Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Light =&gt; Light: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: mainsnoires on 24-02-2022, 20:08:06</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>mainsnoires</strong> on <strong>24-02-2022, 20:08:06</strong>
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				<div align="center">(https://i.imgur.com/2szmZNJ.jpeg)</div><hr><div align="center">(https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220224/247c82057d5c776b73e1753405fab70b.png)</div><br><div align="center">Arnor was founded in Second Age 3320 by Elendil, the sister kingdom to the southern realm of Gondor founded by his sons (Isildur and Anarion). In Third Age 861 High King Eärendur died, and his three squabbling sons divided the realm into the three kingdoms of Arthedain, Cardolan and Rhudaur. </div><hr>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>mainsnoires</strong> on <strong>02-03-2022, 22:47:08</strong>
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				<div align="center">(http://tolkiengateway.net/w/images/thumb/1/13/Darek_Zabrocki_-_Morning.jpg/800px-Darek_Zabrocki_-_Morning.jpg)<br></div><br><br><hr><div class="floatleft">(https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220302/86db40561bcf497ceecf75fa059dfdb9.png)</div><div style="text-align: right;"><em>A tall and evil shape, mounted upon a black horse… <br>The rider was robed all in black, and black was his lofty helm; yet this was no Ringwraith but a living man ... <br>his name is remembered in no tale, for he himself had forgotten it.</em></div><br><hr><br><div class="floatleft">(https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRjNco2Y21b_pUj8Z7Yy1L1CDGhdqznDz-Trg&amp;usqp=CAU)</div><div class="floatright">(https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/peter-jacksons-the-hobbit/images/6/69/Squint_in_Prancing_Pony.jpg)</div><div class="floatright">(https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/peter-jacksons-the-hobbit/images/8/86/Dale-Folk20.png)</div><div align="center"><strong>Name:</strong> Barliman Butterbur, Nob, Bob, Squint and Farulf, Dale-folk Merchant. <br><strong>Affiliation:</strong> Bree-landers<br><strong>Time:</strong> TA 3014, winter<br><strong>Location:</strong> Bree, the Prancing Pony<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Any</div><br><em>Fifty years ago, outside the city of Umbar, in South Gondor, the white pillar was destroyed. This monument built by the Kings of Gondor, celebrated the arrival of the King of Númenor, during the second Age of Middle Earth to capture the dark Lord, Sauron. At this period of time, the island of Númenor was at its height. The tall pillar, made of white marble was surmounted by a crystal globe, able to capture the rays of the sun and the moon, and could be seen from the coasts of Gondor to the north.<br><br>Now the power of the High Men is fading away, like the power of the Elves.<br>&nbsp;<br>Rumors are flying from the South and from the East, like gusts of wind, lingering over the shape of everything-that-lives. Beasts, Men, Elves and the Trees. <br>The Man who brought down the White Pillar is back. Indeed, this act of destruction resulted from the words of a Man, who managed to unite legions of Corsairs, Haradrim and even Easterlings. His return was marked by red painting and words of Black Speech on the ruins of the White Pillow.</em><br><br><br><div align="center">--------------------<br></div><strong>"Now, <em>he</em> travels North." </strong>Barliman said with a trembling voice.<br><strong>"I have my contacts in the South" the owner of the Prancing Pony said, "and many travelers are fleeing the East to reach the Coast to the West. Several men confirmed this..."</strong><br><br>Barliman's voice became suddenly hoarse, it felt as if it was this man's way to reveal the information he gathered for the past weeks. A warning to the people taking a night's rest in his renowned-inn. <br><strong>"<em>His</em> face is hidden by a black helm, and volutes of darkness surround his frame. <em>He</em> is accompanied by legions of Men from the East and the South. <em>He</em> is a ... Dunadan...Like all of them, <em>he</em>’s dangerous, <em>he</em>’s an ally of the night and of the thieves."<br></strong><br><br>Barliman suddenly slammed the palm of his hands on the wooden table of the customers he was talking with, and then slowly, he approached his face from the sitting travelers. <br><br><strong>"If <em>he</em> shows you his face, behind his dark Helm, a forgotten terror will sink in your soul, and will force you to become one of his followers.<br><em>He</em> is not alone. <em>He</em> travels with another one like him. Hiding within the …"</strong><br><br><strong>"Oh! shut up with this story. It’s been days you’re mentioning this. The Terror and the Black Speech. It’s nonsense. I traveled from the ruins of Dale to the South, to Gondor. Now, I am here in Bree and for the last two days I only hear your tale... well I tell you, Bree-folks, there is no army traveling North."</strong> Farulf said.<br><br>The latter was without a doubt originating from another region of Middle-Earth. From his words, and to someone who has been traveling around the Lone Mountain, the Iron Hills or more globally Rhovanion, Farulf looked like a Dale-folk, a merchant. He was visibly both tired, and his attention was diminished by the beer.<br><br><strong>"And where this Terror and his soldiers are going anyway? North? North is a vast land…"</strong> he added, leveling his empty glass upwards, as a sign he wanted something more to drink.<br><br>Squint emptied his pint, and moved the back of his hand around his mouth. The conversation was way too much audible, and the price he was paid to stop these rumors from traveling in the lost Kingdoms, led his actions. The price was high, but it was also easy to know whether Squint was doing his job or not. <br>Squint stood up and approached from Farulf. His eyes were scanning the people within the Inn, or the eventual newcomers.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Outcast</strong> on <strong>03-03-2022, 00:08:20</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/8/8b/Scarred_Redhead_Warrior.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Cat (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16121430#msg16121430) (Tirmaethril Andtirnen)<br><strong>Wearing:</strong> Her armour, the snarling cat-head pendant, a light sheen of travel-dirt, and a faint aroma of horse<br><strong>Condition:</strong> Tired, hungry, thirsty, and delighted to be in such a fabulous centre of civilisation<br><strong>Location:</strong> The taproom&nbsp; of the Prancing Pony<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Everyone who might be interested!<br><hr><br>Though her height and pale skin might hint at Dunedan ancestry, her hazel eyes and flaming red hair more overtly proclaimed the Northman elements of Tirmaethril's family tree.&nbsp; The byname - Cat - that she had given to Barliman Butterbur further suited that heritage, as might her elaborate braids, and her predominantly leather armour.&nbsp; Consequently she was not unduly surprised that the publican might feel free to speak his mind regarding the 'High Men'... and frankly, her familial history meant that she was inclined to share some of his concerns.<br><br>Still, part of her interest was in the nature of the tale itself: a new one to her, it held a certain amount of promise with regard to future retelling, even if it might benefit from some refinement.<br><br>"Oh, I am newly arrived in town."&nbsp; There was a distinct inward thrill at being able to declare herself freshly-arrived in a wholly-new land, which helped to foster a smile on her lips, as did that specific word.&nbsp; <em>Town.</em>&nbsp; Breeland was by a considerable margin the greatest centre of civilisation she had ever seen, and Bree itself the largest permanent settlement she had ever visited... not counting a number of long-derelict ruins, at least.<br><br>"I would not want to impose on anyone else who does not wish to hear it again, but for my own part I would welcome the chance to hear more.&nbsp; Though I do agree that <em>North</em> does sound rather... broad as a destination, the tale intrigues me."<br><br>Admittedly, some might take the long sword with its well-worn grip, the fitted armour, and the facial scars as signs of someone inclined to enforce her will on others - but her tone was mild, and her expression both hopeful and amiable.<br></div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Luciferia</strong> on <strong>05-03-2022, 08:02:34</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/orTDitJ.png)</div><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>Ubara (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16119828#msg16119828)</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Affiliation:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>N/A</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Time:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>TA 3014, Winter</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Apparel:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>Woolen Tunic &amp; Trousers, Warg-Hide Boots | Scent of Sweetgrass &amp; Clover</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Condition:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>Hungry &amp; Curious</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>Bree | The Prancing Pony</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Tagging:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>GM | Cat | Open</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Ambiance:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>Mood Music (https://youtu.be/QRg_8NNPTD8)</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Note:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Reticent</div><div class="spoiler_body">I am fully aware that this post gives very little to reply to but I can’t play a grumpy, reticent character and then immediately toss her into a social situation. I have a plan in case no one notices her so there’s no pressure for anyone else to do anything if they’re not inclined! I’m honoring my character but recognize that it makes her difficult so I figured I’d address the <del>bear</del> elephant in the room. 😅</div></div></td></tr></tbody></table><hr><br>Ubara was not supposed to be this far from the wilds. Not in winter. She was <em>supposed</em> to be hunkering down in the boughs of her treetop abode, snoring in the shape of a massive blonde bear while awaiting the spring’s thaw, and yet <em>something</em> drew her out of her second skin like poison from a wound; something ineffable that she <em>felt</em> more than she <em>knew.</em> It was possible that she was mistaken but if she wasn’t… <br><br><em>I can sacrifice a single winter,</em> she reasoned. If she slept while corruption spread then she could risk more than a few months of inconvenience. <em>Something</em> was different; she could feel it like the prickle along the back of her neck whenever she sensed wargs. <em>Something</em> was making the beasts restless but they had no information to offer and thus, Ubara was forced to resort to her <em>least</em> favorite source: other people.<br><br>The nearest town took a few weeks to travel to and for the first time, Ubara herded her goats and sheep along with her instead of leaving them to their business in the mountains. Keeping to the forested hills, she traversed as a bear until it became a suspicious site and finished the rest of the trek in her first skin; that of a “human woman.” How long had it been since she shed her fur in favor of soft flesh? Years. At least.&nbsp; <br><br>Of course, as soon as she arrived at the village of Bree – specifically chosen for its rumored diversity – it dawned on her that she was utterly without coin and would have to barter for food, soap, and lodging. Luckily, farm work was easy fare for her and she found an aging farmer on the outskirts of town that her herds took an immediate shine to. That was enough for Ubara to choose him and she had to admit that she’d forgotten the comforts of hearth and home after so many years alone. Her pockets were mostly empty but there were pennies enough for soup and bread and she slept like a rock no matter the surface. <br><br>Still, as much as she loathed mannish company, Ubara knew that she could only learn so much from a grumpy and aging source and thus began spending her evenings in the local tavern, the Prancing Pony, where she bent her ear to all sorts of conversation. She’d been in Bree for four days now and had frequented the pub the last two and there, was privy to the same story on repeat from the same man. Still, like a scholar hungry for the next tome, Ubara could not keep herself away and tuned in every night, wondering if someone else would corroborate his tales, or if they grew taller.<br><br>Overall, in her human skin, Ubara did not feel as if she stood out very much at all, especially with her heavy woolen tunic obscuring the considerable scarification underneath; leaving only the blackened patterns at the center of her brow visible. Otherwise, she was unlikely to garner more than a passing glance. Her eyes were deep-set amber and her nose was snubbish and upturned over a pillowy pout. Her hair, flaxen as dewy wheat, was long and windblown from her braid that hung to her knees in a plait thrice as thick as most; bursting at the leather cord that secured it. There were no weapons visible nor any armor. By all appearances, Ubara was a simple farmhand and goatherd. <br><br>Already seated by the fire, the Beorning palmed her bowl in one hand and slurped soup from the side of it. Her attention was wholly focused on the familiar gaggle of squawking men, though she appeared nonplussed and did not look to them lest they realize she was eavesdropping. She had no talent for socializing but was <em>quite</em> adept at avoiding it. <br><br>Her ears pricked as she heard a new voice join the conversation, though she remained interested in her soup. In her periphery, she caught a flash of fiery hair and metal and committed those to memory along with this new voice. Perhaps if she continued to feign obliviousness, she would learn without ever having to engage...
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaya</strong> on <strong>05-03-2022, 14:31:23</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/ObYTbXC.jpg)</div><br><strong>Name:</strong> Shishi (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16121422#msg16121422) (Maishishi areg Nishkâla)<br><strong>Wearing:</strong> An eastern dress called a Hanfu in blue and blending into white colors, with wide sleeves and the sash wound tightly around her small waist (https://www.ltl-shanghai.com/wp-content/sites/3/Traditional-Chinese-Clothing-2.jpg)<br><strong>Time:</strong> TA 3014, Winter<br><strong>Condition:</strong> Exhausted from a long trip, but glad to be inside and hopeful to sleep in a bed tonight<br><strong>Location:</strong> Bree | The Prancing Pony<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Cat and everyone<br><hr><br>The trip had been long and arduous. Originally, Shishi had been sent to Pelargir in Southern Gondor, but her contact there told her of this story of a Dunedain gathering an army to go and take the North - whatever "the North" meant these days. The rumors spoke of him gathering Haradrim and Easterlings to his banner, and since the Kundolar did not approve this and had no knowledge of this man's plans, they considered every Easterling taking part in this to be a traitor to their cause. Her contact had been outraged, and if he was, then the Kundolar chiefs must have smoke coming out of their ears. So her task had changed. She had been sent north, to find out what this man was planning to do there. Her contact was very confused about this. Pelargir, Minas Tirith or even Rohan seemed much more inviting targets for an army, and much closer. The north was basically empty as far as he knew. It made no sense. With the corsairs on his side, he could simply sail around these lands, but was his target Lindon? It was doubtful, since that Elvish realm still held power that could foil his plans. He was likely to make landfall somewhere between Lindon and the coast of Gondor. Maybe he was looking for some sort of legend, maybe a magic item or some other power hidden from history? It was all very weird, and the Kundolar hated weird things. This had to be solved, so Shishi's mission had changed.<br><br>She traveled through Gondor and the gap of Rohan without any issues. After that, things got more difficult. A band of Dunlendings tried to rob her once, but instead of a helpless woman they had to find out that she had teeth - or rather, fists and feet, which left them out cold by the road after a quick skirmish. From them on Shishi was more careful, and only slept when she found a good hiding place off the road. It got colder the further north she came, and she saw her first snow shortly before she reached the ruins of Tharbad. There at least was some civilization, and it would be the last time she slept in an inn before reaching Bree. There she also learned about Bree, the town in the center of the North. Could that be the target of that army? She had to find out.<br><br>When she finally reached Bree, it was a disappointment. Instead of the great walled city, she found basically a village with a hedge around it. It did not seem like anything worth taking for someone who went through the labor of gathering an army and leading them north. The riddle still remained unsolved. But now she was here, and they hopefully had at least some comfort to offer. So she left the Greenway and headed into Bree, finding the Prancing Pony.<br><br>She handed her horse over to a stablehand and made it clear to him that her animal was to receive the best treatment before she entered the common room. There was a stash of winter coats, and she removed her own and put it with the others - at least that's how it looked. In fact her coat simply vanished from her hand, combining with her Hanfu by her magic. At the same time her magic made sure that all the dirt from the road disappeared from her clothes and body. Stepping fully into the common room, she looked around and saw a free spot at the bar. She also heard the barkeep talk of exactly why she was here, which was quite the coincidence. She moved to the bar, where she arrived right next to a redheaded woman who was quite a bit taller than her and armed with a sword while wearing armor. Shishi waited politely until the barkeep turned his attention her way before she spoke.<br><br>"Good evening, dear sir", she said, "I'm in need of a room if you have one. And I would appreciate a glass of wine and your recommendation for the kitchen's best. I have traveled up the greenway and have not had a bed or good food in a while."<br><br>While she waited, Shishi let her eyes drift through the room. The redhead next to her was interesting, and if she made eye-contact, Shishi would bow politely and introduce herself. She also saw a couple of Hobbits drinking and going through food like there was no tomorrow at one smaller table, and it made her smile.</div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Bowen</strong> on <strong>05-03-2022, 23:14:44</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://img.nickpic.host/uTgzDQ.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Galad (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16119811#msg16119811) (Galadhrion of Lothlórien)<br><strong>Wearing:</strong> as pictured<br><strong>Condition:</strong> Needing to stretch his legs from a ride, hungry now that he’s scented food<br><strong>Location:</strong> The taproom&nbsp; of the Prancing Pony<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Everyone who might be interested!<br><br><hr><br>Galadhrion had left the forests of Lothlórien a few years ago to travel and take in the state of things. Although it was a blink of an eye as the elves measured time, he missed the golden woods populated with mallorn trees. The scents from other cities were harsh by comparison. It usually took a few hours to get used to the particular smells and rhythms of a new place. Sleep, real sleep took much longer. <br><br>Swinging a long leg over the head of his mount, &nbsp;Tallagor (https://i.pinimg.com/originals/c3/76/9f/c3769fe57745d68a0b85285cc344d7b1.gif) he slid from the saddle and softly landed upon the ground. The scents of food filled his nose, and his stomach awoke with a grumble reminding him of how long it had been since they ran out of lembas. He hoped the ingredients were fresh, he had been to enough inns where that wasn't the case.<br><br>He had travelled from the southern city of Osgiliath, a curious and bewildering city of men. It was teaming with people who would give his friend Lirion some odd looks. Tallagor was admired, Lirion was something to be wary of—it was strange to him. They had no idea how angry his steed could get or what it could do when angry but the were afraid of his wolf.<br><br>He didn’t bother tying Tallagor to the post by the trough of water, his mount wouldn’t wander and anyone doing much more than admiring him would get more trouble for their efforts then they could manage. The trough’s water was acceptable, so Galadhrion entered the Prancing Pony. It was one of his rules, if the water for Tallagor was stale he would move on until he found better. He had to make a number of rules for traveling outside of elven lands. The many races that lived side by side were rather different and he saw himself as a representative of Lothlórien, he would be ashamed if anyone approached the Lady of Light or the Lord of the Golden Wood with any disparaging remarks about his character.<br><div class="floatright">(https://i.pinimg.com/originals/cb/76/f6/cb76f6cc52170c02965d6dd4cf7e3d99.jpg)</div><br>He slipped off his traveling cloak and shook it for dust then ran his hands through his golden hair. Many of his race were accused of vanity instead of what it really was, manners. Making sure you were clean and presentable was showing respect for your host and those around you, that is what his mother had taught him. He rinsed his hands and made sure there was no mud that clung to his chest from the ride. He is a Noldor by heritage and features, but his fair hair had many thinking he was Sindarin. He entered the inn as the challenge was asked "And where this Terror and his soldiers are going anyway? North? North is a vast land…" Of course, that piqued his interest.<br><br>His wolf followed him in, Lirion was hungry too and from experience, hunting in the city was bound to cause problems. Who has pet rabbits anyways? Galadhrion spent a few days finding a 'proper' fluffy white bunny, because the tawny hare wouldn't do. Lirion was fine with it, he liked eating hares just fine. In the end he had made some mannish friends and the formerly distraught children tried to feed and hug his wolf. The flame-haired woman wanted to know about the dangers to the north and he found himself in agreement with her. He approached her table with an animal ease.<br><br>“Good afternoon, I am Galadhrion, most call me Galad, it’s less of a mouthful." he introduced himself with an inclination of his head. He had grown up around Galadriel and Celeborn, the observation of proper court manners were a bit much for the day to day citizen outside of elven lands so he held back on many of the more flowery ways of expression. "May we sit with you?” Galadhrion asked Cat. “I would like to hear news about the north as well. This is my friend Lirion,” He glanced around to see if there were any indications of what was on the menu for tonight. Lirion would look up at the human lady wondering if there was going to be screaming and panic.<br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Bowen</strong> on <strong>06-03-2022, 01:16:01</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/3e/9c/da/3e9cda921fb000409b1ff5691e25e409.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Arion (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16119821#msg16119821) (Arion of Dol Amroth)<br><strong>Wearing:</strong> as pictured, dressed in black and grey leathers<br><strong>Condition:</strong> Needing to stretch his legs from a ride, hungry now that he’s scented food<br><strong>Location:</strong> The taproom&nbsp; of the Prancing Pony<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Everyone who might be interested!<br><br><hr><br>Arion had spent the last fourteen months at sea traveling northwest up the coast from Dol Amroth up to Mithlond. Everyone called the port city the Grey Havens, but that just didn’t resonate in his mind. Captain Arya kept a tight schedule and was seeking to make his fortunes before any grey entered his hair, so shore leave was sparse. Many described their first love with the rosy filter of youth, their partners forever upon some pedestal after the years had gone by with the reasons they had split up long forgotten. For Arion, it was the sea and sailing upon it. The sea of Belegaer had always represented adventure and what was left to discover in the world. <br><br>As much as he loved sailing, he was a Black Swan for Prince Imrahil. He covertly gathered intelligence for home and prince to keep his loved ones safe. He could have had a life of leisure, Princess Ivriniel had taken him in and raised him as her own when his mother passed, but the sense of duty inside him was too powerful to live some life of privilege as a gentleman of Dol Amroth. He made up his mind to collect his pay and leave the employ of Captain Arya when they docked in Mithlond. He would miss the Sea Sprite, but the crew were dull, and he had heard all their stories and jokes far too many times now. That and few of them bathed often enough for Arion. A little cleanliness went a long way wasn’t just a saying—it helped everyone around you.<br><br>He used some of his earnings to get himself a decent horse. The Sindar who sold it to him insisted that he properly name the horse and make friends with her before she let him walk off with the animal. Frankly after making friends with the ebony mare, sitting down and working out a fitting name wasn’t how he thought he would spend half the afternoon.<br><br>Apparently you can’t call a black horse Rosie—according to Falassiel, it confuses them and makes them think you are colour blind. She didn’t like Morwen or Elanor either. He floated Narah, Sansa and Raven by her but they ‘didn’t feel right’ either. Finally, he settled on &nbsp;Freya. (https://www.boredpanda.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/beautiful-horse-mane-black-friesian-frederik-great-11.jpg) The horse looked over and that seemed to be what it took to impress the horse merchant. He got a decent saddle and some supplies before leaving Mithlond. Arion did spend some time talking to Falassiel about the local goings on. As most elves she was stunning to behold and he had been surrounded by men for far too long. Some of the names he chose were just to make her laugh, it had been a while since he was around the fairer sex. It was good to know he could still make them laugh.<br><br>Arion had taken his time riding through the plains till he got to the Shire. He needed to get his land legs back under him; also horses hurt your ass. There. He said it and Freya heard it. If they were going to be living together like this it was best not to have secrets. Her snort told him what she thought of his sentiments. The hobbits were a curious race. He had never encountered one. They were wary of the long-shanked stranger at first but a little friendliness and some cheer…beer helped here, and they were downright hospitable and free in sharing any of the news they had come across. They kept trying to push their tobacco on him, but he just didn’t like the smell of it and then there was all that coughing when he tried to smoke it.<br><br>He spent a week in the Shire before heading off to Bree. A small to medium sized town, also rather friendly from the looks of it. Larger cities tended to have a number of snobs. Smaller places tended to be friendly…after a little bit of apprehension and getting to know you. Arion had always found it easy to make new friends and acquaintances. The first place he saw was an establishment called the Prancing Pony. Sounded fun so he parked Freya by the large white stallion untethered and drinking. After calling her uncomfortable, he felt it was best to tie her up. “I’ll get you some oats.” he promised her. The stallion looked at him somewhat expectantly. “Alright, I’ll get you some too, as long as you're nice to Freya.” <br><br>Walking into the establishment he surveyed the place. It felt warm and welcoming. Mostly. There was some sourpuss that didn’t want to hear the same story again. “I’d like to hear it.” Arion said to the storyteller. He walked to the bar and made sure that the two horses outside got some quality oats. As for food and drink, he always went for the local specialties. There was no point in travelling around the world and only eating the foods of your homeland in the way your homeland prepared them…just stay home.<br><br>He started looking around for a table to join. He saw a place in the back and shook his head. Who wanted to sit by themselves all dark and broody swallowed up by the shadows? He wasn't on a spy mission.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Layne Spooks</strong> on <strong>08-03-2022, 05:56:16</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/07/cb/91/07cb919c8964fea8210e012350fd3dc9.jpg)</div><strong>Character Name:</strong> <em>Óleryd Mîrion (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16123242#msg16123242)</em><br><strong>Wearing:</strong> <em>Traveling Clothes (https://i.pinimg.com/564x/15/34/c4/1534c495f4ce320fe6d1200a0738c045.jpg)</em><br><strong>Condition:</strong> <em>Tired, hungry &amp; curious</em><br><strong>Location:</strong> <em>Taproom of the Prancing Pony</em><br><strong>Tagging:</strong> <em>Open</em><br><hr><br>It hadn't been long at all since Oleryd had left Rivendell (only a few days in fact), and while he had started out his journey thoroughly energetic and excited, little of that remained now. Despite his age, this had been the first time Oleryd had set out to travel in solitude, having generally preferred the company and safety a group afforded. Alas, Oleryd had been unable to find another who wanted to leave the Last Homely House in favour of living amongst and learning about other cultures, and so he set out alone. It wasn't too bad in the beginning, though he was quickly becoming disillusioned with it. On a map, it hadn't looked like such a long walk, though of course reality was different. It had been several days since he had been able to talk with another, and Oleryd was growing lonely. Along with that, setting up camp and carrying the load (light as he liked to travel) was much faster and easier with companions. That and others were likely to prepare a better meal than Oleryd could for himself.<br><br>Naturally, the sight of Bree came as a great relief to him. At last, socialization! And not only that but shelter, and a bed, and a warm meal! Along with all of this, Bree was something entirely new to Oleryd, its inhabitants of a culture utterly alien from his own. The prospect filled him with excitement as much as nerves. There was so much to learn! <br><br>Oleryd made his way to the inn, a joyful pep in his step. Upon entering, he took mental note of the collection of winter cloaks and other outerwear hung on the wall. Removing his own cloak he held it for a moment before deciding he may as well place it with the others, it just made sense to do so. As he entered the taproom where the inn's patrons and the owner seemed to be, Oleryd managed to catch the tail end of the conversation. The prospect of something new to learn had him excitedly reaching for his notebook and quill, before his thought caught up to his hands and he paused. No, he couldn't just take notes on a tale without asking, even if it was a public one. Such behaviour would be awfully rude. <strong>"Yes, please do tell. I'd like to know as well,"</strong> Oleryd spoke up, drawing his hands away from the bag where his books and pens rested. <strong>"If you don't mind, that is."</strong>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>RobHumph</strong> on <strong>14-03-2022, 18:57:45</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="floatleft">(https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/images/ic/1200x675/p01b0gxp.jpg)</div><br><strong>Name:</strong> Dagrahir (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16125920#msg16125920) <br><strong>Wearing:</strong> Fine Gondorian clothing over the mail of his armour and a cloak with a silver clasp. (https://i.pinimg.com/564x/23/55/0a/23550a68edf4f38dd2eae468234cbf85.jpg)<br><strong>Time:</strong> TA 3014, Winter<br><strong>Condition:</strong> Tired and missing civilisation<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Pracing Pony of Bree-town<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> People within the Pony<br><hr><br>While to many Bree might have been the very heart and soul of civilisation in Eriador, to Dagrahir it was little more than a village surrounded by a hedge of all things for a wall. All his way here he had heard talk of it being the place to trade, rest and talk and feel merriment or perhaps get an opportunity for greatness. Edoras was infinitely more impressive than this paltry gathering of men and halflings, said halflings being by far the most interesting thing about the place. Oh, no doubt there was <em>something</em> worthwhile here to explore or to read, as far as Dagrahir could tell at that moment the only thing that mattered was that some perfidious Black Numenorean was gathering southrons and easterlings for some nefarious purpose. Said purpose explained why a man of the Citadel was so far from the beloved White City he called home.<br><br>The Prancing Pony at least was a welcome sight. A well managed public house, Dagrahir had not seen the like in weeks, not since he left Anorian in fact for the men of the Riddermark preferred their meadhalls and the less said of the men of Dunland and Minhirieth the better. Leaving his horse with the halfling stablehand, Dagrahir entered, ignoring any all who looked his way while he looked for the innkeep, or whoever else might serve him. he stood out, even among some other choice company, for he still wore the finery of Gondor and was tall in the fashion of his people.<br><br><strong>"Might someone point out the famous Butterbur?"</strong> He asked after a while of getting no luck, though he would be willing to put more than a few coins of silver on the large man busying himself with others being his quarry.</div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>mainsnoires</strong> on <strong>19-03-2022, 19:21:35</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220302/86db40561bcf497ceecf75fa059dfdb9.png)</div><br><br><hr><br><br><div class="floatleft">(https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/peter-jacksons-the-hobbit/images/6/69/Squint_in_Prancing_Pony.jpg)</div><div class="floatright">(https://media.moddb.com/images/articles/1/243/242615/MouthSauronLarge.jpg)</div><div align="center"><strong>Name:</strong> Squint and the Forgotten one. <br><strong>Affiliation:</strong> Bree-lander and Sauron<br><strong>Time:</strong> TA 3014, winter<br><strong>Location:</strong> Near Bree<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> N/A</div><br><br><div align="center">--- The night before, East of Bree ---<br></div><br><br><br><br><br><br><br>Under the moonlight, traveling amidst rocks and trees barely covered by the white mantle of winter, the dark horse was bleeding. <br>From around its mouth, an iron chain was hanging, connecting the mount to a pair of iron gloves. <br>The strength applied to direct the horse, to force the animal to halt, was creating wounds which had barely time to close. Drops of blood were leaving the animal's mouth and were running along the metallic chain, falling to the ground. Hence, the thin layer of snow covering the earth was turning to crimson. <br>The sides of the horse's neck were abrased, burned by the action of the chain rubbing against the animal's flesh.<br>Yet the dark horse was calm, totally submitted to the Will of its master.<br><br>The tall figure was wearing a black and grey armor, hidden beneath a robe. His dark helm was giving the impression that his head was deformed, elongated and that from his skull, spikes protruded. His eyes were hidden behind his helm, and an emaciated arm moved to the side and upward, ordering the troop following him to halt.<br><br>From afar, a silhouette in a mantle of fur, emerged from the shadows and quickly approached the troop.<br>The hood covering his face was removed as the man bent his head down, unable to sustain the presence of the Dunadan whose name was forgotten.<br>Squint spoke to the man on the dark horse, his eyes fixated on the red-tainted snow at his feet.<br>&nbsp;<br>"Time is running out for me...<br>Can't you see what you are doing to me?<br>Can't you see what you have done?<br>As I try to pass another long and sleepless night<br>A hundred crazy voices call my name...<br>As I try to pass them by<br>I can almost believe that she is here..."<br><br>The Helm moved down to look at Squint. Then, as if he had turned into a reptile, the Forgotten one's frame, moved down, so that his mouth leveled with Squint's head.<br><br><span style="font-family: arial black;" class="bbc_font">"Don't you see you shall never be together again?"</span> the Forgotten said, his mouth contorted in a terrible smile.<br><span style="font-family: arial black;" class="bbc_font">"Do not ever address me with such words you pathetic living flesh. You're going to play your role, and guide us, and in return you'll keep your life. Eventually you'll save hers, but, it is too late for you both to be reunited. She's been sent far from here, to the East."</span><br><br>"She's a child !" Squint said.<br><br><span style="font-family: arial black;" class="bbc_font">"She's meat."</span> the dark figure replied.<br><span style="font-family: arial black;" class="bbc_font">"Let's move, you'll point out friends and allies of the Eye. Let's claim <em>my</em> Land, <em>my</em> soldiers and <em>my</em> stone."</span><br><br><div align="center">-----</div><br><div class="floatleft">(https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRjNco2Y21b_pUj8Z7Yy1L1CDGhdqznDz-Trg&amp;usqp=CAU)</div><div class="floatright">(https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/peter-jacksons-the-hobbit/images/6/69/Squint_in_Prancing_Pony.jpg)</div><div class="floatright">(https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/peter-jacksons-the-hobbit/images/8/86/Dale-Folk20.png)</div><div align="center"><strong>Name:</strong> Barliman Butterbur, Nob, Bob, Squint and Farulf, Dale-folk Merchant. <br><strong>Affiliation:</strong> Bree-landers<br><strong>Time:</strong> TA 3014, winter<br><strong>Location:</strong> Bree, the Prancing Pony<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Cat, Ubara, Shishi, Galad, Arion, Oleryd, Dagrahir</div><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br>Squint's gestures, as he moved from his table, with an empty pint in hand, came to an halt when he realized that it was too late to act.<br><br>That damned Barliman, and that Dale-folk had said enough to attract the attention of the people within the Prancing Poney. Worse, there were strangers, entering the inn who were asking to know more about that "Dunadan" who had brought down the marks of Sauron's defeat, and was traveling North.<br><br>If Galad's entrance, accompanied by a large dog -<em>a wolf </em>!- made Squint startle, he almost fell back on his seat when someone immediately recognizable as a man of Gondor penetrated the Inn and asked for Barliman. <br><br>"No, no-no-no-no-no..." he muttered.<br>&nbsp;<br>Squint started sweating and panic transpired also from his being. Despite his own experience as a thief, mercenary or whatever one could define him with, his sudden change of attitude could be noticed by anyone observing the tables or customers of the inn. <br>Lirion, or even Ubara, should they concentrate slightly, could suddenly smell animal blood emanating from Squint's table. <br>The latter sat back at his table, and tried to calm down.<br><br><em>-"I would not want to impose on anyone else who does not wish to hear it again, but for my own part I would welcome the chance to hear more.&nbsp; Though I do agree that North does sound rather... broad as a destination, the tale intrigues me."</em>- had said a red-headed woman on Squint's far left.<br><br>-<em>“I would like to hear news about the north as well. This is my friend Lirion”</em> -<br><br>-<em>“I’d like to hear it.”</em>-<br><br>-<em><strong>"Yes, please do tell. I'd like to know as well,"... "If you don't mind, that is."</strong></em>-<br><br>Barliman was about to reply to all his customers when he was asked by two newcomers for help.<br>The innkeeper smiled at the petite woman who spoke first :<br><br>-<em>"Good evening, dear sir"... "I'm in need of a room if you have one. And I would appreciate a glass of wine and your recommendation for the kitchen's best. I have traveled up the greenway and have not had a bed or good food in a while."</em>-<br><br><strong>"Well, well, well. I'll have Nob serve you with a wine, although, and I'll apologize for that, we're more specialist of Ale and a good pint. But..."</strong> he murmured <strong>"I'm sure I can find something special for you."</strong><br><br>He continued, with a louder voice :<br><strong>"As for the good food, you've come to the right place. We have hot soups, cold meats, blackberry tarts, new loaves, slabs of butter, or half a ripe cheese...and we have a few rooms ready, M'am."</strong><br>Barliman will wait for Shishi to reply, and serve her with her choice. Strangely enough, he had not spoken to her about money regarding her requests. <br><br>-<em><strong>"Might someone point out the famous Butterbur?"</strong></em>- Dagrahir asked.<br><br>Nob instantly replied :<br>"That's him Good Lord. Owner of the Prancing Pony and Storyteller when he's got a few pint into him."<br><br>Nob moved at Squint's table, holding a plate with several pints filled with Ale.<br><br>Barliman looked at Dagrahir with a smile. <br><strong>"Come, come friend of the South. This story will also be of interest to you. As we all know, except our Dale-Folk here, a shadow moves North. A man wearing a helm and a dark cloack. While the three remaining Kingdom of these lands are in ruin, that Dunadan will claim thrones. For sure, he's going to Fornost. Rumors are saying this city is not abandoned anymore. Survivors from the wars against Angmar are trying to live there. To find shelter."</strong><br><br>Barliman shook his head.<br><strong>"Yet, this city is a fruit ready to fall."<br></strong><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Outcast</strong> on <strong>21-03-2022, 19:19:02</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/8/8b/Scarred_Redhead_Warrior.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Cat (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16121430#msg16121430) (Tirmaethril Andtirnen)<br><strong>Wearing:</strong> Her armour, the snarling cat-head pendant, a light sheen of travel-dirt, and a faint aroma of horse<br><strong>Condition:</strong> Tired, hungry, thirsty, and delighted to be in such a fabulous centre of civilisation<br><strong>Location:</strong> The taproom of the Prancing Pony<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Everyone who might be interested!&nbsp; There is a lot of wide-eyed staring going on.<br><hr><br>It took all of Cat's training in etiquette (rustic and eccentric though <em>that</em> was) and her experience of dealing with wildly-different cultures to restrain the urge to go far beyond mere <em>staring</em>.&nbsp; The array of people within the Prancing Pony was fascinating even when she first entered the room, from the <em>kuduk</em> halflings she had seen while passing through Breeland to the immense blonde Northwoman who looked to be as much of an outlander as Cat herself.<br><br>But then others began arriving, including a stunning and exotically-clad woman who chose to sit right by her.&nbsp; The newcomer looked to be kin to those Rhudaurians who claimed descent from 'Easterling' mercenaries, though her heritage seemed to be markedly less diluted than that of anyone Cat her previously met.<br><br>Caught mid-examination of the beauty and her never-before-seen style of dress, the knight of the fallen kingdom apologetically ducked her head... only to lift her gaze and return the smile she was offered, looking distinctly relieved that she had not caused offence.<br><br>"Cat," she said, before touching a hand to her chest, just below the cat-head pendant.&nbsp; "My byname, that is.&nbsp; It's a pleasure to meet you.&nbsp; It seems that I came to Bree on an auspicious day."&nbsp; She spoke Westron smoothly, though with a sensitive ear even a just-arrived foreigner might detect that her accent was not the same as that of the locals.<br><br>Then she found herself blinking in astonishment past Shishi.<br><br>A <em>pale fiend.</em><br><br>That's what her second husband's people called them, after long millennia of often-bitter acquaintance with the elves of Rivendell.&nbsp; Inhuman fae of moonlight and shadow, uncaring of the woes of those who lived and breathed by daylight.&nbsp; Of course, her Edain ancestors had told rather different tales - and indeed, as a descendant of Dunedain nobility, she was sure that she had faint traces of elven blood in her own veins, while there were sound reasons for the High Men of the North to have taught long generations of their children the Sindarin tongue - but she had never actually laid eyes on one of the First People in person.&nbsp; Orcs and trolls and fell creatures of the wild, even the Great Grey Cat that had marked her, were all far more real and <em>tangible</em> parts of her world.<br><br>But now, beyond the stunning Easterling, there was one of the people of legend... and he was startlingly half-clad, and <em>talking to her</em> to boot.<br><br>She blinked at him, then at the white wolf he introduced as his friend, before darting a look to Shishi as if to check that she, too, was really witnessing this.&nbsp; Then her ingrained manners took over, and she formally inclined her head.<br><br>"Of course.&nbsp; Please, feel free."&nbsp; Perhaps fortunately, she was too stunned to even think to try her Sindarin on him.<br><br>Arion's arrival passed almost unnoticed - a dark-haired man in travelling attire seeming wholly-mundane in comparison - only for another <em>pale fiend</em> to appear.&nbsp; This second one was at least somewhat more conventionally attired, and lacked the startling golden hair of the first... but he was indubitably a member of elvenkind, too.&nbsp; And behind <em>him</em> came someone clad in the sort of finery Cat had only seen as long-preserved heirlooms reserved for what fragments remained of long-gone Rhudaur's high nobility.<br><br>When Barliman addressed her question, it took her some few moments to rein in her wildly-racing thoughts... though once she registered his words, her eyes widened again.<br><br>"People have moved back into Norbury of the Kings?", she asked, opting to use its Westron name, not least to double-check that they were indeed thinking of the same place.&nbsp; "That sounds... bold indeed.&nbsp; And I can imagine that it would arouse interest from far and wide.&nbsp; But there is also a claimant to the throne of Arnor itself, now?&nbsp; This man clad in black cloak and helm?&nbsp; Does he have supporters, or is he standing alone?"<br></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Luciferia</strong> on <strong>24-03-2022, 19:39:48</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/orTDitJ.png)</div><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>Ubara (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16119828#msg16119828)</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Affiliation:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>N/A</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Time:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>TA 3014, Winter</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Apparel:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>Woolen Tunic &amp; Trousers, Warg-Hide Boots | Scent of Sweetgrass &amp; Clover</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Condition:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td><strong>!🐺!</strong></td></tr><tr><td><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>By the Fire</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Tagging:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>Galad &amp; Lirion Specifically | Everybody <sub><em>(most are mentioned)</em></sub>!</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Ambiance:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>Mood Music (https://youtu.be/QRg_8NNPTD8)</td></tr><tr><td><strong>Note:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Approval</div><div class="spoiler_body">I consulted with Bowen and mainsnoires to ensure consent and fairness.</div></div></td></tr></tbody></table><hr><br>The fire flicked shadows around half of Ubara’s face as she sat sideways to it and supped while the door opened, ushering in a blast of winter air that tickled the flyaways along her hairline but did not make her shiver. At first, she paid no mind to whoever had entered and chewed a mouthful of turnip and carrot, wiping her chin from a wayward droplet of broth with the back of her hand; but as a vibrant shade of blue came into her periphery, the firelight reflected in her eyes as she glanced up from her bowl to stare with a deadpan expression that belied her curiosity. <br><br>Unencumbered with the benefits of a comprehensive education or an understanding of etiquette and social norms, Ubara made no effort to hide her study of the black-haired woman at the bar. The stranger’s back was to her but she could still picture that striking face – had she ever seen anyone so fair, or foreign, or <em>clean</em> before? And what were those clothes? The cut was unlike anything she had ever seen but it was the color that struck her the most, and not the blue that caught her eye, but the <em>white.</em> Travelers smelled like horse and came in muddy and sweat-stained but <em>this woman</em> appeared almost ethereally polished. <br><br>The door opened again and had the wind not carried the unmistakable musk of wolf, Ubara would have continued staring; however, the scent caught her attention instantly and she looked towards the door as a white wolf padded into the tavern behind an elf. Ordinarily, the elf would have garnered more attention since Ubara had never met an elf before, but a wolf in the city was a threat liable to be met with bloodshed and her protective instincts flared. <br><br><em>What are you doing here?</em> she asked herself and as if hearing her – which of course, he could not since Ubara was not using any spells – the wolf looked back with perked ears. Concentrating on that primal, internal, open space inside of her, the disguised Beorning eyed the elf, who appeared civil, and then the wolf again, reaching for the beast’s feelings to judge what his relationship with the elf was. Was this a pet? A captive? A soon-to-be meal? Was he lost? Was he under the elf’s control? <br><br>The wolf padded closer to the fire where she sat; tail motionless and maw open to pant through as he regarded her with fierce yellow eyes. A drunk patron with a gaunt, red-faced screamed, pointing to the wild animal and staggering backward only to trip over one of Ubara’s warg-hide boots. With an unceremonious holler, he fell onto his arse, where the airborne contents of his mug landed on top of him. <br><br>Ubara remained unfazed, gazing intently into the wolf’s eyes as he approached, and for the first time since she’d arrived at Bree, she <em>smiled.</em> She could sense happiness and oddly, <em>respect</em> for this creature’s elven companion. It was impossible to parse more without tapping into her abilities, but she learned enough to realize that she was, potentially, in the right place at the right time. <em>I was right to come here,</em> she realized as the intrigue continued. A mysterious maiden, an elf, and a wolf had all arrived within moments of each other, which was odd to say the least. <br><br>She pinched a bite of beef from her bowl and without a trace of fear, tossed it to the wolf. She had eaten around the meat, not because she didn’t consume it but because she didn’t want it, and now she knew why. It was for him. Tossing another after the first one quickly disappeared, she licked her fingers and then dared to reach out and ruffle the snowy fury between the wolf’s plush ears, smiling softly at the beautiful animal with something akin to a mother’s love in her eyes. <br><br>Another man entered the inn, looking dapper but with a simple and jovial air about him, and then <em>another</em> elf! This one bubbling with as much joy as a springtime brook despite the bitter cold he’d just come in from, and with little knowledge of elves at her disposal, she checked the door to see if a wolf would follow him too. Alas. <br><br>However, when the door opened <em>again</em> and Ubara caught the sharp scent of steel, her lip curled as if there was something amiss with the soup she’d been eating. Eyeing a tall man with curls and a pompous expression she wanted to bear-slap from his skull, it was safe to say that Ubara disliked him instantly and made no effort to disguise as much from her face when he addressed the innkeeper as if he were an authority figure. <em>Men,</em> she thought grumpily. If she were more expressive, she would have rolled her eyes. <br><br>Amidst concentrating on the wolf, whose name she did not yet know but would soon learn, the bear-lady caught a whiff of animal blood and looked up with sudden attention, her eyes zeroing in on a seemingly anxious man with dingy clothes and a weathered face. It was coming from his direction but she could not tell that he was the culprit. He had not noticed her, for there was nothing odd about a woman eating soup and looking around, but as she inhaled fully and confirmed her suspicions, her vigilance urged her to finally act. She knew she needed to get involved but how? Conversations were not her forte and she had few insights to offer politically or historically, but she could tell that <em>this,</em> whatever this was, was exactly the sort of event she’d been waiting for. Now that it was here, the only thing left to do was seize it. <br><br>Standing from her chair, she revealed herself to be much taller than the average human woman, and as-tall-as or slightly-taller-than most men. Her woolen tunic hid her statuesque physique but her shoulders were wide and her stature was imposing; dripping with the casual confidence of an apex predator at rest. She breezed through the crowd, bumping drunkards and sots with her shoulders like water off the prow of a ship until she cast a long shadow over the table where the odd party was gathering itself. <br><br>Her amber eyes settled on the wolf’s elf and when there was lull enough in conversation to interject (which might have taken a few moments and made an awkward first impression since she stood in stony silence until then), she said, <strong>“You have a fine choice in companion”</strong> with a sultry alto as smooth as honey. She dropped another bite from her bowl to the wild canine. <strong>“How did it come to pass?”</strong> <br><br>Her eyes shifted to the others – the redheaded woman with the sweet voice, the mysterious traveler with white garments, the elf with his quill – and then finally, lastly, landed on Squint. She inhaled slowly, trying to parse the scent of blood. <em>Could be a butcher and nothing more,</em> she reasoned. Still, her visage did not reflect any reservations she was creating for him and held his gaze in an unblinking appraisal before severing it to look again at the curious elf.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Layne Spooks</strong> on <strong>27-03-2022, 21:32:44</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/07/cb/91/07cb919c8964fea8210e012350fd3dc9.jpg)</div><strong>Character Name:</strong> <em>Óleryd Mîrion (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16123242#msg16123242)</em><br><strong>Wearing:</strong> <em>Traveling Clothes (https://i.pinimg.com/564x/15/34/c4/1534c495f4ce320fe6d1200a0738c045.jpg)</em><br><strong>Condition:</strong> <em>Tired, hungry &amp; curious</em><br><strong>Location:</strong> <em>Taproom of the Prancing Pony</em><br><strong>Tagging:</strong> <em>Open</em><br><hr><br>As the barliman replied to the other patrons of the inn, Oleryd allowed himself a moment to take in his surroundings. It was certainly different from the elvish places he was used to, though it was nice in its own right. It seemed quite popular for the small location if the number of patrons it currently had was any indication. There seemed to be a wide assortment of people at the Prancing Pony tonight, though the sight of a familiar face caught his attention. The presence of another elf, let alone one he knew was certainly a surprise. <br><br><strong>"Galadhrion? It's been an age! I certainly hadn't expected to find you here,"</strong> Oleryd called out, a smile on his face as he made his way toward the other. Catching sight of the wolf next to Galadhrion, he raised an eyebrow, though more out of curiosity than anything else. <strong>"Your companion is new. Is he particularly friendly?"</strong><br><br>Then, as if noticing the others present for the first time (which was quite possible with how scatterbrained the elf appeared to be), Oleryd turned to the women next to Galadhrion. <strong>"I'm terribly sorry, I seem to have forgotten my manners. My name is Oleryd,"</strong> as he said this he placed a hand to his chest and bowed his head in greeting. <strong>"Might I join you? I also find myself interested in tales of the North."</strong> As his gaze shifts to the Easterling woman and he takes in her foreign style of dress, Oleryd looks as though he wishes to say more. In truth, dozens of questions he has for the woman flit across his mind. <em>Where was she from? What was the style of her dress called? Did it have special meaning in her culture?</em> But he held his tongue, at least for now. It was rude to interrogate another like that, especially when one didn't know them.<br><br><strong>"Thank you for indulging our curiosities, good sir,"</strong> He replied as Butterbur's focus returned to his tale. Oleryd brightens as the redheaded woman asks her questions, glad to see another curious as him. After a moment's consideration, he pulls one of his books and a pen from the bag at his side before inquiring about the group. <strong>"Would it be alright with those present if I were to write down the tale? Simply for my own enjoyment of the course. I find subjects such as these quite interesting, and often important in some way or another."</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Bowen</strong> on <strong>01-04-2022, 12:26:40</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(https://img.nickpic.host/uTgzDQ.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Galad (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16119811#msg16119811) (Galadhrion of Lothlórien)<br><strong>Wearing:</strong> as pictured<br><strong>Condition:</strong> Needing to stretch his legs from a ride, hungry now that he’s scented food<br><strong>Location:</strong> The taproom&nbsp; of the Prancing Pony<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Everyone<br><br><hr><br>Galadhrion took a closer look around the establishment as his eyes adjusted to being indoors. In his experience elves were more myth than fact to some and usually what people didn’t understand made them either uneasy or panicked if they were somewhat skittish to begin with. Lirion was large for a timber wolf, he had found him as a pup and fed him well—the wolf looked at the people who stared at him and remembered to loll his tongue. For the life of him if they could see the tongue it was less threatening or ‘cuter’ and therefore easier to accept his presence.<br><br>It was impossible to miss the entrance of another elf—sylvan by his looks. And by sheer coincidence, someone he knew. Oleryd was his name. Yes. His memory served him well. Then another dark haired man came in. From his accent, a man of Gondor. Galadhrion had been in Osgiliath only last year and remembered their speech well.<br><br>"<strong>No, no-no-no-no-no...</strong>" Galadhrion’s attention was drawn back to the fellow who didn’t want to hear about the news. The reaction it seemed was based on Lirion’s presence. “Easy, he’s my friend and will not attack unless provoked.” Lirion was not trained or his pet. They had a strong bond based on love and depending on each other.<br><br>When he heard what was available to eat Galadhrion nodded. “Yes I’ll take all of that with some ale and some extra meat for my friend.” Game was always scarce near settlements. When he addressed the fiery haired woman it seemed he had startled her. Galadhrion gave her a moment to gather herself. He was a large Noldor and sometimes people needed a few seconds to adjust to what they were seeing. "Of course.&nbsp; Please, feel free." He inclined his head to Cat. “Why thank you Cat.” he said addressing her in the way she preferred.<br><br>He was about to sit at the table with her when Lirion went padding over softly to the Beorning woman near the fire. He had always encouraged Lirion’s curiosity, just tempered some of the excitement that wen with it. The blonde woman with the tattoos didn’t seem afraid. Good. New friends were always welcome. Galadhrion chuckled at the antics of the easily excitable man who went for that ungraceful tumble. <br><br>Lirion got some meat and snatched it out of the air as it was tossed to him. There was cause for the saying of ‘wolfing your food’ down and Lirion followed suit. He kept telling his friend to maybe chew and enjoy the meal, but he was making a friend right now, so Galadhrion didn’t want to interrupt or interfere with that. He watched and smiled as she offered her affections to Lirion. Wolves are pack animals; touch is important to them, and they get a lot of mixed signals when they are trying to accept you and you don’t try back. He was happy with this Beorning woman for the simple compassion she displayed.<br><br>He sat at the table and waited for the food he wanted listening to the other conversations that were going on around him. "Galadhrion? It's been an age! I certainly hadn't expected to find you here," He can only nod to that. “It has been an age since we last spoke in golden Lothlórien. How are you Oleryd? We both seem to have chosen to explore the world a little.” "Your companion is new. Is he particularly friendly?" Smiling as he looks at Lirion Galad nods easily. “Yes, Lirion is rather friendly—especially if you offer him rabbit or steak.” he jokes and gestures for him to sit at the table.<br><br>"Would it be alright with those present if I were to write down the tale? Simply for my own enjoyment of the course. I find subjects such as these quite interesting, and often important in some way or another." Galad shrugs. “Why would I mind? By all means, go ahead and record the tale.” Elves always loved stories that were shared.<br><br>The Beorning woman was tall and fine, out of courtesy he stood when she approached with Lirion. “You have a fine choice in companion” her voice was curiously smooth and sweet. It was pleasing to listen to. “Lirion is my closest friend.” he agreed. His steed Tallagor would agree too but he was a bit of a stubborn jerk on the best of days. “How did it come to pass?”<br><br>He gestured to the seat beside him. “Please sit. I’m Galadhrion, most people just call me Galad.” he offered in his deep voice. “I was out hunting with some friends, and we were surprised by a large group of orcs traveling near the border of our lands.” he begins. “There were twenty of us and …many of them. I just remember the battle being fast and furious. A crossbow bolt hit near my temple and the world went black.” <br><br>He reaches down and his hand thuds against the side of Lirion’s ribs. “I remember darkness and then choking and then…being licked awake He was a pup and the forest around us was on fire. I think they used some kind of grease. They must have spread it everywhere to cover their escape. Lirion was hurt and far too young to not be with his pack. I realized he must have been separated by the fire. I doused him with water and wrapped him in my cloak. The elves I was with were either gone or dead, so I got us to safety.” <br><br>“I could hear patrols coming to deal with the fire. I found one and made sure he was healed. I looked for his pack, but they were dead.” he says with a somber sadness. “We’ve been together ever since. I wanted to travel from Lothlórien and see more of the lands around us, he came with me. He’s three now.” <br><br>He takes a gulp of the ale he ordered. “You look like you are far from home as well. I would like to hear your story.” <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>RobHumph</strong> on <strong>03-04-2022, 01:28:56</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="floatleft">(https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/images/ic/1200x675/p01b0gxp.jpg)</div><br><strong>Name:</strong> Dagrahir (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16125920#msg16125920) <br><strong>Wearing:</strong> Fine Gondorian clothing over the mail of his armour and a cloak with a silver clasp. (https://i.pinimg.com/564x/23/55/0a/23550a68edf4f38dd2eae468234cbf85.jpg)<br><strong>Time:</strong> TA 3014, Winter<br><strong>Condition:</strong> Concerned and intrigued<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Pracing Pony of Bree-town<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Barliman Butterbur, Cat<br><hr><br>The folk within the Prancing Pony took some Dagrahir's attention whilst he waited for the innkeep to present himself. Some put him at ease, some put him on some edge, and some outright concerned him. The first was by far the largest group, that being the simple Breelanders going about their evening, they seemed decent if simply, but he could not expect anything else from the placid remnants of the North Kingdom. The second, well, that was peopled primarily by the Dale-men, the Elves and the other folk who looked like they were from nearby, for they <em>should</em> be decent as well and trusty to boot, but one could never be sure and he knew little of Dalemen and folk who lived primarily in the wilds, particularly the massive golden-haired maiden. The third... well that was dominated by the Easterling woman he spied, for she seemed to do little to hide herself. He would be keeping his eye on that one. He did not, for all his scrutiny of some, see the man who looked to be terrified of his presence, so concerned he was with the woman of the east.<br><br>But then Barliman greeted him and spoke of news. News that found Dagrahir a welcome listener. <strong>"A man in a black cloak and helm?"</strong> He half asked and half said. Good, the figure he'd been sent to look into wasn't subtle, typical of the Black Numenoreans to be open and blatant in their moves. The mention of Fornost peaked his already held interest and he almost looked surprised, for he in fact was. <strong>"Folk live still in Fornost Erain?"</strong> That was news and make no mistake. In Gondor it was a held belief that all of the old cities of the north save one were abandoned, from Anuminas beside lake Evendim to Tharbad at the bridge. He had seen Tharbad and it was a haunt of bandits and brigands, not a place where folk actually lived. To hear that Fornost might still be held by the men of Arthedain brought a ghost of a smile to his lips.<br><br>His smile faded as he went on. Dagrahir looked at the red-haired woman who asked about a possible claim to the North Kingdom. <strong>"If the Line of Isildur persists yet that would be welcome news."</strong> He regarded her for a moment, she looked capable. <strong>"Tell me master Barliman, do you know any more of this man in a cloak and helm of black? Better yet, do you know where he is?"</strong></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>mainsnoires</strong> on <strong>30-04-2022, 16:34:15</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220302/86db40561bcf497ceecf75fa059dfdb9.png)</div><br><br><hr><div class="floatleft">(https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRjNco2Y21b_pUj8Z7Yy1L1CDGhdqznDz-Trg&amp;usqp=CAU)</div><div class="floatright">(https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/peter-jacksons-the-hobbit/images/6/69/Squint_in_Prancing_Pony.jpg)</div><div class="floatright">(https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/peter-jacksons-the-hobbit/images/8/86/Dale-Folk20.png)</div><div align="center"><strong>Name:</strong> Barliman Butterbur, Nob, Bob, Squint and Farulf, Dale-folk Merchant. <br><strong>Affiliation:</strong> Bree-landers<br><strong>Time:</strong> TA 3014, winter -<strong>Evening</strong>-<br><strong>Location:</strong> Bree, the Prancing Pony<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Cat, Ubara, Galad, Arion, Oleryd, Dagrahir</div><br>Barliman, standing behind the counter of his bar, passed one hand on the sides of his face, rubbing his colored-cheeks. He straightened, arching his back and making a few bones crack, observing the men and women who were listening to his words.<br><br>His eyes traveled from one to another, the ones sitting together at a table now, then Shishi and Dagrahir, he had easily identified as a man of Gondor.<br>At this moment, it was unclear to Barliman that Elves were also assembled at the said table, and he did not caught sight of Arion.<br>Amidst the common agitation within the Prancing Pony, Barliman did not pay attention to Galad's companion, and since the animal behaved so calmly and friendly, his mind returned to telling the tale, Farulf was making fun of.<br><br>The fiery-haired woman had asked :<br><br><em>-"People have moved back into Norbury of the Kings?"..."That sounds... bold indeed.&nbsp; And I can imagine that it would arouse interest from far and wide.&nbsp; But there is also a claimant to the throne of Arnor itself, now?&nbsp; This man clad in black cloak and helm?&nbsp; Does he have supporters, or is he standing alone?"-</em><br><br>Farulf replied faster than Barliman:<br><strong>"He's supported by the ghosts of the Kings of Eriador !!"</strong> the dale-merchant started to laugh, the few people assembled next to him mocking Barliman as well, and consequently the people interested in the tale the owner of the Prancing Pony was telling.<br><br><strong>"Ghosts of false kings and of the fools who followed them...listen, the kingdoms of Arnor died long ago. Beasts inhabit Fornost, and your story Barliman, is just to keep your customer sitting and paying for their food and drinks. This is an old merchant trick. It works well on women and younglings, ready to write such lies on books..."</strong><br><br>Farulf stood up, and offered a salute directed at Cat's table.<br><br><strong>"Don't thank me for saving your time and money."<br></strong><br>Barliman's cheeks became even more red -if it was possible- while Dagrahir spoke :<br><br><em><strong>-"Tell me master Barliman, do you know any more of this man in a cloak and helm of black? Better yet, do you know where he is?"-</strong></em><br><br>Barliman spoke, yet with hesitation.<br><br><strong>"Rumors said he and his followers passed Bree a few nights ago, but they're moving slowly. At night. He's not alone, death itself accompanies him, a woman even more frightening than anything you can imagine, my friends. Unlike what Farulf believes, there are men, women and children trying to survive after the war against the wasted Land up North. Now, they'll be trapped between the North and this man, who united everything that's bad South."</strong><br><br>The Pony's capacity was now at its peak. <br>Nob and Bob were zigzagging around the many tables of the renowned Inn, and finally offered Galad with his order. The Ale and meat were placed without ceremony on the table, some of the liquid almost splatting on the table, next to Oleryd's book.<br><br>Nob spoke :<br>"I'll be back in a few for the coins, good Lord. Anything else for you travelers ?"<br><br>The hobbit waited, before moving away from Cat's table.<br><br><em>It's now or never,</em> Squint thought.<br>He did not -or barely- listened to Galad words, who tried to rassure him :<br><br><em>-“Easy, he’s my friend and will not attack unless provoked.” -</em><br><br>Instead he had brutally replied :<br><br>"I'll peel its skin off, if he only barks at me."<br><br>Then Squint suddenly stood up, he gathered his belongings and walked quickly away from the main room of the Pony, exiting from the Inn. The man's attention was so focused on Barliman, the new travelers who entered, the wolf... that he had not noticed Arion, who was sitting at a remote table.<br><br>Outside the chaos caused by the laughs, screams and discussion was very audible. Squint took a few steps around the Pony, aiming at the stables were horses from the people resting within were taken care of by Rob.<br>The man stood silent, and hid in the darkness, making sure the hobbit employed by Barliman was not there.<br>As calmly as he could, Squint searched within his pack, and pulled out a small torch and his tinder-box. Instant later, the torch was ignited in his hand, and he threw it to start an incident within the stables, rendered the horses uncontrollable.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Outcast</strong> on <strong>01-05-2022, 00:33:56</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/8/8b/Scarred_Redhead_Warrior.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Cat (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16121430#msg16121430) (Tirmaethril Andtirnen)<br><strong>Wearing:</strong> Her armour, the snarling cat-head pendant, a light sheen of travel-dirt, and a faint aroma of horse<br><strong>Condition:</strong> Tired, hungry, thirsty, and delighted to be in such a fabulous centre of civilisation... though now rather perturbed by the rudeness of some of the other guests<br><strong>Location:</strong> The taproom of the Prancing Pony<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Everyone who might be interested!<br><hr><br>Cat turned her head to let the laughing group see the scars on her face, arching a brow at them... before forcing herself to remember that she was a guest in someone else's home, and that any attempt to teach manners would be a gross breach of etiquette.&nbsp; Drawing in a steadying breath, she returned her gaze to Barliman - and offered him a smile mingling sympathy and apology.<br><br>"Thank you," she said warmly - primarily to Barliman, though she looked to Nob to include him in her gratitude.&nbsp; "And I can quite believe that there are people out there doing their best to make use of old sites.&nbsp; There is a lot to be said for good stone and well-laid foundations, however many centuries have passed since their construction.&nbsp; I had wondered if it might perhaps be possible to visit Fornost Erain one day... but it sounds as if there might now be good reason to do so."&nbsp; She darted a glance around those others who seemed interested in the tale, lips quirking wryly.&nbsp; "And it seems that there are others who might perhaps feel the same way."<br><br>The hostility to the white wolf had thus far passed her by, caught up as she was in the prospect of a trip to visit the ancient capital of her forebears.&nbsp; What stories might she sing from the stones there?!?<br></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Madam Striga</strong> on <strong>08-05-2022, 23:24:53</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50496154816_01a4a320a7_o.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Hilde (Hildegard Lightfoot)<br><strong>Wearing:</strong> Travel clothing, shawl and leather satchel<br><strong>Condition:</strong> Hungry and thirsty from the road, and overwhelmed by being around all the Big Folk<br><strong>Location:</strong> Outside the <em>Prancing Pony</em>, Bree<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Squint (DM), Open<br><strong> Notes: </strong> Bit of a short one, but I wanted to get this up before I crash tonight. Excited to write to you all. Hilde has taken notice of Squint acting strangely, per a suggestion of how to get her involved from mainsnoires<br><hr><div style="text-align: justify;">Hilde tugged her shawl closer around her shoulders as she stepped with purpose towards the inn, pointed out to her by the gateman at her polite questioning. Yet it was impossible to hide the bewildered, doe-eyed look she gave anyone who happened to catch her gaze; for the Big Folk of Bree were so very tall and Hilde suddenly felt <em>shorter</em> than she ever had before. Especially as she passed through streets lined with their tall wooden and stone buildings. Meeting Men travelling by the Shire in pairs or threes, and being in one of their Towns, were, evidently, <em>very different experiences.</em><br><br>Still, she pushed on towards the <em>Prancing Pony</em> as there was naught else for her to do that evening but rest and gather her thoughts. The road from the Shire had not been difficult, per say, for the Hobbit, but it was the furthest Hilde had walked beyond the occasional picnic. It was all for good reason, though, and she looked forward to the morning when she hoped to explore new possibilities. Moving <em>forward</em> was her only choice now and for the rest of her life, no matter how hard that seemed.<br><br>Before Hilde could reach the tavern proper, however, something else caught her attention. She watched as a man exited the door by which she meant to enter the establishment and headed towards the stables. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that, per say, but the way he paused by the awning of the stable and began to rummage about his things made Hilde feel cautious for reasons she couldn't quite explain. It was just that something felt <em>off</em> about the situation. As she approached with light steps befitting her name, Hilde thought she caught a flash of torch light from the corner of her vision, but it was difficult to tell with all the people moving around her and obscuring her line of sight at times. Perhaps it was nothing, yet the feeling of wrongness would not leave her gut. Thus with the politest tone she could manage, she called out to the <acronym title="Squint">Man</acronym>.<br><br><strong>"Excuse me, sir, are you waiting for the stable hands, perhaps?"</strong></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Bowen</strong> on <strong>25-06-2022, 05:00:22</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://img.nickpic.host/uTgzDQ.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Galad (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16119811#msg16119811) (Galadhrion of Lothlórien)<br><strong>Wearing:</strong> as pictured<br><strong>Condition:</strong> Needing to stretch his legs from a ride, hungry now that he’s scented food<br><strong>Location:</strong> The taproom of the Prancing Pony<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Everyone<br><hr><br>Galad listened carefully to the tales being told. He had discovered that humans may, at times not exactly record history correctly or exaggerate a great deal of facts. Yet for all of the little embellishments that happen as one person tells a tale that grows with every mouth—there are kernels of truth still there. Now he couldn’t go speaking for any ghost, so he wondered where that tidbit of knowledge came from. Perhaps it was poetic license?<br><br>Taking a mental step back, Galad removed some of what could be fanciful conjecture and left the story at its core. A man and a woman, terrifying. There were always going to be good and evil in this world, light and darkness. The people that strongly allied themselves with the dark, he considered shadows. “Did they say where they were going or perhaps someone saw what direction they left in?”&nbsp; <br><br>For evil to flourish, all it took was for good people to abandon their vigil. The forebear of his line had done that, and it cost them everything. Ignoring this felt wrong. Galad smiled as his order came in. “Why thank you.” he says to Nob and Bob. They were trying their hardest in a busy inn.<br><br>Galad’s good mood evaporated at Squint’s remark. He reminded himself they were just words. It would be too easy to get angry at someone threatening his friend. “You take things too far. Watch your words.” he warns the man but then he got up and left. Galad watched him leave waiting for the rancid man to gather his courage for another round of threats towards Lirion.<br><br>His wolf picked up on the mood of the man easily. His tongue went from a happy lolling to strict attention. He didn’t like it when his person got agitated. Galad turned back to Cat. “Indeed, it was once a great city of men. Perhaps it will be again. It does sound like there is a good reason to go.” he agrees with her. He liked travelling to begin with and he had left his home to see more of the world.<br><br>Lirion’s senses are sharp. Even through the din of a busy bar, the sound of panicked horses shrieking in fear of fire. “Excuse me. I think something is going on outside.” Galad says as Lirion’s head snap towards the sounds. His senses weren’t as great as the wolf’s but there was something going on. Standing he heads out to see what is going on, the white wolf padding beside him.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the West (LOTR): Arnor and The three Lost Kingdoms</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Outcast</strong> on <strong>28-06-2022, 22:24:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/8/8b/Scarred_Redhead_Warrior.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Cat (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=340173.msg16121430#msg16121430) (Tirmaethril Andtirnen)<br><strong>Wearing:</strong> Her armour, the snarling cat-head pendant, a light sheen of travel-dirt, and a faint aroma of horse<br><strong>Condition:</strong> Tired, hungry, thirsty, and delighted to be in such a fabulous centre of civilisation... though now increasingly perturbed<br><strong>Location:</strong> The taproom of the Prancing Pony<br><strong>Tagging:</strong> Everyone who might be interested!<br><hr><br>Abandoning her barely-sampled meal was certainly not an appealing prospect.&nbsp; Cat had been looking forward to finding out just what hospitable delights this beacon of civilisation might have to offer a weary traveller, and what she had seen (and smelled) of Barliman's creations had certainly not disappointed.<br><br>But if the underclad elf's lupine friend had indeed alerted him to something amiss at the stables, then that might mean that her own travelling companion was in trouble.&nbsp; She could trust Fastross to handle himself against most threats he might encounter in Rhudaur - but rather by defintion, running away was unlikely to be a viable option when her shaggy steed was closed up in a stable-block.<br><br>With a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet and passed her food to Barliman.<br><br>"I shall be back for that.&nbsp; It smells far too enticing to abandon!", she assured him, before moving to follow in the wake of immense blond figure and his white guardian.&nbsp; Just in case, she loosened her sword in its scabbard, rolling her shoulders a little.&nbsp; Bree should surely be far too safe and settled a place for raiders to have struck... but firing a stable-block <em>was</em> the sort of preliminary to an attack that she might have expected back home.<br><br>Now, it seemed like it might be a very good thing indeed that she had not yet relaxed sufficiently to remove either armour or armaments.<br></div>
			</dd>
		</dl>
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