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legoles3333
Posted: Thu Nov 08, 2007 6:33 pm
Joined: 28 Nov 2006 Posts: 861 Location: In a place that is beyond your imagination
After his adventure with the ranger Curubethion and his companions, Legoles headed back to mirkwood and resumed his position as captain of the king’s guard.

February 24th, 3019
Legoles was at his house in mirkwood when an elf appeared and said a messenger had been sent asking for him personally, curious, Legoles went out of his house and was faced with a messenger who was most definitely a man.

February 28th, 3019
Legoles was quite near the fords of Isen as he had ridden hard for four days, he had come south and ridden past Fangron and was now coming down the river Isen. he was just remembering how the news that his friend Ectheow had contacted him and requested his assistance in defending the fords of Isen from the army of Saruman.

March 2nd, 3019
Having ridden for six long days to arrive here, Legoles was now exhausted as he prepared for fighting the force, no, the army that Saruman had brought here, near him was Tuilin, an elf and kindred spirit, they had become friends during their long march in the north. and to the far left was Duinihir, a ranger from the lands south and a great fighter. soon, they heard the Uruks approaching, and they prepared for battle, as they saw the uruks break out of the fog, He saw Tuilin fighting hard to his right and Duinihir throwing himself like a monster to his left, and then the uruks were upon him, and he was no longer aware of anything but his heart racing and his aching arms.

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

ok here is me and my stuff

3 Legoles, Captain of the Gaurd Elven
Companion - Elf
Strength 7
Vitality 3
Resistance 7
Archer

1 Legoles’ Sword, Ancient Blade Elven
Strength +2
Bearer must be an elf
If bearer is Legoles he is Damage +1

1 Legoles’ Bow, Weapon of Mirkwood Elven
resistance +1
Bearer must be an elf
If bearer is Legoles he gains this ability Archery: Exert Legoles to wound a minion (limit once per phase)
Last edited by legoles3333 on Thu Nov 22, 2007 6:21 pm; edited 1 time in totalHere's My Trade List
I have taken an oath of poverty, to annoy me, send money
I am a trained assassin catcher
DáinIronfoot
Posted: Fri Nov 09, 2007 3:22 pm
Joined: 12 Jan 2007 Posts: 4594 Location: Beltsville, MD, USA
Sorry for the delay, folks. Been a busy day, and I didn’t the time to finish this in the morning that I thought I would. Better late than never, though...right? Embarassed

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The moans of the wounded filled the air, with a smattering of curses and shouts of sorrow and anger mixed in.

The first battle of the Fords had ended with losses, but also an enemy rout. The second had ended with far more casualties...and an all-out retreat by the other side. Their side. About the only good news was that they were not pursued, though even that was a mixed blessing: the way was open to Edoras, and the lands of Rohan beyond. Many riders had scattered to try and harry the enemy, but all knew it would only slow their progress and do nothing to stop them.

As far as any of the survivors knew, Rohan was doomed.

One of the few who had not been injured in the battle, Ectheow moved from tent to tent, bed to bed, checking on his fellow countrymen, but especially his friends from other lands. Many of them were among the wounded.

He found Curubethion and Dirthon attending to Duinihir, replacing soaked bandages. As he caught a glance at Duinihir’s injures, he gasped a little. He had known the ranger had been fighting with the Rohirrim for some time, and knew he had sustained injuries days before, but now that he saw....

“It is good you pulled him out when you did,” Curubethion said suddenly, without even turning to look at Ectheow. He laid another layer of fresh bandaging over the still-seeping wounds. “He was losing a lot of blood even when I found him here.”

Duinihir was still conscious, but slipping in and out of restless sleep as the elder ranger worked on him. Ectheow noticed a small fire was lit nearby, with a simple black pot with a sweet fragrance roasting over it.

“Athelas,” Dirthon said, noticing Ectheow’s stare. “Curubethion brought some from the north.”

“Kingsfoil, as you likely know it,” Curubethion added.

Ectheow nodded, then whirled around as another voice called his name. “Grimbold!” he said, surprised.

“Old friend,” the other replied, briefly embracing the former minstel, then nodding to the others. “Welcome...or as much welcome as can be offered now,” Grimbold said to the rangers. “I am Grimbold, and for the time being, I suppose I am Second Marshal of the Mark, since the fall of Prince Théodred.” He paused, clearing his throat and swallowing hard before continuing. “You have my thanks, and the thanks of all our people, for coming here. How fares your friend?” he finished, looking down at Duinihir.

“Better than ever,” the ranger replied weakly, but with a smile.

Curubethion stood and walked over to Grimbold. “I am sorry for the loss of your prince and your countrymen,” he said. “I am Curubethion, ranger of the north, and whatever I and...” he swept a hand behind him to Dirthon and Duinihir “...my fellow rangers can do to assist you, we are ready and able.”

“I have heard your name, Curubethion,” Grimbold replied, eyes wide, “and not just from Ectheow. I heard he had met fine warriors in the north, but not one of your stature. Your legend proceeds you, I am afraid.”

Curubethion waved a hand dismissively. “I am but one man, and such ‘legends’ do not make me anything more,” he replied with a crooked smile. “Still, whatever we may do....”

“For now, rest,” Grimbold replied. “There is word that our king is on the move, and we may join him soon, but not yet.”

“On the move to where, Grimbold?” Ectheow replied.

“Helm’s Deep,” Grimbold replied confidently. “There, they may outlast this storm.”

“Helm’s Deep?” Curubethion exclaimed. “My friend, I mean no disrespect to King Théoden, but that is folly! There is no way out of that valley, and a force as large as this....”

“Nonetheless, that is the king’s decision,” Grimbold said simply. “Or so I have heard. When we know for sure, that will determine our next course of action.” He smiled grimly. “Until then, as I said, rest. I will be sure to let you know when we are to move, and to what battlefield that may be.” He turned to Ectheow. “My friend, there is much to be discussed. Will you join me for a few moments?”

“Of course,” Ectheow said, slightly dismayed at the last exchange. He had great respect for Curubethion, as they all did, but what was his concern? The Rohirrim had outlasted many onslaughts at Helm’s Deep, and to his mind, and that of Grimbold and the rest, the king’s decision seemed wise. But what concerned Curubethion concerned Ectheow, too...he had learned to trust the ranger even when it seemed against common sense. Curubethion had been right about the Iceblade, and Ectheow had later realized even the secrecy the ranger had demanded was the correct advice. But what of his fear about Helm’s Deep?

He furrowed his brow, gave a final nod to his friends, and followed Grimbold to a nearby tent.

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In a different part of the camp, another group of even more unlikely companions was gathered, attending to their wounded friend.

“‘Durail’, eh?” Rorin said. “Well, easier to pronounce than Curubath...Curubleth...Cerublastion, I suppose.”

