Middle-Earth Role Playing Campaign

"I suppose the tower is guarding the crossing of the river," said Bauglir.

"Is that the only crossing of the river?" asked Araquenval. "You have been there."

"We saw no crossings of the river," replied Bauglir. "And it was not even the Angsiril we visited, but one of its tributaries. And it did not look very crossable."

"We went to find healing plants," added Rhôn, "not look for crossing. We found plants and came back."

"It would be a logical place to put a tower, though--at a ford," said Araquenval. "And probably at either the best ford, or the only one for a long distance."

"We may have other options," said Bauglir. "If the river is less than fifty feet wide, I could leap across it and secure a rope or two, and thus build a bridge."

"But the horses could not cross," Bradlegar observed.

"Then we will have to find a ford or a bridge," said Araquenval. "The tower is the most likely place for that. If we do approach it, we would be wise to leave behind our horses. Maz-hur, do you know anything about that tower?"

"Tower? No, master. Me know nothing about tower," the Orc replied.

"With that cloak of his, Bauglir could go in unseen," said Dennenor.

"But I would be noticed as soon as I opened a door. I could try leaping up to a window, then walk downstairs inside and open the door that way. But such a plan is full of unknowns."

"We should at the very least scout out the tower first," said Mîriel, "to see if we would have even a hope of taking it. And from what I've heard, that could be difficult. Could we use the dreaming-stone?"

"Nay," said Araquenval. "The olorkorna shows only what will happen in the next minute. To use it properly we would have to be nigh to the very gates of the tower."

"Could Dennenor use it to enhance his meditation?"

"I cannot meditate while leading a horse," said Dennenor. "I would be willing to learn from Araquenval the secrets of the olorkorna as best he could teach me, but to use it for meditation would require time: more time than we have now."

Bauglir summed everything up. "We should start travelling, then, and handle problems as they arise."

They packed up the camp and headed out, glad to be finally rid of the cave. The day was still cloudy, but warmer than before, and the wind had died down. Two hours after setting out, one of the group suddenly noticed two horsemen, dressed all in black, sitting tall in their saddles: where they had come from, no one knew. The two horsemen and the group scrutinized each other across the quarter mile that separated them.

"Too tall to be Easterlings," said Bradlegar. "The horses are too big."

"Then we should continue our course, as if we belong here," said Araquenval.

But as they started on their way, Mîriel stopped and shuddered: she felt an unwanted presence working its way though her mind. Then one of the horsemen raised a hand in the air, and a bolt of fire shot into the sky. And the two men turned and rode off to the east.

Now worried they had been finally discovered, the group pressed on with some urgency. They rode for three hours more, at every turn expecting to arrive at the river or see the tower, but did not. In the early afternoon they decided they had strayed from their intended path and were, in fact, lost.

Then ensued a discussion over just where they were. Bauglir suggested they had gone west instead of south: if they had gone east, they would have reached the tributary they had visited the day before, for it ran from north-east of the cave in a south-westerly direction. In the end they decided they had been heading west, so they turned left and went that way.

An hour and a half later they reached a great chasm, and in it flowed a river, larger than the one visited by Bauglir, Bradlegar, and Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn. A hundred feet wide it was, flowing with a great current. Large tree trunks and other jetsam were carried along with force, crashing into rocks beneath the water's surface.

"This is the Angsiril," said Bauglir. "We were correct: we have travelled west of our planned path. The tributary thus is east of us, and the tower also."

Suspecting the tower probably guarded the only crossing of the river for some distance, they turned east and travelled along the river's course, staying on the higher ground above the river banks. Forty-five minutes later the tower poked its head over the horizon. Even as they saw it, a horn blast echoed through the area: it was too close to have come from the tower.

Bradlegar found a handy trail leading from the top of the river bank to the ground below. Scrambling down it, he saw several Orcs running beside the river to the tower. He returned and reported this to the group.

"Our options are limited," said Luinár. "We can either follow the river west, and probably be beset by Orcs in the night, who will be out in force hunting us. Or we can go east, ready to meet whatever may come from the tower."

"Going ahead is foolish thing," said Rhôn, "but no more danger than other places in Angmar. We may find ford at tower, make our way across river."

"Going ahead is better than being hunted down like a pack of Hobbits," said Luinár. "No offense, mighty Warrior," she added, to Bradlegar.

"So," asked Mîriel, "are we going to go ahead and run into a fight that may be too much for us to handle, or turn around and run, and possibly still get into a fight that is too much for us? What say you all?"

"If we discuss this much further," said Dennenor, "the fight may well come to us while we are yet talking."

"We go ahead, we fight on their terms," Rhôn said. "We go away, we still fight on their terms."

Bauglir joined the debate. "It does not feel good standing out here in the open. If we go along the river, we would have the protection of the river bank's walls. We could not be charged so easily by riders, although we might make targets for archers."

"Let's attack the tower while it is yet daylight!" called Luinár.

"No," said Bauglir. "If you attack the tower, you have to fight the entire garrison. If we stay out here, we only have to fight with some of them!"

Luinár clarified her thought. "I do not want to attack the fortress. I want to get to the tower and determine if there is a ford there. If there is no ford, then we should retreat with all haste across the plain."

"Or go up and around this tributary, and so approach the Angsiril upstream of the tower."

"Perhaps we should wait for a party to come from the tower," said Dennenor. "We could kill most of them, and interrogate one or two after the battle, and thus obtain the information we desire without the greater risk of approaching the tower."

"Bauglir," asked Mîriel, "could you plot us a course that would take us north of the tower and away from the river? If we proceed on our current track, we will be backed up against the river, heading straight for the tower that we can expect to be attacked from. By heading back north there's a chance we could throw them off just a bit, and buy ourselves some fighting space."

"But then we lose the possibility of a ford," said Luinár.

"But going straight to it would be suicide, so what's your point?" Mîriel retorted. "If we get close enough to the tower, they will all come out after us."

