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The Lord of the Rings RP [IC]

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Limborg
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Founded: Nov 20, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby Limborg » Thu Jun 05, 2014 4:28 am

Image

Erebor
Dáin had returned home, he thanked the men of Dale for their help, and before they returned home he asked them to to urge King Brand to prepare for war. Dáin felt that it would not take long before the east would start to move.
Once at Erebor people started to applaud Dáin, for his victory in the Withered Heath. Dáin, not really that proud, just walked in quickly.
The large Dragonskull was hung above the throne, making a fearsome impression in the great Kingshall. The smaller ones where poured into pure gold and they where set upon the gate, with torches in their mounths. 7 small skulls, one for each Dwarven Kingdom, Dáin though. Only one of those small golden dragonskulls did not got a torch, the middle one, the biggest one. The one representing anciant Khazad-Dûm.
The scales that they brought where to be melted into great armours for the 500 dwarves that survived, aswell as a new armour for Dáin. Dáins armour was finished after seven days of hard work, it was a great piece of smithing, an armour that had never been seen in this world. On the helmet, all the way on top, there was set a part of the "mane" of the dragon, sticking out. From the inside everything was made out of the best quality of steel they could get, from the outside, everything was Dragonscales. A mask had been attacked, fearsome for those that saw them coming. It was a true piece of art, and Dáin only wished that he had been able to defeat more dragons. Dragonscales where as tough as Mithril, wich meant that no Arrow in the wide world would go through, no blade that had a chance of penetrating, These armours where going to safe the day when the war had arrived.
Dáin had other buisness however, he knew his defenses made the enemy like water, smashing onto rocks. But it was not enough. He orderd to create a safe bank, surrounded by only the Mountain and the Water that poured out of the front gate. It would take some time to complete, but when it was finished Dáin would have a comfort zone to play around in when a battle would occure.

The Brownlands
Bifur and Bofur had rode ontop of their ponies for nearly four days, they almost reached Rohan and therefor also Gondor. They where planning on offering help with the defenses of the Anduin, a river wich would become the crucial point. The Brownlands where empty lands, full of rock, rock and more rock. The ponies needed to eat, but there was nothing to be eaten from. Bifur and Bofur desided to wal alongside the ponies untill the reached better grounds. It would become a long and boring trip after all.




Claiming the region south of Ered Mithrin
Last edited by Limborg on Thu Jun 05, 2014 4:30 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Liecthenbourg
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Founded: Jan 21, 2013
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Liecthenbourg » Fri Jun 06, 2014 7:49 am

Orodruin, Mordor
Eh-doo-ard stared inquisitively into the distance, clouds gathered strangely upon the lands of men. He was quite a smart troll, one who would write books about adventures in horrendous Black Speech, but still, books they were even if they couldn't be comprehended entirely. Now however, he clutched the black rock walls that formed the entrance to the Volcano; Lord Sauron had constructed a mighty outpost here and Eh-doo-ard, known as Kheel to his friends, was its warden. Long had the time been since Kheel had seen conflict, but he kept his hammer skills adept by clearing rocks that obstructed nearby areas, having several Orcs man the outpost in his place - they were, of course, informed to summon him via a war horn if things turned sour. The Olog-hai snorted in annoyance, for he grew bored of this idle, but heavily important task. Perhaps, he thought, he could sing a song. He chuckled, breathing in a large amount of air and putting a hand to his chest, the other being held outwards towards the mountains in the distance. With a tremendous roar and the booming sound, his lyrical masterpiece could be heard throughout the realm;

"Ahhhhhhhhh
Ya ya yaaaah
Ya ya yaaah
Yaaah ya yah

Ohohohohoooo
Oh ya yaaah
Ya ya yaaah
Yaaah ya yah

Ye-ye-ye-ye-yeh
Ye-ye-yeh
Ye-ye-yeh
Ohohohohoh

Ye-ye-ye-ye-yeh
Ye-ye-yeh
Ye-ye-yeh
Ohohohohooooooooooo
Aaaaoooooh aaaooo
Hooo haha

Nah nah nah nah
Nuh nuh nuh
Nuh nuh nuh
Nuh nuh nuh
Nuh nuh nah!

Nah nah nah nah nun
Nun-ah nun
Nun-ah nuh
Nah nah nah nah nah!

Nah nah nah nah Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
Dah dah daaaaaaaaaah...
Da-da-dah....
Daaah..
Da-dah...

Lololololoooooooooooooo!

