[IC] [Fantasy] [Dark] The Road Goes Ever On (LoTR)

[LadyRunic]

-Selwyn-

The moon rode high in the sky, as clouds blotted out the stars. A storm was coming, bringing darkness in it's train. A fitting coming, thought the elven maiden. Her form hidden by a thick cloak as the midnight mare she rode. For the storm that the Necromancer had brought with his return a few short years earlier had given her many a opportunity. Her own army she had kept to the North and bide her time. Now with scattered bands of Orcs and roving bands of men, she could hunt them down to join or die by her blade. A harsh reality but a needed one. Her Master would rise once more, and if it took spilling blood. She would bath the very world in it.

The light from a tavern before her flickered as the noise within grew louder. One of the patrons had left, stumbling along home with two fellows. The elf grimaced, the singing was atrocious. Dismounting she let the reins fall the ground unworried someone would take the battle trained mare. Circling about the pub she noticed a side door towards the stables, a young lad pushed through it to get back to his care of the guest's horses. Seeing no sign of smoke, nor the squawking a kitchen staff produced at the busy hour, she slipped through to a cramped hallway. To the rented rooms, she noted making her own way to the bountiful noise and taking a unoccupied and shadowy table. To any one who looked she was simply one of the many roaming folk, perhaps a ranger even. She did not come here for the 'merriment' or the 'prized food'. She came here to hear what would be said. And she was not disappointed...

-Darcyn-

"An'! An' I says to the Orc-" The very prideful and boastful voice of Darcyn Telcontar was loud over the others. "Wot life? Yer just a dog ain't ya! A rabid one if I seys so!" Several others nodded in agreement, as the Orc Hunter puffed out his chest. "An' he starts pleadin' offerin' me 'is wealth-! On'y he ain't got any!" The story went on, and the men laughed and congratulated Darcyn on his hunts. Standing the man, declared his need for more ale, and getting a direct no. Staggering to the bar, the man banged his tankard. "More Ale-keep! A mun's got a thirst!" Once more denied his returned to grumble with his poor mood. First he lost his band of hunters, now he was refused ale! T'was a crime! His mood simply blackened as the night wore on.

[jordy0403]

Meonwel

It was cold tonight, I thought as I approached a town. What was it called again? Bree! That's right, Bree is it's name. I think. Going inside the tavern, I asked for a hot meal and a room for the night. Sitting down at a table not quite in the corner, but not right in the open, so I could keep an ear on the conversation going around. Who knows, maybe I'd find someone to help with my, task? The wood was older than normal, not quite as old as Radagast's hut. How I missed that place, with all the creatures, most of which I could never remember the names of, if I'm completely honest with myself. But that's in the past now, and there's only time for the present. Talking about the past though, one of the drunks sounded like he might be a good warrior. I could just hope that he wasn't always like, that. Approaching him, I simply asked, "How good are you at fighting with others?"

@LadyRunic

[OnlyThePie]

-Dwarin-

The dwarf sighed as he pulled his pony to a halt by the riverbank. He hopped down, grunting with the effort. The Anduin bubbled along happily next to him, not quite the raging river it would become farther south. He rummaged around in the pony's bags, digging out a half loaf of bread and some dried meat. He sat on a rock and watched the river as he ate, contemplating his journey. After leaving the Shire, he had passed through Bree, and then on towards old Rivendell. The elves had been careful to take all their treasures, so all he had gotten there had been some inscriptions and old wooden trinkets, none of which he had taken. The few Elves remaining had left him alone. The journey over the mountains had been rough, but with the destruction of the goblin village in the pass behind Rivendell by the king's men, it had become much safer. He had descended the mountain, only to find that he could ford the river as it stood in front of him. He had marched up and back down for four days, and he was now nearing what looked like a shallow spot.

Dwarin rose and repacked his pony, Tater (a name the Hobbit at Bree had given it). He remounted and moved on down the river, reaching the suspected spot. He nudged the pony forward, and it cautiously waded in. He laughed "Ho! There you go lad! Onward!" The pony crossed nervously, but it did cross. He looked out over the forest, just seeing the peak of Erebor in front of the midday sun. He sighed, and then turned North. If his map, consistently updated with each place he visited, was right, the village of the Beornings shouldn't be too far Northeast. He would finally meet the men of north Rhovanion, and their strange bear-heritage. Dwarin whistled as he rode. He was closing in.

[Shade]

The Black Tongue

A subtle iron mist lingers in the air here, mixing with the caves heavy wet odor, the faint glow of molten metal reflecting off Vunkar's dark eyes as he assesses his surroundings and the crystalline outcrops that decorate the rock walls. The shrill cries of clashing metal echo around him as the blacksmith below shapes his creation with a blunt hammer and blunt expression, fiery lights dancing across his grey smudged face. Resting upon a smooth and crimson colored moss covered rock, crouched slyly behind a towering miners support and peering through a broken planks panel, the Black Tongue watches steadily.

Peering through the same broken panel is the sharp eye of his first ebony bolt, softly lying along a strong beam of iron, a curved wing bent either side of it. With an armored finger resting on the trigger, a slow breath rises up through the tense body, past the unwavering lips and out into the world. Closing one eye, the remaining iris is frozen, the confined pupil within receding as a spark leaps into the air.

With a near silent whistled tune, the bolt streaks past various miscellaneous, barrels, carts and picks - through a gap between rocks made by the chipping of time and sinks with a dull slicing note into the Dwarfs back as his hammer just retreats from its strike. The body falls forward and and the hammer drops to the floor, crashing with the ground as similarly as it did with the axe it was casting, soft sizzling comes from the forge as flesh meets heated metal.

A subtle iron mist lingers here, mixed with a heavy wet odor, the faint smell of burning flesh, and a breath of foul blood - gently Vunkar pulls a second bolt from his hanging quiver and rests it in position, snugly between the smooth wood of his crossbow. With one fluid mortuary motion his left arm peels back the wind and the tight notch clicks in comfort as the string is once more in its grasp.

The predator waits, for soon prey shall stray into its domain.

[LadyRunic]

-Darcyn-

As the odd man approached him, Darcyn gave a hoot of laughter. "Make it worth, my while an' I'll tell you!" He waved the mug under the man's nose. "Whot a mun like yen need wiv' a group of Orc Hunters? Some nasty snatch up yer farm wife?" Several other of the men chuckled at Darcyn's comments. Darcyn merely smirked secure in his own superiority, never minding how right or wrong it was. This was just a poor fool, probably offering turnips for payment. If his wife was nabbed? It wasn't Darcyn's problem, the man did not seem to be able to make it worth his while. Then again, a twisted sort of thought entered the man's mind. "I've got sum'thing fer yen though. Can yen fight laddie?" If this man wanted something, Darcyn could well recruit him! Build up a group of Orc Hunters to follow him! What a clever idea his ale ridden mind could produce! He was patting himself on the back mentally for this.

-Selwyn-

The cloaked figure watched the tavern, glad someone had shut up the brawdy man. If they hadn't she had been tempted to swat him upside the head and make him stay down. Perhaps for life even. The rain pounded outside as she listened to the news. A nearby Orc attack, a thief had been in town, more rain was on the way. Her lip curled with annoyance. The Orcish attack was of little value of her, and the rest of what she picked up was less so. As she kept listening she only grew more disgusted with the noise and stench that the race of Man gave off. She would leave once things calmed. The rain was still festering outside and she was far more interested in a excuse to beat the life out of someone. Selwyn mussed, she was not bad tempered typically but she had little to no good news and even fewer good days. The shorter lived races grew too bold. Too brazen as they moved further into Orc and Uruk-hai territories. Her lands, and the lands of her Dark Lord. It was insulting, but it was not time yet for a full attack, first she would awaken Melkor then perhaps other dark forces. Once that was done... She banished the thought, it was not time for it. It was time to focus on the bright light and noise menfolk.

[jordy0403]

@LadyRunic

What's this about orc hunters, and something snatching up my farm wife? Wait, he, he's insulting me, isn't he? Why would he insult me? Now, he's asking me if I can fight? So, weird... "What are you talking about, I don't have a wife, and I certainly don't have a farm... so how could I have a farm wife? And, why would I want to fight you? That would be a stupid idea, as I can't fight, not in the way you could. And I don't need a group of orc hunters, not in particular." He was odd, even by human standards I believed. "So, to answer all you're questions in an easier to understand way, I don't have a farm wife to be snatched, I just want someone, or someones, willing to travel and fight some, uh, worse-than-orc creatures. Oh! And I don't want to fight you. There, all done. And if that is too hard to understand, please tell me, I know the drinks in these establishments can make it hard to understand people." I said. "And, make you harder to understand." I added as an afterthought.

[OnlyThePie]

-Dwarin-

Tater bumbled up into the town, languidly looking about. Dwarin glanced around at the people there. The men were all quite hairy, and they all stood quite large, even by man standards. The women looked like normal woman, and the children normal. They looked at him, curious but not surprised. Their village was on the road from Erebor to the west after all. Dwarin smiled at the people, waving. He rode along, wondering if maybe there was a tavern in the village, or at least somewhere to tie his pony. Suddenly, a massive man loomed in front of him. "Hail, Dwarf. What is your business in the town of the Beornings?" The man had a beard nearly mighty enough to rival Dwarin's. The Dwarf grinned.

"Hail, man of Beor. I am Dwarin, son of Barin. I am an explorer and collector. I was wondering if you might have any old objects you no longer want, or know of a ruin or fortress nearby I might investigate." Dwarin said, "I don't suppose I could rest my pony somewhere? And maybe myself?"

The man stepped back, a queer smile on his face. "Well met, Dwarin, son of Barin. I am Bretor, son of Bregor. I am the mayor of this town. If you're looking for museum pieces, I'm afraid we aren't going to have many lying around. I'm sure old Tarcor has some books he could give you. Just northwest of here is the old hall of Beorn the great. Anything you find there is yours." Bretor gestured to the building behind him. "This is the tavern. You can stay here. My only warning is to not leave the building at night. Your pony will be safe with us, and if you do not get it back, we shall provide another..." His eyes looked off to the side, slightly uncomfortable.

Dwarin smiled again. "This is excellent, Mayor Bretor. I thank you and your people for their hospitality."

[Shade]

The Black Tongue

Waiting. His eyes hunting for the foot, a hand or cry of mouth - a sudden burst of shadowed color or reaching sound to indicate a target, flesh bound towards his sights. With a clatter from behind a slim stone pillar, the sound of a shout from between the hairs of a beard rang around the cave. Turning his neck on an angle, Vunkar spotted the shimmering tip of a pike just in time, his window of opportunity was closing fast, the sharp end spinning and rushing towards him.

Rolling to the floor, his shoulder catching between two rocks and flipping him onto his stomach earlier than expected, Vunkar swiftly squeezed his trigger and struck the armored arm that hang around the pillar, its owners awareness not broad enough to consider their weakness. Crash, crunch and tearing - in that order, the bolt pierced the gauntlet then broke bone and finally broke through the flesh on the opposite side.

"Furrin Pikearm, 'ell of an arm. Ee can be fund North of er' for sur', in t'cave whar they mine."

He recalled his contract and its specification, this would have to go one way, and if The Black Tongue had learned anything in his time of killing, it's that Dwarfs are the least likely to surrender without a fight - even man filth are not as arrogant.

Crawl, pounce and restrain.

[LadyRunic]

-Darcyn-

The Orc Hunter narrowed his eyes. "...make it hard to understand people...why would I want to fight you? That would be a stupid idea..." This little brat was mocking him! Saying he couldn't understand him because he was too ale ridden. Saying that the great Darcyn was too weak to fight him! "Why ye...!" He snarled, drawing a fist back. Throwing the punch, he accidentally clipped one of his drinking buddy's nose. There was a horrific shout as the bone snapped, and soon a all brawl was forming. Darcyn in the middle, pummeling and being pummeled. Drunkenly cursing peasant farmer and fat, rich merchants. For as Darcyn saw the world, so the world must be. Several other men waded in, breaking up the fight and throwing the perpetrators out of the door into the rain. Darcyn was one of the last, thrown out and he merely staggered out of the mud to pound on the inn door, "Lemme in ye, yellowed bellied Orc missus's! Goblin' flith!"

-Selwyn-

That little fool had started trouble. Whatever was said to the drunk obliviously enraged him, however she did catch bits and pieces of the conversation. "...someone, or someones, willing to travel and fight some, uh, worse-than-orc creatures..." The fool should have came earlier in the night, or during the morning. A jiggling purse did something to cure the hangovers of drunks. Standing as the man thrown the punch, narrowly missing the odd duck of a man. Moving with a powerful stride she ducked a few punches and snagged the back of the 'farmer's' clothes and hustled him with her her to the side door. "You are not so wise, Man." She spoke fluently in the tongue of man. Her accent ancient and foreign. "Come with me, I shall take you to a group who will help you." Shoving against the door, she steered him out into the rain. "You will get no more aid there, not with the mess you caused."

[jordy0403]

@LadyRunic

Oh, great. I thought, as the orc hunter drew back his arm to punch. Just great. Then he hit one of his drinking buddies, who hit him back, and started a full on brawl. I just backed away into a corner. Why did they have to fight each other? It's not right, shouldn't people be fighting with each other? Then the elf approached me. "You are not so wise, Man. Come with me, I shall take you to a group who will help you." She said. "Oh, uh, ok." I picked up my stuff and followed her. "You will get no more aid there, not with the mess you caused" As we went out into the rain. Drawing up the hood of my coat, I shivered slightly. "Good night for the plants, bad night for me. Why did I choose to go?" I muttered to myself.