View Full Version : Tales from Dor-en-Ernil II

Beren Camlost
01/Jul/2013, 10:20 AM
Come along with me
To a town beside the sea
We can wander through the forest
And do so as we please.

Come along with me
To a cliff under a tree.
Where we'll gaze upon the water
As an everlasting dream

~ Ashley Eriksson, from The Island Song


[Source: A City by the Sea, HERE (http://www.goodwp.com/large/201105/18123.jpg)]

Belfalas, or Great Shore, formed a part of Dor-en-Ernil, or the "Land of the Prince". The Prince in question was the Lord of Dol Amroth, who lived at the city bearing his name. At the start of the second millennium of the Third Age, Imrazôr the Númenórean lived in and ruled over Belfalas. He married Mithrellas, a Silvan Elf of Lothlórien, and their half-elven son - Galador - became the first Prince of Dol Amroth. South of Belfalas lay a wide Bay, which was named after it the Bay of Belfalas.

The northwestern arm of the Bay was a long cape called Andrast.The lands of Anfalas and Belfalas were along the northern coast of the bay. Dol Amroth was the chief city of Belfalas and was a vital port. It was built on a high promontory overlooking an inlet of the Bay of Belfalas that locals called "The Hill."

The Mouths of the Anduin opened onto the bay on its eastern coast. The island ofTolfalas was in the northeastern corner of the bay at the Mouths of the Anduin.

In addition to the Anduin, a number of rivers flowed into the Bay of Belfalas. On the northwest coast, the River Lefnui flowed south from Ered Nimrais - White Mountains - into the bay. The rivers Blackroot, Ciril, and Ringlo also began in the range and merged before streaming into the bay near Dol Amroth. The River Gilrain was joined by the River Serni and emptied into the bay just north of the Anduin. On the east coast of the bay, the River Harnen flowed into the bay from the Mountains of Shadow.

If you dwell in Minas Tirith, travelling distance to Dol Amroth covers easily over 300 miles. On horseback, journeying with average speed and with reasonable rest breaks is 10 to 12 days.

This is a free RPG thread for the noble families, commoners, and visitors of Dor-en-Ernil; writers may roleplay loosely or develop RPGs of their own or with others.

Tales in this thread centre on the region of Belfalas, including the lands east of Ered Tharonion - the Mountains of the Lofty Pines - and west of swift Gilrain.

Use this thread to add colour and events into your character’s every day life. Fill those spaces left between the harbours and inns, have a walk on the street, or visit your friend, this is the place to live a day with free descriptions, from dusk till dawn and to the next sunset. You might also write of quests which take you all over the Prince's Land. Also, you might roleplay your character's home or estate which lies outside the walls of Dol Amroth, but within the borders of this fair fief of Gondor.

Click HERE (http://www.lotrplaza.com/showthread.php?16158-Dol-Amroth-Roleplaying-Guide)to visit the Dol Amroth RP Guide.
Click HERE (http://www.lotrplaza.com/showthread.php?34170-Ost-en-Ernil-The-Castle-of-the-Prince-IV)to visit Ost-en-Ernil IV.
Click HERE (http://www.lotrplaza.com/showthread.php?20144-Character-Biographies-Dol-Amroth)to visit the Dol Amroth Biographies.

Hints and Tips
- In character posts only please.
- Posts over 300 characters preferred.
-Signatures on, if you want.
- Please title your stories.

28/Jul/2013, 06:18 PM

Lady Eressild and Lord Edhelmir Azrubêl
At Castle Azrubêl
Overlooking Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil

The long ornate table was bedazzling with food and drink, arrayed on platters of glazed hue and set as though for some almighty banquet. Yet those here present numbered only two of noble blood. Vastly outnumbered by those who stood at hand, ever waiting to pour drink, cut food, or else aid their esteemed lord and lady of the manor in their every waking task. The silence of the room floored all, as conversation was nonetheless reduced to the neat clink of silver knife on china plates. The meticulous march of the hands on a great clock counted the time that passed without one word being offered up.

At one end there sat the Lady Eressild, her clear blue eyes as shining as the sea under the golden rays of sun. Her dress a shimmer of the finest aquamarine silk, gathered in and released elsewhere to allow the perfect silhouette of her still lithe lady-like form. Far extended, at the long reach of the opposite end of the table there sat Lord Edhelmir, his fair brow wrinkled with the effort of forced company. His attire as befitting his rank and class, his fingers yet stained by ink, a harmless hazard of both of his favourite pastimes : painting and cartography.

