Monday, August 26, 2019
Saturday, August 24, 2019
Hostage of Angmar
Though the air smelled like smoke, Hawkinz breathed it deeply. It was a relief compared to the stench of the dungeons where he'd been confined only a few hours ago. Those cells might have been larger than his current containment, but they were dark and reeked of things he wouldn't even try to guess. Inside the merciless little cage they had moved him to, there was hardly enough room to sit, nevertheless it was a welcome change. From here Hawkinz could at least see the sky, blood red though it was.
It was surprising actually how much the change of scenery had lifted his spirits. Not even the sound of Gaian chewing a bone behind him, or the popping of the acid lake far below could darken the captive elf's mood. Though his cage swung from the side of Angmar's tallest tower, and the warden had threatened to throw him into that seething lake if he caused any trouble, Hawkinz didn't mind. He just kept staring steadfastly upward at the churning clouds overhead. He couldn't help but think that there was sunlight somewhere behind those clouds, or perhaps moonlight and stars. Either way, it wasn't anything solid that separated him from them now, just clouds.
Hawkinz adjusted his position, trying to get more comfortable despite the fact his cage had intentionally been built against it. His body protested the movement. Though he hadn't been tortured at all, his captors were not kind in moving him. He'd been thoroughly bruised. Still Hawkinz was grateful for that too. He preferred bruises over being cut or slashed. At least there were no open wounds where infection could set in. Given a little time up here by himself, he would heal.. Then he could make his escape.
His situation had changed after all. He didn't have to break away from a dungeon wall, fend off Gaian with whatever he could find on the dungeon floor, and navigate a labyrinthine of hallways in order to escape anymore-- All he had to do now was get out of this cage. The rest would be easy for an elf! Merely a test of acrobatic ability getting from the tower down to the Angmarium village by the lake. But, as previously stated, Hawkinz wasn't going to try that right now... It would undoubtedly involve some sort of climbing and his arm would not be able to hold his weight at this time. It would fail him, then he would fall into the acid lake even without the warden's help.
Just letting his right arm lie motionless in his lap, it still hurt very badly. The Captain Of The Dead had ripped it from the dungeon wall, chains, bricks and all whilst lecturing the warden about feeble security measures; and in so doing, he had cruelly dislocated Hawkinz' shoulder...
Thankfully, the elf had managed to relocate it shortly afterward, once his captors had left him alone.
Hawkinz had noticed the corroded state of those chains when he was first clamped in them. Over the course of his captivity, he subtly pulled against them to weaken their hold. They gave a little more each time, and if The Captain hadn't arrived today, they would have eventually failed completely. That might be considered an inconvenience by anyone else, but Hawkinz thought it better this way, since it led to there being less for him to do when it came to escaping later.
Actually, to be perfectly honest, Hawkinz thought his entire capture was for the best: Without him, Taivian could not be found-- Not by the kinship, but especially not by The Captain. And Hawkinz had always intended to come to Angmar anyway. He had a promise to keep here. The thought caused Hawkins to looking down toward the village. He could see the people. They were the real prisoners here; prisoners in their own home, and only half of them knew it. Once he escaped, he could occupy his time making good on that promise to free them.
For now however, he needed to take advantage of the rest his captors afforded him through their fear of him-- Oh yes! The warden had heard tell of this elf hunter, clad in blue, and the thought of guarding him against escape caused the poor man to tremble and sneer. Hawkinz breathed a chuckle at the thought; the first chuckle he had breathed since his capture in fact.
Once again, the elf rested his head back and gazed upward. How could he be prisoner in such a dark place and yet feel no worse than if he were on a rooftop in Bree? There was a comfort, one he couldn't see but could definitely feel, and it made him smile. Slowly, his eyelids closed over his brilliant blue eyes and his lips parted in a quiet song:
It was surprising actually how much the change of scenery had lifted his spirits. Not even the sound of Gaian chewing a bone behind him, or the popping of the acid lake far below could darken the captive elf's mood. Though his cage swung from the side of Angmar's tallest tower, and the warden had threatened to throw him into that seething lake if he caused any trouble, Hawkinz didn't mind. He just kept staring steadfastly upward at the churning clouds overhead. He couldn't help but think that there was sunlight somewhere behind those clouds, or perhaps moonlight and stars. Either way, it wasn't anything solid that separated him from them now, just clouds.
Hawkinz adjusted his position, trying to get more comfortable despite the fact his cage had intentionally been built against it. His body protested the movement. Though he hadn't been tortured at all, his captors were not kind in moving him. He'd been thoroughly bruised. Still Hawkinz was grateful for that too. He preferred bruises over being cut or slashed. At least there were no open wounds where infection could set in. Given a little time up here by himself, he would heal.. Then he could make his escape.
His situation had changed after all. He didn't have to break away from a dungeon wall, fend off Gaian with whatever he could find on the dungeon floor, and navigate a labyrinthine of hallways in order to escape anymore-- All he had to do now was get out of this cage. The rest would be easy for an elf! Merely a test of acrobatic ability getting from the tower down to the Angmarium village by the lake. But, as previously stated, Hawkinz wasn't going to try that right now... It would undoubtedly involve some sort of climbing and his arm would not be able to hold his weight at this time. It would fail him, then he would fall into the acid lake even without the warden's help.
Just letting his right arm lie motionless in his lap, it still hurt very badly. The Captain Of The Dead had ripped it from the dungeon wall, chains, bricks and all whilst lecturing the warden about feeble security measures; and in so doing, he had cruelly dislocated Hawkinz' shoulder...
Thankfully, the elf had managed to relocate it shortly afterward, once his captors had left him alone.
Hawkinz had noticed the corroded state of those chains when he was first clamped in them. Over the course of his captivity, he subtly pulled against them to weaken their hold. They gave a little more each time, and if The Captain hadn't arrived today, they would have eventually failed completely. That might be considered an inconvenience by anyone else, but Hawkinz thought it better this way, since it led to there being less for him to do when it came to escaping later.
Actually, to be perfectly honest, Hawkinz thought his entire capture was for the best: Without him, Taivian could not be found-- Not by the kinship, but especially not by The Captain. And Hawkinz had always intended to come to Angmar anyway. He had a promise to keep here. The thought caused Hawkins to looking down toward the village. He could see the people. They were the real prisoners here; prisoners in their own home, and only half of them knew it. Once he escaped, he could occupy his time making good on that promise to free them.
For now however, he needed to take advantage of the rest his captors afforded him through their fear of him-- Oh yes! The warden had heard tell of this elf hunter, clad in blue, and the thought of guarding him against escape caused the poor man to tremble and sneer. Hawkinz breathed a chuckle at the thought; the first chuckle he had breathed since his capture in fact.
Once again, the elf rested his head back and gazed upward. How could he be prisoner in such a dark place and yet feel no worse than if he were on a rooftop in Bree? There was a comfort, one he couldn't see but could definitely feel, and it made him smile. Slowly, his eyelids closed over his brilliant blue eyes and his lips parted in a quiet song:
"From the west she appeared
Sunlight and stars in her hair
In her eyes an undying memory of home
A land that is magical and fair
When her feet came to rest
Deep in a canopied glade
She lifted her face and there she danced
The realm of Lothlórien she made
Gaze on me, lady of gold
Reawaken my slumbering soul
Beacon of courage, summon me home
To your haven of wonders untold
Lórien laurë
A laiqa alcar
O Ehtele lisse
Nimrodel a
Nyére auta
A Lórien laurë
A Lórien laurë
Lórien laurë
A laiqa alcar
Orë áro
Lothlórien"
Hawkinz' voice was weak from having not been used since he was first captured, yet it remained fair as the voices of elves always are, especially when carried in song. Gaian did not like the sound and permitted his captive to go no further in the utterance of the lyrics. Forcefully, he grabbed the chains that bore the elf's cage aloft and shook them violently. Hawkinz immediately went silent, wincing as the motion caused pain to spike once again. He kept his eyes shut until the swaying stopped and Gaian returned to his bone. Then with one last glance at the sky, he lowered his head and allowed himself to drift to sleep where he saw not dreams, but memories of The Golden Wood...
Hawkinz was unaware that his song had been carried to the ears of the village below where many heard it...
...Including one quite familiar to him...
Saturday, August 3, 2019
Thoughts of The Lost One
It started in Moria, in the darkest depth of Khazaduum-- Looking back, I supposed a lot of things started there for the kinship.
