Thread: 5th Age- Last of the Elves
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Setting: IT is the fifth age. Many elves, in the thrid and fourth age have passed over to the sea to the undying lands, and now men are left in middle earth as the dominant. However, there are still elves in ME and they still continue on normally with life. Gondor is now the name given to all the lands of men, except Rohan, as overall. But as the Fifth age starts, trouble is brewing, and evil arises, under the leadership of Morgoth, whom everyone thought was dead long ago, but his spirit, in a weak state survived and bred new types of evil creatures, the Ruthgul, larger and stronger than Uruk-hai, full of hate malice and wrath, they set out to avenge their master of their defeat. Haldir, nephew of the Haldir who fought at helms deep, has been summoned to Minas Tirith to give counsil to the king, with him are the greatest warriors of the land.
rules: You can be either men, dwarf, elf, or hobbit, and there are no wizards or peopel like that. No magic or anything of the sort.
The night was cool and calm. The wind whistled thinly between the trees but otherwise, everything was motionless, save the fire crackling in a clearing. 4 tents were put in a square formation around it, with the horses tithered, who were quiet and still, but awake still. The sentry remained vigilant, a finger on a loaded bow string. A twig snapped, a horse snorted and moved, the sentry stiffened and turnned and then they were motionless when it saw who it was. Haldir stepped into the clearing carrying some wood under one arm. With his other arm, he patted one of the horses, nodded to the sentry and set the wood into the fire, seating himself comfortably near it. "Minas Tirith." he breathed the words out with a sigh. Minas Tirith, Tower of the setting sun, city of kings. That was his destination. Looking back to the tents, he checked that they were undisturbed. Then he turnned and gazed at the fire, thoughts echoeing in his mind, but mostly memories. Memories of the past, memories of his uncle, Haldir, who he had been named after. To him, his uncle was one of the greatest warriors of the elves, the one who defended Lorien and fought at the battle of Helms Deep. After surviving the battle, he crossed over to the undying lands.
Young Haldir glanced over to the sentry, who nodded to him and then continued to scan the landscape. Haldir looked again into the fire and thought of more memories. Everyone said he was a replica of his uncle except of his long hair was dark. He had the same stature, taller even, and with bright gold armour that he wore with a cape, with the arrows, quiver and bow that he had been given from his uncle, as well as the helmet and the elvish sword. He had never really fought, he lived through the 4th age in peace, advisers to the kings of Gondor, and guarded what was left of the elves of Lorien. The 5th age dawned as tension was brewing. Mordor was safely guarde by Gondor but evil was sensed. More men were sent in to investigate the suspicions. Orodruin burst into flame by unknown reasons but no other sign of enemies was seen. Osgiliath was rebuilt into a fortress, garrisoned with soldiers. Minas Tirith itself prepared for siege, the newly built Minas Estel in the middle of Mordor was strengthened. But still fear as never felt before for an Age began to creep into the hearts of men. that was why Haldir was summoned to the King of Gondor, with the greatest warriors from every race in his company.
If it is a story then it belongs in the writers guild.
Tarrenlenalas, normally called Tarren, steers his horse toward the tents. The cold air of late fall causing his breath to rise in steam toward the sky, stretching black farther than any eye, save that of the Valar and most powerful of the Maiar, can see. His horse was very big, Tarren being descended from the Dunedain of the north, and the Ranger ( the remnant of Arnor bearing that title with almost foolish pride until the death of all memory of that tragic story) had steel-mail on wich did not shine. Even though the armor did not shine there was not the least sign of rust or tarnish, but in one spot where a sword had almost made the death of the brave man.
The life of Tarren son of Terandath, would make the soft hearted weep tears of pity if they heard the full tale. You could see every inch of the man's face etched in pain, sorrow, and anger. Once you met Tarren, you do not forget that face. he hailed the elf in a deep, raspy voice,
"Greetings friend, I too am travelling to Minas Tirith, would you like my company on the road or shall I leave you?"
Gaeradir rode her horse along the path to minas Tirith catching the sight of a fire off to the side of the road a ways. Halting her Brown mare she looked off towards the encampment. The prospect of fire seemed to feed the want for company and conversation that was growing in her. Slowly she turned the horse along with her mind closer to the camp.
Coming this far from her home her legs felt like they deserved rest, though many might contest that she had not come far, being her first time alone from Dol Amroth everything seemed harder and longer. Gaeradir was proud to wear the insignia of her fore fathers, the ship and the silver swan, but already she began to reconsider her taking of the quest and the strength of her own heart.
As she rode a wind began to pick up, stirring her dark hair from her shoulders where it lade. Reaching the edge of the camp she dismounted and strode towards the light. She looked upon the men there, the light reflecting the silver of the swan on her sleeve and the grey in her eyes, she asked,
“May I sit by your fire? It is a cold time and I am in need of news from the outer world.”
