Truth in a Dark Place RPG

[Arvedui III]

Rangar stood staring at Barodin's body, oblivious to the Haradrim, the company, everything. He was only after revenge. It's my fault. You can't keep blaming yourself, his brother died attacking you. It's not your fault he loved overmuch. "YOU DID IT" Rangar looked up sharpy. Enien, right arm completely red, was grinning at him. Rangar, however, still caught up in all the events that just occurred, did not return the smile. The company began to gather around Enien, Camalita dressing various wounds. "What say you?" He heard the elf ask, though it felt like she was a considerable distance away. "Sure, 'course." Rangar responded, a slight crack in his voice as he looked towards Turthol. Great, another person horribly wronged because of me. How am I going to make him remember? Rangar knelt down next to Turthol, hoping the same blank, hateful look would not great him. But, when Turthol looked up, tears rolled down his check. He's back A rush of relief coursed through Rangar, and at the same time a great swell of pity for his friend, who must have come to terms with how he acted when they found him again.

"I'm-" He began brokenly. "I know. S'my fault anyway." Rangar tried as hard as he possibly could to shrug the statement off, but somehow it had no effect. "I betrayed-" Turthol agonized again, attempting to find words for his actions. "No, you didn't." Rangar said gently, his wound, grief, companions, the rest of the world, dissolving. "It was the last thing, the thing I loathed above-" Turthol still seemed indifferent to what Rangar had said. "Yeah, yeah." Rangar interrupted impatiently, not wanting Turthol to imitate him and begin blaming himself for everything under the sun. " Look, you've never betrayed me, or anyone else." "Then who struck Enien? Who put a sword to your throat?" Turthol retorted, bitterly. Rangar sighed.

"Barodin's cronie did that. That was Barodin's Turthol, some misshapen, confused man, but you, I think, came back. Barodin's Turthol is dead; And now you're here, a honorable ranger of the Dunèdain." Rangar looked intently at his friend, hoping his stresses on honorable had some effect. Turthol just stared for a moment. "Forgive," "There is nothing that I can forgive you for," Rangar said sincerely, then in an attempt to cheer him up, "' Cept maybe for being a hard-headed mule, and somehow I think that's not you're fault either. Your mother's, maybe" This earned a laugh. "Don't start. You're reminding me of Wren." Rangar joined in his laughter. " Sorry, I know that's not a pleasant- Oh, hullo Wren." "Are you two quite finished laughing at me?" "Yeah, just finished." Rangar said, and got up, letting Wren give Turthol back his fife and jacket, which he cradled for a moment, then Rangar smiled and looked away.

The company reformed and cleaned up, Camalita fretting over his shoulder, which he did not really care about any more, then gave Rave such a funeral as eight people stuck in the desert might be able to, however they left the Haradrim for carrion. Rangar buried Barodin that night while the others slept, and while this did not excuse any of his actions, Rangar felt that mayhap the hunter earned a quiet rest after all the suffering the man put himself, and Rangar through. The next day, Rangar dissuaded any further attempt to find the seer, after all, he had no inkling where the trap door was, and for all the good going to the man did, Rangar might as well have offered the company pears. So, with Bregand and his very useful maps in the lead, the company made their way back to the shore of Harad lacking in incident.

At first, they were not sure how to signal to the Silver Wyrm that they were back, or if the ship was even still at anchor. But fortunately, someone on board spotted the company from a distance, and brought them aboard. Ani Dao was quite pleased to see the group again, as she would have had to sail off the next day for fear of supplies. That night, the entire company spent a good portion of the first dog watch telling the elf captain, and for some parts, Turthol, of all that occurred in Harad.

"Wait a minute, some blond kid just comes up to you and says ‘hi'? " Turthol asked from the top of Ani Dao's desk, chewing contentedly on licorice. "Yeah, weird." Tareth added, towering in an armchair. "Well, it's true. And I swear he looked like a younger version of me who was untroubled by the fact I was in shock and had a dagger in my shoulder." Rangar said through sips of ale, the first time he drank since meeting Turthol. "A shoulder whose dressing needs changing." Camalita said pointedly, making Rangar groan. "Maybe he is a younger version of you. What's his name?" Wren voiced thoughtfully. "Gram, but-" "Much better name than ‘Rangar'." "Hey, I like my name."

About two hours after dawn the coastline of Harad vanished, and for the week, strong winds carried the ship and her passengers west. Rangar was relieved to have gotten the journey over with, and glad that he had made it. Dreams still came, horrible dreams, but he knew they bore his past, and even more reassuringly, he knew that one day the swirl of color would slow down enough for him to decipher them. Finally, the ship turned northwest, and the much more inviting shore of Gondor appeared.

