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[Shibe]

The morning sun slowly lifted itself over the horizon, spreading its light onto the nearby Misty Mountains, brilliant colors of the sky melting into each other with fluffy clouds lazily sailing by. Despite the cheerful appearance of morning, grim subjects were to be spoken of this day.

Each kingdom had sent a representative to take a seat at the meeting, but a plan had been devised in advance for a solution to their predicament. Letters had been scattered across the land of Middle Earth, each one being addressed to individuals that were seen as fit for the job. No officials of the kingdoms has sent them though, instead it was the work of a lone wizard, and wizards work in the most mysterious of ways. Their indentity was unknown, nor did it matter. What did matter was the sake of Middle Earth.

The details of the letters only contained a simple congratulation and a order asking recipients to arrive at Rivendell on the first morning of the summer, which was also the day the meeting would take place. A small signature of initials was hastily scribbled in the lower corner.

A rather anxious Hobbit found himself trying to make sense of a old, torn map near the shallow river before Rivendell. “Now, I have been here before, haven’t I? Why is it that I can’t remember the way?” He muttered to himself, only looking up from the piece of scrap after he had tripped over a tree root. Gereon of The Shire shook himself back to reality, blinking several times. “Ah, there it is!” The young creature finally coming to a realization that he was indeed at the gates of Rivendell, staring up at the intricate elven architecture.

He scrambled back to his feet, steading himself and slowly stepping towards the enterance. Two elf guards eyeing him as he approached. Gereon paused at the gate, pursing his lips and thinking for a couple of moments. “Am I the only one? Maybe there are others who were invited?” He whispered to himself, furrowing his brows and pulling a crumpled letter out of his coat pocket.

 

[Archon]

"I don't like it," Donavan said with a pout, eyes scanning the distant mountains. "A mysterious letter? Rivendell? It isn't suspicious to you? we could be walking into a trap, or worse." The Swan Knight shook his head, his paranoia met only with a silently teasing grin.

"Come now Donavan, are you a Swan Knight, or an errant child? There're hobbits with more courage than you." The Princess answered in jest, hands enraptured by the reigns of her great steed, Greymare, who's hoofed feet danced upon the well-beaten path.

The Elvish Road to Rivendell was long and perilous, even in these times of relative ease, a recent unrest spread across the land like unchecked wildfire, as if spurred on by some invisible force of nature. Goblins and orcs alike roamed further from the mountains, and the wild men of the west have taken to raiding and banditry with re-awakened zeal. Whatever it was, Gaeleth had to believe this meeting was connected, likewise her brother, Tiron, had agreed with her sentiments. It was with his blessing that she embarked on this quest, and at his insistence that she wield the shining sword of their ancestor, Ruin's End. The sound of steady trotting echoed within the valley's deep, Gaeleth's retinue followed close behind, four Swan Knights and her friend and ally, their esteemed Captain.

"The home of the elves," Alric noted in wonderment, piercing blue eyes locked onto the cascading waters behind tall elven walls. "Most elves have been gone for quite some time, and rarely do they commune with the Kingdoms of Men." Gereon's face hardened into a stern mask, "Keep your wits about you." The retinue set forward with renewed energy, Harmand raised the banner of Dol Amroth high, it's radiant blue fluttering in the luminescent sky. "We're in the hospitality of the elves now." Gaeleth spoke, her glare a silent warning to her friend and companion.

In subtle astonishment, she cast a surprised look to the small figure standing idly beside the gate, a look she caught mirrored in Donavan's own visage. "Greetings master hobbit, what brings you so far from the shire, to the very walls of Imladris itself?" Gaeleth inquired, her guards - Donavan aside - idling by on their horses at her signal, into the gates of one of the last few bastion's of elven-kind.
S Shibe

 

[smallnscrappy]

"Yes, pray tell. What are you doing in the realm of...elves..." Radnavald Vakas, tall, lean, perhaps too pale in complexion or too dark around the eyes (though they were cold grey), leaned carelessly on the crossguard of a sheathed sword. He stood just short of the odd cluster of travelers, blending with the dappled light of the forest. When he did move, the folds of his pale cloak shifted and changed with the light, shaping his form, or playing tricks to conceal him.
He produced a neatly folded letter from within the breast of his finely woven jacket and presented it like a token between two fingers "Have you received a summons as well?"
Unlike most of his fair race, Ragnivald did not speak musically or with an ethereal kindness. His voice was harsh and grating, parched though he showed no sign of illness. However unpleasant his tone and permanent smirk, his clothes were fine, though well traveled and his sword at home in his palms.

 

[HighSanguinaryPriest]

Snarri grumbled incomprehensibly about elves and their trees blocking the view of mountain as he plodded his way up the path. Despite this and the uneven terrain, Snarri move gracefully for a dwarf that is, as in not stumbling over every root and hidden stone. After A while the dwarf stormed his way up the path into Rivendell, Picking foliage from his beard and hair. "Blasted Elves and their fecking nature..." He mumbled, getting a couple of bemused smirks from the gate guards. "And what the feck are you two knife ears smirkin' at... Beardless Pansy elves..." He growled. After a while, he spotted a Human, an elf and a halfling, Mingling together. "I'm guessing that ye got the wizards letter as well lads? And Elf..."

 

[Becker]

Beriedir Cedhrion
-Ranger of Gondor-

Spoiler: Map Journal

The letter of invitation to the meeting in Rivendell lay upon the kitchen table; it's contents open to all whom eye'd whilst passing through. Berie had left it there, purposely for his daughter to notice and question her Mother about the words written. Laerhel and Pedir however were out wondering the streets of Minas Tirith together, browsing the market carts which line the route along the main road throughout the great city. Holding her Daughter's hand tightly, the two naviagated past the many visitors from outside Gondor's lands; merchants from as far as Rohan to trade their goods, hoping to return home to their families with enough coin to please their ever-unsatisfied wives of leisure. The Morning sun glowed even brighter as it's rays were amplified by the towering white walls of the city, not a alley-way nor basement escaped the warm, glimmering and art-inspiring light that shone throughout Middle-Earth. Pedir double-checked over her shoulder to see if her child was still alright, with all the foot-work they're having to do just to buy a few days food; it would be late afternoon by the time they return. Laerhel's dark hair, tied up into a pony-tail fluttered from side to side with the quickness of their movement in the streets. The little girl's eyes were down, gazing rapidly from shoe to shoe; dazzled by the varity of designs, materials and sizes. Laerhel wondered deeply about the sights she was seeing, the stitching caught her attention the most as she began to understand that some designs have the stitches hidden by either blending in with colours or closely following the shape of the foot. Whilst on the other hand, some works are open and part of the style of the foot-wear; standing out with bright colours and patterns. The young girl's attention was brought elsewhere by her Mother, gently tapping the hand held out to Pedir whilst smiling down at her Daughter.

