Rangers (RPG) Chapter 1: A Growing Threat

[Oro]

Rumors of the coming changes to the military have left many nervous and worried about their future. Messengers arrive at military camps and headquarters across the country delivering missives and handing out orders. Each individual soldier is given a letter, some with instructions to return home, but others such as yourself receive something different. Taking the parchment in hand, you break the seal peering inside...

“Soldiers of Arnor and Gondor,

King Aragon II Ellesar has heard the cries of the people of the Reunited Kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor. He sees both the need for a defensive military force and for the citizens that make up the armies of the Reunited Kingdom to return home. It is uneconomical for the people of the realm to maintain a fighting force as large and multitudinous as has been supported these last few years.

On this day, the 7th of Lonthron, King Aragorn II Ellesar, Twenty-Sixth King of Arnor, Thirty-Fifth King of Gondor, First King of the Reunited Kingdom has declared an edict of dispersal, effective immediately, of the standing Army. The men and women of the fighting forces of Arnor and Gondor will return to their towns and cities, forming militias as dictated by local law. Funds have been distributed to all the Lords of the fiefdoms of Arnor and Gondor to form these militias to protect the people of the Reunited Kingdoms. However, with the Standing Army dispersed, there is a vital gap in the defense of the country.

First the Rangers of Ithilien will take control of the defense of the northern border and temporarily the defense of the southern border. But the Rangers of Ithilien will be spread thin. In an effort to support and augment their defense, a new Ranger corps will be formed. This corps, titled the Rangers of Gondor, have been tasked with the defense of the Kingdom from asymmetric enemies: small mobile forces that will strike at the very heart of Gondor using tactics of hit and run, and spreading terror.

The Edict of Dispersal is effective immediately, as put into place, and certain members of the Army of the Reunited Kingdom will be given the opportunity to remain in their homes or join the Rangers.

Special Instructions: To the Receiver of this Missive, you have been selected to join the Rangers of Gondor. Your service records denote that your training and capabilities are of the quality necessary to join the Rangers of Gondor. Furthermore the High Command has noted your service, determining that you will be an asset to the Rangers. This option is entirely voluntary, but should you be interested in joining the Rangers, that option is available to you, one of the select few chosen to serve the Kingdom. Should you decide to join, you will find the necessary information inclosed.”

A second note within reads:

“Location: Army Headquarters of Minas Tirith
Time: The 21st of Lonthron at 0900
Uniform: None required, weapons and armor can be provided.

Note: Those who wish to use their own weapons may do so, these can include but not exceed one each melee weapon, one each ranged weapon, and the armor deemed necessary for light and quick travel. “

Two Weeks Later on the 21st of Lonthron

A large stone building stands to the north in the First Circle of the fair city of Minas Tirith; the path of the circle ends at its threshold. The unique architectural design gives the large building the look of a six-pointed star. It has a small courtyard at the front of it with an eight-foot stone fence to either side of the building which connects to both the outer and inner walls of the first circle.

A Black iron pole gate stands dead center of the stone fence that runs from the right hand side of the Headquarters to the outer wall. Next to the Gate is a golden plaque that reads “Ranyarimen” and, below that, “In Honor of Faramir, Prince of Ithilien.”

Through the gate you can see a large cobbled path that runs up to a large oak door set into the stone wall. A pair of iron hinges span the width of the door, strengthening it further, and a peephole blends into the grain of the wood, making it all but invisible to those who are unaware of its presence.

Inside are many rooms of various sizes and shapes. Many are for sleeping quarters for those who have no home, and others are for storage, where many weapons, armor and other items are stored.

Down the open hallway is a large room where tables and chairs are situated and a large bar stands before them. Over in the corner stands a small podium beside a blackboard, a tall man standing behind it. “Just this way, please take a seat. The room will be full, so get cozy. The Commander and Lieutenant will be here to brief you shortly.” He smiles, waving everyone to their seats before finishing: “Feel free to converse among yourselves while you wait.”

[GM Note: Feel free to share your emotions to these changes in the Military, but please report to the Headquarters briefing room. You may converse with one another, ask questions of the man at the podium, or surprise me.

Finally, all credit for the description of the Head Quarters goes to the previous creators of the ERC, as I felt the need to reuse the same HQ in honor of it.]

Rules:
Please keep all posts IC, you may OOC at the bottom of your post
All characters should be Gondorian citizens
All Posts should be colored Black (The GMs will use colors for ease of finding their posts in a crowd)
Myself and Arnyn will be GMing this first Chapter of the Rangers of Gondor
Be courteous of others and have fun!

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel of the Green Hills (Ziran) ~ Thûllir Bregedŷr of Ithilien

Ziran just stood looking at the Oak door to the Headquarters for a long moment, as all the complicated memories rose to the surface, until she took a deep breath and turned her head to nod at her cousin. It was time.
She had received the letter far off in Pinnath Gelin, calling her back to service if she chose, and had spent several hours debating with herself on whether to answer the summons. It had finally been during a discussion with her elderly father that she had decided to return. He had simply looked at her after hearing all of her worries and reasons for indecision, and stated quietly. “Karis, my Ziranphel, of course you must go. You have healed here and helped us rebuild, and we are grateful. We loved having your presence again, but your King calls, and you know you will not be happy unless you go.” It really had been as simple as that after all.
It was time, and she had arrived only the night before in Harlond, having said her farewells and left home in short order to travel the long miles by land, sea, and river. Her aunt and uncle had given her unexpected arrival a warm welcome despite the hour, and sent word up to Thûllir the same night. This morning she had donned dark green tunic and gray trews that were clean rather than travel stained, and armored herself with the light chain shirt and subtly decorated leather armor that she had taken to wearing after leaving the armor and rank of a captain behind. Today she was once more as she had been years ago, a simple archer from the green hills. If a few silver hairs flecked her short dark hair, they were still easy to miss, but there was much more care and faint scars lining her face than when she was a fresh-faced recruit. The short sword slung on her back by the quiver was no longer the heirloom she had first carried, but was still made by a gifted bladesmith, and the horn-handled dagger matched at her hip. Longbow in hand, she had been greeted by Thûllir when she stepped out the door. The greeting between cousins had been a brief, if heartfelt, hug, before they set off together for the headquarters.
Thûllir was attired in the garb and armor of the Rangers of Ithilien still, not dissimilar to her own, even though he no longer held a regular place in the Prince’s company. The only difference was a brace of throwing knives at his side, which he’d found useful in tight spaces where the bow was unwieldy. He had received leave from Faramir to join the King’s Ranger company after sharing the letter with him. It would be a new thing for him to potentially serve in the same unit as Kaylin, but a challenge that he was willing to deal with. He had left her finishing her coffee when he headed down through the circles of the city to greet Ziran and escort her for old times sake, but he knew he would see her again later.

It was time. Time to begin anew. Thûllir returned Ziran’s nod with one of his own, and they entered the headquarters together. Following the directions given, they made their way into the room. Ziran took a seat near the front of the room, while Thûllir leaned against the closest wall and crossed his hands over his longbow. He would wait to seat himself until more arrived.

[Arnyn]

Arnyn

Even though she was no longer a part of the official ERC, someone found her. Arnyn recognized the lines of the young woman's face - it would sense to send a messenger who knew who she was, and she had always tried to remember a face if not a name.
"Ranwen." Arnyn smiled at her. "It's been a while."

The woman gave her a crisp salute. Arnyn wanted to stop her, but the fist-to-chest was too quick a gesture to try and interrupt. "Comm-" Ranwen stopped herself mid-word while Arnyn gave her a look, "Aherm. Lady Arnyn." The correction twisted Ranwen's face as if she'd just bitten a lemon. "Message, sir - eh, ma'am."

Arnyn put a hand on Ranwen's shoulder as she accepted the piece of parchment. "It's been two years," she said, giving the woman a penetrating look. "You outrank me, for I have none at all."
The corners of Ranwen's lips twitched up a little. "None of us have any rank anymore. I'm a mere messenger now, and who knows for how long."
The words brought a deep frown to Arnyn's face. Her dark brown eyes darkened even further.
"It's all in the letter." Ranwen bowed her head to her. "I hope this isn't our last meeting... Arnyn."

A lot of thoughts were vying for top billing inside Arnyn's head as she nodded at Ranwen and gave her a smile regardless. "So do I." When the messenger had gone, she slowly broke the parchment's seal. It was the King's seal. It brought back a lot of feelings long buried. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a moment before focusing them on the parchment. Her eyes devoured the words on the page. Her frown deepened as she read along. How would life-long soldiers provide for themselves and their families now? Reading about funds for militia's eased that worry a bit, but it still felt as if someone was wringing something inside of her. The King was wanting to do a good thing, she believed that much with all her heart. But many would have mixed feelings, and would need time and help to adjust, as well.

The first sentence of the letter's last paragraph made her blink. Twice. Thrice. After the initial pause, she read on as fast as she could. Chosen. Voluntary. There was another piece of parchment - yes, it had almost slid out when she'd broken the seal. A time and a place. Arnyn tilted her chin up a little as considered the implications.

Did she want this life? Again?

Was there any other reason she had returned to the White City?

Bravery began with honesty to yourself.

She rolled up the pieces of parchment again while looking ahead of her. Her hand squeezed the roll harder than necessary.

The 21st of Lonthron

She was early. She'd always been an early bird, and Arnyn had found herself nervous - as if she was nineteen all over again, never having been a soldier and in way over her head. Even though she still had her youth, she supposed, the moment she had stepped into HQ for the very first time felt so long ago. The memory made her face light up. The briefing room looked familiar. Painfully and healingly so, all at once. The latter feeling won out, however, and she stepped inside with a smile.

She'd come with her old equipment, all black cloth and leather, the only exceptions a white tree on her leather shirt and the mail sleeves sewn onto it. Her trusted long sword was at her hip, her shortbow and quiver strapped to her back, two throwing knives at her belt and a dagger at her boot. Her golden hair was pulled back neatly in the long braid that had always been one of her trademarks. Everything but the old badges of her previous division and office.

Despite her earliness, two people had arrived before her. She didn't recognize the man leaning against the wall (Thûllir), but her smile along with a nod greeted him nonetheless. There was something familiar about the shape sitting in one of the chairs to the front of the room, and Arnyn made her way over with long, measured paces. When she saw the woman's face, her smile deepened at the recognition. "Karis Ziranphel. I don't believe we ever met officially, but I remember your service. Let's take this chance to rectify that we were never formally introduced." She held out a hand. "Arnyn Dealedwen. It looks like we will be serving together, once again."

[Turin Ringhûn]

Turin

Life wasn’t bad. He missed his friends, he longed for time with his wife and daughter again, but life hadn’t beat him completely into submission yet. After all, he was a Ringhûn. There was a reason why he took on that name. He’d witnessed many deaths in his teens. He’d witnessed deaths in his tweens. He was surrounded by death. It had turned his heart cold. Nessa had saved him from becoming completely turned off of society. She’d saved him. Then the Rangers had given him a way to focus his pain.

But eventually, it had all caught up to him. It had now been a few years since he’d resigned his commission. Before that final mission, he’d had his ups and downs, more ups than downs. He’d seen people come, and he’d seen people go within the Elite Ranger Corps.

Now, there were nights he would wake up in a cold sweat from a dream which brought back memories of probably the two most painful memories of his time in the corps. When Dhalion died before him, and when Lhun died before him. Both times, he was protected, both times, he was powerless to do anything to save either of them. It still haunted him to his core.

Thankfully, this morning was not one of those mornings he was haunted by the deaths of former colleagues. Instead, he was reminded of the fact his long time friend and pet was no longer with him. Carch, his beloved white wolf had passed away in his sleep about a month prior. Ondo, his old stallion he’d got after he’d been promoted, was long gone too. He’d let the old war horse go free. After spending time in Pelargir searching for his wife and daughter to no avail, he returned home in the brown lands. He started farming again, using an irrigation technique he’d read about somewhere to to be able to water his crops.

He pulled a cup from a cupboard and poured water into it from a pitcher on his counter. He sat at his table and closed his eyes. “I am fine. I will be fine. You will see them both again one day.” He thought to himself. This had become his routine every morning.

He finished his water and exited his house. It was getting light out. He would need to harvest his tomatoes, peppers today.

But as he was walking towards the rows of his plants with his buckets in hand, he saw a dust cloud in the south. It appeared to actually be coming closer too.

He considered returning to his home and grabbing one of his weapons, but there was a chance it was not for him. Aragon had sent messages north through this area many times. After all, this was the way to Mirkwood, and Erebor beyond that it could just be another me one of those times.

But it was not one of those days. While he was picking tomatoes, the rider stopped at the entrance of his field and walked the horse over.

“Hello sir.” The rider said with a very reminiscent fist to chest salute. “I’m looking for Turin Ringhûn.”

Turin waved off the salute. “I’m no longer in the Rangers. I don’t get salutes anymore.”

The rider nodded. “I have a missive for you.” He said handing over a thick envelope. Turin took it and opened it.

“You know, your voice sounds familiar. You wouldn’t happen to have been one of the old stable hands years ago would you?”

“Indeed I was sir. I now am part of the official mail team for long distance missives. Because I was so good with the horses.”

“Cortan wasn’t it?”

“You have a good memory. I told you my name only that one time. Please read the letter. I hope to see you again, but I must be off. I have other letters to deliver. Be well.” And with that, the young man was mounted again and off to the south.

Turin looked at the seal on the envelope. It was the King’s. Many thoughts came to mind seeing it. Some good, some bad. He looked back at his crops, then back to the letter. He shook his head and stuffed it into his shirt and went back to work harvesting, but the letter kept nagging him.

It wasn’t till noon when he was back inside eating lunch when he finally broke the seal. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment before focusing them on the parchment. He read the words on the page. He didn’t believe what he was reading, so he read it again.

Shaking his head, it made no sense. How would life-long soldiers provide for themselves and their families now? Yeas, he was fine now, but he knew so many others who would lose everything with this. It made no sense.

The bit about militia's eased that worry a bit, but it still felt as if someone was irking him. It didn’t make sense. That’s when he noticed the second piece of parchment in the envelope.

Pulling it out, he bag an to read it. It was an address, one he knew well, and a date. What? That didn’t make any sense either. Going back to the first one, he turned it over. There it was. The explanation. He was being selected. And if he wanted to, he could go to that address to learn more.

But did he really want this life? Again? Yes, he’d done a lot of good, and it had done him a lot of good. But, it had also taken so much from him.

“I wonder if he’ll be there.” He thought to himself. I can only see myself doing this if he is there. Otherwise, I’ll just have to politely decline. I can’t. He reached up to his chest where his old badge used to hang on his uniform. The white tree, white stars, crossed swords.

If he was going to go though, which sword of his would he bring? He had Méla, and he had Nuru. He also had his short sword, but he really did feel better this one of his long swords in his hand. While he sat there thinking, he stared at the wedding band on his finger.



The 21st of Lonthron

He felt he was too early. He was often late to things. In fact, he’d been late to many things while he was in the Rangers. But, something told him he couldn’t be late to this.

He stopped before the doors of the HQ. He remembered when he first walked through those doors. The hustle and bustle of people going about. He watched a few other people to figure out what the heck he even needed to do. He was nervous. It was the war that had killed his dad and brother. But he couldn’t let that hold him back. He took the parchment and put his info down and joined the Rangers. It seemed like such a long time ago now.

He was wearing something like his old gear over his regular shirt. It was a modified brigandine with chain mail sewn in between. He’d left his original with the lamellar plates back at home. After all, it had been emblazoned with the Hyandaner crest as well as his old rank. If that no longer existed, he couldn’t go around with that on.

On his back he had his short bow, and on his hip was his second sword. His dwarven made long sword, Mela. Nuru, as much as he loved his main weapon, the one he forged himself in his youth, he couldn’t bring it along. Maybe he’d retrieve it later, if he actually stuck with this.

His left forearm had a special hardened leather vambrace that tripled as a pad for his bow as well as a sheath for a small dagger. He had another knife on his right hip. His unkempt should length brown hair looked as though it could use a good brushing. His scarred left cheek twitched as he opened the door and stepped inside.

There were others already inside. One he didn’t recognize, but the two women there, his heart skipped beats upon seeing them.

“Karis!?! Arnyn!?!” It was all he could do to not shout their names. Let alone to run down and give them massive hugs. With all the calmness he could muster, he walked over to where they were. He probably looked like an idiot, fighting the delight in his eyes. He wasn’t completely sure, but there might have been tears present too. Seeing his old colleagues, and leaders, still doing well too it seemed, It was almost more than he could bear.

Then he probably did one of the stupidest things ever. “Permission to hug?” He asked the two of them. “It is great to see you.”

[Arnyn]

Arnyn

At the sound of a familiar voice straining not to yell out her name, she turned her head - to find none other than Turin Ringhun approaching. The smile on her face grew into a white-toothed grin. Turin had been Hyandaner with her. Turin was family. Then, now, and always.

At his question, she let out a short, quiet laugh. Most would have thought it unheard of, perhaps, but this was not yet a formal setting. There were only a few people presentat the moment, and the briefing had yet to begin. Considering his question only a little bit longer, Arnyn finally shrugged.

"Why not!" she answered. It really WAS good to see him again, and she shared in his joy. Still grinning, she enclosed her old friend in her arms and hugged him tight for a moment. When she stepped back, she was still grinning at him. "It's great to see you, as well. It feels like a lifetime ago."

[Pele Alarion]

Pele Alarion
Receiving the letter

She had returned to the City not that long ago and settled in the Houses of Healing for the time being, as it offered a pleasant mix of both enough private space and interaction with people to help her adjust, when a messenger had come and with the directions from helpful people found her sitting and reading a book in a distant corner of the garden. The messenger was unknown to her and upon completion of all the necessary formalities departed, leaving Pele with the scroll in her hand.

She waited for the messenger to be gone, and then inspected the scroll; as her eyes fell on the seal, she felt her heartbeat increase. Sitting down in the lush grass under the tree, Pele carefully broke the seal and unrolled the letter to see what was of such importance that the King would send out his messengers, even to her who had been gone for quite a few years? Another note fell out, though she did not pay much attention to it, as she took a deep breath and started to read.

Edict of Dispersal. Effective immediately. Her heart sunk as she read the first paragraphs and imagined the implications on the lives of the soldiers. She had Houses of Healing to work in, but not everyone had other options. Also, on a personal level, she had hoped to rejoin; and even if militias would provide food for those who wished to remain in this line of work, it did not appeal to her. Leaning her back against the tree trunk Pele closed her eyes for a few moments, but feeling the growing disappointment she decided it was best to finish reading the letter.

