The way to the outpost was a slow affair. You felt more worried with each passing day because you had allowed your people so much time when packing their things. As it stood, the train carried half a village with it. But it had been the only way to appease some of the more stubborn of your kin. Yet you couldn't shake the feeling that the Uruks would soon find your convoy and attack it as you slowly stumbled up the road toward safety.
To prevent an attack by the Uruks, you had armed all of the able men and formed an ad hoc militia. This further degraded the movement speed but at least gave you a secure feeling, even if it was false. Most of your people were simple farmers and trade men, not able soldiers, even if they had learned a few things in the last years about war. Still, they lacked proper weapons, and only a few had spears – most were armed with pitchforks or tools of their trade that could be deadly. Better than nothing, but nothing more than a militia. And with any luck, an Uruk scout who stumbled open your caravan would take one look at the guards and decide that easier prey could be found somewhere.
It worked until you were only a week away from the outpost by your estimation. When crossing through a ford, one of the wagons became stuck with one of its wheels between the rocks. This stopped the train entirely, and your people were still trying to get the wagon free when the Uruks came over you. Coming from the south, they set upon the wagons still on the wrong side of the river.
Loud, hateful screaming and ugly horn signals announced their arrival. Uruks stormed out of the bushes all along the train, armed with crude scimitars and spears they brandished proudly with cruel intent. Against them stood the militia that quickly scrambled to gather others, hastily grasping the weapons they had put down to help with the stuck wagon. A small line of scared, dutiful men stood ready to defend against the dark creatures. Drawing the sword you inherited from your father, you pushed your way to the first line, took a deep breath and braced yourself for the fight.
What followed was a far cry from the glorious tales you had heard from your father. It was ugly slashing, hacking, and stabbing that mashed together in a single experience of pure chaos. You don't remember much besides the stench, the screams, and the ugly faces of the Uruks that tried to kill you. Half-forgotten memories of your father trying to teach you how to use a sword came back just in time to save your life more than once in these chaotic moments.
Later, you could never recall when you noticed the shift in the fight. You remembered that one moment, the Uruks were still pushing your militia back with their furious attacks, and the next, they stopped. It was as if you couldn't breathe and suddenly took a deep breath. That described best how it felt when they started to slowly fall back. You weren't sure what caused this, as they were clearly winning the fight.
Then, as if to answer your question, you could hear a horn signal. Clear and filled with wrath, it closed in. And then, there were horses all around you thundering through the ford. Water splashed, the horses screamed, and the tall warriors on their backs slammed their swords down on the Uruks. As quickly as it had begun, so quickly the fight was over and left you standing disturbed in the middle of the battlefield. You could only watch as the riders drove the dark creatures off the convoy. Only now did you notice the ache in your muscles and the screams of the wounded.
Many of the militia were wounded, some even dead. A hefty price to pay, but it seems you're now safe with the military being here. Yet you couldn't shake the feeling that this was your fault because you had allowed your people to grab so much of their things. Not putting enough pressure on them to move faster. But what had been done was done, and you would have to live with the consequences.
Thankful, you took the rider captain's offer to escort you for the rest of the way. It still took you a week to reach the military outpost. Finally, you had some time to breathe under the watchful eyes of the Steward's soldiers and the outpost's strong palisade. Most of your people wanted to leave as fast as possible now that they had lived through an Uruk attack with their families directly threatened. But you couldn't, as the officer in command still waited for other refugees who still were at large. Until they arrived, no other convoy would leave the outpost for the safety of Minas Tirith.
During this waiting time, you had the chance to mingle with other refugee groups and their leaders. What you learned was disheartening. Many told tales similar to your own of attacks on the road or running away from their homes with barely anything to call their own. Terrible fates were discussed as if they were mundane and ordinary. It seemed as if the Kingdom was losing control rapidly all over Ithilien. When the last group arrived, it was a pitiful sight. Most were women clutching their children closely to themselves, all having haunted eyes. Quickly the news spread that the Uruks had found the convoy long before the soldiers had. They had
fun with them, sparing the women for horrible things and the children for food. These poor souls had seen and experienced horrific things, even if the soldiers had rescued them.
But without any men among them, it would be difficult to set up a new life, and most likely, they would suffer even worse in the coming years. In Ithilien, the war had been a reality for a long time. Usually, such women and children would be taken in with no questions. But in other parts of Gondor? There was a certain prejudice against women who had been taken by Uruks and tormented by them.
