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Old 08-21-2003, 02:29 AM   #157
piosenniel
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Snowdog's character - Hanasian

NAME: Hanasían

AGE: 39 Born the first day of Víressë, year 2990 of the Stewards Reckoning. (1390 Shire Reckoning)

RACE: Men, Father's line - Dúnedain of the North
Mother's line - Rohirrim

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Long sword of Westernesse, Rohirric bow, an Elven knife and a Knife of Khand.

APPEARANCE: Rugged stature, and seemingly worn for his years. Long hair that is seemingly dark but has a sandy, lighter look in sunlight. Its length is to his lower back, sometimes tied into a tail, sometimes not. Of average height as far as Dúnedain go, around 6 feet and well built about 200 Lb., and is well built from the many years of training, then battle. Wears dark-gray rough leather pants and sleeveless vest and black worn leather boots. He has an Elven cloak he uses, but at times wears one of local custom. A scar he has on the right side of his throat where he was wounded in the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

PERSONALITY: Hanasían is usually rather quiet, but says what he means when he does speak. He handles a horse well, and is an excellent bowman from a mount as well as standing. He could move with great stealth for a man and was hardened by what he had seen and done before, during, and after the war.

STRENGTHS:He handles a horse well, and is an excellent bowman from a mount as well as standing. He could move with great stealth for a man having learned much from the sons of Elrond and he could battle well with knife and sword. He had a good tactical mind, was not afraid to take chances as long as it didn't endanger any save himself.

WEAKNESSES:Hanasían liked to drink and carouse and was sometimes seen in the less desirable places as a depression overtook him since his wound in the war. There was rumor that the blade of the Variag that almost had his head was tainted with some exotic herb unknown in the west, but his strength of mind usually kept his depression at bay. His somewhat shaded activities when on his own time were never harmful to others and was his way of dealing with himself and all he had experienced.

HISTORY: Born in the wild near Lake Evendim in the year TA 2990 (1390 Shire Reckoning) He was the second of three children of Halasían, Ranger of the North, and Lady Forcwyn of Rohan. His brother was much older than he, and he would not meet him until the battle of the Corsairs in the War of the Ring. His younger sister was born a year and a half after he, and there was hope that his father and mother would heal many wounds between each other in those days. But the darkness that held Halasían did not let go of him, but was only asleep for a time. One day he came back from hunting with worry on him, and he gathered what little they had and made their way to Rivendell, where Halasían sent his wife and two children forth, and was never seen again. Hanasían was raised in Rivendell for a time, for though Forcwyn desired to return to her people in Rohan, travel was perilous, and she stayed until Hanasían was nine. He learned horsemen skill from her kin in Rohan, and returned again to Rivendell some years later to study and learn the arts of the Elves and train. After a couple of years he started to ride with the Rangers, though at a fairly young age, for the times were ever darkening. He learned much skill from the Rangers, of which many of the elder ones knew his father, and he also refined the arts of the bowmanship he first learned in Rohan, and the skills of silent movement from Helladin, an elf friend from Rivendell. These skills made him pretty good at covert ops before, during, and after the war and unlike his father, he was relatively good hearted. Having rode with the Grey Company in the war, and having assisted Rohan during the battles of the Isen before meeting up once again with Halbarad and the Rangers riding south, he proved himself time and again in battle, and was always taking the initiative to scout out ahead.

In the war, he met his older brother who worked the ships in Befalas, and together they battled and sailed the ships up the Anduin and did battle upon the Pellenor Fields. It was here his brother Hayna was slain, not far from where Halbarad fell, and Hanasíian was himself wounded and thought dead. But he was discovered after the battle trying to stand, and he was taken to the house of Healing in Minas Tirith.

He recovered from his wounds and attended the high functions and weddings of The Chieftain and now King Aragorn and Arwen, and also that of Faramir and Eowyn, whom he got to know during the days of healing. Though a seeming depression had come over him that those close to him could feel, he wished to stay in the King's service and he remained in Gondor with King Elessar. He would often visit his mother and little sister in Rohan. He could see the years gain on his mother quickly after the war, she having grieved the death of her firstborn and never quite was the same. He wished not to burden her anymore and so started to visit less and less. But he still found satisfaction tending to the King and the Steward and business of the realm, and would partake in missions long into the freed lands of Rhun, Khand, and Harad, but also north to Dale and west to his home in Eriador, for he sought always the remnants of lingering evil wherever it may be. It was during this time while investigating an incident in Rohan near his mother's did he first find knowledge of Naiore, and began to pursue her through the lands.

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Snowdog's post for Hanasian:

It was a cool, cloudy night when I approached Bree, and though I had made good time from the Forsaken, something bothered me in my leaving that place. For there was Vanwe, admitting to be Naiore’s daughter right there before me, and the long night of words filled me with an intensity that said to my bones that she was near . . . very near . . .

I decided to encamp just north of the road in the thick growth of the Chetwood, not far from the gates of Bree. For surely my arrival will be more welcome at the first light of day than at the deeps of the starless night. I unlimbered Blackveil and let her wander as she does, always staying close it seemed when we were out in the wilds. Though it were not so here near the city, for the King’s men had long since made travel from Bree to Rivendell safe, there still was the old cautions among many of the order of Gatekeepers of Bree. And yet, as always, Blackveil was my eyes and ears as I rested. But tonight’s sleep was not that restful... for I drifted into dream...

It was Year 5 of the return of the King, and two shabby Rangers, me and Farasan of Ithilien, were on the move in Dorwinion, silently acting upon a tip. The lands were still barren but new signs of life were blooming in the spring as fresh vineyards were planted in the year after the War. The rain was hard and on the third straight day, and we approached the small house silently in the sounds of the storm. Farasan had become a good friend of mine since the war, having slain that ratty little orc that had keyed me with a poisoned arrow and was about to shoot. But Farasan’s movement was not quick enough to kick the raging Variag who charged in upon me, and I turned his blade with my own. But I did not see his other blade, the short black one that bit into my side. It glanced off a rib after penetrating the leather vest and fell to the ground as I slashed at him, but the wound weakened me and I fell. Farasan had turned to face more raging men of Khand and did not see me fall, but later he found me in the aftermath as I tried to stand. Farasan had served long in Ithilien under Captain Faramir, and was not too pleased to be caught in the White City running a message when the war closed in on him. He was newly married then, and surely Faramir had this in mind when he gave him the order. A good man Farasan was and a great fighter, and our friendship began that day of meeting on the battlefield, brothers-in-arms. Yes, a good man he was, though his mind did wander to his wife and young child now, living anew in the fair woods of Ithilien.... He should not have been on this mission....

... Ready to make a move, for there was little movement in the house, and in hopes we had Khazûl, Naiore, and Varicar, three of what we called the Remaining, inside. A cadre of ten archers of Ithilien were about the house ready to shoot, and were in waiting in the darkness. Surely none would get away alive. The kid from the winery was sure they would be here, and through the day as the house was watched, it appeared he was right.... but still there was that shadow of doubt inside....

...The door burst into splinters at the kick of my foot, and likewise the back door from Farasan’s foot, and in we rushed. Varicar lay dead in seconds as Farasan’ sword fell upon his neck, and Khazûl jumped up before me in surprise. I stepped toward him, but he charged hard... harder than I expected. Little did I know that Naiore was behind the huge former Easterling army commander, and as he stumbled into my sword, skewering himself and pushing me back into the doorframe, Naiore turned and let fly a knife toward the charging Farasan. Deflecting it with his sword, he saw not the second knife Naiore pulled from Khazûl’s belt, and she buried it deep into his throat. I stood in pain and anger after pushing the dying Khazûl from me, and letting fly the Variag knife at the fleeing Naiore, it took hair from her and embedding into the doorpost as she fled over the top of the dying Farasan. It was almost instantly that I heard arrows slamming into the house as the archers tried to take down the fleeing Naiore, and I would have pursued her if I thought I wouldn’t be mistaken in the driving rain. But I paused and knelt by Farasan, pinching the knife in his neck in hopes of stopping the bleeding. But it was to no avail as he gasped his last words to me...

... I rode slowly, another horse in tow, and the spring gardens of Ithilien were in bloom. I came to the stately home of Farasan, and I stopped and dismounted as Hannah emerged in smiles... smiles for the return of her husband... her husband had returned to her, but not as she wished him to...and I thought of Naiore, his slayer as she eluded the arrows in that dark, rainy night. Maybe I blamed myself for his death? But the thought was interrupted by the sound of that laugh.. the same one I heard seconds before I blew in that door...


I jumped awake in a sweat! Standing and shaking, seeing the face of Hannah change from pure joy to pure sorrow... my side ached where I was wounded in the war, probably some from laying upon that wily pinecone, probably some from the memory of the war... I quickly looked about in watch as was custom of Rangers to see if danger was near, and seeing I was outside the gates of Bree as the sun colored the straggling clouds over the Misty Mountains pink I turned to Blackveil who wandered up nearby.

‘Ready to go girl? They will want to stable you in the city. Maybe I will walk from here and meet you tonight when I return?’

Her nudge of my shoulder was partly in check for my sanity after my troubled sleep, and partly in thankfulness of my not taking her into a city. That stable by Laketown suffered much from her temporary confinement. With a swish of her tail she was off into the trees, and I cached my belongings I would not need in town.

The town of Bree was a nice place, though tales and rumors were rampant there. A tip from Bree was not worth its cost in ale to get it, for it would be a yarn spilled from a local or a visitor from the Shire, but if one looked at those who came and went from other parts, there could be some information gleaned. I knocked upon the South Gate just as the sun peeked its way over the distant horizon and below the clouds. The seemingly eerie golden light spread about Bree Hill as the keeper opened the gate. Yes, friendlier times it was in these years of the King, for it was only at the whim of the gatekeeper if he wanted to open the facedoor to ask of business. It was not uncommon these days for them to open the gate right off.

"Good morning sir" He said with a tired smile. He was the morning gateman, and was still waking up. A voice behind him asked me,

"What is your business so early?"

‘I am here for the day, to re-supply and rest.’

I didn’t like his demeanor as he was a bit grumpy. But then he was just off his night watch at the gate.

"Hanasian I know you better than that. You come to smoke and drink and gamble, and maybe..."

‘No, I am here as I said, for I will be on my way ere you work again. But maybe you could tell me something.’

He looked at me with a half smile and said, "What?"

I looked around and then said,

‘Maybe you could tell me where the Nightshades could be found?’

He was silent, but as we walked the road together he said,

"Sure, one of the boys does smithing. Has a place just a thousand feet south of the Pony by the draw in the hill."

I thanked him as he turned for his house, a yawn slid out as he waved goodbye, for he would go to find sleep, the nocturnal type he was.

I walked the road toward the Pony, and people tall and small were beginning to stir this fine summer’s day. I nodded to a few though most ignored me, and it was soon I was before a smiths shop.

‘Hail sir Nightshade?" I said to the young man who was stoking the fire of his forge. He looked up at me and straightened.

"That be me." he said, though he looked suspicious at me for knowing his family name.

‘I bring word from one who claims kinship. She stays at the Forsaken and goes by the name of Benia...’

And elder man had come out of the house when he heard his son talking, and he said gruffly,

"Spawn of Jacks I reckon. Word was a comin’ for I felt it. What is she to you? One who caught your fancy for a night?"

I was taken aback somewhat by his words, but replied respectfully,

‘She is one who sings beautifully, as a nightingale upon the quiet waters Mirromere. She wanted word to be brought to her kin that she was delayed in arriving. I assume you were expecting her?’

