Red Flows the Sirannon RPG - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Mithalwen · 10-14-2005, 01:57 PM

Losrian had attempted to follow Artamir. There had been a look on his fair face that she had not seen before. It habitually wore an amused expression and while this was clearly not a time for jokes, she felt by some instinct that the distress the young elf betrayed was not down to fear. Then she wondered what she would do if she had caught up with him. They were hardly confidantes and now she should seek out her own family perhaps.

The discussions at her brother's house mirrorred those in Cainenyo's. He wished his sister to flee the city with his Galmir, Laswen and her mother. He and his father in law would stay and join the defence of the city.

"But Lord Celebrimbor said that all that could fight should! I shoot as well as most of the cadets!!! "

"He did not mean the maids of the city should fight I am sure"

"Why not? The women of the Noldor have fought before when they had to"

"The refugees will need protection too maybe..."

"Then you go! ~I think it is too late to go anyway - would we be any safer in the wilderness with that army on our heels?"

"Why must you defy me when all I seek is the safest course for you?"

"You aren't my father - I am of age - you have no right to choose for me!"

"And what would our father say if I did not seek to keep you from danger?"

At last Laswen's calm voice interrupted them.... "Stop this- there is enough conflict awaiting us..... I fear Losrian is right and this dispute is needless. I fear we may all have to fight or all have to flee. We are prepared for siege but perhaps we should also prepare for flight and have packs ready. then wait for what the morrow brings. "

The argument had been stopped if not resolved and Losrian had soon departed to her own chamber above her brother's workshop. She heard muffled, tense voices from behind the shuttered windows and knew that her household was not alone in its discord. Both the stores and the stock was much depleted since Laswen's family had first arrived from the outlands a year ago. But a small pony, some goats and poultry were still in residence in the woodstore and they stirred slightly as Losrian ran up the steps to the loft.

Packing for a journey would not be too arduous... almost everything she owned was contained in a fine wooden chest at the foot of the bed - examples both of her brother's work that looked a little incongruous in their humble setting. She took out the pack she had brought with her 6 years ago and it ws scarecely more full than then when she had sorted out the things necessaries for a journey and the things she could not bear to leave.

Few things caused many pangs... Most of her clothes were practical rather than beautiful but there was one notable exception. The dress made for her coming of age had had an overdress of simple blue wool, suitable for a winter celebration and more general use later, but the underdress Laswen had wrought for was of gossamer fine tuile, embroidered with flowers and butterflies too fragile even for general wear it was hopeless for a journey but Losrian could not bear to leave it behind. It folded to almost nothing and slightly guiltily she slipped it into her pack.

A harder decision was her lute. Light but bulky it would take space better occupied by provisions in her bag so she left it in it's case, next to her pack, bow and quiver. It was another decision that could wait until morning. If morning ever came.

Durelin · 10-14-2005, 03:59 PM

Firefoot's Post

Evening was nearing by the time Kharn almost literally shoved Grimkul and Ulwakh out of his tent. “Get out of my tent, you foul mountain vermin!” he snarled. Grimkul spared him a slight victorious smile, fury and the need for vengeance still gleaming in his yellow eyes. Kharn quailed under that look for a moment before swinging his whip at the two now-retreating forms.

Ulwakh led the way, threading his way quickly through the camp to put as much distance as possible between them and the captains, mostly Kharn. He wasted no time in cutting with a dagger the rope binding him to Grimkul, then the rope around Grimkul’s hands. Though Grimkul seemed hardly to mind, Ulwakh could not help but notice the way Grimkul’s bloodied legs hardly supported his weight, nearly giving out numerous times. Clearly, his fury still fueled him, but what about when that grew less hot? Battle loomed – Grimkul could hardly fight in such a condition.

Before too long, Ulwakh started looking around for a promising bit of space in the crowded camp. He dared not go too close to the periphery lest Grimkul get any more idiot ideas into his head. When he finally did find one, he sat down carefully, looking around as if worried about taking another Orc’s area. No one immediately disputed the claim and he relaxed somewhat. Grimkul removed his pack and dropped it carelessly on the ground before collapsing beside it, all the while saying not a word. Ulwakh sat uneasily, fearing for the outburst that he feared would surely come.

But it never did. The fading afternoon light faded into dusk, but still Grimkul sat unmoving, staring broodingly into space. Ulwakh grew hungry and tentatively dug into Grimkul’s pack for some dried meat, yet Grimkul still seemed not to notice. Occasionally his hand strayed to his sword hilt, or he might mouth some words Ulwakh couldn’t make out. The muscles in his face were taut, strained. Ulwakh finally tired and laid down to sleep, but Grimkul stared on into the night. The fire of hatred showed clearly in his eyes, not the fickle hatred for a meddlesome or irritating Orc, or for a fool of a commander, or for the Elves and Dwarves against whom he so fiercely fought, but hatred born of long taunting and torment – undying, burning hatred.

Ulwakh wished Grimkul would yell and rage.

