Truth in a Dark Place RPG

[piosenniel]

Arvedui III's post

The red sun rose gloriously above the fair country that was Bree. Bill's Hill, on the outskirts of town blended perfectly into the scenery, its tall green trees casting long shadows against the dawn. On the sloping top a figure lay, huddled over, sleeping. It was a man, who had either been camping out under the stars, or was there by some dare, for he was a young man. The shadowy figure stirred and rose, and looked at sun as though blinded by it. He sat, simply staring at the sun as though he'd never seen it before. Sure is big he thought. Wonder why it's so big? Then he looked about on, what was to him, an alien landscape.

Where is here? he thought. He wasn't alarmed to be somewhere he didn't know, just merely puzzled at why his was where he was. Sure is big, this place. he thought unconcernedly. He rubbed his head. It ached.

He sat, and looked at his hands. In the light they seemed red. He panicked suddenly, sanding up and turning in circles. Hands aren't supposed to be red. he thought. He was frightened. He rubbed them frantically, trying to get the red off, but to no avail. Why are my hands red? Hands aren't supposed to be red. He struggled to find an answer, but none came.

"Why are they red?!" He was yelling it now, yelling to the land about him, but no answer came. He head really hurt. Then he paused in his pacing, Why am I here? He thought frantically, trying to make sense of what was going on. Where is here? Where am I ?

He cried to the morning. The cry fell on deaf ears.

Then, the most disturbing question of all came to his mind:
"Who am I?"

He didn't know.

--------------

"You all right, boy?" A voice brought the man back to himself. He turned, and an old farmer was looking him over. He was lying in a stream, his lip and palms were bleeding and he had a terrible pain in his head. A dream, this has to be a dream he thought.

"You all right, boy?" the old man persisted. This is no dream, he thought as reality hit him. He really didn't know anything about himself. "Can yeh talk?" The old man asked him. He nodded dumbly, still trying to comprehend. "Well, you get yerself cleaned up boy, yeh hear." The man nodded.

"You a rangar, or something?" "Rangar?" The man's voice was thin and croaky. "I don't know, you just look like one. You got the weapons n' gear n' all." The man examined himself. He was very wet and sticky, but found a sword and bow and arrows on him. "Rangar" he repeated the word the old man had used.

"Yeh, rangar. Don't mean to be nosey or anything, young master. You just look like one. Say, what's your name?" The old man said, giving the figure in front of him a queer look. "Rangar." The man got up. He'd figure this out. Until he did, it was best to have some identity. Even if it was given by an old farmer.
Rangar. He'd figure out what the word meant. Maybe if I do , he thought, I might get an answer . “Rangar.” He liked the name.
----------
"Hey, Bane!" A drunken man stumbled over to figure in a black cloak. "Shut up." The figure answered. "Haw, come on Ranger," "Rangar" The figure corrected. "For the thousandth time, the man probably mispronounced Ranger. Say it, Raaiinggeer" "Ranger. Happy?" "Why are you so mad?" "Why are you so drunk?" "Why don't you ever touch a beer?" "Why don't you two just shut up?" said a man sitting near them. "No, I wanna know. What have you got against everyone? What? Why don't you ever touch ale, why don't you ever do something for fun? All you do is go wandering about, that's it. Then you come back here, get all depressed, and leave again."

"What would you have me do? Or have you forgotten why I go about like I do?" Rangar said angrily. "At least come listen to old man Haran." the drunken man said in a considerably softer voice. He's had a few, and his son's just back from Gondor. The story should be good this time. It'll cheer even you up"

"The last time Haran told a story, a purple oliphant ran off with Queen Arwen to Dale." said Rangar in a surly tone. "Just come on," the drunken man said. He hasn't had that many, yet."

"Now, I have no reason to lie to you folk, got no reason at all." Haran began tipsily up at the bar. "But word is, and that's all it is, words, that is. Anyway, word is there's summat funny going on in Harad, that's east of Gondor." He said knowingly, trying hard to create an air of mystery. "In Harad, there summat funny. Summat fishy. They say there's a man who can tell the future. An' past, and what happening now, they say."

A murmur went up around Haran. "Yeh, a Seer. They say. Now I got no reason to lie too you folk, no reason at all. They say he lives in an old castle. Ruiny, rundown. Now, he's just sitting there, they say. Just sitting, waiting for someone to find him an' ask him questions. Test him, in a manner of speaking. And that is the king's truth, an' I got no reason to be lying, an' all that."

Rangar had listened to the old man's tale. What if it was true. A Seer. A real Seer. Haran made up childish stories, not rumors. There was a good chance, his mind poured over the possibilities, plus, he had nothing better to do anyway. He stood up. "Man, where are you going? Someone asked at the bar.

"To Harad, anyone coming?"

[piosenniel]

Sophia TTM’s post

Glorenwen's eyes were large and troubled staring at him from the shadows in their sitting room. Calimir sighed, leaning on the doorpost. He looked down at his muddy boots and rolled his aching shoulders. He’d been out in Arnor, tracking the evil creatures that were troubling the land of the new King. They’d soon be gone.

"When are we going to go, Calimir?" his wife asked softly. "Wilwarin is almost an adult. I don't want her marrying here, I don't want our family on separate sides of the great ocean." A tear slid down her cheek. "Why do we delay?"

Calimir crossed the room in three long strides, kneeling down besides his wife and rubbed the tear off her cheek with his thumb. The mud on his hand rubbed off on her cheek in a long gray streak. Glorenwen batted his hand away, but she was laughing gently. "Dirty! You go off to your dirty woods, bring back your dirty hands..." She scolded.

"And now you have a dirty face!" Calimir finished her sentence for her, his eyes twinkling. Glorenwen rubbed at the streak on her cheek unsuccessfully. She laughed again, held his palm to her lips as she spoke.

"I'm sorry, Calimir, I don't mean to be critical. But I don't know why we stay. All my family has gone, and yours... Wilwarin is grown, she will remember these lands always... I don't understand."

"We'll go, Glor." Calimir said sighing. "We'll go... but let me travel." There was a great ache in his heart as he spoke, to leave Rivendell, the place of his birth... he didn't want to go. This was the home of his heart. But Glorenwen was right, their time in the land had ended, they belonged with their kin in Valinor. She was right about their daughter as well. He wanted Wilwarin with them when they sailed, he wanted her to be his girl for a little longer. He didn’t want her staying in Middle Earth when they passed over the sea. Yes, they should go soon. But not yet.

“Glor, I need to be in the world a little longer.” he told her gently. She stood, walked over to the window, staring out. “I love this land…” he cried, “I want to walk the woods again before I leave them forever. I want to speak with the children of Men again, and feel the freedom of the wide sky under the stars. And then I will go.” He finished abruptly.

Glorenwen spoke from her place beside the window. “I understand.” she said, in a voice without expression. She spun around, her wide eyes filled with worry. She ran to him and flung her arms around his neck. “But come back to me safe, love…” she whispered into his ear.

“I will.” He responded quietly, breathing in the smell of her blond hair. I will. Throwing off the somber moment Calimir clutched his wife tightly and swung her around. “Now who’s dirty?” he asked her, holding her at arms length and surveying her muddy dress. The pair dissolved in laughter.

******************************************
Calimir tightened the straps that held the packs on the back of his horse. Though he’d wanted to travel light, he didn’t know how long he’d be gone, and his horse was therefore loaded with enough to keep him for many months.

As he sprang onto the horses’ back, a light voice called out to him. “Father!” Wilwarin ran down the steps toward him. His daughter was gowned in green and her hair, so like Glorenwen’s, was loose around her shoulders. He raised his hand to her. She ran to the front of his horse, clutched the bridle. Her face was flushed as she bid him farewell.

“You can’t leave without saying goodbye.” She said, looking up at him with a look that always got her whatever she wanted.

“Goodbye,” he said to his only child, wondering what she was going to ask of him before he went. He trailed his hand across her hair. But surprisingly she didn’t ask him for anything. She just smiled, a strangely adult smile, and said;

“May the Valar protect you, Father.” and turned, and walked into the house. Calimir touched his heels to his horse’s sides, and soon was gone from Rivendell, making for Bree.

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Maikafanawen’s post

Doralyn’s Autumn Masquerade party was the most renowned celebration in Minas Tirith. With her exotic fruits, rich wines, and impressive supply of roasts, no one who received an invitation refused. The Chambria residence was the location of choice for any festival party. The architecture of the Chambria Estate was completely different from anything else in the city. Everything from their flying buttresses to their front gate was specifically designed to fit Doralyn’s exquisite tastes. Two large dragon statues greeted the guests as they arrived in their fancy carriages wearing every yard of silk in the kingdom.

It was also known that the attendees of Doralyn’s parties, especially the masquerades, dressed to dazzle in multitudes of glitter, silk, and feathers. Tailors, seamstresses and dress shop owners from all over were given a surplus amount of work, and paid in large abundance of gold for the many costumes they produced for the Chambria parties.

Tonight Wren was splendidly attired in a glittering gown of greens and blues. Sapphires and emeralds were sewn on in interweaving patterns across the bodice and skirt of her intricate gown. Multi-colored glitter was attached to the skin of her arms, and throat, and around her already deep blue eyes. Even her dark blonde hair had been curled and elaborately woven with jewels, and ribbons. Dressed as the ocean, she was probably the most exotic woman at the party, second only to her mother. A small group of young nobles were seated around one of the tables, listening intently as she spoke innocently of regular gossip. Judging by her callow appearance, no one would ever guess she could better any of the present men in a contest of arms.

