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  1. Set before and during the

    events of the Revenge of Rhudaur RPG

    Post One

    "The name Calselda's father gave
    her was
    Raul
    íra, which means Lionsong in the
    the High Speech of the Noldor."
    ~ Aimira Mordagnir - a sage of Oiolossë

    and the mother of
    Tavari, Arasoron, and Aigronding, c. Fourth Age 3194,
    from The House of Itanoeva: A Family History



    - (Source: Elle Fanning,
    HERE) -



    Dramatis Personae

    Calselda Dimrel / Raulira Mordagnir ~ An elf-girl, Aigronding's illegitimate daughter. Elmarya's best friend.

    Elmarya Ancalënóna ~ An elf-girl. Telkelion's daughter, Calselda's best friend.

    Anne Crown, called Melimakris ("Faircleaver," Sindarin) ~ A mortal Elf-friend and Nathan's wife.
    A Hill Watcher. Accompanying the elven girls to Imladris.

    Nathan Crown ~ A mortal. Anne's husband. A Hill Watcher. Accompanying the elven girls to Imladris.

    Carl Speedwell ~ A young teenage Hill Watcher. Accompanying the elven girls to Imladris.

    Matt Rogers ~ A Hobbit bounder. Friend of Aigronding and Telkelion. Accompanying the elven girls to Imladris.

    Tourmaline Ashlock~ Matt's half-sister, a hobbit bounder. Friend of Aigronding and Telkelion. Accompanying the elven girls to Imladris.

    Gilnir, called The Oarman once upon a time in Noonvale - An elven frontiersman. Rilya's husband. Fostered Calselda for Roina.

    Rilya ~ An elf-woman, a healer. Gilnir's wife and Edan's daughter. Fostered Calselda for Roina.

    Edan Amrun ~ A High Elf. The father of Rilya. A close friend of Roina and Aigronding.

    Aigronding Mordagnir ~ A High Elf. The Herald of Elrond. Roina's lover and Calselda's father.

    Roina Nilthoron ~ A High Elf noblewoman. Aigronding's lover and Calselda's mother.

    Telkelion Hender ~ The Arhesto of the Lindon Guard and the chief physician of Círdan's court. Elmarya's father.

    Girion Coruben
    ~ An elven sailor. Telkelion's friend.

    Elrond Half-Elven - The Lord of Rivendell.

    Aileen Camlost ~ A young Morgul sorceress. Beren's daughter and the Princess of Rhudaur.

    Ruffians and vile things.


    *

    Chapter Two: The First Debate



    Calselda Dimrel and Elmarya Ancalenona

    Bindbale Wood,
    the Northfarthing of the Shire


    The black wolfhound of Valnor nuzzled Elmarya Ancalënóna awake.

    "Good morning, my friend," said Calselda Dimrel cheerfully. She sat astride Polodren, her beautiful blonde hair shimmering lustrously in the sunlight streaming through the tangled woods. "We have breakfast!" she said happily, nodding at the two dead hares Polodren had dropped from his mouth.

    Elmarya rubbed the sleep out of her green eyes. "Those look certainly more appetizing than the blue jay my cat's eating," She said, glancing at the bird Nimmirel was gnawing on.

    The elf girls roasted the hares and ate them with the juniper berries and Blushing Wood Mushrooms Calselda had found while Elmarya was sleeping. They cautiously drank what little drinking water they had left, careful not to take too much.

    "So what are we going to do?" Elmarya asked, looking at her greasy hands, wishing she had napkins to use. Lacking those, she wiped them on her tattered dress that was already filthy.

    Calselda took the Arnorian map out of its leather case and spread it on the grassy earth. "We are here, of course." She pointed at the western environs of Bindbale Wood. "There is a fairly large town called Needlehole not too far away." Calselda moved her index finger from the forest to a town in the Westfarthing of the Shire; between the spaces was open country and there was a long road running through it southeast toward Hobbiton, a village Elmarya knew was located near The Hill where Frodo Baggins lived. "We could get a boat there, one big enough to transport ourselves and Polodren through Rushock Bog." She brought her finger low toward the marsh. "We would continue along the Water," Calselda further explained, tracing the current of the Shire's main river, a tributary of the Brandywine, "until we reach Hobbiton." The tip of her finger came to a pause at the city in the heartland of Hobbit country.

    "If it weren't for three major flaws this would be a brilliant plan..." Elmarya bit her lower lip, seeing how crestfallen Calselda looked. "One, we have no money," she said, starting to count their problems on her fingers. "Two, the halflings regard rivers and boats with deep misgivings, and not many of them can swim. Three, many hobbits are afraid of elves-"

    "Didn't you say you have a friend named Matt Rogers in the Shire?"
    Calselda interrupted quietly, downcast.

    "Well, he stays at Michel Delving but his sisters, Pam and Tourmaline, dwell in Hobbiton and Dwaling. They are Fallohides like Matt."

    "Fallohides?"
    Elmarya asked, arching a flaxen brow.

    Elmarya blinked. Wasn't this subject common knowledge to Elves of Eriador? "Hobbits are divided into three kindreds: Harfoots, Fallohides, and Stoors. Fallohides, the least numerous, are a northerly branch and are more friendly with Elves than other halflings. Matt's family have known my parents since the Wandering Days and they visit me and my parents in Lindon sometimes."

    "The Wandering Days?" Calselda repeated, shaking her head in confusion, an understone of frustration slipping into her honeyed voice slightly.

    Elmarya gritted her teeth, tugging on her dirty golden hair. How sheltered is she? Elmarya almost regretted not asking Lothwen to come along, risking Lindariel's pursuit. "It's a term used by Hobbits referring to a centuries-old period when they journeyed from the upper vales of the Anduin into Eriador. Anyways. Matt usually vacations with his sisters in the spring so I was hoping to find him at Dwaling or Hobbiton."

    "Dwaling seems far away," Calselda said dismally.

    "Then we'll make for Hobbiton, taking the road southwest for part of the way before heading directly south through the country," Elmarya decided. "We'll ride Polodren together, if that's alright?"

    The wolfhound of Valinor whined, looking away almost guiltily.

    "That's fine but you'll need to get a horse in town because Polodren only lets me mount him, I'm sorry,"
    said Calselda, blushing.

    "That's quite alright, I understand," said Elmarya, reaching to stroke the dog's thick sable fur. She knew from stories that wolfhounds of Valinor were as noble and sentient as Great Eagles; they did not like to be ridden. Even Huan himself reluctantly allowed
    Lúthien Tinúviel on his back. "Halflings don't ride horses much but I'm sure Matt or one of his sisters can let us borrow some money and I can get a pony in Hobbiton...if they don't me call me an idiot and demand I return to Mithlond."

    The girls readied themselves to leave the forest. "Nimmirel, it's time to go," said Elmarya, opening her backpack. The cat hissed furiously at her owner, white hair standing on end as she arched her back threateningly. The sudden, unexpected display of anger frightened Calselda who probably had never seen a cat before in her life, making the elf girl stand rigidly in terror, blue eyes bulging wide. "Get in the bag, you pettifogging nuisance!" Elmarya yelled at her stubborn pet. Nimmirel showed her claws, shrieking in warning when Elmarya approached. "Look, grumpy cat, I know almost all my dirty clothes smell utterly foul -" Nimmirel yowled in agreement "- and that I haven't bathed in a fortnight, but you must tolerate my terrible hygiene for a few days longer at least. Please. Soon you'll be able to walk around as much as you want and when we travel you can stay in a clean, comfy fleece-lined saddlebag all to yourself, okay?" The cat, loosing a loud piercing cry of sadness and distress, hopped reluctantly into the Elmarya's backpack and settled herself on the reeking, dusty, sweat-stained clothes.

    "Capalda, we're leaving!"
    Calselda cried to the sunny forest ceiling as she sat atop Polodren with Elmarya. The soft and silky violet squirrel of Evendim appeared, alighting on the teenager's lap with a blue juniper berry still clamped in her mouth. Calselda glanced over her shoulder at Elmarya with a lopsided grin, barely restraining her laughter.

    "Oh, go ahead," Elmarya muttered, rolling her eyes, "laugh it up!"

    Calselda loosed peals of silvery laughter as they raced out of the sun-dappled woods and into the light of breaking dawn.



    *


    The Pursuit
    T.A. 23, Lairë ("Summer", Quenya)

    (Private)



    Rivendell
    Three Days previous


    "I can surely lead you, yes,"
    Valion replied to Rilien, guiding his horse across the bridge.

    "It will take us hours to reach the Hoarwell,"
    Roina mentioned grimly, following her friend and Aigronding's son. "Are you sure you can find Almarëa's tracks? It's rained recently. You do know that, Rilien, yes?"

    "I wish you were more positive about his this,"
    Aigronding muttered. He was calmer now but he was still in a sorrowful mood and Roina's pessimism wasn't lifting his spirits much.

    "I wish you were being sensible about this," she snapped, "and Rilien and Valion, too. Let
    Almarëa have some time alone. Neither of you are respecting her privacy. Each home she ever had in Middle-earth was destroyed, her brother was killed, and her parents are gone. Let the woman grieve, for pity's sake!"

    "We will find her,"
    Aigronding said stubbornly, ignoring everything she just said. "We can go with
    Almarëa. She needs our protection."

    Roina snorted.

    "You know she can't cook decently.
    Almarëa will burn the first forest she encamps in."

    "Following a trail of torched earth, an easy way to locate
    Almarëa
    ," Meril Duvain commented wryly, drawing throaty laughter from Eilianthel.

    "It seems Roina's pessimism is catching,"
    Valion remarked with a chuckle.

    "I didn't mean to start a joke-"

    "I was quite serious,"
    Meril, interrupting her father-in-law, responded with a light trace of humor in her voice.

    The company journeyed across the East-West Road and r
    eached the the Last Bridge without incident, luckily. A red and purple kingfisher patiently waiting for a fish to swim near his nest saw the elves as they dismounted at the riverbank and sang melodiously to them. Aigronding stood still to enjoy its pleasant msuic for a moment, smiling wanly. "Come on, let's get this over with," said Roina softly, steering Aigronding urgently away from the halatir, trying to be kinder. Roina loved him deeply. Although she didn't agree pursuing
    Almarëa was a wise decision, she did feel sorry about upbraiding him so rudely.

    "This is where
    Almarëa's trail went cold," Valion told Rilien, leading the older elf northeast of the ancient bridge. Meril interlaced her fingers with his tenderly, hoping she could cheer her melancholy husband as he faced the direction of the Ettenmoors.

    "Please tell me she didn't head that way, Rilien," Aigronding pleaded with him. The mountainous region was rife with trolls, especially Ettins, the brutal two-headed sort. They were stupid but fought their prey viciously.

    Last edited by Aigronding Mordagnir; 09/Jan/2015 at 09:53 PM.
    "How long do you want it to be?" - Steven C.
    "As long as it needs to be." - Aimmi G.


  2. Almarëa Mordollwen's Avatar
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    #102

    The Pursuit

    The Pursuit
    T.A. 23, Lairë

    (Private)


    The Last Bridge

    Valion
    had not lied; there was little indeed to be seen, despite the mud around the riverbanks; the days of heavy rain had washed out anything useful immediately around the bridge itself. If only he had reached Rivendell earlier - but there was no time to dwell on that now. It was still possible to pick up her trail; even Al
    marëa couldn't vanish into thin air. He had made it this far. And a great deal of tracking could be as much about getting into someone's head, understanding how they thought, and how they would make decisions, as it was about following a flattened blade of grass or a crushed flower. The golden-haired elf began walking around in an ever-increasing spiral, inspecting the ground carefully.

    "Recapping what we know." Rilien​ was not actually talking directly to the rest of the group; he was half thinking out loud, though just conscious enough of the others' presence to slightly edit the checklist he was running through in his head, picking up the train of events after Almarëa​'s departure from Lindon. What Aig and the others had possibly not fully processed yet was that for Rilien, this was not the beginning, but was just over two weeks into the pursuit, and the golden-haired ellon had already spent days trying to follow Almarëa's trail.

    "She leaves Lindon, in the middle of the night, without a horse, with her weapons, a pack, and basic supplies." Mentally Rilien noted that it was just possible that Raina knew more about Almarëa's departure than she had been willing to let on; but that was no help: she had made her opinion of Ril clear in no uncertain terms, and was certainly not forthcoming. Admittedly she had not seemed concerned for Almarëa's safety, which was some comfort, but neither had Rilien shared his own information with the fiery elleth.

    "Presumably she thought I - or someone else -" the "someone else" was added as an afterthought, a quick cover for the fact that undoubtedly if Almarëa expected anyone to track her out of Lindon, it was him - "- might track her; she did the best job I've ever seen her do of hiding her tracks and laying false trails. Initially I thought she had headed north through the Ered Luin; then east to the Emyn Uial and north; but then she turned and headed back south again, towards the road but not on it. She's stayed off the roads and away from cities, crowds, and townsfolk; no one along the road had seen anyone like her. South through the Weather Hills, which is where I lost her trail completely."

    Rilien glanced at Aig and the others. "Correct me if I'm wrong on any of this. She arrives in Rivendell three days ago. Says - that she needs time to herself and wants to travel alone for awhile. No other information? She said nothing else about where she was going, why, or what specifically caused her to leave Lindon?" The ellon was doing his level best to piece together every scrap of information he could find. "Aig begs her to reconsider. She says she will stay. Sometime that night, she leaves - after everyone is asleep. With Vaiwë, weapons, and some supplies, but not that much. She heads west - back towards Lindon, along the road but not on it, to the Last Bridge. We've had two days of rain since which has wiped out tracks." He paused for a moment, checking to ensure he hadn't missed anything.

    "She said she needed time alone." Rilien left for his own, private, consideration how likely or not that was to be true. "Seems to me she'd head for either the top of a mountain peak, or the middle of a dense forest." A wry grin accompanied that statement; Rilien was all too familiar with Almarëa's adventurous nature. And in happier times they - and others - had explored much of Middle-earth together. She had had a number of preferred haunts in the Encircling Mountains before Gondolin fell, and even in Rivendell, she'd not lost that love of the heights: the western slopes of the Misty Mountains were not far away, after all. "She intends to make it difficult for anyone-" Me, in particular. "-to track her. And ..." He briefly debated the wisdom of what he was about to say, but surely it was clear to Aigronding and Valion​ already; they would not think it too significant. "...she may not be considering her own safety or well-being at all when choosing a route."

    Deep breath. Now what could all of that information tell them, that was the real question. "Possibilities. One, she actually means to head east, over the Misty Mountains, or into them, at least. Lorien, Greenwood, Fangorn - all on the other side of the mountains. The initial departure west towards Lindon is then a ruse. Also, I must confess that the choice to head back west, from the direction she'd come, puzzles me."

    For all intents and purposes, it probably sounded as though
    Rilien was sitting at home having a logical debate with himself for amusement's sake, not trying to find one of his dearest friends. The straightforward, even cold, logic of the whole process was in part a coping mechanism, and in part simply the most effective way he could see out of this dilemma. A similar process, of trying to figure out how Almarëa​ would think and where she would go, had led him to Rivendell in the first place.

    "Two. She's actually headed south along the Gwathló to Lond Daer and the sea. Unlikely." Why Rilien​ deemed that Almarëa heading to or over the sea was unlikely, he did not mention.


    "Three. By alone she truly means alone - away from civilization, all known kingdoms, and all settled lands. Her options are then ultimately far north, far east, and far south. North ..." He paused, thinking through the implications of what he'd just said. South was unlikely. North, on the other hand ... "Heading north through the Ettenmoors, through or around Angmar, and then north or east into the Forodwaith. Or east through the mountains north of Greenwood." Much as he did not like the sound of that, inasmuch as it meant that Almarëa had definitively thrown all regard for her own safety out of the window, it seemed the most likely of the options thus far.

    He mounted again, and turned his steed to face the Ettenmoors. "Let's head north and see if we can pick up her tracks once she's well off the road. There's still enough mud around that Vaiwë's footprints, at least, should be visible, if she has headed that way."
    Last edited by Almarëa Mordollwen; 06/Jan/2015 at 01:56 AM.

  3. The Pursuit
    T.A. 23, Lairë ("Summer", Quenya)

    (
    Private With Almarëa)



    The Last Bridge


    Aigronding, Valion, and Roina slowly followed Rilien, cautious of disrupting his work space as he inspected the area; meanwhile, Meril and Eilianthel stood closer to the Last Bridge on the lookout for trouble with Nimlos but they remained attentive to the tracker's reply.

    "It would be safer for her if she remains in seclusion in the Blue Mountains or the Hills of Twilight but-"

    "Where is the fun in that?"
    Aigronding finished with a smile as wry as Rilien's, knowing how adventurous Almar
    ëa was. "And, like Rilien said, we would probably find her in elven communities and she knows I have mortal friends in Arnor. It would make sense if she loses us somewhere to the west or north because we haven't frequented those corners much since we left Balar in the Second Age." He stared at Rilien, arching a golden eyebrow curiously.

    "Why would Almar
    ëa pass over the sea?" he asked. "I understand that if she wanted to return to the Undying Lands she would avoid Lindon and leave Endor by way of Lond Daer but I think Allie would get bored in Valinor; she wouldn't last a day in the Blessed Realm. There's so much land here in Middle-earth she would explore before even thinking of heading back west so soon. Plenty of mountaintops to ensconce herself in and many dense forests to conceal her whereabouts as you supposed."

    He furrowed his brow, a creeping sensation of unease crawling up his back, eventually tingling the back of his neck. "Do you think she would take Vaiw
    ë with her onboard ship and try losing us at Umbar, perhaps?"

    He eyed Rilien closely.

    "Unlikely because the nation is unfriendly toward elvenkind, yes?" he tilted his head. "Is there something you know in particular about
    Almarëa and the sea that none of us are aware of, mellon?" He swept a hand over his blond hair with a shuddering breath as Rilien listed the regions she might be traversing...all of them were perilous. "Is it really necessary to jeopardize her own life?" he muttered under his breath sorrowfully, shaking his head.

    "If she feels so guilty and miserable and wants to commit suicide, plunging Calanon's dagger into her stomach should be the simplest solution,"
    Roina said murmuringly to herself than anyone else but Aigronding heard her audible remark and shot his best friend a dark look for a brief moment. "Alright," said Aigronding with a resigned, somber tone, as he turned back to Rilien, "we'll head north through the Ettenmoors and see if we can
    Vaiwe's hoof marks in the mud."

    "You do realize there are trolls in the Coldfells north of Rivendell, yes?"
    asked Roina, anger saturating her melodic voice, summoning the other women and Nimlos to follow with a wave of her riding glove.

    "Indeed," Aigronding said through his teeth.

    "We don't have a choice, Roina," Valion said in a softer tone but his gentleness did not placate her.

    "What if we're surrounded and can't fight our way out?"

    Aigronding ignored her and Valion's mouth moved but no words came out of it.

    Roina looked at Meril as the pale elleth flanked her but Duvain regarded Nilthoron cooly. Yes, she wouldn't leave her husband's side even if they were following Almar
    ëa in vain and, no, it was not up for debate. Roina, biting her lip, gave Eilianthel a pleading look but Aigronding's daughter blushed, dropping her gaze. She would not abandon her father. Roina sighed heavily enough for everyone to hear. I wish Raina was here....

    "Someone approaches," Aigronding alerted Rilien quickly, bringing his mount to a sudden halt. He heard a rider's horse galloping out of the west.

    Raina appeared suddenly as if Irmo himself had answered Nilthoron's silent wish.

    Roina tried very hard not to laugh but she really couldn't help it, bursting into a flurry of giggles with Eilianthel who kept pointing at Rilien and Aigronding and Valion, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Meril said nothing, just giving her white brow a smack once in frustration or disbelief.

    "If you're not going to help us, return to wherever it is you came from!" Valion hollered at the willful, pugnacious redhead who had the penchant for starting trouble...or intensifying it. Raina, undeterred, rode straight towards them and wheeled her horse to block their path.

    "Sauron's luck!" Aigronding said with an astonished expression but his shock subsided seconds later, replaced by barely controlled fury. "She's not going to stop us," Mordagnir, seething, assured Rilien and then snapped vociferously at Raina, riding his horse between her and Rilien: "You're in our way but you can be easily forced aside!" the arrogant High Elf threatened her boldly.

    Roina stopped laughing, the flush filling her smooth ivory skin vanishing along with her mirth. Easily? No. Raina was a deadly fighter. Roina trotted her palomino toward Mordagnir's white destrier, hoping to prevent a duel from taking place. She shook her head, heart hammering, and dug her fingers into his forearm. Nimlos provided her own reinforcement, whining at her master and beating the air with her long snow-white tail worriedly; the hound, a sentient creature, knew how lethal Raina could be and did not relish to enter a contest between elves, even to defend her beloved owner.
    Last edited by Aigronding Mordagnir; 12/Jan/2015 at 09:23 PM.
    "How long do you want it to be?" - Steven C.
    "As long as it needs to be." - Aimmi G.


  4. Prologue: An Expected Party




    - Sources: From right to left: Kacey Rohl, Brad Pitt, and Richard Armitage. -


    *



    - Dramatis Personae -

    Anne Ravenwood
    - A teenage woman of Archet. An adventurer of the Halcyon Guard and an Elf-friend.
    Named Melimakris, "Faircleaver", by Aigronding. Annabelle Dara of Harmony Vale, the wife of Nathaniel Galerida
    and an ancestor of Khallador, reincarnated.

    Howard Ravenwood
    - The father of Anne, Daniel, and Lauren. A banker of Archet and a veteran Hill Watch marshal
    .

    Kathryn Ravenwood
    - The mother of Anne, Daniel, and Lauren.
    Co-owner of a book emporium in the Market of Breetown. Erin's best friend.

    Lauren Ravenwood - An energetic child, a writer. The younger sister of Anne and Daniel. Amelia's best friend.

    Dan Ravenwood - The older brother of Anne and Lauren. A financial advisor at the Bank of Archet. Emily's boyfriend.

    Emily Brackenbrook - Daniel's girlfriend, the daughter of Deputy Miles Brackenbrook. A birdkeeper at the Breetown Menagerie.

    Miranda Lynn Clementine - A teenage bestelling author and philanthropist in Combe Valley. Anne's best friend.

    Jason Clementine - Miranda's father, a wealthy landowner in Combe Valley.

    Erin Clementine - Miranda's mother, co-owner of a book emporium in the Market of Breetown. Kathryn's best friend.

    Edward Sugarplum - Former criminal, now a Hill Watch inspector. Frank's best friend. Laura's husband and Amelia's father.

    Laura Sugarplum
    - A teacher at Bearberry Academy in Archet. Edward's wife and Amelia's mother.

    Amelia Sugarplum - A brilliant child, a perky inventor. Lauren's best friend.

    Beren Camlost - A handsome Ranger with many stories to tell.
    Bridget's older brother. Garavan's brother-in-law. The kinsman of Aigronding and Tharmáras.


    Bridget Isilherven - Beren's youngest sister. An archer. The wife of Garavan.

    Garavan Isilherven - A dashing elvish prince of Lindon.
    A son of Tharm
    áras. Beren's brother-in-law, Bridget's husband.


    Tharm
    áras Isilherven - A gallant elf-lord of Lindon. Kinsman of Beren and Aigronding.

    Aigronding Mordagnir -
    The Herald of Elrond, the Lord of Crystalpool,
    the High Captain of the Halcyon Guard, and a member of the White Council.
    Roina's lover. The youngest brother of Arasoron and Tavari.

    Named Anne Crown an Elf-friend and Melimakris.

    Roina Nilthoron -
    A rich High Elf noblewoman, a member of the White Council,
    and a construction magnate of Imladris.
    An Acolyte of Oromë in the Halcyon Guard. Aigronding's lover.


    Jasmine Thorn -
    A teenage adventurer from Chetwood. An "odd sort." Juliette's girlfriend.

    Juliette Silverbell -
    A healer in the Halcyon Guard, a teenager from Combe Valley.
    An "odd sort". Jasmine's girlfriend.

    Wes Marble -
    A livestock farmer in Combe Valley and a veteran commander of the Hill Watch. Nathan's uncle.

    Frank Crown -
    A corrupt marshal of the Hill Watch. A widower and alcoholic.
    Edward Sugarplum's best friend. Nathan's father.

    Nathan Crown -
    A young man of Combe Valley. Manager of the livestock ranch
    Wes Marble owns in the Breeland. Nathaniel Galerida of Harmony Vale, husband of Annabelle Dara and
    an ancestor of Khallador, reincarnated.

    Voldar Fireheart -
    A Firebeard Dwarf. A merchant of Whurjak and
    owner of Fireheart Arms, an armory in the Breetown market.
    The maker of Anne's hunting knife.

    Gretchen Fireheart ~ A Firebeard Dwarf lass of Harlindon, a shoemaker and Voldar's wife.

    Waylon Fireheart ~ Voldar's brother, a dwarven blacksmith who moved from Harlindon to Bree-hill. Edith's husband.

    Edith Fireheart ~ An adventurous Blacklock Dwarf lass from the Orocarni Mountains
    who moved her smithy business to Whurjak but fell in love with

    Waylon and married him, relocating to Bree-hill. The forger of Melimakris, Anne's scimitar.

    Scott Jimsonweed -
    A criminal in Bree, formerly a zookeeper and a clown.
    A gambler known as The Red Mantle and The Ace of Knaves.


    Ruim -
    A whimsical and mysterious clairvoyant who foretells
    people's fortunes with a deck of oddly beautiful playing cards.


    *


    Present Day -
    After the events of Revenge of Rhudaur
    and following the first day at the Inn of the Prancing Pony II


    Frery (January)
    Archet


    Anne Crown was reclining on her bed, reading mail from fans of Heather Fields, when she heard her husband's voice. "Honey, the girls are here," he called from the doorway of their snug white cottage. "Still taking visitors?"

    "Yes, love! Show them in, please!" She had been expecting Calselda Mordagnir, Elmarya Ancalënóna, Aileen Camlost, and Filrain to drop by the house this morning. Gem, miaowing, leapt off the carpet and alighted on the black and purple bedding. Anne petted her silver and white Chetwood Forest Cat as he curiously pawed her large baby bump for the umpteenth time. "Yep, still there," she said smilingly, stroking his furry pointed ears."I'll be my usual slim, lithe self in a couple months, sweetie." She settled him on the floor and slowly arose from the bed to meet her guests in the living room.

    "You look beautiful," Anne complimented the young sorceress, touching the dark velvet bow attached to the freckled child's raven hair. Aileen, born and raised in Dunland among witches and savages, was continuing to adjust to Breeland society now that she lived with her civilized father. Today, the small girl wore silver Mary Jane shoes, a long tartan skirt, a black wool sweater, and a white ruffled blouse.

    "Thank you!" Aileen exclaimed, blushing. The pree-teen, honest to a fault, added, without meaning to insult her: "You look like a waddling duck."

    Everyone laughed except for the statuesque, flaxen-haired fay whose only show of mirth was a faint widening of her lips.

    "Do you want to know if it's a girl or a boy?" Aileen offered her hosts, touching Anne's perfectly round bulge with fingertips glowing bright lavender.

    A heavy silence fell. "No, dear," said Anne gently, pushing back wavy strands of dark-brown hair off her face as she glanced at Nathan who imperceptibly shook his head with a sheepish countenance. Now it was her turn to blush. "We want to be surprised."

    "Okay!"
    said Aileen agreeably, dropping her hand, although she seemed just a mite dissapointed.

    They sat at the dining table and started eating the breakfast Nathan had prepared - scrambled eggs, peanut butter toast with sides of turkey sausages, apple butter glazed ham, oatmeal stirred with blueberries and slices of Harlindon banana, Seagrove pineapple, cranberry salad, roasted chestnuts, and cheese omelettes. Filrain ate nothing. Aileen's somber familiar chose the white padded seat of the living room bay window to sit and played The Lamps of Almaren on the strings of Anne's elvish harp, a gift from Lord Elrond that was fashioned marvelously of gold and accented strikingly with silver and diamonds. The Crowns and their company evaded talking about the Coven; instead, they discussed the training Calselda and Elmarya were undergoing in the Angle, Aileen's schoolwork, and Miranda's novels.

    "Would you sign this for me?"
    Aileen asked Anne, removing a leatherbound edition of At Long Last from her satchel. The green covers had gold detailing and the pages were gilt-edged.

    "It would be my pleasure!" Anne said merrily, taking the book. She smiled softly at her husband for a moment when she felt his foot tenderly caressing hers below the table.

    "These
    Heather Fields novels are based on your life and Nathan's, correct?" said Elmarya.

    "Yes, that's right."

    "Well, just how much?" said the elf-girl, leaning on the edge of her seat, looking excitedly at the couple.

    The glass of Seagrove orange juice froze below Anne's mouth. "Are you asking me to tell you my life story?" she said, her white cheeks filling with crimson.

    "And where I fit within it?" added Nathan who seemed warm to the idea, grinning.

    "Indeed," acknowledged Elmarya, emerald eyes glittering brightly.

    "I dunno...." Anne said unsurely, figeting on her chair.

    "Certainly the truth is a more enthralling tale," Calselda assumed, arching a blonde eyebrow with interest.

    "I have ways of making you talk," said Aileen with an impish smirk, the child's grey eyes lighting magically with bluish-purple radiance.

    "Okay, okay," said Anne quickly, heart hammering, before the little mage decided to cast a spell on her.

    "Does it begin with a dark and stormy night?" Aileen wondered ecstatically, her irises returning to their silver hue.

    Anne laughed. The girl must have liked that stock phrase Lauren insisted on using to begin her thrillers. "More like.... It was a cool and sunny winter's day...."



    (I)


    Last edited by Aigronding Mordagnir; 25/Jul/2015 at 06:32 AM.
    "How long do you want it to be?" - Steven C.
    "As long as it needs to be." - Aimmi G.


  5. Almarëa Mordollwen's Avatar
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    #105

    The Pursuit

    The Pursuit
    T.A. 23, Lairë

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    The Last Bridge


    Did he know anything in particular about Almarëa and the sea? "Naught that you haven't already surmised - I simply meant that it is unlikely that she would take ship for the Undying Lands. Umbar I had not considered ... though I would still reckon north more likely than south. If we cannot pick up her tracks northwards along the river, we will turn around and head towards Lond Daer."

    Roina brought up the trolls in the Coldfells; the golden-haired ellon's first reaction was a resigned shrug. "What if we're surrounded and can't fight our way out?" Rilien turned to catch her eyes, and spoke not heatedly, but firmly, with the barest hint of an edge to his voice: "If tracking Almarëa leads me into the dungeons of Angmar or the dragon-infested wastelands of the North, I will find her - alone, if necessary. No one is forcing you to come."

    With that matter settled - as far as Rilien was concerned - he spurred his horse forwards, and the company began to ride north, when they were intercepted by one person Rilien would never have expected to leave Lindon -
    Raina Sáiyamorë. ​Did she have news of Almarëa​? Had she somehow returned to Lindon - impossible in five days - so what would cause Raina to ride for Rivendell? He would have hailed the fiery-haired elleth, but she forestalled any greeting by first wheeling her horse directly in front of the party to block their path, then riding directly up to him - fire and disdain in her eyes - and slapped him, hard, across the face.

    Aside from the shock, Ril​'s first reaction was a deep and crushing sense of horror and fear - since he interpreted Raina's action as an indication that something dreadful had happened to Almarëa, that Raina knew about it, and that she blamed him. But when she began to speak to Aig, he realized that this was not the case:
    "Fool. You think you will find Almarëa this way? She'll avoid you like the plague.

    Aig
    was first shocked, and then angry, riding between her and Rilien. Raina turned a mirthless grin on the ellon she had just slapped, but the words were directed at Aigronding as well. "She's clearly left because she doesn't want to endure your company any longer - she wants some time to herself, and who can blame her? And my reason for coming is simply this - stop tracking her. Stop bothering her. Stop thinking that you can trail her and find her again and everything will be fine. You won't find her, that much I can guarantee."

    "If she didn't care about my company, huonisse, she wouldn't have gone back to Rivendell to tell me goodbye!' Aigronding hollered, his temper reaching the boiling point. "Whatever happened in Lindon, it wasn't my fault. And if it wasn't for your footloose influence this probably wouldn't be happening." "My influence?" Raina rolled her eyes. "Please. The reason Almarëa has decided to take a little vacation is staring me in the eyes, in the form of two utterly foolish blonde-haired idiots who wouldn't know common sense if it smacked them in the face. She came back to Rivendell, lied to you, and left. I don't see how that shows any great desire for your company on her part, other than the courtesy of letting you know that she'll be gone for a while. Rilien shows up, spouts whatever misguided information he's deigned to give you, and you decide to take off after her. What part of she doesn't want to see you is so incomprehensible to you? This harebrained quest stops, now." She laid one hand on the hilt of her sabre, eyes flashing.

    'That sounds like an order to me and I don't respond well to threats. We won't be stopped and if you like to try, I suppose you ought to draw your sword now to curtail us permanently." Aigronding dismounted, drawing his own sword. "It's a pity that if Almarëa ever returns, there won't be a piece of you left to embrace. Planning on keeping your hand resting there or actually using it ? Your bark is worse than your bite, and after all these years I'm still not afraid of that fire in your eyes." Decision made in an instant, Raina dropped lightly over the side of her own mount, drawing her own blade and raising it in a mocking salute. She shot an exasperated glance at Roina, Valion, and Meril. "I, at least, shall do you the courtesy of returning him in one piece. Perhaps somewhat the wiser for his foolishness, though I doubt that even my blade can knock some sense into his impossibly thick head." She smirked. "Though, if you would listen before you jumped to conclusions, you might realize that there is another here more deserving of your ire than me. Nevertheless, I will do my best not to injure you too badly." Aigronding, in truly typical fashion, refused to listen to sense. "At least he's helping me ; you're only a hindrance. And I'll do my best to keep my blade from cutting off anything important. Though the world would be a merrier place without that annoying, sharp tongue of yours."

    He hadn't finished speaking before Raina attacked. "Idiot. Let your sword do the talking and not your tongue; you'll get further."


    It was not a long fight, and while Rilien would have considered interfering if he thought there was any danger of one of the combatants injuring the other, but at this point he saw no better option than to wait for one of them to be disarmed. Aig and Raina had certainly bickered and fought each other before, but that they would do so now, here, with so little provocation, was just another sign of how mad the world had gone over Almarëa's disappearance.

    Not that Rilien could in good conscience blame them. His sharp words to Roina, earlier, just before Raina's arrival, were merely the briefest glimpse of the simmering emotional turmoil that had occupied his own attention since shortly before Almarëa's departure. He was simply much better at hiding it than Aigronding.

    He was more concerned with learning whatever it was that Raina knew about Almarëa's disappearance. That she did not know the whole story seemed plain; but there was a certainty in her words that made him wonder if Almarëa had spoken with her before leaving. Obviously whatever Almarëa had said in such a situation was not necessarily accurate, but still ... they needed all the clues they could gather.

    Any hope of Aig knocking some cooperative spirit into Raina, rather than the other way around, was quickly dismissed as the fiery-haired elleth demonstrated once again that she was more than a match for any of them. Aig​, meanwhile, had been trying to starve himself for the past three days, and was emotionally overwrought - he made mistakes that Rilien suspected he had not made in centuries, and Raina clearly had no desire to draw out the conflict. Matters came to a quick and decisive halt as Aigronding landed in a large and very tangled thorn bush - his sword landing several metres away.

    "Now that we've got that straightened out." Raina sheathed her sword, stalked over to pick up Aig's weapon, and then stood directly in front of him. "Let's clarify just why this is a bad idea. Whatever story that scruffy Sindarin imbecile has made up, he knows exactly why Almarëa​ left." The tension in Rilien's jaw was the only indication that he was paying close attention, though he did not move to interrupt Raina yet. "Almarëa arrives in Lindon for a visit. She spends several days with Lindariel and I, she is her usual quiet and somewhat somber self, but she is delighted to see everyone, including, for some reason, him -" directing a glare at Rilien. "One afternoon both of them are nowhere to be found. He reappears hours later with the gash down the length of his left arm that he is currently trying to hide with a bandage and long sleeves; Almarëa simply disappears that night without a trace, but conveniently leaves a note, which he reads repeatedly and then burns-" Judging by Aigronding's expression, Raina was sure Rilien had not mentioned that detail. "- and presumably has not mentioned to you yet. Now you think that following him off to track her down is a good idea? You think that letting him track her down is a good idea? I never took you to be remotely intelligent to begin with, but really, have you all lost your minds?"

    She whipped around and glared at Rilien. "As for you. I don't know what you did, or what you said, and I respect Alma's clear desire for some time alone, but if she comes to harm because of you, I will take your head and impale it on a spear in the Anduin and leave it to be eaten by the fishes. Leave her alone." Back to Aig and the others. "In case you haven't noticed, she's perfectly capable of looking out for herself - more capable than most of you - and as for the only reason she has to head into obscure or dangerous lands, well, it seems like it might be a desire to avoid the bevy of people tracking her down. So try not tracking her."

    Raina reversed her grip on Aig's sword with a single swift motion and held it out to him. "There. Take it. And use your head for once - I'm not the one you should be attacking."


    (OOC:
    Some parts of this originally posted in Peril in Lindon II: Dead of Night. Aig's dialogue (blue) written by Aig.)
    Last edited by Almarëa Mordollwen; 16/Jan/2015 at 12:49 AM.

  6. Lady Aikári's Avatar
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    #106

    Forochel (private)

    Future of Forochel, northern part (1)

    FA7048. Years passed by. His mortal companions of old Gondolin and the city, Marvä, Akto, Ylá, Oldas and Däron, grew old, married, created children and eventually died. But before that happened Nyarámo gave them their spoils from the old city and all of them became more or less rich among their people the Ystävät Talven. Nyarámo was still an elf and grew older as well, but that could not be seen in his physical shape, nor be determined from his state of mind. He had lived for thousands of years and many more would come, unless by some war or skirmish he would lose his life. He had clothed the cavern he lived with some of the memories he had brought from Gondolin. The plans for a new city in the north remained only plans, but Nyarámo developed them anyhow. Leather, clay, stone and other materials were still the things he used for saving the word. But a librarian he was not and he would never been. Any poetry bundles, personal stories, cooking books and other frivol stuff he had left behind. He had taken building plans, maps and the charts to wage wars. Battle strategies could come in handy still; even it was more than six thousand years old. The Ystävät Talven would never know or recognise any of the strategies.

    According his counting by FA 7090 new generations of Ystävät Talven lived in the snow white areas around the waters. The sons and daughters of his travel companions to Gondobar were old men and women, when from the deep dark north a depression came and covered the land into an icecold storm. It was worse than the years before. It went into history as the Evil Winterstorm for them. Never really Nyarámo had carried a sword with him. But from Gondolin he had taken his father’s blade, which proved curiously still sharp and dangerous and untouched by the fabric of time. But he trusted more the bow he carried and which was very useful in these parts. Knife, harpoon and axe were the other weapons an Ystävät Talven needed in this by the gods forsaken land. Nyarámo enjoyed still the amazingly beautiful view he had over the entire bay from his cavern home. The whales came and the dolphins as well. For himself he kept speaking Gondolinean, however for the human peoples around he spoke one of the northern dialects. For them he remained a wizard that could not die. They had given him once the name Auna the Neverold. But over all those ages that name had changed hundreds of times. It had been also Aunaou, Anou, Nuoal, Neyar, Nessay, Auyoru, and strangely other variants. Nyarámo kept no track of the names the mortals gave to him. He had never told his true name, nor told about the elven kindred. Their ancient forebears the Mornerim had known, but they had passed out of all knowledge of the Ystävät Talven. Seven thousand years was an incredible long time. From deep in the lands of Järvamaa came in the next spring a bloodthirsty warlord who wanted all the lands in the west. He brought nearly twenty-thousand people with him. Nobody knew how the lands they came from had been left behind.

    Nyarámo was picked up by one of the local chieftains. It did cost days of travelling before they passed the southern slopes of the Ered Muil and had a good view over the plains beyond the mountain chain. There was a pass through a lower hill land that separated Järvamaa from the northern Nindalf. It was mostly wintergreen forest of fir trees that survived the icy winters. Endless country stretched out and the sea of green seemed endless, but Nyarámo could see distant mountain shapes. There was nothing of visible civilisation within miles. Nuah the chieftain was worried about the many people that had come. He was more than a head shorter than Nyarámo was, black-haired as all his human kindred, stern faces from the cold and dressed in garb made from animal hides. Together they were watching to human moves of a people they had not seen before. They were scattered over the plans below. Something that Nyarámo noticed was that these eastern warlord people of Forodwaith had brought a very hairy animal he had not seen before. It was tamed and obeyed his owners. Horses that were not and neither wargs. “Those bleakskins are the worst to see,” said the chieftain. “You knew my grandfather Oldas, sir. He wouldn’t believe me now what I see. I don’t like the animal skulls they carry on their belts. I suspect that those smaller shapes are women, wrapped in skins and pasted with bone necklaces.”

    Nyarámo had noticed that all as well. The human could see very well, despite his older age. He pointed to the shapes that carried buckets of water around the great camp. Tents had been erected and guards were posted everywhere. Camp fires burned richly upon the chopped woods of the nearly forests. “This is not a raid exactly, but invasion army. I suspect they are driven to our lands, because something in the east forces them to.” The various tribes of the Ystävät Talven that lived in the lands from the Great Forochel Bay, were quite peaceful with each other. Ages old territory borders were respected and all tribes had their own hunting grounds. “Invasion?” said Nuah frowning. Nyarámo pointed: “There are women and children, and there are slaves as well. The last are clad not so well as their masters and mistresses.” It looked like some rich people that had been driven from a homeland in the east. But it could also be a warlord that just wanted to expand his lands to the west and have an access to the sea if they knew about it. But surviving at the coast was different than inland. Nuah and Nyarámo remained silent. They lay hidden. From Gondolin he had taken a stargazer and that proved now amazingly handy, because the scope detailed everything in the camp. It had taken Nyarámo some weeks to figure out how the device worked. The hand stargazer could zoom from faraway to very nearby. ‘Wait for three decades and all of these mortals could be exchanged for new generations,’ he thought by himself. ‘Then the whole threat of invasion has faded into nothingness and their bones are bleak in the ground.’

    Three days they lingered in their spot, before they left and rejoined the others of their reconnaissance group. They waited some distance away, not visible for the enemy. A travel full of worries was commenced to the west, returning to their own lands. On the way Nyarámo had one question, how could this force be stopped? The land here was beautiful, but had not much to give. That’s why all the tribes lived scattered along the coast and no cities were ever build. They lived mainly what the sea provided them. And because all the Ystävät Talven it looked impossible to repel this great force of Forochel people. Where were they exactly coming from? Nyarámo was just an elf alone, the last of his people of Gondolin. He had no very special powers or great foresight, despite he was of both Sindar and Noldorin descent. From what he could imagine, this invasion was like a dark cloud, shrouding all sunlight away from the land. Nothing would be covered in darkness; only clouds would filter the necessary light through. The chieftain reached home and had a meeting with other chieftains. Nyarámo wasn’t present there. He travelled through empty land. The winter had fallen and kept anything human at bay. But the storms couldn’t stop Nyarámo. Dressed warmly the wintercold would freeze his human companions to death, but had no effect on him. New wars erupted in these areas.
    Last edited by Lady Aikári; 03/Apr/2015 at 05:57 PM.

  7. Lady Aikári's Avatar
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    #107

    Forochel (private)

    Future of Forochel, northern parts (2)

    Nyarámo came after days of travelling back into his cavern. The great world in the south would have no interest what happened in these colds. They would take no knowledge of it, or ever sent any help. First the Mornerim had survived in these parts and later the Ystävät Talven. But in all that time he hadn’t seen an enemy coming from the east, dark skinned as they were. At the coast it was most of the year a world of rock and ice, and a very little green. The force that had come dwarfed out the scattered tribes by numbers. If Nyarámo could take any warrior into battle they would at least be outnumbered one to four, maybe even one to six. Most humans were sea hunters on whales and dolphins, and could handle themselves against another tribe. But a force of twenty thousand was something else. The Ystävät Talven didn’t know, but Nyarámo remembered. It was almost similar to the fate of Gondolin. They had been feasting through the night and nastily surprised in the early morning. But as Gondolin had become a giant trap, these lands were not. While the enemy advanced westbound, the tribes could gather their belongings and travel somewhere else. The answer lay in knowledge of the lands they lived and the weather patterns. Open battle was impossible. They would be defeated in a whim. But taking the battle to sea, they would become invincible. But how?

    The Ystävät Talven travelled light and easily these lands, but dragging a whole people with you took slower. At the coast the people were adapted to the salty waters, but the newcomers not. Ages earlier he had found out how the Ystävät Talven consumed their food and Nyarámo had learned to eat it in the same fashion. The waters of Forochel provided also very much, with fish, walrus, seal, dolphins, whales and seaweeds. But land provided berries, grasses, tubers, stems, roots and fireweed. It was food high in fat and animal protein and low on carbohydrates. He was used to raw food as well, it was the only way for the Ystävät Talven to remain healthy and have their necessary nutrients, vitamins and minerals. The newcomers didn’t know that, nor would be able to tolerate the kind of foods these Ystävät Talven consumed. Their diet was different. Probably what the Ystävät Talven ate could be poisonous to them? Nyarámo could think of more ideas. A few days when he was with them on hunting dolphins, something else was presented to him. It was the blood the humans used of seals and dolphins. These slavers from the east must know Orcs also. Who wasn’t strong in numbers, had to come up something deceiving.

    Summer and winter had their advantages. Nyarámo knew that their chance on survival lay in being clever. But while he was steaming ideas together, the tribes didn’t sit still. They began to build at a spot from whalebones a frame for a house. From there it would be clothed with whale skin. What they exactly did, Nyarámo didn’t know. But that surely would revealed in due time. When these invaders came, the western tribes were ready for them. The winter would be over first, before they could advance to the west. FA7091 would become one of death and sorrow, most likely for the invaders themselves. Then Nuah chieftain explained: “We are going to change this all into Orc land, the mountains are crawling with their kinds deeper in the south. We need their weaponry and their bloodthirst.” So there would be a raid before the winter came. Despite the fall a force of thirty people went out and used sleighs and dogs to reach that destination. Nyarámo went with them, because he had been there before and knew the route across hill and plain. Despite a few late summer storms they reached the mountains safely and sought an entrance into the underground world. What they saw they took with them, even it were crude torches and other cooking tools. Clothing was assembled too. One Orc had a rich hobby collection on teeth in all sorts, shapes and sizes and those were taken all as well. Orcs had a crude way of civilisation, but there was order in it. As Melkor long ago hadn’t been able to create the Orc kindred, he had captured innocent elves and used his magic to deform them under torture and mutilation. How that had ever happened nobody knew. Since then the Orcs had become an own kindred, who could produce children also. But Orc children were seldom seen, same for female Orcs.

    Nyarámo stormed through their hallways with the other Ystävät Talven around him. They took also several captives and beat them unconscious. Tied up and a cloth over their mouths they were laid on one of the sleighs. The Ystävät Talven were scared of nothing really. After two days of raiding they left the mountains, having wipe out an entire Orc enclave and stripped off nearly everything. The journey back went quick and without problems. In the land of rock and ice and without any weapons and tools the Orcs could do nothing than hide and wait in their barred hole. They were fed and got fresh blood to drink from the seals and other sea animals. Some of their clothes they got back, so all Orc hide was no longer exposed against the icecold elements. “We would love to eat you whole,” one of the Orcs breathed when he saw Nyarámo and the chieftain standing on the other side. “We eat your kindred sometimes also,” grinned Nuah false in return. “We are no feeble people as the southerners are.” The Orc said nothing anymore. Nyarámo studied them from up close. “What do you think?” said Nuah. “Depends on their cooperation. But with the promise ahead that’s arriving, they won’t think off nothing else,” said Nyarámo thoughtful, without mentioned the human easterners. “It will be bloody mess though…” A force of Orcs could decimate the invaders. There was a chance that they could get the Orcs in the deep north into cooperation, if they saw what was coming against them. For thousands of years the Orcs and the Ystävät Talven had a love and hate relationship for land and food. But each respected their lands. The Orcs knew that the icemen ate the same kind of food as them, only it came from the sea than instead the land. But this new for the east was at threat to both of them. Betrayal could come from both sides, but two sworn natural enemies could unite if a third threatened their existence. The leader of the Orcs stepped forth. “What are you speaking off?” he said rasping. Nyarámo could say he was calculating his chances to bring it off alive. “It’s icecold here.” “That’s always, this is the arctic of Middle Earth, the former wastes of Melkor’s old lands. You carry a name?” asked Nyarámo. “Yes, Utchak,” rasped the Orc. “What do you want?” It took some effort to get the Orc into cooperation and when Nuah said a delicious force had arrived, Utchak didn’t believe him. Nyarámo challenged the creature into coming with them, and see for himself they were not lying.

    Utchak came with them, though unarmed and his fellow Orcs still locked up. No risks were taken. They went back for a second reconnaissance. Now the snow all around had fallen and the temperature was below freezing point, sleighs and dogs brought them fast everywhere. In the gathering dark it was good travelling. Nyarámo had always the watch at night, while the humans slept. Utchuk slept occasionally, but now he ran on adrenaline and need no rest. So the Orc sat on the other side of the fire and was cleaving off a nearly bare bone. “This is good,” said Utchuk. “I never knew ice would keep anything this fresh.” “It does for a long time, little harder in the summer, but excellent in winter,” said Nyarámo who sat his own piece of roistered meat to consume. Utchuk had a dull colour in his dark hide, almost worn. It had never seen any sun and he couldn’t bear it really. “You’re not one of them,” observed Utchuk. “I know,” shrugged Nyarámo and said no more. Instead he looked up at the stars and enjoyed their light, but strong it never returned in these regions. “You know my name,” said the Orc. “They call me Anou,” said Nyarámo. His bone was bare and he threw it toward the dogs, who fought for a moment for it. Two days late they reached the invaders, but approached now from another more southern angle. When Utchuk saw the entire force he was silent for a few minutes. “You didn’t lie,” he said. “And these are delicious humans, you say?” “They are,” said Nuah nodding. “My master’s cursed eyes,” said Utchuk. He was impressed for either good or bad. For now it didn’t hurt, Nyarámo knew. The camp moved as would on a late evening hour. A plan was forming in his mind, but he said nothing yet.
    Last edited by Lady Aikári; 03/Apr/2015 at 05:56 PM.

  8. Avalein's Avatar
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    #108
    Bay of Forochel
    All Welcome
    Urwen Azruphel, Fara, Lona, Sossa, Zara, and Haron Azruphel

    Urwen looked at her son Haron before glancing over at sleeping daughters, her husband had died a few months before leaving her with only her son to care and provide some protection. Though every time Haron left she would worry until he returned which in some cases would be several days. The only protection, that she had with her was two small daggers in which she could at least try and protect herself and her daughters. Letting her hand drop to her side, she felt Sunkiss the family dog and protector while Heron was away hunting. She placed her hand on the dog's head starting to stroke it absent minded.

    Standing she walked over toward's where her daughter's were sleeping, putting another blanket over their sleeping forms, she had already lost her husband and two children a few days after they had been born. As such she couldn't bare to lose anymore of those she loved and held close to her. Her hand went to the necklace around her neck, "i wish you were here, my dear," Urwen whispered quietly to herself before stepping outside into the sunlight. Looking behind her she saw Sunkiss laying in the doorway quietly watching her with her head on her paws. Haron had taken Midnight with him hunting on the ice. She settled down to wait for her daughters to wake and for Haron to return hopefully with food.
    Last edited by Avalein; 14/Apr/2015 at 01:09 PM.

  9. Lady Aikári's Avatar
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    Future of Forochel, northern parts (3)

    Someone or something had driven these people from their original lands. Or they had just come on their own, in a matter of expansion. “We need to capture a few of them, and make them talk what they are coming to do here,” said Nyarámo thoughtful with a deep frown between his eyebrows. “How I don’t care.” “A day wrapped up in ice make any crazy talk,” grinned Nuah. Utchuk grunted: “Ice, what do you mean, chief?” Nuah nodded. “Your kind think only in ripping bellies open. But true Nordic torture is leave your price undamaged and still have him to do anything you want. We have our ways, where your master still can learn from.” “My master cannot do much, as he is lidless eye in the south. He can only order his minions to do his biddings. I am not his. I am my own, Utchuk!” said the Orc angrily. Nyarámo suspected the Orc rather saw them all dead. But without weapons he couldn’t do much. And their kindred were still equipped with a surviving instinct. Lots would go and follow their master Morgoth into death, but thousands others would flee to live. Otherwise they would have died out thousands of years ago. They were a plague and remain a plague. “You spoke of a lidless eye? What do you mean?” asked Nyarámo sudden. “My master Sauron inhabits a tower in Mordor. He is a fierce burning eye in the top of that tower,” told Utchuk. “I saw him once myself, but stilled fear into my heart. I felt relieved to be sent back to the north and reside in the Misty Mountains.” A fierce burning eye in the top of a tower? What nonsense was that? But as Nyarámo looked at the Orc he could tell that the creature of darkness told the truth, out of fear and pride. He was intimidated, figured Nyarámo out. Sauron’s image was once much like that of the other Maiar and Valar, like the fair elves, tall shape, fair long hair, handsome face and light eyes. He used to portray that beauty; even he stood at the head of Orcs, trolls and other creatures of darkness. How could he be a lidless eye? Nyarámo realised the south held on to a later history he knew nothing off and neither had been involved in. He was the only one of his kindred in these arctic regions, except for that – what he suspected to be – the girl of his own kind in the enemy camp kept as slave.

    Next was the execution of the plan. Could they do it with the then of them? With or without the Orc? To what length was Utchuk to be trusted? But like Nuah and Nyarámo and his two human guards, Utchuk was studying the camp. “I saw that kind before, these dark skinned rats. They live in lands where the sun burns hot, blisters skin and turns the land is dust and sand. The mountains there are always green… not white as here or cold,” told Utchuk. “That would explain something,” said Nyarámo in thought. He used the stargazer from Gondolin to see the movements in the camp. “Under cover of darkness without the moon lightening our path, we could make it there.” Nuah pointed sudden. “We might have some luck. There goes a woman with three guys guarding her.” Nyarámo turned the stargazer on them. “I am going in alone,” he said slowly. “Keep here and keep still.” He was adapt enough in snatching games. Living thousands of years in this cold region required skills his own kindred despised. But Nyarámo didn’t. It was either that or starve. The strongest survived, the weak died. Nyarámo didn’t wait for reactions and slipped away between the rocks and high grass. The snow around wouldn’t be trampled by him either, weightless as he appeared to be. The hills could be protective from the southwest side to the land of Järvemaa into Lindalf. But also treacherous. Nyarámo turned his cloak inside out, so the silver grey would hide him in the landscape. Where snow was, he wouldn’t be visible either. He sneaked around, drawing closer, eyes trained on the three guards.

    Nyarámo found the particular woman at a small stream, where she filled water skins. At least ten lay around her and she would have to carry them back. He got past the guard looking toward the south. There stood a man very near her, just a few meters away, watching her. The third stood on a rock and looked back at the camp into the northern direction. Nyarámo found a rock that was heavy enough and lay perfect in his hand. Even in the dark he could send it along a trajectory that it hid the man on the sleep and turned him unconscious instantly. He went down. No longer watched the woman left the waterskins and vanished between the rocks for the human eye could spot the difference. Nyarámo found her hiding behind a rock, trying to see how she could get away. She was fast, but not fast enough for him. He threw another cloak over her and covered it quickly around her. She obeyed, because there was no choice as her arms were wrapped also in the cloak. With his lightweight cargo he slipped again along the southern guard. With a soft signal he called the others and they got away to safety with the sleighs they had come. Utchuk the Orc was still there. But Nyarámo left him with his guards. In their travel camp they joined with the rest of the reconnaissance company. Nuah and all of the others went to sleep, but Utchuk was curious to what Nyarámo had brought back, wrapped altogether in fabrics. But the elf ignored him. The Orc was given no freedom of himself and Nyarámo went to the other side of the camp, checking on his captive. When he pulled the fabric aside to reveal a face, the woman was unconscious. She was very well female, even there were a couple of scars running over her left side of her face, spoiling the beauty of her. Her auburn hair was cut short to shoulder length. When he moved the hair aside and behind the ear, he saw she was like him, an elf. Never have cared for a someone of the other gender this was new for Nyarámo. For more than an hour he was busy to clean her up and dress her into some clothes of him, though they were quite spacious for her. Her feet were a mess on scars and other badly healed wounds and even fresh ones. He applied some potions to speed up the healing process and bound them off with clean linen. Nyarámo said nothing, but felt he was very young again and found a new toy. Only this toy was alive and wouldn’t like to be seen as that.

