(Archive) Rorgan and the Wolf\'s Fleece - Part VI

*Note - log submitted by Rorgan*

Long Plain

The grassy plains continue in all directions. Here upon a grassy knoll you feel safe as you would be able to see anyone coming from aways away.

Contents:

Deorwine

Melethron

Lossaran

Azragath

Colinor

Rorgan

Lossaran

Belahir

Abarazar

Galdorim

Huan, Wolf-Hound of Dol Amroth

A Camp of Men(#15235Qae)

Obvious exits:

South leads to Long Plain.

North leads to Along the Slopes of the Misty Mountains.

East leads to Long Plain.

[Azragath(#15811)] The hot breeze of late summer flows across the plains in this sweltering early afternoon. It does little to relieve the heat of the burning overhead sun, other than perhaps to cool a sweaty brow for fleeting moments. The camp reeks of men and horse, unwashed bodies and smoky cooking fires.

>From the direction of the make-shift corral strides Azragath Khozadan, in full black regalia of the Silver Guard, drenched in his own sweat. In his hand he clutches something undiscernable at first, but as he draws close it is now easily seen as the severed foreclaw of a warg. By the looks of it, the claw has been dried in the sun for several days.

[Lossaran(#28151)] For many here, the heat causes a natural tendency to remove layers of clothing or find an appropriate place of shade under which to rest after a morning\'s duties. For many, but not all, as Lossaran, green cloak still upon his shoulders and many layers necessary for wilderness travel, emerges from the healer\'s tent. His grey eyes scan the immediate area and breifly land upon the older soldier holding a warg foreclaw in his hand. A puzzled expression crosses the scout sergeant\'s young face but is quickly replaced by one of indifference. Slinging a pack over his back, the tall scout evades a group of Minas Tirith guards and heads in the direction of the Commander.

[Colinor(#29577)] He is here now, is Colinor. His tall, broad-shuldered form, whiplike from that chest of down, cuts the air nearby as he stands near his dappled-gray mount, stripped to the waist and rubbing him down. A saddle and bags and all manner of gear sit piled up nearby, and he wears breeches whose left leg have been cut of at the knee, giving his nearly-healed wound, unwrapped right now at his insistence, time to breathe.

[Azragath(#15811)] It starts raining.

Gwendolyn comes out of the camp quickly to stand in the cool refreshing rain which will hopefully end some of this terrible terrible heat. She takes her shawl off her shoulders and allows the rain to cover her body.

Seated at a firepit with a few of the other Silver Guardsmen is a their tall sergeant, Abarazar. He idly carves on a short piece of wood with a dagger. Nothing seems to be taking shape from the piece of wood, but the slow methodic whittling seems to be keeping the man\'s mind off the heat.

The men seated around him banter as a slow rain begins to fall, and what few men there are become fewer, but Abarazar simply stops carving and slips his dagger back into its boot sheath, leaning back and letting the droplets fall on his face and run through his close-cropped hair of the darkest black.

[Deorwine(#19482)] On the selfsame air flow that ripples through dry grass in eddies of almost visable heat drifts too a sound, and with it underfoot the faintest hum, a telltale sign for any skilled in the arts of tracking. Those lacking this skill are hardly at any disadvantage however, as the source of the sound is plain to see, breaking the horizon as first one dot, then several shapes moving at a good clip across the plain, making directly for the knoll. The first glints of sunlight catch from burnished steel ere the light overcast smears the sky and weeps cool drizzle on the earth, dulling the sound of approaching hooves, as indeed the figures can be made out now as half a dozen horsemen..

Azragath slows as the sudden downpour catches him and everyone around him offguard. \"Bloody strange weather in these parts,\" he mutters to himself, tucking the dried claw under his cloak to prevent it from being soaked. He looks up as a tall scount makes his way toward him, eyes narrowing slightly. \"You\'re one of Prince Faramir\'s men, \" he rasps, \"by the look of you. What\'s your name? I\'ve not seen you with our host afore now.\" His attention is momentarily drawn toward the approaching horsemen, but he looks back to Lossaran after only a brief moment.

Finally the heat of the day has been slaked for Abarazar, and at the sound of the approaching horsemen, he rises and gathers up his cloak, draping it casually upon his shoulders at the same time he spies his commander. With an inward chuckle at the man\'s curses for the weather, he begins to move in that direction slowly, his feet light on the quickly muddying earth worn bare of grass by the long occupation of the knoll by the camp of men.

