Plots

[tomcat]

Fall faded into colder days and Durgil and his friends settled in for the coming winter. The young noble sent word via his trusted friend, Gloraglil, to his home in Fornost where Gléowyn still awaited their return. It was a simple message that Durgil wished her presence in Dorthad, and if she wished, he would either come for her or that she could accompany the messenger back to his estate.

Even though the days became less pleasant, both Fengel and Dirnhael – accompanied at times by Ioreth – rode to their given lands. They wanted to scout them out and see where best a house could go, and what way they might make use of their fields. Both men excitedly anticipated the coming spring when they could commence with the establishment of their own homes. Fengel, though he was not native to the lands, had grown quite attached to the rocky lands of northern Arthedain. Dirnhael was just happy to be back home, and living a moment of peace.

All the while, Pethron resided in Durgil and Ioreth's home inking parchment after parchment of the tales he was told. The loremaster would read them back to himself, and to the common staff that worked in the Dorthad manor, making the stories a permanent part of his lore. Pethron was pleased with the caliber of knowledge that he was retrieving.

Snow fell outside and Pethron sat talking to Dirnhael. The warrior told tale of Nain the Dwarf, out of the Blue Mountains, and his brother, who had errantly found their way into a terrible trap set by a great undead horror. Gorvorsang had tried to ensnare them all, but it was the weapons of the Company and their new found friend that drove off the beast and allowed them to escape. Unfortunately, the body of Kúlin, Nain's brother, was left behind within the hole of the great spider.

The stories went on and sometimes two, or three, of the Company would all sit together and aid in the recounting. It was times like these when Pethron would take pause with his quill, as the deeds of the heroes became exaggerated and laughter would ensue.

Days passed and winter took a deeper hold. The Lady Gléowyn arrived, escorted by Gloraglil, and Durgil was greatly pleased. The companions worried little as the weather raged, all of them keeping warm and staying close to Dorthad.

There was no sign, nor word, of Methilir.

In Fornost, Geoffrey opened the door to an official looking caller. "I come seeking the Lord Durgil," the man said.

"I am sorry," said the servant. "Lord Durgil is at his family home in Dorthad for the winter."

The visitor looked troubled, "Might I come in and pen a message? Surely there is a way to get word to him?"

Geoffrey nodded, "Yes... there is a messenger that runs between here, the King's Hall, and Dorthad, in service to Lord Durgil."

"Then that will do. Let me enter and use the office within this house."

The house servant nodded, "Aye, sir. You may enter. I will show you the study."

Geoffrey led the man into the study and he quickly doffed his cloak, tossing it on Durgil's desk, as he sat. He took quill and parchment and began to write. He completed his message quickly and folded it, using Durgil's candle to seal it. "Thank you kind sir! If you will see to it that this is couriered to him with the next visit of the messenger?"

Geoffrey nodded, as the man stood. Unfortunately, the house servant did not see the deft hands of the visitor as they grabbed up his cloak along with a long knife that Durgil's father had kept on the desk to open sealed mail. The family's crest was emblazoned upon its pommel. Together, Geoffrey led the man to the door and bid him a good day. He quickly shut out the cold and returned to his duties.

The official looking figure disappeared into the maze of Fornost's streets.

Weeks passed and the winter Yule quickly approached. Methilir made no contact with Ioreth, which suited the young woman just fine. But in the first week of December, Gloraglil returned from Fornost with a message that had been given him by Geoffrey.

The messenger took it to his friend, and Durgil opened it to read... "Lord Durgil, I am Arandil and have come per the Lord Camentir's bidding. You are needed in Fornost to make counsel with the King's war cheifs. The north border has become threatened once more. Regards."



[OOC:] All PC's are present within the house, so chime in as you see fit. Matt may be around here from time to time, but I will answer for him as Durgil... so feel free to RP.

[sdrotar]

It seemed to Dirnhael that he might never find peace, but the uninterrupted months of the winter had given him time to relax and rejoice in Ioreth's company. The scribe, Pethron, had been busy, and Dirnhael was flattered that the man had thought his tales worthy of recording.

When the message came to Durgil, Dirnhael took notice of what he had heard. Camentir was the finest military leader that Dirnhael had ever met, and the man had given him command of a column in his own army - Dirnhael's first such command - in an important battle that changed the trajectory of his life.

If Camentir needed help, Dirnhael would stand ready to assist if asked. His home, unfortunately, might have to wait.
He looked to Ioreth with concern. At least now, he thought, if he must fight, then he took comfort in the knowledge that he was fighting for something.

[GandalfOfBorg]

This news troubled Durgil for he nor his friends have been made aware being that their lands that lay upon the northern marches are deemed to be imperilled.  He called for his march wardens to assemble and bade that they keep a keener eye upon the hostile frontier borders.

OOC: Is the handwriting familiar?  Arandil familiar? I doubt Durgil would find it customary to receive a letter from someone else using his own seal.

[Palandil]

Fengel was not one to fear war by any means, however this coming battle reminded him of Lûnduf and he could not imagine loosing another good friend.  Besides that dragon went away angry and who knows if it has returned.  With a look of concern he spoke, "I feel a bit of unease about this.  Nevertheless, we are men of action."

[BrianM]

Pethron approached Durgil. He had very much enjoyed the pleasant winter spent in the hospitality of the young lord, and he had recorded many splendid tales. The scribe had tarried long though, and there was much happening in the world beyond the manor that he could not ignore.

"Lord Durgil, word has reached me that you plan to travel to Fornost. I would ask your permission to accompany you, for although I have recorded many of the tales of you and your company, there are more to tell, some of which have not yet come to pass it would seem."

[GandalfOfBorg]

Since the encounter with Methilir, Durgil knew that he had to do everything that was possible to keep his holdings outstide the grasp of such a devious and untrustworthy man.  So, with the help of the local barrister, he drew up papers that would upon his death with no offspring for an heir, his lands and titles would be bestowed upon Dirnhael should be remain alive and in good standing, else they would be bequeathed to his elf-friend, Edrahil.  To keep the papers out of harm's way, he sent them to be held in Fornost under lock and key.

OOC: To be continued...

[tomcat]

OOC: Is the handwriting familiar?  Arandil familiar? I doubt Durgil would find it customary to receive a letter from someone else using his own seal.

[OOC:] There is no familiarity to the name or the handwriting. Durgil spent years in service to the King's Third Host, under Camentir, but does not know this name at all... but that is not to say that there hasn't been new recruits since you stepped down from your post. As far as the seal... it was only wax sealed, the message did not come with your stamp pressed into the wax.



It was Ioreth who seemed most agitated with the summons. She was short in her words to all the men. She was quick to anger. And in the quiet privacy of her chamber, she would silently weep.

It was here that Gléowyn found her and she entered the room, "My Lady? Are you okay?"

To the Éothraim woman's intrusion, Ioreth looked up with a cross face, but then she softened and the tears came harder. "I fear that I am destined to love a man who will always have duty before me. But even I am bound by duty and so must enter into a loveless contract with another. My heart is breaking each day he is here, and yet, I would have him nowhere else. Now this duty that we hold," the words dripped with poison, as she spoke them, " will call him away again and soon me." Ioreth stared at Gléowyn, "I fear that the happiness that I feel is all that I will be allowed, and soon I am to lose him forever... through marriage, or through something worse."

Gléowyn's face was soft and she went to sit next to the Dúnadan noblewoman. Though she was a warrior amongst her own people, and an evil was done unto her, greater than any woman should ever endure, she felt smaller than this lady beside her, born of high-blood. She felt simpler. But still she was a woman and understood the fears felt by Ioreth, "Duty has always taken precedence to us, M'lady. It is the way of things. Our men are always called and it is us who must wait for their return... sometimes they do not come home." Gléowyn's eyes took on a distant look, searching, as if for a memory that had begun to fade. "Amongst my folk, the women, too, are trained with knife, sword, and spear to assure that we are safe should our men be taken. I tell you this my Lady because, though we are strong and can wield a weapon, I feel a strength in you that is far greater. He will return. You will have happiness. This dark cloud shall pass and the sun will shine on the years of your life... but still, there will be times when your strength need be even greater, for always will this duty come to you and Dirnhael. It is what he is. And it is what you are."

Ioreth looked at Gléowyn and saw a wisdom unperceived. She also more closely inspected the Éothraim and took in the scars that were apparent, both in body and spirit. There was a strength before her that she had never seen, and the noblewoman felt shame. She dried her tears, straightened herself, and smiled, "You comfort me with your words, Gléowyn... and teach me at the same time. Thank you." And the Dúnadan noblewoman warmly embraced the common woman of Rhovanian, "T'is no wonder, my sister, that my brother's heart has taken to you so."