Silvarin chuckled, then stood and gave the black-clad newcomer a hardy clasp on the shoulder, in the greeting style of Elves. The other returned it, then extended his hand and shook Silvarin’s vigorously.

“You have been missed,” Durail told his old friend. “Where have you BEEN?”

Silvarin smiled. “That is a long tale. But first, someone else wishes to greet you.”

“Tuilin!” Durail exclaimed, seeing another friendly face. This time, the two threw customs aside and embraced, though the action forced Tuilin to wince a little in pain. “I hardly expected to find you here," Durail continued, “though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Indeed,” the Elven archer said. “We seem to always find ourselves in the middle of things, Durail.”

All three laughed.

“And I used to think Elves didn’t even know how to smile,” Rorin mumbled to Ryle.

The Ortan shook his head and laughed himself, then ordered “Tuilin! I wasn’t finished yet. Sit!”

Tuilin raised an eyebrow, but complied. He was several hundred years Ryle’s senior, but the man DID seem to have learned a thing or two about medicine in his short lifetime. He had removed the crossbow bolt expertly, if a little roughly, and was in the middle of applying a well-made dressing to the wound.

“So tell me again, Rorin,” Ryle said, as he worked, “what did Ellar say, exactly?”

“In a minute, lad, in a minute,” the Dwarf replied, smiling widely. “First you need to explain to ME why you stopped writing. Do you know how worried an old Dwarf like me gets when our friends disappear? You can’t DO that to me!” The words were said gruffly, but like many things Rorin said to him, the smile belied how the Dwarf truly felt about what he was telling his young friend.

“Sorry, father,” he said, as deadpan as he could.

That REALLY sent Rorin for a loop, and he sputtered “Your...I...he...you’re impossible, lad! I’d rather talk to the Elf!”

Speaking of whom, Silvarin simply shook his head and smiled as he and Durail came back over to check on them. Same Ryle, same old Rorin. It was as if they had all never left. Hard to believe it had been months since they had parted.

While Durail sat down to help as he could with Tuilin’s wound, and Rorin and Ryle continued their banter and tried to catch each other up, Silvarin looked over the rest of the camp, the moment of levity all but forgotten.

“So many wounded,” he said quietly to himself. Images of his kin slaughtered in Mirkwood flashed through his mind, first those who fell as Morgok’s forces attacked Thranduil’s realm...then to those he himself had killed while under the control of the evil sorcerer. “No,” he whispered. “I didn’t kill them. Morgok did.”

“I’m sorry?” a soldier nearby said.

Silvarin smiled sadly. “Nothing. I was just...thinking.”

The man looked at him strangely, partly for the statement and partly for...well, his race. An Elf? Here?

“I am a friend of one of your warriors,” Silvarin tried to explain, noting the man’s confusion. The man seemed like he may be a solider of some importance, with a large red shield and ornate armor.

The man shrugged. “Well then if you continue to stand with us, know that we will soon follow our king to Helm’s Deep.” He looked past Silvarin to the other Elves and...was that a Dwarf? He shook his head...what strange times. “Those are friends of yours also?”

Silvarin glanced back. “Yes. I will let them know. Thank you...?”

“Erkenbrand, Lord of the Westfold.” The man stood tall and proud, looking to the darkening sky. “We will leave at dawn.”

Silvarin nodded, the importance of the name lost on him. “Silvarin, of Mirkwood, the woodland realm. Again, thank you.”

They exchanged nods as Silvarin went back to his friends, and Erkenbrand continued to muster his countrymen.

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Alright, folks. Obviously, we’re headed to Helm’s Deep. These events are the early evening of March 2, and as Erkenbrand said, we leave the morning of March 3 for Helm’s Deep. I am following Tolkien’s history rather than the movie’s here...Erkenbrand, not Éomer, leads the reinforcements to Helm’s Deep, meeting up with Gandalf along the way and arriving at dawn on March 4.

But what exactly happens between now and then is up to you, so you’ve got basically a day and a half to work through. You can do so slowly, or you can speed along and get us to the action quickly. But however you all collectively do it, get us to Helm’s Deep at the top of that ridge with the sun rising behind us. Once we’re all there, I’ll make an “official” post before the final ride to save those in Helm’s Deep, and then afterwards, we’ll have some time to rest and mingle again before making our journey out of Rohan to other lands. You can bring historical characters into the story briefly, like Erkenbrand and Théoden and Aragorn and others at the battle, and certainly Gandalf, since we meet up with him on the way, but please stick to the basic storyline as Tolkien wrote it, okay?

As for DCs, you can create two. What kind? Well, like most of the story between now and Helm’s Deep, that’s up to you! Smile They can be events, conditions, possessions, followers...or any combination of those. Just don’t go TOO wild, and keep their costs (and balance) at 2 or less, m’kay? Oh, and keep in mind that since we’re pausing before the actual battle, you’ll likely have a chance to create a DC or two for the battle AFTER you create these two. Not saying you can’t make, say, a skirmish event as one of your two cards now, but if you want to hold off and do something else, now’s the time. Smile

And speaking of DCs, here’s our first “Leader” of the adventure. Just as CG established in Realms of the North, the Leader is essentially our “Ring-bearer.” There is no Ring here, of course (Frodo has it far, far away!), but the Leader (or Leaders) gets burdens placed on them anyway. Other than that, everything works as normal. Smile

Our first leader (and we may later have more than one at a time):

3Erkenbrand, Lord of the Westfold Rohan
Companion • Man
Strength: 7
Vitality: 3
Resistance: 6
Leader. Valiant.
While you can spot a Gandalf Wizard, each valiant companion is resistance +1.
While Erkenbrand is assigned to a skirmish, each Rohan companion gains hunter 1.
Each time Erkenbrand exerts or takes a wound, add a burden.
“‘...if you continue to stand with us, know that we will soon follow our king to Helm’s Deep.’”

Now get writing! Very Happy You can write just one section or several...that’s up to you, and depends partly, I guess, on what your fellow RPGers write. Two important things to remember: 1.) stop (for now) once we reach Helm’s Deep, and 2.) have fun! Mr. Green
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!
NBarden
Posted: Fri Nov 09, 2007 4:46 pm
Joined: 28 Dec 2006 Posts: 5468 Location: I don't know...
Duinihir had watched the proceedings as the band had been reunited. He would have laughed at Rorin and Ryle’s antics, but it hurt his side to much.

After a few minutes of standing, Duinihir was forced to sit down from the intense pain in his side. Soon, he suddenly passed out.

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

Duinihir awoke later to find himself in bed, with an aide looking at him anxiously. He sat up, and questioned the aide on what was going on.

"Rumor has it that King Theoden is moving towards Helm’s Deep," came the response. "The army is moving out to join him."

Duinihir sprang up from his bed and began arming himself.

"No sir!" cried the aide. "I’m under strict orders to keep you here until you recover."

"Until I recover?!?!?!" demanded Duinihir. "It chafes me greatly to sit here and ’recover’ while the war of our time is going on outside. I must go!"

The aide stood in his way. "I am not to let you leave on any conditions."

Duinihir raised his sword, but still the aide did not move. Duinihir’s brought the butt of his sword-hilt down on the aides head. He fell to the ground without a noise.

With that, Duinihir loaded his quiver with arrows, strung his bow, and sheathed his sword. Picking up his knife, he looked at it for a while. Tehtyrch it was called, or Orc-Signal. It was of the finest Elven craftsmanship, with spells placed on it for the destruction of Orcs. The light mithril blade could detect an orc many leagues off, and its hue changed from blue to a fiery red as foes approached. But more than that, it was sharp, and was long enough for a fight, yet wieldy enough for general use. Packing his knife, with the deftness of years in the wild, he slipped away quietly into the shadows, for night was now approaching.

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

The next day, the company departed, Duinihir with it. He would take it easy on the way to Helm’s Deep, in order to give the wound a chance to heal somewhat.

*************************************************************
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2 •Tehtyrch, Elven Long-Knife Elven
Possession • Hand Weapon
Strength: +1
Bearer must be Duinihir. This possession may be borne in addition to one other hand weapon.
At the start of the maneuver phase, you may assign Duinihir to skirmish an Orc or Uruk-Hai to suspend the current phase. Begin a skirmish involving Duinihir and that minion. At the end of that skirmish, resume the suspended phase.
The light mithril blade could detect an orc many leagues off, and its hue changed from blue to a fiery red as foes approached. But more than that, it was sharp, and was long enough for a fight, yet wieldy enough for general use.

1 A Ranger’s Dexterity Gondor
Condition
Stealth.
Bearer must be a ranger. Limit 1 per bearer.
At the start of the assignment phase, you may make bearer defender -1 (to a minimum of defender +0) to make a minion with the lowest strength unable to be assigned to a skirmish.
Packing his knife, with the deftness of years in the wild, he slipped away quietly into the shadows, for night was now approaching.
Exclamation-Trade With MeExclamation
Popcorn Add the popcorn smiley to your sig, help it achieve world domination.
What if the hokey pokey really IS what its all about? Shocked
As I lay in bed staring at the stars last night, I thought to myself, "where the heck is the ceiling?"
Arrow Spotlight on....Sense of Obligation.
AgentDrake
Posted: Fri Nov 09, 2007 6:15 pm
Joined: 01 Apr 2007 Posts: 667 Location: Halfway between eccentric and insane...
“Helms Deep. That is a wise course,” Ectheow observed as the tent flap fell closed behind them.
“Your friend seems to think otherwise,” Grimbold replied.
“The Ranger is accustomed to sneaking around the wilds. He is a brilliant fighter and leader, a great hero, but he does not understand the hearts of Rohan. What better place than Helm’s Deep? We cannot be outmaneuvered there, we cannot be surrounded. We may only be worn down. And with out backs to a wall, we cannot be forced to flee as we have.
Still, you tell me that the King has banished Grima? How did all this happen?”
Grimbold smiled. “Your friends are not the only Northerners to come. Gandalf Greyhame appeared, and forced his way in to see Theoden King.”
“I bet Hama was pleased,” Ectheow grunted.
“Greyhame has a ragtag group of henchmen this time. Another Northern ranger, and elf and a dwarf. They kept Grima’s stool pigeons quiet while Greyhame exposed Grima. Did the King a world of good. Grima fled like the sniveling little coward Hygleac always said he was after the Ranger spared his life. Stole your old horse Sage on his way out.”
“I got a new one,” Ectheow said.
“And after seeing that thing of yours, I’m happy to offer you one of my spares. I don’t know what happened to that creature, but it should be put out of its misery. It looks like something the orcs dragged in.”
“I’ll keep it, thank you. And it’s name is Beow.”
Grimbold shook his head. “Fine. Just don’t keep him anywhere near the others. I don’t want them picking up fleas. A lot has happened since you left. Theodred was killed by Curunir’s Uruks. The Wild Men are ravaging the Mark. Eomer was exiled, but I hear he returned to Meduseld, and is at Helm’s Deep even now.”
Ectheow felt a sudden shock. Theodred killed? That explained how Grima had gotten away with his worming for so long.
“What of the South?” Ectheow asked. “Do we have Gondor’s aid?”
Grimbold shook his head. “Gondor has her own problems; Mordor is stirring. The White City couldn’t care less about us ‘Northern Barbarians’ right now.”
Mordor is stirring.
Flash.
Orcs swarmed over the hills. Orcs bearing a white hand and orcs bearing a red eye.
Where had Curunir’s orcs come from?
Not Grima.
The Enemy.
Curunir had allied himself with Mordor.


Ectheow abruptly turned and pushed the tent flap aside, gazing out into the dark. The cold night air rushed in, and the distant howl of a warg froze in the air.
Ectheow forced his thoughts away from the ice-glazed North, once the realm of the Greatest Dark Lord, the Destroyer of the East. Thoughts of the dark tales of Morgoth were pointless now. Unless Curunir had conjured up another of the ancient Dark Lord’s personal weapons, like the Iceblade.

Ectheow gazed out across the world as a light rain began to fall. A distant rumbling, like thunder, but continuous and rolling drifted across the plains from the mountains. A faint light could be seen kindling far off.

“What’s that?” Ectheow asked, pointing out. “It’s too early for dawn.”

Grimbold gazed across the night.
“It’s Helm’s Deep. The battle has begun.”

“We cannot possibly reach the fortress in time,” Ectheow said darkly.

“Yet ‘late is better than never.’” Grimbold finished. “We may have to ride before dawn. I shall find Erkenbrand and discuss the matter.”
Grimbold left the tent, Ectheow following.

Flash.
The Master, Hygleac, ran his fingers over the wooden model of the fortress, guiding the small blocks of wood which were the armies of Dunland and Rohan.
He spoke clearly and majestically, telling of the battles which the fortress had withstood.
Helm’s deep could not fall. It was the Impregnable, the invincible. Not out of any great stone or magic, but because of the honor and courage of those who ever sought its refuge.
Greyhame had, in his typical mood, insert his own commentary into the Master’s tale of courage, honor, and loyalty, but most of the others ignored the wizard’s pessimistic comments; whatever the wizard might say, they all well knew the outcome. Helm’s Deep would stand, because that was the way the story went. That was what happened.
And no matter how many times the story was told, Helm’s Deep would always stand.


Ectheow looked out through the rain as the wind began to shift.
Helm’s Deep would last the night.
That’s what had always happened. Why should this be different?

Of course, they had never been betrayed by a wizard from across the Sea before.

Stepping into his own tent, Ectheow rolled his shield off his back. Digging into his pack, he pulled out a leather blanket, and pushing his gear underneath to keep the water from the leaking tent off, he shoved his way back out into the rain.

When he came to the tent where the Ranger, Duinhir, was kept, he pushed the flap open to find the guard lying unconscious. Bloody Ranger. Probably get himself killed, going off half-cocked and wounded in the middle of the night. Oh well. The ranger had survived this long. One night of bleeding wouldn’t hurt him permanently.
The lax guard, on the other hand….

Ectheow turned and walked away, not seeing Duinhir slip back out of the shadows and resume his packing.

Stepping onto a ridge, Ectheow watched the lights flicker in the distance as Helm’s Deep fought for its survival.
He could see in his mind the works of Curunir tearing at the fortress; orcs sneaking into the city through culverts and drains.
Flash.
An explosion sent huge rocks and debris flying. And in the midst of the stones was a man bearing a blazing sword, like an elf-star.
Flash.
Theoden King, a grey weathered old man straightened and drew Herugrim. The blade flashed in the sun, and the clouds rolled back. And behind stood the White Wizard.
Flash.


Ectheow blinked.
He must be more tired than he had thought to start drifting off like this in the rain.
When he finally did rest, his dreams were not of Theoden or elf-stars, but of mad rangers, ice-clad demons and Curunir blasting hail and frost down onto Edoras.

Just before dawn, the horn blew, and they rode.
But he could still hear the distant rumbles.
Helm’s Deep still stood.

================================

2 *Hylgeac’s Vision, Second Sight Rohan
Follower
Strength +1
Resistance +2
Aid - Add two threats.
While bearer is a Rohan companion, each time a minion uses a special ability, you may add a burden to exert that minion.
"Hweat! In gear daegum..."

2 *Ectheow’s Shield, Wooden Bastion Rohan
Possession – Shield
Bearer must be Ectheow.
Each minion skirmishing Ectheow is strength -1 for each wound on that minion.
Maneuver: Exert Ectheow to make him defender +1 until the regroup phase.


I’ll write more later.
Never kid about politicians. The more bizarre the joke, the more likely it is to come true.
elf lvr
Posted: Sat Nov 10, 2007 1:57 am
Joined: 13 Jun 2006 Posts: 3065 Location: Rivendell
Rorin’s tent was on fire. Though this caused alarm to many of the Rohirrim soldiers, the elves Tuilin and Silvarin seemed nonplussed by it. This was mainly because Silvarin had, in fact, been the one to set the fire. For the record, it was blue.

It takes a lot to wake a dwarf at sunrise.

"You know," Silvarin said, a smile upon his face, "we may soon have to pull him out of there. It doesn’t look like he’s getting up." Tuilin shared the smile too, as a stream of not-so-nice sounding dwarvish words erupted from the tent. Reluctantly, Silvarin handed Tuilin a small silver coin.

When the fire had been put out and a new(er), at least, less charred, tent was found and packed for Rorin, the company was ready to set off again. It was a long ride to Helm’s Deep, and they needed to arrive in time to provide much-needed aid.

As the riders lined up and spurred on their horses, Silvarin was suprised to find himself riding alongside the man of rohan, Erkenbrand. Though all men looked much alike to him, he remembered the man from last night by his shield and extremely broken horn ( Razz ).

"A good morning to you, Erkenbrand! And may our ride make others’ mornings brighter!"

"It will be much time till we reach the Deep, master Elf. I do hope we arrive soon enough."

"It is as they say, ’It won’t get better if you pick at it.’ So don’t worry, Erkenbrand!"

"It won’t get better if you pick at it? What kind of elvish wisdom is that?"

"Few things do get better if you pick at them, you’ll realize," said Silvarin wisely. Erkenbrand laughed. "And another peice of widsom I picked up from my dwarvish comrade," continued Silvarin, "few things are made worse by another ale! But few things made better, also! So be wary you don’t get it in your beard!"

"And that means...?"

"I don’t know, really. I’ve never had a beard."

Erkenbrand laughed again as Silvarin smiled, and the light glinted off a small object on Silvarin’s finger. It was a small ring roughly made of gold; a blue stone sat in it’s center, but seemed not to fit very well. Silvarin noticed him looking at it.

"Ah, this old thing. I don’t know why I bother to keep it. To remember, I suppose, and to remind me not to make the same mistakes."

"Mistakes? Such as?"

"Now, now, Erkenbrand, ask no questions and I’ll tell you no lies! But I’ll say this; I’ve learned I’m not to be trusted with power." Erkenbrand gave him an odd look, but decided not to pursue the subject. This was generally deemed a quite wise decision. It’s much harder to lead an army when you’ve been turned into a frog.

For hours and hours they rode, and spoke little, but the men of Rohan often broke into songs, sad, beautiful songs, in their own native speech. Ectheow produced a harp and began to play, still upon his horse, and Rorin and Silvarin both suprised the onlookers as they joined in with songs in their own languages, often clashing horribly with the Rohirrims’ tunes.

That night, they stopped to camp only a few miles from the Deep. Silvarin had a feeling they ought to keep pressing on, but it seemed that Erkenbrand was waiting for something, or more likely, someone. Not but a few hours later, Silvarin found out who that someone was.

The night was pierced by a brilliant light; and Silvarin saw a small host of men on horseback riding towards their camp. They were led by an old man on a brilliant white steed, and the light was spouting from the staff in his hand. Gandalf dismounted and strode towards Erkenbrand. He stopped, however, when he heard Silvarin’s voice cry out, "Mithrandir! Mithrandir!" The elf fell flat on his face bowed before the wizard, and a constant stream of elvish spouted from his lips. Gandalf motioned for a few of the Rohirrim to help Silvarin up, looking amused. Silvarin reluctantly rose, but he was still looking at Gandalf with apparent awe.

"Mithrandir! The Sorcerer of Sorcerers! The White Rider! Purveyor of wisdoms and master of magicks! Such a great honor it is! By my meager wisdom, I wish to grow more wise. I beg you, teach me what you know!" And he again fell on his face and couldn’t be pried from the ground even by Durail, Rorin, and Erkenbrand, much to their embarrassment. Gandalf, however, seemed more amused than ever.

"Silvarin Elstar," he said, calmly. "I have heard of you. Your deeds in Mirkwood did not go uncounted by the Istari, even!" Here, Silvarin looked up, horrified, but Gandalf still only smiled. "There may be time for a little bit of teaching, and hopefully some learning, before morning comes. But ere dawn we must ride, and I have much business to attend to." He and Erkenbrand, and many other men of Rohan who seemed to hold some status, then retreated into a rather large tent to discuss the coming battle. Silvarin did nothing more than walk to a corner of the camp and sit on a fallen tree, muttering to himself words of Elvish. And no one could get a word of sense out of him until Gandalf came later to speak to them. None heard what transpired, but Silvarin walked away looking very pleased with himself.

