PDA

View Full Version : The Forgotten



Oro
18/May/2010, 02:39 AM
The
Forgotten</font></font>



</font></font>
Many years
ago, Seven Dwarven Lords of the Clans of Khazad-Dum broke off from their
motherland in an attempt to retake the fabled Dwarven City of Gundabad,
the Birthplace of their race. These Dwarven Lords and their Seven
Clans founded a home, a last resistance, near the Mount of Durin's
Birthplace. They founded their Kingdom beneath the Frozen Peaks of
Frosthelm, a small range of mountains to the North of Gundabad. Here
they have resided for hundreds of years, the last resistance to the
Orc-Kings of Gundabad.


In a harsh realm they fight and die. Surviving in the Frozen North is
an adventure all of its own. But in recent times the Wargs and Orcs of
Gundabad have begun to frequent the Peaks of Frosthelm more often and
the Forgotten Remnant, Last Resistance of the Dwarves of the North,
find themselves being hunted by the Orc-King. With Khazad-Dum under
the shadow's watchful eye the Orc-King of Gundabad feels now is the time
to exterminate the pesky dwarves once and for all.


Join

Orin [my npc] as a War Party of the Dwarven Realm of
Azangathol, the Shadow Fortress. Orin the War Leader of Azangathol
leads a squad of some of the most well trained and experienced Dwarven
Warriors in the World of Middle Earth in search of the orcs and wargs of
the Orc-King in order to defend their race from extermination.


</font></font>
Join Now as either </font></font>

A) A member of Orin's Squad [The War Party]</font></font>

B) A Citizen of Azangathol [Clan Leaders, Soldiers, Merchants, Ect.]

Any GM NPC can be discarded at any point, and that position taken by another. And more spots or even War Party's can be added if anyone wants to lead one of their own and GM their own adventures, just gotta coordinate with me. </font></font>

</font></font>

War Party Positions
</font></font>
Vanguard [Heavily Armoured Shield Warrior]:</font></font> Gror Crimsonshadow [Open NPC]</font></font>

Soldier [Master of Death]: Narmin Quickaxe [Finny]</font></font>

Soldier [Master of Death]: </font></font>Nor Crimsonshadow [Afor]</font></font>

Scout [Lightly Armoured Ranged and Melee Fighter]:</font></font> Beastuk [Fanecu]</font></font>

Scout </font></font>[Lightly
Armoured Ranged and
Melee Fighter]</font></font>:</font></font> Thogar Stoneheart [Ataltur Ninefinger]</font></font>
Scout </font></font>[Lightly
Armoured Ranged and
Melee Fighter]</font></font>:</font></font> Eir Shadowfoot [Zerani]</font></font>

Medic [Warrior with the Ability to Bandage and Heal]:</font></font>Freyna Quickfoot [Trisula]</font></font>

Leader: Orin Wyrmsbane [Oro] </font></font>


Rules are simple: Stick to RP, Try to Keep
posts from being too short, and have Fun! </font></font>


The Forgotten</font></font>
</font></font>Chapter I</font>
</font></font>
</font></font>Freezing winds howled through the crags of the rock face as several figures climbed down the cliff into the valley below. Several miles north of the legendary Mount Gundabad, it was ever winter here in the Gray Mountains, home of some of the most despicable creatures known and unknown to Middle Earth. The region was called "Frosthelm" by its few inhabitants, and "The Forgotten Lands" by others. A powerful squat figure landed on the valley floor, his iron-shod boots impacting with the drift of snow beneath him. Sinking into the deep powder up this hip, He pushed through the thick blanket of snow creating a path for those behind him. Pulling a tall, metal shield from his back he threw it in front of him and plowed through the ice, his powerful legs pumping forward though he had nearly lost all feeling in his extremities. Behind him several shadows slipped through the darkness of the night, following his lead along the valley floor.

Moonlight shimmered on the path ahead, outlining the stoic form of a warg against the night sky. The wolf looked about, breathing lightly trails of breath billowing into the night sky. The creature's mouth opened slightly and long fangs glistened as it sniffed the air. Invaders had entered its valley. It extended it's body upwards, looking up into the night sky and took in a deep breath. As it began to howl a large quivering shaft appeared in it's side right under it's armpit. The howl came out in a sharp gasp as the warg quivered and its right leg slumped under it. One of the invaders nimbly ran along the snowtop, his feet bound to a pair of snowshoes that he had become accustomed to moving upon. Reaching the warg in a few seconds, the dwarf slipped a knife out of the folds of his cloak and spun past the biting creature, defending itself in its last moments.

But the dwarf rotated it's body over the limp leg of the warg and slammed onto the back of the lupine form, its dagger sliding around the throat of the great beast. The warg slammed it's head backwards attempting to dodge the dagger that inevitably reached its throat. The light left its eyes a moment later as the dagger dragged deeply into its throat and slit the jugular of the powerful sentient beast. The dwarf's lips murmured as it downed one of it's ancient racial foes, his prayer of thanks to the god Mahal for providing sustenance and materials for clothing reaching towards the heavens and the night sky. Without a word, the party of dwarves split up, surrounding the giant beast and began to carve into it. First cutting free the pelt for clothing and then cut the corpse into multiple pieces that were wrapped in hide and thrown into separate bags.

A tall dwarf, Orin, stepped into the center of the group. Pulling back the lupine cowl from his face, His leathery and scarred face ringed in jet black hair, He spoke "Excellent work, Bolgar, I dont think his kin heard the throws of his death. A quick and painless kill." The dwarf had an aura of command about him, he wore leather armor covered in chainmail with short twin broadswords on either hip and cloaked in thick wolf pelts. His long and crooked nose was red at the tip from exposure to the elements. The warg pelt was one of the most prized natural resources of the Dwarves of Frosthelm, their armor and clothing lined with the stuff.

As quickly as the dwarven unit appeared into the valley, they disappeared. Climbing back up the frozen cliff side into the mountains above. They made their way down secret passes and into hidden tunnels. Knocking steel upon the mountainside several times to alert sentries of their passing, a certain rhythm only know to those who resided within the Halls of the Forgotten, named by the dwarves to be Azangathol, the Shadowed Fortress. Deeper the unit of diminutive warriors marched into the bowels of the earth. After a short time they arrived at their homeland, stepping up to a dead-end in the cave.

Tapping his knife hilt onto the wall of the cave, Bolgar hit certain spots in a certain order. Stepping back, the wall began to quiver and then split as it slid away from the hallway. A gateway of dwarven carving and make lead to a small guard chamber, within two plated covered guards with halberds at hand stood before the doors to the Fortress of the forgotten. Orin stepped past Bolgar into the chamber, his fist gauntleted in leather and lupine fur grasping the forearm of one of the gate-guards. Muttering in khuzdul to each other, they grasped and welcomed each other. In turn each of the squad was welcomed back by their brethren, showing off their catch and then being ushered through the now open gate. Up above several other dwarves with bows sat in chambers that looked down upon the guard room. If the room was ever taken, the guards could exit and close the large stone doors and fire down into the chamber below.

This was not the only tactic to defending their homeland. There were two entrances to Azangathol, this was the main entrance, with a path leading down to a twenty foot long slender bridge traversing a small thirty foot deep drop in the cavern. If an enemy made it this far into the kingdom the bridge could be dropped and the enemy would have to go down into the pit and back up the other side via rockclimbing to reach the Fortress of the lost Longbeards. The other entrance to the kingdom was defended similarily but it was smaller and lead into the top of the mountain, where most enemies would not dare traverse.

The dwarves of the Clan of Longbeard of the Fortress of Azangathol were the Forgotten Ones. Having come to the far north to find new mines and ore, they had remained when Khazad-Dum had been destroyed. Ever vigilant and much more cautious than their brethren in the Iron Hills, Erebor, and the Ered Luin this clan was slow to trust due to having been surviving the frozen north for so long. Their home was hidden away and held a deep treasure they had collected over the years. This was also the closest to Mount Gundabad, the ancestral birthplace of the Dwarves, that any clan resided. These proud dwarves were sworn to take back their homeland in this lifetime or the next. They would fight to the death and would give their all for their homeland. They were harsh due to a harsh land they barely survived in and would remain cautious until the day they died.

Orin stepped into the main council chamber of Azangathol, an amphitheater circled with many seats. Down in the center of the theater was an ornate silver and gold table with seven chairs on its edge. Behind each chair was a sectioned off seating area for each of the Clans of the Azangathol. Here resided Seven Clans, all from the Longbeard Family. Each Clan was the remaining members of the Seven Great Lords who had ventured to this frozen wasteland and created their home here. Each Clan had a Lord that was appointed to sit at the table. The Chieftain of the Clan, for that was their official title, was appointed to Rule the Azangathol with the other six members of the council. Each Clan had a citadel within the Fortress and they all ringed the council.

All the seats were the same size, with the symbol of the clan on the chair. Except one. This one seat did not have it's clan symbol upon it. It instead had a large crown upon the back. This was the seat of the High Chieftain, Lord of Azangathol. He was appointed such by the other councilors and ruled until his death. Upon his death the council would vote upon a new High Chieftain, after the Clan was given a chance to appoint a new representative. The High Chieftain appointed the War Leader, the dwarf given command of all the forces of Azangathol. Though the Forgotten People may have been a small kingdom, they had a well trained and experienced force of dwarves that could hold its own in a war. Orin, Son of Freorin, was the War Leader of Azangathol. His father, Freorin, was the High Chieftain of the Fortress. It was tradition for the High Chieftain to appoint one of his clan to the position of War Leader, and Freorin had thought his own son the right make.

Orin stepped into the council chamber, all empty except for a single elderly dwarf sitting at the table. Kneeling at the foot of the chamber he spoke, "The War Party has returned with the hides of three wargs found near the main entrance. We have exterminated them, but we do not believe these to be the innocent movements of single wargs," he said, slowly calming himself down as he did so, " I personally believe that these wargs are the probing of the Orc-King of Mount Gundabad. He is tired of our existence and wants to be able to swarm us with his minions. He is afraid of us and has turned his eye to us with the quieting of Khazad-Dum again. We have much to fear." He looked up at his father's tired face, looking for a reaction upon the stone template.

