Last Ride of the Heir RPG

[piosenniel]

Arvedui’s post

The cool mist that comes before the dawn flitted its way into the locked chamber, blending with the warm musk of the room and the dying embers of the fire in the woven iron grate. In the dew there was a cold sighing feel, as a wet cloth must seem to a fevered man. And the relief the grey air brought was not wasted on the figure sitting in an oaken chair, encircled by tomes and lost in thought. To the unsuspecting eye the form was a man in the middle of his years, seeming very young and hale, yet worn and burdened with the knowledge of age as well, fingering a hansom blue ring on his right hand, his gray eyes gazing to some far away place.

That was, until two soft thumps tickled his sensitive ears and brought his eyes sharply into focus.

Elrond Peredhil let out a groan of frustration at the end of his reverie and was rewarded only by a quiet chuckle from the opposite end of the room where the disturbance has come from. "Diran le (I see you), Elladan." He called out wearily to the lithe already moving out of the shadows behind him.

"Forgive us Adar, but even I must make some noise to enter a barricaded study." Answered a new voice to his right, now coming into the flickering light of embers.

"I wish you would take the hint that a locked room implies." Elrond replied mutinously, but already he was smiling despite himself.

"I believe Elladan received all our lessons on locks and their implications, father." The right-hand figure, a tall and fair looking creature with mischievous gray eyes, continued in a tone of complete innocence. "And you know his hearing can be very selective at times. A most strange affliction."

"Besides," said Elladan, speaking up for the first time, with an amused lilt to his voice, "You enjoy the intrusion."

Elrond shook his head and rose languidly to face the figures. "My perceptive sons, what am I to do with you?"

"Sending us into the wild in the company of a bunch of scruffy rangers seems to be your favored solution." Elrohir remarked offhandedly as he sank unto a polished stool.

"Arathorn is here, then?" Elrond asked, more sternly than before. He frowned and his mind began to work frantically again. It would be soon, but if he them bereft of...

"You are not pleased at this?" Elladan asked with a concerned note in his voice.

"Nay, nay." Elrond answered, sighing and then forcing a smile. "What news from the Angle?"

"Much of the same." answered Elrohir. "There may be orcs massing near Angmar, but otherwise not a lot to note."

"Oh, but he does have a son now," Added Elladan as an afterthought. "Named Aragorn."

Elrond nodded, a mixture of relief and happiness flooding through him. "That is well. Arathorn will need an heir."

"You foresee him being even shorter lived than Arador?" Elladan questioned, and Elrond paused before he answered, knowing of the friendship between his son and the Dunadan.

"A storm is coming." He answered grimly, keenly aware of an invisible weight pressing down on him, and deeply saddened by its presence. "And if it passes, Arathorn will not live to see the light on the other side."

"The darkness may not descend for many lives of men yet." Elrohir said, trying to be optimistic.

"True, but enough of this." Elrond waved his hand and batted away the subject, judging that he could ignore it until he could find another quiet dawn in which to lock himself away and think. "I suppose you both intend to go with him on whatever new venture he's planning?" He asked as a matter of form, sad to see his sons leaving Imladris again but reconciled to their going.

"Aye, so long as there are orcs, we shall hunt them with any who go with us." Elladan answered, a quiet fury evident in his voice.

Elrond gave a melancholy smile, half lost in a memory, and then placed his hands on his sons' shoulders. "Go then. Namarie, iynn nin. Nai hiruvalye man faroth!(My sons! May it be you will find the hunting good)" They embraced, and Elladan and Elrohir left, unlocking the door as they went. Elrond gazed after them, thinking with a sudden, brutal clarity that this hunt would be more than any of them bargained for. He sank back down into the comfort of the books surrounding his chair and knew that for Arathorn, and his son after him, the darkness had dawned, and a war was beginning.

[piosenniel]

Eowyn Skywalker's post

The day was fair in Imladris; the wind rustled the trees and grass. It was fair and bright; all was quiet and peaceful. And in that time, Hanindur, son of Seragon sat, and watched the trees twitch in the wind.

"Why does the weather play such games, when peace is not to be found, and a shadow roams freely in the lands?" asked Hanindur softly. He sat in the shade of the peaceful trees, and watched. The sun shone brightly, and there was little shadow in the hidden valley, beyond that which lay under the trees.

Birds chirped, as if there was nothing in the world to fear. And they have little to fear, thought Hanindur. Why would they fear, when it is us, the men, and elves that must fear them. Anything could be a spy... who knows what watches in the dark shadows of time?

A cloud drifted over the sun, shadowing the area. It was but a cloud, nothing to be feared, but Hanindur jumped. Shadow... fear and doubt. There was something about the shadows that caused him fear now, ever since the death of his father.

