The Wedding of Turelie Lurea and Hobbituk A Bard's Festival-All Welcome

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

Postby Teltasarewen » Sat Feb 08, 2003 7:49 am

<i>Telta could not look at Beliran. Tears slipped unchecked down her cheeks and she could see nothing through them. Her heart was heavy as she spoke her last words. She knew that Beliran had to leave and it was selfish of her to want him to be with her. But she had made up her mind to help Hobbituk in her search and she would not change her decision though it hurt Beliran and herself to do so.<BR><BR>Beliran’s silence spoke volumes to her as she stood there and it was more than she could take. He could not forgive her. <BR><BR>With a sob Telta ran making her way up the stairs to her room where she quickly changed and threw her meager belongings into a sack. Grabbing up one last carefully wrapped parcel from under her bed. One last look around the room she had come to think of as her own and she shut the door quietly. Leaning on the door wiping the tears from her face she thought to herself why had she found happiness only to lose it again? Perhaps in time Beliran would forgive her and until that time she would wait. <BR><BR>But now Hobbituk needed all the help he could get and she would not let him down. Determination carrying her forward she made her way out of the inn making her way to the stables. Her small sack of coins in the hidden pocket of her cape from working at the inn would have to do to purchase a horse if indeed there was one someone was willing to part with. She could travel by foot but would not be able to keep up. She had thought to ask Beliran if she could borrow one but she could not. Not now. <BR><BR>As she made her way to the stable her thoughts wandered over her time spent with the knight. And it made her smile. She loved him and it did not matter that perhaps he could not forgive her. She would not forget him.</i><BR><BR>"Be safe Beliran."<BR><BR>*******<BR>Telta-Master Bard<BR>Official Vana Honourary Adoptee<img src=""border=0><BR>E.O.<img src=""border=0><BR>AKA: Laraelia
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Postby prmiller » Sat Feb 08, 2003 8:19 am

<b>Well, Lady Heather, ma'am, I live a fair piece from here,<BR>near the place where Master Bilbo's party tree used t'be, and<BR>a stone's throw from the new'n. If you let me off near the bridge<BR>at Bywater, I'll be fine. I had best get off, though, for Gramum and<BR>Mum and Da will be worried into knots, if I'm not about for<BR>second breakfast at the very latest, if y'know what I mean?</b><BR><BR>It was an odd pair that headed off from the Lucky Fortune Inn.<BR>Willum was glad for the help, though he blushed as he spoke.<BR>Lady Heather's gentle, but strong heart, was well-prepared to<BR>take care of Parm's charge, no matter what assailed them.<BR>She was healer, warrior, bard and friend to all who knew<BR>how to treat people as friends. With their departure, it was if<BR>delicate threads of virtue were being unravelled from the<BR>once welcoming tapestry that had been the Lucky Fortune<BR>Inn. Now the name was an irony, a mockery and byword...<BR>Beware the Inn of the Lucky Fortune, for you will be lucky to<BR>find fortune there.<BR><BR>Now its beauty was besmirched, its name sullied by evil tidings. Its legacy was shorn of any merit. Nothing short of Eru's<BR>hand could revive it to former glory and renown. Yet, here is<BR>where the greatest irony lay: Eru, it seemed, had great, yet<BR>mysterious plans for this place yet. For now, it had to pass <BR>through the fires of adversity before it would emerge, purged,<BR>purified and transformed into something of even great glory<BR>and greatness. None, not even Parm, had been unaffected<BR>by some great evil that had launched an insidious attack<BR>against this place.<BR><BR>A quest, a mission and valiant pilgrimage was about to form<BR>and set out , not only to revive what had been lost, but to return<BR>what had been stolen, to heal what had been harmed,<BR>to restore what had been broken.<BR><BR>Valiant hearts, both battle-hardened and those untried in conflicts, were about to set out. Parm knew, deep, deep in his troubled, conflicted mind he knew that he, too, was being called. <BR>That part of him, still protected by greater virtue, knew he was to come along on a journey. It would mean sacrificing all he had come to love, wife, children, vocation and reputation,for a goal<BR>of immeasurable greatness and wonder.<BR><BR>****************<BR><i>Parm no longer strove against winds. The vision of Aravel<BR>had now risen, as was beckoning him to follow. <BR>"Awaken, my beloved, my darling. Arise, talk to no one, and<BR>follow me where I lead. We must be alone for I have a great<BR>task to set before you, that only you can complete...for me."</i><BR><BR>
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Postby erinhue » Sat Feb 08, 2003 8:26 am

Beliran stood watching Telta run back to the Inn. It was her only response to his asking her to come with him to Dol Amroth. That and tears.<BR><BR>For several moments he simply stood gazing after her wondering what it was he felt and not wanting to feel it. He stood there trying to absorb the fact that she was gone even as he hoped that she would return. <BR><BR>Return? To say what? Her answer had been plain enough. This made twice that she had run from him. The knight sighed and squared his shoulders trying to come to terms with what he perceived to be the greatest loss he had yet experienced. Telta had run out of his life.<BR><BR>And so she should have, a voice within him said. What life could she expect with you. Your life is not your own, it belongs to the Prince and to your men and to Dol Amroth. What could you offer her but the cruel wait for your death. She was wise to run from you, fool.<BR><BR>Yes, Beliran sadly agreed as he turned away and went to rejoin his troop. He was Captain of the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth and that would have to be enough. He had no business to even think such a rare treasure could ever be his. He did not deserve something so fine and fair as Teltasarwen. He had nothing to offer her and no right to love her, but he did.
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Postby erinhue » Sat Feb 08, 2003 8:38 am

<i> A sudden breeze carried the faint tinkle of harp strings. The barely perceptable notes were felt rather than heard with the ear. The melody was a gentle call to arms, an alerting to the hearts of those who would take up the task at hand and help the light again defeat the darkness. Those intended to hear the sound were heartend and strengthened, and forewarned.</i>
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Postby SilverScribe » Sat Feb 08, 2003 10:02 am

<BR><i>Far to the north in the wastes of Rhudaur, hard by the feet of the Misty Mountains, a lone half-elf sat hunched over a small lantern. The light picked out her features, bent in concentration as she mended a slash in a pair of leather battle trousers. The matching vest, with it's hidden layer of armour, lay on the low cot beside her, its nicks and scratches now smoothed out, the leather softly gleaming from the protective oils that had been rubbed into it. When the trouser repair was complete, these too were rubbed down with the same oils, then spread out next to the vest to let the treatment set. <BR><BR>The deeply hooded elven cloak had been repaired as well, with skills learned from her mother's people, the rents and tears re-woven as only elvenkind know how. It hung on a peg driven into the rock, next to the carefully hidden doorway. On the floor against the rock wall, below the cloak, a pair of elven daggers lay wrapped up in an oiled bit of buckskin, the unmistakable aura of the shadow plain about them. They were a mystery to be delved in the coming days.<BR><BR>Not so much a home, as a place of security. This hidden sanctuary, one of many that the Scribe had scattered through Middle Earth, was simply the first. A narrow cleft in the rocks, well screened by scrubby pines and hardy brambles, led to a small set of interconnected caves set deep within the rockface of a steep ravine, which in itself was nearly impassable, the entrance to it effectively invisible to any who did not know what to look for, and where. She was safe, after she had let her horse go free to graze and roam, she had, in the manner of the Eldar, left no tracks. Besides, there was not a living soul who knew her that had the skill to follow. The only one who had even a chance of managing it, the mysterious drow from the wedding, well, he knew her not and so would have no reason.<BR><BR>Stretching, she rose and slipped outside, into the dark of the night. The stars, strewn thick like diamonds flung by a mighty hand, sparkled overhead in the clear, dry air. She absently rubbed at the bandage on her left forearm, seeking to ease the itching of a healing wound. Her shoulder still ached, though well closed, it would be a few days yet before that wound eased.<BR><BR>Only what had been left of one night and the day just passed, separated her from the disastrous wedding of Hobbituk and Turelie_Lurea. It seemed a lifetime. Slowly, she had carefully committed the day with its events to memory and firmly closed the doors, in a sense forgetting all that had hurt those she knew and all that personally caused her pain. It was the only way to maintain any sanity.<BR><BR>But one name kept returning, again and again, refusing to be set aside or forgotten.<BR><BR>Matrim Calhoun.</i><BR><BR><BR>
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Postby Hidden_Ring » Sat Feb 08, 2003 10:53 am

