#tinnudir

[dunadaan]

Tinnudir, Evendim - The Lord of the Rings Online

       Tinnudir (Sindarin for Dusk-watch) is a settlement located within the area of Parth Aduial.

       At a well protected island in eastern Lake Evendim, this keep once used to be the estate of the royal family of Annuminas. At the south-eastern part of the island Calenglad and a party of Dúnedain Rangers have established an encampment, keeping watch over the region, sheltered by no more than ruined walls of the ancient buildings.

[tolkien-obsessed]

[lotro-tooltips-daily]

[rangers-arecool]

Lake Nenuial (Sindarin for Lake of Twilight) during the rising sun, Evendim

Upon the banks of which both the City of Annúminas and Tinnudir Keep were built. Screenshot taken by Lou in LOTRO

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

🖊️ for Est?

est :D

she needs to figure out that she's mostly just dps, and That's Fine, Actually. she can do a little healing (story wise anyway lol. when i go raiding she mostly heals), but she's not really good at it. she doesn't take naturally to it and she never really studied it either, and she tries to make up for that with stubbornness and nothing else, which doesn't always work out. she'll jump into healing when she's panicking sometimes- and sometimes it is admittedly necessary to go about things that way- and she'll go around offering it after a fight or something bc she feels like she's obligated to bc she can (and sometimes also bc it's pretty much the only thing she can do at all), but it's still very much not her Thing; a far cry from her storm affinity

some of her trying to like. fill every role at once was an offshoot of how much time she's spent just on her own, traveling and adventuring and, most recently, Being The PC lol. even when she works with other people for a bit, it hasn't often been long-term nor in groups where she can safely just let someone else handle it entirely

[rangers-are-cool-moved]

Arathorn simply smiled, shaking his head in amusement. “Has anyone told you that your hopeless sometimes, Bel?” His words were filled with playfulness as he looked up at the taller elf. “99.9% of a success I think. The 1% being that you unintentionally trapped us.”

“a little close”

/ Arathorn | last one lol

Send “a little close” for our muses to get stuck in a small space together

“Well,” This was his fault. He had pulled Arathorn into the closet for a moment alone, but in their haste, he had knocked over the shelves outside the door, preventing it from opening even with elven strength. “That’s… whoops. At least I am trapped with you.”

[a-lonely-dunedain]

Something I've been wondering about the Dunedain... do you think they have hidden villages in the wild, or are they just fully nomadic? Are there any Ranger villages or camps in LOTRO?

oh! in lotro they absolutely do! the primary one is Tornhad in the Trollshaws, but there's also Esteldin and Tinnudir :D

Esteldin is a bit of an odd one, because there aren't any Ranger families or children living there currently, and some quests state that the Dunedain have only recently begun to gather there to fight against the growing threat of Angmar, but another NPC will mention that she and Lorniel (another important Ranger NPC) both grew up in Esteldin together.

weird contradiction right? well my theory for it is that Esteldin used to be a settlement more like Tornhad, a refuge for Rangers to raise their families, but it was mostly (if not altogether) abandoned around the same time Golodir led his company into Angmar. because around that time it was said that "fell creatures had begun to spill forth from that land" so when Golodir's company, probably consisting mostly of Rangers from Esteldin, left to face that threat head on and never returned, there weren't enough Rangers left in the area to defend it. So my guess is that the non-ranger Dunedain mostly ended up gathering in Tornhad after that, as it was further away from Angmar and in a defensible position.

There are characters who are implied to have grown up in/around Tinnudir as well, but I can't help but notice that there are no children there in present day. could be an oversight on the devs part, but also makes me wonder if it was also deemed too unsafe for them and they had to move elsewhere...

ok sorry I got to rambling there, but yes to make a long answer short, there are indeed Ranger settlements! but they're dwindling.

[southfarthing]

Time for a lotro confession: sometimes I go and visit Candaith in the lonelands, even though there's nothing left to do for me. I'll just sit there next to him, basically staring in the fire and listening to the beautiful music. His death and the dream sequence later on hit me really hard and to know that even though he is long dead, he's still sitting near weathertop and watching over the lonelands is comforting and gut wrenching at the same time. Sometimes I'll do the same in Evendim on Tinnudir because something about the music there and the lake makes me want to jump into the screen. The rangers, man, they'll break your heart.

😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔 HE WILL ALWAYS BE THERE AT THE FOOT OF THE HILL, SITTING WITH LEGS OUT BY THE FIRE AND A WARM SMILE ON HIS FACE

[hallothere]

6 for radanir >:)

6. Reverse amnesia (everyone else has no memory/recognition of your character) loosely hugely based on a sarc original

The prisoner could moan and complain all he wanted, but Lothrandir wasn't going to give in. He'd spent too long in Forochel to be surprised by another of his... 'kin'. He still wasn't sure who this man claimed to be, regardless of whether or not that kinship turned out to be true.

He sat and stoked the fire. This was a strange situation, but he was still going to eat. He had some flounder fresh-caught, and spices in his bag. He could eat, and he could think.

This 'Radanir' had been insistent. Familiar. Angry, even, when Lothrandir didn't drop everything and listen to him. When he didn't answer his questions and respond to his insane demands.

No, he'd come back from Gondor alone, except for Techeron, who had stayed at Tinnudir. He'd been alone.

These were troubling times yes, but... This Radanir knew their signals- knew Lothrandir's pet signals he only used when friends came to visit... He'd shaken his head. Fought. Radanir- whoever that really was- was bound hand and foot and propped up against a pine. They were a ways enough from Kauppa-kohta for him to decide what to do without risking the village.

Because there was another possibility that didn't bear thinking about. There had been no days in the Wizard's tower, no semblance of time. He had not surrendered, but he had been... Lothrandir shuddered. He wasn't sure. Saruman never let on what he knew, what the spaces between consciousness had been filled with. Had he talked in his sleep? Been forced to recount locations and numbers and strategy while his mind sat in darkness?

Gandalf had assured him this was not within Saruman's power but...

At least his prisoner had stopped yelling at him.

But after a while, something altogether... unpleasant had started. Lothrandir forced himself not to turn and look. He hadn't expected tears. The Dunedan- Radanir, the stranger- whoever he was, was downright weeping. A pitiful sobbing as ever there was, and for what? Because Lothrandir didn't know him?

He was about to tell the prisoner to stop, to knock it off before he really got irritated, when he wavered. It... it just struck him as wrong. Not unwise. Not against procedure, or without due caution. Wrong. He forced himself to look and immediately wished he hadn't.

"What's wrong now?" He ground the words out less in irritation than necessity. If he didn't growl his voice might break.

Radanir took a huge, shuddering breath. "I'm dead, aren't I?" That startled Lothrandir. What did he mean by that?

"I died on the road south. Or the road north." He laughed. Not a humorous sound. Hysterical. "I didn't expect to.. to ever return home. I suppose I didn't, and this is--" He seemed less able to take those big, sobbing breaths. They came shallower. "Or, else, this is what you wouldn't tell me."

Lothrandir frowned in earnest now. That made about as much sense as anything else he said. Less. He hadn't been willing to tell 'Radanir' a lot of things.

"What are you talking about?" If he was dealing with a lucky madman...

"I've found him. The Wizard." His blood froze as Radanir started to look around. Lothrandir almost joined him. "You wouldn't tell any of us his tricks. His torments. I've run afoul of him, then. That's the only possible explanation."

His veins had turned to ice. Radanir, eyes bright and countenance pale, searched for Saruman in the trees. That... that was wrong. Lothrandir forced his eyes shut. The Wizard's staff was broken. He had no palantir, that had been claimed. His power was diminished. Drained. The Wizard was little more than a Man now, and Lothrandir had bested worse than Men.

"I'm sorry, brother." Lothrandir's head snapped up. It was Radanir, tears flowing once again. "I won't... I won't be able to hold out like you did. I'm sorry."

Something cracked. Lothrandir seemed to be watching through fog. He didn't know Radanir, but he saw that face. Grim. Serious. And then there was Faeron, and the both of them scowling fiercely. And Saeradan. And laughter--

A flash of something that wasn't supposed to be there caught his eye. There was a bush off to the right, a glint of red. And then Lothrandir saw red, knowing not what or who, only that he was going to know. He was going to find out. The red began retreating from the bush, but Lothrandir recognized this foe at least, and pounced.