Standing up, it was Ioreth who left Gléowyn with an uncertain look, as the two walked out of the room to find the others.

The company members were busy stowing gear into packs and saddle bags. They were preparing themselves for a potentially long trip, for they knew not what Camentir needed. The sun had yet to rise over the horizon, but Dirnhael, Fengel, Durgil, and their new companion, Pethron, wished to be on the road before that.

The two women entered the room, and both wore broad smiles. It was a comfort to see for Dirnhael, because Ioreth had been so distant since the message arrived from Fornost. Durgil looked up, "My sister! Gléowyn! I must ask again, would you rather not accompany us to the city? My heart would feel better knowing that you are safely within the walls of the capital, instead of out here on the frontiers of Arthedain."

Durgil had already been with his march wardens and discussed the defense of the land. He had also told them to be ready for a marshalling, should it be commanded by the king, or at least the steward.

"Nay, dear brother. We shall remain here in the safety of Dorthad and await your return." She walked over to Dirnhael and took his hand, "You must hurry back Sir Knight, and keep yourself safe, no matter what." Dirnhael smiled and nodded at the beautiful woman before him.

Pethron stood at a distance from the group. Though he had been welcomed and had spent many good days with these gentle folk, he had not yet entered into the circle of trust known by those who had bled together on the field of battle. Still, as he looked at Dirnhael and Ioreth, he knew that there was a greatness and purpose about their future union. In his mind there was an unclear vision, but knew that Dirnhael and Ioreth were part of it, and that he was now entwined. But then something darkened his thoughts - a ghastly impression received. Murder.

[BrianM]

This last thought came to Pethron as he finished packing his writing materials into his satchel. He held his favourite quill, staring at it and lost in thought as he slowly turned it between his fingers.

Where were these 'visions' coming from? His dreams had haunted him of late, filled with inexplicable images that he rarely remembered afterwards. But now, thoughts were coming to him seemingly from nowhere during the waking hours. What did it all mean?

Murder!? This new image was particularly distressing. Was one of his new companions to be the victim? Or would one of them perpetrate the crime? He could not imagine it to be so, for they were all of good heart.

For now, he kept his thoughts to himself, not wishing his new friends to think him a fool, or worse.

[GandalfOfBorg]

Durgil's heart lightened as he saw Gleowyn come forth with a smile in her eyes and upon her face.  He sighed, "So be it then, you've always known best for yourself.  If your need should be immediate, Margil (chief warden) is but a summons away."  He took a moment to look at his Dwarven blade and sheath as he tightened the straps once again on his beloved steed and think of its maker.  Turning back to the women, he looked upon the Eothraim woman again.  "Gleowyn, it makes me glad to see that your stay here has eased your burden if but enough to bring such a sunshine to your lips.  I pray it won't be long 'til I see it once again," he said with a slight reddening of his cheeks.  "We shall return by the shortest path and fastest road.  Be well."

[sdrotar]

OOC: After some (not-so-welcome) surprise abdominal surgery that put me on my backside for the better part of a month, I'm on the mend and ready to hop back in here. So sorry I couldn't post... they, uh, frown on laptops in the hospital and when I got home, I wasn't allowed to sit up for waaaay too long, so basically, I was unhappily and totally offline. My apologies. Thank you all for bearing with me.

OOC: Apologies again for all of you who have now read this three times... I screwed up a bunch of games at once.

[sdrotar]

OOC: Is the handwriting familiar?  Arandil familiar? I doubt Durgil would find it customary to receive a letter from someone else using his own seal.

[OOC:] There is no familiarity to the name or the handwriting. Durgil spent years in service to the King's Third Host, under Camentir, but does not know this name at all... but that is not to say that there hasn't been new recruits since you stepped down from your post. As far as the seal... it was only wax sealed, the message did not come with your stamp pressed into the wax.



It was Ioreth who seemed most agitated with the summons. She was short in her words to all the men. She was quick to anger. And in the quiet privacy of her chamber, she would silently weep.

It was here that Gléowyn found her and she entered the room, "My Lady? Are you okay?"

