|
|
Post by alicecrysis on Mar 4, 2011 13:56:46 GMT -5
 I SEE IT ALL LAID TO WASTE IN A VIEW FROM[/font][/size] T H E E N D O F T H E W O R L D- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/font][/size][/sup][/center] Alatar did not appreciate being used.
Upon the repeated, pressing request from Lord Elrond of Rivendell, Alatar commenced a broad sweep of the Forlindon region. The reason? The Enemy could possibly be hiding, stirring, amassing along the frozen shore-lines. The real reason? Elrond himself feared for the safety of ships sailing from the Grey Havens, never to return. Apparently someone thought they'd spotted some black ships in the mist one evening. A much less inspiring cause for Alatar - there were certainly better uses for her time. Nevertheless, a request was a request, and she could only hope that she discovered something of relative interest in Forlindon.
Well. She didn't.
A disturbing amount of wargs proved themselves the undisputed owners of the land. Small settlements of goblins lay scattered across frozen hill side, but nothing Alatar would ever consider to be a threat; specifically upon the Grey Haven. It was a serious disappointment. Though, it did get Alatar thinking of the origin of the supposed "black ships". If they were in fact real and not a ruse to get her sweeping the region, where had they come from? More importantly, why couldn't Elrond have simply done this work himself? As a Seer, he had a more advantageous way of discerning truths than Alatar. Weeks had passed since Alatar had been dispatched from Rivendell. She'd begun in the south-eastern edge of Forlindon and worked her way right round the frozen north into Arnor. Nothing. Nothing at all.
Alatar could feel her black steed slowing down, dragging her steps as she slowly drudged forward. The Maiar leaned forward towards the creatures ear, speaking words of encouragement and affection softly. Immediately, she began scouting around for some location that would be safe from the beings that wandered the night in Arnor - wraiths, wargs, trolls. Much unpleasantness to be avoided if at all possible (not that Alatar wasn't growing weary of her lack of combatants over the weeks). To ease the burden on her friend, she dismounted and lead the way herself through the dim twilight of the chilly forest. It wasn't long before Alatar discovered a small ruin, seemingly of Numenorean design, atop a small hill. Alatar knew it would offer little in the way of shelter, but from there she could at least keep an eye upon her surround, which was good enough for her. And so she lead her companion upwards, eventually finding a clearing in its centrifugal design to lay her down. Something about the building felt very homely to her, and she couldn't quite understand why. Only after she thought of the road home did she realize - this was very similar in style to Weathertop.
At the snap of her fingers, a small fire started at the center of the clearing, casting ominous shadows out into the forest. She lowered her hood to better examine the forest that for the night, she'd be calling home. There was no breeze, no wildlife, no movement at all. The very air itself seemed to be stagnant, as if holding its breath. Middle Earth knew something was coming.
Alatar shifted her scabbard around her hip, allowing her to sit down without stabbing herself in the rear. The frozen stone sent chills up her spine, causing her to instinctively wreath herself in her dark blue robes. Staff still in hand, she shot a glance over to her horse. Sound asleep. Well that settled that. The Maiar drew her hood back up, and patiently awaited sunrise.
When she got back to Rivendell, Elrond would have something coming to him.
[/font][/justify][/blockquote] |
|
|
|
Post by hammurabi on Mar 5, 2011 22:03:54 GMT -5
Alone.Solitude. When one was a leader of men one was not familiar with such concepts. Many men, men who knew nothing of battle or dependence claimed that those who lead men were the loneliest of all. Such men and women were mistaken. To command was to constantly be at the head, the the nexus of a thousand relationships. When you were a captain of men you were always communicating, never was a sycophant or lieutenant far from your side, never was a guard not within a call and never were the men you commanded far from your hand. Men constantly depended upon you for example and direction. You were never alone... Doubly was this so for the captain of a ship, a vessel no matter how great was a prison, men were but elbows rub and short breath from one another.