[Everdawn]

The ship. It was hard for Calimir to get back on, he was quite anxious, almost knocking Énien over the side of the plank and into the water. "Calimir!" she scolded, "It is finished, nothing can happen now, steady yourself. Or will I have to get someone else to help me?" she said with a small laugh. The elf still needed assistance from time to time. Usually a sorry Turthôl was first to catch her arm.

"There is no need to help me." she said as she saw him waiting on the ship. "For the hundreth time, I dont care anymore! Go! go help someone else! Go talk with Wren! you heard me!" she cried, the elf in stitches of laughter, and suddenly bending over in pain. "Ah! i see, i cannot laugh so hard without the pain, bless Carmalita, she did a right fine job. Soon I will be moving around properly. Youll see."

Énien spent almost all of the time in the ship in bed, as Carmalita would not let her leave. "If anyone should be resting it is you! I dont see that arm healing itself you know!" she had called after the nurse the last time. "Gondor" said Ani Dao popping her hard around the door and just as quickly leaving. Good, Melliant will be pleased to see me. And the sooner i can go home, and then... over the sea. she dwelled warmly on this thought for a long time.

[The X Phial]

The party disembarked in Gondor, their task over but somehow reluctant to split into their separate ways. The only one who seemed anxious to get home and settle something was Calimir, but he checked his desire long enough to ride back to Minas Tirith with the group. Wren once again offered them lodgings, and for a while they stayed together there. Bregand spent a long time in the libraries with a special dispensation from the King. He dragged himself away, however, long enough to spend his evenings walking in the streets or the garden with Carmalita.

One night they talked about the future and whether Evendim needed a nurse or Bree needed a scholar. This talk brought thoughts of home into the forefront for Bregand, and, although he loved Minas Tirith and the knowledge accumulated there, he felt a tug on his heart to be away north again. He could also see that Carmalita was missing Crystal. They rode north together a little while later, accompanied by some of their companions and leaving the others with promises of correspondence to come.

Bregand was full of plans. Wherever they settled, he would need students. It made sense for him to build his career for a while and then think about providing for the family he now knew he wanted. He hoped Carmalita would be willing to wait for him and knew that if she didn't he would never love another. As they left the walls of Minas Tirith far behind them and plunged northwards again, Bregand reflected on all that had happened since he had last seen his home. He had found love and lost friends. He had fought and sung, led and followed, learned and taught. He knew now that whatever lay ahead of him, he would not meet it as a child, but as a man.

[ June 25, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Durelin]

Axe in hand, shield on his arm, Tareth repeatedly swung, anything but his enemy seeming part of another world. Blood coated him, some his own, most that of others. A red haze covered his eyes, so he could barely see what was around him. Even so, he was completely aware of his surroundings, so much so that he caught an enemy coming up behind him with a slash across the stomach. As he slashed, all thoughts and feelings of the world were not a part of him as they should be in life. He felt one feeling, one that scared him, though his fear rested outside himself, outside his mind. A voice screamed at him, but his mind blocked it out. It was wrong. He felt…pleasure. He was enjoying this, the killing. He couldn't stop himself when he began to laugh, a laugh full of real mirth. The red haze enveloped him, the voice screaming at him became a whisper, and his mind came to an end.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Tareth sat on the ground, idly wiping his axe on the grass to no avail. The growth was soaked with red as much as his axe was. He stared down at the bloody body before him with a bright smile on his face, a feeling of sickly warmth filling him. It was Baroden, dead, and by Aerin's sword. O how beautiful a sight! It is the loveliest feeling! He's dead, and I saw it! O, what greater thing than the bloody death of him! A single tear ran down his cheek. The feeling of wet on his cheek brought his head up, his thoughts back with a snap. Why was he crying? He looked down again at the body, and the tear ran off his cheek, the single drop splashing onto the dead man before him. He was crying in joy. In joy at a man being dead.

Tareth's mind raced back to the night he had first killed a man. How he had thought of himself, how he would kill a man…but for certain reasons. And how he would not let himself change, lose a part of him as Rangar had. How he had changed. Now he killed a man…and joy filled his heart till it seemed to burst. It had felt good to kill a man.

His mind raced to the battle just before. Back to when the red haze had covered him. He had laughed with bright mirth while slitting open a man's stomach.

He had smiled at a man before he plunged his axe into the man's skull.

He had found warmth in the sight of the bloody gash in Baroden.

He had cried in joy sitting before Baroden's mangled corpse.

Tareth rose quickly and turned away from the corpse, falling to his knees a short distance away. Holding his head in his hands he wept.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The company made their way back to Gondor, and soon they would be going on their seperate ways. Tareth was lost in his thoughts. He wished he did not remember it all so clearly, but it burned brightly in his mind. The shame burned hotter. He avoided his companions, which was not hard. They had seen him, after all, they had to have. Seen his shame. Now he would return to Bree and become a blacksmith. It was all he had ever wanted, all he would ever want. He would use iron only in service.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Tareth arrived back in Bree to smile for the first time in days. Tying his gelding, Tareth dismounted and pulled his bags off to carry over his shoulders. He walked into his father's forge to the familiar heat, smells, and sounds. It felt so good to be back in the peace of this place. He put down the saddle bags and took up his shield and axe. Smiling at his father, Tareth spoke. "With your permission, da, I'm going to melt these down. My horse needs new shoes."

His father simply smiled at him for a moment before replying. "You don't need my permission, son. This is yours now, though I will still help ya a bit."

"I know you will, and till the day you can't lift the hammer anymore."

"Mayhap that will come quicker than you think. The time came real soon when you couldn't lift that axe no more."

"Axe or sword, it is ten times heavier than any hammer in my hands."

[ June 25, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Calimir boarded the Silver Wyrm hesitantly, hesitant to face his longing for the waves again. He didn't want to savor the way the clouds reflected in the green water, or the way the ship rolled beneath him. The distraction was too great, and Calimir longed with all his heart to ride fast and far to Rivendell, to be with Glorenwen again.

He knew though, that it wouldn't be for long. A few years of the sun, saying their last goodbyes, and then they would be gone from this land of change and death, gone across the timeless waters. His wife's form danced around the edge of his mind, now that their quest was completed. The thoughts of his family preoccupied him through the long hot days on the ship. Preoccupied him enough that he forgot to watch the sunlight dancing on the waves crest, and watched instead the forms of Bregand and Carmalita talking on the deck.

Enien understood, he thought, she knew the pull of the sea and the pull of her family long gone. Bregand understood too, the elf thought, though he didn't know how. But the light was there in the boy's eyes when they encountered each other on the deck, and Calimir knew that he understood the haste and longing that he felt. Thoughts of the sea and sky, thoughts of walking under the trees and the free night beneath the stars were consumed by his need to be with his wife, touch her hands, watch her eyelids flicker while she slept.

When the ship embarked at Harlond, Calimir joined the company, out of courtesy, and in order to say a last goodbye to those who were staying there. It was a grey morning when he rode away from the Chambrias'. A grey morning, and a fleet grey horse bore him. He knew no horse would take him as far as Rivendell at the speed he pushed his mount out of the city of Gondor. But he cared little, except for the wind on his face and the fact that Enien rode beside him on Melliant, her hair flying out behind her. The road north would lead him home, and the road beyond Westward would lead him home forever.

[maikafanawen]

The ride home was peaceful. It seemed as though the Vala had taken pity on them, and spared them the treacherous elements. Wren hadn’t left Turthol’s side. Once she had found out the truth, she had apologized profusely for comparing him to Sartir. For the hundredth time Turthol had laughed and told her to put a sock in it. He didn’t speak of it any longer but Wren knew it still hurt. So she did her best to entertain and keep his mind off of it by telling funny stories and asking him uplifting questions that started jovial conversations.

She was the only one whose heart dropped to the pit of her stomach when the harbor of Harlond came into view. It was then the noblewoman realized that Turthol would depart and go back up north, leaving her. And still she had not roused the guts to ask him about staying, or her going.

The company rode north to Minas Tirith staying yet again at Wren’s estate. The elves left soon followed by Bregand, Carmalita and Tareth. Rangar and Turthol stayed a while longer, in no hurry to return from whence they had come. They lingered in the Chambrias’ much to Wren’s enjoyment.

* * * * *

The rain poured outside as Wren sat by the fire putting together pictures she had drawn for an instructional book on fencing and Turthol played his fife, his feet propped up on a foot stool.

“Finally finished mending your jerkin?” asked Rangar coming in, balancing his goblet of mellow spirits on the book he’d bored in one hand, and closing the door with his other. Wren smiled, remembering how infuriated her mother had been when she’d come home with a completely soiled jerkin that she had made her mend, and held up her newest pictures. “Very nice,” he admitted. He took a seat on the sofa and opened his book.

Wren had spent the past week avoiding her usual friends, working on things for her father and trying to think of the best way to approach Turthol. All her efforts had failed and tonight she decided she’d have to really get through.

She got her chance after dinner. Everyone was asleep except for Turthol who was meandering through the library. Wren entered pretending to be looking for one of her father’s books. Turthol saw her and walked over, two books in his hands.

