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Eorl of Rohan · 02-24-2004, 11:28 PM

At Maen's delightful squeal, Ferethor smiled weakly. 'Children.' But this place made him uneasy, for its resemblance to his father's study where he frolicked in his youth brought up painful memories that he would rather suppress.

Ferethor did not leave immediately, for he was uneasy to leave the lore and history that was stored in this vast Hall, foundation of their knowledge. Would it that he had time to spend! Aelimur noticed that Ferethor lingered, and whispered as he passed out of the Hall of Archives, “Tarry not, Ferethor! It would be rash indeed to linger here and risk discovery.” Ferethor turned his head away in silence and picked up another piece of parchment that he had seen lying by the corner.

Love not the blade for its sharpness or warrior for his glory, but rather that which they defend. – Faramir Lord of Ithilien

Ferethor was stricken with sudden feeling he could not control. “I did not want to be a warrior.” Ferethor whispered, for indeed his temperament bore striking likeness to that of his father – ever seeking for knowledge, loving not gleam of blade or honor in battle. “Yet only vengeance was left me to pursue, retaliation for my wrecked childhood and my father’s death.” So it was that Ferethor joined the Guards of Minas Tirith, where he quickly won renown. Images of all the battles he had slashed through flashed in Ferethor’s mind vividly. “And ever did I long for valourous death in the battle and release from the clutches of this sorrowful Arda – but even that peace was denied to me.”

Bowed down with years of sorrow, Ferethor sank by a chest and was silent, asking himself the question – “Nine and ten years since have I lived for vengeance alone. Is it not time to shake off my dark past, shadowed with hatred? But I have never known anything else of more worthy cause.” He was completely unwary and so deeply absorbed in himself that he did not heed to the sound of boots. When Ferethor leapt to his feet with his blade half-drawn, the guards were already materializing out of the shadows and closing in.

02-24-2004, 11:28 PM	#94
Eorl of Rohan Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Jan 2004 Location: Seoul, South Korea Posts: 602	At Maen's delightful squeal, Ferethor smiled weakly. 'Children.' But this place made him uneasy, for its resemblance to his father's study where he frolicked in his youth brought up painful memories that he would rather suppress. Ferethor did not leave immediately, for he was uneasy to leave the lore and history that was stored in this vast Hall, foundation of their knowledge. Would it that he had time to spend! Aelimur noticed that Ferethor lingered, and whispered as he passed out of the Hall of Archives, “Tarry not, Ferethor! It would be rash indeed to linger here and risk discovery.” Ferethor turned his head away in silence and picked up another piece of parchment that he had seen lying by the corner. Love not the blade for its sharpness or warrior for his glory, but rather that which they defend. – Faramir Lord of Ithilien Ferethor was stricken with sudden feeling he could not control. “I did not want to be a warrior.” Ferethor whispered, for indeed his temperament bore striking likeness to that of his father – ever seeking for knowledge, loving not gleam of blade or honor in battle. “Yet only vengeance was left me to pursue, retaliation for my wrecked childhood and my father’s death.” So it was that Ferethor joined the Guards of Minas Tirith, where he quickly won renown. Images of all the battles he had slashed through flashed in Ferethor’s mind vividly. “And ever did I long for valourous death in the battle and release from the clutches of this sorrowful Arda – but even that peace was denied to me.” Bowed down with years of sorrow, Ferethor sank by a chest and was silent, asking himself the question – “Nine and ten years since have I lived for vengeance alone. Is it not time to shake off my dark past, shadowed with hatred? But I have never known anything else of more worthy cause.” He was completely unwary and so deeply absorbed in himself that he did not heed to the sound of boots. When Ferethor leapt to his feet with his blade half-drawn, the guards were already materializing out of the shadows and closing in.