Lossaran makes a bow with his head as he comes within speaking range of the Guardsman, long black hair quickly soaked by the afternoon thunderstorm. It seems his choice of clothing was apt since others around him scrabble for shelter. Soft, melodic tones come from the late-teens throat as he offers, \"Aye, I am in charge of the Scouts here. Lossaran of Ithilien. My presence has been absent due to cimcumstances beyond my control.\" He says nothing further, surveying the immediate surroundings and shaking his head at the chaos that prevails here. \"And you are?\" he asks unceremoniously.

[Azragath(#15811)]

Wiping the sweat mixed with rain from his brow, Commander Khozadan turns his head to spit. This seems to have no correlation to the other man\'s words, however. \"There\'s good hunting in these parts, Lossaran the scout, but not good eating. Though I\'ll wager a fish for a barrel that we\'ll make a pretty penny from all the pelts we\'ve taken. I\'m Commander Khozadan of the Tailor\'s Guild Silver Guard.\"

Azragath folds his arms, glancing over at the aproaching Abarazar. He jerks his head at the other Silver Guardsman. \"That Sergeant over yon is one of the best bloody scouts I\'ve ever known. Perhaps the two of you will find together what no man alone has been able to do.\"

Abarazar now falls in silently beside Azragath, reaching under his shirt and producing a small piece of paper, which he protects from the weather with the edge of his cloak, \"The tailor asked me to give this to you, Commander, sah!\" He holds out his arm so that the cloak continues to protect the parchment while it is offered.

And then does Abarazar Khibilroth nod to his commander, \"I think that the tailor had some thoughts on the matter, as well, sah!\" He jerks his head at the note.

[Colinor(#29577)] The rain has fallen for a good thirty seconds before Colinor even acknowledges it, looking up and squinting as the sun ducks behind a brooding set of clouds. He had been sweatin g a good bit, but now his torso is even more wet...and the rubdown he\'d been giving Werrebrand ends up being little more than a glorified massage.

[Deorwine(#19482)] The pace of the approaching riders picks up just barely as the rain continues, and presently they lie not far distant, close enough in fact to mark the very blazons on surcoats verdent, the stallion rampant of the Riddermark is there. Heavy horsemen they are, knights to be sure, hauberks of bright steel only mostly concealed neath the surcoats while shins forarms and shoulders glint with armor.

One of them raises a fist covered in a dark riding glove and slow do they as one, steeds of beautiful form and thews strong and sure even after a long ride carrying them at a canter up the hill, bits of waterlogged turf flicked to all sides as the lower legs of the steeds cake with quick-formed mud. Loud are the half dozen in approach, tack and gear chinging and chiming in a cacophony of martial sound and as they draw to a halt at the fringes of the camp, the one who previously commanded via signal of fist slips a tall helm from his head, giving a light shake of his head to toss flaxen braids behind him and rests the helm in his lap to wipe bits of caked hair from his forehead as his charger fairly prances further into the camp, the rider\'s keen gaze sweeping the assembled as yet without a word.

Gwendolyn dances around in the rain happily and looks around to make sure no one is watching. When she is sure no one is she wanders away from the camp for a moment of solitude.

Azragath takes the proffered note with a frown, pausing to read it. But his attention strays toward Colinor as the other man rubs down the horse in the rain. He shakes his head, \"I had heard your people love their horses dearly, , but surely the animal doesn\'t need...\" he trails off, at a loss for words. He shakes his head again, then chuckles at the maid dancing in the rain nearby, but does not call to her as she moves away.

[Azragath(#15811)]

Unread note still in hand, Azragath looks up at the now arrived riders, eyeing their livery and banners with appreciation. \"Well come, men of the Mark.\" His voice is a ruined gravelly rasp, but it carries well enough. Eyes fixing on the apparant leader of the arrivals, he continues. \"I am Commander Khozadan, of Minas Tirith.\"

Colinor purses his lips in response to the timing of the rain, before squaring his shoulders and shrugging, patting Werrebrand once upon the flank before moving over to take up his tunic, a cream-colored thing made of cotton, which is now quite, quite wet. He puts it on anyways, head emerging to turn towards Azragath, for he feels the man\'s eyes upon him. A polite inclination of the head, emerald eyes takign in the fellow for a moment, before he bends over to take up the saddle, tossing it over his shoulder.

