#glainyn

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

oc-tober 2023! days 16-20 (featuring est, rani, helf trio, and glainyn)

16- seasons (est)

Only in winter do you regret your hair’s this short, neck exposed to the cold wind and wet snow that falls from low-hanging branches. You pull your scarf tighter and wait for spring, when the sun finally warms you and the world turns green. The summer draws near and you take a blade to your hair, grown down past your ears in the cooler months and almost- almost- too long for comfort. Late-day sun scorches the back of your neck but you can’t care, raising the small sail with fresh wind ruffling your hair with hints of the coming autumn.

17- myth (rani, silear, halthel)

“Oh, I’ve heard this one!” Rani says brightly. “We have one like this back home, with the glowing trees and the magic fruit and everything. Do you think we got those fairytales from you?”

Sileär’s mouth works silently as if she isn’t sure what to say. Halthel looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Fairytales..?” She turns her bright eyes on Halthel. 

“We,” he says solemnly, “are old, my friend.”

“Fairytales,” she mutters. “I knew some things had been… dramatized, but really!”

“Do you know the Green-eyes story?” Rani asks innocently. Laughter finally overcomes Halthel. Sileär’s face only twists, confused.

18- hero (glainyn)

The wingbeat-thunder doesn’t reach him in his room in the keep, but the cold does. He groans as he stands on sore feet and takes up his axes again, running for the doors in nothing but padded training armor.

The drakes of the Frost-horde descend on Tharrazhâr again with ice and claw. Rangvald holds the courtyard, shouting orders at too-new recruits who have not faced assaults like this even when Vethúg descended on Erebor. They are holding, but they are fresh from hard training and as unused to fighting so weary as to the swooping drakes. Glainyn runs, battle-horn sounding.

19- feather (silear)

They run for their ships when smoke begins to rise across the bay. It grows thicker over the Havens like a swelling stormcloud. Sileär whispers desperate pleas to the waves, but for all Imroval’s speed the flames are faster, lighting the underbelly of the smoke with angry reds and oranges. Imroval creaks in sympathy beneath her feet, her blood louder than the wind in her ears. Not again, not again. How many times is enough?

From the tower overlooking the harbor there falls a white star, brilliant enough to pierce the thickest smoke. 

Afterwards, they find only feathers left behind.

20- boundary (lirulin)

The bounds of day and night are sharp, harder lines than there had been around the mingling of the lights. Lirulin stands on the docks where her father’s family had fought- where Omaruin had fought- and the daylight dies, leaving only the harbor-lamps to light the way back to the city, to the road beyond that leads back to Tirion and her mother’s home, a quiet shell full of those left behind. Histenna will be waiting for her there, to ask why she has come here yet again to dwell on things she cannot change, and she will not answer.

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

20 for whoever it's applicable to :D

20. What is their hidden talent? Is that a skill they've been practicing since childhood or just something they happen to know and never had the chance to show? Besides, was it something forced upon them, taught by someone close, or they picked it up themselves?

oh hmmmmmm. i think i'll do that for glainyn! he's very much- he joins the iron garrison as Fighter Guy. most generic of champion jobs. he doesn't really have close friends among the expedition at first, so everyone just keeps seeing him as Fighter Guy. he doesn't really try to discourage this either; he's here for a Job so he's gonna do the Job. unfortunately he ends up having Opinions on... a whole bunch of things, honestly. eventually he stops bothering to keep his mouth shut (probably about the time of the big battles/moria skirms i think) and everyone is [surprised pikachu face] when he has opinions on strategy and also foreign relations (aka Arguing With Elves). he spent a good bit of time pre-moria as a guard at ravenhill with lady dis, which is where he learned a lot about the politics part of things (dis also had Opinions and told him all about them)- the messages that came through ravenhill ended up being a lot of their early conversations and he learned a lot from her

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

oc-tober 2023! today we have. four of them:

12- scar (silmeniel & daedin)

The young sentinel huddles in the corner, old book clutched white-knuckled in her lap, staring unseeing at the pages. Silmeniel busies herself unquietly in the other room, humming an old song she heard first beside crystal pools long since lost to the shadow and the sea. 

Silmeniel considers her shelves when hours pass and Daedín does not stir. No, she thinks. Daedín perhaps has more knowledge than she would like of the arts of Dol Guldur already. These? Old history- journals, in truth, in old language that will test Daedín’s knowledge. Sufficient distraction from what she has seen, Silmeniel hopes.

13- forgive (silear & halthel)

Halthel stopped asking long ago. Few remain who would even think to ask these days, and fewer who would dare. Those days when it might have mattered are long gone; what point is there in holding on to it? They have stood together against far worse things, and she has called him friend far longer than she ever thought him a foe. There are few who know her better- and that was true before the dawning of the Second Age. Some days she even forgets he fought at Alqualondë.

Still. There is a difference between forgiving and no longer blaming.

14- ruin (silear & lendrain)

“You think we are what... fleeing? Abandoning a broken thing we no longer find worth in? I was born in Alqualondë, Dúnadan. I am going home. Some, perhaps, leave because they are weary or lost hope, but there are many who will not depart at all.” Sileär tries to collect herself, to rein in the fire that must be in her face by the look on Lendrain's, for all he staunchly holds his ground. “Some say this world is not for us any longer. That now come your days. Perhaps it is, but that is not why we’ll set sail.”

15- bitter (glainyn)

The strange fungi that spread up from the depths are sweet, their smell something like a cherry so intense it tips into revolting. The great Nameless thing in the heart of Dâr Narbugud is anything but, in a queen’s lair whose air is dry and bitter and ancient as the stone from which Khazad-dûm was carved. 

Smaller creatures chitter at the edge of the Mistress’s chamber, clawing at round things like broken eggshells, shying away from the light of the stones the elves hold high. And then the Mistress of Pestilence speaks, her voice like the endless grinding of rocks.

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

did i entirely forget the last batch of oc-tobers? ....yeah

anyway! here's the rest lol. lendrain and silmeniel & daedin and glainyn and adina and lendrain again, because he desperately had to Inform me of things that week i guess. glainyn's (28) talks in a circle around a bighuge gundabad spoiler

27- doubt (lendrain)

The Hornburg rumbles with preparations as you leave the valley, riding at great speed across the plains until even the Dike vanishes behind you. Find the missing, find the missing, they have asked. Find the lords of the Westfold. You find the dead, the Fords held by foes, great war-camps mobilizing as you watch.

You ride, but everywhere you look there is another enemy, forcing you farther and farther from the fortress. The sun sinks, and with it goes your heart. In the distance, the White Hand closes on Helm’s Deep. There is no way the defenders will see tomorrow.

28- tea (daedin & silmeniel)

Daedín watches Rani in the room below with an intensity Silmeniel has only seen in the faces of those of the Hunt.

“I never knew anyone could talk so long about cheese,” Daedín murmurs. 

“There are people this passionate about every last thing under the stars,” Silmeniel says.

“Perhaps,” Daedín demurs into her tea. “But… cheese?”

“Cheese is nearly a mundane thing to care so much about,” Silmeniel says lightly. “You can find much stranger- though perhaps not if you refuse to speak to most people.” Daedín’s eyes narrow.

“You’re teasing,” she decides. Silmeniel smiles faintly.

“A little,” she allows. 

29- curse (glainyn)

“It was a great gift,” Durin says. “The dreaming sight.” Glainyn stares up the steep, winding stair to the hidden tomb. “Speak,” his prince says, amused. “You have not hesitated before.”

These caverns are ancient and smell of the cold and of wet stone. There is wind, though from where he knows not. “I don’t think it was a blessing.”

Durin’s eyes are still moving as if he sees distant things. “A gift. Perhaps not one for him, but a gift. One we will need.”

How strange, after his rage in the Traitor’s tomb. Measured and almost wise. Seventh indeed.