"I advise you not to interfere. The tangled affairs of men are not ours, do not be fooled into thinking that you can help them.” <BR><BR><i>Laughing softly, Orion's eyes twinkle in a near-joviality at this warning. As she steps away, he nods a farewell. Orion whispers, more to himself than to the Scribe.</i> Long have I intervened, or as you say 'interfered' in the affairs of Men. But certainly I'll follow your advice tonite. I think , after my last experience losing the chase to a mortal, I'll pass. Speed thy trip well, Scribe, we shall meet again anon.<BR><BR><i>Turning from the raging brawlers, the white blond elf drinks the last of the whiskey poured out to his glass then sits quietly. How long he sat, letting his thoughts drift thither and yon, Orion could never say. A trilling of harpstrings call the elf's mind out of its mild torpor. Its call sounds to friend and fellow of the harp's master, speaking a warning and call not unlike like the Horncry of Buckland</i>"... Awake! Fire! Foes! Awake!..."<BR><BR><i>Looking around him at the faces of those around, Orion sees that the call of warning has echoed in the hearts and minds of the others as a sense of needing to be elsewhere settles. He slips over the bar and walks around the crowds heading to the stairs and going down them for a moment before returning and leaving by way of the kitchen. Once outside, he sees the gossamer tent glistening with the dew and under the rising moon, a mocking testament to the day's events. Bitterly, his mind thinks back to how he helped welcome everyone. " '...A merry welcome to you all upon this blessed day.' A blessed day indeed. Full of pain and sorrow for so many, perhaps they would be better served by my visiting Círdan and taking a ship..." Shaking his head slowly, Orion makes his way to the stables, and walks to a large draft horse near the back of the stable. He fills a battered leather pack with the various breads and sweetmeats liberated from the kitchen before climbing onto the horse's broad, bare back.</i><BR><BR>Kemenroch which way shall we go? East to the Valley, west to the Hills and Lake, or shall we go West and follow my father? You shall choose my friend?<BR><BR><i>The horse nickers reprovingly at the elf, as if to scold him from suggesting the West then walks slowly out from the stables, the moonlight silvering Kemenroch's white feathery socks. Nudging it's head to a point south beyond the road, it seems to suggest a different path from his rider's choices. Speaking almost more to himself than anyone else, the elf's words would be easily lost in the night. </i> South... Yes I suppose we could go that way, I've not been that way for some time. <i>Strengthening his resolve and his voice, Orion confirms what the horse knew he needed.</i> Very well, we shall go South. Let us go, Kemenroch. Noro lim. <BR><BR><i>The massive bay-colored draft horse sets off at a trot through the deepening night, the breath of both rider and horse visible the last traces of them, unless one counts the faint clop-clop of the massive hooves which fade readily enough one the transition from dirt to turf is made. South along the River Mitheithel, Orion rides, past The Angle, and across a lower ford of Bruinen to Eregion. As the night passes, so does the land: ridges and dells, streams and groves of trees. Nearing the end of his ride, a set of ruins rises from the darkness, Orion's goal in sight as he walks the horse into the sacked and pillaged elf fortress. Slipping from the horse's back, he sends it to roam as it will and finds a small apartment still intact, suitable enough for rest, thought and solitude.</i>
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Postby TinuvielUndomiel » Sat Feb 08, 2003 1:46 pm

<i>Tinu shuddered as she felt the evil trying to delve into her soul. This was too much for her, this consuming darkness. Only one place still held the light that she so craved and that was her future home in the Undying Lands. She doubted not that her entire family, save Moongirl, was there, awaiting her with outstretched arms. She forgot about the possibility of her mother asking where Lurea was, for she thought of only happiness, something that MiddleEarth no longer held the seed of promise for her.<BR><BR>Her healing powers would probably be useful here amidst all the pain and suffering, but she chose for once to be selfish and to think of herself. She was so tired of giving and never receiving affection--one of the key components in an excellent healer. Empathy was necessary, but true affection toward the injured, even if only temporary, usually sped the process along. Yes, she was a healer, but now she needed healing herself and none on MiddleEarth could attempt to close the wounds so brutally torn open this day. There was no one who cared for her as she cared for him and this she took to be the final blow of her existence. For all the times she had loved, each was taken cruelly away by Lurea. Would Hobbituk's happiness end with his death? So many of Lurea's suitors had ended up dead for their affection, would he be next? Or was he the one immune to the traces of evil that still haunted her footsteps?<BR><BR>The call that Tinu expected finally had arrived. Lurea was gone, taken by some unknown creature. Yes, the evil had followed her and taken her at last. Bowing her head, tears welling in her darkened blue eyes, she wept for the hobbit who was not likely to survive the perilous journey. She knew that despite the worst wounds inflicted upon him, he would continue to search for his beloved. Oh, if only it were her that he desired...none of this would ever have happened. She scolded herself as soon as this thought came to her, for she knew that it was over and what was done was done.<BR><BR>Tinu could not help with the search, though she knew Lurea better than all of them put together. She figured that this dealt with her past in Diadron--the details to which she had never been privy, for Lurea kept these secrets entwined with her heart. Only if it were wrenched from her body would she speak of the horrors she suffered as she escaped her magnificent home and found her way to the Golden Wood. No, she would be of no help here; yet even if she knew something, she would not speak, so angered was she. Her 'friend' had betrayed her once again and would not be forgiven until the sands of time were lost.<BR><BR>She heard Agarak's call, faint in her mind. He spoke of leaving this place, and quickly, for the evil that was brought here now sealed the fate of the Inn. With the demise of the goodness within its walls, it s supports would crumble. And with the end of the Inn would come Tinu's release from her duties as barmaid. She would no longer have any ties to this world and she could make her way home in peace.<BR><BR>A stray thought came into her mind, reminding her of the Valaindil that still rustled sweetly in the Lothlorien wind. Harsh memories of her childhood with Lurea tainted the thought, but she knew that she had to pull them up, every single one wretched from the ground. Only a few would travel with her--the rest would wither and die from lack of affection, such as she had done. Her body was a shell now, barren of hope and love, the two feelings that made people whole and fulfilled. But yes, she would take the last of her legacy with her and be but a memory here.<BR><BR>Resolutely, she stood from the root she had been sitting upon, her place of comfort after leaving Moongirl. Her face was placid, a stark contrast to those that ran madly about, evil taking its toll upon them. For once she felt no darkness, no unhappiness. She was going home.</i><BR><BR><BR>
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Postby Aerin » Sat Feb 08, 2003 8:15 pm

"Fear not Daughter of the Firstborn. No harm shall come to your beloved. Now gather all that you hold dear and take it from this place else it come to harm."<BR><BR><i>Agarak's whisper echoed in Aerin's mind, followed by a soft trill of harpstrings. She paled at the realization of what the dragonharp meant, and looked around at all the people gathered inside the Inn, who had also heard the harpstrings.<BR><BR>Some of them were already collecting their possessions and heading for the door; some were looking puzzled and not a little confused; and some appeared not to have heard the music at all.<BR><BR>The elf shook her head, clearing it of shock, and wove her way through the crowd, softly telling people they needed to get out now.</i>
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Postby Aerin » Sat Feb 08, 2003 8:16 pm

(Looks like the DP bug hit me. <img src=""border=0>)
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Postby nienor-niniel » Sun Feb 09, 2003 1:51 am

