An Audience With The King RPG

[Mithadan]

RPG Owner: Mithadan

Note: This is a closed membership RPG. Its participants were selected via a first come first served sign-up which took place several days ago. No persons other than the approved participants may post on this thread. Thank you.

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The scene repeated itself again and again in many places. A stranger, clad in black rode to the gates and requested leave to speak with the Lord of these lands. After the messenger’s steed had been stabled and the rider given refreshment, he was escorted before the Lord, where he delivered a message which bore a strange seal, one not seen for many years.

Curious the Lord opened the scroll and read the following:

“Elessar Telcontar, of the Line of Elendil of Numenor, Lord and King of Gondor and Arnor sends greetings and invites representatives from your fair land to journey to Minas Anor, known formerly as Minas Tirith, to meet with the King and his Counsellors to renew ties and relations between our countries and to set to right such disputes as may yet exist, even now that Sauron has fallen. Therefore, representatives of your land will be welcome and greeted in Minas Anor on mettare, the last day of this year, to engage in converse with King Elessar and the Lords of many other lands besides.”

Below this message appeared the seal of the King. The message itself was written in gold ink on the finest vellum.

Such messages were delivered to many lands and in The Shire, Dale, Rhun, Harad, Mirkwood, The Lonely Mountain, Rivendell and The Blue Mountains, much discussion was had concerning who should attend, what such representatives should bring to the new King and what should be discussed. But none refused the invitation…

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor, Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

Thorin III Stonehelm watched as his mother led the family in the daily ritual of mourning. She cupped her hands to her heart, her lips, and her forehead and bowed three times. He followed suit and then lowered his eyes to the ground as she picked up each stone which had been positioned around the ornate silver oil lamp, a stone for every member of the family lost in the War. Each stone bore a rune, the work of his own chiselling, which represented the name of one of those dwarves now gathered by Mahal to the Halls of Mandos. Thorin wondered if it was these relics which caused elves to think that at death dwarves returned to stone, but he wondered how it could have been that an elf had seen the ritual.

His mother's voice called him out of his thoughts. Thorin king-son, you have often been lost in thought since we received Telcontar's invitation.

There is much to contemplate, many honoured Queen-Mother. Instead of celebrating victory over Sauron, I become ill at ease over the rise of men. It was a sombre omen which accompanied the arrival of the messenger. Five black crows!

Stonehelm shook his head and lifted his right arm to wave over his left shoulder, pushing the omen away.

And then this news that Gimli son of Gloin chooses to camp out in trees. It is an ill sign when a dwarf chooses not to return to his people.

Ruthen nodded, put out the lamp, closed the silver door to the family shrine, and offered to listen to her son's concerns. The two sat together, falling into a discussion of the summons to Minas Anor.

Stonehelm wanted a delegation which reflected Erebor's broad interests. The only remaining dwarf from his father's council, Glaven Strongpen, could be relied upon to gain Elessar's ear concerning Khazad-dum, the dwarves' ancient city. Surely only the dwarves should own its artifacts and recolonize it. That was crucial. On the other hand, the contractor Frain Thaneson would know how to advance interests not only in trade but also in Stonehelm's new plan for the Royal Corps of Dwarven Engineers. They would act as Telcontar's unique corps to be deployed wherever public works like roads, bridges, highways, buildings where needed. There were too many male dwarves in Erebor with nothing to do since the War ended and too many nightly drinking sessions. Frain could handle those engineers like no one and knew how to push a good contract, although perhaps his own hand might be too close to the till for the good of Erebor. Yes, those two, Glaven and Frain, would complement each other.

And servants. Ruthen had advised Stonehelm to choose the servants wisely, for oft to them fell the most important task of listening to the wind and the stream to see where others tread. That would mean sending either Hringa or Halgen.

Then the maidservant Hrethel came for Ruthen, who left to lead the morning devotions at Ingeld's school. Stonehelm smiled at the thought of Ingeld. Brains and beauty made a rare but very attractive package. Stonehelm had bid Ruthen give his greetings to Ingeld and compliments on the success of her school. Ruthen had smiled quietly, bowed three times, and withdrawn with a last observation.

But there still remained the question of how large a delegation to send and whether to contact the mad elf Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen or Bard II of the Dale. Stonehelm took a deep breath and recalled his mother's parting words:

Do not lose sight of the final prophecy. Whatever befalls, remember that when the world is destroyed in The Last Battle, Mahal will call upon us, not men, to rebuild Arda.

Stonehelm decided to have Hringa send notice to both Glavin and Frain of a royal audience that afternoon.
http://www.gamers-forums.com/smilies/otn/other/vikingsmiley.gif

[ September 28, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE *****

Drumming the fingers of his left hand silently on his knee beneath the table, King Bard II waited impatiently for the last representative from the Merchants’ Guild to finish recounting his lists of contracts, grievances profits, and expected losses. His gaze regarded the droning Master of the Weavers’ Guild briefly, and he thought to raise his hand and bring the sleep-inducing speech to an end. Instead he let the words flow over and past him while he turned his thoughts to other matters.

King Elessar and his invitation were foremost in his mind. Now this would be a rare opportunity for Dale, he mused. The ear of the King! And just when Dale had begun to push her trading network farther south and east.

He ran a short list, through his mind, of trusted men he could send to represent him, weeding out the ones whose personal interests might overshadow the needs of Dale, itself. He wished now he hadn’t sent Jarl south to Nurn and Harad. He would be the most politic choice to send to the King’s court - a trustworthy, well-spoken man, and shrewd, though not to the point of dishonesty.

Ah, well, there was no point in wishing he hadn’t sent him, it was too far to send a message to him, and too far for him to return to Dale and start on the road to Minas Anor.

And what about the road to Minas Anor ? There was a sticking point in itself. Thranduil had grown strange of late. Would he allow the representative from Dale to travel unimpeded through the forest? He turned the question over in his mind many times, seeking a way through it.

‘Ah!’ he said aloud, as the answer came to him. The startled Master, having just finished his lists, looked at him, wondering if it were a comment of approval or disapproval. The King smiled, saying ‘Well done, Masters! I look forward to our next meeting.’ He stood, bringing them all to their feet, and dismissed them with, ‘Gentlemen!’, and a brief nod.

Once gone, he called for his attendant, Grim. ‘Find Girion quickly!’ he instructed the man, ‘Bring him to me in all haste!

Alone, Bard sat back in his chair. His son would have to be the one to travel the Old Forest Road and then down The Great River to Minas Anor. He was counting on the old friendship between Girion and the son of Thranduil, Orodan to get him safely through the forest.

He called for a cup of chilled wine, hoping it would ease the nagging doubts in his mind. Sighing, he raised the cup to whatever powers might be listening.

‘Please! Let him be up to the task!’

[ October 09, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Susan Delgado]

******Shire******

Sam urged his pony along, impatient to get to The Marish as soon as he could. The pony, one of old Bill's fine sons, was none too eager to hurry up. He was just fine moving at a sedate walk, and nothing Sam did seemed to make any impression at all on the beast. Finally, Sam gave up on making the pony go faster and settled to gritting his teeth. He had such news for Merry and Pippin! Eventually, he did reach his destination, and beyond it Buckland, but to his extreme disappointment, neither of his old friends felt they could get away, though they wished they could. Each did recommend someone trustworthy to send in his stead and each wished him well.

Merry introduced him to young Orlo Hornblower, a lad seemingly barely out of his Tweens, but who came so highly recommended by the Master of Buckland that Sam found himself with no choice but to accept him.

Pippin was distraught at being unable to go with Sam to see all their old friends and tried most valiantly to arrange matters so he could, but in the end he was unable to. He sent along a third cousin named Odo Took and his twelve-year-old nephew, Brando. It was a long road to Gondor and Sam didn't want to take a child, especially the child of such a good friend as Pippin. He tried to talk Pippin out of sending him, but Pippin was so insistent that the experience would be good for the boy that Sam finally gave in, hoping nothing dire would happen. If something did happen to hurt Brando, Sam would never forgive himself.

The four of them made the three-day journey back to Michael Delving, to report to the Mayor. While less than pleased at the inclusion of a twelve-year lad like Brando, he was so pleased that Sam had agreed to go to the East Farthing and broach the matter with Merry and Pippin in his place that he indulgently allowed the boy to go, but he also insisted on his own prospect, a sturdy Hobbit of middle years named Hardo Proudfoot.

They all went back to Sam and Rosie’s pleasant little house and settled in for the night. There was more preparation to do before they departed, but with luck, they'd leave before the week was out.

[Birdland]

*****Mirkwood (Now known as Eryn Lasgalen)*****

Thranduil’s Halls were always slightly damp. If skilled Dwarven craftsmen had been allowed to appraise the situation, they would have solved this problem by re-routing underground streams and providing much-needed ventilation. But no Dwarves had ever been in the underground Halls of the Silvan King - save one group, and they had departed as soon as able.

When Celeborn had visited Thranduil after the Victory, he had suggested that the King might want to relocate his seat to another area. “A new court, to go with the new name. The Kingdom of Eryn Lasgalen should be ruled from above ground, as befits this new Age of Light.” Thranduil thought to himself that Celeborn should go chase after his wife in the West, and leave the ruling of his kingdom to him.

Besides, Thranduil loved the Old Halls, damp as they were. They represented the long fight that he had waged to keep the Darkness at bay. Mirkwood may not have been protected by one of the Three as Lorien had, but against Spiders, Orcs, and Sauron himself, his people had prevailed. They may have been assailed, but they were never routed.

Thranduil picked up the missive that had been delivered to him. He had expected such a summons. King Elessar had wasted no time in attempting to bring the races of Middle-Earth into the Mannish fold. Thranduil did not begrudge Elrond’s fosterling his Rule. The Fourth Age would be the Age of Men. It had been long foretold. But he would see that there was one outpost of the Eldar that would remain for all time. Let the others flee to the Havens. The Silvan Elves of Eryn Lasgalen would abide.
And when the Darkness arose in a new form - as Thranduil knew it would - then the summons from Minas Anor would take an entirely different tone.

The lure of Trade had no appeal to Thranduil. These Others had nothing that his people needed, or wanted. Except for one thing.

It was the second letter that made the King return to his table again and again. The letter from Legolas, the first he had received since he had sent his youngest son to Imladris two years ago. “Letter” some might call it, but it seemed more like a tome. Legolas had written of all that had happened to him since he had left his father’s realm to attend the Council of Elrond. Moria, Helm’s Deep, Fangorn. It was all there. Nivala’s favorite had traveled far, it seemed. He wrote in glowing terms of his companions, both Man and Halfling. (Thranduil smiled to himself as he read Legolas’ descriptions of the Ring-Bearer and his companions. He had always had a sneaking admiration for Thorin’s Halfling squire.)

And he read of Legolas’ sworn friendship with the Dwarf Gimli. The praises of the Dwarf-Kind’s bravery, his devotion to the Lady of the Wood, his skill at arms and craft, even his poetry as he described the “Glittering Caves” of the Rohirrim. Legolas had said all he could to convince his father that , in bonding himself in friendship to one of Durin’s Folk, he had not lost his mind.

But it was the last pages of the letter that drew Thranduil to return to his desk and read again and again. The descriptions of Ithilien. The intention of Legolas to remain there. The humble request to his father that he inform his people of this Garden of the South, and permit such as would choose to come there to live.

The intention of Legolas to remain there. The intention of Legolas to never return home.

“So once again, Men and Dwarves have schemed to take from me my treasure.” Thranduil crumbled the page in his fist. Then he laid it gently on the tabletop and smoothed the wrinkled paper. He took up the letter and laid it in a box of mallorn wood, which he locked with a key held only by him. Finally, with a sigh, he turned his attention once more to the summons of the King.

Thranduil rang for his butler. When the Elf servant appeared, he said “Find Orodan. Send riders to the corners of the kingdom, if need be. Tell him his father has a mission for him.”

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn * * * * *

Mislavini sat on his great wooden throne and watched the tark emmisary pass through the tall doorway at the far end of the hall. His golden crown sat crookedly on his brow as he cradled his chin in his hands and pondered the summons from Gondor. Though it had been expected, its friendly tone had not been forseen. Mislavini had been prepared for a humiliating demand for his presense before the new king, but instead he had received what seemed to be a cordial invitation to dignified conversation. Perhaps it was a trick.

Since he was a small boy and his father had been Great Captain, he had heard of the treachery of the tarks and their wicked allies the Elves. His library was full of tales of the many Ozren peoples that had been slain by the enemy to the west, tortured and burned in a manner worse than even the Dark Lord dealt out to his foes. But when he had stood dumbstruck at the Morannon, suddenly bereft of the driving will of the Lord Sauron, he had witnessed mercy instead of malice, wisdom instead of cruelty. It had shocked him, and he had doubted its sincerity immediately, thinking it was but preparation for some later evilness. But the summons had finally come, and it had been a request for peace and friendship instead of a list of demands.

Mislavini stood and beckoned to his steward who stood in the shadows at the side of the hall.

“Kasteni, my friend. It seems we have a choice to make.”

“Indeed we do, my lord.”. The steward stepped into the light. His hair was dark and long like the Great Captain’s, and he shared the same long, hawkish nose and piecing dark eyes. But where Mislavini was massive and muscular, like most of the people of the northern plains, the steward was tall and thin, showing the Carnic* blood that flowed in his veins.

Mislavini stared at his steward, waiting for him to say more, but Kasteni remained silent.

“Well, what do you think?” the Great Captain asked at last. “You heard the message, and it is obvious that we will have to send a representative. With war imminent on our southern borders there is no possibility that I can go, so I must send my best man. But who will accompany you?”

Kasteni smiled and said, “I already have a few people in mind, my Lord.”

He pulled a small sheet of parchment from his pocket and wrote a few quick notes on it.

“Doorward! Come here quickly and then go summon the people on this list!

The chief guard at the door rushed forward, took the note and rushed from the hall.

Kasteni looked to Mislavini. “Let us have a drink while we wait for my companions.”

[Nevtalathiel]

***DALE***


It was a summons from his father to return to the court immediately. Girion sighed and wondered what he had done or who he had offended now. He called out to his companions and turned his horse back towards Dale dejectedly; it was the worst day of hunting he had had for a long time, not even a sighting of a deer, and he suspected it would get worse once he arrived at the palace. He sighed. His father expected so much of him. Girion was a prince it was true, but he could not understand his father's apparent insistence that he have no fun and spend all his time discussing far off lands with dry old men.

About him, Girion's companions complained about the premature end to the day's sport, but he left them too it, riding a little ahead; for once he desired some time for quiet contemplation. His mind was cast back to the numerous previous occasions on which he had been called before his father in a similar fashion to answer for his short temper, raucousness or lack of tact. Then he had always been aware that he had done something, but now he could think of nothing he had done wrong nor anyone who might be disgruntled by his actions. His musings continued until he reached the stable and so deeply immersed was he in scouring his recent memories for faults that he did not exchange his usual pleasantries with the groom. Instead he vaulted the steps as quickly as possible and walked as fast as was courteous towards his father's throne room. He knocked and even waited for a reply before entering, he did not want to further increase his father's pending wrath. Inside the room he bowed to his father as a counsellor left.

"You called for me sire?" he asked in his best humble voice.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: Nevtalathiel ]

[Guildo]

(((((((Eryn Lasgalen, Mirkwood)))))))))
<<<<<<<Orodan & Nefros>>>>>>>>>>

It was early morning, Orodan and Nefros where riding along the the River Runing southbound having a conversation of Nefros’s young sister Isilya.

"She is growing anxious, and im afraid my songs do not give her joy as they did years ago, she deeply desires to take part in our journeys, and quite honestly I would like to see such joy in her face again, my lord," Said Nefros.
"As do I" Said Orodan,
"But it would take great persuasion on my part for my father to allow a maiden as fair as your sister to be put in such danger."

"Ironic is it indeed when prince Orodan attempts to put a smile on the face of a frowning Nefros, but………"

At that moment a trumpet sounded in the north, it was the trumpet of summons, which has not sounded sense the War of the Ring.

"We must make Haste," Shouted Orodan, for deathly thoughts rushed through his head.

"Perhaps your Brother has returned Sire."

"Or met great peril," Replied Orodan.

Orodan and Nefros rushed to the Kings throne to find he was setting quite Calm rereading the letter from the High King.

Thranduil- "Welcome back my son, I feared you had traveled outside the sound of the trumpet, Im glad you returned so quickly it shall save us much time."
Orodan- "Please Father why such haste."
Thranduil- "I do not doubt you my son and I am very proud of your journeys, but it is once again time for you to prove your self worthy of the throne of Eryn Lasgalen but this time I will give you a responsibility that may change our fate for ever.
I have received a Summons from the High King at Minas Anor. Representatives from each Kingdome in Middle Earth shall meet at Minas Anor to establish a trade and Unite the peoples.
You know how I feel about such matters involving Men and Dwarves, but for this matter I will ignore my head and trust my heart I will leave the choice up to you. Of course the loyal Nefros shall travel along your side but you may also choose another representative from Eryn Lasgalen. Your friend Girion as always is welcome to travel through the woods as well as his servants. If the Dwarves wish to follow you the may but they will not have the Magic of the woods on their side and shall only have your party’s protection.
Be off my son you will leave midday tomorrow."

Walking out the Door of the Halls of the King Orodan turned and asked his Father.

"Have you word of Legolas father, for I do wish he was by our side again."

"That matter weighs on my heart more than you realize my son, and we shall discuss it before you leave," Replied the King.

As Orodan and Nefros where walking from the Kings chamber, Nefros turned to Orodan and said; "Perhaps the songs of this journey shall return the joy to Isilya’s face."

"Prepare the journey at once Nefros I have two letters I must right at once," Said Orodan.

As Nefros turned away Orodan Shouted; "Nefros …….. Perhaps for this journey you will be kind enough to sing of your sister by our side."

Nefros laughed aloud and shouted; "You are too kind to us my lord."


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Letter to Erebor:

Dear Ambassadors, Diplomats, and Servants of Erebor, I Orodan Son of Thranduil King of Eryn Lasgalen invite you travel along my side through the woods of my Kingdom for the journey to meet with the high King at Minas Anor. Though we have had many disputes in our past I propose we declare a new friendship for this new age. I do hope you will accept my invitations and meet us where the Forest River meets the forests of Eryn Lasgalen. I am looking forward to our long journey together.

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Letter to Girion;

To my Dear Friend Girion I do hope we will travel together on the journey to Minas Anor as my Father has granted you and your servant’s safe passage through the woods. I have also invited the Dwarves of Erebor, but we must give them the best protection we can offer for the magic of Eryn Lasgalen as never been kind to the Dwarven Race.
As you know my father deeply disagrees with the trade im afraid I agree with him but for unlike reasons. As where Most the kingdoms of Middle Earth will greatly benefit from the trade im afraid it will be our demise for where your walls are made of stone and rock mine are of trees and brush which will diminish as new paths are made for the trade. I propose an alliance with Eryn Lasgalen, Dale, and Erebor that will benefit the three Kingdoms equally as well as the King. We will discuss the matters in more detail on the journey. Let us not let these matters break the bonds of our friendship. You have always made the Honorable decisions, and I look for your aide in mine. If you wish to travel along my side we will meet where the Forest River meets Eryn Lasgalen.


Orodan Son of Thranuil King of Eryn Lasgalen

[Child of the 7th Age]

HARAD/UMBAR

Herumir, King of Ariwenna, paced back and forth. How he hated being cooped up! He wanted to be outside on his oliphaunt, chasing lions through the purple brush of the desert. But he had little choice.

Gondor's victory over Harad had proven bitter. Now Elessar had asked them to travel to Minas Anor to "right such disputes as may yet exist."

Herumir threw back his head and roared, golden chains jangling about his neck and ears. "He thinks to right our quarrel of several thousand years with a single meeting?" Too much anger still ran through his proud people to be bought off with scraps. He himself dreaded the heavy hand of Gondor and its insistence on unreasonable tribute, as had happened in the past.

Yet, Herumir had pledged loyalty to the party seeking to find some honorable road to prosperity, rather than continuing a hopeless war. And once a pledge was given, it could not be honorably withdrawn. Their group would travel to Umbar and free at least one ship. The local Council had ordered the Corsairs to turn over all vessels, but they had defied that order. Now, he--King Herumir--would force them to obey.

He and Fuinur, King of Leowenna, would then sail up the Bay and the Anduin towards Minas Anor. They must go swiftly. Rumor said one Corsair ship had slipped out from Umber a day before, intending to pillage spots along the river in south Gondor. Such an expedition would infuriate the King and negate his own attempts to foster trade. So they might need to do some "persuading " of these Corsairs. He was an expert at "persuading." It might involve a bit of bluff, physical force, a promise to cut the Corsairs in on a share of trade profits, or perhaps all of the above. He'd have to judge what would work best.

For Harad had learned a bitter lesson. It could not exist only on the might of its individual soldiers. Herumir understood they must bring gold into their coffers. The tools were at hand. The west clamored for coffee, a thing so common in Harad that the poor drank it for breakfast. They also wanted spices and tobacco and tea. All that, Harad could supply, if it could make advantageous trading deals. This was the real reason his people had agreed to the meeting. Let the men of Gondor be hanged! He'd take a good dwarf trading caravan any day.

Already, Jarl, a man of some intelligence from Dale, was in Harad to negotiate a joint coffee deal for himself and Fuinur. Gramil hoped to travel with him to eastern Nurn to look at the trading outposts Dale meant to establish. Then, Gramil would turn his oliphaunts to the west and arrive in Minas Arnor through the back door. Jarl and his folk were also welcome to come as guests aboard the oliphaunts.

There was no pretending otherwise. The great Harad Road was largely gone. They would need to rebuild it and many others if trade was to flourish. And dwarves were reputed to have such skills. Certainly, his own people were not road builders. They might have used slaves, but Elessar had issued an order abolishing slavery in Nurn and Harad. So other sources would have to be sought.

No, Herumir had no desire to be a piece of Gondor's great empire or to build roads with his own hands, but the money that would flow from arteries made safe for trade. That was quite another thing!

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Jarl *****

It was early in the morning, too early to be this hot. Jarl stood at the window of his second story room, in hopes of a breeze, and fanned himself in a half-hearted manner with the set of trade agreements he was to present to King Herumir of Harad today. There had been no word yet from the King’s minister as to when the meeting would occur. Or if it would occur, for that matter. Time and priorities seemed to take on an altogether different meaning in this clime.

A passing vendor in the street below caught his eye. The shallow, woven basket, filled with a multitude of inviting fruits, balanced perfectly on his head. He called out the names of his wares and their prices in a sing-song manner as he walked down the street. Jarl hailed him. With a practiced movement, the vendor swept his basket to the ground and looked up to where the strange, pale skinned man stood.

They bargained in the age old way. Jarl pointed to the two fruits he wanted; the vendor held up a small coin and five fingers, indicating how much he expected. Jarl smiled and shook his head ‘no’., offering instead two fingers. The vendor looked insulted and held up five fingers, again. It went on like this for a number of minutes, until the bargain was struck to the satisfaction of both. Two pieces of fruit for three coins. Up came the fruit, one at a time, and down went the money. Jarl’s smile met that of the vendor’s, and they nodded to each other.

A knock at his door turned his attention from the window and its passing scenes.

‘Come!’ he said, biting into the sweet, orange flesh of one of the fruits. ‘It’s open!’

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Thenamir]

===== Blue Mountains =====

There were days when it just wasn’t any fun to be the king. This was one of them.

Theron IV Axehand, appointed leader of the Dwarves of the Ered Luin, looked with disgust on the debacle that had become of the “council” he had called to decide how to respond to the summons of Elessar Telcontar, calling himself King of all Gondor and Arnor. Nothing remained of order in the torchlit stone hall, and several of the assembled had “stepped outside” to settle private arguments. He arose and stood, all 4-feet-8-inches of him, at his head of the table and thundered an order for silence. The rest of the attendees all froze where they stood, one with his hands nearly around the throat of another.

“I have NEVER witnessed the council devolve into such chaos. One might think that I was presiding over a council of ORCS!!!” This was met with muttering and growls from those in the room, but they grudgingly took their seats. No one had ever bested Axehand in battle, real or mock, and no one felt inclined to challenge him now. “Am I the only one who can hear the arguments of both sides in this debate without calling for my blade?”

Serin Stonewright, well-respected though still considered a “young dog” by dwarven standards, arose and addressed the room. “My lord Axehand, I am not one who has travelled widely outside our realm. And yet I and many like me can see our people growing restless, our culture beginning to stagnate. I know the arguemnts of those who would largely close us off and insulate us from the rest of Middle Earth. We do have a good life here, but we cannot shut out the world forever. And if we do, who is to say that one day an evil like Sauron’s will not rise to threaten us, much closer to our homes? Our great cities were thrown down as nothing in the breaking of the fortress of the Melkor the evil one...”

At this point, one of the others jumped up on his chair and interrupted. “Yes, and what did we get for it? what have the outsiders’ realms done for us? We do not forget our kin who were slain when we claimed our own, the Nauglamir of old, slain by those tomfool elves! And did the men help us out? I say let them buy our weapons and slay each other, and take no notice safe here in our halls of stone!” There was a rumble, half approving and half catcalls, that rose and threatened to break out again into fighting except for the cold-mithril countenance of Axehand at the head of the table.

When the room had become silent again, Theron Axehand said, “Enough debate. Since we cannot decide among ourselves, let us send one from each side, along with myself, to this great council. We will each make our cases before the High King. We will seek his leave to determine our own directions. You Serin, will make the case for greater openness, and you Mikhelm Bonecrist will argue for our freedom from interference. As your ruler, I will decide between them, and seek the favor of the king to allow us self-rule.” There was grudging consent from both sides, and the dwarf-council was dismissed.

Two days later, the delegates were preparing to set out...

[Carnëiach]

The Shire

"Mr Gamgee! Mr Gamgee! Wait for me Mr Gamgee!"
Sam stopped in the road between the fields and the forest, looking around for the disturbance. He heard quick breathing and in a swift movement pulled his pony over to the side. A small hobbit boy errupted out of a line of bushes, breathing heavily, leaves adorning his unruly hair. In the same movement, The boy swept a clumsy, overdone bow and stood in front of the mayor, beaming.
"Ta da!" He declared.
"Peregrin T- No wait, my mistake. Silly me, mistaking young Brando Took for his uncle!"Sam looked at him for a moment, smiling, looking as if he was remebering something long ago. Brando knew he was remembering his adventures with Pippin and that he shouldnt intrude, so he took the moment to catch his breath. However after hed done this he grew impatient; he hadnt rushed away from the mushrooms to stand around, whether it be with the famed Samwise gamgee or no. He coughed lightley and Sam turned to him.
"Good to see you Brando."
"Well, I thought that I was coming on this quest-"
"Its hardly a quest Brando."
"- That Id better be at you and Mistress Rosies house on time-"
"Earlt actually."
"So I decided to keep you company!" Brando finished triumphantly, taking no heed to the interuptions, as is the way of the Tooks; get what you want done, no matter what.
Sam busrt out laughing at this, patting the young hobbit lad on the head. He kept his pony walking slowly and Brando, beaming once again, walked beside him.
"So...when do I get my sword for this quest-"
"Journey."
"-Journey then?"
"No sword Brando."
"Bow and arrows?"
"No."
"What about a broadsword? I can see myself with one of them-"
"Im not giving you a weapon Brando. Youre too young."
"Oh. You sure Mr Gamgee?"
"Yes Brando."
"Oh...well what about-"
"Brando!"

[piosenniel]

***** DALE *****

Sire?! A hint of a smile curved the corners of his mouth as he turned now to greet his son. He thinks I've called him here about another misdaventure! He watched Girion shift nervously from one foot to the other.

Bard laughed, out loud. A low rumble coming deep from within at first, then bursting out upon the surprised Girion. The King wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes, and drawing close to him, clapped Girion on the back. 'So, has it come to this?' he said, pouring the young man a glass of wine. 'That now when you are called before me you cannot help but think I have found you out in some misadventure?'

He smiled fully on his son, and handed him the wine. 'Let us drink to a new venture, Girion.' he said softly, raising his glass to him. 'Dale has need of someone who will represent her interests at Elessar's court. And you are just the man to do that for her!'

'To Dale! Long may she prosper!' Bard brought the glass to his lips and drained it.

Astonished, Girion lifted his own glass to meet his father's. 'To Dale!'

Once done, Bard brought forth the letter Thranduil's son had sent to Girion, and waited while he read it. They spoke, then, of the issues Dale wished to lay before Elessar. Girion asked many questions concerning different points, and Bard noted how quickly he had grasped them. His approach to understanding and resolving the questionable areas was different from Bard's, but the King marked the sharpness with which his son's mind viewed the intersecting problems and worked with them. A certain pride and hope took seed within him as he watched his son maneuver through the issues.

When they had finished speaking, Bard asked that Girion return tomorrow to receive the documents he would take with him. He bade Girion contact Orodan for the particulars of where and when to meet with his party.

Girion took his leave, and went to prepare for the journey.

The king poured himself another glass, and raised it toward the West.'My thanks!' he said.

Sipping his wine, he called for several of his trade advisors to meet with him in the small council room. It would be a long night, he was sure of it, but by the morrow, Girion would have the documents he would need to persuade Elessar.

[ October 09, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Elenna]

*****RIVENDELL*****

The messenger had arrived the night before, a burly man riding a gray horse. "I have a message for the Lord of Rivendell!" he had said proudly as he rode into the courtyard. Meneciriel had looked at her husband out of the corner of her eye - Lord Elrond would not wish to receive this man, a rider of Gondor.
"My lord, this message was sent to you. King Elessar wishes to speak to the lord of Rivendell, not to a few of his household advisors," Erestor's voice was agitated as he sat before Elrond. "And Arwen will be disappointed if you do not come."

Meneciriel flinched - her husband had just stuck a dagger into Elrond's most tender spot.

"I care not." The elf-lord's voice was harsh with sadness and pain. "I have said my goodbye to her, and do not need to go again. Elladan and Elrohir will go, as well as some others and Meneciriel, since you do not seem to wish to, Erestor."

"But, my lord!" Ciri cried, sitting up ramrod straight in her chair.

"That is my decision. We need not discuss it."

And so Meneciriel found herself preparing for a long journey. Her companions would be the sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir, as well as Fanelen, a maiden of Rivendell. She brushed away a tear as she slipped a folded cloak into her knapsack. It would be a very long time before she saw either her husband, her daughter, or her home again.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: Elenna ]

[GreatWarg]

***Rhun***

Ulwyte searched the marketplace, hoping to see foreign imports. Trade with the Dwarves and others of Middle-earth was no longer much profit, and his little nation mostly lived off of imported items from countries beyond Middle-earth. Someone stepped in front of him, nearly shoving a set of daggers in Ulwyte's face.

'Made by the best smithies in Harad!' he boasted. The two blades were dull and black, straight with cheap hilts.

'I think not,' Ulwyte snorted, disgusted. He thought of the blade made by Dwarves hanging in his home. Middle-earth imports seemed so much more beautiful than the dull blackness of Harad. Ulwyte pushed past, thinking of retiring back to his room several blocks away when a messenger riding a great steed broke the crowd.

'Are you Ulwyte?' the messenger asked, stopping in front of him.

'Yes, of course.'

'The Steward has a message for you!' the messenger bellowed, handing a notice to Ulwyte. He then reared his horse and with a snort and a whinny it turned and began fighting through the crowds.

Ulwyte glanced at the letter. The wax seal of the Steward was in proud red. Reading quickly through, Ulwyte grinned and began to make for the capitol.

'So, my friend Kasteni, you have an errand for me,' Ulwyte murmered.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: GreatWarg ]

[VanimaEdhel]

**********Rhun Nation**********

Lovek received the summons by Kasteni. He commanded the men he had been training to continue to practice, and immediately made his way to where he knew Mislavini and Kasteni would be.

Ah, I wonder what is commanded now? Lovek wondered, the sound of his heavy footfalls echoing in the hallway, even over the din of the few others that passed through.

On the way to the chamber, Lovek saw other troops training. Very few were actually working. Lovek sighed inwardly at how common this was.

Why do they not work? Do they not know that discipline will bring them success? It is no wonder I command the best troops, if all the other men do is sit around! Lovek thought. In his disgust of these other men, he felt the warmth of pride fill him. His training brought his troops to glory. He had never lost more than half of his troop in a battle, and, even when he had lost the battle, his troops always managed to pull off great accomplishments in the battles. Lovek was very well-respected as a leader, although he was not the best nor the highest. He had, however, developed an ego about himself.

Lovek paused as the guards opened the door in front of him. He saw Mislavini and Kasteni, goblets in their hands. Lovek disgustedly looked at the drinks. Lovek did not drink alcohol, for he thought it would slow down his senses. He had, however, submitted to the strong attraction of the weed that was available.

"My Great Captain," Lovek said respectfully to Mislavini, "Did you summon me?"

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Ransom]

***Rivendell***
Elrohir paced on a balcony overlooking the main gardens of Rivendell. The preparation for their trip were in the hands of his older brother and the Erestor, leaving Elrohir with much time to ponder the events of the previous week.

The summons to attend the audience at Minas Anor had created quite a stir in Rivendell. Granted, Erestor had been quite rash in his conversation with Elrond. However, it sorely tried his self control when he heard his father’s decision. Erestor’s wife, Meneciriel, would be sent to Minas Anor with both Elrohir and Elladan.

He forced himself to step back and think. Indeed, his love for his father was stronger than ever. However, he considered Erestor a close friend. And his blood boiled whenever one of his friends were hurt. But he couldn’t afford to let this dissuade him from his current goals.

He fingered the pommel of his cavalry saber, contemplating his next move. The political situation at home would not change much in his absence. Elrohir had extracted promises from the elves on the Council that they would not enact any ground shaking measures in his absence, much less attempt to further damage Erestor. Years of political intrigue and alliances would ensure that the politicians would keep their word.

Now came the harder issues. It was easy for him to play the game of politics when it did not concern himself. However, personal bonds were much harder to understand. Chief among his concerns was Erestor and his wife. It was true that Erestor was his dearest friend, and that Elrohir respected Meneciriel. However, he had never taken time to develop any type of relationship with her for fear that he would offend Erestor. He would ask his brother what to do. Elladan always had a way with people.

Elrohir sighed deeply before brushing a stray strand of brown hair behind his ear. There was the light chink of elvish mail hidden under the brown and green cloak and the soft padding of feet. The balcony returned to its vigil, silent and alone.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Isilya]

<<<<<<MIRKWOOD>>>>>>


A murmur came running through the servants' hall:
"Orodan is traveling to Gondor for an audience with King Elessar. The king is going to
hand pick one of us to accompany him there and persuade the youngest son to return home."
Isilya stood in the corner, quietly reading. One of the more reclusive servants, she had no care for the gossip and tales that frequented the kitchens and the laundry rooms. She had heard many great things of the kingdom of Elessar, and deeply wished to see the Great City. She hoped that King Thranduil would pick her, but the chances were slim. Why would he pick an unimportant worker, even worse, a female, when he could have a lord of high standing? The rest of the day, she imagined herself off on the journey, but as the day drew to an end, her dreams slowly faded.
When she awoke the next morning, she was greeted by Nephros, her brother.
"Hurry, you mustn’t linger. The King is expecting you."
"What do you mean by this?" cried Isilya, shocked.
"I happened to see Prince Orodan yester-eve. I had a long talk with him about some current issues.”
Her brother had been very close to Orodan, even though his position was somewhat low, and Orodan confided in him on very deep matters. The King knew of this, and trusted Nephros almost as much as his son did.
“I have gotten you a promotion, Isilya. You are now the handmaid to Lady Nevethiriel, Lord Airechilion’s wife. You shall begin your new position as soon as we return.”
“Return from what?”
“The summons to Gondor, of course! The king insisted on bringing one more escort for Orodan, so as we were talking, I suggested you for the role. You have knowledge of the woods, and you’re not completely incapable of fighting. He seemed pleased with my proposal, and King Thranduil did not argue against it. Now, you’d best hurry. I have all that you will need in the next room. We leave at midday.”
Isilya, now prepared for the trip, headed towards King Thranduil's court. She entered the great hall with a slight terror in her heart, and curtsied toward the King and his son.

[The Fifth]

* * * * * * * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * * * * * * *

Khuleln entered the hallway. His footsteps could be heard and his dirty-green cloak fluttered from a slight breeze as he approached nearer towards the Great Captain, bowed, and then stood near Kasteni, whom he knew well. He stood there in awkward silence for a few moments, pondering on why he was sent here.

"I have come, m'lord. What is the reason you call me..." He looked towards Lovek, whom he did not know, and then said, "..us here?" He asked.

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Kasteni looked up from his untouched mead to the two soldiers who entered the room. The older one, Lovek, was a warrior familiar to everyone in Ozren. He had held command in the forces of Ozren for almost as long as Kasteni, and the two had stood side-by-side on many battlefields as well as in council rooms. He was feared among their enemies for his effectiveness in battle, and by his troops for his ruthless discipline on the training floor. Mislavini trusted him completely, not seeing the threat to his power that was so obvious to Kasteni.

This one will be safer kept far from the capital. He will prove a valuable asset on the road, and he won’t be able to scheme so far from the Great Captain’s throne that he covets.

The second fighter was also well-known. Khuleln’s family originally came from Khand, far to the south and now threatening war on the Ozren borders. They had emmigrated from that far country when Khuleln was still a boy, but their wealth had ensured he grew up in privileged Ozvalada society. That had inevitably led him to the military where he had served with honor in the devestating campaigns against Dale and Erebor. His distinguished service had earned him a spot in Kasteni's eye, though, and the Chief Advisor had promised his father, a good friend for many years, that he would find a way for Khuleln to distinguish himself further.

This one I can trust.

Kasteni looked impatiently toward the door.

“Perhaps your third man is not in Ozvalda,” said Mislavini, draining his cup and motioning for a servant to fill it again.

“No, my lord, he is here. Just this morning he brought a message from his father concerning the trade routes to the east. I know him, and he would not have left the city so quickly. I don’t belive he is eager to return to his rural home just yet. He’ll be along soon.”

Mislavini sat on his throne and took a long drink from his goblet. He pointed to benches to his left and commanded Lovek and Khuleln to sit.

Kasteni remained standing.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[GreatWarg]

********Rhun Nation**********

Ulwyte snorted with disgust, seeing many warriors sitting amd smoking their weeds and drinking their alchohol. The nation was falling at a rapid rate after their defeat and the Dark Lord was thrown down. Yet that proved better for the people of Ulwyte's little nation. Trade has increased for them since the Shadow had departed two years ago.

Entering the large hallway, Ulwyte slowed down to study the decorations that adored the massive hall. Many of them Ylwyte recognized as works from a certain country that he had been to many times, and a few others also. Yet it was strange that there was nothing from Middle-earth there in the capitol of Rhun. Sauron had kept them from trading with his enemies.

Entering the Great Chieftein's chamber, Ulwyte saw that he was late. Two others stood near, both of them warrior types. Kasteni and the Great Chieftein both had goblets in their hands, and looking much carefree.

'Excuse the delay, Great Chieftein,' Ulwyte spoke, bowing. 'The markets are busy today, and it is hard for one to receive a message, let alone get to their destination.' Ulwyte then looked over the two others. They were both of warrior types, which were not often seen in his nation, and both looked especially well-trained and strong.Ulwyte nodded to Kasteni, reading what the Steward's eyes. Kasteni evidently did not trust one of them.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: GreatWarg ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Mislavini stood swiftly and threw his goblet to the floor where it shattered into many pieces.

“Who is this young pup that names me a chieftain?” he shouted loudly down at the startled Ulwyte. “Does he not know the difference between the Great Captain and a dirtly, stupid chief of a squalid little country of shepherds? Does he insult me? Where is my sword?”

Mislavini took a step forward toward the surprised and confused Ulwyte who stood shaking, wondering what he had done. He thought that Mislavini would strike or him, but he saw Kasteni rush forward.
Unfortunately for him, the Chief Advisor did not come to his aid.

“Bow down before your Great Captain, mongrel!” said Kasteni in a hateful voice. “This is not your father’s hut.”

Dismayed, Ulwyte dropped to one knee and bowed his head, awaiting a blow or kick from Mislavini. But the Great Captain and Kasteni had moved away and were in a heated but whispered conversation.

The other two warriors stood, waiting to see what would happen.

Kasteni and Mislavini continued to talk, and their voices soon turned to a calmer tone, showing that the Chief Advisor had somehow soothed the leader’s anger. Kasteni turned and looked to Ulwte.

“You may rise, young warrior. But do not speak again in this hall.”

He beckoned Lovek and Khuleln to stand beside the younge man and then moved to a place beside his lord.

Mislavini spoke.

“You have been summoned here to accompany the Chief Advisor on a journey. Kasteni will lead you into the heart of Westland where he will approach the new king of Stoneland and demand justice for the people of Ozren. He will be my voice, and you will be his sword, spear and bow. Now go.”

He sat back on his throne and Kasteni indicated they should leave. He bowed to the Great Captain and followed them through the tall doors and into the courtyard of the Keep. He looked at Ulwyte who still looked stunned at Mislavini’s unexpected fury.

“That was stupid. Your father is a chieftain, and perhaps to you he is a great man. But Mislavini is the Great Captain, and to him your father and all chieftans are his subordinates, lesser men who live to serve him. You are lucky he was not armed.”

He looked at Lovek and said, “Take these two and lead them to the western chariot stables at the far side of the city. There you will find my chariot and horses and provisions for our journey. Prepare them and have everything ready for our departure from the city by noon tomorrow. Is that clear?”

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^^^^Lonely Mountain^^^^^^^^
Frain Thaneson walked as quickly as his stout legs could allow. He was excited about the unusual message he had received from Thorin III Stonehelm, requesting his appearance before the King. However, he was also unsure about it.

He was not worried about the invitation that his King had received from new Gondorian king. Instead, Frain was worried about why his King wanted to speak with him about it.

Rumor around the strong stone halls was that the message was of an audience to be held with King Elessar and with all other diplomats of the free realms. Frain could only think what would happen if things went wrong. Elves, dwarves, men--in Frain's mind that could only cause one thing: chaos.

But all the matters of diplomacy and politics were not Frain's specialty. No, Frain was the Head Engineer of the workers under the Mountain. There were many repairs that had been needed to the old kingdom and new halls and wings made and overseen by him after the departure of Smaug. It was all Frain's work.

