Just an idea I had for a fairly relaxed RP. I simply ask you post with substance.
<b>Questions Concerning Plot? Direct them to me via Private Message.</b>

------------------------------

<center><b>Passage of Time</b></center>

Harafan woke to darkness. Below him was a hard bed of dirt, and above, a canopy of trees preventing light from passing through. Laying about him were orc carcasses, some missing arms and heads, others badly mutilated. They were strewn through the forest, their rotting stench attracting all manner of woodland creatures.

<i>Where was he? What hour was it now?</i>

The Gondorian had lost all track of time since his banishment, the exodus, the ambush... Yes, it was coming back all too clear. The enemy attacked fierce and swift, dividing the party of exiles, leaving him alone in this forgotten place. Oh, how he longed for a mug of ale, the warmth of a fire - and most importantly, a friendly face to share them with.

Harafan pulled himself to his feet unsteadily and wandered down the rocky path, tripping occasionally. Miles, it seemed, until he stumbled into a clearing and was met by a group of cloaked figures with weapons drawn.


[[Hooded figures naturally being a small group of our Own Characters. ]]

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

<b>Characters</b>:
Harafan - <i>Played by Aramel Elyanwe</i>
Aramel Elyanwe - <i>Played by Aramel Elyanwe</i>
Talathion Mithrennon - <i>Played by Aramel Elyanwe</i>
Náriel - <i>Played by ~Goldleaf~</i>
Lainathiel - <i>Played by ~Goldleaf~</i>
Dûrion - <i>Played by Will</i>
Maethoriel - <i>Played by Maethoriel </i>

(Hooray! I'm in )

The young, cloaked woman frowned at the approaching wounded man; instantly she raised one hand. “Lower your weapons. ‘Tis the soldier of Gondor.” She recognized him, stumbling as he was. They had fought with him in the attack until their line of defence had been broken and the exiles had been scattered apart. The group that stood here now were those who had been able to survive, and it pained her that they had had to leave others behind, but there would have been nothing they could have done to save the dying, anyway. They had assumed that Harafan had been among them, but here he was. Sheathing her sword, the girl started towards him, dark blue eyes narrowed in what could have been irritation but was more likely weariness.
“We thought you were dead,” she said, without preamble. Her voice was rough, as usual, but it was just her way; shaking back her hood, strands of damp black hair scattered around her face, into her eyes. She did not seem to care, and she hauled him up with strength that one with so slender a build should not have possessed. But then, everything about Náriel was strange. Little was known about her past, and she would not enlighten anybody to many events of her life. It was even uncertain as to where she was from; it was probable that she was from Gondor, though she never uttered a word about the country of men. All that was certain about her was that she was a mortal girl of about nineteen or so years, and that she was more alike to a ranger than a young woman; she had somehow assumed standing in the group of exiles, and therefore questions were not asked.
“Come on,” she said to Harafan. “We’ve made up a camp. We can see how badly you’ve been hurt and then you can get some rest.”

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~

"He better could have been dead" a rough voice gruffed. A hooded man appeared behind Náriel. He was quite tall and his cloak was worn and old that its original color couldn't be traced. When he took his hood down a bush of shaggy and long hair became visible just like a long white scar that marked his temple and could not remain unnoticed. A pair of dark eyes watched the Gondorian soldier with a piercing gaze while a crooked smile lay on his lips.
"The lad is going to have a rough night judging from his wounds" he continued. The words were spoken without any emotion, resembling his attitude. The man's expression was quite uncaring. His eyes just flashed in irritation when the young woman gave some orders. He was not used to taking orders, he never did. One could say that he had a problem with authority. But then the Dunedaín was perhaps four time the lass' age. Nobody exactly knew his age.. and only few his real name. Most called him Dûrion, meaning Dark One.
He followed the couple grumbling. At the moment of arriving at their improvised camp he immediately said: "We should have any fires.. Those Orcs might return. So if ye don't want to end up dead.."

[ Okay.. I have no idea what this is for plot.. why are they exciled? Just tell me if my post didn't fit ]

_________________


O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

[[Your post was absolutely fine, Will. The group of Gondorians are exiles because they were banished from the city by Lord Denethor - how and why they were banished is a story that will unravel throughout the roleplay ]]

Harafan immediately clutched his arm where blood was gushing, trying to prevent any more from trickling down his silver armor. Fierce green eyes shot over to Dûrion and his lack of sympathy. Although he appeared unfazed on the outside, inside Harafan was in no mood to deal with this man and his snide comments. "Nice to see you too, Dûrion," he quipped, following closely behind Náriel as they made their way back to the encampment.

But rest and relaxation was not what greeted Harafan. Instead, two men of their party brought forth another cloaked figure; one smaller in stature that Harafan guessed to be a female, but the green hood was drawn and cast a shadow about her face, making identification impossible. They held her arms behind her back, so as to make escape all that more difficult. But she did not struggle nor fight their grasps as they nudged her forward.

"A spy of the enemy, I wonder?" Harafan mused aloud.

The woman allowed the hood to fall about her shoulders, revealing pointed ears and soft features. "I am no orc spy," she stated, gesturing about to show that she had no intentions of attacking. "Nor am I a threat to you and your men. I am but an Elf, from the fair city of Rivendell."

Harafan stared at the newcomer in awe. Never before had he seen one of the Fair People; only listened to tales and songs of them. Finally, his voice came as a harsh whisper, "These woods are far too dangerous for a lone maiden..." But he could not pull his eyes away from her.

"I am not alone by any means, although you may think otherwise. Look closely, and you will find the truth in my words." She motioned for him to look about and Harafan soon spotted various archers and warriors camouflaged amongst the greenery of the forest, which otherwise would have remained unseen.

[[If anyone would like to claim a party member hidden in the trees, be my guest. (They needn't be Elves if that isn't your cup of tea. Just people traveling with Aramel and patrolling the woods). Now there are two groups - the Gondorians, and well, everyone else. And to clarify, this takes place just before RotK ]]

(I'd like to join I'll have my post up later)

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

(I'll take one of the Elves! )

Náriel nodded shortly at Dûrion as he approached them. “Aye. Just perfect it would be if someone chilled lit a few flames and led the orcs to our whereabouts at the same time. I’m not sure this party can take another battle till sunrise.” Her words held no particular feeling; that was not to say she did not care if more of the exiles died or not, but she was tired, though she would never admit it, and wanted to get Harafan back to the camp as quickly and efficiently as possible without any major complications. But, as they entered the camp, two of the exiles stepped forward, holding back a figure in a green hood. Náriel scowled.
As the figure’s hood dropped and she introduced herself as an elf, Náriel felt no surer that she was not an enemy. She had heard much of the elves, of course, but magic and stories did not enchant the mortal girl. She held the Elven world as something far away and distant, just a group of sorcerers that would leave when war came, leaving them to it. Her expression remained grim and she looked the elf over, wondering what she was doing here.
She laughed at Harafan’s words; not a sound of any joy or amusement. “A lone maiden? She’s hardly that. Elves have more power than they let on; this is no damsel in distress.”
She raised her head as the elf bid them and spotted the archers and warriors. Immediately she was furious, though she only showed it by drawing her eyebrows together in an irritated furrow. She took a moment before she spoke again, weighing over the situation.
“If you are no threat to us then I trust you will remove your guard,” she said coolly. “This looks strangely like an ambush to me. But, if you are no danger then perhaps these hidden elves could be polite and come down where we can see them.” Náriel disliked the thought of putting warriors in the treetops. It had been a clever move, no mistake, but all the same, it was far too… mysterious for her liking. She despised such trickery.
Then, there was much that Náriel didn’t like. Fondness was something that did not easily kindle in her. She had no cause to like very many people; those who she had once loved were quite far from her now, at any rate.

Lainathiel was amongst the elves hidden in the treetops. Listening to the conversation down below, she felt like rolling her eyes. Trust them to cross a group of mortals. She knew that many mortal folk these days distrusted the elves – without the former alliances in place, they saw them as dangerous and not worth a friendly word. If Lainathiel had been a couple of thousand years younger, perhaps that would have hurt or offended her. As the case was, all she felt was mild amusement. Long years had melted away such emotion and feeling. Her dark eyes took note of the mortal girl who had just stepped forward. Black-haired with a rough voice and a stance like a man.
Lainathiel’s voice drifted down from the trees.
“Ai! Such talks you put in place. Are you aware that settling agreements for the release of a captive is only in need for times of war?” Her voice was smooth and dismissive in it’s hint of laughter. She dropped from the trees with easy grace and stood before her captive friend, completely unafraid as to what mortal blade could be pointed at her. Her dark hair was smoothed back with intricate Elven braids from icy, upswept features; a red scar marked one pale cheekbone.
“I was not aware myself that the Gondorians were as yet at war with the people of Imladris.” She looked at Náriel directly. “Your accents are unmistakable.”
Náriel had to control herself to stop herself bristling with anger. The arrogance of the woman!
“Ah, one of you drops down from the trees at last,” she said coldly and sarcastically. “Willing to join us mere mortal folk down on the ground? How that must grate on you.”
Lainathiel just smiled, amused. “Don’t waste your breath or your anger, girl. It’s not worth you being beaten, trust me.” She glanced back at Aramel, noting the two men standing on either side of her, restraining her. She didn’t like it, but she could not start a fight; that would prove to the Gondorians that they meant harm to them, which they did not. She looked back at the human group.
“How can we show you that we are worth your trust?” she asked.

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~

Dûrion watched the scene from a distance. He wondered what had happened to the times in which one could wander for weeks in the wild and not meet a single creature. Yet now they had met Orcs and Elves.. it didn't surprise him if Dwarfs would spring out of the bushes any moment.

With a little more interest he watched how the Elves made their appearance which was obviously not to Náriel's liking. He surpressed a sigh of irritation as the child spoke anger. Gondorians usually had a short temper, but this was not the moment to quarrel.

"Bite your tongue lass" the Ranger suddenly growled. "Do not speak of matter of which you don't possess wisdom." As he approached his features seemed even more crooked and he threw Návriel a warning look to keep quiet.

"The folk of Imlradis did not intent to ambush any mortal nor do the people of Gondor wish to harm the Elves." He glanced sharply at Lainathiel. "Allies they are."

"So why don't you just tell us what you have to say? We will listen.."

_________________


O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

Maethoriel was not part of the group of Elves who had taken a stance amongst the trees, nor was she entirely connected with the Rangers below either, but she was charged by another to watch these beings with a surreptitious eye that only she had mastered. Maethoriel was quite good at remaining unseen, and over a few years under lock and key her homicidal tendencies had been curbed...somewhat.

The woman stood on a bough, not crouched with weapons ready, her attitude was that of arrogance - a smile was on her lips though it twisted in her dark scarred features til it was a sneer, she leaned on the trunk of the tree as if it were a doorway. She surveyed the squabble with disgust. Such distrust often ran between groups, but this was on the point of madness - she should know, madness was a personal friend of her's.

She dropped from her branch to the ground in a crouch, one hand on the forest floor while the other gripped a cane which had appeared from no where it seemed. The woman stood and meandered up behind Durion where she stood without word through most of the conversation and she was unnoticed for the most part.

Her voice rose however above a normal tone to address all around. After all she was for the most part neutral in this argument if not an enemy as Maethoriel never truly chose sides.

"Mayhaps words would be better received on both parts if all were returned to their group," she looked pointedly at the two men that held Aramel a scarred brow quirking up. Her gaze then turned to those all about them in the trees, the tone still scoffing - an adult scolding children for fighting over a cookie. "And the rest revealed out of their cover. Such harsh and accusing words should little be used amongst allies of even the most strained relationship."

"Although," her hand that previously held a cane was empty and she flared it to the side, her grin widening to resemble a cheshire cat "if you wish Sauron and those of the black land to rise and over take this world once more...then by all means continue your conversation. I am certain they revel in such ridiculous situations," she finished with a twist in her step so that her look returned to the man, Durion, who she assumed headed the Rangers . The mortal woman was not even tempered enough to handle so large a group and if she was in charge Maethoriel should like to hit her for her annoying and petulant attitude...likewise could be said for the elvish woman who remained equally accusing. The man was the only one who retained any sense at all.

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

Lainathiel glanced at Dûrion as he stepped forward and reproached Náriel. Who exactly was the formal leader of this group of mortals would be interesting to know; she noted Náriel’s irritated response to being told to bite her tongue, which was expressed by furrowing her brows and trying to suppress an evident anger. She must only be in her late teens, Lainathiel pondered in her head, not much more than a child really. Raising one slim eyebrow with interest, her gaze returned to Dûrion as he attempted to keep the peace.
“Very well. Our party was patrolling the woods when your men seized the Lady Aramel. We meant no harm unto them, but they did not see an elf’s presence here as…” she paused, searching for a neutral word, “benign.”
She would have gone on when a woman that seemed part of neither group stepped forward and addressed them all. Someone vaguely familiar, actually; Lainathiel guessed that she had probably crossed her once, in her traveling days. Lainathiel had spent many years walking across many lands without much heed or actual plan as to where she was going. Familiar faces were often a regular occurrence.
Her expression did not change; it remained smooth and unmoved. She did not bristle at the newcomer’s tone. “Indeed. The Dark Lord would be laughing to see us now.” She directed a look towards the Gondorians. “If you would kindly release Lady Aramel; we’ll hold no grudge, and we can be on our way.” Her words were even and held no sense of accusation.
Náriel had not said a word as the others spoke. She supposed they all thought of her as just a grumpy child. That thought made her more angry that anything. Still, it was best to keep her temper damped down. She kept her arms calmly at her sides, careful not to clench her hands into fists.

