[Elora]

OK, this is a first draft. I've taken a broad scope in a hope to capture the mood at the opening of the 4th Age as I sense it from Tolkien's notes.

I believe that it would be hope tempered with sadness for the War of the Ring would be too great to easily forget. As we are only 12 years into the 4th Age, I figure it would feature heavily in people's minds.

Neither would things be all roses. The departure of the Wise is a huge shift in how Middle-earth was run. It would leave a vacuum to be filled by leaders new to such authority. I've resisted saying more about specific characters, as I think that falls to those of us writing the characters to do.

Also, as some characters have yet to be added, I decided to remain brief. Hopefully, the brave new world sense comes through.

Please don't be shy about suggestions. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

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Elora - Opening post for Game

The Fouth Age was filled with both promise and uncertainty when it first began. Much of the familiar past had left Middle-earth’s shores, never to return. Some lamented the past at its departure. Much beauty, wisdom, strength and courage passed with the Wise whom set out for the undying lands from the Grey Havens. Some filled their spirits in the space the Wise left behind, looking forward to a new future that they would help shape. Some were eager to forget the past. Great evil had fallen at great cost. The shadow would be shaken, but it would take time.

And there were some who sought to cling to that past, the dark as well as the bright.

Middle-earth was gripped by renewal as the Age of Men came. Towns were rebuilt, lands settled after long abandonment enforced by Sauron. Change is never easy. Realms were forged anew. Gondor had a King and Queen after so long without. New grass sprouted green on the scorched fields of Pelennor with the Spring. Order spread out from the seats of mortal power. Osgiliath was slowly cleansed. Minas Ithil, forever tainted by Mordor’s occupation, was sadly and reverently taken down and laid to rest.

Orthanc regained it’s splendor, as did Minas Tirith and Meduseld. The Shire, shaken to the core, slowly settled back into peace. Yet nothing was as it once had been. The past remained as it was – past. The changes and marks of the cataclysmic war could not be entirely blurred by new growth and optimism. Lothlorien lay still and empty, now as immersed in the stream of time as the lands around it. Mirkwood turned inward. Dol Guldur was dismantled. Imladris, where those who had not departed mortal shores lingered, became more remote than ever before. The King’s protection of the Shire ensured no Big Folk found their way into at least that corner. Discontent bubbled in Umbar, Harad and Rhun still.

The future was not entirely certain, nor becalmed. The people across the lands wished for peace and forgetfulness. Celeborn, along with the new kings Elessar and Eomer, put their full backing behind cementing the new peace and order within the land. Orcs that teemed in the Misty Mountains and infested Mordor still had to be seen to. They were not the only darkness that lingered behind in Sauron’s wake. His net had been cast wide and those in his service were many. Saurman was not the strangest bedfellow afterall.

With the Rangers, the Elves, the Riddermark and Gondor now largely unopposed, optimism was high that that which remained could soon be put to final rest. Dwarves slowly spread their influence through the Misty Mountains. Orc, goblin and troll numbers dwindled. They had no benefactor now. Mordor was a land where the full force and weight of Gondor rested over. Pit after pit of horror and evil was thrown open and cracked like an overripe melon. It split beneath the force, and slowly melted away.

The discontent further south proved more difficult to overcome. There was another thing that proved stubborn. Not all had been done when the Wise left. Behind them, entrusted to those that remained, was another task. Justice had not come to all. Of all allies of Mordor that somehow escaped destruction, one of the chiefest remained at large. Enigma, riddle, aberration, her name was Naiore Dannan and she could not be permitted to continue.

The Wise reluctantly disclosed what little they knew of Naiore Dannan. Elf, she was, and in the service of Sauron she had been since the Second Age. Kin to Galadriel, little else was to hand apart from one inescapable fact. Naiore Dannan remained at large and continued to elude capture. Alive with her was a malevolence of intent too strong to allow to continue. The hunt for Naiore Dannan continued to little avail. It crossed borders into lands known and otherwise. It reached after her, finding shred of trace every now and anon. After 12 years of the Fourth Age, the search came as did she to an inn.

Here is set down the final telling of this sad tale. At the Forsaken Inn, a day’s ride from Bree on the edge of the Wild, it took the unlikeliest gathering of all to begin what could not be done in a hunt that had stretched through two ages. There is found Lespheria and Amandur, Elf and Ranger in turn and both tied to Naiore in vastly different ways. Benia, a woman from the troubled south, lies in the keeping of another troubled soul named Kaldir, a Ranger too but fallen in the darkness. He watches, intent on quarry who has on her head a handsome price. His quarry is Vanwe, unclaimed and heretonow forgotten daughter of Naiore Dannan, a secret she closely guards for fear of her mother's evil falling upon her and those around her.

Yet the hunter and the hunted can be one and the same. Kaldir himself is watched, by Gilly whom suspects Kaldir in Benia’s disappearance. The hobbit is not easily triffled with. Neither is Hanasian, a Ranger like Kaldir, let not fallen. He nears the inn as another watcher of Kaldir waits nearby. On her head is the highest price ever set, by Dwarf, Man or Elf. On her head rests also such attrocities that would give even the Wraiths pause for regret deep in their undead souls. In Imladris, one who has felt and survived her shadow lingers also in the watchful keeping of his Elven kindred.

The Forsaken Inn, where the beginning of another ending unfolds, is peaceful in the summer morning light. The innkeeper was busy looking over the common room’s empty tables and chairs before breakfast. Fimbriel nodded in satisfaction and sought the kitchens. It would be a thirsty day, if she guessed the morning’s mist aright. The arrival of travellers looking for something to slake their thirst and a place to rest from the midsummer heat would not be too far away.

[ August 20, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]