

Bradlegar, Baldôr, Dennenor, Araquenval, and Tandil volunteered. "I'm staying behind to tend my sister," said Mîriel. "You people be careful. I won't have very much sympathy for you if you get yourselves wounded or killed. I can put up with a fair bit of it from Luinár--she is my sister--but I don't have to put up with it from you!"

"Point taken, good lady," Araquenval responded.

Leaving Mîriel to check on her sister, the remainder carefully followed the tunnel. It sloped down and to the left until it entered a dark, stinking cave that was the home of the Orcs. About thirty straw mats were flung haphazardly about, with smelling ragged hides for covers. A fire pit and a large cooking pot were in the centre of the room, and many skulls had been stacked nearby. Debris was piled everywhere and the decomposing bodies of many half eaten creatures added to the filth.

"Air here is bad," said the Wose. "Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn and his friends should search quickly, then leave."

They listened carefully for a minute before deciding there were no other Orcs around. Then they searched rancid cave but found nothing of interest aside from a piece of translucent quartz, which Tandil declared to be of no value.

A curtain had been hung at the far end of the room and Bradlegar went to open it. "Check for traps first!" called out Araquenval. "Were I an Orkish leader and went away, leaving some of my Orcs behind, I would not want them getting into my private stash."

Dennenor went to assist, carefully pulling back the curtain. Beyond was a small room. Arranged around it on the walls were several heads mounted on plaques, some human, one of a small troll. There was also a sleeping pallet, upon which cowered a pair of small female Orcs.

"She-Orcs breed!" said Rhôn. "Kill she-Orcs!"

"In time," replied Araquenval. He spoke to the two females in Orkish. "We want healing potions and your stock of poisons."

"And when will Rhâshka return?" added Dennenor, who also knew bit of their foul language.

The two miserable Orcs cowered even further and shook their heads vigorously. "No! No!" one of them cried. "Rhâshka away! Big fight! Tarks! Big fight with Tarks!" They pointed at Tandil. "He look like Tark!"

"Do you know when Rhâshka will be returning?" asked Dennenor. "One sleep? Two sleeps? A dozen?"

"Don't know! Didn't say!"

"Are Elves getting information," Rhôn asked, "or will Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn kill she-Orcs now?"

"I am getting nothing useful from them," said Dennenor.

"Wait," said Araquenval. He looked again at the females. "Are there any other Orcs here?"

They nodded. "Five down hall," said one. Then they paused and looked at each other. "But you just came from there. How come you not dead?"

"Because they are," replied Dennenor. Swords in hand, he and Araquenval approached the females.

Terrified, the two poor Orcs began to wail. "We show you where Rhâshka's treasure is, if you let us go!" they cried. "We know Rhâshka not know we know!"

Rhôn had not understood any of the conversation, for it had taken place in Orkish. He stepped forward, ready to kill the Orcs himself, but was stopped by the Elves. "They say they know where Rhâshka's treasure is," Araquenval told him, speaking in Westron.

Dennenor added, also in Westron, "They have asked us not to kill them if they tell us, but I do not know if we will be able to honour that."

"Get information!" said the Wose. "Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn wishes to leave place. Smell is very bad."

"If the treasure is worthwhile we will not kill you," said Araquenval, now addressing the females in Orkish. Dennenor quickly translated Araquenval's words into Westron for Rhôn's benefit.

One of the females quickly jumped up and pointed to a bare spot on the floor in front of the entrance to Rhâshka's room, then sprang back to the mattress. After a couple of minutes of examination by everyone, they managed to trace the outline of a trap door. Rhôn pressed down at the corners and the door came open.

Underneath was a sizeable hole holding various items. Wary of traps, Araquenval looked at the females again. "You," he said to them in Orkish, "Come here. Pull that stuff out."

They looked at him suspiciously. "You let us go, then?" one asked.

"Come here and pull that stuff out before I kill you!" snapped the Elf.

They shook their heads, then in desperation jumped from the mattress and ran at the group. Rhôn and Dennenor slashed with their weapons; the two Orcs fell dead.

They checked for traps, but Rhâshka apparently was confident his stash was well enough hidden that traps were not needed. In there he had laid a mummified arm, six pieces of gold, a red gem, and dwarf's skull. Dennenor pulled these out one by one, but as he touched the skull it suddenly cried, "HEY!"

Everyone jumped and Dennenor dropped the skull. There were several anxious seconds of silence. Carefully the Elf reached in again to retrieve the skull, and again it cried, "HEY!" This time, though, he held on to it and pulled it out. After investigating it for a few minutes, they concluded the skull had bound into it a spell that caused it to say "HEY!" when it was touched and respond "HELLO!" whenever it heard the "Hello".

"What a terrible thing to do to the skull of a Dwarf," said Baldôr. "I shall take this and bury it in a proper place."

Finally Rhôn convinced them to leave. They stuffed the bodies of Rhâshka's wives into his treasure hole and secured the trap-door again, then returned to the hallway. Only Eklath was there.

"We've taken Luinár to the barracks and put her in a bed," he said. "Zaid was out here a few minutes ago to say she had awakened. I've had my men clearing away bodies and throwing them into the pit."

