Ithilien, Pelargir, The Southern Fiefdoms (Free RP)

Seven Stars and Seven Stones and One White Tree.
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Ithilien

So they passed into the northern marches of that land that Men once called Ithilien, a fair country of climbing woods and swift-falling streams. The night became fine under star and round moon… Before them, as they turned west, gentle slopes ran down into dim hazes, far below. All about them were small woods of resinous trees, fir and cedar and cypress, and other kinds unknown in the Shire, with wide glades among them; and everywhere there was a wealth of sweet-smelling herbs and shrubs…

South and west it looked towards the warm lower vales of Anduin, shielded from the east by the Ephel Dúath and yet not under the mountain-shadow, protected from the north by the Emyn Muil, open to the southern airs and the moist winds of the Sea from far away. Many great trees grew there, planted long ago, falling into untended age amid a riot of careless descendants


(The Two Towers, Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit)



Emyn Arnen

Following the Return of the King, and the end of the War of the Ring, Faramir, son of Denethor now rules as Lord of Emyn Arnen, and Prince of Ithilien; with the White Lady, Eowyn of Rohan at his side. Much as their mutual kinsman Imrahil has long presided over Belfalas from his similar seat as Prince of Dol Amroth.

Emyn Arnen is a cluster of hills in South Ithilien, with a tradition of providing home to Numenorean nobility. The Line of Hurin, from whence came the earliest Stewards of Gondor, Lord Faramir’s predecessors and ancestors both; originated here. The Gardens of Emyn Arnen came to be a thing renowned, after Legolas of Mirkwood brought Elves south to lend influence about the region in the Fourth Age.




Lebennin

The province of Lebennin slopes down from mountainous Lossarnach in the north, all the way down to the Bay of Belfalas, in the sea of the south. The immense domain of Ithilien lies east, across the Anduin River, and the majestic colony of Belfalas and Dor-en-Ernil, ruled by Prince Imrahil sits to it’s west.

The name of Lebennin translates as the ‘land of five rivers’, which enrich this fertile, green region, west of the mighty River Anduin. The first of these streams (from right to left) is the Erui, followed by the Sirith, Celos, Serni and Gilraen. A prominent point of history in Gondor played out in Lebennin during the Kinstrife, when King Eldacar slew the usurper Castamir, at the Battle of the Crossings of the Erui. A further year long siege was then held at the harbour city of Pelargir, until Castamir’s sons and their surviving supporters fled on ships and finally fled to found a lasting refuge for all ‘corsairs’ out in Umbar.


Pelargir

Pelargir and Linhir are the two infamous cities of Lebennin; the former located where the Sirith marries the even more famous River Anduin. Pelargir is known as the ‘Garth of Royal ships’, due to it’s significance in defending inland Gondor from assault by sea. It has been a major harbour since the days of Numenor, and retains that reputation for the delta of Ethir Anduin, just southward of Pelargir, opens into the ocean. The city has not forgotten its long occupation by the sons of Castamir, some of the most prominent shiplords of Gondor, when the prime coastal location meant it was most difficult for the King to keep his enemies from being supplied by sea. After the departure of these sailors, Pelargir was later ravaged by returning Corsairs in TA 1634, murdering the then King Minardil of Gondor. It is possible that more than simply goods are smuggled through its watery gates and rumours yet remain that Pelargir to this day still houses secret sympathisers towards enemies of the realm.


Linhir is the second and the lesser-known of the two cities, nesting where the Serni meets the Gilraen. Similar to it’s sister outpost in the east, Linhir is a point where ships may dock, although the passage is not so wide a thoroughfare as the grand River Anduin. For that reason, Linhir is come to be more a trading hub, where imports and exports may arrive/depart both east and west, for journey throughout Gondor, and beyond. It is protected by the Gondorian navy of Pelargir on one side, and Dol Amroth on the other.



Belfalas / Dor-En-Ernil

The legendary fiefdom of Belfalas is almost synonymous on many maps with the land called ‘Dor-En-Ernil’ (Land of the Prince), though it could be argued that the former relates to the coastal portion and the latter, further more inland. Regardless, this southernmost realm of Gondor is presided over by Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth which is itself a promontory seaward base. Assumed borders range from Linhir in the east to Edhellond in the west, south of Lamedon and the Blackroot (Morthond) Vale.

Reputed to be the home of Sindar refugees from Beleriand, and later the Faithful settlers of Numenor, the region is steeped in song and mystery. A range of hills that seek to cause division through the domain are locally referred to as the Emyn Ernil. But it is the city of Dol Amroth, set atop a high hill that is named after a legend which is infamous.


Dol Amroth

The city of Dol Amroth is built about a natural peninsula, thrust into the beautiful surrounding Bay.of White Ships. Here the Prince rules from his Castle over the ancient harbours, the affluent industries, and the everyday life of his prestigious peoples.

Near the Cove of White Ships, where the naval fleet of Prince Imrahil is housed, lie the Fleet Halls; a long established barracks, accommodating unmarried and retired mariners. The Sea-Drake, a three story inn, boasts some of the best seafood dishes in Dol Amroth, on a modest budget while Middle Port is home to the vast working class of coopers, smiths, carpenters, rope-makers, tanners and pitch-layers who reside and labour about the working harbour. Various Guilds officiate here; centres all and each of excellence. Where it comes to shipwrights, sailmakers, and navigators any Captain will be swamped for choice, and catered to by the best in the business. While The Jolly Juggler tavern retains its bawdy crowd, with gambling a favourite amidst other forms of less than desirable late night entertainment. For sailors in the know it is ‘the place’ for revelry.

New Port is Dol Amroth's commercial harbour, catering to all visiting vessels. It's warehouses and markets are capable of handling the city's tremendous and varied volumes of commerce. But the sprawling markets that line the narrow streets are nothing compared to the House of Many Splendours, which sells almost anything you can think of, including some exotic items that are high priced and hard to get in Dol Amroth. Rumours of smuggling abound, as do tales of the sea-cave and the tunnel built beneath the Sloop & Swordfish inn across the street...

Above the Old Town and below the Castle Quarter resides a large series of terraced buildings and winding streets. This area is known as the Cliffs, for here the steepness of the Hill provides little room for construction. While it is a generally residential neighbourhood, the upper reaches cater to the castle garrison and contain numerous taverns and game halls. The richest of these is the House of Tables, which strives for affluent dominance against The Merchants' Exchange (a cooperative money lender) and also The Dol Amroth Auction House. Establishments so fair and fine to rival the Prince’s Castle, with it’s promenade fashioned for jousts; which sport brings spectators and competitors from miles around.



Anfalas

The most westerly fiefdom of Gondor is Anfalas (‘Long shore’), or Langstrand. Similarly dual-named, this region lies between the Rivers Lefnui and Morthond; between the lush green hills of Pinneth Gelin and the sea to the south. It is, not unlike it’s neighbour Belfalas, rich in rumour of Elvish ruins and remnant. Hunters though, herders and fishermen now dominate the land, which has found it’s appeal exposed to raids by Corsairs of Umbar.

It was on account of such raids that King Telumehtar went forth in days of old, and seized the enemy port-city of Umbar, in a vengeance. But it was under the local leadership of Golasgil, that the rustic folk of Anfalas made their long march in efforts to defend Gondor during the War of the Ring.




..men of the Outlands marching to defend the City of Gondor in a dark hour; but always too few, always less than hope looked for or need asked. The men of Ringló Vale behind the son of their lord, Dervorin striding on foot: three hundreds. From the uplands of Morthond, the great Blackroot Vale, tall Duinhir with his sons, Duilin and Derufin, and five hundred bowmen. From the Anfalas, the Langstrand far away, a long line of men of many sorts, hunters and herdsmen and men of little villages, scantily equipped save for the household of Golasgil their lord. From Lamedon, a few grim hillmen without a captain. Fisher-folk of the Ethir, some hundred or more spared from the ships. Hirluin the Fair of the Green Hills from Pinnath Gelin with three hundreds of gallant green-clad men. And last and proudest, Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, kinsman of the Lord, with gilded banners bearing his token of the Ship and the Silver Swan, and a company of knights in full harness riding grey horses; and behind them seven hundreds of men at arms, tall as lords, grey-eyed, dark-haired, singing as they came.

(The Return of the King, ‘Minas Tirith’)


Rules
1) Please state your location at the top of your post
2) Mark your RP as ‘Private’ if you do not want company.
3) Please white out any OOC, or take it to City Hall/discord, etc
4) General Plaza Rules apply


**With thanks to Naith & others who contributed to the creative envisaging of the above locations, in particular Dol Amroth; many of which have been referred to in this post/for this thread.
Last edited by Ercassie on Sun Jul 19, 2020 5:17 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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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Addhor and Unalmis Raxëlilta
Ithilien. The First Time (3017 TA) - Part 1

Time did not exist here. Not as it did in the city. There were no sundials or bells to mark the passage of the day. Hours merely dashed against each other in a never-ending blend of shadows, lanced by streams of light. Birds, beasts, both were bountiful and set about their business undisturbed by the trespassers. They were not fearful of the two humans for they were about their own backyard. They knew the way of this world and recognised their own advantage. Chased about in a circle by sounds he could not name, his brown eyes narrowed and widened in due turn. Addhor held his steady pace some feet behind, without ever calling his son to heel. Like an ancient sheepdog, minding its charge, the Man amused himself in the observation of a boy, hurtled far from home. As though he were belatedly a witness to his infant learning how to walk, to talk. There was still time for him to teach something of the world to his son.

"What would you say of it then ?" the Veteran proposed at last that the youth might venture judgement on their scene. "Your birthright …" he served a gentle reminder toward positive attitude, although he did not smile. There was a wariness about the laying forth of conversation. As though each sentence were a hurdle he should see if the youth could overcome.

"It is not so stifling as I imagined," his son considered. "Though I must say it is nigh impossible to tell from which direction we came, and which direction we ought now go. There seems no sense of reason to the thing. Why, we might stand in the very heart of Ithilien, or else but a few feet from its hem. How could you ever know ?"

"A person might indeed lose themself here," Addhor leant his weight unto his staff. Then, seating himself upon a fallen log, he breathed in deep and stretched each hand aside of him to properly absorb the vault of life that swarmed them. When Unalmis glanced down amongst the pulpy flesh of soil to dislodge his boot, his father could not help but note the hole that had bored clear through the worn leather sole. "That will do you no good," he advised, with a flick of his head toward the damage. The youth swiftly kicked a path through feathered moss, seeking to desguise the treacherous clue. "Do the army not provide you proper footwear any more ? Times must have grown hard indeed !"

His eyes were the mirrored hue of his offspring's, but in this very moment Addhor's studied that young man intently. That same young man could not keep his own eyes still, like the whole of him a sudden fidget and unease. His father patted space enough on his makeshift seat for his son to join him. When Unalmis made to however, Addhor halted his effort.

"No, no. Facing in the opposite to me," he directed the puzzled other. Slowly the youth experimented with his pose, finally planting his legs in a long extension to anchor him on the opposite side of the log. He sat now almost back to back with his father, save that they sat aside each other. "You must never turn your back on the forest," The veteran made with words of sage counsel, draped in the strength of experience.

Unalmis did as told, although he whistled rather aimlessly in doing so, apparently more carefree than his father might desire. He scanned the uneven assembly of trees with more curiosity than concern, his neck craning as far as he might dare in order to gauge how high the gnarled sentinels reared up in their efforts to outrun their lichen infestation. A fusillade of squirrels broke across a high, creaking arthritic bough, casting down a shower of leaves in their wake. The youth began to imagine all creatures here invisible, for as much as he saw and heard them, never still did he catch a proper confirmation. That was as the Rangers of Ithilien must be, he reasoned, with a renewed comprehension of awe and of pride. Even his retired father seemed suddenly to bear a primeval or supernatural bearing about his enigmatic expression. Rangers of Ithilien, past and present. A presence both reassuring and unsettling, depending on whether you were offered their aide or else invited their wrath. It was probable that a soul might do both ..

"So tell me," Addhor glanced aside, like a suspicious owl, and contemplated his child up close. "Is it all that you imagined .. since enlisting ?" The parent pressed, with unswerving purpose. Addhor was staring so close to his son that he could seek out sweat and other signs of nerve. He had never been a perfect parent, though he had not exactly been negligent on purpose. He had been not too much older than his son was now when he became a father, and no one had gifted him a handbook. His mother was horrified that he would even push Unalmis toward the military, but as far as Addhor could see, it was the best means for a naive and irresponsible boy to evolve into a disciplined and diligent Man. The jolt of a knife saw Unalmis eject abruptly back into his feet. His gaze though was magnetised by the weapon. A real weapon. Close enough to touch ... Addhor was equally entranced for his part in observing the youth's reaction.

"This was mine," he confided quietly. One thumb and forefinger graced the very top of the carven bone handle but did not wrest it free of the wood. "Take it," he dared the youth. Then collecting himself up to stand, he leaned in and shared a whisper with his son. "Come, take it," he encouraged. The father ruffled his son's hair all disarray. A mode of affection which seemed forced, as though an awkward afterthought. As though the father and son did not embark on such demonstrations very often. Or at all. "A Ranger's knife can mean his life," he added, as some afterthought. "Needs some looking after," he almost mused to himself. The father detached uncomfortably from contact suddenly. With a prominent cough to declare the 'moment' done. Slowly he began to amble away. "There's more to see," he mentioned, inviting.

Unalmis glanced after his father, then poised his hand without quite gripping the gift. With a brow of consternation, the son considered refusing to accept the undeserved prize. But how on Middle Earth was he to do so ? A brief moment was all it took to privately swear he would make his father proud. Properly. Rightly. Then he worked the knife out of the log and hastened to catch up with his parent. A startled bird cry lent him new speed in this goal, as did recognition that he might be lost forever if he did not keep up. There is none like a Ranger of Ithilien, after all, for vanishing within the forest's fold. That sort of instinct never leaves, even if the Ranger does.
Last edited by Ercassie on Fri Nov 26, 2021 7:43 am, edited 5 times in total.
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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Unalmis and Addhor Raxëlilta
Ithilien - the First Time (3017 TA) - Part 3

Left alone for but that smallest time, the youth felt as though surrounded. Rain began to drum against the vibrant canopy above, around, and all about, summoning his senses as the downpour doused all things below in a refreshing scent wrung of the ancient wood. Unalmis took a moment to observe how the moisture now polished the coarse bark in slick, sheening suits of silver light. He reached out a hand to better know the feel of nature’s own oil painting as it was conjured before his very eyes. He was long enough about this distraction for his worst fears to be realised. For when he turned to regale Addhor with his observations, there was little sign for the untrained eye to gauge that his father ever had been there.

The ground at the startled son’s feet was a perfect reflection of that labyrinth of branches far above, for the trees bore roots thick at their feet to match the arms of their boughs aloft. Vines broke through the earth and roiled upward as might snake like beasts, snagging at the Youth’s feet, and tripping his alarm toward further panic. In time though, Unalmis recalled what small common sense he might have, and sought for the tell-tale passage of his parent. Addhor’s staff betrayed his journey, for the staff’s mark was identical and distinctive, caving a sure square stump to accompany his tread. The boy should easily chase his quarry’s passage.

But it was he whom was found, before ever he was reunited with his father. And those who came upon him were not what he was seeking. They saw him before he ever observed them, since the young man was yet squatting low, inspecting where grass had been stamped unto the reception of wet soil. As a semi-circle of tall folk closed in, Unalmis did not first distinguish them from the encircled trees. It was the voice which caught his attention, a low rumble of a voice, bordering about the edge of amusement.

Well I wouldn’t have insisted that you kneel, boy, but we are fair mighty. So I shall forgive the gesture. Matter of fact, it does encourage a swell of pride within my chest, I have to say ..

Brown eyes fell back from the ground and gazed up in some surprise at his having been ambushed. But by whom ? The Gondorian threw his gaze along the line of amused men who had arms crossed, and all their eyes upon him.

I did not see you at all, but was seeking for my father,” he slowly eased himself up from the mulch and earth, feigning an absence of fear. Were they Rangers of Ithilien ? They did not look as though he had always imagined such Men to appear.

I can only think that your father must be extremely short,” a second voice spoke up, with an arm that nudged the fellow next to him, expecting laughter. “For you to seek him so intently, so low amongst the grass,” he assumed.

My Father is a Ranger of Ithilien,Unalmis rattled off ignoring the authenticity of the claim and yet raising his chin, as he hoped to rouse up such courage to suffice. For whatever this was .. “He is extremely tall,” he added, pointedly.

Your Father is a fool,” the first man decided, stepping forward to the point where the outnumbered youth thought to ball his fists. “To leave you unattended,” The stranger was so close to Unalmis when he spoke now that the boy could nigh look right up his enormous nose. “Does he not know that these woods are perilous, with all manner of strange and sinister beasts all prowling through the depths ?

Strange though you may be, Narradir, there are things more sinister than you, growing in the boy’s hair,

Unalmis was too astounded to be quite insulted by this statement, for the re-emergence of his father, and his father’s clear affinity with the group of strange men .. it had all but swamped his curiosity already.

Narradir narrowed his eyes at Addhor’s comment, even as he shook his head. “You’re late !” he told the former Ranger, even as that Man evolved both shape and form out of the fast surround.

On the contrary,Addhor had no need to smile. His amusement rippled in vigilant eyes. “I have been waiting here some time.

The two of them broke into a conversation all of smiles, Unalmis glanced about the group with new perception, never even recognising how the breath he had been holding slipped away from him.

You know each other.” It was not entirely a question, though some manner of response was clearly prompted. The youth relaxed his fists, and the fact that they would not be required to defend him. Though quite what exactly would now be expected of him, he had not the slightest clue.

NPF Edit: Loving this! Beautiful writing!
Last edited by Ercassie on Fri Nov 26, 2021 7:43 am, edited 3 times in total.
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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Pele Alarion
Northern Ithilien
(practicing stealth and foraging - 'interruptions' welcome :wink: )

Pele knew that sooner or later she would submit to the irresistible pull towards Ithilien, and eventually she decided that this was the time. Dressed in greens and browns, a collection of the most necessary items in her bag, and a sword at her belt - she knew that even though the grand enemy was destroyed, the danger might still lurk in the forest - she used the early hour just before sunrise to paddle the boat across the river. On the other shore she picked a place with overhanging willows to hide the boat in, and then slipped into the forest.

For a good long while Pele played hide and seek with the shadows, well into the morning hours. However, the activity grew tiring and boring, as she had no one else to chase or hide from. Eventually she decided to turn to foraging, which seemed a rather more fruitful thing to do.

When running through one of the glades, she had noticed a stately linden tree in full bloom, which she now returned to. The blossoms made for a very delicious tea, and the Gondorian rather liked it with honey, especially in long and cold winter days. Besides, the tea had some good properties too, as it was calming and could soothe sore throat. Walking up to the tree that stood boasting its blossoms in the bright morning sun, Pele breathed in the scent, and listened to the buzzing of bees that appreciated the sweetness of linden as well.

Luckily, the woman had no need to think of how she would climb the tree, sword and all, as one of the lower boughs was bent down almost to the ground and offered its riches within easy reach. Setting her bag by the tree, Pele fished out a pouch and began filling it with the blossoms, careful not to pick any of the bees that occasionally happened to aim for the very same blossoms. Soon the pouch was filled to the utmost capacity and stored safely away.

And, while she did like linden blossoms, she could not use them to satisfy the longing for some food. Turning away from the tree to face the glade, Pele observed that it was dotted with forest strawberries, shining red among the green leaves and grass. The berries would do for a delicious snack, so she ventured out into the open, leaning down to gather the small berries and popping them into her mouth by handful.
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Abrazimir Dimaethor
Lond Côl, Dol Amroth, Gondor
Year 3018 of the Third Age

ACT 1: Chapter One

OOC: Participation Welcome.

Abrazimir watched as the Prince’s messengers departed his father’s study. Stern, veteran knights of Dol Amroth sent to deliver some secret missive to his father, Zâinabên Dimaethor, a vassal to the Prince. They didn’t spare a word or glance for the young Lord, despite being dressed and adorned in the same livery and bearing the same tokens of fealty and loyalty. They were scarcely down the hall in the upper quarters of his family’s villa and estate when a third man stepped out, his father’s servant and household steward.

”Your lord father will see you now.” He simply stated and waited outside the door. He would not be joining them. Blood only. Abrazimir could only guess at what sensitive news or report his father had received. With a nod to the servant, Abrazimir stepped through the threshold into his father’s study, pondering as well why he was summoned to wait so urgency in the middle of the night, in full gear and harness. He felt uneasy to carry a weapon in his own family home. This was supposed to be an abode of peace and solitude for him.

He found his father sitting at the desk, flanked by the flickering lights of a well-lit hearth behind, one hand clutching a letter and the other rubbing at his temple. Abrazimir marched before the mahogany desk and came to apt attention, saying nothing but waiting to be addressed and acknowledged.

All about there was silence. His mother, his sister, other household servants and guests, decent folk all, had long settled for sleep by this hour. The house was eerily quiet. It was even more sombre in the presence of another. Abrazimir had never seen his father so wizened with age and burden. Had the news been that upsetting?

When it was clear his father was not going to arise from his thoughts on his own accord, Abrazimir moved to speak. ”You sent for me, father? What did the Prince’s messengers want?”

Lord Zâinabên startled as if woken from a deep sleep. His eyes had been open, awake, but they were seeing far off in his mind. He looked up to his son, sighed, and scrolled up the missive that he had received. Reading it over and over again wasn’t going to change the details or the demands made of him. He only had one son. And soon all would have to be risked, or end with nothing that he held dear.

”The state of the Realm continues to deteriorate. Vast forces are arraying against us in the east.” The Lord began quietly. ”The great push long feared is coming. Soon all will be beset by war. I need not impress upon you how dire our case is.” He fixed his son with a glare. Abrazimir made the minutest of nods. No one wanted to discuss it, but it was all too real. The enemy was coming for them. Soon not even the Great River would hold them back.

”The Prince has asked me to undertake a delicate mission. No one is to know outside of this room.” Zâinabên continued. ”My body has failed me long ago with age and affliction. Only you can I entrust with this. In two days time, a vessel is going to depart the ports in Dol Amroth. It going to stop over in Lond Côl, to take on fresh water and other supplies before, officially, heading on to Pelagir. You will be on that vessel when it comes.”

”And where will I be going?” Abrazimir asked with an inquisitive look. Clearly not to Pelagir. Such travel arrangements did not beg such secrecy before.

”Not to that cesspool of drunken sailors and mischiefs, evidently.” Zâinabên confirmed for him with a morbid grin. ”No, the vessel, Captained by one of the Prince’s best mariners, will be taking you for a detour to Tolfalas.”

The isle that sat before the mouths of the Anduin? Zâinabên continued. “It is a barren, unwelcoming place. Once it was a region and province of old Gondor, though now it has fallen under the prey and unfortunate graces of our rivals, who oppress and extort the local populace for their own gain and greed. They were noble once, that folk, albeit none of high blood such as we. But they once held the standards and traditions of Gondor as dearly. Now,” Zâinabên fixed him with a look, ”now they are to be considered seditious agents.”

”What have they done to merit such a change in status?” Abrazimir asked, a hint of pity in his tone. He was right to feel so. Caught between two opposing powers, where one could not protect them anymore, they had no recourse except to bend and sway to the demands of the others. The Haradrim and their Corsair allies extracted brutal tribute out of them.

Which was core to this assignation. Zâinabên chose not to speak on that question. He needed his son to be focused and such…ethical and moral dilemma could be the difference between life and death here. And he needed his son alive.

”Tolfalas is one of the few regions close to Gondor where a resin like substance called bitumen can be found, one of many varieties in Middle-Earth. Harvested from certain fauna. You are no doubt aware of its military usage.” Zâinabên continued coolly, ignoring his son’s inquiry. ”As an incendiary it can be quite devastating against our ships, our homes, our soldiers. The locals have been gathering such in volume, creating a stockpile that be used to malicious purposes in the hands of our enemies. Do you understand the situation?”

Abrazimir nodded, though there was a knot of uneasiness in his stomach. His father wasn’t telling him everything. ”You want me to eliminate the stockpile. But how will me or any force capable of storming the isle get within range without being intercepted by the enemy? Their fleets prowl further abroad and in greater numbers.”

”That is why you will go in with a small force. One ship, under cover of nightfall, will be able to get in and out before pursuit will be aware. With twenty men perhaps, you can uncover the stockpile and render it…useless.” Zâinabên stated.

”And the locals?”

Zâinabên’s stare answered that obvious question. He rose to his feet instead, hands behind his back. The message was delivered and read. He tossed the missive he had received into the fire. There shall be no record. ”Go, Lord Dimaethor. Prepare yourself for your expedition. Do what must be done. In one week’s time, we will speak of this again.” He could only hope. No words of comfort, no embrace, no parting wisdom. He felt awkward, sending his son to potential death, but how could he fall to cowardice when others were called to face the enemy? It must be done.

Abrazimir for his part was upheld by duty and obedience before, long instilled in him by his training, and no small understanding of the peril his homeland faced. He saluted and bowed, arm across his breast, overtop the sigil of the White Swan of Dol Amroth. ”I will not fail you, lord father.”

And with no more words, he turned on his heel, stern of face and thought, and went to prepare for the task ahead.

TBC


NPF edit: Lovely piece of writing there! Looking forward to reading more!
Berio i refn-en-alph len

Éowyn
Éowyn
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Arnyn
Northern Ithilien
Joining Pele's RP


Tracking was a skill she'd learned during her stretch with the ERC, but one she had honed during her time with the Rangers of the North. Now returned to the White City, after a demanding campaign to the south, Arnyn had been looking forward to use these skills once again in the forests of Ithilien, both for nostalgia's sake and as a way of keeping busy. She did not wish to fall into a languor after the mission.

She'd worn her full Ranger gear and carried a pack of refreshments and a bedroll. If need be or the wish came over her to spend the night in the forest, she could. To be fair, she'd appreciated the companionship and even friendship of fellow Rangers, old and new, on the campaign, and soon there would be a gathering at Headquarters, she'd heard, but not for a few more days. That would give her the time alone she needed to reflect and gather her thoughts.

When she came upon a set of tracks left by a pair of boots, Arnyn took a moment. The imprints were shallow, and not all of them were very visible, but they were there. Taking a swig of water, a frown settled on her brow until the decision was made. She ran her long braid through a loop made of her thumb and index finger, and set out to follow the subtle clues left behind subconsciously by whoever had preceded her. Arnyn was cautious, and she made sure her sword was clear in its scabbard and her hand was never far away from her throwing knives whenever she heard a sound that might not be related to the fauna of the forest.

She was careful to maintain cover once she reached the glade, especially when she saw an individual moving about in the grass. The greens and browns of their attire was reassuring, but Arnyn was rather safe than sorry. It took her but a moment longer to realize who the person was. Her bearing gave her away. Pele.
Arnyn frowned slightly. Was it the best idea for her friend to be out here alone if she hadn't fully recovered her strength yet? Probably not. Yet this didn't seem like the time for lectures, and soon Arnyn's frown made way for a faint smile.

Leaving her cover, she walked out into the glade, not trying to hide her presence. Old habits almost made her call out "Corporal", but Arnyn stopped herself just in time. She chose a more apt way to address Pele, instead. "My friend." She approached Pele before speaking again. "What are the odds that we would both range out here today?"
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Pele
Northern Ithilien


Even though she tried to keep herself aware of the surroundings, Pele did not realise that she was being watched. So it happened that Arnyn's voice startled her a bit, though she immediately recognise its owner.

"Well, the day is nice for being out and about; and the forests are inviting," she responded, turning around to face Arnyn, some strawberries still in hand. "So you found the boat I used, or was I that noisy to be heard all the way in Minas Tirith?" A small grin played on her lips and lit a merry glint in her blue eyes. "By the way, want some wild strawberries before I pick them all?" she made a vague motion towards the plants and then popped the gathered berries in her mouth.

Pele
then came closer, and eyed Arnyn's equipment. "Planning on staying out here for longer than a day?" She had had a similar thought, yet unsure of whether that would be that wise she had only taken her warm cloak and not a bedroll.

"Care to repeat some of those old training sessions we had?" Pele asked hopefully. "Or, probably rather new ones, as it is not possible to step into the same river twice. Many things have changed since..."
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Northern Ithilien
Pele's RP


She smiled at Pele's brief surprise, but did not mention it. At her friend's question, Arnyn shrugged. "Both, perhaps." She's seen evidence of something that must have been a boat being pushed into the bushes, yes, but had simply followed Pele's boot tracks instead of looking for the boat itself.

Picking a few strawberries as per Pele's suggestion, Arnyn didn't look up immediately when Pele continued. "All the questions," Arnyn smiled. "I hadn't yet made up my mind about staying, but wanted the option." She was used to spending her nights outdoors after several years of ranging and wandering in the North. Even the proximity of Ithilien to Mordor did not repel Arnyn now, not now the threat here was in reality no larger than it was anywhere else. Scattered Orcs and other corrupted individuals were as likely to be roaming Gondor's Ithilien as they would be other places, no?

As Arnyn munched on some strawberries, she looked back up from the plants to Pele's blue eyes at the mention of their old training sessions. "Are you asking for a sparring session, Pele?" Arnyn asked quietly. They'd had plenty of those, back in the day. The suggestion brought strange feelings back to the surface for Arnyn. Sadness at what she had lost by leaving the White City and the ERC. Hope that her return would be able to fill the gaping hole that had been growing in her heart. It was still a wonder to her that people were so welcoming.
Of course, for Pele, the request was motivated by the will and need to regain her strength and stamina and practice her skills. Arnyn recognized the gravity behind the lightly-posed question.

"Yes, things have changed." Arnyn started unstrapping her pack and bedroll as she walked to the tree. She dropped them there, next to Pele's own bag.

When she turned around to face Pele once again, her sword hand lay on her hilt. "I am willing if you are ready."
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Horse and rider.

The rider's hair whipped wildly in the wind, his grey woolen cloak flapping behind him like a wraith as the last fleeting rays of evening light flickered across his furrowed brows.

The hooves of the chestnut mare echoed like drum beats in the evening air. Thin clouds of breath, visible as mist in the cooling sky puffed from its mouth from the effort of the pace.

The rider made from the Crossings of Poros, hoping to pick up the trail left by the contingent of rangers dispatched from Minas Tirith.

The thickly forested fringes of the forests of South Ithilien passed in a blur. He would stop soon, to rest the horse, make camp and sleep a few hours before continuing at first light. But for now he pressed on, quickening his pace.

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Pele Alarion
Northern Ithilien


Now that she was no longer alone, Pele found herself relaxing even more, which was a welcome change from being constantly on her guard and wary of people. She gathered some more berries, unwilling for the delicious forest treat to go to waste. However, Arnyn's mention of sparring called her back to the reason why she had come all the way out here in the first place.

"Some sparring might be good," she responded, taking a drink of water from her flask to wash down the strawberries. "Though... I might not be able to match your skills too much, so try not to go too hard on me." The process of mental and physical recovery seemed awfully slow, but Pele tried to do her best to devote herself fully to it, though often it was easier said than done.

"But also..."
she began and then hesitated, a small smile touching her lips. "It is not just sparring. The sense of companionship and friendship... If you know what I mean by it." Pele had been isolating herself from others so long that the very idea of still having friends seemed like a priceless treasure, and she cherished every moment spent with her friends. Even when she did not make it obvious.

Stooping down to pick yet another strawberry, she finally straightened up and reached for her sword. She let the tip point down towards the ground, as she moved her feet to stand more sideways towards Arnyn.

"Might as well make an attempt at that sparring..." she commented, though her stance did not speak of full readiness.
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Northern Ithilien
Pele's RP


It was good to be under the shade provided by the tree's canopy. Cooler - although she probably wouldn't be able to enjoy it for long. Arnyn's ranger gear wasn't exactly heavy, but it was all black and hardly summer wear. She didn't waste any more words on whether or not she would spar with Pele. The decision had been made; in Arnyn's mind, the agreement had been struck.

"Your stance is deceptively open. But it allows for quick counter strikes all the same," Arnyn commented on Pele's chosen position. She'd learned to recognize the dangers of most if not all stances over the years.

Drawing the blade from its scabbard sent the ringing of steel through the glade. Arnyn held the hilt her longsword firmly with her right hand, immediately under the guard, and loosely with her left hand not next to but on the pommel itself. The point of her longsword was aimed at Pele's throat, the hilt in front of the hip joint of Arnyn's leading leg - her left one. Her left foot pointed straight ahead at Pele, while the toes of her right foot pointed to the side, off to her right. Her body was turned in a 45 degree angle.

"Let's put your current skills to the test. We can lay bare your limits, if you'd like... Will you make the first move, Pelepele? Or shall I?"
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Pele, sparring with Arnyn
Northern Ithilien


Pele took note of Arnyn's serious approach to their sparring and made an attempt to focus her attention on task at hand, after all she was not here for the sole purpose of relaxation and enjoying the nature, though she did that too. Her gaze intensified and the grip on the hilt of the sword tightened; even though her stance remained the same, it was no longer lackadaisical. She knew that a seemingly careless stance could sometimes cause the opponent rush in and make mistakes which could be successfully used, but then again she knew very well also that Arnyn would not fall for any such thing, as the comment proved too.

"On second thoughts... I would appreciate if you do not go easy on me, to see how far I have recovered," Pele said, and then added: "I can start."

Slowly she began to circle Arnyn, always facing her, and in the process rotated her weapon to raise its tip higher. It was hard to find any opening, so Pele shuffled a step or two forward, bringing her sword up, aiming to meet her friend's blade with intention to push it sideways, or at least apply pressure. But the very next moment she would reverse the motion and aim a low cut for the inside of Arnyn's left leg. While she knew that this might be a very simple approach, one had to start somewhere.
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Northern Ithilien
Sparring with Pele


A smile touched her eyes, albeit not her lips, when Pele retracted her earlier request to go easy on her. Arnyn nodded, although she did not quite intend to go all out. This was a sparring match, after all, not a real fight, and Pele was still recovering. But time would tell how the duel would progress.

As Pele started a circling motion, Arnyn mirrored circled along with her. When Pele stepped right, so did she. Instead of watching Pele's blade, she watched the woman's whole body language. Did she dip her shoulder? Did she shift her weight to that leg? Arnyn had learned long ago to watch for the signs betraying her opponent's move, instead of waiting for the move itself. If you did the latter, often your reaction was too late.

So when Pele shifted her weight in a way that told Arnyn she was about to move forward instead of continuing her circle, Arnyn shifted her own weight to move backward in reply. Arnyn managed to step clear of Pele's low cut, taking two steps back, after which she immediately took two steps forward again and lunged a quick stab at Pele's chest.
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Pele
Northern Ithilien


Pele knew very well that it would be difficult to take Arnyn by surprise in any way; it had not been easy back when... and she was sure that her friend had only gained more experience over the last years. Meanwhile Umbar had stolen from her the strength, the agility, the flexibility. While she had managed to regain some of it all, the road was still long before her; she'd just focus on best she could do for the time being.

Arnyn escaped her attack easily, and Pele was glad she had not overcommitted to the downwards cut. Had she not done so, she'd be unable to react to her friend's return. Pele did not move back from the thrust; instead she moved her right foot back sideways and rotated her whole upper body out of the way, while simultaneously raising her sword to meet Arnyn's weapon.

From there, she shifted the weight forward and attempted to push Arnyn's sword further away, trying to disengage it and then thrust hers upwards at her friend's face. At the same time she did not invest her whole body into the movement, only extending her arms. This felt a bit awkward and rigid, yet Pele hoped that it would give her a chance to remain able to move away immediately.
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Northern Ithilien
Sparring with Pele


"Yes!" Arnyn shouted out encourageingly when her sword sister stepped out of the way of her lunge. When steel met steel when Pele raised her sword to meet hers, Arnyn was glad: Pele might have lost her edge, as she claimed, but at least she hadn't lost her training. And while anyone could work to become stronger and faster, not everyone took well to learning and remembering sword techniques.

When Pele tried to maneuver Arnyn's sword away by pushing it to the side, Arnyn quickly reacted by rolling her wrist - thus causing her weapon to circle under Pele's own blade. Right when her friend was moving her sword up at her face, Arnyn's sword was below Pele's and she used it to push Pele's blade up higher and faster, and used the momentum of her circling wrist movement to simultaneously try and make Pele's sword veer off to Arnyn's right (Pele's left). The aim was not to completely foil Pele's move per se, but to make it end up much too high, way above her head, and off to the side.

In case it worked, it would only be a small move on Arnyn's part to slide her own blade down next to Pele's and aim a slash at Pele's right shoulder.
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Introducing Lord Araldur Azrubêl and Lord Edhelmir Azrubêl
*FLASHBACK POST* - A recent return to Lond Côl, in Belfalas. Set in the Year 2989, TA
(In association with the Islands RPG, in the 'Ever Beyond' Thread, in Imladris)


Lond Côl, the Golden Harbour, where shifting beads of impossibly burnished sand meet the rich embrace of the azure oceanic tongue, worshipping upon the altar of her shores; an imposing pair of sentry fortresses man the wide gaping river mouth in luxuriant Belfalas. On the one shore, the proud ancestral home of House Dimaethor. On the other shore, the ostentatious later addition, which was home to House Azrubêl ….

A ripple rode the resplendent navy cloak of the affluent knight, almost as though he managed, however improbable, his own personal poise of windswept hero. Araldur leapt from his ship to put step upon his beloved homeland. And as though that small step was a bright spark come at an expectant powderkeg, the dock instantly exploded with cheers and applause. Rare it was the man accomplished anything without being awarded such praise, his entire life it had been so, and thus it was small surprise he had become accustomed to it. To simply embody such a form as fulfilled all hopes and dreams of his folk, he looked the part, he played the part, he had been born for such a part. The people knew not yet of what he had achieved in their name and for the glory of their land, this time, but they could not conceieve of some homecoming that did not feature a telling of greatness. Already flags fluttered like the hearts of naïve maidens to behold him, the almighty heir of their kind lord. A legend stepped right out of the old stories, so it seemed.


"Araldur ! Araldur !" the cry was taken up and chorused all the long procession which snaked through the spirited streets. He was come home, and he never did anything without the flair and grandeur which had long become his trademark. Near swarmed at the outset, though he took the compliment with laughing mirth, he had graciously been gifted a horse, a gesture unlooked for, which bore him on high that all could gaze then upon his fine handsome smile as he waved to his adoring fanbase. The head of his usual impressive entourage, the nobleman was pursued from dock to front door by a staggering carriage of many laden chests, piled silks, and mannequins of magnificent, glittering armour. Those who clamoured for a sight of him soon basked in the belief that he, in passing, had laid his eye upon them, above all others ! Men held high their hands to catch the showerfuls of gold coin that the Lord's men cascaded to the crowd. Women swooned at flowers which were borne unto their mass, pressed in grateful fingers as though they were precious jewels, abundant with perfumes and fine colours. Children who chased after the long line of such magnificence were granted a shiny apple, and thrust eager teeth into the succulent taste of success. Song and merriment loitered long after the Lord himself had come to the castle high upon the point. The great double doors encouraged tears to find the faces of the most determined people who must now be content with that brief indulgence of wonder. Now that local gods had retired to their grand hearth and to the warmth of family.


But one amongst that family rushed not forth for reunion. Edhelmir basked in the refuge of his study, far from where the entire estate was basking in the marvel of his elder brother. It was not as though Araldur would miss one single person, when he ever was surrounded by a throng of countless idolising acolytes. Not unless his younger sibling was the only person who could do him what he needed. The heir apparent did not believe in knocking on doors, not when not a single door had ever been held against him. For long. Edhelmir had not even looked to lock his own meagre barricade. It was not as though he expected to be disrupted. Still the door gave way before his brother, almost as though it were but another kneeling, bowing subject. As though the Swan Knight were indeed a king. His brother knew better, though he felt most times that he was alone in this understanding. The man who had pursued Araldur into the study certainly held no such belief. Captain Gaearindil Thavron was Araldur's most loyal aide and constant companion. So much so that the Lord's wife ought be jealous, and especially if she were aware of his latest plan.


"Ed !"

It may have been a gust of wind, the door swaying open, which saw the candles all extinguished. It could not possibly have been the sheer bravado and gusto of the golden heir, his unrestrained proclamation. Edhelmir sighed nonetheless and froze in the midst of his calculations, until it became quite clear that the two burly beaming men had already knocked all other thoughts from the scholar's head.

"Brother," the younger nobleman dropped his quill to the tabletop and surrendered all defiance. It was the swiftest of ways to survive an encounter such as he now expected. "You are home," Edhelmir ducked his head, in the assumed respect of a valiant war hero. As though any more had been achieved here than a new spate of victories at the latest jousting tournament.

"And you also," Araldur smiled, disarming. As both men knew the younger rarely ventured forth from his chambers, if fortune kept him. "Ah, what marvels of the world you miss. You ought be about some, brother, and there truly live."

"What you consider as 'living', I might suggest has more in common with constant threats of dying," the paler brother bit his tongue as Araldur threw open the drapes, brandishing a storm of dust. "Yet I greatly anticipate the telling of your gallant tales at the feast tonight," he concluded, with the required etiquette. Plucking a delicate apparatus out of the curious hands of Gaearindil, Edhelmir waited, with all the poignancy of a pronounced silence, for them to depart. "I shall see you then," he added, without meaning to sound any kinds of uncourteous.

"And I shall see you, upon the vast splendours of the open sea !" Araldur was never a man for beating about any bush. "What say you, but that the rigours of your scribe work shall see you old before your time ? There is air beyond this chamber, Ed. You ought come, indulge me. You can not see the world from these old maps and scrolls. You must see the sky .."

"And is the Lady Eressild aware of your impending wish to sail ? So soon ?" Mention of Araldur's wife roused a wide smile in that nobleman's strong jaw. Gaearindil shook his head, amused as Araldur lost himself for a moment in reflection of his greatest asset. Edhelmir could not conceieve how any man who claimed to adore his wife, could be so easily swayed from her side, although he had been often informed that this was what kept a marriage 'fresh'. Having never married yet for his own part, Edhelmir could only take his brother's word for this. And indeed the Lady Eressild was ever about things to do that her husband's brief visitations in the estate were a trial to her busy schedule. The scholarly sibling pursed his lips and calmly stowed away his tools and tomes before they might be pawed at or worse, 'borrowed'. The last time that Araldur had appropriated one of his brother's hefty volumes, Edhelmir had found it serving as a door stop. Needless to say, he did not relish such ill treatment of his life's work. "You have just this day returned .."


"We have been but to jousting in Dol Amroth," Araldur came to, as secrets were slid into cupboards and keys to pockets. "I speak of the sea. Of venture …"

"Father shall never allow it," the scholar reminded all present. It seemed honestly that Gaearindil bowed his head, as tough grieving, for the fact was so. Lord Isilmir yet held the rule of the estate, and of his sons the same.

"Do I speak here to my father, or my brother ?" was the raucous answer, accompanied by an overly dramatic search of Edhelmir's face. "You are truly turning into the old man before your time. Ed, no. I shall not have it. I shall save you. You shall come with us and .."

"You think he shall allow your voyage if I am along with you ?" the younger understood the elder, all too well. All would be of a similar opinion, that Lord Araldur would never risk his meek young brother on a risky venture .. "But I am of a mind with father. You can not risk another ship .."

"It is rather more a risk to all Dor-en-Ernil if the 'Sterling Dawn' is not prowling about the wet," put in the Captain, at that point, as his Lord nodded soundly. "What purpose has a ship aside from sailing ? And what purpose a Swan Knight aside from .."

"Jousting ?" Edhelmir lowered into his seat and gazed like a headteacher from the one man to the other, as though they were foolish children. "You must think of the estate, Araldur," he sighed in the face of his brother, foregoing any comment to the passionate sailor, who threw up his hands in despair.

"My every action is for the advantage of this estate !" It was Araldur's turn to grow indignant, and it was not a mood which he showcased often. The defensive outburst had thus all the more impact upon it's audience. "You believe I game, brother, and waste time and tools, in showing off with friends ? What you do not recognise is that the armours I have won from Knights in tourney, shall all but ensure the due negotiations with said knights. Agreements and trade alliances are ever the outcome of a Swan lord or his father coming here to polish the friendship and fair reputation of both our respective houses. I provoke those relationships into due conception, by inviting a Lord to come meet those local blacksmiths who forge the same swords which I win trophies with. Why the House of Gilzagun this very hour has sent word to father that he would speak of their buying back his nephew's prized arms, and perhaps then broach the matter of a reduced mark upon the import of their wares, those wares which feed our people .. "

"Cease ! Cease, I beg of you" Edhelmir waved Araldur into submission, or at least into a silence that featured the Knight share a triumphant grin with his nautical ally. The scholarly nobleman, in contrast, had erred by allowing them to get off track. It now might take even the while longer to be rid of the two visitors, and whatever they had a mind to talk him into. "Just speak what you would have of me, and clearly so. For I fail to comprehend how your sudden zeal for my 'wellbeing' is of any advantage to your ambitious plots."

Gaearindil glanced sidelong at Araldur, in sure recognition of the cue they had been waiting for.

"It is but as you rightly diagnosed, Ed," the elder brother stepped in and embraced his younger sibling in a crushing embrace that saw Edhelmir pat him repeatedly upon the back, to be released. He panted for breath as Araldur dropped dramatically to one knee. "Father would bless our escorting you to the grand annual astronomical convention in Pelargir .." One eyebrow rose in a direct betrayal of the ruse.

"Pelargir does seem a little tame, compared to your usual raids about the Eastern reaches," the reluctant nobleman fought the rising acknowledgement that he was going to give in. Again.

"I do vow we shall drop you off there safe and sound, and retrieve you upon our return .."

"So, you do mean to dare one of your usual suicidal escapades," the 'intelligent' brother rolled his eyes and cast a sharp glance at Araldur, whose smile never faltered, and at Gaearindil, who at least had the gall to cast his eyes away and to the ceiling. "Brother, you shall bring a war down upon us ! The Lords Thorongil and Ecthelion laid waste to Umbar, to but teach them a lesson. To award them justice for the violence which they had inflicted upon our people. They knew quite how far to go. As does a responsible parent, dealing out discipline for ill deeds committed, to merely inspire then shame and contrition. The Corsairs went too far and we schooled them what would come as the repercussions of repeating such an error. But now it is you, brother, who goes too far ! There is no justice in administering punishment for the potential of a crime not yet committed. You beat their efforts to rebuild their armada, and lay bare the coasts which they have not the capacity to properly defend. You shall drive them to retaliate !"

"And how are they to retaliate, if they have no armada ?" Grey eyes steeled against accusations. "You know naught of this, Ed. You have not seen, you were not there. The folk of Umbar are as an infestation of cockroaches. Turn your back for but a moment and they shall creep back out from beneath their rock ! We must keep a foot pressed firm upon that rock ! If you had seen first hand the devastation .."

Araldur met the eyes of Gaearindil, his henchman, across the room and the two veterans of combat were united, despite their extremely altered rank, in an unspoken comradery. And all of a sudden it was Edhelmir who felt as though the child now, and they his lecturers, his teachers.

