Middle-Earth Role Playing Campaign

"I would like to try something this morning," said Araquenval after they had broken camp. "I can cast a running spell each of our horses. With its help, we will be able to move more swiftly than before."

"Will it not tire the horses?" asked Mîriel.

"No, for it is magic. But the spell is not forever: it will run out about and hour and a half after it is cast. But in that time we will cover the same terrain we would normally do in three."

"But that may leave you unable to cast any more spells today," said Mîriel

"It may be a strain," said Araquenval, "but I am certain Bauglir can do that spell, too. So I could cast it on four horses, and he on three."

"That would work, and I am willing to try it," said Bauglir. "Just remember that some of us cannot ride as well as others, and would have trouble staying on."

It took a few minutes for the two mages to visit each horse in turn and cast the spell. Then they mounted up and rode off swiftly southward. But Mîriel unexpectedly fell behind, and everyone was forced to slow down so she could catch up. They continued on at a pace no faster than normal, while the mages grumbled but good-naturedly about the waste of seven good spells.

The trail turned west, still following the path of the river. Hills to the north of them now were visible, and Bradlegar's keen eyes picked up a series of standing stones, one atop each of the hills. These they passed by, and in time the escarpment flattened out and dwindled away, so by noon path and river were separated by only flat ground.

Now the river turned south, and shortly after was joined by a tributary flowing in from the west across their path. This river was narrow and shallow, for the trail ahead of them forded it and continued on its way on the other side. But half a mile out, Rhôn stopped.

"Orcs come this way, join trail here," he said.

They rode on, carefully. About a furlong from the stream, Bradlegar murmured, "I don't like this!" and reigned Sara to a halt.

"Don't like what?" asked Luinár, also stopping.

"I'm not really sure," the Hobbit replied. "But I think we should try to find out if the stream's safe to cross up there."

"You are thinking they have set up an ambush at the ford?" asked Luinár. Bradlegar nodded agreement.

"I can find out for sure," said Bauglir. He winked out.

The mage was back within two minutes. "I flew to the stream and scouted the situation," came his voice. "Nine Orcs and their wolves have entrenched themselves at the ford, hiding down behind the banks. They have definitely spotted us and are waiting for us to approach. The good news is, they do not appear to have bows."

"So," asked Dennenor, "do we ambush the ambush?"

"I am invisible," said Bauglir. "I could plant a fireball from above and behind them, and some would never knew what hit them!"

Araquenval grinned. "I could help you with that--add a cold ball to the mix, and they would be very confused!"

"And a water wall," said Dennenor.

"Where would I place it?" asked Araquenval.

"I was actually reminding you that you had the ring."

"I remembered the ring," said Araquenval. "I usually do."

Bauglir's impatient voice interrupted the Elves. "Come on, let's go! I do not wish for my flying spell to run out."

Araquenval dismounted and walked behind a stand of trees, as if seeking privacy. Out of sight of the Orcs he cast flying and invisibility spells.

"While those two are gone," said Mîriel, "we will ride to the ford at a normal pace. It should cause the Orcs to think their cover is still good." They waited a minute for the mages to get into position, then began an easy ride to the ford.

Confirming Bauglir was still with him, Araquenval flew over the river and downstream to the ford. As Bauglir had reported, nine Orcs and their wolves were hiding there, spread out in a line, four on one side and five on the other. The Orcs were impressively armoured in chain mail complemented with metal plates. For weapons each sported a finely honed hand axe, probably forged in Mount Gram, and a sword in a sheath by its side.

"Ready?" Araquenval whispered, hoping Bauglir was within earshot.

"Ready," came the reply. "Now!"

Araquenval cast a cold ball and Bauglir a fireball on the unsuspecting ambush party. Crying out in shock, pain, and anger, the Orcs dropped their axes and went for their swords. Two wolves perished immediately from the blasts; the remainder fled up and down the river. Now visible, the mages quickly flew away.

Seeing the explosion, the group urged their horses into a trot. Mîriel pulled up short of the ford, fired an arrow at a fleeing wolf, but missed. Bradlegar stopped ahead of her and broke an Orc's arm with an arrow, then Mîriel hit it again with a lucky second shot. Into the fray rode Dennenor and Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn, Dennenor killing one Orc with a single blow from Ristalókë, and Rhôn dispatching the Orc injured by Bradlegar and Mîriel.

Seeing two Orcs in a vulnerable position upstream of the ford, Luinár kicked her horse into a full gallop. Watching her prey intently, she failed to notice the steep drop of the river bank in front of her. But her horse saw it, and halted abruptly just before bank. Luinár sailed off its back and into the river below, landing with a great splash in the water.