"You okay? We'll be at the bakery soon, Mother's got something special for you waiting there so let's hurry.. hm?" Pedir's voice could barely be heard over the many hundreds of competing shouts going on around them, her light brown hair was being blown around by strong-cross winds; funneled into the streets by the mountain and defensive walls. The noise generated by the constricted gales as it forced it's way through Minas Tirith was startling to child, woman and man-alike. Laerhel grasped and hid away by Pedir's leg whom instinctively knelt and cuddled her child to shield her from the noise going on around them. Despite her best efforts, Laerhel let out a cry of absolute fear.

"Mother i'm Scared! Make it stop, make it st-.." Laerhel listened carefully, slowing bringing her head from out of the safety of her Mother's embrace. The wind, the invisible force that torn it's way throughout Minas Tirith; had gone. Streets once filled with endless chatter of merchandise and buisness became silent, people looked around in complete awe; not a word was said as those whom had also ducked down for cover came out and gazed upwards towards the sky. Both Mother and child looked around at those around them, completely unsure on what was going on; until a voice muttered from out of the crowds.

"Dark days are upon us, even the wind is making haste from the world." A old crone bickered whilst pointing upwards towards the mountain, gathering everyone's attention. "Soon the wind will be gone completely, then the rain and finally the sun will be too afraid to rise; leaving us all in eternal darkness." The spirit-woman continued as those around her stared in silence, then a few began to converse amongst themselves then a few more and more before the entire street was filled with hundreds of doubts, fears and the occasional bit of planning. Pedir and Laerhel took the oppertunity to quickly shuffled through the crowds, heading for a familiar place amongst the white stone buildings that littered the inner walls. Opening the front door to Tim's Bread and Butter Bakrey, the two finally came to a stop once they had reached a quiet corner of the eating area built towards the back. Laerhel climbed and sat upon a chair whilst her Mother leant with arms stretched against the wall, breathing heavily and trying to calm herself down.

"Mother, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just catching my breath sweetie.. don't worry." Pedir raised her head and patted her little girl on the head to reassure the both of them. After a exchange of smiles, Pedir turned towards the store part of the building and gazed upon the vast display of breads, pastries and cakes that had been fleshly made this morning. Tim's Bakery is run by his son, Sam; whom inherited the building after his father passed away recently. The family of Hobbits had long since left the green hills of the Shire in search of a more prestigious location to set up the Brandybuck buisness. From meat pies the size of entire food-baskets to thousands of bite-sized, mouth-watering morsels; each batch contains a slightly different flavour-set of meats, cheese and herbs to keep the customers coming back for more. Sam hobed along the smooth-stone floor way, his foot-steps sounding like rain-droplets in a echoing cave as he made his way to a tall chair opposing the store-front. The strapping young Hobbit mounted the top of the chair, finally at a height to stand-over the usual human or elf and smiled greatly upon seeing Pedir whom nodded in-return.

"Ah, my dear Pedir.. I have long awaited your beauty to enter my humble store this morning." Typical of Sam to borderline flirt with any and all women whom enter his domain. He took a moment to slick back his bright ginger hair and bowed like the gentleman he was. "How may I be of service to you ma'am? Perhaps you've come for the usual?.. or instead have you come to try my new sweet-pastries, I can promise you; they're beyond even my wildest dreams." Raising his finger into the air and placing the other hand on his chest in a display of confidence. For his bakes could easily rival the kitchens of the king reigning high-above. Pedir giggled for a moment, covering her face to not come across as condescending to the little creature's claims. "No, not quite, thank you Sam.. another time for sure. I'd just like a dozen of your Bannocks, two Melonpans and six loaves of wheat bread please." She gestured to the breads in question whilst she spoke, trying to recompose herself at the same time. Dusting her green dress and looking out of a window into the streets, Pedir watched on as people for all parts of Middle-Earth continued to discuss the strange events that just took place. She thought about the old woman's words as well, 'Dark days are upon us'. Those exact words repeated in her head, time and time again. For a moment she looked over at Laerhel and felt a little more reassured seeing her Daughter playing with her hair and playfully swinging her feet from under the table as she waited. The two locked eyes for a moment, the little one giving a wave and Pedir giving one in return. Meanwhile the Hobbit had been scurrying around from behind the glass-counter, his ginger hair disappearing behind cakes and pies whilst he gather the order in question. "Problem my dear, I am ashamed to say that i've have run out of Melonpans... As you and your family are regular customers, i've substituted four honey-cakes instead; same price of course." Sam popped from up behind the counter, his nose barely high enough to clear it. Reaching up with all his strength, the little hobbit placed several items on the counter; taking small breaks in between. 'I've really got to stop putting the heaviest things down here.. i'm going to do my back in.' Sam thought as he struggled to lift the dozen stack of Bannocks upwards. By now, the smell in the shop was incredible. Neither Pedir nor could Laerhel resist the urge to take a deep breath through the nose; enveloping themselves with the lush aromas of the fresh and still steaming loaves. "They're lovely." Pedir commented, whilst looking down for her coin-purse. "I'm sure Berie would love to give them a try."

