Chetwood, Ranger & Dwarven Camps; “Lucy Ravages the Wounded”
Frarin Rhifaroth Kellan Zhi Halbarad
Lucy Tinduial Strider
Real time is: Sat Mar 15 14:57:57 2008 - Elendor time is
Early Afternoon on a Cloudy Summer Trewsday, July 10, 3043
The Moon's Phase is: waning gibbous
The rumbling of the earth disturbs the rest of some who try to sleep at this late hour of the night. Though the sound is perhaps too faint or distant to be picked up clearly by human ears, even a man can faintly feel the disturbance through the ground.
A man stirs, stiffly turning over where he rests, laying at the base of a tree not far from the Dwarven camp's edge. This attempt at moving his injured leg wakes Rhifaroth as much as the disturbance. Shifting a hand, the man rubs at his face, then reaches out to lay hand upon the hilt of his sheathed blade that lays in the darkness beside him.
There is no other movement. Now awake again, the man listens.
You are near the edge of the Chetwood forest and the trees are not as tall nor as thickly rooted as some of the brethern. You see the trees thickening to the NorthWest, growing thinner to the East and you can just make out a clearing to the West.
A well concealed cave, blocked by overgrowing bushes and brambles, snugs under an overhanging ledge. Glimpsed through the dim shadows, a boulder can be barely discerned blocking the cave entrance.
NorthWest leads to The Chetwood.
East leads to The Midgewater Marshes.
West leads to The Chetwood.
[Frarin(#31050)] "No rest for the weary," says Frarin, again with one of his odd little smiles. He bows to Zhi. "Farewell and may you find rest at least before the night is out." But alas, it seems the healer's words are only too true. The grim frown returns to the silver merchant's visage and his gaze lifts towards the direction of the rumbling. "Nay, no rest for the weary indeed." This time the comment is more resolute, more statement-like.
"Lads, on you feet," calls Frarin to the seated Ereborian dwarves. Again his stance shifts forward, as if straining at invisible bonds. He slowly lifts his war hammer into both hands.
Lucy has connected.
[Arbiter Globals(#722)] [+TIMEWARP] Thranduil(#5440) timewarps this location to NIGHT.
"To arms!" the high-warder calls though most of the dwarves are already at ready. "To me." the stout form calls and those guards form around him tightly. "Whatever may happen or not the wounded are given priority guard." the dwarf holds his hammer out towards the sounds coming still in the distance. Kellan looks to the Erebor dwarves
[Lucy(#29415)] The sounds seem to grow louder now, and come more often. Rock scraping rock, trembling of the earth.. and beneath it all a low growl. The sound is not from any domestic beast, nor any local wildlife. Deeper than a bear, lingers longer on the air than the howl of a wolf.. and with the depth of the cave the echo seems to never end.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin gingerly eases his weight onto both legs as tremors pass from the ground to his boots. Other Erebor dwarves also begin to ready themselves, some facing the same direction as the silver merchant, others careful to watch the whole perimeter of the camp. Frarin's gaze again searches the dark wood for anything, any shadow darker than the rest, still listening for the sounds of crashing undergrowth.
He waits a moment longer, then painfully stumps towards the base of a tree, where a pile of garments and blanket lie. As he leans towards the pile, the sound of chain mail tinkles in the night air, as if he wears already a hauberk; but he pulls from the heap also a chain mail coif, which he slips over his head.
Then that low, long growl rends the night. With a grunt, and gritting his teeth as he limps back towards the direction of the rumble, Frarin rejoins the ranks of assembling dwarves to await whatever approaches.
COMBAT: Your health improves.
There is less alarm and fan fair amid the tall one's camp, for indeed it is almost deserted as is often the case. Most of the Rangers and the few elves among them are out in the night hours, keeping a close eye following the movements of the Morian horde - and thus, not here.
But their camp is not entirely abandoned, either. Rhifaroth is here, and at least one other still injured Ranger, and one of the elves has been about recently, though not seen at the moment.
For his own part, the strangely tattooed man sits up now. He shifts his things about so that they will be more easily reached when he stands. He then makes stiff, careful effort to get to his feet, weight only on his good leg. Donning his light weight grey cloak, but leaving his small pack where it rests, Rhifaroth picks up his long sword and buckles on the sword belt, looking around in the darkness to see which trees are close enough that he might try for them if he must move.
[+LOOK] Frarin(#31050) glances at you.
STATUS: IC (0s idle)
Wyr is IC
From this man's shoulders falls a greenish-hued grey, hooded cloak that shows much stains and repair. A long sword resides just below his left hip.
Standing about 6'4", this man is fairly broad in chest and shoulders. Unruly black hair falls loosely and is in need of washing. His eyes are a clear pale grey with faint creases from much squinting into distances. Cheekbones and the sides of his throat bare strange, faded line and dot patterns that resemble writing. A red puckered slash bisects his face from his scalp, just left of center to his right brow. Barely skipping the eye, it cuts down his face to mid-right jaw.
A light brown shirt with long sleeves, many stains and much mended, garb this man. His ruined armor is now absent. Charcoal grey pants with the left thigh cut free are tucked into brown leather boots. Bandages bind that injured leg from groin to knee. Leather bracers are worn at each of his wrists. The backs of his calloused hands bare the same faded tattoo markings as his face. Upon the smallest finger of his left hand this man wears a thick banded, heavy gold ring with a smooth, teardrop shaped rich blue stone.
Armor: Wyr's Bolted Shield <Studded Leather Shield>
Other Visible Equipment: Wyr's Studded Helm <Studded Leather Helmet>; Wyr's Long Sword <Longsword> Wyr's Studded Leather <Studded Leather Armor>
[Kellan(#31169)] The group of dwarves of the blue mountains are ready and formed up. The stout forms watch in every direction in the front of there lines is the high-warder "If anything breaks the perimeter of the camp let it through to be surrounded and than take it or them down." Kellan holds his own hammer spinning it in his fingers almost eagerly.
[Lucy(#29415)] The camp would not have to wait long.. for the sounds heard has been the slow push of the boulder away from the cave entrace. Large eyes peer out from the darkness of the cave to the darkness that awaits her. Lucy waits, sniffing the air around the entrance before her head appears beyond. Large shoulders follow, arms and elephantine legs. Standing just outside of the cave entrance, she stretches her arms up high so that she comes to her full height.
Food is on their fires, she can smell that.. but she can also smell blood. Some of them have been injured. She had seen the warg, and heard its rider grumbling about an encounter.. but this.. so close! Lucy smiles as she begins her slow approach.