This made Rorin especially uneasy, and he resolved to have Ryle wake him up extra early the next morning.

0 *Bluestone, The Sorcerer’s Ring Elven
Artifact * Ring
Vitality: +1
Bearer must be Silvarin. While you cannot spot another Elf or a Gandalf Wizard, he is resistance -2.
Response: If an Elven spell is played, discard this artifact to return it to hand after its effects have resolved. You may play that spell again this turn, ignoring costs.

2 Wit and Words Elven
Event * Fellowship
Spot an Elf and a companion of a different race to take an Elven card from your discard pile into hand.
"Ask no questions and I’ll tell you no lies!"
Last edited by elf lvr on Sun Nov 11, 2007 1:39 am; edited 1 time in totalHappy 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
Anonymous Prodigy
Posted: Sat Nov 10, 2007 3:16 pm
Joined: 10 Jan 2006 Posts: 4197 Location: United States
“I will return, father. I will return.”

Dirthon awoke suddenly. His hand was tightly gripping the hilt of his sword, and he had broken out into a cold sweat. Dirthon stood and opened the tent flap. It was dawn, and a number of fires had been started by the Rohirrim. A blue-colored fire caught the ranger’s eye and he looked closer. Rorin’s tent was engulfed in flames, and Silvarin and Tuilin stood by laughing. The Dwarf emerged from the smoke-filled tent, coughing forcefully.

“I’m gonna…” the Dwarf roared, but he stopped short when he saw the two Elves shaking with laughter. Silvarin muttered a few words, and the blue flames were extinguished, leaving Rorin’s tent unharmed.

“Never trust an Elf,” the Dwarf mumbled, storming back into his tent. Dirthon laughed along with Silvarin and Tuilin.

The ranger walked back into his tent to gather his things. Today would be the final stage of the procession’s journey to Helm’s Deep. Dirthon wrinkled his brow.

Helm’s Deep. Curubethion spoke as if Thèoden was leading them into a trap. No escape, no escape from the stone fortress of Helm’s Deep. They would all die…

Dirthon’s thoughts returned to the task at hand. He strapped on his sword belt, then slung his quiver and bow onto his back. He touched the hilt of his sword tenderly, remembering the day that he had received it…

Orcs had invaded Ithilien. Dirthon’s father, Dirthor, had gone to fight the Orcs with the rest of the rangers. The Orcs that day, though, were the stronger force. Dirthor fell with an arrow in his side, and he was carried back to Ithilien by his men. The arrow had been poisoned, and Dirthor took a fever. The only cure was hard to find: the athelas plant.

Dirthon had left home, and taken his father’s sword. He would roam Gondor until he had found athelas, and then he would return and heal his father. He had only been gone two days when he found what he sought, the rare and precious healing herb. As he reached to pick its scented leaves, though, an Orc sprang from the thickets and attacked Dirthon.

Completely surprised, Dirthon had no time to draw his sword, and the Orc’s blade bit deep into the flesh on his arm. Crying out in pain, Dirthon managed to pull his father’s sword from the sheath, and then he fought the Orc. Dirthon’s lessons in swordplay as a young lad had not been for nought, and he slew the Orc within a minute. He brought the athelas back to his father, and the rare herb brought life to him again.

Dirthor was healed within a week, and a feast was held in honor of Dirthon’s bravery to find the athelas, and the killing of his first Orc. Dirthor gave his sword to his son, and he was made a ranger of Ithilien that very day…

He left Ithilien two years later and joined the other adventurers on the quest of the Iceblade. Before he left, though, his father took him aside and spoke to him.

“Dirthon, I have been a ranger for fifteen years, and I have learned one thing: protect your fellow companion as you would protect yourself, and the favor will be returned to you. Never forget that, my boy. Never forget.”

Dirthon had nodded his acknowledgement, then clasped hands with Dirthor.

“I will return, father. I will return.”


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2Dirthor, Ranger of Ithilien Gondor
Follower
Strength +2
Resistance +1
Aid2.
Each time you transfer this to a companion, except a Gondor ranger, exert bearer. Response: If a Gondor ranger is about to take a wound that would kill him or her, you may exert another Gondor ranger to prevent that and take a Gondor card from your discard pile into hand.
”I have been a ranger for fifteen years….”

2 Strength In Unity Gondor
Event • Skirmish
Make a Gondor ranger strength +1 for each other Gondor ranger you can spot (and heal a companion if you can spot a roaming minion).
”...protect your fellow companion as you would protect yourself….”
Last edited by Anonymous Prodigy on Tue Nov 20, 2007 3:56 pm; edited 1 time in totalI had to put something here.
sickofpalantirs
Posted: Sat Nov 10, 2007 3:40 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 watched as the dwarf stumbled out. "I knew he would wake up." Silvarin handed the coin over and tuilin pocketed with a flourish. and promptly winced as the movement hurt his side.

Tuilin mounted his steed, named silvan after a friend of his (remember silvan? he was the first of EL’s characters to bit the dust Wink) and spurred it forward.

The riders next to him were talking about the chance of the deep standing when they arrived. Tuilin heard the name legolas mentioned. He had met the prince once, and remembered him as the only archer to have bested him in a contest. "So legolas is there, the Orcs will have a hard time touching him" Tuilin said quietly. The men looked at him "I have met Legolas before" Tuilin said. "I am an elf." he cast back his hood so they could see him. The younger one looked at him "I’ll be. A real elf. What are these times coming too that they show themselves again in middle earth?"

Tuilin shook his head and spurred his horse on. Night came, and with it the white rider. Tuilin was as much awed as silverin, but kept his composure better. "Let those orcs come. Nothing can defeat us with one of the istari at our side." He got out his weapons. He waxed his bowstrings, sharpened his sword and daggers, and polished his armor.

(Tuilin is still lacking in the sword department...

1 Tuilin’s sword, Elvish Longsword Elven
Possession • Hand weapon
Strength • +1
Bearer must be an Elf. If bearer is Tuilin, each time he is assigned to skirmish a wounded minion, the free peoples player may add a threat to reinforce an elf token.
Unlike most elvish sword, Tuilin’s was one-handed and he was its first wielder

((yeah I know bad lore...if you have any suggestions for lore for ANY of my cards PM me.))

1 •Deep Calm Elven
Condition • Support Area
When you play this condition add an Elven token here (or 2 if at a forest or sanctuary).
Each time your Elf takes a wound or exerts in a skirmish, add an Elven token here.
Fellowship: Remove 2 tokens from here to heal an Elven companion.
Elves could renew much of their strength without sleep.

any chance that this site is a forest?
ArrowSop's haves/ top wantsExclamation
(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
macheteman
Posted: Sun Nov 11, 2007 9:51 pm
Joined: 07 Dec 2006 Posts: 1200 Location: The Jungle
Ryle walked slowly by himself, his cloak wrapped tight about him. the gray moon shown down upon him. the camp was shrouded in slumber. Rorin’s tent was standing, and quivering slightly in the chill breeze. Ryle walked into the tent and sat upon a wooden stool, with horses carved in the legs. the dwarf was asleep on his cot. Ryle’s memory flashed back to that dreaded day when he fell to the goblins, and just before he slipped into unconsciousness, Rorin’s battlecry ripped through the caves.

Ryle looked across his dwarven friend who had almost been more than a father to him. He drew out the sword which had cleaved all his enemies. with an old whetting stone he honed the blade to a fine edge, "soon, soon, my friend," Ryle whispered to the sword, "soon we will draw blood together." he sheathed the blade and fingered the limbs of his bow. "yes my friends, the time is drawing near."

Ryle stepped over to the sleeping dwarf and pushed him off the cot, "get up you worthless lump!"

Rorin flopped onto the floor with a thud, and with a start he yelled, "what in Durin’s name you insolent, excuse for a chicken!" as he threw every available object at the young warrior, which included an apple, a left boot, and packet of Cram. "I asked you to wake me up, not throw me off my bed and startle me out of my skin!!"

"Rorin, my floppy friend, i have learned through experience that one can never wake you up from sleep as if you were a normal, civilized being, but rather--"

But Ryle couldn’t finish. with a roar, the Dwarf was up and chasing him out of the tent, and round the camp. "i’ll have your scalp yet you little blighter!!"

"I’ll GIVE it to you if you can catch me! you pudgy fellow!"

Rorin’s growls fell behind, and at last the dwarf collapsed on the ground outside the camp. Ryle came back and started to sit beside his friend, but the dwarf gave him a stiff shove which sent him flying.

"and there is another thing i’ve learned," Ryle said, "never wake up a Dwarf. ESPECIALLY when he’s sleeping!" he started to eat some Cram, and offered it to Rorin.

"now, where’d this come from lad?"

"you threw it at me, remember? a terrible throw really, my friend, you should work on that overhand."

"well, i guess getting pushed off a cot is better than getting my tent burned by the Elf! but i can’t win for losing!" the dwarf’s eyes twinkled as the sun broke the horizon, "we’ve been through a lot together, and it’s been a long time coming, on a crooked road."

____________________________________________________

0 Cram Gandalf
Possession • Waybread
Resistance: +1
Bearer must be a Gandalf Man or a Dwarf.
Regroup: If you can spot a Gandalf Man, you may add 2 and discard this possession to draw 2 cards or discard a shadow condition from a companion.
Cram was waybread made by the men of dale, ideal for long marches, and travel.

2Bow of Bard Gandalf
Possession • Bow
Bearer must be Bard, Brand or Ryle.
Bearer gains Hunter 1.
At the end of the archery phase, you may wound a minion.
“The black arrow sped straight from the string..."
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."
ROLF!!!
DáinIronfoot
Posted: Fri Nov 16, 2007 2:25 pm
Joined: 12 Jan 2007 Posts: 4594 Location: Beltsville, MD, USA
Alright, FINALLY, here is Rorin’s section.

I still hope to have stuff for Curubethion and now Durail up later today, but again, it may have to wait until tomorrow.

Until then, enjoy! Smile

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Blasted Elf,” Rorin mumbled as he surveyed the roof of his tent. Good thing the rain had stopped, at least for now. If it hadn’t, his things would be soaked thanks to the charred, gaping hole that now adorned his tent. The Dwarf picked up a couple pieces of his armor and brushed some ashes off, catching a whiff of smoke as he did so. “Bah! It’ll take weeks for that smell to come out!” He almost bolted out of the tent to give chase to Silvarin again, but thought better of it for the same reason he had been inside sleeping while many others were already up: he needed some sleep. He hadn’t allowed himself to get much on the long journey from Erebor, knowing time was of the essence, and while he hadn’t told anyone, not even Glóin or Thorin or Ellar, he hadn’t slept particularly well before that, either. As the one-year anniversary of the quest into the wintery north had approached, he had begun experiencing something he hadn’t since he was very young: nightmares. He had dismissed it as simply the stress of planning for the return of Sauron’s black messenger, but deep down, he knew it was something more.

The creatures Curubethion had led them against had chilled them all, literally, to the bone, even the stoic and seemingly unflappable ranger himself. But none had been shaken more than Rorin. He had fought Wargs before, and even enjoyed the occasional opportunity to drive the mindless beasts away when they came down from the north into the lands around the Lonely Mountain. But the icy abominations they had encountered on that journey...Rorin still shuddered whenever his mind replayed their otherworldly screams.

And then the wraiths and specters had arrived, and then even the dead were rising to claw at them with rotten, frostbitten hands. It had been too much for the poor Dwarf, who had long dismissed such things as foolish tales made to scare Dwarven children. It was a little-known fact that despite their bravery against foes like Wargs and Dragons and even the twisted Orcs, Dwarves were more unnerved than most by tales of the dead...and other things not of this world. In a matter of days, actually, another Dwarf of Erebor would be proving that as he followed another brave ranger through the Paths of the Dead.

In a way, waking up to blue flames was almost a welcome escape from waking up from images of bluish ice creatures and the walking dead that had interrupted his sleep more and more lately.

Not that he planned on telling Silvarin that, Rorin thought as he laid back down on his cot. He could still get a little more rest before....

“Rorin, what are you doing?” Ryle asked as he burst through the entrance flaps of the tent. “We’ve leaving soon. Ectheow just sent me to find you.”

As if on cue, a long, loud horn sounded. Rorin could hear sounds of great commotion outside as the Rohirrim prepared to leave.

“Come on, you need to pack! Do you want to be left behind? Let’s go go go!” Ryle continued, scooping up several of Rorin’s belongings and stuffing them into a pack.

“Yes, father,” Rorin replied dryly, reluctantly standing and shuffling over.

“Touché,” Ryle said, shaking his head and laughing.

With Ryle’s help, the Dwarf was packed within minutes, right down his tent, and Ryle led Rorin to a horse. One that was oddly familiar....

“Oh no,” Rorin said. “Is that...?”

“Your horse from Dale, yes,” Ryle replied happily, not seeming to notice the look of consternation on his friend’s face. “It wandered into camp last night. Doesn’t have a scratch!”

“A pity,” Rorin said under his breath. “Why, ah, why don’t you ride it, lad?” he asked loudly.

“No no no, I already have a horse, and I paid for mine.” Ryle lightly patted the steed of Dale’s side. “This one’s all yours. It’s a fine animal, and seems pretty well-rested.”

“Because it hasn’t had to carry anyone for a while,” Rorin grumbled.

“Oh, come now, Rorin. You should be happy it’s so fresh and ready to move out after what happened!”

“Uh, well, yes. I suppose,” Rorin replied, shifting his eyes from side to side a little. Telling the others that he had been pulled off the horse rather than clumsily fallen off was a harmless enough little lie, wasn’t it? Not harmless enough to confess to it, which is why Rorin found himself back atop his least favorite creature in the whole of Middle-earth, bouncing along among the Rohirrim and his friends.

It was going to be a LONG ride.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fortunately, the time passed rather quickly and Rorin almost forgot he was riding at all as the men around him broke into frequent song. Soon he was joined by many of his friends as they all made their way into a pack. Ectheow began to play a small harp, and Silvarin began to chant several long, slow Elvish melodies. Even Curubethion and the rangers joined in with old songs of their own. When there was finally a small break, Rorin added his own songs in his native tongue, surprising many of the Rohirrim. One of them was a song Glóin had brought back from Rivendell just this past autumn, saying he had heard it from a Hobbit friend of his. Rorin sang all the words he could remember, then finished with the most appropriate words in the Common Speech of the West:

“With foes ahead, behind us dread,
Beneath the sky shall be our bed,
Until at last our toil be passed,
Our journey done, our errand sped.

We must away! We must away!
We ride before the break of day!”


“That was lovely, Rorin!” Silvarin called as he brought his horse up beside the Dwarf.

“The part about sleeping beneath the open sky was for you, lad,” Rorin said gruffly, but then chuckled.

“Oh, that,” Silvarin said, laughing himself. “You know, some would be grateful to wake up to the sunrise streaking into their tent like that.”

“Not when it is accompanied by a blue glow and smoke, they wouldn’t!” Rorin retorted.

“Oh come on, you two,” Dirthon said, trotting up to Rorin’s other side. “You sound like an old married couple.”

Rorin and Silvarin each shot the ranger a look that could kill. Dirthon merely laughed and spurred his horse further ahead.

“Rangers,” Rorin muttered.

“Indeed,” Silvarin said.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They finally came to rest as dusk, only miles from their destination. Many stared in wonder at the lights glowing in the valley below, and they could occasionally hear the sounds of battle even from here. There was some confusion as to WHY they were stopping while Helm’s Deep was under assault, and so close, but the leader with his distinctive red shield had ordered that it be so.

A couple fires were lit, and a handful of tents were set up, but it seemed that many did not plan on staying long. Still....

“Why are we still here?” Rorin asked as he flopped down on a large rock next to Ectheow, warming his hands in the heat of one of the nearby fires. “Your people are fighting only a short ride away, and yet we stop now? I understand the need for rest, but....”

“Erkenbrand says we wait for the White Rider,” Ectheow explained, handing the Dwarf an extra mug.

Rorin took a gulp, then asked “White Rider? Who is that?”

Ectheow smiled. “The one who finally drove Gríma from his ‘council’ to the king. A wizard: Gandalf Greyhame.”

“Ah, Tharkûn!” Rorin replied with wonder, nearly spilling his mug of ale. “He is here?”

“Soon, Erkenbrand says. Apparently he has rallied more fighters to follow him here. Reinforcements to our reinforcements, you might say.”

“That is worth waiting for,” Rorin nodded. “I have heard many tales of this Gandalf, including his role in liberating Erebor itself! I would like to meet him for myself. If the tales hold any truth, he alone may be all the reinforcing that is needed!”

Ectheow nodded, staring down at what they could see of the battle. “Until then, my friend, I would recommend you get some sleep. Helm’s Deep has never fallen, but I have a bad...feeling about this particular battle. We may all need our rest.”

Flash.
An explosion sent huge rocks and debris flying....


Ectheow shook his head slightly and took a long sip on his mug.

“Aye,” Rorin said, missing it as he took a final gulp of his own. “That may be a good idea.” He set his mug down and patted Ectheow on the shoulder. “It is good to see you again. I look forward to seeing if you remember any of our lessons in the battle.”

Ectheow smiled, and rested one hand on his axe. “I have learned a thing or two since then as well, Rorin. You won’t be disappointed.”

The Dwarf smiled, and with a final nod, trudged off to set up his tent.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rorin was lying on the ground, which felt very, very cold. He suddenly realized he was surrounded by snow. It covered his body, and only his head seemed to be free.

A spectre fly up to him. Unable to move, Rorin could only watch as it came closer, right up to his face, and...

...tickled his nose?

With a jolt, Rorin sat straight up on his cot, then sighed deeply. Just another dream. He groggily looked about the inside of the tent. He couldn’t have been asleep for very long.

Suddenly, he realized that the tickling had not ceased. He crossed his eyes and spied a small black shape at the end of his nose.

“Aaaaaagh!” he screamed, swatting it away. He frantically searched for where it landed, then chased it around the tent with his boot in hand, trying to hammer it into the ground.

“What is going ON in here?” Ryle shouted as he dashed into the commotion. He took it all in—Rorin in his nightclothes, barefoot, with a boot in one hand and a look of fright on his face—and then finally noticed the tiny intruder. He started to laugh as Dirthon, Silvarin, Legoles, and several Rohirrim also entered or peeped their heads inside.

“What...is that a spider?” Dirthon asked.

“WAS a spider!” Rorin shouted triumphantly as he finally caught the intruder with the heel of his boot. “Never tickle a Dwarf, you spawn of Sauron!”

“He HATES spiders,” Ryle explained, still chuckling. “The big bad Dwarf is terrified of them!”

“Have you ever seen one up close, lad?” Rorin growled. “With their fangs, and their teeth...and so many legs...and...and the fangs!”

The others shook their heads, relieved and amused.

Suddenly, a loud boom brought them all back outside.

“What happened?” Ryle demanded as they approached Ectheow, who was at the edge of a cliff looking down into the Deeping-coomb.

“The Deeping-wall has been blasted by some sorcery,” Ectheow said, his gaze fixed forward.

“Blasted?” one of the young, nervous soldiers asked.

“Destroyed,” Ectheow said simply.

“How do you know?” Legoles inquired. “Even my eyes cannot see very clearly from here....”

Ectheow paused for a long moment. “I just know. Trust me. We must go soon. What keeps Greyhame?”

A bright light from behind answered that question.

“Mithrandir, Mithrandir!” Silvarin exclaimed.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After finally meeting the fabled wizard, albeit briefly, and finding a new reason to worry about what tricks Silvarin might be up to, Rorin had been able to get a short rest again before Ryle had shocked him back into consciousness. After chasing his young friend around camp and sharing some cram with him, Rorin felt as ready as one could be for the coming battle.

He had left most of his gear in his tent. Like the others, he was taking only what he needed for battle. The rest they would retrieve afterwards...if they were still alive to do so.

His battle axe was sharpened and strapped to his back. He tucked a trio of smaller axes into loops on his belt, ready to pull them at a moment’s notice and hurl them at the enemy. His armor was on, as was the helmet he rarely wore. It looked as if this would be an opportune time to wear it.

The increasing light as morning approached had revealed that, while greatly diminished, a very large force of Uruks remained in the valley, looking like a swarm of angry insects from here.

Erkenbrand and Gandalf had formed a simple plan: to attack the enemy from the rear, hopefully catching them between their onslaught and the remaining forces inside the walls of Helm’s Deep. They would ride a little ahead and then rush from an opening in the cliffs, making straight for the enemy before they could regroup.

The only problem, Rorin thought with a grunt, was that it meant horses again, at least until they reached the battlefield. Rorin had little intention of staying on one of the bloody beasts any longer than necessary.

With great reluctance, Rorin mounted the cursed beast of Dale once more and followed the Rohirrim and his friends towards the cliff, just as the sun finally began to peak over the horizon.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1 Throwing Axe Dwarven
Possession • Hand Weapon
Strength +1
Bearer must be a Dwarf. This weapon may be borne in addition to 1 other hand weapon.
Fellowship: Exert 2 Dwarves (or Rorin) to play this possession from your discard pile onto your Dwarven companion.
Archery: Discard this possession to make the Shadow player exert a minion.
Skirmish: Discard this possession to exert a minion skirmishing bearer.

2Unlikely Friendship Dwarven
Condition • Support Area
Tale. To play, spot 3 races in the fellowship.
While you can spot an Elf, Rorin is resistance +1.
While you can spot a ranger or valiant companion, Rorin gains hunter 1.
Each time Rorin wins a skirmish, you may make a Gandalf Man strength +2 until the regroup phase.

And also, a few DCs for our second leader. Smile There will be opportunity to use him and Erkenbrand once the battle begins, but remember: since leaders work like the RB, having one of our leaders’ resistance reduced to 0 is a very bad thing. Don’t let it happen!

ALSO keep in mind that, since we’ll have different leaders in each major area, Gandalf and Erkenbrand won’t be our leaders for much longer. But any burdens we add won’t stay with them, but rather be transferred to whatever leaders we get next. Just something to think about. Anyway....


4Gandalf, Sorcerer of Sorcerers Gandalf
Companion • Wizard
Strength: 7
Vitality: 4
Resistance: 7
Leader.
At the start of each skirmish involving Gandalf, add a burden or 2 threats.
While you can spot 4 Free Peoples races, at the start of each turn, you may draw a card.
Each time a spell is played, you may add a burden to wound a minion.
“‘But ere dawn we must ride, and I have much business to attend to.’”

2Shadowfax, Brilliant White Steed Gandalf
Possession • Mount
Strength +2
Resistance +1
To play, spot a Rohan Man. Bearer must be a Gandalf Wizard.
At the start of each skirmish involving bearer, each minion skirmishing bearer must exert.
“Down leaped Shadowfax, like a deer that runs surefooted in the mountains.”

2Gandalf’s Staff, Beacon of Light Gandalf
Artifact • Staff
Vitality +1
Bearer must be Gandalf.
Each time a companion wins a skirmish in which you played a spell, you may heal that companion.
Skirmish: Discard this artifact to make an opponent discard one of his or her conditions.
“The night was pierced by a brilliant light...spouting from the staff in his hand.”

1 At First Light Gandalf
Event • Skirmish
Spell.
Exert Gandalf to make a companion strength +2 (or +4 if that companion is a leader).
“There suddenly upon a ridge appeared a rider, clad in white, shining in the rising sun....Behind him, hastening down the long slopes, were a thousand men....Amid them strode a man tall and strong. His shield was red. As he came to the valley’s brink, he set to his lips a great black horn and blew a ringing blast.”
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!

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AgentDrake
Posted: Fri Nov 16, 2007 4:15 pm
Joined: 01 Apr 2007 Posts: 667 Location: Halfway between eccentric and insane...
Ectheow looked down towards the fastness of Helm’s Deep. He couldn’t see the battle clearly; the distance was far too great even for the elves to see. But he was able to see a dark mass behind the Deeping Wall. The Uruk-Hai. They had somehow gotten through the wall, and now the dark mass swarmed around the Keep.

Ectheow gritted his teeth. Helm’s Deep could not fall. But even with the aid they brought, there were far too few to defeat the army of Curunir.

Gandalf Greyhame had said that aid would come unsought. Something about angry forests.
The Woses come to the aid of Rohan?
Not exactly likely.

Ectheow rode Beow over to where Erkenbrand sat in his saddle, waiting.

“We must go. Why is Gandalf waiting?”

Erkenbrand shook his head. “He’s waiting for something. I don’t know what. Something about Theoden King and some Gondorian breaking the line. He won’t tell me anything aside from that. You know how Gandalf is. ‘Never meddle in the affairs of wizards…’”

“This whole war is the affair of wizards,” Ectheow growled. “Curunir’s delusions of empire, and now Greyhame is ousting Curunir.”

“So, young Ectheow,” a gruff and curmudgeon voice came from behind. "You’ve learned cynicism in your exile.”

Ectheow turned in his saddle to come face-to-face with Gandalf who had ridden up silently.

“I didn’t mean…”

Gandalf chuckled, then his eyes locked on Ectheow’s horse.

“Where did you get that animal?” Greyhame asked, suddenly sober with a glimmer of what looked almost like alarm in his eyes.

“Bill Ferny, a Breelander, sold him to me for more than he was worth.”

Gandalf stared at Beow a moment longer, then turned to ride away.

“I would get rid of that animal if I were you. It has seen darker things than you, and it has not forgotten them.”

Ectheow stared at Gandalf as he rode away.

What?

Erkenbrand shrugged. “He knows horses. You saw he was riding Shadowfax. Sent Grima into conniptions when Theoden let Greyhame take the horse.”

A sudden deep blast echoed through the mountains. An enormous thundering horn.

“We ride. For Death and Glory.”

Ectheow nodded, and rode to wait beside his companions.

Flash.
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.

Flash.
Roots bent around the stone and metal of the White Hand, and tore it. Shrieks and cries of Orcs and Uruks echoed through the forest as the twisted creatures of Sauron and Curunir were torn limb from limb by reaching limbs.

Flash.
A black hooded Terror sat, hunched over on a horse as snow began to fall.
An oddly familiar horse.

Ectheow blinked.
That didn’t even make sense....
Never kid about politicians. The more bizarre the joke, the more likely it is to come true.

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