"Fear not my son, we have ever hidden beneath their nose and so we shall continue. I will not call a council of the Clans unless I know for sure we are in danger. Keep your War Parties scouting their fronts and keeping an eye upon them, keep the Shadowguard" he mentioned the main bulk of the fighting force of Azangathol, the Royal Guard of the High Chieftan, one hundred well trained and highly experienced warriors ready to move at a moments notice "at the ready. And once again, I do not see why you must go out with these parties. You are an important piece of this Kingdom and I would not have you put your life in danger"

Anger flared up in his son's eyes, the two had never seen eye to eye on many points and this was one, "I will not throw the lives of my dwarves in danger for nothing. I go with them, and If I die you will find another talented warrior to take my place. My honor does not allow me to stay back and hide. As always I Will lead the party out at dawn" He said turned in a hurry, his boots stamping across the stone floor. The voice of his father spoke behind him, causing a halt to his motions, "Will thee at least stay a few days and rest? I fear for you and care for you, my son" The old silver haired monarch knew his son would not stay, but he would beg all the same. Even in front of his personal guard he would beg his son to stay. A Monarch begging a Warrior.

But his son turned, his eyes filled with passion "I cannot, milord. For the sake of the Fortress I must be out and scouting. I will stay the night, refresh and repack supplies and my unit will be off at dawn. I will deliver my orders to the rest of the units before then and be on my way" And without another word between the two, he headed back to his quarters were he wrote a few missives to his commanding officers, and then went to see his second in command. After a meeting or two, he slept the night, refreshed and restocked and was out the next day with his unit, off into the cold North once again...

Edit OOC: Realized I needed to put the Opening Post above my RP post. </font></font>
</font></font> </font></font>










Edited by: Oro

Tolkus
20/May/2010, 11:14 AM
<DIV =WebWizRTE marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">After a long hard journey Tolkus, a Northman had made his way to the mountain. Not knowing if he would have to turn right back around and head home, he walked up to the Door Wardens whom he was able to just make out in the distance.
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">The man was tall and well dressed for the weather. A thin beard covered the mans face and his clothing conciled any weaponry. Surprised to see this man the Wardens brandished their weapons and demanded indentification.
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">Tolkus produced a dagger from under his cloak. He showed it to the Dwarves there and they were a mazed to see this was no Man made dagger but Dwarf make and from the Smiths of the mountain no less.
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">"How didyou come by this." one of the Wardens demanded. "It was a gift to my father...from Orin." the man answered. "I am Tolkus son of Tumbar. I was sent here to seek out Orin and ask to be recieved into tutelidge" he finished. The Dwarves just noded thier heads and laughed to themselves. One of them told Tolkus to wait he for Orins group would be coming soon. All Tolkus could do is wait and hope that he would be given a chance.
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">Edited by: Tolkus

Fane Mordagnir
20/May/2010, 02:20 PM
Garstuk Leader of the Terbok Clan</font>
</font>Garstuk was waiting in his throne room for a report from his first son but he wasn't sure when he was going to be back from the scouting party that had left with the War Leader Orin. Orin's father was one of Garstuk's greatest friends, and they had known each other for many years. The remainder of his seven sons were all around the citadel somewhere and his many grandchildren would be in the housing at the centre of the citadel where they were the safest from attack should the worst happen. Garstuk called one of the many servants who were stood in his throne room forward I want you to go to the housing area and bring my grandchildren to me. His grandchildren were his loves and he prized them above much of the riches of the Terbok Clan. He sat waiting for his grandchildren to arrive and he stroked his long grey beard in contemplation. His crimson robes covered the ornate mail he wore that was first worn by Metlok the Leader of the Terbok Clan at the time of founding Azangathol and had been passed down to every clan leader ever since. His tip beard was tucked into his belt and his axes were hung on the wall behind him with only the Terbok Battle Axe sitting leaning against the side of his thrown. Garstuk stood up and placed the huge axe back on the wall so his grandchildren didnt hurt themselves.</font>
</font>Some of Garstuks 23 grandchildren rushed into the throne room at the same time squealing for their grandfathers attention. He grabbed about four of them and lifted them up into his arms </font>Argh how are my little diamonds stones today?</font> His gruff voice shouted out while he was putting one lot down and picking another four up. Good Grandpa they shouted back in chorus. These were only the young ones who were too young to be training for something. His older grandsons would be on the training field and his granddaughters would be off somewhere learning how to do something that Garstuk didnt know he had never known and he wasnt sure he wanted to. </font>TELL US A STORY!!!</font>cried the children and as he was about to pull his youngest grandson onto his lap when a messenger walked into the room and spoke to one of the servants.</font>
</font>The servant walked over to Garstuks throne and leant over.</font> The party has returned Orin is in the Main Council Chamber giving a briefing to his father. Baestuk should be here soon.</font> Garstuk nodded and set the child on his lap down to stand on the ground and patted him on the back </font>Im sorry children but its time to go back to the housing your Grandpa is going to have a meeting How about you come back later on and Ill tell you a story</font>. The children ran out with the servant who brought them in and Garstuk straightened up himself and took the Battle Axe off the wall and put it in the sling on his back. He picked up his throwing axes and put those in his belt. He also lifted the huge Warg pelt cloak from the back of his chair and wrapped himself in it giving him the look of grandeur al dwarf lords should hold.</font>
</font>He stood waiting for his son next to the giant table in the centre of the thrown room which was covered with a giant map of the area around Azangathol that was a one of a kind. His clan after all were the clan that was most skilled in map making and stealth what with his white cloaks; an elite group of warriors who were all of the clan Terbok and wore cloaks of pure white to hide in the snow. They were some of the best in the army and did Clan Terbok proud. After about 10 minutes Beastuk walked in and Garstuk looked up </font>How are you my son?</font>
</font>OOC : If anyone wants to play Beastuk or any of the other 6 sons please just PM me. Oro could you give Beastuk a place on Orins scouting party cos if no-one wants him Ill RP him myself. Thanks</font>

Fingolfin of Hithlum
20/May/2010, 08:21 PM
Narmin Quickaxe
A soldier of Orin's party


Narmin followed alongside the party leader Orin. He was a great dwarf, the commander of all their forces, and Narmin was honored to be a member of that force. The days grew short, and the ever-cautious dwaves of Azangathol sensed danger. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as a cold wind blew over the party. His Grey tunic, lined with white fur, kept him safe and somewhat warm in the harsh mountain terrain. Narmin kept his hand over the hilt of his broadsword, sheathed at his right. His long, single-bladed knife was strapped in tight, it's scabbard wrapped around his tall grey boot. And his prize possesion, his unique axe, the heirloom of his long line, was strapped across his back, waiting to be unclipped and wanting to shed blood. It was unique in the fact that rather than a long leather handle as many axes posses, it had a guard all the way around the small handle allowing him to wield like a scimitar, quick and deadly and without the fear of it falling out of his grasp. It had kept the goblins of Mount Gundabad at bay for many generations.

Narmin kept his sharp eyes on the lookout, glancing at the slightest unexpected movement and preparing to creep up against a cliff face and let his grey cloak hide him or to fall in the snow and let the white fur disguise him. The wargs they had slain the day before were not too close by chance, and Narmin Quickaxe feared that worse was yet to come. He spoke up finally, staring out into the wide range as he did so. "So tell me, Orin, what is it we are expecting today? More enemy scouts, or just stray orc filth?"

Ataltur Ninefinger
21/May/2010, 05:08 AM
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" topmargin="1" leftmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" topmargin="1" leftmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">NPC: Thogar Stoneheart, Scout
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" topmargin="1" leftmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" topmargin="1" leftmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">Thogar had a serious look on his face as he dressed. For The Forgotten, this was a perilous time, everyone knew it. Living as they did in the far north, just surviving against the elements was a challenge. Now scattered, often conflicting rumours were reaching Azangathol - the power of the Enemy was growing, a hunt was under way for the One Ring, the elves were leaving Middle Earth (although most dwarves did not grieve over that!), and the kingdoms of Men were under attack. One thing was for sure, the power of the Orc-King of Gundabad was growing, perhaps hand in hand with that of his master, and the pressure upon Azangathol was increased as a result.
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" topmargin="1" leftmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" topmargin="1" leftmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">Thogar was a Scout. He was relatively tall and rangy for a dwarf. Mahal had not granted Thogar the physical attributes to be a Vanguard, the shield warriors of the host of Azangathol. But to compensate, he had been blessed with great speed and good eyesight. For him, a career in the army as a Scout appeared to have been made. Young in dwarven terms, nonetheless he was already well experienced at soldiering. Over his head he pulled a jerkin of warg pelt, warm and extremely hard wearing. Then went a light shirt of black chain mail, on top of which went a hardened leather cuirass, studded with metal pieces. With both hands, he placed a steel cap upon his head, a simple nose piece was its only adornment. Vambraces and fingerless archers gloves went on each arm, whilst greaves guarded each leg. He carefully placed a throwing knife in the top of each fur lined boot, and two hand axes into loops either side of his belt. Thogar slung a quiver of arrows over his shoulder, and picked up his composite bow. It was made of layers of wood and animal horn, carefully glued together. More suited to the dwarven stature than the wooden longbows favoured by elves and Men, nonetheless due to its painstaking construction and clever design, it generated the same power. Finally, he fastened awoollen cloak to his shoulders,with a hood it could provide camouflage as well as warmth, if need be.
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" topmargin="1" leftmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" topmargin="1" leftmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">Dressed and armed there was one more task - Thogar jumped up and down on the spot half a dozen times, listening for the tell tale noises of loose equipment or harness, potentially lethal for a Scout. Satisfied there was none, he left his quarters, heading towards the main entrance, looking for the War Party and its commander,Orin. Seeing no other dwarves yet come, Thogar leant against a rock, there was no rush, danger would come soon enough. He tested the string of his bow - he saw no frays forming, and the tension, was correct, powerful and heavy - but not a problem for a dwarf to master he thought to himself! Finishing these chores, Thogar pulled out a clay pipe, and carefully measured a little pipeweed into it. Such staples were becoming luxuries in Azangathol these days, it was increasingly difficult for traders to bring them in past the goblin hordes that menaced the mountain passes of Frosthelm. The Forgotten's numbers were not numerous, and the difficulty of reaching their domain encouraged most merchants of the north to take their business elsewhere. Well, thought Thogar to himself, his eyes narrowed, that would all change soon enough! He puffed contentedly on the pipe, enjoying this rare comfort, commanding himself to relax, waiting for his comrades to arrive...Edited by: Ataltur Ninefinger

