Mirkwood, a woodland realm once known as Greenwood the great, as the tales in Dale and Esgaroth go, this place is ruled by the elves of king Thranduil, who ruled there for as long as any man can remember. And in honesty they have a right to speak of it, due to their trade with the supposed woodelves. Nonetheless more then only this undying people lives there in it's magical home,feasting and hunting as they are renowned to do.
There are ofcourse also the dark stories of creatures, many-legged, that dwell and stalk the forest, claiming a great area as their home, where they entrap any who dare to dwell foolishly into their web-smirched and stinking holes.
Yet even with some legendary peoples and creatures, another people lives there, this story will be about a small group of such, men and women who have a proud heritage. Once being named among the Middlemen as Numenoreans called those they considered friendly, yet not as honorable or worthy to their own advanced status and manners of life. These are the northmen of Rhovanion, sharing the same blood as the Bardings of Dale and the Beornings, even with the Eotheod, before this people moved south to claim a new realm to live in. This people however, are simply named the woodsmen. There's little known about them. Their efforts in the great wars that plague middle-earth are marginally small in comparison to those of many other realms of men or elves or even dwarves, or atleast so it would seem on first sight.
There have been quite some times when they came to aid those they considered friends, but this tale will not be about those long-forgotten struggles by the peoples of the south and west. For now a small passage about the danger Mirkwood has become shall have to do. For those that are sensitive to violence and the aftermath of death or life struggles, it would be advised to stop reading at this point.
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"Kruza, halt the men!", Grod yelped in his menacing highpitched voice. The man behind turned about and bent forward as he yelled, one arm up and shoulders hunched forward, " You heard the man! Rest your feet you hounds! Form up in small circles or your mothers won't see you come home!", the tall and broad man called Kruza roared, with his other hand resting on the pommel of his scimitar and patting it with his fingers as his palm remained resting. Grod, looked at his captain. Kruza was the strongest warrior from his village, and of many others by as far as he knew, his tattood bald head always sticking over even his personal bodyguard's tall men and his frame frighteningly broader then them aswell.. Throw on that his manner to bully the fighters into combat and his senseless lust for battle himself, he was the best pick.. Grod scratched his head momentarily.. Why did this came to him constantly though? Perhaps it was just his inbred suspicion of those around him, this man was one of great potential.. enough even to one day rival Grod's own standing in his society if he won enough battles.. Still poison and more tricks he had used before with succes, why not with this brute if it would become needed?.. He looked around himself. This forest was dense and foggy, they had been traveling for a week or two now and were most likely lost. So far climbing up the trees had little result, this top of the woods may aswell have been a sea of leaves, the blue creatures fluttering there also frightened the men for some superstitious reason and finding sticky webs that could trap a man did little to bring courage into the troops.
Atleast they had remained on the road, it would have to lead somewhere eventually, as long as it did not led them to the dread spirits that dwelled in these lands, searching for many the life of a man to claim. It had been a gamble indeed to travel here, but to arrive first in the great tower of the necromancer would bring fame in itself, and the promised riches and spoils would like go beyond expectation.. He concentrated his thoughts on the surroundings again.. Kruza had stepped closer, leaning his head forward and with an expression of stupid brutishness, disgust of the place and ..could that have been pleasure of Grod looking like a fool for stranding them here? He dismissed the thought, the man had a long way yet to profit from his downfall, instead he held out the map.. "Lost?", the brute asked. Grod narrowed his eyes for a moment at the map.. "No.. We are precisely on track, the only reason this journey has taken so long is because the men are lazy and need a few licks of the lash on their backs I think." Kruza ran a few thick fingers through his black beard, not as thick, but certainly as long as that of a dwarf.. well he had fought dwarves at home often enough to know that much. The man stood straighter and with eyes up at the trees he said, "Rations are dwindling.. lost a few of the boys again.. Must be .. five.. six.. eleven.. Seventeen of them gone by now." "Pah! Cowards and deserters!", Grod turned the map upside down while he said so.. the big man continued.. "Don't know leader, this time Romul and Hygl swore that they had seen footprints not like our spiked sandals could've made. Mixed with those of the boys we lost.. those two are good scouts I'-"
"Oh, enough! Double the patrols, then for now we keep marching for another four miles and halt at where there's supposed to be a river. Right there." "As you will leader.. I'll get them going.", the man set off.. "Oh Kruza.." The big man turned. "Use the lash! The one without the barbs.. for now." Grod grinned, it wouldn't be long before they would be in Goldur.. he could already see the gleaming piles of gold slipping through his fingers..