The duty of breaking fast with his sister-in-law had long been strained affair. Ever since he was expected to observe the proper standing in place of his brother. Eressild had long been used to managing Lond Côl when Araldur had gone to war or else, and she was far the better practiced in the art. Lord Edhelmir, once as the younger brother, had been expected to seek out means of vocation elsewhere. The estate would not be divided amongst claims of inheritance. That was how it maintained it's wealth. But e'en the best laid plans can be obstructed by fates unseen. And now he was captive to his own esteemed position, the eldest male of direct line. Peasants in their field, fishermen about the shores, and even field mice about the long green grass: all knew more freedom than he had of late.

"Am I correct in assuming that the Margrave of Estennin has departed from these lands, my lord ?" Eressild queried finally, and Edhelmir raised his glance to meet her waiting gaze, with some exhaustion of the fool courtesy. She knew very well the Margrave had departed. She had certified his entertainments and made sure that he was treated according to his station throughout his great length of stay. A lengthy torment it had been as well. The mere memory of taking their brash, outspoken, but vastly influencial guest out hawking would manage to ruin Edhelmir's want for such a sport for certain a considerable time.

"You assume correctly, my lady, as ever," he replied sedately.
"It is one thing for my daughter to withdraw her hand from the prospect of marriage," Lady Eressild made clear. "It is another thing entirely to forego the visitation of another noble who sought only to break words and cement grand association. While it may prove your whim to venture far and barely chance about the lands you are proposed to govern, I had hoped that we had laid a better understanding of her duties as a lady about this estate."

"She is a knight now, promised to the service of Prince Imrahil's order," Edhelmir spoke up against his better judgement, but on his beloved niece's behalf. "Doubtless her mind was so vastly concerned with duty to the crown that the Margrave's intentions were overlooked. Isys is a lady who would not venture on such a slight deliberately."
"Regardless, the Margrave departed under a cloud of brooding discontent," Eressild decided, even while admitting that she had witnessed their guest's exit with her own eyes, that very morning. "If Isys be so concerned about the reputation of this house, she should look past it's military promise and rest her eyes awhile on more courtly etiquette."

"She will not take with me, to visit at the court," the lord intervened. "I have made efforts on this matter afore now. To force her to present in a ball gown instead of armour would be as though to cast a song bird unto a small cage, however elegantly gilded. Frightened and unsure, she will find small comfort in the experience. She is but .. shy, I am quite sure. And those noble friends I would otherwise have had her well acquainted with throughout the years are .. well, um."
The reminder of their lost noble friends, for the most part dead, and the consequences that had been far-reaching of the fateful corsair ship disaster were not lost on any in the room.

"If she will go not to the court, then I shall have to bring the court to Lond Côl ," Eressild decided, causing all eyes to fall about her, as though mistaken. "My daughter may pride herself on being the bride to her estate entire, rather than a husband who would wrest her from our loving grasp, and she may have accomplished more than we dared imagine Archams School might bestow upon her. But she is, by and large a lady of House Azrubêl. And if the Swan Knights be the only thing that may warrant her interest, then swan knights we shall gather, for their order is said to be both chivalrous and pure. Summon for them all, and their kin also, that she may be hard-pressed to refuse attendance. It will be made clear that knights are as bound to the laws of social thrallship as the rest of us, if not more so."

"My lady," Edhelmir gave voice to his concern at the proposal. "We have not hosted a party since that of ...," he lowered his voice. "Since my brother's day," he finished.
"Then it is far time we gave thought to do so again," the lady would not be dissuaded. "The past is done. And I will not have it said that House Azrubêl be frightened off throwing a party by the scourges of Umbar. We will not submit to fear. My daughter has risen in arms, and we shall proceed likewise."

"Well, it can not prove of worse conclusion than the last, I suppose," Edhelmir conceded, though privately he feared the promised event with as much apprehension as he felt quite sure he niece would also. "I will leave such matters in your more than capable hands," he promised.
Eressild glowed with the light of recognition. She was more than equal to this task, and for once it would be known that she had done the more vast labours necessary. Balls and parties were a lady's affairs, after all. Edhelmir saw her already over-brimming enthusiasm, and departed swiftly to his chambers.
"Be sure to include Lord Berendîr," he added, gladdened at the thought. The notion of such royal nobles of House Imrazôr as guests would be a thing that Eressild may not have even dared imagine yet. And at least if they came, he would have someone to speak to. Swan knights .. he had never held that honour and could not imagine what he might have to say to any one of them, if the conversation turned to battles won and glory gained. His thought was of more gentle things, but Berendîr had always been an interest to converse with, whensoever Edhelmir chanced to Ost-en-Ernil himself. The younger man of royal blood was already a scholar equal to many of Edhemir's greater age.

