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PostPosted: March 23rd, 2009, 5:11 pm 
Elf
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(Does that mean any prisoners, aka my charry, would be taken along with them? It's been so long, I can't remember very well)

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PostPosted: March 23rd, 2009, 5:26 pm 
Gondorian
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(Yes, all our characters are prisoners and being dragged away with them.)


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PostPosted: March 24th, 2009, 7:36 pm 
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Camp that night was a dismal and cheerless affair for the prisoners, with only scraps of stale bread and dirty water as sustenance from the orcs.

Arandur was barely conscious as cool water was offered him by someone - Maenel perhaps - but he drank, and felt somewhat refreshed from it. Fevered dreams haunted his sleep that night, yet once when he woke in the night, there were flashes of light like yellow lightening, low in the northern sky. Sleep took him again, but he dreamed no more.

As morning stained the eastern sky, the greater portion of the orc host broke off and marched away, leaving perhaps three score to watch over the captives.
They were given dried meat with the bread and water that morning, the orcs apparently realizing they had to keep their strength up or lose them to hunger and fatigue.


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PostPosted: March 24th, 2009, 8:06 pm 
Elf
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Maenel made an effort to gather together the survivors. Before they started moving, it was clear that the orcs were only interested in those who could walk. She kept her mind busy making plans- where to find enough clean water, how to supplement the food the orcs provided, and other basic needs. She didn't let herself consider more than the day ahead. She slept lightly and fitfully, waiting for it to end, or something else to begin.

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PostPosted: March 26th, 2009, 1:01 pm 
Gondorian
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The march that second day still led North over barren terrain, though occasional grass relieved the worn and rugged landscape. They had left the marshes behind the previous day. Nearing noon, clumps of bushes and even trees began to appear. It was as they were passing through one such place, where the shoulder of a broad hill loomed to their left with a sort of brushy copes off to their right, that Arandur heard a call. It was the call of a night bird, not uncommon in the wilds of Arnor, yet it was also one of the signals of the Dúnedain. Coupled with the fact that it was broad daylight...Arandur looked around.

The only warning was a hiss of feathered shafts from behind, and then orcs were falling, screaming as dark feathered arrows took them in throat or chest. Tall, dark garbed men were suddenly among the rear guard of orcs, while from the front came shouts of, "Khazâd ai-mênu!" and, "For Thorin!" And to the astonishment of Arandur, up rose dwarves from the brush, and charged the orcs in front with axe and hammer. Still more dwarves loosed arrows from short black bows into the midst of the orcs.

One of the men advanced toward him from the fight with a wide smile and a bloody sword in one hand,
"Arandur! We found you at last. We only heard news of your return to Arnor three days ago, and by then you were stuck up on a hilltop." With a deft movement he cut the ropes that bound Arandur's hands, and they clasped forearms in greeting.
"Elestirn, it is good to see you. How many are with you?"
"Enough," said the other man, "But come, we must hurry and be away from here." He moved off and began loosing Arandur's companions.

The orcs from both the front and rear were dealt with by this time, and the men and dwarves set about releasing the prisoners. Those that could walk no more were helped into wagons the orcs used for plunder and supplies, and then the rescued and rescuers set off. After a short while, Arandur was forced to take to a wagon himself. Though the fever had lessened, his wounds still pained him considerably.
He learned from Elestirn that the Rangers had began reusing the Northern most watchtower on the Weather Hills, to the east of where they currently were, and that it had been rebuilt in the months since Arandur had left for Gondor.
"Ten of the Dunedain are there now, as well as a contingent of dwarves come from Dale, who have done much of the rebuilding."

Chief among the over one hundred dwarves was Throkain, who had accompanied Elestirn and his twenty Dunedain with thirty dwarves to the ambush. The dwarf, stocky and red bearded like his kin, had refused to be left behind and out of the 'fun'. Throkain, now walking beside the wagon and using his longaxe as a walking staff, growled, "Good sport, that. To bad there weren't more of filthy scum."

As evening began to fall they came in sight of the Weather Hills, with the watchtower on the summit of the north most one. The crests of the hills were framed red by the setting sun. Many of the weary Gondorians were helped up the new road that wound up to the gate of the watch tower - Weatherwatch by name, as it had been called after the rebuilding. The gates swung open as they came up, and more dwarves and the Dunedain came out to help them in.

They were taken the rooms with gracefully vaulted ceilings and ornately bound doors. The beauty of the dwarven workmanship was everywhere present, and Arandur felt strangely moved at knowing that after over a thousand years of abandonment and decay, the ancient halls were lived in once again. The wounded were tended and shone beds, and finally given a hot meal.


Last edited by Llew on March 26th, 2009, 7:35 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: March 26th, 2009, 6:02 pm 
Balrog
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Deawen was unsure how long she had been walking, she wasn't even aware that she was walking or that she tied up and forced to walk. Her mind cranked and wandered,until she felt the ropes cut and her mind curiously came back. The first thing she noticed was that her hand hurt unmercifuly and her leg ached. She was put up in wagon which suited her fine, it hurt to walk. She felt her spirits lift slightly and part of her oldself returned once her wounds were treated and she given a hot meal. Part of her wanted to get up and wander around, but her leg prevented that. Thankfully it had not swelled or reopened again but it was tender. She wondered where Fearan was, she needed a fimilar face to confirm she wasn't in danger.

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PostPosted: March 26th, 2009, 6:17 pm 
Elf
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Maenel whirled around (as best she could with her hands tied to her own wagon) as clangs and shouts issued from the back of the dreary caravan. She saw dark robed figures attacking orcs and her heart leaped. The feeling of joy that she felt when she heard even more savage sounds from the front was unbelievable, and more than she'd felt in a long time. She called out, "Síno! Síno! Please!"

She was surprised when the thick rope was cut by a hairy little man. Of all races, she had not expected dwarves. "There you are, milady," he said with a laugh full of the exhilaration of battle. "Where did you and your kin come from?" she asked, dumbfounded. He laughed once again, "That is a conversation for later, I think." Leaving her massaging her wrists, he continued cutting down the enemy.

The last leg of the day's journey was the easiest, though she was exhausted and had no idea where they were going. To see such strange splendor in the middle of nowhere was a great relief.

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PostPosted: March 27th, 2009, 2:03 am 
Vala
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Fearan weezed heavily, every breath a fight for air. Walking with a broken rib did little for comfort. His face was ashen from blood loss and pain, a stark contrast to the deep, red circles that lined his eyes. The only thing that kept him moving was the threat of death if he couldn't keep up. And so he put one foot in front of the other, then the other foot, then the other foot again. Fearan was nearly mindless with exhaustion. He barely noticed when the orcs began to fall, impalled with dwarf arrows, until a stocky dwarf cut his bonds and dragged him to a cart. Barely able to slide himself onto the cart, Fearan felt exhaustion take him. He glanced around quickly for Deawen, so see if she was alright, but he could fight the pull of sleep, and immediatly fell into a deep slumber.


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PostPosted: March 27th, 2009, 7:36 pm 
Gondorian
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Arandur woke to golden sunshine streaming in through the window. The room seemed to take on a faint glow in the morning light. Arandur sat up, only to find heavy bandages wrapping much of his chest. He found the memory of the previous day a blur, and of the bandages. For which he should be grateful, he thought wryly.

"I see you are up," said a voice from the doorway. Arandur glanced up, and the speaker advanced into the room. He was an old man, with white at his temples, but unmistakably a Dunedain. He stood tall, of a height with Arandur himself, and had a bearing and presence distinct to men of the North. His name was Elros, Arandur recalled.
"You are lucky to be in once piece, and I dare say you can thank whoever put that bandage on you shoulder. Without it, and no treatment for two days, you probably would not have kept your arm."

"Maenel did that," Arandur said slowly, "at the battle." He made a mental note to thank her for it.
"How are my...friends?" It felt strange calling them that, but after what they had been through, he could not think of them any other way. Elros' eyebrows raised slightly, "they are well. Slightly the worse for wear, but I saw to most of them last night and they should be fine after rest." He paused, then added as Arandur attempted to sit on the edge of the bed, "I would advise rest, but there is food in the main hall, and I suspect Elestirn will be returning shortly and wish to speak to you."

Arandur nodded gratefully as Elros turned to leave. Once he was gone he pulled on a clean white shirt, loose and unbelted, and dark leggings, forgoing the sword that leaned beside the door, though it felt like leaving part of himself behind as he walked carefully out into the corridor.

It appeared the tower was built in a roughly circular design, with rooms on both sides of the corridor which ran around the outside of the structure, and surrounding the great hall on three levels, while above the hall more rooms filled the entire space. The whole of it was built of white stone.

