7 Fourth Age: Troubles Rising in Farrowhelm

7 Fourth Age: Troubles Rising in Farrowhelm; Open
Topic Started: 28 Dec 2008, 10:43 PM (101 Views)
Deleted User	28 Dec 2008, 10:43 PM Post #1
Deleted User	The Captain of the Royal Guard of Meduseld riding over the hills at the head of a column of Edoras' finest was a sight that the family of Haleth, son of Eothyn, had not expected to see as they made the fairly brief journey across the Fold to their new home in a village near the border with Fangorn Forest; Haleth's mother lived there and had recently fallen ill, so the family was taking up residence with her for the coming months in order to treat her or, if fate decided that her time had come, to ease her passing in as much comfort as possible. The journey could be made in two days, and the family had expected to encounter another passing traveler at best; the sight of the column rising on the hills to the south had filled them with dread at first - Haleth and his wife both remembered the atrocities of the Uruk-hai during the war against Isengard several years ago and such memories had haunted them since - but soon it became apparent that they were Rohirrim riding towards them; some of them of the Royal Guard no less. Their fear had then been replaced by a feeling of apprehension as they considered the possibility that the King himself was about to pass them; Eomer was well-known to be the sort of King to face a situation personally. If it was the joy of seeing their King that Haleth's family expected as the column approached them, then they were disappointed; no King rode with the men that day, but instead it was Gamling, son of Grandin and Second Marshal of the Mark that approached them, four Royal Guardsmen behind him and another two score Rohirrim riders further back. This still surprised Haleth, and as the column slowed their pace to match that of the walkers, he stammered his greetings to the Marshal, "My Lord!" he uttered, "It is a pleasure to see you here. I am Haleth, son of Eothyn." Gamling inclined his head, "Take no pleasure in our presence here, Haleth son of Eothyn, for our business here is of a grim nature. Where are you destined for?" "Farrowhelm, my Lord." Gamling grimaced, and the optimistic look on Haleth's face was struck down and replaced with one of apprehension once more. The Second Marshal of the Mark remained silent and straightened in his saddle, facing forwards once more. After a few more moments of silence, Haleth braved to ask a question, "My Lord, might I ask where you are destined for?" "Farrowhelm also," Gamling replied in an instant, having foreseen the question the moment he had declined to continue their exchange, "If you would spare your wife and children of atrocities, Haleth son of Eothyn, then you would do well to turn back now." "My...Lord?" Haleth stammered, his voice beginning to break slightly as he looked to his wife and two children, both of whom clutched their mother, intimidated by the appearance of the armoured men. "Orcs are afoot on our borders." Gamling explained, still not meeting the farmer's eye as he spoke, "We received word that a raiding party was heading for Farrowhelm. We mean to intercept it, but I fear they may have already reached the settlement." Haleth came to a halt, his family following his example. Gamling pulled his horse to a stop as well and turned around to look at the farmer, whose expression seemed to the Marshal to be a contrasting blend of anger and fear. Knowing that the man was no soldier, and that righteous anger often led to reckless decisions, Gamling said to him as kindly as he could without declining his authoritative tone, "Go now, Haleth son of Eothyn. Go back to your home. We shall see to Farrowhelm." Before the farmer could respond, Gamling kicked his horse forward and sped off at double pace, the column falling in behind him. Leaving the family behind to make their decision to continue the journey or go back, Gamling and his men made for Farrowhelm as fast as they could without having their horses be exhausted by the time they arrived. *** The people of Farrowhelm screamed and fled as the band of orcs - almost a hundred in number - descended upon their village. The attack had come from nowhere; the weather had been frosty earlier in the day and so no hunters or farmers had been out in the fields where they might have seen the orcs sooner. Instead, the village was caught unawares and the slaughter began. Women and children barricaded themselves in their homes at the men's behest, only to see their husbands and fathers overwhelmed and struck down by the foul creatures who would have them all carved. "We must head into the forest!" One village elder called out over the din, though few paid heed to him and he was soon overtaken and struck down by an orc champion. The slaughter had been taking place for nigh on half of an hour before one orc scout screeched a warning to its chieftain; men of the Riddermark were approaching. The foulsome savages abandoned their pursuit of the remaining villages and began throwing up rudimentary barricades around the village, but the column of Riders, at the command of Gamling, son of Grandin, did not wait for their enemies to fortify their position, and charged into the settlement with such force that the few fences and pieces of timber erected as a defence against them were thrown aside, and a fierce battle erupted in the middle of the village. Blades smashed into shields, spears splintered and bowstrings sung as the Rohirrim and the orcs did battle in Farrowhelm. Victory seemed to be easily within the grasp of the Rohirrim, and Gamling blew into his horn as a declaration of impending success, but the sudden fall of one of his Royal Guardsmen alerted the Marshal to the presence of dozens of Orc archers in the surrounding houses, firing stealthily from the cover of windows and doorways, where the horsemen could not get to them. Rohirrim fell, and the situation looked grim for the Marshal and his men.