She twirled a lock of curled hair in her slender fingers as she spoke.

“And then, when I thought that she was finished, Yeowyn turned on Domnian and started ranting about the last party and the incident when he spilt his wine on one of her distasteful black velour slippers.” The young nobles grinned in unison, and some snickered at the thought of the over-ripe Lady Yeowyn screaming in her annoyingly high-pitched voice.

“Don’t laugh,” commented Domnian as he leaned forward, a thin smile on his lips, “it was good wine that was wasted.” The group burst into laughter.

“On the point of wine, I think this year’s is a bit sour,” said a voice from behind Wren. Lady Chambria’s friends joined in a collective smirk as Garnet, named after her rich red hair, joined the group. Her costume was of deep reds and oranges: she was the part of a phoenix this year. It contrasted nicely with Wren’s blue get up, and each stood out from the rest of the party. Angry with Garnet’s challenge, Wren counteracted.

“Oh I do apologize,” came Wren’s rejoinder, as she delicately touched the tips of her fingers to her neck, “perhaps, you can bring some of your family’s expensive wine to the next party?” The nobles snickered at the reply. Garnet’s parents were unsuccessful merchants, were being supported by Garnet’s older sister’s husband. Glaring at Wren, she lashed back.

“I just might. Tell me Wren,” she said eyeing her enemy’s ensemble, “when the weather warms, do you morph back to a sickly pink?” The nobles glanced excitedly towards Wren, waiting another comeback. Wren and Garnet were renowned archrivals, and their sadistic warfare was always counted upon to liven things up.

“Slither elsewhere vile snake,” remarked Ryndion as he came defensively to Wren’s side. Garnet ‘harumphed’ before turning on her heel to search for her escort. The nobles sighed disappointedly at the conclusion of the show. Ryndion was in the suit of a silver dragon, his coat was covered in silver plates, and a long cape of glitter covered silk trailed behind him. His long, light blonde hair was pulled back and the corners of his mouth were pulled back, displaying his deep cheek dimples. He was Wren’s number one wooer.

Delighted with the addition of another admirer, Wren gestured to a seat beside her and asked Ryndion to tell of the ‘marvelous scandal’ that occurred at the Green Banshee Inn two nights before. Before the young man was given an opportunity to begin his tale, a nervous silence fell over the usually mirthful group. Wren turned to see her father approaching, a grim look on his face. Not wanting the attention to waver she stood up and greeted him warmly.

“Ah father! Splendid of you to join us! Ryndion was just telling us of his latest adventure! Come won’t you sit—” Mauriace glared at the nobles sitting around her and they dispersed quickly.

“Cowards, all of them,” Wren mused. Her father rolled his eyes and turned her sharply to face his pallid expression.

“You are supposed to be getting ready to leave for Bree!” Sighing reluctantly, the young noble lady passed Mauriace and left the room. She glanced back just in time to see Garnet speaking flirtatiously with Ryndion.

I swear one day that I’ll truly get the best of that over-dressed siren, and put her to shame for good! Sour wine, hmph!

Her father led her to the parlor, just outside the main ballroom.

“Wren, the meeting in Bree is really important.” Wren wrinkled up her nose in mock disgust.

“Bree? Important? That’s an oxymoron for you.”

“Please Wren, be serious! This is serious.” The lady sighed dramatically and toyed with one of her extravagantly long pearl strings. Mauriace gave her a stern look.

“Are you going to travel as the daughter of Ulmo or will you change?” Pouting like a little girl who didn’t get the right doll for her birthday, she turned and walked slowly towards her chambers.

“NOW WREN!” Bellowed her father. Laughing, Wren took the stairs two at a time to her richly furnished bedroom. She put her gloves onto her mahogany desk, and unbuttoned the back of her dress, tossing amidst the embroidered pillows that were heaped on the richly designed carpet. Her room was right out of any fairy tale. Satin and silk were everywhere: the drapes, the curtains around her bed, the blankets on her bed. She enjoyed her wealthy lifestyle. Little did she realize it was all about to change.

***Two weeks later***

Wren was standing outside the Prancing Pony, soaked to the bone and angry: very angry. The meeting she had left the Autumn Festival Masquerade to attend had been cancelled and rescheduled in a month back in Minas Tirith. So here she was, standing outside the Prancing Pony with nowhere to go, except home, but that would take another two weeks on horseback, and it had been just her luck to learn that her horse had become lame due to a snake bite. The worst part was that she was short on money. She owned just enough to either get a room, or buy a new horse. The woman decided that without a room she’d freeze to death, and if things came to the worst she could gamble for a horse. Her breath unfurled in a silver wisp.

Sighing, Wren pushed open the heavy inn door and walked inside. She sauntered over to the main desk to speak with the innkeeper. Letting down her hood she offered her most seraphic smile, doing her best to charm old Butterbur. His gaze was unwavering, greatly disappointing Wren. Doing her best to look as ravishing as she could in her soaked clothes and hair. Failing to seduce him into giving her a lower rate on her rooms she told him that she was a marvelous entertainer and that the inn looked like it could use some livening up. Agreeing, he said that she’d have to pay for her room tonight, and if she did well, he’d give her half off. Consorting reluctantly, she ambled up to her small, and drafty room.

She closed the windows, and got a good fire going in the fireplace. She aired out her bed and hung her clothes up to dry. Donning a loose white shirt that tied low, and a dark green skirt, she took her flute downstairs to pay for her room.

A place was cleared towards the center back of the room, and she was given the floor to entertain the group of swarthy men travelers. Keeping her wits about her she began to play an exotic tune on her flute. Her skirt swayed in rhythmic patterns, as she began to dance. Soon, conversations had wavered and all the eyes were upon Lady Chambria as she entertained at the Prancing Pony. The thought almost made her interrupt her performance with a laugh. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a man sitting by himself, his green eyes downcast and blank. Scruffy blond hair framed his handsome features. His aura was mysterious. Re-devoting her concentration to her dance, she finished it up with a magnificent twirl, leaving the viewers spell-bound. Smiling enchantingly, she made her way to the desk where Butterbur gave her a seventy-five percent discount and applauded her performance. Pocketing the money, she made to go back up to her room.

Her eyes, however, had settled back on the mysterious man in the corner.

“Butterbur?” she gestured towards the old innkeeper, still watching the man, “who is that man yonder there by himself?” Old Barliman shrugged.

“Calls himself Rangar. Has been here for a while. Quiet though, and doesn’t cause trouble neither, which I’m thankful for.” Wren nodded and ordered a tankard of ale. Grasping the handle in her slender hand, she paid and made her way across the room to find a seat. Batting away eager hands, and threatening drunken grins, she took a small table close by this Rangar, and buried herself in her drink while listening to the scattered story tellers and conversationalists.

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Eruwen’s post

Rave came down from her room in the Prancing Pony somewhat late that afternoon. She glanced around and saw many familiar faces from the night before. She walked up to the counter, hood over top her golden locks, and caught the attention of the bartender.

"Can I just have some water?" she asked him politely, but hurridly. "I'd like to leave later on tonight, and I don't need to be seen as a drunken ranger on the road."

As Rave took the glass from the bartender, she felt a sudden feel of uneasiness. Something was different than the other night. She turned her head slightly to see a man in the corner. His eyes were concentrated on the table in front of him while he held a mug of Ale. A friend of Rave's from the inn came up near the bar and sat down.

"Hello again, Rave," the Breelander said. "You've been a real no-show today, havn't you? Interesting day it's been."

"Yes, so it seems." Rave replied with her eyes constantly glancing back towards the man in the corner. "You see that man over there---the one in the corner, he wasn't here last night was he?"

"Just came in this morning, why?"

"Do you know anything about him?"

"I've not talked directly to him since he arrived." the Breelander said now whispering. "I talked to some other folks earlier though. They say he's called Ranger. He's not moved at all---just stays at that table by himself. Quite strange if you ask me."

"He looks lost. Like he's...confused at something."

"Yes, but you know them Rangers. Always strange folk, they are."

Rave gave her friend a strange look. The Breelander nodded his head at her and left the bar to join others in the inn. Rave sat staring at the man. There was something about him...something...mysterious. She took a drink from her glass and turned her back to the inn letting the thoughts escape from her mind.

[piosenniel]

Earendil Halfelven’s post

Turthôl glanced around the common room of the Prancing Pony from under the hood of his cloak. Drunken laughter filled the room along with smoke from many a pipe. He took a sip from his mug; the ale was excellent. He had only been here one other time, but the memory of the beer remained fresh in his mind. As usual, Turthôl was looked at by the good people of Bree as a forlorn stranger, a loner who did not have a friend in the world. As a Ranger, he was used to it-that was how all Rangers were looked at by those too ignorant to know who they really were. If it hadn't been for the Dúnedain, these "lovely" people would have been run over by orcs long ago, Turthôl thought. Oh well, it doesn't matter. Those are not the thoughts of a Dúnedain. He remembered what Goldrim, an Elf from Imladris, had told him before the Elf left to the Greyhavens.
"Don't be bitter about your destiny. Few can change theirs, but you can always make the best of it." Goldrim had said jokingly.
"That's easy for you to say. You're going to live forever in a place few can imagine...a place few can go except for those of Elven decent. For us mortals, we must die after all we've done for this world. Haven't the Dúnedain earned their chance to live and see the Valar, as our fathers of old, the Númenóreans, had done?" Turthôl replied.
"That, my friend, is a question you should not be asking me." Goldrim said again.
"Well, you can ask the Valar for me when you get to Valinor..." Turthôl began but Goldrim interrupted him.
"Turthôl, you should not have these thoughts. You are a Dúnedain; you have great responsibility for these people. Middle-Earth belongs to you now. The Elves are fading into the West. We shall all be gone and forgotten soon."
_____________________________________________

Well, that conversation happened about 8 years ago, but he had never forgotten that advice. His thoughts and words had made known as a "Rogue Ranger" but that didn't bother him. He knew his duty, and he would do it.

His watched his friend, Rangar, await the arrival of other companions who would be accompanying them on his journey for knowledge and truth. He knew that whoever joined them couldn't be trusted for sure, unless he was a fellow Ranger, but one still had to be cautious.

He remembered back to when Rangar had come to them-not knowing who he was, or even his name. It reminded him of a story from the Ancient Days. Turthôl didn't trust him at first, but his amnesia was genuine. They quickly became friends. Now, Turthôl trusted Rangar with his life. He would do anything possible to help Rangar find out who he was and to know the truth.

He took a sip from his mug, and waited...

[piosenniel]

The X Phial's post

Bregand sat in his room at the Prancing Pony and took several deep breaths. The sun had set, effectively ruining his reading light. Unlike in his room at home, the lamps here in the inn were too dim to decipher the small writing on the ancient map without the aid of the sunlight. He moved his chair closer to the fire in hopes of finding a better position, but the firelight played tricks with the letters, turning words he knew well into a code his eyes refused to decipher. There was no use for it, he would have to join the group downstairs for food. It was far too early for sleep, and without his reading he had no excuse to avoid the gathering.

The young man rerolled the map, carefully tying it with the leather strap and making sure no ink was showing that could fade in the light. The map was of Elvish make and very valuable. Bregand had memorized it long before but nothing gave him greater pleasure than tracing the familiar, graceful lines with his eyes and soaking in the place names in their Tengwar script.

Taking one last, regretful look at his scrolls, Bregand closed the door to his room and headed down the hall to the stairwell. From the head of the stairs he could hear laughter and smell the combined odors of homely food and pipeweed. Suppressing a cough, he steeled himself and headed down to the main room. Closing his expression as he entered the crowded hall, he nodded to one of the little folk carrying dishes and hoped it was understood he would need some dinner. Like magic, a plate appeared before him a few minutes later. There were advantages to this inn after all. Looking about him from his isolated table he noticed quite a few worn travelers and the occasional bright clothing of a woman. Women, especially, made him feel self concious, aware of his untrained physique. He overheard one of the women asking about a man named Rangar who seemed to be as isolated as himself. He took a moment to study the man, glad that Rangar didn't seem to be aware of this scrutiny. Suddenly from directly behind him someone told a particilarly raunchy joke, and Bregand hid his blush behind a stern expression and applied himself to his dinner...wondering how long it would be before he could politely retire once again.

[piosenniel]

Arien’s post

“Mummy can we go home I’m tired,” Crystal said tugging at Carmalita’s sleeve, as they walked down a dark street of Bree. They had been out all day delivering various medicines for the townsfolk and they had just tied their horse up in the stables.

“Yes you can go home, but I need to go to the inn. I will drop you off with grandma and she will make you some hot coco, ok?” she said picking Crystal up. “Your getting fat!” Crystal stuck her tounge out and tried to struggle out of Carmalita’s grip, “Ok, ok sorry missy, look we are nearly home.” She set Crystal down who then bolted to their door and knocked boisterously.

The door creaked open to reveal a small figure. “Calm down little girl!” said the woman in her forties as Crystal ran inside. “What did you do to get her so excited?” she asked laughing.

“Nothing mummy, just called her fat….oh and promised her you‘d make her coco!” she smiled at her mother.

“Your not coming in then?” her mother asked holding the door handle.

“No, I’m going to the Pony. More things need dropping off.”

“You had all day to do that, what were you doing?”

“Nothing!” she said and she ran off down the lane towards the inn. She was still a child even though she had a daughter and this worried her mother sometimes. But then Carmalita would do something to that little girl, they were more like best friends not mother and daughter. She shut the door and went to tend to the youngster inside.

Carmalita slowed her run to a walk as she drew near to the Inn. The lights were on as always and many horses and carts were parked outside. She could smell the pipe weed and ale already as she came to open the door she heard her name being called. She turned round and saw it was Mr Raloa.

“So,” she said plunging her hand into her bag, “I guess you were wanting this?” flashing a small jar of green liquid in front of his face.

“Yes, but is it supposed to look like that?” he asked pointing at it apprehensively.

“Look who is the nurse here? Thank you!” she said putting one hand on her hip.

“Ok ok!” he said taking the bottle from her. “Here,” said thrusting some money into her hand. “Thanks!” he laughed and then walked off

She entered the busy Inn and went straight to Butterbur “Here” she said placing a jar of pills on the counter and taking a seat. “Ale please.”

“Thankyou Carmalita” he said passing an ale over the counter. “And hows you mother? And little Crystal?” he placed the pill in his pocket and nodded his head.

“Oh fine, fine.” She said as she surveyed the inn looking for the other people who need their medicine. When her eyes fell upon a stranger, “And who is that?” she said nodding towards him while sipping her ale.

“Oh well he’s Ranger. He’s been here for a while now but he don’t talk much.”

She did not answer but her eyes lay upon him for a while.

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Everdawn’s post

Énien had been traveling for months. It had been a long time since she had laid eyes upon her home - Rivendell. She glanced at the night sky and stopped- it was there again, the star she was born under so many years before, and why after more than 1000 years had it decided to return? "The light is dull here." Énien spoke to the darkness whilst still looking up at the star. "It makes for danger."

Far off in the distance, even through the darkness she saw a small party of men, strange men, wild men. The thought of her having to converse with lesser beings did not take her fancy, so being the elf that she was thought it safe to take precautions, Énien placed herself in the nearest tree.

This gave her time to think - since she had had no time off delivering messages for the Elven Lords throughout Middle-Earth.

"Strange it would seem that I was sent, strange is it also that they did not send a stronger Elf on such a long journey- still... I manage."

She glanced again at the star, which began to trouble her. She fiddled for an arrow from her quiver. "Why do you follow me?! There must be some purpose you are here!" She fitted the arrow to the bow and silenced herself and watched the party pass, unseen she sat except for a strange light in her eyes.

She leapt down from the tree and said aloud to the star as if it were talking in turn to her... "I will make it known to you, that I do intend to find out why you are here, and I will go to any end to see it done!" She laughed. Énien picked up her pace and made haste down the dusty road and into Bree.

She entered the Prancing Pony, reluctantly, needing something to drink. She was uneasy around strangers. The barman approached her. Énien stared at him for a minute and then said "water" he smiled at her and placed a glass of water on the bench in front of her. She turned to see, who people had said to be a Ranger. Immediately something inside of her said, 'He is troubled greatly'.

[piosenniel]

Durelin’s post

Tareth strolled down the milling streets of Bree, axe and knife and quiver at his belt, and his bow strung across his back, he planned on doing a bit of hunting after he was finished. As he went, he nodded and waved to all the folk he knew. He made his way to his usual stop, The Prancing Pony. He liked to pick up news of the world and talk to the travelers. When asked why he was so interested he would always reply with saying how he would like to travel around the land, see the cities and strange people. But, needless to say, he had never taken a step out of his little world, into the worlds of others. Today was no different, and he felt a fool for never leaving, but he also felt that he never would.

Tareth walked into the inn, babbling with voices, steaming with hot food and smoke from patron's pipes. He automatically went to his table in the corner, it was his routine, and it was always open. He sat down and a woman in a dirty white apron came rushing over. Egwene, the cook. Tareth had known her for a long time, she was only five years younger than him. "Well, I didn't expect to find you here," she said sarcastically.

"It's nice to see you Egwene, it has been a while." Tareth paused, stroking his chin as if he were deep in thought, "I think it has been since the day before yesterday."

"Oh, do keep that mouth shut!" she said to him in mock severity. She was doing a bad job of keeping a straight face, Tareth could see the mirth billowing up in side of her. He smiled, and asked the same question he always did, "Any news?"

"Curse you, Tareth! Will you ever learn more words for your vocabulary? It grows old, you asking me that everyday. And I tell you what I can, show you people who can tell you more, and do you budge! No! You can't bring yourself to put that hammer of yours down longer than it takes to come in here and ask me that question!" Egwene was yelling at him, but a grin slipped out once every so often, ruining the effect. "I do have news for you, and maybe it'll get you out of here for a time!" She wasn't trying to be harsh anymore but she still grinned as brightly as ever. "There's a man here, Rang something or other's his name. He says he's going to Harad. Most think he's a drunken fool, but I know from Bode that he's still working on one tankard." Bode was a serving girl at the inn, her real name Bodemira. She was younger than Egwene, but no less hard on anyone who looked at her funny.

Egwene eyed Tareth sharply, "You should talk to him, not too many have been willing to even consider going anywhere, much less even take him seriously at all."

"Thanks Egwene, maybe I'll be out of your hair for a while after all." Tareth found this quite interesting, no one had ever asked people to go anywhere. This was just the kind of spark that was needed to get him moving. "Can you take me to him?"

"He's the man sitting in the middle of that mob over there," the woman said, pointing to a small group of people standing on the other side of the tavern room. "Thankyou ma'am." Tareth gave Egwene a short bow of his head and went to talk to this 'Rang something or other' somebody, leaving her scowling at him. What nerve! she thought as she stalked back to the kitchens.

Tareth worked his way through the crowded room to the small group gathered, it turned out to be only a few people. He was just in time to hear the man's story. He waited for the talk to die down, trying to hide in the the shadows as he watched people join the 'quest'. Well, it's a quest, we're looking for something. Well, someone. I can't believe what it'd be like to lose your memory. When everything became relatively quiet, Tareth went up to the man sitting at the table. He looked tired, almost desperate. And a bit perturbed. "Good day to you, sir," Tareth began, ignoring the drunken snickers coming from behind him. "I heard something about going to the Harad..."

"Yes you did," the man said, "The name's Rangar."

"I-I'm Tareth," He stuttered, cursing his tongue. He calmed himself and made his voice plain and clear. "If you need any help on this journey, I'd be glad to come along."

Rangar nodded, it seemed like a routine. "Okay, then," he said, "I'll just g-get ready." He was full of both excitement and dread as he stepped quickly out of the inn. He leaned against the outside to catch his breath, he felt like he had run a mile. I'm getting too worked up. It's not that big of a deal. He breathed slowly, trying to calm himself, but thoughts bubble up in his head. But, it's Harad I'm going to and... Tareth reminded himself he would not be scared. Scared? He wasn't scared he realized. It was plain excitement. You are a fool, a fool not to be scared. But I promised I would never be afraid. And you won't, something told him.

[piosenniel]

Maikafanawen's post

Wren paused, and searched the room with her eyes. A few of the men burst into laughter, calling Rangar’s statement a jest. But the ranger’s eyes didn’t change.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” said one of his friends. Rangar faced the man.

“Anyone, coming?” he drawled.

Wren looked around again. This is it, she thought. The way to Harad passes through Gondor, and by ways, Minas Tirith! I could travel with this man, this enigma, and get to Minas Tirith safely! He doesn’t appear to have a horse either, so that won’t be a problem for me. I’m sure others will go as well. This is it! Excited she stood and introduced herself.

“Greetings Rangar. My name is Wren Chambria, noblewoman of Gondor. I am interested in seeing this Seer as well,” she lied. “If you would accept my company I should be of service as,” As a what? she thought, “a guide.” Scattered snickers came at her from around the room. Wren ignored them, and kept a sure face How they’d gape if I had my sword before me. The woman decided though that she would keep her talents a secret until the time came for use. “Yes, a guide. I will show you the way to Harad.” Rangar’s face showed a bit of disbelief, but he cleared it quickly.

“Fine,” he said nodding. “Anyone, uh, else?”

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Arvedui III]

Rangar felt very, very self-concius at the moment. He was making a joke, no one in their right mind would want to pack up and leave such a homely inn to travel with an unknown stranger to Harad. It was a joke, it really was. Turthol, he knew would come with him, but the ranger had liked him from the day they met, they were friends. Like most thing in the world, these people surprized him. A noblewomen of Gondor, whom he knew very well was too proud to believe a simple bar story from Bree apperently wanted to come, and a young craftsman also. He nodded to the both of them.

If they wanted to come, why not? alterier motives was the thought that kept running through his mind as others looked towards him. But who knows? they could want to come for their own reasons.
Rangar sat back down, his hood conciling a very red face. I've got nothing better to do, he thought. Maybe they don't either. He opened a quite dry mouth, "Anyone else?" he repeated.

[Eruwen]

"I'll go," Rave said quite suddenly to the man's request. The Ranger quickly lifted his head and looked in the direction of the voice. Rave was now leaning against the bar with her elbows propped up on top. She stood and began to walk towards where the man sat.

"I'm Ravenne," she said approaching his table. "You wanted to know who would go with you to Harad, right? Well, I'll come."

The ranger sat looking at Rave as if wondering if he could trust her. After a brief moment of slience, he nodded.

"The name's Ranger." he said in reply. "Glad to have you along."

Rave looked back at her Breelander friend who had been watching the whole ordeal with the ranger. Her friend nodded his head as if in farewell and never again spoke a word to Rave. This would finally be the end of her stay in Bree. She turned back towards Ranger and waited for any comment from him.

A journey at last she thought. This is going to be quite a trip.

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: Eruwen ]

[The X Phial]

Bregand concentrated on his food while listening to Rangar gathering companions with one ear. He realised quickly that this was the opportunity he had been looking for to gain companions for his journey south. His first reaction was elation. It seemed a great boon to find such a party so quickly after arriving in Bree. Almost immediately afterwards, however, doubt crept in. There was already someone who claimed to be a guide...would there be a place for him, a boy still growing his beard and none too handy with a sword?

Before he could entirely lose his courage, Bregand forced himself to stand and walk to the slowly gathering crowd around the man Rangar. He put on what he thought of as his most scholarly face and gave a small bow to the assembled people.

"Excuse me, good sir, but I couldn't help overhearing your plan to travel to Harad. I, myself, have business in that part of the country. I know I look young, but I am a master of geography and lore. I could be an invaluable asset on the road, or, at least, my map skills could be. I trained in Arnor with Hilgar, who once taught the Lord Faramir."

Bregand managed to glance around him and was glad his face looked so stern, the others seemed to be laughing behind their smiles. Rangar's face, however, was impassive. He said, simply, "Go on, young man."

Bregand cleared his throat and continued.

"As I said before, I am a master scholar at both geography and lore. I know a great deal of the tales and legends of Harad and could likely sort mere rumours from probable leads. I have credentials upstairs if you would like to see them..."

His voice trailed off. He was certain the noble woman from Gondor at least was laughing at him, though she made no sound. He cleared his throat again and looked pointedly at Rangar, ignoring the others. Rangar gave a small, tight smile and quietly said, "Welcome aboard."

Bregand gave another small bow, doing his best to conceal his joy. His first journey back to the land of his birth was starting well. He remembered small flashes of Minas Tirith in his deepest past, but to him Gondor had always been a sort of fairyland spoken of by his parents. He often thought of himself as akin to the children of the exiled elves, always imagining the Blessed Realm. Now he would be journeying to his Aman.

Realising that he was still standing in front of Rangar and that others were trying to speak to the man, Bregand felt himself blush and murmured a quick "Excuse me" before retiring back to his yet unfinished dinner. It wasn't until he got back to his table that he realised he had had his napkin tied around his neck the entire time.

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Arien]

Carmalita sat at the bar, her soft eyes lingering upon Rangar.

“Anyone else?” he said finally.

Anyone else? She would go in a second if it was not for Crystal. She realised that she had brought her into the world and she had the responsibility of caring for her. She turned back to the bar and stared down into the dark tankard in front of her. She bit her lip in thought. She wanted adventure again, adventure! When she was with her father she experienced the adventure, but then she fell pregnant and she never felt it again. The rush she got. She continued to stare at her ale. Her mind was a battle ground, her conscience told her that it was wrong to leave her daughter to go off with some stranger, and last time she done that look what happened. But her heart was longing for freedom from her simple life from just being the delivery girl and the standby nurse. Once again her asked, her grip tightened around the tankard.

“I will come,” she whispered no- one heard her save Butterbur.

“Carmalita, you cannot leave you child!” he exclaimed staring into eyes, they held a glance for a moment then her guilty face drew away. She got up and walked over to Rangar.

“I will come, you will need an expert nurse on this little escapade, so no doubt you will need me!” she laughed, all her guilt was gone from he exterior but it was still inside. Confidence shone out but lacked inside. “But I need to go home first, that is if we are to leave here soon, to get supplies and say farewell to my dau……my..my family.” her confidence faltered and her eyes flickered to the floor. She decided she would not tell them she was a mother, they might look upon her different then. the flicking her loose hair over her shoulder she finally said “Well can I come? Will you need me?”

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Arvedui III]

Rangar scrached his head. A boy who had problems with napkins and a nurse. The boy he understood, in fact up until about now he'd felt just as aukward and nervous. His mind flew back to the first time he meat the Dunedain, that had been truly embarissing. The women, on the other hand, had all but said she had a young child. Rangar had always been good at reading people, and this lady was no exception. But she wanted to come, and he didn't know anything about healing.
Turthol sat down next him and muttered, "Take the child, I have my doubts about the women from Gondor." "You have doubts about anyone from Gondor." Rangar countered. "To true. And I don't like the mother." "You figured it out too?" "It's not prudent to live a child behind." "And yet you tell me to take the boy" It was odd. The internal struggles Rangar fought with himself,save the ones about his memory, could just as easily be fought out with Turthol. He was indeed a marvolous friend. "You already took the boy." said Turthol, finishing his thought. "Fine then, they both can come. You're no healer." The hooded man sitting next to him looked as though he was about to say something rude, but Rangar beat him to speach,

"Of course you may come, anyone else?"

[ April 26, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Everdawn]

Énien shot a sideways galnce at the forming party and spoke to Rangar. "Your going to Harad? Yes, there is a seer there..." She paused thinking.

"It is far, and there are many enemies along the road." Énien frowned.
"Many of these I know too well..." she trailed off. "My name is Énien, though I am known in many places as Daetheas. I am of the elven kindred in Rivendell. I have seen almost every corner of this land."

Énien sat up straight. "yes... I will come with you. What i can offer you is keen sight, hearing and essence of mind. I am the sharpest shooter around for miles. And I can keep you and the rest safe."

Énien walked over and stood in front of Rangar. "well?" she said laying her hand on the table. "will you protect yourself by taking me, or will you make your death certain by choosing the fools option of letting me go on my way?"

[piosenniel]

The Evenstar's post:

Aerin had never ventured from her home-country, Rohan, before. She had been exhausted after the long and strenuous journey from Rohan to the small village of Bree.

Aerin’s silver sword, Nauruin, clattered at her side as she walked through the cobbled streets of Bree. It was all very strange to her, since she had never seen another city or town before
.
She fingered the precious sword hanging from a belt at her side. The sides and handle were chipped. When Aerin’s mother had been attacked by Orcs three years ago, Aerin and her father had rushed to her rescue. In the end, Aerin lost her mother and her sword had been chipped by brutal Orkish blades.

She pushed her dark hair from her eyes and spotted a signpost that read: Blacksmith.

Aerin smiled to herself and walked towards the old, ramshackle building from where she could hear clattering and banging. She pushed open the door and it squeaked on its hinges. A fairly old man sat at a blacksmith fire, He was holding what looked like a shield on a pair of tongs and he was wielding it in the flames.

“Pardon me, sir,” said Aerin quietly. The man looked up and smiled.

“What can I do fer yer, Miss?” he asked. Aerin pulled the sword from its sheath and gave it to him.

“Hmmm, a fine sword this here is,” he said. “But ‘tis not of Breeish blacksmiths. Do yer live in Bree, then?”

Aerin shook her head. “Rohan,” she said.

“Rohan, eh?” said the man, adding more fuel to the fire. “Many a tale ‘ave I heard from Rohan, but never ‘ave I been there.” He held up the sword and inspected the damage once more. “I can do this fer yer, but ‘twill be a bit pricey.”

Aerin dug in her pockets. “I have money,” she said, holding out three copper coins. The blacksmith sighed. “I’m afraid it’s a lot more than that, Miss, he said. But then he exclaimed, “You’re one of the company setting out from the Prancin’ Pony!” Aerin nodded.

“My son Tareth is goin’ too. Me wife en I are not too pleased, though. But since you seem like a bold young ‘un, I’m goin’ to let yer off free of charge,” said the blacksmith.

Aerin couldn’t believe her good fortune. “Thank you kindly, sir. You don’t know how much this means to me,” said she.

The blacksmith smiled again. “Oh, I think I do, Miss. I think I do. Come back t’night and it’ll be ready fer yer.”

After bidding him goodbye, Aerin left the blacksmith’s cottage and disappeared into the Prancing Pony for a mug of warm tea .

[ April 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Arvedui III]

Rangar looked the elf in the eye. Another surprise, he'd never had any dealings with elves in his life, well, at least none he could remember. And now one wanted to join him. She seems so sure of herself, he thought."You're an arrogant one, elf." He said, waiting to see what happened next. And, as he spoke,he could see her eyes fill with contempt. "Do not mistake arrogance for confidence, young man." He noted how the elf lingered upon the word young. In that moment he reliezed his stupidity. That one's probably a 1000 years old! Someone with that kind of age and experience had the right to be arrogant, or confindent, or whatever he decided. Here was one who could help. "Well spoken." he said, "If you wish to come, I certainly won't deny you the chance, but do not think so lightly of men. My name is Rangar." He said, and extended his hand. She nodded curtly, but made no reply and went back to wherever she had been sitting. Rangar sighed. "Anyone else?" he asked again, wondering what new creatures would step forward.

[maikafanawen]

Wren smirked as the elf Einen took her seat. Why in the world did Rangar let her come? ‘Will you protect yourself by taking me, or will you make your death certain by choosing the fools option of letting me go on my way?’ Ha! Elf or no, she’s going to be an interesting companion. Wren got up and walked over to the counter, setting down her tankard for Butterbur to refill.

“Arrogant, that one,” said Wren a bit loudly to the innkeeper, nodding to the elf. Butterbur didn’t look, but instead whispered back.

“I wouldn’t choose one of their kind as an enemy. Distrustful folk they are. Keep your wits about you, and don’t let them see through you.” Wren guffawed.

“I’m sure. ‘Best shooter around for miles’,” Wren shivered. If there are any kinds of people that I can’t abide, it’s ignorant people, she took one more glance at the elf Enien, [/I]And arrogant people[/I]. She paid for her second drink and then retired to her room to pack her things up.

Discarding her skirt and blouse, she donned her traveling clothes of a white swordswoman’s shirt and a kelly green jerkin. Her pants were snug and appropriate for riding horses. But I don’t have a horse anymore, she thought regretfully. She decided to put on a pair of stockings as well to keep her feet warm should it rain. Then she pulled on her boots. Wren stood and took an approving look in the mirror, and rearranged her richly curled blond hair. She was indeed elegant looking even in a foggy mirror of an inn wearing clothes fit for a three-hour trail ride. Breathing deep, she gathered her things.

She had one good leather pack that held her change of clothes and some provisions. Three leather pouches hung from her belt. The first contained money, and the second held a few personal items such as jewelry and miniatures. The third held a whistle, a nocturnal dial, and flint stones. Tying her belt around her waist, she attached her frog that held her simple (but useful) sword. Wren didn’t have much for a long walking journey such as the one she had decided on going. On her way up she had a horse and a guide. Now, she had no horse, and was the guide. She laughed at the irony of the situation and left the room.

The common room was noisy again and most of the people who had decided on going were gathered around Rangar. Wren looked them over. It was a very colorful group: Rangar, A man and woman from Bree, two women from Rohan, a scholar from Arnor, a ranger, and an arrogant elf. Wren rolled her eyes. What have I gotten myself into?

[Durelin]

Tareth had only stuck his head in his father, Huneth's shop to tell him that he had found his way to travel. He had talked of seeing the world countless times with his parents, but they never had taken him seriously. He had expected surprise, but not this.

He was seated at the table in his mother's kitchen, in their house above the shop, on the long wooden bench he had built himself. His mother was more than a bit surprised. She squabbled - as Tareth heard it - on and on about dangers, leaving his father alone with the work in the shop, and she had to bring up marriage.

"Why can't you be satisfied with the good life I and your father have worked so hard to give you? Why can't you just settle down with a nice young girl and take over the shop? That's what you need. A wife. One that's strong enough to settle you down. To housebreak you!" His mother, Tari was her name, finally paused for a moment, catching her breath. She was fuming. Her face was bright red and she had her hands on her hips. This was not mock severity like with Egwene, this was true outrage. But, Tareth had lived with her for too many years in his mind, and he could pick her up, kicking and screaming, and lock her in her cellar so he could escape. He could, but he wouldn't. Instead he stared at the table top, trailing his finger along the age lines in the wood. Taria stared down at him, eyes squinting in anger, lips pursed. It seemed she always had him sit for these types of discussions, probably so she could achieve looking down at him.

"Are you even listening to a word I am saying? Look me in the eye boy!" Tareth obeyed, if reluctantly, and stared at her with a bland expression, which only made her angrier. "You give me one good reason why you should go on this...this..." she stuttered in disgust, trying to find a nasty word for the journey. She failed. "quest. Quest? Who are you to think you can go on a quest? What is even the point? It's a walk in the woods boy, except you have much more of a chance of getting killed!"

Tareth smiled. "Well, mother," he said, emphasizing the word, mocking her. "I can give you two good reasons. One, I am a grown man and can decide on my life by myself." Taria opened her mouth to protest but he quickly silenced her, his words cutting out anything she was going to say like a knife. "If I am old enough to marry, I am old enough to live as a man." He paused, staring at her defiantly. "Second," he began more calmly, "I have always wanted to do this, you know that ma." He hoped calling her by the familiar name from her children would make her a bit happier. "I am going to go. You can't do a thing to stop me. I will come back, and then you can talk about marriage all you want."

It had to work. He had never let her say anything on that subject, running out the door as soon as he heard the word. Now he promised she could talk about it, scheme about it all she wanted. But, just as she couldn't keep him from staying in Bree, she couldn't force him to marry anyone. She wouldn't think of that, though. "I suppose you are a man. And you've grown so-" He cut her off with a sharp, "Ma!"

"I'm sorry, Tareth, I know." Finally she smiled, her eyes twinkling. "I'll be waiting when you get back. Maybe even with your wife." He winced and she grinned wider. "I'll miss you, but...well, I do want you to do what you want."

"Ma, I promise, when I get back, I'll take over the shop, live here, everything." He left out marriage on purpose, he still was sure he could avoid it. Somehow. "Now, I've got to go."

"Oh, but you need to take some food with you!" she cried, rushing to her cupboards, then down to the cellar. He waited patiently and gathered up his things. A pack with rope, a pouch of water, and his hunting knife. His bow was ready to be hung across his back and he wore his old brown cloak. When his mother returned with food wrapped in an old shirt he didn't bother to see what she had given him, but immediately stuck it in the pack. After goodbyes leaving his mother crying, he strolled down the stairs into the familiar heat and smells of a blacksmith's shop.

He found his father forging a shield. "Ah, Tareth. I see yer all ready to go. You take care of that there axe, ya hear!" He smiled, much like his wife, and looked Tareth in the eye. "You take care of yerself." Tareth was surprised, his father didn't question his leaving at all. "But, da...you're okay with me going?"

"Well," he began, his smile growing, "I think if you got past yer old ma, I'd think you'd be having a right to go." He chuckled, putting down the shield for a moment. "I'll see ya when ya get back, and then ya can work the shop yerself." He rose, hugging him goodbye and then patting his shoulder said, "You can't get away from this place as hard as ya try. You'll be back."

"I know," Tareth replied, "I know. I will be back." Still grinning, Huneth went back to his work, he was just about done. "This here is fer ya. I thought ya'd like it. And need it someday. It looks like ya will now, huh." Handing over the shield, Huneth smiled at Tareth staring in amazement. "Th-thanks. I will need it." He grinned and hugged his father again, not caring how old he was. "I will miss you. But I will be back with a hammer in my hand before you can miss me! I promise!"

Tareth felt good. His goodbyes were over and excitement lay ahead. But, he had to remember, there was also danger. Too much, as he would soon find out. He decided it was time to got back to the inn. He'd say goodbye to Egwene and Bode, and have one last tankard. Then he'd see about these people he was traveling with. He had the feeling they wouldn't have a lot in common with him. But, he always had bad feelings. How bad can they be? As in if answer, thoughts bubbled up into his head, A lot. They are probably all from Rohan and Gondor, and warriors at that! You're a blacksmith from a boring little town called Bree, and you're going to the Harad! "Yes I am," he said out loud.

[ April 27, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[The X Phial]

Bregand hesistated once again over his bag. No matter how often he packed it not everything fit. He had offered the use of his horse as a pack animal to the travellers and been immediately thanked. The horse could only carry so much, however, and that meant weeding out the unimportant things from his bags. So far he had already cut 4 ink stones (leaving him with only 2), all but one of his quills, all of his clothing save his official messenger's tunic and what he could wear, his art supplies (he still didn't know why his mother had insisted he bring them), and 3 of his least valuable maps. The main problem was that his many maps were too important (at least to him) to be left in Bree, despite the assurances of the landlord that all would be kept for him "as is." How could he explain that the scrolls had been entrusted to him?

He resovled himself to simply bringing all of the truly valuable scrolls, it was his horse afterall, and he was entitled to a bit of room for personal belongings. Besides, he would carry the most precious of them in his own pack. He had already added his food stores to those of the group, so all that remained was his essential equipment, and his father's sword. He had never walked for a very long distance carrying a sword and he was a little worried about the weight, but he had seen that the others all carried weapons and he was not going to be a burden if he could help it.

Despite his lingering, Bregand found that he was one of the first back with his gear. He handed off the items he would return for to a dimpled barmaid, nearly as young as himself, maybe even younger. He was startled when she winked at him and felt himself give a half smile in return. Girls never winked at serious Bregand at home, maybe things were different for adventurers.

[ April 27, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir swung down off his horse. He was tired. Two weeks out of Rivendell, and he had ridden hard. He should arrive in Bree within a week, and from there... who knew?

Despite his tiredness the Elf was content. He'd ridden fast, yes, but his senses were alert, he saw the birds, smelled the air, drank from streams as he passed. Working quickly he set up a campsite, and taking a small brush from his saddlebags he cleaned the mud off his horse's legs.

When he finished with his work, Calimir settled down beside his small fire. The sun had just gone down and the western sky was still faintly pink above the hills, but Calimir faced east. As he sat he sang softly to himself.

The seasons fall like silver swords
the years rush ever onward
and soon I sail, to leave the world
the lands where I have wandered
O Elbereth, the queen, who dwells
across the western sea
spare me yet a little time
Ere white ships come for me...

Humming still softly under his breath, Calimir settled down beside his fire, sleeping with open eyes, lest danger stir in the night.

[Earendil Halfelven]

He sighed heavily. Rangar's spur of the moment journey was turning into a jumbled mess. Turthôl figured that if Rangar wanted to go to Harad and see this Seer, why not just the two of them go? It would be easier and faster. Now, they were going to be hampered down by this bunch of people who thought that they could handle this. To them, this seemed like a walk-they would go to Harad, see the Seer, than walk back, and that would be it. No, they were going to find out that hard way. They would see that this would be a hard journey, one that they could die by starvation, exposure, or orcs.
There were still many orcs wandering the wilds of Middle-Earth. Oh well, if they want to take this chance, then let them. He decided that he wouldn't be mean to them. On this journey, they would need him and Rangar's experience in the wild to get them through this. Despite Rangar's amnesia, the man was almost as good as a Dúnedain. He had already earned the title "Ranger," at least in Turthôl's eyes.

He saw that a boy, who claimed that he was a master of lore and geography, wanted to go. Then, to add to that, a lady, who Turthôl could tell had a child, wanted to come to, claiming that she was a nurse. For some reason, he had no reason for the boy to not come but the lady, he was't so sure about. He went and sat down next Rangar and muttered, "Take the child, I have my doubts about the women from Gondor."

"You have doubts about anyone from Gondor." Rangar countered.

"Too true. And I don't like the mother."

"You figured it out too?"

"It's not prudent to live a child behind."

"And yet you tell me to take the boy?"

"You already took the boy." said Turthol, finishing his thought.

"Fine then, they both can come. You're no healer." Turthôl was about to say something, like, I'm a Ranger, of course I can heal, but Rangar said first, "Of course you may come, anyone else?"

Turthôl sighed again and said to Rangar, "Oh well, its your journey. At least you have me." There was a little sarcasm in that last bit as Turthôl chuckled to himself. He lifted the mug to his mouth...but it was empty.

"I can't believe you've accepted a noblewoman from Gondor." he said to Rangar.

"Well, whats wrong with that?" Rangar replied.

"You know what how its going to turn out. Its going to be just like that time we helped that rich caravan from Lond Daer find their way to Fornost. Do you remember that? A one week journey turned into three weeks and they expected us to wait on them hand and foot. I was tempted to abandon them in the Barrow-Downs. Lucky for them that you stopped me."

"Yes, I remember. But this is just one woman, and she seems to be alone. I don't think she's going expect us to be her servants. If she can get up to Bree from Gondor, than I think she knows how to take care of herself. Does her having to be from Gondor have anything to do with this conversation?"

Turthôl didn't answer. Instead, he rose to go refill his mug at the counter.

Ranger said,"Not all Gondorians will betray you. Not everything is as it seems."

"Exactly, not everything is as it seems," Turthôl replied. "Just be careful who you accept on this journey, my friend."

Memories of long ago suddenly returned to him. Memories of a company attacked by orcs...of the traitor from Gondor...
He just hoped that it wouldn't happen again.

He returned from having his mug filled. Looking up at whoever else would volunteer, he sat next to Rangar and drank deeply.

[Everdawn]

Énien sat at the bar with a small smile on her fair but wiery face.. "Now we shall see star, im going to the seer." she spoke softly in her elven tongue to herself. She glanced at the Noblewoman from Gondor. "Yes, I will be an interesting companion" she said again to herself in elvish.

She looked at the rest of the party and thought... 'The woman with the child, Yes, that could be a problem. The boy too, may need a little guidance, though, he may know about us, the fair race. Yes perhaps I will show him a thing or two they dont teach in Gondor.

Then there is Turthol. A ranger I suppose. He will not be a problem, he knows what he is doing. I see he also is wary of Gondor'. She dwelled on this thought for some while. Énien now gathered up her belongings, a small bag, a dagger, her bow and arrow quiver.

She walked over to where Rangar was seated. She placed a large bag of gold on the table in front of him. "If you choose to travel on horseback, i have gold enough to buy horses for everyone. If you want to travel on foot, i would suggest a pack horse at least. I doubt some of the others can carry their bags for the whole distance without becoming tired."

[Arvedui III]

Rangar raised an eyebrow at the elf. Once again her arrogance was coming out. She was well off enough to have money for all the company, and hinted at what she thought was their inability to trek. This annoyed him. He didn't have horse, nor had he ever thought of buying one. This would just be a walk, or so he planed. No, he wouldn't let the elf feel as though she owned his respect and gratitude. She would have to earn it. "To each his own." He said, "Keep your gold."

The elf's eyes narrowed, and she began to speak again, "You are unwise," "But that doesn't mean that I'm wrong." He countered. "I need no gold. However," He said, looking in the direction of those others who wanted to come, "You may make the same offer to anyone else." He didn't like this, this planning in full public scrutiny. Most has gone back to drinking, but a few men were still sniggering and jeering. Turthol was now, at least in his opinion, throughly drunk. "Come on." He muttered to his friend, and got up. "Leaving already?" Said Turthol, slowly rising from his chair. Rangar went outside, and headed, well, his feet were taking him to wherever that place was. As he walked, taking in the cool night air, he noted that all those who were to come with him followed.

[ April 28, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Eruwen]

Rave kept her eye on Ranger as he disputed with the Elf and a few others at his table. She had already gathered what few belonging she owned, and had tied up her horse outside the inn. At the sight of his departure, she followed on foot leading her horse for some part of the way. Alongside many others, she followed this man into the wild.

After a while of journeying, she decided to join a few of the travellers on horseback. She looked over to the Elf whom she had seen talking to Ranger before. She had been riding the whole time. Rave brought her horse over to the Elf and rode in peace for a small amount of time. Eventually, she spoke up.

"You seem pretty sure of yourself infront of him." Rave said to the Elf secretly pointing towards Ranger. "Where are you from...Lothlorien? Rivendell?...an Elf of your class would hardly seem to belong to any other land."

[Everdawn]

Énien sat tall in the saddle of the colossal black horse she had equired before leaving Bree. She looked over at Rave who had ridden up beside her.

She answered the woman's question. "If it is that I seem so sure of myself around him, it is because I know this part of the world well. There are many dangerous things here. My own brother was slain by orcs near these very trails-" her voice cut off.

"Rivendell. That is my home. Though it has been many months since I have been home."
Énien gave a slight smile. "I am Énien, what name is it that you go by?"

Énien slowed her horse even more. She thought to herself. "I feel something coming" she looked uneasy, but still managed to keep her thoughts to herself.

[Arvedui III]

Rangar suddenly stopped just outside of Bree, and felt Turthol stagger into him. "What's up" He muttered. "Dunno." Said Rangar, looking intently through the darkness. Then, he shook his head in spite of himself. A great dark hill lay quietly in front of him,the hill.
Sitting down on a stump, Rangar looked on the company. A proud elf and Roherrim maid, the Gondorian noblewomen, the boy scholar, the smith, the nurse-mother, and Turthol all looked back at him. He sat bewildered at what to do for a moment, the thought it best to speak, "Erm, well. I guess we should probably put some planning into this. How are you all fixed for supplies?" The response wasn't good at all. Most had just basic gear, and the smith and nurse had none at all. On top of that, save the noblewomen and the elf, no money either.

He sighed, "Well, why don't you, um Wren, isn't it? Go with Turthol here, and get some supplies that'll last us until we get to the next big city, and maybe a pack mule, if you have the chance."The Gondorian looked doubtfully both at Rangar and the still half drunk man sitting next to him, while Turthol muttered, his voice full of resentment, "You did that on purpose." Rangar grinned, "Be careful who you trust, remember? I'm making you keep an eye on her." And then he shoved the ranger to his feet. "One question," said the Gondorian women, now eyeing Turthol with blatant dislike."How, exactly will we be getting to Harad?" "Um, dunno. I guess we'll just take the roads until we get to Ithilien, and then we'll see from there." He said smiling, "You're the guide, aren't you?" "Well," she said stuttering, "Well yes. But still, won't that mean passing through the Misty Mountains? And, and passing through Anorin, which still isn't safe, and" She looked to find more examples of possibly dangerous roads. "Yes, yes it does." Rangar answered, still smiling.

So the Gondorian isn't as bold as she makes out to be. Nice to know that some people are human. He thought, and without prompting turned to the elf. Then the boy who was also a guide, stepped forward,"Um, well, most of the roads are reliable, and I have several maps that will help." He looked like he wanted to say more, but under the gaze of the other companions the boy stopped. Rangar knew how he felt. "Good." Said Rangar. "We'll wait here for the supplies, and then, I guess we'll start."

[Eruwen]

"I'm Rave," she replied to Énien, the Elf maiden. Rave watched her closely as it seemed something was drawing her attention away. "Are you alright?" she asked the Elf.

Énien nodded, but did not outwardly answer. She kept her eyes on the road trying to secretly scan their surroundings. As they took a short rest while waiting for supplies, Rave looked over the travellers. Énien was tending to her horse while others took care of their own belongings.

Many different people here, she thought. Men and Elves of many different lands and also, it seems, completely different personalities. Strange we would all be in the same inn at the same time agreeing to go on the same journey. How very odd...

Rave looked over at Ranger who was talking to a man, probably a friend, beside him. A few others were over there, but mainly just the guides. And him... she thought looking at Ranger now out of the corner of her eye. He is so mysterious and yet he almost looks as if he is not sure of his own ways. What is the secret behind this man? Could he be hiding something? And his friend...the other man who appears to be...drunk? Why is he so untrusting to those around him?

Rave sat not only wondering about the leaders of this journey but also many others in the group. After all, this was an interesting group of people to begin with. She talked to no one for quite some time, but just sat solemly letting her thoughts drown out the world around her.

[Everdawn]

Énien looked at Rangar. "Passing through elven realms? Perhaps that would be safest. Although I can not be sure."

She glanced out into the darkness once more with a worried galnce on her face. She looked At Bregand. "How reliable? I think we need to be certain."

[maikafanawen]

Turthold staggered forward a bit then stabled. HE didn’t appear too drunk, but he obviously had his share of ale. She dumped the contents of her money pouch into her hand. It was a good amount and she could get what was needed easily, and hopefully for a good price.

“I have a pack-horse remember,” informed Bregand before she started off. Absently counting her change she nodded and continued walking. Enough, she decided, just enough. She put the money back into her its pocket and clasped it shut.

“So,” she said to Turthol, who seemed to be recovering quickly from the beer. “What all do you think we should pick up.” He glanced sideways at her and shrugged, not wanting to start a conversation.

“Stuff we need,” he said curtly.

“Like—”

“Look, I’ll pick it up since I know what it is, and you just pay for it okay? I see you have enough.” She stopped and pulled him around to face her.

“Here now! I’m a part of the company too so you mind how you treat me. I’m not beneath you.” Turthol snickered silently and continued walking, shrugging off the place where she had grabbed him.

“Oh no,” she said following him, “don’t leave me. Tell me exactly what we need and I’ll give my opin—”

“I don’t want your opinion. What do you know about journeys?” Wren opened her mouth to answer but didn’t know what to say. She thought for a minute and replied,

“Well then teach me what you know.”

“Ha! You just watch and be quiet. You should learn enough.” Wren scowled and reluctantly followed the ranger to the first shop.

[Arvedui III]

Rangar chuckled silently to himself as he watched his friend and the Gondorian women walking back to Bree. They were already fighting. It had been an accident, paring Turthol with that Gondorian, Wren. He did it unconsciously, but it was a very funny accident, none the less. Bregand, the other guide was talking to the elf about the reliability of the roads. "There are still orcs, but there are also patrols," "Which are unreliable." Countered Rangar. "Then we should travel through the elvish lands." "Fine, but not all lands belong to the elves, we will have to take some roads or go through the wild." "Which would be faster." Bregand finished. " The roads don't really get dodgy until you cross the misty mountains." Said Rangar, "We'll figure out what road to take when we get there."" Um, but isn't better to have a plan" said the Roherrim maiden, Ravenne, stepping forward. "Not really."

Rangar didn't much feel like planing this too throughly, because when the plan is screwed up, the whole endeavor comes to pieces, and he knew that all to well. Suddenly, the whole group turned to the right, as a small shadowy figure rose above hilly landscape, coming toward them. Rangar stared wildly for a moment, then recovering his wits, joined the others in drawing his sword.

[ April 30, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Earendil Halfelven]

Turthôl trudged through Bree with Wren following behind him. He didn't understand this lady. Just because she has a lot of money (probably her parents money too) doesn't mean that she gets special privileges, especially out here in the wild. But he did feel a little guilty of the way he had just treated her. Did she know anything about traveling, at all? Despite his distrust of her, he felt that he should make amends for how he had been. After all, it wasn't like he didn't like her, or anyone at all in the company for that matter. There was just no trust, yet.

The street was crowded, pretty crowded for being late in the evening. He headed for the Dry Goods shop. Dried fruit and dried meats is what they would need. For other things, like fresh meat and veggies, they would need to find that in the forest, which would be no problem for the Dúnedain.

Teach me what you know, she had said. If she knew, she wouldn't want to learn, he thought. He turned and said to Wren, "I'm sorry for the way I've treated you. It's not that I don't like you, or anyone else in the company. It's just that I don't trust anyone until they've proven themselves. Past experience has taught me that lesson...a lesson I can't teach you..."

Wren had a look on her face-a mix between curiousity and surprise. Before she could say anything in response, Turthôl turned and said, "Come, the Dry Goods shop is our first stop."

"Well, who do you trust then?" she called after him.

"The Elves and my brethren, the Dúnedain." He didn't feel like saying anything more.
____________________________________________

They left the shop with a sack slung over Turthôl's shoulder. Wren was counting what money she had left.

“I think we need to…” Wren began but Turthôl walked off down the street. “Where are you going?” she demanded.

“Medical supplies is what we need next. I have enough knowledge to find healing herbs and plants, but we are going to need bandages.” He said as he walked off.
Wren went after him.

“Don’t you even care about my opinion? This is my money after all,” she said.

Turthôl turned. “I’m sorry, my lady,” he said with some sarcasm. “What do you think we need to buy next?”

“Um…well, since we’re already on our way to buy some bandages, we might as well go get those.” Wren said with a sigh.

“As you wish, my lady,” Turthôl said.

“Oh, can you stop that? I just want to be treated like an equal.” She said exasperated.

“As you wish…my lady.” Turthôl said laughing. He began to walk off again.

“You know, your nothing like the Rangers of Ithilien. They would never act like this. They are a noble breed of Men.” Wren said.

“Hey, I know some of them. I have a cousin who lives near Osgiliath. Since he’s a Ranger, you might know him. He’s name is…”

“Oh, shut up! Never mind.”

Turthôl laughed quietly to himself. If it was this easy to upset the Gondor woman, than this trip wasn’t going to be so bad. At least, he’d have a few laughs along the way.

