LOTR RP Game part 1- Journey to Fornost

"What a facile comparison!" says Morsire. "WHERE are the armies that threaten the borders of Imladris, Elf? Nowhere, for there are none. Where are the armies that threaten us? ON OUR BORDER!"

Elendur is laughing. "You think you have seen the Witch-King's TROOPS in Cardolan?"

"They don't know a thing, any of them," says Lord Farael, stepping forwards and breaking his silence. "The Witch-King's armies are NOT in Cardolan. Those are not troops. Those are his civilians, his peasants, his riff-raff. All the Witch King has done is permit his Dunlending and Orc populace to wonder into Cardolan at their leisure.

"The Witch-King's TRUE army is the one on the Rhudaur border. At our last count it is at least half a million strong and fully equipped. Dunlendings. Orcs. Great orcs of larger stock. Wargs. Trolls. Sorcerers. Worse."

Half a million? Or more But that's just... ridiculous. There cannot be any power on Middle-Earth that can stand up to a trained force that size!

"Believe us when we say," says Lord Farael. "There is NO man that can be spared. You have seen for yourselves that we do not even have the men to patrol the roads in our own Realm. How do you expect us to possibly aid Cardolan? The Witch-King won that war. Long ago.

"His Highness Aranarth is right. There is only one strategy that will protect us, AND the people of Cardolan, and that is to oppose the Witch-King's army. Which OUR army is busy doing... whilst Elrond's elves sit in Imladris and wait. You can see why that might irritate us."

There is a silence over the room, which allows all of you to take the situation into account. None of you had any idea of this staggeringly enormous army.

The Last King's people are dying. You're not even sure how they can save themselves, let alone Cardolan.

"if whatever troops imladris could gather and send to war..it would be TOTALY defenseless. It would surely be attacked then"

"I see your point," Talin says, speculating how half a million troops might fit onto a battlefield.

"If that is the sort of staggeringly selfishness you come here to show," says Morsire to you, Vardalain, "then you can damn well go back hoke again..."

(Dexx, as they keep saying, whilst Imladris is not under any direct threat, it could not harm it to send SOME forces out. But as it is they send none. Arthedain CANNOT send any as all their forces are engaged on the borders. If the Witch-King was actually moving against Rivendell in any way you would get more sympathy, as it is, you will get none. It would also thake the Witch-King weeks to organise a move against Rivendell, as all his forces are committed. So any Elven force sent out could come back in plenty of time. The crucial point is, the ONLY people actively opposing the Witch-King's armies are Arthedain. The Elves are not helping, Gondor is not helping. Everyone else in Middle-Earth is just sitting and waiting and apparently will go on doing so until Arthedain is finished. They are tired of working alone).

They don't fit into a single battlefiled, Rex! That's a strategic force. They could fight many Helms Deep-sized battles at once with it.

Aranarth raises his hand to Morsire. "This is not the time," he says. "And we should at least be grateful that Elrond sends emissaries."

"May as well have stuffed them up his arse for all the good that does us," says Farael. "No offence, of course, but we had high hopes that your presence might augur something more solid..."

"We should be focussed on our next move against the Witch-King," says Elendur. "This squabbling achieves nothing."

"That would be easier," says Farael, "if the damned Council would actually come up with a coherent plan..."

"Smashing the Witch-King's armies before he prepares his stroke is the ONLY possible plan," says Morsire. "And for that we need the forces to do it. Elrond should send his forces to attack NOW!"

"Suicide!" says Gorlim. "Even if all the free armies of the world were arrayed we could not take the fight to the Witch-King! Let him break the back of his armies on our fortifications! Whilst he waits, we can built. Our fortresses will be his doom!"

"And end up like Cardolan?" sneers Morsire. "Frightened Lords hiding in forts whilst their land is destroyed?"

"We are true-blooded Dunadain!" says Gorlim, haughtily. "We shall not quail forever, simply wait for the opportunities that his failed attacks will bring! And the King agrees," he says, smugly, "hence the new fortress at Emblyloss..."

"A waste of men," says Morsire. "And I know the King is eager to meet the Witch-King in battle..."

Various Lords are taking sides in this 'discussion' between the defensive and offensive strategy. It is getting rather heated...