It came to blows and Lothrandir was clear superior. It came to blades- one blade- but the Angmarrim stood no chance even with a knife. He fell into the snow, and something sparkled. A gem on a chain. It was small but instantly foul to Lothrandir's eyes, long acquainted with Angmarrim, with sorcery.

He took the knife and the gemstone and found a rock. Lothrandir flipped the grip to point the knife hilt down, and rammed the adorned pommel through. The gem, if it ever was one, shattered like glass. Something like a fog cleared.

Lothrandir's head snapped up. And he started running.

[cwilbah]

okay i severely misjudged hunters this class fucks

made another alt on lotro sorry everyone

[rannadylin]

Huh. Dear Numenoreans who built Tinnudir Keep: Why do you put the ionic capitals on the edges of the stairs and not on the columns?

[oldmanwillow]

for the lotro Geoguessr!

I wanna say it's Evendim, maybe looking out to the place where the Ent is on the other shore? (I play in another language, not sure about the name)

In the distance the tower of Tinnudir?

If not then it's probably Gondor bc architecture

[elgaladwen]

Tinnudir, on Lake Evendim

[dunadaan]

Oooh does Crea have any hobbies?

She absolutely does, anon!!

Créa actually has quite a few hobbies. Her first really began when she was young, with her father traveling and bringing back pressed flowers from other lands. She herself began to start collecting flora from around where she lived, pressing them in a little journal and writing about where she found them, doing little drawings of them, and trying to figure out their uses, if any. She was quite a little scholar, but admittedly at first she mostly did it because she thought the flowers were beautiful, and picked the prettiest ones, before being fascinated with the natural world around her.

When she left home to become a Ranger, she was suddenly thrust into a new landscape with plants the likes of which she'd never seen. New trees, new flowers, new grasses- her journey was delayed somewhat because she kept stopping to collect leaves and sketch and the like! For a long time, elves and rangers alike would be bombarded with questions from her- what was this? what's its purpose? what's its name? Thankfully, most were patient with her curiosity and even encouraged it, and her journal was packed full of new plants. As time went on, however, she realized it was getting too full, and mixed in with her daily logs describing her day and what she did, and she began to move over some of the extra pickings of dried plants to a new journal- one that was dedicated solely to collecting all the knowledge she could on plants. Over the years it grew exponentially in size as she traveled and discovered new (to her) plants, and what started as a personal passion project began to take on a new meaning as the cumulative knowledge of (almost) all the plants in Eriador, and eventually, in Middle-earth.

In her lifetime during the Fourth Age, her collection is officially published for widespread use, (though I've never come up with a title for it), and it's an invaluable resource for many healers and others alike, as much of the information was lost or previously unknown to many, and one of the last few books ever published with the direct knowledge given by the elves before they all sailed.

Oops I blabbed a lot BUT another important hobby related to above is gardening! She's a very talented gardener and has an incredible green thumb. I like to think she was some sort of farmer in her life before she discovered her dúnedain heritage, and she still decided to take a part of that life with her. She carried the seeds from her home but wasn't sure she'd every do anything with them, being on the move all the time with her new life.

Some time passes, and Créa really struggled to find where she belonged. Evendim was her chosen area to stay, but she was at a serious disadvantage. She was no scholar, and wasn't raised with stories of the Dúnedain, nor their history. She's no archeologist who can help with sherds or artifacts. She can fight, but anyone could wield a blade, and her reading, writing, and speaking in Sindarin was not the best as she struggled to learn. She wanted to contribute in her own way and felt out of place, and like an outsider for a long period of time.

It wasn't until exploring the ruins of Tham Nambarth, overlooking the ruins of Tinnudir that a sudden idea came to her. She had been told these grand estates once used to grow grains for the city- and she realized she could repurpose the grounds for her own garden. One that could support the small gathering of Rangers here, or be used for trade with the Hobbits of Oatbarton. She kept it as secret as she could, wanting to surprise the others, though she enlisted help from friends when she could. It was a lot of work, converting an abandoned area with centuries of weeds and grass to a large garden bed, but she did it, and it's her proudest achievement. It was something unique that directly contributes to the Rangers, and she can keep them well fed with food she grew herself. (I also headcanon that her garden has been destroyed a few times and wrote a long fic about it dfgdsfg)

The building itself stores the dried and pickled foods for winter, ready to transport to the camp below, and the gardens boast of berries, herbs, tubers, squashes, beans of all sorts- really, anything she could get her hands on that would grow in the soil. If you can't find her out on patrol or in the keep, she's usually in the garden, covered in dirt and smelling of earth :)

As far as other hobbies...like I mentioned before, she sketches landscapes and plants to try and accurately reflect the environment she found them in. I think she also paints a little to get the colors right. And for the fun of it, because I like bird watching, I think she enjoys bird watching and identifying too! And it makes sense since the dúnedain can talk to and understand birds so!

She also loves swimming- she spent many summers swimming in the Anduin, and is one of the strongest swimmers in Evendim! Hasn't beat Calenglad yet though. If there's a body of water, she's more than likely going to jump in, like a duck to water.

[queen-scribbles]

I would like to have Words with whoever is responsible for there not being a “taxi” route from Tinnudir to Annuminas. There will be many Words.

They will not be pleasant. :)

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

18? literally or beornically?

18- bear hug

hi. i am easily distracted

The bridge to the island is painted in brilliant pinks and oranges as the sun falls behind the distant mountains. The Twilight Hills are quiet, ruined estates casting long shadows over the lakeshore. A lonely owl cries in the distance, but nothing answers it.

Helegdir isn’t sure if owls usually do that anyway. He’s no wild-speaker.

Even Tinnudir is silent, the fires dark and the keep still. Helegdir watches the last sunlight play on the green stone until a faint footfall catches his ear on the bridge behind him. He knows without turning who it is.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“I wasn’t sure we would see you again.” He still hasn’t turned around. Hasn’t seen.

The other man says: “We all come home, in the end.” And that isn’t like Lendrain at all, but fifteen years is a long, long time, especially in their line of work. “I missed you,” he says quietly, and ah, that is more like him, has been since they were children, since Helegdir began patrols two years before Lendrain, and at last Helegdir turns.

He looks the same. All this time and Lendrain looks no different than he had when he had seen Helegdir off in exchange for a promise that he would make it to Lendrain’s oath-taking, to welcome him into the ranks of the Rangers. Helegdir closes the distance in two long strides and crushes Lendrain to him, and Lendrain chuckles into his chest but he doesn’t try to duck away from the great bear hug and Helegdir is content to stay here as long as he will allow.

But he has had this dream before.

“Please, come back,” Helegdir whispers into Lendrain’s shoulder, and does not care that his voice comes out a broken thing, or that Lendrain sighs deeply against him.

“You know I can’t do that,” he says, and his voice rumbles from his chest and through Helegdir’s, tickling his ribs. 

“You said we all come home-”

“Helegdir.”

“You are nearly here already,” he says, and he doesn’t care- he knows, he knows, he’s had this dream before, but he never wishes less desperately for it to be real. “Just cross the bridge with me.” As if they can walk right out of here and into the world of the waking hand in hand. As if it will ever be so simple.

But Lendrain’s breath whispers past his ear, and he says: “Alright. I will walk with you.” And Helegdir doesn’t care, doesn’t care that the man he knew would not give in so easily, that it won’t last. He only slowly unwraps himself from around Lendrain’s shoulders, and slowly takes his hand. They step onto the sand of Tinnudir, and then Helegdir is awake, gasping at the terrible ache in his chest whose cause he only slowly recalls.

It’s been three years since he last had this dream. Stars, he thought he might have seen the end of it, that after all this time he might not feel so keenly an old friend’s departure, but it isn’t so. Most days, perhaps, it is only one more loss in a line of them, but nights like this it comes to him and he can do nothing but wrap his cloak around himself and linger on old memories, watching the distant stars in the cold wind that comes through the Ram Dúath out of Angmar until he has light enough to travel.