"And even if there is a ford there, it may not be crossable at this time of year," added Bradlegar. "You see how wide that river was, and how fast it flows!"

"They may have a bridge, for all we know," said Luinár, "or a ferry, or some other method of getting across the river. The tower is probably there because there is some way of getting across the river."

"True," said Mîriel. "There would really be no other justification for putting it right here."

Araquenval finally spoke. "Continuing the debate likely will not profit us. We should make a decision: I recommend a poll. Bauglir, what say you: march on the tower, retreat west across the plain, skirt the tributary by going north, or hold our position here?"

"My feeling is we should find a defensible place, preferably out of sight, and wait there for an attack. Then we deal with it and march on."

"So you're gambling they won't come out in full force?" asked Mîriel.

"I doubt they would leave the tower undefended," said Bauglir. "We deal with them in small groups rather than all together."

"But do you think we can deal with them in small groups out in the open, though?"

"No, and that is why we should find a place down below, on the river bank."

"We have Bauglir's opinion," Araquenval announced. "Dennenor, what do you say?"

"We follow the course Mîriel recommended: retreat north and approach the Angsiril from the other side of the tributary."

"Mîriel, we know your opinion. Rhôn--"

Mîriel interrupted. "That was only an idea, not my recommendation."

"So what would you have us do?" asked Araquenval.

"I do not feel comfortable with Bauglir's suggestion, but I think it is the best for the moment," she replied. "We cannot afford a fight in the open."

"Luinár?"

"Attack the tower!"

"Rhôn?"

"Move ahead, be careful, use cover. Fight people from tower in small groups. But I do not like pretty man's suggestion, that we take to river bank: wild man needs room to fight."

"Bradlegar?"

"How about we go back to our little cave, and make a stand there?"

"Maz-hur?"

"Me say we fight! Me better! Me lieutenant of Gundabad! Me have great sword!"

"And I think we should steer a course between the suggestions offered by Bauglir and Rhôn," said Araquenval. "Whatever the terrain offers us, we should take advantage of: defendable locations. Otherwise, move forward cautiously."

"Then we should move," said Dennenor. "Let us find a place we can defend, and there make a stand."

"Araquenval," said Bauglir, "lend me your horn. I have some knowledge of the horn-calls in Angmar, and may be able to send out a signal."

The Elf handed his horn to Bauglir and the Dúnadan winded it, sounding two short blasts and two longer ones. "I think that was the signal for 'false alarm,'" he said, handing it back to Araquenval. "It remains to be seen whether it actually is."

It was obvious the more defendable positions were down by the river, so the group looked about for a way to reach it. They found one quickly: all along the river's bank, cuts in the earth ran back from the edge. By following the floor of one of the larger cuts they were able to make it down the bank. A gravelly shore some fifty feet wide separated the raging current of the river from the bank. The roar of the water was great: it would impede their ability to hear the approach of any strangers. Cut away by countless years of erosion, tall, almost haunting pillars of rock rose from diverse places on the beach and from the river itself, thrusting precariously up to the sky.

Once down by the river, they cautiously followed it upstream, moving closer to the tower. An long hour of careful travel later and they had not met anyone. Approaching a bend in the river, Bauglir suggested someone climb to the top and check around. Bradlegar obliged, scaling the bank with relative ease. From there he could see the tower: it was much closer than he had expected it to be, less than a quarter mile from their current position. But a mere five hundred yards away, he saw seven men on horses riding slowly along the top of the bank.

As quickly as he could, Bradlegar scrambled down the bank again. "Riders approach up top!" he reported. "And they're watching the river. We'll be spotted if we don't get out of sight!"

They looked about them: there were large rocks and pillars behind which they could hide, but not their horses. But they tried as best they could. Luinár hid behind some rocks. Ahead of her was a large rock formation of two capped pillars: Bauglir and Dennenor hid behind one pillar, Bradlegar and Mîriel behind the other. Further ahead a larger stone tower provided concealment for Araquenval, Maz-hur, and Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn.

The seven riders carefully approached from above and immediately noticed the horses. After talking among themselves for a minute, they split into two groups: four riders approached a cut in the bank that would bring them down by Bradlegar and Mîriel, while the other three approached a cut near Luinár. From her position behind a rock, Luinár saw the riders and ate a kathkusa leaf, then waited, sword in hand, for the riders to come to her.

It was a slaughter. Because the cuts were narrow, the riders were forced to come down one by one. At the bottom, hidden from his companions, each rider died as the members of the group struck with bow, sword, axe, arrow, shock bolt, and sleeping spells. The bodies of all seven were thrown to the river, for the current to carry them far away from the tower.

Then they heard the sound of footsteps on the river, and suddenly realized they had neglected the possibility of a second attacking group coming down the shore. Quickly they took up positions as best they could, with the more vulnerable members of the group hiding behind what obstacles they could find. Then they waited for the troops to come to them.

Eight soldiers, two abreast, carefully marched down the beach to the group's position while they waited in ambush. Then Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn abruptly burst from his cover and ran ahead to attack the approaching company. Dennenor, taking his cue from Rhôn, also leaped forward to attack. Mîriel watched aghast as the battle front suddenly shifted a full fifty feet away from her, putting it further away from the spell casters and archers. Araquenval cast a shock bolt spell and one of the fighters in the front line began to shake.

At the front, Rhôn took two hits from swords and collapsed to the ground. Dennenor looked about him: he was alone. Facing him were eight well-armed Angmarim fighters, four with swords, the others with bows. Two swords hit him, and he felt it, but thankfully four arrows that flew from the back ranks toward him and the others missed. Luinár rode in on one of the horses they had just captured and struck down one of the fighters, but Dennenor received a nasty hit from one of the swordsmen in the front. Blood swelled from the wound. Grabbing both the gefnul and the kathkusa he was carrying, he swallowed them both, then struck and killed the man Araquenval had earlier jolted with his spell.