"Think some on it," the Swan Knight pressed his unconvinced sibling, as he indicated with a nod of his head, for the Captain to join him in departing. Edhelmir watched them both go. "You say I don't think of those loved ones here, of home. But if we do not take steps to thwart the merest likelihood of any threat, then it is they who shall pay the price, when the enemy is at our door. Father, Mother. My beloved Eressild, and my dear little daughter .... Ask me once again why I am so keen to take ship, but to secure them. Can you say the same, though all we ask of you is to play passenger, and never once tread close to any harm ?"


The young scholar managed to hold his silence until at least the door had slammed behind his two guests. Slowly he sank into the seat of his comfortable chair. His papers and books and maps seemed foolish now, mocked as much as was he, for never electing a more 'exciting' life. Dealing with his brother was as much effort as he could manage, and Araldur had been home for less than a day yet. Maybe there was something to be said for time away after all. But ought he to play false toward his father, or otherwise betray his brother's hope ? It was not a choice that he was keen to consider, much less decide on. And now, despite all the work he had promised his father he would handle, he could not think of a single thing else except for the 'grand annual astronomical convention in Pelargir'.
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Pele
Sparring session with Arnyn
Northern Ithilien


Her move did not work as well as she had meant; Pele had placed herself in a position that was too awkward and could not counter Arnyn's pressure enough to execute her intention fully. She found her sword pushed off the aim, her arms overextended, leaving her vulnerable to the attack. A frown appeared on Pele's face, when she realised her situation and saw Arnyn's response coming.

She would not be able to bring back her sword this quickly, and her right side was open to attack, in an attempt to avoid the incoming slash, the Ranger went down on her right knee to get some distance in between herself and the sword and precious seconds necessary to bring her own sword back and up in an attempt to counter Arnyn's attack.

However, now Pele found that getting back to her feet was not that easy, and she knew that her friend would surely make use of this circumstance and possibly apply pressure to keep her down and less mobile. Leaving her sword only in her right hand, Pele's left went for the dagger at her belt, and she leaned in, aiming a stab at Arnyn's left knee to make her retreat and give Pele some space.
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Lord Edhelmir Azrubêl and his brother Lord Araldur, with various relatives to bid farewell to.
Flashback - follow-on from last post. At Castle Azrubêl, Lond Côl, Belfalas. - 2989 TA


The face upon the left portrayed a sense of noble bearing, and a confidence which shaped the contours of his features in quietly assuming glory. The face upon the right, ... a rather awkward variation, paler of skin, with eyes spread so wide that they might suggest a deer caught in the range of a determined crossbow. And a smile that, .. no. It could not rightly even be defined as such. This face did not convey sure happiness. Or confidence. Or anything save a distinct impression of having spent too much time indoors. Safe from any manner of adventure.

Edhelmir frowned at the mirror, only further highlighting the inferior appeal of it's visage, compared to the painting that it hung beside. Painfully he accepted defeat. That he might never equal that sort of appeal which a most talented artist had conjured in his less-than- likeness. Having failed to live up to the potential of a two-dimensional portrait, he draped an ornate throw over the offensive gift. If he had found means to veil every surface that threw back his true reflection, he would have done so. Willingly. But even had he shattered every mirror in the entire castle, he could not dry every lake, nor shutter every window pane. He could not change what was.

He had seen her gazing on this very oil-based delusion, some considerable time, and more than just once. Now that he had found the time and courage to inspect it's merits, Edhelmir felt quite sure that the lady was but seeking to solve the puzzle; of quite who the dashing subject of the piece was supposed to be. He concluded it unlikely she would ever align it with his self. Sirdis, ah Sirdis. Lady Emere, Edhelmir's heart fluttered behind the delicate bars of his rib cage. She would never be his. The portrait was the least of his contenders for her affection.

The greatest was a man named Gaearindil Thavron, who happened to be the lady's husband. Hearsay would assume that a man born into Edhelmir's almighty fortune should not want for any thing about this earth his heart may ever desire. much less lose it to a man of lesser birth. But seizing what he yearned for was a step above accepting (graciously, of course) what was actually handed him; quite a different matter. Edhelmir had politely and most courteously refrained from speaking on the matter of his secret affection, and been so awarded in due course by an invitation to the lady's wedding. Which of course he had attended, with a mask of etiquette upon his face and a shattered heart within his chest. But who really could he blame but himself ? Eight years later, and it still hurt. For his foolhardy reluctance did not diminish. And neither had his affection, for the woman who now belonged to somebody else.

As though fate conspired to lend new support to nurture the lord's envy, who should round that very corner but the charmed sailor himself. Once a mere ship's carpenter, now captain of the 'Sterling Dawn'. Gaearindil's courage in the face of advancing peril, not to mention an apparently unquenchable zeal for adventure, had impressed his lord, as they stood side by side and battled corsairs against a salty backdrop of adrenalin-fuelled glory. And so it was the two men had become inseparable. As though brothers of similar soul, hankering always for the next tide of adventure. Gaearindil claimed the heart of Sirdis Emere in one hand, and the brotherly comradeship of Lord Araldur Azrubel in the other.

He was everything that Edhelmir was not. He was the 'brother figure' that Edhelmir's own born brother deserved. He was the sort of man that Sirdis deserved. And the lord could not even spite the low-born upward migrant all the gifts that were well claimed. The man was as agreeable as he was socially affluent.



This day, the mighty conquerors strode down the corridor astride, like two gods laughing at the world which lay before their feet. Why should they not, since he, Edhelmir, had paved the way toward their latest escapade ?! In private disgust at his self, the younger Lord slunk down in his own shoulders but was already observed. Araldur raised both arms high and wide, to greet his mild sibling, while Gaearindil curiously lifted at the corner of the drape that hid the newest portrait to the gallery.

"There he is !" Araldur paid no heed to the furnishings, but met his startled sibling with great gusto. "The man ! The ..",

"You forget yourself," Edhelmir shook his head, to hide the blush upon his cheek. "I have done naught to merit such a greeting."

"You have," the glimmering heir corrected him. Assured him. "And you shall. Know no fretting thereabout." With an elaborate wink which did not even make a try at subtle, Araldur somehow managed to instill apprehension in Edhelmir, as though he wielded a sword about his head, instead of joy at their encounter. Of course, Gaearindil shared his Lord's infectious good humour, and the pair of them now beheld the rather cowed younger Man as though they knew something that he did not. Which was of course the case, but again of course, would not be the case for overlong.

"We have been at thought, brother," Araldur leaned in, barely able to contain himself. He exchanged a glance with Gaearindil before returning his triumphant expression toward his nervous kinsman. "About how we might .. repay you."

"You have re-thought then this mad proposal to provoke our foe and ..?" Edhelmir could scarcely dare to hope. And such a vain thread of possibility was beaten into the dust by merry laughter.

"Well, we did speak some about proposals," put in Gaearindil, knowingly. Edhelmir blinked, nonplussed.

"We have hatched a plot Ed. To see you wed !" Araldur paused, in expectation of his usual glad reception. "Why, we shall sow such tales of your brave exploits at sea that .."

"You really need not go to such trouble," Edhelmir near dropped to both his knees and begged the men to forget the very notion. He wanted only to be left alone. Ideally with the soft hand and large eyes of the Lady Sirdis to console him. That seemed only fair. But when was life fair ? "It would be unfair to ice the ground of a maid's heart with an untruth."

"You wound me," the exuberant Swan Knight clasped his heart with drama, as though his brother had there plunged a blade. "I would never speak untruths !"

"So you told our father of your true intent ?" Edhelmir stood unconvinced. "That you mean not in fact to escort me safely to some false convention in Pelargir, but in fact to drop me out of mind and sail forth into the greatest peril on the Harad coast ?"

Gaearindil coughed, uncomfortably, as Araldur threw a muscled arm about his brother, unconcerned. "I but relayed to our Father my intention to raise up your reputation in the eyes of all Dol Amroth, so that you might further strengthen our fair dynasty." Araldur grinned, basking in his own unquenchable good humour. "He was less concerned with the particulars of how and where .."

"Meaning you did not divulge such details at all .." assumed Edhelmir, correctly.

"Meaning he was most agreeable to our chivalrous expedition," Araldur concluded, proudly. "And I can in all good conscience declare that his wish, your happiness, is my true, unswerving and most heartfelt ambition in all this escapade." He bowed, elegantly, proving why he had needed no aid to secure his own wife.

"Your generosity quite overwhelms me brother, but .." as always, Edhelmir said 'but' and Araldur took that as cue to hear no further. Favouring the praise bereft of any criticism.

"You are my brother, and welcome," the knight declared, proudly. "It is more than time. You are a man, after all, are you not ?" he laughed, heartily but not cruelly, as though there should be no doubt about the matter.

Edhelmir did not laugh. He rather considered the two towering examples of adventurer before him, and remained unconvinced of his worth in their presence. Why would they not simply leave and take their gusto and vigour with them. It was no joy to be confronted with all a man should be and find himself, as with a meagre painting, wanting. Worse still, he now worried that they would not merely keep to their initial plot, and maroon him in Pelargir whilst concocting some swollen tale of his exploits on the high seas. What if they meant for him to truly accompany them ?

"It will be the making of you," Araldur concluded, as though he could read his brother's thoughts. When in fact it was quite fortunate that he could not. He would have been disappointed.

"The appeal of mermaids and sirens does not move me, sir," Edhelmir strove to retain his calm composure. "Thankyou though I am sure the gesture is well meant on your part."

"Ed. Please." Araldur levelled with the other. Finally. "Ever since I found a wife myself, I have been converted to the joys of such union. And what sort of friend, what sort of brother would I be, if I did not wish similar good fortune shower those I love ? My man, Thavron here, had no thought for aught but his work, until I saw to it that the Lady Emere learnt of all his mighty exploits and qualities. And see now ! How happy they both are ! Do grant me the chance to award you similar pleasure ?" The knight caught a glimpse of wistful in his younger brother's eyes, upon hearing such a scheme. Oh, little did he realise though, quite why Edhelmir was moved by that particular example. "You know I shall not leave you in peace until you appease me. Is that not so ? Come, you know that it is." Araldur brandished his most winning argument yet and struggled to comprehend how anyone could refuse him.

Edhelmir sank low into a conveniently placed chair, as tempted as he was traumatised by his brother's oblivious intention. Gaearindil's sincere support of the gesture only made matters worse. Araldur, being Araldur, took his brother's silence as acceptance.

"And so away ! Hoaray !" the knight roared, quite exuberant.
"Hoaray !" added Gaearindil, loyally.
"And so .. away" Edhelmir sighed, failing to halt the two men as they dragged him with great relish to be readied and depart.



***********

"I have never heard tell of this annual astronomical convention," Sirdis met the eyes of Edhelmir as the men made to take ship. For a moment the Lord believed that the Lady had seen through their ruse. "In Pelargir, my lord ? Why, I do almost wish I might accompany you," she sighed, genuinely yearnful. The nobleman teetered there as usual between remorse and adulation. He lowered his eyes accordingly, although they raised up in wonder as the lady added "I shall miss our little book club, during your away." Any thoughts of returning a sentiment of similar affection were lost, as he was then privy to observe the embrace of dear Sirdis and her brave young husband. Was it possible to experience nausea, before ever stepping from the shore ?

"I shall miss more than any book can tell," the Captain, traced his wife's face with one rough hand. "Alas, women have no place upon a ship. For we must keep our hearts on the shore, or else never would it see us here return."

"Return to me," Sirdis bid him, blinking away tears. "To your family," She ushered their son from where he stood close by, to his father's arms. A last emotional resort to see him back to where he should be missed.

"I can do naught to convince you to a life onship with your beloved father ?" Gaearindil messed his son's hair, and dropped to crouch and meet the boy's eyes. "You are set upon serving your Lord, and not your parent ?"

"Shame not my new page, Captain," Araldur burst gloriously upon the scene, as upon all scenes. His own daughter was upon his shoulders, humming merrily and braiding his dark hair, as far as a child may attempt to. "All knights must start somewhere. And I would trust no one with my prized steeds, but your son." The Lord was usurped then, by his own wife, who would have their princess from him.

Gaearindil pressed a small wooden horse that he had carved himself into Anardil's hand. "Be all that you can be, but forget not who you are," he bid his child to recall, and with a last embrace of his wife, set to make ready their departure. His son watched the sailor leap along the gangplank and was clutched back close to the legs of his mother, who was clearly relieved that she bid only her husband farewell, while their boy stayed close by.

"Do vow you shall take the greatest care," Lady Eressild seemed very much aware of her husband's true motives.

"How could I not, when all else might bring you malady ?" Araldur made to laugh, but was cut off by his good wife's kiss. It lasted longer than might have been counted proper, but Eressild did not care. Araldur was hers, and she would have him to recall it. Though the leagues should soon lie between them and tasks would see them each distracted. In those prized moments they shared, each forgot all else.

"And now," Araldur faced his treasured little daughter, decked out as she was in trains of silk and ribbon. "How may I ever say farewell to my best girl ?" the gallant knight seemed to trouble over the dilemma until the child kissed her hands, then buttered them with love across his chest.

"Be happy," Isys demanded, before breaking into giggles, as he raised her high in both arms and whirled her all about his head. As she grounded, a curtsy was his reward, with such a look somewhere between innocence and confidence, the father would count that image amongst his greatest treasures all his life to come.

"Be happy, Lond Côl !" the lord returned, even as his wife cried out at their daughter's efforts to skip up the gangplank. Anardil caught his father's prompting glance, and hastily retrieved the little noblewoman, tapping her upon the shoulder so that Isys turned, beamed at her playmate, and extended her arm so that he might take her hand and escort her back to her mother. Eressild caught one hand to her throat in relief, and the other sought to find the hand of Sirdis, for support. The two woman shared a nod, and called their respective children hack to hand.

"We shall return !" the promise resounded even over the cheers that the crowd raised. The dock was ablaze with colour, craze and expectation. Araldur and Gaearindil took to respective command of the vessel, and Edhelmir .. stood dazed upon the deck as men washed in and all around him. Paying a respectful bow whenever they caught the young lord's eye, one cordially invited him to come meet his specially prepared and pampered cabin.

Edhelmir though loitered but a moment more, poignant upon the deck of the 'Sterling Dawn'. Forlorn was his countenance as the shore began to diminish from bright distinction. Somewhere in his stomach he wondered if he should ever see his home again, and how he already wished he had never left her.

Her.

Stomach lurching, the young Lord took refuge below deck. Where he might bury his head in cushions, and surrender to the lull of creaking wood, the lilting song of men about their work. His slow departure from sure ground and earth beneath his feet. And all that he held dear. The shape of his father's face gave no doubt to his heritage, still Edhelmir could scarcely fathom how he was related to the sea lords of Azrubêl. Or how they might truly recall him, during this time away, with only that non-likened portrait to remind them of all he should be, and wasn't.
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.

Balrog
Points: 5 867 
Posts: 3513
Joined: Mon May 18, 2020 11:02 am
Lews Tryfan
The Docks at Pelargir

(Private with @Gilitheriel)

The docks were loud, bustling with activity. Scores of voices in dozens of linguistic dialects all melding into a single monotonous drone. The air was thick with humidity and salt. The smell of fish, offal, tar, and a half dozen more indescribable things wafted through the air, blown about by contrary winds. Bells dinged and donged all over the city, tolling everything from the quarter hour to the opening of shops. The docks felt claustrophobic, everyone was moving and hurry, yelling and talking. It was a wonder anything could be heard above the din at all. The sun was high now, the hour was well into the afternoon and it was hot. Dogs panted heavily as they darted in between the legs of the sailors, dock workers, traders, and soldiers. They barked and growled and whined at every passerby, earning kicks from many, disgusted looks from most, and treats from a few. Cats yowled and hissed from their window perches. The sounds of the sea could be heard too, the sloshing back and forth of the waters, the gulls cried and whined above, calling out to each other in raucous, obnoxious, atonal voices, the sounds of ropes tightening and coiling, cloth sails flapping in the wind. Colors of all sorts veritably assaulted passersby with every hue imaginable as they walked through the docks. From the market stalls to the shiny gleeman’s wagons to the wild fabrics and rich cloth of the nobles, it was as if some wizard had captured a rainbow and threw it out carelessly into the streets. The air tastes of salt and smoke, baked bread and frying meats. This was the world that greeted Lews Tryfan back to the land.

He meandered through the crowded docks, clutching at the sack that held his entire earthly belongings. The thrum and heave of the crowd was overwhelming. He had been at see for so long he had forgotten how the mob of people swarmed and buzzed like bees in their nest. He dodged a cutpurse, a young boy in a ragged blue jerkin who was followed quickly by some officially looking city watchmen shouting and huffing for people to move aside.

Swiftly, after counting the coins his purse to make sure his captain paid him enough, Lews made his way through the streets, keeping his head down and sticking, as much as he could, to the shadows. The sounds of the docks faded as the houses and buildings began closing in more and more, blocking out the sites around him. Slowly, he was able to breathe. The weight was lifted off his shoulders and suddenly he felt free. Freer than he had in months. He felt his muscles loosen and his bones crack as he decompressed. Finally, he was back. He was not in Minas Tirith yet, but that could wait. He was back in Gondor, back in the land that had given him his life.

There had been those that tried to take it though, many had lived in Gondor as well, but they had passed on. He could still see their faces in his mind’s eyes: the Dunamis. They had been his adoptive family until they turned on him. It had been thirteen years since he’d seen any of them, and he hoped he’d never see another one again.

Thirteen years ago he had booked a job aboard a whaler, travelling from Pelargir to Lindon in search of whale oil to help fuel the lights of Minas Tirith and Osgiliath. He would be gone for approximately a years’ time. It would had been difficult to leave his wife for that long, they had only been married at that point for a year and such a separation could play havoc on their relationship. But he had assured her everything would be okay and he would be back before she knew he was gone. He had been so wrong.

The boat was making good time, they had found several whale pods along their journey and had managed to store away nearly a hundred barrels of oil until a storm hit them a hundred miles out to sea. The crew compliment had been 47, only 13 were able to make it to the water. A bolt of lightning struck a barrel of whale oil and the entire ship exploded. Lews had been lucky to make it out with a concussion and a broken arm. A companion, his bunkmate, had been severed into shreds, pieces of him floated far too near Lews for sanity’s liking. They were stranded. Out at sea. With no land in sight for a hundred miles. They should have died out there. A few did. If it had not been for the completely eucatastrophic appearance of Finnbarr Galedeep and his crew. Nine men made it back to Lindon alive. Lews had developed an infection from his broken arm and had been forced to staying with the healers for far longer than he would have liked. By now he was two months overdue.

He did made it home eventually, but the home he found was no longer his own. His wife had declared him dead six months into his journey. He could not believe it. He tried to find her, to convince he was still alive, that he had simply been ill but it was of no avail. She had remarried some wealthy aristocrat and moved on. He went to his family, to the Dunamis for help. But they offered only salt in the wounds. They would not help him. When his wife had declared him dead, they had followed suit and erased him from their collective memories and family lines. He was alone.

First, he had to go about trying to prove to the courts that he was not dead, which was far more difficult than he’d ever imagined. The process was mind numbingly tedious but he was determined. He was all set for a court date, to prove to the magistrate of the third circle that he, Lews Tryfan, was still alive, when something happened, or rather someone happened. An assassin. The attempt on his life cost him an eye, but he was able to disappear before the killer was able to finish their mission. Who… who could have sent an assassin after him? Who would want to kill a man that was already “dead”? He had his suspicious, but he did not want to believe them. There was no way it could have been her! No. But after a second attempt a few days later, he had to face the truth: his wife wanted him to remain dead. So he did. He left Minas Tirith and started north, to Fangorn, the home of his best friend: Silvien, and elf he met one day hiding out in his old family’s burned out homestead. He was halfway there when a cold dread hit him. What if his wife, a jealous woman even at her best, had tried to do something to Silvien? He wrote her a letter, telling her to run, to hide, to stay away. He never received a reply.

He ran then. He ran and ran and ran. He had nowhere to go, no one to go to. His family had abandoned him, forced him out, his wife actively wanted him dead and his very presence could be a danger to his best friend.

He travelled aimlessly for years after that, going hither and thither to pick up odd jobs at farm or in the various tiny villages and hamlets that dotted the landscape from Gondor to Eriador. He never stayed long, fearing the assassin might not be far behind him.

As it turned out, his fears had been warranted. Just outside of Osdolen, the assassin found him. The man was persistent, Lews could give him that at least. He was good too. Lews had fought him off on two occasions but both times had been very near things. He did not think he would manage a third escape. If this was going to end, one way or the other, it was going end right there. The woods were silent that night, so utterly silent that Lews thought he might have stumbled into another realm. They fought for what felt like hours but in reality was only moments. Move, countermove, parry, strike, evade, slash, block, sidestep, thrust. Over and over again until Lews was cornered. The assassin had him. Then, as if by some divine providence, an owl flew by, swooping just close enough to the battle that the assassin was distracted for a heartbeat, and that’s all Lews needed to plunge his sword and stop that heartbeat from coming back.

After that, Lews had felt safe again, safe enough to return to Minas Tirith and declare himself alive. This time, with added benefit of not being killed, he was able to win his case. And with that victory came another, his wife, ex wife rather, had been forced to annul her marriage to the rich fop she’d been taking advantage of and was subsequently jailed for hiring an assassin to murder her husband. Not a bad day’s work.

Still, he felt unsafe. He was not sure if it was the paranoia that he’d grown so accustomed to or a genuine fear of the Dunamis striking out against him that made him flee Minas Tirith again, but flee he did. He went north for a time, trying to find work in Dale but the cold, hard lands did not suit him the way Eriador and Gondor had, and he longed to come home. He watched from afar as the clan that had once claimed him, sheltered him and welcomed him slowly tore itself apart, a fitting end to a family that felt more like a cult than a community.

He took another whaling job, this time it was only meant to last six months but it lasted a full eighteen. He came back though, laden with experience and wealth, they had more than filled their quota and he was halfway to becoming a upstanding citizen.

Finally, after years of waiting and watching, he sent a letter to Silvien again. He was not sure if would reach her, he was not even sure she was alive, but he felt the time was right. He told her he’d be in Pelargir, that if she was able she could come to see him, that he would make things right. He gave her the name of an inn in the middle district, and hoped and prayed to the stars above that somehow, she would receive it.

So now, in the present, he was going to that inn. The Golden Donkey. It was a tiny, out of the way inn that did not receive much fare from the harbor, thus avoiding some of the rough edged folk that might stop in, but it was far from the rich side of Pelargir too, far from the obtuse self-aggrandizations of the rich that soured Lews’ thoughts. It was perfect.

The inn was not busy, even though it was nearly supper time. Only a few patrons sat at the tables, a few men deep in their cups and a woman dressed in a deep forest green cloak in the corner. The barmistress was a busy woman regardless of the lack of clientele, she moved with a savage grace from table to table, wiping them down, serving drinks, yelling at the cook in the back, at the stable boys lazing around out the outside. She was red faced when she met Lews.

“Aha! I heard the Queen’s Anvil had made port!” her accent was thick and her teeth were stained yellow but her smile was broad and welcoming. “I made your room up just in case! Ready for a bit a supper? I know it’s early but I can ‘ave Macon rustle you up some stew.” She pinched him. “Still as lean as fish, you. If we’re gonna get you a wife we needs to fatten you up!” She guffawed, grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.

“Thank you Tani, it’s good to see you too,” he said with a genuine smile. “How is old Macon? Still hard of hearing?”

The barmistress cackled. “Only when it’s meal time. Hey Macon! Lews’ come back and needs something to eat!”

There was a crash in the kitchen, the sound of a man being woken up from a very deep nap, then shuffling and in came the broadest, fattest man Lews had ever seen. Despite his massive bulk, Macon moved with the grace of a panther and wrapped Lews up in a bear hug before the Gondorian could protest.

