Northern Tributary
The river flows swiftly just to the north, a mountain torrent tumbling over boulders and boiling past rocks. On either bank, clumps of oak and elm grow, scattered amidst stands of elms and evergreens.
Across the river, the land rises toward the bleak slopes of the Ettenmoors; to the west, the river flows on, descending swiftly; to the east, the line of the Misty Mountains crosses the horizon. Southward, the land rises into a high moorland, barren and crisscrossed by ravines, tangles of rock, and small stands of trees.
However, only the routes west and southeast along the river are passable.
Contents:
Tirloth
Ringorn atop Leithian(#31186Xae)
Obvious exits:
West and Southeast
Ringorn atop Leithian:
This is a magnificent white mare, probably an Elven steed. Her bearing is proud and energetic, with an exquisite grace and barely hidden power. She is white as a cloud, with streaming yellow mane and tail, and there is no bit or bridle, only a headstall. You notice that she seems to pay close attention to Ermithren and responds to all of his actions.
Carrying:
Ringorn
Ringorn (NPC):
This is one of the Firstborn, wrapped tightly in a blanket and cloak. Only his face is uncovered.
It is a face of exquisite beauty, pale as Ithil on a cloudless night, framed by deep-black hair even as the darkness that surrounds the moon and Elbereth's splendour; yet the eyes are closed, and the light of Ilúvatar no longer shines forth in one of his children:
He is dead.
[Ermithren]
It is still night, but dawn is fast approaching the desolate lands North of Imladris. The new light finds a sorry sight on its path: a small group of Elves is progressing slowly, very slowly, heading for the shelter of the Vale of Elrond.
The group is silent, and on the one horse that is there is the body of Ringorn, Archer of the Imladris Guard.
He is dead.
The other Elves help the wounded: Celebringil, who can walk himself, and the severely wounded Ermithren, who seems to have use of his right arm, but not much more. He is senseless, being held up by his comrades. The situation is grave.
Detached, far as possible from the group yet still leading them, Tirloth treads the empty ground ahead. There is a hood cast over her face, so that it is unseen, and her hand still clutches tightly a spear, rolled in mud and darker things.
The hirvaethor turns, and looks behind.
[Ermithren]
The going is difficult. Ermithren is the reason the group is progressing so slowly, for he is dragged more than that he walks, although a feeble attempt to move is made from time to time - it does not make a difference. The tall Sinda is carried, and his head hangs to the left side. Leithian, the Elven steed, looks at Ermithren, but keeps a steady pace, almost prancing as she seems to feel the gravity of her duty, taking the fallen home.
>From the south, a rider appears between the trees, riding swiftly towards the group. A grey cloak and a high helm of metal betray him as one of the Eldar and as he reaches the others, he leaps off his horse and runs towards them with haste. "Tirloth! What is this?" Sidhel asks with a frightful voice. Briefly he skims the battered group. As he notices the horse and its load, Sidhel's mien turns to horror. "No," he cries out, "not another!" Stricken with grief, he looks at Tirloth.
Tirloth casts her eyes to the ground and says nothing, but plants her spear in the loam.
Whirling away, she stalks quickly to the group. "We cannot delay," she says, breaking the silence as a weak sun-beam breaks the night. "He must be carried swiftly. Give me your spear."
[Ermithren[
One of the spearmen looks at his spear, as if seeing it for the first time and pondering its use. His face is drawn. Then understanding finally comes to it, and he quickly hands the spear to Tirloth.
Sidhel glances at Ermithren now and sighs deeply. Already he has taken Tirloth's spear and hands it back to the elleth. "I have a rope on my horse," he says and moves towards his mount. Indeed, a fine elven rope is in his hand as he returns. 5r
Without a word, Tirloth lays her tattered brown cloak on the ground and places the two spear-poles a man's width from each other. She looks to Sidhel. "We'll tie it to make a stretcher."
Ermithren suddenly speaks, his voice harsh.
"Run! Over here!"
Then he is silent again, sagging sideways, the Elf to the left of him momentarily bearing all his weight.
Tirloth stoops again, lashing pole to heavy cloak on the other side, and drags the contraption close to the others. "Bring him here. Lay him down."
[Ermithren]
The archer bearing the full weight of the Berion stumbles forward, but with the aid of another, he lowers Ermithren onto the makeshift stretcher, relatively painless.
All Ermithren does is grunt, but he keeps holding on to the cloak of the archer; his right hand gripping his collar.
