ROHAN RPG

[Rimbaud]

Thoughts of a glowing white star haunted Guthrin. The image scorched itself into his mind and on his breast he could feel a white-cold heat, burning his flesh. He could feel his skin crisping and curling away, blackening, smoking. A voice rose above the din of thought, moaning and crying. He was immersed in fog, an immalleable, gruesome force that pressed down on him, his limbs leaden. He did not recognise the voice. He did not know the words, although they seemed bright and yet terrible at the same time.

The voice rose in pitch, quavering, hanging between hearing and a silence that ballooned, thick and unyielding, as the voice quailed and tremulated against its encroachment. The voice quivered, beating against the descending wall of soundlessness like a futile butterfly of song.

The voice grew hoarse and rasping, and the piercing note dwindled and then died. The fear grew sudden in him that the voice would not come again, that it had broken itself against the dark.

Suddenly, the voice returned, redoubled in power, words discernable, screeched as though from a shattered larynx, "A Elbereth Gilthoniel!"

The words seemed unfamiliar to him, but the black and soundless force recoiled from the power they seemed to hold. The voice came again, and this time it was accompanied, by a second voice, a tuneful quaver. The two voices stood strong together, the broken syllables of the first complemented by the toned beauty of the second, "A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon! The voice of the first broke at the last but the second continued, swelling in power as the darkness fell away. The voice came closer and closer, as if the speaker was right there.

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon sí di-nguruthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos!"

Guthrin woke, gasping for breath. His eyes sprang open, yet saw nothing, a darkness was upon the party, unforgiving and as cold as obsidian. Elwood crouched beside him, panting, he knew him by his scent. The Elf's breathing was ragged and suddenly Guthrin was aware of a rasping pain in the back of his throat, red, raw and bleeding, as if swords had been dragged from his windpipe. He realised with a numbing shock that the first voice had been his own. The tender star-shaped scar on his breast was burning cold, and he rubbed it through his tunic. The scar did not seem to have changed from before, the skin was not burnt.

Still, nothing could they see, yet malice was all around them. Guthrin heard Elwood chanting under his breath, the whispered words emitted in shallow gasps; he recognised the words as those spoken in his fever-dream, although he knew them not.

"Thou savest us," spake the Elf then softly, and sprang from his side. Guthrin lurched to his feet, and looked around wildly. He swept his hair from his eyes and face with his hand, realising that he was covered in mulch and soft, wet leaves. He felt the moist earth, smeared on his face. The only sound he could discern was his own irregular breathing. The pain in his throat was choking him. He tasted bile and blood on his tongue.

A dark shape pushed him from the back, and he span around, his hand slapping at the low form. He met thick, wet fur and seconds later, smelt the warm, pungent breath of the great wolf Khelek. He stayed his hand and staggered backwards, a step away from the beast. He felt branches at his back and wondered at it, for his memory told him that this clearing had been larger than this...

The Elf was back at his side, moving soft as moonlight, his cloaks a faint rustle in the clammy, thick air and the impermeable black.

"Enchantment," whispered Elwood. "The Forest surrounds us, these trees act under some malignant power." He stopped, although he sounded as if he would say more.

The nature of the silence led Guthrin to thought that the Elf and the Warg were communicating and he said nothing. The presence of the Warg disappeared abruptly, and he knew not where it went. It fell quiet again. Guthrin splayed his hands and fingers out in front of him, feeling outwards, navigating blind. His left hand caught the sleeve of the Elf, who did not stir. The Elf stood upright, Guthrin ascertained, with his palms pressed against the bark of the tree, a tree the touch of which sent a shiver down Guthrin's spine. Stranger though, the rider of Rohan had the sense that the tree recoiled from his touch, and as they made contact, a sibilant hiss cut through the air. The Elf shifted at that, but made no sound. Elwood seemed fiercely concentrated and Guthrin let him be. He crouched and reached with his fingers and sniffed like a hound for touch or smell of the other Companions.

The air was thick and clammy around him, the silence was gelatinous.

His seaching finger-tips found the matted hair and beard of a man, whose height, ascertained roughly, revealed him to be Thenamir. Guthrin, still dizzied by the darkness and the fell atmosphere that swallowed them, shook him frantically but to no seeming avail.

Panic threatened to overwhelm him.

"Ai! This is evil work!" he muttered, the sound of his voice distant and lost in the darkness. "Anything for my horse and a path from this gloomy dell!" To his surprise he found himself wondering if he would take such an opportunity, if it would mean abandoning the others. The decision would have been clear to him, scant days before.

He heard Elwood's voice again, now recognising it for the second singing voice in the song against the darkness that had awoken him, although he understood little of what had transpired. The Elf was singing to the tree! The malevolent atmosphere did seem to be receding. The pain in his chest grew stronger, however. In the darkness, he fumbled to take his stone out from under his tunic. It seemed to him as though he could perceive it, although all else was indistinguishable. Even in the gloom, he saw the star-shaped whiteness and he wondered at it. As the stone came out into the fuggy blackness, the rasping hiss, like that of an old man, was heard again, floating down from the over-arching blackness.

*********************

Without warning, light flared in the darkness. Guthrin was blinded all of a sudden, and with a cry took a step backwards, tripping on a form on the ground and fell, striking his head on a root, He held on to his consciousness, yet the knock improved his mood little. When his vision cleared, he stood, and espied Elwood beside him, still facing the tree - a knarled almost human figure - with his hands against him. The Elf was sweating, which Guthrin did not think he had ever seen before. Yet he seemed motionless. The source of the light was Ulfwine, he strode towards them, a flaming brand held aloft in his right hand. The shadows streamed into the fire, seeming to quench it, yet it remained burning. Its light did not seem to to reveal much of their surroundings, the darkness seemed unimpressed.

Guthrin remembered. Ulfwine had been sitting someway from the rest of the party, wrapped in his own thoughts. Perhaps the Dunedling had escaped the enchantments.

"What happens?" whispered the dishevelled man, as he approached.

"The forest assaults us," said Guthrin, wondering at his own words. "The Elf believes it is guided."

Ulfwine bowed his head, his hair hanging down across his face in the dim, flickering light of his torch.

"'Tis Isengard," he said in his accented Westron, almost too quiet to hear, but elaborated not at all.

*********************

A voice startled them all, coming from behind them all, as they faced Elwood, who faced the tree. Light flooded the clearing, blinding them. Thick strands of darkness unravelled around them, and the deadening silence lifted.

"Hroom! I am no Elbereth!"

The deep voice seemed wry with some vast amusement. The darkness seemed to melt away, and Guthrin could swear that the clearing expanded in reality, as much as light entered also.

Elwood span, astonishment in his eyes, mirrored in those of Guthrin and Ulfwine. The noise of their comapnions stirring, and the sight of the trees seemingly marching back from them could not break their gaze from the character who had entered the glade.

Sunlight came upon them then and they realised it was full day without, and they cast their eyes upwards with joy, seeing blue skies and clouds, as if they had feared never to do so again.

"Hro! Hrrroom. You called for a Starkindler, yet you find a Shepherd," said their saviour, his voice as deep and strange as his appearance. "I trust you are not disappointed?"

Around him, Guthrin sensed the others rising, to stand and stare at the strangest thing any of them had ever seen.

[ October 22, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Andros awoke with a start. All was dark, but for the smouldering ashes of the fire; he could discern no noise that would have disturbed his sleep, only the soft sound of Taradan’s shallow breathing. Nothing seemed amiss, and yet… There was a restlessness to be felt in the woods; it infected him, making it impossible to go back to sleep. A sense of urgency gripped him, and as a barely perceptible lightening on the eastern horizon became visible through the tree branches, he came to a decision.

They would move on as soon as daylight came. Andros did not know whether Taradan would have enough strength to travel, but he was certain that they could no longer remain there waiting. His sturdy horse could carry both, at least for some distance. Soon he had the fire burning brightly, heating the rest of the nourishing broth he had prepared the day before. Both men drank it, savouring the warmth of the liquid that made their breakfast of dry waybread more palatable.

“Will you be able to hold yourself and ride behind me, Taradan?” Andros asked. His wounded companion’s face was drawn, speaking eloquently of pain, but he simply answered, “Yes.” Andros made sure that the fire was quenched; they had had enough of burning trees! Then they mounted the horse, which waited patiently with packed saddlebags, and headed northwards.

[Thenamir]

It was some moments before Thenamir could reopen his eyes, doubly blinded as they were from the earth which had found its way into them and the sudden sunlight which threatened to make the blindness permanent. His eyes were still squinting and adjusting to the brightness when he discovered that the clearing had widened somewhat. Even so, the brooding trees had left not so much as space enough between them for the squirrels to escape through. They were encircled, trapped in a living prison. The return of light brought no relief from the malevolent heaviness which clung to those in the clearing like a thick layer of pine sap.

A shadow and a figure straight out of the frightning childhood tales of his own youth parted the trees on one side of the clearing, staring each of them through in turn. It's black-pearl eyes peered out of a craggy, bark-hewn face mounted on the top of a roughtly human-shaped tree, or a roughly tree-shaped human, whose hair (or topmost branches) rose full twenty feet above the forest floor. And though the face of the giant was unreadable as to the emotions behind it, the atmosphere was not. The trees were angry. More than angry, they were livid -- filled with a rage such as only be felt by those whose lives are measured in decades and centuries rather than days and years.