In that brief moment while she read the letter she had all but forsaken the hope of returning to the military, that is, until she got to the last paragraph containing the special instructions. There was some hope then, though it would mean that basically she would have to prove herself all over again; yet, what else could be expected, it had been years, and all... Only then the former warrior picked up the smaller note with more detailed instructions. Two weeks. She had two weeks to make herself presentable.

~~~~~
21st of Lonthron

Today was the day, so Pele had made ready. Even though uniform was not required as per instructions, the Gondorian had retrieved her old black uniform which was still in a pretty good shape, though it felt a bit looser on her than it had previously. In terms of armour she had a chainmail shirt and brown leather scale armour, as well as a pair of vambraces of a similar colour. The dagger, her trusty longsword, as well as a recurve bow with a sheath of arrows: and she felt rather prepared for the meeting, as far as the equipment went. While lingering a moment at the door, she ran her hands over her hair to make sure the short ponytail was still intact and neat.

Picking up some more courage and determination Pele pushed open the heavy door and stepped into once familiar halls. In a way she hoped that she would be late enough for the room to be filled so she would not be noticed, yet there were only a few people... She looked from one familiar person to another, and a small smile grew on her face. However, she lingered at the back, feeling rather nervous and apprehensive about the whole event, as well as somewhat reserved and shy. Perhaps she just needed a bit more time...

[Red Daghul]

Red Daghul: somewhere in Gondor

The dust of the trail went still as Red examined the footprint dug into the ground left in haste from his prey. The Dunedain ran his finger over the print crouched and looking thoughtfully down the small game trail, his eyes peering beyond what his eyes could see trying to estimate just how long ago the print was left.

"Tell me something good Mark" came the friendly voice of one of his cousin Robin as his hand patted his back, Red gave a small eye roll at his proper first name being used "I am so ready to see a bed". They had been out for the last week hunting down a group of bandits and they were closer than they had been in the last two days.

A female voice pipped up "Hush Robin let him do his thing" Estelwen was always the voice of reason between the three of them. It was different with his sister and cousin then it had been with the ERC, but Red would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the small band they had formed. In the last few years the three of them had been using their time to freelance around middle earth helping out anyone they could. It was something of a sight to see two dunedain and a gorndorain running about doing odds and ends, but it worked.

"They arn't but a half days run east of here" the older rangers voice was soft and focused "if we are done complaining we can get them" there was excitement in his voice. The three were off. That is what the old Hyandaner officer had become his days filled with helping people when ever he could. It was simple, and straight forward. That is till the letter came.

Minas Tirith: 21st of Lonthron

The sound of the city buzzed around the retired officer as memories flashed about him with ever step close he came to the old HQ. Memories of his first days in the white city, the days of old friends and duty. The letter had sparked some odd feelings in the black haired ranger, a odd sense of wariness. Maybe it was for the best, yet it seemed like a dangerous move to dispatch a army so quickly. Then again what did he know, he was just a simple man out to do his part, and he knew that with this kind of things way to many of his friends would come. That meant he need to be there for them, and if he knew anything it was that he would protect them.

The feeling of his leather armor was odd as it stuck out in the white city, it was used for the wilderness not formal events, but there wasn't enough time to go get his old armor as the letter had only found him fair three days ago, and he was two days away. Never the less he was here and that was impressive to him enough. What would have happened had they not found him and his band enjoying a night at a tavern after turning in a few bandits. With that thought he felt the burn of a small cut on his arm from the fight that hadn't healed all the way yet.

Pushing open the door of the HQ and walked down the hall his grey eyes were alive though his body stayed cool scanning the area for faces. This was home, and even though time had passed he still felt comfort here. Quickly his eyes found a group of his old friends, but it seemed he walked in just behind Pele.

"Well now, what are you doing hiding in the back" Red said standing just behind her a bit a smile on his face as he looked at the group of Turin, Arnyn, and Karis. At the same time his thoughts confirmed many of his friends were here, and he would defend them. Turin caught his eye the most he knew his friend had a tough time all the years back, and a twinge of guilt followed at not checking on him more. All in due time.

[Arnyn]

Kaylin

Thullir had left early to go the first circle headquarters with his cousin, Ziran. Kaylin had still been sipping her morning coffee and had waved him off. It would be good for him to go with Ziran. And good for Ziran to go with him.

Receiving the missive two weeks ago had made her jaw drop. Disbanding the army, just like that... she'd almost thrown her morning cup of coffee against the wall. The end of the letter hadn't appeased her at first. What of her friends? All the soldiers she knew? They couldn't all be chosen for this new, smaller unit. She'd been wrath.

It was Thullir's news at his homecoming that had calmed her in the end. He'd returned home earlier than expected and with an idea that had surprised and silenced her for a long time. It had been a good idea, especially for her. She hadn't been entirely convinced it was the right choice for him, and it had been a long conversation. In the end, she had only voiced her support because she believed Captain Faramir would take Thullir back, if it came down to it.

This morning then, she had come alone, albeit not too far behind Thullir and Ziran. It had only been a cup of coffee's delay, after all. She'd brought a sword and shield, and had dressed in grey leathers with only additional vambraces and greaves.

She hadn't been here before, in the first circle headquarters. It was all new. Her blue-grey eyes took in the details curiously, but also critically. Kaylin still needed to be convinced this unit was a better idea than the old structures. But she was here to listen and to give it a shot.

She saw Pele right near the door. "Sergeant!" She said automatically, an easy grin spreading across her face. "At least they chose one person right for the job, then!" A fellow she didn't know was standing with her, and Kaylin directed her grin at him next (Red). "Good morning! I'm Kaylin. What's your name?"

Thullir was leaning against a nearby wall, and Kaylin gave him a mischievous little wave. She liked to call him her Ranger, for he had been with Faramir's company for all the time she'd known him, and he looked the part today as well. The way he had his hands crossed over his longbow made her regretful she hadn't truly seen him in his element in the woods more than that one time. A special smile crossed her face as she looked at him. Perhaps this would give her the chance.

[Isolde Alarion]

Mourgan Alarion

He heard the rider before he seen him. His hand paused mid brush as he raised his brown eyes from the horses bay coat. What was this? Another letter bringing another threat? His stubbled jaw flexed in irritation. When would the old man leave him alone? He'd had no contact with Iris but her father kept barking at him like an irritating little dog. Didn't he understand? He wanted nothing to do with her anymore. It'd been nearly a year and a half since they parted ways, badly.

Dark eyes watched as the carrier approached and dismounted, taking a letter from his bag. Fine, he'd toss that one just like all the others. He moved from the right side of the horse, his right hand smoothing over his mounts rump. Giving the gelding a gentle pat before coming to stand with his arms crossed over his chest. The carrier approached the large, wide shouldered man with the dark stare. "Sir." He held out the missive. "From the Army." He hastily handed it over and hurried back to his mount.

The Army? Maybe this one he would read before tossing. He turned it over and broke the seal. His dark eyes scanned the paper. Interesting. His fingers started to crumble the paper but something stopped him. He didn't know why but he read over the instructions once again. Why would he even think of going back? He had his farm, what his mother and uncles had rescued from the clutches of barkeepers. Parcel by parcel he'd signed it way for the simple price of drink and a room. For even less at times. It was a dark time and he'd nearly lost everything, even his life but now he worked his land and tried to keep to himself.

Would they even want him anymore? He was no longer the lanky uncoordinated 15 yr old he was when he joined much to his mothers dismay. Now he was near twenty. Lanky no more he was now 6' 2" and he'd filled into wide shoulders with strong arms. His brown hair brushed his shoulders and there was a serious set to his stubbled jaw.
He no longer had an open, wide eyed look on the world. He knew it's dark, ugly side. He wallowed in it for nearly a year.

He stood staring at the paper. He wasn't sure what was moving him forward but he commited to it with a shake of his head. He might regret it but..it seemed he had some arrangments to make.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
21st of Lonthron

Approaching the doors he adjusted the sword at his side. He had no armour. Not that it would fit him anymore anyways. He wore simple leather vambraces and his brown hair was tied back with a simple leather strap. He pushed the doors open and entered the room, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the room. His left hand went to rest on the dagger tucked into his waste belt. He moved out the doorway, his dark eyes moving to the voices he recognized. There were not many there but one he would recognized right off. Arnyn. She was speaking to another person so he looked around and his eyes stopped on a very familiar figure.

He joined the small group (Arnyn, Red, Pele) but he hung back slightly, not wanting to interrupt them. He wasn't sure if any of them other then Pele would recognize him anyways..and he wasn't entirely sure Pele would know who he was entirely.

[Ercassie]

Ilisys Azrubêl, of Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil


The gulls of fair Belfalas chased the wind about a cloud-smudged sky. Their wheeling maelstrom of assembly veered with perfect execution perilously close to some terrific collision, time and time again, but swerved to safety always at the last. Ilisys scarcely noted their keen acrobatics, as she made an idle passage haphazardly across the golden sanded shore. After all, the feathered knights were as much a part of the landscape. And furthermoreso she was that engrossed inside of her head, that a vast armada of corsairs from Umbar might have occupied the horizon and she might never have noticed.

The elaborate golden pennants aloft the Serendipity though topped the only ship to decorate the harbour of Lond Côl this day, and the vessel shook out her great sails with an unchecked pride. Swollen billows of heraldric glory rallied to the breath of the fair rise of wind, while the fine body of the roosting, wooden bird itself nestled with a dauntless arrogance about the wharf. The luxuriant, golden-daubed decking completed the extravagant exhibition; the immodest taste of House Azrubêl, decadent and lavish amongst the most prosperous of dynasties in Belfalas.

There was no cause at all for Ilisys to experience such pangs of want and longing. Might be it was the inheritance of an overly-adventurous father, the legacy of a people known for dauntless exploration. The overwhelming plummet of the whole world into unexpected silence after all the flurry which had raised her up from all the expectation. She was not ready to know yet what the rest of her life ought be. There was time enough for all of that inevitability. All her life thus far, she had been waiting, priming, practicing, for the day that her estate would be called upon to raise their men and ride out with the Prince, in service of the entire nation.. And it had been … something !

Noone had explained what it would feel like to come home after that. To feel guilty at the notion that to enjoy such a privileged home .. was no longer enough. And at the same time too much. She stowed the many times read, many times folded, letter safe in a pocket and took then toward the ship.


*****************
21st of Lonthron

The lofty bladed spear preceded her own interruption of the white-walled room. ‘Shudder’ that weapon was named, though rather more streamlined and stealthy was the woman’s own advance. As though she now peeked secretly behind the curtain, before ever the show had begun. A hand brushed at the slender braid of her long dark hair, caught up in an orbiting crown of her skull although (in truth) now sitting somewhere in between a neat efficiency and a whimsical garland which had fallen ever so slightly askew in the march up through all seven circles. It appeared that for all of that determined trek, she had come upon the scene belatedly. The stage here was not merely set, but already in play !

Undeterred, Ilisys dared with curiosity all around the large room, a bird perched about the periphery, head nocked and argent eyes engaged in her private interpretation of the scene. Observing the players, she stroked down subconsciously the length of her hauberk; the blue-d tinge of silver mail a betrayal of her blended loyalties. Taking up a seat allowed for her and a frown to find that both high-legged boots were caked in a good share of dirt and dust. Yet the sable cloak had not been robbed of all it’s threaded gold embroidery since it’s/her first introduction to Minas Tirith, and the fit of her dove-grey tunic remained sublime, each fold of extravagant fabric tailor-made to match her perfect measurements. Would she somehow find a way to fit herself within this group of gathered comrades ? She could only wonder too if stirring the two long knives on the belt which hugged her hips, might mean she was not sat upon either one of them. And no wonder she had felt almost uncomfortable ! Why there were at least two people here who she felt sure she might have met before.

[Turin Ringhûn]

Turin

The chuckle Arnyn made at his request lit his heart. The hug was firm, though back in the old days, he doubted it would have ever happened. Seeing his old Captain and Commander was great. "It's great to see you, as well. It feels like a lifetime ago." She’d said upon release.

“It does. I remember when you had come back after ... what happened to him, but you were glad to see we were still going strong. I think one of my proudest moments was putting that plaque with your slogan on the barracks wall.”

He turned to talk to Karis for a moment, and heard the entrance door open a couple times. Then a voice. He turned to look, and he knew it. It was his brother from another mother. It was his bash bro, as they had been known years prior. It was his co sergeant, and later lieutenant. Red.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there frozen in place. Other than seeing his wife and daughter, seeing Red was probably the next person he wanted most to see. the two of them worked so well together. If one was having a hard time, the other picked up the slack. If one was goofing off, the other was serious, well, most of the time. They had their fair share of pranks and silly times in the barracks. If one was strong, the other ... well was strong too.

When Turin finally returned to reality, there was a few other people present. One was introducing herself as Kaylin. He rushed over and spoke for his friend.

“Hello miss Kaylin. This is someone who I owe a great deal to. His name is Red and he is my best friend. My name is Turin by the way.” He turned and nodded to another of his former Captains. “Hello Pele.”

He then turned his full attention to Red. “My brother. You look good. We have so much to catch up on.” By now, he knew for certain he couldn’t hold back tears. If they weren’t flowing before, they most certainly were now.

He hugged his friend, not even bothering to ask for permission. While holding him, “I couldn’t find them. I searched for months. I couldn’t find any trace of them.” He pulled back and wiped his eyes. “Sorry man. You’ve always been better at maintaining composure.” Clearing his throat, he pulled his friend to the side a few steps. “After I’d been there a few weeks, I had thought about sending you a message, as I was pretty sure you had contacts in that city, but you’ve probably been busy. And I didn’t want to interrupt your work.” Turin saw another person (Ilisys) enter and paused his speaking for a moment. “But, we can probably complete this conversation later. What did you think of the letter? And what do you think we’re being summoned for?”

[Moriel]

7th day of Lonthron

Hurried knocking came at the door, and Darellon Balakân paused with his hand just above the latch. He had been about to go out, and here was an urgent visitor, knocking to come in? The aged Dúnadan pulled back the latch, then let his hand fall to the handle and pulled open the door. A panting young man stood there, a satchel slung about his torso, bulging with scrolls. “Sir!” he exclaimed in surprise at seeing Darellon, and fumbled his way through a salute, hampered by both the satchel and the scroll in his hand. Darellon laughed, the wrinkled corners of his grey eyes wrinkling yet further with his smile. “It’s alright boy. Why have you come?” The young man thrust out the scroll. “Urgent message for Sergeant Kamion, sir!” Darellon took the scroll, nodding. “I shall see he gets it at once. Now off with you son, you look as though you’ve a way to go!” With a fervent nod of assent, the lad took off at a swift trot. Setting his knobbly blackthorn stick to one side just inside the door, the Dúnadan stepped back inside and shut the door. It was one of those days where his leg pained him terribly, but the arrival of the missive drove the pain quite out of his mind. He stumped his way down the hall as quickly as he could manage, to the workroom where his son sat, maintaining his sword.

“What is it, father?” Kamion looked up from his work, curiosity alight in his odd cobalt eyes. Where Darellon’s once powerful body was beginning to waste with age, his son was broad and strong and hard of muscle, though without bulk. Where Darellon’s long hair was more grey than black these days, Kamion bore a thick shock of black hair that fell just above his eyes. “We weren’t expecting anyone, were we?” The old man shook his head, and held out the scroll. “A message for you.” Kamion arose from his workbench and took the missive, leaning back against the bench as he unrolled it. His eyes flicked from side to side rapidly, growing wider as he did so, eyebrows arching high. “What is it, son?” Darellon urged, echoing Kamion’s words. The younger man shook his head, his eyebrows slowly descending. “The King has disbanded the army.” Darellon started, but before he could speak Kamion raised a hand to forestall him. “But, he is forming a force, the Rangers of Gondor, to take its place and supplement the Ithilien rangers. And I have been invited to join.” He held out the parchment to his father, and Darellon skimmed it before glancing to hold his son with a steady gaze. “So, will you join?”

Kamion laughed. “Well, what else am I supposed to do with all my free time?”

21st day of Lonthorn

As was his custom, Kamion had stopped at the nearby stables to visit his horse. “Well, Faran,” he murmured, scratching beneath the gelding’s coarse black forelock, “what have we gotten ourselves into this time?” The ill-tempered horse snorted and stamped a hoof against the stall floor, blowing ornery bubbles into his water trough. Kamion laughed and continued his scratching. Faran was a big, dark bay horse of indeterminate breeding. If he were to be classified, he would probably have been closest to a destrier, but being a gelding, his neck was neither as thick nor as arched as many of that type. He was taller than many of that kind as well, with powerfully muscled quarters and thick legs; his face was straight, with a broad jaw, heavy ears, and glinting black eyes. All in all, the casual passer-by would no doubt deem him quite ugly and obstinate looking. But a big man –Kamion being some five inches above six feet and very long of leg- needed a big horse, and though apparently unalike in temperament, the pair suited each other well. “Well,” the Dúnadan said again with a final pat to the horse’s shoulder, “I’ll let you know when I’ve figured it out! Be good to the stable lads today. No biting.” Faran bared his teetch, as if to say he was making no promises.

Kamion passed his way to the Headquarters on foot, exchanging morning words with neighbors and merchants as he passed. Being in his middle sixties, and living all but a few of those years in the White City, he had been around long enough to make many acquaintances. And being of the Dúnedain, he looked young enough to have known only a few of them. His face been weathered by the sun and picked up a few lines and scars over the years, but it was only in his eyes and demeanor that one could truly see beyond the youthful appearance. Kamion had joined the Gondorian army as soon as he possibly could, and had been one of its Sergeants for many years. He had never sought command, but through long training in many martial areas, long experience, and prodigious skill with the longsword in particular, he had found himself rising through the ranks and called upon to train and lead his fellow soliders. Though he had been born in the North and he and his father were of that blood, Kamion was a true son of Minas Tirith, and would do what his city required of him.

As no uniform had been requested of those invited to join this new force, Kamion had dressed as he was wont to do: sturdy half boots of black, durable black trews tucked into them; a tunic of darkest navy, here and there faded or tidily repaired but very clean, loose enough in the sleeves for any movement, and gathered into neat plain cuffs at the wrist. Over this, a dark grey jerking fastened with toggles down the front and belted at the waist, where hung a heavy dagger. Suspended by a wide baldric on his back was Kamion’s pride and joy, the longsword forged for him more than forty years ago when his father had judged him master of it. In the hands of a smaller man it might seem unwieldy, but was perfectly proportioned for its bearer, three fingers broad rather than the full hand some preferred, and fullered to further reduce its weight. With the efficient grace that was the hallmark of his every movement, Kamion could wield this blade for hours without tiring.

Kamion passed through the gates into the Headquarters, down the cobbled path, through the large door (for once he did not have to duck his head), and down the hallway into the large room where he was received by the man at the blackboard. The Dúnadan nodded courtesly in acknowledgement of the instructions, and turned to survey the room. There were many whom he knew of course, from serving alongside them. He raised a hand in greeting to Karis across the room and had just thought to join her and the others gathering at her side, when he caught sight of another familiar figure, and his face split into a broad smile. “Ilsys!” he called, striding towards the daughter of House Azrubêl, arm outstretched to take hers in greeting. “So good to see you again, and well!” They had not met since Pelennor, and he had been first surprised and the relieved to see her on that occasion. “My father must not know you are in the city, or he would already have dragged you home for supper. You are most welcome.”

[Durien]

Durien Arrandir


Durien had never been a particularly good soldier, but she'd risen once before when Gondor had needed her and now this missive had come out. She'd almost been surprised to be included in it, but maybe she shouldn't have been. She wasn't surprised that no one had discovered her secret. What had surprised her was the invitation to return to the ranks. Learning to follow orders had been a new challenge for her when she had first joined. It hadn't suited well with her character, but she'd adapted, eventually. She was a decent fighter, her flexibility and speed making up for what she lacked in strength, but her talents were ill-suited to traditional tactics of Gondorian warfare. She'd often felt she was more of liability than an asset in melee. She had endurance, flexibility, and speed, but sorely lacked in strength and military discipline. She suspected it was the other unique combination of abilities for which she had been selected. First, there was her ability to speak, read and write almost every language in Middle Earth, not that she ever admitted to knowing more than a few key ones. Then there was her uncanny ability to blend into any culture almost instantly. Probably most importantly, her knowledge of the landscape of most of Middle Earth was vast, making her helpful as a scout. Then there were her size, stealth and keen eyesight and what was once excellent hearing, although a particular explosion during the last war had lessened that a bit. Being as petite and lean as she was, some days it seemed she was more wraith than substantial, an asset when it came to observing the enemy from unique perches and positions. Lastly, she was a good healer. Not the best, but she spent quite a lot of her time in Minas Tirith working in the Houses of Healing, enough to make her an asset, she supposed.

She sighed, her hand absently pressed against the missive in her pocket. She wasn't sure understood why she was volunteering again, but Gondor called once more and she would answer. Her boots rapped lightly against the stone as she prepared to enter through the large oak door set in the stone wall. She did a mental check of her weapons. Her long knives, the heaviest melee weapons she could handle without tiring were freshly sharpened and hung on her back beneath her quiver. As was her longbow, her weapon of choice, although she lacked the strength (no matter how hard she trained) to make the long range shots that defined the better bowman. The only other weapon she carried wasn't really a weapon, a sharp hunting knife similar to a dagger, that was tucked into her boot. Although she may have slit a throat or two with it, she primarily used it for utilitarian purposes.

Durien recognized most of the faces in the small but growing group eagerly greeting each other, but she stayed to the edges and flashed a smile every now and then. She had always been quiet and reserved. It sometimes made her appear cold, but she wasn't really. It was a habit. Her interest was growing, however. She'd seen many of those already here in action before, and it was a good team, one she'd be honored to fight alongside. She was tempted to join Karis, but the woman was seated near the front of the room, and a lifetime of looking over her shoulder made her too uneasy to join her friend. She flashed an encouraging smile at another friend, Pele. They'd spoken together at the Houses of Healing, and she was delighted to see her here now.

[Pele Alarion]

Pele Alarion

The sudden presence and voice just behind her caused Pele to tense up involuntarily, though she forced herself to relax immediately: she was among friends, and there was no danger, even when standing with her back to the door. Though she was not too happy she had not moved away into some corner to avoid being caught by surprise. "This too shall pass," she told herself inwardly, and then turned slightly to see Red. "Just getting my bearings after a long time away, but call it hiding if you will," she responded, just a small flicker of what could be perceived as mischief in her eye. "Should I assume that you have decided to join me in hiding?"

It appeared that unwittingly Pele had placed herself in a spot that seemed to gather people, as more soon arrived, and she did her best to ease into the person she used to be, relax and greet each of the people that ended up in her close vicinity.

"Kaylin!" she acknowledged the bubbly young woman with a small smile. "Though I am no longer a sergeant, so you can just call be my name, I suppose." As she said it, Pele realised that in fact she felt somewhat humiliated by having lost what she had achieved by hard work; yet, she also understood that any bitterness in this regard would hinder further growth and effectiveness. Eventually she simply shrugged and smiled a bit brighter. "Let's just see what a bunch of us are needed for anyway, hmm?"

When Mourgan joined their little group, Pele found herself staring at him for a few moments, trying to connect the familiarity with the actual person and name. "Mourgan!" she finally exclaimed. "You have definitely grown into some rather strong looking giant." It had been a very long time since she had seen him, and then the last news had not been that good. It warmed her heart to see him here, though perhaps he has chosen a more quiet lifestyle?

"Nice to see you, Turin!" he responded to another comrade's greeting, and then made eye contact with Durien, offering a quiet smile. She glanced around at the gathering of people and the empty seats and said to no one in particular: "Suppose it would be good to sit down at some point..." She did really want to greet Arnyn and Karis, but she was not sure she wanted to go all the way to the front.

[Burnt Toast]

Zev

They had only been back in the city a few days when the messenger had found them. Two missives, one for each of them. Zev turned his over in his hand, momentarily stunned into silence. At first, with the news of disbanding, he felt very little. His whole being had been consumed with the pursuit of his uncle over the last few years. All that mattered was bringing that man to justice for everything he had done. Justice… or, whatever it was he managed. Desperate times. What ties did he have left to his former life? The army wasn’t his home anymore, and he couldn’t change anything about this.

But then he read the rest. He still wasn’t sure what to think. He glanced at Morwen, who was staring at the wall as she absently sipped a cup of coffee. They had been staying at this inn for a few weeks now, and he wasn’t sure why he had stayed in the city. He kept meaning to leave. They had work to do. And yet, something had kept him here. Just long enough to get this missive, it seemed. He took another long draw of his own coffee, and suddenly made his decision.

He stood up, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape. Morwen glanced up at him, vaguely curious. “Well, are you coming?” She grunted noncommittally. Well, she had certainly mellowed over the years, but she could still be a bit of a grump sometimes. He shrugged and headed upstairs to his room. He didn’t have a huge amount of gear, and none of his old uniforms, but he had kept what he had initially come to Minas Tirith with, all those years ago, and added a few choice items over the last few years.

Up in the room, he opened the chest they shared, pulling the few pieces he wasn’t currently wearing. He dressed for movement and stealth; he had never been a heavy hitter. He was dressed in greens, greys, and some soft browns, prepared to blend into forests and hillsides. A sage green tunic, belted over at the waist, grey fitted trousers, and supple leather boots. For armor, he didn’t have much. He had a good set of leather vambraces, and that was about it. It would have to be rectified later. He gathered his bow and quiver, checking the arrows before setting it to the side with the rest of his gear. He checked his knives, along his legs, two more tucked into his boot, and was just checking his sword and dagger when something landed with a heavy thud beside him. He jumped a foot.

“You might need that. Your armour is looking rather scant.” It was Morwen, and the object next to him was a chainmail shirt.

“I’m not sure your old armour will fit me. I’m not as broad as you.” He gave her a sideways grin.

“I had it made for you.” She said simply, and left the room again.
_________________________

Arriving at HQ

The huge oaken door had always been intimidating before. Now, when it probably should be- after he had abandoned king and country to run about the countryside on his own selfish quest- it just seemed… familiar.

So too were many of the faces, he thought, as he entered the building, though he could place names to all of the faces. Kaylin was certainly familiar enough. And then… someone he hadn’t thought to see again, not after the way Morwen had been talking about her.

Pele. For the moment, Zev was glad that Morwen wasn't here. The golden-eyed woman had calmed a lot over the years, but he did not suspect she would take this well, Pele showing up again out of the blue. His relief was short-lived as a dangerously calm voice carried across the room from behind him.

“Sergeant. Pele. Alarion.” He didn’t dare turn to see the fire spitting from those golden eyes. No doubt her face was twisted in rage; and the raised scar crossing it always seemed to look more sinister at times like this. She had come a long way, but, he supposed, being left without an explanation by someone you trusted, and hearing no word for years… and then suddenly seeing that very same person show up without a single word. Well, he supposed that would be frustrating.

Morwen

She had fought with herself over whether to follow Zev. She had given her years into the army; her time was done. But something made her go back upstairs, don her dark leather armour, and buckle her old longsword back where it belonged. A dagger hung at her other side, and her bow was strapped to her back. She was out the door in a matter of minutes, not far behind the unruly haired annoyance.

And now here she was. And there, unbelievably, Pele was.

To say she was angry might be an understatement. But the real truth of it was she was relieved. In fact, she was fighting back tears right now, and she might have come a long way, but that didn’t mean she wanted to cry in public.

She strode purposefully across the room, to where Pele stood, prepared to unleash a tirade the likes of which had not been seen from her in years, but she stopped abruptly in front of the woman, recognizing the pointlessness of such an action. She choked back her words, but her golden eyes still flared with emotion. A mix of anger, sadness, relief, and too many others to count. She caught the end of the conversation that had been happening before she arrived; old friends reconnecting, and in her pause, recognized something familiar about Pele. Something she hadn’t seen in her before. There was something of a cornered animal to her, and she looked… tired. Morwen recognized that look. She had borne it for years herself. But Pele was clearly exerting a good deal of effort to not show it, and so she chose not to comment. It didn’t take away the frustration and pain of the last few years, however. She had to know.

“...where were you?” It came out intensely. More intensely than she had meant it to. But that question had been building within her for years.

[Pele Alarion]

Pele Alarion

She was beginning to feel more or less according to the act she put up of being welcoming and enjoying company, when her name was all but thundered across the whole room. Immediately turning towards the owner of the voice, Pele stood tall and crossed her arms, as she put up her defences with Morwen's approach.

There might be a couple of things she regretted, like the fact that she had not ensured the message she had written from Harlond was safely delivered into good hands - though perhaps it did not wholly depend on her. Yet she never regretted leaving Morwen and Zev out of it, for she knew that they would have followed, no matter what it took, which might have been disastrous for them.

"Ranger," Pele corrected the rank somewhat grumpily, when Morwen had reached her, and looked straight into the woman's eyes, noting the whole assortment of emotions running wild there. While she knew very well that she owed some explanations, yet she was not about to give account of herself right in front of the whole gathering. The possibilities of what might happen if she did so caused in her fear strong enough that she felt her mouth going dry.

She cleared her throat and tried to soften her posture by letting her arms rest by her sides. "At some point I will tell you more, but for now... I was in a forced absence, and was unable to return sooner, else I would have done so." This was not much of an explanation, but Pele was not ready to discuss it in any more detail in current circumstances. "At any rate you seem to have fared rather well..." she remarked in an attempt to divert the conversation elsewhere and found herself hoping desperately for the briefing to start.

[Burnt Toast]

Zev stepped forward quickly, moving between Morwen and Pele.

“Boy, are we ever glad to see you again, Serg-, er, Pele.” He nudged Morwen. “Right, Morwen?” He saw something in Pele, something he did not fully understand, but there was a good deal of pain in those eyes. They held entire worlds of it. What had happened to her? But now was clearly not the time for it.

Morwen still stood, unmoving, staring at Pele. Zev knew her pretty well after their past few years together. She was almost certainly holding back tears. And, possibly, pent up frustration. Pele was looking more and more uncomfortable, and Morwen more and more still, and Zev cast about for a way to break the ice between his two mentors. “Remember the, er, pie fight in the barracks, Sarge?” he asked congenially, forgetting Pele’s rank change in his desperation. “That was sure something. What I wouldn’t give for a pie right now…” He would give anything for a pie right now. So he didn’t have to keep looking at these two.

And, then, suddenly, something new. At Pele’s comment that she ‘looked well’, a peculiar burst of laughter escaped the golden-eyed woman. It grew in volume until Morwen was left gasping, barely getting out her words. “Look. Well. Have you looked at me?” She gestured to the heavy scar making its jagged way across her entire face, from the top right temple, across her right eye, and down to the left edge of her jawline. “How about this? Or the hair cut?” She had tried to fix it this morning, taking the lopsided hack job that had hung shoulder length, down to something that looked something like Zev’s short and wild cut, but much, much more uneven.

“I told you I’m pretty handy with my knives. I can shave it down for you,” he said, trying to shift the subject, but Morwen just kept laughing.

Zev didn’t know whether it was Morwen’s strange laughter, or simply the fact that they were sure to draw attention soon, and he could see Pele wanted as little of that as possible, but his arms opened and he felt disbelief as his mouth formed the words, “How about a group hug?”

A group hug? This was the end.

Morwen was probably going to kill him.

[Arothir]

Arothir

Arothir was pleasantly surprised to have received the missive granting him membership in the rangers. The veteran of the war with Mordor had taken the time to ready his arms and armor and then read the second note that was delivered and put away more of the equipment he had thought of bringing. This was not the time to be a pack mule.

Once he had chosen his arms and armor, a light chain shirt under a leather jerkin, and a light helm of steel that would fit under the hood of his cloak which he paired with his arming sword and a spear light enough to throw, but sturdy enough to have some melee utility. Obviously he had his belt knife, but that was more a tool than a weapon.

Once he arrived in the hall he saw a few familiar faces, to whom he gave grins and nods, "Well, I guess it's good to be home, then?" It was not his true home, that in Dor-en-Ernil, but it was certainly his second one, with those he had considered kin in previous journeys.

[Arnyn]

When he walked in through the same doors as everyone else, the tall man near the podium - the attendant who'd been there from the start - tensed up and stood to attention. The Lieutenant gestured at him to rest easy for now.

It seemed like he was the first one there who didn't personally know any of the others. He knew of many of them, of course - there was a reason these people were the ones who had received the missive - but he had never met any of them officially, even though he'd been a Ranger with the former (now disbanded) ERC since he'd reached manhood.
As he passed everyone by with his measured and deliberate stride, not being too much of a familiar face earned him a lot of questioning looks, which he calmly returned with a friendly expression and nod - a habit he had for anyone who acknowledged him.

Somewhere in his mid-thirties, Lieutenant Macardil was an objectively handsome man. He was tall with broad shoulders, friendly, chiselled facial features, and lean rather than bulky muscles. His black hair didn't quite reach his shoulders and stood in sharp contrast to the startling blue of his eyes. He was dressed in blacks and greys, all of which was cloth and leather. He had a short axe at one hip and his weapon's belt offered the opportunity to fix his quiver at the other side if he chose to do so. For now, since they were still in the city and he should have no immediate use for it, it was strapped to his back along with his longbow itself. He had an approachable air about him, which was in part why the Commander had wanted him as his second. Rather than working on his own social skills, the grizzly vet preferred to have someone as his right hand who could mostly take care of that in his stead.

The Lieutenant thought no less of his commander for it - Amathen knew his faults and his strengths, the former of which there were few and the latter of which there were many. Macardil was honored to have the chance to learn from such a commander.

He felt surprisingly calm as he stepped onto the podium. His voice easily carried through the briefing room. "If everyone would find themselves a seat, we can begin."

The man behind the podium stepped away from his position and quietly spoke to him then. No one had asked any questions of him yet. Macardil smiled - that didn't surprise him. Questions didn't tend to be a soldier's way. Generally, they expected to be told whatever information they would need, and that was that. It was no different for Rangers than it was for Soldiers, in that regard. Macardil nodded and asked the man to make sure everyone took the seats closest to him first. That way, latecomers (if any) could still find a seat in the back without drawing too much attention to themselves - and away from the briefing.

It didn't take long for people to fall silent and find seats. Another good sign.

"Good day to all of you. My name is Macardil, and since you've all chosen to be here today, that makes me your new Lieutenant." His words were neutral but firm. He didn't expect any of them to respect him right away as they would a seasoned and proved leader like Amathen was, but he did expect them to give him the chance to prove himself.

"The letter you've received explains the decisions of the King, the consequences for our military structure and his creation of a new Ranger force. I won't be able to give you any more insights as to the why of it - we've been given none other than the very content of that letter ourselves. What I can tell you, is that our first mission is already at hand."

"Reports have been coming in of orcs raiding farmsteads and villages in the south-east, around the river Poros." The set of his eyes changed slightly at conveying the news. These were not tidings he liked to bring. These orcs were not simply looking for food or shelter, either. One of his hands balled into a fist when he remembered the content of the more detailed reports he'd seen; the other's fingers tightened around the grip of the shortaxe at his belt. "They make a point of murdering everyone they find in each farm, in each village. It's more difficult to get a sense of their numbers, because they leave no one alive to tell of it. That fact alone, however, tells us this can't be a single, small band. They have also managed to stay out of the clutches of local troops - and now, the militia." His voice remained even, but deepened. "They have stayed mostly to the south of the river for now, with limited hits to the north of the Poros, but the nature of their actions and their level of organization require an immediate response. And that's where we come in."

[Galastel]

Arinelle

The war was over. The King had returned, and the White Tree was blooming again. Shadow no longer lay in the east. The impossible hope of nigh a thousand years was suddenly realised.
What do you do when the war is over? Arinelle had taken some time off to visit family, to meet up with old friends in Dol Amroth. But what then? She was born under the shadow of Mordor. Her father, her father's father, her grandfather's grandfather, had all lived under that same threat. In Dol Amroth the shadow was far away, but nonetheless present. And now it was no more.
She was a soldier. She had risked life and limb for Gondor. The scars on her body were testimony of her service. And now the King said she could go home. Soldiers were no longer needed. She was useless then? What home did she have to go back to, she who had spent her youth with a sword in hand? The barracks were her home. She had nothing else, had asked for nothing else, but to serve the land that she loved.
This was victory. They had brought it. She had been there, dancing in the streets, after King Elessar's coronation. Why did this victory taste so sour now? Nay, that was an unworthy thought. Children in Minas Tirith had nothing to fear now. Elphir, her brother in law, had lost an arm in the war, but he was home, and her sister Laurenel no longer carried fear in her heart. Her young cousin Galastel, who had been so eager to take up a sword in the defence of the White City, now spoke of travelling to distant lands. How many young and eager like her had died every year in the days of Lord Denethor?
But she, what was she to do with herself? Her arm was uneasy when her sword wasn't on her hip. In the peaceful streets of Dol Amroth she scanned the streets, noting choke points, defensible locations, the young and the elderly who would need protection.

The royal letter came almost as a relief. There was still need for her sword arm. She could still serve.
Her steps were light when she walked that morning to the army headquarters. The building was new. There was still a whiff of fresh paint in the air. But the people inside where the same people of old - there was a way a soldier moved, occupied space. Many had come in the old uniforms. Her too - she had walked the streets of Minas Tirith so many times in these very boots, this very mail. This was right. This was where she belonged.

And there, there were the familiar faces, the old friends without whom it would never have been the same. Some had fallen, and some had retired, but there was Pele being crushed in a group hug, and over there Kaylin, who had been Arinelle's roommate in the barracks, back when they had been fresh recruits. The memory of certain pranks still made her chuckle - Kaylin had been quite inventive.

It was Kaylin that Arinelle tried to approach first, but she had barely managed to get near enough to try and catch her eye when the man near the podium spoke. "If everyone would find themselves a seat, we can begin." It did not take long for trained soldiers to find themselves a seat.

What the man, Lieutenant Macardil, spoke of - Arinelle felt her throat tighten and her hands clench into fists. The army was being disbanded while this was happening? Why was it being disbanded, when still there was need for soldiers? Why was this thing allowed to happen? Civilians, farmers in Gondor's furthest reaches, they who had settled along the border - they had a right to the King's protection. They had trusted in the King's promise of peace, and the King had failed them. Failed them utterly, for they were dead. If soldiers had been there, instead of being sent home, this could have been prevented.
This King Elessar - he had come out of the North, where they said he'd been a ranger. He had been accustomed to solve every problem with a small force, perhaps. Certainly with that tactic, sending two brave halflings into Mordor, Sauron had been defeated. But this one tactic could not serve always. Soldiers were needed. He had to learn that fast, before more civilians were killed.
Except, now was not the time to tell a King what's what, even if a soldier with no rank could do that. Now was the time to go and make things right.

"Sir," Arinelle spoke. She should not, perhaps, have been the first one to do so, there where others who had held a higher rank before, but holding her tongue had never been one of her strengths. "You say the orcs leave none alive. I am assuming then that scouts found only burnt villages, and did not have the numbers to follow the orcs' trail. Have they learnt anything else from the tracks - what kind of orcs, what direction do they come from? Surely, after the first attacks, villages would have at least known of this thing happening, and set a guard, so that at least they might try to escape. What tactic have the orcs used to surprise each and every village? Do they plunder, or do they kill and retreat, leaving bodies as a threat?" How come there are so few of us there that a large band of orcs eludes us, she didn't ask.

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel of the Green Hills (Ziran) ~ Thûllir Bregedŷr of Ithilien

It was mere moments after she had sat down that Ziran heard someone come through the door to join them. She turned as the footsteps approached, and the smile lit her eyes before it moved slowly across her face at the sight of the woman who came over. It wasn’t often that she had crossed paths with the former Commander, but Arnyn’s was still a familiar and welcome face. What she knew of Arnyn had earned her respect. Rising, she clasped the extended hand firmly. “Well-met Arnyn Dealedwen. I remember hearing your name often and seeing you in action on occasion. I would say welcome back, but I have only just returned myself. I look forward to serving with you!”

They were interrupted by the arrival of another of the former Hyandaner, and one Ziranphel recognized to a certain extent. It seemed Turin `knew who she was as well, with an emotional request for hugs issuing from his lips immediately after he greeted them. Rather surprised, she froze slightly, as she was not the most comfortable with physical affection herself. Ziran was a bit relieved at being saved from responding after Arnyn returned his hug, by the arrival of another that the man recognized. Her shoulders relaxed from their unconscious tightening, and she turned to glance at Thûllir with a raised eyebrow.

His response was the slightest raising of his shoulder in a minute shrug before returning his gaze to the room and those slowly filtering in, although his stoic look shifted to a secret smile when Kaylin came in and grinned at him. Thûllir didn’t move, but he gave her a long look before shifting his attention to the new entrants. Ziranphel knew Pele and Red, familiar faces both, although it had been years, but they were less known to Bregedyr. Mourgan had changed greatly from the youth he knew, but that was one Thûllir could confidently smile and nod a welcome to. He well remembered the youth tagging along with Kaylin and others to the pub or seeing him around the barracks.

A woman with the look of Dol Amroth (Ilsys)entered next, followed by the tall Dúnedain, Kamion. Ziranphel raised her hand in response to his, with a light in her eyes, followed by a mental shake of the head. How did the man still look almost exactly the same as when she first saw him years ago? Most of them had changed more than that, even when they shared the blood of Numenor. Scars didn’t count. Even good warriors acquired their share of those over the years.

Another followed almost on Kamion’s heels. Durien. A smile. A surprising sight, but welcome. Ziran was glad the woman had also been chosen and answered the call. She had a feeling she and Thûllir might be able to trade interesting stories. For his part, Thûllir recognized another used to moving quietly. There seemed to be quite a gathering near the door that didn’t want to move further into the room.
Raised voices drew attention, but they quieted again quickly, and Thûllir’s sharp gaze was not accompanied by movement until a man with obvious quiet authority entered and bade them all take their seats. Ziran, had recognized her former Lieutenant Arothir with a smile and nod, before having her attention caught by the newcomer. Her gaze turned thoughtful as she returned to her seat and Thûllir took one of his own.

Lieutenant Macardil was one she had not met before, but she liked the tone of his introduction, although the news he bore was grim. A faint frown appeared on her brow as she listened, and she noted the flex of his fingers on the axe-haft. It sounded like they needed good scouts if the enemy had avoided all efforts at detection. Ziran glanced over at her cousin due to his experiences with the former, and he returned the look of concern with a hint of fire in his eyes before they both returned their silent attention to the front. It was a challenging call indeed, but the Lieutenant was right. An immediate response was needed, and who better than this group to answer?

[Turin Ringhûn]

Turin

It was just a few moments after he'd asked Red his thoughts as to what was going to be discussed when someone came in and called for everyone to take a seat. Doing as he was told, he walked with the rest of the group and took a seat off to the right side, kind of in the middle section of the available seats.

The man introduced himself as Lieutenant Macardil. He had no idea who the guy was, but for him to be a Lieutenant, he had to be competent. Not only that, but the axe at the guy's waist showed some good use. Turin didn't want to not trust the guy, but, if he was going to be going through all of this again, he had to find a way to get passed his near immediate distrust of people.

The report the Lieutenant was simple and straight forward. A group of orcs of an unknown number, was razing villages to the south. But the fact that this group had been able to evade troops in the south was what peeked his interest the most. When the presentation was completed, someone (Arinelle) spoke up. She asked about what our scouts had been able to surmise or ascertain from the aftermath of the attacks. It was a good question. Surmising attack patterns from wreckage is not an easy thing to do. But people who have had enough experience in the chaotic world of life and death can piece clues together to a degree. Their conclusions may not be completely accurate as it really is a lot of guesswork.

Turin spoke up himself. "I agree with what she asked. There has to be something surmised from the chaos other than what we've been presented with here. What intrigues me the most however, is the fact you said the band of orcs has been able to elude our forces. I know there is a good bit of territory south of the Poros, but this leads me to believe there is a mastermind behind it. Not discrediting any orc intelligence, but having killed hundreds in the past, a good many are not that bright. Heck, we can look back at the downfall of the dark lord. When his ring was destroyed, the orcs in his army became pretty docile. Do we have any ideas as to who could be using orcs in this manner?"

[Arnyn]

Arnyn

Arnyn consciously and entirely blocked off the feelings concerning the event Turin mentioned. It would serve neither of them to get into that now. Or ever, possibly. That was a private matter. Then a frown mastered her face. "A plaque on the barracks wall? My slogan?" She muttered the words softly, but she was pretty sure Karis would still have heard them. Whatever in Manwe's name was her slogan? And why was it put up on the barracks wall after she left? A little bewildered, she gave the woman a look as Turin strode away to greet another. Looking over to see who the man had gone to say hello to, she was unsurprised to see it was Red. A nostalgic smile lit her face, but her eyes widened at the sight of Pele standing nearby. Of all the people... Arnyn had worked closely together with Pele, and in time the woman had become a close friend.

Her heart simply seemed to expand in her chest. Automatically, her hand fisted over her heart as she watched the group. Turin, Red, Pele. Family. Durien, too, another face and name she remembered from the ranks.
Arothir. She raised a hand to him in greeting.

Even as she was scanning the people, another vaguely familiar face entered. Macardil, was it? He had a history with the ERC as well. But the way he was walking forward gave her pause, and when she spotted the officer's badge on his shoulder, it made more sense to her. A faint smile worked its way to Arnyn's features and she preemptively took one of the closest seats to her right before Macardil stepped onto the podium.

Lieutenant, was it? Arnyn's smile grew a little. She wasn't entirely sure how the ranks would work in this new Ranger unit yet, but that shoulder clasp told her all she needed to know. He was their second in command. Top brass. She was happy for him.
Her happiness dwindled quickly when he explained their first mission. Orcs raiding the southeast... killing everyone they encountered. That didn't sound like the war had even ended. Arnyn sighed. She supposed it might never truly be over.

Macardil's last words before he let a silence fall, made one corner of her mouth twitch up. It looked like he wouldn't be bad at this at all.

*

Kaylin

She'd have to get used to not thinking of Pele as her sergeant. It might take some time, to be honest. The entrance of a richly dressed lady tugged at her memory. Wait, was that.. Isys? Kaylin remembered that name for an interesting woman from Dol Amroth; they'd met a few years back, but the redhead wasn't entitely sure if this was the same woman or not. It looked like Isys, but she showed no signs of recognition - and the man who'd been with her last, was not present today.

Distracted by a new voice, Kaylin returned her attention to the people closest to her. Well, if nothing else, this new military setup would at least allow her to make new friends! She smiled at Red and Turin right before they spoke eye-to-eye, a few paces removed, and then another familiar face entered - Kamion. Well, well! Not just new friends to be made, but old ties to reconnect with, as well!
She glanced at Thûllir then, but he was busy watching everyone filtering in. She would leave her Ranger to his indoor-scouting for now.

When Pele called out "Mourgan!", Kaylin blinked. "Mourgan? What, where-" and then her eyes grew big at seeing him. "Oh wow, you've changed so much!" She remembered his first outing into the field and the way they had reassured each other (perhaps Mourgan remembered that it was mostly Kaylin who'd done the reassuring, but she was good at not making her insecurities known, and she had benefited greatly from their exchanges at the time, as well). "You're taller than I am!" She laughed openly, not caring who would think it out of place. "You look mighty impressive - I'm glad to have you with us!"

Morwen's entrance and the intense tone she used to talk to Pele, sullied some of Kaylin's joy. Yet she trusted Pele could take care of herself, and so consciously chose not to interfere. It was Zev who actually stepped between them and tried to defuse the situation. Kaylin watched the scene with a faint, lopsided smile. Morwen's laughter, Zev's suggestion for a group hug.
Oh, yes, this would be an interesting, if not a merry, band.

Her attention was only drawn to the podium after someone asked them to all sit down. Kaylin playfully nudged an elbow into Mourgan's side as she took a seat next to him, shot a quick look at Thûllir to check in, and then eyed the man in the front carefully since she assumed he'd be part of the new leadership. Athletic - an archer, by the weapon on his back - dark hair and eyes she could tell were blue even from a fair distance. He had an easy way about him, which she generally appreciated in a leader.

The news Lieutenant Macardil brought was bad - very bad - but it looked like they would have plenty to do from the start. It was the next voice that spoke up, however, that jarred her the most.

The voice came from behind her, and for a moment Kaylin was frozen in her seat, unable to turn around. Arinelle. It was Arinelle, wasn't it? Excitement bubbled up inside of her, and as the voice went on, all shadow of a doubt was erased from her mind. There was no question anymore, not after hearing the reasoning that hid behind those words. Arinelle was back!
Despite the gravity of the news, Kaylin couldn't help the pure elation that washed over her. Part of her mind saw her crying out her joy and jumping out of her chair, it falling over as she threw herself back to fall on her friend with her arms stretched out for a big hug... But in reality, Kaylin worked hard to keep her overall expression neutral, and knew she had best not turn her head around to look at her former roommate just yet. After the formal debrief she would have to give Arinelle a proper hello. She fidgeted with one hand to let out at least some of the antsiness.

The man she now knew was called Turin suggested that it looked like someone was behind the attacks other than the orcs themselves. That distracted her a bit from her utter excitement, and she frowned up at the Lieutenant to see what he would say, to both Arinelle and Turin.

*

Lieutenant Macardil

He'd been expecting some reactions and questions. After all, the intelligence he had presented to the group was rather limited. He would have liked to know everyone's names as they spoke, but he supposed he would learn to link the names to the faces quickly enough.

"Burnt, or otherwise half torn apart, yes," he allowed. "However, it wasn't about numbers. This began before the King's order of dispersal, and the region has - even now - a militia funded by King Elessar which should, by rights, have eradicated the problem by now. Instead, they have found nothing but a few dead orcs here and there. They have yet to spot them alive or in action." He paused, nodding once as he spoke. "Guards were indeed set by several villages, both by traders and craftsmen and by soldiers - but the result invariably remained the same. That is why we will be going next. It's become clear that people skilled at more than standard soldiering are needed for this." His voice remained calm and authoritative as he answered Arinelle's questions.

"That also answers your question about tactics - that is largely unknown. All we know is that they take all food they can find, along with whatever they see as treasure, and that they don't leave a single man, woman or child alive to leave an account. It seems to me like they want to put an end to every human being they cross paths with."

When another voice spoke up (Turin), the Lieutenant nodded a second time. Commander Amathen, for one, was convinced that there was someone with a sound mind who was telling the orcs what to do. What concerned Macardil the most was that the orcs seemed inclined to listen.

"You may discredit orc intelligence in front of me whenever you like." For the briefest of moments, his lips formed into a wry smile, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. "We have reached the same conclusion, but have no intelligence to give us any clues. As you can see, our presence there is needed for more reasons than one."

[Ercassie]

Ilisys Azrubêl

Observation earned her as much as outright enquries might have done, that this was a manner of reunion for many was quite obvious. Names were flung as carelessly as the hearty embraces all about the room. None so vigorous as amongst the gathering stood near the door. Kaylin, Red, Turin, Mourgan .. Pele, she counted them down under her breath, committing the stranger’s faces to their titles, and the not so unfamiliar to memories which rose up as though conjured so. The two women Ilisys had certainly met before, for that rather brief interaction had nonetheless left an impact as to the impetuous redhead (Kaylin), while Pele had later followed through with a visit her in Dol Amroth. Oddly as it seemed, that same Sergeant appeared far less at home here, now, in her usual stomping grounds. Or maybe she had never known her as well as she’d thought. The two men Ilisys knew not at all, though they seemed of a devout community to one another. The one with a scarred cheek seemed to stiffen from his conversation as though he felt her eyes upon him, though she was soon effectively diverted from her judgement, for a reunion of her own.

“Kamion,” the Dunedan drew her to words. His hand was already outstretched and indeed she rose to receive it, turned it over in her grasp, and gripped it briefly in acknowledgement before falling apart. “Supper is for when the day is done,” she mentioned though, somewhat airily in response, and seemingly at random. It was well into mid-morning of the day of course, but her thoughts were of their new beginning here. There would be much called for, likely, before time allowed for breaking bread with Darellon. Perhaps she ought have looked the two men up since her return to the White City, though she might never have found the will to leave their hospitality in time to serve then. “But you are kind,” she remembered, as though she had never know kindness before now. And the merest recollection of his father roused new cause for the woman to survive until that threat of supper to come. “I shall gladly seek the source of your good manners then, to applaud him upon such a son,” she promised, before craning her neck to scrutinise his ageless countenance. Though she was tall for a woman, her six foot was dwarfed by his greater claim to height. “Your health remains inviolate as ever .. she surprised herself with a smile, though it did not last.


“Sergeant. Pele. Alarion”

The eruption drew her attention, to the individual as much as by the tone. Still she did not turn to see. Her fingers merely grasped her polearm until knuckles whitened, and she rolled her head upon a long white neck, further threatening her coiffure. The only consolation could be found in Pele’s own spoken reaction to the intrigue.

“At some point I will tell you more,” the former Sergeant was admitting, vaguely, to her friends. And the one who stood apart from those accepted this with a relax of her shoulders. “I can not speak of another who is not here to speak for herself,” Anardil had warned Ilisys, back in Lond Côl. And that was as much as she could gauge from of what he knew had happened. “You will not,” she had replied, either confirming his stance or else defying his claim. It seemed that she would learn no more from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. At least not for the sake of asking. At any rate, the awkward atmosphere at hand was punctured, by an apparent zealot whose contributions made her turn to see at last. The shocking hair, and his curious companion, almost led the woman of Dol Amroth then to stare. But that attention was summoned by the cause for their meeting and so she sank back to seat, swivelling the unco-operative knives once more into ease.


Sat there close behind the calmer contingent of (Karis, Arnyn, and Thullir), Ilisys had little time to note more than the backs of their heads. So far. There would come time for more. There was also a rather slight woman (Durien) and a seemingly contented man (Arothir) whom each must have made their entrance while she was occupied. The woman of Dol Amroth glanced about for due reactions when Lieutenant Macardil delivered his brief, but it was a further attendee who raised voice first, and Ilisys had to lift from her chair to find Arinelle.

The Officer’s report was not utterly unlike what she’d expected, to be honest, although she might well be the least versed in all the room to judge it’s detail. The Battle of Pelennor had been the first time she had come to face with the ilk of Orcs, and she was quite sure it must have showed, the first time she was painted by the black blood of an inhuman opponent. As if Corsairs had not been foul enough !

A few features filtered into thoughts as first Macardil and then (Arinelle) spoke up. By the time that Turin had given his take upon the matter, Ilisys was wondering herself, how they could be certain that Orcs were even the perpetrators, if they left no witnesses ? All this talk of the surprising intelligence of Orcish assailants only added to her suspicions, until the Lieutenant clarified. That they had found the bodies of slain Orcs upon the scene, no doubt supported by Orc-specific litter but no trail led the woman to one matter which was new to the conversation.

A river, she figured, might be utilised in the concealing of tracks from an assailant, both in arrival and departure from the scene. And her eyes were glazed in contemplation rather than considering an interruption. Still she felt that the damage’s proximity to the Poros ought not to be overlooked. Somebody was bound to realise it sooner or later. With a shrug she stayed sat, unsure how these sorts of things usually worked.