Standing next to the commander is another tall, dark-haired man. His eyes glance to the note that Khozadan holds and then to the approaching riders, offering these new arrivals a nod. Abarazar\'s eyes then are carried toward the Rohirrim rubbing down his horse. This man is indeed known to him, but he seems to have remained an anonymous face among the Silver Guardsmen until just this day.

[Deorwine(#19482)] The five with Deorwine dismount with light splats of boots on wet ground, stretching as if indeed they\'ve sat the saddle more than a breif time while steeds of steel grey and brown and white toss moisture from manes and tail alike, bringing not a few grumbles from those nearby and the riders themselves. Deorwine pauses in the saddle a moment to incline his head to Azragath and give answer in a voice fitting his deep chest, \"Ah, well met indeed Commander Khozadan, you speak for the contingent of the Mark\'s valiant allies here?\" even as he finishes, he shifts in the saddle with a squeek of wet leather and swings his boot from the stirrup over the horse\'s back and drops earthward in one motion with a heavy jangling of Arms, pats his steed on the neck once and whispers in the ear that twitches slightly in responce. One of the other knights takes the lead reign lightly and all six steeds are led away, the other knights to find places to rest among kinsmen.

Turning once more, Deorwine adjusts his sword belt and gazes expectantly at Azragath and adds as if an afterthought, \"I am Deorwine, theign of Theoden King should you require a title of me for any reason.\" tiny rivulets trickle down beside his nose, following the grooves of his chiseled, though not unkind face

Azragath gestures with the hand that still grasps the unread note, waving it vaguely at the Misty mountains in the distance. \"I speak for the men in my command, Lord Deorwine, a third of the Gondorians here. We\'ve slain a half-dozen wargs for every man, and still the beasts come. I do not doubt there are mother wargs in plenty somewhere in yon mountains. But where they spawn, none can say.\" He shakes his head, glancing at Abarazar at his side, then adds in a lower town. \"I for one brook no love of this place. Enchanted bears and elves. This is a cursed plain.\"

The man at the commander\'s side answers with a soft chuckle and a nod of agreement, muttering, \"Leave it to Lord Rorgan to get us into these places and then get himself attached to the healer\'s tents.\" It is not an insult by far, \"Sometimes I think he would be better off if he just got it in his head to learn the healing arts so he could be with that woman of his. Mighty fine young lass, don\'t you think, but perhaps a bit young...\" And then, as if realizing he had been thinking aloud, the man clamps his jaws down and pops a right smart salute, \"Then into the mountains with us. Sah!\"

Azragath\'s head swings slowly over to look at Abarazar, eyes narrowing. \"Mind you don\'t get too friendly with the Rohirrim ale casks, Sergeant. Warfare in mountains is not the same as in the plains, and I\'m not sure half the men here would know enough to stay alive.\" He glances over towards Colinor, \"Our flaxen-haired allies were born in the saddle. How will they fair in terrain where no horse dares trod?\"

[Belahir(#28934)] An average size man, wearing the uniform of a Scout of Cair Andros, strides out of the camp seemingly completely oblivious to the rain. His soft boots smack in the newly made mud, as he walks towards the small crowd that has gathered. His hand idly scratches his chest, where he recieved a wound years ago. He nods to all that have gathered. He salutes sharply when he realizes that he is facing superior officers.

[Colinor(#29577)] Those words find Colinor walking up to the conversation, the saddle and bags still over his shoulder, Werrebrand following after without needing to be told. He\'s pushed the wet hair back from his verdant eyes, and ignores the rain now, for the weather on this little excursion has been anything but cooperattive. \"M\'lords,\" he says, nodding politely as he gives his greeting in a pleasant lyric-baritone. The fellow is a bit pale now, probably pushign his recovery the slightest tad. But he\'ll live. Just a bit pale is all.

Deorwine nods slowly and cross his arms over his chest, as if oblivious of the wetting that leaves water dripping in a quick cadence from his tunic hem to his boots and chin to chest. His deep blue eyes follow the gesture and subject of Azragath and Abarazar\'s speech and once more he gives a slight nod, \"I had heard as much and thus have I come hence with the few - but doughty as any could wish - knights. As to this plain, the rumors I\"ve heard as well..\" he pauses as Azragath replies and yet again gives a nod of agreement, \"Truly do you speak, as strange as this plain may seem to you, you\'ll wish we of the Riddermark were yet mounted if we are forced to seek these beasts in the mountains and leave teh plains where our steeds are matchless. It appears most likely that we /will/ in fact be required to do so, for no matter how many we pile dead upon the plain, the resources required to keep our camps here cannot be spared for too long a time if we never cut off the source.\" his eyes flicker briefly to the sky and back to the Gondorians, \"This is not the worst of the troubles though, the mountains are known to harbor orcs, and true or not, I have also heard rumor of their possible presense, which as well must be squelched..\" a nod in reply he gives Colinor, \"Well met to you good sir, a fine afternoon to be out and about.\"