An arrow sailed in from behind him: he recognized it as one of Bradlegar's. It struck one of the four archers and he collapsed to the ground, a victim of the jegga poison Mîriel had applied to the arrow just before the Hobbit had fired it. Mîriel launched the second sleep spell in her ring. Another archer slumped to the ground, rolled into the river, and was swept away. The two remaining archers fired their bows: one arrow missed Dennenor, but the other struck Bradlegar.

Now Bauglir was at the front. Touching one of the fighters, he fired off the shock bolt spell he had prepared. The man's shield flew off his arm and splashed into the river, then an arrow soared in and killed him. Bauglir heard Maz-hur shout from behind, "My kill! My kill! Me get to eat him first!" Then Mîriel and Bauglir killed one of the two remaining archers, Bradlegar took the second, and finally Dennenor dispatched the last one left standing.

"We now will have to attack the tower," said Dennenor as they threw the last body into the river. "For should word of this reach the Witch-King, he will have every person and evil creature in his realm hunting us."

They formed a defensive line: Luinár and Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn in front, Bradlegar and Dennenor behind them, followed by Mîriel, Araquenval, and Maz-hur; Bauglir brought up the rear. Carefully they stole down the beach between the bank and the raging river, going upstream to the tower. Three times Bradlegar climbed the bank to check their position, aided by a megillos leaf given to him by Mîriel.

He did not like what he saw when he finally got a clear view of the tower: from its flanged base to its crenellated top, it was built to withstand both a direct attack and a lengthy siege. There were no windows on the first floor, and those on the second and third were only wide enough to be arrow slits. On his second check Bradlegar could spy two figures in black standing on the roof, conferring with a large warrior.

"Probably a channeler and an essence caster," said Mîriel. "If they sent two priests to this outpost, they probably have complimentary abilities."

They continued forward. As they rounded a bend in the river, they finally saw what they had long expected was there: a great bridge, built from huge timbers, spanning the River Angsiril. But also into view came the tower, for it was built almost to the very bank of the river, where it commanded a view of all about it. Near to the bridge a stone staircase ran up the bank from the beach to the plain. Quickly they retreated back around the river bend, out of view of the tower.

"Do we attack the tower now," asked Dennenor, "or do we wait for its occupants to send forth a search party for the men they had earlier sent? Or take a great chance, and fly across the bridge in midday and hope to survive fire from the tower?"

"If they dispatch a search party," said Mîriel, "it will certainly encounter us. And we simply cannot afford a fight here. If we do get into a fight, it should be at the tower's door and just inside, to limit the number of people who can attack us at once. And we could not hope to surprise them with a mad dash across the bridge, for they have obviously designed it so all approaches can be seen from a distance. We might be able sacrifice some of our lantern oil and a torch, and light the bridge on fire. We may not be able to burn it down, but we could slow down anyone who tried to follow."

"They could still shoot several volleys of arrows at us," said Bauglir, "both while we are climbing the staircase and lighting the bridge on fire."

Three short horn blasts came from the tower. "What was that signal?" asked Bradlegar.

"I do not know," Bauglir replied. "There are many signals in Angmar: for city officials, for the priests, for the military; different ones for the city and the country, and often different calls depending on whether the one who sounds the horn is a man or an Orc. I am familiar only with a few of the calls made in Litash. I can only guess the people in the tower are getting impatient. I will not attempt to answer that call. However, I will go invisible and scout around the tower. Wait here until I return."

And he disappeared.

The group waited for over fifteen minutes before hearing Bauglir return. He did not become visible, but spoke to the group as he was.

"I made a complete circuit of the tower. The door is on the side closest to the river: it is built from heavy timbers and bound with iron. The bridge is very sturdy, and nothing short of a great fire could burn it."

"This is not good," said Mîriel. "If we do not attack the tower, they will muster troops and follow us. But if we do attack it and kill everyone inside, we would gain ourselves but a day, for I am sure the people here report somewhere on a regular basis."

They heard Bauglir's voice again. "I am still invisible. I can try leaping to the second floor, squeezing in through a window, then sneaking downstairs and opening the door. Then the others attack."

"That plan is madness!" cried Bradlegar.

"Madness, yes," said Mîriel, "and probably our only option. If we do not take the tower, we will be forced to flee all the way to the border with all the forces of Angmar nipping at our heels. Or flee away from the tower deep into Angmar. And they would continue to call on more and more forces until they had completely surrounded us on the plain. I say we attack the tower."

"I can supply a diversion," said Luinár. "Once Bauglir is inside the tower, I will ride my horse near it, just outside arrow range, and shout at the people on the roof. Hopefully that will distract them enough to allow Bauglir to open the door."

Dennenor spoke. "I will prowl along the river bank to the stairs and from there watch the door. When I see it open, I will sprint to the door and secure it."

They discussed this plan at length: most agreed an assault on the tower had a chance of succeeding, if for no other reason than those inside simply would not expect it. Mîriel held forth they had no other option, and a successful attack would gain them some time.

So Dennenor began a slow, careful approach down the beach to the stairs. It was difficult, for the soldiers in the tower had deliberately removed as much cover as they could to prevent this from happening. Bauglir also stole away. Since he was already invisible no one saw him go, but he announced his intention to them. Fifteen minutes later Dennenor was in position, signalling to the others watching around the bend he was ready. The ones remaining behind mounted their horses and waited.

Luinár rode her horse up one of the cuts in the bank, then galloped to the tower. The three men on the roof noticed her instantly. Careful to stay beyond missile range, she pulled her sword and began screaming at them.

"You killed them all, you bastards! All of them! All my friends, you killed them!" She rode her horse around the back of the tower, and the watchers followed her. "I'll kill you all! Vermin! Wraiths! Dogs and Easterlings all, I'll kill you!" Three more people appeared on the roof to see what was happening. Luinár continued riding an erratic pattern, shouting and cursing at the people up top. "Come out and fight me, you cowards! You think you're so strong, holed up there in your tower! Come out here! I'll kill you all!"