As if they hadn't suffered enough.
Your convoy was the only one that had enough food to support them, but it would stretch your supplies. Would you take them in or leave them for the Steward to take care of?
[ ] Offer them a place with your people.
Gain: 30 Settlers; Lose 100 Food
[ ] Leave them in the care of the Steward.
Now that the last refugees had arrived, it took two additional days for the patrols to return to the outpost. Then an extra day to organize the train and a final check on everyone. Finally, four days after the last refugees had arrived, the convoy began its march to the west – to safety. Guarded by a strong screen of riders and protected on all sides by armed soldiers, you made a good pace. Even if it was still slow, you would believe what the soldiers said grumpily as they kept careful eyes on any possible Uruk attacks.
Two terrible weeks filled with anxiety and hard travel later, you finally gazed upon the walls of the Rammas Echor, which closed in the Pelennor Fields. And above them, in the distance, you could see the White City itself, proudly sitting on the end of the white mountains. A living memorial to the days when great kings had still ruled Gondor. Now it was where the king's Steward ruled over the Kingdom until the king returned.
When you arrived, the local citizens came to offer you food, clothes, a hug, or anything they could give to welcome you into safety. Some had family among the refugees, who quickly took them in. The rest of you were distributed among the city itself or sent to the Pelennor Fields, where farmers and herdsmen found room among their homes to take in who they could. It was only a temporary solution. You were all assured sanctuary until winter had passed and new land had been found to settle the refugees of Ithilien.
That was plenty of time to rest and recover for yourself and your kin. Something you all needed after the things you had lived through doing the flight from Ithilien and the months before that. It was nice to have a secure place where you didn't have to worry about an attack every moment. And yet you knew only too well that you couldn't stay here but would be sent elsewhere. Soon rumors started to circle about where you would be sent. Some said further west, others to the south. But what was the same among all the stories that came to your ears was that it would be less land than you had owned before and of worse quality.
You weren't exactly in a position to be picky, but these rumors made you nervous. It felt so unjust to you. It wasn't your fault that Ithilien had been lost. Or that you had been forced to flee from your family-owned lands for generations. And yet it looked that way. First, you lost everything but the things you could take on a wagon, then you would be settled on some poor land in the back bush of Gondor where no one wanted to settle anyway.
You searched for a way to make things better for your people. You spoke with the few people you knew in Minas Tirith from past dealings with the capital. They all were only too ready to lend you an ear, but in the end, you didn't get anything useful out of them other than a warm embrace and a good meal. It was frustrating as you slowly realized that there was no way to get something better for your people. They would've to live with this additional burden no matter what. Even an audience with the Steward didn't help. The next steps into the future had been determined for your kin without any chance of changing what was coming.
That was until you more or less stumbled over a potential solution by pure accident, as it often is with these things. During an evening after you had another fruitless talk with one of your contacts, you sat alone in an ale house in the first ring of Minas Tirith, trying to drown your sorrows in brown ale. As you were nursing your tankard, a stranger sat down next to you who looked weary from a long journey. At first, slowly but then quickly, the two of you came to talk about different things. He told you he was a traveling merchant who often ventured into Rohan and behind the Riddermark. The traveler told you about the lands behind the Mark, such as Dunland – which you knew from tales. Then he spoke of the empty lands that made up much of what once was the Kingdom of Arnor, sister realm to Gondor.
It was here where you truly started to listen to him and ask more pointed questions. And he answered you more than willingly, especially after you began to pay for his drinks. Apparently, much of Arnor nowadays was uninhabited and the land empty of any hands working them. Only around some small pockets such as a town called Bree or the Grey Havens of the elves were some kind of civilization be found. Some of these lands were left desolate by ancient wars, such as the land of Eregion west of the Misty Mountains. But other parts were just wild. The more the two of you spoke, the more a plan started to form in your head.
After that evening, you began to ask for other information and help. No longer hoping for a better deal for your people within the borders of Gondor but beyond. You started to gather rumors and news about the lands of old Arnor, trying to find out what the current situation there was.
How much effort did you put into it?
[ ] Just what was needed.
Gain: Basic information about Eriador.
[ ] Some wealth was spent for good information.
Gain: Further information about Eriador; Lose: 5 Wealth.
[ ] No cost was spared, no effort too great.
Gain: Excellent information about Eriador; Lose: 10 Wealth.