<i>Nienor-Niniel had watched the birds with growing amazement, never before had she seen something so beautiful, so natural, as if nature had stepped in to call for Parm, to call him back among the living, to bring his mind and spirit together again. Even she could feel the power of the music, although she was not familiar with the wonder and the powers of a servant of Eru. Her own grief, which had completely paralysed her earlier today, seemed now small and meaningless. <BR><BR>Nessamelda was standing still, watching as if a vision had befallen her – a vision of beauty and power, but free from dread or fear, a terrible power used in its most gentle expression. <BR><BR>Then the flow of the music and the breath of might slowly ebbed. Parm whispered once more, still in his delirium</i> „Aravel“ <i>and then, to their great surprise opened his eyes. He did not seem to see them, looking for a second through Nienor-Niniel and Nessamelda.</i> <BR><BR>Aravel, you have called me and here I am. I shall talk to no one and answer your call. <i>His eyes were wide open now, but though fully awake, he did not seem to realize where he was and who was with him. He threw back the blanket with which they had covered him and was ready to get up and walk – to follow that mysterious call that the voice of nature had given him.</i> <BR><BR>Parm, <i>said N-N softly,</i> Parm, we’re here with you. It’s me Nin and Nessa. You remember. <i>The servant of Eru slowly turned towards her, mustering her with his kind eyes and then even more slowly, a glance of comprehension rose within them.</i> The forest, <i>he muttered,</i> the horse, the dark elven. You brought me back. <i>He took a deep breath like someone diving out of deep water.</i> <BR><BR>Awaken, my beloved, my darling. Arise, talk to no one, and<BR>follow me where I lead. We must be alone for I have a great<BR>task to set before you, that only you can complete...for me.<BR><BR>The sweet words of Aravel were still in his head – talk to no one she had said, but now that he was talking, she did not come back to make him silent. Maybe had the vision not concerned his friends, but the evil that had befallen him? And he should not talk, nor follow the other voice that he had heard in his mind. <BR><BR>N-N and Nessa knew nothing or very little only of the torments on Parm’s soul: they were glad to have their friend back among the living and as it seemed for good this time, unlike after his first awakening in the woods. Nienor took Parm’s hands in hers, and smiled, as she held them, for they were warm and full of life. She sat down on the bed where he had laid, not leaving his eyes for one single moment, searching for his clear glance, his expression of unending kindness. And she found it, yet even now, it was not fully without a shadow. Oh, she said to herself, it must be only a shadow of the past. <BR><BR>The smile of the two women met in the light that was now shining brightly through the window. The crow flew on Nessa’s shoulder and rubbed its beak against her cheek.</i> Silvertongue, <i>said the dark-haired maiden,</i> whoever you are, I shall not look at craws again the same was. <i>The craw croaked – just normally this time, as if she knew that for a moment its task was done and flew out of the window. The ray of light that had shone into their room closed as the bird was leaving and now they could all see the dark and clouded sky, threatening as if it were gathering around the inn. Parm was following the bird with his eyes, just as they did, each of them in complete silence. It was as if it had kissed Nessamelda good-bye for all of them, giving Parm in her hands until it had to return again to unleash the power it has unfolded before their eyes just now. <BR><BR>Silence followed, not only were they aware of having watched a moment of wonder, but also now the spectacle of the clouds drawing together as if a hand was behind them tearing them to the inn, dragging the darkness around the roof captivated them completely. For a short while, N-N feared that she would again break up under the changing emotions – hope and happiness a few minutes ago, when Parm awoke, and now emptiness and fear seemed to reach out for them.<BR><BR>Parm felt the gathering of the dark sky even heavier than the two women. He had just awaken from the hold that the dark elven had put on him and did not yet know that he was not healed from it, only fit for the battle to come, only set free for a little time. But it seemed to him that the clouds were stretching out towards his heart and would almost be eating the craw that so courageously flew into their very face. <BR><BR>He detached himself from the vision. closed the window and looked in the faces of his friends.</i> <BR><BR>Much has happened today. And if I am here, it is because of you. Only: where is little Willum? <BR><BR><i>N-N could not help, but smiling. It was so like Parm, even in the darkest moments, his first thoughts were for the little people, the ones who needed and admired him.</i> <BR><BR>He is gone home; the Lady Heather shall accompany him to make his voyage safe in what seems to become a troubled time. <BR> <BR><i>Parm looked at himself now – he was still strangely dressed, after his encounter with Edheldur. In unease he looked around – luckily they had got back to the room he had taken in the morning – but was it luck or was it meant to be? Nessa and Nienor easily guessed why Parm was staring at his strange dress, and then at his bag – so in a mutual movement, they turned their back to Parm, while he was given the time to put on a new robe. They were not willing to let him alone – not yet.</i> <BR><BR>You know Nessa, <i>whispered Nienor,</i> once this is over, we should have a good talk together. There are many things I would want to ask you, and many things I would want to thank you for. <i>Nessa nodded.</i> It would be good to know each other better. We have been through quite an adventure. <BR><BR><i>N-N closed her eyes – no longer because of Parm’s comfort, but because she had heard a whisper in the air. Or was it a melody? A call, it seemed, a call for a battle, yet soft and sensitive, but not to be overheard, taking the entire place in their hearts.</i><BR> Am I the only one to hear this? <i>asked Par, giving them in the mean time the sign that he was ready now.</i> <BR><BR>I hear it too answered <i>Nessa, and Nin acknowledged.</i> <BR><BR>What has happened during my.... <i>he was searching for the right word.</i><BR><BR>A lot of things, <i>answered N-N,</i> but most of them we have not seen either. But there has been a fierce fight and Erinhue was involved in it. Parm whitened at those words.</i> Why let us not go down. <i>suggested the blonde woman,</i> and see who is still in the common room. <BR><BR><i>Thus they opened the door, taking the steps, going down to join the others. Thus one of the strongest in their common quest had now joined the group and would soon meet the bard again. But thus also the enemy had found a way to get inside their community right from the start. The friend and fiend were one. </i> <BR>
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Postby Maelgwn » Sun Feb 09, 2003 11:46 am

Maelgwn tried to sideline his feelings about the Easterlings’ motivations and the attraction which Alandriel seemed to have for them. All the same, he was forever looking out of the corners of his eyes as she sat down on the edge of Moujhadin’s sick bed. And then began to run her fingers over his bare flesh….<BR><BR>The peredhel swallowed hard and forced himself to turn away from her and focus instead on the task he had been charged to. It was making his flesh crawl, seeing her flaming hair brush his chest like that and her fingers tips trace his hip-bones. No woman with such distinct Dunedain blood should lower her pride so. <BR><BR>He took a long intake of breath and slowly released it again but his hands were shaking as he knelt down at the side of the injured Elf. Alandriel’s healing touch seemed to have brought physical comfort to the patient, although heart’s ease was still desperately absent from his eyes. <BR><BR>As delicately as he could, Maelgwn bound Anorast’s ribs; the Elf winced slightly as Maelgwn moved him. But the ranger’s hands were much more gentle than their strength suggested and he applied the bandages with the minimum of disturbance. The taught linen strips soaked through in patches with the mossy-coloured gunge that had been smeared all over his torso. But there was nothing else to be done; they were running perilously short of fabric. <BR><BR>"Please, what is going on here? What has happened," Anorast asked of Maelgwn. "Is there any way I can help?"<BR><BR>Maelgwn was looking preoccupied and didn’t respond immediately. He could feel something plucking at his spirit, something he couldn’t quite place. The harp strings were but faint to the ears of those upstairs yet they didn’t need to hear them to feel them stir the kernels of their hearts. He knew the music, without a sound it invaded his mind; evoking the sensation of drums and pipes, the merry call of impending battle. And his senses awakened and keen he perceived the greater overlying darkness that had so subtly enveloped them.<BR><BR>“Do you feel it too?” he asked Anorast, wondering whether he was verging on insanity. But no, Maelgwn felt it again, this time more insistent, more urgent, an invocation to take their stand and show their mettle.<BR><BR>The silver-haired Elf nodded, “We must make haste.” He tried to stand, leaning on Maelgwn all the while but still unsteady. Unwilling to touch his damaged body overmuch, the ranger did his best to help his comrade upright, by wrapping one of Anorast’s arms about his neck.<BR><BR>The others in the room were still intent on their own business and seemed not to have heard or heeded the warning.<BR><BR>“My friends” he said, regardless of the fact that half the company were foreigners, “there is something in the air, a medley of all that is foul and fair, do you not also sense it? Edain? Alandriel? We must away.”<BR><BR>Maelgwn felt the call resonate once again. Time was not their friend and they couldn’t linger, Anorast was trying to half drag himself, half drag the ranger towards the door; they had no choice but to depart.<BR> <BR>
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Postby Moujhadin » Sun Feb 09, 2003 1:50 pm

