Vignettes: The road to redemption

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Vignettes: The road to redemption

Postby Lirandel » Sat Dec 26, 2009 3:30 pm

Press play when you begin reading for moodtheme. :wink:

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Peter+Returns/2464399

His wound scratched at his side as he bandaged it again with a herb covered cloth. His ribs was sore around the red splotches of skin that still carried the mark of Gwann. He sighed and carefully finished his work.

Long months had passed of weakness before he could even walk and still the wound closed ever so slowly preventing him from regaining his former physique. Only with the healing skills taught by his mother Nolemire and the aid of Kellidir and Candil had he succesfully declined the wound's purpose. Now time was his only ally through this grief. Time, training and elvish stubborness.

He looked across the empty stone circle and remembered the years before when it all had started, when he had begun his training on the young, bold and quite green behind the ears recruits. Recruits that had become companions and... Friends.

His eyes turned to the dark hilt of a keen edged sword, standing adamant and silently in the center of the circle. Resting in stone.

One day he would carry his Legacy again, when his hand would wield the sharp blade with more accuracy and strength. Until then he would make good with what he had.

He nodded to himself and got dressed, a smile crossing his face ever so gently.

Besides. The Son of Phindor needed to finish his training properly, one last rite of passage and lesson before Wulf and he could call themselves equals in arms. He better get to work on his own training though and grinned. In his current state he would offer no valuable lesson for his friend. but in time, he would. He looked at the blade again. And by that time his ancestral sword would be in his hand again.

He found his armor, lying on a stone boulder beside him, setting the straps and adjusting the pieces of mail.

What a day it would be he mused.

A day of celebration and renewed hope. But more importantly, a day where he would feel proud of his old apprentice's accomplishments and fortitude. He equipped his leather belt carrying a worn steel blade sheathed in a simple scabbard then slung his longbow across his shoulder and back. Followed by a quiver of no remarkable fashion.

Aye, the feeling of pride that surged through him felt good. Good enough for a couple of days of training in the wild...

"Time to hunt some orcs..."
"Boots to asses... Or Imps out the airlock." -Antora Kel - Trooper Vanguard
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Re: Vignettes: The road to redemption

Postby Haelewulf » Sun Dec 27, 2009 4:02 am

At that moment training was the furthest thing from the son of Phindor's mind. The bright edge of the two-handed axe bit deeply into orc-flesh time and time again, hewing limbs and flicking gore into the air as the screams of those around the Green Knight rang in the depths of Moria.

"To the bridge!" cried the bloodied warrior, as the last of the orcs fell quivering to the ground. With a roar of acknowledgement, his men ran to his side, and with a mighty cry, they fell upon their foes once more, driving the enemy back through his own trenches towards the shattered span of the bridge of Khazad-dum. The small band cut a swathe through the far more numerous but poorly trained orcs, and before long they had reclaimed a small portion of the bridge, sending their foes tumbling to their dooms in the bottomless crevasse.

"The day is ours," said Haelewulf, wiping gore from twin butterfly blades of his battle axe.

"Aye, this one," said Selana, his aide. She stood with staff and robe, her knowledge her keenest weapon. "We will fall back to the Dimrill Gate, and by dawn the trenches will be overrun once more. These scum are endless, and we can only kill so many."

"And so we shall, to the last man." Wulf's voice was tired, but the thrill of the fight rang in it still.

"For how long?"

"As long as it takes." The green-armoured champion stood, pulling clear his helmet. Five figures stood with him, Selana amongst them. "Find the mounts. Dimrill is not our destination today. I have business in Bree before month's end."

Selana grimaced. "It will be a vicious road through the mines, even though we now know the ways of the Dwarves."

Wulf shrugged. "No worse than many we will take, ere the end. We will meet with Phindor near the Dolven-view, and travel with his men from there, which should set your mind at ease."

Selana snorted. "One of us has to worry."

Wulf grinned, then tightened the straps of his armour, replacing his helm and slinging the mighty axe across his back once more.

"Come then, brave ones. We ride for Eregion, and may the orc-scum rue the day they stand in our way!"

Warcries filled the air once more, but for all the vigour of the sound, the vast blackness of the mines swallowed it, as if it had never been.
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Re: Vignettes: The road to redemption

Postby Adjanah » Sun Dec 27, 2009 3:18 pm

Indeed, the sounds of war and bloody battle filter out as the camera pans up and away, out of the dark, forbidding mines and into the clear air of the great outside. Clouds flit past as the observer travel great distances, away from the broiling underdark of Moria and towards the lands of the sons of men. Villages and hamlets pass by underneath as night falls, lights twinkling from the small clusters of houses and farms, little battlements fighting back the dark in quiet, content routine.

