The Hunt for the Bride

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

Postby Aliana » Wed Jun 09, 2004 4:18 pm

Meanwhile, back at the Inn...

“Ah, you are getting quicker, you snake. Soon you will be able to slither off on your own.”

Aliana aimed what she hoped was a murderous scowl at the back of the young Prince’s head as he walked into the distance. An exasperating man, if ever she had met one. If she got through this ordeal with her sanity intact, she reflected, she would have no cause to complain about anything, ever again.

Left all alone once more, the young maid had little to do but contemplate the dreary surroundings and her own equally dreary condition. Straightening up, she ran her hands over her own limbs, which were stiff and sore from another night spent on the ground. Her eyes stung, and her throat was dry from the heat of the fire on her face. Her ankle felt somewhat better, although, as she had just discovered, it was far from being fully healed. It will not do if you hurt yourself more, as it would mean more time in MY care. She could clearly see the patronizing gleam in his eyes, just as she could recall his light, jovial tone. As much as she was loath to admit it, he was right.

She shook her head. A turned foot, an infuriating adversary, even a missing horse—these things were so little in the long run, even though they seemed the world to her at the moment. She wondered where Turelie was, right now. Where Hobbi was, and Erinhue, and the Gondorian, and all the other wedding guests. She hoped they were well, and that they had an inkling, at least, of what was happening. Because she certainly did not.

It occurred to her in that moment that she might like to write a letter to her family, back in Rohan. Of course, she had no writing supplies readily available, and even if she did, she would have no means of sending such a missive. She resolved to compose her messages in her head and store them up for future references. Anyway, she was bored. The first she addressed to her older brother: My dear Auren, I hope this letter finds you, Trewyn, and Mara well. Conditions here leave something to be desired. The wedding was … interesting…

Ugh. That was horrid. Disgusted with her mental epistolary abilities, she pictured herself crumpling the paper in her hand and starting anew…

Dear Trewyn, never before in my young life have I ever considered regicide, but I suppose there is a time and place for everything in this world…

She saw her handwriting grow darker and more erratic…

Dear Relian, perhaps it’s really a good thing we never got married, for I discovered this week that weddings are not all that they’re cracked up to be…

She shook her head again, more violently this time. She had to resist the urge to give herself a firm slap on the face. All right. No more letters until you at least have some real parchment and ink, Miss Ali. In spite of herself, she wondered when Marius would be returning. She sighed, and began to work the dressing off her ankle in order to see if it was still swollen.

And then she saw it.

At first it was just a flicker in the corner of her eye. She slowly turned her head to catch the motion full on, and she saw a grey-brown animal shape some distance away, against the steel-colored sky. A dog? No, too big. And surely it was not a horse? The thing turned its head, and she thought she could see the eyes. Red, hungry wolf eyes. Its body looked hungry, too, panting and pacing ferociously. Ravenous, in fact.

Aliana froze, and the breath fled from her lungs. Had it seen her? Were there more? Her gaze locked on the thing, she quickly tallied her options, should this creature be a foe. She could not call for help, for fear of alerting the beast. And she could not run. And worst of all, she could not even stand and fight. Now it was stalking in her general direction, and as it came nearer she could see that it was indeed a wolf, though it was unlike any wolf she had ever seen before. Had it mounted on its hindlimbs it surely would have rivaled the height of a goodly-sized man of Rohan. Perhaps it hadn’t seen her, yet. Not daring to take her eyes off the creature, her hand groped blindly in the dirt til it closed around a stick which had one end in the fire.

Nearer and nearer, though not directly towards her. It had its monstrous snout to the ground, as if it were searching something out. What if it could smell her? Something Relian had told her once—You have to be very careful around the animals. If you are uneasy, they will smell the fear on you. Where was Marius?

As if on cue, the creature turned around, and its glowing crimson eyes returned the stare of her dark blue ones. Ah…

In what seemed like scarcely three bounds it had crossed the distance between them, and then all Aliana knew were matted fur, deep growls, the mouth curled against sharp yellow teeth, and those red eyes. No time to cry out. The thing smelled like carrion and warm decay, and then there was metallic odor of blood. She had managed to roll over, to dodge its first lunge, but now she was lying on the ground and there was a massive paw on her chest, crushing the air out of her, hard claws pressing into her skin. A fleeting thought passed through her panicked brain, and that was that this would be an awful way to die. Not bravely, in battle, or content, in old age, but to have your bones crunched and your ribs cracked and your insides ripped open. She still clutched the stick in her right hand. Oh Eru, what to do—it’s not too sharp. Go for a soft place.

She felt teeth graze at her shoulder, and with all her might she plunged the end of the wood, still hot from the fire, into the beast’s eye. It rocked backwards with a savage, unearthly howl, lunging again with renewed fury, but she was ready this time. She wanted to live, more than anything she had ever wanted before. Somehow she managed to pull herself shakily to her feet, the fear canceling out the pain in her ankle for the time being. The soft places, then… As it leapt to snap at her face, she thrust at its mouth, past its gleaming teeth, into the pink. It made another noise, a strangled, wheezing moan that sounded almost human. Dark blood dripped from the lolling tongue and from the place where the left eye had been, onto the mangy fur. And there was blood on her, too—she could feel the warm wetness on her face, soaking the cloth at her shoulder. But the wounded ones are the fiercest, aren’t they?
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Postby prmiller » Wed Jun 09, 2004 4:37 pm

Tale of the Warriors of Light

Willum was about to become a hero.
Near Parm's feet a glittering sword had fallen. To a man it was long.
To the hobbit it was like a great drying pole, over which huge rugs
were hung to air out. As a lad, he and other mischievous lads, had
discovered how to fling the poles and even make them stick into
soft earth.
Willum grabbed the hilt and dragged it around. It was heavy, but soon
the momentum helped to lift the sword from the ground. He spun,
gaining greater and greater speed. It was familiar fun, but now with a
perilous goal.
Suddenly he released the sword and it spun with deadly force straight
into the dark heart of the beast.

A huge roar of anger and pain brought down loose rocks around them.
None hit Parm, Lady Heather or Willum, but the added debris enfuriated
the beast. It was used to winning, to conquering, to ensnaring juicy,
defenseless edibles. This was too much! Bright lights had blinded it,
strange sounds had slowed it, sharp sticks had hurt it, and now this!

The tentacles now sought to find some way to help the beast escape.
Some pushed, others pulled. The ship was released and given a shove
for good measure to sent it out of the cave. The creature with the sharp
stick was poised to hurt it more. This the creature no longer wanted.

The shrieking in its little brain it shrugged off. The whips that made the beast's instincts want to attack, flailed uselessly. After dislodging several
more boulders that bruised and battered the tentacles, the beast sloshed
and slithered down into surging pools and with a burbling roar,

It was over.
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Postby Turelie_Lurea » Wed Jun 09, 2004 6:18 pm

A Marriage of Evils

As Alfirin waited for the hobbit to recognize her, Leonir was busy watching over his other minions and pacing about his stronghold above the lush vegetation of the tiny island northwest of Tolfalas; an unmapped island that had risen only a decade before.

No birds sang here, nor did any sweet-tempered mammals scamper giddily around the ocean-deteriorated castle. While the island had been above the surface of the Bay of Belfalas a mere ten years in this age, it had breached the surface once before--in the First Age. A now-forgotten culture had ruled the tiny island, one that met with a tragic fate--not one of them had survived. There was speculation among the dark figures who visited Leonir and pledged their allegiance to him: that the savages had become cannibals, leaving only one: a disfigured, twisted elf who knew the dark secrets of MiddleEarth and beyond--the one who ate the last of his people. Then, the island, knowing the wrong that had been done, sank in sorrow, taking the wretched elf-creature with it, resurfacing at the time of his rebirth and full awakening of the Darkness. Of course, this was speculation only and Leonir laughed at the absurdity, though he thought that the flesh of his kind might perhaps be sweet if he were ever to try it.

The woods behind the castle allowed a peek of sunlight in only a few chosen groves, growing at an unnatural speed with contorted branches that wove themselves together before one's eyes. These same trees bore no cheerful greenery, only the weeping Spanish moss and an obsidian blanket of what appeared to be large leaves. The front of the stronghold afforded an incredible view of the Mouth of Anduin, though the stronghold itself was cloaked from the sight of those, even elves, who stood at the furthest shoreline of the Mouth. Though it was crumbling, and wind-proof minerals that were once strongly ensconced in the black columns now were eaten away by creatures and salt of the Bay, the stronghold was impenetrable by even the strongest of armies, mainly due to the sheer cliffs that graced much of the island, save for the coast that met with Belegaer. There, the trees ruled and none dared to trespass, for stepping into the darkness promised that one would never see light again.

Thundering down at the orcs that fought below the crumbling rocky turrets, the creature who could change his form at will used the evil that resided in his soul to divert the powers of the Princess held below, the powers of the WeatherSpeller. He practiced with them each day, knowing that her friends, and likely even that hobbit who thought himself equal to a man or an elf (he smirked), would come looking for her. It would be nice to greet them with a bit of dark weather, he laughed to himself, enjoying the irony (for Lurea means "dark weather").

While the plan was for Morg and Kuti to "take care of" the hobbit groom, Leonir had little faith in them.

"A falconer with a vile heart and a beast who desires little else than flesh and warm blood are worthless in such important deeds," he growled.

Yet he gently and possibly even lovingly, caressed the one creature he admired, the feline who sat upon her own throne, the Feline of Mordor, also known as Ritaerae (Rit-AIR-a). This cat had defeated entire armies with one glance of her fiery orange eyes or with a flick of her incredibly long tail, which was as a whip, able to strangle men who came too near. Her body was closer in size to that of a tiger than a housecat, yet at a whim, could shrink into the smallest of kittens with the most demure face. Her fury was well known in the East and none could face her without trembling. Yet, one alone could stare her in the eyes, one alone sought her for his pet. He was the Dark Lord and any of those brave enough to attempt mastery of his powers would likely win her over to his side as well.

Only one had ever won her after the destruction of Sauron, the servant Mouth of Sauron. Since then, no man could touch her without feeling the burning of her iris or the lash of her tail. That was why the orcs were surprised that Leonir could come near to her. Many of the foul-smelling creatures were eaten on a daily basis, usually when they brought her food; *they* instead became the meal. Therefore, they could not understand why their master kept her and why he was not scalded or whipped.

"There is some different sorcery afoot," one of the cat-like servants whispered to one of the shadow creatures as she brought gifts to the foot of the cat's enormous throne of tabbied marble. "There must be some greater power than our Master shows us. But where did he get such a power? And why did he not display it in the land of his birthplace and take it over when the War there began? Why now does he torment the Princess when he could have done--"

"Hush, fool!" Interrupted the other. "He will hear you..."

Indeed he heard and smiled. None would ever guess his secret, his pact with one less cunning than himself. Or so he believed the Old One to be...

Rita, as he called her, yowled, shaking the turrets, sending boulders tumbling down to the orcs arguing below, crushing them. She licked her nose, smelling the blood spilt.

"Serves them right, does it not my love?" Leonir grinned, knowing well how she felt. She purred and bared her teeth, as though she too were grinning.

Leisurely, she stood from her throne, stretched after her luxurious nap, and padded down the cracked stone staircase to find her meal. Meanwhile, Leonir stood and concentrated on breaking down the barrier in the mind of Alfirin. He could see that now, oh yes, and in time he would make her mind open as a flower to the morning sun, planting the seeds of Parm's destruction, for he was envious of the man who deigned to supplant him in power and to take away that which he had so rightly stolen--the Princess and her happiness.

Looking into the heavens, he concentrated some of Lurea's powers into the form of electricity, adding the hues of red and gold as a final touch, and sent the "package" toward Alfirin.


Thousands of miles away, Alfirin was watching the hobbit decide that he would leave without all of them. He still did not see her, despite the lack of disguise or obstruction. Just after he rode off (before Tinu and Anorast arrived), a bolt of blinding red and gold crashed at the hooves of Alfirin's horse.

"I am very angry, Alfirin. You have not followed the path I set for you. Why do you tarry on your trail? Do you think that this will save your friends? For it will NOT SAVE YOU!" The sound echoed in the bleakness, but none save Alfirin heard it.

EDITed for spelling
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Postby PatriotBlade » Wed Jun 09, 2004 9:27 pm

Tale of the Warriors of Light.

In it's flailings before disapearing into the water, the creaure knocked her elven sword from it's body. She quickly sheathed the dragon sword and scooped up her own blade. She turned to run, sliding her blade into its sheath as she did so.
The ship was making good time out of the cave, Willum again saved the day by throwing a rope to her.
Heather caught it and began working her way up it to the deck, clinging tightly to the dragon sword.
Parm and the Hobbit lad pulled her, dripping onto the deck where she collapsed. Her adrenaline was ebbing away, leaving her spent and at the mercy of those around her and her own emotions.
As she looked at the dragon sword, she began to shake with sobs and she slowly began to rock back and forth as one in deep sorrow.
"No, no, no!" She lifted her head and called loudly into the cloudless blue sky. "Why?! Why Him?! Why like this?!" The angry tone left her voice and she lowered her head, a loud, keening wail emiting from her lips.
Someone tried to take the sword and help her up but she nearly broke their hand in her instinctual guardianship of the magical blade, not even looking at them in her blind grief.
The fog and red haze eventually lifted from her eyes to find her friends, the captain a skeleton crew were now on the ship, looking at her with varying degrees of concern or fear. She smiled sadly and struggled to her feet.

"I am sorry, Friends. I need to rest and regain my focus. When we pass the bay of Osciliath, you might want to send a couple of men in a dingy to tell the Rohirrim that we are comming and that we'll be comming from the city. Also, tell them not to harm in any way, any dragons that they see; for when they appear, they will be fighting for us."
Everyone looked at her couriously, but made ready to do as she said.
As she stumbled below to rest, she felt a supportive hand on her elbow. She looked up to see Parm. He smiled warmly and whispered.
"It is now my turn to support you."
She smiled in return then turned her attention back to navigating the steep, narrow stairs to the ship's hull.
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Postby prmiller » Thu Jun 10, 2004 3:02 am

Tale of the Warriors of Light

A great slab of salted meat was brought out for Willum and the finest
mead he had ever tasted. Truth to tell, he had not ever really had much
mead, but from the mischievously stolen ones, this honest flagon was
a liquid dream. There was even...cheese! Oh, how he loved cheese!

Parm laughed to see Willum so happy, so well feasted. Deservedly so.
He had done a brave act, and his hand, Parm believed, must have been
guided by Eru's own great power. Of this, Parm was in no doubt. Even
as they all began to find bits and pieces of food to eat, and mugs to
use to drink, the festive atmosphere was dampened by Lady Heather's

Parm made sure she was given a most comfortable place to rest. He
now called upon the grace of his ring to wrap Lady Heather in healing
sighs and songs. He even managed to have the sailors dim the light
around the elven warrior so that she might have a gentle, night-like
atmosphere. When all was readied and done, Parm returned to the
deck to rest, too.

As he was climbing the stairs to step out into fresh, sea air, he was
delighted to see that Nessa's ship was drawing near their own! She
was one friend Parm was as glad to see as his own family! She was
all right! Joy! Joy! Joy! What great joy!

Not all was joy, though, in all of Parm's world. His son, Arahn, had much
to answer for and much to explain by his use of dark, deadly sorcery.
Aravel was grief-stricken. Arahn's sisters cried till their eyes were puffy
and red. Arahn would not be banished, that had at last been decreed.
He was, however, under the strictest of watches that had ever been
declared for any miscreant known in the history of Imladris. Arahn's
crime exceeded all bounds for any of his age or even older. However,
it was not the first time someone had sought to use the ancient evils for
vengeful purposes. That name was known to only the eldest and most
trusted of elf leaders. Yet, what was to be done for Arahn.

It was clear he would never be allowed to leave Imladris to join the
Mithril Knights, until it was clearly proven he was able to be of value to
them and not a hidden menace. One elf-elder stunned the group by
his generous offer to be Arahn's mentor. "He shall know me merely as
'Teacher'. He need not know who I truly am. I shall ask that none but
us here be privy to that information." All nodded sagely. I shall begin my
first tasks with him after noon-meal the following day. Arahn needs rest.
Let us take him to a secure chamber.

Arahn was led to a place that looked out upon the great beauties of
Rivendell. Yet the parapet was of a deadly height, only one staircase
led down, and the door to his chamber was heavily barred and the door
securely in place, both by weight and the authority of words of guarding
upon it. He was left to think, to rest, to eat. The food was well prepared.
Of that he was glad. However, the full weight of what he had done had
not quite hit him. He did know, however, that only by the graces of the
Valar had his father's life been spared.

What the wise did not know, nor even suspected, was that Arahn was not
the only target for the servants of darkness. Parm's family was in great
peril, even as the sun shone, stars gleamed and birds awakened the
dawn. Even though all seemed right in the world. All was not right. Great
and terrible plans were at work to decimate the loveliness that grew
around Parm and his family. It was too easy to take a life. It was far
more satisfying to ruin a life and have the effects of that ruin ripple out
farther and farther with each passing day.

Lips were being licked in lascivious longings. Jagged teeth bared from
malevolent smiles. Wickedness feasted on the meat of anticipation. What
a glorious gluttony would come...and none too soon. Ahh! Hasten the day!
black hearts moaned in eagerness.

It was a lovely sunset, Parm thought. "What a beautiful thing the sea is! "
he sighed, savoring this fragile peace.
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Postby prmiller » Thu Jun 10, 2004 3:05 am

Tale of the Warriors of Light

The sea was lovely. It soothed with its quiet grace, its gentle heart. It was like any beast,
though. It could lash out in rage, or tempestuous whims. The whims of life was what
most kept Parm in deeper thought. A hobbit lad tips the balance in favor of their survival.
A elf-maid is the prey of mighty forces and awesome evil. A poet, a bard has found himself
to be more and more of a warrior. What would happen next? What awaited them in
Minas Tirith, the great White City?

Parm missed his family deeply. It was a great wound in his heart. Tears welled up
in his eyes, trickling, untouched to silently stain the deck. In his heart, he felt things were
very wrong at home. The delicate sensitivities his wife loved him for, were now showing
their darker side, for he could also feel what was amiss, what was dark and what was
deceptive. He wanted to walk in the forests again, to smell the wet woods after a long
rain. The salt spray, though, had its own healing powers.

Lady Heather looked distracted, but cordial. Willum was in ecstasies. Parm saw far
beyond them the ship that held Nessa. Parm hoped she was in good temper. It was
dreadfully unfair for her to be alone. Yet, the sailors seemed to be good men, and that
was a comfort, at least.

Parm held his staff tightly, gazing off and yearning to see distances shrink, towers rise
and shores draw near. It was then that Lady Heather's activities now caught his
Last edited by prmiller on Tue Jun 15, 2004 9:27 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby PatriotBlade » Mon Jun 14, 2004 10:47 pm

Tale of the Warriors of Light

Heather awoke feeling more rested than she had since begining the quest, though she was still sad over her discovery. She changed her clothes and reached for the swords. Parm had layed both sword next to her cot. She unsheathed hers forst intending to clean it, but she found that someone already had. She thought she knew who and determined to have much more patience with him frome here on. She strapped it back around her slim waist and scrounged around for some scrap leather to mend the severed strap on the dragon sword. Once finished, she slung it over her back so that she could draw either or both swords as needed. Satisfied that she was ready she made her way topside.
Parm saw her first and stepped forward to greet her.
"Good morning to you, Milady. Are you feeling better?"
She smiled. "Thank you, Master Parm, it is a good morning. And thank you for your help I'm so used to helping, t feels good to be helped too, sometimes. Yes I am better, though still weary with sorrow. I fear now that all my worry over what I would find awaiting me in the White City was for naught. For this was his sword. Where is Willum?"
Parm directed her to where the Hobbit lad was telling his tale for the hundredth time and enjoying himself emencely. She smiled and stepped up behind him.
His story trailed off and he twisted in his seat to see who was behind him. He started at the sight of her and began to try to explain everything to her as quicly as he possably could, tangling his words in the prossess.
She stopped him with a raised hand.
"I am sorry, that I hurt you earlier, I know that you were trying to help, but at the time, I was not myself and I appologise fror hurting you. and I want to thank you for cleaning my sword while I rested. You are a good lad and I'm sorry that I've been so short with you lately."
Willum's lower lip began to tremble and before he could start to cry, she collected him in a big hug. "Now, go back to your merry making and story telling. You have done well and I need to speak with the Ranger Captain and Master Parm for a bit."
She drew a deep, calming breath as she faced the two men. "We need to discuss what we need to do when we get there and what we might expect to find within the walls of the White City."
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Postby Guruthostirn » Fri Jun 25, 2004 9:55 pm

The shock of the blow was incredible. Power rocked his body, sending him flying. Anorast was completely taken by surprise by the power of the jewel, the “Hobbit Protector”. He looked up and saw that his efforts were for naught, his companion still writhed upon the ground, a bright light coming from her hands.

“Tinu!” Anorast called out as he leaped to her side again. But he could do nothing but call, he dared not touch the jewel again.

Suddenly the light stopped, and Tinu lay quiet, chest heaving. Around her the old elf could feel nothing; the Hobbit Protector was sleeping once again. Anorast had run into odd magicks before, and knew the scent of power. The air had burned with it during Tinu’s fit, and even before the air had been laden with magic.

“What happened Tinu,” Anorast asked. “Why did that jewel burn?”

“I saw him, I saw him!” Tinu sobbed, rolling towards Anorast, hiding her face in the grass.

“Saw who, Tinu?”

“It was Hobbi,” Tinu sobbed. “It was”

Anorast lifted the elf woman up, holding her against him. He felt Tinu’s body shake against his, felt tears against his neck. For several moments he just held her, letting Tinu weep in peace.

Finally Anorast felt Tinu begin to relax. Gently he slid her back down to the ground, propping her back up with his leg. For a moment Tinu just sat there, staring at the ground, until she finally raised her gaze to Anorast’s face.

“I saw Hobbi. He was tied to an altar.”

“An altar? A big stone altar?” Anorast was surprised. He knew of them, but had seldom seen the great stone edifices. The old elf didn’t know there were any nearby, and he was confident the hobbit couldn’t of been taken to any others.


“Those are from a tradition I do not understand. I do not know their powers. I wonder why...could you see anything else, Tinu?”

“No.” Tinu’s head dropped again, but Anorast was frowning.

“How could you see this?”

The only response Anorast got was a hand raised, holding the jewel.

“Yet how, and why...what can you tell me of this jewel, Tinu?”

“Little do I know, only that it was very valuable to Her.” Anorast did not need to be told who Tinu was referring to.

“And it’s connected to Hobbi, cclearly.” Anorast felt Tinu nod. “Could you see what was happening to him?”

“He was...he was being stabbed.”

As Tinu spoke Anorast became very still. He could easily feel Tinu shaking against him.

“Is he dead?”

“I don’t know. The knife wasn’t touching him.”

“Wasn’t touching him?” The weight in Anorast’s stomach vanished. Instead a suspicion began to grow.

“No, it wasn’t.” Tinu looked up at Anorast, her beautiful face streaked with tears. But her eyes were clearing.

“I think that jewel saved Hobbi’s life just now.”
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Postby prmiller » Sun Jun 27, 2004 9:57 pm

Tale of the Warriors of Light

Parm tenderly laid his hand on Lady Heather's strong shoulder. They simply looked.
The look communicated much, but what it also made plain was Parm's great tiredness.
Exhaustion was etched on the corners of his eyes.
"Yes, we must talk. But first,"
The last was sighed out slowly.

He slowly turned to the hold and walked, significantly assisted by his staff.
Willum looked quizzically after the old Bard, but after the white form of Parm
disappeared down the steps, all was forgotten.

Parm found a place to rest. He set his staff near the head of the bed and
sat slowly on the soft bed. He stretched himself across the bed...and fell
fast asleep. Deeply, dreamlessly asleep.

The powers of shadow had been itching for this moment. They were poised to
strike and Parm had ambled into their domain.

However, around his form, a soft, delicate scent grew. It was the Valinor ward of
forbidding. He was under the charge of his Valinorian mentors. Parm was off limits to
further harms. He was being given the rest he greatly needed.
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Postby Marius_Brendar » Mon Jun 28, 2004 9:15 pm

Meanwhile, back at the Inn…

Aerin was nowhere to be found.

“Where is the Bard’s wife?” the prince wondered aloud, as though referring to her would make her magically appear. Then again, one never knew with these elves. The elven bride herself was allegedly one who enjoyed coming and going at a whim within a bolt of lightning, though he had never seen it himself. Nor am I likely to, if she is in such a dire situation that the Master Bard went after her and didn’t stay behind with his wife, cleaning up the mess made by the interruptive evil presence, he thought ruefully. It would have been something to see that chestnut-haired witch sliding down a bolt of lightning. Not exactly something you saw everyday. He whistled. She had been a looker too, that elven sorceress. Too bad the hobbit lost her; he wasn’t likely to get THAT lucky again. Two gorgeous elves? He snorted. It was amazing that he had trapped the heart of this one, especially since she was allegedly the old flame of several thousand men and elves over the ages.

But his task now was not to think about the improbabilities of a hobbit and an elf uniting happily, but rather finding food for the woman who thought herself a princess. Or at least has the bad temper of one, Marius snorted.

Picking through the rubble, he managed to find some wrapped cheese and meats, all still cool despite the rapidly rising sun. Happy with his find, he strolled back toward Ali, preparing his next retort. Ah, but this was such fun and such a challenge for him! It was not often that a woman refused his advances and he enjoyed this game of insults. It was a different way to go about courtship (though he would never use THAT term in front of her) and he had none of his heart invested in it, so he eagerly awaited her response at his return, especially after his impish kiss before he left.

“I hope these food stuffs are to your—“ Marius dropped the cheese and meats as he saw what had gone on in his absence. Forgetting the food, he drew Laikemuil, its rubies lusting for blood, the blood of the warg who had injured the young man’s quarry. His warm aquamarine eyes narrowed at the sight of injury upon Aliana and he became the warrior, not the lover.

Screaming “Vergehen, der Teufel!*” he lunged at the beast, knocking it away from Ali, who was standing, apparently in shock, for it appeared she did not feel her ankle. He noted with satisfaction that she had already maimed it (good quality in a woman—able to get the job started properly), its mangled eye poured blood onto the once lush grass, now stained with unholy blood, and its tongue had been poked a bit, though the creature would soon decide that it had to now protect itself rather than be the aggressor. This was about to get very dangerous.

Ali fell into a half faint, the pain and stress reaching her mind.

“Aliana!” Marius called, turning his eyes from the wounded beast for a moment. If anything happened to her… he clenched his fist and gripped his sword with a fierceness he had not experienced in a long time, not since the last battle on his home front, where an innocent child had been slaughtered by an orc. The beast took his turned side to its advantage and leapt forward, grabbing hold of his arm.

Growling, Marius could not feel it. All he knew was that he had to rid the world of this beast, if not for his wounded lady, then for those unaware of its predatory presence.

With the warg’s jaws open, though they were rapidly clamping down in a piranha-like fashion, Marius expertly slid Laikemuil into its throat, hitting the back with a calculated lurch upward, forcing the beast to relinquish its hold. It yelped and drew back, woozily evaluating the extent of the damage in its throat, dark blood pouring from its mouth and the back of its neck. In this moment of hesitation, Marius finished the cut, severing the beast’s spine, paralyzing it.

“THAT was for wounding milady,” he growled, wiping his bloodied arm over his face, streaking it with his thick, noble blood as the beast whimpered. It tried to howl, but Laikemuil severed the head from the body, instantly silencing it. Marius leaned upon his sword, suddenly realizing how much blood he had lost. In his fury, he had forgotten himself and thought only of protecting Ali and murdering the fiend.

Turning toward Ali, who was conscious, he forgot his usual act of bravado.

“Milady, are you all right?” He asked, true concern showing in his handsome face as he wiped blood off her cheek. He dared not touch her elsewhere, for fear that her fall had broken bones or worse yet, the warg’s attack had injured her internally.

*Die, Fiend!
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Postby Leslie-ElfWarrior » Tue Jun 29, 2004 12:18 am

Four Elves +Master Bard/Groom's Hunt?

With little to nothing to do, Leslie relaxed against a tree slightly distanced from the others. She still felt awkward around people she barely knew and none seemed in the mood to talk, but who could blame them. Fala had told her what had happened on the way here, so she understood why no one was in much of a mood to talk. Glancing over at her horse Angel the moon had shown just right as a glimmering silver tint seemed to radiate from the horse’s white coat. The horse lay munching on sweet grass not far from here, luckily she didn’t see her master with the apple she had pulled from her pack, otherwise the horse would’ve come to try and steal it from her. Looking back at the others in the group as they went about their business, Leslie didn’t pay too close attention to the group for one she didn’t want to be nosey. Sighing she started eating her apple as she looked over everyone in the group trying to remember the faces of the ones they had just found. One was obviously elven and the other a mortal man, but she guessed they had questions about her. Taking another bit she looked in the direction the hobbit had left in wondering if he would soon return, when Leslie jolted surprised at feeling her apple snatched away. She turned to see Angel whom now held the snack in her mouth.

“You little sneak!” Leslie whispered as she patted the horse and then had her go lay down again. Just as Leslie turned and was going to sit back down she saw Anorast had just returned as he spoke to the group.

"Hobbituk has gone ahead! If you wish, follow Tinu and myself! We shall not wait any longer!"

Then he disappeared behind the trees to rejoin Tinu. Looking from one group member to the other, Leslie saw the uncertainty of what to do. She herself frowned knowing that at one time she felt the almost the exact same desire as Hobbituk probably felt. The desire to get his loved one back, and Leslie was blind not to see that he might go on ahead as that desire could be overwhelming at times. Forcing the curses that she would have said about herself for not realizing what Hobbituk might do she decided to not waist time. She quickly rushed to Angel getting her ready to move on, and maybe she could catch up to Anorast and Tinu, but most likely she would be a few hours behind them. Her back to the other members she could sense some of them watching her though she ignored it. Taking her some time to get ready to leave, she answered the question that the group probably had as she readied.

“I will ride ahead and leave markers along the tracks incase the weather or other dark forces covers them. This way when those whom still follow have readied it’ll make it easier for you to follow.”

Putting the last of her saddlebags onto Angel, she got up onto her horse. In her distraction she heard one of them ask, but was not sure precisely who had.

“Why are you doing this for someone you do not even know?”

“I know how it feels to have a loved one kidnapped from you, there’s this constant desire to get them back. Hobbituk probably has a similar desire which is why he rushed on ward. But this desire can be dangerous especially when you rush ahead and without someone with you. So I’ll go on ahead and leave markers making it faster for you to follow hopefully.” Leslie spoke without looking up as she made last minute adjustments to her weapons and such. Finally she looked up as she added. “I’ll see you up ahead.”

Mounting Angel she turned her horse towards where Anorast had left a couple of hours ago. Riding ten miles ahead, she quickly stopped and found an stick which she put along the trail of the footprints she shoved it into the ground, then she attacked a small piece of cloth to the top of it to show some sort of significance. Then got back onto Angel and rode fast and hard again, but every twelve to fifteen miles she left an stick with a small piece of cloth by the trail for the others to follow. For hours she rode fast and hard trying to push Angel to the limits and tried to catch up to Anorast and Tinu. Finally she stopped to look over the tracks left by Hobbituk, Tinu, and Anorast. Jumping down she set yet another marker and looked to the ground at the tracks. Anorast and Tinu had apparently picked up speed for the prints were a little larger from the dust stirring, and the deepness of the prints. The prints left by Hobbituk’s pony where older of course as she looked at the lighter print belonging to the pony, but at some point the prints lightened and didn’t seem to be readable. She stood looking about the land at the edge of the tracks, she knew she was only two hours behind Anorast and Tinu, but where had they gone?! Thinking over where the hobbit might of gone she remember that there was a town not far from here. She looked back in the direction she had come, she had to be certain for Hobbituk’s friends, but she didn’t know of anywhere else Hobbituk would go if not the town. Sighing she moved some feet yet still in view ahead placing another marker to point out where she was going and where she guessed Hobbituk, Tinu, and Anorast had gone. Soon she got back onto her horse and rode on leaving more markers since a trail was no more evident.

Barely aware the night had well settled, she too came upon the village decimated by orcs, her heart sinking as she entered the destroyed village and soon found the tracks of two horses and a pony. The pony though left lighter prints then before meaning she wasn’t carrying much if anything, which worried Leslie it meant the pony was most likely without her rider. Looking about the village as she left more markers and felt sadness for the poor people whom died here, she moved on but not without sadness at seeing what the orcs had done. Seeing how the horse and pony tracks did not falter nor stop much, Leslie continued on despite it being night. She continued leaving markers for the others to follow as she rode on carefully in the dark. Finally Leslie knew she had to let Angel rest for a little bit before continuing though she had not realized that she had stopped so close to the two elves Anorast and Tinu. Sitting on a nearby rock she pulled out some bread and cheese and began to eat a little to keep her energy up though the sight at the village hardly helped her desire to eat much. Softly nibbling on her food, she wondered if she was following the right path. Those horse and pony tracks could’ve been from some villagers fleeing their homes, yet orc tracks also came this direction making it doubtful. Still she worried if she was following Anorast, Tinu, or Hobbituk. So far she had gained no real signs that she followed them except the tracks. But just as she wished she could gain a greater sign as to whether or not she followed them she was given her sign, for during the night noise carries and elven ears can pick up more then most.


Hearing the cry, Leslie jumped to her feet surprised to learn she was only about a mile behind them. Her eyes grew wide as she wondered if they had run into the orcs, or what. Rushing forward in the direction of the sound on foot Angel followed not wanting her master anywhere from her sight. She drew her sword expecting something ahead that had caused the alarmed cry. She moved quickly as she darted through the brush and soon the sound of voices reached her ears, although not so alarmed as what she had heard before; she soon rushed right into the mists of the two elves. Looking about she saw no orcs or any other immediate threats she soon looked back at Tinu and Anorast. Breathing heavily from running she sighed as she spoke before the surprise left them entirely.

“Is everyone all right?! I heard someone cry out.” Leslie looked from one to the other now suddenly not quit sure what to say.
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Postby Nessamelda » Tue Jun 29, 2004 5:06 am

A Scribe Alone

Alfirin' s horse reared at the sudden flash of light. Distracted by the sudden departure of the hobbit, and looking around for any sign of his companions - she was not sure that she wanted to be seen- she let go of the beast's reins. Without a look back at her, the horse ran, with much more alacrity than it had done at her command, wanting only to put as much distance betwen this unlovely mistress and itself as it could.

"Blast and cripple the creature! May it suffer from swollen fetlocks and manky hooves for the rest of its days!"

But Alfirin's cursing was of no use, and the horse disappeared back the way that it came. The only satisfaction that Alfirin could gather frm the situation was that if it ever arrived back at Eatswick it would undoubtedly be turned into afternoon tea for a party of very hungry, very angry orcs.

"I am very angry, Alfirin. You have not followed the path I set for you. Why do you tarry on your trail? Do you think that this will save your friends? For it will NOT SAVE YOU!"

The voice in her skull cut through her curses, and silenced her abruptly. She shook her head as if to get rid of the unwelcome visitor. But the voice and sensation of dread vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving her standing there her head ringing from the message.

Alfirin shook herself, suddenly realising that she was wet and cold, and had not eaten for more than a day. Perhaps Hobbituk's companions - he must have had companions he would not have been travelling alone, surely - would have some food and a spare horse? She need not tell them the full truth of her journey. Perhaps she could say that she had to travel to Rivendell to warn Parm's family of the threat to them; perhaps... and surely she ought to warn them of the danger of approaching Eastwick - the hobbit and his pony had shot off in that direction. But they had given her scant attention and respect at the wedding. Why would they aid her, or believe her now? Let them suffer!
The sound of approaching horses hooves alerted her and she quickly dived into the undergrowth that lined the riverbank, watching hidden as the hobbit's companions came in quick search of him.

"Look at their elven arrogance" Alfirin thought to herself. "Assuming that they have the power and the skills to put all to rights with one blow of their mighty swords! Let them walk into the trap that awaits them!" And she held onto her silence, waiting until they had passed on towards the plains.
She would travel as she preferred towards Rivendell, on foot; now under the king's peace there were more travellers on the roads (if only she could find the road) and likely enough she could steal or persuade her way to the supplies that she needed. And if that failed, well then there was that Voice that watched her - if he was so keen to see her in Rivendell, then he would need to supply her with the means to get there. It was his fault after all that the horse had bolted.

She pulled her cloak about her, and gathering a stout staff of yew wood that had been washed by in the winter floods and left in the debris along the side of the river, she started up along the track that lead up to the mountain pass. Hopefully it would not be too cold there. The weather was mild for the time of year. Surely there would not be snow. At least for once she had boots that did not leak.
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Postby Turelie_Lurea » Tue Jul 06, 2004 11:37 pm

The Groom's Hunt

“I think that jewel saved Hobbi’s life just now,” Anorast spoke, his eyes slightly distant as though he were deep in thought, trying to understand the bizarre phenomenon.

Tinu did her best not to sniffle (elves DO NOT sniffle!) and gratefully took Anorast's kerchief, which, as with all elven cloth, was spotless and crisp.

"That's the only conclusion I can come to. But how and why? What sort of magic can save a hobbit?" She asked aloud, knowing that neither had answers to her questions.

Just then, she heard something coming through the brush. Anorast stiffened and they both placed their hands upon their swords, preparing for the appearance of an orc. The sound grew nearer, more rushed as though something had caught their scent and was ravenously hungry. Pulling their blades out now, they prepared for the worst: Anorast, a bit bruised, but poised for the fight that the stone would not allow; Tinu, her tears dried by the wind that suddenly picked up, fury at the thought of her (well, not HER ) beloved hobbit's injuries consumed her, allowing her to draw on its strength.

They could barely restrain themselves when a slender figure came through the tall brush, but they were glad that they did, for Leslie appeared to wish them no harm.

“Is everyone all right?! I heard someone cry out,” she said, her eyes wide in surprise as well. All three stood, shocked for a moment, but being elves, they recovered so quickly that no mortal would have been the wiser.

"Yes," Tinu answered, still a bit guarded against one they knew so little about. She left it at that, unable to lie any further, for she was an honest soul; any lie was branded upon her and she knew it.

Rather than give Leslie a chance to contest the obvious lie, she said, "We must make haste if we wish to keep up." Anorast looked sharply at her, for they had decided not long before that they would make camp, as Matilda was lame. She gave him a look, meant only for him to understand, being of an age near hers, that said,"We cannot stay here...Matilda will be fine if I use the balm wrapped around her hoof. I don't trust this elf... what happened to the others?"
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Postby Aliana » Wed Jul 07, 2004 11:26 pm

Meanwhile, back at the Inn...

Aliana’s vision grew blurry, and she heard things as if through a long tunnel—a few shouted words (her own name, perhaps), an inhuman whimper, the unmistakable sound of a metal blade connecting with living flesh… Her chest hurt terribly from where the foul beast had pinned her down. She felt warm—too warm, in fact, and then she realized she was on the ground again…

“Milady, are you all right?”

She felt a gentle hand brush against her cheek. The world swam into focus once more, and she saw that Marius was standing over her. My, she thought, he does look attractive when he’s worried. Coughing violently, she struggled to sit up. Valar, I hope that’s the blood loss talking.

“Careful…” He put a hand against her back to steady her. His formerly taunting face was now grave, and he had no little amount of blood on him, either, she saw. We both look like we’ve spent the day in a slaughter-pen.

“What—mmph…” She tried to draw a deep breath, but her ribs ached terribly as she did so. “What happened?”

“I slew the curséd thing.,” he replied, still breathing hard from the skirmish. “And I should ask you what happened, as well…”

“It—I don’t know. It came from nowhere; looking for some fresh meat, I’d imagine.” She shook her head, then noticed that while he had one arm around her shoulders, he was holding the other one slightly closer to himself, and no wonder... “Good Béma,” she swore, “let’s do something about that arm.”

“Not until we do something about that shoulder, milady.”

Blood was smeared all over his forehead and his cheeks. He was trying to blink it out of his eyes, even.

“Not until we do something about your face, my lord Prince. You look terrible!” She coughed again, and realized that that last remark had not come out quite the way she had intended.

Marvelous. The one time I get out a half-decent retort, we’re both bleeding to death. Although, if those were my last words, I certainly could have done much worse…


Most unfortunately for Aliana’s repartee record, those, in fact, were not her last words. Nor were they the last word, in any case.

“You know,” Marius murmured, as he wound a strip of clean cloth around her shoulder several minutes later, “you’re not exactly fit to pose for any portraits at the moment, either.”

“Huh,” she said, wincing in pain once more. Dressed as she was the clothing Alandriel had lent her, the shift she had been wearing earlier now served as ready material for bandages. Marius had a surprisingly deft touch with the field dressings, to be sure, but it hurt nonetheless. To distract herself, she looked over at the mangled corpse of the massive wolf, now virtually unrecognizable. “You did quite a job on that beast.”

“Thank you,” he replied, tying the bandage firmly. “I enjoy being thorough.”

“Your arm, please?” she said, deciding not to analyze the latter statement too much. Biting her lip, she tore a few new strips of cloth, and he extended his arm towards her so that she could go to work on it. “And thank you,” she added softly, “for saving my life.”

He nodded his head, and she thought that perhaps he looked sincere, for once. “It was my pleasure.” He paused, and looked around slowly.

“What is it?”

“Just thinking… what we should do if there are more of those things.”

Aliana paused her bandaging momentarily to take a look around, as well. “I wondered that, as well. Perhaps… this has something to do with our missing horses? Two evils might not occur together by a mere chance, I think.” She turned back to him, grateful for his presence for the first time in this entire ordeal, and stared intently into his eyes. “Do you know anything of where that wolf might have come from? Had you heard any ill news, before you journeyed?”
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Postby Turelie_Lurea » Thu Jul 08, 2004 10:47 pm

Meanwhile, back at the Inn...

He was having serious trouble keeping his heart protected. It seemed the more blood he lost, the more his barrier of mithril-laden granite crumbled. She was just so beautiful! Even with blood smeared across her, he would have pursued her more than any other woman. His weak retort was only to save face, realizing that his hold upon the very emotions that had led to many of his troubles had slackened.

As he touched her raw skin, he couldn't but help notice how soft it was despite the caked blood. Forcing himself to pay attention to the dressing, he was a bit rougher than he intended, causing her to wince a couple of times, just enough for him to notice. He was glad that she changed the topic to the warg; though he was proud of the kill, he had done it with thoughts only of her...and was thinking only of that fair, soft skin, not his words, when he replied, "Thank you, I enjoy being thorough." With that, he tied the bandage and thought of the food he had dropped.

But Aliana was willing to dress his wounds and he would not deny her that. On the surface of his mind, he thought, "Ah, yes, this is befitting a noble hero who nearly lost an arm to save his beloved," but deep within him, in the darkest trenches where the true prince lay, he knew better. She was doing her best to thank him in the manner she knew, that was all. Knights and ladies surely meant little to her... a man of sweet temperament, one who was true to her and her alone... THAT was the sort of man to win her heart. But Marius hushed that sonorous voice deep within him, knowing that such an attempt was futile, especially now. And he was unsure as to whether or not he simply desired her only as a bedmate for an evening, loving the challenge of a lady who refused to be wooed, or if he were truly feeling the ailments of pure love for the second time in his life.

He nearly died when she looked into his eyes, an emotion other than rage and disgust filled her lovely emotion that was almost soft.

“Do you know anything of where that wolf might have come from? Had you heard any ill news, before you journeyed?”

Marius had missed most of what she said previously, mainly due to the loss of blood, but partly due to his investigation of what her true feelings were for him. By the time she had reached these last two phrases, he was alert once more, for she had tugged too tightly on the bandage. He grimaced and allowed only a small moan of pain, though he wished that he could scream aloud. The warg's foul saliva and blood had mingled with his own, creating a searing sensation in his torn arm.

"Are you certain my arm will not become infected?" He asked, looking warily at the partially covered wound that oozed through the bandage, thinking that perhaps he would end up as a one-armed prince.

"It shouldn't. These strips of cloth are from Alandriel's clothing; I would think that a Healer's clothes would not allow such a thing to happen," she smiled at him, perhaps because she could read his face clearly now and could see that he feared life as a one-armed man.

"Well... if you say so..." He grimaced again as she continued her wrapping. "As for ill news, had there been any, besides the unwelcome presence of a certain Gondorian, I would not have attended a meeting of such frivolity. I would have instead been out, patrolling the region. Yet, I do believe that I heard one of the elves say, after the wedding and the kidnapping, that dark creatures had been slowly encroaching upon the happier peoples in this region. Perhaps they saw a warg or its consorts, foul orcs." The prince of Rohan scowled and spit upon the earth, as though the very name of the vile creatures soured his tongue.

"Was that really necessary?" Ali asked, her eyes wandering against her will to the spot where the phlegm had settled in the ruddy dirt.

"Yes, it was. I've seen too many children, too many innocents, die at THEIR cruel hands. I feel that if I say their name, I give them just an ounce more power over me and my kin. Thus, one must purge the evil." His face grew fierce once more, thinking of how that little girl, Palaen, had shrieked when the orcs grabbed her chubby leg. Nearly growing enraged once more, he closed his eyes and wished the child away, though it did little to remove the carnage from his mind or from his arm.
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Postby Aliana » Fri Jul 09, 2004 7:02 pm

Meanwhile, back at the Inn…

Aliana watched the young Prince’s countenance darken as he spoke of the orcs and the ravages those creatures had wrought upon his country. He had even spat in the dirt, as if he could not bear the taste of the word “orcs” in his mouth.

She wondered if he actually did that every time he said the word. That would be difficult, particularly when presenting strategy reports, she thought. Did Eomer-king mind much? Marius’s eyes were shut—he looked to be deep in thought, or perhaps just weary.

