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DáinIronfoot |
Posted: Mon Jan 14, 2008 4:02 pm |
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Joined: 12 Jan 2007
Posts: 4594
Location: Beltsville, MD, USA
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“So, my friend,” the ranger said, sliding up across the table from Curubethion. “What brings you to Rohan? And in such...mixed company?”
Curubethion smiled. “I might ask the same of you, Aragorn. Could it perhaps be for the...view?” He tilted his head in the direction of the king’s niece, Éowyn. “I see the way she looks at you.”
“Curubethion!” Aragorn chided. “You know better.”
The other nodded. He was one of few that went back far enough with Aragorn to know of his betrothment to Arwen Undómiel of Rivendell. “I was only teasing, my friend.”
Aragorn took a slow sip of a mug of ale. He had barely touched it. “Besides,” he said, “my heart tells me that Lady Éowyn will find another before this war is over.”
“And when might that be, Aragorn?” Curubethion replied. “I sense that your presence here was...unplanned. You didn’t come here just to fight for Rohan, did you?”
“No. Our journey has taken many unexpected turns.” He took his last sip of ale for a while, as he recounted the three months’ trek of the Fellowship of the Ring, from its founding to its breaking to the new purpose of him and his companions.
When he was finished, Curubethion briefly told of the quest for the Iceblade, the history of which was well-known to a ranger like Aragorn. Curubethion then told of his doings since, and the letters from Ectheow that had brought them back together. “Fate is a strange thing, is it not?” he said when he was finished. “Our quests could not be more different, yet here we all are, together.”
“For the time being,” Aragorn said. “My heart yearns to return to Minas Tirith, and it’s not just the promise I made to Boromir.”
Curubethion leaned forward and spoke low. “Return how, exactly? Anonymously? Surely you know that Denethor will know who you are, if no one else does. The King of Gondor does not exactly just walk through the gate and—”
“I return to defend her, not rule her,” Aragorn interrupted.
“Fate, again, may have something to say about that,” Curubethion said knowingly, and with a small smile. “The line must be remade sometime, my friend. My lord.” He stood and, very dramatically, bowed with a flourish.
Aragorn made a face, but couldn’t help but smile at the gesture. “Sit down, Curubethion,” he chuckled, rising himself as he spotted Gandalf walking by. “I’ll be back later,” he said, excusing himself and heading in the wizard’s direction.
Shortly afterwards, as Curubethion’s gaze was wandering around the room, a heavy thud jostled the table, bringing the ranger’s attention back to the spot Aragorn had occupied only moments before.
“Master Ranger,” Rorin said heartily, the froth of who knew how many ales on his beard. Not unlike when Curuebethion had first met the Dwarf, actually....
“Young master Ryle and I wanted to talk to you,” Rorin continued, finishing off yet another drink and trying—vainly—to wipe the foam from his beard. “Do you have a minute?”
Curubethion saw Ryle slide onto the bench next to Rorin with nowhere near the force as the heavy-footed Dwarf, and smiled at them both. “Of course. What’s on your minds?”
“Well, we were wondering about that...uh...other ranger,” Rorin said. “Who he is, where he’s from, and all that.”
“He looks somewhat familiar to me,” Ryle added.
“He should,” Curubethion replied. “He’s a ranger of the north. You’ve probably run into him before.”
“Perhaps,” Ryle said, furrowing his brow. “But many rangers never make it as far north as Evendim, where the Ortans reside.”
“He has, I guarantee it,” Curubethion explained. “His ancestry can be traced back to that area...or more specifically, to Annúminas, former capital of Arnor. He still roams through there from time to time.”
Ryle thought on that for a moment, then his eyes suddenly grew wide. “He is of the line of Aranarth...a Chieftain of the Dúnedain?”
“More than that,” Curubethion said with a proud smile. “He is of the line of Isildur himself.”
Ryle shook his head slowly in disbelief.
Rorin, not grasping this, merely shrugged and burped. “And the significance of that is...?” he asked.
Curubethion opened his mouth to answer, but Ryle cut in, now fully understanding. “He is the heir to the throne of Gondor!” he burst out, a little louder than Curubethion might have liked. Lower now, Ryle continued: “He is of the line of the kings of Gondor, a line that was considered broken generations ago. Gondor has been ruled by mere stewards of the throne ever since, but he is the rightful king!”
More interested now (to say the least), Rorin leaned in. “And what is he doing here then, Cerubathion?” he whispered, butching the poor ranger’s name as always. “And perhaps more importantly, where is he going from here?”