((cue theme: http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/An ... ss/1369623 ))

In one such village, as the camera descends, a familiar voice issues out a derogative "Oi!", accompanied by the sound of a resounding slap. A second of silence passes as the camera sinks yet lower and nears a window, then the air explodes in guffaws and cheer, and the music starts up again - the type of music heavy on the pennywhistle and the easy-to-follow refrain, no doubt dealing with matters such as The Farmer's Plump Wife and the Untended Ram. Happy music. Tavern music. For it is indeed a tavern into which the camera has now moved, a crowd of bustling men and women going in a slow ebb-and-tide to the bar and back, wafting away clouds of greasy air and yellow-brown light as they move.

"Come now, me pretty, ye know I meant nothin' by it," a broad man chuckles and rubs his cheek where the outline of a small hand is still etched in red. The owner of said hand smirks and chortles, patting him on his bald head and coos something appropriate as she saunters away easily through the crowd, not a drop spilling from the tray of heavily-laden mugs she carries. The man turns to his companions, laughs loudly and rams his mug against those of his cronies in an unspoken affirmation of the beauty of life and the new serving-wench.

The new serving-wench had arrived some months back now, had come unbidden up the long road from Bree and responded promptly to the sign of "help wanted" in the window of the tavern locally known as the Wet Dog Inn. She accepted the job with little fuss despite the lousy pay and long hours, and took to it with a vigour quite unlike any other the innkeeper had employed over the years. To improve matters even further, she was easy on the eye and knew how to handle the rowdy clientelle his house usually attracted. She was quick on her feet, was a good listener and seldom (if ever, now that he came to think of it) spoke of herself. She'd presented herself as Anna, and so Anna it was. He knew enough of road-travellers to go poking his nose where it didn't belong (though the decolletage of her serving-dress did indeed beg profound poking).

And so life drags on in the village of Tinderbrook, as it has for as long as anyone can remember. Mutterings of war in distant lands remains just that, and so merely serves to raise the income of the innkeeper. Nobody seems to notice how the new serving-wench tends to hover nearby when people speak of the war or bring news from the outside world. Nor does anyone notice the occasional hard look settling in her eyes when nobody looks.
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Re: Vignettes: The road to redemption

Postby Lirandel » Thu May 13, 2010 5:56 pm

It had been a good talk. a conversation that had left him with an affirmation of their friendship. Eventhough he had taken his old friend by surprise; the realisation of change dawning then sinking in on his brother's face. It had indeed been a productive exchange of words. Full of respect and understanding between the two of them. For himself it meant another step towards his old self. Like Elrond Halfelven had said.

"For too long you have carried this despair old friend. For too long you have carried this scar of defeat. Let it go and become, what our king saw in you all those years past Gwaedhon Blademaster Guard of Gil Galad. Be proud of who you are, were and where you hail from. There is indeed much to be proud of. You have done well in the lands of Men and for the Free People. Be at peace."

He understood what Elrond had meant. For too long he had carried the sadness in his heart. Torn between the treachery of his dead wife Deridne and the human woman Sayvara of Gondor. Not only that, he carried the broken word of his fallen king on his shoulders, his honor broken. Eventhough it was an age ago for likes of Men, Hobbits and Dwarves for him it was always lingering in the corner of his mind's eye. And in the past it had controlled his actions somewhat. and sown the seed of distrust. But not any more.

He had taken a decision when they all had asked him to become the Captain of the Thorn once again. They needed him eventhough he had given them no reason to do so. He had been flawed ever since that fateful day between the trees where he had taken the life of his wife, the fall of his King and the resulting fight with Elrond on his following ascension. Indeed he had blamed himself, alienating himself from those who only wished him better fortune, kindness and support. But still they had asked him to take the mantle and steer them through the shadow growing in the east. And that had been the first step for him, and a very important one at that.

Now, his outlook had changed. And with the meeting of his brother and old companion he now knew it to be the right one. Honor was once again his to claim. And this time he would set things right. To the Thorn, to the Free People and to himself.

No more bitter tears, lonely hours of despair or uncontrolled anger. Balance had finally been restored in his soul and he could feel the song of life around him for the first time in many years.

He smiled and chuckled lightly. Aye indeed Haelewulf's face had been one of surprise. A mental picture he would carry within himself for many months to come. And one who always would create a smile on his face for many years to come.
"Boots to asses... Or Imps out the airlock." -Antora Kel - Trooper Vanguard
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Re: Vignettes: The road to redemption

Postby Haelewulf » Sat May 15, 2010 1:38 am

It was, on reflection, thought Haelewulf, an exquisite twist.

Only days ago he'd stood in Rivendell, chatting amiably with a downright cheerful Lirandel... and yet now he stood knee-dip in the Nimrodel, dodging Galadhrim arrows.

"Valar take it, we mean no harm!" roared the Green Knight in accented Sindarin, as another warning shot threatened to skewer him where he stood.

"It's no good," said Selana, from the cover of a nearby tree a safe distance away. "You'll have to earn passage like the rest of us."

Fuming, the blond warrior stomped back across the ford, cursing and splashing in equal measure. "Fine! Fine! And after I kill another few thousand of their enemies, perhaps they'll let me in, eh? Elves!" He felt a twinge of guilt as he said it, happy memories of Rivendell springing to the front of his mind... but one last arrow hissed from the trees, ringing from the crest of his helm, and with a half-strangled curse he floundered to the far side, reverie forgotten.

Selana looked at the bedraggled and furious champion, doing her best to hide the grin that threatened to split her face in half. "...orders, sir?"

Wulf scowled at her from behind his helm. "We'll see how much you're grinning when you see just how much more killing and risk we'll need to endure before these Galadhrim let us enter their precious woodland retreat. Beware the gratitude of Elves... for not all Elves are of one mind."

Pulling himself from the river he gestured to the men emerging from the trees, satisfied that the hail of arrows had ceased for the time being. "Mounts!" As they swung themselves into the saddles, Selana spoke, a little less confidently than before.

"It won't take TOO much more killing, will it?"

Haelewulf grinned unpleasantly. "Why, do you have plans for the next week?" He wheeled in the saddle, pulling a greatsword from its sheath across his back. "Blood and thunder, boys. Let's show these Galadhrim how to hunt orcs!"
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Re: Vignettes: The road to redemption

Postby Felaion » Sat May 15, 2010 1:31 pm

"Crick!" cracked a startlingly loud scrap of dry wood under the well-worn boots of a bedraggled-looking figure. "Crick!" spoke the forest again, as it's boughs and heavy foliage loomed in and around the slowly-moving figure, cutting off the refreshing silver glow of the full moon. Frustrated by his slowed passage, the figure brings himself to a halt, hugging a distressed, brown cloak around his form to stave off the lingering chill of night on the air. "Going places was much easier when I still had a horse." he mutters to the night, turning this way and that as he seeks some sign of an end to the ensnaring wood. "Sssssstaaaar..." whispers the wind as it crackles through the upper canopy, far above the man's chestnut locks. Exhaling a grunt, he set himself into motion again, choosing the path that looked the most downhill, simply because his legs were tired.

Yet downhill, it transpires, was not going to be the most comfortable option. Darkness closes in around the slowly-moving man as the thick boughs trap more and more of the moonlight out of sight. Soon, the wearied male figure is walking blind, his ragged leathers at least providing some protection from the trees as they reach out to slap and crack against the man as he tries to push his way through. His stomach rumbles, painfully reminding him of the three day's it's been since he'd had a decent meal. At least his back felt light, for he walked without a pack - only three things remained slung on a piece of rough twine on his back. Leaf-green, a blanket or cloak of some sorts kept wrapped up two precious things, to which the man's mind wandered. One - a box, and the other, a sword of seemingly Gondorian design. It was at this moment, that a particualy vicious tree took it's oppertunity to snatch the man's legs from under him. He fell, exhaling a single gasp of surprise, one hand flailing for the single dagger at his belt. Before he could react further, his entire body found itself submerged in a pool of dark water.

It's hard to rightfully explain what transpired in the eyes of the man as he lingered under the water. Save only I could say this of his vigour as he resurfaced, gasping for air - seeking an end to the forest pool he'd found himself in. He had heard the voice of an elven woman. One that filled him with a great sorrow and regret, the words she spoke like nails thrust into the man's wooden heart. Yet despite the pain he'd felt, her words had driven the subtle workings of a darker force from the man's mind. Perhaps it was chance that brought Felaion, Son of the Shores to that pool. Perhaps it was another force - yet above all... now, the wayward Gondorian Farmer stood a chance. "Nolemire..." he uttered in reverence, before launching himself from the pool, and making towards a faint glimmer of light...
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