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Posted: Mon Nov 26, 2007 5:18 pm
Joined: 10 Oct 2005 Posts: 1199 Location: Out on the front line
Durail had fought and killed several uruks in the frey, he had mainly stood by his friend Tuilin and his new companions, remaining in the shadows and attacking the unsuspecting enemies. The Uruks were unusually strong for an orc type foe, but Durail welcomed them as a new challenge.

The battle was coming to its close now, and the uruks were fleeing in terror and defeat. There were a few left with strength enough to stand, so Durail decided to finish one off.
The free peoples wouldn’t need an enemy to come back refreshed... It was time to finish the kill.


2 Finish the Kill Gondor
Event Regroup
While you can spot more companions than minions, you may wound a minion once (or twice if you can spot a companion with more strength than the minion).

So Durail has about 13 strength, so I spot him and since there are more companions than minions, I choose to wound that remaining uruk pikesman.

(I am still new to this so tell me if I did something wrong.)
There is a power in this world beyond any of us, and Jesus is that power and The Savior.

Cool this is my attempt to look cool.
Trade list (Want Balrogs and Aragorns)
Posted: Mon Dec 03, 2007 3:53 pm
Joined: 12 Jan 2007 Posts: 4594 Location: Beltsville, MD, USA
Even as shouts of victory began to rise up, a few particularly stubborn Uruks were still fighting on, and even as their companions shouted for joy around them, a handful of men were still fighting to ensure that victory.

One of them was Ryle, who saw two Uruks stumble to their feet, obviously believed dead by those who had fought them before. With a weary but hate-filled roar, they charged ahead for one final strike at the oddly-dressed man before them. Ryle raised his blade to meet them.


2 To The End Isengard
Event • Response
If all skirmishes and fierce skirmishes have been resolved and you cannot spot an Uruk-hai, suspend the current phase to play any number of Uruk-hai from your discard pile; each comes into play exhausted. Each of those minions may participate in one additional assignment and skirmish phase. When they end, resume the suspended phase.
Uruks will continue to battle their foes to their very last breath.

3 Orthanc Pikesman Isengard
Minion • Uruk-hai
Strength: 7
Vitality: 2
Site: 5
This minion is strength +2 if bearing a pike.
At the start of each skirmish involving this minion, each mounted companion skirmishing bearer must exert. The Free Peoples player may discard a mount borne by that companion to prevent this.
“Then the Orcs screamed, waving spear and sword....”

2 Orthanc Swordsman Isengard
Minion • Uruk-hai
Strength: 6
Vitality: 2
Site: 5
Damage +1.
This minion is strength +1 (or +2 if at a battleground site) for each possession it bears.
“...some tall and grim, with high helms and sable shields.”


Using the twilight added by all our events (a combined 11, by my count), Orthanc Pikesman and Orthanc Swordsman are replayed from the discard pile by To The End; each is forced to exhaust. They must be assigned, skirmished, and dispatched before we move on.

I would ask that everyone wait until macheteman chooses a minion to skirmish (or chooses to somehow kill both), as this is mainly designed to allow him to still get his skirmish event made. If he chooses to leave a minion (or both) alive, then they’re fair game! It would be good for Curubethion to be able to squeeze a skirmish event in here too, but only if mm chooses to leave a minion alive and no one else really wants some more Uruk blood! Twisted Evil


Party Status (including modifiers; excluding abilities and keywords):
Curubethion: 9/4/9 – healthy
Dirthon (AP): 8/3/6 – healthy
Duinihir (NB): 9/2/7 – wounded
Durail (ingold): 11/5/8 – healthy
Ectheow (Drake): 10/3/7 – healthy
Legoles (legoles): 9/3/8 – healthy
Rorin (Dáin): 8/4/7 – healthy
Ryle (mm): 7/6/11 – healthy
Silvarin (EL): 8/4/7 – wounded
Tuilin (SoP): 9/2/7 – wounded

Erkenbrand: 7/3/6 – healthy
Gandalf: 9/4/8 – wounded

Enemy Forces
Orthanc Pikesman: 7/1 – exhausted
Orthanc Swordsman: 6/1 – exhausted
Best regards, Dáin, Vice Aftokrator of the Chosen Ones

Check out Lasting Alliances, The Road Ahead, and Ages of Middle-earth, three of my five dream card sets that make up Wars of the Ring. Oh, and I have a trade list now!