"Elen," Eressild called the attention of the woman hanging on her every word. "Have a list be drawn up of all Swan Knights and their significant relations. I will have the invitations dispatched this very day."
"Yes, my lady," Elen replied, excitedly. "Right away, my lady." She loved her fine and beautiful lady, and knew great delight in working for so highly embellished a household. It would be a joy to have such splendours shown off for once. They did get so few visitors these days, and far between.

"Ensure that the remnants of this table be bestowed on all those that volunteered about my daughter's search party, whensoever they might entreat to return," the lady Eressild made good her word for more than twenty of the local people had surrendered their chores for the day to seek for their beloved lady. She would not see them suffer for her daughter's errant notions.
Then, by way of an afterthought, the lady added. "Oh and Elen, have it made clear that this ball shall NOT be held aboard a ship, of any calibre." Eressild paled at the very thought, and memory, despite herself. The notion was far wiser after all. It was unlikely that any ball hosted by the House of Azrubêl should ever end in fatalities again. But one could never be too certain ..

Lost Tales
23/Aug/2013, 05:09 AM
http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y201/songofalbion/Lotr%20PC%20Icons/image_zps6271aeec.jpg http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y201/songofalbion/Lotr%20PC%20Icons/image_zpse09f96d3.jpg
Lord Berendir and Lady Barawen
Ost-en-Ernel (The Castle of the Prince)

"What is that?"

Lord Berendîr glanced up from reading a parchment at the cool, commanding voice of his wife. A slight frown marred his handsome features marking his instinctive reaction to her tone and presence. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her it was no business of hers. However, the letter he held in his hands concerned her as well. Quietly he handed it over to his lady.

With a swish of her heavy silk robes, Lady Barawen made it across the room and plucked the letter out of the proffered hand. She barely spared her husband a glance before perusing the contents of the letter.

"An invitation!" she said a few seconds later. Lady Barawen turned to look at her husband, "from Lady Eressild of Azrubêl?"

Berendîr said nothing, but turned her back on her to gaze out the long windows of his apartment. This did not seem to bother the lady though. Instead she went on puzzling over the invitation, which stirred something of annoyance in Berendîr's breast.

"I really am surprised. A ball! That woman hasn't thrown a party in years. I wonder what she is up to with this. Has probably decided that it is hight time her manly daughter settled down. I should think she did! I do not approve of women becoming nights, let me tell you!"

Berendîr twitched.

"Are we going? I think we should go. Wouldn't do for us to not be there, I think. Although, we shouldn't be too eager about it. Not saying that I am. No doubt she'll need us there to lend her ball some consequence."

Berendîr couldn't take it anymore. "She does not need us to lend her anything. And you would do well to speak well of her, Barawen. As for her reasons for a ball, I am sure they are of no consequence to us or anyone else." He swung around to stare her in the eye, "And I would tell you now not to speak of Lady Isys in the manner you just did. If anything Barawen you are would I would consider a manly woman. Leave you vicious tongue at home when you attend this ball, please!"

Barawen's green eyes flashed with fire. "You dare to talk to me so, my lord?"

The anger that had been so palpable only moments ago in Berendîr's own eyes, died to an ember. He seemed to deflate hating that he had had the outburst he did. It was not because he feared Barawen, but he hated anger and quarrells. He had learnt long ago to ignore her caustic tongue. But sometimes he found it hard to bite his tongue when she attacked those who were close to him. Not that Berendir was close to either Lady Eressild or her daughter. In fact he barely new them. But he did have a very high regard for the lady's brother-in-law, Lord Edhelmir. He was a gentleman and a scholar, and though their meetings with each other had been rarer than he would have liked, those few had been memorable for hours spent in easy camaraderie discussing matters that were close to their hearts - history, lore, literature.

Berendîr sighed. But his voice was still firm when he said, "One day that tongue of yours will get you into trouble, my lady. I wonder what you shall do then. However, please refrain from wagging it in my presence. I cannot endure it much longer!"

The letter was crushed firmly between her strong fingers, but Barawen bit her lip. She too had learnt some things about her husband. While it was, for the most part, easy to push him around and bully him, when he spoke in that particular tone and that particular matter she would do best to listen to him, for even a dog, for all the bullying it can take, will suddenly turn around a bite you hard when pushed too far.

"I will see you at dinner, my lord." Her voice trembled with surpressed fury, but it was with profound relief that Berendir heard the angry rustle of her skirts leave his apartments.

The day was slowly waning and the sky outside was awash with brilliant hues of orange, gold, red, blue, purple and pink. In the distance the think horizon of the grey-blue sea sparkled incessantly as though to make as much as it can from the last light of day before night should fall. White sales could be seen like little dots of paper merrily afloat on the water.

Berendîr felt nothing but emptiness.