Frain was a manipulative man....or dwarf, in this case. He had wheeled and dealed and crept his way up to the top of his occupation. Long years he had worked as a lowly craftsman, but now, after working even longer making deals than digging or building, he had become the Chief of the Royal Corps of Dwarven Engineers. This was a highly coveted and important position. It soothed his vanity to achieve it.

These traits are what got him all his riches and renown. His family was prominent and socially popular, for all loved what Frain had done to improve the workers' labor laws. Often a lucky worker dwarf found an empty chair next to him during his beer break, and more and more good gossip spread about Frain. These are also the traits which made him think that this summons might grant him even more money, gold, and other such riches and glory. For Frain was a dwarf filled with much greed, and this often drove him to get what he wanted and to work hard for it.

But what had this to do with the summons to appear before King Thorin III? Problems with his contracts or the possibility of new contracts? Frain was certain that the ideas for a new hall in the twenty-first wing had not gone astray, so he felt almost confident that nothing was terribly wrong. Frain just wasn't sure.

[GreatWarg]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Ulwyte muttered to himself secretly. Sometimes he thought that leaders thought too much of themselves, no matter how great they were. Kasteni most likely had saved him from some punishment or another, though he was expecting something more outright and to the point. That was, of course, only how he was brought up. How difficult it must be to be in a high position in a government and constantly have the fear of doing something wrong!

Fingering a few items that might provide some trade, Ulwyte continued thinking about the government structure. It was quite simple, really, but they never actually tell you how to deal with such things. It was usually just to do what they told you to do, and if they felt like killing you, then you were dead, and never retort or cower from a blow. It was those simple rules by which Ulwyte had lived by. But then again, he had rarely met anyone as important as the lord of the entire country.

'Perhaps next time I should listen to what father actually has to say before talking,' Ulwyte muttered.

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Birdland]

*****Eryn Lasgalen (Mirkwood)*****
Orodan smiled reassuringly at Isilya as she approached the throne, and her brother Nefros gave her a sly wink over the Prince's shoulder. The young Elf-Maid gave a deep curtsy to her Lord, hoping he could not see her knees shaking.

"You may rise, child," Thranduil smiled and gestured towards a stool, as he sat down himself. Isilya hardly knew what to make of this. To sit in front of the King? But Thranduil had suggested it himself. She supposed she must consider his wish to be her command, and perched herself gingerly on the edge of the padded stool.

"Isilya, is it? Your parents were loyal, faithful servants in these halls for nigh seven yéni, and your father served his kingdom with honor during the War against the Dark Lord. His presence is sorely missed."

Isilya lowered her head and offered no answer to this. It was too soon to speak of her father. She wondered if she would ever be able to speak of him without tears.

"Your mother is well?"

"Yes, My Lord" answered Isilya, glad of the change of subject. "She has returned to our people, who live in the Narrows."

"And so the children remain to take up the duties of the parents. As it should be. Nefros has served my son well, and speaks highly of your skill and intelligence. I value his opinion, and believe between you and your brother, my son will be well-cared for on the journey to Minas Anor."

So she was going! Isilya controlled herself enough not to flash a joyous smile of gratitude towards her brother, but only held her hand to her heart as she rose and curtsied again towards Thranduil and Orodan. "It is my highest honor to be able to serve my King and his heir, my Lord. I can only hope that I can fill the role that my parents held in the Halls of my King, and I live only to serve my King, and my Lord Orodan."

Thranduil smiled at this, studying the young Elf all the while. "My son. I believe you and Nefros have preparations to make for your journey. I would speak with this daughter of Eryn Lasgalen further."

Orodan and Nefros exchanged glances, but there was no gainsaying this command. Orodan left the throne room, and Nefros, after offering a deep bow to his King, followed him.

Isilya was left alone with the Lord of Eryn Lasgalen, feeling oddly like a coney under the eye of the hawk. Now that she had the new responsibilities and the chance for travel that she had craved, she strangely wondered if there was some way she could get out of it.

"So, you have vowed to serve my son faithfully. But what of your King?"

"My Lord!" she stammered, "I live and die for the Ruler of Eryn Lasgalen, as do all the people of the Green Wood."

"That is good, young Isilya. For your brother will always serve the needs of my son, as it should be. But I will require eyes and ears on this journey as well. The Man King of Minas Anor desires to establish trade between all the kingdoms of Middle-earth. But the Silvan Elves have always sustained themselves. Though a few luxuries have been acquired for our own use from these other Races, the treasures of the Green Wood have been preserved for the use of our own people, alone. It is my great desire that this should remain so. Do you know of what I speak, child?"

"Yes, my Lord", Isilya answered quietly.

"Good. I have servants amongst the Folk of the Air, who will be available to carry messages to me. I only bid that you correspond with your King as you make this journey, and keep me informed about the doings of these other races who may travel with your party, particularly the representatives of Dale and the Lonely Mountain. Do I make myself clear?"

"Absolutely, my Lord." said Isilya, white-faced.

"Splendid! Of course, our conversation here will go no farther than this throne room. You may go and make your own preparations for your journey, now." Isilya rose with relief, grateful that her interview was finally over, and dreading the "duties" that had been laid upon her shoulders.

She curtsied low towards her King, and turned to leave the audience. But just as she reached the door, Thranduil placed one other burden on her.

"Isilya? By the way - have you ever made the acquaintance of my younger son, Prince Legolas?"

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Kettle of fish]

***** Dale *****

Rubin slipped into the hall after Girion and hung towards the back, as was expected of him. He could tell by Girion's stiff posture that he was expecting a berating from his father. He himself couldn't think of any occurances that the king could be aware of. There HAD been that brawl last month, but he was sure that he had taken care of it fairly competently.

He glanced at his father, the king's attendant, who was watching the exchange between Girion and his father. He then fixed his eyes upon his father's hands, which where clasped in front of him, fingers twitching slightly.

Ahh... so it was a journey to...Rubin did not have time to decipher the last word when King Brand burst out laughing.

With a silent gesture of thanks, he turned his attention upon Girion, and then swept his eyes around the room - mentally cursing himself for not doing this first.

His father had continally drilled it into him that it was necessary to always look for possible harm that could come to the royal line. Rubin smiled to himself that so far, most of the possible harm had been self-induced. He was sure his father had noticed his mistake of not checking the surrounding environment first and grinned apologetically. He would have to be much more vigilant, especially now that they were leaving Dale.

By now, Girion had turned to leave. Rubin watched as the young man who would one day be king of Dale strode towards the door, the approving eyes of his father following him.

As Girion passed him, he stepped into line behind him, controlling himself from asking immediately what the letter had contained.

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: Kettle of fish ]

[Susan Delgado]

******Shire******

"You want me to go where?" Hardo asked. "Displeased" did not do justice to how he felt after hearing what the Mayor had planned for him.
"Trust me, Hardo, it's a great honor." The Mayor's tone was persuasive to the point of pleading, but it did nothing to win over his reluctant clerk.
"Honor? Are you serious? You're sending me into the wilderness!"
The Mayor was getting annoyed now. "The center of the Kingdom of Man is hardly the wilderness, Hardo. Now, look, either go on this mission or go back to your family in Frogmorten and don't come back."
Hardo stared in shock. "What? You're firing me if I don't go?"
The Mayor sighed. He'd been dreading this part. "No, I'm firing you whether you go or not. You're getting older, Hardo. I think you need to retire for a while. You have been doing this job for more than sixty years; it's time to take a break. I thought you could accompany this diplomatic mission as an honorable send off. That's all."
Hardo was speechless. Ya, he was old, but he wasn't that old, was he? Seventy eight was still a hale and hearty age, wasn't it? He stammered a farewell to the Mayor and stumbled outside.

He fell asleep under a tree and was awakened by a gentle shaking. It was one of the Mayors other clerks, a young lass named Lark. She said the other delegates had returned and the Mayor wanted to talk to him. He went...

...And was sorely disappointed again. Two lads around the age of thirty and a little boy! How was he supposed to deal with this situation? He did not relate well to young people. He was certain it wasn't his fault. It was just that young people didn't know how to act these days, and so on and so forth. He continued in this vein for some time.

[Alkanoonion]

******HARAD/UMBAR******

It was a hot day and Herumir was in a foul mood. He had just received confirmation that a Corsair ship had slipped out from Umbar a day before, intending to pillage along the river in South Gondor. Such actions would jeopardize any chances for revitalizing the coffee trade. As of yet no word had arrived from Fuinur, the King of Leowenna, who was to travel with Herumir up the bay and the Anduin towards Minas Anor.

Before they could sail, however, they needed to travel swiftly to Umbar to stop the rebellion by the Corsairs who had been ordered by the local Council to turn over all ships, but had refused. Herumir had ordered a battalion of Olipaunts to be prepared for an attack on Umbar. To make the attack successful, Herumir needed Fuinur and his men to assault the city from the opposite side.

Just then a man entered. The man was tall and dark skinned, with short-cropped black hair. He was wearing bright red pantaloons and his chest was covered in many tattoos. Herumir recognised the man as Seth, the personal servant of Fuinur the King of Leowenna. “Finally” said Herumir “what news from Fuinur?”

“Mighty King Fuinur sends his greetings and a message that he will arrive shortly with a small force. His men will be ready to depart for Umbar within the hour”.

Just then a large tall man with dark skin, long braided black hair and piercing black eyes entered. The man was wearing bright yellow loose flowing pantaloons, with a matching tunic that was slit at either side, leaving his chest bare. His chest was also covered in tattoos and he had a golden chain with an emerald on the end. As he walked into the room he called out, “Herumir you old dog, how are you? Do you believe that Elessar, as if one meeting will make all of the world's worries disappear?”

“Finally Fuinur, what kept you?”

Fuinur looked at Herumir and smiled, “I heard rumours that a rebellion was going on in Umbar, so I stoped to gather a small force just in case we need them.”

Herumir laughed, his earlier foul mood disappearing as one more problem was solved. “Great, how soon can you leave?”

“I can leave now if you need. What's the plan?”

Herumir looked at Fuinur and said
“First, I need you to circle the city and attack from the opposite side at dawn tomorrow. Secondly, under cover of darkness I need a smaller force to board and hold the ships to stop them making a run for open sea once the fighting starts. Once the city is secure, we seize control of a ship. Then we'll find and stop the ship that sailed yesterday.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad ****

The city was fairly bathed in steam as Gramil wiped his brow, returning from a comfortable lunch. The market sellers, noisy as birds at first light and sunset, peacefully sipped cooling joices and wafted fans at this hour. Gramil dodged through a string of strapping lads who carried crates of squawking chickens, brushing away the loose feathers that filled the air. Chickens clearly didn't like to be disturbed this time of day either.

A smart tradesman would barter now, Gramil thought glancing about, when they were too tired to argue. But he was tired himself, and smiled at the lost opportunity, where both sides were equally defeated by the sun. He turned - and that was how he missed the first collision. From the cursing, scattering explosion of chicken feathers, and the oliphaunt dancing backwards in the street, it was clear exactly what had happened. The next crate was directly behind the oliphaunt and collapsed with a dull crack as her foot went right through it. The strange careless rider on the oliphaunt's back shouted over the din: "So-ray! So-Ray!" He was pallid as an albino. Then the man switched to a strangely accented declaration of "Pardons! Mistake!" which made more sense, and regained control of his beast.

He waved cheerfully to Gramil, "should I offer to pay for the damage?"

Gramil shaded his eyes as he looked up, "No, they will catch the chickens."

"The Mumak is not easy to ride, but the seller says I have a natural seat. Ha!" Gramil dodged a little off the road out of the way, but the beast did not respond to the command to charge: Mumak were smart, and she was already learning to ignore him. At closer range it was true, the stranger did seat well. But he clearly did not know a thing about oliphaunts.

"How much did you pay for this Mumak?" Gramil asked.

"Nothing yet."

"Then continue to pay nothing. If she makes it to the end of the street, we will call it lucky. She is very old."

The stranger dismounted from the oliphaunt and offered his hand. "I am Jarl of Dale."

Gramil took it, and smiled. "That I know. Your face is famous here."

"But it is not proof against being cheated," Jarl grimaced.

"Far from it. Who can resist the chance to cheat someone famous?" His smile flashed, "They will brag for a week."

Jarl sighed, "I thought the time of day would help me." And Gramil laughed, deciding he liked this stranger who saw so quickly Harad's greatest weakness: the sun.

*********

Gramil had nearly forgotten the encounter when a month later he was summoned to the King.

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[Ringwraith Number Two]

******The Shire******

Orlo silently thanked Master Merry over and over again in his head, as the fact finally registered in his brain that he was actually going to Gondor. His possessions were packed, of course, family informed ("Take care, son, and eat well" were the sound words of advice from his stout father) and he could hardly sit still for excitement.

He had also found out who else was going on the mission at the council that morning: a elderly Hobbit named Hardo Proudfoot who seemed frankly formidable, a young active lad called Brando Took, and another hobbit named Odo Took, the third cousin of Master Peregrin himself, whom he greatly admired.

He looked around his warm surroundings: he had arrived quite early -he hoped he hadn't arrived too early, but it was an important journey after all. Sam and Rosie's little house was very cosy, and very hobbit-like. He suddenly realised that a very long journey lay ahead of him: there would be no warm bed and roaring fire to return to when night set, only the cold and distant stars, and very uncomfortable sleeping places.

Yawning, he settled into the cosy armchair, preparing himself for the journey ahead.

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: Ringwraith Number Two ]

[*Varda*]

***Blue Mountains***

The morning of their departure dawned. Serin stood at the door of his home, looking out over the mountains. He had never contemplated journeying so far from home before, always having felt that everything he needed was right here, in the Ered Luin.
Hoisting his pack over his shoulder, he left his home and made his way to the stone hall, where he would meet his companions, Theron Axehand and Mikhelm Bonecrist.

Gathered around the hall were many other dwarves, all clamouring for his attention, hoping to discover what they would say to the High King, and how it may turn out. Near the front of the crowd was a surly looking dwarf, who glared at Serin as he strode past.

“Meddler” he growled. Serin received many such looks for wanting to associate the dwarves with the other races of Middle Earth. At the same time, he saw many reassuring glances, of the dwarves who fully supported him. His resolve strengthened, he marched up to the hall, and stood with Theron and Mikhelm.

Theron raised his arm in the air to call for silence.

“We go forth to meet with the High King Elessar to discern how our fate will lie. On our return, we shall have decided whether to have relations with Elves, Men, and Hobbits, or whether to continue to isolate ourselves in our realm. “

Many dwarves cheered, and with that Theron, Mikhelm, and Serin set out on their journey to Minas Tirith.

[VanimaEdhel]

**********Rhûn Nation**********

"Aye, m'Lord," Lovek said, "It shall be done."

Lovek led the two out and briskly marched through the halls. The others struggled to keep up. Lovek travelled through all the familiar corridors.

When they reached the chariot stables, Lovek took them over to the provisions.

"You must all do your part here," he said, gruffly, "Here. Take this."

Lovek divided the provisions up among them and the three made ready.

"On the road," Lovek said to them, still sounding gruff, "We must move quickly to the Westlands. We must not delay. I shall move as quickly as I can, and you must do so too? Is that clear? I know not whether I will be riding Ratislav, but, either way, we must make haste. Is that clear? I have no room for stragglers in my troops."

Lovek heard himself say "my" troops, but thought nothing of it, for it was always what it said, as he was most accumstomed to leading instead of being led. He just assumed that he would be in charge, as he generally was.

"Now, do I make myself clear?" Lovek said to the other men.

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[The Fifth]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Khuleln nodded. "Clear, sir."

He looked towards the city. Bustling, as usual, but a bit more crowded. People were busy doing business in those parts. Khuleln never held any interest in these kinds of things. The sky was almost blindingly azure and nearly cloudless.

Not noticed, a rather nasty-looking spider, hairy, with many slender legs, slung itself down from its web at the darkest corner of the stables. From the gust of a wind, the spider snapped loose of its web and landed on top of a sorrel horse's nose, just as it was breathing in. The steed snorted and neighed loudly, rearing up and shaking the spider off. The obsidian hooves swung down once the creature was shaken off and smashed off part of the stable door. The small pieces of wood splintered and landed with a slight hollow-sounding thump upon the gravelly ground.

Khuleln glanced at the others, and walked up in order to calm the disturbed horse. Unfortunately, he never worked much with horses, and the sudden movement made the steed rear up again. The other horses lifted their heads up, cocking an ear in interest. Khuleln backed away, a bit startled. "Perhaps we should wait a moment."

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: The Fifth ]

[GreatWarg]

********Rhun*********

Ulwyte looked up, startled. The horse was quite disturbed, but Khuleln seemed in a dangerous position, with the horse's hooves kicking madly.

Lovek scowled. 'Calm that horse down.' Ulwyte merely nodded and moved cautiously and slowly. He grabbed the horse's leather reigns and struggled to calm the equine down. It swung its head around brutally, nearly knocking Ulwyte down. Lovek came up and grabbed the other side and tugged on it with such force that the horse stopped, an eye glaring at this new enemy. Khuleln seemed a little dazed at this particular episode.

'We had horses back home,' Ulwyte explained, wondering where Khuleln came from. He certainly did not come from the capitol. 'But they were much tamer. Foreign imports.'

[The Fifth]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Khuleln grew a bit angry at the horse, but then remembered that the horse was a horse and there was not a thing that he could do. He grumbled, "O, but we had horses. But not horses like these who are frightened nearly to death by spiders!"

He stood up, not bothering to wipe the dust off from his dark-colored clothing. The horse continued to stare at Lovek with anger, its eyes white-ringed now and its ears folded back aginst its lightly armored head.

He did listen to Ulwyte's words, and walked nearer towards the angry horse. The steed snorted again, then seemed to calm down completely, forgetting about the incident with the spider-thing. Then Khuleln looked down upon pieces of the stable door. The other horses were still a bit curious, for they only caught a glimpse of what happened. They seemed to nicker in laughter at their friend, their black tails swinging a few wandering flies away.

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: The Fifth ]

[GreatWarg]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Ulwyte nodded briefly in acknowledgement before heading off to pack under Lovek's intensive stare. Since when were they Lovek's troops anyways? Kasteni was commanding this trip, even if he had told Lovek to get them here. With that brute growling and glaring at anyone who got in the way, they had reached the stables without much adventure. In fact, Ulwyte mused, he could probably be a one-man army.

Ulwyte tied up his pack, making sure the trade goods were secure. They may be going off to discuss matters, but that did not mean a good trading oppurtunity would not come up. Ulwyte hoped that he could perhaps find something good in the Western lands, where Sauron had not allowed them to trade and lied to them about its inhabitants. He thought of perhaps being one of the first to make new trades with the peoples from the Western lands. That would secure him a good fortune as a merchant, though his father wanted him to become a warrior.

Ulwyte checked to make sure his blade was sharp. It was not one of the black-hued blades of Rhûn, but it came from lands beyond Middle-earth, where their nation had some trade. He also strapped his bow and arrows together, also not made in Rhûn. But what Ulwyte really wanted was a Elf or Dwarf blade, often rumoured to be the best in all the lands. Merchants would kill to get one of them, for they were rare and very expensive.

Taking all these things, Ulwyte went once again to hear what Lovek would order.

[Susan Delgado]

******Shire******

Posted by Faye Took:
It was a bright morning day while Odo walked down the road to visit his old friends Sam and Rosie Gamgee. On his way there, the mission popped in his rather thick head. Elves he mutterd to himself. 'I haven't seen elve sence I was just a boy.'Then to Gondor! Can't wait to see King Ellasar. Never met a king before.'
Odo was just about there. His heart began to pound with excitement to see his good friend Sam. 'Just another bend.' Odo began to walk faster until he came into a jog, and then to a sprint. Odo saw Sam out in his garden pulling weeds. 'Sam!' cried Odo 'Odo my lad!' Odo and Sam hugged with huge smiles. 'Its great to see you!' Odo said smileing. 'And you too my lad' Sam patted him on the shoulder and brought him inside.

[Susan Delgado]

******Shire******

The day dawned bright and clear. Hardo looked around and thought sourly, Oh, it's going to be a hot one today. Just perfect for leaving home for who knows how long. He sighed and went back inside to repack his few belongings. To his great disgust, the others all seemed very excited, even eager, to be off.

Around midmorning, Sam called the four of them together for the last time. They were all packed and ready to go, and Sam wanted to give a speech. Hardo wasn't surprised. He was a natural politician and politicians always wanted to make speeches.

"well, lads," Sam began, "Today's the day! Today you set off on the mission of your lives!" Hardo snorted at such empty-headed enthusiam. Odo and Orlo were all but cheering aloud, and Brando seemed distracted. He just wanted to leave as soon as possible. Sam continued, "I wish I was goin with you lads. I wish I could go and see Lord Strider again, but I can't, so all i can say is, enjoy yourselves! This is a journey you'll never forget!" At this, Odo and Orlo did cheer, and even Brando looked excited. Finally, though, Sam fisnished his speech and the four travellers mounted their ponies and set off down the road toward Bywater and beyond that, Bree and Rivendell and eventually Gondor itself. Despite himself, Hardo felt the contagious enthusiasm of the younger hobbits. This may be a stupid, pointless mission, but at least it would be a change from his ordinary life.

[Belin]

********Rivendell***********

"So this is the kind of King he is," said Elladan.

Erestor nodded.

"He is wise," Elladan continued, noticing Erestor's sour expression. "He will be more than King of Gondor; he's the King. This is just as I would advise."

"Yes, of course," said Erestor shortly. Elladan decided to let the matter drop.

"Strange though...we were there so recently, and I had not thought to return. There's so little left to settle between us. Erestor, do you think that Arwen--"

"I think, Master Elladan, that this talk is more worthy of the road. There are plans to be made now."

Elladan sighed. He seemed to be the only one in Rivendell that wondered about the rule of the king to come, and the only one that would talk about Arwen. Perhaps the others were wiser, to accept the loss of Arwen and disentangle themselves from the fate of the world.

Then again, Erestor in a better mood would have been the perfect person to discuss his solitude with. Certainly they would have to speak when he returned.

"Plans, yes.. They have seen to the supplies already, I think? Then we only need to plan our route."

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar ****

It was the first feast day after the new moon, and Gramil stirred at dawn, disturbed by the sounds of children singing in the street below. The song he knew well, the history of the Great Flood which covered Harad and Umbar nearly 500 years ago. He let the music filter into his dream, snuggling under the sheets.

And then the gods saaaaaaay:
*clap-clap. Clap.*
Let the water wash away..

It was a children's song, teaching them the evils of not listening to their parents, the evils of their parents not listening to their king, and so on, until the priests did not listen to the gods but spoke words to their own profit. It was deceptively simple, but Gramil appreciated the subtle warning that the system could break down at any stage. Including above.

Sweet scents wafted up from the avenue below, incense... cooking food.. As his idle mind started identifying them, Gramil finally admitted to himself he was awake, like it or no. He sat up rubbing his eyes.

The counting house below his suite would start stirring in an hour or so, but he was excused from his duties today. The servants had thoughtfully placed King Fuinur's invitation on his bedside table so he wouldn't forget. Not that that was likely. Since Fuinur's father stepped down, Fuinur and Gramil saw eachother rarely, and only on business. This invitation was no exception. Friends had warned him weeks ago that his semi-retirement was coming to an end.

Fuinur wanted the man who opened the trade routes to Nurn to accompany the man of Dale - who better? - and knew of no reason Gramil should not return. Gramil's throat dried. There was a place he hoped to never see again. Given the events of his last visit, he wasn't sure it was wise for him to return. Events it was best the king knew nothing about. He was not sure how this fit in the breakdown of the system, but he knew better than to call the wrath of the king upon himself.

Gramil wasn't worried. Much. He knew the king as a boy, when they had filched sweets from the feast tables together. Fuinur was masterful, but, like the dragon his namesake, he could be swayed to a different venture. So long as he felt it was his own idea.

Several hours later, Gramil loped up the long winding steps to the king's palace, readying his excuses in his mind. Oddly, the ornate great doors to the main hall were closed, though a page came quickly to his knock. As he was lead through the familiar arched passageways, he glanced about and realized he didn't recognize any of the guards. Strange. Fuinur kept his personal guard with him at all time. He couldn't have this many new recruits.

"Where are we going?" he asked his guide in a mild voice, hiding his concern as they missed the turn to the king's audience chamber. "Has the king moved his quarters?"

But they had already arrived at a back chamber, and he was welcomed politely by... a speech.

"King Fuinur gives his greetings, and apologizes he could not be here today, of these most auspicious days." The retainer had official orders. Stacks of them. Gramil's appeared to be about halfway down. "He is detained elsewhere, but gratefully accepts your homage and obeisance - glory to the realm." The efficient man took a breath and scanned the parchment in front of him. "One Jarl of Dale, representative of King Brand of Dale, has come to negotiate trade agreements with our King. Our King Fuinur, the Dragon, the lord of this realm and all it tributaries bestows upon you, Gramil, trusted counselor and tradesmaster, the honor and all necessary powers to conduct such agreements in the manner you see fit for the benefit of our land. Glory to the realm." The clerk finally looked up, pointing to the parchment. "Affix your seal here."

Fuinur had assumed his acceptance. There was no honorable way out at this point. Gramil puzzled over one line of the document.

"What is meant by 'all necessary powers'?"

The clerk blinked. "It just says 'all necessary powers.'"

"Recruitment of guards? Transportation? Access to the treasury?"

The clerk looked helpless. "I.. I don't know."

Gramil smiled and shook his head. Fuinur must have been in a hurry to be this sloppy. If he had given this to anyone else.. Still, Gramil thanked his luck for this much. He may just need all of those powers.

He affixed his seal and nodded, "I accept in the light of the sun."

[ September 26, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[ September 26, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

HARAD/UMBAR

Urken sat in his magnificent villa which overlooked the shores of the Bay of Belfalas within the city of Umbar. He was one of the powerful warrior-priests of Harad who traced their ancestry back to the Black Numenoreans. His caste were known as "kingmakers" since they were the only ones in Harad viewed as having both the right and duty to lead a revolt against an unworthy king. It was this power to make and unmake kings which the priest prized abve all others. Urken wore the long robes and jewelled breastplate which distinguished his caste from all others in the realm.

He stared out at the waters, deep in thought. Before him sat the detailed reports of the recent Council of Harad. These outlined how the Kings of the united lands had elected to send representatives to Minas Anor in hopes of reopening trade negotiations with a host of different countries and peoples. The names of King Herumir and King Fuinur were specifically singled out.

Urken shook his head and snorted in disgust. "Trade"---as if exchanging coffee beans for wheat shipments could solve their particular problems. What fools some men were! But he would keep his mouth closed and make certain that his opinions were hidden deep. For, sometime in the future, he had a job to do. It was an ancient and honorable task. And one that he thought might solve a good number of their difficulties.

He was looking for allies to aid in this task. But if allies were not to be found, he would gladly carry it out on his own. There wre others wending their way towards Nurn, even now, to help with the task.

But his first job was to win his way into the delegation going to Minas Anor. Herumir and Fuinur thought they would mount a two-pronged attack on Umbar to secure access to the ships still being held by the Corsairs. But Urken knew something that the kings had failed to discover. Umbar had a clever system of fortifications and city walls. Any frontal assault on the place was bound to fail. Only by knowing the secret tunnels and hidden entrances could enemy soldiers find their way into the citadel, and from thence down to the port to seize the ships. And Urken knew those tunnels and hidden entrances as if they were part of his own house.

Urken looked again at the letter which he had composed to the Kings chosen to go as delegates:

Kings Herumir and Fuinur. Greetings.

It has recently come to my attention that you will be bringing a group of foot soldiers to Umbar to attempt to assault the city and secure access to the harbor and those ships which are being illegally detained by the Corsairs. You then propose to seize one of these vessels and sail up the Anduin towards Minas Anor.

I certainly applaud your good intentions. But let me assure you that your attempt will fail unless you have knowledge of the hidden tunnels and entrances which bypass the most heavily fortified places. I do have this knowledge and would be most pleased to share it with you.

I ask for only one small favor: that I be allowed to accompany you on this journey and meet with the King and his council in Minas Anor. This would be a small matter to you, but would permit me to advance the interests of Umbar. While Umbar's interests are certainly close to those of Harad, the two are not always identical.

I am sending this message to you by my great winged hawk. If you will have a scribe respond, and send a note back with the hawk, we will meet on the outskirts of Umbar some one day hence, and I will be glad to assist you.

Please respond immediately to my request.


Urken the Bear, Warrior Priest of the Guild of the Black Numenoreans.

Urken attached the message to the leg of the bird, and released him towards the east.

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Thenamir]

====== Blue Mountains ======

"...what you really ought to be worried about, my lord, is tribute! What conquering man-king does not force tribute from his subjects?" Mikhelm Bonecrist grumbled as they climbed into the two-pony trap-cart which held their provisions and their gear for the long journey.

"They did not conquer *us*," ventured Theron from the rear bench (somewhat wider and more cushioned -- rulership does have its perks). "Tribute is exacted from the conquered, not from loyal subjects."

"Aye, but will he consider us 'loyal' if we insist on keepin' to ourselves, that's my question,” Mikhelm retorted. “You've known men to do worse, especially when there's power to lord over someone. Remember the tale that got back to us about our old friends, Bifur, Bofur and Bombur, who got caught up in the scemes of that meddling old wizard Olorin? Remember that man Bard who led an army of men and elves to try to take their gold from the Lonely Mountain?" Mikhelm spat on the dusty road to show his disgust.

"And you've known the rest of that story too, Mikhelm," argued Theron, "that Bard became one of the staunchest of allies and best of friends with Dain Ironfoot after they joined together to fight off the orcs and wargs that came against them. And the wizard helped them too, which shows you tr to skew what little you know. If Olorin had not gotten them together, Smaug would still be sitting on that pile of gold and gems, and hundreds of fine dwarves would still be mining iron instead of crafting things of beauty”

Serin listened carefully as he clambered into his spot on the driver’s bench next to Mikhelm. Theron was not only an old warrior but also as close to a diplomat as dwarves got. It was a skill he would have to pick up on the way if he wanted to argue his case successfully to both lord Theron and King Elessar. He picked up the reins and urged the fresh young ponies down the road that led towards the Grey Havens, the White Towers, and eventually the Shire.

[ September 26, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE *****

It had been a long night, but well worth it, for Bard. He had closeted himself with the Master of the Guilds and the leading legal representative from the King's Council. And now he held in his hand the fruit of their labors.

They had hammered out a ten point proposal to King Elessar concerning, among other things, certain ongoing grievances and the need for a judicial representative of the High King's court to be made available in this region for the settling of such disputes.

Foremost, though, in the mind of the King and the Master was the need for Dale to secure certain rights of trade with areas just come open to them in the south. This was the area of the proposal which had taken the most time to delineate.

'There must be no appearance that Dale wishes to contravene the sovereign rights of the new regions.' About this, the King was quite clear. 'But the ability of Dale to secure and maintain her rightful place among the free-trading regions of Middle-earth must be understood and accepted.'

They had worked and reworked the wordings and had come to their final draft at the hour before first light. Now the King's quill moved over the vellum copy in bold strokes, signing his name. He took his great ring from off his hand and affixed his seal near his signature. Once the ink had dried and the wax set, he rolled it carefully and placed it within a tube of Dwarven silver for safekeeping.

He had called for wine then, and a dish of those sweet, dried southern fruits with which they might refresh themselves, and celebrate what promised to be the start of a new and prosperous era for Dale.

'Gentlemen! To Dale!' 'To Dale!' came the tandem reply.

It was then that Grim announced the arrival of Girion and Rubin, and bade them enter the council chambers. They both bowed low, and then Girion stepped forward to accept the silver tube from his father.

'I have sent word by our swiftest messengers that Rubin and I are on our way to meet with Orodan, to accompany them on this journey. We are packed and provisioned, and ready to set out to Eryn Lasgalen as soon as we have your leave, Father.'

'Then you have my leave, good sirs!' said Bard, looking with pride upon his son. And my heart, too he thought to himself.

He saw the pair to where their horses stood, and watched them mount. Rubin rode at Girion's side, a pack horse following. Bard stood and watched them for a long while as they moved in a westerly direction.

'Fare well!' he called after them. Their figures grew smaller in the distance, and then disappeared, as the road dipped down and then continued on.

[ October 09, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Isilya]

<<<<<<<<MIRKWOOD>>>>>>>>

“Prince Legolas, my king? Why, no, I have never made acquaintance with his lordship.”

“I greatly desire his return to me, but I am afraid that he has fallen under the spell of the sea. It seems he does not wish to see his homeland again. One smaller favor is all I ask. Whether you accomplish this or not, does not matter. If you can convince my son Legolas to return to his father, it shall make me very joyful. That is all I ask.”

Isilya, now weighted down with multiple burdens, began to question her decision to go. But, if the King had entrusted her with such important tasks, then it must show how deeply he trusts her. As one weight lifted off her chest, another settled down, but she would not give in and disappoint her lord. The tasks were simple enough, it seemed to her, but what if Nefros asked of her tasks? She would simply turn the subject and hope that it would not be brought up again.

She stepped into the doorway of her dwelling. She could hear Nefros humming something to himself that sounded unfamiliar. Good, she thought, he is making songs again. She went into her room and took out some extra belongings she might need, including parchment and some ink. Now completely prepared, she stepped into Nefros’s room, where he was strumming on a lire.

“I see that you are all prepared for our journey, Isilya.”

“Yes, I just needed to get a few spare things. Are you bringing any of your instruments with you?”

[Tharkûn]

***** DALE-Garlin *****

"Ah, Jarl, how are you this morning?" Garlin said with a smile as he walked in. "Fine, thank you," Jarl replied. "Fruit?" he asked, offering Garlin one of the two that he had purchased from the vendor. "Yes, thanks," Garlin replied, picking the fruit up. After taking a bite of it, he asked, "Still no word from the king?" "No," signed Jarl, "and at this rate, I'm going to have to go back to Dale." "Heh, remember, 'We need the coffee!'" Garlin joked, in a mockery of the King Bard's voice. "King Bard was good enough to send us on this errand," snapped Jarl, "so cease continuing to mock him,assistant!"My apologies," Replied Garlin. "Take it as a life lesson," Jarl informed the younger man.

Later that morning, Jarl and Garlin were walking through the streets of Harad, when Garlin spotted something. A vendor was selling fruits. Thinking that he could repay Jarl for the offering from earlier in the morning, he dashed over. Pointing to the two fruits he wanted, he asked, "How much?" "Seven gold coins,"replied the vendor.
"Three," said Garlin.
"No, seven."
"Four?"
"Seven."
"Four, final offer."
"Seven, or you get no fruit," said the vendor, ending the bartering. Sighing, Garlin reached into his pocket and pulled out the due fair, while the vendor couldn't help but smile. Once the fruit that he bought had been retrieved, he turned around, and, to his surprise, found Jarl had been watching him the entire time. "You need to work on those bartering skills," chided Jarl, "or things like that will always happen." Blushing, Garlin replied, "But I really wanted the fruit!"

[Elenna]

*****Rivendell*****

Meneciriel sat at a table with Erestor, Elladan, and Elrohir. Before them lay a map.

"Now, we have several options. We could go over Caradhras..." Meneciriel began.

"Absolutely not. Even if the Dark Lord is gone, the mountain has no love for elves," Elrohir said, his voice quiet.

"Or we could go through the Mines of Moria..."

"Hah! A group of elves, in the mines?" Erestor laughed humorlessly. "You'd go insane."

"All right, then we end up back where we were before - crossing the Misty Mountains into the land of the Beornings."

No arguments came from the others.

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: Elenna ]

[Guildo]

<<<<<<<<<Eryn Lasgalen>>>>>>>>.

Orodan & Nefros

Nefros was a bit more jittery than usual, Humming aloud to himself as he skipped around the horses filling there packs with the Elven equipment and food. Nefros did some contemplation of the road ahead but it was mainly whether to take his flute and mandolin (as his sister suggested in his room), or flute and harp, or which was the best way to make “Dwarves and Elves and Men” rhyme with “Unlikely traveling friends”.
Orodan on the other hand was a bit more preoccupied with the disputes of the road, and hoping that Isilya is a bit more passive than her brother. He release a small smile and said in a low voice “ I just don’t know if I could keep two of them under control.”

Nefros over heard a bit of a murmur and said “did you say something sir?”

“Only thinking out loud my friend, but Nefros please calm yourself I don’t want you to frighten the dwarves if they decide to travel with us.”

“Don’t worry about that my lord as long as they are kind to you and Isilya I will be kind to them, I’m actually quite looking forward to their company.
Speaking of my sister I wonder what the King Thranduil has said to her she seems a bit more nervous…. She was excited at first.”

Orodan turned and put his hand upon Nefros’s Shoulder and replied. “I have a pretty good idea what duties my father has given her but let that conversation remain between the two of them. I know your anxious to have her with us but remember she is not only your sister on this journey, she is also a representative of Eryn Lasgalen you must listen to her just as much as you expect her to listen to you.”

“As her being nervous, I assure you not all elves are easily excited as you.”

Nefros slowly calmed him self and said. “Im sorry master I just cant contain myself, I just don’t know what to expect on this………….. OH! And the Periannath.” As he suddenly got excited again. “I nearly forgot they will be there too, I cant wait to see them and exchange lore, I bet there are more excited than I can imagine.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Orodan. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, from what I hear they are always less than anxious to leave their cozy Hobbit Holes.”
“But enough of that, here comes Isilya.”

[Nevtalathiel]

*****DALE*****

Once Girion and Rubin were out of sight of the palace and safely outof hearing, Girion burst out laughing.

"And I thought I would be in trouble again, how wrong could I have been? There are still many things I hope my father never discovers!" Girion continued to chuckle.

"Then perhaps you should stop doing such things." Rubin suggested, his face perfectly straight and his voice even, but Girion had known him long enough to judge when he teased and a laugh was his only response.

"Perhaps we should celcbrate our journey with a drink, a quick detour to an inn wouldn't slow us down." Girion said slyly. Rubin's only response was a cough which said more than words could have.

"By the time my father knows anything I'll be far away, and by the time we get back, he'll have forgotten. Anyway, nothing will happen." Girion continued with his argument, one which had been heard in different variations many times before.

"Your father still doesn't know about the last fight that didn't happen; you're lucky there were no visible results." Rubin reminded.

"I'll be good, I promise." Girion said pulling a sad face with large puppy-dog eyes and a quavering lip."

Rubin snorted, "Yes, I'm sure you will until you see a girl who turns your head or someone whose opinions differ from your own. Anyway, we must get to Mirkwood as soon as possible to meet with Orodan."

Girion sighed. He was not deaf to the voice reason as some would have it, merely a little hard of hearing.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Jarl *****

"But I really wanted the fruit!"

'Yes,' agreed Jarl, smiling at the fledgeling trader, 'and that "want" was so apparent to the fruit vendor that he knew he had you from the first! He laughed and clapped Garlin on the back. 'You'll learn soon enough to school your face to hide what you desire.'

They walked a brief while, exploring the streets near their quarters. A short walk brought them near the center of the busy city. The sights, sounds, and smells of a large bazaar drew their attention, and Garlin asked if they might see it.

Jarl begged off, saying that he must return to see if the King would now see him. Garlin's face fell at the prospect of spending another long day waiting in their rooms.

'You need not come back with me, Garlin.' said Jarl, reading the young man's face. 'Go to the bazaar. Be my eyes and ears. Let me know what is going on in the daily, common course of business in this city. I'll see you later. Say, late afternoon?!'

Relief flooded the younger man's face. 'Yes, later, then!' he said, his feet flying down the street toward the promise of new sights and excitement.

Jarl walked slowly back to his quarters, taking in the flavors of the city as he passed. A certain current of uneasiness ran hidden among the smiling faces, the relaxed and graceful movements of people as they went about their business, the laughter of the children. The smiles often did not reach to their owner's eyes; hands often strayed to touch the weapons hung near them. And even in laughter, the children seemed cautious.

He thought on this as he walked along, then filed it away, to be used later. He had reached his rooms. No word from the King had come to him.

'Ah, the envious life of a Trade Representative!' he thought to himself. 'New sights! New sounds! Unlimited excitement!' He took a book from his bag and drew the desk chair near the window, thinking to pass the time more quickly with a little reading.
_____________________________________________
THARKÛN'S POST

***** DALE-Garlin *****

As Garlin walked through the Bazaar, he couldn't help but marvel at the amazing area. The endless lines of stalls for the endless types of goods were staggering. There were vendors calling out everything from armaments to stones from Zirak-Zigal. The stores that interested him most, though, were the weapons shops. As he walked up to one, he noticed that there was an out-of-place group of military-types who seemed to be conversing with the owner of the shop. After a few words, the dealer pointed towards the center of town, and the soldiers walked off. Finally noticing Garlin, the arms-dealer rushed over to him. 'Can I help you with anything?' the dealer asked Garlin. 'No, I'm just looking.' Garlin replied, mesmerized by the breathtaking assortment of weapons. There were elvish longbows, powerful enough to slay two enemies if fired right, all kinds of dwarven daggers, from hunting to concealed to throwing, and ancient Noldorian swords. Sighing, Garlin reached into his pouch and found, to his dismay, he only had about 90 gold coins, less than a quarter the cost of the cheapest of those weapons. Sighing, he walked away.

Walking through the market, Garlin noticed another thing that caught his eye. A pigeon vendor was selling homing pigeons. Smiling to himself, Garlin walked over. He had been needing one for sending home letters while he was on assignment (which was fairly often). Walking up to the vendor's he accidentally walked into someone. 'I'm sorry!' he exclaimed, after taking a step back, 'I'm visiting here and am not used to the crowds.' 'It's alright,' replied the stranger, 'but what kind of person would visit here from up north? Your skin is too pale to be from the south.' 'I'm on a trip from Dale,' admitted Garlin, 'as an assistant for Jarl.' 'Jarl, eh?' replied the stranger, 'Come for the coffee?' Shocked, Garlin exclaimed, 'How did you know?!' 'I am Ethar, assistant to Gramil, who is Jarl's opposition. I would assume that you'd be Garlin?' 'Yes, I am,' replied Garlin, 'but I'm afraid that I'm hopelessly lost in this giant Bazaar.' 'Well then come on!' exclaimed Ethar, grabbing Garlin's arm and pulling him off, laughing, into the crowd.

[ September 30, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Robin Headstrong]

***Rivendell***

Fanelen rushed into the room in her usual green Ranger garb. She knew this was no way to make an entrance, but she had no desire to miss this meeting. She was preoccupied that morning with practicing her "magic" before remembering the other elves' meeting concerning Minas Anor.