Sufficiently chastized, though his own name was not brought into it one bit, the sergeant nods, \"Of course, Commander. And we have spent much time in the saddle of late ourselves, though I doubt that you ever take the foot out of the footman.\" He offers a slight smile, \"The Silver Guard go where you lead, sah! We\'d retake Minas Ithil, if that\'s where ye sent us, sah!\" The rain runs freely down this man\'s face and off his cloak. Almost as an afterthought, he quietly adds, \"Not that I\'d want to go there...\"

Colinor looks to one of the riders who has accompanied him here from Forensvale. The fellwo stops to murmur something to him, lookign a tad nervous, and Colinor nods to him, holding up a hand to stop the fellow\'s words. \"Tell her I\'m fine. I\'ll be there in just a moment for one of her hellish teas, and she can have at me all she wants, then. I know I was not following her orders when I left the bed.\"

Azragath listens to Deorwine with a growing frown. \"Orcs, you say?\" He shakes his head, \"This bloody sojourn gets better by the moment. Said the fish on the hook.\" He spits on the ground with disgust. \"No matter. Our blades will cleave orc heads as well as warg ones. Though they don\'t make good pelts, I\'ve found.\" At this he laughs, then smirks as the Sergeant speaks, \"I\'ve no mind to do more than keep a tailor\'s pelt on his much-bruised body, Abarazar. Unless he wanders into Ithil in delerium, we\'ve no worries to that end.\"

[Colinor(#29577)] Oh, that word, uttered again, snares Colinor\'s attention. His eyes widen, and he dismisses the young rider who has accompanied him with a gesture, looking to the other men and just listening for now. Absently --without even realizing it, perhaps-- he reaches down to touch his wound, muttering something under his breath

These words bring a true smile to even the stern features of Sergeant Abarazar, and he falls silent for a moment, composing himself before making his own introduction to the knights, newly arrived, \"Sergeant Abarazar Khibilroth of the Silver Guard, Minas Tirith Tailor\'s Guild. Well met, friends from the Mark.\"

Belahir begins to get an inkling of what the conversation is about, as he came in on the middle of it. He nods in agreement with what Azragath says and a smile spreads across his face. \"Just send in some of us Scouts and we\'ll have all the mountains cleared for you in no time.\"

Abarazar barely spares the young scout a smirk before returning his attention to the men who have been speaking, leaning in close to his commander to intone confidentially, \"Glad that one\'s not one of ours. Looks more\'n a bit green to me, sah.\" His head jerks toward Belahir, then his words continue, \"But I\'ve seen greener stand up and fight like real men and I\'ve seen more seasoned men turn and run like whipped pups. Care to make a wager on this\'un?

Azragath chuckles at Belahir, \"Mind I don\'t take you up on that offer, young buck. It\'s not your courage I doubt, but your numbers.\" And now as the Sergeant speaks, his gaze locks intently on the young scout, considering. \"No wager. Ask me again after I see him take his first warg.\"

[Azragath(#15811)]

Remembering the note in his hand, Azragath lifts it to his eyes, reading the sodden parchment with a frown. \"Can this be,\" he muses, rubbing a whiskered chin with his free hand. After a moment he turns the note on its side, then looks southward toward the forbidding shadow that is Fangorn. Then he turns again, looking toward the Misties, shaking his head. \"Who in the name of the sunken Isle of Numenor gave this to the Tailor, Sergeant? If this map is true, it shows where the lair is.\" This last is said to anyone gathered near, and no few gasps and murmers respond from the small crowd.

Deorwine shrugs slightly, \"A rumor I say, there are always rumors of orcs this direction, some are true, some are not. Tis naught to be overly concerned with, we should simply be prepared, though I have little doubt that any here are not prepared for such what with the hard fighting already done.\" a light smile touches his lips as others speak of clearing the mountains, \"It is good to see all are eager for battle, there are two ways to go into peril, boldly or timidly. Neither wargs nor orcs balk for the latter. Be it as it may, the rain bothers me not overmuch, but I have little care for what it does to blade and armor. Know any of you where the lord Theodred has pitched his tent, I would speak with him.\" his eyes flicker to Colinor as if expecting him to be more likely to know than those of Gondor-\" he cuts off and glances back to Azragath with a sharply lifted brow, \"Indeed?\"

Abarazar was asked by Gandalf/Azragath to pose him out, so I will do that.