"I surely do." Beriedir surprised his wife by sneaking in through the door-way and lay his arm around her waist. "Well, depends if I can wrestle a cake away from the little one." He eye'd Laerhel and waved over whom in return lept to her feet and ran over to her Father's side. Leaning down to pick her up, the two cuddled playfully for a moment as Berie chuckled with joy at seeing his little girl. "Careful, trouble. Don't squeeze too tightly." A request that was frankly, ignored. Laerhel wrapped her arms around Berie's neck and squeezed tightly with all her might, causing him to struggle slightly as he wobbled around with a six year old strapped to his head. "Alright Laer, you win.. now please let Father go, I can't see." The little girl defiently replied at Berie's words. "No, I won't ever let you go.. never!" That said, Berie managed to break free from the death-lock around his neck and Laerhel settled for latching around his chest instead. The sight clearly amused Pedir whom giggled uncontrolably before nudging her Husband and taunting him. "A poor choice of words Sweetie, now she'll never leave you be." Reaching over to carefully place her hand upon their little girl's head, Pedir and Berie chuckled together for a moment before embracing each other; as a family, together.

Such warm memories brought some comforts as Beriedir rode along a small dirt-path by the Bruinen river. It had been over a month since he left Minas Tirith and he longed more than anything to feel the coarseness of it's white-stone walls again. However for now, he was content with grasping the mane of his horse as a piece of familiarity in this strange new place. The area known as Rhudaur to him was one of mystery, it's deep forests had long since hidden secrets from man and he felt a sense of un-ease as he rode through. It was quiet, very quiet. The erie silence was broken by loud muttering and the tell-tale rustling of plate and chain-mail. 'Too obvious to be a Elf?' Berie pondered, gazing out into the Elven forestry for any sight of the creature in question. He felt for a moment that he could see a Dwarf, fumbling about in and amongst the under-growth. 'But that would be silly, a Dwarf, in a Elven forest? Surely i'm just going mad?' A faint grin formed on his face as he shook his head and decided that he was just imagining the comical idea of a Dwarf being caught up in a field of stinging nettles as if they towered over the little creature. Pressing on-wards, the sight of Rivendell came into view and what a sight it was. Beriedir's mouth laid open as his wearly eyes took in the beauty of the settlement; bathed in strong influences from both the Noldor and Sindar cultures. 'In all my life, I have never seen such a wonder. The White City in all it's magnificence could not hold a light to this home of Elves.' The thought stayed with Berie as he approached the city's gates, completely in awe at what laid before him.

Coming to a stop, he took a moment to dismount from his horse and patted it's cheek whilst taking the reigns in his hands to lead it behind him. Ahead he noticed a strange rabble of creatures, a Hobbit whom looked far away from home. However at first, he presumed the little hunter was there to sell some pelts, judging by the quiver of arrows on his back. The Banner of Dol Amroth raised high looked pale in comparision to Rivendell's grandeur but nonetheless, Beriedir felt that having the six Knights around would be helpful in terms of their reputation but also a hinderance knowing their snobbishness. Another Elf that did not look to be part of the Rivendell garrison stood amongst them, Berie figured that the tattoos meant he would be something along the lines of a feral-kin or even perhaps a sharman from the woodlands? Finally and most amusingly, a familiar looking Dwarf. 'a-ha, say nothing Berie, say nothing..' The concept of a lone-dwarf being overwhelmed by mere plants flashed over his mind and Beriedir forced himself to gaze down to not directly smile at the little one. Despite his journey travelling over a thousand miles, Beriedir took a moment earlier to bathe in the Bruinen river a few hours back; although the stink of a month's travel isn't exactly the easiest thing to wash away. His hair was still slightly wet as the humidity from the strange trees and waterfall made the air thick with moisture.

As they were talking amongst themselves before Beriedir arrived, he merely gestured with a waved hand to signal his greeting. Weary and tired from his long journey, Beriedir was more interested in learning about why he was summoned and when he could rest. A sense of thirst came over his parched mouth and so he reached over to his horse and unclipped a leather flask from a large supply bundle fixed to the rear of the saddle. uncorking the flask and tipping the contents down his throat, Beriedir felt the relief of home as the wine burned the corners of his dry mouth. However as with all things, the skin dripped empty and once more he felt the distance between Minas Tirith and himself grow that little bit larger. With the leather flask empty, he returned it to it's place on his saddle and finally spoke to the others having refreshed himself. "I think I should've packed some more Lembas bread, nonetheless this is a very.. unexpected gathering." He patted his vest and found the pocket where the letter lay for safe-keeping. Opening it up and then glancing upwards at the group from reading it over once more, he came to the conclusion that other letters were sent but as to why eluded him.

 

[smallnscrappy]

"And man..." Ragnavald arched an appraising brow at the newcomer but spared only a brief and disdainful glance in Snarri's direction "It is quite un-expected. However it does seem deliberate." Dwarves be damned, he had heard the lumbering fool's haphazard path through the forest as clear as day! What business did a Dwarf have above ground and with the same invitation as a man and a hobbit? They were as unlikely a troupe as a gaggle of geese, squirrels, and ground hogs.

"Excuse me?" A small voice said to his left.
Ragnavald turned sharply, eyes snapping down in astonishment to the small form of a young lady hobbit! Small though she was, she was bright and warmth radiated from her like the sun. In one hand she clutched a soggy piece of parchment, in the other she clutched a gnarled staff with a dented copper bell. How he had not heard her was a wonder! But Hobbits were curious folk, and his sneering glare softened because of her "Yes?"

"My name's Bev...Master Elf...and Dwarf..." Her soft green eyes darted from one to the other in astonishment "And Ive recieved this letter---but I dropped it in a puddle and I got lost-" she paused, drawing a steadying breath "Is this Rivendell?"
Twigs and leaves clung to her unruly red hair, and her feet, as well as the hem of her skirt were quite caked with mud. Bev had seemingly crawled through a thicket, only to arrive at the gate without any inkling of where she was going or why!

 

[Abendrot]

Galadon

Location: Imladris | Interacting with: Ragnvald, Gaeleth, Gereon, Beriedir, Snarri, Bev | Mentions: S Shibe Archon smallnscrappy HighSanguinaryPriest Becker

Galadon could see why Elrond had chosen his home to be this valley. Besides being very defensible, which was likely the Peredhel's real reason, it was peaceful and very beautiful. Plus, Elrond had left behind a very sizable library of various subjects for him to waste away in. But the dark-haired Elf found himself enjoying the trees more than he did the stonework of Imladris. It was one of the reasons why he spent so many a morning in the garden that had once been Celebrían's. The sun had just begun lightening the sky behind him, lending a soft brightness to the mist shrouded morning. The larks in the trees that formed the boundary to Rivendell began to awaken and greet the new day with their beautiful song. It had all the marks of being a wondrous day. Unfortunately for the one seated on the white marble bench, the majesty and tranquility of it all offered no solace.

It had been a troublesome condition of late that orcs were becoming a more frequent presence, growing bold, drawing too near, and once again Galadon had been drawn away from the comforts of home to hunt down the beasts. He had found himself needed far more often, be it on the hunt for orcs or be it by the twins' side, addressing yet darker fears that he was still reluctant to think too long on. A new darkness was awakened in the world… one that had not stirred since even before he was born. The thought of it weighed upon those few who remained in Imladris, and so Galadon spent less time slipping away into the trees with a book and a cup of tea, but rather he stayed nearby, always available should there be a need for him.

That did not mean, of course, that he did not find some time to slip away now and again. Here he leaned back on the carven stone bench with a red apple in his hand, one foot propped up and the other resting upon the ground. His elven hearing picked up the sound of footsteps approaching from his left, and the only other elf in the gardens this morning was Brethilion. Galadon turned and gave a smile as the other elf bowed in greeting. "Le suilon, Hîr Galadon," said the elf. "I apologize for the hour, but Lord Elrohir has summoned you to the gates. I am told that the representatives of Dol Amroth and the Shire have arrived."

"And so you have brought clouds to an otherwise sunny day." Galadon batted his eyes at Brethilion for a moment, just long enough to probably incite a headache in the other elf as he ground his teeth and took another bite of his apple. "Very well. I'll be there swiftly." Galadon rose from his bench, striding with alacrity down the walkways towards the gate. Brethelion whisked himself away in the other direction. The gates weren't such a long walk away; they were big and grandiose, marked by fluttering blue banners. The soldiers there saluted at his approach, and Galadon waited for them to swing the doors open before he stepped out.

"Welcome to the House of Lords Elladan and Elrohir, good visitors," said Galadon, bowing deeply. "You need not yet be afeared. Come inside."

code by Ri.a

 

[ThatGuyWithSouvlaki]

Eleanor walked down the path towards to the gates of the city she once called home. She paused at one point at the edge of a cliff were she could look out at the city, letting herself take in the beautiful greenery and architecture and hear the thunder of the waterfall. When she had left all those years ago she never thought she would return, there was little left for her since most of its residents went to the Undying Lands. Also with the war over, there was little to do and became a boring despite its beauty. Things were too perfect among the elves, no troubles or change. Just poetry, food and quiet thought, day after day in the long life of elves. Maybe it was her human blood in her veins but she craved more out of her life.

Living in Rohan though quiet in its own way had change and excitement. Whether treating the sick an injured, dealing with and protecting of nature and simply observing what the imperfections of men bring forth. It was a better life with its joys and tragedies she would not trade for anything. Still even with all that, she had often woken up the odd night and feel homesick to take in the sight, the smells and sounds that was only found in Imladris. She had once promised to bring her husband here however that was impossible now. Her hands gently touched the side of the axe that was hanging from her belt. At least a piece of him was here though it wasn't the same and not the manner she would have wished. She was not here for pleasure as she had a feeling of the reason she was summoned and even if it was not it should be.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath taking in as much of the scenery as possible before turning and continuing down the path. Soon she was at the gate in time to see the gate opening and group waiting outside. Gondorians and hobbits it seemed, other members of the meeting she figured. She remembered a similar meeting in the past and it was not for a party to say the least, conforming her feelings. She smiled at the sight of who had come out to greet them. "Galadon!" She called out simply despite her first instinct was to rush to him and embrace him. It has been many years since her leaving, she could not expect the same feelings as before. "Respectful too. Things have really changed here since i left."

 

[deer]

Not one to linger in one place too often, it was one of the rarer moments in which the half-dwarven woman took her time gazing upon the beautiful scenery that was her home, sitting on the edge of Carrock. Taking in piece by piece her surroundings of the Vales of Anduin, Amalera wanted to make sure she wouldn't forget the serenity of her land. The sound of the Great River of Anduin steadied her erratic heartbeat and shallow breaths as she listened to the stream. Water was always a calming element. Nevertheless, turmoil continued to settle in the pit of her stomach. She felt it in her bones. She felt it in the air. With the increased sightings of orcs and goblin coming up the High Pass along with the feeling of unrest within the animals of the valley, Amalera sensed something was admist. Some of the forest trees were slowly wilting and Amalera could only question if perhaps it was due to the dryness in the Greendlands. But, regardless, the idea of her homeland withering away made her fear for the crops and living of her kin and animals alike.

At first, both of her kins the Beornings and dwarves of Khazad-dûm chose to not heed her words, brushing her aside, believing her to be mad despite the many signs and 'coincidences' as her kin called them. It wasn't until a letter came for her. The message came from afar and a slight unease yet flame lit inside of her small silhouette as she looked upon the beautiful bird that flew towards her and her kin's valley. What concerned and surprised her the most was the mere fact that the letter was addressed to her, not her father and she was being summoned to a counsel of sort in Imladris.

Of course, a sense of pride filled her every-being. The long, arduous years of training, traveling, and taking in crafts wherever and whenever she could proved fruitful. Time was not lost to her and Amalera could only brim with glee, hardiness, and heartiness. Challenges after challenges, Amalera knew the greatest fighter, under her father, could be her. But, she had no desire to be her kin's greatest warrior even if her father led them. She knew, in her heart, that she could never settle, at least, yet. There was still much to Middle Earth she had yet to venture. Regardless of the positive outlook Amalera could feel from the surprise yet rewarding feat, the half-dwarven woman could only wonder exactly what was brewing under her nose. Curiosity and stubbornness got the best of her despite her mother's warnings of caution and disapproval of her leaving to Imladris. Her father was proud despite his reserved, gruff yet composed display of affections. He merely warned her of her abilities and to be careful of her temper. Nevertheless, the rest of her tribe, if not in awe, were somewhat encouraging yet still held their avoidant stance and gazes.

Regardless of her kins thoughts, she felt drawn towards the letter and the need to go was unbounded. Besides, it wouldn't the first time she would be dealing with Elves ( or rather she only met those of Eryn Lasgalen ), much like her forefathers, even though her tribe, including her mother's kins, were adamant on straying away from meddling in businesses not their own aside from keeping Cirith Forn en Andrath safe for passage.

Days to weeks passed after her departure from her tribe with only her mother and a few of the younger kins there to wish her goodbyes and safe travels. Amalera wasn't saddened but hopeful, reassuring them that her journey would be successful and that she would return safely. Nevertheless, her first week and a half of traveling had been calm, if not, enjoyable. She loved being out in the world with the beautiful horizon to greet her in the early morning and the night sky to look at before falling herself. However, the serenity was only a false facade, an illusion to what would transpire during the rest of her journey towards Imladris.

Her ginger hair fell forward as she managed to swiftly run from the orcs trailing after her. It had taken her longer than she would have liked to travel towards Imladris. The High Pass of the Misty Mountain proved to have been a good idea, at the beginning, to walk through but, it seemed as if it was endless arrays of goblins to orcs who decided to trespass or stump her travels. Mud and dirt seemed to cover her attire and her hair was nestled with twigs and leaves. It had been near a month and some days since she had left her tribe. Her arrival would have been swifter if it wasn't for the detour she had to take fighting off the trailing orcs and other unnecessary pain in the arse creatures.

Finally, what seemed like a short journey became arduous and tiring came to an end when Amalera found herself following the pathway through the forest and near the rivers at the foothill of the Misty Mountain. She could finally rest and freshen up for a moment to at least make herself presentation for the company she was about to face. Although Amalera wasn't late, she wished to have arrived earlier than the designated time of the letter. Exploration was her passing time and Amalera wanted to be familiar with the grounds. She surely wasn't in her valleys anymore, that's for sure. The grand buildings of civilization, much more an Elven fortress, wasn't necessary inside a forest or mountain was intriguing to her. Her eyes wandered brightly as she wondered of the crafts and other inkling of gems that could be found in the Elven 'kingdom'. Imaldris' grandeur appearance made her feel quite tiny, despite being small already.

Nevertheless, it seemed she made it just in time as she found the bandwagon of others in front of the gate of Imladris, greeted by Galadon who's name she only knew due to the Elleth's friendly call towards the Elven male. But, Amalera's attention were drawn to those who appeared to have been summon: all creatures from all walks of life, it seemed. Those of Man, Elven descent, dwarf, and even hobbits. Curious and peculiar creatures they are! Not wanting to wait any longer, the petite half-dwarven woman appeared from behind the company as she made herself known.

"There's no need to state or ask me twice to come within the walls of the Homely House." Amalera spoke out-loud, a hint of mischievous glint reached her face as she grinned.

Her gaze moved to and fro, taking in the appearance of the company that traveled as far as she had. The flag of Dol Amroth caught her attention first before her eyes trailed down towards the horses. They seemed to be treated with with care and Amalera could only fathom that they had good hearts despite not being riders of Rohan. But, as she thought of the Rohirrims, her eyes glances towards the other male, dressed in an attire she could only assume was of Gondor. Amalera could only wonder what was thought of her presence there in Imladris but decided not to worry nor tarry at such idle thoughts.

Amalera never cared for the prejudice nor underestimation of those who didn't believe she was fit for fighting. She didn't know whether she should feel happy or glad to be in the company of those who she can be taller than, the Hobbits. "It seems most lucky that I traveled to Imladris and answered the summoning. If not, I would have missed a chance to meet such honorable folks, the Hobbits." The half-dwarven woman stated, looking between the two as she smiled.

Next, Amalera could only tilt her head to the side as she looked upon the dwarf. "Master Dwarf," she started, "have you been summoned as well, or was it the glittering bewitchment of Imladris that has led you here?" Amalera jested, holding back a laugh only to let out a small yet soft chuckle, not wanting to be too rude.

Last but not least, Amalera could only look upon the other Elven male with slight curiosity, feeling a hint of danger yet sinisterness afoot within his aura. Not quite like those of the Woodland realm or Lothloriens. Shaking her heard, realising she was slightly dazed and gazing for too long, Amalera cleared her throat before walking towards the path, closer towards the gate to get inside.

"Is the meeting starting now or is there time to freshen up? Although it would be best to quickly as possible figure out the reason for our summons here to Rivendell, I am sure the travels of not only myself but the others have been tiring than expected." ( Especially those damned orcs. . . she wanted to added but did not). Amalera questioned curiously before pausing, "Ale. . . don't suppose there is any here?"

tags: S Shibe , Becker , Archon , HighSanguinaryPriest , Abendrot , ThatGuyWithSouvlaki , smallnscrappy

 

[Shibe]

Gereon blinked a couple times, mostly in shock at the amount of people that had shown up so suddenly. “W-well, I suppose I’m here for the same reason as them.” He stuttered, shoving the note back into his pocket.

“-and thank you.” Gereon politely replied to the compliment, his cheeks slightly rosey. He wasn’t used to receiving compliments from others. The hobbit looked up at the elves and man in absolute awe, he had almost forgotten how much taller the other races were than his own. Gereon quickly stopped staring though and gave a curt nod to the other hobbit that had shown up, it would be rude not to say anything to another member of The Shire. “It’s quite the surprise to see another hobbit here, are you alright?” He had noticed the bits of mud, twigs and leaves scattered all over her.