Trisla
22/May/2010, 04:23 AM
NPC - Freyna Quickfoot, Medic</font>



</font>Freyna </font>woke before the sun (as she tended to do) and began to pack. Today she actually had a reason to rise before the sun, other than the restlessness that seemed to get her out of bed every other morning. It was cold, as it always was. No fires, blankets or furs could keep the chill of the northern wind out; it seemed to chill the very stones even when its breath could no longer be felt. And yet for all the harshness and discomforts of life in the mountains, it was a way of life that was second nature to someone like </font>Freyna</font>who knew nothing else: a way of life that was being threatened more and more. Something had to be done.</font>
</font>Freyna</font>was on the shorter side and slight of frame, something that came as a bit of a disadvantage in a place where physical prowess was not just the currency of the realm but also necessary for survival. Growing up she'd always had an excess of energy that, without much access to wide open spaces, usually translated into brawling with friends. And while she could put up a fight against any dwarf hand-to-hand (or knife-to-knife), the skill had very little room on the battlefield when dealing with very armed orcs. Frustrated by her lack of skill with an axe yet still wanting to aid in the defense of the realm, </font>Freyna</font>began to learn the art of healing. What seemed at first like a second choice soon grew to be a passion, and it was because of this passion that she was accompanying the unit this morning. </font>
</font>Knowing that what she decided to bring could alter the very lives of her fellow comrades, she packed carefully. Once </font>Freyna</font> was confident her pack contained exactly the right herbs (not to mention the right amounts) as well as several lengths of clean cotton for binding and a handful of clean instruments for if thing went very wrong, only then did she begin readying herself. Her dirty blonde hair she pulled back in a braid and divided her beard into two long plaits. She pulled on thick fur-lined leggings of a deep cobalt and a stout leather jerkin for safety and warmth. A light coat of chainmail was underneath it all: healers didn't always sit on the sidelines. And over everything she wore a light grey tunic. In belt loops on either side were twin long knives, bound in black leather and without adornment. Her quiver was made of dark wood and graven with runes for protection; the bow was of the same wood, stout, sturdy and short. </font>
</font>With everything in its place, </font>Freyna</font>began to walk towards the main entrance. As she got closer, she saw only one other dwarf yet waiting, puffing on a pipe. Pipeweed had gotten expensive true, but if there were any a time to enjoy a bit of weed surely it was now. However </font>Freyna </font>wasn't quite in the mood to take a breather: awake and ready to go, she found herself wanting to get started already. She put her pack down, leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. </font>Well, I hope everyone gets here soon...</font>

Oro
23/May/2010, 08:23 AM
NPC- Orin Wyrmsbane, War Leader

He stepped quietly through the domicile, intent upon not waking a soul that laid within. He reached the door and carefully opened it, his fingers sliding around the handle and pulling lightly. Without a noise, he slipped into the room and over to the cradle, his rough features softening as he looked down at the young dwarven male in the crib beneath. His light touch caused the dwarfling to stir, his youthful skin still soft and pleasant to the touch. Quickly withdrawing his digit from the infant, he leaned down, gripping his beard with one hand as he softly touched his lips to the child's head. Murmuring in Khuzdul, He wished the child blessings and spoke only in love to his son. A tear rolled down the hardened skin of the elder, his strength melting at the thought of leaving his son without a father. He turned to exit through the door, but a figure in blocked the doorway.

Her form as enticing as it had been the day he laid eyes on her, the day he had fallen in love with her, Thiara Suncrown looked at him, her eyes hard and sad. He motioned for her to leave the childs room and with a loud hush of breath she spun about and entered the kitchen that lay beyond. He exited the room, closing the door without a sound as he exited. Thiara was called Suncrown due to her mantle of thick fiery hair. He stepped up to her, reaching out to her face, his hand lightly touching her chin and sliding through the soft beard. He pulled her close to him, eyes locking. She looked away, a tear rolling down her cheek. "</font>Why must you leave? " A quiver in her voice telling that of the fear for him that she held. "Are there not other capable leaders?" She continued, the quiver leaving her voice as she spoke softly to her husband.

He looked away as her eyes imploringly returned to his face, hatred for this decision given to him. He easily could find other leaders for the War Party, but He himself knew that it was his duty and his destiny to free the dwarves of Frosthelm from the everwatchful gaze of the Orc-King. "No, my love, I can not. It is my destiny to free my people from fear. I know that it will be perilous and that others could do this job, but I will not send my dwarves to their deaths from behind these walls of stone. Even if it means my life." She pushed him away, tears flowing more freely down her cheeks. She was a strong dwarfette, but even the strong grew weak under fear's gaze. He returned his eyes to hers, exuding an aura of comfort and courage. "I do this for everyone, especially you and Olorin. You know that I do it all for you." He pulled her close again, leaning in to kiss her, but she pushed him away and her hand flew out of nowhere to hit him across the cheek.

She sobbed as she swung but her voice was unwavering as she spoke, "Do not attempt to make this an act of sacrifice for your people. You can not lie to me. I know of your dreams. I know you think this is your destiny. This is for you, not for us. Do not attempt to turn this around!" Anger rushing into her voice, replacing the fear and loss of earlier. He turned away, He had dreamt of his journey, his personal quest to defeat the evils of this land, and while yes he was doing it to protect his people, He knew as well that he would not be satisfied until He personally had the blood of the Orc-King upon his sword. He turned from her, checking his pack and gear and headed towards the door. Silent as death he approached it, turning once to look back at her, he saw her leaning against the counter not wanting him to see her tears as he left. He spoke, "I love you." and then stepped out the door of their domicile and into the streets of Azangathol.

Down the paths he walked, winding to the gate of the city, quick paced. Marching to his destiny. Then he heard a voice behind him, "Orin, stop." It was his love, Thiara, standing down the alley, her face still red from tears. She rushed down the path to him, jumping into his arms kissing him upon the lips hard. Her lips were salty from the tears that had rolled down her face, and she began to cry again as she jumped into his arms. She held on for a moment, and then pulled away, "I love you too. I shouldnt..." she began to speak when his finger leapt up onto her lip, silencing her. "No words need be said." He laid a kiss upon her forehead and then rested his forehead against hers. "I will be back for you, my love. Do not fear." He kissed her once more upon the forehead and then after a long hug, released her. He smiled and waved as he stepped off into the darkness of the tunnels leading to the Guard-Room.

A few minutes later he emerged into the guard room, beside him stepped Narmin Quickaxe, A soldier he had worked with on several occasions. He was proud and brave, a good combination for a dwarf. He was skilled with that nastily designed axe and could fight with the best of the dwarves of Azangathol. He spoke to Orin, wondering what their mission held. " Well, Narmin, it seems that the wardens have seen a small unit of orcs heading into the hills north of here. They do not known their intentions nor their destination, but we plan on finding out. " He winked as they stepped through the long tunnels out of the mountain. None of the other dwarves were in the Gateroom but He was sure they would find the others on the path ahead. After several minutes of silent walking, Orin saw two other dwarves of his party up ahead. One smoking a pipe, the other standing next to her pack.

Thogar Stoneheart had earned his name in battle many a time, stubborn and courageous, He had fought with the young dwarf on their last several quests, Thogar having replaced their last fallen comrade. He had been chosen because he was one of the most skilled scouts that the Dwarven Halls had ever seen, according to other War Party leaders and after a few missions with the dwarf, Orin agreed. He smiled and nodded to the scout and then turned to the party's one female member. The dwarfette Freyna Quickfoot was a slender and unique dwarfette. Not only at a young age was she one of the finest medics in Azangathol, she was a fair hand with her bow and knives as well. She made an excellent addition to their war party. He stepped up, took her arm in the customary welcome and murmured in Khuzdul a greeting.

Sitting back for a moment to relax, they were quickly joined by three other dwarves. The first of the two was Beastuk, a noble of the house of Terbok. The last two were two of the craziest and most reliable dwarves Orin had ever worked with. The Crimsonshadow's were both short, their frames packed with tons of muscle and they were both carved from the very rock they stepped upon. They both had long brown hair and deep brown eyes. The only difference between the twins, for they were identical twins, was that Gror had grown stronger than Nor and was of thicker frame. Other than this, the two were excellent warriors and two of Orin's closest friends. They had been on more missions with him than any other, and would continue to do so. He nodded and greeted each of the three dwarves.

Gror wore a large steel shield with a war hammer across his back, and a suit of plate armor that was lined with warg fur. His entire suit of armor was colored white and had long steel ridges running up and down each piece of armor. His entire body was a weapon, as he could jump at an enemy and punch, kick, and rub against them to inflict damage. Nor wore a suit of leather and plate, flexible but sturdy. On his back he had a large battleaxe, and a long handled walking axe. On each side he bore a handaxe and strapped over his body where many smaller throwing axes. He was a walking armoury of axes. He smiled at Orin and winked as he walked by, "Not gonna need me to save your arse again, are ye?" Chuckling about a mission where Nor had literally caught a falling Orin from falling off a cliff in a gust of wind. He would never let the War Leader over that one.

Orin smiled and nodded, motioning for the group to follow him. He stepped out into the cold winter and pulled his lupine cowl over his head, pulling up on his necklace and dragging a large white tooth out from under his armor. Kissing upon the rune engraved tooth, he whispered a prayer to Mahal. Slipping the white wyrm's tooth back into his armor, He straightened his body, all fear leaving him. His ritual over, he was ready for war. Pushing all thoughts of child and wife aside, He stepped into the cold snow, leading the party into the great white north.

Up into the mountains he led them, past several wardens who he stopped to speak too. He found that Warden Blarin had spotted the orc party and found the position of the warden from his comrades. After an hour of traveling they spotted Warden Blarin up ahead, but not alone as the others had been. He stood before a human male, a rare sight in these troubled times, in these troubled mountains. Blarin had several other dwarves with him as well, backup for the intruder no doubt. He must have called in another war party to aid him with the capture of the lone human, if need came for it. Orin saw an exchange of a dagger to Blarin's hand and hastened his stride, leading the party into the mess.

