RP 58 "I Lanta Eriador" Private RP

Through the rolling ocean of waves grass came a dreadful thunder as if many stones had been wrenched from the earth and now rolled across the land, crushing all before it. Yet this was no natural avalanche for this was no mountain side. Beneath iron shod feet the earth recoiled in disgust at the touch of unclean feet. Row after row, a black tide that stretched for miles through the broken grass and dust, orcs and men flowed like an ocean of unclean malice. Harsh cries split the air, whips cracking and teeth gnashing as they considered the sport ahead of them.

It would take weeks before they were able to cleave and rend elven flesh, yet they would travel swiftly for all the vastness of distance that lay between them and Eriador for with them came another. He was wrapped in the ancient evil that had ever darkened and twisted his mind and soul, and he carried with him vengeance to be visited upon those who would cheat him of his ultimate prize. They could not flee his rage. Before empty Rohan was Sauron unmasked, upon his finger the power of the One Ring throbbed.

Messages sped across the waters from Gil-galad to Numenor. Elrond Half-Elven gathered men to his banner and struck out for Eriador. War gathered too in Loriand, Galadriel desperately urging Amroth into action. Yet it would all be too late. As Arda cried out anew, Elora sped south, mind and senses churning with her own foreboding. Eru's will in this matter was unclear, yet her oaths were anything but.

She plunged across the lands to seek Celebrimbor for another was also seeking him. The Guardian of Arda rode openly, bent close to the neck of her horse and no more than a swift blur, a legend of an ancient hunt streaking over grass and through trees. No more than a lone woman, clad in the gear of battle from ancient days, and yet not that at all if the observer were able to look twice as she sped by.

It was 1695 of the Second Age, and a new war for power that had been building for centuries had at last ripened. It’s fruit spilled over Rohan, in Lindon and Lorinand and from it would come only woe and death. But now was not the time to grieve. Ost-in-Edhil was still far away and if she was to save anything then she had to concern herself with the matters at hand.

The wind passing through the waves roared with turmolt. The clouds gathered and broke with rain in tempest. The icy waters relentlessly pummeled anything fey enough to come infront of it. But little there was that came before the fierce waves. Though there was one thing.

A grand white ship was tossed back and forth by the huge waves. The winds sent the sailors of the ship flying across the hard wood deck. Osse was filled with terrible wrath. A wrath so great that the mountains and earth, the winds and seas, the clouds and the pillars of the earth, could not withstand it.

So what chance did this ship of white would have? Some other force was at work as Aldarion, the Captain, and his crew trembled under the decks. Some force, more powerful than Osse himself, spared the lives of these sailors. Who could possibly save a ship of men from such a storm?

Uinen, Lady of the Waters.

Slowly it crept, softly and quietly. It was a black shadow within the black darkness; undetectable by human eyes in the cover of shadow. It moved on, heeding not the Dwarven soldiers posted throughout the dark passages and stone chambers of Khazad-dum. The spy had one intent: to seek out and destroy the Silver Dwarf. He knew not whom or what this Silver Dwarf was, or that he was Durin IV, the Lord of Moria. He was only told that this Dwarf was perilous to his master, and that he would know who it was by his shining silver armor. He only desired to please his master, the Lord Sauron, and save himself from more malice at his creul hands.

The spy stood rigid as a torch was lit in the darkness. The pale flicker of flame wound silently through the tight passageways, revealing two Dwarves flanked by a large shining Dwarf with a snowy white beard. Realizing this was his prey, the spy leapt from the shadows with a sword clasped in his tortured hands.

Durin saw the glitter from the black shadows and unfastened his hatchet. With skill and strength, Durin deflected the assassin's blow and delivered a blow more powerful than the attacker could imagine. The torch moved to reveal the identity of the assassin, but was dropped with a deep gasp. The firey glow revealed the hideous face of an Orc.

Osse stood great and terrible amidst the seas and tumbled the waters. He built up the wind and brought the clouds ever lower. As he was about to stomp with his foot of a terrible wave upon the boat of Aldarion a great figure rose before him. It was taller than he and far greaters. Her voice shook the earth's foundations. Her breath was greater than any wind Osse could make.

"Why dost thou wage war of seas and folly upon the ship of Aldarion? Has he done unto thou any harm? Has he taken thy salt and boiled it?" At these words Uinen arose to a great and terrible height. "Tempt the sailors with calm and the wild with tempest but do not trick the sailors into tempest with calm!" Osse turned and dove into the deep seas, fleeing from his wife who was great and powerful. But the storms of Osse raged on.