Before Curubethion could answer, Silvarin suddenly appeared at the table with an odd look on his face.
“What’s got you down, lad?” Rorin asked. The rest of the conversation would have to wait.
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More to come later. Just trying to jump-start this again, since Christmas, New Year’s, and the forum going down seem to have knocked it out of commission a bit. |
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! |
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AgentDrake |
Posted: Mon Jan 14, 2008 5:19 pm |
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Joined: 01 Apr 2007
Posts: 667
Location: Halfway between eccentric and insane...
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Ectheow ’s last songs had ended, and he now sat, plinking away at this harp trying to focus through the raucous celebration.
As he pulled the strings harder, trying to listen, he felt a sudden snap, and a loud twang echoed through the hall, bringing a second of silence, soon filled again, first with a few spots of nervous laughter, then the celebration resumed.
Ectheow glared down at the broken string. The harp definitely needed tuning now.
"It’s been a long time since I heard that sound, Minstrel," Eomer said, leaning over to pass Ectheow a mug of ale. "I can’t say that I missed that particular habit of Theodred’s. Master Hygleac was the only person he was afraid of as a child, and yet my good cousin still played with the harp."
Ectheow looked down at his broken harp.
"Sometimes I wonder how much Master Hygleac really knew," Ectheow murmured. "He already knew that Grima and Curunir would betray us, years before it happened...."
"And he always knew which one of us it was who had broken his harp," Eomer laughed. "Yes." Eomer paused.
"Your elf-friends. They are being called back North. There is more on the Dark Lord’s mind than wiping away the kingdom of Rohan. There are rumore coming to us that Mordor’s forces are searching desperately for some weapon, something that will enable Sauron to cover all the world in darkness...."
Ectheow nodded. "Yes. A weapon of Morgoth. A sword of Crystal and Ice. I know the story. But he will never find it."
Flash.
The Eye was roving, seeking, searching.
Fire wheeled and raged around the eye, seeking, ever seeking.
A madman stood before the eye, twisted yet defiant.
And yet the madman was no taller than a child.
Two others were with him.
Halflings?
And yet...
A second wheel of fire, golden, fastened itself around the madman.
Flash.
The Dark Lord reached out his hand, and there, upon it, was the Wheel of Fire, reaching out.
A sword flashed, and the wheel was broken.
Ectheow blinked.
Eomer was speaking.
"...elf-prince has asked that we send what little aid we can to them. You are the only one who has dealt with the elves and dwarves and men of the North.
If you will go, I expect your journey to be easier knowing that now you go in the service of the king, not in his exile."
Ectheow nodded. He had assumed this was coming after seeing the elf-prince of Mirkwood conversing with Theoden King.
Yes, he would go. It would have been nice to have stayed longer. But as he had sung, he realized that Edoras was no home anymore.
Home was a time, not a place.
When Hygleac had sung of the ancient heroes, and of the ancient world: Ents, and Eotenas, and the House of Eorl; when Meduseld rang with the victories of glorious war; when the princeling Theodred stood proudly beside Theoden King....
A shine caught Ectheow’s eye.
A swordhilt.
That ranger, Aragorn. His sword.
Aragorn.
Ar- "Noble"
Orn- "Tree"
Aragorn.
Of the Noble Tree.
That sword was the same sword that....
Flash.
There were seven stars in the sky.
The Ranger took one; as he did, it grew to become a deep sphere. A Palantir.
And gazing back through the seeing-stone was the Eye, opened wide in fear.
And hidden behind the ranger, unseen, was a cold, ice-crusted dagger, preparing to strike.
It was wielded by a twisted Hama, white from the cold snow which began falling around them.
Flash.
A black hooded Terror sat, hunched, on a horse.
"Excuse me," Ectheow said, standing up suddenly.
"I need to speak to Cerubethion," Ectheow said, rushing away, forgetting even to mispronounce the name. |
Last edited by AgentDrake on Sat Jan 19, 2008 1:03 am; edited 2 times in totalNever kid about politicians. The more bizarre the joke, the more likely it is to come true. |
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sickofpalantirs |
Posted: Mon Jan 14, 2008 6:20 pm |
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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.
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Tuilin felt himself drawn away from the noise and merriment. it didn’t fit his mood. He went to his bed, but he couldn’t sleep either. strapping on his bow and quiver, for he never went anywhere without him, He put on his green cloak and went outside.