"Luinár!" cried Bradlegar. Abandoning his position, he rode Sara over to where Luinár's horse still stood, anxiously searching the river for her. The warrior lady was unhurt, but disoriented from her sudden dunking. Slowly she stood up in the middle of the stream and began wading toward the shore. Seeing Luinár was all right, Bradlegar turned his attention back to the battle. With three quick arrows he injured a wolf once and an Orc twice, then Luinár came ashore and killed the Orc. Another ran by her, attempting to flee the slaughter, and she killed it also.

Back at the ford, Rhôn and Dennenor killed two more Orcs, but another managed to strike back and hit Dennenor hard. Araquenval flew in behind another Orc, blasted it with a quick shock bolt, then flew away again to the other side of the river. Pulling out his bow, he attempted to fire an arrow, but unused as he was to using a bow in mid-flight, the arrow sailed wide of its target, striking a rock and breaking off the tip. The mage swiftly crossed the river again, flying for his horse.

Now on his own horse, Bauglir rode after another fleeing Orc, felling it with a well aimed fire bolt. Rhôn exterminated yet one more, but Dennenor was having problems with the Orc that had hit him earlier. Nimbly dancing about, it managed to deflect blows from both Dennenor and Rhôn, but its luck left it at last and Rhôn sent it crumpling to the ground.

At Bradlegar's suggestion they hauled away the bodies, dragging them a hundred yards from the ford. Bauglir searched them, but found on them only twenty bronze coins and seven pieces of silver.

The ford once again safe for traffic, they splashed across to the other side. There Luinár and Rhôn searched signs of others passing this way, and to no-one's surprise found the tracks of several wolves, apparently burdened.

"Our time is short, and we may have a distance to travel yet," said Araquenval. "I suggest we cast running spells on the horses."

"We tried that this morning," said Mîriel. "It took a time and energy and did not help us. Besides, you may be tired from the battle, and need to rest before you can cast any spells."

"And I likewise," said Bauglir. "We should press on, riding as fast as we can without the aid of magic. It will be dark in a few hours, and we should cover as much ground as we can by then."

The others agreed with Bauglir. Urging their horses forward at a trot they set out again. But looking back, they noticed Luinár and Bauglir had fallen behind, as if their horses were reluctant to carry on. They stopped, waited for them to catch up, then Araquenval cast running on the reluctant beasts. They perked up immediately and quickly assumed the same rapid pace set by the others.

Barely an hour later they passed a flock of sheep grazing in a field. The river to the east of them cut between two hills, flowing into a sheltered valley. They followed the trail to the lip of the hills, where they stopped to scan the valley below. A peaceful patchwork of farmland lay before them, and in the middle of the valley, near by the river, lay a settlement.

"Dennenor, do you recognize the village?" asked Mîriel.

"Yes," the Elf replied. "It is the same one I saw in my vision two days ago."

Realizing they still appeared as an elite company from Angmar, the group quickly changed, removing their black robes and disguising their armour. Luinár donned the lassëcollo, the cloak of leaves given her by Fael-Linnis. Then they carefully rode the path down into the valley toward the settlement. People in fields, dressed in tartaned kilts of blues and greens, looked up from their work and watched their passage with considerable interest.

"Things are not well in the village," said Mîriel. "The people in the fields are culling what they can from the crops, even though harvest is at least a month away."

"As if preparing for a siege," said Araquenval.

"I say we enter the town and have a conference with the leader," said Mîriel, "even though the information we have may already be old news."

Once down in the valley, they noticed it was surrounded by six hills, and on the top of each stood a collection of standing stones. One hill was decorated further, for carved into its side was an enormous image of a standing figure holding a tall rod in each hand.

Araquenval examined the defences as they approached. The village was surrounded by a dry moat backed with an earthen dike, but the entrances were wide and there was no palisade to be seen. At various points along the top of the bank large stakes with sharpened tips had recently been added.

Slowly the group rode to the entrance, a wide gap in the earthen defences. Two tall poles carved with various images flanked the gap atop the bank. A pair of spearmen guarding the entrance from the bank gazed at them carefully, their expressions cautious but unafraid. Araquenval and Mîriel dismounted and approached the opening on foot.

"Hail, warriors of the Ettenmoors," called Araquenval when they were close enough to speak. "We come in peace and as potential friends and allies."

The guard exchanged glances, then looked at Araquenval with quizzical expressions. "Arginnig, baening tung. Aernaekin!" said one.

Araquenval paused, wondering what to say next, for he did not recognize the guards' language. Then he said simply, "Westron."

"Nig garek Westrun," the guard replied. He held up his hand, bidding them wait, then ran down the bank into the village. He returned a few minutes later accompanied by a tall woman. She was young, her hair in six long, fine braids, but her bearing was regal and her face severe. She addressed them slowly in good Westron.

