Bloodstained Elanor Planning/Discussion Thread

[Amanaduial the archer]

Oro, your PM box is full - please clear some space so I can send you a PM about the matter of Herding and my characters!

EDIT: I have brought in the elves - Let the battle begin!

[Orofaniel]

Sorry Aman. It's emptied now.

I've put up a save in the meantime.

**

I'm afraid I won't be much online this week. But if you could set up saves for me, it ould be great.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The battle between Thrak and Ambarturion is over. . .I hope satisfactorily to all involved.

I hope that there will still be time for final posts to wrap up the game! I don't want to leave Ambarturion just sitting there with no hand!!

[Kransha]

Ah, at last the villain gets his just desserts. Fordim, (as usual) great post, and that's an understatement. I'm Thrakmazh could kick the bucket with your literary flourish aiding him into the afterlife.

As my character is...erm...dead, this will be my last post. I am going to add a paragraph to my RPG Thread post after Oro has posted, which will contain the now-unfortunately-deceased Thrakmazh contemplated Herding's words and the miserable failure of his wonderful plan. But, that's still irrelevant, since he's dead, and I have a tendency to repeat my self. But, he had a good, or should I say bad, run, and even though he snuffed it in the end, it's reassuring to know that he could still get ahead in life...Get it? Anyone?

Just so you all know, I think this RPG has gone really well, one of my favorites (but I'm biased). I'm going to miss looking at it everytime I have a free moment (also biased in terms of severe exaggeration).

So long, farewell, auf weiderschen, and all that...

[piosenniel]

The game will be ending tonught, 09/08 - midnight, Pacific Time, U.S.

Please get your final posts on board.

~*~ Pio, Game Moderator

[Orofaniel]

Hi.

1. My save is filled.

2. Another post is up. The battle between Koran and Herding has begun. Aman, would you like to end it? If you want to carry it through what we've been discussion it would be great...If you have another twist it's fine too.

If Herding is to be killed, would it be possible to set up a save for me, just beaneath your post? I'll post it on the discussion thread tomorrow morning, and then your or Pio could paste it for me.

Thanks for a great game people. It's been a pleasure.

See you all again soon in another RPG maybe?


Thanks,
Orofaniel

[Amanaduial the archer]

Muahahaha, twists galore, just call me M. Night Shyamalan...

No, I have restricted us to one twist, and one twist only, lol. Oro, I have posted a save for you - if you would like me to edit my post, say so

[piosenniel]

The game is now closed to posting.

Please place any last communications or requests for edits here on the Discussion Thread.

I'll move both the game and this thread to Elvenhome in 2 days.

~*~ Pio

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

I appologise for my missing the game ending, I hope it's possible to include my final post...Lomarandil's death in the game, If I PM it to you tonight, Pio?

[piosenniel]

Do not PM me the post - place it on the Discussion Thread as I have requested.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Acknowledged

The End of Lomarandil --- POST PLACED ON GAME -- PIO

Lomarandil stood slowly up from Thorvel's side. Anger coursed through his blood in an unstoppable rage as he looked at Thorvel's body. A lump rose in his throat, and tears began to trickle down his cheeks. Drawing his two razor sharp nine inch knives, he ran screaming at the orc force. Anger cloduing his judgement. Calenvasa saw this and cired out to him to stop, but Lomarandil didn't hear. He spun again and again, twirled his knives with awesome precision, killing every orc that came withing three feet of him.

Slowly he weakened though. His attacks slowed, and an easterling managed to penetrate his defences and stab him in the abdomen. lomarandil ripped the knife out and pushed it into the eaterling's throat, but the pain was too great. Slowly, almost poetically, he fell to his knees. Another easterling came up behind him. Lomarandil heard the swish of the blade, he felt it pieces his lung and exit through his chest. He cired out hatred for them.

The Easterling captain just laughed, and pulled his sword out. Lomarandil fell onto his hands, blood slowly pooling around him. As he tried to push himself to his feet he felt a hand grab hold of his hair and jerk it upwards. He was face to face with the easterling, lomarandil saw his arm raise, then he closed his eyes. He felt the pain in his neck only for a moment when it was severed. His mind raced away as soon as he died. Searching for Thorvel. "Lomarandil, over here." he heard Thorvel's voice say and he turned smiling, finding himself in a far green country, under a swift sunrise...

[Orofaniel]

Great ending for the Captains, Aman!

Here is my very last post for this RPG. POSTED TO GAME -- PIO
**********

Herding
It was like a sore throat.

Within minutes he felt the heated blood flowing from his throat. His hand reached the wound.;There was blood all over it. He couldn’t feel much, except for the heath. Slowly, however, the pain increased and he admitted to himself that this was nothing like a sore throat. He knew that this wound would kill him. It was Koran who had hit him in the throat with his sword, just in the moment where Herding thought it was all over; Herding had seen Koran on his knees, believing it was him who was going to die. But he had been wrong, Herding knew that now.

It was not Koran's life that would end this evening, it was his own. He couldn’t understand it, nor would he accept it. He fought bravely against what was coming, but he soon felt death embracing his body and mind; It was about to stop functioning. He felt his legs fail beneath him as he stumbled. He knelt on the ground, Koran still looking at him.

Without the courage to speak, nor listen to the rest of the battles on the battle field, he closed his eyes. It happened so slowly, but yet too quickly. It shouldn't have ended this way, was all Herding could think of. Victory and revenge had been close at hand, but now he had lost it all. Koran had defeated him.

With that thought, he cursed Koran's name one last time before he, unwillingly, rested upon the ground and died. Herding Gratnas had been defeated for the very last time.

*****

Once again, thanks for a wonderful game!

Cheers,
Oro

[Amanaduial the archer]

Pio, could you edit that Oro's post in please? Oro - excellent end to Herding. Ha, good won over evil!...oh wait, Koran's a Southron as well...

Thank you all for the brilliant game - despite the rush at the end, it was consistently a very enjoyable game with some marvellous characters (Ehan, Gromwakh and Snikdul will always be remembered especially in this corner ). Durelin, along with the others who thought up the game especially, I take my hat off to youse all - brilliant.

Thanks.

[Kransha]

One last question. Pio, or anyone in a position to do so, could you remove the little sentance in bold from my last post. I do not believe it can be filled with relevant information before the RPG thread is moved to Elvenhome. Thanks in advance.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Kransha - Sentence in bold removed.

Child

[Alatariel Telemnar]

I can't believe I missed the ending! Bloody hurricanes. *kicks Frances* We were out of power for a bit (okay, more than a bit) so... yes, I kind of... was not here. And I wish I had written a post before the hurricanes came. The discussion thread was s'posed to close today, I think, but is it still possible to get in a last post? *doubts that*

[piosenniel]

I'm still waiting for Durelin's last post for the game.

I'll leave this thread open until tomorrow, noon, Pacific Time - get your post on here by then - I'll place it for you - then the game is definitely heading to Elvenhome.

(glad you survived the weather!!)

~*~ Pio

[Alatariel Telemnar]

(thank'ee! but it wasn't that bad up here... just a tree branch or two fell... so all is fine, for now. )

Finished my last post. I hope it fits... I might have mis-read something. I do that a lot.

Well, I better hurry up and post this before I back out and end up re-writing the whole thing..

-----

An elf made eye contact with Urkrásh, methodically choosing his next victim. Urkrásh then charged at the elf, who dodged the orc-blade. Urkrásh's failed attack was counteracted with a graceful hit. Blind with rage, he charged again. All the thoughts of his previous battle, hatred of elves and trees, and duty to serve the Eye, were thrust into his attempt, his last attempt. An attempt that had failed once more. The experienced elf blocked the second attack and thrust his own sword into Urkrásh's side in one smooth motion, too fast for Urkrásh to do anything.

He clenched at his side, his hands and arms soon covered with blood. Falling to his knees and then over on his side, everything went black. All the orc could hear was a faint cry, ‘Southrons, rally to me!’ He acknowledged that the battle had been lost. But in the very back of his mind, he heard a voice. ‘No loyalty, no devotion, no sense of purpose at all. They probably have no aspirations, no hopes, and I don’t blame ‘em. They’ll never get anywhere, not the way they conduct themselves. You and I, on the other hand, orcs like us are different. And, Urkrásh, if you serve with loyalty and show your mettle for the cause, you’d get somewhere, and any of that lot might too if they did so.’ For a moment, he wondered if he had gotten anywhere. If there was more he could have done.

Those thoughts soon died, as Urkrásh did himself. One body of many uruks and some orcs scattered across the battlefield. Never to be remembered, except as one fighting for evil. One who had been killed by an elf that might live on to tell the story of his victory to his friends. One who had been defeated for the side of good.

[piosenniel]

Alatariel

I tacked yours onto Aylwen's, #148; it went well there.

~*~ Pio

[Durelin]

Here's my post...finally.

___________

Helkaur

The defense of Lorien had marched out upon the army, and their stand broke their enemies, with the unseen aid of the scouts of Mirkwood, and the lost ambassadors of Lorien. The enemy had faltered when the key part of their plan was unsuccessful. Orcs and Men, servants to a cruel master, would not stand long when their attack was met by a defense that was meant to be frail and without a backbone, without the elfin magic that any cruel heart would find impossible to stand against. Their leaders had faltered, knowing that the plan to rid their Master of the great defender of a stronghold of good in this Middle-earth that he would rule. Instead, the Lady Galadriel would depart on a grey ship, into the West, along with the rest of her kind, the last of her kind, the Ringbearers.

This victory reached their hearts even more than any former ones against the forces of Sauron. The defenders of Lorien had never answered such a call as this. Scouts had discovered the body of one of their kindred, a member of the envoy sent to the Woodmen of Mirkwood. Taking this as evidence that the envoy had not reached its destination, Lorien realized it was alone. And alone, Lorien was not slow to answer the call to war.

Helkaur watched his enemies flee from him and his comrades for the second time that day, these survivors of a much smaller number than those who had fled upon the routing of the main force. He cried out with the joy that filled his heart, and thought of his return to his wife, when he would get to see Moraniel smile. He stood among so many dead, and could not help but let his happiness fade, though he did so almost begrudgingly. But he felt his heart grow no heavier, because life was his focus right now. He focused particularly, and almost selfishly, the fact that he lived. He shut his eyes, wishing that that would also shut out the sounds that surrounded him: words of grief, songs of sorrow, and the final whispers of a dying soul manifested in the air, and through those who mourned the dead around him. He wished to get away from them, wished to return to his home and who would greet him there. And so he ran.

They had met the army from Dol Guldur only a few miles from the beginnings of the woods. Lorien had much to thank the Anduin for, it seemed. Without such an obstacle, they would not have had time to make such a stand as they had. Nor, most likely, would the mysterious Ambarturion – a great servant to the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel, who was practically a legendary name to Helkaur – and his companions would not have come in time to ruin the key part to the attack. Time was not something an elf often considered, and it could be frightening, perhaps, how much time could mean. It could have been the undoing of the Lord and Lady of Lorien, thought it had never touched their land.

Soon Helkaur was making his way along familiar paths under familiar boughs, hastened by some need that was even greater than that which had driven him to march in defense of his land. But when he was still nearly a half mile away from the home he so desired to return to for the last time, he was stopped by a young elf woman. She greeted him kindly, and it was only after he returned her greeting that he recognized her. And then he was forced to recall the dead that still lay upon that field he had left behind, as her husband was among them. That elf was not racing home to show his wife that he was alive, and it hurt Helkaur to look into the elf woman’s eyes. He was afraid that she would ask him of her husband, and he did not know what he would say. He certainly did not know how to comfort her, when she would begin to weep in her grief and shock… But she did not ask of her husband.

“Where do you run to, soldier of Lorien?”

“To my home, my lady,” he answered rather curtly, perhaps finding a reason to be annoyed with her for not even asking of her husband, of who she loved.

“Are you not standing within your home?”

Helkaur glanced around him, but his eyes snapped back to the young elf woman as she began to laugh. She laughed surprisingly loudly for one who spoke so softly, though she quieted quickly. “What did you fight for?”

“For Lorien.”

“Not your home?”

“The home of my people.”

The female elf smiled. “And you do not return to your people. Much of your people lie dead outside these woods, others mourn their deaths, outside of these woods.” For a moment, he was afraid she was referring to her husband, but their was no sorrow in her voice, nor did any show in her eyes. So Helkaur spoke boldly.

“I return to my wife, glad that she does not need to mourn me.”

“Then your home is gone.”

“Gone?” Fear was starting to creep up his throat, choking him, while simultaneously growing in sickness in his stomach. His voice was disgustingly empty, void of emotion. His tongue was dry. She spoke without any feeling, as well, and so very quietly. “You answered one call, she answered another.” Fear seized him, and he was frozen. His eyes revealed all that went on inside him, but it seemed she chose simply to ignore what she inevitably saw. Anger rose in him as warm tears stained his face, suppressing the fear and allowing him to speak. “You speak words that make my heart tremble with fear, and you say them as if they were trivial things that should already be known to me. Tell me girl, why do you speak of ‘calls’?”

“Melian has taken the road to the Towers, and then will take the ship across the sea, into the West. It was the call of the gull that she heard.”

He did not want to remain in this girl’s presence. What she said angered him, and he feared that she spoke truth, feared as he never had, never actually fearing his own death. And so he ran again, away from the frightful young elf woman, coming at last to his home in the trees. He climbed up the ancient wonder, the mallorn, and entered his home. He found no one to greet him on the return he had not believed he would make.

~

The End of a Day

A soft murmur of voices was the only sound on the battlefield, sounding a beautiful sorrow amidst a field of death. The immediate celebration as the orcs fled the field had faded when they began taking care of the dead, searching through the bodies, finding familiar faces. A soft chant for all of the dead, a sweet song for those they recognized. All their hearts mourned as one, though their voices were all their own. The gentleness of the air was not broken by any sound. The carrion fowl did not dare come near elves as they mourned their dead.

Calenvása walked through the battlefield, seeing every pale, lifeless face as a familiar one. Only in their eyes did the dead still seem to live, and he looked in to so many eyes that day. He felt that if he looked close enough, he could see their souls taking flight, flying home, free from the confinement of their bodies that had walked on Eä until this day. It was astounding what could occur in one day, how many lives could come to an end in one day, how much a being could see in one day. And there were so many days in the life of an immortal…

Suddenly something made Calenvása look up, and he saw Targil standing before him. The Captain was shocked at what he saw on the elf’s face, in his eyes. His face was hardly recognizable, and there were tears running down it. It was not his face itself, Calenvása soon realized, but how it was set. And it was his eyes. The elf was a perfect model of grief, and it aged him. Targil had wisdom in his eyes, eyes that had seen so much in one day of the immortal life.

The elf led his Captain to the body of Lómarandil, and then to the body of Thorvel. He spoke of Thorvel and Lómarandil’s deaths, and how he had been nearby. He spoke of it as something long passed, an event that was lost somewhere in the long history of his life, the exact time it had occurred no longer known. His eyes would even grow distance as he recalled the moments, particularly when he came to when Thorvel had spoken. The dying elf had asked for forgiveness from Lómarandil, and gave his respect to his Captain. With forgiveness given, Lómarandil died with him. Calenvása considered it strange that Throvel would remember him as he died, but he decided he would consider it once more, later. For now, tears ran down his face, and the sorrow left him silent.

Then someone spoke from behind him. Slightly startled, Targil and Calenvása turned quickly to see who spoke. Neither recognized him, but that did not seem to matter. Tears were in his eyes, as well, and there was a look about him that made Targil’s grief seem slight. In his hands were two blossoms of the elanor flower, their beauty glowing in the Captain’s tear filled eyes. He held them out as he spoke softly, “These are for your comrades. They died for Lorien, though their home was in Mirkwood.”

Calenvása was shocked, and simply bowed, murmuring his thanks. It seemed more than enough to the strange elf. He almost smiled, but Calenvása watched the grief overcome him once more. The Lorien elf stepped forward, and kneeled upon the ground. Targil and his Captain watched as the Lorien elf placed the flowers upon the body of Thorvel. The still moist blood soon soaked into its delicate white petals. “Where does your other companion lie?”

“What is your name?” Calenvása asked. “Helkaur,” he strange Lorien elf answered. Then, though the body of Lómarandil lay right next to Thorvel’s, the Mirkwood Captain gestured out across the battlefield in all directions. “Helkaur, our other companions lie here.”

______________

Thank you, Pio, and everyone who participated in this game, for your patience.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

I sincerely hope that there is still time to sneak in this final post (somewhere before Durelin's obviously -- Pio, I leave it to you).

Thanks all fora great game, esp Aman for the great chance to character-build with you once again, Durelin for a fascinating game and, of course, Kransha for the incredible villain!

@^@^@^@^@^@^@^@^

The tide of battle passed over Ambarturion where he lay, and like a rock that resists all waters Megilaes remained with him. The student carried the master into a copse of trees where they could hide from the orcs and Easterlings, but the cover was little necessary when the Elves of the Golden Wood marched forth and put their enemies to flight. There was great slaughter that day, and the waters and fields of the Vale of Anduin ran red and black with the mingling bloods of orc and Elf.

As they watched the battle falter and then fail, and the army of Elves return victorious and yet saddened to the eaves of the Golden Wood, Megilaes and Ambarturion spoke of the days to come.

“I will pass into the West,” the younger Elf said. “With the death of my brother I will never find peace in this Middle-Earth. Perhaps those who live beyond the Sea will give me the comfort I need to forget him.”

“No,” Ambaturion replied softly, “they cannot bring comfort for all losses, or heal all wounds, but they will welcome you for the deeds that you have performed, and will help you take the bitterness from your memories of your brother and teach you how to sing the name of Caranbaith with joy.”

“I hope that this is so, my master. At the very least, I will be happy that our ways will not be parted.”

Ambarturion looked out upon the darkening field and said quietly, “What do you mean by that?”

“Only that I will now be able to join you on the Western Road, my Master. Long have you desired to follow that path, and surely now,” he pointed gently at the ragged stump where Ambarturion’s hand had been cloven off, “you will journey thence for healing?”

Ambarturion looked into the approaching night a long time before answering. “I do not think, Megilaes, that it is my doom to follow that Road. So long have I been seeking it, that I fear I have paid no heed to that which is worthwhile in this world. I feel I must remain here some time and see it for what it is, now that the veil of despair and contempt has been lifted from my eyes. I have thought for so long that I was wise and all knowing of the ways of this world – but I have seen so little of it beyond the eaves of the Golden Wood, and what I have seen I have looked down upon and spurned.” He paused for a time. “No,” he began again, as though answering one in a debate, “I will remain in this place until I am ready to depart upon the straight road. Perhaps such a day will never come, and it will be my doom to remain here and dwindle into a rustic and quaint figure of the woods, little more than a bedtime story for the peoples who will come after and hardly believe the tales of our deeds. If that is what has been laid for me, then I am content.”

And then Megilaes wept bitter tears, for he saw that his master was in earnest, and he sought to return the sword of Gondolin to Ambarturion. But the elder Elf refused it, giving it to his student and bidding him carry it with him into the West. “I know not if such things as this are held in honour there. But if they are, then give it to those who dwell beyond the Sea, and tell them that with it, Megilaes of Lorien avenged the murder of his brother Caranbaith. Tell them, that a champion has come to his deserved rest.”

“My Master,” Megilaes cried out, “I fear that this will be the most bitter parting of all. For I doubt that your way will bring you to the West if you do not follow it now. Where will you find a Road in a land that is growing dark? And where will you find a home in a world that no longer needs us?”

“I know not, Megilaes, for such wisdom is not given to me. I am ancient and mighty, but I do not possess the wisdom of the Noldor.”

“What then will keep you in the long years ahead?”

Ambarturion turned his eyes upon the setting sun and smiled. “Hope,” he said.

[Firefoot]

There have been some powerful parting posts that you all have written. I would like to thank everyone for a great RPG to play in as my first. See you all around!

[piosenniel]

~*~ To Elvenhome ~*~