You grew used to the crowding, grew used to the constant companionship. Since he had been but a boy Hammurabi had been close to others, as a child he had lived and breathed upon the deck of his fathers vessel and when he had inherited captainship he had begun to command men it had been years since he had been truly alone. Always, even when with a woman his men were but a few doors away or sometimes even less. But things had changed now... A week had passed since his flight from Umbar, most of his ships had been sunk driven to shore and run aground by his former allies for his refusal to swear fealty to the Eye. Those that survived had had scattered to the winds, fleeing to hidden coves and other secret places to await the call of their captain. His own ship was now moored far the north in the ice-lands of Forochel, his crew scattered with orders to find the others where they may and to gather all who they might to unite under the dread-banner.
Hammurabi had been alone for three days now, traveling on foot cross country, heading south and inland. It was disheartening to be so alone... It was so forgiven... So... Strange. He had always been a harsh man, even feared by some but he had never felt so vulnerable... Even in such a volatile culture as his own. He was not afraid as he traveled through the lands at night... But he was certainly paranoid... Wary...
The path he beat through the forest would not be hard to follow, but he was not worried about his pursuers chasing him inland. The other great-captains found the land as distasteful as he and would see no point in chasing him across the land... To their eyes he was broken... He was determined to prove them wrong. His great cloak caught at twigs as he passed but the heavy cloth simply broke them, his high boots and seaborn walk cracked twigs and leaves with every step.
He had encountered no fel creatures or servents of the eye and he had little reason to think he would. Wargs were malicious creatures of darkness, but they preferred to hunt weaker prey unless spurred on by a dire-cousin or goblin masters. This far north, this far from Mordor they would find neither to be so bold. Still as he walked he did grip his mace tight and keep his eyes on the move... Without someone to watch his back or a large group to dissuade bandits he was still vulnerable to more mundane threats. In the distance he could see an old set of ruins upon a hill... Though he had traveled far despite the darkness he was growing weary, such a place would make a good camp where he could get some sleep and devour some of his salted meat rations. (I suck so much. Sorry, hard for me to think of a reason why Hammur would be in the wilderness lol.  ) |
|
|
|
Post by ireth on Mar 6, 2011 11:40:10 GMT -5
Looking up to the sky she could see the day was disappearing quickly and night would soon be upon them. Her horse did not seem to bad off, but traveling at night probably would not bode well in the approaching dangerous times. Daevain blew his lips a bit causing Ireth to pat his neck and whisper to him that it was time to rest for the night. The white and black spotted horse seemed to agree well enough and seemed to begin to look for a place to rest. After a moment Ireth noticed something, tracks going through the wooded area. The sight made her get off of Daevain to get a closer look. The tracks were well displayed, the person not trying to hide them at all as they stumbled through the forest area. They seemed human, a male probably, and they were fresh. Humans were a bit of a wild card. He could easily just be a bandit or something, though it really should not be that big a problem if he were. However, he could also be someone that was in trouble. The curious and gentle part of her wanted to find out and help, the fighter in her wanted to just ignore the situation and move on.
There was much debate in her mind of what she should do before she began to move on. Ireth kept the trail in sight, but also kept moving more in the direction she wanted to go in before she found a hill with a structure on it, ruins of some sort. Had this been the place the human was attempting to reach, or had he just stumbled around here by accident. There was a fire lit as well, she could see now that she was closer to the ruins. It was possible that there was danger there, but at the very least she could scout it out. Giving a signal to her horse she told him to stay hidden as best as he could. While she was in Rivendell it was her job to defend the city. While she traveled, however, it was kind of her job to scout out the regions she would go to, try to track any enemies along the way and report her findings. She was getting closer to Rivendell and if she began finding enemies even closer and closer, well it would probably not be good news but still necessary.
Ireth crept through the shadows of the place quietly, drawing one sword as she moved about. She was better with swords than a bow, though that did not mean her archery skills were lacking much. However, if she were going to be caught it would be unlikely she would have that much distance between them. She supposed that it still could just be the human, but she had not seen his tracks go quite that way yet which made her wary of whoever else was here. She did not get the feeling of evil creeping up on her though, so perhaps she was just being over cautious. Of course, it was better to be over cautious than dead. Her blue eyes looked carefully all around, trying to be sure nothing was creeping up on her as she went. She was getting closer and closer to the source of the fire, but going slowly and quietly as she stuck to the shadows as she got closer.