[Red Daghul]

Red Daghul

The ranger gave a small chuckle to Pele and he gave a wink "yeah I guess I am hiding as well" and before he knew it another woman made her way up to them greeting his friend and introduced herself, but before Red could get his name out Turin took care of it for him. The Dunedain laughed to himself letting the man take care of telling who he was. Turin seemed well, of course you could see the emotions all over him, but at this point who didn't have those. This was kinda a big deal.

Before he knew it the other Bash Bro turned and hugged him, and Red gripped his brother as it was explained to him that he was unable to find his wife and child. That was a hard point for him, and Red knew it. With all the loss and chaos in this mans life, this tiding must have reeked havoc in his life. The ranger shifted in his stance about to offer up more when a man stood in front of them, and Red nodded to Turin and said softly "we will discuses this later, brother". With that he found a seat in the back of the room sitting down and back with his arms crossed listening.

The man who stepped up was well built it seemed, carried himself as if he had been a ranger for sometime, a Macardil. Red didn't seem to recall knowing him from his officer days, though the ax at his side pointed to the fact he was in a whole other part of the ERC which might explain that. As it would turn out, not that he was confused or surprised, this man seemed to be in charge and quickly jumped into why they were all called here. A band of orcs raiding and killing, not overly surprising, now escaping from the ERC that was different. Another Ranger made a inquiry and Turin made his own thoughts known which seemed to follow his own line of thinking. Why all of a sudden was a concern of Red's, never the less he was resigned to listen and observe.

There were many unknowns, and as the talks moved along it seemed there really was less and less known. Of course, wasn't that why they brought all of them back here. In the room were some of the ERC's finest, and if these orcs really did have some way of moving tracked and under the rangers noses these were the people to find them. They were utilizing a raid like mentality, taking all the food and leaving no one behind. The leaving no one behind part didn't surprise him they were orcs, but taking all the food as well... odd most orcs he knew enjoyed man flesh more then mans food. They were up to something that much was for sure. It was amazing how his brain had already decided that he was going to help.

[Pele Alarion]

Pele Alarion

The standoff between her and Morwen did not last too long, but it seemed like eternity to Pele; she could see frustration and anger, and everything in between in the woman's eyes, and somehow it caused her immense sadness. She did not intend to argue, nor further any possible scene, and apparently she would not even need to consider other options when Zev stepped between them.

Breaking contact with Morwen she looked at the young man and could not help but grin ever so slightly. It seemed that nothing could take away his silliness. Pies indeed. All she could do was shake her head slightly at his eager efforts to remedy the situation.

Golden-eyed woman's laughter took her quite by surprise though, and she frowned. In Pele's view, scars and haircuts did not form the essence of what was to be seen as 'good' and 'well'. At any rate Morwen seemed to have grown in character and overcome some things that previously held her captive. Which she could not quite say about herself. However, she said nothing about it.

Having been rather focused on their standoff, Pele had not noticed the arrival of Lieutenant Macardil, so his voice called her back to the reason why she had come here at all. At least it saved her from reacting overly to Zev's suggestion of a group hug. However, she did not want the young man to be left standing with his arms spread out, so she stepped in to give him a light hug. "This will have to do for now, Zev. Go, find a seat," she said, managing a small smile for him. Since the back seats were left to be available for late-comers, Pele moved a few rows forward and find herself a place.

While the Lieutenant made some introductions, she observed him to get a feeling for what sort of man he was. He seemed to be competent enough and carried himself well, so perhaps it would turn out to be a good cooperation after all. However, the message that he had on their first task...

South east... Poros... At these words Pele felt her heartbeat start racing, and her palms became sweaty. To prevent herself from going into full panic mode, she forced herself to take deep breaths and focus on the man's face and the description of the problem. It definitely seemed that the overthrow of Sauron had not solved all the issues, and not all evil was eradicated. As she listened to further questions and answers she could only agree that there must be someone other behind the devastation of the orcs; she did not say anything out loud, though. Merely observing and listening, waiting for further instructions, as she tried to bring the involuntary reactions of her body under control.

[Moriel]

Kamion laughed, but he scarcely had time to do more than grin at Ilsys before Lieutenant Macardil bade them all be seated, and he took up a chair next to her. So, this Lieutenant didn’t know any more than the rest of them- that was in some ways encouraging, in others much less so. This thought was quickly banished as Macardil moved on to more urgent news: despite their victory in the late war, orcs were still scourging the land and its people. Kamion’s face hardened, hearing the details, and all considerations of the new ranger force and what his position might be took an immediate back seat to the fact that action must be taken now, regardless of their new force’s organization. A woman (Arinelle) spoke up, questioning the origin and motivation of the orcs- and Turin followed her with speculation on who might be orchestrating their movement. Hmm. a low, scarcely audible rumble of consideration sounded in Kamion’s chest. He was quite certain there were more intelligent lieutenants of Sauron than just those they knew or had known the names of, and no doubt some of them were clever and cunning enough to have survived their master’s downfall. It would be a grave error to assume that these raids were simply the work of marauding bands and he nodded in agreement with Marcadil’s statement, ”our presence there is needed for more reasons than one.”

The Dúnadan glanced at Ilsys, gauging her reaction. There was something going on behind her eyes, but he did now know her well enough to divine what it was. As she sat, Kamion straightened in his chair and lifted his hand to gain Macardil’s attention before speaking, his resonant voice carrying easily to the front of the room. “How then will we move forward, Lieutenant? We all have answered the call and I feel bold enough to say are ready to move out as soon as the word is given. Will you send advance scouts to survey the situation more closely first, or will we all proceed together and establish a base from which to work? There are merits to both tactics.”

[Oro]

Commander Amathen

Standing in an office foreign to him, a map of the lands of Gondor stretched out before him, Amathen’s eyes shifted from location to location. He knew that the orc raids meant something was growing in the shadows. Much like the elite rangers who now filled the briefing room, he had come to the conclusion upon hearing the news that this was too well coordinated and too well executed to be roaming bands. But why attack now? What was their goal? He frowned, his knuckles white on the edge of the table. The invitation was clear to him, “Come play with me” that is what these raids meant.

He stood up, straightening the black tabard that adorned his chest, the white tree and star pure upon his chest. In his time with the armies of Gondor, he had never gone without it. He would not stop now. Beneath this he wore a simple chain shirt, a belt at his waist gripping the cold metal links down to keep it from flowing as he walked. Under the chain mail spreading down his arms and legs, was a simple black tunic with white edges. On his back, he wore a round shield with a mirrored tree and stars to the one on his tabard. Reaching down to his waist, he checked the flail an unusual weapon that he had learned to wield during the campaign against Rhun, where they had pushed back the Easterlings to their traditional borders. It was not the only sign of his time there, he wore boots similar to those of the easterlings, scaled like the back of a dragon, he had learned that this boots and greaves deflected more blows than the standard plate greaves of Gondor and had adapted them, although it was often a point of contention with the proud nobles of Minas Tirith.

He shook his head, shoulder length pewter hair flowing about his face as his mind turned to politics, it wasn’t time to dwell on the things about nobility that annoyed him. Now was time to speak to his troops. He had picked Lieutenant Macardil for a reason, the Lieutenant was well spoken and political. He filled some of the holes in Amathen’s own weaknesses. He had never been one for many words, only speaking when the time was right. The time was right now. Turning and striding into the hallway, he came around the corner and peered in at those who had answered the call of their King. His back straightened a bit as he stormed into the meeting room.

Not looking at any of those who had gathered as he walked in, he instead looked the Lieutenant, behind the podium, in the eye and spoke, “Thank you, Lieutenant. I will take it from here.” He stepped up, fingers gripping the edge of the podium for a moment before releasing it. He felt too stern, like a taciturn instructor, he stepped back and looked at the paper before him. He looked up now, his cold blue eyes, nearly gray from lack of color, shimmering in the torch light. His face was stern, square jaw set and eyebrows narrowed. His lips pursed together as he thought, the thick hairs of his steel mustache brushing his lower lip. His mustache was a defining feature of his face, thick and bushy and often hiding the movement of his lips.

“I know you have a lot of questions. But first let me clear the air.”. He looked into the eyes of some of those gathered, many he recognized from story and deed. The rest he recognized from the descriptions their commanders had given him when selecting those who would be invited to join. They all had earned their place, they all had earned being commanders and leaders in their own right, but things were changing and with it so too would they, “There is a lot of pride here, rightfully so. But leave that at the door. We are all a cog in a machine.”.

He stopped and rubbing a finger across his jaw, feeling the skin that was keenly shaved with a razor, “If anyone feels the need to bring up their old ranks, you will be reminded that you are all Rangers here. There is no task beneath any of us. If i ask you to dig a shire hole, I myself will dig two. That is the way of things.”. At this he walked over to the blackboard, considering drawing the new rank structure on it, picking up the chalk. But then he turned and held it out pointing at them, “We are all equals. I lead out of necessity, not out of earning it. When the day comes for me to be replaced, I will gladly serve beneath whoever is chosen. But for now, I expect you to obey orders and leave your pride at the door!”. Swinging the chalk back towards the board he throws it and it shatters across the blackboard, his voice raises, “Your rank is Ranger. Until the old political heads can force others upon us, that is what you will remain.”.

Taking a deep breath he looks back at the rangers sitting in the seats before him, “Our enemies are moving even now. There is no time to lose. Take an hour to grab your things, then we will move out. There are plenty of supplies here for us to pilfer and take along with us. We each have a horse, Lieutenant Macardil will organize you into squads, then we can move out. The scouts will take the lead.”. He looks at the chalk on the floor, then turns back with a final word, “The Lord of Pelargir has offered a fort in the lands to the north of the river Poros as a headquarters, and I have accepted. We will march there and begin our scouting of the area. Lieutenant, the floor is yours. I will be in my office if any of you have further questions.”. And as briskly as he had entered the room, he nodded at those gathered and marched out.

[Arnyn]

Lieutenant Macardil
Briefing Room

His blue eyes flicked to the entrance as Commander Amathen stormed in. Despite everything, a smile tugged at his lips again. He took a couple of unbidden steps back and sideways, to make room for the grizzly veteran behind the podium, and nodded at Amathen's words as he approached, bowing his head slightly to his commander.

Macardil had to work hard not to let his smile grow as Commander Amathen continued. He assumed a relaxed, albeit attentive, stance as he looked at the gathered faces rather than at his Commander. He was curious to see how everyone would react to the greying whirlwind now addressing them.

Even as Amathen made his point about ranks, the Lieutenant mainained a neutral facial expression and showed no surprise or any signs of a startle when the chalk hit the blackboard. He had known the theme was a big deal for the Commander, of course - and expected him to make a point of it somehow. Macardil had had no clue this is how Amathen was going to go about it, but then again, he would dare say that the Commander himself hadn't known beforehand either.

The Commander's orders were succinct and clear. And then Amathen stormed out as briskly as he had stormed in. The Lieutenant waited for the man to have left the room entirely, allowed for a lingering moment for the man's character to really settle in with everyone, and then stepped forward again.

"A representative introduction to Commander Amathen, I should say," the Lieutenant said with a hint of a smile in his eyes, but none of it to be found elsewhere on his face. He figured he would mention the Commander's name, since he himself had not, and people needed to know who their leader was.

"Every one of you leave your names with Firion here." He nodded at the man who'd been standing to attention off to the side.
"I will still be in this room for a quarter of an hour. Should you want or need additional gear other than that which you have brought, let me know and if you do not know it already, I will gladly point the way to the armoury and weapons chamber."

"In one hour, we meet at the stables. If you do not bring your own horse, one will be provided for you. We move from HQ to Harlond. From there, we will sail to Pelargir. From Pelargir, we ride to the fortress."

*
Stables

Ten minutes to the hour, the Lieutenant entered the stables, eating an apple out of hand and ready to leave. He had made most preparations beforehand, of course, both for his own gear as for the general supplies they would need for the trip to Pelargir, for starters. The ship at Harlond was already prepped, all it was really waiting for were horses and people with their own personal equipment.

The Lieutenant had gathered his pack, since he'd already worn his gear and had his weapons on him, and had taken a good look at the names written down on Firion's parchment. According to Commander Amathen's wishes, he'd split the Rangers up into squads - temporary ones, more with the function to watch one another's backs and to get to know one another (be it from scratch or after a long time apart).

Before saddling his horse - which was neither a rare white nor the very beloved black, but a common dark bay - he gave the mare the rest of his apple. He led the horse out in front of the stables and waited for everyone there.

As they arrived, he split them into three smaller groups. One group consisting of Thûllir, Durien, Arnyn, Zev and Kamion, another group made up out of Pele, Morwen, Red, Illysis and Karis, and a third group where Turin, Mourgan, Kaylin, Arothir and Arinelle would work together. At least for now. When Amathen would get it into his head, the make-up of these groups could and would change considerably.

[Burnt Toast]

Zev let out a small exhale of surprise when Pele hugged him; he had not expected either of the two to take him up on it. He had simply been hoping for a distraction; and Morwen at least had been startled enough to stop laughing. That, or she had gotten it out of her system. He felt the tension in Pele’s body in the brief embrace, and couldn’t help but let a bit of his worry show in his normally mischievous green eyes. He quickly looked away; clearly she had more than enough on her plate. And if he wasn’t going to keep the mood light; who was? Certainly not these two. He almost rolled his eyes. Morwen could really be a handful. And she thought that she had been taking care of him. But, he had to admit, she had come a long way in the last few years. And so had he.

The golden-eyed Ranger gave his shock of white hair a tousle as she passed him on her way to the front, without another look at Pele. It seemed there might still be plenty to resolve there, but he was pulled from that particular thought train by Pele telling him to find a seat.

He automatically obeyed, moving toward the front few rows, and seated himself behind a familiar redhead, and next to a Ranger he did not yet know (Arinelle). He grinned as Kaylin reacted to something, clearly holding in excitement, fidgeting with her hand. He recognized that feeling all too well. He had always found her to be a kindred spirit of sorts.


Morwen had begun to take a seat just before Zev, but just as she was about to do so, recognized a certain tall blue eyed Ranger. Trying not to draw attention to herself, she desperately cast about for another seat as his name resurfaced in her mind. Kamion. Unfortunately, without traipsing all the way to the back of the room, the quickest available seat was near Zev, close behind the exact man she was trying to avoid. With no other unobtrusive option, she tried to subtly take her seat.

She felt her cheeks warm slightly as she tried to not see the man in front of her- a rather difficult undertaking. She wasn’t short herself, but he was one of the tallest men she had ever met. She desperately hoped he did not remember their last meeting. Maybe she could avoid him this entire campaign? She almost snorted out loud at how foolish that thought was.

She felt Zev glance at her, but continued to stare straight ahead, forcing her focus onto their new commanding officers, Commander Amathen & Lieutenant Macardil. After a few moments, Zev turned his focus forward as well, and she relaxed slightly. This was something she understood; fighting, planning, action. It was easy to forget her frustration with Pele and her embarrassment regarding Kamion. For the time being, at least.

As the briefing wrapped up, she stepped forward quickly, trying to avoid crossing paths with Kamion on her way to drop her name with Firion. That done, she headed directly to the stables, without a word to anyone.

Zev was rarely perplexed by any of Morwen’s actions anymore; he figured she was wrapped up in her own thoughts, probably mulling over her feelings about Pele. The blush had been odd, but the moment had passed quickly enough. He would have to figure out who it was for later. After giving his name to Firion, he headed to the stables as well.

[Galastel]

Arinelle

Thank you for joining, we leave in an hour. It was irregular, to say the least. A little warning would have been nice. One more line in that missive they'd received, something like "be prepared to set out at once".
Speed was needed, of course. In truth, Arinelle would have begrudged any delay. And she was a soldier, switching from routine to emergency in a split second was not strange to her. But nonetheless.
It was clear at least that having established the Ranger Corps, no time was wasted. Transferring horses down the Anduin by boat spoke of a plan made in a hurry - had there been time, the horses might have been driven down along the bank - the animals tended to be nervous on water. Again, if there'd been more of them, if they'd maintained a presence in southern Gondor, they could have been warned sooner. But there was no use crying over spilt milk. The task at hand was setting things right. Analysing and drawing conclusions would come later.

In the hour given to preparation, Arinelle wrote a quick note to her sister Laurenel, and arranged for it to be delivered to her house in the fourth circle.

Being sent south. If I'm not back for Nari's birthday, I got him a chess set in Dol Amroth. It's in the bag I left at your place. Sorry about the mess I left. Give Gali my love. Tell Elphir it's nothing serious, and all he's missing out on is gruel.
Elbereth watch over you, dearest.
Your Ari

The rest of that hour was spent getting various small items Arinelle knew she'd need. She had not come prepared for a journey. And she was experienced enough to know what would come in handy. Her weapons: sword, bow and dagger, she had with her, but an extra string was useful. A few spare pairs of stockings were indispensable, as was a clean chemise. For the rest, they would of course be fed, or at least Arinelle hoped the King hadn't sent all of logistics home just yet, but a mix of nuts and dried fruit could keep a soldier on her feet in all but the most extreme situations. And for those, she was glad to discover, the kitchen still provided halva, thoughtfully wrapped in waxed cloth.

Ten minutes to the hour, Arinelle was in the stables, choosing a horse. She had always been a foot soldier, never owned a steed of her own. She knew enough, however, to pick a horse that was neither white nor black - those colours showed too well in the dark, and to choose an animal that was healthy, calm, and would not tire quickly. A handsome gelding with the fancy name Ezellohar. She picked some hay and let him eat it from her hand - it was an introduction.

They were split into three groups, and Arinelle found she somehow still hadn't said hello to Pele, who had been a respected and beloved sergeant. But she was with Kaylin, and - she barely recognised him, he'd grown so tall - Mourgan, and Turin and Arothir whom she was looking forward to getting to know. She liked Turin already, from the questions he had asked earlier. In the meantime, it was Kaylin who had her attention first. She extended her arm for a hug. "How have you been? Where have you been?" Questions tumbled out of her mouth in a string. "What's new? It's great to have you here for this!"

[Pele Alarion]

Ranger Pele Alarion

She was still thinking over the bits of information Lt Macardil had shared, when the Commander all but breezed in. Pele watched the man with some curiosity, as he seemed to be the very embodiment of contrast to his Lieutenant; and yet they seemed to work perfectly with each other, which caused a shadow of smile appear of Pele's face. Yet she became serious again when Amathen began to speak.