“Hello,” he said suddenly, thinking to startle her. She jumped and turned.

“Oh, I-uh-I-uh I didn’t--”

“Yes you did.” She didn’t give up her guard.

“No, I honestly didn’t,” then she narrowed her eyes and slanted her eyebrows. “Why are you still here anyway? Aren’t you going home anytime soon?” He shrugged.

“I get nice accommodations and free food here, why should I want to leave.” Upset by his remark Wren made to leave but Turthol touched her elbow.

“Why do you embarrass me like this? You know why I’m staying.”

“I do?” Turthol nodded, grinning. I’m working on expanding my knowledge of herb lore so I can be of some extra help to the rangers up north. Your father has the most decent library in Gondor. And--” Wren looked up hopefully and when she did he bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Well, goodnight Wren.” He left her stunned in the library, taking his two books with him.

The next morning was spent packing. Turthol, Rangar, and Wren were going up north.

“A ranger? What?? Oh, no no no no no.” Doralyn rushed around Wren’s room, unpacking things as quickly as Wren shoved them into her single saddle bag.

“Father says it’s a good idea. I am a good fencer and the King can always do with more Gondorian rangers if I can’t be of any use to the Dunedain.” In her fury, Doralyn knocked over Wren’s dusty collection of perfume bottles spilling the contents over her unused vanity. Wren laughed.

“You talked with Mauriace about this? AND HE AGREED!!”

“Yes I did,” said a bemused voice from the hallway. “Doralyn, will you please excuse me, I would like to have a few words with Wren before she leaves.”

“Then you can wait because she’s NOT leaving!!” bellowed Mrs. Chambria.

“Yes she is, and get out.” In a frantic efforts of sputtering dissents, Doralyn was removed from the room and Mauriace winked at Wren.

“All set baby?” The noblewoman held up her saddle bag and tied her sword to her waist.

“Rangar says I need to learn to use a bow too, oh and daggers. I also need to train my horse if I’m to be under Faramir. I’m thrilled. This is exactly the turn around I need. Plus I’ll--” Mauriace held up a hand as Doralyn began to pound on the door. ‘Go!’ he mouthed. Wren nodded and slipped through the panel-door on the other side of the room where Minstria was waiting to show her down to the stables where Rangar and Turthol were saddled up and ready to go.

“Tell Mum I said goodbye and I love her even though she’s a mad old bat.” Minstria pursed her lips and shoved Wren on her way. The noblewoman turned and pecked her on the cheek. “I’ll miss you too Mini!”

Her saddlebag was tied to Culfin’s new saddle and she mounted, tough leather boots finding their place in the stirrups and her gloved hands taking the reins. She was ready for the training she was about to face. At age thirty five she was going to be the oldest novice there.

“All set?” asked Turthol mounting his own steed. Wren nodded enthusiastically and he frowned. “You know, this isn’t going to be some fancy outing. You’re going to be put through a lot of endurance testing and skill training. Being a Ranger isn’t just fending off orcs with your sword. You need to be a good tracker, healer, and know your way around the woods. For instance, when I started out I was half as giddy as you’re acting and I had a shock. I can’t imagine what you’re going to think…” Wren smiled and rode contentedly beside him listening to him spiel about the stamina of a ranger. She knew she was ready for whatever was to come, as long as--

“Rangar!” Laughing like mad, the ranger watched as the noblewoman struggled to keep her seat on the saddle as her horse reared from being slapped on the rump.

“Whoa! Whoa Culfin whoa!” The mare settled and Wren turned on Rangar. “Okay, very nice, come ‘ere!” Wren chased Rangar with Turthol in hot pursuit trying to break it up into the morning sunrise, away from the fineries and luxuries of Gondor to learn what it meant to be known as a ranger.

[Arvedui III]

The sun rose gloriously over the city of king as Rangar, Turthol, and Wren departed, bound for the north. During their ley over at the Chambrias, Rangar became desultory once more, wondering what he would do with his life now the quest to Harad was finished . The Seer had been his last hope, but somehow he wasn't disheartened. On the country, making what he deemed the best friends in Middle-Earth, putting a tortured man out of his misery, and gaining the knowledge that he would one day know his real name, could hardly be considered failure.

As Minas Tirith grew fainter and Wren and Turthol's laugher grew louder, Rangar decided that he would try his luck on his own again. Turthol had more than enough to keep himself occupied, and besides, he could slip away unnoticed if he truly wanted to. Somehow Rangar thought that he needed to figure things out on his own, maybe somewhere simple feeling. Like Rohan. Rohan or not, by now Rangar knew that he needed to find himself somewhere that could not shadow his heart, for no truth can found in a dark place.

[ June 25, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]