They had travelled for the few extra miles and beyond.. Though Grod felt more confident with each step, the men did not show any such signs. At first the complaints where whipped out of them easily enough, but after a while more strange noises hooted from the forest, animal-like. Sometimes sounding like birds, chirping unnaturally high or the growling of bears and howling of wolves.. Some could swear they even heard mad laughter at some point. The men were a superstitious cowardly lot, but he knew these to be signs of the great tower, tactics to scare off enemies and drain their will to fight, which he had to admit were very effective, he had trouble to control his bladder at some of the roars himself.. The signs became more apparent as they eventually reached the river, it was black and quiet, certainly he trusted it not for one bit and the men were forbidden to drink from it. Much to dismay as resources dwindled even further by the day now.. They had to reach the base swiftly now or they would start losing men from starvation, .. a few already had started falling ill in fact..
Kruza came up to him with one of the scouts, Romul a young lean boy still, Grod had known his father, died in a raid of western men on their village.. his mother had long been dead aswell, not made childbirth or some such.. They both looked unsure of what to make of their surroundings, "We found something." Kruza said.. Grod looked expectantly, but from the looks he was getting he shrugged.. "Alright show me.."
The three of them came to a small grove in the forest.. light fell through the canopy and in the middle of the open spot a circle of toadstools was growing.. it was not this though that made him blanch a little as he looked at the surrounding trees, it were heads.. A quick count confirmed there was seventeen of them. Hygl the other scout.. not the most beautifull woman, but certainly a capable tracker had waited there for them. She did seemed as fearless as ever and indifferent to the grim display they were looking at. "I think the tower mistakes us for enemies, warleader.", She said quietly, arms folded over eachother. It was at this time a terrible yelling erupted from the forest, all clutched for their weapons and Grod commanded the three others to follow him. They ran for what seemed a lifetime untill before them a scene of carnage had played out..
Men wailed in suppressed panic as they beheld the great clawmarks on their fallen swordbrethren.. Grod cursed the day he had entered this foul realm, a quarter of his men, dead, bodies torn up or bludgeoned, some even beheaded during the few heartbeats of struggle. Immediately he rounded up those that saw what had attacked them, wide eyed and devoid of all color in their faces they answered. "Men tall as the trees.", one said. "Monsters or ghosts they were..", breathed another.. Kruza's menacing glances didn't improve the quality of the reports that much either.
The day lengthened and the troop of men had swiftly moved onwards, not even bothering to bury their dead. All Grod could think of was that in a way chances had improved, sure there were less fighting men.. but also less mouths to feed, they can't be more then a few days away from the great tower anymore and quickly despoiling the dead had brought a resemblance of morale back. Most that had fallen were only the youths, his veterans were still alive. The only ones that he needed to live and guard himself. Romul and Hygle were running on and off , but aside a few footprints here and there , no signs were made of presences nearby.. "Wouldn't matter." , he rubbed his hands nervously.. "Whatever happened was a mistake.. must've been. Couldn't have been the evil spirits living here either, then none of them would've been left. Surely it was just a mistake as often happened, the black creatures were merely the lowly orcs that toiled day and night for the great necromancer, likely grilled over a fire already for their mistake..."
Kruza looked up as a branch fell from a tree in front of the men.. By either training or fear the men fell at the ready, making small circles. With their cruel weaponry at the ready to bring hurt.. The big man spat on the ground and took a closer look, much may have been said of him, but cowardice, that was not a trait of his.. His hollow but energetic eyes looked up at the tree as if to expect and see what may be up there. He beckoned one of his spearmen.. the man stabbed upwards.. nothing. The men fell at ease momentarily as Grod came forward, "What's all this? Why have we stopped?" Kruza was about to speak as suddenly the two scouts their heads popped out of the bushes.. "Well?", Grod said with increasing impatience as the both of them just sat there.. Kruza stepped forward with the one spearman.. He took the young boy's head.. with a grimace it was all he was holding.. Grod immediately yelled out, "Form up, do-!" But it was too late, from the trees dozens upon dozens of men came upon them, brandishing wooden clubs, crude spears, axes and some long-knives and swords..