Also, if you're into DCs or RPGs (or even if you're not!), check out Realms of Middle-earth, the sequel to CG's "DC Adventure", Realms of the North!
Posted: Tue Dec 04, 2007 9:00 pm
Joined: 07 Dec 2006 Posts: 1200 Location: The Jungle
Ryle fought skillfully in the footsteps of his forefathers.

1 Blood of Bard Gandalf
Event • Skirmish
Exert a Gandalf ranger to make that ranger strength +1 for each other ranger you can spot.
If that ranger wins the skirmish you may spot 6 rangers to wound a minion.

Ryle takes one of them on, whups the tar out of it, and wounds the other.
Check out my best article The Utterly Corrupt Corruption,
If at first you don't succeed...Sky-diving isn't for you.
"Combat is dangerous. It tends to interupt your breathing process."
Posted: Wed Dec 12, 2007 11:02 pm
Joined: 12 Jan 2007 Posts: 4594 Location: Beltsville, MD, USA
With victory secured, Curubethion followed Gandalf, Théoden, Erkenbrand and others to the top of a nearby hill.

The battle had gone remarkably well. Curubethion knew when to admit he was wrong, and had already made sure to seek out Ectheow and remark how wrong he had been about the fortitude of Helm’s Deep and its defenders. Many had fallen during the night, including, apparently, a late-arriving group of Elves. But Helm’s Deep still stood...what was left of it, at least.

But the view at the top of the hill reminded the ranger of the problems still ahead. This had been a mighty and, to him, unexpectedly convincing victory. But ahead was a view of a far-off land, and a stark reminder of how small a part this battle played in the events of Middle-earth.

In the distance, the sky was a deep, menacing red. Storm clouds swirled and flashed above the mountains.


Curubethion and his companions had faced fallen wizards, dark Elves, and otherworldly creatures in their pasts, and now had laid waste to perhaps the largest and most fearsome army assembled since the days of the Last Alliance. But the view was a stunning reminder of the foe that had survived all those battles, and was now on the verge of releasing a calamity as great as the hosts of the Second Age had ever faced.

Sauron was once again strong, and his armies would soon rush from the foothills of Mordor and roll over Middle-earth like a flood.

Gandalf voiced the ranger’s thoughts. “Sauron’s wrath will be terrible...his retribution swift.”

Curubethion nodded grimly. He had faced so many terrible things, but the worst was yet to come. He had confidence in himself and in his companions, he thought with a glance back at them. Men and Elves and Dwarves...brave and capable warriors all. He was glad once again that they had been the ones to arrive in Bree months and months ago. He couldn’t imagine any party better equipped to face the coming trials.

“The battle of Helm’s Deep is over,” Gandalf continued. “The battle for Middle-Earth is about to begin.”


The Rohirrim spent much of the following day burying their dead. Two great mounds were raised in the field before the fortress, and the men (with the assistance of surrendered Dunlendings) solemnly and gently laid each and every fallen warrior beneath them.

Ectheow was assisting, and grieving with the rest. There were some familiar faces among the dead. One of them caused him to actually gasp.

“Is this...?” he started.

“Yes, the Captain of the King’s Guard,” another solider finished for him. “He fell defending the great gate.” The man pointed to the mostly-ruined main gate of the Hornburg.


Ectheow could scarcely believe it. He had spent years hating this man for seemingly betraying his king and country to that cursed, sniveling Gríma and his master. Now here he was, fallen in defense of Rohan at perhaps the most crucial spot on the battlefield.

Ectheow hardly knew what to think, but he couldn’t stop the tears from forming as he looked down on Háma and then around at the other fallen Rohirrim. He wiped his eyes before going back to the task at hand.

“Cursed Háma,” he whispered, but for the first time in many, many months, not with disdain.


Inside the battered walls, Tuilin and Silvarin were unexpectedly grieving as well.

To the everlasting surprise of the two Mirkwood Elves and even the defenders of the Hornburg, a large company of Elves had arrived just before the battle, sent by no less than Elrond of Rivendell and Galadriel of Lórien. They had been a major factor in the battle, holding the Deeping Wall as long as possible against the Uruk onslaught. But they had paid a very steep price.