To the Éothraim woman's intrusion, Ioreth looked up with a cross face, but then she softened and the tears came harder. "I fear that I am destined to love a man who will always have duty before me. But even I am bound by duty and so must enter into a loveless contract with another. My heart is breaking each day he is here, and yet, I would have him nowhere else. Now this duty that we hold," the words dripped with poison, as she spoke them, " will call him away again and soon me." Ioreth stared at Gléowyn, "I fear that the happiness that I feel is all that I will be allowed, and soon I am to lose him forever... through marriage, or through something worse."

Gléowyn's face was soft and she went to sit next to the Dúnadan noblewoman. Though she was a warrior amongst her own people, and an evil was done unto her, greater than any woman should ever endure, she felt smaller than this lady beside her, born of high-blood. She felt simpler. But still she was a woman and understood the fears felt by Ioreth, "Duty has always taken precedence to us, M'lady. It is the way of things. Our men are always called and it is us who must wait for their return... sometimes they do not come home." Gléowyn's eyes took on a distant look, searching, as if for a memory that had begun to fade. "Amongst my folk, the women, too, are trained with knife, sword, and spear to assure that we are safe should our men be taken. I tell you this my Lady because, though we are strong and can wield a weapon, I feel a strength in you that is far greater. He will return. You will have happiness. This dark cloud shall pass and the sun will shine on the years of your life... but still, there will be times when your strength need be even greater, for always will this duty come to you and Dirnhael. It is what he is. And it is what you are."

Ioreth looked at Gléowyn and saw a wisdom unperceived. She also more closely inspected the Éothraim and took in the scars that were apparent, both in body and spirit. There was a strength before her that she had never seen, and the noblewoman felt shame. She dried her tears, straightened herself, and smiled, "You comfort me with your words, Gléowyn... and teach me at the same time. Thank you." And the Dúnadan noblewoman warmly embraced the common woman of Rhovanian, "T'is no wonder, my sister, that my brother's heart has taken to you so."

Standing up, it was Ioreth who left Gléowyn with an uncertain look, as the two walked out of the room to find the others.

The company members were busy stowing gear into packs and saddle bags. They were preparing themselves for a potentially long trip, for they knew not what Camentir needed. The sun had yet to rise over the horizon, but Dirnhael, Fengel, Durgil, and their new companion, Pethron, wished to be on the road before that.

The two women entered the room, and both wore broad smiles. It was a comfort to see for Dirnhael, because Ioreth had been so distant since the message arrived from Fornost. Durgil looked up, "My sister! Gléowyn! I must ask again, would you rather not accompany us to the city? My heart would feel better knowing that you are safely within the walls of the capital, instead of out here on the frontiers of Arthedain."

Durgil had already been with his march wardens and discussed the defense of the land. He had also told them to be ready for a marshalling, should it be commanded by the king, or at least the steward.

"Nay, dear brother. We shall remain here in the safety of Dorthad and await your return." She walked over to Dirnhael and took his hand, "You must hurry back Sir Knight, and keep yourself safe, no matter what." Dirnhael smiled and nodded at the beautiful woman before him.

Pethron stood at a distance from the group. Though he had been welcomed and had spent many good days with these gentle folk, he had not yet entered into the circle of trust known by those who had bled together on the field of battle. Still, as he looked at Dirnhael and Ioreth, he knew that there was a greatness and purpose about their future union. In his mind there was an unclear vision, but knew that Dirnhael and Ioreth were part of it, and that he was now entwined. But then something darkened his thoughts - a ghastly impression received. Murder.

OOC: Wow. This was one hell of a post; a standout in a game that's had years of very good ones. Loved it... I think. 

I'll post Friday ASAP.

[sdrotar]

Dirnhael gazed at Ioreth and realized that, finally, wandering the lands of Middle-Earth in search of adventure and a desire to do good might not be what he wanted most in life anymore.

The quiet, stately beauty of Durgil's lands - and his own next to it, a notion previously unfathomable - began to appeal to him more and more; especially once they were rid of the devious man that threatened Durgil's livelihood and Dirnhael's love. And they would be rid of him, he swore to himself - they would expose him for what he was and let these heartless and opportunistic nobles devour their own.

He knew little of the noble's life or how to navigate its treacherous paths, but Durgil did, and Dirnhael would follow his lead here, just as the young man followed his upon the battlefield.

