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Iorlas
03/20/2007 12:20 AM

Marik lie there on a hill that over looked the sea of Rhun. Looking up at the night sky. He wore flowing cotton and silk garments which was dark crimson in color along with his black boots, and his long black hair was untamed and loose about his face and shoulders, Except for where his wife had braided parts of his coarse hair.

He listened to the quiet enjoying how peaceful it was at night.. Only the wildlife and herds of sheep, Which was relatively quiet compared to the normal sounds of the village he lived in. A soft subtle smirk flowed gently over his tanned, and scarred lips. Marik knew he wouldnt be chosen to lead his people once his Father Brakim died..

Marik looked up at his wife as she joined him kneeling next to him in the grass. The soft smirk he wore turned into a genuine smile.."Are my daughters asleep?" He asked in his rough and scratchy tone. His wife Zaya replied.." Yes My Husband..." Her hair was dark as was her skin.

Marik sat up resting against his elbow, and brought a gloved hand to caress the side of her face gently. His hardened features softened for a moment. "I am being sent by my father to the west.. I dont know how long I will be gone.."

Zaya's face saddened greatly but she was a strong woman. "I understand, but you will miss the birth of your first son.." She placed Marik's hand on her stomach.."I know its a son this time.." Her voice
Held tones of saddness and joy..

Marik's eyes widened slightly, and he sat up fully overjoyed at the thought of it. "I will teach him many things when i return.." She nodded and brought her hands to a necklace of teeth and shells that was around her neck.. Zaya undid the knots and tied it around Marik's neck.." Bring this back to me.."

The night quickly turned into dawn, and Marik had begun to saddle his horse packing for the journey he was about to partake in.. He couldnt help but feel it would be a long time before he would ever see his home again.

[Edited by Iorlas on Thursday, March 22, 2007 10:59 PM]

Damien
03/31/2007 12:51 AM

'I go and that is an end to it, slave!' Chimola snapped angrily. His voice was deep and rasping, and when he spoke it was in the ancient tongue of his people, gutteral and with an evil sound about it. The man he shouted at was an older man of grey beard and hair with skin of stark black. The man had once been a great warrior and leader, but his tribe had been annihilated by Chimola's, which left the warrior as a slave to his conqueror. In truth, Chimola greatly respected the man for his prowess and cunning, but he was still a slave now and was treated as one, even if Chimola did often seek the wisdom of that slave. His name was Abrafo.

Bowing his head in deference, Abrafo immediately quieted his concerns. He did not believe it was wise for Chimola to leave the area, nor did he think one of the Haradrim would be welcome in the Westlands. Chimola's point had been well-thought and decisive; if he wanted to take control of the entire region he would need the support of the White King.

Chimola, being a practical man, felt no lingering allegiance to Sauron and his minions. He had been a powerful despot, but a despot nonetheless. If Chimola could enter into peace with The Elfstone, he may yet make himself a true king. With that thought in mind, the tribal chieftain ordered his men onward. They had been on a path to the coast for days, and had yet days more to travel. Riding through Upper Harad and onward to Gondor was far too dangerous for a man of his station and infamy. He, instead, would take ship from one of many Corsair ports and travel north in that manner.

The pace was agonizingly slow. Having only one horse secured from Upper Harad, combined with the terrible heat, forced the entire party to a crawl with many stops along the way. Cursing, Chimola slammed the heel of his sandal into the ear of a slave who was beginning to lag. He gave no command, and did not need to. The slave moved more quickly, despite being almost entirely dehydrated.

The Lion of Harad, Chimola mused to himself. It was the title he decided he would assume once he returned to Harad with West Men soldiers to help him subdue his neighbors.



Some days, and a few dead slaves, later Chimola arrived at a Corsair port known as Kashk. He secured a saddlebag made of skin from a Mumak, filled with his personal gear which was not already on his person as well as some rations, and led the horse onto one of the great ships after paying his passage with a vast amount of ivory. After stalling his horse in the ships cargo area, Chimola moved to the deck, gripping the crude wooden rail. Sea-spray speckled his hard, dark features soothingly as Corsairs prepared to set sails and rowers to task.

Yes. The Lion of Harad.

nanuk
04/01/2007 3:41 AM

The Tower of Ecthelion stabbed defiantly at the sky, the bright morning sun making its white walls blaze. With each minute it seemed to grow greater.

They had camped that night on the plains, though already so near to Minas Tirith. Eohric had wished to spend some time on the Pelennor Fields, remembering the great deeds and sacrifices of their kinsmen during the war: and although Halya could appreciate the sentiment, seeing the plain spread out before her, remembering the tales she had been told since a child, remembering the sacrifices of her own family, she itched to reach the city. To know that it was but a short ride away was no comfort.

She could hardly credit that she was here, was this close.


When messengers had arrived clad in the royal livery of the House of Eorl she had been helping school a yearling in one of the far paddocks. As quickly as was seemly she had finished and run up to the house, finding the messengers still inside, seated at a long bench. Her fosterfather had smiled and motioned for her to join him.
King Elessar would have peace between the races of men, the messengers explained: he was calling for a great assembly of all the peoples. Eomer-king himself would make the journey, and wished to have representatives from all corners of the Mark accompany him.
Halya's heart had jumped at this: Eohric had merely nodded and given the messengers his assurances that he would attend on his king, and welcomed them to take rest and hospitality in his home.

He had gone out, then, to call the riders, she trailing him, not daring to speak and invite disappointment.
Finally he had turned, a half smile at his lips.

"Well?" He gestured back at the house. "Why do you not make ready for travel?"
All attempt at dignity had been cast aside and she had leapt to throw her arms about his neck before running back to their home.

Her mother had come, silently helping her to pack.
"You have no objections? I will stay if you wish it, mother."
Smiling, Fraeda had reached up to stroke her hair.
"You are past grown, my daughter, and free to follow your own wishes. Watch all and hear all- learn from your journey".

Halya had run towards the stables after hugging her mother, not wishing to prolong the goodbye. Brecin, chestnut and shining, his mane and tail blonder than her own hair, had whickered softly when she entered, but as she went to gather his tack a hand grasped her and pulled her into a stall that should have been empty.
"You were not going to say goodbye?"
Aelfred's face was serious but he could not hide the smile in his eyes. He never could.
She shrugged noncommittally.
"I have already said goodbye- to those I care for."
He growled and pulled her closer, contriving as only he could to 'accidentally' grab her where she was most ticklish.
She could no longer control her mirth and dissolved into giggles, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. Finally she was laughing so much that breath was hard to catch.
"Enough, [b]enough[/b]! I give up! You are delaying me- help me get Brecin ready as an apology".
They hadn't spoken as they had clad the horse in his gleaming tack, but each would smile as their eyes frequently met.
Too soon all was ready, and together they walked toward the centre of the village, where Eohric and those others who would travel were already waiting. Two of her younger foster brothers numbered among them, and Halya noted that of those families represented either a father or firstborn travelled, but never both.
[i]This must be why Aelfred does not go. So, peaceful talks but still cautious..[/i]

She climbed lightly into the saddle, the horses pawing the ground impatiently, sensing a journey.

The riders began to move out amidst much waving and the calling of well-wishes.
Halya leaned down in the saddle to kiss Aelfred lightly on the cheek.
"Look after my mother- and perhaps, when we return, you can finally ask Eohric-father for my hand".
Laughing at the mixture of suprise and pleasure on his face she had nudged Brecin into a trot to catch up with the others.


They had journeyed quickly and uneventfully to Edoras, where the muster was gathering. There they had found that not all would be travelling to Gondor: Eomer-king wished first to hear the thoughts of the Mark, but did not require all to leave their families and the approaching harvest.
The group that travelled with Eohric, and a few others, would travel ahead before the king, acting as a van: another sign that although these were to be talks of peace, caution was still called for.
From Edoras they had taken the Great West Road for a short distance before their group had split and taken to smaller trails, Halya and others being sent out to scout singly or in pairs. She had realised, then, why Eohric had wanted her to come.
But all was quiet; and those travellers they met on the trails or when they crossed back to the main road reported no troubles.

And so they had reached Gondor.
[i]And now I look on Minas Tirith.[/i]
One of her barely remembered brothers had fallen in the shadows of its walls; her father and eldest brother already dead at Helm's deep.
[i]Along with thousands of others[/i]

Even among such sombre thoughts she could not supress the excitement that clutched at her belly, growing, as the Tower, with each passing minute.



[OOC: sorry for the abruptness at the end, something came up and I had to dash]

Iorlas
04/01/2007 10:48 AM

Marik's dark eyes settled apon the great city of Minas Tirith..He could help but feel an overwhelming sensation of grief as he did so..He lowered the cowel and spoke in an almost dark and brooding tone.."What wreckless hate and prejudice drove our kin against those walls?"

He brought his horse to a halt..The company of men which were comprised of mostly Easterlings. They numbered close to two hundred and eighty men.. Most were clad in the same flowing cottons and silks..Only wielding light weapons, and only a sporadic few wore armour..Marik spoke again as he sensed the vain sacrifice of his people on the fields of Pelennor.

"King Elessar has sent for us, and given us a right to sit as equals amongst the others at his table..We shall not think ill of it..Remember this day where our fathers fanatical devotion to that dark god led them!" Marik spit onto the ground.."Come we ride to peace, raise no sword less it be in defense of the very life that you hold dear.."

The shouts of appraisal at his words rung clear in the air around..As the small company approached the fields of Pelennor. The sounds of chariots mixed with the thundering of hooves could be heard..The arrival of the self proclaimed Lord of Variags had come..Banners carrying his houses symbol which was that of a black eagle flapped eagerly in the wind.

Marik's eyes narrowed.."So now it remains to be seen if these peace talks will endure.."
Marik's bodyguard Bahraz spoke with Marik as they rode forward..The company once again halted as the Lord of Variags made his entrance into the city.."M'lord I dont wish for you to travel alone in the city.." Bahraz knew all to well how well the Variags practiced subterfuge..Regicide was only a crime in their lands if you failed in the act of committing it.

Marik rose a gloved hand.."Say no more..I do not fear death nor the posion or blade or dart that brings it.." Bahraz nodded, and the company continued bringing their horses in several paces behind the company of Variags. As they entered they dismounted and found servants of the city frantically taking care of their horses..Marik dismounted slinging his pack over his back..He looked up in wonder at the tower of Ecthelion. His dark ebony hair flapped gently around as he finally rested his gaze on Gondorian soldiers..

As they approached they brought news of what was to occur when and where, and what not to bring into the peace talks..Obviously weapons were forbidden. He and his men were given temporary housing..As they got settled in..Marik looked out over the gates of the city from the large house's window..He brought a gloved hand to rest on his bald chin. It seemed more and more people poured in. The hustle and bustle of the city was great.

Marik was not at peace..His stomach tightened as he thought about the possibility of another war. He then found himself thinking of his family far off. How he longed to see them again. He took off the scale corselet he was wearing, and bringing only one weapon his scimitar as he moved back into the cities streets..Finding himself hungry he entered a tavern where many different races of men had gathered.

[Edited by Iorlas on Sunday, April 1, 2007 10:50 AM]

[Edited by Iorlas on Sunday, April 1, 2007 10:14 PM]

nanuk
04/04/2007 9:11 AM

The thought of being so far away from earth made Halya feel dizzy.
She couldn't see beyond the high walls of the city, but just being aware of their height above the plain was enough.

She was used to rolling, open grassland, or the sheltering confines of the wood, not all this stone: she'd never been to see Helm's Deep but as a child the stories of those who had survived, tales of confinement and terror within its walls, had given her nightmares.

There was enough distraction, wandering through this strange city, that she didn't have to dwell on the thought. The bustle was huge, messengers rushing about, watch patrols visible but inobtrusive, merchants and hawkers feting their wares.

Eohric had gone to check on the arrangements made for the arrival of Eomer, arranging further provisions and checking that the stabling was adequate. She, along with a few others of their group, had been dispatched to observe the city, the mood of the gathering peoples, to listen to the opinions being voiced. Generally, they had found that mood to be almost festive: hectic but optimistic.

Aeofric, the younger of the sons of Eohric to make the journey, and but two years her junior, was almost giddy with excitement, examining each piece on each stall, exclaiming over the different types of dress he saw, quietly mimicking each new tongue he heard.

"Halya, see!" he would call, "see the curve of this blade!", or "look at this handguard, how different!", or "see how this stone is set!".
She was a little more reserved than he: the people gathered were so different from themselves- how to read their motivations? At Eohric's suggestion they wore little armour or protectives inside the city, so above her leggings and high boots she had only a vest worn closed and belted over a short tunic: it made her feel vulnerable in this place of strangers. But it was hard to remain serious in the face of Aeofric's enthusiasm.
The sun had moved well along its path by the time he, with her help, picked out a bracelet to bring back as a gift to his recent bride.
That done, his surprise when his stomach growled was almost comical.

"Observing is hungry work, sister!"

"Indeed, although it could just be that it has been some time since we broke our fast.."

He regarded the sky, eyebrows raised.
"Truly, I had not realised. Time moves quickly in Gondor". Laughing he threw his arm about her shoulder.
"Let us find a tavern then, and see if the fancy fare our cousins eat is enough to fill the belly of a Rider!"

Damien
04/07/2007 12:00 AM

It took nearly four days for the Corsair ship to reach Gondorian territory, partly due to a severe storm which blew the ship off course for half a day. As the ship moved further northward, Chimola had added thick leggings and a sleeved tunic, both of black with red embroidery, to his wardrobe. Still he shivered whenever the cool sea wind cut him. Having never been this far north, Chimola was unaccustomed to the cooler temperatures that marked the area. Even the nights in winter were not often this cold in his homeland.

With the lingering emnity between the various Peoples, Corsair ships were still not welcome in Gondor. Thus, the ship had beached some distance from any Gondorian outposts, forcing Chimola to ride the rest of the distance, some days journey, to Minas Tirith. Arriving with no fanfare, and more than his share of foul, menacing looks from the citizenry, Chimola waded through the throngs. His hand hovered near to his sword, fully ready to defend himself should he be attacked. The chieftain's tribe could spare no extra warriors to be so far from home, and so he had taken none.

Noting the larger retinues of other dignitaries mulling about the area, as well as the veritable army of soldiers of the city itself, Chimola felt a certain pride that he could stride into the city without a retinue of his own. He felt this would surely come as a display of fearlessness and power to those he would soon seek to impress with his fiery presence. A lone man of Harad in this nation, even 20 years after the War, was as likely to be strung up as ignored. To those unaware of the circumstances behind his lone visit, he would surely look brave and sure of himself.

Chimola's dark features twisted into a smile of mixed rue and joy more than once at the terrified looks on the faces of some that he passed. Surely they saw him as some demon-man of Sauron's host, here to defile and cut the very limbs from the White Tree itself. Their fear echoed in Chimola's mind as respect and awe.

Escorted through the city by one of the guardsman tasked with the dealings of the dignitaries, Chimola was given a room and his horse was stabled close at hand. Even at his protests, his room was well-guarded. The Elessar had demanded that if any dignitaries should arrive from any of the far lands, they should be guarded so as to avoid any ill deeds at the hands of disenfranchized Gondorians, or even other dignitaries.

The dark-skinned warrior remained in his room for the duration of the evening and night. He felt no particular need to venture out to occupy himself with whatever this mighty city had to offer. After all, what could he possibly gain from examining the crafts and society of a people he cared nothing for, and viewed as inferior to his own.

As darkness fell about the city, cast rather suddenly as if a net Chimola noted, he disrobed and stretched his corded limbs. With his sword-belt draped over one post of his borrowed bed, Chimola set himself down to sleep, awaiting the call to audience in the King's Hall.


.

[Edited by Damien on Saturday, April 7, 2007 12:01 AM]

Iorlas
04/14/2007 7:15 PM

After watching his men and their drinking games..Marik went upstairs to his room. There was no denying it. He felt an exaustion come over him as he undressed and lay in his bed. He kept a dagger with him hidden underneath his pillow. Then hours later he awoke to a sound.The subtle creaking of wood.

He remained still..Fingers lightly gripped the dagger's hilt, but fully grasped it and pulled it closer. Now the lock on the door was being played with. His men were probably down stairs either still playing their drinking games or passed out. Then there came the unmistakeable sound of the latch lightly moving up and down.

Marik heard the creaking of the door opening ever so softly, and he could swear he heard the intruder's breath falling heavier. At the last possible moment when the intruder lifted the blade to strike..Marik rolled off the bed and wrapped a muscled arm around the man's waist tackling him to the ground..He held the man's sword arm down and held the dagger at his throat.

To his utter astonishment..He removed the man's cowel to find it was a woman.."Who sent you?" He asked in his dark tone..He held her torso down with his knee firmly against it..She spit on his face, and he backhanded her.. He searched her garments and found more weapons. Small knives and darts.

Marik wrenched the sword from her hand and grabbed her by the throat at first lifting her..He was dressed only in pants of a dark black..Since she refused to talk he led her down stairs, and she punched and kicked the whole way until he slammed her on the ground infront of his laughing men who silenced at what had occurred.."Bind her, and dont kill her..She is to be interrogated by me in the morning.."

Shigetomo
04/18/2007 5:54 PM

At this time Encaitaro, a ranger of the north who had spent most of his years living with the elves, entered the city. After first gaining access to the gate he walked along the cobbled streets, his black cloaked form almost invisible in the night, at his side he carried an ordinary sword that many rangers possessed but on the back of his waist was an elven dagger given to him by the she-elf who had raised him. Upon his back there was a small hunting bow and arrow quiver, after reaching the seventh gate of the city he politely requested to see the lord king of Gondor. The guard after having learned his bussiness set off at once to find his master

Iorlas
04/18/2007 10:36 PM


[Posted By Shigetomo on 04.18.2007 5:54 PM]

At this time Encaitaro, a ranger of the north who had spent most of his years living with the elves, entered the city. After first gaining access to the gate he walked along the cobbled streets, his black cloaked form almost invisible in the night, at his side he carried an ordinary sword that many rangers possessed but on the back of his waist was an elven dagger given to him by the she-elf who had raised him. Upon his back there was a small hunting bow and arrow quiver, after reaching the seventh gate of the city he politely requested to see the lord king of Gondor. The guard after having learned his bussiness set off at once to find his master


(OOC)

First of all go create a thread in the welcome wagon forum, and secondly.. You usually have to get a character approved, and ask before you join a roleplay..Feel free to come up with a character concept, and post it in the ooc part of this thread, but this is a serious lord of the rings thread keep that in mind..We are going to rp as accurately as we can in Tolkien's world..

nanuk
04/21/2007 3:00 AM


Since she refused to talk he led her down stairs, and she punched and kicked the whole way until he slammed her on the ground infront of his laughing men who silenced at what had occurred.."Bind her, and dont kill her..She is to be interrogated by me in the morning.."


Aeofric had engaged in a drinking game with some of the Gondorrians who'd been in the tavern.
As games went, it was simple- whoever could drink the most was the victor.
Halya had watched the good-natured ribbing and one-upmanship, smiling at how quickly her brother drew new friends about himself.
She had declined his invitation to join the game, and endured with only mild embarrassment when he, after seeing their raised eyebrows at the thought of her 'competing', had slapped her on the back and regaled the Gondorrians with tales of her drinking prowess.

She'd been more interested in listening to the talk of Aeofric's new companions, and in watching the other patrons, trying to judge- as they'd been tasked- the mood and attitudes of those now flooding the streets of Minas Tirith.

Those in the tavern were not from the White City alone: there were travellers from Ithilien, from southern Gondor: there were those who had come north from Belfalas: and, surrounding a large table near one of the corners, a group of Easterlings.

Halya watched them with interest, in glances rather than staring, fascinated by their appearance, their language. They seemed content, eating and drinking, joking amongst themselves: the other patrons regarding them briefly but then continuing with their business.

Overall, what she had seen and heard, in both the tavern and the streets, had made her hopeful: people seemed enthusiastic and optimistic,. Those old enough to have experienced- or even just remember- the war spoke the most hesitantly of peace: but even they had been captured by the scope of King Elessar's vision.

So intent had she been that she had drunk little- a few mugs of a beautifully sweet cider- so when the Easterling had hurled his captive down the stairs she had been alert instantly.
Aeofric and his companions had taken a moment longer, being alerted by the sudden silence moreso than the commotion. She felt a brief flare of anxiety, worrying that their drinking would make their actions rash: but all remained seated, observing carefully what was happening.

Then Aeofric stood: she placed a hand on his leg to urge caution.
He kept his arms by his sides and his stance relaxed and open.

"Sir, has there been a problem? Would you like me to fetch the watch?"





[OOC-I know, I know, as if there's one tavern in Minas Tirith, but I was getting impatient for a little character interaction, lol]

Damien
05/19/2007 10:05 PM

Chimola had retired early that night. In his road-weary state he easily ignored the bawdy, drunken songs of soldiers and civilians, guests and travelers. Only a few times throughout the night was he woken by the noise of the city, unused to an area that does not seem to sleep. Even so, he had quickly slipped back into slumber.

Finally waking almost two hours before the first glint of dawn struck the white towers of the city, Chimola rose and dressed himself. Today he was to meet this white king of the West, and so he garbed himself fully in his light brown leggings and tunic. Over this he belted on his deep red loincloth and sandals, followed by his pitted iron greaves and lamellae corselet. Finally he drew about his waist a richly-embroided leather belt with bronze fittings which suspended his cruel Eastern sword.

Looking into the polished bronze plate which served as a mirror in this room, Chimola twisted the forelocks of his hair into a ponytail, leaving the rest to flow freely in rough, stringy cords over his shoulders. With a grunt of approval that his appearance was sufficiently kingly in its own right, he strode from his lodgings to seek for the King's Hall. Unsure of where to go, Chimola's eyes swept about in search of other foreign men that may be headed in the same direction. Finding no one of interest, the dark-skinned warrior-chief resigned himself to seeking aid from one of the many guards, who bluntly and without comment pointed the Harad-born warlord in the correct direction.

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