Island of Sorrow RPG

[Firefoot]

As Lómwë climbed up the treacherous slope, he was all the more glad that they had not attempted such a climb in the night. The way was steep, and hand- and foot-holds had to be carefully picked out of the face of the rock. A single instance of misplaced weight or an ill-chosen handhold on the cliff could wreck dire consequences. Every so often bits of dust and pebbles would trickle down upon them from those climbers above, most notably from Malris in his eager climbing.

Yet Lómwë did not mind the strenuous climb in the least; indeed, he enjoyed the physical activity quite possibly more than any other deed they had yet attempted on this journey. For the climb required nearly his full concentration and he could almost forget the intent of the climb and their destination. Almost.

There was still that small corner of his mind that could not help but reflect on the fair road that had once led up to the high fortress. That road, like so many other links to the Elder Days, was gone, eroded by the passage time and the elements and lack of use. It existed only in their memories, but there the memories were sharp and clear, undimmed by the passage of time, or rather, re-illuminated by this island. But gone, Lómwë reflected sadly as he mechanically reached for the next hand-hold, his concentration momentarily lapsing.

It was at that moment that several things happened: Tasa cried out above him; a rain of dust and grit fell down upon him, momentarily blinding him; and his hand missed the crevice he had been reaching for. He swayed dangerously, scrabbling at the rock face. By lucky chance, his fingers found purchase on the rock face, and he clung tenuously, waiting for the dust to clear so that he could see enough to continue his climb.

After what seemed like ages just hanging to the rock, he looked up and saw that Tasa was now being raised with a rope to the top, and Endamir seemed to be mentally recovering. Had Tasa lost her grip? He glanced down; he was some 15 feet up, and over hard rock. That would have been a nasty fall. His mind stirred in unease; it was just one more near miss in a long string. How many more times would they get lucky? Would it be better to just turn back now? No. He had come this far, and he was going to see it through. There was too much riding on this venture, too much had been invested in it.

So he dug a little deeper and pulled himself a little higher, preparing to complete the final few feet of the ascent, the end of the beginning.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Despite the massive proportions of the Dragon-helm and the fact that the object had been strapped across his back, Lindir had encountered few problems in making his way to the top of the cliff. He was the first of the Elves to reach the summit. Once or twice during his hurried ascent, a cautionary voice had sounded inside his head, urging him to veer a bit to the left or try a different foodhold. It was almost as if someone or something had purposely guided Lindir forward over the safest and swiftest course, not because of any concern for his personal well-being but to ensure that the helm reach its ordained destination. Lindir pushed back this unsettling notion from his mind, but remained seated on the rocky cliff with the precious artifact clenched between his tightened fingers.

One moment he was ruminating on the odd set of circumstances that had brought them to this isle, and the next he was staring grimly at the tiny figures of Endamir and Tasa who now clung precariously to the side of the cliff. Lindir looked up alarmed. Clearly, the two Elves were in need of help. Common sense dictated that he should race over to where Malris was seated and offer to aid his friends, perhaps to be ready to sling out a second looped rope if the first did not reach its destination or at least to show outward concern. Despite his clear sense that something must be done, Lindir sat complacently rooted to the ground, unable to move or take the helm from his lap. He felt as if the thing had suddenly assumed gigantic proportions and was preventing him from standing up. He could not understand what was happening. One part of his mind refused to give up the precious treasure even for a second, while another part was troubled and embarassed that he had not come forward to assist his friends. Defeated and powerless, he slunk back within the tall grass and piles of rubble that framed the edge of the hilltop, hoping that no one else had noted his strange behavior.

[Anguirel]

Malris was livid with himself. Dwelling on insubstantial threats, and climbing carelessly, his clumsiness had been the origin, as far as he could feel, of this disaster. His face became pale as the foam of the sea as he swivelled abruptly, unbuckling his pack of supplies as quickly as he could. Seizing a loaf of waybread at the top, he nearly flung it aside before recalling that, with fortune against him, this would only cause another mishap, and placed in his lap. At last the grey reassurance of the rope was in his hands. There was no time to tie a loop; with good Lindon sea-rope, there was also no need to.

