A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Pull out your pack and head on down to the Prancing Pony for some great Role Playing (try to stay in character)!

A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby SmaugsBane » Mon Mar 25, 2013 11:19 pm

The road-weary contingent of Mithril Knights stood somberly at attention at the edge of the little copse of elms beside the Forest River, where they had camped the last two days and nights, waiting. They were facing east, into the rising sun. Silhouetted against the brilliant orange dawn was the contingent from Esgaroth, approaching from the main West Bridge into the city. As they advanced, the Knights recognized the faces at the fore of the group: six men, auburn maned and mustachioed, with bodies built for wielding flagons rather than swords. At the center, flanked by his five remaining sons was Drake, foster father of Dirk the Daring, Mithril Knight of Lore. His normally jolly countenance was now melancholy, the mirth all but gone from his swollen, bloodshot eyes.

Thirty dignitaries of Laketown and Dale, along with family and friends of Dirk on one side and the grim-faced Mithril Knights, along with representatives from Imladris and Thranduil's people on the other. Between them was a casket on a caisson. Kind words and embraces were exchanged. Then a bundle, wrapped in a midnight-blue cloak, was presented to Drake by Lord Anorast on behalf of the Mithril Knights. Drake expressed his thanks to the old elf and stood aside. The two eldest of Dirk's foster brothers, Derek and Damon, took hold of the handles on the caisson.

Thus they proceeded. Drake, bearing the last artifacts of his youngest son, followed by the cart with its casket, immediately behind the caisson were Drake's other sons, each with a hand on the back of the caisson, then the Mithril Knights, the Lords of Dale and Esgaroth and the representatives from Imladris and Greenwood, and finally the rest of the family, friends and other folk who came to pay respects. From high above the cry of the Great Eagle, Meneldor could be heard as he circled ever lower, a shadow above the tiny host.

They slowly made their way to the the city center upon which Drake's inn, The Golden Dragon, held a place of prominence. The innkeeper was beloved amongst Laketowners and nearly everyone from Erebor to Thranduil's halls knew him; and they all had tales of the formerly mischievous grey-eyed boy who loved to climb trees and wiggle his way into places he wasn't supposed to be. So it was that the streets were lined with a silent crowd, and many of the townsfolk shared a nod or a knowing glance with Drake. He and his family were not alone in their grief. The close-knit community of those who lived upon the water shared each other's joys and pains alike.

At the door to the Inn, the brothers carefully unloaded the casket and carried it inside. A sign on the door proclaimed that the wake would begin at sundown and last two nights and a day. On sunrise of the second day, Dirk would be taken out of the city via the north gate and buried beside the River Running in the wildflower-mantled downs that stretched between Esgaroth and Dale.

Edited to include the Eagle....and again to make sense with previous posts.
Last edited by SmaugsBane on Tue Mar 26, 2013 4:13 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Rest In Peace, Dirk. 2002-2013
Image
Sig Pic by Lynx

Guild Steward of the Mithril Knights
User avatar
SmaugsBane
Ranger of the North

 
Posts: 3040
Joined: Fri Feb 01, 2002 9:10 am
Location: North of Fool, South of Old
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby SmaugsBane » Tue Mar 26, 2013 12:37 am

Outside, the Spring day waxed and waned pleasantly. The great Eagle had settled upon the peak of the steeply-pitched roof of The Golden Dragon. His benevolent presence, though intimidating, did not frighten the townsfolk away.

Inside, the sons and daughters-in-law of Drake worked. Dirk's body was removed from its casket, cleansed and dried. He was dressed in a black tunic and breeches, over which was placed the armor of Eöl, the rends in the mail concealed, then the white vest of the Valacirca. His raven hair was left loose about his shoulders and trademark tall black boots were polished to a high sheen. Lastly, his Mithril Cloak was placed over his shoulders and allowed to flow beside him. He had been laid upon a cushion of black velvet on the center-most table of The Golden Dragon's main taproom. His hands were closed the broken hilt of Neleg Amlug upon his breast and at his feet was a token of his defeated enemy, a horn of the mighty dragon Mauglaur shining like polished onyx. Because Dirk had always been pale, he almost looked as though he was only sleeping. There was even a hint of his wry smile at the corners of his mouth. The spirits that had bathed him for the last several weeks had worked perfectly to bring home to his family a corpse capable of being viewed.

Finally, the food had been prepared and several barrels of the Inn's famous stout ale had been tapped. The sun had touched the western horizon; it was time to open the doors to the The Golden Dragon. The wake of Dirk the Daring of Esgaroth had begun.

Edited to include the Eagle.
Last edited by SmaugsBane on Wed Mar 27, 2013 7:45 am, edited 3 times in total.
Rest In Peace, Dirk. 2002-2013
Image
Sig Pic by Lynx

Guild Steward of the Mithril Knights
User avatar
SmaugsBane
Ranger of the North

 
Posts: 3040
Joined: Fri Feb 01, 2002 9:10 am
Location: North of Fool, South of Old
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby Cock-Robin » Tue Mar 26, 2013 3:36 am

Excluded from the wake was one who was closest to Dirk before the end, the Great Eagle Meneldor, called the Swift. His great size was prohibitive to entering, so he perched atop the Golden Dragon and silently watched his friends and the others file in. He had flown low over the procession as it made its way to Laketown, his shadow over them in token of protection. He had often looked to Erebor, where he had once been with his brethren in the Battle of Five Armies.

It was a wrench to his heart to be seperated for these two days, unless Agarak could be persuaded to do his magic to allow him entrance. But up in his lonely vigil, he remembered his friend, his mentor, his brother in all but skin. He had plucked a great feather from his breast and given it to Anorast to lay upon the breast of Dirk the Daring, a token of his friendship, for not idly do the feathers of the Great Eagles fall. Especially of the last, the one called Sorontel by his brethren in the West.

Brondgast was back in human form as he entered with the Mithril Knights. His brethren from the Beornings were behind, but he had accompanied Tempest in bear from all the way to Laketown, now transformed back and accompanying Vanaladiel, his mentor. In a way, a protection had been withdrawn from Erinhue, and if Tempest now wanted to make her move,she could. He had felt her simmering anger against the Bard along the way here.
Image

the doomed bird





Meneldor, Warrior Bard, and Brondgast, Mithril Knights

Gwaeryn and Robin, The Expected Party

Meneldor, Alatar and Pallando, Darkness Reigns: The Resistance


Warrior Bard
User avatar
Cock-Robin
Friend of Eagles

 
Posts: 11785
Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2001 11:11 am
Location: Walking around the country and seeing folk
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby erinhue » Fri Mar 29, 2013 6:18 pm

Removed by author
"Where ever you go, there you are." - Buckaroo Bonzi

Image
User avatar
erinhue
Warrior/Bard of Belfalas Illuvatar's Bright Spirit

 
Posts: 23106
Joined: Thu Aug 03, 2000 10:06 pm
Location: Just south of Ground Zero
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby Cock-Robin » Thu May 02, 2013 9:39 pm

Meneldor was perched atop the inn, pondering all that had happened in the past days. He looked around the area, sometimes his eyes resting on Erebor in the distance in the north, sometimes to the west in Greenwood, sometimes to the East where the wise one, Pallando was there and would welcome him.

Much had happened indeed since Pallando had sent him westwards. Despite his mourning for Dirk, there was an undercurrent of joy for what had come to pass, in joining the brotherhood. If only Dirk was around to see it.

His thoughts were very involved, and it took some time for the call to gain his attention, but it was a call he couldn't ignore for long. It was new and yet very familiar from ages past.

The Eagles, like many of the High Elves, did live in two places at once. They were the great spirits summoned to the circles of the world by Manwë and ultimately by Eru when Melkor had ruined the land and fled to Middle-Earth. And it happened now.

Meneldor closed his eyes and focused on the call. Suddenly he found himself speeding westward, though his body was still atop the roof of the inn. He was now indeed the Swift, as he flew faster than he had in the body, flashing past the land, far into the sea even as the circles of the world dropped down below him, he was flying the Straight Road.

And he was free, and filled with joy, shining with a brilliant light as he passed Eressëa, approached Taniquetil where Thorondor and his brethren watched from their height.

And yet he was drawn onwards, finally coming to the Ring of Doom where Manwë and Varda sat. As he approached, they arose in his honor. Varda smiled with recognition at him, as he approached, unclad from his feathery form.

But Meneldor was dismayed at the fact they had risen at his approach. "M...masters," he stammered, "I'm not worthy of this."

"You are too modest, Sorontel." said Manwë. "We arise in your honor, for you have accomplished great deeds which places you among those of great renown." said Varda. "So do not be ashamed. Last you are, but not least."

"And we have summoned you, Sorontel, last of the Eagle-Lords to say well done, and to say more tasks are set before you, after you honor the fallen. For you have found your destiny among the mortals, and now shall know more to do. Darkness has touched you as none of your kin knows, and they look and marvel at what you have borne for the frienship of one you briefly served." said the Lord of the Valar. "Make us proud. And this is your training as well. You are being trained for your part in the Last Battle, I am allowed to tell you this. You shall fly with your lord Thorondor in his vanguard, and Dirk shall be with you. But that is at a time known only to the One. Until then, you have much to do before you come here to rest. Remember, always remember, who you are."

"Farewell, Sorontel, shining star, until we meet at last." said Varda. "Shine for me."

With that, he awoke on the roof of the inn. Here was more to ponder as he awaited the memorial.

"And so I shall." said Meneldor, softly.

edited to remove and change some content.
Image

the doomed bird





Meneldor, Warrior Bard, and Brondgast, Mithril Knights

Gwaeryn and Robin, The Expected Party

Meneldor, Alatar and Pallando, Darkness Reigns: The Resistance


Warrior Bard
User avatar
Cock-Robin
Friend of Eagles

 
Posts: 11785
Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2001 11:11 am
Location: Walking around the country and seeing folk
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby Idril » Mon May 20, 2013 10:31 pm

Idril had been in and out of Lórien again, for even though she was the Lórien Guild House Steward, she traveled sometimes on Guild business. It was on her most recent travels that she heard a word that was difficult for her to fathom, much less believe the truth of it. Sir Dirk had died? She had dealt with death in many ways through the years so although she found this death difficult to accept, she wouldn't really believe that Sir Dirk, a friend and fellow Mithril Knight was actually dead, until she saw his body. She was so glad that she wasn't in Lórien for she would never had made the journey in time to see for herself that it was Sir Dirk. She immediately broke camp and mounted her horse and headed towards his homeland.

She had heard the news in Rivendale early on the day of her arrival, so she had made a request to attend to the business that had brought her more quickly than intended. She immediately changed her plans of staying for a time to rest to be that she would leave right after her meeting concluded. It was a good thing she hadn't pushed Thunder the last couple days so he wasn't tired. She was figuring that his people would not wait long before they performed their burial ritual for him and she didn't want to arrive to late to see the body, for her own peace of mind. She had to figure out the shortest distance to arrive in time, not sure that it was even possible to arrive before his burial but she had to try. She thought as she headed East what the quickest way would be and she was already on the road she knew would take her in the direction she desired, then she would turn and head towards Dirk's homeland. She was calculating how hard to ride as Thunder could withstand a steady pace for some time but she didn't want to damage or kill him. She let the horse have his head and let her mind wander, in a way reaching out to her steed. Good thing that they had already made it through the High pass the day before as the lands ahead were wide open.

Let me know when you need to rest. This is a long, hard ride and I unfortunately need to have an answer to my question is my friend really dead? I will rest while riding but you let me know when you need to rest. We may not be able to stop but a fast walk, keeping movement towards Dirk's people, will suffice. Can and will you do this for me? For if we stop, I may not arrive in time to see if this is truly Sir Dirk or someone else who has died. I hope to make for the home of Beorn, I will leave you there and get a fresh horse.

Thunder snorted as he started and reached a good, steady gallop. He had great stamina and speed but nothing like his predecessor. He knew in his heart that he would not fail his mistress if he could help her ease her mind, which was confused and in pain. Her mindless wandering inside her own head was heard by him, was her way of protecting herself, a way of hiding behind a wall. He would not fail her. There was a rhythm pounding out beneath them as they flew. The mane and tail of the horse flying out behind them, long and flowing like waves while the woman upon the beast had tied her hair with several leather strips before mounting the horse, rather than take the time to braid it. She may need her veil but would wait till the last minute to loosen it. She prayed that she could just ride, undisturbed and unseen, without event, in order to reach her destination in time.

Time passed. The road was found and Idril turned Thunder towards the river. She started to wonder if she was on the right path.
Last edited by Idril on Thu May 23, 2013 8:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.
User avatar
Idril
Ranger of the North
 
Posts: 1653
Joined: Mon Apr 17, 2000 11:13 am
Location: Pacific Northwest
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby Idril » Tue May 21, 2013 11:40 pm

Her mind wandered in the past while the pounding hooves of Thunder ate up the miles. She remembered that she had been asked to return to LothLórien, to the Guild House of the Mithril Knights as an ambassador of sorts, the Steward of the House. She had done so much in that time away. She had heard much of the escapades of the Mithril Knights. They always answered the call of need throughout Middle Earth. So she was not surprised that she had not heard of any of the Knights in Training being initiated. She was sure though that they had been thoroughly tested and tried in their workings with the Knights. She wondered how Meneldor fared. Of him she had heard only small amounts, mostly stories people told of a great bird flying high at different times and in different places in Middle Earth. When she heard things like this, usually in passing, it made her smile for she had become very close to him in their trainings and time together. When she was sent on Guild House business to Rivendell, she had no idea that her travels would change so drastically and with such suddenness. While in Lórien, she tended to much business but there had been something different stirring and she was too sensitive to these "things". So while tending to Guild House needs, and a chance for travel, there was more of a stirring in her soul to be back with her fellow Knights, doing what she felt she did best, protecting Middle Earth and her peoples. So when she heard the horrible news of Sir Dirk, her decision was made. She sent the news to Lórien that she was heading from Rivendell to find the Mithril Knights and to answer the question of what had happened to Sir Dirk.

In her mind's eye she heard, I need to rest so she gathered herself up and noticed where she was at exactly. The River Langflood was right in front of them but a ways yet, while the forest of Mirkwood, also called Rhovanion, was in the distance, a large dark area in front of her. Beorn’s house was north and left after the old ford. Her heart was broke and her feelings not only went through her body but in her mind. She took stock of what her next move was and also about how long it would take her to reach her destination. She was still more than a league away from her destination. She would never make it in time. Time. It never seemed to pass fast enough UNLESS you had an agenda or a time limit to reach something. Then it seemed to fly by like the wind. Even for an elf.

Let's head for the river for some water and a short rest to gather strength. I have a hard decision to make; whether to head to Beorn’s or keep riding. I am not sure we will make it in time, but we have to try. Once they arrived at the river, she looked for an easy place to get water and a little fresh grass for Thunder. She had plenty of Lembas with her but fresh water was always needed. She would even share the Lembas with Thunder as he had a taste for it. Strange animal. He cooled down from his running and took some grass as he walked to the water's edge. He found a nice small quickening for his mistress to get the freshest water for her. She dismounted to the area he had brought her as he drank deeply of the clear, cold water. He lifted his great head and shook his head briskly for the cold water had gotten up his nose. His long mane also was wet with the dripping cold water which helped to cool his thick neck. He took a couple steps into the cool water, just a little downstream from his mistress. He watched her intently, looking for any sign that she was done and ready to continue their journey.