"Hail! I am Cartamantrix, chieftain of this tribe. Who are you, and why do you come here in our time of need?"

Araquenval responded. "I am Araquenval, and these companions of mine are from various places. We have journeyed south many days, escaping slavery in Angmar. We come in peace, and as potential friends and allies. We think we have information that has bearing for you--even though you may not like what we have to say. We hope we can be of assistance in what we believe may be an upcoming battle with Orcs."

The woman glowered. "We know of these Orcs. They would make us their slaves, but we will not pay them: we will not send grain; we will not send warriors. I spit on the Witch-King and all his ilk! If you have something to tell us, you should come into our village and speak with our Circle."

"I thank you," said Araquenval. "We would like to stay a few days. We are not willing to be a burden, though; we have our own provisions, and anything else we require we would gladly pay you for."

"Too much talk! Come! You will stay a while. You will help us." She beckoned to them. The guards relaxed visibly, and group dismounted and entered the village, leading their horses.

Inside the walls all was chaos. Everywhere men, women, and even children were sparring and practising with weapons; it seemed as though the entire population had thrown down their hoes and scythes and taken up sword and spear. Cartamantrix led the group straight to a large building, apparently a common hall or moot place. Like the earthen bank surrounding the village, poles stood on either side of the entrance. They were carved all over with various images, some part human, others part human and animal. The building's walls appeared to be but wicker mats laced to the frame.

Inside, the building was one large room. A fire burned on the floor in the centre, and in front of it were two chairs. One was empty, but the second was occupied by Brodigern, the other chieftain. He was a large man for his race and sported a long dangling moustache. His hair, shot through with grey, was done up on two long braids that came down in front. Across his lap sat the largest two-handed sword Dennenor had ever seen.

A third person sat cross-legged and very still between the two chairs: an old man, covered over with a cloak, staring blankly into the fire in front of him. At the back of the room was great silver cauldron, embossed all over with strange images and designs, standing over a low fire. Three women, one young, the second middle-aged, and the third very old, tended the cauldron, assisted by a half dozen women of the town. In another corner of the hall a pair of bards played on bagpipe and lute.

Cartamantrix sat on the chair beside Brodigern. "So, what words do you have for us?" she demanded of the group before her.

Araquenval spoke first. "In our travels, we came by the scene of a battle, where great warriors had been cruelly slaughtered by Orcs. From the scene we divined that the slain intended to get word of some sort to this town."

"We've already heard of this," said Cardomantix. "It's nothing new to us, and we're getting ready here!"

"There seemed to be a certain level of desperation in the thoughts of the man whose tale I read," said Mîriel.

Brodigern spoke for the first time, his manner just as direct as Cardomantix. "Was he one of us?"

"We think so," Araquenval replied.

"How many were in the group?" asked the chieftain.

"We did not count the bodies," said Mîriel. "I recall there were about fifteen or twenty, both men and women. Their dress was similar to yours."

"Sounds like Lincaerd to us," Brodigern mused. "He never came back."

"Was he sent on a mission up north, or a raid of some sort?" asked Mîriel,

"A little of both, actually. We knew they were going to move against us. Not the Orcs, as it were, but they who lead the Orcs were sending their cronies to get money and tribute from us, but we wouldn't pay. So we were told the last time that if we didn't pay we'd be punished, and so we've been waiting for it for a long time. But now we know it's going to come soon. We figured when Lincaerd didn't come back that trouble was afoot! We sent them north to keep watch for us, for anything coming out of Angmar."

"Alas," said Mîriel, "he did see something coming out of Angmar, but he was unable to get word back to you."

"Why not?" Brodigern asked. "He's big and strong--he was one of my best men!"

Mîriel defended herself. "I saw in the vision a huge number of Orcs, and they trapped your people on a hill. They surrounded the hill, then fought their way up, killing everyone at the top when they finally made it."

Brodigern looked unsatisfied with the explanation. "I don't understand why my warriors would get trapped and killed like that."

"The battle was fierce. We saw many dead Orcs."

Araquenval jumped to Mîriel's defense. "They weren't the typical Orcs that live down here. These were Orcs from Mount Gram--well armoured, well disciplined ... they may not have been what your warriors expected to fight."

Mîriel pressed her point. "Both Dennenor and I have seen a vision of your village, and I believe it is in very serious danger, perhaps more than you realize. On our journey here, we crossed the ford that lies north of town, and it was already defended by nine well equipped Orcs on wolves. We killed all the Orcs and two of the wolves; the remainder scattered. That was just this morning. We believe there was another group of Orcs that went beyond the ford and came this way, although we did not really notice where the tracks led."

"They are probably observing the village right now," Luinár interjected.