"Forgive me for being late," she said with a slight wave of embarassment.

"What are you talking about?" asked Elladan. "What business do you have with our meeting?"

"I am going with you to Minas Anor," Fanelen replied. "My father has sent me to go in his place."

"You must have been very cunning on your part," Elrohir quietly retorted. "Or else your father was in a very fair mood." He chuckled a bit at his comment.

Fanelen remained solemn. "However I was allowed to travel with you," she stated, "I wish to know what I have missed."

"We're discussing which route to take to Minas Anor," Meneciriel explained. "For now our best option seems to be to cross the Misty Mountains into the land of the Beornings."

"I see," Fanelen replied. "That sounds like a reasonable plan..."

[Anarya SilverBranch]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor, Lonely Mountain^ ^ ^ ^

Glaven walked briskly down the hall, his long maroon robes swishing at his boots. The grey walls seemed to generate cold, making his thin pale figure shake. He had always
been a weak dwarf, ill health was his bane, but this did not hinder him from doing work.

As the King's Royal Head Scribe and an advisor in the court, he was skilled in the ways of
pen and tongue, twisting and forming words to make something seem believable or seem
like a lie. That was his specialty.

However, when he received a message from the king requesting his appearance at a
meeting, he had no explanation. There were rumours flying about the halls about dark
riders from the human country of Gondor coming to the Lonely Mountain bearing requests
from a man king. Men were a mixed lot, in Glaven's mind. They delved in the earth and
forged metal which was respectable, but they also had the unfortunate tendency to
communicate too closely with elves.

Glaven could have spit when he thought that despicable word. Elves, the disease of all
dwarfkind. He had read too much in his forty years of the ill deeds of that horrible race.
Yet now that that traitor, Gimli son of Gloin, had taken up residence with one of them, it
made him even more sick.

Glaven snorted with disgust as he turned the corner to the hall where he was to meet
the king. Then he saw another figure going in the same direction and recognized the
burly, robust form and stomping tread.

"Hail, friend Frain!" He called to the stout form of the Head Engineer, "Pray, where are
you headed?"

[Alkanoonion]

******HARAD/UMBAR******

‘Fuinur chuckled in agreement, great plan Herumir, devious but masterful. I will prepare to leave within the hour.'

‘Great. When you are ready to leave stop by the palace and we will leave together.’

Later that day while Herumir was putting on his sword, a shadow passed by the window. Herumir turned to look and noticed that a great winged hawk had settled down on the windowsill. Herumir approached the hawk with caution, slowly moving forward so as not to disturb the bird. When Herumir was a few feet from the hawk, the bird snapped its beak just missing his hand. 'Dammed buzzard!’

The bird hopped onto a chair and across the table. Herumir had noticed a message was tied to its leg. Curious Herumir once again tried to capture the hawk. The secret parchment could be important. However, the bird seemed to have taken a dislike towards Herumir. Each time he got close to the bird, it would hop to the next chair or table. After several attempts, Herumir started to get annoyed at the bird. He was about to swing at it with his sword when a great booming laugh sounded across the room.

Herumir spun around to see who would dare laugh at him. He saw that it was the Dragon returned from making his preparations.
‘What is so funny Fuinur?’, demanded a wounded Herumir.

‘You, you old dog. Why are you dancing around the room with a bird? Are you attempting to court it? I never knew the women in these parts were so scarce.’

‘If you must know it has a message on its leg and I was trying to catch it.’

‘ Although I have enjoyed seeing you dancing with a bird, let me try to capture your message.’ So saying, Fuinur put his arm out and whistled sharply. The bird returned the call with one of its own and flew into the outstretched arm of Fuinur. The Dragon untied the letter and handed it to Herumir with his free hand. Seeing the expression on Herumir’s face, Fuinur quickly hid all signs of mirth.

Herumir took the letter and read its contents and screamed for a scribe.

‘What is the matter’ said Fuinur.

‘Our plans have changed it seems, read this. Herumir passed the letter back to Fuinur who took the letter in his free hand. The hawk meanwhile had started to pick at a gold thread that was loose on Fuinur's tunic.

"Fuinur gazed at the letter in disbelief. Urken the Bear had written to them offering to help them find their way through the city's secret passages and fortifications. All he wanted in return was to be taken along with the delegation."

Fuinur looked up at Herumir
‘What is your reply? Do we risk the attack, or do we accept the Bear’s proposal?’

Herumir looked at Fuinur, ‘we accept. Urken has the power to destroy us. It does not hurt us to be diplomatic, but… if we refuse, things could get disastrous. You do not refuse one of the "Kingmakers" and live long enough to regret it’.

Herumir walked to the door and called for a scribe to write a message.

Urken the Bear, Warrior Priest of the Guild of the Black Numenoreans. Greetings.

After receiving you message, and consulting with Fuinur the king of Leowenna, I am happy to accept your offer for help. We will meet with you on the outskirts of Umbar one day hence.

Kings Herumir and Fuinur

[ September 26, 2002: Message edited by: Alkanoonion ]

[VanimaEdhel]

**********Rhûn**********

Lovek looked around thinking. He still had not dismissed his men, so he knew they would still be practicing. He looked out towards the city, and spied a stable boy going past the door. Lovek grabbed the stable boy roughly.

"You, boy. Do you know the way to the training grounds?"

"I-I...yes, sir," the boy said, looking down, frightened.

"Go there...here, have this," Lovek gave the boy the necklace he carried in a pouch, "Give them this so that they will know that it is me. Tell them I told them they are dismissed until tomorrow. Then, take this to Grivek. Tell him to keep it until my return, and that he should take control of my men until then. Can you handle that?"

"Y-yes," the boy stuttered. Lovek pushed the boy away and the boy ran in the direction of the training grounds. Lovek turned back to the others.

"As for you..."

"Yes, Lord?" Khuleln said.

"Well, it seems that we are nearly packed. I know not what Great Captain Mislavini desires us to do next..."

Lovek paused and thought a bit.

"Well, as we seem to have time, at ease, men. Ulwyte, will you speak with me a second?"

Khuleln watched Lovek and Ulwyte disappear into a side room. Lovek closed the door behind him and turned to Ulwyte.

"You are young," he said accusingly, "I am not used to such young people in my company."

"Yes?" Ulwyte asked, fairly respectfully.

Lovek came in close to Ulwyte and spoke gruffly.

"Well, I just want you to know that, even though you are young, you will receive no special treatment on this mission. More will be expected of you. I know about you young men these days. You have no discipline. You think that you may use your army status for women and drink. I would like you to know that, because you are young, I may call on you to do more. Although I am still fit, youth is still better in things of stealth. So, I will have no shirking from you, or you will be left behind. And, if you continue to pursue and delay us, I will have no concerns with killing you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Ulwyte said, backing away. Lovek took another step closer.

"I have seen more than you can ever imagine, boy. Do not tangle with me. It is bad enough that we must go have dealings with the Westlands now. I will not tolerate laziness. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Ulwyte said, looking right into Lovek's eyes. Lovek was surprised, for none had dared to look into his eyes in a long time. Lovek took the step back, this time, startled.

"Well," he said, his voice nearly faltering at his surprise at the boy's courage, "You may leave now."

He mustered up his dignity again and opened the door, indicating that Ulwyte should leave. Ulwyte complied and left, going back to the stables with Kheleln. Lovek remained in the room and shut the door behind him.

"That Ulwyte will need some watching," Lovek said, speaking out loud, "Kheleln has experience. He will know what to do. But Ulwyte is young. I will keep my eye on him."

Lovek looked around the room, thinking about the many things he had seen in his life and the many insolent young boys he had broken. He hoped Ulwyte would not be as these boys were, constantly disobeying him.

Lovek took a breath in, then opened the door and went back out into the stables to see what the other men were doing.

[ September 26, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[GreatWarg]

* * * * * Rhuûn Nation * * * * *

Ulwyte nearly snorted out loud again. Truly! He had been on quite a few journeys, and was no stranger to disobedience. A trip through the wild meant nothing to Ulwyte, even if it was to a land he did not know. It was like any trade trip he had gone on, accompanied with his father. And as for slowing them down? Ulwyte didn't think that this captain had any idea how much experience Ulwyte had, young as he was.

Returning to the stables, he found that Khuleln was also finished packed and adding a few finishing touches.

'Are all captains like Lovek?' Ulwyte wondered out loud to himself. Lovek certainly seemed harsher than others. But perhaps a lifetime of experience gave him the harsh attitude.

[ October 01, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[*Varda*]

The trap-cart trundled down the road towards the Grey Havens, then onto the Shire. Serin looked around him with interest, curious about the strange new lands that lay about him. This was indeed a big change from the stone halls of the Ered Luin, where dwarves mined deep in search of precious materials. He could only wonder why he had not travelled before.

Mikhelm sat beside him, a grumpy look on his face. He still could not understand the point of the dwarves becoming acquainted with the world around them. His friends Fili and Kili had died after leaving the safety of the Ered Luin, and he had never seen Balin again, last hearing he had left for Moria.

Theron called to them from his comfortable seat in the back.

“Make more speed, my friends. We want to reach the Havens by later today! We must make haste to reach Minas Tirith, we are the furthest away. It would not look well if we were late, would it?”

Serin didn’t respond, but only urged the ponies on a little faster.

[Kettle of fish]

*****DALE*****

Rubin smiled as he left following Girion, but ironed out his smile before Girion turned around, fighting the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

5..4..3..2..

"Perhaps we should celebrate our journey with a drink, a quick detour to an inn wouldn't slow us down." Girion said

Rubin coughed meaningfully and remembered the last fiasco. It had been a good thing that Rubin knew for certain that coin was effective in keeping the innkeeper's mouth firmly closed.

It was important that they get to Mirkwood quickly. If they were late for the meeting, the king and Dale be shamed and his own father would consider him responsible.

They started off, Girion wearing his puppy dog face. Rubin coughed loudly again, before turning to look into the distance with a smile.

"Why don't we take that way that doesn't go pass the tavern?"

[ September 28, 2002: Message edited by: Kettle of fish ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Harad/Umber

Urken rubbed his hands together and smiled. The message lay before him on the table. So the two planned to meet with him outside the city gates one day hence. The meeting would take place under cover of night. One part of his plan seemed to be falling into place.

He wanted to be very careful not to make any mistakes. Trade had never interested him in and of itself. But he did see it as a valuable tool which could lead towards other things. His family had inherited enough land and status to live comfortably. And Urken was not one whe felt compelled to pile up large quantities of goods. But, still, how was he to get in and see Elessar with a small delegation?

And trade did seem to be a magic word right now: not just in Harad, but all across the lands of Middle-earth. With the war over, people's thoughts seemed to turn quite naturally towards their physical comfort and security. If trading was required, he could definitely learn how to negotiate deals with the very best!

With that in mind, he looked down at a letter just returned by the messenger. It came from a trusted underling whom he had secured a position for in the household of Gramil. He read over the letter with interest, noting the arrival of Jarl from Dale. Yes, he would definitely need to keep an eye on that situation!

Urken rose and called for his manservant. He instructed him to pack his belongings for an extended trip away from home, and to prepare his oliphaunt and steed for possible transport on a ship. Then, he went to the locked cupboard and took out his personal weapons. He pulled out an ancient sword, It was plain and unadorned, but its blade was still gleaming and sharp as if it had been made just yesterday. Yet, it was said to be one which had originated in the drowned lands of Akallabeth.

Beside the sword was a bow and two daggers. The latter had been purchased at considerable expense through one of the rare dwarf caravans still operating. The daggers were rumored to be of Elvish origin.

He slid the daggers into the sides of his boots, strapped the sword to his waist, and slung the bow over his shoulder. Then he went down to the stables to mount his steed and go down to the harbor. He wanted to take a good look at those ships, their layout and defenses, in preparation for their assault.

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^ ^ ^ ^

Nodding his head in agreement and then bowing to Stonehelm, Hringa withdrew through a rear door, hidden behind a heavy, embroidered curtain. At the opposite end of the room, the two summoned dwarves entered and Stonehelm observed them closely. Here rode the hopes and aspirations of Erebor. Both men were strong willed, accomplished, tenacious. They had very different goals and aspirations, very different outlooks on life. Stonehelm did not doubt each dwarf individually, but he did hope they could put aside their different interests to ensure the success of the mission.

He stood up to accept their greetings and both Glavin and Frain bowed low, three times, each struggling to put aside their own thoughts with an appropriate measure of decorum.

Stonehelm addresssed them:

Glavin, your face looks like thunder itself, so crossed with frowns and anger. Do your eyes dagger me or some pain in that aching body of yours? And Frain, what crossed thoughts lie behind your cloaked, shrewd stares?

Stonehelm directed them to the large black oak table, ornately carved and strewn with maps, parchment, scrolls, even some delving tools and crafted wares. He seated himself but did not direct either dwarf to be seated. He decided to wait until they answered him. He needed to ensure that they would know how to answer a king without giving up anything.

http://www.gamers-forums.com/smilies/otn/other/vikingsmiley.gif

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Girion *****

They had bypassed the Inn, and any hope of a drink and some fun fled Girion. Rubin seemed less willing to give in to his wishes this time, he thought. More focused on this trip than on accomodating the King's son. He challenged him on this. 'Are you not my attendant, Rubin!' he said. 'Should not my wants come first to you?'

It was a childish statement, thought Rubin. Though not completely without precedent in their long history together. He met it with a statement, more serious in tone. 'My first duty is to the King and to Dale.' replied Rubin, in an even tone. 'As is yours.'

He looked the future of Dale squarely in the face. 'The King has directed me that we are to make haste to Eryn Lasgalen to meet with Orodan and his party. There are to be no hindrances to the swift completion of this journey. Once there, we will proceed with them on the route they have chosen to Minas Anor. It is imperative that we arrive for King Elessar's audience in due time, and that you present Dale's proposal's to him. This was his directive to me. And I intend to see it done.'

Girion opened his mouth as if to retort, then closed it, thinking better of it.

Rubin moved ahead of Girion, the packhorse trailing behind. Girion was left to his sobering thoughts as they moved through the sere and dusty plain known as the Desolation of Smaug.

That night saw them camped a little more than halfway to the place where the Forest met the Forest River. Girion had spent a long time wrestling with his views on what his father expected of him for this mission.

He took the letter and proposals which his father and the Master had crafted and read them carefully in the light of the campfire. As usual, he was struck with how keen a mind his father had, and how he used that mind and all his resources to further the good of Dale. He felt humbled as he read it, wondering if he would ever be able to do such things.

Sleep was a long time in coming, and the new day to soon arrived. Rubin woke him, and they broke their fast quickly with sweet tea, bread, and cheese. Then they were on their way again.

The miles seemed to go faster as the great expanse of forest came into view. The midday meal was eaten in the saddle, and by early evening they had reached the appointed place.

Rubin held the horse, as Girion dismounted and strode to where Orodan was standing.

'Well met, my friend!' said Girion. 'We are here! Now what's for supper!'

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Elenna]

*****Rivendell*****

After the others had left, Meneciriel still sat at the table, running fingers over the map of Middle Earth. It seemed like only a few inches from Rivendell to the White City, but she knew that it would be a very, very long time before she would return.

Also, she worried about what would happen to her home while she was gone. Elrond grew every day less and less interested in taking care of his house, and Meneciriel and her husband Erestor had been doing much. But, even though in her heart she knew everything would be fine, her fears did not abate.

Pushing worry aside, she began to work on an inventory list for the journey. After all, there will be much that we will need.she thought to herself.

[Brinniel]

*********HARAD/UMBAR*********

King Herumir sat in his private quarters, deep in thought. He knew soon enough Urken would receive the message. He and Fuinur planned to depart early the next morning and head for the place they had promised to meet him.

Though meeting Urken seemed safer than to attack, Herumir was still wary. He planned to bring along ten other men for protection. Once he and Fuinur have met Urken and felt trustworthy of him, Herumir would release the men. Then he, Fuinur, and Urken would travel alone with perhaps Fuinur's servant, Seth. If this plan worked, they would hopefully reach Gondor within a short time.

A knock on the door interrupted King Herumir's thoughts. He got up and opened it and found Seth standing there, his face grim.
"King Fuinur wishes to speak with you," he said, his hands motioning behind him.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar ****

The guards at the counting house parted easily for Gramil who nodded to them casually, commenting to one, "Gormack! Good to see you back." He had never picked up the habit of treating underlings as furniture, and was probably the only one who knew of Gormack's sick daughter. The guard was trained not to smile or speak on duty, but his eyes sparkled with good news, Garlin could see. He'd find out later how she was.

The counting house of King Fuinur was a long low room filled with marble topped tables. The first impression one had was of tables, row upon row. The next was all of scrolls.. scrolls stored on floor-to-ceiling shelves so that the highest could only be reached by ladders; scrolls spread out or stacked on tables; scrolls on carts wheeled from one table to another; scrolls rising like cords of firewood behind which the clerks, most of whom were members of Gramil's family apprenticed to him, could hardly been seen. Lastly, because such a staggering display the mind could hardly comprehend, one saw the gold. It was piled upon the every table, and shelves below, stacked neatly upon the carts. It was poured into scales, measured against lead, and the lead was found wanting. Gold filled the eye, until all the tables and scrolls were forgotten. It seemed even the air was filled with it, as dust danced golden in the sunlight from the high windows that covered both the east and west wall.

Gramil ignored it. He knew the real wealth of the realm was contained in those scrolls, lists of tithed goods and land.

The bustling room fell silent. All eyes turned to him curiously, expectant. The news of his meeting with the King had spread like wildfire. Gramil knew one person who would welcome his news more than any other.

"Ethar, I will need maps." The young man barely glanced up.

"Of - ?"

"The route to Nurn." That had the insolent boy's attention. "Then I want you to find out all you can about this Jarl of Dale. Well? Off with you!" The suddenly hopeful young man scampered up the stairs to Gramil's quarters.

Gramil felt sorry he had been forced to leave the lad behind that last trip to Nurn, which would have been Ethar's first. His real purpose had been too dangerous to bring one who knew nothing of either trade or Nurn. Ethar wasn't the only one to remain, but he had clearly taken it hard. Yet his attitude proved to Gramil he had made the right decision.

Once again he thought to send the boy home to his family, and once again decided against it. He would give Ethar one more chance rather than send him home in disgrace. He had promise. A quick mind, if an equally quick temper.

Gramil gave quick orders, sending two or three nephews to the bazaar and entertainment houses: they would need supplies for a month, plus guards. "The best," he said, "see if you can hire men of Umbar.

"And I want a full accounting of expenses - ! Only the essentials. Just because King Fuinur trusts us too much does not mean we should prove him wrong."

"Dancing girls are of course essential, yes?" one young man joked.

"Naturally," Gramil said drily.

********

Ethar combed through Gramil's private closets, searching for maps of his famous route. He could not believe his luck! He thought the stranger from Umbar was crazy asking him for information. Nothing ever happened in the counting house. But now he had something to report. He thought now to sell the information, but decided against it. He'd wait until he had something they really needed.

This place is a mess, he decided after he found the maps Gramil the Gryphon required. He paused a moment to read the King's invitation on his table, impressed by the royal seal. What it must have been like to meet with the King himself in person, Ethar thought, visualizing the opulent throne room he had seen once. Gryphons are lucky, and Gramil was no exception. How he could have thrown it away to rot in this place, Ethar could not understand.

After depositing the maps on Gramil's table, everyone was scattered and the counting house closed now for the afternoon, Ethar slipped behind the guards and disappeared into the street crowd, unnoticed. Being rather small and wirey was an advantage sometimes.

He searched skies painted orange with the setting sun, frustrated. The hawk had come to him nearly every day when he had nothing to report. Now, he had great news, and it was nowhere to be seen. Typical. He decided his news couldn't wait, and approached a homing pigeon vendor. Ethar carefully used his own spending money purchase a bird from Umbar, instead of using the King's credit as he normally would.

Eagerly he wrote his message to the stranger from the Guild. A pigeon, looking like any other pigeon, lifted into the sky, and disappeared into the sun.

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn * * * * *

Because the main door to the stable stood wide open, the three were able to see a group of riders that rounded the corner at the far end of the street. Several horsemen approached their position, each in the dark uniform of the Captain's Guard. At their lead was Kasteni, also dressed in black but wearing a coat of bright mail that gleamed from beneath his cloak. The riders pushed through the crowded avenue in a tight formation, forcing all traffic they passed to yield or be trampled. Finally, they stopped directly in front of Lovek and Kasteni dismounted.

"I see that you are prepared," he said to the old soldier. "That is good. It is afternoon and already later than I had hoped start, so we must be on our way as soon as my chariot is ready."

He looked back to the nearest rider and said, "I want my chariot ready to travel in no more than 15 minutes."

The rider jumped from his horse, took the reins of Kasteni's gray stallion, and led it into the stable.

Gesturing to the riders, he said, "These guards will accompany us on our journey. They will be under my command but are under instruction to protect us from any dangers on our road. It is likely we will need their aid, especially after we cross into Winzlen. The men there are not to be trusted, for they have often given allegiance to the Bardlings. And though they have promised peace, four strangers traveling through such a land would be an tempting target for brigands. So, I have brought extra protection."

They wait a few minutes in silence until the rider returned leading a Kasteni's steed, now pulling a golden war chariot. The Chief Advisor strode forward and stroked the beast's muzzle, murmuring quiet assurances to the animal.

“This is Petrij, Hammer-Hoof, my best field horse. He is a warrior, a true fighting spirit, and his lineage is of the Eorlean stock, for his parents were liberated from the Horselands long ago by now-dead thieves. Petrij will pull me anywhere without fear.”
Kasteni climbed into his chair and grabbed the reins.

“Mount your horses. It is time to go. We must reach the Kiseljak Hostel by nightfall.

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Ransom]

=Rivendell=

A figure cloaked in gray slipped through the long, empty corridor of Rivendell. He could remember the time when these halls had been full of light and laughter. The Age of the Elves are coming to an end. His father’s words seemed to echo around him, weighing him down. And this bothered him. More than ever, he needed the façades and the skills he had developed all his life. Why was he letting this trip bother him so?

He made a sharp left, heading toward the stables. Elladan will be there packing for our trip. He must be.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++++++

Elrohir sighed with annoyance. Elladan was not in his room, the kitchens, and the library. He probably had decided to go see the horses. Elrohir would have to take a trip outside.

The wind insisted on blowing his long brown hair into his face, a situation that was beginning to annoy him. Without stopping, he fished a leather strap out of his pocket and began to gather his hair into a ponytail. He did not notice Meneciriel as she supervised the packing of provisions directly in front of him.

Meneciriel tried to step out of the way of this new arrival, but her feet were not fast enough. Elrohir’s foot caught hers, and both went tumbling to the cobbles. Elrohir ended up softening Meneciriel’s fall, for she had somehow fallen on top of him. He gingerly moved his limbs and established that nothing had been broken. This is NOT a good way to start a journey.

[VanimaEdhel]

**********Rhûn Nation**********

Lovek nodded, "Yes, Grand Captain."

He turned to the other two men.

"You heard him. I will prepare my horse, then I will come back and aid if you have not yet accomplished finding horses for yourself."

Lovek went to Ratislav's stall and took the large horse out. He went to the tack room and got the big, thick bridle, and came back out. Ratislav willingly took his harsh master's bit, then received the saddle when Lovek provided it, hardly flinching for, although his master was hard, he never rode Ratislav until the point that his back hurt. The girth was cinched and the stirrups dropped. Rataslav stood as Lovek went back to help the others, but he saw they had found horses.

Lovek mounted Ratislav, and the horse pranced nervously, for he knew that the horrible screaming of battle was likely to come soon.

Lovek watched the other two men mount up critically.

Ah, I wonder what sort of a mission this shall be, Lovek thought. I hope Ulwyte is not as untrained and irresponsible as he appears. Well, as the Grand Captain is along, I shall not have too much responsibility over the boy...

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar ****

Gramil crumpled the invitation in his hand, a rude way to treat such an elegantly drawn confection, but there it was. With the king gone - and Jarl had no doubt the absence of his private guard meant exactly that, despite the clerk's assurances he merely 'detained' - the jackels gathered. He stalked out of the counting house waving off his carriage, choosing to walk to the bazaar instead. The sky was turning purple, and music chimed ahead, but he had a good two hours yet before he was required at this 'State Dinner.'

The road was wide and cobbled, and at this cooling hour, nearly impassable, as the city came to life. He saw a carriage stranded, with elegantly dressed ladies crossly waving fans as the driver attempted to wend his way around a large sleepy bull that had decided to sit in the road. Vendors declared their goods, and the gamers, who arrived every evening and disappeared by dawn, called out their sure-fire wins from colorful stalls set up in the middle of the street. The nightly carnival had begun. Children scampered between the stalls, laughing and shouting to eachother, narrowly missing a troupe of dancers and acrobats who had "performed for the king himself, the Lion of Leonarra!"

Somewhere across the city Jarl of Dale was receiving an invitation to a 'State Dinner' that evening, similar to Gramil's. Of course, there was no State without King Fuinur, but a foreigner would not know this, and believe he was required to attend. No one of any import would come if the King weren't present.

Gramil felt obligated to accept an invitation he normally would have 'received it too late, so sorry' just to save Jarl of Dale - and the trade he represented - from the empty promises and power plays of lesser ambitious families. But he wished he had had more time to learn of this Jarl. Where was young Ethar? His eyes scanned the growing crowd, past dresses in a swirl of bright colors and jingling bells, with little hope of finding him. Gramil would have to gather what information he could on his own.

His one meeting was promising though, Gramil smiled, hoping Jarl traded better than he rode.

Gramil bought a stick of cubed, spiced beef from a vendor, the fat still sizzling as it was handed to him, and prepared for the worst. He hoped Jarl of Dale knew to eat before this gathering, though he thought it unlikely. Who would guess these 'State Dinners' tended to be more 'State' than 'Dinner'?

******

"Eh, haven't seen him much," Molnar said from behind his beaded curtains. The glass beads glittered in the torchlight of firebreathers nearby. Molnar was an old friend of Gramil's who ran more than this counter - his main business was off the books. "This Jarl, he's up in his rooms all day they say. His apprentice, what say, Garvin's his name, he's about. Or was the Garlin? Something like that. No tradesman he, hah! Seven spots just for fruit. Hee-hee. Saw him with your Ethar by the pigeons, not an hour ago."

"What does Dale need with pigeons?" Gramil puzzled.

"Don't know. But they - Ethar and Garlin.. whichever.. they go deep into the bazaar. That way." Molnar waggled his eyebrows and Gramil the Gryphon rolled his eyes at the direction they had taken. There the black market came to you. As did the wine carts. He suspected the boys would be good for little the next morning.

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[The Fifth]

**********Rhûn Nation**********

Khuleln, looking for a horse, turned towards the horse that had gone mad earlier from the spider. He opened the stall door, letting it swing forth. He then searched about for a bridle and reins, and set them snugly, but not too tightly, upon the equine's head. He also set the saddle on, then mounted it.

Khuleln appeared to be ready for battle, with the helm upon his head, the light armor upon his breast, and the sheath of the sword attatched to the belt of his blackish-brownish jerkin. He watched Ulwyte pick out a fine bay horse and mount it. Thinking out loud, he said to his horse, "Ai, Spidernose!" He grinned a bit at himself for a moment when the guards looked at each other in brief confusion, for Khuleln was making fun of the horse, and the horse seemed to understand, looking quite annoyed.

[ September 27, 2002: Message edited by: The Fifth ]

[GreatWarg]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Ulwyte urged his horse near to Khuleln. He leaned over the horse's head. 'You know, Khuleln, that horse may just buck you off when we get to a tall cliff.' Ulwyte chuckled good-naturedly, leading his horse to 'Barking Captain' Lovek and Kasteni.

'All is ready,' he said. Except maybe that horse and Lovek's foul mood, Ulwyte thought to himself. They were now only waiting for Kasteni's chariot to arrive. Of course, any politician in such a position would want to ride in style.

[ October 01, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Thenamir]

=========== Blue Mountains =========

Theron Axehand was not an overly greedy dwarf, as dwarves went, but an idea kept growing in his mind the longer they bouced along the road. A thought that stuck to the inside of his brain and would not be shaken loose, no matter how roughly the jostling of the cart rattled him.

After the War of the Ring, the few of the dwarves who actually participated returned with news, and stories. The news of Balin's death had hit them all very hard -- the Belegost dwarves would have packed up and taken the battle right to the Balrog in vengeance, though they might have died in the attempt. But another piece of news piqued his interest. It was said that Olorin had destroyed Durin's Bane.

Moria of old, the Dwarrowdelf, greatest of the cities of the Khuzd! The only place in Middle Earth where mithril, the truesilver, could be found. Without the balrog to lead and inspire the orcs of Moria, they would be leaderless, scattered, unorganized...the time was ripe for retaking Moria for good.

And the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains had as much of a claim as anyone to Moria - Balin Longbeard, the last Lord of Moria, still had relatives in Belegost. Surely the dwarves who wanted more "openness" with the surrounding lands might want to re-colonize Moria.

Theron was aroused form his half-planning-half-daydreaming by a particularly nasty jolt as the cart crossed a rut. He spoke none of his thoughts aloud just yet...this was something he must ponder awhile, an idea that must simmer before coming to complete readiness...

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Jarl *****

'A State Dinner!' mused Jarl, looking carefully at the gilded invitation that had been laid on the table beside his door. 'An interesting concept, seeing the King and the State are one, or so I recall.' He wondered what lay behind this invitation.

His sources, some of them trustworthy, some not, hinted that the King had recently left the city. Destination unknown. It was rumored, though, that he was travelling with King Fuinur.

The King would not be present at the dinner, that he was fairly sure of. Who would be? He left his room and hurried down to the street below.

A short walk brought him to a dusty tavern down an unnamed side street. He went in, and stood for a while, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. The windows were shuttered against the heat of the afternoon, and the only light leaked in through narrow slits between the boards. The tavern appeared empty of customers. Only the tavern keeper and a serving boy looked up from the bar when he entered.

Then, he saw the one he wanted, sitting hunched over a dirty glass filled with some amber liquid, back booth. Catching his eye, Jarl nodded imperceptibly at him, approached the booth when beckoned, and sat down. The serving boy arrived, dirty rag in hand, and smeared the dust in different patterns on the tabletop.

'You wish something to drink?' asked the boy, directing his question to the old man whom Jarl had joined, then nodded also at Jarl. A look of disbelief shown on his face as Jarl answered him, with a small smile 'Two of these.' he said, indicating the glass the old man held. The drinks were quickly brought, and Jarl paid for them, giving the boy a handsome tip so that he and the tavern keeper might occupy themselves at the bar, away from the table.

'What is it you wish to know, Jarl of Dale?' asked the old man. His eyes shown shrewdly in his leathered face. Jarl fingered his glass, turning it slowly on the dusty table before him. 'There is to be a State Dinner this evening. I need to know who will attend, and what they represent. A short list will do. I need some background on who I'll be dealing with.' Jarl passed four gold 'dragons' across the table. 'Can you get this to me soon?' he asked 'An hour, perhaps?'

The old man looked at him , eyebrows raised. 'An hour! You ask much of my poor resources!' Jarl passed two more coins across to him, smiling. 'Done! and done!' said the old man, pocketing them. He raised his glass to his lips and drank it quickly.

'Is there anything else you require?' he asked.

'Just one last thing.' said Jarl, draining his own drink. 'The whereabouts of Herumir.'
The old man blanched, and rubbed his neck, already feeling the blade laid on it. Jarl leaned in close, across the table, 'Ten dragons for that information. Five when it is delivered, and five if it prove true.'

Jarl stood and strode quickly to the door, nodding at the boy and the tavern keeper. He walked down the street and ducked between two old buildings, standing still in the deep shadow that lay between them.

He saw the old man leave the tavern and hurry down the street to it's corner. The old man beckoned to a person leaning idly against the side of a dilapidated vendor's booth. He whispered in the person's ear, and something passed from hand to hand. The person, now Jarl could see it was a young appearing man, hurried quickly in one direction while the old man walked swiftly in another.

Jarl returned to his rooms. To wash the grime from himself, and then to dress for dinner. By that time, he expected to have the information he needed to navigate the evening.

Along the way, he stopped at several vendors' stalls to purchase food and drink. If this were like most State Dinners, he thought, he would have need of it.

[ September 28, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Kettle of fish]

***** Dale *****

Rubin was pleased that they had managed to meet up with Orodan in so little time. He stood silently with the horses as Girion greeted Orodan.

When they started travelling again, Rubin dropped his horse to travel behind Girion's - he and Orodan were talking as they rode.

Though he greatly respected Orodan, he was already regretting the extra company since he had to keep any teasing remarks to Girion unsaid. Much of the midday heat was filtered by the trees, and for this he was glad. Hopefully they would be out of the forest before long.

[Ringwraith Number Two]

******The Shire******

Orlo glanced up the sky- they had just passed Bywater. Perfect journeying weather- he hoped it wouldn't get too hot. Realising he was lagging behind the rest of the hobbits, he gave the reins of the pony a little shake to make him trot faster. He may have imagined it, but he thought Hardo gave him a disapproving look. He wasn't quite sure as to what to think of the elderly hobbit, but he thought it was best to keep out of his way to avoid reprimands.

Odo, on the other hand, was a slightly younger chap than himself, and he liked him. Brando seemed very mischievous, and Orlo made a mental note to keep an eye on him at all time.

He glanced up at the sky again, and his stomach rumbled loudly. He looked hopefully at the other hobbits, hoping that they would make some remark about lunch.

[ September 28, 2002: Message edited by: Ringwraith Number Two ]

[Faye Took]

*******SHIRE********

Odo slowed down and got near to Orlo. 'I see your a bit hungry?' Orlo nodded holding his stomach. Odo reached into one of his side bags and pulled out a freshly baked bluebarry muffin. Odo handed the muffin to Orlo, and he began to eat it. Odo let out a little giggle, while watching Orlo stuff his mouth. 'Anuthor pleez.' Orlo said with a full mouth. Odo patted him on the back and handed him another. 'This is your last one. We'll need the rest for later.'

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^^

After their introductions, Frain stood near the table, seemingly speechless. He looked with stern eyes on the young King and in Frain's mind all he could think of was how unsuitable this dwarf was to be a king. He seemed so young and inferior, unable to comprehend anything going on around him.

When the King had heard suitable replies, Stonehelm invited them to be seated.

"I have summoned you here so you can decide which route you will take," the king started.

"So it is true, my King? That a messenger has come from Minas Arnor?" Frain suddenly was snapped back to reality from his thoughts. So the rumors were true.

"Yes, I have recieved a message saying that in little over a month an audience with the new King of Men will be held in the White City. I have been asked to send delegates, but as I do not trust the Men entirely I give you, Frain, the choice of a few exceptional engineers. I shall also send my chief delegate, Glaven," the King explained, taking note of Frain's interruption.

"Sir, what do we the people of Erebor need to talk to the Men about? And besides, it is a long way to Gondor, and there are still orcs about the hills," Glaven asked, with his already pale face turning almost white.

"That is what you are here to discuss. Now, the Elves of Mirkwood have sent a message asking the men of Dale and us to go with them. The dwarves of the Blue Mountains have sent us message saying they would like to discuss, when we are all in Minas Tirith, the rights of Khazad-dum. They believe they have some right to claim it," Stonehelm spoke now as though a heaviness was on his heart.

"Elves? They are dispiccable!! And the dwarves of the Blue Mounts have not had much to do with our place in Moria! We have nothing here to discuss!!We will go to Minas Tirith by ourselves and give those dwarves something to think about!" Glaven spoke in outrage, for he had little love for Elves.

"Now, now, young Glaven. I am prepared to debate a little. So long as," Frain spoke and looked from Glaven to the King. "As long as there is a suitable amount of payment, I would be delighted to talk to some of my best teams of engineers."

A gleam was caught at that moment in Frain's eye.

[ September 28, 2002: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Carnëiach]

Brando crept up behind the older hobbits. He jumped from behind a tree at Odo, who let out a yell.
"How can, I didnt...scoundrel!" The older hobbit huffed up before walking away and sitting near the others, eating a miffin self righteously.
The hobbit boy looked slightly phased and sighed. Theyd all taken against him for no reason! Ok, so maybe he liked a joke now and again, but still...
Brando shrugged and sat down with his own muffin, humming quietly and imagining what it would be like to meet the elves...

[Susan Delgado]

After finishing his own muffin- which was too dry- Hardo stood up and remounted his pony.

"Come on, people. We have to be at least in Whitfurrows by dark, and preferably over the Bridge of Stonebows and out of the Shire. If we have to go on this journey, we should get it over with as quickly as possible so we can come back. Not that that's very likely with the state of the world these days."

The others looked disappointed and a little rebellious, but when Hardo took off down the road without them, they had no choice but to mount and follow. The ponies objected to the cantering no less than their riders, but Hardo was quite serious when he said he wanted to out of the Shire by nightfall and they reached the Bridge a good two hours before the sun set. Even Hardo couldn't complain about their timing.

They paused just over the Bridge for a light supper, and when Hardo wanted to push on down the road while there was still light, he met universal resistance. The others had expected a leasurely, holiday-like trip South andHardo had severly upset their expectations with his hard ride through the Shire. They absolutely refused to go any farther this day. In fact, Orlo wanted to go back to Whitfurrows to find an Inn, but he was voted down. The ended up camping on the side of the road about two miles past the Bridge. The ground was too hard and lumpy to get a decent sleep, of course, and Hardo didn't know how the others had dropped off like they had.

[Isilya]

******MIRKWOOD******

Isilya walked into the room. Orodan and Nefros had been talking, but stopped when they saw her approach.

“My lord, when we arrive in Minas Anor, I would like to know how long the summons will last?”

“Of that, I am not sure, Isilya. I can guarantee you that we will be there for a number of days. How much more than that, we will find out when we get there.”

At this, Nefros got up and left the room, leaving Isilya with Orodan.

“I happen to know that my father spoke to you of my brother, Prince Legolas. There is no need to be alarmed; this has been troubling my father for quite some time now. One piece of advice towards it, though. Do not mention that Thranduil wants him to come home. He put this task on you, because having, if you beg my pardon, an average citizen asks of his return is more effective than having his father beg it.”

Isilya nodded, understanding.

“My lord, I too wish for Prince Legolas to return, but what if I cannot convince him? I would severely hate to have disappointed him.”

“If you cannot convince him, so be it. He was always a stubborn person, and did not take lightly to requests, especially from family members. Ah, Nefros, you have brought food!!”

[Ringwraith Number Two]

******The Shire******

Orlo's last thoughts before he dropped off to sleep were certainly very grumpy ones. He was tired out ("Thank you very much, Hardo Proudfoot"). He fell asleep, and dozed contentedly for a an hour or two before he was awoken by a persistent rumbling in his empty stomach. He sat up. The base of his spine ached where a stone had dug into it, and his legs were very stiff. "Nothing like a good fire to get rid of the pain!" he thought cheerfully. He leaned over and prodded Odo and Brando awake. He wondered whether to wake Hardo or not, but a warning voice in his head told him that Hardo wouldn't be very pleased to be woken up at midnight.

He smiled gleefully at the younger hobbits, and unpacked some firewood. Pretty soon, they were all pleasantly warm and munching away at toasted muffins.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Harad/Umbar

A sliver of a moon hung high in the sky, giving off only faint illumination. This was not the main gate which led into the city of Umbar but a side entrance. It was wide enough to let an oliphaunt through, but in a totally deserted location.

The entryway boasted a series of deep cisterns outside the city wall used for storing back-up water for the populace. For, in a climate as hot and dry as that of Harad and Umbar, water was a valuable commodity. Only two guards stood at the gateway. These two had their heads down and were deeply engrossed in a game of chance, spinning small bones in front of them on a large, flat stone.

The men never noticed the small party lurking in the surrounding brush. There were three hidden figures: Urken himself, and two of his most trusted household retainers. They approached the gateway with secrecy and swiftness. Within a single instant, both men had been sent sprawling into two of the deep cisterns. Despite their muffled cries, they were certain to remain undetected until at least the next morning when the first shift was to relieve at the gate. By that time, he and his visitors should be long gone.

Urken had sent back a messenger earlier that morning and instructed the two kings how and where to meet him. Their retinues should be approaching any moment now. The priest unlocked the gate with a large key which hung about his waist. Just south of the entrance,inside the city, but hidden to human eyes, was a concealed doorway. This led down by a broad ramp into a system of underground tunnels, with flat and spacious corridors.

These had been designed long ago to accomodate the wagons or oliphaunts loaded with pirate booty, providing a direct link between the port and the small city gate. From there, the raiders could transport their valuables to all parts of Harad. Urken had stationed ten foot soldiers down the hidden ramp, in case his guests proved less than hospitable. He did not think so, but it was better to be safe.

He had no intention of launching an assault on the city itself, which the kings had first suggested. It would be far wiser to slip silently down to the harbor, and take out the Corsairs on the few remaining ships. They would commandeer one or two vessels for their trip up the Anduin. His own guards would occupy the remaining boats and carefully "guard" them on behalf of the Harad Council, perhaps even on a permanent basis. He peered out carefully over the flat plain and thought he saw a distant retinue approach.

[ September 29, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Elenna]

*****Rivendell*****

Meneciriel scrambled to her feet. Her legs had twisted awkwardly underneath her, and they hurt, but nothing was broken.

Elrohir lay groaning on the stone floor of the stable. Ciri dropped to her knees next to him and began to expertly run her hands over his limbs. "Well, nothing's broken."

"Except my pride." Ciri lauged and offered him a hand up.

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn * * * * *

Kasteni coughed and spoke quietly to Lovek. “Do not address me as Great Captain. His lordship Mislavini is the only one worthy of that title. You may call me Advisor, as is my proper title. Someone of your experience should set an example for your younger colleagues.”

He turned to the other two and said, “I see you have chosen appropriate mounts for our journey. Such strong beasts will be needed on the long road ahead of his.”

Grabbing the reins of his chariot he shouted, “Let us ride!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The representatives of Ozren rode at a moderate pace through the great west gates of Ozvalda. Kasteni led them, followed closely by his three chosen warriors. Around and slightly behind them, the 11 uniformed members of Mislavini’s Guards held a loose formation that would allow them to surge forward and protect the Advisor at the first sign of danger. Crowds of merchants and visitors seeking entrance into the city gawked at the site of the group, but all of them moved quickly aside to allow the Advisor to pass unhindered.