10-14-2005, 01:57 PM	#1
Mithalwen Pilgrim Soul Join Date: May 2004 Location: watching the wonga-wonga birds circle... Posts: 9,461	Losrian had attempted to follow Artamir. There had been a look on his fair face that she had not seen before. It habitually wore an amused expression and while this was clearly not a time for jokes, she felt by some instinct that the distress the young elf betrayed was not down to fear. Then she wondered what she would do if she had caught up with him. They were hardly confidantes and now she should seek out her own family perhaps. The discussions at her brother's house mirrorred those in Cainenyo's. He wished his sister to flee the city with his Galmir, Laswen and her mother. He and his father in law would stay and join the defence of the city. "But Lord Celebrimbor said that all that could fight should! I shoot as well as most of the cadets!!! " "He did not mean the maids of the city should fight I am sure" "Why not? The women of the Noldor have fought before when they had to" "The refugees will need protection too maybe..." "Then you go! ~I think it is too late to go anyway - would we be any safer in the wilderness with that army on our heels?" "Why must you defy me when all I seek is the safest course for you?" "You aren't my father - I am of age - you have no right to choose for me!" "And what would our father say if I did not seek to keep you from danger?" At last Laswen's calm voice interrupted them.... "Stop this- there is enough conflict awaiting us..... I fear Losrian is right and this dispute is needless. I fear we may all have to fight or all have to flee. We are prepared for siege but perhaps we should also prepare for flight and have packs ready. then wait for what the morrow brings. " The argument had been stopped if not resolved and Losrian had soon departed to her own chamber above her brother's workshop. She heard muffled, tense voices from behind the shuttered windows and knew that her household was not alone in its discord. Both the stores and the stock was much depleted since Laswen's family had first arrived from the outlands a year ago. But a small pony, some goats and poultry were still in residence in the woodstore and they stirred slightly as Losrian ran up the steps to the loft. Packing for a journey would not be too arduous... almost everything she owned was contained in a fine wooden chest at the foot of the bed - examples both of her brother's work that looked a little incongruous in their humble setting. She took out the pack she had brought with her 6 years ago and it ws scarecely more full than then when she had sorted out the things necessaries for a journey and the things she could not bear to leave. Few things caused many pangs... Most of her clothes were practical rather than beautiful but there was one notable exception. The dress made for her coming of age had had an overdress of simple blue wool, suitable for a winter celebration and more general use later, but the underdress Laswen had wrought for was of gossamer fine tuile, embroidered with flowers and butterflies too fragile even for general wear it was hopeless for a journey but Losrian could not bear to leave it behind. It folded to almost nothing and slightly guiltily she slipped it into her pack. A harder decision was her lute. Light but bulky it would take space better occupied by provisions in her bag so she left it in it's case, next to her pack, bow and quiver. It was another decision that could wait until morning. If morning ever came. Last edited by Mithalwen; 10-16-2005 at 02:00 PM.

10-14-2005, 03:59 PM	#2
Durelin Estelo dagnir, Melo ring Join Date: Oct 2002 Posts: 3,063	Firefoot's Post Evening was nearing by the time Kharn almost literally shoved Grimkul and Ulwakh out of his tent. “Get out of my tent, you foul mountain vermin!” he snarled. Grimkul spared him a slight victorious smile, fury and the need for vengeance still gleaming in his yellow eyes. Kharn quailed under that look for a moment before swinging his whip at the two now-retreating forms. Ulwakh led the way, threading his way quickly through the camp to put as much distance as possible between them and the captains, mostly Kharn. He wasted no time in cutting with a dagger the rope binding him to Grimkul, then the rope around Grimkul’s hands. Though Grimkul seemed hardly to mind, Ulwakh could not help but notice the way Grimkul’s bloodied legs hardly supported his weight, nearly giving out numerous times. Clearly, his fury still fueled him, but what about when that grew less hot? Battle loomed – Grimkul could hardly fight in such a condition. Before too long, Ulwakh started looking around for a promising bit of space in the crowded camp. He dared not go too close to the periphery lest Grimkul get any more idiot ideas into his head. When he finally did find one, he sat down carefully, looking around as if worried about taking another Orc’s area. No one immediately disputed the claim and he relaxed somewhat. Grimkul removed his pack and dropped it carelessly on the ground before collapsing beside it, all the while saying not a word. Ulwakh sat uneasily, fearing for the outburst that he feared would surely come. But it never did. The fading afternoon light faded into dusk, but still Grimkul sat unmoving, staring broodingly into space. Ulwakh grew hungry and tentatively dug into Grimkul’s pack for some dried meat, yet Grimkul still seemed not to notice. Occasionally his hand strayed to his sword hilt, or he might mouth some words Ulwakh couldn’t make out. The muscles in his face were taut, strained. Ulwakh finally tired and laid down to sleep, but Grimkul stared on into the night. The fire of hatred showed clearly in his eyes, not the fickle hatred for a meddlesome or irritating Orc, or for a fool of a commander, or for the Elves and Dwarves against whom he so fiercely fought, but hatred born of long taunting and torment – undying, burning hatred. Ulwakh wished Grimkul would yell and rage. Last edited by Durelin; 10-14-2005 at 05:19 PM.