The rohirrim hall had a balcony, which served many purposes. Tuilin found a nice corner and sat down. Humming quietly and reflecting on the last few months. He finished the months and started on years. Footsteps jarred him out of his thoughts. He looked up and saw another person opposite him, looking at the stars. He got up and walked forward "Legolas" he said.
The elf looked back "Tuilin?"
"Aye. We meet again, but in more perilous times then I had hoped."
"I did not see you before the battle"
"The company I am traveling with came with erkenbrand’s soldiers, after the battle of the fords. I saw Feleandir here."
Legolas looked somber for a bit. "These are dark times, but it is good to know there are still elves who will venture beyond their borders to fight"
Tuilin nodded and was silent.
"Where will you be going next?"
"You would have to ask Curubethion, he is are leader. Back to mirkwood it seems from what I have heard. though."
"Dark things move, be on your guard Tuilin."
"And you be on yours Legolas. May the Vala be with you. Farewell."
He walked away, and as he entered back into the hall, he saw a ranger come out and talk with the elf. He went to his bed and fell asleep.
((horrible post... but heres a DC
Elvish Blessing
Event • Fellowship or Regroup
Spot 2 elves to choose one of the following: Heal an elf, take an elf card from your discard pile into hand, or wound a minion.
"May the Vala be with you" |
Sop's haves/ top wants
(mm)"SoP: you will always be the Official CC Spammer in my heart"
"DáinIronfoot"
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](images/smiles/icon_razz.gif) |
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NBarden |
Posted: Wed Feb 13, 2008 12:32 am |
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Joined: 28 Dec 2006
Posts: 5468
Location: I don't know...
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Duinihir mounted the battlements. He peered out over the vast stretch of blood-stained land, where many had fought and died for the defense of Middle Earth. Away towards the south, the Ring of Isengard stood. Towards the east, the storm in Mordor grew. Stretched beneath him, the stench of a thousand slain Uruks filled the air.
And then he looked towards the west, as the sun began to set, its majesty portrayed as beams of orange, red and purple filled the sky with a beauty that not even Sauron could drench. It reflected off every cloud, creating a beautiful light display.
As dusk fell, Duinihir saw a raven fly up from the north. He gave a long whistle, and a hawk flew straight towards the offending bird. A shriek rang out over the plains as the crebain’s heart was ripped from its body by the smaller, more agile bird.
Duninihir paused and watched as the bird fell. The Sun set. The stench of the dying rose to his nostrils, smoke arose from the south, and off towards the east, a burst of flame issued from the mountains of the Black Land.
Everything had changed. The hawk landed on his shoulder. "Hello Gwavyr," said Duinihir, smiling at his pet.
With that, Duinihir turned to aid in the burial of the dead. The battle was over, but the war had just begun.
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•Gwavyr, Nimble Hawk
Follower
Resistance: +1
Aid-
Each time you transfer Gwavyr to a companion, you may wound a minion or discard a Shadow follower.
Each time Duninihir is assigned to skirmish you may transfer Gwavyr to him or to your support area.
A shriek rang out over the plains as the crebain’s heart was ripped from its body by the smaller, more agile bird. |
-Trade With Me
Add the popcorn smiley to your sig, help it achieve world domination.
What if the hokey pokey really IS what its all about?
As I lay in bed staring at the stars last night, I thought to myself, "where the heck is the ceiling?"
Spotlight on....Sense of Obligation. |
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ingold55 |
Posted: Fri Feb 15, 2008 11:43 pm |
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Joined: 10 Oct 2005
Posts: 1199
Location: Out on the front line
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Durail rode hard, rode fast. Fixed gaze, determined. What was it about this place?! New people new times. The enemy was moving, closing in the gaps. Helm’s Deep had been a minor defeat for Sauron. The steed was steadily slowing down till it came to the chared and ashen remains of a once thriving village.
The houses still smoked. The dead had been buried. Wrapping his cloak about him Durail stood motionless against the black sky. No stars, no moon, just clouds which seemed to show the depressed feeling of the universe at this time.
Hope. It seemed like something out of an old fantasy story. Durail no longer had hope, he didn’t even no what the word meant. What was this malice that was growing? not only in the world but in him? Right now his loyalty out weight the feeling, but would it always? He didn’t know.
mounting the horse, he prepared to head back for the battlements. halfway there he reigned in and dismounted the horse. taking his small pack from the horse, he slapped the horse and watched as the horse headed back riderless to his friends.