Peering out from behind a structure slightly she could see the glow of the fire and a black horse. Looking a little further she could see the fire fully and another figure. The figure was hooded, though the build of the person looked feminine. The person seemed to be armed as well, but that was to be expected when traveling alone. Ireth pulled her own hood more on her head as she retreated to the shadows. The person did not seem to be an enemy or anything and she was a bit opposed to just waltzing into their camp to greet the horse and the person so openly. There was not really any other nearby place to set camp without alerting the traveler as well so it seemed like they would meet either way. Ireth was curious of the traveler, she was always curious, but she was set in her ways and preferred to be on her own most of the time. A soft, quiet sigh escaped her after a moment, going through another debate of what to do.
|
|
|
|
Post by alicecrysis on Mar 6, 2011 13:59:28 GMT -5
I SEE IT ALL LAID TO WASTE IN A VIEW FROM [/font][/size] T H E E N D O F T H E W O R L D- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/font][/size][/sup][/center] Alatar was deep in thought. Meditation, technically, was something she needed to do regularly like sleep. In a trance like state, Alatar could peer into the thoughts and feelings of Middle Earth herself. If she was lucky. This was rarely the purpose of daily regimented meditation however; meditation simply kept her magical energies in check. Besides, it provided a peaceful time for Alatar to organize her thoughts. Doesn't sound all that important, but of course, you've never lived to be five thousand years old. What do you know anyways?
For the first time in many, many evenings, Alatar's deep thought was disturbed by her surround. Eyes slowly opened and blinked as though she'd recovered from a deep sleep. Footfalls echoed, if only barely, from her flank. They sounded relatively heavy; possibly an orc or human. Scent told Alatar that this was not an orc, as whomever it was didn't smell entirely foul. Logic confirmed this notion as Alatar reminded herself that no orc would try to be stealthy in hopes of catching a foe off-guard. More importantly, orcs would never, ever, ever strike out by themselves. Their confidence came from overwhelming numbers. There was of course the chance that this was some sort of marauding bandit type, but Alatar didn't believe this either. In many respects, bandits were essentially orcs; they only had confidence to strike in numbers, their methods were often crude and disorganized at best, and they could still be smelled out from half a league away. Who decided that anyone of an evil nature simply couldn't bathe?
Why a lone Man was out in the frozen tundra of Arnor was not something Alatar could logically pronounce, but her confidence remained that this being was not hostile towards her; merely curious of the glowing fire. Alatar closed her eyes once more, hoping to resume meditation for a few moments more before this new face was upon her, inquiring about everything and anything as they always did. But as she closed them, another sound, much more faint this time, made itself known from her other flank.
Cerulean eyes jarred open this time. One person was coincidence. Two was an ambush. Though, the new person was certainly different from the first. Footsteps were barely audible at all - elf most likely, but still the chance that it could be a light footed goblin. Her mind began to race. Though this new entrant did not smell foul in any way, the odds were still very much against two complete strangers to each other appearing at her camp at the same time. Alatar needed to treat this as though it was an ambush, without completely eradicating them both before knowing just who they were.
Alatar remained seated. Left hand remained tightly grasped around her staff, while the other slipped underneath her deep blue cloak and found the hilt of her sword. Words began to flow mechanically from her lips, her attention much more on discerning the distance of the creeping figures. A few seconds of low muttering later, and a brilliant crimson color erupted from beneath her robes as she sprung to her feet. Her sword, a moment ago mundane, had become wreathed in brilliant flame, flame that illuminated the surround much better than her small camp fire. Alatar swiftly tossed her staff into her vacated seat, consequently using her free hand to drop her Wizards hood and show her fair face.
[/font]
"Show yourselves!" Alatar commanded into the night, her voice resonating between trees and hills. "If you be friend, I suggest you make it clear, lest I do more than set my own blade aflame!" Alatar spoke clearly with absolution into the darkness, keen to draw the pair out from their veil of darkness and into the light, where Alatar could judge for herself if they be friend or foe. Of course, a refusal to come to her willingly would be taken as nothing less than a direct challenge.
Alatar enjoyed challenges.
[/justify][/blockquote] |
|
)