It had been all dark that day, and though the sun still shone, it hung heavily, and darkly in his mind. And evermore his thoughts drifted to shadow, and to darkness... the past that was so dark to him now.
He fell into those dark thoughts, and drifted into a world that no longer existed to him, days before his father's death.

A voice cried out in anger.

Hanindur jumped, shaking himself out of his thoughts, and out of the dark times that he had been recalling. "Where are my elves and Rangers?!?" he heard someone shout. It was the voice of Arathorn.

He jumped up, and walked over to where he had heard the vioce shout, and Hanindur realized that much time had passed, as his shadow grew long as he stepped over to Arathorn. "I am here, if you wish for my help, Lord Arathorn," he said, his voice low. "Your Rangers have not abandoned you."

[piosenniel]

Mad Baggins' post

Beroth was enjoying his stay at Rivendell; he had never encountered Elves before and he loved learning about their ways and customs. The quiet, comfortable rooms were quite a difference from sleeping outside beneath the twinkling stars. He walked down the corridors silently, taking in the beauty of Rivendell as slowly as possible. He stopped to run his hand over an intricately carved pair of doors. The wood felt smooth and was a rich cream colour. Beroth was about to have a closer look when his keen ears caught a noise at the door. He sprang back and pretended to have been examining the wall as a young Elf maiden stepped out of the doorway and walked gracefully in the other direction.

Beroth sighed, feeling extremely foolish. The Elves were so eloquent and fair; sometimes he felt like a clumsy oaf in their presence. He walked further down the hallway, pausing every so often to look at a particular piece of art. Reaching a doorway that led to a balcony, Beroth stepped through it and into the bright afternoon sunlight. He leaned on the balustrade, breathing in the sweet air. Suddenly, his peace was disrupted by a loud roar from below.

"Where are my Elves and Rangers!?!"

Beroth groaned and hurried off the balcony, down the hallway and towards the courtyard from which the shout had come. When he passed through the gateway to the courtyard, Arathorn was indeed there. Beroth reached him and bowed, saying, "I am here, Lord Arathorn. What is your will?" He straightened up and gave Arathorn a winning smile.

[piosenniel]

ArwenBaggins' post

"Papa? Papa!" A small, black-haired girl tugged on the loose leggings of a tall man dozing in a chair overlooking a beautiful, gleaming city. "Papa, lookie wat I drew! See! It's Lord Arathorn an' you fightin' some orcs!" The girl pointed to some crudely drawn stick-men and dog-like crawling figures. The man smiled and rubbed his daughter's head as she continued more solemnly, "Mama 'tolded' me dat you're gonna leave us 'gain ta fight off some baddies… but she's lyin', isn't she?"

Eirian's smile faded quickly from his wrinkling face. He bent and sat the toddler in his lap. A cool morning breeze drifted in through the balcony. It ruffled the silken nightgown of his young tot, making her giggle. He watched as Elves glided across a bridge a little way off- some were in armor. "No Evelyn, she's not lying. It will be two mornings from now, I regret to say. Darkness is stirring…" His deep eyes drifted away for a moment, but a creak of the tree growing through the middle of the room brought him back to reality. "Although, you are only four, you wouldn't understand. Why don't you go find Mama and we'll help her make breakfast," He smiled again and sat her on the dusty ground.

The girl smiled and nodded, waddling past the large tree and disappearing behind a satin curtain. Eirian stood and followed, adjusting the sword at his belt. After pushing back the lavender veil, he was met by a slender woman with a large stomach. "Good Morning Lovely," Eirian kissed the top of his woman's head and started cutting a loaf of bread. The world was good at now, if only then.

~*~*~*~

By mid-noon two days later, a modest pile of supplies was sitting just inside of the room. Evelyn was crying and rubbing her eyes on her mother's skirt. Eirian embraced them both and put his pack over his cloak, stepping out of the door. "Fear not for me, my dears. I will return, and peace will be restored. I love you both," He kissed his wife and hugged his teary-eyed daughter once more, adjusting his knapsack and putting a hand on the hilt of his sword.

He took his time getting to the royal courtyard. While he was ever avid to start killing the blasted beasts, he felt a deep quilt inside leaving his four-year-old daughter and a wife that could give birth to his third child within a month.

“Where are my Elves and Rangers!?!” Eirian heard this shouted as he entered the yard. He saw Arathorn standing with his sword unsheathed and in front of the other Dunadan.

"Come now Arathorn," Eirian unveiled his sword as well and steadied the blade. "We can not have you in a bad mood… have you see Elladan and Elrohir? They passed my door earlier, but I haven't seen them since," He shrugged and swung his sword over his head, practicing his swift killing strokes.

Eirian again sheathed his sword, sighing and finding a nearby stone bench to sit on. He flicked a piece of dark hair from his face and began, "Those fellows must think we are Elves as well; they are taking quite an eternity!"

[piosenniel]

Hama of the Riddermark's post

Owacyn lay on the couch in his room. He looked up at the elf-wrought ceiling and smiled, it was fascinating. He was trying to distract himself with nice things, as he had a bad feeling in his gut about this attack. No matter how hard he tried to dissmiss it it always came back, snapping at his heels and stalking his every step. He constantly thought about Gwendalyne back in Gondor, and his unborn infant. He hoped it would be a son, but right now he doubted if he would be around to see his child born and grow. He wished he could, he wanted to teach him how to ride and fight, to shoot a bow and wield a sword. He sighed as he lay there. So many things were uncertain at this time.

He was just drifiting off to sleep, pondering this venture some more, when he heard Elrohir running past his window, cursing at himself in elvish. He smiled. Elrohir was a good friend and a fine bowman, even if he was prone to make a fool of himself occasionally. He drifted off to sleep, a few of his trepidations were gone, after all he'd be riding with the dunedain's finest, and the sons of Elrond himself. Somewhat content, he closed his eyes...

"Where are my elves and rangers!"

Owacyn sighed as he opened his sleepy eyes, swinging his feet off the bed he slipped his boots on. He slowly walked and stepped out of the door. After all, an hour was a short time really..."I'm here, my Lord" he said almost resignedly. Arathorn scowled at his manner, but did not say anything.

Owacyn sat down on a step and took a long, slender pipe out of his belt and stuffed it with weed. He lit it and sucked in deep, blowing smoke rings as he let it out of his mouth. He was slightly irritated that Arathorn had shouted so loudly, he had been enjoying a nice rest. Maybe he was a little too eager. He lay back and looked up at the sky. "Owacyn!" snapped the voice of Arathorn, "Get up!". Owacyn sighed and raised himself to his feet. "Yes, Lord Arathorn." he said as he went over and stood by the banister, looking out at the waterfall in Rivendell. He saw Elrohir running back, his quiver bristling with arrows, and a few even tucked into his belt, he grinned. "A little over enthusiatic, Elrohir?"

[piosenniel]

Phervasaion's post

Paladir looked up through the wavering trees at the sun rays beaming down onto the floor, and he smiled. “It is a beautiful day to start a journey,” he said aloud to himself. “Let’s hope the rest of my days will be as beautiful.” He looked upwards towards Imladris and had to stop for a while to gaze upon its beauty. He had never seen the place before and, to him it seemed that the sun was shining stronger there than anywhere else around and he may have even dared to call the place a heaven.

Paladir shook his head thinking he had strayed into some sort of dream, but the beauty of the place was more real than anything he had seen in his dreams before. The Ranger had been travelling for some hours without rest towards his destination of Imladris and was feeling weary from his trek through the wilderness. He sat down and set his back up against a tree a began to drink some water out of his flask, and after only a couple of minutes he set of again, heading up the slopes towards the gates of Rivendell. Paladir held a great respect for Arathorn and did not want to be late for the beginning of the journey.

He was making great pace up the slopes as he had a feeling that something was drawing him towards the great Elven city. Even as he reached the borders of Rivendell he heard a cry of anger towards the courtyard.

“Where are all my Elves and Rangers!?!”

‘Oh no, don’t tell me im late’ thought Kaladir as he began to sprint up the steps towards the royal courtyard. When he got to the top there were four Rangers standing. One was of course the great Arathorn II, the others were called Hanindur, Beroth and Eirian who were all great Rangers, but Paladir did not know them well.

Paladir walked swiftly to greet Arathorn. “I heard your call sire,” Paladir said as he bowed down. “And I have come to answer that call.” He looked up and smiled at all the Rangers standing about him.

[piosenniel]

Saraphim's post

Smiling good-naturaly, Elrohir went to the armory and stuffed his quiver nearly to the breaking point. His brother stood off to the side, still laughing quietly at Elrohir's earlier embarassment.

"You, dear, brother, should not be laughing," said Elrohir. "You aught to remember Arathorn's impression of you when you eat."

"Are you a fool, Elrohir?" said Elladan, who laughed even harder. "You eat the same way!"

"Yes, but I do not drink like a dwarf after every bite."

This caused Elladan to stop giggling insessently and poke at Elrohir's pride back.

They continued to squabble while donning thier armour and strapping on thier other weapons.

Walking slowly out through the halls, the twins were on the verge of grappling to relieve thier brotherly love when they heard Arathorn's exasparated cry.

"Where are my Elves and Rangers?"

Laughing at something other than each other, they, sped up and met the Chief of the Rangers who was looking impatiently around.

"My dear friend," said Elrohir, "You should not rush Elves, not all of our people are as eager to wander as we are, and Men would stay in lovely Imladris until time ended, if it were allowed."

Arathorn smiled wanly and called again, with an order attached for his comfortable rangers.