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Weather:            Cloudy
Time:                Late Afternoon <about 5 PM >
Season:              Autumn
Date:               Sunday - October 28, 3014

Real Time:          Wed Jul 01 17:57:13 1998
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Osgiliath: Western Ruins - Old Merchant Quarter
Once the bustling center of trade in Osgiliath, here at the point that the Great Royal Road first entered the city, there is now naught but broken buildings and a large open trading plaza, covered with scant grass and broken stones. Some of the buildings have crumbled in on themselves, but others are standing and in relatively good condition. It looks as if there has been an effort to keep a clear path leading to the east, and also to the southeast. Perhaps these areas are still in use.

Beladan stands in the centre of the clearing, his noble brow gazing with no small measure of pride on the men he sees milling about the camp. He stops one and speaks quietly with him, dispatching him on some errand or another. Reaching behind him, he takes a small water flask from a bench nearby and lifts it to his lips before turning his attention outwards once more.

Arnafel sits alone on a pile of rubble off to one side of the campsite, his gaze hot as he observes the activity, or rather, lack of it. The men are idling in the sun, with the guards being none too alert themselves. He finally rises and approaches Lord Beladan, with a sharp word to the guards and a nod to the black-clad commander of the Minas Tirit Guards on the way. He reaches Beladan and says respectfully, "Lord, I have a matter of some urgency to discuss with thee."

From the western parts of the ruins a gray cladded silhuette emerges from behind one of the crumbled houses. Approaching the soldiers, occupied with their guarding duties, this hooded figure excanges a few brief words with some of them, at which they mostly shake their heads. As the scout talks to one of the guards, the latter raises his hands and points into Beladan's direction. Fanathir follows his wave, reasurring himself of the correctness of the pointed man, and starts walking toward the Dol Amroth nobleman. His strides are long and slow and his head is still covered with large cowl.

Beladan looks to Arnafel as he arrives. "Speak freely, Arnafel. What troublest thou?"

Analdin stands quietly outside the familiar fortification of Osgiliath. The cloudy skies above and recent gloomy rainfall gives the whole camp a quiet air. Soldiers mill about the camp, but most avoid the darkly clad, cloakless figure on the edge nearest the fortification, away from most of the activity, yet still in hearing distance. Curious looks are given to his back as he faces away from the camp, arms folded over his chest, staring off towards the west.

As Lord Beladan turns to him, Arnafel continues in a low tone, "My Lord, the men grow restful in this place and their alertness lessens, for we have camped here for a three days and nights now. This be an exposed spot and close to the enemy's land,and any lack of alertness could be sheer folly, and be paid for in blood."

Beladan nods quietly. "Thy concern mirrors my own, Arnafel. Yet leadership lies not in merely recognising a problem, but forging a solution. What suggesteth thou?"

Arnafel considers for a moment then replies, "Patrols. That be the answer. Send the men in small groups to patrol the ruins of this city. That would keep them busy as well as give us ample warning if orcs approach."

The scout walks between the soldiers, and as he's passing amongst them a few friendly cheers are heard, some from the hooded figure, some from the guards. His direction seem to be pointing to two men, seemed to be indulged in a discussion. Joining the twosome he waits for a brief moment and as he catches a pause in betwren words he loudly asks, "would one of you sires be a Beladan of Dol Amroth, the guards tell me he's the one to approach with a certain question.. "

Analdin keeps his silence and his back to the activity of the camp, staring almost longingly into the darkness to the west.

Beladan nods to Arnafel. "I leave the matter in thy hands, Squire. I expect to see security incresed upon the perimeter and the men drilled rather than idling as thou sayest they are." As the scout draws near, he hears the question and turns. "I be the man thou seeketh. What wouldst thou have of me?"

On the way to the Crossroads...
You're standing to the East of the ruins of the bridge which once spanned the great river Anduin, now naught more than a rubble-heap. The ground beneath you is soft and inviting, and speaks of happier days in less troubled times. To the East you see a line of trees encircling the road, with a North/South road passing through it.

The blood-red sun sinks below the dark, cinder-ridden, and cloud-filled horizon, leaving the night pitch black.