[Frarin(#31050)] Those injured dwarves that can walk with support are gradually moved to one area where a grouping of trees creates a mild form of natural protection, and several Ereborian warders take up posts next to their Blue Mountain cousins to form around the wounded. A sudden noise from the south brings several heads around, but it is only the returning scouts, the second of the two groups. "No action towards the road," their leader reports. "We took a wide circle, but returned when we started feeling the vibrations again. They're lessened as you travel south."
So the rumblings are indeed coming from the north. And where is the scouting party that moved off in that direction? So far they have yet to return.
Giliath has not shown up to assist Rhifaroth - he must be away from the camp. Indeed, no one has shown up to assist him. Nor does he look for it. The man keeps a sharp look out towards the north as well. But it is so dark.
Turning his head towards the Dwarves who are forming up, he raises his voice from his position against the tree, "Light... we'll need light."
[Kellan(#31169)] The group of dwarves swell. imposing many stout bearded formed with differing weapons, they stand ready. The sounds approaching only makes them ready though not knowing if it's the army or what will come through has the high-warder watching carefully the camp split was a bad idea wondering who caused it. Kellan "What chance of the others returning from scouting the other army?" he calls out to see if there is anything else unexpected coming.
[Lucy(#29415)] Slow steps, measured. She knows she has time. They would not be going anywhere. There.. the lights of the few cooking fires flicker against the trees and she can see the movements of bodies running. Another slow smile comes to Lucy's face and she reaches for her club, drawing it out slowly as she moves. She gets closer, but still enough of a distance away so that if there were any of those flying sharp sticks about, she may have time to move before they reach her.
For those who are not gifted with good night vision, i would merely seem the path to the north had grown dense with the concentration of night. To those who were, Lucy's visage would clearly be seen. Her head tilts this way and that, listening, sniffing, waiting..
[Frarin(#31050)] "Keep those campfires stoked!" Frarin shouts to the Lonely Mountain dwarves, nodding as the tattooed man calls out to the dwarves. Several Ereborians move swiftly to poke and prod the various firepits into full life. Soon the camp is alight with a golden glow, which would seem warm if it did not create even greater shadows surrounding the dwarves. "Keep to the trees, Stranger," Frarin calls to Rhifaroth, seeming to take note at last of the man's precarious condition. He even takes a limped step towards the man as if to aid him in moving towards the other wounded, but there is no time for that.
Of a sudden a crash in the undergrowth betrays the approach of not one, but many figures, obviously smaller than a troll. It is the warder Hal and his small group of scouts, and they approach from the northeast. "There's a cave to the north!" he calls to the dwarves. "We did not see it, but we heard its echoes as a great boulder was wrenched aside. Something approaches."
There is no need to warn Rhifaroth to keep to the trees. He has edged carefully around to the southwest side of the tree he used to gain his feet, and made note of which other trees are close. There is no sign of other men or elves now... those few others who were about have since slipped into the trees, even the wounded Ranger. But they are around.
To those who have heard it before, the sound of a troll moving through the forest is not one that will soon be forgotten. Rhifaroth's face may not be visible in the darkness, but it is grim indeed, focused upon what comes, not the returning dwarven scouts. The man makes no move whatsoever to join the Dwarven wounded, wishing to stay where he might have a chance to manuever.
[Lucy(#29415)] Ever closer, more bodies come together in hopes to defend their encampment. Lucy drags her club along at her side and her eyes are only for the flickering fires and the movement ahead. She has come to stand just beyond normal sight, beyond the golden glow, yet she has made no movement to rush forward. Those bulbous eyes simply watch, and listens to the shouts between the men.. Odd behavior for a troll, indeed.
Kellan listens in closely as the sounds come ever closer.His face is sturn as he stands "Easy lads." he says to those formed around him. The high-warder stands at the front of the line he is ready for whatever may come into the camp.
Standing very still, listening carefully, the injured man does not move from the tree he leans against to stand. He does nothing that might attract the creature's attention to himself. But Rhifaroth's eyes can now make out the looming hulk as the troll stops, surveying their arrangement, the lay of the camps.
He licks his lips, does the Southerner. With his shoulder against the tree, his left leg slightly bent, the man's right hand is moved to rest upon the hilt of his blade ... waiting.
An enormous fixture, as if a piece of mountain has detached and began lumbering around Middle Earth. This troll moves with an oafish gait, her thick round feet scrape along the ground before crunching the earth beneath her weight. A nearly bald head sits atop immense shoulders. Bits of crooked flesh are present, serving as ears, at the sides of her rotund cranium. On top, wirey bits of black hair hang like dead wet leaves. Weaved crudely among the ebony locks are strands of varying color and texture... quite obviously obtained painfully from other persons. Her amber eyes protrude unnaturally, and a thick nose sits crookedly in the center of her face. Fat pink lips complete her lovely visage.
Muscled arms hang at her sides, and elephantine legs and feet serve as her mode of travel. Criss-crossing her obese body are thick leather straps, which not only serve as a snazzy bit of designer clothing, but quite functionally as a belt to hold her supplies and a bit of material which is stretched tight to cover over her form. Nestled against her brown/grey flesh is a thick bit of tree serving as a club. At her waist is a large satchel.. the top slightly opened to reveal even more strands of multicolored hair spilling out.
Gleaming atop her head rests something seemingly made of ivory. A horrid crown rests on her head.. a sure indication that this is the Queen of the Shaws herself. This crown, upon closer inspection, is not one of ivory at all. It is bone. A ribcage, to be exact. And, by it's girth, the unfortunate was most likely a dwarf.
[Frarin(#31050)] A mixed set of emotions battles for control over Frarin's face. Both relief and tension come with Hal's announcement; relief that it seems the tremors come not from the Morian host, but tension at waiting for the cave-dweller with the strength to move a boulder aside. The silver merchant slowly, teeth clenched as he limps, makes his way to the head of the ranks of dwarves, not far from Kellan. And with apparent frustration, his dark eyes dart about the wood, prying, willing something to appear.
[Lucy(#29415)] "Far from home.." the grovelling sound of Lucy's voice bellows over the movement of armor and weapons. She takes another step, and the faded glow of the fires finally touch upon her rough skin. Her eyes seem to be the only thing to reflect the light, giving her pupils an eerie glow as she watches the camp. She continues to approach, the brighter ring of light upon her now, revealing more of her hulking form. She draws in a deep breath through her nose, eyes nearly closing as she exhales.. "Blood..." she murmurs, almost dreamily.