From his position at the bottom of the stairs, Dennenor saw the heavy door open. Instantly he sprang up and ran with all his speed, gaining the door in seconds and bursting into the room. The others saw him move and began riding down the beach to the stairs.

Someone in the tower raised an alarm. "Below! We're being breached from below!"

Now inside the tower, Dennenor heard Bauglir's voice. "I've cast an airwall just beyond the doorway that leads to the inner room. Be careful you do not walk into it." He looked where Bauglir had indicated: on the far side of the empty anteroom, a doorway opened into another room beyond, where two large and very surprised Orcs were now looking at him. At the top of the doorway he saw the spikes of a portcullis.

Quickly he entered the second room and taunted the Orcs. "Your masters will be very angry with you when they realize you've let invaders into the tower. Perhaps you should fall on your spears now and save yourselves a lot of grief." The Orcs snarled, grabbed their scimitars, and charged forward. One was stopped by the airwall. Dennenor moved to attack, himself got caught in the wall, and the Orc burst through and hit him from behind. Bauglir hit the other Orc, breaking its sword arm, and becoming visible as his spell broke. A door at the top of a flight of stairs in the inner room shut and someone barred it from the other side.

By now Luinár realized Dennenor was inside the tower and ran her horse around the castle wall to join the attack. Above her, one of the black-robed priests leaned over the battlements and cast a fire bolt. It struck her full force, but she continued riding, making the door and casting herself inside, rolling on the floor to extinguish her burning clothing. Inside, Dennenor and Bauglir killed the two Orcs.

Mîriel arrived. "The others will be here shortly," she announced. "We did not realize it would take us so long to get from the bend in the river to the stairs!" Then she gave two mirenna berries to Luinár to help heal the damage she had taken from the fire bolt.

Bauglir peered up the stairs at the back of the room that led to the second floor. "That door opens outward," he said. "That will make it more difficult to smash--" A rock suddenly dropped from the ceiling and crashed to his feet, then lazily rolled a few feet away. Everyone looked up: five murder holes had been built in the ceiling over the stairs. Quickly they all moved to the centre of the room.

"We'll need to stop that portcullis from coming down and sealing us inside," said Luinár. "Dennenor, give me a hand moving that big bell over there." In one corner was a large bell mounted on a trestle, and the warriors moved it into the doorway that separated the two rooms.

At length Araquenval, Bradlegar, and Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn arrived. "I have asked Maz-hur to cross the bridge and watch from the other side," said Araquenval. "He will warn us should reinforcements start arriving. Some arrows they fired at us from the roof, but none made their mark."

"The people of the tower have secured themselves on the second floor," Luinár reported. "Do not go near the stairs: there are murder holes there from which they can attack you. For the moment we're in a standoff."

"Come over here," called Mîriel. She was peering into a well located in the inner room. "There is an opening down there. Someone care to investigate?"

"I will!" offered Bradlegar. They tied a rope about him and, lantern in hand, let him down the well. It was easy for the Hobbit: there were obvious hand and foot holds cut into the walls. Quickly he made it down to the opening and stepped inside.

He was in a tunnel just under five feet in height. Carefully he walked down about thirty feet to a bend. After checking for traps, he rounded the bend and walked some ninety feet to a fork. One passage appeared to run to the river; the other to a staircase. This path he took. But he paused at the head of the stairs, for they ran down a great distance, so that he could not see their end by the light of his lantern. Then he turned around and returned, reporting what he saw.

"Not good news," said Mîriel. "Those stairs probably connect to the under-ways and to the rest of Angmar."

Above them, a door in one of the murder holes was slid back and closed again.

"We need to see if we can spike them closed," said Luinár. "Then we can concentrate on opening the door to the second floor."

"Good idea," said Mîriel, "You can use your spear to hold each door against its jam, then someone can get on someone else's shoulders and pound in a spike."

"I'll do the lifting," said Luinár. "I'm strong enough to do that. Dennenor can jam in the spear and hold it there. Then I'll lift you up and you can hammer in the spike."

"That will work," her sister affirmed. "Bradlegar, you make ready your bow. Watch the door and fire if it opens. But be careful: we're going to close up the murder holes closest to the door first."

Luinár handed her spear to Dennenor. Swiftly the Elf ran up the stairs and thrust the spear-head into the wood door of the murder hole, hoping he secured the correct edge: if he had the wrong one, those above would still be able to open it. Then the two sisters joined him at the top. Mîriel got on Luinár's shoulders and Luinár hoisted her up. Mîriel quickly drove a spike through one edge of the door, securing it to its frame. From above they heard cursing, and the next murder hole down opened. The Elf and the two sisters carefully climbed off the staircase and dropped to the floor. Then they repeated the process with the murder-hole at the bottom of the stairs.

"Before we expend more energy on this," said Araquenval, "let us see if we can get convince someone up there to open the door for us. I have a charm spell prepared."

Araquenval watched underneath one of the closed murder holes. Less than a minute later it opened and an ugly Orc face started down. The Elf cast the charm spell. "How may Orcs are up there?" he asked.

"Lurg," came the reply.

"Do you want to attack us?"

The Orc looked away and called into the room above, "Hey, my friends, you want to attack them?" Someone came over and kicked the Orc.

"There is somebody at the door," said Araquenval to the Orc. "Go and open the door and see who is there. Then come back and tell me what you found." The Orc nodded and slammed the murder hole shut.

Down below, Mîriel handed gefnul to Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn, Dennenor, and Luinár, then applied jegga poison to one of Bradlegar's arrows. Dennenor and Luinár ran up the stairs and stood in front of the door, weapons at the ready. A minute passed by: the warriors became worried Araquenval's charm spell may not have worked. Then they heard the bar being lifted. A sudden commotion broke out on the other side and the door swung open. The two warriors jumped into the breach swinging their swords, killing the two Orcs unfortunate enough to have been in front of the door when it opened. Bauglir and Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn ran up the stairs, while Araquenval moved to close and bar the main entrance to the tower.