He would head to Mirkwood now. It was time to revisit. Time to return to his enemies grave. Something was stirring in Mirkwood. Something terrible. a horse would aid him on his trip yes, but he had not paid for the horse, he had only borrowed it form the king. Durail hoped his friends would understand. He had to go, not wait, he had to go at this very moment.
He walked out into the night. He knew the lands, he had Flame with him, he would be alright.
The next morning a horse appeared, but its rider was not to be seen....
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•Durail’s Cloak
possession cloak
vitality +1
bearer must be Durail.
the minion archery total is -1. |
There is a power in this world beyond any of us, and Jesus is that power and The Savior.
this is my attempt to look cool.
Trade list (Want Balrogs and Aragorns) |
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Anonymous Prodigy |
Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2008 1:58 pm |
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Joined: 10 Jan 2006
Posts: 4197
Location: United States
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A loud belch sounded from the table across from Dirthon. He looked up suddenly and saw Rorin, a mug of ale in each hand, and foam on his beard. Gimli, who had just come to after passing out on the floor in his drinking game with Legolas, was in yet another fierce drinking competition with Rorin. A round of laughter and applause came from behind Dirthon and he turned to see two very short men on a table singing and dancing boisterously.
Dirthon sighed, thinking of times past in Ithilien….
Orcs had been sighted in the forests near their home. Dirthor had left with nearly twenty other rangers to find the Orcs…
“I am leaving for the hunt, brother.” Dirthon’s older brother, Dothor, stood with his bow in hand and arrows in his quiver.
“I shall return by nightfall.” Dothor silently walked off into the woods, his weather-stained cloak blowing in the wind behind him.
Night came, and there was no sign of Dothor. The next morning, Dirthor returned from the Orc-chase, and a grim look adorned his face. Dirthon ran forward to greet his father, but stopped when he saw what his father was carrying: the same weather-stained cloak that Dothor always wore, only now it was stained with blood….
A groan and a loud thud brought Dirthon back to the present. Gimli had passed out for the second time, and a triumphant roar came from Rorin before he, too, fell to the ground in a drunken stupor.
“Give it to me, father. Every creature of Sauron that I kill will be for my brother. His legacy will not be forgotten.”
Dirthon wore the same worn cloak today, the same cloak that his brother Dothor had worn when the Orcs had ambushed him in the woods….
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• Ithilien Cloak
Possession • Cloak
Resistance +1
Bearer must be a Man.
Regroup: Discard this possession to draw a card (and heal a ranger if you can spot a minion).
“His legacy will not be forgotten.” |
I had to put something here. |
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Anonymous Prodigy |
Posted: Fri Apr 04, 2008 1:59 pm |
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Joined: 10 Jan 2006
Posts: 4197
Location: United States
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A loud belch sounded from the table across from Dirthon. He looked up suddenly and saw Rorin, a mug of ale in each hand, and foam on his beard. Gimli, who had just come to after passing out on the floor in his drinking game with Legolas, was in yet another fierce drinking competition with Rorin. A round of laughter and applause came from behind Dirthon and he turned to see two very short men on a table singing and dancing boisterously.
Dirthon sighed, thinking of times past in Ithilien….
Orcs had been sighted in the forests near their home. Dirthor had left with nearly twenty other rangers to find the Orcs…
“I am leaving for the hunt, brother.” Dirthon’s older brother, Dothor, stood with his bow in hand and arrows in his quiver.
“I shall return by nightfall.” Dothor silently walked off into the woods, his weather-stained cloak blowing in the wind behind him.
Night came, and there was no sign of Dothor. The next morning, Dirthor returned from the Orc-chase, and a grim look adorned his face. Dirthon ran forward to greet his father, but stopped when he saw what his father was carrying: the same weather-stained cloak that Dothor always wore, only now it was stained with blood….
A groan and a loud thud brought Dirthon back to the present. Gimli had passed out for the second time, and a triumphant roar came from Rorin before he, too, fell to the ground in a drunken stupor.
“Give it to me, father. Every creature of Sauron that I kill will be for my brother. His legacy will not be forgotten.”
Dirthon wore the same worn cloak today, the same cloak that his brother Dothor had worn when the Orcs had ambushed him in the woods….
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• Ithilien Cloak
Possession • Cloak
Resistance +1
Bearer must be a Man.
Regroup: Discard this possession to draw a card (and heal a ranger if you can spot a minion).
“His legacy will not be forgotten.” |
I had to put something here. |
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