"There are no Orcs left down there," Araquenval reported in his turn. "We found two females and killed them, and cleaned out Rhâshka's little treasure hole."

"And left him a present," said Baldôr.

"Now, will we go to the barracks and decide where we go from here?" asked Dennenor.

Leaving two of Eklath's men back at the entrance to stand guard, they went to the mess hall. There they sat down around one of the large tables to discuss their situation.

Tandil was unaccountably nervous. "I really don't know where to begin," he said, furtively glancing at each of the others in turn, then down at the table again. "I--well, I haven't really told you everything truthfully." He paused, then suddenly reached into his spotless robe and produced a piece of rolled parchment. He spread it on the table, and to everyone's amazement they saw upon it a well drawn map of a large portion of Middle-Earth.

"We are here, in the mountains in the northern part of Angmar," he said, pointing out their approximate location on the map. There was another anxious pause, then he spoke again. "My real name is not Tandil. I was afraid if I spoke it, someone here might kill me for even saying it. But I think that danger now is passed. I am actually called Bauglir the Beautiful, and for the last many years I have been in training as a priest in the service of Angmar."

There was a sudden commotion. Instantly Luinár was on her feet and had unsheathed her sword. Dennenor, too, had pulled his sword and Rhôn had reached for an axe. Luinár's head began to spin again and she sat down ungracefully, laying her sword on the table.

"Hear me out!" cried Bauglir. "The training was arduous and I disliked it immensely. I was stationed in Litash"--he pointed to a fortress in the southeast corner of Angmar--"under the dreadful tenure of Estafrith, whose cursed name appears on the orders given to Froik, which we read in his quarters. So I deserted my post and fled into Angmar, to take my chances with the Easterlings and the army. A month was I on the run until they recaptured me. Estafrith was furious, and rather than execute me outright, he ordered I be taken to this mine, so I could be worked to the death as a slave."

"How can we know you are telling the truth now?" demanded Luinár.

"Did they not put me into the pit along with the rest of you?" asked Bauglir.

"Rather than argue the point," said Mîriel, "we should take advantage of this good fortune. This map could well show us the way out of Angmar."

Dennenor sheathed his sword and sat down again, and Rhôn did the same for his axe. Luinár kept her sword on the table.

"Getting out of Angmar is fraught with dangers, no matter the route," said Bauglir. "We cannot go west, for the entire army of Angmar is probably settled on that border by now."

Dennenor examined the map. "How about taking the pass on the east?"

"Very dangerous, that way. The pass is guarded by the Uruk-Kosh and comes out far too close to the Orc-kingdom at Mount Gundabad for my liking."

"Could we go north?" asked Eklath. "There must be a pass through these mountains. Then we could make a wide circle around the top of the Misty Mountains and re-enter the civilized lands far east of here. Or go the other direction and enter through Arthedain."

Dennenor did not like the idea. "The further north in Middle-Earth you go, the wilder the lands get," he said. "There could be dragons up there, or great trolls, or dangers that not even Elves remember."

"Then we should head south," suggested Luinár.

"Perhaps even more perilous," said Bauglir, "for that takes us by Litash, especially if you want to use the south pass, which itself is guarded by Skuth-Rugrai. And how would we get there?"

"Go across the plain," said Araquenval. "It should be a quick journey."

"Quick, and probably short!" Bauglir retorted. "Easterlings ride across that plain day and night like the wind, and we could not escape them."

"Then North is the way we should go," said Eklath. "I have no fear of legends of great dragons."

"They are not legends," said Dennenor. "Many a tale is told in Imladris of dragons in the North. Your memory goes back but a brief span of years. But there are those in my home who where there when the Lamps were lit, and there when they were destroyed--a thousand generations of your kind. The dragons are real."

Baldôr traced out a route on the map, making a semicircle inside the ring of the eastern mountains of Angmar. "Instead of going across the plain," he said, "we could stay with the mountains. The way is longer but less exposed."

"Many places for travellers to hide," said Rhôn. "Many places also for enemies to hide. Gorgun many in mountains. Travellers not likely survive."

"It also takes us past the Uruk-Kosh who guard the East Pass, then past Litash," said Bauglir. "Not only is Estafrith there, but also a powerful sorcerer known as the Angulion. He would notice the Elves right away, as one would see a bonfire at midnight. We could not hope to survive that journey."

Then jumped up Mîriel. "The debate is pointless!" she cried. "North, south, east, west--all are perilous, and we cannot tell which is the least of the dangers! And it is late. Have you all forgotten we were long into the evening when we killed Wound? It is much later now, and we are weary with fighting. We should sleep on this, then discuss it further in the morning."

The mention of the time reminded them all how tired they really were. Reluctantly, Bauglir rolled up the map and returned it to his robe. Then they left the mess hall for the barracks, and after each choosing a suitable bed, lay down and went to asleep. All except the Elves; they relieved the two men sent out to guard, and Araquenval kept watch while Dennenor rested. After a while they switched and Dennenor stayed awake to make sure nothing disturbed them.

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Based on events played to April 11, 1997. Accesses since September 30, 1998: