Ranger RPG: Chapter 2: The Eastern Menace

[Arnyn]

Ranger RPG: Chapter 2: The Eastern Menace

For your reference:
Ranger RPG: Chapter 1: A Growing Threat
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Summary Chapter 1

With the War of the Ring having ended several years ago, King Aragorn Elessar has decided to disband the large Gondorian Army. In its stead, he envisioned a smaller, elite unit: the Rangers of Gondor.
At its conception, this force exists of a select number of hand-picked soldiers and rangers who have proven themselves in the past, in former military structures.

The King has chosen a grizzled veteran soldier, Amathen, as their Commander, and a promising ranger, Macardil, as their Lieutenant. (Both NPC's, controlled by the GM)

The Rangers of Gondor immediately have their work cut out for them: bands of orcs have been raising farms and villages in the southeastern region of Gondor.
No one has been able to engage with this enemy: they hit their targets unexpectedly, fast and without survivors or witnesses. The orcs seem to display an unusual intelligence. The only reason Gondor knows that orcs are responsible, is because a few bodies have been found at raided locations.

After a briefing by the Commander and the Lieutenant at Headquarters, the newly formed Rangers move out. It will be their job to track these elusive enemies, and finally bring them to justice. By way of Harlond, Pelargir and the southeastern road, they travel to the Fort at the Crossing of the Poros.

When an alarmstricken farmer brings them a report of a party of orcs moving for a village a few hours removed from the fort on horseback, the Rangers set out immediately, planning to waylay the orcs and save the village from impending slaughter.
However, the Rangers see no one on the roads between the fort and the village, and the village itself appears peaceful upon arrival.

Appearances can be deceiving, it is said.
True to the saying, once most of the Rangers had arrived at the center of the village, the Enemy's trap was sprung: doors were slammed open from buildings all around, and the Rangers were set upon by as many as three times their own number. Luckily, Lieutenant Macardil had kept a number of Rangers skilled with the bow with him at the outskirts at the village.
With their crucial help, the Rangers in the village defeated and killed most of the Orcs; all but three, among them Sârghést and Kaurzog, who escaped the Rangers' clutches... to return to their Master.

One phrase, uttered by one of the escaping Orcs, would have been mulled over by many a Ranger on their way back to the Fort at the Crossing of the Poros:

"Hear the words of your new lord, ye Rangers of Gondor! Give an ear to the rage of our master, ye Free Peoples of Belfalas! Lo, we shall shine forth in war! We shall shine forth in peace! We are a ray void of the sun! I go, I go swifter than the arrows of Drautran's bow! I go! Bagurzlaam shall eat out your hearts!”

It seems that The Eastern Menace has not yet been eradicated completely.

***

Tally of Ranger injuries:

- Thûllir: gash to the left cheek, across the cheekbone
- Turin: bruise to the head
- Zev: cut to the outer left thigh (not serious) + was violently thrown into a wall
- Morwen: cut to the inside of her upper arm + dislocated shoulder
- Abrazimir: cut near the brow
- Kamion: cut to the right leg, just beyond the reach of his mail
- Ilisys: bruised sternum + two fractured fingers

***

RANGER PROMPT:

The fight was over, the village secured. Commander Amathen, however, was in a foul mood. He felt like the Rangers (including himself) had been ill prepared and remiss in allowing a few of their enemies to escape. In addition, he had expected more from the villagers.
He had Ruma brought to him and spoke with her in private in the main hall. Some of the Rangers surely had to resist putting their ears to the door, but the watchful eye of Lieutenant Macardil kept them in check.

Speaking of the Lieutenant, once he was assured that there were no more orcs in the village, he issued his own orders during Amathen's talk with the village spokeswoman:
"Any of you who need to have any injuries checked or wounds cleaned, check in with Pele, Durien, Karis or Beren." He knew Thûllir and Morwen were also skilled at healing, but they obviously had injuries of their own. "We still have a few hours ride ahead of us back to the fort," he added, figuring some of them might need convincing to also have their lesser wounds checked. "And I want to avoid risks at infection as much as possible."

MINION PROMPT:

The only three survivors of the fight hurriedly returned to their temporary base of operations, a hidden cave in the southwestern mountains of Mordor, to the Gondorian side.
It were Kaurzog and Sârghest who sought out their Master, fearing to report to him but knowing that failing to do so would be much, much worse.



***

Rules:

1. Please keep all posts IC, you may OOC at the bottom of your post if you wish, or in the Ranger OOC thread. Any questions for the GM are also welcome in the Ranger OOC thread.
2. Rangers: Please post in Black -- Minions: Please post in Red (BF0000) -- GM posts and/or prompts (Arnyn, possibly Oro) will be blue and/or green
3. Rangers: post your rank, name and squad at the top of every post please.
4. Be courteous of others and have fun!

[Arnyn]

Ranger Kaylin - Squad Three

It didn't take them long to search the village. Settling the people who lived there would be another matter, but it didn't seem like that was expected of them. They had reassured many of the villagers that the orcs were gone, their eyes told Kaylin they knew just as well as the Rangers that what was now gone, could always return.

When the Rangers gathered once more at the center of the village, now all of them, the Lieutenant ordered the wounded to seek medical attention from those among them skilled at healing. When Macardil didn't mention Thûllir's name, Kaylin frowned. Was it a coincidence, or was there a reason not to call on Thûllir? Regardless, now the village was secure, their mission was - for the moment, at least - over. She could take a beat to check in. Her shield and shortsword returned to her back, freeing her hands to pull out her water skin. She quenched the thirst she suddenly realized she had while her eyes sought out Thûllir.

She hadn't seen his injured cheek during the battle earlier - he'd coincidentally had his other cheek turned to her then. But now the gash was visible enough, even from yards away: a blatant offence of split skin and blood, right across her Ranger's cheekbone. An angry snarl contended with a concerned frown for a moment, but then both gave way to an expression that conveyed her appreciation for the way he had launched himself from his horse earlier to take down multiple opponents at once. Plus - there was no need for anger or revenge: Thûllir had killed the offender himself already. She remembered him standing up after the kill. Her concern was probably uncalled for when it came to a rather superficial cut, as well. Still, she would have preferred the gash not to have been there at all (of course), and a hint of worry and displeasure remained in her eyes. The memory of his reckless move, however, was front and foremost on her mind now, and it made one corner of her mouth curl upward.

Her waterskin still in hand, and smiling the way she was, Kaylin closed the distance between her and Thûllir. She gently wiped some more of the blood away with her thumb, making sure not to touch the gash itself. She didn't want to inadvertently get any dirt into it. "Once again you prove your name true," she said quietly; only he would be able to make out the words, "Bregedyr." Not caring in the least what the other Rangers might think of it, she lowered her fingers to his chin and carefully touched her lips against his. When she withdrew, after a moment wherein there had been nothing but the two of them, she offered him her water.

"No other injuries, I trust?" she asked, a twinkle in her eyes that he would doubtlessly recognize.

[Pele Alarion]

Ranger Pele Alarion
Squad Two

The victory had been won, and yet it felt bitter, as Pele continuously mulled over the escaped orc's words in her mind. A new lord? A new master? Bagurzlaam? Was there a new Dark Lord rising? At any rate the orcs seemed way more organised in their fighting than she had ever known, and it was concerning; there was a real possibility that they had only won one battle, not the whole war - that the mentioned new lord would not likely give up after one loss. She could not help but feel somewhat disappointed and tired of it all: would there never be peace?

It seemed that their Commander not content either, and the Ranger made sure to stay out of his way, as he all but locked himself up in the town hall with the villager who had approached the Rangers first. Meanwhile the Lieutenant had new orders for them, and Pele readied herself for the other part of her work within Ranger force. Giving Autumn a bit of a rub on the neck for being a good horse, she checked on the stuff stocked away in the saddle bags.

Aware that perhaps she might not get too much rest between caring for the Rangers and setting out back for the fort, she snatched a handful of nuts and dried fruit and popped these in her mouth - she would be better able to help if she kept up her strength. Slowly munching on the snack, she tied up her horse and then collected the pack with the healing supplies, turning to look for any injured Ranger she might get her hands on.

[Nen]

Ranger Hirluin
Squad Three

Hirluin stood against a wall under the shadowed roof of a small portico. The sun was high above them and heat was sweltering. The dirt and stench of dead orc appeared to make the weather even more clawing. He folded his arms and brooded whilst the healer rangers got busy with the wounded. It had been a relief to know that they had not lost any of their own. But the relief was only slight. There was too much to worry about. The parting words of the enemy seemed to ring out for along time among the company. Here and there shadows of the villagers darted about in uncertainty and fear. Eyes peeked through from behind curtains on upper storeys, and then disappeared when they sensed they had been spotted.

The Gondorian sighed softly. He had helped to work at scouring the village for any hidden orcs, but they had managed to defeat all but the three that had managed to flee the scene of battle. He considered as the healers disinfected and bound wounds the best they could in this forsaken place. Then deciding that he was falling into a sense of listlessness, he pushed away from the wall and began his search for Cropper. He wondered how the horse was doing. He had barely had time to do anything about him, except to dismount and fall into the midst of the foray. Perhaps the four-legged creature was somewhere outside the village where they had parted.

He passed by a gap between the last few shacks in the villages, and glanced, from out of the corner of his eye, a pert little face with big, dark eyes staring out at him. Hirluin realised it was a child, and he did not look at her at once in his desire not to scare her. But he stopped parallel to her hiding spot between the walls and then turned towards her slowly, and smiled.

Hirluin's smiles were rare. But when they did turn up they lit up his face and changed his entire look. So joyous and gentle did that face look with a smile. "Hello, little one. I think it best you return to your mamma, don't you?" The child, at first inclined to turn tail and run, had stopped short at the sight of that smile. She returned it, tentatively, shyly. Then she nodded and ran back in right through the length of the walls and to the back of one of the houses.

Hirluin watched her, as the sun died out of his face, and concern took its place. The child and her family, and other little children like her - he clenched his fist. How safe could they be? He thought bitterly. He glanced back into the heart of the village, seeking out Lieutenant Mardil. When he found the other man, he watched him quietly, wondering all the while what call he and the Commander would make. Perhaps that village woman under interrogation would see reason and allow them to help the villagers. He pursed his lips, and turned away to continue on his intended task of finding his borrowed horse.

[Zôrzimril]

Kaurzog

The orc set down his axe and ripped the stolen sheet into strips. His leg was slick with his own blood, which caused the leather pant leg around the wound to stick stubbornly to his open flesh. He took a seat on the ground in a copse of trees just outside the village, then quickly cut the leather away from the wound with the knife he kept at his side for fighting in close quarters. He gritted his teeth and growled as he tied wide strips of cloth around his thigh to stanch the bleeding. The rest he tied to his belt to use later. He picked up his axe again and stood to test his strength, gradually putting more weight onto his wounded leg. He took a step or two. The wide gash had not been deep, and so he found his leg still bore his weight. Still, he went with a bit of a limp as he moved away from the battle.

And so Kaurzog began the journey back to his master. He was eager to put the village behind him. He had no idea whether any of his fellows had survived, nor did he care overmuch. Each of them was an expendable piece in their commander's game - pieces subject to their master's will. And so he had followed orders and struck when the impulse moved him to do so, stood still when it bid him to do so . . . and now, he was pulled southwest to the cave hidden in the Mountains of Shadow despite the dread that filled the pit of his stomach like hot lead at the thought of bringing news of the defeat to his master.

He crossed the Harad Road under cover of night. He trusted somehow that the tarks had not bothered to chase down a lone survivor, but he chose the stealthy path over the brazen one nevertheless. The foothills began to slope up and down as he went. There was little cover in this dusty and broken land, so he slid into small caves (more cracks in the hillside than true caverns) when he came across them. He ate little and drank less, but somehow he persisted. He could not resist the pull to the cave, not even in his state of physical exhaustion.

His last clean bandages had been soaked through for a long time when he finally approached the appointed place. Dead trees hid the thin opening into the mountainside well. He limped slowly but determinedly to the mouth of the cave, drawing himself up to enter with as much pride as he could muster. Kaurzog took a few steps into the cave then paused.

"Master," he began, his low voice cracking from dehydration and disuse. He felt an impulse to kneel and yielded to it. "I have returned alone from the village. We were met with fierce resistance from the tarks. I knew that we were defeated when just three of us still stood against our foes. I retreated to bring you this news. I do not know who else has survived, if anyone at all." He bowed his head in contrition for his failure, and for the failure of his fellows.

[Ercassie]

Rangers Ilisys Azrubêl and Unalmis Raxëlilta
Squad Two


That her glaive vanquished the large Orc’s armour was a triumph though embittered, for the brute’s swift move to limit damage dragged Ilisys from her core of balance, almost costing her grasp on the weapon else. Allowing all the same for her foe to direct his next target beyond the blow he had envisaged. The Orc’s howls of protest were reflected in the silent fury of her obstinate guard. But the difference was becoming apparent. Her fellows were concluding the lives of his, and sure an Orc would expect for Rangers to press this advantage, coming at his few with their remaining many. Sarghest apparently cut his losses, sacrificing the battle for the sake of the war ? His stirring threat the like of brash boasts she’d heard from hubristic knights before. But not such a thing she might have expected from this opponent ..

“They never just leave,” she sighed, even to herself the sentiment was forced however and the Ranger’s argent eyes glanced after the Orc thoughtfully. The kind of thoughtful she had little energy to entertain right now.

Unalmis came upon her, seeking in some thus far disappointing quest to salvage any ammunition. Eager to throw off the evidence of the Orc’s introduction, Ilisys found fingers nonetheless struck numb and fumbling about the task. Straps were confoundingly beyond the work of her digits, though what pain the stubborn efforts inspired was immersed yet in the hampered breath. When the young man stepped in and accomplished the removal of her breast plate, the relief was palpable. A moment to consider the site of the injury assured though a blush and a hesitation as her friend had no want to intervene further. He could after all not justify examination with any claim toward expertise in healing. Rather, taking the woman of Belfalas by the hand, he led her in search of the first (more proficient) healer they might come across.


Beren was no stranger, Unalmis had heard tell, to the female anatomy, and besides that, the youth had spent a good amount of his day not so long past, in conversation of this elder’s talents. When the matter of their mutual acquaintance, Nal’s father, had been broached in the conversation, Camlost had recalled the horrific injuries he had discovered, in wake of Addhor’s patrol being so ambushed. The healers, he had recounted, had nonetheless managed to exhume two out of the dozen who had been left for dead, and Beren, he told Nal, had never been one to discredit the importance of healers in the field from that day onward. Addhor would be dead but for their intervention, and Camlost had made it his personal mission to ensure that the next time, if he had been there, he would make sure to make that integral difference. And that was why Unalmis trusted now that Beren would be able to do what was beyond his own basic skill.

“She’s catching breath, it’s shallow,” he translated, as Ilisys glanced from one to the other of them. Slowly sitting on a low wall, she exhibited the very symptoms spoke of, and Nal handed over the severely dented breast plate as evidence. It was a relief to lay down at least some of the juggle of spear and armour he had taken on to help her carry.

“I do not know this one,” the lady muttered, sidelong to (the cousin of) her squire.

“It’s Beren Camlost,” the young man assured her, though she stared all the more so to hear that name. The man .. of the legend … she had read histories … she held out her hand, as a good lady ought on introduction, serving her self-proclaimed assistant further prompt. “He’s as good as family,” Nal told Isys and “Her fingers aren’t right either,” he let Beren know. “The far two on the right hand ..”

Ilisys immediately recoiled her proferred hand, and held it back in her lap a little defensively. “This was not a joust,” she informed them, quite convinced, and providing some suggestion that she had struck her head some blow perhaps as well. “Where is Gilbrathal ?” she asked, glancing for her horse distractedly.

“Beren will take care of you,” Unalmis decided, demonstrating full faith in his father’s old friend. “I’ll go .. find your horse,” he sought to satisfy Ilisys, who nodded a slight smile. And with that the young man made from the pair, as his own mission to help find the lady’s horse. And his own horse, for that matter. As close as he might manage to where the Commander was questioning Ruma. Without being too obvious. Well, without trying to be too obvious. The odd glance in search of squandered quarrels leant some alibi to his hunt, but though horses and supplies were important of course, the parting comments of that Orc kept pushing all else from mind.

“Bagurzlaam", he muttered, without comprehension. The name was repeated, inspiring a furrowed brow, but inspiring no sense of whether he might quite want to know what it all meant.

[The Good Hunter]

Sârghest

It had all been for naught. All the planning, the preparation, the anticipation, the final execution, it had been for nothing in the end. They failed. Despite catching the rangers off guard, despite being of superior numbers, despite superior tactics, they had failed. Sârghest roared his anger, venting his feral rage the skiey vastness above. The shouts rang in the hills. Crows and other carrion, disappointed in the lack of feast, rose a gargantuan black wave and passed away through the grey clouds. He snarled, wishing he had something to throw, something to heave, to break. He stopped his running, standing next to a young sapling. He spat, yellowish spittle foaming at the corner of his lip. With a great heave, the orc ripped the sapling full from the ground, roots and all. It felt good to rip something apart, and he did. He tore at the trees, smashing the remnants of the tree until it exploded into wood pulp. This failure was ash in his mouth.

The great black mountains loomed over him, haunted spectral towers that housed his greatest fears and his greatest triumphs. He ran and it shamed him. He ran to those mountains like a weeping child runs to his mother. By the black hells! He should have been cut down where he stood! He should have killed that ranger, she was his. He had the advantage, the wound he took had been minor. He could have ripped the glaive from her hands, he should have thrust his scimitar down her pretty throat and watched her pretty grey eyes go dark. He should have been the last thing she saw! Instead, due to the utter incompetence of his unit, he was forced to flee like a whipped cur. And it would be he that would suffer for their failure at hand of the Master. Because of his men, this was his failure.

“Half a league, half a league, and half a league onward, all through the Fence of Shadow, into the very mouth of hell.”

He ran on. His near blinding rage spurred him on when exhaustion should have overtaken someone even as hardy and trained for endurance as he. He ran and ran and ran. The black mountains loomed and watched him. Their craggy, shadow ensorcelled peaks judged his failure, he could feel the watchful eyes on him even from this distance. He did not stop running. The grey clouds about him grew and expanded, birthing bouts of thunder and lightning. The roiling sky matched Sârghest’s mood. "Are you the best that they could do? Face to the East."

He slowed as the first pellets of hail hit his face. The entrance would be here somewhere, hidden along the crags and bluffs. He searched through the failing ice, moisture cooling his raging flesh. Finally, he saw the yawning mouth that led down into the stygian depths.

“I sang of Chaos and Night Eternal,” he mused as he stepped through the portal, “forced by the Seven Stars to venture down…”

The darkness took him inside. The air was dry in here, a heat emanated from these mountains, unearthly and profane. Remnants of powers still ebbed through these old veins. Sârghest could feel the energy here. He could feel the thrums as they washed over him, through him. It was almost welcoming. There was something rotten in the petrichor though, a hint of decay and disease. The Master was near, and about him the world seemed to shift and change.

Apprehension gripped Sârghest, a feeling totally alien to his way of life. The further he stepped down into abyssal world, the greater the sense of impending dread. Images of his failure came unbidden to his mind, as if it were somehow being controlled by someone sifting through his mind. It was not his fault! The Master must understand this. He must. He must know that if it had not been for Sârghest, the ranger cadre would have moved through the land unchecked. His mouth went dry. He was nearly the uttermost hells now. He would seen be there, in the presence of the Master.

OOC: (Lines taken from "Charge of the Light Brigade" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "Paradise Lost", by John Milton, and "Fire of Motion" by Zeal & Ardor)

[Moriel]

Ranger Kamion
Squad 1

Bagurzlaam.

It was a name unfamiliar to them all, yet fraught with menace. If a minion of those name dared shout it so openly and with such threat upon his own flight, the bearer of that name must hold a certain power. Would the West ever be free from the shadow of evil? It was too soon after the war to hope such a time might already be come, but even so… Kamion sighed as he finished wiping off his sword. Despite so many happy days, that shadow seemed to be the common thread of his entire life. Would that he could live long enough to see it destroyed completely, he thought as he sheathed the sword. It was as Kamion stood from the low wall where he had seated himself and made to buckle on his baldric that the pain in his leg reasserted itself. Exhaling sharply, he extended a hand to steady himself against the wall briefly. The fight had been swift, but intense and not without cost. Most seemed to have obtained some injury or other- most minor, but not all.

They were lucky to have escaped worse, given the numbers, but fortunately skill had been taken into account when the invitations to join this new cadre were issued. Kamion had managed to dispatch the several orcs that set upon him, but not before one had found his flesh with flickering sword. The bold move was made to the creature’s cost, as it had soon found itself bowled over by a cracking uppercut of pommel steel, and skewered through the heart swiftly thereafter. The cut had hurt in the moment, but was quickly overwhelmed by the adrenaline of battle, and it was only now that that unrealized numbness wore off. Kamion had been around long enough to know that toughness was valuable only when aid was unavailable. Swiftly he fnished buckling the sword into place on his back, and made for where the rangers more skilled in healing seemed to have gathered. His friend Beren was occupied, and Kamion’s eyes fell on Pele Alarion.

“Pele!” he called, striding across to her. He halted near, and reached down to pull the right leg of his trews out of his boot. Yanking the lace that tightened the bottom of it free, he began to roll it up. “Might I prevail upon you for assistance? This doesn’t seem to be too bad, but could do with cleaning and dressing, I’m sure.” As Kamion rolled the trouser leg up past his knee, the bloody rip and damp fabric peeled away from his skin, revealing the ragged-edged cut several inches above the knee. It was long, and not too deep, but still bleeding with an ooze that promised to be persistent if not attended.

[Pele Alarion]

Ranger Pele Alarion
Squad Two

Pele relieved her horse from her healer's bag and shouldered it to go in search of the injured; at any rate she had observed that a couple of Rangers had not fared that well and would need looking at. Yet before she could get far, Kamion approached her for treatment.

"You know... Even a small cut could cause quite a lot of trouble when left untended," she answered him in a serious tone, though something akin to smile played in her eyes. "But perhaps you could sit down on the steps over here," she nodded towards the nearest house. "While you are tall and such, it might still be a bit tricky to take care of that cut with you standing." Walking over to the mentioned steps, Pele set down her bag, knelt by it and fished out a clean piece of gauze.

Waiting for Kamion to settle down, she then observed his wound at first without touching it, and then rinsed it with water from her flask to wash off the blood. "Hmmm, the edges are not even..." she commented. "Kamion, I could just clean and bandage it because it doesn't run deep, yet if you would rather prefer to have a minimal scarring or maybe none at all, I could put a couple of stitches in."

While she gave him the options to choose from, she moistened the piece of gauze with alcohol to clean the wound properly. "Now, this will sting quite a lot," she warned him before she took to cleaning the cut and inspecting it properly as she did so.

[Lantaelen]

Abrazimir Dimaethor
Ranger
Squad Two

Orders were orders, and the young man from Belfalas was happy to have them, to distract from the ominous words and consequences of the recent skirmish. He didn’t think much of his head wound. Throbbing, it was more like a rhythmic tick alongside his thoughts of the battle and strange declaration at the conclusion. The bloody gash was spilling over however and even before the Lieutenant wrapped up his debriefing, Abrazimir found himself blinking rapidly in an eye to dispel the blur, wiping occasionally with the back of his sleeve.

He didn’t have much reflections on the course of the actual battle, though he knew improvement could be merited and earned. Too many years of peace since the slaying of his last orc. Two marks today. A meagre offering. Maybe he was getting slow. And rusty. He touched his wound gingerly and wondered how much worse it could be. This is why he preferred orders. Best not to think on the realities of war.

Less thought was given to the declaration. He cared not for orc tribal politics or the organization and policies of their kind. Where and who this Balgurzlaam might be was irrelevant. All Abrazimir understood was that he was a threat to the Kingdom’s security and peace. He had to be removed. It was good to be apart of an operation again.

He understood Pele Alarion to be the resident healer for their squad so that is who he sought out, already finding her with another patient at present, Kamion. The other healers seemed busy at work, noting Ilisys and Unalmis with Beren. He did not judge his wound to be too severe or restricting, so he was happy to hang back, until another healer was available to tend to his injury. He was not foolish enough to think he could entirely do without. Meanwhile, he crouched on one knee and used the nearby grass to wipe the orc blood off his blade, spending a half second marveling in the steely brightness that came unveiled after doing so.

[Krumhûr]

Azulzagar “Bagurzlaam”
An insidious blade wakes

He had heard the sentry report before the footsteps sounded outside the cave, and before the accompanying limping shadow was silhouetted by the entrance light on the cavern wall of the hideout antechamber. Meagre returns for the number that had previously marched out, but sufficient to get an understanding of what the White City had sent to investigate the blunt scourings left by his raiding parties within the surrounding countryside.

Azulzagar, or “The Bagurzlaam” as he was aware his minions had taken to naming him, in ushed tones when they thought themselves out of hearshot, was curious to hear how the excuses would be dressed up in the reports from these… survivors. By the time the first one, Kaurzog, arrived – or rather, collapsed – by the entrance, reduced to a ragged and shambling mess, the Black Captain exercised patience and heard the Orc out.

The bloodline of Númenor was strong in him still and Azulzagar, the Sword of the East, stood taller than most of his followers, including some of his Uruk sergeants and bore himself with the pride befitting the Black Captain still despite the bitter Fall of Lugburz rendering most of that connotation irrelevant. He presented the cowering wretch with his full attention, piercing blood-shot eyes the only easily discernible aspect of his face behind a masked helmet worn over a dark brown hood. The visor mask of his helm was shaped like the coiling cobra baring its fangs, forked tongue at the ready to strike fear into foe and vassal alike.

Though Azulzagar had been considered no more than an aspiring and promising novice by the time the Mouth of Sauron had left Minas Morgul never to return, his ancient bloodline afforded him the advantage of years over the typical lifespan of the lesser breed of Gondor, and his time under the corrupting tutelage of the Morgul sorcerers had not been idly spent. Though in boyhood and early adulthood his eyes had been chestnut brown, the years of foul learnings and initiation rituals into the dark arts had rendered them jet black, something he had come to relish for the further dehumanising aspect it afforded him when commanding the orcish muck at his disposal.

Not long into the first report, prouder Sârghest approached, his mind an open book as he joined Kaurzog in cowering before him, rendered humbler than usual by the bitter taste of defeat and burden of his wound hanging over his countenance. Fear made honest accounts more readily forthcoming, and just as the laggard third survivor stepped into the cave, the Sword Of The East broke the prattle of his subordinates. He spoke quietly but his voice carried and filled the diminutive antechamber.

So you return empty handed, humbled by soft city children… black eyes fixed on the incoming laggard, who hung around the mouth of the cave. With a yelp, the orc approached fearfully, and quickly had to be dragged the final length of the way by two of Azulzagar’s Uruk bodyguard. Knowledge had dawned on that disfigured countenance his futile plot to hang back to let the first two bear the brunt of the Captain’s Wrath, and the coward was quick to whimper that the foe had been stronger and numerous than the advance party all the while wriggling and pleading for mercy at his iron plated boots.

… but at least two of you show the promise of wit enough not to hide the truth…

The Black Numenorean laid a gauntleted hand on the worthless worm’s shoulder, extract a yelp of terror as the spiked joints of his glove dug into the back of his neck, forcing the wretch to look up at him. He stank of weakness. He was worse than the peasant folk, at least those knew to stay put and be slaughtered when the time came for them to become carrion fodder. With continued pressure, the talons of his articulated glove spikes bore deeper into orc flesh, and a greenish tinge flickered momentarily by the dying light of day among the black orc blood that streamed down the grunt’s neck and onto the floor. Within moments it was over, and he let the body hit the rocky floor with a thud.

Straightening up, the Sword Of The East beckoned the two remaining survivors rise. With eyes set on his Uruk retinue, he addressed the bloodied scouts.

By your honesty and observation abilities you bring back useful information, men. We will prepare to seek out these… Rangers… on more even footing and under more capable leadership. The enemy is drawn and the bait is taken. They will tarry overlong and provide us the time we need to return their blow, in kind.

He lifted his shaped visor and leant down, bringing his face level with the orcs, revealing a face that not yet given to the ruinous taint that was the price extolled on the flesh for the pursuit of the unholy arts he had mastered, was riven with dying bulging veins around the temples and descending along the sides of the jaw. His eyes encompassed them both, but his voice addressed the Uruks in the back.

When we march, these two will be given a chance to earn their place in our future… or provide shelter to those more able by soaking up Tark arrows in the front row. I want everyone ready to march, at haste! Get these two at least looking capable.

The Rangers were capable, no doubt. But their numbers were fewer than he had anticipated. Once exterminated, it would be too late by the time the White City decided to investigate what had befallen their pups in shining armour.

By then, well, by then there would be a new Iron Ruler in the South. One answering to no Eye, or Tree, but only to his proud ancestral birth right.

[Udan]

Udan

Making his way down through the winding streets of Minas Tirith and towards the stable where he temporarily housed his horse appeared to have taken Udan no time at all. His excitement built as he saddled and then mounted his steed. A deep longing for a fight, and a desire to once again be alongside men-at-arms, reinvigorated him, so much so, that the years seemed to peel away.

Again, the miles passed beneath the hooves of his mount, through the Great Gates, along the South Road across the Fields of Pelennor towards and then through the South Gate, not even stopping at the calls and shouts from those who stood sentry there.

Passing swiftly through Rammas Echor, he let his mount have his head, as the South Road towards Pelargir, opened before him. A quick calculation told him he had 150 leagues via the south road or a more manageable 42 leagues across country. The decision quickly made, he turned right off the gravel road onto the plain, his horse slowed to regain his footing and adjust his stride, but with a little prompting from Udan swiftly continued.

Two days and only a few short rests later Udan passed through Pelargir, crossing the great River, and into South Ithilien along the road to the River Poros Crossing and the nearby Fort. The final part of his journey taking one more day, resting his mount more often, to ensure, if he were needed, he could be used. Smoke from what he thought were campfires, came into view as Udan crested a slight rise. He slowed his mount before a small village he espied evidence of a recent skirmish and noted Rangers of Gondor going about there business. he dismounted secured his horse and strode towards a small group of Rangers who were giving and receiving medical attention.

Dismounting, Udan pulled his twin bearded battle axe, over his shoulder and walked towards one of the groups. He cleared his throat, and said. “Hail Rangers, my name is Udan, newly recruited, and unassigned, I wish to report to those in command. Can you point me in the right direction?”

[Moriel]

Ranger Kamion
Squad 1

“Of course. I defer to your expertise.” Kamion smiled slightly and followed Pele’s instructions, lowering himself down onto the nearby steps. He stretched out his leg and hitched up the rolled up leg of his trousers so that the roll would stay put, giving Pele clear access to his wound. It began to throb as she rinsed it out with water, the running fluid irritating the fresh raw edges. Fortunately, the healer agreed that it wasn’t a serious wound, and offered him options on how to deal with it. As he watched her retrieve and prepare the alcohol pad, Kamion shook his head. “Who knows what we’ll be up against next. Better safe than sorry- I’ll take the stitches.” The Dúnadan was no stranger to pain and he had known the alcohol was going to hurt even without Pele’s warning, but the breath hissed through his teeth as she applied it. It was a superficial sort of pain compared to others he had felt, but the cleaning of a wound was never the most pleasant sensation. Fortunately, something (or rather, someone) appeared to distract him from the sensation: a man (Udan) came into the area they were gathered outside the main village hall, and asked for help in reporting in to join their company. Kamion being seated on the steps of the hall, nodded at Udan and gestured with his chin to Macardil who stood nearby, overseeing the Rangers as they tended each other. “Lieutenant Macardil here, and Commander Amathen, within,” he said by way of greeting to the newcomer, “You are come at an opportune time, it seems.”

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
3rd Squad

The call to cease and secure the village was a welcome one to Ziran, and she lowered her bow to sling it over her shoulder, and drop the arrow she had been drawing back into the quiver. She jumped down from the low wall she had been using as a vantage point after a further perusal of the area, and completed a short and uneventful circuit.

Returning to the courtyard, Ziran retrieved the water skin from her saddle for a sip of cool water to refresh her dry throat, and then listened to the Commander’s directions to take care of the wounded. Nodding affirmation, she looked around to see who was in need. It appeared that Pele was already assisting Kamion with his leg, but Morwen’s right arm and shoulder didn’t look right. Besides the bleeding from a cut, the shoulder was misshapen from what Ziran could see. She herself wasn’t the expert in healing that Pele was, or even her cousin Thûllir, but Ziran had the experience to know what dislocated limbs looked like and how to reset them. Morwen likely knew as well, but it was always worse resetting things oneself.

Taking the waterskin with her, Ziran approached the golden-eyed warrior with a smile mingled with concern in her gaze. “Have some water?” She paused with the waterskin outstretched, and then continued quietly. “That shoulder and arm need seeing to Morwen. May I reset it and bandage the wound for you, or would you prefer to do it yourself?”

Thûllir Bregedŷr
1st Squad

Thûllir didn’t find any enemies immediately at hand after he drew his sword, although there were a few intense individual fights going on that wrapped up even as he looked around. He was sure that they would seem slow to those involved, but the action was quite fast nonetheless. Thankfully most seemed to outright win their fights, although he saw a couple injuries occur in the last few moments that made him wince internally. The sweep of his gaze that had him automatically triaging individuals in his head also lighted on Kaylin, and although he felt a brief clenching of his heart when he saw the blood on her face, there was also relief to see the wide smile of triumph and joy in battle. A welcome change from the last time he had seen her in combat. Here was the Maethyr he knew.

The command had been to secure the village however, and none of the injuries seemed immediately life-threatening, so Thûllir set out to help sweep one quadrant after locating his horse. Bregil had done a fine job of trampling his own opponent, and would need his hooves and lower legs washed later. The slightly battered ranger rewarded his mount with whispered praise and a rather sad peppermint candy piece that he dug out of his belt pouch before taking his reins and slowly walking through the street.

Thankfully clearing the village didn’t take long, and walking had helped ease most of his stiffness from both riding and tussling with the last opponent. All in all he didn’t think he had come out too badly, and a few bruises and a little blood were not much to pay for being alive, and much better than broken bones. He found water in a trough for Bregil, and then made his way back to the center square. There, the Commander gave new orders. A return to the fort shortly, but medical attention first. A good call.

Thûllir looked a bit more closely at those he had noticed were injured even though he hadn’t heard his name mentioned. Morwen’s arm was dangling and looked to be out of place as well as covered in blood, Kamion appeared to be bleeding as well, and the woman Ilisys seemed to also be injured somehow, although he couldn’t tell in what manner from where he stood. His own cut was superficial over the bruised cheekbone despite the amount of blood, and he figured he should help out as he could before getting patched himself.
During his perusal, however, his eyes lit on Kaylin again, and he couldn’t help but give a lopsided grin at the intent look on her face as she approached with a determined stride. Lopsided from the swelling that was beginning to show along the cheekbone, although the bruising was still only a red flush under the skin. He managed to only wince slightly when she reached him and brushed a thumb under the gash over his cheekbone.

Kaylin’s quiet words brought a softening to his grin even though a different light flickered in his eyes. Any verbal response was postponed by her kiss, which quieted his heart from the residual turmoil of the fight. It took him a moment to respond after she asked about other injuries, and he shrugged before replying. “Only a few bruises that should fade fast enough.” She would no doubt demand a full accounting of those bruises later, but he could ease her mind for now in that regard. He took the water that she offered with a grateful nod and drank enough to calm his thirst and wash the dust from his throat.
Since he had the water, he pulled a clean bandage from his first aid pouch, wet it and took the opportunity to return the favor by wiping the already drying blood from Kaylin’s face. “As much as the warpaint of the blood of your enemies is a look you wear well, it doesn’t deserve to stay...and would get rather itchy by the time we get back to the fort.” His wry smile accompanied the words as he dabbed the last spot away from her brow.

Thûllir wanted to be helping, but figured now that he would be fussed at by several individuals if he didn’t get the wound treated in the field. Unfortunately he was less dexterous when it came to his face and was likely to make a mess of it if he did the patching up himself. Kaylin had been learning though, and he knew she was competent enough. “Kaylin, if you wouldn’t mind cleaning this the rest of the way?” He waved at the split. “Just rinse it with the water and a dash from my flask, and then I have salve to use. Anything further can wait, but this will keep anything bad from setting in.” He hadn’t examined the enemy’s helmet, but he couldn’t imagine it was the cleanest thing.

[Pele Alarion]

Ranger Pele Alarion
Squad 2

Pele was wholly focused on her task, leaving no speck of dirt in Kamion's wound as far as she could see. She tried to be gentle not to cause him unnecessary pain, and yet it was better to do it now rather than deal with infections.

"All right. Stitches it will be then, though I think five or six will be enough to keep the wound neatly closed," she said, as she opened a small jar that held a threaded needle. "I suppose it is only the matter of time before the orcs return, and who knows how much time they will give us to recover..." Pele said, as she considered Kamion for a while, thinking whether she should give him something for the pain. Stitching was not the nicest procedure, perhaps even more painful than cleaning, though might not take that long. Deciding that he was strong enough, Pele simply set about the business, placing the stitches evenly to make sure the edges of the wound would be nicely set together.

"Udan?" she repeated, when another Ranger approached them and asked for the command. A smile appeared on her face for a moment, though she did not look away from the work she was doing. Done with the stitching, she gently wiped away the drops of blood that still insisted on appearing. For a while she rummaged through her supplies, and then chose a jar with ointment. "This is yellow loosestrife," she explained shortly, convinced that Kamion might not exactly be interested in all the details of its making. "Should keep off the bleeding and promote the healing of the wound." That said, she lightly dabbed the ointment over the wound, making sure to cover all of it.

Her hands busy about her bag in search of bandages, Pele looked up at the tall newcomer for a while: "Well met, Udan. Suppose we might be very much in need of that axe of yours. I think the Lieutenant will assign you to one of our units."

Her attention turned back to Kamion, she wrapped a bandage around his leg neatly, checking once in a while to see that it was not too tight. "All done here," she announced. "If it gives you trouble, or you need something for the pain - you know where to find me." Pele finally got to her feet and looked around for the next 'victim'.

[Lantaelen]

Abrazimir Dimaethor
Ranger
Squad Two

Reinforcements was always an enheartening scene, even if it be one man, Udan, but the size of the axe he carried surely could double for two on a battlefield. Abrazimir however had his thoughts turned when Pele finished up with her current patient, and seeing no others about with more serious or fatal wounds than his own head cut, he gestured with his hand towards the healer and approached Pele while wiping his brow again, smearing the blood but at least keeping it at bay from dripping into his eye.

”Hope you can spare a moment for an out-of-practice fool.” He offered in greeting to Pele Alarion, gesturing to the obvious gash on his brow. ”I just need someone a lot smarter than me in such affairs to tell me if its just a cut or something worse.” He didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. It was indeed an ugly cut and was still bleeding. Something to clean and close the cut. ”And how about yourself? The fighting wasn’t too much for you, I trust?” He inquired in a lower tone. There hadn’t been much chance for him to get a friendly talk with anyone yet, the excitement of reuniting with old friends offset by the sudden haste and needs of this fresh campaign.

[Udan]

Udan

It had been sometime since Udan had seen, or even been around, injuries resulting from fierce conflict. He soon discerned that those that were injured bore the wounds of recent battle, he inwardly hoped that he had not arrived to late, and that there were still denizens of some dark place that needed their heads separated from their bodies.

It was not long before his presence drew the attention of the rangers before him. A welcoming nod from one ranger (Kamion) followed by a brief lift of his head towards a nearby officer (Macardil). “Lieutenant Macardil here, and Commander Amathen, within. You are come at an opportune time, it seems.” His attention was drawn to the ranger that spoke (Kamion). “It does appear that you have been busy”. Udan replied. He continued. “I hope you have had some success, and that your injuries are not too severe.”

Udans attention was then drawn towards another ranger, assisting with the wounds of the injured ranger. A smile spread across his face as a familiar and friendly face (Pele) was revealed to him as the ranger turned and said “Well met, Udan. Suppose we might be very much in need of that axe of yours. I think the Lieutenant will assign you to one of our units."

He squatted down besides Pele and exclaimed. “Pele!! It is indeed good to see you once again, my heart is truly lifted to find a familiar face, after all this time. I will seek this Lieutenant Macardil, and report my arrival, hopefully, if time permits, we may converse, and speak of times past.” He stood once again and nodded. “I will take my leave and report in...”

Udan straightened himself up, brushed his cloak with his hands, straightened his amour and walked towards the person (Macardil) that he had been told to report to. He approached and waited for an opportune time to announce himself. When that time arrived he said, “Excuse me sir, I am Udan, newly recruited. I have been told by the clerk at Ranger HQ and the soldiers yonder.” He pointed towards Pele and the ranger she was tending (Kamion). “That I am to report to you.”

[Pele Alarion]

Ranger Pele Alarion
Squad Two

"It has definitely been a lengthy while," Pele agreed to Udan's assessment, and then added: "I'm sure you will find more familiar faces around here somewhere." However, she did not mention that she had been gone - perhaps when the time would come to speak of it... And if she would dare to speak of the reasons behind her absence without being afraid or ashamed. For the time being she only offered a smile to the returning Ranger and watched him head over to Macardil, before she turned back to her duties.

When Abrazimir approached her, Pele looked him over with concern.

"Well... You have smeared that blood all over your face, so it is hard to see. It definitely is a cut, though I am not sure if anything else is coming out of it," she said half-seriously, half-jokingly. Somehow being busy and useful with the healing stuff made her feel comfortable with herself again, and despite the seriousness of the aftermath of the battle she found that her sense of humour was returning. "Come and sit down on the steps next to Kamion, Abrazimir, so I can see your injury properly and deal with it. And no... fighting has been fine for me, what with sitting on the sidelines and picking some orcs off with my arrows. Just have to make sure you lot are all fixed up before we end up in another battle or something."

It did not take her long to find a clean bit of cloth in her supplies, and she soaked it with water, first cleaning away the blood from everywhere around the wound. Then she took a clean pad and gently cleaned away the blood from the gash itself. "Lots of bleeding, but the cut looks to be rather superficial. I will clean it, put some bistort root powder on it to help stop the bleeding and bandage it. You'll have to keep the bandage on at least until it stops bleeding," Pele commented on her findings. "Any other complaints though? Dizziness? Headache? Feeling sick?"

[Arnyn]

Ranger Kaylin - Squad Three

When he reassured her his injuries extended no further than a few bruises, Kaylin was content. She had collected some of those, herself, with the way she'd been barrelling into her opponents. Yes. Well. Thûllir accepting her offer of water pleased her further. It was important to hydrate in this heat, with all of their layers.

When he started cleaning her face with a wet bandage, she half scowled. Part of her was grateful he'd remembered while she'd forgotten - the other Rangers might think her a bit off her rocker if she kept walking around with a bloody face - but part of her felt like he could have just said something. Kaylin tried to tamp down the feeling that she was being babied, recognizing how it was her issue and not a ridiculous thing for Thûllir to do. The half scowl softened some, but his words as he finished made it fade away altogether.

"Thank you," she grinned. At his question, she flipped back her red hair before giving him a serious nod. "Of course." She didn't mind putting her hands on him. Following his instructions meticulously, she took her time - she figured she had plenty of it. "Salve?" she asked, quietly.


Ranger Arnyn - Squad One

Now that the wounded were receiving the attention they needed, Arnyn found a spot of her own on that low wall to think, relax her muscles and drink some water. Unbothered by the carnage in the center of the village which was now her view, she unpacked the food she'd brought. Fighting tended to make her hungry, and today was no exception.

It had been unsettling to hear a fleeing opponent sound so sure of himself... but it was nice to see Pele focused, working and - had that been a smile? Caugt up in watching her friend, trying to get a sense of how she was coping with the entire situation, Arnyn recognized Udan only when she heard Pele repeating the name. What?

A grin made its way to Arnyn's face then, even as Udan turned to find the Lieutenant.


Lieutenant Macardil

The Rangers hadn't wasted any time and had followed his orders without question. Macardil frowned as he surveyed the proceedings. Somehow, it all felt... too easy. Things usually didn't go this well for him. His first altercation as second in command, and they had fought off an enemy who outnumbered them, with no casualties and only minor injuries. And none of these seasoned Rangers were questioning him or trying to make him sweat and prove himself.

Somehow, he'd thought it would have gone much worse.

Bagurzlaam shall eat out your hearts...

At least that was one thing that wasn't what any of the Rangers had wanted to hear. Bagurzlaam? Macardil's language skills were nowhere near proficient enough to figure that out; not that there was much of a chance anyone else would understand it: it sounded like a form of ancient Adûnaic, and that language had indeed been shunned by the founders of Gondor and Arnor.

His musings were interrupted by an uncommonly tall axeman reporting in. The Lieutenant fixed his eyes on the man (Udan), and nodded slowly at his words. "Well met, Ranger Udan," the Lieutenant greeted him, immediately bestowing the same rank on the axeman as all the others had held from the moment of their entry into the unit. He knew the name, of course - he knew all the names of those who had been written to, or whom they'd wanted to write. "I assume that axe is your main weapon? Tell me your secondary at present, and I would like to know what skills you have in regards to tracking and scouting for one, and healing for another."

[Karis Ziranphel]

Thûllir Bregedŷr
1st Squad

He couldn’t deny that cleaning the wound stung, especially when Kaylin poured a bit of the contents of his flask over the gash. Thûllir had kept himself distracted by watching the expression of concentration on her face as she meticulously followed his directions, but couldn’t help the slight squinting of his eyes and clenching of jaws in a wince as the wine burned. He had fished out the small jar of salve by feel while she worked by identifying the carving on the lid. He had marked it so that he could treat wounds in the dark if necessary, and was thankful for the method again now as he silently handed the jar of ointment to Kaylin in response to her question. No trace of a smile remained on his lips, but his gaze held approval and gratitude.

A flick of his blue-grey eyes took in the newcomer, but nothing in his appearance set off alarms and several seemed to recognize the man, so Thûllir returned his concentration to Kaylin. If his wound had been located elsewhere he might have asked her to cover it, but he didn’t want to impair his eyesight for the sake of potentially faster healing. He could add a small patch before pulling up his mask later if it was needed. He wasn’t sure if the Lieutenant would keep the scouting group close when returning to the fort or if they would be sent after the trail of the few strays that had escaped. He wanted to be ready for either eventuality. When she finished working on the split skin he ventured simple words in a quiet tone. “Thank you Kaylin.”

[Lantaelen]

Abrazimir Dimaethor
Ranger
Squad Two

He smiled a little apologetically when Pele pointed out, somewhat chidingly, how he messed up examination of his wound by constantly touching and spreading the blood about. Wordlessly he obeyed her instruction to sit, seating himself on the steps with a nod to Kamion, elbows resting on his thighs and hands on his knee caps. To stop himself from subconsciously touching and scratching at his wound. It was beginning to itch a lot. ”All top notch shots, I reckon.” He commented about her archery and shooting abilities. The compact nature of the village probably didn’t make it easy for that.

”If they come again I’m sure we’ll be ready and in the know about what to expect. I’ll admit, I gotten a bit soft in these days of peace. Should have known better it would just end with a…” he snapped his finger and thumb together, indicating the quickness which he wrongly presumed the fall of the Dark Lord to bring in a sweeping measure of peace and tranquility on the lands about. Pele got to work and he tried not to hiss or gasp too much as the wound was cleaned, touched, prodded at it. It only seemed to hurt when it was contacted with so it must not be too serious. Orc inflicted wounds generally could be far worse, either poisoned or just ugly from their twisted, rusted weapons that they enjoyed so much.

He nodded to her advice. ”I can do that. Bistort root powder…it won’t sting right? Not going to be more burning than the actual wound?” Abrazimir asked with raised eyebrows, peering at her with one eye opened, the other shut to prevent watery blood from dripping in after her cleaning. Sometimes wounds had to be made worse before they could get better, like cauterization. Some medicine worked like that too. He would rather just suffer the natural healing process then but that might prove to be just as distracting. ”None of that yet. But maybe the blood is still flowing in me from the battle and hasn’t set yet to realize it should be hurting or throbbing. I’ll report back if there is any such symptoms.” He answered her. To help, he did sweep a hand over his scalp and head, collecting his messy dark locks into a firm grip behind his head to keep that from spilling over the wound and his forehead.

”I think we are moving out very soon after this. You healers need any help with your gear or mount while you’re busy attending to others?” Abrazimir offered, thinking it would make for a smooth transition back to the fort if everyone was ready to go at the same time. He still had to clean his sword more thoroughly. Orc blood carried a foul stench.

[Udan]

Ranger Udan

Udan stood nervously before the Ranger officer (Macardil) as he slowly nodded at Udans introduction. 'Well met, Ranger Udan', Marcadil responded to Udans introduction. Macardil’s greeting warmed Udans heart as he was addressed as Ranger. Ranger! he mused to himself, it had been sometime since he held any rank in an organized unit.

The tall ranger nodded as Macardil asked about his axe and other skills. 'I assume that axe is your main weapon? Tell me your secondary at present, and I would like to know what skills you have in regards to tracking and scouting for one, and healing for another.' “Aye Sir”, Udan replied. “My battle Axe is my main weapon; I find it useful at removing foes heads at ranges of about five to six feet.” He smiled as he held up his double bearded Battle-axe. He ran this thumb down one of the bladed sides, testing its sharpness.

Udan quickly shook his head, bringing him back to the present and drew back his cloak, showing the lieutenant his belt. 'For more delicate and close work, I do have a twin pair of smaller axes. If that be allowed by you sir? I do find these useful when I find myself in melee contact with a foe.' With his right hand he drew one of the axes, turning it in his hand. 'They are also somewhat handy if I need to reach out and touch someone at a distance. I can throw one accurately out to about fifteen feet.” Udan offered the axe to the lieutenant for inspection.

To the discerning observer, when Udan pulled aside his cloak to reveal his two small axes, he also revealed what he was wearing beneath. On his chest was an old, dinted, yet well maintained Cuirass emblazoned with an image of the White Tree of Gondor. Beneath the Cuirass he wore a leather jerkin. His forearms were covered by a set of Steel Arm Braces and his hands were enclosed inside a pair of leather cloves, inlaid with small steel plates protecting the back of each finger. Udans legs were protected by well worn leather trousers coupled with a pair of steal greaves, protecting his shins. His ensemble was finished of with his feet encapsulated by good hardy leather boots.

As Udan was talking he was pondering the other questions Macardil had asked. He nodded and continued. 'As to your question, in regard to other skills, I have been known to be able to look after myself in a brawl, so you can count Melee as one of my skillsets and I have some skill in Scouting, having previously been able to track bands of ruffians and orcs.' He pondered further. “I suppose I have survived the past couple of years in the wilds by myself, which I appeared to fare well at, so I can say I am able to utilise my skills at survival.'

Udan shuffled his feet trying to recall all that he had been trained as a recruit years before. 'As to healing sir, aside from wrapping and bandaging a wound and applying a tourniquet on a severed limb that is the limit of my knowledge. I hope that these skills will assist in what is ahead of us?'

[Arnyn]

Ranger Kaylin - Squad Three

She noticed her ranger's tells, but said nothing of it. He was trying not to show much at all, probably more for the benefit of the others than for hers - although Kaylin could see him not wanting her to worry more than she should. Whereas, if the roles had been reversed, she simply wouldn't want to show weakness, Thûllir was likely more preoccupied with not causing her concern. The thought brought a soft smile to her lips and eyes as she finished applying the balm he'd handed her.

The smile was still there when Thûllir thanked her. She held out the small jar for him to take it back. When she spoke, her tone matched his. "You're welcome. Think the Lieutenant will scold me for technically not following orders?" A hint of mischief sparkled in her eyes. She hadn't been assigned to look after any wounds, after all. Not that she cared much whether or not Macardil would approve. If he didn't like her helping out with a simple gash, the Lieutenant was a dolt and he could shove his opinion wherever he liked - just not in her face.


Ranger Arnyn - Squad One

Having finished her quick meal, Arnyn rose back to her feet and started looking around for her squadmates. Thûllir was standing with the red-headed Ranger whom Arnyn had yet to meet officially. Arnyn tilted her head a little as she regarded their bearing, and a little smile mastered her face even as her gaze travelled away to look for the others. Kamion was sitting on some steps not too far off. His wound had been treated by Pele earlier - that was good. Jaena and Durien seemed to be alright.

Ugh. Arnyn almost felt like slapping herself when she thought of Zev. She'd seen him get slammed against a wall, but had assumed it wouldn't be a big thing. Yet she didn't spot that shock of white hair right away. Her brown eyes travelled back to the hovel wall. At least he wasn't there anymore, so he'd gotten up. Drawing a deep breath, she took a moment. This proved she was no longer used to fighting in bigger groups like this. With all the people who were around, she hadn't thought to look into her own squadmates until this very moment. She'd just assumed they were okay, since the command hadn't said anything. But that wasn't her. Or it hadn't been, not before she'd left the White City.

With a frown, Arnyn sought out her horse, Nársulë, who's been calmly standing about the whole time. She rubbed the side of his neck as she berated herself in her thoughts.


Lieutenant Macardil

"Why would I not allow you to fight with the weapons you are most used to?" Macardil asked Udan with a little smile. The Lieutenant patted the handle of the one-handed axe at his own belt. "Glad to have another awewielder with us." Even though the Lieutenant's primary weapon was his longbow - by choice - his skills with the one-handed axe were not to be taken lightly.

He nodded when Udan finished. "Very good. You are assigned to the second squad. I saw you speaking with Ranger Pele earlier - she's a part of the same squad. You'll get to know the others quickly enough, if you don't already. Whenever you have questions, feel free to ask me - Lieutenant Macardil, if no one has mentioned that yet. Do you have any questions at present?"

[Pele Alarion]

Ranger Pele Alarion
Squad Two

"Suppose we won't get to enjoy peace and comfort that soon," Pele commented while working on Abrazimir's cut. "This is quite a wake-up call to keep our skills as best as we can." With another clean cloth she cleared away some more blood that insisted in appearing, and added in a more quiet tone: "I even wonder whether disbanding the army was not something done too soon, but I hope I am wrong in this."

Quickly she mixed some of the bistort root powder with water to make something that looked like a thick paste. "Are you saying that you are afraid of a bit of stinging, Abrazimir?" she teased the Ranger a bit and offered him a small smile to show that she did not really mean it in an evil way. "It shouldn't be much worse than the pain from cleaning the wound. Besides, it this is always better than what would happen should an infection set in. Besides, it still wants to bleed, so bistort would help with that."

With her fingers she carefully applied the paste straight unto the cut and then took a step back to evaluate her work, as if she were a painter gazing at a piece of art. "This will do," she concluded with satisfaction. "I'll bandage you to apply some pressure and keep the wound clean, but you should be able to take the thing off after a couple of hours. Definitely tell me, if you feel poorly or something, though that cut should not give you too much trouble." With a practiced ease she wrapped the bandage around Abrazimir's head to cover the cut on his brow with a couple of layers to soak up any blood that might still soak through the paste.

Her job finished, Pele knelt and put the lids back on the jars she had just used - only one wrong movement, one step, and those could be spilled, which she could not afford to have happen while out on the mission. "Hmm. I don't know what help you could provide - my healing things are only in one bag, the horse is secured... I would be thankful if you could give her an apple. Or... see if other Rangers all have their mounts? From the sidelines it looked like some horses might have wandered away."

[Eriol]

Ranger Beren
Squad Three

When Isys looked from him to Unalmis, Beren was afraid she was thinking if having him of all people examining her was a good idea. "We have not been introduced, Lady Isys," said Beren with a broad charming smile, "but perhaps you have heard of me if Lady Arin Montagna of Váyasánë is a friend of your noble house. She would vouch for my chivalrous nature or perhaps Kamion, my dearest friend -" he lightly punched Nal's arm to keep the youth from laughing "- and would assure you of my adept prowess at healing."

Beren turned immediately serious which he could do when the situation demanded it and listened to what Nal was telling him, smiling softly once when the boy referred to him as family. Addhor had raised a good lad and Beren was glad he could be just as close to the son. "Aye, unfortunately I am not Beren the Renowned of the Lay of Leithian," Beren affirmed, observing the intent stare of Isys' arresting grey eyes. She was a valiant dame with a lovely pale complexion and patrician high cheekbones. "My mother is a schoolmistress in the Pelennor Fields. She named me after the romantic hero of the First Age." He smirked at Isys, chuckling. "Beren the Renowned was only resurrected once, sorry to disappoint. Anyways. We'll talk about me later at our fort if you fancy, milady. My pal, Nal, says you've been having shallow breathing. I expect that happens when you reach or move suddenly?"

He whistled at Nal who was trying to find his horse and the lady's steed. When he had caught the lad's attention, Beren yelled out, asking him to retrieve his medicinal pack from the saddle of Brenna, Beren's black Combe Valley mare who was grazing nearby. Waiting for him to return, Beren raised Isys' blue shirtcloth to inspect her abdomen. He tied the fabric, which cushioned the blow he was sure, in a loose knot above her bruised skin. He lightly touched her battered sternum and either side of her chest with his firm hands once he removed his leather gloves. He asked if his featherlight to medium pressure was hurting her. With a sheepish look, he glanced over his shoulder to see if Mourgan was watching then looked back at Isys. He hoped the beard ruggedly grown over his square jaw concealed the blush he was warmly feeling then he released a short humorless laugh.

"My son's here, I'm trying to win back his mother," he awkwardly divulged to Isys. "I hope he doesn't get the wrong idea, considering the tall tales of my past..." A few moments of inspection later he pursed his lips and shook his head. "Well, Your Highness, I woud impress the necessity of your remaining here in the village because it would take four to six weeks for your ribs to fully heal, I reckon," he cautioned Isys. Beren raised a palm, hoping she would let him finish.

"What you need is little movement, reclining somewhere more comfortable than this wall, milady, but-" he beamed widely at her "- I know a strong dame like you won't like that one bit and though I've only known you a few minutes I've seen you fight and figure you're eager to battle more Orcs. I intend to keep you on your feet, milady...." He slapped Nal on the back (probably a little too hard) when he returned with the horse of Isys and took the medicinal pack the lad handed him. Beren removed a vial filled with a pale yellow liquid.

"This essential oil is frankencense, Isys. Airien Mereniel, an elven healer and perfumist of Rivendell, has named it arataurya and arphenborn - "noble burning" - in Quenya and Sindarin." Beren had been taught many things by his mother, a scholar, and one of the reasons why he travelled was to learn more; he was a seeker of truth and yearned for more knowledge, his mother had instilled that passion in him. Beren pulled the stopper out and lathered his hands with the substance. "It was discovered in Rhûn eons ago I discovered in my travels beyond Harondor," Beren explained as he softly laved her Isys' swollen belly with the aromatic oil of frakencense. Its scent was sweet and woodsy with pleasant notes of lemon. "The Easterlings use the resin in their incense-making and perfuming. When I brought it with me to Rivendell years ago, Airien Mereniel - a kinswoman of the Mordagnirs, a healer and perfumist - utilized frakencense for her fragrances but also in her aromatherapy for her spa patients at Linyamaril and as medicine to treat the afflicted at Adab Nestad." Beren's delicate ministrations shifted course along the sides of Isys' wounded torso. "Frankencense is one of the finest essential oils for bone healing, Isys, and treats inflammation so I am certain it will lessen your swelling, milady," Beren told her, wiping his hands from a clean cloth in his pack then removed a longer stretachable one.

"At the fort or at camp, I'll rub your chest with frankencense, with your permission, until the pain ebbs away for good and you feel your strength returning, Isys, and we'll keep compression bandages around you to reduce the swelling," said Beren, wrapping it about her waist until it was snugly fastened but not too tightly. "I must see to your hand, milady, if you will allow me," said Beren, nodding at her fingers she had returned to her lap a short while ago. Beren never touched a woman unless he was given her assent; Beren hoped he earned the dame's trust and that he appeared as sympathectic as he felt, remembering her unsure mutter aforetime. When she proferred her fingers again, trusting the able stranger, Beren handled them carefully then frowned as he examined the far two fingers of her right hand. “The boy is correct, they're not right. First step I'm needing to take is setting the broken bone back into place." He quickly alligned the bones into their proper position, being swift as he could to be effective and minimize her distress.

Beren instructed Nal to remove the small kettle from his pack and to heat it with water taken from a jar inside. Beren glanced around, hoping Mourgan was watching. He wanted to care for his patient but Beren was eager to impress his son with his skills as well. He wasn't sure if Nelladel had told him how well he healed though he assumed she mentioned how good he was with a sword, thanks to Kamion. Beren had Nal take long and slender dried green leaves from a container. "The leaves of comfrey, milady, a shrub that grows in parts of the Reunited Realm and the lands of the East. It can grow five feet tall, bearing clusters of purple, blue, and white flowers but it's famous for its leaves. The Common name for comfrey is from the Bëorian confirmare meaning to join together and it was known to the people of Marach as symphytum from the Haladin name symphis which means growing together of bones. It's often referred to as knitbone and boneset in Bree. The Elves also have given it names: Quenya Axoceura for Renewed Bone and Godreftolo in Sindarin for Come Together because the leaves of comfrey are famous for, you guessed it, the rapid mending of bones."

Beren applied vegetable oil to the skin of the injured fingers to prevent sticking then applied the warm herb to them once he squeezed the excess liquid out. He secured the poultice and constructed a splint for her damaged hand built of lebethron bark and linen padding. "If you allow me, Isys, I can change the poultice every four hours we have a moment's respite from duty," offered Beren, clasping the forearm of her good limb in fellowship. He had the feeling they'd be the best of friends though he always felt that way when helping someone new. Turned out he was right, most of the time.

[Isolde Alarion]

Ranger Mourgan Alarion
Squad Two
ooc (sorry for the absence..life...happened)

Well..that was a hot mess. Mourgan was standing abit away from the main gathering of those getting treated for their wounds and those simply battle weary. He leaned against a short brick and stick wall and looked down at his hands as he wiped to remove the evidence of the former battle from them. He supposed he could count himself lucky. He sustained no real injury. His only real evidance of battle being the splattering of nasty orc blood on his being and a minor bruising here and there. He'd had worse.

His thoughts weren't really on the dark blood but on the whole situation that put it there. Things had gone so wrong so fast. Ambushed! Stinking orcs! His brows furrowed in thought. It was a sharp nudge that brought him back to the present. It was Krow. "Sorry boy." He now felt bad for not caring for the well being of his mount. Pushing himself away from the wall he took an apple from his pack and flat handed it out to the gelding who eagerly took it. While he wiped the horse slobber from his palm he looked around.

Pele seemed to have her hands full so his brown gaze moved through the crowd. It stopped upon seeing Isys being treated by...his father. Still absently wiping his hand on his tunic he watched with interest as Beren seemed to be rubbing something on her chest. One brown brow rose slightly in interest as the now slobber free hand came to rub his stubby jawline. "Perhaps I should become a healer..." he absently muttered to the now nudging horse. "..then I can rub oil on a womans chest without being punched." Of course he'd never been punched in the past so why go through all that work to become a healer? That silly line of thought came out of nowhere he realized, spurred perhaps by his protectiveness of his mothers interest. "He's a healer Krow..it's kind of a hands on thing. Silly horse." He rolled his eyes more at himself then Krow.

He had to admit, his father did seem to live up to his healer reputation. He seemed to know what he was doing. A thought formed in the back of his mind. Maybe he would become a healer. He glanced to Pele then back to his father... it seemed to run in the family.

[Ercassie]

Rangers Ilisys Azrubêl and Unalmis Raxëlilta
Squad Two – Brief respite.

“A friend of my noble horse ?” Isys mistook Beren, setting Nal to laughter even as he wandered off to hunt said horse. Her healer then further explained himself as his patient squirmed her way uncomfortably out of the hauberk; giving a clear demonstration of her discomfort that Beren was able to observe. “When I turn,” she agreed. Her complexion was sat at a shade more pale for having just done so. The return of the horses, and their apparent herder, took all else from the woman’s mind as she moved to reach for Gilbrathil, and regretted it. But Beren had gained his supplies and it took moments for him to shrug up and secure her blue cloth undershirt; with a deft knot to suspend it in the middle so that it retained her modesty, yet allowed him access immediately above and below.

“I intend to keep you on your feet milady,” Camlost assured her, confident and reassuring. Isys closed her eyes and clutched with both hands at the wall, somewhat judiciously with her right hand as he got to work. The sedative aroma of the frankincense resurrected memories of the exotic fragrances her father had used to bring back from his voyages in the east. The woman's senses drank of the inhaled tranquiliser, the joy wrought of that mere recollection. Beren massaged in his ointment where the bone throbbed in a hot bed of bruised and swollen muscle. Whether it was the calming quality of the scent or else the soothing anaesthesia of his monologue, she barely noticed that he had fingers about the outer ridge of her rib cage. Gingerly testing the structure for weaknesses or the carry of pain along the delicate spokes of bone. His hands were come so low as her stomach by now, so perhaps he had gotten too much salve on his hands, or just being overly generous with the therapy. With her left hand, she led his hands from their work.

“No highness, no milady” she bid him in a stately composure. “Ranger,” she offered the correction, the one thing they all had in common here. "Isys" she allowed, with a grateful smile. The compression bandages she had of course employed before and knew that to have them embrace the chest overlong was not wise. But for short durations they would both support her movement and limit the risk of fluid build-up around the inflamed area. Isys had relied on such measures to see her through the remains of a tournament before now and she felt content that she could contend such a duration now, especially given their uncertain situation. The binding had been carefully executed by her attendant, encompassing the higher reaches of her chest, but securing it’s finish just above her waist, anchoring the close-fit shield like a second skin.

She eyed Beren though warily when he reached for her hand, surrendering it slowly, as though he were a street magician and she sceptical of his clever trick. Perhaps foreguessing what would come of it. For the manipulations stung, as though he was kneading sharp pins and needles between the joints of the two fingers. But Ilisys knew enough of healing to recognise the risk of a deformity if not so worked. And she had no intention of compromising her grasp on any tool she might wish to wield in future. For now she leant her head back on it’s neck and focused on the sky.

“I hope you don’t have to drink this,” Nal exclaimed, wrinkling up his nose from where he’d been put to preparing the comfrey. “Or is the stench a means to guard off against further assaults while your bones recover ?” The smell did seem to dilute with the leaves in time and water, and the overwhelming shadow of the frankincense played also a part in masking any lingering smell. Ilisys was soon busied turning over the new padded splint that clasped her fingers, as though she were inspecting a new pair of gloves.

"Beren Camlost, legend of new lays we shall have to conspire. Thankyou … If I wear your sword, you could manage to bear the more ungainly spear without getting tangled,” she decided then, throwing out the ambition to Unalmis as though it were an afterthought of the previous conversation. The woman of Belfalas glanced meaningfully at Nal who was shook to sudden attention and dubious concern. He had not located a single bolt which had not been damaged in it’s delivery, so the crossbow was as much use as a very elaborate truncheon now. He had not had yet a chance to use the sword himself, and he certainly suspected that those moon eyes were intending to wield it herself, one handed, if necessary.

“You might need the spear a while longer as a walking stick,” he teased. “But, I can help you back into the saddle,” he offered nonetheless. “When the time to depart arrives.” She did not move until the weapons were exchanged.

“What arrives at departure ?” the woman queried, thoughtfully diverted from Nal’s doubts, and found Beren gripping her good forearm in his hand to stir her. The smooth steel of her eyes turned up to consider him it seemed a moment, and then turned her cheek to survey instead the young man who was watching him. “Your son looks exactly like you,” Ilisys remarked, reaching for her hauberk in the moment her healer would follow her gaze elsewhere. Unalmis had already abandoned a grasp on her spear to assist the woman re-armour.

“You’re sure this won’t hurt worse ?” the younger man doubted of the heavy robe, unsure but unwilling to refuse outright. The woman did not answer, or back down. She and his cousin had been running about in as much armour as they could stand up in, since they had begun to play at knights, years before Unalmis was even born. The weight of the wear was not an issue. The defence that it offered, on the other hand, had more than proved itself already. That Orc had come at her with all the power of a charging destrier. Whatever must it’s skeleton be forged from ? She hoped her expensive armour had at least afforded it a bruised shoulder in exchange for the blow.

[Pele Alarion]

Ranger Pele Alarion
Squad 2

With a shadow of a smile she watched Abrazimir to see whether he would not protest at the received treatment, though Pele was sure that the applied bistort root paste should rather soothe the cut instead of making it feel worse. She was also confident that he could easily remove the bandage when they got back to the fort and be just fine, as the bleeding should have stopped meanwhile.

That done, Pele folded her arms and took a careful look around to take stock of her own squad. Abrazimir she had here and well taken care of; Ilysis was being treated by Beren, and Unalmis was right there with them. She had briefly glimpsed Mourgan, and he seemed to have survived the battle just fine. Morwen was with Karis, and thus not to be worried about. Red - she had not really seen him much in the battle, nor could she easily spot him anywhere now. It made Pele frown, but she assumed that he would have sought aid if it was necessary.

At any rate, it seemed that her squad was doing quite well, and everyone who needed fixing up was receiving it. Then her thoughts turned to Zev whom she had seen being rough-handled by an orc. It would be good to check on him and see if he had not taken too much damage from being thrown against the wall; however, she could not quite see that familiar shock of white hair anywhere.

"Have you seen Zev lately?" she asked Abrazimir, and then wondered whether the other Ranger even knew the owner of that name.

[Lantaelen]

Abrazimir Dimaethor
Ranger
Squad Two

He could agree with the sentiment about disbanding the army so soon after the end of the Great War. There had just been too much excitement. And a chance for a lasting peace after the turmoil of the past millennia had been too good to let up. He himself had exemplified that after the return of the King. He had gone home, hung up his sword, and simply…loitered, without drive or ambition, simply enjoying the peace of mind that came without having to worry about his next assignment, the upkeep of his gear, the safety of his home, the annihilation of his people and culture. Abrazimir had just…lounged on his seaside estate for the past few years, in content blessedness. But now the throbbing burn of a head wound reminded him that peace was just as fleeting.

”It’s a foe that I cannot fight.” He chuckled to Pele’s lighthearted teasing about his fear of stinging medicine. It would be his burden to bear regardless. He nodded to her prognosis. ”Understood.” He verbally acknowledged the suggestion. The bandage was wrapped about, anchoring the powder to his wound, forcing it all to mingle and throb, but he endured it as part of the healing process. He touched the bindings gingerly to accustom himself with the unfamiliar fabric on his brow.

He heard her remarks on how he could help in this brief downtime as the Rangers gathered and tended to themselves. “I should have a sweet apple to spare for the mounts. I’ll go looking for any wanderers too and bring them back. Don’t blame them for meandering off.” He stood up and adjusted his gear and garment, fitting his helm slowly over his head so as to not disrupt the bandaging.

When Pele asked about Zev, he too quirked an eyebrow curiously. He didn’t think he personally met the Ranger. ”He’s not in my squad, I think. You want me to go look for him? Have a message or request for him?” He offered, willing to fill in his downtime up with any task for the present, until the order came to move out. ”I’ll mount up and make inquiries if you need to. You don’t think anything happened to him? If there were losses, I think we’d know by now.” For a group of veterans like this, knowledge would be passed around quite fluidly he would think. And no rumour of grief, sorrow, or lamenting had been noted by Abrazimir as of yet. He could be wrong.

[Pele Alarion]

Ranger Pele Alarion
Squad 2

"You are pretty good at dealing with any treatment discomfort, believe it or not," Pele said, seeing that Abrazimir easily adjusted to whatever stinging there was and the bandage she had wrapped around his brow. "Though I would definitely appreciate if you did not get any more serious injuries than this during this mission!" She shook her finger at him threateningly, though knowing full well that no one chose to be wounded willingly.

Her healer's equipment all packed up, she slung the bag across her shoulder ready to go hunting for any other wounded. "Zev is a guy with unruly hair which is nearly white. One of the orcs rough-handled him into the wall, so if you see him by chance, send him over to be checked. I'd rather he not walk around with any hidden injuries," she explained her concern.

"Suppose I will walk here and there and see if anyone else needs me," she decided. "Otherwise... I'll be around here, if anything."

For a while she stood, looking this way and that, and then headed for Mourgan.

"Are you all right, Mourgan?" she asked, following his gaze towards Beren and Ilysis. "No need for treatment?"

@Isolde Alarion

[Arnyn]

RANGER PROMPT

After the wounds were treated, Commander Amathen emerged from his one-on-one with the village spokeswoman. He shot a look at Lieutenant Macardil, who needed no further signal to call the Rangers to attention. The Commander wished to speak. He would have orders.

"We stay the night," Amathen said, offering nothing in the way of explanation. His Rangers should be smart enough to figure the why out for themselves. Whether or not the woman in charge of the village had asked for it, the Commander had decided they needed to make sure the escaped orcs would not immediately return - with possible back-up.

"In the morning, we will make sure the area is secure before we return to the fort."

And so it came to pass. The Rangers were fed an evening meal of gratitude by the villagers, and then they were all invited to sleep in the main hall if they wished it. The Commander removed the option and made the hall a mandatory location; he wanted to know everyone's exact whereabouts.
The Lieutenant set several Rangers at a time as scouts and guards around the village, so they would know beforehand if a new attack was forthcoming, and once night fell he added a few additional Rangers to guard the hall. It would not do for most of their unit to be caught unawares in close quarters, after all.

Macardil made sure every Ranger had the opportunity for half a night's sleep, but they would not get much more than that. He got a little less himself: he made sure to speak with each and every Ranger that night, albeit briefly, to ask about how they had experienced the fight and about their injuries.

*** The next morning ***

After a basic but filling breakfast provided by their hosts, the Rangers bid the village goodbye and left to scout its immediate surroundings. They all played a part this time, splitting their numbers in two instead of three - one group led by the Commander, the other by the Lieutenant.
It was the second squad which was split - Ilisys, Pele and Red joined Commander Amathen and the third squad, while Mourgan, Morwen, Abrazimir, Unalmis and Udan joined Lieutenant Macardil and the first squad. Macardil's group would scout the north-east, while Amathen's would take the south-west.

They found nothing.

Once both officers were satisfied, the two groups joined once more a ways in front of the dirt road into the village. Amathen and Macardil simply shook their heads at each other to signal nothing out of the ordinary had presented itself. That was enough - and the Rangers set course for the fort.

[Pele Alarion]

Ranger Pele Alarion
Squad 2

The Ranger had taken the best care possible to make sure everyone who had the slightest scratch and had not been seen by other folk with healing skills had been thoroughly checked. Somehow by doing this, she felt that her own identity that was pretty much in ruin was slowly getting healed again.

Eventually their Commander emerged from the hall to give the orders. A few words, as usual, and nothing surprising in terms of orders. Pele made sure to eat heartily from the meal provided by the villagers, and then ensured that Autumn was well fed also, and she spent a good while grooming the horse for which she received quite a few gentle nudges and an unexpected, although friendly nibble on the nose.

In their brief words together, Pele assured Macardil that she was doing reasonably well, and considered it needless to speak of the sore muscles from the exertion of archery. She did report on injuries she had treated, though again not in too much detail.

The sleep, however, was quite a tough matter. From what little time they had to sleep, Pele lay awake for much of it, and only managed to drift off into some slumber for an hour or two before she had to take on one of the shifts in guarding the hall.

So the morning light dawned to meet a very tired Ranger standing guard at the door, though it was rather clear that Pele existed in a rather constant state of exhaustion. With great difficulty she held back a yawn, when eventually sitting down to breakfast. Keeping her eyes open and her head from falling into the plate of porridge became a serious challenge, but somehow she managed to keep herself awake enough to eat.

Luckily, the task of making sure the surroundings of the village were safe roused her back to alertness. Yet there was nothing to be found. Not a single orc anywhere. Pele nudged her horse to come alongside Isys, when their group met with the other again.

"You know... This is all too suspicious. Like a storm before calm," she expressed her misgivings about the whole situation. "I wouldn't be surprised in the least if the enemy returned to the village as soon as we leave, or... perhaps they lay in ambush to attack us on the way. After all these brutes already had managed to spring a surprise on us."

[Ercassie]

Ranger Unalmis Raxëlilta
Squad Two/Merged with Squad One


With the officers effectively distracted and the healers tending to the injured, Unalmis found himself somewhat aimless. Any thoughts of conducting his own enquiries amongst the villagers schooled him only that they looked as intrigued as he was, to what was being spoke behind closed doors. The young Ranger’s mind was wild with all that had happened, and there was naught his body could do presently to compensate. The more attention he paid to his horse, to find distraction, the more the horse joined him, in an increasingly unsettled state. Efforts to edge closer to the hall where Ruma and the Commander were cloistered, having convinced himself that it was a worthwhile practice in approaching unseen, only found him far too close to the suddenly opened door to feign any believable innocence. Thankfully Amathen remained a man of few words, that what he disclosed was the barest minimum, and none left over after to chide an all-too-inquisitive youth.

The meal was provided unbegrudging, so it seemed, and yet the food did not fulfil him as guilt sat like a stone to harden his stomach. The inescapable fact was that the village had proved complicent with the Enemy at least once that they knew of, and any opportunity for the peoples’ behaviour to be justified .. the Commander had kept wholly to himself. So who could be certain that the food provided wasn’t poisoned !? Nal had been poisoned at least once in his relatively short life so far, and he was not keen to repeat the experience. So the gesture of the refreshment was not refused, but neither was it accepted without due care.

Sleep was not held though so easily at bay; the Ranger had learnt the hard way to fall asleep wheresoever he might but prop himself. And the excitement which had kept him so alert the previous night now slowly coated his resolve like a tide stealing the shore. The brief repose from expectation was enough to find him wakened and refreshed enough for his due turn at watch, when he almost wished for something more to happen, and ought not to have been disappointed it did not.

When the Lieutenant found him afterwards to break words, so many of their company had already spoken with the officer before Nal, that it was an even more brief exchange, maybe the Officer’s last for the night. The young man did not expect to learn anything from Macardil that had not been shared with the entire group, and was not especially forthcoming with his own theories, having not been asked for them. And in fact having been told most of his life to keep his ideas to himself. Where it came to reporting injuries, he’d bourne no worse than scraped palms from a reckless drop to the ground, and a near-miss at being hit in the face with a rebounding door which he’d kicked open himself. Hardly any thing of note. The spending of his bolts though he did report. They had worked well, punching through what regular arrows might not have managed but they had been slow and cumbersome (he made sure to claim this was as much the choice of weapon than his being out of practice with ranged arms) and ultimately damaged by the devastation they had wrought.

Sent off with some others of Squad two to support the Scouts of Squad one, Nal had been very excited to see the experts at work. He’d braved some of the breakfast rather less warily, since supper apparently hadn’t killed him overnight, and was keen to ride out and hunt down the Orcs. Only three of the ambushers had been observed to survive and make off under the cover of their ringing threat. Still, somehow even the expert experience of the Ranger’s best trackers could not find a single sign of which way they had fled ? Neither of their two reformed groups. No mere streak of blood or even the hint of a heavy footfall ! It really was confounding and for a young man who had been raised on the reputation of the legendary Rangers, it was almost devastating. Still, the Officers’ brief from the outset had stated that these foes were capable of such, of vanishing apparently upon the wind, as though a bad dream. So the young Ranger kept his tongue and did his utmost best to emulate his betters.

At the least, this time the Orcs had left only their own dead behind, rather than mutilated innocents. True to his word, Unalmis had assisted Ilisys into her saddle for the set-out. And she was neither the worst or the least injured after the skirmish, but still she sat stalwart in her seat, the blood of her foe neatly dispelled like an unpleasant aftertaste, from her spear. Their quarry though elusive, the Rangers had won first blood this time around. And that was not naught.

[Isolde Alarion]

Ranger Mourgan Alarion
Squad 2

He'd turned his attention briefly back to Krow before a familar voice caught his attention. "No thank you Auntie. "He looked at her then shrugged. "No injuries to report other then sore muscles in the morning, just lucky I guess." He gave her a faint smile. She looked tired, more so from something other then the recent battle but didn't feel this was the time to bring it up. "And yourself? Holding up alright?" He did worry for her.

His attention then turned to Lieutenant Macardil as he summon them all together. "Suppose we should see what our orders are." He suggested to Pele then walked with her to listen. They were to stay the night. He looked at Pele. "I'll see later." He placed a caring hand on her shoulder and kissed his Aunts cheek. "Take care of yourself." And with a small smile he left to tend to Krow and find a spot to call his own for the night.

He ate his fill and listened to the others as they voiced their suspitions and when he was done he bid then night and moved to the main hall. Sleep came in burst, still unsettled by the days events it seemed any sound would wake him. Finally he gave up and relieved a fellow Ranger who might take better advantage of his sleeping spot.
He watched the sun peak over the distant hills and the village slowly come to life. A rooster was crowing somewhere and he shook off the nights hold with a shake. He could smell the morning meal as the villagers seemed to match their graditude with a fine meal like the night before.

Squad One

He ate lightly, not wanting to travel on a full stomach since it tended to make him sleepy so instead he took enough to replenish his pack for later and a few treats for Krow. He bid the villagers thank you and farewell then headed to join his newly formed group. Mounted and ready they were sent in search of any evidence but sadly found nothing.

Krow moved benieth him as the Rangers gathered together after their fruitless search. Finding nothing was worse then finding something in his mind.

[Ercassie]

Ranger Ilisys Azrubêl
Squad Two/Merged with Squad Three


What ointments and anaesthesia Beren had provided her, had left Ilisys, if possible, less lucid than before. The frankincense had wrapped it’s comforting shawl about her and to function was to peer through it’s nebulous mist. As a result she did not speak much, although she seemed drawn to the Commander’s address and later orders. Dinner was a strange affair, as the Rangers and the Villagers seemed to forego any mention of what had just happened. A lot of thanks were forthcoming from both sides, but no further information which might have been food for thought. A want to inspect the slain Orcs for any clues was derailed when she was violently sick. Not her usual response to a battlefield, she blamed her delicate state for the embarrassment, even as she was waved away from cleaning it up.

The lieutenant she believed had spoken to her, although she might have imagined that. Once she had admitted her injuries, the woman’s only words had been to commend the healers. She had been one of the three Rangers set against one of the Orcs who’d survived, but Isys was not ashamed that she had failed to kill him. The fiend’s parting words after all, had given them all much to think about.

The woman of Belfalas did not shy from taking her own watch, though it had been organised so that she did not sentry alone. Her entire body had been lulled toward rest but she fought to keep her mind awake, electing each shadow scrutiny enough to confirm it was just a shadow. When sleep came, it conquered the woman without a fight so that when dawn rose, Ilisys was primed to meet it, stiff but sure that she was no longer drowsy.

Scouting in the wild was not her forte, but she leant what eyes she could toward their hunt, and was not surprised to find that she had been relayed to a group with both Beren and Pele on hand. The other woman’s questions stirred her own and thoughts strove with one another about their strange circumstances, their even stranger foe. She might have thought them ghosts, save that her own bones still bore the very real brunt of their existence.

“Ghosts do not leave bodies,” she remarked aloud, as though Pele beside her could somehow have followed the line of her private thoughts. “Perhaps they await us back at the fort,” she feared, reasoning that would be an opportune move on the part of their Enemy. They had sent in their messenger after all, and the entire Ranger Company had rode out to answer the alarm. Which left .. what ? A mere dozen stewards, cooks and stablehands, back at the fort. Who was to say that the messenger had not even let the Orcs into the stronghold while they were away. Ilisys could not be sure of many things, but she did not believe the Orcs they had defeated at the village were the whole of the blight in this region. The entire thing might very well have been a ruse to expel them from their own sanctuary. And if they returned now, some injured, to find that their own shelter, their well-stocked larder and the smithy of armour and equipment had all been usurped during their absence ? She would not be surprised.

“They did not behave like brutes,” she mentioned quietly, in answer to Pele’s musings. “If we expect things of them, they may continue to surprise us. We must assume naught that we know not for certain.”

[Pele Alarion]

Ranger Pele Alarion
Squad 2

"No, definitely no ghosts..." Pele muttered under her breath, as she listened to thoughts Ilysis expressed. She would not be surprised that they would find the fort overrun by orcs upon return; it surely seemed that a wise strategist stood behind the orcs. What did they call him? Bagurzlaam.

The Ranger found the state of things highly unsatisfactory, foe unpredictable and perhaps both waiting for them back at the fort, and maybe looking to attack the village as soon as they left. Yet, what could be done about it? Pele bit her lip, as she considered all the options. "Think I will talk to the Commander..." she eventually said.

With that she guided Autumn towards where Amathen was. Pele was very well aware that she had no authority to suggest anything or question the orders commanders issued, and yet she decided to take the risk of speaking up, even if she was told off for it - after all the Commander seemed to make himself look rather unapproachable.

"Commander," she said, when she reached Amathen. "The orcs that escaped... would it do any good to send a couple of our scouts to see where they got to? They must have left some trail behind them. Perhaps it is possible to find whatever they have as their base? At any rate the parting words shot at us clearly indicated that there is a larger force, and that they would surely attack again. The fact that we found nothing might be misleading..."

Pele's blue eyes remained set on Commander steadily, even as she awaited an unpleasant reaction that would tell her to mind her own place and not meddle in the affairs of the command.

@Arnyn

[Lantaelen]

Abrazimir Dimaethir
Ranger, Squad Two

After the visit to the healers, Abrazimir helped by recovering mounts that had wandered away from the site of battle, and ensuring Pele’s steed got that coveted apple. He didn’t find Zev in time before the Commander and Lieutenant summoned the Rangers for a debrief and for new instructions. A brief night was spent in the village before a sweeping search was made of the area to discern any whereabouts of their assailers. Nothing was discerned, which left the ranger was a touch of anxiety as to the degree and capability of their foe. Even without a moving entity behind the scenes, they were still dangerous and potent in their ability to cause harm and chaos.

Abrazimir was divided over to the first squad in the split of the second and they were sent to the north-east, towards the mountains that once fenced in the dark land of yonder. It felt…easier to look at, though no less invoking of dread and fear at what might be concealed beyond or within, or among them. He ate what little he could as they searched, left hand holding his biscuit of bread, while his right always sat upon the pommel of his blade, eyes sweeping every nook, tree, and hill. There was little to no signs. It was as if the orcs had somehow taken flight.

Though they defended the village, it didn’t feel much like a victory.

If anything was to be found though, he judged it to be the north-east, closest to where they had their caves and holes in the old days of endless strife. After a few hours of search however, having drifted off from his companions, he paused by a small stream and dismounted his horse, crouching by the clear water and removing a glove so that he might cup a bit of the liquid and have a drink. He sipped lightly, expecting it to be of some foul variation due to use by orcs or their trodding through it. It was relatively clean. In a risky move, he took off his helmet and touched gingerly at the wrappings about his forehead. It did not ache or throb as much, though it was growing rather itchy. And distracting.

Slowly, he began to unravel the bindings and examined the cut as best he could in the reflection of the water. Quickly, he rinsed it, and wiped with a clean patch of his sleeve, before he readorned the bandage, albeit with some sloppiness as he hastened to do so. He was, technically, breaching his duties by this small detour. He stood and simply listened, closing his eyes. The trickling water, the rustle of leaves in the few trees about, the singing of birds. Birds. Surely closeness to an orc hideout might have reduced such populations via hunting and over-harvesting, no? There might be nothing out here. Those orcs must have fled far away all throughout the night and early day.

He got back on his horse and turned away, riding to join some of their fellows and hoping they had better news or not. It seemed that they might be returning to the fort very soon, where news or rumor of their enemy might be better had. Or they might return in our absence to attack the village. It was a shame to leave them here unguarded but it was not his place to spend warriors on what could be a needless defence of a safe area. He rode to meet with Lieutenant Macardil, saluting as he approached.

”Nothing to the north-east, Sir. Rode out about an hour’s distance and found no signs. They have long outranged us if anything.” He reported, not having much else to say and fell into line as he awaited further orders.