[ I really love it when Maethoriel refers to Gandalf as the Wizard. I really hope Gandalf will appear somewhere at the end of this RPG. ]

Beör brushed absent minded over the tracks which the tears had left on his face. His skin was dry and rough, only a burning sensation reminded him of the tears that had dripped down his beard. He hated it, he used to curse himself for crying. It was such a natural reaction to emotions, but almost impossible to control. Long ago, when he'd just been there, he'd cried, cried because of despair or cried because of pain. It was a weakness, a sign to show that one was broken, or defeated. And Beör never wanted to show weakness. Yet the tears he'd now shed were no tears of weakness, but tears of humanity, something Beör still considered being one and the same.

Beör, will you look at me? Please?

When the Ranger looked up at her, he saw her pretty face, stained with tears. He saw her determination to give him hope and courage, but no more. He was unable to see Luthien’s love. Too long had he lived in the shadows, in a place which was forsaken of hope and love, that he could no longer recognise it. Yet he wondered why she was so set on helping him. He was nothing; a bitter man, damaged but not broken. How could she be willing to save what was already lost? Was she just naïve or was he a charity case? Or was it her natural spirit of optimism that made it impossible for her not to hope; her unaffected kindness and ability to see the best in anyone; her honest hope for freedom..

As he slowly edged towards the bars of the cell, he answered to her sweet pleas with a gruff voice: “You should keep hope. You deserve a world freedom and hope, without worry or pain, and it did exist, long ago..” Beör’s grey, empty eyes tried to find hers and he sat down, stretching his arm through the bars of his cell. “I just didn’t find it.. But you will, that I know..”
He stretched his hand as far as he could and was just able to grasp Luthien’s fingertips. As soon as he touched her a warm feeling spread through his arm, through his body. Her skin was soft and cold, but it was so good to feel her touch. It seemed almost soothing, and although emotions were still raging inside of him, his mind became tranquil.
He lay his head against the cold bars, and closed his eyes, yet he held on to Luthien like his life depended on it. Once he may have thought that the Gondorian maiden was a child still, and in need of protection, but very soon it would become obvious that Beör was in greater need of her. And soon he was to realise that he needed her if he wanted to survive that was still ahead of them..

_________________


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.

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~

It was a moment of calmness and somehow peace. The dark world in which the prisoners lived seemed always the same; cold and fear dominated the endless days of which no one could tell if it was morning or night time, whether it was autumn or spring There was no warmth of the sun, not a laughter of joy, not the rustling of leaves. Time seemed to stand still in Mordor even though life went on. But in that moment of calmness, when Beör just quietly held on to Luthien, life just seem to stand still. Even his inward struggle whether to trust, to care, to feel seemed to have ceased only for just a moment. Luthien’s encouraging words didn’t even scare him away as they usually did. It was just the two of them, and nothing else seemed to matter, not even where they were and what was to happen.

Yet this spell of relative peace was broken when Luthien mentioned the names of Arawen and Maethoriel. He slowly opened his eyes and met Luthien’s hopeful gaze. His expression had been serene but now a frown had appeared on his bearded face, which was now drawn, as if with pain.
“You seem to trust Arawen,” he stated simply, without any reproof in his voice. “What is the foundation of this trust? How did she earn it?”
Upon pronouncing her name he felt his heart rate increasing. Yes, he did forgive her, but still, he didn’t understand, he couldn’t forget and for that he still blamed her. And did Luthien know? She shouldn’t be misguided. She should be aware of what for person she was dealing with.

The grip on Luthien’s fingers tightened as Beör looked up at Luthien’s face as he spoke softly: “You don’t know what she’s capable of. What she has done..”

_________________


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.

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~

[My apologies for this gloomy post, but Luthien (and Ludovico Einaudi ) just made me write it. Beör's just really messed up, but I can't wait to introduce my new charrie, who definately less suicidal and messed up. ]


I trust her.. She is a prisoner too, Beör.. I have looked into her eyes and I saw a longing for death..

Luthien's voice echoed through his mind; her words in defense of Arawen repeating over and over again. Her words pained him, seemed to cut him deep like a knife. She seemed to be choosing sides.. He had forgiven Arawen, but still he couldn't stop hating her. He'd tried to understand, but he couldn't. He had forgiven, but just couldn't let go.

You must have trusted her once, before she became the figurehead of all your hurt.. You did trust her, didn’t you?

Beör's face became pale with anger as painful memories of long ago washed over him. The Gondorian girl had become his friend, whom he'd given his trust, hope and comfort. They'd shared their hopes and emotions as they were both in it together.. Until she betrayed him and herself. How she was turned or why Beör never knew, yet all he remembered was that she returned to his cell one night, how she'd ignored his pleas and cries, proving herself to the Servant of Sauron.

Beör pulled his hand away from Luthien's with force, and started to pace down his cell in fury. Did Luthien see a longing for death in Arawen's eyes? He had wanted to die. He had wanted to die because the pain that the betrayal of Arawen had caused him. He had wanted to die because of what she did to him. But they just wouldn't let him.. Did Luthien really think that she felt remorse and sought for salvation? The fact that she'd left a man, who'd called himself her friend, rot in a cell for more than ten years, had apparently not weighed on her conscious.

Fury and hatred had built up inside him as all those vindictive thoughts raced through his head. It poisoned him and he couldn't think; he couldn't breath anymore. And in the shadow of his cell Beör growled as he hit the wall with all his power again, again and again, trying to relieve his frustration. Pain shot up his hand, which immediately clouded his mind, calming him. He fell on his knees, his back turned to Luthien, and breathed deeply in and out, as if he'd run a long distance.

Arawen's betrayal had been cold and calculated. It had left his broken into pieces, it had robbed him of his hope and it had made him never to trust anyone ever again. And she'd been there to mock him and to gloat. All he was now, he owed to her. She had broken him..

"Do not speak of things of which you don't know anything about," the Ranger said in a harsh tone. He covered his face with his hands in order to regain his emotions, which had been set loose by Luthien's provoking words. "Or of which you don't wish anything to know about."

_________________


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.

The woman's head drooped and she stared at her leather clad hands. They danced distractedly with each other and she couldn't figure out whether it was a habit she had formed or if it was a manifestation of the state of her mind. She supposed that it could be both, but - in all honesty - she hardly cared one way or the other. It was just that the action seemed strange. Maybe she felt too removed from her body. Clearly the magic was taking over, begging to be let loose in a swirl of heat and red fury. That is how it always happened, though.

Maethoriel was swept away from the body she was held in and into something, somewhere, she didn't really want to be. Somewhere bigger than her that controlled her actions - she did not much like being controlled, but she couldn't stop it. Not anymore.
Maethoriel took pause in her reverie and glanced at the girl. It was short and piercing as if she were looking through her at something more insubstantial than the corporeal form than the brunette's slender shape. Her mind was filtering through her words. They had not gone unnoticed - though the madwoman's mind was often distracted she had trained at least part of it to pay enough attention to the reality around her. It worked too, most of the time. Sometimes she found that nothing got through, but that was beside the point. The point was...Nurn

Nurn.

The dark sea.

Slaves.

The children.

Yes! Those children were the future of the world. She had one.

Somewhere.

With Bear she believed and that brought a smile whose only description was sentimental. Bear. The thought flashed and died before returning to the group of children she was charged with now. They would amount to something. She'd watch them, though they would say to their deaths that they needed none of her protection. She smirked. The Wizard would have found the situation a fitting irony.

"We will be received as guests. I have connections and, if things do take a turn, then I will burn Nurn to the ground,” she said in such a manner that suggested she was not talking about a massacre, but nice tea and scones.

“Tonight? Hmmm…” she considered dully. It was soon, possibly premature. She looked at Arawen though, the façade the child built up was slipping, she could see it, which meant others would soon. Yes, best leave while the china doll could still play pretend.

“Rally your prisoners then and meet me outside. There is a precipice you will find me easily enough,” the woman walked across the room and reached outside pulling the lantern.
“Bring it with you. It may prove useful yet. The woman kept the door open and impolitely pushed the younger woman out.

“Make haste,” was the final sentence said before there was nothing left of the room except the dark and furniture still decorated with papers.

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~

In his whirl of thoughts and emotions Beör became vaguely aware of the throbbing pain which his swollen, bloodied hand caused. His eyes remained closed, and for a moment he just let the pain wash over him, almost enjoying how it numbed everything else. His breathing slowly became less laboured and as he listened to Luthien’s quiet sobs, guilt welled up inside him. Guilt gnawed at him upon hearing her distressed words, knowing that she was crying. She had been right and he hated it. He hated how she could read him like an open book, and bluntly confronted him with it.

Beör remained on his knees, his eyes still closed, attempting to calm his mind. He couldn’t lose it. He’d come so far, he couldn’t lose it now..

At the sudden creaking sound of his cell, Beör stiffened. That sound had always made him panic. It was a foreboding sound of pain or despair. That high-pitched sound was often accompanied with a gloating face of orc or men; minions of the Mouth. Yet now there was no such face.. He became aware of Luthien’s presence, who’d immediately darted into his cell. She sat down next to him, holding him tightly, almost as if chasing away all his dark thoughts with her goodness. Beör shivered, not used to such a caring human touch. Yet her embrace felt good, just like when he had hold her hand; it felt calming.

Upon hearing Arawen’s voice, he slowly rose to his feet. He glanced from the brunette’s pale face to the opened door of his cell. Unbelief was written in his face, traces of suspicion visible in his bright blue eyes. His trust in Arawen had been broken so long ago, and in such a way, that perhaps it could never be restored again. Again he looked at the opened door and the Ranger fully realised that this was something he could decide himself; that this was something he could do because he wanted to. He was not dragged or shoved from his cell as had happened so often in the past. He could just leave now. That piece of power and control over his life, that was returned to him gave him strength. It made him forget his painful hand and the weak state he was in.

“Are you ready?” Luthien voice sounded softly, interrupting Beör’s train of thoughts. He glanced at the maiden, before replying: “It’s been fourteen years, five months and six days.. I think I’m ready now..”

He stepped out of the cell, but turned around for a last time in the small passage between the cells. He looked back at the small, confined space that had been his home for years. There was nothing to take with him except bad memories. He glanced at Arawen, remembering as the day of yesterday how she, instead of Luthien, had inhabited the cell opposite of him. So much had changed, so much time had gone by. He nodded at Luthien, as he took her small hand in his bruised hand. “Lets go.”

_________________


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.

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~

A strange feeling welled up in Beör as his hand touched the hilt of the sword, Arawen handed him. He was not sure what it was; excitement because of the power he now possessed by having a weapon on him or just the strong want for vengeance, as he was now able to take the law into own hands. He held the sword loosely in his hand and swung the blade with ease, immediately remembering the way of the sword. He had been taught young and taught very well. As a young boy he spent as many moments as he could, when finished with his duties, with the old Rohirric blacksmith, who taught him the lore of the éored. Beör had always felt different; an outcast, and often sought solitude by wandering on the endless green plains or exploring the borders of Rohan. When he finally became of age, he set out to find his true heritage. And though he had not found what he was looking for, his skill with the sword excelled as the years passed and as he fought alongside the Dunedain. He had killed before, and wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.

Yet fourteen years of solitude had changed Beör; he was not in any way the same man he had been. Wittiness had been replaced by sarcasm, his sense of loyalty by distrust. His amiability had changed into hatred, his hope into despair. But not only had he changed mentally, but physically as well. The Ranger’s hair had grown long and wild and his clothes were piteous and torn. His face had become gaunt and his body meagre and weak, from starvation and fear in those long and lonely years.

Anyone, who just glanced at him, would realise that he was in no shape to fight. But Beör still took the blade, and returned Arawen’s awkward glare. She had always ignored his glares or insults, as if denying his existence, but now she looked at him, so intensely, Beör almost felt like she regarded him for what he was: a human being, a very old friend. He wanted her to say something, anything; anything to apologize for what had happened, for what she had done. But no words could make past deeds undone. Their friendship had been cruelly tested and it had not endured. Never would things ever be the same again...

He listened to Arawen’s words in silence. Of course had he realised the risks of their undertaking. Most likely they would all die even before reaching safe territory. But Beör was not afraid, for a long time he didn’t fear death anymore. He had endured so much that he had come to believe there were many things worse than dying. A crooked and bitter grin just appeared on his features as he heard Luthien’s brave, yet naïve respond to Arawen’s provocation and added in a low voice: “Things cannot get any worse as they are now. So let us not linger.”

Suddenly all were quiet, as marching footsteps and snarling voices neared their cell block, undoubtedly belonging to a troop of orcs. Beör took two swift paces forward, so that he stood in the dark corner, near the entrance of the cell block. Anyone who entered the block, would never be able to spot him, before having set a few steps in the confined space and looked back. In that time, anyone who would have hid in the dark corner could have struck; quickly and deadly. Beör, soundlessly gestured to Arawen to take the opposite corner and Luthien to join him. Whatever happened, no one, that entered the cell block would live to tell the tale of their escape, that Beör promised himself, as he grimly prepared himself for what was to come..

_________________


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.

It was on the cusp of evening and midday - right before the sun grew low in the sky and before many orcs and unseemly creatures took to the world above with freedom. She gazed out over the barren landscape, covered with black ash and rock, the large city of the Nazgul jutting up into the sky like teeth or claws trying to rip the stars from above. She frowned and looked away towards where a very small bit of green could be observed from her vantage point atop the hill. This place, it had got into her bones, she felt that if anyone spilt her blood it would be the color of the orc's. She grinned - someone might have found it sad, or pitiful, but she had survived Mordor. She was one of the few who had lefter and returned and lived. She had brought down many of its key players - its vital organs, even - from the inside and none had been the wiser.

Her mind quickly flipped from her own deeds and towards those that needed doing - plenty enough time for self congratulating later. The children were not here yet. She snarled a curse, tearing open a chapped lip in the process, causing blood to trickle down her chin. The brunette had been met with trouble, no doubt. Maethoriel looked towards the entrance - momentarily at a loss as to what to do. No, no helping them escape from inside. It would raise to much noise. Arawen was on her own in there. They were clever enough, but they were also late. Should have hurried.

Maethoriel, for all her oddities and distaste for most civil laws, clutched to the idea of punctuality. This was mostly because the plans she made were so detailed that mere minutes could be detrimental to their outcome. At this time their success hinged on whether Arawen could get the prisoners out while the guards changed. There was a window where they met at the tower and, engrossed in gossip no doubt, noticed nothing for a good twenty minutes.

The woman turned on her heel to survey her supplies - most of which were old armor and helmets to provide proper disguises. The rest sat on the back of two horses, one painted the other colored like salt and pepper - the last was certainly a war horse although Maethoriel herself preferred to fight on foot. They were both her own - won of a farmer in a bet. They mirrored their lady's distaste, probably more from the smell of blood than anything else, and tramped unhappily with snorts and whinnies to underline their unhappiness.

"Hush, the two of you," she scolded, but place a hand on each of their withers. "They'll be around soon."

She could see it all now. Blood, screams - yes, Arawen needed to fight with these two before they got to her. It would place her higher in their esteem, bring them closer - it would make them less likely to to put up fights on the way too.

"Thank the Valar," she muttered for the second time in over three decades.

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~

The touch of the hilt of the sword felt so familiar; the swing of the sword, a quick blow in the Orc’s side, was performed automatically. It was flawless and lethal. Beör quickly retrieved his sword from the orc’s body, ready to take up another. In that moment the Ranger was not distracted by anything else and did not glance at either Luthien or Arawen. There was only his sword and that of the orc and nothing else. It only seemed yesterday since he had fought, that they had been surrounded by orcs on that pale morning.
The fight had already been lost before it had even started. One of their comrades had fallen. Not willing to leave his friend behind to be mutilated or dishonoured, he had not given up and remained fighting. It was a horrible, agonising pain in his back that alarmed him that something was very wrong. His back had not been covered anymore.. Before his head touched the ground and he sank in a blissful oblivion, he watched how three Rangers fled into the shady maze of Emyn Muil. With that image in front of his eyes Beör now fought. His anger fuelling his strength, perseverance and his thirst for revenge.

In what only seemed to take a few moments, the sound of battling had died down, along with the band of Orcs that had entered the cell block. Still in a daze, Beör glared at the blade his sword, which was smeared with black blood and slowly he looked around him. Arawen had already disappeared in the torch lit corridor and as he looked up he was just in time to see Luthien follow. The Ranger swore under his breath, sheathed his sword, and with only one glance at the empty cells, he quickly followed the women.

Beör would not be able to recall the corridors they had passed through and the stairways which they hurried down. He soon felt lost in the maze of passages, which doubtlessly was designed to minimize the chances on escape. Arawen’s pace was relentless and although Beör had seemed tireless during the fight, he now felt exhausted. A stinging pain crept up his back, which was hard to ignore. But he kept running and running. Only when he started to wonder what the size was of the dark place they had dwelled in for so long, which he had never seen as he was brought in unconscious, Arawen seemed to slow down. Beör stopped for a moment, doubled over, gasping for air. He refrained himself from making a comment about her being too fast. Speed and stealth was their only weapon now..

“Not long now,” Arawen hissed as she picked up speed again. “Maethoriel will be waiting for us outside on a hill, not far away.”

“Great..” Beör groaned audibly. “I’m glad that we’ve put our lives in the hands of a mad woman.. Haven’t we defied fate enough?”

_________________


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.

[So, I just started writing on an opening post for Rhys. I just kept on writing and this is the result. Most of it sprang from my own imagination and I also used this map. If you don't like some aspects of what I wrote, or if you had something else in mind, please tell me and perhaps I could change it.
The person Rhys bumps into could be any of your chars. ]

Rocks and dust, as far as the eye could reach. A dry, barren wasteland, endless and deserted stretched out to the north and west. Ahead lay the Maegond Spur, a group of lower mountains of black volcanic rocks, that was one arm of a mountain range that bordered the southern side of the Plain of Gorgoroth. Only one large road went past the mountain’s feet, straight north, towards the fiery mountain and the Black Tower and it was usually trod by Orcs or Easterlings. The sun had almost disappeared behind the Mountains of Shadow and the air became somewhat less hot and dusty.

A raw command was barked harshly in a foreign language and the young man quickly turned his eyes off the setting sun and he looked towards the city of Thaurband, which lay on the banks of the sea of Nurnen. High domed buildings and pinnacles of sandstone contrasted against the bright blue sky. The many large and luxurious manors in the city were inhabited by the family of the Lord of one of the Great Houses of Nurn; the Nadilith. Their fortune was unimaginable and their power, granted by the Dark Lord, extensive. Sauron and his most loyal minions lavished the Lords of Nurn with gold, silver, gemstones and other trinkets in return for food and resources for the Dark Lord’s army. And the Lords of Nurn most eagerly complied to the wishes and commands from Mordor, greedy for more wealth, land and power. Large fields of wheat and corn stretched out outside the well-guarded city walls and were mostly irrigated by the waters from the Sea of Nurn. Thousands of slaves toiled day after day in the burning sun forced to support the armies that were to destroy the world they once knew.

Like a large human chain the long row of slaves was herded towards the city. Rhys blinked to protect his eyes from the emerging clouds of dust caused by the movement of the human convoy, and kept his head low, his dark eyes fixed on the ground, as that was the only way not to stand out. He had to remained inconspicuous for now.. Sweat trickled down his temple over his bearded chin; even though the sun had almost set, the heat was still overwhelming and Rhys knew that in the sheltered city the heat would be almost unbearable.

The large city gate was closed when the last slave was rushed into Thaurband. Slowly they approached the slave barracks which were scattered over the very outskirts of the city. There they would spend the evening and night, most often quarrelling, resting and sleeping in the relative coolness of the sandstone building. Rhys looked up to the high city walls, which were day and night guarded by the Black Watch, the brutal enforcers of law and order in Nurn. Their reputation of being relentless, cruel and fanatically loyal to the House of Nadilith and Mordor gained them the respect of the citizens of Nurn, yet all those who were forced to serve feared them. Any attempt to escape was cruelly punished if caught.. if..
In his four-and-somewhat years in Thaurband, Rhys had planned several escape attempts, but only executed one, which had failed miserably. He’d been young, reckless and unprepared; he’d just arrived in the world of sand and dust in Nurn and resistant to bending to anyone’s will. The aftermath of the attempt had left a permanent mark on him and for a year or so he’d tried his hardest to be invisible. But his longing for freedom had slowly overcome his fear of the consequences and contrary to before he was now young and reckless but also prepared.. There were small gaps between the switches of day and night watches shortly before dawn when they were set to work in the fields. If he could slip away, perhaps by knocking down an overseeer with a rock. If he could reach the other side of the city in time. If he could loose his pursuers by swimming the Nurnen Sea and if he could get rid of those blasted rings around his ankles which indicated his 'status' then perhaps he could succeed.. If.. if.. if.

Abruptly Rhys' train of thougts was disturbed as he bumped into the person in fron of him with a [i]thud[i/]. A waiting line had formed as to enter the barracks. "I'm sorry," he apologised and his characteristic grin had appeared on his face. Eventhough he seemed so far from civilization, it could do no harm to remain civil himself. "This damned heat seemed to have paralysed my senses.."

_________________


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.

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~

[I absolutely loved your post Goldy! I'm really excited about your new charrie! And I'm already working on my new post! Yay! It's so good to be back! ]

_________________


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.