Blood... yes. Rhifaroth's breathing is a little fast, watching this hulking creature inhale the scent of them all. Though most of the blood has been washed from him, likely enough he still smells of it - not to mention his bandaged wounds.
But so do many of the Dwarves in the other camp. Pale grey eyes slip for a moment from the troll to the much needed allies, the Dwarves. Frarin in particular catches the man's eye for a moment, before Rhifaroth makes his own attention refocus upon the threat.
Kellan looks to his left and right as the trolls form comes into view he doesn't seem any army to speak of. "Stand firm remember the wounded! Dwarves to war!" he calls raising his own hammer above his head the group following him splits in the middle to allow the troll to be surrounded, as 'bait' the high-warder is in the middle of the lands shield in one hand hammer in the other "Your own blood about to spilled." he says under his breath
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin does not need to the pry the darkness for long. He sucks in a breath as the she-troll's gravelly voice echoes across the camp and he turns just in time to see her brown-grey skin enter the light of the fires. But a growl boils up from Frarin's throat, an anger pent up and now slowly readied for release. Although he limps still, there is no grimace now to break the grim look that holds his visage. The dwarves of Erebor swiftly move in to fill the gap left by the spreading Blue Mountain dwarves.
And for a moment, time hangs, as hot and stifling as the summer air. Then it hurtles forward. "Protect the wounded! He'll have no blood tonight!" Frarin bellows of clanking armour and weapons. And with another cry, he awkwardly, painfully, charges.
[Combat(#13388)] Lucy wields Troll Club.
Halbarad has connected.
Lucy's grip to her club steadies, and she remains just within the second ring of light from the fires. She watches the calculated movement of the dwarves, and finally one calls for the attack. She watches Frarin approach with a pleased gleam to her eye. "Come, lil' fur-face.." With shoulders haunched, she waits for her attacker to make the first strike. Finally, Lucy gets to play.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin needs no more encouragement and happily obliges. Despite his limp, he covers the ground between him and the troll with considerable speed, though noticeably, the quick movement brings a gradual dark stain to his trouser's leg, as if the wound there has begun to open up again. The merchant has no mind for that though, for he soon nears Lucy. The blue hammer twists in his hands and the long spike cuts the air, aimed for the troll's left stump...er, knee.
Frarin attacks Lucy with his War Hammer, but Lucy parries the attack with her Club!
[Lucy(#29415)] The hammer swings and Lucy moves out of the way. The smell of blood rushes to her nose and her eyes blink slow. When they open she turns toward Frarin and swings the club in a low arch, sweeping up as if to knock him from his feet and toward the trees ahead.
Lucy attacks Frarin with her Club and severely wounds him!
Kellan rushes up ahead of the crowd. His cousin takes the first shot at the hulking mass he is next in line on the other side rushing passed though he takes a hammer swing at the back bend of the trolls leg. The stout warder has only concentration in his eyes.
Kellan attacks Lucy with his War Hammer, but he misses by an arm's length.
As the Dwarf charges, the man uses the distraction to move. Rhifaroth leaves the single tree he had been leaning against for support. He risks putting his weight on his bad leg as little as he can and almost hops, shuffling to a small group of nearer but smaller trees. Still he grimaces, but the injured man manages not to fall.
Now positioned better, though no further away, Rhifaroth mutters under his breath.
[Lucy(#29415)] Impact! And Lucy laughs deep as she spies yet another of the furfaced dwarves come at her. Turning away from Frarin she takes a swing toward Kellan, this swing brings the club to sweep in front of her and slam into his side.
Lucy attacks Kellan with her Club, but she misses by a mile.
STATUS: IC (10s idle)
This Dwarf stands just taller than most of his kind, reaching just over four and a half feet when raised to his full height. None of the hardiness of the Dwarves is sacrificed for this added height, however, for his broad, round shoulders and stout chest give him a more than formidable girth. His face is worn and bears many heavy shadows, and the skin there is rough and deeply browned from long hours in the elements. Dark brown are his eyes and always they bear a strange look, as of one knowing or searching, at once both kind and at the brink of wrath. His beard is dark brown also and forked, reaching nearly to his belt in two long braids tied with silver, and his hair likewise extends to his waist in a thick braid. Two jagged scars mar his face, one running from brow to left temple, the other from just above the mouth to just below the left eye.
His dress is simple to the casual glance, though weathered as one who is accustomed to much travel. A heavy grey cloak hugs his shoulders, the ends of which meet with an ornate silver brooch. Faded black trousers and heavy black boots poke from beneath the cloak, each covered thick with the mud and dust of many long roads. Under all, his attire is of richer make, though no less worn than his outer garments. He wears a tunic of deep red trimmed with black and held about him by a wide black belt with a silver buckle. Beneath the tunic pokes the end of a knee-length chain mail hauberk, and from an iron loop on the belt hangs a war hammer, tinted blue and wrapped in leather.
Species: Khazad <Dwarf>
Weapons: The Old Lord <War Hammer>
Armor: Dwarven Hauberk <Chain Mail Armor>; Small Chain Mail Coif <Metal Helmet>
Other Visible Equipment:
There are trees and shadows, darkness and night; there is fire and food and warmth by the camp; there are dwarves and men and a handful of elves, and there is a large shadow between the approach all these: a troll.
And there is a music, too, music on the breeze: a low sound, first, a fair mimic of the owl's song; and then a twang and a whistle from the north, from the direction of the troll's approach.
And finally, there is a voice: "Is that /Lucy/?" it asks, almost breathless.
[Combat(#13388)] Halbarad wields Longbow.
Halbarad launches an arrow...
Halbarad's bowshot hits Lucy, mildly wounding her.
Tinduial has connected.
[Kellan(#31169)] The dwarf misses the surprisingly quick moving troll. He growls but has little time. Kellan dives to the side to miss the club strike and is lucky in doing so. The high-warder is back on his feet, the stout form rushes back in over head striking at the trolls leg once more.
Kellan attacks Lucy with his War Hammer and moderately wounds her!
[Frarin(#31050)] To say that the troll's club hits true would be an underestimate. To say that it hits well would be an underestimate. The force with which Lucy's club strikes Frarin cannot perhaps be in words. Strike is even a dull word. The club slams into the silver merchant's chest and lifts him bodily from the ground. For a moment he seems plastered to the crude weapon with the force of the momentum, but then he is flying through the air, ten feet, fifteen, twenty. By the time Frarin crashes to the earth he is more than thirty feet away from Lucy, almost back at his starting point.