Only a handful were still alive, and most of them were badly wounded and unlikely to ever see their woodland homes again. The rest had fallen either during the mysterious explosion that had destroyed the wall, or in the ensuing battle as the Uruks rushed into the fortress. Strangely, it seems a man had led them: a ranger from the north.

Well, Silvarin had thought with a slight smile, perhaps it wasn’t ALL that strange to follow a northern ranger around in battle.

But no one was smiling now. The pair had found an old friend among the dying. A young Rohirrim woman was attending to one of the fallen Elves, and looked up curiously as they approached. But her face turned to sadness as she saw that they knew this warrior. Her mouth tightened, and as Silvarin looked at her expectantly, she only shook her head sadly and stood, walking off to give them a private moment.

“Feleandier!” Tuilin exclaimed, squatting down beside the fallen archer. The two had fought many battles before, some in defense of Thranduil’s realm in Mirkwood itself. Feleandier was nearly as lethal and accurate an archer as Tuilin, but an even more capable close quarters fighter. The battle must have gone truly ill for him to be in this state now.

Feleandier took a labored breath and opened his eyes, blinking slowly as if losing his vision. “Tu-Tuilin? Is that you?”

“Yes!” the other replied as Silvarin knelt behind him.

“What are...why are you here?” Feleandier strained to say, but now with a smile.

Tuilin was overcome with emotion and couldn’t form any words. “We came with a friend, a man of Rohan,” Silvarin explained on his behalf. “He begged us to help his people.”

“As did the lady Arwen,” Feleandier said. “She compelled...compelled lord Elrond to send us here. To honor...” he took another pained breath, “...old alliances.” He smiled weakly. He paused for several seconds, closing his eyes once more. At first, Tuilin and Silvarin thought he may have fallen into a fitful sleep, but suddenly his eyes flew back open. “Tuilin, the realm is in danger!”

“No, friend,” Tuilin replied, trying to calm him. “Rohan has been sav—”

“No, not Rohan,” Feleandier said urgently. “Our home...Mirkwood.”

“What?” Tuilin asked, alarmed now. “What kind of danger? What do you mean?”

“Dol Guldur grows dark again,” Feleandier explained, his eyes growing wide. “The Orcs...and there are other, fouler things. They have begun...” he winced in pain for a moment, “...begun to scout along our borders. The king believes they prepare to attack.”

“Rest easy, friend,” Silvarin said soothingly. “We have driven far worse from Mirkwood before. When you are stronger, we will march back together and do so again.”

Feleandier looked up at him with a sad smile. “It is good to see you both once more. I have already played my part. I...I will see you again...on distant shores....”

And then, before his companions had a chance to respond, he was gone.

“Namárië, brave Feleandier,” Silvarin said quietly. “Namárië.”

Tuilin bowed his head in silence.


Without any particular connections to anyone here, Ryle was wandering the Hornburg, marveling at how the fortress was carved right into the mountain. It was something that even Rorin would surely find astounding.

Speaking of whom, the Ortan spied his Dwarven friend chatting with another Dwarf.... “Another Dwarf? Here?” Ryle murmured, amazed. He was sure he’d be hearing all about that later. The two seemed to know each other, so Ryle left them to their conversation.

Similarly, he saw Legoles talking with another Elf, one partially covered with Rohirrim armor. Here the connection was clear, as the two looked very much alike. “Legolas,” Ryle surmised, again leaving them to catch up.

As he wandered, sometimes stopping to check on an injured soldier if they were not being tended to (most were) or assisting with various reconstruction tasks, he saw his other companions as well. He came across Durail, who asked if he knew where Tuilin was; Ryle had to confess he didn’t, and the ranger went on his way. Ryle soon found Dirthon and Duinihir tending to the wounded, and Duinihir was still being tended to a bit himself, despite his protests. Ryle paused to help for a short time, then, leaving the Rohirrim in very capable hands, moved on.

He next spied Curubethion in another part of the fortress ALSO tending to the wounded—there were so many!—and beside him was another ranger that Ryle was not familiar with. His hair was shaggy, and he could see the man’s clothes were very worn even though partially obscured by a borrowed chain-mail shirt. The ranger looked up at Ryle for a moment, and the younger man was taken aback. The ranger’s face was nearly as worn as his clothing, yet there was something almost...regal about him. His keen grey eyes shone bright, and he gave Ryle a small, courteous nod before leaning back down to tend to one of the injured Rohirrim. Ryle determined that he must ask Curubethion later who that was, as the two seemed as though they also knew each other.

Eventually, he made his way back to Rorin, who by now had parted from the other Dwarf and was sitting down for a quick smoke. Ryle plopped down beside him.

“So,” he wondered aloud, “now what?”

Rorin gave him an approving smile. “What...not had enough battle, young Master Ryle?”

Ryle smiled at his friend, then turned serious. “You heard what Curubethion said when he came back with Mithrandir and the Rohirrim king. The Dark Lord himself is awakened and enraged, and all of Mordor with him.”

Rorin puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. He certainly feared Sauron, which was why that dark and mysterious messenger to Erebor had bothered him so. But if it came down to standing against even Sauron himself.... “He’s nothing to worry about, lad,” he finally said bravely. “I know my history. He has not succeeded before, and he won’t now.”

“Your words encourage me, my friend,” Ryle said, “but words are not enough.” He leaned close and lowered his voice. “If even a small portion of his forces can cause all this devastation and death,” he swept his arm around to the battered fortress to emphasize his point, “then what can the full force of his power do? What will it take to stem THAT tide?”

“If anything, lad,” Rorin answered, “I think this battle is a GOOD sign, not a poor one. Only a few hundred stood here against terrible odds, and were still here fighting valiantly when we arrived. They were demoralized by the loss at the Fords, yet they stood strong and firm and didn’t give up. They won.” He took a long pull on his pipe and exhaled it slowly. “My father always said that nothing comes free. Even finding the brightest and strongest mithril in the mines would take long, hard work. It might even mean injury or death trying to reach it. But in the end, it pays off. In the end, we can look back and say it was worth it. How much more important is defeating the Dark Lord than finding some mithril?”

Ryle nodded.

“No one said this would be easy,” Rorin continued. “It won’t be. I may not make it, or you might not, or NONE of us may live to see victory.” He paused, letting that sink in. “But it’s worth fighting for. It MUST be fought for, or everything will be gone. Nothing else matters.”

“I know,” Ryle said with a deep sigh.

“Ryle,” the Dwarf said quietly. “You’re ready. You’re not that scared little lad I found all those years ago. You’re not just a man of royal blood that sits on his laurels and lets good things come to him. You’re a fine warrior.” Ryle smiled. “There is no Dwarf, Man, bloody Elf or anyone else I would want by my side more than you. Don’t defeat yourself already. THAT is how He wins...through fear. Through convincing others not to try at all. If we stand now like others have before, he won’t stand a chance. And besides,” he said with another puff on his pipe, “Gimli tells me that a couple of Hobbits have a special present for ol’ Sauron that might mean we don’t have to fight at all.”

“He...what? Who is this ‘Gimli’, anyway?” Ryle asked.

Rorin smiled. “Sit back, lad, and I’ll tell you....”


As evening came, King Théoden, Gandalf, the mysterious ranger, Legoles’ brother, Gimli the Dwarf, and many others mounted up to ride to some place called ‘Isengard’. Apparently that was where the fallen wizard who had sent these Uruks resided, and apparently that was ALSO where the mysterious living forest in the valley had come from.

The heroes from distant lands were staying here, however. This evening they would rest, then make THEIR way to Edoras, where the king and his company would come back to meet them in a day or two.


~~ Site 3 ~~

White Hall of the King 3
Sanctuary. Dwelling.
The twilight cost of each non-event Rohan card played here is -1.


Two days later....

The heroes were gathered with their appreciative new Rohirrim allies, as well as the returned, blended party that had accompanied Gandalf to Isengard. They now included a pair of young Hobbits that reminded many of the heroes from the Iceblade quest of Adalard.

The tale of Saruman’s fall from grace was relayed to them, and his ensuing imprisonment in the tower of Orthanc. Ectheow and several others had taken particular joy in the image of the wizard and Gríma holed up together, surrounded by living trees on all sides. Served them both right.

After many long days of war and death, it was time to celebrate their victory and rest before the battles they all knew lay ahead.

But first....

The lady Éowyn bowed low as she handed her king a golden cup. The murmurs of the crowd died down as he raised it into the air.

“Tonight,” Théoden said proudly, but solemnly, “we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead!”

“Hail!” everyone replied, taking a sip of their own drinks.

After another moment of reflection, the crowd dispersed, and the celebration began.