Idril filled her flask, then took a rag and wet it in the stream. She quickly washed her neck with the rag and then washed her face in the stream, drying it off but leaving it damp enough to refresh her. You ready? she asked Thunder. He snorted and pawed the water, took another good drink, shook his head and stepped up to her. She remounted him and sat thinking of which way to go.

~~~~
Her thoughts strayed. Indecision was very difficult for her and she knew she was wasting precious and valuable time. She prayed. Please if there is a solution to this time issue, please come to mind. I will kill Thunder if we try to make it. Elder’s please give me a sign and an answer to this dilemma. Thunder started at a canter and they advanced North trying towards Beorn’s. They had almost 2 complete days to get to The Green Dragon, where Sir Dirk’s body was held in state. Was it enough? Probably not, with more than a league to go, there didn’t seem to be any other answer but to get a fresh horse and continue on her journey as she refused to ride Thunder to the death.

I’m sorry Thunder I will not ride you to death and then have to continue on foot and miss the ceremony altogether. That in itself makes no sense. I will get a fresh horse and continue on the journey and return for you later. Thunder kept moving North yet looked East across to Mirkwood. He wanted so badly to bear his mistress to her destination, knowing he could do it but he understood her concerns for him. They had ‘found’ each other and hadn’t been together long, but long enough. He was stronger than she knew. He loved her more for her caring of his well being and he would do anything for her, even give his life. He was not in agreement with her but he would follow her wishes, he would also follow behind her at a more leisurely pace than the horse she would be riding and probably arrive a few days after this thing called a burial of her friend. In this way he would be fairly rested and be able to rest up before she was ready to leave again. That way she would have him available to her for whatever journey she would take afterwards.
Last edited by Idril on Thu May 23, 2013 10:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.
User avatar
Idril
Ranger of the North
 
Posts: 1653
Joined: Mon Apr 17, 2000 11:13 am
Location: Pacific Northwest
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby Cock-Robin » Thu May 23, 2013 3:06 am

Meneldor had been reflecting on his perch atop the inn. He had been reflecting on all his journeys and the deeds he had done since he had accompanied the Mithril Knights and taken apprenticeship with them, up to the death of his friend, his brother, his Mentor, Dirk the Daring.

He was the last in a string of mentors he had had. Each had lessons for him to add to his experience, and he awaited his initiation which would happen after the funeral arrangements were finished. Before him, Vana had taken a turn, then...

He had forgotten Idril, the dear elf he shared a bond with since the fateful day when he first saw her, and a cold drake was descending, intent on her destruction. He wondered what had befallen her since she had departed for Lorien. He hadn't heard from her in so long.

His far-ranging sight turned west towards the distant forest. How he longed for her presence once again, her reassuring ways. His eyes strained for a sight of her. As he strained, he felt the presence, afar off, that she was coming. This was the only thing that would lift his spirits since the day Dirk had died, and for the moment, he was excluded from the proceedings as the wake inside the inn was going on. It would be some time before the procession left for the last stage of the memorial, and the call, ever distant, beckoned to him, He felt her concern for her horse's well being, being driven so hard and so far.

That would easily be mended. He knew he would gladly bear her the rest of the way, giving her horse his needed rest.

"Forgive me, Dirk, duty calls. I am needed. But I will be back to pay my last respects." he said, as he spread his wings and lifted off of the roof, speeding westward. Laketown was quickly behind him, and the forest of Greenwood was rapidly approaching. Meneldor the Swift was on his way.

Idril, I am coming. he sent as he flew even faster, eating up the miles below him. The wind bore him up and whistled through his feathers.

And as he flew, he opened his beak and sang:

Oh, firstborn one,
I come, I come,
I come for you,

Borne aloft by the winds,
The four winds,
And so I fly above the woods,

In the midst of sorrow,
A joy is born
And shines brightly,

For a long-lost companion
Apears from afar,
calling to me.

O winds who bear me aloft,
Hear my voice,
Bear me swiftly to my beloved.

For I am called The Swift,
gifted with the speed,
the gift of the One.


And so he sang as he flew above the Greenwood.
Image

the doomed bird





Meneldor, Warrior Bard, and Brondgast, Mithril Knights

Gwaeryn and Robin, The Expected Party

Meneldor, Alatar and Pallando, Darkness Reigns: The Resistance


Warrior Bard
User avatar
Cock-Robin
Friend of Eagles

 
Posts: 11785
Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2001 11:11 am
Location: Walking around the country and seeing folk
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby Idril » Fri May 24, 2013 5:31 pm

They turned left just after the Old Ford and heading north, both horse and rider dreaded the inevitable parting that was coming, although it was only for a short time. Idril always enjoyed traveling especially with a good horse and good friends. She looked forward to seeing Beorn, hopefully he was home, she sensed something that he was watching them approach so time would tell. It would depend on if he were hunting or not. She hoped she wasn’t being presumptuous on his having a horse for her to continue her journey on.

As they made their way, she felt the horse tense under her, like he was waiting for something to jump out at him and he was saving for a burst of speed. She reached out to see if there was danger close by or if her initial thoughts that Beorn was out there, somewhere watching them. She suddenly didn’t feel as comfortable as there seemed to be something lurking and even her elven sight didn’t divulge anything to her.

Do you sense it too? she asked Thunder. He snorted but kept a steady pace. I have a bad feeling about this, something is out of place. I do not believe it is Beorn either. It’s something else, lurking on the outskirts. Beware.

She settled into a lower hunch over the horses’ neck scanning the area with sight, smell and hearing but whatever it was, it was being very careful and VERY quiet. She was usually quick to find things out of place but this was purposefully hidden and giving her an eerie feeling. What could it be, she wondered? Whatever it was it was well camouflaged.

Suddenly, without warning, something else hit her without warning. A message. One that she had not heard or felt for such a long time. She welcomed it.
Idril, I am coming.


HURRY!!!
Was her reply.

They raced on picking up a little speed for even though the sun was high in the sky, there was something dark advancing towards them. She was not liking the odds and prayed that she would be allowed to arrive safely to Beorn's Halls or at least have his help if this was a foe.

User avatar
Idril
Ranger of the North
 
Posts: 1653
Joined: Mon Apr 17, 2000 11:13 am
Location: Pacific Northwest
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby Cock-Robin » Fri May 24, 2013 7:48 pm

Meneldor was speeding above the forest, following the line of the Old Forest Road. Thanks to the efforts of Celeborn, this was getting to be the dark dangerous woods of Mirkwood no longer, since Dol Guldur had been overthrown and its pits laid open. Gradually, this was becoming Greenwood the Great once again, and it was about time.

The forest was still dense, but manageable. It would be perfect for the Ents if any of them decided to leave Fangorn Forest, but it was doubtful. From what he had heard, Treebeard and his kind were planted immovably, and were too comfortable, even to resume their search for the Entwives.

But he had found a wind current to glide upon, conserving his speed, but he was still moving faster than the fastest horse.

It was then that he heard the urgent word. HURRY! That was all the impetus the Eagle needed to show why he was called the Swift. I'm hurrying, Lady Idril, I'll be there before you can blink.

With that, he flapped his wings and put on an urgent burst of speed, rendering himself a mere blur to any watching from below. The nearest treetops bent from the gust of his passing, as he ascended to higher elevations, the faster currents, the rarified air that made for dynamic speed. He felt her fear, the dire need to put distance from a hostile follower.

Woe to whatever was following her, if he came upon it. It would know the wrath of one of the messengers of Manwë, herald of Mandos. He screeched his battle cry, a challenge to whatever was assailing his friend and mentor Idril. No other mentor would die under his watch!

The forest passed under him, as he flew faster and faster, miles and leagues became a child's distance.

The bond between them was strong. He so missed her, that he felt his heart would burst if another second delay happened. Faster than even the Nazgul he sped.

It was minutes that the forest was behind him, and he sped on, homing in on his friend. His far-seeing eyes saw the horse and rider, and he zoned in on it. And he saw the dark thing that was closing in on them. Putting weariness out of his mind, he put on one more desperate burst of speed as he folded his wings and dived down. It was no mere hobbit that he was intent of picking up from ruin, it was a horse and his rider, a horse that was starting to stumble from the weariness of the chase, desperate to keep ahead of the terror.

He would have to frighten them a little, as he dove down, extending his talons. He remembered other burdens he bore, small things that weighed heavily on him, the stones of Annuminas and Amon Sul.

