Middle-Earth Role Playing Campaign

Grey was the slate, and the cold skies of Angmar;
Red was the dragon, and the bright night-time star.
Green is the grass, but more lovely by far,
Is the blue of the Fire, the warrior, Luinár.

Smiling, she approached Bradlegar. "Did you leave me something last night?" The Hobbit flushed a bit, smiled, but said nothing.

Before leaving, Rhôn, Luinár, and Mîriel searched the area for healing plants, finding four attanar thorns and nine more mirenna berries. Then they headed out. Although there was no path to be seen, both Rhôn and Luinár noticed others had travelled this way before them.

They made excellent progress, stopping every couple of hours to rest themselves and their horses. At one of these stops, while eating lunch, Luinár sat down beside Bradlegar and quietly told him a little poem.

There once was a Hobbit from Shire
Whose arrows did hum like a choir
When loosed, they would sing
Orcs' hearts they would sting
Admired as he was by Blue Fire.

Bradlegar laughed, and went red. Regaining his composure, he said, "Thank you! Actually, I never was in the Shire. I was heading there when I was captured and brought to the slate mine."

"I didn't know that," Luinár replied. "But I am sure one day you will see the Shire."

"Perhaps," said Bradlegar. After a pause, he added, "But then again, perhaps not."

About mid-afternoon Mîriel spotted a large cluster of crows circling overhead to the southwest. Since they were travelling south, they shortly came near to the place that had attracted the crows' attention: half a mile to the east crows were flying about a large hill crowned with trees.

"Shall we check this out?" asked Mîriel.

"There are crows enough here to be significant," said Dennenor. "We should not ignore it."

Bauglir disagreed. "We not have to investigate every strange thing we see. It only slows us down."

"Around here, knowledge is power," said Luinár. "I say we check it out. Bradlegar?"

"Wherever you ride, I will follow," replied the Hobbit.

So they departed from their path, riding down through a boggy hollow and up the hill. At the top they came upon a grisly scene of great carnage, for scattered all about were the bodies of men, women, Orcs, and wolves. Several of the men had had their hands tied behind their backs, been hauled up into trees by ropes, and had their throats cut. All the men were dressed alike in simple soft armour and green kilts. The smell was nearly overpowering, for the dead had been there at least two days.

"This is similar to what we've seen in Angmar," said Dennenor. "Remember how they treated their deserters?"

"Perhaps," said Luinár. "But these do not appear to be deserters from the Angmarim army. These people were all killed by Orcs, for this is one way Orcs slay those they have captured."

"At any rate, it would appear in this battle the Orcs were victorious."

"But where did the Orcs come from?" asked Bauglir. "Look about the field: every helm, every shield--anything bearing a device or identifying mark-- has been removed. Even from the men. Very strange, I say."

"Strange indeed, said Dennenor. "Is there any way we can get more information on this?"

"Yes," came a reply from an unexpected direction. Everyone turned to look at Mîriel. "I can cast a death's tale spell on one of these bodies. It will tell me how that person died, and the circumstances surrounding it."

Mîriel looked for a suitable body, a person who might have survived the battle the longest. Surmising the ones hung from the trees were the last to perish, she glanced at each body, then chose one, a man apparently of middle age, but still fit and able to handle a weapon. Even in death the expression on his face was one of no surrender. She cast the spell.

Immediately a jumble of thoughts and emotions leaped into her mind: anger, fear, desperation. A vision of a town somewhere: a collection of round thatched huts surrounded by earthen battlements. An urgent thought intruded: We have to get word back to Caer Annwn! I have to get back!

The vision shifted, and she was on the hill, and many people with her, and Orcs surrounded them all. Slowly, carefully, the hideous creatures ascended the hill, cutting off all hope of escape. Then she saw a dire and bloody battle, companions falling all about her. And the scene shifted again, and now she felt as though her feet no longer touched the ground, and she could not move her arms. A leering Orc with a bloodied scimitar approached. Here's a warning for all those who refuse to bow their knee to the Witch-King! it cried. The Orc brought its sword up and under her chin-- and the spell abruptly ended.

