(The dwarf part is fine actually, as there are a few dwarves in the hall soaking up ale, but I can take a stab at a dwarf character.)

Maenel hardly remembered the end of the day before: there had been many people bustling about, leading everyone into different rooms. The last thing she had seen were soft white sheets.

When she woke in the morning, and was happy to see that her things were sitting on a chair near the door and a dress had been draped across the end of her bed. She dressed, checked her bag of medicines (her collection was miraculously intact and even had a few additions from their hosts), and left for breakfast. When she arrived, it was still busy. She usually arose early, so the mid-morning rush was unfamiliar. She scolded herself mentally for not rising earlier. She was uncomfortable in crowds. She was able to gather some tea, bread, and porridge and chose a seat near the edge so she could avoid conversation and watch who came and went.

_________________
Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

(much appreciated if ya would, Llew. ^_^ Sorry that I'm not very creative lately)

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

The dwarf addressed looked surprised, at both the voice and the look of the supposed elf. He passed a mug along with a grunt however, and took a deep drink of his own ale, followed by a belch. That last mainly to see how the elf reacted.


Arandur saw Maenel enter the hall and take an out of the way place after getting some food. With a word to Fearan he stood, and made his way between tables to where she sat. Taking a seat he said, "I wanted to thank you for bandaging me up back there at the battle. I am told I owe the use of my arm to what you did."

Maethoriel gave her typical feral grin followed by a bark of laughter. It was fairly entertaining - the looks she got, the dwarf's reaction was not new to her, though it may have been more due to her elvish ears (the only thing that really retained a look of her heritage, the rest of her had been too overused to resemble the graceful form of the Eldar).

She grabbed the ale from the dwarf and took a swig. Maethoriel made no comment on the loud belch and instead addressed a previous line of thought - the name of Thorin Oakenshield had been called over the battle field and it rang a small bell in her mind.

"You and your kin, master dwarf. Do you all hale from Erebor?" She asked a conversationally as she could - to her annoyed surprise her voice retained the rasp it had from before from the lack of use.

She took another swig of ale in hopes of ridding herself of the unpleasant feeling and sound.

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

"Aye, that we do," the dwarf growled, "the Lonely Mountain. Elessar offered us an treaty; our skill in mining and stone working in the rebuilding of Arnor's fortresses, for Gondor's aid in retaking Mount Gundabad. However, if truth be told, most of us came for the change in scenery, and it has been long since any dwarf built the dwellings of men. Peace with Gondor will renew the trade that once flourished, or so it is said."

Maethoriel nodded and finished off her drink in an impressively quick manner. She had not had enough alcohol recently - being captive seemed to have that annoying effect. Not only was the alcohol soothing to her slight alcohol need, but it also acted as a balm to her burning back and aching knee. She would need more later to deal with the pain she decided after a short moment of contemplation in which a silence fell between the two.

"Understandable," she responded, nodding as she did so. "I remember the days before its fall and that of Khazad-dum," her voice was quieter now, younger sounding as her mind drifted through old memories of a mostly forgotten time. Even her face turned softer and for a moment it was easier to see that she had at one time resembled her kin.

"It was lovely," she added wistfully, and with a sniff and a volatile shake of her head the young girl was gone, replaced with a stony face and voiced woman with far too many years of life.

Maethoriel frowned - that was unpleasant. She needed to be more careful about talking with the Dwarves, it had been too long since she had their company. She had forgotten that they were quick to bring up past memories and their kin far quicker than even the Elves who - although old in memory - delighted in today and the small joys it brought.

She instead shifted her thoughts back to now...now, and war - a comfortable topic. She rubbed her hands, which she noted with an uncomfortable glance were ungloved - that was dangerous - she tightened her right hand into a fist so that her palm could not be seen.

"Gundabad?" She questioned with a slight bit of shock, which showed in the raise of her brows. "That will be a difficult task, to be certain. If any of the Uruk-hai or Orcs remain of Mordor then they shall take refuge there. Well, that is to say if the orcs follow as they once did. It may not be the same now."

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

Now it was the dwarf who's voice took on a wistful note, "Gundabad, where Durin himself woke from sleep...Many long to go back there, and rid the sacred mountain of the vile filth that taints it!" His fist was clenched as he finished, and his voice filled with passion as he added, "I hope there are many orcs there, for their blood shall run until the mountain is washed clean."

Of a sudden he seemed to recall were he was, and he shifted to regard Maethoriel fully. "My pardon, friend elf, if elf you be. The injustice if it eats at the soul of every dwarf. But enough of old times; the orcs will pay when their time arrives. In the mean time, more ale!" The last was accompanied by pound on the table that made the eating ware jump.
More was brought, and the dwarf generously filled half-elf's mug, holding his own up in a toast with a hearty: "To the death of all foul orcs!"

Maenel smiled. "It was nothing.Just doing what I've been taught to do. Speaking of teaching, what happened to the master surgeon? Did he arrive with us?" she asked, hoping to hear a good answer.

_________________
Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

Maethoriel watched as the dwarf was momentarily lost in his - what she considered - false hopes. And she may as well have told him.

"If you find that many then I should worry. Men are all well and good to fight on a field of green, but I have seen your wars - fought in a few battles, myself, Master Dwarf. Men are not made to fight underground, in such close quarters," she said without meaning to be so cynical, but Maethoriel was, if anything, not one to hold her tongue.

She too faced the dwarf and gave him a gracious nod of her head, and could not help a smirk at the word friend. These days people were so quick to call friends, but she would not resist the call of ale.

"Half," she corrected when he mentioned heritage, but she quickly changed her tone when ale was brought about. " Yes, that is something which I will always agree to." She grabbed the mug with her left hand and then switched it to her right under the table.

Once her hand had gripped it fully she raised it high in imitation of the dwarf's. "May it be so," she said in agreement before taking a swig.

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

(I am loath to let this go to the undying lands just yet, so here's another go. No pressure on you guys if you don't feel like it, but I enjoy this one very much, so I'll keep posting now and again.)


"He was gravely injured, but Elros has the care of him. He should live," Arandur replied to Maenel. He glanced over at the conversation between dwarf and half elf and the ghost of a smile touched his lips. It was a rare thing to see two such talking.


*************

Moonlight shown palely upon glimmering white stone. Arandur's gaze traveled over the strange and unearthly landscape; mists lay heavily in valley and trough, washing about stone and hillock like a sea. The Moon sought for the earth through darkling clouds, and found it with shafts of silvery gray.

One such shown through the tall arch whereat Arandur stood to briefly look out upon Arnor's wilds. He moved on. Soft boots made not a whisper as he continued, crossing other beams of silver. East, south, west, then returning to the north again, ever looking over the four points.

Then, from far away, the cry of wolves carried, to shiver the blood and chill the soul.

*************

Tall men clad in gray were ranged about the great hall, together with dwarves, clad in long mail and dark leather. It was the third morning after the arrival of Arandur's party at Weatherwatch, and the Dunedain were gathered to take counsel. Elestirn was there, grave and thoughtful, and Elros, tall, his white hair brushing broad shoulders.
"I shall lead a small company on to Fornost to scout it out, or indeed go alone. I think it wise to discover the disposition of these orc forces before more men come to grief as did my company. Then we may plan best the way to continue as Elessar wished." Arandur was garbed again in the somber colors of the Dunedain, and carried himself without hint of his healing wounds.
There was silence, then Elros spoke,
"Indeed, it is a wise course. I shall scout, for to many have come in to great numbers. Although it is my guess that the host that attacked you, Arandur, was the largest in Arnor and gathered for that very purpose."

A nod or brief word was the only evidence of the other rangers' agreement, for they spoke only when necessary, and all knew what must be done.

As they dispersed, some to prepare for departure and others about their own business, Arandur was overtaken by a dwarf. He had dark reddish hair and beard, the latter braided in the fashion of dwarves, and wore at his belt a sword, sheathed in a black leather scabbard. It's hilt was bound with leather, but the pommel and curved quillons were inscribed with silver and runic engravings. He was, incidentally, the same dwarf who had spoken with Maethoriel Half-Elven two mornings previously.
He fell in step beside Arandur, and after a moment spoke.
"I would scout with you, Dunedain, if you'd have me. Gralin Stormarrow I am by name, and I can wield a bow as well as yourself I warrant."
Arandur considered for a moment. It could indeed be handy to have one of the hearty folk along, and he had no fear of the dwarf not being able to keep his pace, for he knew they had great endurance. There was also a lingering doubt, a memory of the night before which troubled his mind.
"Very well, Gralin Stormarrow, it would be an honor to have you. We leave at noon. Those who will accompany us will gather in the courtyard before then, so gather what you will need."
Gralin bowed his head in acknowledgment;
"I shall be ready."

They parted ways, the dwarf down an ajoining corridor, Arandur to his rooms to retrieve some things before continuing down flights of steps to the courtyard. It was the frist time he had left the walls of the tower since their arrival, and he found it in a bustle of activity. Some of the Rangers were saddling horses, but many were preparing to leave on foot, and a number of dwarves as well. Then he recalled that the dwarves must needs be quarrying their from some place about the Hills.

Lining one side of the courtyard's curving wall was a stable, which could hold many horses. Build as an extension of this was a great forge, at which dwarven smiths labored to mend tools and weapons, or forge new ones. It was to these that Arandur went, entrusting to a smith his damaged hauberk, and requesting new pauldrons to replace the ones damaged and lost in battle.

He then drew his sword and with a whetstone began sharpening it, leaning against the wall of the stable and watching the industry in the courtyard as he did. After a time, and as the sun drew towards is zenith, Gralin came striding across the from tower entrance. He wore a burnished mail hauberk that fell to below his knees, but in accord with their mission, a leather jerkin was over top of it, concealing all but the last few inches of shining links. He carried a long mattock, somewhat to Arandur's surprise, for he was use to the dwarves fighting with axes. It was different than an ordinary mattock; the flat of it was sharpened and bright, while the other side split into two points near the end to pierce armor and bone, and the whole was covered in intricate overlay. He still wore the sword, but on his back, neath a cloak of gray, was a cased dwarven shortbow--a deadly weapon in the hands of a skilled archer--and a quiver of arrows.

They nodded greeting to each other, and the dwarf came to stand beside him, awaiting any others who wished to join this mission.

(Yay! I'm so happy this is continuing. I'm a big fan of it as well.)

The days in the camp had passed slowly. There was nothing to spark the half-Elf's interest and she remained sedentary for the most part. It was both a blessing and a curse. It gave her leg time to fix itself, but the woman's patience was thin on a good day and now had dwindled into near non-existence.

News traveled quickly when people were in close contact with one another so it was little wonder that the woman was informed of the scouting party. She had jumped at the prospect of getting out, it was time to move away from this group as it were. Too much time spent somewhere led to unfortunate mishaps and personal questions that tended to be too personal - in her book giving a name was letting too much out.

Her appearance on the courtyard was less impressive than the dwarf's. It seemed that she had not changed her clothing since she arrived. Her cream shirt was dyed a dark red-brown on the shoulder, the leather jerkin worn over it seemed to be the only form of protection beside a pair of leather gloves on her hands.

She had two weapon belts, each slung a bit too low on her hip a new sickle hanging off each end. The sickles were more angular than her last and the handles were cleverly crafted so as to make it easier on the hands, but their dark color and strange markings suggested that she had in fact obtained them from one of the slaughtered orcs. It was also the reason for the belts being too large despite the extra holes she had punched in them. And, although unseen she doubtless had more than a few knives on hand to add to her small arsenal.

She strode across the field, the blue cloak she had thrown over her shoulders swished behind her. Her stride broke only a moment when she surveyed those about her with quick, dark eyes and then picked back up when they alighted on the dwarf, Gralin and Arandur.

Maethoriel stopped in front of the two companions and gave a short nod, it was a bit obvious by the unconscious curling and uncurling of her fist that she was more restless than most of her exterior let on.

"Many greeting Master Dwarf, and to you as well my Lord Ranger. It seems good weather for such a hunt, do you not agree? Or perhaps bad as those of your kin are fond of the cover at night if my memory serves me well," she said, her voice smoothed over some since she had obtained good water.

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

Arandur inclined his head briefly to the half elf.
"A pleasure to have you join us, my Lady. The weather is indeed fine for a hunt; better even than night, for our enemy dislikes the brightness of day."

On seeing that none others had come to join their party, the ranger put away his sword and moved for the gate. As they were passing through, Arandur paused to speak to Elestirn, who was also departing.
"There are rumors that incursions may be made as far as the shire," Elestirn said quietly, "I wish to find the truth of these. And to be on guard. Worse things than orcs have been rumored of." The last was said in a lowered voice, for Arandur's ears alone. Arandur nodded gravely in acknowledgment, then turned to his companions.
"The road awaits us, friends. Let us be off."

Gralin laughed. "I must have missed it. I've seen no road since I entered these parts."

The weather held fair and crisp, and their journeying of the first day passed with little of note. As night neared, Arandur let their rout wander slightly, in search of a decent place to camp the night. They found a place, among a short growth of trees. After supping on strips of jerked meat, bread and cold water from their skins, they rolled in their cloaks to sleep, lighting no fire.

This near WeatherWatch, Arandur deemed it unnecessary to post a watch, instead preferring to be fully rested for the next day.


Arandur woke at first light, and prodded the Dwarf awake with a toe. A word to Maethoriel was all it took to wake her. Gralin said several words in Dwarvish as he got to his feet, and Arandur grinned.
"If you rise early, master Dwarf, you may kick me into the waking world."

The broke their fast on bread and several partially dried apples Arandur located, and ate as they walked. Overcast skies promised a drear day, but the Dunedain seemed to pay slight heed, instead singing several songs of his people. Gralin also joined in with lays from the dwarven halls -- mainly drinking songs -- and so they passed the morning.

The afternoon was accompanyed by lowering clouds rolling in from the north, and with it a chill wind that deified their tightly wrapped cloaks. A spitting of snow stung their faces.

They pressed on into the coming storm, the winds forcing them to keep to lower ground and avoid the hilltops. At one point Arandur thought he heard a howl borne on the wind, but it could have come from the freakish arrangement of tumbled stones at the head of the ravine they followed. As evening drew on and the darkness increased, the snow turned to sleet which froze in eyelashes and hair, and soaked through their cloaks.

A growing concern pressed on Arandur, for he knew it was urgent they find shelter from the storm. It was nights like this that could kill even one of the Dunedain if they were forced to stay out in it.

They passed in the lee of a large hillock, and as they came around into the wind again, Arandur suddenly shouted for his two companions. His words were whipped away, but his gesture towards the hill was plain. At it's base was an opening, flanked by weathered stone. Pushing forward, Arandur nearly stumbled as he stepped through the opening and the winds abruptly let off their incessant push. The Dwarf and Maethoriel stumbled in behind him. Inside was quiet after the rush of noise outside, and Arandur fumbled with chilled fingers to strike flint and steel. From the dim light showing through the entrance, Maethoriel plucked a stick from the floor.
"A torch. This place has been used in the past."

A spark flew from Arandur's flint, and a second caught in the torch's head. It flared to life, and they were able to see the extent of chamber.

It was a grotto, perhaps fifteen feet in width and half that again in length, with a ceiling that might once have been hewn by men. Against one wall was a pile of cut wood for a fire, and in another corner there was even fodder for horses.
"My kin use this place," Arandur mused. "I know of several such, but I had never come across this one."