Lah la-laaah
La la laaah
lol
haha

Ohohohoho
ho-ho-ho
ho-ho-ho
oh-ho-ho-ho-ho

Ohohohoho
ho-ho-ho
ho-ho-ho
Lololololooo...

AAIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
eeeee-eeeee-EEEEEEEEE!

Luh-luh-lah...
Lah
Lah-lah

Ohohohohooooooooo!
BOPadududu-dah-da-du-daaaah!
Da-da-daaaah
Daaah
Da-daaah...

Lololololo
lololo
lololol
Lalalalah!

Trololololo
lalala

Oh-hahaha-ho
Haha-hehe-ho
Hohoho-he-ho
Hahahaha-ho

Lolololololo
Lolololololo
Lolololololo
Lololo-LOL!

Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!
La-la-laaaah!
La la laaaah!
Laaaah
La-lah...

Ohohohohoooooooooo!
La, la-laaah!
La-la-laaah
lol
haha...

Lololololo
Lololo
Lololo

Ohohohoho!

Lololololol
Lololo
Lololo

Ohohohohooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"
Last edited by Liecthenbourg on Fri Jun 06, 2014 8:01 am, edited 1 time in total.
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New Educandi
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Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby New Educandi » Fri Jun 06, 2014 2:50 pm

Elerian wrote:The men took the cakes and said a quiet thank you to the Boippi. Imrahil turned and took the cake that was offered him, taking a bite the sweetness filled his mouth. The cake had a fruity filling inside and while the elves had decent enough food, it was fit for elves and not men. Imrahil looked down at Boippi and said "thank you for the food my little friend. The Elvish cooking i've had these past few weeks has been quite bland." Imrahil stooped down a little and continued "the men take some getting used to but once they know you more they'll become less like statues and more like real men." Imrahil straightened himself and continued walking.

"Well, what would you expect from elves?" Boippi inquired, sarcastic.
"And, I was thinking, what happens whence we get to gondor? Last I remembered, they where in four wars. They might not take kindly to a party of men and one short, harry, Hobbit."
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Elerian
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Father Knows Best State

Postby Elerian » Fri Jun 06, 2014 2:59 pm

Imrahil looked down at Boippi and replied "they won't know were there my hairy friend. We'll be there and back again before you know it." Imrahil looked back into the distance with smile. It wouldn't take them long to get to Gondor. But Imrahil had no idea what lay in wait for them inside the borders of Gondor.




Several days later the small party were on the outskirts of the Drudain forest. It seemed generically eerie as did many forests of Middle Earth. They had long since ceased to scare Imrahil so looking down at Boippi he paused before entering into the woods and said several words of warning, "stay with me and don't stray too far." With that Imrahil and his men plunged into the thick brush that led into the forest.

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Archegnum
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Founded: Jun 29, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby Archegnum » Sat Jun 07, 2014 1:31 am

Rivendell: Elrond, Assorted Elves (mentioned), Eurion (not named), Malantur (not named), Asmarr (not named)

Elrond clapped his hands loudly as he entered the dining hall, summoning the first course of the meal to the table. Taking his seat at the high end, he took the opportunity to admire the artwork and design of the room. Through the three doors, an almost constant stream of people (mostly elves) made their way into the building, taking their seats at their allotted places.

One group that caught his attention was a trio, two of which were human, and the other a dwarf. They intrigued him, but they seemed deep in conversation together. Oh well, no doubt they would come seeking his advice eventually. Travellers always seemed to...
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The cold ice
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Founded: Mar 25, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby The cold ice » Sat Jun 07, 2014 5:02 am

The Halls of Thranduil
Thranduil was smiling, an event that had become increasingly rare lately. The men of the forest had been recruited. They had come to fear Dol Guldur as well. 5000 men, almost as many as his own elves. With this new force in hand, perhaps an assault with Lorien could be feasible. However, Thranduil recalled Amon Lanc, and had no doubts that its fortifications were even heavier now. Aid had to be found somewhere. The birds that kept him abreast of world events had brought little new in some time. There was a certain feel of the world holding its breath, even as combat continued around Gondor.

Outside Mirkwood
On the edge of Mirkwood Legolas and Gloin sat under open sky at last. Gloin's tale had been most interesting, and most long. Legolas then asked a question he had wondered for some time: "Tell me, friend, this skinchanger, Beorn. Do you suppose he is still living? And could you find his home again?" Legolas thought that enlisting he aid and friendship of such a man would be very good for the effort against the Enemy's forces.

Dale
The messenger of King Thranduil had come to Dale. He was, after some waiting, admitted to give his message. After the formalities associated with speaking to a king, he said this: "King Thranduil sends words of friendship to the men of Dale, and most especially to King Bard. He wishes to hold meeting with his old friend at the shores of Longlake at the day of the next new moon." The messenger awaited the approval or decline to bring back to his master.
Last edited by The cold ice on Sat Jun 07, 2014 5:03 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Limborg
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Founded: Nov 20, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby Limborg » Sun Jun 08, 2014 4:02 am

Image

Outside Mirkwood
I'm afraid that he died earlier this year. His son Grimbeorn took over as chieftain. Why do you ask? Glóin said. he had a feeling what the elf would be trying, but Glóin wanted to know for sure. The Beornings almost never took side in a conflict, they Always kept themselves at their own lands. The only time Glóin knew of them fighting in other battles was at Erebor, at the battle of the five armies. There Beorn fought with them, but in the end only becouse he got something out of it. The goblins from the mountains and Gundabad terrorized his lands for ages, supporting the war at Erebor gave them an oppertuity to push them back so far that peace could return to the lands for many years to come.

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Black Marshes
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Founded: Jan 19, 2013
Father Knows Best State

Postby Black Marshes » Sun Jun 08, 2014 3:16 pm

Borders of Ithilien
The Sun had set not long ago, leaving the lands of Eastern Middle-Earth to descend into darkness, the domain of Evil. But the Witch-King would see this end, leaving the rangers of Ithilien to be purged by the Flames of Numenor in their forests. The barrels of powder had been mounted on the various catapults deployed throughout the field, and the ballistae with large bolts, whilst 12000 Orcs prepared their bows for volleying. The Witch-King himself would lead the scouring from atop his fell beast, which also bore a barrel of powder.
"Servants of the Dark Lord! We shall watch as the black powder pours over the forests of Ithilien, and then set fire to the rain! We shall watch it burn and hear the Rangers cry in pain! Catapults!"
At that moment the barrels were opened and launched by the catapults, blanketing the forest with powder.
"Open fire!"
Instantly 12,000 burning arrows were loosed into the woods along with the flaming ballista bolts, and the catapults were loaded with oiled boulders ready for lighting. The Witch-King took to the skies, where his mount slashed the barrel, allowingbthe powder to spread throughout the forest.
The arrows, bolts and boulders soon met the trees and powder, resulting in a drastic symphony of explosions across the woods, joined by the cracking of trees and splintering of rocks. Now 6,000 of the 12,000 marched into the smouldering abyss, mutilating the charred remains of men and the simmering survivors, keeping their distance from the advancing wall of the inferno which left only ash in its wake.
Meanwhile the continied barage had set alight the far reaches of the woods, resulting in many rangers being trapped by a surrounding and closing inferno.
"Not even the waters of the Anduin shall stop me. The West shall burn!"

Shargaleb, Rhun-Khand Borderlands
Adunaphel, the Black One, stared idly at the chief before him. He knew he spoke the truth, although he would prefer other methods, but the Nazgul would do whatnwas needed to restore the men of the East to Sauron's rule.
"Very well, take me to this tournament- I shall demonstrate my power and remind them of their place"
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Sil Arion
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Founded: May 07, 2013
Authoritarian Democracy

Postby Sil Arion » Sun Jun 08, 2014 8:08 pm

Dale, Rhovanion

King Brand strode into the Great Hall where his guests awaited, his red cloak swishing behind him, and the golden band at his brow glinting in the eventide light. His Yeoman, Baldric, the blessed grey-haired man who had served his father before him, had spoken of an elf-herald from Thranduil's Halls within the Mirkwood. It had been many decades since Silvan Elf and Dalesman last spoke without pen and paper, but it was a welcome change. The Free Folk needed to stand united against the Darkness. As he entered, he saw the wood-elf standing there, four elf-warriors at his back in fine plate like leaves, with slender swords buckled at their sides, and short bows at their backs. He could feel the subtle magic about them, the glimmer of their immortal beauty and the wisdom of centuries on their noble brows. Such was the Gift of the Firstborn. But it would appear even the ever-blessed elves could be mistaken. Time was not the same in their eyes, even if their memories were long.

"Le nathlam hí. You are most welcome here in our hall, elf-herald, and my apologies for the delay. My kin and I just finished our evening council." He gave the elf a look parts strange and wistful, "But you must be mistaken. My ancestor, Bard the Bowman, Dragonslayer, and Reclaimer of Dale has long since passed from the mortal plane. I am his grandson, Brand, son of Bain, King of Dale."

He smiled slightly at that, as did his councilors and several others. 'Twas a small reminder even the favored Children of Eru Illuvatar were not flawless. "Nonetheless," he continued, "I am most agreed that our two peoples must meet as dark times approach so quickly. At new moon in ten days time, I will meet with him on the eastern shores of Longlake. If memory serves, there is an old ruin there, remnants of a shrine to the All-Father. A most apt location, if Thranduil Elven-King permits. If you so wish, you may take up quarters for the night here in the Citadel to rest yourselves before you depart. My Yeoman, Godric, will show you to them. Until then, I bid you farewell and good fortune, my friends. Na lû e-govaned vîn."

Until next we meet. With a short bow, he bid the elven party a final farewell and excused himself from the Hall. A short discussion with his kin decided the chosen party member, and already a few ranging patrols in the area would soon divert to secure the premise. Word of goblin raiders still filtered in every now and again in recent weeks as the world seemed to tense, and dark clouds form on the horizon. But with this news, he was greatly heartened, for it conicided with the completion of the new fortifications and the first few weeks of wartime drilling his men, the Companions, beyond the standard monthly muster in peacetime not so long ago. They would be ready soon enough. And then Darkness would know the Light still stood strong upon the hill. For Dale.
Aiya! Elen síla lúmenn omentielvo! Call me Sil!

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Palonitr and Howland
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Ex-Nation

Postby Palonitr and Howland » Mon Jun 09, 2014 4:52 am

Durindon, Radagast and the company were now nearing the end of the old forest road, a days march in fact but now was night time and they had set camp by a groove of trees that gave them a good defence. Durin had cooked them some salted beef and was now telling the story of his people to the younger Dwaflings. Radagast had known this and added his own input to Durindon's story. As the night settled and slowly the dwarves fell asleep, Durin stood guard. Remebering his visions and excited to finally get the Lorien for a brief rest. He only hoped that the elves would be accomodating to him and his merry band. Balin's expedition were one of his greatest regrets, he hadnt come on though he wanted to. He was nkw happy that he could finally rid himself kf his greatest regret.

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Liecthenbourg
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Posts: 12618
Founded: Jan 21, 2013
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Liecthenbourg » Mon Jun 09, 2014 11:28 am

The Dead Marshes
A few of the 1000 archers fell to the Rohirrim Counter-Attack, but this did not deter them. 100 of them continued their assault upon the shield formation - not an effective manoeuvre with the shields used by the men of Rohan, 300 fired back at their Rohirrim Archer opponents and the remaining 600, with much hunger and fury moved behind each flank. This left the Mordorians with 400 archers in the centre and 300 on either flank. Now, as the men of Rohan attempted to flank the crescent formation, the Snaga whom formed the formation merely ducked, as the large quantity of archers behind them began unleashing volley upon volley at the flankers.

From behind the formation, a good distance away down the road, Vazturan smiled and gestured to the nearby Nazgul to do his bit for the fighting.
"If you can't crush them, crush their spirit. Destroy their will to fight; make, them, bleed. Make them bleed white upon these marshes, to form a cruel reminder of their failure." These were Vazturan's words, and the Nazgul replied with a solemn nod, his gauntleted hands intertwining as he gave a small menacing chuckle.

Originally: 409
Dead: 3
Wounded: 6

Remainder: 400


Originally: 1000
Dead: 15
Wounded: 3

Remainder: 982
Last edited by Liecthenbourg on Mon Jun 09, 2014 1:39 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Grand-Master of the Kyluminati
"Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith." - Saint Francis of Assisi
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Mesrane
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Founded: Apr 13, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Mesrane » Mon Jun 09, 2014 2:32 pm

Eurion pointed to the icy peak of Caradhras, rising like a spear out of the earth, yet drawing slowly closer as they continued towards it. "That's where we're headed, Asmarr," he said. "The High Pass is thereabouts on the mountain." Almost jumping with excitement, Asmarr scanned the peaks of the Misty Mountains, searching for a clear sign of the pass, or perhaps more important to him, a sign of his people's settlements. "Khazad-Dum! Oh what delights must await! The mines and the mithril, the gold and the jewels! The great hoards of my people! Oh by Durin's beard, not since . . ." Eurion ignored the ecstatic, and increasingly annoying dwarf as he had also ignored the growls from his stomach for many hours now. He concentrated on the stark scenery and tried not to think about the hare Malantur had bagged yesterday. It would only make him more hungry, and there were three hours yet till night fell, when they would make camp. Many yards ahead, Malantur the Dunedain took the lead, lost in his own thoughts. I wonder what's gotten into him, thought Eurion. That mouth of his has hushed right up since we left Rivendell. Yet he was so eager to chance Moria! Odd.

The Dale-man had only just begun to quicken his pace and separate from the still-fantasizing dwarf when Malantur broke into a jog and moved further ahead. Eurion growled. "Malantur!" he cried. "Stop this nonsense! Save your breath, if you have a mind to save it for the pass!" But the Ranger only increased his pace, until he ran at a full sprint towards the Misty Mountains, as if he expected to knock them down. Asmarr had only just broken from his dream of riches. "Ho there!" he bellowed across the plain. "Slow down, by Durin!"

Eurion had no choice to follow Malantur at his own pace, but he soon grew tired. Malantur seemed as if he had slept for a thousand years and could sprint for a century. He paid no heed to the fading calls of his companions, running onward as the sun began to set over the Misty Mountains.
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G-Tech Corporation
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Founded: Feb 03, 2010
Democratic Socialists

Postby G-Tech Corporation » Tue Jun 10, 2014 12:16 pm

Borderlands of the Marshes

Juranash, the Death-Speaker, took to the air once more, winging over the Marshes as he flew south and west. Ahead of him the sounds of battle swelled below the fumes of the fens, and a chill smile based over the invisible face of the servant of Sauron. With a nudge of his black-iron gauntleted hand he sent the foul creature upon which he rode winging downwards, immense spike bat-wings carrying it upon the columns of war. The clash of steel and the near-silent flight of arrows swelled as the Nazgul descended, and then he broke through the bottom of the clouds, a specter of death descending. From the throat of the mighty beast he rode a cry, fell and terrible, was wrenched forth as if by an immense hand. It wailed, an assault of sound and fear on the hearts of the men below, and to those who heard the beast's hideous cry the sky seemed almost to darken. Soldiers clawed for their ears, weapons fell from nerveless fingers, and men starred sightlessly before them. Death was promised by that cry, and men thought only of wretched things, of their own lives, not of discipline or their fellow soldiers. Into the wavering lines and shield wall poured arrows from the Orcs, their efforts redoubled; failure now they knew would be a poor plan indeed, for one of their master's servants watched them, and the Nine were not known for their mercy. Like a whip at their back the Orcs labored to fire again and again, and soon the foe would fall, as had been ordained by the Dark Lord.

His talons snatched up two archers from among the ranks of the Rohirrim, scattering a dozen more like fallen trees with the impact, and then he bore them skywards. Once he was high enough, Juranash tapped the fellbeast, and took wicked pleasure in watching the screaming squirming figures fall a hundred feet and more to their deaths. Once hit a tree, cracked at an unnatural angle, and perished forthwith. Another struck one of the Snaga archers, bowling it over too, but the Nazgul shrugged. His master had many more servants like that. Away to the north he could see great lines of torches marching westward, and harsh chanting was a dull backdrop to the din of battle in his ears. High above the murk he rode eastward, to turn about for another pass, and from the west came the howls of great wolves.

Northern Ithilien

Horns blew, Orcs snarled, whips cracked, and south marched the host of Mordor. In support of the Witch-King's thrust from the east, a black legion was making its way along the shores of the Anduin southwards, towards the ruined city of Osgiliath, the only major way to move forces across the Great River in the lands near Gondor. Many were their marching forces, company after company of Orcs, great Trolls, many tall and savage Uruks, all bearing banners resplendent in the crimson and scarlet and black of the Great Eye, lidless and wreathed in flame. Outriders of swift loping Morannon Orcs kept watch on the countryside about them, and overhead one of the Nine winged, as the host began the reconquest of Ithilien for the Dark Lord.
Last edited by G-Tech Corporation on Tue Jun 10, 2014 4:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Liecthenbourg
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Posts: 12618
Founded: Jan 21, 2013
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Liecthenbourg » Thu Jun 12, 2014 9:47 am

Khand
The great plains of Khand were glorious indeed, and much like the Gong Shaman had described. His words of wisdom echoed in Durnazag's head now; "Let that which you seek, block you not upon your path to find them"
Durnazag had not made sense of it, in fact, he didn't understand it at all. Thankfully, the Shaman had also told him specifically that a Nomadic Gong tribe could be found in Khand - and now, under the blazing sun of Arda, his Warg ran through the plains as a fish swimming in water. With snarling teeth it leapt forward, traversing over some ancient logs and small mammals that it had ignored. Forth through the plains there journey took them, and after much nights upon the field, a glimpse sign was given to Durnazag.

