Ranger Commons

Seven Stars and Seven Stones and One White Tree.
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Anardil ‘Warder’ Thavron, of Lond Côl
Catering to a delivery.
Barracks, Common Room. With Pele Alarion

For a short time that felt like an exceedingly long time, it seemed that the Ranger had not even heard, much less observed his approach. Warder swallowed, uncomfortably, not wishing to press the woman, for he knew she had been though a horrific ordeal. A life spent in knowing his place leant but further restraint, though his mind spewed much of all he wished to say behind grey eyes.

Half of Dol Amroth, at least, is what be required, to give the mere appearance of her having moved in,” the man of Belfalas reconsidered his employer’s true motive, and her blatant absence. Quite how serious Ilisys was about committing to the Rangers of Gondor, he could not imagine, as she kept her motives to herself. But he of all people knew that always a lot of work went on behind the scenes to manage anything the Lady might toy with as the merest whim.

Now as Pele pasted on a courageous smile and employed a believable attempt at smalltalk, Warder gravely recognised all that it must have taken for her to accomplish this small show, and wondered how much work behind the scenes should be credited for the simple expression. Not much in this world is half so simple as it seems upon the surface. Which was evidenced, by the piece of paper she presented to him.

Accepting the correspondence without a blink of delay, he did not look with immediacy to read it. His employers often handed him things, and that did not mean that they were meant for his eyes, only that the nobles had no want to bear the weight of them in their own hands. Pele’s explanation was as telling though as it seemed not. At least to anyone who knew quite instinctively what she spoke of. As though there had been no span of years since they had last seen one another, the last time. Deeming though that she meant for him to catch up with the woman’s own conclusions, understanding that she could not seemingly find the words to say so aloud, he finally put eyes to the letter. Thereafter the man’s brow furrowed in some consternation, not because the written message gave so little away, but because it gave up just enough.

It is a piece of paper, Pele,” he concluded, folding it neatly with one hand so that the offending contents were at least obscured. “That is as much as she can throw at you here,” he sought to convince his friend. There was no need to ask who the letter was from. “There are guards about the Causeway forts, guards at the great gate, guards at the entrance to every level of the city. You would not believe the struggle I had to even bring a ranger’s baggage from home into the barracks. The worst thing she can do is put a thought into your mind, and let you do all the work for her.

All of this was as much, perhaps, to convince himself as to persuade the woman that she was in no immediate danger. After all, Warder knew not that Shamara had been so recently found and arrested in the very Barracks they now stood. He knew not the real reason why it had been such a struggle for him to be allowed entry with even an authentic delivery. Pele had shrunk to a seat, her eyes closed that he might have taken it as a dismissal. But he could not leave her in this state. However much the Man could will away the meaning behind the small piece of paper, it went without saying that it had proved such a blight to the Ranger as it’s sender had clearly intended. From the corridor, one of the party gestured of a Ranger (Unalmis) who’d agreed to see them bear their luggage to the ladies wing of the building. Even foregoing the likelihood for mischief there, Warder merely nodded once to pass for his acknowledgement, and then the sound of merry joking departed with his oblivious party. Slowly the man of Lond Côl dropped at the knee, that he should find Pele at eye level, if she be brave enough to return to him, and the world. A different approach, he reasoned as he beheld her, might be better served here. He had offered the woman his assistance, after all, just before he had learned what was wrong. Consolations and commiserations were not going to suffice.

We can not know what will be, but we can learn from what was,” he teetered above taking Pele’s hand, and at the last moment decided against the bold move. “And not fall to the same mistakes over,” he told both himself, and his friend. “We have let this snake play her games before. She makes her move only when we grant her time to make that move.

He was using the word ‘we’, as much as any reason he might try, to convince Pele that she was not alone. Admittedly it was the woman and the woman, persistently, that Relic kept targeting; he could only imagine how personal and exhausting that might warp her way of dealing with it.

I say, this time, we move first,” he suggested, surprising himself with the resolve behind the notion. “I say that last time was the last time we let her call all the shots. What say you ?
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Ranger Pele Alarion
Barracks, Common Room


It took considerable effort for Pele to collect herself; by sheer force she made herself breathe in and out slowly until she could feel the tightness in her shoulders relent somewhat, and only then opened her eyes to find Warder before her and looking intently at her.