"It was terrible," said Mîriel, coming out of the spell. "Dennenor was right: the Orcs were the victors here; none of the humans survived." She described her visions, and when she was done, Bauglir asked, "Did you see any standards or designs among the Orcs?"

"Yes. They were square, red with a black hammer."

"The emblem of Mount Gram," said Bauglir. "It appears they were sent here to enforce the Witch-King's will upon a few hapless villages in this area."

"I suspect these people were trying to warn other villages about the Orcs," said Dennenor. "But it would appear the Orcs got to them first. Did they return to Gram after this skirmish, or continue on?"

"We should be able to figure that out," said Luinár. "Let's check for their trail leading away from the hill. The rest of you might as well come with us, for there is nothing we can do to help these poor people, and the search for tracks may take some time."

They descended the hill. Riding around its perimeter, Luinár and Rhôn looked for signs of the Orcs' departure. It did not take long, for they quickly found an undeniable trail running north-west, the direction of Mount Gram.

"That settles it, I think," said Dennenor. "The Orcs pursued these humans as far as here and killed them all. The surviving Orcs then headed back home."

"Then we do not need to pursue this any further," said Bauglir. "We have wasted enough time on this, and should be on our way."

They rode around the west side of the hill, intending to head south-east to meet up with their original trail. But as they came around the south side, Rhôn suddenly called for a stop.

"Orcs go south, too," he said. "Path here."

Luinár dismounted and examined the trail. "No doubt about it," she reported. "After the battle on the hill, a small band of Orcs headed off to the south."

"Where were they headed?" asked Mîriel. "A village?"

"Not sure. I can cast a path lore and try to find out."

"You might as well."

Quickly Luinár removed her armour and cast the spell. "I'm afraid there is not much information here," she said as she put her armour back on. "The trail begins north of here at the top of the hill, then continues south for half a day's ride to an old road of some sort. The spell cannot look beyond it."

"Well, the trail heads south, and we are going that way also," said Araquenval. "I say we follow it."

There was no disagreement, so they began to ride south again, following the trail left by the Orcs. Dennenor, riding in his usual place at the rear to watch for any danger approaching from behind, glanced back at the hill. It may have been his imagination, but as he turned his gaze away from the hilltop he thought he saw a pair of pale red eyes staring out of the bushes back at him. Quickly he cast his gaze back that way, but saw nothing more there.

They rode for the remainder of that afternoon and into evening. The terrain was still dropping slowly but steadily as they travelled further from the mountains that made up the southern border of Angmar.

As the sun sank low in the sky they began their search for a suitable place to camp. Debating the merits of staying the night on a hilltop (which was easier to defend but where their campfire could be seen) versus hiding in a hollow (which would put watchers at a disadvantage), they eventually decided to pitch camp on the low ground. In a dale between two hills they found a stand of trees suitable for a campsite. For dinner they finished off the lembas cakes they had broken earlier that day for lunch.

The sun set, the stars came out, and most of the group retired to tents. Araquenval cast a spell to record spell store on the rune paper that had previously held the long door, then with separate spell store he stored a fire bolt. Bauglir stayed up a while to watch the stars, concluding they were within two weeks of Midsummer's Day. Following their established pattern, Dennenor and Mîriel took the first watch, and Mîriel cast a long range nature's awareness spell.

Dennenor had trouble with the watch, for the memory of the eyes he had seen staring at him from the hilltop burned within him. Try as he might, he could not dispel the image, and his mind ever returned to it. Gradually he slipped into a meditative trance, and there he saw the eyes more clearly. They were evil: watchful, vengeful. And real: he sensed there was a living, breathing creature behind them. Coming out of his trance, he quickly scanned the stars, and to his dismay realized he had been in it almost the entire watch.

Mîriel retired to her tent and Araquenval joined the second watch. Speaking quietly in Sindarin, Dennenor told Araquenval he believed something had witnessed their departure from the hill. They discussed this briefly before separating to take up their positions: Araquenval to watch the north, Dennenor to look south. Like the watch that followed, this one was quiet and uneventful.

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Day 26: Black Night, White Wolves

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Based on events played to March 06, 1998. Accesses since September 30, 1998: