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Autumn 9 Fourth Age 1430 Shire-reckoning 
the ashes of a black sleep scatter fell {{ WORDS on {{ HOWLING winds |
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| fell {{ WORDS on {{ HOWLING winds [MP]; [ open to DARK characters ] | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 31 2009, 09:27 PM (639 Views) | |
| heatherbee. | Oct 31 2009, 09:27 PM Post #1 |
Andrea's Grasshopper
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Winds broke and howled around the circular tower room like Wargs on the hunt. Ice teeth had devoured the ancient walls of this room over the course of two Ages; the cold seeped in through the cracks and frosted the walls. Three dozen candles, their wicks hissing and spitting, fought to stay alight. The room might have been a boudoir or parlor or ballroom or armory in its glory days, but it was stripped of identity now. Barren save for a long narrow table, it had been transformed into some sorry excuse for a meeting place. At the head of the table sat Hand of Sauron raised on a dais like the king or deity he thought he should be. His cushioned chair covered with blood red velvet stood in stark contrast to the bare wooden seats around the table. Standing upon the dais, at the right side of Hand of Sauron, was a stranger to this gathering. He was a young man, and behind him hung a banner with a Black Hand. Hand of Sauron looked straight ahead and made no acknowledgement of this young man or his servants as they entered the meeting chamber and took their places. Rather, his gray eyes were drawn out the southern windows to the snowy Icebay visible under yellow moonlight. There was an alien quality lingering about Hand of Sauron tonight. The smirk playing on his lips seemed to possess a genuine happiness, and he looked all the more sinister for it. Suddenly, with startling swiftness, his gaze shifted to the young man at his side. A flicker of something flashed over his features, as if he was fearful for a moment that the young man was not really standing there. He relaxed again and returned his eyes to the Icebay of Forochel. tag ;; all dark and dark-aligned characters. Please read greater victories ,, in my name and the ashes of a black sleep scatter before posting. |
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| Andrea | Nov 1 2009, 03:32 AM Post #2 |
Master Storyteller of Arda
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Cold winds wrapped the Elf’s figure as she entered the room; in response, she swathed her black mantle around her body as they twisted and writhed, giving her attire a near ghostly effect. Although normally undisturbed by such temperatures, she could not dismiss the feeling as if it were… different somehow. Her eyes traveled across the room, taking in each minute detail. At last, they landed on her Lord, and she was grateful that she remained unseen, his eyes focused on the bleak scenery outside. Mixed feelings overwhelmed her until she no longer knew how to react. She averted her eyes elsewhere—to the table—and was wary of positioning herself too close. Perhaps that is what troubled her; it wasn’t the cold. It was death she was wary of—no, the loss of freedom. A barrage of questions attacked her as she quickened her pace, ignoring all else that moved around her. How did the “old” her act? Was she any different now? Would he even notice, or did he know? She didn't consider herself as any more striking than the other servants, but she couldn’t help but be fearful of what may become of their meeting. At last she settled herself by a row of windows, leaning herself against the remnants of what was once a scarlet red velvet curtain. The watery light gave life to her pale skin, making her complexion seem eerie, ethereal. But here she was, in the flesh, and now she was waiting. Waiting for someone to speak as she watched on silently… But her gaze came to a halt, focusing on the newcomer that stood vigilantly by her Lord’s side. Curiosity surfaced just slightly on her features. Who is he? What was he doing here? A bright red shook her from her thoughts, and she gave the man nearby an icy glance, indicating that he was standing much too close. When it became clear that he wasn’t about to redirect himself elsewhere, she disregarded him. Humans, though capable, could irritate her… Especially arrogant ones like him. ※ Cellon entered rather stiffly, a bit irked at leaving his companions in the foyer, but… He clicked his tongue. What was there to be done? The letter had specifically named him, and he didn’t want Adarhídh bellowing some ridiculous “words of wisdom” to spoil all of the fun. Who knows? Maybe the cold would serve the old bat right… Needless to say, however, he didn’t like the impression of “leaving them.” He didn’t care, really, but if they were attacked, he’d want to be with them—for glory, of course. Not for protection. They can protect themselves just fine, he thought, but as his eyes took in the desolate décor, he couldn’t help but think otherwise. It did look as