    Nyarámo remained at her side for the whole night and by the first morning light the elven woman stirred and opened her eyes. She was covered up complete and stared surprised to her bandaged hands. Then she looked aside to him. Nyarámo could see the surprise in her eyes, when she saw his uncovered reflection. His long blond hair ran long and was neither tangled nor dirty, as that of the humans was. She said something he couldn’t understand. “You are free,” he spoke into Gondolinean. “I took care of you.” From the light in her eyes he could see that she knew the sound of elvish, but she didn’t know the words. Or had it been too long ago since she heard them? He changed to Sindarin and repeated the words and there she nodded to know the words. An hour later they broke up camp and returned westbound. Another party had captured this night two other captives and taken them in bandages with them. It was still a long distance to return toward the coast, where after interrogation the two captives would die. Nyarámo wouldn’t let anyone stay alive. But anything else was in the hands of the Ystävät Talven. Nyarámo steered the sleigh wherein the woman sat while journeying back. Utchuk had now gotten a sleigh of his own with a captive in it. While the Ystävät Talven journeyed home, Nyarámo bowed off toward the northwest.

    Days after his arrival home in the cavern he learned the woman went by the name of Féme, but found soon out it was short for Rhivemorë. He taught her that he was named Nyarámo. She spoke a few of the east-elven dialects, Nyarámo that of the west-elves. Together they had a language barrier, if they spoke no Sindarin, or a form of it. Nyarámo had learned it long ago, but his knowledge was rusty. Rhivemorë was thin for one of his kind, having not much fat on her bones and overall her body. Long years of bad food or sometimes nothing at all had had led to early signs of starvation. Nyarámo prepared soups for Rhivemorë, so she would slowly regain her strength again. She hadn’t given up on life, even she had been treated harsh at times, as the scars told Nyarámo. Endurance of elves surpassed far that of the mortal kinds, but wouldn’t last forever. Through the long winter into the spring it did cost a lot of patience on Nyarámo, before Rhivemorë’s body would accept the food he offered. But when she did, her healing went rapidly. They spoke a very little, but discovered another form of communication that they could and their mortal tribal friends not. It was strange to hear her voice in his mind though it went more by images than just words. She was more adapt into that strength than Nyarámo was. He would often play with her longer growing auburn hair, which he found for unknown reason and strangely an exceptional colour. That she was an Avari elf didn’t interest him. Half Sindar and half Noldor he wasn’t a Calaquendi himself, even he was born in Gondolin.

  10. Avalein's Avatar
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    #110
    Zara and Daughters
    All Welcome
    Bay of Forochel

    Zara sighed like her mother she had lost her husband killed by orcs. Her sisters had passed on leaving their daughters in her care and what protection she could give them, while her brother had moved to the area around Bree. She quietly stood walking to the doorway looking out over the frozen bay. Her eldest daughter would be thirteen in a few months, she thankfully had married well otherwise she wouldn't have been able to care for her daughters as well as her sister's daughters. Hearing the sounds of footsteps behind her, she turned to find her eldest daughter, Varryrl watching her. "Are you alright, mother?" she asked realizing that something wasn't right, she turned to Zara, "go back to bed," Zara said glancing at Varryrl. Varryrl knew that her mother missed her and her sister's father and her mother's sisters, almost all of them had died during childbirth or shortly there after. She turned her head watching as Varryrl walked back to her bed, laying down and falling back to sleep, before turning back to look at the stars one last time before going to her bed closing her eyes she fell asleep as the moonlight and starlight fell on her and her sleeping children. She didn't hear as the door to their home was opened and a small group of men entering the room where they were sleeping.

    ******************************************
    Alyanis
    Tirion Upon Tuna
    Aman
    Sometimes during the Year of the Two Trees

    Alyanis smiling she burst out laughing upon seeing her childhood friends, Astaron and Ruindolon. She enjoyed spending time with them. "Astaron!" she giggled standing linking arms with them. They were like brothers to her since she did not have brothers of her own. It was only her and her two sisters, once again smiling she started to run up the street, laughing, "try and catch me, Astaron, Ruindolon," Alyanis said trying to contain her laughter.
    Last edited by Avalein; 14/Apr/2015 at 05:56 PM.

  11. Lady Aikári's Avatar
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    #111

    Forochel (private)

    Future of Forochel, northern parts (4)

    Rhivemorë had seldom known happiness. She had lost at fair young age both her parents before she was fully matured. Since then countless days and night had passed in the hands of a people that was merciless to their enemies. She was free, but the other elves were still captive by a people that was more than fifty thousand strong. The group of mortals she had come with was just a front of what more was coming. Now while she rested, a soft touch was there of fingers that stroke over her shoulder length hair and followed the line of her left ear. It was caring in a way she didn’t know and thus Rhivemorë didn’t know how to respond to it. When she looked up she looked up in eyes had studied her hair and now were looking at her. He had the longest hair she had ever seen on a man and it was a colour she had never seen before. He had pointed ears just like she had. His name was Nyarámo. She was clothed into self-made clothes of animal skin, but they felt soft and warm. She lay under a blanket of the same material. “Taught more than five thousand years ago from a people passed complete out of history. It was a rich culture at the time,” he said with a smile. “I know the techniques to make such fine clothes; even the origins are rather crude.” Rhivemorë had never known a man who knew to make clothes. Only women knew as she did, same as cooking and many other female servant duties. She shivered and Nyarámo felt it. She read an empathy in his eyes she had seldom seen, only when she was a little girl with her parents. She hadn’t kept count how long it had been. She was lost, beyond all hope and had hoped to fade into death. Rhivemorë lifted her hand and felt the blond hair. “How?” she asked by mind. “Customary. We never cut it,” Nyarámo answered. “Too beautiful for that and it’s very strong.” He pointed at the fine stitches. It seemed if two parts were just magically put together.

    Nyarámo felt all sorts of emotions he wasn’t familiar with. He had never met a girl that held his interest during the days of Gondolin. All had been out of reach there for him. Rhivemorë had nothing of the haughtiness the elves had known there. He remembered them vaguely and most were dead anyway. He had once a sister, but she was bones under the waters as well and he had never thought back at her. The hatred and dislike were a distant memory. And six-thousand years in these colds had taken all of Gondolin out of him. It was FA7090 and if another seven-thousand years would go by, he would count up to FA14.000. Another counting of the years he didn’t know. The history of Middle Earth was not known to him, except for that happened in these cold regions. “I don’t know. I have never been with a woman before,” he said admitting something that really nobody knew. “I mean as the mortal know, they multiply quickly and die in a single breath. I wasn’t able to keep count on those I all knew across my entire life.” Rhivemorë smiled only and fell returned to the elvenworld of dreams. The dreams she made were new ones and in there was a place for Nyarámo, the man who had freed her. He was strange to her and yet very familiar. What that was she could not say. Nyarámo sat at her bed, while she closed her eyes and was off. Alone he knew something was developing he didn’t yet understand. But he had some grasping where it could be leading to.

    Until now he had never tangled with the nature in himself, except for the time when he was growing up. He could remember that he had said to his mother that he wanted to look like her. It had been the wish of an elven child. He had never liked the image of his father and then it had been not his father’s face, but all that encompassed being a man. That came back to him as he thought about Rhivemorë. In the sense the same kindness he had known from his mother as a child, he gave now towards Rhivemorë. Oddly enough the deep wish he had known as child, didn’t matter now. He was a man off course in every aspect for a very long time, yet he didn’t feel that way. Did feel Rhivemorë in the same way? That there were not really distinction between the minds of a female elf and a male elf? What he had known in Gondolin were traditional society rules. But all of those had gone of the window when he had escaped from that place and left without saving anyone but his own hide. His own survival had only mattered, not that of anyone else. Six-thousand years of wandering had passed since then. Now he had found a woman. As he sat alone outside the cavern he occupied for a very long time, along the shore of the sea Nyarámo didn’t know if it was his own dream. But an image played in his mind where he saw two young elven children running around, chasing each other. He and Rhivemorë stood watching that. Astonishing was that Nyarámo didn’t hate that, but really felt it as a wish of his heart.

    But before that dream could really become a reality, there had to a secured future for the children also. They wouldn’t be forever a child, but grow up and go out in the world on their own. They would need chance on finding a partner as well and not from the kindred that died in a single breath. Two different species couldn’t give offspring in this case. It was one of the reasons Nyarámo had been alone all those thousands of years. But Rhivemorë was changing that. Elves healed much quicker than their human brethren and so the girl was back on her feet in a few days. She picked up household duties Nyarámo had done until now and showed him what she knew off cooking, but that was a disaster. Nyarámo took that back over and knew how to make a great meal out what was available in these regions. Rhivemorë had seldom eaten fish. It was the main course of food out here. More than Nyarámo was, Rhivemorë was a person of many shapes. It was her tool of survival as slave of an oppressive people. “How is it possible that they keep you hostage like that?” he asked one day to her. “They threaten the people you love. And keep us under very close guard,” she said, but Nyarámo found it somewhat unbelievable. That was his own fault, due to ignorance. “They may be a lesser kind, vulnerable to disease and death, but they are tougher in some ways than our kind is. And they know our weaknesses well,” Rhivemorë replied. Nyarámo frowned. “That is not true. We are stronger than they are. Around here I am known as the Wizard. They don’t know elves. I kept them in that reality. Some truths are not good for them to know,” he said nodding. That choice was a strategy, playing in on the believes of the Ystävät Talven. He never trusted them for a hundred percent. Having fearing him was better than being befriended. Nyarámo was alone and he knew his own vulnerability as lone elf. Rhivemorë and he would have to return. In the next days they made several plans, that would help the Ystävät Talven as well. The captured Orcs would have a role in it all as well.

    Four more winters moved over before the eastern force really became a threat. It was slowly that a kind of unlikely bargain was forged between the five captured Orcs, the humans that lived here for a long time and Nyarámo himself. Included was off course the betrayal of the evil kind, as their hunger always moved around fresh flesh and blood. And they hated anything labelled good. But up here in the icy cold all of those differences merged more or less together, if it was not basically on the food that was consumed in these parts. The humans had genetically adapted over sixthousand years to these parts and wouldn’t really be able to survive in other parts of the world. Nyarámo knew that even after all that time a diet from the south would make him sick as well. Eight, almost nine months of the twelve a year knew, the land was covered in ice and lakes and waters were frozen. Spring and autumn were short and summer lasted in a good year two months. In a bad one it could be only two weeks up to four. Only the strongest survived. The rest became frozen statues in ice. Death was a practical companion to the Ystävät Talven, in the same principle Orcs accepted death. In some occasions it was even a blessing, when starvation was in the main issue in the deep winter and not enough food could be captured, due to blizzards and storms. Nyarámo had known lots of these moments, but being an elf he endured hunger at lengths where the Ystävät Talven already had died weeks ago. He knew exactly what acceptable ice-cold was for him, and which temperatures were damaging. Ten or fifteen degrees below freezing point was good to dwell in. The Orcs withstood the cold as well, but didn’t like water at all. The frozen wastes betrayed them sometimes and they barely escaped death. It happened that the complete invasion army had vanished, after two weeks of storms and blizzards, and a very little was found of them.
    Last edited by Lady Aikári; 04/May/2015 at 03:33 PM.

  12. Avalein's Avatar
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    Zara and Daughters
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    Bay of Forochel

    Zara felt hands roughly grab her pushing her to the ground, glancing at her daughters who were huddled in the corner of their home. She looked up her eyes flashing reflecting from the fire in her eyes, upon seeing the face of a hooded figure in front of her. Refusing to look at Irpan she looked at the ground, realizing that Irpan roughly put an hand under Zara's chin lifting it forcing her to look into his eyes, running a hand over first one cheek and then the other, smiling, "so beautiful, so fair," he said smiling a cruel smile. Nodding to his guards and men he said, "bind her and her daughters." Watching as his men bind Zara's daughters and Zara smiling, "bring the wagons around, and separate the mother from her daughters," he ordered roughly shoving Zara towards the door. Once outside he pushed her into the cage that was inside the first wagon locking the door behind her and shutting the back of it so she can't see out, as her daughters are loaded into the second wagon. Making sure all of his new slaves are not going to escape he nodded and gave the order for them to move out back towards Carn Dum.

  13. OOC @ Almarëa: I'll be posting for you next in The Pursuit here in Castles in the Sand! *G*

    Set before and during the


    events of the Revenge of Rhudaur RPG

    Post One, Post Two

    "The name Calselda's father gave
    her was
    Raul
    íra, which means Lionsong in the
    the High Speech of the Noldor."
    ~ Aimira Mordagnir - a sage of Oiolossë

    and the mother of
    Tavari, Arasoron, and Aigronding, c. Fourth Age 3194,
    from The House of Itanoeva: A Family History

    "Seldom is any tale told of deeds of lust among them. /
    The Eldar.... Some fell into pride, and self-will."

    ~ Tolkien, from Morgoth's Ring: The Later Quenta Silmarillion/Notes



    - (Source: Elle Fanning,
    HERE) -





    Dramatis Personae

    Calselda Dimrel / Raulira Mordagnir ~ An elf-girl, Aigronding's illegitimate daughter. Elmarya's best friend.

    Elmarya Ancalënóna ~ An elf-girl. Telkelion's daughter, Calselda's best friend.

    Anne Crown, called Melimakris ("Faircleaver," Sindarin) ~ A mortal Elf-friend and Nathan's wife.
    A Hill Watcher. Accompanying the elven girls to Imladris.

    Nathan Crown ~ A mortal. Anne's husband. A Hill Watcher. Accompanying the elven girls to Imladris.

    Carl Speedwell ~ A young teenage Hill Watcher. Accompanying the elven girls to Imladris.

    Matt Rogers ~ A Hobbit Bounder of Michel Delving and erstwhile adventurer. Friend of Aigronding and Telkelion. Accompanying the elven girls to Imladris.

    Tourmaline Haylock~ Matt's cousin, A Hobbit Bounder. Friend of Aigronding and Telkelion. Accompanying the elven girls to Imladris.

    Gilnir, called The Oarman once upon a time in Noonvale - An elven frontiersman. Rilya's husband. Fostered Calselda for Roina.

    Rilya ~ An elf-woman, a healer. Gilnir's wife and Edan's daughter. Fostered Calselda for Roina.

    Edan Amrun ~ A High Elf. The father of Rilya. A close friend of Roina, Aigronding, and Tavari.

    Aigronding Mordagnir ~ A High Elf counted among the Wise and the Tar-Taidron of the Halcyon Guard.
    The Herald of Elrond. Roina's lover and Calselda's father.

    Roina Nilthoron ~ A High Elf noblewoman counted among the Wise. Aigronding's lover and Calselda's mother.

    Telkelion Hender ~ The Arhesto of the Lindon Guard and the chief physician of Círdan's court. Elmarya's father.

    Girion Coruben
    ~ An elven sailor. Telkelion's friend.

    Elrond Half-Elven ~ The Lord of Rivendell.

    Aileen Camlost ~ A young Morgul sorceress. Beren's daughter and the Princess of Rhudaur.

    Silvanas Olcha ~ A Fallohide Hobbit carpenter.

    Almandine Olcha ~ A Fallohide Hobbit seamstress.

    Sphene Olcha ~ A Fallohide Hobbit healer.

    Voldar Fireheart ~ A Firebeard Dwarf of Harlindon, a forger of weapons who sells his arms to Elves and Rangers. Gretchen's husband.

    Gretchen Fireheart ~ A Firebeard Dwarf lass of Harlindon, a shoemaker and Voldar's wife.

    Waylon Fireheart ~ Voldar's brother, a dwarven blacksmith who moved from Harlindon to Bree-hill. Edith's husband.

    Edith Fireheart ~ An adventurous Blacklock Dwarf lass from the Orocarni Mountains who moved her smithy business to Whurjak but fell in love with
    Waylon and married him, relocating to Bree-hill. The forger of Melimakris, the scimitar of Anne Crown.

    Ruffians and vile things.



    *

    Chapter Three: Peripeteia





    Calselda Dimrel, Elmarya Ancalenona, and Matt Rogers
    with Tourmaline Haylock


    The Wilderness of the
    Shire's Northfarthing,


    "The Fallohides were fairer of skin and also of hair,
    and they were taller and slimmer than the others;
    they were lovers of trees and wilderness. / The Fallohides,
    the least numerous, were a northerly branch. They were
    more friendly with Elves than the other Hobbits were... /
    The Shirriffs was the name that the Hobbits gave to
    their police, or the nearest equivalent that they possessed. They
    had, of course, no uniforms (such things being quite unknown), only
    a feather in their caps; and they were in practice rather
    haywards than policemen, more concerned with the strayings of beasts
    than of people. There were in all the Shire only twelve of them, three
    in each Farthing, for Inside Work. A rather large body, varying at
    need, was employed to "beat the bounds", and to see that
    Outsiders of any kind, great or small, did not make themselves a nuisance.
    At the time when this story begins the Bounders, as they were called,
    had been greatly increased. There were many reports and complaints of
    strange persons or creatures prowling about the borders, or over them;
    the first sign that ll was not quite as it should be, and always had been
    except in tales and legends of long ago. Few heeded the sign, and not even
    Bilbo yet had any notion of what it portended."
    ~ Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring -
    Prologue: Of the Ordering of the Shire

    "After some time they crossed the Water, west of Hobbiton...
    The stream was there no more than a winding black ribbon,
    bordered with leaning alder-trees."
    ~ Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings:
    The Fellowship of the Ring - Three is Company



    "You saw a flying oliphaunt, cos, are you serious?" Matt Rogers, a Bounder of the Shire, asked Tourmaline Haylock, his relative, around a hearty laugh, walking slowly down the pathway through the alder forest.

    "Sssh, quiet!" the slim, yellow-haired Fallohide lass punched his arm. They couldn't catch the ruffians by surprise at Silvanas Olcha's cottage if the halflings were heard aproaching. The retired adventurer and his uncle's daughter were investigating news of a break-in at the woodworker's house by the Water. The wealthy Hobbit carpenter had tucked a parchment letter through his hound's collar and dispatched his dog to the local Shire Watch office, warning Sheriff Rick Quin that some out-of-towners were raiding his estate. Old Silvanas lived thirty miles southeast of Rushock Bog along the banks of the black winding river, making furniture of alder wood; his wife, Almandine, extracted red and yellow dyes from the bark of the trees to color clothes and their daughter, Sphene the healer, used the crimson shavings to treat insect bites and skin irritations. The Olchas were beloved by their neighbors in the community and not a bad thing was ever said about them.

    "It was small," swore Tourmaline, holding her index finger against her moving lips, hoping he'd take the hint and talk with a lowered voice.

    "You saw a flying oliphaunt the size of a small house and nobody else noticed?" Matt said with an air of amusement, arching a shaggy brown eyebrow.

    "It was actually the size of a wombat and covered with as much hair."

    "A wooly oliphaunt big as a wombat..."

    "Yeah, with the wings of an eagle."

    "You're bloody mental, cos," said Matt through an explosion of laughter and winced a second time when Tourmaline socked him again, harder.

    "Plenty of folks see strange beasts in the Shire these days, you know,"
    she insisted, bringing her Green Hill maple bow to hand.

    "Look, girl, I've sailed from the Bay of Balfalas to the Grey Mountains of the South and I've seen a lot of bizarre stuff but I ain't never seen a little hairy winged oliphaunt -"

    "Do you smell that?" she asked abruptly, clamping a palm over his mouth.

    "Smell what?" he asked, his voice muffled by his cousin's hand.

    "Coney..." She left him then, hurrying down the trail and he followed after. Rounding a bend in the road, they drew up short when a burst of wicked laughter roared over the drowning songs of the cicadas. Sweating through their loose cotton shirts, the Hobbits peered through the dense foilage surrounding them. They saw the handsome two-story chimneyed Olcha house of knotty alder wood overlooking the Water where the stars of heaven sprinkled brightly in glorious reflection of the brilliant fires above. Several men were noisily looting the home, a few of them emerging with beautifully furnished carvings and valuable apothecary supplies. In the garden yard before the gardenias and a decorative firepit was the Olcha family, Silvanus and his women bound liked trussed chickens and cruelly beaten. A tall, scruffy man with hard grey eyes and an evil smirk approached Sphene whose big blue orbs flooded with tears, lips wobbling. The human carried a stick skewered with a hot piece of roasted rabbit.

    "Wanna have a taste of your bunny, sweet thing?" implored the brute with a broad smile. He chuckled darkly, watching Sphene Olcha flinch when he brushed her mouth with the steaming hot meat of her dead pet. "C'mon, lass, indulge yourself!" he ordered her, pushing the searing food against the fair skin of her pretty face again, taunting her loudly above the hoots of his mates lounging about, filling their stomachs with the fruits of the halflings' labours.

    She spat in his face and he stopped laughing then. Cursing her, he grabbed the Hobbit girl's blonde hair and dragged her to the fire-pit, ignorning the protests of Sphene's screaming parents. She struggled frantically, shrieking, and bit his leg like a wild animal in her desperation to get away, and received a smashing blow to her jaw for it.

    "Their revelry is ended," muttered Matt in a deadly quiet voice, brown eyes narrowed to slits, unsheathing his cutlass. Tourmaline gasped, a poisoned iron arrow still knocked on her bowstring, when a baying pony-sized sable hound leaped from darkness pervading the alder woods on the opposite side of the property. The sable beast cleared the white-washed fence encircling the house with horrifying suddenness. On his muscular back was Elmarya whom Tourmaline recognized. Her arms were fastened around an elf-girl who neither Hobbit had met before although she bore a striking resemblance to Roina and Aigronding. Despite their unkempt appearance and the pungent aroma of their unwashed flesh which unpleasantly touched Tourmaline's nostrils even from where she was positioned, the ellyth were fair as the moon and their long locks were yellow as spun-gold.

    "Unbind the halflings or we'll kill you and your men," cooly said the girl with doll-like porcelain features and gentian blue eyes, walking her huge menacing dog toward the now terrified thieves. She spoke the Common Speech decently well, her voice silken and melodious.

    "I'm not afraid of maidens,"
    said the unshaven leader with some reluctance and spat on Sphene whose cheek was bruised and bleeding.

    "Maybe you will be," she replied frostily, resting a hand on the gold-plated hilt of her smallsword. Behind her, Elmarya silently dismounted with a stony look. She removed Penr
    óven from the scabbard attached to the leather belt cinched around the waist of her dirty black floral dress.

    "You look damn familiar, kid," he said, shoving Sphene away.

    "Does Roina have a child, Matt, because the girl looks just like her,"
    wondered Tourmaline, stunned.

    "Not that I know of and she's got Aigronding's blue eyes and his golden hair, too," Matt put in, equally as thunderstruck as his astonished relative, "but that's impossible, he's married to another woman. Unhappily but still...."

    "Perhaps my father flushed you and your vermin from his demesne,"
    loftily supposed the elf-girl with a prideful tilt of her chin. "His name is Mordagnir, a powerful elf-lord and a mighty warrior of Imladris."

    Tourmaline exchanged bewildered looks with her cousin.

    "Later, one of them is going for a knife," said Matt, nodding at one of the brigands gingerly pulling a dagger out of his jerkin behind Elmarya.

    "Got 'em," said Tourmaline, arranging her arrow on the string of her bow again, keeping her dominant eye wide open.

    The bandit leader tossed back his head with a laugh, prompting some of the others to chortle likewise. "Lord Mordagnir must not be as saintly as we thought, boys! Ha!"

    "What is it you are saying, blackguard?" demanded Elmarya's friend, flaxen eyebrows drawing closer together in sudden consternation.

    "That he must have shagged an elvish whore." A wicked grin played wide across his weathered, unshaven face. "You're a bastard girl."

    And just like that, everything went straight to Mordor.

    *

    Calselda stared blankly at the man as the world around her erupted violently. An arrow zipped across the clearing from the shrubbery ahead of her, piercing the heart of a ruffian who nearly had stabbed Elmarya in the back. Her friend wheeled, stabbing the air with her rapier's blade. It sank deep into the gut of one mortal who was swinging his cudgel at her head.

    A hobbit bearing a sword - short and broad and curved - leaped over the bushes with brown eyes smoldering in rage. He banished a blow of an axe away from his torso. The criminal fell, his ankle bitten by venonmous Capalda. A backlash of the halfling's weapon sliced the screaming thug's belly open, washing the green earth red.

    The outlaw captain disappeared into the wilderness. Calselda squeezed Polodren's flanks snugly, spurring her growling wolfhound into the woods in hot pusuit. She did not know what a whore was or a bastard but the elf-girl keenly was aware she had been foully insulted as well as her beloved mother. A coldness surged from the core of her being, her icy hatred channelling a chill fire along the blade of the smallsword Calselda freed from its black and golden scabbard.

    The enemy, fleeing through the forest as if a Harad Jungle Panther was relentlessly stalking him, risked a glance over his shoulder, afraid of how close the vengeful elleth and her great hound were approaching. The criminal's skin was deathly pale and the seat of his trousers were decorated with a large brown spot of filth.

    "I said you would be afraid," thought Calselda triumphantly, blonde hair streaming like a gold satin banner.

    He diverted course, sprinting to the left. The sweating man hurried down the slope, trying to reach a public dock Elmarya had said Stoor Hobbits of the Eastfarthing used when they boated west to sell their wares.

    The swath of trees in this corner of the alder woods was too dense for Polodren to navigate. Calselda lithely vaulted off the wolfhound's furry back with a bold cry of, "Ecthelion!" and latched onto a branch with elvish grace one-handed. She flung herself forward toward the grassy shore and crashed atop of the bandit chief, plunging them both into the river.

    Calselda sucked in her breath when the cold and star-dappled black water rolled over her unclean and tangled golden hair. Roina and Edan, Rilya and Gilnir never took her to Nenuial. She did not know how to swim. Calselda flailed hysterically, sinking like a stone into the sable depths of the river, but the ruffian crudely hauled her out, only to throttle her on the bank, scaring several bullfrogs away.

    She was stronger than the human so when she kneed him firmly in the groin, he collapsed backward, howling in pain. Calselda wasted no time. She quickly stood, taking up her fallen smallsword and slammed her boot against the villain's brawny chest, steadying him still with her superior elven strength. "What is a whore and a bastard, pray tell?" said Calselda, threatening him with the business end of her blade. Her lips curled not with anger but disgust, so filthy were the words the human had spoken.

    His mouth worked soundlessly.

    "SPEAK!" she ordered, periwinkle eyes shining brighter with rage.

    "A whore is a slovenly woman," he stuttered. "A promiscuous lady."

    She gritted her teeth. Elmarya was still teaching her Westron. Calselda's vocabulary was incomplete. "I do not understand. Explain."

    "A woman of low standards."
    He moaned a little, aching, rubbing his injured crotch. He gave her a loathing stare. "A dirty woman who ruts like a vixen in heat with any bloke. And a bastard is her good-for-nothing whelp." The man seemed to regret how acidly he had spoken, watching Calselda indignantly stiffening her posture.

    A sickening feeling beginning to swell in her abdomen mixed with utter contempt of the man before her. She leaned ominously over him. "My father is not just anyone. He is someone my mother has deeply loved all her life." She directed the sharp edge of her ancient N
    úmenorean smallsword against the villain's throat. "You are a thief and a killer. You have defamed my parents and slighted me. You deserve to die."

    "Have mercy, girl!" he spluttered, desperately raising his hands high.

    She arched a yellow eyebrow. "I have no compassion for vile men." She deftly drew her blade through his body and calmly watched the blood spurting out of the human's writhing form until his legs stopped kicking.

    "Calselda."

    She sheathed her smallsword and slowly turned to face Elmarya who was perched on the high ground above her with the curly-haired Hobbit Bounder who helped rescue them. Ire and revulsion gave way to embarrassment and sorrow, spots of pink coloring Calselda's ivory cheeks. How long have they been standing there? Polodren appeared, trotting down the riverbank from the west, having found an easier way to the shoreline, and Capalda was with him, cutely hopping along to keep up with the impressive strides of the mighty giant hound.

    "This is my friend Matt Rogers I told you about and...he's friends with your father whom I also I know well."


    "What do you know about my family?" she said huskily to no one in particular, her dripping wet slender body bathed in the silver light of the moonbeams slanting through the leafy ceiling of the alder forest.

    "I know there is an unquenchable thirst for justice in your family," said Matt with a solemn countenance, breaking away from Elmarya's side. He waded down the slope to join the younger she-elf on the luminous shore of the Water. "Your aunt has it." He took a tentative step closer to the Mordagnir girl. "Your mother has it." The Hobbit, standing next to her now, softly clasped Calselda's hand and she regarded him with glistening sapphire eyes. "Your father has it..."

    "Who is he?" the elleth uttered, tears streaking down the satin skin of her ivory face, interlacing her fingers around his tightly.

    "His name is Aigronding,"
    said the halfling. "He's the Herald of Elrond...and a married man."

    Last edited by Aigronding Mordagnir; 23/Jul/2015 at 05:42 PM.
    "How long do you want it to be?" - Steven C.
    "As long as it needs to be." - Aimmi G.


  14. Lady Aikári's Avatar
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    #114

    Forochel (Private)

    Future of Forochel, leaving (5)

    Nature was fierce in the northern wastes. But now with Rhivemorë circumstances changed for Nyarámo. “You may have lived content here for thousands of years, but I don’t like this cold. I came from warmer climates,” said Rhivemorë. Now she was better the woman had her demands as well. And for Nyarámo that was not easy to deal with. “I had no trouble when I came here. I don’t know the world really beyond this area of ice and mountains,” he said with a shrug of the shoulders. “I wasn’t always a captive,” said Rhivemorë, while she was creating a dinner together for them two. Cooking was also something she had taken over from him. “What year is it now?” “7104 of the First Age still,” nodded Nyarámo. “I kept counting on since leaving the old lands, to have a sense how old I would be. But since the drowning of Beleriand I don’t know what become of my kindred. I thought for a long time I was the only one left.” Rhivemorë looked surprised to him. “You haven’t told me that.” “You never asked,” replied Nyarámo and what was really important about it? Beleriand was a distant memory. “I came from the east. I never knew there were lands in the west, now under the sea. This bay here too?” asked Rhivemorë turning around. Nyarámo nodded: “The seafloor carries surely evidence of inhabitancy of long ago, roads, cities, bridges… the mortals around here; their ancestors came from those countries too. But they don’t know anymore. That history is lost to them.”

    More than fifty years now after the lost invasion new generations of the Ystävät Talven had grown up and the few people Nyarámo had known in FA 7048 were dead for years. The men who had travelled with him per ship to the island of Gondolin were even longer dead. Most of the spoils from there Nyarámo still had in his own possession. The cold was so harsh here lately than the humans never grew older than more than forty years. So it was not quite uncommon that with sixteen or seventeen years couples married and began children. It was impossible for Nyarámo to keep up with the new generations of humans. New wars erupted between the tribes, but Rhivemorë and Nyarámo kept out of it. Instead from her side were plans growing to leave this area altogether, and it was after all not that easy to get Nyarámo with her. Rhivemorë wanted to find others of her kindred. But Nyarámo was very sceptic. “I don’t know really if it’s wise to leave. As much I know there aren’t any of my people left.” Rhivemorë shook her head. “I come from a small society, and I had parents before they were killed. But I believe it was no coincidence that I found you. That you even freed me with risk of your own life.” “I handled on instinct,” he said with a shrug, a bit embarrassed. He wasn’t used to being a hero, in the eyes of the person he loved. But that was what Rhivemorë saw in him. “You’re a good person actually, not bad,” she said. “But think if we have children and they grow up. Who would they have to marry, when there are no others of us around? We need to find other elven enclaves, if they are there in this world.” It was clearly a matter Nyarámo had never thought about. He shook confused his head. Rhivemorë nodded: “You lived for so long here alone, not? You never thought that I would come along.” Nyarámo nodded in return: “Yes, I never believed that. After sixthousand years I lost to hope to find anyone really, or even someone who wanted to lived with me.”

    Days after still now the summer was nearing Rhivemorë began with Nyarámo‘s help to pack everything. They needed chests and for that she did sent him into the mountains to bring a few trees back. Long hours went in to create sleighs. Nyarámo knew that from the Ystävät Talven, but these ones needed to be sturdier and more reliable. They would go with the first snow. Nyarámo had quite much from all that time. Halfway the summer he took her with a boat for the last time to Gondolin, and the house where he was long ago born. Now deserted for over a hundred years or more it had decayed even further. Old buildings had toppled down, but Rhivemorë found it still fascinating. A city like this she had never lived in. She assembled lots of niceties from houses that had remained intact. “I really cannot believe this has been a lively city,” nodded Rhivemorë. “That seems so unreal.” “Just a memory nothing more, and it really means nothing,” replied Nyarámo. “Great lords ruled from here, and all of them died. Wiped out of history, not remembered.” Rhivemorë looked with a strange expression on her face. “Who?” “Noldorin kings of old, but I don’t recall who. They have all gone to dust, just like those mortals, the Ystävät Talven,” said Nyarámo. Rhivemorë was idem clothed as him, in mostly fur clothing as the north provided nothing else. She saw weaving tools and looms. She found plans how to build them from wood. And that was what she assembled. She found patterns and took more of that sorts of things with her. She knew that Nyarámo could read and write and she was certain he would teach that to her.

    In the end they decided to go by boat. But the small vessel they had while travelling to the island of Gondolin was not fitted for the great ocean. On the beaches of their current homeland Minheldolath they did build a larger boat from the wood that grew on the high mountain hills. With the plans they possessed it was not hard to figure that out and the saps from the trees helped to seam the wooden boards together. All came from the natural recourses around. Nyarámo had picked one and other from the Orcs they had captured a century ago, but happened to them he didn’t know. Nyarámo and Rhivemorë worked further on the boat, which became an yacht. It took them the whole summer to build it. But by the end of the short summer it was worth to see. It floated on the water and that counted for something. When finally the days began to grow shorter Nyarámo and Rhivemorë left the place he had lived so long. They set course toward the west and followed the coast line over Hub Falthol, toward one of the islands. These were parts Nyarámo had never been and even he might have wandered those lands so long ago, he didn’t recognise it. Metsastajoiden Saari was together with Piktamiehen Saari and Sarchael-i-Fannath, the tree sisters in the west, into what beyond the sea of Ekkaia was. North of Gondalf across the bay of Hub Ereb lay another land completely covered in ice, Dor Bendor that was called. For some time they founded a new home on the most southern island of them, Metsastajoiden Saari.

    Rhivemorë and Nyarámo promised to each other as what substitute to an elven marriage was. There were no others to speak any blessings and neither of them knew what the right procedure was. Neither had any other family. “I was the only daughter to my parents. I had no other brothers or sisters,” she told to her new husband. “I lived for long times happily with them in woods beyond the grand plains, close to what we believed were our ancestral lands. When in the southwest a real evil rose, tribes from the deep deserts came north and conquered the lands on the natives. Long I could avoid them. But nobody and nothing was safe for them.” She had told him about her capture and how long she had been among the invaders. There had been others like her, but in the blizzard of that winter all had perished. They had now their own little paradise of what mainly rock and ice was. But when the sun broke through the views were magnificent. There was a colony of walruses nearby. Whales and dolphins popped up from the waters and brought them often a visit. Nyarámo hadn’t seen this kind of behaviour in animals earlier, while he was with the Ystävät Talven. “They keep being curious,” said Nyarámo. “I never watched that kind of habits in them.” Things from the past were told at sea, in the evenings mostly after dinner. Rhivemorë grinned. This time it were the dolphins that came by once again. “I had a twin sister once, but our paths separated after the attack on Gondolin for good. My parents died both there. I travelled with the humans toward the east, leaving everything of what reminded to that cursed place behind. What I could not cast off was my immortality or the fact that I never would become deadly ill as they would. I was known to them as a wizard. I lived that way for more than sixthousand years among them, believing my kindred was extinct.” He told of many anecdotes about the Mornerim and the later Ystävät Talven. Some were serious, many were funny and both of them had great fun about the mortals in general. For years they would travel these northern regions, using the yacht they had built.

    Exit for now.
    Last edited by Lady Aikári; 11/May/2015 at 05:35 PM.

  15. Greyfang's Avatar
    Master Craftsman of Lindon
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    #115

    The Nimredel Saga
    Part 1: The Age of the Stars




    Chapter 1 - Ostelemar
    The House of Seven Stars



    Dramatis Personae


    Sabriel Nimredel, known as Mornstar,eldest
    of the Palestar Family
    Sarnir Nimredel, known as Erondo (Lonely Rock),
    a moody but gifted sculptor and mason.
    Liraenil Nimredel, a prized woodworker who suffers from
    anxiety stemming from a childhood incident in Middle Earth.
    Harathor Nimredel, twin and firerce avenger
    of Liraenil and a skilled clothier.
    Orderann Nimredel, the oddball athlete of the family
    who has a charming, joy-filled outlook on life.
    Mylirae Nimredel, known as the Dogstar, a rebellious
    mischief maker sympathizing with the feanorians unknown to her family.
    Turaegon Nimredel, a young but foresighted architect,
    patient and always willing to learn.
    Kalyia Brightclaws,A sentient Lyre-Cat of Aman,
    a wildcat with the gift of speech and reason.
    Everîwen Hopefire, a telerin writer
    and history-keeper married to Sabriel.


    "In Tiron upon the great hill of Tuna there stand many great and powerful houses, made of both stone and flesh.
    Of theses one stands apart, not for being the largest, nor the most elaborate or the most well visited by figures of note. However this house, in both flesh and stone was unique in its design and the components that compromised its great structure. I Nimredel Noss or the Family Palestar was founded by two great architects and their seven siblings who built the great Mansion of Ostelemar in the blessed lands. It was shaped as if to imitate their family emblem (or perhaps the emblem imitated it) - a great seven-pointed star of golden stone, tall and shining with a great gold-columned hall rising from its core.”

    - From “Historie of the House Palestar, Chapter 2: Of Ostelemar by Turaegon Nimredel.



    Sabriel "Mornstar" Nimredel
    and
    Mylirae "Dogstar" Nimredel
    Ostelemar (House of Seven Stars)
    The Mansion and Seat of the Palestar House in Valinor.
    Sometime in the Years of the Trees


    Sabriel stalked the halls of Ostelemar, her fair unclothed feet falling soundlessly upon the marble-veined floors as dew upon a morning blossom. She stood wreathed white satin studded with gems of glass beyond count and painted with a tempest of metal-thread in gold, copper and chrome. To describe it simply as a dress would do the work of art utter injustice. Above her navel it clung like a second skin, straps that would have adorned her shoulders instead here draped to the side over the matriarch's bare arms.

    It swirled around her like a cyclopic maelstrom, slim fitting but made of a waterfall of crystalline layers that defied the measure of any eye. Every adamantine gem or bead and wire of glad seemed to contain a tiny warm light that made the whole dress seem to blur a little. As Sabriel moved it would intensify like the light of the stars that show on a warm summer afternoon.
    For a moment it would seem white only for a flare of silver or copper to catch an observer's eye and suddenly one would be entranced in the web of glimmering wires and shining crystals, lost for years unnumbered in its eternal intricacy.

    A gossamer thin cloak of velvet navy shrouded her shoulders like night's embrace, its simplicity forming a stark contrast to the complex raiment of her other attire. Completing her outfit was a sparse few pieces of jewellery, for Sabriel, like all of her family was not one for showy bangles or bright charms. Instead she wore three rings, a bright white opal shining with fire and mounted in gold on her left pointer with a gold, silver and sapphire ring in the shape of the Palestar emblem on the ring finger of the same hand. On the ring finger of her right she wore a simple gold band without jewel or script and around her neck a single drop of water, suspended in glass like amber hung from her neck by a thin golden thread.

    Next to the lake of warm starlight that pooled around her feet padded a hunter equally as silent as her mistress. Kalyia was the name of the fearsome beast that accompanied Sabriel in the manse, a lyre-cat of legend, leader of the pack that oft stalked the Palestar lands. Cloaked in the deepest violet, Kalyia's fur shone with power and ever pad of her foot announced her fearsome presence.

    Their friendship had been fast since the founding of Tirion. First they had met as hunters, one hunting the other until the roles reversed. Soon peace was made and they formed a bond unknowable to any other.

    Come Kalyia. Into the depths.

    The words were unspoken but still they sent from one to the other. A moment passed as the lyre-cat responded.

    "Rather, to the heights Mornstar" The voice was softly velveteen, chased with power and wisdom. Kalyia's golden eyes lingered on her constant companion as she spoke before she padded silently forward into the seven-sided hall that formed the centre of the manse and the heart of the star.

    It was perhaps one of the most impressive marvels of architecture Sabriel had ever seen - a wide open hall, immensely high with arches that hung like vines across the almost cloud-wreathed ceiling. Around the outside of the hall a number of large rooms sat - chapels, kitchens, Pantries, dining and leisure halls ringed with a heavy stone staircase wrought of the same golden stone as Ostelemar itself that wound around the inner walls of the hall

    In the centre of the hall and the very core of Ostelemar was a great and imperious structure greater than any feat of stone or glass. It was a tree - a giant of it’s kind with roots thicker than the most muscular elf’s torso that spilled out over the hall and a trunk that had never been measured but was without any doubt at least a hundred meters tall, garnished with innumerable branches. At first glance one would assume it a great ash tree but to look closer one would realise it was none other than a gilt-orange tree.

    Gilt-oranges were rare in Aman, being native to Middle Earth’s eastern provinces. Normally they grew little taller than the height of two or three peoplle but fed upon the springs of Valinor and sharing the same soft soil that once gave rise to the blessed light of Telpirion and Laurelin this Gilt-Orange grew far larger and greater than any would expect. Its silver-barked trunk was traced with trails of spun gold, emeralds leaves flecked with copper and bronze and their golden star-shaped flowers lined with silver veins.

    This tree was taken by the young elven couple from the shores of Middle Earth and sustained on the trip to Aman by only their wills and the light of the palest stars. When they reached the land of the gods however, against all hope the sapling still clung to life by the thinnest of threads. Planting it upon Tuna and building their house around it, the two named their family after the pale stars that had sustained the tree across their voyage.

    Surrounding the tree was a large turffed mound almost thirty meters wide, covered in many small flowers and plants that grew over and around the great roots of the gilt-orange. Encircling this was a shimmering girdle of clear water fed from the nearby natural springs and over this moat there was suspended a great circular platform of pale white marble that seemingly hung at hip height without any support at all. Sabriel knew it was all trickery and clever architecture, having helped build it, her glass filaments being the reason it ‘floated’.

    Knowing how it worked however didn’t mean it wasn’t magic.

    Upon the marble table, aligned with the seven points of the house were seven boughs, each crafted from a different material to resemble the branches and flowers of the gilt-orange. As each child of the family found their craft and passion they worked on their branch and contributed to the beauty of the gilt-orange.

    First there lay Sabriel’s own bough, it’s place marked with swirling cirith: “Sabriel: Born Silriel, Shining Fire of the Stars.” The bough Fashioned from a single blown price of glass the branch was life like in its detail. The glass was not simple however, a curling flowing piece that contained it’s most intricate designs within itself, shining with a reddish-golden light like starfire as the points within it gleamed like swirling constellations.

    Next to it was the branch of the second eldest of the family. The marble was marked with “Sarnir: Born Sarnir, Steadfast and Stony One. “ Indeed he was known as the stonehearted, both due to his personality an for his skill with stone. The branch was carven from his most beloved of stones, granite, the inspiration perhaps for his famed stone forest that had made the stonemason and his family renowned through Tiroin. It almost seemed to move it was so lifelike – every vein upon the leaves stood prominent and the smooth bark seemed as if it could simply be peeled off. Sarnir was the master sculptor of the family, his moody and brooding personality tolerated by many for whom tolerance did not come easy due to his talent and skill.

    Thirdly was the bough of Liraenil who like Sarnir turned a common craft into works of art. Her bough was carven from timber, a glowing polished piece that almost seemed the most unusual of all for while one would expect a branch to be made of wood, they did not expect them to be carven from the very heartwood of a tree, leaves and all. In front of it was inscribed: “Liraenil: Born Lirënissë, Woman of Song” Although all members were experienced in carving and crafting both stone and timber it was Sarnir and Liraenil who advanced these from simple crafts to an art form.

    Fourth was the bough of Harathor, a bloom of cloth and leather, sewn and pieced together so intricately that one could examine it for a week and still not find the seams. This branch featured a large flower in bloom and before it were the words “Harathor: Born Haranér, Chieftain.”

    Fifth was the wooden bough of Mylirae, which while as not intricately carved as Liraenil's was gilded with golds and silvers, metal and stones unnamed and unfathomable. Beautiful patterns traced into the fragile metal sheets in between studded jewels cut to shine like flame even in the least of lights. The branch was studded with little gilt flowers, jewelled petals and carved with flowing script and designs of vines and swords, stars and tress. At the base there were carved into the marble the words “Mylirae: Born Muilewen, Girl of Secrecy.”

    The sixth spot lay empty for Orderann preferred to devote his time to honing his body and physical skills rather than any one craft. Once the laughing athlete had joked that he could make a branch out of sweat but the idea wasn’t exactly well received. However the family was still hopeful and the space was left open the words carved into it standing clear “Orderann: Born Orduinëro, Man of the Rising river.”

    Finally there was the bough of Turaegon, the youngest but also counted as being as wise, patient and far-seeing as Sabriel herself. Certainly he was the one sibling with whom Sabriel felt true kinship – the two of them worked together seamlessly and often found themselves coming to the same solutions through different means. On the marble there was inscribed “Turaegon: Born Túraëano, Masterful One.” Turaegon's branch was fashioned from paper, specifically his architectural drawings and designs, folded and turned upon itself to form the flowers and bark that so resembled the gilt-orange.

    Sabriel studied the great Gilt-Orange tree and the offering around it for a moment, lost in thought before she followed Kalyia as the great panther-like lyre-cat as she padded up the stairs towards the highest point in the manse, the apex of the star. The stairs wound up the sloping walls of the hall, often forsaking golden stone for glass, stained with every hue as they passed the many tall windows that let light flood in towards the gilt-orange.

    Some of these windows were great sloping pieces composed of millions of tiles of stained glass depicting the journey of the family across the lands of Middle Earth and the seas from the very wakening of the elves in Curnievien to the founding of Ostelemar itself. Others however were plain with decorative arches that let great beams of light into fall upon the great tree, so tall that as the elf and the big cat neared the small chamber at the very apex of Ostelemar the walls were composed of more glass than stone.

    Sabriel paused before the doors of the Apexium. That was one of it’s many names. Apexium, Pinnacle, Observatory, Retreat. Sabriel preferred to call it the Orostenda, peace ascendant.
    The door were small, only a little taller than Sabriel’s six and a half feet and made of dark ash wood but they did not look heavy or thick, rather thin and almost fragile looking with a simple silver door handle. With a deep breath Sabriel eased the door open.

    Inside the room was frozen like the eye of an ever-raging tempest, at its centre a veil was drawn through which the vague outline of two figures on what seemed like thrones might be glimpsed if one knew what they were looking for. A constant breeze flowed through the room making the grey cloth shimmer and flow like water. Tiny fragments of crystal hung from the ceiling to form constellations that swayed gently in the breeze.

    They sparkled and shone in the pinpricks of light that danced through the room. The walls and roof of the entire room were pure glass and during the day after dawn the shutters that currently allowed only the tiny points of sunlight into the room were drawn over the windows and when the stars began to come out in the twilight hours they were removed.

    Slowly, reverently, Sabriel slowly sank to the ground, her dress spreading around her like a pool of muted starlight in the still and silent air. Kalyia followed her friend in kneeling, the great cat reverently deferring her golden eyes.

    Before them both the veil shimmered gently as if with breath.

    Sabriel closed her eyes and spoke.

    Mother. Father. Good Morning." Sabriel’s voice stayed strong but the very last syllable wavered ever so slightly. The veil rustled and there was an indistinct murmur that Sabriel nodded gently at.

    “Yes, I... I hope all is well with you, you have everything you need and..” Sabriel was cut off by the murmurs as veil rippled out towards her. Sabriel brought her fire-blue eyes up to stare intently at the intermittent shapes in the shimmering cloth.

    “Yes, I know - it is very beautiful, stunning even but I had a question to ask. Your daughter Mylirae, Muilewen, she’s become even more rebellious. Mischief has always been her nature of course but this is turning malignant. I don’t know what to do and I wa-”

    Sabriel dropped her eyes, her voice crashing into a whisper like a body thrown from a clifftop.

    “Yes, the stars are very beautiful.”

    Without a word more she rose and walked back through the thin ash doors, a glimmer in the corner of her eye a tear or perhaps a trick of the light.

    It was a long descent, lifetimes longer than coming up the winding marble stairs. Time’s funny like that. It was about halfway down that Kalyia broke the silence that had haunted them since they passed the ash-doors.

    They are getting worse Mornstar.”


    Sabriel sighed and turned to the window, pressing her hands against the cold glass as she gazed out through the body of Varda herself onto the Palestar lands that stretched out from the Manor, ending with the encircling wall with it’s seven towers glinting like gems.

    “There’s nothing I can do Kalyia... Nothing.” she said quietly. “It’s not a sickness it’s just...”

    “It is Star-Sickness Sabriel. This is what it does. You must be strong, as you always have been, your family...”

    “The family can go to the void!”
    shouted Sabriel whirling around in passion towards Kalyia. The Lyre-cat raised her hackled, her eyes shining but she did not bar her teeth. Behind her the high branches of the Gilt-Orange stired and swayed with displeasure.

    Control yourself. We cannot fight.” she admonished Sabriel.

    Kalyia I am allowed to not be strong. I am eldar not anuir - give me a moment for pity’s sake!” Sabriel growled, almost as loud as the dark-furred cat.

    The star-sickness that was overtaking her parent’s minds was a rare condition, but not unheard of. In their final lifecycles the Palestar parriachs (gender neutral and plural version of patriach/matriach) had developed a growing fondness with the stars, obsessing about them and delving keenly into their study until it quite literally consumed them. They faded now, their bodies or hröa becoming little more than memories held by their fëa or spirits which were eternally fixated on the heavens above, noticing little of the world around them, a disease of the mind and soul.

    A few moments passed until Sabriel reeled in her mind from it’s rambling path, turning from the window to continue down the stairs.

    Sabriel reflected on her siblings for a moment. The youngest, yet most faithful to the vision her parents had established - Turaegon. The tailstar, the constant.
    The second eldest, Sarnir, the lone-bright, a star of hard cold light, especially when with it's siblings but on its own, it was a warm light, for there was a loving and gentle, if little seen or known side.
    Then there was of course Liraenissë, or Liraenil as she preferred these days and Harathor, inseparable and never quite stable, moody and changable, they were still children and never quite likely to grow up, not fully. Not anytime soon. The glimmerings - the dancing stars.

    Ah but then Orderann, the shining - a laughing, loving soul concerned with nothing more than the happiness of others. If only there were more like him.

    Ah and then her... The dogstar. Mylirae, the trickster. Passionate and beautiful but known to make mischief for mischief's sake. It seemed that adolescent rage that had once been channelled into her anger against the systems she was 'imprisoned' within was finding new outlets.

    "You languish many a thought upon them Morn-star. Too many."

    Sabriel's eyes shone with a hard, clear light like the crystal and glass she so skillfully melded together. She looked down and met Kalyia's malted amber.

    "Your counsel is always appreciated, but by the stars they are as much my children as my siblings. I don't quite believe that..."

    "I speak as I will and must not be silent." Intoned the great cat, eyes gleaming as Sabriel frowned at her.

    “I’ll look after them Kalyia, I will believe me but sometimes…”

    Sometimes they do not want your help.” Spoke the Lyre-cat sagely as they neared the bottom and Sabriel looked up at the towering Gilt-Orange. The family tree swayed gently on its own breeze, bathed in the golden light of day as Laurelin, the golden tree shone bright.

    As she took the last few steps down into the hall she saw a dark haired figure reclining against the trunk of the tree, feet resting carelessly upon a great moss-covered root and a half eaten apple in hand.

    "Mylirae." Sabriel breathed the word out with a fiery breath. She marched across the hall, star-white dress glittering dangerously as she spoke vehemently.
    "Mylirae, what trickery and mischief do you work now?"

    The younger elf looked up at Sabriel with forlorn innocence in her wide blue eyes. She was slightly shorter that Sabriel, with a shock of brown-black hair, which like all the family would deepen to a coal-dusted sable once she passed a certain age, though the age itself seemed to vary from person to person. Mylirae’s hair hung around the top of her neck unlike Sabriel’s long tresses that reached to her mid-chest and the younger elleth’s sparkling blue eyes were perhaps the only once in the family that could match the piercing intensity of Sabriel’s stare.

    Indeed the two pairs of eyes now locked, as often they seemed wont to do of late.

    "Me? I am doing nothing sister, other than sitting here and ruminating on our fine family. It is you who charges down those stairs like they belong to you, which I might remind you they don’t.”

    Next to Sabriel Kalyia let out a low growl causing Mylirae to raise an eyebrow in disdain at the Lyre-cat.

    “I'm afraid I forgot to bring my ball of string widdle-kitty. Sabe, keep your pet on a leash won’t you?” she said.

    “Mylirae Nimredel, I expected more of you,” spoke the Lyre-cat padding closer to the elleth, “stooping to name-calling and insults in this petty infighting. You’re a disgrace to your family. If I were your matriarch I would…”

    But you’re not Kalyia.” Said Mylirae with mock sadness, “Isn’t that right sister?”

    Sabriel drew her breath deep, eyes glittering in the hard light. "Stop! Both of you! I cannot stand such bickering. I thought you both above such things. Now, Mylirae was there something you wanted sister?"

    Mylirae looked straight into the eyes of her elder sister with a cheeky grin lightly cast upon her face. "I simply wished to relax before getting ready for the ball sister. I do assume we are still attending?"

    For a moment Sabriel was taken aback by this sudden turnaround in her sister's policy. She did not try to hide it as some may have, seeing the edges of Mylirae's lips curl a little. "I thought you said such things were boring and drab, enjoyed only by poor souls so dreary they can't entertain themselves. What changed?" she asked.

    "Oh I do still think that but I've since heard that there will be fireworks there dear sister and you do know how I love fireworks, a bright and bursting in silver and gold..." Mylirae was tricksome in her riddles but Sabriel was perhaps the only person her equal - it did not take the matriach long at all to catch onto the dogstar's meaning.

    "You've talked to Sarnir. You heard about..."

    "Our dearest nephew yes," laughed Mylirae, "Oh isn't it fabulous that he's fallen for the scoin of such a well-knew, loyal family of high repute. I mean shame they're all lazy, overentitled saura-lirulin!* But no matter, for is shall be a wonderous match!"

    "Mylirae!" Sabriel hissed, "I will not let you come to the ball if you will insult the Narfilit clan such! They may not have trades or crafts as we do, nor may they have worked as we have to gain our positions but they are citizens of this city, kind-hearted and well-mannered and you will give them the same respect deserved of any person of this land!" she thundered.

    Mylirae laughed, "First you wanted me to go to the ball, now you don't want me going.. Do make up your mind! Ah but how did you find out about dearest Sarnirion? I have only just talked to our dearest brother a few hours ago and he had imparted the information to no other at that time."