In addition to many Orcs armed with large battle-axes, in the upstairs room there was a warrior-priest dressed in a black robe that bore a patch of red on the upper sleeves. He approached Luinár and touched her with an outstretched mace. She gasped at the shock of pain that abruptly enveloped her arm: it stung almost as badly her leg when she had broken it. Blood spurted from beneath all the fingernails on her hand and Luinár's mind began reeling. Another Orc swung hard, hitting her in the thigh, and it too began to bleed. She gulped down the gefnul and the bleeding stopped: the warrior-priest looked at this with some surprise.

An Orc hit Dennenor with a savage blow, and the Elf, too, was forced to take the precious gefnul so he could withstand another attack. He swung at the warrior-priest and missed. Arrows flew in: three missed, and one hit Luinár, but the gefnul she had taken just moments worked its wonders on that wound as well. Bauglir and Rhôn now were in the room, and wounded two more Orcs.

"Protect me, you fools!" cried the warrior-priest, retreating to the far corner of the room. The four archer Orcs dropped their bows, pulled out sorry looking scimitars, and formed a defensive line in front of their master. Bradlegar appeared at the top of the stairs, Mîriel close behind. She fed the Hobbit both zulsendura and breldiar, then pointed at the warrior priest cowering behind his shield in the back. Bradlegar fired. The arrow flew straight and true to its mark: immediately the warrior-priest began to cough, then his body was racked with fierce convulsions, and he fell to the ground and died. The four Orcs that were supposed to be protecting him looked about themselves in terror.

Back by the door, Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn killed another Orc and grinned a wide grin. Now Araquenval was at the door, and he called to the Orcs, "If you help us kill your leader on the floor above, we will not kill you." The four archer Orcs dropped their weapons.

"Stand and fight, you cowards!" roared the largest Orc in the room when he saw this. "Or the Witch-King himself will kill you!" Two of the Orcs picked up their swords again. Bauglir and Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn struck the large Orc, and he roared no more. Dennenor and Luinár ran to the corner where the four archer Orcs where cowering; Bradlegar hit one of them with an arrow and Luinár killed it.

"Watch out behind you!" called Mîriel, who had steered the drugged-up Bradlegar into the room and was looking around for hazards. The two warriors looked behind them: over the door to the room was a parapet that afforded access to the murder-holes. An Orc there was peeking up over a low wall that up to now had kept it hidden. Mîriel quickly applied jegga to another arrow, then handed it to Bradlegar. He shot the Orc and the poison swiftly killed it. The three small Orcs remaining surrendered and begged for their lives.

"Keep them alive for the moment," said Mîriel. She already was over at the priest's body, checking him for weapons. Bauglir joined her. "He wears the uniform of a mid-level acolyte," he said. "Not at the top of his Order by any means, but a formidable adversary nonetheless. He had probably been studying for five years or so. The bad news is this is not the one who shot the fire-bolt at Luinár."

The acolyte had been armed with his mace, a shield, and a small dagger. About his waist was a small pouch that contained seven gold pieces. The mace proved to be rather ordinary: it carried no spells of its own, so the man himself had cast the spell that earlier almost put Luinár out of the battle.

Mîriel looked about the room. "I see there's no stairway leading up to the third floor," she said. "Perhaps we should just light this place on fire and let that take care of the other warrior-priest and his gang."

"You forget the beacon on the roof," said Dennenor. "Here they use the light of fire to send signals. If we burn the tower, we could well send out the very call for help we had hoped to avoid."

"Then we will have to take the third floor was well," said Mîriel.

Araquenval called over from the other side of the room. "The Orcs tell me there is another warrior-priest and other Orcs upstairs, also armed with axes. Also up there is their leader, whom they call Ugrog. A trap-door leads from there to the roof."

"There is a fireplace in this room," said Bauglir. "We could send Bradlegar up the chimney to scout out the third floor. Looking up into it, I can see the grate, but it does not appear to be secured."

"We can't send Bradlegar," said Mîriel. "I gave him breldiar just before he shot the warrior-priest, to make sure he could hit. It worked, but I'm afraid the little one's going not going to be very useful for another hour or so until it wears off. It appears it has really slowed him down."

Indeed, Bradlegar was quite the sight: he was smiling widely, quietly turing around in circles in the room, dancing in slow motion to a tune only he could hear. "Will he be any use in a fight?" asked Luinár.

"Yes," her sister replied, "but I'll sort of have to show him where to shoot."

"I think Dennenor should go up," said Luinár. "He can climb better than I can, and do it more quietly. The rest of us should start making a commotion of some sort about the trapdoor to draw their attention. We can start by moving beds underneath it."

"Send some paper with Dennenor, and something to write with," said Mîriel. "That way he can report back to us without having to come all the way down the chimney." Dennenor looked around, and despite the sparseness of the room, he found two scraps of paper and a charcoal stick for writing.

There were seven beds in the room. While Mîriel watched Bradlegar and Dennenor prepared to climb the chimney, the others began dragging the beds to the centre of the room and piling them up. Luinár climbed atop the stacked beds and began pounding vigorously on the trap door.

Dennenor began a careful climb up the chimney. At the top, he silently slid aside the grate and poked his head up. In addition to three other Orcs, he saw a huge Uruk wearing chain mail standing on the trap door, arguing with a man dressed in a black robe that bore no other markings. The man was resting his hand on a huge mace that he was holding in place perpendicular to the floor. A rope ladder sat in a pile beside the trap door.

Quietly the Elf slipped out of sight a couple of feet down the chimney, then quickly wrote on the paper, "Priest--no markings on robe, one Uruk standing on door, three big Orcs--battleaxes, trap door has hasp (large)." He added a rough sketch of the room as he saw it, including marks showing where the enemies were, and dropped it down the chimney.