Malgamorie had been found. The dark force behind nature's upheaval, the disappearance and madness of the Rune Keepers, the force who had commanded the spider, Nilithion, who our kinship had slain in the peaks of the Misty Mountains-- He was the source of so much corruption and evil, and yet he was not what we had expected. Through the mouths of his slaves he had painted himself up to be a Balrog, but now we stood before him, and he was nothing of the sort:
We could not see his face. He was huddled in the shadow of a rock and did not so much as look up to greet us, but we knew he was a man.. Or rather, the shriveled remains of one. Indeed, what we beheld before us was little more than a corpse, a skeleton wrapped in a thin layer of papery flesh. He was long decayed, more so than many wights I have ever seen. The spongy growth of the lake and dust of the earth had long since settled on his remain. If he was even breathing it was imperceptible!
Yes, to our horror, we discovered Malgamorie was dead in all but his mind, which he had used to enslave and torment. Some in the company were disappointed that the body of our foe was so pitiful, and recognizing it, Malgamorie tried to play on their sympathy.. But he could not fool us. He was a wretched victim of his own maliciousness: The dark magic with which he had surrounded himself had consumed him completely, yet devoid of mercy would not grant him death. His soul was still tied to the corpse whilst his mind had plagued the land above Moria and far beyond...
How often, I thought, we had come to these depths during our time in Moria. How often we had passed this lake, seen this stone on the distant shore, and walked right by our enemy time and time again-- All because we sought something of towering height and incredible strength. We thought our foe's physical form would be as mighty as he claimed. We had believed him, fallen prey to his lies.
He had eluded our detection, sickened the land, maddened the animals, stolen our friends, he had caused misery and fear... But he was nothing. He had no physical strength at all. It was deceit that gave him power. It wasn't that he had been undefeatable, we just believed him so, and thus he was able to work his dark magic to our manipulation and suffering. We believed he was powerful and therefore overlooked the weakness we sought desperately for.
...As the corpse was vanquished by phoenix fire, Malgamorie fell forever into the darkness he had sold himself to. He would never torment the world again, and his absence was immediately apparent: The captive minds were freed, speaking to us in their own words for the very first time. Tension, it seemed, was released from the walls of Moria; as if a festering thorn had at last been removed, and real healing could begin. ...Moria will be reclaimed. I have no doubt of that. The mountain itself knows and awaits it. Thus our kinship returned to the surface, soaking in the sunlight they had so longed for during the bitter months of our hunt. The fresh air was welcomed into their lungs. They and the world around them were ready for much needed healing. They departed...
...But I stayed.
I stayed under the pretense of aiding the dwarves in reclaiming their great kingdom, but the truth was my eyes had been opened: Malgamorie was just one. One who stewed long, but one nonetheless. One one of the darkness' many pawns. The darkness had other followers yet hidden from us-- I say this not in despair, but in realization. For in Malgamorie it was made clear to me, Malgamorie embodied what the darkness really was: A lie.
It built itself up to be something amazing and powerful, something that promised it could never be defeated, but was really only an opportunistic leech. Something weak that relied on neglectful glances in misdirected directions in order to carry on it's sneakery unhindered. ...And I knew it would be back. It lusted after many in our kinship. I had seen it pulling at the mind and heart of my mentors, Apostos and Drakelvin. It pulled at my brother Tarvhos, at Dekota, at Ardonali, at Lartenell, and at others I have yet to meet. It is not because they are bad people, it is because the darkness wants them and their power. It tells them they can never be good enough, it says they were born in the dark and in the dark they must remain.. I have heard them when they voice their doubts. I know what it tells them. And I know even if they individually can not contribute anything of significance to the darkness' strength, as long as they are bound in it's web, neither can they contribute to the light in which their potential would be unhindered. It is a struggle. They need to shut their ears to it's whispers.
...As do I.
I am constantly reminded that I am a descendant of a dark wizard, the son of a man who heeded darkness' lies, apprentice to those who once succumbed to darkness for themselves. My history is spotted with unseemly black marks... I will not let this define me as other have.. I left Moria shortly after my kinship did, but secretly and in the opposite direction. I am a lore master, but there is no one here who can teach me how to use my magic. I have to teach myself.