"It may be just a paper, Anardil," she responded, wishing she could destroy the mentioned item, tear it to pieces, burn it, just get rid of it. "Yet, she can just as easily act according to her threats. She would not even mind poisoning the whole city, and the guards might end up being useless. Her spies have already been roaming here."

Pele did not want to sound scared, nor did she want to rush around like a headless chicken. "Act first? But how?" the Ranger rubbed the back of her neck, as she thought out loud. "I don't know whether she would try to find me, or simply let loose a volley of rumours of what she thinks my secrets might be. And what is there to do? It seems that I bring danger everywhere I go. I don't want anyone to suffer for my sake."
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Anardil ‘Warder’ Thavron, of Lond Côl
Barracks, Common Room. With Pele Alarion

He had not expected that she would be instantly consoled or comforted. He had not expected though that Relic had been so busy as Pele had just made him aware ! Spies in the city ?! This was clearly a vengeance that apparently would not be sated. That was as abhorrent a thought as murderers and assassins roaming about without any fear of justice. Was this Gondor or was this Gondor !? The Return of the King was supposed to have meant some thing, and he was disheartened to realise that it was not the answer to all problems. King or no, Elessar was still just a man. His reign was in it’s infancy and as much as the greatest count of their Enemy had been largely vanquished, so too had the victorious nation begun to relax it’s alarm. Warder had never known a king in his lifetime before now, and so he had hoped, believed maybe .. and for that he had been a fool apparently.

Part of the man’s mind was already leaning toward alerting the Tower Guard against anything which might harm any number of citizens, but when he considered quite what threat he could reliably make warning of, it seemed nonsensical to try. That some single woman might be trying to defame a Ranger ? That some outsider was seeking to do damage to his friend. That this wench might try to poison the water supply ? Infiltrate the entire city’s defences ? It did seem improbable a thing to try and prepare against. For all that he knew these spies had already found their way into the Guard. It was better to trust no one they knew not.

But then what ? Relic had waited until her victim had started to believe she might be safe, and then proved it was not the case. The cruelest of exhumations she might inflict on her foe. The man of Belfalas had heard in their investigations what Relic had managed in Harlond. But that had been a single dock. Not an entire city. Somehow the notion of her assaulting all Minas Tirith seemed ridiculously ambitious, but then they had underestimated Pele’s nemesis before. It had not gone so well for them.

A random contemplation struck him, to fake Pele’s death. His Uncle had done work for an undertaker before. They had connections. They could … but the idea threw out more problems than solutions. However might they explain afterwards ? And would it even work anyway ?

We get you out of the city,” he proposed, as the more viable option. “If she is focused on you, then she will follow. Draw her attention away from your life here. We get to choose where to bait her into an attack, in a place we shall be better prepared to meet her. If she wishes to hunt you, Pele, lets make you her trap, instead of her target.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Ranger Pele Alarion
Barracks with Warder


"Get away from the city?" Pele repeated Warder's suggestion in a form of question. "That means that I would have to keep moving constantly." She did not quite take into account of 'we' Thavron used, as she assumed that he surely did not mean to come along, after all he had a family. And she would not want to drag him with her into ever more trouble.

The Ranger sighed and considered the offered option. "I don't know, Thavron, I really don't know. I am so tired of always being afraid, always sneaking around and not being able to settle down at home. Besides, where should I go? If she follows I'd put into danger anyone I come in contact with. Unless it is the middle of nowhere, like... deep in the forest or at the highest point of the mountains."

But then again: she was a Ranger, was she not? Somehow she had lost that edge, that ability to think strategically - at least in terms of her own safety. Perhaps if she was able to think of options how to really trap Relic... "Well, leaving might do," Pele eventually admitted. "But I am not very sure I could outsmart Relic - I doubt she could be coaxed into facing me one on one. In terms of a fair fight."


@Ercassie
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Anardil ‘Warder’ Thavron
Barracks, Common Room. With @Pele Alarion


The notion of flight was not a natural instinct, even to the Swans born of Dol Amroth. But bait was not the same thing. Flight meant giving someone, something else the power to scare you away. Leading them into grounds, on the other hand, where you held advantage over them, that was good sense in his book. Particularly when they might need as much advantage as they could gain. This was no mere Orc or corsair they contended with.

Not away for always. Only long enough,” he tried to convince Pele, to convince himself also for there was no sure way to know for a fact. Relic did not play by the rules and it had been his life’s work to hold rules above all else. “Just until her threat presents in person, or perishes for good,” he proposed to his former Sergeant.

Not so very long ago, the smallest and most unlikely of heroes in all Middle Earth made their way to the heart of the greatest evil which has existed for thousands of years, and the shadow which was thought to be beyond the constraints of even an immortal coil, was seen from this world, for good.Warder lost his sights from his friend a short time, patient grey eyes watching as the sun threw her reflection through the closed window. “The limits of quite what is possible have been forever altered, would you not say ? After that ?” he gave the Ranger a moment to remember. Odds far more insurmountable than hers had been overcome before. Though it might be hard to recall that from deep within the prison her mind had constructed, of past trauma.


I do not mean to harry you, my friend. It can only be your decision. But as for putting others into peril, there are those of us who are already involved. Abrazimir, Cadil, Ilisys, Kaylin, and my wife amongst them. The slaver’s grudge against you came from thwarting of her plans, and what have we all done since, all those of us who have interfered with her schemes to be avenged on you, who have aided in exposing and impeding her intentions, who have extradited what she thinks her property and surely so incurred her wrath in doing all of that ? She is our enemy too. If she wants you, then I see no choice but to deny her that goal. Else it shall be any one of us whom she comes after next.

The man sighed, glanced in the wake of his errand here, and dared to even conceive what mischief Unalmis might be hatching with the retainers of Lady Isys. Also, technically, by loitering here now he was committed to another unit, far south, he was trespassing, without his alibi of baggage to tend to.

I am in town now a time regardless, negotiating business for the Lady Eressild with my Uncle and his comrade, Camlost. At their place of business then, you can find me. When you have thought upon your options. I shall not press you, Pele, save to realise that we are all grown rather fond of you. And would be most aggrieved if any further harm befall you that we might have hindered. You are Gondor. We are Gondor. That means what is your enemy, is also our enemy.

With that, for now, the squire of Lond Col took his leave. For though he had trained some in these halls, his place now was elsewhere. But memories compel reunion as they may. And good friends, as good as family, are always cause to come again. His wife was not so resilient as Alarion, to have returned to form, after Umbar, to even pose as strong. But neither would his wife forgive him, if he stood by and allowed any other to suffer as she had. As she and Pele and so many others had. It had to know some end. Some time. Somehow.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Faramir
Headquarters


It had been a while since Faramir had visited the White City, as he had been rather content to reside on the other side of the River, and yet here he now strode into the Headquarters. He found the once familiar place now strangely quiet, as the large army had turned into a small specialised force, and the Rangers probably out and about on their business. Yet he hoped that a few Rangers could be spared for him; besides, it would only do good for their own training and upgrading of skills as well, besides... the matter needed looking into.

Even as he remained standing, he took up a quill and on a piece of parchment wrote an invitation (as it appeared to be instead of a direct order, which he could have given as well):

"A few Rangers needed for a scouting mission in Ithilien. If interested, inquire in the office.
Prince Faramir"


Clearing a few older notes from the notice board he pinned his in the very middle, and then walked straight for what used to be his office, deciding that he might just as well have a hearty conversation if its current occupant was within. Yet, no one was there presently. Leaving the door open, he sat down by the desk and began to explore the map that had been left on it.
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Dunulf
Headquarters

Before him stood an imposing building of stunning stone, all sharp angles and beautiful symmetry. He had never seen the like before, in truth. Certainly not stone as white as this, glistening in the sun of Anórien – it was truly dazzling to his rural eyes. Tentatively, Dunulf approached the proud oak door before him, and with a steeling sigh, pushed. It was lighter perhaps than it first appeared, swinging a little wider than expected and drawing from his lips an almost inaudible exclamation of shock. He did not want to set a bad impression of himself upon the minds of the Rangers.