The group soon passed the throng and rode along the highway that ran westward from the city. On either side for as far as they eye could see were small farms surrounded by fields, mostly empty now that the harvest had passed. Most farmers were in the city filling Mislavini’s silos and selling what little was left for their personal gain. Occasionally the riders would pass a lone oxen-drawn cart that made its slow way toward Ozvalda.

After several miles the road left the great plain that surrounded Ozren’s capital city and climbed slowly into bare, rolling hills. Here there were fewer residences, but now and then they would see a shepherd's hut on some far hilltop. Flocks of sheep grazed contentedly in the distance and birds wheeled silently far above them in the afternoon sun. The land was very quiet.

Kasteni broke the silence, “As you know, the hills here are mostly unoccupied. Most of the larger cities of Ozren are to the north, east, and south of Ozvalda, and we will not find a decent-sized settlement for at least a week. But there are beasts here, and no man or group of men is safe in the open after dark. That is why the hostels have been built along the west highway. They serve as shelter for travelers, protection from the dark things that come out after sunset.”

He looked up frowning at the sun, now far past its noon apex and heading toward the horizon.

“Kiseljak is still many miles before us. Let us increase our pace.

[ September 29, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[ September 29, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Ransom]

==Rivendell==

“My most sincere apologies for my clumsiness, Meneciriel.”

Elrohir handed her the packing list she had been holding. He silently cursed himself for his stupidity. Tripping his best friend’s wife certainly was not in his plans for the day. “I certainly hope I have not harmed you.”

Elrohir began to feel the eyes of the other elves upon him. He quickly murmered another apology to Meneciriel before slipping away. Elladan would certainly know how to deal with this new twist. He always knows how to make people happy. At least I hope he always does…..

[Elenna]

****Rivendell*****

Ciri shook her head as Elrohir ran off. It is going to be a long trip if that one doesn't stop being uncomfortable around me. she thought to herself. Maybe I should just defeat him in single combat or something. Erestor warned me... I know they are best friends, and Elrohir's worried about making my husband mad, but I don't think I can handle an entire journey of "Oh, I'm so sorry for touching you, Meneciriel!"

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Jarl *****

Jarl was dressed and ready for the evening. He had received the information he needed, and given the messenger five gold coins for the old man and one for the himself. 'Tell him the other five will be his should this be true.' he instructed the man.

He made his way to the place where the dinner was being held. He glanced curiously at the others who had arrived, wondering which faces bore the names he now knew. He stepped up in the line at the entrance, and waited to be called.

'Jarl, of Dale! Trade Representative from Bard the Second, King of Dale!' came the ringing voice which announced him.

Jarl took a deep breath and stepped into the room. All eyes turned to regard this unimposing figure as he nodded and then was shown to his table.

[ October 09, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Susan Delgado]

******Shire******

Hardo glanced disapprovingly between the remains of the fire and the soundly sleeping Hobbits. He should have known they wouldn't be able to control themselves. Ah, well, it was too late to do anything about now.

He made breakfast for himself, bacon fried with apples. The bacon seemed all right, but the apples were old and mealy.

The smell woke the others, but Hardo had only made enough for himself. When they complained, he said, "Didn't you three already have breakfast?" and gestured at their unwashed dishes. As he spoke, he stomped on the fire, putting it out.

They grumbled and ate more of the omnipresent muffins with customary ill grace. Then they all saddled up and started out.

They rode along the eaves of the Old Forest. The road, while reasonably smooth, was littered with leaves and sticks and other detritus from the forest.

Hardo watched the trees apprehensively; he'd heard things about The Old Forest that he didn't like. Things like trees walking and malignant sprits grabbing folk and never letting them go. It was a place of terror for him, and he'd hoped never to be any nearer to it than his hole in Michel Delving, but here he was, with three rambunctious children who no doubt paid no heed to such stories and so had no caution. He wouldn't be surprised if one of them even decided it might be "fun" to explore the forest!

He shivered in an unsavory anticipation and firmly set his thoughts away from the forest and down the road to...where? They had no destination he wanted to reach. He would have cried if he could, but he looked at the sky and watched the clouds instead. Clouds had always been things of peace to him, one of the few things he was able to enjoy completely without reservations.

[ September 29, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Rose Cotton]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^

Hringa left the King's hall and strode to where the preparations for the trip were being made by workers and servants. Some had been asigned to gathering food, weapons, tools, and other provisions. Others were charged with making sure the carts and wagons were strong enough for the journey.

Hringa presided over the work with the help of Halgen. Halgen knew more about the lands between Erebor and Minas Arnor then Hringa who had never traveled far from the Lonely Mountain before. It puzzled Hringa that it was he his master had chosen to go rather then someone more experienced but he wasn't going to question the decision.

He paced between the work looking for anything that wasn't going right. He returned his fellow servant's greetings with a wave as he went and occasionally offered his hand in help. Everything went on smoothly until as he was passing some of Frain's servants he caught a bit of what they were saying.

"So do you think Mr. Frain will decide to go to Minas Arnor?"
"If he goes it won't be for King Stonehelm.
"King. The dwarf dosn't deserve such a title. You've heard what Frain has said. Stonehelm is too young and too weak."
"If our master goes it will be for the profit."
"Or a change in status."

After checking to make sure noone need any anymore assistance Hringa made his way back towards the King's hall. He waited behind the tapestry for the meeting to finish so that he and his master could speak in private.

[ October 01, 2002: Message edited by: Rose Cotton ]

[The Fifth]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Khuleln rode behind the other three, and just beyond the guards. The sounds of horses' hooves thumped heavily upon the grassy plains. They seemed to travel for hours; the plains and the hills were so vast and sprawling and the sun was beggining to beat upon their backs, although it was steadily, but slowly falling. Soon Kasteni spoke, his voice loud against the silence. Khuleln took in this information. He dared not think about the kinds of creatures that lurked in the hills.

The group of men urged their horses forward, riding harder and faster. The scenery passed by quickly in the neverending grasses.

[ September 29, 2002: Message edited by: The Fifth ]

[VanimaEdhel]

**********Rhûn Nation*********

"As you command Advisor," was Lovek's reply to Kasteni.

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

Lovek hearkened as he heard the command to go faster. He clucked once to Ratislav, who sped up considerably, nearly passing Kasteni. Lovek pulled back on the reins before Ratislav passed.

"I apologize, Advisor. My horse is spirited, you see," Lovek said briefly.

The scenery continued at this pace and Lovek was lost in his own world of thought. Images of his past expedition out and the carnage that had ensued filled his mind. He had lost a great many men, although he emerged with more than half. He had been frustrated at his losses ever since. As the unchanging scenery passed by, Lovek reviewed the battle in his head, trying to figure out what, exactly had gone wrong. He tried to figure out why so many had died.

The land around him passed by...

[Ringwraith Number Two]

******The Shire******

Unsurprisingly, Orlo felt grumpy. He had had muffins again for breakfast, whilst Hardo had had bacon. Bacon. The injustice.

Orlo eyed the Old Forest warily. He had no desire whatsoever to go in there as Master Merry's tales of being trapped in a willow tree had given him nightmares for three weeks and a fear of willow trees for life. He fervently hoped that the younger hobbits had no interest in the Forest either. He gave what he thought was a stern look to Brando, who seemed even more lively than usual, despite the meagre meal of muffins.

He glanced at Hardo. The elderly hobbit seemed lost in thought.
"Sir?" Orlo prompted. "When are we supposed to arrive in Bree? Aren't we travelling...a little slowly?"

The instant the words were out of his mouth, he deeply regretted it. He reprimanded himself; the memory of the aching stiffness of the night before returned sharply and he groaned inwardly. Hardo would probably go at a pace to rival the energy of ten Brandos put together.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar ****

The rushlight picked out glimmering threads in Gramil's gaudy tunic as he dressed for the dreaded dinner. He had little time before its official start, but he needed more information. He could afford to be a little late.

Gramil had put the feelers out in the bazaar, and now the expected knock came at his door. He pulled a bottle of his friend's favorite and two glasses from under his dressing table, guessing which source it would be. He was not disappointed. Tarve, the owner of the 'Lion's Den' where Jarl was staying followed his knock without waiting for an invitation. He needed none.

The two men pounded eachother's backs and laughed over the sudden end to Gramil's 'retirement,' exchanging small news over their first glass. Tarve teased Gramil about not knowing the king was gone:
"Ah, everyone knew that secret."

Gramil shrugged good-naturedly, "Everyone but me. See how I was serious about retiring?"

"You?? Pah. You could never retire."

As the second glass was poured Gramil asked finally:

"So what brings you here today?" No need to make assumptions. Gramil was too old to be a fool.

"A song on the wind," Tarve snorted, "what else? You have only to name it."

Gramil turned the stem of his glass in his hand. "What can you tell me of Jarl of Dale?" He nodded, "Naturally the king's credit is generous." He knew his tacit offer would be refused, and Tarve brushed it aside.

"Of Jarl, from Jarl? Nothing. Experienced. Old campaigner. He makes you guess, and maybe guess wrong. But from his young apprentice, Garlin? Plenty."

"I thought the name was Garvin." Gramil marvelled, "Garlin? Young Tiger? How did a man of Dale receive a Harad name?"
('Garl' in the Harad tongue meant 'tiger,' while 'lin' was a diminutive, for 'young' or 'little.')

"No doubt a coincidence of sounds. I don't know what it means in his language. But interesting still I say. He is rightly called. Be careful of him with a weapon in his hand - if you have cause. With such claws he is as dangerous as his name! He is responsible for the deaths of one table and two lanterns, practicing this week alone.

"But Jarl, ah the boy is very proud of him, and he has told me much, and others more..."

*********

Gramil had much to ponder as his carriage trundled towards the dinner, delayed from time to time by the summer street crowds. Occasionally they had to get out and walk as a break in the cobbles made it impossible for a loaded carriage to pass.

As he feared, the contact with Jarl of Dale had been badly bungled. The King had not met with him once in two fortnights, leaving the man to cool his heels at The Lion's Den.

Jarl of Dale should have been given opportunity to assess the King in person, been given an official guide to pepper with questions, and a formal tour of the city. Of course Jarl would develop his own sources of information, but the fact he was getting his information from ol' Rav at The Typhoon... oh, he was truthful, but it was not a positive sign of the level of trust developed.

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

Black eyes bristled under even darker brows, with a madness borne of too little to do, and too much alcohol. The free-sword from Rhun growled at his companion, a man who knew his temper enough to back off and let it cool of its own. This Harad bazaar noise jangled his nerves. He looked about the tent for others less wise, and found himself surrounded by sniveling cowards who kept away from him. All but two. His bleary eyes discerned two young PUPS! The word fairly shouted in his mind. They were so green, their shiney swords still had the merchant's wax on their handles as they stood with their backs to him. Insolence! The spirits in his cup splashed on his tunic, and when he lifted it for another try - it was empty! He had looked at them. Now his cup was empty. He roared his fury and threw his cup at the guilty parties. He remembered to use his Harad name, but all other reason was gone from him.

"I am Iron Turtle! How dare you spill my drink!?!" It was hard to tell if his Haradric was usually this bad, or if the drink had slurred his speech nearly beyond recognition.

The taller of the two, with the pale skin, turned to speak, but the little dark one burst out laughing.

"Iron Frog? What kind of Harad name is that? Do you sink then?"

*********

Gramil settled a polite smile onto his face as he stepped into the dinner hall, completely unaware of Ethar's unwise comment deep in the heart of the Bazaar.

[ September 30, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^Erebor/ Lonely Mountain^ ^ ^ ^

Stonehelm stared hard at Frain, as if guessing both halves of the dwarf's mind.

We are met to discuss our plans, our ways, means, policy and devices concerning this invitation, which I have chosen to accept for Erebor's behalf.

I am sure, Frain, you will appreciate this opportunity to establish and develop trade with the new kingdom in Gondor. Bring what chattels with you which will allow you to take advantage of the trade possibilities and accept this as recompense for the trip. Your share of the profits will depend upon the quality of your negotiations with Elessar's representatives.

Glavin, prepare your briefs and scrolls, your testaments and parchments concerning Khazad-dûm--all historical precedents to our title. And explore the claims of the Blue Mountain dwarves. It would be unseemly to contest our brothers' claim, but let us determine what a rightful share should look like concerning them.

Even now Hringa my servant is preparing the caravan. You will leave after break of day tomorrow. Prepare for a journey through all the faces of the moon and a half and be ready to celebrate Durin's Day mid-route. You will join the elves at Thranduil's caves.

A nod dismissed the two dwarves, Glavin with a coughing fit and Frain with a subdued mood. If he wanted the spoils of trade, he would have to pay for the engineers' journey upfront himself.

Stonehelm then turned to the curtain and called for Hringa's report. His face he held impassive as he took in the news.

I thank Mahal--touching his hand to his heart, lips, and forehead-- that my father's faithful retainer survived to serve me. Hringa, I join this journey. Prepare a wagon and two ponies for me. Tell the Queen-Mother to prepare for my absence.

Stonehelm sat back, prepared to backtrack over Thorin II Oakenshield's famous journey, at least part of the way. That satisfied his sense of historical proportion.

http://www.gamers-forums.com/smilies/otn/other/vikingsmiley.gif

[Robin Headstrong]

***Rivendell***

Fanelen looked through her things, making sure she had everything she needed. Clothes, food, weapons, etc....
"I'm sure I have everything," she muttered to herself, "but I keep getting the feeling that I'm forgetting something. I nearly always do..."

It was no wonder her father was reluctant to allow her to go on this trip; she wasn't the most organized of elves. Fanelen checked over her supplies once more to be sure she had everything. Nothing seemed to be missing.

"Good, now to get over to the stables..." She picked up her bags and headed over to the stables. Elladan or Elrohir would most likely be there packing.

"Hello?" Fanelen called. "Elladan? Elrohir? Meneciriel? Are any of you here?" The elf-maiden received no response but the snort of a horse. That's odd... she thought.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Jarl *****

The tedium of the evening had already set in. Jarl stifled a small yawn, covering it with a small sip of wine. On his left sat a richly dressed gentleman, already well into his cups. He had listened politely, a look of feigned interest on his face, as the man told him of his family's interests in the spice trade. It was a long, complex story, fueled by several glasses of wine, the intent of which was to feel out any interest Dale might have for trade agreements with the family.

This must have cost your family handsomely! thought Jarl. The information he had gotten placed this particular family near the bottom tier in spice trade. But I will give you points for a bold move to position your interests in their best light. The man had stopped talking, and Jarl roused himself from his speculation. 'A very interesting story, and an inviting proposition,' he rejoined. 'Dale had not thought to seek contacts in the spice trade at this time, but I should like to present your offer to the King for his consideration when I return. If I might, I would like something written from you, a plan that I might share with him. Would it be possible for you or someone from your family to drop round . . . say, in three days time with such a proposal? We will get back to you directly, once the King has seen it.'

Jarl motioned for the serving man to pour another glass of wine for his neighbor. The man beamed, and nodded a drunken smile, saying he would bring the document, himself. Jarl made his excuses, then, saying he had seen an old acquaintance across the room. He left the table and crossed the room, stopping to exchange some pleasantries with a guest. He clapped the man on the back, much to the man's surprise, then exited the hall to walk in the garden.

He had been sitting on the stone bench near the fountain, watching the large, gold fish swim in its basin, when someone drew near. Another guest, in the requisite gaudy tunic, he thought to himself. He turned back to his perusal of the fish.

[ September 30, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^^

Frain was allowed to bring one smaller-sized company of dwarves, which he would have to pay, if he wanted the spoils of trade. Frain was sure he could recover his losses. Frain also thought it was good that they were going with the Elves. Frain did not like Elves, but if they traveled with them, it was less the dwarves had to really worry about. They now had more time to prepare, instead of wasting precious time thinking up routes and such.

After the meeting, Frain strolled out into the cool, comfortable, and moist airs of the Mountain. He decided to oversee some of the work, and to speak to the engineers he would choose to go along. He walked at a quick trod towards the great hall where workers bustled about, making preparations.

Frain walked by several workers he had met once or twice in his time. He spoke some hello's and helped a few that needed it. He reached the end of the hall after a while, and after helping some people he thought were straying from their tasks.

He saw then the two people he was looking for. The two most intelligent engineers he had ever met, and they had somehow gotten to be the leaders of one of the best engineering companies Frain had.

“Hail, my friends, Burin and Curin!” He called, and proceeded to inform the brothers that their company would be on the move tomorrow, and that they should tell their workers immediately.

Frain smiled to himself as he began to walk more about the hall, helping a little as he went.

All in all, he thought this would be a good trip for him…

[ October 01, 2002: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Carnëiach]

Brando had once again had muffins (was there an everlasting supply or what?) and the sugar had him bouncing with energy, although he tried to remain composed and mature for the other hobbits.
The stared at the Old forest with eyes like saucers though; uncle pips stories were always in his mind and terrifying as they were, they sounded so exciting...
He looked at the other hobbits to see how they felt. Hardo was miserably grumpy, (as per usual!), Odo seemed as excited as he was. They exchanged a look and grinned, a silent message of Tookish adventure passing between them. Orlo caught his eye also though and gave him what Brando guessed to be a stern look, had it not been so muddle with sleep and grumpiness.
He sighed. If they didnt do something soon, he was never going to get his sword. The young sociable hobbit grew bored of riding alone like this, so he rode up beside Odo, who smiled at him once again. Striking up conversation about elves he soon fell into an interesting conversation with the other hobbit, even though there were years between them, accompanied by the grumbles of Hardo about how noisy young people are today...

[GreatWarg]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Ulwyte watched the lands slip by. Nothing really fascinated him much. He was eagerly looking forward to arriving at their destination. Good trades were not a thing to miss. Though for the son of a warrior, he would be expected to train first. Why couldn't he just be a merchant? They may not be as high in ranking as the warrior class, yet they were respectable enough for bringing in imports through dangerous lands.

Kasteni's warning was no surprise to Ulwyte. Many beasts lived in these desolate lands where no one dared live. It was just a matter of luck and skill to get through.

[Alkanoonion]

******Harad/Umbar******
After meeting with Herumir the day before, to report on a message received from one of his agents, who was in the service of the Bear, rumours said that the dragon had a spy in every town, this was not true, only one in every other town. The report was that Urken planned to take control of the ships in the name of the Harad Council and retain control of them indefinitely.

This was a serious matter for Fuinur as he needed ships later for trade and the cost of purchasing the ships would be an unnecessary burden if only he and Herumir could capture a couple of ships for themselves.

In the end they decided that it would be un-diplomatic to steal an entire fleet and this would unnecessarily upset the council. Fuinur settled on retaining control of the two ships, the pirate and the ship they planed to capture from the Corsiars.

Now it was dark, a sliver of the moon hung high in the sky, providing ample light for Herumir and Fuinur to see the entrance into the city of Umbar.

Standing in the entrance was Urken the Bear,

[Guildo]

<<<<Eryn Lasgalen>>>>>

Orodan & Nefros

Orodan, Nefros, and Isilya all mounted up and rode off to the meeting point where they were expected to meet the men and dwarves. They where perhaps halfway along the trail when Nefros spotted a small redbird.

“Ai! A messenger is following us, my word not even a mile from home and already excitement.” Said Nefros.

“Calm down” exclaimed Isilya. “its probably on its way to Dale.”

But Orodan knew otherwise, he stopped and gave out a quiet whistle. The bird lighted on his shoulder, and looked as though it was whispering in his ear, and flew off.

“Well it seems as though the Dwarves will be joining us after all but the will be a bit late at the meeting so they said they will catch up”

Nefros stared at Orodan with a wondering face and said.

“Wow they must be better foot travelers than I thought, they are giving us a headstart”

“Well I expect we will have to travel slowly until they come within contacting distance to us but even still I will gain a whole new respect for them if they catch up to us before we reach Dol Guldor.” Replied Orodan

“Hmm” nodded Nefros and began playing his flute again.

Shortly after their conversation about the dwarves they reached the meeting spot and within a few minutes of them being there, Girion and the men of Dale Approached.

“Whats for Dinner” Asked Girion.

Orodan smiled and said. “well the finest travel food of Eryn Lasgalen and the finest wine of Dale I hope”

“Sounds great said Girion”

Orodan dismounted and asked Nefros and Isilya to ready the dinner while he discussed matters with Girion.

“Nice to see you good friend but, important matters need to be delt with first, I need you to send word to some of loyals still in Dale, and asked them to take the old forest road and as fast as the can and secure some of your fastest sailing boats for us. I have already sent word to ask for the use of boats of Lorien but that will be a last ditch effort to go into Lorien with this party.”

But at that moment Rubin Steped foward and made a very intelegent suggestion about friends of Dale along the great river that could get boats ready.

“Very well Rubin, your begining to outsmart the elves, but your plan will work very well, i know of many message birds in the woods that could get our favour to them hastily enough. Now friend let us eat and I will tell you of a message I received on our way” said Orodan.

[ October 02, 2002: Message edited by: Guildo ]

[Ransom]

Alas, Elrohir’s normally efficient tracking skills failed him. Elladan appeared to be lost in a maze of management, or slacking off in the woods. Either way, Elrohir decided that, for the moment, his time would be better-spent thinking and packing for the trip.

He returned to his room and began to pack for the trip. This did not take very long, for someone had taken the time to clean his messy room. He briefly contemplated swearing vengeance on the soul who had moved his scrolls before pulling out his traveling bags.

In the space of a few hours, Elrohir had assembled a meager pile of clothing. Before his sister had been married, she had always berated him for his narrow views clothing. Elrohir believed that clothing should be chosen for its usefulness, not it’s looks. He could still hear his sister’s scolding before her wedding. Of course the color matters! No brother of mine is going to a wedding dressed in black!

Arwen would have to suffer through his black and gray clothing. He opened the bag, methodologically placing his clothing in orderly piles. His mind began to wander through the dusty libraries of his past before being jerked back into the present by someone knocking on the door. He pondered the identity of his guest before moving to open the door.

[Belin]

*********Rivendell************

In fact, Elladan's mysterious whereabouts were not that surprising. As Elrohir left the stables, Meneciriel had taken his hapless brother to task for the rather obvious smile twitching around the edges of Elladan's mouth.

"What are you looking at?" she'd demanded, as she stalked out of the stables in an attempt at highest indignation which was only slightly damaged by the infectious nature of Elladan's amusement. He followed her into the halls, now smiling openly.

"He can't help it, you know, Ciri."

"Is he trying?" she snapped.

"Of course. He spoke to you, didn't he?" They had reached a small audience hall, and went in. Meneciriel sighed deeply. Elladan continued. "What do you expect from him after spending so many years in the wilderness?"

"You're a traveler as well, and so am I," answered Meneciriel, absently. She was fingering her throwing daggers, seemingly lost in thought.

"But he loves it, Ciri."

She was unimpressed with this, and told him so at great length. He listened patiently and carefully, only occasionally considering how much nicer it would be to be slacking off in the woods. Her elaborate rant finished, and acknowledged, Meneciriel sighed again. "Please tell me won't be like this the whole time, will he, Elladan?" Elladan was reassuring. Surely his brother would feel more at ease on the road than in the city. Besides, he was certain to become accustomed to her presence as time went on. In any case, she must prefer it to-

His recommendations of patience were interrupted by the loud voice of someone apparently journeying through the halls at random. "Elrohir! Meneciriel! Elladan! Elrohir! Meneciriel! Elladan! Where is everybody?" Elladan closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his stores of the very qualities he had recommended to Ciri. "Is she really coming with us?" he asked quietly.

It was Meneciriel's turn to grin. "Why, of course, my friend, what journey would be complete without her?" she asked, opening the door to allow them a view of the irritable but still eager Fanelen.

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn * * * * *

The sun sank quickly below the western horizon, leaving the company in a mirky land of shadows. The hard-packed white gravel of the road shone palely, a wavering line that ran straight to the crest of the next hill. The darkness seemed to muffle the sounds of the horses even as they quickened their pace. The riders lit small lanterns, which cast away some of the gloom as they crested the hill and could see a light in the distance, not more than a league away.

“There is the hostel!” shouted Kasteni, startling everyone. “We have taken long to reach it, but now we are safe.”

He snapped his reins, and his chariot rushed forward with the rest of the riders fast behind. But his claim of safety was too soon. For as they plunged down into the wide valley there came suddenly the loud howl of many beasts from both sides of the road. Dark shapes crossed front of them and from behind could be heard the sound of claws on the hard rock of the highway. Kasteni drew his sword and urged his horse to more speed.

“Were-bears!” shouted Kasteni. “Like those in the great Khandian Circus that sometimes comes to Ozvalda. But these are wild and much larger than the captive creatures in their cages. And they hunger for the blood of Men.”

The Guards surged forward to surround the Advisor and his companions, but before they could reach him a snarling animal, covered in thick black fur and nearly as massive as Kasteni’s horse, pounced on the chariot, overturning it and sending its occupant rolling into the shoulder of the road. The riders slowed to protect him, but they were already past him before they could come to a stop. The party watched, aghast, as two more creatures leapt onto the road by where Kasteni stood, and the monster that had attcked him sprang over the remains of his chariot and leapt toward him, great fangs bared. More of the were-bears could be heard approaching in the darkness.

[ October 01, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[VanimaEdhel]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Lovek quickly drew his sword and looked around himself, looking for more were-bears. He moved a bit towards the chariot, but it appeared to be too late. He took in a deep breath and tried to figure out whether to try to save Kasteni or to fight the oncoming were-bears. If it had been nearly any other man, Lovek would have left him, for three cannot go down for one. But, this was his superior. Should he rescue Kasteni? He saw the Guards already moving towards the were-bears, but not quickly enough.

"Olwyte!" Lovek heard himself shouting, "Khuleln! See if you can get those were-bears off of the Advisor!"

Lovek felt himself wheel and try to gallop to Kasteni. He closed the gap between the guards and himself, but could not get to Kasteni. He heard the were-bears behind him...

[ October 01, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[The Fifth]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Khuleln quickly dismounted Spidernose. The horse stared and whinnied as the were-bears surrounded Kasteni. The guards had their weapons drawn, and the blades gleamed as they reflected the starry skies. Khuleln heard the fierce, primal growl of a were-bear lustful of blood. Having no time to think, and jerking his sword out of its sheath, he pointed it forward like a deadly lance and charged at a were-bear.

The bear heard Khuleln's footsteps, and stopping whatever it had been doing, bared its yellowed, daggery fangs at Khuleln. The man lunged towards the bear like a falcon for its prey, but the bear's reflexes were quicker and with the swipe of a massive claw, knocked the sword out from his hands and clattering onto the floor. The bear loomed up upon him. He was burning with fear, but he also heard the cries of Kasteni and the guards, Ulwyte and Lovek as they were battling the bears. He wanted to join them.

The bear was soon upon him, and Khuleln was knocked down towards the ground. His back ached from the impact, but he still groped for his sword, mere inches away from his outstretched fingers. He could hear Spidernose's hooves clomping on the road, and the hooves went slightly nearer. The great dark-brown bear raised a gigantic claw, about to swipe it down...

Then, there was a neigh, and a black flurry of claws and hooves. It happened so quickly that Khuleln was quite confused, but then he realized that the bear no longer was there. Instead, the bear was wrestling with Spidernose, who was wild and mad with fear. But why did the cowardly steed do such a deed, and spare the Variag? Khuleln stood up, shaken, and grabbed the hilt of his sword. Spidernose and the bear danced together in battle, but the horse appeared to be beaten down by the bear, with ragged, raw scratches over his haunches and neck. Soon the horse fell when its eyes were gruesomely gouged out and blood was spattered everywhere...

[ October 01, 2002: Message edited by: The Fifth ]

[GreatWarg]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Ulwyte's horse reared, neighing imperiously. With a flailing kick it caught the nearest were-bear in the stomach. Ulwyte didn't dismount. An upperhand against such creatures was to stay taller than them. His sword flashed dangerously, eager for the blood of victims. Arrows were no use here. The thick fur of the bears would protect them. Might as well have a young child armed with a sling to battle a warrior armed with a sword.

Urging the horse at a run, Ulwyte quickly plunged into battle to save Kasteni. Lovek and Khuleln could take care of themselves. The horse neighed with fear, veins popping in its neck. With one hand, Ulwyte pulled on the reins for control, with the other hand he fought with his sword. Always master your horse before you master your enemies, was a favorite saying of his father.

[Tharkûn]

*****Dale/Garlin*****

Before Garlin had a chance to address the Stranger and ask him what he meant, Ethar cut in, "Iron Frog? What kind of Harad name is that? Do you sink then?"

The Stranger lunged.

Diving into the crowd was but the work of a moment for Garlin, who was fast enough to dodge the blade coming from the Stranger. Ethar, however, wasn't so lucky. Although he was able to evade the main swing, the tip of the sword nicked his cheek, creating a long, shallow cut from the side of his nose to his ear. Shocked, Ethar put his hand to his cheek, and, seeing his own blood after pulling it away, was filled with rage. "You'll pay for that!" Ethar screamed, lunging at the unknown assailant. The crowd, including Garlin, watched in a horrific fascination, at least until one member of it shoved Garlin into the makeshift arena that was being formed. Seeing that his new friend was losing to the skilled (but slightly drunk) swordsman, Garlin drew the two small daggers he normally kept hidden in his belt. What a day to leave my sword in the inn! he thought silently to himself as he ran at the attacker, who hadn't yet noticed him, due to the fury of his attack on Ethar.

Leaping upon the attacker, Garlin held the two daggers up to his neck and said, in a menacing voice, "Stand down or be slain." The attacker stopped, in mid-swing, and stood up, dropping his weapon.

[ October 01, 2002: Message edited by: Tharkûn ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

The great bear-like creature reared over Kasteni’s head, drool splashing from its ravening maw. The tall man lashed out with his sword, stabbing the beast high on its left shoulder. He pushed his weight inward and the blade sunk deep, but the creature swiped him away with one giant clawed paw, and he was throw back onto the ground where he rolled down an embankment and landed in a clump of high grass. The were-bear pounced down at him, the sword still wavering in its flesh.

Kasteni reach inside his shirt and removed a talisman that hung on a chain around his neck. It was made of a dark, shiny metal and was shaped in the likeness of a cat-like, lidless eye – the Eye of Sauron. As the monster jumped toward him he grabbed the ‘eye’ and shouted: búrz ghâsh durbul! Búrz ghâsh jarkul skai! The icon in his hand flashed red suddenly, and the springing beast burst suddenly into flame, caught in midair. Another of the creatures, quick behind the first, dodged around the burning figure, but it too ignited as it spang on the Advisor. A third monster stopped and looked at its two dying fellows and turned away from the deadly flames in search of easier prey.

Kasteni fell to the ground and beat his burning hands in the dirt at his feet. The moment he had spoke the last word he had know something was wrong with his spell, for the fire that had shot outward had also reflected back into his hands. His left hand had been only singed, but the flesh of his right had immediately blistered from the heat, and the sleeves of his robes had ignited. He quickly smothered the fire on his clothing, but the pain in his hand he could not so easily douse.

Fool! I should have known! The artifacts of Sauron are no longer safe to use. With the Dark Lord gone, the evil forces of nature will always demand a high price for their use.

With no thought of monsters or his companions he dug deep in is inner pocket for a vial of salve he kept for wounds. Oblivious to the shouts of his guard and the howls of the were-bears, he smeared his right hand with the thick fluid and sighed as the burning sensation immediately ceased. He ripped a piece of material from his now ruined sleeve and wrapped the wounded hand tightly. Finally, his attention returned to the chaotic scene on the road above.

The creatures had been frightened by his fireworks and now menaced the riders who fought hard but desperately to keep them at bay. One of the guards had fallen and lay motionless at the lip of the road above, but the fighting had moved about 50 feet away. Kasteni pulled his sword from the smouldering were-bear that had attacked him and crawled up to the wreckage of his chariot. It lay on its side with one wheel completely shattered. His horse had broken free and was nowhere to be seen. Petrij, I hope you yet live, for I will need your strength.

The contents of the chariot had spilled along the highway, but he quickly found what he was looking for: his bow and quiver of steel-tipped arrows. He slung the quiver over his shoulder, put an arrow to the string, and drew it back slowly. Then he silently strode forward toward the battle.

[ October 01, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[ October 01, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor/Lonely Mountain^ ^ ^ ^

They had travelled out the lower slopes of the Southern spur, hearing the farewell cheers ringing around the Mountain for some time after they left. That had been yesterday, after a short ceremony of farewell. Ruthen had led them in the Ritual of the Road Parting. For the first time in many ages that ritual had not signified a sad dispersal of the dwarves.

Memories of the crowd and the cheers and the excitement had carried them through the first day, as had full bellies from the farewell parties. The weather was warm, the ponies hale and prancing eagerly, the entire company in good spirits. They had ridden long, for it would be a two and a half day journey to Thranduil's cave where the Erebor contingent would meet the Elves and Men of Dale. Some of the carts were heavy-laden and the pace of travel slowed.

Yet, at set of sun, the engineers had started singing, their songs matching the tread of the ponies and the turn of the wheels and it had been a good day. They had needed only light blankets to sleep that first night.

Now the first taste of the adventure was lost and the monotony of the trek had begun to settle in. The sun beat down on them hot. Frain had taken to walking his pony back among his engineers. Glaven, always coughing, had decided to ride in the second wagon, his pony trailing behind. Hringa rode beside Stonehelm, at the front, initially full of questions about the journey but finally lapsing into silence. In short, the adventure had settled down into appalling boredom. Not even the thought of riding with the men of Dale and the Elves could arouse any particular feelings.

Stonehelm turned around, and admired his caravan of three wagons, an escort of six engineers on their ponies and the several dwarves on ponies of their own.

I'll make a wager, he called out. A small keg of beer for the best story told before we reach Thranduil's Cave. Decided by vote of all of us.

The ride had suddenly become interesting.

http://www.gamers-forums.com/smilies/otn/other/vikingsmiley.gif

[ October 03, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Harad/Umbar

Urken's fingers tightly grasped the pommel of his sword as he watched the party approaching from an easterly direction. The kings were mounted on oliphaunts as were two of their advisors. The giant beasts plodded slowly forward, the men atop their backs using the accustomed pointed rods to control both their direction and gait. About the feet of the beasts marched a goodly number of foot soldiers. Most of these carried spears and large oval shields which concealed the upper part of their bodies. The two kings were being careful in having the men assume a defensive posture. Urken would not have expected less.

Urken extended a hand in greeting to the strangers, dutifully nodding his head to acknowledge their outward superiority in rank. Beyond this gesture, however, he was not prepared to go, nor did local customs or laws compel him. For a warrior-priest represented a fount of authority separate from that which legitimized a king.

"Greetings, royal representatives from Harad. Welcome to Umbar. I think you will find the harbor holds exactly what you need to help you find your way to Minas Anor. Although fewer in number than before the war, the ships are swift, and well appointed. We will speak later about the course of our voyage, the route that we must travel and how long that voyage may take. But, for now, we need to turn our attention to the matter at hand: to secure the two vessels needed to transport us and our beasts. And this must be done swiftly under cover of the night."

He nodded to Herumir and Fuinur to follow him inside the gates to the entrance of the underground tunnels. They dismounted the oliphaunts and walked cautiously forward, surrounded by their retinues. They peered about in all directions to ensure that there would be no ambush or other foul play. Looking down into the depths of the tunnels, they seemed to hesitate again, but then went forward, driven by necessity.

Urken extended his hands outward with palms raised towards the stars. "I give you my word, on he oath of a warrior-priest that no trick lies within these shadows. My own desire to reach Minas Anor is even greater than yours. I will not say that our goals or desires are the same, but for this part of the journey, our interests are identical."

He led them, their beasts, and their soldiers down the broad underground ramp in the direction of the harbor. As they marched forward, he explained his plans for the assault. "We will come out on the rocky cliffs which overlook the harbor. You will get a good look at the ships and how many men are guarding them. Our easiest approach would be to silently take out the guards on at least two of the ships and then occupy them by force of arms. All should be done swiftly and silently. If we are fortunate, we may sail out before extra forces are even called into the harbor. If not, we will have a tougher fight on our hands, but I am confident we can win."

"Two ships?" Herumir queried. "Who will command these two ships, and why would two be needed?"

Urken shook his head. "I have no need to command any of these vessels. Each of you may chose the one that you wish, and I and my men will come along on wherever you will have us. But two ships will be needed to house the number of retainers and beasts that we bring."

The kings drew aside and spoke with one another, and gave their consent.

"Good," said Urken. He told them he had several men skilled in slipping into secret places by swimming under water and then launching a silent assault on the guards who were awake. It might work best to start with these, and then follow with a few swiftly placed arrows and a boarding party. Hopefully, a number of the men on the vessels would be asleep.

Herumir growled, "I am not adverse to slitting throats when it is needed, but what if some beyond the guards choose to surrender and join our cause. These pirates have no firm loyalties and, as long as we line their pockets with gold, they may be of some use to us."

"Do as you see fit," said Urken. "Only trust them not until they have proven their worth."

Fuinur, who was skilled in methods of ambush, volunteered to join the underwater landing party who would first ambush the guards. Urken nodded his head in assent, and the forces made their way quickly to the harbor.

[ October 02, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - Gramil ****

Gramil passed into the wide open-beamed dining hall. It was festooned with an opulent display of oil lanterns of fanciful design; here a dragon with a wick in its mouth, there a serpent, its tail aflame. Unusual, he thought.

Dozens of glittering guests murmured amongst the columns in twos and threes. False laughter rang out in that special dirge of a dreary party: the louder the laugh, the more dull the gathering.

This laugh was quite pronounced, and Gramil's shoulders sagged as he was led to his assigned seat.

He shook his head and smiled at its location. His hosts had outdone themselves. Jarl's place was as far to the other side of the room as could be, and there were two.. no, three pillars between.

But Jarl himself was nowhere to be seen. Gramil extracted himself from a round of pleasantries with his tablemates, nodding to Peral as he passed. Peral the Donkey was a man with eye to dwarven metals and a half decent wine to trade. Unfortunate for him that Dale received a finer wine of the Dorwinion variety. Peral was deep in conversation with Lady Ivrel the Gull, (whom Gramil had called the 'spider' as a child - but they were adults now so he only used that name in his mind). She gave Gramil a welcoming smile that didn't reach her eyes. Here their interests did not contradict. The lamps would have been her idea as she dealt in exotics, anything unique and unusual no matter how costly. She took breathtaking risks, which sometimes paid off. Of course she would be interested in anyone foreign. It was amazing Jarl had managed to slip her clutches so soon. She must be losing her touch, else Jarl was as slippery as an eel - which was the more likely. Gramil raised his glass in a silent toast to their expert and elusive guest, and snagged another glass from a passing tray - he had just glimpsed a familiar form through the archway to the garden. And Jarl had no wine at the moment.

Jarl dismissed Gramil with a glance, which Gramil expected. No doubt Jarl felt like the fish he was watching, with all this inept fishing, each guest forcing their own interests. Gramil shook his head. More important to know who you were dealing with first, and what they needed.

"So, did you ever find an oliphaunt more to your liking?" he asked as he settled on the edge of the pool, studying the fish that fascinated Jarl so.

**********

Up until that moment Ethar and his new found friend had had a famous time... but even as the words left his mouth Ethar knew he had made a bad mistake. Before he could blink, steel flashed in the Rhunian's hand, and he felt a scorching heat across his face. He hand came away from his face bloody. The second stroke arced, but someone shoved him out of the way, catching the stroke on a dueling knife - it was foreign and oddly shaped. Worth a pretty penny, a stray irrelevant thought occurred to him.

*******

"So which do you think he is - ?" Gramil grinned as he asked Jarl. The Daleman had been surprised to learn Harad names translated to animals (they were not just being called for their family crest as a Daleman would naturally assume). Thus they entertained one another for nearly an hour guessing which animal each guest was named for. The current guest in question was wearing odd pointed shoes and had a slight stagger, though it was early in the party.

"I would say 'Loon' if it were polite, and you had them so far south." Jarl pondered, "Hm. 'Duck' perhaps?"

"Ah! Mallard it is. But you are guessing them too easily now. How is that?" Gramil rubbed his chin, amused and suspicious, but Jarl gave a cryptic smile behind his wine glass and wouldn't give away his secret.

An obsequious servant approached with a whisper.

"Please, come with me. There is an urgent message. They will not speak with any but you. There has been something.. of an, hm, accident."

[ October 02, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[*Varda*]

*****Blue Mountains*****

Serin looked back at where Theron sat, clearly deep in thought. The trap-cart clattered noisily as they made their way into the Grey Havens. Mikhelm sat silent, gazing straight ahead and paying little attention to the glances of the elves.

“Cursed Elves,” Mikhelm growled inwardly. “The war could have been over so much sooner, if they had only chosen to fight Sauron earlier.” Mikhelm was resentful towards the Elves, knowing little of the war except what he had heard from the dwarves returning to the Ered Luin after the war.

Serin looked back and nudged Theron gently, to shake him out of his contemplation. Serin could not help but wonder what Theron was so deeply in thought about. Theron jolted awake, and observed the Grey Havens and the sea rolling past him. It was now around nine o’clock, and the sky was slowly turning darker above them.

“I suggest resting here for the night, Theron,” Serin suggested. “We have had a long day’s travelling, and I hear the Elves have become more hospitable to our kind. At any rate, we cannot venture much further tonight.”

“Very well,” Theron replied. “But we must leave early in the morning, if we hope to reach the Shire in a few days time. We cannot be late to arrive at Minas Anor.”

[ October 02, 2002: Message edited by: *Varda* ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Girion/Rubin *****

It was going to be a large party travelling through the Forest toward Minas Anor - Men, Elves, and now, Dwarves. It would be slow going by either foot or horse, no matter how hard they pushed themselves.

Rubin overheard Orodan's query to Girion about the possibility of moving toward the Anduin and using it as a means of travel. He stepped up to where they were talking and drew Girion's attention.

'If I may, Lords.' he began, as Girion signed for him to speak. 'King Bard gave me a list of instructions before we left. And, since he did not know what route you might prefer, several of them dealt with how we might proceed south to Minas Anor. As I recall, he mentioned that there were trade allies, loyal to Dale, near the Old Ford, where the Old Forest Road crosses the Anduin. If we had need of them, we were to contact them and they would provide us with boats for river travel.'

Girion eyed the number of horses and supplies already gathered and factored in the Dwarven contingent. He laughed, and clapped both Rubin and Orodan on the back. 'To my thinking, we might need two small ships if we mean to take all these animals!' He looked at Orodan. 'What say you we travel south to the Old Forest Road, and then make contact with Dale's traders as my Father has suggested? We can camp here until the Dwarves arrive and then proceed.'

Rubin raised the question of Rauros Falls. It might be better to leave the horses once they boarded the boats. It would prove quite a task should they try to portage around the Falls with boats, supplies, and horses. 'And has anyone thought about where along the route we should pick up additional supplies? I know the Elves eat lightly, but Men and Dwarves are hearty eaters, and what provender we have brought will not last the entire trip.'

[ October 09, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE - Jarl *****

Jarl glanced up in surprise at the comment on the oliphaunt. He took in more closely the face of the man now seated across from him at the pool's edge. A memory nagged at the edges of his mind, and he smiled broadly as it came flooding back. 'Ah! Yes! The unfortunate incident of the Mumak and the chickens!' Jarl laughed, and extended his hand to the man. 'Gramil, is it not?'

The two stood, and shook hands as was the custom among the Men of Dale. 'Your knowledge of our language has improved since last we met.' said Gramil, seating himself once more. 'Though your accent and your paleness still mark you as a foreigner.' Jarl grinned, and sat down. 'Yes, well, the pallor is something I can do nothing about. But I must tell you that my skills in riding have improved somewhat, though I did decide that owning an oliphaunt would be more effort and expense than I would care to afford.' He smiled again at a further memory. 'And, by the way, I did pay, and handsomely, to unruffle the feathers of those chicken's owners! Best not to aggravate the tradesmen at any level is one of my mottos.'

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

He was enjoying his game of 'Guess the Guest' with Gramil. What an interesting mind, this one has! Unlike the many guests he had met and moved through this evening. He shuddered slightly at his encounter with the Lady Ivrel. He had had the definite sensation of being a tasty bug about to be caught in her web as she eyed him. Coming closer, she had sought to draw him into conversation about the possibilities of securing exclusive trading rights with Dale for her line of exotic merchandise. She would not be put off with his request that she draw up a proposal for him to present the the King - she was too aware that he carried the King's approval to initiate and close trading agreements as he saw fit for Dale. It was only when one of her attendants took her away, saying there was a certain matter which required her urgent attention, that he escaped her.

Now Gramil had received some urgent message also, and looked as if he would also be called away. Jarl stood. He looked about the garden as the servant spoke with Gramil. Perhaps I might find an exit from here. He did not relish the idea of making his way through the party to leave. He caught Gramil's eye as the servant spoke with him, then waved a farewell and strode off toward a likely looking corner of the garden for a gate.

[ October 03, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Alkanoonion]

**** Harad/Umbar ****
The water was cold, Fuinur had never felt water colder, it was like a knife in his side. As Fuinur swam up to the ship, he imagined that he could feel icicles forming on the end of his toes. He only hoped that the cold water would not affect his muscles. Fuinur turned to look at the first ship to see if the other group was in position. The attacks would be coordinated to take full advantage of the confusion. Behind Fuinur a strange tinkling sound could be heard. He turned his head towards the noise only to be splashed by a warm salty fluid. From above one of the guards could be heard saying “Ahhhh, out with the old in with the new” and the sound of gulping from a large flagon.

“ Good one, Anglak ” said the second guard who was also drinking from a flagon . Both guards moved back to the group playing a gambling game involving knuckles.

Fuinur dunked his head into the water and motioned to the man next to him.” The first man who laughs is a dead man” The men around him nodded, while trying not to smirk.

Once in position, Fuinur raised his arm and made a sweeping motion. It was the sign for the men to silently board the ships.

On board the second ship the men silently took up position. A number of them carried a bow with arrows. Now each of these took out his bow and arrow and made ready for the attack. The man to the bowmen’s left was to act as his shield to give the bowmen time to draw his sword.

Fuinur looked back and saw that the other party was ready; he bent his head back and screamed "Fire" . A volley of arrows spread across the ship's deck and five of the guards went down. Then the archers dropped the bows and drew swords. The remaining guards seeing that they were doomed , raised their hands in surrender.

Fuinur ordered that the prisoners be locked below until the ship was under way, then if the men wanted they could join with the force. If the prisoners failed or refused to join then they could swim back to shore once both the ships had left the harbour.

Once the ship was secure, Fuinur sent word to Urken and Herumir that they could begin loading the ships with the supplies and oliphaunts.

[Ransom]

Elrohir peered out the door. The mysterious visitor had disappeared, leaving only a small scroll on the threshold of the door. He broke the seal and quickly skimmed the first few lines of the message. The information contained therein would require his further attention. However, the sun was waning, and Elrohir desired to dine with his brother. He slipped the scroll into his robe before locking the door behind him. Packing could wait.

This time, finding his brother was relatively easy. Elrohir simply followed the sound of his laughter to one of the small audience halls near the stables. Meneciriel was conversing with Elladin about their newest traveling companion. It didn’t take long for him to remember the name of the explosively joyous elf that was seemed to talk circles around his older brother. Fanelen. One of the elves that could control the natural elements. But that was a matter for later.

Elrohir decided to take the risk of inviting his traveling companions to dine with him. He emerged from the shadows and clapped twice, instantly catching the attention of the three elves in the center of the room. “My friends, the day grows late and my stomach grows empty. Shall we dine together once before we leave?”

[GreatWarg]

Ulwyte's horse reared again as an arrow tipped with steel sank into the flesh of a great bear in front. Pulling on the reins and fighting for control, Ulwyte looked around wildly for the source. People did not usually come here. He soon saw Kasteni shoot another arrow into the beast's thick, matted fur. Bewildered at such offence, the other were-bears were soon rambling off into the woods from where they came from.

Ulwyte checked the horse and dismounted quickly, wiping his sword against a few plants near the road first before sheathing it. No one ever said travelling was easy.

'A good show, Advisor,' Ulwyte congratulated, admiring his skill with a bow. One had to be rich to have such finely crafted arrows. He then turned to Lovek and Khuleln, who seemed to have both lost their horses. Inexperienced, eh? he thought to himself smugly as he surveyed the outcome of the battle.

[The Barrow-Wight]

Kasteni strode forward shaking his head in amazement that a few arrows had frightened the were-bears away. That was atypical of such creatures who normally would fight until their last breath. Still, it was good they were gone, but it was likely they would return soon. He surveyed the carnage they had created.

Three guards lay dead and at least five horses were dead and his was missing. The young Ulwyte looked in good shape, but Lovek and Khuleln were badly battered, though not seriously injured. His chariot lay in ruins, but most of his belongings lay nearby. He spoke to his companions.

“Men! Prepare to move immediately! The beasts will return, and in greater numbers. Ulwyte, Lovek will ride with you and Khuleln and I will each ride with one of the guards. We must make it to the hostel!”

Ulwyte nodded, but Lovek and Khuleln did not respond.

“Did the two of you hear me?” the Advisor asked.

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor/ Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^

Do you get it. Do you get it, Burin said for the twenty-first time to Curin. The miller stuck his face out, putting his lips out and he was expecting a kiss when along comes...

Yes, yes, we know,interrupted Curin. You've explained it to us already enough times.

Well, then, why aren't you laughing, cried the exasperated red-beared dwarf. I wouldn't keep on about it if I thought you had understood. See, here the miller was expecting ...

Stonehelm called out to his insistent bard. Believe us, we get it; we get it. Now stop or you will forfeit that keg you've won.

Stonehelm's word was of course the final word. There were many in the group who in fact wished he had given the final word a little sooner, but who could really be the judge of that.

Everyone was strained by the need to catch up quickly with the elves and men of Dale; the King had pushed them hard yesterday. They had ridden until after dark and even with the racous, rough-humoured stories they had felt sores rising where none had been. Saving precious time for sleep, they had not stopped even to light fires for the meal. They had eaten in silence, cold dried meats, some biscuits, fruits, water only to drink. They would have been happy to have had a cook that night, running sores or not. And then they were up before dawn, wishing the ponies would show some signs of fatigue, but none obliged.

The sudden silence brought about by Stonehelm's command meant for the first time they could hear the Forest River running. Immediately, Frain called to his boys to straighten up, Glavin straightened his back, Hringa drew his pony up beside the King. Down the slope, where a small tidal pool of sand and silt spread out along the river, they could see the elves camped. One even 'halloed.'

Have they got pointy ears? inquired Burin. Stoneheld did not need to give the order. Curin swiped him across the face with a pony blanket.

Now would be the real start to the adventure.

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[ October 03, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^^


Frain sighed a very deep sigh as he saw the Elves over the hill. He had many sores on both his feet and rump, from both walking and riding. He was bored more than anything else during the trip.

I hope we get to have some real food now! Yelped the happy Curin.

Frain silently agreed with the thought. His mouth was dry and he had sores on his tongue and his teeth hurt, from eating so much dry and cold meat. He looked foward to lighting a fire up tonight.

As the band traveled a little faster now, excited to get to a resting spot for at least a while, Frain looked among the engineers. Curin and Burin were two of the six men he had been allowed to bring, and the others now laughed at another joke Burin threw out. Yet Frain knew that they laughed at him, not with him.

He looked over their heads, and yonder he saw the blonde heads and the green garments of the wood-elves. He also saw some Men of Dale among them. He was anxious to talk to anyone besides Burin for a while.

Frain hoped the fun would start now with the Elves.

When they reached the bottom of the hill, some of the dwarves unpacked a few minor things. It wasn't as if they were staying too long, of course. Frain's eyes caught a strange Elf, with a look of wandering and daydream in his eyes. Strange... Frain thought to himself.

Another Elf caught Frain's grey eyes. This one though, unlike the other, had a giddy smile on his face. He looked as though he could run around the world and not be tired when he got back.

I told you Elves were odd Glaven saw Frain stare.

Well, Glaven. I might be old and i might seem evil and sneeky, but my dear old father always told me not to judge a book by its cover. I believe that, don't you? Frain relpied with a smile on his usually grim face.

This might actually be fun... thought Frain to himself.

[ October 02, 2002: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Faye Took]

****SHIRE*****

Odo couldn't stop thinking about what the Old Forest was going to be like. He had heard tales of the forest when he was a lad, and still today he hears them. Each time they would be different, and each story gave him the chills. ' I wonder if they are true.' Odo muttered to himself softly. Slience creeped over the four hobbit. No one spoke a word until there was a grubbleing sound. Orlo, Brando, and Hardo stopped there ponies in there tracks. 'What was that Orlo asked a little frighted.' Odo looked at the three frightened hobbits and began to burst out laughing. 'No worries my friends! It was just me stomach growlin! Guess I'll be havin some bread then aye?'

[ October 05, 2002: Message edited by: Faye Took ]

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - Gramil ****

"Sir! Sir! - " The servant called after Jarl, but his overly soft voice was lost in the din. The party, under the influence of alcohol, had begun to pick up. " - this message is for Dale of Jarl?? About a little Tiger?"

Jarl had made a speedy disappearance, perhaps due to that special trader's instinct for self preservation: Lady Ivrel had spotted them. She unfortunately caught this last part and was left to speculate on Jarl's interest in Tigers without him. Exotic animals was one of her trades. She faded into the crowd in search of her new prospect.

Gramil caught the reference at once. "Garlin? Is there a problem with Dale's - I mean Jarl's - assistant?" He suddenly recalled Garlin and Ethar were seen together at the beginning of the evening.

"I.. I don't know. The tiger is being held by the guard. At the lion's den. The message, tigers and lions, it makes no sense."

"The guard??" Gramil abandoned the servant and strode off in search of Jarl. He hoped Ethar was okay, and he hoped he was still with Garlin. The guard was not friendly to foreigners, they would not be able to tell the difference between a Dale man and one of Gondor.

Now, he thought, where would a trader seeking to avoid attention go... Gramil's eyes caught the opening to side passage. The kitchen.

**********

He caught the edge of the stranger's blade and threw it aside with a wobbly parry, feeling the impact to his knees. Ethar had recovered enough from his bloody rage to realize he was losing, and felt a bitter salt edge of panic as he forced two fast cuts that were easily turned. Now he had to defend. And defend, driven back into the crowd. "Defense is where you die," a teacher once said. Ethar really wasn't a swordsman, though he knew enough of the basics to realize this drunk Rhunian was not an average fighter. He was dressed as a free-sword, but this was a trained soldier. What was he doing in Harad? A deserter?

Ethar was about to make a desperate lunge inside the man's guard, when someone jumped in his way, nearly getting skewered. It was those beautiful dueling knives again - Garlin! He was fast. In a moment it was over, and Garlin was somehow on top of the soldier, crossed knives at his throat. And that is what the guards saw as they entered the tent.

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^Erebor/ Lonely Mountain^ ^ ^ ^

Stonehelm stood with his pony atop the hill and watched his caravan climb down to the river. Frain and Glavin had gone ahead; they had already reached the flatland but wagons were still behind them, Hringa in the middle of the troup.

It was hard holding the wagons so they didn't tumble head-first down the slope. Suddenly, Curin slipped and lost his hold on the wagon he was guiding. It tumbled forward, knocking Hringa's pony over. The faithful servant rolled beard over knee down the slope. The wagon then careened down the hill, crashing into the first wagons at the bottom and ploughing into Frain and Glavin.


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[ October 03, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Rose Cotton]

^ ^ ^ ^Erebor/ Lonely Mountain^ ^ ^ ^

Ponies, why did it have to be ponies? thought Hringa as he struggled to keep in his saddle. He had never ridden before prefering walking to anything else and now had to use all his wits to stay on his mount.

Hringa's problems with his pony did not keep him from pestering Stonehelm with questions. He followed the King as if he'd lose his way otherwise.

As they arrived at the elf's camp, Hringa was in for another suprise. Until now elves had only lived in his imagination. Now as he looked upon them for the first time he forgot all he was ever told about them. He didn't see how dwarves could mistrust these beings that stood tall and proud as if created from the most precious jewls.
Hringa worked hard to conceal his awe, not knowing what his master would think of him. Instead he cast his eyes upon his pony's mane as if fascinated by it.

Suddenly he was thrown to the ground as a wagon tumbled down the hill and struck his pony down. He tumbled down after the wagon feeling every ache he had gained through their journey and finally coming to rest at the bottom of the slope.

[ October 05, 2002: Message edited by: Rose Cotton ]

[Elenna]

Ciri smiled. "Yes, I think so. But can my husband join us?" Neither son of Elrond missed the pain in her voice - it was plain how she felt about leaving her husband.

But she led them into a small chamber, after ordering for food to be brought and Erestor and Fanelen summoned. They sat around a round table and stared at each other, waiting for someone to say something.

[piosenniel]

***** Dale-Jarl *****

Jarl had found a side door in the garden. It did not lead out to the street as he had hoped, but into the kitchen area for the great hall. He stopped and looked about. There must be a tradesman's entrance some where!.

A kitchen boy, arms laden with trays of fruits and confections hurried by. Jarl stopped him for a moment. 'Where is the door to the street?' he asked. Turning his slightly to the side and pointing his chin and eyes in the direction of the exit, the boy then hurried on followed by a sharp reprimand from one of the cooks.

Jarl strode through the maze of tables and cooking areas, in the direction the boy had indicated. He fended off offers to show this 'lost' guest back to the party, and finally arrived at the door. He had opened it, and was just ready to make good his escape, when a familiar voice called out to him in a tone of urgency that made him hesitate. He turned, a questioning look on his face, as he saw the figure of Gramil bearing down on him.

[ October 03, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[VanimaEdhel]

*****Rhûn Nation*****

Lovek did not immediately answer the Advisor. He looked around. Where could Ratislav have gone? His horse had been through as many battles with as many creatures as he had been, and he had never run. What was wrong? He looked around, at first in a panic.

Calm down, Lovek thought to himself, Ratislav was but a horse. But still...he was a very intelligent horse. He knew when further danger drew near. Well, Ratislav could care for himself. If he has run off, he would most likely take the safest, quickest path home. Just remain calm. Panic will cloud your thought...

Lovek heard Kasteni again, and snapped out of his thoughts.

"Yes, Advisor," Lovek said, "But, if you do not mind my request, I say that we should move from this dangerous location as quickly as possible. There is danger lurking in the area. Ratislav would not run from battle: he never has. There must be some greater evil about that we do not know of."

Lovek swung up onto Olwyte's mount.

"I hope the horse you have chosen is strong, brave and swift," Lovek whispered to Olwyte, "For there is great danger in this area and we must leave immediately."

Lovek looked around briefly, worried about what could have made Ratislav bolt, and waited for the others to be ready to leave...

[ October 03, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^^

Frain grumbled a little as Burin wrapped a string of cloth bandages around his broken arm. Frain chuckled though, for his right arm was broken, but he was left-handed.

He grieved for Glaven's death, a little. He thought back to an hour ago when he and Glaven were standing next to each other. He heard the rumbling of the falling wagon, and jumped far enough to only get a broken arm. Glaven, however, turned around to see instead of getting out of the way. Oh well, Glaven was a good dwarf, but he was dead weight. Frain thought ruefully.

Frain decided to walk around a bit after he was all wrapped up. He wanted to inspect the damage. The wagon would need some repairing, but nothing serious. Frain walked over to where Hringa sat, rubbing his knee.

Are you alright? Let me see that... Frain said as he inspected the knee. Just as I thought. It's a little twisted. Frain got up and talked to Burin, and the dwarf hurriedly trotted over to the servant.

Nothing to serious, save poor Glaven, reported Frain to the King.

The king merely stared as though in a dream, and the two walked a while together, helping where they could.

[ October 04, 2002: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

**********Harad/Umbar******************

Oliphaunts and baggage were swiftly being loaded onto the Corsair vessel. The men went about their business as quietly as possible. For a while, all seemed well. They thought to creep on board and make a swift exit from the harbor.

But just as they were loading the last of the oliphaunts, a small mouse came running across the gangplank. Within a single instant, bedlam broke loose. The man riding atop the mountainous beast was hurled into the waters of the bay. The oliphaunt reared up on his hind legs and let out a hideous bellow. He dropped down and turned about charging through the marketplace. It was enough to wake all the inhabitants of the Barrow-downs. And it certainly drew the ire of the men standing guard on several of the Corsair vessels docked just north of the one they'd chosen for attack.

Corsair pirates awoke from sleep, fumbled for their scimitars and bows, and came running out onto the streets. A volley of arrows came raining down on the heads of Fuinur and Herumir and their men. Urken laughed. Then he cursed the folly of the Oliphaunt handler and swore to split him in half, if he ever showed his face again.

Within an instant pirates were mobbing the ship, with scimitars held high in their hands. Herumir was fighting desperately, but losing ground as, inch-by-inch, the pirate soughts to grab back what was theirs. Fuinur found himself retreating into a corner, with a half a dozen men jabbing at his ribs. The Corsair were using long spears. Men were being run through and skewered, then tossed over the rail as if they were pieces of meat. The decks of the ship ran red with blood.

Urken lept up to the helm and put his horn to his mouth, sending the high notes echoing into the night. Within a moment, a returning cry of a horn split the air. A small regiment of soldiers, wearing the colors and carrying the banner of Urken, came marching into the harbor, bearing fresh axes and spears. They charged onto the ship, bringing aid and relief, hacking and scrambling their way through the dead and wounded. Slowly, the attackers fell back. At the end of an hour all lay quiet. Fuinur stood gasping for breath, and Herumir nursed a small wound in his arm.

Fuinur walked up to Urken and glared, "Could you not have brought your reinforcements down earlier? My men were sorely pressured. I have lost several; others were wounded." He gazed about the harbor and scowled, for Urken's reinforcements were conveniently occupying the other vessels one-by-one. The banner of the Bear now flew proudly on masthead after masthead. Fuinur cursed under his breath. One of the additional ships was being prepared for their own voyage. The rest seemed destined to join Urken's small navy.

Urken stared at him with cold eyes, "I did as I saw fit. If your man had not blundered in his handling of the beast, there would have been no need for any reinforcements."

But Fuinur wondered just where that mouse had come from, and why it had picked such a convenient time to stroll across the gangplank. And he especially remembered hearing the laughter of the priest.

[ October 04, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Elenna]

*****Rivendell*****

Ciri, Elladan, Elrohir, Fanelen, and Erestor were nearly finished with their meal when a young hobbit came rushing into the chamber, accompanied by the doorwarden of Rivendell.

"My lords," the elf said, bowing to Erestor and the sons of Elrond. "Ladies," bowing again. Ciri and Erestor exchanged looks - this doorwarden was a pompous fellow, fond of ceremony and pointless folderol. "This hobbit has brought a message for you from the land of the Halflings."

The hobbit, a young lad with curly brown hair stepped forward and bowed clumsily. "The king has summoned some of our folk to his side in Gondor," he began nervously. "And as ye are all going the same place, I have been sent to ask ye elves to wait for the hobbits and the dwarves of the Blue Mountains."

"Dwarves?" Fanelen said, sounding surprised and annoyed. "We will wait for your folk, but no dwarves."

The hobbit's face fell. Ciri, seeing his obvious disappointment, stood. "Friends, for the sake of the Shirefolk, we shall endure the company of the Dwarves. Are we not all grown Elves? I'm sure that a few dwarves will not be too much of a problem."

Glares erupted from around the table, but Ciri stood firm. They would travel with the hobbits and the dwarves.

[Ransom]

==Rivendel==

When the hobbit had been lead away to his room to be fed, Elrohir leaned back into his chair and surveyed the argument that was beginning to unfold. Erestor seemed to be unusually quite while Ciri and Fanelen were debating the various merits and flaws of traveling with dwarves. Elladan held his head in his hands, a clear sign that he was developing a headache.

Elrohir was not very sure of Ciri’s choice. Granted, hobbits rivaled his brother at cooking. But dwarves were another matter. Elrohir had delt with the dwarves of the Blue Mountains before, mainly when they were traveling with Aragorn. Dwarves could certainly hold their own in a fight, but it was common knowledge that they mistrusted and disliked elves. Not that elves were entirely inclined toward dwarves….

By now, Erestor and Elladan had entered the fray. Elrohir poured himself another cup of wine. He could live with the hangover.

[ October 04, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Rose Cotton]

^^^^^^^^^Lonely Mt.^^^^^^^^^

Once Hringa's head stopped spinning from his tumble down the hillside he lifted himself to see dwarves running about in panic trying to help others and retrieve the wagons. Only a few feet away Hringa reconized Glaven lying on the ground.

As he tried to get up he felt a horrible pain in his left knee. So instead Hringa dragged himself over to the other dwarf. As he got a closer look Hringa relised the truth. He drew back in shock, then bowing his head over Glaven he recited a small dwarven prayer.

Later on Hringa learned from Frain that his knee was twisted. He hardly cared.

[Faye Took]

~*~*~*~*~*~SHIRE~*~*~*~*~*~

It was soon the afternoon. All was silent upon the hobbits. 'There it is.' Hardo pointed. 'It's the Old Forest.' Odo's eyes widened. There was an old sign a couple of feet away from the forest. The hobbits trotted their way over to see what it said. They all dismounted off their ponies and walked behind one another. First was Hardo, than came Odo, Orlo, and Brando. Odo walked over to the sign and looked at it. Nothing could be seen with all the dust and webs of spiders upon it. Odo looked at Hardo. He nodded to Odo and Odo blew a puff of air out and the dust and webs flew off. He wipped the remaining with his sleeve.

'The sign reads: Beware Travelers of the Old Forest. Many have entered and have not returned. Beware.' Odo looked at the company. There was a long slince. 'Should we go in?' Orlo asked a little frighted. Hardo gave him a sharp look, 'Of course we are! They're probbly just trying...trying to scare us, thats it.' Odo looked up at the tall overpowering trees. It almost seemed as if they where whipering to one another. Odo shivered with fear and looked back to the company. 'Shall we...enter?' He asked looking very nervous. Hardo nodded his head and got back onto his pony. The rest followed.

[Ringwraith Number Two]

******The Shire******
Orlo stayed adamantly where he was. "I think that sign was there for a reason," he objected. "'Beware Travelers of the Old Forest. Many have entered and have not returned. Beware.' Isn't it more sensible to take the safer route, which will get us to Bree, preferably without getting killed?" He looked around at the others.

"Yes, I know this is an adventure, but I like adventures where I am able to breathe easily and am not trapped in a willow tree. Odo, Brando, Master Pippin must've told you about the Old Forest. Master Merry certainly told me." He shuddered.

" Come on, lets take the Road instead." He glanced at the other hobbits for approval. "Please?" he added.

[ October 05, 2002: Message edited by: Ringwraith Number Two ]

[Susan Delgado]

******Shire******

Hardo nodded decisively and said, "I never intended to go through the Forest. We'll take the road."

The next two days of travelling passed as something of a blur to the old coot, who hadn't yet become accustomed to sleeping on the ground and going without as many elaborate meals as he was accustomed to. The only thing that gave him any comfort was the fact that the youngsters didn't seem to like the travelling either, so at least he wasn't the only one miserable.

Around midday of their fourth day of travel, they crested a hill and saw below them the wooden palisade of Bree. For most of them, it was the first time they'd seen Men.

Hardo thought about the inconvenience of being in a town where most of the inhabitants were twice his height, but the others were characteristically excited.
In fact, Brando whooped and kicked his pony into a gallop toward the gate. The boy ignored Hardo's shout of, "Brando!" and pounded gleefully on the gate. Orlo and Odo barely glanced at Hardo before following. Hardo shook his head in irritation, but he had no choice but to follow.

They followed the main street to the Prancing Pony. Hardo had rarely seen such a mean, dirty looking establishment; he was sure it would be full of rats and roaches, but it was three to one in favor of staying at the inn and it was that or stay in the stable with the ponies. He sighed and followed the others inside.

[ October 05, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Ringwraith Number Two]

******The Shire******

It had been a hard four days of travel, but the Prancing Pony's beer more than made up for it. Their arrival at Bree had caused news: Shire hobbits travelling to Bree always did, since the notorious disappearance of 'Mister Underhill' all those years ago. Sighing in a satisfied way, Orlo leaned back and watched the inhabitants of the busy inn interestedly.

Dirty-looking men were muttering over something in the midst of another group of Men laughing raucously; Odo sat beside him, sipping his beer excitedly. Hardo had chosen to retire to his room, and to keep an eye on Brando. They had all decided he shouldn't be drinking at his age.

"So this is where Master Merry and Pippin sat all those years ago. And this is where they met the great King, as well. Funny that we should be here, and we that wewill be meeting the King too," thought Orlo.

He yawned widely and turned to his companion. "Odo, I think I'll have a nap now: its ages since I've slept properly. Good night!" He nodded, and trotted up the stairs. Hardo had chosen upstairs rooms: the hobbit rooms downstairs had been avoided as the chilling tale of the Black Riders had entered their minds as soon as the rooms were mentioned by the innkeeper. Opening the door, he fell into bed and was soon sound asleep.

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor/Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

*Under construction for restaging of events prior to Pio's fight at Old Ford*

Pio,

Could you delete and repost your set up after this post? We had been planning some things in PM that should come first. Thanks. smilies/smile.gif

Bethberry

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar ****

Gormack filled the doorway to the guardhouse, ducking carefully. He had clipped his forehead on that doorjamb many times. The night was filled with sounds: the crickets and zicadas hummed, while the mournful call of far off night birds startled them into occasional silence. At night, ones ears were a warrior's friends as the world faded in shades of grey. He preferred not to light the torches if it wasn't required. He could see better in the dark without them.

Gormack liked nightwatch, though his wife didn't appreciate it! But she was going to have to be patient this week. While their daughter was ill he'd had to trade all of his shifts, and now it was time to pay up. He could handle a few double shifts. Gormack had left his guard duty outside the counting house, ate the second lunch his wife had packed for him, and then had come straight to work. He'd hoped to catch Gramil before he left, to give news of his daughter, but the kind tradesmaster had been enscounced in his conversation with the owner of the Lion's Den. Gormack shrugged. Later then.

Gormack saluted the current yawning guard on duty, who had few words at this hour and nothing to report.

"Dead corner tonight," the young man (not anyone Gormack knew) winked, "Sleep well."

He slid down the ladder instead of climbing, in this dark. Show off, Gormack thought.

Gormack's favorite post was here on the outskirts of the city, where you perched on the edge of civilization. Wild creatures of the night crept both on the outside of the wall, and in the wine tents of the bazaar behind him. Generally the roaming guard handled anything that stirred up in the tents below. Gormack didn't think they would run into anything they couldn't manage, so he was free to enjoy the night.

Gormack watched the departing guard, noting the man jogged not towards the city, but towards the wine tents. A guard worth his salt noticed such details. No wife then, he supposed.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-GIRION/RUBIN *****
***** REPOST OF BATTLE ******

'Dwarves and Elves!' thought Girion. 'Why did my Father ever agree that I should go with them!' Rubin arched his brows at the Prince, as if he had just read his mind. It had been hard going to get the Elves on the road. A not uncommon problem for a People whose futures stretched endlessly before them. But once agreed, they had packed quickly, and been eager to be on their way.

The Dwarves on the other hand had presented other problems. They balked at the suggestion they leave their wagons and ponies behind for the faster transport of horses. They had just cleared that hurdle by assuring them they would have their pick of the gentlest Elven steeds, when they balked at the suggestion that most of the trip south be done on the water. Girion sighed and pulled a map from his case to show them the distances they would need to cover to reach Minas Anor. 'Even if you were to run the entire distance, you would not be there in time for the audience with King Elessar.' he said. They had agreed reluctantly, repacked what provisions and wares they could on the horses, and set out on the first leg of their travels.

Rubin and Girion had estimated that it would take about 15 days to cover the distance from their meeting place on the northeastern border of The Forest to the Old Ford at the Anduin River. That was with generous allowances for taking care of the horses and sleep and meal times for the companions. Once at the river, Dale would secure a small one masted ship for travel southward. More supplies could be brought aboard then, and a few of the horses could be taken to portage goods around Rauros Falls when they reached it.

They were now into their trek through the Forest, and the group had pulled together admirably. The weather had been pleasant, and tempers in the group seemed to reflect that atmosphere.

It was drawing toward evening of the ninth day, and the shadows of the trees stretched out long, one upon the other. Clouds scudded across the sky, and gathered threateningly in dark clumps. The air grew chill as the sun descended. There was a feeling of unease stirred up by a sudden northern breeze, and the companions drew their cloaks tightly about them as if to fend it off.

'What part of the Forest is this?' asked Girion of Orodan. 'The trees seem not to want us here beneath them.'

Stonehelm rode up beside the two Princes, his weapon now in hand. His brow was furrowed as his keen ears strained in every direction to find the source of a sound he had noted faintly.

'The North Wind!' he cried, turning his face toward it, and raising his weapon. 'There is a fell sound which rides in on it, and it draws nearer, on swift feet.'

'To me!' shouted the Dwarven king, as the sound grew louder.

[Nevtalathiel]

*****DALE-GIRION*****

Girion unsheathed his sword and listened intently, his eyes flitting across the trees in the hope of discovering the danger. The whole group was by now silent, watching and waiting with baited breath.

Slowly, a sound reached Girion's ears, a clicking, scratching, scraping sound of many stiff limbs moving carefully and with purpose. In the dim twilight ahead of him beneath the trees, he could see something moving. Long, dark legs moved stiffly but with apparent ease and speed towards the assembled elves, dwarves and men.

A shiver ran down Girion's spine and his legs felt suddenly numb. Through the trees an enormous spider crept, slinking with fluid motions and undoubted purpose. Its hairy legs feeling ahead of it, always pointing towards the group, it crawled closer.