"Morsire, it is not a waste of men. If you go forth into combat with all the soldiers in Arthedain against half a million orcs, it would be suicidal, as Gorlim said..." Talin adds to the arguement.

"Indeed, and why? Because no-one else will HELP us!" says Morsire. "And I do not just talk of Elves and Dwarves. Where are the forces of Gondor?"

"My Lord," says Turambar, "Gondor is still rebuilding from..."

"Don't give me that Wainriders nonsense! You WON that war, I believe..."

"My King is only too happy to send you material aid..."

"DAMN your mithril! We need MEN, not metals!"

There is a sympathetic murmur at this.

"We carry the lore and skill and fury of the men of Westernesse. WHEN arw we going to take that power into battle? Or shall we continue to skulk and hide and wait until we are all dead? Your highness, do you not want to take your people into battle?"

"There are... strategies to be considered..." says Aranarth.

"I am SICK of them being considered! We need to move now!"

"Morsire is right," says Farael. "If we do not have a cohesive strategy soon it will be too late."

"We cannot let the situation in Cardolan force us into hasty action!" says Gorlim.

"What the hell do you know?" says Morsire. "You're just the Chamberlain! Go back to your money counting!"

"I have every right to speak as much as you do!"

"More's the damn pity!"

Voices raise and for a moment an all-out shouting match is risked. But then there is a long blast on a trumpet in the room.

"SILENCE FOR THE KING!" calls a herald. The room drops into abrubt quiet, as the doors to the throne room start to open.

vardalain, sick of all the endless debates, turns his eyes to the opening doors.

Firiel listened to the entire argument intently. Luckily, her fury was kept secret as a loud trumpet was heard. She stood up straight, as did her sister.

A fanfare plays as the door opens, and two figures step out of the throne room. One is a man in shabby grey who stays hunched behind the other, who is clearly King Arvedui.

He is a tall man, black-haired like most of the Dunadain here, and if Viggo Mortensen had a brother THIS is what he would look like. He wears a silvery crown and fine robes of red and blue. All others in the room kneel when he enters (and I assume you do too) but he soon gestures for everyone to rise.

"I hear dischord within my chambers," he says, in a fair-sounding voice. "These are difficult times, I know, but I hope this will not go on. My meeting is finished and I have taken counsel; there is much to discuss."

He is about to go on, when the man in grey steps forwards and, leaning on his staff, draws himself up to his full height. His hood falls away, revealing a man with whiate heair and beard, with intelligent yet mischeivous eyes. He takes his staff and levels it at you, the players.

"These are not men of your court, King Arvedui," he says.

"No..." says Arvdeui, uncertainly. "They are not..." He turns to Aranarth for an explanation, but Aranarth only gets as far as opening his mouth before the man walks forwards, and starts to stroll around you all.

"Elf, Man, Dunadain... Half-Elf... hmmm! Dwarf... even Hobbit. Tell me, good people... what gathering of diverse folks is this in such times as this?" asks Gandalf, to all of you.

Firiel bowed low as the King and Gandalf approached. Stepping forward with her sister, she spoke.
"M'lord, my sister Nostariel and I have come to plead for aid. We are established in Cardolan, where there is nothing but death under the Witch Kings forces. We were just discussing it with the others gathered, and it seems we have come for an unwilling cause.
Firiel lowered her head slighty.

Gandalf nods.

"Indeed. And who indeed would be willing to die for a lost cause? But sometimes a cause lost is a new opportunity. And the rest of you?"

"Talin of Darud-Mor at your service," Talin says, stepping forward and bowing low, his beard touching the ground. "I and the Hobbit have come to see if the men of Arnor would be kind enough to defend our new trade route, but thus far we have been denied to escorts."

"I am Anglomir, warrior of Gondor and defender of Aranui son of Erendurin. We have come to...er..." Anglomir starts to say, but looks to Aranui to finish for him.

"I am William Took of the Shire, from the Southfarthing to be precise. Talin has already told you my reason for being here. Who might you be?" Will says, asking Gandalf (because he never really announced who he was to us).

"I'm just a friend," says Gandalf. He strokes his beard thoughtfully, smiles, and then laughs. He spins back towards Arvedui and levels his staff at the King.

"These people can help you, King Arvedui. Many of them have already done you oner service. All have fought bravely asgainst the darkness from Angmar. And they will be of use... in the matter we spoke of..."