Down below, Bauglir picked up the paper and read it. "Dennenor says there is a priest in the room above us with no markings on his robe. That's a high military priest: he has several spells of devastation he can cast. He probably is the most dangerous person we have yet met in this journey through Angmar."

"We'll have to mount our attack through the fireplace," said Mîriel. "It will simply take us too long to get through the trap door. Luinár, you join Dennenor up the chimney. Take some zulsendura with you: one for yourself and one for Dennenor. It will allow you to make two attacks for every one they can launch on you."

Luinár accepted the mushrooms, then cast a prayer spell on herself to aid her in the climb up the chimney. Mîriel took over the task of banging on the trap door to divert the attentions of the enemy. Luinár climbed the chimney. Dennenor peeked out again from the fireplace: everyone was still watching the trap door.

Carefully he and Luinár crept out of the fireplace, then both rushed the warrior-priest. Dennenor missed, but Luinár struck, cutting the man and causing him to bleed. "Protect me!" he cried, dashing to a far wall, taking refuge beside a stack of crates. The Uruk moved off the door and followed his master, and another Orc followed. The other two large Orcs moved in on their attackers, striking and causing minor wounds, and they replied in kind.

Dennenor killed one of the Orcs and kicked open the trap door, calling to Mîriel, "Get Bradlegar up here!" He dropped the rope ladder through the hole. But down on the second floor, the three small Orcs who had been cowering in the corner had seized their chance and were running to attack Araquenval and Mîriel. Bradlegar shot one with an arrow, then began climbing the ladder. Araquenval killed the Orc Bradlegar had shot and Bauglir killed a second.

Upstairs, Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn had climbed up the chimney. He sprang from the fireplace to throw an axe at the warrior-priest--and missed. An Orc ran over and swung its battle axe. Crash! and Rhôn was on floor, his right arm broken. Desperately he began scrambling over to the trap door. Luinár ran to the warrior-priest. But the Uruk was waiting: he moved between her and the priest and struck hard. She reeled back around the crates, trying to catch her breath. And another Orc hit Dennenor, and he, too, was forced to retreat from the front line, and take the last of his allotment of gefnul to stay conscious.

Now Bradlegar was through the trap door, taking aim at the warrior-priest with a deadly jegga poisoned arrow. But the man was faster: he held out a hand and released the fire-bolt he had been preparing. The Hobbit tried to jump aside, but he was still feeling the effects of the breldiar and the fire hit him a glancing blow. Bradlegar dropped his bow and arrow and flung himself to the floor, rolling to put out his burning clothing.

By the trap door, Mîriel saw Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn scramble over to her. But even as the Wose was within reach, the Orc that had broken his arm hit him another savage blow with its axe. Blood gushed from a smashed eye socket and Rhôn collapsed in a heap at the edge of the trap door. Mîriel frantically sorted through the contents of her herb pouch and moments later fed a concoction of aldakar, gefnul, edram, zulsendura, and a mirenna berry to the critically injured Wose. The healing plants began working on him, restoring the smashed eye and the broken arm, and repairing the other cuts and bruises he had suffered.

Mîriel herself now ate a zulsendura mushroom and climbed into the thick of the battle on the third floor. She ran behind Dennenor and popped a zulsendura into his mouth, then raced over to the crates and gave her sister one also. Luinár and the Uruk were still fighting it out, and the Uruk clearly had the upper hand. Luinár dealt the Orc a very minor hit, and it hit back, just as hard as it had done previously.

Bradlegar, still rolling on the floor, evaded an axe-blow from an Orc and came to rest opposite the miraculously recuperating Rhôn at the trap door. The fire was out, but the Hobbit was still in much pain from the ordeal. The Orc whose axe he had just dodged came up to him and kicked him hard, as if trying to send him over the edge and down the hole to the second floor. Bradlegar held his place, but the assault proved too much for him and he blacked out.

Mîriel gulped down a breldiar flower, then tried to fire a jegga poisoned arrow at the warrior-priest. But her skill with the bow, even aided by the breldiar, was not up to the task, and the arrow flew wide. Now the warrior-priest himself joined the battle: seeing the Wose suddenly recover from what he thought must have been a death-blow dealt by one of his Orcs, he ran over to Rhôn and assailed him with his mace. The attack was brutal and effective: the Wose now had a broken leg.

Aided by the zulsendura, the battle now turned in favour of the attackers. Dennenor evaded a swing from the Orc he had been duelling, then struck it twice and killed it. Bauglir climbed out on to the third floor. Quickly he moved behind the Orc that had tried to kick Bradlegar through the hole and struck it once with his axe. The warrior-priest moved over to Bauglir. Mîriel fired another poisoned arrow at him and missed, then Dennenor moved in behind. He struck once at the warrior-priest, stunning him, then struck a second time, and the man collapsed to the floor, dead. Bauglir and Dennenor finished off the Orc. Mîriel fired a third poisoned arrow, this time at the Uruk, but missed again. Luinár, alternately parrying blows from the Uruk and attacking, finally killed it.

Down on the second floor, Araquenval and the last Orc left alive in the tower were dancing around each other, neither of them at all used to hand-to-hand fighting. Eventually Luinár climbed down to the second floor and killed the small Orc. The battle was over: they had taken the tower!

"Those were no run-of-the-mill Orcs," said Bauglir. "See their shields and helms: they bear the symbol of two crossed torches. If I recall correctly, it is the emblem of one of the Witch-King's special units from Carn Dûm."

"Certainly this was the most absurd thing we have yet attempted on our journey through Angmar," said Dennenor.

"And probably the smartest," said Mîriel. "Can you imagine running away from here with that man after us?"

"Well," said Luinár, "if they're a special unit from Carn Dûm, we should have a look at their equipment. It's probably good stuff."

They carefully examined their enemies' weapons and armour. The warrior-priest's mace was built from a solid hardwood handle and a very heavy iron head. Runes reading "Troll Fist" were carved into the handle. The weapon was far better than the war mattock Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn was using, and he had received two broken bones from it, so they awarded it to him.