“Oh! It’s good to see you too, Macon,” Lews managed in between gasps for breath.

“What’d ya want eh? I kin make ya anythin’ you’d like. Want some crab? Got a good shipment o’ them t’other day. I kin make you a beer battered soft shell! Aye tha’s what I’ll do. You go’on an’ sit down.”

“That does sound good,” Lews smiled and bowed graciously.

“Oh none of that!” Tani cut in. “You ain’t be needin’ none o’ that ‘round here.”

Lews blushed and nodded, sitting at the table nearest in a heap. He was exhausted. Some food would do him amazing right how, and a big stein of the darkest beer they had. As if by telepathy, Tani set down the biggest mug of ale Lews had ever seen and it was filled to the foaming brim with a dark stout.

“Tani, you are too kind by half!”

He drank the beer and nothing in his life had ever tasted half so good as it. They brewed their own stout here, a beer so thick Lews could almost chew it. It filled him and warmed his bones, gave them back some life he desperately needed.

“Tani…” he said after he finished the stein, “have you had any word… from that friend I told you about? The elf?”

The barmistress turned and sighed, her shoulders sagging a little. “No lad, no word yet. But ye said ‘twas unlikely we’d hear back, right?”

He nodded and sighed. He had hoped she’d already be here. If she hadn’t come yet, there was a chance she had never received that letter, or that she was gone. There was nothing he could do, but wait.

NPF edit: Astounding..
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Dúnadan
Points: 324 
Posts: 110
Joined: Mon Jul 06, 2020 3:47 pm
Silvien
Fangorn Forest
Private RP with @Frostbite


(8 months ago)

Silvien was startled out of composing her latest melody by the sound of twigs and branches snapping in the distance. She lowered herself into a crouch, running into her cottage and grabbing a knife from her table. Creeping to a window, she peeked over to see who in the world could have found her in the middle of Fangorn Forest. She could make out the rustling of deep green leaves and...moving branches? Ah, an ent! She could count on her finger the number of times she'd hosted an ent at her cottage. She dropped the knife and made her way outside, doing her best to hide her previous state of shock. The ents did not often wake these days. Silvien burned with curiosity.

"I don't often get visitors," Silvien remarked as soon as he was within earshot. "What brings you to my cottage on this fine day?" Stupid, she thought afterwards. You should have asked him name first! Or said some sort of greeting. It had been so long since she'd had a conversation that she was having trouble remembering how they were supposed to go.

"Ah, and here I find young Mistress Silmalinda," he said in a voice that sounded like rocks breaking a log in two. "You proved easier to find than I had hoped. I am Mosshollow, and I have something for you.”

“You have something for me?” Her mind reeled, wondering what on Middle Earth an ent could be bringing her.

Mosshollow slowly brought a long, finger like branch down to the moss covered hollow in his chest that was his namesake. Peeking out from the hole was a small piece of parchment.
Her curiosity bursting, she tried to stay as patient as possible. The ents got offended when you hurried them.

After an agonizingly long moment, he handed the letter over. “The courier ended up leaving this on the edge of the forest, and I came across it. The others told me you came here to be alone. Strange thing, having letters delivered then.”

“I didn’t ask someone to send me a letter,” Silvien found herself saying. “I don’t think anyone even knows I’m here.”

“Well, someone does,” Mosshollow replied back before slowly turning around. “This forest is a peaceful place. Please don’t do anything to harm that, Silmalinda,” he said as he left, trampling the path on his way out. She waited a few heartbeats to make sure he wouldn’t turn around, then opened the letter and quickly read it.

Silvien stared in disbelief at the crumpled paper lying on the tree stump in front of her. She looked up, as if seeking an answer in the sunlight thickly filtered by the green canopy. The shadows of the forest around her felt as nothing to the shadows in her heart.

"Ten years," she whispered, "ten years and now this?" Blinking back tears, she sat back on her crude chair and tried to determine what exactly it was that she felt.

She'd thought he was dead. Plain and simple. Lews had always been one for getting his neck into trouble, and she'd just assumed that he finally got into something he couldn't get out of. She'd cried for him, screamed at the world for him, spent years waiting for any kind of word that never came. The lonely ache in her heart had threatened to overwhelm her. True, she'd come to Fangorn forest to live a life of solitude. But Lews had been different.

She ran a long finger down the side of her face, tracing the scar that ran from her hairline just above her temple to the back of her jaw. If Lews wanted her to come meet him in Gondor, she of course would do so. She owed it to herself to look him in the eye and ask why he never came back. And there was a not so small part of her that was glad he was alive.

She checked the date on the letter. “Well, judging by the seasons it’s been several months since he wrote this. He could be returning from his journey soon, which means I’d better start mine. Looks like I'll need to make some preparations for the journey," she said to everyone and no one. None of the ents seemed to mind her presence in her part of the forest, despite the racket she often made, but she still liked to think that they listened to her despite their slumber. She'd been careful when building her cottage to cause as little harm to the trees as possible, in the hopes to not draw their ire. She'd lived in the forest for...how long now exactly? Time was nothing to an elf, and she realized with a start that before Lews she'd never bothered to stop and count. No matter. She'd been here long enough that the place was hers, and comfortably. Though sparse, her home was comfortable and peaceful. She had little in the way of earthly possessions. She pulled out a linen sack from her storage and began filling it with foodstuffs and other supplies that she would need for the long journey. Perhaps if she made her way through Rohan she could barter one of her old silver rings for a horse...

(Present Day)

Silvien's journey had ended up taking more than a month, especially since she had absolutely no idea where she was going. She’d had no actual money when she started on her journey, instead bringing the jewelry she’d brought with her from home to barter with. It had been enough to buy her a horse at Edoras, substantially cheaper without all the riding gear they’d insisted she buy but had refused. She found the idea of riding a horse insulting enough for the horse, let alone forcing it to wear those awful saddles. Fairwind didn’t need those anyway. She’d also purchased a map and managed to save what she imagined travelers would normally have to spend on food. Her long years in Fangorn had taught her how to live completely off the land. She’d had plenty of time to think about the last decade of her life along the journey. She wished she had something exciting that she could tell Lews, but frankly her life had been as boring as it had before he arrived. Being with him had been the only excitement she’d had in who knew how long. She definitely didn’t know. She was an elf, she didn’t keep track of time.

Pelargir had been nothing like she expected. Edoras felt downright rustic compared to the bustling port city. It had taken her three full days to work up the nerve to walk into the crowd of people lining the streets every day, and another day after that to even find the inn she was supposed to meet Lews at. She’d decided to wear a head scarf like she’d seen some of the other women do to keep their hair out of the way. She did NOT want these people knowing she was an elf. She felt suddenly lucky that she’d been unusually short for an elf. Instead of towering over the humans like her fellows would have, she stood a mere inch taller than most. She gone inside, pretending to be the sister of one of the sailors on the Queen’s Anvil. And nothing. She’d traveled all this way only for him to be LATE?

The next 9 months had been terrible. Avoiding the humans only seemed to get harder the longer she lingered in the port. She dared not go home, what if he arrived while she was gone? She’d managed to find a small cave lining the coast that seemed uninhabited and set herself up there. She was used to living a sparse life, and a comfortable life in a cozy forest and her animal friends to keep her company.

The only animals to keep her company here were the damn crabs and the gulls. She’d heard other elves proclaim their love for the sounds of gulls, but as far as birds went, she much preferred owls. With an owl, you knew where you stood with them. Gulls were a finicky, opportunistic lot.
But oh, the sea. Glorious, majestic. Terrifying. It sounded like freedom and chains at the same time. She’d ran off to Fangorn to keep herself from being chained, and she would refuse the sea the same.

After two or three months of sulking in her cave on the beach, she’d finally decided that she needed to do something with her time besides mope and write sad poetry. She’d begun by tending to the countryside and doing her best to restore some of the luster lost by being trampled and picked over by travelers and caravans. She’d thought she was being quite stealthy, and was rather pleased with herself with how the results were coming along when a group of Men showed up in her cave. She’d nearly fled then and there when they explained that they were Rangers of Gondor, and had noticed her skill in the wilderness.

“You’re asking me to join you?” Silvien replied, flabbergasted. “But...you don’t even know me! And I’m an elf!” Silvien had gritted her teeth and looked the leader right in his steel grey eyes. “And I will swear no oaths. I won’t be tied down again.”

Falathor, the leader, had agreed that her involvement would be strictly unofficial and she would be allowed to leave at any time. In exchange, there were places sacred and secret to the rangers that she was forbidden to visit. Forbidden if she got caught, at least, she told herself.

The next six months were a blur, a whirlwind of activity in her memory. They’d trained her in how to spot orcs and Haradhrim, and other enemies that might pose a threat to civilians. She was used to tracking in Fangorn, but it was challenging and exciting to learn it in a new land. Recently, they’d even been training her in the bow and dagger. Her long trip to Pelargir, and the city itself, had instilled within her a desire to learn how to defend herself. There had been no threats in Fangorn that she couldn’t use her elven abilities to get out of, but Men were a completely different story. You couldn’t calm them the way you could a beast.

Finally, the fateful day had come. The Queen’s Anchor had docked.

She pulled her hood tighter around her head to shelter her ears from the chilly sea air. She’d taken to wearing the uniform of the rangers around the town. It kept people from looking at her ears, and kept them from asking questions. Port cities tended to attract seedy types, and while Rangers didn’t involve themselves with local politics, they still received a wide berth. Perfect for her. She still wasn’t comfortable in crowds. As such, to her delight the Golden Donkey seemed quiet for the hour. She stomped her shoes on the wooden doorstep and opened the door, hearing a small jingle from a bell attached to the top of the door.

She kept her hood up as she entered the inn, casting a quick glance around. She spared a glance for the men scattered around the tables, and also for the woman in the corner.
Her eyes caught a figure sitting at a table nearest the bar. Her breath hitched, not quite daring to believe. Could it be? She walked closer, her feet moving of their own accord. His face had aged, but those were still his same eyes. “Lews?” She whispered, then finding her voice. “Lews? You’re alive!” Tears glistened in her eyes and she scooped him up in to the biggest hug she could manage. “You owe me on hell of a story. But for now,” She squeezed him again, reveling in finding her best friend still alive after all this time.

NPF edit: Definitely want to encourage more posting like this! Well done!

Captain of Tower
Points: 945 
Posts: 420
Joined: Sun Jun 07, 2020 10:16 pm
Abrazimir Dimaethor,
Lond Côl, Dol Amroth, Gondor
Year 3018 of the Third Age

ACT 1: Chapter Two

OOC: Participation Welcome



”We’ll be docking at port soon.” Informed the helmsman.

Captain Maerion nodded, already seeing the coastline of Belfalas growing as their vessel, the warship Bregolalph, approaching. The sails were unhoisted and the oars put out, slowing their passage. Maerion watched the waiting wharf workers get ready to receive them, crates and other trunks of supplies for the war effort in the east sitting nearby. Along with the other query they were meant to transport.

Turning, he moved down from the rear bastion of the vessel and towards the cabin door beneath, entering into the tight corridor and knocking upon the first door on the left. The guest cabin. Now, a simple chartered voyage was not apart of this assignation, but the destination was the same as his so he couldn’t possibly refuse. Plus, the Realm needed every warrior at the frontlines and making one walk the long journey across land would be detrimental. Softly, the Dol Amrothian sea captain rapped on the door and waited a second for acknowledgement, before speaking to the guest within.