He crinkled his face and turned away from me. "Maybe, but why did you not escort her then?"

‘It was not her wish.’ I replied, sensing all was not well between the lines of the family. I went on, ‘She has word of one of her mothers kin, and said you, of her father’s kin could get word to them.'

He turned and said,

"You delivered word, and I thank you for my part. Will there be anything my son can help you with??"

He was eyeing the exotic black knife on my belt, the one which wounded me in the fields of Pellenor. I could see this getting colder, so I turned and said,

‘No, just delivering the message as requested.’

I needed something to drink! it was too early for ale, but the tea from the Pony smelled good. I stopped in for a hearty breakfast and tea, and then to the mercantile to trade and barter for some good parchment paper and inks and quills, and other goods. Surely I would relax a bit, then I would be back on my way to the Forsaken. Yes, leaving was not the thing to do, but for this instant when I saw a dark, wild looking fellow who I had intentions to meet. He came to trade away some vegetables he had grown, and I could tell he was nervous. He was from Dunland, for I had met him before, and by the passed word of the wanderers toward the Forsaken, he had let me know he had knowledge.

I slipped him some of the pipeweed I had aquired and he looked at it, and after taking it he looked about and then to me, whispering,

"I have seen her! The one you seek!"

I looked at him with a doubtful gaze, for many have told me this, and many times they were close, but never on the mark like that night in Dorwinion. He leaned toward me and said,

"Near Tharbad where they are re-building the great bridge, the river is a hard cross, and one so sought by the Kings men such as she could not ford by the city. She crossed Dunland by my fields! I was near the River Greyflood when she swam it! About ten miles west of the city! It is low since the warm spring melted the snows, and the rain has been little but for the one summer storm."

I looked at the wall. Yes, she stirred it up in Rohan quite a bit, always seem to get clues of her there. I decided his information was worthy for the most part, and gave him the rest of the pipeweed. It was the wild stuff from Rhun, and I would keep the Farthing smoke I just got. He was happy and I went outside to sit and smoke. It had to be Naiore, from what he said, and her movements were usually concealed well. But sometimes poor farmers are not seen, or not thought of as being woprthy of having to be concealed from. For even one as wily as Naiore must weary of hiding her every move. But where would she go? Could she be here in Bree? Try to infiltrate the Shire? No, would stick out sorely among the Halflings...

I lay against a tree trunk and smoked and thought, writing again parts of what I called the Annals of the Dúnedain Rangers, when thoughts again drifted to my dream of the morning and then to that day... my hand dug out of my pocket a leather pouch, one not much different from the one he had of Vanwe’s. I opened it and let slip out of it the lock of hair. The hair my knife took that fateful night... I was not thinking the other night or I would have given some of this hair to Vanwe, since she sought her mother.... That was it! Maybe Naiore sought her daughter? Hanasían, you old mossbrain! Surely she was making for the Forsaken, for she must of had word of her daughter! Besides, why linger here when I could see again Lady Benia Nightshade and hear her sing once again? But Vanwe was the key . . . and I am here...

I stood and stashed away my pipe, parchment, quill, ink, and the pouch with Naiore's hair and made way for the south gate. Blackveil will be grazing, but would know to come at my call when I retrieve my cached gear. I had to make time back to the Forsaken, and it was still morning, I could make it back by nightfall.

I was silent as I rode, Blackveil could sense my urgency. I rode through the day as the sun westered, and a stiff westerly wind drove the air about me cooler, pushing the warm southern summer air back. A squall line of clouds built high in the sun, and their dark undersides belched streaks of rain and an occasional lightning bolt as the differing airs danced up their storm. My thoughts turned to Vanwe and the talk we had of Naiore. How could I tell her that her mother slew such a good friend, leaving a child fatherless and a mother widowed? Did she already know? She will learn of Naiore’s ways, soon enough. I approached the Inn as the sun dropped below the horizon, turning the lands an eerie dark, with the tall clouds sunlit still in the east....

[ August 23, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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