Kruza pushed the spearman in front of him, bellowing to his men to turn to the foes! "They look like men well enough! Make them bleed!" With feverish strength the men of the east fought back against their rivals, but not for them the chance to reform and fight as a unit, their enemies were all around them, before they realised what was happening dozens more came from the other side of the road, some even from the trees themselves, it was a brawl, a very hideous one. Grod rallied a few of his veterans to him, along with his bodyguard.. a few of these woodmen fell below the serrated edges of their spears and scimitars, he looked around a few paces further.. He could see a redhaired man, stabbing in the neck of one of his bodyguards all the while using a club as something of an improvised shield. The tattoos on his neck were visible as a thick braid from the man's head flopped up and down with each jump and swing.. On the other side a man as broad as Kruza himself clove off the arm from another of his soldiers in a testament of great strength, then his heart raced against his chest, another of his bodyguard had fallen and even now was being trampled by bare feet and leather boots. Mindlessly he jumped and started to hack and cut for dear life.
Kruza groaned inwardly as he barely got a javelin in the heart.. It still quivered from his left arm.. before he broke it off and hurled the stick at the nearest wildman trying to come for him.. He grinned, this was what he as born to do, end lives and take the spoils! He headbutted a man and sliced his scimitar over anothers' leg, he was a formidable fighter and he knew it, he'd drive these stinking wretches back to their holes by himself if need be. The legends were exaggerated as always, just like the fierceness of dwarves, these creatures were going to be no match to him! Suddenly though pain flared in his back, he lashed out, but whatever struck him had made away.. toppling to one knee he soon found himself surrounded and he roared defiance before the bite of several axes and longknives chewed away his life..
The battle was short as it had been fierce. Grod lay down on the road.. a tall man with black hair leaned his head in front of him, he spoke in a westron that was considered classic at this day and age, "Nice helmet this one has.. I believe I'll keep this for myself.." As he said this , he did take the helmet.. "His head looks about as big as yours Kalf, I take you could have it wether the leader wants it or not." Some laughter followed. A fierce man, with a great red beard took Grod by the collar, the bearded one looked the man in the eye with a light that would've turned his bowels to water.. given it wasn't too late for that. Grod licked his lips.. it was all over for him now. No spoils, no gold, no return home and a chance to build his own little kingdom.. He laughed mirthlessly. The redbearded man glanced at him with uncomprehending eyes now, "Something amusing about dying little mann from the east?" Grod shrugged.. he couldn't quite get the smile off his face and shrugged his shoulders, through his teeth he replied, "You'll all be dead soon aswell.. mine is but a small portion of the followers of the great eye..That will come here and burn this forest to cinders!" The man released Grod and let him sink to his knees.. he grabbed a long-axe from one of his warriors, "Speak your last words on this earth, before I send you to the hereafter easternmann. Consider them with care." .. he raised the axe ready to strike.. Grod sat there paralysed.. then a final spark of defiance rose up from him, he looked up with a venomous look, "Hear this.. Hear me and be cursed! I bring unto you dea-!" With a single swing he clove Grod's head off.. The others looked at their chieftain with curiosity.. He leaned on the axe with both arms over eachother, while picking his teeth.., "Had a chance to redeem himself before the great spirits.. Not going to stand idle by while someone wants to bespell us with curses though." The others nodded..
A man came before the chieftain, he was young still and a great red smear covered most of his body, a slice from a curved blade had chopped his beard a few inches shorter on his right cheeck. "Wonder though why he spoke of the Great Eye, that is.. a symbol of yore and one of the worst of ill omens." At this the gathered shifted nervously and looked around themselves as the forest seemed to come alive for a moment and breathed a cold wind towards them. The chieftain picked his axe up and spoke, calm and assured, "It is a sign.. for the Woodfolk to go to safer places, but we shall see what we can do before we rally to the banners of our kindred either north or southeast. Come.. there is still another herd of orcs that needs dealing with let us not waste time.."
Not long after the forest became quiet once more, no bird sang and no branches creaked, the only reminder of the struggle were the despoiled bodies of the easterlings, now lying pale cold, all of them headless and waiting for the forest's predators to claim what remained of them on the bloodred road.