Stepping up to Blarin he whispered into his ear, and then received a message back. Looking down at the dagger, his eyes showing a semblance of recognition, and then up at the man. He looked much like his father, a man of great worth and loyalty. If he was anything like his father, he would be of great help. But Orin knew not the man, and any man could be born from a good man's blood. So he stepped back from Tolkus and spoke, "Know ye father, I do. But ye, I do not. Just because ye are your father's blood doth not make ye a good man. " He scratched his well kept beard and then motioned for the guards to leave Tolkus be, "You say ye are here for me teachings, but I will need more than your word on the matter. I will ask you to travel to the far north, find ye a White Wolf, slay it, and bring it's fur back to me. Then will I teach you. Warden Blarin here will join ye on your journey. First I will speak to Warden Blarin, then ye may go. "

Pulling the Warden aside into the cold winds, they spoke in Khuzdul for a moment, the warden informing the War Leader of what he had seen in the pass ahead. Orin frowned and nodded, they had passed very near the very path to the gate. If they had seen any dwarf enter the path, the city could be compromised. The orcs would need to die, after information had been gathered from them. He motioned for his party to follow him, for the other war party to be on their way, and for Warden Blarin and Tulkus to be on their own journey. Hopefully they all succeeded on their individual journeys.

</font>GM Prompt:
</font>War Party- Explain the journey, the encounter, I know it is a short prompt for you, but interact and have fun in this beginning phase. </font>
Tolkus- GM Blarin, you can state what weapons he has, his personality, his history, anything you want. He is your character for now. Have him guide you into the frozen north and show you to a white wolf camp, then you may slay it. Take as many posts as you want. Preferably a few, and then have Blarin lead you back to a camp outside of the City. The dwarves would not trust you to be allowed into Azangathol, so he would take you to a Warden Camp outside the City.</font>
Fanecu- I didnt want to GM Beastuk, so you can describe him all you want and his personality, I would love for you to RP him in our adventure. Other than that, feel free to do what you want in Azangathol, if you got any ideas let me know. </font>

Fane Mordagnir
23/May/2010, 06:17 PM
Garstuk Leader of the Terbok Clan </font>and Beastuk</font></font></span>



</font></span>Beastuk walked into his fathers throne room and removed his massive war axe from his back. Father its good to see you again. They both clasped each others forearms. We returned with three warg pelts that we found close to the main entrance. However I cannot stay for long the party is due to leave in a few hours so I need some food and time to prepare for the trip. He walked to the great Terbok map and traced the path towards Mount Gundabad from Azangathol We are so close. I wish I could walk up to Gundabad and kill that creature who calls himself a king. Barzul. Garstuk watched his son trace the path to Mount Gundabad and felt the same pain his son felt </span>I too wish to end this but its not going to happen without losses on our side. You need to stay safe for me, for your children and for this clan. You will lead not your brothers be careful I would hate to see you fall.</font></font></span>
</font></font></span>Beastuk left the room to head to the kitchens of the Terbok Citadel for some food and to stock up his supplies for the next trip. As he reached the kitchens he picked up some hard bread and a wedge of cheese and put it in his pack and then picked up a chicken leg and began to eat while he packed some ale into his bag. Taking a slight sip for himself he packed up another pouch of the halflings weed that he had purchased at much cost.</span></font>
</span></font>Leaving the deserted kitchen Beastuk headed towards one of the citadels many storage areas and picked up some more flints and firelighters and also another set of throwing axes to replenish ones he lost in the last party. He left the storage room and headed to his own private rooms.</span></font>
</span></font>His wife was asleep on the bed in his room and he leant over and kissed her forehead and he removed the wet outer layer of his clothes and lay them on the chest at the end of the bed. He walked through the door into the closet and picked up a new hauberk and surcoat and then he headed into his own personalarmoury and picked up another set of bracers and shinplates and then a new pair of shoulder guards and gloves. He then returned to his bedroom and kissed his wife again and left.</span></font>
</span></font>His long brown beard was tucked into his belt just like his father's always was and his muscled body carried his weapons well. His helm rested over his neatly braided hair and his battle axe hung on his back while his throwing axes and smaller hatchet were in his belt. Beastuk also carried a knife so as to skin wargs. He walked to the guard room and met with the rest of the war party including Orin and the Crimsonshadow twins just as they were about to leave.</span></font>
</span></font>Garstuk watched his son walked out of the Throne Room and he set his axe beside the door his son had just left. Again he walked over to the map that his son had been so encapsulated with and he himself traced the path from Azangathol to Mount Gundabad and clenched his fist. He stormed out of the room, picking up the axe as he passed.</span></font>
</span></font>He marched towards the council chambers and his old friend Freorin and exiting the citadel's door to theamphitheatrehe thundered down the steps to the council chairs. When he reached the bottom he laid his axe down heavily onto the table. The White Cloaks are yours to command, but through ME! I won't have my son risk his life unless I am doing it to. He wouldn't let his age or his standing diminish his fighting ability. Or his will.</span></font>
</span></font>A whispered prayer to Mahal was all Beastuk needed to reassure himself as they left Azangathol. He drew up his Warg pelt hood and he drew the rest of his cloak around them as they headed off into the wild. After an hour of travelling in the frostbite creating cold they arrived at a guard spot where a human was standing appealing fortutelage. Orin I'll be out there watching, we need some warning. He pointed towards the south and where the orcs came from. He headed out southwards and as he went Beastuk turned his cloak inside out so the pure white Warg fur of his Clan's White Cloakswas facing outwards. When he travelled one hundred yards out of the camp Beastuk stopped and lay flat on the snow watching and waiting for the call to come back in. His horn lay beside him as he lay incase of oncoming enemies and his eyes peered through the blizzard cold grey and fierce as a warg.</font></span>

Áfor
25/May/2010, 05:17 AM
NPC Nor Crimsonshadow

"Orcs, huh?" It had been a short night after their return the previous eve, and they all knew ahead of time they would be leaving again soon, but this was different. They were leaving with a new target set, only hours after getting rid of the previous trouble. trouble was growing, of late, and the more 'guests' they dispatched, the more came. Being unwelcoming was not cutting it anymore, and even outright hostile was lacking in effect. Nor grinned briefly, as he thought of just how hostile they would have to get, before the Orcs got it into their thick skulls that their best option was to die and their second best option was to stay away.

He was ready for the departure, for the most part, except for the distinct lack of axes about his person. Well, he had two, but... that hardly counted for a dwarf of his reputation, right? Things did get boring really fast if he kept hewing Orc and Warg heads with the large battle axe, and a short trip to the armoury would be required to liven things up. As he entered the cavern, the arms masters knew what to expect and before long, he was equipped far more to his liking, with two handaxes added for the joys of close encounters, and several throwing ones all placed most everywhere about himself, for ease of use in any circumstnaces of predicaments.

Finally ready, he set off towards the Guard Room, noticing that he was running late, as usual. Well, better late than usells, and useless was the one thing he was not. He prodded Orin with the usual jest, if only to remind him to not get too confident in his own abilities. The fellow dwarf was more than capable, of course, but sprouting wings was not one of his stronger abilities. As his twin brother finally appeared too, lugging about his great shield, they were finally ready to leave.

The first hour of the journey was uneventful, and familiar, as they had all walked this path countless times and knew every turn and bump on it. They knew it, but others must not, and if it was true the Orcs passed close, than the goal of this party was clear. Death. The secrecy of this path was of the utmost importance if they were to keep any chance of defending Azangathol, and keeping their clans safe. It worried him all the more, then, when they ran across a party of dwarves and a Man. He was on the path to their realm, and he was not one of the trusted few who were allowed that privilege.

He listened to the exchange between the Man (Tolkus) and Orin, suspicious of his intents, and yet willing to grant him that chance if Orin so chose. They had fought many a battle together, and the War Leader had shown his skill and sense on many occasions. If he would tolerate the Man, none would dare counter that. And besides... this was a Man and the task set was fit for a Dwarf. they would be rid of him soon enough and this consideration will be moot. He fiddled with one of his handaxes, growing bored of the pause. There were Orcs nearby, too tall by a head to the last one, and he was eager to correct that as soon as may be.

He turned to comment to that effect to Gror, who was wearing a similarly disgruntled face, but by then, Orin finally grew weary of talk and they were set to move on. the path was narrow, and deepley covered in snow that made it narrower yet, so there was room only for one of them. They marched on in single file, Nor tight on the heels of Thogar the scout, and keeping quiet. This was no time to talk, or make noise.
</font>

Tolkus
25/May/2010, 09:00 PM
<DIV =WebWizRTE marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1">
Tolkus nodded and accepted his task, grateful that he wasnt sent away. He waited as Orin and Blarin as they discussed something, when they were done Blarin and Tolkus set out into the frozen North. As they started out Blarin began to size up Tolkus. He could see that Tolkus is a tall man, well dressed for the weather, a thin beard but his furs concealed anything more. So Boy ye got any weapons or do plan to kill that wolf, with ye hands? Dont worry Im well armed, Tolkus replied. He opened one side of his furs to revile two long daggers in his belt and a sword at his side. What no bow? No, I lost it on the way up here. To bad it makes it a bit tougher for ye. Blarin laughed. Tolkus too sized up Blarin as they walked. He saw that Blarin carried a large battle axe and a bow with a small quiver of arrows on his back. He wore a finely carved skull cap but his furs concealed anything else.
After walking in silents a while Tolkus spoke up, Where are we going? To a good camp site I know of. Blarin grumbled. How far is that? Tis a day as the crow flies. The wolf camp is a half day further. There was a stiff breeze of a wind and the cold bit at Tolkus face. He knew this was not just some task to be preformed but the first of many challenges to come to earn the respect of the Dwarves.
As they continued on to the camp in silents Tolkus was enjoying the scenery when Blarin suddenly stopped. Blarin slowly and quietly removed the bow from his back and notched an arrow. Tolkus looked about and then saw at the edge of a group of trees a large white stag. With a quick shot the stag was failed. Blarin laughed and they went to the kill. Ye can butcher the deer; just give the hide to me. Tolkus went to work cleaning the deer. When Blarin took the hide he cut a hole in each of the legs and then covered it in snow. Why did you do that? So that we can have something to keep the meat in and keep it fresh. Blarin told him. When Tolkus was done they packed the meat into the hide and tied it up with some vines that Blarin had cut, then Tolkus slung it on his back and carried it.