The priest's robes were made from a woven mesh material that seemed to protect almost as well as soft leather armour. After some discussion, they gave it to Araquenval. "It will be a good disguise for him," said Bauglir. "I can coach him on some of things he can say if we get into a situation where we want our adversaries to believe he is indeed a warrior-priest of Angmar."

The Orcs were wearing rigid leather armour of a better quality than Dennenor was currently using, so he took a set for himself, as well as the chain mail the Uruk had been wearing. "I cannot yet use the chain, for I do not have enough experience wearing it," he said, "but when I finally do manage to put wear it, I can give this armour to Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn."

They went through the rest of the Uruk's equipment. His helm was nothing special so they put it aside. The metal leg greaves they gave to Luinár to replace the leather ones she was wearing. The Uruk's arm greaves were magical: they seemed to have an ability to protect the wearer from the damaging effects of weapon blows. These they gave to Dennenor, to compensate for his lack of a shield, and Araquenval took the Uruk's shield to complete his disguise. The sword was also of excellent quality, and they discussed whether it should go to Araquenval or Mîriel. The Elf settled the question by giving it to Mîriel, saying, "I have seen her use her sword bravely in battles, so she deserves more than I to have it."

Araquenval then announced he was going to meditate, for he was weary from the battles of the day and unable to cast any more spells. "I need to regain my spell-casting ability if I wish to cast my familiar spell on Burzot this evening," he said.

While the Elf rested quietly in a corner, the rest of the group checked out a large locked chest. Using a key retrieved from the warrior-priest's body, they opened the chest and removed its contents. The many copper and bronze coins inside they discarded, but a very lightweight rope they gave to Bradlegar. A scroll with a long door spell they put into Araquenval's lap. The last item proved to be a bit of an enigma: a jade ring about four inches in diameter. There was channeling magic in it, but they were unable to identify it. It was given to Mîriel until Araquenval awakened and could examine it.

Once the effects of the breldiar wore off, Bradlegar searched for a log book, hoping to add an entry indicating the tower had been attacked by a party that came up from the south. He found none. Bauglir surmised the warrior-priest they had killed was powerful enough to link directly with the mind of the Witch-King.

"Then the warrior-priest could well have alerted the Witch-King to the attack even while we were making it," said Mîriel. "Since it is probable the Witch-King already knows what has happened here, we should not waste time on a futile attempt a subterfuge, but rather leave as quickly as we can."

Bauglir and Mîriel took a few minutes to go through the books on the third floor. One Mîriel opened, a curious black book with a cover that had an uncanny oily feel to it. Her eyes glanced at the first page. It was written in Adûnaic by someone named Er-Nuragor. But she read no further, for she was hit by a sudden wave of nausea, and dropped the book. It landed face up and open on the floor. Bauglir averted his eyes and swiftly closed it again.

While they waited for Araquenval to come out of his meditative trance, the others in the group moved the bodies of all the dead downstairs and threw them down the well. Then they removed the bell from its trestle and dropped it down the well also. Because of Rhôn's broken leg, they used a blanket and two spears to make a stretcher for him and carry him downstairs. Luinár took down the standard from its pole on the third floor and added it to her collection.

When Araquenval woke up, they showed him the jade ring and the scroll with the long door spell. He added the scroll to his possessions. The ring he identified as a channelling adder, giving the wearer the ability to cast an extra couple of minor channelling spells once a day. It was not of any real use to any of the group, so Mîriel kept it. She then told Araquenval about the book that had given her such a turn. The Elf decided to use the olorkorna to try to plumb its secrets. But the vision given him by the dreaming-stone was brief: it ended abruptly as soon as he envisioned opening the book and reading the first word. Luinár recommended they take the book outside to the bridge and burn it there.

Dennenor suggested they lock up the tower as best they could prior to leaving, for it would make their enemies' job that much more difficult. Bradlegar volunteered for the task. Once everyone else was outside, he closed and barred the main door and dropped the portcullis. Then worked his way up the tower, closing and barring the doors leading to the second and third floors. Once on the roof, he tied his newly acquired rope about himself and secured the other end. Then he gingerly let himself over the edge and attempted to rappel down, but slipped and began to plummet. Watching from below, Bauglir quickly cast a spell on the falling Hobbit, and Bradlegar's fall slowed down and he landed softly on the ground. Then Bauglir cast another spell to release the rope from the top of the tower.

With some coaxing, Araquenval managed to convince a reluctant Maz-Hur to join him on his side of the bridge. "I have a gift for you," he hold the Orc, and handed him the glass eyeball he had picked up from the troll that morning. Maz-Hur grabbed it and bit it, then winced with pain as his teeth stopped short on the glass.

"Owww!" cried the little Orc. "Not funny! You trick Maz-Hur! But you Master. I not do anything bad to Master--you powerful."

"If you lose an eye in battle," said Araquenval, "this one will replace it and restore your sight."

The Orc could scarcely believe the great gift he had been given. "Oh, thank you, Master!" he said again and again. "Thank you!" But Araquenval was concerned Maz-hur had not been as obedient as he could have been when he had called him back from the other side of the bridge, so he cast another charm spell on him.

Meanwhile, Mîriel and Luinár had carried the injured Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn down the stairs to the beach. There they hunted for plants to heal Rhôn's leg. The search turned up two stalks of arfandas, six doses of edram moss, four melandar mosses, and five more febfendu roots. Rhôn immediately ate an edram moss, healing his broken leg.

Next they turned their attention to the mysterious book Mîriel had pulled from the collection on the third floor of the tower. It proved impossible to destroy: fire would not burn it, and weapons could not cleave it. It deflected Rhôn's mattock: his blow did not even touch the book. Both Luinár and Dennenor were able to scratch the surface of the book's cover and make cuts in a couple of the pages, but the book attacked back with a cold spell. They discussed disposing of it far away from the tower, but were concerned its evil could corrupt the one carrying it, or even the entire group. Dennenor suggested the book might even draw evil things to them. So as they departed the area they simply tossed the book from the bridge as they crossed the river, hoping the current would carry it downstream a good distance from the tower and bury it beneath a rock.