And when he lands, it is in a heap of tangled clothing and mail and blood. He lands face down, beard grinding into the dirt. But beyond the initial collapse, the crumpled dwarf is still.
Lucy missed? She looks at the club as if it betrayed her. But it appears she gets another chance! Lucy turns to watch Kellan approach again, and as her name seems to be breathed along the air she feels a pinch near her shoulder as the arrow connects.. sways loosely, and falls to the ground. She steps toward Kellan and takes another swing, much like for the first dwarf, to sweep him toward the line of trees.
Lucy attacks Kellan with her Club and badly wounds him!
The short distance to reach the troll may be just a bit far for him to attempt, but Rhifaroth draws his blade from its scabbard and keeps a hold of the thin tree trunks with his left hand. Careful, he eases around the small stand trying to think of what way he might try to lend aid to the Dwarves - even as Frarin has bad seriously hurt.
Before he might try something foolish, an arrow speeds out of the night to strike the stony troll flesh, and a familiar voice calls something that makes little sense to the Southerner.
Rhifaroth does not turn his head to look for Fletcher. His own eyes are for Frarin, who has gone down hard, though closer to him than before. The injured man hisses something foul under his breath and quickly works his belt to remove his empty scabbard. Resheathing his blade into it, he puts it to his left hand to use as a cane as best he might. Then he leaves his cover, trying to move towards the fallen Dwarf.
Lucy missed? She looks at the club as if it betrayed her. But it appears she gets another chance! Lucy turns to watch Kellan approach again, and as her name seems to be breathed along the air she feels a pinch near her shoulder as the arrow connects.. sways loosely, and falls to the ground. Kellan's weapon connects to her knee, bringing a slight wince to the large troll's features. She steps toward Kellan and takes another swing, much like for the first dwarf, to sweep him toward the line of trees.
"Luuuuuucy," comes the same voice from the trees, carried soft on the wind -- but well loud enough to make itself heard in the camp, and to troll's ears. "Lucy, dear love, I've brought you a treasure," it claims, and another arrow flies from the trees--
--to get her attention, no doubt.
Halbarad launches an arrow...
Halbarad's bowshot hits Lucy, mildly wounding her.
[Frarin(#31050)] Still the crumpled form of Frarin does not move. It lies splayed out, right arm tucked under the breast, the other cocked at an odd angle towards the dwarf's back. The glinting blue war hammer lies somewhere in the darkness beyond the light of the fires. And although the merchant's face is not visable, a dark stain begins to spread out from his form, the glimmer of dark red mixing with the dark earth.
Kellan tries to dodge the strike again. He brings his shield around but the strike connects the shield splinters flying out of his hand a sickening crunch and snap as his arm flies at an odd angle blood spraying from it he is sent sprawling to the ground some ten feet from where he had been. The high-warder lands on his front "Of all the." he gets out with a cough. He pulls himself to his feet rushing forward with one hand swinging the hammer around like a baseball bat at the trolls leg.
Kellan attacks Lucy with his War Hammer and moderately wounds her!
Lucy watches her club connect to Kellan, and the pleased look returns. She hears her name once more, and turns toward the sound to watch the arrow fly toward her and hit. This one does not linger, but instead makes contact with her midsection and falls to the ground. She laughs and looks ahead into the trees. "Treasure.." she repeats, and starts to speak again as a very persistant Kellan strikes at her leg again. He hits, bringing another wince and a growl from the Shaw Queen. "Join your brother.." she growls and swings again toward Kellan.
Lucy attacks Kellan with her Club, but she misses by a mile.
Night has brought more than trolls to the fore. Men and dwarves alike scamper through the night like mice. One does it better than most. Scampering, I mean. The Mouse herself approaches the melee with bow strung and arrow knocked. The moon hovering somewhere beyond her shoulder as she leaves southern roads behind her. She sights the troll as the beast swipes at one of the unfortunate dwarven kind, and lets fly... and scampers forward again...
Tinduial launches an arrow...
Tinduial's bowshot hits Lucy, mildly wounding her.
COMBAT: Your health improves.
Almost falling on top of the Dwarf himself, but catching himself with his right hand and right knee, Rhifaroth has managed to reach Frarin. Keeping his scabbarded blade in his left hand, the Southerner lays his right firmly upon the collar of the Dwarf's armour, beside Frarin's neck. The man makes no effort to try and wake or treat the injured Dwarf, not yet.
Instead, Rhifaroth scoots himself as far back towards the trees as his right arm will allow him, then he braces his good left leg and heaves upon Frarin's body as hard as he can, dragging the downed Khazad a few feet closer to cover.
Except for a quick glance over his shoulder to keep the troll's placement fixed in his mind, the injured man does not let up his effort. It is repeated, quickly, though his own face blanches with the pain in his own chest wound.
"Luuuuuuucy," comes that voice again from the trees, Fletcher's, from the sound -- though the words are most strange from a Ranger. "Lucy, come here. Leave the little fur-faces be, and I'll give you a treasure. Fresh meat, and /shiny/ things."
But still, another arrow accompanies the voice.
Halbarad launches an arrow...
Halbarad's bowshot hits Lucy, lightly wounding her.
[Kellan(#31169)] With the battle not going well for the two whom had lead the two separate parties the dwarves of the blue mountain now rush forward. They come in defense of the wounded of the camp. They swing there weapons though each seems a little more warry than usual this troll acts different than those they have seen before. Kellan still near the troll yes "Gaaah you first!" the is able to dodge the blow from the troll ever so closely. The high-warder has lost a lot of blood and his next strike is over head but with only one hand it's not his best.
Kellan attacks Lucy with his War Hammer and lightly wounds her!
[Lucy(#29415)] Arrows! Why are there always arrows. One connects, and falls away.. a second comes and sticks sure into her arm. She pays it little attention but there it says, swaying dangerously from her skin. She has little time to respond to the teasing voice from beyond as Kellan comes at her again, striking at her leg again. He hits, but the blow is not as strong as the others. She wastes no time in swinging her club toward his side in want to toss him toward the ring of trees and shadows.
Lucy attacks Kellan with her Club, but Kellan parries the attack with his shield!
The Mouse cocks her head, and if possible, she would have pricked her ears as well...but despite the name, she -was- only human, thus she merely moves forward, toward Rhifaroth and Frarin. She whips another arrow from her quiver and before she starts toward them, she fires at Lucy again, adding arrows to the Captain's attempt to garner attention. For now, she says naught - merely fires.
Tinduial launches an arrow...