Sirion frowns, "Night hath come. This is ill omened."

Sirion ponders, "I hope Boromir returns soon from his scouting. I do not like the fact that we are so seperated. What say you Lord-Marshall perhaps to heading eastward to yon crossroads?"

Mathirion gives a quiet nod, still questioning disaproval in his eyes, but he falls silent.

From The Crossroads, Rarg begins to tell "Rarg, do..." then stops as the commander silences him to turn towards a bad uruk who stepped out from the lines. He begins to wait and look at the commander. He stands as he should be - in attention, careful not to harass anybody and be killed or beaten.

Arnafel nudges his mount forward until he is riding beside Lord Sirion. As the sun slowly sinks in the West and night approaches, their surroundings look even more ominous than they did in the daytime. "My Lord, where do we ride at such an hour and in such a place if thee would tell me?" he asks Lord Sirion.

From The Crossroads, Krifnerik nods his head in agreement, comfortablly leaning back against the Quartermaster's wagon. "Indeed. These Dushgoi and Pulgor raffs are far less than what I had expected. Though they could be worse, their discipline is in heavy need of repair." Indifference of a glare sets upon the one apparantly running the drill, the Lieutenant of Dol Guldur. "I see the Tek'rak is doing well again.", he gestures towards Jobunqorz, "Whether this is a pity or a boon I cannot say."

Sirion replies to Arnafel, "We are now within that Land called Ithilien. It is a land of contest between the forces of good and evil. Denethor at times sends folk here to torment the enemy, but every year they find it harder to hold. Our path lieth through this land, for just to the east layeth a great north road that shall at length bring us to the Emyn Muil." Sirion frowns, "Though perhaps this course is ill advised, and better safety we may have had if we were to pass through the land of Rohan. Yet this is the shorter way."

Keeping his horse quietly to the back, Analdin pays little attention to the actions of those riding closer to the front of the company. His almost absent expression and keeping away from the rest gives question to whether he is truely present in thought.

Sirion says to those gathered, "Yet ere we head forth to those crossroads it may be well if we search ahead." Sirion fingers the hilt of his blade, "With your leave I shall go. Will any others come with me?"

Arnafel nods and looks thoughtfully at the path on which they ride. He rouses himself at Lord Sirion's words and spurs his mount forward, drawing reign next to him. "As thy squire, to accompany thee is my duty, and this duty i shall fulfill, Lord."

Sirion nods, "Very well then Arnafel. Let us go then you and I."

Riding his horse to the front, Nials places his hand on his sword hilt, "I will go with you my Lord," he answers. The young squire looks at the elder knight before him, then nods his head.

From The Crossroads, Ver-beeg looks over to Jobunqorz and watchs him for a moment then says to Krifnerik "It seem to be the only one of any worth this day.." he then lets out a sigh and says "Not like the old days when one could could on the uruk that stood next to them on the battle field, but this lot would kill themselfs for but a slab of meat. Not like it is back home in the city of the Eye." he then pulls his axe out of the ground and beging to clean the dirt from it's blades.

Sirion nods to Nials, "Then it shall be three. This is well."

Analdin does not make any move at all to offer his company to Sirion and the others, only sits uncomfortably on his mount and watches them calmly.

Sirion turns and says to the others, "If we do not return within an hour, then you had best seek us. Come, Nials and Arnafel. Let us go thither."

From behind one of the horses Fanathir approaches the lord, saying nothing. He removes his cloak at his right side, and reaching for his hilt he slightly bows at his words, "Four shall it be sire...for these lands are og my domain and my knowledge you might use when you roam through"

Sirion smiles at Fanthir, "Come then! But no more."

Sirion turns and now heads eastward toward the crossroads.
Sirion goes east.

From The Crossroads, Sirion comes within the circle from the west, the ravens caw menacingly at him.
From The Crossroads, Sirion has arrived.

Arnafel goes east.
From The Crossroads, Arnafel comes within the circle from the west, the ravens caw menacingly at him.

Fanathir goes east.
From The Crossroads, Fanathir comes within the circle from the west, the ravens caw menacingly at him.

