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| 18. Wind-Singers Volume III.II: The Final March; In the aftermaths of The Hunt and the Artifact: Auruiron, Cellindien, and Inheroth embark with their Host toward the East. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 6 2016, 02:01 PM (3,111 Views) | |
| Ioristion | Jun 27 2016, 05:40 PM Post #141 |
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Chapter LVXXVIII: The Blue Sage They found the old man hooded and cloaked when they entered Yucalwe's room. His wizened beard draped silkily down from beneath his hood. For the oils of the Eldar were plentiful. The time for ruffled, messy hair, dirty finger nails, brine, salt, and sweat, and blood, and tears, had not yet come, but he had known them all throughout his life. "It is a curious thing," he uttered, "That a man so young might know a thing or two more than an immortal spirit such as you." "I am not blind to the concept," Yucalwe warmly replied. "We Eldar live incredibly long lives by mortal estimation, and yet............ while we feel everything so more deeply, many moments also pass us by, because we do feel so deeply..." Sindri the Sage of Eir nodded, "And mortals perceive their mortality greatly, if they seek to find it... and yet, quite often, death is forgotten... you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, while others barely feel the passing of a singular moment in time..." Yucalwe sighed, "We do have other matters to discuss. What shall we..." Sindri's wizened, twinkling eyes fell on Glossel, "Sit beside me now, my dear. We have much to talk about.........." And Sindri consoled Glossel, and whispered something in her ear, concerning Ivordir. She nodded as her resolve grew tighter, firmer, and stronger. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 27 2016, 08:03 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 27 2016, 07:29 PM Post #142 |
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Chapter LVXXIX: Out on a Limb Limdor whistled as he strutted nigh the bushes beneath the rich, deep evergreen boughs of the sunlit trees, blossoms gliding on the breeze, sunlight shimmering on the shifting sea, waves gently lapping upon the sands beneath the eaves. Limben sat silently wrapped in his dark and silver cloak gazing at the shifting waters. He remembered his time in Gondor, staring at the sea. He remembered his near-drowning at sea, before his life was spared. He remembered the horrors of the Gurthbain and of his complicity in all the innocents who had been slaughtered before his eyes. Limdor did not say a single word as he sat-down beside Limben, they exchanged their names, for Limdor now knew the mortal custom from his conversations within the halls, and soon they were speaking of each others' pasts, Limdor of the deep-green trees of the Anduin Vales, of their tribe, the Eldasen, of their runs beneath the moon and stars, and of the great white stags shining, their horns gleaming in the sunlight, and Limben then out-poured his heart, with nowhere else and no one else to turn to. They were soon clasping each others' arms, branches extending above them as if limbs, protruding from the beech boughs above. |
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| Ioristion | Jun 27 2016, 08:01 PM Post #143 |
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Chapter LVXXX: Circhon of the Wooded Vale The anointed Ithilien Prince wandered through the glades of Dorwinion with Palanelon the soldier and Orel the ranger at his side. They had bonded closely throughout the weeks of toil across the East. The other rangers and Tumladen nobles were visiting one of the smaller cities in the Realm, Aurbain, led by Hallothanar, who had needed to distract himself after much grief over the revelation of his brother's death at the hands of Siagon the Sami Knight of Sakuta in a bullfight across the sea. But Circhon, and Palanelon, and Orel, all decided they needed some well-earned peace and quiet. Palanelon was now sick of his companions from Pelargir. Circhon had heard enough complaints and tales of fear and woe and sorrow and starvation and thirst and gruff from his subordinates. Orel knew his rangers did not need him to father them, for many of them were stout-hearted and very capable. Circhon and Palanelon of the Eldasen joined them. Elven Circhon smiled, "Do you wish to join our hunt?" Circhon smiled, "And whom do we have the pleasure of addressing?" "Circhon of the Golden Wood." "CIRCHON?!" He nearly fainted. "May I name you... Ciron? I have studied Sindarin crudely, the Gondorian version of it in any case." Ciron bowed, "It would be my pleasure." Palanelon turned, "And who is your beautiful companion?" Palanelon heartily laughed, "Palanelon of the Golden Wood." "Then call me Palanelo of Gondor, for I have not the courage to ask a being who is thousands of years and life-spans older than me, to change his name." Ciron smirked, "You are a bold one, Circhon of Gondor." "I am Orel of Ithilien, for what it's worth." Orel spat in the soil. "Shhhh! The hind approaches!" Ciron muttered. They had spied the beauty of the hind gracefully walking through the woods. And Orel, his eyes glistening, declared, "No...... do not kill it. I do not for whom so list to hunt such a gracious creature... it feels safe within these Elf-protected woods.... and if you kill it, you will prove the fears of my people's darkest dreams concerning all the Elves............." Ciron nodded grimly, "Let us return to the Halls then, and dine on whatever they may serve there." Circhon heaved a deep sigh, "I'll have to get sick on wine again." |
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| Ioristion | Jun 27 2016, 08:37 PM Post #144 |
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Chapter LVXXXI: Bain Duvaissel and Saelbainor the Mortal stood atop the cliffs overlooking the Sea of Rhun, their dark and golden capes flowing behind them. Doriathrim Saelbainor joined them, "I have heard your names from Ivordir and Yucalwe................know that I am..... Saelbainor of Doriath." Saelbainor shook his head, "And I am unworthy of that sacred name." "Enough. Do you not know I once dwelt upon these shores, as Mistaro, the Harpist? Ivordir must have told you....." "He did at one point on our journey, I forget which day it was. We were along the Eaves of Mirkwood." "Bain I name you. And you may call me Sael. Ours is a shared Doom. We both grieve of guilt for pasts of blood, you beneath Pelargir, and I, for not protecting my homeland, for befriending a Feanorian diplomat, binding with him closely, while the rest of my people perished at Feanorian hands. We can nit-pick our pasts how ever we wish to. But come, brave Bain, I hearken you to the now." Duvaissel's eyes were tearing-up, "We...may yet have liberation.............." Bain wept aloud, "The word is redemption." And the three were soon embracing each other deeply. And then Sael sang an ancient hymn, plucking his harp, his notes and verses rising above the foamy waves of the sea. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 27 2016, 08:37 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 27 2016, 09:28 PM Post #145 |
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Chapter LVXXXII: The Return of Malgelir Malgelir sighed. He had already reverted his name from Malfinseron when he first heard of Malfinseron of Lindon. Now he approached the Elf and his bride warily, in awe of their garb and majesty. He prostrated himself before them, a penitent, restoring his hate-filled name in the hopes of finally wrestling with the reality that was the House of the Silver Fist of Pelargir, the derangement of his mother, and the depravity of Denethon, his father, and all that had transpired to their doom at the hands of Malnoron, father of Amarthon and his brothers, who had committed crimes far worse. But Findistedis deeply smiled, "Arise, man of Gondor." Malgelir bashfully obeyed. He blushed. Malfinseron laughed, "Why did you prostrate yourself so?" And then Malgelir told them everything, including his wretched plotting, repudiating his past. And when he finished, Findistedis still smiled, "And so I presume you wish to relieve yourself of these evils." Then Fingaereth revealed herself, "I have tried to tell him.........." She was the human dwarf-height Lady of her House, sister to Colhel. Findistedis blinked, "You are his betrothed?" Fingaereth nodded slowly, her cape of golden-brown hair streaming from her forehead down over her arms. She folded her arms beneath her fiery folds beneath her hair. Her eyes were filled with awe. Her heart was pounding. Malgelir bellowed, "I am unworthy of her! I should drown myself beneath these waters and be done with it, and all the accursed wretchedness of the House of the Silver Fist, and all that it embodies!" "Be silent." Fingaereth stammered. "You are in no position to say such rubbish. You, my love, are more -worthy- than any other, even more -worthy- than my brother Ninniachon, Isenadin, as I regard him now.................. that you would dare contemplate such darkness in the presence of such beauty behooves me.............." Findistedis' gentle, stern eyes fell on Malgelir, "Thine betrothed speaks truthfully." And Malfinseron outspread his silver folds beneath the azure, "I take you both beneath my wings.... as a vessel takes her crew beneath her masts.........." Findistedis imitated her husband's gesture, "And I as well............................................." Malgelir fell on his knees, sobbing. They were all soon embracing each other. Sunlight made silver gleam and azure shine as the winds billowed the capes in the breeze off the shores of the sea, rising up the baked bright brown and jagged cliffs. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 27 2016, 09:32 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 27 2016, 09:44 PM Post #146 |
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Chapter LVXXXIII: The Sons of Ruins Eiliant and Noruros had long toiled and suffered and starved on their long parched journey to Rhun from Ost Rimmon in the Beacon Hills south of the Mouths of the river Entwash. The journey had become far drier when they had crossed the Anduin. They ate themselves sick at feasts. They could not believe where they were, for the Elves had been chided away by their Lord-Father as mere myths. Their Lady-Mother had always believed in the Elves somehow despite this. Now they were loitering in one of the gardens in between feasts, where the cliffs opened-up to sunlight streaming upon the fertile soil and bright petunias. Ivordir and Macilon entered the garden. "Do you believe anything that I have told you?" Macilon wondered aloud. "Most of it, although most recent events meddle in the finer details of the symbolism. Forget symbolism," Ivordir smiled, "Whether we are exiles or cursed or doomed to a lost cause, or glorious saviors or mighty warriors or grand heroes, none of it matters now. None of it ever mattered........." "You are a strange mortal," Macilon smirked. "And you a stranger Elf. Stranger even than Yucalwe," Ivordir laughed. He sighted the twins of Ost Rimmon, "Hail friends.... what are you doing hither?" "Minding our own business, Captain," Noruros fired back. Eiliant said nothing. "Oh we have much to discuss..." Macilon smiled strangely. They all sat down on nearby benches. Noruros was not happy. Eiliant nudged his brother with his elbow. Noruros was even unhappier. Macilon declared, "Now....... shall we begin?" They were soon joined by Sasuko, whom Macilon then ensnared in his cape and interrogated, and Sasuko revealed that Guldrambor did indeed maintain a hidden flask of the sacred waters, a flask that was preserved and kept by him for thousands of years. Unbeknownst to Sasuko, Guldrambor had hid the flask in a deep place during his centuries at Angband, and had recovered it swiftly before the climax of the War of Wrath, and had carried it all the way to Rhun, as unbelievable as it all appeared. Guldrambor was ever a crafty, clever Maia. Noruros and Eiliant gazed at the three of them curiously. Then Noruros recounted their sad, sad story, of the fate of House Dinalagos, of how their father murdered their mother, and of the bloodshed that followed, between his father's minions and Ivordir's Company. The twins, pale-faced and grey-eyed, were soon breaking-down into tears again, drying their tears in the folds of Macilon's cape. Macilon then consoled them, embraced them, and Ivordir finally understood. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 28 2016, 12:19 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 29 2016, 07:50 PM Post #147 |
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Chapter LVXXXIV: The Wanderer of the West Annatar stood upon the heights of Meneltarma. He grinned insidiously as he heard the screams of dying human sacrifices. He stared down to see a being, caped in gold, ascending the heights. The being had a long, golden-brown beard, and piercing eyes. When he ascended the heights, Annatar regarded him maliciously, until the being pulled-off his beard. And Guldrambor declared, "Ever hath we been rivals, ever dogging each other within the walls of Angband fallen." He knelt before Annatar, "But now thus I do declare thee all the greater, and bow before thee as thy servant." Annatar did not reply. Guldrambor declared, "I hath heard of thine greatness from afar. Allow me to thus gather servants in the East unto thy cause." Annatar nodded, pointing his left hand toward the East. And Guldrambor parted from Numenor. And he never saw the face of Annatar again, save only within his darkest dreams. And such was the tale that Amarthon revealed to Macilon that evening. For it was in this way that Guldrambor had indoctrinated Amarthon with the tales of Ar-Pharazon and his greatness. He had indoctrinated Bain, once known as Gurthbainor, among many Gurthbaini. "He could have been lying," Macilon noted. He had already taken leave of Ivordir and the twins of Ost Rimmon. "He could have dreamed it or conjured it or heard tales of Numenor from afar. Why would he part from his hiding place and risk the ire of a being whom he most loathed?" "He may have wished to keep Sauron from meddling in his affairs," Amarthon noted. "He would have had reason to journey thus far. Back then, the lands between the Anduin and the Eastern Sea were fertile, so easily could he have crossed them, and then followed the Great River south, and sailed to Numenor by way of Pelargir. And he is ever a master of shapes, hues, and guises...." Macilon nodded grimly. |
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| Ioristion | Jun 29 2016, 08:13 PM Post #148 |
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Chapter LVXXXV: The Magicians Convene "Pour me another," Aertira gazed slyly at Salhera. Salhera laughed. She had already drank herself silly. Mornhelm smiled. He had abstained from the wine. Rostoriel had already fallen asleep. Several empty bottles sat on her table. Ioristion had abstained that evening. There was a knock at the door. Daechon entered with Isenadin Ninniachon. Daechon laughed heartily, "We heard rumors of a 'Gold Magician!'" Salhera smirked, "You have come to the right place." Ioristion stood and outspread his golden folds and bowed, "And whom do we have the pleasure of addressing?" "Daechon and Isenadin of Pelargir. But I am Daechon the Magnificent, a Magician of great renown." "And what magic will you perform?" Daechon smirked, "Another time, perhaps. For the scent of wine is heavy in the air." Isenadin shrugged his shoulders, "I think we ought to show them something." "Not now," Daechon sadly replied, "There will be much time later for dancing and rainbow cape displays. Such vanities bore me at the moment." Ioristion nodded, "In truth, I am no magician." Daechon bowed, "Nor are we. Our vain displays only serve to delight the eye." Ioristion sat down again, "Why do you say 'vain'?" "Because they are vain. They are absurd. And they are lies." Aertira interjected, "They will not be lies when we are through with them." Ioristion's eyes grew wide, "It is true. They can transmogrify themselves into bears." Daechon rolled his eyes, "Trans..." Mornhelm sighed, "Transform, he means. We are Skin-Changers. He's taught us many of 'em fancyin' words lately...." "Myths and legends," Daechon scoffed. "I would very much enjoy seeing such a display," Isenadin folded his arms and smirked smugly. "Then you will..... you will...." Aertira's face fell solemn, "But not here. Our great companion, Eldrand, had done so, he was mistaken for a real bear, and died a terrible needless death. A pure accident. I am still enraged by it..." Her eyes grew feral. Ioristion turned and whipped his cape around and over them both, and whispered to Aertira, "No..... not here...... not now............" She gave him a peck on the cheek, "What are sisters for........." she whispered. Ioristion withdrew the cape. Then they all sat down and drank themselves to sleep. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 29 2016, 08:13 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 29 2016, 08:58 PM Post #149 |
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Chapter LVXXXVI: Rirossel of Gondor and Gondolin The elleth Rirossel stood proudly in her silver and crimson-lined cloak, gazing at the moon and stars and the sea below. Time drifted in the azure air. Cullasson and Cullastor had journeyed elsewhere in the Realm on a hunting venture. They did not particularly wish to bond with the Gondorians who had arrived at late. She gently sipped her red wine, its velvety, warm taste flowing down her throat. She was in one of the gardens, through wish flowed a gentle stream, outside the Halls. A gentle step softened the soil behind her. There stood Auravon in his red and golden cape, billowing pale and bright around him in the moonlight. He did not notice her at first. He smiled, "Gazing at the stars?" Rirossel turned and nodded slowly. A face peered from beneath Auravon's folds. Hers was a sad face, gentle tears streaming. Rirossel blinked, "Why does she weep?" Auravon unfolded his cape. Rirossel of Gondor stood there trembling. "What is the matter, girl?" The elleth rushed over. Rirossel of Gondor closed her eyes, "I cannot.......... I......" Auravon closed his eyes, "She was deeply abused by one of our Company, the one named Malgelir. Months have passed since then. But the memories of the beating did not falter...... and traveling with us, far from hearth and home, has taken its toll on her............. I am her husband, I have tried everything I know to comfort her..........." The elleth nodded, "Perhaps it is justice that she deserves." Auravon shook his head, "It is not that simple...... for the man she hates has since repented of his crimes, and become a new person.......... and he is betrothed and everything......." Rirossel of Gondor slowly opened her eyes, "And I...... have tried to turn my heart away from it all, and my mind.... drowning it in my fancies..... in the arms of Angolhel and of my husband and of others, I............" She began to collapse. Auravon and the elleth slowly brought her onto the soft, cool soil, as the elleth gently kissed her on the forehead, "If justice cannot be bestowed, then, truly, you must learn to live onward somehow, and through living, find your justice...... what is your name, girl?" "Rirossel," she replied. The elleth's eyes grew wide, "We share a name." Rirossel shook her head, "I do not believ....... truly? Is this truly so?" The elleth smiled, "We, of our kind, cannot lie." "Well," Rirossel replied, "Rirossel was a foolish, controlled girl, nearly forced by her Lord-Father into an awful pre-arranged marriage with a cruel brute, and..... she was beaten, tortured....... and she remains so, despite everything and everything and everything........... I want this past to go away. Malgelir....... he has changed. He is a new person. But the monster that he was still haunts me............" The elleth nodded, gentle tears falling down her own cheeks, "Long did I dream of my ideal husband, for hundreds of years until I found him." Auravon embraced his wife tightly, "No one will ever harm you ever again.........." "And see?" The elleth deeply smiled, "Your truest love has already found you........" "I......" Rirossel began shedding tears anew. The elleth nodded gently, "Do you wish to receive a new, far better name?" Rirossel of Gondor nodded. The elleth spread her cape across Rirossel of Gondor's eyes, "Thenceforth, shall you be known as........ Rivrossel. Crowned with Black and Red." She wanted the root of her name to remain in her new eposse for the sake of her courage. Auravon nodded in approval. And Rivrossel embraced her tightly, "Thank you...... I shall try to be stronger........" And Rirossel of Gondolin gently kissed her on the forehead, "You shall be........ I know that you shall be......." Edited by Ioristion, Jun 29 2016, 09:19 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 3 2016, 12:23 AM Post #150 |
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Chapter LVXXXVII: Truer Enchantment Lerinon paced to and fro before the Throne. He paced alone. Maroon and lavender silk flowed on the cold, black marble. Lerion and Angolhel entered the chamber, holding each others' hands. They outspread their capes, bowing deeply. He declared, "I am Lerion of the Shahadmaradi." And she declared, "And I, Angolhel." "Destiny hath brought thee hither... for I am Lerinon of Doriath." He outspread his golden folds, returning the strange gesture, "What is the Shahadmaradi?" "Our tribe," Lerion bowed again. "I am Lord Sorcerer." Angolhel smirked, "And I, Lady Sorceress. Yet the enchantments of thine people are far more powerful, rendering ours vain and bane, bereft of meaning..." Lerinon turned, the room in silence, save the swishing sound of his cape on the cold marble, as he slowly processed up the stairs and turned to face them as he sat on his high Throne. The gold flowed down the stairs as if a waterfall, sparking amidst the gloom. "Are you quite so certain?" He declared, "Demonstrate for me a display of thine supposed powers." Refulgent folds glided on the wind, swishing. Golden-brown hair whipped through the air, flowing. A strange tongue filled the ears of the King, chanting. Lerinon summoned them before him when their dance was over. He outspread his golden folds, vast and wide, "Come, then, and behold enchantments true." His folds glowed molten gold, fiery bright, in the sunlight. And they stood in awe of the eternal youth and beauty of the Elven-King, his refulgence reflecting his magnificence, his silver eyes glistening, his raven hair flowing down his back, and they prostrated themselves before him, lavender and maroon and fiery red silk flowing behind them. He whipped his folds over their heads and closed his eyes. They pressed their warm, wet lips into his cold, smooth folds. And then they but brief behold the downfallen Halls of Doriath in all their glory. And he but briefly then behold the deserts of the South, strange stars gliding on the air, above the dome of the sky. Macilon entered the chamber wrathfully, declaring, "Ye all shalt die. The warnings mine were heeded not!" Sindri entered behind Macilon, gazing at all of them, their long silky capes flowing, his eyes burning with contempt. Sindri's own blue cloak was tattered, woven of wool, dirt-shod and rough. He folded his arms sternly within it. And Dairlingul entered the chamber, and declared: "I agree. Enough of this madness." Edited by Ioristion, Jul 4 2016, 04:09 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 4 2016, 04:18 PM Post #151 |
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Chapter LVXXXVIII: Fear Now Lerinon became afraid, swiftly unclasping his cape from his shoulders, as it fell gracefully to the floor, molten gold pooling in billowing folds beneath the throne. Then Lerinon noticed that Macilon's cloak was absent from his shoulders. But Lerion and Angolhel refused to yield their cloaks. And Angolhel stood in terrible countenance, her face frowning, her lips tightening, as she declared: "Nay. I shall not forfeit these new powers afforded unto me." And Lerion declared, "My father died, bereft of power, a terrible death at filthy rangers' hands. And I shall not suffer his same fate." Then Lerinon, emboldened by their words, stooped and reclaimed his cape, remounting it on his shoulders. The rest of the room was as silent as any crypt or grave-site. And Lerinon declared, "I am thine King. I shall not hearken unto thee." Then Dairlingul realized the grave mistake that he had made in forfeiting his crown. He gazed into Sindri's eyes, wondering why the old man had deceived him. But Sindri said nothing, knowing he had not deceived anybody, and Macilon's voice rose, dark and threatening: "Then death awaits us. All of us. For you did not heed our warnings. The Maia is betrayed by thy obstinance!" And Lerinon declared: "Be gone from my sight then! For I banish thee... all of thee... save those whom I hold most dear!" And Dairlingul turned to Lerinon, "What have I done........ you, Sindri, have lied to us... unto my people... we all were deceived, and I made the fatal choice, because of vain portents, dreams most foul... now our time has ended. This marks the twilight upon our realm, the time we long have feared, when the West shall revenge itself upon us, for our refusal... You may rule, but you shall not rule long, son of Dior... you truly shall perish, as your father and grandfather before you." Lerinon's voice rose in equal threat, "Be gone!" And Dairlingul, Sindri, and Macilon took their leave, Macilon giving strict instructions to the Six in secret, and then departing, and Macil deeply embraced and kissed his cheeks, and they rested once more together, as they did in Gondolin of old, the brothers of the Harp and Mole. Then they were gone, and Macil long wept, privately vowing to himself to bring an end unto the madness of Lerinon. Edited by Ioristion, Jul 4 2016, 04:20 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 4 2016, 04:36 PM Post #152 |
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Chapter LVXXXIX: A Gift for Kings Lerinon slept that night, bathed in sweat, suffering from his nightmares. He was no longer one of the Seven and yet he was, for he knew all of Macilon's secrets, longing to declare them publicly unto the entire Realm. But he feared the curse that would most assuredly fall upon his head if he dared to do so. Yet, he felt cursed already, and that it wouldn't matter what he would do, and so, in his ever-deepening spite, he nearly made the proclamation, until he counseled himself to think better of it, for there would be far better ways to get revenge. He was mad. He kept himself aloof from Inheroth at times, but turned to him at others. Inheroth was his soul-brother, his gwador, whom ever gave him comfort whenever he most needed it. It was now the 11th of May. Time had passed strangely, as if it had not passed at all, despite their time together. Cullasson had hunted with his son and the rangers and the Silvan folk of Lorien, bonding with his wife Rirossel anew at other times, while Rirossel had taken a particular interest in ensuring Rivrossel's well-being, as if the latter was the former's daughter. She did not mock Rivrossel's humanity. She embraced the Second-born. But many in the Dorwinion Realm were used to the presence of men. They were not snobby as the Elves of Rivendell were snobby to most save the Dunedain. They were not cruel. Saljuk and his Haradrim were wined and dined. Their Mumakil were treated by the Quendi far better than the men had treated them in the deepest jungles of Far Harad. The lordly couples, Mannish and Elvish, continued to bond. They had bonded through the adversity of their Quest. Now they had turned to kissing each other, hearts throbbing, in peace, sleeping, and in their wine glasses, reveling, far more, all the Gondorian, Haradric, and Elvish husbands with their wives. And those who were not wed often kept to themselves or drank far too much wine than was healthy for them. Some of the single men were tempted by the Elvish maidens, enraptured by their immortal, eternal appearance, as Beren when he first gazed on Luthien. But no one would court them, realizing that their lives would be over in naught but a single breath, compared to the lives of the Eldar. But on this day, the 11th of May, Amarthon came before the King, bowing before Lerinon, outspreading his cape. Colhel held a similar cape prostrated across her arms. Auravon and Arancir were present as well with Rivrossel. And Colhel declared, "I declare unto you, my King, this gift... for it is meant for you..." And Lerinon took it, giving his own golden cape to Inheroth, who stood nearby, awe-stricken, as Lerinon gifted it. Mingled with the awe was the deeper horror. And Lerinon took up the gold and red upon his shoulders. He now wore the cape born from the cloak of Amanuiron. And Lerion and Angolhel outstretched the folds of the King, as the King declared: "And now I, Lerinon, of Doriath mine, declare my sovereignty across all the lands of Rhun, and may he, the False Emperor of Sakuta, beware, for I am coming for him..." Amarthon declared, "There are seven more such capes, my Lord. We have yet to know unto whom they may be bestowed." "Bestow them upon whomever you deem most worthy," Lerinon imperiously replied. "For I do not now trust the words of the traitor, Macilon. Let us then seek to use these enchantments unto our greater benefit." Amarthon bowed and he and his entourage left the room. |
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| Ioristion | Jul 4 2016, 04:48 PM Post #153 |
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Chapter XC: The Eleven Gather Amarthon had sought the company then of many throughout the Halls. And he made his choices wisely, or so he believed. The Eleven gathered together in the Throne-Room. Most who had received the capes had been awe-stricken, feeling the cold, beautiful, smooth fabric, and flaunting their new-found visual glory, fawning over themselves. Some were not surprised. Few feared the gifts that were bestowed. They gathered: Lerinon, Amarthon, Eiliant, Isenadin, Mornhelm, Malchon, Celebressel, Malfinseron, Duvaissel, Circhon, and Silevrendor. For Lerinon was now High King, Amarthon and Silevrendor had surpassed the corruption, of by-gone Numenorean Houses, Malchon, the Protector, finally achieved his namesake, Celebressel finally had her deepest desire fulfilled, much to Alcano's amusement, and Mornhelm now ascended unto the position of Eldrand in his miniature Beorning Clan, while Beornor had declined such offers, and Isenadin now had far more to his "act" with Daechon as so-called Magicians, and Duvaissel regained her long-lost confidence and overcame her terror exerted by the horrors that occurred within Pelargir. Eiliant, as his brother, had survived the treachery at Ost Rimmon. Sasuko wore the red and black. They gathered in their capes and sat in silent mirth at their newfound earthly gleaming, glistening, glory, not realizing the storms to come, dark and dreadful storms of deep despair, hidden beneath the rays of their newfound rising Sun. For they all misused their gifts... profanely... Edited by Ioristion, Aug 15 2016, 09:39 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 4 2016, 10:55 PM Post #154 |
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Chapter XCI: Illusory Image Celebressel returned to her chamber. Alcano's eyes grew wide in awe. He bowed before her as if she was his Queen. And they deeply kissed, hearts throbbing, wrapped in the fiery layers of the molten folds, red and gold overlapping, and Celebressel said: "End this feud within our House." Alcano sorrowfully replied, "It cannot be done. We -know- the truth concerning Guldrambor. Macilon has been exiled. To make peace, or attempt to do so, would ruin us." "Are you truly so afraid, my husband?" She whipped her golden folds away from him. "No," he shook his head. Celebressel deeply kissed him again, and whispered, "Good. Now hearken unto my fair, fair words, that you may learn what we shall do..." "And that would be?" "To say nothing. Absolutely nothing." "Nothing?! They are my parents, and I have betrayed them in Macilon's favor, and now he is gone and here we are, and..." "I know," she whispered, "And that is why you must say nothing to them. Act not angrily toward them or wish them harm. Rather, let us wait, until the truth reveals itself, and then shall we have no vow to break." She kissed him again. He kissed her. Their lips were showered with kisses. Then she whipped her folds back toward and around him. He felt certain that they would never die. She flaunted her beauty and grace as if she were among the Maiar. Billowing molten gold flowed about them, cocooning them both. They prostrated themselves alongside each other, deeply resting in the depths of the deep inner fiery red of the cape. Alcano buried his face in Celebressel's long, shining, silver hair, and Celebressel did likewise unto his fiery silky hair. They kissed and kissed and kissed. They could not halt their kissing. Throb, throb, throb, their hearts could not cease throbbing. Edited by Ioristion, Jul 24 2016, 03:45 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 4 2016, 11:13 PM Post #155 |
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Chapter XCII: The Scout's Report Hallothanar and Melimwe stormed into the Halls with the others. Melimwe declared, "After surveying thine Realm, we journeyed to the southern eaves of the forest, only to behold with our ever-gifted sight a sight that would tear the heart of even the strongest Elf asunder." "And what is it?" Lerinon folded his arms in his cape imperiously. Melimwe's eyes were dark and somber, sad and weary, as he declared: "Mumakil arise to the south." And Hallothanar reported, "A scout on the northern reaches revealed the following as well: an army of Easterlings marches along the river from the northwest." Lerinon's face fell, "The army that fought at Erebor. Attend thine tale." Hallothanar bowed, "It appears defeated. The soldiers looked weary and war-trodden. Some of their armaments were bloodstained. And yet they also appeared hale and strong, well-rested despite their weariness, the sorrow so evident in their eyes. I gather that they did not march in haste along the river... they would have needed much rest after the battle that I have heard tale of." Lerinon nodded, "They march in either victory or defeat. What of the force to the south?" Melimwe shook his head, "I cannot believe it. If Captain Ivordir's words were true, they all should have been defeated before the gates of Minas Tirith! And yet there they are, twenty score of Mumakil strong, and many cavalrymen, and the golden being ariseth atop the flag-Mumak... it can only be Guldrambor himself. He is coming.............." Lerinon's face filled to the brim with resolve, "Let him come then. We came all this way to contend with him. How fitting.... that he should come to us. As for his force, he must have raised it in secret, beneath Mordor's notice. How else could we explain it?" Melimwe slowly smiled, "Have you been studying tactics in our absence?" Lerinon nodded slowly, "Yes, at nightfall, after the affairs of Court are ended for the day. Guldrambor's reach must have reached the far-off lands where these Mumakil were spawned..... and not all may have marched in Mordor's army..." Melimwe nodded, "An apt conclusion. But now this vast army marches upon us. And they have fire arrows. They will burn this forest to the ground and trample o'er these halls until there is nothing left." Lerinon heaved a deep sigh, "Then we must prepare. We need to build trenches, first of all, so that our archers may hide beneath their footfalls and not be crushed. But I know not the Mumak's weakness. I suppose we shall have to consult with Ivordir's comrade, Saljuk... and we do have his seven Mumakil." Hallothanar nodded, "But seven will be of little use against twenty. They will have their part to play, but a war between these beasts.... I cannot see it ending well, especially with our paltry force being so outnumbered..... why, were I to assemble all the sentinels of all the Dorwinion Realms combined, they would be hard-pressed against trampling hoofs and arrows aflame...." Melimwe nodded grimly, "And we have not the time to seek the allegiance of these other Realms. The Mumakil move along the coast, and so they would deem it our affair, for good or ill, even if their flames burned the entire forest to the ground. Only under that threat would they likely come to our aid. But I doubt that we need seek them. We need a good, sound strategy. For my part, I would hate to destroy such beasts, as they could prove themselves of great use to us, should Guldrambor flee and escape as he ever did..." Edited by Ioristion, Jul 5 2016, 11:07 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 7 2016, 09:00 PM Post #156 |
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Chapter XCIII: Heir to the Realm Lerinon swept onto his Throne without an ounce of fear in his bones at first. He gazed at Inheroth, the gold shining beautifully, trailing from the latter's shoulders, cascading onto the floor in molten folds. Inheroth stood at the dais of the Throne. His face visibly brightened at the sight of the King. Over his shoulders his newly bestowed cloak was clasped with his crest, his father's ancient silver wren pin. His dark hair tumbled loose about his shoulders, fanning across the intricate gold design. He lifted his chin, proud, to catch Lerinon's gaze, an even stare even though he had to crane his neck upward to look upon his brother. Earlier that morning, he had risen with a strange feeling low in his belly, his heart beating in an oddly quick tempo. It felt like the edge of panic, though he could not say why he could be so unsettled; he recalled no nightmares, could think of nothing that would cause the knots of stress in his throat. He had wondered, briefly, if it had to do with the ongoing silence between he and Agarwaenor, but that made little sense. Agarwaenor's duties busied him terribly, and besides, they had endured longer silences before. A small glass of Dorwinion wine calmed his frayed nerves, and now, as he looked upon Lerinon his King, those feelings seemed so faded that they bordered on the absurd. His gwador was safe, as were the rest of his loved ones and dear acquaintances. Even the news of the encroaching Mumakil army could not dampen his spirits, soaring so high once he had been given the heavy golden cloak. Its softness had been a balm when he had pinned it across his collar; it was light, but encompassing, and thoroughly comforting. Lerinon folded his arms in the deep red folds beneath his gold, "Gwador........ have I done ill to exile Macilon..... and Dairlingul..... and Sindri.......? An Enemy army now encroaches upon us.... our foe has arisen against us.... he draws forth from the shadows, for all his plans were for naught..... and yet were they, Gwador? He has most thoroughly divided us all..............." He slowly stood and descended the stairs, his vast golden cape training behind him, flashes of red beneath the gold. He approached his gwador, guilt mounting. Inheroth lowered his gaze as he carefully considered the King's words. "That decision was yours alone," he said finally, slowly, his words heavy and his returning gaze just as weighing, "but if it the threat of the army that marches upon us that worries you...we have time to prepare for their arrival. We have the advantage of being rested, whilst they have marched. The elves under your command know this land better than any foreign army could. So I think we shall prevail, without their help. Besides, an exile does not have to be all time. I do not think you should second guess yourself so." He smiled in what he hoped to be a comforting manner as Lerinon approached. Lerinon nodded slowly and sadly, his head bowing low, "Gwador........ what think you of thine new mantle?" It was an abrupt change of subject. Inheroth's smile widened, his features flushing. "It is...it was unexpected," he explained haltingly. He reached up to gently take some of the silken folds between his fingers, rolling it experimentally and finding it extraordinarily soft. "I imagined it to be yours, always, and yet your new cloak fits you well, and I...am honored." He huffed out a gentle breath in wonder. "Thank you," he said finally, "for finding me -worthy- of such a gift." Lerinon outspread his folds, still bowing, repeating the strange, haunting gesture that so afflicted them, "I name you Prince of the Realm.... and my Heir..... for I have neither wife nor children..... the Realm is thine if I should die..... and now may you embrace me." The sunlight made his refulgence shimmer, folds fiery and molten bright, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight. With awe plain upon his face, Inheroth surged forward and gathered his brother-King into a tight embrace. Even within the warmth of it, he felt his heart stutter in the same strange manner in which he had awoken; stubbornly he squashed the feeling down, for it was Lerinon whose grasp he was within, and he was beautiful in his might, and there was nothing wrong. Nothing at all. And Lerinon tightly gripped the folds that were once his own. He warmly, deeply, buried his lips in Inheroth's left cheek. He felt as if he was back in Mirkwood all those years ago. Then he whipped his cape above and over their heads, sunlight streaming through the myriad of pores, gold and red overlapping in fiery tones. "Oh gwador....... my fear I'll cast away. Hither we, in brotherly affection, embrace. This lingering doubt, this darkness, far away, we'll chase. So let us live eternity, cast all fears far away, forgetting all throughout the day." And they walked until the sunset, and Lerinon would hear no further business that day. They walked before the great windows in the moonlight, the winds billowing their capes and raven hair behind them, moonlit pale, dark red, flowing beneath pale gold in its silvery hints. And in his brotherly affection, now made a folly, he forgot that he was a terrible ruler. He had abandoned the folds in which he had ever rested since a child. He abandoned all senses, all reason. He wanted only to remain there, alone, with his Gwador, away from harm. Fareon was far away with Circhon and the others. Fareon no longer could withstand his brother. He had tried to counsel him, but Lerinon would not listen, or heed anything, for now he longed to rule freely, without any consequences. And so it was that Fareon had left the halls days earlier, bonding with Circhon and Limdor, learning of Ithilien as they learned of Lindon, that land of myth from their childhood tales. And so it fell to Melimwe and Auruiron and Yucalwe and Sael and Ivordir and Daerfalas and Orel to prepare the defenses. More reports had come. The Enemy was rising on the south horizon. They were still several days away. Edited by Ioristion, Jul 7 2016, 10:12 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 7 2016, 09:38 PM Post #157 |
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Chapter XCIV: A Final Celebration They gathered in the Throne Room for one final high feast. All assembled save those who were exiled or imprisoned. It was a long and gaudy feast. After the tables were cleared, the dishes cleaned and put away, the cloths folded, and the floor opened, King Lerinon declared the festivities. First Daechon and Isenadin arose with the Beornings, and together, they performed their act. Aertira by now had fallen in love with Isenadin and Salhera with Daechon. Mornhelm sat with Ioristion and Rostoriel. Cellindien sat with Macil. The others sat with all to whom they belonged. Melimwe watched their magicians' act curiously. He wondered if even Guldrambor might fall for such a distraction. The idea slowly burned low within his mind. First Daechon wore his purple, fanning it outward, his long chin-beard of silky hair and longer hair flowing down his back and shoulders, all flying wildly in the air as he spun, red silk emerging, then gold, then azure, then emerald-green, then black, then silver, then fiery orange, all the spectrum shining, billowing, and twirling as he and Isenadin spun. And Isenadin, short in stature, spun as well, his hair gliding wildly, his gold and red cape flowing imperiously behind him. Aertira and Salhera billowed it. Mornhelm did not participate. He, a rustic woodsman all his life, could not believe the sight of it. It was all a strange and gaudy display. That was their so-called "magic." It had been particularly attractive to the youngest ladies of Pelargir, still on the cusp of adulthood after surpassing adolescence. Then Angolhel, Glossel, Lerion, Alagoshel, and Malagi, and Amarthon, Auravon, Arancir, and Bain, and Duvaissel, performed their Haradric rituals, their ankle-length golden-brown hair flying around them, their capes behind whipped and fanned and billowed by their retainers, the many Haradrim who had gathered there with Saljuk. And Angolhel felt unreasonably at peace, prophesying a great victory. Shining maroon and lavender flowed with dark purple, all fiery red beneath, silks flying in the air. The rangers were cringing. They could not believe it. Orel felt deep guilt for having departed Gondor. What would Faramir think, or Denethor? He felt as if he was abducted into a strange new world, at once beautiful and terrible. He wished he could go home. Were these truly the Elves of legend? He had his doubts. It dawned on Sasuko in all his terror: they were repeating the same rituals as Emperor Amanuiron in his Citadel in Sakuta. Sasuko wondered why he did not leave with Macilon. He knew he should have. It was much too late. Noruros and Eiliant gathered beneath his black and red folds at his sides. He could protect them, at least. Now he had a reason to live, a better purpose. He kissed Noruros and Eiliant on their cheeks. They returned the gesture. That strange, overwhelming, unnaturally peaceful feeling, had conquered them when ever they bathed themselves within the folds of the cloak. Fareon had begrudgingly come with Circhon and Limdor and the others. He sat with Circhon and Fahnraen, off to the side, out of the King's range of vision. Yucalwe sat with Amarthandor and the others. And Aegon observed it all in fear and awe, Sainion of Gondor sitting solemnly at his side. Sainion of Eregion had agreed to become known only as Sain, who came to view the Gondorian youth, smart and scholarly as he was, as if a son. By now, Sainion of Gondor had taught Aegon of Tarlang, once a son of a rustic man on hard times driven to the lives of outlaws, how to think critically, how to articulate them fancier words, and how to write. All Aegon could do now was observe in solemn silence. Sain sat with Yucalwe. Sainion sat with his wife Arhbaineth not far from Aegon. Alcano sat far away from his parents, with Celebressel, Findistedis, and Malfinseron, and Malgelir and Fingaereth. Ivordir sat with Glossel, who was much still cross with him for his bad behavior towards her. By now, she was deflecting his face-slaps, and generally avoided him, save in public. Ivordir had thought that he was disciplining her away from being the shrew she was. But there was far more to her than met his eyes. He no longer bothered to try to slap her. His slaps were generally light to the touch anyways. Never did he cause her true harm, for the grace channeled through his capes had held him back. And as he had watched her dance, he fell under the weight of his guilt, realizing how he truly loved her. Silevrendor reveled in his new golden and red folds. He felt as if he had been crowned a King. Duon and Tinnedir and Limben still followed him alongside Tinnuchon and Uialchon. Then Auruiron sang his old-time hymn of Macalaure of old, Nenthor aiding, Song rising: ~ Nai lassi cuilelyo u-firuvan, ~ (May the leaves of your life never die,) ~ Nai tielyar nauvar laiquë ar hwesta cana le, ~ (May your paths be green and the breeze behind you,) ~ Nai tielyar nauvar laiquë arë laurië, ~ (May your ways be green and golden,) ~ Mára estë, ~ (Rest well,) ~ Mára estë, ~ (Rest well,) ~ Alassëa tyë-omentien, ~ (I am joyous to meet you,) ~ Alasselya cárë ni alassëa, ~ (Your joy makes me joyous,) ~ Nalyë as meldar, ~ (You are with friends,) ~ Nanyë elya turien, ~ (I am yours to command,) ~ Nanyë elya turien, ~ (I am yours to command,) ~ Tenn' oio cenelya alassë, ~ (For eternity is your appearance joy,) ~ Hantanyel órenyallo, ~ (I thank you from my heart,) ~ Cepuvan annalya órenyassë, ~ (I will keep your gift in my heart,) ~ Órenya linda tyë-cenien, ~ (My heart sings to see you,) ~ Órenya linda tyë-cenien, ~ (My heart sings to see you,) ~ Nalyë as ma melda, ~ (You are with a friend,) ~ Tula nin, ~ (Come with me,) ~ Nanyë sinomë antië tulwë lenna, ~ (I am here to give you support,) ~ Harya estel nin,~ (Have hope in me,) ~ Harya estel nin.~ (Have hope in me.) And soothing was his fair voice. His voice had finally begun to sound akin to that of Macalaure. His resplendent cape flickered about him as he sang. Gleaming were his silvery-gold harp-strings. They all ate and drank themselves sick that evening. Husbands kissed their wives, wives rested beside their husbands, they overwhelmed their senses, and felt sick the next day. Then, on May 13th, they slowly began to prepare their forces. And on May 14th, they all marched south with their Woodland Army, with Gondorian and Haradric contingents. And on May 19th, Aegon sat at his study-desk, his hands shaking, quivering, uncontrollably, as he fought to steady his grip, and began to write. Edited by Ioristion, Jul 10 2016, 10:36 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 8 2016, 11:57 PM Post #158 |
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Chapter XCV: The Song of the Turfs of Sutland Book 1: The Catalogue of the Forces They gathered in the royal hall and Marched forth to the deep dirge of Kings, Auruiron, the Prince of gleaming Gold, And Melimwe, Lord and Captain, Their retinue, Aiwendil, Alunil, Hannas, and Raen. Came Yucalwe, the Ranyaro, And Ioristion, Auruiron's Heir, and Rostoriel, Rirossel, Cullasson, Cullastor, Alcano son of Ioristion, and, Celebressel, Of the Houses of Silver Leaf, Golden Red, Ainon Cundan, of Rust-hue Hair, Of Lorien's beauty. Came Lerinon, resplendent Golden King, And all his retinue: Prince Inheroth, Heir to the Realm, Agarwaenor, the King's Herald, and Malchon, The Standard Bearer, Caranor, Amarchon, and Calemir, The King's Retainers, Fareon, the King's Brother, And Fahnraen, Inheroth's follower. Came Amarthandor, Sain, and Auron, Arancir, of far Eregion, Land of red holly berries, in sunlight, glistening, And Macil, Cellindien, of Gondolin, For Macilon was exiled, with Dairlingul the Silver King, And Sindri, Blue Sage of Eir. Came Findistedis and Malfinseron, Of House Gowestor, nigh shores of the sea, Green falas, and silver Lindon, And Golden Wood. Came Limdor, Palanelon, and Ciron, Of Eldasen of Golden Wood, Where mallorn trees tower high, Silver bark and golden leaves. Came Angoluhtiel, Alagossel, and Arhbain, Healers of old Nargothrond, Coleth, Duvaiseth, Healers of old Himring, And Sael of Doriath, Dark marble halls, Towering trees, Evergreen, Neldoreth. Came Hallothanar, Master of Scouts, Of Dorwinion, to thus avenge, His deceased brother. Came Aertira, and Salhera, and Mornhelm, Beornor, the Beorning People, strong shape-shifters Of Anduin Vales, land of honey, oaks and meads. Came Ivordir, the Great Captain, And Daerfalas, his close brother, Of Minas Tirith, seven levels, Towers rising, white land sparkling, And banners, flowing, waters glittering, In Fountain Court, White Tree, shining... Came Circhon and his Thirty Host Of Tumladen, encircled in snowy Mountains, nestled deep Among the deep-green firs of Gondor, Came Colhel, Fingaereth, and Glossel, From that same land, And Malgelir from Pelargir, And Angolhel from Far Harad, with Alagoshel, Saljuk, Malagi, Lerion Salagostri, and all their tribesmen, Shahadmaradi, The Desert Tribe, of vast golden sands, Endless sun-filled wastes. And Eiliant and Noruros Of rocky Ost Rimmon, Blood-stained firs Of Northern Gondor, And Silevrendor, Tinnuchon, Uialchon, Bain, Duvaissel, Arhbaineth, Daechon, Isenadin Ninniachon, Duon, Tinnedir, Pala, Gwathron, Amarthon, Rivrossel, Himelon, Rostiel, Limben, Auravon, Arancir, all of Pelargir, City of the marble stairs, azure canals, Waters flow in fading light, Beneath which had occurred, Dances vain, cruel sacrifices, Bloodshed on the altars, Idolatry unto the darkness, Seeking false Kingships, As in Umbar's dust-filled streets, Weathered ruins, gold citadels, All repented. Abrazan of far Saraj, the Southron jungle, Son of Yucalwe, wanderer Ranyaro, And Echuidor of Lossarnach, Flowering vales, bright roses, Herbs and balms. And Sainion of Dol Amroth, Baralinthor of Silver Swans, Orel of deep Ithilien green, And all his southern Dunedain, And Raedwyn of the White City tall, And Aegon of bereft Tarlang, son of the mighty Aeg, Who had been murdered, in Ethring's tavern. And Nenthor, that heroic bard, Who sat cradled in Auruiron's gold, Weeping and singing for his long-dead sons, Plucked were the harp strings and the lyre. And Gwainoth, the Mason, and Naitheg, the Sellsword, And Sasuko the Easterling. Edited by Ioristion, Jul 9 2016, 12:34 AM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 9 2016, 12:33 AM Post #159 |
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Chapter XCVI: The Song of the Turfs of Sutland Book 2- The Assemblage before Battle The women were to remain with healers, Save the obstinate, the stout-hearted, Angolhel and Alagoshel, and Glossel, Duvaissel, Fingaereth, Fahnraen, Celebressel, of deep Lorien, And most of all, Cellindien, A Glistening Silver Star, Of Gondolin. They all were hardened, for battle, By their long journey, Many not skilled, Much to their woe. Trenches were dug In the Sutland, In the dusty, sandy steppes, Neath Dorwinion's eaves. Hallothanar and all his archers Gathered strongly on the flets above. The healers prepared their tents Beyond the trenches. And Saljuk and his retainers guided The Mumakil in meads nigh the shores of the sea Between the tall trees evergreen. And all the Host prepared themselves, well provisioned. Thence came the terrible trumpets of the south, The piercing sound of war-horns rising, The earth with Mumak thomps shaking, Wide ivory tusks with golden rings, glistening, Their long grey trunks, snorting, Their vast ears, as wings, flapping, War towers, on their backs, rising. On the foremost of them Sat a makeshift throne Beneath a blackened canopy, The visage of the one who sat beneath Veiled from sight as their Host approached. Forth came the Mouth of Sauron, in his black-clad garb, His fell silver Morgul armor, his piercing visage, Riding on a black steed, Easterling soldiers marching, gold-plated armor, red cloaks, Shields, halberds, swords, and lances, bows, and arrows, And cavalry riding alongside them. They chanted their fell chant, "Durga hie! Durga hie!" Now they come, their hour to be. Shikon ruled Sakuta home as regent, Narushon and Anzulbar sat nearby the Blackened canopy atop the flag-Mumak. Naifrati and Siagon rode below. Narushon sat cloaked in the silver, fiery-lined cape Of Hallothanar's fallen brother, whom Siagon had slain Alongside a bull. Atop their Mumakil, sat the Gurthbaini, silver and black-cloaked. They all were decked in their finest, As if for some ceremonial parade, But the brute, grunt, warriors were clad, In coats of mail, ready for battle, While the lords sat on the Mumaks On both sides, surveying the battlefield From above, loathe to use their war-beasts Save for necessity. But when spectators for battle gather, As if to behold a spectacle, They realize not when time ariseth Forcing their participation, That can only end in blood, The death of many, All to falter, And souls a-flyin'. Edited by Ioristion, Jul 9 2016, 12:58 AM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 10 2016, 10:29 PM Post #160 |
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Chapter XCVII: The Song of the Turfs of Sutland Book 3- The Mouth of Sauron I The embassies assembled and rode forth, Auruiron, Lerinon, Agarwaenor, Yucalwe, Abrazan, Amarthon, Angolhel, Cellindien, Macil, Fahnraen, Fareon, Rostoriel, Ioristion, Mornhelm, Inheroth, and Melimwe, Malchon bearing the King's Banner, While maroon-robed Naifrati came with bronze-clad Siagon, Both flanking the Mouth of Sauron, dark-robed, Who made his declaration as the embassies all dismounted, Met in the dusty wind-swept sands between them: "Thou hast come on an ill wind, Noldorin Princeling! Hath not my Master Hath is way unto thee? Hast thou forgotten Eregion? Hast thou forgotten Annatar the Great?!" Melimwe hushed them all and began to speak, "Be gone thou! Foul and accursed! Where is thine Master?" And the Mouth replied, "He reigns from Mordor, Victory art his standard!" To which Melimwe retorted, In laughter, "We know he art Defeated, for we know through The true Light of the West, That he, the supposed 'Great Eye,' Hath fallen so, his Dark Tower Tumbling around him, Crashing upon his Black Head, Cracking his infernal skull, Crumbling his Empire." And the Mouth of Sauron Scowled, the smell of rotten Breath upon the fell air From his mouth, "I spoke unto thee not Of mine former Master... But of the great Power Who stands before thee, Far greater than the Lord Of Mordor... for by his power, I hath recalled mine name, Mine lineage, everything drawn forth, From the pits of misery the Dark Lord Of Mordor hath left mine mind within... He is the Light Lord, far greater, Far grander, who shalt victor Across the world... Stand aside Or die!" And pity welled in Melimwe's eyes, "One cruelty does not undo another. One shadow cannot save another from A shadow. Dark is dark and Light is light. There is no ground between them. Surrender, or whether you remember your name Or not, none shall ever remember it, Left as you are unto the soil... I will not assail you, but the battlefield Remembers not heralds, nor diplomats, When the cruel scourge of bloodshed Tears you away, limb from limb, Till all the sands and fields run red, Unto the day's ending, When tears unending grace the ground Instead of rain. Consider Carefully thine next words..." II The Mouth of Sauron spat, "I am the Mouth of Guldrambor, Of Amanuiron, the Great, Emperor of Sakuta, Light-Lord, Master of Rhun, And Lord over all the Earth. I speak unto thee again, Stand aside for his great glory, And he may yet spare thee... Or perish in the attempt to Thwart him!" And Auruiron spake aloud, "Let him reveal himself, Not cowardly hide Behind his Messenger! Let him come, For I am ready to face him... To gaze upon him anew, My spirit's strong... I shall withstand him. For if he comes not forth, Then he is a coward. I was a coward, hiding from him For Ages, but now come I to face My Doom, be it as it may, For he and his ilk hath taken Kith and kin from me, And all the years of bliss From which I deprived myself. Let him come and end it." Siagon turned to the Mouth, "Give me leave to speak." The Mouth turned and spat at him, "Nay, cur. Keep silent, for such old hounds As thee deserve a beating!" Siagon drew his blade, "Give me leave, my Lord, to speak. You are honorable, Elf-lord, Golden Prince, Or by whomever name you style yourself. I have slain Elves before and will again, Just as I have slain bulls before and will again... You know not whom you oppose. You ought to Surrender to him!" "Keep silent cur!" The Mouth of Sauron drew his blade. Suddenly, there was a blinding light From atop the Flag-Mumak of the Enemy, Emanating from beneath the black shroud Of the shadowed canopy. III The light flowed downward, Beams shining in their direction, As billowing golden folds flowed From beneath the beams, Lined with majestic silky red, Bright silver-blond hair flowing, Piercing eyes within a piercing visage, His lips trembled, "So you have come, Son of Alcarin, And hither are we at last, To meet the tides of destiny. For I am Emperor of Sakuta, Indeed, of all that is, Master of Ea itself, That all had sought to Take from me. Melkor betrayed me long ago, After having promised me the world, And everything within it. They whom you called the Terrors, Lords of Shadow