Okay, here I’m taking a couple liberties with the storyline, combining elements of the novels (Saruman not dying at Isengard but rather being imprisoned, the burial of the Rohirrim at Helm’s Deep) with some from the films (Elves at Helm’s Deep, the view of Mordor, the celebration at Edoras). But I think they actually work together pretty well. Besides, I did it for a couple specific reasons:

- I wanted (and really NEEDED) Elves at Helm’s Deep so that the message of Feleandier (an Elf from the RPG "Mirkwood: The Shadow Returns", the history of which will play a part later in THIS story) would help guide the party to our next major stop: Mirkwood. We’ll start there at Site 4, I think. More details soon.

- I want Saruman and Gríma alive...for now. You may find out why later. Whistle

- The victory celebration is kind of the whole point of this site. I don’t intend on there being any battles here...this is time for your characters to interact for a while. Tell stories, observe your LOTR favorites doing what they did in the film (Hobbits dancing, Gandalf and Aragorn chatting, Gimli and Legolas’ drinking game, etc.), chat with other characters around you...whatever you’d like. Just have fun with it, and enjoy the break before the battles begin again. Twisted Evil

You can also create one DC of your choice here. Possession/artifact, event, condition, follower (might be a good time for Aeglirnen to show up, mm?)...whatever you want. (Except a character, for rather obvious reasons.) Just keep it balanced...a cost of 2 or less is probably a good rule of thumb. Thumbs Up

Take your time, because I don’t intend on making us all leave any time real soon. Feel free to post multiple times, if you want, and when it seems people are tiring of this, we’ll move on.

Have fun! Very Happy
Last edited by DáinIronfoot on Thu Dec 13, 2007 10:30 am; edited 1 time in totalBest regards, Dáin, Vice Aftokrator of the Chosen Ones

Check out Lasting Alliances, The Road Ahead, and Ages of Middle-earth, three of my five dream card sets that make up Wars of the Ring. Oh, and I have a trade list now!

Also, if you're into DCs or RPGs (or even if you're not!), check out Realms of Middle-earth, the sequel to CG's "DC Adventure", Realms of the North!
Posted: Thu Dec 13, 2007 1:23 am
Joined: 01 Apr 2007 Posts: 667 Location: Halfway between eccentric and insane...
A black hooded Terror sat, hunched over on a horse.
A very familiar horse.

The Terror turned, and he could see its face.


The doors thundered as they were thrown open. Elendil the Tall, Thorin Oakenshield, and Thranduil Elvenking burst out of the gates of Helm’s Deep, riding down and crushing the Uruks on the causeway. As they passed, Theoden King turned to face Ectheow.
It was not the king.

Ectheow stared down into his mug as the sound of the celebration increased. Everything had begun to run together as he had helped to bury the dead. And now, for the past two and a half days, everywhere he looked, everything he thought, he saw the same dead face, staring back at him.

He had hated Hama. Not hating him with anything of the same intensity as that pair of scum, Curunir and Grima; he had hated Hama as a fool, blindly following the enemy.

At least Hama had redeemed himself. Had stayed to fight.

The two Halflings they had returned from Isengard with Theoden King’s party had begun dancing and singing some northern drinking song.

Hama was here, fighting in his own way. Weak-willed, maybe. But he didn’t run away. You did. You went north and spent your time downing ale in the Prancing Pony and the Green Dragon, singing these same idiot songs. Some hero you are.

Theoden King’s words echoed through his mind, tearing at him: Hail the victorious dead.

“Here’s to you, Hama, you bloody fool. At least you didn’t run away.” Ectheow muttered, lifting his mug and downing the contents.

The song died down with a chorus of laughter, and Ectheow felt a sudden jolt on the bench. Turning, he saw that one of the Halflings had planted himself right beside him.

“Well. You look depressed,” the Halfling observed in an overly cheerful tone. “I’m Peregrin. But everyone calls me Pippin. Or Pip. Or sometimes Fool. That’s what Gandalf mostly calls me.”

“You’re drunk,” Ectheow muttered.

“Sure am!” Pippin exclaimed, jumping up onto the table and leaping away.

Well. That was weird.

“Fool of a Took,” Greyhame muttered, passing by, confirming the halfing’s ramblings.

The Halfling could celebrate. At least he had done something. Had roused the forest. Brought the wrath of the Tree-folk upon Isengard. A Halfling had helped to wipe away the power of Isengard, while a warrior of Rohan had shown up late for a battle, had ignored the war around him, looting old barrows and picking at orcs. And even the Iceblade nightmare had started as an attempt at an entertaining weekend.

Snow whirled around them, ice encasing the branches of trees. The ice-wargs were following after.
Adelard had managed to clamber into a tree, and was hurling pots and pans at the wargs.
Cerubethion was holding the twisted creatures off with his sword.

Ectheow was scrabbling in the snow for an old gold amulet which had no practical value except that it was old and pretty.

“Minstrel,” the voice said, breaking into his memory.
Ectheow looked up, startled.

“My... my Lord.”

Theoden King nodded and smiled. “Welcome home.”

Ectheow blinked and looked around the hall. “Home. Forgive me, my Lord, but I deserted this place. I don’t belong here anymore…”

Theoden placed his hand on Ectheow’s shoulder.

“As I recall, you didn’t leave. I exiled you. Well, you’re pardoned. Forgiven. Saruman’s hold over me was strong. That passed, this despair of yours may too.”

Ectheow nodded, his gloom lifted slightly, though much of it still lingered.

Turning to face the hall, the King raised his voice. “Come! I will have my minstrel sing for me!”

Ectheow stood and bowed deeply. “What would you hear, my King?”

Theoden smiled, and glanced around the room as voices shouted out suggestions. He seemed to fix on one person, and turned back to Ectheow.
“Let’s have The Saga of Elendil.”

Ectheow blinked, then glanced towards where Theoden King’s gaze had been, expecting to see Cerubethion or Duinhir, or perhaps the other Ranger which had seemed himself to be Elendil the Tall in that vision.

Instead, he saw the King’s sister-daughter, Eowyn, staring intently back.

I don’t want to know…. he thought, as he picked his harp off the bench and began to sing in a loud voice.

As the story progressed, the celebration continued; shouts rose from all through the Golden Hall, the fires roared, and in the words of the Halflings, “it snowed food and rained drink.” And for a brief while, everything was just as it had once been.

After the Saga was finished, Ectheow turned to other tales which the Rohirrim had never heard. The Song of Durin, which Rorin had taught him, though not in the Dwarven tongue. He had worked at the dwarf long enough just to get him to teach it in the common tongue.

Next came the Lay of Luthien, which caused a surprised stir from the rangers, and the tall man, Aragorn, actually seemed to try to slip back through the crowd.

The Master Hygleac’s words returned to his memory.
It is always the same; in the distant past long forgotten, in remembered tales, and in these days.

He smiled. Let the rangers squirm. He had seen more in his visions than just a few battles....


And Ectheow finally gets his harp to plink with....

2 *Eoleid, Bone Harp Rohan
Artifact – Harp
Vitality +1
Bearer must be a Rohan companion.
While bearer is Ectheow, each time you play a tale, you may exert him to remove a burden.
“‘That, I guess, is the language of the Rohirrim,’ said Legolas, ‘for it is like to this land itself; rich and rolling in parts, and else hard and stern as the mountains.’”
Never kid about politicians. The more bizarre the joke, the more likely it is to come true.
Posted: Thu Dec 13, 2007 3:26 pm
Joined: 23 Mar 2006 Posts: 7750 Location: somwhere, over the rainbow way up high. There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby.
Tuilin toasted the dead with everyone else.

his mind was still on feleandir and all the other elves that had died. He had helped with the wounded drowning his sorrow with hard labor and sleep deprivation. When he had finally gone to sleep his dreams had been uneasy, he had slept fitfully the entire night. Gandalfs speech had not helped his hopefulness, and what Feleandir had said about mirkwood... They had to go there, go there and fight. He wondered if they would ever stop fighting. He had been fighting for centuries now, and still there were always new foes.

He sipped his drink thoughtfully, and started humming, an old elvish mourning song, but also one of hope. The Rohirrim sitting across from him listened carefully. "What are the words?" one of them ventured. Tuilin looked up, startled out of his thoughts. "They are not meant for mortal ears" He got up and walked away.

It seemed like his friends always died. Countless elves he had grown up with had died or disappeared, most of his family had been killed in one raid. Silvan had been killed by a nazgul, Lyon by a black sorceror. At least Durail is still alive but he had made friends with some of those in this company, or at least companions. He watched Legolas and the dwarf, gimli engaging in a drinking contest. That cheered his spirits some, and the beer he had drunk helped as well. This was a time to remember, but also won to celebrate. They had won.