[Faye Took]

~~~SHIRE~~

Odo was left alone down-stairs drinking his ale. Many things had been on his mind such as the journy. He sat in slince staring at the table. 'I wonder when the dwarves will arive.' He muttered to himself.

Then a crowd of men came around him. They all cackled horribly and they smelled of horses. 'Well, well well boys look who we have here.' said a tall man. Odo looked up at the man. The man was smiling and most of his teeth where gone. Odo smiled softly and went back to his drinking. The tall man bent down next to Odo, 'Arn't you a little too young to be drinking?' he said cackleing once more.

'I'll have you know I'm well over 25 sir. And I hold the record at the Green Dragon Inn from chugging the most beers.' Odo smiled largly and the men looked at him rather confused.

'Well I'll have you know little man, that I hold the record at this Inn.'
'How many?' Odo asked not worried about what the man would answer back.
'17 Ales and a half.' His possie began to roar and clap. 'And let me guess what yours is, 5?' They all began to laugh holding their large bellies.
'21.' All fell silent over Odo's words.
'21 aye? Well then, lets see if you can prove it.' The man took a seat across from Odo. 'Barliman! Bring out 40 ales.'

Barliman looked at the man rather curiously, '40, Harry?'

'Yes Butterbur, 30. We are having a contest to see who can chug the most ales until the pass out.' Odo looked the man in the eye and so did he. 'So your Harry I presume?' He nodded. 'Who might you be? I haven't seen you in these here parts.' Odo stood up and put his hands to his sides. 'I, sir, am Odo Took of the Shire. I am happy to announce that The Great Peregrin Took is my kinsman.' All the men looked at eachother confused.'Well Mister Odo are you ready.' Odo smiled, 'The question is, are you ready.' The men around them began to whisper to themselves as though they thought that their good friend Harry would loose to just a mere Hobbit.

Barliman came out along with other men helping him carry the ales over. Everyone in the Inn gathered around to watch the two. 'I forgot to mention one thing.' Harry said smiling rather evily. 'Whoever looses, pays for the ales.' Odo giggled. 'You better get your money sack out.' He said to Harry. 'Alright, lets begin. I'll count to three and We'll start. 1...2...3!' The drinking contest had began. Odo and Harry chugged their ales like no other could. The empty mugs began to pile up on the table. They had each gone through 8 ales. Odo looked rather perky still but Harry was a little woozy. The ales kept pileing up. 11...12...13...14... Odo was still in the lead! Harry could barely keep himself up.'Come on Harry you can do it! Don't let just a mezly hobbit beat you!' One of the men said. At ale 16 Harry fell face first onto the table, but Odo kept going. He was now very woozy. 18...19...20...21! 'I can't anymore, I just can't!' Odo cried out laughing. 'We have a winner!' Barliman cried out and the men roared with cheers. Stood up almost falling over. 'I did it! I did it!' he cried out holding up a empty mug. All of a sudden Odo passed out. The men still cheered. Barliman picked up the Hobbit and went up to the rooms. He silently opened the door so he wouldn't wake up Orlo, Hardo, and Brando. Barliman went back downstairs and cleaned up.

[ October 05, 2002: Message edited by: Faye Took ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^^

"To Me!" Frain heard Stonhelm's unmistakable voice.

Something was wrong? Frain stood at the back of the company of Elves, Dwarves, and Men.

Suddenly, any voices that had been in conversation stopped dead. Total silence swept over the group, save the sound of leaves rustling and twigs crackling in a forest nearby.

Click, click, click the sound of soft but heavy foosteps overcame the utter silence of the group. Frain walked quietly to the edge of the group, and was stunned to see a huge spider emerge from the forest.

"Gather thy weapons! We shall not let this horrid creature escape with his life!" screamed Frain. The call seemed to wake the people out of a trance, and the silence was but a memory as the company drew its weapons.

The clang of the metal swords and the wind against the drawn bows seemed to excite the beast, as though it had been loooking for trouble. Frain grasped his axe, which had been in his keep for a while, to keep the weight off a wobbling wheel on one of the wagons.

Frain felt no fear, in fact, he felt pity for the poor creatures life.

[ October 05, 2002: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-The Spider *****

'Foolish creatures! And yet so tasty!' thought the great Spider to herself. She smiled, if spiders can be said to smile, and advanced upon her meal.

'Let them be drawn to me!' she crooned to herself. 'Let them raise their weapons and make their useless threats against me.' She stopped and fixed them in the nacreous globes of her eyes.

Behind and to the sides now of the brave companions came the relentless, chittering sound of many feet. Her Children had now ringed them in, and begun their slow advance.

[ October 05, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Guildo]

<<<<<Eryn Lasgalen>>>>>

Orodan & Nefros


Both Orodan and Nefros knew they where being followed and both knew it was the queen spider.
Orodan thought to himself that she would not attack once she saw the size of the party.

Nefros on the other hand got a bit cocky for the first time on the trip and thought to himself the moment the Spider or Spiders spot Orodan they will run for their lives, for Orodans face had become most familiar to the Mirkwood Spiders; he had slain more of them than perhaps anyone, and to the Spiders Orodans face was associated only with death.

Stonehelm had called every one around him and, the only two that where not certain there would be a battle was Orodan and Nefros.

Orodan Cautiously with his hand on the handle of his sword walked to the party of men and dwarves all at arms.

Nefros had a small smirk on his face, thinking to himself “they’ll gain a new respect for my master when they see the spiders run at the sight of him.”

Finally after what seemed like minutes but was in fact seconds, the Queen Spider came within sight of the entire party and was dead still. She was looking straight into the eyes of Orodan and smiling (or what seemed to be a smile.)

Orodan stared directly back, but with his ears heard the sound of many others; twenty maybe thirty other spiders, heading straight in his direction.

This was the moment Orodan and Nefros both realized the real plot of the Spiders. The two elves turned and looked each other dead in the eyes both with expression of anticipation and fear.

Orodan drew his long sword; Nefros drew his two short swords.

The entire party turned and looked at them draw their weapons, which for the dwarves only heightened their readiness to fight.

Orodan shouted, “Prepare your selves my friends, to fight ALL the spiders of this wood.”

Nefros shouted, “And they seek ONLY master Orodan.”

[Tharkûn]

*****Dale/Garlin*****

Out of the corner of his eye, Garlin saw the two guards lunge at him. Rolling, he grabbed the attacker who he had pinned to the ground, and, using the strength he had gained after thirteen years of working on a farm, threw him at the guards who were flying towards him. As the tangle of bodies hit the ground, Garlin was already up and running. He dashed through the crowd, and into the alley ways. When he arrived there, he leapt up on to the roof of a building (thanks to the convenient placement of a few boxes). After jumping over a few roofs, to make sure he wasn't being followed, he lay down and slept, for he had used all his energy in fleeing the guards and the fight before. Two hours later, he awoke with a blade to his throat, and a guard's angry face staring darkly at him. "You're coming with me," the guard said, dragging Garlin away.

[ October 05, 2002: Message edited by: Tharkûn ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE - The Spiders*****

The Mother Spider avoided the Dwarf and his wicked axe. 'He has a mean bite! I will not face him yet.' From the corner of her eye, she had seen a fairer prize and now went after it.

The elves had gathered in a tight knot and sought to escape her poisonous bite. Two of them she knew. Orodan! And his loathsome sword! And Nefros, with his two vile blades! They had killed many of her kin, and she meant to see them dead today. 'But that will come later!' she thought to herself, 'when I have time to play more with them.' she advance slowly on the third Elf, who quailed now before her.

The Spider grazed her arm with a light and deadly touch of fangs, and watched as the elf fell in a small heap on the ground. Two of the Spider's daughters had come now to harry the two elves who still stood their ground. The Spider shot a strong and sticky thread of silk upon the fallen elf and dragged the limp body to her. Wrapping it securely in a shroud-like skein of spider silk, she piled it behind a tree and went toward the great one who stood rallying his troops about him.

He was large and robust! She rubbed her two front legs together, then groomed her fangs. They could feast on him for days!

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor/Lonely Mountain--Spiders^ ^ ^ ^

No miserable, clinking, spittling spider will gnaw the edges of Stonehelm's axe, swore Thorin III, remembering the tales told in his youth of Thorin II's victory over the spiders, not he who held Sauron's foes for seven days.

Frain, Curin, Burin, to the left and cover Frain's weak arm. Nice day for you to forget your bows, elves. Did you boys think you were coming on a picnic? Stonehelm taunted Orodon and Nefros, hoping to draw upon their ire against dwarves to give them courage against the black creatures.

Hringa, Durgan, to the right. The queen's the target but don't lose sight of the others. Stonehelm felt for the heavy stones and the sling under his tunic, readying for a first throw and then held his axe with his free arm.

http://www.gamers-forums.com/smilies/otn/other/vikingsmiley.gif

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[piosenniel]

'Smart, he is! A worthy foe!' She had seen him slip his hand beneath his tunic. 'Rocks, he has!' she hissed to her many daughters. 'And see how he thinks to arrange his men against us.'

'Before and behind!' she called to them. Four great hulking spiders arranged themselves in a massive line before her and inched forward slowly in a frontal attack. Two smaller spiders hurried round the flanks of the Dwarven line and came at them from behind, drawing off some of the Dwarven strength.

She eyed the Men of Dale, only one of whom had drawn his sword and now stood isolated from the rest of his companions. Vile green spittle dripped from her cavernous maw as she sought now to prick him with her fangs and subdue him.

[Alkanoonion]

******Harad/Umbar******
Urken left Fuinur beside the gangplank and boarded the first ship. Once Urken was out of ear shot, Fuinur motioned for Herumir to join him. Herumir walked up to Fuinur while tying a bandage to the wound on his arm. Fuinur glanced at the wound and asked, “ Is that serious?”

No just a scratch, hardly worthy of a bandage.” Fuinur nodded “and what do you make of that little accident?

“Was no accident, it was all planned, so that Urken could get his hands on that ship” replied Herumir.

Fuinur looked around to make certain that no one was listening. “That bear needs watching, I don’t trust him. What are his motives for helping us? And why did he take control of every ship in the port? What need did a Warrior Priest of the Guild of the Black Numenoreans have for ships?

Herumir looked thoughtful and then leaned closer to Fuinur and said
“I suggest that until this enigma is revealed we act as if we trust him. The voyage to Anduin is a long one. Who knows what accidents can happen on such a long voyage?

Fuinur laughed “Thanks, that helps, but I want him on the other ship and with him I will send Seth. That way if anything funny happens we will know about it.

Once both ships had been prepared to Fuinurs satisfaction, the tide was turning. It was time to leave.

The two ships made their way out of the Harbour. The first went with Urken, his men and Seth who had stowed away to spy on Urken's activities. On the second ship went Fuinur, Herumir and the remaining men who had survived the battle.

The sun had risen by the time the two ships had cleared the harbour. Once out into open water, the ships changed course and made their way north towards the Anduin.

[Nevtalathiel]

*****DALE-GIRION*****

The spider was approaching Girion with frightening speed, and he readied himself for an attack, relaxing every muscle to allow him to move as swiftly as possible. He took a deep breath and smelt the stench of the approaching predator, which stang in his throat and made him cough.

The fell creature was now close enough that Girion could see the venom dripping from its fangs and could discern the malicious glint in all eight of its eyes. One of its long hairy legs reached towards him like a strand of darkness itself. At the end of the leg, a hooked claw glinted.

With a sudden yell, Girion leapt into action, his sword whirring against the enourmous beast. The claw was severed almost instantly and fell to the ground, where it oozed a vile dark purple blood. He continued to slash and stab at the malevolent animal, calling out for help from the others, unaware that they were being set upon by the spider's children.

[Rose Cotton]

^^^^^^^^^^^Lonely Mountain^^^^^^^^^^^

Hringa's knee still hurt but not so bad that he could not help. If you called it help. The servant had never wielded a sword in his life and was very clumsy with the blade he was using now.

He tried to stay close to Stonehelm with a mind to protect him. As the spiders advanced Hringa shivered though the air was warm but he held his ground and braced himself.

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^Erebor/ Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^

Out of the corner of his eye, Stonehelm saw the other four engineers place themselves behind him.It's not quite regimental squares, but it will have to do,he said to himself in satisfaction.

In a voice low that all the dwarves could hear, but that did not carry far, he gave the command. Hold steady, lads, and stand quietly. Noise will stun them, so on my word be ready. We shall begin a steady tread of feet and battle cry and then send them volleys of stones. Count yourself down from Curin on the left, who shall be 'one'. The odds start throwing at my call of 'odd.' Then, at my call of even, send the second volley. And wave your axes. The centre orbs will focus on you, but your moving axes should confuse the outlying eyes.

The dwarves' resolve stiffened, remembering the pattern of defense which Stonehelm had learned from Dain at the Seige of Erebor.

Look lively, lads, Stonehelm whispered. He stood taller and began the rhythmic stomping of left foot, right foot, left, right, left and raised the cry in which all joined. Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd aimênu!

True to his knowledge, the sound stunned the multitude of spiders. Then came the count. Odd! The first volley flew. Even! The second volly came forth. Odd! Even!

The dwarves kept up their rhythmic stomps, repeating over and over again their battle cry, as the stones flew in tandem. Then, the dwarves went on the attack, storming forward, axes hewing and slashing the stunned spiders and seconding the work begun by the stones.

The elves looked on with amazement, never having imagined dwarves with such disciplined courage.
http://www.gamers-forums.com/smilies/otn/other/vikingsmiley.gif

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Kettle of fish]

***** Dale *****

Rubin's breath caught in his throat, as the spider rushed Girion. Should anything happen...

But Girion's lessons and practice with the sword held him in good stead - Rubin was able to relax a fraction before brandishing his sword at the swarms of spiders that were scuttling towards him.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^^

Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd aimênu! Frain joined in the war cry, energized while his king called out odds and evens.

Let none of these cursed beasts leave to breed another of their disgraceful kind!, hollered Frain, and Curin and Burin sreamed the battle cry in return.

One of the spiders stood still, as if paralized. They don't like the sound... Frain whispered to himself.

Left and right Elves and Men, totally disorganized in Frain's eyes, scrambled and sliced at the spiders. While they, the great Dwarves of Erebor walked in unison, scaring most of the spiders that came between them and their victory.

Yes, they should fear us Frain knew in his heart all would be well...

[GreatWarg]

* * * * Rhûn Nation * * * *

'It's pronounced Ulwyte,' Ulwyte responsded to Lovek. The loss of his steed seemed to get to the captain more than anything else, though he was trying not to show it. Digging into his equine's sides with the heel of his boots, Ulwyte commanded the steed forward. The horse snorted, unhappy with the current arrangements, and swayed reluctantly for a moment before moving. It had too obviously considered bucking both of them off.

'You know what, horse? If you even think of bucking us off, I'll kick you before you do,' Ulwyte grumbled mostly to himself. The horse snorted louder and lurched forward in a feign attempt to throw both Ulwyte and Lovek forward.

'Damnable horse!' Lovek cursed. 'Choose a steed that is more behaved next time, Ulwyte!'

Ulwyte flicked the steed between the ears. 'You heard him.' The horse pulled its lips back into a sort of snarl before doing what it was ordered.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Spider *****

'Aaaahhhhhhhh!!' came the scream of the giant spider as the Man's sword cut through her her leg, severing her foreclaw. A gobbet of the vile purple blood flew through the air, landing on the Prince's right thigh, burning his breeches there and then his flesh. She backed away from the Dalesman's weapon and took stock of the battle before making another charge at him. Her daughters were being set upon by the Dwarves, and even the Elves had rallied now to engage the spiders that were set against them. The other Man had now come into the battle, too, and was wielding his sword most effectively.

She had not lived so long to have it end this day, nor did she wish to see any of her children dead before her. Retreating beneath the cover of the trees, she picked up the cocooned Elf and then called her daughters to make haste and retreat.

As one, they heard her call and skittered quickly back from their intended meal. The horses and ponies, scattered in wild fright before them. Food and wares scattered hither and yon, some not to be found again.

And as to the fate of most of the steeds, it is said in Spider lore that in a pinch, a good meal of horse or pony flesh will do nicely!

[The Fifth]

* * * * Rhûn Nation * * * *

Khuleln said quietly, "Yes." He slid his sword into its sheath, and gripping a hand onto his ribs, glanced at Spidernose. The steed lay dead and mutilated. A werebear was dragging the body away, a trail of blood seen as the ursine creature tugged it into the forests, perhaps to devour it and leave the horse's bones to rot. So Khuleln stood from his kneeling position, walking up towards one of the guards. The guard sat in the front, leaving room for the warrior to mount the equine.

Faintly, he could see the hostel. It was not the best or largest building, but it would do. He watched Kasteni mount a guard's horse next to him. Before the Advisor could glance back, his eyes roved towards the hostel again. "And onward we go," Khuleln said to himself. The steed he was upon snorted, shifting its weight about to get used to bearing the two men.

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: The Fifth ]

[Robin Headstrong]

"Dwarves!" Fanelen repeated to Ciri. "We all know that the Dwarves detest Elves!"

"Fanelen is right," affirmed Elladan. "How can we be sure that these dwarves are willing to travel with us?"

"I can tolerate halflings," Fanelen stated, "but not those crass dwarves!"

"If you cannot tolerate them," Ciri replied, "then do not come. You don't have to."

"But-" Fanelen stammered. She had a feeling she wasn't going to win this argument. Like Elladan, Ciri tended to prove her wrong in most debates. Fanelen didn't want to back down, but Ciri had a point. The young elf desperately wanted to go on this journey, and she couldn't let a few dwarves or an argument stand in her path.

"I want to go on this journey," Fanelen said aloud. "And I suppose I can learn to tolerate dwarves. But we all know that elves and dwarves are rivals!"

[Ringwraith Number Two]

******The Shire******

Orlo awoke, thoroughly refreshed. As he walked to the window, his stomach rumbled persistently. He had a hankering for a real breakfast. He thought at once if Butterbur could bring some up: but the sun told him it was much too early for the innkeeper to be making breakfast, and besides, his stomach wanted breakfast now.

He pondered for a while, and padded over to grab his cloak. Throwing it over his shoulders, he quietly exited the room and trotted out of the inn.

Sleepy though the inn was, Bree market-place definetly wasn't. Tradesmen (and women), Man and Hobbit alike, traversed the market place greeting each other cheerily and setting out their goods. Orlo spotted a burly hobbit selling tomatoes. Ah-ha, he thought.

He approached the hobbit. "'Ello there," he said, smiling brightly. The other grunted a reply in return and scratched his head. There was a long silence as the burly hobbit regarded Orlo, wondering whether he looked familiar or not.

"Ere," said the hobbit, at long last. "Ain't you one of those Shire-folk?"

"That I am."

"Ain't you staying at the Prancing Pony?"

"Well. Yes. But I came to see if I could purchase some breakfast items here."

The other hobbit's face brightened up visibly.

"Well then," he said. "We've got fresh tomatoes, bacon, and eggs- all fresh, mind, that should do nicely for ya. What do you say, sir?"

Orlo considered his offer and held out a handful of coins.

The other looked at the money, considering the amount deeply. Without a word, he packed up several eggs, tomatoes and a large, delicious looking side of bacon in a basket. Beaming, he took the money and bid Orlo goodbye.

Orlo nodded his thanks, and made his way back to the inn, where the first signs of activity were appearing. However, all was quiet in the hobbits' rooms, apart from the occasional snore from Hardo.

He unpacked the cooking gear and began a luscious breakfast. The aroma of freshly cooked bacon and eggs drifted around the room. Orlo looked longingly at the breakfast, but decided to wake the others.

He prodded Odo in the shoulder. Odo looked slightly green, and reeked of ale. "Ah," Orlo said knowledgeably. "Drinking contest, eh?" He moved on, and woke Hardo and Brando, and waited impatiently for them to realise that a wonderful breakfast was waiting.

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Ringwraith Number Two ]

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar ****

Ethar
Ethar watched stunned as Garlin tumbled and, using his own weight, sent the flailing Rhunian soldier sprawling into a line of guards. They poured over and around the bellowing man, but Garlin had disappeared. Ethar felt a flash of anger and confusion as he searched about. First Garlin saves his neck. Then he leaves, without even a glance back. Ethar scrambled while the irate guards swarmed after Garlin, and escaped his own way. He stood and slid behind a few onlookers. Then he turned and gawked with the rest. It would have worked but for the forgotten sword cut across his face.

**********

Gormack
Gormack turned at the commotion in the tent city below, the sound of steel on steel was unmistakable. A sword fight! He couldn't tell which tent held the guilty parties.

But there was no need - the night guard was already alerted and moments later a tent billowed with scattering people, while torches marked where more onlookers gathered. Several figures ran and Gormack noted the direction of those, but one in particular caught his eye: a flash of light skin in dark-skinned Harad. Gondor! Gormack stopped himself. Why would Gondor send a spy? And one who stood out so. Gondorians were cruel and heartless, but he had never heard they were stupid.

He marked the place where the stranger hid himself, and patiently waited. He would not leave his post unless there was certain need. If the guard were still searching for someone, they would come. And if this was one they sought, he had him.

Not two hours later a cluster of guards gathered at the guardpost. A hand pointed in Garlin's direction, and they fanned out. They found the boy asleep, and hauled him out like a kitten by the collar as his eyes flew open.

**********

"Gondor gutter rat," the guard said in the common tongue. He spit and shoved Garlin ahead of him, and the lad staggered nearly into the big guard in front. "In the war I killed dozens like you."

Two other guards laughed. They wouldn't harm a man who was disarmed, bound and helpless. But having a Gondorian captive tried that principle to its breaking point. The defeat of Pellenor was etched into their memories. They themselves had stood - or knew someone who had stood - on that field of victory, only to find their own ships captured by sorcery and turned against them.

"Spy." another soldier growled. The others nodded and drew dangerously closer.

"I'm from Dale," Garlin said flatly in Haradric.

"Never heard of it." the guard answered, though this time he spoke his own language. The big guard opened the door to a long stone building and Garlin was roughly forced inside. He heard a familiar voice.

"But he has to be at the counting house. His rooms are right above it - "

"Ethar - !" Garlin and one of the guards - the big man - spoke at once, and then stared at eachother in surprise.

"Gormack, thank the gods it's you!" Ethar spoke to the big guard, his chains rattling as he moved. "They can't find Gramil, and they won't let me go!"

**********

Gramil
Gramil explained as he continued to walk, gesturing for Jarl to follow. At the first sentence Jarl turned on a dime.

"We have word of your assistant. And mine. It could be trouble. I'm not sure how bad. The messenger is outside still I believe - This way, it's faster."

Gramil moved as quickly as he spoke, on long strides. His voice was calm and low, and only the speed and his worried frown gave away his concern.

Jarl nodded and together they dodged cooking trays and startled servants, and then outside, attractive but rather obstructive vines. The two of them caught up with the messenger on the front steps. Gramil ignored guests who turned towards them curiously. Jarl paid them even less heed.

Ethar was injured, no one knew what the charges were against the two but they had been lucky: one of the guards was Gramil's own, and he had sent word to the owner of the Lion's Den. Tarve had spoken for them, and had them moved to Jarl's quarters.

At the Lion's Den, Tarve and Gormack met them in the front hall. The lads were asleep upstairs, but Gormack filled Gramil in. Gramil made the exhausted man sit. Hadn't he stood duty at the counting house the day before also?

Relieved as he was the boys were okay, Gramil cringed as he heard the details of the damages and ire among the denizens of the bazaar. He glanced at Jarl, who sighed heavily and stared thoughtfully at the back of his hands. Yes, he grasped the gravity of the situation. He was growing to respect this man.

Strange as it may seem, the true power of the city was there, in the bazaar. They would pay for the damages and the boys would apologize, of course. And Gramil would speak various key if seemingly unimportant persons, seed the bazaar with the true story. Once they knew all that happened. But it was probably best neither of the boys were seen there for a while. Only Tarve was cheerful.

"Boys are boys, eh?" he laughed, "nothing but trouble, I always say. Maybe you two, you send them to the plantation - work with their hands will do them good. Too much energy, not enough sense these boys!"

Gramil commented drily, "The king did mention Nurn as part of our tour." Then it suddenly seemed like a good idea. He turned to Jarl questioningly, eyebrows raised.

Tarve declared, "Ah! And have the boys do the shopping! A month's expedition supplies? A merchant will forgive them anything." Everyone chuckled. Except Gormack, who was fast asleep.

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[Carnëiach]

"Wow!" Brando turned a few heads as he rushed to the fireplace, where a seat sat empty. Hardo studiously tried to pretend he wasnt at all associated to the young hobbit.
"Just think; this was where the King sat. King Aragorn...." Brando sat reverently in another chair, staring at the fireplace seat until someone saw in it. He looked away feeling slightly embarrased until the innkeeper brought over some beer. Brando stared at the huge glass, amazed at how the giant men all around swallowed it with such ease. A slow smile of satisfaction spread across the young hobbits face and he reached for the glass... when Hardo lifted it out of his reach.
"I dont think so boyo. Youre far too young for the likes of that." In front of the dismayed young hobbit, Hardo took a large gulp of the foaming beer himself.
"But I...It was..." He spluttered until the old hobbit stared him out. He sighed and soon the long day travelling caught up with him, despite the amazing strangenes of this town of giants. He yawned and as soon as his head hit the pillow he was asleep.

Exploring the town with Orlo the next day after a more reasonably hobbit sized breakfast was every bit as impressive as Brando had expected, even though he wasnt as lucky as his uncle, finding no lost kings, but no murderous nazgul either. People did have a tendency to trip over him but still...
Odo has stayed in bed this morning, giving Hardo more fresh ammo about young people today and was suffering from a major hangover.Orlo had cooked a magnificent breakfast of bacon and eggs, much more suited to Brandos stomach than the everlasting muffins, although that was not to say the muffins hadnt made a most agreeable accompaniment. The excited hobbit lad bounded irrepressibly back towards the Prancing Pony, his mind awhirl with what lay ahead...

[Faye Took]

*****SHIRE******

Odo finally got up around noon. He stood up almost falling over. Everything was swirling and whirling around him.'Owww!' he cried holding his head. He staggered over to where his cloak was hung up and swung it over his shoulder and clipped on his brooch.

Odo slowly walked down the stairs afraid he was going to fall. His eyes where very droopy and red. He walked over to the bar and sat on a empty chair. He wrapped his cloak around him. Barliman saw Odo and greeted him. 'Well if it isn't the drinking champion!' Barliman chuckled. Odo looked at him rather annoyed. 'What can I get for you my lad.' Odo slowly raised his head. 'Nothing please.' Barliman shrugged his shoulders and began to clean the used muggs.

A man took a seat next to Odo. It was Harry. 'Heres your money you little runt.' He threw a big brown bag of coins on the table, and left. Odo opened the bag. There must have been 100 coins in there. Odo smiled and began to giggle, then his giggles turned into laughs. 'Take that.' he said softly to himself.

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Faye Took ]

[Susan Delgado]

******Shire******

Hardo was in a foul mood. He'd been awakened out of a perfectly sound sleep this morning to an inadequate and undercooked "meal" which Orlo had cooked right in their room! Didn't he realize he could have burned the whole place to the ground? Obviously not.

He'd tried to keep track of Brando, but somehow they boy had slipped out of the Inn and gone galivanting all around Bree by himself.
He met the boy at the Inn door when he finally returned and grabbed him by the ear and dragged his reluctant self up the stairs and down the hall to their rooms, lecturing all the way.
He obviously had no notion what a dangerous place Bree could be. He hadn't even gone out with Odo or Orlo, not that they could be trusted either! Brando should have stayed right here, in the Inn, which wasn't too safe itself, but at least here Hardo could keep an eye on him.
He tossed the boy inside and locked the door. He knew full well Brando could unlock the door from the inside, but he thought (unlikely but possible) that he might stay in there of his own volition, to think about what he'd done by wandering around the town so carelessly.

Hardo went back down to the Inn's main room and ordered another ale. He wondered vaguely where the other two boys were, but decided he didn't really care; if those two got into trouble, they were old enough to get out of it by themselves. Not that Odo hadn't already had plenty of adventures already...getting into a drinking contest with a Man! What idiocy!

He sat there and drank with his back to the door leading to the upstairs rooms, so he missed Brando slipping outside again.

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[VanimaEdhel]

****Rhûn Nation*****

Lovek saw the hostel ahead. This Olwyte...Alwyte...Ulwyte...whatever his proper name was had chosen a despicable horse. The creature had spirit, yes, but he had not been trained properly. Although a horse should keep its spirit and not be broken, it needed to have at least a bit of respect, which this horse did not have.

Lovek sighed in indignation to himself.

"Yes?" Ulwyte said to him.

"Nothing that is of any of your concern," Lovek said, "Just keep this creature moving and listening..."

Lovek saw the hostel ahead. He was familiar with hostels of this sort from when he was travelling to battle. For this reason, the very sight of one generally got his blood pumping. Lovek felt the blood quicken in his veins as his heart sped up. He struggled to control his breath.

And, very slowly, he felt the little nagging worry at the danger that must be out there disappear...

[ October 08, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor/ Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^

Stonehelm was surprised that the spiders retreated so easily, but he was also dismayed to see the loss of the elf. He called out to Thranduil's heir, Look, ho, they've taken her. What are your plans? You know the venom of these spiders. Was she dead before they cocooned her? Shall we follow after?

He then turned to his dwarves, who were also stunned by the sudden retreat. We've got the one pony left here, and wagon, held by the thoughtful actions of Hringa. Stonehelm nodded a thankful, rewarding acknowledgement at the faithful dwarf.

Quickly, Pain and Stain, run to round up what other ponies have survived. Even spiders that huge cannot easily or quickly carry away a four-legged beast. Go after them to recoup what we may be able to, but be wary and cautious.

Stonehelm turned to Frain, the other engineers, and Hringa, Gather what we can of our scattered effects. Hringa, you hold fast to our nervous pony here; we don't want him running off now. Where are the Men of Dale? What are their losses?

http://www.gamers-forums.com/smilies/otn/other/vikingsmiley.gif

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Jarl *****

Jarl sat down at the desk in the front room, and listened to Gramil speak with the two guards. This is proving to be an expensive trip for Dale! he thought to himself, as the men detailed to Gramil what had happened. It would be no surprise to me if Bard decides to 'retire' me when I return!

The three had finished speaking. Jarl ran his hands through his hair, then beat a short, slow tattoo on the desk top in in front of him. Best to get back on task and not worry about the future, until I can iron out what has happened today. Elbows resting on the desk top, he steepled his fingers in front of him and said softly, 'What is it you need me to do to smooth this business over with the families in the bazaar?' He regarded Gramil closely, assessing just how far he might trust the man to deal fairly with him, then sat back calmly in his chair, the decision made. 'I will rely upon your judgement, as I am the offending outsider in this matter. Garlin is my assistant, and I assume full responsibility for his actions. You know the Trade community best in this town. What should our next move be?'

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

Gramil and Jarl talked late into the night. It was agreed between them that Gramil would take care of certain arrangements in the bazaar early in the morning, and then the four of them would leave with all haste for Nurn. The two young men were to stay here, until the party was ready to leave, with Gormack to stand guard that nothing unpleasant happen during the night. Gramil had balked at this idea, wanting to send the man home to his family. But Jarl had made it clear that he preferred someone he knew be here and offered to subsidize Gormack handsomely for the extra hours.

Gormack jumped at the chance to make the extra money. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stationed himself at the entry way.

It was just before dawn. Jarl walked Gramil out to the street, tightening up the few loose details of their talk as they stood on the walk. A fair number of Gold Dragons were exchanged between them. Then Gramil bid him fare well until later, and and made his way to the bazaar.

[ October 09, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - in Nurn ****

The message arrived in the middle of the night, the knock at the farmhouse door waking the entire family. "Go back to bed!" The father spoke gently, but there was tightness and urgency in his voice that kept his three children up, listening to the visitor's voice. But the visitor whispered, and they could hear nothing but their father's final reply.

"Yes. Of course! I support you absolutely. There is not much I can do, I am a poor man, but he can stay in the cellar."

So someone was going to live in the cellar with the roots and the onions? Who would want to do that? The door closed and they dove under the covers, pretending to be asleep. Their father poked his head in the room. "Go to sleep now, there's nothing to worry about." He always knew. Their mother stood in the hallway in her nightgown, holding the candle. She looked worried, but if she said anything it wasn't in front of the children.

Several days passed, and no one came to live in the house or the cellar. Life was as normal as it had been since the coming of the men with the shiney black uniforms, and all the orcs. You had to be respectful of the black uniforms, and even the orcs, even though orcs smelled bad and were nasty. The orcs were gone now, and you weren't supposed to mention the Red Eye anymore. Before it was 'the Red Eye this' and 'the Red Eye that' about everything. But the black uniforms were still in charge. They didn't need the Red Eye anymore, and the children wondered if the black uniforms had made the Red Eye up just so they could boss people around.

The children played their games, one of them pretending to be the slavemaster, capturing the others. The 'captured' two had to work in the fields until they dropped from lack of food and decided to run away. They pretended to run away to their father, or Al-karech who used to be the mayor before the black uniforms came. Then they joined Gramil's trade caravan and went to the land in the sun, far south. He could only take so many, but they pretended they were among the lucky few. That was the usual game. Their mother didn't like it, so they played it out of earshot.

Then the soldiers came. The kids had been taught to hide whenever soldiers came, especially if their blades were drawn, so they opened the window and then dove under the bed. The window had to be open. If things got very dangerous, they were to go out the window and run into the woods, else they might be taken away as slaves. They had done that many times over the last few years.

Fortunately this time they didn't have to sit in wet leaves, shivering, waiting for their parents to come and get them. These soldiers their father let in, quickly closing the door. The soldiers were looking all around, scared, knives and swords drawn, protecting someone in the middle. They were dirty, and some had blood on them. And on their swords.

Their mother made a big pot of soup even though it was late at night. The soldiers ate it like wolves, talking anxiously, though it was was hard to understand what was going on. But they were really nice, thanking their mother a lot for the soup and for letting them come. Soldiers weren't usually like that. Usually they came and took what they wanted, and broke things.

Their youngest sister dropped a spoon on the floor and they all jumped up, one had his sword out in a flash, so fast. The man who was in the middle told them to sit down, but their little sister started crying anyways she was so scared. Their mother picked her up, and the man in the middle got up, talked softly to little sis, and made his glove into a dancing puppet. She buried her face into her mother's shoulder away from him, but she did stop crying.

As the sky started to lighten to a pre-dawn grey the soldiers left, thanking their mother and father as though soup in the middle of the night had saved their lives.

But the man in the middle stayed. Their mother put a bed in the cellar. She even used their best linen. His name, they learned, was Al-Gareth.

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[Guildo]

<<<<Eryn Lasgalen>>>>>

Orodan & Nefros

The battle was furious, going to fast to possibly think.
Nefros saw his sister being attacked by the spiders and was furious, he became a totally different person enraged and unable to be calmed.

Orodan also saw the attack on Isilya and though he was concerned with her demise, he was a bit more concerned at the time, with Nefros staying out of the way of the dwarves stones.

“NEFROS!”
“NEFROS!”
”NEFROS!”

Orodan repedidly shouted, trying to get closer to Nefros while slashing the horrid spiders with his long sword. He knew the spiders where after him but was surprised at the fact they where hardly concerned with him, for the Dwarves and Men where fighting a battle one could write books about.
Orodan continued and continued to attempt to get Nefros’s attention by shouted his name, but Nefros was too engulfed by his fury to realize what was going on.

“NEFROS!” Shouted Orodan. Even as the Spiders retreated Nefros followed as though he was a totally different being altogether with tunnel vision focused on only one sight.

“NEFROS!” Shouted Orodan. As Girion and Rubin held him back from chasing after his beloved companion. To Orodan time itself seemed to slow down as Nefros vanished in the wood, and the Elvish Prince thought back of a time hundreds of years ago when he watched his brother Finwe fade into the blur of battle never to see him again.

Once again he shouted.

“NEFROS......!”

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Guildo ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

***********Harad/Umbar**********

Urken shook his head and scowled. The two kings would never believe it, but the little mouse on the gangplank had been no trick of his! He cursed himself for bellowing out with a laugh. When he'd seen the melee, he knew it would make a perfect cover for seizing the other ships, and his response had sprung from nowhere. His reserve troops had moved forward to seize the booty. They had done their job well.

But this was not his primary goal. He had wanted to gain some cooperation or even good will from the other kings, and it looked as if that chance had been lost, at least for now.

The ships had slipped out of the harbor and rounded the hook where they would change direction towards the north. He flashed the sign to the ship ahead, requesting that they stop in the shallows just before the vessels headed north. He would need to make a gesture of conciliation. His men undid the winch and slipped the small boat into the waters. They rowed him over, and he requested entry, coming aboard in the basket which was thrown over the rail and then cranked upward.

He nodded in respect to the kings. "We need to talk sailing tactics and strategy against the Corsair ship which goes ahead of us. I fear the villages along the banks of the Anduin may be reluctant to give us passage with this ship stopping to raid along the way."

The men eyed each other warily. Herumir and Fuinur were not comfortable with the situation, but had no choice except to deal with the priest. They talked at some length about the distance and time involved: some 327 leagues to Minas Anor. The ship could manage about 2.4 leagues per hour. In a single day that meant about 57 leagues. So a distance of 327 leagues could be covered in a little over five and a half days.

That is, the distance could be covered if they did not run into any diversions or roadblocks. But they would surely have to deal with that Corsair ship. Urken suggested that the two kings consult and devise a plan to that purpose. He would support them in anything reasonable that could be suggested. "Let me know of your plans by tomorrow. See if there is some way we may deal with this without having to meet them in open battle." he urged them.

Moreoever, Urken also let them know that, before leaving port, he had instructed his soldiers to turn over one-quarter of the captured ships to each of the kings. This would mean each king would be given two of the vessels. Messengers had been dispatched to their households with the papers properly drawn up, and instructions for them to send their own men to occupy the ships. Another two had been ceded to the Harad council, and the final two to his own household.

Urken sat back to see what response this gesture would bring.

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Tharkûn]

* * * * DALE--THARKÜN * * * *

Sighing, Garlin slouched down in his sturdy hardwood chair. Across the room, on Jarl's bed, Ethar slept. He's earned it, Garlin thought to himself. He was the one who had been wounded and left behind. They had had an extensive discussion about the incident when he had arrived, and Garlin had explained how he had had bad relations with guards in Dale, and it was therefore his first instinct to run away. Ethar seemed to have accepted this and lay down to rest. Slowly, Garlin's eyes closed, and he, too, was soon asleep.

Garlin was woken up by Jarl, who was shaking him. Come now, Jarl said, We are leaving for Nurn, and Gramil's family has already done the shopping for us. As Garlin woke sluggishly, Jarl was already pushing him out the door. Hurry up, the Oliphaunts are waiting.

Tharkûn

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Tharkûn ]

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - Gramil ****

Jarl attempted to pay for the damages on the tents but Gramil's trade instinct told him this was the perfect opportunity to create good relations with Dale. In his mind's eye he saw a bad trend: first the king ignoring Dale's official representative, for a month no less, then the awful dinner party, now this. He extrapolated that trend and didn't like the conclusion. He gauged Jarl carefully. This was not a man who would respect extravagant gestures, so he would have to phrase this within a hair. He recalled what Tarve, the owner of the Lion's Den had said about Jarl being a 'King's man.' As for the tents, his mind flashed on the description of Garlin, 'a good lad, though no trader,' and Gramil's fierce young cousin who tried everyone's patience. He thought it unlikely Garlin started that fight. Gramil paused, then spoke in a relaxed voice, leaning back in his chair.

"Jarl of Dale, I actually have instructions from King Fuinur to invite you on a tour to Nurn as our guest. We intended to do so after we had shown you more of our city," Gramil smiled ironically, "we are unexpectedly rearranging that schedule. But I will not go against his word on that. As for the tents... if Garlin is in fact responsible, certainly. But I know my assistant. His mind is quick, but his tongue quicker."

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[Thenamir]

========== Blue Mountains =========


Theron Axehand peered out from the cart as it passed through the large wood-and-iron gates of the village of Bree. His green eyes squinted in his wrinkled visage as he tried to see far enough down the road into town to make out their destination. It had been four days since they had passed on from the Grey havens and without incident into the Westfarthing of the Shire.

Dwarves were not altogether uncommon passing through the Shire on business to and from the Blue Mountains, but Theron made a point to stop in and pay respects to the Mayor. Once Mayor Samwise, a friend and former servant to Frodo Baggins, heir to the famous hobbit friend of Thorin Thrain's-son Oakenshield, discovered that they were connected in this, albeit remote, fashion, he took the opportunity to bring out the best of the Shire in small celebration of their visit. Upon learning that they were also to be present at the King's Gathering of the nations, he made sure that they were provisioned with all he thought they might need, out of his own personal expense. Theron bowed repeatedly, stating that he, like his friends and forebearers, was "at your service and your family's indeed!".

Before departing the next day, again with great fanfare, Samwise had called Theron aside and bade him make all speed to Bree, and to the Inn of the Prancing Pony. Samwise had said, "The inkeeper there, Mr. Butterbur by name, keeps a fine table, and even finer ale, if you take my meaning, sir. But more than that, if you can by chance catch up with the hobbits we sent out for the King's Gathering, it'd set my mind a bit more at rest knowing that they had some sturdy dwarves with 'em in case..well, in case o'trouble. There was not many that could match old Mr. Gimli in a fight, as I remember."

Theron assured him that if they could possibly catch them, that they would have their full protection, in partial repayment for his most excellent hospitality. Mikhelm only muttered something about wanting to travel alone, but Serin bowed low to Sam and gave full agreement. Not long after, they had started off again, their horses not even showing any additional strain from the load of additional fine provisions. "Although," Theron said to the other two, "it will be a couple of days yet before I'll want any more mushrooms." Mikhelm and Serin agreed, the first time on that journey they'd agreed on anything.

Now the light was fading as they tripped down the street, coming to rest finally under the hanging shingle of the Prancing Pony.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Jarl *****

'Jarl of Dale, I actually have instructions from King Fuinur to invite you on a tour to Nurn as our guest.' Jarl looked up in surprise at this statement. How politic he is! he thought, his brow furrowed slightly. He makes the first move so graciously. Shall I be gracious back, or shall I nudge him just a bit? He smiled a slow smile at Gramil.

'King Fuinur, you say! An honor for Dale to be regarded so well by him.' He paused. 'You have seen him lately, then?' When Gramil did not reply, he pressed him further. 'I had heard he was travelling of late? Toward Gondor, I believe. Is this true?' Gramil's face showed nothing. 'And with Herumir. Or so I was led to believe.' He paused again, and looked full at Gramil. 'What I would really like to know is why he has gone there.'

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

The sun had just risen, when Garlin felt a firm nudge to his shoulder. He opened his eyes groggily to see Jarl standing before him. 'Come, Garlin, I packed our belongings and we will be leaving soon. But there are some few things we require from the bazaar.' He threw the young man his hooded cloak. Leave your friend sleeping, he has need of it. And Gormack will be here should he wake.'

Garlin put his cloak on hastily and hurried after Jarlin. 'What do we need in the bazaar. I thought we would stay away from it?'

'We need clothes for our travels by Oliphaunt. It will be hot, and these clothes we brought will chafe us miserably if we have to ride in them day after day. I want to pick up some short knives, and I thought you might pick out a weapon of your choosing. Beyond that, what we need is to make some amends to the tradesmen whose property was destroyed. You will apologise to them, and we will buy supplies from them to seal the apology. Now, show me where you went last night, if you please.'

Garlin led the way into the city center.

[ October 07, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Susan Delgado]

Hardo looked up from his meal when the Pony's main door opened. Dwarves! He thought. They could only be Dwarves. Though he'd never seen a Dwarf, this was all they could be; they certainly weren't Men...

He had an idea they might be here to join him and the other Hobbits on their journey to see the Men's King, and indeed, the large one with the grey beard looked around the room and then led his companions toward the Hobbits' table. Hardo sighed and got to his feet. They were interrupting supper...edible, for once.

The younger Hobbits looked up when Hardo stood. They seemed quite surprised and slightly intimidated to see the three burly Dwarves approching the table.

The Dwarves squeezed themselves into the available spaceat the table and ordered ales. They all sat staring at each other for a moment before introductions were made. The Dwarves ordered some food in addition to their ales and everyone began to relax a little.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - Gramil ****

Gramil nearly laughed. Jarl thinks I know where the king has gone? Until yesterday Gramil hadn't even known the king had gone, and took quite a ribbing from his friends for it, too. Though certainly he could find out where the king went easily enough. And he would make it his business to know, true.

But this was a strategic, military question, unusual from a trader. Gramil was not a suspicious man, but every Harad child was taught about their oppressors from the cradle. Jarl and Garlin both looked like men of Gondor to the Harad. Gramil began to wonder about their guest, examining him with a quick penetrating glance. He didn't have a military bearing, though certainly there were those trained in secret service who were as unpreposessing. He didn't walk like a fighter, and was sitting now with his back to the door. Gramil had noted most of the king's spies never did so. Jarl did know his trade, that Gramil had learned. But he would bear watching. Dale had no imperialist history like Gondor, surely they had no army that could withstand Harad, but Gramil was suddenly unsure of their intentions. Gramil spoke openly, seeing no point in denying what Jarl already knew.

"The king goes where he will. He is the king. Where? I don't know," Gramil shrugged and spread his hands, "but why is Dale interested?"

[ October 07, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^^


Frain grumbled a bit as he searched the peremeter for signs of any food. He was ordered by the king to split his small band of engineers to find anything the spiders had ignored or dropped as they fled. Frain sent Pain and Stain to find horses, and they came back a few minutes ago successful with two ponies. Curin and Burin amazingly found a wagon in their searches, and were now trying to repair any mild damage they could.

Not a drop of food to be found. Thought Frain to himself. He was unhappy about this, for any food they couldn't find they would have to hunt to get back, and most weapons used to hunt required the use of two hands, which was something Frain had been lacking recently.

Although many things had already gone astray, with a fallen wagon, a death, a capture of an Elf, spider attack, and anything else forgotten, Frain had actually somewhat admired Stonehelm's ability to stay calm. He always found some way to make up for it, or to make it better than it had been.

Oh! Now you're going soft, old Frain! he chuckled to himself.

He searched for a while, until he had searched every piece of grass and dirt near the band of travelers. With nothing to be found, he went back to the clearing where everyone sat or worked.

He helped Curin and Burin for a while on the wagon, and helped Pain and Stain calm the beasts. Then he went to Stonehelm to report the damage.