and Flame, Mocked me oft and flickered their Flaming whips and terrorized me Down the halls for sport. I did not mourn of Gothmog's death, Nor of that of Glaurung, Nor of that of Thuringwethil, Nor of that of Carcaroth. Nor of that of all my betters, Nor of that of all my treacherous underlings, Nor that of all of Angband's denizens. They all perished well indeed, Alas for Sauron's rise, But now he is gone, And all his fell Rings with him, Particularly the One, For long I coveted, Yet no longer, For it proved his undoing, Providing his Doom. Now his Servants have flocked to me, And I shalt be their Master, And do precisely that which Sauron Failed to do in all his time. Behold!" His cape glided on the winds, He outspread it with his arms and bowed, The air filled with his silver-blond hair, The air filled with gleaming light, The air filled with his beauteous form, As his golden cape turned iridescent, Shining forth with many colors, His inner red folds remaining, Colors swirling atop the gold. And he declared, "I am in a merciful mood. Surrender and I shalt spare thee. You shall attend at my side In my Golden Citadel Forever..." "Never!" Auruiron shouted, "Nevermore!" And Melimwe yelled, "Quick! Hide in thy capes! The words of Macilon Hath become clear now, He means to tempt us or terrorize us Or both!" And Melimwe ducked inside his folds, Glancing at Auruiron, a glance that would have said, "Hide quick, my brother! I love you!" Auruiron shot one final glance at Cellindien, a glance that Might have spoken: "Beloved daughter... I love you..." Auruiron vanished into the light of Guldrambor, his cape falling from his shoulders. IV And he beheld himself in a courtyard Familiar from long ago, The same where he had first Heard Maglor playing his harp, And he saw Maglor Macalaure, Son of Feanor, approach him In his resplendent golden cape, The one that he had given him, And Auruiron declared, "Oh Gwador... brother... mine... I should n'er hath left you far behind... For centuries, for you, did I wait, Not in vain, Affirmation fulfilled, But at what cost... My wife fell dead in Eregion, Surrounded by all the Yrch, My wife fell dead in Eregion, For I was not there to save her, And my sons into madness, And I, nigh despair, And I..... a lord bereft of sense, Thankless was I... for all who followed me, I failed them..... and all their deaths are On my head." "Yes, they are!" Maglor hissed, And Maglor rushed toward him, And kissed him, and in kissing him, Flung the folds o'er him, And flinging the folds, Consumed him, the shadows gnawing As Auruiron struggled, so terrorized that He was unable to scream. And Aegon saw it from afar, The light fading, the Emperor whipping back his cape, Revealing the corpse of Auruiron, All the life drained from him, As the Mouth of Sauron laughed A wicked laugh, And Melimwe whipped back his cape And gazed in horror of the trauma, Grace under pressure rising within him, As he rushed forward and reached for Auruiron's corpse, The Mouth of Sauron withdrawing, Away from on Melimwe's spear, The eyes of the Mouth gazing cruelly And his Emperor, laughing, mocking At the death of lost Auruiron. Hallothanar sighted Siagon, Wrath mounting within his spirit. V So ended Auruiron son of Alcarin, Of the Amarth Naru, Of the Ainon Cundan. So ended Auruiron, Alcon, Brother of Macalaure, Son of Feanor. So ended the Golden Prince, Follower of the Sons of Feanor, A sad smile on his corpse's face, As if his fallen wife Had come to save him. For in the vision, as Auruiron squirmed, To render himself free from false Maglor's grip, Guldrambor's face beneath Maglor's hair, A truer light shined brightly, As a female voice shouted, "Be gone! You shall not claim him!" And light dueled with shadow, And the spirit of Faeleth found her husband Shocked and frightened and sad as ever, And the Call of Mandos rose, And she fled with him to eternity, For she had waited for him. So ended Auruiron, last of his name, Ioristion now would claim the Throne Of Minas Noldorion. Deep were the tears of Lerinon, And of Inheroth beside him, But Melimwe declared, fighting back his own tears, "Now is not the time for weeping, Now is the time to steel our wills, For death shall truly come before This day's ending." Guldrambor's fell eyes were filled To the brim with fell mirth, As he, fell, spoke, "Stare at the corpse. You knowest why I wait, Why I have not yet ordered my Mumakil Upon you in such distress. You know by now how I labor... Stare at him, Melimwe, I can bring him Back.... back from the dead... he can be With you forever..." Melimwe laughed, still in shock, "If you believe that I would believe such lies now, You truly are a fool. Oh I have lost my greatest part of me, For he was my brother, deep and true, And now he is dead! But you, fell shadow, Shall never have him. And you shall fall Before our swords Before the day is over!" And Melimwe took-up Auruiron's body, And Guldrambor did not hinder him, For the Easterlings had to believe in Guldrambor's Feigned honor a little longer. Melimwe felt the thought, The final message of Auruiron's mind Before he passed completely, "Tell Maglor... tell him that I died for him... for you... For us all... tell him..." For such was the Gift of the Eldar, And Melimwe thought, amidst heart-wrenching sorrow, "I will, my brother........ namarie......" Guldrambor grimaced, "Go back to your lines And tell them what became of their King." Lerinon stammered, "I -am- their King!" Guldrambor laughed mockingly, "Yes, the King who did not even know Who in the world his parents truly were!" Melimwe turned in horror, "Lerinon.... no, not you... do not stare at his eyes," Melimwe whipped his cape over Lerinon's head, Guldrambor mocking them, Then Melimwe chucked his spear. Naifrati threw his body into the blow, Dying for his Emperor, The passage of the shaft was fatal, Blood gurgling up his throat and out his mouth As he died. Siagon stood at the ready with his blade, "My Emperor... perhaps the time has come to Gather your lines together..." Siagon mounted his horse and rode back Toward the Mumakil. And the light enveloped Guldrambor, Vanishing back beneath the black shroud Of the canopy atop the flag-Mumak. The Embassy of the West took advantage of the lull in the combat And re-mounted their horses, Melimwe bearing Auruiron's body On his horse, brave Vanya, Named for Rostor's steed From Gondolin of old. VI And most among that retinue Were speechless at the horror, For neither Agarwaenor, nor Fahnraen, Nor Inheroth, nor Cellindien, Could speak and react, For all had been bedazzled And gravely deceived, And fortunate were they Who had gazed upon him, For he, Guldrambor, had been Preoccupied with the doom of Auruiron, But into their minds, He would have come, If they had not hidden Their faces beneath their capes, And Angolhel's heart, And Amarthon's heart felt firm, For Guldrambor had not even acknowledged Their presence. The Embassy of Sixteen Had lost its greatest one, And only two remained Of the opposing Embassy. Guldrambor was wiser in this: He had kept his retainers away From the embassies. Only those disposable To him came. Ioristion assumed his position Rising atop the Mumak With Ivordir. Yucalwe had hidden His face in his cape, Knowing the darkness That Guldrambor plotted. He was glad not to speak to him, Save with his blade. Hot with wrath Blazing with fury, Was the face of Lerinon. VII Aegon found the supposed corpse, Lightweight, as they bore it back From the front lines, Melimwe turning to Aegon, saying, "Good. You take up his cloak. It is yours now. I have heard tale from Sainion of Gondor that You are a writer, a poet, a bard in training. So was he, and long was his Chronicle. Take up his mantle, and hide hither in the rear, Watch from far-off, That you may one day write, Of him, and of all that you shall witness, Let not a single soul be forgotten. Promise me." And Aegon knelt, "I promise." By now, he had learned perfected Westron, And placed his Tarlang accent aside. He would honor the tongue of his father another day. He whipped back the resplendent Cape of Kings to find that Auruiron was gone, His body was not beneath the folds of the cape, And Melimwe did not know what to think: Was Auruiron Truly dead, or was he captured? Had they let down their guard? Had they fallen for Guldrambor's deceits? Melimwe climbed the rope-ladder Into one of the higher flets, with Gondorian Sainion, Arhbaineth, and Hallothanar at his side. The Enemy Mumakil began their slow, Dark march, the Easterlings preparing for a charge. Edited by Ioristion, Oct 27 2017, 05:40 PM.
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12:44 AM Jul 11