((hope that works...))
ArrowSop's haves/ top wantsExclamation
(mm)"SoP: you will always be the Official CC Spammer in my heart"
Spammers really are amazing creatures. You can learn all there is to know about their ways in a month. And yet, after a hundred years, they can still surprise you. Razz
Anonymous Prodigy
Posted: Thu Dec 13, 2007 3:51 pm
Joined: 10 Jan 2006 Posts: 4197 Location: United States
sickofpalantirs wrote:
Tuilin toasted the dead with everyone else.

I know the Rohirrim were fierce warriors, but turning them into cannibals is taking it too far. Razz
I had to put something here.
elf lvr
Posted: Thu Dec 13, 2007 5:04 pm
Joined: 13 Jun 2006 Posts: 3065 Location: Rivendell
"He can’t hold his liquor..." said Gimli, before his eyes crossed and his chair crahsed to the floor. Silvarin walked over and nudged him with his foot. The dwarf was asleep.

"Wrong," Said Silvarin, giving Legolas a quick nod before walking away. He had no intentions of getting too talkative with the prince of Mirkwood... especially not with a full tankard of ale in his hand. The stories he could tell... well, that was the problem really. The stories he could tell.

He opted instead to sit down next to Rorin, who was engaged in conversation with Ryle and Curubethion. When Silvarin had walked over, there hadn’t been an empty chair. By the time he was sitting down, there was one. Some would say it was almost... magical.

"What’s got you down, lad?" Rorin asked, seeing the look on Silvarin’s face.

"I met an old friend from Mirkwood. Unfortunately, we didn’t have much time to re-aquaint ourselves." The Ranger and the Ortan nodded knowingly. Rorin looked at him a little TOO knowingly. He’d been the only one with whom Silvarin had shared his past.

"You know, Prince Legolas is here," piped up Ryle.

"I noticed," remarked Silvarin glumly, and took a long draught of the ale. "Although... Curubethion, I have something I want to talk to you about. You’ve always been the leader of our group, in a sense... I need to ask you a favor.

"What is it?" Said the ranger, suddenly serious. He, at least, seemed to hold his liquor quite well.

"We need to go to Mirkwood. I heard enough from my friend to know that trouble stirs there once again. The shadows in Mirkwood are lengthening, and that’s saying something. Shadows patrol our wood." Silvarin sighed. "There. Now if Legolas asks, I can say I’ve told you. And I’m sure he will ask. I just hope he has the sense not to ask me. I’m suprised he hasn’t recognized me."

"Why? Did you two know each other?" Asked Ryle.

"I’m just... a familiar face, to some. Infamous, almost," he said, with a smile. "Besides, he... knew my brother. All of that is much to much for me to talk about on this night of celebration, you see."

"All right lad. We’ll discuss it with the others," said Rorin. Silvarin nodded, and got up to leave. He walked out of the hall. After, of course, refilling his mug.

He heard the footsteps behind him, which was an accomplishment. Elves walk silently. But he was expecting them. He took a look at his ale. Half of him wanted to dump it out on the ground. Half of him wanted to throw it at the elf behind him. Half of him thought he’d need it soon. Wait...

"Legolas," Silvarin said, without turning around. "It is an honor, my Prince."

"Please excuse my intrusion," Legolas said. "But I recognize an elf of Mirkwood. Many who fought with us before were elves of Lorien. But this requires a kinsman. Our home is in danger."

"I heard. I’ve already asked my companions about it. We’ll probably end up coming. I know I will."

"Thank you. Tell me, what is your name?"

"Silvarin Elstar," said Silvarin, almost in a whisper. "I dare say you’ve heard of me?"

Legolas looked at him calmly, even kindly. "Yes. I daresay I have. You know... you don’t have to apologize."

"I wasn’t going to."

"It’s been proven here that anyone can fall prey to the shadow. Even kings."

Silvarin shrugged. Legolas continued, a knowing smile on his face, "It’s what happens after that matters."

