Scouting Ahead, Part 4: Erebor

[Eonwë]

Auros:

Deciding the horses would benefit from a day's rest, Auros consented. Besides, it would give their new companion a chance to make whatever preparations were necessary for his departure. Auros' mind was already planning the return journey, calculating what provisions would be needed to get to Mirkwood and beyond. He probably could not miss Thranduil's halls completely. The Elf king might consider it a slight. However, Auros did have reason for great haste, and might be able to push on the same day without much ado, perhaps making it as far as the outpost they spent the first night in by nightfall.

The feast hall was full of the typical Dwarven pomp. Auros had his fill of food and drink, spoke with King Dain for a while, and once the king had turned to matters of state, excused himself as soon as etiquette allowed. Leaving the feast hall, he made his way deeper into the mountain, following the sound of hammers. At this hour, only a few of the particularly dedicated smiths still pounded away, and not all of them were making weapons. Some were now etching designs into goblets, coins, swords, and jewelry. Finding a vacant anvil, Auros joined them.

[Varda]

Fainan:

Fainan disliked the noise the crafters made. although the results were marvels to enjoy. Carving, fletching, and even the pounding of leatherwork was not so ear-splitting. Still, Auros seemed to enjoy it and that was where he was to be found. She checked in on him and waited until he left the area.

"My lord, there is a problem back home. I have felt my brother's concern. He has tried to give more detail, but it is difficult. He links the great dread in Dol Guldur with a connected, growing one in the area that was once Angmar, now ruins. The Greenwood is in danger, and I ask that we speed our departure and return to the forest soon. You know now that this route is perilous, the reason for your scouting. I would be willing to escort you safely through the Greenwood, and perhaps we can see more of what has changed since last we passed?"

[ArPharazon]

Calaron:

Night had fallen, and he looked out into the forest to the North. Anxious. Neither reply nor reinforcements had come from the halls of Thranduil yet. Calaron feared it might come too late. The woods were quiet, too quiet, even for this time of night. There seemed to be no birds in the area, and the squirrels in the trees were strangely silent. 20 minutes earlier a sizable group of animals had darted past the outpost, fear apparent in their expressions, and no other sound had been heard since. Helvy sat beside the commander, staring into the distance, unmoving, with a sparkle in his eye. Something was going to happen this night. Calaron had prepared his small forces for battle, and hoped for a miracle.

Now Helvy started to whimper in a mixed expression of fear and anger. It was coming. A power started to overwhelm the brave Elves guarding the undermanned outpost. This was no mere Orcish attack. Something darker was present, commanding the battlefield. A torch flared up among the trees. And then another. And then some more. And in a few seconds, it almost seemed the forest was blazing with fire. Calaron shouted some commands to his troops, and they prepared for the next few minutes. It started with arrows.

A barrage of flaming arrows were fired against the outpost, and several branches and trees caught on fire. Luckily there was always a good supply of water to put it out. The Elves fired arrows in the direction where the firey arrows had come, and a few Orcish screams echoed among the trees, indicating that they had not missed their targets. Immediately the enemy swarmed forward, and the defenders grabbed their swords and spears. The battle had begun.

It was a fierce battle, and many Orcs were slain that night. But the power of fear came closer, and the brave rangers were far outnumbered. Retreating further up the trees, they continued to fire arrows at the Orcs who tried to climb. Moving swiftly across the branches and flets, the orcs could never catch up, and those who did reach the main flet were beaten back by a handful of defenders and a brave wolf. But the Elves were cut off from the ground and their water supplies, and new arrows caused the trees and flets to burn. Calaron, watching with horror as his warriors were slain around him and their positions going up in flames, ordered them to retreat to the East. The outpost was lost.

Some fled over the trees, and some over the ground. But all of them found themselves surrounded, not only by Orcs, but also by squirrels and large black spiders and more of the wildlife, corrupted by the strange power leading the assault. Calaron, Helvy, and the remaining Elves formed a circle, preparing to fight their last fight. But sudddenly... it stopped.

The Orcs and animals bent to the ground, and the dark power had now come very close. A darkness darker than the usual night crept over them, and Calaron and the other Elves fell to their knees, trying to resist. Helvy, recognizing the darkness, howled loudly and broke into a run, through the cowering Orcs and disappearing in the forest. A voice spoke.

It was not a sound in the air, but a thought, penetrating Calaron's mind. A language akin to the Black Speech, yet somehow... more ancient. From the age of Morgoth, perhaps. And yet, he understood the words. It claimed him, said that it would use him to its own ends, for its own convenience, and as punishment for infiltrating its operations to the North. Calaron resisted, for no Elf would fall to corruption so easily. It replied that it admired his stubbornness and resilience, one of the reasons it had chosen him, but it had ways to achieve what it wanted, to crush his feä and take his body for its own. With a sudden force the shadow came upon Calaron, and rushed itself into the weak Elven body. He screamed and collapsed. And all was silent.

Calion:

With a startle he woke up from his slumber, induced by too much Dwarven ale. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.