Tinduial's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.
Lucy attacks Kellan with her Club and moderately wounds him!
Teeth gritted and bared in his tattooed and scarred face, Rhifaroth scoots back on the ground again, brushing his cloak off to the side to keep it out from under himself. He heaves once more on Frarin's collar, then has to pause to get his own breath.
The man looks back behind himself to see how far the trees and brush are yet ... still a bit to go.
Long sword still in his left hand and sheathed, Rhifaroth uses that arm to lever himself back again though it's painful. Then he heaves on Frarin once more, feeling the stitches in his chest wound tear, the flesh beneath his bandage parting. He does not look this time to see if Lucy is closer or further away. Nor does the Southerner see Tinduial leaving her own cover.
No, Rhifaroth drags Frarin a few more feet, getting close now to the brush.
STATUS: IC (17s idle)
Kellan is by dwarven standard relatively young looking though having reached the age of full maturity his true age is hard to tell. He has long dark brown hair that is kept at his back by a tie of black cloth. His beard covering a good portion of his face is long and is likewise kept in check by the same type of cloth. His face is round, though his nose a bit too pointed for his liking. His eyes are of a lighter brown than his hair. Usually found for clothes are a shirt of a deep blue color, and pants of brown. His feet are covered by a pair of only slightly worn traveling boots. In his middle a black leather belt can be found with a couple of pouches for carrying things he needs for everyday life.
Species: Khazad <Dwarf>
Weapons: War Hammer <War Hammer>
Armor: Small Ring Mail Armor <Ring Mail Armor>; Metal Helmet
Other Visible Equipment: Small Metal Shield
The arrows have done little good so far, and that draws a sigh from the voice in the wood. There is the sound of footsteps, then -- obvious footsteps, making no attempt to hide themselves -- and a sword whispering as Halbarad draws it from his sheath.
He appears in the clearing, then, behind Lucy, and gives a sharp whistle.
"Hoy, Lucy!" he calls now, from much closer; something rises and falls in the air above his hand, something gold, something bright, something glittery. "Lucy, my love! I've missed you so -- I brought you a present!"
[Frarin(#31050)] Even as the wounded Rhifaroth makes a pained effort to reach Frarin and grabs the dwarf about the collar, still he makes no movement. The man successfully manages to pull the immobile khazad a few feet, but does he drag a corpse? Only a trail of mingled blood and dust and dirt is left behind, even a few shattered chain mail rings detach as the dwarf's still form moves.
All indicators suggest that Frarin is good and dead, for there is no effort, no movement from the merchant as Rhifaroth makes his painful push towards cover. But as the man pauses to stretch himself out to gain another few feet, there is the the slightest movement from Frarin. His back rises and falls in an ever so shallow motion. Small, perhaps, but Frarin, it seems, still breathes.
Tinduial mutters something to her ownself, and from the inflection, it might be swearwords...but Rangers do not swear do they? She crosses the open space between herself and the wounded Rhifarroth and Frarin, not firing this time...she does not want to draw attention to herself this time. She reaches Rhifaroth and her voice is, as always, as parched as the Harad desert and whispering.
"So, you forgot to duck again, eh?" and she reaches down to help collar the khazad and drag him, "This 'un looks done for..." Her voice is quietly troubled.
[Lucy(#29415)] Finally! The club delivers a blow to the hard-hitting and persistant Kellan.. and just in time. The voice that had called her name has finally brought a face into the light. Lucy turns and lets her gaze fall to Halbarad. Her eyes squint as she stares at him, and seems to (for now) ignore the shiney object he holds abovee his head.. Familiar. This one is familiar. "Lucy remember you.." comes the rumbling voice as she assumes a stance. She does not advance, at last, not yet. "You .. far from home." Now she eyes his weapon, and the golden object before staring at the man again.
[Frarin(#31050)] Even with Frarin no longer heading the Ereborian dwarves, they close in with trained precision. Several stout fellows garbed as professional soldiers fill the gap left by Frarin's airborne departure and merchant and warder alike circle Lucy warily. Tentative attacks are made towards the troll, but for the most part, the bunched dwarves strive to keep the hulking Queen of the Shaws away from the wounded.
Tinduial's voice coming to close to his ear and Rhifaroth is for one instant, startled. But the man tries to get his breath for another heave, his own voice thin and hissed, "He's alive. Just moved."
Not trying to get up from the ground himself just yet, Rhifaroth throws his own weight back even as the Mouse lends a hand with the downed Khazad. Between them they move Frarin a few more feet towards the now near cover.
Not giving up, nor leaving the Dwarf to Tinduial who may or may not continue her efforts, Rhifaroth scoots back and pulls yet again on the silver smith, dragging him just a bit more still.
<OOC> Halbarad says, "Oh! Oh! Can I have a little red wagon?!"
[Kellan(#31169)] "Take tha.." the high-warder begins to say but the club strikes his lower chest he is lifted off his feet rings breaking and another wound opening where he was hit blood trickling. The stout dwarf isn't hit as hard and falls right on his butt. "We'll see about that.." he groans taking a bit longer to get up this time. The perhaps fool hearted dwarf rushes back in as fast as he can. Kellan swings his hammer around the side in an arc this time at the knee of the massive form!
Kellan attacks Lucy with his War Hammer and moderately wounds her!
Lucy's recognition draws a smile to the Captain's face, and he takes a single step back as she takes note of him -- but his sword remains low, ready to come up to stave off a club's attack, but not yet offensive.
But a frown breaks his features as the dworf continues its attack. "Are the little fur-faces hurting you, Lucy my love? That's not nice. They should stop and leave you be, shouldn't they?"
The golden object? A coin, but it glimmers and gleams as it flies into the air and back down into Halbarad's hand.
Lucy continues to eye Halbarad as dwarves continue to come at her. She sweeps her club down among them, sending bodies into each other and beyond. She starts to step toward the man as he flips his coin, when Kellan comes at her yet again, crashing into her knee with his hammer. She cries out, the pain of being hit in near the same place with that blasted hammer THREE times has taken its toll. She turns and glares, ignoring Halbarad and his shiney and turning all attention to Kellan. She raises the club above her head and brings is down hard, as if to drive his body into the ground..
Lucy attacks Kellan with her Club, but Kellan parries the attack with his War Hammer!