Malris let out the harsh cry, "Loke!", and its song echoed about the island as the rope curved into place. Its loop completed, Malris hurled it downwards, with the famous prayer of Fingon on his lips...

"O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this line and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need!"

At this, the calls of the gulls-always present intermittently on Himling-began to magnify. One large black-headed bird soared into the rope's path, batting it with his long, cruel beak, ensuring that it flew truly to Endamir and Tasa below. The continued, monotous gull sounds prevented further words; but they were not required. Malris grimly held fast to his end of the silvery twine, mentally thanking the King of Arda whom he had impetuously defied with the others, long ago.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Tasa balanced precariously on Endamir's booted toe, beginning to slip. Dust still stinging her eyes, she kept them closed as tears freely flowed beneath her lids, trying to wash them clear. Endamir held her close with one arm as he gripped the wall with all of his strength with the other. She tucked herself against her old friend's body, trying to shift her weight and distribute it evenly. Blinded, she worked by every other sense.

She smelled the salt tang of the sea, and the old dust of forgotten stones, disturbed by the storm of the day before. Tasa noted Endamir's scent as she helplessly held tight to him: sweet and musty as an ancient book, opened for the first time in ages. Bird cries disoriented her as they dipped on the breezes that plucked at her clothes and Malris' voice cried a prayer as well known as any from above. She nearly felt the air part for the good bit of Lindon rope to pass.

Endamir spoke quietly into her ear. "I am going to release you for just a moment, Tasa... hold tight." She tightened her already firm grip around his chest and for a moment, nearly panicked when she felt his strong arm pull away. All that held her now from a fall she had resigned herself to were her own bleeding fingers and a small foothold she could not open her eyes to see. Endamir wrapped his arm around her again, working one handed. "Tasa, the rope is in my hand. You must let go of me and take it. I will not let you fall." Eyes still closed, she loosened her grip, comforted by his steady hold. She snaked one arm from around him to fumble for his hand. He passed her the loop. "Tasa, can you fit it around yourself?" He helped her to slide the rope over her head and under her arms, working slowly. Any false moves would doubtlessly not be conducive to a painless journey. With the rope firmly wrapped around Tasa, she released Endamir. Her weight was entirely trusted to Malris.

Endamir called up to their leader and found his own holds again. Tasa felt herself being gently pulled upward.

[Anguirel]

The gulls were starting to disperse now, and Malris called down a curt affirmation that he had Tasa held safely. He braced his slight, wiry frame for the increased weight on the rope; Tasa's adjustment was slow, and his physical preparation proved quite enough for the change. The rope now in both of his hands, he murmured "loke" again into the wind; the line glided through his fists, caressing rather than burning, and coiled easily around his waist, securing itself absolutely.

"Tasa," he shouted downwards towards where he could see the bobbing of her golden head, "Tasa? I've bound myself to you. You'll be safe."

The phrase called back an unbidden-apparently unbidden-memory...a starrying evening...his friends and comrades gathered on the Great Southern Balcony of Himring...a voice, the mightiest voice of the Eldar, speaking...

"In this way Malris has bound himself to Giledhel...and while this fortress stands, an everpresent defiance and reproach to the Dark Enemy of the World, they shall be as content as any of our kind have ever been, and their union will flourish!"

A widespread cheer. Tasa in the crowd, shimmering happiness, nostalgia, sorrow caught in the globes of her eyes. Lomwe and his wife, some months pregnant, smiling widely. Maedhros, armoured as ever, laughing uproariously as he clapped his remaining hand on his breastplate, shaking his fiery head...Curufin teasing his musician brother...

Maglor, harp in hands, extatic, yes, but with solemnity in those eyes. How much did he see, Maglor the Harper? How much did he guess? He strikes up a rhythm now...and the memory fades.