Nials goes east.
From The Crossroads, Nials comes within the circle from the west, the ravens caw menacingly at him.

From The Crossroads, Soft slow steps head up the east road.

From The Crossroads, The orcs of both Dol Guldur and Minas Morgul stand at attention, their eyes straining to see what the commotion and hold up is. The ones closest to the tek'rak and Rarg stare straight a head, hears straining. The ones at the back of the ranks use their advantage to turn their heads to look about, and the few bolder ones begin to talk to their neighbors, soft chuckles and questions darting back and forth. The Tek'rak Jobunqorz is barely aware of the troops standing at attention. With red glaring eyes he turns to stare at Rarg. Forehead wrinkling in anger he raises his hand up, "Do you disobey my orders? I said get that orc, or I will have you fed to the ologs."

From The Crossroads, Sirion says softly, "This place is a confusing ring of trees. It is the perfect place to stage an ambush."

From The Crossroads, Nials nods in agreement. The young squires hand still rest upon his blade while his eyes scan the area about him looking for any sign of movement.

From The Crossroads, Arnafel nods and replies, "Lord, perhaps it would be best if we went afoot from here. Horses would make overmuch noise, and 'twould not be easy to guide them in this maze."

From The Crossroads, Deep in the forests of Ithilien the camp of Mordor lies, uruks too numerous to count encamped along the crossroads themselves. It appears though the larger sum of uruks are participating in some kind of inspection, all lined up for display to thei commanders.

From The Crossroads, Sirion steps softly off the road, and motions for those with him to follow. He looks to Fanathir, "This is your land my friend, and here you should lead us."

From The Crossroads, Ver-beeg stands away from the main force of uruks and is talking in low tones to another uruk as they watch the troops being reviewed. As of yet he has not seen the humans enter the clearing.

From The Crossroads, Rarg fastly reagates and runs towards the uruk. He stops about 15 feets from him and raises his bow to aim. He says "Come with me.". Not anything more, only this simple statement. It is clearly seen he will shot the snaga if he doesn't obey his commands.

From The Crossroads, Arnafel dismounts and follows Lord Sirion, stepping quietly as he makes his way of the road. He looks around carefully even as he walks, for he cannot shake off the feeling of evil and dread which emanates from this foul place.

From The Crossroads, Fanathir nods to the lords words and steppes in front of the assembled group of Gondorian soldiers. Noting to them that dismounting would be in order here, he points to the group of trees covered with thick bushes, "There milord," he whisperes to Sirion, "would be the proper place for out little surprise. No light comes through that bushes and yet we should be able the recognise the nu,ner and the sthrength of our opponents."

From The Crossroads, Following the knight as he dismounts and leaves the road, Nials pulls his mount near that of Sirion's. His eyes still searching, the young squires demeanor is that of taunt string ready to snap. Never speaking a word, the young lord keeps near the group ever vigilant to the area around him.

From The Crossroads, Sirion narrows his eyes and looks to the four of those who have come, "We do not have numbers. Perhaps then we should look thither Fanathir?"

From The Crossroads, As Nials passes him, Arnafel grips his arm and says softly, "Guard Lord Sirion with thy life, and let no harm come to him, this charge do I lay on thee."

From The Crossroads, Zharg standang wwith his back to the fire, the pulgor snaga turns as he hears a voice from behind. Turning he sees rarg with a arrow pointed directly at him. Just then he notices that his line of pulgor snaga has not moved. Droping his food the snaga shakes his head and says, But, but, but..." sensing the arrow being drawn a little further back, he shuts his mouth and follows. His shoulders slump and his large black eyes widen in fear.

From The Crossroads, Krifnerik grumbles to himself lowly, shaking his head. "This l ot is truly disgusting to me." His voice is characteristiclly guttural and cold, speaking in an accent more understandable and cold than the stereotyped grunt. "I did not expect to be bathed in pleasures when released from Lugburz to go on duty, but I did not imagine the circumstances of some of these garrison troops. Even the Logaz act like Snaga here."