if some nightmarish fiend had designed the place. Who knew what lurked inside these chambers? Seeing his Captain of Commerce, though, bothered him… immensely. Who did he think he was, taking the good seat for himself? He didn’t like how bold he seemed, how he stood up with such pride as if Cellon were a mere tool. No, the Easterling did not like that, nor would he allow himself to let this man even think he was controlling him. His thoughts came to a sudden standstill. Man? he thought, questioning his own definition of this Hand of Sauron (Lengthy name, too… What was his true name?!). But his thoughts wouldn’t settle, and so Cellon pursued it no more, as if thinking too much about his leader (for now) was subjecting himself to be lower than him. That, above all, was simply not true. He took his time settling himself; it ran with his fashionably late policy. As he walked, the player had the utmost urge to make some snarky comment regarding the scenery, but held his tongue. If this truly was the man (Man?) that managed to bring such great destruction upon Edoras, then he had to be careful—even with his pride. Even so, he cleared his throat pointedly as he made his way toward the windows where thin, natural light poured forth… just so everyone could see him better. However, a female Elf breezed past to claim… his spot! His eyes narrowed as he settled himself nearby whilst ignoring the pointed glance she gave him. Meanwhile, he fidgeted with his scarlet robes, finally huffing in some gallant action of frustration as he whipped the cloth over his shoulders. Abandoning his members could make him rather moody. Furthermore, he didn’t know what to expect. His lack of knowledge bothered him. Of course, it was only one in his long list thus far. Edited by Andrea, Nov 8 2009, 02:06 PM.
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   " V a l i n o r . . . W h a t s h i p c a n b e a r m e h e n c e ? " " T h e w o r l d i s a b i g p l a c e a n d E r a i d o r i s o n e s u c h p a r t o f i t — t h e S h i r e b e i n g e v e n s m a l l e r . " " T h e p r o b l e m i s y o u t h i n k t o o m u c h a n d y o u t h i n k p e o p l e a c t u a l l y l i s t e n t o y o u . " g r a p h i c r e q u e s t s | |
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| Zentfar | Nov 1 2009, 11:52 AM Post #3 |
Arda's resident comedian (self proclaimed)
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The figure drew his cloak around him, kerbing his horse so he stood before the tower room. It had been too long. He dismounted his horse and tied it to the pole. He door creaked as he eased it open. He gazed at the man? sitting to the left of his master. Aside from the stranger he saw familiar faces. Around the table he saw Berien and Cellon. Of course there was the Hand. He pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down, next to Berien. He gazed at the unfamiliar figure. Who was he? Out of the corner of his eye he saw a candle flicker. The cold wind rustled his hair and he drew his cloak tighter. His thoughts turned to the meeting. Why had they been called here? Why was this stranger here? Why had he not eaten breakfast? He was sure the first two questions would be answered in time. For now he would answer the last question himself. He had not had time. He reached for his bag and took out his favourite food. Beef Jerky. Tasty. |
  Orthored, Human, Dark Tom Bombadil, Unknown, Neutral The wise man makes a proverb, the fool puts it in his signature | |
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| Crowley | Nov 1 2009, 07:13 PM Post #4 |
her evil magnificence
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Perhaps he surprised himself, arriving late, among the last. Usually he was certain he needed not bother for the gatherings his master called, but this one, this call… it had felt different. There was a different smell about the entire organisation and he had felt the smell of new already outside the castle. Oh he did not like new, he hated new. As if new was not enough, their breathing sounded like this new would be a change concerning him, and that he hated as much. Greatful for a large door, he still had to twist his bony, sinewy yet muscular back to slip through the doorway smoothly. A large door for a large room with too little shadow. Barren was not a problem, but the exposure made his heart rate increase, spit gather between his fangs and the smell of living was enough to drive his ever-hungry instincts on edge. The gathering inside smelled… like allies, though, and another smell etched into his nose, at least he had convinced himself it was smell and not insanity. Smell or maybe a sense he was not aware of. He just felt the presence, the presence of his master, and vibrant, deep amber eyes flicked in their sockets, directing their attention to the Hand of Sauron. A growl etched itself to his throat, erupted as he passed several chairs, walking along the table until he was at a respectful distance enough from the dais and then bowed his head before backing to the wall. His