Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
I wonder about him sometimes. I really do. I get around myself, frequently attending Ales & Tales, the Green Hill Music Society concerts, and the march of the Exiles of the Riddermark............ So does he.........It isn't that he does anything offensive; it's more a sense of inconsistency that makes me wonder. I see him performing in the Green Hill Music Society band most every week. White hair pulled back in a pony tail, close cropped white full beard, dressed in fine white silk costume. He plays more of a variety of instruments than most of the band members. He joins in the dance from time to time when he is not on stage, and that is when I first noticed it. He doesn't seem to dance with his partners so much as he dances alongside of them. The dance will begin and he will slide in alongside other dancers joining in. I get the impression that he is more a shadow of the dancers than one of them. At Ales & Tales from time to time he will play a tune at the pre-party, or recite a poem at the main event. Now and again he will join the mentors and teach the playing of an instrument as the party ends. Still I get the feeling he is there participating without really getting involved. He never seems to have much of anything to say to anyone. Actually that has changed recently with respect to the Green Hill Music Society concerts. A few months back a woman began appearing at the concerts catching the eye as she danced, not the dances we all learn at festival time, but more a free style movement sort of dancing. After a few weeks I noticed him dancing with her in that free style. He didn't match her free flowing style, and yet he was the only one who seemed to even make an attempt to do so. Now week after week, when he is not performing in a tune he will be found dancing with the fair maiden, or if the tune is not a good one for dancing, still he will be found at her side. I hear tell , he lived a very isolated life through most of his early years. Maybe that is part of his unusual social behavior. Still I wonder how a musician and poet can appear so awkward socially. I wonder about this Aldekim..........
Last edited by dori_bolger; Jul 27 2011 at 02:49 PM.
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
Ah, there she is again! My new neighbor with the mysteriously rumored past. I have heard some few rumors about this lady Hobbit that would curl the hair on your toes so tight that you would limp for days.
What? You haven't heard of Dellica Cutpurse?
Take a long look at her friend, take in the quiet demeanor, which is nowhere near a normal Hobbit's carefree cheeriness and the inner joy you see in the common Hobbit is shielded in her eyes. Her eyes remind me of a calm lake in the stillness before a storm, watchful, intent, full of power but waiting for the proper time.
The children here in the burrows call her Aunty Del and they flock to her like small birds chirping around a toothless cat but this cat simply chooses not to show her teeth and claws and t'would take a creature of stronger constitution than I to try to harm her little birds! She freely hands out tartlets to all the children who come by and there is many a berry smeered face here in the burrows.
I have heard that she eats only two meals a day! Unheard of! I did ask her niece, Taterbug, if this rumor was true and she said that 'yes, it was' and that it worried her Mam no end that her sister ate so little and was always after Aunty Del to eat more and had sent Taterbug to cook for her Aunt with the command to "Make sure Del eats!" but Tater says that her Aunt just looks at her and has her set the food on the table in her garden and proceeds to feed nibbles to her kitten and any child who wanders by. Tater says her Aunty got used to short rations when she was adventuring but doesn't know exactly where that was 'cause the adults only whisper about it to each other out of earshot of all the children and t'weens so as not to scare them. Tater being just out of childhood herself and not quite a t'ween yet.
She has been quietly teaching some of the t'weens how to fight hand to hand along with her little carbon copy niece, Merrydew (ah now there is another mystery and long story but, one at a time I think). I have seen her training the t'weens and if I did not know her to be a lady to the core I would fear her. I would never want to look into her eyes and see the hardness that she is slowly instilling in the t'weens for the protection of the Shire and their families.
Del knows something about war and conflict and it is heavily rumored that she has seen much and travelled far from the bounds of the Shire which has gotten her nearly as bad a reputation as that Mr. Baggins of Bagend before he disappeared a few years ago but there seems to be a story behind her adventuring that sets her apart from the scandal that always seemed to surround old Mr. Bilbo but none have shared that story with me, I just hear the whisperings and rumors.
She asked me t'other day if I would watch over her house and garden if she had to leave suddenly. No, I don't know what she meant by that for she was not forthcoming with any information but I told her she could count on me to care for things for her and it would be my pleasure for her garden has become something to be admired in her short time here and to walk in the twilight cool and breath in the scents of her garden is something not to miss. I know she has some flowers that I have never seen here in the Shire, little white daisy looking flowers but scented like heaven, so possibly the stories of her travelling might be true. But when I asked her what they were she just looked sadly at them and said they come from the graves of kings and would say no more.
What's that? Suitors? Nay, I have seen no suitors going to her door and would reckon to say that she is content to have none. Tater did say that her Aunty went away with her husband but that he did not return and Tater doesn't know what happened to him.
hmmm? Yes, Tater is a chatty little thing and is quite sweet to her Aunty Del but she doesn't talk tales out of school and there is no getting some things out of her that I would like to know. Tater remembers her Aunty as a happy and sweet lady who loved laughter and dancing and I think she grieves over some of the changes in her beloved Aunty Del.
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
Describe your character from the perspective of someone who doesn't know them.
Note sur i fit perfectly in that one, but i wrote this :
She had grown up as a wild grass, free. Fine and slender in appearance, she is inner strength.
Undaunted, she loves life. For all the beasts and birds, she is a wonderful gift.
Who is she really? sweet or sharp, peaceful or tormented, self-confident or scared, she is all. She has no age. The transition from childhood to woman had mellowed her, but from this tender age remains a particular trait.
- “You smile. You are intrigued.”
The radiant glow of her face framed by large gray-green eyes, a smile barely sketched, her natural elegance contrast divinely with …. her nude feet.
She walks, runs, visits the world shoeless. She fights. And dances shoeless: she whirls, jumps, slides, drawing from the musical notes the way to oblivion.
In those particular times, the woman gave way to the child, without restraint.
Silent, she is hiding her pain deep in her soul, immobile in the din of life.
If you ask, she will simply answer: “Lasto i amar”.
New Runes Oh, I'm a scholar alone Chipping stone all apart With my nose in a tome
New Runes With an Aged Scrap of Text I don't know what I'll find next Sometimes leaving me vexed
And then there suddenly was in my mailbox All the runes and scraps I could ever want My vault was completely overstocked And when I crafted, I could never stop!
New Runes I’m a scholar at home Engraving names into stone With knowledge all my own
Write a journal entry for a character other than your main. Pick a new character or some character in your stable that doesn't get a lot of "face time".
This age is profuse with the influence of Man; you can see it in the way some scurry about, like rats, beneath the shadow of Mordor. Yet, there are those who have elected to stand tall against the lengthening shadow, those who have chosen to be beacons of hope.
I could have gone into the West, as with all my kith and kin. I could have forsaken the fate of Man and, lo, of the very world itself. I am reminded, however, that this world, too, has been ours, that in spite the time of the Elves growing thin and pale, we are still part of this world and have a responsibility to it. It is not in me to be as cold and callous as some, to ignore the hands of the Enemy as they stretch across the face of the world.