30- alive (adina)

Isena and Isedd are away south, and Jon and Tam have gone north with vegetables for their League friends. They’ll be back in two days, but Alse died in early winter last year and Adina is here alone. Alone but for Amdir the bear of course- though he can hardly keep her company in the house. The neighbors will check in on her, of course, and she’s plenty old enough to handle things herself, but it’s a different kind of empty, knowing no one’s coming back.

That makes it sound so terribly dramatic, though. They’re coming back. Just… not today.

31- game (lendrain)

“It’s all in good spirit,” the man says easily, though his eyes are sharp. “Even if you don't win, you still have a good time, eh?"

All sense says he should beat a hasty retreat and pray these Corsairs do not follow. Certainly he should not entertain the carefully lined up drinks he can smell from here, nor the blissful stupor such a contest promises. Eventually. He should not try like this to forget the misery in Dínadab- an impossible thing, most like- nor delay his pursuit of his- of Aragorn. 

"Choose your man," he says, and Jajax laughs uproariously.

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

glainyn, climbing back to zul-mazal w his prince: oh, you have memories now?? great! please explain the shadowed king. at all. no i don't care about the dragon

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

yeah time did not permit but i’m still laughing at myself

attempts to look through my assorted pcs & satellite ocs for aspecardaweek has only resulted in me laughing at myself bc everyone really is just default aspec in my head unless i make an entire point of making them something else lmao

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

oc questions tag game!

ok, trying to be efficient with this lol

from @a-lonely-dunedain:

what is a trait your oc can't stand in other people vs a trait they find themself drawn to

what animal would you associate with your oc? can be for in-character reasons (ie their favorite animal) or a more symbolic reason

what is their biggest regret? was it truly their fault or some unavoidable tragedy? (and can they tell the difference)

from @sweetearthandnorthernsky

does oc have recurring themes in their nightmares? why? are they aware of the 'why'?

if your oc was to overhear their name in a conversation, what would they assume the conversation is about? why? is this assumption accurate?

there's a spider, cockroach, silverfish, or some other nasty bug in your oc's house/room/apartment/etc! how do they deal with it? do they squish it? capture it to release it outside? scream and run for the hills? leave it? something else entirely?

and my own questions, if you're so inclined, for @rlainarin [waves from thalion sideblog] @loremastering @dunadaan

oops! your oc got stuck in a timeloop. how's that going for them? is there a specific circumstance for the loop that would be most interesting?

what does your oc have by way of hobbies? creative hobbies? collector hobbies? hobbies other people think are weird?

plant a garden for your oc. what's in it? (is it practical? mostly for aesthetics? how big is it?)

and some answers!

what is a trait your oc can't stand in other people vs a trait they find themself drawn to

glainyn will get instantly annoyed with anyone acting like they know all or like they think they're the smartest person in the room, that they have all the answers and won't hear a thing anyone else is gonna say. conversely, he gets on pretty well with people who are just. not like that lol, even if they are the smartest person in the room (large factor in why he likes dis so much)

isena is rather drawn to people who project a lot of confidence. sometimes it's fun to see if she can pop their bubble, but sometimes it's just nice to have people around who know what they're doing. she does, however, hate a holier-than-thou attitude and will start a fight over it

what animal would you associate with your oc? can be for in-character reasons (ie their favorite animal) or a more symbolic reason

moths for silmeniel. both by aesthetic and the tendency to watch the light

it feels almost like cheating to say eagle or bear for isedd lol, for loremaster companion reasons mostly. matwyn my beloved. similarly, his cousin deorna + crow, for the random craban matwyn bullied into being deorna's companion

what is their biggest regret? was it truly their fault or some unavoidable tragedy? (and can they tell the difference)

lendrain thinks this should be walking away from the dunedain, but he can't find it in himself to actually regret it all that much, and feels bad about not actually feeling bad about it. the only part of it he actually regrets is not waiting long enough to say goodbye to helegdir

est is. hm. it's a little harder for her to pick a biggest regret i think. she always wishes she could have saved someone. she does really regret never having a proper conversation with grimbold after troubled dreams, though. the whole situation just feels stupid to her- it didn't have to end on that note but it did and she can't do anything about it now

does oc have recurring themes in their nightmares? why? are they aware of the 'why'?

helf trio especially has So much to work with in recurring dreams :D (so do most of the others if you just let them do a questline or two though lol). silear dreams of the deep palace most often- she's never been sure if that experience was real or the product of a too-long fever. post-morgul bladening she dreams of a cold, suffocating fog, though even then it's less common than the place beneath the sea. halthel and silmeniel i don't think have quite as much regularity in theirs, but they've got plenty to choose from

daedin dreams of the death of light- did even before the mirkwood mission that went bad when she was young. it's a little surprising, given how little of her ancestry is exilic noldorin. for a long time it's vague and unclear, but it later takes form from the stories silmeniel tells of the darkening. she has no idea why she dreams of this

if your oc was to overhear their name in a conversation, what would they assume the conversation is about? why? is this assumption accurate?

halthel (late first age): probably people having Opinions on the feanorians again (accurate)

halthel (third age): younger elves with questions about earlier ages (fairly accurate). or people having Opinions on the feanorians again (a bit less accurate)

est: someone has another quest for me (...accurate)

isedd (rohan/post-war): isena got in a fight somewhere (less accurate than he thinks)

isedd (bree/pre-war): bear scared someone again (accurate)

rani: oh fuck did they find out about [insert latest shenanigans here] (mixed accuracy)

there's a spider, cockroach, silverfish, or some other nasty bug in your oc's house/room/apartment/etc! how do they deal with it? do they squish it? capture it to release it outside? scream and run for the hills? leave it? something else entirely?

silear, when she feels like being a bit of a shit: o noooo there's a bug :( silmeniel save me from the evil bug :( halthel do you have your giant fuck-off sword around? there is bug.

daedin, having gone through remmorchant: [smack] [smack] [smack] ....is it still there? [smack]

most of the rest of the crew don't care all That much tbh- too much time spent running around and camping lol. capture and release if it's convenient, shoo away if not, squish if it's gonna cause problems

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

alas I've no WiPs to post about currently, but thank you for tagging me nonetheless! :D I would like to know about "in which maybe everyone goes to gundabad" 👀

i was not sure! figured i'd send it your way in case :D

but! everyone goes to gundabad. this one's also mostly outline, in no small part bc it would require knowing all the details of the helf trio story and the dwarf politics brigade story, which. i do not. but est had opinions on it already so i gave it some words to make it be quiet

altho! return to carn dum might mess with it a bit. i had been thinking (before it was announced) that est and corunir were running around angmar and helping to irritate the last iron crown holdouts, and then followed one of the parties taking the iron pass into car bronach. est wasn't going to get most of the epic- that was gonna be for glainyn and my woefully underdeveloped stout-axe. isena & isedd i wasn't thinking were gonna be major players- they're hanging out with leothred for history of the rohirrim, mostly. helf trio (well. helf duo- silmeniel doesn't go adventuring lol) is mostly 'what do you have?' 'a cursed gaunt-lord staff :D' 'nO-'

still very vague, but does technically exist!

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

may i ask for some hcs about your ocs? <3

for sure :D

hmmmm babyranger (who has. rapidly decided he's neither baby nor ranger but y'know) or dwarf buddy who i need to put in more Situations. maybe glainyn. maybe he can explain some things for me idk

-ok actually many parts of his timeline are not really set in stone atm

-his family removed to the iron hills after smaug captured erebor. his immediate family didn't *fight* in the sixth war, but may have followed the haban'akkâ as armorers n such. still playing w him having a half-sibling in one of the other houses

-glainyn saw the battle of five armies, but he was real young still; his only real job was to run messages. he'd started some sort of proper warrior training, but wasn't anywhere near the thick of things

-when his family returned to erebor, glainyn ended up part of one of the local like. guards in training units i have so much more to research and/or flesh out for this one lmao

-ends up guarding ravenhill sometimes as part of the rotation. dís invites him in one day when it's raining super hard. they end up getting along pretty well, actually, and she teaches him a bit about Politics™️ and a bit of how to talk with the ravens. he ends up knowing lots of things he honestly probably shouldn't, but he knows how to keep his mouth shut. he also has Opinions on lots of things, but he keeps his mouth shut about those, too

-he's the guy who always has weird but useful tools in his bag. 'hey glainyn, dyou have any-' 'yes'

-not entirely sure yet if he's closer in age to bósi and brogur or bori and bróin (and durin, maybe). he goes w brogur and bróin to the blue mountains to ask for anyone who's willing to join the iron garrison- he's there as a guard, having been firmly recommended for something more exciting than hanging out at ravenhill by dís herself several years ago (despite his protests)

-he knows more than most about balin's company, and about the last messages dís got from them. he doesn't really bring it up; everyone is either too caught up in the fantasy of reclaiming khazad-dûm to listen or already wary enough

-they keep getting more problems thrown at them, and he keeps not really saying anything, not until things go really to shit and he finally snaps and shouts until someone actually listens

-this is... tentatively around the time est goes to beg help from lothlórien. starts getting into the more fucked up parts of foundations of stone, and develops a mildly unsettling fascination with the assorted nameless, and also rapidly loses his patience with everyone insisting they can keep ahold of things

-he takes charge of enough in the flight from moria (and enough other people die) that he gets effectively promoted to captain. proceeds to stop giving much of a fuck about things like 'you maybe shouldn't talk to your prince like that' or 'this is maybe not the time to tell people in charge exactly how stupid you think they're being'

-he understands the politics, has run out of patience for the politics, and left his filter somewhere near rushdurinul. idk how much of the iron hills/ered mithrin quests he does (besides probably the howling pit) yet, but he sure makes some interesting choices in gundabad/elderslade

-(i think he goes down in zul-mazal w durin)

-I've got lots still to do with him. it would be easier if i didn't go into autopilot the second i set foot in moria tho lol

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

if i ever said glainyn was a reasonable guy i take it back

other people think he's reasonable and a perfectly rational dwarf, and then he does shit like just hanging out in foundations thinking about that poem in the ironfold lost lore for hours

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

oc-tober 2021 day 3: duel with @oc-growth-and-development

in which glainyn, dwarf champion, does fil gashan

====

“There you are,” you shout up to the balcony, forcing your grin wider. “I have come here seeking a fight worth my time, and here I find you!”

“What are you doing?” Vagun hisses.

“Shh,” you hiss back.

“But-”

“Quiet! You got us into this; I’m going to get us out.” You raise your voice again. “What say you? We can have ourselves a little brawl- or a duel, if you’re feeling refined- and give your boys and mine a bit of entertainment.” Vagun sputters indignantly under his breath and you clap him none too gently on the shoulder. “I don’t know about yours, but mine could use some excitement in their lives.” There’s some shuffling above you, where the orcs stare down at you and Vagun and the rest of your poorly-disguised group from the high ledge.

“You came here to challenge me?” the one in the least terrible-looking armor demands.

“You’re going to get us all killed,” Vagun mutters.

“Of course!” you shout, ignoring him. There’s a pause while the orcs and goblins filling the room with you mutter among themselves and steal looks up to the balcony, waiting for an answer.

“Wait there,” the orc commands. The rest of the room murmurs in surprise.

“You’re actually going to try to fight him one-on-one, and trust he keeps to his one?”

You hush Vagun again. “They already saw through our disguises. I had to do something.”

“This isn’t going to work.” “Then maybe you and the rest can at least make my sacrifice worthwhile,” you snap. “I didn’t hear you coming up with anything.”

The doors at the far end of the hall bang against the walls as the burly orc that commands this area of the deeps enters. The orcs and goblins at the battered tables bang knives against plates as he arrives.