Arvedui raises an eyebrow. "Very well, Gandalf," he says. There is a short silence, but many Lords look interested at the idea that Gandalf has a plan.

"Oh, oh, please do go on, King Arvedui," says Gandalf, stepping back. "This is your court, not mine!"

Arvedui looks a little non-plussed, but he turns back to Aranarth, who tells him the story of those who have come here, and how you saved his daughter at the ambush. Like those before him, Arvedui is much concerned by this, and thankful that his daughter was saved.

"Gandalf, as ever, is right; you have indeed done me a great service. This, I think, should be a time for joy and happiness at such good fortune and thanks for great bravery and deeds.

I shall hold audience in my throne room and take requests. After that I shall hold Council. Please," he says, indicating to you players, "follow me."

Arvedui takes you into his throne room, long and elegant, with two thrones at the far side down a narrow channel set into the floor lines with lusicous red carpet. On one throne sits his wife- who looks up interestedly at the Gondorians as they approach, for she is a Gondorian himself."

"Wait here," says a Herals, as Arvedui proceeds down the room to sit on his throne.

Each of you may now step forward down the red carpet to Arvedui, kneel in front of him and give your greetings and, if you wish, make a request. Do not worry about in what order you people do things; if you can list what words and requests you make to Arvedu here, and when we have enough I shall post his replies to each.

Talin, looking around nervously, decides to go first.

"Talin at your service," Talin says, bowing low again. "I have come from Darud-Mor, a smaller mine south of Khazad-Dum. I come to seek a defense for a new trade route I am opening with the Hobbits of the Shire. I have already been denied this request by the Elves, and was hoping to ask for it here, but so far I have been denied here as well. What do you think of these matters?"

(everyone else tongue-tied, or something?)

"Well, of course, you may feel free to attempt to trade wherever you lik," says King Arvedui. "But if you expect SAFE conduct through the North Kingdom I am afraid that will prove rather difficult. Believe me, I long for the day when trade can flow in and out of Arthedain just as it used to in times past, but the Witch-King has made a determined effort to shut down our trade and until we remedy that situation there is little we can do. My men are eneded on the lins; what patrols I have are needed to try and ensure battles like the one you just fought do not happen again.

"But... maybe we CAN remedy that situation... though it would take some while. You would have to stay and see how things go."

(I would like Arvedui to comment on at least the Cardolan problem and on Vardalain's presence before moving on, and he will further comment on anything you like)

Firiel approaches the red carpet, bowing low with Nostariel next to her.

"Greetings. My name is Firiel, and this here is my sister Nostariel. We come from no specific realm, though lately we've been established in Cardolan. I have already discussed the situation with your son. The Cardolan people need your help, sire! The Witch Kings troops have invaded, causing death all around. There are still small camps of men set up, but we have no forces to rescue them. Without these forces, Cardolan will be lost."

You can hear Arvedui breathing in and out slowly as he thinks about what to say about Cardolan. He speaks softly.

"Now, you understand, that what occurs in Cardolan is of course greatly distressing for us all. If only Cardolan had been able to re-build in the centuries of respite the Elves gave it! But you must not think us heartless for what we do. You understand that my Lords and Commanders talk sense when they say is there nothing we can do for Cardolan that will not fatally weaken our position on the lines. These people are not fools; if it were in any way practical to try and save them, we would. And we shall offer aid and shelter and protection to all refugees that make it to our borders. If we had more men... maybe. If we did not face the Witch-King alone then maybe. But please, you must understand. My first duty as King is to protect MY people. I would be derelict in my sacred duty if I did not make that my first priority. Whilst we cannot keep our OWN Realm safe... you cannot expect us to try and make others so.

"But tell me..." says Arvedui, maybe surprising you as you did not expect him to say more. "What is it like, in Cardolan?" This question he addresses to you all.

"Cardolan is very desolate. Orcs run wild through the lands, and Dunlendings have set up towers and camps. The people of Cardolan set up some temporary camps that they move each day. It is a very sad place to be. We had the misfortune of facing Orcs in one such camp. Your men told us they were wild Orcs who have just spread through Cardolan. But I think otherwise. The Orcs were more coordinated and had better armor."