Zerani
26/May/2010, 01:55 PM
NPC ~ Eir Shadowfoot ~ Scout

A sigh escaped her lips as she listened to Freya's by now familiar ranting; she had little time for the theatrics of her niece today but the strength of love she felt for the girl made her voice considerably less harsh than Eir had intended, You forget yourself child. I am able, strong in body and spirit, why then should this task fall to others? My skills may well be needed, and their absence keenly felt if things go ill for the party - how could I accept it if my failure to carry out my duty meant the difference between life and death for our kinsman? Her icy blue eyes surveyed her niece's face keenly, the usually sunny expression marred by frown lines and the tracks of tears meandering down the smooth cheeks. The mouth was formed into a distinct pout, and it was as Freya began to once again complain that Eir's small stock of patience finally ran out, her voice sharp as she issued an undisputable order; Enough. Ours is a proud House, one who's honour I will not mar, in time you shall grow to understand this child. Now give me peace as I make some final preparations and then you shall farewell me upon the journey in a manner befitting your age.

For one used to battle, the preparations were largely instinctive as she moved about her chilly, and now thankfully silent, quarters. Nowhere in the fortress could ever truly be described as warm, despite the number of fires that were lit, but even the layers of clothing she currently wore would not be enough for the frozen lands they were venturing into. To her fur-lined leggings and blue tunic she added the supple leather and armour that would keep her small frame protected, the chink of chainmail soothing to her senses. Her small, slight frame was her best asset, which coupled with her innate ability to move swiftly and near soundlessly meant her position as a scout had early been decided by her mentor. With that in mind she never travelled with too many weapons, the pair of knives at her thighs, the small, light axe and slim bow the most she could carry without sacrificing her speed. In a small pack she carried a few bandages and herbs, she was no medic, but she had enough training to staunch the bleeding until she could get back to the main party and those truly skilled in the art. With punishing speed she deftly braided her hair into a thick plait, knowing that her unruly curls would only escape if she didn't bind the strands together as tightly as possible. Her beard was given similar treatment, though here she worked the strands into three separate plaits. Next she slipped on her boots, and last of all she brushed her fingers over the gold locket kept hidden beneath her clothing, its warmth next to her skin a welcome touch of family and home.

A quick check confirmed she was indeed ready, and it was with some regret she turned once more to Freya, who was now at the uncomfortable age when she questioned everything, including the necessity of living in Frosthelm. Her older sister had produced a beautiful child, one who had undeniably inherited the fiery tempremant usually found in the Shadowfoot's. Eir recognised much of herself in the girl, perhaps the reason she was so indulgent of her independant spirit. For herself age had given her the control that allowed her to push that fiery spirit back a little when necessary, the harsh realities of life as a warrior enough to curb some of her headstrong nature. A heartfelt embrace was all Eir would allow in farewell, her heart twisting at the sheen of tears in Freya's blue eyes, but glad that the girl stood their proudly, her complaints silenced as she bade her aunt luck in a quivering voice. I shall see you again soon Freya, farewell for now. With a quick kiss to the girls forehead, Eir was gone, her footsteps swift as she moved quickly down the stone corridor.

She was running a little late it seemed, for the party were already gone from the Guard Room where she had expected to find them. Hastening her steps she managed to find them shortly after passing out into the snowy landscape from the fortress. Pausing only to pull up her head to protect herself against the biting winds, she fell in at the back of the group, the path they travelled a famaliar route which granted the fortress much needed security. The hour passed swiftly, Eir content for now to simply follow, rather than delaying the party anymore with belated greetings, there would be time for that when they eventually stopped - though she knew her presence had not gone unnoticed. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as they came upon the man and guards, unhappy that any stranger had come so close to their home. Still she kept her silence as Orin exchanged words with the man; Orin had earned the trust of every dwarf within the part, and if he accepted the man then so would she, though final approbation would only be granted if he proved himself faithful. </font>

Trisla
27/May/2010, 11:43 PM
NPC Freyna Quickfoot
The room quickly filled with the remainder of the party asOrin, the leader, entered. The dwarves that followed were varied in appearance and personality, but united in purpose. After the brief formality of greetings, there was no time to be wasted and the party set forth into the cold morning.
As the party stepped outside, they paused for a brief moment in customary prayer. Freyna hoped that her skills would hardly need to be used at all, Mahal willing: in the most successful missions, after all, the healer was bored. She dearly hoped there would be room for some of this blessed boredom. But with all the threats the north had to offer, this was rarely the case. She shivered and steeled her heart against whatever the future held. Worrying never helped anyone; but maybe this small invocation would be some help. Freynashivered a bit and pulled the hood of her dark grey cloak around her. Even only a few feet out of the mountain, the wind was unrelenting and snow stung their faces. Orinrose. It was time to move on.
The beginning of the journey was uneventful. They all knew the trail by heart. That boulder, that ridge, that one place where the snow always seemed to drift. They were lucky that there didn't seem to be fresh snow on the air, only the usual thick cover on the ground; white-outs could be deadly on the mountains, when trails could easily get lost. The party continued on in silence. Their home was small, so each dwarf knew each other in some way, but for now there was nothing to discuss and no need to jeopardize their safety, even so close to their home.
A handful of wardens were passed on their way upwards, and no news from them was the best news. Nothing seemed to distinguish this journey from any other, until they reached a warden who was not alone and newsless. This fellow was flanked by several other dwarves and, rising above them all, what could've only been a man. Freynawas surprised and perplexed, but not in the least bit unnerved. Whoever this man was, he certainly posed no threat. The others hung back for a few moments as Orin walked up to talk to the Warden and the man. Most of the others betrayed some kind of doubt or suspicion in their eyes. Who could blame them? After all, Freynacould hardly remember the last time she saw a human. But whatever his reason for being there was, it seemed to pass well with Orin: and if they couldn't trust Orin's judgment, whose could they? The Warden and the man set off on a different path, and they continued on. A few murmurs seemed to pass around the group for a moment, but they were gone in an instant. In the end, doubt would get them nowhere and it was best just to trust that, whatever just happened, no ill will would befall them for it.
They trekked on.</span>

Tolkus
31/May/2010, 10:52 AM
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" topmargin="1" leftmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">
<B style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal">On the way to the White Wolf site<?: prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><O:P></O:P>[/B]
<O:P></O:P>
Getting the stag had put Blarin in a good mood. <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Tell me Boy, why are ye come here?[/I] After a moments pause Tolkus began his tale. <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">I was sent here by my father in the hopes that Orin would take me on and teach me the fighting ways of the Dwarves. He believes our people will soon be pressed and hard times ahead. He said no one was a better people to learn from. He had hoped his friendship with Orin might help a bit. [/I]Tolkus stopped a second and noticed a concern in the eyes of Blarin. <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Do not worry he told me nothing of what he knew of your people. He said I needed to learn that myself.[/I] Tolkus looked over at Blarin as they walked a lite snow began to fall. The concern in Blarin's eyes was replaced with suspicion. Tolkus continued, <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">I was trained in the skills of tracking, scouting and fighting of my people. When I had mastered these skills father sent me here.[/I] Blarin then asked, <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Have yet been in any battles Boy? I have killed a few Orcs, but no battles. Have you? [/I]Blarin grinned a bit as though recalling memories long forgotten. <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Aye,[/I] he said quietly, <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">A few, Boy, a few[/I] After a moment of silents, <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Well?[/I] Tolkus hinted. <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Tis nothing to tell.[/I] Said Blarin the n he seemed lost in thought. <O:P></O:P>
The two continued their walk and some small talk. Blarin said, <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Ill be truthful to ye Boy, Ive never been on to hold with men. Dont trust em any further than I can throw an Orc. Then why did you agree to be my guide? [/I]Tolkus asked. <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">A favor to Orin tis why, if ye must know. He has respect for you father, and I trust his judgment. [/I]By now the snow had stopped and what little sun there was came peeking through the grey clouds. Blarin suddenly stopped. He sniffed the air, turned to Tolkus and made the motion to be quiet and to follow him. They made their way to the edge of a small forest that was on the top of a large hill. Inside the tree line Blarin pointed to another close hill and whispered, <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">See there, the thin wisp of smoke coming from the other side of that hill? Yes, I see it. None of my people are out here.[/I] Tolkus, with a half smile asked, <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Do we go see?[/I] Blarin grinned, <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Aye Boy we do.[/I] The two quickly and quietly climbed to just about the top of the hill then crept the rest of the way. They peered over and looked down into a small glen. Their eyes glared at what they saw. <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Orcs![/I] Blarin spit out. There were three Orcs asleep around a smoldering fire. Tolkus whispered, <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">I see no other tracks then the ones leading to the site. Aye, most likely a scouting party, but these are not the Orcs that Orins party is hunting. [/I]Tolkus then said, <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">I have an idea, wait here and Ill dispatch this filth.[/I] Blarin looked at him like he was crazy then laughed to himself. <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Well ye better act quickly while we have daylight.[/I] <O:P></O:P>
Tolkus went down the hill with all caution, minding which way the wind was blowing, how much cloud cover there was, and if there were any more tracks about. He silently crept to the closes Orc then slowly quietly pulled out one of his long daggers. In one quick and powerful move Tolkus put one hand over the mouth of the Orc while slitting its throat. Tolkus crept over to the next Orc and did the same. The wind suddenly changed in the direction of the last Orc. It awoke smelling the man on the air. It jumped up weapon in hand and sprung on Tolkus. He knew that he had no time to reach his sword and would have to face it with just a dagger. Just as the Orc was upon him it fell at his feet. Surprised and confused Tolkus looked over the Orc and saw an arrow in its skull. Tolkus then heard Blarins laugh echo over the hills. <O:P></O:P>
When Blarin joined Tolkus the two looked over the Orc things finding nothing for their use or any hint as to where they were going. <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Weve delayed long enough, come on Boy; itll be night before we get to the site. [/I]The two started walking as another lite snow began to fall. By night the clouds had mostly gone letting in a little moon light to reflect off the snow giving some light to see by. They reached a small stone hut within a ring of fur trees<I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">. Ah there it is.[/I] Blarin said. They went inside and Tolkus saw it was a one room hut with a fireplace on one wall and a stack of wood close by, there was nothing else here. They laid their packs down and Blarin got a fire going. Tolkus cooked the deer meat and they ate well that night. <O:P></O:P>Edited by: Tolkus

Oro
01/Jun/2010, 02:02 AM
GM Post:

</font>I will give the remaining people another three days to post. If they have not posted by then, I will post another GM prompt. Thanks all for joining thus far, I promise it will be a fun road to come. And Tolkus, great posts. I give it another 2 more before Blarin brings you back to Orin. Sound good? Keep it up. </font>