They crossed the bridge in single file: Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn in the lead, followed by Luinár, Mîriel, Bradlegar, Araquenval and Maz-Hur, with Bauglir and Dennenor in the rear. No sooner had Rhôn reached the far side of the bridge than an apparition suddenly materialized in front of him. It took the form of a hunched old man with grey hair and beard, dressed in rags. Grinning broadly, it cackled to itself, then addressed Rhôn. "Hee hee hee! Before the other side you see, answer me these questions three! What is your name?"

Rhôn gaped at the spectre before him, completely dumbfounded by its sudden appearance and unexpected question. "What is your name?" it asked again. Rhôn gave it his proper name, in Pûkael, his native tongue.

"What is your quest?" the ghost asked. Thinking quickly, Rhôn replied, "To find Rivendell."

"How many hairs on the foot of your average Halfling?" the apparition demanded. Rhôn turned around to look at the rest of the group, searching for Bradlegar. The Hobbit piped up, "Would that a Stoor Hobbit or a Fallowhide Hobbit?"

"I don't know," replied the ghost. And the instant it had spoken these words, the spectre was abruptly launched through the air as if hurled by a great force, then vanished into the chasm below.

"Do you want to go in front?" Rhôn asked Luinár. She declined, so Rhôn continued in the lead, muttering darkly to himself in his native tongue. The road this side of the Angsiril was well maintained, heading south and a bit to the west. Rhôn could make out traces of wagon tracks, and reported they appeared to be at least a day or two old. The followed the road for two miles until it turned more to the west, then left the road to forge their own path across country.

Two hours after leaving the tower, Araquenval noticed a group of riders approaching them from across the plain. He identified them as Easterlings, riding directly for them. Quickly Bauglir put on the acolyte's robe and put up the hood to cover his face. Araquenval was already wearing the warrior-priest's robe, and he, too, put up the hood.

In a few minutes the Easterlings arrived and reigned in their horses fifty yards away. One of them stood up in his saddle and called out in surprisingly good Westron, "Who are you and what is your business here?"

"I am a high military priest of the Witch-King and we are making our way across the land," replied Araquenval. "What business is it of yours, Easterling?"

"This belongs to us, the Hoof Tribe," the Easterling responded.

"Yes, and by the grace of the Witch-King it still will. If you value your lives, you will not harass us further."

The Easterling replied with some petulance in his voice. "Then why do you call for help? Why do you bother us?"

"We have dealt with the situation," Araquenval shot back. "You obviously did not help us soon enough! Are you going to continue to irritate me?"

The Easterling stared at Araquenval for a moment, but none could read the expression on his face. Then with a curt motion he and the others turned their horses around and rode off.

"Well, how did I do?" asked Araquenval as they watched the departing riders.

"Next time, you need to display a bit more attitude," Bauglir replied. "Remember, you are supposed to have the power to blast these people into bits, if you so chose."

"Also, don't tell them you're a high military priest," said Mîriel. "You're supposed to be an arrogant and powerful man wearing a widely recognized uniform. You don't owe them an answer to the question, `Who are you?'. That's part of the attitude."

They started out again, travelling south. Three hours later the sun began to set, so they began to search for a place to camp. But they found none. So they set up camp as best they could by a clump of dogwood on the flat, stony plain. While waiting for night to fall, Mîriel took out the jade ring they had taken from the tower. "I think there's more to this ring than just the ability to give one a couple of extra spells," she said.

As she examined the ring in the fading twilight, her eyes caught the glow of thin silvery runes etched deep within the stone. She showed them to the others. Araquenval identified the script as Elvish, but the language he could not identify. It had not the noble majesty of Quenya, nor the quietness of Sindarin. So he read them out loud, and immediately Dennenor recognized it as Bethteur, the language of the Silvan Elves. It was a simple rhyme, and he translated for Araquenval:

I am the giver of life,
As the seasons turn and fold,
Life will be breathed again.

"That is the secret of this ring," exclaimed Araquenval after Dennenor translated the runes. "Once a year it can be used to restore life to an individual."

"I imagine the spell is returned to the ring at the start of the year, after the shortest day," said Dennenor. "The devices made by my people usually work like that."

Bauglir had been watching the darkening plain. "They know something's wrong," he said. "I have been watching for the signals, and they have been appearing. It seems that some people saw the beacon that had been lit at the tower we took, and now the word is spreading like wildfire that something is wrong. Although there is another fire off to the east that is sending an all clear signal."

Mîriel laughed. "The confusion may do us good," she said. Then a little more soberly, she added, "That means tomorrow somebody will be heading to the tower to check things out. By noon at the latest they're going to realize something's gone horribly wrong there."

Now Maz-hur returned to the camp: he had been out on the plain looking for things to eat. In one hand he had a small frog, which he offered to Araquenval.

"Thank you for your offer," said the Elf, "but I need it not, for I have already eaten today. You may have it."

"Thank you, master!" cried Maz-hur, and he hungrily ate the frog.

Night fell. The signal fires continued to burn for an hour after sunset, then one by one died down as their owners decided the message had been sent. Araquenval cast another familiar spell on Burzot, stored a sleeping spell, then went to meditate. Luinár and Dennenor kept the first watch. An hour in, Luinár noticed eyes peering at her in the dark and alerted Dennenor. The Elf came around to her position. After some discussion they figured the eyes belonged to a pack of wolves and decided to awaken Bradlegar. The three of them watched the wolves for a while, then Bradlegar returned to bed, and the wolves left. The other two watches passed with no further incident.

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Based on events played to June 20, 1997. Accesses since September 30, 1998: