The wolves now gone and no longer a threat, Grimbeorn - along with Esgalwen and her bow - continued the hunt for the rams that lived along the foothills of the mountains.
Is was not long before the task was finished. The animals were found in the rocky, steep cliffs and the Dúnadan brought one down with a single arrow. The Beorning quickly commenced the task of stripping and cleaning the ewe, though they would wait until they returned to camp to set it over fire.
It took the rest of the day and night, but at last the meat was cooked enough that it would not spoil on them for a few days, and that is all they needed. With the new morning, the camp was broken again and they moved on.
Snow was falling in thick flakes and it hushed the forest. It had the affect of lightening their moods, for the oppressiveness of Mirkwood was no longer on them and they could see the sky. They marched in single file with Esgalwen leading the group - picking out a course through the changing terrain. It was not her homeland, but still the Ranger was able to keep their direction with the stars and landmarks.
Saer Aegas slowly rotated from their right, as they marched around its heels, to right flank when its northern face was finally reached. Grimbeorn was correct - they only needed a few days' more of marching. Now they only had to find the cave-lair that Orophal spoke of a month past when they sat within the Elven bower.
Save for Morirúsë, the companions began to feel the bite of cold in fingers and toes - the Elf only seeming to be affected by weariness. Arbogast began to worry about exposure, for soon they would be higher than the forest and no longer would gain the benefit of it breaking the wind. They marched in silence.
It was Morirúsë who heard it first with his keen ears. The sound of chimes tinkling softly, almost mutedly, in the distance.
Bits of frost spotted the trail, with deeper places of snow covering where the sun seldom or weakly shone. Morirúsë was silent as he trudged around with not even a song coming to his lips. His mind was numb, as his body was numb, little of the outside world made an impact upon him. Lightly his feet fell upon the snow, leaving the barest of signs. While the wind blew in his hair, but no trace did the cold wind show on his face.
The elf felt the press of the starless night about him and he recalled straining his ears to hear for signs of the Orcs that pursued them. The day's battle was long and hard fought though it was they who were broken and scattered. Few companions were left huddled in the dark the wounded without succor, the hale overburdened. The silence broken by the tinkling of bells... mounted elves....Maedhros lived! The eldest son of Feanor rallied the scattered gleanings of his folk...
Morirúsë stopped in his tracks and raised his head motioning his companions to halt.
"The wind carries more than the chill breeze. I hear chimes muted and distant, but something wholesome none the less in this land bereft of joy."
Arbogast walks through the thinning forest with his cloak pulled tightly around him, wishing he had thought to borrow a hood when he was among his kin in Woodmen-Town. Never far from his thoughts, the question of his family gnaws at him.
There was frost yet upon the banks of the Tarn when I left home, and soon it will return. Lindwine is strong and hale, but my daughters are so tiny, and there are so many calamities that can befall infants...The Noldo's words rouse him from his fears. As carefully as he can, he listens for the chimes his companion describes.
:ooc: Usual deal - using Explore and Natural Alertness to get an overview of the nearby terrain - especially where the sound is coming from. Further post to follow based on the result.
:00: 1d12 : 4, total 4
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 2, 1, total 9
"I hear them," the Fire-watcher says, "but cold and weariness dull my senses and the country reveals itself not to me. Do you mark from where the sound comes?"
:ooc: Esgalwen will bend an ear...
TN 12 awareness 2d:00: 1d12 : 9, total 9
Rolled 2d6 : 2, 1, total 3
Esgalwen nodded at her friends, for she heard the sound as well. It was a tinkling of metal on metal, or glass on glass...or was it just the rattle of ice that now hung where water once sprung.
The wholesome feeling was strong for Morirúsë and he followed it without a word to his companions. The Elf climbed an embankment of stone and fir trees, climbing ever up, while behind him the others followed silently. The Noldo gave a slight sigh of relief when there suddenly appeared a well-made stairwell. Stones delicately cut and placed, and showing only the slightest bit of wear from time.
It became easier to continue up and anticipation grew within them all. Along with the tinkling chimes now came the sound of water bubbling and splashing.
Morirúsë topped the stairs and stared about in contentment. It was an Elf-made gazebo of stone and in its center the remains of a fount still gushed with water. The spring of water was clear and cold, but pure...and blessed. The Noldo knew it was the remains of some settlement of old - not of the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood, but one made by the hands of his people, or at least those of the Sindar. It was clear to see in the architecture and runes that still were evident in the stonework.
Esgalwen was enchanted. It was beautiful. It was here undisturbed. It was wholesome.
Arbogast could not believe how he felt. The ache in his legs, arms, and back...they faded. It was not that he no longer felt the weariness of the road, but more that he felt at peace. The Woodman knew that any rest here would bring true relief from their pains.
Grimbeorn also was content. The inner fire that burned with his animal-nature acquiesced and he let down his guard. He knew it was safe, though he knew not how.
"Edhil bar," said Morirúsë, for it was truly a settlement of the Elven-folk from days when the forest was called Greenwood the Great.
Esgalwen unhitched her pack and weapon belt and wiped her hands on her trousers. They still were far too dirty for her liking, but she asked anyway. "Morirúsë, might I take a drink from the fount?"
:ooc: Tom, feel free to give me an Awareness test TN 18 - all else will be a TN 20
:ooc: Awareness roll, because you never know.
:00: 1d12 : 9, total 9
Rolled 2d6 : 3, 3, total 6
Arbogast gazes about in wonder at the ancient stonework, wondering at the skill of those that wrought it. But then his gaze stretches further, to the vastness of northern Mirkwood. Below the gazebo, the slopes of Saer Aegas stretch away beneath an evergreen coat of pines and firs. Beyond that, the forest is a sea of autumnal oranges and reds that roll in the wind as if tossed by tremendous waves. Above, birds fly, and he thinks of the eagles that bore them from the Millfort a seeming age ago, and the Woodland Realm that lies somewhere beneath the wondrous colour.
From here, as he sits on the edge of the gazebo, the wood seems a wholesome place, bearing no visible trace of the shadow that has long lain upon it. Weary still, but warmed by the subtle workings of a now-diminishing folk, the Fire-watcher weeps for what once was, and what might one day be again, his tears cutting clear paths across cheeks long given over to the grime of travel and trackless places. The spectacle is captivating, and for time unknown he stares, transfixed by a longing for something he has never before known.
:ooc: i'll make the roll and then get a post up.
Rolled 1d12 : 5, total 5
Rolled 4d6 : 2, 2, 3, 1, total 8
The weariness and fatigue in Morirúsë was self evident to all of his companions and he looked distant when asked about the fountain.
"I feel no evil or malice from it. We are high so the water must run deep to well up from such a spring, Ulmo truly must still be in these waters. I feel no danger, but let us be cautious a bit longer in these dark times."
The elf dropped his gear upon the ground and listened to the music of the water for a moment, his heart was a peace again. When he opened his eyes he saw his Woodman friend gazing at the expense of the wood with his tears leaving their tracks upon his grimy face.
"Arbogast, forgive me friend my many faults and failures. Perhaps too long have I tarried here in Middle-earth when all my kin have passed away. I know what you feel, this mix of sorrow and love rolled into one. I have seen so many great horrors and misdeeds. Many of these were by my own hand and my own choosing, but I will help you rid the world of darkness before I too must leave it. Hopefully the deeds of my folk will be lessons to you Children of the Sun that you will not repeat."
The elf smiled and the Woodman saw the good natured side of Morirúsë that sometimes revealed itself.
"Take your rest friends, I will examine the waters."
:ooc:
:00: (https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/Themes/default/images/dice_warn.gif) This dice roll has been tampered with!
Awareness - 1d12 : 1, total 1
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 6, 4, total 16
Brother of Bears bonus if applicable.
At his core, Grimbeorn felt this place older than old, something he had only felt briefly in places touched by the Elves or his father's ancestors. He felt as though if he were a cub again if he didn't know where he was.
Morirúsë was hopeful of his instincts, but still cautious in these dark days. He approached the spring of water and examined the stones and runes. He hummed softly to himself and whispered soothing sounds, like beast tamer does to horses, as he approached the source of the spring.
:ooc: Esgalwen will give the Awareness test a try
TN 20 awareness 2d:00: 1d12 : 1, total 1
Rolled 2d6 : 3, 1, total 4
:ooc: Wow. With the possible exception of Grimbeorn, we're a clueless bunch!
:ooc: talk about oblivious!
Well, just so you all know - and this has nothing to do with the awareness tests - the place is good and safe. It is a safe sanctuary that your PC's will now know of for future travels.
The water is fresh, clean, and as stated above - blessed. The following occurs if anyone drinks from the fountain (this can only happen once)
- restores 1 Hope point
- reduces FATIGUE by the value of the PC's Favoured Body score
- restores ENDURANCE by the value of the PC's Body score
I have not updated any character sheets except for Esgalwen, so feel free to do that - but let me know you have so I don't double the effect.
Esgalwen cupped her hands and the cold water filled them. She bent low and drank deeply, closing her eyes as she did. In her mind, the image of the fountain appeared and beside it stood an elegant, regal Elf woman. She was tall, and beautiful, and a mighty power was hidden within her.
In the vision, Esgalwen stepped back but the Elf beckoned her to return. Drink, she said. Let the water fill you and bring you peace. Let nothing bother you within this place, for it is protected by the power of the Elves. Rest. Heal. Let go of your burdens, if but for a while.
Esgalwen opened her eyes and saw the broken fountain. Morirúsë Stood near and the Ranger could sense a kinship between the Elf-woman in her vision, and her companion. The Noldo was aware of her vision, for he too had been visited.
:ooc: Any other PC that drinks from the fountain will have a vision - it might not happen right then, but you will see the Lady if you drink.
:ooc: I suppose I'll use a Hope if it will help.
Worn from the trek, the hunt, the fight, the... When he takes a draw from the spring he is mightily satisfied, more thirsty but not for water, and desirous of rest. He just needed to stop for a time.
Arbogast responds to Morirúsë's words with a genuine smile. "No forgiveness is necessary, for I take no offence. The Enemy works patiently and subtly to turn each of the Free Peoples against their neighbours and friends. None moreso, I think, than those of your people."
Then, seeing that Grimbeorn is done, he approaches the fountain. The water is cool and refreshing, and he takes a moment to wash his face clean. To remain unwashed in a place such as this seems somehow disrespectful.
:ooc: :csu: for the effects of the fountain. Doug, is there more to come before we (presumably) rest here? I have a little vision vignette in mind, but I don't want it to get in the way of the narrative.
:ooc: I was kind of leaving it for everyone to do the narrative of how you see the Lady, and what she says to you. So, go for it - i look forward to seeing your post.
As for anything else here...no, it is a place to rest and recover. I wanted to have something in the woods that doesn't speak of constant hopelessness. The heart of the Wild speaks of these Elven holds the Elves still use in their travel.
I read somewhere that Galadriel spent time in Greenwood before Lothlorien, so I figured why wouldn't there be Noldor and Sindarin holds in the region, too.
The characters will move on to the wolf lair after this.
Also, Matt - I will give you the Brother to Bears benefit. Sorry for the delay in that. I will post what you find tomorrow.
:ooc: ok cool, let me know ooc if it might be something I can work into my next post.
That evening, with bellies comfortably full of mountain ewe, the Fellowship rests beneath the light of the stars. Whether through some property of the ruin or of the nearby trees, their campfire burns with barely a hint of smoke. As Arbogast dozes, he feels a touch, soft as a prayer, on his face. His eyes flutter open to see an Elven lady, her mien regal but not proud, like the last of a once-great house now in much diminished circumstances but still holding to an ancient dignity and determined to offer what hospitality she may.
