Fellowship of the Dice

Borir looks up at Rathar and says, "Captives, eh? What would Orcs want with captives?" The dwarf looks to Pipkin and Aerth for their response.

"Yes," Pipkin says, more curious than suspicious. "Why would orcs take prisoners? You don't think they'd want to eat them, do you?"

Aerth grunts, "Why did you not say so in the first place?"

The man leans against a tree, "Well, hurry up then, what is this about captives?"

He frowns. 'Forgive me if I was not more clear. But the caravan these men were a part of was ambushed. We make for the Forest Gate to save who we can.'

"We've got to try and save those poor people," Pipkin says with a gasp. "We can't leave them as prisoners of the orcs."

Borir sits the litter back on the ground and then looks to the others. "Aye. Figure this man's burial might need to wait until we catch up to those orcs."

Rathar mentions the possibilities of captives, and that changes things for the Fellowship.

The four take off into the forest, Rathar leading along the trail he's been following. The Forest Gate is some distance still but you press on, the sun sinking lower and lower to the west. As it falls behind the Misty Mountains you reach the Forest Gate and find a gruesome sight.

A dozen orcs and goblins are pillaging and looting a broken down caravan. They have several prisoners tied up to the wagon and are playing torture games with them for sport. They orcs seem focused on their prisoners for the moment giving you the drop on them. Some of them are busy poking the captured men, others are standing on the broken down wagon tossing loot about. The caravan's ponies lay dead shot through with black fletched arrows.

Once the group gets itself into order, Pipkin lets fly with an arrow at one of the goblin archers.

Without a word the Wood-goer looses his spear from his back, trots forward and launches it with a grunt. In the same motion he goes for his long-bearded ax and charges in without consulting his new friends.

Pipkin lets fly with an arrow. The little hobbit is a rather fair shot, and his arrow flies up high and with a *thunk* sticks into the back of one of the goblins atop the wagon. It topples over unseen on the ground on the far side, and never rises again.

Rathar then charges forward, heedless of danger, spear in hand. The Woodman throws his spear with great effort into the belly of another of the goblins. It pierces through its scraps of leather armor and sinks into the creatures internal organs. With a scream the goblin archer slumps forward into the grass dead.

Borir and Aerth...