The Legacy of Traitors Discussion Thread

[Eorl of Rohan]

So it was that when the sun have already again risen over the Misty Mountains, Ferethor limped into the camp weary and utterly spent. He leaned upon a young birch silently as he watched the others with grave counteneance in earnest discussion of their future moves not fain enough to declare his arrival. Maen and others were all gathered around the campfire with darkened countenance shadowed by grief.


Atharen it was who first broke the silence as he slowly drew forth an elven knife. "The sun have already risen and brought us no news of Ferethor and my search was vain except for this knife. If he were at least alive he should be here with us by now. It is my belief that Ferethor, who was proud and would not run from the terror of death have been slain also by the ruthless raiders from the far east where the stars are strange."


A low murmur pervaded the regions by the fire and died down like the fire into embers. Maen then spoke at last heavily, "It was suicidal mission. I will not try to console anyone of their grief for I know I cannot ease their minds, but time presses. We must leave by dawn."


And then Ferethor had found the strength in his mind to manage a weak smile, as he spoke aloud from the shadows, by the tree in which he was leaning and supporting himself. "I must disappoint you by pointing out that I am still alive, Maen Il Garoth. Long have the trek been from the scene of battle to this glade, with my injury, so you'd have to excuse me of being rather late."


And then, his wound got better of him and his will almost swooned to the darkness. Ferethor swayed for a moment, then fell heavily as he vainly grasped at the tree. Why would not my body respond? Pain, blood...


Ferethor sank down on the long grass laden with sunlit golden dews, his anguish visible in his pale countenance. Clenching his teeth he endevoured to rise but fell back, and other people's shouts were but dim murmuring to Ferethor.


He was indeed a sight to gasp at in horror. His pearly-grey bloodstained robe was torn by countless parries and encounters with steel, and a fresh ran down the length of his cheek which was crusted over with dirt and caked with blood. The arrow Ferethor had been unable to wrench out was still embedded in his shoulder, though its raven-black shaft was broken off. His tousled hair was unkempt and bloodied, and his pale countenance was twisted almost beyond recognition with anguish.


"Ferethor! I thought you were dead!" Someone cried out, which roused him to open his eyes, and see with blurring vision that all others were gathered around him. He could not decipher their expressions with clarity - relief, joy, wonder.... Naked hatred? Who was it? Caranthir... Impossible.


Ferethor managed to raise himself into a sitting position unsteadily, refusing any aid and waveringly supporting himself by a tree. He gasped, "May Neocromancer take the accursed outlaws and drag them to the inaccessible Void! They almost took me down."





That is about it.

And Crystal, please don't make his injury fatal.

He does not have much time left.

I don't have any problems with it myself but Maen doesn't like that, as she expressed herself a while ago.