[Frarin(#31050)] On Frarin is dragged, entirely unaware of either his predicament or his rescuers. The trail of blood and dirt lengthens as his form comes ever closer to cover. But Rhifaroth's effort does not seem for nothing. Gradually the dwarf's back moves again, then again, a shallow and irregular breathing, but a definite sign of life nonetheless. Then suddenly Frarin's body gives one weak shudder and a coughing, wretching sound is muffled where his face meet the ground. Dust scatters as the dwarf coughs and a splatter of blood flies from his mouth.
Cover approaches and without resistence, the Ranger and the Southerner are able to get Frarin closer to cover...what with the troll being handily distracted. Tinduial's nose wrinkles at the blood, "He's likely wounded within," she pronounces flatly, "That troll's club did a right good working over." A healer would have to assume that dwarf anatomy shares some similarites to human... She glances up to see how the Captain fares, and her eyes wrinkle to espy him standing and taunting in the middle of the clearing. Her jaw works briefly before turning back to Rhifaroth, "What about you?" She regards him with sharp eyes.
[Kellan(#31169)] The high-warder is lucky or unlucky? He is swinging his hammer over his head when the troll strikes it glances off the hammer which sends the dwarf off balance already wounded and onto the ground rolling once or twice. Kellan shakes this latest fun off quickly finding his feet under him. He moves quickly back into attack position finishing the strike he had one handed over his head at the troll.
Kellan attacks Lucy with his War Hammer, but Lucy parries the attack with her Club!
Lucy may be distracted by the Ranger, but... there is also the smell of fresh blood. Ample, fresh, hot Dwarven blood. And now also a hint of a man's blood, as the left front of Rhifaroth's shirt begins a new stain just below a long slice in the shirt that has been recently mended.
The Southerner's efforts with Frarin are for a moment paused as the man leans forward to grab a new hold upon the Dwarf, to turn Frarin over onto his back, rolling the silver smith one body width closer. They are now at the edge of the trees, finally.
There is no answer for Tinduial's question, not yet. Rhifaroth shifts his bad leg once more, and scoots back, then heaves one last time to drag Frarin into the brush with them. Then he lays flat back on the ground himself, breathing hard, "See what... you can do... for him, Sabine."
The talking doesn't seem to work, and apparently the dwarves are reluctant to take the hint -- though spoken with insulting words, it's but to be expected -- and Halbarad's lips press thoughtfully.
"Oy, Lucy!" he calls once more -- and this time he chucks the gold coin at her head.
[Lucy(#29415)] Club to hammer sends Kellan flying, but quickly he returns for yet another attempt. As he swings again toward her leg, she wedges the club in his way to deflect the blow. The club is raised again toward Kellan, and as Halbarad calls to her once more, her head turns. "You are ne.." she begins, but is interrupted as the gold coin he had once held in his hand now flies toward her and smacks her firmly on the head. She blinks, eyes fluttering as the shiney object falls and bounces against her stomach and onto the ground. She watches the glinting light from the fires dance off of its surface as it rests on the ground, but turns suddenly to swing once more at Kellan.
Lucy attacks Kellan with her Club and badly wounds him!
"Likely not a hell of a lot until this attack ends," Tinduial grimaces, "Could end up needed some things I can only get from the camp." She whips out her healers pack though and probing the various wounds she begins stuffing some foul smelling mixtures into some gaping wounds, and some interesting elixers that have the look of orc blood into others. She glances up at Rhifaroth.
"What is wrong with your leg?" she queries.
[Frarin(#31050)] The sight that greets the dark night as Frarin is flipped over is not pretty, though not perhaps unexpected. His face is slick with blood and dusted over with the dirt over which he had been dragged, and the dirty redness has even thickened the strands of beard about the dwarf's mouth and chin. His tunic, though naturally red, seems darkened in a way that even night cannot cause, and dust and stray leaves cling to the damp material.
His eyes do not open, but Frarin's mouth lolls awkwardly as a second shuddering cough wracks his chest. Blood pools in his mouth and outlines his teeth, but ragged breaths escape him, though there is no hint of a return to consciousness yet.
[Kellan(#31169)] A tough dwarf is the high-warder, but sometimes enough is enough. He takes another shot to the stomach of the sturdy figure which more cracking is heard as he is lifted off the ground and blown back. His top half strikes one of the trees, and spins landing behind the tree. Kellan does not pull himself up but lays crumpled behind the tree.
Finally getting some breath back, Rhifaroth levers himself back up onto his right elbow. He looks at the Mouse and then glances at the bandages that bind his own left leg from groin to knee, "Amon Sul... something tried to take my leg off." Then he almost laughs, "I can't believe my luck!" But it's been very ill luck, mostly.
Mindful that it's not over yet, Rhifaroth leaves off his rest and drags his good right leg underneath himself. With a great effort, he manages to force himself back up, grabbing at the near brush and slender trees. Once up, he turns his head to try and see where Fletcher is and how that man fairs with the troll.
Still, the Dunedan has not attacked the troll, even as she beats up on the dwarves; the coin is fetched from the ground near her feet as she takes a swing at the dwarf, and he winces as her club connects and another of the small fellows suffers a bad case of troll.
"Will you come with me now, Lucy love?" he asks, flashing the coin and taking another step back. "I've fresh meat for you, and more presents -- if you /want/ them. Or I'll give them to my other love."
Lucy watches as Kellan goes flying. After her strike, she bends as if to pick up the coin.. but it is gone. She lets her large round eyes roll up to peer at Halbarad. "You.. will not win.." she growls and stands at her full height again. Looking around, many of the beings here are injured. The smell of blood is nearly overwhelming. Instead of following the man, she takes a step back. She eyes one of the fallen, and promptly scoops him up in her large paw. She makes a show of plucking the armor off of the dwarf and throwing it toward Halbarad one piece at a time. The bearded body is barely able to protest, and after all of the armor is stripped away she eyes Halbarad. "Lucy has no love." and as her voice falls silent, her captive begins to scream. Her fist begins to close around him as she takes another step back, and another, letting the shadows begin to fall on her once more.
[Combat(#13388)] Halbarad unwields Longbow.
[Combat(#13388)] Halbarad wields Aderthad.
Tinduial glances up from her work as the scream is heard. She winces, and casts her sight aside, a sigh from her lips. She murmurs something soft and ties a cloth around a nasty wound on the dwarf's chest, pressing down firmly before standing. Not much more she can do right now.
Having his breath back, Rhifaroth now stands quietly resting a moment more and watching what is going on from the thin concealment of the trees. His hands then go to unbuckle his belt to slip his long sword back into its proper place. The scabbard bumps lightly against his bad leg, but doesn't bother him.
