Search for Rhûn RPG

[Saraphim]

The silence dragged on and on for nearly a quarter of an hour. Nephril, who could stand for days in complete solitude was growing edgy about having to stand quietly with strangers.

Casting desperatly around for something to talk about, he noticed two maces strapped to the newcomer's back.

"Bestialan, is it?" Nephil said to him, causing the three others to jump in surprise.

Bestialan nodded slowly.

"Your maces," said Nephil, " A man named Corith forged them for you, did he not?"

Bestialan nodded again, confused and growing annoyed.

"He is my kinsman, and lives with me. He told me about your maces when he was forging them. He claimed it was the best work he ever did. What do you think of them? Do they serve the purpose that they were made for?"

[Esgallhugwen]

Nerin had already begun to seriously contemplate as to how he could carry his large share of treasure without difficulty, he would find a way. He also hoped there would be a large share of treasure for all of them or his planning would just be a waste.

I pray that will not be so, a wasteful thought is a sad thing , He looked around at his companions and realized he had never spoken since the journey began. It would be wise to make friends now instead of when things become difficult.

"But what to say?" Nerin almost whispered to himself, he wasn't much of a conversationalist, and at times found it akward to begin a conversation with somone else. Perhaps someone would approach the shy Dwarf and spark a little talk.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hænir turned to Dwalin and gestured back to the other Dwarves with a nod of his head. “They’re a quiet lot, aren’t they?”

Dwalin looked back in surprise and then turned to Hænir once more. “I suppose they are thinking about the journey ahead,” he ventured.

“Or perhaps their families behind,” Hænir replied. Dwalin shrugged and turned his attention back to the road before them. Hænir had marched out along this same road many times with his King and the King’s Companions, and always their journeys had passed quickly to the sound of singing beaten out with the rhythmic stamping of iron shod feet. This silent, almost brooding trek promised to be the longest he had known. Hænir had no family, and all the kin he knew were the Companions, now swiftly receding into the distance with the profile of the Lonely Mountain. His mind turned to the dangers that lay ahead of them. What kind of a Company will we be if we reach Rhûn like this? he thought to himself. If we can think of naught to say one another beneath the sun of our first day, then what shall we say to one another if things should turn dark? He had fought too many battles not to know the importance of friendship and trust in those who fought beside you.

Hænir had never been a leader and did not desire to start now, but he began to fear that if he did not try to meld the group into a true Company then nobody would. He turned to the Dwarf following just behind him and Dwalin. He was as shy lad, and Hænir had to search his memory for a moment before he could recall his name. “Nerin!” he said, as robustly as he could. “Why are you so quiet there? We are Dwarves, marching out to danger and treasure. We should be singing and talking merrily, not plodding along like Men set to work in the fields. Come, tell me, tell us all, what do you wish to do with your share of the treasure?” He raised his voice so that all could hear. “Come, all of you – what desires of your heart have driven you to this venture? Gold glitters and gems shine, but not for their beauty alone do we crave them. What are the things you wish to achieve with this bounty?” Hænir smiled to himself, thinking Treasure and dreams of wealth: if that doesn’t give them something to talk about, I don’t know Dwarves.

[Himaran]

Bali was instantly uncomfortable at the mention of treasure. There may be none at all, and it is all they can think about! He did, however, know that the dwarves needed something to talk about, so they could mingle and become friends. They were all young and shy, most on their first journey. It will be good to get their minds off home.

"I have always been a fan of making fine jewelry. Necklesses, mostly; but I enjoy working on rings as well. Ah... to have the skill of the elves, and craft those magic items. Rings can hold far more power than axe-heads, you know."

Nelin joined in the conversation. "Why rings and amulets instead of axes and knives? Weapons are far more exciting to build than gold cresents!"

Bali slowed his pace to match Nelin's, and patted the young dwarf on the shoulder. "Well, I have traveled a lot, and found that steel blades kill orcs better than gold ones. Besides, I hate to scratch up such good craftmanship, and there is little need to scrape a notch in a ring." He pulled his single-bladed, curved, Ereborian-style axe from the strap on his back, and showed Nelin the many scrapes along the pole. The dwarf's eyes widened: hundreds were visible.

"Once you're in a great battle, laddie, its quite easy," said Bali, winking. "And what about you others? What do you hope to make?"