paw could perhaps have fit upon a chair but it was more than madness to reckon the Tenfold Death would come to a table. The gathered individuals made his instincts jumpy in their constant small movements, shuffling… talking… thinking. It took beyond self-control that he did not satisfy his hunger for spilling blood. What it took was the presence of his master, and so the huge canine beast would not sink its teeth or claws into something so far-alive. It was this smell of new that willed the beast out of its hole, now sticking out of the crowd efficiently with his ragged fur, lean frame and a smell of death about him. Not until now did the beast let the new being get any attention, some sting of jealousy rushing through his already temper-strained bloodsystem as he noticed the newcomer was at the right side of his master. Right side… right hand… it was of importance. The beast reckoned this meeting would test his self-control several times… and it would most likely be an interesting meeting. |
  one for man, two for lover, three for elf and four for brother. five is secret, six just another, seven drew blood and eigth a noisy shover. nine in his name and ten made the tenfold, and forever his name lay in its cover. shadow, shadow, were you there? of your presence, shadow, i was aware. i saw you shadow, forge flames to the air. shadow, shadow, to me you are fair. come now shadow, come and my past repair. shadow, take me to your lair.signature images by Andrea <3. | |
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| frannibal | Nov 2 2009, 09:20 PM Post #5 |
the [rebel child]
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Numb fingers brushed against the doors as they were pushed open and eyes that were alight with satisfied bloodlust glanced to those already in the room, before he entered. Probably the most relaxed and dazed in this little party, but the recent hunting trip had sent him into a inebriated state. Which was both relaxing and dangerous. It wasn’t obviously in this state of mind how far into madness Morion was floating. He could be as pathetic as a young boy first wielding a sword or as skilled as the kings of ages gone. Still, the calm stride and silent inspection of those in his presence – eyes lingering every so briefly on the new figure he did not know – Morion slouched down in a chair and immediately relaxed back, comfortable. He was not dressed for the occasion, filthy hunting gear hung damp from his body, dark hair following the same theme, tangled and knotted beyond what one could imagine. Said hair an clothes were also covered in blood – whether it was his own or not was up for debate. Those blood lusted eyes lingering around the room once again, watching the young lad dressed in red for quite a while, whilst lazily dragging his fingers along his ever-present daggers. A dark beast too? An eyebrow rose at this acknowledgement before glancing to the last two servants. Another man, eating – which brought a slight look of disgust to his face – and the quiet and watchful Berien, who’s appearance brought a slight smirk to his face. He didn’t understand what it was, but she greatly amused him in the small space of time that they would all be brought together like this. Glancing back to his “master” and the stranger, Morion couldn’t help himself, and with a quick lick of his fingers to clear them of dry blood – his own or otherwise – his voice spoke up in the hall, accompanied by the ever-present smirk. “Lovely décor, my Lord” + As loud as the winds howled the thoughts in the back of his mind cried out to be focused upon, and one by one, he did so. All the while staring ahead and remaining at his master’s side. Although the main nagging question at the back of his mind was about how much he had missed. The years that he had no been with his master, he wondered what progressed they had made. He could see the light had shifted, and darkness was covering places it had not touched before, but there was still that big question that refused to go away. Well, refused until he closed his eyes and banished all distracting thoughts from his mind, which was what he did as soon as their first guest had arrived. This too, was something he had been interested about. An female elf, followed by two male men, a werewolf and a male elf. Quite the gathering. Without making it even remotely obvious, he managed to assess each person with some scrutiny, before his gaze returned outside and his thoughts returned, briefly aware of being glanced at by his master but making no outward recognition of it. He would move and speak when it was right for him to do so, and not before. That was his task, his title. But when a voice that was not his master’s broke through the silence, it caused him to blink and look to the male elf, then briefly to his master for his reaction. It was not something he had been expecting, and it threw him off guard for that brief second, enough to give the elf a glare. It wouldn’t happen a second time. |
 amrothos.esril.merrick.lyda.morion. | |
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| Greensleeves | Nov 3 2009, 10:49 PM Post #6 |
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Seloas had been summoned, like every servant of the Hand of Sauron, to meet with him. He did not know why but he felt something in the air, something had changed. The fact that he could feel the change was something to do with the Elven Magic in his blood, he knew whatever it is could only be good for evil and therefore himself. He had not been looking forward to the meeting he feared the hand, though he would never admit it, and he knew if he put one step out of line his life could well be over. He had not wore anything Grand or spectacular but had arrived in a green cloak. It was both rugged and ripped with brown dirt trailing behind. He had come armed with a single elven sword on his hip, though he had left his bow behind. For someone who knew him they would see something strange about him, he was alone. He almost always was accompanied by a pet of some kind, a snake or spider usually, but today he had shown up with non for their own safety. A vast door stood before him, the last chance to turn back. He breathed deeply his chest would of been clearly visible if anyone was around to see it. Although his mind was in a blind haze his face showed no signs and he would appear to have no feelings on the matter to anyone who gazed upon his face. He pulled the great door aside and stepped within the meeting room. He lowered his head in the direction of his master. He seemed so powerful but statue like in his appearance appearance. The Tall Elf scanned the surroundings examining the servants who had been gathered. One Human caught his interest more than the rest as he sat in the place of honour this did not phase him as he had never been a favourite and rarely felt jealously but he knew this man must be of some significance to sit where he was. Most gathered were Men but only one other Elf, he had met her once before. As he turned his head once more he saw a strange being, a Wolf who resembled a man. He smiled as he recognised recognised his species. He placed both of his hands inside his green cloak warming them. He stood behind a chair on the left of the table as he waited for his master to speak and some diabolic le plan to be shared with his most loyal and powerful servants. |
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| sarosaurus | Nov 6 2009, 08:56 AM Post #7 |
we all live in a yellow submarine.
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Even though she lived near the sea and was quite used to the cold breezes that blew in from the bay, she just could not stand this temperature. There seemed to be something different about it, but she could not place her finger on it. Maybe she was weary from her travels, or maybe there was something unnatural in this land that caused the winds and the temperatures to be so cold. The more she dwelled on it, the colder it seemed to get. Maybe she was just imagining things. The former Lady of the Havens made her way into the chamber where the meeting was to be held. She could not recall everyone being in the same place and at the same time, no less. This was going to be a real treat. She would finally get to see just who else she was working alongside with to restore her Master's glory. Once inside of the chamber, she paused only briefly to look at the room's occupants. There were a couple of elves, some men, and a werewolf already present. Just the werewolf alone could make things quite interesting if it was not well behaved. Then again, one could not expect a beast to be on its best behavior...No matter who was in charge. Her gaze traveled to each of those before her before finally resting on the form of her Master at the front of the room. No one dared to sit close to him. Or no one wanted to be that close to him save the man standing to the right of him. Her eyes narrowed slightly at the figure as she made her way towards the front of the room. Just who is he? Of course he must be someone of great importance if he is standing at the right hand of our Master. With that final thought, she took her seat near the front of the room. It had come as quite a surprise to the Empress when she received a notice for a gathering of sorts. The alliance between Mordor and Harad had only been renewed recently. She had not expected to be in on any sort of meeting quite so soon. Of course, she was not going to refuse to attend. It would look bad if she had helped to restore the alliance, but backed out from attending such a meeting. And so, she had made the journey to Arnor from Harad. This time she had taken care to travel in a style that she was accustomed to. It would mean a less grouchy Empress to deal with. Upon arriving, she noted that many people were already gathered here as was obvious by some of the people milling about. She paid them no mind as she hurried inside of the room where the meeting was to take place. I might be late in arriving, however, it saves me the boredom of sitting here until things get started. A quick look around the room gave her an idea of just who she was going to be "working" with now that she was apart of this little...group. A couple of Elves, some men, a noble looking woman, and a beast. They were quite the sight to behold. Of course, there was the Hand himself sitting at the front of the room. There was someone who was standing beside him, but she had no idea who he was. Another look around the room and she could tell that the others were just as curious as she was to know just who he was. She took another moment to see what sort of seating was available before picking a spot. She seated herself at a place nearest the end of the table. It was nothing fancy, but it would serve its purpose nicely. Now they just had to wait to see what this entire thing was all about. The Empress could hardly wait to get out of her. She hated the cold. |
  credit for character icons belongs to heatherbee. | |
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| heatherbee. | Nov 6 2009, 05:58 PM Post #8 |
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Andrea's Grasshopper
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When he sensed that the moon was nearing its third station after nightfall, Hand of Sauron moved his body smoothly to face his servants. Gray eyes danced over each face, cataloging every feature with new criticism. Some remained as valuable as ever. Orthored’s relaxation amused him. Few would come into his presence without some trepidation. The Captain would remain valuable for as long as his demeanor humored Hand of Sauron. Caeroth both terrified and glorified Hand of Sauron. Should the werewolf ever remember who he truly was … He shuddered to think of it. Caeroth was to be treated with the utmost respect. Seloas, with his finely tuned Elven senses, was a greater asset that he knew. The physician’s humility pleased Hand of Sauron’s ego. Faeleth, his closest confidant, was bold enough to flaunt this fact to her peers. Hand of Sauron held out a hand to her, motioning with his fingertips. She should come sit at his left hand. Hand of Sauron offered Esho no smile, but a direct nod—almost a bow—to show his respect for the Empress who had only lately delivered tens of thousands into his service. He had doubts about others. Berien had been absent for so long. Why had she not felt the need to seek him out before now? He longed for a quick reason to continue trusting his enchanted elleth. To think she no longer belonged to him sent a pang through his heart. Cellon, so willing to sell information to the highest bidder, was a tentative ally. Hand of Sauron hoped that inviting him to this summit would flatter the player’s ego and keep him loyal. But players were professional liars, and Cellon was the best player in Middle-earth. And some had lost all appeal. Morion who could not think or listen. Morion who only knew how to speak and act. He had once been highly valued for his potions and battle prowess. But Hand of Sauron had others to take his place now. The balance of power had shifted, and in his self-consumed insanity, Morion did not even realize it. “Morion, you are excused from my inner circle. Disobedience is disloyalty.” He flicked his wrist at the door. “Lose your tongue again in my presence, and I swear in Morgoth’s name, I will have it cut out of your head.” |
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| frannibal | Nov 7 2009, 12:58 AM Post #9 |
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the [rebel child]
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The reply he received, caused an eyebrow to raise, but that was the end of his surprise. So, the Hand of Sauron was actually able to stand up for himself now that his magic was back. The man at his side probably had something to do with it too. It was quite amusing, and Morion briefly wondered how long this aura of power and confidence would last. History showed that their side would not hold this power forever, but it would be fun whilst it lasted. Smiling softly at the dismissal, his gaze lingering a brief moment on his Lord, Morion cast a short glance to the man beside him, then to those around the room. Finally, he stood, his blooded form already having marked the chair he was sitting in, and moved to bow. “As you wish, my Lord” He refused to react violently to such a small thing, instead he licked some dry blood off of his fingers and stood up straight from his bow. And, with little care or worry of his position in this world, he left, shutting the door after himself. If that was the worst punishment that the other was going to give, Morion knew that there was definitely more confidence to come from that man. It was only after he hit the cold air outside and his skin chilled did he realize that the feeling in his fingers was anticipation. Oh yes, this was going to be an interesting next few years. He was almost glad to be in the dark about it. Almost. |
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amrothos.esril.merrick.lyda.morion. | |