    "What business is it of yours Mylirae? I could have talked to Sarnir after you or perhaps to dearest Menellote or to the erstwhile child himself! Ah, come to the ball if you wish sister, I would like the whole family there after all. I do not however, wish to be made fools of. Understood?"

    Mylirae rolled her eyes, getting up from beneath the boughs of the gilt-orange. "Of course. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to see how Sarnir and his bough are. What of you Sabe?"

    "I shall seek out Taerion I think" said Sabriel with a nod, her hands clasped behind her back. "Some time in the orchards before the light of Laurelin fades would be nice. To Sarnir?" she questioned. "Did you not just visit upon them?"

    "And thus I shall do so again." said Mylirae with a high chin.

    "Ai, I cannot stop you. But don't you be plotting anything with him. Sarnir's views are enough as they are without them infecting more of this family."

    "Ha! I shall not be doing anything of the kind."

    Sabriel raised an eyebrow, "Then what are you planning to do?"

    Mylirae smiled for a moment. "Plotting."



    Notes:
    * Saura-Lirulin: Foul-Lark in quenya, literally one is dirty, smelly and talks too much.
    Last edited by Winterwolf; 01/Jun/2015 at 04:17 AM. Reason: All finished and edited in!


    Formerly Winterwolf.
    Work Hard, Hard Worker.

  16. Avalein's Avatar
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    #116
    Alyanis Rilyaelen, Ruindolon, Isilmenis, Arinion, Mirien, Lothuialthel, Vorindon, Aspenisse, Melie

    Mar Rilyaelen
    Tirion-upon-Tuna, Aman
    During the years of Trees

    Alyanis smiled at her husband, Ruindolon they had been married a few months, in those months had noticed that Astaron grew further away from them. Sitting in the gardens with her mother, Isilmenis, her mother-in-law, Aspenisse, and her sisters Mirien and Lothuialthel, as well as her husband's sister Melie. Their father's were with Ruindolon, Arinion and Vorindon.

    Seeing Astaron, Alyanis stood making her way over to him, "have you been avoiding me?" she asked starting for the street and the garden not watching to see if Astaron was following. Nodding to family servants who came out with her to escort her, to the market. "I am going to the market you are welcome to join me," she said as both she and the servant started up the street.

    Reaching the market Alyanis started to look at the stalls lining the market area. Stopping at a few of the stalls buying a few things before sitting down by the fountain. Closing her eyes happily as she took in the sounds around her.

  17. Part One

    OOC @ Almarëa: I will post for The Pursuit next; first,
    I had to finish this segment I've been working on for weeks.


    Pound me the witch drums
    The witch drums
    Pound me the witch drums
    Pound me the witch drums
    The witch drums
    Better pray for hell, not hallelujah

    I'm a coat of fists
    Dead and hardened spiders
    Like two mangled crowns
    Or the widest of the meanest coiled snakes

    ~ Marilyn Manson, from Cupid Carries a Gun, the theme song of Salem
    .



    - Sources: Mikko Lagerstedt Photo, Eva Green -

    The Invisible Queen begins nearly a decade ago
    when Aileen Camlost was six years old and concludes
    just after Tavari Mordagnir returns to Ost-Halatir with
    Logan Greycloak's head.

    The Invisible Queen series describes Aura Camlost's
    violent endeavors to weaken the might of Rivendell's military
    and to lure Aigronding Mordagnir into the open, making him vulnerable
    to the brutality of her agents. By the finale of the short story collection,
    it will be apparent to the reader that nearly ever mission the Host of Imladris,
    the Host of the Eldar, and the Halcyon Guard have ever taken
    has been in direct response against the evil
    of the Witchqueen's pawns...

    Dramatis Personae:

    Aura Camlost - The Witchqueen of Rhudaur.
    Aileen Camlost - Archprincess of Rhudaur, Aura's daughter.
    Beren Camlost - An errant adventurer, Aura's estranged husband.
    Cynwrig - Achmagus of the Coven and King of the Rhudaurians. Aura's great-grandfather.
    Aigronding Mordagnir - A High Elf of Imladris who killed Aura's father.
    Riona's dearest friend and her lover.
    Roina Nilthoron - A High Elf noblewoman. Aigronding's childhood friend, his lover.
    Edan Amrun - A High Elf of Imladris, Aigronding's close friend.
    Antreas [ahn-Tree-as]
    - A Dunlending captain.
    Anfisa [ahn-FEE-sah] - The wife of Antreas.
    Anastazja [ah-nah-stahz-yah] - The daughter of Antreas and Anfisa.
    King Damrod - Ruler of the Angmarian Remnant before Amarthel Delgaran's coups.
    Telkelion - A high-ranking High Elf soldier of Lindon in the Host of the Eldar,
    later the Admiral of the Lindon Guard.
    Elmarya - Telkelion's rebellious daughter, looking for her father in Eregion.
    Saruman the White - Leader of the Istari Order.
    Celsoron - A bad-hearted Great Eagle of the Misty Mountains.
    Pravus - An Orc commander with a long crooked tooth.
    Vani - A bandit chieftess, Clive's wife.
    Clive - A bandit chief, Vani's husband.
    Helwen Grimsteel - A bandit chieftess.
    Logan Greycloak - A bandit chief
    TBA

    *

    Nine Years Ago, during the
    events of the
    Enemy Assault Host of Imladris RPG
    and its sequel
    Aftermath.

    *







    Min Colvarn, Dunland

    "So Thr
    áin and Thorin with what remained of their following
    (among whom were Balin and Gloin) returned to Dunland, and
    soon afterwards they removed and wandered in Eriador, until at
    last they made a home in exile in the east of the Ered Luin beyond the Lune."

    - Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: Appendix A - Durin's Folk

    Little did they
    [the Dunlendings] understand that by a well-worked out plan
    the enemy had decieved them and was now using them

    to test the defences of the Host of Imladris. Their decievers even didn’t care if they would win or not, as long as
    they would acquire the valuable data they had been set out to collect.
    Now their target was in their sights and they strode on with powerful steps.
    They were underarmed it seemed and would hardly

    make the threat they convinced themselves they posed. Yet they had strength in numbers,
    which counted for something their leader knew.
    Now they came upon the buildings and
    their enemy came into sight. It was obvious they had been waiting for them.

    That was a setback, but they could overcome it. Raising his sword their leader held to
    prepare the men for their assault...just a little bit closer first...

    ~
    from The Host of Imladris: Enemy Assault RPG


    "What do you think of them, love?" crooned Aura Camlost, clasping her young daughter's slight shoulders.

    "They're small and hairy," giggled Aileen, holding the Temporal Stone pendant of her necklace, as she watched the Dwarven caravans of Thorin Oakenshield departing west out of the fair and fertile lands of Dunland.

    Aura stifled a sigh, tucking back strands of her wind-blown dark-brown hair. "Could you elaborate, darling?" she asked through her teeth. The sorceress smoothed her hands in irritation over the strapless layered dress of green satin she wore beneath a gold-gleaming cape. The girl had too much of Beren in her. Aileen Camlost was too lighthearted.


    "They have really long beards, Ma."

    The Witchqueen of Rhudaur rolled her violet eyes, smothering a groan of frustration. "Annnd...?"

    "The Dwarves look pretty sad,"
    Aileen said glumly and thrusted out her bottom lip with a melancholy noise.

    Aura stifled a sigh. She's going to make a terrible tactician at this rate, thought Aura dismally. "What are most of them wearing, dear?"

    "Armor."

    Aura breathed a sigh of relief and grinned. "Correct! They're warriors, brave and fierce. At this point in time, the Longbeards are just leaving Dunland to live in the Blue Mountains."

    "They were here?"

    "Indeed."

    "Why didn't we help them?"
    asked Aileen, looking up at her mother. "We could have made their lives better with our magic. Maybe we could have killed Smaug then they could go back home and be happy."

    Angry spots of crimson flushed Aura's alabaster cheeks. "They are renegades, my sweet," she said pointedly, gently holding the nape of her daughter's neck. "The Dwarves do not worship the same god as we do. When the Coven and the Dunlendings are stronger we will destroy their petty kingdoms and enslave the stunted vermin -"

    Suddenly, she felt the familiar presence of her great-grandfather looming near and ordered Aileen to return them both to present sight of their surroundings. With a murmured word of command, hilly fields of virgin winter snow replaced the endless sea of amber flowers. The Archmagus, clothed in a hooded and gold-tasseled purple vestment, fondly embraced the women.

    "There is a good reason for this disturbance, I hope," Aura remarked, cocking an eyebrow. "I was giving Aileen a lesson."

    "I hate to interrupt class," said Cynwrig with a faint smirk, rolling a hand over the child's wavy chocolate-brown tresses, "but we have a meeting at Raven Hall, ladies."

    They returned to Min Colvarn. Aura froze still when she saw wargs idly roaming the sward of the low and rectangular, black marble building.

    "You recruited Orcs," she snapped at Cynwrig, intense purple fires dancing in her eyes. She had no love for goblins.

    "Sauron did," said the Archmagus clearly, his own disgust registering plainly on his bearded weathered face, as they crossed the columned portico. "They will join the Dunlendings in this venture. I'm sorry, poppet." He enchanted the imposing iron door open with a flourish of his hand and Aura stormed inside with him. She sniffed derisively, staring with cold hatred at the Orcs who ate gluttonously at her teakwood table much to the noticeable chagrin of her Dunlending warchief, Antreas, and his fellow brown-skinned peers.

    "You and your lieutenants will bow in the presence of the royal family," Antreas commanded the goblin leader, kneeling before Cynwrig and Aura and Aileen as did his subalterns. He was a tall, beefy man with smoldering eyes and roughly handsome features.

    The bulky Gram-orc captain dressed in black plate armor, spat a wad of chewed meat at the feet of the mages. "Puyati serves the Dark Lord, not witches," he said, referring to himself in the third person.

    "I don't care if you honor me or not but you're in my Mama's house, Orc, so you better show her some respect and my Granddad, too,"
    said Aileen, seething, with a flush of anger reddening her ivory face.

    Aura's chest heaved with pride, a wide smile broadening her red lips. She shared a look with Cynwrig who looked just as pleased. Sometimes they worried about the girl, fearing the child was too meek.

    Puyati gazed at the Princess of Rhudaur silently. He maintained his haughty facade but the goblin's thick green fingers visibly trembled around the thin stem of the engraved pewter goblet he held. Wisps of Aileen's long hair stirred, waving slightly as if touched by the cool wind although the door of the hall was now secured and the casement windows sealed shut. The table's silverware rattled, disturbed by the young Caster's threatening show of magical force. Her grey eyes sparkled like stormclouds lit by searing arcs of silver lightning.

    "They can kiss Puyati's arse," growled the Orc, "and so you can you, pipsqueak!" He reached for a cleaver to cut his next slice of roasted garlic mutton. Impelled by Aileen's sharp lifting motion, the blade found itself deeply embedded in his forehead instead. Puyati, already dead, collapsed backward on the sweet-smelling rushes of the floor.

    The goblins screamed more from surprise than outrage, only one of them leaping up to challenge the Archprincess, drawing his bronze xiphos. Neither Aura nor Cynwrig or the Dunlending warriors reacted fast enough to protect her. Aileen blasted the goblin with a barrage of lavender Morgul lightning. The howling Orc was violently directed back toward his seat as the glittering tendrils of radiant pale-purple energy tortured his body to a charred, smoking skeleton.

    Aileen slowly turned her glare on the lone Orc survivor who was staring at the corpses of his brethren in horror. "Are you going to be mean, too?" she asked, her hands still aglow with mauve fire.

    The Orc who had a long crooked tooth immediately dropped from his seat to bend knee before her, the Witchqueen, and the Archmagus.

    "I'm so proud of you, sweethart," said Aura, beaming ecstatically, snuggling her daughter.

    "That was Harad rosewood, love,"
    lamented Cynwrig woefully, pushing the dead Orc out of the expensive seat with a telekinetic shove. He sighed, repairing the damaged chair with a reversal spell.

    When the dead goblins were removed from the hall, everyone was assembled at the table and the discussion began in earnest.

    "We will attack Rivendell to test its strength as you've requested and return with valuable knowledge for the Coven," said Antreas, speaking to Aura and Cynwrig calmly, "but the Lionmaster clan and other tribes hope that you will allow us to draw our kin southwards from Vesi Melkein once we've helped your sorcerers enslave the Elves of Imladris and eradicate the Rangers of the North at some point in the years to come."

    "You're asking for a compromise?" Aura asked frostily, arching one brow. She sat regally on a chair of black marble cushioned with red satin. It was a smaller replica of her dais throne that was crowned with a raven in flight carved from Orodruin obsidian as were the seats of her great-grandfather and Aileen.

    "Your people are living here by our grace, Your Highness," reminded Antreas, his broad face devoid of anger.

    "We help your people fight the Rohirrim who would destroy your tribes." Tilting her head, an evil smile played on her full lips. "What makes you think I won't if the fancy suits me?"

    "That's enough, poppet," snapped Cynwrig, giving his great-granddaughterr a hard stare. "We must not be enemies but friends. Kin looks after kin. We will promise Antreas that the the hill-men of Vesi Melkein will eventually come to Dunland."

    They're traitors, Aura said flatly in Cynwrig's mind.

    I have no intention of honoring the deal, poppet, and will worry about it later,
    Cynwrig replied telepathically.

    "We are honored to live with the Coven and to fight at your side," said Andreas warmly to the Archmagus, avoiding Aura's menacing glare, "and the tribes will be delighted to hear the mages will unite us with our distant family."

    "I am Pravus,"
    said the rawboned, stringy-haired Orc with the snaggletooth. "Am I the captain now?"

    "I suppose," said Aura with a shrug, "if you're the next highest-ranking commander in the Orc-host."

    He nodded excitedly.

    "And if you're smart...."

    "How do we get inside the valley?"
    he asked, proving he had some impressive degree of intelligence.

    "We use the girl," spoke Cynwrig resolutely. "Aileen has inherited much of her father's goodness. If she is near Rivendell than perhaps -"

    "- its shield may be weakened by the chaos of her tainted magic, not knowing friend from foe, and the Dunlendings will invade the valley,"
    Aura finished with a bleak expression, looking at her daughter gravely.

    "You're the one who came up with the plan, poppet," Cynwrig reminded her.

    She accepted a black-and-gold goblet from a doe-eyed Dunlending lass. "And I hate myself for devising it," Aura replied acidly, raising the bejeweled cup to her lips.

    "I won't be safe?" Aileen asked in a small, tinny voice, suddenly looking vulnerable and frightened. Aura had demonized the Elves quite well in her lectures and over-exaggerated their powers. Her little girl was terrified of them.

    Aura studied her child over the rim of her ornate goblet, taking a long drink of her pear cider. "You should be safe, sweetie. Antreas will muster his finest guards to surround you in a place hidden miles away from the battle. You'll be close enough to the border but you won't have to enter the valley."

    "No sorcerers?"
    Aileen asked, blushing, with an apologetic glance at Antreas who didn't seem to mind, smiling wanly at Aileen.

    "We do not want to reveal ourselves too early, Aileen," Aura explained, "which is why we're sending the Dunlendings to Rivendell instead to gauge how strong the elvish army is. I must remain here with your father to watch over our people and the Morgul Academy."

    "Antreas' force attacking Imladris will be underarmed so Elrond's warriors won't believe the hill-men are being supported by powerful allies," Cynwrig added. He swept the crimson juice of Dunland cherries off his mouth with a purple handkerchief. "No sorcerer remains alive who remembers the ancient paths to Imladris and I only used one," he said to Pravus. "I would plant that memory inside your mind but I'm sure the area is perhaps still watched by those who may believe I have survived this long. You and Antreas will need to discover the location of Rivendell for yourselves."

    Later that night Aura soothed her worried child to sleep but lingered by her bedside long after Aileen slept, stroking the girl's hair and brooding grimly. "If Mordagnir harms my baby, I will not be there to defend her." With hot tears escaping her violet eyes, Aura reclined next to her child and wrapped her arms tenderly around her.

    "Dunlendings think they have found a weak spot in Imladris’s defenses
    and are heading with great speed towards the Army Headquarters."

    ~ from the Host of Imladris: Enemy Assault RPG
    Last edited by Aigronding Mordagnir; 20/Jul/2015 at 08:06 PM.
    "How long do you want it to be?" - Steven C.
    "As long as it needs to be." - Aimmi G.


  18. The Pursuit
    T.A. 23, Lairë ("Summer", Quenya)

    (
    Private With Almarëa)




    The Last Bridge


    "If she's somewhere north," said Aigronding to Rilien, "I hope it's Forochel. The thought of Almarëa ice-skating with the Lossoth worries me less than imagining her getting chased by werewolves of Angmar." He nodded, agreeing with Rilien, folding his muscular arms as he gave Roina a hard look. "The depths of Angmar's Mountains, the caves of northern cold-drakes, the coves of Enedwaith cannibals - there is no place we'd fear to search for her."

    "What about the Cracks of Doom?" asked Eilianthel. Her green eyes sparkled with amusement, seeing her father hesitant to answer.


    His molten fury and his weakened condition ended the duel sooner than expected with Raina depositing Aigronding in a thorn bush, his father's sword flung meters away. He clamped his mouth shut, feeling pinpricks of pain flash across his wounded skin, manfully restraining a cry. Roina and Eilianthel removed him gingerly and Meril began applying a salve to his cuts while Aigronding moodily listened to Raina.

    "I didn't realize his arm looked unusually different than the other," Valion remarked with a quiet tone. blinkingly staring at the slight bulge of Rilien's shirt where he had bandaged his limb.

    "Niether did I, being so concerned for Almarëa," said Aigronding, a mixture of embarrassment and anger flushing his cheeks as he gazed at Rilien.

    "Did you displease Almarëa somehow and she hurt you?"
    Roina questioned Rilien, standing akimbo and regarding him rather accusingly.

    "Don't be so harsh with him," Eilianthel told Roina, frowning. "There must be a reasonable excuse, don't be so quick to judge him..."

    "Raina did say there was someone here more deserving of our ire than herself," Meril pointed out calmly, studying Rilien with her intense grey eyes.

    "She was happy to see Rilien," Aigronding repeated Raina, "and he was injured somehow when he vanished for a time with
    Almarëa, so an argument must have happened possibly. About what I would certainly like to know."

    "Including the contents of the letter she burned,"
    Valion added firmly.

    "There should be a please in there somewhere," Eilianthel insisted, giving Rilien a sympathetic glance.

    "Did you need to commit something to memory, something no one else should read if the note was later discovered if not destroyed?" wondered Meril.

    "Well, I'm not going to attack Rilien," Aigronding snapped, seizing his sword roughly from Raina. Only Mordagnirs had touched Valadring. Her touch upon the ancient heirloom infuriated him. "He has his secrets but Rilien's family to me unlike you." Sheathing his sword, Aigronding looked into Rilien's eyes, clasping his forearm comradely although he was disappointed in him. "Be straight with me, mellon."
    It made Aigronding angrier to feel betrayed by his old friend, so when he spoke his words were curt and his voice was hard. "What happened that day between you and Almarëa and what's so special about her message. Give me one good reason - or several - why we should trust you and tell us why you've been keeping valuable information from us."

    "We're tracking her, Raina, until the trail is cold," Valion said stubbornly. "She's capable of survival but the lands are too dangerous to travel alone."


    Last edited by Aigronding Mordagnir; 09/Jul/2015 at 05:05 AM.
    "How long do you want it to be?" - Steven C.
    "As long as it needs to be." - Aimmi G.


  19. Chapter One: Old Soul




    A million faces, but all I'm seeing is you/
    I said you're the only one I wanna talk about
    Yeah it's true, all I do is wanna talk about you/
    Walk through the jungle that used to be my town
    Everything's different, you've turned it upside down
    It happened to me, totally unprepared
    Just the beginning, but I'm not even scared

    - from Mika's Talk About You




    - Sources: From right to left:Kacey Rohl, Brad Pitt, and Richard Armitage. -

    Post One


    *

    - Dramatis Personae -


    Anne Ravenwood
    - A teenage woman of Archet. An adventurer of the Halcyon Guard and an Elf-friend.
    Named Melimakris, "Faircleaver", by Aigronding. Annabelle Dara of Harmony Vale, the wife of Nathaniel Galerida
    and an ancestor of Khallador, reincarnated.

    Howard Ravenwood
    - The father of Anne, Daniel, and Lauren. A banker of Archet and a veteran Hill Watch marshal
    .

    Kathryn Ravenwood
    - The mother of Anne, Daniel, and Lauren.
    Co-owner of a book emporium in the Market of Breetown. Erin's best friend.

    Lauren Ravenwood - An energetic child, a writer. The younger sister of Anne and Daniel. Amelia's best friend.

    Dan Ravenwood - The older brother of Anne and Lauren. A financial advisor at the Bank of Archet. Emily's boyfriend.

    Emily Brackenbrook - Daniel's girlfriend, the daughter of Deputy Miles Brackenbrook. A birdkeeper at the Breetown Menagerie.

    Miranda Lynn Clementine - A teenage bestelling author and philanthropist in Combe Valley. Anne's best friend.

    Jason Clementine - Miranda's father, a wealthy landowner in Combe Valley.

    Erin Clementine - Miranda's mother, co-owner of a book emporium in the Market of Breetown. Kathryn's best friend.

    Edward Sugarplum - Former criminal, now a Hill Watch inspector. Frank's best friend. Laura's husband and Amelia's father.

    Laura Sugarplum
    - A teacher at Bearberry Academy in Archet. Edward's wife and Amelia's mother.

    Amelia Sugarplum - A brilliant child, a perky inventor. Lauren's best friend.

    Beren Camlost - A handsome Ranger with many stories to tell.
    Bridget's older brother. Garavan's brother-in-law.
    The kinsman of Aigronding and Tharmáras.


    Bridget Isilherven - Beren's youngest sister. An archer. The wife of Garavan.

    Garavan Isilherven - A dashing elvish prince of Lindon.
    A son of Tharm
    áras. Beren's brother-in-law, Bridget's husband.


    Tharm
    áras Isilherven -A gallant elf-lord of Lindon. Kinsman of Beren and Aigronding.

    Aigronding Mordagnir - The Herald of Elrond, the Lord of Crystalpool,
    the High Captain of the Halcyon Guard, and a member of the White Council.
    Roina's lover. The youngest brother of Arasoron and Tavari.

    Named Anne Crown an Elf-friend and Melimakris.

    Roina Nilthoron - A rich High Elf noblewoman, a member of the White Council,
    and a construction magnate of Imladris.
    An Acolyte of Oromë in the Halcyon Guard. Aigronding's lover.

    Jasmine Thorn - A teenage adventurer from Chetwood. An "odd sort." Juliette's girlfriend.

    Juliette Silverbell - A healer in the Halcyon Guard, a teenager from Combe Valley.
    An "odd sort". Jasmine's girlfriend.

    Wes Marble - A livestock farmer in Combe Valley and a veteran commander of the Hill Watch. Nathan's uncle.

    Frank Crown - A corrupt marshal of the Hill Watch. A widower and alcoholic.
    Edward Sugarplum's best friend. Nathan's father.

    Nathan Crown - A young man of Combe Valley. Manager of the livestock ranch
    Wes Marble owns in the Breeland. Nathaniel Galerida of Harmony Vale, husband of Annabelle Dara and
    an ancestor of Khallador, reincarnated.

    Voldar Fireheart - A Firebeard Dwarf. A merchant of Whurjak and
    owner of Fireheart Arms, an armory in the Breetown market.
    The maker of Anne's hunting knife.

    Gretchen Fireheart ~ A Firebeard Dwarf lass of Harlindon, a shoemaker and Voldar's wife.

    Waylon Fireheart ~ Voldar's brother, a dwarven blacksmith who moved from Harlindon to Bree-hill. Edith's husband.

    Edith Fireheart ~ An adventurous Blacklock Dwarf lass from the Orocarni Mountains
    who moved her smithy business to Whurjak but fell in love with

    Waylon and married him, relocating to Bree-hill. The forger of Melimakris, Anne's scimitar.


    Scott Jimsonweed - A criminal in Bree, formerly a zookeeper and a clown.
    A gambler known as The Red Mantle and The Ace of Knaves.


    Ruim - A whimsical and mysterious clairvoyant who foretells
    people's fortunes with a deck of oddly beautiful playing cards.


    *



    SEVEN YEARS AGO

    PART ONE

    The Queen of Ice and Starlight


    T.A. 3008
    Solmath (February)
    Archet


    - Source: Sam Heughan and Caitriona Balfe, from Outlander -



    She sees them together in the woodland meadow of white and blue lupines, passionately kissing in the dappled shade. The older dark-haired woman who Anne Ravenwood strongly resembles is pregnant, softly held by a man who is lean and strong and handsome. The gallant swordman's lips strays caressingly to the smooth ivory skin of her neck. The warrior's eyelids fall shut, inhaling his wife's womanly scent of dark berries and creamy vanilla musk.

    "I'll be back, sweetheart,"
    he utters fiercely.

    "When you do, you're here to stay, Nate," she said with a firm tone, drawing his hand to her rounded stomach. "Promise me, love."

    He rests his forehead against hers as the sunset light paints the pinewoods and the waters of the deep mountain tarn aflame with rosy gold splendor. "Annie, when I return I will never raise a sword again."

    *

    Anne Ravenwood gasped, shocked by the sudden grasp of her shoulder. The couple had vanished and the highlands of Dorthonion. She was still seated in the leather chair of her teller's booth in The First Bank of Archet where she worked weekends. The gold Patriarch coin engraved with the likeness of Bëor, a major Chieftain of the First House, had fallen to the marble surface of her mahogany desk when the hallucination eclipsed Anne's awareness of reality.

    Anne blushed, apologizing profusely to Mr. Starflower, a tanner in Breetown's market, who came to her for a withdrawal. Several villagers, Mortals and Hobbits, in the wide pillared lobby stared at her and Howard Ravenwood, Anne's father, who gripped her shoulder a little too hard.

    Could I just find a hole somewhere and hide forever? she thought dismally, feeling horribly embarrassed.

    "Could I speak to you privately, dear?" he asked her, phrasing his command as a suggestion. His voice was calm but the stern veteran marshal of the Hill Watch somehow still radiated hostility with his domineering posture and steely blue eyes. He was a tall and muscular affluent man with clean-cut good looks. His short sandy-blonde hair was pomaded and parted. Howard's slacks and crocodile loafers, shirt and vest, silk cravat and tweed greatcoat were all olive green and the best money could buy - he spared no expense on anything.

    Anne gave Mr. Starflower the gold mark she had taken from one of her strongboxes and displayed her CLOSED sign on the counter. She locked the door of her station then followed Howard into his luxurious office that was panelled in cherrywood. Sunshine beaming out of a cloudy blue sky shone through the long windows of the room and maple logs burned fragrantly in the free-standing hearth in a limestone alcove to heat the interior this winter's day.

    "Why are you out of uniform and why is your hair loose?" he snapped at her, pacing like an irate lion. Howard repeated himself louder when Anne didn't answer; avoiding her father's glance, she had looked through the window and noticed Scott Jimsonweed entering her family's ancestral bank. He was
    one of Bill Ferny's shiftless friends and was known as The Red Mantle because he wore a crimson sleeveless cloak. He had a dark reputation on the Hill, a man with a sick sense of humor whose mates turned up missing when they could not fulfill their gambling debts to the card-sharp they called the Ace of Knaves. He had once been a tamer of beasts in the Breetown Menagerie but was sacked last year for his cruel treatment of exotic animals. Scott was employed afterwards as a clown for Wolf and Wrym - a circus company owned by Douglass Wolfsbane and Herschel Snapdragon - until recently; when Jimsonweed discovered he was working a gig at a birthday party for the daughter of the Menagerie owner, he had splashed the seven-year-old's face with acid which spouted from a crysanthemum lapel pin he had proffered to her as a gift. The circus terminated his employment when he was sentenced to six months in Blackrose Penitentiary for disfiguring the innocent child; he served his time in Chetwood and returned penniless to Breetown. No one wanted to hire him. Anne feared what Jimsonweed would do if he was feeling desperate.

    "I have nothing against shirtwaists and skirts, Dad, but more than occasionally I fancy a good frock suit buisnessmen as yourself wear." Anne's flat shoes, pants, and jacket were navy blue. The white close-fitting sweater she wore - a turtleneck - designed by Gloria Jade, a wealthy seamstress of Breetown whose successful clothing enterprise in the market stylishly outfitted human and halfling women, had a high collar which covered her throat entirely. "I like my hair unbound most of the time, you know that," she said, touching her shoulder-length dark-brown locks she had curled today.

    "You are not working for your mother, you're working for me." He was moodily pointing at her now, something which Anne had always regarded more annoying than frightening unlike Lauren and Daniel, her siblings, who were usually intimidated by Howard.

    Anne
    pursed her full red lips, balling up her fists. "I gave Mom conditions and I gave them to you as well," she said coldly, anger reddening her fair porcelain face. "She's honored them. If you can't, I'll just work at the bookstore." The children, now including females, of Bree's most respected families were expected to serve the businesses of their parents which they would perhaps one day inherit. She wanted to ignore tradition but had finally caved in. Anne had her demands though. She would obey the orders of her father and mother in Ravenwood Manor - most of them, anyway - but if she was going to work for them in town, Anne wanted to be comfortable. "If there's nothing further to discuss," she said laconically, already turning toward the door, her eyes gleaming icy-blue, "I'll resume working."

    "Can you work?" he asked emphatically.

    Anne froze with her hand still around the rock crystal knob of the office door, heart hammering. Since the age of sixteen she had been remembering the life of a woman who had lived a very long time ago, a woman named Annabelle Dara whom she shared similar physical traits with and a headstrong personality. Anne was sure the Wise One was not an ancestor of hers since they did not have the same paternal surname nor the surname of her husband's, Galerida. Anne Ravenwood vividly experienced certain moments of Annabelle Galerida's life when she awake and while she slept, not all the time, but often; the remembrances troubled her sleep and interfered with her interactions with the living because she normally went absolutely still or her speech immediately failed until the episode ran its course.

    She had only told Miranda Lynn Clementine, her best friend, whom she trusted to keep a secret. If the wrong sort of person knew, Anne feared she would be regarded as a lunatic and locked up in a mental ward in the North Downs "for her own good."

    "You've been having these strange fits for years," continued Howard worriedly when Anne said nothing. His concerned tone nearly impelled her to tell him and the affectionate way he clasped her shoulders from behind. "Now, they're distracting you from your job. Are you daydreaming, baby?"

    "Y-yes, D-daydreams," Anne stuttered. She wasn't very good at lying.

    "Not here at the bank or your mother's store," he said, awkwardly trying a gentler voice. "We know you'd rather be anywhere than Bree but she and I need you to focus on your tasks, alright?" He kissed her cheek.

    Anne nodded, smiling a little, appreciating his tenderness, and turned to hug him. Her father was a proud and imperious man, a difficult person to reason with, but never once had she assumed Howard didn't love her because of moments like this when he showed how much he deeply cared.

    A shiver went down her back when Anne heard Ashlyn Holt, another female teller, screaming in the lobby.

    She ran with Howard out of the office. She halted immediately outside, the chill she had felt now enveloping her whole body, seeing Tanner Cypress, an elderly loan officer, laying dead on the hardwood floor, blood oozing out of his gashed throat. Scott Jimsonweed stood nearby, his back toward Anne and Howard who were both too stunned to move. He was threatening Ashlyn Holt with a razor-edged playing card which featured a dancing demonic fool in garish motley. The female bank teller was Tanner's granddaughter. She was Anne's age, seventeen. They were friends and attended Bearberry Academy together, a private school in Combe Valley, as they had grown up.

    "Unless you want a nasty scratch, too, I suggest you don't hesitate a second more, sweetheart," he warned her politely. Jimsonweed, named after a poisonous plant grown wild in the small country of fields and tamed woodland surrounding Bree-hill, was a gaunt and homely man with stringy brown hair and dark soulless eyes. "Give me the strongbox, darlin'."

    The alarum bell, Anne mouthed at her brother, a financial advisor, she saw witnessing the tense situation from the door of his office he slightly opened. Daniel, the only son in the Ravenwood family, was slender and handsomely stubbled. Like Anne, Daniel had inherited Kathryn's brown hair and Howard's vibrant blue eyes. He was the kindest and most respectable man Anne had ever known. He blanched, shaking his head, apparently too cowardly to risk running toward the exit downstairs. In the courtyard outside was a large brazen bell that was to be rung in the event of a robbery, instituted following the murder of Mrs. Brackenbrook years ago. Howard stubbornly refused to hire Hill Watchers to patrol the grounds of the bank, haughtily believing criminals still afraid of him would forego making heists on his turf and, since there wasn't much criminal activity in Bree, he felt that contracting cops - even the ones who liked him best - would be a waste of money on his part (although he was indeed one of the richest men in town).

    Anne glared at Daniel, jerking her thumb past her shoulder. Her glacial stare and Howard's insistent motions spurred him into a rush from the threshold of his office. He left hurriedly without being seen.

    "You go, too, angel," urged Howard, whisperingly.

    She didn't retreat outside but nimbly moved to a pillar near her station that was located out of Jimsonweed's peripheral vision. When she started working at the bank, Anne had entered the building in the dead of night with a key Howard had given her. She smuggled a small pistol crossbow she had been practicing with into her teller's chamber and hid it below a tile she removed from the floor with the clawed end of a hammer.
    Anne was resolved to protect herself and others if a robber poised a threat to her family, co-workers, and customers. She had bought the weapon and its darts from a burly, red-headed dwarf named Voldar Fireheart, a Whurjak merchant who owned an armory in the Breetown market; he kindly sold his products to women who felt safer in the villages with something to guard themselves.

    Howard, sweating, took a step near her but Anne bit her lip from her hiding place, frantically waving her hand for him to stop. He reluctantly rooted himself in place with a confused, resigned expression. He didn't know what Anne was up to but he bought her some time, yelling at Ashlyn to surrender all the money at her station. "Coins and cash can be replaced but not your life!"

    "Wise words, Marshal!"
    exclaimed Jimsonweed, clapping both hands together. Before he faced Howard, Anne had darted to her station swiftly, unlocked the door and dropped down to recover her pistol crossbow. She loaded it with one small bolt and stuffed five more into her pants pocket as she heard the alarum bell ringing urgently in the courtyard.

    "Give me the box, now!" Jimsonweed ordered Ashlyn, slapping the counter, quickly losing patience.

    "You won't take money you haven't earned!" shouted Ashlyn, finding her courage, and spat in Jimsonweed's face.

    He sighed grandly, ridding saliva off his person. "I said I'd kill you girl." He slashed her throat with a deadly swipe of his card. "I'm a man of my word!" said Jimsonweed above the raucous wails of the patrons and Howard's vehement cursing. He grabbed the box and ran. Howard boldly intercepted him, throwing a punch. Jimsonweed cartoonishly careened into a pillar, the box flying from his underarm hold. He reacted freakishly fast like a striking viper, leaping toward Howard with the razor card but Anne shot his right thigh, sending the yelping clown tumbling down the steps.

    She sprinted down, triggering another dart to fire.

    "Freeze," Anne said through her teeth, blue eyes stinging hotly, aiming her weapon at Jimsonweed who was going for some kind of clever weapon hidden within his mantle.

    "Hey, doll-face," said Jimsonweed, leering lasciviously at Anne. "This isn't a nice way to ask a fella to the Solmath Ball, ya' know."

    "This is a citizen's arrest. Put your hands up or perhaps I'll shoot something more intimate."
    She directed the pistol crossbow toward his groin. Tears were spilling over her alabaster cheeks but her flinty gaze sobered the Ace of Knaves who quickly lifted his arms skyward.

    *

    Anne sat on the portico of the First Bank of Archet, telling Edward Sugarplum - a Hill Watch commander and the father of Amelia, Lauren's best friend - about the unfortunate incident. Her co-workers had been sent home for the day and the bodies of the slain had been removed to the Candytuft Funeral Home.

    "Don't know many officers who want to square up with The Red Mantle, girl,"
    said the policeman, jotting notes about the situation in a leatherbound police journal. "I wish we had blokes on the force half as brave as you, kid."

    "You're a hero, Anne,"
    said Daniel, hugging her. "One day they will erect a statue of you in town."

    Anne smiled sheepishly. "They should make one for you and Ashlyn and Dad. I certainly am not the only person who acted bravely today." She leaned
    her head on the nook of his shoulder when her brother's arm looped around her waist. Her tears had subsided but her grief remained. She would miss Ashlyn and her grandfather.

    "What will happen to Jimsonweed?"
    asked Howard with a stony visage, sitting beneath one of the large black marble sculptures of a rising raven fronting the bank's porch.

    "He's killed two people so I expect a jury will decide to hang the fiend if they decide it's the right kind of penalty he deserves."

    "Of course it is," Anne said flatly. "I don't even see why there even needs to be a trial, we know what happened."

    "The rule of law -"

    "Is tedious," she interjected forcefully in disgust. Anne unwrapped Daniel's arm from around her and stood before Howard, wisps of her fine brown hair blown astir in the cool winter breeze. "Three people have died at this bank. None will again. You must hire Hill Watchers as guards."

    "Anne, there's hardly any crime in this land-"

    "- yet it still occurs,"
    Anne shot hotly, sapphire eyes narrowing to slits. "You own a bank. Thieves want money. We must be prepared in case they attack our business again. If you don't contract constables to keep watch over the place, I'll put in my two weeks and will heartily inform every villager of Archet they should entrust their savings elsewhere, Dad, since you care more about your pride than the safety of our guests."

    He gaped at his daughter with indignation as she walked briskly away.

    *

    Breetown

    Scott Jimsonweed awakened slowly, his sight gradually adjusting to the darkness pervading the cell he occupied in one of the deepest levels of Belvedere's dungeon. Strangely, he could not move his chained legs or his thin shackled arms. He felt numb and completely immobile. Anne Ravenwood loomed over him in a figure-flattering black lace gown and she wore a black veiled top hat, her svelte figure enrobed with guttering torchlight. The Ace of Knaves discovered he couldn't lewdly compliment the young desirable lass for her flawless beauty for somehow his lips moved without speech. His eyes widened in terror as she withdrew
    a knife and a syringe from her black and silver lambskin shoulder bag.

    He couldn't summon a joke for once. He was afraid. Although he didn't feel it, goosebumps prickled his skin entirely.

    "The toxin of a Hoarwell silver frog paralyzes its prey for a short while, affording it enough time to leap away,"
    explained the banker's daughter, slowly encircling him. "T
    he amphibian's poison can render a human dumb for a brief spell and the mortal may experience permanent memory loss." She came to a stop, looking pitilessly at him. "I want you to be still and silent while I...operate."

    Beads of sweat trickled off Jimsonweed's face.

    "You humiliated my family, killed my friend, and murdered a sweet old man." She stopped, looking at him with a stare of severest loathing. "If they commute your sentence you will probably live in Blackrose Penitentiary, given food and water, and forced to benefit society in the mines of the Weather Hills. It's happened before, a jury of model citizens condemning a murderer to thinking of his crimes for the rest of his life, a fate most people believe is worse than death. I sincerely doubt you will regret the killings you've committed though. There's a very minute possibility you may even escape the Storm Rangers and outwit the bounty hunters of the Hawthorn Syndicate so you can start over with a clean slate somewhere in the South or East. I should dispatch you right here and now...."

    His eyes bulged with horror when Anne jolted to a kneeling posture, pressing her blade against his jugular vein. The knife's curved
    handle was marvelously carved of stag horn. Its blade was forged of Voldarian steel, a metal notably distinguished by fine ripples patterned flowingly across its deadly sharp surface.

    "....but I won't," she finished so quietly Jimsonweed barely heard her speak. "I don't want to kill you, Ace." Her taut grin was mean and feral. "I want to hurt you awfully bad. Soon you will be in pain and it will last for the rest of your life. You won't remember who mutilated you and why but I hope it drives you insane and that you will -" Anne's honeyed voice faltered, tears of utter hatred sliding off her smooth creamy-white face "- never find peace!" she hissed, driving her knife a touch inwards, drawing tiny red rivulets sluicing down his neck. The edge of the knife drifted toward his mouth which she opened wide.

    Anne slowly ripped into him.

    *

    The first memory of the Ace of Knaves was excruciating pain, examining his bloodied aching face in the cracked mirror of his cell, hating and fearing himself. He was horribly disfigured. Deep ragged fissures had been carved in a horrific sweeping arch from his lips, forming a hideous simulacrum of a broad clownish grin. It agonized Ace to scream; his primal shrieks tormented his lacerated mouth and cheeks.

    Who am I? Who did this to me? Did I deserve it? Why can't I remember?

    He writhed in the blood which congealed around his spasmodic body, howling in rage and despair, summoning several guards to his barred cage. The captain of the watch, a seasoned commander, took one look at the wounded criminal and vomited his supper.

    "Someone get the Doctor!" ordered an old burly sergeant.

    "Which doctor?" asked a rookie constable, yelling over Ace's banshee-like cries.

    "Bugloss, the best in town! Hurry! Jimsonweed's a devil of the First Order and I'd like to see him die but not prematurely. He needs to stand trial first!"

    "Jimsonweed?" rasped the prisoner as dreadful tingling sensations engulfed his ravaged face, maddening him.

    "Scott Jimsonweed, that's yer name, Ace."

    "Ace,"
    he croaked.

    "The Ace of Knaves, that's what the gamblers call ya.

    "Why...am...I here...in this cage?" It burned him to enunciate each word. Would that last forever? He whimpered in misery.

    "You killed a couple innocent people," said the sergeant gravely. "You're a man of violence, got yourself a sordid history. You don't remember your rotten crimes?"

    "No." Sobs wracked his lanky body and turned slowly into laughter, a deranged echoing cackle, which stridently pealed off the stone walls of the prison and reverberated throughout the corridors of Belvedere.

    *

    Archet


    - Source: David Tennant, from Doctor Who -

    Following a long soak in the clawfoot copper tub of her bedchamber, Anne chose her raiment for the day - a scoop neck powder-blue organza dress with diamond beading, a beautiful gift her cousin Jasmine Thorn had given her for Anne's fifthteenth birthday two years ago. When she finished clothing herself and had eaten breakfast with her family, Anne entered the garden of Ravenwood Manor so she could be alone to read.

    She walked through the golden sunlight filtering through the leafy branches of surrounding oak trees and came to an ivied swing that was encompassed
    by trellises of sweet-smelling pink peonies and fragrant beds of Queen Anne's Lace, a delicate white-and-purple plant named after a queen and expert lace-maker of Cardolan who was Anne Ravenwood's namesake. She removed the red velvet ribbon which marked the latest chapter she reached in the red paisley edition of Virgilia, one of Miranda's historical-fiction books, but a familiar voice interrupted her reading.

    "You have a lovely garden."

    Anne restrained a deep breath, keeping her features smooth, hearing Doctor David John Bugloss.
    "Thanks, Doc," she replied, calmly turning a gilded page. "Did you travel from the hill to the forest just to compliment my gardening skills?"

    "Quite the contrary, lass," he said with brooding intensity and a disapproving stare. He was a tall and ageless-looking out-of-towner supposedly from Laketown. He unexpectedly appeared in the Blue Box hospital in Breetown one morning after the former doctor, David's colleague Christopher Acanthus, mysteriously vanished on a Deadman's Dike venture with the Rangers of the North whom he usually had dealings with. Bugloss wore a blue and rust-red frock suit. Rectangular tortoise shell glasses were perched high over over his spiky brown hair and his sideburns were fashioned rather long as usual. "I wanted to speak to you about a patient I tried to heal in the wee hours of the morning."

    "Oh?"
    said Anne, feigning innocence.

    "Scott Jimsonweed, The Red Mantle. Otherwise known as The Ace of Knaves. The murderer and thief you shot at the bank."

    "Ah, yes, naturally you needed to bandage his thigh."

    "I did that
    earlier in the day."

    "I assume an inmate injured him in the dungeon?"

    "He was incarcerated in solitary confinement. You know that as well as,
    I speculate, much of the interior layout of the prison since you are the daughter of an ex-marshal."

    "Howard would never share such information with me,"
    she explained, meeting his gaze, collectedly. "The Hill Watch and its history have always fascinated me. I probably know more about Belvedere than its own guards. It was once built as a fortress by the refugees fleeing the Bragollach War in the Elder Days-"

    "So you probably have studied many entrances into the compound in your research?" asked Bugloss, disregarding Anne's knowledge of lore which was obviously meant to distract his focus. "Perhaps, you could sneak inside without being seen, hmm?"

    "What happened to Jimsonweed, Doctor?"
    said Anne, evading the question.

    He told her the story which the night watch had given him. "Someone gashed his face open, carving horrible trenches from the sides of his mouth to form a ghastly smile." He stared at her accusingly.

    "Doctor, I was attending a
    Children of H
    úrin play at the Pine Brothers Opera House last night. You can ask my mother, if you want, I told her where I was going."

    "No doubt you took advantage of the play's long duration and the liberty of your unescorted travel to pay Jimsonweed a visit, you clever girl."


    "Many villagers hate the man," Anne said acidly.

    "But only one of those I'm tutoring and has access to my supplies in the Blue Box," Bugloss riposted. Anne was a Jane of All Trades, a woman who yearned to master many skills. She paid the Doctor to teach her what he knew of herbal and chemical ingredients. "You know the approximate safe dosage I use to sedate a person while I perform surgery as well as the fatal dose that would otherwise affect the person harmfully. One of my phials of Hoarwell silver frog toxin is missing from The Blue Box as well as a syringe."

    A cold, heavy silence fell between them that was inevitably broken by Anne. "He deserves to suffer," she said quite harshly.

    The Doctor, stunned by her vitriol, visibly paled. "I agree he does and, honestly, Miss Ravenwood, I don't give a Tinker's cuss about him. I wouldn't have shed a tear if you infiltrated his cell however you did and stabbed the pettifogging bloke to death but I am concerned that you used my tools to foully damage him."

    Anne was honored to be his pupil but now she felt ashamed of her treachery and dropped her gaze, frowning. She timidly looked at him when he touched her shoulder and relaxed albeit reluctantly when he gave her a wan smile.

    "Don't let it happen again. I want to continue trusting you."

    Anne felt an immense relief filling her spirit. "I swear to you it will not happen again, sir," she said, clasping his wrist.

    "Capital!" He walked smilingly toward the white wrought iron gate that was set between cream travertine columns at the head of the pathway but turned around before he departed. "When I look at you these days, Miss Ravenwood, I see a young woman with potential," confided the Doctor.

    "Potential for what exactly?"

    "Protecting the innocent, punishing the wicked."
    He unlatched the gate. "Middle-earth needs more heroes, Miss Ravenwood," said Bugloss, walking away. "Think about it."

    She did.



    - (Source, Kacey Rohl.) -


    (II)
    Last edited by Aigronding Mordagnir; 25/Jul/2015 at 06:31 AM.
    "How long do you want it to be?" - Steven C.
    "As long as it needs to be." - Aimmi G.


  20. Greyfang's Avatar
    Master Craftsman of Lindon
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    #120

    Hamsafar (Journey Together - Farsi)




    Winterwolf, Sorrowhawk and Stormblade Nimredel
    with

    Ithiliarn Dragonsong
    (Dragonsong's Character - Used with permission.)

    The beaches of Lindon, some distance from Mithlond,
    Sometime in the early third age, circa T.A 1900

    One of who knows how many.

    It was a bright and brilliant day. The sun was shining, the sand was warm and golden and the salt encrusted breeze blew playfully through everyone’s hair. Oh and the Manta-rays were teasing Winter again.

    “He’s never going to catch one you know.” commented Sorrowhawk dryly, taking off her bronze rimmed nose spectacles to look up at her younger brother splashing around in the shallows. Next to her sat Winterwolf’s recently bretrothed, Ithiliarn, a silvan elf who had somehow found her way to Mirkwood and made her home there.

    Ithiliarn grinned slyly, “Not in a million years” she proclaimed, content to lie back and enjoy watching the available spectacle.
    Winter had of course been fishing with his twin Stormblade, the two had brought in a fair catch as they always did. Of course Stormblade brought in the most with his focused attitude and determination while Winterwolf spent as much time playing with the fish as trying to catch them. Despite this however a joke had been made and Winterwolf has got it into his mind to catch a manta-ray.

    Thus the friends were here - Ithil and Sorrow watching Winterwolf splash around with a net and flailing arms while Stormblade shouted an equal amount of encouragement and insults towards his twin. They were still teenagers, only 200 or so, with Sorrowhawk a little older than the twins and Ithiliarn a little younger.

    Stormblade and Winterwolf were an odd pair, twins similar in some aspects but so different in others. Both shared the same long black hair and sparkling ice-blue eyes but Stormblade’s face was thinner and more pointed, missing Winter’s wide chin and obnoxiously large nose. He was broader than his twin, a brawler and while all the siblings could take (and give) a punch, Stormblade was what their father would very uncouthly call “built like a brick sh*thouse”, much to the shock and aggravation of their mother of course.
    The largest difference between the twins was in their personalities, which was most obvious in their current actions. While Winterwolf had more than a streak of mischievousness and a good helping of stupidity mixed with clumsiness his twin was quite the opposite. As Winter tried in vain to net the mantra-ray that swam almost lazily through the shallows Stormblade reclined on a nearby rock with the twin’s catch and the two spears they’d used to snare them.

    “Storm this’d be a whole lot easier if I had my spear!” said Winter, glancing over to his brother.

    Yes but the dare was with the net brother, not the spear. Do you want that shiny mantra-leather or not?” said Storm with a grin.

    “Manta-leather?” enquired Ithiliarn, pushing a strand of long roasted-brown hair from her eyes, “Whatever gave you the idea?”

    “Apparently the commander has a set up at the fort,” answered Sorrowhawk before either Winter or Storm could reply. “She keeps it locked away in her personal quarters”

    Ithiliarn sighed, raising a single eyebrow towards the boys. “If it's locked-away then what makes you so sure that it really exists?” she asked.

    “Well we were climbing the big cherry tree near the back of the fort right,” began Winter.

    “When by complete chance.. “ interrupted Storm, only to have Winter continue.

    We happened to spot the commander ah, getting changed...” said Winter, grinning like an idiot.

    “And of course the thing that dear Winter finds most beautiful in the room is a set of armour.." said Storm with perfect deadpan.

    “Why am I not surprised...” Sorrowhawk shook her head at her younger brothers, turning to Ithiliarn with a concerned look. “You’ve got your hands full with this one dear. I can only wish you good luck...”

    Ithil only grinned and turned back to watch as Winter flung the net one last time at the ray, missing by only inches.

    “It’s Impossible!” he said despairingly, collapsing into the ocean, the water soaking his clothes and hair as he lay in the water.
    Storm rolled his eyes, “Drama Queen.”

    However to everyone’s shock and surprise as Winterwolf lay in the rockpool, only his head above water, the mantra-ray that only seconds ago he had been trying to catch floated over him, it’s wings brushing his sides.

    “Oh hello!” he said grinning at the sea-creature, “Oh I couldn’t kill you could I, Oooh, ooh that tickles!” he doubled over laughing as the mantra-ray brushed against him and the other looked on with confusion.

    “Is he...” started Stormblade,
    “Yep. He is.” Ithiliarn sighed and shook her head, hiding a small grin.

    “Aww hello, what shall I call you?” said Winter to the ray floating peacefully over him. He ruminated for a moment, stroking his fingers gently over the ray’s leathery skin. “How about... Casey?” he asked.

    In response the ray just flapped gently against Winter and taking the action as an approval the elf grinned and pushed himself up a little from the pool.
    “Fantastic! Casey it is! I shall - oww!” Winter looked around to see a rather angry red-crab clacking it’s claw at him, having just nipped Winter rather viciously on the ear.

    On the shore Ithil and Sorrow laughed as Storm watched three other mudcrabs burrow out of the sand and advance threateningly towards Winterwolf who scrambled to his feet as 'Casey' vanished into the waves.

    “Storm! A little help here!” cried out Winterwolf as the crabs nipped at his feet and ankles. Nearby his twin rubbed his stubble-less face and seemed to weigh up the options.
    “I would Winter, I would, but what would dad say about you if you couldn’t even fight off a few mudcrabs on your own? What about one of those foreign techniques you’ve been learning!” he suggested with a shrug.

    Winter glanced at Ithil, a grin forming on his face as he remembered the lessons his now betrothed had taught him about hunting when they first met in the great forest of Mirkwood far to the east many years ago. He looked from Ithil’s bow, Dolen-Sigil which lay unstrung at her side, the sharp metal points along it’s side designed to make the bow a formidable weapon in close up melees as well as at range.

    “Oh no...” said both Sorrow and Ithil, the two elves looking at each other with horror. They knew what that look on Winter’s face meant - he was about to do something... crazy.

    And indeed he did. Reaching over to the nearby rock where his pack lay Winter grabbed his own unstrung bow, kicking a mudcrab from his foot (where it had latched on with some force) with a yell of pain. Named Hilarginel the bow was actually not Winter’s but his father, Rhonir’s a relic of whatever land the mysterious elf had come from. Their father always refused to talk about his past or where he had come from apart to say that it was “North”.

    This bow, a beautiful, curving weapon carved from a single piece of silver-blue wood that almost seemed to shimmer like ice, was all that he possessed of that past. Winter had been given it as a show of his father’s admiration and love towards his son at his betrothal but all the siblings still regarded it as their father’s bow.

    So Winter took this extremely valuable bow and with it began to attack the mudcrabs. But not as one normally attack something with a bow, oh no. Winterwolf, being Winterwolf, tried to stab the mudcrabs with it.
    It was effective certainly, driving away the crabs and knocking a few out and soon the rest has turned and fled but not before Sorrowhawk had jumped to her feet to shout at her little brother.

    “What the hell do you think you’re doing? That’s dad’s - can you imagine what he’d so if he saw that?” she yelled.

    But Winter didn’t get to reply as a deep, menacing voice rang out along the beach, striking the siblings to the ground.

    “If I see what?”
    Last edited by Winterwolf; 04/Aug/2015 at 01:02 PM.


    Formerly Winterwolf.
    Work Hard, Hard Worker.

  21. Avalein's Avatar
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    #121
    Cassandra
    Dunland along the Isen River
    Third Age year?

    Two days after crossing the Gap of Rohan heading towards a small village near the Misty mountains


    After crossing into Dunland their pace had slowed, much to Cassandra's relief since she's been forced to run from where they had captured her three miles outside of Minas Tirith. The only reason why she could have guessed was that they had been followed up until two days previous when they had crossed the Isen using the Gap of Rohan. She knew from how the men that had captured her said that they would arrive at the Dunlending Chieftain with whom that her father had sold her to when she was almost eleven years old. Lowering her head, she walked quietly behind the horse she was tied to, only looking up as the horses stopped for the night and she was untied from the horse handing the rope that was bound her waist and wrists to the man who was watching her keeping her from escaping again. The leader held a letter from her father to give to Cassandra's old and soon to be once again her master. Holding tightly the man led Cassandra over to where he hand placed his bedroll. Sitting down, he forced Cassandra to sit behind him smiling as she looked at the ground seeing that he loosened his grip on the rope binding her wrists together.

    Quietly she listened to them talk and realized that they would arrive within two days time, sighing they were more relaxed though when she looked around she could still make out someone in the mist, they were still being followed by someone. Laying down on the cold, hard ground Cassandra tried to get some sleep there was not much she could do her father would be there by now, she could only hope he would be delayed a few days long enough to think of away to make it seem like she no one longer existed so he would no longer hunt her. Then maybe she would be able to return to Elanora, who would be worried for sure with her sudden disappearance. She didn't even notice as they bound her ankles while she slept nor when they gagged her. She could only hope that whoever was following her would not give up, since that was the little hope she had left, the hope that was helping her stay alive and help her get her freedom for real without trying to escape again or feel like she was being hunted every day of her life.
    Last edited by Avalein; 09/Sep/2015 at 07:07 AM.