Gereon’s attention was ripped away once more when Galadon had spoken, giving the elf a sheepish smile as well as a bow of sorts. “Thank you for the gratitude, Gereon of The Shire at your service.”

 

[Archon]

Gaeleth blinked, equal levels of surprise and suspicion playing at her mind, the sudden congregation exceeding all manner of sense. Magic, she nodded, stalwart in her suspicion. Yet the reigning topic was one of unease for the Lady of Dol Amroth, talk of magical summons and personal invitations to the splendor Halls of Imladris, so minute in their singularity that hobbits and dwarves all appeared at the Pear of Middle Earth. She grimaced harshly, her reigning Captain's cool glance overtaken with concern.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"Everyday we wait behind tall walls the powers that would be grow in strength!" Gaeleth argued, various Captains nodding their agreement with an uproar of speech.

Tiron stroked his face, eyes shut tight in reluctant resignation. "I've made my decision clear, Gaeleth, the armies of Belfalas will remain here."

Gaeleth bawked in astonishment, "Tiron, you can't be - " her words died in her throat, her brother's sharp yet pleading gaze cutting through all bravado like butter. "...As you wish, Prince." Tense voice gasped, addled with conflict.

"The meeting is over," Tiron commanded, "You all know your duties."

Sharp heart pierced with inflamed fury, Gaeleth turned to march from the war room. "Gaeleth," Tiron warmly called out, "Stay a moment. Please." She turned to him with battle brewing beside hard eyes, a feeling that dissipated like water crashing upon his rocks, at his loving smile.

The older man paced forward slowly, his eyes cast aside to admire the majestic statue of Imrahil, marble-carved and commanding all the authority of a true King. "Father would be proud, you know." He spoke in earnest, gazing to her.

"Tiron, don't..."

"No," He cut her off, "No I will." Gaeleth could only stare in silence.

"All my life, you've been at my side. In battle, in training, even in ruling the land itself. You've never asked for anything, not once. The people love you, and yet I see you here, standing in twilight, gazing upon this statue with aspirations to be what you already are. Even when I reap the glory of your own achievements, you congratulate me for it, can you not accept your own strengths? Your own heart?"

Gaeleth didn't reply, staring directly through her brother to the radiant statue of the warrior-Prince, embroiled around him a timeless legend.

"I received a letter," Tiron started, "A summon to Rivendell, bearing the seal of a wizard." Gaeleth ached to speak, but eagerly awaited his continuation. "It's addressed to me, Prince Tiron, of course I've no intention of going."

Gaeleth's eyes went wide, "You cannot seriously mean to refuse a wizard's call?! Especially with such trying times upon us! This has to be related to the darkness spreading, I would not have you be so blinded by a desire for peace as to pass over into complete foolishness!"

Tiron merely grinned warmly, "Nor would I, which is why you shall journey to this meeting in my stead."

The Princess's gaze fluttered between one of confusion and relief, there was no doubt she wanted this, and yet it was not her place, but his. "I cannot do this, this is your mission."

"Was my mission." Her brother corrected, "Now it is yours, and I would not see you journey empty-handed." From the ornamental sheath glued to his waist did the Prince pull forth a glimmering sword of much worship, the blade weaved by Imrahil during the War of the Ring, polished and gleaming,a resemblance of former grandeur. "A weapon's purpose is not to collect dust, but to be wielded. You will wield this sword and use it to end this strife, as Imrahil did once before."

In that moment, siblings locked eyes and a heart-wrenching understanding came to light, Gaeleth rushed forward, battling back the tears that threatened to pierce her eyes, and embraced Tiron tightly, "I will bring honour to Dol Amroth, and to you. I swear it." Emotion overflowing her being, she steeled herself for the task at hand.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

She eyed the letter in her hands, uncertainty weaving about her frame. "They'll understand," The Captain declared with a smile, "You have nothing to fear, you're every bit as worthy as your brother."

Gaeleth smiled through a thin illusion, "We can only hope, but for now, let's do what we can." She turned to her friend, auburn hair fluttering in the wind. "Could you guide the horses into the city? And look after the others, I'd like to make introduction with our Gondorian friend." Donavan offered no words, his curt nod being all the answer needed as the Princess of Dol Amroth dismounted Greymare in one fluid swoop, the Swan Knight taking up the reigns to lead her companion into the gates.

With a wiftness to her step, the Swan Knight stretched out her limbs in bliss, willing the stiffness of horse-riding to vacate her sore bones. "It is good to see another child of Gondor," Gaeleth greeted, approaching the man. Turning on her heel, she waited momentarily for him to join her in entering the City, desire to enter the walls only overpowered by the growing judgment flowing from the elven guards at the group's idling. "Ithillien Ranger?" She asked, head tilted to the White Tree crested upon his rogue-like garb, the perched bow drawing her gaze. "I've never met one of your Order before," The Swan Knight muttered idly, briefly noting the polar opposites that was their professions.
Becker

 

[wickedlovely11]

Ilaria stayed perched on a branch hidden at the forest's edge while the others began to congregate down below. Ilaria had been sure the letter was a test and now she had proof. Warriors from all races and lands were beginning to gather. She scanned the crowd. Some she recognized, Ragnavald for one as they both hailed from Lothlorien, others she had never seen before. She watched as they began to quarrel, always the same fight a millennia of old bitterness that dwarfs held towards elves. Ilaria thought it better to stay hidden and observe a bit longer, one never knew what might become an advantage later on.

She watched quietly until Galadon appeared at the gate to welcome the group. Only then did she leave the safety of the shadows and join them. Ilaria remained quiet hoping to go unnoticed as long as possible. She liked to know her surroundings better before being dragged into conversation. One never knew when they would need an escape route from a particular boring person. Still it would be odd if she didn't speak eventually, but she honestly wasn't sure where to start. She had barely spoken on the long road here, preferring the sounds of the forest over dull conversation in a tavern.

Ilaria pulled away from the edge and made her way into the group with a forced smile on her face. Hopefully whatever counsel they were supposed to have would start soon.