So Uinen came up behind the ship amidst the roaring waves and blew a fast breath. The winds of Uinen were harder yet more gentle than Osse's and the ship of Aldarion was pushed across many miles across the sea. And guided by the breath of Uinen the tattered ship came to the shores of Numenore as the storms of Osse subsided.
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A while after his ship had docked at Numenore, Aldarion stood on the deck and conversed with a shipwright of his.

"The fates of the world must be with us for it was not chance that we survived a storm like that," the wright said.

"It was not chance that let us survive, no," Aldarion replied. "But it was not the Powers. I deem it to be a power greater than we could imagine: a lady as the seas. Osse is man still and he fears his wife as any would. Uinen drove the storms of Osse from us, I think. I am forever grateful for that." Aldarion stood, looking into the blazing seas of red as the sun set beyond the far mountains.

Yole sat in the camp of Elrond with his dark thoughts. The Shadow had finally come. In the lands of the Eriador the fate of the world would be decided. He turned from his comrades and became more and more withdrawn the closer they got. He shivered with the thought that he may fail in his duties of battle again. He wept over those who died when it was he who should have. He sharpened his sword in anticipation of the battle to come. He would not be a coward evermore.

There had been a brief time of hostility after word got out that Orcs were invading Khazad-dum. Luckily, the sentries all knew of the truth and assured the folk that naught was to fear except a lone Orc in search of a dry place to rest.

Durin sat alone in his throne of pewter, mindlessly braiding his beard with his stubby fingers. His mind strayed back to the recent assault on his life, the glitter of the sword and the impact of axe crushing bone. He had not killed an Orc for a number of years, and had almost forgot how to wield his axes, though he carried them with him at all times. He was greatly troubled by this Orc and his possible intentions, for why had it gone only after him and not his guards? Durin thought all these things, his mind like a great forge filled with many heated metals, but not enough blacksmiths to hammer them into something useful. Something inside Durin's raging mind told him that war was coming, and he could not be caught off guard; nay, he would not.

It was almost as if he was being...scouted, but by who, or what? And there had been those Warg attacks at the Gates, making it unsafe for travelers from afar to travel the roads. He had sent patrols up and down the roads to the Gates, but to no avail. Alas! and the crows from the sky 'wandering' into the dark halls! Beasts of the air cared not for the deep places of the earth; Durin knew this.

"I am being scouted, being sized up for my potential of war," he spoke softly, and yet almost happily. In truth he was excited, for if war indeed were coming to his realm, he would be ready for it. His mind began to dream of the glorious battles of old and tales of wonderous and noble Dwarves from Belegost. As he smiled to himself of these tales, he happened to glance towards his ring given to him by his father at his death. Instantly Durin saw himself as a young Dwarf warrior again, his axe stained with the blood of a Dragon, and gold heaped about him in mountains of shimmering wealth. His very chamber was made of every precious metal on Middle-Earth, and his realm had spread under the mountains of the North and West. But it was just a vision; the Ring on his finger provoking thoughts of glory and fame and vast wealth.

Durin's gaze was transfixed upon the naked band of gold on his finger; his heart filling with a sense of dread and a shadow of gloom hung over him. There was something about this ring; something that made his heart leap with joy and ambition, and yet long to be rid of its prescence.

"Elora, sheath your sword if you bear any love for my kindred."

Her sword, posied and held towards another who smiled an oily, predatory grin, hung unmoving in her grip as she considered the many reasons to ignore Celebrimbor's plea and the one reason not to. Her shoulders were tight with supressed anger as she remained as she was and her swirling gaze turned from Sauron's fair seeming face to that of Celebrimbor. She marked the uncertainty there. "Had you any faith in that love, you would not ask this of me Celebrimbor," she replied.

"Yet I do. Will you spill blood and honour in the house that has extended Annatar its hospitality in return for his teaching?" Sauron smiled anew and the urge to run him through nearly won through to her blade. The tip of the curved longsword swayed closer towards him, the slightest betrayal of what boiled through her as he added "It is a bold man who speaks of honour to the Guardian." She raised a cool brow then in arch amusement, but her voice was dangerous for all that. "Does Annatar instruct on matters of honour now?"

But the sword slid home to its scabbard and she took a step back even as Sauron wavered, a little less certain. She turned then, gazing long at Celebrimbor with unveiled eyes that held in them all the warning her earlier words had carried. "I will leave you to decide for yourself where you will accept teaching from, in honour or other arts. Valar shelter you, Celebrimbor, and light your way." Her benediction was spoken softly and sadness rolled through her face as she turned on one heel and strode from the garden and Ost-in-Edhil.

The stars glimmered high in the firmament overhead as the memory circled through her mind. "Had I been truer to that love, had I been stronger, would darkness gather once more I wonder?" Elora shook herself from the memory, gazing at the stars as her horse rested. She had ridden hard and had yet another day ahead of her. Yet she could find no rest herself. The music of the stream she had stopped by did not soothe. With a sigh, she reached for her pack and extracted an apple and a tunic of green suede to throw over her leathers. It fell to her ankles, split up each side to allow free movement, with the Two Trees stiched in silver and gold on the front panel.

By the time she had washed the road dust from her face and hair, and re-braided her copper curls into an intricate thick braid that hung to her hips, the night sky was lightening in the East. She had spent all the time she was prepared to in concession to Noldorin custom for garb. But Celebrimbor would know as soon as he saw her that war came also, whether she appeared in courtly garb or mail. Whether he would welcome her or renounce her for her failure to reveal Sauron for what he really was not so easy to know.

As dawn glimmered over the land, the morning star still bright in the lightening sky, Elora was streaking across the lands once more. By nightfall she will have made her destination and then it would begin. The land steadily became fairer as she passed, the hand of the Eldar speaking in leaf and bough, and the thought that Sauron would possess even the plainest speck of Middle-earth pushed her faster towards Ost-in-Edhil.

Carfang sat looking at the stars while chewing an apple about two tents away from that of Lord Amroth's, all this time he had waited for adventure and now, when he finally had it he was scared as could be. Thoughts of him letting down his family and friends, even letting down all that is good in Middle-Earth kept coming in his head. No matter what he sang or thought of back came the evil thoughts relentlessly. Carfang could stand it no more, he finished his apple and layed down to sleep.

Many a time did Carfang wake up with cold sweat dripping down his face and everytime he spoke with great anger cursing all that is evil three times and tried again to sleep. Finally after nearly an hour of terrible thoughts Carfang drifted into a fitful sleep.

Aldarion strode modestly into the halls of his father. No celebration was prepared for him that he survived the dreadful storm, no rescue crew was there with blankets when they had docked. No boast of his journey would Aldarion make.

"What has driven you from the place where you will rule in time, son?" Tar-Meneldur, his father said. "You are betrothaled so why do you journey?"

Aldarion answered simply. "The waves of Uinen the Uinéniel shall hear." And with those words troubling to Meneldur Aldarion left his hall.
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He rode in search of his love, Erendis. His horse sped him throught the forests dear to her, the farmlands of her home, and the halls of the queens. She was not found, though. But in his last desperation, Aldarion rode his horse to Erendis' home. The shack compared to the mansions she would live in. But for some reason, she lived there now.

"Have you not yet taken the seas as your spouse, Aldarion?" Erendis greeted him coldly. "It has been long since I have seen you. Why do you come back to me now?" And Aldarion brought forth a jewel of shining radiance from Middle-earth.

"Love, I have brought this for you. It has been crafted by the greats of the Elves. Never will a jewel so great be seen upon Numenor!" Erendis took the gem and walked inside the house. She bade for Aldarion to sleep on the small rug that covered the wooden floor. But before he went to sleep, Aldarion said one thing to Erendis.

"What did you name her?"

"Ancalime."

The land of Eregion was fair, and in many of it's features could the unique Noldorin philosophy of architecture and beauty been seen. Ost-in-Edhil was its chief city, and a remarkable testament to the influence of cultures. The elegant, fragile sweep of elven sensability was stamped upon the city. Yet so too was the enduring, powerful nature of the Dwarven peoples. Elora saw it in the outter walls and bulwarks that lended Ost-in-Edhil much more resilience to attack - at least so she hoped as she rode through the gates at mid-afternoon.

The wide streets were peaceful, appearance belying what she knew to be approaching the citizens of the city from the south. Yet further inspection revealed a heightened guard. Weapons were worn openly by more than soldiers, and the silken pennants high atop the walls fluttered almost wistfully as they waited for aid. Faces were tight with expectation and growing alertness. Already some houses had been left, their families leaving as they could. But where would be safe? Not even she knew, yet.