05/Sep/2013, 11:26 AM
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Back in Minas Tirith...

“A letter for you, father!” The strong, clear voice rang through the stones of the small house, nestled in its cozy corner of the sixth circle. Kamion swept the grey cloak off his shoulders with one arm and settled it on the hook inside the door, while his free hand turned the heavy parchment envelope over and examined it. Rain fell heavily in the city, and he had not had the opportunity to look at the missive yet, forced to keep it dry beneath the cloak. The paper was heavy and cream colored, and sealed with a dark plaque of wax. “A letter?” Another voice, a slightly softer, reedier version of the first, replied. “Who can be writing to me?” With the aid of his knobbly blackthorn stick, Darellon Balakân made his way around the corner and into the entryway. His bad leg plagued him in ill weather, and today was no exception. “Any number of people, I imagine. But this looks like something special. Come and sit and let’s find out.” Together the Dúnedain made their way into the kitchen, where Darellon settled into one of the chairs at their heavy wooden table. Kamion deposited the letter before his father and took down a pair of mugs from the shelf. In no time at all, two steaming mugs of tea stood on the table, and Kamion shoved one across it as he too sank into a chair, and lifted his eyebrows inquisitively.

“Well, father? What is it?” Darellon was sitting quite still, blunt old fingers drumming against his lips, before sliding down to stroke his beard. “It’s from Lord Edhelmir.” From over the rim of his mug, Kamion’s cobalt eyes betrayed a note of surprise. “Edhelmir?” The man had become the head of House Azrubêl in Dol Amroth some twenty years ago under tragic circumstances- for which the pair of Dúnedain had been present. Though Darellon had a long association with the house, he had spent but little time in Dol Amroth since then and Kamion, though he had spent more, had not visited Edhelmir since that day. “Yes,” Darellon mused, nodding slowly, “it seems that his sister-in-law- Araldur’s wife, Lady Eressild, you know- is throwing a party. A ball, apparently.” Kamion nearly choked on his tea. “Not at sea, I hope!” Darellon snorted and quirked an eyebrow at his son. “No, I should think not. But why is this relevant to us, one might wonder.” Kamion shrugged, raking a hand back through his hair, still damp, to stop it from dripping into his eyes. “How, then?” The old grey eyes twinkled from within their mass of wrinkles. “We’ve been invited.” This time, Kamion really did choke, and spluttered on his tea as Darellon laughed.

When he had his breath back, Kamion sat back in the chair and spread his hands. “Well, that was unexpected. You’ve not heard from them in how many years? But surely it’s just for you, father, I scarcely know these people, I was only there once or twice before that night, I should be surprised if Edhelmir even remembers me. The first time we met he was just a boy, and the last was hardly an occasion for establishing close friendships.” Darellon shook his head. “Oh no, it very clearly specifies that you are invited too. You must have made some sort of impression on Edhelmir that night. Or perhaps they're only being polite, heavens know I’m not the life of the party these days. And as for dancing, well,” the aged Dúnadan slapped his leg, “not really my forte any more!” Kamion reached across the table to take the letter between his fingers and examined it. “Hmm. Well, shall we attend?” Darellon shook his head. “I can’t travel that far right now. And if I did, I’d be shut up in bed the whole time and miss all the fun.” The parchment crackled crisply as Kamion zipped it shut decisively. “Best get a reply off then! I know a courier who is headed to Dol Amroth this very evening, and he can take your apologies back to Lord Edhelmir.”

“Apologies?” It was Darellon’s turn to sit back in his chair now, and he folded his arms across his chest. “Oh no. I merely said that I can’t travel that far. But one of us must go.” Kamion stared, his arms moving to imitate his father’s gesture. “Surely you can’t mean I should go? Father, I’m an afterthought on the invitation to be sure, and some of us still have duties you know. How can I justify abandoning the city to go to a party? No, I have far better things to do with my time.” “Surely you have a bit of leave coming,” Darellon retorted, waving a hand, “and hasn’t Arin been pestering you to visit anyway? And apart from the rudeness of refusing, I’m not going to be around forever, you know,” he looked up at Kamion from beneath bushy grey brows, “and the day might come when you find the connection to House Azrubêl more useful than you think. It will cost you little, and might even be fun, too. I can manage while you’re away- who knows, I might go and steal some of your students, if the rain lets up!” Kamion’s expression was somewhere between morose, consternation, and ausement as he looked at his father. Much as his protests had been in good faith, Darellon had effectively cut them off, in easy and unfazed style. And Arin had been growing ever more insistent. Kamion arose with a sigh, and pushed back his chair from the table.

“I must write the Montagnas.”

<Morwen edit: This thread is now closed. Thanks for playing!>