  22. Nolewen's Avatar
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    #122
    Elsilner, Dunland, TA 3014

    As night fell, Elsilner rode out of the mist. He made sure that all men were completely asleep before climbing off his horse. Pulling his cloak tightly around him he walked, as silent as a shadow, towards Cassandra. He went down on his knees when he reached her. "I have a question for you, Cassandra." He whispered, his voice very low. He stopped talking, and raised his head. Looking quickly around him, he made sure that nobody else was awake. Then he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it, unsure if it was a good question. He had two plans. One of them, supposedly very easy to do and very quick if all went right, needed a special permission from Cassandra​, but if she gave that permission it would solve most of her problems.

    He remembered the first time that Nólewen suggested the plan. At that time, he was very surprised to hear that suggestion. Now he understood and agreed. Turning around to look back again at Cassandra, he spoke softly.

    "When your father comes, shall I kill him?"

  23. Avalein's Avatar
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    #123
    Cassandra
    Dunland Third Age 3014

    Hearing a voice beside her as well as sensing the presence of someone beside her and at first in the darkness she did not recognize who it was, before whispering, " Elsilner? yes what is it?" she asked trying to sit up. The man holding the rope attached to her waist tugged on it pulling it tighter keeping her on the ground. Watching as Elsilner closed and opened his mouth and Cassandra was suddenly curious of what he wanted to say to her. Closing her eyes she let her mind go, the one good thing that her father had taught her how to do apparently he had two plans. One would be easy to do if he could catch her father off guard, but she was curious of Elsiner's other idea, "what is your other plan?" she asked quietly moving once again to try and get as comfortable on the hard cold ground.

    Upon hearing what one of the plans was Cassandra sighed, she did not wish harm to her father but still he did have a point, "no one that has ever faced my father even long enough to kill him has survived, he can sense when his life is in danger," Cassandra said. Looking away she sighed quietly, "even if you freed me from him i would still have to serve the Dunlending nobleman he sold me to... and it wasn't too bad it was better then my father. Since whenever i disobeyed him after the death of my mother he would put a spell on my which forced me to do whatever he told me to without fighting or talking back to him no matter how much i resisted and when i did the stronger the spell would get. I doubt that the nobleman will let me go if you killed my father," Cassandra finished looking panicked as the man holding her ropes stirred turning to face her relaxing when the man once again went still not moving.

  24. Nolewen's Avatar
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    #124
    Elsilner, Dunland, TA 3014

    Elsilner
    moved his fingers through his golden hair. The girl disagreed, then. He didn't even have to tell her about the many ways he can kill her father, or that her father is a man and Elsilner is am elf. It's amazing how after all of the horrible things that her father did to her, she didn't want him to get hurt or killed. Maybe the other plan could work. No, it will take too much time and would be too dangerous. Trying to fulfill the other plan means entering Angmar. Elsilner shivered and pulled his cloak even tighter around him. He sensed a movement behind him and turned around quickly. One of the men pulled the rope that tied Cassandra. He lowered himself until he was lost in the mist, and waited until the man fell asleep again.

    What should he do? How can he free the girl without harming her father? It even sounded as if she preferred the Dunlander, and didn't really care to return to him. Maybe the girl doesn't want to be freed. Maybe I should just return and leave her here. No. I saw the hope in her eyes when she saw me. Maybe she has a plan.

    Elsilner turned toward Cassandra. "What do you suggest, then?" He asked her quietly.

  25. Avalein's Avatar
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    #125
    Cassandra
    Dunland Third age 3014

    Cassandra sighed it was not like it she did not want to harm her father it was just that he still was her father. Closing her eyes she sighed, now that she thought more about it her mother had protected her from the brunt of her father's anger. and that was what she was doing when her father had lost his temper sending a curse rebounding around the small room where he worked. She remembered that her mother had quickly stood in front of her as in his anger he had sent a dangerous spell at her only her mother had saved her.

    Looking at Elsilner she started, "my father was known for his temper, or more like his lack of control of it. I still remember what happened it has been engraved as you say into my memory, my father had not been pleased with my wanderings. He took me into study where he practiced his spells and such and well his anger got the better of him. My mother had seen him drag me into the room and had quickly followed hoping to persuade him to leave me alone, the spell he cast was meant to kill me if my mother had not stepped between him and me i would be dead right now," she said looking at her tied hands. It had been shortly afterwards that her father Gattas had sold her to a Dunlending nobleman.

    "In order to free me you must kill the Dunlending who my father has sold me first and his son he is the only person my father trusts. The reason i fled when you freed me, was that Elanora had gotten letters from my father threatening her and those in her care. I know that my father would have gone through with it, i have already seen what he can do," she sighed shivering against the cold wind that had started to blow. Looking at Elsilner she sighed, "what i suggest this that you continue to follow at a distance, we shall be at the village where the nobleman lives in two days time, from what the men have said my father should have arrived by now, keep out of sight i will give you a signal, your bow will be no use against my father he has one weakness of which he only tells to those who are close to him. He hasn't even told me what it is, he will never tell me since he knows that i will kill him. If you want to kill him you must learn it as of yet i do not know how," Cassandra said looking quickly at the men who had started to stir again. Seeing the man who held the rope start to wake, "go before they find you, they already suspect that they are being followed the only reason they let their guard down is that they are in land that they know," she said whispering urgently.

    Gattas Davenport Serphent and Guards
    Border of Dunland

    Three days previous

    Gattas steadied his stallion, nodding to the guards he had brought to escort him, smug smile on his face he knew that his daughter would be waiting for him at the village. Nodding to a guard he nudged his stallion forward watching as his guard encircled him it has taken them several days to reach the border and it would take them three days more to reach the village. The men he had sent to bring his daughter had sent word when they had reached Minas Tirith that they had got his daughter Cassandra and had started for Dunland. The lead guard nudged his mount up beside his lord, "shall i send someone ahead with instructions of what to do if they arrive before us?" the guard asked, watching as Gattas nodded, quickly saying something he spurred his stallion beside the messenger he had brought with them, saying something to him. The messenger nodded at his lord nudging his gelding forward out towards the village where the Dunlending nobleman lived. Gattas watched the messenger canter away, nodding to two guards to go with him. "Will she be there?" one of the guards asked looked at Gattas who just smiled, "she'll be there don't worry, she knows better then to defy me," he said nudging his stallion into a trot.

    Melmidoc
    The Village of Hillfar, Dunland

    The Dunlender sat calmly in the great hall which was crudely built, his son and daughters sat beside him. His wife had passed a few years previous, it had been in truth a year before the death of his new slave, her previous owner having been his father who had been killed when they had attacked a village in the Westfold of Rohan. Looking up as a messenger entered, he immediately knew that the messenger came from Gattas raising a hand to the messenger he listened to what the messenger said nodding as he finished, "tell Gattas that if his daughter arrives before him i shall do as he wishes, believe me Cassandra shall have nowhere to go if she tries to escape again. She hopefully has learned her lesson about escaping the last time," Melmidoc said watching as the messenger nodded bowing before hurrying from the room. The men that Gattas had sent his men had reported were two days ride from Hillfar as such they would arrive before Gattas as such he had a special surprise waiting for Cassandra when she arrived.

    ************************************************** ******************************
    Binding Two lives as One-Wedding of Ennynil and Morfindo-pt 1
    Ennynil, Morfindo, Gilrin, Nemiron, Gwennor, Calemiron, Glohel, Gloriel
    Gondolin First Age 316

    Ennynil looked at her hands, it had taken three months to finally convince her mother that she did not need a big wedding, in truth to her she didn't even need a wedding all she wished to do was to exchange the rings Morfindo had made for their wedding. Her older brother Calemiron had not returned home for several days, she closed her eyes it had been Calemiron which had drove her into Morfindo's arms. After Calemiron had found every excuse to get mad at her, with their gone often enough, as well as Gwennor it meant that she had been forced to find another source of protection and peace from his temper. Her fingers fingered the necklace that Morfindo had given her, hearing the voices of her sisters in the room next to her sighed in a few hours she would no longer be living with her mother and father. Morfindo's home was close to the palace, while her parents home was further down closer to the walls.

    She looked up surprised as her father and mother entered her room from the look on her faces she already knew that they would not be able to attend she once again would make the journey to where the wedding was to be held on her own, "i am sorry Ennynil but something has come up," Nemiron started muttering under his breath Calemiron's name, " we will not be able to attend or come to your wedding," Gilrin finished for her husband. Glancing over at her sister's and older brother Gwennor and watched as they shook their heads, "it...it is fine...i guess," Ennynil stuttered looking at her hands as she tried to force back the tears and for once she wished she had agreed to have a larger wedding then just her's and Morfindo's families attend. Finally giving up she let her tears flow falling like crystals into her lap. Seeing the tears of her eldest daughter went to her side taking her hands in her's, "i wish i could but the stores of herbs are low and i must go and make sure that there is enough, and your brother and father have their duty to watch on the main wall. Your sister's need to come with me to help me as well we truly are sorry that we will not make it," Gilrin said sadly she had wanted to go but with the stores of healing herbs low and well she wanted to make sure that there was plenty of healing herbs if the need arose.

    From her window watched her family leave before going over to her bed collapsing onto it she began to cry her tears falling onto sheets. Once the tears had all but disappeared Ennynil stood making her way to the appointed stop where she and Morfindo were to be wed. Reaching it she noticed that no one was there, may she was mistaken on the day or the time sighing she went and sat down on the edge of the fountain looking at the water. "Ennynil," a voice called from behind her, turning she saw Morfindo and for the first time today she smiled standing she went to him. "Oh, Morfindo no one from my family can come what about you?" she asked watching as he shook his head sadly, "apparently everyone is too busy to celebrate our wedding, so it is just us i guess, looks like we will be just be exchanging rings," he said pulling out two simple golden bands he handed one to Ennynil who had once again started to cry she had heard stories of her mother's wedding to her father it had been grand and wonderful affair nothing like what was happening now. Seeing her tears Morfindo carefully pulled her close letting her cry into his shoulder, "indeed i do wonder what is up it is quiet today even more the fact that no one is free to come, they were happy when your father announced our engagement, i wanted this to be a special day for you, for us," he finished continuing to hold her close. They had been happy when they announced their engagement when they were at Fea's party what had changed in that year since then.

    Pulling away for a second he leaned down kissing her gently, "i will be right back," he said before hurrying away sighing all Ennynil could was nod. Turning she looked up at the two trees which were in front of the Palace she had wanted to be married in front of them, she already knew her mother had prepared a feast for after. She shook her head, but she did not think that anyone would come. It was only then that she noticed elegant tables set up around the two trees. She had wanted the feast to be outside that was if she had one, hearing footsteps she noticed that Morfindo had returned smiling taking her hands tenderly kissing her pulling her close as he felt her relax against him. Taking her hand he guided her towards one of the tables watching as she shook her head. Tears once again, starting come as she finally let Morfindo guide her over to a chair, helping her into it he leaned down kissing her once again. Looking at the empty feast table Ennynil sighed it was going to be a long day, and possibly a day she wish she could forget. Turning she looked at the silver and golden trees, it was like looking at the tapestry that her mother had made of the two trees of Valinor. Leaning against Morfindo, Ennynil closed her eyes, "i wish today was over already, Morfindo let us just exchange the rings and be done with it," she said, watching as Morfindo chuckled, "i think that's a little too late my dear for that," nodding toward's the household servants who had started to bring food and drinks. She stared as she saw her parents following with Morfindo's parents. Gilrin smiled a sad smile taking Ennynil's hand in her's, 'i am sorry that we lied to you we did it so you wouldn't get disappointed if no one came to it which looks like what happened," she said holding her daughter close letting her weep onto her shoulder. Gently stroking her hair with her hand, "hush now, it will be alright, come let us go home," she said watching as Ennynil shook her head and then stared as her childhood friend Thangureth who had hurried towards her.

    Standing she quickly went to greet her, smiling, "both your houses as well as your families should be pleased to bind together, a son from the House of the King and a daughter from the House of the Golden Flower," Thangureth said looking around surprised, "not many have come though," giggling as she looked behind her to see the Houses of both the Golden Flower and the King came towards where they stood. Seeing them she bowed her head before looking at Morfindo and then Thangureth, "didn't i tell you that i wanted a small wedding," Ennynil said giggling smiling at her friend. Thangureth just shook her head her smile getting larger,"mellon in you deserve a big wedding, so just expect it that everyone that you know is coming or is already here. Well not everyone, the hostess and her family are not, maybe they will come though since you know her from the feast she threw, i saw her trying to information out of your soon to be husband. I don't doubt she'd miss another chance to try again," Thangureth smiled before turning to Morfindo," i'd keep your guard up if she does," she said giving Morfindo some words of warning, before dragging Ennynil off to help her finish getting ready, followed by Morfindo's sister Essiel (Nollotien Vanessiel) who smiled back in return at her brother.
    Last edited by Avalein; 10/Sep/2015 at 07:18 PM.

  26. Avalein's Avatar
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    #126
    Binding Two lives as One-Wedding of Ennynil and Morfindo-pt 2
    Ennynil, Thangureth, Essiel (Nollotien Vanessiel), Gilrin
    Preparing for the wedding
    First Age 316

    Ennynil let Thangureth and Essiel guide her toward's her house on the far side of the street, looking surprised as Thangureth and Essiel guided her inside shutting the door behind her. Pushing Ennynil into a chair Essiel smiled grabbing a brush while Thangureth worked on the headpiece, seeing the expression on Ennynil's face Essiel sighed taking a lock of Ennynil's hair beginning to gently brush it, "my lady you should be happy it is your wedding day, are you having second thoughts of marrying my brother?" Esslel asked stopping mid-brush. "No i am not having second thoughts, Morfindo has been the best thing that has ever happened to me, i am actually glad my brother forced me to spend the night with you and your brother, i am just..." Ennynil said looking at her hands as she felt Essiel once again begin to brush her hair, picking up some flowers Essiel began to braid flowers into her hair. Hearing footsteps and the door open looking in the mirror as her Naneth entered, smiling she nodded to Essiel and Thangureth who stepped back Essiel handing her the brush. Taking the brush from Essiel, Gilrin finished brushing her daughters hair, leaning down she whispered in her daughter's ear, "be happy, Morfindo is good to you and he will be able to protect you more easily then your father and brother who are gone all the time. Morfindo can be there for you and protect you from your brother especially since he did make a promise that you didn't hear since you were already run off," Gilrin paused unsure of if she would tell her, "your older brother Calemiron he well..he threatened to kill you if you go anywhere near him, we tried to tell you, but you were always gone spending time with Morfindo. There's a reason why your father sent someone after you when you run off, he was trying to warn you," Gilrin finished smiling gently kissing her cheek.

    Essiel looked surprised at Ennynil, "how did you meet my brother? I have asked him many a time but he will not tell me, all he says is that he has to go," Essiel said looking at Ennynil who had turned around from the mirror. "I had gotten into a fight with Calemiron my older brother, he well has a tendency to think more with his anger then with his mind when he is angry and well he took out his anger on me. My parents did not agree with him spending time with some unsavory characters and when they told him that he took out his anger on me. When i fled i was so tired and in distress from hearing my brother scream at me that i ended up collapsing in front of the two trees, no one knew that was there not even my father. What i didn't know that in my rush to leave Calemiron had stabbed me in the side. It was your brother who was returning from the practice ground if not then i may not have survived, he found me laying beside the fountain in a pool of blood, i still i remember how he found me. I had hair over my face and the front of my gown was stained with blood, i was face down on the marble stones with one arm underneath me the other to the side. Well he found me anyways and took me home, in truth he thought i was dead as such he took me inside and tended to my wound. After that he asked my father's permission to court me, and well we fell in love," Ennynil said watching as Thangureth finished up working on her headpiece. Gilrin smiled turning her daughter back around she gently put a necklace around Ennynil's neck stepping back as Thangureth put the headpiece on her head, closing her eyes Ennynil sighed opening them she stared at the headpiece, "Thangureth it is beautiful," looking at the gems that adorned it, raising a hand she let a finger brush the necklace that had belonged to her mother and before that her grandmother. Taking her daughter's hands in her's, "come we must not keep Morfindo waiting, you two have waited along enough for this happy day," she smiled nodding to Essiel and Thangureth who followed behind them as Gilrin guided Ennynil back to where Morfindo waited. Gilrin stared as Ennynil once again shook her head, "i can't im sorry i just can't i don't know anyone there, no one at all Naneth i just can't say my vows in front of complete and utter strangers. Im sorry, but you can tell Morfindo that we will marry just alone just exchanging rings in front of you Naneth and Adar, we won't say our vows either i do not care for once if its rude or disrespectful i will not do it in front of complete strangers," Ennynil said quietly before pushing out the door nearly bumping into her Nemiron who looked concerned at his wife, "she won't go through with it will she, i knew that she wouldn't, couldn't what is her reason?" he asked watching as his daughter ran, tears streaming down her face toward's the wall the once place she felt safe. Gilrin sighed shaking her head, "she says she can't get married in front of complete strangers, and i actually i must agree with her she doesn't know anyone from either house," Gilrin said sighing sadly watching as Nemiron frowned," if she loves Morfindo it should not matter if she does it for complete strangers its something she must get use to if she is to join the House of the King since she knows at least a few people from the House of the Golden Flower, while she knows no one but Essiel and Morfindo from the House of the King. If we had not moved to Gondolin but gone to live with your sister in the Havens of Falas then i would have sent her away, she is no daughter of mine nor will she be," Nemiron said coolly storming out angrily. Gilrin sighed looking at Essiel and Thangureth, "what am i to do? Nemiron just disowned her, just because she isn't like Calemiron or any of our other children. She's like me and her grandmother, if i tell her that Nemiron has disowned her it will kill her," she said putting her face in her hands. Thangureth seeing the distress of Gilrin stood, "Gilrin you go and talk sense into Nemiron, Ill go and talk to Ennynil and Essiel you keep everyone busy and that includes your brother no one is to know what happened," Thangureth said ushering Essiel and Gilrin out of the home Essiel and Morfindo shared.

    Thangureth watched as Essiel hurried off towards her brother and the rest of the wedding guests. Shaking her head she set off after Ennynil already knowing where she would be, seeing her she sighed," come on mellon in this was suppose to be a special day for you, yes you may not know anyone, but that does not mean that you cannot enjoy it. Your father did have a point, you know more elves from the House of the Golden Flower then from the House of the King you will have to get use to it, its something i've learned my father is from the House of the King and my mother from the House of the Swallow. My mother did not know anyone when she married my father but she learned that it was not that bad and she was able to make friends," Thangureth said pulling Ennynil close, helping her stand she helped guide her back towards where her wedding was being held, there were somethings that her friend did not need to know. As they returned Thangureth noticed Gilrin arguing angrily with Nemiron, "she's going through a tough time right now, she's more worried and stressed then you are, you are part of the reason that our son her brother stabbed her, he inherited your temper, marrying Morfindo is the best thing for her disowning her is not," a smug smiled on her face as she watched her husband gulp air like a fish out of water, "i am sorry Gilrin, its just that i am worried about her that's all," Nemiron said looking at his wife before leaning down he tenderly kissed her before leading her back over to where their guests waited.

    Thangureth smiled, "you do know Glorfindel, and well you do know Turgon's daughter as well, besides i don't think that Morfindo will be able to keep his eyes off you for the entire ceremony so i don't think you will have anything to worry about that, why don't you do the same?" she asked turning to face her childhood friend before taking her arm in her's leading her back over to Morfindo's side. Reaching the table Morfindo stood going to them, taking her hands in his gently looking into her eyes before turning to look at his sister who had joined them taking their hands which they had dropped, Essiel smiled putting them together on top of each other. "You belong together, I can see it in yours eyes when you look at each other. You spend more time with her then you do with me. As such it does not matter who you say it in front of," she smiled stepping back whispering in Ennynil's ear, "pretend you are the only person here and you will be fine, well only you and Morfindo of course," Essiel smiled stepping back to her seat, bowing her head respectfully.

    ************************************************** **********
    Cassandra
    Dunland Third age 3014

    Cassandra felt the man holding the rope roughly jerk her to her feet forcing her to her knees, while they ate breakfast. It was still dark when Cassandra was forced to her feet and tied to the man who was in charge of watching her horse. Watching as the men mounted nudging their horses towards Hillfar, she had been giving a little food and water before once again being gagged. From the pace they were going they did not want to travel another day.

    She stumbled along behind her captors, the heat from the sun caused her to ask for water, all they had done was forced her to watch as they drank the water they had brought. Finally early the next morning she saw the village. Outside of Melmidoc's home, the men stopped and dismounted and the man who had tied Cassandra to the back of his horse untied her, pushing her forward up the stairs towards the entrance.

    Closing her eyes she could only hope that Elsilner had followed her, since he was her only way to finally no longer having to deal with her father anymore. Another one of Melmidoc's slaves had helped her, and she could only hope that she was alright.

    Melmidoc
    Hillfar

    Hearing the sound of approaching horses he stood making his way to the door his son following, a cruel smile when he saw that they had Cassandra, "very good," he told the men nodding for them to follow him,once inside he ordered that Cassandra kneel before him nodding to two men of his men to place a collar around Cassandra's neck. Watching as his order was carried out, a hand on either side of her keeping her from rising. "Your father will arrive tomorrow, once he does then he shall deal with your behavior," Melmidoc said standing in front of her taking her chin his hand forcing her to look at him. Nodding to two men, "you know what to do," he said watching as they took her into a small room tying her down so she couldn't move or try to escape.

    ************************************************** ************
    Binding Two lives as One-Wedding of Ennynil and Morfindo-pt 3
    Morfindo, Ennynil, Essiel, Thangureth, Lady Alyanis Rilyaelen and Baby Aravaldiel
    Vows, and Feasts

    Alyanis smiled at the happy couple, looking down in her arms at her year old daughter Aravaldiel, she may not be from either house present, but at least it was a familiar face in a sea of strangers. She was from the House of the Heavenly Arch while her husband Astaron was from the House of the Swallow. Going to Ennynil's side she sat down reaching over she gently squeezed her hand, "at least you have one friendly face other then your family," she said watching as Ennynil just nodded, sighing she looked at Essiel and Thangureth, "she's doing it again," Alyanis said trying to keep Aravaldiel from waking up. Essiel looked at Thangureth and sighed, "she stops talking when she doesn't feel comfortable in a situation where she doesn't know anyone. Most of her friends are not from the House of her birth nor the house she now marries into, and no one else that she does know is willing to come to it so she's feeling.. how shall we say, well lonely other then her family and a couple friends. I happen to be Morfindo's sister and since she spent all her time with my brother she doesn't know me very well. The only person she knows or well is friends with is Thangureth. She truly feels alone, and from what you've told me is that she wanted to call off the wedding because she did not know anyone. It doesn't help that she's joining another house today a house where she does not know anyone. Plus her father disowned her, because of it," Essiel finished putting a comforting arm around Ennynil who had begun to sob into her shoulder.

    Morfindo silently watched his sister Essiel comfort Ennynil watching as one of Gilrin's servants brought to her a basket of flowers of beautiful Iris's and went to join Ennynil and Essiel, "they are from Laegon my lady he apologizes for not being able to attend, your wedding, but he believes that it is for the best, that he nor his family attend. The flowers are from his garden, my lady, he also wishes both of you well," the elleth said taking a bouquet of Iris's out of the basket handing it to Ennynil who smiled, "thank you, they are beautiful, i shall send Laegon some of the flowers from my garden and herbs as well to thank him for his gift," she said before turning to look at Morfindo who smiled back in return, the smile fading as he saw Belil as he called her start in his direction. "The elleth of the hour," he muttered under his breath as Belil stopped in front of Ennynil and himself and watched as she looked Ennynil up and down. a sneer on her face, "oh Morfindo you would marry her, she is nothing compared to what we had before you met her, besides she is not from our House the House of the King plus she comes from a family of healers. While my family served the royal family while they lived in Valinor and then again in Vinyamar. What does she have that i do not have?" Belil asked a smug smile on her face, her true name was Bainthauril meaning beautiful and foul while the name which Morfindo called her meant Torment and to him that was what she was. Ever since he had called off his wedding to her she had not left him alone, finding every chance to separate him and Ennynil. Bainthauril looked at Ennynil's beautiful wedding dressing a beautiful royal blue gown with golden embroidery on the sleeves and hems in the shape of Golden flowers, "your wedding gown is.. how shall i say it beautiful, you should have seen mine you just look beautiful. I well..looked radiant," Belil sneered she would bring Morfindo's bride down even though they had not been wed yet and even if he did still marry her she had other ways of bringing her down. Morfindo glared at Belil grabbing her arm he guided her away from Ennynil, "you will not speak to Ennynil in that manner, we will be wed in a few short hours as such you will treat her with respect. I will not let you ruin Ennynil's and my wedding," he said coolly before starting back towards where Ennynil waited. Stopping when he heard Belil's voice float after him, "very well then you have made your choice, i know someone who would gladly learn of the secrets of which you hold the answers to the rumors that have been circulating, remember you confided them in me before you met Ennynil. Also warn your sweetheart that i will spread a rumor about her one that will make her feel the way i felt when you called off our wedding. You have been warned Morfindo, try to protect your Golden Flower and you will end up in the same hole that she will be in," Belil said coldly before striding away. Watching Belil stride away, Morfindo gently put an arm around Ennynil looking into her eyes which were full of worry,"what did she mean, Morfindo?" she asked feeling Morfindo pull her closer to him, 'i pray that we never find out, but from the direction she strode off in she is headed to Laegon's and Fea's home and that is what worries me. She is known for spreading rumors, rumors that can destroy someone, someone as beautiful and kind as you," Morfindo sighed. "What rumors would she spread, for she knows nothing about me?" Ennynil asked looking at the bouquet of Iris's in her hands, seeing that Morfindo gently pulled an Iris from the bouquet placing it in Ennynil's hair. "Let us get married and then we shall worry about Belil," he said smiling guiding her back over to where their guests waited.

    Gilrin had watched what had happened from beside Nemiron she couldn't help but worry, she knew Bellil's mother and her daughters were just like her. Watching as Morfindo took her daughter's hand guiding her up the steps until they were standing directly in front of the two trees. Morfindo smiled into Ennynil's eyes as they turned to greet their guests and family, "Lords and Lady's of the House of the King and the House of the Golden Flower, today in front of our houses I, Morfindo a Royal Guard take the Lady Ennynil of the House of the Golden Flower to be my wife for eternity," finishing Morfindo smiled at Ennynil who nodded watching as Gilrin and Nemiron stepped forward followed by Morfindo's sister Essiel and Gwennor going to stand in front of the couple. Hugging Ennynil, Nemiron smiled," i am happy for you, my daughter may you find the joys that your mother and i have," gently kissing Ennynil's forehead he stepped back sitting back down he watched his wife go and stand in front of Morfindo holding a small box in her hands. Opening the box Gilrin pulled out a necklace with a beautiful yellow idocrase gemstone that glistened in the sunlight, stepping in front of Morfindo she smiled, "Nai Varda Tintalle lazuva elloi Morfindo -va ar Ennynil's -va, ar nai Eru Iluvatar alyuvia tet," Gilrin said placing the gem around Morfindo's neck, squeezing his hand in her's before stepping back smiling at Gwennor who was standing in for Morfindo's father who had died while crossing from Valinor. Seeing his mother step back Gwennor stepped forward Essiel stepped up beside him holding a similar small box to that of his mother, opening it he took out a similar necklace but with a beautiful Sapphire bowing his head respectfully to his sister, "Nai Manwe Sulimo tiruva Morfindo ar Ennynil, ar Eru Iluvatar alyuva tet," Gwennor said placing the gem around Ennynil's neck reaching down he squeezed her hand gently, leaning forward he kissed her forehead before stepping back. Seeing Gwennor step back Morfindo opening his hand to show two golden rings glistening in the sunlight, looking at them he slipped off his silver ring taking Ennynil's hand in his he placed it in it watching as she did the same, taking the ring she had given Morfindo at their betrothal she slipped onto a necklace watching as Morfindo placed the ring he had given her into his robes. Taking one of the golden rings he gently took her hand once more slipping it onto the forefinger of her hand feeling as she did the same. Looking to her eyes Morfindo leaned down letting his lips gently, softly brush her's as he pulled her close listening to the crowd of guests erupt in applause and shouting as they watched both bride and groom kiss. Gwennor looked over at his mother, who had tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched Ennynil kiss Morfindo.

    Ennynil closed her eyes as she felt Morfindo's lips touch hers, feeling his strong comforting arms around her and she almost melted into his arms listening to the exclamations of joy from their many guests. Pulling away she felt him tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, gently smoothing her cheek, she felt his lips once again brush hers. Finally pulling away Morfindo took her hand leading back to their seats, watching as Nemiron raised his glass, "to my daughter Ennynil and to Morfindo her husband, may they be happy and remember always the love they have for each other," Nemiron said smiling watching as the guests did the same before taking a sip, smiling as Ennynil blushed deeply laying her head on Morfindo's shoulder.





    *May Varda Star-Kindler hear Morfindo and Ennynil's calls, and may Eru the Father of All bless them.
    *May Manwe Lord of Wind watch over Morfindo and Ennynil and may Eru the Father of all bless them.
    Last edited by Avalein; 13/Sep/2015 at 07:32 AM.

  27. Nolewen's Avatar
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    #127
    TA 3014
    Elsilner
    Hillfar, Dunland

    Elsilner breathed deeply. The morning was clear and pure, the sky pale blue, and the village silent, very surprising for a village in Dunland. Walking quietly between the simple houses, Elsilner was almost unseen. His cloak and hood, both from Lothlorien, blended almost completely with their surrounding, making Elsilner almost invisible. Suddenly, he heard the footsteps and harsh voices. Hidden behind a house's fence, he watched as three guards, armed with swords and shields, came down the hill that the village was named after. They wore dirty clothes and their beards and faces were also dirty. Their looks were very unpleasant, and they argued in harsh and cruel voices in their Dunland tounge.

    "Her father will be here today, I tell you. Lord Melmidoc himself said so." Said one of them.
    "Nonsense. They say the weather is terrible when you go down the mountains, and there are elves and Rangers wandering around our borders."
    "So they say. They also say that her father is a terrible man and none can withstand him." Said the third one, passing his short fingers through his filthy beard.
    "Fools! I am the one that stood next to Lord Melmidoc yesterday's morning, right? I heard him talking. I know what he said. Her father will come today, fools!" Shouted the first guard.

    'Her father will be here today?' Thought Elsilner. 'That is no good. No good at all. I must hurry!'

  28. Avalein's Avatar
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    #128
    Cassandra
    Hillfar Dunland, Third Age 3014

    Cassandra looked around the small room, it was black no light was allowed in. She would have tried the door but with the room next to Melmidoc's room and had heard she would be given to his daughter as a wedding gift since his eldest daughter was marrying a Dunlander 1000 leagues further east from Hillfar. Cassandra knew that he only waited for her father Gattas and from listening to several guards talking and her face paled her father would be arriving today.

    Sitting down she closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall seeing a crack in the wall moved towards it," Elsilner," she called softly through the crack hoping that he was nearby. The rope around her waist was tied to a post in the middle of the room. She had not been fed since she arrived, she had been given a little water in a bowl on the floor. Her hair was dirty from laying on the dirt floor and dirt on her face and arms if she had looked in a mirror she would have had to admit she looked more slave then how she'd lived a few days before. She had a plan she could only hope it would work.

    Gattas, Melmidoc
    Arriving at Hillfar Dunland Third Age 3014

    Gattas saw the village appear and smiled his daughter had arrived the day before and was locked away while she waited for her punishment. Nudging the stallion towards Melmidoc's home. He along with his company stopped in front of it dismounting they tied their horses. He looked up to see Melmidoc walking down the steps towards him," I hope your journey was uneventful," Melmidoc said bowing his head to Gattas. "It was very uneventful, I see you have Cassandra, I wish to see her," Gattas said following Melmidoc inside. Melmidoc shook his head," not yet we must go over the terms first and then I will show you her plus she is still not ready since we are doing what you told us to do to get," he said leading Gattas into a side room with a few guards, watching as Gattas nodded pleased.
    Last edited by Avalein; 13/Sep/2015 at 09:40 PM.

  29. Nolewen's Avatar
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    #129
    TA 3014
    Elsilner
    Hillfar, Dunland

    Elsilner
    climbed up the hill. On top of the hill stood a large house, owned by the Dunlander Melmidoc. Suddenly his ears cought a sound, faint and desperate. He got even closer to the house. The voice came from inside it, escaping through a crack in the wall. "Elsilner," Cassandra's voice called softly. Then he heard other sounds. The main door of the house opened, and out came a cruel-looking man, followed by some guards. The man walked down the steps that were curved in the side of the hill. At the bottom of the steps waited another man. He sat on a great black horse, and his face were even crueler than those of the Dunlander. He was tall, and clad in black, the hood of his long cloak thrown back. In his hand was a long sword and aroind him, sitting silently and patiently on the black horses, were guards.

    As the two man talked, Elsilner turned towards the house and whispered into the crack in the wall, "What is your plan, Cassandra?"

  30. Avalein's Avatar
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    #130
    Cassandra
    Hillfar Dunland Third Age 3014

    Hearing the two men disappear into a side chamber she kept her attention at the hole in the wall, suddenly she heard a voice on the other side and tried to put a couple fingers through the opening, finding the material easy to move used her fingers to open the hole until a hand could fit through," Elsilner we do not have much time Melmidoc plans to give me as a wedding gift to his eldest daughter the wedding party arrives tomorrow morning there will be a feast before the wedding. I most likely will be forced to serve him. I can get him drunk enough that you can kill him, I will have another of the servants who helped me escape let you in," Cassandra said reaching out for Elsilner's hand for some kind of comfort. She knew her father would agree to it due to the fact that it meant it was even less likely for her to escape. Her eyes showing fear in them, gripping Elsilner's hand tightly," please don't leave me," she said pleading fear in her eyes. "You must also earn the trust of my father in order to kill him that is the only way I'll be able to kill him and set me free," she said looking worried at the door hearing footsteps outside.

    ************************************************** *************************
    Binding Two lives as One-Wedding of Ennynil and Morfindo-pt 4
    Ennynil, Morfindo, Essiel
    Wedding Night and the Next morning

    Morfindo smiled taking Ennynil's hand in his it had been a few minutes since they had left the feast as Ennynil had started to complain of being tired. He knew it was her way of saying that she wished to leave. Quietly scooping her up in her arms he had carried her across the square to their house, he was older then Ennynil by at least 1000 years being born in Valinor, he had built his house nearby the palace as such he would be close to his sister and now his wife. Seeing her brother leave Essiel followed opening the door for her brother watching as he carried her up to the room they would be sharing. Reaching it he nodded to Essiel to help her change while disappearing into a side room. Reappearing he smiled at his sister who had helped Ennynil into bed, "she is asleep, Morfindo, i am happy for you and Ennynil. I shall let the two of be alone," Essiel said closing the door behind her going back to join the feast.

    After Essiel left the room he turned to Ennynil and smiled when he saw her watching him. Going over to her side he sat the side of the bed leaning down he gently kissed her, "how are you feeling, my elvish queen?" he said smiling looking into her eyes. "I do not know," she said feeling Morfindo gently stroke her cheek before standing going to the other side of the bed laying down next to her. Turning onto his side he pulled her close sighing as she placed her head on his chest closing her eyes as she felt his fingers gently stroke her hair. Letting her eyes glaze over as she fell asleep, feeling Morfindo kiss her forehead. Morfindo sighed letting his eyes glaze over pulling an extra blanket over Ennynil before doing so. "Sleep, well my queen," he said un-glazing his eyes to kiss Ennynil's lips before once again letting his eyes glaze over.

    The Next Morning

    Morfindo opened his eyes turning over to look at Ennynil who was still asleep watching as sunlight spilled into the room onto the bed, gently brushing a lock of her hair out of her eyes he smiled watching her sleep. Last night it had been moonlight that had spilled across the bed and across his new bride and now it was sunlight. Looking at her peaceful sleeping form Morfindo couldn't help but smile, glancing up as a knock on the door. Standing he quickly and quietly went to it opening it to see his sister standing there, "is Ennynil still sleeping?" she asked watching as her brother nodded stepping out into the hallway as to not to wake Ennynil, "yes, i doubt she'll be waking up until later today," he said taking Essiel's hands in his worry in his voice, "did you do as i instructed?" he asked watching as she nodded, "her mother and father would not tell me much, i also found her brother he is staying with Belil's family," Essiel said quietly. She watched her brother nodded before hurrying away back down the hallway.

    Hearing the door open Ennynil un-glazed her eyes sitting up in bed watching Morfindo reenter the room going to sit again beside her he leaned over kissing her, "how did my queen sleep?" he asked looking into her eyes. "I slept well, my dear," Ennynil said smiling returning the kiss, "remember your promise to me?" she asked as she pulled away for a moment, "ah yes to teach you how to ride," Morfindo said chuckling softly, "maybe i can speak to Turgon about letting me have a few days off to spend with you," he said holding her close. He took a deep breath burying his face in her hair breathing deeply. Reaching out he took her hand helping her out of bed, he carefully guided her towards the balcony overlooking the street below. She smiled feeling the sunlight fall on her face, closing her eyes she felt Morfindo's arms around her pulling her close to him gently kissing her neck. Force once not caring who was watching from below Ennynil turned kissing Morfindo closing her eyes, Morfindo was at first surprised, finally returning the kiss passionately.

    Two days later

    Morfindo returned from guard duty to find Ennynil looking at her hands and knew that something was wrong going to her side he took her hands in his, "are you well?" he asked concern in his voice watching as Ennynil shook her head, "la," she said. "My brother stabbed me the night that you found me," Ennynil said watching Morfindo's expression turn to one of disbelief, "and you did not tell anyone until now, you could have been killed, you should have told someone," he said kneeling in front of Ennynil taking her hands in his looking into her eyes, "you seem to forget i was unconscious when you found me and also remember i made you a promise to not ask me questions about what happened," Ennynil said sighing looking at her hands before raising her head to look at Morfindo. "I am going to tell Turgon as well as Glorfindel they need to know what happened, do you understand, my melda tari?" he asked watching as she nodded.
    Last edited by Avalein; 14/Sep/2015 at 05:53 AM.

  31. Moriel's Avatar
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    #131

    Egledhryn : Exiles


    (Maglor with permission from Aigronding)

    Egledhryn

    Northern coast of Forlindon
    TA 1410



    Water swirled in eddies of ice-grey steel about the treacherous points of rocks, many meters below the edge of a precipitous cliff. Not a hint of white sea-foam clung to those rocks, nor topped the smallest swells disturbing the surface of the sea. The sky above the sea was just clear enough that, twoscore and a quarter miles off the coast, a stony flat-topped protrusion could be seen. And if one squinted just right, with a tilt of the head, it seemed that the crumbling outlines of a ruin were faintly visible. It was upon this protrusion that one such set of eyes lay, their normally periwinkle light dimmed nearly to the hue of the sea. A fallen tree lay on top of the cliff, half-mouldered into the ground beneath, providing a comfortable backrest for the nís who sat, leaning against it, one leg drawn up into her chest and an arm curled about it.

    “What have you done to your hair?”


    The voice sent a thrill of surprise down her spine and a surge of trepidation in her gut. And yet, she did not look round.

    “I should have thought that was obvious. I’ve cut it off.”

    The voice was now accompanied by a presence, palpable waves of its approach buffeting her like the waters far below buffeted each unmoving stone. Just before its cresting threat broke over her head with the promise of drowning, it ceased.

    “May I?”

    “…”

    “Yes.”

    Outstretched fingers descended and, with the lightest touch of a hummingbird’s wing, ghosted over the tips of her close-cropped wheaten hair. Further they fell, running through the shorn lengths, until a palm came in contact with her scalp. Her eyes fell closed and her head tilted back as she exhaled with a sigh,

    “Makalaurë.”

    “Tavari.”

    He stepped over the log and sank down next to her, the dark nér wrapped in a grey traveling cloak,
    whom she had not beheld in many lives of men. They sat, not touching, but companiably close, for many moments.

    “Makalaurë.” She said again.

    “Tavari.” He repeated.

    The silence stretched on.

    “It’s going to take forever for it to grow back, you know.”

    She laughed, a bitter noise.

    “What is time to an elf?”

    “Hmmmm. What indeed?

    “…”

    “These are troubled times, Tavari.”


    “Times are so often troubled.”

    “The Witch-king ravages Cardolan, and Rhudaur falls under his sway.”

    “Amon Sûl has fallen”

    The Sindarin place-names fell from their mouths with an uncomfortable ease, harsh amidst the Quenya lyricism with which they otherwise spoke. The events of which they spoke were perilous, momentous, even- Arnor, that great kingdom of Men founded by the legendary Elendil, was crushed beneath the first of Sauron’s most powerful servant, whose threat proposed to crest and crash over the whole of these Northern lands. And yet, those years in which Elendil had lived, died, and become legend, were but a single heartbeat in the lives of the two elves who sat together on that cliff. Fourteen hundred years before Elendil had even been born, she had begun her exile. And he? She had not seen him for nearly seventeen hundred years before that. And even so, his voice and been as familiar as if it were only days ago they had sat, all of them, round the fires beneath a silver hazy beam of night, singing, hunting, laughing, and not knowing where their paths would lead. As if, the previous morning, she had risen and trodden pale-cool floors of a deep forested manor with her feet bare and loose of hair in the place she had called home, in the world that once had been.

    “But Imladris stands.”

    “It does.”

    “And Elrond?”

    She looked at him sidelong.
    His gaze was still seaward as he spoke, but at her movement he glanced and their eyes met, before each flicked away. He had helped to raise the Lord of Imladris from orphanage. She too had known the child, long since grown, and nodded once.

    “He stands, too. When last I saw him in any case, he was well.”

    “…”

    “And… your family?”


    “…”

    “My father fell at Gondolin. My mother has taken a ship. Arasoron- Arasoron was slain by the hand of Sauron at Eregion. Indilë followed him.”

    “Maltahtar?”

    The breath which had come so easily to her throughout their conversation now froze in her throat. He receded from her awareness and a different face filled her thoughts: strong, classically handsome, with eyes as blue as the sea would have been under a cloudless sunlit day; blue as the many ponds of Valinor had been, blue as the sky on a clear night just below the sun’s final salute before the horizon, and just as sparkling with stars. The golden hair- more jewel-bright than her own, which was often likened to wheat- which had hung in bouncing ringlets once, now stretched to fall down his shoulders in seeming likeness of the lion for which she herself had been named in battle. In silence her lips formed his name. Maltahtar. Golden warrior. The name their father had given him had been as prophetic as many a mother-name, for he had grown strong and skilled in the ways of combat, her baby brother. And truly he had been that, for she and her twin had been grown when he was born, the little thing that had brought their mother such joy as her older children struck ever further afield from home, upon whom their father had doted. She had seen him grow from potato-like infant to squalling and clutching toddler, to sometimes-sullen adolescent, to the young nér he had been at Alqualondë, still growing in the manner of a young birch and beginning to test his sturdy limbs. She had helped to raise that sun-touched boy, and as there were no words that could describe the bond she shared with Arasoron, none could fathom her love for the youngest Mordagnir, long before that name had been imagined.

    So long they had been parted, and then come together once more, and yet wrenched apart again, by her inability to tether herself for what seemed forever to once place. In Gondolin he had flourished, married, fathered children, and been the witness to their father’s downfall. He emerged a different soul: Aigronding, they called him then, a bastardization of his mother name- Aiyangon, Aimira had named him, but no more was that name spoken. They had reunited again, and for so long, this time, they had lived in happiness- she came and went, with Arasoron and Indilë too, but in fellowship and love with her little brother upon her returns. Until Sauron had come to Eregion in force. It was the valiant Maltahtar who had saved her then; when the rock of Arasoron had gone, he arose like the sun and pulled her back from certain death, from sword and spear and wheels of fire; from the threat of demonic destruction and sway of darkness, and from herself. And it was he whose heart she had broken. She saw his face, grim and careworn, worried and dirty, and felt his gentle fingers brushing the hair from her bloodied face. It was why she had left without a word, without a note, without any explanation; why she had fled from Imladris in the night, taking with her naught but the weapons of the two she had lost: she could not have borne to see his face, its sensitive lines never good at concealing emotion, break and crumble and well with tears; his voice grow husky and crack as he asked why; pleaded to know and begged for her to stay. She could no longer bear his love. And yet, she could see his face.

    But all she said, was:

    “I have not seen him since I departed Imladris, not long after Eregion fell. When last I saw him, he also was well.”

    He knew there was more to the story, and no denying it, but he did not pry. She was far away.

    And then she was there, shaking the cloak from about her body where it had wrapped her sitting form. “Night draws on, Makalaurë. We ought not be on this shore much longer.” She had shifted herself to her knees on the ground and he followed suit. As one, they turned to look out to sea. The outline of the rocky place was still there, faintly visible under the fading clouds.
    “Himring,” he said, unnecessarily. “Yes,” she replied, “And it looks no warmer now than it ever was.” He laughed, and offered her his hands. She took them, and they arose, remaining handclasped once they stood. For some reason she had been expecting his hands to be cold, but they were warm, and soft but for the calloused fingertips of the harper. The silence had returned and time seemed to pass both interminably and so very fast as they stood. Until a sound interrupted the reverie- he had begun to hum softly, a light, bright, yet slightly wistful dancing tune. The eyes rolled up in her head and the lids descended as she allowed the sound to consume her. Back to those pale-cool floors and deep forested walls, to a warm hall full of crackling firelight and another tall, dark nér; broader of shoulder than the one she now found herself moving closer to, resting her left hand on his shoulder and his fell to her waist, and they began to move gently on the spot. Back to a deep winter when none of it had mattered and they had danced many nights to the tune he hummed now, composed and named in her honor.

    “The Girl with the Flaxen Hair.”

    His voice brought them both back to the present, but it was not a rude transportation.
    As she opened her eyes to look up at him, the kept-in waters broke and ran down her face, and she could see them shining unshed in his as well. Yet both their lips held trembling smiles.

    “We ought to be gone.”

    “Where will you go?”

    “Where have I ever gone? Where I must. To learn and live and survive. To take no king and no home, and to try and make peace with my fate.”

    His face turned troubled.

    “He didn’t mean it.”


    She laughed, both at his childish turn of phrase, and the transparent denial.

    “He did, Makalaurë. You may have prevented his killing me, but you cannot prevent the finality of my last king’s command. Maitimo declared it thus, and thus it is so. In some ways I think this is best.”

    He nodded, though not with pleasure. “Very well… as you know, I understand well the power of allegiance.”

    “…”

    “We ought to be gone.”

    “Yes.”

    They did not move.


    “We ought to be gone.”

    She spoke the phrase a third time, and with a simultaneous exhalation, they stepped back.
    But their right hands remained joined, and he looked at her questioningly.

    “I don’t suppose we ought to walk together for a time.”


    “No.” She shook her head slowly. “I do not think we should.”

    “You are probably right. But let me tell you where a letter may sometimes reach me.” He did so, and she smiled.

    “I am glad to have found you, Makalaurë Fëanorion. Will we see each other again?”

    “I rather think we shall.” He pulled her close for a first and final embrace, and his hand again found the back of her head. His voice was amused as he murmured into her ear, “He did so love your hair.” The He had changed, but there was no need to explain.

    “I know,” she said as they broke apart, “That was one of the reasons it had to go.”

    He raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it reverently.

    “Namárië, osellë.” (
    Be well, sworn-sister. Quenya)

    “Namárië, otorno. Yá lúme tene.” (
    Be well, sworn-brother. Until we meet again. Quenya)


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    #132
    TA 3014
    Elsilner
    Hillfar, Dunland

    Elsilner
    pulled his hand back after a moment, and quickly went around the house. As he walked, he remembered Nolewen's advice. She suggested that he'll try buying Cassandra with the money that she and Durwin Nash from the Starlight Home orphanage sent him. He remembered how at first he followed Cassandra and her captors only because Nolewen asked him to. Now, he realized, he was helping Cassandra because she became his friend- she depended on him for freedom and survival. Reaching the door, he told the guard, who was very surprised to find am elf standing in front of him, "I am here to meet your master and his guest."

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    #133
    Cassandra
    Hillfar, Dunland Third Age 3014

    Feeling Elsilner pull his hand out of hers, she pulled her hand back inside watching as he disappeared from view only hearing his voice as he talked to the guard at the door's entrance.

    Guard, Melmidoc, Gattas
    Hillfar, Dunland

    Upon seeing Elsilner the guard shook his head for a moment to clear his head from the shock, since elves avoided traveling through Dunland when possible, "what business do you have with my master?" he asked coolly, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword, he would make sure that he was not a threat to Melmidoc before telling his master about their unexpected guest.

    Hearing voices outside Melmidoc stood, looking at Gattas who had also stopped talking, going to the door he turned his head to look at Gattas, "i shall return in a moment and then we can continue our business," he said shutting the door behind him hearing footsteps following he turned to find Gattas had followed him out of room. Reaching the entrance he stopped for a second before opening the door stepping outside Gattas following looking at Elsilner a cold smile on his face and the cold eyes of Gattas, "yes can i help you?" he asked tartly continuing to look at Elsilner while nodding to two guards to fall in behind him if there was any trouble.

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    #134
    TA 3014
    Elsilner
    Hillfar, Dunland

    "Good afternoon to you," replied Elsilner sharply. "You're probably very surprised to meet an elf in the middle of Dunland. Not you, Master Davenport Serphent, I am sure I did not surprise you. I am here in order to offer you-" he stopped suddenly, and turned around to see two guards sneaking up behind him. "Enough!" He commanded angrily. Then, turning back to Melmidoc and Gattas, he continued. "I am here to offer you money in exchange for something. In exchange of a slave, the unimportant though useful daughter of you," he nodded towards Gattas. "I would like to buy her from both of you." He looked at them sharply with his brown eyes.

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    #135
    Melmidoc, Gattas
    Hillfar, Dunland Third Age 3014

    Hearing what Elsilner said Melmidoc laughed, "indeed, shall we speak inside?" he said continuing to laugh looking at Gattas who had also started to laugh as well. Nodding to the guard Melmidoc started back inside, once inside he sat down watching Elsilner, "your interested in a slave you say, any reason?" Melmidoc asked raising an eyebrow. "I didn't think that elves had slaves, and your interested in Gattas daughter," he paused thinking. "She's caused me much trouble, i could probably sell her to you for the right price, what do you think Gattas?" he turned to Gattas who looked stone faced at Elsilner.

    Gattas stared, "what about our contract?" he asked, looking at Melmidoc who from the look on his face was thinking again, "why don't you stay and from that you can decide tomorrow my daughter's husband will arrive, we shall have a feast before and a feast after to celebrate their union, we shall decide then if she's worth the amount you have to offer for her," he looked at Gattas, "our contract still stands until i've given her to my daughter after that if this elf wishes to buy her then he can," Melmidoc said nodding for two guards to bring Cassandra out. "Why don't you inspect her and from that make your decision, do not worry Gattas i have already signed the contract and the money you require has been sent to your home," he said holding up the piece of paper. "Now continue elf," he said looking at Elsilner putting his hands together watching him.

    Cassandra

    Looking up Cassandra turned as she heard the door open and two men entered dragging her from the room. Once out she was thrust at both Melmidoc's and Gattas feet. Turning her head she looked at Elsilner hopefully, her eyes pleading for him to help her. She kept her eyes lowered looking at the ground in front of her, she could feel her father's anger radiating off of him and cringed since she knew what was coming.
    Last edited by Avalein; 17/Sep/2015 at 03:56 AM.

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    Elsilner
    Hillfar, Dunland

    "The Elf has a name. Call me Siciltur." Elsilner said, careful not to give his real name. "I am very busy, and you can laugh if you want, but it is true. I do not have time to waste, so I do not want to stay here until your daughter's wedding. You ask why I'm interested in your daughter, Gattas, and you have the right to know. Do you recognize my cloak? It is a cloak of Lothlorien, a gift from the elves of the golden wood. I was sent here by the girl's family and friends, of which some dwell in Lothlorien, and the purpose of my coming here is to bring the girl back to her mother's family. They realize that you are more powerful than them and me in this land, so they sent money with me, to be used to buy your daughter. I carry a massage from them, saying that all is forgiven to he who was so kind to them before, and that they ask for your forgiveness and help in meeting their beloved family member again. Cassandra is her name, I think. Now that you heard my tale, let us begin discussing her price." Elsilner did not tell them the real tale, though he mixed some parts of it with his made-up tale. He looked quietly at the girl's father and the Dunlander, waiting for their answer.

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    #137
    Melmidoc, Gattas
    Hillfar, Dunland Third Age 3014

    Melmidoc listened to what Sicltur was saying, "if you are able to offer more then what Gattas asked for then yes i will consider selling her before my daughter's wedding that is if her father agrees," he said glancing at Gattas who nodded. "yes if you can best my offer then i shall agree to sell her to you," Gattas said watching Sicltur carefully. "How much do wish for her?" Melmidoc asked as Cassandra was brought to his side holding onto rope that was connected around her waist.

    Gattas nodded he had recognized the cloak since his wife had, had one, "so what is your offer for her?" he asked again watching Sicltur as he paced hands clasped behind his back thinking. He looked at Cassandra who was kneeling beside Melmidoc her hair covering her face hiding the pain that she was in. Her back hurt as did her stomach from lack of food. Looking up at Elsilner she winced, pain shooting through her back forcing her to once again look down at the floor. Blood dripping from a cut across her right cheek.

    ************************************************** *********************************
    Morfindo, Ennynil
    Gondolin First Age 316

    Ennynil sat quietly reading, in front of the two trees and didn't notice as Morfindo came up behind her slipping his arms around her waist quietly whispering in her ear," how is the most beautiful elf maiden in Gondolin? " he asked gently kissing her neck looking over her shoulder at what she was reading. Shutting her book she turned to face her husband putting the book behind her back. Seeing her put the book behind her back Morfindo made a grab for it watching as she playfully kept it out of his reach. Morfindo chuckled softly as he started to chase Ennynil around the fountain and two trees. Looking behind her she let out a beautiful musical laugh as she saw Morfindo start to chase her around the fountain, it took a little time but she felt Morfindo's arms around her waist and she let out a squeal as she felt her feet leave the ground. Dropping the book into the ground she was glad she did for the next thing she felt was the cool water of the fountain encircling her. Standing up Ennynil looked at Morfindo a look of shock on her face as she grabbed a handful of water throwing it onto Morfindo who looked as shocked as his wife. A smile appearing on his face, "what a fine couple we make both sopping wet," he said smiling ignoring the book his wife had discarded as well as his cloak. Ennynil nodded, shivering her wet hair plastered to her head. Stepping out of the fountain dripping water onto the street. Seeing Ennynil shiver Morfindo strode to where he had dropped his cloak, picking it up he placed it around her shoulders rubbing her arms to help her warm up.

    As he guided Ennynil back home he glanced up at a darkening sky, rain he thought. Upon reaching their home the heavens finally let loose it's rain. Feeling rain fall upon her face Ennynil laughed shedding Morfindo's cloak. Handing it to one of her maidens ran back out into the rain a smile on her face," come on Morfindo try and catch me," she called running off in the direction of the wall. Morfindo looked at his wife and smiled they were already drenched a little more water wouldn't hurt, shaking his head he ran after his wife laughing while trying to see through the deluge.
    Last edited by Avalein; 18/Sep/2015 at 02:04 AM.

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    Elsilner
    Hillfar, Dunland

    "Very well." Elsilner replied, his voice harsh and commanding. "This is what I have to offer you. Since you'll probably won't believe me if I tell you how much money I have in there, I'll let you count it. Don't try to take even one small coin before any agreement is made. I am quicker than you, and none of your guards can withstand me."