Talons fully extended, just as the pursuer was closing in, he grabbed the horse. "Hold on tight, Lady Idril, Meneldor is here!" He flapped his wings and soared upwards, carrying horse and rider. He could only bear them both a short way, but the house of the Beornings, with the Carrock behind was closer and closer. The momentum was carrying them all, and he slowed down, circling wide, slowing his pace, round and round, closer to the grounds of the House.

Finally, he was at treetop level, and the grounds of the longhouse of the Beornings was there. He flapped his wings to slow his descent, finally setting them down. He went up and then landed several yards ahead of them.

Only then was he allowed to rest. Only then would his burdens be allowed to rest. He turned around to face them even as the inhabitants of the house came out.
Image

the doomed bird





Meneldor, Warrior Bard, and Brondgast, Mithril Knights

Gwaeryn and Robin, The Expected Party

Meneldor, Alatar and Pallando, Darkness Reigns: The Resistance


Warrior Bard
User avatar
Cock-Robin
Friend of Eagles

 
Posts: 11785
Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2001 11:11 am
Location: Walking around the country and seeing folk
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby Idril » Sat May 25, 2013 10:54 pm

All she could think of was getting to the Beornings house. Since she wasn’t sure what was following them she urged Thunder on. She suddenly heard I'm hurrying, Lady Idril, I'll be there before you can blink. It gave her some hope that they would be ok. Suddenly she heard a distant screech and she looked east and saw a great blur heading her way. Could it be that without realizing it, she had called out to Meneldor? She felt, more than she saw, her friend’s presence and barely that before she saw him in a dive heading for her. She was wondering if he was going after what was following them. She sure hoped so!

Thunder had sensed something also and had burst forward as fast as he could, with great heaving sides, his nostrils flared in the exertion. His hooves pounding the land relentlessly, throwing great clumps of earth behind him. He started to stumble, recovered and then started to stumble again. He couldn’t let up! He had to keep going.

Idril realized what was happening as it transpired. She didn’t have time to let Thunder know what was going to happen so when a great eagle’s talons came around them, he started too whiny loudly. Idril was grateful for the timing of her friend’s arrival! Thunder was not happy about the lifting nor about the descent, only too glad to have his hooves on the ground again and his responding stomps, neighs and flicking head and tail showed his disapproval. Idril tried to calm him and then she dismounted, continuing to try to calm his anxiousness.

Easy boy, easy. This is an old friend of mine Meneldor, he meant no harm. I understand how that would bother you. Easy, calm down now. Meneldor is a friend and would never hurt you. See here he comes. Easy now.

The great eagle was making his way towards them slowly, giving Idril time to talk to the horse. He knew how his size frightened them, after all birds weren’t supposed to be bigger than them! Meneldor shook out is feathers slowly before finishing his approach to Idril and the horse.

Just as he was getting close to Idril, out came Beorn from his house. He had a very big smile on his face. Idril didn’t quite see the humor in the moment, neither did Thunder and he wasn’t sure which one to fear more, the great eagle or the funny smelling man beast.

User avatar
Idril
Ranger of the North
 
Posts: 1653
Joined: Mon Apr 17, 2000 11:13 am
Location: Pacific Northwest
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby Cock-Robin » Sun May 26, 2013 1:36 pm

It was astounding how happy Meneldor was to see her, even though he had hoped for a happier time for their reunion. It was the Lady Idril that had taken him under his wing when he took apprenticeship in the Mithril Knights. When she had to leave the company on other business, Dirk had taken him on, even if it was for a short time. He had learned from Dirk, and at least he was able to give comfort to him in their last time together. He was glad that what he said had done some good.

But his heart rested with Idril, and he sorely missed the elf. As he dived, he saw clearly what...or who...was the pursuer. It looked a lot like Brondgast, but that was impossible. He had left Brondgast behind in Laketown, where he was inside the inn participating in the wake.

This bear was more savage in its demeanor, and he guessed it was either Grimbeorn the Old or Beorn himself, though Beorn was of great age at the moment. The Beornings were not immortal like the Elves or the Eagles, but still they had a long lifespan for mortals.

While Idril and Thunder were in his talons, Meneldor felt the horse struggling and heard his whinny of fear. He knew Idril would use her skill to calm him down. After he set her and the horse down, he had landed, and then paused, giving the elf time to calm her horse down before he approached.

"Mae Govannen, Lady Idril." he said. "Long time no see. I am glad to have you back. I missed you, and hoped you would come back to bring me the final steps to being a Mithril Knight, as the Last Eagle."

He had no chance to say more, for Beorn had emerged from the house laughing and showing a great smile. "Not eaten by wicked bears, I see." he said.

Meneldor shook his head. "I fail to see the humor in it. You frightened that poor horse nearly to death. I saw it was you or your father, otherwise I would have picked YOU up and then seen if you could fly. But then, Brondgast would never talk to me again."

Beorn merely laughed louder. "And how did my grandson fare? No, I need not ask. He and the company passed through here on the way to Laketown. I will tend to the elf and her horse. Though I had a little fun, I take care of beasts under my roof."
Image

the doomed bird





Meneldor, Warrior Bard, and Brondgast, Mithril Knights

Gwaeryn and Robin, The Expected Party

Meneldor, Alatar and Pallando, Darkness Reigns: The Resistance


Warrior Bard
User avatar
Cock-Robin
Friend of Eagles

 
Posts: 11785
Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2001 11:11 am
Location: Walking around the country and seeing folk
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby erinhue » Sun Jun 02, 2013 3:04 pm

A twilight rain sprinkled the young rider with the promise of a stormy night. The lonely road stretched on and on before her. Failure lay behind. Once again the wild gave way to farm land with yet another village just ahead along the road. She had been on the road for two days, searching for someone she had never actually expected to meet.

The Mithril Knight in Training was impressed by the urgency in her mentor’s instructions. She was to deliver a very important message and do it as quickly as possible.

Ka’ryn thought, at first, that this would be a simple mission. Her horse, At’lan was swift as the wind and she expected the task to be completed in a matter of hours. The young Knight in Training laughed at her naivety. She should have known it would be anything but easy to track down a legend.
"Where ever you go, there you are." - Buckaroo Bonzi

Image
User avatar
erinhue
Warrior/Bard of Belfalas Illuvatar's Bright Spirit

 
Posts: 23106
Joined: Thu Aug 03, 2000 10:06 pm
Location: Just south of Ground Zero
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby erinhue » Sun Jun 02, 2013 3:09 pm

Ka’ryn opened the door to the rustic village inn and breathed a word of thanks to get in out of the rain. If all else failed today, again, at least she could sleep in a warm dry bed tonight.

She watched the tavern keeper size her up as she walked towards the bar. She secretly enjoyed watching the questions form on their faces. Something about her being young and female and wearing the emblems of a Mithril Knight put the same expression on all their faces.

The barman stopped peering at her covertly and looked at her directly. His quick study took note of the well known cloak and tunic. Still he could not reconcile what his eyes saw and what his mind believed should be the order of things. Forgetting himself for a moment the man gaped at her and asked,

“Are you a Mithril Knight?”

Ka’ryn almost laughed at the myrad other questions behind the one he asked. She did not answer it.

“ I have traveled a long way and I carry an important message.” Ka’ryn had no time for niceties. “I am looking for Lord Erinhue of Belfalas. I’ve had word that he might be here. He would be traveling as a bard.”

“Bard?” the barman repeated, “Well, I don’t know about all that, but if you mean that lazy lout of a harp player, he’s over there in the corner. Been right there the last three, maybe four days. More than decent singer he is, worth his keep, don’t get me wrong, but if that one’s a Lord, I’ll eat a warg’s hind leg”.
"Where ever you go, there you are." - Buckaroo Bonzi

Image
User avatar
erinhue
Warrior/Bard of Belfalas Illuvatar's Bright Spirit

 
Posts: 23106
Joined: Thu Aug 03, 2000 10:06 pm
Location: Just south of Ground Zero
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby erinhue » Sun Jun 02, 2013 3:15 pm

Too many hopeful sightings had proved to be simply delays. Ka’ryn cast a studying gaze in the direction indicated by the innkeeper and searched the area with her eyes.
On a high stool, near a table in the farthest corner, sat a small, tarnished gold harp, fashioned in the shape of a little winged dragon.

Ka’ryn felt her heart give a double beat. She was pleased, and more than a bit anxious, at the prospect that her search might have ended. The Knight in Training opened her traveling cloak, hoping to let the emblem on her tunic serve as introduction. Pulling back her hood, Ka’ryn walked towards the far corner of the taproom.

Seated in a chair leaned back against the wall, his legs propped atop the table, was a man, who appeared to be asleep. A gray flecked, close cropped beard covered his chin, the only part of his face uncovered by the hood pulled up over his head.

“Sorry, darlin’” a lazy drawl rolled out of the dimly lit corner, “ I couldn’t possibly start singin’ long as the sun’s still up even a little.”