Tracks

And plenty of them. Durnazag's eyes scanned the plains below him, for atop this hill he could see for quite some distance and all the tracks, despite being heavily organised and some merely being anomalies, led the same way. With a quick flick of the leather reins around the snout of the Warg, it leapt into action once more, it's heavy and strong paws rapidly taking it across the land.
Impeach Kerensky Legalise Autocracy Soviets are Fucking Stupid Pyotr Wrangle, 1936
Grand-Master of the Kyluminati
"Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith." - Saint Francis of Assisi
"At age 13 the internet should be used for porn and club penguin " - The Kingdom of Glitter
Consider Kylaris, peasant. The Greatest Collab Post. Ever. Of All Time.
TNL (NWH): to conclude my earlier message considering that none of us give enough of a shit about your misplaced nationalism to ever create an rp where spain is even remotely fucking relevant i don't think we're ever going to call you, ever

NS' self-declared most humble Catholic.

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The cold ice
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 399
Founded: Mar 25, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby The cold ice » Thu Jun 12, 2014 11:16 am

Outskirts of Mirkwood
"Because, I think we might have needed his help. Because I think we might soon be needing everyone's help." Legolas stared at the sky, and then continued, with a curious tone: "Tell me, do you know if this Grimbeorn can change his shape?"

Dale
The messenger heard Brand's reply, and kindly refused the offer of lodgings, telling the yeoman that they preferred travelling under the stars. They then set out, for their King.

The Narrows of the Forest
The new men were taking up positions with the elves. Pikemen, including most the human infantry that had been assigned to the Narrows, taking positions behind barricades of wood, protecting large groups of archers, in the northern half of the Narrows. If the orcs came to the positions, they would not get into battle without facing massive volleys of arrows first. The positions were vulnerable to outflanking, but orcs are not known for their tactics. Beyond that, the positions were set up to make any maneuver arduous and chancy. The web of such positions was interspersed with small strike groups, almost exclusively elven in composition, that also littered the southern part of the Narrows. These groups took up some manner of fluid position, and would pelt the orcs with arrows. When assaulted, they would retreat, under cover of the infantry with the group. The infantry needed to be capable of holding against a vastly larger force, and so only the firstborn were assigned to that suicidal task. The very best woodsmen shots were given to these groups as well, working with the elven archers.

To be added, possibly as late as tomorrow
Everyone calls me Ice.

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G-Tech Corporation
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Democratic Socialists

Postby G-Tech Corporation » Thu Jun 12, 2014 3:32 pm

Bree

South for many days and nights from the ancient fastnesses of Rhuduar had Arpharazon and his companions ridden; Haromnar, the swordsman beyond equal, as good it was said as the warriors of the High-Elves themselves, and Tarmadal, his black-haired beauty with the eyes of a falcon and the mercy of ice itself. Together they were some of the most dangerous denizens of the northlands, and indeed many lands they had yet to sojourn. They had thought to journey south to the ancient realm of Gondor, to secure like-minded men to reforge Arnor with. But the news of the destruction of the one-time fair city of Bree had diverted the band's attention, and as they approached each warrior slipped from their horse, padding forward under the cloud of dusk to see what there was to see. Arpharazon's golden hair was hidden beneath a hood of slate-gray, but his sword was naked in his hand.

The walls had been burned with fire, and the stench of death came from within the gates. He wrinkled his nose, and nodded to Haromnar. As one they crept through the side doors, which hung off their hinges largely. What was there caused Tarmadal to hiss in disgust. Dead Orcs, goblins really, of the mountain breed. Lawless, agents of chaos, and very much dead, alongside some of the guards of Bree. Clearly this was the disaster that had befallen the men and hobbits of the town; an attack by the forces of disorder, and it was plain for all with eyes to see that here the Breemen had not triumphed. Through the guardhouse the trio stepped, cautious feet quiet on the fallen splintered wood; who knew if the foul creatures still lurked here?

But it was not so. Beyond the drunkenly leaning gates many ashes and burnt out homes only greeted the eyes of the travelers. With nods to each other, the party spread out to look for survivors.
TG if you have questions about RP. If I don't know the answer, I know someone who does.

Quite the unofficial fellow. P2TM Mentor specializing in faction and nation RPs, as well as RPGs.

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