 

[smallnscrappy]

"Who..." Not knowing any wiser, Bev edged closer to the lanky, ash haired elf with the sneer "Who are all these people m'lord'sir?"
Ragnavald tucked his summons back into his jacket "Your guess is as good as mine, your'ladyship'miss Hobbit."
She caught the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his thin lips--which were not tattooed, but scarred!
Three jagged lines marred his lower lip and chin and continued down parts of his neck. A small portion of the scar even marred part of his cheek. He made jo effort to hide it. It was awful! But Bev had overcome fear of the unknown, she had become fast friends with mystery her first few nights alone on the road.
She did not look away, though she caught 'Gereon' waving at her out of the corner of her eye.
"What should I call you then?" She whispered harshly.
"Ragnavald," he replied in an equally sharp hiss.
"That is too long!" She protested "And I will not call you Rags! Though you look like one."
Ragnavald stared at her in astonishment, scarred mouth agape "Harsh words for a Hobbit! You may call me, Val."
"Bev." She squared her shoulders
"Yes," he turned away "I heard the first time. Come...let us meet our poorly chosen companions..."

 

[Becker]

Beriedir Cedhrion
-Ranger of Gondor-

Spoiler: Map Journal

​

As more folk began to arrive, the gravity of the situation reared it's ugly head; 'Whatever this is, it's beginning to look alot more serious'. Berie sighed as he used the back of his hand to scratch at his forehead, whenever he felt pressured or in a tense situation his body itched in a almost uncontrolable manner. A useful sixth sense at times but bothersome nonetheless. To hopefully distract himself, Beriedir once more staring out at the giant water-fall and gazed at the crystal-like reflections of the water-droplets as they trickled downwards from above. 'I guess it's always raining, somewhere-else.' The thought stayed with him as a few water-droplets found their way onto his shoulder, creating darkened spots that wouldn't look out of place on a animal of prey; stalking amongst the local fauna. Beriedir turned his attention back to the forestry, shielding his eyes with his hand as the sunlight flickered between the patch-work of leaves, branches and trees that easily out-dated the age of man. Narrowing his eye-sight for a moment, he observed a few strands of golden hair amongst the greens, browns and greys in the treeline. "Hm, I wonder if we were followed upon entering these lands? For our safety or for theirs?" He muttered whilst blinking thrice to remove the water-spray that irritated his eyes. After he opened them and gazed up once more, Berie took note that the figurine had vanish from where it had been perched and a new Elf-kin amerged amongst the group. Berie smirked for a few moments whilst taking-stock of her and tilted his head to one-side, a common gesture of interest. It had been some-time since he had met someone agile enough to glide from tree to tree, as much as Beriedir respected the agility of Elven-kin; rarely did he admire them.

Fighting for the White Tree taught the Ranger everything he needed to know, trainings and tutors can only teach so much. For it was tracking Elven-kin that ignored the ownership of lands and helped themselves to hunting the local wild-life which truely excited Beriedir. It had not been too long ago, perhaps a year or two when himself and a small party of Rangers set off in pursuit after two criminals whom slayed a boar owned by a vassal of the king. A deep smile found it's way onto Berie's face when he remembered fondly on how filthy his hands were from reading the tracks of the two he seeked; 'Good times.' On the second day of the chase, he was dumbfounded when the tracks seemed to cease entirely; 'had they grown wings and took flight?' Beriedir thought as he brought a piece of disturbed mud to his face for closer examination. 'Very fresh, less than a hour.' Raising a fist into the air to signal to the fellow Rangers nearby, they fanned out and searched every nook and cranny within the immediate vicinity. Meanwhile Beriedir continued to gaze deeply at the mud in his hand, rubbing his fingers to feel the texture and viscosity as it oozed out. "Very, very fresh." He spoke his thoughts aloud as though it were a riddle to be solved. A sudden chill ran down his neck and instinctively he reached with his hand to rub the spot in question. Upon bringing his hand back, a brown and cold smudge of a clay-ish mud lay in the hand he had not used earlier to examine the tracks. "What the..." Feeling confused by the events, he looked up; Beriedir really wished he hadn't. His eyes laid wide open as he stood frozen in surprise by the sight of two very fatigued Elves, clinging to the tree above them with whatever strength they had left to muster. Their clothes were torn and filthy from non-stop efforts to escape the Rangers, Elven skin that was usually smooth and beautifully toned now looked aged and tight as it was clear the two were malnourished. A dead boar, which by now had begun to decay, sat tied alongside the oldest Elf; 'Things must be bad enough to not throw away anything'. The whites of their eyes stayed with Beriedir, a image haunting his thoughts for all time since then. Back then he chose to follow on his orders and turn in the two starving youngsters, however now Berie figures he would hesitate. "They were just doing the best they could.. and I made their lives that much worse." The Ranger played the scenario time and time again in the back of his mind, feeling guilty. Disheartened and frustrated, having never found out the punishment laid out for the Elves and so speculation tortured his soul. Beriedir always hated not knowing the results of his actions and ever since that day, he felt uneasy amongst Elven-kin and hoped he never came across the two he hunted all that time ago.

A voice unfamiliar to Beriedir snapped him out of his day-dream. It sounded articulated and unmistakably of Dol Amroth origins. "It is good to see another child of Gondor." Pausing to break eye-contact with Ilaria as she approached the group, he paused in surprise to see the Female Knight he noted earlier addressing him. His garrison instincts took over, Berie straightened his posture to a stance drilled into him from day one of enlisting and swearing an oath to protect the White City. He opened his mouth to reply initially, however his eyes glanced over at the company she had with her. Five knights from Dol Amroth hoisted high on their saddles, the plate armour worn was not like commonly made equipment. Each piece had been built to exact specifications, to fit each individual exactly; no two suits were the same. Rumour has it, Dol Amroth armour is so well fitted that a fully kitted out Knight stood a good chance of sneaking up on a Hobbit. Not a single squeak, click or scrape could be heard whenever they moved; a testimony to the professionalism of possibly the finest smiths in Middle-Earth. Feeling the pressure as the lady turned and waited for him to catch up to her side, Beriedir took one more glace at the Dol Amroth Banner before hurrying along. "Yes, my lady." He dared not say more than a simple reply, better to play the idle than risk upsetting someone Beriedir presumed as either a person of royalty, a seasoned commander or perhaps both. He struggled to decide whether or not to focus on keeping up with the young lady or maintain his respectful posture as he momentarily power-walked to keep up alongside her.