“Lord Erinhue?” Ka’ryn inqured.

“Shhh, darlin’ “ the man replied without removing the hood from his face. “ That name just might attract a few poor losers.”

Ka’ryn smiled and knew her search was over.
"Where ever you go, there you are." - Buckaroo Bonzi

Image
User avatar
erinhue
Warrior/Bard of Belfalas Illuvatar's Bright Spirit

 
Posts: 23106
Joined: Thu Aug 03, 2000 10:06 pm
Location: Just south of Ground Zero
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby erinhue » Wed Jun 12, 2013 10:06 am

A chime of notes sounded gently in a poorly lit far corner of the taproom.

“Yes, I know. I heard.”

Another, deeper, collection of notes chimed.

“Yes,” Erinhue sighed, “ I knew they’d find me, though I might have wished it were later rather than sooner.”

Following his long talk with Anorast the night he returned to his companions and the honor guard procession accompanying Dirk on his final journey, the Elves had asked him no questions, passed no judgments and simply accepted his return. Meneldor , when he was present, spent his time in the sky but the Great Eagle, like the First Born, passed no judgment.

D’jazi often road beside the bard. The one time he broke the silence between them was to speak a phrase in his native tongue. Erinhue was familiar enough with the Eastern dialect to know it was an expression of support. Brondgast, who had made no comment about the disappearance or the return, was frequently in bear form, loping along at the rear of the procession... alongside Tempest.
"Where ever you go, there you are." - Buckaroo Bonzi

Image
User avatar
erinhue
Warrior/Bard of Belfalas Illuvatar's Bright Spirit

 
Posts: 23106
Joined: Thu Aug 03, 2000 10:06 pm
Location: Just south of Ground Zero
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby Cock-Robin » Wed Jun 12, 2013 6:51 pm

Brondgast sat with Vana, giving toast after toast to Dirk the Daring. He hadn't said much, there wasn't much to be said until the actual funeral, but the wake was an important part of it.

He had felt the pressure on the roof from the giant eagle release. Meneldor had obviously left on business of his own, since he couldn't get in or see the proceedings here, not until the actual funeral began.

So, he watched and waited. Since he had joined the group far back at the road, it had been adventure after battle after quest, and now it was over. Until the next time they were called. And then, he would make his father and grandfather proud and become a full-fledged Mithril Knight. Something few of his kind had done. But then, none of the Great Eagles had done it either. There was always a first.
Image

the doomed bird





Meneldor, Warrior Bard, and Brondgast, Mithril Knights

Gwaeryn and Robin, The Expected Party

Meneldor, Alatar and Pallando, Darkness Reigns: The Resistance


Warrior Bard
User avatar
Cock-Robin
Friend of Eagles

 
Posts: 11785
Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2001 11:11 am
Location: Walking around the country and seeing folk
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby Idril » Wed Jun 12, 2013 8:11 pm

I believe sir that it best that I take care of my horse as I don’t believe he would take to kindly to your, er smell. Just point the way to your stable. Idril saw to Thunder until he settled down in the stable behind the Beornings house. She made sure that he had plenty of food and water and hand fed him a large piece of Lembas. There you are, spoiled beast. Thunder stomped and snorted at the derogatory title applied to him. After all, he was a regal animal, son of the Lady’s last horse and definitely NOT a beast. He had smelled one and knew for sure he wasn’t a beast. Idril patted his neck speaking Elven words to calm him. It still upset him that he would not bear her to the end of this journey. I shall see you before I leave. Rest now. Idril then made her way towards the house.

She had another she needed to see before she went inside. She walked around for a bit looking for her friend Meneldor. I know it’s impossible but where are you hiding Meneldor? she quietly thought. I am here M’lady just behind and to the side of the house, resting. Idril made her way to where Meneldor was resting. As she saw him she disregarded size and protocol and threw her arms around the neck of the great eagle, burying her face in his feathered neck. Ah the smell; the memories that rushed her mind in return.

It is good to see you again Meneldor. Thanks for the lift she said with a big smile. Although a little more warning would have been nice so that I could ease my horses mind first. Maybe your way was best, knowing Thunder’s youth. Meneldor replied with a tilt of his head and a look that said Oh sure. I’ll consider that next time I swoop down to take a horse and rider into my talons. Idril actually laughed at the thought of “telling” Thunder he was about to be grasped by a great eagle! Meneldor shook his head at the vision in her mind’s eye that she shared with him. Fluffing himself up, dipping his head down and accepting a gently placed hand on his head and another pro-offered hand with Lembas in it, he ate the Lembas slowly, relishing in the comfort that Idril brought him.

Do you need anything else?

No, just some rest is all that I need now.

Alright I should make my way to the house. I’ve figured out why or should I say whom, was spooking Thunder and I. I am also tired and a little hungry so I will take my leave of you till the morrow. Good night my friend. And reaching up once again Idril gave the great eagle as big of a hug as an elf could.

Idril made her way towards the end of the house, working her way to the front of the house. Beorn still stood near the entryway, still smiling his broad smile, arms crossed across his broad chest.

Welcome M’Lady to my humble home. I hope that you will find your rest here. He smiled still as Idril nodded at him.

I must say you have a way about you. You half scared my horse to death! You even had me guessing with my keen sight, smell and hearing I could not tell it was you.

I was just making sure you arrived safely. It also keeps me young. My apologies for frightening you or your beast.

Don’t let Thunder hear you call him a beast! He has labeled you that and would take great offense at the reference. Beorn gave a great laugh, signaling for her to enter his home and guided her to the dining area, still laughing heartily.
User avatar
Idril
Ranger of the North
 
Posts: 1653
Joined: Mon Apr 17, 2000 11:13 am
Location: Pacific Northwest
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby erinhue » Fri Jun 14, 2013 8:27 pm

A small stand of elm trees beside the Forest River sheltered the mournful procession as they awaited the Honor Guard to march out of Laketown. In the pre-dawn dark of the first night, Erinhue stood at the edge of the encampment He was alone until Anorast walked up to join him. Together they stood, silent, waiting.

The velvet cloak of night faded to a thin veil unable to conceal the soft but growing light of the sun soon to peek over the horizon. The first rays lit the sky in sunrise shadings proclaiming the glories of a brand new day. Without taking his eyes from the view, Erinhue said “It’s going to be a very hot day.”

The dew kissed morning breeze made the statement sound odd enough for Anorast to turn and look. Erinhue was visably sweating. From what the bard did and did not say the night of his return, the old elf surmised that his friend was having trouble with his emotions and that was manifesting in the feelings of extreme heat that Erinhue was now experiencing. That was definitely not a good sign.
"Where ever you go, there you are." - Buckaroo Bonzi

Image
User avatar
erinhue
Warrior/Bard of Belfalas Illuvatar's Bright Spirit

 
Posts: 23106
Joined: Thu Aug 03, 2000 10:06 pm
Location: Just south of Ground Zero
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby erinhue » Fri Jun 14, 2013 9:07 pm

The silence between them lingered until the last shreds of night were driven away.

“I can’t stay here.” Erinhue broke the silence.

“I know.” Anorast replied

“I would, I mean, I want to stay, but…”

“I know.”

“ And I know that it really isn’t going to be a hot day. It’s not the day, it’s me. Look at me. The sun isn’t even full up and I’m already melting. Last time that happened…” The bard let his voice trail to stillness.

Anorast saw the distress and division in Erinhue’s torn expression. He thought to offer some word of comfort, but sensed that it would be better if he say nothing at this moment. The instinct proved correct when Erinhue spoke again.

“ I knew him back before he learned who he really was, before the darkness touched him. That last night when he left the Lucky Fortune, I knew something was wrong. I knew it. I had half a mind to do what I could to stop him from leaving but Agarak went on about not being able to turn him from that road and I let him go.”

Erinhue turned to face Anorast, anguish palpable in his stripped bare voice.

“I just keep seeing him the first night he came to the Lucky Fortune, and then when he finally came back. I see him in a dozen times and places but mostly I see him standing alone against that monster.”

Grey eyes moist and glistening the bard began to shout.

“That was the fork in the road, don’t you see. If I had had to move the Lonely Mountain to make him stay that night, I should have done it. If I had stopped him, none of this, none of it, would have happened.”

Anorast listened quietly. He also watched. As Erinhue’s emotions boiled over, the bard grew increasingly red in the face. A quick glance showed the feverish blush was flushing all of his visible skin.

Erinhue recognized the elf’s observation conduct and himself the object of study. A few deep breaths helped him regain composure and he turned back to watching the dawn.

“It’s not like it is with Clarion.” Erinhue spoke again a few minutes later still gazing East. “ I can’t control when it starts, not if I keep thinking about him, and I cannot stop thinking about him.”

The gold tinged sky softened into a bright clear blue. The morning song of the woodland birds had ended when the bard finally spoke again.