The dreaded memories had returned. All the images that haunted his sleep as a child were now flooding his mind and his heart; the Shamans, the knife, the chanting and the potent drink he choked down when only a child and the incisions, the painful incisions that brought on the desert dream-walk that lasted too long. This Westron Healer had re-awoken them.<BR><BR>Moujhadin grasped her hand before she could complete the Waking Spell…the last two symbols, if traced over the incisions would place him on a path he did not wish to tread. Ever.<BR><BR>A loud crash could be heard from another room, down the hall…<BR><BR>Then Moujhadin heard her voice, again….'It is time, Moujhadin.'<BR><BR>Before him stood his mother, again manifesting as a young noble woman, so beautiful. Her tall form, lithe, so full of life stood at the foot of the bed, her arm outstretched towards him… the Easterling could not see the Dale woman standing there, only his mother, long dead, dead too young. The blonde woman of Dale, in turn, did not know she herself stood there, so lost she was in the channeling trance.<BR><BR>"No! No… I have chosen another way!" Moujhadin replied to the vision before him, his heart twisting into a painful knot. <BR><BR>"It is not for you to choose, my son. The Powers Above had declared it, you have to follow their desires." His mother answered, her face holding a compassionate smile.<BR><BR>"I am a Warrior of the Haradrim, the El Zikher to the Prince of Harad. I have forsaken the East…. I will not do it!"<BR><BR>"You must. Take up your birthright, Moujhadin, and become the Warrior Shaman that will heal our people. The King of the East must be stopped and the peoples of the East reunited once more. Zahor, Tsongsa, Dragpo..they must all heal! You are one of the Healers who will do this, Moujhadin. The South will be next and the West will continue healing as well. The time of the Great Powers is over and now the Lesser Powers must come forth and serve. You, my son, are one of these Lesser Powers. Please.. let her is time to Wake, my son…"<BR><BR>"No! Listen to me, Mother.. I cannot, I am not who you think I am.. I am not like the others chosen. Mother!"<BR><BR>A terrible crash rung out, the sound of bodies falling down the stairs of the Inn…<BR><BR>"If you will not let this woman complete the Wakening, then I will." Moujhadin's mother declared, reaching forward. "Do not resist, son…"<BR><BR>Those assembled in the room watched as Bardhwyn leaned forward and, over the area of the Easterling's waist where moments before Alandriel had exposed, she quickly traced two symbols, speaking aloud in yet another strange tongue - sounding similar to Eastron. Moujhadin startled them as he cried out from the bed, his voice filled with anguish, fear… pain. He then relaxed, fell silent and once again breathed deeply, slowly.<BR><BR>It was done.<BR><BR>The Easterling lay still on the bed, Jiyadan immediately by his side, speaking to him in their own tongue. <BR><BR>Bardhwyn was flung around, as if spun by hands unseen, falling into Edain's arms…<BR><BR>"Ellandar… Ellandar…" She whispered with eyes glazed, looking up into the Ranger's face. "No, no..", She stammered, looking into the man's eyes, her hand reaching up, touching his face..."Your name is Edain… Please, Edain, get me out of here.. quickly." She asked, looking about still dazed.<BR><BR>"We must all leave, she gave a warning that we must all leave and help her son out." Bardhwyn added, pointing to Moujhadin. <BR><BR>"Now… we must go, now!" <BR><BR><BR><BR><BR><BR><BR><BR><BR>
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Postby PatriotBlade » Sun Feb 09, 2003 2:03 pm

<i>Heather shook her head.</i> "I'll see you safely to your own doorstep, thank you. Parm would appriciate that, but I feer that we may not get there in time for second breakfast. Perhaps Supper. We have a long way to go yet."<BR><i>The odd pair continued on their way, the little hobbit eating whenever the fancy took him, neither one knowing or thinking of the things that might be happening behind them, under ther brooding, black clouds.</i>
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Postby Jiyadan » Sun Feb 09, 2003 2:14 pm

"<b>NO!</b>" Jiyadan yelled at the blond woman, "<b>I will take him. <i>None of you touch him!</i>"</b> <BR><BR>He had only barely restrained himself as Moujhadin had pleaded, tears again coming to his eyes, but he would not let any of them touch him again. He also had felt the urgent need to leave this place and quickly gathered both his and Moujhadin's packs.<BR><BR>He then lifted Moujhadin, as if he were a child still wrapped in his blanket, and carefully carried him down the back stairs and out into the cool night. As he went, he absent-mindedly whispered words of comfort to him. Jiyadan carried him a ways from the inn and laid him upon the grass, wrapping the blankets tightly around his brother's body. He paid no attention to the others, not noticing whether they had come out with him or not. <BR><BR>Jiyadan cursed himself for allowing that blond witch anywhere near his brother, cursed himself for having trusted those people. If any of them tried to touch Moujhadin again, he would kill them.<BR><BR>"My brother," he whispered in Eastron, "Moujhadin, what happened? What did they do to you, what did that witch do to you?"<BR><BR>Jiyadan gently cradled Moujhadin's head in his lap, looking for a sign of recognition in his blank eyes.
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Postby Eyriel » Sun Feb 09, 2003 3:17 pm

Eyriel was jarred out of a light sleep by the sudden thud of something hitting the wall separating her room from Hobbituk’s. She sat upright in bed, listening intently as the sounds of the fight moved towards the hall. In her mind Eyriel could envision Hobbi struggling against Culanir. <BR><BR><i>He’ll kill him… </i> she thought desperately, jumping to her feet and hurrying into the hall in time to see Culanir tumble down the stairs with not the groom, but Erinhue. With a small cry of alarm, the half-elf hurried to the other room. Where she had hoped to see the hobbit still lying in his bed, she was greeted instead by a distraught Aerin, who without so much as a glance rushed down the stairs after he husband and the Gondorian. Heart racing, Eyriel followed the other woman down into the common room.<BR><BR>The other guests in the room had backed against the walls or fled the inn. <BR>Eyriel couldn’t stand to see the two men fighting, and worked on keeping her eyes focused on Aerin, who clung to wall, wincing with every massive blow dealt to her husband. At last, the Elf woman opened her mouth and called out:<BR><BR><i>"Agarak! Agarak, do something! Please!"</i> <BR><BR>An almost incongruous breeze traveled through the room, carrying to the patrons’ hearts rather than their ears the fresh sound of notes off the harp’s strings. Followed by the music, which Eyriel would have found heartwarming had the situation been any less dire, was the deep whisper of a warning that seemed to come more from the soul than any outside source. <BR><BR>Eyriel looked around the room, and by the looks on the others’ faces it was clear that not all had heard the music. Aerin, who was clearly more used to hearing the harp’s voice, immediately went about telling the confused people they needed to gather their belongings and leave. After taking a moment to let her heart beat return to somewhere close to normal, Eyriel joined Aerin in spreading the warning, which she still barely understood, the others. Though she appeared calm and determined on the outside, in her heart she dreaded what was to come.<BR>
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Postby Nessamelda » Sun Feb 09, 2003 5:29 pm

Nessamelda led the three cautiously down the stairs, peering over the bannister rail as she went. Below them all was chaos. The Master Bard was doubled up on the floor, retching. The red headed man that seemed to be at the heart of the trouble was lying next to him, his temple pouring blood. Yet all around them, the others in the common room were grabbing their belongings - Aerin and Eyriel were ordering people outside. And in their minds rang that strange song of the harp strings calling them insistently to action.<BR><BR>Ness turned to Parm and Nin - "It is pushing us outside - do you hear the call too? " For a moment the three of them stood there, torn between leaving the fighters to their fate, and saving themselves from whatever it was that the inner voice calling them envisaged. The call became more insistent in Nessamelda's mind - urging movement, urging escape - but it was also a call of hope and courage. And the louder it became the harder it was to resist.<BR><BR>"We cannot stay here", she said to Parm and Nin, "it must be the dragon harp - it is no voice of evil, of that I am sure, and what else could call like that? He will mind his master, but we must leave!"<BR><BR>Nessa's bags were still outside with her horse and she had nothing to collect. so she led the way outside. The call was so strong that she did not even glance back to see who was following her. <BR><BR>The night was still dark - all the wedding lamps and decorations had been allowed to fail. Now only faint monlight was coming through the scudding clouds, casting ominous shadows. Above them the inn sign was creaking in the breeze, the fleeting light and shadows making the image of the dragon harp seem to move uncannily. The gathered wedding guests, finery dirty and dishevelled now, stood in uncertain groups outside in the yard, some injured, some torn by grief, all waiting....<BR><BR>*********<BR><BR>Inside in her hidden corner, Alfirin's sleep was torn by forgotten images and guilts that her mind could not throw free. She had not had dreams like this for years, not since the Ring had been destroyed. But the darkness that gathered round the Lucky Fortune could sense her weakness, could sense that she had been touched, if only briefly, by that greater dark. And it came seeking her. For she had danced with the blackest of evil once, and perhaps could be persuaded to do so again. <BR><BR>But there was another force fighting for her mind as well - for Agarak remembered her, and in her dreams Alfirin also heard his call of hope and action against that evil. And so she lay there, waiting unknowingly on a precipice, waiting to fall, yet clinging tightly to that little remaining light that lay within her soul.
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Postby prmiller » Sun Feb 09, 2003 6:36 pm