Huan, Wolf-Hound of Dol Amroth howls.

Shaking his head with growing disgust, Azragath finally thrusts the drenched parchment at the sergeant and more than muttering his trade-mark curses, strides off red-faced, making a bee-line for the healer\'s tents, feet sloshing through the mud. \"TAILOR!\" his ruined voice\'s bellow tears at the ears of the camp as the man dissappears from sight.

As the rain continues to fall, and Sergeant Abarazar of the Silver Guard is left standing in front of the six knights of Rohan who have just arrived, with a scout of Cair Andros and one of Prince Faramir\'s scouts looking on, the man unfolds the map that had sent his commander off in such a rage, studying the smudged characters and markings carefully, before commenting, \"From what it says here, we should be able to find the lair quite easily.\" He frowns, \"Why did the tailor withhold this from us for so long?\" these words are a mutter from the man, who, while rain-drenched in all but a part, seems finally to have become comfortable, for before the shower began it was indeed a hot afternoon, and muggy, without the hint of a breeze.

[Gwendolyn(#13281)] After wandering for a good 30 minutes Gwendolyn realizes that it\'s raining, getting dark, she\'s wet, hungry, and it\'s getting chilly out and she can\'t see the camp! She looks around franticly to try to remember where she came from but everything looks the same!

[Galdorim(#22020)] A deep bass voice rings out from behind. \"WHat did the tailor withhold from us?\" As some of the people turn around they would see the tall Gondorian Camp Commander, Lieutenant Galdorim. Nothing his arms are bandaged as well as a nasty warg scratch on his right cheek. He frowns slightly as he steps forward. \"And why was I not informed of this meeting?!\" The tall officer\'s voice snap with his irritation that he was not informed of t his meeting.

Huan, Wolf-Hound of Dol Amroth pads through the camp, sniffing the night air. He turns and bays at the mountains.

Deorwine hmms to himself thoughtfully, glancing first at Azragath and Abarazar and then to Galdorim. \"Strange indeed.. there is no official meeting taking place, yet with this information, I deem it most prudent to hold council as soon as all may be gathered. First I must be out of these wet cloths and speak with the lord Theodred, let us not be overhasty, with the location or not we aught hold careful council, for indeed as has been noted, the strength the Rohirrim bear on the plain is..somewhat..less in the hills. Gentlemen, I must part company for now, I trust that map will be kept carefully and taken quickly from this drenching..\" his boots squelch the mud as he shifts and begins to turn

Hearing the voice of the Lieutenant come from behind him, Abarazar half turns, muttering something about the Bragollach ought to keep better control of his hound, and then salutes Galdorim with an upraised arm, \"A map, sah! Supposedly the lair\'s location, but that has yet to be proved, sah!\" Then he looks to the freshly traveled knights of Rohan, \"This meeting, sah? I don\'t understand, sah. The Knights here only just arrived, sah!\"

Galdorim returns the salute to the Sergeant of the Silver guard. His sceptical eyes look over Abarazar. \"Never mind the meeting, \"Galdorim snaps at the sergeant. \"What was the information that Rorgan supposedly held from us?\" He looks over to Deorwine and nods towards him. \"I will look forward to metting with Theodred and his officers when the meeting is held.\"

And the sergeant nods to the Rohir, \"It shall not leave my person, m\'lord.\" Then Abarazar promptly folds the parchment and replaces it under the protection of his cloak, turning to more fully face the lieutenant now that the leader of the knights has excused himself, the soggy ground, skidding to a halt in front of the man, and in true footsoldier fashion, snaps instantly to attention and gives the Lord a salute, \"Lord Bragollach, sah! A Rohir woman has wandered from the camp, and the falling night will make it difficult for us to track her with our eyes, sah! Could you bring the hound and help us find her?\"

Galdorim turns as he sees the Sergeant go and take care of the situation. He strides towards the healer\'s tent as he disappears inside.

camp, and the falling night will make it difficult for us to track her with our eyes, sah! Could you bring the hound and help us find her?\"

�

Galdorim turns as he sees the Sergeant go and take care of the situation. He strides towards the healer\'s tent as he disappears inside.