Sidhel walks over to Ermithren and takes the hand with which the Berion holds his aide. "All is well," says Sidhel softly. "You are safe, Ermithren. Rest now!"
Tirloth moves gingerly to the other end, wrapping her hands around the blood-dulled spearpoints. She silently beckons another to do the same.
"They stayed at Tumhalad, Hir," Ermithren replies, eyes closed. His hand goes slack.
"Tirn..."
"You will see her," says Sidhel. "Rest now and be strong in mind. Tumhalad is far away, but Imladris lies ahead of us." Carefully he places Ermithren's arm on the Berion's belly and beckons another guard to come and help with the stretcher.
Through the sky is a great shape too large to be anything than what it is, an eagle of the eyries. Landroval looks down. Finally his eyes come upon what he had been hoping to spot, the small band of elves carrying away those who had battled not long ago, he calls out to them in the westron tongue first "I am glad I found you for I have searched." this is said as the shape seems to grow even more as he circles lower and lower. He looks down at the slow moving group "Which of your kin is most wounded I can carry them back to the valley for immediate attention?" with this ask he keeps his current height bright eyes peering down at the them all in turn.
Tirloth releases the stretcher, shielding her eyes from the dawning sun. She bites her lip, looking over the other elves, and finally points to Ermithren. "He is, sir."
"Hail, courier of Manwe," calls Sidhel. "You come in time! Here lies Ermithren who must be rushed to safety. For him," he gestures at the lifeless body upon Ermithren's mount, "you cannot do any more."
[Ermithren]
It seems that the subject of the discussion is not aware of the attention, as Ermithren remains silent.
The white mare Leithian paws the ground, but she remains still, otherwise, still bearing Ringorn, who lies silent as well, almost seeming asleep save for something missing that is not readily apparent, but marks him lifeless.
If it were to be seen a worry for the loss of this elf crosses the face of this avian he has made such friends of the first born. He circles again looking to the one who yet lives but is greatly injured. He speaks again though. "Well met." the avian speaks but than after a moment continues "Than it is as I feared, I can upon the battle only just in time to spare the one you carry from the same fate." Landroval circles lower now just above the ground he takes the wounded one in his taloned hand as carefully as can be and begins to circle back up. "Be careful something more sinister goes on than just this battle alone more than one troll and orcs have been seen by my kin, and myself personally have seen at least three trolls."
"Have they followed?" queries Tirloth of the eagle-lord, Westron rolling strangely on her tongue. "They should not cross the river..."
"Three? That is bad news," speaks Sidhel. "I come with orders from Elrond Halfelven," he adds. "He has sent more guards to the northern boundaries of Imladris and the Dunedain will try to capture an orc for interrogation. We must know what is going on north of the Bruinen.
Now that Ermithren's fate seems less sinister than before, the courier turns to Tirloth. "Sulathron has been sent to watch the High Pass while more patrols will hurry to the tributary."
The eagle lord knows he cannot wait long to get the elf help, but he knows the news must be spread to let those of the valley be on there guard. Landroval listens in to the information as it is given. "I only hope that will be enough." he says looking back that way. He answers the others question in detail first. "No the fear the day and the river so yet they hide, but after dark comes again I cannot say my kin are watching we will try and send word if there are sightings." He now looks to Sidhel. "Aye, and reports of orcs upon wolf steeds. Be very wary of travel on guard at all time. I shall give word of you back in the valley do you have message you wish them to receive?"
[Imladris ZMO(#400)->] MONITOR: Elnuin has disconnected.
[Sidhel(#27059)] "Tell them that Ringorn has gone to Mandos' halls," replies Sidhel sadly. "His body will arrive in the Valley at night. That is all there is to tell now." He looks at Ermithren, then back at the eagle. "I beg you, fly now, friend, and carry this one to the healers."
Tirloth glances briefly at the body upon the white steed, and bends to untie the stretcher. "That is all."
The hirvaethor turns to Sidhel. "If I may, Arphedor, I will accompany them back to the valley. Then I will return."
"Do so, Arphedil, and sing for me, where I can not," says Sidhel. "But return swiftly, if you may. We need you out here." Then he falls silent.
The eagle lord looks down upon those that will remain traveling here, "I will make all the haste I can." with this he looks to the valley sharp eyes fix the direction of his destination, and with a final circle. "Fare well all." with this said Landroval makes his way towards the valley, he is known as the swift and rightfully so, and is soon out of sight of those upon the ground.
Tirloth raises her head, watching until the eagle is a speck in the dawn. "I shall."
With a small gesture, the company passes by, swifter but with no more joy than before.
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