<i>Parm turned to look at Nessa, his eyes moist, almost on the<BR>edge of tears, with a pleading look, and spoke,</i><BR><BR>Nessa, Nin, we cannot forget Alfirin. She is not among us.<BR>She hurts. I can feel it, feel it like a heartbeat, like breath.<BR>We must find her, and if need be, revive her, and bring her with<BR>us to safety. I fear Erinhue's dragonharp has somber plans.<BR><BR><i>Reluctantly, Parm's two companions accompanied Parm in<BR>his search for the graphic chronicler of the wedding. Parm liked<BR>her. He had always like her. Parm seemed to draw people of all<BR>sorts to him; many noble and valiant, others simple and even<BR>bristly. Somehow, as his own Aravel had said, he could find<BR>pearls in mudtroughs–given time.<BR><BR>Parm was insistent. How could they refuse? Now, it was his<BR>turn to help someone.<BR><BR>It took a bit of looking. The urgent notes of Agarak pushed,<BR>prodded, cajoled and nagged people to leave. Somehow, Parm<BR>pushed that urgency aside for a greater need. Finally, Alfirin was<BR>found. She was dishevelled not only in her clothes, but also her<BR>spirit. Parm reached down and to the amazement of all,<BR>clutching his ring, kissed her brow.</i><BR>********** RING ACTION********<BR>I have come to bring you home,<BR>Back to love and peace.<BR>I command all evil thoughts,<BR>Go! This soul release!<BR>Come now music, sweet and pure,<BR>raise this daughter here,<BR>give her heart refreshment now<BR>wash away her fear.<BR>Open eyes, open ears <BR>all your thoughts attend.<BR>Take this kiss of healing love<BR>and all pains amend.<BR>*********END RING ACTION*******<BR><BR><i>It was less than a heart-beat, the sharp intake of a gasp of<BR>wonder, when Alfirin's eyes opened. For the briefest moment<BR>there was anger, but then her eyes saw who it was that was<BR>near her, and a second miracle appeared.<BR>Alfirin smiled.<BR>Parm clasped her hand, and with the help of the momentarily-stunned pair, raised Alfirin to her feet.</i><BR><BR>Come, dear one. Let us take a walk and enjoy the rich silence<BR>of friendship. I will need your good strength, too, for I am not<BR>as hale as I may appear. There! You are sound in limb! What<BR>fine choices of friends Eru brings to me. Now, let us find a<BR>quiet spot out in the courtyard, and I think some tureen of coffee<BR>still holds something warm and inviting for us. Come.<BR><BR><i> Nessa expected resistance. Nienor_niniel anticipated<BR> refusal. Parm simply smiled invitation, and Alfirin came.<BR>The notes of the dragonharp resonated in all their minds,<BR> but now it had become less petulant and more encouraging,<BR> more inviting.<BR><BR>The odd group made their way, finally, out of the Inn and<BR>stepped to a group of benches, where, even as Parm had<BR>known, a large pot of coffee still steamed. Its earthy and<BR>unpretentious aroma filled them all with relief.<BR>They were out. Safe and seemingly sound.<BR>Yet Nessa and Nienor_niniel knew all was far from well in the mind of Parm.<BR><BR>The lightning had yet to fall. </i>
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Postby Nessamelda » Sun Feb 09, 2003 7:26 pm

Alfirin's eyes opened to the feel of a gentlle kiss upon her forehead. She was still far from sober, and for a moment puzzled at the unfamiliar sensation. The last one to kiss her so had been her little daughter as they parted, too long ago.<BR><BR>She smiled at Parm, uncertain and unsteady. Pulled from the brink, for now at least, the dreams left her and so did the feeling of dark despair that had overwhelmed her and led to her drunken rage. <BR><BR>Leaning on the unwilling arm of Nessamelda she obediently followed Parm's command and went outside. There Ness let Alfirin go with little ceremony and left her with a disgusted look to huddle on a bench clutching her cup of coffee. Parm looked reproachfully at Nessa's uncharacteristically less than charitable reaction.<BR><BR>"I do not apologize" Nessamelda said softly. "I do not like drunkards. Drunkards and Wastrels have have caused my family much heartache. And this woman and I have little cause to agree. If you remember we argued before. I neither like her nor trust her"
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Postby erinhue » Mon Feb 10, 2003 11:25 am

Erinhue felt the world and all its infinite variety collapse upon itself and shrink down to the only things left to his perception, the blood craving howl of the runesword and a red rimed vision of Culanir. His entire focus was narrowed down to the Gondorian, his intent as fierce as Clarion’s demand.Once he had moved her from his path he gave no more thought to Aerin although some part of him was dimly aware of her anxious concern.<BR><BR>It did not matter, to Erinhue nothing mattered. All he could feel was his own pain, frustration and anger. All he desired was to pound the source of it all into non existence and he perceived that source to be Culanir. He did not specifically want to kill the Gondorian as much as to eliminate him and with it the overwhelming guilt. <BR><BR>His strength and focus remained constant while that of Culanir seemed to steadily fail but the Westron knight would not submit or back down in any way returning blow for blow with his own shame born detemimnation, his own demons to excises.<BR><BR>And so they fought, rolling on the ground, clawing and tearing at each other with a savage abandon that had lost all civilized venere. Driven beyond reason by his own loss and humiliation, Culanir abandoned the last vestige of honor committing an act that even he would have vilified. In a desperate act worthy of a caged and cornered animal, the Gondorian shamed his heritage and kneed the bard in the groin.<BR><BR>Pain exploded into Erinhue’s senses, shooting up through his belly and stabbing into his brain. Somewhere far off he could hear his own voice groaning in throbbing agony,but aside from that initial burst the pain was not near to him. Instead he found himself bathed in bright golden light and for a moment he thought that he must have lost consiousness.<BR><BR><i> Not lost Bard, but simply changed. Not even I could fortell the time of its coming but you were destined for this day and now it has come. Great evil has collected in this place and its tendrils stretch wide and deep into the very soul of Middle Earth. Soon nothing and no one will go untouched by it.<BR><BR>It is this evil, in part, that is responsible for all the day’s occurances. The Gondorian is lost to that darkness although he is still unaware that it is so, yet even he may still be saved. The time has come when Light must overcome the darkness. Those who have been drawn to this place will all play their part in combating this growing, spreading evil, but the Light must have its Champion. </i><BR><BR>Erinhue listened to Agarak speak and understood a lifetime of murmuring at the edges of his mind. He realized that he had always know this day would come and he gave himself over to the power that seemed now to infuse him.<BR><BR>With the wisdom of her kind Aerin wasted no time with questioning. She moved among the patrons and guests urging them all to leave the Inn and quickly. She hurried to the stairs to go repeat the warning and had just mounted the steps when the dragonharp began to glow.<BR><BR>The light of a trapped star beamed from the velvet niche above and behind the polished mahogany bar. The floorboards began to shake and rattle and the walls began to shine with a dull but increasing light. Oblivious to his surroundings, Erinhue stood as if seized by some great hand, in the center of the taproom floor and he too began to glow with the heated light of a hundred suns.<BR><BR>In moments none could look upon him. The glowing walls began to smoke and the Inn itself began to tremble and quake encouraging those few that remained inside to snatch at their belongings and hurry from the Inn.<BR><BR>Outside the Lucky Fortune Inn was shaking like a blade of grass in a fickle wind. The outer walls began to glow just as the shingles were being shaken from the rooftop. White smoke began to waft out of the windows and seep from the stones and logs of the tavern’s construction. The smoke drifted upwards in thick columns that wound their way into the darkening cloud gathered over the Inn.<BR><BR>The white smoke did not dissipate nor blend into the darker essences, it swirled about and through it contesting with the other for the space it occupied. The Lucky Fortune Inn was now glowing like a gigantic lantern when a thick shaft of light burst from the building and stabbed up into the black cloud.<BR><BR>The sound of an explosion marked when the golden light reached the heart of the cloud of darkness. Stone and wood flew from the site of the tavern and the light was so bright that everyone nearby was forced to turn away. In the raging wind the berserkers howl wailed with deafening might and the cloud above was shredded by the light and burnt away.<BR><BR><BR>As the wind died down and the glowing light began to fade a voice called out in anguish and despair. Aerin rushed here and there looking over all the people that had rushed out of the tavern. Some faces where accounted for, others she did not see but there was only one that she searched for, the one she could not find.<BR><BR><BR>Coming as close to the wrecked Inn as she yet dared Aerin called out her husband’s name letting all her fear and anxiety flood into the cry. She cried out “Erinhue!” but he did not respond. No one called out for Culanir.<BR><BR>The Lucky Fortune Inn was in a shambles with half its roof torn away and the blackened walls all but collapsed. The kitchens were destroyed but the area that contained the taproom, and the smaller rooms right above it, was relatively unscathed, although all the windows and all the glass inside was shattered.<BR><BR>A few dark ribbons marred the clearing sky, last traces of the malevolence that had gathered. The Lucky Fortune Inn, like its proprietors and those who had been drawn to it, was battered, scarred and all but destroyed. What it once had been was now forever over and, much like its patrons going forward, it would be forever changed.<BR><BR>
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Re: The Wedding of Turelie Lurea and Hobbituk A Bard's Fest