A fire was soon started, and they sat around it while their clothing dried and stew cooked over the fire in a pot they had found. Arandur was weary, for the day's toil had taken a heavy toll. The fire warmed him, and the stew was hot when Gralin lifted it off the fire with the haft of his mattock.

The smell of wood burning drew Hanasían as he approached. Lingering in the bush, the freezing rain pelted him and reached through every part of his clothing to his skin. He could handle the weather, even though he had not been back in the north for many a year.

he didn't see who had gone into the shelter he had searched out days before, but the scent of stew caused him to be bold. Coming to the opening, he listened. Common tongue. Dwarvish and Elvish inflections in its use. And one voice that sounded like it was from Eriador. Hanasian backed away and hid himself well then spoke from outside loudly in Sindarin...

"Hail friends of the King! For a place by your fire and for something to eat, I will pay you."



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(OOC: Thanks for the invite Liew. I'm not a fan of making short posts but all the back-story and getting my character set ate my on-line time tonight. So this is all I have time for right now. Meanwhile react as you see fit and I'll get more up in the next couple days. I'm an old RP campaigner going back to the last century, but I'm a bit rusty writing with new people. I'll work on knowing your characters and writing styles in quick time, but do bear with me while I get up to speed.)

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Character summary below... a more detailed history is posted in the character forum:

Name: Hanasian
Age: Born in the Spring of 2990 of the Third Age.

Race: Northern Dunedain

Appearance:
In the years after the War of the Ring, his appearance was handsome yet grim. The years had been hard. He had dark hair with a tint of yellow in it, slightly curled, that he kept roughly hewn about the shoulders. he had slight dark facial hair, thickening at the chin that is also roughly hewn. The war had left their mark, having been wounded in the great battles of Pelonner and before the Black Gate. A few small scars could be seen on his forehead and cheek, with a larger, prominent scar cutting inward and down across the right side of his forehead, cleaving his eyebrow, and re-appearing down on his lower eyelid and out across his right cheekbone. This war wound caused the right of his sea-grey eyes to squint a bit compared to his left. He is tall, but considered average if somewhat short by the standards of the northern Dunedain. He walked with an ever-so-slight limp from his right leg caused by an arrow wound in the war. His usual attire was his sturdy, yet supple and well-worn dark grey leathers consisting of boots, breeches, a sleeveless vest and a full-sleeved coat cut and fitted allowing for free arm movement. Over it all he would wear a well-worn dark grey-green Ranger's hooded cloak that had some few small tatters, unadorned except with a silver rayed brooch on the left shoulder.

_________________
Hanasian
Annalist, Physician, & Historian
of The Black Company of the Dúnedain,
The Free Company of Arnor
~ ~ ~
Durian: Dúnedain Ranger of the North: Rhudaurian Lineage
- - - -
Roleplay Repository

Arandur was nearly on his feet when he caught the actual words coming from the outside.

He stepped cautiously to the door, his blade eased slightly in it's scabbard.

"Friends of the King need not pay for their food among our company. Enter, if you would," Arandur spoke into the night, also in Sindarin.

Gralin and Maethoriel were also on their feet on the far side of the fire, but Arandur did not know if they had weapons drawn.

Hanasian was at first reluctant to move, but hearing the voice told him should fear little. Slowly standing, the wind ripped at him, turning the cold icy rain to snow and sleet with each gust. He said in Westron,

"A friend of the King I am, a comrade in arms in the great war...."

Coming into sight, they could tell he was battle-worn. He gave the one who addressed him a slight bow and nod, and in turn to the others.

"... and though I no longer serve the King in any official manner, friends we remain and my loyalty resides with him. Hanasian of Evendim am I. I do thank you all for allowing me to share your food and shelter."

He moved toward the fire, holding his hands out to gather its offered warmth that struggled against the chill night.

_________________
Hanasian
Annalist, Physician, & Historian
of The Black Company of the Dúnedain,
The Free Company of Arnor
~ ~ ~
Durian: Dúnedain Ranger of the North: Rhudaurian Lineage
- - - -
Roleplay Repository