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

He has been quiet for most of the trip, and it bothered him. Usually, Narvi would have been the first to crack jokes, or sing songs, or start conversations. But not this time.

Perhaps it was the thought of Rhûn. I have been through the greatest battle of the Third Age unharmed; now the name of some wild place disturbs me?

He decided to wander around, and listen for any hints of conversation interesting to him.

"Once you're in a great battle, laddie, its quite easy," said Bali, winking.

A talk about great battles! This would prove interesting.

As he slowly walked on to Dwalin, he didn't notice that the Dwarf was heedless of his path, and soon Dwalin bumped into Narvi.

[Novnarwen]

"Once you're in a great battle, laddie, its quite easy."

Narrow-eyed, Dwalin gazed at Bali. Battles were easy? He looked at his double-bladed axe and his cross bow; hanging over his shoulder. When leaving the Hall he had never really imagined he would need his weapons. Rhûn was filled with treasure and fortune, not wild barbarians who would kill everyone who came to seek luck, right? He frowned, taking no heed to poor Narvi who went quietly at Dwalin's left side. Dwalin, unintentionally, bumped into him, as he was in deep thought.

"Oh, sorry!" Dwalin exclaimed, realising he wasn't paying much attention to others than himself. Narvi didn't seem to mind, even though Dwalin had heard of his temper from others. He had a grim face and was, of appearance, taller than Dwalin.

Dwalin excused himself once more, looking up and into his dark brown eyes.

"Narvi, is it?" Dwalin asked, suddenly, feeling the urge to make up for any awkwardness between them. The Dwarf didn't want to offend anyone, or be in the way. After all, this was his first adventure, and he wasn't very familiar with this whole travelling thing. This of course, only he knew and his brother. No one, absolutely no one, knew that the gash on his cheek was not from a battle in a distant ..... He was interrupted as the other Dwarf answered his question.

"Aye, I'm indeed Narvi Silverfist." Dwalin nodded, not knowing what more to say to this grim dwarf. It was a strange feeling. He was known to be kind, social, friendly, (which came under 'kind', Dwalin reminded himself of) humorous, intelligent, (this made Dwalin giggle) generous, good looking; in fact quite handsome . . . Dwalin made a jump. I'm humble! He thought, and with this he settled as he realised humble dwarves didn't think of themselves as good-looking and intelligent and all the other things he had thought of, which had made him seem not humble at all. It was an odd feeling around this though, but he couldn't quite explain it. It was Narvi's fault; that dwarf made him think, Dwalin figured; giving one last glance up at him before taking his leave. Narvi looked down for a moment, before stretching out his hand, taking Dwalin by the arm. The so called humble dwarf felt Narvi's strong hands, around his, or so it seemed, tiny arm. Dwalin didn't have time to think now, he was too afraid? What could possibly Narvi do to him? Nothing.. Oh well... Narvi was so 'big', Dwalin pointed out to himself in a hurry, trying very hard to find something to say. He stood like a stiff mummy, trying not to seem rude or impolite, but the fact that Narvi had grabbed him, not very hard, just firmly, had given Dwalin a fright.

"Woah, I'm glad to be here," Narvi said. "Thank you Dwalin," he finished.

For a little Dwarf, Dwalin, this was indeed nice words to hear. Narvi wasn't that big, just tall. Yes, that was it. Dwalin gave him an encouraging look, before walking on with Narvi at his side.

[Will Witfoot]

Gortek lay on the grass of their common campsite, letting the sun shine down on him with it's pleasant warmth. His pipe was clutched between his teeth, and a stream of perfect smoke ring's rose to the breezeless morning air.

"So Gortek, what House or Mansion of Dwarves are you from?"

Gortek turned his head slightly, fixing his one good eye on the man, Aras. Despite his apparent and undenied madness he was far from stupid, and he caught a faint note of distrust in the rangers voice.

"From the Iron Hills, lad." He could not quite keep some amount of surliness from creeping into his voice. The man's lack of trust angered him. He had met distrust many times on his travel's, at times directed towards his honor and at others at his skill's. There was nothing he hated quite so much as not being trusted.

He tapped the ashes from his pipe and got up, resolving to go for a walk or to fish until his temper cooled.

"I'll see if the fish round 'ere is easy."