Ataltur Ninefinger
01/Jun/2010, 11:22 AM
<DIV =WebWizRTE marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">NPC Thogar Stoneheart, Scout
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">Thogar glanced around as another dwarf dwarfette, he corrected himself approached. He was still puffing away on his pipe, looking for all the world as he could spend the whole day doing so, which in fact, he could have! He nodded at Freyna Quickfoot, she was as well known for her bravery as her healing skills, and was an especially welcome addition to any War Party. Soon, other dwarves began to arrive. The War Leader, Orin Wyrmsbane, strode up to them, his presence filling the hallway, and he was accompanied by a fine warrior, Narmin Quickaxe. Thenthey were joined by Beastuk, of the House of Terbok, to whom Thogar nodded respectfully. Their party was complete when the heavily armed, and armoured, Gror Crimsonshadow and his only very slightly smaller brother Nor arrived, and Orin lead them out into the snowy wilderness beyond the gates of Azangathol.
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">The first hour of the journey was cold, if uneventful. The lands close to Azangathol were closely guarded by the wardens. Up in the mountains above Azangathol the party encountered Warden Blarin, and a human male (Tolkus). Thogar had had little interaction with the race of Men, and he did not get too close to this one. Warily he watched, there was some exchange between Orin and Tolkus, before the Man and Warden Blarin disappeared into the night. The wind was howling around them, driven snow stinging his face. Thogar rummaged in his knapsack and produced a strip of warg skin pelt, which he wrapped around his face and head, before pulling the hood of his cloak firmly up. He glanced at Nor, who was gently caressing the hilt of one of his numerous axes, his body language indicating an urgentdesire for the party to quit talking and start hunting! Thogar shared the feeling, as it seemed did a latecomer, his fellow Scout, Eir Shadowfoot, to whom he smiled and nodded, wondering if she could see his gesture of professional respect in the frigid darkness.
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">Finally, the War Party moved on, heading further upwards. Warden Blarin had told them of a raiding party of orcs from Gungabad, apparently searching for the hidden gates of Azangathol. The goblins had gotten too close for comfort, and must be tracked down and killed, preferably after taking some of them alive for questioning. As a Scout, Thogar was one of those at the front of the group. Usually, he considered it a badge of honour, to lead his blood brothers onwards, to seek out and face danger first. On this occasion though, he found such honour was hard bought. The path was narrow and further blocked with drifts of snow in a great many places. The party could advance only in single file, which meant that the Scouts were often pushing through unbroken waist high snow, a physically demanding task, even for a dwarf! The combination of snow and altitude meant that the party moved on in silence. There was little breath to be spared on idle chatter.
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">At length the party reached a crest of the mountain side. Thogar's keen Scout eyescaught a glimpse of something, and he urgently motioned the group to halt. He crouched as low as he could and moved forwards stealthily, taking cover behind a rock. Making sure his hood was pulled well forward to shadow his face, he peered downwards into the small valley below, a shallow natural bowl set in the mountainside. There was movement, and partially hidden behind some rocks, fire! The wind gusted, the flames jumped and in the light Thogar saw orcs! He counted about a dozen or so all told, maybe a few more, warming themselves around a fire in the lee of some fallen boulders. The valley brought some respite from the freezing wind, but nonetheless, the orcswere either very confident, or very foolish, to make their campin such a potential death trap. Perhaps they felt no dwarves would be abroad in thisweather. Ah, well, that will be their last mistake Thogar thought to himself grimly. Before he got too excited, his experience took over, and he commanded himself to scan the valley below once again, then once more, not looking at the fire, but seeking for goblin sentries hidden in the darkness. He could see none, but in the swirling snow, he could not guarantee that they werent there. He inched backwards, keeping low, and reported what he had seen. The intelligence was considered and then brief orders were issued. "Preparefor battle"
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">OOC: sorry for the delay in posting, work has been mad recently!Edited by: Ataltur Ninefinger

Oro
03/Jun/2010, 05:21 PM
NPC- Orin Wyrmsbane, War Leader

</font>They trekked through the mountain passes, over hill and under dale, their clothing barely keeping them from freezing, and certainly not keeping them comfortable. Gror Crimsonblade led the group further into the storm, his shield pushing a path before them. After a time, Orin took his shield and the vanguard position, allowing the enormous dwarf to take a much needed rest. The leader of the warband pushed on, their conversation with the human and Blarin having taken place nearly an hour previously.
</font>
The scouts kept their eyes open for orkish tracks and all in the party had a hand on their weapon, ready for combat should the dire need arise. They were not savage by nature, but by necessity. They could not allow their fortress be found, for should the day arise that the orken king learned of the position of the fabled and forgotten city the Azangathol would be doomed. Though great and hardy were the dwarven warriors of the lost citadel, they could not defeat as numerous a foe as could the Goblin King muster. Orin felt his hand reach up to the tooth hanging beneath his armor on his neck, reaching and pulling it out from his armor, he kissed it lightly on the side and muttered in Khuzdul to the great vala Mahal, praying for the safety of their kingdom.

But then the scout, </font>Thogar, froze in place, his hand reaching up and halting the comrades. Orin handed Gror his shield and drew his twin broadswords, one in each hand. Twirling them with ease and precision, Orin attempted to warm his fingers enough to give him the dexterity and strength he would need for a fight. Thogar Stoneheart was one of the best scouts he had ever met, if he sensed danger, then danger lay ahead. The dwarven scout disappeared, and a few minutes later returned with news. Orcs lay in the valley ahead.

Orin knew these had to be either the same party or a similar party headed in the same direction. Turning to the war band, he spoke three words that each and every one of them need not hear, for they were dwarves of Azangathol and their life was a continual journey of preparation for battle. His words were silent yet forceful as he spoke to the group and began the attack on the orcs, "Prepare for battle." He looked about, his left hand rising up, sword gripped tightly, he motioned at Gror, Nor, Beastuk and Freyna and spoke, "You four, attack them from this position, at my call. I need Beastuk and Freyna to take down as many of the scum from range as ye can. Gror and Nor, you know the deal. Sow the seeds of confusion as best you can. Freyna, you are in charge."

Then turning to the remaining warriors: Eir, Thogar, and Narmin; and motioned for them to follow him. They began to flank the orcish ranks, keeping silent and low to the ground. Orin took the position of Vanguard in the small squad and Narmin followed close at hand. He motioned for the dwarves to keep their bodies low as they snuck around the side of the valley, their white cloaks keeping them hidden among the drifts of ice and snow. He motioned for the two scouts to take up defensible positions with their bows, "Ensure no reinforcements attack us from hiding, and prepare to sharp-shoot as many of the foul beasts as ye can. " Similar to what he had said to the scouts in the other party. Putting his hand to his mouth, he made a loud cawing sound, like the squawk of a raven. The rest of the party would know. Now was the time to attack the orcs.

Before him lay a valley with several fallen boulders in the middle. Betwixt the fallen stones sat a party of orcs, numbering around fifteen, three scouts at the perimeters keeping an eye out for attack, and it seemed half of the rest of the orcs lay upon the ground sleeping, the other half were up eating and taking a turn at helping the scouts keep an eye out. Six sleeping, six eating, and three scouting. He motioned for the archers to take out the scouts first. Then he and Narmin crawled into the valley and stealthily approached the orcs.

</font>GM Prompt

War Band: Alright, you know the drill. Have fun and attack. You may each attack as many orcs as you want in this post. Take literary leave with the attack, do not feel the need to wait for GM prompts. Have fun and work off of each other. I will post last in the order and clean up any remaining orcs with Orin.
Tolkus: Great posts, my friend. Blarin should lead you to the White Wolves den, next post. And the post after that lead you back to Orin and his party, if you can. Id be glad to have you in our ranks now.
Everyone: Great Posts soo far! Keep it up!
</font>

Áfor
08/Jun/2010, 02:57 AM
NPC Nor Crimsonshadow

They trudged on along the path, with his brother and Orin taking turns in leading the group and pushing a path through the thick layer of snow. Snow clung to their clothes, freezing the wolf pelts into small lumps of furry ice, and freezing their beards into stinging masses of cold. Nor huffed into his own beard, quite satisfied with the fact that they had come so far with no encounters. It meant Azangathol was still safe, and that was about the only thing that concerned him now, or ever.

Thogar suddenly made them stop, and slunk off into the snowstorm. Nor responded by loosening up his great battle-axe, and feeling for the nearest of his throwing axes. If Thogar was thinking 'enemy', then an enemy there was, and the sole purpose of an enemy was to die as swiftly as possible. The scout returned fast, with news of a band of goblins camping out right ahead of them, stupidly settled into a basin. He smirked at the questionable intelligence of the beasts, and drew a handful of throwing axes. Orin sent them all to positions with few words and fewer movements, then went off to attack the Orcs' flanks. Nor crept up to the the edge of the valley, looking at the slight movements below, and waited for the signal.

Before long, the scream of a raven echoed through the valley, the by now familiar signal Orin used for his men. Raising himself up from the ground, Nor let loose the first two throwing axes, aiming for the two shadows that had the lack of sense to move around near one of the fires. He heard the twang of bows as Freyna and Beastuk let loose their arrows, and saw two shadows start paying attention to them. With a grim smile, he ran down the valley side, his brother close by, as they aimed for a large boulder at the side of the camp.

They reached it within seconds, and found themselves with an open view of the camp on both sides of it. With a growl, they jumped out from behind it, one on each side, and swung their axes at the nearest eating Orcs, killing them instantly. The scouts concerned Nor little, he knew the other group would take them out swiftly, and he focused instead on the ones right in front of him. The eating ones were quick to drop everything and scramble for the nearest weapon, but the sleeping ones were down right boring.

He ran towards a sneering Orc, who had managed to acquire a crude sword by now, and pulled out another throwing axe. His aim went amiss, and he hit the goblin's arm, injuring him, but not taking him out. With a curse, he came closer still, ready for a close-up battle, while keeping an eye on what was going on to his sides.

Tolkus
08/Jun/2010, 07:11 PM
White Wolf Site

Blarin got a good fire going and both laid their furs down to make beds. Blarin sat down and took out his pipe and a small pouch that had some pipe weed in it. "What have you there?" Tolkus asked. Blarin looked at the pouch and said, "Ah... not much, not that good either but yetake what ye can get around here." Tolkus smiled and dug into his things and took out a large pouch and then threw it to Blarin. "Have some." Blarin looked at it with caution, took a sniff and gave Tolkus a surprised look. "Boy where did you get this?" "I did some trading for it. It came from the Shire. Longbottom Leaf I think it's called." Blarin filled his pipe and gave back the pouch and Tolkus did the same. "Well Boy if ye don't make it as a warrior ye got a skill to be a merchant." Blarin laughed. They relaxed and enjoyed the smoke. Tolkus spoke up, "Can you tell me anything I might expect in the morning?" Blarin took a serious tone, "Aye, we will go in the morning when most of the pack is out hunting. Should be a few younger ones around, I think you can handle them. Ye will need to be done quick as possible before the main pack returns." Blarin the ndrifted off to sleep. It was a while before Tolkus feel asleep thinking about the morning.

Morning came with a mild snow fall. "Good day for hunting." Blarin said ashe finished off the deer from last night. After a short meal Blarin took Tolkus to a large hill and layed behind it. "I'll wait here for ye. Go over the side there and come at the den from the top. It should give ye the best advantage. Now go." Tolkus did as told and found himself atop the den. It wasn't long before a young adult female came out of the den. He reached for his dagger quickly and quietly then grabed the scruff of the neck of the wolf. It jumped up trying to get away. Tolkus used it's momentom to get it up to him and wraped his free arm around it's mouth. Before he could make a killing stroke with his dagger another much larger female came out and jumped up to see what was going on. Tolkus rolled to miss this wolves mouth and kicked it knocking them all down to the bottom of the den entrance. Tolkus was then able to lock his legs around one of thier mouths and his arms around the othes mouth. He then heard a loud laugh. "I'll be back later to get what's left of ye. Oh! Thanks for the pipe weed." Tolkus knew he was in a perdicament. Then it began to snow.

Later that night Blarin heardsomeone coming toward the hut. He readyed his bow and peered out the window into the darkness. The moonlight reviled and hunched over figure. Then he heard a voice, "Don't shoot it's me." Tolkus came in to the fire lit room. "Well Boy ye aint dead,that's good to see." Blarin laughed. Tolkus had a tired but half laugh look on his face. He then bent down to Blarin and presented him with the pelt of a white wolf. "This is to be for Orin not me." "No, this one is yours in thanks for getting me here and being kind to me when you had no reason to." "What about one for Orin?" Tolkus then laughed and drew forth the large white wolf pelt, "This is his." Blarin laughed and gave the pouch of pipe weed to Tolkus, "Fill it up we celebrate tonight." Blarin laughed.

Trisla
10/Jun/2010, 03:02 PM
NPC - Freyna Quickfoot



Only when it was beginning to seem suspiciously quiet did news come. Their beards were as stiff as boards with frost, and the paths seemed to be nearly deserted when Thogarhalted the group. He disappeared off momentarily as the rest of the group readied their weapons. Thogar's eyes and ears were trusty: false alarms didn't happen. True enough, as he returned the words were out. Prepare for battle.
With no time to waste, Oringave them positions and they split up. Freynanodded and turned grimly to Beastuk, no need for communication other than that. She watched as half the party got in at a closer range. Quick prayers to Mahal, as always. The pair of brothers, Grorand Norgot bit closer to create the confusion necessary. Those two could be fireballs sometimes, but in the heat of battle those fireballs came in handy.
Freyna and Beastukmoved forward, bow out, to get a good view of the party. Keeping close to the sheer rock wall they had been walking alongside, they managed to find a rocky outcropping that allowed them to clearly see the orcs while still keeping them relatively hidden. She surveyed the group. They seemed to be resting, as most were sleeping or eating around a fire. This was a good omen: the element of surprise was always a good one to have on your side. Watching them stuff their faces and doze, Freynasneered a little. It was hard to restrain disgust at the vermin who were threatening their way of life. But as much as she wanted to let her bow loose immediately, she knew to wait until the signal. She fitted an arrow, and waited through seconds that felt like eternity.
Finally, a raven's call.
She didn't spare an instant. The neck was always a vulnerable weak point, and that was where Freynaliked to aim. Their bows twanged as the scouts fell one by one. The other members of the party were beginning to emerge, taking out orcs left and right. Freynabegan taking shot after shot, but this time being much more careful of her aim. Now that allies were in the fray, an arrow gone awry could be much more deadly. However, the goblins were really putting up a poor show: sluggishly reaching for their weapons, groggily waking up, or just looking around stupidly as they tried to figure out the ambush. Freynasmiled. She knew her other comrades were too. This was just plain fun.

Fane Mordagnir
18/Jun/2010, 03:38 PM
Beastuk</font></font></span>




</font></font></span>They had travelled for many miles before they came to a standstill when Thogar stopped the group warily. On his return Beastuk just knew that they were in for a fight. As Orin commanded him, Freyna and the twins to remain where they were and wait for Orin's signal Beastuk removed his bow from its warg pelt case and strung it. As Orin walked off Beastuk looked round and caught Freyna's look nodding his readiness to get into position.</span></font>
</span></font>As Beastuk and Freyna moved to the edge of the precipice over the valley and waited for the signal. He could see the orcs below him and he saw that most were sleeping and none were really paying attention to what had been going on around them. Beastuk quickly blew into his hands to heat his fingers up and then he dipped them inside his cloak to his small pouch of oil and he quickly coated the string of his bow with a tiny amount of oil to loosen it up a bit. He drew an arrow and like Freyna fitted it in the string and held it in his left hand while taking his right one and picking a warg tooth suspended on a leather thong around his neck. He looked at the tooth and prayed to Mahal then kissed the tooth before putting it back under his hauberk.</span></font>
</span></font>Seconds after completing his prayer Beastuk heard the raven call that signalled the attack and he moved his hand to his bow and fired his first shot. He shot first randomly into the group of orcs. He was unbeknownst to whether he was actually hitting anything but the rate at which he was firing was bound to hit several of the scum. When his comrades began to populate the area Beastuk began to slow down and he began to specifically target orcs and they fell fast and quickly. Suddenly he spotted Nor Crimsonshadow attacking an orc. He hit the filth's arm and Beastuk saw it come forward for a close fight but before it could Beastuk had shot it through the neck with his arrow flying past Nor's ear. Beastuk laughed loudly at the thought of Nor's face and went back to pot-shotting orcs. Argh this is too easy He laughed in Freyna's direction.</span></font>

Fingolfin of Hithlum
21/Jun/2010, 11:19 PM
<DIV =WebWizRTE marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">Narmin Quickaxe
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">A soldier of Orin's party
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">Narmin followed the leader close behind. It was oddly quiet on the mountain today. Only the howl of the wind brought noise to the dreadful silence. Silence meant little movement, and little movement meant safety. But these were no times of peace. Constant war turned silence into suspision in the minds of the Forgotten. Unrest clouded his mind, listening for the faintest sound of a fire or a march.He relied on the wisdom of his comrade Thogar as he had so many times before. Goblins were close.
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">As always, the dwarves battle formation was solid. Two scouts in front, two scouts in back. Even if their cold enemy would've been prepared they wouldn't have stood a chance. The brothers prepared themselves on the other side where they were stationed as Narmin and Orin crouched around the side. By the time they were in position the two dwarves were crawling over the snow to keep out of sight. As his anxiety built, the lust for battle grew. He wanted to see these creatures dead and fast. Up on one knee in the snow now, his left hand rest upon his dwarven one-handed broadsword. He unbuckled his swift axe and felt comfort as he slipped his gloved hand into its basket-handle. He waited now only for....
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">Orin signaled. Adrenaline took Narmin's senses and he leapt up, charging right past an orkish scout. He waisted no energy on it, for as soon as he passed he heard it choke on its own blood, pierced with dwarven arrow. A goblin sitting by the fire was sharpening its cruel sword. He would make sure that sword never reached his companions. "Khazad Aimenu!" Narmin's deep guttoral cry rang in the empty space as he charged. His adversary responded with a terrifying war shriek and shook its head violently. It lept straight for Narmin's leg. Big mistake. Reflexes took over as he hammered down on the goblin's thrust, impaling the sword into the snowbank. His axe sprung like lightning into the flesh of the goblins neck. "They drop like flies!" he marvelled. If only they were always in small bands, this never-ending battle would be already won.
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">
<DIV marginheight="1" marginwidth="1" leftmargin="1" topmargin="1" ="WebWizRTE">A second goblin sprang up from the campfire, alerted by Narmin's cry. His axe was imbedded in the fallen enemy and he had no time to dislodge it. As the orc moved to throw itself at Narmin, he dropped the handle of his axe, reached at his boot and pulled out the long, single-edged knife. He thrust it straight upward into the leaping fiend and it died almost instantly. The heart of a goblin was as vulnurable as it was black and cruel. As his friends slew around him, Narmin pulled his knife up above his head and threw it at an enemy who was scrambling away, trying to flee. It struck the beast it the foot and it howled in pain. Picking up his axe, Narmin rushed to its side and clubbed it over the head with the pommel of his sword. It fell into the snow, knocked out cold...literally. "Orin! I've gotcha one for an interogation if you please! Scum'll be awake in a few."

Tolkus
27/Jun/2010, 11:18 AM
Camp Site

The next morning Blarin woke Tokus and they had a lite breakfast. Blarin said, "Slept good I see. Tis well ye did we have some travel ahead of us." "Where are we going?",Tolkus asked. "We are to meet up with Orin at a place where I know they are going by. I hope we get there as they do or before. Otherwise we shall see how good a tracker ye really are in order to find them." Blarin said with a laugh.

The two packed their things and went out into the cold, a lite snow was falling and the clouds were getting darker and heavy looking. "Hmmmm.... Going to be some snow today, it may slow us a might but I think we can manage." Blarin said looking up at the sky. The two left the camping site at a stady pace in order to get a little ahead in case of a hard snow. They were now on their way to the meeting area.