Trestle tables lined with benches stood in two rows down the floor, avoiding the central fire pit (Arandur later learned that the pit had been a concession to the dwarves, despite the fact of there being two great fireplaces in the Gondorian style already on either side of the hall) and several eaters (mainly dwarves) were still lingering over a mug of something dark and foaming as Arandur entered the hall.
Elestirn was not in the hall, so he found a seat and helped himself to the food on the table, taking his time in case any of his companions happened in.


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PostPosted: March 27th, 2009, 10:17 pm 
Ringwraith
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(woah! I completely forgot about this rp, but I'll join in again if that's alright. And dwarves! I love the dwarves<3)

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PostPosted: March 27th, 2009, 10:33 pm 
Ringwraith
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Maethoriel held up best during the march whether it was due to her heritage or due to the fact that her guard seemed terrified of her at times. She however was not allowed the freedom of her feet after breaking several noses with them. They had bound her ankles with ropes allowing only enough room for her to trudge.

She looked worse now than before. Her greased hair stuck to her blood stained cheeks, her clothes soaked in blood - mostly her own now - and tattered from a few to many lashes, although the new cuts could only be distinguished from the old by the blood that poured from them. She laughed as she was tossed onto the cart without much care for her wounds. Unable to resist a jab when presented she called to her rescuer.

"Be careful there, or you shall be the death of me as opposed to the orcs," her voice was raspy as it had not been used in a while.

The half-Elf could honestly say she had never been happier to see a dwarf in her life, and for a moment she was hoping to be pleasantly surprised by her own dwarvish friend. However, she was sorely disappointed, but she comforted by the thought that Grair would only have pointed out how correct he was about her attitude.

She had lost her cane during the fight and could barely limp about after the battle, but she was generally in the same mindset as the dwarves. She wanted more blood to sate her already sickened
mind. However, it seemed that sleep would have the upper hand and she drifted away soundlessly.

Maethoriel looked about their new lodgings with proper appreciation and respect when she finally woke from her slumber. The first thing she noted was that she still needed her cane, and that she looked more like a sewn together doll than a peredhel.

The woman did manage to sweep impressively through the main dining hall, sucking up her pain. The smell of alcohol hit her and she grinned, a black look which fell fast. Although it seemed that the dwarves held ownership of the central pit she was more comfortable with them and their sharp tongues than the men.

"Pass me a mug, master dwarf," she said at a growl to the nearest dwarf at the table who had the same color beard as her friend Grair. She paused and blinked, but resisted questioning further.

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Last edited by Maethoriel on March 27th, 2009, 11:36 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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PostPosted: March 27th, 2009, 11:17 pm 
Gondorian
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Maethoriel wrote:
(woah! I completely forgot about this rp, but I'll join in again if that's alright. And dwarves! I love the dwarves<3)

(Awesome. Glad we didn't lose anyone. Btw though: we aren't at a camp, per-se, right now. I described what it is a in my 'tother post)


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PostPosted: March 27th, 2009, 11:20 pm 
Vala
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Morning came quickly to Fearan. He woke suddenly to the bright sun shining in his eyes. For one terrifying moment he had no idea where he was, but that fear was quickly washed away when he realized that he was safe. Groaning, he closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to collect what sanity he could. When Fearan finally did open his eyes, he took his time to observe his surroundings. He was lying on a old worn cot, and his chest was bound. Sunlight trickled in through a small window at the foot of his bed. Carefully he sat up, trying to disturb his chest as little as possible. It still ached painfully, but it wasn't unbearable as before. He crawled out of bed and began walking down the hallway, looking for activity. Ahead he could hear the low murmur of voices talking. Following that noise brought him to a big hall, where various dwarves littered the tables, drinking ale from large mugs. Spotting Arandur at a table, Fearan limped over and lowered himself into a nearby seat.


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PostPosted: March 27th, 2009, 11:27 pm 
Ringwraith
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(meh, sorry about that, the dining hall area thing. I'll fix that.)

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PostPosted: March 27th, 2009, 11:28 pm 
Gondorian
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Arandur looked up as Fearan seated himself.
"I see you're still alive...mostly," he said with a crocked grin. Then added, "Bloody orcs," at a twinge from his shoulder.


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PostPosted: March 27th, 2009, 11:52 pm 
Ringwraith
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(Hmm...I just realized that I had Maeth talking to a non-existent dwarf. Lol. I'd be super grateful for some help with that. I'm a bit out of it to write a dwarf character right now.)

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