I must stand and I must fight; I must set aside such deep-set emotion that would leave me quailing before the terrors that now grip the lands; I must bear forth the mantle of courage, be a light against the growing dark, a warden against all that would threaten to steal the very breath and heart from those less stalwart. The art of war is something that comes easily, when one has hundreds of years upon which to perfect it. I stand at the beginning of my path, looking ahead to a trail hemmed by dark things. I am unafraid.
I am the spearpoint of hope and I will drive asunder all shadow that seek to lay claim to our lands. We must each fight, but we need not fight alone. If we stand together, then there shall always be a glimmer of light to ward away the darkness. I shall not take the path of least resistance.
The Enemy will give us no quarter, Man, Elf, Dwarf, or Hobbit. This is not a matter of honor, but a matter of survival.
(( I'm still trying to find my Elven "voice", so to speak. I'm not entirely sure that I'm capturing the essence of my character's elf-hood, that feeling of almost aloofness that Elves seem to have. Ah well, practice makes perfect! ))
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
((Pumrya - I do dig the post. I dunno if you captured exactly what you wanted, but it gives me the impression that your elf is maybe analyzing things that have moved her/him beyond your typical reserved/aloof mindset, but not so far beyond it that they fail to feel elven. Makes it more interesting, in my book, anyways. Much more so than those that simply turn their heads and continue on existing like they are supreme.
Lurk about this thread a bit on and off and figured I'd finally respond. This will probably read as ridiculously vague, but whateeeev. Just for fun. ^_~))
Write a journal entry for a character other than your main. Pick a new character or some character in your stable that doesn't get a lot of "face time".
I suppose it's to be expected really and for a man who has turned to run all his life. By all means, no one should be surprised, least of all me. Yet I can't quite explain why I feel so irritated with myself.
I expected this, but I didn't.
I've lost my dearest friend, Marcus, to games, flitted about like a right idiot believing I was winning in a competition only I was truly taking part in. Forgive me while I take a moment to sigh at my everlasting disappointment... And what kills me most is that I simply rewarded a kindness I'd not recognized in years and years with a stupid oblivious departure that was so abrupt even I hadn't realized I left Bree right off.
How does one apologize for disappearing when they are needed..?
But it's alright. Just as digits slid beneath a bit of cloth to brush together, hidden to all about who continued on in their drab conversing, no one will ever have to know. I can go about to find my next victim without fault. The next person will have no concept of what has happened in the past and that's always suited me just fine.
I do feel bad.
I do.
More than my dear friend will ever know. Because for some reason I am just too scared to re-appear without a good explanation despite that that is exactly what I'd like to do. And I refuse to lie, though sometimes I wonder if it is the same.
I think back to then and wonder why so often I find myself in retreat, tail between legs. I wonder, too, when it will change.
Somewhere, where the wagons are now, passing slowly down the trade routes from here to there, my chance will come.
Do you think, when they come rolling in, I'll stand my ground for once?
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
I missed the last few, but I'm back again *grin*
Write a journal entry for a character other than your main. Pick a new character or some character in your stable that doesn't get a lot of "face time".
daer diry
boosty bort me a buk to rit me thorts in
i av been staien wif rowana at songbrrrw hall an she is veri kind and looks after me
i have beeen woking hrd to lern me lettrs so i can rite in this buk
rownana sais letters ar veri importtant an teeches lots ov hobits to reed an rite
she sais i am doin gud but stil need to wrk hard tats wy bootssy bort me this buk to practiss in
i hav been workin hard on the farm tu it is harvist tym for taters bootsy iz in nedlhoal with the dworvs to sel the taters i hope she sels lots so i can hav a new hat and a string for my bo the old won needs replaysing
((I hope you can understand the entry, it is similar to my youngest child's writing a couple of years ago when he first started to learn.))
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
I do not know where I am. I do not know what has happened to Deomarth, or to the Exiled Host. I fear I may have doomed any chance of new recruits from Bree with this, though I sorely hope not.
I'm writing blindly on a folded parchment I found in the bags of one of my captors. I'm blindfolded, so I must be glad that my father taught me Common runes well enough to be legible, though I assume it's possible that my skill was gained from running the Auctions for so long.
I have sent as many letters as I can to Deomarth, whenever we come across some town with a trade post office, telling him not to send back for fear of what they may do. I have no way of knowing whether he has received them or no. This time I will try to send to Athwyn, the lady of the Exiled Host. With some fortune, perhaps it may reach her, and through her Deomarth.
I was captured in Bree while recruiting in dislikeable parts of town. The cowards, they took me without letting me wield my axe to defend. At first I thought them the Trev-Gallorg, turned heed upon my recruition of them to the cause of the Rohirrim, but I have reason to doubt my first impression, now. I know the North, and this is not North. There the cold is great and tameless, but thick as well. Here I have never been. Here the dew in the morning drowns the grass, and the air is crisp and chilling, if not cold. Adding to this, come noon and after I find the wind increases, and with it comes warmth.
I cannot tell where I am. The towns aren't much different from Northern ones, and I cannot see whether it has changed, for my eyes have been blind for a week now. I can only hope I have the chance for this message to be put out by post before arriving at whatever cursed destination my captors bring me. Whoever wants me I would put the Auction on, that they hate the Exiled Host. An enemy of Rohan.
I am either going South, or far West. The latter I doubt though... it does not seem like the Elves, whatever they are, to welcome the likes of these folk who captured me, who bear this evil scent and strange speech. Nor my distant cousins of Durin.
Perhaps Athwyn may be able to tell where I am, and who these folk are. Perhaps even whatever place I am going. A Dwarf may hope that it will even reach her, no?
Your character has received a letter from someone very important to them and contains news of a happy event. What does it say? How does your character react?
Mother,
If you are reading this, then it means all has gone well. You are in a better place now and can forget all the sorrow and shadow that permeates this place. Go now and live your life in joy. Despite all I have done, I still love you.
Always,
Koriant
She stared at the letter, long and hard, her mind uncomprehending. Her reflection in the tidepool was unfamiliar, the pale visage and delicate bone structure foreign. It felt as if some part of her were missing. Her gaze shifted from the pool back to the letter; she didn't understand. She couldn't remember anything prior to waking up here on this strange shore.
She couldn't remember anything prior to waking up here on this strange shore.
She was alone and lost.
ooo,.intriguing
well,..I missed the past few,..but I'm back again!
========= Your character has received a letter from someone very important to them and contains news of a happy event. What does it say? How does your character react?
I believe his name was JaveLarry, but he was gone as quick as a Halfling QuickPost often is. 'Tis strange times when one can recieve post from a Hobbit in the 21st Hall.
Addressed to 'Dhim Dwarmur'.
The letter was wrapped in a peculiar manner, belying it's origin. At first glance one would recognize the crude ink lines as Cirth, the writings of my kin the Khuzdul or Dwarves.
But this parchment was made of vellum, a tinge of calfskin and the unmistakable texture could easily be observed. I gather it's origin be from Maur Tulhau, perhaps from a small farm on the fringes. My studies have taught me that Hobbits reside there,.of Stoor origin. Why would a Hobbit be sending me post?
But alas! This is from no halfling at all. Tidings from my brother, Welbi.
Enedwaith, it seems, has proven fortuitous. He awaits my arrival, and says he will save some good veins of ore for me. Aye, indeed he boasts that I should bring more kin to carry back all the gems he has already found!
I have much business to do still , here in Khazad-dûm. But perhaps he is right,..it may be the right time for this dwarven Hunter to emerge once again,...into the Light.
The scribe at hand was wary to lean over the seemingly sleeping dwarven warrior, for every few moments a fit of mumbled cursing coursed he air.
A chuckle from the now parting curtains, "Come now Lorain, you have so little faith in my magiks as to think he will actually awaken?"
"Sir, it is just, just that he is so needed here. Why is he leaving and why did you call me?"
An elder priest of some unknown god settled into a oversized leather chair at his desk, fumbling for a pipe as he answered, "Because there are places he is needed ~more~." A few puffs and huffs later a steady stream of whiskeyblend smoke filled the air. "I do not expect you to understand, just write."
Lorain set up his small table and was about to dip his quill when the old man's hand covered the top and the other offered another phial. "You will use this. He will be more inclined to stay." The scribe took the small glass container and almost dropped it as he gasped when the smell hit his nostrils. He turned and gazed up at the old man. "Dragon's Blood?!"
"You have an aversion to penning with such exquisite ink?"
The scribe only nodded as the priest settled back into his chair and started to talk.
Master Dwarf,
My name you will not remember. Your name as well may elude you for some time to come. I can offer that you can faithfully say, should you be asked, that Orcbender will serve to identify you. Many years ago, nay, many decades ago you lost a friend. He was found for you by powers beyound my knowledge and comprehension. The same powers decreed that you should join him.
The forces you fought here are done, quelled by your mighty axe and the forces your commanded. You could have lived out a thousand years here, but the warrior in you would have died a slow and painful death over those years. This chance will see that your instincts and knowledge are put to better use than that of a teller of tales.
You knew an elf once. You walked the paths many, fought enemies uncounted and saw each other through the darkest of nites. It is time you knew him again. It is time you followed his memory to a place anew.
Forget the scattered shadows that will haunt your dreams, for those are memories that you can never go back to.
Your Elven friend awaits.
The dwarf awoke and was in the midst of deciphering the overly ornate script when a trio of orcs crested the small gnoll that shielded his campfire. In the back of his mind a hundred images and countless feelings swarmed over him as he finished. Standing slowly, he wrapped his left hand around a sword and his right around an axe and smiled.
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
What is your character's definition of Honor?
I couldn't do it for just one character, so I did all the ones that I've sort of touched base on RP-wise.
Talaesyn Rustharrow
Woman Minstrel
I was never taught much about Honor, really. I mean, why should farmers concern themselves with something so ephemeral? It can't be eaten, you can't patch the roof with it, you can't sell it -- of what use is it then?
Honor is that silly thing that Men of Worth use to measure the value of their lives by, but the kind of thing that the rest of us could live quite happily without.
Armitanis D'feant
Elven Rune-Keeper
Honor... Once it might have held some meaning before my memories were stripped away. I distantly recollect fighting to prove my worth, to maintain the family honor, our standing in our society. It seemed important then. Not so much now. I want only to live and make what I can of this life. Honor or not.
Sinsolaria Lightfaith
Elven Warden
Nobility of purpose is what defines my honor. I fight my battles knowing full-well that whatever victory or defeat we find upon the field may very well decide the fate of the lands we are sworn to protect. I live my life knowing that it may be through my death that the Free-Peoples' are best served. I have accepted this duty, this faith, therefore, it is my honor to do so.
Rhalrik Runeforge
Dwarven Rune-Keeper
Honor's tha' stuff tha' people foolishly die t'protect withou' ever knowin' wha' it is. Ah sure as shadow haven't a clue.
Arthuriel Elusirion
Elven Rune-Keeper
Honor is an ideal defined more by personal experience than any concrete definition. What I may consider Honor another may not, so any definition I would give is automatically invalidated by its utterance. Suffice to say, I have it in my own way, as I am sure others do also.
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
"Honour?!", the dwarf let's loose a belly belch that draws an ire-ful glance from the furtherest serving girl at the Pony. "Well, as I see it," taking a long draught from his mug, "If you have to worry about your mamma hitting you upside the head when you are done, then it prolly ain't honorable!" Laughing hard enough to make his tipped chair almost overturning and barely hanging on, he incites a round of laughter from the entire room with his cursing and earnest grasping at the edge of the table. Settling the chair firmly and pulling his mug close though, his eyes grow dim as if some distant memory catches him in your question. "Unless, lass, you are speaking of orcs." His tone grows cold. "Then the only honour with that lot," slamming down a shot of rockgut whiskey, "is making sure you kill all of them."
If your character could have one wish, what would it be?
Armitanis sat on the low wall near the Prancing Pony, the cacophony of voices, music, and merriment rippling to her on the warm night air. Her eyes drifted heavenward to the unknown stars and it was then that she saw one of them streak across the sky. It was brief and beautiful. She made a wish.
Please, whatever Fates are watching, keep him safe -- no matter what.
She did not need to elaborate. Her heart would always know who he was, no matter what place or what time or what form he took. Their fates were as intertwined as a pair of trees joined at the root. No matter where she went, she knew he would always be there: her eternal shadow.
"A silver for your thoughts, dearheart..." His voice said.
If your character could have one wish, what would it be?
I am going on no sleep and I am a bit loopy,...but once I got rolling,..I couldn't stop on this one
For this,..I chose a female elf. No,..it's not weird!,..it's rp!,..hehee
This one's for the elves.
=================
Meluinen, southern North Downs:
"We have decided.", Faelorth uttered sternly,"We make for the Havens at sunrise. Nan Wathren is overrun, the men of Esteldin, rangers they may be, cannot hold back the onslaught. We shall travel the Kingsfell Road."
"This decision I cannot bear, my dear Faelorth.", the elf maiden spoke. Her worn longsword and bloodied leather hauberk belied the fair skin beneath, the empathetic heart that beat fierce and just, and the trembling fragile eyes that threaten to empty it's well of grief.
"Bear it you will, Quessel. Bear it for all of us. But come the morning you will be amongst this fellowship. The evil of Dol Dinen issues forth as the will of Man diminishes. And the elves too must fade. Aman calls to us, Quessel. Will you not Hearken it's invitation."
"Are not men also the children of Illuvatar, praise be his music?", Quessel stood before the small fellowship of Elves and drove her steel into the wet ground. " Would Oromë turn his back on his brethren in need, now, at the height of the Hunt? "
"If only, Faelorth, you can see with the eyes of a mortal! Feel and understand what it is to, from the moment of birth, be able to see your death on the horizon as these men do. They do not fight foolishly or in vain as you would have us believe!
They fight because it is their precious life's right to see that which is worthy to die for! To cherish each new generation of life and death many times over,...many more times in one Age than even the First Born may!"
"Faelorth, you and your kin have walked upon Yavanna's labors for many seasons, but tonight I see that you are still young and naive to the lessons that Man has experienced a thousand times over. "
" If I were to look to wishes, I would have Illuvatar grant you mortality, so that you might delay the Haven's,....and raise your sword with the resolve that only Eru's second born would possess, ..they,...who bear the Gift of Man."
-welby
.
Last edited by Beschutzer; Aug 31 2011 at 02:10 PM.
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
If your character could have one wish, what would it be?
Taterbug loved sitting in her Auntie Del's garden. Especially when her Auntie would come out and sit beside her and knit. Knitting was a quiet time when Tater could weedle a story or song out of her Aunt and that was better than eating!
This evening Auntie Del came out without her yarn and needles which usually meant she was in too somber a mood to talk but tonight she took tater by the hand and lead her out from under the trees and sat on a little knoll in front of her house.
"Look up Tater, what do you see?" said Dellica when she had settled beside her niece.
"I see stars and the waning moon Auntie" answered Taterbug, a bit starteled by the question but curious to where the conversation was going to go.
"Just sit and watch for a while then" said Dellica and she settled back to gaze up at the stars herself.
Suddenly a bright streak shot across the heavens and Tater giggled and said quickly "Make a wish Auntie Del!" and promptly squinched up her eyes to wish her own wish.
"Your face will hurt if you keep that up all night" chuckled Dellica as she watched her young niece. "Tonight is one of those nights when the heavens light with falling stars and you will have many chances to make wishes... if you wish."
"Do you ever wish on falling stars Auntie Del?" asked Tater.
"Not on stars Tater but yes, I do make wishes." answered Dellica.
Tater sighed, sometimes getting her Aunt to talk was like pulling chicken teeth. "I guess I mean what do you wish for when you make a wish?"
Dellica sat quiet for so long that Tater began to wonder if her Auntie had fallen asleep but then Dellica began to talk and Tater knew she had asked the right question.
"What do I wish for when I wish. I wish for peace Tater, I wish for peace, that is the short answer little one."
"Why peace? It's peaceful here in the Shire and your garden is filled with peace." said Tater, she was too young to really understand what Dellica meant but old enough to ask her Auntie to help her understand and tell her the "long answer".
"When I was out adventuring Tater, I saw many things. Many peace-filled, beautiful, wonderful, crazy, wild, horrible, and terrible things but peace, real peace can only come from inside and I have no peace inside yet Tater and I won't until I can erase the images that linger in my mind and haunt my dreams."
Tater snuggled closer to her Aunt and Dellica placed her arm around the child, comforting and comforted by each other, Dellica continued. "I dream of the last time I saw your Uncle, I dream of the orc attacking our camp, I dream of Dargo yelling to me to run, I dream of what I did to get away, leaving my husband to the orc, running, fleeing, hiding. I dream of the last cry I heard from Dargo." Dellica's voice suddenly hardened and struck fear into Tater, "I dream of vengence." just as suddenly her voice softened again to wistfulness and the choke of tears, "I wish for peace" and her voice fell silent.
Another star fell across the sky, brighter than the first one and Tater squenched her eyes shut again.
"What did you wish for that time little one?" asked Dellica.
"I wished for you to find your peace Auntie Del" answered Tater as she curled even closer and Dellica held her even tighter and said, "Thank you sweet Tater, with you wishing too, I will surely find it."
((Pumyra - Cute post, made me smile. Welby - Very nice wording. Merry - Very sweet ending.))
If your character could have one wish, what would it be?
Life had its slumps and every man, woman and child existing in the world was prone to them. Usually they were little things, a day, a few hours. Some, though... some lasted longer, months or years, until they finally slipped away. Of course, he knew all this even if he didn't stop to think on it.
"Sure wish I could have it all back."
It was a sentiment he mumbled aloud often, though sadly the only ears that tended to ever hear it were those of his horses. One was too stupid and content to ever note when something was wrong, the other too selfish, though she'd periodically been a little kinder in her fits, likely aware that all was not well with the man who took such good care of her.
Roelyn had always been one to focus on other people's problems, always been quiet in regards to his own and he'd always been keen to keep people an arm's distance away so they'd never quite break down the walls he'd built after Lilianne had died. But now, faced with something that bothered him to such a severe degree, he realized he had no where to turn, no ways of moving beyond it, no help or person to just say "I'm not happy with all this" to. His attitude and habit had been so counter-productive, he'd stuffed him into a quiet, solitary place alone where he'd no friends or company beyond that of horses.
Had it been worth it..?
He didn't know anymore. Perhaps avoiding pain had only made it worse when it did happen.
"Sure wish I could have it all back."
Figgleberry turned his head at the recognition of the man's voice, sniffing through large nostrils at dark brown hair. He was too stupid a horse to realize the brushing against his back had ceased or that the man's weight was suddenly against him. Being the daft horse he was, he just gave a happy little whinny convinced it was affection.
"I love you," was the only thing Roelyn heard in it and it unexpectedly made him smile, albeit a little sadly. Still, it was proof of something.
Maybe the slump would soon end. Maybe he would try again to meet people and let himself have a good time with them. Maybe he'd try a little harder just to be around them. Maybe it was only a matter of time... And with any luck Roelyn would soon realize that he never would "have it all back."
Straightening, he curled his fingers around the horse's thick snout, scratching under the oblivious beast's chin with a little smile.
"Din't hear me right, Figgle. I said 'Sure wish I could go fer a ride.' What-ya say?"
Figgleberry didn't understand a word of it, but when Roelyn shifted and made to mount him, he patting his hooves on the ground excitedly. He sure was a stupid thing, smiling with eyes and ears obliviously back at Midnight's glare as he was chosen for the ride and with a few clumsy steps backward out of his stall, Figgleberry took Roelyn out for a pleasant trot around Bree.
One may have left him, betrayed him terribly and left him to figure out why... but as Roelyn glanced about watching people in their daily motions, he realized there were plenty more that wouldn't.
He just had to take a little time to meet them.
"Sure wish..." he started, but with a shake of his head and a laugh, he decided it'd like be better not to wish for things he couldn't have anymore. The only things worth wishing for were the things he knew he could do, and in the end, he didn't need to wish to make them happen.
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Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
Re: 08/31/11: "Wishful Thinking"
(an excerpt from Parnard's Journal)
I met a group of elves on the road, all dressed richly in white and gold, their belts were set with jewels, and white gems were in their hair. Seeing that they had several strong-armed warriors carrying long spears and heavy shields chased with silver and pearl, they certainly had no need for an additional guard. Nevertheless, it was my sworn duty to offer my services, so stepping forward and bowing low before them, I introduced myself and begged leave to protect them as best I could against any darkness of shadow on the road. The leader of the party, a tall, dark-haired elf named Faernil, who wore a sumptuous robe woven of silver and gold threads, looked down on me from his white stallion, and said they had no need of my protection, but he thanked me nonetheless.
I then replied that my eyes were quite bedazzled by the sight of him and his companions, for they had not beheld such fair company since I left the court of good King Thranduil, and I would surely stumble on the path if I did not have their brilliance to guide my way. Faernil smiled as he looked favorably upon me, and proclaimed, "This traveler is an instant friend, if he is not related by blood, for even before we pour out wine, we share kindred thoughts," and they all laughed and graciously invited me to join them for the evening’s feast as their guest. I said that I would like nothing better in the world, and they led me to a gold-laced cushion and spread out white linen upon the grass. Bowls of delectable fruit and platters of roast meat, brimming over with rich juices, were set before me, and we jested and talked mirthfully about a thousand entertaining things as we ate and drank to our utmost contentment. Fragrant wines, both red and white, were served, but it was the red which delighted me more, for it was headier, and made my head and heart feel as light as a feather. Then, after the dishes were cleared and the best wines poured, I was mightily pleased to see Faernil take up a lute. He sang many old lays, and some I had never heard before. One of these was about Queen Melian and King Thingol’s first love-meeting in the starlit woods of Nan Emloth. Faernil’s voice was so very sweet and lilting, it was as moonlight rippling in a clear pool, and all my waking thought was cast aside in a delightful dream. Then the company struck up a graceful dance. They were wondrous light of foot, and had such fine dress and manners, I felt so comfortable and at home among them, and with the wine flowing like a swollen river, and the dancing, and the laughing, I quite forgot myself and became overfull merry.
When I awoke I was face down in a flowerbed with the noonday sun shining fiercely above and burning my naked skin pink, and to my utter consternation, I found that Faernil and the other dazzling elves had already departed. But they had left several bottles of that excellent red wine which I had so enjoyed, along with a note which read, "You have stars and flowers, who else do you want for companions?"
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
((Well, compared to everyone else's, mine's not gonna be that good, nor that profound. They were all so amazing. I just find myself wishing the same thing as Ponpo and sorry for my tardiness!))
If your character could have one wish, whatwould it be?
The sound of the hooves as they trotted along the cobblestone road was rhythmic, poetically lulling Ponpo to sleep with each clop clop he heard. But for every time he let his head nod down to rest upon his breast, one of the wheels would hit a hollow in the pattern of stone and bounce the whole of the wagon, jolting the poor hobbit from his all too short snooze. The moon was high and the stars smiled gently down on the countryside below, lighting it in a shade of pale gold, gilding the swirling wild grasses as they swayed in a noiseless breeze. The hills of the Bree-fields extended endlessly beyond the horizon, all now speckled with streaks of gold along their gradual and rounded inclines, dotted with trees whose branches waved to each other across the ceaseless plains. The wagon pulled under one such tree, its cloth hood being scraped by the lowermost branches in their protest against the stillness it brought.
Ponpo hopped from the wagon lazily, unhooked his two horses from it, and led them to a small knoll and let them feed on the grasses that grew there, throwing a sack of apples into the mix for their enjoyment. He watched the horses munch on their late dinner, deciding that, for once, he wasn’t hungry, and returned to the wagon with a bent head and two hands hidden deep in his trouser pockets, one there simply for the warmth and the other tracing the shape of a small locket. When he reached it, he leaned against the side of the wagon, and gazed out over the long pastures.
He had made this trip multiple times,a nd, no matter the weather, temperature, or circumstance, these fields were always enchanting, the way they captured the essence of his continued yearning: they reminded him of home.
Reaching into his overcoat pocket, the hobbit extracted his smoking pipe and a small pouch of Longbottom Leaf, purchased along the road near Frogmorton, and lit up, letting the smoke float upwards towards the stars in a hazy mist that only made the countryside more familiar, falling further into nostalgia with each smoke ring he blew.
The northernmost farms of the Greenfields stretched before him, their windmills turning with even the slightest gust of wind. He saw himself sneaking along the fences in the company of a girl, her curly brown hair bouncing with streaks of bronze, her smile lighting thedarkness, ever hopeful, always mischievous. They laughed together as each failed to catch the lightning bugs that they so earnestly desired, their faces barely lit by the blinking of the bugs. She dropped her glass jar; he picked it up for her, blushing as their hands brushed when he gave it back.
To his left, the lights of Oatbarton twinkled, and he thought he could hear the voice of his Gammer calling to him, the scent of blueberry pie on the same wind that carried her voice. He ran to her, cherishing her embrace when they met. “I love you,” she whispered.
His father stood in the yard with him, sharing a mug of ale with his son, a smile filled with pride sitting above his chin. He nodded to his son, swallowing his mouthful before saying, “Not bad for your first brew. Can’t wait to taste what you can make ten years from now.”
To his right, he stood with the girl again, staring out at the rising hills to the north and down the road he had never dared to travel. “Do you ever wonder what’s down this road?” he asked.
She shrugged. “No.”
“I do, sometimes. I want to go there someday.”
She turned to him, doubt in her eyes. “If you ever do, be sure to tell me how it is.” She turned around, and he couldn’t help but watch her leave.
He saw all the dances at the tavern, and he saw, as he sat at a table to the side with a mug in his hand, her dress swirling in a whirlwind of blue, the same mischievous smile on her face, knowing that, though he desired her so much, this was as far as he could go.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” she said,now leaning against the wagon, smoking with him.
“They definitely are,” he said,turning his head to look at her, that smile still on her face.
“We miss you.” She leaned in. “I miss you.” Their lips touched, and for a second, Ponpo almost believed it to be real, snapping back to reality just in time to see a star fall across the horizon.
Exhaling, a small silver ring formed and floated across the empty space where she should’ve been.
I wish I was home, he thought, as the star fell beyond the horizon far away.
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
09/07/2011 - "What's in a Name?"
How do you explain your character's name in-game?
"Talaesyn..." The man rolled her name across his tongue as if he were savoring a fine wine; his rich brown eyes regarded her across the table, the nearby fire from the hearth sending flecks of dark amber rippling through them. "That's an unusual name."
The left corner of the minstrel's lips quirked upward in a crooked half-smile, but she didn't look up at him. Her focus was on the lute that rested in her lap, deft fingers going through the motions of getting the instrument in tune. Those same fingers finished their task with the alacrity of habit before coaxing a small thrum of music from the strings. Only then did she look up at him.
"My grand-sire was Talagren of Archet and my grand-dame Mae Synlund of Staddle. They met at one of the Harvest Festivals, years ago. When my Ma and Papa finally had me, Papa didn't much care for Talamae, as my Ma suggested. So, they compromised and 'Talaesyn' was decided."
"A good name, honoring your lineage." Her table-mate observed.
Talaesyn shrugged. "For those who care about such things, I suppose."
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
Originally Posted by Pumyra
09/07/2011 - "What's in a Name?" How do you explain your character's name in-game?
Woot.,.wednesday!
I have been leveling my dwarf hunter, Dhim lately. Trying get him ready for Isengard.
============================== ===========
Ale Association Interview, Ered Luin
"Before you were two mugs of ale."
" One of the finest Ale Association brews and the other from those hairy footed Inn league Hobbits across the Lune.", There sat three stern and rotund dwarves behind a heavy Rowan table. Before them sat a shorter than usual dwarf with a crossbow slung around his back. " You have chosen well, Dhim, and emptied the correct Mug. We can proceed."
"I have been told you are a descendant of the old blood of Bar-en-Danw...Dan,..humf,..I cannot speak that awful tongue,..the blood line of, Mim, the petty dwarf of legend. "
" This, of course, is a lie. "
" I claim not to be of that blood", Dhim replied, " As we all know, my ancestors, ahem,..the petty dwarves were hunted and slain, or driven from Nargothrond long ago. But I carry his mantle and spirit all the same, for in my studies,.."
"Studies? A scholar you are then.So learned in the Khazad history, so enthralled by the grandeur of old. The council daresay you have taken it a bit far, Dhim."
"Aye..I look to history for inspiration. We are all of Aule's children, and some things should not be forgotten or remain unmended."
"Is this why you carry no axe, nor are you practiced in the ways of ore, and would rather run through the wilds instead of under it? What is a proper Khazad to make of this?"
"The kin of Mim were houseless and poor, driven from their dwellings in Nargothrond. We had,..I mean, they, had not the tools or knowledge of delving into the rock, cursed be the Elves. They took to scavenging and hunting, and wielded bows and traps to survive." Dhim lifted his bearded chin and brandished his crossbow and many traps. Proud to be following in the footsteps of the infamous dwarf, Mim, of Amon Rûdh.
Behind the judging table, the dwarves mumbled between each other, making glances now and then towards Dhim.
"So we are to understand you hold little loyalties and would prefer to spend your time roaming across the countryside, scavenging, and acquiring scrolls and written things?"
Dhim gave a nod. And turned his attention to the remaining Mug of Inn League Ale and asked,
"Would it offend the council if I finished this mug of Inn League Ale?"
The three dwarves turned to each other with a grin and gave this odd Dwarf a look of approval.
" Not so unlike a Khazad afterall! You've passed the final test. Let no drink remain undrunk. Gwar har har! Very Good. We now have a few tasks for you in the Shire, Dhim."
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Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
Some of the Shire-folk call me Parsnips. I do not know exactly what to make of this. There is the usual, garden-variety parsnip, which is like a carrot, only paler, and sweeter, and very good to eat if served with butter and honey. If they are not picked young, they become tough and woody, and are fit for nothing but fodder for cattle. Parsnips are hardy, and can withstand hard winter freezes, and some are of the opinion that this improves their texture. I would like to think that this is the type the Periannath - I mean Shire-folk, are referring to, and knowing what I know of them, and their voracious appetites, it most likely is. But there is also the wild parsnip, also known as water hemlock, which grows rampant along roadsides and in fields, and it has white flowers which give off an odor when crushed and stinks mightily bad. All parts of this plant are poisonous to eat, but the stem and cut roots are the worst, for they ooze an oily yellow liquid which blisters the flesh -
There is no need to interrupt! I will "get to the point," and I am sorry that you are in such a hurry, and in no need for a gardening lesson. It is said that the test of good manners is to be patient with bad ones, so I must thank you for this opportunity to prove my quality. My name has nothing to do with vegetables nor poisonous plants. It is Sindarin, and is translated in your tongue to mean 'Needlebinder.' I shall not explain it better, for you are weary of hearing about roots and stems, and I fear your brains would not endure a lengthy lesson in the noble tongue. My mother gave me this name, for she foresaw that I would be clever with needle and thread. I am a tailor, and a most skillful one, if I do say so myself, but I much prefer to broider birds and flowers, rather than doing plain ordinary sewing. I find that the working of the silk lightens my heart, and helps it forget the cares of time...well, I see that this is something in short supply for certain folk, and as you appear to have grown impatient and restless, I shall bid you good day.
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
How do you explain your character's name in-game?
Taterbug! Not my real name of course but much to my mother's dismay the one I answer to when called.
You see Mam wanted me to be Rosebud and that is one of my given names but the day I was born my Gaffer looked into my cradle and said "Why, she tain't no bigger than that taterbug I pulled outten the garden this morning" and that is what I am called to this day by everyone except my Mam, to her I am 'Rosebud' and you best be believing I had better answer her!
Last edited by HeyDoMerryDew; Sep 08 2011 at 12:03 PM.
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
Oh, I /have/ to jump in on this one. One of my favorite aspects of designing a character is the name - I can't rest until I have a name that mirrors exactly what I have in mind for the character. I place so much weight in choosing the right one, this is just too perfect an opportunity. And I can't resist expanding the idea just a little bit... so here goes.
~~~
"'Tis a fine night for a tale, my friend."
Celonivren glanced up, shifting his gaze from the flickering flames to the visage of his fellow elf, who was running his fingers idly over the strings of his harp in an aimless sort of tune. The minstrel thought every night was a fine night for a tale. His response was but a single word - all that was necessary to convey the idea. Anything beyond that would have been superfluous.
"Unsurprising."
The minstrel chuckled, letting a chord from his harp resonate a moment before he asked, "Must you always be so sparing with your words, friend?"
"Yes." Once again, further words beyond the one were unnecessary. The minstrel knew Celonivren's trade, that he respected the power of words, and did not bandy it about lightly. Nothing more and nothing less than what was necessary. Anything less than that was to invite trouble - invoking the power of words haphazardly could be dire.
The pain caused by an ill-flung word was devastating, to the soul if not the body.
Shaking his head in amusement, the harpist let the silence between them grow again as he strummed his harp. Such was the pattern of the past few nights, Celonivren knew. In just a matter of time he would weave one of his many stories, the strings of his harp vibrating with just the right notes to accentuate the tale. The minstrel knew his craft well, and though he did not often show it, he appreciated the moments Roendir shared it.
"I seek a new tale this eve, however. Perhaps it is time you shared one with me instead."
That was new.
"You are the minstrel, Roendir. Not I."
Roendir let out a bright, silvery laugh, reminiscent of the very starlight above them. Small wonder they called him Silversong. "So I am, so I am. But words are your craft as well, are they not? Surely you can weave a tale of your own. And a minstrel is always seeking a new tale to tell."
"No." Stories were not his craft. Rhetoric was. Using language to its fullest, understaing what lay beneath the words, knowing them to the greatest extent one could. Story was valuable. But it was not his craft.
Roendir was not so easily satisfied, however. He smirked, the twitch of his mouth as fleeting as the dance of the flames between them. "Just this once, my friend? Something out of the ordinary for me. We spend much time in each other's company, yet I know little of the tales you have to tell, and I am sure there are many. It could be something easy, even. I do not mind. You place such import on names. Perhaps the tale of your own - which do you know better, after all?"
Celonivren tensed briefly. Names were among the most powerful words of all. And to reveal the tale of his own? One should know better than to ask. Yet he saw no need to explain this, as he already had previously. Instead he gave Roendir a stern look, and left it at that.
The minstrel's aimless song faltered a moment, and there was slight hurt in his face. "I will not press you to it, then. But I would appreciate it."
Celonivren sighed. It would seem a lack of words would inflict a pain of their own this eve. Roendir had been a steady companion and a welcome one, ever since he had joined their company. He supposed, just this once, he could return the favor. "Very well, then."
He shifted a bit, sitting cross-legged before the fire and resting his hands on his knees. Roendir shifted himself into a more comfortable position, and the two elves held each other's gaze through the flame. Celonivren's voice grew lower, deeper, speaking slowly and deliberately, each syllable carefully considered before it was formed by his mouth to fall upon the ears of his companion.
"Hear then, O Minstrel, the words of Celonivren Stillwater. Hear the truth of his name, that which has defined him and which he has defined since it was given to him to bear. Know that the knowledge is not bestowed lightly, nor the words chosen to pass it on, and bear it well.
"It was upon the banks of the crystalline rivers of Lindon that he first walked, those by which his family dwelt. And when they first laid eye on him, they were struck by the deep blue of his eyes, so reflective of the waters of those same rivers. And so it was that they came to call him Celonivren, River of Crystal."
He drew a breath, and Roendir smiled as he continued to let his fingers dance across the harp.
"The years rolled by, an age passed, and he grew in stature, in knowledge and in wisdom. And the more he came to know of words, the more sparing he became with them, not wishing to wound by using the wrong ones, for he knew their power and the depths of injuries they could cause. And so he become known as Stillwater, as calm and quiet as the surface of a still lake. So too did he ever strive to reflect what is, choosing his words to show only the pure truth, as the surface of the same still lake will reflect the truth of what it sees.
"So passes the knowledge of the truth of the Name of Celonivren Stillwater. Whether he has defined it or it has defined him cannot be told, for the two are ever intertwined, affecting each other back and forth, as all well-chosen Names do. Let this knowledge never be used for ill, and serve to deepen understanding, as it should be with all words."
Celonivren fell silent, and Roendir grinned. "There is yet a minstrel in you, my friend. Though not told in the typical manner of a storyteller, it was yet well told, as I knew it would be, for you always choose your words carefully."
He shrugged. "I must," he replied simply.
Roendir gave another shining laugh at this, and Celonivren's usually stoic features twitched a brief smile at the sound. "You see? But we both do, really. Our words are carefully crafted to achieve an edifying result." The minstrel ceased his playing momentarily to tap his temple. "The main difference is that yours come from here, while mine..." and here he tapped his chest, "come from in here."
There was no reply from Celonivren, and Roendir smirked, as he knew this silence came from a consideration of the matter. He added to Celonivren's thoughts by saying, "Perhaps there is less difference between the name of Minstrel and that of Rune-Keeper as you first believed?"
A long pause, the only sounds the crackle of the fire entwined with the song of Roendir's harp.
What brings your character comfort after time afield?
They were routed. The men sat dejectedly beneath the trembling branches of the barren trees, the land hidden beneath a thick blanket of snow. They stumbled into the rendevouz point in ones and twos, anything greater than that often carrying wounded between them. The white snow became stained with red as more men found their way in. Yet, of those accounted for, it was still only a small fraction of the force they had departed with.
Talaesyn's eyes drifted over the care-worn faces of her comrades, her hands aching from inspiring them with her music during the battle. As much as she wanted to play for them, to raise their demoralized spirits, she was beyond exhausted. The pain in her hands promised of severe cramping if she even so much as thought of bringing Dallandra into her lap.
Dallandra: her beloved lute, gifted to her by her Elvish mentor, the one thing she always kept safe in the field. Even now, she glanced down to her side where Dallandra leaned against the end of the bench, not a single scratch marring the wooden body. Talaesyn sighed. If only she could have kept the men around her as safe. She bowed her head in remorse.
Do not let your heart be troubled...
Talaesyn jerked upright, looking around herself. Her eyes lost all focus as she strained her ears to listen: the groans of the wounded, the whimpers of the dying, the clangor of armor, the jingle of harness. Each sound she recognized and dismissed all in the same breath, her conscious mind quickly sorting and categorizing each one, compartmentalizing and relegating them to the back of her mind, ignoring them. Until she found it.
It was a thin whisper on the wind, breathy and exquisite. She rose from her place, her right hand reaching down to pick up Dallandra out of automatic habit. She followed the wavering sound, slinging Dallandra's strap around her body as she went. She prowled the perimeter of the rendevouz camp until she finally found a lone soldier perched upon a rock. His eyes watched the distant horizon, most likely ensuring they weren't being followed by the enemy. As she watched, he raised a simple reed flute to his lips and again those wonderful, ghostly notes waltzed upon the air. A smile curved her lips.
"Thank you," she murmured, though careful not to disturb the soldier's momentary peace.
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Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
Home is home, be it never so homely. There the guests are assembled, there is the hum of many voices, and now and then, a clear merry laugh rises up from the crowd. The firelight shines and sparkles no less brilliantly in the eyes of the gathered host as it does in the jewels worn, but there is no vulgar display of finery so common these days, and most wear woven garlands of flowers or leaves instead. Then wine is poured and passed about, and it is served from one side of the table and passed down to each guest as the cups are filled, so that each guest may have a share. There I am, in my corner by the fire, looking contentedly upon the glittering scene, and there is no quarreling, or should not be: while we are all under Lord Elrond’s roof, differences should be lost sight of, and to point them out in the Hall is the very height of ill-breeding. No doubt the homes of the people who visit Imladris are beset with trial and toils, and it makes their hearts sick with sorrow. If they would but avail themselves of a rest in the Hall, they would find a light upon some of the rocks that make their paths difficult. Imladris favors us, and we in turn favor it with our presence, and I would not see the grand old Hall sit cold and empty, where many would be welcomed with joy, and peace, and good company, if they so desire it, and say goodbye to sadness - at least for a little while.
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
Originally Posted by Pumyra
What brings your character comfort after time afield?
His eyes watched the distant horizon, most likely ensuring they weren't being followed by the enemy. As she watched, he raised a simple reed flute to his lips and again those wonderful, ghostly notes waltzed upon the air. A smile curved her lips.
.
Originally Posted by Parnard
. Imladris favors us, and we in turn favor it with our presence, and I would not see the grand old Hall sit cold and empty, when many could go there to avail themselves of joy, and peace, and good company, if they so desire, and say goodbye to sadness - at least for a little while.
Another fine Topic, Pummy!
And fine works all around!
This dwarf is very busy at work,..but he shall return!
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
The sign on the postman’s box read Number One HighSpire’s. Passing the entrance finds a grove of birches beneath the cavernous ceiling of Thorin’s Halls, yet how they are made to grow, you may never know as there yellowing leaves betray the autumn outside. To your left, a keg on a wagon, several mugs littered about a small table, inviting a taste, but you continue on. The door is unlocked and a jaunty tune greets your ears as you take in the dimly lit abode. Walking around you find but two bits that are meant to be private, two large chests, but everything else seems to bid you explore. And explore you do for you find tables and tables covered with maps and letters and scraps of deeds done and tales that, from the bit you, read…
Finally left that damned cold of Forochel. I loathe to do so, for there are still Dourhands standing, but an old crone bade me into Angmar, though I do not know much, except there are orcs.
…carry a foreboding of one who travels much to deal with the darker underpinnings of Middle Earth. And then you look around more closely. No bed. No chairs. No kitchen and no stores.
“Where are you master dwarf?” You muse to yourself.
Some many, many days travel, in the black hills and shadows of Angmar, a lone dwarf screams as he buries the Great Axe, OrcBane, one last time into the final orc of a party that had spoiled his dinner. And as if it were a minor inconvenience, he set once more down upon a rock as a small lad, a straggler he had picked up for a small pittance as an escort passed the demon statues, uncowered from his cloak and just stared.
“Nine!” the boy was barely able to breath and the dwarf laughed as he fished around in a pocket. “Nine and you cut them down with nary a heavy breath to be had afterwards.”
The dwarf mused at the boy as he packed his pipe, the one thing besides OrcBane that was close to his heart. “Boy, you shouldn’t even be here, but I know why as my instructor too has sent me to this land with an impossible task.” Taking up a smoldering branch of yew from the campfire, “But together lad, this trip will be a walk in the grass south of Bree for you with me here.”
A few well drawn puffs and a hearty sigh of content as the pipeweed mellows and starts an even burn, “Now lad, as for those nine orcs,” leaning over closer, “Let me tell you of a place called Moria and the orcs that live there.”
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
(Forgive any glaring errors. I have no other way to save this before I leave work. I'l edit when I get home.)
The armored soldier stood at the ready guarding the pyre that had burned through the night. Another walks up to take his place and his turn to honor the fallen. The first salutes the second and removes her helm. All battle now and her gender is no hindrance. Her hair marks her as Rorhhim and if it didn’t, the designs on her axe would. Old it seems and well cared for. Forged and reforged. She doesn’t walk to the camp or the food table; she politely shakes her head at the offer of ale. She goes straight to the makeshift corral where a gentle nicker greets her. The grey stallion is proud and strong enough to carry a knight in full armor yet gentle enough to bear a child on his back. She named him Lord for his dignity and intelligence as well as who she won him from in a race. He nudges her insistently and in her turn, she brushes him and readies his saddle. They turn away from the funeral pyres and walk out of the camp. Setting herself in the saddle she leans forward and murmurs in his ear. As one they move out to the fields and then with a small movement of her wrist, the steed is set free. He runs and she rides. The air blows against them clearing the stench of battle from their nostrils, loosens her hair and roses her cheeks. With trust born of friendship; she closes her eyes and allows him his way. The war torn fields become the plains of the Eastermet, The warrioress becomes the simple maid, her battle axe becomes the tool her father used to gather wood and she remembers why she fights, she remembers freedom and she remembers joy.
"I don't need a life thank-you, I have plenty now."
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
[B]What brings your character comfort after time afield?
The echo of battle still resounds in their bodies, giving them an unusual cumbersome allure.
Melehta moves slowly, his eyes half closed, ears pointed up, swaying in the air a long black tail.
A sharp pain tears off a little cry from Malenthel: the point has entered the thin and golden skin, just enough to make her blood beading. She smiles almost ferocious, remembering.
............................
The sun has not yet set when they cross the west gate of Bree. Calm but on their guards.
She stretches out her arm and pats the silky fur. The animal shakes his head, ears open.
They are in the streets, avoiding the main one. They hurry on. The first notes. The enclave of greenery is there. They love this place. Peaceful, open to wind and stars, moored in Bree like a lost ship.
Nature here is almost too perfect, no branches or leaves on the ground but here in this tiny garden, hidden from all, they listen to the notes, vibrating, dreaming, receiving a quiet happiness. Serenity.
Here rocked by the illusion of a sudden peace, Malenthel forgets.
Ephemeral and timeless silhouette, she dances.
She dances alone, light, inconstant as a summer evening.
She improvises, interprets a partition sometimes joyful, sometimes melancholic.
Her body stretches, bends, runs, jumps, spins, shameless, releasing a lock of hair, revealing an ankle, baring one shoulder.
She dances. The world belongs to her. Her feet pound the fresh grass, emotions explode, her hands punctuate the rhythm.
Open mouth, she tastes sounds, staring, she turns, turns, turns again to finally cave in, breathless, close to tears.
In a burst of tenderness, Melehta’s rough tongue caresses his mistress’ white hand.
And in this magical place, the droplets of Malenthel’s laughter splash the night of her happiness.
A murmur, a few inaudible words: Le hannon
Last edited by Marguerita; Sep 15 2011 at 08:31 PM.
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
Originally Posted by Orcbender
The sign on the postman’s box read Number One HighSpire’s. Passing the entrance finds a grove of birches beneath the cavernous ceiling of Thorin’s Halls, yet how they are made to grow, you may never know as there yellowing leaves betray the autumn outside.
Originally Posted by Chrysalis
(Forgive any glaring errors. I have no other way to save this before I leave work. I'l edit when I get home.)
The armored soldier stood at the ready guarding the pyre that had burned through the night. Another walks up to take his place and his turn to honor the fallen. ...
Originally Posted by Parnard
Home is home, be it never so homely. There the guests are assembled, there is the hum of many voices, and now and then, a clear merry laugh rises up from the crowd. The firelight shines ...
Originally Posted by Pumyra
What brings your character comfort after time afield?
They were routed. The men sat dejectedly beneath the trembling branches of the barren trees, the land hidden beneath a thick blanket of snow. They stumbled into the rendevouz point in ones and twos, anything greater than that often carrying wounded between them. The white snow became stained with red as more men found their way in. Yet, of those accounted for, it was still only a small fraction of the force they had departed with.
Talaesyn's eyes .....
Re: Pumyra's RP Prompts -- Updated Every Wednesday!
What brings your character comfort after time afield?
Okokdir sat moping about his latest embarassing showing in battle. He rested his face in one hand and absently searched the ground next to him for the latest book he had been reading. How can things get any worse he pondered as he thought back on the day's adventure.
The nearly harmless bat that flew down into his field of vision his over reaction and wild swings of his well worn sword and dagger as he screamed at the bat as if it had been the most terrifying creature he had ever encountered. The smile and laughter of his friend Cirriwen as he realized what it was he struggled to defeat. Oh, and that was the worst of it. To have her, the woman of his dreams have to save him from yet another dangerous (or in this case harmless) foe.
With a deep sigh he picked up his book and flipped it open to the page he had saved and began to read, losing himself in the adventure of another.
"Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart." - Marcus Aelius Aurelius
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Originally Posted by Pumyra
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