“I can’t stay here.”

“I know you can’t.” Anorast agreed. “Just come back when I call.”
"Where ever you go, there you are." - Buckaroo Bonzi

Image
User avatar
erinhue
Warrior/Bard of Belfalas Illuvatar's Bright Spirit

 
Posts: 23106
Joined: Thu Aug 03, 2000 10:06 pm
Location: Just south of Ground Zero
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby Cock-Robin » Sun Jun 16, 2013 8:05 pm

Meneldor rested with his head under his wing as Idril left. She needed not worry about protocol. The ways of the Great Eagles, the Messengers of Manwë, were different from those of Middle-Earth. It is true that he reserved such familiarity with his closest friends. Dirk was one, and Idril was another. And then there was Pallando. Pallando, the blue wizard who sent him on this quest, and bound his destiny with the Mithril Knights. The real reason why he was left behind when the rest of the Great Eagles were called home.

He had accepted the lembas, even though for him, it was too small even to taste. But it strangely sustained and energized him. His exhaustion was lessened, and he was able to sleep, wandering in the strange paths of his kind. Very few had seen him unclad, except for the Valar, and maybe the Istari before they were concerned about Middle-Earth. But his meeting with Manwë and Varda rolled in his mind, and he thought of what it would portend.

Meanwhile, Beorn had welcomed Idril into his halls where a feast was prepared. His son, Grimbeorn the Old was there, as were other of his kin. And yet, his thoughts were on Brondgast. He had met his grandson briefly when the funeral party went through his lands. He had grown great, and he wondered. Could he be the one? Only time would tell, and the treasure held by Tharanduil until the right time, who would it welcome?

"Come, eat and rest, then you can go on the rest of your journey in the morning." he said.
Image

the doomed bird





Meneldor, Warrior Bard, and Brondgast, Mithril Knights

Gwaeryn and Robin, The Expected Party

Meneldor, Alatar and Pallando, Darkness Reigns: The Resistance


Warrior Bard
User avatar
Cock-Robin
Friend of Eagles

 
Posts: 11785
Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2001 11:11 am
Location: Walking around the country and seeing folk
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby Tempest » Tue Jun 18, 2013 7:20 pm

Since the incident in the stable, Tempest had kept her distance from the bard. This was partially because there had been no resolution between then, and partially because she felt ashamed for what had occurred. She was reminded of her rashness every time she glanced down at the scorched fur of the bear rambling by her side.

She hated herself.

Why did these sorts of things always happen to her? She preferred to be alone. Relationships with other people were too complicated, and she always found herself destroying any forged alliances through her careless words, or in this case, her actions. Would it ever be thus with her? She did not know how to repair what she had done, and yet, at the same time, she still could not let go of her anger.

So, instead, what had started as a gloomy journey with a depressed band of Mithril Knights, ended in Laketown with a very sullen Tempest trailing behind the pack. When they arrived, arrangements were immediately made for Dirk’s wake, and his shrouded body was whisked away by his foster brothers and father to its temporary resting place within The Golden Dragon.

The Mithril Knights were bone weary by this point, but they would not rest until Dirk’s body lay in its permanent grave. At this point, they were joined by others of their order who had received the news, and were not otherwise engaged in urgent Guild business. Their presence was a comfort to those who had journeyed from the beginning, but there was one face in particular that Tempest sought for among her fellow Knights, and did not see.

”Where is Elbren?” she frowned to herself, adding more melancholy to her already dismal face. ”He cannot have failed to receive the summons.”

And yet, he did not appear on the first day of Dirk’s wake, and as daylight faded, Tempest’s anxiety and consternation grew. Already she found it difficult to continue to gaze at the shrouded body of Dirk as it lay before them, and she was beginning to avoid the eyes of her friends as well. She withdrew from the inn briefly to get some fresh air, and the night’s breath was cool upon her hot face when she noticed a messenger with the emblazed insignia of the Order standing within the shadows of the overhang.

”How long have you been here?” she asked in alarm. ”And why did you not enter?”

”Pardon, Lady Tempest, but my orders were not to disturb the wake, for my message is not urgent,” he replied. ”But seeing as you have exited briefly, I can execute my orders and leave my message with you.” He handed her a sealed letter, though the wax seal caught the torch light and the signet of Elbren blazoned out clearly upon its surface.

”From Elbren?” she asked, perplexed. But the messenger elicited no answer, and as she broke the seal and opened the letter, she suddenly looked up and realized that he had disappeared into the night again.

She frowned and held the letter up to the light, and its words made her brow furrow even more. Elbren was not coming. He was grieved that he could share their burden with them, but he had gone East in response to the investigation of the Red Hammer, and he simply would not make it back in time.

Elbren. Gone East? She shook her head. There must have been more to those initial reports than they had realized, especially if Elbren himself had decided to follow the first group he had sent. What intelligence had they sent back that caused him to go? Or did he feel compelled because the rest of them had not returned from investigating the Drake threat in the North?

She shivered in the night breeze and drew her cloak around her tightly. These were questions for another day, and Elbren’s last words stirred her from her musings: Bring him home, oaths fulfilled and with honor. She felt suddenly forlorn without her friend's presence, and she lifted her eyes and looked towards the inn where the rest of the Mithril Knights waited with Dirk. They were her friends too, and she could draw strength from those bonds. But how long would they last? How long before their oaths were dust and their friendship had dissolved with the elements? How long before they joined Dirk in the impossible light where she could not hope to come herself?

With another shiver, Tempest re-entered the inn and made her way to the front. Regardless of the dark thoughts that swirled within her mind, she would do honor to her fallen Knight. Someone had just stepped down from the podium, and the sound of stifled weeping could still be heard. She did not look at the gathered throng, she turned instead to the man who she had called her friend, who lay in silence before her. And she lifted her weary head and spoke.

”I envy Dirk. I envy him, for he has finished well. He has fulfilled his oaths and kept his honor. His strength did not fail him, and the darkness did not consume him. He fought to the end and did not bow again to tyranny and evil. He did not allow the blood that ran within his veins to destroy him, but he struggled against it and was victorious. He is not vanquished, not even in death. May his spirit be welcomed into Iluvatar’s court and find peace there.”

Here her voice dropped to a whisper, and she leaned over the shrouded body and spoke so softly than none knew what she said, save Dirk alone, if he could hear. Then, with clouded eyes, Tempest raised her hand and touched the edge of his cloak gently, where it had strayed slightly from the shrouded form. ”I envy you,” she whispered. ”Would that I could finish as well as you, my friend.”
User avatar
Tempest
Ranger of the North


 
Posts: 4886
Joined: Tue Jul 11, 2000 8:12 am
Location: Wandering in the wilds
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby prmiller » Tue Jun 25, 2013 11:00 pm

Parm had spent many months in self-imposed exile within the healing walls and sounds of Imladris.
Although it was commonly known as Rivendell, Parm had taken great pains to absorb both the
gravitas and grandness of the Elvish name.

It was here that he had met and married and beautiful woman, who, with two lovely daughters
had left Parm that they might be kept safe from the storm that had gathered around this enigma of a man.
Parm's treasures had died on the way to their haven. He had been told it was wolves.
Others knew the dreadful tale with greater clarity.

Here Parm's son, Arahn, had broken an ancient law, and delved into dark, dreadful magic that caused him
to be imprisoned in the grim dungeons of a foe Parm had yet to best in battle. Rescued by a
plucky lad from Rohan, Arahn had been whisked away, brought to meet, and join forces with,
the new King of the Golden Hall, and for all Parm knew, was growing stronger and taller with
those great warriors on the grassy oceans.

Silvertongue, Parm's remarkable companion, now flew in unending joy in realms beyond Parm's sight.

As for Willum, the Hobbit lad who had attended Parm on various journeys, was now a town elder,
and that was the extent of his political aspirations. From time to time, Parm received letters,
ones that became progressively heavier, longer, and more impressive than the last. Willum was,
for all his foibles, a very loyal friend. Thus, when the packet arrived, Parm knew that even Willum
was trying to "take his leave." The note was cordial, but uncharacteristically brief. In essence,
Willum was looking to retire soon, and wanted to enjoy his days in quiet, anonymous bliss.
The packet contained a beautifully crafted travelling pouch, one that could hold all sorts of
necessities. Parm knew that it was a subtle wish on Willum's part, that Parm travel to Hobbiton
and join the Hobbit and his family to enjoy the quiet comforts of retirement ... not too far
from Michel Delving.

Parm had other plans.

He had heard of a great warrior, one whom he had held in high regard through most of his days.
Unlike Parm, Dirk had not been blessed with the gift of Valar healing. Death, which Parm had
pierced Parm's life in wretched ways, had brought a fresh pang. This time, however, Parm was
going to shrug off the difficulty of travelling to make his way to Esgaroth, and there, bring his
guarded respect and honour, and bring homage to a warrior whom Parm had long wished to have
known.

Parm was also in need of new lodgings. The Elves of Imladris, while excellent scholars, and
wise in many ways, gracious hosts, and valiant warriors, knew that Parm's healing required
a different venue, an invigorating quest. Therefore, the Elves had declared that at the
arrival of the Summer Solstice, Parm would need to leave or be taken to Tharbad, where
great rivers converged, and take up his lodgings there.

Thus Parm found his way to the road that passed through Mirkwood to begin his journey to
Esgaroth and the Long Lake, and there learn what he might about a life lived so very differently
from his own, and find a way to keep the wonder of such a life alive in more hearts than
his own.
Variations on a theme: winter here in Calgary...and elsewhere?

Image
User avatar
prmiller
I am Parm: Servant of Eru, Bard of Imladris

 
Posts: 7241
Joined: Tue Jul 09, 2002 8:04 am
Location: Calgary, Alberta, CANADA
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby prmiller » Fri Jun 28, 2013 10:16 pm

It had been long time since Parm had ventured into the wilds. His first night was considerably
uncomfortable. His awkward attempts to get a fire started eventually caused Parm to focus
with even greater intensity on the task. In doing so, he discovered how past knowledge
eventually became clearer. In the days that past, ss his confidence grew, he even trapped some
conies and found the makings for an excellent stew. Years ago, he remembered a tale about
stewed conies and smiled at the remembrance of it.

Each night, Parm would find better places to gather bracken and leaves to make serviceable beds,
and using his pack as a pillow, would be soon asleep.

This rising and repairing for evening continued for seven days. Eventually, Parm found himself
at that place where he remembered tales from woodland elves about the wonders of the Long Lake.
Parm knew that he would soon arrive at the town of Dale. despite his vague familiarity
with the region, he was still ill at ease about his venturing too far beyond roads and riverways.

Even so, Parm could not help but notice how the countryside possessed its own beauty. The play of
sunlight on stone and tree, cloud and mists, was a source of continuous joy for Parm. He actually
found himself smiling as he walked. He began savouring the scenery around him. For some reason,
though, he felt himself slowing down. It was as if the urgency of arriving had been
satisfied by his discovery of how close he was to his destination, and that he did not need to hurry.

As soon as the sun began to dip behind him into the west, Parm once again found a lodging place.
As Parm stopped to reflect a bit, he was surprised that despite how close he seemed to be approaching
Dale, he wonder why there was little traffic on the road.

A sparkling of lightning and the sonorous chuckle of thunder, answered Parm's question.
The hillock he had spied nearby had the dry, stale air of abandonment.
No animals would be venturing in here, Parm determined. Quickly gathering kindling, wood,
and other necessities, Parm was, at last, dry and warm inside the protection of the cave.
This was done none too soon. A storm strode by, with all its pomp and majesty, wet wonder and glory,
and pelted the landscape with wild, furious rain. Parm had often heard how a storm could lull
people into slumber, and he was no exception.

Dawn broke over Parm with a brilliance that made him feel poignant regret that he had not
travelled as well as this years earlier. This journey had been an event of tremendous invigoration
and gladness. Parm began to feel his arid and barren heart revive with the same vitality that
the rain had given the landscape around him. So this is what his Elf mentors had meant: take
a journey that will bring an end to the sorrowing, despite the solemn purpose for the
pilgrimage.

His trip to bring homage to a mighty warrior was, in a way, a kind of gift from him. Here
was a gift of life given by one who skilled to bring death. For Parm, his battle was to recover
his life, and he was starting, at long last, to taste the edges of victory.

"Great warrior," Parm murmured, "you have given me more than your sword and shield
could ever do. You have helped me to fight the despair in my soul. I will bring a token of
that for you, when I come to your resting place."

As Parm, sighed with deep contentment, he noticed a remarkable, tiny, silver-blue flower
growing near the side of the road. It reminded Parm of a blue bell, but brighter.
Parm had to admit that was unlike anything he had ever seen. Harvesting several
long thick, ropes of grass, Parm wove a basket into which he placed the flower with its
native soil. It would have been wrong, somehow to have plucked the flower, for it would have
withered and died. The potential death of the flower was no reward for a life restored.

As Parm tamped earth around the base of the stem, he, sang softly over the flower.
Slowly a mist to form, like a watering cloud. Now the flower it could drink in rich moisture
for the journey ahead. This exercise in condensing the air around the flower to water it
did not drain Parm as he had¥ believed it might. Instead, Parm found a growing warmth,
a rising energy spread within him and move up to his jaw and down into his fingers.

This is the blessing of the Valar, Parm remembered.

He had done a good thing. At last, he had done a good thing.
Variations on a theme: winter here in Calgary...and elsewhere?

Image
User avatar
prmiller
I am Parm: Servant of Eru, Bard of Imladris

 
Posts: 7241
Joined: Tue Jul 09, 2002 8:04 am
Location: Calgary, Alberta, CANADA
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby prmiller » Fri Jun 28, 2013 11:42 pm

The sensation of contentment, suddenly vanished as swiftly as a rainbow by an obscuring sun.

In a single instance, Parm felt another memory break over him.

Ten years had past.

Where had his friends gone?
Where had his life gone?

Parm thought of this as he returned to sit in the shelter of that hillock near the town of Esgaroth.
He needed to keep focused. He was on his way to visit a great warrior.

Parm had known other great warriors. He had found himself fighting side by side with them,
drawing on Valar-imbued skills, the heritage of being half-Istari, half-human. There
was a great deal more that Parm had done. He had blessed friends with verse and
song. He had been chosen to bring joy and gladness. As great a day as that had been,
it was also a calamitous one. Parm had endured the shocking horror of his own
rape and befouling by a heinous being of darkness and dementia.

That was long past.
Long past.

In that span of years, his own joys had been sundered. A loving wife, was now a
sharp-edged memory; the delight of children had become a dreadful darkness in
his soul. That was long past.
Yes, long past.

Today Parm was actually happy. He had discovered a remarkable wild-flower
to bring as a gift to a warrior who was as rare a man of the sword as was this
flower wrapped in its own rarity. Parm was glad to find such a gift. He was
actually glad. There was no sense of indebtedness, no tremulous insecurity,
no fawning affection. No, he was filled with gladness.

In that instant one more memory flickered through his mind: his friends
from the wedding. How were they? Where were they? Did it matter...even now?
Parm blinked, shook his head, breathed deeply and drew in such fresh,
wood scented air, that it seemed as if he had been bathed in a tonic.
Oddly, Parm did something he wondered would be even wise.

He took his staff, and stepped to face to the entrance of the cave. From deep
within his mind, a single note formed. It was the tone of wind rushing through
trees. He allowed the sound to swirl inside him, giving it both shape and
strength. Then, when he sensed the great swell of sound ready to burst
from him, he took his staff, pointed it at the right side of the hillock,
and sang. A star-bright, incandescent beam erupted from the crown of
the staff. As it struck the hillside, it began to made a shape: it was "parma,"
the Tengwar letter for "p"...to mean, "Parm." It was beautiful, and yet bold;
elegant, but also exhilarating, for Parm had done something he had never
done before -- left a mark.

Perhaps it was his deepest, inner yearning to say, "I have been here,
and leave this token behind." For whatever reason, Parm felt an rapturous
giddiness for having done something this brazen, this outrageous. He laughed.
The grasses would claim the area soon enough, he reasoned, but I have been
here, and it was a good place. There's my seal on it. He laughed again.
With that rich warmth of humour inside him, he plucked up his special
gift, placed it deep into the special pockets of his robes, and started
off toward Dale.

Parm was completely oblivious to the consequences of his uncharacteristic
action...not the Tengwar seal, but the power he had summoned to create it.
It would be the tipping point on his journey from spectator to participant in
a great battle that would require every atom of his newly-remembered skill.
Last edited by prmiller on Sat Jul 06, 2013 5:34 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Variations on a theme: winter here in Calgary...and elsewhere?

Image
User avatar
prmiller
I am Parm: Servant of Eru, Bard of Imladris

 
Posts: 7241
Joined: Tue Jul 09, 2002 8:04 am
Location: Calgary, Alberta, CANADA
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby Cock-Robin » Mon Jul 01, 2013 4:22 pm

Meneldor slept through the night, though his dreams only Elves other than his kind would know the strange paths he flew there. They led him back years ago, back when the eyries of the Misty Mountains still welcomed him. When he bore the strangest burden he had ever borne. A small, frightened creature, just escaped from orcs and wargs. He looked like a rabbit, but they called him a hobbit.