Elora's horse picked its way unerringly to the Gwaith-i-Mirdan. The Great House was familiar to her, and she had been seen before threading her way through the elven-fair streets towards it. Though noone halted her, some she passed nodded or smiled faintly in recognition, eyes sliding them to the sword hilts that peeked over each shoulder and then back to her grave face. As she neared the complex occupied by the Smiths, the activity around her steadily built. People darted purposefully in and around her. The sound of fortification came faintly to her hearing as the lesser treasuries were being prepared.

Her brow furrowed then faintly. Better that they should look to defence, and escape should that fail. There was no telling how far off Gil-galad was, yet she surmised her ally was well aware of what brewed and formented. She had Moria also to consider, and Celeborn and Galadriel. As Elora drew up in front of the Great House of the Mirdan she focussed her attention on the beautifully worked doors that sat impressively atop a wide sweep of elegant stairs. The westering sun shone bright upon her burnished copper hair as she dismounted in a motion filled with liquid grace.

Brushing dust from her tunic, Elora stared up at the doors with eyes that swirled with colour, her thoughts impenetrable to most with some exceptions. One of them was within the Great House and she lightly set her booted foot upon the first step. She flowed up the stairs to stand at the door. Coming to the top, she removed her gloves and raised a long fingered hand to knock and announce her presence, assuming rumour had not preceded her. The Guardian sighed lightly and called in a musical voice, "Valar shine upon all within this House."

That said she stepped back and awaited the response, turning to survey the street patiently and gather more of the general morale of the people who would bear Sauron's vengeance.

The sun upon the mallorn-leaves created a golden glow about the wood of Lothlorien. In the distance, voices were raised in quiet song of praise to Eru, He who created the earth. Yet in the center of the golden wood, in the place which was called Caras Galadhon, it was silent.

Here the Lady Galadriel of Lorien sat, and Celeborn beside her. In her hair rested the brilliance of the sun, and about her was an air of wisdom as one who has taught much and learned more. Before her stood a messenger of Ost-in-Edhil, his head bowed in reverence.

"War comes to Eriador," Galadriel said, the soft-spoken words rending the silence. Her voice was low and clear and sad. "Sauron the Deceiver counsels no longer with Celebrimbor and Elora of Valinor rides abroad once more."

"Yes, Lady," the messenger replied.

"A shadow is growing," Galadriel said. Weariness was in her voice, and pain, and her eyes were dark. "Its approach is ever quickened. How shall we stand against it?"

"We have let the enemy into our bosom," Celeborn said. "Long did he whisper fair words into the ears of Celebrimbor, and indeed to us all. What now will the consequences be?"

"There are none who can tell," the Lady replied, and her voice was fell in the golden silence. "Long have I urged Amroth in Loriand and long have my warnings gone unheeded. Now, I fear, the consequences will be harsh.

"Dark days will come."

"What can we possibly do! The Khazad are restless, milord! They still whisper of war and death, and we cannot cease their chatter!" bellowed Araghan, a Dwarf leader of the fallen line of Belegost, slamming his fist on the pewter table.

"We are not at war," sneered Furik, Durin's captain of defense. " 'Twas merely a lone Orc, and we told the people this! All is well in Middle-Earth and we would be the first to know of any disturbance in the land!" Furik was black-bearded, greasy and poorly kept. His nose was like a great warted toad that sat upon a stinking lilypad, full of creases and pools of slime. Durin did not trust him or heed his advice, for he suspected Furik of being a spy from far-off places. But that was the precise reason he had put him in his council, to use him for his own will.

To Furik's comment came a torrent of relentless cries and arguments, all directed towards Durin, the Lord of Khazad-dum.

"Halt! Cease this chatter for I myself shall axe the next one to speak!" Durin spoke, full of impatience and wrath. All sat down silent and fearful of Durin's anger. "Now I am not one to sit here and allow Khazad-dum to be taken, whether it be a lone Orc or an entire legion of them. Khazad-dum will be ready for war, and we will not sit idle and let it come to us!" Furik snorted, and Durin heeded him not. "Thus, we shall delve deeper into the vast wealth of our kingdom, and extract mithril from the Earth's core for our gear of war! Deeper- and higher, we shall delve. We will create a kingdom from the highest point, to the core of the earth. All the while Dwarf lads from 50 years to 100 years will be trained for war, and the soldiers will train with them. We shall be ready for anything!" Durin shouted, his eyes gleaming like two orbs of cold ice.

To this the Dwarves of Durin's council cheered for joy, save Furik. He snuck from the council chamber, and disappeared into the shadows.

Aldarion awoke long before the Sun. He left the house as the stars shone against a pale, dark sky. But as he was about to leave he thought against it. He turned and walked back into the house.

He found a young girl sleeping in her bed. He woke her gently. She groaned with tire and from the darkness that surrounded her.

"Aldarion?" she said quietly.

"Yes, Ancalime, daughter," Aldarion he said with a grin on his face. "Come with me." Aldarion took his daughter with her to his horse and trotted across the plains, through the forests, and to the seas.

"What do you think of all these trees?" He inquired as they passed through a large forest.

"I get bored with them. I would rather see the Great Sea," she answered. Aldarion stopped his horse. He spurred it around and rode it back to Erendis' house. She was waiting there with scorn on her face. She tore Ancalime from the horse and pulled her into the house. As Aldarion left her house, for the last time, he thought to himself.

Not the lies and poisoned words of Erendis can tear Ancalime away from me.

Aldarion rode to the docks. His guild awaited him. They would sail to Middle-earth yet again.

The shadows of evening slowly unfolded, wrapping the Halls of the Mírdan in a dark embrace. Yet it brought small comfort to Celebrimbor, his thoughts were elsewhere, wandering the paths of a past unchangeable, a future unknowable. Too deeply had the Noldor delved for knowledge, and too often it had it brought them misery and woe. This held true for his family more than most. Not easily was the curse of kinship erased. Folly was his birthright, a gift passed down from father to son, and war and ruin would ever be the legacy of the House of Fëanor. Or so it seemed to him in that dark hour.

'One ring to rule them all...' Still the words echoed in his head. For thus was he betrayed, thus were they all betrayed. Annatar, Lord of Gifts, the only gift you bring us is war, and an ending of all our hopes...

'My Lord!' A youthful elf burst the silence of Celebrimbor's thoughts, his face flushed with excitement and aimless hope. 'The Lady Elora has come bearing tidings, and seeks admittance to our halls. Even now she stand at our doors...'

'Then admit her!' Celebrimbor said sharply, the lad's shining eyes a dagger to his heart. Then in a softer voice. 'And tell the lady she is welcome to our halls.'

With a sigh Celebrimbor stood, and made ready to greet his guest. He knew what news she brought... for the shadow of death was already upon him.

She left her horse to the promised keeping of the stablehands, following the young Elf that ushered her into the halls on quick, light feet. The doors swung shut behind her, and Elora saw that within it was busier still than the streets had been without. The Elf looked back over his shoulder, and she smiled briefly to reassure him that she was not about to vanish. His steps quickened further, graceful as they were youthful. Was such youth about to be thrown against Sauron in an attempt to keep his gauntleted fist from siezing that which he hungered for?

Her thoughts tumbled around her head, unable to discount the sounds of fortification coming from the treasuries that she had discerned whilst waiting. Still, perhaps her own folly had not undone all hope. She was welcome. Sauron had failed on that score at least. The doors swept open before her again as the Elf stepped aside with a murmured courtesy. It was how she had left many years ago, and yet now Celebrimbor's Hall was filled with a different air. He slowly unfolded from his chair as she entered, the shadows of evening curling around him.

Elora moved forward, eyes searching Celebrimbor's face as she did so. She stopped before him, bowing with one hand over her heart as was her custom. As she straightened she spoke in a quiet voice.

"Dark the hour may seem, yet dawn may yet surprise you and come again. All has not forsaken you, Celebrimbor. Mae Govannen."

She flicked her heavy braid back over her shoulder once more, examining him closely. "It grieves me that the tide that bears me to you is a perilous one. I would have it that it shall not overtake all you hold dear."

Elora's brow furrowed for a moment, saddness gilding her features only to be outshone by a characteristic steely glint to her swirling gaze. Her lips twitched in a fey smile. "I did not ride the wind for the past two days to bring you naught but gloom, my friend. Can you forgive my failure?"

Voice earnestly soft, Elora stood with her hands clasped before her. Few witnessed such a thing, for the Guardian was proud. The stars through the window, the leaping flames upon the hearth and Celebrimbor were the only witnesses.