From The Crossroads, Nials looks Arnafel in the face, "I will guard him," he says solemnly, "with my life if needs be and to the best of my ability."

From The Crossroads, Fanathir nods and moves towards the pointed area, lowing his posture as he approaches the ring of trees sorrounding the crossroads. Waving to the others to do the same, he ducks behind a large bush and awaits his lord to join him and say the command.

From The Crossroads, Sirion edges up behind Fanathir and says in a hushed tone, "I see nothing, but my eyes are old. Tell me what you see?"

From The Crossroads, Arnafel nods and releases his arm, then turns and follows the scout, crouching and swiftly gaining the cover of the foliage.

From The Crossroads, Nials follow close behind the others. Taking a position near Lord Sirion, the young squire turns his gaze to follow where Fanathir is looking.

From The Crossroads, Rarg arrives at the commander who commanded him to get the snaga, and says "Here is the snaga, master. if you want him dead, just tell me and I'll take care of him, master.". His voice is deep and his speech is very fluent, and fast. He slowly lowers the bow, but has it prepared to be able to aim with it very fast.

From The Crossroads, Ver-beeg shakes his head once more as he cleans the dirt off his axe and says to the Rakarg "So ture, now in the old days, before the law of the Vorazg, there was order. True order in the land, how I long for those days again" he then spits and adds "Not like this mass of fools." he then glances back to his wagon and is about to says something but then looks past the wagon and locks his eyes on something in the woods, then says in a soft toneof voice " What to you make of that Rakarg, <he then looks back to the uruk he is talking too> that white shape in the brush, passed the wagon to the right?"

From The Crossroads, Zharg drops to his knees before the Polgur tek'rak.

From The Crossroads, "I see at least atleast a half a dosen orchs milling about the crossroads sire, and they seem to be indulged in a fight of their own.., " Fanathir whispers quietly, "...what do you reckon we should do sire. I've seen one sort of them here before.. the ones from the bewitched city that is, and they're not that big of a threat...the others however are new to me and their uniforms and skills are beyond my recognition..."

From The Crossroads, Jobunqorz stands in his place, right hand grip tightly on the shaft of his battle axe. Eyes filled with anger he stares at the two orcs out of ranks. Turning his head he glances out across the ranks to spot the troops from Barad Dur. Seeing the tek'rak, jobunqorz snarls and spits at the ground before turning to watch the two approach. Glaring down at the orcs with a voice growling in anger, "Both of you have angered me, " Glaring down at the snaga, "One more than the other. But both must learn discpline." Raising his battle axe he moves it over the snaga's head he pauses and a wicked grin springs across his face, "But I am one that allows for one to make it up."

From The Crossroads, Sirion considers, "Perhaps you see six, but the woods may obscure even more. I think that here discretion is the better part of valour, as they say. What do you think?" He now turns and looks at the other two companions.

From The Crossroads, Krifnerik slowly turns his head to glance over his shoulder at Ver-beeg's cue, his eyes narrowing as they blankly scan the treacherous trees. " I don't see it. Curse these woods, I was never given the training to be a scout out of city.." He turns his head back to Ver-beeg, rather than making it obvious that one or both of them have spotted any approachers. "What did you see, Ver-beeg?", he asks, hi svoice lowered.

From The Crossroads, Arnafel peers through the foliage, his face tensing, as he sees the orcs the Scout is reffering to. He eases his sword in its sheath and turns to Lord Sirion, saying in a low tone, "My Lord, the orcs be indulging in foul activities of theirs and their supply wagons stand unguarded. Give me leave Lord, and I could, with stealth, cause great damage to their supplies and escape, leaving them with not a clue of what occurred."

From The Crossroads, Looking to the gathered orcs, Nials eyes seem troubled. "I would agree on your decision for discretion Lord Sirion," the young squire wispers, "For I believe that your assumption to be correct, the woods more than likely do contain more of the foul forces of the Enemy." Looking then at Arnafel for his words of agression, "I know it is not my place, but your plan is foolish and not well thought out. Even if you plan to sneak in and destroy what you can there is no way to keep down the noise your activities would cause."