The tall elven man slides down from the stallion and lands lightly on the ground, barely making a sound. Steam rises from the horse's coat and nostrils as he snorts and grunts to the elven man. An elf of some stature, he appears almost regal in his posture and stance. As he removes the hood from his long silver-grey cloak, a thick mane of auburn hair cascades down over his shoulders, and a fringe falls just over his eyes, covering a circlet of polished silver.
He acknowledges the sentry peacefully and walks forward to stand beside the stallion's face. He seems to whisper something into the ear as it flickers this way and that. Moments later he nods silently, as though signalling something, and the horse turns abruptly and trots away from the clearing silently.
Wrapping his cloak about him firmly, he glances at the gathered folk in the clearing, searching out the one who had summoned him.
The rider turns and looks to the direction of the sounds of voices, tilting her head some. She sits under the tree and watches the sky.
((Alrighty Rhaps! Lol, sounds funfun! ))
"Indeed Haldir, it is good to see you. Yet you seem to get straight to the point. There are many new, strange ships passing close to our docks, yet never do they come to trade. The prince tells his people, only few of which can see the far out ships that they are lost travelers. " Gaeradir shook her head and continued, "There have been too many 'lost travelers' as of late, and we do not believe that Osse is in such a rage as to send more than 2 of these boats of their course every week. Lately my uncle has told me that he believes them to be from Far Harad."
Name: Eothain of The Westfold
Homeland: Easfold, Rohan
Physical Appearance: Tall and strong build, Eothain has piercing blue eyes and long blond hair.
Skills: A horseman pur sang, he rather sleeps on his horse then in a warm bed. Uncanny with sword, dangerous with the spear.
Background/History: Eothain hails from the line of Kings, but is not next in line. He likes his battles swift and short, some say too ruthless. Be aware of his temper, he sometimes acts to curtly. His man love him for his loyalty and a quirky sense of humor.
Other: His horse Swiftfoot is always nearby.
Where on earth in Middle Earth are you guys???
Looks: strong, fair looking human with long pale blonde hair. Wearing heavy black armor and matching black cloack with silver skull embroidments.
Weapon: Frostmourne, a bastard sword with a shady past, it spreads coldness wherever it strikes.
Anyone wants to know how he looks exactly, PM me your e-mail and ill send you his pic.
Arthas is more of a good guy in this RPG.
Arthas came into camp silently. He left his mount outside by some trees. He came to the group that was already there, and quietly sat down. Only then did he speak "Greetings. I am Arthas. I maybe even know some of you, but to the rest, nice meeting you." He was still in his traveling equipment, but it looked clean enough, so he didnt worry with the cleaning yet.
to assess the other folk gathered in the clearing. He knew some of them
by face though not by name; people he had seen either on the road or in his
past but never got to know... that has always been Celebedhel's way.
The face of the one he had been searching for, however, had a name in his
memory. Haldir, son of Rumil, his name taken from one he had known for
an age - Haldir of Lorien. Celebedhel remembered this Haldir from when
he was naught but a child; and his Uncle Haldir, defender of Lorien, his
father had been a good friend and upon the face of his nephew was he
struck such that his passing into Valinor crept slowly back into Celebedhel's
Haldir was in conversation with a lady who's face seemed somehow familiar,
though a name did not come forth at that moment. Another in the clearing
was asleep, while another lady arrived on horseback a few moments after
himself, followed by a human who in their usual custom, called out some
meaningless greeting to the rest of the camp. Celebedhel didn't blink.
Feeling that it would be rude to interrupt young Haldir, he selected the
back of a robust pine trunk and leaned casually against it, wrapping the
front of his cloak together against the chill air. At his age, Celebedhel
was rarely rushed, and he knew all would be revealed in due course. So
putting a smooth pebble into his mouth, hehalf closed his eyes and lowered
his head slightly.
Name: Celebedhel Wilwarin
Homeland: Dwells in Lorien
Celebedhel is as tall as any elf, and only the past thousand years since
the passing of the last elves to the West has he trully begun to age. He
is taller than men, and most of his elven kindred. His limbs are long and
sinewy, full of hidden strength and prowess. His skin is the color of
the softest moonlight and his face is long with deep almond-shaped eyes
that gleam silvery green; his cheekbones are high and pronounced; his
ears pointed and flat against the side of his head. A prominent chin
gives him a regal like appearance, and his long auburn hair cascades
around his shoulders.
Skilled with Bow, Sword and Nature.
Celebedhel is one of the Light Elves, the Vanyar; most likely the last of
his kind in Middle Earth. He has lived since the First Age and is a descendant
of the House of Ingwe, High King of the Elves. He has seen much, and done
much, and his skills with a bow and sword are rumoured to be flawless.
His parents are not dead, but long since gone to Valinor where they dwell
in the foothills of Taniquetil. Not much of Celebedhel has been accounted
to history or lore, for the Vanyar were said to have journeyed to Valinor
long before the beginning of the First Age. But Celebedhel did not go
with his family, for he followed his brother who sought Elwë Singollo.
Very little else is known, and of no consequence.
Sword - Helinyetillë, blade of fire. (Skills: Charge, Cleave)
Bow - The Storm Bow (Skills: Kickback, Multinock)
Leather Quiver - 100 metal tipped arrows
Silver-grey cloak of Hithlain (camouflage)
Green and brown leather boots
Dark green under-shirt
Leather belt with keyring and pouch
Canvas scout ruck (pack)
Maersen, tan brown stallion with white socked feet, a white
star on his forehead and a long silver-white mane and tail.
The next morning, he awoke to find no one was awake, except the man whom he had failed to notice the night before, was once again sitting by the fire and the sentry. Feeling bad for him, he too sat by the fire, staring at the ashes. Feeling rude to ignore the man who sat by the now fireless fireplace, he turnned to him at last. An eerie feeling passed him when he saw his clothing, but he knew the man to be no foe. In fact he had met him years before, in the guarding of the building of Minas Estel. " I am sorry I did not notice you before. Greetings Arthas, i see you have recieved the summon. It has been too long my old friend, how is it with you?"
I knew a gathering of this kind would not have gone unnoticed, especially
with several of the warriors having travelled by road. I had thought it
unwise and used forgotten paths along the valleys of the Misty Mountains
to make my way here. I made eye contact with Haldir last night, his
shoulders seem heavy with burden, and his eyes are set deeper than I
remembered, other than that he looks very much the same as he did when
he was a boy. It was good to see him again, and despite my own better
judgement I allowed old feelings to make their way to the surface.
I had promised his father and uncle that I would keep watch on him, till
his task was done. I knew not what his task was, nor I imagine did they,
but in silence I had kept strong vigil over him. He had grown into a
strong, and skilled warrior, counted among the greatest of Gondor's
allies. The King had kept me up to date with letters throughout the
years, and I in turn had stocked him well with lembas and mushrooms that
I knew tickled his palate quite well.
*laughs to himself* Seems this morning will be quite chilly, the winter
is upon us early, and already there was snow in the eastern passes as
I came through. I remembered the name of the Lady during the night,
Gaeradir, we had met some time ago though only briefly, I doubt she
remembered me at all. Adreia arrived last night just after I did, I
think the shadows probably hid me from her immediate line of sight since
she didn't come over to greet me. I remember the first time we met at
the Silver Tavern all those years ago, she had put a smile on my face
even then, and I was pleased to see her among the group.
There were others who I did not recognize but would undoubtedly know
by name or reputation, but for now I will remain where I am. Perhaps
once Haldir has finished waking the others, I will make myself known.
Eothain just finished saddling his horse when Hamra, one of his men, approached him.
"Sir, we have reports that a small band of elves have set up a camp site in Southern Rohan."
"Where exactly Hamra?"
"At the meanders of the Wetwang my lord, almost at the same place when the last Orc activity was reported."
"Fools of elves!" Eothain cursed. "Why have they not asked for permission to pass through Rohan? Now we have to make sure they remain unharmed. Like we have nothing else to do!"
Eothain was irritated. The past months more and more bands of Orcs had plundered the wealth of Rohan. As a decree from king Fastred II, none was allowed to pass through the lands without permission until the Rohirrim had gained full control again.
"Send word to our Liege Fastred, tell him I will see for myself what in Aule's name those elves are doing there. They are nearby and I will make sure they will remain unharmed." Eothain finished saddling his steed and mounted. "I am taking 5 members of my Eored, who wants to see some elves can follow me. My plan is to take them to Edoras so that they can answer to the King himself."
He glanced over his men and sighed. Why couldn't matters of state go normal for one time? He turned his horse to the south and five of his best men followed suit.
Be aware, before you move your camp, a Rohirrim warlord seeking for answers and 5 riders are coming your way!
Ar-edain37, don't worry on your writing, this is supposed to be fun remember?? Just keep it readable (as stated in the rpg guidelines) and I am ok with it
Age: About 300 (yes! got it finally!)
Physical Appearence: Long light brown hair, emerald green eyes. A white dress with short sleeves, buttons up from the waist. Cloak of Lorien. Face has desirable high cheekbones, and is long, like any elf's. Has light, white shoes.
Skills: Honesty, intergity, loyalty, intelligent, can read and write well, has good sense of direction, optimistic, good at riding, good at archery
Special Items/Weapons: Has a longbow from Lorien w/ quiver, hithlain rope, a white mare
Backround/History: Grew up in Lorien, knows only that land. Shy because she's not familiar with anywhere but Lorien
Upon returning to where the fire was she sat down, crossing her legs and watched the camp while she ate.
He waited patiently for the elf to explain him and why the small party dwelt in this unsafe part of Rohan...
Eothain nodded his head to his riders and all moved their horses into a tactical position surrounding the camp. None would be able to leave it in a hurry, unless it wanted a spear in his or her back. He was happy to see his men acting thusly. He stared at Haldir and spoke with authority: "It seems to me you have a lot of explaining to do. Care to do that to King Fastred?"
In Tolkien's world all the ages end with a big war or a change. What has ended the 4th age? The destruction of Rivendell by Orcs? Just an idea for the Game Master.
Yet the lies that Melkor, the mighty and accursed, Morgoth Bauglir, the Power of Terror and of Hate, sowed in the hearts of Elves and Men are a seed that does not die and cannot be destroyed; and ever and anon it sprouts anew, and will bear dark fruit even unto the latest days.
from The Silmarillion
For ages past the spirit of Morgoth struggled to return from the Void but always he was beaten back. Yet within the confines of Middle-earth those parts of his spirit that had been torn from him and left to foul the earth gradually regained strength and slowly over time coalesced becoming strong enough to delve into that part of the world that is beyond the reach of Men and to nurture his anger and thirst for Vengance, seeking to free from the Void that part of his spirit which was the strongest so that one day he would rule Arda and all creatures would be subject to his will.
Beneath the land of Mordor, now guarded by Minas Estel, the gathering spirit seeped upwards from its dark hiding place into the land and rocks and once again sent forth fingers of fear and hate. Still weak, Morgoth the Vengeful, was unable to attack his enemies directly but his lies and malice worked their evil and there were many still willing to serve.
In the hidden depths of the earth his creatures multiplied and grew strong. Soon he would send them out to the realms of Men. But now he reached out his mind to his servant, Kel'Thuzad, leader of the Harad, who fell to his knees clutching hands to his heart as the Red-eyed Dragon tattoo burned....
A slight image in the corner of her eye called her attention in another directing. Tall, regal looking elf with auburn hair stood leaning slightly against a tree. She barely caught sight of him; he blended in very well with his surroundings. His picture tugged at the back of her mind, a face like that would not be easily forgotten. Yet she could not call a name to the picture, nor could she say whether she had truly met him, or whether, she had seen him from a distance and wished to know him.
I see you do not believe me and that saddens me. Either your messenger has not kept up to his promise or he has fallen into the hands of the enemy. Who are you to question me and why don't you tell me that I should not imprison you and throw you in front of King's Fastred feet?" Eothain knew that he came across more infuriated then he intended, but he and Haldir did meet before and there has always been a good bond between them. But in these difficult times he could not risk the lives of people he called friends. He shifted in his saddle and lowered his spear. "You have trespassed these lands without the permission of King Fastred, therefore I place you under the arrest of Rohirrim law. As the law decreed one should answer to the King and the King only." Eothain leaned closely and said softly to Haldir; "Are you willing to take this gamble or are we really going to talk? We both know we cannot have you marked as an outlaw in Rohan. "
Haldir knew that there was something about the king that Eothain did not know. Something that Eothain expected the least about. Outside Haldir was serious but inside he smiled slightly.
He owes me his alliegance, Haldir thought silently.
Eothain smiled and nodded slightly. He dismounted and grabbed Haldir at his sleeve. "Some matters are better discussed privately, mellon nín." Eothain used the elven word on purpose and hoped Haldir would open up to him once they could talk privately. It was not the Haldir he used to know and fought side to side with at the battlegrounds of Minas Estel. Something was askew here and he wanted to know what was going on. How much could he tell Haldir about the current courtt problems and the latest mysterious events that had shrouded Orthanc in a deep myst? And even worse... what had left King Fastred in a strange state of mind.
Rohan was not the same proud and stable kingdom it once was, it needed every well armed and witty Rohirrim to keep it together.
(I still think this is more like a shared author story than an RPG but I like it!)
(I still think this is more like a shared author story than an RPG but I like it!)
I'm sorry, I will tone down my writing and switch back to my RPG style.
Unexpectedly, Gaeradir felt as though another thing nagging for attention at the back her mind had been released… But what was it? She could not remember what so she let it go. There would be time to think on trivial things like that later. Now she concerned herself with what she was going to say and make known to the king when she finally arrived at Minas Tirith, that is, if the foresight of the king hadn't already shown it to him.
Haldir told Eothain the whole story, why the king owed him alliegance. Eothain in return told him of the strange incidents of Rohan, and what he heard chilled him to the bone.