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Deleted User	29 Dec 2008, 12:34 AM Post #2
Deleted User	Erchirion was sulking again. To Bellion, his first officer and best friend, it was a common event these days. With the Corsair fleet all but destroyed and no imminent danger to Middle-earth on the seas, the Prince’s presence was required more and more on dry land. “My Prince,” Bellion began, attempting to mask the exasperation in his voice, “this is no trivial mission we have been sent on.” Erchirion snorted in derision. “Mission? This is no mission, Bellion, it is an errand. One which, might I add, was given to me because of my perpetual loitering, as my father so bluntly puts it.” “Better an errand boy than an idle noble,” Bellion countered boldly. “These dispatches come from the Steward of Gondor to the Queen of the Mark.” “Or to put it another way, my cousin is writing a letter to my sister and needs a messenger boy,” Erchirion retorted, stubbornly refusing to accept this journey held any significant importance. The friendly bickering between Prince and First Officer was cut short by the familiar call of the Rohirric war horn. Erchirion’s horse, Myrnen, snorted and reared, but the Prince handled the animal with a firm and steady hand. Behind him, the column of Swan Knights, all of them from his personal legion, turned to the north. “It came from beyond these trees, my Prince,” Galthorn announced. It took Erchirion only a moment to reach his decision. Orcs were known to pass through these parts, and he was eager for more news of their movements. The horn signaled a victory, and he would take a short detour to announce himself to the Rohirrim Captain. Quickly it became clear that the call of victory had been made prematurely. The sounds of battle filtered through the trees even before the Swan Knights had emerged into the plain beyond. Swinging around, Erchirion led the legion in a wide arc to approach the Riders from behind. “Well met,” Bellion called to the Rohirric rearguard. “I am Bellion of Dol Amroth, first officer to Prince Erchirion who leads us now. The Prince would speak to your Captain.” Not ten minutes later, Erchirion halted his sable warhorse and dismounted to speak with Gamling, Second Marshal of the Mark. He had met the man before, though they were not well acquainted. Eomer’s trust in Gamling was enough to highly recommend him to Erchirion. “Well met, Gamling,” Erchirion began. Not a man to stand on ceremony or waste words, he jumped directly to the point. “I heard your horn and came to gather what news you have, but instead find cowardly Orcs hiding in Rohirric homes. I have with me fifty Swan Knights and request the pleasure of routing this filth of Mordor alongside your Riders.”