"But if it's the same group," continued Mîriel, "it could be a bad fight. The Witch-King may have devised a particularly devastating punishment."

"We won't be taken by surprise," declared Cartamantrix. "Penborran, our great shaman here, is keeping watch for us. Not right here where he sits, of course: he's out in his spirit watching the hills right now, and when he spies them he'll come back and tell us. It's the numbers we're more worried about: we have maybe fifty fighting men and women. That and a handful of mercenaries who will help us out."

Luinár spoke immediately at the mention of outside forces. "Are you certain of the loyalty of your mercenaries?" asked Luinár.

"Yes, we're quite sure. They like money."

"The Witch-King has a lot of money," Luinár observed.

"These are basically good men," said Cartamantrix. "We can trust them. We've known them for a time."

"We will fight for you, too," Luinár offered. "How well equipped are you for the coming battle?"

"Well, better than we might be," said Brodigern. "We got the aid of a certain smith who lives down south, and there's none like him in the whole of the Northlands. He came out to help and offer his services, and we're getting pretty good weapons and armour from him. Before, we had no armour, but this smith is making chain mail."

"Do you need swords and arrows?"

"We always need those," Brodigern replied.

Luinár turned to her friends. "Shall we offer the swords we picked up back in the lair?"

"We have what they need," said Dennenor. "I have no problem giving them the swords."

"I'd prefer to keep my arrows, though," said Bradlegar. "At least until I know how good their archers are."

"I think we should loan them the swords, and get them back after the fight is over," said Bauglir.

Luinár disagreed with him. "No, for these people are enemies of Angmar now, and will remain that way until the kingdom falls. So they should be equipped as best they can. I say we give them the weapons."

The others agreed with her instead of Bauglir, so she turned to address the chieftains again. "On our animals we have a large supply of swords and armour. I am offering these to you, now and forever, to aid you in your struggle with the Witch-King."

Brodigern looked at each of them in turn, reading their faces to see if the others agreed with the offer. Seeing they did, he looked again at Luinár and said, "We accept your offer, and your services, and we thank you for them."

"Now you shall leave us," said Cartamantrix, "for we have other matters we need to discuss."

The group left the moot hall and surveyed the situation outside. As they had seen when they came into the village, people were everywhere, trying to prepare for a battle they were ill-equipped to fight. But one knot of people stood out from the rest: taller than others, wearing long blonde beards. Heavily armoured they were, with helms and shields, chain shirts that came down their knees, and greaves. For weapons each carried a broadsword and a crossbow. They were obviously a unit of some sort, for their shields all bore the same device.

Their leader was a huge man, and as they approached he was laughing, sharing drinks and jokes with his men. Dennenor recognized they spoke a variant of Nahaiduk, a language of the North. Luinár approached the leader, and seeing her, he addressed her in Westron.

"I am Lief Feorðsson; I am called Lief the Lucky. Pleased to meet you!" His accent was odd, with a distinct lilt to it. He extended his hand and Luinár shook it. "What brings a beauty such as this to this corner of the world?"

"I don't like flattery, not about my looks," Luinár replied. "You may flatter me when you see the manner of warrior I am." Lief laughed, and Luinár continued. "As for what brings me here, we were touring Angmar, slaughtering the Witch-King's forces there."

"Ah, a fine tale, almost as good as our own," boomed Lief. "You will have to tell us the full tale sometime!"

"Which is your strongest warrior?" asked Luinár.

Lief stared at her in amazement. "I am the strongest warrior, for I am leader of the Swithlings. We have been a band for many years, and I am the strongest! I can lift very heavy objects!"

"I would like to test your strength. Perhaps you would like to arm wrestle."

Again Lief gazed at Luinár, then he laughed. "You are so small; I may hurt you!"

"Worry not about that," Luinár responded, "for I do not bruise easily."

Lief went very red in the face. The rest of his band began chuckling and making quiet comments in their own language. "Do not fear," said Luinár. "There is no harm in besting a woman."

Realizing he could not back down from the challenge, the big warrior finally surrendered. "I don't think that has much honour," he said, "but you leave me no choice. We shall arm wrestle!"

They found something that passed for a table, and a couple of chairs, and quickly the crowd separated in two: the Swithlings and some of the villagers behind Lief, others behind Luinár. Many bets were made. Araquenval wagered a gold piece with one of the Swithlings, and even Bradlegar bet five copper on Luinár against five silver put up by one of the townsfolk.

The match was over in an instant, Luinár besting an obviously unprepared and astonished Lief. His band burst into laughter while Lief protested, "I was trying not to hurt her!"