"My fairest," he said quietly as he leaned forth, "I am hale and my blade has been forged by the two most lovely and magnificent ladies in all of Middle-Earth. Your face is all I need imagine to carry me through the darkest of nights. If the great dragon could not keep me from returning to you, neither this swine nor all the armies of the North stand a chance.

"My fear is for you. I do not question this call to arms, but I do its timing. Do not hesitate to call your brother's personal guards, or to take shelter in the crowds of the city at the slightest rustle of leaves. I plead you promise me this."

[tomcat]

With a tearful goodbye, one that seemed to wrench at Dirnhael more than any prior, the Company once more took to the road. It was a pleasant winter morning for riding and the men pushed themselves to take advantage of it, getting as many leagues behind them that was possible.

Pethron took advantage of the time to listen to more tales of the trio's adventures in the lands to the east. He also made short the trip with more stories of old Arnor, and the the High-King Elendil. At times, discussion turned to Camentir and what the commander may need, along with what threats may be coming once more from the North.

At long last, the towers of Fornost came into view and the Company entered the city. Their first stop was to go to Durgil's apartment and get settled.

[GandalfOfBorg]

Durgil rode slowly up to the apartment that they'd had only recently departed.  He didn't think he'd be here so soon again nor under such circumstances.  He noticed that a light was kept on -- his servants must have known of his imminent arrival.  Finding the stables first, he relinquished his beloved steed to the hand there and proceeded to the residence.

[BrianM]

As the group approached Durgil's apartment, Pethron stopped. "My friends, I must see to some errands in the city. I shall return to your dwelling tomorrow, Durgil." With that, the scribe turned and rode down a side street.

He first called upon his mother, making sure his father was on duty at the garrison so as to avoid an unpleasant encounter with the gruff soldier. Naura was pleased to see her son and the two exchanged news of the city and the lands beyond. After a time, when Kulban's heavy footsteps were heard approaching the door, Pethron excused himself. He left by the back way with a small bag of food in his hands.

Stabling his horse at an inn, Pethron purchased a flask of wine and ventured on foot into the poorer section of the city. His traveling clothes were sufficient to hide his standing, but he was careful to keep his belongings secured beneath his long cloak. Soon, his destination came into view, a run-down shanty at the end of a dark alleyway.

The scribe was about to knock at the door, when he head a voice from within. "Please come in, Pethron. I'm glad you have come." He opened the door and entered the one room hut, lit only by the glowing embers in a small firepit. "I have brought food, master ..." With a small grin, Pethron added "both for your body and your mind."

"Excellent!" came the reply from a dark corner of the room. An old man sat there on a rickety chair, staring blankly ahead with clouded eyes. Pethron knew that despite blindness, his master Azgar saw far more than most. He was disheveled and dressed in poor rags, but wisdom and a keen wit could be read in the lines of his elderly face. "Then I shall partake of the former, while you relay the latter."

As he laid out the food from his mother, and poured wine the into two clay cups, Pethron began to relate stories he had heard from his new companions. The old man listened intently, only requiring the scribe to repeat a few of the more pertinent details.

The food and wine were gone, and still Pethron told his tales long into the night. Azgar seemed particularly interested in certain events, and Pethron asked out of curiosity,"Why do you take such interest in this captain Camentir and the battles to the north?"

The old man thought for a moment, then replied, "Though the leaders and military commanders in this city fail to see it, the Witch-King is plotting their demise. If we consider all the events in the northern wastes, we may delve more deeply into his designs. Camentir is but one captain among many, but he is also my nephew, so I am glad to receive any news of him that I can. Sadly, he is among those who have disowned me."

The two men sat in silence for a while after the storytelling was done, then Pethron spoke again. "Master, the visions have begun as you predicted they would. But I do not understand what I see."

"You want me to help you read your mind? Do you? Since my eyes have failed me, I see naught but dreams and visions, and it is troublesome enough for me to interpret my own! I am sorry that I cannot help you with this task, my young friend. It is up to you to find your own path in this matter. But you must be wary of how you use your talent, Pethron. For too long I spouted prophesy, and look what it has done to me. I am labeled an eccentric, and outcast from my profession and my family."

They sat a while longer, until the wine finally took effect, and the old man's chin drooped to his chest. Pethron wrapped him in a threadbare blanket, and kissed him on the forehead, saying "Sleep well, my friend." Wrapping his own cloak tightly about himself, the scribe stepped out into the cold of early morning.