Turning his head to look back at the near tree where he has been the past several days, looking carefully around at both the ground and the tree's limbs. He mutters to himself and moves carefully, favoring his ill leg, "<Sindarin> Manwe's breath, where -is- my bow?" Neither his bow nor quiver are to be seen, though his pack still lays by that tree.
Halbarad's gaze follows the troll as she fetches a wounded dwarf, but he has little time to act before the armor begins to fly his way -- he dodges the breastplate, and the helmet clangs off his sword as he deflects it. But those grey eyes are touched with firelight and sorrow at her declaration -- and at the poor dwarf's scream.
"Put him down, Lucy love," he says, his voice clear, and he follows the troll step for step. "Or I'm going to have to hurt you."
Lucy smiles and continues to step back into the dark. Another squeeze of her hand brings another ragged cry from the dwarf. "Hurt Lucy.. Lucy will hurt dwarf." She holds out her hand so that Halbarad will have a good view of the captive's pain-ridden face. As she eases her fingers, the dwarf's limbs fall limp. He coughs once, twice as his head lulls forward over her finger. "You stop.. and Lucy stop squeeze."
[Frarin(#31050)] It might be the scream of that most unfortunate dwarf in Lucy's grasp that brings Frarin to, or it might be the firm hand of the female Ranger pressing the cloth to his chest. Whatever the reason, the silver merchant's eyelids flutter, then flicker open and the whites of his eyes reflect in the light of the nearest campfire. Despite the blood covering Frarin's face, however, the damage seems centred around his chest and midsection, for though his eyes take a moment to focus as they are forced open, when at last they are, there is a clearness of thought in their depths. Indeed, a painful awareness. Almost as soon as the dwarf's eyes open, they shut again, scrunched shut and jaw tightening as the reality of his broken body is translated at last to his mind.
His jaw remains tight, but Frarin's eyes are forced half-open again and his head lolls awkwardly to his side. There are bushes and the smell of undergrowth and of blood, and Frarin's gaze rises just high enough to catch sight of the tattooed figure pressed against the tree near him. And that is it. The momentary consciousness is overwhelmed by whatever bleeding takes place internally and Frarin's eyes roll back into his head. Once again he is still but for a shallow breathing interspersed with shuddering coughs.
Halbarad's steps halt. And his sword remains low.
"Put down the dwarf, Lucy," he says, his voice low, steady, even. "And I'll give you treasures to keep for your own."
Coughing, and then the Dwarf's eyes opening, roaming about, then looking at him... Rhifaroth sees this as his attention for one moment has left off his search for his missing bow and quiver. The man frowns at the silver merchant, then he speaks in a low voice, "Hang in there, Frarin." But, there is a lot of blood coughed up - pierced lung, even an ex-soldier of Gondor can see that much.
Looking away, his own face tight, Rhifaroth moves away a bit further, keeping a hold of what trees he can for support. A few hops on his good leg, drag of his bad leg, and then he's back at the tree where his things have been left.
Still no bow to be seen. It must have been lost at Weathertop.
[Lucy(#29415)] "Food.. Food is what Lucy need.." she takes more steps back until she is shrowded in darkness again. "Food, Lucy has" There is a gurgled scream from the dwarf, the sounds ring through the night air.. and then stops. There is a grunt and then the sounds of heavy footfalls going further into the night. Soon after, the body of the dwarf (what is left of it) can be seen flying back into the firelight... straight toward Halbarad.
Halbarad's sword drops as the body comes flying toward him; but he does not duck nor flee the missile. Rather, arms rise and a foot steps sharply back to balance him as he catches the dwarf.
Blood splatters on his chest, staining the drab of his tunic and cloak with a deep, dark crimson. His eyes remain a long, narrowed moment on the darkness that houses the troll--
--and then he turns, sword left upon the ground, to carry the now even shorter figure back into the camp.
Not finding his bow and quiver anywhere, Rhifaroth turns at the sound of the mangled Dwarf's cry as Lucy drags the Khazad into the darkness... the injured man tries to get back to the other trees where he can see better, hopping and grabbing at the trunks once more. His bad leg though has taken quite a bit of jostling.
He is in time to see Fletcher turn back towards the camp and start back into the light, carrying an oddly shaped form. It looks like a Dwarf's body, but hidiously maimed, whether dead or alive.
Rhifaroth turns his face away to glance back at Frarin, where that one lays upon the ground in the cover of the bushes, so bloody. The man leans against the tree that supports him and grimly watches Halbarad with his grisly burden.
[Kellan(#31169)] The way of the treeline stirring can be heard if one listens closely. The high-warden uses the tree finding his feet just ever barely, his arm with hammer still in it across his middle a deep gash and broken rib's. "Cant believe." Kellan starts shaking his head as he makes it back to the camp he falls flat once more and is out again.
COMBAT: Your health improves.
Lucy's snack still breathes, but his breath comes shallow and rattled from his injuries as Halbarad rests the dwarf beside the fire, tugging his own cloak from his shoulders to press against the dwarf's wounds. It's likely the wounded fellow won't live out the night, as much blood as he's lost; but the Ranger does this all the same, grey eyes narrowed and features flat.
There are several Dwarves wounded, down and bloody. Their own kind now swarms among them, picking them up to drag back into their camp, or to bring light to treat them where they have fallen if too seriously bleeding to even move, just yet.
Two of these seek out for Kellan, rumbling voices low to each other. Torches are born from the fires to look into the darkness, seeking the newly wounded. What devastation to hit the camp where so many were already injured.
Sore, his own shirt reblooded from his retorn chest wound, Rhifaroth eases his way from hand hold to hand hold, back to where Tinduial is with Frarin. Careful of his bad leg, the man watches for some of the other dwarves moving to seek the wounded.
"Over here, your silversmith, Frarin lies." His low voice calls to them. And indeed, it takes only a moment for two of them to break off and come trotting to seek their comrade.
Tinduial raises from her kneeling posture, and greets Rhifaroth with a nod, "He does not look good," she mutters, eyeing Rhifaroth warily for a moment.
"What of the one that screamed?" she picks up her pack and settles it over her shoulders again, and picks up her bow.
"Sabine?" comes the Captain's voice after a long moment, and it is flat as the grey of his eyes. "He breathes, but shallow; can you tend him? He's well beyond my skill."
And his lips press after he speaks, gaze flickering toward the wounded silversmith and Rhifaroth and the one called the Mouse. There's sorrow behind his gaze, but the steel of it is hard-pressed to let it through, save in a brief glimpse of firelight.
[+LIGHT:#30370] Halbarad douses Flaming fish.