With that impression forefront in his thoughts, Dunulf brushed down the remnants of dust and mud from his rough tunic and wiped his hands surreptitiously on his even rougher trousers. My, how they itched! The hallway before him was, as the exterior, stunning. Rays of bright light beamed through stylised windows, illuminating the masonry once more, displaying further the craftsmanship of the Faithful Númenóreans of old.

He could almost feel the freckles upon his sun-weathered face standing out. They had done so for his entire journey, making for quite the startling contrast against his ice-blue eyes. Ice-blue with flecks of grey, he reminded himself. Númenórean grey, like his father.

As he looked around further, Dunulf took sight of an official-looking desk, with an equally official-looking woman sat behind it. Perhaps a clerk? Gulping lightly, he moved his towering frame closer to the desk and halted before it. He stood straight with his feet shoulder-width apart, with his hands clasped behind his back as he often saw his father do, and greeted the woman.

Suilad,” he said, recalling what little his father had taught him of Sindarin. “I am Dunulf. I wish to join the Rangers. I wish to serve Gondor, and the King.
Last edited by Dunulf on Tue Dec 22, 2020 9:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Heleda, the Clerk, with @Dunulf
Headquarters


There had not been too much work lately, though Heleda still had a task of going through the list of equipment stored in the armoury to keep it updated. It might have been a rather boring job, but she did not mind really.

Only seldom was she distracted from her mundane work throughout the day, and sometimes she distracted herself by going to get yet another cup of tea. One of these distractions was provided by a young man who introduced himself as Dunulf, and the clerk looked up from her work, squinting her eyes a bit.

"Well, I can take notes of your wishes," she said, doing just that and jotting down his name on another bit of parchment. "However, I can't really accept you or reject you. Not authorised. But Prince of Ithilien, Faramir, is here, so you can see if he can do that for you. He's over there in the office with the open door."

Turning slightly in her chair, Heleda pointed Dunulf towards the office further down the hall just to be sure she had given proper directions.
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Dunulf
Headquarters


At the clerk’s words, Dunulf nodded awkwardly. So much for a smooth introduction. Nevertheless, it still seemed simple enough … except for having to meet and speak with the Prince of Ithilien himself! He had never conversed with a true nobleman before, let alone one of his calibre.

Ah,” he said eloquently. “Thank you. Um … have a good day.

With those awkwardly abrupt words, Dunulf left the clerk to her business and strode towards the office she had pointed to, past more windows and glimmering stone. As he did, a thousand thoughts flooded his mind. What should one call a Prince? He racked his brains and found them entirely wanting. Mind you, that was no rare occurrence in its own right. He knew his letters, yes, but he was no genius. Nor did he consider himself particularly appropriately dressed to meet with the Prince of Ithilien. However, it was all he had and would have to suffice.

Dunulf approached the door and inhaled deeply, patted down his tunic and trousers once more, and knocked thrice upon the open door before stepping inside.

Prince Faramir? Excuse me?” He squeezed into the room and stood statue-still, locking his eyes upon the seated Gondorian hero. “I wish to join the Rangers, sir. I was directed hither by the clerk.

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Faramir w/ Dunulf
Headquarters


Faramir had been looking over the map in a somewhat leisurely way and had half a mind to browse through the papers on the desk to see whether there was something that might pertain to his domain and that he had not been notified about. Yet he did not get as far as following through with his intention, and looked up when he heard the knocking.

"Join the Rangers, hmm?" Faramir said, a smile touching his lips while he leaned back in his chair slightly and looked Dunulf over. He found himself somewhat amused at the man's stiffness, and could rather understand the reasons behind it. Some time had already passed since he had mostly lived in the woods with his company, yet the slightly more relaxed state of affairs and more luxury than a hidden refuge in Ithilien had not quite made him into a pompous brat, or at least he hoped it was not so.

"I am sure Rangers would benefit from gaining new members," he continued, as he stood and motioned for Dunulf to enter further. "Come on in, stand at ease, and tell me a little about yourself, so I can make an informed decision. What is your name, where do you come from and why have you decided to join the Rangers? Do you have any skills with weapons?"
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Dunulf
Headquarters with Prince Faramir


Dunulf nodded at the Prince’s words. He still could hardly believe that he was stood before one of the greatest heroes of Gondor. However, he did not wish to show such awe too openly. It would surely not create a good impression were Dunulf to act as some sort of fawning fan. No, that simply would not do. He should act naturally instead.