From The Crossroads, Jobunqorz drops Large Wagon.

From The Crossroads, Zharg remains unmoved in the pressence of the tek,rak. Hope causes him to rise slightly at the words of the tek'rak. Swallowing hard he says, "I would like to make it up to you, great tekrak. what need of me do you have."

From The Crossroads, Sirion replies, "You are valiant Arnafel. Yet I wonder, for if they are here in number, and if damage is done to their wains, will they not send out patrols to seek out the perpetrators? Remember, there are only nine of us and though some may be worth a hundred of these orcs, I would not have one of us be needlessly sacrificed. Yet on this matter I would give Fanathir more leave to speak, for it is plain he knows more about these lands than any of us. And remember my dear squires, I am also not the leader of this quest, but a companion as you are." Sirion smiles, his wizzened eyes almost pale, "Although you are still squires and I a knight."

From The Crossroads, Ver-beeg nods slowly at Krifnerik answer then says softly as he looks to the troops as they go thought there paces "I thought I saw one of the riding beasts of the tarks, tho it could be a trick of the light" he then asks more loadly "Off hand, do you know the number of troops we have on patrol this night?" before him he flexes his hand 10 times and then waves his hand flat as if to make a sigh to the uruk he speeks too.

From The Crossroads, Rarg raises his head and looks at Jobunqorz saying "Sorry master, but the snagas there" - he points at a group of snagas - "were a bit too loud, and I misunderstood your words. What do you want me to do, master?". He is a little bit feared, but also hopes he made only a small mistake...

Beladan goes east.
From The Crossroads, Beladan comes within the circle from the west, the ravens caw menacingly at him.

From The Crossroads, Beladan moves with practiced stealth into the area with almost feline grace. Espying Sirion, a wry smile purses his lips and he makes his way purposefully towards him. Reaching him and squating alongside, he places his cheek alongside the elder knight's and breathes more than whispers to him. "What intelligence, Sirion?"

On the way to the Crossroads...

Directly west, the ruins of a once great bridge lay in a heap, to the east, A glow from beyond Dark mountains, lights a faint patch work of an old road of cracked and troubled flagstone, leading to a great circle of trees...

You approach the trees, crows flutter and caw as you pass under the branches...
From The Crossroads, Analdin comes within the circle from the west, the ravens caw menacingly at him.
The Crossroads
Here two dark roads meet, one north-south and the other east-west, amidst a great circle of trees. The area is lit by an eerie glow which diffuses from the east, which gives the area a haunted feel. A torn and worn statue commands the crossroads, though its broken head lays fallen from its once proud perch. There is no hope here, save to flee to the west, where as all other directions, have an unwholesome feel of oppression and oncoming death.

Krifnerik snarls, gesturing towards the large line of innumerable uruk troops. "Whatever the curses they're doing, the patrols are probably with them. Not even inner guards are about." His right hand reaches over his shoulder, sliding away his black short bow from his back. "If someone approaches, then those lines are going to be chaos." He bends hte bow against the inside of his foot, not even looking down toward s it as he strings it with more than efficient speed. "Perhaps there will be actual danger to my target practice this time." He slowly removes a black arrow fro mthe quiver behind him, giving another curious glance towards the west. "Any of yours have archer skills?"

Krifnerik wields Bow.

Sirion looks surprised, "Lord-Marshall, has the allotted hour passed? Be that as it may, there are orcs lingering in the crossroads, or so says the eyes of Fanathir, a good woodsman, for my old eyes are lost in the tree shadows. Some six in number, though I would fear there be more. Rarely do their kind travel in such small groups - at least in my experience."

Jobunqorz sneers again and looks to them. "Yes, you shall. But it will depend upon your skills." Noding to Rarg, "Your archery against this snaga's attempt to use a scimitar." Raising his left hand he points to the large wagon, "Go and retrieve a scimitar and ready yourself to fight this dog."

Analdin follows not to far behind Beladan, walking carefully through the foliage, eyes sharp out in front of him and looking to the sides every now and again. Upon reaching the spot where Sirion and his companions have placed themselves, he remains silently to the side, not saying a word nor making a move.