She sighed as she tied off the ends of his bandage. She had her own memories, after all. “I am no lover of orcs, either, my Lord Prince.” She hesitated for one moment before going on. “Their mindless evil claimed the life of my brother-in-law, and many other Riders who were dear to me.” And even when a man survives, she added silently, picturing yet another face, such brutality can claim his mind, and wrest all the love from his heart.

“Huh,” she snorted, trying to change the subject quickly. “A pretty picture we make, don’t we, sir?” They were both smeared with blood and dirt, clothing torn and hair disheveled (although he would probably call it “artfully tousled,” she thought); both fight and flight had been rendered dubious options for the two of them. But at least they weren’t squabbling anymore; instead of ripping each other apart, something else had come along and conveniently done the job for them. Amazing what being attacked by a hideous and bloodthirsty warg could do for one’s interpersonal relationships.

“Yes,” he replied, gingerly testing his wounded arm before he slowly stood up, “and if we starve to death, we’ll be even prettier.” He walked a few unsteady paces, then stooped to pick up a small bundle that was lying on the ground. “Here. I salvaged this from the wreckage.” He sat down next to her again, handing her some food.

“Thank you, my lord.” Aliana had not even thought of sustenance for several hours; only now did she realize how famished she was. “Well done, indeed!”

“A trifle,” he shrugged, looking at her, and she could have sworn there was something different—

No. Probably just the blood loss again. She nodded, biting into a piece of cheese that turned out to be tinged with a strangely pleasant smoky flavor. And this surprises me, why?

“And if we run out,” she said, unsmiling, “there’s no small amount of fresh meat over there.” She jerked her head in the direction of the dead beast.

For one priceless moment, Marius looked as though he might choke on his own food. Then he swallowed, and laughed shortly. Not a mocking or derisive noise, this time, but a genuinely pleasant sound.

“See?” she said, allowing herself a small smile. “You’ve not fully taken the measure of me, yet, my lord prince.”

“Whatever you say, milady. Whatever you say.”

“Anyway,” she said airily, taking a piece of what looked like ham, “I have to look out for you now, whether I like it or not.”

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow. He was probably thinking, she realized, that she could scarcely look after herself at this point, between her twisted ankle and her mangled shoulder. Still, she went on:

“You saved my life, of course. So there is a debt between us,” she said, remembering the words of the ancient warriors’ code, “a debt that can only be repaid in blood.” She finished with a dramatic flourish and bit into the meat. “Now… we really ought to make some sort of contingency plan, shouldn’t we? I don’t care to become wolf-dinner anytime soon.”
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Postby PatriotBlade » Sat Jul 10, 2004 10:28 am

Tale Of The Warriors Of Light
Heather grew concerned for Parm. He was at his most vulnerable when he slept and she did want do be discussing stratagy as they hiked the three days to the secret door. She wanted everything worked out and no accedents around the ravine. She wanted the men to know what they were up against and what to expect.
The weight of the dragon katana across her back reminded her of her new responcability and new wound of grief. She kept trying to remind herself that his death was not her fault, but she knew better, deep down and knew that a new demon would haunt her for the remainder of her days. Her lips drew into a thin line as she stared at the horizon and her green eyes hardened. She would carry on, but she really wanted to get everything layed out and plan their course, once they reached the bay. She turned sharply on her heal and slipped below to check on her freind. He appeared to be either dead or in deep sleep and she grew concerned. Kneeling beside him she grasped one of his age wrinkled hands with one of her smooth youthful ones as the finger tips of her other gently touched his temple.

"Share with me, Master Parm." she whispered. "Show me your dreams."
He allowed her to slip into his mind and she saw that his sleep was deep, true and healing;his dreams were untroubled and she knew that he would awaken presently.
It was still another day and a half before they reached the bay. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she slipped gently out of his mind and the room. There would be plenty of time.
She stepped back into the sunshine and inquired of Ness.

"She does not well, Milady. She needs the solid land beneath her feet and the stillness of the land."
"Is there some way I can get over to her for a short while?"
"Aye." said the captain of the ship, overhearing her request. "I can signal the other ship then pull along side. Ye can then swing across. When ye're ready we'll do it again and ye can swing back."
"Thank you, Sir."
She swung easily across and went straight to retreave her herb bag before coming to Nessa's side. The girl was looking a bit green and lonely.
"Health first, then company." she told her friend, mixing some of the herbs into a tea. With a touch of her hand to the girl's belly to settleit and allow the tea to stay down, she helped Ness to sit up, then drink down a small amountfor a start. When Ness started to feel better, Heather pressed the rest of the mug into her hand and encouraged her to finish it as they talked.
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Postby Nessamelda » Sat Jul 10, 2004 10:22 pm

Tale of the Warriors of Light


Nessamelda groaned as she sat up to find herself in the darkened cabin of the ship. The room was still sliding unpleasantly up and down, and every now and then as it met a wave sidelong, gave a shuddering sway to the left or right.

Heather was standing beside her looking concerned and offering her a mug of something hot and sweet smelling. Miracle of miracles, Nessamelda managed to take a swallow or two. She grimaced.
"Sorry", she said. "I've not been much use the last day or so. I could hear there was something going on - shouting from the sailors. I tried to get up, but as soon as I did..." Ness pointed in an embarrassed way at the bucket that stood by the bed. "I think I prefer looking at the sea from a safe distance". Her voice trailed off. She had always thought that she may have been descended from the sailors of the lost island in the West. But clearly she had not inherited their sea-legs, only the sea longings -her ideas of her heritage surely must have been just romantic foolery. Once again she felt useless, an item of baggage; she felt sure that Heather would see her as a silly girl, even though by the count of men she was well and truly a grown woman.

Heather however just smiled and passed her the rest of the mug.
"Better?" the half elven healer asked.

"Much, thank you. Well what have I missed, with this stupid seasickness? Are Parm and Willum all right?"

Heather told the story of the adventures of the previous day. Nessamelda shook her head and looked concerned. "Poor Parm" She said softly. "He deserves rest. He is surely a scholar not a warrior. And Willum was so brave! There is much strength in the hearts of these little people, these halflings. I could not have done half so much."

Heather looked down at Nessamelda. She was now looking pale rather than green. Fresh air would no doubt be good for her, and it might be better if the whole company were gathered on the one boat.
She held out her hand and assisted the tall woman to her feet, and up the companionway to the deck.
At first the bright light dazzled Nessamelda's eyes, then she could make out the second boat riding a few yards away. She gave a yelp of surprise and looked around at Heather.
"You swung over from there? I could no more do that than fly!"
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Postby PatriotBlade » Tue Jul 13, 2004 12:03 pm

Tale Of The Wariors Of Light
Heather smiled. "Yes, I swung over, but you don't have to. I will have to back soon though for the shore is not the end of our journey."
Ness looked tired and concern creaced her brow, but she nodded.
"I want to show you how to mix up this tea if you do stay here."
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Postby Hobbituk » Thu Jul 15, 2004 1:56 pm

The Groom's Hunt

Hobbituk knew little of the days which followed. At times it seem that they had been travelling for days, at other times it seemed decades. The Orcs bound his hands behind his back and forced him to run amongst them for hours on end, then when he could run no more and all energy was gone from his body he would be roughly picked up by one of the larger Uruks and carried. It seemed that they never stopped for very long. The Orcs took little sleep and very little food. Their master, Hobbi had learnt his name was Morg, drove them onward snarling and shouting. He flogged those who fell behind at times and one of the smaller goblins had already been slaughtered in front of the Hobbit for the creature’s weakness (and his meat). All the time Kuti rode his great black horse beside the group. Mostly he led the way out front but often he would fall back, his eyes on Hobbi.

They travelled through the wide-open countryside encountering no-one, these lands were mostly uninhabited and those that did dwell around knew well enough to keep out of sight. Days passed and they came to the country of Rohan. Here the Orcs became more cautious, carefully avoiding the larger settlements. Lack of rest, food and sleep-deprivation meant that the hobbit could no longer run at all and he spent now all his time split between being carried and being thrown over the back of Kuti’s horse. He had never known such physically wearing torture, but he did not try to escape. He knew, though his thoughts were far from clear, that every day of horror led him that much closer to his goal. In a strange way he felt indebted to his captors. He had learnt much that he would never have discovered without them. He now knew that Lurea’s captor was named Leonir (though it seemed little else about him was known to any), he knew that Kuti had been promised a great sum for his aid, he knew that Morg hated Leonir and he knew that Lurea was captive on an island not far from Tolfalas.

Weeks passed and Hobbi had begun to feel numb from the pain he was enduring and had come to the point where he was able to ignore it and was strong enough to run again. In a strange way he preferred to run with the Orcs unaided. After all, he hated to think of these vile abominations doing something to help him and it made him feel strong. He was changed, he knew that. Much of his portly tummy had now vanished and his stomach had become fitter than it ever had been. His curly hair had begun to grow long so that in places it cascaded down past his shoulders. His rosy cheeks and become pale. A changed Hobbit indeed. They passed now into Gondor and here they became extremely cautious. Kuti especially seemed nervous of their movements being noticed and a company of soldiers being issued forth to apprehend them. They travelled now at night only, resting during the day. Of course, in lands such of these conflict was inevitable. Passing close to Osgiliath they encountered a patrol of Ithilien Rangers and were forced to do battle. Twelve orcs fell to the dust pierced by arrows. None of the rangers survived and Morg personally strangled their captain to death. They left that land behind and with much relief amongst the group. Yet still they encountered more enemies. Three times they were forced to do battle and the Orcs were reduced from the hundred strong group they had been originally down to sixty. Morg grew angrier, Kuti seemed to think they had gotten off lightly. Hobbi watched them carefully now, he never spoke, not once, but he was determined to learn all he could. He knew that now he was fitter and more able than he had ever been. Soon he might have to formulate an escape plan, he was determined to spot something that might help him do so.