[Envinyatar]

Often Orëmir had ridden out from Imladris, into the foothills of the Hithaeglir to try his strength and skills against those of the granite and basalt bones of the mountains. It was good medicine for his time spent as a healer in the Rangers’ enclave. Suffering and death and the thought processes needed to hold them at bay could be put aside. Just the rock . . . the often tricksy rock, keeping its secrets from the climber. Just the rock and the fingers and feet and the narrow focus of one’s mind.

Orëmir looked up at the sounds of the commotion happening above. A frown creased his brow seeing the precarious rescue of Tasa by his brother and Malris. Old habits kicked in and he scurried up the slope as if he were an old rock lizard. ‘What a fool I was to let you go haring up here by yourself,’ he said in a breathless voice, half tinged with aggravation half with concern. ‘Let me look at those fingers of yours, you great ninny! And step back here, where the ledge is wider.’

Endamir gave his brother an abashed grin, offering his bruised and bleeding fingers up for inspection. ‘What did you think you were doing?’ Orëmir said through gritted teeth. ‘You might have fallen off the slope yourself . . .’ His words trailed off as he glanced from fingers to his brother’s raised brow at the little tirade. ‘Yes, I know I would have done the same,’ Orëmir said reluctantly. ‘BUT . . . I would have know exactly what I was doing . . . not just trusted to the slim hope of a narrowed crevice to hold me up.’ He shook his head, laughing in relief. ‘You’ve always been lucky, you know . . . graced by some special circumstance.’ He nodded up to the top where the others were now gathering, indicating his brother should start back up. ‘By the One, please don’t push past the limits of that luck of yours.’

When they reached the top, Orëmir opened his pack and took out his chest of remedies. He saw to his brother’s fingers and to Tasa’s scrapes and bruises. For the most part they were superficial and would heal quickly. Still he shivered a little in the sunlight as a fleeting thought rose in his mind that perhaps he and his companions were not welcome here. Once done he tucked the chest back in his pack and standing, noted Lindir hunkered down in a patch of tall grass. His pack was off his back and clasped closely to him.

‘Are you ill, my friend?’ Orëmir asked, seeing the odd look on Lindir’s face. ‘Is there something I can do for you?’

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Within a few short moments, Tasa was beside Malris, seated almost comfortably on a rock. Her eyes still watered as she fumbled at the ties of her pack, searching for clear water to rinse the grit away that her tears had missed. Malris took the bag from her lap, swiftly opening it and removing her waterskin. She took it from him with quiet thanks and rinsed first her scratched and stinging eyes, and then her lightly bleeding fingers. In seconds, she could see again. She examined her hands, noting a torn fingernail with sluggish blood welling from beneath it, many scratches, and a deep gouge in her right palm. Malris took her hand in his and picked a small stone carefully from the cut, tossing it aside.

She looked from her seat out to the sea, taking in the quiet clouds that brushed the horizen. A soft breeze picked at her; she ignored it. She sat quietly as Orëmir, now beside them, lightly cleaned her cuts and she began to hum a distant tune thoughtlessly. It was only after Orëmir finished dabbing her scraped up hands with fresh smelling and nastily stinging liquids that Tasa looked up and realized her singing had an accompaniment: Malris' melodious voice took up the refrain as Endamir's boot tapped to the rhythm. It was a well known song of old, but Tasa had not noticed herself singing until it was over. She smiled, looking at her clean and blood-free hands, and then frowned, shivering. The friendly breeze of before felt colder; more forbidding.

"Does anybody," she put forth quietly, "feel as unwelcome here as I?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

Lindir said nothing for the longest time, watching in silence as Oremir tended Tasa's wounds. The haunting lyrics of the song that now filled the air enveloped his fea with a grim sense of foreboding. Glancing over again at Oremir, he finally responded, "Ill? No, I am not ill, at least with any affliction of the body. But this place.....I do not like it."

The Elf's fingers slid over the curved rim of the helmet as he gazed out towards the Sea. He still could not bring himself to put the thing down. With a sigh, he added, "Too many memories, and too much desire." Oremir could barely hear Lindir's whispered words and, of what memories his friend was thinking, no one could even say.