Fanathir has reconnected.

Sirion replies, "You are valiant Arnafel. Yet I wonder, for if they are here in number, and if damage is done to their wains, will they not send out patrols to seek out the perpetrators? Remember, there are only nine of us and though some may be worth a hundred of these orcs, I would not have one of us be needlessly sacrificed. Yet on this matter I would give Fanathir more leave to speak, for it is plain he knows more about these lands than any of us. And remember my dear squires, I am also not the leader of this quest, but a companion as you are." Sirion smiles, his wizzened eyes almost pale, "Although you are still squires and I a knight."

Sirion looks surprised, "Lord-Marshall, has the allotted hour passed? Be that as it may, there are orcs lingering in the crossroads, or so says the eyes of Fanathir, a good woodsman, for my old eyes are lost in the tree shadows. Some six in number, though I would fear there be more. Rarely do their kind travel in such small groups - at least in my experience."

Fanathir has partially disconnected.

Beladan moves with practiced stealth into the area with almost feline grace. Espying Sirion, a wry smile purses his lips and he makes his way purposefully towards him. Reaching him and squating alongside, he places his cheek alongside the elder knight's and breathes more than whispers to him. "What intelligence, Sirion?"

Analdin follows not to far behind Beladan, walking carefully through the foliage, eyes sharp out in front of him and looking to the sides every now and again. Upon reaching the spot where Sirion and his companions have placed themselves, he remains silently to the side, not saying a word nor making a move.

"Do not be overwhelmed with yer courage, squire," Fanathir whispers to Arna, "for thrust me, you would be spotted as soon as you would to leave our hideout, and would you really be prepared to take the burdon of revealing your troops to the enemy...no, success can only be achived if we isolate a small group of orchish scumm and attack them jointly with surprise in our hands...i suggest we lour some of them to us, instead of us coming to them, sire", the last words were ment for lord Sirion.

Sirion replies, "But why fight them at all? Why take such a chance." Sirion looks to Beladan with a nod, deferring to him.

Zharg rises quickly, turns and runs off to the large wagon. Nearing its back the smaller urk, unable to reach inside, lifts himself into it.

Ver-beeg nods and says "They have skill in bow, most are masters in axe." he then smiles faintly and adds "Most of them will fall back to there old orders in the worst happens." he then glances to the woods again and seem not to care of what is going on there and then looks back to the uruks of the camp and says "Care is always the best action, perhapes it is my over active mind.

Zharg leaps form the back off the large wagon. Landing he holds a scimitar in his right hand. As he lands he turns to face the tek'rak, awaiting further instructions.

Beladan ponders long, his face an unreadable mask of consideration. At length he speaks, "The weight of the Realm's security doth presses heavily upon mine breast, yet the security of the Realm might best be served if we succeed in the quest before us. We wilt avoid the camp, sending one man back to report this gathering. Wrap thy sword's, men, lest they speak and betray us, and silently northwards we will travel." Beladan nods to Arnafel, expecting his orders relayed and obeyed.

Rarg raises his bow as he notices the snaga with the scimitar approaching. He aims till the snaga arrives near him... he seems he will shoot as soon as he knows he will hit the snaga in his heart. "May I start, master?" - he asks. If the commander nods he can immediately hit the unknown snaga...

Sirion nods, "That is for the best Lord-Marshall."

Krifnerik nods his head, carefully looking over the side of the wagon. "Perhaps I could stir them. they are not the wisest of creatures, these tarks." He smiles, tugging on the string of his bow pointed towards the ground, and quickly stepping wide of the Quartermaster's supply wagon as he raises his bow and releases the shaft into the treees. It flies with the swiftest of a bowman's speeds, into the bushes a dozen or so feet away from the Gondorian party. Just as quickly Krifnerik steps back behind the wagon, waiting to see if it causes commotion.

Jobunqorz moves through the ranks of orcs and motions for the snaga to move off to the west. Turning to Rarg he directs him to step out of the ranks and move a bit further away from the snaga. With a grin, "We must let there be some sort of fairness to this." Lowering his hand he signals for them to begin.