"You are quite strong," said Luinár, soothing the warrior's bruised ego. "It will be good to fight by your side in the coming battle." Then she stood up and addressed the wider audience. "For great inspiration, though, I suggest you look to my betrothed, for he is the mightiest warrior I have ever seen!"

The crowd looked about for this great person, wondering to which of her company she referred. Luinár walked over to Bradlegar and knelt beside him, not so much in humility, but so her head would be level with his. Feeling the gaze of everyone upon him, Bradlegar flushed crimson, and said nothing.

After this display the crowd broke up and the group was left to themselves. A couple of bards eventually found them and showed them to their chambers, a large round hut they would share with the Swithlings.

People continued to enter the village from the outlying areas all that evening, leaving their farms and huts undefended in favour of the relative safety of the settlement. Once the group had settled into their accommodations, Mîriel sought out the three women tending the cauldron in the moot house. She sat close by them, watching their activities with quiet interest.

Soon one of the assistants approached, but Mîriel did not know her language, and the assistant did not speak Westron. Mîriel switched to a language she knew they would both understand. Reaching into her pouch, she extracted an arnuminas leaf and showed it to her. The assistant examined it for a moment, then, gesturing for her to wait, returned to the others. She spoke briefly with them, and the three women acknowledged Mîriel's presence, but continued their ritual for some time before the middle-aged one stepped forward and addressed her.

"I am Boann, one of the three Mistresses of the Cauldron. What do you wish discuss with us?"

"I and my companions have travelled from the far north, and I am their healer," Mîriel replied. "During our journeys I have collected many plants that may be useful to you, but perhaps are unable to get because they do not grow here. Perhaps we could trade. But I do not know if I should distract you from your duties at the Cauldron at this time."

The youngest of the three now joined them. "My name is Maeve," she said. "Certainly we can trade herbs, for we can see that you are a healer." Then she gazed closely at Mîriel. Suddenly the old woman was there, too, stepping between her two companions and Mîriel. Holding Mîriel's head with her hands, she gazed into her eyes.

"My name is Cliatha," she announced. "I am old, but my eyes see many things. You are in trouble. You need help."

The other two joined her and together the three of them intently examined Mîriel, tracing their fingers slowly and carefully over much of her body. Mîriel stood still, not fully understanding the women's intentions. After a few minutes, the three withdrew and talked earnestly among themselves in their native language for some time. Then Boann, the middle-aged woman, approached her.

"We have agreed that you must look into the Cauldron," she said. "It can show you many things, and it may help you."

Mîriel joined the three women by the cauldron and peered into it. A strange array of aromas arose from within, making Mîriel's mind spin slightly as she stared into the dark, swirling contents. Then the blackness cleared and she saw a large fortified house. This she recognized as her home, but she felt somehow detached from the scene, as if it were just another building. The roof had been burned away, but the place was inhabited still, for figures patrolled the walls. A large mound, piled over with earth, sat some distance away from the gate, but its use she could not identify. From the north came troops of some sort, apparently for resupply. She leaned closer, trying to identify the troops. Were they men or Orcs? Friend or foe?

Even as she bent closer to the swirling surface of the cauldron's contents, a firm hand suddenly pressed against the back of her head and forced it down with a splash, then pulled it back out again. Mîriel gasped for breath and instinctively reached out to touch the channeling. She felt it: the channeling had returned. With a mixture of surprise, shock, and gratitude, Mîriel looked at the three women, who were smiling and nodding to each other, satisfied their cure had succeeded.

"Looking into the Cauldron was just a ruse," said Boann. "We wanted you to get closer, but we did not feel we could explain it to you well enough. Did you actually see anything in it?"

"Yes," Mîriel replied. "I saw what appeared to be my home, but apparently occupied by an enemy of some sort."

The three women looked again at each other, this time in wonder. Cliatha said, "Whatever you saw is very important, for the cauldron rarely shows visions. When it does, they are important."

Mîriel pondered this a time, trying to sort out the events of the last few minutes. When she had settled down and her face had dried, she asked the women, "Is there anything about the Cauldron you can tell me?"

The three responded at once, eagerly talking about the Cauldron and its history. So quickly did they speak that they constantly interrupted each other. But when they saw Mîriel had her attention focused on Boann, they let her speak for them, interjecting but occasionally. From them Mîriel learned it was known as the Cauldron of Caer Annwn, and it told them, as Boann said, "What was, what is, and what is to come: our link with the other world." She also learned that Caer Annwn meant something like the city of the other world, and that the town with its Cauldron was the centre of the Hillfolk culture.

The history lesson over, Mîriel asked the women if they would be interested in trading herbs. Cliatha said they would be, but not until after the impending battle was over. "We will need what we have to treat the wounded," she said. "Although we will not trade plants until later, we will not withhold anything required to treat one of your people."