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Deleted User	29 Dec 2008, 02:58 AM Post #3
Deleted User	When Gamling emerged from the first house that he and his men had cleared of the orc archers, his sword clutched in his hand like a vice and stained with the black blood of Mordor's spawn, he had not expected his lieutenant to approach him and announce the arrival of a column of Swan Knights of Dol Amroth, under the leadership of one of the sons of Imrahil himself. Taken aback by the surprise, Gamling took a few seconds of silence before nodding to his lieutenant and ordering his group of soldiers to head into the next house; they did so, raising shields to protect themselves as they crossed the street and came under fire from a barrage of arrows. Gamling, meanwhile, stepped into the western square of the settlement, which had been cleared of orcs and was now nothing but a ruinous stretch of dust where the bodies of Rohirrim and Orc alike lay as a banquet to the carrion. It was there that Gamling met the Prince of Dol Amroth, Erchirion, as he rode into the square and dismounted. Gamling looked the man up and down, and recalled brief meetings between during the celebrations after Sauron's downfall, and Eomer's wedding to Erchirion's sister; such was the flurry of such ceremonies that both meetings had been little more than brief introductions, but Gamling knew enough of the Swan Knights to respect the Prince as a man of noble blood; had his father not, after all, been one of only three leaders of Men whom had suffered no injury on the Fields of Pelennor? The other two had been Elessar and Eomer, and the son of any man who could match their prowess on the battlefield was someone the Marshal could be pleased to see in a time of need. “Well met, Gamling; I heard your horn and came to gather what news you have, but instead find cowardly Orcs hiding in Rohirric homes. I have with me fifty Swan Knights and request the pleasure of routing this filth of Mordor alongside your Riders.” "You may have it, my Lord." Gamling replied, acknowledging the other man's higher status; he was, after all, distantly related to Elessar himself. "What better sight is there to Men in battle than a company of the finest knights Gondor has to offer coming to their aid?" "I shall have men see to your horses," the Marshal continued, beckoning to the quartet of men that had remained with him as an escort - all that could be spared - whilst the rest of his company were out clearing the houses one by one, "It would be best to proceed on foot. These orcs have shown a preference for felling our steeds with us still in the saddle." It was only then that the unlikelihood of the Prince's presence nearby struck Gamling as hardly as it should have when he first of it, and indeed had his mind not been so focused on the fight, then it no doubt would have. What was a Prince of Dol Amroth, one of the most important and prestigious titles in Gondor, doing out in the Fold? He did not dwell on it long, however, as the whistling of arrows was soon heard as he stepped out of the western square and into the street linking it to the eastern one; the eastern square was surrounded by houses still filled with orcs, and it was from these windows that the arrows now pelting the ground around Gamling were coming from. Slinging his own short bow around from where it had been resting on his back, the Marshal stood on the porch of one of the empty houses, using its bulk as cover for his right flank, before pulling back an arrow and loosing it off into a window of the nearest infested home. A high-pitched screech over the din of the fighting told Gamling that he had found his mark, and he turned to look at the Prince and give him a curt nod. That was when the new tactic available to him came to mind; as he looked at the Prince and his Swan Knights, their plate armour far heavier and more durable than the lighter chainmail of the Rohirrim. Hurrying back over to the Prince, the Marshal quickly made his suggestion, "Might I request that the Swan Knights move up the street in a testudo* to clear each house? My Rohirrim all have their own short bows and can provide cover fire. Once inside, no orc here today could dent the armour of a Knight of Dol Amroth, nor withstand the blow of his sword." OOC * testudo; better known as the 'turtle' formation.
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Deleted User	30 Dec 2008, 09:47 PM Post #4
Deleted User	Erchirion acknowledged Gamling’s kind words with a short nod, but quickly turned his attention to the situation in the village. This part of the square was clear, but from the sounds not too far off, there was still more fighting to be done. “I’ll not lie, Swan Knights are more capable on foot than horseback,” Erchirion stated. Few in Gondor were trained for the cavalry, which made friendship with the Riddermark vital to his country’s survival. In the background, Bellion was giving the order for the men to dismount and give their steeds over to the Rohirrim. As Erchirion turned to command them, he saw more than a few fleeting glances of relief. The swans of Dol Amroth on their armor gleamed in the sunlight as they formed up efficiently. “You and I are of a similar mind, Gamling,” Erchirion smiled grimly. “We will proceed up this street in formation. As we go, parties of five will enter the buildings and route the Orcs. From there, archers will cover our advance.” Erchirion turned to his men and shouted, “Esgalim!” The soldiers fell into their places at once, swords in hand and shields forming a nearly impenetrable shell. From the high places of the Orcs it appeared that fifty blue and white swans moved down the narrow street. Erchirion detached from the formation at the last house on the street. Behind him, he heard the clanging of swords as his men and the Rohirrim battled against the Orcs. He raised Aernin high as he charged into what looked like a weaver’s cottage. “For Gondor!” he cried, and struck the first Orc at the seam between neck and shoulder. Black blood sprayed against his face and armor. Deep in the pulse of battle, Erchirion moved for the second Orc without flinching or thinking. Translation: esgalim = Sindarin, fish hidden in a cover
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