Ver-beeg glanes to the woods to see if the arrow flushes anything out and holds his weapon half hopeing that the arrow dose.

Sirion stiffens as the arrow skitters through the bramble. He puts his hand upon Arnafel's shoulder and says, "Steady."

Zharg looks from the tek'rak to the bow wielding rarg. At the tek'raks orders he runs west towards the trees, tring to put as many obstacles in his path as he goes.

Beladan sighs. "My hand dost itcheth to spill the blood of these bestial swine, and rid the land of this Yrchish prutrifaction." He gazes about him, noting that few men are here. "Let us all go forwards at this time. We shalt carry intelligence hither at some later time. They are well entrenched and unable to move rapidly." Beladan pushes quietly northwards.

Beladan goes north.
Beladan has left.

Fanathir looks back at the Lord-Marshall, a bit surprised, "tho my beleifs are that we could at least do some damage to the assembled orcish scum, your orders i shall respect, milord, even tho I know not of the quest you refered to and that we're not of the same company...shall we depart then and report the news of the enemys move to the City?"

Sirion looks a bit concerned and says quietly, "North it is. Carefuly, around the outskirts. There will be time enough to send a message back to Minas Tirith."

Fanathir goes north.
Fanathir has left.

Arnafel goes north.
Arnafel has left.

Nials nods in agreement. "Much time yet."

Analdin follows the other members of the company with silence, keeping a hand near his blade, but allowing the others to make whatever decisions need to be made.

You head north, under the oppressive trees..

From The Crossroads, Analdin has left.
North Ithilien: Road
In the dark of night, some semblance of beauty remains in this foresaken land. The beauty is overshadowed by the dark mountains to the east, and the glow that arises over their tops, which increase the gloom. The north looks little different, if not darker. Southward is also cast in gloom and doom, to the west, rolling hills are barely visible in the silver-cast light. A smell like the breath of some great sulpher breathing beast, and the glow that arises over their tops fills the area, and increases to the south.

From The Crossroads, Rarg immediately releases the string as the commander starts the match. He aimed a lot of time to hit the snaga - he can't miss it. His arrow flies, its point headed towards Zharg...

From The Crossroads, Rarg launches an arrow...

From The Crossroads,

Rarg's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

From The Crossroads, "Go now my Lord," Nials says to Sirion, "I will follow you shortly and erase our presence here."

From The Crossroads, Taking one last look at the gathered orcs, Nials grabs a fallen branch and brushes out all the tracks left by the passing group. After accomplishing his task, the young squire heads north.

Nials comes up from the southern ring of trees.
Nials has arrived.

From The Crossroads, Zharg not yet fully aware that the combat had started, an arrow flys past Zharg and into the trees. turning zharg couches down low and heads for some form of cover, Scimitar in hand.

From The Crossroads, Krifnerik begins to draw aother arrow when he sees rarg's loosing towards the snga Zharg, the arrow going wide and into the trees. "Do they se it to?", he asks himself aloud, turning his head to watch over where he last shot his bow at. "I think these tarks are watching us, gathering information. They may not be ready for an open attack, so on the morro I say we organize a hunting band."

Sirion wipes his brow of sweat, "The sooner we are gone from this place the better."

From The Crossroads, Ver-beeg looks back to Krifnerik and says "Seem it was a lost of a arrow, but it will be best to check on it later" he then smiles faintly and nods to the woods and says "And a few uruks to hunt your rabbit would be useful as well.

Coming up a few minutes after Sirions arrival, Nials approaches the group carring a fallen tree branch. "All signs of our presence have been erased Lord Sirion." the young squire reports quietly.

Sirion nods, "Thank you Nials. Boromir shall be meeting us here shortly. In the meantime we have found the side of a knoll which is sheltered that shall keep us well hidden for a time."

Arnafel frowns faintly as Nials approaches, for he can hear sounds coming towards them, growing in intensity steadily. He turns to Lord Beladan, "My Lord, we had best be gone from here soon, for orcs approach if I be not...". He utters a stifled exclamation as an arrow flies past, close enough to touch.