The Fire-watcher opens his mouth to speak, but the lady holds a finger to her lips and gestures toward the flames. He stares, uncomprehending, until he realises that he is watching a different fire - one so familiar that he did not think it strange to see it, even now. For he sees the hearth of Sweartmereseld, and hears, faintly, the sounds of his kinfolk settling themselves for the night. At last, he makes out Lindwine, eyes half-closed, face peaceful and fuller than when last he beheld her. He is seized by a quiet joy that living has evidently been easy enough for the folk of the Black Tarn.
Nearby, to his great surprise, he recognises Lafdag seated on the straw-covered floor, his good leg stretched out before him. Against it rest the heads of two children, their shocks of tangled hair bright as gold in the firelight. Barely does he recognise his own daughters, so much have they changed since he left them. They stir fitfully beneath their furs, eyes periodically snapping open only to droop shut again, as his wife and uncle stroke their hair and sing softer and softer.
"An ancient and affable cheese there was
That sang with a rousing din
And with rendulous rounds of wild applause
Appealed to the song within.
Of malice or of mis-regard
In the cheese there was nary a sign
And the folk harkened to their coagulant bard
And partook of Dorwinion wine.
Oh many and myriad tales there were
Of a whisper of joy sublime,
And the song of the cheese throughout the air
Would echo at evening time.
A freebooter and his dog came by
With the affable cheese to speak
To get there they journeyed a year and a day
And waited for nearly a week.
Of songs and of stars and of slippery eels
The dog sought answers astute
And the freebooter rested his fungible heels
As he flauted a comely flute.
Oh many and myriad tales there were
Of a whisper of joy sublime
And the song of the cheese throughout the air
Did echo at evening time.
Then rapturously and raucously,
As the bright constellations wheeled
About and about 'til the dawn broke out,
To the dog was much revealed
Of songs and of stars and of slippery eels
And of very much else besides
While the folk of the cheese danced to fabulous reels
That rang to the mountainsides.
Oh many and myriad tales there were
Of a whisper of joy sublime,
That the song of the cheese throughout the air
Might echo at evening time.
But at last came the dawn of a morning clear
And the dog was sorely vexed
For he greatly desired to hold the cheese near
And consult it when they were perplexed.
'Sadly, my friend, I see no other way,'
Said the freebooter's dog with a frown
And thereupon swept up the affable cheese
And swallowed it swiftly down."
:ooc: I have an exercise going on this week but I am working on a draft post in between the shiiit show. I'll try and get something up soon, but I am 100% adding to this thread.
Grimbeorn leans back against a stone wall, feeling weary all of a sudden. The water was clean, cool, and refreshing much like the curious draughts of his father's home where he said they came from a secret pool in a hidden Grove known only to the bears. This feeling also brought a sense of uncleanliness and unworthiness, something never felt by him before save being around the elf woman they saved. His head began to nodding then droop as visions swam before his gaze. Images of hearth and home with his mother and grandmother, of spiders and worse, and then swooning into a sea of green. A voice called at him amongst the green miasma and once he again thought of his mother but it called him again but the voice was young and old at the same time, calm and yet firm, soft and yet full of power. His sight cleared to where they were at the fountain and there appeared an elf woman, one he had not beheld before: tall with golden hair streaming down her shoulders, a pale glint upon her left hand. Her eyes beckoned him and he tried to call out but nothing came from his mouth. With a few soft steps she left the group and put her left hand upon a stone. Not speaking with her mouth but in his mind, a word was said "Londcuil." Once again the glint upon her left showed again as lines in the stone illuminated, revealing a secret doorway. The elf woman gave him a curious smile and the vision vanished leaving a groggy Grimbeorn and bewildered group of companions unable to fathom his odd manner. Moriuse though had a different reaction as if he understood something.
"Did you not see the woman? Over there by that rock?! She spoke in my head "Londcuil" and a door appeared!" At his speaking the word though nothing happened. Growling at his own frustration, he went over to the same place and said it again but nothing happened. "I'm not mad, it happened... It worked." With a sigh of resignation, he unwittingly put his had upon the stone and muttered it once more and walked away. Amazed, the companions watched as the outline of a door appeared and open while Grimbeorn had his back turned to it.
:ooc: I updated Grimbeorn and Miriruse's character sheets for the FAT and END gain from the sanctuary.
Moriruse recognized her immediately none who had met her, be they elf or man, could ever forget her. They starred at each other for a moment unspeaking. Neither would look away, but she broke the silence first.
"How long has it been since you have borne your true name in this world? The one who gave you that sword has long departed Middle-earth. Longer still in the hall of waiting for his deeds will he stay, with all his brothers. You were there for many of those deeds."
"As were you, as were all the folk of the Noldor who departed the west. Our exiles is the same daughter of Finarfin."
"I took no part in the slaying of kin, Oathtaker."
"I bear that burden and I do not deny it. The weight of my sin is why I am here, still fighting, and not hidden away in a sanctuary pretending that the waters of time have frozen. "
"Yet more quickly are you spent for it. Soon you will be gone and I will remain, but I am not here for that or to refight the struggles of our folk. I am here to tell you that the words of the Brown Wizard were not meant to be taken ill. Do not husband the grudges and hatreds of the past like treasure to be hoarded and possessed. If you listen his words were wisdom and a kindness to you."
The Noldo elf gazed at the sword he had placed upon the ground. The scabbard and hilt of it he had come to know every detail of through the years. He felt it missing from him, like a part of his body gone. Even though it was separated from him from so short a distance.
"Truly I have thought of his words upon this long journey and how aptly you name me Oathtaker. The oath of vengeance I followed as my Lords commanded, the oath of war against their enemies I took willingly and mean to uphold. Lord Feanor named him the Dark Enemy of the World and his servants shall not escape the punishment of their master. The time has not made their malice any less, it is only our strength to resist that has waned."
"Your wrath against a just foe is not protection against your own stubbornness or the rebellion in your heart."
"That may be, but your stubbornness is no less than mine. Why should we be confined to an island in the sea who have been gifted all of Arda? Who will be the guard against the darkness no matter how dirty the hands that wield it?"
"Change is coming, even as the Second Born reckon events and with it a chance for hope. We who remain should prepare the way for it's coming. Good luck with your hunt blade of the House of Caranthir, but remember the faults of our folk and where they led, and remember the words of the wizard."
:ooc: We need to get this moving again.
His eyebrows raised in surprise, and no small amount of curiosity, Arbogast points out the now-open door to Grimbeorn.
:ooc: I will get the story moving again tomorrow. I was waiting on Tom to get his post in, and we have been celebrating my daughter's graduation this weekend from Ohio University.
Give me the night to get settled from the weekend and to put my thoughts back into the game.
:ooc: You guys look rightly proud.
I was talking mainly to the other PC types. It's like we all exhausted ourselves with long posts and then had to get our breath back!
Infigured you were waiting on me so I cobbled a post together in the in between moments of getting work done and telling my Colonel the sky was falling or everything was great.
:ooc: needed one more days, guys - I may have it up tonight, but probably tomorrow.
The now open door enticed the companions to look. Even Morirúsë walked over to see, though he already knew what it was - a hidden refuge created by the Elves long ago for this very purpose, to provide supplies and safety.
He sang a soft word in the ancient tongue of his people and the light came forth again from the lamp, which he still kept. He held it up and entered the small chamber. Inside were shelves and containers, chests and cots. The others in the company immediately made to look at the items that were stored here, but then looked back to the Noldo - these items belonged to the Elves.
:ooc: Here is a list of things that are stored...I will leave it to you guys to decide what you want to take.
• Elven arrows - straight and neatly fletched (enough to fill two quivers) [Esgalwen 1]
• Elven waybread wrapped in leaves (15 wrappings) [Arbogast, Grimbeorn]
• Dried fruits that are sweet and invigorating (enough to last 4 days for each companion)
• Elven rope (x2) [Arbogast 1]
• Elven blankets - light and soft that are cool in the heat and warm in the cold (x3) [Arbogast 1]
• Elven cloaks (x3) [Arbogast 1, Esgalwen 1, Grimbeorn 1]
• Any item that you would like to suggest via PM. I must approve it before you may use it in your narrative and add to your PC sheets.
The PC's will recover - if they sleep within the sanctuary for the night an additional:
• reduce FATIGUE by the value of the PC's Favoured Body score
• restore ENDURANCE by the value of the PC's Body score
Grimbeorn turned to see what appeared within. "The Lady did steer us right and to something unlooked for, yet quite welcome indeed. What say you, Moriuse? Do we dare enter?"
The elf nodded. "We have permission or we would not have opened it. All goid folk should be in league against our foe."
Arbogast nods at the good sense of this. Examining the things stored in the refuge, he takes a blanket and a few cakes of waybread, his mind already half on the journey home in the cold days to come. He also takes some of the rope. Had I this back in the beacon tower, he thinks, much trouble could have been avoided.
Then he sets about building a fire, as night draws nigh.
:ooc: :csu: for the effects of resting here, which I presume we're going to do. Finally, Arbogast isn't weary any more!
Grimbeorn waited for the others to make their choices as he contemplated the find. He didn't need the arrows and blankets but the food and cloak intrigued him, especially the lembas. He'd heard of the elven waybread and was curious of it's making in comparison to his family recipes.
"Arbogast, Esgalwen, take a cloak each of you. Not by chance are there three cloaks here. They are well made and will serve you well in wood or plain."
The elf walked within the sanctuary and touched the items of his folk. He saw that the craftsmanship was a blend of Noldor and Sindar. The product of the blending of cultures. He began to examine the shelter closely.
Nodding to Morirúsë, Esgalwen scooped up one of the soft linen cloaks. It was grey of hue, but changed whenever she moved it in the light. She marveled at how it seemed to take on the color of whatever it was in front of, even as she clasped it around her neck.
Being the only archer in the group, the Ranger also reached for a bundle of arrows to fill her quiver. She only took enough, leaving the rest for any Elven wanderers that might be in need.
Lastly, Esgalwen also took a few of the wrapped waybread and dried fruit. She munched on one of the sweet fruits and she felt invigorated. Around her, her companions took as they needed and each began to settle. Tomorrow they would reach the cave of the wolf, and so one last good rest would be essential.
Fortune is with us, she thought to herself as she closed her eyes and swallowed the delightful food.
:ooc: I updated all other PC's for their ENC and FAT. :csu:
Add here as you want. I am fine with another song, a vision of the Lady, or anything else. My next post will start the conclusion of this current chapter with you guys reaching the lair of the Werewolf of Mirkwood.
Ayrn is back and will be joining us again. I am not sure what character he is bringing to the table - either someone new or Idunn.
Idle chat continued a bit until the wanderers felt the day and task ahead lay heavy upon their bodies. Each found a place comfortable enough to rest without worry for the this place knew no scar or hurt of the Enemy and few would dare approach this place filled with the power of the Eldar. As he closed his eyes, Grimbeorn's thoughts drifted hither and yo, settling upon a wood unknown to him, filled with tall, silver-white barked trees with golden leaves. Within it there was a high hill and the Lady whom he'd seen before walked upon it, her walking was like dancing to his eyes. After a moment, she turned to meet his far off gaze and gave him curt nod with a discreet smile to her lips as if to respond to a thanks he'd only thought about. The vision soon vanished into the darkness of dreamless sleep.
Arbogast nods his thanks to Morirúsë and spreads a new cloak around his shoulders, marvelling at the way it fades to match the stonework about him.
:ooc: I think we're probably done with the scene.
:ooc: Tom has a post he is going to make. It is really fantastic - he proofed it with me.
Anyway, I am going to have a new thread up tonight for the last scene encounter.
I am trying something new with our last encounter - introducing Lair Actions like in D&D 5e. Legendary monsters will have legendary actions while in their lairs. I want to see how well it works in TOR. If it seems to much, I may change it in the middle of our encounter, but either way I want to see how well it works.
My idea right now is:
• The Lair will have a Hate score [these can be reduced by a PC's stance actions like using Awe]
• Each round, the creature can enact up to 3 Lair actions at the end of any PC's actions. The actions will reduce the Lair's Hate score by a number of points for each action's cost.
• The Lair actions return at the beginning of each round.
If you have the D&D 5e monster manual, you will know what I am talking about. Maybe you can give me a suggestion regarding my idea, if you are familiar.
Morirúsë sat by the small fire of his companions, the Elven lamp hooded so as not to draw attention to themselves, even here in the sanctuary. The sound of the water falling upon the rocks was as music to his ears, and in it he faintly heard the sound of the sea.
The Ranger of Gondor and the Woodman looked upon him with wakeful eyes not yet ready for sleep. Grimbeorn had just settled in and began to nod off. The companions had early in their adventure noticed that Morirúsë was prone to moods. For the first time however they noticed that it was in the old places of the world where the feel of his folk was strongest that he was the most alive and present. Even the light of the lamp seemed to affect him, but in its absence, and in the dark places of the world he was angry and quick with a stinging word, less full and less like the stories they had heard of the High Elves.
"Lady of Gondor, is your land as fair as this? I have heard of the streams of Ithilien and the sight of the moon upon her waters, but have never been there. I did not go so far south in the lands of your father's when they were new."
The Elf next touched his ringed mail as he spoke. "We rode openly to war then, the first time in many lives of Men..."
He looked up, "Are we at war again? I feel the Enemy at work and moving - our quarry is a sure sign of that. And here I am geared as if upon the great campaigns of old, the host and might of the Eldar around me. The reality is that I sit upon this hill in the wood, no army about me and in no camp of war, those days will not come again. Though greatly I would wish to see the swords of the Noldor drawn in grim array. The league of Maedhros! Their swords gleaming in the sun like the bright light of flame that catches in dried grass."
The Elf stood and drew his blade in the firelight and pointed it towards the stars. Tall and lordly he looked, his eyes blazed and he towered over their seated forms. Then just as suddenly he sat again and was still and dwindled.
"We are not an immortal folk as your tales deem us. Truly I have walked far longer than you can fathom, but we are not immortal. The span of our years has a limit, whether worn down by grief, or measured as the aging of the world, our spirit is not boundless and in some it is spent more quickly. For all it is tied to the duration of Arda."
The Elf stared at the fire a moment in silence again, then continued.
"I thought to tell you a tale of Men tonight. One to embolden your hearts and give you courage for tomorrow. I thought to tell you of the coming of Elendil out of the sea and the muster of the Elves for their last great sally in war. I do not have the heart to tell it. For even in its victory, there was loss and defeat. So much loss and defeat through the years I'm afraid even now the weight of it would bleed through my story."
"I have hoarded grief and revenge like treasure. I have stored it up to unleash on the Shadow in vengeful payment for the many injuries it has caused me. Though in truth many of those injuries I have brought upon myself. Yet still I have girded myself for war and pass with you as through a memory instead of seeing what is before me. A changed world in which my history and my place is doomed to pass away. Perhaps I came here seeking my own death, or perhaps it is fate that has brought me here for something else."
"When we crossed the river I thought I was dying. Though Grimbeorn, you bore me out of the water and to the shore, for a moment I thought I would pass and the waters would take me away to the sea and then to the West. After that moment, when we were clear of the river I heard the message of Ulmo. The messenger told me that he had not deserted all the waters of Middle-earth, and that help and hope still had a place in the world. Perhaps even a hope for me. Now, here, unsought for, is a holy place to Ulmo Lord of Waters, so far from sea to be at the height of a mountain even. I see now that I should be humbled and hear his love still in the water of the fountain. A love I forgot; a love I thought to have the mastery of here in Arda."
The Elf looked at his two companions intently and peace was in his face. "I killed my own kin. Long ago and though it was by the orders of my lords, I still must bear my share of blame. My hand did the deeds and it was my heart that was kindled to wrath, and it was this blade I carry that spilled the blood. I wish that I could say it was madness, or only once, but it was neither. I am Morirúsë, I am Dark Wrath, and I killed in the service of the Sons of Feanor to reclaim the heirlooms of their house in wars long past remembering. The last of a few who would not repent of our exile, prideful and stubborn even then. I then, for my part, sought the servants of the Enemy to wash that blood from my hands. I was the sword, the sword was me, and I went to war."
"An Age of the World has passed and yet still I am the sword and the sword is me, and my heart burns with a hatred to slay those beasts of darkness in a vain hope that in cleansing the world I will cleanse myself. I go no longer upon a great war of old. I instead go to slay a beast that preys upon the Children of Arda, a plague upon both the First and the Second born, this ancient twisted evil in wolf form. This may end in my death at the hands of the beast. If that is so, bring me here to the waters of Ulmo and lay me down. My armor is yours to keep. A great boon it will be should either of you ever ride to open war, and perhaps serve as a memory that once the Noldor dwelt here in Middle-earth in both great glory and great folly. This deed will not wholly redeem me even in death, but now at least I can see my pride."
"The sword do not use. Do not take it up. But if you would look beyond my pride and see what once we were to be, take my sword to the Lord Celeborn, husband of the Golden Lady you saw here. Lay it at his feet and ask my pardon."
The morning came with snow.
It fell thick and heavy and a hushed silence lay over the foothills. The companions, now feeling invigorated and rested, donned their packs once more and started the day's march. They were leaving the Elven sanctuary and they knew that their goal was close at hand. If Orophal had been accurate in his directions, the lair of the werewolf would be close.
They followed the neat steps down from where the fountain gurgled, and around as it circled the gazebo above, until they came once more to the needle-covered forest. The fir trees were painted with white clumps of snow. It was cold, but not terrible, and their new Elven cloaks warmed their bodies.
Esgalwen led them, once more, and they moved north and east along the lower heels of the terrible mount, Saer Aegas.
Behind them, unknown to each save Morirúsë, a bright-haired Elven woman watched them leave. She stood in the cold wind, in thin garments, uncaring of the cold wind that blew. She watched them and blessed them, though no word she spoke.
Mornhûn the Black Heart, is your goal. Stay true to one another and allow not the fell-spirit to bind you or take you. Foul is its presence and it may try to take you, so as to walk among Men. Stay strong and do not fear to make even the greatest of sacrifices.
Mornhûn.
They knew not why, but each of the companions now knew the name of their antagonist.
A wolf's cry sounded in the distance, as the Golden Lady faded from the Elven sanctuary.
The companions awoke and the elf Morirúsë was already active. They saw him silhouette against the sky by the fountain and the words of his song passed into the cold morning air. As they readied themselves the elf returned to their campsite. Gone was his great ringed mail instead he was equipped with a leather corselet and a shield. A subdued cloak hung about him and his hair was tied back. Upon the shield were two trees, a silver and a gold, and its rim was bound with a metal band that looked sharp enough to cut. The leather armor he bore looked light and functional, while not possessing the bulk of armor of the usual type it still managed to cover the elf where it needed to and move almost as if he moved.
"The hidden room had something for me after all. While we go to battle, we do not go to war. I will need the agility and speed left to me in our contest. We shall not win trading blow for blow. Come friends, let us see what fate holds for us this day."