“Alright, dwarf, we can play your game. I always have wondered if you were any use in the kitchen.”

The kitchen? Are they planning to eat us?! It wouldn’t exactly surprise you, but…

The orc slams a great cleaver down onto an empty table. “Bring out the crates!” Orcs leap to follow his command and you eye the rest still in the dining hall. They seem eager, and not purely out of malice. “Be sure to keep your beard out of the food, dwarf.”

A set of crates is dropped between you and the orc. The smell is… interesting. Something is definitely rotting in there, and you think there are mushrooms of several kinds in the mess.

“I’ve never faced a dwarf before, but no one has managed to beat Vrarz the Cook in his own kitchen!”

Mahal help me. A cooking contest with an orc…

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

oc-tober day 23, crumble, with @oc-growth-and-development

in which zudrugund is still unsettling (and i found a fun easter egg)

===

The dust of the crumbling water-wheel settles on your shoulders. Old timbers creak above your head, some half-rotted or  more after a solid two centuries of neglect, with only a handful of hale dwarves to maintain what had once been the work of hundreds. Even the orc-scaffolding in Moria was in better shape than this, you think. You wish again for your proper armor, gleaming white at the foot of Ravenhill, instead of this semi-formal travel-ware. At least that way you might spare your head a knock.

“Frithgeir,” you murmur. “What are we doing down here?” He shrugs, watching Nár with keen eyes.

“Making his goodbyes, I expect.”

“But there is no one left, you said.”

“Aye, it’s just us,” Frithgeir agrees. “But he sees things as they used to be as often as not.” He falls silent for a time. “I would like to bid my home farewell, too.”

“Hervin!” Nár calls. “Hervin, that little cave-claw you like is back!”

Frithgeir sighs. “Excuse me. Feel free to return to the living-halls. We may be here some time.” You leave Frithgeir and Nár to their thoughts, but you do not go far, lingering on the walkways rather than rejoining the rest of your party, packaging things (at Frithgeir’s request) and rifling through the rest (decidedly not at Frithgeir’s request) before the return to Erebor.

In your coat, too warm for the weather this far south but wonderful against the damp of the Old Father, your journal still sits close to your heart, with your maps and records and tasks. Vorthur and Módi had stopped short of ordering you to make these stops on the return journey, but only, you think, because they could not quite bring themselves to try to countermand the king.

“They have no authority over me anyway,” you mutter, paging through your notes. Kidzul-kâlah, old water-wheels along the Limlight, Azanulbizar- The Dwergfant, as the Men of Rohan call it, is relatively close, at least, but these others? You could hardly justify taking a full company back to the Dale so soon, much less this small party. Most of them are competent enough with an axe, but you have no measure of Firthgeir’s skill, and Nár… If half the stories you were told about him were true, this would be no kindness to him.

We will give the West-gate a wide berth and take the High Pass. You trace the route on the finely-scribed, miniscule map your mother made for you. I can go south again later if need be, and if the Kharum-ubnâr take issue with it, they can take it up with Stonehelm.

You hastily stow your journal as Nár and Frithgeir’s voices approach. Frtihgeir nods to you and you follow them back up to the inhabited halls of Zudrugund. I wonder how they will take Nár’s return. Frithgeir will look after him, of course, and you trust Hersegg’s curiosity almost as much as her heart, but the rest?

Well. Truth be told, you hardly know any of the rest that frequent the Brethren’s hall. To your own shame, you never could bring yourself to spend much time in Akrâz-zahar, despite all insistence that you should- your own or anyone else’s.

I will visit Nár and Frithgeir there, you tell yourself. And young Hersegg, too. But only time will tell if you will be able to keep the resolution.