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~

"Should your men release me, then I shall call off my guard and reveal them to you," Aramel said calmly. Harafan nodded towards the two guards who held her captive and (albeit reluctantly), freed her. The elf stepped towards Lainathiel and signaled for all weapons to be lowered. The earthen-clad group came forth; plenty in number, but none enough to be considered an army of any means.

Aramel glanced at her brother and could clearly read his expression of distrust. But now, distrust was not what they needed - what they needed was peace and understanding, something that would be quite hard to achieve at a such rate. "Now then. Words shall do no good if they are to fall upon deaf ears," here she looked to Náriel, "so I would advise you keep an open mind. It is clear you know not where you tread, Gondorians. We may offer you assistance if you are willing to accept it. But your own city lies many leagues away..."

"Yes," Harafan nodded, cutting her off mid-sentence. "We ride not to Gondor, but far from it, as the Lord Denethor sees fit." He brandished his banishment notice for all to see. "In such times it appears as though he can no longer tell friend from foe." His emerald eyes drifted across the Fair Folk before them, and then to the newcomer. "But we were recently ambushed by orcs and now many of us lie dead and others, severely wounded."

[ Great! I'm loving this RPG already! I will post tommorow 'cause I'm really busy right now, just popping in here for a quick check-up.

Oh and Mae, I think Mae and Dûrion already met before.. I'm curious how they will get along now ]

_________________


O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

(Well, I'm gonna guess badly as Maeth has never played well with others. Pompous, and smary git that she is.)

Maethoriel's face flashed a bloody grin that made her chapped lips crack and bleed and her tongue ran across her teeth at the mention of battle. Her left hand clenched and unclenched, itching to draw a weapon, but instead it found purchase on her cane which she twirled about a few times before leaning on it heavily. At least it gave her something to do. The woman's sick mind was now bent on thoughts that would be ill advised in the company of such people.

Her eyes caught sight of the angry Nariel and she fought the urge to do something violent. Her self assured manner was in no way earned and her silly flashing eyes were begging to be drawn from their sockets. The woman's grin broadened. That would be lovely. It registered that she might be expected to say something so she pushed aside thoughts of screams and warm blood and emotion for an answer.

It came quickly, but her thoughts did not leave her unaffected. Her rough drawl had turned to liquid steel, heavy and burning. "You say this as if it would be news to me. You left quite a mess. Lots of little worms will thank you for the separated homes though. They tend to cannibalize when their is not enough food."

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

[ I'm not quite sure to whom you addressed Mae. Probably not Dûrion. ]

Dûrion sighed and wondered for why for heaven's sake he had not taken a horse to get out of Minas Tirith himself. He had never been a team-player and managed very well on his own. He felt not in the least responsible for the group of Gondorians who were not even his own kin.
And what was he doing now? Settling quarrels between offended Elves and hot-tempered mortals? He had to be insane or perhaps he felt just a little responsibility for their fates.
A woman shuffled up behind him. He threw her a mocking look and rolled his eyes at her harsh words but ignored her for the rest of it.
"We are not lost" he growled in response to the Elf who apprantly was called Aramel. "So don't draw faulty conclusions. If our destinations coincide we might travel together although I am not sure if that's pleasant for both parties." A grim grin lay on his countenance and with his piercing gaze he watched all parties.