We have three ponies, thanks to Pain and Stain. We have a wagon with mild damage thanks to Curin and Burin. And I, to no avail, searched for food. Not a drop of food lay on the ground. Frain announced very cheerlessly to the King.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - in Nurn ****

Strangely, Al-Gareth did not go outside, though the children urged him to play with them many times. He would just shake his head with a grim smile, or he would change the subject.

He told them "You be my eyes and ears. Tell me what you see - leave out nothing!" And he would growl and tickle them like a big bear. They laughed, giggled and ran, and he didn't try too hard to catch them, sitting down with happy sigh.

He turned to their father, "You are rich man. Don't you doubt it for a minute." Their mother smiled.

Under orders they reported everything they saw. He was mostly interested in the people, what they did and said, though he listened to stories of animals and trees, too. And their games changed to ones of being soldiers of the king, carrying out his orders. Al-Gareth wouldn't let them salute him, their mother didn't like it, so they contented themselves with saluting eachother. Which their mother didn't like either, but she couldn't stop what she didn't see.

One day they were playing 'rescue Al-Gareth' - they had their stick 'swords' out to defend their imaginary leader. They were on the alert for attack between the house and the barn, when the littlest starting shouting "save Al-Gareth!" too loud, and their mother came running. She was really angry, shoved them into the house and wouldn't let them go outside to play for the rest of the day. In a shaking voice she told them they were never, never to say his name out loud. When their father came home she closed the door to their bedroom, but before the door completely shut they heard her say "He has to go."

******

After more than a month, Al-Gareth became more like a bear all the time. He helped their mother as much as she would let him, but after he would start pacing. He didn't like the news they brought, because it had too many blackcoats, and there was no news from his soldiers. The children decided they shouldn't tell him about the blackcoats and their men anymore, and left out the part about the new blackcoat with his new fancy badge.

Al-Gareth, as he grew frustrated, saw their faces and gathered them round. He asked them about something else - the trees, other more interesting things. They were very relieved. He began to ask them about the road south. Eager to change the subject, they told about their own secret paths that ran alongside it. They and the other kids had secret hideaways in the pricker bushes, and paths that ran between.

"That's how we can see the blackcoats, but they can't see us!" the eldest spoke up.

They suddenly fell silent, afraid the word 'blackcoat' would make him mad again.

But Al-Gareth was very impressed. And pleased. So they answered all of his questions about these paths, how far they went, how many could travel on them. They were so relieved to see him happy again.

That night, when their father came home from the fields, Al-Gareth and father went into the kitchen and closed the door. They talked a long time. The lantern light flickered under the door long after the children were in bed, so they dozed half awake, listening to Al-Gareth's excited voice, and their father's doubtful concern.

A bustle of activity woke the children before light. Their mother was up and busy, and in a big hurry from the sound of it. They staggered into the mainroom rubbing sleep from their eyes, and saw a soldier they didn't recognize sitting in the kitchen. He had a dirty haggard face. There was preserves and food pulled out from every cupboard, and their mother was hurriedly filling a pack. The soldier was talking to Al-Gareth without looking at anything, as people do when they're very tired, or very sad.

"Al-Ethkeban has taken all but these border towns, somehow brought the other blackcoats under him. We don't know how. But he has a new sigil, and claims he has 'united' the country." Suddenly the children thought of the badges they saw, and felt guilty. "I don't know how close he is, but I believe he has some news of you, else why sweep through these smaller villages?"

The eldest's face fell, and Al-Gareth's eyes lighted on him.

"Do you know of this? Tell me what you know!"

The boy didn't speak, his heart caught in his throat at how he'd let down Al-Gareth, his king. But Al-Gareth told him, "speak quickly! I will need you to guide me along those paths we spoke of yesterday. Soon, if not an hour ago." His eyes glimmered, understanding well what such a task meant to the boy. The words came in a rush.

It wasn't long before three figures rustled into the brush, one quiet and small leading the way.

[ October 08, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[Tharkûn]

*****Dale-Garlin*****

As they walked through the Bazaar, Jarl asked Garlin, "What exactly happened last night?" "Me and Ethar were having a great time," Garlin explained, "at the different shops, etc., when suddenly some drunken freak lunged at us, yelling 'I am Iron Turtle! How dare you spill my drink!' I was about to explain to him that we hadn't, when Ethar cut in, 'Iron Frog? Do you sink then?'. That made the stranger lunge at us. I was able to dive into the crowd, but Ethar got a slice across the cheek. Some bystander pushed me into the fight, so I pulled out my two daggers, and got him on the ground, pinned. When the guards showed up, they thought I had started the whole thing, and lunged at me. I threw the attacker at them and beat a hasty retreat to the rooftops, where they found me some time later." "Ah, so it was neither of your faults; it was the attacker's. I wonder what he wanted." Jarl thought out loud. "Oh, just a second," Ethar cut in, "here's the weapons dealer I told you about."

As the two men looked over the fine blades, one in particular one caught Garlin's eye. It was a mithril blade, fashioned with a little figure of a leaping tiger at the end. It even had it's own specialized sheath, with golden figures on it. However the price was what caught Garlin's eye. Anywhere else, and this blade would have cost over 1,000 gold pieces. This dealer, however, apparently had no idea of it's worth, and had priced it at half that, 500 gold pieces, which was still pretty steep. Tugging on Jarl's shoulder, Garlin pointed it out. Jarl laughed. "Somehow, it fits you," Jarl informed Garlin, "Since you're name in Harad means 'Young Tiger'." Garlin, amazed by this new discovery, yearned for it even more. He asked Jarl if he could lend the money for it to Garlin. He soon had a brand new blade. Smiling, Jarl noted how he swung it around like he was meant to have it. Looking down, Jarl noticed something that tickled his own fancy. It was an elven long bow, lined in silver. Although it was purely ornamental, Jarl purchased it anyway. Laughing, and using speed that lied about his age, Jarl dashed over to where Garlin was sitting, admiring his new weapon. "Come now, we must by good travel clothes," he said to Garlin.

It took longer than Jarl expected to by the clothes (partially since the young female clerk and Garlin kept getting distracted with each other), and they got out later than expected. Since they did not have time to go to the shops to apologize for the damage caused by the actions last night, they simply ran back to the hotel to change before leaving for Nurn. Afterwards, they dashed to the Oliphant stables, where Gramil and Ethar were waiting.

[ October 07, 2002: Message edited by: Tharkûn ]

[Alkanoonion]

***********Harad/Umbar**********
The two kings watched as the basket lowered Urken down to the small boat waiting below. Urken's gesture, while a generous one, still left Fuinur felling troubled. He and Herumir had thanked Urken for the gift of the two ships, and as a gesture of their own, invited the Priest to share the morning meal. Urken declined with the excuse that he was feeling exhausted from all the excitement.


The small boat slowly pulled away from the ship. Urken’s men rowed him back over to his own ship. Once the small boat had reached the other ship his men winched the small ship back onboard with Urken still inside.

“I do not trust the Priest,” stated Herumir. This tactic of giving up the ships was only to pacify us”

Fuinur replied thoughtfully. “I wonder what he really is up to?”

Both kings returned to their cabin to discuss the plans for what to do next.
With Urken back on board his own ship, the two vessels continued on towards the north.

Inside the captain’s cabin, which the two kings had taken over for their own use, the men discussed at great length what they should do once they caught up with the Corsair ship. Herumir suggested that they sink the ship and slay the ship's crew, but Fuinur talked him out of that. Finally it was decided that the kings would, with the help of Urken, have one ship sail around the Corsair ship and cut off its escape. Meanwhile, the other ship would run a flag of truce up and try to bribe the Corsair ship into supporting their course.

With a plan devised, Fuinur set to getting his men prepared for the five-day journey.
As a means of keeping the men occupied and physically prepared for battle, the two kings had decided that all the men should help with the sailing of the vessels, even the footsoldiers who had no experience on the seas. As an added bonus, if things wentpoorly on the journey and some of the crew was lost, the men had a better chance of getting themselves and the ship home again.

Once the ship was to Fuinur's satisfaction, he signalled to the other ship that he and Herumir would meet with Urken first thing in the morning for a war council.

Once the signal had been confirmed Fuinur retired to his cabin for some much needed rest, leaving Herumir in charge of the running of the ship

[Belin]

*****Rivendell*****

Elladan stared from between his fingers at Meneciriel and Fanelen. And here he’d thought this journey would be a technicality, a vacation, a trip to see Arwen. The vision of a trip spent dodging hostile stares and snide comments stretched out before him, gaining a slight shimmer from the faint possibility of violence. He edged toward Meneciriel.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. “Why do we have to make this difficult? Why do they want to come with us?”

“Now, Elladan, everyone’s united now, remember? This can be the first act consistent with our attendance. Besides, think how pleased the king will be.”

Elladan snorted. “Of course he will, assuming we are all still inclined to peace when we get there. Do you really think that dwarves are going to submit peacefully to traveling with us? Do you really think nothing will come up? The last time I talked to a dwarf, he didn’t believe a word I said. He raised his eyebrows at ‘hello’ and they never came down again . I have never had something like that happen. They won’t trust us and they are more than likely to start trouble.”

“Aha,” said Meneciriel sweetly, “hence the presence of our very talented mediator.”

Elladan glanced over at his brother in search of aid. Elrohir merely smirked slightly and continued to drink. “Of course,” said Elladan, “Of course, of course I can take care of the entire quality of the interaction between elf and dwarf, of course I can patch hostilities into friendship on the road while we’re all surrounded by wild beasts and don’t even agree on which way we’re going, naturally, we hardly even need the king for this, why don’t you just also put me in charge of—I need a walk.”

He hurried from the room. His pleasant trip to see Arwen had changed into a severe test of his diplomacy, and at the moment he felt so far from being up to such a challenge that he was ready to snap at anybody—or to beg for counsel. He knew so little about dwarves, and he had no idea what they wanted from him, and it hardly seemed fair for such a situation to come upon him like that. Suddenly, a happy thought occurred to him. Hobbits and dwarves, was it? He knew just who to speak to. He turned down the hallway toward a group of rooms that his father had had altered to be at once plainer and more cheerful.

[Carnëiach]

*****The Shire******


Brando had spent the day wandering around Bree and was still fasinated by the town, as many of the inhabitants were fascinated by the hobbit boy who galloped around Bree in such an energetic fashion. Near teatime, Brando decided to wander back to the inn, although he was reluctant to do so, remebering Hardos treatment last time he'd come back after running off. Still, this time it was the old misers fault- if you locked up an adventuruous hobbit lad in a room, especially a room that could be unlocked with only a little difficulty from the inside, did you honestly expect such a bold adventurer not to get out? Brando smiled to himself- silly old miser probably hadnt even realised it could be undone from the inside!
AS he approached the inn, the young hobbit noticed a new cart outside it. Its inhabitants were just departing inside. Funny, they seemed very short to be men, yet far to tall to be hobbits...A smile crept over Brandos face as he realised who these people must be, remembering Uncle Pips stories once again. He raced even faster towards the Prancing Pony, and burst through the door. Some of the customers looked up for a moment, mildly surprised to see a door burst open apparently of its own accord(he was far to low to be seen) but he didnt notice them.
"Dwarves!" He breathed as he saw the gruff figures standing at the bar. Huffing and puffing at the other side of the room was Hardo, although Brando couldnt hear what he was saying, just wondered what he was whinging about this time. He crept up to the bar and watched the dwarves in awe until one turned around.
"Hoe, Theron, look at this; a miniture hobbit!" He cried, speaking to another dwarf, who looked to be their leader. Brando beamed and bowed hastily. The leader approached him, his voice deep and gruff, but gentle.
"Ah, a hobbit will be sure to be able tyo tell us the wherabouts of others; what are the little people doing in the mens town of bree?"
Brando took a deep breath, feeling very important.
"Well sir, we're going to see the King!"

[ October 08, 2002: Message edited by: Carnëiach ]

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor/ Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^

An exhausted Stonehelm wandered around the field, more from the aftereffects and let-down of the battle than with any strong effort to recover his favourite stones, although many of those he did retrive. Elves who promise safe passage obviously cannnot be relied upon, he thought to himself. He felt a deep sense of remorse, even grief, over the loss of the elven girl and thanked Mahal that he had stood firm that no dwarven women accompany his men. Life and the potential for life is too precious to squander on the vagaries of the road. Males were expendable; females, not, for dwarves at least.

The voice of his Chief Engineer called him out of his thoughts.

Frain, the food is the least of our concerns. We have wagons for our goods and ponies for faster travel if we ever get out of these pestilential woods. You have done well to bring such a reliable crew; I see none have been grievously hurt, although there are some injuries. Stonehelm touched his heart, lips and forehead with his right hand. Thank Mahal. I don't trust this retreat. The Queen gave up too easily; let us keep careful eyes about us. He stopped for a moment and Frain began to walk away, but Stonehelm called out to him. I had my doubts about whether to choose you, Frain, for the journey. Your actions belie those doubts. Stonehelm nodded a glance of respect at the older dwarf and then turned to Hringa.
You kept your wits about you, Hringa, and we will all benefit from your swift efforts with the pony. Make sure the engineers reward you with the finest ale when we reach Minas Anor.

Stonehelm wondered if they were going to be forced to spend the night in this place. What would they do? Climb trees? He had never climbed a tree in his life.

[ October 08, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Mithadan]

The black army tramped along in methodical singlemindedness. Their goal was in sight, the battle plans laid. Up the hills they flowed; a flood of soldiers bearing down upon their hapless target. They swarmed over the target, tearing it to shreds and carrying away what booty they could as evidence of their victorious campaign.

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

Odo was the first to discover the carnage. "Hey! Our packs are infested with ants! Our muffins are all ruined!"

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Girion/Rubin *****

Girion's leg burned where the spider's blood had touched it. He stifled a cry of pain as he limped toward Rubin. 'Are you injured?' he asked, looking at his companion closely. Rubin assured him he was not. Noting that the Prince was favoring his right leg, he bade him sit down that he might inspect the wound.

'I fear if I sit, I will not get up - it pains me so.' He leaned back against a tree trunk. 'Just fetch some water, if you please, and I'll clean it off.' Rubin found a container of water and sluiced the wound. It looked fairly clean, and none too deep, once the mixed blood of Girion and the spider had been washed away from it. He bandaged it as best he could with a strip torn from the hem of his cloak. then, supporting Girion, they made their way slowly to where Stonehelm now stood, speaking with one of his men, Frain.

Standing a little apart, Girion waited until the King had finished giving direction, then addressed him. 'My thanks to you and your brave warriors, Sir.' He inclined his head in a gesture of respect toward the King. Shifting uncomfortably on his painful leg he moved closer to the Dwarf. 'I fear I cannot be of much assistance in the recovery of your goods and our possessions and food, but I will send my man to assist you as you wish.' He looked at Stonehelm, wondering how his next statement might be received. 'I heard you say that you and your party will still push on to Minas Anor. That is also my desire, that Dale be represented before King Elessar. Time grows short for the rest of our journey. And the Elves, it appears, are in disarray. I fear we might not count on them now. Will you and your men allow us to continue the journey with you? Once we make it to the Ford, trading allies of Dale will supply us with what is needed to make our way down the Great River.' He stepped back, and nodded once again to the King, allowing him time to speak with his men as to their opinions.

Rubin had approached Hringa while Girion spoke with the King. 'What do you say we gather a large amount of wood and kindling, Sir Dwarf? If we build a large fire here in the center of this small clearing, and sit ringed about it, with our faces and weapons toward the coming darkness, we might safely pass through the night.'

[Elenna]

Meneciriel sighed. It seemed that her decision had been met with universal hostility. She wished that everyone had been happy to hear that they would have company on their journey.

And then her mind turned back to the route they would take. Turning to Erestor and Fanelen, she asked them, "Do either of you know how to get to Gondor through the Beorning's lands?"

They both shook their heads, but Elrohir lifted his head from his glass and said, "Neither do I, but I know who does..."

[Carnëiach]

***shire***

The dwarves spotted Hardo, Odo and Orlo sitting at the table they had decided was theirs and made their way over. Hardos face fell and Brando knew he was thinking up new grumbles, although he didnt even know the dwarves.
After the dwarves had, after much deliberation, ordered their supper and drinks, both parties, hobbits and dwarves sat staring at each other for a few moments; it was hard to say who was more surprised to see the others. Just when the silence had reached the point where you probably cut it with a knife, the dwarf in charge cleared his throat and spoke in the same commanding and gruff, yet not unkind voice.
"Let me introduce myself- I am Theron Axehand IV of the Blue Mountains, leader of the dwarves. These are my companions, Serin Stonewright and Mikhelm Bonecrist. You are...?"
Hardo stared at him for a moment longer than seemed polite. Brando opened is mouth but Hardo glared at him with a look that could strip paint and Brando immediatly shut his mouth again. Hardo looked back to the dwarves and puffed himself importantly.
"Im Hardo Proudfoot, Clerk to Mayor Samise Gamgee, and this is Orlo Hornblower and Odo Took. Oh, and Brando Took." He added almost as a grudging afterthought.
"Pleased to meet you." The chorus was accompanied with various other compliments and handshakes from both sides and as the food arrived they settled down to the satisfying meal in a companiable atmosphere...

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Jarl *****

"The king goes where he will. He is the king. Where? I don't know," Gramil shrugged and spread his hands, "but why is Dale interested?"

Jarl did not answer Gramil's question, at that moment. He saw how the man regarded him closely at his previous statements, and thought it best if this answer were more considered. Instead, he turned the discussion to the tasks at hand - He and Garlin must be ready to leave soon, and Gramil had business of his own to attend to. They would meet in the early morning hours and be on their way to Nurn.

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

Jarl was pleased with the purchases he and Garlin had made, though they paid handsomely for them. Jarl let the sellers name their prices, and he paid out enough gold to make a silent but well received apology for the affair of last night.

Once back at their rooms, they changed hurriedly. Gormack laughed in delight when he saw the pale riders and clapped them on the back, assuring them the oliphaunts would quail before them and assuredly obey every command when they saw them. Jarl joined in the laughter. Garlin smoothed his tunic, and tried to catch a glimpse of himself in the polished brass of a large vase. He smiled at his reflection. If only that shop girl could see me now! He flashed a dangerous smile and drew his new blade, brandishing it in a dashing manner. Gormack and Jarl watched him, amused, then burst out again in laughter when he swung the blade in a grand and heroic arc. 'The Young Tiger preens and struts!, said Jarl. 'Yes,' replied Gormack, 'but he handles the blade well, I think. He may prove more than just a pretty ornament atop an oliphaunt!'

It was time to go. Garlin brought their belongings to the front entryway. Jarl thanked Gormack and paid him twice what he had promised. Then Jarl and Garlin made their way quickly to the stables to meet Gramil and Ethar.

[ October 08, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Ransom]

===Rivendell===

Elrohir had lost track of the conversation some time ago, content in the soothing bliss the elvish wine imparted upon him. Luckily for him, he did not hold his wine well and generally threw up or passed out before he became drunk. Sadly, this feeling of bliss ended when Ciri turned the conversation back to their journey and noticed his brother was gone. When Elladan became frustrated, the situation generally merited some severe attention.

"Do either of you know how to get to Gondor through the Beorning's lands?"

"Neither do I, but I know who does. I have met one of the Beorning’s chieftains, and he owes me a small boon. I shall remind him of his promise upon our arrival. We may be able to procure any required items there. Maybe we shall even procure a guide. But please excuse me for a moment. I have a certain matter to attend to.”

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

Since they were children, Elladan and Elrohir had found solace and rest in the small wing that Elrond had modified to suit their mother’s tastes. Elrohir found Elladan standing in front of one of the large glass windows, lost in his thoughts. He silently approached his brother, careful to allow Elladan to see his reflection in the glass. “I suppose that you feel frustrated at the moment.”

Elrohir did not wait for his brother’s response, instead moving to stand behind him. The moon was almost full, casting its glow across the valley. “A penny for your thoughts, brother?”

[Celebmornie]

*****Rivendell*****

Thule rode into Rivendell. She had to see Elrohir. She went to find him. When she did, she knocked on the door before entering. "Elrohir! I must speak to you! I wish to help you on the journey. I know these lands better than most anyone. Please lot me help! I would hate to see someone hurt." She waited for an answer hoping with all her might that she be allowed to join them.

[ October 10, 2002: Message edited by: Elenna ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

***************Harad/Umbar************


The ship had made excellent progress on its first day. The Bay of Belfalas was thankfully peaceful. The waves rippled gently over its surface, a mild but steady breeze pushing them steadily northward. Urken expected that their progress up the Anduin would not be so easy. There they would have to contend with the current flowing south as well as the ship which was raiding along the coast. There was also the possibility of villages along the way trying to stop their progress, regarding them not as emissaries to Elessar but a hostile force left over from the war.

They clung close to the shoreline. Herumir and Fuinur had agreed that there was no sense risking the open seas when their own target lay close at hand. Along the way they had passed a number of tradiing vessels. Some of them belonged to the men of Gondor. Others seemed to be from the White Mountains or from strange distant ports. What most amused Urken was the response of the other ships. The minute they saw the banner of Harad with its oliphaunt emblazoned, they gave the two ships wide berth. They still feared some trick or raid upon their cargo.

Urken, however, had no time for such foolery. His only goal was to get to Minas Anor as quickly as possibly, hopefully before the other delegates did.

He still had not heard from that fool of a spy whom he'd stationed with the crew discussing trade. Perhaps the pigeon he'd sent had been shot down or pummelled in a storm. He had waited long enough. He decided to send a bird back urging him for more information. Unless he got informtion, that fellow was going to wish he'd never run into Urken. It would have been better to get someone more dependable, but sometimes you had to take whatever you could find.

He'd managed to get news in the bazaar from a caravan of dwarves that there were rumors of a group headed up towards Nurn. Who, in their right mind, would have dealings with Nurn? Certainly, he would not do so voluntarily. From what he had hurt, the place was falling apart, ripe for rebellion and intrigue. The intrigue did no bother him, but mindless revolts with no purpose behind them did. They led to complete chaos, and generally whoever was in control ended right back in the same place.

If one was going to lead an insurrection, there should be a clear and limited purpose in mind. Something very specifc. Or so Urken thought.

This day, Herumir and Fuinur were meeting him on his ship. He looked out and saw them walking over the deck. Each were accompanied by three retainers fully armed. They still did not trust him. But then it wasn't surprising. They had at least established enough common ground to sit down and talk. They quickly went over the plans for the war council. Their plan for accosting the stray ship held some merit, and he agreed to go along with them. He estimated that the ship was at least another full day ahead of them. Forunately for them, the vessel was stopping here and there to raid on the coast. Otherwise it might have been impossible for them to catch up.

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^Erebor/ Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^

Stonehelm surveyed the Man of Dale, a young but strong body, a hopeful face. A face which looked familiar but not noticeably so.

Since it appears that you are not six or eight-legged and indeed somewhat less than two-legged, I will accept your company, Man of Dale. Come, find some ease for your pain by resting against or sitting in this wagon. Do you need aid? Perhaps Hringa has found our salves and ointments which could help heal your wound.

We could have mutual interests to discuss on the road to Minas Arnor. At one time, Dale and Erebor stood fast. Perhaps future events could support that continuance. But more especially our mutual interests this night might be served by hanging together.

Tell me, how came Bard to send you? I know your King. He and my late father often held council together, which I attended.

[Rose Cotton]

^^^^^^Lonely Mountain^^^^^^^

The pony Hringa managed to save happened to be his own. As he held onto it's reins he began to talk under his breath to it. You're very lucky I was being greedy. I should have saved the King's pony. It's just those spiders were unlike anything I've ever seen and I got distracted. The small, dapple gray pony nudged Hringa's bag and the dwarf pulled out an apple to feed it with.

When asked to gather wood Hringa responded with enthusiasm. He was glad to be working again. He lead the pony with him as he searched and placed his findings on its stong back, all the while talking to it.
"Feels good to be doing somthing doesn't it, my friend? Though I don't fancy straying to far. Those spiders are probably still about." The pony gave a winny as if replying.

Even after the work had been done Hringa kept the faithfull pony at his side.

[ October 11, 2002: Message edited by: Rose Cotton ]

[Thenamir]

======== Blue Mountains =========

The Shire had been bright and clean and almost too polite, but the common room at The Prancing Pony was more to Theron Axehand's liking -- a boisterous room full of "characters", noisy conversations, ale and food both in good measure and good quality. One of the locals had told him that the kegs of the Prancing Pony had been laid under a spell by the wizard Gandalf for exceptional quality, and after tasting the brew, be believed it. Too bad Gandalf had been such a flighty creature before he left Middle Earth from the Havens, Theron thought to himself. He would have liked to get to know a wizard that appreciated the finer qualities of good ale in the mug and good leaf in the pipe.

He observed with some interest that even Mikhelm was not grumbling as much as before, but set to his meal with amiable conversation among the hobbits at the table. He knew Mikhelm well enough to know that he had his "mannerly face" on at present. Whether he'd be able to keep that face on while enduring a long trip with chatty hobbits (not to mention elf folk) was not even a question. Mikhelm would be back to his grumbling self in a couple of days at the latest. Still, ther was a small crack in Mikhelm's grumbling wall, and he intended to take advantage of it.

Serin, it appeared, was wasting no time in getting acquainted with the world outside Belegost, and with the hobbits and locals in particular. He was very inquisitive about local goods, how and where they were produced and in what quantities, whether trade between them might be possible, and who he would have to see about this or that commodity. Theron smiled invisibly beneath his thick beard. Serin was a born trader. Such a waste to have had him so long cooped up in the mines.

Theron stuffed his pipe with some Old Toby (a gift from Mayor Samwise), and lit it with a wisp of straw ignited in the candle flame. He drew deeply on the pipe and blew several concentric smoke rings across the table and over the heads of the hobbits, who watched bemused.

"Did you know, my excellent hobbits," Theron began with a theatrical flair during a momentary lull in the conversation, "that I was friends with the great Thorin Oakenshield before he went off to the Lonely Mountain with your Bilbo Baggins of song and story?" The hobbits were momentarily wide-eyed at this revelation, but they soon began peppering him with questions.

[Guildo]

<<<<Eryn Lasgalen>>>>>>


Orodan

After the fight Orodan could do nothing but simply set and think, not only has his best friend ran off to what could be certain death, but another he has looked upon many times as a sister is possibly dead.
Though his mind was quite busy, the remainder of the party under estimated the ears of the old elf. Orodan heard them blame him, talk down upon his people and his home, and even who he thought to be a dear friend; Girion had seemed to give up on him, acting as if he never knew him.

“Not even out of my own home, and I have lost two dear friends, lost the trust of the Men of Dale, and decimated any chance to gain an alliance with the dwarves, and all because the Spiders wanted to kill me………………….I CAN’T go on feeling sorry for myself” Orodan said to himself in a low voice.

Orodan stood and slowly approached the Men and Dwarves, after over hearing them discuss making a fire.

“If you wish to stay safe from the Spiders tonight, it will not be by the light of one fire, you’l need five of them, small ones of course, in an even circle around you. The spiders will not be able to see inside the circle, and will not go where they can not see.”

Girion and Stonehelm only answered in their own distinct expression.

“I have not given up hope; please understand though I have lost two of my dearest friends, loss is no stranger to me.”

“You may blaim my people for misleading you in this Journey” Orodan said as he looked at Stonehelm.

“You may think I am not to be trusted any more” He said as he looked at Girion.

“And I know the friendship I intended to happen may only be a distant dream at this point. So whether you accept the only apology I can give for something I had no control over, or not, I assure you I did not intent for this to happen.”

“I have the utmost respect for both the Men and Dwarves of this party, for I owe you my life. If you chose not to travel with me so be it.”

“If Nefros has not returned by morning I shall have to leave without him.”

“I will reach Minas Anor… if I must, I will reach it alone.”

[ October 08, 2002: Message edited by: Guildo ]

[Guildo]

<<<<Eryn Lasgalen>>>>>

Nefros

He ran for hours, but it seemed like days. Every minute or so he would catch up to a young spider ling and show no mercy, slicing them as though they where a mere weed growing in the way of an Elvin trail. But Nefros’s enraged eyes where focused only on the Queen Spider carrying his sister.

Nefros thought a couple times about how angry Orodan will be at him for running off so foolishly or for blurting out the spiders plot, but most of his thoughts where how his life would be meaningless if his sister was killed, and how finally he understood Orodan’s Melancholy.

Finally the Spiders stopped; four were left, the Queen and three spider lings, and they could not see Nefros, he realized they where about to get rid of the cocoon they carried, so he had to do something fast to save his sisters life, or even her body.

“I wish I could just play a song and make things better, like always” Nefros thought.

“My Flute!” He said in a low excited whisper.

Nefros had been practicing quite some time to move the sound of his flute through out the wood, to make it sound as though the sound was coming from multiple places. But he never though it would be much use.

He began to move the sound of a single note in a circle around the spiders, leaving an open spot opposite of him. Besides the fact that the spiders hated the sound of Nefros’s flute, the spiders began to jitter franticly as if they where surrounded slowly backing towards the spot Nefros left open.

“CHARGE!!!!”
Nefros shouted making as much noise possible; almost as if he was confident he had an entire army of Elves behind him.

The Spiders ran fast enough, that if he wasn’t in so much grief, Nefros would had given a laugh all of Eryn Lasgalen would hear.

Nefros cut his sister loose, lifted her into his arms and ran as fast as he could, looking closely to find a sign of life.

[Kettle of fish]

***** Dale *****

Rubin carried the armful of firewood, and dropped it into a rapidly growing pile, just in time to hear Orodan's words.

Loss of loved ones was truly a painful thing. But Rubin thought that Orodan had perhaps less faith in the friendship of Dalesmen than was merited.

He glanced over to where Girion was standing, brow furrowed. He felt a flare of relief as he saw that Girion stood with his weight on both legs - at least that cursed spider had not had an extra victim to claim.

[Cuthalion]

Durgan, being a dwarf known for his long silences, surveyed the Man his King spoke to with a jaundiced eye. Never having been one to trust anyone on sight, he stood behind Stonehelm with his arms crossed, slowly drumming his fingers. He had greatly admired Stonehelm's actions during the journey thus far therefore the closer they got to their destination, the edgier Durgan became. Never had he been more aware of his duty to protect his King at whatever cost to himself.

[ October 09, 2002: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[ October 15, 2002: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Tharkûn]

*****Dale-Garlin*****

Riding the Oliphants was harder than it looked, as Garlin was currently discovering. On his first three tries to mount the great beast, he had been glad for the 'landing sacks' that were placed on either side of the creature. Although the landing sacks broke most of the fall, he was still nursing quite a few bruises on either side of his body. Now that he had found his balance, the huge thing had to move. Holding on for dear life, Garlin tensed himself for what he thought would be a very painful landing. The beast, however, seemed to sense his timidness and took short, careful steps, so as not to sway as much, and therefore give less fear to the rider of falling off. After the first few cautious steps, the creature reached it's normal walking pace, which, after the first few beginner steps, were easier for Garlin to handle. Jarl, unlike Garlin, had no problem hopping onto his Oliphant. The show off! Garlin thought to himself. Next, Ethar got in the saddle. He had less trouble than Garlin hopping on, since it only took him one try, and seemed to be slightly skilled at riding. Finally was Gramil. He took a few cautious steps over to the beast, and slowly lowered himself onto the saddle. After his beast was out, he smiled and yelled out, "Nurn ho!" And with that, his great beast took a giant step, and began it's journey towards Nurn. The other three followed soon after.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Jarl *****

Jarl sat easy on his oliphaunt. The great beast moved at a comfortable pace, a rhythmic plodding that slowly ate up the miles. He found it soothing, and enjoyable. Poor Gramil! He looks as if he wishes himself anywhere but on the back of his mount! If only he could relax into the beast's natural rhythm it would be easier.

Garlin and Ethar had restored their sense of easy camaraderie. Jarl smiled, thinking a good friendship might grow there, given enough time. The two younger men rode well, he thought. Garlin had gotten into the rhythm of the pace and sat easily now on his oliphaunt.

Jarl turned towards Gramil, who rode beside him. 'I wasn't quite clear what direction we were taking? It seems, though, that we are heading west. Do we not need to head east if we are to go to Nurn - east and north?!' He thought for a moment, remembering the map he had studied of the southern areas. 'Or perhaps you mean to go west and then north through Harondor - South Gondor, to the River Poros. It is possible we could pass through the Shadow Mountains there, and directly into Nurn.' He raised his eyebrows questioningly at Gramil. 'Or perhaps you have a whole other plan altogether, eh?!'

Garlin laughed, overhearing Jarl's question. He nudged Ethar. 'I think Gramil's only plan at the moment is to stay atop his oliphaunt!' The young men laughed uproariously. Gramil scowled, but could do nothing about it, at the moment.

The great beasts plodded on.

[ October 10, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^^


So, tis the troublesome elves that we are waiting for... thought Frain to himself. He knew the elves would hold them all up. Now they awaited a rescue of a female elf.

This is the reason we Dwarves hide our women. Keep them safe. Frain spoke now to Hringa, who tended now to his inseperable pony. Hringa said naught in reply.

Why must everything remain secret? Remain in the dark in this company? Frain wondered to himself. He waited impatiently for a time, should it ever come, that the Dwarves would be on their way.

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Kasteni saw that his chosen warriors had recovered from the battle and were again sharp. The horse soldiers also had regained their composure and were ready for action. He looked out into the darkness, listening for a sign of the were-bears returning, but there was no noise of the the beasts except for a baleful howling far in the distance. The time to move was now.

He accepted a hand from the nearest guard and was pulled up behind him. With one last look around he gave the word, and the entire group took off at a gallop toward the distant lights of the hostel. No one spoke, and the horses grunted heavily as the riders spurred them to even greater speed. Everyone looked fearfully into the inky blackness around them, but there were no more attacks. Finally, they crested the hill and came within shouting distance of the small fort.

“Open the gates in the name of Mislavini!” shouted Kasteni, but there came no reply.

Torches above the tall wooden walls flickered in the wind that had arisen, but no voices could be heard from within the hostel.

Kasteni dismounted and walked to the doors, banging on one with the hilt of his sword.
“Open these gates at once!” he bellowed. But again there was no answer.

The lead guard pressed his horse a step forward and said, “My lord Advisor, I will take three men and do a fast scout of the walls. Perhaps I can find a guard that will answer.

Kasteni answered, “Very well.”

Everyone waited with weapons ready, expecting to hear a guard from within the hostel shout out or sounds of battle from around the wall where the riders had gone. But the four soon appeared from the other direction and reported that they had mad no contact with anyone inside the fort.

“There are signs of a battle on the northwest corner of the hostel,” said the chief guard, “and the body of one of the bear creatures hangs impaled upon one of the wall stakes. There is much blood, and it seems as if the place is desertered.

“Or everyone is dead,” snorted Ulwyte. Everyone nodded in agreement.

“Yes,” said Kasteni quietly. “If anyone was still alive inside they would have gladly let us in to swell their numbers agains this attack. But young Ulwyte is probably correct that there are none left to rescue, or to rescue us. Our refuge has been denied.”

A series of howls, still far away but too close, caused the group to start, and one of the guards pleaded, “What can we do?”
Kasteni thought for a moment and then responded.

“The were-bears fear fire. Let us burn this small fortress and see if it will repel the creatures until the sunrise. After then, it is certain they will retreat, and we will have time to make our escape.”

He turned to Lovek, “Gather every bottle and flask of distilled liquors that this group has.”

A few of the guard groaned but quickly went quiet as they realized the sense of what the Advisor was saying.

Kasteni continued, “Use what you find to ignite the walls of the hostel. The season has been dry, and the wood of this fort is long-overdue for repairs. Hopefully it will burn easily enough.”

He looked at his bandaged right hand and burned clothing.

“I will not be able to aid in setting this place afire.”

[Guildo]

<<<Eryin Lasgalen>>>>

Orodan


He almost drew a tear when Giron reached out to shake his hand. Orodan reached at Girion and grabbed his upper fore arm to pull him close; Orodan hugged him like brothers would hug each other after a long time apart.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Orodan said to Girion with a slight smile.
“If you look in my pack you’ll find some small three cloved white flowers, rub them on your leg it will feel better in no time.”

Orodan turned and looked at King Stonehelm who now was standing straight up strong as only a King would. Their eyes caught and Orodan with one knee on the ground bowed low enough for Stonehelm to see the back of his head…………………

Awaiting Stonehelmes reaction

Later that night Orodan helped gather wood, and showed the men and dwarves where and how to make the circle of fires so the smoke would not harm the trees around them, and not to burn anything that was living. Though Orodans sadness was apparent to every one, the dwarves especially Stonehelm was being very nice to him’ trying their best to cheer him up, and he noticed that Girion and Rubin where keeping a sharp eye on him.


As night fell and the dwarves and men began to sing around the center fire, Orodan stood at the edge of the circle listening, facing towards the North.

[ October 09, 2002: Message edited by: Guildo ]

[Alkanoonion]

*****Harad/Umbar*****
With the meeting with Urken complete, the two kings returned to the ship.
On the way back to the boat one of the deck hands bumped into Fuinur. In the resulting scuffle, he slipped a message into Fuinur's hand. Fuinur looked into the man’s face and realised that it was Seth; Seth was Fuinur’s servant whom he had placed on Urken’s ship to spy on any suspicious activities. To cover up his surprised reaction, Fuinur hit Seth in the face and knocked him to the ground. “Clumsy fool get away from me” Seth stumbled from Fuinur’s wrath and disappeared below deck

The two kings climbed down a rope leading to a small boat waiting below to take the man back to the other ship. The small boat was cramped with Fuinur and Herumir, each with three retainers all fully armed, but the trip was short. Once back onboard the ship the two kings retreated to the captain’s cabin.

Once the door closed Fuinur opened the message from Seth.

My king all is going well, no news to report at this time. Tonight while the bear sleeps; I will tri to look through his documents. I will get a message you as soon possible.

Your servant and friend
Seth.


“Well” said Herumir “what does it say”?
“Nothing, just that the search goes on, Seth will send us a massage once he has news”

With the meeting over and no demanding business at hand and with the rebel ship at least one full day away, the two kings decided to take the rest of the day easy and rest in the sun. All around them worked the crew busy learning the trade of the sea.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - Gramil ****

Gramil held onto his oliphaunt as best he could, his knuckles white, his face grim. The strange slow jerking motion of an oliphaunt he never could get used to, one reason he usually rode donkeys. The best he could do was keep his knees up so as not to clip himself on the chin. It made him look rather like an awkward skinny spider perched atop the creature. An unhappy skinny spider. There was never a more grateful man than Gramil touching earth at their first camp. He stood and stretched, and took in their surroundings.

Scattered low trees dotted grasslands that were warm and baked golden in the summer's heat. A sweet scent rose on the soft evening breeze, and stars began to fill the darkening evening sky.

Gramil hummed in his rich baritone as his pulled his bags off the oliphaunt, a tune Ethar recognized as they all knew it.

While they quickly set up camp, nightfall was sudden in the flats, Ethar picked up the descant of this old song of the stars, when they were seeded into the sky. By nightfall they would loom down at the travellers, dazzling the eyes. The Corsairs of Umbar learned to steer by the stars on these grasslands long before they used them at sea. Gramil had used them himself, in setting his fabled route to Nurn, one that bypassed both the Harad Road and Poros.

Gramil was pleased. They had made good time. The oliphaunts were fresh and eager to be out of the city, their ears perked, their trunks testing the air, the countryside, anything they passed. Ethar was an excellent rider and disciplined his mount to pay attention to the road, but Gramil's oliphaunt did what she liked. Gramil wisely chose the younger beasts for himself and the rest of the group, as they would follow Ethar's. Gramil was unsuprised the young Tiger was a good rider, but it startled him Jarl was so comfortable in the seat.

Ethar had a good blaze going as the sun vanished in a blaze across the horizon. They set no tents as it was unlikely to rain in this season. A fine cloth to keep out the bugs was all they needed. When they finished their song, Jarl commented:

"Gramil, I didn't know you were such a singer." He nudged an escaped coal back into the fire with his boot. Gramil blushed as he peeled the bark off a green twig to use as a poker.

"I was meant to be one of the Singers, teachers you would call them I suppose," he explained. "Taught and groomed to be such by the old Singer at our plantation himself. The warrior-priesthood is passed from father to son, but the Singers can be anyone.

"They have to be chosen by the warrior-priest's guild," Gramil looked up at the stars wistfully. "When I passed my twenty-fourth birthday and still was not claimed, a new course was set for my life."

[ October 12, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Girion *****

'Tell me, how came Bard to send you? I know your King. He and my late father often held council together, which I attended.'

Girion had not the opportunity to answer Stonehelm's question. His concern for Orodan had refocused his attention, and he offered the support of his long friendship with the Elf to allay his fears.

But now, the watch had been set by Girion, and Orodan made less distressed by his own resolve. The Man sat near the Dwarven King, rubbing some medicinal salve on his wound. Hringa had assured him it would speed the healing of it. His eyes stung from the pungent vapors, even as a healing warmth spread about his thigh. Done, he eased his leg into a comfortable position and listened to the deep voices of the Dwarven singers. Their songs boomed out like hammers echoing in mighty caverns - the occasional high, clear counterpoint of a single singer shining forth as a well crafted gem.

He watched Stonehelm's face as the dwarves took up new songs. Each new grouping of singers challenging the next to outdo them. There was marked pride that played upon the young King's countenance for his companions, and an easy sense of fellowship reflected in his gaze. Yet, there was that sense of responsibility and command that always sat deep behind his eyes.

Girion marvelled at the naturalness with which the Dwarf moved between these roles. He thought of his own Father, then, and how such came naturally to him, also. He felt young, unschooled by such grace, and wondered if it might ever come to him.

[ October 10, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[VanimaEdhel]

*****Rhûn Nation*****

Lovek collected the liquor from the grumbling men. He smiled a bit to himself. It made him feel good to be taking all of this useless, mind-numbing liquor and putting it to good use for once. He knew the men would just have used it to get drunk and then they would have been useless.

"We should see if we can find some wood as well. This should get the fire started, but it will need more fuel once it gets started," Lovek said, looking at Kasteni, "Shall some of the others seek wood close to these parts? For I do not believe that they should remove themselves too far from this area."

"No, I suppose not," Kasteni said, gesturing to the others to look around close for wood. The howls could be heard and they sounded as if they were drawing nearer. One particular cry caused all the men to freeze momentarily.

"You heard what the Advisor commanded!" Lovek said, breaking the silence and shaking himself out of his break in thought, "Get the wood!"

Lovek cleared some ground and began getting the ground ready for a fire...

[Tharkûn]

*****Dale-Garlin*****

As the great beasts plodded on, Garlin got used to the steady rhythm of the great beasts' plodding on. Gramil, on the other hand, seemed to be very cautious on his beast, and almost jumped off with every step. They were about two days into their journey now, and the trip was going smoothly. He and Ethar had rekindled their friendship, and now they got on famously. Ethar would tell him all the things that were worth knowing in Harad, and he would tell Ethar the same of Dale. Just now, Ethar was telling him, "...and if you want a good time, find the ninth street to the east of the second guard house, and the third building once you turn right on that street. Knock on the 2nd door in that building and say, 'Ethar has sent me.' They'll open the door and you'll have your pick of..." "I get the picture, Ethar," Garlin cut in, hoping that Jarl hadn't heard. "And here I was thinking you had your eye on that shop girl!" Jarl jokingly yelled over. Blushing, Garlin steered his and Ethar's conversation towards something a little more... legal. "Are there any good wine merchants around?" He asked, since he had intended to buy some for his mother, stuck with that good for nothing alcoholic that he had the dishonor of calling a father. And so, the beasts trod on, Ethar detailing the finer wine sellers to Garlin all the way.

[ October 10, 2002: Message edited by: Tharkûn ]

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebore/ Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^

Stonehelm listened to the singing of his dwarves with pride and marked time with slight nods of his head. They were stalwart and indominable, at battle and at play. Their delight in making, in creating was a gift from Mahal which lightened even dark nights like this. It was a good day to be a dwarf.

Stonehelm glanced over at Girion and then at Orodon. He watched the two young leaders and thought he could see himself in their faces scant years ago. Proud, overeager, self-centered and unrestrained even, no doubt unsure of themselves. Well, he had proven himself at the Seige; perhaps this trip will be their proving ground.

He looked back at the singers. Curin and Burin in particular were well rehearsed at such songs. They reveled in the cheers which resounded around the fires and in the comaraderie. Stonehelm suddenly felt himself outside the circle, a step removed from the sport of the song. He was alone. None to share his private thoughts. He was a leader. That, too, Girion and Orodon would have to learn, the loss of personal or private satisfactions. And the loneliness that comes with leadership. A memory of Ingeld flooded his mind and for a few moments he succumbed to its pleasure, but then shook it off. Who was taking watch? Had Hringa organized it? His eyes turned to the perimeters.

[ October 10, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

*********Harad/Umbar*********

The second day of sailing ended with little incident. They had made excellent time, for the current in the Bay and the winds had been going in their direction. The next three and a half days would bring a different tale. It was certainly possible for a large shallow-bottomed vessel to sail up the Anduin as they intended to do. However, the current would flow from north to south. Their progress was bound to be slower.

But that was not the only problem. Just ahead, Urken saw the isle of Tolfalas. Further along was the mouth of the River itself. Now the difficult job would start.

Soon they would see whether the Corsair ship had made it this far. And the state of the villages along the river banks would give them an important clue. For if the villages had been raided and burned, Urken expected there would be trouble from the residents along those shores. One Corsair vessel looked the same as another Corsair vessel to the inexperienced eye. Why should anyone think that their ship had come for any different purpose than to pillage and raid? Given these circumstances, the priest did not think the folk of South Gondor would welcome them with open arms whatever Elessar might proclaim.

[ October 11, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Belin]