”Ma’am? We’re at our stop over in Lond Côl. You can come out and walk on dry land for a bit if you like. We should only be here a few hour at best, to collect some supplies and pick up another passenger, Lord Mîrhimon. Good day,” Captain Maerion explained, before clicking his booted heels together in military fashion and turning, departing the interior to go back on deck to observe the docking and loading of goods. And to meet the man he was quite possibly depositing on enemy territory to his doom. But other than the transportation and short wait of a day, Maerion was entirely unaware of the full detail of the scheme.
~~~
The men of Lond Côl worked diligently to load the various crates and barrels of war material, walking them up the plank or helping the ship’s loading crane heft the goods directly onto the deck. Quartermaster accounts were exchanged. A manifest was checked against the goods and few anomalies were to be found. It was mostly raw material. Iron ingots for the smithys of Pelagir and Minas Tirith to fashion into arrowheads and spear tips. Lumber for the making of fortifications. Bolts of white, grey, and black cloth for the making of uniforms. And wealth, a war tithe, gold and silver bars, for the paying of soldiers and warriors. There was only silent indignation at the wrestling of extra taxes from the fief. Everyone knew what was coming, though no one seemed to speak of it.

Well, only those who were not entirely aware of the gravity of the situation out east. From the land that was never named, either openly or in thought. ”Where you going?” Asked Abrazimir’s sister, Azraindil, skirting along as the darkly dressed warrior approached the docks. Beneath this sable colored tunic, long sleeved and knee-length, his chain mail was wound tight and stuffed with small bits of cloth to prevent rattling or ringing. He spent all of last night testing it, jumping up and down in his mail tunic, seeing where any noise emitted from, and trying his best to muffle it. Absolute stealth was required.

”Pelagir.” Abrazimir answered his sister briskly, hurrying along to board the assigned vessel, and to do so without ceremony or scene. He might very well leave, perish in his task, and never return, without hardly a soul in his home even knowing he departed. Despite his pacing, which he hoped might discourage his overly inquisitive sibling, she still managed to keep up, grasping her skirt in one hand so she didn’t trip over it in her stride.

”Can I come? I’ve never been.” Azraindil she asked.

”Of course not. This isn’t a market trip. It’s business.” He answered her.

”Why aren’t you dressed up formally then?”

”Not that kind of business.” Abrazimir huffed.

”Will you bring me something back then? Maybe like a brush.” His sister requested.

Abrazimir paused outside the docks, turning to glance at her quizzically. ”You don’t even paint.”

”It’s not for painting! It’s for…polishing.” Azraindil explained.

”You on about pearl diving again? The last batch you brought were proved to be impure. If you really enjoy jewelry fashioning, I’m sure father can get you an apprenticeship at Pelagir, or something.” Abrazimir explained to her. Though, that might not be an option for much longer. And soon, even such pursuits might have to be put aside, if the darkness ever reached this quiet patch of Belfalas.

As he thought before, the looming threat didn’t seem so near or fatalistic to those who did not dwell in sight of that land, or even put eyes upon it. Azraindil did not know, which is why it was easy for her to foolishly jest. ”Father says that city might not be around anymore anyways.” She pouted.

”Don’t say that.” Abrazimir said quietly.

”Father himself said before. If Pelagir just disappeared tomorrow, he wouldn’t look a wink of sleep. He’ll-“

”That’s enough, Azraindil.” Abrazimir snapped a little angrily. This was not a simple case of rival sailors from different ports squabbling over who had the finer ships or rigging. His sister did not understand. How could she? She never been outside of Lond Côl.

”Will you still bring me something back?” She asked, undeterred.

”Sure. Look, I got to go. Head on back before you are missed for your studies.” Abrazimir gestured, pointing back at their familial home in the distant, a little walled villa perched a bit inland from the sea. She looked…but didn’t seem to consider his instructions with any seriousness. She wanted to see the ships, look at the new faces, maybe fawn over the handsome ones. None of these men might be alive within the next year. Abrazimir turned to gaze at the ship as well, the Bregolalph, though he felt more remorse than any hint of pride at the sight of the warship. It was the last of a dying class of ships that Gondor possessed against the coming storm. And well enough its like may never be seen again, an end to thousands of years of naval tradition, or so the stories told.

”Alright then. May Uinen and Ossë protect you on your voyage.” His sister beckoned. He nodded back. If they cared. Or were even real.

He spotted the Captain upon the deck, a figure with a winged helm in the fashion of Dol Amroth, and Abrazimir raised his arm in silent greeting. The gesture was return, before the Captain began to make his way down the plank to meet with him. He thought he recognized another face on the desk. Azraindil seemed to have found some interest with some of the fisherwives who’s work was disrupted by the warship docking. She had no inkling what her brother was up to. Might be the last time they ever saw one another. He thought he should say something to her, but the finality of his words might frighten and sadden her. He didn’t want her or any of his family to feel that way. Though, it might not be helped if the worst came to pass.

He decided it was too much for it and that being a coward in the face of such unforgiving emotions was better. He turned and approached the warship without another word to his sister. They would see each other again…right?

”Lord Mîrhimon, hail and well met.” Captain Maerion greeted Abrazimir as he drew close. Abrazimir bristled at the Sindarin rendition of his name. Well, that was how he and his father and all his forebears were known by in Dol Amroth. His family had once been Númenórean enthusiasts and spoke the Mannish tongue within their household. But to appease their overlords and liege lord, they also adhered to the ancient Sindarin language that was once used widely among their ancient precursors and kindred.

”Hail, Captain. Thank you for your service in this regard.” Abrazimir greeted as met the Captain at the foot of the plank. He had little in the way of baggage. His sword and personal dagger were attached to his belt and hip. His cloak fluttered behind him, a sullen, dreary grey hue. He had but a small satchel, which contained only a single loaf of bread, some wrapped cheese, and a water skin. If all went as planned, he should be back within a few days. And if not…well, it would be a poor fare for whoever got to loot his body as a war trophy.

”It seems we are on schedule.” Maerion reported. ”Though, we have picked up a straggler for the voyage to Pelagir. It…should not interfere with your duties. Come, board and make yourself comfortable. The journey from here to the Isle should only take about a day and a half.”

”Abrazimir!” His sister’s voice rang out and Abrazimir gave a long suffering sigh, closing his eyes at the musical tone. The Captain merely raised his wizened eyebrows but said nothing as the young noblewoman approached, returning the Captain’s polite bow of his head with a slight curtsey of her own. ”Thank Uinen you haven’t gone yet. Mother told me to give this to you.” She said and produced a thistle vine. ”Your green bough of return!” She presented to him.

It was an ancient custom of Númenór, a superstition one might say, to present such a token of blessing to a ship, usually to the Captain direct by a female relative of the Captain. Such traditions and meanings did change over time, but still preserved in some mangled form of the original truth throughout the years. The tree from which such branches and boughs were usually taken from did not exist in this part of the world or age anymore. Any bough sufficed.

Abrazimir almost choked at the sudden rush of emotion. His sister and family thought it was a simple voyage between one city of Gondor and back. Not a mission of war. ”Thank you, sister.” Was all he managed to say. ”Captain?”

”It would be an honour to bear this token aboard my vessel, Lord Mîrhimon. Thank you, Lady.” The Captain said and took the bough in his hands as if it were treasure, turning to place it upon a position of prominence on his ship.

”Mîrhimon.” Azraindil chortled. Abrazimir just rolled his eyes and sighed.

”Be off now. I’ll see you soon.” He said and managed to retain his composure as she embraced him and then scurried off without further ado. Abrazimir turned and moved to board the ship.
Berio i refn-en-alph len

Chief Counsellor of Gondor
Points: 2 909 
Posts: 1281
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 8:37 am
Unalmis and Addhor Raxëlilta with Narradir and co
Ithilien. The First Time (3017 TA) – Part 3



The lullaby of rainfall slackened in it’s own time and slunk off with a subtlety when it was done, leaving the small knot of Men with but a darker hem that had soaked to a certain point in their clothes, and the greater drag of their slow-sodden packs; yet not a one of them complained. Not a one had eyes but for the cathedral of trees about them. The refreshing shower come of the sky high above had disinterred a stark petrichor of the rampant earth below. Unalmis breathed in deep, as the fumes of nature steamed like incense from each herb tramped underfoot, brandishing a power in it’s liberated scent. Each bird call sounding strangely crisp from invisible corners, and unseen wings beating a clatter as might a vast awaiting host of zealots, bid a welcome unto their small party. Drenched and mud-stained, he felt, although he could not explain it, as though a king truly come at last to home.

When he marvelled quite how to express this feeling, the Gondorian was stunned to recount quite how long he had now not spoken. An unprecedented feat indeed ! Even now as he let open his mouth, instinct compelled it to close again, as though to comment on the strange state of affairs would break some enchanting spell. Did he truly walk still in the waking world ? This was so far from home, so far from what he had been expecting .. he did not know himself.

The company of men were thick about him, like a tangle of trees, yet they were not intimidating, glancing over with the briefest grins and the odd wink, an occasional nod of the head. They had accepted him into their herd, and he had never even stopped to wonder what that meant, or where they were all going. Nal was growing more accustomed to even his father’s back than that man’s face. Addhor had not spoken for a long while either, almost as though he’d forgotten that his son chased his progress here. At intervals though, the elder raised up a hand, that he and Narradir both paused, and muttered incoherently between themselves. Once the stranger man had liberated a startling bark of laughter, but Unalmis could not say for what reason. There was no more direction given but to toil as before, as soon as the hand relaxed. Wherever the former Ranger was leading them, there was no path that his son could see. Still they moved, in natural a path as does a river bend, and with as much cause. He could not have said for how long it had gone on, but neither did he crave it’s conclusion. Content to simply relish in being a part of the world.


How green are your valleys, how blue your great skies,” a lone voice broke out of their steady band and cast out reverence in song. Narradir, of course, himself his only instrument. “Your mountains stand tall in their glory”.

A snort meant to embark from Nal, half-expectant for the pack of grown men to descend upon the hapless fool with mirth, careless to have lost himself in wonder of their surroundings. But … no !

Your rivers run free, the bright stars are your eyes” another took up with what might have been an echo, save for the fresh admirations mentioned. “Your beauty is endless before me.

And before Nal knew whether the air higher than where he reached had grown suddenly thinner, contorting the group’s collective mind, the melody (clearly one with which they were all familiar) emboldened each of the Men to lend his unique tone to the growing blend.

For you are the song ever singing in me, and you are the heart ever true.
For you are my land and you always will be the voice ever calling me home to you.


Laughter died there and then on the youth’s lips, as he found himself the one marked out as odd, to be not singing. But there, he had never heard this song before now. The family of foresters raised louder their volume, to both encourage him and overwhelm him with a want to be involved. One standing close by even gestured with a hand for Unalmis to claim the next cue. He didn’t, but his contribution was not missed. The song now had it’s hold over the small group, and their passage made the merrier for trumpeting their praise of their homeland, their country.

When times we are far from your forests and streams. When sailing from your shining waters
We carry your hopes, your spirit, your dreams, in the hearts of our sons and our daughters.

For you are the song ever singing in me and you are the heart ever true.
For you are my land and you always will be the voice ever calling me home to you.


When to your green valleys some day I return, when you lay your mantle around me;
At rest I will be where the heart will not yearn with my land to ever surround me.

For you are the song ever singing in me and you are the heart ever true.
For you are my land and you always will be the voice ever calling me home to you.
”****


There came no roar of applause as the anthem subsided. The youth glanced almost expectant for more, and yet they seemed to have decided without ever sharing, that was enough song. Shaking his head, Unalmis fell in with the unobtrusive march they carried through the mutable forest. The trees had by now begun to whir into one blurring tapestry, each mighty stem some altered from the last and yet also it’s equal. Might be it came of being raised in Minas Tirith, where a single tree within the city might as well be an exhibit, stood alone and proud in a museum of white swept streets.

Unalmis had slept several months in the city park. He had lain across the marbled benches and gazed at the stars, ducking from the city watch whenever they peered a head around the enormous ornate gates to check for vagrants. The youth had imagined that was life such as a Ranger might enjoy, revelling in the fresh breeze that chilled his cheek, the liberating expanse of space all about, the ice-rimed peaks of the mighty White Mountains .. Outdoors. He had thought he knew. That or balancing, slovenly over the high limbs of a gold-baked tree in the Pelennor Fields, in late summer. One leg dangling down from the branches, one arm reaching for a pear or apple. That had been the best job he had ever had, picking fruit, straight out of school. His friends were still holed up at their lessons or bent over lessons barked out by their fathers, their masters, their now employers. Nal had been answerable to no one (as long as his grandmother could not find him !) and he had basked in the freedom. He had thought, perhaps that was what life as a Ranger entailed. He had not known, not at all.

He knew better now, that he knew not half so much as he had thought he knew. The forest was not carefully gardened, neat and trimmed. It was not laid out in orchards, hampered by the limits of walls. It had been let loose here. It did as it pleased. He could appreciate that. Berries clustered in all variants of colour, fungi clung to bark like fairie staircases, nuts nestled around the feet of their almighty forebears. All showcasing their wares as might do vendors in the city stalls and shopfronts on high market day. Here of course, all samples appeared to be free. But the cost might prove too much for even the richest man, if tantalising hues and scents disguised their toxic truth.


Addhor awaited his offspring, stalling where he stood as others milled around, until his son was come up to his side. And Nal startled to see their party fencing out about a small copse of sorts. After the untamed wilderness they had traversed, this had the feel of some ordered mind. This was their destination, and some thing else he had never known before.

This is where we come, for coppice and for pollard,” the father explained, without ever translating the terms his son did not know. Unalmis nodded, rendered dumb still on the cusp of asking if this was all real.

I thought at first it was a scar, of where the Enemy had tried to burn the forest down,” honesty fell forth from the youth, unaware if this was in fact the truth. But before he could think to ask what ‘coppice’ or ‘pollard’ meant, Narradir was beholding the both of them, father and son, as though considering the likeness. Finally the taller man planted a hand at each hip and leant down to school the newcomer.

They dare not burn Ithilien,” he convinced his audience. “For the filth can not stand the sun, without shelter to keep their skin from scalding. This is the land of the moon, which casts a knowing eye over where foes may roam, though never quite so masked by the shadows as they believe.

I took you for a Ranger,” the younger admitted, triumphantly for ever more convinced by this and now uncowed, though the forester (as Narradir had introduced himself) bore an almighty bearded axe which he swung with the ease a maiden bears a flower.

And what do you take me for now, hmm ?Narradir seemed intent, and then threw back his head in a jovial display at self-amusement. “You are at least half right, little half-man,” he confessed to the stalwart silence. “For once I was.

Is that how you know one another then ?” the newcomer persisted, glancing for a settled confirmation of either of two stone faces. The both of those faces glanced toward each other, and rounded a pair of smiles to their interrogator.

We knew each other back since school,Addhor admitted, more than he realised.

Then .. you are one of the four !” Forgetting his age, much less his campaign to be taken seriously by these mighty band of woodsmen, Unalmis raised new light in his face, keen to be proved right in the assumption. “Of course Gram told me the story,” he shrugged off all ceremony, and beheld even Narradir’s twice broken nose as though it were some badge of honour. “The night of four young revelling Rangers, friends since their school days, and then on leave from their duties of war. The drunken wedding of those four young Men to four respective girls they had met all but that very same night in some inn in Pelargir ... the girls they convinced to serve their nation by sending off soldiers to war with a … smile …?

The two former Rangers evaded eye contact and sought to look outraged, though a sidelong exchange betrayed the truth of the very very distant memory. “They would have had to be very very drunk to have done such a thing,Narradir fought to keep a straight face, while Addhor chased a cough out of his throat, eyes to the ground.

What happened to the other two ?Unalmis turned the walnut hue of his eyes upon the rest of their occupied throng, seeking amongst the men who were setting camp and trying to disguise their eavesdropping, with small success. As the youth met each man in turn, that same man turned away.

They didn’t make it,Addhor calmly filled in the sobering blanks, behind his son’s turned back, and Unalmis could have bit his lip with regret as he resumed slowly to face the aggrieved. Resurrecting an embarrassment of youth was one thing, but to raise thought in mind of those who were now returned to the earth .. The son sought words that might surpass a mere ‘sorry’, and came up against a new line of intrigue.

Of course I was in the Steward’s dungeon at that time,” the forester abruptly baited Nal’s diversion, earning a sigh from the boy’s father, “else you might have found me keeping them cold company even now.

What ? Wait .. why ?” was the satisfaction of the young civilian’s reaction.

What do you think ? That you can pester for stories like an infant ?Addhor joined the redirection, with a jerk of his head meaningfully toward the rest of the small workforce. “Make yourself useful, and maybe you will learn later.” he urged his son.


The youth glanced from the teasing glint in Narradir’s grey eyes, to the perilous churn of Addhor’s brown. “Later !Nal crowed, aiming a determined finger at the burly woodsman, utterly bereft of any reason more than hope to be appeased. But there, hope had kept the kingdom of Gondor alive for ages uncounted.

Anyone would think you were proud of what happened,” the one former Ranger chided the other, suspiring.

He wants to hear a story, make him want to hear the story that you want to tell,” the forester retaliated, nudging Addhor back, quite goodnaturedly, but so that that Man nonetheless leant further more upon his staff. “The one where good Men of Gondor were robbed of their lives, through no fault of their own, and despite all the training and skills set upon them by our Commanders ?Narradir took a moment aside his friend for both to mourn the fallen in a silence which passed between them, a glance to either side where there stood now none to complete their one-time circle. “Or the one where a fool doesn’t mind well what he could have managed far better, and came a cropper for it, brought to such humiliation that none who hear should want to experience it for themselves ?” One grey eye winked.

Either one or both is better than the tale of that night in Pelargir ..Addhor blinked in relief and yet did not quite escape the hint of a lost smile. “Which I of course can not possibly recall ..

My .. old .. friend,Narradir threw an arm around the Carpenter’s shoulder and lit up a grin all his own as he emphasised the ‘old’, and was thrown off balance by Addhor for just that. “I am surprised that you recalled your name that next morning.

I recalled .. her .. name,” the Carpenter accounted, proudly. “Which is more than I could say for yourself !

How can you speak so unkindly of my love for my … darling dear !” the forester proclaimed, loudly drawing back the attention of Unalmis and the rest of their assembly all as well. “I chose my wife, I chose first. Out of all of them, I chose her. And she could care less what I call her, she knows what I think of her. Then, and now, the same.” He bowed extensibly to a round of applause.

So .. what’s her name ?” the youth pressed, as he burst back upon his elders, mightily amused.

My darling Serenda. Ah, yes. Don’t go for the pretty one,Narradir confided, sweeping close like a falling tree himself, and dropping Nal down to the ground upon his knees. “If you want to be happy for the rest of your life .. go for the one who looks at you like ‘you’re’ the pretty one,” he shared his advice freely, to a chorus of groans that his fellows exploded, amidst laughter.

Was she blind then ?” one called out, and the obliging Forester sowed one foot on a nearby stump of tree, and pointed out the perpetrator.

She has the most beautiful blue crossed-eyes,” their entertainer fluttered his eye lashes, to a howl of mirth and clapping of hands against thighs.



Addhor sat down slowly on a log serving as seat for Unalmis, and said no more, but that the son felt a comradery he’d never imagined emanating off his father, and these strange men, who had all day been strangers. But still did not count him so.

I can not even remember now, what she looked like,” he was addressed by his father, startlingly. For Addhor did not ever speak of Luisa. Not all these long years. Nal had not looked to expect such an admission, nor was he sure what to do with it quite now.

She had huge eyes, dark eyes,” the son blurted out, suddenly. As though he had just realised, he might never again have this chance, never again might this conversation come around. “Not crossed. Like a hare,” he sought to explain the blurred memory he had clung to some nights.

A hare ?” The Carpenter met his son in a line of contemplation. Both appeared about the edge of laughter, or else tears, and surrendered to neither emotion. Addhor teetered about asking if his son missed her, but could not manage it. The two of them stared defiantly at the ground, two book ends about a log of awkward relation. Beyond the private common ground that they had never begged for, Narradir was leading the rest of the group in a rendition of how he had won his wife, by walking on his hands, and demonstrating that he was still capable of that …


She didn’t just walk out on you, you knowUnalmis elected in the end for anger. It descended on him before he even acknowledged it had been his wrath that spoke. “She left me behind as well,

Well, yes. Of course she did,” was not what he had been expecting his father would say. It was far from what any son would hope his father might say, given the circumstances. And it wasn’t over. “She knew that if she took you with her,Addhor did not break from his staring contest with the sodden soil, lest the blatant truth of this would break his need to tell the truth, “I would have come after you,” he glanced up finally. “And she knew that if she left you with me, we would have each other. So ..

Come after me ?” the indignation squeaked in it’s emission. “You scarcely made it off the chair !Nal threw back, determined to throw something, although the son was not clear by now quite who he was most needful to injure. Hands clenched at the log, as though it was his life-raft and Unalmis lost at sea. The backdrop of their oblivious friends caught up in merriment and re-enactments were as though beyond a veil.

I came after you to Umbar,” his father mentioned, quietly. And though he had not been the lead of that particular venture, and though he had been made most use to simply pose as a drunken sailor and obtain information in Umbarian pubs … he had come. Unalmis shifted up the log, not seamlessly, not easily, and surely at great peril of even greater splinters. But eventually ..

Perhaps then I should have wandered off a few years earlier,” he shrugged, leaning in carelessly. “Spared us both more time spent in …” A shove took him offside to the ground. Glancing back from where one leg shuddered at the numbing of his behind, Unalmis found a hand, outstretched, waiting to heave him back onto the makeshift log.


There was no need to say anything else. The hand was met with it’s younger counterpart, and a merging come of the two men, one not too young, the other not so old, that convinced both they had yet time enough. For whatever they would make of it from here on out. Together sat upon the wet log, untroubled by the cold and damp, they joined in the new take up of the same old song that had already been addressed once that day. Narradir waved a twig of cedar about to conduct them all, of course. And Unalmis utterly forgot that he had wanted to know why the other Former ranger had ended up arrested by the Steward. That tale could come. For this was not an end, save to all that had been before. This was a beginning. A new beginning.


********* Song lyrics credited to 'My Land', as performed by 'Celtic Thunder'******

NPF EDIT: Hot damn!
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.

Balrog
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Lews Tryfan
In Pelargir

(Private with @Giliathriel)

Lews waited. He waited because that’s all he had to do. He should have known Silvien wasn’t going to just be waiting for him to show up, not after how late he had been. He felt foolish, sitting there in the Golden Donkey, but what could he do? If he stayed here and waited, he could be waiting forever, but what about the off chance she came in when he left? Lews couldn’t risk it, no matter how small the chances of that were. He had spent the last ten years of his life forcibly keeping himself away from her for fear of bringing her harm, he was not going to risk another minute if he could help it. So, he sat, and he waited.

After a refill of his stein, Lews began to ruminate on the nature of hope. Ten years ago, he would not have mused on anything as he drank, he would just drink, but years abroad and with no one he could share his secrets with, he delved into his inner philosopher. He was a bad philosopher too; he had found out. The more he drank, the darker and more nihilistic he became. He was only two pints in, and he was having an excellent pork pie to offset the beer going to his head, but today was a day that suddenly turned dark.

What was hope? Hope was the little voice in your head that told you hold on no matter what. That somehow, someway, things would be fine despite all odds. Hope in small quantities was a good thing, it gave men and women the drive to get out of bed each morning, it gave them goals to strive for, but too much hope was a poisonous as fear, hatred, and all the other perils of the world. Hope could freeze you into indecision, it could stunt growth and kill new opportunities. Hope was a wild animal so many people thought tame. They would invite into their home, feed and water it, only to end up as food for the creature as soon as their backs were turned. Hope could kill as easily as a sword. Hope leaves. It always does.

The hours passed. Afternoon slowly gave way to evening. The air began to cool as the winds blew in off the water. Shadows lengthened and people came and went. The Golden Donkey never did get busy. Lews, through a hazy of stout, thought that odd, or serendipitous. The noise from outside increased steadily as more and more ships made port throughout the day. Sailors looking to blow off some steam. Within just an hour of sitting down, he heard at least two brawls begun over the honor of some lady or another. Another squabble over alleged cheating in a dice game that turned ugly fast. Minstrels filled the evening air with music, ranging for melodious and heartfelt to the sounds of a wounded cow and a wet cat. He could still hear the occasional voice from the market crescendo in the exaltation of their wares. The smells coming from the kitchen were nothing short of a godsend. He’d been aboard a ship for far, far too long and had the smell of smoked eel pressed so hard into his psyche that he never thought he’d smell anything else. The bread, the beer, the venison, the onions. They all assaulted his senses and he surrendered happily.

The longer he waited, the more anxious he grew. Was she coming? How long would he have to wait? If he went to sleep, would she appear? What if she forgot? What if she didn’t show at all? What if she decided he wasn’t worth it? What if she had been killed?

All the horrid thoughts melted instantly though. Because just as he was about to give up, she walked in. Silvien. She looked… she looked like one of Beauty’s Daughters. The words of a sailor’s song immediately came into his mind as she appeared like mist.

She lives behind her golden shell
Its glow does bind me to herself
And I will walk the endless miles
To hear her talk and to bask in her smile
And rain it comes, I knew it would
My tears don't run but I wish they could

A well of emotions crashed into him. Sadness and longing and heartache that he hadn’t known he was holding onto suddenly welled up within him. Tears formed and fell before he could stop them. He began to laugh. He embraced her. She was real. Silvien was here. She was actually here! He crumbled as he held her. He held her as tightly as he could manage in that moment of spiritual weakness. He never thought he’d see her again, let alone touch her. Yet here she was! She was here! Silvien was here with him.

“I’m so sorry,” he managed to choke out, “I’m sorry for everything.” A lump on his throat prevented him from being able to speak more. Tears flowed freely as he pulled back from his embrace and looked her in the eye. She looked exactly as she had all those years ago. Her eyes were still filled with starlight. Her smile was still tinged with sadness. She was still her. He could only imagine how he’d changed in the intervening years.

“You were right. You were right and I was so wrong. So wrong about everything. Please… please tell me you’ve been happy…”

OOC: (Lyrics from "One of Beauty's Daughters" by My Dying Bride)
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Naureth Firethorn
On the outskirts of Dol Amroth


Sweat dripped into Naureth's eyes as she trembled upside down, straining to hold her composure. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the sensations around her, attempting to block out the sting. The smell of alcohol permeated everything in this small tavern, hidden unless you knew where to find it. One might assume that would be to keep undesirables out, and that would be correct. But that depends on one's definition of undesirable.

Men cheered and slammed their drinks down on tables all around her. She ignored their lewd comments, smiling at the ruckus. She lived for the contest, for the struggle. And for idiot chumps to give one to her. She opened her eyes for a moment, spying on the competition on the table across from her. A tall, lean man in his early 30s and similarly upside down, grunted as sweat poured down his neck and dripped onto his face as well. He teetered for a moment, drawing a chorus of gasps from the enraptured crowd. Finally, with all the grace of a tuna trying to escape a boat, he crashed into the table, sending splinters flying as the cheap wood broke beneath his fall. Naureth nimbly rolled into a sitting position, eliciting cheers from the onlookers.