_________________


O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

Lainathiel smiled as Aramel was released and she stepped towards her. As the rest of the elves emerged from the trees she felt the familiar emotion mingled with conflicting feelings that was always summoned from her when she was surrounded by her people; the sense of belonging mixed with faint distance. Not a sign of this was betrayed on Lainathiel’s pale features. She had always felt somewhat like an outsider, though her people always treated her as one of them, and a respected member of their community in Imladris at that. She had felt the urge to travel to strange lands where others had preferred to stay; she had traveled in a party of one to Lothlorien, all those years ago, where she met her husband. And it had been she who had ridden across the bridge into Imladris, many years later, alone, face streaked with tears and clothes in blood, with the news that she was a widow.
Her grief had been terrible, and the memory of her sobs raw with screams were still tangible in the minds of many Rivendell elves. Long years had passed now, and she would not allow a word to be uttered on the matter.
She listened silently as the others spoke. Weighing over the situation, she wondered if the elves would suffer traveling with such a party as these mortals. They preferred swift travel without unnecessary detection. Would Gondorians slow them down, and banished ones at that? She gave Harafan’s banishment notice a swift glance, dark eyes as impassive as glass.
Swiftly, she spoke to Aramel, deciding after a moment to speak in the common tongue, if the mortals should take offence at speech they could not understand, even if it was not directed at them. “We cannot linger here for too long. A decision must be made in short order, I think.”
Náriel, anger giving way to weariness, eventually decided to speak. She felt she had stayed silent for too long; she, too, wanted a decision to be taken. Standing about here with a bunch of elves and whoever that woman with the cane was wasn’t doing anyone any good. “Indeed, we are not lost,” she said in her gruff voice. “This is our camp, and until this whole situation occurred we were going to enjoy an hour or so of merciful sleep, as well as tending to several of our party who are injured. If a decision can be struck upon then I’m sure it would suit all of us.”
She ignored Maethoriel, who she had caught glancing at her with what could only be described as a rather unsettling grin. Or rather it might have unsettled someone with a somewhat softer temperament than Náriel. The mortal girl might have appeared arrogant, but her bad-tempered manner and haughty posture hid a painful past. Banishment from Gondor had beaten into her a need to survive. She had a bad temper, that was for certain, but she was by no means a weak young woman. Catching the brief flicker of Lainathiel’s glance, Náriel’s stiff expression gave away nothing.
Lainathiel gave a short, considering nod as she heard Náriel’s words but she said nothing. She had already made her opinion heard, and she left it to Aramel to comment on whether the mortal group needed a guide or not.

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~

"Perhaps then it would be best for our healers to tend their wounds and allow them to continue to where ever it is they are journeying..." Aramel mused to Lainathiel. But now they had no more time to discuss the matter further, for Harafan stepped forward only to be met with a male elf's strung bow.

"What are y - "

"Do. Not. Move." Was Talathion's simple command to the Gondorian, before he released the arrow and watched it fly just to the left of Harafan's head. It sailed into the trees and successfully pierced an orc archer between yellowed eyes; the creature left a growl of agony as it was slain, and suddenly the Elves and Gondorians found themselves in the midst of a second attack.

Aramel drew her sword from its sheathe as her brother strung another arrow. The orcs sprang forth in never-ending streams, quickly overwhelming the two small groups. But what they lacked in number, the Elves and Men made up for with strength and valour. Many of the creatures fell dead upon the clearing, yet another surge came through, bearing thicker armour and hungry for the taste of flesh.

Harafan positioned himself towards the back of the groups; with an already injured arm, he would not be much use to his party, but nevertheless continued fighting single-handedly. The small dagger gifted to him by his father Baredan was finally put to use as a snarling goblin charged, only to find the knife lodged deep in its neck. He left the blood-stained dagger in the corpse, instead unsheathing the glittering blade at his side and putting aside the pain of his own wounds.

There was no doubt that the first group of orcs had only been a setup, a fight that would reduce the Gondorians' numbers and weaken their force.

But the sound that emanated from the trees was all too recognizable. It seemed death would find them swiftly at the hands of a Cave Troll.

Many Orcs fell by the strokes of Dûrion's blade. He wielded the weapon with ease and a sort of carelessness which resembled his attitude. The Ranger fought with a satisfied grin on his face, easily killing the the vile creatures attacking him. But he noticed that no matter how many he killed their number increased.

Dûrion felt a sudden piercing pain. The cause was quickly found: an arrow had struck him in the right shoulder. With a growl Dûrion removed arrow with a swift movement which to his luck had not pierced his flesh deep.

Loud groans and thundering footsteps seemed to silence the battle for a moment. "What the hell.." the Ranger mumbled astonished upon the arrival of the Cave Troll. It dawned to him that something had to be going on. Never had so many Orcs swirmed through the woods nor did they ususally walk their Cave Troll here..

Tossing his blade from his right hand, which he could not use without pain, to his left and jumped forwards towards the Cave Troll. His moves were swift as he stabbed several times the legs of the Troll. But Dûrion knew that it was hopeless. The skin of Troll was a thick and it would not fall just by the strokes of his blade. Nevertheless he kept going, hoping that for once mortals and Elves could unite.

_________________


O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.