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| Andrea | Nov 7 2009, 02:03 AM Post #10 |
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Master Storyteller of Arda
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The Elf noticed Orthored enter, her eyes giving him a brief glance of acknowledgement, before turning back to the floor, following the dust and cracked tiles that formed haphazard lines upon the ground. She leaned back against the wall, steadying herself for what she knew was going to be a rather long conversation. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the hulking beast come in and, in response, she stiffened, for her perception of the werewolf was one of mild hostility. How did she know if it wouldn’t unleash its fury upon her? She could sense the festering rage, the bloodlust… and she didn’t like it. Other servants entered, and she lifted her head up slightly to better see who they were… Another set of mortals and… Mórion. Her face retained its vapid look against the obscene amount of blood that accompanied his appearance; however, her eyes narrowed as she quickly averted her gaze, as if his slapdash appearance was an irritable entity in her realm of sight. Perhaps she was quick to assume, but she could not forgo the notion that the blood that marked his clothes was one from a killing… a meaningless killing no less. Mórion, she knew, was a weapon—a tool—not yet tempered. Senseless: that was what he was. His blunder in the West was evidence enough. His dismissal was one she had been expecting, but if he was still here, it could only mean that he still provided some use. But soon his excuses would end, and there would be no other path to walk except one of death. His clever witticism would only hasten his downfall. Sure enough, his remark had earned him a reprimand. But as Mórion left the gathering, she knew it would not be the last they would hear of him. Like the lingering mark of blood he had left so offhandedly, his presence would continue to remain, regardless if his physical being was in the room or not. It was the first time she had heard her Lord speak in many years, and while his words had not been directed towards her, her eyes grew downcast. Disobedience is disloyalty. For reasons unexplained, the single statement created a sense of dreadful awareness of her current circumstances. But no… she could not think of such things right now. It would only betray her current condition. As if in firm resolve, Berien lifted her eyes and straightened herself at attention. She would listen carefully, and would not draw attention to herself, lest she relinquish the truth of the broken enchantment. ※ “Oh please,” Cellon muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. His body shifted, his arms uncrossing and re-crossing over his chest in an attempt to keep warm. The Elf wasn’t serious, was he? Was he just flattering their leader? Mocking him? Was he just being stupid? Or all three, even? In any case, the player had complete confidence that he could have come up with a much better comment than that. The first principle of any quip was to make sure you looked the part. And in this case, this Mórion didn’t even look half of it. How could he insult the interior design of this fortress when he was covered in blood, grime, and heavens know what else? In fact, the Easterling turned his face just slightly towards the shadows and gave a small smirk as the Elf was rebuked for his comment. Good riddance. The sickening, metallic scent of dried blood had begun to fill his nostrils in a way that he could only fidget in response. He raised an eyebrow at the stained chair, and made a mental note to not to claim that seat for himself. In any case, he gave an amused click of his tongue as if it were the end to some pun of his. My, my… This Hand of Sauron was definitely amusing. It was even more delightful knowing that it was not he who was being chastised, and it wasn’t as if he was lining himself up to be next on the chopping block. How the Hand had even managed to orchestrate such a meeting between criminals and spies was… well, uncanny. Uncanny and nothing more… That is, not until the summit was adjourned and everyone left with all body parts and assets still intact. In that case, it would be miraculous. With a small clear of his throat, he turned his attention back to the meeting, trying to make his face one of all seriousness, though his eyes betrayed a sense of mirth as the candles shone their faint light on them. |
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" V a l i n o r . . . W h a t s h i p c a n b e a r m e h e n c e ? " " T h e w o r l d i s a b i g p l a c e a n d E r a i d o r i s o n e s u c h p a r t o f i t — t h e S h i r e b e i n g e v e n s m a l l e r . " " T h e p r o b l e m i s y o u t h i n k t o o m u c h a n d y o u t h i n k p e o p l e a c t u a l l y l i s t e n t o y o u . " g r a p h i c r e q u e s t s | |
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Graphics by heatherbee. Small buttons by Tue.
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