Postby erinhue » Sat Jan 05, 2013 11:34 pm

Resurfacing...... :wink:
"Where ever you go, there you are." - Buckaroo Bonzi

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Re: The Wedding of Turelie Lurea and Hobbituk A Bard's Fest

Postby prmiller » Fri Jun 28, 2013 10:43 pm

Ten years had past.

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

Parm thought of this as he sat in the shelter of a hillock near the town of Dale.
He was on his way to visit a great warrior.

Parm had known 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 back 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" 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.
I love the worldI am in...
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Re: The Wedding of Turelie Lurea and Hobbituk A Bard's Fest

Postby prmiller » Sun Jun 30, 2013 6:59 pm

The trip to Esgaroth was both uneventful and exciting.
There were no wolves to fight, no foes to defeat, no dangers to avert.
There was, however, colour and laughter, busyness and purposefulness,
heady aromas and ear-catching music. It was unlike anything Parm had
ever experienced. This was a new world, filled with simple goodness
and honest trade...and all of this built out on a great lake.
It was in that moment that Parm noticed one other thing: a soberness of spirit.
The town was carrying a heavy burden, but one with longsuffering and
A girl playing with a bird-kite, let it fall and looked at Parm with deep
enquiring eyes. "Are you here to see him?"
"Him?" Parm pulled back his hood further so the girl could see his face
more clearly.
"The fallen warrior. He has chosen to rest with us."
"Yes. I have come for that."
"Well, most traveller's go over to that inn over there. The inn-keeper is also
our Head Elder. He will tell you all that you need to know."
"Thank you...?"
"...Alora," the girl replied, full-knowing the intent of the rising tone."
"Thank you, Alora."
Parm shifted his pack, stretched his arms to prepare himself for the next
encounters, and walking up to the inn. Uncharacteristically he did not
glance around to see the name. For now, it seemed almost irrelevant.
It was the meeting, and not the meeting place, that was more important.
Who would this person be?
I love the worldI am in...
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Re: The Wedding of Turelie Lurea and Hobbituk A Bard's Fest

Postby prmiller » Sat Jul 06, 2013 6:33 pm

The inn, a sturdily built building, resting on the thick planks that were characteristic of this entire town, was well-lit.
Sunlight filled the inn, and gave it a friendly and engaging air of welcome. As Parm strode in and up to a large counter that wrapped its
way around a far corner, the patrons looked up, nodded, and even smiled at Parm. A door opened in the middle behind the first counter
Parm saw, a strong-limbed woman passed through. She carried a long tray, with two loaves of bread, cheeses, assorted meats, and fruit
on the board. She set it down on the counter. Parm was surprised at what happened next. Part of the counter's lower panel opened out
and the top part of the counter was raised and lowered to lay flat on the oppositeside. A door had been created in the middle of the counter.
Parm had not seen its like.

"Whoever thought of that, was a skilled carpenter, indeed!" Parm exclaimed as he drew near.

"Praise from a stranger is rare gift," the woman responded. "It took me long enough to design it, but building it was a triumph."
She paused, sensing Parm's bewilderment. "No, I have no husband, never saw the need. But I have plenty of men-folk and young lads to help
me here. I also have quite a good staff here at The Open Hand."

"Your inn certainly lives up to its reputation. A stranger would be wise to come here first before venturing on into the rest of the town."

"True enough," this fascinating inn-keeper replied, "but most strangers find themselves sent here by the good folk of this town. I am the Head Elder...
no not the Master of Lake-town, but a strong voice in it... and I like to meet those who pass through or indeed to join us here as we expand...and refurbish.
I am Adele, Adele, daughter of Timon the Smith. My father, the blessings of Eru upon him, still swings his hammer and forges his implements, but not here upon the Great Stands, as I have come to call these places built on strong pilings and frames. No, you can find his smithy well anchored on the shore, not far from the entrance, bridge, and gateway that brought you here.

"I can also imagine that it was Alora that brought you here. She is my niece. My brother, Carver, (she smiled at the pun) a great carpenter, married a woman from a fine house in Dale, and they came to be close to the water that nourishes the trees that gives my brother his trade."

Once more she paused, and then laughed. "That was quite an introduction, wasn't it?"

"I am well-accustomed to all manner of speaking. My name is Parm, Bard of Imladris, and I have come...", and suddenly Parm's bonhommie dimmed,
"I have come to see The Great Warrior, Dirk the Daring of Esgaroth."

"You have come to see the sun set, then." Adele responded with similar graveness.

"I did not know him well, but, oh, tales of his exploits travelled very wide, and engendered awe in many, even in those not often found in battles or deeds
of the warrior's way. I am, as my title betrays, a weaver of stories. My craft is in lyric and song, and I read and write in many of the old tongues, even
those of Numenor."

Adele's face remained passive, but warm, as if she were used to Kings and Elf Lords sitting in her hall. "You are most welcome here, Parm of Imladris. We have lodgings through that far door that go well out onto the lake. You will find it a most restful venue. In the evening, you can join us here, as we always enjoy a fine feast."

Parm was fascinated by the inn. Despite being built on wood pilings, within the inn, there was a fireplace set upon a huge hearth made of earth and stone, raised up and surrounded by a clever enclosure of well-dressed stone and a system of flues that allowed warmth, but not smoke, to fill
the inn.

"We are not a flimsy place of dainty huts on wobbly stilts, as some strangers have imagined us. Times have changed us, Parm, and we
are well secured out here on the lake, and enjoy good trade with Dale and other good folk who know of us here. It is a good life,
but we do not forget the dark days, and how through the help of a Hobbit, a Wizard, and Elves, we survived," Adele noted.

"One of my dearest companions, the Hobbit Willum of Michel Delving, accompanied me on several journeys, even to Lond Daer itself."

"That, in itself, is worthy of tale. Please refresh yourself, and join us this evening. You will find a list of our services and fareson the far wall."
Adele stretched, getting ready for a future task. "For now, though, be assured of this, no guest at The Open Hand has ever feared for safety
or company. The blessing of the Istari is upon this place."

Parm's eyes widened, and he smiled gently. "A great blessing indeed."

Adele returned his careful smile, then turned, whisked the tray she had set on the counter off through the doors she had pointed
out, and swept into the chambers beyond. Parm followed, eager to see what lay beyond.
Last edited by prmiller on Sat Jul 06, 2013 11:01 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: The Wedding of Turelie Lurea and Hobbituk A Bard's Fest

Postby prmiller » Sat Jul 06, 2013 11:00 pm

Parm was eager to rest. Something began to pull at his mind. It felt sharp and hard, even cruel. His experiences after the disaster of the wedding
had congealed into a mass of pain. Something, someone had violated him, and left him darkness. As Parm attempted
to follow Adele, a blinding flurry rippled through his mind, like bats or crows flying around him, but this was inside, and therefore more insidious.
Parm tried to steady himself, but found himself sit roughly onto a nearby bench, his staff clattering away from him.

The sound startled the good folk in the inn, and some stood to gaze over to where he had ingloriously flopped. Others turned in their chairs.
The noise also caught Adele's attention, and she returned more swiftly than she had left.

Strangely, the room was silent. No one laughed, nor exclaimed. All were dumbfounded with shock. All but one: Adele.
"What's this then? A fainting spell? No wonder! You look as if you haven't had a decent rest or meal in days! Now then, let's get you up.
Bran! Arden! Your stout limbs would help here!"

Snapping out of shock and bewilderment, two burly lads stumbled around chairs and tables to rush to Adele's aid. Parm felt buoyed up by
sturdy limbs, and was carefully guided toward the doors and followed Adele's commands.

"In here, with our guest. That's right. On the bed. Gently now. There...that's good lads! A muffin with a trout filet for the both of you.
Now off you go to the kitchens."

With an appreciative whoop, the two sturdy fellows rushed out of the rooms and off to find their reward. Once they had left, Adele turned,
arms akimbo, with both a worried and stern look. "That was a rough landing, if I dare say so. It was almost...well...I remembered something
I had seen once when another Wizard, Old Greybeard, had stopped by. Some ruffian was a bit too physical, and he found himself landing on
a chair, as if lifted up, seized by the collars and tossed there. You, however, seem to have been the ruffian tossed aside. Something or someone
snatched your courage away, and left you frightened and helpless like a child. You're still shaking, bless you!"

"Lie here for awhile, and I'll have some mead, bread, and cheese brought it. Looks like you need all liberal portions, to be sure."

Parm laid his head on the welcoming pillow and felt himself drift away.

Adele left quietly, but sent servers and cooks scurrying to do her bidding in the kitchens, all the while spinning out various scenarios in her
head about the kind of guest that had found his way here. This was no ordinary pilgrim bringing honour. This Parm was either the first clouds of
trouble or the beginning of an adventure. Adele would long remember her thoughts on that matter.
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Re: The Wedding of Turelie Lurea and Hobbituk A Bard's Fest

Postby prmiller » Mon Jul 08, 2013 12:08 am

As Adele was about to the leave Parm's chambers, she noticed how his staff suddenly became grey,
as though all the light within it had dimmed, or was, as Parm was, going to sleep. She would have
testified passionately that the staff was a lovely silvery white, when Parm strode in the door.
What an odd accoutrement, she thought. This traveller was worth watching. Bran and Arden,
her two helpers, came out of the kitchen smiling broadly. Adele caught their eyes, and beckoned them
come over with a jerk of the head. It was not an unfamiliar gesture. During busy times, when shouts
would be drowned out by singing, she had trained the lads to respond to various kinds of signals.
This was one that usually meant, "I need you. Here. Now." It was Bran, deep-chested, and stout
limbed who reached Adele first, followed by the lithe, but wiry shadow of Arden.

"Bran. You had best keep an eye on the door for Master Parm and let me know when he leaves
his room. Arden, I need you to take this note to Carver, and tell him to let no one but him read it.
There is a silver penny in it for you. You can try to read the note, but as both of us know, your
skill at Elvish is...well...wanting. Carver can read this, so don't you waste time trying to puzzle
it out as you are on your way to see him. Get it to him double quick. Come back before the
second line of the afternoon candle has vanished and you will have a second silver penny."

Arden sped away, through the kitchen and out the back door to find Carver.
Bran, somewhat piqued that his time would not be amply rewarded allowed himself a petulant scowl.
Adele caught it, and tapped his nose. "You, my trusty guard, will have the first helping of the
first truncheon of sausage that Master Backett brings tonight. I hear it will make a man's lips
water even before the first bite. That is a reward I know you will appreciate. I know the provender
it takes to keep fine, fit young men in good fettle." She laughed at her alliteration; Bran simply stared.
"Well off with you then, and find a bag of peas that need shelling and set to work near the lodging doors."

Like Arden, Bran hurried off, but Arden could almost feel the floor boards vibrate as Bran left.
"He will certainly be one hefty man, when he reaches 16," Adele mused. "It's a pity there's not much
more to him than his brawn. Still, he's a good-natured soul, bless his mother," Adele smiled as she
spoke to herself softly.
"Now, as for you, Master Parm... ." Adele murmured warily.

The last of the afternoon tea crowd had left. Mugs had been swept up, cups and boards were cleaned.
Adele felt a slight shiver come over her. It was strange how this afternoon had turned out. But the day
was far from over. Far, far from over.
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Re: The Wedding of Turelie Lurea and Hobbituk A Bard's Fest

Postby prmiller » Mon Jul 08, 2013 10:49 pm

Parm dreamed.

"At last!" a dark entity, malevolently chortled. "At last."

For this had been the whole purpose of the tiring journey and first salvo against the meddling poet. Now Parm was enmired
in the world that this being inhabited.

Parm realized too late, upon drifting into this kind of slumber, what peril lay before him. He had been warned.
The headmaster of the Scriptorium had darkly alluded to this. The threshold had been crossed, the portal entered.

Parm was in Lond Daer once more. The chamber of mysteries lay before him. Nessamelda and Alfirin had tried to stop him from
entering. Willum had even risked his friendship to snatch away Parm's staff to prevent him from being able to breach the door.
Willum had failed.

In Lond Daer, Parm had confronted himself. In this dream, he was brought to stand before two selves: the timid, cowering, shell of
a man who had lost loves, blessings, and craft, and the arrogant, towering hulk of a powerful being, swollen with muscular
pride, and driven by bitterness and cruel hate toward those who had mocked his gift and his heritage, or had belittled it.

Parm came face to face with the ugliest truth in the soul of any being: the unbalanced aspects of one's life -- too much and too little of
one's true character. However, this time, Parm did not actually see faces, but instead, the voices were much clearer than in Lond Daer,
and the shapes they assumed more defined, as if crafted by a fourth entity, one outside of this horrific trinity of being.

The mighty form of Parm spoke first:
"Behold your power, Parm! Drink it in! Savour it! It is all you. Every sinew and bone of it. See what a remarkable being you are! Look well!"

Parm's felt himself shiver with awe as Parm the Powerful stretched out his arms and revealed the full massiveness of his form, and the
malevolence. This was no mighty king to embrace with joy, this was no majestic being to run to and embrace his wonder.
This was the incarnation of all that Parm yearned to have, but without one shred of mercy, compassion, love, or joy...just power...
unfettered power.

Again the form spoke:
"You see that shivering leaf of a thing, that being that dares call itself a man? How does that will'o the wisp strike you?
Do you feel pity or revulsion? It even trembles at its own shadow that thinly stretches out before it. Ha! How could you find
anything worthy in that...stripling?"

Parm could not speak.

He felt himself look desperately at this quivering slip of a man, and wondered what it would say, or if it would say, anything.

All was silence.

Suddenly, as if hot piping steam from a kettle could become a voice, the entity spoke. The voice was high, piping, shrill, but oddly
weak and even breathy.
"I...I...have merits. Yes. of some n...note."

The stammering grated on Parm's heart. This was also him, stripped of all courage, enterprise, initiative, and talent. It was the
incarnation of every fear, despairing thought, and grief he had ever borne. It was ugliness in despicable weakness, cowardice, and shame.
With the last word fading, no more was heard from the willowy and wan shape of this being.

To Parm's utter surprise, a third voice spoke. It was neither quiet nor brash, but patronizing and cloyingly sweet, a mixture of
the rich mezzo-soprano of a woman, and the authoritative basso profundo of a was a voice from long ago, and one
from which Parm had taken years to heal.

"Bard of Imladris...welcome to my chambers. You have met the other guests I see. What a delightful quandry you are.
Within you lies the very fabric and form of greatness. Not that you shall ever embrace it, but it is there, nonetheless.
Behold Parm the Pathetic and Parm the Powerful, neither of those beings are capable of anything of consequence.
Your massiveness possesses no warrior's wisdom; your shivering ghostly shell over there has not a single sigh of unction.
What a morsel you shall be to dine on in my chambers, for that is where you are now. You are in my feasting hall, and you
are the appetizer, the main course, and the...well...all that follows." At this the dreadful voice allowed itself to laugh derisively
and its own humour.

" Did you think I had forgotten you out there in the woods when your manhood was violated? Did you think I would let you
slip past me because I was sated on other hapless souls? No, Parm, I knew how delightfully delicious you would become the more
that life dichotomized you. Yes, you are, in every sense of the word, a split personality! This is why the Elves shunned you,
why men found you disorienting, why Hobbits could only endure so much of you! You have never truly become one with who you truly are...
the child of an Istari...the Istari of Istari. Saruman's might and malevolent wroil within you, and you have not ever taken the time to come
to face that reality...until today. But now... it is too late. You have become the dainty I have always wanted to savour. Your "parma" -- and
that was truly, dreadfully droll -- alerted me to your presence, and your battle with the wolves made me lust after you even more!
So...prepare to truly die. I think I shall"

Upon his bed, Parm felt his fingers holding onto his staff. The entity was not unaware of Parm's movement,
but was completely unprepared for what Parm was about to do next.
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Re: The Wedding of Turelie Lurea and Hobbituk A Bard's Fest

Postby prmiller » Sat Aug 27, 2016 8:09 pm

Parm had been asleep, but not unattended.
He had been carried from his bed to a special chamber far, far below the foundations of the inn
to which he had come after a long and wearying journey.

Parm was placed into a crypt of unusual healing power and protection. This place was known
to so few, not even the great and wise elf lords knew of its existence. Beyond the caretakers of this crypt,
this place was known to only two: Celeborn and Galadriel...and as a tightly bound secret.

It was not memory to the Caregivers, though. This special guild had been forged from the fires of
the First Alliance. It had been Galadriel, with Gandalf's aid, who had seen the wisdom of entrusting
a healing crypt, but not for any warriors, in which a beloved traveler may be laid. Willum had gone
before the head of the Guild of Caregivers and pled Parm's case, even as Parm lay a state that was
neither sleep nor unconsciousness, but merely stillness. Though his eyes were closed, and he was
unaware of the shift of heat to cold, light to dark, feasting to silence, Parm was bound by a malevolent
force to remain inert and stagnant. There were no dreams but only darkness. There was nothing happening
within him or to him. Willum had heard the stories of Lord Faramir, who also once lay in such a state,
but far more battered than Parm. For Faramir, there had been the Houses of Healing. For Parm?
Willum had risked much to find out about the Caregivers and their special guild and gifts.
Had it not been for the help he gained from his friendship with Lady Aravel, long years ago, he
would have despaired for Parm's life...which was now merely existence.

Willum had travelled far from Parm when the journey and Lond Daer ran afoul. He had come
upon the Lady Aravel, and from her he had learned of a gift that she had received from
Lady Galadriel, before her journey to the Grey Havens. Parm's place in Imladris had not
gone unnoticed nor uncared for. Galadriel felt a special bond to Aravel, and with Celeborn's
permission, drew her into a deep circle of trusting. Only in extreme need was this gift to
be revealed. Willum had brought news of that extreme need...his master, Parm of Imladris.

Arrangements were made, dispatches sent, age-long confidences that had been tried and tested
were relied upon for this, Willum's greatest and most dangerous adventure: Knowledge of the
Crypt of Healing.

Now Parm was in that crypt, and as Aravel had told him, its effects would be powerful, but
take much time in which to work its wonders. Over the months, Parm's face was no longer
ashen, and ever so slowly, a gentle colour returned to his brow and face. The grimace that
traced hard lines around his eyes had softened and all but disappeared. Parm appeared as
one contentedly sleeping and from time to time a gentle, sigh, as if releasing memory upon
painful memory passed through his lips. Willum had been there for one such moment, and
he felt his body lose a great measure of his own distress and anxiety.

Three years passed.
It was late in summer.

Willum had also travelled far, but in his travels he had learned some legend and lore,
newer skills and older songs. One, befitting the place he was in, came to mind:

Far, far beneath the shores of Dale,
despite the aging face now pale,
an older power shields us here
forbidding any grief and fear.

The weary heart that finds its place
within this chamber's healing grace
will rise renewed, though time must pass,
and barren fields now fill with grass.

The seasons swiftly spin away
but in this place all good shall stay,
and fill each weary, saddened bone
with brand new joy from gladness sown.

Willum had gone down into the crypt with bowl of water infused with special herbs.
As he set the bowl down on a nearby counter, he removed the old bowl, and replaced
it with this new bowl. As he set it down on the the stone near Parm's head, once again
Willum watched as a power deep within the stone began to affect the bowl and
the water it held. A gentle mist rose and passed over Parm's body, even as it had done
for three years. Today, he believed, would be different. With slightly disappointed sigh,
Willum rose, turned to look fondly at Parm's now contented face,
and began to retrace his steps back up from the crypt into the daylight several flights
of stairs away.

Willum's shuffling sounds died away. All was still...for the moment.

Parm's eyelids began to move almost imperceptibly. Ever so slowly, Parm's eyelids
began to twitch and then flutter, and Parm's eyes opened. His eyes widened at what
he saw, then relaxed, slowly closed, and from deep within Parm's chest and out
through his lips, a long, contented sigh floated out as gently as the mist that wreathed

Parm had returned.
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Re: The Wedding of Turelie Lurea and Hobbituk A Bard's Fest

Postby prmiller » Sat Sep 10, 2016 8:18 pm

The crypt was not dark as an unattended mine. Above the crypt, and in the chamber beyond,
were niches in which special gems had been placed. There were gifts from the elves to the
Caregivers that reminders of the Phial of Galadriel. These, too, were gems that would only
give light when all other lights had gone out. They glowed with a perpetual power, for that
was the nature of an elvish's power did not diminish, despite the age of the bearer
or the gift itself.
Parm tested his fingers, curling them in, stretching them out, as if testing for some arthritic
condition. He managed to turn onto his right side and peered out into the chamber in which
he had lain for some time. The ceiling of the crypt was not so low as to forbid him to sit
up in it. Testing each limb, stretching and moving himself this way and that, Parm eventually
managed to sit up on the edge of the crypt, and felt something near his feet. It was his staff.
Astonished to discover it showed no sign of decrepitude, Parm grasped the staff firmly and
drew himself up to his full height in the chamber of the crypt.
Parm hummed a brief snatch of music into the recess of the tip of his staff and was delighted
to see that the gem within responded as it had done on previous adventures. However, the
glow was not cool blue, but a warming, cheering creamy white. This was not his old staff!
It was a new one, but very much like his old one. He noticed that the design of the staff
had altered somewhat. It seemed to mimic the dance of a flame that had been halted in
time. The shimmering glow aided in the illusion that Parm's staff was like a candle, but
could not be extinguished by any force of breath or gust of wind.

It was in this new light that Parm noticed his robes. They were still white, but a warmer,
kinder, woolen white. Not like the austere white of snow, but glowed with the allure
of a warming blanket. It was a gentler, more benevolent colour, that was enhanced
by golden threads that wound themselves around the edges of his sleeves in the shapes
of flower petals of the elenor blossoms and the yellow leaves of the mallorn tree.
The shapes almost seem to swirl around the hems as if enlivened by a newborn joy.
In fact, Parm himself seem to glow with a gladness, an inner happiness that made him
smile...broadly. He felt as if he had rediscovered the wonder of youth...until he noticed
his beard. It was still long, but no longer stringy and tired, but fuller, stronger, grander.

Whatever wonder was in this place, Parm felt as if he had been in a grim, grey pod, and
had broken free to become a gleaming sapling, full of life and full of cheer. Parm had been
relatively silent through this inspection, save for the brief snatch of song. Now Parm, took
a deep breath, and allow a single note to find itself singing in the echoless chamber.
First a baritone sound, then slowly rising in pitch to a pleasant tenor, then down into
a bassoprofundo rumble...and back again to the comfort of a baritone sigh...
Parm sang:

I am found inside a wonder,
I am birthed inside a dream,
I am sheltered by a power
I see in gems that gleam.
I am back, but leave all sorrow,
I am here, but what to do?
I am full of many questions,
but full of gladness, too.

Parm sat once more, and when he did he saw something that made him laugh.
It was a bell, very much like the one he used to summon Willum with when
then were full of adventures, visiting inns, lodging places, and palaces.
Parm took the bell, and with laughter in his voice, rang it and called out...
Hello, Willum!
I'm up and ready for breakfast!
The notes of the bell faded away into silence.
The laughter fell into the cracks and crevices winding throughout the chamber.

Parm sat, smiled, and waited.
He knew what magic was at work with this particular bell.
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Re: The Wedding of Turelie Lurea and Hobbituk A Bard's Fest

Postby prmiller » Mon Sep 12, 2016 11:33 pm

Willum first felt it, then wonder upon wonders heard it. It was that bell,
that wonderful, terrible, unmistakably piercing, indefatigably penetrating
summoning bell!

Parm was awake!
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