"What plans have you made for the upcoming battle?" Mîriel asked.

"This place will serve as a hospital," said Boann. "We expect many wounded."

While Mîriel was being cured by the mistresses, Luinár and Dennenor worked with the chieftains to distribute the weapons and armour they had collected on their journeys. The mail made from overlapping plates they presented to Brodigern. Then to the ongoing amazement of the townsfolk they brought out and disbursed their considerable cache: a suit of good soft leather armour and six of good rigid leather, two good composite bows, six regular hand axes, the axe that Bauglir wielded before picking up Durax's sword, two fine maces, and even Luinár's old chain mail. But the suit of silver mail and the great hammer carved with the runes Woltan Tamma they did not display.

"What a marvellous blade it is!" exclaimed one of the townsfolk to Dennenor as he tested a sword that had come from Corlagon's lair. "You should go talk to the smith about this! He'd be quite impressed, I'm sure! Where'd you get it?"

Ever cautious, for he did not want the townsfolk to realize the extent of the treasure they carried, Dennenor worded his reply carefully. "It was being held in safekeeping by a very powerful creature, a pet of the Witch-King, you might say, which we slew," was all he said.

Close by, Luinár showed her collection of Orc standards to the Swithlings. Many of their designs they recognized, and by them they recalled tales of battles in days gone by. Impressed as they were with the banners, they said to her, "When the fight comes, you fight with us!"

"I'll be fighting on horseback," she replied.

"We too," said one of the Swithlings. "We fight from horse all the time! You will have to ride with us, for when you ride with Lief the Lucky you come out of battle alive! That's why we ride with him!"

"I would be happy to," Luinár replied. She turned to Bradlegar. "Would it be all right if I fought with these gentlemen during the battle! They intend to be mounted cavalry."

"Yes--yes, you can," Bradlegar replied. He was at first confused why she asked, then recalled that earlier she had singled him out as a great warrior, and was working to perpetrate the story. Then Luinár called over a lad of about ten years whom she had seen hanging around her and the Swithlings all afternoon. He approached, and she asked, "What is your name?"

"Clintock," he responded.

"Well, Clintock, I need some enamel paint for my armour. I do not like its colour. Do you know of any place in this village I could find some, hopefully in green?" She showed him a silver coin.

The boy looked at Luinár and the silver piece in astonishment. "That would be easy!" he said. "Go see the smith--he has everything!"

"You see him," Luinár replied. "Take this coin and purchase the paint from him, and I will give you another coin when you return."

"Oh, do you think that would be enough? That guy likes lots of money!"

"Then give him this instead." Taking back the silver, she handed him a gold coin. "Get the paint; keep the change."

"I will!" Clintock exclaimed, and clutching the coin as tightly as he could he dashed off and disappeared around a corner.

The others spent the afternoon in various pursuits. Trying to determine the extent of the forces being sent against them, Dennenor sought a vision from the olorkorna. But the general noise entering the hut from the outside and the discordant clashing of weapons distracted him and he was unable to concentrate. First he saw the face of Araquenval staring back at him, then the Elf tripping and falling. Dennenor tried to relax further, waiting for another vision. One came, but offered him little: just blackened trees and crows flying about, and no indication where or when this may be.

On a large grassy common in the centre of the village, Bradlegar provided archery lessons for those who were interested. Many joined out of mere curiosity, Halflings being unknown in the area, but Bradlegar quickly gained their respect with his prowess with the bow. For among the villagers a skill of any sort was held in esteem, and in these tense times one with a weapon prized.

After hearing innumerable comments about the mysterious smith, Rhôn and Bauglir set off in search of him. It was not difficult, for the entire town seemed to know who he was, and that he was not from there but had came in from afar. Less than five minutes from the start of their exploration they entered the shop that also seemed to serve as the smith's home. There was a bed in one corner; at its head sat an impressive array of swords and a large two-headed battle axe. In the shop itself some townsfolk tended a small furnace and hammered metal on an anvil, while a strange figure sat huddled over a workbench working out something very fine, snorting from time to time. Suddenly he looked up, saw the pair watching him, and stared back at them with a fierce gaze.

"What do you want?" he asked petulantly. "What are you doing in here?"

The smith was a Dwarf, and a curious one at that, for his beard was purple and split into two parts, tucked into his belt.

"People in town say I look like smith," said Rhôn. "Wondered if we were same tribe. Came to see."

"You are a little short, aren't you?" barked the Dwarf. Although there was no longer any anger in his voice, it seemed as though he could not speak at anything quieter than a shout. "Hmm, you don't have a beard! Oh! You're uglier than Orest! Explain yourself! Let's see your weapon!"

Rhôn pointed Trollfist at him. "Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn stand before you, from Puká-Ghân-Nengoth," he said, referring to his home by its name in his native tongue.