"That table's coming out of your tab," Mistress Elowen barked from across the room as she polished a rusty tankard. "Naureth do you have to keep doing these little things on the tabletops?[/b]

Naureth crossed her legs coyly, giving the woman a smile. "Look how happy this crowd is. A happy crowd buys drinks, right boys?"

Another round of cheers for that, as more ordered refills. She slid down from the table and walked past her competition, who glared at her as she walked by. "You cheated. I won't pay you anything."

Quick as lightning she had her dagger out and pressed against his throat. "Come again?" She grinned wolfishly at him, bringing her head in close to his. "It'd be such a shame if someone bumped into me and this dagger slipped." She pricked the flesh at the base of his neck, drawing a bead of blood. Droplets of sweat began to form anew on his skin. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement."

"Just take the damn coins," he finally said, tossing a bag at her. Her pockets now jingling, she made her way to a corner where a hooded man with dark skin waited for her.

"That was quite the display," he remarked as he sipped his drink. "An upside down push up contest. Strange way to intimidate someone."

"It was memorable," she replied, taking a seat next to him. After a quick wave, Elowen brought over a tankard of ale. Naureth gulped it down greedily. "Besides, I like humiliating people in unusual ways."

Her companion barked a laugh. "I'll keep that in mind. On to business, I have a contract for you." Naureth perked up, leaning towards him.

"About time, Gathor, I could feel my talents wasting away."

Gathor rolled his eyes and produced a small slip of paper. "This one's fairly straightforward. Make the kill and leave these--" Gathor pulled out a small sack and placed it on the table, "where they'll be found."

Naureth eyed the bag, reading the implications. "I assume they'll have one of their own alert the guard?"

"Of course."

Naureth nodded pensievly. She took the scrap of paper and quickly read the directions. Wait, that couldn't possibly--

"The payment is much larger than my normal rate, Gathor. What aren't you telling me?" She squinted at him, trying to read his inscrutable face. He always had been good at keeping his emotions from his face. There was a reason his discretion was worth the price.

Gathor shrugged. "Everything I know is on the paper. After the kill is made I'll be in contact to arrange payment. Happy hunting. Now, if you'll excuse me," he rose, gracing her with a smile as he gracefully slid out of his chair, "I have other meetings I must attend to."

Naureth nodded, carefully keeping her own emotions from clouding her features as he left. She picked up the bag and placed it in her satchel. With a clink she paid off her tab, stepping into the salty shoreline air of Dol Amroth. She breathed in deeply, relishing the fresh air after being cooped up inside with so many scents for the last several hours. She loved The Splintered Oar, but damn if it didn't stink like unwashed men and old beer. The cold night air cooled the residual sweat on her arms, leaving her feeling fresh and rejuvenated. Despite the late hour, the moon was bright enough tonight that getting home was no trouble at all. Of course, the darkness never had bothered her anyway. She'd learned from a young age to navigate even if blinded. Her mother had seen to that.

She padded along ancient stones, their surface rubbed smooth from centuries of footsteps. She circled back twice in case she was being followed, then climbed a lattice onto the rooftops. She loved the way you could see the sea and the city from the heights. The unused paths most had no idea existed. She flitted from rooftop to rooftop, her feet hitting with barely a sound. She wove through the night, danced with it, as only an assassin could. The night was more than cloak that she wore, it was an old friend. She lingered, enjoying the freedom of the night for a few more moments before dropping in an alleyway beside a small house. She crept in through the window, careful not to make any noise. The action required no extra effort, as stealth had been drilled into her since she was a child. She had long since been so sloppy as to make noise even when distracted. If she was loud, it was on purpose.

She stretched, very aware of the contents of her satchel. Anticipation flooded her veins with adrenaline as she considered how she would make the kill. She'd have to be sure it was spectacular, a kill that would impress everyone.

Maybe her mother would finally think she was ready.

Maybe she would finally earn the name of her father.

And then she would kill him.
Last edited by Giliathriel on Wed Sep 30, 2020 11:01 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Black Númenórean
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Previous events of The Ward may be read in Tavari Tales. Each section is linked in the OP, beginning here.
The tale so far comprises some 35,000 words, so for the interested and impatient, a summary:

The young peredhel Inziladûn, a refugee of the drowning of Númenor, has lived most of her life in Umbar. After the death of her Faithful father, she came under the guardianship of her uncle, a King's Man, who kept her locked away. After killing a man who assaulted her, she fled the city. After weeks of travel she happened upon a settlement of Men who took her in, but they were attacked by Haradrim. It was then that the Bar-en-Raen, a group of wandering elves led by Earenolwë, fatefully happened by. They saved the village, but Inziladûn was wounded in the attack. With the healing skills of Elfaron she was saved, and Earenolwë kept watch over her by night, finding himself strangely drawn to this stranger. When she awoke, they conversed of past and present, and he named her Moriel Andúnë. The following day, Inziladûn was introduced to the rest of the band and fell afoul of Herugon, who repudiated her for her blood and the danger she might bring to the band. She declared she would leave the band it would cause them only trouble, and was shouted down by the rest. Following this encounter Inziladûn and Erfaron argued, while Earenolwë fell into potent reminiscences of a nís had had once loved and lost. Inziladûn relented agreed to stay, and after a week was fit enough to travel. When the Bar-en-Raen gathered to meet with Herugon and his supporter, who had been living apart from the band, a fight broke out between Earenolwë and Herugon, and Inziladûn fled. Earenolwë and his supporters caught up with her and, again, she decided to stay with the band after persuasion. Now as the story continues, the adolescent male elves of the Bar-en-Raen have taken it upon themselves to spy on the ellyth of the band, bathing in a stream nearby the night's camp, and Earenolwë follows after them to investigate....


The Ward: Vinyasûl
Southern Ithilien. SA 3390.
(Private with Aig)


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Many hours had passed since her flight through the forest, away from the feuding elves, and her subsequent return after Earenolwë’s promise to leave her in Lindon if she so desired, but still Inziladûn felt coolly towards the Nelya. Such events as had transpired that morning were not easily forgotten, but at least the leader of the Bar-en-Raen was making an effort; his presence, which had at times in what had been little more than a week of their acquaintance been smothering, was drawn back during the day’s travels, and the peredhel moved freely, settling into movement with a cluster of elves towards the edge of the party. These were younger and more boisterous- not so young as Damhir, who darted hither than thither, nor young in the reckoning of Men, but much closer in age of thought to Inziladûn. Some of them spoke Quenya, but others did not, which gave her a great deal of time to practice her fledgling Sindarin. She had spent a great deal of the preceding week listening to the speech of the grey-elves and attempting both by ear and tuition to grasp its rudiments. Her mind was quick and her skill with languages very good, and things were beginning to fall into place- but it would be a long time still before Inziladûn would dare to call herself fluent with this foreign tongue. In the meantime, those who spoke both languages were happy to serve as go-betweens, and the peredhel found herself laughing and conversing with the lively bunch, allowing the morning’s unpleasantness to flee her mind as they traveled, for the most part.

Every so often, Herugon and his group of closest friends and followers would appear- through the trees or atop a knoll, traveling with the Bar-en-Raen, but not among them, and more than once when she happened to glance up, Inziladûn imagined that the dark nér’s gaze rested on her. Though as she had told Earenolwë on the first day she had spent with the band, she could judge none of them, Herugon included, due to her lack of knowledge of any of them, she was discomfited that the Noldo had expressed nothing but hate and contempt towards her thus far. Surely she had done nothing to deserve it- apart from being born half-Man, over which she had no control. And yet despite his treatment of her, in moments of quiet when her mind wandered, it kept coming back to Herugon, for reasons Inziladûn could not fathom. There was something naggingly familiar about him, though she knew they had never met before, and this combined with his attitude made him positively maddening. But by the time the Bar-en-Raen were ready to stop for the night, Herugon and his lot seemed to have vanished, only reappearing once the rest of the band had settled down with fires and tents, near a wood. They emerged from the dusky twilight, a deer slung between two of them, and began to make their own camp, next to but separated from the rest.

“Inziladûn!” One of the ellyth in whom the peredhel had spent much of the day’s company hailed her from the edge of the woods, and she turned from the fire by which she had been standing. “We’ve found a fantastic brook, come and swim with us!” After the briefest of hesitations, Inziladûn grinned and nodded, taking to her heels for the second time that day, but this time for a more enjoyable purpose. She met the group of ellyth at the treeline and, inspired by her speed, they all took off together at a headlong run through the trees, shrieking and giggling with abandon, and the release of responsibility. It was a comradely and feminine sensation Inziladûn had never known, and she allowed herself to be swept up in it, until at last they poured out of a break in the trees, to the mossy edge of the brook-almost a river, really, plenty wide and deep enough for bathing. There was a group already in the water, and they waved and greeted those who had just arrived. From a few hundred decorous yards upstream, they could hear the sounds of a party of ellyn who had also found the water. All around, boots and clothes were flying, and Inziladûn joined the fray, stripping off her borrowed gear until she stood in only the chemise that fell to above her knees, and raced into the water.

It was cold, but not shocking, and the new-fallen night was warm. After mere minutes of swimming about, there seemed to be no discernable difference in temperature between the water and the air, and with the rest, Inziladûn basked in the moonlit glory of the river; swimming, tussling, rinsing hair, and chattering. After some time, she found herself having drifted closer in to the bank, partially perched in some shallowing water on a cluster of rocks with several others. They remained mostly submerged, sculling about to keep warm as they conversed. Gradually the talk had come around to the events of that morning, and although it was clear that some of the ellyth wanted to talk about it, they were careful not to poke too deliberately at things they thought might be awkward. For her part, Inziladûn was not too troubled by the talk, and was happy enough to laugh along when some of the others began to mock Herugon, clearly for her benefit- though there was a great deal of sincerity behind their words. “Waaaargh!” One of her companions was roaring, fists on hips and chin thrown out in a caricatured impersonation of Herugon, “I am Champion of Thargelion! Feaaaar meeee!!” The rest dissolved into giggles, but Inziladûn started.

“What?!” she cried, standing bolt upright with surprise, the water streaming from her hair and off her shoulders, down to her hips, where the water rose. “Champion of Thargelion? Him?!” The elleth who had been doing the impersonating nodded, mock seriously. “Oh yes, didn’t you know? Funny, he never seems to grow tired of reminding anyone who will listen that he used to go by that title. Doesn’t like it when you tell him Thargelion doesn’t exist anymore, either!” Inziladûn shook her head, slowly receding back into the water. “No… ugh, I can hardly believe it. I’ve heard of him, known songs all my life that featured his exploits alongside King Carnistir, but now having met him in the flesh? I could not tell you what I might have expected, but…” The mocking elleth snickered. “So sad when childhood dreams are shattered, isn’t it?”



---------
@Tharmáras
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Evil is a lifestyle | she/her

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Naureth Firethorn
Dol Amroth



The next several days were spent in preparation of the kill. Strangely, the note had neglected to tell her who her target was. Normally she would have raised a fuss at that, but the amount of money being offered was quite a bit more than a normal contract. Besides, she wanted to prove that she was flexible enough to handle any direction. She didn't want to be as good as a common assassin, she wanted to set herself apart as able to handle the toughest contracts. She couldn't help but feel like this was a test to see how much she could handle, before sending her at someone harder to get to.

The contract had listed a place and time, however. She spent the first day concealed on a rooftop where she could see several entrances, watching people file in and out. While the building didn't have an official name, it became clear to her as the day went on that business of some sort must be conducted in there. It was two stories, made of the white brick common to the area, with the few windows it had shuttered closed at all times. She assumed they were smugglers, perhaps dealing in small, easily hidden packages. She knew of other, larger smuggling operations of course, but those were much harder to organize. Small merchandise was so much easier to hide.

She waited until the small hours of the night, munching on the bag of dried fruit and nuts that she'd brought to sustain herself during her watch. She had two canteens, one of water, and one of a marvelous new drink that had been introduced to the region recently, called coffee. She sipped at the later, using its magic to keep herself awake long past normal. When she was confident that the building was unoccupied, minus a guard that she assumed was hired to watch the inside, she pulled out a crossbow. She quickly tied her small rope to the end of a bolt, then fired it at the top of the building. She checked the shot, making sure that the line would hold her weight. Satisfied that the shot had been sound, she darted across the rope and crossed onto the roof of her target building. The next several hours she spent making the rest of her preparations. Nudging a window slightly open here, stashing a bundle of supplies there, and giving herself multiple escape routes if the kill didn't go as planned.

The sun began to come up as she finished, and she darted off into the morning, pleased with her night's work.

Two days later, she watched the moon rise over the same rooftops as she waited for the hour of her kill. Her contract said that the target would be entering the building shortly after moonrise on this day, presumably for some appointment. She didn't really care why, just that the target would be here. They were in possession of something her contractor wanted, and reportedly carried it on their person at all times. Once she made the kill, the target would be easy to verify at least.

After what felt like agonizingly quiet, long moments, a figure approached. Their head darted back and forth, clearly nervous about something. That's gotta be him, Naureth thought to herself, and moved into position. She crossed onto the rooftop again and quickly let herself in through one of the windows she'd staged earlier.

Voices rose up from below.

"You're late." a man's voice, deep and velvety.

"I had to take the long way," a second voice whispered. There was something familiar about it. A woman's voice, maybe? "I think someone saw."

"For your sake, you'd better hope no one saw," he replied. "If anyone finds out about this, we'll both lose our heads. I should never have agreed to this."

"Please, you promised!" the voice replied, stronger this time. Definitely familiar, definitely a woman. The contract hadn't said anything about the buyer, but she wasn't the type to leave witnesses, a well known fact. If her employeer had wanted her to keep this man alive, they should have specified that.

She crept down the stairs towards a well lit room, where the two were standing at an angle where she couldn't see their faces. Best to lure him up first, she decided. She did her best to imitate the sound of an angry cat, caught and trapped in the stairwell, before darting upstairs, using some of her supplies to imitate the sound of paws on the wood.

"What was that?" the woman's voice nearly screamed from below.

"Just wait here, it sounds like a damn cat got inside. I'll take care of it. Don't touch anything, and don't even think about leaving."

The sound of footsteps on wood came closer and closer. She yowled again for good measure, tossing some coins at the side of the walls. "Damn cat's going to tear up this whole place," the man grumbled as he entered the room, a candle in his hand for light.

Too little, far too late. With a swift motion she drew her dagger across his neck and caught him before his body could thump to the floor. She arranged him on the floor as he bled out, trying to gasp in surprise. "Shhhh," she said, drawing a finger across his lips. "Time to sleep." A few moments later, his body stopped twitching. Pleased with her first kill, she slunk back into the stairwell where the second target awaited. She was certain this person was the one with the item her contractor was willing to pay so much to recover. She evaluated her tactics. She knew she was faster than this woman, but needed to make sure that the woman wasn't close enough to the door for her to be able to leave the building. Naureth hated killing people in the streets. It was so much less personal than killing them in a place they'd assumed safe.

"Lock the door and hide," she called down towards the landing. "Assassins are coming from the outside!" she did her best to imitate the man's voice. Given the shriek and scuffling that followed, the mark had bought it. Naureth heard the click of a door as the woman hid herself in a closet. She shook her head. Did she really think that an assassin wouldn't check there first? People could be so stupid.

Naureth walked down stealthily, scanning the room as she entered. Sure enough, there was a coat closet on the wall closest to the main entrance. Naureth sauntered over, readied her dagger, and pulled the door open.

The woman inside screamed in terror as Naureth brandished the weapon, preparing to strike, when she caught a glimpse of the woman's face.

"Carniel? She sputtered out in disbelief. No, it couldn't be! Carniel had been Naureth's best friend since...forever. Why hadn't she told Naureth she had been involved in something like this?

Had she known Naureth had been contracted to kill her?

The contract. Gears turned in Naureth's head.

"Naureth?!" Carnien gasped in disbelief, before falling into her friend's arms. "Thank the stars that you're here, he said that assassins were coming, and I feared the worst when you opened the door, but now that you're here we're safe!" She eyed Naureth's garb, perhaps for the first time seeing that Naureth was wearing all black, with all of her thief's gear on. "You are here to save me, right?"

"How did you end up here, Carnien?" Naureth replied, turning her back to her friend, to let her leave the closet. "It's not like you to wander about these dark places."

"If you must know, I came into posession of an item that I no longer with to have," Carnien replied shakily.

"Something dangerous?" Naureth asked.

"I guess so. It's not dangerous, but the people who want it might be." Carnien eyed Naureth's clothing again. "But you already know that, don't you? You're not really here to save me. Naureth, please, we're friends. You're my best friend! We've known each other since we were kids. Surely they're not paying you enough to murder someone you love."

The gears in Naureth's brain continued to turn. "We have been friends a long time, haven't we."

"Yes," Carnien replied, some relief seeping into her voice. She tugged at her dark hair, gray eyes brimming with tears. "I would never hurt you. Please. We can fix this together. I didn't know he gave me the signet of the Prince, I should never have taken it--"

Confirmation. Carnien had indeed been her target. Naureth had often wondered how far she was willing to go to achieve her goals. What sacrifices she would be willing to make.

Which sacrifices she'd be required to make.

"I'm sorry, Carnien," she said softly, holding out her dagger and walking towards her friend. "It's nothing personal."

"Naureth, no! NO! I love you, you're like a sister to me! You--you can't--" tears welled over the edges of Carnien's eyes. "Please!"

Naureth closed the gap between them, grabbing Carnien by the hair and holding the dagger to her neck. "I'm sorry, old friend. This is just the way it has to be." She worked the knife.


Several moments later, Naureth was cradling Carnien's head in her lap, both of them drenched in blood as Naureth examined the small, silver signet emblazoned with a swan, encrusted in gems. A personal artifact of the Prince himself.

She lingered for a few moments, both surprised and upset at how easy it had been to kill someone that had known her her whole life. She was becoming a true assassin, emotionless and calculated. She wasn't sure whether to be proud or ashamed. Regardless, the deed had been done, and the contract nearly fulfilled. She didn't bother changing her clothes as she made her way to the drop point. Blood didn't show up on black, after all.

Child of Gondor
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Nell & Mourgan Alarion
Mourgans farm in Lebenin


Nell moved around the kitchen with familiar ease. She should, she had lived there in the same house for five years. Formerly it had been her husbands home and land and now it belonged to Mourgan since he had come of age. Normaly she would have been back in the White City but had needed a break from it's busyness and so she left her bakery in the hands of Andarion with directions to run things as he would since she wasn't sure how long it would be before she returned.

The kitchen was warm and smelled of rabbit stew and fresh bread. While snow fell outside the window she hummed a light tune to herself as she retrieved two cups and set the table for herself and her son. He'd just come in from seeing to the livestock and seeing that all were comfortably bedded down, secured from the cold wind and biting snow. He'd always cared for the well being of animals so it was no surprise that he would see to his own with as much care and concern as he did a fallen dove or injured stray.

"Tea or mead?" she asked him as she set the table. He was hanging his cloak and shook abit of snow from it."I think tea. Something to warm the bones." She nodded and went to retrieve the kettle and also bring in the stew pot. "Have a seat." she directed him to the head of his table and served up his meal and his cup of tea before doing the same for herself.

Settled she broke off a chunk of bread and dipped it into her stew. Mourgan followed suite and ate while looking at his mother. "Thank you." he spoke around the mouthful of bread. He enjoyed having her here and not having to eat his own cooking was pretty nice as well. She returned a smile and a nod. She was thankful to have this time with him. Since finding him in that tavern it hadn't been easy. The farm had been good for him and it kept him out of trouble.

After pouring them some tea she took it in hand and blew across the top to cool it. "We may be having company in a day or two." He looked up from his bowl, his dark brow turned quizzical. "Who would be traveling here in this weather?" Not that he minded company but he was curious who would be crazy enough to travel in a storm. Nell sipped her tea. Holding onto the answer for just a moment....
Isolde Alarion/Rohan~Nelladel Alarion/Gondor~Mourgan Alarion/Gondor ~ Dahak/ Umbar ~ Relic RIP

Esquire of The Mark
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Malrin Stone-eye
Pelargir:
The Smuggler's Cache

The moon was high above, shining down on the port of Pelargir, when Malrin stepped out from the shadows. Draped in a heavy cloak of sable, she had blended in quite well to the wall which she had been leaning on. But a noise nearby alerted her, and she reached to her belt and rested her hand on a long-knife of iron.

"Hello? Hello...? Malrin, are you there?," came a voice from a few yards away. "Blasted woman, I thought we were supposed to meet here. Can't trust anyone to keep time these days I suppose. I guess it never occurs to people like them to..."

The voice was silenced as Malrin, who had crept behind the man as he spoke, grabbed his mouth with one hand and rested her blade across his throat. "I see now that subtlety is not a skill you have acquainted yourself with, my friend. You might as well have shouted from the rooftops that you were to meet with me. Now come, follow me, and keep your mouth quiet or you'll spend this evening in the bay," she said. As quickly as it had appeared, the knife was withdrawn and placed back into its sheath, and the woman turned away and began to briskly walk towards a building on the other side of the docks. The man, who was portly and rather well-groomed, began to shuffle after her, constantly looking over his shoulders nervously and wringing his hands together. He was shaken, though he tried to steel his nerves and pretend that he wasn't. He had never dealt with someone like this before, and he had already been apprehensive, to begin with. Having a blade held to his throat had down little to improve his feelings of fear, though his relief at not being killed was overwhelming.

His feet were heavy as he followed her, thudding loudly on the wooden docks and making her cringe with each step. Men like him were always too proud to let another take care of business like this. Surely he must have a servant or guardsman who could make it less obvious they were there meeting with a criminal. But people of his kind were proud, vain, and above all distrusting of all others. She was surprised he had even come, but it showed how desperate he must have been. No one contacted her for her services if they were not desperate, and the letter she had received from him showed how much he needed her aid. He had acquired, rather dubiously, the goods of a caravan of merchants that he had been storing them in a warehouse near the docks. He seemed to expect no trouble, until one day two men came into town claiming to have survived an assault on their caravan. Their friends had been slaughtered and their goods were stolen, but they knew not who had done it. Yet one of them did see something curious. The people who attacked them seemed to match, their arms and armor, as a company of soldiers or mercenaries. The lord of Pelargir heard their plea and sent his men out to investigate.

It was then that a great fear gripped Brui, the merchant-sailor who had contacted her. If the goods were discovered in his warehouse, he would be hanged for certain. Piracy was a crime most frequent among his kind, so it was quite unusual for an attack to be made on land. She did not know the full contents of the goods, but the urgency at which he wished to meet made her believe it must be quite valuable.

She had entered the building now and waited for him to enter, shutting the door quietly behind him and bidding him sit at a small, roughly hewn table in the corner. As he did so she stared him down with eyes of charcoal and grey, cold and unforgiving, with no light residing within them.

"So, Brui the merchant-sailor. You want me and my crew to move your illicit goods from your warehouse, is that right?"

He gulped and shook his head, saying, "Y..yes. That...that is correct. I need them moved as soon as possible. I have arranged for summa..sum...some of my men to meet you on the edge of the river, halfway between here and Linhir."

"I haven't yet agreed to move your goods yet, and you're already making plans to retrieve them? Suppose I don't want to work with you. Suppose I think your gold is worth nothing to me, that the risk is too great?" She responded.

He felt a twinge of anger, and with it returned some of his bravado. "Oh, I think you will take this job woman. You are well-known to be a smuggler, we have all heard tell of Malrin Stone-eye, who so fiendishly covets gold and will work for anyone if the price is right. So do stop pretending that there is any concern of risk, and just tell me how much this will cost."

She looked him over, meeting his gaze and seeing the anger coursing through him. He was easily provoked it seemed, for she had certainly struck a nerve. She pondered to herself for a moment how to respond, considering her words carefully. After a brief pause, she spoke, saying, "I suppose you're correct, aren't you? Very well. I'll need a crew of half a dozen men for this. We'll have to move quickly, tomorrow night as soon as it's dark. Set sail under cloud-cover and meet your men down the river. Judging from the number of goods you've said it is, and the manpower, time, and risk involved...I'd say we should meet nicely at say...two hundred castar."

"TWO HUNDRED CASTAR!!!" Brui roared. "The goods alone are worth barely more than four hundred if I find the right buyers for them!"

"And what is your life worth to you?! She snapped back at him. "You're the one with the stolen goods. You're the one who attacked a caravan. You're the one with his life and the life of his men at risk. I've no dog in this fight Brui, I could just as easily say no and let you take your chances with the Lord. But I know what my time and my services are worth, and coincidentally their worth goes up the higher the risk. So it's two hundred castar or you can say hello to the hangman for me."

Brui's face was incredulous. No one ever spoke to him this way, as he was likely to sic his guards upon them to give a thrashing. He greatly disliked this woman already, but could not deny the truth in her words. She was fleecing him, this he knew, but he would deal with that and with her at a later time. No one crossed him, and he would ensure that she did not escape punishment for attempting to do so. He would send word to his men that once the goods were transferred onto the wagons, that they were to kill her and her crew. That would ensure there was no trace to him and keep his goods safe. He shook his head, wiping away his confused and angry look, and smiled at her. "Two hundred castar it is, Miss Maldrin. I will make sure my men have your coin for you when you arrive."

"That's no good, and you know it. Half now, or the job is off."

"You drive a hard bargain," he said, looking down and smirking to himself, "But very well. I will send a servant over later with the first half of your payment, and you may receive the rest upon delivery of my goods. Are we agreed?" He said, extending his arm out to shake.

She grasped it, and responded, "Agreed. Now get out of here."

Brui stood up and pushed his way past her and out the door, turning and waving goodbye before making out for his home, laughing all the way. Unbeknownst to him, she was laughing to herself as well, thinking, What a fool. He has no idea what awaits him. She shut the down and went to a nearby table with had a small keg sitting upon it. She grabbed a tankard from a shelf above her head and poured herself a full cup of ale, relishing the taste and beginning to lay her plans out.

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Lonahen of Calembel
Osgiliath:
On the Road to Osgiliath

He had been without his parents for over two years now. His father, Lumorn, had been amongst the men of Lamedon that was summoned to defend the city of Linhir by Lord Angbor. King Aragorn, before he was crowned, led the Grey Company and the Army of the Dead and swept the assailants from the city. He bade Lord Angbor to gather his men and prepare to depart to Minas Tirith. Many of the men of Lamedon went with their lord and would be the ones to garrison Minas Tirith. Those who accompanied King Aragorn made up a smaller portion of the forces of Lamedon, but they marched with him through the Battle of the Pelennor Fields and on to the Battle of the Morannon. It was here that Lonahen's father was slain, cut down by orcs, and left bleeding in the dirt. He was given a soldier's death, and Lonahen always envisioned that he died well and honorably, while secretly hoping it was quick and that he did not suffer. His mother, Agavorn, lived little more than a year after the death of her husband. His passing weakened her greatly, and it seemed to all that much of her spirit left her at his death. Winter brought upon her a great sickness, making her feverish and violently ill, and shortly thereafter she passed away.