    Elsilner took out of his cloak a small bag filled with coins. He put it carefully on Melmidoc's desk and waited for him to open the bag and count the money. While he waited, he looked around the room. It was a small room with two small and dirty windows and one wooden door. A guard stood in each of the four corners of the room. The guards were armed with short swords and small shields, and some had a knife or two. Their clothes and beards were dirty, and their faces unhappy. Behind Melmidoc stood a tall guard. His beard and clothes, unlike the other guards, were clean, and he was armed with a small shield, three knives, and a long sword. He was watching Elsilner cautiously, and looked like the commander of the guards.

    Elsilner continued to study the room. Melmidoc's desk stood in the middle of the room, and behind it was an old chair on which Melmidoc was sitting. Gattas stood next to him on the stone floor. On the other side of the desk, next to the tall guard, sat Cassandra, her face covered with the combination of dirt, tears, and blood. She was tied with long ropes that the guard held. Elsilner turned his attention back to Melmidoc.

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    #139
    Melmidoc, Gattas, Cassandra
    Hillfar, Dunland Third Age 3014

    Melmidoc's eyes widened upon seeing the bag of gold that Elsilner had put in front of him. He nodded to a guard and Gattas who started to count the money. While they counted Melmidoc turned to Elsilner," you do know you will have to free her," he said nodding for the guard to bring her to him. The guard forced Cassandra to her feet," she bares my mark from before her escape," he chuckled softly glancing over at Gattas who nodded. "There is enough here to pay for me to sell her to you," Gattas said looking at his daughter who was curled into a ball at the guards feet. "What do you wish to agree to?" Melmidoc asked shooting a glance at Gattas who stayed quiet his eyes on his daughter.

    Hope showed in Cassandra's eyes upon hearing the amount that he had been given was enough. Wincing, blood and tears fell down her cheeks as she felt a boot of her father hit her hard in the stomach. She curled into a ball hoping to lessen the blows while looking up at Elsilner for help. "You'd better keep an eye on her she's known to escape," she heard both Melmidoc and Gattas say before looking at Elsilner. Wincing again as she tried to breath and realised that when her father had kicked her he had broken at least two of her ribs maybe more.

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    #140
    TA 3014
    Elsilner
    Hillfar, Dunland

    Elsilner
    wanted to laugh at loud from happiness to their agreement, but he controlled himself and his his happiness. "Take the money, Gattas, and I will take her now." He said, reaching out to take the rope from the guard. The guards hesitated for a moment but then let go of the ropes. Elsilner took them and walked over to Cassandra who tried to hide her happiness. He noticed with worry that her father had given her a parting gift- a terrible kick in her stomach with his boot. He helped her stand up, then walked as quickly as he could with Cassandra leaning on him for support.

    Once he was out of the house, he whistled a loud whistle. His horse, Larcatur, and the brown horse came galloping up the hill. Elsilner helped Cassandra climb his horse first, and then he climbed on Larcatur's back, and they rode swiftly through the village. As they rode away Elsilner cut Cassandra's ropes and threw them behind him.

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    #141
    Cassandra
    Hillfar, Dunland Third Age 3014

    Cassandra watched her father pocket the money, and felt Elsilner help support her towards the door. Pain surged through her body, each breath was laboured and painful. Melmidoc had let his men have some fun with her the night before her father had arrived. As such when she saw the horse she shook her head," I can't ride," she said wincing. Cassandra tried to relax as she listened to the sound of the horse approached and Elsilner help her into the saddle of Elsilner's horse.

    She relaxed further as the horse started to canter and the ropes binding her were cut. Slumping over the horses back as she felt the movement of the horse, the rocking canter caused her to fall asleep. She was still hungry from not eating for several days," Elsilner do you have anything to eat?" She called to Elsilner raising her head high enough to look into his eyes before laying her head against his chest falling back to sleep. Far enough away Cassandra woke up and looked around," please tell me that I'm not dreaming and that I'll wake up once again in Hillfar," she said looking at Elsilner.

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    #142
    TA 3014
    Elsilner
    Dunland and Rohan


    "You're not dreaming, Cassandra." Elsilner said softly, but he was still troubled by her question about food. No, he did not have anything to eat, and the poor girl was probably starving. They were heading towards the mountains, but he didn't plan to actually cross them. He wanted to go around them, through a large valley that he called Nan Yanwë, or the Connecting Valley, for it connected Dunland and Rohan.

    They stopped at the first sight of the mountains. It was evening, and Elsilner found a small stream with clear water. He washed Cassandra wounds and cleaned them to the best of his ability. Then he lit a small fire, and using some local herbs that he found, he wrapped her wounds and put the herbs on then, trying to heal them. Then, while Cassandra slept, he stood and guarded.

    When the sun rose on the next morning, Elsilner waked Cassandra. They drank some more water, and then they continued on their way. They rode on for what seemed like hours, but late in the afternoon the land suddenly rose in front of them, and the mountains stood, high and proud, in front of them. Then they turned and rode alongside the mountains for a long time, and they continued riding until late at night.

    Elsilner looked very satisfied when they finally stopped. They stood at the enterence of a wide valley. On both sides of the valley loomed the great mountains, but the valley itself was green and welcoming. A wide stream flowed throgh it, and on its sides grew many short trees. Cassandra slept while Elsilner stood and watched, again. In the morning they continued to ride, this time at a slower pace. At noon, Elsilner stopped his horse and climbed off, helping Cassandra get down, too. They ate a happy meal of fruits that Elsilner found growing alongside the stream, and drank some water. Then they continued to ride.

    They rode on for two more days, eating fruits, drinking water, and stopping only two times on each day: at noon, to eat lunch, and at the evening, to eat dinner, sleep until the morning, and eat breakfast before continuing on their way. At last, on the third day's afternoon, they rode out of the valley. "Welcome to the land of the Horselords, the Land of Rohan." Announced Elsilner.

    Just as they rode out, a group of about thirty men rode towards them on great houses. Their hair was golden, their faces proud but friendly, and in their hands they held long spears. The man who seemed to be their leader rode ahead of them and cried, "are you a friend or a foe?"

    Elsilner laughed at loud, relieved. "Tulcańer!" He called, recgonizing their leader.
    "Elsilner!" Smiled the man. "This is my good friend Elsilner." he told his men. "He is a good friend of mine, and had helped and saved me many times. Welcome!" He turned back towards the Elf. "Who's that young maiden with you?" He asked.

    "Her name is Cassandra, and Nólewen Eldaran sent me to free her from a Dunlander. We are heading towards Minas Tirith." He explained.
    "Very well," Answered Tulcańer. "Come with us, and we'll give you food for your journey to Minas Tirith, and heal your wounds."

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    #143
    Morfindo, Ennynil
    Gondolin First Age 316

    Morfindo had chased Ennynil to the wall, sighing quietly he smiled putting his arms around her waist pulling her to him, "ah rain, beautiful just like you," he said gently kissing the nape of her neck. Ennynil laughed, before looking in the direction of the Havens of Falas, "i wish i could see the sea, Naneth never spoke of my family that lived in the Havens of Falas," she said looking into Morfindo's eyes. "Maybe someday you will, but for now you can read about the beauty of the sea," he said holding her close. Taking her hand in his, Morfindo smiled starting to slowly dance with her singing as he did, completely ignoring the rain now Ennynil smiled letting her husband twirl her gracefully. Laughing she began to join in the song he was singing, she knew the song well a song that her Naneth had sung to her when she was an young elleth. Picking her up Morfindo spun her gracefully around before letting her feet once again touch the ground. Smiling he put an arm around her guiding her back towards their home its was only then he noticed how far away from their home they were, he had chased Ennynil to the far wall. He laughed quietly to himself, as they approached their home on the far side of the palace he noticed that the maiden in which Ennynil had given her cloak hurried towards them putting the cloak around her shoulders hurrying her inside and out of the rain. Morfindo sighed following shutting the door behind him he went to his wife's side gently taking her hand in his, looking up Ennynil smiled, "my dear why did you laugh what were you thinking?" she asked looking into his eyes. Sliding next to his wife he took her hands in hers, "i was just wishing that it was like this everyday," smiling he responded running his fingers through her hair letting her put her head on his shoulder, "i wish the same," he heard her reply.

    A two years later- First Age 318

    Ennynil opened her eyes to find Morfindo watching her concern on his face, "what is wrong?" her face clearly showing worry as she sat up, it had been two years since their marriage. Her expression changed seeing him smile, she now was clearly very confused, "what?" she asked again. Taking her hand Morfindo helped her out of bed, "I have a surprise for you outside, you remember how i was teaching you how to ride," he paused for a moment watching as Ennynil nodded, "well i thought you'd enjoy riding in the area beyond the walls near where your mother has her garden, it isn't the same as riding down the beach hearing the sea, but well i was hoping you'd go for a ride with me today," he said looking out the window of the room they shared. Ennynil smiled slipping her arms around his waist, "you already know my answer, but what about your duty as a Royal Guard, i am beginning to think that i'm becoming a bad influence on you," she said laughing softly, watching as Morfindo smiled listening to her squeal in delight and surprise as he picked her up carrying downstairs and outside to where his surprise was waiting. She stared as he set her down, "she's beautiful, Morfindo," Ennynil said looking at the beautiful white mare, watching as she tossed her head gracefully, pawing the ground. Feeling hands around her waist she felt Morfindo lift her onto the mare's back, "have you thought of a name for her?" he asked stroking the mare's neck and head, looking up at Ennynil who looked like she was a queen a beautiful radiant Elven queen, "how about Miriel it means sparkling like a jewel?" she asked burying her face in the mare's mane sitting up she watched as Morfindo's beautiful, elegant black stallion was led up, "its a beautiful name for a beautiful mare for a beautiful queen," he said smiling mounting his black stallion named Lhosstal meaning whisper hoof. He smiled turning Lhosstal towards the gardens and the plain beyond watching as Ennynil did the same riding beside him.

    Ennynil watched as Morfindo nudged the large black stallion into a trot and nudged her mare forward so she was trotting beside him. It was then that she decided to breach the subject that had been on her mind for several days, she had confided it in her friend Thangureth. She blushed as she looked to see Morfindo watching her, as he slowed his horse to a walk reaching out he took her hand in his squeezing it, "feel comfortable enough to try and canter?" he asked watching as she nodded letting go of her hand he nudged Lhosstal into a canter turning his head enough to see if Ennynil was following. Seeing Morfindo nudge his stallion into a canter followed softly adjusting her seat feeling Miriel start to canter. Soon they were once again riding side by side, reaching a small hill they turned their horses back looking at the white walls of the city.

    Morfindo dismounted holding the reins of his wife's mare he helped her dismount, gently taking her face in his hands to look at him, "i can see it in your eyes there is something you wish to tell me, what is it?" he asked looking concerned. Ennynil smiled taking Morfindo's hand in her's placing it on her stomach watching as his eyes widened "i am with child, Morfindo twins by the feel of it," she said smiling. "How long have you known?" he asked surprised, wondering how long she had managed to keep it from him. "Well for four months at least maybe longer," Ennynil replied, "not even my parents know only you, Thangureth and Essiel know that i am with child," she added. Morfindo smiled pulling her close kissing her gently before lifting her back into Miriel's saddle mounting Lhosstal he smiled, " we should be returning to the city we can walk our horses back if you wish to watch the sunset," Morfindo smiled leaning across to once again kiss his lovely wife. With that they turned their horses back towards home reaching the edge of the plain they turned their horses looking back at the sunset.

    A year later-319

    Morfindo paced outside of he and Ennynil's room she had gone into labor when they had arrived home from their evening ride, to have her double over in pain. The sun had now completely set and her mother had appeared and then once again disappeared inside the room, sinking into a chair in the hallway he closed his eyes and waited.

    He was lost in his thoughts when the door opened, quickly standing her made his way over. Relived when he saw his wife sleeping peacefully in a cradle nearby slept two babies. Going over to the cradle he smiled twins, sons turning his attention to his sleeping wife. Sitting on the edge of the bed he gently leaned down kissing her lips before softly beginning to stroke Ennynil's hair. Whispering in her ear, "we have two beautiful sons, sleep i will come and check on you later," he said gently smoothing her hair standing he placed a blanket over her sleeping form and smiled she looked like an angel, sighing 'she didn't belong here, she belonged in Valinor maybe one day she would. In his mind and to him she would always be his queen he glanced back to Ennynil's sleeping form before shutting the door behind him. Smiling he sat down and pulling a piece of parchment writing on it two names to show Ennynil when she woke up. Standing once again he went back upstairs, he checked on his two sons before laying down beside Ennynil feeling as she put her head on his chest, Morfindo closed his eyes listening to the comforting breathing of his wife who lay next to him.

    Stirring later that night Ennynil stood walking towards the cradle where their sons slept sighing she sat down beside them gently humming to them looking over where Morfindo slept peacefully. Standing she gently picked up the older of the two twins, walking over to her husband's side she noticed a piece of parchment opening it all she saw was two words, Gaeralagos and Lagoruthon looking into the son's face she smiled she could see the longing of the sea in his eyes. Stepping out onto the balcony overlooking the garden beneath, letting the light of the moon fall across the face of her sleeping son. Hearing footsteps behind her Ennynil turned and looked surprised to see Essiel, "i thought you were asleep i am sorry if i woke you," she said looking at Essiel who had picked up her other son watching as she shook her head, "no you didn't, i couldn't sleep," she said going to stand beside her sister-in-law. "Have you and my brother thought of names for them?" she asked looking at Ennynil who smiled, "i think we have already chosen or your brother has anyway, Gaeralagos and Lagoruthon," she said looking at the baby in her arms. "Remember you still have to deliver the flowers and herbs to Laegon as thanks for the wedding gift he sent," Essiel reminded her sister-in-law who nodded. Her eyes Essiel noticed were only for the son in her arms, "Gaeralagos that shall be his name, while the other shall be Lagoruthon," Ennynil said quietly sitting down the bench that had been placed on the balcony before starting to once again to hum softly to the son in her arms. Holding Gaeralagos Ennynil quietly stepped back inside, putting on her cloak she once again picked up Gaergalagos starting down the stairs, mounting her mare Miriel she nudged the mare out onto the plain, going as far as she could she stopped and dismounted sitting down in the grass. She placed her son beside her laying down, smiling as Miriel lay down letting her place her head on her belly. Placing a blanket over her horse and another over her and that of her son. Humming softly before falling asleep, feeling Miriel's head protectively surround her keeping her safe until morning.

    The next morning when Morfindo woke he was surprised to find that Ennynil was not there, standing he looked around seeing his sister sitting on the balcony asleep. He gently put a hand on her shoulder, watching as her eyes flew open, "have you seen Ennynil?" he asked worry in his voice when he noticed one of the babies gone. Essiel nodded, "yes she left last night for a ride along the plain she took Gaeralagos with her," Essiel said trying to calm her brother, "she'll return, do not worry she wished to sleep under the stars," she added hoping that it would calm Morfindo. He shook his head, "she could have slept in the garden, then she would have been closer if she was in need of help," he said running his fingers through his hair. Quickly striding from the room, he mounted his stallion cantering out of the city once on the plain he began to look for Ennynil calling her name. Worry in his voice as he once and awhile stopped his stallion looking for her white mare or any sign of his wife and son. No evil was in the valley, for it was hidden but still the thought of loosing her or having something happen to her or their sons still worried him. "Ennynil!" he once again called letting his voice carry on the breeze, still no response he nudged his stallion into a canter.

    It was mid morning and there was still no sign of her, he should have reported for duty by now but how could he return when he could not find his wife and new born son. The other was home with his sister, but the elder of the twins was with his wife. There was still no sign of them, and he was starting to worry, he knew that they wouldn't leave the valley but still where they could they be. He nudged his stallion forward onto the small hill he and Ennynil would ride to every evening, hoping that way he could see where she was. Morfindo was just about to head back when he noticed a white rock like shape far away in the distance. Turning his horse towards it he nudged the stallion into a gallop towards the white shape, stopping when he reached it to see still asleep his wife and son, with Miriel protectively watching them. Seeing Morfindo ride up the mare nickered to the stallion quietly as to not wake up Ennynil and her young charge. He smiled dismounting, he did not want to wake her, but knew that she would be more comfortable in her own bed. Gently lifting her onto his stallion he placed their son in her arms before mounting behind her, picking up the reins of her mare he nudged the stallion back towards home.

    ************************************************** ************************************************** ***********************

    Lennor, Gilwen, Dineneth, Thuriloston
    Doriath-Menegroth First Age 316

    Lennor sighed watching his sister and parents, sitting down on a rock overlooking the river Sirion. Glancing over at his sister who was sitting with their mother Dineneth, they hadn't talked much well their mother hadn't spoken until the safe return of her brother a few years before his birth. Thuriloston watched Dinneth and Gilwen a smile growing as he went and sat down beside his son. "Dineneth has changed since her brother's return," he said looking at Lennor who nodded he had noticed a change in he and Gilwen's Naneth, she was more cheerful, though still quiet she still talked when before that she hadn't at all. She actually would leave her room while before then she would not. Having Dinalagosson back and somewhat uninjured was doing wonders for Dineneth, who was teaching Gilwen how to heal and spending time with their daughter.

    Gilwen laughed merrily at something her Naneth said, she was carefully holding up the hem of her gown as to not get it wet from the water. Nodding as Dineneth pointed out some plants along the opposite bank Picking up her gown a little higher Gilwen waded deeper into water fighting against the current she made it to the other side kneeling in the grass, she picking the herbs that her mother had pointed out. Putting them in a safe place, in her gown Gilwen started back across, reaching the other side she handed the herbs to Dineneth who nodded smiling. She sat down beside Naneth putting her head in her lap. Dineneth smiled thinking of her brother, her parents as had her husband's been killed during one of the battles before the Noldo had arrived and she had been left in the care of her older brother as such she had grown very close to him. "What are you thinking of Naneth?" Gilwen asked looking up from where her face was in her mother's lap. Dineneth stopped stroking her daughter's hair as she was jerked from her thoughts upon hearing what her daughter had asked, "i am just thinking of my brother Dinalagosson, my flower," she said starting to stroke her daughter's hair again.
    Last edited by Avalein; 22/Sep/2015 at 03:04 AM.

  44. Avalein's Avatar
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    #144
    I'm given the chance to lead you home
    No looking back, no way to know
    The light is ahead, we're moving slow
    Approaching life, where you will be home
    But
    I've lost you my lovely
    To the depths of an ocean
    My blind faith,
    I follow you with my hope and devotion
    We will meet again
    In life or in death
    Touch my heart beats
    And beauty sways
    My life, a song, a longing day
    I found you my lovely
    In the depths of an ocean
    A story together of hope and devotion
    I found you my lovely
    In the depths of an ocean
    A story forever of hope and devotion
    Eurydice- Sleeptheif

    Ennynil, Gaeralagos, Lagoruthon, Glohel

    Gondolin First Age 324

    Ennynil silently watched as her sons play at her feet in the garden that she had created, shortly after she and Morfindo had married. It now had been six years since their twin sons had been created within her. The house that she and Morfindo had once shared with his sister and the coming and goings of her childhood friend was now quiet for her husband's sister was busy with her duties at court while her childhood friend was busy helping her mother. It did not help that Morfindo had not been home in several days or was it weeks she had stopped keeping track, their two sons were her only comfort. As such Ennynil had hired a young elleth to help tend to what other elves called the terrible two if they were not kept an eye on she would find them being dragged home by one or another angry or disgruntled ellon or elleth. She shook her head, turning her head towards the entrance to the garden to see the young elleth standing in the doorway. "my lady your sister Glohel is here to see you," she paused for a moment, "should i watch Gaeralagos and Lagoruthon for you?" she asked watching as Ennynil nodded, "yes please it will be wonderful to have some time with my sister," Ennynil said whispering something to her sons who were sitting beside her and at her feet who quickly nodded standing following the elleth out of the garden. Standing Ennynil smiled going to great her sister who had appeared where the young elleth had disappeared taking her two twin sons with her.

    Glohel smiled upon seeing her sister, "heresse, i miss having you at home. How do you fare?" she asked upon reaching Ennynil gently taking her hands in hers looking into her eyes. Seeing the tears, the nights of worry and loneliness, she knew that it was hard on her sister. Their own mother had never had twins their older brother's being born shortly after arriving in the valley. From the look on her sister's face she knew that Gaeralagos and Lagoruthon were taking their toll on her especially with Morfindo not coming home for days, weeks even months at a time. It did not help matters that she had no one really to speak to or spend time with others of either her house or that of her husband's. The terrible twins as Gearalagos and Lagoruthon were called by all those who knew them, and she knew they were the main reason that other elves avoided her sister's family, she had heard that her once happy and joyful sister now cried herself to sleep. Ennynil smiled it was forced but still it was hard raising two sons that caused trouble on a regular basis on ones own, raising a hand she pointed towards the door leading out of the garden onto the street, "shall we walk? it has been six long years since i left home, besides i have a gift that is overdue to a friend of our mother. Besides it has been long since i went anywhere in the city, since if i do i get cold glances," she paused for a moment looking back into the garden behind her before stepping out onto the street. Feeling a hand on her shoulder she looked to see Glohel giving her a comforting smile, "things will get better, your sons are still young, they still have time to learn," she said hoping her words would provide some comfort to her sister's burden. "How can you be sure? Morfindo is hardly home and when he is it is only for a few hours a day at most, even Atar was home more then he is. It is like our sons have no Atar, i fear of losing them," Ennynil said picking up the basket of flowers she had picked from her garden that morning as well as apples and other fruit from the families small orchards and herbs that were a gift from her mother to be sent in thanks. The Iris's that she had received from Laegon as a wedding gift six months previous had been planted in the garden while others had be placed around their home or pressed and placed in books that held special meaning to her. Of all the gifts she had received only the flowers that had been sent had been ones she remembered the most. That morning her two sons had placed Iris's in her hair at first she had been upset with them picking the beautiful flowers that had she had held close to her heart. But then how could she get upset with them when they did not know what they meant to her, and she had used what they had done to teach them.

    Putting the basket on her arm set stepped through the gate onto the street, turning to wait for Glohel to follow calling back to one of the families servants she would be gone for the evening and to keep her sons out of trouble while she was away. As they started down the street, she turned as she heard two voices calling her name, "Naneth!" Gearalagos and Lagoruthon called running towards her the young elleth quickly following her young charges. Reaching their mother they clung to her, "i am sorry my lady," the elleth said her eyes looking like she was going to start crying. Smiling a comforting smile at the elleth Ennynil knelt beside her two sons, "you may come with me, but you must promise to behavior yourself do you understand?" she asked looking as they both nodded, "it is alright they will come with me," she said turning her attention to the elleth that had she had instructed to watch her sons while she spent the day with her sister.

    Glancing at Glohel who had took each of the boys hands in hers, watching her sister she smiled starting to giggle quietly. Hearing her giggle Ennynil turned to face Glohel, "what is so funny sister?" she asked curiously wondering what had caused her sister to start laughing. "It is just that you look so much like Naneth when you were speaking, whether you like it or not you are like Naneth. You actually enjoy parties and being the center of attention i think you realize it now more then anything. Now that you spend much to all your days alone with only your children and servants for company," Glohel said trying to keep from start giggling again. Turning Ennynil once again started down the street, "then what do you suggest? For if i throw a party no one shall attend, just at the sight of my sons and they hurry away," she shook her head sadly, "dear sister it is hopeless, as long as my sons are the way they are it will do no good, they are called the terrible twins for a reason," Ennynil said tears stinging her cheeks. Reaching up a hand she brushed them away, looking at the contents of the basket on her arm. Taking a deep breath she then looked back up at her sister who was talking to her sons, thinking for a moment before speaking, "if you are there i am sure that they will behave themselves without a doubt," Ennynil said looking at Glohel who nodded, "did Morfindo say when he would be home again?" she asked watching as her sister shook her head, "he hardly writes, there are times i do not know if he will return home, and when he does its to say he's needed and that he will return home when able to," Ennynil said calmly she had been asked the question many times by her sons if their Atar would be returning home. He was within walking distance being that he was a royal guard for the House of the King, for the king and his family, but there were many nights he would stay at his post.

    Stopping in front of Laegon's and Fea's home Ennynil sighed the last time she had been to their home was when they had announced their engagement. Now six years later things had changed she had two young children at her side which required her attention and love. Taking a deep breath she stepped to the door knocking twice before stepping back beside her sister and her and Morfndo's twin sons. She closed her eyes for a moment before feeling a hand in hers looking down to find Gaeralagos's hand in hers and squeezed it gently smiling into her son's face. Saying a quiet prayer that Morfindo would be able to spend more time with his sons.


    When you're all alone
    Far away from home
    There's a gift the angel sent
    When you're alone
    Everyday must end
    But the night's our friend
    Angels always send a star
    When you're alone

    At night when I'm alone
    I lie awake and wonder
    Which of them belongs to me
    Which one I wonder?
    And any star I choose
    Watches over me
    So I know I'm not alone
    When I'm here on my own

    Isn't that a wonder?
    When you're alone
    You're not alone
    Not really alone
    The stars are all my friends
    Till the night time ends
    So I know I'm not alone
    When I'm here on my own
    Isn't that a wonder?
    When you're alone
    You're not alone
    Not really alone

    When you're Alone Karliene

    Morfindo

    Morfindo stood for a moment before making his way down the stairs, reaching the room where he stayed while on duty he sat down. Opening the letter that Ennynil had left him, he sighed he knew that she was struggling without him, but he had his duty to protect the King and his family. Quickly reading it he sighed once again shaking his head looking up as he heard a voice of another royal guard that he had, had duty with earlier that day and looked up. "How is your wife and sons?" the guard asked chuckling as he saw the look on Morfindo's face, "that bad," the guard said leaving the doorway to sit across from his friend. Morfindo nodded, "yes im afraid so, they are starting to call them the terrible twins," handing his friend the letter watching as he quickly read it sighing. Feeling a hand on his shoulder the guard smiled, "go home spend time with your wife and sons, as far as i can tell no one is going to attack us or the king and his family so go and spend time with yours from the sound of it your wife could use the help," he said chuckling softly as he watched Morfindo grab a few things before hurrying out into the hallway, shaking his head the guard started back to his post.

    Morfindo hurried outside towards the home he shared with Ennynil and their two sons, opening the door inside the young elleth his wife had brought in after the death of her parents, "is Ennynil home?" he asked watching as the elleth shook her head, "i am afraid not my lord, she is spending the night with her sister Glohel. I can send someone for her, if you wish me to?" she asked looking at Morfindo who shook his head. "No i shall go and find her, it is alright you need not trouble yourself," nodding once again to the elleth he started for his wife's sister's home.

    A couple minutes later

    Ennynil was putting her sons to bed looking up as her sister appeared smiling a comforting smile, "maybe your prayer will be answered, get some rest," Glohel said gently pushing Ennynil towards the extra room she had, watching as Ennynil lay down on the bed falling asleep as soon as her head had hit the pillow. Glohel sat at the window, looking up at the stars, and sighed, she did not liked to see her sister the way she was, glancing back she smiled as she watched Ennynil sleep. It was then, that she noticed movement coming towards the door, she recognized it was Morfindo, but not wishing to wake Ennynil quietly stepped out into the street to intercept her sister's husband. "How is she?" were the first words that came out of his mouth, as he greeted Glohel, "she is fine, just tired, do not try and wake her she has had a rough day as it is," she said walking with Morfindo to the door, quietly opening it she watched as he glanced at his wife's sleeping form, before turning to Glohel, "thank you, Glohel for everything," he said before quietly laying down next to Ennynil quietly and gently slipping his arms around her pulling her to him and sighed it was good to be back beside her. Before he had laid down beside her he had glanced in gently kissing each of his son's foreheads before laying down next to Ennynil had relaxed against him.

    (OOC: @Ercassie: I also have Ennynil, her sister and her and Morfindo's two sons stopping to give Laegon a gift of flowers, fruit and herbs in thanks for the wedding gift he sent. If need be i can change that, just let me know. since i don't think ill be working much on it until tomorrow when i add onto a section for Morfindo.)
    Last edited by Avalein; 03/Oct/2015 at 05:40 AM.

  45. Ercassie's Avatar
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    #145

    A Thing Worth Waiting For ...

    FA 16
    Emyn Brithombar, The Falas

    'The Grey-elf mason studied Antara, taking her hand as she froze quietly, looking dazed. Her sapphire eyes were huge as Balarian pearls, like a sleepwalker spellbound by a thrilling dream which had yet ended. She had told him of this before, that a woman of the Eldar glimpsed the future of her son or daughter in the very hour of birth. "What do you see of him, Neierië ?"

    Antara didn't answer at once but Thavron was patient. Finally her breath caught, eyelids fluttering shut ...

    "The last elleth he kissed had long fiery hair and enchanting eyes of blue-grey hue. Her skin will be flawless and white like virgin snow." Her eyelids rose open and she smiled at her husband. "She will be very beautiful, lovely as a phoenix." She turned her attention to the infant, interlacing her fingers with his shorter ones as the baby touched a skein of yellow strands plastered to her cheek. Antara whispered, "I will give her to you, Tharmáras," and kissed his cheek. "I promise."

    "The phoenix and the unicorn?" Thavron mused ...

    "Perhaps it will be the most splendid pairing, love," said Antara, clasping the back of Thavron's neck as she leaned in for a kiss.
    '

    (Excerpt taken from 'The Unicorn Prince', a post in AOA-COE. Written by Aigronding Mordagnir)


    ****************



     
     
    'If I loved you, life would be easy
    There’d be no truth that I’d be scared of
    I could walk through every valley
    And you’d light me with all of your love

    But I don’t love you, not like you need it
    I don’t love you, good as you are
    And when I kiss you, I know that you can feel it
    And I see it in your eyes, and it just breaks my heart

    I wish to God I could change it, darling
    Could make you the one
    I will always have these regrets and wonder
    What else I could have done
    '

    (If I Loved You, Delta Rae)
     





    Isildie Nariel with Laegon Nethrion in an awkward encounter with Culasso and Tirindo Aiwenare

    FA 150
    The House of Swallows Training Grounds
    City of Gondolin



     
    The stretch of short-shorn grass, painted silver by the watchful moon, fell away beneath the urgent pace of the zealous, young Elf. Liberated hair of soot billowed in his wake as much his shadow, striving to keep up. Time itself stood here forsaken from the soundless, stirring lips of his beholder. She was supposed to be timing his endeavours. Her very alibi for clandestine involvement fallen by the wayside of attention.

    Ensnared were the relucent eyes of blue-grey, thralls to the achievement of her friend. She was proud of him to point of bursting, and her pale hands found one another, in a show of great applause, encouragement, and glee.

    "You are serving as distraction, little fledgling ?" The closest archer stood to her supposed. The Elleth tore her glance from her ardent supporting of Culasso, and that eager prospect turned his head, as though he sensed her sights diverted.
    In that very moment however, an Archer the other side of the great training field pursed his lips into a whistle. Culasso thus spirited himself and his small bundle there, heralded.

    His most devout cheerleader smiled disarmingly toward her cautious father.
    "Distractions are a hazard of war, are they not ?" she rallied toward reason. "I am helping with the training ..."

    "Is that what you intend to tell your Mother, when she finds out you were here ?" Laegon wondered, pointedly.

    "Oh, I am utterly prepared to say that I was here to keep a watch on you," his daughter leant in, conspiratorially. "So that when she asks why you were at a training session the same shift as Uncle, I can testify you stood at far ends of a field and did not allow him to be any sort of 'influence' .."

    Nariel raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow, her tone adopting the typical of oft feigned innocence.

    The Swallow smothered a shy smile but shook his head in silent amusement at his offspring's antics.

    "Your Uncle changed his shift without my knowledge, to cater to the want of your boyfriend," was the gentle Sinda's calm response. "I should no more withhold from your mother any secret than I would else willingly deceive my life .."

    "You mean 'wife' ..?" his daughter supposed, sweetly.

    "The two are as the same," Laegon admitted, abashed. He half-turned back toward the training exercise, and broke a whistle that would rival birdsong to summon Culasso in his turn.

    "And he is not my Boyfrie ..."

    She killed her denial even as Culasso presented. Without his ever breaking stride, the novice dropped a fresh and laden quiver full of arrows beside Tirindo, before sprinting to meet the imposing Noldo's far more mild brother-in-law. Stooping only to scoop up a second spare load of fine reinforcement ammunition for the Sinda archer on his path ..

    Nariel resumed applause at her friend's haste yet utterly forgot to retrieve her count as the other youngling approached them. "That was terrible fast" she attributed his efforts due appreciation and leant over the fence to bestow a tender kiss like a tentative butterfly that hovered about the chance of some contact with his cheek.

    "Have we not tired you out yet ?" Laegon coughed uncomfortably and sought some assurance as he checked Culasso's countenance.

    "I could do this all day !" the newest recruit lied, with gusto. "You do not suppose that they actually will make me do this same every day ....?" he felt obliged to add, a little warily, short after. "Do you ?"

    "That is not for me to say," Laegon remained noncommittal as much as he was truthful, as ever, in response.

    "They shall have to give in and teach you to shoot soon enough," Nariel tossed her autumnal veil decidedly. Her eyes dazzled to find her reflection lit in his own pools of interest.

    "Why so ? Have you hid all their fresh stacks of ammunition ?" her friend laughed, only half-hopeful.

    "I may have to organise a strike of all the fletchers," the Elleth winked, engaging mischief.

    "Do not dare !" Laegon warned quietly. "You can not bypass the essentials of learning that you least like. It is well essential to be fleet of foot as well as swift of shot."

    "They only keep me on at it so long because they've never known a one to run so fast !" Culasso deduced. "Else they're all feared I'll show them up, soon as I set hand to string ..."

    "Are you done in ?" Tirindo bellowed across the verdant range. "You require a rest, young one ?!" The query was posed almost as though challenge. The youngest Archer spread his grin like butter all across his mighty jaw. Tirindo had promised him there was a chance he would one day grow into his long face. For the now, however, Culasso was as a colt, overlong of countenance as he was overly expressive. His features were not foul, but maybe just a touch too free of his control.

    "Hah to that !" the youth trumpeted, light of heart, even as he shrugged his load where it preyed weightily upon his shoulder. "With so glamorous an audience," he bowed so low his nose caught the aroma of the fragrant moon-kissed lawn. "I should turn cartwheels as I go, if it might yet hold her draw here some time longer ... "

    Nariel twirled to hear her presence named a boon. Her father rolled his eyes, somewhat too weary for one who was here employed in the training of others.

    "In midst of battle, you shall struggle to hear calls or summons," Tirindo ventured to make steps toward collecting his most wayward charge. "Let us now try with but a raised hand to mark a request. And see how swift you truly may be to insure we are each armed at need ... " He gestured for his ward to forego with his flirting and focus ... On something else than Nariel.

    "You will be most superb !" the Elleth championed her flagging friend, as the would-be archer struggled with resolve to leave her side. "Think of how you shall one day train others, in your own turn, those younger than you. Children looking up to you, a mighty Swallow in your .. "

    "Children ?!" Culasso failed to subdue a goofy grin. "At least allow for a fellow to wine and dine you first ?!" he laughed, nervously.

    "Tirindo has raised his hand," Laegon made narration, indicating the cue for the youngest archer to commence new challenge. "You must be on alert," he added, although now his eyes were fixed upon his spirited daughter. "Sight, not sound this time, to gauge your recognition, remember ?" he returned belatedly to prompt Culasso. Who took the point, and fled, before he ruined his record and render all this long evening a waste of time.

    "I love you," Nariel fell about her father's shoulder, with a yearning sigh as they were left alone.

    "Is there anything about this world that you love not ?" he wondered aloud. "You embark upon your affections as freely as might a butterfly grace all the blossoms of a garden," came the sage observation. And a wistful look. "I would not have my favourite of all flowers plucked .. Quite yet ... " he begrudged an unhappy smile.

    "There is a one who I attend most regular," the Elleth sighed, with an idyllic satisfaction. "In dreams alone ..." she added, glancing a smooth hand into a full embrace of her beloved patriach. "With hair so gold as the sun itself, and eyes more blue than sky. He is the Prince of all my wants, as strong as my Uncle, as brave as my mother, as merry as Culasso, and as kind as my dear father .. "

    "That is quite an ask," Laegon did his best to sidestep the sweet compliment, embarrassed as he was quietly overjoyed. Feapoldie had foreseen a tender heart for their sweet girl. A smile that would break down the walls of the careworn and bring gladness to those shrouded in long sorrow. But of lovers .. His wife had spoke not. "And does this formidable champion have a name I might know him by ?" the Swallow trod tentatively.

    "There is no single soul in all the waking world who embodies such a fair cocktail of attributes; at the least not here, not in the only life I own," he was informed, and Nariel looked wistful now, in her turn. "For I shall accept no lesser, no mere understudy to the truth of what I know I want. Culasso I endow with outpourings of emotion, for he is a dear sweet soul, and I should never look to see his great heart broken. But I know I would not make him so happy as he seemingly imagines. He is not 'mine'. Oh, I know my hopes are high, and our great city is most fine and we are well and I have no cause to know sorrow. I am contented ... but to dream sometimes ... And there alone be there together ... With my prince of hearts .."














    Nariel Eregwen, Lindon Guard
    and Erfaron Silugnir - Adventurer
    Woodsman Settlement
    Mirkwood
    3014 TA




    A fetid pall was cast over the woodsman village. Immediately upon her arrival, Nariel acknowledged the close, musty stench of pestilence that discoloured the otherwise abandoned settlement. There were few Humans who had yet retained the strength to go about their routine without faltering, and those who were in fact lesser afflicted than their peers were hard engaged primarily in tending to the mopping of their loved ones' feverish brows. The small square which would typically serve as the throng of this humble society, was utterly forsaken.

    The well alone stood it's ground in the epicentre of the modest scene; the source of what should have ensured the peoples' survival had been sabotaged to the point of their evident distress. The Wine of Lindon relinquished her hold upon the travois she and Veasse had hauled at the tail-end of the Elvish procession. Melyanna, laid out upon the makeshift construction, made no sound and seemed the more serene since she had taken of Telkelion's attentive balm. But that the malady of the beleagoured Mortals could be as easily remedied.

    Baingil's instruction had rung out clear and keen, as the Mirkwood Captain took her place at the helm of her jurisdiction. Nariel glanced about to find her own Lieutenant's suggestion, in the assumed hierachy of command. Instead her gaze fell upon two sights she had little hope to rectify.

    Erfaron was focused with unblinking purpose toward the direction that the small contingent of wood-elf scouts had recently partaken. The hunter slunk unmistakeably about his intent to stalk their brave endeavour. His want to persist in their pursuit had clearly overwhelmed all thoughts of catering to the suggested assistance of the vomiting Mortals abounding.

    Nariel glanced in great urgency for support from Aigronding, or Tharmaras .. and noted instead, from another mark about the fringe of their small Elvish company, the surprise arrival of some further reinforcements. Moments later, her fair face fell to great concern, in mirror of Marilla's, when she saw the amused motive about Narion's expression. Hoping that the recently arrived pair might be stalled some by making their introduction to the chain of command, Nariel moved first toward her friend. He whirled about to face her even as she extended one arm to catch his own.

    "You would leave me ?!" she trialled, with a fair helping of feigned distress to further her objection. "No !" she took his hand and edged back toward the village. Silugnir stood fast where he refused to be moved, by her roleplay or her best attempts to drag him back.

    Erfaron laid a cold gaze about the unmistakeable new arrival who strode into their midst. He cursed in thick-set Quenyan and a tone that might infer even that Eldar tongue as ugly, then he startled as the flame-haired elleth clicked her fingers viciously before his face, inducing focus.

    "Oh please ! Do not allow his arrival to see you so swiftly retreat," she begged him, deviously. "We require you here. He should not be seen to chase you off ..... as does a bird fly startled from its perch, in sighting an advancing cat."

    "You think I fear him ?" Silugnir regaled her with vast reams of incredulous disgust. "Him ?" he added contemptuously, brandishing an index finger pointedly in Narion's direction.

    "Why else would you leave .. now ?" Eregwen asked, blinking with wide eyes, the epitome of innocence. Erfaron narrowed his lidded vision, as consequence. "Is it because you fear he would shame you ?" she assumed. "For certain he could surely carry a far greater store of clean water to tend the villagers, after all. He is younger, firmer, and .."

    "Firmer ?!" Erfaron repeated, dangerously.

    Nariel nodded mutely. "That is what they say. Of course, I don't know that .."

    "That vile bandit is slipping further from our grasp with every second that we tarry here," Erfaron would have the elleth understand. "I would have her embrace what she is owed." He raved, unmoveable as rock, and Nariel slowly digested the attempt to justify his brisk departure.

    "If you say so," she accepted, with a meekness quite atypical.

    "I did not come all this way to play at nursemaid," Silugnir persisted, preaching toward the apparently converted. "That toxic wretch is yet at large and .."

    "Is being pursued, as we speak, by some of the Captain's best people," Nariel agreed wholeheartedly. "So if you were to go after them, it might imply that you think little of their own abilities to capture her unaided. Which might once more fracture the so very frail web of unity our companies all currently still skate upon. And poor Aigronding worked so hard to stem the threat of blood shed," she tugged on her lower lip with sharp white teeth. "And if it were yourself," she added, dangerously, "of all people here present, who ..."

    "Cease !" he bade her sharply afore falling to apparent weariness at suffering her argument. "Hold your tongue and your incessant plague of protest. I shall stay." And so saying, he started toward aiding those who went to gather fresh water from purer origins. Nariel watched him go, a slight smile of some self-satisfaction alighting her jaw.

    But her work was not done ! No sooner had the one peril been resolved, then another presented with little subtlety.


    "Gracious, you did not hear any of that, did you ?!" the elleth met an advancing Narion, dressed in her best rendition of concern. If the newcomer had, in fact, observed the pointed gestures and the vibrant glow of rage and arrogance ... Nariel would rest easy that she had fulfilled her quota of roleplay for the afternoon. "I am some sure that you are just as capable of bearing the load of pails of water, just as much as any Elf born of Aman," she sought to placate what wrath she would seeingly assume that Narion might demonstrate. "As for what was mentioned of the Elves of Ecthelion's House fiddling with flutes when there is real work to be done ..." Nariel bit her lip, in all modesty. "He did not mean it I am certain," she dropped her chin, in seeming remorse at even witnessing such an insult, much less having conceived it all herself.

    "What think you, Marilla ?" Nariel greeted her fellow healer with a fond squeeze of her wrist, hand laid in hand. "If the one were to bet which could not keep up with the errand of bearing good, clean water to the fevered villagers ... no, but we should think not on who is the stronger. The outcome is quite a given and it is no shame at all ..." she all but patted Narion upon the head, consolingly. "Those poor, poor dejected villagers .. all pining for a want of cool, fresh water .." Nariel sighed, and all but swooned with the elaborate exertion.

    "The entire village have been quite horribly poisoned, by a villainess, a Mortal fiend !" she caught the pair up on recent proceedings. Mischief and hope danced about the vivid blossoms of Nariel's eyes, as she made plain to her fellow healer what might serve them best. "But do you know what herbs we might forage in this vicinity ?" she wondered, aloud. "I have never loitered hereabouts before now. What we do require is the expert knowledge of some wide-travelled explorer who might educate us of the local resources ..." she cast a daring eyes back over her shoulder, to Tharmáras, and raised one slender eyebrow as a wing proposing flight. "What say you ?" she sighed with contentment, seemingly fulfilled by all such scheming.


    She knew full well whom she would see to follow her, for the welfare of Mortals was not the sole care she campaigned for ...


     




     
    'Heart beats fast
    Colours and promises ...
    I will be brave
    I will not let anything take away
    What's standing in front of me
    Every breath
    Every hour has come to this

    I have died every day waiting for you
    Darling, don't be afraid I have loved you
    For a thousand years
    I'll love you for a thousand more

    And all along I believed I would find you
    Time has brought your heart to me
    I have loved you for a thousand years
    I'll love you for a thousand more
    '

    (A Thousand Years, Christian Perri)




    Nariel Eregwen
    Seizing the Moment
    3014 TA
    Still in Mirkwood
     


    The trees stabbed deep into the earth, ivy-laden and not stood up tall, but crooked, as though they regretted their existing here, and heaved against objectionable roots to tear away. But none could quite manage to properly escape their bonds. Each gargantuan spear of darkest wood cast further shadow, and with each step that the Elleth dared stray from the tiny mortal settlement, she dipped her doubts in greater strength; that this be a most perilous undertaking.

    But there, some things are worth the risk, and she knew he would follow. He would come after her. Had she not felt his eyes eyer frequent about her, then Marilla surely should make mention that the silly Elleth had wandered in search of herbs, to aide the weakened villagers ...

    He would come. Somehow she knew. As though there was a gravity that existed between them two; that as one moved the other should know themselves soon compelled to follow.

    She had no thought now for Erfaron or Narion. If the fools wished to resurrect the slight and smite they had unearthed in old Eregion then let them ! The Elvenking had dungeons same as Celebrimbor had done so. And less fair a nature, by what she'd heard.

    Naught else was rendered but trivial in contrast to the path that she trialled. There was so small a time allowed it, but she had gone so long in his company and on duty .. On duty ..,

    With a sigh, Nariel came to stall, hands pressed all about the width of the most neighboured tree, that she peered about. It would not do to find Hender or Coruben had trailed in her wake. Not Mordagnir, or the heavens forbid, Silugnir !! She knew they all were decent in their own way, save might be the last alone. And he had kept her long alive, she deemed, as effort to repay for the atrocities performed upon Tour's steps. One good thing to erase a dozen foul ...

    But Nariel had seen the eyes of Tharmáras rest most uneasy on the close proximity she shared with her surly defender. She would not see the one she desired most of all seen off by doubt or else uncertainty.

    She would have him understand, lest she else lose him. And after so long an expanse of time that it had took to find him ...

    His hair as gold as the sun, his eyes are blue as the sky, as strong as her uncle, as brave as her mother, as merry as her first friend and as kind as her father ... Her prince of hearts ...

    Her heart was his alone. And she so sank, against the bole of the forbidding tree; bedecked in as much woe as she might muster for appearance. So that when he walked the path that she had led him, decked out in the faint but present hope that day had splintered through the strangled boughs and twisted, cords of ancient bark, .. his arrival would promote visible joy about each inch of her. She might make well clear her true devotion and shirk all concern that any might dare separate them.

    It had taken many thousands of long years. But there had never been a one to touch her in the corners of her heart as did Tharmáras.

    So when he skirted the expanse of forest that sat backdrop, all the gloom and imposing uneasiness of Mirkwood faded unto naught.

    There was only him. There was only them.

    And she raised eyes of blue-grey smoke to dive about his man-ful countenance. Her toes extended to ascend her high that he might clasp her slender form within his mighty arms. And as one hand caressed the chiselled features and loitered about the boyish dimple that spoke of desire, the Elleth, festooned in titian tresses, drew him into an embrace. Their lips locked as though they were forged to come together, and their bodies as pressed close as the gnarled forest they had already forgot.

    She kissed him and it was those thousands of long years worth waiting for. She kissed him without ever having kissed like this before, though sure that she could not have done so with anyone besides him.

    She kissed him and their love sang loud and proud as though a lark, as though possessed of a life all its own. And giant moths wove all about them flurrying with silken wings to behold such a sight deep within such a forest.

    Time found them recovered in what felt like some more years later, as each looked for breath that had yet to be stolen in such utter rapture of the one before them.

    And then all nature of all conversation spoken without syllable or sound, time stayed; until Nariel ran a row of small white teeth along the ramparts of her lower lip, and smiled.

    And fled back towards the company and all duty, her devotion (she now felt sure) properly realised. She slowed a few feet from him, and unleashed a single empty palm of hand; an invitation to be with her.

    No more would she walk this world with dreams alone to stoke the furnace of her soul.





    ****The green-coloured portion of this post is quoted directly from my post in the Bandits Gambit RPG in Mirkwood forum. I felt it was important to set the scene, and clarify why Nariel might fear her long-sought lover would require kissing *g* although they were on guard duty, so that he would be persuaded her heart (and she) were his; despite the fact that she had recently spent so much time in seeking to keep her old friend, Erfaron from starting trouble.
    Last edited by Ercassie; 03/Oct/2015 at 08:12 PM.

  46. Avalein's Avatar
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    #146
    Come now, come by our side,
    Into a place where you can hide,
    We are the sunshine,
    Rest your Soul here,
    And you'll find,
    We are the energy,
    We give the world to thee,
    Hold up your heart now,
    We will ease pain from your brow.

    In a world without Angels,
    And destruction is near,
    You can come with us here.

    When the people are strangers,
    We will rest here and be,
    In a moment of peace.,

    (Gregorian-Moment of Peace)

    Ennynil, Morfindo, Glohel, Gaeralagos, Lagoruthon

    Gondolin First Age 324

    Ennynil woke to find Gaeralagos and Lagoruthon nestled in between her and Morfindo, her face turning to one of shock upon seeing Morfindo laying down beside her. Her eyes flashed upon seeing him, grabbing pillows she began to throw them at him as he got up and started for the other room where Glohel was making breakfast, "you leave me and then you suddenly show up at my sister's home. Do you know how hard it is to care for twins who are constantly causing trouble.." Ennynil paused tears glistening on her pale porcelain cheeks, looking down at her hands raised them to wipe them away before Morfindo noticed. Glancing over at Gaeralagos and Lagoruthon, who were busily chatting away with Glohel and sighed whispering, 'my dear i am at wits ends, elleth's and ellon's avoid me i do not wish to remain in Gondolin, i have never felt wanted," she finished her hands shaking feeling Morfindo's take her small delicate hands in his raising one gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. Looking into the other room, Morfindo sighed, "i wish that you could, but you know of Turgon's decree of which none are to leave, i do wish to see you smile again. Why don't i take the terrible twins as they are being called to the training field. I noticed that you did not deliver the gift to Laegon, is there a reason?" he asked watching as Ennynil once again shook her head before looking at her hands. "We stopped there on the way to Glohel's home, but no one was there, and by now he would have forgotten all about it, it has been six years since we were joined after all. There is no sense in trying again, i will find another is wants such a gift that i have," she said smiling a small smile. Morfindo laughed, "my dear, the only one who would want such a gift, would be your mother for i fear that none here have need of such a bounty that you have to offer, try again you give up too easily he might still remember, since you wear some of the Iris's he sent in your hair," he said brushing a lock of golden hair away from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear whispering something in it watching as her eyes lit up and hand quickly covered her mouth in shock. Gently pushing him Ennynil smiled a giggle escaping her lips, "you wouldn't dare, if there is one thing you are not good at it is lying to me, but the idea of a party does well sound wonderful, i just have on request wait a little longer for at the moment i doubt anyone would attend for fear of having wine poured on them by our sons, either that or something far worse," Ennynil said her eyes sparkling like the stars that shown each night over Gondolin.

    Taking her hand in his Morfindo guided her to the room and watched as her eyes fell on the basket that she had left when she had arrived the evening before. Glohel watched her as well as Gaeralagos and Lagoruthon who wrinkled their noses in disgust at seeing their Atar and Naneth kiss, "yuck," they said looking at Glohel for some help. Glohel smiled at them shaking her head, "get use to it, believe me they will be doing it a lot more, we had to get use to with your haruni (grandmother) and haru (grandfather). It isn't that bad trust me there are worst things in this world then kissing," Glohel said giving them each a stern glance to finish eating.

    Morfindo looked at Glohel, "make sure that she tries again at giving Laegon the gift, and i think a party for your sister would wonderful," he smiled watched as Glohel nodded picking up Gaeralagos and Lagoruthon's plates. Ennynil looked at Gaeralagos who looked up to her a smile on his face, "first off how did the two of you end up in bed with me and your father?" she asked trying to keep a stern face, finally giving up she smiled. Gaeralagos looked at his mother, "well we had a nightmare Naneth, you know we can't sleep alone," Lagoruthon said speaking for both of them Ennynil nodded being twins they had a special bond a bond that was rare so when one had a nightmare it usually effected the other so both couldn't sleep. She sighed sitting down she put Gaeralagos onto her lap wrapping her arms around him laughing softly as Lagoruthon tried to join him finding no room he shook his head pouting, "i want to sit on your lap Naneth," he said pouting. Ennynil sighed quietly before looking at Gaeralagos, "can you make room for your brother?" she asked gently brushing some hair that had fallen in front of his face to the side, watching as he nodded she smiled as he moved over enough to let Lagoruthon slide onto her lap as well. Glohel had left the dishes to join Morfindo watching his wife with their sons, "they are definitely twins it will serve them well as they get older," Glohel said looking at Morfindo who nodded. "You are going to be spending the time with your father today," Ennynil said gently stroking each of their sons hair, hugging them tightly kissing each of their foreheads. "I'm going to take you two to the training field, your mother needs sometime alone, as much as she loves both of you," Morfindo said nodding watching as they jumped off their mother's lap putting their hands in that of their father's. Glohel watched smiling as she dried her hands on a cloth by where she had been washing dishes. "Oh go on, i will make sure that Ennynil delivers the gift, if you start training those to now they may stop causing trouble for the rest of us," Glohel watched her sister sigh, her sister knew her all too well, she wouldn't rest until the gift was delivered or Gondolin fell whichever came first and Glohel preferred the former to the latter.

    Training Fields

    Morfindo smiled as he watched his sons eyes light up upon seeing the training field. He sighed the field was empty the way he liked it, especially since he would be training his two sons and who knew what trouble they would cause while he taught them. Lagoruthon let go of his father's hand running to where some bows and quivers were, seeing his brother run off Gaeralagos looked up at his father who nodded, "go on, i will be there in a moment," Morfindo said walking over to where he had left his quiver as well as two small bows and quivers. Picking them up he sighed, along side them was two small wooden swords, he knew that Ennynil would probably try and find out what was causing their sons nightmares when they returned. Calling them to him Morfindo handed each of his sons a bow and quiver as well as a wooden sword. "lets start with the bow since it will help when i teach you how to use the sword," he said putting an arrow to his bow, pointing it towards a nearby target making sure that his sons were watching let the arrow fly. Looking at both of his sons he smiled at the look of surprise and longingly on their faces. "Will you teach us Atar?" Gaeralagos said trying to put an arrow to his small bow struggling to pull back the string Morfindo sighed shaking his head as he carefully stood to one side of Gaeralagos helping him steady his hands on the bow and fixing and helping his position. "Now try,' he said giving Lagoruthon a stern glance, "are you paying attention, Lagoruthon?" he asked coolly watching as Lagoruthon nodded shuffling his feet as he looked at the ground, "yes Ada i am," he said still refusing to meet Morfindo's eyes. Seeing the look on his brother's face, Gaeralagos started to giggle, "Ada i think Lagoruthon is in love," hiding his giggling behind his hand. "Oh cut it out Gaeralagos, i am so not in love," he replied glaring at Gaeralagos before looking at at their father for help.

    Glohel's home

    Glohel looked at her sister and smiled, "come on, i promised your husband, my brother in law that you would deliver the gift today," she said grabbing Ennynil's hand as well as the basket watching in amazement as she shook her head. "I will give it to Bainthauril instead, maybe we can mend what happened, it has been six years since it happened maybe she has changed," Ennynil said watching her sister look at her in shock. Putting a hand on her sister's forehead, "dear sister are you ill? Six years ago you wouldn't have even suggested even having anything to do with her, why the sudden change?" Glohel asked both worried and curious to see what her sister's answer would be. Seeing the expression on her sister's face she laughed softly, "oh sweet sister, i am fine and much has changed since then, wasn't you who said to give her a chance and to forgive her after she spread the nasty rumor about me being in love with another ellon," Ennynil smiled, "i forgave her, i think that she would have by now," she added. "Very well then sister, we shall go and visit Bainthauril and give her the gift, but you are the one who gets to explain why to your husband when he asks," Glohel said smiling a small smile, taking her sister's arm in her's starting up the street toward's Bainthauril's home.
    Last edited by Avalein; 06/Oct/2015 at 01:07 AM.

  47. Bandar's Avatar
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    #147
    Morfindo, Ezmond, Gaeralagos, Lagoruthon



    The Training Fields


    Gaeralagos looked at his brother viciously. Trying to change the conversation, Morfindo said,"This how you do it." He pulled the string back and with his and let the arrow go. It went flying over the field and struck a gofer on the head. So ended the life of Ezmond the Gofer.
    "You pull the string back as far as it can go and once you have a firm grip, let it go(OOC let it go! let it go! can't hold it back anymore!)," instructed Morfindo. The boys tried to do it and finally Gaeralagos got it because he was focused. On the hand, Largoruthon kept thinking about his love.
    "Try it again," said Morfindo aggravatedly.
    "Oh I'm never gonna get it dad", whined Largoruthon. Gaeralagos continued to hit them far across the field.
    "Oh stop it," snapped Largoruthon." Your just trying to brag you big bragger."
    "I am not," said Gaeralagos. Largoruthon pushed him and Gaeralagos accidentally let loose and arrow. It pierced Largoruthon in the arm. He fell to the ground and screamed in pain.
    "I'm sorry Largoruthon, my son, but you asked for it," said Morfindo. Then, he slapped his father 'cross the face and Morfindo spoke to him sharply and stared at him. Largoruthon cried and yelled. Morfindo told him to stop yelling and take it like a man.
    "But dad he shot me," cried Largoruthon cried.
    Last edited by TheKingofWhitheredHeath; 29/Oct/2015 at 11:21 PM.

  48. Avalein's Avatar
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    #148
    Ennynil, Glohel, Morfindo w/ Largoruthon and Gaeralagos
    On the way to Bainthauriel's home

    Ennynil and Glohel were walking past the training fields when they heard raised voices and someone screaming, recognizing the scream Ennynil picked up part of her gown hurrying in the direction of the screaming. Seeing Largoruthon clutching his arm hurrying to his side carefully checking the wound, "Largoruthon, it will heal, stop your crying, hush now my son," Ennynil said gently kissing his forehead pulling him close before turning to her sister, "Glohel i believe i have some healing ointment and bandages in the extra basket, please bring it to me," not watching as Glohel nodded walking quickly to where Ennynil had dropped the basket. Kneeling down Glohel began to search the contents of the basket for some bandages and ointment. Finding some she quickly picked them and carried them back over to her sister who had ripped the sleeve of Largoruthon's shirt. "Largoruthon this is going to hurt quite a bit, but i must remove the arrow from your arm before your aunt can tend to it," gently smoothing her son's hair before looking over at Glohel who had kneel down beside her. As carefully and gently as she could Ennynil removed the arrow head nodding to Glohel who took her sister's place gently smoothing ointment over where the arrow had entered before wrapping it gently.

    Standing Ennynil turned to Gaeralagos, "go and sit with your brother, i need to have a word with your father and then Largoruthon once he has been tended to on his behavior," turning her attention to Morfindo, her eyes flashed as she strode forward. Morfindo sighed watching his wife coming towards him after tending to Largoruthon, "maybe you need another teacher to help you, since clearly you can't teach both without one injuring the other," she said and with that turned and strode back to where Glohel had finished tending to Largoruthon's injury looking sternly at the elder of the twins. "What you did was uncalled for, hitting your father and for that you will get to help your grandmother tend to those that are wounded, for at least a year maybe longer if you protest. During which time you will not be allowed anywhere near the training field do you understand?" Ennynil asked sighing hopefully her mother could get her son to learn to respect those older then he. Finished with Largoruthon, Ennynil turned to Gaeralagos she sighed holding him close, "i do not blame you, as it was not your fault, but still you should watch where you are shooting, as such you will be spending time with your father when he is practicing collecting his arrows and tending to his other weapons. Maybe then you will realize how its like to be on the receiving end of an arrow like your brother. Do you understand?" she asked once again holding each of her sons close. Glohel sighed, smiling watching her sister with her two sons.

    Morfindo watched sighing as Ennynil tended to their sons, maybe they would learn their lesson from the punishment that their mother had put on them. He had watched as Gaeralagos had made each shot perfectly with few missing their marks. The younger of the twins did have talent with the bow maybe Largoruthon would have better luck with the blade instead. Shaking his head at Largoruthon, "you should pay more attention, my son in battle you must always be on your guard if not then you could lose your life and as well those of around who depend on you, do you understand?" he asked "we shall find something that you have the same talent as your brother," he added putting a hand on his elder twins shoulder. Nodding at Gaeralagos to retrieve the arrows he had shot, he lead Largoruthon a short distance away to look at his arm.
    Last edited by Avalein; 01/Nov/2015 at 01:04 AM.

  49. Bandar's Avatar
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    #149
    On the way to home and at home

    Largoruthon and Gaeralagos w/ Morfindo

    Gaeralagos
    walked back from arrow retrieving and walked home with Morfindo and his brother. They finally reached home and Largoruthon picked up a stick and started twirling it and using complex swordsman moves.
    "Whoa! Was that you, brother?" asked Gaeralagos.
    "Yeah, that was cool," said his brother with glee.
    Morfindo thought to himself,"Maybe I was right."
    "You're amazing. We'll have to get you a sword," announced Morfindo. They got home and Morfindo searched through some drawers and found a sword.
    "Here's a sword forged by the smiths in Tirion. It has been passed down from generation to generation," said Morfindo. He gingerly gave the sword to Largoruthon.
    "Wow dad, thanks," said Largoruthon.

  50. Avalein's Avatar
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    #150
    Morfindo w/ Largoruthon and Gaeralagos
    On the way home

    Morfindo sighed watching his twin sons, they got along quite well. Watching as Largoruthon reached down to pick up a stick, and twirl it around. He didn't have his wife's talent with the bow, but clearly did have the talent with a sword. Morfindo walked an arm around each son, "I will see if i can find someone to teach you Gaeralagos so i can teach your brother how to use the sword," he said thinking of who he could ask to teach Gaeralagos how to use the bow. He smiled thinking of his wife, laughing softly he shook his head, he had to say that she was amazing especially having cared for both of them pretty much on her own. Thinking to himself he smiled, "I am going to let you spend the day with your mother's parents, its been awhile since i spent time with your mother," he said smiling guiding both his sons in the direction of their grandparents place. He let his mind think of Ennynil, he smiled thinking of Ennynil's blonde hair and grey eyes as well as her warm smile.

    Looking at each of his sons smiled, "your mother loves you, both of you very much," he said putting a hand on each of their shoulders as they approached his wife's parents home.

    Gilrin
    Gilrin and Nemiron's home

    Hearing voices Gilrin walked towards the window that looked into the street smiling when she saw her two grandsons. Opening the door she hurried outside hugging each of them before taking each of their hands guiding them inside looking to see if Morfindo was following. Once inside she turned to look at her son in law a chuckle on her face, "are they causing you trouble? or is it something else?" she asked a cheerful smile on her face nodding as he mentioned wanting to spend the day with Ennynil without the twins. "Of course, go and spend the day with your lovely wife, we shall be fine here so do not worry," Gilrin said glancing at Gaeralagos and Largoruthon.

  51. Ercassie's Avatar
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    #151

    Idle Hands

    'Elrond had gathered such few of the Elves of Eregion as had escaped, but he had no force to withstand the onset. He would indeed have been overwhelmed had not Sauron's host been attacked in the rear: for Durin sent out a force of Dwarves from Khazad-Dum, and with them came Elves of Lorinand, led by Amroth. Elrond was able to extricate himself, but he was forced away northwards and it was at that time (.. 1697 ..) that he established a refuge and stronghold at Imladris.

    Sauron .. withdrew the pursuit of Elrond and turned upon the Dwarves and the Elves of Lorinand, whom he drove back; but the Gates of Moria were shut, and he could not enter. Ever afterwards Moria had Sauron's hate, and all Orcs were commanded to harry Dwarves whenever they might.

    But as he ravaged the lands, slaying or drawing off all the small groups of Men and hunting the remaining Elves .. [Sauron] called in his scattered forces and marched west towards the land of Gil-Galad, ravaging as he went. But his force was weakened by the necessity of leaving a strong detachment to contain Elrond and prevent him coming down upon his rear.
    '

    (The History of Galadriel and Celeborn, Unfinished Tales)



    Orc Encampment
    The Ruins of Ost-in-Edhel
    During the First Siege of Imladris. c. 1699 SA



    Dawn cast a reluctant light over the vile scene of despoiled gluttony. What inevitable quarrel had some hours hence now broken out over who possessed the better meat or grog had been since duely settled in the typical Orc fashion; a fist fight. Fully disregarding the fact that kicking and biting had featured almost as heavily in the fall-out. Now both of the bravest (and most bruised) contenders sullenly nursed their throbbing maladies, and their empty bellies both the same.

    For while their amused peers had cheered them on in further routs of violence, they had all partaken of a feast of that selfsame desired food and grog, merely to keep up the energy required for such vigorous incitement. If either pugilist at their epicentre had killed the other, there would have been more meat for them all .. As it was, most found themselves now sufficiently exhausted enough to catch some sleep, while the sun wept over the despoils of what had brought what once had been toward what now it was.

    Others, disregarding their ineptitude to manage the commitment, had been forcibly entrusted with the thankless task of watch-duty. One spear, hideously adorned with foul trophies and the clear sign of an Owner who had too much time upon his hands, courageously persevered in supporting the vast bulk of Garkor. The malignant Sentry had embodied the full meaning of gluttony this night, and his eyes now glazed behind the slowly falling shutters of reluctant consciousness. A slow smile painted his face foolish, and he rubbed at one leg, with all the urgency of an indifferent slug.


    Moltuk shook his own distorted head in despair of his comrade. Brandishing his meathook, by comparison, with the ease of a swaggering juggler, he sliced through the expanse of time it took before he lost his temper.

    Garkor was in dire need of a little arousal, and Moltuk knew just how to deliver.

    "You ever hear of gund grishûrz and the dâgalûr akûl ?" he chanced in conversation to his watch buddy, now that he had the other's attention. "Rumour has they scourge this land, the vengeful spirits of both Elves and Dwarves slain."


    Garkor belched unceremoniously. "You had too much of that grog," he guffawed, before almost choking on his own amusement. "Elseways or I have not had enough. Stow gab, you great windfart ! This blinded day will pass as easy as the last .. we scared them all off, the snivelling wretches. And put to earth all those fool enough to argue. This land belongs to the shadow now. It's an easy gig, no trouble left. It's done."

    "Then why are we entrusted with the task of watch ?" his ungracious protegee made question. "There's something out there, mark my words. Lets us go investigate ..."

    "I ain't going nowhere," Garkor confirmed. "And whats more, I'll mark you with my gut sticker, if you don't pipe down ! Fool runt .." Garkor closed his eyes and increased the threat of his spear collapsing beneath his body weight. "The only thing thats out there is a den of pitiful wetbottoms, nursing their tears. This place is ours now. We made that well clear."

    Garkor chuckled within the smug satisfaction of his own reassurance. Moltuk was not so easily sidetracked.

    "You're scared," the younger decided. "Scared stupid enough to stay sat in your filth. Come on, lets go see if we can't chase up a piece of the locale, be it bird or beast: tell the lads what adventure we had chasing cursed souls. We'll be heroes."

    Sunlight tiptoed slow but further across the horizon, casting the gruesome features of the two sentries and their infestation of the ravaged city. Good and hope would yet be a while arriving to cleanse their invasion. In the meantime, it was something else that watched what the shadow had left in wake. Something isolated, and unsupervised. Something unleashed.




    The Elf dropped into a crouch beside his Dwarvish associate. He nodded once, eyes cold, and recounted all that he had heard of the two sentries.

    "Let 'em come out chase tail a time," Igneous growled, impatience dogging better judgement. "I'll give good cause for 'em to run scared."

    "Soon," Silugnir assured him. "Will it do ?" he rolled barely checked impatience in sure scrutiny of what they had been working on.

    "Aye" Iggy's dark eyes roared like a stoked furnace. He grinned amidst his great beard, basking in anticipation. "There's not a thing in this world as can keep us from her ..." He patted his pet project, with rough-handed affection, an unspoken confidence in the contraption.

    "Agreed," the Elf allowed, meeting his fellow miner in the forging of amusement.

    Some short time afterward, neither could resist a moment longer. It began ..
    Last edited by Ercassie; 15/Dec/2015 at 05:36 PM. Reason: Realised Orcs would not be so well-informed of the plans of their 'boss'. Altered accordingly.

  52. Ercassie's Avatar
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    #152

    Flashback - Difficult Decisions

    'I don't give a damn about my reputation
    I've never been afraid of any deviation
    And I don't really care if you think I'm strange
    I ain't gonna change.

    And I'll never give a damn about my bad reputation
    Oh no ... Not me ...
    '

    (Bad Reputation, Joan Jett,)




    Erfaron Silugnir, and Isildie Nariel
    Ost-in-Edhil, Eregion
    SA 1622


    Teasing fingers of the breeze raised the garnet tresses as a many layered sea of ribbons all about a maypole. Nariel's eyes though remained still. Unshakeable as the bottomless sea. Pure and sure and unbroken. Unmoved.

    "I am not going," she said again. The gentle lilt of her sweet voice unable to dilute the disappointment evoked of her words. Erfaron frowned, his mouth a grim line of disatisfaction. He stared the vivacious spirit down with eyes so pale, it seemed as their blue flame was held the far length of long, deep tunnels. Between here and there, was a vacuum of will.

    "There is naught to stay here for !" he decided, for them both. As always he had dictated what should be their best move. He had kept them both alive for this long. And yet ..

    "This is a home," the elleth mentioned, speaking slow now as though patronising an infant. "I tire of never knowing where I am to lay my head. I detest rising with the morn, and having to recount where I just spent the night. I do not wish to go back on the road. You can not make me."

    She set her small jaw firm and obstinate as Silugnir rolled eyes. "I thought you had outgrown this petulant and spoilt princess act .." he muttered, with volume enough that she might hear, despite the content. "You can not always have your own way ! "

    "Why is it that you must always have it your way ?!" the elleth demanded explanation. "You are not my father, you are not my husband. You are ... "

    The elf raised one eyebrow and dared her to give voice to any further word. Nariel pursed her pale lips, teetering about the brink of 'nothing'. She had not quite the gall to make the sentiment real, knowing she could never take it back, once it was spilt from tongue. And he had looked after her. But ..

    "You got arrested," she reminded him, narrowing eyes that turned ever more grey in hue. As though a swift advancing storm. "You engaged in a duel against all laws that outlaw such behaviour. You drew blood .."

    "He will live," came the response, and a nonchalent shrug. "Besides which I may remind you that he also drew blood. So .."

    "You should have walked away," Nariel sought to impress reason upon her companion. "Why is it that you can never ... ever ... ?!" she sighed, throwing fair face into waiting palms, then just as swift withdrawing to hurl sflushed cheeks and the threat of tears. "Do not pretend that I am any sort of priority over your own pride. So go, take your dratted temper with you. And let me know some peace." She raised her chin as ever her mother had once been wont to do. "I like it here" she declared, stubbornly. "I found lodgings with a lovely lady who says she needs just the sort of skill my mother endowed upon me. She can nurture that raw talent in me to conceive things of great beauty. The wonders of weaving and embroidery. There is a house here, filled with young ladies under her charge, I .. "

    Erfaron made a rude noise and shook his head, bemused. "Knitting ?" he scoffed, and drew closer, compelled her with gaze to hear the words. "That shall never be enough for you," he prophesised.

    "You forgot the part where you hasten to assure me that I am your first priority" came the smothering rebuke, as sheer and soft as knotted silk to crush a gasping windpipe. The storm now broke across her twin pools of vision and lightning seemed to dash with temper from her gaze outward.

    "I can neither stay here, nor else abandon you," Erfaron would have her realise. "We have to go. There is no choice."

    The Lord of Eregion had not in truth exiled him. A week to kick heels in a 'safe place', and consider his temper, much less the resulting consequences ... It was not as though the other Elf was even hurt. Not really. Not this time. But next time ...there was always going to be a next time. There would always be an Elf to say the wrong thing, or look at him over long in a particular expression ...

    Nay. Best to go where there were few folk to quite literally 'bump' into ...


    "There are too many people here .." the Mole acknowledged, scowling. As though a happy population was an epidemic that sought to destroy him.

    "Exactly ! ! " Nariel whirled around, a tempest pirouette. "Some of us, me for example, happen to like people. It is a joy to see people, to speak with people. To be around people. To not be around but only .."

    Erfaron shrugged off her tentative touch about his arm.

    "Could you not at the least try ?" she hoped. "Lord Celebrimbor did not say that you must leave. Only that you must mind yourself. You might make effort, to go a single week, ... a day even, without falling unto some argument ?"

    The Elleth implored him there, sought with lip a quivering to consult on a deeper level than words might express. One of unexpected need, of quiet desperation. The Elf stood before her was as stone, eyes downcast, as he drank her conflicting emotions. An elleth had begged him not unlike this plea, to not forsake her. Long ago. Nariel's mother. And against all want to linger he had .. he had ... and look how well that had turned out ?!

    "He started it" was all that he could muster, sullenly. Nariel unleashed a shrill cry of impatience, and turned on her immaculately turned-out shoes.

    "I am staying in Eregion !" she made most clear and audible. "I don't care what you say. This place is more as Gondolin than any we have .."

    "Well that is scarcely a recommendation !" he called after her, and was duely ignored for all his effort. "Do you not learn ? No place is safe for always !" he added, as much to himself as to her (doubtful) hearing. What hope was there to keep the headstrong elleth from harm, when evil had even seeped into the Blessed Land, corrupted all that once was fair, ... ?!

    The only option was to keep moving. Never staying in one place for long. Evil could not ruin her if it could not keep up with them. Of course, if he was already ruined in soul, and the Curse would suggest so, then might be she was better off without him ... ? He could remove himself to some place where he might yet keep a watch on her. She need never know ..

    Nariel had by this point already stalked the great length of the street, meaning to pause at the far end, and let him catch her up. But when she got there, there was only silence stood behind her. And when she made herself turn, annoyed. .. he was gone.








    Igneous Bloodbeard and Erfaron Silugnir
    The Mines of Khazad-Dum
    Some days later


    The Dwarf defied all disbelief, by conquering the path before him with such speed as should not have been possible, for one of his boulderous size. Erfaron subconsciously rubbed his right arm, as he prowled in the wake of his guide, seeking to dispell all recall of just how Iggy had shaken his now aching limb, as though he had fully intended to wrest it from due socket. That was how he said 'Hello'.

    "I'ca give a rotten stinkpool for what ye think of yeself," the Dwarf barked his tirade before him, as though the gruff rasp of his speech would shift the rock and channel passage through. "E'en the greatest idjit be some half-decent craftsfolk at end of so long time a years spent all in practice," Iggy aired his disinterest in any qualifications that the Mole might think to offer. "And don' be thinkin' I'll put up with any of daft singing or prancing all the dem time neither. This is dem hard graft and .." he resumed, turning about face abruptly, and raising his lantern to gauge his new partner's expression.

    The smile was unnerving, as though it had been fashioned upon Silugnirs features by a knife point. Iggy squinted against the cold and unmoving stare that bored right through him. Silent, until the Elf caught the furnace spark that spoke of suspicious mind residing in the Dwarf. He bowed respectfully, in lieu of offering any dangerous narrative aloud.

    "I din't ask for aide, and I don't need no aide," Iggy clarified, to hammer the point home as he returned to their dark trail. "Least of all from some jumped up .."

    "For certain, this is precisely how I envisaged spending the yet endless stream of centuries awarded me," Silugnir remarked, lightly. "With a .." he ducked, as Iggy rounded back upon him, the Elf narrowly evading the bag of heavy tools that the Dwarf had insisted upon hauling there himself, to prove that he could. To prove that he did not need any one else's help.

    "Why ain't ye prancin' all about the meadows, talking to them woodpigeons, as I heard Elves take into their heads as high jinks ?" the Miner sowed his mattock into the ground at his feet, and leant upon it, carelessly. "They cast you out of the exaltant choir ?" he guffawed, filling their hall with echo, as though an audience of Dwarves found funny at the jest.

    "I do not play well with others" Silugnir feigned a melancholy sigh, and was surprised to observe the barest of smiles break like a reluctant dawn, somewhere about the vast fastness of black beard that the Dwarf tucked into his belt.

    "That'll do it," the Dwarf gifted his weighty pack into the Elf's surprised grasp.
    "That there is what they said of me the same.." he chortled, pushing on with their trek and not a further word spent on conversation. Still, the atmosphere grew lighter as their progression went ever deeper. And two unlikely outcasts would come to find comfort in their seclusion form all the 'fools' who'd ever failed to rightly comprehend them.
    Last edited by Ercassie; 30/Jan/2016 at 04:45 PM.

  53. The Rambler's Hour: An Interlude - The Siblings

    - Private with Ercassie -



    - Sources: Seascape and
    Benicio del Toro -


    Dramatis Personae

    Sarabeth Gameela - A fearsome, notorious pirate queen and slaver of Umbar.
    The eldest daughter of House Gameela.
    Halima Gameela - Sarabeth's naive younger sister and protege.
    Laiseldë/ Layla - Sarabeth's slave, a maiden of Pinnath Gelin.
    Sanura - An Umbarian Smokehair, Sarabeth's pet cat.
    Kfir Gameela- Sarabeth's older brother, a retired pirate and the heir of Gameela Manor.
    Siledess - Kfir's wife, once a noblewoman of Anfalas and the heir of Port Lefnui
    Lautaro - The overseer at Adamant, Kfir's best friend
    Abidemi - A rebellious slave of Far Harad
    Ayana - Abidemi's wife.
    Pharak the Fearless - The patriarch of House Halsad, an Umbarian slaver and trader

    Umbar



    Kfir urgently galloped his lathered black courser across the broad stone road, desperately trying to reach the grey marble house of the Gameela estate. Huge leafy arms of the immense live oaks towered over the path in breathtakingly shapely formations but the shade of the trees could not cool the Umbarian lord's sweating olive skin. Anger drove him, heating his well-muscled body to a fever pitch.

    The meeting with his father and Matsu in the shipyards concerning the felling of trees in the Harad jungle was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of his wife's flameshrike. The large reddish-gold butcher bird carried a message handwritten by the master healer who lived at Gameela Manor. A young black man named Abidemi, the son of a surly thrall killed by Carneiro's father before the boy was born, had quarrelled with Siledess - Kfir's pregnant wife - and pushed the gentle woman down the stairs. She survived but had lost her unborn child.

    His ancestral plantation, Adamant, was situated amid the beautifully mountainous coastal landscape of the northern arm of Umbar's great natural haven. Ram Street, christened after the infamous heraldic emblem of House Gameela, which Kfir travelled was a long road branching from the capital city and terminated at the impressive five-story manor of the feared and respected wealthy clan. The stately edifice standing on a broad flowered hill was built of red Far Harad rosewood with red and pink marble excavated from the Gameela Mountains straddling the shoreland and the Grey Mountains of the South. Behind the large silver gate spanning the wide entryway located between the mighty arms of the curtain wall were vast cultivated tobacco fields, lemon groves, barns, workshops, and slave houses. A river, Adsiltia, rushed through the land in a winding course before meeting the bay on the western limits of the estate.

    Lautaro, the armored stocky overseer and a life-long friend, appeared on the wrap-around colonnaded piazza. "I have failed you, amicus," he said with a stoic expression, a lone tear streaming over his stubbled cheek. "I was in the fields, keeping the duskies in line. If I had been here I could have saved her." He gave Kfir his bullwhip. "I am unfit for command."

    Kfir returned the bullwhip to Lautaro. "You cannot be everywhere at once, amicus," he said sternly, clasping the overseer's shoulders. "If it were not for your ferocity and discipline, all of the duskies would have revolted a long time ago. I need you here with me." His eyebrows beetled together, asking through his teeth where Abidemi was.

    "He tried to escape but we have the pettifogger in custody now, chained in the kitchen where he was cornered. Will he walk your galleon's plank?"

    "I will not give him the satisfaction," Kfir replied darkly. "Tell me, where is his wife?"

    "She is forbidden to leave her quarters...."

    "Bring her to the kitchen."

    He entered its spacious interior moments later and dismissed all slaves, commanding only one cook to hand him a meat cleaver. He stood silently, looming over Abidemi who laid slumped against a wall, beaten and bound, until Lautaro presented Ayana. She was a small and pretty brown-skinned woman of Rhûn with long caramel hair and big doe eyes. Like her husband, she had been captured in a rebel nation in the East and delivered to Umbar for sale as were all traitors of Sauron's eastern regime.

    Goaded by Kfir, she explained that Abidemi had left the mango groves where he worked to ask Siledess if he could be assigned a house job so he could be closer to Ayana. The master's wife had politely refused since he was better suited for manual labor. Abidemi quickly became verbally hostile, insisting that his beloved needed him nearer to her since she was with child and eventually demanded that Ayana's housekeeping duties in the manor be ended for the time being since she was pregnant. At last, he grew too frustrated with Siledess' refusals. Abidemi had snapped, pushing her down the stairs.

    "A servant is not above the master," spoke Kfir with quiet intensity, quoting a cardinal rule of the Númenor slavermasters from whom he was descended. He idly examined the large knife which resembled a broad rectangular-bladed hatchet, frightening Abidemi and Ayana. It was intended to hack through animal bone."You killed my baby," he spoke, almost whispering, as he looked deeply into Abidemi's liquid dark eyes with a glacial stare. "It's only fair that I take away yours."

    He brutally swung on Ayana as she and Abidemi bothloosed a shrill cry of rage and primal terror. Kfir, stone-faced, plunged the cleaver deep into her swollen abdomen. She collapsed on the floor, washing it red with a torrent of blood and gore. His muscular arm rose and descended rhythmically even after she was dead, swinging the great knife like a hammer. He chopped her body apart with effortless violent blows, savoring the deafening sound of Abidemi's hysterical wails.

    "Have someone clean up this filth and send this dusky to the mines," Kfirordered Lautaro, raising his voice above the stridently sobbing Abidemi. The manacled slave had wriggled close to the bloodied remains of his spouse and had laid his head on her torn bosom.

    Kfir ascended the richly carpeted stairs with a slow tread and heavy heart. He entered the airy, opulent bedroom he shared with his wife and dismissed the healer when assured Siledess would survive. Kfir eased aside the fine curtains of the canopy bed and sat on the hand-quilted cerise velvet coverlet where his wife laid. She was a small and sweet-smelling Gondorian woman who was fifteen years younger than Kfir. Siledess was strikingly fair-skinned and her long inky hair had fanned across the gold cashmere pillow her head rested on. His wife's strikingly green eyes were paler in color and widened with horor, tears streaming down her alabaster cheeks.

    "I've punished Abidemi, Roni," spoke Kfir softly, his fingers straying through her dark locks. She said nothing, her pink mouth still frozen open in a small rictus of pain. Kfir felt a chill go through him, emotionally overwhelmed by the sight of bloodied water of the healer's bowls which still remained near the bedside. The premature delivery had failed and the baby was gone. His fingers laced tenderly with Siledess'. Although she remained silent, Kfir felt a brief affectionate tightening of her hand. A ghost of a smile flickered on his lips moments they brushed her forehead. She had not always loved him. Years ago he had fortified many ranges of the White Mountains in Andrast to establish pirate havens in the rugged coastline south of the Druedain territories and besieged Port Lefnui to take Siledess into his custody for he heard whispers in the South of the highborn virgin's beauty. He had captured her and returned to Gameela Manor where she was treated kindly and remained his honored prisoner. Siledess' hatred of him ripened unexpectedly into friendship which, over the slow passage of time and trial, blossomed into passionate love.

    Latter that night he took a seat on the white wrought iron bench amid fragrant night-blooming flowers in his wife's garden on the terrace outside the bedchamber. Kfir used the ornate gilded hand mirror Aura Camlost had given him at the beginning of their longlasting alliance. "Amiga," he uttered, transforming the deceptively glassy appearance of the instrument's surface to an interactive viewing screen with the Witchqueen of Rhudaur.

    "Lord Kfir, this is an unforeseen pleasure!" Aura, taken aback, exclaimed happily. The divinely beautiful raven-haired sorceress of the North wore a gown of shimmering green organza. She stood before the crumbled ruins of an old derelict castle located in what seemed to be the windy highlands of the Weather Hills in Eriador. "Usually I speak with your younger sister. Sarabeth, the bold one."

    "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important, Mistress," apologized Kfir and took a sip of his mint julep.

    "Oh, just laying a few traps for some Rangers at...sweetheart, what's this place called?"

    "Windnesse, Ma," said Aileen Camlost, the Witchlord's pretty preteen daughter. The small grey-eyed girl with double ribboned ponytails was gowned in black satin and red velvet. She was consulting an ancient map, standing beside her mother with a cute white-and-gold cat rubbing up against her leg.

    "Thank you, dear," she said, stroking the lass' hair with her free palm, and turned her attention back to Kfir. "I suspect you're asking for an assignment?"

    "I'm feeling vengeful and want something to kill," he answered simply. He still felt wrathful. Viciously murdering Ayana, exacting his retribution on Abidemi, reminded him just how badly he missed his Corsair days of yore.....

    APPENDIX

    Sarabeth is a Hebrew name meaning "Princess." . Gameela [Game-uh-lah] is an Egyptian word meaning "Beautiful."

    Halima [ha-LEE-mah] is an Egyptian word meaning "Gentle."

    Layla is an Egyptian word meaning "Born at night."

    Sanura [San-u-ruh] is an Egyptian word meaning "Kitten."

    Khalfani [Cal-fuh-nee] is an Egyptian word meaning "Shall Rule."

    Carneiro [Car-nay-roh] is a Portuguese word meaning "Ram."

    Kfir [Kuh-fear] is a Hebrew word meaning "Lion."

    Roni [Ronny] is a Hebrew female name meaning "My Joy."

    Abidemi [Ay-bye-dee-me] is an African male name meaning "born in the father's absence."

    Ayana [Ay-aa-nuh] is an African female name meaning "A pretty flower."

    Amicus [ah-mee-cus] is a Latin word meaning "(male) friend."

    Amiga [Ah-mee-ga] is a Spanish word meaning "(female) friend."

    Lautaro [Lal-tar-o] is a Spanish name meaning "daring."

    Last edited by Beren Camlost; 26/Apr/2016 at 04:03 AM.
    "How long do you want it to be?" - Steven C.
    "As long as it needs to be." - Aimmi G.


  54. Rivvy Elf's Avatar
    Conscript of Moria
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    #154

    Eärcúlinta and Menellinda
    Fishing near the Shores of Tirion
    Years of the Trees
    Private RP


    "I am so excited!" exclaimed a grinning Menellinda as she had one foot on the top of the boat's stern, hand horizontally on her forehead as she squinted, even though they just departed from the Shores of Tirion. Turning her head back to glance at her brother, who relaxingly rowed the boat, she asked, "Do you know how long it's been since we went fishing?"

    Eärcúlinta, who appeared to be distracted, was broken out of his reverie. He paused, then gave a crooked smile to his sister, responding, "A year, and both feet on the boat lest you fall, Menel. You're not the best swimmer after all."

    "Aww, come on Linta," pouted the raven-haired elleth as she lifted her foot from the top and sat on a bench near the stern, "I'm better than before. Honest. Mother's been teaching me."

    He gave a slight chuckle as he continued rowing, then retorted, "Mother says otherwise. She said you spend too much time traveling inland to Eru-knows-where." A glint of mischievous curiosity appeared in Eärcúlinta's eyes, "where have you been traversing lately, Menel? You can tell me. Come on, tell me."

    "Hmm," Menellinda intoned, putting her hand below her chin and pointed her head diagonally upwards, as if giving mock consideration, "I don't think so, nope. Wait, why did we stop?"

    "We're far enough from the shore," Eärcúlinta responded as he slowly rose, "now where is that anchor...?"

    "No need to worry, brother, I got it!" she proclaimed, revealing the rope to the anchor that was next to her. She gave a tug and grunted. Eärcúlinta sat down trying to suppress a chuckle, as he amusingly watched his sister try to lift the anchor.


    "You don't need to do everything, brother, urgh!" she tugged again, trying to budge the anchor using the attached rope, "I can... do my share... why is this thing so heavy?.... as well!"

    Menellinda then placed both her feet on the top of the anchor, spat on both of her hands (his brother averted his eyes in mild disgust), and pulled with all her might. The anchor moved only a little. Panting a little, she cried, "in the name of Ulmo, help me brother! This stupid thing is too heavy. Why cannot we invent lighter anchors? Why does it have to be made out of metal? Why... oh. Good job."
    Eärcúlinta lifted the anchor with his right hand and dropped the anchor into the sea with a plop. His eyelids narrowed in mirth as he gave a goading smirk at his sister.

    "Father made sure I had the arm strength to break a bow by pulling on it's string before he had me fire a shot," he bragged, hands on his hips. He then gave a reassuring smile to Menellinda and said, "one day, you'll be as strong, if not stronger than I am. Then we can hunt together."

    At first she rolled her eyes at her brother's attempt at bragging. Then she almost leaped excitedly at the thought of being a hunter, "yes, then perhaps he will notice... Um" Eärcúlinta moved closer and bent down so that his face was inches away from hers. He bore a smile and his eyes were closed; which hid the menace vibrating off of him. Of course, his sister could easily tell that she should carefully word her next words.

    For some reason, she didn't, she responded in a high shrill voice, "erm, uh, I was not referring to Amrod or... Oh! Just forget I said anything." Hearing her response, Eärcúlinta sighed, stepping away from her and grabbing the two fishing poles on the bow-side, handing one to Menellinda.

    "While we're attaching algae to the hooks, why don't you tell me about this... Amrod," he calmly asked. Menellinda, almost sighing in relief, then spent the next 5 minutes on the aspiring hunter. His brother noted that she said nothing of Amrod's character. Interrupting her sister's explanation on her crush's favorite foods to buy from the market, he asked, "when was the last time you talked to him?"

    She stopped, sheepishly put her hand behind the back of her head and nervously laughed, "Err, we never actually had a proper conversation. Though I said 'hello' to him multiple times!"

    Eärcúlinta vented his displeasure at the revelation of his sister becoming a 'fan-girl' by casting his fishing line further than he ever did before, he then placed it on the boat floor and turned his full attention to Menellinda. For some odd reason, the sea was calmer than usual, as if it the waters themselves were listening in, "Why are you chasing after one of the sons of Fëanor? Don't tell me you've been traversing all the way to Formenos these days?" he asked, noting that his sister flinched at the last question. "You have, haven't you?" he continually, his voice gradually louder, "do you know how angry Father would be if he found out? Fëanor almost killed Lord Fingolfin!"

    "Oh, who cares about what father thinks? It's my life, I can like whoever I want! Unlike you, I won't be used as a betrothal prize!" Menellinda declared, venting her frustration by casting a line to the calm sea as well. She then turned towards his brother, folding her arms and daring her brother to respond. But, all she got in response from Eärcúlinta was a shocked look. After a few seconds, she blinked and her eyebrows slowly relaxed as Menellinda gave her brother an inquisitive look.

    "They told you, didn't they?" she asked. Eärcúlinta shook his head in denial. Now it was the sister's turn to sigh. "They're talking with the House of Manquento. Apparently their youngest daughter is unwed, and you are unwed as well."

    "I don't care if it's House Fingolfin!" Eärcúlinta shouted with his eyes widened and his fists clenched, causing nearby swallows to suddenly flee from trees, "I will choose who I will spend the rest of my life with, and so will whoever they want me to be betrothed to, and that's that!" he finished. Eärcúlinta huffed and focused glaring a hole into the hull of the bulk. Menellinda, frightened momentarily by his brother's fury, waited until he stopped huffing.

    She motioned her hands downward, trying to douse the flames of his wroth brother, and said in a soothing voice, "you're not betrothed. Calm down. Tell Mother and Father this, we have all the time in Arda, brother. Maybe you could court and marry that Vanyar elleth. Just calm down."

    He slowly blinked, trying to relax and suppress his feelings, "you're right, Menel." He gave a deep breath and turned his head further towards the sea.

    Eärcúlinta understood what his parents were doing, of course. He overheard the discussions between his parents on improving their social standing in Valinor. There would only be more elfs as time went on, and if they did not improve their standing, it would become harder for them to maintain a living in Valinor. This was why he saw his father less and less, for the latter was trying to curry more favor with Lord Fingolfin. Eärcúlinta's mother spent more time selling weapons from her father's smithy, trying to save more money for the future. As the years went on, the raven-haired elf and his sister was expected to marry and have children. Thus their family could grow, more income could be made, prestige and honor further earned.

    Just because he understood, did not mean he had to be happy with it. Still, his outburst was a little unnecessary.
    Eärcúlinta needed something to take his mind off of marital politics, however.

    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a movement from his fishing rod. Eärcúlinta smiled and turned towards his sister:

    "Looks like I have the first catch!" he said, as he picked up his fishing rod.

    When his brother's attention was not towards his sister, Menel sadly smiled, and thought: You should've chose her instead of me.


    Last edited by Rivvy Elf; 08/Aug/2016 at 09:20 AM. Reason: Fixing typos
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  55. Ercassie's Avatar
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    #155

    Idle Hands (Part 2)

    'Because you live and breathe
    Because you make me believe in myself
    when nobody else can help
    Because you live, girl, my world
    has twice as many stars in the sky

    It's alright, I survived. I'm alive again
    Cause of you, made it through every storm
    What is life, what's the use, if you're killing time ...

    Because you live there's a reason why
    I carry on when I lose the fight ... always
    Because you live ...
    '

    (Because you Live, Jesse McCartney)






    Laegon and Fëapoldië (with baby Nariel)
    On the Way to Gondolin
    FA 116

    The autumnal fire of her auburn tresses clasped the elleth's face within their grasp, and whispered secrets that no voice would speak. Fëapoldië shook her great mane and turned to seek some refuge from the anarchy, even as the tiny child in her arms threw out hands to seize the tantalising mass and haul her mother closer. Already it was clear that the daughter would look as though her mother. Laegon glanced upon the two and sank into a happy bed of satisfaction that he looked to never be roused from. His wife, his daughter …… his mother …

    She is Isildië,” he declared, fulfilling his duty and his honour in so naming his first-born. “We dwell in times still perilous and face things yet unknown. There come shadows upon occasion that give rise to concern we should never see another dawn. She," he laid eyes upon his enthralled infant, "she is the light which I look to draw hope from, when the world seems wreathed in darkness,” the Sinda clarified. “She stands as the moon, therefore. And she is Isildië.

    Something of the sky about her eyes might suit her better,” counselled Nídhes, cautiously, of her son.

    How can you name her as moonchild, when her hair shall quite certain blaze as brightly as the burning sun ?!” Fëapoldië blinked in surprise, agreeing with her mother-in-law, to mark a rare occasion.

    The stars are ancient, and seem far away, whereas the moon is yet as young as she about this world, and it looks as close enough to touch,” Laegon would have them understand. “The sun balls with a flaming intensity about the heart of my beloved wife. You are the sun, my love, and she is the moon, and though my mother and sister shall be as though two far off stars, my world is brightened by the light of all the ladies I hold dear. I am the luckiest of Elves to walk this Middle Earth.

    They argued no further with his decision, for both were heartened by his compliment, and both pleased to find that he stood tall for his convictions. And though few would ever come to know his daughter as Isildië, she was ever so to him. And the matter marked Laegon as a father indeed in the eyes of all that knew him. For he was not one to stand his ground except when he believed it mattered. There was so very little that he felt it was worth causing injured feelings over. But sometimes, it was important to remind people that he also had a mind of his own, though he expressed his private thoughts rarely and always, in calm.






    'I don't cry any more ..'
    (Beth Greene, TWD)



    Isildië Nariel
    Refuge of Imladris Valley
    During the First Siege of Imladris
    SA 1699



    Sources one, two, three and four.


    The bounty was lacquered with fresh colour of the season, and emitted all the scintillating aroma that drew the crowd to wonder and intrigue. By all accounts it might be considered a waste of time and effort, but not all those cloistered away in the valley could be possessed of a warrior's demeanour. The hours spent in delicately carving fruits into extravagant designs - in the shape of popular flowers - was just the latest of many diversions which had kept Nariel from losing her mind. Fortunately the valley where Lord Elrond had sequestered them, after the fall of Eregion, was both fertile and soothing. So long as she was able to forget quite what lurked outside.

    When she had dwelt for years afore in the isolated fort of Gondolin, the notion of defying a most dangerous motley of beasts beyond their city walls had never captivated her desire. It had been enough to know the safety she had utterly believed in. And when the Princess Idril had laid invite for the elleth to adorn her fair, prestigious court, Nariel had leapt at the chance. What excitement was there to be had else, in watching each day upon walls for an enemy who (by sheer design) were never expected to even locate them ? Nay, not when there were dances to be perfected, singing recitals to perform, and all manner of flower arranging ... Well, it was something to do, and it had made her happy.

    Nariel was a flower, and she flourished in the garden of tranquility and peace.

    Until there had come that time wherein a long mourning Nariel had nigh languished away in the Havens of Sirion for a grievous and sorrowful duration, failing to stray very far even from her tear-stained bed, after the loss of both her beloved parents. Eventually, and as much through annoyance as through recovery from Gondolin's fall, she had adapted to a routine of keeping Tirindo and Erfaron from killing one another in the modest home the three had somehow managed to exist within. But the prospect of reclaiming her former lifestyle and chosen speciality in the court of the Queen .. it had been too soon. It had all seemed so worthless. She had lost more than her home and her family. She had lost herself.

    It had taken the last some two thousand years for the elleth to rediscover her zest for life, and not properly until she had come to Ost-in-Edhil and reconnected with her dear Ohtarien. Liberated from the burden of anxiety for any obstinate ellon who chose to believe he knew better than her how she ought to live her life, she had flourished, spread her wings and taken to exploring what manner of life she might still make for herself.

    Now that Eregion too had fallen, the danger of sinking back into depression was a thing she did not rightly dare. This time she determined to not allow the Enemy to rob her of her very self. And so, as her father had rightly prophesised, the elleth dedicated her every waking hour to trying to help raise light amidst a frightened, awkward population.

    Birdwatching was often fun. The children enjoyed partaking of that, and Laegon had ever took time to teach his only child of the joy in nature. If she wished to achieve something practical, there was always some conceited elleth whom she could convinced and instruct how to deconstruct a many-layered gown into a small array of practical attire. Nariel herself had been prone to the wearing of vastly intricate designs, before the city was taken. The art of manipulating her wardrobe to suit was a skill she had evolved during her travels. And it had taken a small storm of eager ellyth by storm, as they clamoured for new ideas and patterns which they could make good use of with the limited resources. The market was not like to feature grandiose fashions any time soon. So it was always a worthwhile treat to explore new ways that she might improve and alternate about her small allowance of clothing.

    It might well be the case that some would berate her for today's efforts with the fruit fancies. But as she observed the gathered crowds who came to stare and sample the prepared treats, she was hard pressed to espy a single frown. Apples, oranges, strawberries and cucumber .... all were easily enough procured, and it took but a sharp knife and a practiiced hand to render them so more attractive. Nariel could ruin any meal she made an attempt to cook, but when it came to table decorations - edible ones at that - there was little any could find to complain on. Except those patrons who seemed reluctant to ravage the delicacies ! The children loved them, in particular. And their joy was her reward.

    Always she made sure to put a delicious treat aside for Ohtarien and also Airien, the two fastidious young ladies whom she wrung hands for each day they spent in training. The siege meant that there was no outright battles, but always there was watch duty and there were scouting raids and sentry runs, all to safeguard the cluster of survivors. Nariel knew her sister could easily handle herself, and it was eerie how adept that Airien had developed into a lethal killing machine almost overnight. Clearly folk coped with the loss of their parents in a variety of strategims.

    Nariel had her own methods and they did not (yet) involve weaponry of any kind. Today the fruit feast had been but the first item on her agenda. Second came the dance practice. As foolish and frivolous as it might sound, there was none as wanted to grow so accustomed to a latency that they came squat as Salgant ! And so the former lady-in-waiting often had a small group of keen volunteers to keep her company in this endeavour.

    It was something to do. It was something to look forward to. It might have been naught of any great importance to the war effort but it kept up peoples' spirits. More than that it did keep them limber and lithe. She reminded them often that it was no harm to be athletically primed. In order for whatever should occur.

    The ellon Camando had sulked when his mother made him come along and join them in melodious calisthenics. But soon he was gambolling about like the rest of her little group. If they carried at this rate, they could provide a small public performance to rouse morale even further so. But Nariel had an ulterior motive all her own besides.


    "Put mind to a dandelion, seeds prancing and swaying on the whim of a capricious breeze," she counselled, twirling one long strand of well-groomed garnet locks. Awarding them time to rightly envisage the scene, she made her case for relevance. "How many of you can catch in your hand a dandelion seed ?" she would ask. "When it darts, and ducks and twirls. Try it .. now .."

    A gentle gust of motivated breath cast forth a swarm of such seeds to ride the chance and fate of the dozen strong audience. Of all, two managed to grasp an elusive prize.

    "We are the children of this world, and we are tied unto it's fate," Nariel recognised. "Before our world knew violence and malice, we did not know violence and malice. Before our world knew war and fear, we knew not war, nor fear. But while we have changed as does our world entire, each alligned with the other in it's evolution, or devolution; it is important to not forget that there remains some good and beauty in this world. And we should not forsake that most treasured of heirlooms.

    Through dance we also can elude the worst onslaught of an attack. Two of the best warriors I know are accomplished dancers,
    " she concluded. "Do not underestimate the advantage in conquering all movement that our bodies were designed to flaunt. Is it dancing ? Or is it an evasive tactic to avoid death or harm ? We must endow our children and ourselves with the want and need to limit our destruction.

    For the night shall always come. But so too shall the dawn. We are the dawn. Glorious dancers, take flight and embrace your designated potential. If you wish to learn the art of war then hone your body through movement, that you shall be ready to take on specialised exertions. If you wish to preserve the traditions and customs of our people, then hone your body through movement.
    "

    And so began another day of labours loved. She sprang in step and knew great relief when they took to same. Although in all honesty, she would have enjoyed her time as well if none had ever looked to observe her example. Nariel knew no other means to employ her time. For if she stopped and sowed the thoughts of all she could not control and all that she did not know ...

    She worried for her sister and her friend, in every moment that they were not in sight. She worried for those she saw every day in the valley, wondering if ever things would change. And she worried, though she tried not to, for those whose fate she knew not. For those whom she had heard none of since before Ost-in-Edhil succombed to malaise.

    The stars only knew what a particularly troublesome twosome of that latter category were up to this very moment ..
    Last edited by Ercassie; 03/Feb/2016 at 05:25 AM.

  56. Rivvy Elf's Avatar
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    #156

    Eärcúlinta and
    Menellinda
    Fishing and Gossiping near the Shores of Tirion
    Years of the Trees
    Private RP

    Teehee, I have you now my sweet, thought Menellinda, as she slowly lowered her fish-catching net into the sea again. She waited five seconds, letting the net be guided by the water current. Five second later, the raven-haired elleth quickly lifted the net. She frowned, curling her lip in disappointment. Reaching into a bag, she began to attach algae to the end of the fishing net, when her wrist was poked by two fingers, causing her to release the algae.

    "Ah!" she cried in astonishment, waving her fingers, shaking off the momentary pain in her wrist, "brother, I hate it when you do that!"

    "Menel..." Eärcúlinta began, as he covered his mouth to hide a chuckle, "what are you doing?"

    "Fishing," she simply said with a wide grin, as she tilted her neck and twirled a strand of her hair, "it is what we came here to do, after all."

    "You..." the raven-haired ellon tried to say as placed both his hands on his face to hide a snort. As soon as he recovered, he continued "you are a blessing, sister. An absolute blessing." He wondered how life would be if his sister were not born. Valinor certainly would be more boring.

    Menellinda, initially concerned that her brother was coming down with a cold, grinned wider when she heard the compliment. She put a hand to the back of her head, "hehe, I guess I am if you say so Linta."

    The ellon nodded, then he closed his eyes as his smile turned into a smirk, "that doesn't change the fact you owe me a fishing rod, beloved sister. You may have to open your boar store to cover it."

    "Boo boo," whined Menellinda, as her mood was dampened, "polca (pig) was just getting full too. Just a few more shells and I could have bought that miniature ship-"

    "for my future husband, Amrod," interrupted Eärcúlinta to finish her sentence, ignoring the blush that immediately appeared on his sister's cheeks, "...what? Can a brother not complete his sister's thought?"

    "I wasn't going to say that!" shouted the raven-haired elleth in a high-pitched voice, denying and raising her right fist threateningly, "and for your information, brother, I don't know if he likes ships."

    "Mmm... Oh, I see now," Eärcúlinta said, as Menellinda nodded, "you were going to buy a miniature ship," he stated, placing his hands in front of him as if holding an imaginary box, looking at his sister as if searching for confirmation.

    "Yup," she affirmed, smiling.

    "You were not going to give the ship to Amrod," the ellon continued, slightly tilting his head diagonally as if trying to make sure what he was hearing was correct.

    "Nope, not Amrod," the elleth affirmed, nodding her head.

    "You're giving it to Amras, to give to Amrod."

    Menellinda began to nod, then widened her eyes and mouth in shock and momentary anger as her brother's laughter echoed across the waters, "You! No!" she yelled, grabbing a bunch of algae and threw it at the ellon... or tried to at least.

    "How... haha! How did you miss?" Eärcúlinta said, as his laughter gradually subsided. The algae missed by a wide margin where Menellinda intended to throw it. The elleth's wroth merely rose with the levity of the situation.

    "I don't know! Shut your mouth, Linta!" she cried, raising and waving her fists angrily in the air. After a few seconds of this (as her brother continued giggling) she pouted, folding both her hands on her chest, muttering, "and it's not whom. It's what."

    "...What?" asked Eärcúlinta, as he finally stopped chuckling. His sister rolled her eyes, and moved closer to her brother, trying to make sure he heard what she was going to say.

    "Yes. What, not whom. Not a person, an event, Linta," as she tried to poke her brother on the forehead (he dodged), "haven't you heard the news in Tirion?"

    The ellon curled his eyebrows, trying to think of identifying said event, "the boat festival?" Menellinda shook her head in denial, "grandfather's birthday?" another denial.

    A slight widening of his eyes showed Eärcúlinta's realization, "are you talking about the upcoming Aiwenare Gala? The one with the hedgerow labyrinth event to pursue the youngest Aiwenare (Fëapoldië)?"

    "Yes! None other than that, of course," Menellinda affirmed, nodding.

    "I suppose Amrod would be happy that you've moved on to other targets," Eärcúlinta added nonchalantly, as he leaned back against the side of the boat, lightly smirking, not appearing interested in the least of the upcoming gala. Earlier in the day, he had already made clear his disgust at the notion of being betrothed to anyone, regardless if it was the House of Fingolfin or the House of Manquento. Unlike much of Tirion, he had no desire to attend the gala.

    It took a few seconds for the raven-haired elleth to comprehend the jibe. Once she did, her cheeks flushed, as she yelled, "you insufferable prat! I'm not trying to court her! I was going to go to the gala to represent... oh I did it again!" Menellinda wished she did could just put her foot in her mouth sometimes.

    Eärcúlinta raised his head from the side of the ship, as he noticed that the sea was oddly calm whenever they spoke. Not paying any heed, he focused his eyes towards his sister, but did not raise his voice like last time, "you were going to represent me in whatever competition they were going to have for their elfin trophy. Then once you somehow were presented the youngest Aiwenare, you'd tell her that you represented me and give her a miniature boat-in-glass, signed unknowingly by yours truly, as a token of goodwill?"

    Menellinda gaped at him like a fish in disbelief, asking "how did you know? (Though the signature is a good idea!)"

    "Trade secret," responded Eärcúlinta, smirking. Then his smirk turned into a frown, "why do you betray me so, sister? Did I not say I do not seek any type of betrothal?"

    The elleth put her hands defensively up, shaking her head quickly, "no no. It's just that..." her eyes softened, as she tried to best express her words, "you can always refuse afterwards. It's just... You are the best brother in all of Arda, and I'm tired of hearing about those suitors when I know any sane elleth should choose you over all the rest. Why else do you think that Vanyar elleth was attracted to you?" she paused, as she held his hands, "even if you're a prat sometimes."

    Eärcúlinta stayed silent, and calmly listened.

    Inside, however, he was panicking.

    You too, Menel? I can't let that happen, he thought in exasperation. If I say she can't go, Menel will go anyway. Mother would also probably use Sister's idea as an opportunity to force my hand in a possible betrothal. The only way to prevent this is... Ugh, I will regret this. But I have no choice.

    "Please do not go in my stead. I do not want you to partake in an event to chase a elfin trophy," He held up her hand before his sister would throw another tantrum, "but... and I will probably regret this, if you really want to go to this gala, I will accompany you."

    "Really?" Menellinda squealed in delight, then she promptly closed the distance and hugged her brother tightly, much like earlier in the day, midst his halfhearted concerned mutters.

    "Yes... Really. Now let us, or rather, me, return to fishing," Eärcúlinta said, eyes towards the sea as he wondered whether he just made the biggest mistake in his life...


    Last edited by Rivvy Elf; 08/Aug/2016 at 09:23 AM. Reason: Fixing Typos
    Look at my icon, now look at my title, look at my name, now look at me. Oh wait, you can't see me...

  57. Ercassie's Avatar
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    #157

    Friend or Foe (Flashback)



    Pharak Halsad and Domanol Raxelilta
    with Erfaron Silugnir

    Osgilliath, Gondor
    Third Age 2992
    (Approx 22 years ago)

    Never had the skies cast such a melancholy as they did that day. Although they threatened a tumultuous downpour, yet none was quite realised, but hung heavy with foreboding all about. As if the Man were not already plagued by foul misfortune. As if he were not far enough from home and hearth without this further malady to contend with.

    Clinching his damp cloak about his weary bones, he sought the fortitude to keep his whole together. A place like this could drive a Man from his senses. A place like this, where wet stone wept tears of grief over crumbled walls, where wind tore through gusty passages that screamed their protest; a place where shadows licked their shifting tongue about the corner of each widened eye.

    This was the city which had once been named for stars. Now it staggered upon props of ravaged might and groaned with every assault of the cold dark water that loitered like malignant gates to further murky gloom. It was a kingdom thick with ghosts, with death, with grief. A perfect cemetery where hope came to surrender. Where the strength of past youth and majesty was intermingled with the travesty of a slow stagnant demise.

    Osgiliath was a corpse left out to fester, and all foul things that traversed this way took chance to lay their droppings on its skeletal remains.

    A wise man would not have chosen to stall here for any length of time. There again, a wise man would not have found himself driven here, like an errant sheep mustered on against all good sense by the stench of a hungry wolf. The chase had prevailed for so long now, he had lost all mastery of time. But he had tested and tried his hunter a chance half dozen times. He knew now just what embers lit those fierce eyes. He knew what was coming for him.

    He knew that here of all places, he might turn the tables and observe the predator become the prey. So now, against the misery and dripping of moments that tautened nerve, he waited. He shivered. He gathered his strength. He was going to need it before very long and yet the hours proved cruel, stretching his nerve as though on a rack.

    Distractedly, a grimy hand made vain attempt to cast away the worst of muddied stains that cloaked his surcoat. Fortunately for him, the now soiled hue of cloth was yet a mottled pitch of night, but the pale insignia of a single white tree, crowned by stars, was come to be horribly distorted by the ordeal that such garb and it's proud owner had endured.

    It was not over yet.

    The threat emerged without fanfare or evident forewarning. A shadow haunting the fringe of his meagre camp. Startling from where he squatted, the pursued sought to believe it the fragments of a fraught mind alone, though fear convinced him to insure a second look. This proved irrefutable. And slowly, warily, he reached for the immense sword that might save his life.

    It was an imposing weapon. The rich inlaid design of burnished geometric carvings spoke of the simple but sharp angles which shaped the blade's dangerous form. Dwarvish-made, and ages old; ancient runes ran the length of the collossal double-edged tongue of metal. It had been named 'Reaper', for it culled the tides of foes as a scythe may shear crops. It was the heirloom of the Raxelilta, all the way from the First Age.


    Now he awoke the perilous artifact which rumbled in escape from the analogous scabbard, the low grumble of a mountain. Grace accompanied the fluid passage that the metal beat then, through that helpless air between the two contenders. The determined quarry mastered an array of lines and shapes that should rightly have mesmerised his relentless hunter.

    "Stay back," he gave due warning, and there should be no misunderstanding the hostility that lathered his expression. "It was a mistake for you to have come after me .."

    "You made the mistake," the lurking assailent returned, stepping from the shadows now quite unmarked by concern. He was daubed by the winds of great soiled crimson robes that smothered most of his form and his face. Only his eyes were visible. They shone enduring as a tiger, above his vice-like grip, but there was no sword at his hand. He had killed so many by this point in his young life that he no longer found issue with the harassment of foreplanning. "Did you honestly give thought that I would not come to claim what is owed ?"

    The swordsman took a wary step to balance his subtle try at retreat. The hunter recognised a desperation in the whites of the eyes of his prize. With what appeared to be a shrug against all consideration and all common sense, the robed figure trusted to surprise and dashed his body weight firmly toward his defensive rival. The blade arced courageously toward a perilous felling blow, but won only a veering stumble forward as the heft of steel carried one unused to bearing of the burden. A crippling knee in the stomach brought the simple showman to his knees, the facade that he might weave to disconcert his foes now properly unveiled.

    The armed man's fingers moved with panic then, the sword forsaken to the crackled flagstones as he clawed at the broad arms which threw him hard toward the ground. His throat encased mercilessly within his attacker's grasp, he struggled against all likelihood to breathe, but for all that, he had not given up yet, winding his right leg about that of his assailant. He endeavoured to trip him. He succeeded.

    They both fell without grace and hit the ground together. The man garbed of Gondor was strong but his antagonist was stronger and, with a twist he managed to climb astride his quarry, heaving thighs pressing close and firm. The defender's arms were pinned uselessly, out of harm's way, as the mere weight of the assassin crushed his chest. His target's head was writhing now, his mouth gaping like a fish on dry land, gasping for air.

    The desperate face was looking up at what might be his last look at the sky, was gradually changing to an unhealthy pallour, even as he kicked, and struggled. The cloaked man then decided to lift the fellow's head, even as he strangled him, and repeatedly banged it back against the ground. The unhappy soul beneath him could not make so much as a whimper, as cconsciousness began to waiver.

    Still it seemed to last forever and the already troubled man's head swam about all the blurring and swirling lights and colours which harrassed his vision. His eyes rolled and fell closed even while his skull felt like it was caving in. He could fight no longer, recognising his resolve forsake him. Every inch of his body was pinned and wracked with ever increasing pain. His antagonist rained down blows upon him, unrestrainedly. He saw naught but the face in reach, that grew more bloodied, though no less provocative.

    As desperation fell in sweat beads down his forehead, the struggling swordsman gradually surrendered to the darkness which enveloped him in an overwhelming nothing. When he returned to the waking world, he was bound at wrist and ankle.

    He was not the only one.



    "I would have thought that kinslaying had fallen far from fashion by this day and age,"

    A dispassionate voice caused both the prisoners to pay heed of their observer. The Elf leaned against a low, discoloured wall, tearing fleshy chunks out of a ripe green apple, as he entertained regard of the two Men.

    "You have no proper conception of .." the man with now more so dishevelled robes began to refute, in earnest. Mocking laughter drowned out further attempts to defend their recent actions.

    "You have a beard," Erfaron reined in his mirth and took notice, leaned closer to reveal the man's face entire. He stared hard into the fierce eyes of the flailing Mortal, raising but a single eyebrow in amusement at both captives raced to be the first to struggle free, or at least upright. "You have appalling manners also," he remarked, offhandedly.

    "You are of the Eldar !" remarked the other, bloodied, mortal. "I do require your assistance," he ducked his head into his neck as far as he could manage in the way of reverance. "I was raised to trust in the vast knowledge of your fair folk. Pray, counsel me now. For this fiend is both a villain and a brigand."

    The Elf approached the man so representative of Gondor, and seemed to consider the fine words the Mortal spoke, albeit through a face the worse for wear. Silver hair hung low as the Immortal considered the sword that he had confiscated.

    "That is a sword long of my line, and fated to deal justice upon them deserving," the disarmed Swordsman failed to know when to cease with speaking, even as the Elf ignored him. "I was engaged in retrieving this treacherous cur," resumed the narrative, " who has but recently escaped our dungeons. He is a spy and a murderer. I know my superiors would be heartened to observe you aiding in his recapture."

    The other man liberated several choice and colourful curses in a foreign tongue. The Elf stared hard into his countenance as though to judge him personally for the crimes alleged. Some short time later, he turned back to the awaiting prosecutor.

    "For the love of Elbereth, will you not return my sword, so that I may see him back to the White City, and set right all wrongs ?" begged that passionate young Man. "Look, see to his wrists if you do not believe me. There abide the tell-tale remains of having long seen iron rub skin raw. He is an enemy to all Gondor and .."

    "The sword is his, not yours," the Elf shook back his star-lit mane and passed his sentence, taking up the side of the unlikely, surprising them both. Once again both Men found his every action of startled intrigue. "And you are handing me a lie .." he pressed a foot against the despoiled white tree emblem that shrouded the bloodied man's true motive.

    "Surely you are joking !" came Pharak's half-choked protest, but moments afterward.

    "Do I appear to be raked by amusement ?" Erfaron would have an answer of the more outraged Mortal.


    "Look at all evidence !" the disbelief was of such quality that any other might have stalled to reconsider all the evidence. "He has wronged folk and served time accordingly. Shall you in all honesty elect to favour .."

    "I have looked never to wrong Gondor," Domanol raised his shaggy head and stared defiantly from first his nemesis to the strange oddity who had chanced upon them.

    "Nobody escapes the foes of Gondor !" Pharak scoffed, resorting to the notorious rumour that bred fear throughout that nation. "Those captured are killed or if eventually let loose, only once they have converted through foul devices of torture ... then they are set amongst us and .."

    It took naught for Silugnir to cut the ropes which bound the true/desguised Ranger. Domanol sat up, and then rubbed his dirtied and sure ruined wrists.

    "How is it that you knew he was lying ?" the Gondorian could not help but to ask. "And what does an Elf here in Man country ? Are you lost ?"

    "You have a beard," he was reminded, as the Elf found a strange tinny version of his voice. Erfaron glanced one last again about the face of his old colleague, Yestin ... the features were so similar. But for the beard. Of course, the sword ? He would know that sword anywhere. Though he had seen it not since the second age ...

    "The foes of Gondor let you go ?" his eyebrow resumed heights of suspicion, despite his alliance.

    "She ..., I mean they, we, " the Gondorian belatedly corrected his slip. "It is a long story," he sighed, already weary. "I must to Minas Tirith and bring this fool to answer for the death of .. so very many," he regretted. "He led us to believe Tir Ethraid had been occupied by foes in desguise as Rangers. Which was true, ... but that the real Rangers had already resolved the invasion ...." Domanol sighed, and accepted the sword which the Elf thoughtfully returned to him.

    "You led the foes of Gondor to slay Rangers in a Gondorian fort ?" Erfaron sought to understand what the man was admitting to. "I thought the strongholds of your people more steadfast than to be breached by .."

    "I once served a summer at Tir Ethraid, ... before my sojourn south," came the disgraced Ranger's confession. "I learnt of a less-known way for folk to enter unobserved. I .. I showed them the way in, but honest I do swear, we thought we were reclaiming the fort. It was done to prove the necessary assistance of a rebel company fixed from Harondor. It would have not ..., did not ..., serve us any to kill those whom we sought to broker an alliance with ! Those folk I led within were going to the aid of Gondor, as did the Rohirrim years ago ..." The young man hung his head. "I shall take Pharak back to Minas Tirith and explain to the Steward. It was a most grievous accident but no harm was the intent. At least ...."

    A satchel bulging with apples struck the remorseful young man square in the face. When it was cast aside, in favou of confusion, the Elf stood over the surprised Gondorian, and there was such a look about his pale eyes as though he had heard this tale some place else before. Or a similar strain of it's like.

    It seemed to pain him though the Man could not imagine why. The Immortal was not of Gondor ... Elves simply did not abide there in this lifetime of Men.

    "You told them how to enter secretly," Erfaron reiterated, in a low grimace "and they then felled your own countrymen ..." The pale stranger closed his eyes for a long moment and struggled to recover his gaze over Yestin's descendent.

    "The steward shall decide my fate," Domanol resolved, "and his also." The conversant pair glanced toward Pharak who was snaking his way toward the satchel, his bound hands grasping for a knife. Rolling his eyes, the Elf stood, and crossed the small expanse between them. He sank a foot firmly over the reaching palm of the underhand Umbarian, who thrashed in soundless complaint.

    "No," Silugnir made a decision of his own. "Your people shall not comprehend, or else forgive you. Trust you me. For it is the widows and the orphans of those soldiers you would face upon return. And the steward is not renowned for his leniency."

    "What then ?" Domanol posed the question, "I can not just never return ! Whatever should become of him, for mere start ? I can not let him go ! Not after he played us all, and wove the web of foul deceit from the first. If you only knew .." He lamented. "I am such a fool. I deserve whatever comes of me, for .."

    "No," the pale elf was unmoved on that matter. "Fret not overmuch of him. I have lived not a too sheltered life. There are .... options. There are always ways and means .."

    "What is an Elf doing in these parts, regardless ?" Domanol ignored one query in the name of satisfying a second.

    "I followed the wind and chased the merry stars," the Elf declared, ambiguous, as he crossed both his arms and simultaneously released his torment of Pharak. "Watch him ..." he advised his new accomplice.

    "By which I take to mean that yes, you are lost," Domanol found unlikely amusement in the revelation. Even as he pressed the scowling Umbarian between two stone steps.

    "I have no particular place to be, and no fixed time therefore to arrive anywere," came the flat retort in answer. "I thus can not be lost. I merely am."

    "You 'am' lost ?" the Ranger scoffed.

    "Is it that you want my assistance or not so much ?" Erfaron set a threat. "I forget .." he ignited a look that spoke of some brewing storm. "Light a fire," he gave direction.
    Last edited by Ercassie; 11/Mar/2016 at 08:50 PM.

  58. Rivvy Elf's Avatar
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    #158

    The Mother's Boy- Part 1

    The Mother's Boy- Part 1




    Menelote, Eärcúlinta, and Menellinda
    On the way to the Aiwenare Estate
    Years of the Trees- During Chapters 6 and 7 in Ercassie's Of Fire and Ice (with Ercassie's Permission)
    Semi-Private RP


    It was a little ruby: a red gem chiseled into the shape of a diamond, as if withstanding a thousand precise cuts and marks to form something marred completely from the stone whence it came, yet with all the perfection in Valinor. For it was precious to the recipient, not the ruby, no, but due to who it came from. The pendant silver necklace was just a bonus.

    Calloused fingers, from the handling of instruments, fastening of ropes, weaving of nets, among other activities, made its way on the top of the ruby, located on the top bosom of its recipient, as she gave a tender caress to the bottom. The eyes of said owner, however, were forwards, peering into the future- which happened to be the looming Aiwenare grounds and manse.

    Menelote, her mother named her. And thus her name was set. For her father, though also giving a name towards his daughter, did not feel the need to call her anything than what her mother called her. The father loved the mother so, and cared very little for the relatively young rules of tradition. The parents were lowborn, after all, a fisher-woman and a blacksmith to create the hooks and fishing spearheads; no urgent need to set a standard for the rest of the Teleri. For similar reasons, Menelote grew up with a spear at her side, for the purposes of fishing. The finest spear in all of Alqualonde, or so her father said. She also won her husband through the spear, a recollection which tinted her cheeks slightly red, though her expression remained steady with her demure yet confident relaxed smile.

    Of course there were times when her smile turned into small frowns of annoyance. There were the times in her childhood and adolescense where people mistook her for a silver-haired elleth, of a similar age. Similar names, they said, haughtily swinging the excuse when Menelote frowned, correcting them. Different pronounciation, different spelling, different syllables, she would correct, her annoyance reflected by the tilt of her head upwards and a frown on her lips. Should they chuckle or disregard her... well there was a reason why she was considered the best spear by her father, for it required a strong grip. A grip that could shift knuckles the opposite direction they were meant to be. None would believe that Menelote was the reason why a few arrogant ellons and elleths went to their healing facilities with dislocated and fractured fingers. For she was seen as ever calm, ever relaxed, and ever in control of her feelings. All of which were true.

    Occasionally she wondered how her silver-haired friend fared. Thus, when such inquisitive desires arose, she would carefully spell out the name of said friend, Menellótë, on parchment envelopes containing letters of whatever content came to mind. She did not currently have a desire to send mail to her, as Menelote was currently focused on securing the happiness of her children: the current priority, Eärcúlinta.

    Elfs were immortal, and their population on Aman would only grow. Disregarding the tensions between the sons of Finwë, there was bound to be competition regarding the remaining lands of Aman, on who could live where, who could fish there, complex issues that could be easily solved with a bag of gems and pearls. It was vital that her children marry well, as bags of precious stones did not grow on trees, lest she may have to... send more elfs to healing establishments. Furthermore, few things were happier than a marriage and raising offspring, as Menelote caressed the ruby necklace given by her husband.

    "My dear son, stand still," as Menelote noted knots on the back of her son's long raven-hair, a trait shared by both. Prior to her request, Eärcúlinta had been talking with Menelote's second child, equally as precious, Menellinda.

    The ellon stood still, and asked without turning his head, "yes, mother?"

    In response, Menelote quickly weaved her hands through his son's hair, midst the quiet groan of the latter and the giggles of Menellinda, clearing and straightening the knots with but her fingers. When she was done, she patted the top of his head in approval. Eärcúlinta, in indirect response, placed her right hand on the shorter Menellinda's head, ruffling her long hair to the protestations of the latter.

    "Oh my dear," said a demurely smiling Menelote as she focused her fingerwork on her daughter, to the quiet yelping of the latter, "what would other people think of your affections with your sister. Surely they would misunderstand..."

    "Mother, why should I care what they think?" asked Eärcúlinta with a slight eyebrow raise. Good, thought Menelote as she patted her daughter's head as she was done fixing her hair (to the latter's protestation).

    The mother maintained her expression, however, looking into her son's, then her daughter's eyes, finally back to her son's eyes, and replying, "Do you like hearing gossips of incest?" she paused as Eärcúlinta and Menellinda both grimaced at the thought, "as I thought. You do not, which is why I am accompanying the both of you to this Aiwenare festivity. Somebody has to correct those misconceptions."

    "Father would rough them up," Menellinda added, "I wish he were here, for I desire for him to give me a boar-back ride."

    Menelote's smile grew into a little grin, then she gave a plain look at Eärcúlinta, as if warning him not to carry her sister into the Aiwenare estate. Her son averted her gaze and looked around the path they were walking. The mother focused her kind expression to Menellinda, "he's busier than ever, preparing for more military drills from Lord Fingolfin." the daughter gave a silent pout, until the mother said, "I will carry you, my precious daughter."

    With that, she squatted, as Eärcúlinta smiled. Menellinda squealed in delight, yelling, "I love you, mother!", jumping and placing her arms above her mother's shoulders. Secured, Menelote rose, as if she was not carrying an elleth but a light weight and said, "Let us go before we are late to the festivities, Linta and Linda."

    But the demure and confident smile Menelote carried, as the family entered the Aiwenare grounds, hid the machinations of the grand scheme formulating in her head. For she sent an unsigned letter prior to the gala to Lanyaure, asking for a private audience. Though the raven-haired son had told his mother of his dissent regarding betrothals, the mother had to secure his son's happiness and their family's future.

    It's for your own good, after all.

    ~~~

    "...and why will you not participate in the maze, Eärcúlinta?" Menelote asked, giving a small frown and a slight tilt of her head upwards towards her son. Her eyes did not glisten as she gave what appeared to be a cold glare. Menellinda looked worriedly at her mother and her brother, for it took much to even cause a negative change in demeanor in Menelote. Eärcúlinta met her cold gaze and returned one of his own. Menelote's fingers twitched, though she did not appear to change expression in response to her son's uncharacteristic disobedience, as both eyes locked together in a silent duel.

    To Menellinda, the chatter of guests, chirps of birds, and the light from Laurelin itself were drowned out by the pair engaging in their glares. The raven-haired daughter unconsciously shivered, as if the room temperature lowered to an uncomfortable degree, as the pair did not speak. Her stomach, though filled with delightful morsels and pastries, now felt emptier than the void. The air itself appeared to condense between the pair as the contest of wills continued. Although this only lasted a few seconds, it felt like an eternity.

    "I will choose who I will marry, and so should she," Eärcúlinta responded curtly, breaking the deafening silence, "furthermore, 'tis not a proper or good way to obtain a partner for a ball,... mother." He then broke the connection with her mother and shifted his eyes towards a nearby red peony.

    But Menelote maintained her steely gaze at her son, as if trying to continue an unspoken conversation. Menellinda once again looked at her brother, than gave a concerned, pleading look towards her mother.

    "So be it," she finally said, as Menellinda released a breath she did not realize she kept in, the mother turned her gaze to Menellinda, softening her eyes and turning her frown into a welcoming demure smile, "run along, my precious daughter. Mother has to find and meet someone now."

    The mood lifted, as the chit-chatter of guests, birds, and Laurelin's light returned. The daughter smiled an nodded, turning around initially as Menelote retreated her smile as she turned her attention to her firstborn, who was gazing with a furrowed brow at anything other than his mother. She resumed her cold glare towards Eärcúlinta.

    "I will leave to meet somebody," she said in a cold tone, "... son". Menelote then took the glare off of her son as she carried her usual demure, confident smile, walking further inside the Aiwenare estate through the many guests.

    As soon as she turned her back to Eärcúlinta, he gave a narrowed, sad gaze at the back of his mother's head. Releasing a sigh, he walked away, ignoring the group of suitors preparing to enter the hedgerow maze to compete for the hand of the Aiwenare's youngest daughter.

    ~~~

    On the Roof of the Aiwenare Manse



    "Hehe, there were ladders you know," Menellinda giggled, left hand covering her chin and right hand pointing at the branches and leaves stuck in Eärcúlinta's hair. The raven-haired ellon put her hand through his hair in response. Multiple times, as branches, leaves, and a few butterflies fell out of his hair.

    "Could you not have given me a hint, Menel?" he asked, annoyance creeping into his voice as he wiped off the dirt on the back of his hands, "some of the plants and trees here are not meant for climbing."

    His sister nodded at that, "Clearly," she added, smiling in mirth, "like when you tried to climb the vine, only for it to snap and you fell into rosebushes."

    "Please do not remind me," Eärcúlinta mockingly pleaded, rolling his eyes as he pulled out the remaining thorns from his shoes, "It was most embarrasing." His eyes slowly shifted to Menellinda's with an unreadable expression, "do you know how much trouble you're going to be in when Mother finds out?"

    His sister giggled again, then she quickly halted her mirth and looked around frantically, checking to see if anyone else was on the roof of the manse, "will you cover for me, brother? But, can we just stay here for a while?" She then promptly laid down, stomach first, on the garden grasses of the roof, sighing in contentment.

    Your moods change as quickly as ever, thought Eärcúlinta, rolling his eyes, as he laid down next to his sister on the grass. The top of the Aiwenare manse, like its surrounding gardens, was also a location for thriving plants. The pair lay on the verdant grasses, and behind them were a yellow and white tree symbolizing Laurelin and Telperion. It was high enough where the any onlooker could see all of the estate, and some of the land beyond. There they lay, for a few seconds, the ellon witnessing the beginnings of the maze race, while the elleth's feet moving rhythmically up and down softly on the grass.

    "...I hated that, Linta," Menellinda said, as her eyes drooped, but did not meet her brother's turned gaze, "you should've listened to Mother." Eärcúlinta opened his mouth as if to make a response... only to slowly close it as he turned his gaze back to the half dozen suitors. Seconds passed, as an uncomfortable silence filled the time, as both had their attention on different sights.

    "You would win, just look at them, Linta,"she continued.

    The ellon gave a small laugh, "they are making fools out of themselves. Is this really how the Aiwenare chooses their suitors? Pick the most foolish one?"

    "You could have made it brilliant, Linta!" Menellinda ernestly cried, as she turned to her brother, "I don't think you would look foolish!"

    He scoffed, though he tried to imagine what he would have done, as he noticed two suitors tripping and losing the trace of the kite, "perhaps I would've climbed the hedges and ran to the kite," he conceded, "but still! I am suspicious of this event, what does this event have to do with going to a ball?"

    "I... don't know. Maybe it's to show the suitor can keep up with the daughter's dance moves?" Menellinda hypothesized.

    "I doubt that," Eärcúlinta said, as his eyes tracked the kite to its owner, "... in fact I doubt the child flying the kite is the prize the suitors are looking for." he then widened his eyes in recognition as the ruse suddenly unfolded itself in front of his eyes. His lips quivered, and he began to laugh.

    "Hahaha, how brilliant!" he cried in mirth, Menellinda looked at his brother in confusion, "... and look at the fellow (Tirindo). I think that's her brother, stomping off to find... to find the Aiwenare daughter, hahaha!" The raven-haired archer, after a few more seconds of laughter, breathed and coughed to regain his composure.

    It took a few more seconds, as Menellinda suddenly realized what the youngest Aiwenare just did, she placed her hand on her cheek in shock, saying "oh no she didn't!"

    And so the pair witnessed the events on that day, as the light shifted from Laurelin to Telperion. And there they remained, gossiping about the day's festivities and wondering what the future lay for the Aiwenare family...

    Until the hands of Menelote eventually gripped their shoulders.

    The chilling smiling mask on their mother's face concealed the planned fate and punishment the mother would later inflict upon her children.





    Last edited by Rivvy Elf; 19/Feb/2016 at 08:13 AM. Reason: Post finally done... until I correct the next typo!
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  59. Rivvy Elf's Avatar
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    #159

    The Mother's Boy- Part 2

    The Mother's Boy- Part 2



    Menelote, Eärcúlinta
    Home in Tirion, Valinor
    During the Years of the Two Trees
    Set Immediately Following the First Interaction of Eärcúlinta and Fëapoldië

    The walk back was entirely silent, as mother and son reached the grounds of their one-story house in Tirion. Unlike the Aiwenare manse, the residence of the raven-haired family was fairly modest in comparison. Sporting neither noble name nor grand claim to acres and acres of land, their territory markedly offered a stark contrast. The house itself was made of wood, as were the doors. There were no glass windows, as there were both covered and uncovered openings to let air inside the house. Walking to the front door, the son gently placed the fruit and vegetables near it. He placed a hand on the doorknob, about to open the door. But his hand lay still on the wooden knob, as he looked back at his mother, who carried the bread and meat. The accusatory stare lasted a few seconds, though Menelote's expression remained a smile as she calmly asked,

    "Well? What is it, Sailamordo*?" Menelote asked, using his amilesse (mother-name) when the pair were in private, as she dropped the bags of bread and meat next to the fruit and vegetables, "I trust you have not forgotten how to use a doorknob?" Menelote wore a light blue silk dress that flowed whenever a breeze passed through her, accentuating her fit hourglass-body.

    He narrowed his glance. Earlier in the day there was a seemingly 'coincidental' rendezvous with the Aiwenare matriarch and her youngest daughter. As Laurelin waned and Telperion waxed, the two families shopped together. While both matriarchs talked and gossiped together as if they were old friends, the offsprings behavior towards each other told a much different a story. Though both mothers tried to encourage raven and red-haired offspring to converse, it was akin to expecting a bonfire from pouring water onto a campfire.

    Eärcúlinta, who wore a simple evergreen garb, opened his mouth and questioned "why? Mother, why? Why do you want to force this... this..."

    "Perfect union?" Menelote finished, as she ignored the glare from her son, "besides the obvious benefits of marrying into the Aiwenare household," Eärcúlinta began to rolled his eyes, but the mother continued, "you two are perfect for each other."

    "...what are you saying, mother?" he uttered aghastly, "we barely even know each other! You should've seen the look on her face," the son then pointed to himself in emphasis as his voice softened, the tone betraying his hurt, "you... you should have seen the look on my face..."

    But the spear-maiden tilted her head, as her smile disappeared, "I saw your future, Sailamordo. The fire in her hair, the fire in her heart. Those are what I saw. And I see you as the calm wind that will nurture both yourself and her."

    A fleeting thought appeared in Eärcúlinta's mind whether the red hair and fiery heart truly meant Fëapoldië or some other one. But that thought dissipated quickly, overruled by the disbelief of her mother having such a vision.

    "What are you saying?" he asked, his mouth quivering as the son could not believe his ears, "I do not believe you, mother. Not in this. Not at all."

    "You do not believe my motherly intuition?" Menelote asked, her expression remaining neutral, "I understand it may seem awkward at first, but such things take time. Do you think your father and I fell in love at first sight? No. But eventually we fell in love. Wine takes time to develop, as does romance."

    His parents met on the shores of Alqualonde. His father had an appetite for a certain fish which only appeared when Laurelin and Telperion shone together. By chance, this specific fish trade was specialized by Menelote's family. Each day the two met, conversed for a while. Then one day, his father came not for fish but for a certain polearm. The rest was history. But unlike his parents, the meeting with Fëapoldië left both a bitter and sour taste in his mouth, as if eating a fruit well before it ripened. Though she was indeed beautiful, whatever personality she showed marred her image in the raven-haired elf's eyes, enough that he found no want to speak to her again, willingly.

    The son took a step forward towards his mother, "yet I have no desire to even know this lady. None at all, unlike you and father's romance!" he implored.

    "Then you will. And that will be that," Menelote said in finality, as she stepped towards the door, to the side of Eärcúlinta in order open it. She placed her hand on top of her son's, trying to turn. The son, however, put his other hand on top of Menelote's.

    "No," Eärcúlinta curtly replied, his eyes staring into the cold gaze of her mother's. He was an adult now, his 50th birthday mere weeks ago; it was time for him to step out of his mother's shadow.

    Menelote frowned, but did not remove her trapped hand, she spoke in a slightly louder tone, "it is for your own good, there's nothing you can do about it. Now open the door, son."

    "I'll fight you."

    The mother blinked, and her mask fell off to reveal a disbelieving look.

    "You will what?" she asked, in a higher pitch.

    "I will fight you. If I win, this union stops. If I lose, it continues," the son declared, his hands still covering the doorknob with Menelote's stuck in between. Though he did not want to do it, though most likely he would lose, Eärcúlinta had faith that he still had a small chance to win, small it may have been.

    That faith immediately evaporated a few moments later.


    At first, the mother opened her mouth, as if about to voice an objection. Then, she closed her mouth, boring her eyes into her son's. She glared with an intensity that could melt skin off the bone. Eärcúlinta blinked, being reminded that Menelote truly was the strongest person he knew. She could grind salt with her hands, break bones like they were loaves of bread, posessed the martial ability to make a fool of his father, who once guarded a young Fingolfin. Beads of sweat began appearing on his brow as tried to ward off the attempted intimidation. The odds of Eärcúlinta winning were growing dimmer by the second.

    "...I foresaw wisdom and heroism in your life, which is why your amilesse is Sailamordo," Menelote began, as she immediately removed her hand from her son's grasp as easily as a sword sliding off a sheath, "I clearly should have named you something akin to idiotic weakling," her other hand clenched into a fist as her knuckles audibly cracked, "you have no might, and you made a foolish mistake."

    Menelote then turned her back from her son, yet Eärcúlinta could sense the ferocity emitting from her face. He heard her yell "we fight in the backyard. Prepare yourself, fool, for I will not go easy on you."

    The son gulped, as a sudden weight entered his body, making it hard for him to walk. This was not going to be a training session; he no longer was a child. This was going to be a fight with one of the best spears in all of Valinor.

    ~~~
    Duel

    Behind the relatively modest and plain home was a larger backyard, where various training weapons, tools, bulls-eyes, pull-up and parallel bars scattered throughout the perimeter. Within the backyard there was a large grassy square, outlined by white paint, where Eärcúlinta spent many of the latter days of his adolescence training. As he turned the corner of the house to enter the backyard, he was immediately greeted by a horizontal staff darting across his body. On instinct, he placed his hands ahead to catch it a split-second before the wooden staff could collide with his ribs. Staggering back, he breathed out a quick sigh of relief, as he looked ahead.

    His mother, Menelote, from a distance of about 50 feet, still had her right foot extended, pointed at her son's chest. She sent the staff across the yard into the son's throbbing fingers with only a kick! Eärcúlinta, though vastly inexperienced with the staff, now carried it with his right hand holding the middle of the 6 foot staff, carrying it perpendicular to his body. As he walked closer to the white outline of the square, her mother spoke,

    "You thought this would be a simple brawl? No," giving a mocking condescending smirk towards Eärcúlinta, who averted his eyes, "I'd rather not harm that pretty face. You do have a scheduled meeting, after all."

    The look then turned into a glare as her son gazed at anywhere but Menelote; she shouted "you will look at me when I speak to you, young man!" Extending her arms, the staff being held vertically by her right hand, she continued her diatribe, "you wanted this fight after all. So look at your opponent's eyes, disobedient whelp!"

    The eyes of Eärcúlinta finally absorbed the angry smelting eyes of her mother, "that's better," he heard. The hand holding his staff shivered uncontrollably, as he struggled to maintain eye contact.

    Her mother held her left hand in front of her face, forming three fingers, "you have three tries to have me flat on the grass. Do it one time, and you win. However, if I lay you flat three times, you lose. Understand?" she asked. The raven-haired son however did not respond, as his face was frozen, as if he beheld a sight that both terrified and amazed him.

    "I'll take that as a yes," responded a grim Menelote. She put both of her hands on the staff, her right hand stabilizing it near the bottom third of the 6 foot staff left hand wrapped around the middle. Without warning, she rushed at Eärcúlinta without even taking a single breath, as quick as lightning, beginning her opening staff twirl movements to disorient her opponent.

    To the misfortune of Eärcúlinta, he only responded when he saw the staff sweeping towards the right side of his waist. The son blocked diagonally just a split-second before impact, and the vibration of the sweep itself hurt his hands. But, as if Menelote expected the block, she used the momentum to rotate her body 360 degrees the opposite direction, shifting her hands towards the bottom of the staff to maximize the length, delivering a sweep to her son's unprotected left side.

    The blow felt like a miniature log burrowed its way across his hip, as he yelled in pain, the blow forcing him to rotate with his back towards his mother. Immediately, he felt the weight of her mother's knee crashing into the middle of his back, as he fell face first into the grass. He felt her mother use his fallen body as a platform to somersault on and across his body. Eärcúlinta tried to push himself up, only for his mother stomp the upper-half of his back, sending him back to the ground.

    "2 more tries, Sailamordo," her mother said, her voice not even showing the effects of the burst of energy she exerted. Eärcúlinta heard her mother calmly retreat from his body. As he opened his eyes, his left side and back throbbed in pain. But still, he pushed through and stood up, audibly breathing, trying to gather his strength and concentration. He glared at his mother, who gave him a 'come-here' gesture with her left index finger, as if he were a pet dog. Her left foot faced him, and her staff was on the opposite side of her body. Now was his chance!

    Giving a yell, he ran, placed both his hands on the staff, and gave a swinging sweep of his own to Menelote's left-side of her waist. To his surprise, she took the hit full-on. But she also wedged the staff in between her angular body and her left arm. He could see the grimace of pain on her mother's face, only to be swiftly replaced by a smirk as her right foot moved forward along with the staff. Too shocked, Eärcúlinta felt his left ankle be struck, like a battering ram through a door, by the staff thrust. The left ankle yanked backwards on collision, forcing his leg to lose its footing on the grass. He fell face first on the ground, tears appearing in his eyes at the bone-vibrating pain. he yelled as he rolled on the grass, eyes shut closed, releasing the staff and clutching his ankle with both of his hands. The tears rolled down from his eyes. He felt that a bump on the ankle already appeared and swelled. Amid the pain, Eärcúlinta heard footsteps, as he saw a hand being offered from his mother. His shivering palm touched her mother's.

    "You can give up if you like," Menelote said, her voice soft. Although she wore a frown, it was more of a look of concern and panic. Her mother? Panicking? But he also saw the look of pity in her eyes, the same caring look she would give him whenever he stumbled as a little child.

    It infuriated him.

    "NO!" the son screamed, swiftly removing his hand from hers and swatting it away from him as he rolled away. With a long exerting grunt, he used his arms and bridged himself up. Hopping on one foot, struggling to put weight on his left, no longer holding his staff, he gave a defiant glare at his mother. "Never!" he yelled.

    Menelote's eyes hardened. The same hand that was slapped away formed into a fist. Eärcúlinta maintained a steely glare at his mother's eyes, even as she walked towards him. He maintained his gaze even as she chambered her fist. He maintained it even as the fist quickly rotated and smote his right cheek, blood forcefully expelled from the other side of his mouth. The world moved closer to the elf, as the side of his head collided with the grass. He saw a diagonal view of his family's fence as his eyes slowly shuttered close, falling into unconsciousness.

    ~~~

    He awoke in his bed. Eyes opening, he saw the form of Menelote, eyes closed sitting on a chair next to the bed. Eärcúlinta squinted a little, seeing more clearly the dried tears on the face of his sleeping mother. He blinked, and closed his eyes as droplets of tears formed from the corners. The son had just forced a beating from his mother. Yet even when she harmed him, his mother healed too. Eärcúlinta's left ankle felt numb, and though his back was sore it no longer felt as if it were on fire.

    "I'm sorry, mother," he whispered. Whether or not she heard, Eärcúlinta knew not, as he fell asleep once more.

    ___

    *Sailamordo means wise warrior/hero. The -mordo part of the word also implies darkness.

    Last edited by Rivvy Elf; 09/Mar/2016 at 08:08 AM. Reason: Putting rest of the part in, along with fixing typos and adding more description
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  60. Rivvy Elf's Avatar
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    #160

    The mother's Boy- Part 2.5: Interlude

    The Mother's Boy- Part 2.5: Interlude



    Menelote, Eärcúlinta (5 Years Old)
    Outside Tirion
    During the Years of the Two Trees, 45 years before Part 2


    "Mother! Mother!" squeaked a toddler, barely 3 feet in height, standing on the roots of a grand silver-grey trunk. The trunk was far thicker and wider than the elf toddler, who tilted a hand underneath his eyes to help him squint as he looked above at the green-silver leaves.

    "A tree! A mallorn tree!" he shouted, pointing at the leaves, as Laurelin's golden light reflected the silver of the mallorn leaf. He turned his head and looked up to the beaming smile of a raven-haired lady.

    She walked closer until she was next to him, patting and playfully ruffling the hair of Eärcúlinta, her son. He closed his eyes, smiling in glee, for he enjoyed the gentle hand warming the top of his head. His hair had yet to reach his shoulders, and after her mother removed her hand, the son gave a cheery-toothed grin towards the mother, who matched it in response. Eärcúlinta then returned his attention towards the gigantic trunk. He leaned on his right foot, his left tiptoed. Then he leaned his body to his left foot, his right tiptoed. Menelote, the mother, rested her left cheek on her left palm, as she gave another warm smile, for it appeared her son was imitating a tree swaying in the wind.

    After several seconds of Eärcúlinta swaying with the tree's branches, the young toddler hopped closer, slowly placing his hand upwards on the trunk. He further slowly leaned his right ear towards it, as if trying to hear the tree's heartbeat. The curious look on Eärcúlinta slowly gave way to a grin, as apparently her son heard something from the tree. Menelote watched him extend his arms outward, hugging what he could of the mallorn tree, as if the tree were his mother.

    Perhaps I have some competition, the raven-haired mother thought in amusement, spotting the gleam of an aged silver nut out of the corner of her eye. Mallorn trees were common in Valinor... just not near their home in Tirion. Those that were in Tirion were on other elfs' property, and often many elfs hung around the mallorn, leaving private... talks with the tree (her son now whispering secret words to the tall plant, as if expecting the tree to understand him), almost impossible. So when Laurelin just started to wax, Menelote and Eärcúlinta traveled outside of the city, where they were the only elfs around, successfully finding a mallorn tree.

    "Linta! Mother is easily jealous. Will you give me a hug as well?" Menelote asked, indeed feeling a slight jealous twinge at thinking of a large tree replacing her. She squatted her knees and extended her arms ahead in welcome. The son turned his head, blinking at his mother. Then a grin appeared on his face as he ran and launched himself to the welcoming embrace. The pair hugged underneath the mallorn tree, Laurelin deciding at that moment to wax a little brighter to illuminate the pair. The mother closed her eyes, as she took the small few seconds savoring the time with her son, fully knowing that sooner than later he was going to grow. But until then, she could enjoy raising and seeing the bright sparkles in her son's eyes every single day in Valinor.

    Before Menelote could take the opportunity to throw her son in the air and catch him, Eärcúlinta released the hug and ran back towards the trunk of the mallorn tree, as he walked around it. The mother rolled her eyes in resigned amusement, and also walked closer to the tree. Right before the raven-haired toddler made a full revolution around the trunk, the aged silver acorn slipped into the pocket of Menelote, who quietly patted the pocket to secure it. Eärcúlinta appeared, wondering for a moment why his mother was patting her pocket. He then shook his head, walked towards his mother and tugged the hem of her dark purple dress.

    "Mother, I want to climb the tree," the toddler said, as he continued tugging, waiting for a response.

    Menelote bent down again, looking at the pleading shiny eyes of her son as she placed a soft hand on her son's head, tenderly brushing his hair with her fingers. She spoke, "why of course, my precious son. Shall I give you a lift-up?"

    Eärcúlinta nodded, beaming happily at his mother. Menelote, squatting, hoisted him up on her shoulders in a seated position. Then the mother easily rose, walking towards the lowest branch she could find. Most of the mallorn's branches were too high up for a normal elf to reach without jumping. The trunk was not the easiest to maintain a hold of and climb either.

    Finding a reasonably low branch, Menelote stopped underneath it, as an eager Eärcúlinta tried but failed to grasp the branch with his short arms. Menelote then said, "you will have to jump, my son."

    Using his mother as leverage, the raven-haired toddler jumped, grabbing a hold of the tree branch and pulling himself up. Menelote beamed in pride; she was around the same age for her first tree-climb.

    "Try climbing higher," she encouraged, seeing her son jump up to grab the next branch, pulling himself up again. Then he jumped once more for another branch.

    A wind then blew through Menelote's hair, as a look of shock graced her features, for the tree also swayed due to the wind.

    "AAAH-!" she heard, and the sound of struck branches and leaves also entered her years. She quickly took a large step forward and dove, hands held out as the weight of her son landed with a thud on her arms.

    "Linta!" Menelote heard herself yell. Eärcúlinta landed face first on the ground, for although most of his body was catched by Menelote, his forehead collided with the hard soil of the Mallorn roots.

    The mother turned her son over, seeing his closed eyes and unmoving face, "Linta!" she cried, as tears began forming in her eyes. She gently shook her son.

    No response.

    "Linta! Linta!" she cried again, voice louder as she shook him more desperately. He still did not move. The mother placed the back of her hand on his forehead, and gave a soft sigh in relief as she felt warmth. She removed it hand and gasped. Red smeared the back of her hand.

    "Blood" she whispered. A teardrop fell from the mother's eyes onto the blood smear.


    ~~~




    Menelote, Eärcolanté, Eärcúlinta
    Home in Tirion
    During the Years of the Trees, Immediately following Part 2

    "Blood" she whispered. Quick panicked breaths suddenly filled her body as her staff fell with a soft thud on the grass. A teardrop fell from the mother's eyes onto the blood smear on the back of her own hand. Her fingers twitched and shook, as she looked in horror at her hands.

    She beat her son.

    She beat her own beloved son! His blood was on her hands. Tears fell from her eyes as she bent on the ground near the fallen body. The grass nearest the side of his face already reddened with blood. The right side of his lips split open, turning the lips a gleaming red. A large bruise already formed on Eärcúlinta's right cheek. Menelote closed her eyes as she moved, placed her palm on his forehead, whispering desperate honeyed words, hoping it would somehow stem the blood flow. Those wounds were just the ones on his face. Who knew how many bruises and bumps were on his back and ankle.

    I'm a monster, she thought, as her concentration broke. She closed her eyes, removing the hand from her son's forehead, unable to stem the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth to the grass. More tears fell on Eärcúlinta's face.

    A hand suddenly placed itself on her shoulder. She intinctively flinched turned around, fists ready to strike whoever was distracting her... only to recognize the dark hair of her husband, Eärcolanté.

    "You're not a monster, my love," said Eärcolanté, looking into the eyes of his wife in a forlorn sad look. He moved towards the feet of his son, as he gently lifted up the trousers concealing the wounded ankle.

    A dawning look of comprehension appeared on her face, to shortly turn into a glare as she felt the greatest temptation to push her husband, "and you did not stop me? I hurt our son and you did not lift a finger to stop? How much did you see?"

    "Everything," he said, noting the glare of Menelote, "I saw and heard while in our mallorn tree." The mallorn tree was located in the front of the house. How did she not notice him in the tree? The soldier of Fingolfin frowned and shook his head, causing Menelote to see what he was looking at. A swollen blood-red bump already appeared from the ankle, and an uncharacteristic gasp was released by Menelote. He continued, "it would have been dishonorable to interfere... We need to get the swelling down first."

    "Honor? Honor?" Menelote repeated in disbelief, as she helped her husband turn Eärcúlinta to the side, "what is honor compared to the life of my boy, my beloved son?" She lifted up the back of his tunic, revealing the purpling bruises and veins on his back.

    A wail came from her lips, as she hovered her hand over each wound. Whatever masks she wore during the duel to conceal her emotions, had long crumbled. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, and she spoke in desperation, "I did this to him. I did it all to him."

    Eärcolanté shifted uncomfortably, as he frowned and looked down towards the earth, "you'd hurt him more had you refused. He's very persistent, you know."

    Menelote shook the shoulders of her husband, "Look me in my eyes!" she commanded, as Eärcolanté stared into the weeping eyes of his wife. She pointed first at the slightly diagonal staff imprint, then the bump from the small of his back, and finally the bruises near the upper back, "I could've shattered his spine!" she yelled, as she dragged her face downwards, smashing her head into Valinor's very earth. "I could've broken his jaw!" she tore a lock of hair from her head, "I... I... could've killed my own son."

    She would've headbutted the ground again had Eärcolanté not siezed and cradled her to his lap, his eyes narrowed in a comforting look, and spoke in a tender tone, "but he's alive. That's all that matters." Menelote paused, considering the words of her husband. For a moment, she nestled herself further into Eärcolanté's comforting arms as she gave a soft sigh.

    Then at once she pushed herself away from him, then stood up on the grass. Menelote did not wipe the tears from her eyes, as she gazed sorrowfully at the prone form of her son.

    "Help me carry him to his room," she said to her husband, though her attention was focused on Eärcúlinta. The spearman nodded, and the mother and father carried the son into the house...

    ~~~

    The healing lasted until Telperion began to wane. When Menellinda came home it was not her anguished shriek and demands on who hurt her brother which struck Menelote. It was seeing the look of utter disappointment in her daughter's eyes that struck the mother's heart. Eärcolanté did his best to distract the young daughter for the rest of the day and night, but the pain and guilt reverberated through Menelote. She sat on a chair next to her son's bed with her eyes closed. She spent most of her energy in healing the wounds of her son, requiring not only time but concentration. It left the mother utterly spent, as dreams of her son as a toddler flittered through her mind. Much like 45 years ago, she sat near a healing Eärcúlinta, ready to tend to his every need.

    "I'm sorry mother," she heard Eärcúlinta whisper, summoning her from the dreamworld. Keeping her eyes closed, she waited until the calm sleeping breaths of her son filled the room.

    Menelote opened up her eyes, as her eyes quivered. She walked over to the right side of his bed, gently stroked a lock of hair hiding the now unblemished cheek.

    "No," she whispered as she neared the sleeping elf, stroking a lock of hair between her fingers, "I'm sorry, my son."

    Menelote tenderly kissed his forehead. Then she walked back to the chair next to his bed, dreaming past memories carrying a sleeping raven-haired elf from the branches of a young mallorn tree.





    Last edited by Rivvy Elf; 15/Mar/2016 at 12:36 PM. Reason: Done for now :). Added more parts, fixing grammar, and formatting
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  61. Rivvy Elf's Avatar
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    #161

    The Tale of a Dog and his Elf- Chapter 1

    The Tale of a Dog and his Elf- Chapter 1




    Alpha Hound, Mother Hound, Puppy
    T.A 2
    Near Gladden Fields
    Massacre


    "Ruff! Ruff ruff!" the Alpha Hound barked at two crows threateningly, as he leaped from corner to corner of a fallen object, a recently dead orc corpse.

    He bared his teeth, "grr," he growled at the birds. With annoyed 'caws', the pair of crows flew off to land on another corpse, as they began feasting on the delectable eyeballs of another orc. Meanwhile, the Alpha Hound panted in excitement, drool falling from the ground from his desire to dive straight into the gut of the orc. He chose this one because this one only wore very light easy to rip clothing. The other orcs donned metal, or were beneath the corpses of the dead heavily armored humans nearby. Although orc meat was tougher and tasted nastier than human meat, meat was meat; his pack wouldn't starve tonight.

    Most of the humans were too heavily armored, so the Alpha would've taken longer to drag them by their ankle anyways. Furthermore, they had a funny 'smell' that was sweeter but shot off warning signals in the hound's instincts. It was as if he was being persuaded by an invisible force not to even touch them. The Alpha Hound sniffed again. One of them was still alive too, but the smell was faint. Probably hidden within the heavily armored corpses of his fellow humans. The canine shifted his focus back on the fallen orc target, its eyes still open, with an arrow lodged deeply inside his chest. The hound wagged its tail eagerly, and began dragging the orc back to his nomadic dwelling in a nearby wood...

    ~~~


    An asleep puppy barely 3 months old unconsciously nestled itself closer to his mother to get more warmth. His brown fur had just started to grow, but his body was yet too thin to secure enough warmth. The Mother Hound rested on her body, carefully trying not to put too much weight on her left hind-leg, her normally upright ears drooping. Her eyes blinked awake a little when she felt the body of her young pup move, but her eyes closed again. It had been days since they last ate, so she had to use much more of her own milk to feed her young pup. All the deer and other animals already fled the fields. It wasn't until an attack from goblins that the pack realized why.

    It was all the fault of those accursed goblins. They not only drove off or killed all the wildlife, they killed most of the pack too. Her brothers and sisters, all dead. Not even a body left to howl over to the white circle in the sky. She and her mate barely escaped, as she carried her 3 month old pup to safety with her teeth. In her haste, her left hind-leg misstep on a rock or branch, causing it to turn unnaturally. She could no longer put much weight on it, as she struggled to travel with her surviving mate. They eventually stopped in a wood, where nearby the stench of a battle still overwhelmed her snout. Hopefully all the goblins were dead.

    She opened her eyes and slowly raised her head as the stench of an oncoming dead goblin combined with the scent of her mate reached her snout. She nudged her snout inside the mid-section of her hound puppy, trying to rouse him awake. The puppy shifted, his eyebrows twitched as the sight of the large light brown fur of his mother entered his eyesight. Opening his jaw wide and releasing a silent yawn, the puppy licked its left and right fore-paws and began scratching his back with them. The Mother wagged her tail, as she turned her silent attention to her incoming mate again.

    The Alpha male entered, its teeth dragging the ankles of a dead orc. The male brought it closer to the rest of his pack as he began happily barking.

    "(Meat is back on our menu!)" he barked.

    The female responded with only a tentative glance at the orc corpse. The puppy, meanwhile, began eagerly panting at the dinner, though he did not leave his mother's side.

    Just as the Alpha male started to rip the goblin's clothes open, he suddenly turned his head northeast. The Mother Hound raised her head and looked too. 7, no, 8 goblins were running directly their way, two with torches.

    "(Run)," she whined.

    The Alpha looked into the eyes of his mate, then resolutely turned his attention back northeast. The goblins were coming closer.

    "(Leave me. Take our pup and run!)" she barked. The puppy's ears drooped as he tried to burrow once more into his Mother's side, but the Mother Hound refused her puppy entry, growling at him. Crunches of grass were made by incoming footsteps.

    The Alpha Hound looked with uncertainty as he looked northeast, then back to his mate, then northeast again.

    The Mother had enough. She raised herself on all fours, struggling to put weight on her left hind-leg. She bared her fangs, growling fiercely at her mate,

    "(RUN OR DIE!)" she loudly barked. Voices from the goblins grew louder.

    The Alpha Hound flinched from the death glare from his mate, as hesitatingly turned his back on the northeast, picking up the puppy with his teeth as he quickly galloped southwest. The Mother, satisfied that they escaped, felt a rush through her, numbing her left hind-leg. Her ears curved, eyes narrowed, head and fangs bared, ready to buy the last of her family as much time as possible. The grey skin of a goblin entered her eyesight...

    ~~~

    The grassy ground rushed by in a blur as the pup struggled to get his fur and skin out of his father's teeth. His mother needed help! He needed to be by his mother's side. So the pup tried to claw this way or that towards the face of his father. Screams, growls, and a din of fighting entered his ears, as the father suddenly slowed his gallop to a trot, then finally stopped. The pup was lightly dropped onto the soft ground. The Alpha then quickly turned around, and galloped back towards the direction of the Mother. The pup also tried to gallop, but his legs were not yet fully grown and soon the father entered back into the woods, quickly stretching the distance. The puppy whined, as he tried his hardest to catch up.

    Loud yells, the sounds of metal clanging against trees, and whines shook the trees from their slumber, as the pup galloped closer and closer back into the wood. But as he galloped closer, the goblin's yells became fewer, replaced by laughter. The puppy could not hear his mother anymore, and a dread despair began rooting itself within his heart as he slowed to a trot on the eaves of the wood. The whines and yelps of pain from his father grew louder, crescendoing into a panicked series of yelps and whines that lasted for but a few seconds. Then faded... and faded... until the pup could not hear the Alpha Hound anymore.

    Mind made up, the puppy entered into the wood, hoping to the white sphere in the sky that his parents were still somehow alive, wagging their tails, eagerly awaiting him as they would play together until the yellow sphere rose up.

    The entrails being ripped from the belly of his father ended that notion completely. What was left of the Mother laid in a twisted pile next to him, legs being hewed and gnawed by another goblin. Her ears amputated, and head covered in the mixture of her own blood and the goblins'. The puppy smelled her parents blood, dripping and filling the floor of their nomadic existence. He saw all of this, and the memory of his parents' mangled corpses would haunt him for the rest of his life.

    He staggered backwards in shock, shivering, eyes moistening as tears began filling his pupils. He gave a high piercing howl in grief, unable to control the depths of sadness issuing from the depths of his heart. Nary even a corpse to howl to the white sphere in the starry sky.

    This got the goblins' attention. The one chewing the intestines of his father turned towards the puppy. Grief was replaced by terror, as the puppy struggled to back-pace out into the fields. The puppy moved to the side, trying to hide near the roots of another tree as the goblin, grinning and speaking taunt-like words slowly approached the puppy. The latter attempted to burrow into the soil, but found it too late, as the smell of the goblin and the blood of his father grew ever larger. Paws shakingly hid eyes, as the puppy shivered next to the tree trunks, whining and begging for the goblin to leave him be, or at the very worst make the death quick. The goblin grew ever closer, the smell of his hand moved closer and closer to his snout.

    Then the hand quickly retreated.

    Inside the wood, screams and yells from the goblins erupted again. Did his parents come back to life? The goblin quickly retreated from the puppy, and entered back into the wood, though the puppy did not see this, paws still covering his eyes. There he laid, huddled up next to the base of the tree, hiding for what seemed like an eternity. The screams and yells of the goblins gradually became less and less. Until at last the squishing echoes of something became the only sound. Removing his paws from his face, the puppy regained his eyesight as he slowly entered into the wood. The sight he eventually saw stilled him in fear.

    An armored long-haired person, who was painted with the blood of the goblins, was repeatedly punching and punching the now caved-in skull with a fist covered in the brains and blood of the dead goblin who once terrorized the puppy. The corpses of the other goblins lay scattered, while the mangled corpses of his parents still remained. A sword, which had faded from its blue tint to a orc-blood color, had been stuck inside the chest of the goblin. The puppy could only see the person's back, and the back of his savior's (?) head was covered in golden scales and spikes, reminding him of some sort of reptilian creature. The puppy then blinked, regaining its composure, realizing that he could be next to die!

    He moved backwards. The warrior noticed and turned their head around! A dragon-lion snout at the top of the helmet greeted him, and the orc-dripping visage of a hunter imprisoned outside of the helmet glared condescendingly at the pup. Terrified, it was as if the puppy's legs turned to stone.

    "*whimper* *whine*," he whimpered, as the figure started moving towards him. But halfway before the warrior reached the puppy, the warrior stopped and took off the frightening helmet.

    The face of a beautiful... elf... greeted his eyes. The puppy stopped whimpering, finding the concerned gaze in her eyes oddly comforting. Her face, unlike the rest of her body, was not at all stained by the slaughter she commenced to the goblins. She towered over the puppy, but he remained still, awaiting the actions of the lady warrior that unknowingly saved him.

    He was lifted up by blood-covered hands staining his brown fur. The side of his face pressed against the drying blood on the armor of her bosom. But the puppy did not struggle, did not resist. Instead, as the elf retreated from the scene of carnage, the puppy took a last look at the corpses of his parents. Moonlight pierced through and revealed the grisly yet peaceful faces on the wolfhounds. The puppy howled in sorrow, as droplets fell from his eyes onto the warm hands that carried him.

    That was the last time he saw the Alpha Hound and his Mother, as his nomadic life came to an end. Yet a new beginning awaited him, and his new story started.
    Last edited by Rivvy Elf; 16/Mar/2016 at 09:24 AM. Reason: Second half in. Formatting and correcting typos

  62. The Rambler's Hour: An Interlude





    A NOTE TO THE READER:

    Bonnie Lass takes place during the autumn months
    of The Rambler's Hour which is set before the springtime-related
    events of the upcoming Revenge of Rhudaur RPG. This short RP,
    private between Ercassie and I, occurs during the time Tharmáras Isilherven
    was sailing Beren Camlost from Lindon to Mel Lóna in the Wethrin Isles
    shortly before the Corsairs attacked them.


    Dramatis Personae

    Sarabeth Gameela - A fearsome, notorious pirate queen and slaver of Umbar.
    The eldest daughter of House Gameela.
    Halima Gameela - Sarabeth's gentle stepsister, her young protégé.
    Laiseldë/ Layla - Sarabeth's slave, once a highborn woman of Pinnath Gelin.

    Sanura - An Umbarian Smokehair, Sarabeth's pet cat.
    Kfir - Sarabeth's older brother, a famous pirate and wealthy merchant.
    Sildess / Roni - Kfir's wife.
    Abidemi - A rebellious slave of Far Harad
    Ayana - Abidemi's doomed wife
    Pharak the Fearless - The patriarch of House Halsad, an Umbarian slaver and trader
    Matsu - An adventurous Corsair, Pharak's son

    *



    Lond Daer


    "It's cold here, Beth," Halima complained, shivering in their small wooden shelter at Lond Daer.

    "Shut up, you'll get used to it!"
    Sarabeth snapped at her little stepsister, rudely throwing a blue Dunlending woolen shawl at the thirteen year-old, and smirked.

    The petite, softhearted blonde child had accompanied her more daring sibling north to besiege the Wethrin Isles west of Lindon. Halima, an innocent and carefree lass accustomed to the pleasures of tropical weather, fiercely missed Umbar as well as her porcelain dolls but Sarabeth was hellbent on toughening her up.