[+LIGHT] Halbarad's Flaming fish flickers and goes out, plunging The Chetwood into darkness.
The treeline yields another figure then, and hastening into the light comes the tall figure of Strider. Twice do his eyes scan the scene, ere he moves at once to join the others. His hand flies to his swordhilt ere he asks quickly of Halbarad and Tinduial:
"What has happened here? Is there still a threat?"
Fletcher's own voice answers the woman, but Rhifaroth inclines his own head in Halbarad's direction to answer her as well, "Over there... poor fellow's legs are off. Troll mauled him."
Looking back at the Mouse, he then moves his hand to gesture her to go on, "I'll see what I can do to assist here until his own folk come for him. He needs to be on his side to drain the lung, lest his choke on his own blood." He may be no healer, but he knows such wounds.
Strider's voice though, Rhifaroth looks up but lets the others anwser. With a hand on the near tree, he lowers himself carefully onto his good knee beside Frarin.
"No more than usual now," Tinduial replies to the Chieftain, nodding sharply at the Captain, "I will have a look at him...try and make him as comfortable as I can..." she does not sound overly hopeful though. A glance is given to Rhifaroth and she moves off to ...well...assist the legless dwarf in dying...
"It was Lucy," Halbarad adds his own report to Strider's question, his words flat. He gives Tinduial a nod -- and a brief look of relief, of thanks -- as he pushes himself from his knees. His clothes are blood-covered, but he moves as though none of it is his.
"We need to move, else she may return for another..." he waves a hand toward the camp as he frowns. "...meal."
Zhi comes out, slow at first.. but when she sees that the immediate danger has gone, she summons more healers from the tent. A small army moves toward the wounded, seeing to the worst first. Zhi notices Rhifaroth kneeling next to Frarin, hher eyes squinting as she takes note of his condition. With the help of several others, she begins seeing to his wounds then and there. More healers pan out, checking those limping or lying around. They come upon Kellan, and begin to remove his armor to check his wounds.
Nodding to Halbarad's words, Strider's fingers relax upon his pommel, though they do not leave it. "Aye, you are right. How soon can all be made ready?" Keen eyes then turn to the maimed dwarf, and a silent word passes his lips at the sight of him.
"Are there any others who need assistance?" he says aloud then, watching Tinduial move to the legless fellow's side; trust in his gaze at her back.
Tired and sore himself, but in far, far better shape than many here, Rhifaroth tries to assist with Frarin until the Dwarve's own folk arrive. Then the man eases back out of their way and pulls himself up using a near tree.
His attention then turns to where Strider, the Mouse, and Fletcher are gathered. But they are out in the camp's clearing and there are no trees to hold to, to get to them. So he waits, resting a few moments before he decides anything more.
"Not that I know," Halbarad gives his answer as he steps away from the legless dwarf, but his gaze does not so easily leave that one. It lingers, and there's a touch of sorrow in it.
Drawing a breath, though, he tugs his attention away and skims the camp. "You well yet?" he calls quietly in Rhifaroth's direction.
Zhi and her healers have come for Frarin, picking up his battered body and moving him carefully to where they will have light to tend him by. Others have found Kellan and bring him back to their camp as well. There is much murmuring among them, and sad head shaking, but they are tough folk. There are no tears among them for fallen friends and kinsmen, just grim industry to do what needs doing. Several also come to see what might be done for the mauled, legless Khazad, but there really isn't much that can be done. Small comfort even for one who is no longer conscious.
Fletcher's hail draws Rhifaroth's attention from whereever his own tired thoughts had slipped to. He stands with his weight on his good leg, both hands upon the thin tree trunks amid the brush next to where Frarin was laying.
"I'm all right. Some torn stitches maybe, nothing more."
Tinduial works economically, her movements abrupt, but there is no real hope in her face. After some minutes, she pauses in what she was doing, rising and rubbing her hands together, smearing the blood on them.
"I am sorry," she murmurs to his kin, "He is gone. Too much of his life's blood..." A shake of her head. She glances toward Strider and Fletcher a moment, before moving onto another of the wounded, her work not yet ended.
It is perhaps a kindness, for the mauled Dwarf that he has slipped away so quickly. His folk incline their heads to Tinduial for her efforts on their kinsman's behalf, but they say nothing. They take up the body of their comrad to remove him to their tents where his body can be prepared properly come day light.
Where Rhifaroth's reply receives a nod from him, a soft curse escapes the Captain at Tinduial's pronouncement, and the frustration shows a brief flash on his features. "I was too late," he frowns. "Too little, and too late."
"I fear even the Master of the House could have done no more, Sabine," says Strider softly, watching her endeavours a moment or two longer ere he looks then to Halbarad. "Nor indeed could his sons, were they both at hand to aid you. It is a grave loss, but grave is the enemy also, and fell. I honour this fellow's courage, and I shall gladly dig at his burial -- yet now there is need of haste."
He steps forth to Rhifaroth then, and asks: "Are you well enough to move?"
Strider's coming across the small clearing over to where he stands within the trees, still leaning against them for support, Rhifaroth glances up from resting his eyes. It's been a long night filled with many interruptions before even the troll came.
There is humor maybe in the Southerner's voice though, "Maybe, with cruches, wagon, or horse. But I can't walk on it, yet." Deeply cut muscle can take months to heal and recondition.
Rhifaroth shrugs, "I'll make do. There's no staying here."
Halbarad offers no answer to that, but gives a slow nod even as he draws a long breath--
--and then the frustration is gone. Or, at least, placed elsewhere that the matter at hand may be attended.
"Let's away, then. The cookfires need dousing, the camp scattering..."
"I can look to that," nods Strider to Halbarad, and he tucks his scabbard beneath the fold of his cloak. "And then I shall loiter behind after the wagons have rolled. If Lucy or any of the orcs trace our steps, they shall have a distraction indeed."
Nodding to Rhifaroth then as well as his fellow Rangers, Strider says: "Fletcher will lead you well, friend from Gondor. Let us regroup further in, and closer to the road."
With that, he starts to his task, kicking into mere embers the nearest fire.
Strider's words are met with an inclination of his head, but Rhifaroth says nothing himself. He glances towards Halbarad, then turns to start making his way back towards the tree where the rest of his things still lay upon the ground. He keeps to things he can hold onto, or hops a few steps until he has made the short span between, favoring that ill leg.
In a moment he has his small pack, but his bow and quiver have apparently been lost back at Weathertop.
-------------------------------------------- End of RP Log ------------------------------------------