Lonahen found himself not quite at manhood, being only fifteen, alone in a house he now owned with no family and no sense of direction. He was lost and there was no one to guide him. The rest of his family lived far, beyond the mountains in Anorien. He had no way of contacting them, as he could neither read nor write, and a journey through the mountains was impossible. What little possessions he had at the passing of his mother he sold, furniture and bedding, and much of the stocks and larder they had kept. The small home was now mostly empty. He slept on a mat that rested on a pile of hay, with only his tools, a small bundle for traveling, and a singular bowl his only company. The coin he made from selling their things kept him afloat for a short while, allowing him time to grieve alone. His master, Medui, a foreman who helped build much of Calembel, was forgiving of his absence. They had agreed that when he was ready to return to the workshop he would, but his master urged him not to feel rushed. He had sympathy for the boy, as his parents were well-liked in their town and the boy had inherited much of their qualities.

And so many months passed while he withered away, losing sleep and becoming gaunt. He rarely ate and spent the majority of his time wandering the hills and getting lost in daydreams. Nearly two years passed this way, with him only returning to his master's workshop minimally, to earn himself enough coin to eat for a week or so and then disappearing once again. It lasted this way until six months past when his master finally confronted him. One day while in the workshop, his hand slipped and he crushed the tips of his ring and middle finger. The local healer did what they could, but so heavy was the blow that little was left, and the tips were amputated off. He would spend months recovering, and tried to withdraw again inside his home, but his master would not let him. He barged through Lonahen's front door one day and grabbed him, shaking him from his sleep and speaking to him in a stern, yet caring voice.

"Lonahen, this has ta' end boy. I know that ya lost your mum, and your pa. We all grieved wit' ya. But it's been damn near two years boy. It's time to move on. Ya got ya whole life ahead of you, you're seventeen! Life hasn't even gotten started yet. Ya haven't ever left Calembel! Ya never met a woman and fell in love! Ya never even had an ale, bless ya. Now you're smart, and you're good with a hammer and saw. I happen to know there's still a rebuilding effort going on out east, in Osgiliath. I think ya should go there. Sell ya house, buy some tools and a horse, and get the hell out of here. Leave this place behind, at least for a while. It ain't doing ya a lick of good to stay in that house moping and living in your head. I love ya boy, we all do. We just don't want to lose ya like we lost your parents."

Medui was right of course, though it took a few months for Lonahen to begrudgingly admit that. He worked in silence in the workshop, learning how to build with only his left hand, for the time being. He ignored his master and responded curtly and rudely more often than not. But with time he softened and came to realize that his master had spoken truthfully. Calembel was his home. He was born here and had been raised by two wonderful parents, and given fifteen years of a good life. But it had run its course. There was nothing here for him anymore, and he knew that. To stay in this town would be to forever live in the shadow of his parents, never escaping the mourning and living perpetually in sorrow. So he took his master's advice. He sold the small home, earning enough coin to expand his collection of tools and buy himself a horse, a heavy draft horse of black hair, and white feathering. Agalum he named him, a conjoining of his parent's names and a way to honor them even in death.

He was left with little coin, but had enough supplies to make the journey there, and was lucky enough to join a merchant caravan leaving Calembel for Minas Tirith. From there he would ride out to Osgiliath and begin his new life.

High Lord of Imladris
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Young Mylien (4 years old)
Third Age
Open (if you interact please tag me or I may miss it.)

She sat waiting, her eyes watching the grey horizon waiting for her fathers small fishing boat to come back, she swung her legs as she waited patiently, she had a small basket of food that she had managed to save from what she was given by him for the few days that he'd be out at sea fishing. It wasn't much a bit of slightly dry bread some cheese and a bit of dried meat. She was excited to see her papa again and the knights of the city had gotten use to seeing her sitting on a dock post out of the way patiently, some of them even helped her up onto some of the taller posts so she'd have a better view.

Several had been a bit worried about her the first few times she'd shown up alone but her father had come off of the fishing boat and she'd cry out 'Daddy!' and hopped off the shorter mooring post and run and gotten a hug and half tossed up in the air with a laugh and a smile they'd learned her mother had died in child birth and her father did his best to take care of her, she was left with a neighbour normally but she refused to stay with her on the day her father came back to shore.

Today though the knights looked at each other occasionally, a storm had blown through yesterday and a few smaller boats had limped in and they knew full well that there would be a number of boats not coming back. They could only hope for the little ball of sunshine that was sitting waiting patiently that his little boat would limp back safely today.
Last edited by Fuin Elda on Thu Feb 18, 2021 8:07 am, edited 1 time in total.

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ImageImage

Lord Heledir Estennin and Arkadhur Halsad
An ostentatious party, in Dol Amroth.
Before the War of the Ring, TA


The backdrop was a virtual hive of riches and high society. Music swarmed the scene, provoking esteemed guests toward the cult of classical dance. Every which corner of the hall was adorned by affluent guests and practiced etiquette. The atmosphere ought to have warmed the nobleman's heart, at the very least conjured a smile to crown his fastidious attire. But his heart loitered gravely about the bitter winds that broke upon the battlements outside. He wished to depart, more than anything in the world. For in the midst of his neighbours and his peers, never had he felt so utterly alone. His heart was encased in a vault of melancholy and the worries of his mind suffered a silent scream. Still he could not leave. He had a job to do here.


Arkadhur found him without too great a search, wading in a melancholy isolation, and immediately moved to alter that condition. “My Lord,” he spoke with soft tone and fair words, as was befitting their backdrop, “you seem that grievous of expression, one might wonder at what ails you.

Heledir did not so much startle to find himself encumbered by such company. He had after all invited the other to this social gathering. He was already beginning to regret the move. The very thing which kept him beyond questions was the self same thing which was the very problem. That none here knew who the Umbarian really was, that he was an Umbarian in fact, at all. As things stood, the Nobleman of Belfalas was beginning to question if he knew himself any more, to have dallied with this imprudent state of affairs. The only thing he could know for certain about the stranger he had brought, like a wolf into the flock, was that whatever happened should be all his fault entirely. But that did not change his already despairing mind. It could not. His daughter’s life, his beautiful Gaael; her survival depended upon him doing exactly as he was told. Here. Wherever. Whenever the blackmailer decided. It turned out the abduction had not been the worst deed that her captors could cultivate, not by a long reach.

Arkadhur courteously introduced himself to all of Lord Estennin’s guests, as Lord Hollin Menilzir, the little known son of a long vanished Swan Knight. He had of course played a personally significant role in the late Knight’s cruel demise. His own mind was as despairing as the man he puppeteered. For he, yes even he, not unlike Heledir had a job to fulfil here.


My apologies,” Heledir stammered, averting his gaze to the floor he yearned to swallow him whole. “The last thing upon my mind was to present any symptom of distress that may cause alarm ... to my friends.” His efforts were rewarded with the slow uncurl of a smile.

You might then try a little harder, toward that end,” he was advised, as his guest leant close enough to impart with this wisdom. “I am so dearly looking forward to meeting your friends.

It broke Heledir thenafter to clap the foreigner about his back with hearty gusto, and might have struck any observing as odd, at the capricious change. For the nobleman’s fair features were enlivened, each aspect of his countenance an actor with it’s role. And he, undertaking the greatest performance of his life.

The furtive agent of Umbar hesitated, indulging in his ability to do so, before responding, with a subtle nod of satisfaction. As though he was gaining anything from all of this, beyond his own survival. He, yes he too, answered to the whim of others. And so the unhappy carousel of a charade came into play.





ImageImage

Lady Eressild Azrubêl and Lady Sírdes Azrubêl
arriving at the afore-mentioned party, at the aforementioned setting,
to encounter the aforementioned ‘gentlemen’


The mighty doors of the establishment groaned with great heft and expense as they yielded to the latest patronage. The herald spouted introduction but perhaps only Arkadhur would not already recognise the most recent arrivals.

The foremost of the two women was neither old nor young and foremost of an appearance that she had found herself in the wrong chamber. Her grey-blue eyes lit contrast to the dark hair that sat proudly in a coiled braid, nestling the natural crown of her head, and her deep black gown was prim and proper. By all accounts she stood out by the sheer drab of her garb, a contrast to the rich flamboyant colours of the other guests parading. She floundered dangerously close to wringing her hands before her, and so instead placed them demurely behind her, fighting the temptation to grasp for the wall. Like some startled trapped thing. A thin smile did not rightly become her, for all that it was not natural to form, but rather painted there, by her sense of due expectation. Sírdes looked for all the world as though she were but an attendant of the woman beside her, in a borrowed gown she now regretted.


They had once been so not unlike in their fair, fresh-faced visage, that the two young ladies of Lebennin had fooled many unto believing them sisters. But no lines of wearied sleeplessness now troubled the sea eyes of Eressild, glistening as though polished by the glorious sun itself. The lady’s dark hair was still cast long and loose about her shoulders, betraying her gathering clasp on a much missed youth, though not yet streaked with any slivers of grey hue excepting that embellishment of dewy netted silk that matched her pearl-white frock and matching shawl. She was as utterly at ease as her good friend seemed not, and though she had entered the room behind her new sister-in-law, Eressild was far from being the entourage. All who laid eyes about the easy grace, the confident poise, were left with the understanding that she stood the bride, succeeding but bridesmaids. She was all that they had been awaiting, and her friend merely the starter to tantalise what was to come.


Arkadhur turned where he stood, so that he faced away from the unusual couple, as much as he could hardly stand to. “A travesty, that so fine ladies stand here unattended ..” the Umbarian suggested, pointedly. And Heledir grimaced at the proposition. For more than one cause.
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.

High Lord of Imladris
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Young Mylien (4 years old)
Third Age Dol Amroth
Open (if you interact please tag me or I may miss it.)


The day passed with an increasing weight, until it seemed to drag painfully for all those that saw the little girl waiting patiently on the mooring post. Her cheerful smile was now replaced by a painfully chewed bottom lip and she had to the best of her ability kept still on the rather uncomfortable post. She'd started shifting uncomfortably, and her happily swinging feet no longer were moving to the soft lapping sounds of the ocean below. Instead she sat tense waiting for something that would never come it seemed. She had not touched the meager little meal in her basket yet, that was meant to be shared as they walked home. However as the sun set she slowly got herself off of the post she'd been sitting on and looked worried.

Several sailors passed by her on their way to an inn for the night, and soon all that was left in the darkness punctured by flickering torches as the Swan Knights guarded the docks from robbers and stow-aways was her, and at first the Swan Knights thought perhaps she would head home shortly on her own but when that didn't happen they glanced at each other, normally they were suppose to shoo people away at this hour but she had never once caused a problem or been there so late at night.

'Perhaps she doesn't actually know her way home in the dark?' One knight whispered to the other that was on guard that night. This brought a raised eyebrow and a possible nod. She was normally gone by high tide which had come and gone by mid afternoon and normally she was off with her father.

'OR she doesn't know her way at all.'

'What do we do? She's too young to be out here on her own all night, and she's clearly not an urchin or stow-away trying to board a ship.'

The knights continued their rounds hoping that she'd head home perhaps she was just waiting a bit longer after all she tended to come down to the docks on her own, but on their next round she was sitting curled up beside mooring post and they needed to deal with the issues.

'Shouldn't you go home try again tomorrow?' They asked finally knowing that she had someone to look after her at home and she looked up at them with her big eyes and they started shushing her immediately seeing her lip tremble, but it was too late.

"But he said he'd be home today." and the tears came then rolling down her face and the older of the two Knights gave the junior a punch in the arm and a look.

"Alright sweetie, come with us you're going to sleep in the guard house tomorrow and then we'll see about tomorrow because it's too late for you to be out." With that the knight took her hand and she followed along sniffling trying very hard to be brave.

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Lailyn
Edhellond, Belfalas

(Private)

Content Warning: battle-induced PTSD, depression, grief and suicidal thoughts




The Northern Winds campaign had ended and knowing there would be more to come, Lailyn could not face it. She retreated. She gave up her badge and bow with her head bowed and left Rohan behind. Setting out for Gondor, she hoped new scenery would chase away the pain and discovered there was no out-running it no matter how fast or far she went.

The world around her faded into a grey pallor. All color lost its luster, the beauty and light she had once seen all around was veiled by utter exhaustion. Food lost its taste and her strength slowly sapped from her with every passing day. She spent hours in bed, hiding in its safe warmth, searching for rest and peace only to be drawn into nightmares of battle where she could not escape the wailing cries of her comrades as they were maimed and killed or the pumping of her heart racing, painfully begging to keep beating in the face of the enemy. The enemy she no longer reviled upon glimpsing their humanity.

When she did not dream of war, she saw her father and brother standing in a field of tall grass swaying in the breeze singing a pleasant song. Each blade was capped with impossibly perfect butter yellow flowers that dared to remind her of a happier time. A house stood at the crest of a low rise, the place she called home in her childhood. No matter how far she walked, no matter how hard she tried to reach out to them, she could never get close enough to touch her brother’s hand, to feel her father’s arms around her, safe and loved. When she stepped inside the house, it was as foreign and unfamiliar to her as the grand cities of Gondor. The wall was bare where the tapestry of the White Mountains hung, the hearth was dead and cold with no residue of ash nor cinder, no smell of baking bread made her stomach rumble and her father’s lute was absent from its place of honor on a shelf. The house was as empty and hollow as she. The outside matched the house she grew up in down to every last nail and board but inside it was as unlike her childhood home as she was now unlike herself though she, too, looked the same. Both the house and the woman, once so full of life, were now husks, remnants of their former glory.


After crossing the border into Gondor, she rode ever westward across rivers and fields, toward the sea and the setting sun. Her first glimpse of endless blue was in Edhellond and after she travelled as far west as she could to Anfalas, she returned there again in the spring. The sea should have been beautiful. It should have been majestic. All the poetry and songs and tales of the Eldar told her it was so. But in those black waves, she could only see the despair she felt in her heart as they rose and fell, rimmed and roaring with white froth, spilling over and crashing in on themselves. It mesmerized her, they way they continuously grew and collapsed and she felt as though they could draw her in and take her away, somewhere far from here if only she stepped closer. If only she dared...she could surrender to it. It would be so easy to give in and give up. To leave all the pain behind. This place was an ancient elf-haven, a place of leave-taking, after all. The water tugged on the hem of her ivory gown as if to lure her in. It’s cold touch chased away any last light within her. She stared at the water swirling around her submerged feet.

But even then, her mother’s words were etched in her memory. After the War, the deaths of her father and brother, she had asked how to go on when it felt like her heart had been torn out and ripped apart, when merely breathing physically ached. Her mother told her day by day. Day by day, we must live on for those who are gone too soon no matter how much it hurts. There will still be joy to find someday when the worst of it has passed…

Lailyn turned her back on the sea and looked toward the city where life marched on. As she trudged back up the beach weighed down by her sodden raiment and her heavy heart, she saw a young woman about her own age sitting on the stone wall overlooking the waves. Her skirt swished around bare feet as she swung her legs back and forth, positively carefree. Pale hair was coiled into a loose knot at the back of her head bound with a blue ribbon.

“I almost thought you were a ghost about to become lost in the sea,” the stranger remarked. “A few more steps and you might have.” The words, like her posture, were casual but there was a knowing look in her eyes. As if she could see it on Lailyn’s face, the fleeting thought that had crossed her mind.

“That would be foolish since I can’t swim,” Lailyn said through the lump in her throat as her eyes flicked back to the waves.

The woman frowned. “You can’t?”

“No. We do not have much cause to swim in the Riddermark where I am from.”

“Oh, I see. Then it’s a good thing I would have been here to rescue you.” She gathered her skirts up in one hand and leapt nimbly down from her perch. “The weather’s getting warmer and there’s an awful lot of water around here...I’d hate for you to be in an accident. There’s only one solution, don’t you see? I could teach you.”

“I don’t know…” Lailyn hesitated. In truth, she was afraid of the water. She had never been able to let her feet leave the river’s pebbly bottom back home, convinced the current would carry her away.

“My parents always told me I’m practically half-fish. I was swimming before I could talk.” Her words oozed with pride. “There’s a sheltered cove nearby just north of the docks. It’s the perfect place to learn and I’m a patient teacher. Why don’t you meet me there in the morning?”

“All right…tomorrow then,” Lailyn replied half-heartedly. Moments before, there’d been no prospect of a tomorrow. It was easier to agree with someone so earnest than to argue. She turned to leave and the woman trailed after her.

“So, where are you staying?”

“The Cloistered Shell. Why?”

“So I can come find you there when you don’t turn up.” Her face split into a grin. Apparently she had read Lailyn’s reticence and would not let her escape so easily. “Who should I ask for?”

“Lailyn.”

“Lailyn,” she repeated her name and smiled. “Nice to meet you. I’m Meidhrin. See you tomorrow!” As soon as she’d appeared, Meidhrin ran off to collect her shoes and hastened away in the opposite direction.

Lailyn watched her until she disappeared around a corner. She needed a moment to let the whirlwind of emotions settle. Meidhrin had read her mood and made it known without stating it outright, dwelling on the darkness or asking intrusive questions. In doing so, she had drawn her one tiny step out of the fog. The Gondorian shone like a light to lead the way. As predicted, Lailyn did not appear at the cove in the morning and as promised, Meidhrin came knocking on her door. It was the earliest she’d peeled herself out of bed in months but she could not refuse the woman’s insistence. Eventually, she would be glad she didn’t.


Swimming lessons turned into picnics by the sea, which turned into walks that ended with suppers at taverns. After many lengthy conversations, Meidhrin convinced her to sail with her. Not only was she a strong swimmer but she was a competent sailor on a merchant ship and according to her, it was the only real way to experience the might and majesty of the ocean. Meidhrin was so impassioned, Lailyn eventually gave in even though it terrified her.

The long summer stretched into autumn and while the trees lost their leaves for the coming winter and the days shortened, their friendship brightened and bloomed. Whenever Meidhrin was not at sea, they were together. Inseparable. While Lailyn began to mend, little pieces of her heart fell somewhere out of reach though she tried to hold on to them, they were cast away like shifting sand. There was nothing she could do to stop it. It was a slow and gentle thing, this feeling that grew. She did not know what to do about it until one twilight evening, Meidhrin grasped her hand, took her breath away and gave her the answer: a kiss with lips salty sweet.

Under the fading amber light, Meidhrin’s pale hair shone, flecked with a rosy hue as Lailyn’s fingers combed through its softness with a delicate touch. As if afraid this moment of bliss would break if she was not careful. The sea whispered gently to the coming night and the cries of the gulls so raucous in the day faded around them. It was perfect though it didn’t need to be. There could have been a storm raging around them and still, Lailyn would have felt the warmth and lightness of her being ready to rise up, up, up into the sky. She had never known this kind of love before. She had never let it in.

But all things must end and many flames that burn bright will die. That spring was the most colourful one in Lailyn’s memory as their friendship flourished into more and she fell into the depths of this new beauty. On it went for another year until the following winter cast its long shadow over them. The nightmares did not abate even with Meidhrin sleeping by her side, her luminous hair a golden halo, her arms warm when she held her fast. This love had made Lailyn feel something again, something she did not want to let go of. But even love cannot heal all wounds.

As she slipped back into the suffocating fog again, Lailyn knew she could not keep bearing this on her own or she would succumb to it while Meidhrin watched, helpless, giving everything she had even though it was not enough. It would destroy her, too, if Lailyn didn’t do something. She had to protect Meidhrin’s sanguine spirit. In the end, it was love that made her let go, but that didn’t make it any easier. Because she could not find the right ones to say, Lailyn left without a word for Minas Tirith to visit the Houses of Healing. It broke her heart, her first bitter taste of it. She told herself it was better this way. She hoped her mother was right, that there would be joy again someday. Until then, she breathed, she slept, she wept, she survived. Eventually, she found the light and learned how to live again. It happened day by day.

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Young Mylien (4 years old)
Third Age Dol Amroth
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The day passed with an increasing weight, until it seemed to drag painfully for all those that saw the little girl waiting patiently on the mooring post. Her cheerful smile was now replaced by a painfully chewed bottom lip and she had to the best of her ability kept still on the rather uncomfortable post. She'd started shifting uncomfortably, and her happily swinging feet no longer were moving to the soft lapping sounds of the ocean below. Instead she sat tense waiting for something that would never come it seemed. She had not touched the meager little meal in her basket yet, that was meant to be shared as they walked home. However as the sun set she slowly got herself off of the post she'd been sitting on and looked worried.

Several sailors passed by her on their way to an inn for the night, and soon all that was left in the darkness punctured by flickering torches as the Swan Knights guarded the docks from robbers and stow-aways was her, and at first the Swan Knights thought perhaps she would head home shortly on her own but when that didn't happen they glanced at each other, normally they were suppose to shoo people away at this hour but she had never once caused a problem or been there so late at night.

'Perhaps she doesn't actually know her way home in the dark?' One knight whispered to the other that was on guard that night. This brought a raised eyebrow and a possible nod. She was normally gone by high tide which had come and gone by mid afternoon and normally she was off with her father.

'OR she doesn't know her way at all.'

'What do we do? She's too young to be out here on her own all night, and she's clearly not an urchin or stow-away trying to board a ship.' The knights continued their rounds hoping that she'd head home perhaps she was just waiting a bit longer after all she tended to come down to the docks on her own, but on their next round she was sitting curled up beside mooring post and they needed to deal with the issues.

'Shouldn't you go home try again tomorrow?' They asked finally knowing that she had someone to look after her at home and she looked up at them with her big eyes and they started shushing her immediately seeing her lip tremble, but it was too late.

"But he said he'd be home today." and the tears came then rolling down her face and the older of the two Knights gave the junior a punch in the arm and a look.

"Alright sweetie, come with us you're going to sleep in the guard house tomorrow and then we'll see about tomorrow because it's too late for you to be out." With that the knight took her hand and she followed along sniffling trying very hard to be brave.

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Calithildis (Cali) and nephew, Iuldir
Working at the forge inside an outbuilding, at a small homestead on the outskirts of Dol Amroth
(set a little before the story of Carpe Diem)


"Now what?" Iuldir inquired, the eager boy practically bouncing on his heels.
Cali smiled, still a bit of a strange sensation for her after so long feeling that she might never smile again. "Now, we wait for the metal to heat up. You know that, Iuldir." She ruffled his hair teasingly, laughing softly. An even stranger sensation.
"Well, can I pump the bellow? Make it heat up faster?"
"We don't want it to heat up too fast," She pointed out, taking her time to watch the metal for the correct color of glow. "Watch it, careful not to get too close. I don't want to have to explain to your mother how you got burned." She added, keeping one eye on the metal and another on her nephew.
"I'm not going to get burned." He declared, as if he could predict such things. "What part is that, again?"
"It'll be a wheel, when it's finished." Cali replied without taking her eyes off the two things she was watching. "And we must be sure that both wheels match exactly, so you'll need to be extra careful if you're to help me with this, understand?"
"I understand!"

Iuldir was, in all honesty, a little too excited about this project to be working on it with her, but Cali understood that he wanted to be able to say that he helped make it. She smiled slightly to herself, feeling a little thrill of excitement for it, herself. She just hoped that her design for it was good enough; that it would work as they intended it to.
"Did you tell Caeleb what we're making?" She wondered, unsure whether Iuldir's friend was expecting it.
"Nope!" Iuldir grinned. "I wanted it to be a surprise. Especially, in case it doesn't work or something, that way he doesn't get too excited for nothing. But I think it'll work!" He quickly added. "I can't wait to see his face when he sees it. Is it ready to come out yet?"
"Not quite yet..." Cali held back a laugh. "You know, this stuff takes patience. Something you're going to have to get acquainted with, if you want to be a good smith someday." She teased him.
"I know, it's just taking ages to heat up. It looks like it's almost hot enough? Is it?"
"Almost. Go ahead and get.." She paused, glancing at him. "I'm not sure I should let you do this part..."
"Aw, please aunt Cali? I can do it, I won't get burned, I promise!"

Cali studied her nephew thoughtfully for a moment, and risked letting her memories stray back to when her brother was learning all this stuff.. he'd been about Iuldir's age, she supposed, when her father let him begin doing more. "Well, alright, but you have to be careful and stay focused. Get your gloves on and then get the tongs ready."
"I will!" He grinned and eagerly took the tongs after pulling on a pair of leather gloves, preparing to take the hot metal from the fire the moment Cali said it was the right time.

Cali smiled sadly, remembering how proud Ryn was of the first things that he'd made all by himself. After the birthday gift he'd made for her, his next solo project had been a set of small armor designed to fit a cat. She nearly laughed at the memory of her poor kitty cat, all dressed up in the cat-armor which her twin brother had crafted for it. The poor thing had clearly been very unhappy with its armor, but the kids had greatly enjoyed the sight of it, and had pretended it was going off into battle against dogs and other cats, and even small dragons... such wonderful times they'd had, and she missed those times more than anything in the world.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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The Outskirts of Dol Amroth
Present Day.

@Rillewen

Fuin was glancing over her shoulder as if the people that were chasing her were right there, they weren't they weren't even in eye sight for her elf eyes which was a good thing as she had no doubt they would have Afarfin with them and then she'd be had. She needed to get out of sight and out of sight fast before, she'd ditched the horse she'd stolen about a day ago and had been running ever since. Mostly tired of being trapped at the suggestion of her husbands and wife at the House of Healing to work on her mental health. She was done with that for now she'd done some work she was good she didn't think she'd have quite as bad of a break now that her head was getting better from the concussion to the point she could barely tell most days she had one at all.

She caught sight of a small homestead and headed for that, thinking perhaps it would be a good place to take a rest for the remainder of the day before traveling by night possibly. As she slipped closer she could hear something familiar and curiosity got the better of her and she headed towards the sound. She could smell it, fire and heat and sweat, and before she even opened the door she knew what she was walking into. She had found of all things a forge. She opened the door and slipped in quietly catching sight of a young woman and an even younger boy in a moment of silence as they waited for the metal to heat. She gave them a small smile.

"Good day." She said with a smile and a nervous chuckle. This was silly of her but honestly this was familiar and safe feeling to her which she hadn't had for a little bit. It had been so long since she had been in the Tingdain in Imladris months now or was it over a year? That head injury had confused her on just how long she had been away. It had to be under a year she decided her family would not have let her be on her own during the anniversary. She thought. "I ummm I was wondering if I could stay here for the day or so???"

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Calithildis (Cali) and nephew, Iuldir
Inside an outbuilding, at a small homestead on the outskirts of Dol Amroth
(set a little before the story of Carpe Diem)


Cali withdrew from her memories, reminding herself that now was not the time to lose focus, after having just told Iuldir he had to stay focused. The young woman was about to tell her nephew that the time was right to remove the metal from the forge, when she heard an unfamiliar voice. Startled, she spun around, eyes widening in shock. What was this stranger doing here? Having so long kept her craft a secret, Cali had no idea what might happen if anyone should discover the truth. And the fact that she was supervising an eleven-year-old at the forge must surely look suspicious...

Cali was speechless for several seconds, but Iuldir was not. He jumped at the sound of the stranger's voice, and tilted his head curiously. "Who're you?" He wondered, more curious than afraid. Looking up at his aunt, he remembered she didn't want anyone to find out she could do smithing stuff. Nudging her in the side, he hoped she would lose that look of alarm. "Aunt Cali..." He whispered, then turned back to the lady. "Why do you want to stay here for the day?" The boy inquired, peeking around her to try and see if there was anyone else lurking outside.

Cali quickly regained her composure, and at her nephew's nudging elbow, she cleared her throat slightly. "Yes, who are you?" She echoed, a bit more wary than Iuldir. "Why are you here?" She frowned, thinking rapidly on how best to handle this situation. "And better yet, who gave you permission to trespass onto our property?" She demanded, while gently pulling Iuldir to stand slightly behind her, distrustful of this stranger. Meanwhile, behind her, the metal in the fire continued to heat.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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The Outskirts of Dol Amroth
Present Day.

@Rillewen

Fuin tried to smile at the young boy as he immediately asked questions, and was about to answer them, more than happy to, when the older of the pair began to ask questions, and then accused her of trespassing; which Fuin supposed was completely true. She glanced around nervously; she wasn't armed, her weapons were still in the House of Healing or where ever Afarfin had stashed them, so she wouldn't be able to defend herself if she got attacked, and while her leg was healed she hadn't exactly regained all of the strength in her leg - the House of Healing was very much against weapons practice on it's grounds or in its buildings. She was a bit tired from running and didn't really want to keep running or have someone else to actively run from if this person decided to harm her.

"Well, um, I didn't really mean to trespass? I just saw this place while travelling and needed to stop. I've been travelling for a bit and um, there are people... not dangerous people, mind you, looking for me so I was not wanting to be out in the open." She felt adding the people were not dangerous not wanting them to think she was endangering them at all. She went over what she'd just said in her head, ticking off the questions, why was she there who gave permission were covered. "And honestly I uh, I heard the metal work from a ways out and I guess it felt like home so I headed towards it. I've not been in my forge for a while - I've been trapped in Minas Tirith for a bit." She said softly, "I go by Fuin. I don't mean you any harm, I am the Grandmaster of the Tingdain - The Forge of Imladris - so if you want help in exchange for me hiding here, I am happy to oblige though I haven't worked in a few months" She held her hands out trying to show she meant no harm. "And the people looking for me will probably pay you good coin for an idea of where I've wandered direction-wise, afterwards."

All of which was technically the truth in terms of how long since she'd work and likely what Afarfin would do in looking for her.

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Calithildis (Cali) and nephew, Iuldir
Inside an outbuilding, at a small homestead on the outskirts of Dol Amroth
(set a little before the story of Carpe Diem)


Many answers came at them quite rapidly, and Cali was trying to process it all when Iuldir tugged on her sleeve, excited as he realized something. Glancing at him questioningly, Cali barely heard his whisper as he leaned up to her ear, "She's an elf! Look at her ears!"

Glancing at the stranger, Cali's eyes roamed to the ears on her head, then felt rather embarrassed by her hostile-like attitude. And absolutely unsure how to respond. Elves, here in Gondor? She had never met one before, and found it rather astonishing, really. "M-my apologies..." She cleared her throat, hoping they had not offended the elven lady. Remembering, suddenly, the metal she had left in the fire, she swiftly turned, taking the tongs from Iuldir, she removed the piece from the coals, hoping it had not overheated. Setting that aside where it wouldn't keep heating, but wouldn't cool too fast either, Cali turned back to face their visitor, suddenly feeling a bit awkward.. had she caught on to the fact that Cali was the smith here, teaching Iuldir? She hadn't seen anything, except just now when she took it from the fire, which, surely anyone could do a simple thing like that...

"What is a Tingdain?" Iuldir asked, intrigued by this unexpected guest, eyes widening with curiosity as she went on to name it as a Forge of Imladris, though he did not actually know what Imladris might be. "Is that an elvish forge?" He seemed thrilled by the idea that she might help with their forge, and grinned. "Can she help us, Aunt Cali? Please?" Turning to Fuin he added, "This is my father's forge. I'm... showing my aunt some things I learned," He informed her, carefully vague as to who had taught him these things, keeping in mind that he had promised to keep Cali's secret.

Cali frowned slightly at her nephew at that lie, but merely gave him a Look while trying to make sense of a few details. "Who is after you? If they aren't dangerous, then why are they after you, and why would they pay good coin to find you?" She asked, puzzled, while also a tiny bit suspicious. She had great respect for elven kind, of course, but had heard that not all of them were good. "Let's find out a bit more about our guest before we make any decisions," She added softly, in answer to Iuldir.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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The Outskirts of Dol Amroth
Present Day.

@Rillewen

It appeared that the young boy for now had spotted that she was an elf and it gave her a bit of a reprieve she let out a breath in relieve and evens smiled hearing the little boys exclamation about her ears.

"No worries." She watched her take out the metal gracefully and nodded. Smart. "You could put it to the side of the forge out of the main heat so it maintains without melting through." She said calmly her years of teaching automatically coming out when she saw something that could be made easier for them. She did note how steady and swift the woman was with the tongs someone learning was never that good with tongs, they were cumbersome and metal was heavy especially when held at length from ones body. That was a smith even if she was pretending not to be why Fuin had no idea perhaps her father did not want her smithing? There were many young elleths when she had been growing up that she had had to go have words with their fathers along with her 8lb hammer about if a woman could smith or not.

She smiled as the boy asked what the tingdain was and if it was an elvish forge. "Indeed it is, it is where the shards of Narsil were reforged." She left out that she had been the one to reforge the blade into Anduril, she had a feeling they would probably not believe that. She was quite happy to help, and she smirked a little at the young mans dedication to the lie he told and the look on the womans face told her she was right on that.

"Who is after me.... Um this will sound strange, but my family, at least one of them, which is why I came towards Dol Amroth, two of them won't step foot there and they want me to stay at the House of Healing and I am tired of being there I want to go home and I need a ship for that and knowing my family which ever ship they brought will have orders to not leave without ALL of the family." she said with a smile. "I am not a fan of being a patient I must admit." She said with a chuckle.

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Calithildis (Cali) and nephew, Iuldir
Inside an outbuilding, at a small homestead on the outskirts of Dol Amroth


"Wow, really?!" Iuldir's eyes might just pop out of his head if they got any bigger, Cali thought, though she kept the smile from her face as she listened to the elf answer yet more questions. As well as a suggestion to put the metal aside, which Cali had, at that very moment, been doing. She hesitated, and nodded as she proceeded with exactly that. "Thank you." She replied, trying to pretend, still, that she did not know anything about this. "Your family?" She couldn't help the thoughts of her brother popping into her head. That was exactly the sort of thing he would have done; run off on adventures, hiding from their parents, and dragged Cali along with him. She felt mixed emotions about that; sorrow as well as nostalgic. She nodded thoughtfully at the rest of the explanation, keeping her thoughts to herself on the matter.

Iuldir, for his part, was thrilled beyond words to have met an elf, and not only an elf, but a SMITH elf! "Did you help with it?" He wondered, in awe of their guest. "My grandfather was the best weaponsmith in all of Gondor, you know, I want to be just as good as him someday." He added with a proud grin. "He taught my father, and now I'm learning, too." He was careful to avoid saying just who was teaching him, of course, just like Cali had coached him on what to say if anyone ever asked. "Maybe you could help me learn more?" He glanced at Cali at that, hoping for her permission.

Cali bit her lip lightly, having remained quiet thus far, and refrained from pointing out to Iuldir that his words could be a bit offensive to his current teacher. But it was true; Cali was sure that she wasn't nearly as skilled as this elf must be, and she had no right to deny her nephew a chance to learn things which she could not teach him. "Perhaps that would be good for him. You must be far more skilled than his current teacher," She agreed quietly. "I'm sure there must be a great deal of knowledge you could pass on, if you will."
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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The Outskirts of Dol Amroth
Present Day.

@Rillewen


Fuin could not help but laugh at the young boys eyes as they went wide, Fuins sharp eyes caught how Cali was moving and doing things and had little doubt about what she was, Fuin knew full well how to keep a secret though. Of course the boy was far more excited and had stories to tell and questions to ask.

"Indeed I did help with it I had two of my mastersmiths working with me to rework the elfen magic into the blade, we infused it with magic so that it looks like it burns with a white flame when it is in the Kings hand and he calls forth its name." She said with a smile she did not say she was the head smith, she was certain Cali would understand the use of my mastersmiths fully even if the boy did not. She nodded as he told her about his grandfather being the best weaponsmith, she'd probably met him many years ago when he was young and probably before he was the best weaponsmith. She had travelled often in years past though if he wasn't renowned then perhaps she had not. "That it quite the noble quest to become as skilled as your grandfather! Your current teacher must be very proud to have a student so eager to learn." She said taking a glance at Cali for only a moment as he suggested she could teach him more. Indeed she likely could but how much could she teach a child in a single day? Cali though... she could possibly learn several tricks especially if she was learning the trade in secret.

"I would be honored to if you don't think his current teacher would be too wounded at their student learning from another smith - I know it takes quite the confident smith to allow such a thing" She said with a soft smile taking a fairly safe guess at who she was paying that compliment to. "After all smiths often have their own habits and how they like to do things, perhaps you can tell me what you already know so I do not teach you something you already know?" She offered trying to figure out a way to offer what knowledge she had to the young woman without calling her outright a smith. "Though, I must ask for payment for the knowledge" She said with a smile hesitating only a moment knowing that knowledge came with a cost "Your names so that I can tell my friends to come and order items from you so that you might be able to practice even more."

She did make sure to use the plural on purpose, a mild slip that could be easily over looked if need be.

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Calithildis (Cali) and nephew, Iuldir
Inside an outbuilding, at a small homestead on the outskirts of Dol Amroth


Cali, as well as Iuldir, listened with interest at the description of how the blade was reforged, things which no human smith could have done. Cali couldn't help feeling a twinge of jealousy at that thought, but tried to smother it immediately. She wasn't even supposed to be a smith, herself. Something about some of the things Fuin said, made her wonder if she knew that Iuldir's teacher was actually present. She looked at the elf thoughtfully, trying to determine whether she knew Cali's secret or not, but couldn't quite be sure. Just in case, she quietly clasped her hands behind her back, lest they give her away, hoping the elf had not already noticed them.

The next moment, at the mention of a cost, Iuldir looked quite deflated, knowing full-well that his widowed mother could not afford to pay for any sort of lesson, while in the same instant, Cali felt a flare of anger at the thought that she would have raised the boy's hopes up, only to crush them. Then, the next moment, when Fuin had named her price, her anger vanished as quickly as it had come, and Iuldir had lit up again. "That's all?" Iuldir asked, amazed, and a bit uncertain. He glanced at Cali, wondering if she would agree to these terms. "Aunt Cali, do you think my teacher would mind?" He wondered, hopeful.

And suddenly it all rested on Cali's shoulders. She didn't miss a word Fuin said, and hesitated as she tried to form the best response. She looked down at him and smiled faintly. "No, I... I don't think so. I believe.. your teacher would be happy for you to have such an opportunity, and would be disappointed in you if you were to pass it by." She answered carefully. Turning to Fuin again, she offered a small smile. "Our names, I'm sure you have already heard, though we have not officially introduced ourselves." She had sort of forgotten, with all the confusion and surprise. "I'm Cali Dringolben, and this is my nephew, Iuldir. He was not exaggerating by much when he spoke of his grandfather being an excellent smith. My father, his grandfather, was Damion Dringolben, and was quite well known in his time. He was counted among the best smiths, at least in Minas Tirith, if not Gondor, when he was alive." She explained, feeling yet another pang of grief.

"He died in the war." Iuldir added sadly. "But he used to make armor and weapons for the army and everything. He was the second best smith I think I ever knew." He added with a sidelong glance toward Cali, then looked back at Fuin and quickly added, "Begging your pardon ma'am, I don't actually know you yet.. so I don't know if that counts?"

Cali cleared her throat softly, a little awkward, wishing the boy would not speak quite so much at times. "Iuldir. Perhaps you could show Lady Fuin some of the things you've made?" She suggested, watching as he eagerly hurried off to retrieve his previous works.

The boy gathered up several small knives, made with Cali's assistance, and some other beginner type things, along with a half-finished shield he had been working on before they began their current project. He proudly presented his work for Fuin to examine, and gather some idea of the things he had learned so far. "I've been learning ever since.." He paused, thinking. "Whenever the war was over and everything, I guess."
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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The Outskirts of Dol Amroth
Present Day.

@Rillewen


It was Fuins turn to be shocked as she learned their names "Cali and Iuldir" She paused for a moment their last name rolling in her mouth as it had not for many ages. "Dringolben" She stood up to her full height and blinked and then smiled a little sad. "I can say I have heard that name, I have heard it many times." She said softly as Iuldir spoke of his father making armor and weapons for the war and then speaking about him being the second best smith he knew.

Fuin caught the glance and gave a small sad nod, she missed her friend Calaerdris, and she could see so much of her in this young boy, perhaps even more in Cali if she were not so afraid or perhaps because she was afraid. Her foremother had been once upon a time too and Fuin had taught her smithing and told her to put her hammer on the table and tell them to do a better job if they thought they could, Fuin knew none that would be able to, she had named her elf friend and given her her Dringolben as a title that became her name. "I say it counts if you want it to." Cali instructed the boy to show her some of the things he'd made and Fuin stood looking at Cali while the boy ran and fetched so many items and Fuin looked them all over inspecting them as she would her own apprentices work.

"These are good they do a great service to the person who earned your last name." She said calmly "Especially as you've been learning from such a young age." She said with a smile. The knives where not well balanced but they were well shaped, and she rang the blade of on over a file, hardened properly. "Calaerdris would be proud of this knife." She said figuring perhaps it was time to let them know.

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Calithildis (Cali) and nephew, Iuldir
Inside an outbuilding, at a small homestead on the outskirts of Dol Amroth


Iuldir looked quite pleased by her appraisal of his work, and might have actually glowed if it were possible. Cali couldn't help a tiny smile, watching her nephew beam happily. She did feel quite proud of her nephew, he had learned a great deal in the time she had spent teaching him. Especially considering they must work in secret, and only during such times that his mother was at work.

"You heard of my grandfather then?" He asked, very eager to hear more, thinking that perhaps tales of what a good smith he was had spread as far as this Imladris place she spoke of! Having never known of how his work had suffered after losing all three of his sons, Iuldir knew only that his grandfather had been well-renowned in the land, and had heard that his father was also quite the smith before he died. Grinning up at Cali, he could hardly help but feel excited and eager to hear more tales of his grandfather, and perhaps even his father.

But Cali was more intrigued by the other statement, about the person who earned them their name. What did that mean? She gazed thoughtfully at the elf, suspecting that she knew more than she had yet told them, but wasn't sure how to go about asking. Elves, she had heard, lived forever. There was no way she could tell how old this elf might be. Who might she have known in ages past, she wondered? Someone from their family, perhaps? She hardly dared imagine who that could be, but she didn't have to wonder very long before her nephew asked the question they were both wondering.

Hearing the unfamiliar name, Iuldir looked up inquisitively. "Who is Calaerdis?" He wondered, then tilted his head. "Her name sounds sort of like yours, aunt Cali." He mentioned. "Is she a friend of yours from your forge in Imladris?" He asked Fuin, setting his knives and things aside. Cali had never heard that name either, but had a vague suspicion it was not someone Fuin knew from her elven home. "Is she one of the smiths who helped remake the king's sword?" Iuldir wondered, still quite intrigued by that tale.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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@Rillewen


Fuin smiled as Iuldir asked her so many questions, and she could feel the piercing gaze of Cali upon her. "No my young friend she is no friend of mine from Imladris. She is much much more important than that, she is far more important to Gondor than forging even the Kings sword. Especially to the both of you." Fuin said softly putting the boys blade down and taking her breath.

"Indeed her name is much like Cali's and I think it is closer than you might think. Her full name is Calaerdis Dringolben, though it was not always so. Your family was struggling in ages long past that I would dare say your grandfather would not even remember young Iuldir." Fuin said clasping her hands together. "And she had decided to try to learn smithing to change the fortunes of her line and she was smart and learned so much on her own but indeed there were few that would teach her the full skills she needed." Fuin took a look at Cali, who the more she looked at indeed the more she reminded her of Cala. "She sold nails and basic tools and indeed her family was doing better, they didn't hunger for bread or worry about clothing themselves but... Cala was hungry. She knew full well what smiths could do and sought to learn endlessly despite the refusals of those that should have taught her. When I met her she had an argument with another smith that would not teach her and I was on my way in to that smith for I needed a repair to one of my daggers that had broken in the breast plate of an orc." Fuin gave a smile. "Cala was so angry and practically knocked me off my feet storming from the smithy but she took the time to apologize and she was upset so I spoke with her."

"She told me she just wanted to learn how to make more than nails and basic pieces and that she had a smith but no teacher because she was a woman." Fuin looked at Cali matching the piercing gaze that had once rested on her. "I was but a Master Smith at the time, in line to become the Grandmaster when he left the shores of Middle Earth and Cala drank deep from the knowledge I was willing to give until there was no smith in Gondor that could rival her. You." Fuin looked at Cali firmly and then switching her gaze to Iuldir so that perhaps the boy would not pick up that she was in fact speaking to his Aunt. "Are her legacy and Dringolben is the name I gave her." Fuin wished beyond anything now that she had her weapons. Indeed the blade that had fated her so was still normally one she wore on her person, the blade bore a small makers mark that Fuin had demanded be put upon it. The makers mark of Dringolben.

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Calithildis (Cali) and nephew, Iuldir
Inside an outbuilding, at a small homestead on the outskirts of Dol Amroth


Stunned wasn't quite the right word to describe Cali at the moment. Shocked perhaps, astonished maybe. She hardly realized that she was staring at the elven smith as information was revealed which Cali herself would have never guessed..never would have fathomed, in fact. How long ago did this Calaerdis live, she wondered? She almost didn't believe it, but then... what reason would Fuin have to lie about it? She found herself leaning back on a part of the furnace hearth that was cool enough to do so, hands gripping the stones that bordered it. "You..taught her.." Not only the fact that she was learning information that had been forgotten through time, but to think that this person had been alive that long ago! She knew elves lived forever, or so she had been told, but to actually meet one... and one that had known a member of her ancestry!

"Wow," Iuldir gazed in amazement at the elf, unable to imagine how old she might be. "Would you really teach me the same things you taught her?" He asked hopefully, trying his best to look like more than just a kid, like he was older than 11 years old and fully capable of learning all the things a grandmaster could hope to teach him.

With a faint smile, Cali rested a hand on his shoulder. "She already offered, remember? For the price of knowing our names, which we've given. But," She paused, leaning down a bit, "First, would you go and check on your sister? I haven't heard anything out of her in some time."

Iuldir looked a little disappointed, but nodded. "Yes ma'am." Eager to get back quickly, he hurried off to the ladder going up to the loft, where they had set up a little play area for Rissy, to keep her near enough to keep an eye on her, but occupied so she would not be getting in the way and possibly hurt.

As soon as he had gone, Cali turned to Fuin, hesitating a moment before speaking. "You.. know, don't you?" She asked softly. Of course, anyone who could claim the title of Grandmaster smith of elves must surely be able to pick up on enough little signs to know Cali's secret. Especially while they were standing there in a forge. "I suppose there's no sense in us trying to conceal the fact from you, is there?" She added, looking down at the still-glowing metal. "My father never even knew." She added with a soft laugh, mingled with a touch of sadness.

Turning to look back at Fuin, she asked, with all seriousness, "You aren't only making this up to impress Iuldir, are you? You really did know, and teach, an ancestor of ours?" Half of her wanted to feel excited and amazed, just like her nephew, but the other half tugged at her to be wary, and not to believe just anything because it sounded impressive. She'd pulled enough deceptions on others to know how easily it could be done, and wanted to protect Iuldir from such things.
Last edited by Rillewen on Sun Sep 05, 2021 1:41 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

High Lord of Imladris
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The Outskirts of Dol Amroth
Present Day.

@Rillewen


Fuin smiled as Iuldir ran off to check on his sister leaving her and Cali alone. She gave a small nod, "I do." She said softly, "and probably not, though if you want to keep it secret for now I will honor that." She said calmly. "I did not know your father I must admit, so I could not attest to him have not wandered through Gondor in many years since Cala's death, that was the last time I was here to visit, she was a good friend and an excellent student."

"Make it up." Fuin chuckled. "No, hmmm if I had my weapons on me I could show you the makers mark on my dagger." Fuin blinked. "Your makers mark. It's a half moon on the water with part of it as a dark crescent with three lines of waves beneath and there is an elven star opposite the dark cresent."

This obviously was perhaps something that any could say as long as they bought an item smithed by the Dringolben family. She licked her lips. "You may have a newer one but, I would wager everything I own that you still have the original mark, the neck of it being an inch long so that it can be stamped on wider swords or in less accessible areas of armor so it is not overly noticeable. It is old, the handle is made of stained lebethron and wrapped with elven swirls that all join up at the top to make the strike plate. It hasn't tarnished yet, nor has it been refurbished ever it is probably the most precious item your family owns even if you don't know it, it's something your father would have taught his sons that they should never sell it, that you should sell everything else first, you'd have possibly heard this as well since he clearly didn't teach you but you were watching and watching well.." She said calmly "A gift for Cala upon finishing her apprenticeship the metal is Mithril and why it will not fail as a mark."

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Calithildis (Cali) and nephew, Iuldir
Inside an outbuilding, at a small homestead on the outskirts of Dol Amroth


Listening to the elf, every bit of Cali's doubts and skepticism vanished like mist burning away in the sun. Fuin was right; anyone who had ever held a Dringolben made item could probably describe that mark, of course, but the tool she described... suddenly, Cali was whisked off into a memory she had nearly forgotten about, one of the times her dear twin brother had been in possibly the most trouble of his life, with their father...

Ryn had been about the same age as Iuldir, she supposed, and had 'borrowed' this precious family heirloom to show off to his friends. Before he returned home from school that day, the bully who was always picking on Iole and others had made the mistake of picking on her and Cali while the boys were not far away... there had been a fight, she recalled, and when they got home, Ryn had forgotten all about borrowing his father's tool. Mother had been quite upset to see him come home with a black eye, and it was some time before the twins became aware that their father was turning the forge inside out searching for the missing tool, even going so far as to call the guards and report a robbery! When Ryn realized he'd forgotten to slip it back into its place, he and Cali had plotted to slip it back in that night so that it would be there when father returned to the forge.

Only when he finally finished supper and went to get it from his schoolbag, they were horrified to discover that it was not still there. As she couldn't let Ryn face his trouble alone, Cali had gone with him as he sneaked out of the house and went back to search for it, assuming it must have fallen out when he flung his things down to fight with that Androllius boy, and they were just about to give up when Cali spotted it in the grass. They'd rushed back to their father's forge, sneaked in, and Ryn was just about to put the tool back into its box when a guard grabbed him, scaring the kids half to death. They hadn't known that their father had demanded a guard to watch the place during the night, and they were brought before their father. Cali had tried to spin it so as to convince their parents that they had actually went and tracked down the thief and taken it back, but they didn't accept that story, and she'd been sent to bed. But poor Ryn... he had gotten the scolding of his life... her father was so furious about Ryn's little stunt that the boy had not dared step out of line for at least a full week afterward...


This memory flashed through her mind swiftly as Fuin described the tool itself, and Cali suddenly found tears brimming in her eyes, but she laughed softly at the memory as well. Somehow she was experiencing both sorrow and joy at the same time, and didn't understand it, but she brushed her tears away and forced a smile, despite the sadness that lingered. "Yes... indeed, I.." She felt the smile fade slightly. "I have it here, in fact. I insisted my mother send it to me, as a memento of my father when he died, I told her... because she was going to rent the forge and the shop out to another..." She sighed. At least she'd talked her mother out of selling it, anyway.

Iuldir climbed back down, rejoining them with a puzzled look at Cali. "Are you alright, aunt Cali?" He looked at Fuin and back at Cali, wondering if the elf had somehow caused his aunt to cry. But then, she often seemed like she might cry any moment, only she never did. "Rissy's asleep by the way." He reported, explaining why the small child had been so quiet for so long.
Cali nodded quickly. "I'm alright, yes. And I'm quite eager to see what lady Fuin has to teach us." She added with a smile at the elf. "We needn't hide my secret from her any more, Iuldir. She knows." She added.
Iuldir looked surprised, then grinned. "Good! I don't like having to keep it secret. You're really good at it, I wish you could let everyone know."
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

High Lord of Imladris
Points: 5 208 
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The Outskirts of Dol Amroth
Present Day.

@Rillewen


Fuin could see the mention of the mark had brought a memory to bear on Cali as she brushed away tears and forced a smile. "I am glad to hear it is here and safe." She said softly, if it were Cala she would hug the woman but she did not know Cali that well so she stayed put even as Iuldir joined them again and he smiled exclaiming how he disliked having to keep the secret.

"Perhaps she will eventually tell everyone" Fuin said with a smile and a laugh, "I may have to make more visits here to make sure that you are both as well learned as Cala, preferably when I'm not on the run from the House of Healing and my family." Fuin headed for the forge. "So what is it that you were making?" She asked looking at the billet of metal that had been heating as well as the tools that were out. It clearly wasn't the shield that Iuldir had shown her earlier, there was too much for a toy shield, and she doubted that Cali would be willing to waste that much metal on a toy. It seemed like it was going to be fairly large from what Fuin could tell but it... it didn't seem like Cali had tools out for a sword, perhaps armor? No. She was certain of that. "Perhaps that will be a good place to start for teaching since I am not clearly having to teach either one of you how to be a smith from the very start."

She debated on if she should continue on tonight, or if she should stay and teach Cali and Iuldir as much as she possibly could before her family found her and dragged her back to the House of Healing. She'd see how much she was able to teach them for now then she'd decide she figured, Cala her good friend would be happy to see her once again with her family that thought alone was enough to keep Fuin smiling.

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