Thank you, Prince Faramir,Dunulf nodded, stepping further into the room and relaxing his posture somewhat. His legs unstiffened and he cracked his neck as he stretched it from side to side. “I am Dunulf, born to a Gondorian man and a Rohirric woman. We lived just on the Eastfold border, on the Rohan side – we did a lot of trade though, livestock and the like, with the men around Calembel. I know my letters too, a few words and phrases of Sindarin, all taught by my father.

Dunulf’s eyes glazed slightly at the retelling of his childhood. The sights and smells of the countryside, the sounds of rural life and livestock trading. Those were innocent times for him, naïve and pleasant.

Sharpening his gaze once more and mentally shaking off the vacant expression, he continued to the more pertinent parts of his story. “My parents were murdered, sir, last winter. They were simple people. Farmers. It was the only time I’ve seen a body.

He bit back the emotion, steeling himself. He would grieve later, when the time was right. For now, the tear threatening to roll down his cheek would have to wait.

My father tried to join the Rangers once, sir. It was long before I was born, of course – before he even met my mother. He never told me why he failed to do so, only that he was resigned to simple infantry work instead,Dunulf frowned. “I always wanted to be a soldier, like him. I was content working the fields, but to be frank I have no want to be content. I want to be challenged, to experience hardship and learn camaraderie. I want to fight darkness, especially after my father’s dying words.

He bowed his head a little, stifling the visuals of his memory. Dunulf had no wish to stare at his parents’ corpses once more, especially so many leagues from home.

He told me to join the Rangers, Prince Faramir. To join, like I had always dreamt of as a child, just as he had dreamt,” he exhaled lowly. “And so, here I am. My father taught me to wield a spear, sir, and had me train with the local militia to hone my skill with it. I’d even go so far as to call myself proficient with it.

I can also shoot a bow, although my experience has been limited to tracking and hunting small game and target practice. I can ride too, of course, and I know basic medicinal skills,” the young man said, keeping his eyes trained upon the Prince before him, trying in vain to hide the enthusiastic hope growing in his throat as he spoke. “I just want to serve, sir. I want to help keep Gondor strong, to learn more skills and to become the man my father saw in me … the man that I wish to grow into.

Dunulf shifted his feet slightly and looked to Prince Faramir with bated breath.

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Faramir
Headquarters


When the young man began to respond to his queries, Faramir looked at him attentively, evaluating each little bit of information. It seemed to him that Dunulf technically could have chosen either Gondor or Rohan to enlist for due to his origin, and yet he had chosen to follow up on his father's dreams - and his own.

"I am very sorry to hear of your loss," the Prince said, his voice soft, though his grey eyes seemed to darken at hearing that such horrid things yet took place regardless of the won war. All the more reasons to maintain a force to battle off such evil. Yet, he held off from expressing any further sentiment; Dunulf had not come here for consolation, though there may be time for that at some point as well.

As far as the skills went, Faramir was satisfied to see that this was not yet another recruit with no sense of how to use anything pointy; in fact, Dunulf seemed to have sufficient foundation to start from and build on.

"I would be happy to accept you into the ranks of the Rangers," he spoke. "I arrived to find a couple of willing souls to do a scouting mission for me, so perhaps you could join in and show your skills, and learn alongside others."

His voice then became more solemn, as he continued: "That is, if you are ready to officially swear fealty and service to Gondor and to the King; if you are ready to follow orders and do your utmost to battle off darkness as you have stated previously. Do you swear these things in my presence, Dunulf?"
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Dunulf
Headquarters with Faramir


Thank you, sir,Dunulf said. “For your kind words.

More than anything, his thanks were for the Prince’s restraint. He did not wish to open himself up too much, nor did he wish for the sympathy and pity that he had become so used to seeing in the eyes of his neighbours back in the Eastfold. He had grown truly sick of those looks, the muttered words of unadulterated pity from behind covered lips. Dunulf refused to be pitiable again, and it seemed to him from the look on Prince Faramir’s face that he understood and respected that wish.