    "Layla, get a fire going!"
    she shouted at her slave, a nobleman's fair young daughter whom the elder Gameela abducted and arrogantly renamed recently during a night raid in the Amonara hills north of Pinnath Gelin. "We're bloody freezing in case you haven't noticed," said the pirate queen, taking a seat beside Halima at the dark pine table. "Serve us a supper, too, wench," Sarabeth added, crossing her ankles on the plank surface, removing the cork of her Leviathan spiced rum bottle. "Dinner won't cook itself," she stated firmly, tossing back the silken yellow hair she had dyed red for her latest gruesome venture, "and I'm expecting company, mind you."

    She took a long pull of the celebrated inky-black drink of Umbar named for the most fearsome creature of the seas, savoring the delicious contents which tasted of licorice and cinnamon and black cherries. Sarabeth assumed she'd hear a few quietly muttered words of acknowlegement - "Yes, ma'am" or maybe "right away, mistress" - but instead she received only a cold, hateful stare from her proud thrall.

    Sarabeth said nothing, a red flush of anger rising over her high sculpted cheekbones. She launched her boot at Layla's shin with the swiftness of a striking Harad cobra when the slave approached the firepit. Gasping, she stumbled over the hole, bruising her forehead on the surrounding ring of stones. She looked fearfully at Sarabeth, touching the ruby stream coursing from the wound on her pale cheek; it was torn open by a glancing blow from one of the sticks poking sharply out from the mound of firewood. Again, Sarabeth said nothing. Her glacial blue eyes glowed with malice, the expression on her flawless patrician face otherwise unreadable.

    Layla, trembling, built a fire and heated water to make vegetable stew for the Umbarians. When it started to steam and seethe, Sarabeth arose with a terrifying fluid grace and grabbed Layla's dark hair. Halima - always so docile and easily frightened - squirmed in terror, averting her gaze.

    Layla tensed when Sarabeth seized her ponytail in a tight unyielding grip and shrieked when the princess roughly exerted her greater strength, forcing the slave's injured face inexorably toward the boiling water. Panicking, assaulted by the dreadful warmth of the scalding hot liquid, she screamed and thrashed, but Sarabeth wouldn't release her.

    "A servant will obey and respect her mistress," spoke Sarabeth icily. "Next time you offend me, I'll burn your pretty face off."

    Halima cleared her throat. "Sara....we have company."

    Sarabeth turned around and saw a tall, strapping male standing in the doorway whose deepset eyes were as dark as the waters of Nurnen. He was raven-haired, finely clothed, and had an attractive bronzed complexion.

    Matsu, Pharak's son, undoubtedly.

    So impressed by his imposing muscular physique and roguish good looks, Sara threw her weeping slave cruelly to the side and sauntered toward Matsu with a catlike grace. "I've heard of your brutal exploits but nothing of your handsomeness...." she uttered, her fingertips stroking softly across his muscled chest before circling around him once with an examining enjoyment, "...nor your unpleasant smell," she added finally, a playful smile ghosting along her coral lips. Matsu reeked of the beasts he mastered but somehow that excited her just as well as it repulsed her, charmed by his virulity and the tapestry of bruises - marks of battles won - illustrating his tanned, cheerful face.

    "I am Sarabeth, Kfir's sister, and this sweet girl -" she gestured at her sibling who stood and curtsied"- is Halima, the youngest princess of the Gameela Mountains and my cabinlass." She punched her lightly on the arm with a smirk, telling Matsu that Halima needed to see the Oliphaunt, an expression used in Umbar for getting off your doorstep to have a harrowing adventure.

    "You've dressed very well for this meeting. I must apologize for leaving my gowns at home." Sarabeth was a lover of beautiful, womanly clothing but she knew men wouldn't respect her if she walked the deck with sandals and a sheer, low-cut knee-length dress with pearl earrings and a bejeweled collar - besides, wearing such elegant raiment and glittering accoutrements wasn't practical for battling Swan Knights of Gondor and Elven sailors of Lindon. Her long buckled tooled boots and tight-fitting pants were made of blue shark leather like the jerkin she wore over a blousy lace-trimmed white tunic beneath a flowing navy-blue cape. A felt weathered slouch hat was perched jauntily over her scarlet locks and a cutlass was sheathed in a gold-chased blued-steel scabbard on the belt cinched around her slim waist. Despite her nearly masculine garb she had a feminine fragrance, sweetly-smelling of fresh lemons and spicy ginger.

    She waved him to a seat at the table and her sniffling servant resumed her prepartions for the stew. "I heard you're a drinking man, so I brought the finest rum with me to suit not just my fancy but yours as well," she said, pouring some of the Leviathan spiced rum into a stout wooden tankard for Matsu. She sat across from him next to Halima who spread a map of the Wethrin Isles on the table's surface.

    "I must begin saying it's a good thing for all of us that my brother has returned to the sea and renewed partnership with our family's old friends like the Hasads." Kfir had suffered the loss of his unborn child and his wife, a captured Gondorian noblewoman he had married years ago, was dumb and bedridden following the attack. Kfir reacted as Sarabeth had privately hoped, that he would be so enraged he'd return to piracy and Siledess would be weakened and too heartbroken to dissuade him. Sarabeth had secretly promised Abidemi freedom for himself and his pregnant wife if he assaulted Siledess and assured the slave that she would ensure the protection of their escape. Sarabeth, having no regard for the thralls of her ancestral plantation, had - of course - lied.

    No one knew she had manipulated Abidemi to murder Siledess - even the slave himself had starved to death in chained isolation at the manor once after, in his utter famine, he ate the rotting butchered corpse of Ayana which Kfir had personally delivered to the incarcerated servant to briefly sate his appetite. She would not share the truth of her blackest sin with Matsu yet before knowing him better, fearing that her brother's friend might either kill her or tell Kfir by matter of friendly duty. Sarabeth loved her brother but she valued the integrity and esteem of their family more.

    "Kfir plans to extend his sphere of Umbarian interest to Eriador within two years he or Uhta who will accompany my brother may have told you, taking control of the Brandywine River by seizing Sarn Ford and the Bridge near the Old Forest,"
    said Sarabeth, tracing the path of the pictured waterway. "They hope to supplant themselves as the de facto rulers of Bree, dominating their trading hub and the logging industry. Their position will strengthen the coffers of both the Halsads and the Gameelas as well as achieving an opportunity for our clans to aid the Coven of Rhudaur and the rising might of the Angmar Remnant to wipe out the Rangers of the North, besiege Imladris, and force the Halflings of the Shire to farm for Umbar so we might add to the existing rich yield benefiting Sauron's troops in the East."

    Sarabeth's forefinger drew westward over Lindon and the ocean until it met the scattered, mountainous Wethrin Isles which were the ancient remains of Ered Wethrin where Elves and Mortals lived. "Meanwhile, starting a couple nights from now if you choose to accept my proposal, we'll begin the foundation of Corsair havens in the Wethrin Isles from which we'll spring attacks on the Lindon Guard and the Three Beard Army. My spies have informed me of the precious ores, fine marble, and brilliant jewels which the Elves and humans excavate from the mountains; we'll take the mines for ourselves once we've defeated the archipelago's independent fleet."

    Halima indicated a large, rugged northern island above Mel L
    óna which was named Tol Meas on the map. "Ost-Magrintha, is the chief citadel of Sereg Gwethil - the Bloody Sisters, the naval and marine soldiers of the Wethrin Isles."

    "The military is wholly comprised of these elven and human females, an order of violent women who revere Meass
    ë, the amazonian Maia of the Undying Lands," explained Sarabeth. "We will need to distablize their power on the island to stand a chance of conquering the chain in its entirety. We'll renovate their tower into a cathedral for the Dark Lord, too, your father would like that." Sarabeth lifted her tankard in toast. "Slaves and sacrifices for the jackals, ships and booty for the sealions. Glory for us all." She took a long satisfying drink then silkily arose. Sarabeth glided toward Matsu with a winsome smile. "I always seal my deals with a kiss, sweetheart," she uttered, winking at him. "I hope there's no objections." She softly trailed her palm up his neck before firmly gripping it tight, sensuously molding her lips over his own.
    Last edited by Beren Camlost; 05/Jul/2016 at 07:41 AM.
    "How long do you want it to be?" - Steven C.
    "As long as it needs to be." - Aimmi G.


  63. Bandar's Avatar
    The Witch-King
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    #163
    Bandar and Zygfrid, going to the Orocarni mountains
    Mirkwood

    Bandar and his teetering companion had come through the fields of Rohan and had been faced with a big decision: To go through Mirkwood or to go the space between Mirkwood and the Sea of Rhun. Bandar had contemplated long and hard on this subject. He had hoped there would be a sign for him so that he could tell which way it was supposed to be. Finally, he had decided to go through Mirkwood. Bandar remembered the storied his father used to tell of the company of dwarves who were trapped multiple times in Mirkwood. They would have never made had it not been for some hobbit, by the name of Binbo, or Bonabo, or some name starting a "b" he could never remember.

    They found themselves in front of the deathly forest of Mirkwood. Zygfrid had never seen such a large forest. Where he had come from in the Whithered Heath, there had been no trees except for maybe dead bushes, if those even count.

    "Well," asked Zygfrid, "what's the plan?"

    "The plan,"
    started Bandar, "is to go through this path until we get to the East Bight. There we will along the outskirts of Mirkwood, until we meet the River Running. Then we will follow that river all the way to Erebor, The Lonely Mountain, home of our fathers. Anyways, that is the plan." So they decided to stick with this plan and wound their way along this small path. They camped for the nights and stopped and got a bite to eat, but they just kept going. After about 4 days of journeying, they came to a fortress. The fortress of Dol Guldur. Here they knew not what do to.

    "Should we turn around?" asked Zygfrid.

    "Nay,"
    said Bandar, who was trying to act like he had a plan, "we will go through the forest on your right. See there is a small winding path there. We shall follow it."So they set off down this winding path. They kept walking, not knowing where it led. Pretty soon after dark, they set up camp. The got a bite of cram to eat, and they went to sleep. Then, around 12 o'clock at night, Zygfrid heard a howling. Not like a howling of a wolf, but like a moanfull wail. Zygfrid felt pity for and followed it onto the forest. He wandered farther and farther into the forest. Soon he got lost, then he heard a mingling in the underbrush and it leaped. Being an old man Zygfrid had no defense, he just stood there and watched as the animal slowly devoured him.

    In the morning, when Bandar woke up, he found no Zygfrid. He just maybe he gone to get food. He waited until ten o'clock. Then he had to go. He set off without Zygfrid. He had called for him, he had searched the grounds for him. But he did not dare go into the forest. He had heard that once you go in the forest you are lost forever. He continued to walk on this path. After hours of walking, he came to a large wooden house.

    - - - Updated - - -
    Last edited by TheKingofScorchedHeath; 12/Jul/2016 at 05:50 PM.
    "Come not between a nazgul and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in they turn! He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shriveled mind be left naked before the Lidless Eye."

  64. Ercassie's Avatar
    Arwen
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    #164

    All's not fair in love and war - Part 1 (Semi-Private, with Rivvy Elf)

    'You know what they say about love and war. One involves a lot of physical and psychological pain, ... and the other one is war.'

    (Tim Bisley, 'Spaced')




    'You think you know me, but you don't know me
    You think you own me, but you can't control me
    You look at me and there's just one thing that you see
    So listen to me. Listen to me !

    You push me back, I'll push you back, harder, harder !
    You scream at me, I'll scream at you, louder, l-l-l-l-louder !
    I'm dangerous. I'm warning you.
    But you're not afraid of me
    and I can't convince you,
    you don't know me ..
    "

    ('You Don't Know Me', by Elizabeth Gillies)


    An impression of young Fëapoldië Aiwenáriel


    with her doting parents, Manquento and Lányaure


    as well as her eldest siblings, Tirindo and Moriványis


    The following scene takes place at the Aiwenárie Manse - Mar Elmenda**
    (**very loosely translated as "WonderHome")
    Tirion-upon-Tuna
    Years of Trees - about the same time as Rivvy's post (HERE)
    (After the 'chance encounter' at the marketplace)


    '.. the meeting with Fëapoldië left both a bitter and sour taste in [Eärcúlinta's] mouth, as if eating a fruit well before it ripened. Though she was indeed beautiful, whatever personality she showed marred her image in the raven-haired elf's eyes, enough that he found no want to speak to her again, willingly.'*


    The feeling was certainly mutual.

    Not a one of them heard the front door sigh from it's frame. Not a one of them could miss the resounding clout that same front door delivered, moments later. The entire front of the house shivered. As Lord of his Manor, it was the place of Manquento to dare seek the cause, and he found such an expression upon his daughter's face that took him nearly to shiver himself. And he, a Guard in the Household of Acting King, Nolofinwë, no less.

    Fëa beat a shadowy impression of extreme displeasure all about the hallway, until she felt she had made her point and then stomped the length of the staircase, granting extra attention to the final three steps. If there remained any whisper of doubt as to her mood, the violent shout of her bedroom door some moments later utterly extinguished that. Mori nervously moved to examine the damage and found her mother, tight-lipped and haunting the front porch.

    "The meeting went then as expected ?"

    Lányaure fell upon her expectant family, exhausted. Slipping from the netted wrap of lace that embraced her slight shoulders, the matriach allowed them to guide her to an armchair in the family room. There they flocked about her, as though waiting on a frightening bedtime story. "It might have gone better," she admitted, delicately.

    "Well, it was only their first encounter," Mori's attempt to console her mother, only promised new terror to come. "The next time .."

    Lányaure sank into her seat and visibly paled. "Where is everyone ?" she made a valiant effort at changing the subject.

    "They took little Nolle out for the day. Riding."

    "All of them ?"

    Tirindo and Morivanyis exchanged a pointed look. It betrayed their own wish to have been excused this evening's entertainment. Their father, who had passed his lack of restraint onto his youngest daughter, now unleashed an almighty gush of sigh which he could hold no longer. His wife sat up stiff as a poker, and halted the outcry she knew was coming. With one extremely worn glare.

    "Do not."

    "I was only going to say " he tried. And failed.

    "Do not dare preach to me. Not after the day I have had !"

    "It might have been avoided if you had listened to me ..."


    "I am not prone to surrender the war, for the sake of one battle !" Lányaure clutched her husband's forearm, refused to relinquish her ambition. "This is happening. Menelote and I have spoken at great length and it is best. In the long run. For both of our houses. Can you say the same of our associating with that heavyhand conspirator from SevenStars ? He is deep in league with that crowd up at Formenos, you know it is so. And I wouldn't put it past him to inject that oddball boy of his into our home and into our family .. solely to glean news of what our Lord Aracáno is doing ! Our daughters have wed councillors, ambassadors, and artisans who now preside at court. Why our nest is a veritable source of secrets for ... No. I will have it not. Fëa will be no pawn in a villain's game !"

    Manquento waved his eldest pair of children out of way, and took up his wife's hands both in his own. "The City teeters on the edge of civil war," he gazed unto the anxious eyes of his fair partner, and made plea for the sake of plans he had already put unto motion."I would tether the Sculptor to our allegiance, rather than provoke him further with the insult of reeling him in for the sole purpose of apparent rejection thenafter ! We must make friends of our foes, my dear."

    Lányaure made herself no longer a captive of persuasion. "Do you care more for the spawn of those inbred starprophets, or for your youngest child ?" she tore from her love's grasp and campaigned he to meet her reason. "Our girl's bright heart shall freeze, locked in that cold embrace. A coldfish bourne of silverstone is ... well, the Nimredel boy is not ... us. Homeschooled, reclusive and .. I do not like the way he stares. He looks at my child with such a way . .. it fills me with discomfort. Have you forgotten, my love ? The dream, my dream, my nightmare that it was ! I saw .... ice and I heard my poor Fëa. Screaming, crying. It is he that gifts her ice sculptures. It is a sign."

    Mori brought her mother the comfort of cordial to, if naught else, soothe her throat, raw from emotion. Tirindo glanced warily toward the staircase, where a distinct lack of stamping an storming might indicate something worse was afoot. "We sit I fear about the eye of this storm," he whispered to his most serene sister. Mori calmly took the glass back from her mother's grateful nod. She waved Tirindo with one subtle hand behind her back, toward the staircase.

    "If you cared, truly cared about our baby, you would listen !" Lányaure was oblivious to the distraction she presented her husband. Their son turned at the foot of the grand staircase, and made unmarked ascent. "For her sake, for all our sakes," his mother persevered, meanwhile, "we must persevere with this as I have started. She will be far better off with Eärcúlinta." The mother bore prejudice of her own fears, and craved that which she might better to comprehend, against a strange and unknown entity. "You yourself met no fault when you observed him at the Maze Meet. Correct me not, for you can not. You know well as I that Eärcúlinta comes from decent family with esteemed values. He may not be dripping in diamonds, but he has a wise and humble soul."

    "She'll eat him alive," Tirindo ventured, shaking his head slowly as the heights of first floor swathed him in their cloak. Mori bit her tongue and found an inescapable intrigue about the ornate window drapes. Their father hastened to his wife, and (unable to keep from making a try at comfort) drew her chin up in his one hand. Lányaure tumbled into his arms, and wore streams of woe that crept the contours of her countenance.

    In the hall above them, the line of family portraits showcased a journey walked in great temper. All smiling renditions of paired lovers, matching in their masks of gladness, dark veils of midnight hair, and serious grey eyes; all had been knocked askew. As though to speak volumes of the only redhead and her struggle to escape the mould. Warily the son and heir of Aiwenare strove within himself to serve his family - his way. His decision to venture into the lion's den was bourne of either his great courage in choosing to confront his spoilt sister, or else his extreme discomfort at the sight of his frustrated mother's grief. The stars knew, though, there would be sleep this night for any if dear Fëa was left unsettled, unsoothed.

    The silence emnating from the bedroom left her brother to conceive vast horrors of his imagination, quite what he might unearth, should he enter. The clear voices of his parents carried through the house as though instinctive prompt. This argument was not going away.

    Tirindo knocked once, and pushed at the door.


    *Writing in blue is quoted directly from RivvyElf's post in this thread/this story.
    Last edited by Ercassie; 28/Jul/2016 at 01:50 PM.

  65. Ercassie's Avatar
    Arwen
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    #165

    Alls not Fair in love and war - Part 2 (Semi-private. With RivvyElf)

    'You know what they say about love and war. One involves a lot of physical and psychological pain, ... and the other one is war.'

    (Tim Bisley, 'Spaced')




    'Primadonna girl, yeah.
    All I ever wanted was the world.
    I can't help that I need it all,
    the Primadonna life, the rise, the fall.

    You say that I'm kind of difficult
    But it's always someone else's fault
    Got you wrapped around my finger, babe
    You can count on me to misbehave ..
    '

    (Primadonna Girl, Marina and the Diamonds)





    An impression of young Fëapoldië Aiwenáriel with Tirindo

    The following scene takes place at the Aiwenárie Manse - Mar Elmenda**
    (**very loosely translated as "WonderHome")
    Tirion-upon-Tuna
    Years of Trees - about the same time as Rivvy's post (HERE)
    (After the 'chance encounter' at the marketplace)


    The bedroom was decadence at it's most extreme, and she reigned at its epicentre, the proud harlequin queen. Glamorous rubied wall drapes usually concealed an otherwise mundane lack of architecture. But clearly Feapoldie could care less, bathing in a pool of golden sheets about a vast four poster bed. The grand bay window spilt a balcony before the acres of luxuriant garden. But Tirindo's eyes were drawn not to that fair sight beyond, but instead, inescapably toward the scene of beautiful debauchery at hand.

    Crossing the floor was no mean feat here, where feathered rugs were swallowed under an ocean of silken cloth, and the chair which (like all decoration) had been brought in to impress, was now buried, it's charm redundant beneath a disarray of taffeta and organza.

    The dressing room door was open, inviting intrigue to peer within. And the Elf did, with equal measures of concern and expectation. Of course the rails upon rails were empty. All his sister's fine clothes had exploded, evidently, from their storage and evolved to a storm of fair snowflakes. Shimmering in tiny slivers, shorn to absolute ribbons.

    Tirindo put eyes to Feapoldie, his keen glance catching swiftly upon both the slender knife that shimmered in her one hand, and the silver ring that ornamented one white finger of her other hand. It was hard to say which of these two she now showcased with more purpose, since the radiance of Laurelin stole through the open balcony and encouraged shine in both. Incandescent glory cast such blinding wonder that the Elf was forced to grimace and sink slow into a pit of knowing despair. She had done this.

    "Sister, you have made ruin upon all things of beauty you possessed," Tirindo was repulsed. "Only once have I heard tell of such wanton destruction, for sheer fun of that, and it lies within fell legend. Those monsters conceived in distant and deepest pits that serve as answer for twisted corruption of life. Are you Orc then, Feapoldie ? Your deed would suggest so."

    She rose, as mighty fair as might a queen rise above her throne. The great golden bed, her pedestal, from where she gazed down in disdain upon her relative.

    "Sure your eyes deceive you." The assumption was delivered absent of all regret or remorse. "For not all that I had is destroyed," Fea would have her brother be consoled. "I have not made desolation of quite all the trappings I am expected to grace," she observed. "Not as yet ..."

    She plucked the great skirt of the dress she was now wearing and extended it before her, with appraising glance. As though sentence were not already made clear. For then with narrowed eyes she rode her fearful stallion of steel through that field of fair riches. Several long gashes had wounded the gown before her brother thought to move to stop her. He was too late of course and would falter at the last. For in the very moment he came within grasping reach, Fea tore up the gown in its whole entirety and expelled it from over her head and shoulders. Her brother turned his back upon her, so hasty, just in time from witnessing such sight of her and stood, chest heaving as his heart dropped like a stone.

    "Will you not remonstrate me now brother ?" His sister teased, with playful satisfaction that he would not dare. "Will you not put grip upon my shoulders and pull at my arm. I thought as much," this last sounded almost sorry although clearly his being made so awkward had been her full intention. Fea dared her nimble fingers within an inch of the back he shielded his woe behind. Thinking better against contact, the Elleth sank back upon her stage and sat there, idly dismembering the remains of her last surviving costume.

    "If my parents have a wish to parade me before a tide of suitors of their choosing, then let us not beat around the bush. They can not festoon what I most truly am in pretty dresses to con some naive mark into proposing a marriage. Anyone who might be brave enough to meet me in such lasting union must enter that arrangement with his eyes wide open."

    "If it be your aim to walk about the city now garbed only in your undergarments, many eyes shall be cast wide", her brother rolled his eyes. "Fea ! Always so impulsive !!"

    "Lay not this blame upon me !" she flung her dare toward him, venomous. "It is all on you, Tirindo ! It is all your fault !"

    His silence betrayed either a deep-rooted bewilderment of how she had now come to this conclusion, or else proper remorse for ever getting involved. And maybe it was both.

    "It was you, after all, who told me that I had been called upon to walk about the market with mother," the Elleth threw back her head in condemnation of the crime apparent. "With the lady Menellote and her son ?" she tested his memory. "That was you, brother, as did perpetrate that misunderstanding."

    The Noldo inspected his sibling's bedroom door, tracing a strong finger along the groove. Focusing, so as to keep his calm. "I told what I knew," he confirmed, weary to the point of scarcely caring for her allegation. "You even seemed enraptured at the outset," he reminded Fea. "If the meet went not so well, I am certain that blame lies not with me. I was not even there. You were .."

    "You told me a lie so I would go at all, and fall foul of a trap that you conspired with our mother !" Accusations flew thick and fast, the eruption of assumed injustice which had not yet been spewed, but through cruel costume calamity. "It was the lady Menelote and her son who we were actually to meet with ! Ah, brother ! You are our parents' loyal fool. And I will never forgive you for misleading me so !!"

    So the trials and the tribulations persevered, even while Tirindo himself sat still in some confusion. "Menellote ... Menelote" he ran his tongue over the so-similar-sounding names. "It was an honest mistake," he let his hand shape a fist, and make a dull contact with the doorframe, pensive. "And not anything remotely deserving of your response, by all accounts"

    The decision to declare his sister as over-reacting caused but further fuel fed to her fire. Feapoldie stalked the room as an enraged peacock, no less perilous for doing so in her underwear. Disregarding utterly the sight she must have granted any true bird that glanced through her open window.

    "Never in the history of all our kind have parents held the right to mould a daughter's choice of husband," the flame-haired Elleth cited now law and local customs to have her case recognised. "I am wronged," she was convinced. "It is both unlawful and unfair. They said they wished me to marry and duely I made clear to them which soul I would want to share my lifetime with. What cruelty would thus see them, and you, all of you to conspire against my heart ?" Velveteen cushions of varied colour leapt from the bed to the balcony, courtesy of her flurry of hands. Yet if she were seeking for some comfort beneath their pile, she was soon disappointed. "All our sisters married free from such abuse ! And you !" the tirade became (were it possible) even more personally driven. "You are held exempt from even seeking out a bride ! When I am twice the blade master you are, and you know it ! I dare you," Fea kicked a satin slipper from her foot and only smirked as it struck her 'tormentor' in the back of his head, "I. Dare. You !!" her fury reached new heights of a shrill octave to assault his ears worse still, "to make the vainest effort now in justifying this torment you all rain down upon me !!!"

    Her torrent of abuse spent, the maid sank into the barest corner of her bed. One now bare foot toyed with the hairbrush she wished to crush, against stubborn sentimentality.

    "The world, sister, has changed, since our sisters were each in their turn made bride," The Elf demonstrated his own speech he had been readying all the time that it took for her to unleash hers. "Malice, envy and distrust now walk the streets of our society .."

    "I care naught for the rest of all our fool society ! I want him. I chose. My heart, my choice ! I shall not be redirected after my heart has forged a bond irrevocable !!"

    Her brother breathed deep and prepared to launch himself off a high cliff of perilous reason. "Sarnirion does not love you. You can not love him. The politics of .. "

    "To High hells with the politics !" Feapoldie let him proceed no farther. "I know better than you, I think, how I feel ! I love him ! Because when he says he loves me, ... You don't understand, brother. He means it. He says he would die for me, would kill for me. And he's not speaking some daft recitation that his father has had him rehearse ! It is real. So real it's .... It's different," as explanations went, this was the best that she might manage. "You can not change a heart once it is set. My heart can not be talked down now to settle for anything less than the way Sarnirion makes me feel. I do not want this Earculinta, any more than he wants me !! A fine cruise of misery our respective clans would wish for our immortal futures ! Where is the sense ??!!"

    Silence was her only answer, as her sibling wished more ardently than ever, he had not been the fool who had come to check on her. He did not even care who she wed ! He was only surprised, more so than ever on occasions like this, that there might be any contenders courageous enough to tackle the obstinate maid !!

    "There shall be no more trips to the market," Fea rallied on, uncaring if she lost his interest. "There shall be no more grand unveilings of the prize that 'mother's boy' might suffer with disdain," she spoke it as though she might make it so. "Do you wish me such woe ?!" she sought now .. Sympathy ???!!! "Why, Tirindo, why do you support such a sentence of impending grief ?! How can you dare to help them do this to me ?!"

    He did make a substantial effort to ignore her. A lifetime of five sisters all whining and whimpering in due turn had convinced their brother he never, ever would seek out a bride for himself. Why, as soon as ever he might, he would leave the nest of such insanity and emotional blackmail behind him. He would live alone, and gladly so.

    That decided, he surrendered to placate her while he was still here to bother. What could it hurt ? What indeed !

    "I made efforts to help you," he observed, reluctantly. "Do you not now recall ? If you had looked to wed with Nolindil, they would be satisfied of your safety in an uncertain future. Your friend, after all, thinks as though he were one of us. Your choice of lover ...." Tirindo sighed to recognise, "does not."

    "I could no more marry Nolindil than I could marry you !" Evidently Fea saw not her brother's plight. Not cared for any argument that contradicted her desire. "My dear friend is as much a brother to me as you are. And he cares for books as much as I do not. I shall love him forever,Tirindo but at the same time not at all. Not like this.

    "But he is .. "

    "Why do you not wed him yourself, you think it such a grand idea !!" the aghast sister wrestled with long tendrils of her garnet hair, knitting them as was custom, when she grew perplexed. "Truly Tirindo" she advanced, fearless, "you look ever to court with none. Are you so very disinclined to have a wife, or will you not throw yourself before Earculinta's sister ? You could meld that union of our clans and make all glad ! Although of course you know that Elleth not, nor care to. Am I speaking so unfairly now ? Does you spirit rage against the notion ? Know then exactly how I feel !"



    "You think destroying all your clothes shall keep mother from taking you out on visit again ?" Tirindo altered the course of their river run. "You shall be dressed still. For you have four sisters, forget not, each suited with prime wardrobes plumped with ."..

    "Are you so sure about that ?"

    One finely groomed eyebrow now arched delicately over the malicious implication. Feapoldie did not have to wait long before he realised. Of course she had made certain that all bases were covered. She had shorn apart her sister's dresses first. No doubt her mother's also. He could not fault the fire planning of a devious intelligence.

    "You but buy yourself small time." he trialled, unconvinced of what ekse steps she might have took to ascertain her vengeance. "Forget not that our mother is a seamstress, and our father well inclined to call upon the tailor for a home visit .."

    "Then we shall all gain some fine new clothes and my sisters shall love me still more for my so clever plan," Fea conceded, almost merrily, "to improve and inevitably build upon their wardrobes. It shall give me what small time regardless I require."

    The blade at his throat he scarce expected, nor had he noted the light dancer's feet that skipped across the floor, so swift.

    "Leave !!" the threat accompanied the pressure of cold steel against his throat. And there was no means a gentleman might lay hands about her, dressed so scanty, to safeguard his own pride. "Get out ! Lest I take my knife also to your costume of etiquette !!"

    Holding high both of his hands, the Elf dropped them in gesture unmistakeable. But "You can not always have your way," he warned. The notion despoiled slightly by his granting her just what she willed.

    "I am Feapoldie" a whisper crept into his ear, and tickled. "Do not, EVER, tell me what I can not do."

    There was no arguing with her when such a mood had taken spirit from all common sense. Annoyed now in his turn that somehow, somehow, Feapoldie did always seem to get her way, ... Tirindo retreated toward that dream of the day he would have no spoiled sisters to care worries about. Alas that he should have to go downstairs and break the news of his sister's damage done ...

    Feapoldie stared after him, scarcely able to keep from giving up a curtsey. The performance was over and she abandoned once more to her plight.

    Stupid stupid Earculinta. She had done all in her power to dissuade him, yet the notion of any Elf disinclining to bask in her presence was an alien concept. Stamping on his foot with her finest stiletto heels, that ought to have disabled his pursuit ... . Ensuring her treasured silver ring, the symbol of her private commitment to another, shone blatantly the light of Laurelin into Linta's face, so he should concentrate so hard on not tripping. On his injured toes ... She was almost impressed that he had not complained or retaliated. He had not even told on her, as far as she knew. He had gritted his teeth and bore the sulk in a sullen silence. Each step taken in temper that brewed far below the surface ...

    Lively fingers spidered at her brow as the wily young Elleth considered, more consciously now that her anger we're subsiding. 'Maybe I should be the one pay him a housecall', she conspired her own devilish plot. 'If he likes this merger no more than do I ... We must be able to sow the seeds of some plan for both our liberty .. !'


    Footsteps advanced forcibly up the staircase and started across the landing. Her parents, certain, Tirindo the snitch with them ! And like as not, Morivanyis, who had considered herself so much the grown up sensible sister, since she had entered the ranks of motherhood. They we're coming for her, all the four !

    It took moments to edge a fine ornamental candleholder over the curl of her double door handles. The barricade rattled and a medley of complaint emanated through the polished wood.

    She could not be said to suffer any of the threats they laid upon her now forsaken door. For taking flight from her balcony to that of the bedroom next door, Fea danced her way across to Tirindo's own room. Landing neatly before his still-laden closet, she selected the first ensemble of clothing that should mark her unrecognisable. Stowing her vast cloud of hair into a braid, she tucked it's furthest end into her brother's belt around her slender waist. The extra inches of her mane helped to hold his larger framed outfit decent.

    None witnessed her shinning down the tree outside Tirindo's balcony. They had made that room his with purposeful intent, for he was the least likely of all the children to require such a daring escape route. It took more restraint than she possessed for Fea not to dance across the extensive lawn and vanish through the convenient maze, to freedom. Happily though, she was faster than any other who shared her family name. She had no doubt they would seek for her of course. But she was looking to venture to that last place any would imagine they might find her.

    The House of Earculinta ! Stealthy she slunk through the small garden, though duely bitterly a lack of any teams of fauna such as her own lawn produced. There was little to shelter her from sight !

    The modest house though leant her some advantage that it was not difficult to locate the young Elf's bedroom. Gathering up some small stones from the ground, she let loose a shower of hail clear through Linta's glass-less window.

    "Psssst," she willed him to awaken. "Rise up, if you would conspire of our sorry situation ... "

    It was a foolhardy effort by all accounts. But what choice else did she have ?
    Last edited by Ercassie; 08/Aug/2016 at 02:37 AM.

  66. Aranadhel's Avatar
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    #166



    Tirion


    In the time of the Two Trees (many long years before the Noldor Rebellion)



    The young Noldo sat a roadside stall and supped on some cinnamon rolls and a good hot mug of coffee. He was reading today's newspaper and as always there was something in the news that had caught his eye. He does this on a daily basis, sometimes alone and sometimes with his best friend, Feapoldie.


    He did not know where she was today and he had not bothered to contact her via osanwe. Their houses were not far from each other and it was common for either of them to eat at each other's house on any random days. She did not share his liking for reading or writing, preferring instead to talk about gibberish which he found to be appaling, though he told her not since she has a fiery temper. That fire within her only he outside of her family knew how to control and dissolve. That being the only thing which he shared not an interest with her but other than that they both loved each other's company and much adventure and cooking and trekking have they done together.

    He was familiar with her other siblings but he felt that there was nothing to talk about with them except for maybe Tirindo, Feapoldie's eldest. With him their topic of conversations were mostly on the future and what careers both wanted to pursue.

    When his belly was full he put aside the newspaper and walked thru the cobbled streets of the Noldor and made his way to Fea's home. He looked up at her window and gave a bird-like whistle. He leaned on the cool side wall of her family's house and waited. He hoped she was home as he had planned to take her to the market on this hot sunny day. His black hair was short up to his shoulders and today he wore a light cotton wool dark red short sleeved tunic with a matching black trousers and brown boots suited to the weather
    Last edited by Aranadhel; 11/Jan/2017 at 09:48 PM.

  67. Bandar's Avatar
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    #167
    Bandar, on the way to the Dwarven Clan Convetion Meeting
    At the Large Wooden House


    Bandar had heard about an old forest wizard who live in southern Mirkwood. Rabghast or Radabast or some other confusing name belonged to this wizard. This was not your typical log cabin. This was a tree, 3 or 4 stories high, that was about as thick as 8 Bomburs across a line. This was huge. Bandar did not know whether this wizard was evil or good, so he just walked on his way. In a couple of miles, he came to a river. He remembered the elders telling of this river.

    The River of Sleep. This stream whoever waded in it fall into a deep dream, never to wake up again. He didn't know what to do. He struggled mightily to fell a limb of a tree, but all that brought him was pain and and a large goose egg on the top of his head. He thought about jumping. Impossible. Bandar had to turn around. He walked back discouraged, tired, and hurting. He was still thinking of the loss of his good friend Zygfrid. They had known eachother just a few days. Yet he felt like Zygfrid was his grandfather.

    Bandar came out of Mirkwood. He turned east not knowing what to expect. He soon came up out of the border of Mirkwood and what looked like a desert. He saw a far off what looked like a city. He followed this way not knowing what city it was.
    "Come not between a nazgul and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in they turn! He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shriveled mind be left naked before the Lidless Eye."

  68. Ercassie's Avatar
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    #168

    The Scholar and the Scoundrel - Part 1 (Semi-private, with Aranadhel)







    Feapoldie Aiwenariel
    with brief appearance from two of her sisters, Neyte and Varisailie

    Mar Elmenda
    Tirion Upon Tuna
    Aman
    Before the Noldorin Rebellion

    Those were the days, the weeks, the years that served as meagre heartbeats of the blessed land. And they were the children, carefree and incorrigible. Might be that last definition was reserved for her alone. Still it would be rare to note the time he stood not by her side. Her alibi, her accomplice (however unwilling), her friend.

    Their first day in schooling they had fallen into seats beside each other and the bond was set, it was that simple, that swift .. Still an obstinate adhesive forged as unwilling to give in as were either one of them.

    He was the one who knew everything. She the one who would challenge everything. He would never know the charms of the quiet, scholarly-minded nice ladies. She saw them all away. He was hers ! Not that she wanted him, exactly, for her own, but that she could not stand the thought of him spending all his waking hours with somebody else.

    Their customary morning meet-up had grown out of boredom. Her's. And for his part, a dogged commitment to try and teach her 'better'. She did so enjoy to egg him along on matters he would lecture of. One day she would respond overly passionately to the social lore that he was contemplating. When he looked to continue their debate the next day with further material he now thought would interest her, she blankly confused and made as she had no idea what he was speaking of. Still he tried. He was honestly a teacher in his soul.

    This dawn had seen her wonder what her friend would do if she failed to show up, at their usual place, the usual time. And here now was her answer. He came to fetch her.

    "Good day to you, Nolindil," ventured Netye, lured out of her neighbouring window by the Elf's whistle.

    "Have you come to see us ?" chimed in Varasailie, with a raised eyebrow leading her out of the front door. A young Infant hung upon that Elleth's hip, and she bounced him softly to thumb-sucking submission with the gentle motion of an unspoken lullaby.

    "He has lost his hound," Fea presumed, emerging from the grand hedgerow maze behind her friend. "For sure, you did not think to see me come a-running when you call so ?"

    "And yet, lo, you arrive !" Netye could not help but observe.

    Her baby-clad accomplice smothered an amused smile. "Indeed ! As though summoned !

    Fea glowered where she stood and threw her head back, haughty. "Stop flirting with my friend, and leave us !" she warned her 'mature' relations. Grasping Aranadhel's arm, she pulled him to depart. "Pair of old married women !" she shook her head, in mock horror of their behaviour. "You should be shamed of yourselves !" she decided, proclaiming her judgement loudly and over one shoulder as she made a sweeping departure.

    Cascades of laughter pursued her proud retreat. "Where do we go ?" she enquiried. Demanding of him to make a decision that would satisfy. "And how do you intend to make up for treating me like your little pet ?"

    Her cornflower eyes danced, lined with silver merriment, and one corner of her perfect smile twitched. She was dressed, as ever, to make an impression. Her mother's designs were renowned. All of Tirion wished to be garbed as were the Royal Nobilty. By the end of the day though, it was guaranteed, Fea's own mother would scarce to recognise the child she had dressed that very morn.
    Last edited by Ercassie; 11/Aug/2016 at 02:06 PM.

  69. Aranadhel's Avatar
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    #169


    Tirion

    Market Day with the Scoundrel

    My, my if it isn't the beautiful sisters, he smiled at them both and waved his hand. Well if you both weren't married then I would have been more than happy to spend more time here, he winked cheekily at the sisters. He turned his head and gave Fea a big hug when she'd appear, apparently not amused with him whistling her out of the house.

    Till then, my ladies he gave Fea's sisters a quick bow and locked arms with Fea as they made their way out of their neighbourhood. He kept silent for the most part of their journey, just walking thru the streets of Tirion happily in her company. If Fea was suspicious or alarmed of his quietness she gave no heed to it. He then broke the silence and patted her lower back. Today is Market Day, you silly girl. He chastised her playfully. Or have you forgotten? As you always do He pouted mockingly at her. Quickly enough it followed with a big laugh from him as he questioned her on her earlier query at her house. Why? I thought you were always my guinea pig all these years since school, my dear friend! He laughed again and gauged her reaction and expression for the inevitable outcome. Twas a good whistling tune was it not? I learnt it from a fellow student in university recently. He shrugged his shoulders, paying no mind on why it should break her mood today.

    He did not wait for her answer as her took her hand in his and dragged her forward. Look! The Market is in full swing today! Hurry, let us grab some lunch before it disappears! He said exasperatedly and made a big effort to ensure Fea would follow suit.
    They were both of the same height so their strides were a match every step of the way and their gaiety and exuberance even her siblings could not follow let alone embrace. Her red dashing hair had the crowd's eyes turned at them wherever they went, for the Noldor were a tribe of Elves which were raven or dark haired. To him, the nis next to him was his best friend. Family. Forever. He was content with her company whenever he needed a break from his studies or his career.
    Last edited by Aranadhel; 11/Jan/2017 at 09:48 PM.

  70. Ercassie's Avatar
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    #170

    The Scholar and the Scoundrel - Part 2 (Semi-private, with Aranadhel)





    Feapoldie Aiwenariel

    Marketplace
    Tirion Upon Tuna
    Aman
    Before the Noldorin Rebellion


    Feapoldie allowed her friend's apparent compliment about her sisters to utterly pass her by, without breathing comment. She knew (or had else decided) that he only referred to the sisters as beautiful because he could never remember all of their names, or which of them was which. She had four sisters, after all. All four, like to her mother, were graced with tresses of a far more mundane colouring than she. Her brother also. They were all as shadows, blending into nothing. She alone of her siblings had inherited her father's flaming, showy traits. Inciting her belief that she, rather than Tirindo, should be the heir apparent. After all, she was the firebird embodied, the beautiful, perilous flower of scarlet. She had been created to stand out, and she did her best always to live up to expectations. And exceed them ..

    "Someone had to teach you how to behave around people, real people," she poked at his ribs, and at the 'guineapig' remark. "Books do not talk back, after all," she reminded him, the first of the daily dose of contempt about his scholarly pursuits. "Ah, so that is what they are teaching you, at university ? I already know how to whistle. It is a fair thing that I chose to forego with such further education then," she could not restrain a smirk. The tug upon her arm undermined the jab to some degree. The overwhelming noise, the smells, that declared the marketplace managed to finish her distraction.

    "Very well, then you may treat me to lunch," she surrendered this gift, with a melodramatic sigh, since people had now (who could blame them) begun to observe the young pair, to watch they two together. "Do not beg any more. I shall let you," Fea slid her hand from his with all the grace of a kitten. "Why do you not be all masterful and order for us both. But, it had best be mighty grand and delicious ..." she challenged the Noldo, even whilst assuming his dominance. "Then you may cause me marvels at something really intelligent you've learnt recently."

  71. Rivvy Elf's Avatar
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    #171

    Menellinda
    Years of the Trees
    Greeting a possible Future Sister-in-Law


    She leaned her head next to the trunk of their mallorn tree, her body resting on the long, thick, and sturdy branches. A silver-sided leaf rested on her head as she daydreamed about walks on the beach with Amrod, resting in his arms with his hands smoothing her hair. She sighed dreamily, giggling to herself as the daydream turned more and more fantastic, her cheeks gradually reddening. He was her escape, and her thoughts of him increased to distract from the atrocity which occurred mere hours ago.

    Mother hurt Brother. When Menellinda found her brother bed-ridden with bindings on wounds, she screamed. Who hurt her beloved brother? But, when she found out Mother did it, instead of yelling, Menellinda just gave a sorrowful disappointed look at her. While tensions were building between mother and son, Menellinda never thought it would turn into violence.

    So now, Linta recuperated, and the sister now was in charge of the house for while Telperion waned and Laurelin waxed. Father departed for drilling assignment, while Mother recently left to spear and sell fish, leaving Linta to quietly rest. Menellinda played sentry on the house via the branches of their mallorn tree. Nothing much happened, which allowed her to daydream.

    Until a mane of red hair made her way closer and closer to the house, oddly heading toward the outside of Brother's bedroom.

    Menellinda's mouth unhinged in shock, as she hurriedly covered her mouth with both hands to suppress a squeal of delight. Having not known the results of his brother's meeting with Fëapoldië, this visit surely meant good news! Her most-likely-future-sister-in-law was here, knowing that Brother was hurting due to a possible romantic bond, to comfort him. Menellinda quickly climbed down through her ladder leaning next to their mallorn tree to greet the red-headed beauty.

    ~~~

    "Hello!" Menellinda cheerfully greeted Fëapoldië, sliding in front of her view, grinning. Then, a sudden nervousness entered Menellinda, for some odd reason, as she stammered, "umm.. uhh... umm."

    The red-headed one had a very... proud presence, as if she were more regal than Fingolfin. It reminded her of Mother and occasionally Father. She also oddly felt intimidated by Fëapoldië, which surprised her to say the least.

    Regaining her bearings, Menellinda exhaled a large breath, remembering to curtsy (as Mother reminded her when talking to nobility) and met eye contact once again, grinning, "I'm Menellinda, sister of Eärcúlinta. What you did at the party was brilliant! Brother thought so too! Er, I mean," she paused, realizing that maybe blurting that out wasn't proper in a conversation with nobility, "you came here to see Brother right? Would you like to come in? I can show you around..."

    Look at my icon, now look at my title, look at my name, now look at me. Oh wait, you can't see me...

  72. Aranadhel's Avatar
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    #172


    Lunch-ing with the Scoundrel

    Big Market in Tirion

    Ai! Aran exclaimed loudly when his best friend slipped her hand away from his but the ner had the reflex of a hawk and quickly locked arms with her in the ever bustling Market crowd. I do not want to lose you in this sea of people! He chastised her softly. Behave yourself thus, oselle he said gently to her this time.

    He guided her with care in the crowded maze of people and cursed a few times in Telerin when a few strangers accidentally stopped in their tracks or accidentally stepped on his shoes. The glares Aran shot out to a few of them were tremendously close to being stares of death. He'd finally let go of her arm when they had reached the intended destination. Behold, oselle! Aran gestured to the long oak signboard on top of the wall Welcome to the 'Belly-full of Feasts'. The restaurant was half full of people and Aran plopped himself on a long chair and beckoned Fea to sit next to him. He ordered the food and drinks then wiped his sweaty forehead before he addressed his best friend.

    You never cease to amaze me, oselle. He shook his head. Always you complain of my new learned knowledge which I'd gladly teach you as to help make you become a more educated person. He glared at her venomously, letting her know his feelings were hurt by her comments just now. Do not waste your time chasing unrequited love, Feapoldie. Whenever Aran called his best friend by her full name that always meant an argument will soon take center stage.

    But before both of them could fire their ammunition at each other trays laden with food arrived on their table as if on cue. Aran momentarily lightened up and licked his lips at the tremendous fare laid out in front of him. He looked at Fea with kinder eyes this time and signaled her to start cutting the meats. "I ordered roasted beef ribs coated in honey sauce along with some baked potatoes with rosemary butter as well as a couple of grilled pheasants glazed in chocolate syrup while in the pitcher ready to be drunk is pomegranate juice mixed with mint and rose petals. Enjoy!"

    Aran laughed out loud at Fea's blank expression after he'd explained the orders and patted her back. I'd just spoken to you in Telerin, you oaf! His eyes twinkled merrily and he continued. Soon after I'd master Telerin then I'll be ready for the big exam. He shrugged indifferently at her. It's not as if you're interested in what I'd just said anyway and he then dived into his meal.


    *oselle -
    "sister, associate" (the equivalent of 'otorno' - sworn brother).

    **words in " " means it was spoken in Telerin.
    Last edited by Aranadhel; 11/Jan/2017 at 09:47 PM.

  73. Ercassie's Avatar
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    #173

    Scholar/Scoundrel - Love and War (Parts 3 for both Semi-Private RPs)





    Feapoldie Aiwenariel

    Marketplace
    Tirion Upon Tuna
    Aman
    Before the Noldorin Rebellion

    Led about the marketplace as though she were a precious jewel, or else a guarded convict, Feapoldie could not tell quite which. Still, she rather enjoyed the clear territorial air that she had managed to inspire in her friend. "It is well to know that even if you do know everything about this world, you still can find some mystery in my behaviour," she did not hold back her own chorus of girlish laughter now. "It is a girl's prerogative, after all, and I should hate to think that you might one day find me dull." The Elleth tugged at her confidante's ear, playfully as they awaited her reaction to his food order. "I do promise to never become dull."

    His glare betrayed how wise he was to his long friend's antics, of course. She always had declared, he was too clever for her to toy with overmuch. "Well, there is one thing that I know and you do not," she bit back against his vengeful 'educated' remark. She had never told her best friend of the true identity of her beloved, after all. The fact that he had never seemed interested enough to plague her for that same secret convinced the besotted youth to keep it that way. For all she knew, he was acting as though he could give no care, purposely with the intent to drive her into making a melodramatic reveal. Well, there was no means or manner of any way at all she would allow that ! Even if she forgot at times the point of why keeping a non-pursued secret was so important at all.

    "My affections are NOT unrequited !" she flung a napkin in the air between them, that settled like snowfall upon her lap as though so planned. "Maybe I just do not want to have to share him with the rest of all the world. You try having so many sisters ! I want something that is solely mine."

    The poison of her barbed attack infiltrated her veins that she felt sure she must grow red as her hair with such passionate outburst.

    The food saved them, as much as did the scholar's fluid use of distant tongues. The Elleth's eyelashes danced like a hummingbird's wings, as she blinked, again and astounded at the jarble which struck her from her last train of thought.

    Taking up the knife that her friend indicated, Feapoldie gripped it tightly, as the Elf fell about himself with mirth. His turn. "Call me not an oaf," she warned him, gesturing with meaning, and the cutlery. "Tell me that you love me, always and will not shy from proclaiming it from high on rooftops !" she leant across the table and made her fervent plea.

    Fea awaited until the lady at the next table stared at the young pair, now so engrossed in their apparent affair. Then the firebird took her friend's hand in hers, and calmly added, explaining, "Can you teach me how to say that, what I just spoke, in Telerin "

    Her blue eyes lit out as clear as the great sky in pure desire, no tease this time. "I won't have to feign an interest if you can find me some intelligent education that has a valid purpose. Teach me Telerin !"

    She did not have to confess now that her secret lover had some Falmari blood stirring within pale veins. That he made the words of Alqualonde in quiet closeted converse that it drove Fea wild to not overhear with any clarity. Naturally, Nolindil was smart enough to work out her plan for himself. It wasn't as though she saw any cause to learn a thing unless she had already planned a way to make good use of the gift.










    Feapoldie Aiwenariel

    At the home of Earculinta
    Tirion Upon Tuna
    The Years of Trees

    So focused was she upon peering into the strange boy's lair, that Fea did not startle at the slight squeak, that sounded behind her. Dismissing it as doubtless a small squirrel or the like, scrambling about the single tree that over shone the rest of the barren little yard. It was so empty of flowers here, that she had but a meagre wish to graze her sight over the small expanse a second time. A Mallorn tree, yes, in all of its magnificence. But as far as she could see, the wonder of that lonely blossom made the rest of the grounds, the house itself, seem all the more modest by forced comparison. She almost closeted away the thought to share with Morivanyis's husband, the gardener of dreams, later. Until she recalled that she could tell no one that she had been here.

    Presently her toes began to tingle, so she fell back from her peeping stance and wore a frown for dual cause. It was almost instantly chased off, all thoughts and emotions and senses melded into one sheet of blinking amazement. A small girl had apparently emerged out of thin air, and here gazed earnestly upon the intruder.

    Feapoldie tilted her head, curious, as the fair little sprite began to fall belatedly demure, as though the sole word of greeting was all that she might offer, and she had just now recognised that fact. A nervous curtsy though soon succeeded the first impression. Menellinda introduced herself, and encouraged a maternal instinct in the elder girl's spirit; something that she typically reserved for her little niece and nephews.

    It was not surprising to her that this stranger knew (or else immediately assumed) who she was. Fea was used to notoriety. Her behaviour if not her name and colouring painted her quite blatant amidst all her peers. The only bewilderment of the excited revelation was .. the party ? It would possibly be deemed pretentious to ask quite which party. There had been so very many in her short life, though she now courted the chance that this cute faery could not boast the same.

    "You are not the sister of Earculinta," she counselled the sweet thing, gravely, and took a gentle hand to each of the maid's shoulders. Teasing a swift appraisal of her young hostess, Fea made her diagnosis. "He ... is the brother of Menellinda" the Noble disclosed, with a sharp wink and then with a very stagger of deep sigh, added, "And he is ignoring me," she grieved, disliking the alien concept.

    In the very moment she debated, internally, if her performance would still hold its usual impact, while she was dressed in her brother's clothes and her hair flung wild ... Menellinda proposed quite the invitation.

    "I rather need to speak with him, without your parents overhearing. It is secret, very exciting .. " Fea raised one slender eyebrow as a wing commencing flight. "I am placing our future happiness in your hands, Menellinda ..."

    The drama of the clandestine declaration prompted a distant bird cry and a wisp of restrained anticipation. "Take me to him .." Fea allowed, generously. It seemed to her that the girl would be disappointed if she didn't, after all.

  74. Rivvy Elf's Avatar
    Conscript of Moria
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    #174

    Menellinda
    Years of the Trees
    Giving
    Fëapoldië a House Tour



    A confused tilt of a head was Menellinda's first response to Fëapoldië's assertion that Brother was her brother, rather than she being Brother's sister. Evidently it probably wasn't meant in malice since the latter's hands gently were placed on the Raven-Haired girl's shoulders.

    Still, even as the red-headed beauty happily assented, obviously smitten with Eärcúlinta, it confused poor Menellinda.

    "Father is at drill, while Mother is spear fishing. I don't think they'll overhear. Brother, he isn't ignoring you, he's... resting," she first said, turning her back in order to open the door.

    "Isn't him being my brother the same thing? Is there really a difference?" she asked, happily opening the door to let the red-headed one in.

    Menellinda first led her to the living room, which contained wooden armchairs, regular chairs, a table. Adorned on the walls were scattered mallorn leaves, along with various shells. There were various artwork, including one of Menellinda's finger-painted drawing of the entire family, and a drawing of Mother and a white-haired lady. Conches lay scattered on the table, in which a curious game board lay on the table.

    "Maybe after you and brother are done, we can play Strategy. It's the game where we try to take each other's supply depot or fortress," Menellinda said, as she dropped some chopped vegetables in their wooden pet turtle enclosure.

    "This is Slowpoke, our pet turtle. He's Say 'hi' to Fëapoldië, Slowpoke!" she spoke, as the baby turtle immediately hid in his shell upon seeing the red-headed visitor. Menellinda frowned, "he's just shy. When he gets used to you, he'll be very excited to see you, Lady Fëapoldië."

    After feeding her turtle, Menellinda then led Fëapoldië to the backyard, where Mother and Son earlier had fought.

    It hadn't been cleaned up yet.

    "Oh, n-n-othing to see here," the raven-haired elf said, as she quickly went back inside the house, thinking that it was best to take her to Brother lest Fëapoldië suspect anything.

    When the pair went up the stairs ("shhh", whispered Menellinda), the pair stopped before the wooden door leading into Brother's bedroom. The doorknob could not be locked since locked doors were expensive. So, Menellinda pushed the knob very slowly, peeking into the room.

    "He's sleeping. Why don't you surprise him?" Menellinda whispered to Fëapoldië.


    Look at my icon, now look at my title, look at my name, now look at me. Oh wait, you can't see me...

  75. Ercassie's Avatar
    Arwen
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    #175

    Alls not Fair in Love and War - Part 4 (Semi-Private, with RivvyElf





    Feapoldie Aiwenariel

    with Menellinda
    Visiting, at the House of Earculinta
    Tirion-upon-Tuna
    Years of the Trees

    It seemed that curiosity, if not compelling argument, had won the girl to her assistance. Fea doubted whether this slight maiden could have thwarted her intent to enter, had she been so inclined of the motion; yet she never had been denied, in all her life and it ably stroked at her entitled soul to be so welcomed. She decided to impart a gem of wisdom unto her fair aide. As means of expressing her true appreciation.

    "The difference is perception," she would have the elleth find some small seat of assertion, for her own good. "You are not just somebody's sister, so do not let anyone view you as just someone else's daughter. Be known for your own name. Claim yourself to be as good as any other. You are Menellinda" the guest followed her hostess into the modest family abode, and her voice muted with distraction, as her vibrant eyes stole every detail of the sparse decor. It took little