It seemed that the matter of ranks was very important to the Commander, or at any rate he made a point of it. Pele considered his words, as she met his eyes for a moment. While she did resent losing her rank, she did not consider it a problem in any future service - there was not much pride in her left at the moment, as it had been robbed from her. Besides, she had come to serve, and she would do so no matter what rank she held, and attempt to do the best. This discipline was so instilled in her that it remained through thick and thin, and even provided her a strong foundation to stand on when everything else seemed to crumble around and in her.

When Amathen actually threw a chalk at the blackboard, Pele startled a bit and blinked. Now, that was a way to emphasise the point if there was one. She watched the man for a while when he walked off soon after, and then turned her attention back to Macardil. So there was one hour to get ready. As if she had suspected it, Pele had already collected her things, though she had left them at the Houses of Healing, but there was time enough. She waited for a while for most of the Rangers to sign their names with Firion, left the man hers, and then headed off to collect her belongings and get a horse as she had not brought her own.

She made her way up to the Houses of Healing at a steady trot wanting to make it early to the meeting point rather than late. Quickly she gathered some emergency healing supplies to place in a separate smaller bag that she intended to keep with her at all times, and then hastily went through her bigger pack to check if she'd need to add anything. At any rate it contained spare clothing, rope, fire starting kit, weapon care stuff, more healing supplies and some dry food. Filling up the flask with the water from the jug on the table, she considered herself ready.

The next stop was the stables. Some people were already round and about, so she looked at which horses were still available. Had she known there would be a need for a horse, she would have brought her own, but the ones available here were also good. Having looked at a couple of horses, she picked a chestnut mare by the name of Autumn for her companion. Leading the mare out, she proceeded to prepare her for the journey, adjusting the saddle and at the same time doing what she could to establish a good connection with the horse. While she went about it, Pele looked around to see if she could spot anyone of the group she had been placed into. All in all it seemed like a good group, though she knew most people here anyway. Yet, she hoped that they would be able to cooperate with Morwen, as the woman had left previously without a word.

[Arothir]

Arothir

Briefing Room

Arothir had to take a few moments to process everything once he arrived, taking a moment to wave to Karis and gives a welcoming smile. A gesture he repeats to Arnyn, but before he can say anything to the people he recognized, the leadership of the rangers showed up and began to give a summary of the situation. His, relatively, jovial mood is soon cut short as it is back to business, and a grim business it is. The leveling of everything got a nod from the former officer. it made sense. Many here had served, and he had no issue working with them in the past, and that would continue, as far as he was concerned. The notion to begin moving to the new location gets a nod from Aro as he moves once the order is given and his name presented.

Stables

The upside of having been around a little bit is that Arothir already had a horse, a black horse he had brought from home and had served him well enough since then. Alagos had earned his name, but certainly had the temperament to match, at least with anyone not Aro. After a bribe of a carrot, the two were ready to go, Alagos already saddled, with saddlebags prepared for the journey, while traveling light, it was easier to move things from his personal pack to the saddlebags. He made sure his sword was riding comfortably, and he rested his spear on his shoulder for ease of travel. Once Lieutenant Macardil read out the instructions and the groups, Aro gave a brief nod and began looking for the names that he had been assigned to work with.

Once he saw one of them, he in turn gave Kaylin, Arinelle, Turin, and Mourgan waves as he rode over to be in their general vicinity. "I hope you are all feeling well, today?" he inquires, taking a look at the general weather and the stables, "Good enough day for a ride, it seems." He then realizes he is not entirely familiar with everybody and says, "My apologies, I am Arothir."

[Isolde Alarion]

Ranger Mourgan
Briefing Room

Hearing Peles description of him he nodded lightly. "That's what Mother says too." He shrugged. He returned Thullirs smile and nod with one of his own, he highly respected the man and looked forward to serving with him. Hearing his name called out he looked over to see Kaylin and her big eyes. The sight caused him to smile slightly in amusement. "I'm glad to see you haven't changed. " He shot her a smile which held a hint of the young kid he was. "Well I don't know about impressive but I'm glad to be here anyways." It seemed something was about to happen so he looked to the front of the room and when they were instructed to take a seat he felt an elbow in his side. He looked over to see Kaylin and he nodded and took a seat beside her.

He listened intently and watched the blue eyed man, Macardil, speak and explain what they knew. Soon his focus switched to a very intense man who he would come to be know as Commander Amathen. Alright, it seemed they were all to be called Rangers now and they would meet within the hour. Nothing like getting right to it he thought.When they were dismissed he, like many, went to take care of business. He had to go to the Armoury and to the stables. A lot to do in only an hour.

Armoury

After he'd given his name as directed he went straight to see about some amoure and perhaps a bit more weapons. Although he was a big guy he was surprised to find out they had equipment to fit him. Apparently being tall and stocky wasn't a rare thing and he was pleased with what he could aquire. Knowing the would be riding he didn't want to be weighted down with armour so he opted for vambraces, chain mail, leather tunic and a good pair of riding pants. He strapped it all on and after signing for a bow and quiver he headed for the stables.

Stables

It was a busy place. Many choosing their mounts and many of the mounts being saddled and made ready. He moved to the stablemaster. "I'll take a gelding if you've any left." The man waved him to follow. "This way, I have the perfect one for a lad your size." Mourgan followed and after weaving their way through the many busy bodies he stopped next to the stablemaster. "This one will serve you well." He spoke as the dark bay with the blaze came close to investigate. Mourgan let him smell his hand and lightly stroked his forehead. "Names Krowkill, I don't name them. I just care for them." He answered what Mourgan was about to ask.

Krowkill pressed his head into Mourgans hand. The gelding was well built with strong haunches and a wide chest, strong legs led to a light feathering over the hooves. "Saddles can be found over there along with any tack you need, I've got to go now. So much to do." The Stablemaster nodded his leave and left Mourgan to his own devices. Luckily he knew he way around a horse and dispite all the hustle and bustle he and Krow were heading to the meeting place soon enough.

Meeting

He was to be with Arothir, Turin, Arinelle and Kaylin. He seen Arothir, he didn't think he'd really met the man but he knew of him. He pulled Krow to a stop and nodded his greeting. "I know I've seen you Arothir but it's nice to finally meet you. I'm Mourgan Alarion." He offered a small smile and the introduction went out to any of their group that didn't know him. "It does seem we're to have some good weather." He was glad for it, it set a good tone for the leave. Krow played with the bit, eager to be out of his stall he was ready to go anywhere.

[Red Daghul]

Red Daghul
Briefing Room

The room seemed to be buzzing almost with peoples thoughts and ideas till Commander Amathen almost bursting in it seemed, and the room grew still for a moment as they all listened to the man. There seemed to be a great deal of emphases on the ranks they all had held from the past, and the "great pride" in the room, though Red kinda felt that was a large exaggeration on what was happening. Then again maybe this guy had come across it where Red had just missed it. Then again maybe he just was a dramatic man. The Ranger felt like he got his answer by the end with the throwing of the chalk... it seemed a little bit much, but then again Red came to help and was not overly worried about who was in charge as long as they didn't lead them to their death, and the second in command seemed to have a handle on things so he figured between the two it would be okay.

The instructions to gather their needed gear and meet at the stables came quickly enough afterwards, and Red made his way to the, what he guess was a scribe, to turn his name in so that he could be given a unit to work with. Times like these were strange enough he didn't want to add to the stress by questioning anything. Giving short good byes to his friends he told them he would meet them at the stables once he stopped by the inn he was staying at and grabbed his things. With that he was out the door.

Stables: (a hour later)

The sound of Sadron's hooves hitting the cobbled stone ground echoed in his mind as the now armored Ranger made his way with his black mount to the stables to meet the rest of his team. Now wearing his brown leather armor with the white tree etched in it and his brown cloak he was starting to feel once again part of his family. His sword Lagur hanging on his mount with his dragon hilted eyes gleaming in the sun ready to do the work it was made to do. Black hair pulled out of his face, and grey eyes staring at his destination there was excitement in the air as he pulled up to where he found many rangers already grouping up.

Swinging off Sadron his boots hit the ground and he made one last check of his gear making sure his dagger and longbow were attached securely, and the bit of food that he had packed. Along with a few other bits of gear he turned once he felt that he was ready looking to find his assignment. Pele, Morwen, Red, Illysis and Karis. He knew Pele well from their old days in the ERC, and he knew of Karis as well, the other two he couldn't say he had met, but it would be nice to meet some of the other rangers as well. After reporting for duty he found himself waiting for the order to move trying to see where the rest of his unit was standing. Spotting Pele he led Sadron over to her and offered his greetings "Looks like we get to group up this time" he said in a friendly manner with a smile "I couldn't ask for a better person watching my back".

[Moriel]

Headquarters

His question had not been completely answered, but that did not particularly trouble Kamion. Commander Amathen had indicated decisive action, and all else would be made clear along the way. With the rest, he listened to Macardil’s elaboration to the Commander’s instruction, and the corners of his mouth twitched down. Faran hated sailing, and the Dúnadan resigned himself to bunking wherever might be convenient nearest the horses, so as to calm his irascible mount. It wouldn’t be the first time he had bedded down in the stall with Faran to stop him kicking down its door. Falling into line, he gave his name to Firion. In the mingling that resulted from his situation, he caught sight of a woman: her face scarred, her hair hacked off, but those golden eyes couldn’t be mistaken- Morwen had joined the corps. But before Kamion could raise his voice to hail her she had darted out of the room, rather more quickly than was necessary. With a nod to Ilsys, Kamion too left the room, but not directly to the stables. Being fortunate enough to live in the city and have plenty of choice of gear, he chose to use his hour to go speedily home, add a bit of armor to his saddlebag, and deliver the news to his father.


Stables

When Kamion did arrive at the stables, it was with Faran at his heels, saddled and bridled and looking decidedly surly about it. He kept a close grip on the lead under the gelding’s chin, not at all putting it past the horse to reach out and bite one of his comrades just to keep in practice. As not all were assembled yet, Kamion turned Faran into an open stall, admonishing him, “You behave yourself, and we’ll be off soon enough.” The Dúnadan stepped into the stall with his horse, pulling the door shut firmly behind them, and moved to Faran’s side. “Let’s loosen this a bit, eh? Just while we’re waiting?” Faran’s heavy ears perked noticeable at this, and Kamion chuckled as he loosened the girth. “Just don’t go holding your breath on me when I have to tighten it again.” At the rear of the saddle was strapped his bedroll, and in an oiled saddlebag on top of it lay rolled Kamion’s coat of mail, light and strong. He wouldn’t need it between here and Harlond, nor, unless the corsairs were especially feisty, while aboard ship. In the foreward saddlebags were various bits and pieces of camp gear and equipment, gloves, all the various small accoutrements of the soldier’s life. And, despite the assurances that there would be plenty of scavengable supplies, several bars of hard, dense, cured meat and fat. It was a recipe his father had developed many years ago, and while not as filling as the fabled elven Lembas, a good substitute for a hot dinner when needed.

Moving carefully out of the stall (for again, he would not put any trickery past Faran), he shut it and turned to survey the assemblage. He had gained the names of his group fellow from the Lieutenant on arriving, but saw none of them arrived yet except Zev. Kamion knew him to be Morwen’s young companion, and sure enough, there she was with him, standing nearby. Feeling now was as good a time as any to both introduce himself to his new comrade and reacquainte himself with an old, Kamion strode over to the pair. “Well met! It’s Zev, isn’t it? Kamion,” the Dúnadan extended his arm to Zev, before turning to the woman beside him. He glanced about the stables, them smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he spoke with dry humor, “We must stop meeting like this.”

[Arnyn]

She rather appreciated how calm the Lieutenant remained under the questions and suggestions. There was a bit of heat under some of the words spoken - especially the first words - but Macardil had taken that in stride. As for herself, Arnyn didn't ask any questions. She had none that were pressing or couldn't be answered at a later date. Rather, she took to quietly analyzing what the Lieutenant was saying, skeching an image in her own mind.

When a greying man of average height but stocky build entered the room, her expression remained neutral but she noted how everyone's attention was immediately on him - not only because he'd entered at a moment when everyone was focusing, but also because of the way he carried himself. The commander's clasp jumped out at her at once. Her new first in command, then? The flail caught her eye, as well as the unusual nature of his boots. A small smile tugged at her lips.

She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, however, at the Commander mentioning there was a lot of pride in the room. Arnyn hoped she surely wasn't one to be emitting that kind of vibe. She had left Gondor, after all - what was there for her to be proud about? She had abandoned her comrades in arms. If anything was present in the room because of her, it was leftover guilt.
Taking a subtle deep breath, she decided the commander either spoke of others, or to cover any pride IF it were present at all. To nip it in the bud. That would be a wise thing to do, considering the ranks some of the people present had held before. Yet she couldn't help but wonder, in the back of her mind, whether their new commander was a bit insecure if he felt the need to put it this strongly. Perhaps. Perhaps not. She would need more time to watch him to make up her mind about that.

What she really liked, however, was his comment about how if he asked them to dig a latrine, he'd dig two himself. That showed character she liked.

The chalk against the blackboard made her bite back a smile. Either he had some temperament, or a flair for the dramatic. She could appreciate both, as long as reason won out in the end. Nodding to herself as he exited the room, leaving Lieutenant Macardil to deal with the aftermath, Arnyn slanted her head to see what the Lieutenant would say next. When he gave them the Commander's name with that little comment, she didn't hold back a smile anymore. It was faint, but it was there. The Lieutenant's calm demeanor would be an asset.

With the orders given, she moved quickly to leave her name with Firion, retrieve her limited traveling pack from the inn (it was all she had brought back to the city, anyway) and to retrieve her chestnut stallion, Narsúlë. She appeared at the stables with time to spare, but before she joined her squad, she had someone to greet. "Pelepele," she greeted the woman gladly by her full first name, extending her arm for the warrior's clasp. "I do hope we get to catch up later." When the woman clasped her arm, Armyn drew her in for a brief hug, and with a smile that spoke of good memories, she took her leave again to join the group to which the Lieutenant had assigned her.

Two of them were already there: Arnyn just heard the black-haired Kamion introducing himself to one white-haired Zev. A woman with golden eyes and a scar over her face (Morwen) was standing nearby as well. Arnyn smiled at them all as she walked her horse over to them. She wasn't sure whether she should stable him for under half an hour. "Hello, everyone. I'm Arnyn." She held out her arm to each of them in turn as well, including the woman whose name she had yet to learn.

[Turin Ringhûn]

Briefing Room

The Lieutenant answered his and the other question. Turin was pleased that his suspicions were shared by the new leadership. It wouldn't be a good thing, In Turin's mind, if they didn't at least have a common understanding as to what the orcs were normally like. After a few more minutes, someone else came to the from. He was introduced as Commander Amathen. He seemed to be almost bursting at the seems. He got straight to the point. Their rank was simply Ranger and they were to leave in an hour.

Part of Turin wanted to chuckle. At one point in time, he'd been that very same way. There was a call for people like that, but sometimes, just have to let loose. He sighed and listened to the Lieutenant close things up and they were dismissed to gather whatever else they needed and to meet back at the stables.

He stood and followed Red to the scribe, secretary, whatever the guy was. He too gave his name, and left the Heaquarters. Red had said he was returning to his hotel to gather his equipment. Nodding, they parted ways. He too had to check on a couple things.

It had been some years since he'd lived there, but he made his way to what used to be his home in Minas Tirith. After all, it was on the way to the stables. The house looked every bit of abandoned that it was. The little bit of grass that there had been was overgrown. The doors and windows covers were terribly worn. It was just a sad sight. Shaking his head, Turin turned away and continued to the stables.

Stables: (forty five minutes later)

The stables hadn't changed at bit since Turin's old steed had been housed there. As he entered, he told the head of the stables he did not have a personal mount. The ranger nodded and looked through his list of available mounts. "We have many available. Do you have any preference sir?"

It took a lot of willpower to no immediately respond with "Ondo." His black stallion for almost six years. "Do you have any stallions?" Turin asked.

"A few." Came the reply. "But many are starting to get very rowdy as it's the beginning of mating season. Are you sure you want a stallion sir?"

Turin stood quietly for several minutes. Being there reminded him so much of taking care of his old horse, and then about a year prior to then, setting him free. "Hey, do you know Cortan by any chance?" finally came his reply. Turin had moved off to the side to avoid being in the way of other Rangers coming to get steeds of their own. The hand who'd been working with Turin nodded.

"I do sir. He comes in often to get his horse to deliver messages to people away from the city. Why?"

"I don't know. He used to take care of a horse I owned years ago. I was just curious. It makes no difference to the current situation, forget it."

"Are you the owner of Ondo?" Turin nodded, briefly stunned at the name of his horse being mentioned. "We have a horse very similar to him. Cortan talked non stop about that horse before he transferred from the stables. We have a Rhovanion gelding who looks almost identical to Ondo, or at least that is what I can guess based on what I've heard of that old horse."

"Let me see." Turin replied. Sure enough, the horse looked to be a spitting image of his old horse Ondo. "He's beautiful." Turin said petting the horse. "Name?"

"Canya."

"Sindarin for bold or wise." Turin kept petting the horse. "I'll take him."

The paperwork was completed and Turin packed his gear in saddlebags and walked the Canya to where the rest of the Rangers were gathering. He saw Red ride up on his own black horse. He was a bit saddened he wasn't going to be partnering with his bash brother, but orders were orders.

He found Arinelle, Arothir, Mourgan, and Kaylin already gathered. "Hello everyone. It seems I'm the last to arrive. Bad habit of mine. Sorry about that. I'm Turin, and I'm a swordsman. I look forward to working with you all. Hope we can get along and solve this problem quickly."

[Burnt Toast]

Morwen was grateful to arrive at the stables first, and so spent some time looking over the horses, finally choosing a rather grumpy looking dark bay named Andreth (the joke was not lost on her). She thought they would get along quite well. She decided to spend her extra time getting to know him, and she thought he would appreciate their mutual irritability.

“I bite, too,” she muttered to him, as his teeth closed near where her hand had just been. He seemed to appreciate that response, butting her with his head, only slightly harder than necessary. She laughed. They would do all right. As for the ship awaiting them. She felt her bile nearly rise at the thought. She was not looking forward to being on the water. Zev, on the other hand, was sure to be insufferable. That little scamp was sure to clamber all over the ship like the sea rat he was.

“Oi, Morwen!” As though her thoughts had called him, she heard his shout from across the stables. She sighed. So much for a bit of peace. He had a bit of urgency in his voice, so she left Andreth (he gave an irritated chomp of his teeth), and went to find her tag-along.