He was so deep in thought that that moment felt like an hour, and he almost missed the words that followed – words that meant he was accepted.

A slightly crooked smile crept onto Dunulf’s face. He was going to be a Ranger after all. More than that, he was being posted on a scouting mission, no less! He tried to stifle the smile, but the corners of his mouth still held more than a little curve to them.

Yes, my Prince. I do swear these things before you, to loyally serve Gondor and the King,Dunulf spoke with a hint of pride in his voice. “I swear to do my duty as a Ranger, to follow the orders I am given for the defence of this land against the darkness in the East.

He gulped back the very real lump in his throat formed from his pride. “And I would be honoured to join this scouting party, sir.

Dunulf finally stood silent and awaited the orders of the Prince of Ithilien, as a new Ranger of Gondor.

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Faramir
Headquarters


Faramir solemnly listened to Dunulf's words, and then he snapped off a crisp salute, touching his fist over the heart. "I accept your oath, Dunulf," he then said, "And as far as I am concerned, you are now a part of the Rangers."

Then he stepped back behind the desk and after some searching found a list of Rangers, adding Dunulf's name in it.

"Now, in terms of the mission, you would have to be fitted out by uniform and kit from the armoury - you can't quite go like this," he said, still looking over the list thoughtfully. "But I would also need at least other two Rangers. I wonder which ones of all these are around and can be easily found. I'd like to set out this very same day."

He added a few more notes, and then looked back up at Dunulf: "Just to verify, your primary weapon is spear; secondary weapon in bow, and your healing and tracking skills are basic? Do you use a longbow or a shortbow, or a recurve bow?"
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Dunulf
Headquarters with Faramir


Dunulf copied the Prince’s salute with pride – and no small amount of awkwardness, having never performed a Gondorian salute before – and nodded his head. He watched Faramir make his way behind the desk and write something upon a list. Perhaps a list of enlisted men?

He listened carefully to Faramir’s words and nodded along as appropriate. It would indeed be unsuitable for him to go on a mission, dressed as he was in rough fabric and unarmed save for a small knife tucked in the back of his belt. It would feel good to be out of these horrid clothes and into the uniform of the Rangers. Not only would it be far more comfortable, Dunulf imagined, but it would show that he belonged, that he was in fact a Ranger, and that this had not all been but a dream.

Then, his thoughts turned to the Rangers who would join him on this mission. He presumed they would be more experienced than him, for it would surely be unwise to send three untested recruits without supervision. Dunulf saw the Prince add to his notes, and not for the first time wondered at the contents.

That is correct, sir,Dunulf replied at Faramir’s questions. “I have only ever used a shortbow, though in future I would like to accustom myself to a longbow more suited for war. Shall I go to the armoury to be outfitted and equipped, sir?

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Faramir
Headquarters


Having completed making notes on the newest recruit, Faramir set aside the quill and looked at Dunulf again, a shadow of a smile reflected on his face.

"There is nothing wrong with a shortbow, Dunulf," he commented. "Especially if your primary weapon is a spear. Think that you should be able to carry it all; and I would also suggest that you also get some sort of a sword from the armoury in addition. Sometimes the ranged weapons might be out of range, and you'd need something for combat in close quarters."

Then Faramir took the quill up again and wrote on yet another small piece of parchment, which he handed to Dunulf. "Here, if anyone questions you, this is your proof that you are not an intruder and have a right to receive equipment, as well as a room in the barracks, if you need one. Get yourself equipped, settled, and tomorrow before dawn meet me just outside the Great Gate, ready for road. Meanwhile I'll see what other Rangers I can hunt down. Any questions this far?"

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OOC: @Dunulf You can go ahead and post yourself in the armoury and/or barracks in this same thread. For that mission thing, in the next couple of days I will open a new thread, so don't rush out to the Gate before that. :smile:
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Dunulf
Headquarters


That was true enough, Dunulf supposed. He simply felt that a longbow would be more suited for piercing the armour of the enemy. Then again, surely it would be unlikely for scouting parties to wear heavy plate, and he imagined he would encounter far more of them than legitimate battles.