*****Rivendell*****

Elladan, in spite of his surprisingly irritable mood, grinned slightly to himself at the care that Elrohir took to make sure he was seen. He would never have had to turn his head to know his brother was there, or even to know that the expression on his face was the unreadably grave one that he used whenever he was particularly concerned about something, but it was extremely polite of him. Elladan was mollified.

"Oh, most of my thoughts are worth much less than a penny, selfish, petty things that they are, but my thanks for your offer," he answered. "I only have one to make up for it. Do you think it's too late at night to wake an old hobbit? I have some questions that I don't think an elf can answer."

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

Mr. Bilbo Baggins, though (or perhaps because) he slept through most of the day, was often restless at night when the moon is shining. The elves paused for a moment outside the door, listening to catch a faint cadenced mumble coming from his room.

"Should we interrupt him?" whispered Elrohir. "I think he's writing."

Elladan looked thoughtful. He tapped on the door, lightly enough that the old hobbit could quite politely pretend not to hear it if he chose.

[Shadow_Staar]

*~*Blue Mountains*~*

Mikhelm sat and drank his ale, which was much to his liking, and listened to his King answer all the questions the hobbits had to ask. He somewhat drifted off, and thought about to argue his points. 'We should be left alone, as we always have been,' he thought, 'We should not be bothered by elves, or men!'
"NO!" He shouted.
"What is it Mikhelm?" Theron asked.
The older dwarf looked slightly embarrassed, "Nothing, sire, just thinking aloud is all." He turned back to his ale.
The hobbit looked at him oddly but then turned back to Theron, to ask more questions and listen to him tell his story.

[Susan Delgado]

******Shire******

Hardo looked at the older Dwarf for a moment. His outburst was more tha odd and out of place; it was a little worrying. He had to travel a thousand miles with this person? Perhaps he'd be better off leading the Hobbits by himself, without the Dwarves and their lack of self control. He bacame aware that someone had addressed him. It was Theron.

"What?" He said.
"I asked where you were planning to go after you left Bree," The Dwarf repeated, somewhat irritatedly. He didn't appreciate people not paying attention when he spoke.
"Oh. I thought we'd continue down the West Road until we get to Rivendell and then decide where to go from there."
"Rivendell!" The oldest Dwarf, Mikhelm, shouted, "No way you'll get me to go along with a bunch of Elves!" He leapt to his feet and seemed ready to storm out the door, but Serin, the youngest of the three Dwarves and the only one who hadn't spoken yet, grabbed the back of Mikhelm's tunic and pulled him back down onto the bench with a muttered, "Sit down and be quiet."
Hardo gave him the doubtful looka again and said, "I didn't say we'd be going with the Elves. I said we'd choose where to go after Rivendell."
The Dwarf growled to himself and went after his meal as if it deserved a punishment. The others ignored him and continued their conversation.

[ October 11, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

***Shire***

Brando had been watching Mikhelm with curiosity and nearly leapt out of his skin as the dwarf yelled out.
"NO!"
The others looked at him quizzically but he just mumbled something about thinking aloud and Brando turned his thoughts back to the story that the hobbits were hooked on.
However after a while, they started discussing the finer histories and points of the story and Brandos eyes drifted back to Mikhelm. The dwarf had been sitting quite quietly all night, his mind apparently on something else, answering painstakingly politely when he spoke. Now the polite face was cracking and he looked bored and deep in thought.

Suddenly he looked up and saw the young hobbit looking at him closely. Heat rushed to Brandos face, embarrased at having been staring at the pensive dwarf, and he suddenly found renewed interest in the table in front of him...
He looked up after a minute and the dwarf was wearing a look of slight amusement instead of the polite mask. He smiled at the hobbit and relieved at not having offended the dwarf, Brando smiled back. The others laughed at something in a new story which Odo was telling and the hobbit lads interest switched to that. Mikhelm seemed to sink back into his thoughts, but his face was still slightly amused.

[Thenamir]

======= Blue Mountains / Shire ========

Theron completed his story and proceeded to clean his pipe, which had long since grown cold. "Well now," Theron said sleepily as he stretched his legs out under the rough wooden table, "the hour is getting late, and we have a long way to go at a quick pace if we don't want to be last at the King's Gathering. I'm not the energetic dwarf I used to be, and so I am going to bed, young hobbits. Your Mayor Gamgee asked us to travel with you, and so we will be at your service tomorrow morning at daybreak." Theron gave a "let's go" glance to Mikhelm and Serin, who rose from the table and followed Theron to the hallway that led to their ground-floor rooms. Like most dwarves, and hobbits, they preferred to rest close to the earth. THe hobbits began buzzing to each other as soon as the dwarves left the table, but were soon out of earshot.

Theron opened the door to their room. They had taken a hobbit-room, where everything was hobbit-sized, and so just a wee bit smaller than they were used to. It was better, however, than the rooms built for men, where everything was patently oversized.

"So, what do you two think of our new travelling companions?" Theron asked of his two subjects.

[Celebmornie]

***Rivendell***
Thule went around gathering the things she knew she would need. She had come from The Shire and her food supply was low. When she was ready she went to find Elrohir. If she was to be there guide she would need to find him.

[ October 11, 2002: Message edited by: Celebmornie ]

[Guildo]

<<<Eryn Lasgalen>>>

Nefros

Finally Nefros became too tired to run anymore much less hold Isilya while running. He laid her down gently in a small clearing. He was very confused about what to do; his sister was hanging on the verge of life and death, and his best friend’s fate was unknown.

Nefros began to sing a song he always sang to his sister before she went to rest at night.
Shortly after he finished his song he heard a noise from the east and heading straight in his direction.
“a party of elves, they must have heard my song” he said to himself.
“ I know now what I must do” he kissed his sister on her forehead, and began running back to the south knowing the party of elves would take better care of her than he could at the time.


Orodan

It was now early morning and still no sign of Nefros, over the night Stonehelm and Girion had given Orodan much comfort and well wishes, but the time to move was now and Orodan was afraid he would have to represent Eryn Lasgalen alone.

The party was now ready to make progress again when a noise was heard from the northern part of the circle, it was Nefros barely recognizable, his face was covered in thorn scratches and ridden with sorrow. Nefros fell to his knees as Orodan approached him.

“you need not explain anything my friend, you need rest” as he placed his hand on Nefros’s head.

“Perhaps the dwarves will agree to let you sleep in their wagon while we travel”

Orodan was now truly glad his companion was back safe, though he was still quite sorrowful of the loss of Isilya.

[ October 12, 2002: Message edited by: Guildo ]

[Ringwraith Number Two]

******The Shire******

Orlo had sat in silence throughout the meal, half-afraid, and half in awe of the dwarves. He had certainly been alarmed when one of the dwarves had shouted; but Hardo, he thought, had handled the situation quite well. All in all, he was quite relieved when the dwarves had decided to retire for the night.

He watched as the Dwarves disappeared, and turned to his companions,wanting to ask Hardo the question that had been nagging him ever since the dwarf had shouted.

"Well, Master Proudfoot?" he asked. "Are we travelling with the Elves, or not?"

He knew very well what he would like to do; the Elves were the most fascinating and enchanting people of Middle-Earth, and Master Gamgee's avid descriptions of them had made him want to see (and even talk to) the Elves even more..but Master Gamgee had not neglected to tell him of the animosity between the Elves and the Dwarves either.

[ October 12, 2002: Message edited by: Ringwraith Number Two ]

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor/ Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^

On foot, pony, and cart through Mirkwood, progress was slow and tempers of the entire crew of dwarves, elves and men of Dale curt and testy. They had 188 miles to cover and barely made seven miles a day. Often, the cart wheels snagged in ruts and rocks and it took seven or eight hands to push the heavily laden carts off. Even at the height of mid-day, the sun barely breached the canopy overhead and rarely reached the forest floor, a green sea of swaying ferns, mosses, subshrubs, tangled branches, and fallen, decaying trees. Tree trunks loomed liked forbidding sentries and voices were quickly swallowed up, their direction masked so that if anyone left the trail, not even voice could guide him back. Dank humidity rose suffocatingly from the floor.

To make matters worse, storm clouds rolled in and heavy torrents of rain pelted through the tree tops, turning the path into a morass of heavy, clinging, oozing mud, a veritable bog. The carts careened on the slippery ground and, under the strain, the front axle of the first wagon snapped, sending wagon and contents tumbling into the mire.

[GreatWarg]

*****Rhûn Nation*****

Ulwyte carefully tied his horse to a stake. It was shaking at the howling voices around. It wouldn't even attempt to drag the stake like this. Others were doing likewise, then tramping off to gather wood. The inhabitants of the area had either fled or were killed. A dreary end to a day, Ulwyte mused. No wonder the were-bears had left them when easier prey was running afoot.

'Pah! No wonder no one dares come around here, if half those dreaded tales of cursed beasts are true,' was the general mumblings of guards that passed back and forth dispiritedly heaving wood.

As the howls seemed to draw closer, and unfriendly eyes glared out of the darkness, the great fire lit up. The dancing flames sputtered and hissed, and the shadows drew back. Immediately, all the eyes lit out and the howls stopped.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Girion *****

It seemed to Girion that nature and the Forest were bent on keeping them from the river. He had been riding in the first wagon when the axle snapped, and now he found himself in the mud of the road along with the rest of the baggage and goods. His leg was still very tender, and faithful as he was about keeping it clean and covered with salve, still it did not appear to be healing. He pushed the pain of his movement to the back of his mind, and heaved himself to his feet.

The Dwarves had gathered about the wagon. He could see Rubin and Orodan helping to gather up the scattered contents along with Hringa. The others stood about pointing and at the wheel and axle and discussing what they might do. Fixing it did not seem an option in their discussion.

Girion approached Stonehelm. 'Shall we load all this onto the other carts?' He pointed to the mound of goods that had now been piled just to the side of the road. 'The other carts look full to bursting already. I don't know how much more the ponies can pull. Were I making the decision, I might suggest we strip down to essentials now in order to carry on.' He looked at Stonehelm, surveying the extent of the damage. 'But then these are your goods and your people. I will follow your lead in this.'

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Jarl *****

It was the evening of the second day, and the odd party of travelers from the south found themselves making camp near dusk. A great wide plain spread westward from the shadow Mountains, with islands of vegetation dotted here and there where water was available.

It was at one of these inviting sites that Jarl called for a halt for the day. They had pushed their mounts to put distance between themselves and the city, and now the poor beasts were tired.

The riders dismounted, took the equipment from the oliphaunts, and left them to forage. Jarl pulled a wineskin from his baggage and took a long pull on it, passing it to his companions. 'All this talk of wine had me thirsty for a taste of it!' he grinned. 'Gramil and I will gather some wood for a small cooking fire.' he said, winking at Gramil while passing the skin of wine back to him. He turned to the two young men 'I noticed that you both brought short bows. Could we prevail upon you to find a little fresh meat for us, O Mighty Hunters?

Garlin and Ethar were glad to be stretching their muscles. They waved good-bye and set off, bows in hand.

Gramil busied himself with making a small fire, while Jarl filled a pot with water and set it over the flames. When it came to a gentle boil, he put in some of their dried vegetables and spices and a dash of wine for good measure. He dragged his saddle over and sat on it, giving the broth an occasional stir. Gramil, sprawled at his ease on the other side of the fire.

'About your question,' he began, passing the wine to Gramil, 'of why Dale would be interested in where the Kings of Harad have gone.' Gramil opened one eye and looked Jarl's way, expectantly. 'I had heard through various sources that a messenger had come to the Harad courts with an invitation from the new King Elessar to attend upon him. Is this true?' He hurried on before Gramil could speak. 'If it is so, then Dale must also have received this message and has sent someone to Minas Anor. I cannot think who Bard might have sent, but I know had I been there it would be me travelling to represent Dale to the High King.' He looked at Gramil and held his gaze. 'When is this meeting, can you tell me?'

[Elenna]

******Rivendell - Meneciriel******

Meneciriel sat up yet another night, looking at the map. It's funny, she thought to herself. It's only a few inches from here to the land of the Beornings on this map, but it will be one of the longest journeys I've ever been on.

Straightening up, she went to the kitchens, hoping to find Elladan or Elrohir there, getting a midnight snack. She snatched a pastry stuffed with carrots and asparagus, as well as a mug of juice, and made her way to the great library of Rivendell, hoping to find something among the scrolls there that would give her more confidence about their upcoming journey.

[ October 13, 2002: Message edited by: Elenna ]

[Susan Delgado]

******Shire******

Preoccupied with his brooding about the Dwarves' presence and what it might mean for his already unpleasant trip South, Hardo failed to hear Odo speaking to him. Finally, Odo had to practically shout in his ear to get his attention, with Orlo and Brando waving enthusiastically in the background.

When he realised they were addressing him, he snapped, "What!"
Odo sat back in on the bench, wary of Hardo's ire. "We just want to know where we're going and if we're really going with the Elves or not," Odo said in a small voice.
Oh. "You already heard my planned route to the Dwarves. I imagine whether we travel with the Elves or not depends on whether they've already left Rivendell or not. I imagine they probably have."
"Oooh," Brando exclaimed, "So you just lied to the Dwarves?"
Hardo snorted at the uppity boy. "I certainly did not! I was trying to prevent a scene that..Dwarf...wanted to cause. Now, it's time we all went to bed. We have a long road in the morning."

They rose, paid their bill (and the Dwarves' too, Hardo noted with irritation) and went off to their rooms. They passed the Dwarves' door on their way; by the snoring behind it, the were already fast asleep.

[Celebmornie]

***Rivendell***
Having no luck finding them anywheare else, Thule decided to go to the library. Maby they will be there.She though to herself. She walked down the corridors looking for it untill finally she saw the door labled 'Library'. She went in and after looking aroung decided they were not there. She decided to find a book to read since she knew she would have trouble sleeping tonight. She started browsing the shelves.

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor/ Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^

Stonehelm looked at Girion. The advice was good, wise beyond the young man's years, although perhaps easier done for not owning the goods himself.

Most of these are Frain's goods for trade. Pose the question to him. Let us see where his sympathies lie, with Erebor or himself.

OOC: And here I thought I had set up a situation with good comic potential--dwarven mud fights. *grins*

[ October 19, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Rubin *****

Rubin watched Girion as he stood and then walked toward the King. He could tell the Prince's leg still bothered him greatly. Girion had not allowed him to care for the wound, not wanting him to know, he was sure, how bad it really was. 'Udûn take you!' he swore quietly, thinking of the spiders.

He was helping Hringa pile the spilled goods off the muddy road when he remembered that this was the Dwarf from whom Girion had gotten the salve. He told Hringa that Girion's leg was not healing well, and asked if he might have something stronger they might try.

'Let me take a look at it.' said the Dwarf. 'Then I can decide what might be best for it.'

Rubin thanked him, and returned to his Prince's side, awaiting for a chance to speak.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Girion *****

Girion walked stiffly toward Frain. The Dwarf stood, hands on hips, shaking his head at the muddy heap of trade goods in front of him. 'Curse all those Spiders and their children's children!' Frain muttered under his breath.

Girion waited for the Dwarf to notice him, which he did soon, casting a none too friendly eye on the Man and the Elf which stood just beyond him.

'I have spoken with Stonehelm.' began Girion, ignoring the disgusted look on the Dwarf's face. 'He asked that I broach a suggestion to you that I had made to him. It concerns how we might lighten our load since we no longer have the wagon. It has a great deal to do with your wares. Please hear me out, and we will abide by your wishes as we can.'

Frain looked at the Man, expectantly. 'Well! Talk! I'm not one of those Elves who can pry into other peoples' minds and hear them!'

Girion steped back a pace, and bowed his head to the irritated Dwarf, a smile quickly hidden. He outlined what he had suggested to the King, and asked then what Frain thought they might do.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - Gramil ****

'I know had I been there it would be me travelling to represent Dale to the High King.' Jarl looked at Gramil and held his gaze. 'When is this meeting, can you tell me?'

"Ah, the meeting." Gramil brightened, relieved. He had learned much of the king's plans in the days before their departure - being nearly family had many advantages. Almost as many as disadvantages. Clearly Jarl knew nothing of the intended attack on the Corsairs, else he would not have been so casual in broaching this subject. That in itself set Gramil's last concerns to rest, concerns already eased by Jarl's easy (and detailed) descriptions of his travels as a young tradesman. His experiences were much like Gramil's own, and could not be invented by any spy or mercenary.

"The meeting is on mettare, the last day of the Gondor year." Gramil rubbed his chin, taking Jarl's point right away. His mind leapt to their possible routes.

"My route to Nurn is shorter than the crossing of Poros - follows the river Harnen which is very easy to ford near the Shadow Mountains. It takes us directly into the heart of Nurn. But - " he said reading the growing disappointment in the line of Jarl's shoulders: he was fully aware this route would take them far from Minas Arnor. " - if we continue on the Harad Road to Poros, we can sample the poppy wine of Western Nurn and still be in time to Minas Arnor." Though just barely, thought Gramil.

He tossed a few twigs and kindling onto the fire, smiling and pleased as he watched Jarl's shoulders straighten, his chin lift. Yes. This was important to the man.

******

Ethar nodded at Garlin, pointing with his chin to the left, while he circled to the right. The light wind was their eyes, and, more importantly, away from their dinner. The rabbit sat up, sniffing. They had their bows already drawn so that motion would not disturb their prey. Both arrows were away.

"Good shot!" Ethar clapped Garlin on the back as they added this rabbit to the first.

[ October 13, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[Kettle of fish]

***** Dale-Rubin *****

Rubin watched Girion talk with the irate dwarf, but made no immediate attempt to broach the topic of Girion's leg while the dwarf considered the proposal. He did not want to appear to be coddling the future ruler. That hurt to his pride alone would cause Girion to staunchly ignore any suggestions for treatment for his leg which could lead to serious circumstances. Rubin knew that Girion would rather have his leg amputated from festering than have his pride hurt.

Eventually, he walked over to Girion.

"Your handling of Orodan was masterful. But remember that for the interests of Dale, you must also maintain good relations with the dwarves."

Rubin paused and looked at Frain ordering the other dwarves angrily. His voice dropped a notch.

"And perhaps with healing to your leg sped up with a salve, you could ride as well as that time your father asked if you had any thoughts to a wife from the leading families.", Rubin's voice grew grave.

"A king must ride well"

[Guildo]

<<<<<Eryn Lasgalen>>>>>>

Orodan & Nefros

Orodan fell back in the line to the end wagon where Nefros was lying to see if he was ready to speak. Orodan was quite surprised that even when the wagon weel broke and they all had to fix it Nefros slept through.
Nefros now told his story to Orodan and many of the others heard, Orodan even saw a few smiles when Nefros reached the part about the use of his flute, Orodan thought it to be very clever as well.

“This is a Grievous time for you my friend, but be glad no matter what your sisters fate may be, with the elves she will receive the honor she deserves.”

“Now be at rest my friend, you have much healing to do, and I must see you get back to cheering up soon.”

Nefros did not smile, bur from the look on his face it was apparent he wished he could.

Orodan approached King Stonehelm and began a rather meaningless conversation but Orodan quickly moved it to something very important to the both of them.

“I say King Stonehelm you are starting a good relationship with this forest, you have already won a battle for it against its greatest enemy, you may call me a mad elf but I have an idea that may interest you.”

King Stonehelm answered by only implying he wanted to hear and how, and he could never befriend a forest.

“Master Stonehelm, I deeply desire to return the beauty and “good” magic of the vast forest, you seek it for its strong wood for building. I think there is a way for the both of us to get what we want”
“As you can see there is much dead wood here that still holds much strength” Orodan said as he pointed to a fallen tree.

“If we begin to Groom the Forest for this dead wood, clean the forest so to speak, I’m sure it will be enough through the years to build your bridges and help restoring your lost city.” Orodan said awaiting Stonehelms reaction.

[Ringwraith Number Two]

******The Shire******

Orlo awoke, realising heavily that they would soon be leaving Bree behind, and getting on the wearisome road again. His spirits were further dampened as the problem of the Elves and Dwarves hit him. Gloomily, he looked about the room. Judging by the greyness of the sky, it was very early morning. Remembering the talking-to Hardo had given him the last time he had woken him up early, he decided to let the others sleep.

He quickly packed up the loose and stray things in the room they would need, and proceeded down to the hobbit rooms, feeling increasing nervous. He raised a timid hand and knocked gently on the door. He could hear the inhabitants of the room stirring and mumbling, and then a bearded face opened the door and peered through a minute crack. It appeared to be Serin, who raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Good morning, sir," Orlo said in his most polite tone. "I'm very sorry to wake you so early in the morning and all, but I'm here, t-to ask you to get ready f-f-or Rivendell. We're s-setting off after breakfast."

The dwarf grunted in acknowledgement and shut the door. Orlo stared at it for a minute, and scampered off to wake his fellow hobbits.

After a great deal of grumbling and mumbling, everyone was finally dressed and ready for breakfast. The Dwarves had already finished, and much to Orlo's disappointment, breakfast was a hasty meal. Finally, the Dwarves lead the ponies out of Bree and onto the road.

Orlo turned to Hardo and their Dwarf guides. He himself had no idea where Rivendell lay: he hoped the others would know. It appeared they did, and so the travelling began again. He fell back a step to walk with Serin, and smiled politely in greeting, hoping to strike up a conversation with the Dwarf.

[ October 13, 2002: Message edited by: Ringwraith Number Two ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^^

Frain was now troubled. Yes, very troubled indeed. What was he to do? He had a choice: To risk the lives of the ponies and carts to bring a few sample goods to the new King, or to leave it behind to ensure a reasonably safe journey.

What shall I do? Less goods, less repairs needed for the carts. More goods, a new customer. Frains thought to himself.

Frain was a very wise dwarf, which may not have been seen at first look. He seemed hostile, quick to anger. Maybe he was, on the outside. Yet his years brought him much knowledge.

The King in Minas Arnor shall just have to trust the value of my services and friendship. I shall not put my boys and the ponies through the pain. Frain decided, and told Girion, Orodan, and Stonehelm.

Though he thought he had made a wise decision, Frain thought later that he might regret it. He somewhat wished he could take back his words, yet he knew he couldn't--he wouldn't.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - in Nurn ****

A small figure disappeared over the ridge and into the brush. The two men the lad left behind were much scratched from scrambling through brush trails under brambles, trails never meant for more than children's games. It had been a day's crawl, frustratingly slow. But they waved to the boy, wondering if he could see them. They felt unnaturally exposed in the open air now.

"Well," Al-Gareth said with a glance to his armsman, "with any luck we'll see him again."

"I hope so, lord."

[ October 16, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Girion *****

Girion breathed a sigh of relief at Frain's words. It would be easier going if they left a great deal of their baggage and wares behind. He accompanied the Dwarf to where Stonehelm stood, and listened as Frain told the King of his decision. Girion volunteered his help to organize the sorting out of the wagon's good's, with the leave, of course of Frain. Frain would be freed then to pick what he valued most to carry with him.

Once done with this task, Girion sought out his attendant and let him take care of his wound, using a new salve and a compress given to Rubin by Hringa. The soothing effect of the herbs was immediate, and Girion felt his leg muscles relax into a more normal posture. He tried a few steps. The leg still hurt, but still he thought it seemed less. He clapped Rubin on the back, thanking him, and laughing at the remembered incident of future wives.

'Yes! a king must ride well,' he mused, 'but then that would require a horse, I think!' He laughed again and went to offer help to Frain with his sortings.

[ October 13, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Jarl *****

Jarl's spirits had lightened at the generous offer from Gramil. They had discussed their route, and had agreed to continue north along the edge of the Ephel Duath to where the Poros River flowed down from the mountains. Jarl and Garlin were both enjoying this look at the wilder area adjacent the Shadow Mountains, or what had formerly been the western fence of the dark land of Mordor.

Once there, they would turn west and follow the river to the Harad Road at Haudh in Gwanur. There would be time enough then for poppy wine, he mused.

They were now ten days into their northern journey. Garlin and Ethar had become quite adept at hunting small game, and each night marked a good meal with good companionship.

Jarl wondered at the ease with which Gramil had agreed to change plans to accomodate Jarl's wishes. He enjoyed the man immensely, and was in fact beginning to consider him a friend. But still he wondered - what advantages did Gramil see for himself in going to Gondor?

The sun was high in the sky. He adjusted his headgear to shade his face and urged his mount on. Looking over at Gramil, he saw the man staring at a number of birds circling in the sky to the north and east of their position.

[Alkanoonion]

*********Harad/ Umbar*********
The two ships moved slowly up the bay. Just ahead, Funiur saw the isle of Tolfalas. Further along was the mouth of the Anduin River. Now the difficult job would start. The two ships changed course heading for the mouth of the river. From the port side looking towards the back of the ship, Funiur stood, watching the landscape drift by.

Funiur was scanning the riverbanks for signs of the Corsair Ships passage. As of yet, the riverbank was peaceful. The land was bathed in warm sunshine. He watched the water birds flying down to eat the fish that the ships motion had disturbed, and smiled. There was purity in their actions. In the way that they could be happy at catching a smelly and slimy fish, so much so that with each fish caught and eaten, they would all pause and sing. The sweet simple sounds made him smile.
The smile was only momentary.
There had been little in his life recently to make him smile. The sounds of slaughter and death weighed heavily on his soul and on his conscience. If only he could return the sounds of happiness to the lands.

Funiur found himself imagining a more peaceful time. He could be on his own lands, working not towards a life of war, but working towards providing for his family and his people. He could see his men, rather then toiling with the tools of war, toiling over the rich soils to provide a wealth of foods.
They could all look forward to existing together in happy communities. His children could grow in a world were violence was not the norm, but the exception.
Funiur found himself trying to imagine a world of happiness, but the mental images were a brief relief.

As the two ships sailed up the Anduin, a call from the crows nest declared “Look to port’. Funiur looked up. The lookout was pointing ahead of the two ships.
Following the lookouts directions, Fuinur could see smoke funnelling upwards from a small village beside the river. Heading from the smoking remains of the village were a small fleet of angry fishermen.

Ordinarily, a small fleet of angry fishermen would be no hindrance to two ships in open water. They would just go around the smaller, slower vessels but with both ships being wedge at the mouth of the Anduin River, there was nowhere to go but forward.

Funiur found himself in a dilemma. Should he continue on course and fight the angry rabble, not only would he be placing his men in unnecessary risk, but he would be taking the life’s of ordinary and innocent people.
The decision was however, taken from his hands.

Oliphaunts, used in many of the previous battles had been transported to each conflict via ship. This particular Corsair vessel itself transported not only ground troops, but also two very valuable oliphaunts. Without them, there would be little chance of winning any future confrontations.
Normally the oliphaunts travelled well, having been breed for these traits (along with the necessary fighting traits needed in battel). Other than providing space for them in the hold area beneath the ships deck, they needed only the flimsiest of bindings.

As the Anduin River marked the end of a large expanse of salt water from the bay, meeting fresh water of the river, the oliphaunts violently express their need to both bath and drink. oliphaunts are fond of great expanses of water, this being their natural habitat. They broke free of their bindings to force their way from below deck. Above, they proceeded to stampeded all over the deck. Being trapped by the hight and solid riggings of the boats sides, the huge animals had nowhere to go but about the deck. Confusion and panic broke out.

The ship slowly drifted unattended towards the backs of the Anduin River. As the ship became beached against the bank, the small fleet of angry fishermen got closer.

Funiur observed the chaos around him. He looked across the river towards the approaching fleet, and so seeing all that which was out of his control, placed a hand over his eyes and said
“OH EXPLETIVE!”.

[Tharkûn]

*****Dale-Garlin*****

Smiling, Garlin watched as his arrow flew through the bushes, hearing the meaty thunk and hearing the last squeals of the rabbit. Rushing over, he picked up the body of the rabbit. What was that, his third? Last time he and Ethar had seen each other, they had been tied one to one. Thinking that there would be enough food by now, Garlin shot an arrow so steeply into the air that it whistled shrilly, the signal to return to camp. If Ethar was anywhere nearby, he'd either hear the arrow or see it in the dropping light.

Making his way back to camp, the first thing he noticed was the strange smell that wafted from the boiling pot of stew over the fire. Walking up, he asked, "Smells good, what's in it?", nodding his head towards the pot. "Some of our dried vegetables, spices, and a dash of wine for good luck," replied Jarl, who was sitting beside the fire on his saddle. Gramil, who looked much better now that he was on the ground, was sprawled on the ground, on the opposite side of the fire that Jarl was. Hearing a twig snap, Garlin spun. Ethar stepped out into the firelight. "Ah, Garlin, I heard your signal and came back. How many have you got?" Ethar asked. "Three. What about you?" Garlin replied. "Two," Ethar sighed, "I would have gotten my third, but your signal scared it off." Laughing, Garlin sat by the fire. Ethar sat opposite of him. In two minutes, he had one rabbit skinned and thrown into the stew. And so the night continued, the four acquaintances lying around the fire, catching some sleep, but talking throughout most of the night.

[ October 13, 2002: Message edited by: Tharkûn ]

[Robin Headstrong]

*****Rivendell*****

The halls of Rivendell were silent in the dark of the night. Fanelen was restless. The upcoming journey was all that she could think of; the thoughts persisently filled her mind and deprived her of her will to sleep. Was she ready to go that distance to the land of Beornings? And their new companions... She could handle halflings, but she detested dwarves- she had seen them before and thought them to be rude, brash, and incompetent. But she knew she was selfish to refuse the company of dwarves. Perhaps Fanelen could learn to accept them?

Fanelen silently walked out of her room. She couldn't sleep anyhow, so she might as well do something. But what? The young elf wandered down the hall aimlessly, hoping to think of something. The forest! Being out in the forest always calmed her. Or perhaps reading in the library...

Just as she was thinking of these ideas, she found Elladan and Elrohir in the dark. "Elladan?" she asked softly so as not to disturb anyone else. "Elrohir? What are you two doing up at this hour? You can't sleep either?"

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Girion *****

Girion could smell the difference now. For the past eighteen days they had moved steadily toward the Anduin beneath the dense cover of the forest. The Elves had drunk in the deep scents of the trees and layers of fecund matter beneath them as a heady wine and rejoiced in them. But to the Dwarves and Men, it seemed much like a vast, dark blanket bent on smothering them with its lowering greeness that blocked the light and hid from their sight lurking dangers.

But now Girion could see the edge of it from the small rise they had camped on. The trees were thinning and the land moved down in a verdant sward toward the river's edge. The sun was just above the western horizon, and the soft light of its descent glinted off the top of the water, turning the river to a silvered band.

'Water!' His spirit leapt at the site of it and was refreshed. Rubin had come up beside him, and they stood a while, savoring the scents of the river born on the wind.

It was in his mind to urge the party on through the night, when he heard a gruff sigh from one of the Dwarves nearby.

'We should never have left the Mountains! The forest is passed but barely, and now we must face the dangers of the river. What have Dwarves ever had from trees and water but trouble and misfortune!'

[ October 14, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

The Kiseljak Hostel blazed brightly through the night, and though the were-bears circled for several hours just beyond the glare of the fire, they did not attack again. As the morning sun arose, the adventurers from Ozvalda saw the carnage that had occurred at the place. Bodies of soldiers and civilians littered the courtyard of the hostel, most ravaged beyond any recognition. Kiseljak had stood for decades as a place of sanctuary in the evil hills, but now it would protect no one again. Kasteni called one of the injured horse-guards to him and ordered him to make haste back to the capital to warn the city what had occurred.

“The sun is only now rising,” he told the frightened man, “and the monsters will not come out in its light. Your horse is still strong, and if you ride without pause you will reach the Great Captain long before nightfall.”

He turned to address the rest of the group.

“The attack through the night was unexpected. This hostel has been a safe place for many years, and it was never assaulted in such a manner before. I fear that our journey is now more dangerous than it was when we started, for the enemies of Mislavini were surely behind this.”

“Enemies?” asked Ulwyte. “What enemies could the Great Captain have?”

Lovek laughed gruffly, “You don’t rule an empire with a heavy hand and not make a few chieftains angry.”

Ulwyte understood that the remark was aimed at his father, and he said loudly, “My land is loyal to Ozvalada and always has been!”

Lovek smiled evily. “Perhaps in your lifetime, young one. But I was with Mislavini during his campaigns against your grandfather, and I remember a time when there was little love from the eastern provinces.”

Ulwyte began to protest, but Kasteni stopped him.

“Lovek was not saying your land had anything to do with this, Ulwyte. And if he would say such a thing, he would be mistaken. Pazin is a trusted ruler, but there are others who are not. Glamoc of Losinjin would not be unhappy if Mislavini was not represented in the Stoneland meeting. No doubt he has sent his own ambassadors, invited or not.”

He grabbbed the reins of Petrij. Kasteni had been very pleased when the horse had appeared out of the darkness shortly after the hostel had been ignited. He bore no wounds except for a long scrape from where the chariot harness had been severed in the attack. The stallions’s saddle had been recovered from the ruins of the wreck, and Kasteni climbed up into it and stood high in the stirrups.

“We are far behind schedule and the next hostel may be as unsafe as this one, though I doubt the beasts will range that far. Still, there are other dangers our enemies can set against us, so we must hurry. We cannot rest for long until we make the Aranaw Forest, and that is still a week’s hard ride away. There we may be beyond the reach of any Ozren threats, but the danger of the unknown will increase with every league. Let us move!”

With that, he sat and gave Petrij the sign to move. The horse jumped forward and the entire group followed as he rode quickly away from the ruined hostel. As the terrible place fell out of site, he turned to his three companions and said, “Please, each of you tell your thoughts as we travel to Aranaw. It will make the journey seem to pass faster, and the week may seem like a day.

[*Varda*]

****Blue Mountains****

Serin watched as the younger hobbit Orlo fell back to walk with him. Serin was pleased to take advantage of any opportunity to mix with the outside world, but he noticed that this young hobbit seemed cautious of him.

“Have you ever left your home in the Shire before, lad?” Serin asked kindly, hoping to make Orlo feel a little more at ease.

“No, this is the furthest away I’ve ever been.” Orlo answered, feeling a little more relaxed. Before long Orlo was chattering away, answering all Serin’s questions about trades in the Shire, the life and the culture. Serin walked along, storing all the information in his head, and hoping soon to talk with the elves. He had little idea of the distance to Rivendell, and followed behind the hobbits and Theron, who was in an animated conversation with Hardo.

Mikhelm walked with Odo, and Serin observed an air of grumpiness about him. Perhaps it was due only to the fact that Odo was talking constantly, and it was trying Mikhelm’s patience, but Serin also felt it was partly due to the Elves. He foresaw a difficult time in Rivendell, especially so if they were travelling to Minas Tirith with them.

Serin saw what could only be Weathertop ahead of them, and felt relieved when Theron called a halt to rest and eat.

[Child of the 7th Age]

******Harad/Umber******

Urken had miraculously managed to keep his own ship from beaching against the sandbanks. He was tenuously hanging on between the sand bar and the left bank of the river channel. The priest had no quarrel with the villagers, and saw no reason to waste their ammunition or strength. He also knew that sometimes going a step or two backward would actually get you a long way ahead. This appeared to be such a situation.

"Hoist the white flag," he yelled out to his sailors.

"But sir?," one asked.

"Do as I say and quickly. I know what I am doing, and tell the other ship to do the same."

A sailor scrambled up the mast and affixed the white banner just below the flag of Harad with its fabled oliphaunt.

Urken ordered that the small boat be put into the water over the side of the rail. He got inside, two daggers strapped under his waist, and had his men row cautiously forward.

Seeing the angry fishermen, he called out, "We have no grievance with you. We seek the Corsair ship that has gone before us."

Angry voices answered, "Why should that be? You are no friends of South Gondor. We do not believe you."

"Believe us not," cried Urken. "But do not doubt the seal of your king." Fuinur had also come along side in a small skiff. He held up the emblazoned proclamation for all the village folk to see. It was an invitation and guarantee of safe conduct.

The villages conferred together, shaking their heads in disbelief. It appeared to be genuine. They could not deny it.

"We will withdraw our boats, but will give you no aid in getting the ship free of the sand bar. We will also stand guard on what remains of our village. Should you place even one foot on the bank, your safe conduct will be of little worth."

Urken nodded his head, "So be it." Then he went to confer with the two kings.

[ October 15, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[VanimaEdhel]

*****Rhûn Nation*****

As they started out, Lovek spotted Ratislav ahead of them. As they drew to the horse, he remained standing, waiting for them.

"Stop!" Lovek commanded Ulwyte, as he had been forced to share the horse for a time again.

Ulwyte stopped and Lovek hopped off, quickly mounting Ratislav and galloping after the company, which had not stopped.

They travelled for a few hours in silence, not finding any more trouble during the day. They travelled at a fast speed, and Lovek did not much look at the scenery. He was occupied thinking about he and Ulwyte's little disagreement. That boy was going to be trouble for Lovek. The scenery further passed by, and Lovek sighed, not seeing it, for it was all the same to him now.

Suddenly, the troop stopped. Ratislav stopped quickly, almost bumping into the horse in front of him.

"Why have we stopped?" Lovek called ahead, sounding a little more gruff than he should have sounded...

[ October 14, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Cuthalion]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^^

Durgan found himself fascinated by the trees surrounding them as he assisted with the re-packing and shifting of Frain's goods. He had never been among such wonders and he was irritated by the attitude of some of his fellows.

He did have concerns however. These leafy giants could conceal much and there were times he had broken out in a cold sweat at every strange sound. He had sensed Stonehelm's loneliness as they had sat at their ease singing songs of old and it saddened him, not ever having seen this side of him before.

Cursing under his breath as his thumb was smashed when a chest shifted off-balance, he grimly hoisted it to the other end of the cart and stalked away in silence, the darkness swallowing him. Some of the Elves raised an eyebrow but offered no comment.

[ October 15, 2002: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

****SHIRE****

Brando flopped gratefully down with his back to a tree as Hardo and Theron called for a halt. He was bored- Mikhelm was talking too, well, was being talked to by Odo, and Orlo was talking with Serin, while the other two talked- well they walked together at any rate. Brando was on his own. He hoped the elves, whom they were meant to be travelling with much to his excitment, would be a little less stiff.

His boundless energy was not so high this morning, as they had woken up and started walking this morning far too early for his liking- and being constantly told of by an ever grumpy Hardo.

Straining his ears he used his eavesdropping talent to hear what the two Elders were saying.
"...I wonder what the elves will be like?"
"Hmmm...well, it will certainly be interesting tavelling with them." Therons voice gave away that he thought it would be more than just interesting.
"Indeed...well, less than a days walk now from here."

Brando tried to keep himself from cheering aloud. In a days time, he would be seeing elves!
With this cheering thought, he turned his mind to more important things....like whether there were mushrooms anywhere near here...

[Ransom]

==Rivendell==

"Elrohir? What are you two doing up at this hour? You can't sleep either?"

Elrohir placed his hand upon the hilt of his saber and twisted his neck far enough backwards to see the speaker. Only Fanelen. He silently cursed himself. After all, this was Rivendell, not the streets of Bree or the halls of the dwarfs. “No, lady. We are simply standing here and watching the moon. Would you care to join us?”

Without waiting for an answer, Elrohir moved slightly closer to his brother to allow for Fanelen to stand beside him. Grateful for the company, he turned his attention back to the moon and the future.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mount^^^^^^

Trouble and misfortune indeed. Thought Frain. He didn't like how the young engineer Gain was portraying the good-hearted Dwarves.

Gain, do not speak rudely, I know and understand why you speak such words, yet it is unkind in the presence of such....kind accompaniment. Frain whispered to the auburn-haired youth.

I understand. I apologize, Sir Frain... Gain spoke now, with some resentment in his voice.

Gain was making sense though, and Frain understood his feelings. What kind of Dwarf would desire to go so close to woods?

Yet the Elves! Yes, the Elves! In Frain's mind, at least before they left their home, they were merely annoying pains. Now though, Frain was beginning to see someting he had not seen before. The Elves were joyful spirits, blessing the Earth with forgotten happiness.

But the woods still didn't sit well with Frain.

[ October 15, 2002: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[GreatWarg]

*****Rhûn Nation*****

Ulwyte frowned. The silence of the ride had given him time to think. Lovek's steed had turned up, which lightened his mood a bit. That meant he wouldn't have Lovek bellowing orders into his ear about his riding skill. The horse, too, seemed much more light-hearted, and its pace was quick and smooth. Once in a while, however, when it caught a whiff of the captain's scent, it would pull its ears back tight against his head, drawing his lips back while his muscles tensed. Lovek often found it amusing to kick to steed if it lagged slightly. It wasn't exactly its fault if Lovek happened to have thick armour, thank you very much.

A sudden stop made Ulwyte nearly crash into Lovek's beloved horse. He was quite sure if he had the captain's face would go purple and he would once again be bellowing with rancid breath at him. Having a battle-scarred brute yelling in your face is not exactly pleasurable, much less so if the veins in his neck are standing out and his eyes are going red.

'WHY HAVE WE STOPPED?!' Lovek demanded. It had, no doubt, intended to be a simple inquire, but it turned out to sound like a donkey braying loudly full of indignance.

[Alkanoonion]

**** Harad/Umbar ****
Any ship will hold copious amounts of rope. It was a matter of pride for any seasoned sailer to have a good supply of it on board, rope being a primary tool on a ship. Rope is so important to sailers that if you were to strike up a conversation with one about rope, he would rant about the stuff. He would describe all the benefits attributed towards rope and would most probably demonstrate all the various holds and knots made with a rope (those who have found themselves in such a situation would know how boring the company of a sailer really is. This explains why sailers are encouraged to drink. A drunken sailer is a more interesting person then a sober one).

With such a large source of rope available on board the ship, it was not difficult to find a solution to the dilemma Fuinur found himself in. Especially now that Urken had been able to prevent the impending assault of the villages. All he needed to do to release his ship from the sand bar was to combine all the spare rope with that which was responsible for the whole situation, The Oluphaunts.

Fuinur had his men rig the Oluphaunts into sturdy harnesses so that they could be lowered over the side of the ship. With this done, they were herded to shore, the men in small open boats and the beasts swimming.

Secretly Fuinur hoped the horrible beasts would drown. They did not. They instead, seemed to enjoy the swim. Seeing this, Fuinur fled the deck towards the gully, to hunt down some mouldy bread and cheese.
“I wonder how a Oluphaunt would taste as a sausage”

Meanwhile, the Oluphaunts had the rope tide to their harnesses and were slowly dragging the ship away from the sandbank.

With the ship freed, and with all the crew safely back on board, including the Oluphaunts, the ships made good time travelling down the river. The town’s men, from the ruins of the town watched as the ships moved off down the river. A small ragged child was observed throwing a rotten tomato after the two vessels.

With all the excitement of the day over Fuinur decided to spend the rest of the day alone in the ships hold with his pet Oluphaunt.
‘ I’m sorry my Zohra for being mad at you this morning. Daddy is under a lot of stress’ He whispered to the Oluphaunt while hugging its long trunk.

The Next day the sun dawned bright and clear. Fuinur loved the mornings. They always seemed so full of promises. Fuinur was happy; the ships had made good time during the night and would shortly be reaching the river Poros. Feeling refreshed and ready for the new day Fuinur headed up to the deck for a feed, a stale biscuit washed down with some ale.
After a quiet talk with Herumir, quiet only out of pity for Herumir who was not feeling so well this morning due to a hard night drinking with the crew, Fuinur moved on to check with the lookout to see if the Corsair ship had been sighted.

A crewmember brought Fuinur the news that the Corsair ship had been sighted to the right side of the ship. Fuinur ordered that a message be sent to Urken to let him know of the ships presence. The Corsair ship would not have sighted the ships as the sun was rising behind them and for the moment masked their presence.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE - Girion *****

The last night in Eryn Lasgalen passed uneventfully. Durgan had set the watch, and the sleep of the remaining members of the company remained undisturbed by any fell creatures, real or imagined. The fresh breezes from the river brought gentle dreams, and the companions awoke refreshed.

Girion was up early, his leg now well on its way to healing from the ministrations and powerful unguents provided by Hringa. It was still a little stiff, but still more easy in his use of it than yesterday.

He brought a cup of hot, Dwarf-style coffee to Frain, to ward off the chill of early morn. Girion took up the watch from him, and sent the Dwarf back to his blankets for a brief rest. Sipping on his own mug of steaming brew, his glance took in the sparkling inch of river as it picked up the mornig sun.

Orodan had joined him, and looked toward the water, also. 'So beautiful!' he said. He cocked his ear and listened to the voices of the river as it flowed over rock and log, round tree roots and small islands of brush and debris. A smile came to his face, and he softly answered with a song of greeting.

Girion waited 'til his friend had finished, then motioned toward the still sleeping company. 'If we wake them now,' he laughed, 'we can be to the river by early evening. Orodan smiled, his eyes glinting.

They went near the cooking fire and picked up pots and metal spoons. Then starting from opposite ends of the camp, they wove among the sleeping companions with a loud drumming, their deep voices joined in a rousing drinking song of innumerable verses.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE - Jarl *****

The sun was high in the sky. Jarl had adjusted his headgear to shade his face and urged his mount on. Looking over at Gramil, he saw the man staring at a number of birds circling in the sky to the north and east of their position.

They had halted their mounts. Jarl's hand now shaded his eyes, and he could just barely make out four or five large birds flying lazily in the sky to the northeast. Riding the thermals of the Shadow Mountains, they dipped down low as if at some target, then rose once again to continue their watch.

'What is that?' he asked Gramil. Ethar answered him, instead. 'They are carrion birds. They follow something in hopes that it might soon be dead, or near enough to dead, that they might pick at it for a meal.'

Garlin had drawn up near Ethar, and now caught his friend's eye. He motioned with his head in the direction of the birds, and an impish smile creased the corners of his lips. Ethar nodded imperceptibly, and they began to draw slowly away from the older men, who had now dismounted for a break and stood speaking with each other.

It was too late to stop them, when they looked up. Their eyes stung from the clouds of dust created by the fast ambling mounts of Garlin and Ethar, and looks of irritation passed between them.

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor/ Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^

With a crash and a ringing clang, Girion and Orodan ran between the dwarves.

Great Mahal... shouted Stonehelm and Frain, of almost one breath. Khazak... they started to yell and then realized what war was being prepared for. With a further yell, they ran pell mell into the elf and man of Dale. A good, hearty, friendly rumble was just the way to start the trip down river.