The Elven-kin he noticed earlier kept his attention, perhaps it would be best to keep fellow rogues close; for his own protection. Looking over his shoulder and gesturing for Ilaria to follow, the trio made their way into the city of Rivendell. The beauty of the Elven culture continued past the outer-walls, a bridge made from a species of spruce laid before them; 'elegant yet perfectly functional'. Beriedir thought as he placed a foot upon the bridge, it felt firm and unbending to the will of the water that surged beneath them. He had no doubts about crossing calmly, well in view of the giant water-fall to their right and a light wind greeted them half-way across. Reaching up to grasp his hood to prevent it from being pulled away by the gales as they walked, his cloak opened, pushed back by the winds and the Gondor Coat of Arms revealed itself. Defiantly standing out amongst his dull attire, the White Tree shone as though it protected it's wearer from absolute harm.

To his left, the Knight of Dol Amroth took note of it, even commenting "Ithillien Ranger?" The question caught the unprepared Beriedir by surprise, whom was still intently gazing out at the water-fall in all it's stunning power. Swiftly turning his head to look at the Knight, he hadn't quite realized how in step he had become with her and smiled as he thought back to his days in Minas Tirith; patroling the walls in quick-marches amongst a company of other Rangers and Soldiers alike. Instincts like that rarely disappear, even after being promoted and tutoring archery to newer recruits instead of taking a leadership position. "Yes my Lady, of a sort. I serve more in the White City nowerdays than skirmishing in the forests." Both occupations had their ups and downs. Whilst in Minas Tirith, Berie could enjoy the comforts of coming home to his family each evening and always going to bed on a full stomach. There was something about being scattered in the woodlands which attracted the more primal parts of a man's soul. The way that cold, fresh air coated the back of his lungs; causing the occasional cough or sniff. How every noise, no matter how quiet could be heard with absolute clarity compared to busy market streets. Thinking about life in the woodland reminded Beriedir about the Elf-kin he gestured to earlier, looking back over his shoulder once more; he asked a question, curious about the woman's origins. "And what of you, Tree-Walker?" Tilting his head, in a almost playful manner, he added. "Have you been summoned as well to this place?"

Another comment from the Knight brought back the Ranger's attention. "I've never met one of your Order before." A interesting question for sure, as with many defenders of Gondor; whether or not they are seen by out-side eyes is a question of whether or not they choose to be. A faint smile formed on Beriedir's lips as he hushed a reply. "My Lady, it's not everyday a mere Ranger such as myself gets the honor of meeting such a refined young lady such as yourself. Tell me if I may be so bold as to ask. Have you visited Minas Tirith or the forestry nearby? I can say without a doubt that you and your company were unknowingly escorted by Rangers as you travelled through. Not to observe you of course my Lady, however they would be there to aid in case of any.. unfortunate circumstances." Raising a eyebrow in a comical, slap-stick way and relaxing his walk to something far more comfortable to himself. Beriedir chuckled to himself as they wondered further through Rivendell. "I do hope we'll come across whoever summoned us all soon my Lady, I would not wish for anyone here to be waiting unnecessarily." He spoke aloud, trying to usher out a answer from the crowds of Elvish-kin that observed them as they wondered deeper and deeper in a unfamiliar place. "Tree-Walker, are you familiar with Rivendell? Would you happen to know where one might find refreshments?" Glacing over at Ilaria as he questioned, figuring she would know alot more than he would about Elvish customs and services. However he felt unsure at first, taking note of her armour and attire. Perhaps it was wrong to presume but nonetheless, he decided to await her responce.

Archon wickedlovely11

 

[wickedlovely11]

Tree-Walker

It was an amusing nickname. She had never been called that before, though she couldn't deny the accuracy of it. Obviously he had seen in the trees before she had decided on joining the group, though she wasn't sure how. She was one of the best hunters in Lothlorien, thanks to her mother.

By the looks of him, he was obviously a Ranger. She had dealt with their type before. A dangerous form a warrior as many of them had little to no allegiance to any one but themselves. Still he had been summoned same as the rest of them, perhaps he was unlike those she had met in the past. It would be unwise to judge these people quickly as it was becoming apparent that they were meant to work together, the only thing that remained unclear was why.

It was a strange group for certain as all the major races, including half breeds of different variations, herself included were summoned. It was nothing like the guard she was used to, but a welcome change as she was not very fond of the others in her order. She imagined they were as happy as she was when she received the summons, many of them still held the prejudice against her even if it had been 200 years.

She continued to watch the Ranger as he spoke to several others in the group. He was surprisingly talkative for a Ranger, most preferred solitude seeking the shelter of the woods, not unlike herself. Still she awed at his ease throughout the conversations. Ilaria had always been awkward, she supposed that is why she considered very few people her companions and even less as her lover.

The Ranger turned to her again. He asked if she knew where to get food and drink. It was so like Men to assume that the female Elf would know where the refreshments were. One would think that her armor was indication enough that she was a warrior and not a servant, but she supposed that a stranger couldn't be blamed for not knowing. As it was she still hadn't spoken a word.

"I'm afraid that I do not. This is my first time in Rivendell as I hail from the Golden Wood. My name is Ilaria, though I suppose you can continue to call me Tree-Walker if it suits you."

 

[smallnscrappy]

"Tree-walker is a bit boorish." Ragnavald approached to the elven woman's left. He looked the Ranger up and down with an appraising scowl "Not quite an insult, but not a compliment either."
Bev looked between the taller folk as 'Val' spoke "Arent trees good things?"
Ragnavald laughed "Yes, they are good things. That is true, Garden Digger."
Bev frowned, seeing the logic "Oh..." She peered at the Ranger curiously "Well that's silly. What are you, Sword Man?"