Yes, sir,” he said. “I had not considered it from that perspective. I shall take a sword too and get some practice with it as soon as possible.

Dunulf nodded to himself. A sword would be interesting, having never wielded one before save for a wooden one in his hapless youth. He gratefully accepted the parchment offered by Faramir and listened carefully to him. “Thank you, sir. I shall look at the rooms as well,” he stated. “I will see you before the stroke of dawn, tomorrow.

Before dawn? That was early indeed, but it would make sense, Dunulf noted, to set off early so as to operate under a greater time scale and under disguising light.

No questions, sir.

With that, he appeared dismissed, and turned to leave for the armoury.


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OOC: @Pele Alarion Awesome, thanks!

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Ranger Pele Alarion with Warder
Barracks, Common Room


Theoretically, Pele knew that she needed other people for support and advise, and for simple friendship, so she could get unstuck, break away from the chains of defense mechanisms put in place to protect her against intense pain, and which no longer fulfilled the purposes. While a part of her wanted to argue that no one really could understand what she had been through, and so all they said would not be useful, Pele put in effort to listen to Warder's words.

"Well..." she then began slowly, "Suppose sometimes a smaller size might mean a better advantage." While she sounded absolutely serious, there was just a small twinkle in her eye. "I am not a Hobbit, though. And Relic is not the Dark Lord, and for that I am glad."

"You might just be right," Pele added after a moment of thought. "I figure by sending that note she might hope to send me to flight or at least cause fear; a partial success, I must admit. It is hard to predict what she'd do: whether she is near or far, whether she would wait for years or strike suddenly. And yes... too many are already involved in this matter."

Pele sighed and made herself more comfortable in the chair, tucking her feet under her and taking conscious effort to relax her tensed muscles. "I will definitely think and see if there's any good strategy that comes to mind and will get in touch with you. Don't let me keep you from your duties any longer, though. You can burn that note if you like, or feed it to monsters under bed... and thank you for support," she said, "At any rate things don't look so grim as the moment before."