A few hours later, they left Bree on their way back to the company.

[The X Phial]

Bregand was enjoying discussing the possible routes with the elf, Enien. As much as he has studied it was rare to get to talk over the lay of the land with an actual elf. He had overheard her speaking of being from Rivendell, a place he desperately wanted to visit before all of the elven folk journeyed to the West.

"Obviously," he continued, "the fastest road to Harad would be to take the Greenway south. It's a very straighforward path until you reach the ford of the Gwanthlo River. From there we can decide whether to stay on the South road through the Gap of Rohan or to cross the Misty Mountains. I would suggest crossing, despite the obvious danger, because there are parties of raiding orcs out of the Blue Mountains even as far east as the south road. In fact, we may even run into them before we reach the ford.

"There is a strange legend about the area around the Nin-in Eilph that..."

He was cut off by the elf, "That's quite enough for now, boy."

Bregand cut his story short, abashed. "So sorry, M'am. Look, I think the ranger and the noblewoman are returning. Did they get another horse?"

"That's not the ranger, child, now hush."

Bregand watched Enien's eyes narrow and wondered what might be coming.

[ May 01, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir urged his horse up over the hill. Bree was within striking distance for the day, and soon he'd be taking a hot bath and sleeping in a soft bed. Not that he wanted one so overmuch, he told himself, but it would be nice before he continued onward.

Onward. The word made Calimir hesitate. Where was he going after Bree? He had no clear idea of this, certainly he was not going as far as Bree and then returning to Rivendell, that would be ridiculous. But even as Calimir laughed at the thought he wondered at himself. Why come to Bree in the first place? If the West was where he was putting off going, why not head east? Or south? He thought of Glorenwen with longing, why should he not go back? He'd been out of Rivendell long enough for anyone's farewell tour. He set his mouth, he'd delayed long enough. If he found nothing in Bree he'd return, be responsible.

As his horse crested the long hill Calimir was startled out of his thoughts, his sharp eyesight could pick out the narrowed eyes of a small group of men standing on the side of the hill. A few of them had weapons drawn. Slowing his horse to a halt Calimir dismounted and walked toward them slowly.

As he got closer he recognized a face he knew, or at least, he thought he knew. "Enien?" he asked hesitantly. Still a long way from the group he wondered if she'd been able to hear him. It seemed she had heard him, though, for she pushed her way to the front of the group, squinting at his face in the sharp light.

"Calimir!" she exclaimed, when she recognized him. "Why do you wander so far from Rivendell?" she asked, a smile spreading across her face.

"Enien, well met." he greeted her. The two stood a bit apart from the larger group, and Calimir spoke in a low voice. "I might ask why you travel with these..." he cast a wary eye toward the several drawn swords in the company, "but I will tell you, I travel to Bree tonight. Where do you go, my friend? You are packed for a journey..." his gaze travelled across her sturdy clothes and the packs on the one horse in the group. A long journey, he supposed. The longing grew in his heart once more... a long journey.

[ May 01, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Everdawn]

Énien stared into the darkenss. She was certain of it now, something was there. It had not been her imagination. Bregand started to speak to her again, but she stopped him by putting up her hand. Énien narrowed her eyes even more into the darkness trying to get a better look at the figure on the horse and frowned.

"Here, take my horse, get off the path" she said sternly to the Nurse. She drew out her Bow and fitted an arrow to the string. "Ready your sword boy, stay here." And unseen she stalked up the path in the darkness.

The others were now a small distance behind her. The figure was approaching. Slowly she pulled back on the string, and held fast on the side of the track. She stopped. It was an elf! and not any elf, but one of her own kindred, Calimir!

Énien lowered her bow. And the two spoke. "I am travelling with these people, they are going to Harad, old friend. And my birth star has returned." she said pointing ot the sky. "That is why i am going." She spoke to him in elvish.

"who knows what they would get into without an elf. Though there are rangers among them... and a mother, and a boy, and a blacksmith, and a gondor noblewoman." She spoke still in elvish.

Énien turned to the drawn swords. "It is Calimir! put down your swords!" She frowned. And said in common speech to Calimir. "It is good to see you friend."

[ May 01, 2003: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Arien]

Carmalita sighed as she pulled the she- elf’s horse off the path.

“Ok, ok, calm down….” she said, but she didn’t think the elf had heard her.

There was no need to speak to her so roughly, she could have asked kindly it wouldn't have killed her. She now held tightly on to the horse along with her own. Maybe it was not such a good idea to come. She kept getting suspicious looks from some of the company as if the knew something about her and she did not like it. She adjusted the strap of her bag as she allowed the two horses to graze at the side of the road. Carmalita had packed all she needed to take. Her medicines, her sword was at her side and her daggers beneath her clothes. She had remembered as she left the house what her mother had said to her.

“Why are you taking weapons, you only go to collect supplies!” she had smiled and looked straight into Carnalita’s eyes. She had a strange feeling that her mother knew what was going on.

“I have to be safe, take good care of Crystal for me, won’t you mother?” her eyes no flickered to the ground, her face covered in guilt.

“Yes, yes of course,” she said as Carmalita walked out of the door. They embraced and then Carmalita had made her way down to where the company were to meet.

Now they were on their way and it seemed as though a new member was just about to join their company. The two elves conversed in elvish, and then Énien commanded the rest of them to lower their swords. Who was she to say that? Carmalita stared at the new elf as he talked to Énien, she then looked around the rest of the company. The boy, Bregand was standing a little way behind her, and behind him stood Wren and the drunk man, she had forgotten his name but it didn’t matter. She stared at the rest of the company as they patiently waited for the two to finish.

[Durelin]

Tareth sat in his saddle, staring at the ground as it passed by under his horse's hooves. Why were there so many women on a dangerous journey? He just didn't understand. And the other you man, Bregand kept talking to the elf about things Tareth was sure he would never understand. There were so many names for places and things, and they differed wherever you went. It seemed Bregand knew them all, at least to Tareth. Tareth rarely learned names and found them unimportant, really. Besides, most were much to hard to say.

The company had had a little excitement from the arrival of another elf. An elf! Tareth couldn't get over the shock. He was travelling with elves! He had always found the race interesting, heard the stories, seen them, but never had he talked to them. Now he might have a chance, but he wasn't sure about this Enien. She had just ordered them to put down their weapons, which the had raised in case this shadow on the hill were a foe. She was always talking as if she controlled the world. She was over confident, truly, but Tareth cursed himself for almost wanting her to get in trouble because of it.

Now they talked in elvish, a beautiful language, but annoying to Tareth at this point. He hated not understanding what they were saying, and the two didn't seem to care that there were other people there, including the leader of the company. Well, Enien didn't seem to. Tareth wanted to keep moving, he wanted to have something to keep his mind off home and what lay ahead. Maybe he could talk to someone, maybe Bregand would not mind a lighter conversation than the one he had had with Enien. Well, now wasn't exactly the best time. Tareth wasn't sure if he liked elves as much as before. He felt they were far better in the stories and when looked upon from afar!

[The Evenstar]

Aerin saw the annoyed look on Tareth's face as he rode along the road on his horse.
She nudged her horse alongside Tareth.
"Why the long face?" she asked.
"Too many elves. Too many women," he muttered.
Aerin frowned.
"What's wrong with that?" she asked, rather puzzled. "Women not strong enough?"
"Yes. The journey is much too perilious for a woman, he answered.
Aerin shook here head and said:
"You just might be wrong there, sir. Why, I've seen women do great things in my country. There was Throgian. She was a courageous woman in my village. She..."
Aerin chattered away about tales of bold and fearless women of Rohan and although Tareth was a little bored by them, he listened and it eased his mind a little.
After a while the company stopped at a little clearing and built a fire to rest at. The elves chanted soft songs from Rivendell and the crickets and frogs chirped nearby.

[The X Phial]

Bregand finished unpacking his horse for the night and stood for a moment brushing its flanks. He had been thrilled by the appearance of another elf and shocked by the apparent resolve to join the journey.

From the corner of his eye he saw that the noblewoman was erecting a tent. It was a brightly colored one, more suited for a party than a serious journey. He made a note to mention possibly finding a way to camoflauge the fabric. For tonight they were safe, but the road ahead seemed newly uncertain to his young eyes. He wanted to discuss this with the elves, but they were alternatiovely singing and talking softly to each other.

Bregand made his way over to the fire where the blacksmith, the nurse, and the woman named Rave were mixing up some kind of stew. These were the types of people he always felt inferior around.

He searched his mind for something to say, and finally managed a, "It's a good night for starting a journey. This day used to be a feast day in Arnor before the days of darkness, a time for celebrating friendships."

Bregand felt the eyes of the people on him and blushed a bit. He felt awkward for having spoken about friendship when he was a stranger to the entire company. To his surprise the blacksmith smiled broadly at him and laughed.

"Yes," he chuckled, "I think this is a fine day to celebrate friendships, even if they haven't been formed yet."

Bregand smiled back, flushed at his social success.

"Well," he said, "it looks like we will have a sort of feast at any rate. The stew smells quite good. I think I will see if the lady from Gondor needs a hand with her tent. Maybe I can convince her to rub some ash on it or something."

"Good luck."

Bregand turned to see which of the women had spoken, but he couldn't tell. Unsure whether the mocking tone was meant for him or for Wren, he backed away from the fire and tripped over his own bag.

[ May 01, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]