He remembered how he laughed at the hobbit's fear and told him not to pinch. He wouldn't have laughed if he had known what was in that creature, nor the deeds he had and would do. And how Mithrandir trusted that one. It seemed his doom to bear hobbits, for years later, he plucked one named Samwise from the ruins of Mordor. And yet, he couldn't have borne one more honorable if he had borne Mithrandir himself. He had learned not to judge by appearance.

And it would not be a hobbit he bore to Esgraroth this time,but an elf, one who understood him like none except Pallando had. The bond he shared with her, and later with Dirk the Daring was incredible. He wondered what now would become of the little people back west. Whether another would arise. Probably not, and he wouldn't be looking for it.

He also pondered the words that Manwë and Varda had given him when he was summoned, unclad, to their presence. What was in store now?

As dawn peeked over the horizon, he looked up from under his wing. He had seen ages come and go like the Elves had, and now...what?
Image

the doomed bird





Meneldor, Warrior Bard, and Brondgast, Mithril Knights

Gwaeryn and Robin, The Expected Party

Meneldor, Alatar and Pallando, Darkness Reigns: The Resistance


Warrior Bard
User avatar
Cock-Robin
Friend of Eagles

 
Posts: 11785
Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2001 11:11 am
Location: Walking around the country and seeing folk
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby erinhue » Tue Jul 02, 2013 11:13 am

“I can’t stay here.”

“I know you can’t”, Anorast agreed, “just come back when I call.”


Erinhue nodded. He turned away from the rising sun and walked into the stand of trees in a southerly direction. When he thought he had gone far enough to be out of Anorast’s sight, he whispered his brother’s name and stepped through a sudden, sparkling mist.

“Hello ‘Hue.”

“Hello ‘Ran.”

Erinhue found himself standing in the captain’s tent in a Swan Knight’s encampment. The troop was accompanying dignitaries representing the Prince and the 5 Great Houses of Dol Amroth on their way to pay tribute to Middle Earth’s latest fallen hero.

“Shouldn’t you already be where I’m going?”

Beliran accepted his brother’s abrupt appearance as he always did. “I thought to see you in Lakewood.”

“No doubt you will, sooner or later.” Erinhue replied. “That’s not why I’m here. I need some money, actually I need a lot of money.”

“Money? The West’s most famous bard, to hear you tell it, is asking me for money? Why don’t you get Agarak to strum you up a pot of gold? “ Beliran shook his head. “You forget, brother, half of House Elitan’s holdings belong to you.”

“You forget, brother, that you are the one that holds the seal.” Erinhue’s voice held just a trace of teasing.

“You want that much?”

Several questions formed in Beliran’s expression. Erinhue answered them with a shrug. Beliran flashed him a half smile of consent and pulled their father’s signet ring from his finger.

“Here, you know where to leave it when you’re done.” Beliran reached out and handed the ring to his brother. Erinhue held it up and gazed thoughtfully upon it for a moment, then slipped it on to his own finger.

“Thank ya much, ‘Ran”

“Ever welcome, ‘Hue”
"Where ever you go, there you are." - Buckaroo Bonzi

Image
User avatar
erinhue
Warrior/Bard of Belfalas Illuvatar's Bright Spirit

 
Posts: 23106
Joined: Thu Aug 03, 2000 10:06 pm
Location: Just south of Ground Zero
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby prmiller » Sat Jul 06, 2013 10:49 pm

Before Parm set out on the next leg of his journey to Esgaroth, he gazed out over the vista
before him. The lake was, indeed, long. It always surprised Parm that places with geographically-
obvious names sometimes seemed less than the stated name. Greyflood was hardly grey, nor
much of a flood; the Iron Hills, often felt more like mountains than hills, and certainly more
like smoke than iron in their colour...but that was just his own feelings. The sight of Long Lake,
though, made Parm sit hard upon a nearby boulder. The sheer size and the breathtaking blue
of it nearly snatched his breath away. In his mind's eye, Parm imagined the great and terrible
serpentine shape of Smaug circling around this spot. For a moment, Parm could almost hear
Smaug's dreadful roars.

What a place to grow up in! What a remarkable place indeed! Somewhere to the north were
the reed banks that would eventually lead to Esgaroth...and a new chapter in Parm's travelogues.
Variations on a theme: winter here in Calgary...and elsewhere?

Image
User avatar
prmiller
I am Parm: Servant of Eru, Bard of Imladris

 
Posts: 7241
Joined: Tue Jul 09, 2002 8:04 am
Location: Calgary, Alberta, CANADA
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby prmiller » Sun Jul 07, 2013 11:43 pm

An expert woodsman would have warned Parm.
A tracker would have recognized the signs.
Parm was no woodsman nor tracker.
He was a poet, a calligrapher, a man of peace.
That was Parm before he rounded a corner and came upon wolves.

They had found some poor quarry, and for some reason, the gnawing, snarling, and gorging noises
had not caught Parm's ear. He knew he was in deep trouble. Parm stood gazed steadily, not at
the wolves. He intently stared at the gory sight of the wolves feast. Almost imperceptibly, Parm
slowly lowered his staff. As he did so, he hummed deep basso-profundo arpeggio of notes. The sound
mesmerized the wolves. The notes climbed and reached a frenzy in Parm's mind and throat.
The staff throbbed with power. With a great shout, Parm released the sound, that
took on the shape of a wide cone, like net, and lashed into the wolves, who seemed to shriek
more than howl, terrified by the sound, battered by the musical cudgel that assailed them.
They scattered, running far away from Parm...and did not return, even after an hour.

Parm let the tip of his staff fall to the ground, and he shivered hard from deep within his chest.
He realized the danger he had faced, but was again astonished at himself at how he had calmly
dealt with the crisis. Why here? Why now? Parm wondered. Why would there be wolves here?I
It did not seem at all right. It was as if it were an elaborate illusion made to elicit Parm's response
but causing him to drawn on his carefully guarded power. The letter was, Parm admitted to himself,
a vanity. This...this was survival. Had he focused his notes even more, he dreaded what kind of
violence he would have done to the wolves, who through no fault of their own, were simply feeding.

Now Parm was more wary. Someone, somewhere, had been watching him, and now was inexorably
drawing him out into the open to expose his powers. Parm had yet to summon up his other skills,
but now he began to wonder if that would not soon follow. Had he been drawn here for a more sinister
purpose? Was it all a ruse, a carefully contrived snare that pulled him from Imladris to the far shores
of the Long Lake?

The joy of a lovely walk had vanished completely. Parm was no longer enjoying this holiday.
Parm was afraid, profoundly afraid.
Variations on a theme: winter here in Calgary...and elsewhere?

Image
User avatar
prmiller
I am Parm: Servant of Eru, Bard of Imladris

 
Posts: 7241
Joined: Tue Jul 09, 2002 8:04 am
Location: Calgary, Alberta, CANADA
Top

Re: A WARRIOR'S MEMORIAL

Postby erinhue » Wed Jul 10, 2013 7:19 pm

The work gnarled fingers of a local farm worker tightened on the playing cards in his hand as he struggled to keep his excitement off of his face. Erinhue noticed the small motion but chose to ignore what he well knew it signified.

The man laid down his cards. He held his breath as he looked down at his hand and dared to hope. Erinhue smiled his sucker smile, but put his cards, stacked and face down on the hardwood surface of the table. Flashing his famous starbright grin, the bard pushed the sizable pile coins of the pot towards the stunned farmer.

“With luck like that you ought to have a bumper crop come this fall” Erinhue laughed

The shocked man recovered quickly with the realization that his gamble had paid off and the coins belonged to him. As he raked the coins in closer to him, he responded to his opponent’s laugh with a broad grin and chuckle of his own.

“Never met a man so happy to loose so much money before.” The man said as he shoved the coins into his pocket.

“Ya never met one with so large a debt to repay” Erinhue muttered as the smile faded out of his eyes.

Three days and three nights found Erinhue at the gambling tables. For three days and three nights he acted in opposition to his every natural instinct and spread a fortune throughout the villages skirting Lakewood. At every inn and tavern he picked out the most unlikely, the most humbly dressed patrons and charmed them into playing cards with him. Like minnows sensing the presence of a shark, those chosen were wary of the charismatic stranger. Their opinions always changed when they started to win his money.

When the large amount he had taken out of the House Elitan treasury was all gone, Erinhue bargained with the proprietor of inn where he’d lost his last silver coin. In return for room and board the bard offered to perform each night for as long as he remained in residence.

Having heard the man sing at the tables and wanting to hear the sound of the odd looking harp he carried, the innkeeper made the bargin. He knew he had the better end of the deal when the man never claimed a room and ate only one bowl of stew and black bread a day.

The one problem, if it was a problem, was that the man drank beer like it was being poured down a well, but the customers paid for it all, so it was really no loss to him.
"Where ever you go, there you are." - Buckaroo Bonzi

Image
User avatar
erinhue
Warrior/Bard of Belfalas Illuvatar's Bright Spirit

 
Posts: 23106
Joined: Thu Aug 03, 2000 10:06 pm
Location: Just south of Ground Zero
Top

Next

Return to Role Playing: The Prancing Pony (Middle-earth Only)

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: Bing [Bot] and 2 guests

cron