Watching Anardil take his leave, Pele decided to linger in the common room for a while longer and think things over a bit, as she basked in the rays of sun that peered in through the window.


~~~~
Faramir
Headquarters


"If you need any help, just ask around; I'm sure you'll find a Ranger to help you get your bearings," Faramir added as an afterthought and nodded as a half-formal way to dismiss Dunulf.

Then he turned his attention back to the roster, studying the names of the Rangers and their skill sets some more. Well, now he had one Ranger, but he'd need to find a couple more to make a group that would be able to function well under any sort of circumstances. Yet, from the date at the top of the roster it seemed that it had not been updated for a while, so he wasn't sure which of the Rangers could be reached. Perhaps he'd also need to adhere to the advice he gave Dunulf and ask around to see who was available.
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Chief Counsellor of Gondor
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Unalmis Raxëlilta
Approaching the office of Prince Faramir
Headquarters @Pele Alarion


There was little out of the ordinary about the young man who sauntered, because there was nobody about to see, down the corridor of the Ranger Barracks. Dark hair, average height, slight spring in his step after having been chased out of the women’s wing of the barracks … he had done his best to explain that he’d simply been assisting the luggage of Lady Ilisys toward her room .. She of course had helped the matter little by acting, when questioned, as though she never had met him before. It was typical of Ilisys. She had probably forgotten. Else she was in league with the more austere members of his family who believed he might benefit from discipline. Or she was, in fact, privy to the news plastered on the noticeboard this day.

It had not been there previous, Unalmis felt sure, and yet half fearful that he was imagining the matter. The prospect to venture into Ithilien, of all places, for the Prince Faramir, of all people ! An opportunity to serve his country and to further his own training in the arts of his ancestors ? This was why the youth of Gondor had ever enlisted ! That the Rangers’ first post-war foray into the wild had but scared off an antagonist, Nal had come home disappointed. He had been told, lectured, counselled, that it was no woeful conclusion to have seen off an adversary to the nation with so little trouble or ‘excitement’. Still, it had come to nothing far too soon for his liking, and all efforts to keep busy since, had led rather to idle hands and no good come of it at all.

The stern direction that he ought ‘report to the office’ had invited dread thoughts of further lecture, or mayhaps monotonous hours of potato peeling. Cadil had forewarned him ! But the fact of there being need, of which he could volunteer, make his amends, and who knew but prove some use at all ? It was as much as he could stand, to await until the Prince had finished his business with another young recruit. It was a matter of moments rather than minutes that passed, before Unalmis rapped upon the door with great enthusiasm to present his willingness to Faramir’s new cause. He had been recently lectured also, on the courtesies of knocking, before entering. Noone had quite mentioned how long and how loudly he ought knock though.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

Loremaster of Gondor
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Dunulf
Armoury


Dunulf entered the low but well-lit building that formed the Armoury of the Rangers of Gondor. The torches were a nice touch, and quite probably necessary due to the low ceiling of the spacious storage facility – windows would, of course, provide little natural light as a consequence.

Wow. That was a lot of weapons and armour. The collection here was certainly far greater than that of the town militia with whom he had trained in the lands of Rohan. Mind you, it was a small town.

As if by fate, the very first section before Dunulf was the pristinely arranged line of spears and javelins. He all but marched over to that section, inspecting the shaft and length of each. Dunulf wanted a significant range to his weapon, but a good balance to go with it. A pike would be insufficient for his needs since the length of such a weapon was far more than was reasonable for anything other than formation fighting in battle; choosing the pike would be detrimental to the scouting purpose of the mission. As such, he readily disregarded any spears more than a head-and-shoulders taller than him.

This left merely the spears and spontoons. Many of the spears were too tall, leading Dunulf to walk further down the line, which seemed to be organised by height. Towards the end of the line rested the javelins, which by no means interested him. If he wished to throw a weapon, it would be his spear – a dedicated throwing javelin would be unnecessary both as a weight to carry and as a ranged weapon since he favoured the bow.

In the end, Dunulf settled for a plain but effective spontoon, a spear with the simplistic addition of a crossbar at the base of the spearhead thus preventing over-penetration of the target. He ran his hands along the polished but grippy wooden shaft and performed a small and careful testing thrust between the lines of weapons. The balance was perfect.

Taking care not to knock any racks or weapons over, he shouldered the spontoon and proceeded towards the armour and accessories on the middle tables. He wanted to be able to carry everything straight away, after all.

Desiring something light yet still reasonably sturdy for this mission and any similar ones in the future, Dunulf ignored the plate and chainmail, heading instead for a more suitable padded gambeson and splinted greaves and vambraces, then migrating to the shelved wall beyond the tables. There he chose a pair of simple dark trousers and sturdy looking boots. He held each item up to his body as he went, finding what would fit and what would not. Finally, he grabbed a helmet and tried it on, finding it a little heavy but unrestricting. Perhaps he would acquire one after this initial scouting mission since the shining of polished steel seemed inconducive to their purpose in Ithilien.

So too did he grab a uniform tunic and surcoat, and a cloak with which to darken his features in the night of Ithilien – and to keep his ears warm with its hood.

Having carefully slung these items over his other arm, Dunulf made his way slowly to the swords, where he felt considerably more out of place. He had wielded one once and found it to be far from his personal taste. That being said, the short swords in this armoury felt well-balanced and easy enough to wield, so he grabbed a simple steel short sword, swung and thrust it carefully to test, and then placed it back within its scabbard and placed it atop the pile of clothing he carried.

As for bows … he saw for the vast part a plethora of longbows and recurve bows, some of which called to him. Yet he remembered the words of the Prince and decided instead to visit the nearest specialised bowyer for a shortbow of his own. With that determination made, Dunulf began to stalk his way out of the armoury and make his way towards the barracks.

High Warden of Tower
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Faramir, with Unalmis @Ercassie
Headquarters


The knocking that followed soon after he had dismissed Dunulf, made Faramir raise his eyebrows.

"Now, it is allowed to enter without knocking the door out of its hinges," he called out to whoever the eager person was. He grinned at the idea of having to provide explanations of why the office was lacking the door after he had visited it to settle his business.

Leaving the roster on the table, he rose from his seat and took a few steps away from the desk to face the door, as he folded his arms to meet the incoming possible volunteer.
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