Silvarin turned around, rage rising in his veins. "Don’t tell me I have a debt to repay!" He screamed. "Don’t tell me I have to do this! You don’t understand what happened to me! You don’t know!" Even he knew how childish his words sounded. Legolas was still smiling, calmly. Silvarin’s voice fell. "My brother... he... well, suffice to say he’s dead now," he said, sarcasm seeping into his voice again. "And I did it. No, not directly, but... it happened. Because of me. I lost everyone I loved. And that’s payment enough. You wouldn’t understand that, princeling," Silvarin finished, turning around again.

"Don’t I? I’ve seen many warriors and friends fall in the defense of my homeland. I’ve been alive far too long to have not experienced loss. I may be a Prince, but that gives me responsability. I was responsible for those soldiers." Silvarin looked up, but Legolas was still smiling. "They knew it’s what happens next that matters." And with that, he turned and left.

Silvarin turned to go back into the hall.

"What happens next?"

He smiled.

Then he got another ale.
Happy Hunting! Elf Lvr
Winner of Best Personality in the FPCA. Thanks!
Archduke Elf Lvr - Archidoux of the Chosen Ones
AMV Maker In-Training! Check out my newest production, Katsu!- A Diedara Tribute!
And behold, EL declared it good. And there was morning, and there was evening, the first (new) day. ~ DainIronfoot
Posted: Sun Dec 16, 2007 6:09 pm
Joined: 10 Oct 2005 Posts: 1199 Location: Out on the front line
"Hail the victorious dead!" Theoden’s words echoed through the hall.

Durail sipped his mug. He couldn’t drink it, not now. His mind went to Lyon, the elf he had befriended, who now lie dead. He died a victor over his enemy.

He had known several farmers that had died in the battle of Helm’s Deep. They too now lay dead in the ground. The battle had been catastrophic, both to moral and the men’s physical bodies. They were wounded in spirit and flesh.
The night drew on and feasting ensued. Drinking was previlant. Is this how men comforted themselves? It was light hearted, yet very emotional. He could sense the men’s attitudes.

Durail drew his cloak about him and slowly faded into the shadows, then out into the night sky. He stood there looking out over the land. How many men had died for this land? How many children without parents? How much had the sacrificed? It could be seen in their faces, their eyes.

Mirkwood, it was time to revisit. He had to go see his friend’s home again. He would go repay his respects to Lyon.
He walked back into the Golden Hall. Music and laughter, it did the people good.
Durail walked up to Rorin. "Here," he said handing the dwarf a mug of ale. "What is it like being among horse men?"

"I admire their courage and their hearts, they match almost that of the dwarves."
Durail chuckled gruff, but stout and sturdy. He slapped the dwarf on the back and walked into the crowd again. He liked the dwarf, some day if their travels made it possible, Durail decided he would like to take this new friend to Gondor.

Durail again walked outside. It was too crowded. He walked through the streets of Edoras. He bent down and picked some herbs, who knew what they would need later. He stayed in the streets and on the walls looking over the country side. He could feel cold evil malice on his face. The enemy was moving. He would be striking again soon.

Durail fell into he bed exhausted. He had made his bed outside of the Golden Hall. It was cold, not from the weather, from the evil in the air, from the hurt of the people. With the dawns rays slipping over the horizon, Durail was up, he bought a horse which he had had his eye on for some time and rode off.

A storm was coming. He had to think!


2 Herbs and Potions Gondor
Bearer must be a Gondor ranger. Limit 1 per bearer.
Fellowhip: Discard this condition to heal bearer twice, remove up to 2 threats, or discard a Shadow condition borne by a companion.
There is a power in this world beyond any of us, and Jesus is that power and The Savior.

Cool this is my attempt to look cool.
Trade list (Want Balrogs and Aragorns)
elf lvr
Posted: Mon Jan 07, 2008 12:25 am
Joined: 13 Jun 2006 Posts: 3065 Location: Rivendell
1 What Comes Next Elven
Condition * Support Area
When you play this condition, add an Elven token here for each Elf you can spot.
Manevuer: Remove 2 Elven tokens from here to reveal the top card of your draw deck. If it is an Elven spell, you may take it into hand.
Then he got another ale.
Happy Hunting! Elf Lvr
Winner of Best Personality in the FPCA. Thanks!
Archduke Elf Lvr - Archidoux of the Chosen Ones
AMV Maker In-Training! Check out my newest production, Katsu!- A Diedara Tribute!
And behold, EL declared it good. And there was morning, and there was evening, the first (new) day. ~ DainIronfoot

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