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

oc-tober 2021 day 19, shadow, with @oc-growth-and-development !

glainyn again, vibing in moria and hoping he doesn’t fall off the stairs

===

The noise of the camp at the Dolven-view is dim behind you, a vague rumble in the darkness. The torches are lit, and campfires, and the luminescent crystals salvaged from the old mansions, but even reflected on half-shattered mirrors they can illuminate so little of the Great Delving. You sit high on the stairs above the Chamber of Wisdom and stare into the darkness, down to where the shadows swallow the last steps. Broken? A turn? You may not know until you are already falling. You have already lost dwarves to the pits and deep chasms here.

Not for nothing has this place been named the Black Abyss for so long.

You take one step down the stairs and then another, until you can hardly see the lights of the camp above you, or the next step down. If there is one. You can see nothing below you. There is only darkness, and silence, but- perhaps there is something more, something else. The glints of something from the shadows, the whisper of a whisper.

Sóri had taken you down into the mines once, deep into Narathâk and far from the leveled paths and the tracks. You had brought only one lantern between you, and when you were deep enough, Sóri had taken your hand in his and blown out the light. You stayed for hours in the darkness there, warm hand and cold stone the only thing to feel save for darkness pressed close, until at long last you came out of the mines together as shield-brothers.

There were things you thought you saw there, things you heard among the roots of the Lonely Mountain, but you had not spoken of them, and if Sóri had, he had said nothing either. This is a deeper, older void than the New-lodes, and here you are alone. You thought you might have imagined things, in Narathâk, and it was easier to tell yourself that with a friend beside you, but you have less will or reason to doubt in deep and ancient places full of terrible and wonderful things. Orcs and goblins, creatures grown massive and wild in the deep, the bat-creatures in the upper halls- what else waits for you in the shadows? Durin’s Bane? It is your duty to protect this expedition. You hope you are able to. You hope the lights you think you see below are no greater threat than orc-fires, and not the glint of not-eyes in the faces of nightmare-things that have stalked your dreams since you heard the tale of Frár son of Grár while preparing for this quest in Járnfast. Thus is writ the Rede of Iron. Iron hard and iron cold.

They are shadows. Nothing more. You rejoin the rest of the Iron Garrison.

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

oc-tober 2021, day 5: throne with @oc-growth-and-development

i had too many ideas for this one so they got all smushed together into one lol

===

In the City of the Moon half-retaken they walk with little fear. She knows these streets; it feels like merely decades that last she walked here. The bound-spirit watchers have been shattered and the doors to the old halls stand open for any who wish to enter.

The ancient throne room floor is stained dark and dull where once it had reflected pale lanterns in brilliant patterns, but the throne itself has been well-kept. She stands long before it, lost in thought.

“Sileär,” Omaruin calls. It sounds as if it comes from a great distance. She takes a deep breath. Not all the foulness has been cleansed from the city, and here it lingers thick at the back of her throat.

“I meant to see the Naldassar,” she says. “But perhaps another day. There is still much to be done here.” She turns her back on the throne that had once belonged to a friend.

---

In the City of the Kings rebuilt they walk with hard-earned joy. She smiles with fierce pride for what her friends have done, everything they have remade. The lake has retreated, the paving stones have been relaid, the gardens flower. You might hardly recognize it.

She knows that street, though, and the ward to which it leads, the tower above. Barad Tironn. The hall of the Annúminas-stone. That those last days with Laerdan are long past does not ease the tension at the back of her neck nor the memory of the heavy stone clutched tight to her chest. 

She slows, and does not answer the others’ questions. They would not understand it, though she would have their sympathy. Only Calenglad was there when she returned, running, and he too has been gone for many years now.

“Esterín, we will be late!” She shakes herself and hurries on, after her friends to present themselves in the brilliance of the restored throne room in Ost Elendil above the deep waters.

---

In the Golden Hall she stands a shift at guard. It is terribly boring, especially too far from the throne to overhear anything at all. You earned this, a voice irritatingly like her brother’s says. She did, but that hardly means she has to enjoy it. At least she will be spared Déorna’s not-quite-lecture on the whole sorry situation. Brigild’s will be harder to avoid, though. Maybe if she can find Burnoth and allow herself to get sidetracked helping him and his men for the evening…

“Isena, stand straight!” She almost fumbles her spear and pulls herself upright.

“I am!”

---

In Rushdurinul they have driven out the remnants of Mazog’s Pûlpum, but the scholars and stonecarvers are not left without guards. The ancient throne of Durin is still a sight, and steals his breath even after many trips along Zurr-thurkh to escort those who know better than he what all the adornments and runes mean.

Loose pebbles shiver against the ground over the low voices of the dwarves at the foot of the throne. The shadows stir, reaching from the heights of the cavern where torches alone will not reach and from behind great falls of stone. Are those… footsteps? Drums? He has never seen a troll big enough to make that sound.

“Glainyn, what is it?”

“I think we should leave.” Something crashes in the depths of the first delvings of Khazad-dûm and even Durin’s throne-room shudders. “Now! Run!”

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

oc-tober 2021 day 28, rest, with @oc-growth-and-development

glainyn is going on a fieldtrip to dar narbugud :)

===

Where are the rest? You press your back to Valthor’s, wave Sadreda to Márus’s side, grip your swords tight and watch the darkness. Where are they… Your eyes are good, and it has been weeks since you have gone to face the sun, but even the half-light of the luminescent fungus is not enough to find them by, these things with shadows for hides and the night for eyes. You had been too slow for Thargi, but the next ones you had found in time (if only just), but Thargi had insisted you go forward without him, and you have. You are not sure you should.

“Behind!” cries one of the elves and you spin, blades already crossed as the gap-mouth things fly towards you, shrieking, claws like war-picks ready to crush armor and bone beneath impossible strength. You bellow your own challenge and catch one’s claw on the point of your blade and wrench it aside, leaving it open for Valthor’s axes. 

They shriek as they die, thrashing and spattering them with something closer to pink than true blood-red, and you back away, breathing hard and searching for more.

“Must you run about shouting to be heard clear across the lake?” Forglinn demands in a near-whisper. You clean your blades and do not dignify the haughty elf with a look.

“We are no louder than they, and nothing has changed for it.” Forglinn shakes his head in disgust and you sheath your swords. “You are under no obligation to follow, if you think this too much. Stop, rest, and enjoy the silence when we have moved on.” Forglinn’s hands tighten on the hilts of his long knives and someone smacks the side of your helmet.

“And here I thought you wanted Raskwith to control his temper,” Valthor growls. You shrug him off and continue down the narrow, uneven tunnel.

“Let us be done with this place,” you say. Valthor mutters behind you and Márus takes his place at your side. 

“Glainyn, how much farther will we take this?” the rune-carver asks quietly. “The trolls and the orcs are one thing, even the Globsnaga ones, but these things? The spores? What else will we find down here?” You take a breath. You will apologize to the elf later. If we all return...

“It can only get worse,” you say under your breath. You hope the others can’t hear. “But we cannot let it fester unchecked.” Márus sighs.

“Alright, then. Deeper in we go.”

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

oc-tober 2021, day 18: watch with @oc-growth-and-development

glainyn and kirta do some gabil’akkâ missions! mostly reclaiming the vale-watch/vale-watch rescue

===

Mission Report: Bizar-atrâd

The Vale-watch is under our control again. I would once agin urge you to pass on my request for increased patrols along Men Angrun. We lost none of our scouts this time, but we were not so fortunate the last time we lost Bizar-atrâd to the Frost-horde, nor will we be the next. What damage was avoided yesterday was thanks only to the ingenuity of the Khirvísa.

Tell Commander Glóin that this is the third time in a month we have had to fight for the Vale-watch. Losing it will compromise our supply lines and cut us off from all support from the east. I will await a response here.

    -Glainyn, Uzkhas

---

Ausma,

You said one messenger. One. Singular. I found half an army almost on top of Bizar-atrâd! Barely managed to get a signal to the scouts that were stuck there. One of them must have made it out; the hobgoblins found me, though. Missed most of what happened next.

 Kirta