Ataltur Ninefinger
29/Jun/2010, 11:03 PM
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">NPC - Thogar Stoneheart, Scout
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">Thogar flanked the group of four dwarves as Orin led him, Eir and Narmin around the side of the valley. Fifteen of the enemy had they counted in all, of whom six appeared to be asleep, and three on sentry duty. Their four comrades would attack the goblins from the other side of the valley. Thogar had a grim expression on his face, whilst any one dwarf considered himself to be the equal of at least two orcs, and probably three, you never could tell what trickery the enemy would produce until the battle was joined. Eventually, the group of four reached a suitable point from which to attack, and Orin and Narmin crawled off, their bellies low to the ground, to assault the orc camp.
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">Thogar and Eir looked for suitable firing positions. Thogar, unusually tall and slender for his race, was also quite unafraid of heights. He tapped Eir on the shoulder and made a hand signal with his finger pointed straight up, and then quietly he pulled himself up on top of one of the large boulders behind which they hid. Lying flat on his front to avoid revealing himself, Thogar just peeked the side of his head over the boulder. He had an excellent vantage point and could clearly see most of the orcs warming themselves around the fire. He could also just make out the stealthy figures of Orin and Narmin. With a start, Thogar saw something else a fourth orc scout. The creature had been slack in its duty, it had taken a few moments to warm itself in the lee of the rock, and Orin and Narmin had crawled right by without it noticing. However, now it was returning to its sentry position and was sure to spot their tracks in the snow! Swiftly, Thogar reached in one of his belt pouches, producing a long thin leather cord. He wound the ends around both hands, and then rolled over the side of the rock, dropping silently into the snow beneath. In a heartbeat, he was on his feet and approached the orc sentry from behind, who had now spotted the tracks of Orin and Narmin and was crouching down to inspect them, a puzzled look on its stupid face. Thogar reached his hands over the orcs shoulders, and then he violently pulled the leather garrote tight around its throat, placing a knee into the small of its back to prevent it from moving its torso forwards to release his stranglehold. The pressure on its windpipe was intense and within seconds the air supply to the orcs brain had been cut off. It ceased its struggles and hung limply in Thogars hands. The dwarf maintained the pressure for a count of five, and when he was sure it was dead, he dropped the corpse into the shadow of the rock. He glanced around; it seemed in the blowing snow, no-one had noticed the struggle on the edge of the orc camp. Ducking behind the nearest rock, he drew his composite bow and nocked an arrow. And waited
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">After what seemed like an eternity to Thogar, but was in fact only a matter of seconds, Orin seemed to decide that he and Narmin were close enough to the main group of orcs and he made the now familiar raven call. Attack! Arrows rained into the orc camp from the other side, that would be Beastuk and Freyna, whilst arrows swishing past his right shoulder told him that Eir was about her nights work too. With his peripheral vision, he could see the brothers, Nor and Gror hacking orcs down before them well, Nor was hacking them down with his axes, Gror was stomping them into the ground with whatever part of his armoured body was in range! Thogar loosed several arrows, aimed shots were difficult in the swirling wind, but not impossible, and in any case, most of the orcs had banded together close by the fire, seeking protection in numbers, but also presenting a massed target in which even the most ill-aimed shot would likely score a hit. Thogar fired another arrow, saw an orc stumble and fall,blood ebbingfrom a wound to the area of its heart, but he realized that Orin, Narmin, Gror and Nor were now in the midst of the melee, and the risk of hitting one of them was too great. An orc broke out of the ring of rocks within which the fight was taking place, it had had enough and was making its escape. Thogar, slung his bow, and emerged from his firing position, standing stock still in the path of the orc, hands swinging by his sides. The orc was in a frenzy of hate and panic, seeing him it snarled and rushed toward him, crudesword held high. Thogar waited until it was quite close, then reached down to one boot, drew a throwing knife, aimed and hurled it at the orc, all in one fluid motion. The knife buried itself to the hilt in the orcs throat, the creature collapsed to its knees; black blood gushing down over its iron breastplate, then fell sideways into the snow, dead.
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">
<DIV style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">Thogar was a scout; he was neither equipped nor minded to enter the heart of the melee around the orc campfire. However he could see that the orcs numbers were thinning although they outnumbered the dwarves they had been caught off guard and seemed to lack a leader. Perhaps their captain had already been killed, but in any event, the fight was going hard for the orcs. Thogar retrieved his knife, and then patrolled the edge of the skirmish, picking off another orc who attempted to flee from the war partys savage assault. He heard his comrade Narmin Quickaxe cry that he had taken a prisoner, a goblin who he had laid out cold with a blow to the head. Thogar ran to Narmin, producing the leather cord once more, and bound the orcs hand securely behind his back with it. I will guard him here Thogar shouted at Narmin return to the battle if you wish, there are only a few heads left to take! Thogar crouched in the snow over the fallen orc, bow drawn and ready to deal death to any goblin foolish enough to try to free its comrade, whilst within the camp the fightraged on

Oro
08/Jul/2010, 02:33 PM
< ="-" ="text/; =utf-8"><title></title>< name="GENERATOR" ="Office.org 3.2 Win32">< ="text/">


NPC- Orin
Wyrmsbane, War Leader

The orcish party never knew what
hit them when the dwarven strike team hammered into the campsite with
a fury that bellied their frustrations. In the first few
minutes of the fighting, the scouts did their deadly work picking off
nearly six orcs in a few moments. The blades of
the dwarves slashed and hacked, orken blood flowing freely.
Orin knew better than to charge into combat blindly and immediately
surveyed the situation, His twin blades rushed forward to meet
the first orc to respond to the attack and in a matter of moments the
final orc had fallen into the cold tundra.

The tall dwarf
swept the hair from his face, looking down at the two bodies that lay
mangled at his feet. Each of his dwarves had made him proud
again, none injured and even capturing a single orc. He
smiled, his beard covered in soft powder, "</font>Good
work, Narmin, We shall interrogate this one and see what He is
up to." </font>He cleaned the
blood from his mighty blades and then sheathed them, steel ringing as
he pulled his cowl over his head once again, to block the frigid
breeze.

Stepping over to </font>Thogar
</font>who was standing over the bound orc,
He kneeled down at the foot of Thogar and called out, </font>"Freyna,
to me. Hand me the smelling salts." </font>He
extended his hand, grasping the salts as she procured them for
him. Leaning over the orc he stuffed the salts into the
nose of the orc, and the minion gasped in pain immediately wriggling
about in fear attempting to break free of his bindings.

A
dwarven dagger nicked the orken throat, the knife from his shoe
being freed in a single dexterous moment. "</font>I
wouldnt be trying that, if I were you." </font>He
smiled a large, devious grin and then spoke, "</font>What
was your party doing out here? you were headed north and away from
the rest of your scouting parties." </font>He
spoke the question without hesitation nor foreplay.
Terror filled the goblinoid face and the orc spoke, "</font>Belshar
not know where we headed, Belshar only go where told...."
</font>an obvious lie, if Orin had
ever seen one. He laughed, normally orcs needed no
prodding to fess up, they were cowardly by nature.

"</font>Let
me repeat the question" </font>He
motioned for each of his dwarves to step forward with their weapons
held high. "</font>Let me introduce
you to my gang. This here is Freyna, she is the
most soft spoken of our group, but she knows how to torture you
with that little blade of hers. She is good with keeping people
alive, a few minutes with her and you will wish to die."
</font>He smiled and turned, his finger
pointed at Thogar, Eir, and Beastuk "</font>These
are my scouts, if I were not holding them back, you'd be
strung from that tree over there, strangled but not dead and they
would be using you as target practice."

</font>Then
with a chuckle he added, "</font>And
they are very accurate, I can promise they would not aim for a kill
shot till you were nearly bled to death anyway." </font>the
goblin gulped, He knew he was in trouble, "</font>Now,
I have saved the best for last. The more you are willing
to help me, the more I can keep my dwarves from tearing your little
body to nothing." </font>the
goblin closed his eyes, He must have been afraid of someone or
something, for he was being much braver than any orc the dwarf had
met, "</font>And this is Nar and
Narmin, they like chopping things up. I am under good
confidence that they would start with your groin, and then move to
your fingers and start chopping you into finer and finer pieces,
but this is not all, they would feed you these organs as well"
</font>holding back a laugh, "</font>Not
a pretty fate, I can assure you." </font>His
finger moved to Gror, the solemn dwarf in the rigid spiked plates,
"</font>And this is..." </font>but
before he could even speak the words about Gror, the orc saw the
dwarf and knew he did not want that fate, "</font>Please
sir...Please...I can not tell you. Master will kills me for
it..." </font>his eyes begging
for a quick death.

</font>"You
will tell me, or every second that passes by the worse your death
will be." </font>the dwarf's face
hardened, his dagger, "</font>Ok
fine, Gror come on over...show him what your spikes can..."
</font>but was interrupted, "</font>Byal,
the great wyrm of the north has awakened. Master has sent
us to offer him the Forgotten Halls as a prize." </font>He
spoke and then passed out, as if the mere effort of speaking
these words was enough to knock him from his mental state.
Orin looked as if a hammer had struck him in the fact. He
looked around at his warriors and spoke, the look on his face
betrayed his feelings.

"</font>This
just got very complicated." </font>he
said, and then shook his head, sliding the dagger back
into its sheath, "</font>It looks as
if we are hunting dragon." </font>He
said and then turned off into the night, motioning for Gror to drag
the bound goblin after them. He pulled the wyrm's tooth from
his neck and showed it to the group, "</font>Remember
the tale of how I slew the great wyrm, Cheren? The Black Dragon
of the North, this is his twin brother Byal, the great White
Dragon." </font>he shook his
head, "</font>If the orc king is
attempting an alliance with the White Dragon, we can be safe in
assuming the White Dragon will sniff out our treasures and will lead
the king to us. It is our duty to ensure this does not happen."
</font>

He groaned and then stuffed
the tooth back into his mail, stepping quietly into the
swirling snow, motioning for the group to follow.
Byal hated Orin for slaying his brother, this would not just be
business it would be personal and Orin knew they were headed to one
of the most dangerous adventures the War Party had ever encountered.
</font>
</font>

Tolkus
12/Jul/2010, 02:00 AM
Blarin and Tolkus were making their way to the site where Blarin told Orin they would meet the party when Tolkus' task was over. The snow was coming down hard now and slowed their pace a might. Tolkus thought to himself, "Even in this cold I'm getting hot moving at this speed." Though the pace seem slow to Blarin it was fast for the man to keep up but Tolkus was determined not to be the one that draged behind. He followed in Blarins path which made his going a bit easyer to keep up. After a time they arrived at an outcropping of rocks. It wasn't very big just a few very large stones jutting out of the side of a small hill. They form a small shelter under them. Finding noone here or any message left when they arrrived Blarin told Tolkus to look under the over hang and see if any wood was there while he looked about to see if the party had come by. Tolkus found the wood and got a fire going. Blarin returned with a concerned look on his face. "Something wrong?", asked Tolkus "They should have been here by now...", Blarin trailed off in answer while still looking about. "No sign of them here yet, just sit back and we'll wait a while and see.", Blarin said. The two put their things aside and sat under the shelter with the fire going, waiting.