He was standing at the stable of a particularly mild looking buckskin, tugging at the gold loops in his ears with a bit of uncertainty. When had he put those back in? He had taken them out on their travels; but perhaps the promise of a ship’s deck beneath his feet once more had prompted him to dig them back out. He was looking more like a pirate than a Ranger at the moment; it seemed he had shed his long sleeves and armour for the time being, and his sleeveless tunic revealed the strange sinuous tattoos that ran all the way down his arms, and, she knew, across his back and chest.

“What?” she asked. He gestured at the gentle giant in front of him.

“You don’t think he’s a biter, do you?” Morwen snorted.

“Rest assured, you’ve found the only horse in here that might fall asleep mid battle.” Well, that wasn’t true. These horses were all in excellent shape, and were well trained. But he certainly was a mild looking fellow. The name plate in front of his stall read ‘Apple’. She snorted again. “You’ll be fine, Zev.” The mischief maker nodded, looking like he half believed her. Before she could say anything further, a familiar voice interrupted them.

It was Kamion, introducing himself, and reaching an arm out to Zev, who of course immediately and enthusiastically took the hand proffered, shaking it up and down. It was a bit of a comical sight, possibly the tallest and shortest Rangers in the whole group, and Zev his usual jackrabbit of energy self, the horse all but forgotten.

“Aye, that’s right! Nice to meet you, Kamion.” His enthusiasm was almost catching, even to her, but the sight of Kamion had Morwen frozen, trying to glance around desperately for an escape. Kamion’s next words earned him that famous golden-eyed glare-- made all the sharper by a hint of anger, and more than a little embarrassment. “We must stop meeting like this,” he said, clearly referencing the Stables, where he had dropped her off after a series of foolish incidents that had taken place at the midwinter ball years ago. So much for him forgetting. She was not that same person anymore; and her actions that night had been defensive and fueled by a darkness she had long since let go of.

All the same, before she could consider a better option, she merely blurted, “I don’t know what you’re speaking of.” She wished them back as soon as she said them. They were pointlessly harsh, and made no sense. Of course she knew what he was talking about.

Before she could figure out how to backpedal, someone new arrived, and she allowed her attention to be taken by the newcomer, who introduced herself as Arnyn. Well, she would have to figure out how to apologize to Kamion later. She pushed the thought aside, and instead studiously ignored him for the time being, trying to prevent the very subtle blush that was threatening to reach her face. She coughed and took a drink of water before offering her own name and a hearty handshake in return.

“Morwen. Well met,” she said simply, with a small bow of her head. It was good to be able to put more names and to faces.

“Hey, Arnyn! I’m Zev!” Morwen refrained from rolling her eyes. His enthusiasm really was something else. He almost seemed like the same young man she had met years ago, but if one looked closely, the past few years had taken their toll on them. He was more dangerous now, and had learned some hard lessons. She was glad that it hadn’t taken all of his joy from him. Or much of it at all, it seemed. She pondered how much good she had done him, and if it had really mostly been the other way around. Pele probably did that on purpose. At the thought of Pele, she clenched her teeth, and pushed the thought away. There would be time for that later. So long as they weren’t put in a group together. She needed a bit of space for now.

[Ercassie]

Ilisys Azrubêl

For a time, as the group first started to rise, she stayed sat. The engaging double act of officers had concluded abruptly and Ilisys found herself fighting the natural tendency to applaud a captivating performance. It was the content of their disturbing monologues which stalled her, talk of folk been ‘burnt and torn apart’. These victims had been real people, citizens of Gondor, and they deserved the numbed blow and the shock which the news had dealt unto the company. For this and other reasons, she forewent with any notions that she may have briefly nurtured about voicing her own thoughts aloud to the group. The Lieutenant had made clear the need for haste, and the Commander seemed unlikely to find ears for what anyone besides himself might have to say. It had honestly felt as though Amathen could not get away from their probing intrigue fast enough. And Macardil .. may well have showcased himself as the ‘approachable’ one, but they may as well ponder all their opinions to test his humour during the proposed journey. There were reasons there were officers at all of course, and it had a lot to do with pressing things along. So the woman found her feet, and for a change, followed the crowd.

The order to make ready, a single hour to attend to all that might entail, with so many factors still unsure; it inspired a mass exodus. So Ilisys demurely returned the nod of Kamion, and did as did the others, declaring her name for Firion, She had to spell it out for him, but that was nothing new. The greater concern now was could she find her way back to the house where she’d stayed last night ?

Her friend’s kin were good people, and almost made up for the loss of her longtime companion from her side. Still as she rifled through all the equipment that her former squire had insisted she bring to the city, it was not hard to imagine the resounding frown, as she whittled it down from quite anything a person might want, ever, to everything she thought that she might be able to turn to real use. The surcoat for a start, she held up for a brief, crinkle browed judgement, having held off from exhibiting it at the meeting; it signified Dol Amroth and she was here now as representative for Gondor as a whole. Still it might prove some use as a pillow, a change of garb or perhaps even torn to produce bandages at need, and so into the pack it went, with some spare hose because who knew. There was a story to how she had employed those before and it did not include wearing them. The leather bracers though she would, favoured over the habit of vambraces, for they would be heading south, with the likelihood of balmy climes, if she recalled aught from her governess, Not unlike the surcoat though, the arm-sheathes were grey-blue and bearing the proud sigil of ship and swan.



“Try these,” the Undertaker’s wife had been an Ehtyar before she had wed and settled down. The two women had spent much of the previous eve speaking much of spears, much to the despair of the host. The bracers she now offered to their guest were of a regal black hue, emboldened by the image of a single white tree; her own artifacts, certainly. Ilisys took but one of these, and surrendered one of her own up in it’s stead. The resulting mismatched pair was a compromise she could live with and who cared how ‘proud’ that Commander might think her for it. The rather standard belt which she wore had a similarly opulent silver buckle, but that had proven it’s uses before and might again. As would the small shard of flint, the waterskin flask, and the small pouch, because who knew what small thing she might need to stow or conceal somewhere about her person for convenience. There was more about her bag and most she could envisage multiple functions for, but the horse of course required attention to dress as well.

She had made her choice of the three horses back home with which she was acquainted, and it had been an emotional selection. The courser had won out in the end for she had fared well with Ilisys on many a hunt, although of course this would be a rather different sort of pursuit. Gilbathril, was a friend and a comfort but any deeming the horse more fit to ladies’ recreation would learn better. Just in case, they had left the caparisons in Lond Col ! The Undertaker had his own small holding for his lone ebony horse and dignified wagon in the city, where his guest was now forced to lure her ride from relaxation, and set for their meet point. The woman from Dol Amroth had only chanced by the Rangers’ stables once before but she had not forgot it. Directed toward her designated group, she recognised Pele already caught in a genuine embrace with a blonde stranger (Arnyn). One of the Rangers whose name Ilisys had not caught in the headquarters. Others though she had.



“They call you Red,” she remembered as she stepped up to the man. It was not blaringly apparent how he’d earned his name and she wondered if she would find out before their journey was done. It did not occur to her at all that she had just introduced him, rather than herself. “This is where we met” she recalled instead, with a smile aimed at Pele, seeming with no grudge about the memory, but rather possibly the promise of payback. A second perusal of her old friend however convinced her it might be best wait a while. For reasons beyond that there were still meetings to be made. Their group was not yet gathered.

[Arnyn]

She nodded at Morwen, committing the name to memory.
Zev's enthusiasm made her smile spontaneously. "Nice hoops," she commented, tapping the two small, silver rings in her own left ear (which were also mirrored in her right). Her small rings were nothing like his, of course, but that didn't mean she couldn't like them. Even though she'd just met Zev, his earrings seemed to suit him perfectly.

*



Ohhhh. She tried to hold back a grin while Commander Amathen was talking to - barking at - them, but her eyes gave away her amusement and approval in spades. Yes, she would have no trouble at all serving a commander like that. What an excellent temper! And she could just imagine the Commander getting his hands dirty right alongside the rest of them.

The Lieutenant, though, she wasn't too sure about. She had some hope still that he might be alright, because of his comment about orc intelligence and the comment about the Commander's rant being a good introduction to the man - but she wasn't at all sure. Lieutenant Macardil was so... calm and collected. To the point of being a bit boring, perhaps. Time would tell.

Her assessment of the command conjured a wry smile to her face. She thought it very likely that Thûllir would have the opposite idea: he likely approved of the Lieutenant but wasn't too sure about the Commander yet. Kaylin would have liked to talk it over with Thûllir, but this was neither the time nor the place, nor would it be for a while, she figured.

Once they'd all received their orders, Kaylin looked around for Arinelle, but the woman had already disappeared. That was a shame - Kaylin had excitement to share with her friend and former roommate at seeing her again, and now that friend had run along already! Perhaps there was too much to be done. Sighing to let out some of her frustration, she looked around to find Thûllir. Other than a look upon entering, they hadn't communicated yet, but the situation called for them to find each other now.

"Ranger," she greeted him. She was grinning, because it had been his title before in the comany of Ithilien, because it was her chosen nickname for him, and because the Commander had made it very clear that they were ALL Rangers now. "We best hurry." They gave their names to Firion and hurried back to the house to pick up the packs Thûllir always insisted they had at the ready. Kaylin had never really seen the need for it - but she had to admit that she'd finally been proved wrong.

With only minutes to spare, they arrived back at the stables. A healthy blush on her cheeks, Kaylin laughed at Thûllir when they were looking out on the horses. "We should have picked our horses first and just ridden them home and back," she said in between catching her breath, her eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief. "Much more efficient." Although probably not what the Lieutenant had had in mind. And it might be best not to irk him from the very beginning.
Kaylin quickly chose the first horse that happened to look her way: a brown mare, conveniently called Cocoa.

Back outside, they learned they'd be separated into different groups. Kaylin gave Thûllir an apologetic look and briefly touched his arm - even though it was out of her hands, and she figured they would still be traveling together in the end - but hearing the other names in her group had Kaylin almost hopping up and down. Seeing Arinelle, a HUGE smile plastered her face and she rushed to get the hug her former roommate offered by extending her arm. She hugged Arinelle tight and took a step back to really have a good look at her. "Ari! I'm good, I've been right here in the city the whole time, and you know I always forget too many things when people ask me what's new!" She gently shook Arinelle by the shoulder, too excited. "What about you?!"

Mildly distracted by Arothir's arrival, Kaylin threw him a smile. "Hello, Arothir! I'm Kaylin, and yup, I'm feeling well, thanks. Hope you are too!"
She fought the urge to elbow Mourgan again when he arrived, and gave the man named Turin a wave when he approached as well. "Well, late isn't too late," she shrugged with a smile. "I'm glad I get to meet some new people in this group," she said happily, really meaning it. It was a nice balance to have two people she already called friend and two she still had to get to know completely.

[Pele Alarion]

Ranger Pele Alarion

Hearing Red's voice, Pele did not respond for a while, as she finished securing the saddle strap and checking for its tightness. Eventually she straightened up and turned to look at him. "Yes, it seems that we will get to travel together at least for a while, Red," she said with a small smile. "I trust you with my back no less." As far as she was concerned, she fully intended to adhere to her promises and protect the comrades as much as was in her power, but the trusting part seemed to be a bit of a challenge, something she had to return to both for the team cohesion purposes and her own sanity.

"Arnyn!" she responded with less exuberance than might be expected to her approaching friend, though quiet joy permeated her and brightened her smile some more. Pele stepped closer to clasp her arm, though felt herself tensing at the hug. Well, apparently she would have to relearn that there was touch that did not bring pain. In time... "I suppose there will be some moments for conversation at some point," she said, though at the same time wondered whether her friend would still remain her friend, should she find out of her past few years. Turning back to her horse, she made the last preparations and rubbed the mare's neck gently when the animal tried to inspect her pockets for treats.

Hearing another voice, Pele looked up at Ilisys, and a familiar feeling of mischievousness quickly passed through her. "Perhaps not the type of meeting you had expected at the time," she offered the woman a small grin. "I do not regret a thing." she further informed her keeping up her pretense of not being guilty for the unexpected welcome during the mentioned meeting for the fun of it, and then turned to Red. "This is Ilisys," she spoke by the way of introductions that the Dol Amrothian had missed out on.

"We still lack two members, Karis and Morwen," she then concluded, looking around for them, as she believed they had to be somewhere here, possibly still inside the stables.

[Durien]

Durien Arrandir

It wasn't that she was shy, although it understandably might seem that way. Durien just preferred to linger on the edges silently. Quietly observing without intrusion was just a natural state of being for her. She nodded and smiled in greeting to those she knew well, but, as was her custom, was hesitant to launch into conversation and hugs. As a broad shouldered genial soldier stepped forward, she rested a shoulder against the wall, her relaxed pose at odds with the increasing focus and attention she paid the man. She knew nothing about this Lieutenant Macardil, not that she held it against him. Respecting the position of lieutenant and obeying commands was different than respecting and trusting the man. Fully alert, she paid careful attention to his words as he spoke.

Southeast....around Poros. Durien sighed inwardly, her outward expression as impassive as it had been since Lieutenant Macardil had started speaking. South Ithilien lay north of the river, and beneath lay Harondor, a land, a desert. The Harad road connected the two as it's main thoroughfare, eventually leading into the Harad itself. Umbar and Gondor had been fighting over Harondor since the Kin-Strife, and the area was regularly attacked by Corsairs and Haradhrim alike. Harondor had seen more than its fair share of blood soak its arid soils. The northern edge of Harondor along the river was still fertile enough for the farms. She idly wondered why the orcs were just sticking to Harondor. Was there a reason they weren't crossing the river? Why raid Harondor but not Northern Ithilien? The Harad road was the biggest crossing, but it wasn't particularly hard to cross the Poros at any time of the year. Much of Ithilien drained into the Anduin rather than the Poros, and Harondor was arid, so floodwaters and swift currents rarely troubled the river. She doubted the Lieutenant had enough intelligence gathered to answer those questions, so she didn't bother to ask. Everyone in the room would find out soon enough. Besides, others in the room were already asking questions.

As Durien listened to Arinelle's andTurin's thoughts, it entered her mind that if there were no survivors, there was no one living who had seen the orcs. Orcs enjoyed the kill, but they weren't always thorough, and weren't keen swimmers. How had no one escaped? Were they really orcs or imposters? There was no particular reason why it couldn't be orcs raiding the area, but another possibility danced through the back of her mind. With Harondor having been a battleground for half of the third age, it was conceivable that Umbar and/or Harad were still interested in the land. After their defeat at Minas Tirith, alongside the forces of Sauron, the few survivors had fled back to their homelands and a kind of peace had settled onto the area. However, Gondor had suffered heavy losses at Minas Tirith and even heavier losses when they marched on the Black Gate while Umbar and Harad had retreated back to their homelands, homelands unaffected by the war despite the defeat. What if the Easterlings and/or Corsairs were testing the strength of Gondor? So far, there hadn't been much resistance to the “orc” raids, so if it wasn't orcs....alarming was a good descriptive word for the situation. However unlikely, the idea was worth considering. Not that she would mention it. Even if the others didn't think it far-fetched, which it very much was, she didn't like to speculate aloud unless she had evidence and proof, particularly to one in command. They'd all find out soon enough, but the thought had her itching to be on a horse and off to see for herself.

Durien's thoughts broke off as Commander Amathen, another commanding officer she did not know, stood and started speaking. He was direct, which she liked. She was naturally suspicious of a charismatic and friendly demeanor. It didn't take him long to start issuing commands, and she was ready to move. She had one hour to pack her belongings and meet her squad with her horse in hand. Almost as swiftly as he gave the orders, the clean shaven commander was gone. Lieutenant Macardil took over once more with instructions. From the stables, they would be headed to Harlond before setting sail to Pelargir and on to the fortress. Almost immediately, rangers started leaving their names with Firion. She waited until the line dissipated and then added her own name to the list.

Stables
The young mare snorted and sniffed the wind as Durien finished fastening her gear to the back of her saddle. Théa, so named in honor a of fallen Rohir whom she had once known well, was a newer mount for her. Arael, her beloved black stallion who had seen her through the final years of the Third Age and through the tumultuous beginnings of the Fourth Age, had finally retired to the fields of Rohan. Théa was his firstborn, a smoke gray filly with ebony points, a full flowing raven mane and arched tail, four black legs that faded to smoke gray above the knees and hocks, a black muzzle and black tipped curved ears that forever twitched back and forth. Arael himself had been the firstborn of his sire, who had been the firstborn of his, stretching back to her very first steed. The mare in front of her was the first of that line who was neither coal black nor a stallion. She supposed it was an omen of a sort, the good kind of omen, as if the darkness was perhaps lifting. Mares and geldings were preferred by the rangers, as stallions had to kept separate and required too much attention to proves as useful. Nor did stallions grow to the height of mares and geldings, although they usually developed more power across the chest and haunches. Théa stood only 14.3 hh and was narrow across the chest, but for her height, she had long clean legs with a straight long cannon bone and ground-eating strides. Like her rider, Théa was small but swift, lacking in sheer strength but capable of great endurance, and almost insubstantial in appearance. Durien had already decided they were well suited for each other.

Théa turned and nuzzled Durien's arm, begging for a scratch beneath the hard leather protective shield attached to her bitless bridle. The mare was not yet accustomed to it, and she found it itchy. Her rider obliged, before leading her toward the front of the stables. The lieutenant was directing the riders into groups as they approached, and she was directed toward three riders already gathered, although there seemed to be another woman conversing with them as well. As she rode up, she overheard introductions being made. There wereZev and Kamion, whom she had never met, and Arnyn, who was familiar sight, although they had not seen each other in some time. Durien deduced who they were from the introductions she overheard as she approached. Her natural reticence for interrupting conversation warred with feeling a need to introduce herself as well. At least one already knew who she was, she might as well start there. “It's good to see you, Arnyn.” The edges of her lips curved slightly upwards in her normally passive and staid expression. It was a pleasure to see the blond haired woman. “I'm delighted to be riding out with you again.” She paused, her green eyes moving the others around her. Pushing an errant strand of raven hair out of her line of vision, she gathered the reins in one gloved hand and proffered the other along with her introduction. ”I'm Durien.”

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel

The rest of the briefing had, in some ways, been entertaining for Ziranphel despite the serious nature of the topics, as she noticed the Lieutenant unable to keep a smile off of his lips when the Commander spoke. She was adept at schooling her facial reactions after her own years in the service, but internally she was amused at the Commander’s speech, even as her face remained outwardly calm and attentive. Pride. It was always an issue among those who competed to make themselves the best. It didn’t bother her to be the same rank as those around her. They had all served before after all, and she had given up her own command for a reason. She was tired of leadership and all the stress it brought, but still wanted to be part of this fight. The enemy didn’t care if the one who put an arrow through them wore an officer’s badge or not. Just that the arrow was there.

Silencing her musings to listen to the Lieutenant’s instructions after the departure of Commander Amathen, Ziran nodded understanding. The group would be retracing much of her own recent travels until they got to Pelargir, although she hadn’t had a mount with her. Thankfully the stables always had an excellent selection of horses available.
Despite being at the front of the room, she waited until most others had gone forward to put down their names, before rising and doing the same. “Karis Ziranphel. Archer.”

There was just enough time for her to make the walk back to her aunt and uncle’s place to collect her things and consolidate what she needed for the mission into her smaller field pack. She had contemplated bringing it earlier, but had felt a bit strange bringing a full pack to a briefing if they weren’t immediately to be sent on a mission. Besides, the brisk walk through what she considered her city was a pleasant one after having been gone so long from its streets.

One hour didn’t allow for much time thinking about what to pack, but years of assembling her gear lent speed to her hands, and she was shortly back out the door after giving Nestaid and Brennyn hugs and promising to pass on the same to a certain pair of Rangers.
Ziran arrived back at the stables with a few minutes to spare, but not many, and took the stablemaster’s recommendation of a tall and sooty chestnut gelding with a dark muzzle and intelligent eyes that he had saddled already. “Cantor he’s called.” She nodded and greeted the horse with a pat and a carrot before tying her pack and long weapons to the saddle. She got the stablemaster’s assistance adjusting the stirrup leathers to the right length, and then with a smiling farewell, led Cantor out into the yard to gather with the others. Lieutenant Macardil’s direction sent her to find her small squad of Pele, Red, the Dol Amrothian Ilisys, and Morwen. Most she knew already from years past, but it had been some time, and she figured introductions were in order. “Greetings all. I’m Karis Ziranphel, or Ziran as my friends have been calling me lately. Apparently we are to ride together.”

Thûllir Bregedŷr

Thûllir had listened quietly to both the Lieutenant, and Commander, but admitted to himself that he was more impressed by the former. He did appreciate the point that the gruff Commander made regarding equality of rank to begin. All he ever aspired to be was a simple Ranger, and that was still the case.
Even though they all now went by that title, he knew Kaylin’s call was for him as soon as she voiced it. He returned her greeting with a grin and a lifted eyebrow. “Hello Ranger. Yes, we’ll need to run.” The teasing challenge was there in his eyes. The giving of their names to Firion was the matter of only a moment, and then they were off, egging each other on to more speed as they stretched their legs on less busy sections of street and wound their way up through the city. Thûllir was glad for the opportunity to run with her now even if it was tiring, as riding horses was always rather brutal when not accustomed to it.
They collected their packs relatively quickly, and locked up the house before heading back down the winding paths to the stables. Downhill was always a bit more treacherous with loaded packs, but they made good time and got to the stable yards with a couple minutes to spare. Thûllir didn’t have much air to speak right away after the exertion of running, so remained silent to shrug and nod in response to his wife’s mischievous words as he took a sip of water. It would have been faster likely as not, but not quite as fun. Re-slinging the canteen, he followed Kaylin to choose a horse.
Although Thûllir normally used his own two feet when taking messages to Faramir, now that the war was over he had occasionally been given leave to use horses when speed was necessary, so he sought one of those out now. As not the best horseman in the world, he appreciated familiarity with a mount so that they could trust each other. “Hello Bregil.” He murmured to the dark bay mare with a white patch on her forehead. “Time to go somewhere new.”
Situating packs took a few moments, but then they were back outside with mounts trailing behind by their reins. Thûllir returned Kaylin’s brush of fingers with a smile. It wasn’t as if they were in completely separate units. Just squads with likely separate tasks, if he was reading things right. He watched her go greet her friends with enthusiasm and couldn’t help but grin as he turned to the Lieutenant. “It will be an honor to fight beside you sir. Thûllir Bregedyr of Ithilien at your service.” With a nod, he shifted over to where the others stood that he heard named in his squad just as Durien introduced herself. He had met several but not all. “And I am Thûllir. Pleased to meet you all.”

[Red Daghul]

Red Daghul
Stables

There was a odd moment in the air after Red gave his welcome, almost as if something was off with his old friend or maybe it just had been so long since he had seen her. It just seemed off. Never the less she seemed at least happy that she had someone she knew watching her back, yet it was a itch to know what was wrong. This was a normal thing for him seeing someone who was... "off" was the only way he could explain it, and he wanted to prompt the cause and help heal it. Many years had taught him that it wasn't always that simple, so he decided he would play the long game and just try and be there when he could. He gave her a reassuring smile.

As he turned around the scan the grounds for Turin to find out who he had been placed with he found himself looking at a figure walking towards him. A tall woman with dark hair that hangs low, and her eyes a pale grey that were striking. "They call you Red" she said before seemingly turning her focus to Pele "This is where we met" Red cocked his head and smirked a bit puzzled at the entrance. A little surprised that she knew his name, and a bit caught off guard when she didn't drop her own name, but Pele came to his rescue.

"Perhaps not the type of meeting you had expected at the time," she grinned "I do not regret a thing." turning back to him "This is Ilisys,".

"It is nice to meet you" the dunedain offered amused at the strange introduction as a whole, it was extremely different then what he was used too. After he said that he noticed that Turin had rode up and was with his group, so he decided that it would be best to wait till later to talk. It was more important to get to know the people he would be entering into battle with at the moment, and to let him do the same. Though he was troubled by the news he had given him about his family. Never-the-less there would be time for that later. Turning his focus back to his group he listened as they talked.

"We still lack two members, Karis and Morwen," and just as Pele said that they were joined by another.

“Greetings all. I’m Karis Ziranphel, or Ziran as my friends have been calling me lately. Apparently we are to ride together.”

Red gave a fist to chest and said "well met Karis" he seemed to have memory of her from the old days, but he wasn't sure they had even been close "It is a pleasure to welcome you to our small band" he said with a smile.

[Arnyn]

Lieutenant Macardil

Everyone had gathered by the appointed hour. Only one of the Rangers had something to say to him other than "yes, sir" or a simple "Lieutenant" in acknowledgment of his directions. At Thûllir Bregedyr's words, Macardil smiled. "Likewise, Ranger Thûllir."
Commander Amathen was last to appear, and he led them out onto the streets without further words. The Lieutenant shook his head and quickly mounted his dark bay in response, giving the other Rangers a look and a quick smile, as if to say they had best do the same - and not to expect too much talk from their commander when it wasn't absolutely necessary.

The Lieutenant didn't give any further instructions at the moment, either. He assumed they would all get to know one another a bit better on the road, or catch up if they hadn't seen one another in a good while.

They swiftly rode to Harlond and found their ship. It was Commander Amathen who'd made the arrangements with the ship's captain - personally. Macardil had noticed that Amathen took a certain pride in honoring his logistical background in the army. Despite whatever point he'd made about pride earlier.
After embarking, their first order of business was to settle in the horses. Every Ranger took care of his or her own, making sure they were well stationed and well fed below deck.

The Lieutenant waited for the Rangers on the ship's deck. When everyone had come up and automatically gravitated into their own groups, Macardil's blue eyes gave them a look of approval.
"I'll be needing a list from each group with everyone's skill sets," he said. "One: your name; two, your primary weapon; three, secondary weapon; four, whether or not you have any proficiency at healing; five, same for scouting and tracking." He had gotten plenty of information on all of them, of course, but he imagined that information might very well be outdated for a number of those present. At any case, he wanted the most recent information, so he could make the best calls.

He gestured at a few barrels on which weighted jars of ink, pieces of parchment and a few quils were available. "One person per group can compile the information and bring it to me." He left it to them to choose who would take the responsability in each squad.

"Other than that, you are free to move about the common areas of the ship. We should be arriving at Pelargir late tonight."

*
For your reference:

Squad 1: Durien, Kamion, Thüllir, Zev, Arnyn
Squad 2: Ilisys, Karis, Morwen, Pele, Red
Squad 3: Arinelle, Arothir, Mourgan, Turin, Kaylin
*

Arnyn

Pele's earlier stiffening at their hug earlier kept sticking in the back of her mind, but as Pele had said - there would be time later to talk. Perhaps Arnyn would then figure out what had happened to make her friend lose that much weight and... whatever other things she might have lost to make her react in such a fashion. Arnyn had seen the spark in Pele's smile - it wasn't that the woman hadn't been glad to see her. It took some effort, but she stored her concern away for now.

When Durien joined them and said it was good to see her, Arnyn couldn't help herself. She gave the green-eyed woman a big smile. Seeing all of these faces, Durien's included, was... a balm to the soul, somehow. Quite the opposite of what she had expected. How the world worked sometimes...
"The prospect brings me joy as well, Durien," she replied genuinely, holding her arm out to her in greeting.

The last to join them introduced himself as Thûllir. Arnyn nodded at him, still wearing the smile she'd worn greeting Durien. She held out an arm to him in turn as well. To her, the warrior's clasp was a gesture of respect at a first meeting between peers, and they were not yet in the field, so there was time.

Commander Amathen's appearance led to an immediate exit of the courtyard. Arnyn's eyebrows raised minutely as she registered this meant they were leaving, and the Lieutenant's look further spurred her into action. "Well, they don't waste any time," she commented rather chipperly as she stepped into the stirrup and swung her other leg over Narsúlë's back,being careful with the sword at her hip in the process. "That I can get behind."

The ride to Harlond was quick, leaving no room for chit chat. After boarding the ship and stabling Narsúlë below deck, Arnyn made her way up to the others. She'd fed her horse some apple pieces and was eating the last piece as she joined everyone. The Lieutenant waited for everyone before speaking, ordering each squad to list up their skills per individual. Maintaining her silence, she chose to hang back and finish her piece of fruit instead of immediately taking the reins. She didn't want to impose on any of the other people in her team.

[Turin Ringhûn]

Turin

Turin grinned at Kaylinn’s comment of not being too late. He was about to make a reply when the Lieutenant and Captain came and led the groups. It didn’t seem to take too long to get to this ship, despite it actually being a decent distance away.

Once aboard the ship, the Lieutenant called out again, asking for each group to report on names, weapons, and skills in healing and tracking.

Turin turned to the squad mates he’d been assigned to work with. Part of him wanted to take charge because of his past as the head of the old Hyandaner division, but that would probably rub the others the wrong way, and that was something he really didn’t want to do. He cleared his throat.

“Well, that answers something I was going to ask back at the stables. I was going to ask what all skills we all had to see how we could best to work together. So, um, does anyone want to give the information? So, as I said earlier, I’m a swordsman, my secondary weapon is a bow. But I wouldn’t rely too much on it. I don’t use it very often, but I’m a decent shot. I can treat minor wounds, working with a blade requires knowledge in treating cuts. I haven’t done any tracking in a very very long time, so any skill in that area I may have had is probably so diminished to be of any use here.” He looked at the rest of the squad - Arinerlle, Arothir, Mourgan, and Kaylin to see what they wanted to do.

[Pele Alarion]

Pele Alarion

Observing Red's reaction to Ilisys and her absent-minded introductions, Pele couldn't help but think that their group might be rather interesting, what with all the different personalities. "Good to meet you again, Karis," she said by the way of greeting when the woman joined their small gathering. Now only one of them was missing.

It did not take long for the Commander to arrive; and yet he said no word to them, heading right off. Seeing Lieutenant Macardil get on his horse, and others beginning to stir, Pele gathered that they were moving off just like that. Apparently with this man in command it would be more important to watch carefully for his actions instead of a word of command.

Somewhat cautiously Pele got into the saddle and adjusted the position slightly, as she surveyed the surroundings for Morwen. No one had put her in charge, and yet she felt responsible to make sure that their group was in order. She guessed that the woman must be mad at her; and yet they were put in a group together and would have to cooperate for their squad to be fully functioning. There was no time to find her, so it remained to trust that she would join them sooner or later.

And off they went, at a steady pace, to Harlond and to the ship that was procured for them. Pele wondered how her horse would like being stuck on the ship, but then again perhaps some training had been done already. At any rate, the mare did not object when she led her below the deck and found her a place. "Good girl, Autumn," she muttered softly in the horse's ear, rubbing her neck. Swiftly she removed her things and saddle from the horse's back, made sure that the good beast had enough food and drink, and treated her with an apple, which the mare happily accepted.

Her four-legged companion settled in properly, Pele hurried to the deck to rejoin her group again and to hear the next instructions. She listened attentively to every word, though for now the Lieutenant only wanted them to provide information.

"Right," she said when Macardil had finished with instructing them. While she had no wish to position herself as the leader of the group, the task needed done, and someone would have to take on collection of information anyway, so it might just as well be her. Besides, clear orders helped her focus her mind on something else except her constant attempts at being herself - or what she used to be - though she suspected she was not doing a very good job of it.

Taking a step to the nearest barrel, she took a quill, dipped it in the ink and quickly penned up the names of everyone in the squad and numbered the required items beneath each. Putting her own name last, she filled in the information:
1. Ranger Pele Alarion
2. Primary weapon: longsword
3. Secondary weapon: recurve bow
4. Healing skills: proficient
5. Scouting/tracking: reasonable

"Do you each want to write down your details, or do you prefer me taking notes?" she asked the others, keeping the quill ready just in case. She figured they should just complete the task and have it done with, as not to keep the Lieutenant waiting for long.

[Galastel]

Arinelle

Arinelle chuckled at Kaylin's words - she knew exactly what her friend meant about forgetting half the interesting stuff when she was asked what's new. Only exception was if she had something recent and exciting to tell.
"I've been on extended leave," she answered in turn. "Went to Dol Amroth to see family and childhood friends. We ended up renting a felucca and sailing along the coast all the way north to the ruins of Lond Daer and back." Two months of freedom; they got up when they felt like it, made camp when they found a cove that looked pretty, sat around the fire talking and singing, and drank more than they should. "I only just returned, haven't even reclaimed my bed in the barracks yet. Went by my sister's, found a letter's been left with her, since messengers couldn't find me. Lucky I got back in time - would have hated to miss out on an adventure." She spoke lightly, but in truth she didn't like this change one bit. Sauron was gone perhaps, but clearly there were other threats. Civilians were being killed by orcs, again, just when they had finally believed themselves safe. How was Gondor supposed to defend them without a strong standing army?

Thullir passed by. He and Kaylin were one of those couples who created a warm and private space around them with a glance and a gesture. It was beautiful to watch.
Arothir and Mourgan joined them. "Man, you always so polite?" Arinelle smiled at Arothir. He seemed a decent sort. "My name's Arinelle. Ari or Arin for short."Mourgan - he was making Arinelle feel old. How long ago was it, he came to the midwinter ball with his mother? Turin, the one with the smart questions at the briefing, was the last to join them, and then Commander Amathen came, and they were off.

Commander Amathen puzzled Arinelle. Talking about them all being equals was well and good - she had little patience for officers who thought they were made of superior clay just because they held a higher rank. But there was a reason hierarchy in the military existed. A company needed a leader. Soldiers needed to know whose orders they were supposed to follow, and the officer needed to know it was his duty to give those orders. She'd have to see how he was in battle before she made up her mind about him, she decided. As for Lieutenant Macardil, it was clear he knew and understood the Commander well. But was he nothing but a glorified interpreter for Commander Amathen, or was there more to him?
What Arinelle was most curious about were the two men's credentials. She had never heard their names before, she knew nothing about them save that they'd been appointed to lead what remained of Gondor's military, while experienced officers she had served under had been passed over. What have they done to earn this distinction? What made them superior to all others in the King's eyes?

The ride to Harlond was a short one. Having taken care of Ezellohar, Arinelle got back above deck. Lieutenant Macardil, she had to struggle not to call him 'Lieutenant Mackerel' in her mind, was asking for their details. "I can take notes," she said to her team at once. Writing could make some people seasick even on a river boat.
Her own details she jotted quickly:

• Name: Arinelle Sarlayqua
• Main weapon: longsword
• Secondary weapon: longbow
• Healing skills: basic

She could bandage a wound, apply a tourniquet, immobilise a broken limb - the things that would buy a soldier time until a healer could be found. That was the extent of her healing skill.

Over the last item she had to think for a moment. What were the Lieutenant's expectations? She had been a soldier, not an Ithilien ranger. Riding ahead of the main force, finding the ambush, getting back without being seen - she could do that. She had keen eyes and could see from a distance the rising smoke of a cooking fire or the cloud of dust raised by marching feet. But reading from a footprint in the grass how long ago a man passed there, or recognising a particular bird's call as a warning - she knew from her brother in law that it could be done. She could not do it herself. In the end, she wrote

• Scouting/tracking: some.

[Red Daghul]

Red Daghul

There were a few conversations happening when seemingly out of no where the commander rode pass most of the gathered ranger with little to nothing on the level of acknowledgment of others so it seemed. His horse hooves moved pass, and maybe Red missed something, but that must have been his way of saying that they were off. Shaking his head his swung up onto Sadron who seemed eager to be off, maybe sensing his friends unease with the commander made him antsy. It didn't matter much the time had come to be on their way.

The ride didn't seem to take that long, and Red kept to his thoughts mostly. If he was being honest with himself he didn't much like the attitude of their leader, he seemed distant and cold. Sure he had said he would expect double the work from himself, but his actions didn't scream that out to the raven haired ranger. No, this leader would need to prove himself a bit more before the Dunedain gave his respect to him. This was sure to be a mission to go down in the books though.

Once they had reached the ship people went about getting their mounts and gear settled, and Red followed suit taking Sadron to his stale and removing the saddle and blanket from his back trying to hurry, but not trying to make his horse spend the trip in to much discomfort. Brushing him and feeding him he hummed the lines of a song. Finishing he pat the side of his mounts head and gave a farewell for now before heading up to the rest of the gathering rangers.

Soon they got their orders to compile their skills and weapons, and that someone should bring it all together and turn it in. Simple enough. Red watched Pele start working on hers. She seemed to hesitate at first though he wasn't clear why, but he didn't let the thought linger. "Do you each want to write down your details, or do you prefer me taking notes?" the female ranger offered.

It felt a little weird not taking up the offer, and yet felt a little bit rude to just assume that she would do it. In the end Red decided that he would accept the act of kindness and just let her write down his information rather than try and seem like he was to good to be helped. "If you are fine writing it down that works for me:

1. Ranger Red Daghul
2. Primary weapon: longsword
3. Secondary weapon: Duel knives
4. Healing skills: Basic
5. Scouting/tracking: Well trained

Thank you, if you want I can take them up afterwards" he said with a bow of his head figuring if she was going to write everything down she shouldn't have to do all the work, and with that he moved to the side so that others could finish.