~Taivian
Malgamorie had been found. The dark force behind nature's upheaval, the disappearance and madness of the Rune Keepers, the force who had commanded the spider, Nilithion, who our kinship had slain in the peaks of the Misty Mountains-- He was the source of so much corruption and evil, and yet he was not what we had expected. Through the mouths of his slaves he had painted himself up to be a Balrog, but now we stood before him, and he was nothing of the sort:
We could not see his face. He was huddled in the shadow of a rock and did not so much as look up to greet us, but we knew he was a man.. Or rather, the shriveled remains of one. Indeed, what we beheld before us was little more than a corpse, a skeleton wrapped in a thin layer of papery flesh. He was long decayed, more so than many wights I have ever seen. The spongy growth of the lake and dust of the earth had long since settled on his remain. If he was even breathing it was imperceptible!
Yes, to our horror, we discovered Malgamorie was dead in all but his mind, which he had used to enslave and torment. Some in the company were disappointed that the body of our foe was so pitiful, and recognizing it, Malgamorie tried to play on their sympathy.. But he could not fool us. He was a wretched victim of his own maliciousness: The dark magic with which he had surrounded himself had consumed him completely, yet devoid of mercy would not grant him death. His soul was still tied to the corpse whilst his mind had plagued the land above Moria and far beyond...
How often, I thought, we had come to these depths during our time in Moria. How often we had passed this lake, seen this stone on the distant shore, and walked right by our enemy time and time again-- All because we sought something of towering height and incredible strength. We thought our foe's physical form would be as mighty as he claimed. We had believed him, fallen prey to his lies.
He had eluded our detection, sickened the land, maddened the animals, stolen our friends, he had caused misery and fear... But he was nothing. He had no physical strength at all. It was deceit that gave him power. It wasn't that he had been undefeatable, we just believed him so, and thus he was able to work his dark magic to our manipulation and suffering. We believed he was powerful and therefore overlooked the weakness we sought desperately for.
...As the corpse was vanquished by phoenix fire, Malgamorie fell forever into the darkness he had sold himself to. He would never torment the world again, and his absence was immediately apparent: The captive minds were freed, speaking to us in their own words for the very first time. Tension, it seemed, was released from the walls of Moria; as if a festering thorn had at last been removed, and real healing could begin. ...Moria will be reclaimed. I have no doubt of that. The mountain itself knows and awaits it. Thus our kinship returned to the surface, soaking in the sunlight they had so longed for during the bitter months of our hunt. The fresh air was welcomed into their lungs. They and the world around them were ready for much needed healing. They departed...
...But I stayed.
I stayed under the pretense of aiding the dwarves in reclaiming their great kingdom, but the truth was my eyes had been opened: Malgamorie was just one. One who stewed long, but one nonetheless. One one of the darkness' many pawns. The darkness had other followers yet hidden from us-- I say this not in despair, but in realization. For in Malgamorie it was made clear to me, Malgamorie embodied what the darkness really was: A lie.
It built itself up to be something amazing and powerful, something that promised it could never be defeated, but was really only an opportunistic leech. Something weak that relied on neglectful glances in misdirected directions in order to carry on it's sneakery unhindered. ...And I knew it would be back. It lusted after many in our kinship. I had seen it pulling at the mind and heart of my mentors, Apostos and Drakelvin. It pulled at my brother Tarvhos, at Dekota, at Ardonali, at Lartenell, and at others I have yet to meet. It is not because they are bad people, it is because the darkness wants them and their power. It tells them they can never be good enough, it says they were born in the dark and in the dark they must remain.. I have heard them when they voice their doubts. I know what it tells them. And I know even if they individually can not contribute anything of significance to the darkness' strength, as long as they are bound in it's web, neither can they contribute to the light in which their potential would be unhindered. It is a struggle. They need to shut their ears to it's whispers.
...As do I.
I am constantly reminded that I am a descendant of a dark wizard, the son of a man who heeded darkness' lies, apprentice to those who once succumbed to darkness for themselves. My history is spotted with unseemly black marks... I will not let this define me as other have.. I left Moria shortly after my kinship did, but secretly and in the opposite direction. I am a lore master, but there is no one here who can teach me how to use my magic. I have to teach myself.
~Taivian
Friday, May 24, 2019
Of Ebbs and Flows
"Thar i' urra anfauglir,
imya tum ar' lad
lye auta a' i' ndor en' gondor,
yassen varna vesta ta ona..."
A chorus of melodious voices.... a sea of ornate garbs brushing against the golden sand and stirring it at their hems.
I know this-this is not a dream, it is a memory.
I am young-my feet don't touch the ground, I ride in the back-saddle of another wanderer. There are horses, carrying supplies... all of the women carry packs, or baskets in their arms, bundles at their sides.
The women on the outside carry something else-bright, glistening weapons and shields. They move with a steady pace.
I can see nothing beyond a sea of white sand-the sun reflects harshly on it and makes my eyes want to shut tight to block it out.
"Lye auta utu- lye coia,
n'ala wanwa a' i' ohta
sii' lye maa ten' seere,
lye eska, y' winya beginnien"
They continue, but I do not yet know all of the words. I only know the strange feelings it invokes in my young soul; hope, peace... it begins to lull me to sleep as I fixate on the garbs of the women in front of me, swaying to and fro with their rythmetic steps......
---
"Cuiva, amin hin...."
I wake up. No longer on the back of a woman.. below me is a horse I had fallen asleep on. Behind me, a figure stirs my shoulder. I open my eyes, and another woman carries a bundle towards me, looking down on it with a beautiful smile. She holds it up somewhat as she nears me, still keeping her arms around it so it does not drop... it is a small, white creature with horns on it's head.
"Ta naa lle nosta re, Mosaine. Mani will lle yela ho?"
I looked on his dark eyes and small stature, reaching out, nearly leaning off of the horse. I felt a hand catch me at the waist, and they offered the goat up to me to hold in my lap. We were not much different in size, then.
"Astal."
---
"Lle caela istim- quen- i' sanya lambe en' edain." Farmona spoke firmly,
"Amin uma il- merna a'... Mankoi uma lye anta a'?" I respond. I don't meet her eyes yet, but I am taller now.
"Ten', i' ohta naa wanwa. sal', i' edain en' i' ohta naa il- ie' seere. Ta naa ante ie' sina coiasira.."
I wanted to continue to learn of the flowers, of the land I would be entering into, the creatures of it... how to hear to the wind and listen to the trees, to play the instruments of my people, as we had been. Still, I would not argue.
"Eller naa somethien eile..." Farmona said, producing a beautiful weapon. I looked in awe at it's detail-the jewels upon it's hilt, the gold and stunning blue imbued into it's design. I didn't recognize the words upon it's blade, written on both sides elegantly.
"Mani uma sina parma?" I asked. When Farmona spoke again, it was in a tongue I didn't not understand.
"To battle without prayer, is injustice. We raise our swords solemnly, and invoke Thy name, that this sword may rest one day in peace."
"Lle istima dagor-, tul're."
---
Images of sewing and basket weaving, of nights of dance and song around a fire, of following the wind to find water and food, of my beautiful family on our journey... we began the trek admist the war, our fathers and brothers having been lain out upon the land, their blood staining it's earth. We traveled for days and nights. Learning, growing. Some, growing into youth. Some, growing into oldness, and some, passing on into the stars, their journey never destined to make it to the safehold called Gondor. We learned of joy and pain, of loss and of gain....
Most importantly, I learned of my desire to protect. First of all my people... and then this place I would call home when we reached it. I would not lose it as I had lost my first home. I would protect it, even unto death.
---
I blinked again, the next image was of fields and houses, of townspeople staring on at the strange villagers arriving. The next time I blink, there is a massive white wall before me.... but it does not bring the same joy it does then. Something is different when I look upon it now, in this vision. There is pain, and fear accompanying it. There is a deep ache within my heart, and a feeling of loss.
The other villagers are gone-they have blended into the peple of Gondor, selling their crafts and wares, marrying the men who are stricken by the beauty of the swarthy skinned women, who speak the common tongue in an intoxicating voice, and can lull them to sleep from a long day with their enchanting songs. I never learned-why did I not learn then? I am still seen as an outsider.
Farmona is not around. I do not know where she has gone. I have taken up the sword to fight for peace, but no Captain of these men will take a woman of the South. So I must go alone, to fight for peace, the peace written on my sword.
Amin uma il- merna aut- ereb.
Monday, January 28, 2019
The scrolls of Dafin the swift Handed -2
Lallinvorn-- It has taken a lot of digging but Drake and I have found one of the scrolls... I fear that most of the rest of the scrolls are lost to time or fire, Drake is Working as hard as he can to bring as much as he can back from the scrolls.. But I it will take some time..
Thursday, December 27, 2018
The scrolls of Dafin the swift handed.
The First scroll is a bit worn, and most of the script has been smudged.. And most of these scrolls are like that, I'll do my best to restore them.. ~Lallinvorn
x
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