"You don't know Orest, do you?" the Dwarf demanded, his voice still strident.

"Who?" asked Rhôn.

"Orest Upchuck, the tumbling fat man! Who doesn't know him?"

Rhôn raised his eyebrows. "Me?" He was rapidly becoming bewildered with the dwarf's exclamations.

"No, no! Helmet, jaws--clank! clank! clank! Orest, the tumbling fatman! Obnoxious fellow! Had his internal organs tattooed on his chest! You know that guy?"

"Ohhh. Helmet?" Rhôn scratched his bald head. "Outside does that to people."

"Enough of him! My name's Kronos Helmcrusher. I'm the smith, and I'm here to crush some heads!"

"Any in particular?" asked Bauglir.

"Why, Orcs of course!" He picked up a morningstar and waved it about. Rhôn retreated backwards a couple of feet. "Primitive, these people. Hardly even seen chain mail before I got here! Darned lucky for them I did come, or they'd be fighting in their dresses!"

"Rhôn can work with leather," said the woodman. "Can work with you to make armour or greaves."

"Great! Sit down right over there! Got stacks of leather. Make them! None of these guys seem to know how to do it. More cut out for bashing heads than making stuff!"

As Kronos had said, a stack of leather had been piled near by, already cut out for two or three suits of armour. Rhôn sat down to sew them up. Bauglir swiftly departed, as if afraid he would be put to work also.

A few minutes later a boy walked into the shop, looking for the dwarf. Although Kronos did not hide his irritation at this intrusion, the lad stood his ground, showed him a gold coin, and asked for green paint. Kronos rummaged through his bags of supplies and found a jar, but upon opening it he discovered it had dried up.

"Confoundation! Let's see if this will work instead!" he bristled, pulling out more jars. Two of these he opened, yellow and blue, and by mixing them together managed to create a passable green.

"You need more, you know where to find me," said the dwarf, grabbing the gold coin from Clintock. "Now get out!" The youth fled without receiving anything in change for the gold.

Kronos walked over to Rhôn to see how was doing. "What are these?" he demanded, holding one of the tools Rhôn had just set down.

"Wildman need tools to work with leather," Rhôn replied.

"Tools?" exclaimed the Dwarf. "You call these tools? Here! Use these instead! Better!" He handed a piece of rolled leather to Rhôn. He unrolled it carefully, revealing a set of fine, sharp tools, almost new, and better than anything he had used before.

"Tools good," he said. "Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn thanks you."

"Now get to work!" said Kronos, and returned to his workbench.

Within a few short hours Rhôn finished his work on the leather and asked Kronos over to inspect it. He obliged, picking up a breastplate and turning it over in his pudgy hands. "What do we have here?" he exclaimed. "Why, this is nearly as good as the stuff you have on! Darned fine job!" Modest as ever, Rhôn simply shrugged, picked up his old tools and the ones Kronos had given him, and walked out.

It was early evening, and Luinár was talking to the Swithlings. "Lief," she asked their leader, "would you be able to make use of the type of armour I wear?"

"Yah. Would be good. How big is armour?"

"Big enough, probably," said Mîriel. She went over to their horses and removed the back and breastplates. He tried them on over his chain mail. The fit was tight, for Lief was bigger than the man who wore the armour originally.

"That armour is better than your chain mail," said Mîriel, "so you have no need to wear them both. Perhaps you can give the chain to someone who could use it."

"Yah. Must find big person to wear my chain mail."

Just before sunset, after spending the afternoon resting from the battle at the ford, Araquenval sought out Cardomantix, asking her to join him and the others. She agreed and together they returned to the village common. Araquenval located the group and went over to them.

He began by asking the chieftain, "How much time might we have from the time your shaman sees the enemy coming until they arrive?"

"Penborran is reliable," said Cartamantrix. "He will tell us."

"That is not quite the information I wanted," Araquenval said. "I would like to cast some spells to aid you with your defenses, but then I would need to rest again. Yet if the fight comes while I am resting, I would be of little use to you. However, if the shaman can let us know, say, about half a day before the enemies arrive, I can cast some spells to help the defences of your town, rest a while, then be able to help you fight as well."

"I understand," said Cartamantrix. "If you need but half a day's rest--"

"Less than that would I require; only about half a morning or afternoon."

"Good! Penborran should be able to give us longer warning than that. What sort of spells were you thinking of casting?"

Araquenval pointed up to the earthen bank surrounding the village. "I can cast a spell that would create another wall of earth atop your perimeter bank."

"We're trying to erect some stakes up there, but I don't think we have enough time," replied the Chieftain. "The gates, however, are a sticking point. Save your walls and put them in the gap there. How big can you make them?"