They ran on yet more until they had been journeying for a little over one month. The river here grew wider, and Hobbi saw strange white birds with black flecks and yellow beaks, which he had never seen before, and an odd smell which he couldn’t quite place. It smelt a little of fish and a little of salt but it reminded him most of Erinhue. Here, so far from his old friend, he felt sudden compassion and guilt for the way he had acted towards the Bard. He knew he would not feel that way if ever he saw him again, but right at that moment he felt very guilty.

“The sea!” cried a voice, breaking him out of his musings. He looked up and saw it, and despite everything, his jaw dropped. He had never in his life seen anything so…big. “What’s wrong Herbert?” sneered a voice from nearby, “Seasick already?”
Kuti laughed heartily and then spurred his horse onwards, towards the little cliff path which led to a small harbour where a rather decrepit looking boat was moored.
For the first time since he had been captured, over a month ago, Hobbi spoke, “Laugh if you like Kuti. You’ll get yours, you know you will.”
Kuti gave no reply.
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Postby erinhue » Sat Jul 31, 2004 5:36 am

Four Elves and a Master Bard

The tragic tableau that ended the wedding travesty had set many things in motion. From the start Erinhue had known that he had to find Hobbituk. That need was fueled by guilt, and a genuine desire to help correct what had gone so sadly wrong. Hobbituk was his friend, the first and best he’d ever had that still walked in the world. With no thought that anything untoward could happen, he had assured the nervous groom that nothing would and then the worst had come to pass.

In Dol Amroth, where Erinhue was born, the role of the Best Man was not taken so lightly. Tradition was held in high reverence and followed with strict abeyance. The groom would not be allowed near the bride for the seven days prior to the actual ceremony. Until the vows were spoken and confirmed, it was the Best Man’s duty to protect the bride in the absence of her betrothed.

As Beliran had tried to explain, there was no such tradition in the lands of the West, indeed Erinhue had taken honor as meaning no more than to throw Hobby a party, hold the rings and to keep the groom calm and company until the ceremony was over. That minor lapse had brought them all to this and Erinhue was sorrier for it than any words that even he might find could say.

Regret and guilt and true concern for the welfare of his friend had driven him across half the face of Middle Earth to try and make amends. His relentlessness had driven his companions at an unforgiving pace that was, for him, still far to slow. On several occasions he had asked the harp to simply find Hobby, or better Turalie, and take him there, but each and every time, Agarak ignored him.

Some unknown vision had led him to the correct path and despite the wideness of the world they had indeed found the hobbit and his companions. The vision went no further. The urgency that had driven the bard hence had left him now and Erinhue fell into a lethargy that settled in and leeched away at his spirit.

Now that he had been found, Hobbituk made a great show of the effort he was taking to avoid his outcast friend. For his part, Erinhue did his best to make that easy. The bard’s congenial manner had long left him, and for one who followed his life’s profession, he had been strangely quiet, a sullen silence clung to him like a cloak.

He rode Treble at the last position when they traveled and when they stopped he kept to of the fringes of the campsite. He rarely spoke to the others and never unless spoken to directly. His mood was dark, and in him that was dangerous.

Erinhue could do nothing to break the mood, not that he put forth a great effort. He could find no spark of joy or hope to build upon within him. He tried to recall Aerin’s comforting words to no avail. He put the creeping thoughts of Aerin from his mind. He had no right to her in any way until Turalie was found.

Without even that, his love for Aerin, to hold to, his spirit wandered melancholy paths that were deeply shaded by unearned guilt and crippling self-doubt. Something else grew restless within him, and that something was a danger to them all. It might be better for the group if he would leave them, but he could not. With all that he had learned of Fate, Erinhue understood that he should be here with them, no matter how much Hobbituk might wish him elsewhere, no matter how much he might desire to make that wish come true, Erinhue knew that he must be with them no matter what it cost him. They would need him before the end.
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Postby prmiller » Fri Aug 27, 2004 12:56 am

Tale Of The Wariors Of Light

Parm did not dream, nor did he rest. His eyes were closed, his body
motionless, but that was all. There was only darkness and hints of voices,
whispers of whispers. Aravel had warned him that the closer he came to
embracing his legacy, the greater the cost. Family names wafted about
his mind, but the name of his son echoed through his mind, like the
last notes of song that drift away into the greedy air. These notes were
strident, off-key, harsh, cruel. Almost imperceptively, Parm's face
grimaced in pain.

It was in the midst of this blackness, that something happened none
could have expected. It was a voice of summons. The Valar were calling.
That this could happen was well within the scope of their powers. Doing
so, however, meant Parm was taken into dimensions only the grace of
Valar could create.

A time of trial approaches.
Be watchful.
Be prudent.
Trust your heart.
The veil is thin over your black rage.
Your soul is threadbare.
Let your family go.
They have their own destinies.
We are watching.
We are near.
We are watching.
We are near.

Parm slipped out of this state of dream alertness into a delicious silence.
Healing aromas from his past misted about his mind.
All voices that teased were stilled.
Parm was resting as he had never rested before.
His face and body settled into a state that seemed ethereal, blissful,
A gentle smile creased Parm's face.
A sailor passing near Parm's bed stopped, arrested by the poignance of
that moment.
To himself, he muttered:"Aye. There's a rest a man would pay a ransom
for. Good. Very good. Let him be, mates. He's resting from battles we
couldn't fight ourselves."
Last edited by prmiller on Sat Oct 09, 2004 8:07 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Postby prmiller » Sun Sep 05, 2004 5:46 pm

Tale of the Warriors of Light
Willum, for guarded reasons, seemed melancholy.
"Aye, I miss Alfirin. She might've 'ad a sharp tongue, but
she was so good in a pinch!
Now here we are. Far from anywhere decent and friendly-like...
not saying you chaps aren't good comp'ny", Willum quickly amended
his complaint noticing the dark looks of the sailors growing darker
with his grumblings,"but I miss bacon and baccy."

One sailor coughed. "Y'aint more'n a child. What's this baccy? Pipes or
sumthin' stronger p'rhaps?"

Willum sat a little stiffer and taller, "Aye, I have a pipe. Had a pipe,
more like it. With I had my Uncle's Old tobacco in the
East Farthing. Famed by wizard, dwarf, elf and man."

Now the sailors chuckled. "Must be quite a leaf to get an elf to share a
pipe, much lest a wizard. Save that old hero, Gandalf."

Willum chuckled too, and was rewarded by a rough, but friendly hand
tousling his already well-tousled hair. Willum stretched himself and
wandered off to seek out Parm.

As the hobbit approached his guardian, of sorts, he could not help but
notice how happy Parm looked. No, more than happy, at ease, rested,
like how one's face gets when surrounded by good friends at a pub
or birthday party.

Willum hitched up his trousers and padded over to the pantry. The cook,
a remarkably robust man, was hard at work over a stew. The aroma was
intoxicating. Knowing hobbits to be lovers of food, the cook, dipped in a
well-used stirring spoon, and gave Willum a sample. Willum was in
ecstasies, at first, then when suddenly quiet.

"I wonder how the other members of the bride's search party are doing?
Do they have find stews like this to keep them going over wet moors
and dreary fens and forests? And no ale, bacon or baccy neither."
Willum sighed deep and hard.
He wondered if he would ever see that lovely bride again...alive.
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Postby Nessamelda » Tue Sep 07, 2004 3:28 am

Tale of the Warriors of Light
Nessamelda flushed slightly, but accepted Heather's instructions on the making of the tea gratefully (heat the pot first with boiling water, empty out, add two teaspoons of herbs from a cloth packet that was sealed with a silver wire; then add the freshly boiled water, stir twice, clockwise, leave for three minutes, stir twice more, leave for another minute, then pour..).

Heather swung back to the other ship, and Ness watched, leaning over the planks at the side of the vessel - the two ships quickly parted company, the boat she was in hanging back slightly as the captain wished to avoid any chance of accidental collision in the lively sea.

She turned away and sighed, cursing her own clumsiness and fear and mising the company of the others. Alone like this with only the sailors for company she almost (but not quite) even regretted Alfirin's absence.

After some time listening she realised that the sailors were not speaking a strange tongue as she had first thought, but were in fact speaking and singing in a heavily accented dialect of the common tongue. It seemed to swing and sway, following the restless waves, quite unlike any manner of speech that she had ever heard before. Hauling on the ropes that pulled up the sails they sang tunes and tales together to give them strength and keep in their efforts in time - some songs scurrilous, some ribald, and others sad; tales of loss and respect for the waves on which they rested all their lives.

High above them from the gloomy sky, there came a distant call. A sad eery trumpet, a lonely sound that seemed to echo Nessamelda's own feelings. Looking up she thought she could see a small silhoutte of a bird, perhaps, flying high above them.

She turned to one of the sailors.
"Excuse me, sir but what manner of creature is that, that flies above us and calls so mournfully?"