Thenamir knew fear, having faced it in the smell of battle many times, but he was unaccustomed to the sheer, unreasoning, stultifying terror that filled his limbs with adrenaline but left him no will to run. He rose to his knees and tried to speak, but his body had dried his mouth in order to wet his forehead. He, in as brave a voice as he could muster, finally managed to stammer, "Shepherd...of the trees...why are we confined in this fashion? Why are you angered with us? And what do you...and they...intend to do to us?"

[Bêthberry]

A MEETING IN THE FOREST

The Shepherd of the Trees strode towards Thenamir, each great foot splayed widely as he did and pressing deeply into the forest bed. His movements were sturdy and rhythmic, but he did not hurry. "Hum shrah hum shrah, rhum mabrah," intoned a hollow voice coming less from his mouth than his throat. "You need to ask when one of yours is even now holding a flaming brand aloft? After having already torched our brothers? And whittled cruelly a sturdy arm severed from another brother?"

Somehow, the voice broke Thenamir's fear; it drained out of his muscles and left them instead with a wary urgency. He rose to his feet but spoke to the Dunlending first. "Ulfwine, douse those flames. Or I'll inter you myself in that mulch and give you lichen and moss for a winding sheet."

Ulfwine stepped back, cowered as much by Thenamir's ferocity as by the great-limbed giant and the harrowing trees. Confusion and fear trickled down his back. He stumbled; the brand fell, its flame snuffed out more by the dank earth than by his desperate pawing with cloth-covered hands, sniffling as he did so.

"Shrum, shrum. llalla rhummah." The words murmured around the enclosure and the trees appeared to stand down a bit. The air, which had seemed taken up before, ran back into the enclosure. Leaves now ruffled, audible for the first time, and branches quivered. Yet palpable anger still hung in the air.

"Rhumm limbah rhummah. You are guests in our forest yet you act so inhospitably. You ask what we intend to do. Should we intend to do anything? You seem capable of doing enough harm to yourselves. You have lost companions, several. Maybe if we wait long enough you will accomplish your own demise. We can wait and watch. No sense being hasty."

The sunlight steamed into the enclosure and the forest floor appeared to heave and bend but it was only the stirring of the pine needle bed as Arenia and Kalohern, covered, shook off their stupor. Catching sight of the rough, impassive giant, Arenia flinched and then swallowed a single word, "Ahrhoom," before kneeling stock-still. The Shepherd looked down, way down, at her and for the first time small waves of meaning broke through his black eyes. "Hum lalla, lalla rill, hill rhum," they whispered to each other. "Treetop," Arenia said.

"Yes, Forest Child, Taurelien . Come, come back to me," the Shepherd said, reaching his gnarled, knobby hands out and lifting her high onto his shoulders where her head became hidden in the upper most brambles of his hair, drooping in flat sprays. Her arms encircled his forehead as she nestled closer to him. Memory pooled in his eyes as he thought of this only entling he would ever know. Then he slowly lifted her down and placed her on a weathered, decayed stump. "A fine way you have of thanking us, joining with this hasty bunch of tumbleweeds. I suppose you can explain yourself, Taurelien?"

Arenia hugged her legs, showing as she did the hardly-healed scar of her encounter with the Warg. She looked over at Kalohern and then Thenamir and finally at Gurthden. "Stupid of me to revenge on a Warg. Too stupid. Nearly lost his life as well." Here she nodded quickly at Gurthden. "I speak few words, but I repay, Treetop."

The Shepherd turned to Thenamir. "It seems this one who we have nurtured, you have protected also." Had Treetop not been so tall, Thenamir might have sat down again, feeling the ground give him some stability, but he remained standing so Treetop could read his face closely. His mind plundered the folktales of his nursery days for the ways to deal with the forest people. He swallowed hard and willed his face to soften in homage to the giant.

"We have been forced to decisions we did not want to make. We have a road to take and must recover it, for our business does not lie in the Forest, although it might lie with the Forest. We cannot achieve this without your help. We need safe passage over the Mountains, out of sight of Dunlender or wild man, beyond the vigilant eye of any who would detain our business. It is our own and not for any others to know. We cannot fight the entire forest." Thenamir swallowed hard again.

Treetop looked down on him. "Hasty, I see. We have barely finished with the damage you have wrought." He surveyed the faces of the others who had nearly been ensnared in the malevolent stupor. The dwarf made him twitch, but he did not want to take sides. He knew that the wizard was no longing respecting the forest either. Smoke and more smoke was beginning to blow regularly from the south, and there were trees he no longer heard from. Fear and exhaustion lined these faces and the one who had spoken as if in dream to the Starkindler was now becoming anxious, jumpy. "Decidedly unentish that one is," Treetop thought. "Why couldn't someone take their side, the Forest's side," Treetop thought again. It was a surprising number of thoughts for so early in the day. He thought back over the long ages to when the entwives lived among the trees. He thought forward to, to what? His thoughts lingered over the long years of his life. They were and were not pithy. "Shrum shrah hum, shrum, llalla, rhummah," he said to himself.

"We promise no more fires," Thenamir finally said, luring Treetop out of his revery. "Hroom humh. It could be done, in good time," answered the Tree Shepherd. "The trees will not forget their anger, but perhaps I can keep them from hindering you. That you would avoid all eyes I cannot promise. There is one who is crafty, prescient, and who commands land, forest, creatures. Perhaps you would do well to consider making his work more taxing. Confuse him of your aim."

So it was decided, after a considerable time from the men's point of view, that they would travel to the foothills near Wellinghall under Treetop's auspices, climbing then to the headwaters of the Entwash, where passage might be found around the Last Peak. Perhaps Methedras would shield them from the eyes of Isengard, eyes which saw too easily everything which passed through the Gap of Rohan. Perhaps.

[ October 23, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Ransom]

Volkmar lagged behind the group, grasping his warhammer in both hands. He’d seen orcs that would reduce grown men to sniveling cowards and trolls large enough to smash through rock. But this tree thing, this ent, took the preverbal cake. He’d heard a few tales of them, mainly from old men and women reminiscing about the old tales over a tankard of ale. It certainly seemed friendly enough, even offering to lead them out of this forest.

Finding himself without much of a job, the ranger had taken it upon himself to guard their rear. Volkmar lagged about thirty feet behind the main body, stopping every once in a while to listen for pursuers. None came. His mind began to wander into his memory, traveling gray and murky paths.

They had been traveling for three weeks, traveling back towards Rivendell and home. Volkmar, then a simple green soldier, had been in the rearguard when the main body of Rangers stumbled upon a small settlement besieged by orcs. He had drawn his swords along with his mentor and charged, fully expecting a victory.

A sharp pain in his left foot brought him back to reality. Not one of his friends had survived that day. Volkmar began to feel lonely and presently decided to rejoin the rest of the group. He quickly covered the gap and joined the rest of the group, eying the warg with some trepidation.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Taradan swayed as the horse stumbled on the stony path. He steadied himself by gripping Andros’ cloak, regaining his balance. How long had he been riding: hours, days, weeks? He had no recollection of the time that had passed. His head ached less, now that they had left the oppressive air of the forest, yet he felt his weakness still. It irked him to be doomed to this helplessness, and brooding thoughts filled his mind during the waking hours.

He had been a leader of men, used to decisive action and easy comradeship with those who followed his command. Now he felt as if he had failed his men; were Gurthden, Baranthôl, Leoden and the others still alive? Andros had spoken to Thenamir; would he have the skill and character to lead those who had survived? Taradan felt unnecessary, a burden to the stranger who shared his horse and campfire with him. It would have been better if I had died, perhaps doing some heroic deed, than to be alive and useless, he thought.

And yet, in the midst of his dark thoughts, an image arose unbidden. He recalled the eyes of the man who had drawn him back into life. That gaze had filled him with warmth then and seemed to pour hope into his heart now. With the shadow of a smile softening the hard lines of his face, he lifted his head. Suddenly he became aware of the surroundings.

They were going steadily upwards, into scrub-covered hills ahead of them. The air was clearer now, and cooler as well. Already the sun was sinking to their left, its rays reflecting from the white tip of a mountain far ahead.

“Andros,” he asked, “what is that mountain ahead of us?”

His companion turned his head slightly to answer. “That is Redhorn; there is a pass on the south side of the mountain. We will cross there and travel west to Ost-in-Edhil, where the others hope to meet us.”

“Caradhras the Cruel!" Taradan exclaimed. "I have heard tales of strange and dangerous things there.”

“I doubt we could pass in winter,” agreed Andros, “but now only the top is snowy; Redhorn Gate should be clear, though perhaps not easily passable.”

Despite the other’s confidence, Taradan shivered.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

As the days went on, the peak of the mountain was visible at times, when lesser hills did not hinder their vision. It seemed to get no nearer, though they rode on in the same direction. Taradan felt somewhat stronger and was able to help gather what brush and wood they could find for a fire in the evenings. He was glad to be able to use his legs as often as he could. And he found himself talking to Andros with an ease that he had not known since the friendships of his youth.

They conversed as equals, and Andros’ unobtrusive friendliness opened his heart and loosened his tongue more than he would have thought possible. Almost without realizing it, he told him of the death of his father and his feelings of guilt. He spoke of his beloved home in Gondor and why he had thought it necessary to leave. For the first time, he was able to speak of Nimroth, his beloved white mare, who had been killed in the fight with the Wargs. Andros’ sympathetic companionship brought cheer into the darkness of his thoughts; gradually, his wounded heart began to heal as well as his body.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

By the dark of the new moon, wolf howls padded the wind with a grim, unhurried air. First a solo, then a chorus crept through the night to where Taradan and Andros had encamped. After another day’s journey towards Redhorn Gate, they looked towards peaks softened by night’s greasy charcoal pencil into dim smudges against clouds like lowered brows. The wolf chant wavered like a lurid lullaby. A final lullaby for the fallen.

As the warlord and his healer-friend were still far off, the sound quavered just on the brink of hearing, and only then, because the wind deigned to carry a warning. But whose side the wind favored, none could say. Was the warning meant to school them in readiness to face upcoming danger, or scare them from their path?

The wind sighed, fell, lifted its voice again. But now, with fresh tidings. The soloist uttered a thick choking yelp of surprise. Shrill staccato shrieks creaked from the chorus. The wind shifted, and the silence grew black.

[Dwarin Thunderhammer]

The members of the camp were asleep--at least most of them. Dwarin was
set for the first watch. Hours passed. It was almost time to wake
Thenamir for the next watch. Suddenly, he heard the sounds of footsteps
in the wood. He dismissed them as nothing. Several minutes later, he
heard them again. Still he ignored them. The third time, he crouched
and
listened closer. "Oh, I'm going to get you. You can't hide," he said.
Heedlessly, Dwarin plunged into the woods, seeking his unseen
annoyance.
However, despite his best efforts, Dwarin failed to find the source of
the disturbance and decided to return to the others. He walked back in
the direction of the camp, but he found several thickets in the way,
thickets that he had not remembered before. He tried to go around them,
but the forest seemed to have changed. He began to feel suffocated, so
he started shouting at the trees. That only made the situation worse.
He
felt someone or something was watching him. He cursed at himself for
leaving his axe behind at camp.

"All right, you stupid forest, if you don't let me through, I'll burn
you to the ground!" No sooner were the words out of his mouth than all
went black.


Meanwhile, Kalohern had woken with a start at the commotion in the
campsite. The clearing seemed smaller than before. He spotted Arenia
kneeling before a giant tree. Suddenly he realized that the tree was
talking! A hundred thoughts ran through his mind. The first he acted on
was the impulse to defend. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword and
took a step toward the giant tree, but a look from Thenamir stopped him
short. As he watched the conversation play out, his sword hand relaxed.

All seemed to be resolved when suddenly out of nowhere a small body
flew
from the edge of the clearing. Dwarin wasn't flying actually, for he
landed face first in the dirt and leaves.

"Thenamir! We're under attack! My axe! The forest is alive! Have at
them!" Dwarin tripped over a root that popped out of the ground. Elwood
grabbed Dwarin by the neck and whispered in his ear.

"This is all your fault. Everything was settled. They're not attacking.
Now be quiet or we'll let them have you!"

Dwarin stopped his tirade but stood with his arms crossed, staring
directly at the Ent. He was about to say something when Elwood shut him
up with a slap on the back of the head.

Treetop questioned Dwarin about the wood he had chosen for his spear.
Dwarin explained that the tree was already dead as best he could tell.

"Next time don't be so hasty to kill things that are still yet alive."
Dwarin just stared back defiantly.

[ November 01, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

[shieldmaiden]

Haleth was walking with the group thinking and still not being able to believe what happened:

She was sleeping when she felt someone stepping and tripping over her arm...someone heavy and wearing iron boots. “That darn Dwarf never looks where he’s going, I’m not a piece of wood!” she thought.
She opened her eyes and tried to move and realized that she was covered with a thick layer of fallen leaves.
She managed to sit up and was amazed by what she saw.
There was something that looked like a mixture of a tree and a very, very tall man talking to Dwarin and the others. She thought that she was still dreaming, she remembered the tales that her father used to tell her and her brother when they were kids. Tales of giant walking and talking trees that lived in the haunted Fangorn forest.

And now she was striding in the company of one of them. She couldn’t get her eyes off it. This journey was getting stranger and stranger.

[Bêthberry]

A PARTING IN THE FOREST

Arenia squirmed around in her perch high atop The Shepherd's shoulders.

"Ahrhoom. Treetop, you have left the others far behind. They cannot keep up with your long strides. And the forest is still angry with them.'

"Heh, so I have, Taurelien, so I have." The Shepherd's face creased into a papery, flaking grin which curled like birch bark. "Let them fend for themselves for a bit. Too often these men think the land is theirs to dispose, and all must bend to them. Trees bend only to the wind. But they are close enough to Wellinghall to find their own way without great harm."

Arenia squirmed some more. "Look, I see Kelohern coming. Let's wait for him. I want you to meet him."

"Hoom frumh. Frumph! Humh lalla rhum," replied The Shepherd to her. "There will be time for that. Let him appreciate the forest a bit while we have some time together."

With those words, the evergreens around the girl and the Shepherd wove branch and stem. The yews and cedars behind fashioned a thicket through which the boy could neither see nor climb. Tall broad hemlocks in front swayed, their branches swinging aside to reveal an entrance into a large compound cut into the foothill of the mountain, with stone ledges and tables and jars.

Arenia slipped down into the Shepherd's arms and he lifted her up and away, onto one of the stone ledges so she could look straight into his eyes and he into hers, as they had in bygone days. She had grown so much, not particularly in height or weight, but in presence. She knew herself now, Treetop sadly realized with sudden poignant insight. He brushed some leaves out of her hair and smudged a bit of dirt on her chin. He bent closer to her and she reached over to straighten some twiggy strands of hair over a bare patch on his head. Both smiled recalling the old habits and as they did the evergreens tottered and waved around them, happy to see the forest girl again.

"It is restful here. It was always restful here," said Arenia, inhaling the pungent scent of pine and cedar. With her eyes closed, she entered once again the quiet stillness of the forest's immutable life.

"Have you missed us? The way we have missed you?" The Shepherd could not help but ask. "Everything seemed much older and quieter and stiller once you went to find your people."

He brought a stone bowl to her, filled with a liquid taken from the large stone jars. Cupping the bowl in both hands, she sipped it tentatively at first, wanting to make it last, but then, being unable to resist, she gulped it ravenously. As the draught washed down her throat, a remembered vigour spread up through her, from her toes, then winding around her spine, and out the roots of her hair. Arenia smiled, for she had always been fascinated by that reversal of feeling. For the first time since the warg had attacked her, she felt sound and fit, recovered.

"Rhumm limbah rhummah. I miss your soothing ways and the quiet rush of the leaves at dusk. I miss the heavy blanket of forest air around my shoulders. I miss being tossled from branch to branch and seeing over the canopy. I miss your belongingness. But return I cannot, Ahrhoom. I long for elsewhere."

The Shepherd of the Trees watched her possessively and for more than a brief moment jealous envy was added to his feelings about the men who had found her and protected her.

"These are my people, and they have a job to finish. And my word is with them. We must cross over the mountains. Something important waits for them at this ancient place, something they think will help them fight off this darkness."

Whistful sorrow overcame the Shepherd and he seemed to slump. These weren't the words he had wanted to hear. He was loathe to let her go again, but he knew he must.

"Butterfly, you have left your cocoon," he finally admitted.

"No," replied the forest girl. "Bird, from a loving, protected cage."

At least, Treetop decided, he could help her. "There is a secret passage around Methedras, where the Entwash begins its journey to the sea. I will tell you where to find it."

Treetop leaned over, his large, knobby hands covering her shoulders, and whispered the directions to the pathway to her. Then he stood back.

"It has not been used since the Old Forest was mangled in the days before Beleriand was lost. But it will help you."

A commotion in the trees interrupted them. Treetop looked away towards the north and then nodded. As he did, the hemlocks at the entrance to the ent house parted and Kelohern scrambled in, running pell mell around the edges until he spied Arenia.

"Hum sharah mabrah. Rulla hoom. I am called elsewhere, Forest Child. Taurelien, this is your home, was in the past, is now, and will be evermore. Treat your friends to the hospitality of an ent's house and go on your way."

The Shepherd of the Trees then shuffled off, chuckling softly as he decided to let the boy figure out for himself how to reach Arenia on the stone ledge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ulfwine cursed and picked himself up. He would have kicked at the root which tripped him, but Thenamir stayed him.

"No sense giving them more reason to play tricks. They are not harming us, just making sure we get their point," said Thenamir.

Ulfwine scowled, trudged on some more, stumbled with fatigue, and finally slumped down on the carpet of pine needle and cedar, moss, desiccated leaf, and brittle twig. He was tired, tired of incessant struggle and deprivation, tired of being forced and driven and needled. He was tired of chasing after that giant and none too sure of where they were headed. He lay still for some time until he suddenly realized that the aroma of the forest bed was tingling his senses, making him breath more deeply. Then, rudely, a foot, Guthdren's foot, prodded him to get up.

"What do you think you are doing, inviting a warg to dinner?" Guthdren snorted at the Dunlender.

Elwood offered a hand up to Ulfwine, who accepted it with a nod of thanks as a token of fellowship. "Come," said the elf. "The boy has run ahead, far in advance. Let us try to catch up."

Another hour of tramping through the undergrowth, climbing over fallen trunks, skirting shrub and thicket, and detouring around sloughs of fetid, stagnant water found them face to face with the wall of hemlock guards, which strangely seemed to move aside. Uncomprehending and wary, the ragtag band stood immobile until the branches began to sweep them unceremoniously into the compound.

[ November 03, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Rimbaud]

Stones and Shadows

The glint of metal in the weak, westering sun was first spotted by Elwood, yet it was Kalohern who ran, heedlessly, across the rocky ground, scrambling up, to the peak of a ridge. Once there, he let out a yell, and the others of the company bounded up to meet him, bar Baranthol who was left, bemused, with the horses. The slim Rider led them cautiously up the incline.

The release from the Forest seemed to have imbued them with fresh vitality and renewed purpose. Kalohern gestured outwards, to the far side of the ridge.

Guthrin followed more slowly. When he reached the top of the grey crop of stones, the others were already descending to what lay on the other side. The troubled straw-haired Rider watched them pick their way down and remembered that the original glimmer of steel had come from here, at the peak. His eyes scanned the rock in the failing light, and soon fell upon the object in question. A badge, as that of a soldier, battered, bent and ruined. It was silver, with a crude ‘S’ writ harshly upon the face, in thick angular script. Guthrin turned the item over in his hands and thought deeply. He put the badge in his pocket wordlessly, and sat on the lip of the ridge, legs hanging down, feeling a little exposed but able to see far in each direction. Behind him he heard Baranthol skillfully fastening the horses’ packs and checking the straps, now that the opportunity had arisen. They had moved hard and fast this day.

Arenia had led them, at times unsure, directly into the foothills of the Last Misty Mountain. They had come, somehow at a pace that surprised even their young guide, who seemed transformed after her meeting with the Ent, outside of the trees and onto desolate grey shale, early in the morning. Even Thenamir had lost count of how many days it had been since they started on the trail of the odd men, when they were on watch, all that time ago. They followed the Entwash as it left Fangorn’s Western flank and curved upwards into the Mountains. The incline was severe in places and the journey had taxed them all.

Guthrin looked around him in the fading light of the day. It was Autumn and the winds were gathering and cooling, prepared to bring Winter upon them. He hoped they were long gone from the Mountains before heavy snows came. Onedlo to his left sighed and glimmered as it wound its way into the peaks. It seemed to hold a different force to that it carried within the perimeters of Fangorn and was somehow less vital . All the view to the West and North was dominated by the shadowy masses of the Misty Mountains. Dunland lay beyond, and an uncertain future. The tall, arching peaks slashed through sky and cloud, as if the Earth strived to reach the heavens. The peaks seemed darker and more ominous than Guthrin had expected. There was something in the air, some dark force brooding nearby. He had the closest feeling of being watched. He shook his head and looked South. Before him stretched a long expanse of ground similar to that they were traversing, hard, unforgiving rock, with little greenery. In the failing light he fancied he caught a glimpse of the Isen, far off, into the Gap. Something stirred in his heart and he longed to be on horseback, out on the Plains. A decidedly unfamiliar notion of leading men to a great victory came unbidden to his mind.

On the sheltered side of the crag lay the solution to the riddle of the soldier’s badge. Three large, swarthy looking Orcs were scattered, dead and broken, strewn in a rocky depression in the ground. Guthrin stared down at the scene. The company moved in and around the area as one body, their separate movements somehow forming a unity. Arenia and Kalohern knelt by the nearest corpse to Guthrin. Kalohern was talking and gesturing animatedly. Arenia seemed silent, head bowed. Dwarin leapt from rock to rock, gathering the lay of the land, glad to be free of the trees, as he had mentioned often during the day. Gurthden and Thenamir walked around the edge of the hollowed-out shell-like crater, scanning the ground. As they passed the point nearest to Guthrin he heard their low converse. Thenamir looked up and caught his eye, and Guthrin met it as firmly as he could, as he had tried to throughout the day, but the sun was setting directly behind the once-disgraced Rider and the gruff Gondorian looked away quickly.

Elwood and Volkmar sat in the middle of the scene, the Elf with his chin cupped languidly in hand. Volkmar seemed interested and, Guthrin thought, a little perplexed by the Orcs, which was surprising in the experienced Ranger. A man of few words who doubtless thought little of him, Guthrin deemed. Elwood looked up at him, silhouetted on the ridge, quite often. Three or four birds wheeled distantly high, sky-blown in the quiet blue-gray. They were lost sometimes in the streaks or orange, duskier light that suffused the sky, emanating from Arien’s sinking chariot. The air was chill after the close, prickly suffocation of the Forest.

Ulfwine was climbing towards him, unkempt as ever. Presently he gained the lip of the ridge and sat near Guthrin and Baranthol, and although them men kept the silence, there was an unspoken bond between them, of which Guthrin was shocked and afraid to be part. Feeling more at peace than for many days, the Riders continued to watch the still grey lands around them.

*******************************************

Day had all but died by the time the others returned to the peak. None of them wished to make camp near the corpses, the pit held an uncomfortable air. Dwarin pointed to the great shape of Methedras before them.

“Best shelter in the lee of yonder Methedras,” he growled. Thenamir nodded inconspicuously, and the party moved on, hastening in the darkness, despite the treacherous ground. None complained. Guthrin helped Baranthol and Gurthden with the horses. Kalohern seemed more interested in Arenia than Telefax for once, although the young lady seemed a little discomforted by the attention.

******************************************

They made camp in the shelter of Methedras itself. It was dark before they had finished eating what little food remained, some leafy supplies, roots and berries supplied by their Entish guide, and some of the hard, tasteless wafers that remained from the packs of the Riders. The packs were now both blessedly and worryingly light. Elwood made some infusions with what little he had left, and the vapours he wrought did clear heads and aided sleep for most.

Arrangements for the watch designed that Guthrin and Gurthden take the first half of the night. The remainder made themselves as comfortable as they could on the ungiving surface; only Dwarin seemed at all happy with the ground.

Unable to light a fire, the two Riders paced quietly for warmth, circling the encampment. They spoke little, but both felt the strange unity that had fallen upon the party. Still, as always with Guthrin, the silences were ever uncomfortable.

The pale moon surfaced from behind night clouds sporadically, clouds that had not been there during the cold daylight but were now visible, limned in the ghostly moonlight. The night drew on. Gurthden moved slightly further away from the sleepers at one point, startled by the howling of wolves that drifted from far away, across the stones. When he returned, he realized with a shock that he could discern no sign of Guthrin. He crossed carefully through the makeshift encampment, yet the other Rider was nowhere to be found. Gurthden realised soon that the belongings of Guthrin were not amongst those of the others. The howling drew closer and members of the sleeping company stirred.

Gurthden had no idea what to do. Guthrin had simply disappeared.

[ November 05, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Leighlei]

Arenia opened one eye as the rider returned. He seemed to be looking for something. With a sigh, she pushed herself up from the uncomfortable ground and slid back so she was sitting. She cocked her head, nodding towards him. "You... missing something?" She inquired, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. He looked confused, disturbed. Arenia lifted one eyebrow, looking around again, her body felt heavy, and her mind was still only peeking out from it's shell of sleep, limiting her will to discover what he was upset about to only a shrug and yawn; "Where is Guthrin?" She asked plainly. "He... help you find." She nodded to herself and slid back down onto her side, attempting to find sleep again.

[ November 06, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

[Ransom]

Volkmar’s dreams were of strong wine and good food. He dreamed that he was back in the open fields in front of Bag Ends, watching and eating as the hobbits danced. But somehow, the hobbits were dancing on their hands while twirling sticks with their toes. However, his mind was only concerned with the food in front of him. A great chunk of beef, a large loaf of bread, and a bottle of ancient wine sat on a picnic cloth in front of him. Around him were old friends, though the Ranger couldn’t remember who they were. They conversed for some time about the weather, the moon, even the quality of the hobbit’s dancing. Volkmar began to notice something strange. Each ‘friend’ looked like they had been long dead. One lacked half of his head; the other tried to pick up a piece of bread with his missing arm. All turned to watch him, reaching out to embrace him in their cold grip.

Guthden must have been startled by the old ranger as he shot straight upright with a shout. He was sweating, his dark hair matted against his head. Slowly, the body slid back into a lying position. Volkmar woke just as his head hit the ground and promptly bolted back up. He tore off his blankets and reached toward the metal brace that covered his left leg. The Ranger had taken most of the armor plating off when he went to bed, simply sleeping in his chain mail. However, the left leg still stayed in the brace, for one couldn’t know what the future held.

He unbuckled the clasps with immense speed, finally yanking it open and feeling the warm flesh of his scarred leg with both hands. Get a grip, you old fool. You’ll get everyone killed. Volkmar heeded this thought and sank back down onto his bed sheet, panting slightly. He felt his body cool as he lay on his back and stared at the stars.

[Thenamir]

Climbing to their camp left Thenamir only enough energy to set up a bare camp, assign watches, and eat a small morsel from his pack before lying down and sleeping as soundly as he would allow himself. Thenamir had taken to sleeping, as they said in Gondor, "with one eye open and one hand around the hilt." Though the rest of the band had grown to trust him implicitly, the only way to wake him up of late was to prod him with a pole or stick long enough so as to be beyond the reach of his sword. In starting awake the stick had occasionally been sliced short by the bright blade before he realized where he was.

Gurthden therefore considered carefully before rousing Thenamir to alert him of the missing Guthrin. He placed one booted foot upon the blade just in case before shaking him awake. Thenamir was instantly alert, but did not try to draw, recognizing his overnight watchman. "Trouble, Gurthden?" Thenamir muttered, removing his helm and raking his fingers through his helm-formed hair.

"Guthrin is missing." Thenamir sat bolt upright at that revelation, and stood, quickly gathering his effects as Gurthden continued, "I heard wolves howling from afar, and walked a short distance from camp to see if I could spot them from the ridge-rise yonder, and when I returned, he had gone. I scouted about the camp, and believe I found his trail leading away north, but not into the mountains. The trail skirts the foothills as far as I tracked it."

"Help me wake the others," Thenamir started to order, then checked himself. “Hold, Gurthden, one moment.” He turned to go first to Elwood and found him already awakened from that strange eyes-open half-sleep of the wood elves. Elwood had felt the turmoil of emotional urgency emanating from Gurthrin like a tangible cloud of angst and dread and had kept vigil on him as he departed, making note of his direction with his preternaturally keen eyes. “Do you see him, Elwood?” Thenamir asked softly as he turned and faced the same direction, squinting in the pale moonlight.

“He appears and disappears as he reaches each top of the foothills he crosses to the north,” Elwood replied. “Thenamir, he is torn, broken. As he left I could sense a strange emotion boiling in him, a melancholy urgency combined with a foreboding sense of a doom he cannot escape. Never in all my dealings outside Lorien and Rivendell have I seen someone driven so, and yet at the same time of two minds, the stronger half dragging the weaker with it. I do not know what he intends to do, or where he thinks to go, but I feel in my heart he should not be left to his fate alone.”

“How far away is he? Can we catch him?”

“He is running, but not at full speed, almost as though he is pacing himself for a long journey. We can catch him in time, but to do so we must start immediately.” He paused a moment before adding, “this might be a good time to split our band, as Treetop suggested.”

That was all Thenamir needed. Volkmar awoke with a cry and a commotion from a frightening dream, but once awakened, Thenamir explained the situation and Volkmar understood. After brief conference, Elwood went to wake the warg, Thenamir did the same for Arenia, and Volkmar packed only the most necessary items so as to travel as lightly as possible. Gathering the newly awakened together he laid out the plan quietly, trying to allow the rest to get some badly-needed sleep.

With Elwood for eyes, and the Warg for ears and nose, Volkmar for his ranger skills and Arenia for her knowledge of the wild and her friendship with the ents, they were to follow Guthrin and catch up to him if possible – find out his intentions, and assist him if they could. They could cross the mountains at the Redhorn Pass – no sense backtracking round to the gap of Rohan – and meet them somewhere along the banks of the Sirannon, nearest to the mountains. But under no circumstances should either party wait more than 7 days for the other before continuing on to Ost-In-Edhil's location on the map -– time was crucial. Thenamir bid them good speed and good hunting. Elwood shook Thenamir’s hand and committed him to the care of Elbereth, then started off after Guthrin, followed closely by the warg and the rest.

Kalohern pretended to sleep, and even to snore, but once the tracking group left, and Thenamir lay down to resume his rest, he stealthily wrapped his essentials in his bedroll and tied it to the saddle of his horse, Telefax. The horse whickered a greeting which Kalohern quickly shushed by slipping him a mouthful of sweetgrass, then mounted the horse and followed after Elwood...

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

[Rimbaud]

The Followers Followed

They had barely covered a mile in the bleak darkness before the Warg, who strayed far from the party when they travelled, especially at night, appeared at Elwood's side again. The hulking beast appeared amused to Elwoods mind.

We are being followed.

Elwood nodded, whispered for the others to halt, and motioned to Volkmar, who was currently bringing up the rear. The grizzled Ranger moved to his side. A heavy silence had fallen on the party since they had started the chase, whether through fatigue, frustration or confusion, Elwood could not say.

"It seems the pursuer is also the pursued," he said, lightly. To his surprise, Volkmar nodded curtly.

"It is the boy, Kalohern," said the Ranger gruffly. "He has been trailing us by horseback - not the subtlest of approaches."

Elwood wondered at his own distraction, that he had not noticed their shadow. He shook his head, and with some annoyance, told Volkmar to rein in the errant youngster.

"As you wish," said the Ranger, unfazed by the terse command. He melted back into the night, behind them. The unnatural silence of the daytime persisted, and the harsh shale was exhausting to travel upon by night, when each footfall threatened treachery. Elwood felt the tension within him and forced his mind to relax, to embrace the night.

Immediately, his perception increased, and he heard the light scuff of Volkmar moving in the darkness behind. He heard the breathing of the girl nearby. He realised Arenia was exhausted and perhaps pained, he sensed a great loss within her. He silently cursed himself for a fool. He had seen the bond between her and the old Ent. He made there and then a pledge to set her mind at ease at a more opportune moment.

More than these things though, he felt a presence, an immalleable force in the night airs. An evil dread hung around the mountain slopes, emanating from beyond Methedras...Isengard. Elwood wondered at it, but before he could set his mond in order to seek at the presence further, it removed itself and the air hung easier again around them. Arenia shivered, her teeth chattering audibly.

Before too long, they heard the unmistakable sound of Telefax picking his way through the loose, stony ground. Volkmar, Kalohern and the great steed loomed out of the darkness before them. Volkmar wordlessly handed the reins to Arenia, who led the horse on a small way at the motion of the Rangers hand. Volkmar followed her, leaving Elwood and Kalohern alone in the darkness. The Warg, of course, had disappeared as efficently as he had appeared. Elwood sensed him, not too far away, however.

"Young fool!" started Elwood, more harshly than he had intended, He softened his tone. "You could endanger us all coming this way, and with Telefax too! We may need to cross the mountains and leave him behind. Did you bring food? Provisions for Telefax?" Some mild scorn entered his tuneful voice. Kalohern seemed pertified, as well he might - he had never seen an Elf in wrath before. "Or perhaps," went on the immortal, "Perhaps you bring further word from Thenamir." He did not need Kalohern's murmured denial to know the truth of it.

"So? What course do you suggest, oh mighty Rider?" Elwood crossed his arms and stared at the boy intently, the faint starlight rendering him unearthly pale.

[ November 25, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Thenamir]

"It is unfortunate for them," the man in the white robes mused aloud as he peered into the jet sphere atop the obsidian pedestal, "that they have split themselves so. That fool with the star-scar will be the last to die, despairing in the full knowledge that he caused their demise." He sipped at his wine chalice, and turned again his attention to bringing the swirling images in the seeing-stone into focus...

[Estelyn Telcontar]

The night was quiet, much too quiet to Andros’ thinking. He looked across the flickering fire and saw his concern mirrored in Taradan’s eyes. They moved restlessly, as if seeking to discern what lay beyond the small circle of light that surrounded the two travellers. Their conversation had ceased, turning into an uneasy, listening silence, but no sound could be heard.

There should have been nightly noises, rustles among the trees and the scuttling of small animals in the brush. They had climbed steadily higher during the last days, and the snow-bedecked peak of Caradhras loomed large before them. Yet it was early enough in the waning year; they should have found some game to be hunted, or some birds to be shot for their nourishment. Instead, their supply of waybread and dried meat diminished, though they ate sparingly.

The howling of wolves some nights ago had chilled Andros’ blood, but its sudden cessation did not comfort him. He did not relish the memories of his past encounters with the wild beasts; they were enemies to be reckoned with. Yet a danger known was better than this nameless dread.

He was startled out of his brooding thoughts by the sound of Taradan’s voice. “Let us take turns at keeping watch this night,” his companion said. “I know not what I fear, yet I cannot sleep. I will wake you when your time comes.”

Andros turned restlessly under his blanket, but his discomfort did not come from the rough ground on which he lay. He was not usually given to dark thoughts, being of a calm and cheerful nature, yet it was long before he found sleep, and his rest was troubled by disturbing dreams.

[ November 27, 2002: Message edited by: Estelyn Telcontar ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* The next day, when Andros and Taradan once more took to the trail, they came upon a scene ruinous enough to freeze the wind into the sluggish, festering heaviness of a witness unable to look away. *

* Strewn helter-skelter along the ground were Orc-bones, picked clean, snapped in half. Some stuck up from the mud at odd angles, trodden heedless underfoot. There was a neat pile of spears, each snapped in half, meticulously arranged like a pile of firewood. Near that were similar piles of cloven helmets, shields, and gutted armor, each item cracked with slow, deliberate care and lined up in a stack. A large wolf-pelt hung draped across a branch bereft of leaves, only its bare skeleton left in a heap below. *

[ November 27, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Leighlei]

Arenia took the reins submissively, wanting to stay, but she knew Elwood would not allow her that. Leading the horse foreward, she felt as though her soul had snagged on a tree branch, and was being slowly pulled from her limbs. Leaving behind her only family-- the one thing she trusted the most. She knew her party could have never understood the bond she and the old Ent had shared. She didn't even want to try to explain it. Gazing up, then back over her shoulder, she let out a small sigh, then stroked the horse's nose gently. She moved on, slowly, her sorrow weighing down her limbs. But she had a greater purpose now. She had somewhere where she was needed, moreso than with the Ents.
She just wished her companions understood her the way her foster family had.

[Bêthberry]

The Turncoat Unnerved

A cold dawn brought sunlight in split shafts into the campsite. Groaning, Ulfwine rolled over and sat up, rubbing his side and hip where rocks had dared to make their mark. His sleepy eyes only slowly took in the depleted numbers of the group, but once he realized who was missing, he screamed at Thenamir.

"Thenamir! We're betrayed. That crazed Guthrin is gone, the Elf, the Ranger, the girl, the boy." Yet even in his fear, he remembered to give Thenamir a wide berth, leery of that hand ever on the hilt of his blade.

Ulfwine rose to his feet, his jerky movements bespeaking not only an uncomfortable night, but his own fearful, uncomprehending sense of the night's events. He ran around the edge of the camp and began barking fears to Thenamir again, even as the man was trying to speak up to the Dunlender.

"What are we doing here? What's going on? We can't even discuss our plans among each other but have to sneak off in the dark? What about this treasured secret pass the Tree creep told the girl about? Have they gone on ahead to it and left us to the Gap of Rohan? What do you know of it, Thenamir?"

With his anger and fear mounting, Ulfwine hurriedly packed his bedroll and his small bag of personal goods. Then he stood, anxiously rubbing his head and neck with his hand, seemingly not able to run but not wanting to stay, either. If he had any spit, he would have swallowed it, but his mouth was dry, his tongue cracked. His breath came in quick, sharp spurts.

"Let's get out of here."

[ November 29, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Thenamir]

Thenamir took Ulfwine roughly by the shoulders and spun him around to face him, spitting the word "Silence!" in an insistent low hiss. Ulfwine had to be shaken, and once slapped, before he would calm himself. Gurthden offered his water skin to Ulfine, who drank in nervous gulps while Thenamir tried to explain.

"Guthrin slipped off in the night, Ulfwine. By the time Gurthden noticed Guthrin was gone, he was already a long way off, and he is NOT heading for Isengard and the Gap of Rohan! He is heading in the opposite direction, northward along the eastern foothills of the Misty Mountains. *I* was the one who sent the party after Guthrin, save Kalohern, who I hope will one day learn the importance of chain-of-command. He is liable to get himself or his horse killed trying to get *both* over the mountains." This last Thenamir said while looking off in the direction into which he had sent the pursuers, before coming back to himself. "I let the rest of us rest, becuase that was the one thing we most sorely needed. What we don't need is to have you screaming at the top of your lungs. Every living thing between here and Deadman's Dike probably knows where we are now."

[ December 02, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

[Dwarin Thunderhammer]

Kalohern was taken aback by the comments of the elf. First he was frightened. Soon however his fear turned to anger. He had had enough of the biting words of others. Guthrin had always treated him harshly and the other riders ignored him. Damned if he was going to take this from some prissy Elf.

“What right have you to say such things to me?!”

Kalohern took a step towards the taller Elf.

“Who put you in charge of our party? You are not a Rider. You are simply a tag along. If anyone is in charge here it should be me. None of you are soldiers of Rohan! I am rightfully the leader of this little expedition! Thenamir did not forbid me to come! You’ve been causing strife ever since you came here.”

He spat at Elwood’s feet.

“If you’re so perceptive then tell me, why didn’t you see the attack on Aspida’s house? Why weren’t you there to help? I was! I owe you nothing you coward! Are you afraid of a fight? I am a mighty Rider of Rohan and you WILL NOT MOCK ME!!!”

The boy put on his sword belt.

“My horse has saved lives. No other steed could have carried me faster on that first night! Have you provided healing? Guidance? No. You haven’t? And what of your people? Have they helped our wars? Will they assist us if we fight Isengard? No they won’t they sit in the damned forest and watch and mock! When have they helped us? They lack the courage! You come from a cowardly people! Your queen will never help us! You are a coward! You come from a people of cowards! I lay my challenge at your feet! Even if I die the whole word will remember me as a MAN. They will see me as a Man who stood for Rohan and DIED for Rohan!"

With those words still on his lips and a flame in his heart Kalohern drew his sword.

“Come if you can for I am NOT afraid”

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]

[Rimbaud]

The air was cold about them, and the tall Elf could see the boy's breath, misting by the lamplight and pale starlight.

The boy took another step towards him, but the Elf did not move. Kalohern's blade faltered somewhat, although his eyes still raged.

The Elf laughed, a crisp, clear sound in the night. Further up the path, they heard Telefax whicker in reply and a faint smile even came to Kalohern's face. He lowered his sword.

"Do you mock me again?" he asked,but some of the pride had ebbed.

"I do not mock thee, Kalohern of the Mark," said Elwood calmly. "I respect your abilities too much to mock. You are a fine horseman and in you burns a noble spirit. But the finest steel must be tempered. For if it is not chilled in waters or oils after forging, the best steel blade will snap in its first test. Let that sword not be thee, Kalohern."

The boy stared at the ground. His rage seemed to have dissipated. Elwood sensed Arenia and Volkmar straining to hear, some distance away.

"Sheathe your blade, Kalohern," said the Elf, and the boy did so, but stubbornly.

"You do not lead me, or any of the Mark," he whispered fiercely.

"Indeed, I do not," said Elwood. "And as this started as a mission of Rohan's, so shall it be. The command of our party is up to you."

The boy stared at him. "Just like that?" he wondered aloud. Then, suddenly, his face paled and he looked down at his feet again, which were shifting.

The Elf stood impassive. The night was silent about them. "Young master, our quest," he prodded, after a time.

Kalohern shook himself. "Very good, Master Elwood," he said, only the slightest tremor in his voice. "Let us carry on."

They turned and made their way forwards, towards the others. Elwood followed the boy, checking the night behind, and the string of his bow. His left hand let the slim dagger remain undrawn in its sheath, relaxing its grip.

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Thenamir]

The Mind of the Master

The first light of the sun began working its way down from the tip the obsidian tower of Orthanc. White robes swirled with the faintest rustle as the one who wore them stirred out of his reverie from the dark throne to which he had retired. His thoughts, which had swirled cloudy like a dust devil on the desert of Rhun had now settled themselves into order.

Let them think they have confused me, he mused silently. Let them think they are attaining their goal by stealth and subterfuge. Only one thing now remains to be done. In an adjacent room he penned a note in a thin but strong hand:

Borleg:
The plans have changed. The forgoil have split their party and are coming from two directions. You are NOT to interfere with them in any way until they have reached their destination. If any of them survive what they find there, make sure that none of them escape alive. You will find their numbers much reduced and easier to deal with. To Victory!

After appending his ornate S-rune and the wax insignia, he stepped to the window and gave a shrieking whistle. Within moments one of his messenger raven/crows appeared at the window. The old wizard tied a note to the leg of the bird, whispered a destination in its ear and an incantation over it's head, then sent it off in the direction of Ost-In-Edhil...

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

[Thenamir]

Orc Patrol

Not long after dawn Thenamir and company were up again and on the march, warily skirting the foothills below their camp, nearly opposite of the way Guthrin had left.

Before they'd left, Thenamir had had a look at the orc corpses they'd passed on their way in. The cold had slowed their decay, and to the untrained eye, the slaughter looked as if it could have taken place in the last hour or two. The signs pointed to a small party, perhaps just a patrol, which had erupted into an argument.

There was an insignia and crest of sorts in the appearance of a white hand on their light armor. Thenamir stripped one of the corpses of its armor, thinking it might be a useful disguise at some point, and then burned the remains of the rest.

Now some hours after dawn, Thenamir called for a halt and a bite near one of the many streams which flowed down from the mountains. Dwarin unhitched Mim and led him to the waters, while Ulfine and the rest drank deeply of the stream and refilled their water-skins. It was then that Thenamir caught his first sight of the tip of Orthanc tower, some miles off, a blackened dart aimed at the sun. He shivered, but not becuase of the cold.

It was then that he heard the distant noise, the rhyhmic clank of pieces of badly-forged metal striking each other in a march-tempo. And getting louder.

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* On reading his new orders, Borleg crinkled Saruman's parchment until it was as wrinkled as the wizard's face. The Dunlending warrior clenched his teeth into a scowl gritty from where the wind sprayed stray grains of sand. So then, they were to sit and wait. Let the weight of The White Hand fall where it would, do most of the work against the forgoil. Personally, Borleg didn't mind leaving tasks to others. But his men would be itching to fight tonight, deprived of the battle and booty they'd been gearing up for. Might turn on each other. Borleg would watch his back. Sighing, he called his men together and explained the change of strategy in a gruff voice. *

* Using the mutes as bait/distraction was no longer necessary. The aged sign-language interpreter told them through gestures to stay together with the Dunlendings now, lay low, and continue to observe while keeping hid, as the warriors kept alert, ready to wield weapons at the first sound of a Horse-Man's hoofbeat. *

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Taradan stared in consternation at the scene of carnage before them. What could have caused this destruction? He turned to his companion with a questioning look; Andros was kneeling on the ground, looking for clues in the trampled marks that surrounded the piles of orc bones, weapons and armour.

“I cannot tell,” Andros said, “but it must have been a mighty foe indeed to destroy so many orcs – wolves too, I deem.” He rose and strode further to search for clearer marks. His brow furrowed as he studied the ground and vegetation. “There are tracks here, the likes of which I have not seen before,” he called.

Taradan joined him and looked, but was equally puzzled. “What concerns me more,” he said, “is that it has not been long since this has happened. Where is this foe now? Are we ourselves endangered by it?”

Andros nodded slowly. “I thought the same. I cannot see if the tracks move in one direction, for the ground is hard and cold. Even if we knew, we would have no choice; our path leads us up to Redhorn Gate. There is no other way.”

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

Faster they travelled now, seeking to hasten towards their goal though they knew not if they were only approaching danger more quickly. They no longer dared to light a fire at night, since it would have revealed their presence over a great distance. No warm food or drink combated the chill that pervaded the air and grew increasingly numbing as their path took them higher and higher. They sought sheltered places between large rocks or under some jutting promontory of the foot of Caradhras to make camp, and though they took turns keeping watch, neither slept well.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

Taradan was awake during the first half of the night. He shifted position, trying to wrap his clothing and blanket more closely about his cold body. He wished that he could have walked about to warm his legs, but the moon had not yet risen and the ground was treacherous in the dark. Suddenly he felt more than heard a great rumble. He was on his feet in an instant, all senses alert. The noise grew louder, and the reassuring sound of Andros’ quiet snoring stopped.

“What is it?” Taradan heard him call.

“I know not – confound this darkness!” he exclaimed.

Nearer and nearer came the stomping and roaring of a creature they could not see. Suddenly a flickering light became visible, bobbing up and down at a height well above their heads.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* The torch-light swayed nearer and nearer. About a quarter-mile away it lowered to hover just above the ground, and stayed there. For a time nothing happened, and Taradan and Andros stared at the fateful flame with wide eyes, breathing furtively, as though a strong exhalation would put out the light. *

* Then a stumbling sound was heard, and crashings, and snapping branches of tree and bush, and heavy brutish breathings, and odd deep mumblings, and a rumble on the ground ... Too late they saw the boulder! Now the massive round rock thrown like a bowling ball smashed into the front of the shallow cave, trapping the two Men encamped within. There were only small hand-sized cracks allowing air to pass through, and daylight, should they live to see it. *

* Two voices without roared and bellowed victory. The first voice cried, * "We smelled them sure enough, and now we've gots them sure enough! Men and beast! Beast and men! Gus knew! Knew Gus! Us!" The second voice babbled incoherently in what sounded like agreement.

Gus, the two-headed Mountain Troll, slobbered front and back as his primary, forward-facing head descried the horse he'd smelled. Stomping over, he picked up the horse and tucked it under his left armpit, squashing the wind out of it just a little to keep it from kicking.

"Back to torch, build a fire, hang horse over it, horse to scorch. Back to fire, build with torch, horse tightly tied, horse nicely fried."

Gus trundled away, looking behind him with his backwards-facing head at the boulder blocking the entrance to the cave as he looked forward to a sumptuous supper.

[ January 12, 2003: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Bêthberry]

His legs shaking from their stiff tension and unable to relax, Ulfwine leaned against the trunk of the pine tree, gulping great quantities of air as if he were starving. Yet he couldn't take in enough air. His lungs burnt from pain of breathing the sparse air at this altitude. They burnt from the pain of his narrow escape. They burnt from the agony of calling to Gurthden after the man had slipped from his grasp. It wasn't enough to have escaped detection from the marauders after they found the orc bodies. The mountain itself was hostile to them.

He looked out over the land spread in front of them, Baranthol, Thenamir, Dwarin, who else? There lay Dunland before them. His land. In the bright sun of late morning, the land shimmered, patches of grassland, lakes, forests shining like a patchwork quilt. He had never seen it before from the height of Methedras. He hoped he never would again.

Calming himself, he relived the moments of Gurthden's fall, the shale suddenly giving way beneath their feet, the pebbles rolling faster and faster, until half the side of the mountain it seemed rolled away under them. How he avoided the rock slide he didn't know, only that he had grabbed Gurthden's hand as the man's feet splayed out in front of him, but in a slow agony of frozen moments their fingers slid, slid, slid away from each other. Gurthden rolled over and over, awash in the shifting rock and battered by the larger bolders which had broken loose, until he could no longer be seen, buried under the detruss of the slide, the dust his winding sheet.

Ulfwine forced the images from his mind and returned to the present. Thenamir was calling to them, to begin the western descent which could prove to be as treacherous as the eastern ascent had been. "When, when would it end?" wondered Ulfwine. But it was not a thought he spoke aloud.

[Rimbaud]

He Who Ran

He had lashed his belongings to his back too tightly, and the cords cut cruelly into him as he ran, stumbling often, across the loose shale ground. The dark and the cold threatened to disorient him, but he was driven by something more powerful than fear, and more palpable than the air on his face. His brain felt compressed, strangulated; his thoughts were not his own. His boots were starting to come apart, the constant slamming into edged rock scoring and now, piercing the thick hide. He held his frantic pace, quickening even, the night rushing by. He fell, several times, his hands bleeding unchecked. The cold of the air felt as though it would freeze his face, he could barely open his mouth to gasp for more air. He ran on, but in his mind there was a howl of horror and despair.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

When morning light began to make the journey easier, he felt the iron bands crushing his will loosen, and he sank, gasping, nauseous. On his bloodied knees on the rock, he swayed. His hair was loose and soiled, from the blood and earth on his hands, sweeping the light locks from his face as he had run. Ragged and exhausted he seemed. He toppled and lay still, sleep swallowing him where he lay, exiguous and exsanguinating, transuding profusely as if in a fever-dream. His lips moved as if forming foreign words, and his eyelids shifted and flickered. Against his chest, the stone burnt him with its cold, unyielding harshness. The thing had grown heavier in the last few days, threatening to drag him down to his knees at times. Tears slipped through his clenched eyelids, freezing on his cheeks in the cold, cracking the skin. The visions of the white figure in the black tower remained strongly with him, as they had since they had exited the woods, what felt like a lifetime ago.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

He woke, shivering, his chest thumping as his heart struggled. He could not open his eyes, they seemed frozen shut. He could barely draw breath. Even the grip on his mind seemed to be fading into a red-black vista. There was a yawning chasm, warm and inviting, all he had to do was let go…

With a sudden, shocking wrench he was brought back to consciousness, in a flame of pain and horror. He was barely conscious and had no concept of where, what or when he was. His eyes snapped open, tearing the skin around them, the blood stinging his eyes, blinding him as his body pushed itself impossibly from the ground, limbs awkward, stiff and wreathed in agony. Driven by an immalleable will, he staggered unseeing onwards, barely alive, falling, stumbling, lacking the strength or the presence even for despair.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

For a further half-day and full night this continued, the mind dragging the body forwards even as it failed. At some time during the night, the tortured Rohirrim must have come across foes, for battle he saw, and death he dealt, unknowing. He remained trapped in a shrinking corner of his own mind, barely even registering the maelstrom of pain.

By the end of the second night, Guthrin had reached a narrow and hidden pass, winding up seemingly straight into the heart of Methedras. He had never been there before, nor had anyone ever spoken of it in his hearing, yet unerringly he went, rising up and up, on treacherous and hidden ways, until morning came and he was released to a near-death sleep once more.

[ January 25, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Rimbaud]

The Elf and his Boy

The remainder of the night was sheer drudgery for Elwood. The first sign of truly bad blood had been forcing the boy to send Telefax back towards Thenamir’s party. He had achieved it – and even suggested that it was the boy’s good idea in the first place – but it had not been easy and Kalohern remained sullen.

Even casting his will and inner sight forwards, he could distinguish no trace of Guthrin, whose ravaged mental path had been easy to taste before, although physical tracks along the way were not hard to find. The man seemed to have fallen often and bled unchecked. Elwood tried to force his grave forebodings to the back of his mind.

Despite this, and Kalohern’s aptitude for tracking, the cold and the dark conspired with the loose and treacherous shale to confuse and confound most would-be trackers. Elwood guided the boy as best he could, a gentle hand, usually unfelt by the young Rider, a comment, a murmur at the right time, a half-gesture in one direction or another. It was quite tiring, but necessary for the boy was close to bridling at any comment. Arenia and Volkmar stayed quiet and huddled in the hoods, silenced by the sour atmosphere and piercing cold.

When morning came, Elwood began to regret his decision to push on through the night, as he knew their quarry had done. His trio of companions (the Warg had silently melted away and not returned early in the night, much to his regret) looked bedraggled and dispirited. Exhausted too, more pertinently, and he saw they would need to stop. Not only that, but they were desperately short on food and water and there was no promise of either even once they had traversed the mountains – clearly Guthrin’s intent, that much was evident from his path.

He felt in his blood that whatever was driving the troubled Rohirrim would not let him rest, even for a second.

“He puts distance between us,” sighed the Elf, feigning more weariness than he felt. Or was it more…I am no longer sure…

Kalohern looked at the Elf, standing nearby panting, head bowed. He straightened his shoulders. “We continue,” he said firmly. “We must catch him, and discover the truth!”

Arenia groaned audibly, and nearly sank to the ground. Volkmar just grunted and almost looked eager to get moving again.

They pushed hard until midday and pale sun weakly took center-stage. They had reached the foot of Methedras, having come there through the oddest of paths, that they were not sure they could retrace. Here, they were flummoxed. The mountainside was sheer. They had reached a dead-end. Guthrin’s tracks led straight into the heart of the rock of Methedras.

[ January 30, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Andros and Taradan held their breath in consternated silence. Only when the tramping noise subsided did they dare to speak in whispers.

“A troll – so that is the solution to the riddle,” Andros said. “Now we know our foe, yet what can we do against him?”

Taradan answered, “Should we try to save your horse?”

“First we must escape,” answered his companion. He pushed at the boulder, and Taradan joined him, placing his shoulder against the huge stone and pushing with all his strength. It moved not an inch. They felt the surrounding rock surface in hopes that there would be some miraculous escape there, but the side of the mountain was solid.

Taradan stubbed his foot on a stone, wincing in pain. A thought came to him, and he picked the stone up, searched with his fingers in the dark for the crack between stone wall and boulder, and began pounding against the edge of the rock ledge. A piece of its shale-like surface split off; encouraged, he continued pounding. Andros heard what he was doing, searched for another stone and began pounding likewise.

Beads of sweat soon moistened their brows despite the cold, but they kept on in desperate determination. Aided after a time by the rays of the risen moon which peered through the cracks, they pounded on, losing all sense of time. Fortunately, the edge of the rock was not thick, and the opening grew ever wider. Taradan, the taller and thinner of the two, tried to squeeze through it and succeeded, yet it was still too narrow for Andros. They pounded from both sides, not caring about the noise they made, thinking only of escaping. Andros handed their packs out of the opening, then pushed himself through. They were free!

In the moonlight, they could easily see the tracks that the troll had made. As swiftly and silently as possible, they followed. It was not long before they saw the pale light of a fire flickering from a cave entrance. The smell of roasting meat told them that they were too late to save the horse. Now they could only try to get by the cave unseen and continue on the path over the mountain pass.

It was well for Taradan that Andros was an experienced woodsman. He led him through the brushes beside the path, finding their way without making undue noise. His throat constricted when he heard the chomping and chewing sounds from the cave, but he concentrated on his task and tried not to think of the fate of his horse. They dared hardly breathe until they had left the patch of reddish firelight behind them. Then they moved faster, beginning to run. In their relief at being out of the worst danger, they did not notice that the chomping sounds from the cave had ceased.

[Ransom]

Volkmar groaned quietly and noisily sat on the nearest rock. The strain of moving for over twenty-four hours through rough terrain in armor had caused more than a small amount of physical discomfort. Now that Kalohern’s mad pursuit of Guthrin had stopped, the Ranger began to take stock of the situation. Despite the pain, the Ranger was quite sure that he could continue the pursuit for a time. Like most of his brethren, the elf possessed an incredible level of endurance that, in truth, annoyed Volkmar. He was a bit more concerned about the two other members of the party. True, Guthrin’s behavior was troubling. But Kalohern’s zeal to catch his errant brother would probably result in exhaustion, and a fight in such a fait would quickly turn fatal. Arenia was an enigma. She certainly looked like she was only a child, though her relationship with the peculiar Ent was most disturbing. But she was probably as tired as the rest of them.

He wearily stood, using his war hammer as a crutch to keep his weight off his injured leg. He hobbled as best he could toward the elf, making all possible attempts to hide their conversation with Kalohern. This was no great task, for the young man was still examining the mysterious ending of Guthrin’s trail.

“I would not question your decisions, friend elf, but our currant pace is simply withering. We have not slept and barely eaten for over a day. Should our foes fall upon us, we would be hard pressed to defend ourselves. Mayhap we could convince young Kalohern to rest for a short time while we ponder the mysterious disappearance of Guthrin.”

[ February 24, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Thenamir]

Thenamir took cover behind a patch of scrub brush on a rise and squinted into the visible area trying to catch a glimpse of the approaching noise. In a few moments he was rewarded for his vigilance -- a small patrol of soldiers, too tall for the average orc but otherwise equipped in similar fashion, dim metal helmets obscuring their faces, marching in no particular formation and keeping loose synchronization with a swift cadence being called out by the foremost.

Their path appreared to be heading in the general direction of the rest of Thenamir's party, following the same rough trail. He was about to steal back and warn them, when one of the soldiers, the last in the small column, called out, "Hola! Wurrmazh! Give us a rest! We've been marching straight through since we left Orthanc!"

"Lazy maggot-flesh!" replied the cleader, interrupting the march tempo. "You would rest until those we relieve decayed to their bones, eh? You'll take your turn on patrol like all of us!"

One of the others spoke up, "Ghaztrak is right! Give us a moment to sit and eat before we cross the pass."

"Bah," Wurrmazh spat, not hiding his annoyance and contempt. "Rest if you must, carrion filth. "But when the Boss finds out that you let the tarks get away becuase you were late to relief, he'll feed you to those new troops in the caverns! So be quick!"

They stopped within 20 yards of Thenamir's position and sat on a rock, breaking out some foul-smelling strips of dried flesh and ripping into them with their animal teeth. Thenamir found the smell repulsive, but was glad of it, since it meant he was downwind of them -- Orcs' sense of smell is keen.

"Any idea what's going on?" one of them asked. "There's been a lot of noise about trouble over here, especially since the last relief failed to come back."

"Who says they failed to come back?!" Wurrmazh roared. "You'd best be careful about talking like that, Maulok. It might get back to Orthanc that you were spreading lies."

"Eveyone in out barracks was talking about it before we left," Maulok retorted. "Sometimes whol patrols come back bloody and maimed...or not at all."

"Well, you'll just have to keep a better eye around you, and make sure it doesn't happen to you, is all," Wurrmazh said in a sneer. "Keep proper watch and do as your told! And the more you talk, the less you eat. We're leaving in a moment, I won't wait much longer."

Maulok and Ghaztrak returned to their rations, but Thenamir had heard enough. He stole down from his perch and made his way back to the others...

[shieldmaiden]

Baranthôl, Ulfwine and Dwarin were waiting for Thenamir to come back and bring news. They sat in the shadow of a tall bush and whispered, not daring to talk louder.
“I can’t believe we did nothing to help Gurthden!” – Baranthôl whispered desperatelly. “We didn’t even bury his body the way he deserves.”
“There was no time for that. And he was way beyond our help, anyway. It would have taken ours to get to him and remove those rocks. At least this way no Orc or a beast can find him and carnage his body. ” – answered Dwarin.
"But he might have been alive. Maybe he-”
“There was no chance that he could survive that fall.” - Dwarin interrupted her. “Stop thinking like that. You’ll drive yourself mad.”
“I think I already am.”
Ulfwine didn’t say a word. From his hands Gurthden had slipped. He was the last one to look into his eyes and it haunted him.
“Of all this party he was my closest friend, if I ever had one. We went through many things together. I just can’t get used to the fact that he is not among the living any more.”- Baranthôl said. The three plunged into silence. That was the way Thenamir found them when he returned from his little spying mission.

[ March 02, 2003: Message edited by: shieldmaiden ]

[Thenamir]

Thenamir waved a "quiet" signal to everyone as he returned to his companions' stopping place, mothioning for them to come closer so that raised voices were not necessary.

"We are in the path of a small troop of orcs heading this way," Thenamir whispered, "evidently to relieve the dead orcs we found before we split up. There are 4, and with bows we could take them, but it may be more advantageous to skirt them altogether."

Dwarin bristled at the suggestion that they should leave any orc alive. "They'll smell our trail once they get down the path, and then they'll be right behind us for sure."

"Point taken, Master Dwarf," Thenamir acknowledged. "Then let us seek cover from which to ambush them. I will remain in sight so that they will come to me on the path. You'll know when to attack." The others looked strangely at Thenamir, but did as he instructed, taking refuge behind nearby scrub brush and larger rocks. Thenamir fumbled in his pack and retrieved the rough leather jerkin bearing the white hand he'd looted from the orcs they'd come across before.

They did not have long to wait. When the orcs came jogging over the rise, they spotted a lone tark standing in the path brandishing a bright sword and chuckling to himself in a pleased sort of way. Dwarin flashed a questioning look to Baranthol, who only shruggged in reply before both turned again to the strange spectacle uinfolding before them. The orcs too looked at each other, before roaring a challenge and tearing forward to face this madman. Thenamir waited until the orcs could hear him plainly, a bit too close for the comfort of those in hiding, before he roared his own challenge, "Would that the simpering wizard in the black tower would send me a real challenge!! Come forward and die as your comrades died at my hand! Do you not smell their blood in the air?" Thenamir paused and breathed a deep draught of the morning air, as if relishing the faint but noticable bitter tang on the breeze.

Wurmazh the leader continued forward a couple of steps before he hrealized he'd lost his cohorts, stopped and sniffing, and then fidgeting nervously. "He is only ONE!!" Wurmazh bellowed, "He can't have taken our mates!"

"Thalmeron Orcslayer I am," Thenamir screamed in retort, "and you will not be my first kills today. Behold!" Thenamir held up the jerkin with the white-hand stain upon it, and a broad laugh was on his lips. "Here is the bloodied trophy I looted from one of your friends, whom you will soon join in death, come and tkae it, if you dare!" He tossed the jerkin to the ground beside Wurmazh, and the others ran up to grab and smell the dried-hide. Wurmazh himself turned to examine it, bending over to pick it up.

"Now!!" Thenamir cried.

[Thenamir]

<< THIS RP WILL BE CONCLUDED IN FAN FICTION. THE THREAD IS CLOSED. >>