Please feel to share stories of your adventures here. Images are most welcome, but out of consideration for bandwidth, etc., please keep them to a reasonable size.
Here's a tongue-in-cheek telling of an adventure that fellows from my kinship Blades of Anárion and I shared last week:
After venturing deep into the barrow Eragwar, Eriwyn, Grymnir, and Curulinde at last caught the Witchking of Angmar. However, after growing weary of Eriwyn's expressions of affection--
--the Nazgûl Lord departed--
--leaving our fate in the hands of another fell servant of the Dark Lord, Sambrog the Wight-lord.
Matched against so great a foe, what is a humble minstrel to do other than to start singing?
Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow,
By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!
Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!
Lucky for us, Old Tom was not out gathering water-liles for his pretty lady this day, and so was able to come to our aid.
Weary from our battles, we paused for a moment to reflect on the day's adventure.
1. I should mention that Eriwyn did not physically embrace the Witch King nor did their lips ever touch. (Or so I presume, because I cannot actually see the Witch King's lips.) She claims she was blowing him a kiss goodbye before we sent him to the abyss prepared for his master.
Knowing, however, that there are some ladies, who find the Witch King irresisitable (What did you think, Athelian, is the Witch-king h0tt?), I always keep a few bottles of Athelas in my satchel should their passions be stirred beyond control. After all, it takes a lot more than a minty mouth wash to cure the Black Breath!
When the black breath blows
when death’s shadow grows
and all lights pass,
come athelas! come athelas!
Life to the dying
In the king’s hand lying!
2. Prior to our fateful (for Sambrog) battle at arms, Eragwar challenged the Wight-lord to an arm wrestling match. (See the image above.) Sambrog declined, claiming that his bursitis was acting up. I don't mean to imply that Sambrog was chicken, but we did notice that he was molting.
Now that I think of it, I never did find out who looted the [Beak of the Wight-lord] ? I understand that this item can be made into a musical horn by a craftsman with expertise in that field.
Warning: Some parts of Curulinde's tales may be slightly embellished. The mark of a truly great minstrel is how cleverly he can embellish a story without making it seem completely implausible.