The sailor stopped his work of coiling a rope and looked up.
"Preserve us all!" he gasped, grabbing at some talisman that hung about his neck, and ran towards the prow, speaking so rapidly in his heavily accented voice that Nessamelda could not understand waht was the cause of his fear.

She looked up. Whatever it was, the creature seemd to be larger now, circling slowly downward....[/b]
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Postby prmiller » Sat Oct 02, 2004 5:55 am

Tale of the Warriors of Light
Willum had not see the great sea-birds that made their home in this
realm of rock and reef. He gazed in wonder at the spread of their wings
and the haunting cry. He imagined, in a playful way, that they might be
dragons from far off, disguising their true voices, like the calling birds
near his home, who could even mimic men's voices.

One of the sailors, with a rumbly, but good-hearted voice, "Ya think ya
might help in the galley a bit, and rustle us up some vittels, ah?"

Willum's eyes went wide! "Me!? Help in the galley?" It was if he been
asked to a pie sampling bee. "Wh...why I'd be most glad, most glad

Willum sped to the part of the ship that some of the sailors had shown
him, and found himself in the most remarkable galley he had ever seen,
considering that this was probably his first. Onions hung from beams and
dried meats and cheeses were in larders kept cool by the nearness of
the sea. Utensils for cooking and preparing were stored with remarkable
efficiency. Willum was in ecstasies!
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Postby PatriotBlade » Sat Oct 02, 2004 11:17 am

Tale Of The Warriors Of Light
Heather swung across the gap and landed solidly on the opposite deck. she strode across the main deck to the stairs to the poop deck, her boots clicking on the clean wood. The sailors watched her, but said nothing. She mounted the stairs with determination and steped up behind the Ranger Captain. "Has Master Parm awoken yet?"
"No, Heather." He looked at her with a courious look. "What is wrong, Milady?" he asked in the secret language he knew she understood.
She shook her head.
"I will be with Parm. I will need every map you can find of Gondor when he wakes up." He nodded and she made her way below. She found her friend still sleeping and pulled a stool close to sit on while she waited. Her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands, she tried to make her churning thoughts and feelings fall in line so that she could form just one coherent thought. Her chest ached form a repressed cry and her head pounded from all the churing ideas and concerns. "Eru help me!" she whispered. "I can't do this. I'm not a leader. Some call me a warrior, but deep inside, I'm nothing more than a child. I want to cry and hide under the covers, but I have to be strong. Eru help me!" She quietly moved the stool away and sat on the floor, her face burried in her knees as she rocked gently. She eventually fell asleep this way, beside her friend's bed.
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Postby prmiller » Sat Oct 09, 2004 8:06 am

Tale of the Warriors of Light

Parm's eyes fluttered open. Next to the bed, seated on a sturdy stool,
was Lady Heather. At first neither of them spoke. They had been through
great and terrible dangers together and so the urgency for words seemed
less pressing than before. Parm felt rested, truly rested. It was both a wonderful as well as sobering realization. His full powers would be needed, and probably all too soon. From someplace below decks, Parm
could hear Willum's nonsensical singing. Unbidden, a smile creased his
cheeks. He chuckled softly, silently. Lady Heather also joined him,
nodding her head in agreement at the silliness, yet charming innocence
of it all. She had long, long since lost all innocence, and possessed a
depth that both chilled and comforted at the same time. She could be
dangerous, but only to her foes. Of that, Parm had no worries. She
had proven her loyal to the mission and to each of them on numberless

"M'Lady," Parm began, "How do we stand with our voyage?"
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Postby PatriotBlade » Sat Oct 09, 2004 11:38 pm

"We are about a day and a half from the bay and another half a day to land. The Ranger Captain is gathering all the maps he can find. I have to see the lay of the land and try to remember..." She trailed off, a far away look in her green eyes.
"What is it?"
She found that she could not escape her friend's penitrating gaze. She shook her head and reached up to touch the hilt of the dragon katana. "I just don't want to have to use this. I'll elaborate more as we discuss our plans, but suffice it to say that I am now in posession of a very powerful token, that no one else knows how to use, but that I am afraid of."
Parm was thoughtful for a moment, looking at what few markings he could see on the sword. "How is Nessamelda?"
"She's doing better. Poor girl's been terribly sea sick, but I swung over and took care of her." Heather sighed as Parm nodded his approval. "Are you fully rested?"
"Yes, Lady Heather. Shall we get this planning session started?"
She nodded and offered him a supporting hand as she reached with her other for his staff.
Side-by-side, they stepped into the afternoon sun. The ship's captain smiled at them and greeted Parm warmly, asking if he felt any better for his rest.

"I let that Ranger friend of yours go through all my maps. Most of mine are sea maps, but there were a few with land also. He's getting them ready in my cabin. Feel free to use my table in there. There's ink, quill and parchment in a drawer on the end, if you should need it and my navegation tools are in the drawer on the other side."
They thanked him profusely, then joined the Ranger in the cabin.
He looked up as they entered. Greetings were exchanged, then the threesome got down to business.

"There weren't many land maps, but I found this one. I thought it would be the most promising."
He rolled it out and set weights on the corners.
Heather leaned over it and examined it carefully.
"Here is the bay-our drop off. Unless things have changed, there's a small fishing village there where we can get supplies for our three to five day hike." She drew a line from the small bay to the city of Minas Tirith. "That's over fifty miles as the crow flies and we have a small mountian range between where our feet touch land and our target."
"Tell me again why we're going around and doubling back..."
Heather brushed off the sceptisism in the ranger's voice and calmly answered him, before laying out some more of her plan.
"Because Pelanor Fields is blocked. We can't get to the city. I used to be a knight and guardian of the city-I know it's secrets. Some of them I built myself, including a secret, hidden back entrance. There was two reasons I did that. One, so the inhabitants could escape, should it appear that the city would fall and two, for such occasions as this." Her seriousness silences any more of his scoffing remarks. "Now, there was an old donkey trail winding through the mountains... Here and I'm hoping it hasn't grown over."
"If it has?"
"Then we cut our own trail. But-and this is very important- We must stear clear of this ravine at all costs." she said tapping the spot on the map. "We will have to be sure that we go on the other side of the mountain from it. You are to tell your men this. If they do not heed my warnings, I cannot say what their fates will be."
The Captain's face grew pinched. "I will tell them and they will obey, but, what is in there?"
The look of mixed fear and dogged determination stressed her ending of the topic. "Sirs, I pray you never find out."
She pulled out a blank piece of paper from the drawer and copied the map onto the paper, then using the navigational tools, marked the piece of a map with distances and the forbidden ravine, then carefully rolled it up and tucked it away somewhere for the time being.
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Postby prmiller » Sun Oct 31, 2004 6:55 am

Tale of the Warriors of Light

"The time for action is now. We have been attacked, deceived, bewitched, assailed by both demon and dirk-bearer, and all of it guided
by a single purpose: to stop us. I can almost put a name to the foul
general behind these plans, but I need proof if we are going to find
the captive bride and power to remove her from her captors. This..."
and Parm struck his staff on the deck and flecks of light sparked from it
" no mere staff, but become more and more a part of me as the days
move on.

"Yes, captain, you are in the presence of a Valar-pilgrim.
My true heritage has become clearer and more defined through our travels. One thing I know, the time for discussions has passed.
Lady Heather knows these regions, and when she deems it wise to put in to harbor...then it is to be done. Willum, for now, will be in my keeping, but the lad needs to be told that the grimmest dangers are yet to come."

"I...I...may even come to my own end..."
Parm's face went ashen. It was a mere flicker of light, but Lady Heather
saw and sensed the shiver of dread that went through Parm at that instant.

"Nessa is a ward of no one, yet you must keep a watchful eye, nonetheless, M'lady. Alfrin, I fear, has passed into a darkness my spirit
cannot go, yet it is reaching out to touch my loved ones. I can sense this
more now than I have ever known the sensation of water to skin. My son,
I fear, is a target. He has opened doors and brought upon himself a
shadow that I cannot pierce. I fear he has gone into forbidden lore and
it was he who was behind my nightmares. They were childishly constructed, but they all contained familiar woes and griefs that only he and I knew. Oh, Arahn...what have you done?"

Parm once again regained his composure. He even smiled, though it was wan. "Our adventure resumes...and the plottings wind ever more tightly
about us."
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Postby PatriotBlade » Wed Nov 03, 2004 3:14 pm

Heather had rarely seen Parm so vocally upset, but was greatful for his backing. She tucked her copied map away in a safe, inner pocket as the Ranger nodded and walked away to confer with his men. When he was gone, she turned to Parm. "Will you be alright?"
He nodded.
A cry was raised above,
"Land! Land ho!"
The healer darted to the deck to watch the harbor come into sight.
Willum ran up behind her.
"Did they say land?"
"Yes. By moring, my young friend, we wil be walking again, on dry ground, provided it doesn't rain." She scooped him up so that he could see the growing strip of green. When he'd been able to watch for a time, she set him back to the teck, then knelt to his eye level, very serious. "Listen very closely to me, Little One. I want you to stay close to master Parm at all times. There is a dangerous place in that land an we must get around it. If you get too close, or get sepherated from the group, you could easily get lost, and wonder too close to that place. Do you understand?"
He nodded. "I'll stay close to Master Parm at all times."
She miled at him and playfully rumples his already messy curls. "Good Lad. I knew I could trust you. Go on back to whatever you were doing, and this evening, make sure your things are ready for you to leave."
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