Araquenval raised his hand high above his head. "About this tall, and wide, and perhaps one-third as thick. Do you want the entrances sealed now, or made into a narrow opening that could not be charged?"

"We'll not need walls that high! Only waist level or just a bit more, so we can fight over them."

"Remember, they have entrances at the north and the south," said Dennenor, "so you would have to create twice as many walls."

"I would be able to do only one entrance," said Araquenval, "for earth wall true is difficult and quickly tires the one casting it. I would be able to do but three."

"Then narrow the north one," said Cartamantrix. "The enemy is likely to come from there."

"Then let us go and make the barriers." Departing the common, Araquenval and the others walked as a group to the north entrance, followed by a good number of the townsfolk who had overheard the conversation and were eager to see a true spell caster in action.

The entrance consisted of an opening in the defensive bank some thirty feet across; a major gap that could not be closed, for the settlement had no gates. But when Araquenval attempted the first spell, he grimaced painfully and clutched his hands to his head. He was nearly a minute like this before slowly lowering his hands back down to his sides. He prepared the spell again, but as he tried to cast it he once more grimaced and lowered his head. Then he crouched down, trying to keep his balance, failed, and collapsed to the ground. The people looked at each other, wondering what had gone wrong. Mîriel ran over to the Elf. He was still conscious, but having trouble focusing.

"Have you been able to cast any successful spells recently?" asked Mîriel.

"Yes--earlier today, at the ford." He thought hard, trying to recall the events of the battle. "I did invisibility ... flying ... a cold ball ... yes, and just a little bit later, I cast running on a couple of the horses."

"So it looks like you just had a pair of bad spells. Are you going to try again?"

"Yes, when I have taken a couple of minutes to recover."

Araquenval slowly raised himself up to a sitting position and stayed that way for several minutes. Then, still sitting on the ground, he carefully prepared the spell again. This time it was successful, and a wall four feet high and about ten wide suddenly materialized on one side of the gap. It was joined a minute later on the other side by another just like it. Then Araquenval stood up.

"That is all I shall be able to do today," he said to Cartamantrix. His voice sounded tired.

"'Tis better than being wide open," she said. "I'll have some of the men plug the remaining gap with a few wagons and barrels."

It was almost dark when Araquenval and the others returned to the common from the north entrance. A large bonfire was burning briskly and people had gathered all about it. Gone for the moment were the swords, spears, and worries, and in their place were drinks, music, song, and laughter. Cartamantrix left the group to talk and dance with her own people, while the adventurers and the Swithlings sat around to discuss tactics over beer.

"Perhaps Angmar send many Orcs," Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn was saying. "Put Orcs on wolves and who fight with sword in front, archers in back. We ride out from south gate and attack them on side."

"Remember, they attack at night," said one of the Swithlings. "Very hard to see and charge around at night. Me myself, I pray to gods for more light."

Rhôn shook his head slowly. "Gods no do that. Orcs attack only at night. But Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn see in dark, not troubled with battle by night."

"You can pray to your gods as you wish," said Mîriel. "The rest of us are going to polish our tack and sharpen our swords."

"You are thinking too much about Orcs," Bauglir added. "Suppose the Witch-King sends down a few powerful mages as well.

"That would not be good," said Mîriel. With a grin, she added, "We'd have to kill them, too!"

The singing and the wailing music of the bagpipes became ever louder as the evening turned to night, making it nearly impossible to talk above the din. The Swithlings downed an enormous quantity of beer, told wild tales and coarse jokes, and roared with a laughter that did justice to the party going on about them. Bradlegar joined in, taking a couple of beers himself, dancing with as many women and girls as would join him.

While the party carried on, Mîriel quietly made her way from one person in the group to another, giving then gefnul for healing, edram for broken bones, and suranie for stun relief. "Do not waste the gefnul," she told them, "and do not get nervous, but don't die, either! As for the edram, remember to set the bone before eating it, or it will heal crooked and you may never walk again or fire a bow."

To Bradlegar she also gave three doses of jegga poison. As she left, Bauglir quickly walked up to him. Glancing furtively around to make sure he would not be seen, he pressed something into Bradlegar's hand, then quickly departed again without saying a word. When he checked to see what he had, Bradlegar discovered the mage had given him a breldiar flower. "Thank you," he said to himself, surprised at the unexpected gift.

Shortly after that Luinár retreated from the revelry and tended to her horse. Dennenor found a quiet corner of the village in which to rest. The great fire burned low and the party slowly broke up, and Dennenor came out of his rest to join a small group of villagers standing watch on the bank. He stayed with them the rest of the night, looking with apprehension to the north.

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Based on events played to April 03, 1998. Accesses since September 30, 1998: